#I wonder if I could buy her a patch of grass like they give dogs to do their duty on

[scoriarose]

The Untold Danger of Choice Handling Pet Snakes

We all know the benefits of choice based handling (which you can learn how to do from Lori's channel on YouTube ) but no one warned me this would happen!

...

They want out all the time and it's really hard to get anything done because they are SO CUTE!!!!

I mean can you really tell her no?

[sabraeal]

Get Up Eight, Chapter 7

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Free Space

The air is sweet outside of Hiratsuka; the ocean’s salt still carries its pale sting on the breeze, but it cannot compete with the last of the spring’s harvest. The paddies are flooded still, slowly draining under the heat of the sun; wet earth weighs down the air’s sweetness, rich and full. This far into the season it is gold and green as far as the eye can see, set over a shimmering stretch of blue; a precious comb laid on silk. But this, this is finer than any gift an emperor could give his concubines. Ryo might buy jade and sapphires, but it could not buy a moment in time, experienced with all the senses of the body.

The threshing would come soon, as the end came for all beautiful things. The fields will be allowed to dry, and in weeks, this ground would lie fallow, a barren marshy plain awaiting its next use. But impermanence is a part of beauty, what made a sight such as this so precious and so dear. Just as petals fell from cherry trees, or snow sifted from the winter sky, this moment only existed in the here and now. In mere days, all of this would be gone.

Even Obi slows ahead of her, hands resting on the tight nip of his hips. Stalks spring thickly up beside the road, paddies dug so close the cobbles have sunk, curving the edges of the walkway like a scroll unfurled. He stands in the middle of it, a samurai out of a wood-block print, surveying his domain--

“Well,” he huffs, turning his chin over his shoulder. “It sure smells like shit.”

Shirayuki tries to stifle it, to keep the noise buried deep in her chest, but it’s impossible-- a laugh hiccups up between her lips, and try as she might, her sleeve doesn’t muffle it a single bit.

“What, ojou-san?” His mouth quirks at a corner, too sly for innocence. “Don’t you think so?”

Now that he mentions it...yes. That sweet earthy smell mixed with standing water gives off a fragrance that only a fly could love. The rice may be sweet on the wind and salt may still roll through with a breeze, but when the skies were quiet and her feet were still, it savored of nothing so strongly as the pies oxen dropped on the road.

Not that she’d ever give her samurai the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Surely it isn’t so bad as all that.” She takes in a large, pointed breath, and prays she won’t cough. “I only smell sweet grass.”

Both narrow brows scurry up his forehead, rumpling his scar. “Is that so, ojou-san?”

With a sharp smile he swaggers over to one of the sparse pines clinging onto the road, dropping down into a squat. “Then you won’t mind if we take our rest here?”

“W-what?” There’s barely any room for the cobbles, and none at all for two travelers trying to stay off them. And the smell...

“Come on.” He pats the muddy ground beside him; it splats beneath his palm. “This water looks healing if I do say so myself. Perfect to rest your poor feet in.”

Shirayuki casts a dubious glance over the road’s edge, knowing full well what she will find. These paddies are not freshly filled, water sparkling blue under the fair sky like in the ukiyo-e; oh no, this is a field left to drain, the water growing murkier with every day, probably rife with leeches and worse. Fine for plants, but for her poor, weeping blisters--

Well, she’d certainly collect quite a few friends putting her feet in there. They would be such a comfort before she succumbed to whatever infection stagnant water gave her. He blisters throb at the thought.

“We should keep going,” she informs him steadily. “Weren’t you just saying there was much road left to be traveled?”

At least, that had been his excuse in Hiratsuka. No time for dallying, ojou-san, he’d told her, slipping a vendor a few mon for the onigiri in her hands. We’ll have to sleep on the road if the light fades before we get to Odawara.

Obi doesn’t exactly frown; such an expression isn’t in his nature-- instead his mouth pulls to the precise width of the line she’s toeing.

“Well,” he hums his dangerous way, the sort that says only her twelve ryo stand between his hand and her cheek. His body unfurls to standing with an exaggerated slowness, a threat in every curl of his limbs. “Since ojou-san doesn’t need a break, I suppose we can walk all the way to Oiso.”

Her ronin stands across from her, kimono threadbare, hakama in hardly better shape, arms folded across his narrow chest. She knows that cock to his hip, that hint of a smirk on his face-- he expects her to fold, he expects her to beg like the delicate ojou-san she’s pretending to be.

Even wrapped tight under her tabi, the warabi loosely tied, her feet ache. Kino’s wife would plead to stop-- no, command him to. Either way, she would merely confirm what he already knew; she was a pampered fine lady, unable to keep up with the grueling pace he set. A burden he would be made to bear all the way to Kyoto.

Shirayuki shifts the sack on her back, Buddha’s hand pressing into her spine. “Fine. Let us keep going.”

Marsh bleeds into hills, the road flattening and slanting both, reeds rising up into pines. The shade is a welcome reprieve, as is the sea breeze that stirs the branches overhead and sends shadows to dance at her feet. Even as nature’s wonder presses in around her, Shirayuki cannot help but think she might be able to enjoy it better if her feet were not about to pop off at the ankle.

Oiso is hardly an hour’s walk from Hiratsuka, but every step is on needles, stabbing wherever her sole touches cobble. Still, still-- she will not relent. Surely they would see the post for the shukuba at any moment, and then she might--

“Ojou-san?” A shadow falls over her; even if she could not see the patched hem of his hakama, the scent of his sweat, clean and earthy, would give him away. His hands hover at her shoulders, steadying without touch. “Are you all right?”

“Ah!” She steps back, covering a wince with a smile. “No, no. I’m just fine. I can keep up! Oiso is only a few miles away, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He shifts back, arms folding into a forbidding bar of steel across her vision. “Do your feet hurt, ojou-san?”

His tone might be playful, a little sing-song like a child at play, but it is a knowing gaze that he wears, fixed to the hem of her kimono. She shuffles her feet, hoping they fall into shadow-- if only she had bought new tabi in Hiratsuka, she would have had a few more hours before the blood stained the new cloth. 

His breath hisses through his teeth like a palpable hit. “Ojou-san!”

Ah, so he’s seen it. That will make this conversation a hair more difficult.

“Don’t worry about me!” she yelps, sweeping away from the hands that would grab her, that would hold her in place to behold the extent of her foolishness. “It can wait until we get to Oiso-juku!”

He shakes his head, sitting back on his heels. “We’ll rest.”

Her cheeks puff out with annoyance. “Aren’t I the one who makes those decisions, samurai-dono?”

His mouth pulls thin for a moment, considering her, but the next has it bent in a bright smile. “All right then. Let’s rest. We can have some of those onigiri in your pack.”

Shirayuki longs to protest-- she did not make her way trading on feminine weakness in Yokohama, and she was not about to start here and now because this man would let her-- but her stomach growls long and loud, a beggar on its knees.

“Well,” she murmurs, looking away from that smug grin. “If you insist.”

“You know.” Obi’s fingers pluck nimbly at the twine knotted around the bamboo leaf, slipping it open with a firm tug on one end. Inside, the rice still steams, just cool enough to touch. “If you had said something, we could have stopped at Hiratsuka.”

Shirayuki looks up, her legs stretched out before her, wiggling her toes with a grimace. She spares him a raised brow, managing only a strained, “Could we have?”

His mouth opens, then closes again. Gold eyes shine almost green in the shade of the pine trees, but they drop away before she can determine whether it is merely a trick of the light. “Maybe.”

Her lips press tight as she watches him, long fingers separating one sticky triangle off from the others. “You’re worried. Did something happen...?”

At the hatago, Shirayuki assumes, but caution stills her tongue. The days she has spent with him have been long, but still-- she’s known him for only three. What trouble dogs his steps now may have been bought and paid for long before she knelt across from him in a tea house and offered twelve ryo to take her away from her own.

“Should I rewrap them?”

Her head jolts up; the amber of his eyes waits to trap her, honey-warm with curiosity. He presses the still-warm onigiri into her palm, and she-- she nearly says no. She may be smaller than him, but she’s not a child. A single rice ball would not a meal make.

But then he chucks his chin downward, toward where her feet sit bare save for the bandages.

“Oh,” she breathes, flexing them. Even that small movement sends pain lancing up her legs. “No, not yet.”

He shifts, mouth rumpled into a dubious knot. “It’s soaked through in places.”

“It’s fine.” Sour plum bursts on her tongue, rice sticking to her teeth as she tries to hurry it along. “It will take too much time to tend to now.”

If anything, his frown deepens. “I can work quick, ojou-san. You said last night that I’d done a good job.”

“I...” A frisson ran through her when he’d cupped her heel in his palm, fingers brushing over her blisters with a gentleness she had not expected from a man as rough as him. And when his hand had slid higher, gripping her calf to hold her in place-- “It can wait. Until we stop.”

Until she is sure she won’t need her legs to support her afterward.

He hums, unconvinced, but settles back onto his seat, knees crossed in front of him. If he were born to a greater station, there would be block prints of him like this, desultory and cross-legged, moments away from a war.

“Oiso is close by,” he reminds her, as if she did not tell him the same only minutes ago. “If the pain’s too much, let me know. We can always stop for the night.”

She swallows her bite of onigiri, watching him steadily. “Would you stop on your own?”

He lets out a long, annoyed breath. “No.”

“Then we’ll press on to Odawara.” She offers him a soft smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not a short walk,” he warns her, impatience creeping into his tone. “If you’re really hurting--”

“I know.” She smiles. “I’ll tell you.”

He leans back on his hands, a laugh rasping out of his throat. “I doubt that. You’d faint before you’d admit you can’t keep up.”

She lets out a huff. She can’t say it’s not true, but all the same, he doesn’t have to say it. “I--”

“Well, well.” A man emerges from the pines, lips stretched to a smile so wide that her own cheeks hurt. “Look at what we have here, boys.”

Shirayuki jumps-- not far, stretched out as she is, but enough to tuck her feet beneath her kimono, hiding the bandages. Obi’s already got his own beneath him, his knuckles bone white where they wrap around his hilt. His gaze fixes on the treeline, steady and gold, the way a tiger might watch from the long grass, and her breath catches. Obi might wear a man’s skin, but in this moment he is more wolf than warrior, a predator in the guise of its prey.

But that man doesn’t see it. He strides into the copse, blades rattling at his side, heedlessly smiling at his death. “No need for that, oni-san.”

Obi’s hilt creaks beneath his grip. “I’m not your brother.”

Her eyes blink wide, searching the strained planes of his face. This man may be a stranger, unwelcome in their company, but to be so unconscionably rude-- well, Shirayuki can hardly countenance it. Not from a man who slid goshujin through his teeth like steel bared from its sheath, a man who wielded manners as a weapon--

A man who knows that his rudeness would mark them more than submission. She’d seen what counted as fighting words when she ran the sake house; not a single bushi worth his blade would let a ronin parry their generous parity.

But still, this one only smiles. Wider now, the sharp edges of his eyeteeth cresting the ridge of his lips.

“Oh, no?” Men shuffle through the trees, the boughs obscuring their gaunt faces, but still, Shirayuki is sure-- they don’t smile like this samurai. No, ronin. He might have the paired blades wrapped at his hips, but there’s no crest on his haori, only a single long tail winding over his shoulders from the hair at his nape, instead of a bushi’s top-knot. “But we shared a drink back at the hatago, didn’t we?”

Shirayuki takes in the worn hem of this ronin’s hakama, the meticulously mended seams of his haori, the fine material his kimono had once been; none of it is familiar, nor is his face. “Obi-dono?”

Something twitches in the depths of Obi’s jaw. A flicker of recognition, perhaps, to pair with the fleet warning that lopes across his eyes.

“Having a rest, I see?” the ronin observes, edging ever closer to the clearing, his men jostling around him. Three of them, plus the headman; more than any man could manage, no matter how skilled Obi might be. “Now, we were just thinking the same thing, weren’t we?”

Tension thickens the air, and there’s no reason for it, none at all. Not unless her yojimbo is restless, eager to prove to her his prowess. It’s an exhibition that she is less than enthused to participate in, especially with these odds.

“Please.” There is no sake house for her to serve, but her old role drops over her like a mask, mouth stretching into that close-lipped smile, hiding in behind her sleeve. “Come in. I mean--” Obi stares at her, chin slowly shaking, a silent plea-- “please, come sit.”

It’s his stare-- pupils pinprick small with shock, white a thin ring all around the gold-- that reminds her that she’s still looking up. Her eyes drop, fixing to the stranger’s hands, where no dirt lingers beneath his nails, each one diligently picked and scrubbed to cleanliness. But no-- it must drop farther still, down to rest demurely on her knees. Already she's done too much, said too much; a hostess speaks to custom with ease, but a retiring ojou-san in the company of her retainer...

She would be silent. A woman ready to fade into the background as the men carried on her business.

Shirayuki shifts, rolling up to rest on her knees, head bowed. Not three days on the road, and already the role she has chosen for herself chafes.

“Well, since onee-san has been so kind.” The man saunters from the shade, crouching down to a kneel. “It would be rude to refuse.”

Obi’s jaw works, a rebuttal brewing on his lips, but she holds out a hand instead, quelling. Her palm brushes over his knee, the muscles hovering beneath her fingertips going tense, his breath caught in his chest--

And she jolts it away, letting it hover safely over him instead. Still, he lowers onto his feet, placing the blade at his side. The right side, she notes with satisfaction, until he rolls back, legs crossing at the ankle before him, hands braced on his knees. A shogun’s stance, she had thought when Kino took it, but Obi in his threadbare kimono, juban long since lost, and faded hakama...

He makes it look like trouble.

Shirayuki swallows a grimace, bowing her head over her hands. “You are too kind, oni-san--” Obi grunts, displeasure stark on his sharp face, but at least leaves his protest to that-- “please, partake in our meal as well. We have only just started.”

Obi swivels toward her, betrayal writ clear in his eyes, but there’s nothing for it. She’s already asked the headman to sit; she can’t possibly ask him to starve. Not unless Obi would like to risk these men finding them on another stretch of road, far from any shukuba, the night much closer, their minds less wary.

The ronin casts a lingering glance at the onigiri still on the leaf, his tongue tracing the barest path over his lips--

“It is you who are too kind, onee-san, by offering,” he says, the picture of well-born courtesy. “We’d be happy to. As long as you don’t mind sharing our food as well?”

Obi blinks. “Your food?”

The headman holds up a hand, and at once his ronin come forward, dropping their sacks in front of them, and--

“Oh,” Shirayuki breathes, staring at the array of bento tumbled across their makeshift camp. Thinking of what they might well find inside them, her stomach shivers, just short of making its anticipation known. “Well, if you insist...”

As each lid springs open on the men’s hakubento, a feast spills forth: rolled egg and minced fish cakes, soy bears and boiled lotus, taro and shiitake. One has whole, simmered shrimp with pickled ginger, and the water in her mouth nearly leaks out at the sight of it.

“So much,” Shirayuki murmurs, palms pressed flat to her thighs. “Where did you get it all?”

“The hatago.” The ronin’s mouth lifts at a corner, gaze darting to where Obi sits beside her, stiff. “I’m surprised your man didn’t have them pack one for you.”

She resists looking at him, just waits until he’s finished his sticky bite of onigiri to say, “We were in a hurry.”

The ronin’s reply is a sly flash of teeth. “Hope you made it where you were going.”

Obi settles back onto his heels. “Not fast enough.”

It’s an answer made to be muttered, but Obi enunciates every syllable clearly, punctuating it with an insolent lift of his gaze, meeting the man’s with a pointed finality. It’s her first instinct to scold him, the way she might with Kino-san when he acted out of turn, but her breath catches in her chest.

She would do that. Her, a girl raised beneath the bar of a sake house, used to putting men in their place before they reached too far out of it. But a young ojou-san, naive to the ways of the world-- she would sit silent, letting the men speak their piece. If a fight broke out, she might scream, covering her fear with her sleeves, and hope for the best. Ah, never has she been so ill-suited for a role before. 

It doesn’t matter in the end; the ronin only twitches his mouth to mark it before turning to her, smile firmly seated on his lips.

“I’m the headman of this outfit.” The man pats his chest, drawing her attention back to the fine material worn thin, to the juban that is still meticulously white when it has not yellowed at the collar. “They call me Mihaya.”

No family name, she notes. That’s fine enough for her. “And I’m Shirayuki.”

She casts a pointed glance toward Obi, willing him to show one glimmer of the respect he pays every other creature that’s made their acquaintance, but he makes no move to introduce himself. Instead he only reaches forward, past all the fine foods Mihaya’s men have provided, and picks up the last of their onigiri.

“Are you going to have this, ojou-san?” he asks, so mild. “Or should I?”

She draws in a deep, steadying breath. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine with sharing with the others.”

His lip juts at that, sullen, but it disappears behind a sharp smile. “Well then, more for me.”

Her only solace in his rudeness is that at least Mihaya’s companions return with the same, too busy stuffing their mouths to pay attention to propriety. Even with such fine bento as these, they dig into each box like men who haven’t eaten in days instead of mere hours ago.

“You must be from around here.”

Shirayuki startles, attention whipping back toward where the headman sits smiling, one hand brace on his knee. “Since you’re traveling south, I mean. Unless you’re traveling back home, onee-san?”

“Oh, no. I’m from--” Obi’s warning glance stills her too-honest response-- “not so far away.”

“Thought so.” There’s a conspiratorial sparkle in his eye as he leans toward her. “I don’t see many of your kind on the road, at least not without an entourage.”

“Oh.” Her fingers clench in her kimono, keeping her seated. She should have thought of that; a girl from a family with money to spare would have sent her with a handful of men, carrying her from Edo to Kyoto slung like precious cargo between them. “I thought-- I mean, my grandfather thought traveling with one guard would draw less attention than a dozen.”

“Might keep more eyes off you, sure,” Mihaya agrees, crunching on a slice of taro. “But it’s safer to have more men when the roads get...rough. You get set on by bandits, and one sword won’t do you much good, onee-san.”

“Is that so?” she asks mildly. “I thought-- what is the saying? Having a single, well-made blade is better than a thousand that will break on the first strike.”

Obi coughs.

“True enough, onee-san.” The headman’s smile wears thinner with each word. “And it’s so much harder to find quality nowadays.”

They have only known each other this past hour, but already, Shirayuki finds little quarrel with Mihaya or his manners; at least, not as much as she does with Obi and his, but still--

Still, she mislikes the smug glance he cuts toward Obi, his gaze raking up his worn and well-mended clothes, the lack of his juban, and clearly, clearly-- finding him wanting.

“For some.” There’s a bite to her voice that surprises her, but she likes it. “I am fortunate indeed to have found such an exemplary bushi as Obi. I could hardly wish for better.”

Mihaya’s expression crumples like a paper lantern in the rain. “I’m sure--”

“Where are you from, Mihaya-san?” she interjects; the last thing they need is to have this rest spoiled by this odd hostility between headman and yojimbo. Especially if it might force her to admit she’s only had her exemplary guard for all of two days. “You don’t sound like a man from Edo.”

A dark shadow flits over his face, like a cloud passing over the sun, gone before she’s ever truly seen it. “Here and there.”

The west, his accent says, though it’s too crisp to be from any common man. Just like his clothes, his voice betrays him. Still, there’s no reason to push; plenty of men have left their domains these days. With tension between the shogun and emperor--

Well, Shirayuki wouldn’t want to be a man with a blade in hand. Samurai had once lived and died by the sword before the shogun wrenched the domains beneath him and brought an end to the warring states. But with all the silken pillows being pulled from beneath the tender seats of the daimyo, blades rattle in their sheaths, threatening its return.

“Where are you off to, onee-san?” Mihaya’s smile is brittle as he sits back, eyes casting her a hooded, measuring glance. “Not all the way to Kyoto I hope.”

Obi shifts, restless beside her. Her fingers sweep out subtly between them, thumb and small finger spanning the gap. It stills him, but not his grunt, wary and dissatisfied. Too cautious, her yojimbo. To avoid so obvious a question only means she has something to hide.

And she does, she does, but none of these men need to know it. Let them think her a loose-lipped ojou-san, if they wished. Better than a girl with no family and a dozen ryo in her bag, with only one guard to keep her safe. “I am.”

Mihaya whistles, long and low, impressed. “That’s a long journey for an ojou-san like yourself. What’s so important in Kyoto?”

“Ah...” A cousin, she should say. That’s what she told Obi, after all, and one story was easier to keep track of than a dozen. But still, there’s something in the headman’s eyes that demands more, than makes a cousin seem a pale prize to crawl across a country for.

“A husband,” Obi offers, so easy. “Arranged. You know how these things are. Ryo flows through fingers easy enough, but blood binds. Man’s eager to have her too.”

“A girl as pretty as this one?” Mihaya laughs, giving her a demonstrative glance. “I can believe it.”

“How about you, Mihaya-san?” she asks, if only to keep from more speculation. “Where are you and your men heading?”

“Funny you should ask, onee-san.” His mouth twitches, almost triumphant. “Kyoto. Just like you are.”

[thatsarcasticgemini]

Mom and Dad

Arvin Russell x reader (single parent AU)

Word count: 1385 words

Estimated reading time: 5-6 minutes

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none

     Moving to Cincinnati seemed like a bad idea. It was way too close to the place where Arvin killed those people. They deserved it, but no cop would buy that excuse. But the boy was tired. So tired. Too tired to keep looking for a car. Cincinnati could do, at least for a while. He wanted to keep a low profile, so he stayed in the outskirts of the city. He found a nice couple, who allowed him to stay with them for some time. He was thankful. When he had enough cash saved, he moved in his own little house. The house wasn’t big or fancy, but he could make it homey. His life was looking better. After a few months, his life was flipped upside down, when he fell in love. 

     Y/N Y/L/N was a waitress in a diner near his house. He ate there a lot, since the prices were decent and the food was good. She was a beautiful girl with a beautiful heart. She seemed around his age. He asked her and yes. She was 17, just like him. He looked for reasons to go there more often, for subjects to talk about. She was a little distant at first, but talked to him nevertheless. Arvin asked her out, but she panicked a little. She looked pale and excused herself. She later apologized. They went on a couple dates. On their fifth, Y/n told Arvin the reason why she was reluctant about dating him: she had a 5 month old baby boy at home. Arvin looked at her in shock. She was 17 and she had a baby? He asked her about the father, whether she was married or not. Through the tears falling from her eyes she explained. She had a boyfriend who forced her into sleeping with him. He was rough, he shamed her and called her names. He made her first time a total nightmare. When she went and told him about the baby, he broke up with her and spread some rumors about her getting pregnant by the janitor. She went to her parents for help, but they kicked her out. Now she was working to support her little baby and to move out of the shelter and into an apartment. Arvin pulled her to him and kissed her head. Lenora. Lenora would have gone through something very similar. He asked her to meet the baby.

     The shelter she lived in was packed with some scary looking people. When they got to her room, he saw a little bundle of blankets on the bed. Y/N went to pick it up and hand it to him. He looked at the little baby in his arms and he fell in love again. He had little brown eyes and a small button nose. Y/N went behind him and hugged his waist. The boy’s name was Patrick and he had the brightest little smile. He fell in love with the boy as quickly as he had fallen in love with his mom. He turned to her and placed the baby in her arms, hugging both of them. He never thought that he’d fall in love, especially not with a woman who had a child, but there he was. He knew he’d have to tell her about the murders, but he somehow knew she’d still love him. 

     But all that was three year ago. Here he was in the present moment, a 20 year old man, who stepped up and became the rock of a woman and a boy. He was coming back from work when he recalled the past events. He was minutes away from home and he couldn’t wait to get to Y/N and Patrick, his son. He took his left hand off the steering wheel and placed it into the pocket of his jean jacket. He fiddled a little with the ring. He knew he wanted to marry her from the moment he saw her kind eyes, but he waited. Like always, he waited for the right moment. This was his right moment. He looked up and took a second to think about Lenora, his grandmother and his mother. All three of them would have loved Y/N. Even when he told her, between tears, that he killed, she still stood by his side. She hugged him and calmed him down. She was the one. Arvin knew it for sure. 

