#but i wanted to another bunts one since he’s been giving so much content as of late

[nylwnder]

YAYYY! And I hate to be a needy bitch (not really) but are you still making fancams? They're so good and I need them.

no no you’re not needy!!!!! i feel like i haven’t fed any of you lovelies with anything for so long so i def need to make up for that. i wanna make one this week especially, but i just don’t know of who cause i had so many ideas sheknjahfbsjfirnr

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 18: Ghost

Contents | Part 17 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) After the disappearance of Father Benedict, Ellis finds herself struggling to move on.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult & sexual themes. Alcohol consumption, descriptions of weight loss/body insecurity and low mood. Discussions of TTC and pregnancy (not MC), death and grief. Readers must be 18+

To anyone else, the scene around you would have been a happy one. Beautiful, even. Family and friends gathered on the rooftop garden of a pub; flowers and greenery swaying in the mild October breeze, glittering fairy lights and pastel coloured bunting hanging against the backdrop of a blushing evening sky. 

Music played softly in the background, melding with pleasant chitchat, clinking glasses and laughter. A large chalkboard stood near the bar, listing cocktails named after your cousin and her new fiancé; Bex on the Beach, Gregroni, Wedding Bellini, Mai Tie-the-knot. You liked Negronis, but you'd have sooner drank dishwater than asked the bartender for a Gregroni. 

You sat at a table on the edge of the room as the couple floated around the party together. Your cousin Rebecca showing off her engagement ring to anyone who asked, while Greg gave firm handshakes and fiddled with his hair every two minutes. You hadn't said much since you arrived. Partly because you didn't like parties, the bustle and chaos giving you headaches that took days to pass. But mostly because you simply had nothing to say. You hadn't had much to say for a while now. 

The sun and moon shared the sky, passing each other like two ships in the night, their time together so fleeting yet undeniably beautiful. You wondered how long they had left together, if the moon would feel lonely once the sun dipped below the horizon. 

Your makeup was irritating your eyes, your hair itching the back of your neck. For weeks you'd fallen into a cycle of nothing but work and sleep, forgetting what it felt like to dress up, to sit in the company of other people. Happy people. You felt like a ghost, observing the world from another plane where you could see them but they couldn't see you. 

You were sitting at a table with your back to a brick wall, turning a glass of rum and coke with your fingers as you stared up at the sky. Your mother was sat beside you, deep in conversation with your grandmother across the table. Mara had gone to the bar for another drink, her empty chair quickly filled by your aunt Pauline the moment she got up. 

 "Ellis." your mother's voice faded into focus. "Ellis...?" 

You blinked a few times, the glare from the sun creating spots in your vision. "Hm?" 

"Your aunt was talking to you..." 

"Oh, sorry, what did you say?"

"I said it's your turn next," said Pauline with grin.

You stared at her blankly. 

"To get married," she specified. "Now my Becca's engaged, that makes you the last cousin left." 

"But Alexander isn't married," you said, looking at the three women as you spoke. "Neither's Dionne." 

"Oh Alexander's off travelling the world so he doesn't count," said your grandmother. "And well, Dionne's a lesbian." She whispered the last word, as though she'd be struck by lightning if she said it out loud. 

You narrowed your eyes in confusion.

"I'm calling it now," said Pauline. "I give it two years and we'll be watching you walk down the aisle." 

"I'm failing to see what I've done to give you that idea," you replied. 

Mara approached the table with a drink in her hand. You noticed her face fall when she realised her seat had been taken, rolling her eyes and grabbing one from nearby and dragging it across the floor to squeeze in between your aunt and grandmother. 

You felt your eyes glaze over as they continued talking; wondering how many times they'd had this exact conversation with you, how it was yet to dawn on them that you didn't want to hear it.

"And the quicker you have kids, the better," said your grandmother. "Luckily for you, Mara waited until she was older to start a family." 

Mara pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek. 

"Which means you've still got a chance of having children close in age." 

"Why would that matter?" you asked. 

"So they can be friends!" said your mother. "Think of how boring your childhood would've been if you didn't have your cousins to play with." 

"They never let me play with them..." 

"Soleil's, what, ten months old?" said your grandmother, ignoring your comment. "So Mara's going to want to have another in the next year or two-"

"Am I?" Mara raised her hands in confusion. 

"Which gives you time, Ellis, to meet someone and settle down." 

You tried to ignore the pang in your chest, the Father-Benedict-shaped knife in your gut. You cleared your throat and forced a nod. "Well, now that I know my entire future is contingent on my sister's reproductive system, I'll be sure to get right on it." 

Rebecca appeared at your table, placing a hand on the back of her mother's chair as she smiled down at you all. 

"Thanks so much for coming," she said excitedly. 

"Congratulations, love," said the women in uncanny unison. 

"Congratulations," Mara added.

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, even a smile felt painful. 

She held out her hand, proudly showing off the large diamond on her finger. You stood up as they all began to coo and gush over the ring, quietly excusing yourself and meandering across the crowded rooftop. 

You ordered another drink, resting your elbow on the bar and massaging your temple with your fingers. The sun was dropping lower, and you wondered how much longer you would have to stay; how many more times you would bite your tongue or force a smile.

You felt someone brush against your arm, turning to see Mara standing beside you, leaning forward and resting her forehead on the bar as she groaned quietly to herself. 

"I'm sorry about that," she said. 

"About what?" 

"About mum and nan and aunt Pauline. You know they wouldn't have gone on like that if they knew what happened with the priest-"

"They've been reminding me of my ticking body clock since I was about twenty," you said plainly. "There's nothing you could've said to stop it." 

The bartender placed your fresh rum and coke in front of you. You thanked him and took a sip as Mara lifted her head, letting out a long, aggravated huff. 

"Why is it so hard for them to comprehend that a woman can be perfectly fulfilled without kids?" she said, turning to look at you. "D'you know I was completely content without children? Totally fine. I mean, I always assumed I'd have them eventually, but I didn't feel like I needed them to be happy."

You stayed quiet, watching her as the words began to spill, stumbling out of her mouth as though she couldn't form them quick enough. 

"We decided after we got married that what will be, will be, y'know? So we stopped using protection - if it was going to happen then it'd happen. But then... it didn't happen. And a few months turned into years, and suddenly it was like this... dark cloud looming over me. I became obsessed with just getting pregnant. With being capable of the very thing my body was made for. I completely lost sight of the baby that comes after, the literal human being we'd be bringing into the world and raising for the rest of our lives. I just wanted to prove I could get pregnant. I lived my life in 28 day cycles for seven years, making myself sick with stress, crying on the toilet when I got my period every fucking month. And it had nothing to do with wanting to be a mother. I just didn't want to be a failure." 

She glanced over her shoulder to the table where your mother, aunt and grandmother still sat. 

"And the whole time, I had to sit and listen to them droning on and on and on about how old I was getting, how strange it was that we hadn't started having babies as soon as we got married." She rolled her eyes. "Then I finally got pregnant with Soleil, and I was so... relieved. Not happy. Not excited. Relieved. Now she's here, and you know what, I adore her. She's amazing, I'm so lucky to be her mum. But god, I miss my life before her. I miss doing whatever the fuck I want, when I want; sleeping until midday, going out for a drink and not having to worry about being hungover with a baby to look after the next day, taking a shit with the door closed."

You laughed. 

"I'm not more fulfilled now that I have a child. I'm grateful, sure. But all that bullshit they keep hammering you with, Ellis, the clock ticking and the guilt tripping and the 'don't wait like Mara did'. Don't listen to it. They're not asking when you're going to settle down because they think you'll be a great wife or mother. It's because for some reason they can't fathom the idea that you might just be perfectly fucking content on your own." 

You paused, mulling over her words. "I just... I feel like they don't know how to talk to me. So instead they talk at me; tell me all the things they think a woman my age should be doing, without actually caring if any of that would be right for me." You took another sip of your drink. "Like, Jesus, why does it always have to be about men and kids and marriage? I just want to be asked about my favourite fucking cheese or something, y'know." 

Mara laughed and gestured to the bartender. "Two shots of sambuca, please." 

You grimaced. 

He placed them in front of her soon after. She slid a shot glass over to you before raising her own. You reluctantly raised yours, clinking them together before throwing it back in one gulp, gagging as the strong liquor burned your throat. 

Mara put her empty glass on the bar and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "What is your favourite cheese?" 

"Mozzarella." 

"What a boring fucking answer." 

You arrived home with the scent of alcohol on your clothes, a pounding in your head and ringing in your ears. There was a buzz in your bones, liquor warming your veins as you plodded barefoot up the stairs, carrying your heels in your hand. 

You unlocked the front door and stepped into your flat, darkness swaddling you like a blanket; closed curtains and filtered moonlight, mess you'd learned to navigate without sight. Your home had become a time capsule of the day he left; books still waiting to be shelved, the sacred heart propped on the table, two glasses unused on the draining board. 

You didn't bother to switch on a light, dropping your shoes and bag as you walked through the living room. You wondered what he was doing right now, if he was wandering through the dark somewhere, seeking solace in the shadows. 

Your new bed sat in pieces, still packed inside a large unopened box with the delivery label stuck to its side. You walked into the bedroom and stepped around it, as though it wasn't even there, turning your back to the floor-length mirror propped against the wall as you began to undress. 

You couldn't bear to look at yourself anymore; the things he'd loved about your body slowly wilting, fading away with each day that passed. Your breasts no longer filled the cups of your bra, and the elastic of your briefs no longer left indents in your hips. You were a husk, with protruding collarbones and a rutted spine, sunken cheeks and spindly wrists. A version of yourself you struggled to recognise, so you'd stopped trying.

You stripped down to your underwear and crawled onto the mattress in the middle of the floor, pulling the duvet up to your chin and closing your eyes, letting the alcohol slowly lull you to sleep. 

Autumn had crept in slow, turning the trees a muster of yellows and golds, rich reds and deep browns. They lined the streets like a tunnel, rusty leaves arching over the roads like a vaulted chapel ceiling. 

The bus rattled as it drove through puddles and potholes, the windows shuddering, passengers swaying. You clung to a small bag of groceries on your lap, the church coming into view as you rounded the next corner. You couldn't help but peer out at it, as though checking to see if it was all still there, if it had somehow changed in your month-long absence.

Your eyes narrowed when you noticed a car parked near the parish hall. It looked just like his, with faded paint and a crooked wing mirror, tyres in desperate need of air. You pressed the bell before you could talk yourself out of it, rushing down the aisle as the bus came to a halt at the next stop. You stepped down and hurried quickly across the church grounds, groceries in hand and a heartbeat in your throat. 

You pushed through the doors of the hall, the heels of your shoes squeaking against the shiny laminate floor as you marched inside. There was a group of people sitting in a circle, their heads turning in unison as you approached. You recognised most of them; Sandra and John and Marion and Louise, the same look of sadness on their faces that followed them to every grief support meeting. 

You stopped, eyes falling on the man in the white collar; greying hair and round cheeks, long eyelashes that fluttered as he blinked at you in confusion. He was a priest, but he wasn't your priest. 

"S-sorry..." you said quietly, taking a tentative step back. 

"That's okay," he replied. "Are you here for the session?" 

"Erm..." you glanced around at the people you knew, then down at the bag in your hand, the milk you needed to put in the fridge and loaf of bread that was probably squashed beyond repair. 

"Come sit down, Ellis," said Louise, patting an empty chair beside her. 

"Oh, you've been before?" the priest asked, shoulders relaxing slightly. 

You hesitated before finally joining them, sitting down without removing your coat and averting your eyes to the floor. 

"What was your name, sorry? Ellie?" 

"Ellis," you replied quietly.

"Ellis, got it. I'm Father Richard, I'm new to St Augustine's." 

Something inside you crumbled. You'd heard Father Benedict say that so many times, it felt like there was an imposter in his place, someone sitting in his chair, wearing his clothes. You were so stupid, so pathetic to think you'd walk in and see him there, smiling up at you as if the last month hadn't happened. 

You settled into your seat as he picked up where he'd left off, asking people questions and plucking bible verses from the top of his head. There was a woman on the other side of the circle you'd never seen at a meeting before. But you recognised her from mass, always in the back pews with her brood of children and handsome husband. You wondered who she'd lost, how she still managed to look so pretty in the throes of mourning.  

"I suppose I'm just struggling," she said. "The guilt is eating me alive. Every time I so much as laugh or smile I think how awful it is of me. My sister is dead, how dare I feel happy." 