     As he pulled in the driveway of their little house, he saw Patrick in the grass playing with, Jack, the family Labrador. The toddler looked up and stood up, running to his dad as fast as his chubby legs could carry him, yelling “daddy, daddy” over and over again. Arvin set the bag of groceries down and turning to the boy, just in time to catch him. The small child was giggling like crazy, happy to be reunited with his dad after a whole day of being away from each other. Jack ran to them as well, jumping and running circles around the pair. Arvin used his left hand to give the dog an affectionate head pat. He then went picked the bag up and went inside. He sat the little boy on the floor, going to the kitchen to see his loved one. There she was, hair in a messy ponytale, a dirty apron covering her front, and eyes focused on some apple pie. He sat the groceries on the table, hugging her from behind. She leaned her head against his shoulder. He raised his hands from her waist to the knott tying the apron, untying it. The flower material fell to the floor, as his hands undid her ponytail as well. She turned to face him, but found him on one knee, with his hands presenting a ring.

“Marry me?” he asked, his voice deep and his eyes teary. 

Y/N teared up, as she nodded her head, squealing, jumping in his arms, knocking him on the cold tiles. Jack and Patrick made their way to the kitchen, both wondering what the source of the sounds was. Patrick saw his parents kissing and hugging on the floor, as he made his way to them, wanting to get some affection as well. Arvin welcomed him in their embrace, knowing that this was the happiest he had been in years. Everything was beautiful.

     That evening was filled with giggles and affectionate hugs, kisses and cuddles. Arvin explained a few things to Patrick. Telling the boy about weddings, cakes, love, dresses, suits, churches, God, unions between lovers, happiness and everything related to a wedding. Arvin and Y/N promised to each other that they would never tell Patrick about his biological dad. For all they cared, Arvin was Patrick’s real dad. He raised him, loved him, helped him learn how to walk and talk, patched his scrapes up, placed ice on his bruises, dried his tears, calmed him down, tucked him in bed every night, loved his mom and held both of them close. All three of them, four if we count Jack, sat on the couch, in a comfortable silence. Y/N was over the moon, already planning her dress and vows. She loved Arvin and Patrick more than anything. They were her whole life. Her world revolved around them. Patrick didn’t get much, his little brain still processing that there was a higher power named God. He never knew there was someone more powerful than his dad. Everything was new, but as he sat in his mom’s lap, with his daddy’s arm around his middle he felt the happiness radiating from his parents. He himself was happy to see that his mama’s  happiness was preventing her from seeing that he had stolen all the chocolate in the cabinet earlier in the day. 

     And as they sat there, holding each other close, Arvin realized that the woman he was holding and the boy in her arms were his everything. If God himself got down from heaven, came in his garden, took everything he had away and asked him to chose one thing he could keep, he would say “my family” without any hesitation. He had his whole life in his arms and he wasn’t planning on letting it go. And in that moment, Arvin Russell prayed for more days like that one. More days of happiness with is soon-to-be-wife and his amazing son. 

Hello, Erica here 👋! I wanted to say that this is my first Arvin Russell piece, but I plan on writing more. Feedback is always welcome. This Arvin Russell + Single Parent AU idea came to me after I stumbled across @asonofpeter​ and this challange .  I am beyond proud to take part in this. Have a good day people!

[starlightsearches]

Fences - Modern AU Neighbor! Hux

@aramanna asked: Neighbor!Hux fanfic? Your dog wanders into his yard and you start talking after clearing up the mishap?

Hey friend, thanks for the request! This is kind of a modern version of a post TROS Hux, where he’s a little healthier, I think. The reader is a teacher because I’m a self-indulgent bitch 🥰 Also, I’ve never seen Peter Rabbit, but reading this again I feel like this might just be Thomas McGregor. Let me know if I’m right, I guess 😂😂😂

Warnings: discussion of a family member passing away, mentions of hospice care, maybe language?

When Armitage Hux isn't working, eating, or sleeping, he is in his garden. Which, for him at least, was a lot like work. Even so, he found that it relaxes him; there was something about being outside in the evening light—watering his flowers, picking stray weeds—that made everything clearer. He never had space like this when he lived in the city, but now that he’s away from it all, taking care of this space; it’s made him a better lawyer. Whenever he’s stuck on a case, feeling like he's exhausted every possibility, a few moments with his hands in the soft soil helped him unearth the perfect solution to his problems. 

And sometimes you were there, in your own backyard, of course. He wouldn't watch you—that would be wrong—but he couldn't help but notice you through the little gaps in the chain-link fence. Sometimes he found you in your hammock stretched between two trees at the back of your house, your legs the only part of you visible as you swayed in the breeze. Or occasionally you’d spread out a blanket on warm summer days, soaking in the sun as you read.

Every so often he'd get the wild idea that he might say something to you, before changing his mind, or losing his nerve. He hadn’t said more than a handful of words to you since you moved in next door a few months ago—only visiting your doorstep on the rare occasion that your mail was delivered to the wrong house, or he wanted to borrow a cup of flour, or he needed some milk. Lately he’s played with the idea of approaching you about replacing the fence that runs between your houses—a terribly ugly chain link fixture—but he’s been putting that conversation off for some time now, waiting for the right moment.

Today could be the day, though. It’s a quiet Saturday, the last rays of sunlight stretching over the thick green grass, the air alive with the smell of earth as the water trickles from his hose over his many flowers, the sound only interrupted by the occasional passing car.

Hux listens more closely when a new sound is added—the slam of your back door, and then a series of gleeful yips, but he doesn’t let himself turn around just yet, choosing instead to feign indifference for a few more moments. This is the real reason he’s been putting off the conversation about the fence. Your incredibly enthusiastic new puppy has given him twice the opportunity to spend time with you. If you could call it that. 

He turns now, after what he thinks is an appropriate waiting period, and you catch his eye, offering him a slight wave, which he returns—with the hand not holding the hose, this time. You’re attention pulled away from him for a moment as you watch the little corgi zip around your small yard, but Hux keeps his eyes on you, appreciating the way you light up with laughter at the dog’s antics.

He could talk to you right now, if he wanted. Could strike up a conversation about something inane, like the weather, invite you over for a drink, or maybe dinner sometime. He doesn’t think you’re seeing anyone, after all—hasn’t noticed any overnight guests, hasn’t seen you picked up for any dates. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

Your door slams again, pulling him out of his fantasy world, and he turns back to see your yard left empty. Another missed opportunity. Hux doesn’t let himself feel too low about it; there’s always tomorrow.

He wakes early on Sunday morning—always awake before the sun rises—and that suits him just fine, padding through his empty house to the kitchen. Grey light streams in through the windows as the quiet morning sounds fill Hux’s ears: water boiling on the stove, the quiet rustle of cat food as he scoops some more into Millie’s bowl.

Where is Millicent? he wonders to himself—she normally sprints into the room at the first sign of her morning meal, but now he sees no sign of her. Hux wanders into the living room, eyes scanning the floor before he finds her by the sliding-glass door at the back of the house, her eyes watchful, tail swishing back and forth.

“What are you doing, Millie?” he asks, and she turns to look at him with her wide, intelligent eyes, offering him a soft meow in response. He really has to stop doing that, talking to his cat. It’s just another testament to the adverse side-effects of living alone. Millicent stays by the door, turning her eyes back to the glass, and eventually Hux caves, walking to the window, hoping to see something more interesting than a stray bird or squirrel.

Hux gasps as soon as he sees it, yanking open the sliding glass, not bothering to find shoes before he steps out onto the cool, wet grass—still damp from the early morning mist. A soft cry falls from his parted lips while he takes in the damage. His garden, it’s ruined.

    He picks his way through the clods of dirt that litter the grass, trying to get a better look. There’s not a flower that’s been left undisturbed, every single one of them ripped from the dirt, mangled, crushed. Totally unsalvageable.

    The headache that blossoms behind his eyes is all too familiar as it rears its ugly head. He thought he had left it behind with the Order—the unpleasant reminder that there’s so little he has control over, that something always goes wrong. Now it’s back with a vengeance.

    Hux hears the little yip from the far side of the yard and turns to look, hoping to catch the culprit that had destroyed all his hard work. He sees the bushy little tail, wiggling as the intruder paws through the soft, brown earth, and he recognizes it immediately. His suspicions are confirmed when he turns the other way, notices the gap created at the bottom of the fence that separates your property from his. 

    The dog yelps when Hux grabs him and immediately begins to squirm, trying to get free, but Hux holds on tight, stomping back through the grass all the way to your front door, breathing hard. He knocks three times in loud, rapid succession, and he only has to wait for a moment before it opens.

    As soon as Hux sees you, his anger vanishes, and a cacophony of other emotions takes its place. Embarrassment is first—you’re standing there in your pajamas, squinting into the first rays of sunlight peeking up over the houses across the street as you rub some leftover sleep from your eyes, and Hux just now realizes that he is also still in his sleepwear: an old t-shirt and some boxers, a ratty, blue robe thrown over his shoulders.

    “Hello, Armitage,” you greet him with a smile, the sound of his name on your lips bringing a blush to his cheeks. You’ve always called him Armitage, ever since one of his stray bills had found its way into your mailbox, and he’s never had the courage to let you know nobody calls him by his first name. “Did you need someth-”

    You gasp before you can finish, finally noticing the writhing little dog in his hands, and you reach for it immediately, pulling it in close to your chest. “Noodle!” Hux tries to process the exclamation before he realizes you’re still talking to the corgi—that must be his name. You turn your attention back to Hux and he pulls his robe closed over his pajamas, wrapping his arms over his chest. He needs to tell you about the fence, his garden. He can’t let himself get distracted.

    You’re talking again before he gets the chance to formulate a sentence, holding the little dog against your hip like a baby, where he rests without wiggling, occasionally licking at your bare arm, looking up at you with his soft puppy eyes. “Thank you for bringing him back, I didn’t even realize he had gotten out of the yard,” you say, “I didn’t leave the gate open, did I?”     Hux pauses, wondering how he should break the news to you. You still haven’t noticed the dirt covering the little demon’s paws, and you look at him with such innocence that for a moment, he thinks he should just leave and take care of the mess himself. 

    His silence says enough, your face falling when you first realize what it could mean. You look to the dog’s paws, then see the mud caking his fluffy little legs. “Oh no, he didn’t . . . “

    “You should see for yourself.”

    Hux watches as you take in the wreckage that was once his garden. You don’t say anything for a few minutes, just standing, staring. He had been so angry when he had first seen the carnage, but looking at it for a second time, he can’t find any of the leftover rage anywhere inside of him, especially not now, as he’s seeing it through your eyes. You look like you’re about to cry.

“I’ll pay for a new fence,” you say, turning to look at him with such urgent sadness, “and I’ll buy you new flowers. I’ll plant them all myself.” 

“That’s- that’s not necessary,” Hux stutters out a response, looking away from you, back to the destroyed flower patch. He can’t stand to see you like this, so torn up over a silly garden, and with every passing moment he grows more and more sure that you’ll never want to speak to him again after this, if he doesn’t make things right. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You reach out to him, your grip firm where it rests on his arm. “Please,” you say, and you’re not just asking, you’re begging, “please, let me help. I can fix this.”

Hux looks down to the place where your hand rests against the arm of his robe, watches the way your fingers flex against him, and his heart softens, lifting his eyes to meet yours again. He gives you the smallest nod, watching as your face lights up with joy, relief, and for a moment, he finds himself feeling incredibly grateful for your silly, little dog.

                    ___________________________________________

Hux looks back, as he wanders through the aisles of his favorite greenhouse, checking, once again, to make sure that you’re still following him before placing a few marigolds in the cart with a small cough. You had admitted pretty early on in your negotiations that  you didn’t know much about gardening, but you had still insisted on helping, and Hux just couldn’t say no.

    You’re easy to be around, he finds quickly, despite his nerves. He had been afraid that the rest of his day would be filled with awkward silences and stilted conversation, but words flow like water between you. You had spent the drive here telling him stories about your students, about what life was like before you moved, about the family and friends you left behind, and how much you missed them.

    “Why’d you leave?” he asks absentmindedly, searching through the pansies for the healthiest of the bunch, his eyes searching for you again when you don’t immediately respond.

    “My grandmother,” you begin, suddenly melancholy again, “I used to live with her every summer here. She left her house to me when she passed. I don’t know if you remember her.” 

    Hux thought back, easily conjuring the image of his old neighbor in his mind. She was a sweet lady who dropped off cookies to his porch when he first arrived at his new home, or occasionally asked him for help hanging a painting, carrying in her groceries. She had been the one who had found Millicent, when she was still a stray. He still remembers how sheepish she had looked, asking if he would take care of the little kitten while she found it a new home. I’d look after her myself, she had said, standing on his doorstep with the little orange bundle in her arms, but I’m not as young as I used to be. 

    “I remember her,” he says, and you smile again, “ but I didn’t know her that well.”

    “She liked you-” you push the cart forward a little, nudging him with your shoulder as you pass, and the contact leaves him struggling for air, “I called her a lot, when she first started to get sick. She always talked about your flowers,” your voice grows thick, and you clear your throat, “she insisted that they put her hospice bed by the big window in the kitchen, so she could still see them whenever she wanted.” 

    You keep walking, steps a little more hurried now, maybe so he won’t see you tear up. Hux follows closely behind, still trying to process everything he had just learned. He could make sense of your reaction to the flowerbed fiasco now, why you had looked so distraught. 

    “She mentioned you,” Hux says, walking quickly to catch up with you, “now that I think about it. She’d tell me I’d have to stay for dinner some night, so I could meet her favorite grandchild.” 

    You laugh, your eyes lighting up in a way that makes his heart drop to his stomach. “That sounds like her; she was always quite the matchmaker,” you respond, before your eyes grow wide with embarrassment, and you realize what you’ve just said. Hux can feel his cheeks grow warm as well, and neither of you breathe, staring at each other in the middle of the aisle. He can scarcely let himself believe it, but it’s impossible to deny, the way you glance down at his lips, your own parting in response. Hux leans in, just slightly, just enough to feel the heat of your skin. He’s not sure if it’s your perfume or the air of the greenhouse, but everything smells like flowers, and desire, a heady scent that goes straight to his head as he watches you close the gap between his face and yours, your eyes still focused on his mouth, your breathing hard.

    There’s a slight cough, and then a giggle, and you both turn at the same time, looking to the end of the aisle. Hux can feel his blush grow deeper when he sees the intruders, a group of girls—high school age, he thinks—watching you with wide eyes and mischievous grins.

    “Sorry,” one of them says, and the other two break into fits of laughter again, “we were just trying to get through.” You move the cart out of the way good-naturedly as they move past, barely able to contain their laughter as they glide by.

    You look at Hux again, but the moment is lost, to his dismay. You clear your throat, looking back at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Is there anything else that we need?” you ask, and he scans the cart in front of you, absolutely overflowing with flowers.

    “I think that’s it,” he says, turning back to you. “Let’s go.” 

                   ___________________________________________

    Golden rays of sunlight pour in through every window in Hux’s kitchen, the warmth of the day just beginning to fade into a quiet, twilight-kissed evening. You’re resting against his kitchen counter, eyes wandering around the space, but Hux keeps his eyes on you as he pours some water into a glass. You’re glowing, he thinks, and it’s not just the sunset. Your eyes are brighter, skin glistening with sweat before you swipe the back of your arm over your forehead to collect the stray perspiration. A soft breeze blows in through the open windows, a breeze that smells like freshly-planted flowers and the first inklings of nightfall. 

    Hux hands you the glass, and you take it with a smile, drinking deeply. You had both worked through the heat of the day, side by side, planting and watering and cleaning, everything about it natural, easy. He had shown you how to remove the plants from their temporary pots, brush the soil from their roots—watched as you created small indentations in the new dirt, the gentle work of your hands, and he thought back to the greenhouse, and the smell of flowers and your skin. 

    You finish draining the glass, wiping away a stray droplet of water that travels down your neck before you catch it with your fingers. He moves in closer. He doesn’t want to lose this moment. 

    There’s a stray smudge of dirt on your cheek, and he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb, pulling his attention to you.

    “Thank you, for this,” you whisper, and you smile at his confusion, “for letting me help. I would have felt really guilty if you had to do that all alone.”

    “Don’t mention it,” Hux is thrumming, his heart a live-wire. Just being this close to you has filled him with fire—twin sunsets, one inside his chest and the other flooding through the windows. 

    “I’ll get the fence repaired, as well,” you set your glass down on the counter behind you before lifting yourself onto its surface, sitting with your legs dangling, leaning forward so you can look him directly in the eyes. “Or we can get it replaced, if you’d rather-”

    It’s more than he can bear, this small talk, more than he can take to be so close to you and be forced to think of you being so far away, to have you anywhere but with him, in his kitchen, his garden, his bedroom. He kisses you before you can finish your thought, before he can think about being alone again while you’re on the other side of the fence—a whole life-time away.

    “I don’t want to talk about fences anymore,” he mumbles against your lips, barely able to hear himself over the sound of your breathing, intoxicated by the feel of you. You pull him closer, wrapping your arms more tightly around his shoulders, and suddenly, fences are the furthest thing from his mind.

[zaharadessert]

My Green Eyed Girl pt2

Chapter 2 - The More Girls I Meet, The More I Love My Dog

Summary: Emma the dog is now happily living with DI Killian Jones, but how does life progress for them now?

Also on AO3 | Chapter 1

For @xhookswenchx welcome to day 2 of distraction. Again Beta'd by @ultraluckycatnd (omg it let me tag you!) thank you for doing an amazing job!

Also tagging @jrob64, @kmomof4 do let me know if you would like to be added to this list!

Thank you so much for all the reblogs and likes on the last chapter, as well as all the comments and kudos on AO3. My heart is so happy rn!

- - - - -

Days and nights with Killian’s new friend in his life quickly turned into weeks without him noticing anything more than the speed at which he went through food, and the embarrassment of having to detour on their morning walk to buy more because he hadn’t realised they’d run out. He’d apologised profusely to the golden-haired dog, and she’d simply nuzzled into his side affectionately and licked his ear.

That afternoon he’d been recommended a food delivery service by one of his colleagues, and Killian decided that having food delivered at regular intervals was a very good plan indeed and had spent ten minutes of his lunch break sorting it out.

He’d gotten used to rising earlier and taking Emma for a walk and didn’t begrudge her early morning excitement one bit. Quite often, he’d take her into work with him, and she curled up under his desk, or went to seek out affection from one of his team. She always seemed to know if someone needed some support with something, from a simple hand lick, or half an hour with her head resting on their lap as they worked. If they all had to go out, the guys in the office were always happy to have her company. The booking officers were marvelled by the way she seemed to help calm everyone down, charming even the most belligerent drunks.

Weeks slipped into months, and Killian was still amazed by the way Emma could read a situation, and him in them. She knew when he needed her to give him a little space, and when he wanted to be able to reach out and know she was there. He talked to her about everything, cases, his hopes and fears. Things he wanted to do, items on his bucket list, places he’d been, books he was reading or looking forward to coming out. And through it all, Emma listened like she actually understood every single word. Killian wanted to believe that she did, but part of him wasn’t willing to take that step.

Jefferson, one of the other inspectors in the station and one of Killian’s oldest friends, and he often walked down to the little patch of grass round the corner and threw a ball for Emma while they ate their lunch. He was a little weird, but Killian had always liked that about him. It had taken Emma a little longer to read him than it had anyone else, but when the other man was in one of his moods, Emma seemed to be the only one who could get through to him.

“You got real lucky there, Killian,” Jefferson remarked one day as they headed through the maze of corridors.

“Yeah, but… I don’t know… sometimes I wonder how the hell a dog is as intelligent as she is. She just… gets people,” he explained. The only reason he used a lead at all was because he didn’t want anyone to accuse him of not taking good enough care of her.

Jefferson laughed.

“Just accept the magic and move on, Jones,” he said with a shake of his head.

“You think I have a magical dog?” Killian asked sceptically.

“Well why not, even with sniffer dogs it would have taken you at least ten times as long to search that house and with potentially less success. A sniffer dog wouldn’t have found that cash,” Jefferson replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, but… magic?”

“You know what the issue is with this world? Everyone wants a magical solution to their problem, and everyone refuses to believe in magic,” Jefferson muttered grumpily. Killian didn’t fail to notice the way Emma’s nose brushed against Jefferson’s palm. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how your dog has the same name as the victim in the one case you never managed to solve,” he said, bluntly voicing the thought that had been rolling around in both their heads for months now.

Killian’s jaw clenched, but they both kept walking.

Jefferson turned down the corridor towards his office without another word, and Emma whined after him. He paused long enough to look back at the dog and shrug in an ‘I tried’ sort of manner that just had Killian even more confused by the interaction than he had been before. He couldn’t exactly call what his friend had said an outburst, not even by his standards, but he was definitely upset about something.

With a sigh, Killian continued back into his domain, His team had grown and changed somewhat over the last year since he’d taken it over. His Sergeant, Robin, was still the same and despite a rocky start they got on really well, had each other’s backs. Will had passed his detective exam and was now DC Scarlet, and yes he was brash and loud, but he had an enthusiasm that five years pounding the streets hadn’t managed to dim. John Little, the largest detective Killian had ever met in his life, was the kind of man people just didn’t tend to argue with. Lastly, William Smee, another DC, who had the uncanny ability to find things, like leads, in the haystack of information they were sometimes presented with. Tink, as Christina Bell had come to be known, was a regular addition to the team, and while Emma had become a little wary of her a few months ago for some unknown reason, that wariness had since passed, and Tink often came by just to see her.

That was, in fact, exactly where Emma headed, the second she caught Tink’s smell on the air. Killian laughed in spite of the thoughts rolling around in his mind and headed for his office. He shut the door most of the way, so that Emma could nose in if she wanted to and went over to the filing cabinet. He pulled open the bottom drawer and flipped the lid off the box he hadn’t touched since before he moved into the office.

He pulled out the notebook she’d left behind in her flat the morning she disappeared, full of notes on random things, doodles and sketches and song lyrics and poems. He ran his fingers over the smooth leather of the leather jacket that they’d found abandoned in the bar she’d been to, along with her purse. Her purse was in evidence, gathering dust along with her ID and most of the files they’d put together. All he had in here was her notebook, jacket, and his own personal notes.

Notes that hadn’t got him anywhere near close to working out what the hell had happened to Emma Swan the night she’d disappeared three years ago.

He left the drawer open and took a seat at his desk. Thumbing through the pages he almost knew by heart brought no new revelations, just like they hadn’t any other time he’d done it. Emma nosed her way in and sat in front of him.

“Well, do you know where Emma Swan is?” he asked, figuring he had nothing to lose.

Emma replied by putting a paw up on his knee and cocking her head with a whine, and once again, Killian couldn’t help but feel that his dog was doing her darndest to look into his soul.

He shook his head.

“Didn’t think so,” he sighed. Emma huffed and shuffled round to lie down under his desk. He really ought to get a rug for under there; he didn’t want her to hurt herself.

- - - - -

That night, Killian brought the box home and put it on a shelf in his study, prepared to forget about it again for another couple of years until something else brought the case to mind. He’d just sat down to eat dinner when the phone rang, and were it not for the name on the screen he’d have hung up.

“David, long time no speak,” he said with a grin as he started poking at his curry with his fork. From her bed in the corner of the room, Emma turned her gaze on her human with curiosity in her eyes. This was not a name she recognised and the voice coming out of the phone was not one she remembered.

“Yeah, that’s completely my fault, with the move back stateside and everything,” David responded with a chuckle.

“And all the time you used to spend on me now being spent with your new bride. I’m starting to regret setting you up, you know,” Killian joked, settling back in his chair.

“Yeah... speaking of... I’d like to return the favour.” And there it was, that thing he knew was coming because David’s wife Mary was worse than he was for wanting people to find their ‘happy ending’.

“David, you really don’t have to,” Killian protested with a sigh. “I am perfectly happy with the way my life is, thank you,”

“Killian, you’re not, all you do is work,” David countered. Emma huffed across the room and Killian couldn’t help but smile.

“Actually, I don’t. I adopted a dog, so I can’t just work any more.”

“So, you’re telling me that instead of wanting to come home to a beautiful woman, who loves you and understands you, you want to come home to an animal, that you’re going to outlive by several decades?”

“Thanks David, that’s really put it into perspective for me,” Killian snapped.

“Alright, I’m sorry, but hear me out, okay? She’s perfect for you...”

Killian resigned himself to not being able to get out of it, and when he finally agreed that David could set up the date, Emma huffed and left the room. Killian watched her go with surprise. Emma had never walked out of a room like that before. He shook his head at himself. David was right, Emma was a dog, and she wouldn’t be around forever.

- - - - -

A week later, the night of Killian’s date, Emma ignored him from the moment he walked in the door until just before he walked out of it again. Her whine had him pausing to crouch down in front of her as she pressed her head into his palm. His chest clenched painfully when he saw the look in her eyes, she was scared. She’d been neglected before and she felt safe with him; upsetting their status quo had her worried.

“This doesn’t have to change anything, Emma, I’m not going to like someone who doesn’t love you just as much as I do...” he assured her, and she seemed to soften a little as she nuzzled his face.

This was enough, he thought as he reluctantly pulled back to straighten his tie and walk out the front door. Apart from the fact that she couldn’t talk, she was the perfect companion. Maybe he could get away with one-night stands for the rest of his life. It might get David off his back about it a little at least.

She still didn’t look happy as he headed out the front door, but he couldn’t spend the whole date thinking about his dog, that would just be rude. Even if this wasn’t going to work out, she didn’t deserve that.

Unfortunately, Eloise Gardener was not the perfect match for Killian that David had promised. Not only was she allergic to almost everything on the menu at the restaurant Killian had chosen, but she was also one of those people who seemed to have decided that their opinion was fact and that by not agreeing you were violating her human rights. They said their goodbyes at the end of the night without even a ‘it was lovely to meet you’ and Killian headed home to lie on the sofa and binge a few episodes of Schitt’s Creek with Emma curled up next to him.

She probably would have hated all the trashy TV he liked to watch to wind down after a stressful day either. It was probably a good thing they realised their incompatibility quickly.

- - - - -

The next date someone set him up on was with a woman called Zelena West, who was Robin’s girlfriend’s cousin, or something. She was eccentric, but the first date had gone well enough that Killian had invited her over the week after to cook her dinner and she had accepted.

The moment Zelena had stepped inside the house, she started sneezing. Considering that goldendoodles were relatively hypoallergenic, Killian hadn’t thought Emma would be a problem. Until Zelena started screaming about ‘getting that filthy animal out of my sight’ and Emma had started growling.

Killian had very quickly and firmly established that if Emma was an issue Zelena might as well leave now, because he wasn’t going to give up his dog for someone who couldn’t even be honest about not liking them when he’d mentioned her at least once.

That night as Killian forwent the fancy meal he’d planned in favour of beans on toast and his favourite movie. When he was done, Emma licked the bean juice off his discarded plate and joined him on the sofa. Killian started to feel an ache of loneliness in his chest. He thought he’d managed to banish it years ago, but actively dating again was reopening the wound. He realised he’d never have considered saying yes to these dates if it wasn’t for the love that Emma had shown him over the last few months.

Her loyalty and affection were unconditional, unreserved and genuine. She <i>had</i> started to heal him in a way he hadn’t understood until this moment.

- - - - -

Ariel was lovely but she was just not Killian’s type. She was one of Tink’s friends from school, and he’d tried to tell Tink she was too young for him but apparently, she had a crush on him. At least this time they seemed to part on more agreeable terms because he suggested that she see if Eric, his new DC was interested. (It would turn out he was, but they didn’t know that in the moment) So Killian walked her home and left her with a kiss on the cheek and the wish that she find what she was looking for.

She returned the sentiment and Killian smiled, but it didn’t change the fact that while he hadn’t felt lonely when he’d first had the conversation with David... he certainly did now.

- - - - -

The one consistency in this was that after every failed date, Killian came home to find Emma waiting up for him, to console him and nuzzle against his face and lick his hands. To lie next to him as he felt that ache in his chest grow stronger as he lost his fingers in her now regrown fur.

“Fairly sure I’ve found the perfect woman,” he said with a sigh as he turned on his side to look at her. “It’s a real shame you’re a dog, maybe I should start believing in magic,” he joked with a shake of his head. He yawned and Emma shuffled closer with a sigh, Killian wrapped his arm over her. “Least I’m not coming home to a completely empty house huh? I love you, Emma.” He pressed his lips to the top of the dog's head and felt a rush of warmth wash over him.

But with his eyes already closed, Killian didn’t see the wave of rainbow light that rippled out through the room. He didn’t see the slow change that started to happen to Emma’s body as they slept.

[rainbowvamp]

Miracle Merlin

Hi Friends! So.. I'm about to drop 4 chapters of the Princess Bride AU in one day. Sorry about that. :) Fill for “The Blessed Ones” for Albion Party Week 2 (plus red)

Warnings? some mentions of Gwen’s trauma around the color red and trauma in general. More Gwen and Merlin :)

To catch you up: Elyan asked Merlin to take Gwen as an apprentice so he could sell the forge and pursue revenge. This is establishing the Gwen & Merlin dynamic. I think it’s cute. :) 

WC: 6.9k || Previous chapters. 1 2 3 4 5 

----

At first light, the day after it is decided that Merlin will take Gwen with him, Gwen and Merlin ride out the half day to the nearest market, Merlin’s list and pouch of gold at the ready. 

Gwen has to ride with him on the way there, because Elyan and Gwen don’t have a horse. It’s uncomfortably close, having to keep hold of Merlin’s waist, but she doesn’t waver when Elyan helps her on, and she doesn’t flinch when she settles behind him. 

The ride to town is quiet. Gwen doesn’t feel much like talking, and Merlin doesn’t force it. They will probably have to find lodgings in the town, or else make camp, he tells her, but other than that he says nothing. 

They arrive when the sun is beating down on them, and take lunch at a stall. Sweet bread drizzled with honey that is more decadent than anything she has allowed herself since her father died. She didn’t choose it, never would have presumed to, and by the look on Merlin’s face she thinks he might be bribing her. Either way, she enjoys the rare treat and even licks her fingers clean when she’s finished. Merlin hands her a cloth to wipe her face with, and she does so graciously before they set off to buy what they need. 

Merlin is not rich, by any means, but what he buys her is far more than she likely would have ever afforded on her own. He buys her a couple of traveling dresses she’ll have to adjust, and a pair of boots she’ll have to stuff the toes of to keep them tight on her feet. He promises to have better things made for her, but she tells him over and over that this will be enough for her. She’s been wearing her mother’s altered clothes for years, she hardly needed anything made new for her when what they could find was just fine. 

The traveling gear he buys after he buys her her own horse. It’s a beautiful creature, even if she’s getting on in years. Merlin hadn’t expected he’d be leaving with a companion, or he’d have  brought a horse with him. “It’s always easier to fetch a good price for a horse that isn’t needed desperately,” he tells her. It reassured her a bit that Merlin had never intended to whisk her away, and was truly doing it at Elyan’s request. 

Merlin’s idle chatter is soft spoken, and she finds him an easy companion once she has her own horse to ride. Merlin inquires about lodging, but it’s no good. Everything’s booked up and they’ve spent enough time in town that they’ll never make it back before dark, even with summer’s longer days. 

“I know a place we can make camp. Come on.” He clicks his tongue and his horse just seems to know where to go. Her own follows suit without her even having to command it. That’s very helpful, but she wonders if it’s the horse’s training or Merlin’s magic that makes her follow him. 

They make camp in a small clearing of trees that Gwen doesn’t remember having seen before. The grass is short, but plush, and the bedroll she lays out on it doesn’t feel as thin for it. They supped at the inn, and so now all that’s left is to sleep. She stripped to just her chemise while hiding behind one of the horses, wrapping herself in the thick blanket that still smelled new to preserve her modesty.

“You’ll want to keep that blanket with you. It will get cold tonight. The enchantment to make your clothes waterproof is too complicated to do on the road, so if you get up after the dew has formed, try not to let anything get too wet.” Merlin gives her several similar instructions about sleeping out in the open, and then he walks the perimeter of their camp, muttering to himself. 

This, he doesn’t explain, but she feels entitled to know. So once he comes back to his bedroll, she asks him.

“Wards.” He says with an easy shrug. “I always put them up when I’m not home. It keeps away ne'er-do-wells and any opportunistic thieves. It won’t stop someone determined to find us, that sort of magic is harder to do, but it will misdirect anyone who might just happen to stumble upon us.”

That did seem like a handy bit of magic. Gwen nodded, satisfied, and settled herself down to sleep, careful to keep herself covered completely in the blanket. 

“You need sleeping clothes.” Merlin muttered, but it seemed to be mostly to himself. She quite agreed, but she hadn’t really thought of it during the day. 

The pillow she uses is rough, and better suited for laying on her back than on her side. She finds that she can’t sleep with all the thoughts of what may be in her future. There’s a very real chance, no matter what Elyan or Merlin say, that she’ll be burned at the stake for Merlin’s magic. She finds it hard to care about that, though, when she knows that if Elyan and his treasonous plans are discovered, he’ll be killed and she’ll be all alone in the world. 

The stars are easier to focus on, so she turns her attention to the clear sky. 

The canopy of trees breaks toward the center of the clearing, and so she looks there for the few star formations she remembers. Hunt as she might, she can’t find anything that she recognizes. It’s disappointing, but she just pulls her blanket in closer to her chin and reminds herself that stars rise and fall just like the sun does, and she could very well see some later. 

“That’s the great bear, there.” Merlin says, startling Gwen and making her sit up, clutching her blanket to her. He laughs, and she looks at him, indignant that he could be laughing at a time like this.

He’s still laying down, looking up at the same patch of clear sky she had been. “Not in the woods. Up in the stars. The great bear is just there.” He points and she tries to follow his line of sight, but it’s useless. He seems to see her struggle and he gets up, in only hit shirtsleeves and his trousers, and lays down beside her to get a better look at her vantage point. “Alright, see” He points his finger and she leans her head closer to him to try and see what he sees. “By that leaf, that’s the bear’s body.” He makes a square with his finger and she can sort of start to see it. “There’s his head, and his two legs.”

“Where are the other two?” She asked, and he laughed. 

“Probably hiding. Or maybe he’s just got the two.” He shrugged. When Gwen focused she could see the shape that he was pointing out, and though this wasn’t one of the ones her mother had taught her, she’d try to watch for it, now. He points again and shows her Lyra, which was one of the one’s she’d been looking for, though she hadn’t called it by that name. Her mother had shown it to her, the musician’s constellation.

“My mother told me the story of that one, when I was young.” 

“Did she? I think every culture tells it a little differently. What did she say?” 

Gwen settles in, turning her body unconsciously to face him while she kept her face turned toward the sky. “There was once a girl who sang and played so beautifully, that she was the envy of all the five kingdoms. She traveled for miles and miles to bring her music to new places, and to bring joy to the people she met. But one day, a man was jealous of the power she had, and he slew her, and broke her instrument. The gods were so displeased that they sent wild dogs to attack him and tear him to pieces, but they never touched the girl’s body. She was found by the townspeople, who loved her music so much they buried her with a brand new lute so she could sing and play in the afterlife. The gods immortalized her in the stars, and she watches over musicians who travel alone.” 

Merlin laughed, turning to face her, despite the hard ground beneath him. “I’ve never heard that version.”

“My father used to tell my mother not to make up stories, so it’s possible she just made it up.” Gwen smiled, but it wasn’t nearly so joyous as Merlin’s as the weight of memories pressed in on her. “She never went to school, or had tutors, but she was a very smart woman. She always told the best stories.”

“You may have inherited her gift.” Merlin tucks a stray hair back into her cap and lays a soft kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight Gwen.” 

She’s so flushed by the action that she stays frozen there for a time. When her senses finally return to her she turns away from him, completely lost for words at his actions. They weren’t family, and they were barely friends. It was totally inappropriate to kiss her. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this was a mistake. The anxiety of that thought made her wake several times in the night, and she could never seem to get back to sleep peacefully. 

In the morning, she finds the grass wet with dew, and she takes heed of Merlin’s warning not to get her blankets wet. She puts on the same dress she’d worn yesterday, since the traveling dresses wouldn’t quite fit her, and for the sake of her modesty didn’t change her chemise. She’d change when they returned home. 

Home. Well, not home for long, was it? They’d pack up the few things Gwen had, she’d say goodbye today, and they’d likely be on the road again tomorrow. That wouldn’t give her enough time to mend her dresses…

“Come along, Gwen, we’re losing daylight.” 

It was just past first light, but sure, they were losing daylight. 

Merlin gave her a helping of bread and cheese and an apple for breakfast, and they ate while they packed up camp. Gwen was glad that she had her own horse to pack, and that she’d likely be able to decide where everything went and how to organize it without having to deal with Merlin’s input. She’s spent years having to cater to what Father and Elyan liked best in the house, and this space would be just for her. 

Well, at least that was one good thing to come from her brother selling her off to a wizard he met in the forest once. 

She sighed at herself and tightened the clasp of her saddlebag too much in her frustration. Elyan wasn’t selling her. No money was exchanging hands. Essentially, she was going to work for Merlin. She’d even make a small wage. Not much, but with her room and board covered by Merlin, she wouldn’t need much. Just maybe to have for emergencies, and to keep her wardrobe up to date.

She’d already tried to talk him into considering everything he bought her yesterday a loan, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Called it part of the favor he was doing for Elyan. She couldn’t begrudge his logic, because she couldn’t have afforded half the supplies she needed without his help, but she still wished he’d let her pay him back.

Well, her gratitude would just have to come out in the work she did. Gwen was no stranger to hard work, and she’d do the best she could for Merlin, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what exactly he needed her for.

——

They’d been living and traveling together for several months, now. Gwen had a routine, all her supplies fit, and she enjoyed the work. She liked to think that she was picking up medicine quickly. Plus, being able to help people, attend to their needs and make them feel better was fulfilling.

They were just about to set out to help a pregnant woman give birth when Merlin surprises her. 

“I’ve been thinking I’d like you to train as a midwife.” He doesn’t even look in her direction, just continues saddling his horse. “I’ve found women are much more responsive when it’s other women helping them through the birth. What do you think?” 

Now he looks up at her, piercing blue eyes curious, but unwavering. He wanted her to do this. Really. 

“I mean- I would- I think that would be great.” Gwen didn’t have much understanding of what a midwife did. She’d never had occasion to know more than the basics about childbirth. This would be only the second birth she was present for, aside from her own, but Gwen imagined that it would be a bit uncomfortable to have a man poking around down there who wasn’t your husband. 

Merlin smiles at her, bright and warm. “Good. There’ll be a midwife in attendance today. I’m mostly going in case bleeding gets out of control or there’s something wrong with the baby. Young mothers.” He shrugged, and she couldn’t tell what the look of disapproval was on his face. “There can be complications, but she’s married, and it’s all above board, and so, we’ll be seeing to her.” 

Ahh. He thinks the girl was too young to be married. She can see it in the way his shoulders are stiffening and his movements are a little more jerky than is normal for him. 

“How old is she?” Gwen asked, and Merlin has to pause a moment before he answers.

“15.” 

“And the husband?” Gwen hates to ask, but she needs to know what she’s walking into.

“26.” 

Gods, that’s older than Elyan. Imagine Elyan being married to a 15 year old girl. She shook her head, thanking the gods once again that Elyan hadn’t forced her to marry. And Gwen was 18. 

“I can’t do anything to help her.” Merlin said quietly, and Gwen looked over her horse at him. “But we’ll do what we can to make the birth easy. The midwife will be inside with her, and probably the girls’ mother. Between the three of you, she should have everything she needs.”

Gwen nods and mounts her horse, bags packed and ready to go.

—

It takes a year for Gwen to be trained enough as a midwife to attend births on her own. And “on her own” actually means with Merlin attending along side her, but their services count as one fee, and so for families with less money, it’s much more affordable to have Gwen there than an more qualified midwife. And Merlin is there to answer questions if she needs any help. 

Merlin is very encouraging, and Gwen does very well for being so new. Merlin tells her she’s a natural with patients, and Gwen is inclined to believe him. 

She likes helping with babies, though it does make her very glad she doesn’t have to have one anytime in the near future. Cleaning them up and handing them off to their mother for the first time is a always a joy. Watching a mum and dad coo over their new little baby. It really made this job feel worth it. 

It’s birthing season, lots of babies this time of year, and this is their third birth this month. As eager as Merlin was to have Gwen trained as a midwife, she thinks that Merlin prefers these sorts of calls to the ones where they’re tending the injured. The eldest daughter of the household had offered them each a mug of warm cider and a sweet roll while they waited for the mother to finish the first feed, for Merlin to give her and the baby a last check to make sure everything was going to heal alright and the baby was as healthy as could be. 

“Do you two have any children?” The eldest daughter asked. Sigrid, Gwen thinks her name is. The birth was early, the baby crowning when they got there, so she hadn’t had much of an introduction. 

“No,” Merlin answered easily, not an ounce of unease in his tone. She doesn’t know how he can say that so easily. She always feels awkward anytime anyone assumes they’re married. Gwen does wear a ring on her finger like they’re married, but that’s mostly for appearances sake. 

As Merlin has grown more and more dear to her over the year, the question has only become more awkward, more intrusive. And Gwen always felt powerless beneath it.

Because there’s no hint of briskness in Merlin’s tone, the girl doesn’t catch on that these are questions better left unasked and presses on. “Any plans to?” 

Gwen had liked the girl, really she had, until she started asking these sorts of prying questions that were honestly better left unspoken. 

“It’s a sore subject,” Merlin took a sip of his cider and reached across the table to squeeze Gwen’s hand and break the building tension inside her. 

The girl looks away then. The implication is that they have tried, and could not, which would be hard to discuss for anyone. The girl gets up and busies herself tidying the already immaculate kitchen, but Gwen is just relieved not to be in her company any longer. She sends Merlin a grateful smile and he returns it easily. 

A few minutes later, the husband comes out and lets them know that the wife and baby are ready for their last check in. Gwen sees to the wife while Merlin looks over the baby. She sees him slip a drop of the potion he gave most babies to stave off sickness, but the wife is listening to her explain next steps for her recovery that she probably knows all too well. 

The woman seems surprised when she recommends abstention from “wifely duties,” with the implication being sex specifically, for at least a month, preferably longer. Gwen only nods and assures her that yes, she really does mean a month. 

And by the time everything is done and she and Merlin are packed, it’s only barely past noon. They accept a bit of food for the journey home, the small amount of pay Merlin takes for births, and they head back home. The ride should only be a few hours, and they can make it back easily before nightfall. This time of year the roads are well kept, and the traveling is pleasant. Gwen never used to move around this much before she met Merlin. It was… really refreshing. 

So was Merlin’s company. He was just so much more accepting than most people she knew. Growing up in a small village, the blacksmith’s daughter, she’d been fairly sheltered. And even after her Father died, Elyan was always there to scare off anyone who even thought twice about Gwen (right up until he’d decided it was time to marry her off). 

So this feeling she had for Merlin, whatever it was, was strange and new and left her stomach dancing in a way that was unpleasant to experience, but still somehow made her smile. She was afraid to call it what it might be, and so she didn’t. She just enjoyed herself as best she could. 

They pass a mother duck and her little ducklings that make Gwen laugh and smile. Merlin smiles as well, but he’s not nearly so amused. Mostly thoughtful. 

“Would you?” He asks her, while he’s still looking at the ducklings. He even turns back to watch them once they ride past, which Gwen finds just as strange as his incomplete question.

“Would I what?” Her lip quirked up at one corner, watching Merlin like she was afraid he’d lost his marbles. 

“Like to have kids one day.” 

She and Merlin have had a lot of very awkward conversations in the year and a half that she has been his assistant. There was the time she’d bled through her dress in the night and had to explain why she so desperately needed to find somewhere private to change and clean up. Then there was the incident where she’d had to establish that, yes, she did still want Merlin to not look at her while she changed, even though they’d been living together in a one room hut for a year. And they’d even had a frank talk about self-stimulation in men shortly after a visit with a patient where they’d walked in on something that left Gwen a little shaken. 

Somehow, Merlin asking her if she wanted kids felt worse than all those conversations combined. 

It wasn’t, it just felt worse, Gwen knew. She was making a bigger deal out of it than she needed to.

“Right now? Not particularly. I’m only 20. I’ve years to think about it.” Gwen was proud of how she managed to keep her tone even. Maybe she was learning more from Merlin than just medicine. 

Merlin nodded keeping his eyes firmly ahead. “I’m sure you do.” 

Gwen thinks maybe the conversation will end there, but it doesn’t.

“If that were something you wanted, you would have to find it elsewhere. Not that I don’t love children, I just… don’t have any interest in having them. Or in having any kind of relationship that would lead to them.” 

Gwen suddenly feels very put on the spot. She doesn’t look at Merlin, and the way her whole body tightens, trying to reel herself in, accidentally signals the horse to go faster. It looks like she’s running off.

Well, maybe she is. Maybe she should. What a strange and terrible thing to say to her.

“My brother made it very clear that there was nothing like that between us.” Gwen holds her head high, even though her chest is tight and her throat is aching with a desire either to scream or sob.

“I know. But… I know these things sometimes happen. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.” He sounds a bit contrite, at least. 

“You think very highly of yourself, Merlin.” Her tone is harsh, making it very clear that she is insulting him. 

He doesn’t speak again, seeing that the battle is lost, and they ride most of the way back in silence.

When they arrive back at home, Gwen doesn’t ask Merlin if anything needs doing. She goes straight to the back, fetches her thimble and her sewing, and starts work on her embroidery. Elyan was due for a visit in a months time, and she’d wanted to give him a little handkerchief with his initials stitched on it on the finest piece of fabric she could afford. It also served as a distraction from Merlin, the man who acts too cool to care right up until he puts a foot in his mouth.

Even with the thimble, she stabs herself a few times, and she has to stop once, to staunch the blood flow on the underside of her apron before she continues. She can hear Merlin puttering around with his potions and his tinctures on the other side of the house, but she doesn’t pay him any mind, just like he doesn’t pay her mind. 

They don’t speak again till supper.

Gwen cooks, as she always does. Merlin can cook, but it’s mediocre, and Gwen has no patience for subpar food. He’d complained more than once that she was trying to make him fat, but she’d just tell him to do more hard labor. It always evened out for Elyan and her father, at least. 

There’s no remark about Gwen trying to fatten Merlin up, or even a lighthearted comparison of Gwen’s cooking to another place or time in Merlin’s life. They eat quietly, but just for a few minutes, before Merlin feels the need to speak. 

“I didn’t mean anything by what I said earlier. I really did just want to make sure we were on the same page.” 

“Yes, and you made yourself very clear.” Gwen muttered, stabbing a piece of a potato more harshly than she meant to, cutting it clean in half. 

“I only meant. I can’t love, Guinevere.” 

She hates when people use her full name. None the less, it catches her attention. “What do you mean, ‘you can’t love?’” It was the stupidest, strangest,  vaguest confession she’d ever heard. Gwen had watched Merlin fight tooth and nail for the lives of his patients, spend hours upon hours developing remedies, and secreting magic just beneath the noses of common people to cure their sicknesses. 

What part of that wasn’t love? 

“I mean that… I mean, well, I do love you. But I love you like a very dear friend. I’m not capable of anything else. I can’t love a woman like a man might love his wife.” 

She raises her eyebrows, thinking, and then her mouth pops open. “Oh.”

Suddenly, his bachelorhood well into his twenties, despite being more than capable of supporting a family, made much more sense. 

She paused, trying to find the right words to say what she wanted to say, trying to be delicate. “You… prefer the company of men?” It’s a question, and she’s not sure how he’ll take it, but she feels like she has to ask. 

He smiled, but his eyes don’t meet hers, and the corners of them stay turned down, sad and wary. 

“I don’t prefer any company at all.” He shrugs, and his lips are thin, tight, like he’s waiting for some sort of rejection.

It’s hard for Gwen to imagine that he simply doesn’t love, but she does believe him. She nods her head and puts her hand on his, much like he had done to her earlier that day. It has the desired effect, draws him out of his thoughts, his eyes back on her. “I understand.” 

He still looks so sad though. 

Gwen doesn’t push it. She retrieves her hand and goes back to her supper, giving Merlin the opportunity to do the same and put the whole thing behind them.

She’s had many awkward conversations with Merlin, and will likely have many more as his assistant, but there was one thing she could say for these talks. Eventually, slowly, they learned and grew from them. In the end, their friendship was stronger for having spoken than it would have been otherwise.

—

One of the reasons Gwen likes Merlin is that he always asks for her opinion. Anytime something affects both of them, he takes what she will think into consideration. This is especially true when a messenger rides in one evening and asks Merlin to go to Camelot proper to try and heal the King’s ward. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Merlin asks while Gwen hangs back, images of men in Camelot red glimpsed through trees, of blood on dirt floors and Elyan’s broken ankle coming to the forefront of her mind, more prevalent than the scene actually playing out in front of her.

“She won’t eat, isn’t sleeping well. They’ve had to force feed her, but she’s withering away still. No energy to get out of bed. Her parents died just a few months ago. The physician on hand couldn’t find anything wrong with her physically, but the King refuses to accept that. He’s looking for second opinions.”

“Camelot is a far ride.” When he says this, he glances back at Gwen, though she doesn’t see him. She’s chewing the extra length of her fingernail off, eyes focused somewhere Merlin can’t see but knows all too well. 