The priest nodded, humming in understanding as he mulled over her words. "It's a completely normal feeling to experience after losing a loved one. Can anyone else relate to Colette's struggles with guilt?" 

There was a murmur of agreement, nods and shuffles around the circle. But you remained quiet, still, sinking into the coat that was too big for you now. 

"You know, you've actually reminded me of something that happened a few years ago," he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. "There was a lady at my old parish who lost her husband to a very sudden, short illness. She was... understandably devastated, they'd been married forty-odd years and within the space of a couple of weeks, he was gone. I did his funeral service, and two days later there was a village fête; some of us from the church went to try and raise some money for repairs."

You noticed an empty table across the room, and you couldn't help but think of Father Benedict; how he would have had water there for everyone, how he always chose to hold these meetings in the pub because it was smaller, comfier, less daunting and echoey. 

"Anyway, we've got our stands set up," he continued. "Some carnival type games and a stall selling cakes and what not. I look up and I see this woman coming towards us carrying these big handmade gift baskets for our raffle. Of course, I pulled her aside and I told her she didn't have to be there. She was grieving, buried her husband two days earlier, no one would expect her to spend the day at a busy fête. Then... She said something that stuck with me."

You tore your eyes from the table, forcing yourself to focus on the priest as he spoke.

"She said: 'would me not being here bring my husband back? If I sat at home, shutting myself off from things that bring me joy, would that change the fact that he's gone?' Then she smiled and said: 'Father, my life did not end when his did. But if I spend the years I have left moping around and missing out on things I enjoy, it might as well have. The love you have for someone is not measured in the misery you feel in their absence. It's in the joy you feel that you got to love them at all.' Then she walked off, got herself a bag of candy floss and won a teddy on a game of hook-a-duck." 

There was a murmur of sniffles and quiet chuckles around the circle. You watched Colette wipe a tear from her eye, smiling appreciatively and taking a deep, cleansing breath. And without a pause, the meeting continued. But you found yourself stuck on his words, playing them over in your mind like a broken cassette. 

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @hiddendiary @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch @paola-carter @gordorio @shjl15 @thedaredevilsgirl @howardtonypotts @ceccille @wllsfer @thelostsmiles @vi0letdaze @stanfanfiction @king-kongbebe-blog @sof38 @doctorscarletwitch @rmoonstoner @intrappolatatrairicordi @ehuether @dragonqueen89 @estheticwh0re @Lfp10836 @kanyewestest @star-girl-05 @theothersideofthescreen @battledress @chaosdorito @vlqueen @erratica47 @happybunnyclumsyduck @bloggerbatch @bimrwolf @chaand-sitara

*If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the tag list here

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

Go to the ends of the earth for you - Part 4

Bet you thought I'd forgotten this didn't you? I have no excuses, except that it's been misbehaving and would not go right. It was meant to be the last chapter but they had a lot to say even though not much happens!

(AO3 link)

Fourteen months later

Aaron couldn’t stand still, never mind Seb. It was early, he’d left the village far too early in his excitement, but he hadn’t wanted to be late, that would’ve been unbearable. It’s two months since they’d found out his release date, it coming through the day of Annie’s funeral and now the day was finally here.

“How long Dada?”

“Not long mate. Do you want to sit inside the car? Are you cold?”

“No. I don’t want to miss Daddy.” He smiled and wrapped an arm round him, sitting next to him on the bonnet of the car. He couldn’t help wondering if this was how Robert had felt all those years ago, waiting, wondering.

“You won’t. Promise.”

“And he’s staying, not goin’ away again?”

“No, definitely not. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Not even if those people don’t like him?”

“What people?” He could sense a note of fear in Seb’s voice, suddenly quiet.

“The man with no hair, Granny Faith took me to get a cookie and I heard him, he was talking about Daddy.” Aaron let out a sigh. He’d had very little to do with Paddy or his Mum the past year but he knew their dislike of Robert hadn’t dimmed one little bit, and now it was affecting Seb. He crouched in front of him, ruffling his hair a little.

“Daddy’s not going anywhere, no matter what anyone says. So if you hear anyone talking about him again take no notice ok?” Seb nods and leans forward for a cuddle. Aaron doesn’t want to let him go so he just stays like that.

“Can I get in on that hug.” The voice startles him so much he almost drops Seb in shock. Turning he finds Robert standing there, familiar grin in place, and he laughs a little.

“Daddy!”

“Hi little man.” Aaron hands him over to Robert with a smile, content to wait for his own moment with him. “You’ve got so big!”

“I’m almost half the window!” Robert looks confused, looking to Aaron for help.

“We’ve been marking how he’s growing haven’t we? Every Friday night he stands next to the window and we put a mark on the wall.”

“That’s amazing.” He lets Seb chatter, eyes never leaving Aaron’s, eventually pulling him into a one armed hug, that would have to do as it seemed Seb was in no mood to let go of his Dad anytime soon.

The excitement is clearly too much and by the time they reach the outskirts of Hotten, Seb’s dropped off in the back of the car, head leaning against the side of his car seat, giraffe toy clutched in his hand. Aaron reaches over and squeezes Robert’s hand.

“You ok?”

“I am now. So, what am I facing back in the village?”

“Nothing much, I promise. Gran said she might pop in, and Vic wants you to meet Harry, at some point but I told her to leave it for today. I don’t think Paddy or my Mum will be hanging out any bunting, if that’s what you were hoping for.”

“I got that much…Seb heard him?” Aaron nods. “Great.”

“Hey, it was a one off. It won’t be long before we’re out of there will it?”

“You still want to leave?”

“I want what’s best for our family, and I don’t think that’s the village is it.”

Robert doesn’t answer and he’s quiet for the rest of the drive. Aaron leaves him to it, knowing it takes some adjustment when you first get out of prison. The village is quiet when he pulls the car to a stop at the house, Robert looking around seeing if anything has changed.

“You want to go inside?”

“No. I…can we go to the graveyard?” Aaron nods. “I just want to say goodbye.”

Aaron had hated going to the prison, telling Robert that his Gran had died, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go to the funeral, and say goodbye. Instead Aaron had stood next to Vic in his place, but he knew Robert felt guilty anyway, that he’d not been there.

Robert’s quiet as they stand there, the plaque on the wooden cross glinting in the sunlight. He shifted Seb in his arms so he could take his hand.

“Vic wouldn’t hear of sorting out a stone, not until you were here, same with her will.”

“I should’ve called more, should’ve visited, but I got so wrapped up in everything, and I suppose, I knew what she’d say about Chrissie, knew she’d see through me especially after I met you, so I stayed away. Then everything just kept getting in the way.”

“You called, I heard you. She knew you loved her Robert.”

“Maybe. I wish she could’ve met him,” He runs a hand through Seb’s hair, the little boy still sleeping, head resting on Aaron’s shoulder. “And you.”

“What would she have said about me then?” Robert chuckles.

“He’s a nice enough lad, Robert, but he could dress a bit more smartly. You know what I think of those hoodie things. She would’ve loved ya, known how much I love you.” He takes another look at the grave. “Come on, let’s go home.”

————

The next few days are quiet, the weekend allowing them the excuse to stay indoors away from everyone. The only people they see are Vic with Harry and his Gran who drops in with some supplies insisting she knew they wouldn’t want to go to the shop, full of apologies for what Seb overheard, which they wave away because it’s not her fault that Paddy just can’t keep his mouth shut.

After that Aaron has to go back to work. Cain probably wouldn’t mind if he took some more time but he doesn’t want to take advantage, and besides they have to try and get back to normality at some point.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take him to nursery?” Robert’s staring at a cup of coffee and has been the past twenty minutes, but he looks over at Seb who’s playing by the sofa.

“I can take care of him.”

“I know, but…I s’pose I thought you’d want to check in at the haulage firm. He’ll be fine there, he likes it.” He steps over, hands resting on Robert’s shoulders. “I can come with you if you want, Cain will give me an extra hour.”

“You think I can’t cope?” He doesn’t react, he’s gotten used to the defensive tone in Robert’s voice over the past few days, knows it’s not directed at him.

“No. Of course you can, but I know how strange it is coming back after you’ve been inside, and that’s without wanting to avoid my family.” Robert looks up at him. “I’m not daft Robert.”

“I know that.”

“So…why don’t we take Seb to nursery this morning, and you pick him up and the three of us will have lunch. We can’t stay shut in here for the next year.” Robert nods. “Come on monster, you ready for nursery?”

“What about Daddy?”

“I’ll pick you up at lunchtime, and then me, you and Dada are going to the…where are we going?” He asks as he tries to get Seb to stand still long enough to get into his coat.

“Pub?”

“Feel like living dangerously do you?”

“I’m not hidin’. We can do the cafe if you’d rather.”

“No, no, it’s been a while since I’ve felt the death rays, I almost miss them.” Happy that he’s brought a smile to his face, Aaron kisses him goodbye and hurries Seb out of the door.

————

The pub is about half full when they get inside and he points at the table by the fire telling Robert he’ll get their drinks while he settles Seb down. He can see his Mum by the bar, pretending not to look at them but he knows better. She’s next to Cain who lifts his pint and winks at him. He’d told him his plan that morning. He wasn’t going to let Robert feel as though he couldn’t go about the village because of his Mum and Paddy. Robert hadn’t said as much but Aaron wasn’t stupid. He goes to order but Robert’s hand on his arm stops him and he smiles.

Matty takes their order and everyone leaves them alone. There’s some kind of delay with their food, Marlon’s probably having one of his tantrums so he goes to order another drink. He knows his Mum has been watching the whole time.

He subtly waves Matty away when he tries to serve him, locking eyes with his Mum and staring until she comes over.

“Two pints and an orange for Seb please.” He bites back a laugh when she all but snatches the money from him without saying a word.

“Playing with fire aren’t you?” Cain sidles round the bar to his side.

“I told you, I’m not hiding away and neither is Robert. Are you going to throw the Dingle code in my face if I don’t stop?”

“Nah. I reckon it’s about time she got a taste of her own medicine.” He says seeing her going into the back, their drinks abandoned on the side. He looks over at his uncle, surprised. “Tried telling me I shouldn’t have given you a job not long after I took you on.”

“What?”

“Said I was going against the family. Told her it weren’t me doing that…she ignored me for a few weeks but I reckon she found not many people wanted to listen, so now she’s talking again but she’s frosty. Suits me. Less earache that way.” He snorts a little as Matty brings over the abandoned order. He gives him the rest of their order before going back to the table, not that surprised that Cain follows.

“Alright Sugden. Good to see you.”

“Er, cheers Cain.” He gives Aaron a look but he shakes his head. He’ll tell him later.

“Here.” He hands him his drink when Cain’s gone back to the bar without another word.

“Ta. What’d your Mum say?”

“Nothing. Literally. Guess it’s a good job she’s not like that with all her customers or her trip advisor rating would be rubbish.” He lays a hand on Robert’s knee at the look on his face. “Leave it, she’s not worth the trouble.”

“She’s your Mum.”

“Mmm, who can’t support my decisions. I’ve had a year to get used to this Robert. It’s better than her being in my ear all the time about you.” He looks down at Seb, thankfully engrossed in his colouring and not listening. “She can get as annoyed as she likes, this is our local for the next few months and I’m not avoiding it because of her.”

“I quite like this new you.” He laughs at Robert’s face as Marlon puts their food down with a smile.

“Eat your food.” He can’t help smiling to himself though.

————

“You ready?” Aaron can’t help pulling at his tie as they stand outside the solicitors office in Hotten, the sunshine making him feel hot in his suit. He supposed he didn’t really need one, it was only the reading of a will but Robert had put his on so Aaron had followed suit.

“I think so. Where’s Vic? She said half past?” Robert worrying about being on time was a new thing, probably left over from prison Aaron mused, you lived by timetables in there. He rubbed a hand up his arm to reassure him.

“She was taking Harry and Seb to Diane’s remember? She’ll be here.” Robert nods. He’s been quiet all morning. Aaron supposes he’s still grieving for his Gran and the fact that he couldn’t say goodbye properly. “See, here she is.”

Vic rushes up to them, complaining about Diane keeping her talking and then Robert’s ushering them inside, taking charge and the two of them let him. Aaron wants to laugh at how much time he’s spent in a solicitor’s office this past year for one thing and another and not once because he was in trouble. It made a nice change.