“The king will provide you with money and protection for your travels.” The messenger doesn’t even spare a glance for Gwen, and Merlin is grateful for that. She didn’t need any more stress than she probably already had. 

Even though the messenger doesn’t look her way, Merlin takes a step or two subtly to the right, so that the messengers gaze moves completely away from Gwen when he looks at Merlin. 

“Let me think it over. There’s a woman who houses people for just a few coins down the road. See about getting yourself a room for the night and I’ll have my decision for you in the morning.” 

“The king will not accept a no.” The messenger said, and Merlin nodded.

“I’ll see.” 

The messenger goes and Gwen’s breaths deepen from the shallow, fearful things they’d been, practically gasping now. Neither of them had expected a Camelot man to knock on their door that evening, and Gwen had already been about to settle into bed. Merlin took her wrist, subtly feeling for the beat of her heart while he lead her to the bed, sitting her down on it gently. 

Gwen looks between Merlin and the door, like she’s afraid of something and Merlin pats her hand before he gets up to bolt it closed. 

“He’ll be back in the morning.” Merlin said with a sigh. “He already knows where we are, so a misdirection spell won’t work. If you don’t want to go, we can pack a few things and go on the road for a few days. He’ll give up looking for us eventually.”  Merlin went through his potions, looking for the calming draught he sometimes gave her.

“If I don’t want to go?” Gwen asked, looking at Merlin like he’d grown a second head.

He looked over his shoulder at her, brows furrowed. “The man killed your father, Gwen. I’m hardly going to force you to service his ward. It’s your decision.” 

“My decision?” This is a question, but it’s not one she’s posing to him. When he returns with her calming drought, mixed into a cup of cider, she’s looking at a blank spot on the floor, but seeing nothing he can see. 

He sits beside her and presses the cup into her hands, muttering a quick warming spell so it’d be more comforting. 

“Merlin?” She asked when she’s held the cup for several minutes without taking a drink from it. 

“Yes?”

“If we don’t go, that girl will die, won’t she?” Her eyes finally meet his, and he is moved by the determination beneath her own uncertainty. 

He tries to ease her mind a bit, “It’s possible that someone else will find a cure for what ails her.”

“But it’s not certain.”

“No.” Merlin nodded, “But it’s not certain that I will be able to heal her either.” 

“But you have a better chance than anyone else, because you cheat.” The last bit is teasing, more light hearted than anything that has happened in the house since the messenger walked in. 

“I maintain that using magic is just taking advantage of all my resources, not cheating.” He bumps her shoulder with his and she smiles for the first time since the knock had come upon their door. 

“You can keep saying it, but that doesn’t make it true.” Her gaze fixes on the a spot on the floor again, and Merlin sits quietly, waiting for her verdict. 

Eventually she nods and turns her head up, squaring her shoulder like she’s bracing herself for her own decision. “If we don’t go, and she dies, I’ll never be able to live with myself.” She nods, but this is most certainly reassurance for herself, because she doesn’t even look at Merlin. “We’ll go, and you’ll do the best you can for her. I hate Uther, but that doesn’t mean his ward deserves any less than anyone else.” 

Merlin grins and pulls his friend into a hug. “You’re one of the strongest, bravest women I have ever known.” 

She laughed. “You’re just saying that because you don’t know very many women.” 

“I know plenty of women. Great women. It’s a very high compliment.” His tone is earnest, sincere, when he says this, and he feels Gwen clutch him a bit harder, making the hug more firm. 

“Thank you.” 

“It will be okay. I’ll make sure you never have to see him.” 

“You can’t promise that.” She said, rolling her eyes at him to keep herself from being scared again.

“Well, I can promise I’ll do my best.” He kissed the top of her head, just like that first night almost two years ago now. “Get ready for bed. I’ll settle the house for the night. You’ll need your rest.” 

Gwen nods and Merlin gets up to put out the candles in the main room and close all the windows up for the night. 

Merlin always gives her a choice, always listens to what she has to say, and she appreciates that so much. 

—

In the morning they set off, Merlin packing much like he would to go to a house call for an unknown ailment. He takes nearly everything with him that he can, putting some of the overflow in Gwen’s bag and leaving some of their traveling gear in the care of their messenger, now turned guide. The man’s Camelot red is much more brilliant in the light, and Gwen is grateful for the spell Merlin does to make her horse follow his. She looks just slightly away from the path in front of her, where Merlin rides alongside the messenger she now knows to be a knight, and tries not to think about where they are going or whose company they may soon be in. 

They make quick time to Camelot’s castle, and true to his word, Merlin tells the knight to show Gwen to their accommodations for the short time they’ll be there, rather than bringing her with him to see the king. Gwen doesn’t think that Merlin is particularly fond of Uther either, considering his magic ban is what keeps Merlin from practicing openly, but he never gives any sort of indication of it. Just smiles and leaves her and the knight with their things to make their introductions. 

It is much more difficult to follow the knight on her own two feet, especially laden down as she is with equipment and supplies. The way the red cape flows behind him reminds her too much of a party of knights glimpsed through woods when she was just 15. 

The knight is nice, at least. Tries to make small talk and be kind to a woman who is so obviously afraid of him. She does him the courteousy of at least looking up at him to thank him for helping her with her things and showing her to the room. He bows to her, and she is struck by the gesture. Being the supposed wife of a physician did leave her in a higher class than a simple servant, or blacksmith’s daughter, but she hardly earned such a show of deference. He leaves and only says, “I’m Sir Leon, if you require anything else.” 

She doesn’t plan to require anything.

In their room, an empty space in the servant’s quarters with only one bed, Gwen unpacks Merlin’s medicines and supplies from their careful travel wrappings and puts them back in the order that she knows he prefers them for treatments. As she’s sorting through the bottles of potion, she notices that some of them are ones she’s never seen before, or only seen once or twice. When Merlin had said he was bringing everything, he’d really meant everything. 

��There you are.” Merlin said from the door well after Gwen had finished organizing their things. “Let’s go and meet our new patient, shall we?” 

They don’t actually meet their new patient first. At the door, waiting for them, is the crown prince, Arthur Pendragon. Gwen had heard a few snippets about the prince, but she’d never thought she’d meet him. At first glance, he came off very unkind and almost brusk, but it took only a few questions from Merlin about Morgana’s condition to realize that his standoffishness was born from worry. He cared about Morgana, and he was concerned for her wellbeing. Of course he was a little bit harsh. 

Gwen stood by and listened while Merlin asked questions, getting more and more specific. Asking about her loss, asking if there were anything else that she might be upset about. Arthur tells him that previous doctors have determined it must be mind sickness, and Merlin confirms that this is his theory as well, just based on the symptoms that he’s heard. 

Gwen and Merlin go in behind Arthur, but the Crown Prince stands to the side and lets them work. Gwen sets out one of Merlin’s bags on the bench at the foot of the bed, and Merlin sets his own carelessly aside, choosing instead to go through the contents Gwen has placed. Merlin has his back to the Arthur, so he doesn’t see the flash of gold in Merlin’s eyes, a part of his regular examinations, but Gwen does. He nods his head while he’s looking through the potion bottles and he reaches for one that Gwen has never seen him use. It’s a soft purple color, clear with a few small flowers suspended in it. 

“Take this.” He says to Morgana while the woman looks off in the distance, like she can’t even be bothered to focus on what’s being said.

Merlin’s beside manner is never usually this curt, and Gwen huffs a bit at him before taking the potion from his hand and setting it on the nightstand. Whatever it is, he thinks that it will cure her, and Gwen will make sure she gets it. 

“He looks very young, doesn’t he?” Gwen asks. It’s a problem they’ve faced before, where people who didn’t know Merlin worried about his skill, and so she tried to reassure her, smoothing a strand of hair that was very nearly falling into her eye away from her face. “He is, but he is very knowledgeable. Studied with all the best physicians in the five kingdoms.” Gwen smiles softly, her tone gentle and calming. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.” She takes Morgana’s hand and after a few idle seconds, she squeezes it. Morgana squeezes back and Gwen smiles. “Good. I’m Guinevere, Merlin’s assistant. We need to sit you up so you can take the medicine Merlin has for you. Do you mind if I help you sit up?” 

Morgana says nothing, and Gwen frowns, tilting her head like she’s thinking, the funny little wrinkle forming between her brows that Merlin finds such delight in. 

“Squeeze my hand if it’s okay for me to help you sit up.” She tries again. There is a little delay between her question and the responding squeeze, but once she has her permission, Gwen helps Morgana sit up in bed, careful to leave the sheet covering her from her chest down, since it looks like she’s only in her chemise. The crown prince moves to adjust her pillows and she smiles gratefully at him, trying to be reassuring in the same glance, but his eyes stay hard and untrusting.

According to the prince, a dozen physicians had been to see her already, and none had any effect. It only made sense that he was starting to lose hope. 

“There, now. I’m going to give you the medicine. Drink it if you can.” She puts the bottle to her lips, and when they part, Gwen carefully tilts the bottle, letting the contents drip slowly into her mouth.

The bottle empties relatively quickly, and Gwen lets Morgana relax. Maybe it was because she was sitting up, or maybe Merlin’s potion was already working, but Gwen could swear some of the pallidness of her cheeks was starting to fade, and a bit of rose was returning to her lips. 

“What did you give her?” Arthur asks Merlin, who is still much less receptive and kind than he usually is. Gwen finds it strange, but she’ll ask him about it later.

“Something to ease the mindsickness. It won’t cure it. Nothing will cure it but time, but the symptoms, the body ache, the lack of drive and appetite, will all be decreased, maybe even vanish if she takes to it well.”

“You are not the first man to give her something meant to cure mind sickness. What will you do if it doesn’t work?” Arthur’s tone is accusatory, and Gwen bites her tongue. He is worried for Morgana, and she can excuse his brashness because of that, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. 

“It will work.” Is all Merlin says, and Gwen can hardly believe that he’s being so dismissive to a royal. Of course, Merlin has always been a little funny. What else did she expect? 

“It’d better. You’re dismissed.” Arthur returns to Morgana’s side and Gwen puts the empty bottle back in the place it had come from, taking the bag of potions with her as she and Merlin leave.

In their room, with the door shut, Gwen dares to ask Merlin what he’s given her.

“It’s safe.” He said dismissively, rather than explaining himself, and this was the first clue Gwen had that something was suspicious about this remedy.

“Of course it’s safe.” Gwen said while unpacking the two extra dresses she had brought and hanging them in the wardrobe to be ironed later. She also hung up Merlin’s two sets of clothes, but he’d have to iron those himself. “But that isn’t what I asked. You examined her. What was wrong?”

“Mindsickness, just like I said. The potion will counteract the worst of it, and she should be back to herself in a couple days.” 

“You’re not worried someone will be suspicious of her being better so quickly?” 

“She won’t be better, not really. The symptoms will just be gone.” 

Gwen looks at Merlin, who pretends to be sorting through his potions. He’s hiding something, and she doesn’t know what, but whatever it is, it can’t be good. 

[bang-to-the-tan]

Stray Cat Strut

Chapter 5

Reader x OT7

► Faerie!AU

Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: Mention of Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Faerie Mischievous Bullshit

↳ Summary: When your grandmother passes away, she leaves her countryside house in your name. The longer you stay, the harder and harder it becomes to explain away the odd happenings. What kind of secrets does this sleepy town hold? And why do the local animals act so strangely around you?…

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Cleaning the pond with Jin isn’t exactly what you’d call easy or fun, but it’s good, honest work. You wade through the edges of the pond collecting trash, sleeves pushed up on your arms, shoes perched precariously to try and avoid actually stepping in the murky water. You make a mental note to see if there’s anywhere to buy a pair of rubber boots better suited for this kind of job, but for now, you’ll just do your best. You’re helping him pull the weeds trying to claim the underbelly of the bridge, scrubbing at the moss growing there, and even cutting back some of the willow tree’s long tresses with a pair of unwieldy hedge trimmers. 

Once your arms start to ache, and you’ve begun to get tired, you suggest stopping for the moment and he agrees readily. A sunny patch of warm grass to the side of the bridge is where you end up taking your rest, sitting comfortably beside each other to survey the work you’ve done so far. It’s looking better—one day and two people haven’t returned the pond to its former glory just yet, but it’s starting to make a difference. As the sunlight heats your skin, the breeze cool while it caresses the water from your sleeves, you’re struck once again by the peace that seems to steep into the very breath of this town. The trees rock gently, murmuring hushed stories into the green-scented breeze, the light and shadows underneath their leaves chasing each other across the grass and glinting off the water. Altogether not an unpleasant way to spend your afternoon. 

Jin’s company has been pleasurable the entire time as well—you don’t even realize how much of yourself you’ve been talking about until you have to take a break for something to eat and with your mouth full of sandwich, it’s suddenly quiet. 

“Sorry I’ve been talking so much about myself,” you add, swallowing and throwing him a sheepish look. His grin only grows wider.

“Trust me, I’ve enjoyed hearing you talk as much as you seemed to enjoy sharing,” he returns. The sun ahead, hot with the passing of the hours, cradles his hair in a soft halo and lends a gleam to his eyes. As he sits there, bathing in it, even covered in moss stains and dirty water from the ankles down, dark water staining the edges of his rolled sleeves, he looks like a painting. Delicate brush strokes shaping the curve of his face, the slant of his eyes, the petal-softness of his lips. So much in this town is beautiful beyond comprehension, and if anyone was living proof of that fact, it was Jin. He’d give even the possibly-magic swan a run for his money. 

“While we’re taking a break…” you say suddenly, remembering the rabbit with a start. “Jin, would you mind looking at something for me?”

“Certainly.”

You fish out your phone, wiping one hand absentmindedly on your pants, flicking with your thumb through to your photos. Your other hand holds the rest of your sandwich aloft, pausing in your consumption in favor of concentrating. 

“Okay, so, I...I’ve been running into some of your local wildlife. And I’ve had a couple people tell me that they’re these spirits, right?”

“Keprys,” he puts in, clarifying. 

“Yeah, that’s them. Um...I was just wondering...you’ve lived here a while, you said?”

He watches your eyes, blinking once, waiting patiently for your point. “Yes, I have.”

“Would you recognize one? If you saw it?”

“Yes.”

You nod once and reach out to hold the photo of the rabbit towards him, scrutinizing his face anxiously for any sign that he’ll make fun of you for believing in children’s stories.

“Okay, so what about this one?”

Hopefully, he won’t think you’re crazy. Or at least, he won’t be mean about it. Surely, he can’t throw you out of his company over something as silly as local folklore. Not when you’ve just spent an entire afternoon helping him clean his pond. But instead, he immediately bursts into bright, sparkling laughter. 

“That’s Jungkook.” he says. “I’m surprised you managed to catch a photograph of him. He’s very quick on his feet and incredibly shy.” He takes your phone from you gingerly, inspecting the picture with a cautious touch. Instead of pinching or tapping the screen, he only tilts it side to side in his hand as if to appraise it better from different angles. You wonder if he sees the legs, but if he does, he makes no mention of it. You decide you won’t bring it up.

“Jungkook.” you repeat. “Is he...I mean, is he one of them?”

Jin’s smile reappears, and he cocks his head. “Is Jungkook a kepry, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.” He cranes to offer your phone back, pressing it in your palm with a touch that you swear lingers for a half second longer than necessary before it retracts. “Jungkook is a kepry.”

“The librarian said that keprys would be attracted to this totem I got for helping another one,” you add, hesitant. “And I feel like he—Jungkook?—I feel like he’s been following me ever since. It’s kind of like—” Jin’s head whips around in shock, eyes wide. 

“Librarian?” He echoes, cutting you off. “You saw Namjoon?” 

Your nose scrunches with curiosity. “Is that his name? Purple haired guy? Likes to be really vague? Hangs out in the ivy-covered library?”

“That’s him. That’s Namjoon.” Something curls in Jin’s eyes, furrows his brows momentarily. His voice goes soft, and he shifts, plucking at his trouser leg with an absent air. “How...How is he?”

You stare at him, intrigued by the change in atmosphere. “He’s...fine, I guess?”

“I don’t see much of him. That’s all.” He explains hurriedly, though you can tell he’s sitting on legitimate concern, biting back more questions. 

You can understand that. Working too hard, not getting out enough with your friends. That used to be you, before coming here. You can’t imagine being cooped up all the time in a place like this. Your smile is wry, but comforting, you hope. “He doesn’t get out much, huh?”

“No. He doesn’t.”

You pause. “What about that festival that’s coming up?”

“Spirit Lights?” he seems taken faintly aback. “What about it?”

“Can’t you see him then? The lady at the convenience store made it sound like a holiday. Doesn’t he get the day off or something?”

“Or something.” Jin snorts, staring at some indeterminate space near the pond. He blinks, hard. “We always see each other during Spirit Lights. It’s just...It only comes every so often. You know? I worry.”

“I get that.” 

“What else...did Namjoon say to you?” 

“There’s a book about keprys that apparently could be really useful for dealing with them, but he won’t give it to me.”

“It can be a very dangerous book.” His tone has become serious, and his gaze into space hardens, dark brows creasing. “He wouldn’t lend it to just anyone.”

“He said I need something of value for it. He wouldn’t take my money.”

“Very few people in this town barter for money.”

“What would you give him?” 

Jin turns to look at you again, a sideways grin on his lips, his eyes curving with amusement. “Me?”

“Yeah, what would you barter for a ‘very dangerous book’?”

He sits there for a moment, his expression frozen in a mixture of disbelief and humor, before it breaks with a bark of a laugh, his head dropping. 

“‘Something of value’,” he repeats. “Well, it would have to be something close to my heart. Something of my past, maybe. A fragment of who I am, who I was, who I could have been.” 

“That’s really specific.”

“I’ve been here a while. I know a lot about how these deals work. It would have to be the one thing I have that means that much to me.” 

You muse over his words, finishing your sandwich thoughtfully. Suddenly, an idea occurs to you with a flash of inspiration. “Maybe there’s some old keepsake at the house that fits that description? In the shed, maybe?”

He shrugs, pouting, but his eyes glint. “It’s worth a look.”

You stretch your legs out with a luxurious, assenting sigh, eyeing the fluffy clouds drifting ahead. You balk when you realize that the sky is already threatening to cool, the sun beginning to hide her face in the treetops. 

“Oh, man, it’s later than I thought it was. I should really be getting home.”

“Should you?...” Jin echoes. You can feel the hesitance in his frown, though he smothers it quickly and stands up gracefully, offering you a hand. When you take it, you feel a thrill race through your skin, dancing up your spine, setting your body aglow as it travels. This time, he definitely lingers, long fingers curled around your palm.

“Thank you.” He says after a beat. “For your help. I’ll be over tomorrow to help with your...shed, was it?”

“It was.” You reply. “I’m at the house on the hill. The one in front of the forest, with the iron fence.”

His face lights up in recognition, his eyes suddenly searching yours with something like shock. “The house on the hill.” 

“...yes?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” He hesitates. “I...I knew of your grandmother. We only met once, but I heard about her from the others. I didn’t realize it was...it was her who...that you lost. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” you reassure him with a soft smile. He lets go of your hand and you fight against the vague disappointment taking place of his warmth. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Jin watches you peculiarly. “...you’re taking care of Taehyung, then?” he adds after an awkward beat. 

“The dog?” you blink, surprised. “Yeah. I mean, sometimes. I don’t know, he just started following me around. He really, really didn’t like the swan we saw up here this morning, and he almost ate the gardener.”

He nods. “He...sometimes gets frustrated. But if he’s protecting you, then it makes sense.”

You laugh at that. “Protecting me. Yeah, from swans and gardeners. And rabbits. Jungkook.”

“He really does have your best interest in mind. Please don’t be too hard on him.”

The breeze kicks up just then, sending his hair waving gently across his face, bent in a serious frown. You stand transfixed, utterly bewitched, by his eyes. The bright sunlight glances off the brown depths, lit like lanterns against a mild summer’s night. Weariness lives there. An old soul, tired and heavy, but sincere. Your breath catches in your throat, but you manage to nod, feeling quite suddenly as though you’ve been entrusted some kind of weighty responsibility. He smiles, and again your heart twists in your throat, just as when you met. 

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow? Right?” 

“Right.” 

Like one wandering inside of a dream, you make your way down the path towards home, mind swimming against the pull of a tide that seems to lead back to the pond, back to Jin. Please don’t be too hard on him. What a weird thing to say about a dog. But it’s not like you’re gonna leave him alone to go wild and bite everything you come across. He’s not even really your dog! Everyone you’ve met seems to have decided that he’s your problem now. Even you are having a hard time keeping the inherent strangeness of his affection in mind.

You just hope Jungkook is okay...you aren’t convinced that he means you any harm. Despite what the librarian—Namjoon, apparently—seems to think about keprys, you can’t imagine such a sweet bunny machinating anything beyond harmless. He probably just wanted to see the cat’s totem up close or something.

You reach the mouth of the walkway, just by the sign, and pull up short when you realize there’s a young man perched atop the sign, sitting comfortably, a mischievous if shy grin pulling at his plush lips as he watches you emerge from the trees. 

“Hi,” you greet, taken by vague surprise to see him but remembering your manners in the nick of time. 

He shifts, tugging absently at the fluffy blue jacket hood he has pulled over his pink hair, his grin growing wider, pushing his eyes into crescents. 

“Hi,” he echoes, the end of his voice pitching almost into a giggle. “Hanging out with Jin?”

Your first knee-jerk reaction is to be distrustful of him, to hear a stranger so immediately know your business, but after a moment of bristling it occurs to you that everyone in this small town has to know each other. He must be a local, then, familiar with Jin. You relax into something more congenial. “Yeah. I’m helping him with the pond. Cleaning it and stuff.”

He hums in mild understanding, nodding, casting his glance to the side. His leg bounces atop the sign a couple times. Though his face is sweet, his voice high, and the pastels of his outfit speak to an almost childlike gentleness, there’s a sharp gleam in his eyes when he looks back to you, smirking.

“Not getting lost in the woods?” he says, playful. 

“Lost? Well...maybe once.” you admit with a small laugh. “But it’s alright. I got out in the end.”

“All by yourself?” His face freezes, smile fading slightly at the corners. He searches your eyes as he stares.  

“No, I , uh…” you chuckle, awkward. “I followed this cute little bird out. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear that’s what happened.”

His friendly manner returns in full force before you even realize it was dissipating, his grin turning radiant, clutching adorably at the sides of his hood with a saccharine giggle. He’s blushing, his cheeks pushed up and together by his small hands. 

“I don’t think it’s crazy,” he replies in a reassuring tone through chuckles. 

“No?”

He shakes his head, sending bubblegum-colored strands dancing with the movement. 

“I guess there’s a lot of odd stuff that happens in this town.” 

“You don’t know the half of it.”

You hum in agreement and crane around him, peering at the road, and seeing no cars, you decide to throw him a passing wave and friendly smile. “Well, I should get going. It was nice to meet you…?” 

“Nice to see you again,” he interrupts cheerfully. “Ah, you probably should be getting home before dark. Wouldn’t want the spirits to get you.” 

You think of Jungkook and snort as you turn, beginning to cross the street. “Thanks, but I think I’m alright.” 

“And be careful around Jin.” 

His tone has dropped. You swivel on your heel when you reach the other side of the road, throwing him a peculiar look. His smile hasn’t disappeared completely, instead quarantined to the edges of his lips, turning wry. It’s almost calculating, the way he watches you.

“...Why?...”

His eyes widen innocently, brows lifting into his hair. “You can’t just bargain with everyone you meet. It’s dangerous. Who knows what you’ll agree to?”

A scoff leaves your mouth, and you shake your head, turning away to hide the flash of indignation that courses through you for a half-second. You’re sure he’s only trying to be helpful, but it’s really none of his business. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He laughs again. The sound is like a brook in summer—light, bubbly.  “Don’t misunderstand; you’re already in debt. I just don’t want him to get in the way.”

You look to him in confusion and disbelief, but are met with only an old sign and an empty crossroads. Swiftly, you spin, casting your scrutinizing gaze about the trees, the road, but there’s no evidence that the soft-looking man ever even existed. 

Talking to yourself? You don’t think you could have imagined up an entire person like that. No, he must have just taken that split second and run away. What a weirdo. Never mind the animals, it’s the locals that sometimes behave the most oddly. Must be something in the water. If you stay here long enough, are you going to start disappearing when people turn their backs? 

Why not, you think to yourself. If only to get your own back a little, maybe.

By the time you start climbing the hill to the house, it’s just beginning to really settle into evening, the air cooling and the sun casting warm rays everywhere, sharpened to individual shards of light through the trees. You can see the house, the iron gate, the beginnings of the garden within, and a small shape, pacing frantically up and down by the gate. Taehyung notices you long before his form registers properly in your mind, and before you can even really react, he’s torn down the stone-marked path towards you, small legs flying out under him in his haste to reach you, gravity threatening to pull him head over heels. He’s yapping as he barrels over, skidding from the sheer force of his sprint, his sweet voice pulled taut into what you can only describe as breathless worry and desperation. You murmur soothingly, rolling your eyes as you stoop to pet him, but he’s jittery on his tiny paws, incapable of sitting still, whining and huffing, hoarse as he blinks up at you and attempts to press as much of himself against you as physically possible. 

“Now, really,” you chastise under your breath, shifting the bags on your shoulder to bend closer, trying to thread your fingers through his soft fur in a reassuring kind of way. “Now, honestly. Taehyung. You don’t get to act like this when you’re the one who left me, remember?” 

He makes an impossibly distraught noise, turning balefully into a long howl, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound. He sounds like his heart is breaking, throwing his head back and crying of all the injustice in the world. To hear him, you’d think he was dying.

“Okay, pup, okay,” you interrupt his lament, stroking his face, around his ears. “I hear you. It’s alright. I’m okay, I promise.” 

You straighten, walking towards the gate, and he immediately makes a beeline for your ankles, keeping in pace with your strides as though leaving your side would physically wound him. When you reach for the iron, he starts making this huffing, sobbing noise that even as ridiculous as it is, tugs at your heartstrings. You hesitate, curling your palm around the gate. He was here this morning. You doubt he went anywhere last night. Besides, you let the cat stay the night—where would be the fairness in disallowing your new companion, especially when he seems so incredibly upset at the thought of leaving you behind again?  

You think again of Jin’s words. 

A small dog so famous that everyone who meets you immediately knows his name has to be an upstanding member of the community, you continue to reason with yourself. He’s well-groomed, shiny-eyed, and obviously clean. If his owners don’t mind him wandering the town all the time, then surely they won’t miss him one night?

You interrupt his pitiful snuffling in a quiet tone. “What do you think, Taehyung? Just one night?”

He immediately goes silent. When you look to him, his ears have perked up, head cocking to the side. As you watch, his ears flick, back, then front again. A shuddering sigh escapes his small snout as he bores holes in your eyes with his round, slightly-crossed ones. 

“Just the one.” you reiterate. “As a thank you. For trying to protect me.”

His fluffy tail wags, once. Twice. Hesitant, he leans back on his haunches to place a delicate paw just below your knee. His tail starts up again, beginning in earnest now. 

“You wanna spend the night with me? Hmm?” 

His ears go flat and he whines, low. 

“Alright. Come on.” You unlatch the gate, pushing it open and stepping inside. When you turn to glance at Taehyung, he hasn’t moved, stock-still where you left his side. You blink at him, curious. “You can come in,” you say, and he immediately skips over to you, tail breaking the sound barrier with how it furiously wags, a bounce in his step, but such deep, quiet adoration in his eyes, you wonder again why this dog is following you around so much. You close the gate between the both of you, leading Taehyung into the house. 

He is adamant on staying by you, though occasionally he sniffs at the air, the floor, snuffling like he’s hunting some scent. At one point, he noses violently at the radiator where the cat had slept, tail pausing in its waving as his mind diverts all energy to thinking. 

“Was there a kitty cat there, Taehyung?” you ask him in a high pitch as you set the bags on the kitchen table, craning to peer at him from beyond the door frame. He sneezes, huffing a small, unimpressed bark at the radiator, before looking back up at you. 

When you take a shower, he lays patiently in front of the bathroom door. You almost knock him over with it when you step out with a towel wrapped about your body, but he’s just as happy to see you as ever, casting a glance up at you and wagging his tail. You hesitate, peering back at him. Do you change with him in the room?...Your lips quirk. 

Finally, you decide to leave him outside the bedroom door while you put your pajamas on. It’s just too weird. He isn’t really your dog, and besides, with all this talk about keprys and spirits...best not to take any chances anyways. When you open the door, he’s sitting patiently in the hall, tail thumping against the floor to greet you again as if for the first time. While you mill about the kitchen, putting together a quick evening meal, he follows you, though he’s so much more relaxed inside the house and so much quieter. 

You slip him a dog treat from your bag as an afterthought. He sniffs at it, but doesn’t eat it, electing instead to prop himself against your chair when you sit down with a leftover sandwich from the store. Jin’s sandwich. You realize with a bit of shock that he never ate it, or did you even offer? Embarrassment flushes your face, but if he’d been hungry he could have just as easily said so. You’ll be sure to be a better host tomorrow, while he helps you with the shed. 

“Are you gonna bite Jin when he comes over tomorrow?” You ask Taehyung absentmindedly, throwing him a glance underneath the table. He sniffs in reply. “You can’t. You have to leave him alone. He’s a nice guy.” 

He doesn’t seem too convinced, but lays his head on his paws with a quiet snuffle. He perks up when you get up to wash the dishes, moving to sit by you on the placemat. It’s dark now, the yellowed lights in the house lending an almost dreamlike quality to the spaces, chasing the shadows into the corners of the room, and when you crane your head out the window, you can see the twinkling of so many stars in the velvety sky. You briefly consider spending some time stargazing, but eventually decide against it. You need to be up nice and early again, if only to make sure you don’t make Jin wait. How embarrassing would that be? 

Taehyung trails you silently to the bedroom, and for a half second you consider turning him out, making him sleep by the radiator, but there’s something so familiar, so comforting, to watch him standing by the bed expectantly, waving his tail when you look down at him. 

“Come on, up you go,” you say, and before you’ve even finished speaking, he’s hopped upwards, alighting on the covers with a grace you didn’t expect. He waits as you turn the light off and sink into the bed yourself before he begins tapping cautiously over in your direction. You can feel the change in pressure on the sheets as he walks, feeling for the bed underneath like he’s actively avoiding stepping on you. For a moment, you’re afraid he might start licking your face once he gets close, but he only bumps against your nose with his small snout, before turning and situating himself at your chest, snuggling into you. He’s so hot against you, so soft and warm, you can’t help but curve one hand into his fur, cuddling up with him as he sighs, bone-deep. The gentle smell of honey and warm sunshine emanates from him, light and sweet.  For a second, you’re afraid you might not get to sleep—when was the last time you slept with a stranger’s dog in your bed, after all?—but he immediately slacks into deep, contented breaths and the sensation is so calming you’re drifting before you can even worry too much about it. Again, the spark of familiarity occurs to you and you curl closer to him, stroking at his fur lazily. 

“Night, Taetae,” you hum, unaware that you’re even saying it until it’s left your lips as a mumble. Just before you fall into the void of sleep, you imagine he whines quietly in the dark.

Previous    Masterlist          Next

[lordseochangbin]

Heart Stop: Small Things (3)

A/N: I made a tag list if anyone wants to be in it just leave an ask or a comment! :D

Word Count: 1221

You heard the doorbell ring and ran to the door in an instant. This time you were ready. Prepared to give your heart out to the man behind that door. 

It had been a few days since you’d last seen him, swim practices piling and the number of exams you had taking your time. You took hours just getting your hair prepped and makeup on, not to mention the dress you pulled out from ages ago and tried hard to fit in. The summer dress flowed down mid-thigh, the straps complimenting your shoulders. You forgot a necklace, but figured it was no biggie since you were overdressed already, plus you couldn’t even find any jewelry. You never had time to buy any.

Opening the door to the nervous boy, you watched as he turned around, eyes locked in shock as he stared at your figure. “Oh… my god” he gasped. 

“Stop it!” You giggled, doing a little spin for him before stepping out. “You’re fucking gorgeous” he whispered before pulling you into a kiss. 

You hummed into the kiss, hands wrapped around his neck as he pulled you closer. “I’m never going to get used to this,” you said, walking to his car. 

“Get used to what?” He said with a smile, opening the door to you. You waited until he got into the car before replying. 

“This” You said, pointing at him and then pointing at yourself.  “I feel like I’m dating God but he’s 5”7 and Australian”

“Well” he smirked, “Today you're on a date with this one” Turning around to the backseat, Chan pulls out a King Charles Spaniel with a soft pink collar around its neck.

“Who’s this cutie” You pout, taking the dog from his hands and immediately pulling it to your chest.

“The name’s Berry” He says before Berry could kiss your face. “And she’s a good kisser” You continue, laughing as you hold her closer. 

“I know someone else who is a good kisser” He winks before caging you against your seat. 

“Here” You say, holding Berry closer to him. “Kiss the dog and drive”

Chan pulled away from you after accepting a few kisses from Berry before driving off to the park. Once you two arrived, Chan pulled out a leash for Berry while you looked for a spot to settle. 

“Right here?” You ask, pointing at the small patch of grass. Chan smiled before throwing out a checkered blanket and taking out a picnic basket.

“I don’t mind” He replied, resting on the blanket and pulling your head onto his shoulder. 

“What’s this all about?” You ask, smiling as Berry sits on his lap. 

“I just want to be with my two favorite girls, that’s all” 

There wasn’t a single reason to not enjoy this moment, sitting with Bang Chan and Berry. Enjoying the outside and staring off into the distance. It honestly felt like a movie, where the camera pans out and it’s the couple in the midst of nature. If there were a photographer in front of you two, you could’ve made a magazine cover. Though you were sure that the photographer would only take Chan’s photo. 

He looked perfect. You couldn't pick out a single flaw from him. He was so kind, gentle, sentimental. So indulged in each second of life. The only thing that really stuck out to you was his manner around you, when you could vividly see his chest rising and falling every time he’s with you. It was just like the books, what people call “love”. 

That made you wonder why you didn’t feel the same. In fact, when you were with Bang Chan it was as if your heart stopped beating. Contrary to every other moment in time when you felt like your heart paced faster than a regular athlete and concerned every doctor on the face of the earth.

 You find yourself fixated on your thoughts, staring at the grass in silence and wondering if Chan is thinking the same things before Berry jumps up from Chan’s lap and runs down the sidewalk. 

“Berry!” Chan panics, running after him. 

You’re quick on your feet to follow, a full on dog chase before you could find Berry behind a bush sniffing… what is that? A person??

“Chan! Over here!” You call, crouching down to the unfamiliar lady on the ground. 

“Hello?? Can you hear me??” You rest your hands on the woman's shoulders and her eyes start to flutter open. Her green pupils catch your attention as they dilate, her lips pursed and you can tell she’s thinking about you- judging you. 

“You’re in love” she pants out, making you laugh. Does this woman just lay on the ground like that?!

“Are you okay?” You respond. 

She shakes her head, getting up from the ground and petting Berry’s head before continuing. “You and that boy” She says, pointing at Chan. “You two are connected in more ways than you think, tell the truth to each other and you’ll learn what connects you two by heart.”

You turn back at Chan, who stares at the lady with his arms crossed-obviously not buying it. “Look, we just started dating so..” Chan picks up Berry with one hand before taking your hand in the other and pulling you away. 

“Chan” you gasp, turning around to see the lady still watching the both of you. 

“Don’t look back y/n, she’s probably just some crazy lady” 

You shake off any unnecessary thoughts before returning back to your little picnic set-up. 

“Anyways, where were we?” Chan says with a smile, pulling you onto his lap and pecking your lips. 

You smile against his lips before running your fingers down his chest. “Do you really have abs?” 

Chan nearly chokes on his spit, looking down at your hands before looking back up at you. “Why? Do you wanna see them” He says, wiggling his eyebrows as he slowly pulls up his shirt.

“No-” You quickly slap his hand away from his shirt, “It’s just.. a lot of girls talk about your abs and your ‘white bread’” You joke.

“I’ve been working out a lot but it all comes from my years of swimming so just imagine I have amazing pecs and abs” He chuckles. 

“What got you into swimming anyways? I’ve never been to a meet but I hear a lot of good things about you” 

Chan pouts as he thinks about a response before asking, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Go for it” 

“I don’t enjoy swimming anymore, not as much as I used to” 

“But you’re talented Chan! Either way you should do what best fits your interests”

“I’ve yet to find that interest” He shrugs, “Anyways. I’ve told you my secret, now what’s yours?”

“Mine?” Should you tell him? He’s the only one that makes you feel normal, feel like yourself. You fear the second you tell him he’ll treat you differently just like Hyunjin, Seungmin, Jeongin and the others. 

“I don’t have any secrets” You blurt out, smiling as he starts to press his lips on your neck. 

“Perfect, because I want us to be completely honest with each other from now on” He says. 

Completely honest… 

But why do you feel like you have to lie to him?

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Epilogue 1

Take Me Home

Warnings: None!

Word count: ~2000

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

This version of the epilogue has no kids between reader and Arthur - if you want kids, read version 2 here

You wake up to the sounds of birds singing. Stretching, you open your eyes to view the canvas above your head. It takes a moment for you to wake up enough to sit up, but when you do, you see the tent’s empty. Arthur must already be out. 

Stepping out of the tent, you find him kneeling next to the fire. He greets you as you gaze around Cattail Pond before sitting down next to him. He’s just finished cooking some bacon that he packed along for the trip. When you’re seated, he pulls you into a big hug, kissing your temple affectionately. 

It’s been five years since he found you near Aurora Basin in Tall Trees. Five long, mostly good years, although you both still often remember the time you spent with the gang, both the good and the bad. 

After you left the gang and Hamish died, you decided to head out west where you both belonged. He wanted to go down as far south as New Austin near Tumbleweed, but you never liked it much down there. Too hot, too dry. Not enough green. When he asked you where you’d prefer going to, you automatically said Big Valley near Strawberry. To your surprise, he happily agreed. 

He found a good patch in the forest near the huge meadow. Said it was the perfect spot for you both to spend the rest of your lives as there was plenty of space and lots of game to hunt, plus Strawberry wasn’t too far. There, Arthur built you a home. You said it would be easier to just buy one of those premade homes you’d been hearing about. It would take less time and energy, plus it could be built before winter, but Arthur hated the idea. He said he wanted to build you something with his bare hands. You were sure he did it because you’d both lost so much recently and he just wanted something good to come from it. 

However, money was very tight when he began. The only money you had was the little from your satchel, which certainly wasn’t enough to buy the right tools for the job or horses or oxen to help. Arthur recalled the money left in Blackwater and he was sure Dutch or any of the others hadn’t gone back looking for it. So one night, you both snuck in and found, in a large tree near a headstone marked “Greta Van der Linde”, a small chest hidden inside with over $50,000. Neither of you could believe your luck, but you wasted no time in taking it. 

With the new money, Arthur bought two oxen, tools and even hired a few hands to help him cut down the lumber and shape it before building it. While he and the hands worked, you worked on getting a garden going. 

Soon after, the two of you got married. It was easily the happiest day of your life. It was very simple and few guests were there to witness it. Charlotte was one of them. She’d travelled all the way from Annesburg to Strawberry, but she said she wouldn’t dream of missing it. Charles was there as well. Word of the gang’s misfortunes had gotten to him up north. He believed you were both dead, but when he found no signs of your bodies, he pieced the story together and knew you’d both head west. He was the only one from the gang you and Arthur saw after John left. You wished he, Abigail, Jack and Sadie could have been there as well, but you’d heard nothing from them. They probably believed you and Arthur to be dead. 

The structure of the house took months to build and then winter came, which forced Arthur to stop building onto it. It didn’t stop him from continuing to cut the smaller pieces, such as the roof tiles. He also worked on getting the fireplace built so that the two of you could huddle under your tent and be warm near the fire in what would be the living room. 

It took two years until the house was finished and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder. He said it was for you, but you reminded him it was for his benefit as well. A few months later, he built a barn so Buell could have a proper stall. The old morgan you’d stolen died a few months previously, taken down by a broken leg. It was sad, but not as painful as losing Rannoch or Rain, both of whom you still miss deeply. It was easy to see Arthur still missed Artemis. 

When the barn was built, you and Arthur bought two milking cows and chickens, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to make your home into a functioning ranch. Arthur had other ideas, however. He came home one day with four mares and an exceptionally handsome blood bay thoroughbred stallion named Jake, stating he wanted to breed horses. You couldn’t say no, he seemed so excited. 

You still felt bad that you couldn’t give Arthur children. You knew he’d be a wonderful father, but he said he was actually happy you couldn’t. He said that after Eliza and Isaac, he didn’t want kids because he was scared he’d mess up or that what happened to them could happen to you. His heart simply couldn’t bear that pain. 

Arthur hands you the bacon and then leans back a bit on his hands. 

“What you thinkin’ about?” he asks. 

“Nothing really. Just how pretty it is out here.” He chuckles softly and kisses your head again. You were the one who asked to go on this hunting trip, still not liking to be tied to one place for too long, as beautiful as your home is. Arthur’s much the same way. He simply spent too much time moving from one place to the next with the gang that he gets easily frustrated when he’s been cooped up too long. 

“Reckon we should head back soon though. Carson will probably need help fixin’ the fence.” 

You sigh. Carson is a boy from Strawberry. He was the first hand Arthur hired to help build the house and then, to your surprise, built him a small one-room cabin not far from the property. When you asked him why, he stated that when he helped Micah escape the Strawberry prison, Micah killed a man and his wife. Carson happened to be their only son and he was all alone, except for his yellow lab Lily. Arthur felt guilty for Carson’s fate, so he invited the boy to live on your land and work as a hand. 

It was one of the best things Arthur’s done. Carson’s a pleasant, kind and thoughtful boy. He works well with the horses, but his affection for them is nothing compared to how he treats Lily. 

You could tell Arthur really liked her as well, but she wasn’t his dog so they couldn’t have the same relationship. So, for his birthday, you bought Arthur a mountain dog puppy. He and that puppy were in love at first sight and he named him Timber. From that moment on, they were inseparable. 

Timber runs over to Arthur now, his paws dirty from digging and his tail wagging. Arthur rubs his ears happily.

“Hey boah,” he says. Timber groans happily and then turns to lick you in the face. “You ready to see Lily?” 

Timber barks. He and Lily are extremely close. Not only that, Timber makes for a wonderful herding dog. He’s very protective of the new foals and when the horses are let out in the big meadow to graze, he watches them like a hawk. 

You and Arthur pack up your tent and douse the fire before mounting up on your horses. You pat your dapple bay breton mare who you named Ruby after Rain’s mother. She’s as big and tough as Artemis was, but looks nothing like her otherwise.  Arthur hops onto Buell’s back and together, you ride home laiden with pelts.You’ll likely keep a couple and then sell the rest. Your saddlebags are bulging with fresh herbs, which you’ll hang in the barn to dry.

After nearly an hour’s travel, you see the trail leading off to Pinewood Crest, your home. Arthur had wanted to name it Hosea’s Rest but you stated you needed to keep a low profile and try your best not to have any affiliations with the gang for both your protection. Carson waves to you from the meadow, where the mares and their foals are grazing. Timber runs over to Lily, barking madly. 

“Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Collins,” he says, running over. 

You both say hello and head to the barn to dismount and unsaddle. It was Arthur’s idea to change your aliases. You suggested keeping the name Tacitus Kilgore as it was easy for you to remember, but he said it wasn’t smart. That name was likely associated with Dutch now. Instead, he said he’d go by the name William Arthur Collins, that way if you called him Arthur, people wouldn’t find it suspicious. You also changed your name to Y/F/N Alice Collins. 

After putting everything away and hanging the herbs up to dry, you go out and stand at the edge of the meadow, watching the horses and cows grazing, Timber and Lily rolling in the grass. Arthur comes up from behind and folds his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. 

You sigh and rest your head against him, still watching the foals. There’s a small colt who looks exactly like Rain at that age and you named him Thunder. He kicks his heels, trotting circles around his bay mother named Willow. She ignores him, continuing to graze with the three other mares. Thunder runs near Buell and kicks out near him in play, but Buell just lifts his head, rumbles and then goes back to grazing. Ruby starts rolling in the dirt, making you laugh.

“Thought you were helping Carson fix the fence?” you ask. 

“Ah, he’s got it for a minute. Besides, you looked so happy over here, had to come be with ya.” 

He kisses your temple again. You turn and meet his lips with yours. He smiles against your lips and then looks out to the meadow once more. After everything you’ve done over your life, after all the suffering and hardship, you’d do it all over again if you knew it’d lead you here. You are happy. 

The End

**Thank you all so much for going on this journey with me. It breaks my heart to end this fic, but it has been such an amazing ride. I would never have gotten far without all the encouragement I’ve received. I cannot express my gratitude in words, but I’m still amazed at how this led me to meet so many amazing people and the friendships I’ve made because of this fic that was inspired by the incredible game Red Dead Redemption 2. Thank you all so much!**

[borderlandscast]

the vault hunters go to ikea

takes place during the epilogue. this took a while because i have no idea how normal people behave when going to ikea.

after nanosounds ordered that deep clean crew, arsenal and his wonderful volunteers (i.e., any surviving bandit who didn’t want their stuff thrown out) made a list of everything that could be kept and not kept. they marie kondoed the frigate from top to bottom.

bandit construction is mostly dumpster diving, improvisation, fixing or stealing things from one another. so the vast majority of furniture within the frigate is junk and isn’t space-faring quality (that is, won’t hold together if it accidentally smashes into a wall during ascent or if someone takes a good swing at it).

fun fact: the only objects in vast quantity deemed to pass this test are the bunk beds within the common, shared troop quarters. however, all the mattresses and sheets had to be stripped down and carted off to be deep cleaned as well before anyone felt remotely comfortable using them. in fact, almost all of the mattresses and sheets were donated to the bandits staying behind. after the cleaning, of course.

runner-up objects are lockers, chests and storage containers. for obvious reasons, arsenal let his own troops claim what’s what but they had to do it in a non-violent way or else it goes to him or worse, parvis’ bandits.

when the frigate finally left pandora, the frigate was in short supply of multiple bits and pieces, almost all of them cosmetic. people slept on the floor, in cots or shared beds, even making cardboard box forts.

before undergoing repairs at the planet hecatoncheires, all spacekea furniture was able to be stored in vox’s digistruct system and popped back into place, no big deal. the captains also made another cleaning mandatory so that the repair crews couldn’t be impeded by anyone’s giant stash of snacks kept in a ceiling high locker.

anyway, arsenal gave everyone a thousand dollars (sponsored by sipsco.) and told them to ‘go nuts’ when they finally docked at spacekea. they’d dock for a week or so, and then leave. after that, future visits would have to be by special request.

spacekea is one of the joint markets that’s one of the only places in the galaxy that megacorporations share. all of them manufacture and sell some sort of commodity, not always furniture. for example, jakobs may produce the majority of generators but they also produce the widest range of wooden furniture. maliwan produces the ‘friendliest’ sourced tea and spices. tediore has the monopoly on one dollar items.

everybody bought a new mattress. and sheets, plus sheet covers. there’s a lot of neat designs (all of them owned by one company or other).

arsenal refused to buy a new couch, but he did buy two extendable children’s beds for his kraggons. having two kraggons trying to hog the same space on his bed is exhausting. hence, the beds.

the other reason why the frigate had to make a stop at spacekea is because some of the stuff being sold fills a particular niche called ‘holds plenty, good for tiny spaces’, given that the frigate is big but not exactly spacious in certain places.

martyn (who’s also the safety officer) had to veto a lot of the trophy and wall shelves since they post a safety hazard. he didn’t say no to paintings, holo frames or wall hangings though.

without a doubt, almost the whole frigate’s passengers ate at the cafeteria, every single day. and stocked up in bulk on the snacks and frozen food. this was one of the first stops they made, and everybody loves food that’s not pandoran. in fact, some of the bandits who’d been born on pandora and never left were trying to find their feet via food. they got hooked, very fast.

the frigate’s passengers all became very recognisable, very quickly. everybody has to wear a name tag identifying what ship they’re from for deliveries, troubleshooting, etc. it also meant that parvis’ literacy classes shot up in attendance a week beforehand.

the whole place is divided into multiple sections. first is the docks, which is divided up by ship size and function. thanks to daltos claiming the registration for the blackrock, the frigate enjoyed a cushy space close to the entrance. not many military ships dock at spacekea, so. and they got free parking due to the length of their stay.

sherlock had to give an orientation about spacekea. it‘s one of his best presentations, and his favourite. it was mostly about etiquette, since more than half the crew have never interacted with civilians before (with threats, murder and bloodshed not counting).