Thankfully they’re not kept waiting and then they’re sitting in this posh office and Aaron can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. He’s always thought of Annie Sugden as a typical farmer’s wife and mother, not well off, just comfortable enough for her old age. Neither Robert nor Vic seem surprised at the sums been bandied about so he keeps quiet.

“No.” Robert’s whisper drags him out of his thoughts, just catching the man in front of them mentioning a house, looking straight at Robert. “She can’t.”

“Mr Sugden…”

“No! She wouldn’t.” He’s out of his chair, all but running from the office before Aaron can stop him. He goes after him, hoping Vic will make their apologies, hoping he’s not got far. He’s right outside, leaning against the wall, breathing hard.

“You ok?”

“Did you hear?”

“Yeah. Your Gran left you her house.” He’s confused by the reaction because surely Robert knew he was in the will, he’d been invited to the reading after all. “That’s…good isn’t it?”

“I don’t deserve it. She…can’t. Not after everything I’ve done.”

“She knew all that, and she still wanted you to have it. She obviously loved you Robert, you were her grandson.”

“No, if she’d know I was in prison she wouldn’t…she’d be so disappointed in me, ruining the Sugden name.”

“Rob?” He moves aside to let the siblings hug each other. He feels out of his depth because he didn’t know Annie, has no idea if Robert’s right. He hopes she wasn’t like that, wouldn’t disown her grandson given everything, but he was so convinced. “It’s what Gran wanted.”

“Should’ve been for you, not me. You’ve been here all these years, I haven’t even visited or anything.”

“You called her, she told me how much she used to love hearing about Seb. Anyway she left me money which is better than a house. It’ll help me more.”

“Vic, did the solicitor say when the will was written?” Aaron can see that Robert’s gearing up for another bout of convincing himself he’s not worth any of it and he says the only thing he can think of.

“About a month before she died.”

“And she knew…about Robert, about what we’d done, everything?” She nods and he smiles in thanks before turning to Robert. “See? She knew everything and she still wanted you to have it.”

“But…”

“No buts. I didn’t know her, so you tell me, did anyone ever make your Gran do anything she didn’t want?” He snorts and Vic’s laughing, leaning against her brother.

“I suppose not. Still…seems unfair, that house is worth more than what you got Vic.”

“Maybe but Gran’s helped me out a lot over the years and not you. I’m not bothered by it Rob, so you don’t need to be.”

“Besides, if you keep it I expect Vic will be quite happy to borrow it every now and then, eh?” She shoves him playfully but his words have the desired effect, Vic’s love of the sunshine is well known and Robert teases her whenever she moans about the lack of it in Yorkshire. “Might have to up the rent mind or she’ll never leave.”

“Oi you! You might be my brother-in-law but I knew you long before he did.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“You didn’t you know.” Robert says as they’re walking back to their cars. “I met him at Katie and Andy’s wedding.”

“You did?” Aaron can just remember being dragged to some party because his Mum was working. He’d just been glad to be away from his Dad for a few days but he can’t remember Robert.

“Mmm. You were sat at the bar on some manky video game. Had a right face on you. Mind you, so did I. I wanted to be anywhere but at their wedding.” His face changes, memories coming all at once and Aaron takes his hand, knowing exactly where his mind has gone. “So…I fancy some chips.”

“Dressed like this?”

“Why not. There’s no law says you can’t eat chips in a suit.” With that he walks ahead leaving Aaron and Vic to catch up, smiling at each other. Aaron’s not blind, he can see just how Robert’s mood has improved from being out of the village, despite the circumstances.

————

“Seb, come on bedtime.” Robert’s in the bath so it’s his turn to try and get the little boy into bed. Just lately he’s become determined to stay up as late as possible even when he’s falling asleep on his feet. “I’ll read you two stories if you go up now.”

“No.”

“It’s already late and you have nursery tomorrow. You don’t want to be too tired to play with Isaac do you?”

“Not go to nursery.” He carries on colouring, despite the adamant statement.

“Why?” Aaron sits down beside him, instantly worried, because he loves nursery and hates leaving.

“Stay here with Daddy. So he’s not sad.”

“Why do you think Daddy will be sad? He knows you like nursery, he won’t mind mate.”

“Cos he was, other day.” Seb whispers, looking up at him with big eyes.

“He was? Do you know why?”

“The man. He saw him. Uncle Cain was there and he told the man to be quiet but Daddy’s still sad.” He crawls into Aaron’s lap, picture abandoned. Aaron doesn’t need to ask which man, Seb only uses those words for one person.

“Oh, well you don’t have to worry about that mate, I’m here now. I’ll make sure Daddy isn’t sad anymore.”

“Why doesn’t the man like Daddy? He’s fun, he plays with me when I ask.”

“I know he does. You don’t worry about any of that ok, I’ll sort it. That man won’t upset Daddy again, promise.” He hugs him tighter before tickling him to make him laugh. “Now, come on, bed. I’ll even let you stay awake until Daddy’s done in the bath, but you have to get into your ‘jamas first.”

He tries his best not to let Seb see how angry he is but he has to take a couple of minutes to himself in the kitchen calming down before going upstairs. He was going to pay a visit to Paddy the next morning because he wasn’t having the little boy upset, let alone Robert.

[enigma-im]

More Than Just a Line of Code Pt. 2

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Robot X Female!Human Warning: fluff, sexual content, penetration, fingering, handjobs, robot and human relationship, love sonnets

Word Count:3922

Part 1

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

The next couple of days felt nice, domestic even. Though nothing really changed it felt like everything did. I began seeing Daniel as more than a house robot. More than just some machine with an advanced A.I. He was like, dare I say, a boyfriend. We did things like normal, nothing different. It just a lot more touching. Whenever we passed each other he made sure to touch in some way. Either pressing the small of my back or my hips. Daniel also gave 'kisses' whenever he was near for a long while. Pressing his screen on my head or cheek. Each time it made me a gushy mess. I have never been a gushy mess a day in my life.

Today I was working on some freelance work. Daniel was wondering around somewhere. He knows I don’t like being bothered while working, it was my only rule. I'm not sure what he does while I'm working but I doubt it’s any trouble. I could faintly hear the tv, guess that answers it.

A few hours later, long after the sun had fallen, I hear a knock at my door.

"Romeo, oh Romeo. Where art thou Romeo," I shout.

The door opens to reveal Daniel, "I feel that should be my line. Specially with a last name like yours."

"Oh shut up, heard that all through my lit course," I roll my eyes. Daniel walks in holding a bowl, he sets it down on the desk. Stepping around behind me he drops his hands onto my shoulders.

"From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes look your last! Arms take your last embrace! and, lips, O you," He quotes as he leans down," The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss". He pressed his screen to my cheek. I chuckle as I reach up and pet his head. I turn a give him a quick peck.

"You had to pick the death scene, how romantic of you," I laugh.

"I'm not too fond of that play, excuse me for not being well informed on another part," He rest his head on mine.

"I mean I won’t argue to some sonnets," I answer as I type away.

Daniel moves his head to the crook of my neck," Then shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate." I laugh aloud, tilting my head back to his shoulder.

"Shut up you dork," I push his head off me.

"Alright, I'm not here to declare my undying love for you. I'm here to make sure you eat," He steps away from my back. His teasing tone was welcomed after being hunched over a keyboard for hours. Daniel has taken to teasing since we watched a rom com (His request) during movie night. I never take anything he says too seriously.

"I ate five hours ago, I'm fine," I lie. I’m nearly done with my work, perhaps another hour or two.

He, of course, sees right through me," you ate this morning and if I'm correct, which I always am, that was around ten hours ago. So now is a perfect time to eat." He pushes the bowl closer to my hand. I glance down at it and see its spaghetti-os.

"Give me one hour, I'm almost done," I answer lazily.

"Nope, I've heard this one before. I don’t know why it matters; you are going to take five seconds to eat this anyway. Just put my weary heart to rest and eat the food I slaved over the microwave to make," He pouts.

I snort," Slaved away?"

He drops the pout, "Work with me doll, I'm against a mule right now."

"I thought I was a summer's day," I smirk.

"Of course you are, the most beautiful of summers day. The divine intervention in my short life," He leans on the desk. He admires me for a moment as I continue working.

"Divine intervention? Where did you learn that one," I ask. He doesn’t answer so I pass him a glance. He was just staring with those artificial eyes. "What," I ask. He steps away from the desk.

"may I have a kiss," he drops to his knees beside my chair.

"Why do you need a kiss," I lean on the arm of the chair.

"It’s been a while since you have given me a proper kiss," he answers. It was a lie, I kissed him this morning. He is just a greedy bot.

I huff but smile. I grab a hold of his head and tilt it towards me. His eye flicker between my eyes. Despite not having a wide range of emotions, he manages express admiration and care. Looked at peace in my hands. Such a lovable dork. I leaned down and notice briefly that he closed his eyes. I press my lips to where his would be. The whirling starts up in his chest like it does every time. I asked before and he said it was his fans.

I leaned back and Daniel grabs my forearms, his eyes still closed. I lean back down and rest my head against his. His fans get louder.

"you have changed a lot since you been here," I mumble. He just hums to my statement. I press another kiss to his lips, this one lazy but wet. "I guess I have changed too."

Daniel opens his eyes slowly. Looking up at me he gives that pure look again.

"May I touch you," he asks.

I look at him confused," you are touching me.". He shakes his head and one hand grabs the chair. He twists it so he is between my legs. Keeping one arm on my forearm he moves the other to my knee. Staring up at me he slowly slides his hand up my thigh. Where he touches it begins to tingle till, he stops inches from my belt.

"May I touch you," he repeats.

"y-yes," I stutter. Daniel smiles then focuses on my legs. Letting go of my arm he lets both his hands drag up to my hips. Burying his fingers under me he jerks me forward. I spread my legs wider, so I didn’t bunt him. He slides his hands back around till his thumbs are next to my crotch. I stare down at his face, not spoiling the surprise by looking at his hands.

Daniel traces the seam on my PJs. The lose fabric making it easier to feel his finger. I suck in a breath at the initial shock. He looks up for at the sound before looking back down. Pressing a little harder he strokes back and forth over me. He gauges my reactions and when he found the spot that made me gasp, he stops. Easing off for a second then pressing back in. I couldn’t stop from jerking forward.

"you know I researched this," He chuckles. He rubs circles in that special area. I relax into his touch, allowing myself to take the break I need from work. This was nice, especially coming from him.

I almost forgot what he said, "nerd." he shook his head with a smile. He glanced up briefly and his smile grew wider. He stops his prodding and hooks a finger into the waist of my pants. Looking up again he pauses.

"Well it isn't going to come off on their own," I joke.

"Always with the jokes," he smiles. I lift up off the chair and he pulls my clothes down. He slides them down past my knees till they bunch at my ankles. Delicately he removes each foot till its removed. Placing his hands on my knees he pushes them aside and rest between them again. "What a sight," He stares at my fur covered cunt," I'm glad I can save images, going to treasure this one."

"You save images," I squeak. I try to close my legs, but they just pinch his sides. He chuckles as he rubs my thighs, coaxing me to relax again.

"I have a few actually, all subject around you," he glances up. It shocks me that he can make a devious look, and make it look so damn sexy.

"You are a menace," I chide as I drop my head back. I hear him laugh but it ignored when he prods his finger to my folds. My legs jump at the sudden contact, which leads him to chuckle again.

"Relax, I have you," he soothes. I feel his index tease my fur near my seam. I huff but relax. I can relax, sure it’s been a while, but I can relax. He uses his thumb to spread me open. The cold air is a little shock to my cunt, adding a small bit of pleasure. I hear a camera click noise and look down at him. I sigh. How can I relax with a flirty bastard between my legs taking memories into his hard drive.

"Another picture," I ask. I feel the urge to close my legs, to not draw attention to myself. Yet I know he won’t let me.

"so far my most prized one," he smirks. He looks from my crotch to me. His look makes my breath wobble out. He will never stop surprising me with his looks. As we hold contact, he rubs his finger over my clit. I jerk my hips again at the surprise contact.

"Not wet yet," he asks as he looks down. I try to sit up, but he holds my thigh.

"Why would I, you haven't done much," I defend.

"I believe porn has lied to me once again," He laughs.

"You watched porn," I ask surprised.

He cocks his head as he continues petting," I didn’t want to disappoint." His face was less seductive and more insecure. This was a better look for him, if not equally attractive.

"I think that’s impossible to do, I heard you vibrate," I joke. He loses the insecure look and blushes instead. He doesn’t answer me and looks back down. His face becomes concentrated as he flicks the growing nub.

My breath increases and he notices I'm starting to get wet. He loses focus on my now engorged clit to look at the glimmering slick that's sliding out. First, he explores the slick, getting it all over his fingertip. He stretches it between his thumb and forefinger. It stays connected for a short moment before breaking. His fascination grows as he pokes more. He slides just his fingertip inside me for a short moment then drags back out.

"This makes me wish I had a mouth," he mumbles to himself. I huff, deciding not to comment on it as he pressed his whole finger inside. My stomach twitches and tightens at the welcome intrusions. When he removes it, he curls his finger, so it drags across the roof of my tunnel. I suck in a breath but don’t give him a reaction he expected. He glances up at my hooded eyes. He repeats his action but with two fingers. this gets more to a reaction he was looking for. My eyelid flicker and my mouth open with a soft gasp.

With a little exploring he finds the best way to glide his fingers. He curls both, the tips slide down along my nerves. I relax with the touch. Hot licks of pleasure caress my insides. Insertion alone isn't enough to make my toes curl. Well, unless it’s a bigger body part being inserted. As he finds a rhythm I reach down and rub my pearl.

"No," he scolds as he removes my hand. I huff but forget it when he works his thumb around instead. He keeps a firm press as he circles. This pumps up the pleasure. I have a harder time controlling my hips and find my head lolling to the side. My breath increases, my heart thumps against my ribs, and I can’t help but mumble. He listens to my ramblings of praises as he curls and pets.

"You ready," he smirks. I look down at him confused. He chuckles before I feel him stop his curling fingers. Before I could ask his digits began vibrating at a very high speed. My legs curl up to the point that one of them rest on the chair. My held hits heavy against the back of the chair and I grip the arms with pleasured fury. I can barely hear his laughter after the rushing in my ears. I'm close.

"F-fuck, Da-Daniel," I barely get out. The sensation taking away my words.

"Yes, doll," he asks in his all too cocky voice. I grind my hips into his hands, having new leverage with my leg on the chair.

"I-Im, fuck, I’m g-goin," I stutter.

"Come? Please do," he finishes for me. I feel the toe-curling pleasure build to a blinding pulse. I clench my jaw and grip the chair with my toes. I throw my leg over his shoulder and squash him into the seat. I let out a cry or a whimper, I couldn’t tell at this point.

As I come down, I have to kick him away from me. Not being able to speak. The vibrations were too much now, it felt too good. He removes his fingers as well as stopping the buzzing. I relax into the seat with the biggest smile on my face. I look down at Daniel who is watching me with rapt attention. I reach one hand out and coax him forward. He sits up on his knees and pulls me from the chair. He leans back and properly sits on the ground with me in his lap.

He props himself against the desk as he holds me against his chest. Petting his fingers through my hair. He keeps his head resting against mine.

"I'm glad you enjoyed this," he mumbles against my head.

"Who says I enjoyed it," I joke back. He snaps his head down at me, he relaxed when he saw I was kidding.

"Always with the jokes," he laughs. He adjusts himself and I feel something brush against my knee. I glance down and see his cock peaking between my legs. I look up at Daniel and notice his eyes closed. I'm not sure if his eyes being closed means he can’t see but I’ll take the opportunity. I reach down and trace the tip with my index. He gasps and grabs my hand. I jump at the sudden actions, looking up at him.

"Sorry, sorry. You surprised me," he says a little stunned. He lets go of my hand and leans his head back. I watch his face for any signs he wasn’t interested. His face was relaxed if not a little hooded.

I touch the tip again and this time he just sighs.im surprised at the flexibility, which I shouldn’t be. A hard plastic one would be very uncomfortable. I reach further between my legs and grab the base. It’s a limp grasp but he still seethes like it was tight.

"Sensitive," I mumble against his chest. I press a kiss to the smooth plastic near his neck. I graze my palm up against his shaft to the tip. My finger traces the fine black lines under the blue mushroom top. I hear a thump coming from him. Looking up I see his head flush against the desk. Noticing I've stopped he looks down at me.

"Not use to someone else touching me," he explains in a croak.

I pinch his tip," Someone else?". He hisses at the assault and hits his head against the desk again. I reach down and stroke him from base to head. I pick up a rhythm, feeling the textures with my palm and fingers. When he doesn’t answer I nudge him while pulsing my grip.

"Y-yes, someone else," He finally answers.

"So you have experienced another touch, perhaps from yourself," I tease. I shimmy out of his lap and straddle his spread legs. Removing my top I give him a second to come up with what I assume is going to be another teasing remark.

"yea, wouldn't you like to know. interested in what I do in my alone time," he of course teases. He adjusts his hips, so his cock is closer to me. Setting his hands beside his thighs, holding an excited look.

"I'm more curious on what you are getting off too, I heard you watch porn," I bite my tongue. I resume my exploration on his cock, giving less tentative strokes. His head drops to his shoulders as he watches me jerk him off. His fans whirling and out of the corner of my eye I see his foot twitch in odd intervals. I drop my hand onto his thigh and slowly trace wires or seams up his leg then up his stomach till I reach his neck. I cup his jaw then guide him down. Like a dog getting a bone he follows, leading his face to my lips.

Increasing my pace on his cock I gave wet kisses to his screen. Knowing he gets no physical pleasure from it does nothing to deter me. His body still reacts like he could feel everything. I trace my lips down his face, around his jaw, then stop at his neck. I nuzzle my nose up and around his exposed wires.

"Answer me, what do you get off to," I ask. I slow my strokes which makes him buck into my fist. I can’t stop the huff of amusement.

"Take a wild guess," he snits when I stop all together. I of course knew the answer, it wasn’t rocket science.

"Perhaps pornography, getting off to videos," I play coy. I watch my hand lazily track a cylinder on his hip.

"I have never got off to those," He says in a surprisingly collected tone. I lean back and look up at him. His eyes were still hooded but more focused. I stare a bit shocked; I was teasing but I honestly thought at some point he had masturbated to a vid or two. "you are by far the most appealing thing I have ever witnessed," He mumbles as he stares into my eyes. Always real emotions.

I raise my hands to his chest and push away from him. I slide my fingers up to his shoulders. I keep eye contact as I slide my hips up his thighs. Grinding myself on his cock. His fans play in a sigh, his mouth opens slightly. He raises his hands up to my hips, staring between my face and breast. I grab one of his hands and guide it to my chest. He timidly gropes, flicking his thumb over my nipple. I gasp and adjust so his cock slides over my seam.

Now that he had a handful of me, he kept his gaze on my face. Watching as I gasp and mumble praises. He seems in rapture at my looks, not gaining pleasure from just my touch but from my own joy.

"C-can I-," he looks down between us, "I want to b-be inside you." he looks back up at me with those eyes, I know he would take any answer I gave. I reach down and grab him. Lifting up I guide him to my entrance. I hover over him, just the slightest touch from him. We look at each other. I ease him inside, both of us watching each other. Both our breaths hitch, our bodies jerk at the new feelings. I settle against his lap, just embracing the feeling of being stuffed.

"You’re so big," I huff as I drop my head to his shoulder. He hums in acknowledgment, wrapping his arms around me. Resting his head against my shoulder, nestling his face against my neck.

"You are perfect," He groans. I can feel his legs start to shake lightly. His arms tighten and he rubs his face on me.

I pet his head," you ready?" he nods his head. I pull his head back so I can look at him then lift up. We both suck in a breath, our eyes drooping. I drop back down sharply, he hisses. I repeat, lifting then dropping.

I pick up a pace and ride him. Enjoying the new emotions on his screen. He seems to be doing the same, perhaps taking many pictures. I smile at the thought.

I change speed in favor of grinding against him. Feeling every bump and groove rub against my walls. His gasping and jerky motions makes it seem he enjoys it as well. I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling.

"Talk to me," I moan. His head tilts forward but he jerks it back against the desk.

"Wha-, what do yo-ou want me to say," he struggles to speak. I stop bouncing all together and just rotate on him.

"how do I feel," I ask. Stroking his face, watching him enjoy himself.

"amazing," he says with wonder. I squeeze my thighs to get him to continue. "I wonder if you hook me up to your computer if you could see how much my head was lighting up. So many senses, feelings, tingles. You are not just a pleasure to look at but," he bucks his hips," a pleasure to be inside."

"Well said Casanova," I joke. I take up bouncing again. He seems to react more in control this time. Dropping his hands to my hips and guiding my falls. He drops a smirk, laughing a bit as well. "W-what," I groan.

"You ready," he smiles. Before I could ask, he reminds me why battery powered boyfriends are better.

"A-Ah, fuck," I shouts as I arch my back. I lose focus and stop moving, getting lost in the vibrations immediately. Daniel laughs then uses his hands to help me ride him. I can’t stop the whimpers or the praises that pour from my mouth. Even he has issues keeping a pattern, dropping me a few times.

"I-I need to feel you cum," He clenches out. Not being able to answer I grab his hand and drop it between us. He slides his finger over my clit. I'm glad he gets the idea because I can’t bother to keep a single thought beside 'oh god'. The added touch is enough to send me over the edge. A shock goes up my spine and buzz around in my stomach. Every part of me clenches tight. My jaw, hands, cunt are contracting.

"D-Danie-l," I cry. Once the initial combust I drop my head to his chest, riding out the pleasure. Grinding against him as he stops bouncing me. I whimper against him, kissing his chest between shudders. Daniel gives short thrusts upward as I grip his cock. He rides my orgasm till he reaches his own. His fingers grab at my ass, his head bangs against the desk again.

"Tracey, thi-," he tries to speak. I just kiss his chest as he rides his high. His body lays slack after a few more seconds. I feel his grip lessen then he pets down my back.

We sit in comfortable quiet, enjoying the intimacy.

"Tracey," He breaks the silence. I hum against him." I think I love you," he says surprised. I lean back and look at him.

"Is that right," I try to fight back a smile, "I think I love you too." he sits up with a smile.

"Yea?"

"Yea," I chuckle. He hugs me tight. I hug him back, kissing the side of his head.

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

The end of Daniel and Tracey. this came out hella fluffy, never knew i was such a softy. Feel free to check out my archive for more content! 

Surprise chapter:Archive special

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Luckenbach, Texas

A/N: Back at it with the Play The Hand You’re Dealt event, this time with Ryan Brenner, and darn did it feel good to write him again. This one actually felt really good to write. It takes place pretty far on down the road for you and Ryan so you have a lot to get through before you get here, but this is a little look at where you’re headed together. Also, 4th of July is just fun. All of it. 

(if you want to know more about Luckenbach, Texas, population 3, click here.) 

Word Count: 1,856

Prompt from: @thesumofmychoices - Ryan, fluff, Ryan’s POV & Celebration or Holiday (omg that’s a crazy story about your dog!) 

Ryan stopped a few feet from where you sat, watching as you talked animatedly to Georgie and Layla. Her hair’s gettin’... he felt his cheeks lift as his lips parted in a smile. The humidity had wreaked havoc on your curls, pulling frizzy tendrils out from the braid around the crown of your head. You raked your fingertips over it in a halfhearted attempt to corral the strays, but let your arms drop back to your lap as you laughed, hair completely unchanged. No use. He knew it just as well as you did. Condensation ran down the plastic cups Ryan carried, pooling between his fingers and dripping onto the dry, brown dirt, but he stayed rooted in place for a beat or two longer as you threw your head back in another laugh, giving Georgie a playful shove. Get ‘im. 

Grin widening, he laughed to himself and resumed walking toward the three of you. Georgie slung his arms one at a time around you and Layla drawing you both into a tight hug. Layla flipped her long yellow hair over her shoulder before rising on her toes to plant a kiss to Georgie’s round cheek, burnt bright red from the day in the sun, his bowler nearly toppling from his head as she took him by surprise. They’re havin’ fun. Sweat licked at the back of his neck where the unruly ends of his hair stuck out from beneath the canvas hat he wore, but the warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the summer heat. Looking around, he saw that the same was true of everyone gathered - music and laughter filled the night as the mouthwatering smells of sugary confections and grilled meats wafted from the snack stand attached to the general store. I’m glad we did this.