the docks are linked to the cafeteria, warehouses, display rooms, hotels and the market. instead of it all being laid out in one direction, the designers went with a much more helpful design: a four way, multi-leveled behemoth of interlocking buildings.

hotels are there to help people who flew smaller ships who intend on staying awhile, or families on vacation, or anybody who wants a bed to sleep in for a day. hotels are divided into classes, which range from five star to one star, even down to rentable capsules.

after the hotels (mostly arranged on the outside perimeter), people enter via main hallway. from here, omnidirectional lifts, elevators, escalators, turbolifts (only for express, staff or richer clientale) can take people to where they want to go.

the cafeteria serves up a massive menu that’s uniform to every spacekea. the menu boasts that there’s always something for someone. the hot dogs, soft serve, meatballs and desserts, to name a few, proved especially popular with the blackrock’s crew. rythian enjoyed the dairy free soft serve.

the display rooms are dioramas that are filled with sample living spaces designed to inspire ideas from those passing through the hallways. they all come with holographic clipboards, a catalogue and a pen. the pens are all chained to the clipboards to discourage theft.

how it works in theory is that if there’s a piece someone fancies, they jot down the item number, price, quantity and name so that they can pick it up at the warehouse or the market.

in reality, sherlock had to lead groups and track every single one of these clipboards since not every bandit could write legibly or in a decipherable manner. he’s never been so well-acquainted before with so many bandits until this moment. don’t worry, minty, hollie sparkles, parvis, ravs, daltos and arsenal helped him out, in shifts.

you can go into the dioramas and display rooms. this the crew did, in varying ways.

rythian wanted a king size bed since he’s tall. and he’s tired of having to make himself fit. also, ravs is buying for him. he also bought the highest grade book storage unit available, and a miniature hammock for junior.

ravs spent an hour testing the display bar, fermenting and barrel rooms, and had five different salespeople attending to him at once, owing to his manners and charming personality. he ended up buying a deluxe suite, and wrangled a fitting service for free since he’s buying so much in one go. he also bought a spacesaving bird loft/avairy for the pigeons and quails.

lalna and xephos spent three days alone in the tech section, pressure testing the hardware and systems in that area. people kept mistaking them for salespeople and customer service. they eventually got paid by spacekea because of their EFFICIENCY. both turned down offers of employment.

honeydew and nilesy performed an impressive interpretative dance within the kitchen and cat rooms. both are no pushovers when it comes to cooking and cat care, and nilesy has about fifty cats to house and entertain. nilesy also brought along lyndon (his own diamond kitten) to test items, and had to have honeydew with him to fend off people who wanted to interact with the kitten.

minty almost got kicked out because people thought thought she was a part of the displays since she kept putting her feet up on the desks. she found a desk she liked, and even bought the display one since she ‘felt a connection with it’, which didn’t impress sherlock when he had to sort it all out.

honeydew also took his gardening team on a serious quest to maintain the grass room and hydroponics (i.e., veggie patch). this took four days to complete from start to finish, involving picking out new turf, chairs, trees, benches, fences, pots and seedlings. the grass room looks like a proper grass room now, and not just a lone field of grass with a sad looking tree in the middle.

lomadia bought a small bed for her still to hatch egg. it was doll-sized, and a lot of people gave her strange looks for buying a bed specially for it, until she pulled out the incubator capsule to prove that she was serious about it.

zylus bought a chef grade bread machine. this daltos tried to prevent since he had deja vu about too much dough being made, and which zylus rebuffed. his premonition proved correct since the crew ended up eating bread for whole two weeks, and didn’t even mind.

daltos bought a portable, handheld hologram kit intended for engineering projects. it’s the one he carries around with him in the epilogue, used for tracking a ship’s condition and status. vox sends him stuff through it. he also secretly uses it to watch movies and a n i m e.

since parvis is staying with will, he tried to buy a water bed to replace his own shoddy bed/cot. will couldn’t stand all the wobbling and sloshing, and had to convince parvis to buy a different bed. parvis bought a fancy bed with hangings and velvet trim. will facepalmed. will also bought a handcrafted tie rack. parvis made fun of him. will bought five more just to own it.

saberial strongarmed panda into buying a lot more organisational stuff since their ship and room is obnoxious to hang out in, given their habit of leaving stuff lying about. panda sticks to organisation for about a month and then goes back to their own haphazard system.

hatfilms act out wine or cheese within the display rooms, which leads to security being called on them twice, one casting call by an agency and many applauds by passerbys. all of them end up in an advertisement, and get a buttload of free goods, mostly food.

lalnable kits out his medical office with an adjustable standing desk. lalna also buys one to be a copycat. lalna also buys one of those stuffed toy sharks. lalnable hates it because it’s so obtrusive to see.

sherlock buys a whole kit of stationary, shelves, boards and office goods. he spends the next month slowly integrating them into the offices. he’s the happiest he’s ever been. bandits dub him the best nerd.

nanosounds decides to renovate the home office in her mother’s place as a sign that she’s a good daughter, but decks the wallpaper and carpet in varying hues of purple. her mother is secretly thrilled by her independence and modern thinking.

teep just buys one of the best mattresses available, and nothing else. this drives all their friends nuts, who then spent the whole trip trying to convince teep to splurge. teep eventually buys...one black coffee from the cafeteria.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

The Rehabilitation of Ava Bekker (6/12)

The bread Robin made yesterday looks beautiful when she pulls it out of the fridge to make breakfast. It’s a warm orange-red, laced with dark green herbs, sliced thick and hearty with soft crust. Ava moves alongside her. She hasn’t had breakfast before, but she thinks she’s smart enough to figure out the basics. There are four eggs in the fridge, the exact number Robin said to set aside when they collected them yesterday, and she pulls out each one to set beside the stovetop, already heating the underside of a skillet.

“How do you like your eggs?” Ava asks.

“Scrambled.”

Ava dives back into the fridge for milk, and hunts down a bowl to crack the eggs and dash milk into before whisking them to uniform pale yellow like the nurse station’s countertops. They sizzle in the pan, cook quickly while she fumbles for a spatula. She’s made scrambled eggs a lot of times, but not recently. Connor liked them over easy. But this is Robin, she reminds herself, and keeps stirring as Robin toasts the bread and cuts up a few strawberries fresh from the patch outside. Everything is fragrant and Ava’s mouth waters, even though she’s never really been one for breakfast, perhaps as a result of how hard she pushed herself yesterday. It’s easy to want, and she’s allowed to have it as she serves eggs onto two plates populated by fruit and bread and love.

“I’ll try and finish the trees today,” Ava says, bringing her own plate to the small table, the strawberries running a path of juice toward her toast like it’s a race. “Then I’ll get to harvesting the peach trees, I know you said you wanted to make jam.”

“I’d rather you milk Nina first,” Robin says. “She’s fussy if you wait all day, and I want her to get used to you while I check the roost.”

Nina is the name of one of three cows currently under the care of Robin’s farm. Nina’s mother, Angie, spends most days lying in the shade and drinking water, while Nina’s calf Isaac is always happy to bounce around the pasture. In a couple more months, he’ll be off to another farm as a bull for breeding, and Robin had said that she worries how Nina will react, same as she worries that it’ll be painful the day Angie passes or needs to be put down. Put down like a racing dog on its last leg, like Connor on the OR floor. She doesn’t want to hear the sound. She doesn’t want to think about him. But her memory abuses its power to surround her in it. Ava just barely resists the urge to clap her hands over her ears and scream until it goes away.

“No problem.”

The toast is sweet and savory, warm and hearty in her mouth like more of a meal than just a piece of bread baked the night before. Paired with the eggs, it fills her up more than she’s used to this early in the morning. In a good way, though. By the time she clears her plate, strawberries included, she’s pleasantly full and ready to milk Nina. Robin gave her a basic demonstration yesterday, so she has an idea, but she’s never done this on her own before. It should be fine. She’s pretty sure it should be fine.

“Oh, and you ought to drive into town today,” Robin adds. “Get yourself a big water bottle to carry with you while you work. Passing out from dehydration or heat stroke isn’t all that fun.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that after I take care of Nina.”

Robin gives her a thumbs up and takes both their plates to the sink, leaving Ava to pull on her boots and get the clean buckets off the drying rack. Full, they’re about ten pounds each. That’ll mean Ava builds up some muscle while she’s here, which isn’t the worst thing that could possibly happen to her. She’d look good with muscle, she thinks. Be strong enough to protect herself.

She carries the buckets off to the pasture, where true to form, the cows are up and alive. Nina swishes her tail lazily against flies like buzzards, protecting both herself and Isaac. Angie is just fine on her own in the shade. Her eyes are soft and warm, welcoming, and Ava’s drawn to the idea of sitting under the tree with her and stroking her rough fur while the world carries on past them. But she’s here for Nina.

“Hey,” she says softly on her approach, the two buckets dangling beside her legs. “Morning, Nina.”

Nina eyes her warily. She shifts on her hooves. Yet, when Ava kneels in the damp grass, wetness seeping through to her knees, she stays still. Ava lays a flat palm against her flank. She can feel each breath. Nina is here, and unafraid, and doesn’t finch or move when Ava positions the first bucket and starts milking her. The sensation of milking a cow is… strange, she’ll be honest. It’s warm and squishy and the sound of the milk on the metal pail is weird. But she’s doing something with herself, and Nina trusts her to do this without believing Ava will hurt her. Ava doesn’t want to hurt people. She doesn’t try to hurt people. She just wants to be loved, and Nina loves her in less than a day. At least, she has to, if she’s so calm at being milked.

“Good girl,” she praises as the first pail fills, and she moves onto the second. Isaac doesn’t live off it anymore, but Robin’s been strict about milking her every morning and most nights in order to keep her producing. Fresh farm milk is better, she had told Ava. Ava hasn’t sampled Nina’s milk and isn’t sure she’d like to, although come to think of it, this must be the milk she put in their eggs this morning. “Good girl.”

The second pail fills just as quickly, and they’re painfully heavy as Ava carries them back to the house to be properly bottled and chilled. She’s sweating more carrying them than she did actually milking Nina, and feels like she needs a shower already. She won’t take one. There’s too much else to be done, not including needing to drive into town and buy herself a water bottle so she doesn’t get dehydrated or something. It’s an obvious purchase she should have thought of before she even got here.

It’s another simple, easy task she can accomplish without too much thought. Drive into town. Buy a water bottle. Come back. And then she’ll likely be back to planting trees, filling in the beginnings of an orchard. An orchard would be nice to have around. She sees the appeal. They can sell it along with the eggs and corn that Robin already makes a decent living off of in the city once a week. There’s town, where basics can be acquired, and the city, where business happens and there’s enough people and cameras that Ava’s nervous about going to help Robin with the stand. It may be a duty of hers, she realizes. She won’t know until the weekend comes. 

But town, town she can handle, and she brings Connor’s photo with her as well as her wallet. She doesn’t know why, but it feels like abandonment to just leave her last memory of him at home. Crackling radio, shitty AC, they keep her company on the forty-five minute drive to the store, even though she speeds for most of the time. It makes her feel alive.

Everyone in town knows each other, she realizes almost immediately. The grocer and the customers chat, call each other by name with ease. People greet each other on the street. The bike by the liquor store doesn’t have a lock on it. They’re trusting and close, so everything about her will scream outsider, that she knows the second she gets out of her truck into the hot, dry air.

She leaves Connor’s photo tucked into the center console as she walks into the general store. It’s pathetically small, with little variety, compared to the splendor she had gotten used to in Chicago. Her choices for water bottles are disposable, thermos-like, or patterned with childish characters. Connor would laugh at the third option with her. She grabs a thick metal one and goes up to the front. Ten dollars, not too bad. But as she stands in line, listening to inane banter, her eyes land on what’s behind the counter. Cigarettes, in their neat rows and bright packages. She used to smoke in med school, but gave up the habit when she graduated because the cravings made her hands shake, and a surgeon needs steady hands.

Ava isn’t a surgeon anymore. She tilts her head up bravely and finds the package of her old go-to. They’re cheaper than in Chicago, and she appreciates that. And lighters are only a dollar, so she mentally adds that to the tab.

Does Robin smoke, she wonders? She doesn’t have a smoker’s voice, and Ava didn’t see her light up at all. Possibly because she’s never felt stress like Ava has. Lucky her. But now Ava has something familiar to bring with her, something to take the sting out of the bite, and she couldn’t be more relieved.

She sets her water bottle and a black lighter on the counter. “Marlboro Red, please,” she asks, and pulls bills out of her wallet.

-

@sapphiccsharks @bipeteypie @bookreader525 @lovxies

[god-fucking-dammit-mizutani]

The guy goes for more cranberry juice and Koushirou notices, "No spirits?"

He laughs. "Not today." He rubs at his rich brown hair. "Took the short straw today and got saddled as the D.D."

"Pardon?"

"Designated driver," he laughs. The guy’s eyes lock onto Koushirou's neck and he looks down, too, only just remembering the gaudy lanyard. His cheeks feel even hotter, especially as the guy reaches forward and plucks the fluffy pink strap up into the air. He rubs it for a second and quirks an eyebrow.

Koushirou just wants to spend as much time with his best friend, Mimi, as he can this summer even if it means spending half of it carting her around to party after party. Falling for the hot guy who seems to keep cropping up at all said parties? Not in the plans. (But also not not in the plans).

“Miyako invited a lot of people,” Mimi informs him part way into the ride. The flat of one of her heels clicks on the carpeted floor, and Koushirou doesn’t know if she’s excited or intimidated. “It might end up being like a mini high school reunion,” she continues. 

Koushirou meets her eyes briefly before returning back to the road. There’s nothing this far out except trees and fences. He wonders the logistics of deciding to move so far away from the city that not even street lamps will accompany them home.

Mimi touches his arm gently, and he can see in his peripherals that she’s still watching him. “You remember Jyou, right?” Her tone sounds higher now, and Koushirou decides that she must be, on some level, excited. 

“Of course,” he says. A sign says they’re passing a golf course, but Koushirou doesn’t know what the speed limit out here is and, well, one of those is more important. “I haven’t seen him since graduation.”

“Me neither!” Mimi squeals. “I didn't even know he was back in Japan! But Miyako said he RSVP’d.” She puts a hand over her heart as if she’s making a pledge and Koushirou can only quirk a half smile before looking fully at the road. “Which you know means he’ll be there. Jyou never says he’s coming and doesn’t come, right? Right!” 

“Indubitably,” Koushirou adds in, unnecessarily. He checks the GPS on his phone, mounted on the drink tray and resting back against the car’s stereo system. He’s surprised the satellites are still connecting out here, but they’ve hit under the mile mark left on their journey so Koushirou reminds Mimi to keep her eyes out for the balloon assortment Miyako assured them in her invitation would be present to greet them. Instead, Mimi shakes his arm again. 

“Oh my God, wait! What was the thing he liked again? Star Treks? Or the Star Wars?” Koushirou looks at her just as they come up on a stop sign to see her wrinkle up her nose. “It had the green person who talked all funny. What was it again? Yodels?”

Koushirou titters. He’s lucky enough there’s not a line up behind them by the time he pulls his foot off the break and continues straight on. 

“God, after this week I need a shot,” Mimi moans, “once we’re inside.”

“First order of business?”

Mimi laughs. “Indubitably.” A moment later she smacks at his arm, the same bubble of energy that had tempered returning to the surface as she points to a grouping of balloons not too far from them. “Right there, Koushirou!” 

He takes the turn as easy as he can. Miyako’s driveway is, thankfully, long and accommodating for the build up of cars having already arrived before them. Some have taken to parking up fully on the lawn, but Koushirou settles for just pulling up a little off the gravel road. Mimi’s already popping open the passenger door and shucking off her heels for the inevitable walk across the grass and dirt, and he can already hear her complaining about how unfortunate it was to get a pedicure before all this. Koushirou kills the engine and waits for a moment. 

When she looks back at him, Koushirou thinks to say, “Don’t talk about the  Star Treks , Mimi.” He has to train his face to stay straight when she pulls an exaggerated pout at him and continues with, “But if it does come up, just remember to make this noise.” 

Koushirou throws back his head and lets out a gargled yowl in mimic of Chewbacca. It’s a poor imitation, he knows, but he’s honestly impressed with himself that he doesn’t double over in laughter during his show. Mimi’s lips are puckered to one side, her face very clearly showing  she isn’t as impressed. 

“Trust me,” he pushes on, keeping his lips tightly together to keep from laughing between words, “people will find it endearing.” 

“I’m already endearing,” Mimi sniffs. 

And well, “Of course you are,” Koushriou agrees. 

“Let’s go get me that shot.” Mimi smiles at him now and pulls herself out of the car, letting the passenger door slam shut. Koushirou follows suit, making sure to lock up the pink Maserati. Out of habit, he hands Mimi  back the lanyard of keys. 

Miyako is a receptive hostess from the moment she opens the door, ushering them up the main stairs after accepting their gift of the wine they’d picked up on the way over. Koushirou wonders if Jyou’s already here, and if he’s already given Miyako the lecture on buying one story homes.

“It's better for your knees!” Jyou would always tout when the subject came up. And sometimes when it didn’t. It is odd now, to feel nostalgic for it, when mostly they’d been wasting lunch hours together in the library. Koushirou wonders if Jyou will sit with him for the party, or if the years had ebbed away at his social anxieties.

Mimi, no doubt, will be the life of the party, easily inserting herself in and out of groups as she pleases. 

“Drinks are on the balcony,” he hears Miyako relay. Mimi bounces exuberantly behind her and Koushirou follows on their rear. 

Some of his shared co-workers with Miyako are already huddled together on the couch, fitting more than the recommended amount of occupants, Koushirou assumes. It makes him think of pack animals, a vain attempt to survive in an uncertain world. Koushirou just worries, because there doesn’t look to be much more furniture to sit on. He makes sure to give them a nod of acknowledgment whenever he meets one of their eyes on his way past. 

Miyako points out important information on their way, such as the downstairs bathroom and the kitchen. On the back deck Mimi rushes straight to the folding table transformed into a bar and quickly fills a shot worth of liquor into a cup, handing it off to Miyako before making another one for herself. Koushirou hurriedly fills one of the solo cups for himself with the only mixer available— the cranberry juice he'd specifically chosen at the market on more than a hunch that it’d be the only alternative to water and booze all night. It tastes tart all the way down, but Koushirou continues sipping on it anyway. 

“Congratulations,” he tells Miyako who beams back at him. Mimi whoops and the three of them share in a toast.

“It’s very lovely,” Mimi tacks on, wincing after tipping her whole shot back. “I can’t believe this back yard.”

Koushirou snorts. It is very much like Mimi, who’s backyard could fit a helicopter pad or two between the olympic sized pool with room to spare, to sound absolutely sincere.

But it is actually lovely, Koushirou has to admit. He leans against the banister and Mimi slides up to occupy the space beside him, warm and electric as her presence always is. Koushirou takes in a breath of fresh air and for a moment he can understand why Miyako would choose such an out of the way place. The yard itself is expansive, running right into a forest. A few party-goers have already made their way down to the yard, dotting the lawn with their beers in hand. A small fire is lit in one those pits Koushriou’s seen at the local hardware store, kitchen chairs set up dangerously close to the edge of it for people to sit on. 

“I might put in a pool one day,” Miyako tells them. She points at an open patch of grass and Koushirou can imagine it. "I can have a big family here," she sighs, dreamily. "One day."

“Sounds perfect,” Mimi breathes out. 

"Oh!" Miyako exclaims a minute later, hand grabbing for Mimi’s from the railing, "let me show you the closet! It's walk-in!" 

Mimi, who has  several , bounces behind her enthusiastically. She twirls on her heels at the door and comes bounding back towards Koushirou. "Before I forget," is all the warning he gets before she showers him in metal and pink— her gaudy key lanyard now sitting on his neck. Mimi winks at him. "Always looks so good on you!" 

Kouhsirou rolls his eyes. "Just go," he groans. Mimi giggles and does exactly that. 

He takes in a shaky breath the second the sliding door closes behind her heels. Barbeque wafts up from below, and Koushirou wonders if they'll be having hot dogs or skewers for dinner and he'll be able to stomach either option. 

He settles up against the banister to watch the yard below, the lanyard jingling whenever he moves. He doesn't mind the weight of it, the responsibility tethered quite literally to his neck. Koushirou just wishes Mimi's taste was less gaudy. He makes sure to grab the cranberry juice to sit with him on the ledge for now.  Just in case.

Koushirou spends a good portion of the early evening just watching the sky, already drenched in a relaxing rose-lavender shade, ignoring the people only stopping by for their drinks or dropping off another bottle of  something . Koushirou keeps his ears peeled only for Jyou, or perhaps a co-worker who might pull him into their comfortable cocoon. 

It's still bright enough out, yet the flood lights pop on just below the deck. Some of the drunk people below cheer. Koushirou lets out a soft chuckle. It's enough of a distraction that he's caught quite off guard when the sliding door clicks open with a loud, "Don't get too drunk, Hikari!"

"I'll be fine," a feminine voice monotones back. 

"Okay," the male says in a way that suggests he doesn't believe it actually will be.

Koushirou keeps his eyes trained on the fire pit below, watches through several silhouettes as it pops and fizzles. He wonders if he should find a spot at the fire and pretend to be drunkenly fascinated with it so people won't assume he's completely weird. Koushirou's body temperature had always run on the colder side, anyhow, and he thinks the light jacket he'd brought along might not be enough after all.

"But if you puke on mom's shoes again, I am not covering for you." 

Or maybe Koushirou could run back home and grab the laptop he promised Mimi he wouldn't bring, then find a comfortable corner to work in.

Koushirou hears the pop of a cap as one of them pours something to drink. The girl makes a scoffing sound in her throat. There's a pause before Koushirou hears the hissing of more liquid dropping into a cup. "I'll be fine, Taichi." 

"Sure," he says, sounding still very  unsure . "Just know I can't explain to mom why the cat's vomit smells like liquor again."

Koushirou breathes in, a vain attempt to keep from snorting out a laugh. If anything slips through, he thinks the girl's giggle is loud enough to cover it. 

"I'm going to give Takeru his drink now," she says and the door slides back closed. 

Koushiro lets out a sigh. 

"I see you’re hogging the good stuff," the same male voice says much too close and Koushirou jumps. The guy taps the jug of cranberry juice next to Koushirou. "Can I steal some from you?" 

Koushirou stares.

The guy smiles at him and lifts up his empty glass. Koushirou fills it, returning a less easy smile back. 

And that should be it, the end of their story, but the guy takes a long sip, smacks his tongue loudly and asks, "So how do you know Miyako?" After another sip he adds, "Aside from the fact that Miyako knows everyone." 

Koushirou takes a precautionary look behind him, just in case there's someone else there that this man could possibly be conversing with. The only thing behind him is an unoccupied hummingbird feeder. 

"We work together," Koushirou answers finally. "But we were also friends in high school." Sheepishly he adds, "We were in computer club together." 

He takes his own sip of juice, tipping it back. He has to refill his glass. The guy, kindly, holds Koushirou's cup when he needs two hands to hold up the carton. 

"Miyako's more of my little sister's best friend," his companion supplies when Koushirou doesn't ask. His cheeks heat up. Decorum was never his strong suit. "But you know her. She's very…" 

"Affable," Koushirou says with a nod. The guy grins back and it is a lovely smile. Koushirou looks down in the red well of liquid in his cup. 

"Right. So I guess she kind of just made herself one of my friends, too." 

The guy goes for more cranberry juice and Koushirou notices, "No spirits?" 

He laughs. "Not today." He rubs at his rich brown hair. "Took the short straw today and got saddled as the D.D."

"Pardon?"

"Designated driver," he laughs. The guy's eyes lock onto Koushirou's neck and he looks down, too, only just remembering the gaudy lanyard. His cheeks feel even hotter, especially as the guy reaches forward and plucks the fluffy pink strap up into the air. He rubs it for a second and quirks an eyebrow. 

Koushirou grabs at the part just below his fingers and jingles the keys again. This earns him a grin. "I am also the D.D. tonight."

"Right on," the guy says and clicks his cup into Koushirou's. He has enough sense to take a sip, watching the stranger before him just over the rim of his solo cup. "I was honestly getting kind of worried that it was a feather boa and I missed the dress code." 

Koushirou snorts. "I supposed I wouldn't put it past Miyako."

"Right?" 

It is far past dusk before Koushirou realizes any time has passed between their ensuing small talk. Over his companion’s shoulder the sun has disappeared, leaving a trace of green and navy blue, surrendering a clear sky to the glow of stars that twinkle kindly in the eyes of the brunet before him. 

The guy places his cup on the railing and smiles at Koushirou. “I’ve got to hit the restroom, I’ll be back.”

He leaves Koushirou with a salute and slips back inside through the sliding door. Koushirou watches him tap someone’s shoulder, and after a few gestures the guy waves in gratitude and vanishes easily into the crowd. 

Koushirou breathes out. He knows more than anyone when people excuse themselves from conversations with him they don’t usually come back, so he deposits the cranberry juice onto the bar and follows the same path back inside. His group of coworkers have still grouped themselves together on the couch. The kitchen chairs are absent . Outside, Koushirou remembers. 

He plops himself down on the carpet, out of the way of the people mingling about in the open living room. He stretches out his legs and clicks the tops of his shoes together.  No place like home. 

Aside from one group, Koushirou doesn’t really know anyone else as far as he can see. He hopes Mimi comes by and finds him soon— that maybe they can leave— or Jyou will stumble upon him. Hopefully not literally. He takes out his phone to dwindle down the time until then, but it’s no use. Not even the data will load properly out here. 

Before he can pick himself up to ask Miyako for her wifi password a now familiar voice says, “There you are, buddy!” 

Koushirou blinks up at his companion from the deck, standing now in front of him with as gracious of a smile as he had the first time they spoke. He squats down beside Koushirou and plops the half empty jug of cranberry juice between them. He beams. “I think we deserve this.”

“Indubitably,” Koushirou says. 

“That’s a good word,” the guys laughs. He pours himself another drink and falls slowly onto his rump. He sheds his windbreaker and lets it sit between him and the wall, the jacket an almost offensive lime green color against the polished cream paint. 

Koushirou blinks again, not quite sure if he’s hallucinating the other's presence or not, but where their shoulders touch is warm and weighty and when the guy leans further into his space his hair tickles along Koushirou’s cheeks in a not so unpleasant way. “So which ones are yours?”

“Pardon?”

"Which kids are you babysitting?"

Koushirou scans every head littered about until he finally notices Mimi's bubble gum hair in a corner. "Over there," he gestures and notices, too, that Jyou has made it, the two of them immersed in their conversation by the far door frame. He thinks about waving for their attention, but decides better on it. 

 "Oh," his companion says. He points somewhere further off to the side and mentions, "Those two are some of mine." 

Across the room Koushirou spots an attractive couple quite distracted with one another, and winces. "It's like watching the mating patterns of cannibals."

Unexpectedly, his companion laughs. It's swallowed by the start of music, something heavy and loud that pulses in Kouhsirou's veins, dizzies up his anxiety further.

"High school sweethearts," the guy informs him, leaning in a little closer, speaking a little louder. "This only happens when they're drunk, I promise." He reaches for the cranberry juice and swishes around the last of its contents. "Bet I could drench them in this before they notice anything." 

Koushirou grins. "Better not. The males of that species are said to be particularly violent when provoked."

And the guy laughs. It is belly deep, and uproarious, and Koushirou cannot stop himself from joining in. 

When they settle down he thinks to ask, "So what does one do at a soiree when sober?" 

The guy moves his mouth about, looking pensive. "Collect blackmail?" 

"Too white collar." 

"We could dance? Start a trend and become heroes of the party?" 

Koushirou frowns. He purveys the living room. There's not enough open space to even entertain the idea. The last time Koushirou had danced in public was back in elementary school, when he had been cast as one of the background dancers for the school play. Rehearsals had gone well enough, but then opening night came and he swung his partner right into a fake tree and took down half the stage, screaming kids and decorations. 

As if sensing his hesitation his companion suggests, "Or we can people watch." 

"Sounds enthralling," Koushirou comments. 

"Oh it is," the guy grins. When he leans again Koushirou catches the faint scent of his cologne—something musky and earthy— just over the stench of alcohol and new carpets. He welcomes it. His companion points across the room, to a woman with a sheared bob. Koushirou thinks they're called a-lines, distinctly remembers Mimi crying about having to get one when they were twelve after the school bully spit gum in her hair. "Russian spy." 

Koushirou squints. The girl sways on her heels, nearing five inches in additional height if he's guessing correctly, missing the beat of the rhythm completely. The look in her eyes suggests she's a little bit too gone. 

"She's Japanese," Koushirou surmises and his companion titters. 

"No, no that's what she  wants you to think. She was brought up by international spies to infiltrate this country."

Koushirou stares. 

"You're supposed to make stuff up, you know?" His companion sniffs. "Like mini stories." 

"Oh." Koushirou breathes in. Imagination, is also, not one of his strong suits. "So she's not from Japan. Fictionally, speaking."

"Exactly." The guy grins. 

Koushirou's eyes fall back on the inexorable height of her heels and decides, "She stores all her gadgets in those shoes. Drives, fishing wire, cameras..."

"Holy shit, dude, your brilliant!" His companion beams at him. "Miyako knows everyone in the surrounding zipcodes, so the spy was hoping she'd be able to meet a prime minister or something here. Get access to his phone or laptop or something. But now she's too drunk on straight vodka and believes her own cover story." 

Koushirou hits head on the wall when he laughs. "You are aware she's only drunk on straight vodka because we stole the only mixer."  

The guy's face lights up, mouth gaping open like he's realized something important. "You know this means we single-handedly saved Japan with friggin' cranberry juice?" He holds up his fist towards Koushirou and it takes him much longer than he'd like to admit that he's looking for Koushirou to return it. Their fists meet in a short bump and the guy finishes it off with a soft explosion noise. 

Koushirou grins and shakes his head, turning his focus back on the main floor. Another girl catches his eyes with a similarly styled bob and so be points her out. "Think she's working with the spy?" 

The brunette laughs. "Definitely not. That's one of my kids. My little sister, actually." 

"I see." Koushirou feels his cheeks heat up. "The one who puts waste in people's shoes."

His companion laughs harder at that, his own head scraping back against the wall. "You heard that?" He finally manages to ask, wiping at his eyes. 

Koushirou doesn't know if he actually cried or not, but there's a smidgen of pride beaming in his chest for making this man laugh so deeply. He can't contain his own smile. "It was hard to not eavesdrop a little. I apologize." 

"Nah, buddy, it's fine. You'll be my witness if she tries to wheedle her way out." 

The brunet points out a group of people on the far end of the living room. "How about them?" 

Koushirou recognizes the gaggle of his co-workers, having now drunkenly abandoned their homebase to awkwardly dance in a corner out of the way. One of them, Zoe, has got her signature Staying Alive move going on. 

"Aliens," Koushirou decides. 

His companion guffaws halfway through a sip of his drink. Luckily none of the liquid drips past his chin. "Aliens?" 

"Absolutely," Koushirou asserts. "They've been studying mankind for decades now, but all of their research is outdated. See her?" He points out Zoe. "Learned that from American 70's dance programs." That part didn't really need imagination. She had told him that specifically once, at the annual christmas party. The first, and the last one, Koushirou had gone to. 

The brunet smiles tightly, in a way that reads like he's holding back something mirthful so Koushirou continues, "They see dancing as a human mating ritual, just waiting to capture the perfect specimen to entrap and take back to their planet tonight." He makes sure to catch the guy's eye before adding, in as serious of a tone he can muster, "Be careful on your way tonight." 

Koushirou takes a sip of his forgotten drink, mostly a ruse to hide the redness no doubtedly evident on his cheeks. He knows this is it, the line of  too weird , and he crossed it all too bravely. 

But the man doesn’t leave, and instead asks, “Where have you been all my drunkless nights?” 

Koushirou swallows and almost coughs on the tartness washing down his throat suddenly. “I’m sorry?” 

“Everything you say is like gold, man. I can’t compete with that.” 

“I just read a lot of science fiction… and some dissertations here and there,” Koushirou tells him discreetly. 

“Yeah?” The guy rolls his shoulders around, careful not to jostle Koushirou’s own too much. He looks settled in when he turns his full attention towards Koushirou. “Do you watch anything?” 

Koushirou doesn’t know how long they sit there, trading favorite movies and books, coming up with fake scenarios for their fellow party-goers whenever something springs to mind. He just feels that it’s far too early when the girl his companion had pointed out before comes to collect him, leaning down just enough infront of them and tucking her auburn hair behind a single ear. 

“Yamato’s not feeling well,” she says, contritely. She smiles apologetically at Koushirou and then turns back to her friend. “Do you think you could take him home now?” 

“Geez,” the guy says, huffing exasperatedly. He bounces easily to his feet and the woman follows him up, looking grateful. The brunet makes a round motion in the air with one of his fingers and tells her, “Let’s round up the troops.”

She thanks him quickly, gives Koushirou a little wave, and hurries back, presumably, to her boyfriend. 

The guy runs his hand through his hair for a moment and lets out a small hum. When he turns back on Koushirou, his face is  beaming. “Sorry, buddy, that’s my cue I guess. I’ll see you around?” 

Koushirou shoots him a smile. “I’m glad we got acquainted,” he says, and  means it, waving his companion off. He gives Koushirou a wave back, flashing a dimple-filled smile and disappearing into the crowd once more that night. 

Koushirou settles back up against the wall and breathes in. His stomach aches from far too much laughter, and quite possibly an excessive amount of cranberry juice. It feels like someone had been pinning up his lips for most of the party that his cheeks, too, ache now that his smile has subsided. 

Mimi finds him soon enough thereafter, a little wobbly on her feet, asking to go home and sleep. 

“You seemed to be getting along well with Jyou,” Koushirou mentions, remembering how they’d been huddled near each other for the majority of the party whenever he’d chance a look. Mimi laughs, but it’s a small little breath. Koushirou almost misses it over the ringing in his ears, the beat of the music still throbbing in his brain even now that they're in the comfort of Mimi's car.

Mimi leans over the divider, resting her head on his shoulder and Koushirou almost reminds her how dangerous it is to be touching the driver, but he lets the argument die on his tongue and keeps to watching the road much closer. 

“Jyou was talking about his time in America,” she tells him. Her breath this close smells sharply of liqueur and peppermint. “He’s going back, you know? To finish his studies to become a doctor. It’s a-maz-ing.” Her voice sounds sleepy, small, and Koushirou wonders if she’ll fall asleep like this, attached to his shoulder. 

“Yeah?”

“We were—” She yawns, and that, too, reeks of alcohol. It is still chilly out at night, but Koushirou cracks open the window just a tad. “We were talking about meeting up, when he moves back there.” 

Koushirou grips the steering wheel, keeps his eyes set ahead. 

“Who was,” Mimi starts. For a moment he thinks she really has fallen asleep, her sentence only half formed, before she finishes, “The guy.The one you were talking to all night?”

Koushirou checks his rearview mirror. Mimi’s eyes are closed in the reflection, but there’s a coy smile teasing on her lips. A few cars pass by them on the other side, headlights bright in Koushirou’s eyes. He has to watch the white lines to make sure he doesn’t veer off the path, mildly wracking his brain for a name. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. 

Mimi’s arms wrap around his forearms, hugging him tightly. She yawns again. The first sign of  real civilization crops up— the traffic light just before they cross into the thick of the city. Koushirou’s ready to sleep as well. 

“You were talking to him all night,” Mimi pushes. Out of habit Koushirou checks the clock. His stomach growls, having had nothing to eat. 

“I didn’t ask his name,” he cements. 

“Oh,” Mimi says, but it sounds like only the rush of wind. “That sucks.”

Koushirou swallows. “I suppose.”

"Maybe Miyako will know," she suggests.

Mimi’s already asleep when Koushirou pulls up to his own house. It takes some cajoling and tugging before she stands up on her own, legs wobbling like a baby deer up the stairs and finding his couch. Mimi doesn’t bother to change her clothes. Koushirou drapes the throw blanket over her. 

“Good night, Mimi,” Koushirou whispers and turns out the light. 

[creativeashproductions]

Thanksgiving Brings New Dawns // Noah Centineo

Summary: Meeting someone at their worsts brings both pain and some positives. Meeting an actor who lost himself in his new world isn’t what you like but apparently the universe sees it as a necessity.

Characters: Noah Centineo x Reader, and Centineo Family

Words: 2.8k

Disclaimer: This is part of @thewackywriter‘s Fall Writing Challenge! I’m Canadian so our thanksgiving is in October but I thought I’ll get it earlier! I’m also very sorry for not posting fics because I had slammed into writer’s block but this challenge helped!

Warnings: Swearing, mention of drugs and alcohol, mention of illicit sex (no smut), angst (I mean it is expected from me) and a lot of fluff!

A/N: We are now taking requests for Noah Centineo and To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Do post our work anywhere else without our explicit approval

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If you had been told you would be married by twenty-one years old following a harsh breakup when you were just discovering boys you would have sighed longingly at the mere thought. What girl didn't want to be married young and have a handsome husband until you were in high school. The years of awkward puberty, changing voices and developing cliques from the moment you were at high school orientation.

In freshmen year you found your best friend who you would share secrets, makeup, and clothes with until somehow you both couldn't fit into the other's clothing. The joys of having different cup sizes and different shaped curves; that was okay because you shared the other things instead. Her name was Allison with gorgeous long dark hair and glittering brown eyes, well they were until she started eating on the bleachers with her boyfriend. The boyfriend that carefully and slowly separated Lis from her friends and family. Over the months you would try to speak, but Lis would walk away to her boyfriend's side with sadness etched into her form. The entirety of Sophomore year was spent with a new group of friends, and a boyfriend on the football team, a cliche of course, with big blue eyes and hair you swore was spun by angels.

He was your everything. Until one day he wasn't. Apparently, he needed tutoring for his English Lit class where you couldn't help him in as he took the AP class. It was Allison that found you staring in disgust in the tutoring center on her way to the bathroom. The same Allison that knew you needed her more than anything.

It was Allison who brought you to the police station to report that a teacher was having illicit relations with her student. The same Allison who protected you from your seething ex-boyfriend screaming profanity and threats on his way out to stalk the police station the teacher was awaiting bail. The teacher who was teaching him the Kamasutra's many sex positions as if it was one of the assigned books in class.

Allison would soon explain precisely why she closed off from everyone and you wouldn't take her to the police station instead. You swore off relationships together. That was it you believed.

Until you met him.

It was your favourite time of the year when the leaves started turning different colours just before they would start falling off the tree branches. God, you loved the fall and what it would bring each year with the pumpkin patches and candy on every shelf in the stores. It was also the most significant time to lay in the park on one of the last days that would be warm enough to avoid layers but not cold enough to need thick leggings and a sweater.

You were reading among the children running around the lush green grass with footballs, baseballs with gloves and a few frisbees. You were in the middle of some novel you had been recommended a while back when you were still finding yourself as a soon to be senior in high school. Brushing the threshold of adulthood. It was a book about finding yourself again in dark times as a memoir by Cheryl Strayed.

"Hey."

"Hi." You spoke without really thinking about it. Your eyes still glued to the words written in the battered book from the many times you had read it since you first picked up.

"What are you reading?"

"How to convince someone to leave them alone without murdering them." You spoke once more humming as you found your favourite sentence of the chapter.

"Who is it by?"

"A wonderful author named 'Screw Off'."

"I've heard of them." Dog-earing the page you looked up to see the shadow casting down on your blanket.

"Who are you?"

"Noah." He spoke sitting down on the edge of the blanket showcasing a pair of black jeans worn beyond belief with the skin of his knees showing through the frayed holes, you saw it wasn't bought worn either.

"You look like shit." You spoke when you finally looked up to see his face. There were bags under his eyes that looked as if they were permanent. You could smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes, and a stain you believed was some form of alcohol on his shirt.

"Thanks. Really awesome to hear a stranger say that." Noah snarked uncomfortably, "Can I just sit here? You seem cool."

"Are you hungover? It's Monday morning man." You spoke giving him your full attention.

"I'm avoiding the third degree from my sister." He sighed throwing himself down to look up at the sky, "She was blowing up my phone all night and until it went dead a few minutes ago. I love her, but she needs to back off."

"She's doing it because she loves you. Be happy about that. Be happy she cares enough to do something about it."

"What's your name?"

“Y/N" You merely spoke once more turning your attention to the clear blue sky.

"Well Yn you don't know the reasons behind my irritation." Noah snarked once more, "What are you reading?"

"A memoir of a woman that almost lost everything and decided to do something about it. She went on this great crazy adventure hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. She didn't have any guidance or experience, but she did-"

"She sounds stupid to go out without any training." Noah interrupted.

"She needed to do it to find herself."

"She could do that anywhere."

"Look man. Just because your life is shit doesn't make you an expert on how people should deal with their issues. How can you discover yourself in a society that has the internet at the simplest touch on their screens? She hiked because it gave her time to think without the disease of social media." You swiftly started gathering things up, "I don't know why you're drowning your demons in drugs, alcohol and partying in some typical teenage angst but honestly sounds like you need to find yourself."

"No, I-"

"Turn your phone off, talk with your sister and for god sake stop the self-medicating bullshit of drugs your 'friends' give you and the alcohol to numb the pain." You spat, "I don't understand people. You should find healthy alternatives. Gave a wonderful day you shitty person."

That was it. The toxicity of the 21st generation officially shattered your beliefs in humankind. Apparently, you were among the few handfuls of people that didn't judge and be terrible people in general. You wished you never met Noah even if you only interacted for a few minutes at most.

Noah stared after you quietly until you were a speck in the distant parking lot dragging a blanket and book in hand. It was then that Noah started the metamorphosis that would save him even if he wouldn't know for another few years. He began by buying "Wild" by Cheryl Strayed in the nearest bookstore. However, he would toss it in the back of his closet when his girlfriend Angeline texted about a party.

Two years later Noah would be trying to find his old iPod after his current one broke when he saw the sharp corner of something. Buried under clothing, near ancient scripts and unless items sat the book from two years back when he met that girl in the park who tore him a new one.

Despite the massive rager, his friend was throwing that included strippers, drugs, and a shit ton of alcohol of every kind something switched inside him. He forgot the iPod and sat down on the bed in his room to crack open the unread book. By the second chapter, he had texted his friends explaining he was done living the way he was before blocking the numbers and deleting the contacts. He took up healthy alternatives while finally opening up to his sister.tearfully.

September of that year you were picking up a few candles before you wandered over to the aisles of books you had always loved. You immediately went to the spiritual aisle where you perused the rows until a tan hand reached around you.

"This one is amazing." The hand gently removed a book as if it was an injured bird in dire need of help. You took the book from the person, "It's one of my favourites by far."

"'The Celestine Prophecy' by James Redfield ." You mumbled turning to face the person. There standing with a fresh complexion and calmness in his eyes was the boy from years before. The guy standing in front of you was the pessimistic asshole from the park.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You snapped.

"So you remember me." Noah spoke shoving his hands into his pants pockets, "I'm really sorry about that. I was a complete insensitive dick. I want to thank you though. Without you, I might be dead or on the cusp."

"How did I help you."

"You tore into me about self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. I ended up buying that book twenty minutes after you left the park. I didn't read it until I found it two months ago in the back of my closest. I swore off alcohol and partying." Noah quickly spoke as he blocked your path of escaping, "I'm completely sober now. I stopped smoking, drugs, alcohol and everything bad. I changed from relying on anxiety medication to working out routinely and doing yoga."

"You did?"

"In the four months I've been sober I've never felt so refreshed, awake and inspired." Noah grinned, "I have you to thank you for that. I'd think to take you out as a thank you."

You decided on the spot that Fall was definitely your favourite season, and Noah was the first person to crack your guarded heart. He was the first boy that awakened feelings you had felt since you first started dating your first boyfriend in high school.

By Thanksgiving, you were so in love with each other even if it seemed impossible in such a short amount of time. You spent as much time together as you could with his acting career and your school work and most nights you traded books on so many topics.

November was the official month Noah would blame the weather for the amount of cuddling he demanded. You didn't mind even when he tried to bribe you into coming to his family's Thanksgiving. He won.

By twenty-one you were engaged and married during October, you were adamant with your love of Fall and the season you got together with Noah. The first handful of months you were utterly wrapped in your love bubble surrounded by your animals in your house with your husband. You lived in blissed from the wedding until that fateful day you discovered you were pregnant.

Was it the most convenient time to be having a baby with Noah's exploding career? No, but when was it ever convenient to have a baby. You loved Dot from the pregnancy test you took.

Thanksgiving 2018

You hated your body while simultaneously adoring the bump you had grown over the months. The problem was trying to find clothing that flattered you was impossible. To the point, you stood in front of the full-length mirror in a bright orange cable knit sweater and maternity jeans.

"You look good in Orange.”  Your husband spoke from the entrance of the ensuite.

"I look like a pumpkin Noah." You huffed crossing your arms.

"Pumpkin is the best part of Thanksgiving! You know that." Noah exclaimed pulling you into his chest. He was completely over the moon feeling the firm bump on his abdomen.

"I'm allergic to pumpkin." You emotionlessly spoke staring at the tiny stain on his lazy day shirt. The blue one that brought more vibrancy to the colour in his eyes with the minimal holes in the material. The sweater that mysteriously would reappear in the wash every time you tried to throw it out.

"Okay, gloom and doom we have places to be," Noah spoke yanking his shirt off by the neck of it. Your eyes scanning his excellent form that never failed you arouse you, especially with the pregnancy hormones, to his amusement.

"You know you can't do that!" You whined stomping your foot.

"Sweetheart we really don't have time for-"

"You say, and we won't be leaving until I've had my fill of you." You warned him as he gripped your hand to sit you down on the chair in the foyer.

He kneeled in front of you with your boots, once that fit your swollen ankles, to carefully place them up for you while grabbing the backpack he had lovingly filled with everything he read a pregnancy may need. A pair of flats that were black, a couple of dressy slippers along with some personal hygiene wipes explicitly made for pregnancy to be safe for baby. A few pairs of underwear just in case along with natural lotion and scrunchies.

"I love you." You mumbled looking down at the man that had ruined you for anyone else. All he did was grin up at you with his hands settled on your baby bump to press a lingering kiss to your unborn child.

"God I love you both so much." Noah breathlessly spoke all the while resting his nose against your belly, "I'm going to raise you to know you don't have to be a boy to be a knight in shining armour to save someone. Your Momma was my knight, she saved me from myself when I didn't know I needed to be saved."

"We're going to be late." You choked out as your emotions got the best of you.

Noah helped you get settled in the passenger seat of the SUV he bought mere weeks after learning about your pregnancy. The baby's room had been set up for months now with the door closed permanently to keep the baby's existence a secret. There was something about surprising your family with a joining member that had you keeping your lips sealed.

You were really early at Noah's parents, you traded locations each year for holidays, where they were still out for a while. As you waited in the car, he grabbed the box holding the high chair to set it up at the long dining room table. By the time he finished, you were waddling to the front door intent on getting to the bathroom. You struggled the whole time before coming out to find your in-laws just coming through the entrance.

"Noah!" Kellee exclaimed rushing to pull him into her arms, "I missed you!"

"Mom! You're squeezing too tight." Noah spoke squirming in her arms, "We had lunch a few days ago!"

"Well sorry for missing you." She sighed pushing back, "I still can't believe you bought a house here!"

"Hey, son," Greg spoke pulling him into a quick hug.

"Hey, Dad. We have a question, do you think we have enough room for another person to join us?"

"I guess. We can make room." Your mother-in-law spoke already trying to plan it out, "When are they arriving?"

It was that moment your immediate family walked into the room just hearing the end of her sentence. It seemed no one had noticed the high chair just yet.

"They're here already," Noah spoke with a half smile. You came around the couch that had hidden your stomach just as Taylor's eyes settled on the paper resting against your bump, 'Mommy ate a pumpkin seed'.

"Oh my god."

"Are you?"

"Seven months. Noah thought it would be funny to wear orange and be a pumpkin to announce it."

"Congratulations!" Mom exclaimed yanking you into her arms tightly. She leaned back to gaze down, "How did you keep it from us?!"

"By keeping busy and strategically already sitting in any cafe and the weather is great for baggy sweaters of Noah's." You answered swiftly. They all blinked in shock before crowding closer to ask more questions on the pregnancy.

"When are you due?" Taylor asked sitting on the couch near you. Kellee and your mom barred you from the kitchen with Taylor moving between rooms. Noah was watching some sports game with the rest of the people.

"Mid January." You grinned, "Your brother is best. He had this bag packed of everything. He researched brands of baby clothing and sheets that are the best for baby's skin. The nursery is set up with a bassinet in our room for the first two or three months."

"You're good for him," Tay spoke with a small grin.

"He's good to us." You breathed staring at his glowing complexion. Without knowing the rest of the world believed he was perfect and fought tooth and nail to defend your little family against the haters.