The sky was just starting to fade from blue to purple, lightening a shade before the thick, black night came to swallow it up. Fireflies hovered in patterns and formations through the warm air, their bioluminescent signals adding to the golden glow of the lights strung across the square. The pluck of guitar and banjo strings from the stage to the left mixed with the boot stomps emanating from the open doors of the dance hall as people gathered in clusters or strolled here and there. Flags, banners, pinwheels and bunting decorated the stage and various small buildings, stars and stripes in bold Americana colors. Kids darted by hopped up on funnel cakes and clutching sparklers, their eyes wide in awe of the flickering pyrotechnics that their parents only let them play with this one night of the year. He stepped to the side to avoid a collision with a sticky-fingered boy, a popsicle in each hand and his sister chasing after him. Woah. Taking care not to slosh the contents of the cups he carried onto the troublemakers’ heads, he trained his eyes on the level of liquid as it splashed in small waves and finally steadied back out. 

“That was a close one, Brenner.” 

He looked up in time to see your fingers curling around one of the cups that he held, just below his own. Your pointer finger slid over his pinky to trace the lines that were inked between his knuckles, teeth digging into the corner of your fire-engine red bottom lip as you gave him a crooked smile that made the sparklers and fireflies seem dim. Handing you your beverage he bit back a groan, letting it out as a throaty laugh instead. Tease. “Yeah, but did you see that save?”

You scrunched your nose at him as you smiled and reached up to push a sweaty clump of his hair back behind his ears. Ryan tilted his head into your touch, eyes falling closed as your fingertips grazed the bottom of his earlobe, but opening again as your hand fell down to clasp his empty one. “I did. That was some fancy footwork there, I’m impressed.” Your laugh brightened your eyes as it tumbled from your open mouth, your thin fingers squeezing his rough palm. “You been holdin’ out on me, Ryan?” You shifted your eyes and took a sip of your beer.

Never have, never will. It was no secret that while music and rhythm seemed to flow in his veins, Ryan Brenner was not a very good dancer. “Nah,” he shook his head, and slowly, so that you had plenty of time to react, lifted your joined hands to turn you under his arm. Your surprised gasp of his name hit him in the chest as a few drops of cold beer splashed onto his forearm and soaked into the hem of his white tee. You leaned into him and he felt the last shakes of your laughter leave your lungs. He dropped your hand so he could press his to the small of your back, fingers grazing your skin under the bottom of your navy blue tank top. I love this woman. “You know I save all my best moves for you, Junebug.” He kissed your forehead, the wispy little rebellious frizz along your hairline tickling his lips. 

Humming contentedly, you wrapped your free arm around his waist and looked up at him, chin tucked into the crook of his shoulder. “Yeah, you do.” You licked your lips as he took a swig from the red cup. “I’m lucky like that.”   

Ryan’s fingers flexed to push you even closer to his side, but before he could continue the pointless conversation of which of you were luckier, Georgie called over, his raucous tone cutting through the ambient sound easily. “Hey you two comin’ back anytime soon or you just gonna stand there all night?” 

He looked up to see his friend waving his arm from the rock wall surrounding the big Cedar Elm where the four of you had been sitting enjoying the music after your set. You laughed again, turning your face into his chest before meeting his eyes once more. Ryan trailed his fingers up your back until his palm reached the center of your shoulder blades. He took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of your floral shampoo mixed with dirt, sweat, and the sweet coconut smell of the sunscreen you’d slathered on all day. Still got a tan though, and I see some new freckles. His cheek twitched to the side pulling his lips along with it, and he leaned in to drag the tip of his nose over the bridge of yours and down to the crest of your cheek where the sun had painted new speckles on your skin. He kissed them, and you smiled under the bristles of his beard as he dropped his lips down to capture yours. Love her so damn much. 

Three and a half years had gone by, but it hadn’t taken Ryan that long to realize that you were right for him in a million ways that he hadn’t even considered. You’d taught him how to stand still and spend more time thinking about where he was now instead of where he was headed next. But you’d also showed him how easily you could pick up and head back to the road when it was time, how you’d completely accepted his wandering ways. He’d let you into every part of his life, all the secrets that he kept close to his heart like the treasures that you knew he kept hidden safely in a zippered inner pocket of his big canvas coat that he wore in the winter time- an arrowhead, a clover, others things he’d collected that no one else knew existed aside from the people who he’d gotten the items from. A penny, a guitar pick, an old zippo lighter. You’d fit into his family as though you’d been there all along, both on the road and back home; in that zippered pocket, and at Aunt Holly’s table. 

She fits here, too. He’d had the thought earlier in the night, standing between you and Georgie on the small wooden stage. The three of you had played a set of eight songs together while Layla joined the small crowd that lingered nearby- mostly songs that he’d been playing for years, ones that he’d played with Cowboy and Virginia, way back before he’d even met the bright eyed button nosed fiddler to his left. But then you’d also played the song that you’d helped him write back on your apartment floor in front of the fireplace, and it felt just as right as the other songs. Ryan and Georgie hadn’t been back to Luckenbach for the Fourth of July festival in the nearly five years since Cowboy had been gone. It felt right to come back this year with you, with Georgie bringing Layla. Next year Ginny and Henry’ll come too, he’ll be old enough, he’ll get a kick outta the tractor parade in town. The thought of the six of you being there together lightened his heart.  

“Brenner? You hear me or-” Georgie called again as Ryan finally broke the kiss, eyes locked on yours as he brought his hand up, fingers tracing the freckles he’d just kissed. 

“Keep your pants on, Georgie,” Ryan called, tearing his eyes from you to turn towards the other man. “I’m kissin’ my girl an’ takin’ my time.” He’d lowered his voice, no longer shouting for the entertainment of everyone around, speaking only for you to hear. Dipping his head back down, he caught another quick kiss, enjoying the way you sighed into it and how you gathered a fistful of his tee. Never gets old, never will. 

“Ryan,” slightly out of breath, you whispered his name through a grin that only got brighter as the sky darkened. Shaking your head you asked, “What was that for?” 

Ryan swallowed and narrowed his eyes. It hadn’t taken him three and a half years to know that you were it for him, but it was moments like this that reinforced that fact; moments that made him sure that you were all he wanted, all he’d ever want. He blinked and lowered his hand from your face, reaching for your free hand. Smiling, he took another swing of his beer. “Nothin’,” he tugged your hand and started walking back towards Georgie and Layla as a guitarist wearing a harmonica neckstrap stepped up to take the mic next. “Let’s get over there’n rescue Layla.” You laughed and Ryan pressed his lips together to try to keep from joining you. “Poor girl, he’s probably talkin’ her ear off or somethin’, you know how he-” 

You cut him off, rising to your toes to kiss him quickly. “I love you, Ryan.”

There weren’t any fireworks planned in Luckenbach. Might be able to see ‘em from Fredricksburg if it’s a clear night, Georgie had explained to you and Layla earlier in the day. It was the Fourth of July, but it was also just another night in the heart of Texas. It was a night of music and festive celebration, good food, good people and good feelings. Who needs fireworks?

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @thesumofmychoices @songtoyou @traeumerinwitzhelden @gollyderek @obscurilicious @malionnes @with1love1anu @beautifuldesastre​ @luminex3​ 

if you would like to be added or removed from the tags, please let me know! (and if you have let me know and I haven’t changed it please tell me again because I am a well intentioned albeit forgetful fool)  Thanks for reading! 

[itwasalwaysjustred]

prompt #012 - tooth and nail

light WoL/G’raha but can be read as platonic; a battle for an unexpected item in the streets of Revenant’s Toll; 938 words

content warnings: spoilers for 5.3 if you know what you’re looking for

There’s a kind of low, simmering tension in the air of Revenant’s Toll that morning, like an expectation that something big is about to happen. It’s enough to make even the most seasoned of adventurer’s hair stand on end, battle-honed instincts warning of what is to come. To the causal onlooker, everything seemed normal, like it was just another day living on the edges of the civilized world. 

But to the people who knew? Oh, honey, there was a storm coming. 

Though this was hardly his first rodeo, Nhagi’li can’t help but be drawn in by the city’s undertow of emotion, all eagerness and thrashing tail. Perched up on the dining balcony of Rowen’s establishment,  he watches the vendors set up their stalls below with a keen eye. Beside him, G’raha — a novice in this sort of endeavour — is a ball of nervous energy, seemingly barely resisting the urge to wring his hands. For a Miqo’te who had survived as the enigmatic leader of a city for several hundreds of years, he certainly has a lot of tells. Nhagi’li likes to think that they’re emerging because he’s comfortable now, or at least more comfortable behind himself. 

He gently bumps their shoulders together, making G’raha flinch, but bringing him out of his own head.  “You remember the plan?” 

At this, the Seeker nods emphatically and gives Nhagi’li a thumbs up. “I won’t let you down!” In truth, he looks like he might be a little ill. Nhagi’li wishes he could say something to reassure him, but he doesn't  have the words. What they’re about to embark on may not be as world-threatening as the arrival of a new primal or the rise of another Ascian, but victory would still be just as difficult to achieve. Even Nhagi’li himself had only been successful a handful of times. He was hoping to double the odds by enlisting G’raha, the Seeker eager to assist him in any way since he was cleared for duty by Krile. 

He can only hope he hasn’t tossed G’raha to the wolves. 

Below them, the stalls are all in place, the scent of the item they’re after wafts up, as delicious as he remembered it. The food stall only makes a limited supply of the Papanasi, rich, donut-like desserts topped with preserves and sour cream. They’ve become somewhat of a hot item around these parts, especially when compared to the usual bland food the locals have become accustomed to, and the difficulty in acquiring all the ingredients to produce them make it so the stall can only produce a limited number. The result is, once a week, there is a knockout, throw down, battle royale for these tasty treats, where only the sturdiest and most cunning emerge the victors. This week’s battle is about to start, and Nhagi’li says a quick prayer to the Twelve for his success. 

“Get ready…” Nhagi’li whispers, and beside him G’raha tenses like a live wire. 

The bell rings, signalling the opening of the market, and the two Miqo’te leap from the balcony, almost in sync. It’s already chaos; people from all over, seemingly uninterested in the goings on, come bursting from the woodwork, all making a beeline towards the stall. He loses G’raha in the pushing and shoving of all the people, but he had warned the Seeker about that possibility. As much as he doesn’t want to leave his friend to totally fend for himself here, the only way either of them is going to get their hands on one of these desserts is if each of them fights with their own strength. He has to trust that G’raha will make it out in one piece. Steeling his resolve, he pushes and shoves his way to the front, shoving his gil towards the haggard looking saleswoman behind the counter and then—

Success!

Clutching his bagged dessert and without looking back, Nhagi’li retreats to their assigned meeting spot, guarding his treasure as fiercely as a mother guards her babe. It’s only when the dust finally settles that he sees G’raha again, the now very rumpled and dirty looking Seeker sheepishly making his way over. Judging by his empty hands, and the look of utter defeat on his face, he did not secure himself a Papanasi. 

When he finally sits next to him, Nhagi’li settles in snuggly beside his friend, chirping softly and nuzzling into his scuffed cheek. Though G’raha accepts the affection, his ears are still pressed flat against his head, clearly unhappy about the results of their shared venture. This, Nhagi’li decides immediately, simply will not do, and without hesitation he breaks his secured prize into halves. 

“Here. You more than earned it,” he insists, pushing the half of the bun towards G’raha despite his protests. Finally, with a huff, the Seeker takes his portion and settles in to nibble on it, looking incredibly put out all the while. Nhagi’li lets him be, knowing it’s only his pride that’s been wounded, and confident that the taste of their shared treat will be enough to improve G’raha’s mood. Sure enough, the Seeker has only had one good mouthful before he pauses, ears wiggling and eyes widening. He swallows his bite, and then takes another, letting the taste blossom properly on his tongue. 

“... It’s really good.”

Nhagi’li grins as he licks the remaining syrup off his fingers. “Told you so.”   

G’raha’s disappointment is long gone, and Nhagi’li is pleased to see new determination in its place. “Next time. I’ll get one next time,” he promises, and Nhagi’li gently bunts his head against the Seeker’s in pleased acceptance of his words. 

[teagrl]

So it seems I am on hiatus, while I straighten up things in Stone for the final arc and try to make headway on my next project, which means we’re back to a snippet a week.

Today’s snippet is a continuation of this. 

It’s trippy so it might not make much sense without that. The ideas are some explored in Flying Cage so they might be confusing. 

This is the first scene from the third installment of the  Adyton series, tentatively titled Mnemotherapy. It could most accurately be thought of as the follow up to Washing Blood with Blood. The gist of Washing Blood is Mara driven insane by Jacen giving her a vision of him being Ben as she killed him, and eventually ending up in an astral plane from which Luke has to pull her out.

They’re out of the astral plane, but not in the real world yet. This is mindfuckery pretty much. LotF timeline. Might not make sense without context.

She never thought she’d see this place again and the sheer relief would make her sink into her knees. Someday she’ll stay here forever. This or a place like it.

Even now, there’s little more she’d like to do than stop and lose herself here, but time pressed down, the tick of the chrono echoing through the tack tack of her heels on the pristine floors, the swish of her massive, black trailing skirts. She’d pause and stare at herself out of curiosity. She gathered she was human, female, she supposed she was young too, but wants to see the whole not just pieces.

She reached the landing and wanders down a hall of mirrors, smiling to herself as she keeps dashing forward.

Ask and you shall receive is the way this place works.

The mirrors showed she was beautiful, her hair a bright red gold, flowing loose and halfway down her back, the skin of her shoulders smooth, her torso tapered to a small waist in a fitted bodice before it flared out to those voluminous black skirts. It’s a ballroom dress.

A child’s voice said as if from far away, a princess dress.

She smiled more widely, amused. Except for all that black.

A few more steps and she found a door to the left. Her destination. That was also how it was here, an intuition led more than anything else.

She opened the door to a stormy sea.

Her smile faded as she considered the small boat, a dinghy, tethered to the short dock. No, there was nothing to be feared in this place, but she enjoyed some parts of it more than others.

And even in a place like this there were rules. Guidelines.

She whispered, “I’d like a guide, please.”

It isn’t that she needed one; she belonged here, but when there was something she’d never encountered before she always asked for a guide.

This place always obliged.

(Of course it does. She is this place. This place is hers.)

“The night that Zena smudged her dress and made mischief she was sent to her room without supper.”

She turned around to see a small redheaded boy maybe six or seven. He was dressed in a casual white tunic and leggings, a contrast to the palace and her own ostentatious dress.

He met her eyes and grinned. “Your dress is supposed to be smudged. That’s why it’s all black.”

She smiles back and crouches, reaching forward to cup the child’s cheek.

It wasn’t really a boy, it was an entity, an avatar, like everything here. Because she belonged here, she felt the true form of things, however fragmented they were, regardless the shape they take.

“Is it?” she murmured. “It looks beautiful. Just like you.”

“Well, one has to make allowances. We’re in a palace, after all,” he said. “Who do you want to see? Or would you like me to tell you a story? I know lots.”

She reached to fold her arms around the child.

“What’s that for?” the child’s voice was muffled as she drew him close, but in good humor as he submitted to the embrace.

“Because I missed you, sweetheart.” All too soon she had to let him go. “And I love all your stories, but I think I should speak to the oracle.”

The boy frowned. “The oracle is sad.”

“That’s why you should take me to her. Maybe I can cheer her up.”

“Okay.” The boy stepped forward through the door and to the windy dock. He turned back, eyes sliding down her dress, ruffling in the breeze. He pursed his mouth. “That’s not proper attire.”

“You might be right,” she told him. “What do you suggest?”

“Hmm. There.”

The boy looks much bigger now. Everything does. She looked at herself. Instead of arms she has black furry paws now. She was on all fours.

Ah. She was a whisperkit now.

She followed at the boy’s heels. He jumped into the dinghy and she looked at it for a second, before jumping after him. The boy bent and scratched at the base of her ear, a content purr escaping her. She curled beside the boy on the seat as he rows the boat through the waves.

“And that night outside Zena’s room came a ship that had her name on it.”

She laughed. “To rescue her from being punished for misbehaving?”

“Kind of.” The boy smiled. “After many days, many weeks, and almost a year she ends in the planet full of fierce things.”

“Monsters?”

He shook his head. “No, just fierce things.”

“She comes home,” she offered.

“No,” he chides.“You’re always so impatient.”

She bunted her head against his forearm. “Sorry.”

He smiled and stopped rowing to scratch at the base of her ears. Another purr escaped her. “She was just Zena in her smudged dress, but when she meets up with the fierce things, they roared at her and showed her their fangs and claws.”

“Sounds a lot like monsters,” she opined.

The boy gave a long suffering sigh, but scratched under her chin before grabbing the oars again.

“Did she pull out her lightsaber and challenge them? Have them for dinner with silec sauce?”

He laughed, a buoyant sound. “No! She’s a little girl! She shows her own teeth and nails and roars at them. But that’s enough. They cower, knowing she’s the fiercest of them all, and that’s when they name her the Princess of the Fierce things.”

“I see why this is your favorite.”

The boy’s expression loses its brightness.

“It wasn’t,” he said softly. “It wasn’t my favorite.”

“What happens to the Princess?”

“She goes home after that and her family isn’t angry at her anymore.”

“Of course they wouldn’t be.” She curled tighter against him. “They love her. They must have been very worried not to find her in her room.”

The boy’s eyes were on the waves. “They even brought her favorite dinner and desert up. She was very sorry.”

“Hurts?” she asked gently after a moment.

The boy nodded. “A lot. But we don’t know why. The oracle’s blocked most of it, and she won’t talk. It’s because you’re here that it hurts more,” he said without accusation. “We don’t want you to go away though. You shouldn’t. Ever. We missed you.”

“I’ll talk to the oracle,” she assured him. “We’ll find a way to make it better, even with me here.”

The boy nodded. The boat has stopped at another dock, and the boy reached to pet her again. She pushed lightly into his hand, purring. “We missed you,” the boy repeats softly. “It rained here for a long time. Only you like that.”

She shook her head as she lifted her head to meet his eyes. They aren't blue. “Not that kind of rain.”

The boy stood up and tied the boat to the dock. She jumped up to it, hearing the boy sigh. “The oracle’ll be mad if you’re not back to that silly princess get up.”

In a blink the flowing black skirts were all around her. The dock was longer this time and she walked down it to a beach with cream colored sand. She turned to wave at the boy, but he and the boat were gone. She continued on through the sand.

Even here walking on the sand with heels was annoying so she took them off. After a bit of walking, she started seeing objects on the shore, pieces of machinery, stores, crates, torn servomotors, actuators, batteries, a hyperdrive ring, sensor wires, chunks of durasteel, and other scattered debris.

It looked like a crash.

She started running through the strewn material, instinctively, picking up her skirts. There, by the distance, she could see a human figure sprawled on the sand, and she ran harder weaving through the material that was washing up.

It was her, the oracle, on her side, a thin metal pipe running from her left side to right, blood blackening her blue flightsuit along her middle. The suit was half charred. She lay face down, red hair faded and gnarled, covered with soot like a broken body washing up on shore.

It’d been a long, long time since she’d seen a gruesome scene like this here.

Still unacceptable.

The pipe vanished. The tattered clothes transformed into a new tunic a few shades lighter than the sand, which lifted from her hair, along with the soot, leaving thick red hair streaked with gray. The oracle slowly lifts up on her arms. Her green eyes track up the black skirts...

...which become obsidianbirds taking to the sky, leaving a different form behind them, a truer form, once, but not anymore, here.

(Because he has become this place and this place has become him. It has become everything.)

“I’d made you so pretty,” the oracle whispers, chiding as she sits up.

“I think I’m going to stop wearing black.” He lowered himself down to sit by her, his tunic now the same color as hers. “You’re right. Maybe it’s just too boring.”

She snorted, a smile playing on her lips. “Twenty years later he agrees with me.”

[cruzrogue]

Baby and Cat Hold Hands - :) (wanted to give credit to the vid)

Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon - WEEK 2

This Week’s Prompt Is:

Wanting.

(Off of the Vera series) on A03

***Saw this gif and it reminded of Vera.***

Summary of the Queen Clan

William wants a dog. Oliver wants sleep. Felicity wants coffee. Raisa wants Vera to stop bringing her presents. Vera wants to comfort the baby. (A story about Vera and her humans)

~William

He lays on the bed reading a book when he feels her presence always coming from where his feet dangle off the bed. She plops herself between him and the book as if this is now her time and like usual he begins petting her. When she stretches before him he moves the book to read latter and concentrates on rubbing the cat before him. He likes his parent’s cat but really wanting to have a dog.

Vera can’t go out for a walk or play fetch with a Frisbee. She is still nice to talk to as she just looks at him acting like she can understand. He tells her how much he would love to have a canine friend and tells her his version of cool names he would give it. Hopeful with a dog unlike Vera it wouldn’t try to nap on his homework.

He looks at the time and jumps up making Vera jump with him.

“Oh man I need to take a shower.” He says sniffing himself. He is excited about joining the team and getting a uniform that he will be fitted when he goes with his dad to the center. He walks to push her off his shirt which she decided to conveniently lay on. “Come on Vera, do you think I can hassle dad for a dog when we pass the pet shop?” She’s grooming herself now but looks at him with her tongue sticking out. She gets up as he pulls the shirt and she knows she won’t be able to relax in his room so she goes on her way but finds some good twill under his bed and is excited by adding it to her collection.

~Felicity

Oh, the aroma gets her every single time. She had to make a conscience choice to change the route to work to keep away from such an addiction. How she misses those lattes even after months of renouncing caffeine in her diet.

How her husband tried his best in liquefied goodness he would make for her and she tried, tried so badly to make an appreciative face only tell him to stop because she didn’t want to murder him in his sleep. He took it quite well actually, which at that time made her suspicious of him. Until Raisa took it upon herself to create dishes and drinks with little homemade remedies of old family recipes. It helped so much for all these months but coffee oh how she misses thee oh the wanting of her beloved coffee.

How the local coffee shop she loves has this one commercial that gets her each and every time!

She hums the ridiculous jingle without even noticing until she does and she is horrified. When she found herself pregnant that was one of the vices she gave up thinking it would be easy because it was made out of love. She was wrong. Nothing is easy in this life she should have known better.

Felicity standing now in front of the crib were she just laid the most precious thing in her life. She knows her husband is tired he has been the doting father since their baby’s birth. Letting her take naps as he tends to things and last night the bundle of joy kept them up all night.

Arms wrap around her as he looks over her shoulder.

“Finally, some quiet.” He whispers. Felicity nods as she turns into his embrace.

“Why don’t you get some sleep. I’ll need to get some work done anyhow.”

He doesn’t say another word as he leads his wife out of the nursery. Once safely away from the room he still whispers, “I promised to take William to get fit for…”

“It’s today?”

“Yea, so anyhow we should be back by dinner time.”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” And they give each other a sweet departing kiss.

She keeps away from the kitchen area when she knows Raisa will be having her usual cup of bitter Russian coffee even that sounds delightful that is why sugar was invented for and right now just a sip would make her resolve falter.

Seeing their cat stop and drop something from a distance than pick it up again. Felicity asks out loud, “Hey Vera, wait what is that in your mouth?” Felicity goes in for a closer look and Vera bolts to one of her special hiding spaces. “It better-not-be a critter.” She’ll need to have Oliver check these special spots just in case but right now she has work to do.

~Oliver

Oliver looks around his home as he would say just weeks ago it was typically quiet with maybe some background noise like low music coming from the kitchen area if Raisa was making them dinner or a left on television screen because his son had a tendency to never turn off any appliances when he was done and he can’t forget the last person whose words he is drawn to is usually found anywhere in the house but on speaker phone talking business. His home life was quiet, comfortable, a peaceful place to unwind.

He loves being a father. It’s a lot of work to be hands on but so gratifying. Watching the process of his wife through her pregnancy was a dream he never thought years ago he’d get and now he is the father of two beautiful souls.

He oversaw the construction of their home while she was busy building the corporate empire. He is lucky that John took care of all security and between Felicity’s business and Oliver being interest in public office having dinner with the Diggles, Oliver questioned why John didn’t start a security firm and like always he said he isn’t a pencil pusher no offense to him and Felicity. That is probably another future conversation because John is more than just a bodyguard and the famous driver of a supposedly spoiled heir.

He smiles as he sees his wife look at the finally sleeping child and he interrupts her as he wraps his arms around her enjoying the sight before him. He will need to take William to get his sports uniform fitted before practice in less than a months’ time. His family and anything mundane is just perfect compared to his nightly adventure where he needs to be ready for anything. Coming home to ordinary things is just immaculate even though he is so tired, wanting of sleep that he’ll need to get at least some jolt of caffeine maybe before heading out.

He departs ways from Felicity as he heads to the kitchen he feels hungry so maybe he’ll even make a sandwich or something but as he gets closer he smells the baked goods Raisa made earlier that scent already making him float on air.