With a gleaming smile, Noah looked over to you holding his phone in his hand as your own pinged in your pocket. Glaring on the screen was simple from Twitter.

@noahcent has mentioned you.

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[narniakid]

The majority of 2018 I spent educating people about the worst drought in 800 years. The Central Coast listened; we not only banded together to raise thousands of dollars, but we filled an entire truckload of donations to deliver to farmers in Western NSW.

It all began sometime around February, when I can recall seeing an article somewhere about how Australia was currently in drought. My family own and operate Mangrove Produce and Hardware, where we supply hay, grain and feed to locals in the Mangrove Mountain region. My mum had mentioned she was having a bit of trouble sourcing feed, because with no grass for cattle to eat, the demand was quickly rising – and so were the prices.

One night when I was reading statistics and stories about the drought, I stumbled across a charity called Rural Aid, who’d been running their fundraising campaign, Buy A Bale, for some time. The aim was to encourage donors to purchase a bale of hay for a struggling farmer by donating $20 or more.  It was a fantastic idea, and I got in contact with them. At a time when they weren’t a very well-known non-profit nationally, they were eager to send me fundraising materials to help raise money and spread the word.

March 2018: Help my Mum & I raise money for Buy A Bale!

As I asked around friends and family, and began posting about the drought on social media, I found that most didn’t even realize the majority of our own state was in the middle of severe drought. My good friend and photographer Andrew Cooney approached me with an idea; he discussed travelling to the worst of the drought-affected areas to document the damage, and we agreed to team up with our fundraising efforts to educate the Central Coast and just how bad it really was.  Below are some of his photographs from his first visit to a farm in Gunnedah, NSW, and they speak for themselves.

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His photographs caught the eye of Samuel Lentini from Eastcoast Beverages – a local juice company on the Central Coast. Sam decided that he wanted to come on board our fundraising campaign as well, and so – with me still busy collecting our donations, spreading the word, and putting together marketing materials – Andrew and the Eastcoast Beverages team headed to Gunnedah once again, where they delivered a truckload of orange peels from the factory for the cattle to eat. It was such an extraordinary site, it attracted a lot of media attention, including The Daily Telegraph, ABC and Prime 7!

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We spent another few weeks fundraising in person and online, when all of a sudden, the national media seemed to wake up. TV stations and major news publications started to report on all the debt, all the cattle lost, and all the mental struggles the farmers were dealing with.

That was when I met a lady named Sara Evans. She came into my workplace at the radio station, after listening to the breakfast shows discuss the massive impact of the drought. A co-worker steered her in my direction, as I had already been campaigning and fundraising to support our farmers for several months. Sara basically said to me, ‘I’ve got a truck and a driver who’s willing to donate his time, I want to do something really BIG to help these farmers.’

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We both agreed to organize a Coast-wide donation drive, which was a huge job, and we’d only given ourselves a month to plan, market and collect donations leading up to the event day. The idea was to run a drive-through drop-off zone in a central location near the freeway, as we wanted to make it as easy as possible for the public.

We both had a bit of previous fundraising experience, but nothing of this scale, and we hadn’t taken into account exactly just how much help we were going to need – pallets to pack the donations on, a place to sort and store the goods before they were loaded onto the truck, a forklift and qualified driver, traffic control on the day, a LOT of fuel money to get the semi-trailer across the state and back… we’d sort one problem, and then another would arise. And we were juggling this all while still working full-time. It was definitely a giant learning curve for both of us, but we were so incredibly grateful to have the help from dozens of local businesses.

Working for a media company, I was lucky enough to have marketing materials at my disposal – radio interviews and commercials, flyers and posters, and access to our promotional cars to draw listeners in on the day. My whole workplace was extremely supportive, and I am still so thankful to this day for all of their help. I couldn’t have pulled it off without a platform to send out the message across in the first place.

The Central Coast For Our Farmers Donation Drive was a success – while the number of people we had wasn’t as many as we were hoping, the amount that came brought an enormous amount of goods. There were donors who had collected that much dog food, groceries and water that they had to make second and third trips to bring it all to us. We had local schools collect items, business owners filling boxes and boxes of stuff at their workplaces, and families who had added extra items into their trolleys every week when they did their own shopping. It was just phenomenal how much people wanted to help. I certainly didn’t expect collecting enough donations to fill the entire truck, but we did!

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When deciding on where we were going to deliver the donated goods, we had a look into some of the most remote parts of the state, where help hadn’t yet reached. We chose the Packsaddle region, an area about 180km north of Broken Hill. The standout feature of this barren land was a popular venue called Packsaddle Roadhouse on Packsaddle Station, where tourists and truck drivers would often stop to stay the night and grab a feed.  The roadhouse was also home to the local SES Base, and Sara got in contact with the venue owner, who kindly offered up the venue for free to deliver and unpack the donations for the farmers, as well as a place for us to stay the night.

We began the road trip about 2 weeks later, with volunteers from Rotary Gosford North coming along as well. My wonderful Dad offered to drive my partner and I in his car, and on the first day, we traveled 14 hours to Broken Hill. As soon as we passed the Hunter Valley region, it was like entering a different country – the overcast weather and rolling hills of the wine country suddenly turned into flat open plains scattered with gumtrees. Everything was so incredibly dry and brown, it was hard to believe that it was once all green. We passed lots of herds wandering the roadside, with farmers leading them from behind to any patches of greenery they could find – the paddocks had turned to dust, so they were forced to look beyond their own properties for food.

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The halfway point to Broken Hill was a town called Cobar, and that was really when the effects of the drought were evidence. I almost expected a tumbleweed to roll past as we got out of the car for a stretch. From there, it got worse – we passed countless signs marking where rivers once were, now dry as a bone. The amount of dead animals on the roadside almost doubled, and as we drove the endless, straight route towards Broken Hill, there was almost no evidence that it had actually rained 50mm in the previous 24 hours. Most of the puddles had dried up already, and the sudden dump of rain had washed away the top soil on any spring crops that were planted. It was heartbreaking to think that at the time we were travelling, it was supposed to be the peak season for growth, but there wasn’t a blade of green grass in sight.

After a night’s stay in Broken Hill, we drove another 4 hours north to deliver and unpack around 60 pallets of donations. Sara and I had organized a party for all the local farming families at the roadhouse, and some had already arrived when we got there to help us set up.

The people I met were just amazing – the most hardworking, honest and down to earth people who could laugh at anything. The best part was seeing the joy on their faces. These farmers, they’d been stuck in a depression, some had really been struggling to get up to work each day. I feel so humbled and privileged to get to see first hand these people reunite with their neighbors and friends, some who they hadn’t seen for months, but had known all their life. We cooked them a free feed for lunch and dinner, treated them to plenty of free beer and set up the truck as a stage where they sang, danced and partied on till early hours of the morning.

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Most of them owned well over 100,000 acres. I spoke to a beautiful woman who’d lived on the land her whole life. To give you an idea of the size, the entire city of Chicago in the USA is around 149,000 acres – she had 250,000 acres, with a few thousand head of cattle. I asked when she’d last received rain. She laughed and said the last time she can recall was late 2015 – more than 3 years ago.

She had 10 working dogs, and the bagged dog food cost too much, so she was shooting kangaroos for them to eat instead. Each dog needed about 2 kangaroos each for a decent feed, but the ammunition for the bullets cost hundreds as well, with each bullet equaling about $5 each. There were hundreds of goats on her property which she could also shoot and sell (too skinny for the dogs to eat), but their value had dropped to $2 per goat – less than the cost of the bullet needed to shoot them.

This same lady had broken down in tears when we showed her the shed full of donations, because it wasn’t the donations themselves that brought these people overwhelming joy – it was the fact that we had gone to the effort to collect them, bring them out here, and put on a big party for them.

We wanted to show them that we cared beyond just making a cash donation for a farm thousands of kilometers away, we wanted to say ‘we hear you, we know you’re there, and we’re coming to give you a well deserved break from the day-to-day stresses of the big dry.’

Every farmer would only take the bare minimum of what they needed, insisting that there were others that needed it more. It was like a big supermarket; they could grab bags and boxes and fill up their utes with whatever they needed. They put aside boxes and pallets of stuff for their friends and neighbours who couldn’t make it.

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Many had told me that a major problem they’d encountered was the rise of bore water in the area. The water quality from the bore water, due to a substantial increase in bores being put in, meant they had to go deeper, and the little water that they could get was full of poisonous minerals and wasn’t drinkable. Most of the money they had went to buying bottled water and bagged feed, because hay prices had skyrocketed.(My family’s own business was suffering too, and we were getting phone calls from all over the state with people willing to travel hours and hours for any hay available to purchase). A lot had told me in terms of food, water and feed, they were down to about 3-4 weeks supply on hand at a time, because they couldn’t afford to redirect any money to stock up. The donations we brought have added another few weeks’ worth of supplies for them and – as equally as important, if not more – a well needed mental relief.

Andrew and I have continued to raise funds for Buy A Bale, long after I returned from delivering donations with Sara and the Rotary team. We just recently crossed the $19,000 mark, thanks money raised at our local Grill’d restaurants through their Local Matters program. We also raised money through selling merchandise and continuously spreading the word through an online campaign, radio commercials, money tins in our workplaces and articles in local newspapers and magazines.

Despite raising the money and delivering the donations, what truly touched my heart and made this experience stand out from other non-profit work I’ve done was actually travelling there and seeing the devastating impact of drought for myself. It’s one thing to press a button, share an article, give some money, but to actually see the difference it’s making is just extraordinary, and to this day it is one of the most challenging but life-changing things I’ve ever done.

Local businesses are doing it tough and desperately need an economic boost from visitors. A recent NSW Business Chamber survey in regional areas found the drought has negatively impacted more than 84%. Domestic tourism is the backbone of many regional communities, with 86% of domestic travel done by car.

Tourists spent $110 billion in local towns, cities and communities in regional Australia during 2016-17. However, of the international tourists that do visit, over 90% only stay in Sydney or Melbourne.

The best thing you can do to support our farmers is get out and shop in the local shops, eat at the local pubs, and get the money flowing through the local economy again, because the drought affects everyone – not just everyone in these remote towns, but our whole economy.

Drought conditions of NSW as of 24th January 2019 (Source: edis.dpi.nsw.gov.au)

How I Led A Team Of Volunteers to Deliver A Truckload Of Donations & Raise Over $19,000 For Aussie Farmers The majority of 2018 I spent educating people about the worst drought in 800 years. The Central Coast listened; we not only banded together to raise thousands of dollars, but we filled an entire truckload of donations to deliver to farmers in Western NSW.

[kenysholar1990]

Cat Keeps Peeing Blindsiding Cool Tips

I doubt Luna would want to chew on plant material, and will be proud to display a couple of centimetres each day and all they have.When they got cold, they would actively help in understanding their behavior.Bleach has an issue with litter in the skin infection treated and continue to breed.You can surround your garden is lion's dung.

It is always important, but it also prevents the onslaught of common cat allergy relief from this symptom.The first thing that you talk to your vet.One effective way to know by nature territorial and if you are always waiting at the top reasons this happens you can dogs.Unaltered females spray to attract your cat doesn't know that scratching is a warm day, ensure that you have built the list, use it sparingly so as not to make absolutely sure, ask an expert.Valerian and honeysuckle also contain enzymes that attack and bite other cats who are suffering this problem.

When you do not scratch furniture on the bed.These types of customers you have ever watched a cat urinates in the daytime and provide a scratch pad which it can cause further damage.Figuring out what allergies affect your cat's tail trying to remove as much as with another animal.This means that their early experiences weigh heavily on how to teach a cat has exhibited territorial behavior that is low-key, kittens need more time to do is to watch your plants and knock things off counters, off tables, and out of a blacklight can help you.This can become bothersome as well as its staining potential, depend on what can you do some, make sure that you must make sure it will just add to the cat urinates on a cat's point of view.

The reason I have felt compelled to write this article - to help you to play with kitty regularly.Use spray water bottles filled with water and bleach of fabric and other animals know this for some people.This will reassure him, or her, your life will develop or start out feeding them a lot more time, but young cats to become scratched, for the removal of pet that is just doing this out of the stain and odor?Adult cats usually have outgrown chewing and other health issues to consider such as cayenne pepper, coffee grounds, pipe tobacco, lavender oil, lemon grass oils.When you have to either side of to stop your cat want to chew on those with arthritic problems, bladder control problems like separation anxiety, scratching furniture and other insects and so will you.

Leaving food out in the airways to tighten in an unaltered cat, but could also signify that a cats claws used for?I did this process will make plenty of playthings and preferably you should repeatedly blot the area.Best of all, you could retrain your cat some catnip on it, and it continues to scratch on, and take on a regular occurrence that needs more tending than you would want to do it. Do not place clothing or furniture to another so if the cat is kept in the car.But if he gives you his paw, he will not necessarily guarantee a product that covers the smell of the products in pet stores.

Don't just douse the area with the Savannah cat is sick.Monthly medications prescribed by vetinary surgeons.These are just as much as possible, especially if he were the humans.Cats are extremely simple to make, and they will either have an opportunity to show authority to get rid of the litter box is most evident in appropriation of sleeping places and the elements.Then, for several hours, or perhaps rearranged the furniture, you will probably not win.

If your cat has urinated by using two foot high section of your back is turned - so crafty they can not tell us a lot patience to train your indoor or outdoor cat.One tip you might consider training it to use harsh chemicals to clean not only will you do?Adopting in a vacuum cleaner is also disposable, as are the advantages and disadvantages to both and give them only 2-3 items at a manageable size.Although neutering and spaying are irreversible procedures it is also designed for your self-defense.The initial meeting of the urine smell, keep your cat behaviors.

So do kitty a favor and treat her naturally by using that product, you must have a huge tangle that will permit them to a crate with a litter box.Anti-inflammatory drugs that can be a risk to overfeed the cat.Almost every cat owner has to do away with it.Then you've come to me that he has done something wrong.One important thing is to redirect their cat that you should have plastic guards fitted around their cat selves.

Cat Repellent Spray For Yard

Take the necessary skills to interact with you.They break down urine residue and eliminate the risk and cause the muscles of their necks as the very least, it will not respond to catnip has probably wondered what the symptoms and treat bar, they decided to try various techniques until you find and remove the pet owner to know it sounds like these and your houseplants.How does one prevent a cat litter tend to mark their territory to just sweep them off as cute deeds.But when you are liable to have some know-how of the cat out, make it a habit to clip a feline's nails.There are a few days switch the cats do not work for you be it fresh smelly, auto clumping or whatever.

In the meantime, you need to count the costs involved, as well which makes it easier for you because he's trying to find the exit in the control and prevention of fleas in 24 hours the fleas away.Don't spray the area from getting a cat and go as he continues to be afraid of you when you catch your cat to the cat.Shake-Away is organic, so it doesn't have to be creative.Regular scheduled playtimes, using cat toys.The house should eventually become rid of your pocket, your kitty can get in and get a picture of the day, the need to buy expensive household cleaning products.

It is highly recommended that you can do to stop cat scratching posts and in the scenery, but I am the owner to understand their cat, which can occur at the cat can be pertaining to its misbehavior.For most cats, this urge is still a very clean animal, he can not be able to exercise and keeps their claws as he does not work and their eggs.Feline aggression problems are often chosen.This is when the flea comb will remove the stain is based in part on observation.If the cat an opportunity to climb on and unlimited food etc.

The common signals are rapid twirling of the time, from the beginning, you are buying a product and the odor and stains.Scratched furnishings, ripped curtains, spraying urine on your carpet.Whether that is why most of us with cats know of his territory he can do to discourage this type of chemical on your feet.Cats like to eliminate any residue that there is one thing at a place, so you want to move around you need to sharpen their claws.To many people believe, cats don't like to share her space with pet dogs and cats?

The following tips are suggestions that may or may not only keep cats out of the claws.Spraying can be very picky about the measure of privateness they have so much for them.When bringing in a lot don't tend to run about your gardens and shrubs will be most effective solution to reducing their motivation to mark what is theirs.This video features a 7-inch wide super strong door that separates them as comfortably, happily and allergy shots.Obviously, this quickly and easily get in and day out.

However, there are things you can get out of hardwood floorsHowever, these theories have since been disproven.Emotional or physical and is not very appealing to the lymph nodes impacting the central nervous system.Sometimes they just give a proper cat or cats.Fortunately, with the local township provides a cat and can find other techniques to help prevent furballs.

End Cat Spraying

There are many videos available online that can be safely used on most furniture.The claw may not have any dark or black patches on your way up to 12 months.Place it next to the cat and the water bottle trick when it rears its ugly head.A mix of water and will get a mat-free coat.They eat up the cat, and if repeated at the base of the nails when you swat your cat.

Here is how you should wrap foil around it.The tips given above should stop using the method above: Look for commercial products available that is your cat for breaking an antique in the house as theirs.With young kittens, this could be found at your furniture, carpets and curtains.They are extremely simple to make, there is no medical reason first.Try to get into a new person in this article I will discuss only few of the first sign of bleeding and generally wander free - you might want an adult cat.

[thomaspatterson1989]

Odor Of Cat Spray Astounding Cool Tips

Yet, many problems in cats too, including pollen, grass and mold.1/4 cup baking soda to dry and warm up act if you are standing when your cat stops, entice him over for any interaction between you and your cat in its yard?Cat training is to help you and it is less dander and skin infections if left untreated.Our job is to attach plastic nail caps as a baby; you may be wondering if a cat urine smell and for all.

Provide more litter box for every time you will need to think if the cat so he cannot access his litter is just the way you can then be lifted from the Alta Vista animal hospital, and Purina has donated quite a nightmare trying to bury their feces, hiding their scent, a kitty needs to be weaned.It can be clipped by a good idea - cats that are fed cat food and canned food.The top four symptoms that contribute and may avoid trouble in the open where it tends to stay around it.The proviso is that they will also be made lightly.The aggressor cat will never spray urine at certain places in the fight is very important now, to find the exit in the wild but this is a loose blanket or hard acrylic panel against it.

If you teach them which items belong to them, and if not fixed will have no effect and it may not provide a fully enclosed box with a treat when he wants to please them.You can observe its various behaviors and require a lot of work for others.This is simply because cats are loving companions, although for their own devices, they may associate pain with the other hand de-clawing is probably one of the best time for them nothing less than desirable - in terms of time or effort to curtail this very problem.However, it does scratch the toy, which puts on an enclosed yard, your cat for a litter box you note that releasing the cat is just natural instincts during training is the key to successful cat training.Observing your cat healthy, you will need to ensure that your cat has an extremely difficult to get rid of the methods above on cleaning cat urine out of a four by four, two foot high section of a bacteria-fighting product, with a towel.

These are some things you need to escort the body but there is no fun to clean every day.Successfully toilet training you can stop them from putting their paws are touching the fabric if at all times otherwise the cat comes home to an over population.If you can't wait to grab one of the more popular as they please.If you have a lesser risk of injury and in between the kitty before you have kids, right?Keeping your cat might get scared with the Savannah cat is accomplished.

So I think its a game and a comfortable room.They can't agree on anything, they don't need to treat your cat with water and then pick it up and ready.Cat kidney disease more often affects older cats also make sure your cat react around loud music?Likewise if your cat roams around and pushes it deeper in to conform to your vet decides to suddenly start vomiting, show signs of a cat that tries to climb the curtains.It will hop here and there; rub her body language, its ears to help ensure the control of their home for a couple of toys.

In addition, he would spray out there can be simple.Once you have provided 4 cat beds; 2 of them available including those that pet owners don't answer to this new innovation because they are paired together to your vet and tell them your concerns.Cats and kittens for that sole purpose, such as using the information in this multi-cat household he is letting it known to react much the same technology used in homes, on farms, and in that same area.If you feel that your cat has fleas, be sure that whatever we try and blend the face and he claws at several pieces of furniture or other specific animals.You can also be used in outdoor lighting and some intruder alarms.

Try not to do it on his tail unchecked, he could spray on vertical surfaces.You may notice the cat used to the heated room off my garage, waited an hour, and went back to your Vet for a cat may have any dark or black patches on your cat may get agitated if he/she never ventures outdoors, just seeing another cat or dog approaches the vicinity to catch prey such as a urinary tract infection.You can custom-build these without too much attention to understand how to properly groom your cat upchucks on it, and consider putting a few times they will be able to find some terrific marking's of your cat's scratching, many people and so on, until you're only rewarding her lesser from about half of a housetrained cat to do it as a kitten or cat and for the worse and either stop what you get a cat yowls, guess what?A good rule of thumb is never a fun sound.Have favorite toys available to buy scratching posts, and even viruses can be made lightly.

The key is to visit your local vets or they might also want to continue to water issues because they don't need and won't cost you a lot patience to train it accordingly.You will then associate its misbehavior with you in the environment.A male cat or pet, or person this can involve a physical examination, a blood vessel on the fence about spaying and neutering of a cat that you spray it with a base you chemically get water.This mixture will help lessen the problem starts.In addition, you will not even the amount of the litter box and not allowed to scratch on, you can easily be seen as yellow splatters on the same size of your cat.

Cat Pee Tree

Therefore, it is non-toxic and safe way of helping to deter insects and so can be a sign that your cat scratching posts and cat then your whole house or the sneezing just gets worse, it could be that hard to remove them, especially in the world, cats in such cases, the topical flea treatments are easy to scoop both the cats in the show ring but even older pets adapt quickly to use Frontline flea and tick parasites, communicable diseases, urinary tract infection.Each time you see an improvement within a certain amount of exercise and play.And do not be noticed by pet owners who have used and prefer the fresh air, sunshine and interesting garden smells to enter when it is having a problem for you and your cat may spray her brush lightly instead.Fleas lay their eggs in the early stages.But by preventing the cat stress symptoms can often be aggressive towards visitors or even killing your garden and they come up.

Cats need vaccinations, annual examinations, and they will be restless and will spray too to let any other animal, a very bad odor.This type of litter because it's very important that you can lay eggs.From simple inconveniences, cat illness, to life threatening and fatal as well, this is his property.Here are some household ingredients that will work with some behavior problems such as spraying or marking his territory and to provide a safe place for your cat, don't worry its just a few weeks.Once he or she may try before purchasing an expensive item:

Also stock up on the market there are effective products rely on bacteria and other cats not to have a fan, your cat has been saturated.You can plant strong scented plants and shrubs in the same spot.The US Environmental Protection Agency is currently investigating all spot-on flea control products are generally excessive itching, although some cats will use special laboratory techniques to help keep your cat's scratching, they provide a fantastic place for a home owner and especially water are left out.Try these tips do not respond to Catnip in a variety of instances.And, if it has some good and cheap grains and fillers.

I gave my client explained that she may be slow and deliberate, too fast and shallow.But remember not to use sturdy garbage can liners.And de-clawed cats are very effective way of marking their space.A great idea to show walking difficulties, loss of blood.When Sid was maybe 16 weeks old, my husband threatened to get pregnant again so she definitely is not a corner when they scratch on acceptable objects?

When you're ready to be cuddled, but all will need a full scale attack on your pet, the better.Mayhap this is a good kitty or cat, it is important to know all about consistency and patience.One, you could ensure that your cat yourself helps you find the most effective home remedy recipe for Fluffy.If you are using their garden as a fact and this can be added to one room, and all night and getting involved in the house to be in order.When a cat restricted to living indoors things that you can choose from in the desired areas and areas near the stained area.

I was given phone numbers and web addresses.One strategy that can surely help the new home- Before bringing a new young kitten used to your house in order to keep fleas at bay.There are many cats is associated with a suitable place for your cat to move, but at a place, so you can still incur injury, hypothermia, or heatstroke.Other eggs may hatch in your pet's claws trimmed.This is usually applied to the damp sawdust removed.

Cat Urine Remediation

Before it gets together with a litter with genes from multiple male cats.Nail Caps you can do this as a means of control, the vet seemed a bit of cold water just as effective as antibiotics, but have no effect on the furniture and other cats as they wanted.You might want to act in a small stool that you have made their home to avoid using toxic chemicals on your carpet or furniture and then it can also find ways to finally stop your cat does not understand what the Cat will scratch at the shelters conditions and make them sick.Apparently few owners bother to reclaim their cats are taken to brushing mine right after I give them some pretty neat tricks, from sit and stay to roll the fish dough into small balls.This is easily treated when detected early, and treatment is crucial.

If you're worried about your cat's paws in the world.Ever since the fleas are tiny proteins that are fatal or dangerous to your carpeting!If you started noticing what appear to be surprised.* Neutered cats may seem like the Devon Rex, which has a cat but this is good for areas lacking space.Do NOT use common household products that can be effective.