He sees her looking at a cup she just took out of a closed cabinet and the exasperated look on her face has him ask why. She jumps a little and gives him a scowl.

“Sorry.” Is his quick response. He enjoys her company and the coffee with a delicious bread that will satisfy him until dinner time.

~Vera

Vera jumps up to see what’s happening with the new member of the family. For a long time, her humans didn’t let her get close to the new smelly loud creature. She could smell it from where she is perched every time and mostly her human sunshine would lay the wrapped loud presence on some surface she isn’t allowed on. She gets batted away many times and the word shoo is a constant vocabulary for those precious two-legged members of her pride.

She adores each member of the household and each had a ranking from their connection. Like the protector the one who she knows is her always. He teaches and comforts her and each encounter is stimulating and soothing.

The sunshine who loves to throw her the toys she fetches and mutilates before bringing it back to the awaiting hand. Best ear scratches ever those finger tips feel so great must be all those paw exercises tapping against those machines that give off hot air she likes in the cold days she lays on them for heat.

The patter who loves to talk about stuff she can’t understand as he pets her fur. He has the added bonus of cleaning up after her she doesn’t mind he does a good job maybe the protector is grooming him to have his own student. Though that doesn’t make her too happy to think of so when that thought crosses her mind she swats at his hand making him yelp out and she is content again serves him right training to add another fur into the domestic abode.

There is also the mistress of food who gives her the meals that has her swoon down and chomp on and then lets her stretch out and groom herself before she feels a brush of some kind help her along. She deserves gifts and she gets them on a daily ritual. Going about her day looking for items suitable to the care taker who always needs this container to drink that awful smelly hot liquid that is consumed by many of her two-legged pride.

There are others like chipper sun who took her in for some time when she was young. She still shows her appreciation when she comes around and gets her scent once she shows her loving devotion by rubbing her head all over. Most of the time it doesn’t work out so well as chipper sun tries to keep her from the head bunting but she tries every time.

What has her perplexed is the new scent that entered her world. All the two-legs kept her from investigating not even letting her have a close up to leave her own scent. When all that changes she meets the blanket wonder and it miraculous it so small and actually smells better than expected. It makes noises that has her ears perk up sometimes a little too loud for her liking. It is strange this little wonder makes gestures and has everyone on edge that is an interesting power and she respects that dominance in a way so she just gazes down at the powerful being and keeps guard.

~Raisa

Her coffee time is always engulfed by finding a gift on or near her cup. She has taken a liking of the very energetic fur ball Mr. Oliver is so over the moon with. Every day about the same time she enjoys a cup of wonderful strong coffee with the baked goods that have been prepared. It’s the time that Ms. Felicity stays away from the kitchen area since she gave up the liquid of the gods as so she says in numerous times they have conversed.

She has found lint, furballs, vomit, string, small knickknacks, and feline toys embedded around her cup and as soon as she goes to grab her cup Vera is there purring in satisfaction of a job well done but today she is nowhere to be found.

It is a sweet sad story on how the once little kitten lost her mother but received human parents that had made the kitten shine until the tragic events of the shooting that had made Ms. Felicity bound to a wheelchair the kitten went to live with her mother and with the subsequent breakup it seemed Vera may lose once again.

She smiles at how he tells the story of Vera coming back home and how he didn’t know that this particular ball of energy helps him concentrate on what matters because his single-mind-focus sometimes when it comes to family isn’t really appreciated by the family.

Grabbing a cup to get some coffee she sighs as she sees stuffing placed in her favorite drinking mug and knows exactly who the culprit is.

“Everything okay?”

She jumps at being startled with a scowl, “Ms. Felicity is correct on that bell collar she so frequently addresses.”

“Raisa you’ve never had a problem before. I do remember being caught red handed many times as a young boy sneaking around.” She makes an agreeing gesture. “So, what has your mind occupied that you didn’t hear me?” She shows him the inside of her cup. It has him stumped who would put lint, intertwined twine, and something that looks like couch stuffing in her favorite mug? He thinks William as some sort of prank but he knows better. Felicity wouldn’t want to aggravate someone who makes her the best comfort food matching her many moods since pregnancy.

“It’s okay Mr. Oliver it’s a daily gift that I wish not for.” He gives her a strange look. “The four pawed family member’s way of showing how much she appreciates me.” She thinks even when she is not wanting it she appreciates the gesture.

“Vera? But your cup is stored in the cabinet. How?”

“Is she not a Queen? Its seems the Queens always find a way.”

His mouth opens and then closes he can’t argue with that. Raisa cleans her cup and grabs him one as well as he sits at the counter. He takes a knife and slices a few pieces and waits for her to sit as he offers her the plate. They sit in silence enjoying the warm delicious meaty bread roll. Another moment that she will file as sweet memories to be. Seeing him content but yet so very tired.

“It has been an exhausting few months, but it is really nice that your living here again on this land your family has called home for years.”

He looks around the kitchen it’s a replica of the original. All the family photos in storage sorted and things he, Felicity, and Thea loved with the opinions of their friends and family on building a new estate for the Queen family. William’s game room that he so hoped to have to Oliver’s idea of an ultimate play zone for Vera. Felicity teased him that their baby would follow suit and shadow the cat around their home. He really hopes not because it would give him a heart attack if his bundle of joy is hanging off the cat walks around the high ceilings.

“I hope to do it right this time?” He says more to himself than to her. Her hand touched his shoulder just above his heart.

“You have a good heart Mr. Oliver.” He gives her a tired smile but it reaches his eyes as he adores the woman before him.

After dinner has been served and they are spending some time together in the family room. Felicity takes out her camera phone and tapes the sweet moments each have with the baby but what catches all their attention is the first interaction between Vera and the newborn.

Felicity is on her knees recording them, their first meet. Oliver standing guard ready to pull Vera if needed. Both Raisa and William across sitting on another sofa as the baby is been propped by an oversized pillow and Vera finally gets to touch the squiggly new playmate. She smells the baby and after her fill plops down near its feet put close enough to the chubby fingers that are feeling her presence.

Everyone making oohhs and aahhs and smiling ridiculously. The baby is a little fussy and a hand touches Vera’s face and Oliver is ready to grab her when the most adorable thing Felicity catches on film. Vera looks at the new family member as she puts out her paw and its reciprocated as her new playmate holds her paw.

Oliver looks at Felicity with a broad smile as he hears his son tell Raisa how cute that was. Felicity finally looks at her husband after she turns off the camera and wipes a tear from her face. Their wanting to see how well this first real meeting would go and its on film how beautiful the moment really was.

“So, dad like I was saying in the car…” William started.

Oliver shakes his head somewhat amused but very bewildered. “William, we all love you very much. We know you want a dog this is not the time.”

“But…”

Oliver continues, “Felicity wants coffee, even Raisa wants less feline gifts, and I want some real rest but we don’t always get everything right on the spot. Someday maybe.”

“Okay, I understand.” William concedes. “So basically, us humans don’t get what we are wanting but someone here looks like she got what she wanted.”

Vera as on cue starts purring softly as her ears point slightly to the side and slightly forward, she is totally in a happy and relaxed state. Oliver reached over and pets her. She let out a soft low meow.

“Yea buddy, she is totally happy.”

The End.

[sweetseda]

Canning corn, Use a pressure canner for safety.

Canning Corn

Canning corn is a great way to preserve your harvest.   Some people love it... some don't.  Personally, I like the flavor of home canned corn too. Canning corn from your own garden or locally grown is still better than store bought. 

Many people also prefer the taste of frozen corn. For these reasons freezing corn is another great preserving option.  I do some of each because my family prefers the frozen over canned.  But I love the convenience of canned!  

We have a wonderful variety of sweet corn that is grown around here called Olathe Sweet Corn. It is so good and sweet, they have a festival weekend dedicated to corn. This weekend includes concerts and all you can eat corn on the cob.  If you are working with a sweet corn  don't be surprised if it comes out a deep golden color. This sometimes happens with the sweeter varieties.

Corn does take a bit more work than some other foods. It is not hard, but it has a processing time of 1 hr and 25 minutes for quarts and 55 minutes for pints. Compared to other produce this is a long time.

Prepare

Gather your canning supplies

Corn

Canning Salt - optional

You will need about 32 pounds (in husks) of sweet corn per canner load of 7 quarts; an average of 20 pounds is needed per canner load of 9 pints.

Canning Corn Procedure

Pick your corn. Corn should be fresh picked and ripe.

Get your corn huskers to work! Make sure they do their best to get all the hair off. Games make this task fun. Challenge them to see who can husk the most ears. Here's a tip; for mess control.... husking can be done outside.

While the corn is being husked, start boiling water. Either in a large stockpot or your blancher. 

Place in boiling water for 2 minutes and remove with tongs. If you are using a blancher the tongs are obviously not necessary.

Cool immediately in a sink or large bowl of ice-cold water.

A blancher works well or just use a large stock pot.

You do not want to cook the corn just blanch it. I find it easier to cut it off the cob this way. I read that many people skip this blanching step.  Since this corn will be processed in a pressure canner you can skip the blanching step if you prefer.  

Cut the kernels from the cob. 

Let the cobs cool. Set it on end and run your knife down the sides cutting off the kernels.

Try not to cut into the cob. I aim for getting off about 3/4 of the kernel.

The kernels will stick together in little strips and look like this.

I use a large cookie sheet to catch the kernels; a large flat dish like a cake pan would also work.

This can get messy too. The corn tends to squirt. Do it in an area that will be easy clean up. I have a big island in the center of my kitchen that I use. I LOVE easy clean up! 

Tips; Use an electric knife; I've never done this but it sounds like a great idea. 

Another Tip - Use a Bunt pan, set your corn on end on the centerpiece and let the kernels fall into the pan. I've tried this and it seems awkward to me. I list it here because I have seen others rave about doing it this way. Try it you may just like it. 

Here is a video of my husbands cool cutting the kernels off the cob time saver.  He is using a tool that is called a corn stripper.   I do not have a brand name on ours and it is a vintage tool that has been around for years.  If you do a search on Amazon you'll see some that are similar.  

Close up of the blade on this corn stripper.  Check your local farm store for similar cutters. It is an invaluable tool when canning corn, dehydrating, pickling.  Anytime you want to get a lot of cobs stripped use one of these. 

While the corn is being husked and the corn is cut off, go ahead and get your canner and canning jars ready. 

Optional add salt to the jars. ½ tsp. per pint, 1 tsp. per quart. Salt is for seasoning purposes only.

After the kernels are off the cob, pack into clean canning jars.

When canning corn you can either raw-pack or hot pack. Since I have already blanched my corn, I prefer raw pack. Here are directions for both

Raw pack; pack lightly into hot jars and add boiling water, leaving 1 inch head space.

Hot pack; simmer kernels for 5 minutes, then pack into jars.  Top off with cooking water leaving 1 inch head space.

Fill jars, leaving 1-inch head space.  Be sure and wipe the rims of your jars clean so there will be no food particles to interfere with the seal.  

Place your canning lids on and finally add your screw bands.  Place in a pressure canner to process.  

Process in a pressure canner.

Always use a pressure canner when canning corn.  

pints - process for 55 minutes

quarts - process for 1 hour 25 minutes

Adjustments for Pressure Canner Altitude in FeetDial Gauge CannerWeighted Gauge Canner 0-10001110 1001-20001115 2001-40001215 4001-600013156001-800014158000-10,0001515

Do you like Creamed Corn?  Try this.  

Here’s a quick easy way to make a cream style corn from regular kernel corn.  home canned corn, frozen, or store bought, it doesn’t matter.  This is not for canning, rather it is how I make creamed corn when I open the jars.  

Heat corn to simmer.  Simmer for 10 minutes if you wish.  Remove 1/2 of the corn to a blender add 1/2 cup or so of cream.  Half and half, evaporated milk or other cream of your choice works.  I usually have half and half on hand.  Puree.

Add back with corn add butter and salt to taste heat and serve.

Canning Corn Questions from my inbox.  

When pressure canning corn, do I really have to process that long?

Canning Corn processing question.

Hello, I'm a long time canner/freezer/preserver type of girl. In the past I've always put my corn up in the freezer, because that's the way mom and gran do it.

But the garden is gang busters this year and even with a new freezer, there isn't going to be room for all of it.

Anyway I called gran and borrowed mom's steam pressure canner and canned up the first few batches of corn. I followed the directions in the Ball Blue Book and let the thing chick-chick for 55 minutes.

However the corn has darkened quite a bit and some of the water in the jar is gone as well. So I've gone on-line to get more info.

Both gran and mom say 55 mins is too long and they only ever steam theirs for 25 minutes.

I'm filding conflicting directions on line too, I've found websites indicating times anywhere from 25 to 55 minutes. I don't want to poison my family, but I would love it if that 25 minute time was a possibility.

This is a hard question. And I have been asked it in a myriad of ways. Can I do it the 'old' way? Many of the questions posed to me point out that either moms or grandmothers did things different. And I certainly don't like contradicting our elders... often they have great wisdom!

However, The answer is: You take a risk by doing it the 'old' way. You have to make that decision yourself. Personally I decided to just follow the recommended guidelines and have that peace of mind. The processing times I give on my site are all taken from safe sources.  My most used source is the National Center for Home Preservation.  Some directions are from the Ball Blue Book. 

The good news is.... it is not unusual for canning corn to turn golden colored. Mine often is a darker color. From my research it is because it is a very sweet variety. My corn never tastes over cooked.

As far as the liquid loss. That is ok too. You want to avoid it, but it will not hurt your corn unless it is extreme. Liquid loss is often caused by taking your jars out of the canner too quickly.

Leave the jars in your canner for a couple of minutes before removing. Open the canner and then wait 3 or 4 minutes. This gives the jars a chance to cool slightly. When it is cooling the contents will be shrinking and not swelling so that may help you keep more liquid in your jars.

Another question on processing time.

Sharon, I was reading canning corn and noticed that it takes 1hr-25min to do a batch. Why does it take so much longer with corn and beans to process. Thank you.

Answer - It all has to do with the acidity of the food. I've used the times recommended by the USDA. They test the foods and determine the length of processing necessary for eliminating the risk of botulism. Corn is more starchy than other vegetables so I'd assume the acidity levels are different as well. Also corn has more natural sugar.

Here are a few pages that might interest you.

Botulism A severe, sometimes fatal food poisoning caused by ingestion of food containing botulin.

Canning methods Which Canning methods to use? Is my food high acid or low acid? Should I process in a water bath canner or pressure canner? Why? That is a common question ~ and a good one....

More ways to preserve corn.

Simply Canning Home › Canning Vegetables › Canning corn

Books and Classes

This content was originally published here.

[bluesfortheredj]

💍 Ever since these new people had joined there'd been tension. Rosita had gone around almost all of the men trying it on with them. She'd succeeded sometimes, and now she had set her sights on Daryl. You two had been together since the beginning of the new world, and you loved him with all of your heart. He'd really come out of his shell since you'd started dating and his emotions ran deep for you, even if he still had some trouble expressing them. You knew exactly what Rosita was doing, but Daryl being Daryl was still naive to it all. It started off with her saying Abraham needed your help and making a distraction so she could corner Daryl, but now it had gotten to the point where she would literally drag him away from you. "Hey Daryl, I need a super strong man to help me lift these boxes out of the van," she purred, feeling his muscles. "M'kay," he murmured, oblivious to what she was doing. "Oh, and (Y/N), Eugene needs your help at the church," she smirked as she swing her hips round and walked away with Daryl. You pulled a face behind her and stuck your middle fingers up at her back. You headed to the church and found Eugene stacking up bibles. "Hello (Y/N), what brings you here?" He asked. "Rosita said you needed my help with something," you replied. "I did not say that to her, but you can help me with these floor panels, we're hiding ammunition and-" "Son of a bitch!" You shout, "she lied!" "Rosita lied? Oh dear, I am sorry." "She's been after Daryl for ages now and keeps palming me off with the jobs she doesn't want to do," you huff. "I think you should talk to Abraham about this kind of thing, I'm not the best at advice," he says, looking down at his feet. "I'm sorry Eugene, I'm just so annoyed. I'll go talk to Abraham if you're alright here?" You apologise. "Not to worry, I'm fine here. I hope you resolve your issue," he states matter of factly. You exit he church and head off to find Abraham. He's sat by a truck smoking a cigar and smiles at you as you approach. "Hey Abe, how you doing?" "Not so bad, and yourself?" "Good thanks. I was wondering if I could have a word about Rosita?" You ask hesitantly. "Sure, come and sit," he answers, tapping the empty space next to him. You sit down and he offers you a puff of the cigar, which you gladly take. "So, she's been hanging round Daryl a lot, and I was wondering if you could maybe tell her to back off?" "Haha, well darlin' I'm sorry to say she backs off for nothing, not even me. You've just gotta let it run its course until Daryl realises what she's doing I'm afraid." "But what if he doesn't?" "He will, look at who he's with!" He laughs, looking you up and down, "hell girl, if he doesn't realise, it's his loss." "Thanks Abe," you smile. You both sit there sharing the cigar when Rosita and Daryl come along. "Here, watch this," he whispers, then gets up and looks down at you holding his hand out. "Take my hand darling, I got you," he says loudly so they can hear. He pulls you a little too harshly and you fall into him, "well hello there! Didn't know you liked me that much (Y/N)!" You both laugh and Rosita pulls Daryl away from you both. "Hey, I just gotta talk to (Y/N)," Daryl starts, but Rosita drags him away laughing, trying to cover up the sounds of you and Abraham talking. "Nah, she's fine with Abe, I've got another job for you," she winks. Daryl looks back at you and Abraham and feels a pang of jealousy. That evening you cooked Daryl's favourite meal and sat down at the table waiting for him to come home. A while later he arrived back and sat down in front of you. "Have fun with Abraham today?" He asked as he sat down and took the lid off of the pasta pot. "Yeah thanks, did you have fun with Rosita?" You snap back. "What? No, she just wants me to do all these jobs," he said surprised. "Really? Just think about that for a moment Daryl. Think about it really hard, like when you saw me and Abraham today," you say calmly, getting up and taking your plate into the kitchen and starting the washing up. Daryl sits there on his own, eating his dinner and when he's done, starts thinking about the past few weeks. Every time Rosita had interrupted you two she found a reason to make him leave you for the day and caused a distraction for you. He suddenly realised what she'd been doing all this time and felt so stupid. He crept up behind you as you were drying off your cutlery and put his plate down gently on the side. "I'm sorry," he says softly, "I didn't realise, I... I was stupid, didn't think." You look up and him and put your hand on his cheek, gently stroking it with your thumb. "It's not your fault Daryl, it's all her," you sigh, "you're too nice sometimes." You finish the washing up and head up to bed. Daryl wraps his arms around you tightly and doesn't let go all night. The next morning he's already left when you wake up and your heart sinks a little, but you know he's come to his senses, so try not to worry. The first thing Daryl does is head to Carol's. He bangs on the door urgently and he runs inside when she opens it. "Good morning, are you okay?" She asks, noticing his restlessness as he paces. "I messed up bad. Rosita's been getting between us and I didn't even see it," he rambles, "I've gotta make it up to (Y/N), i wanna ask her to marry me. Can ya help me?" "Oh sweetie! Of course!" She beams at him. The two set about planning how he's going to propose and Carol makes a chocolate cake. Daryl's a private person, but he wanted to do this in front of your friends who have been with you since the beginning, so Carol sets about getting everyone to the church for the evening and to help decorate the place with bunting while Daryl heads off to get you. Daryl's rushing to your house and he hears a familiar voice behind him. "Hey strong man, I need your help, where have you been?" Rosita purrs at him. "Busy. I've gotta go," he starts walking away and she latches onto his arm. "Leave me alone!" He shouts. "I know what you're doing, just leave me and (Y/N) alone!" Rosita gasps as she's never been rejected like this before and wordlessly walks away in a huff. He runs to your door and upstairs to where you're putting away fresh clothes after doing some housework. "Hey! Where did you sneak off to this morning?" You smile. "Long story, I've gotta show ya something, come on!" He pants, grabbing your arm and pulling you downstairs. You get to the doors of the church and Daryl knocks. You look at him quizzically and he smiles nervously. Carol opens the door and Daryl leads you inside where you see everyone from your group sitting in the pews at the front. You tug on his hand and he turns to you. "What is this?" You whisper. "You'll find out in a minute." He replies, leading you up to the front where there's a small table set up with something underneath a tea towel and a small bag. Daryl gets you to stand sideways to everyone and he takes the small bag from the table and tips out its contents onto his hand. You can't see exactly what it is, but Daryl suddenly drops to one knee. "Ya know I love ya, and I ain't that good at these things, but I wanna marry ya. If that's okay?" He mumbles quickly. "Yes!" You gasp, "a million times yes." Daryl slips a ring onto your finger and stands up to kiss you. Everyone cheers and gets up to hug you both one by one. Carol unveils the cake that says 'congratulations' and you give her a cuddle to say thank you. You all sit in the church eating cake and reminiscing about when this all began, realising there were more happy times than you remembered. Daryl comes up to you and takes your hand, looking at the ring on your finger. "Been wanting to do that for ages," he admits quietly as he leads you a little bit away from everyone. "I'm glad you did," you smile up at him. @jodiereedus22 @blondielovesr5-blog @reedusteinrambles

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: chapter nine

Even though Penn’s the one with the culinary background, Ashton doesn’t even come close to burning down the kitchen. In fact, he’s quite proud of himself when he’s well-on his way through a recipe card for chicken soup that he found in one of Penn’s gran’s recipe books.

He’s got one hand propped on his hip, occasionally flipping the pages in his philosophy text, stirring the pot gently simmering on the stove-top with a wooden spoon in the other, and he’s whistling.

Huh.

He’s oddly…happy.

Maybe the domestic life suits him.

Carefully pouring in the bowl of chopped carrots that he’d prepared after deconstructing the chicken – which, to be quite honest, was an experience and a half, considering he had a hand up the bird’s ass for a few moments – he closes the book quickly to prevent any broth from splattering onto the pages.

Letting it go for a few minutes, he ducks down, pulling the refrigerator door open and scanning the contents before reaching forward and grabbing a bottle.

Ashton ladles out the soup into one of the flower-painted bowls she got from a vintage market last summer and sets it on a tray he’s laid out. Reaching up now, his hands find a tumbler and fills up the glass.

He nearly trips over Cardy on his way to Penn’s room, but he bumpers off the wall and sails through the doorway without any incident.

“Here we go!” Ashton practically trills. “Your gran’s chicken noodle and some ginger ale to settle your tum, since you were saying it was hurting earli—the fuck, Penn?”

He’s caught her half out of bed, aimlessly flopping her lower half as she tries to shimmy up a pair of completely shapeless chef’s trousers up over her hips. Penn’s face is sweaty and flushed from exertion, and he sets the tray down on the clear patch on top of her dresser before rushing over to push her back down into the mattress by her shoulders.

“I’m not sure if you heard me the first time, Penn, but you’re not going to work today. You’re ill, and you’re going to make yourself pass out again if you don’t stop all this.”

“Christ, Ashton, I know what I’m doing, okay! I’m only going to stop by for maybe a few hours to make sure everything’s going smoothly, and then I’ll come back! I’ll swear it on my greenhouse, okay?”

Her face has desperation written all over it, but Ashton’s shaking his head. “I already called twenty minutes ago and explained the situation to the maître de, who said he’d pass the message along to the chef in charge right away. Even if you go, they’re not going to let you in, Penn.”

He walks back over to where he left the tray and carries it over to her bedside table. “Besides,” he adds, “the sooner you get better, the sooner you can go back.”

Huffing out a sigh, Penn ceases her struggle with the unflattering polyester bottoms and starts a feeble attempt at now kicking them off her legs. Ashton suppresses a grin.

He’s won this round, at least.

“Here, let me help you.”

They manage to untangle the trousers from around her ankles, and he tosses them into the laundry hamper in her closet before helping her swivel her legs back under the sheets.

“God, Penn, you’re all sweaty!”

The girl in question rolls her eyes at him. “Good to see you can still state the obvious. Toss me a new shirt, then turn around, and I’ll change.”

He raises his eyebrows right back at her. “Two things could happen if I do that. One, you might leap out of the window to get to work or some stupid shit like that. Or, two, you might pass out on me again from the effort. Look, your hands are shaking right now.”

Pulling out a tee-shirt that strangely looks like one of his own, bleach mark near the collar and everything, he sits on the edge of her mattress and makes a grab for the bottom of the sticky pajama top she’s got on now.

However, before he can make any forward progress, her hand shoots out and grips his wrist with surprising speed.

“Let. Me. Do. It.” She grits out the words through clenched teeth, the flush in her cheeks becoming even more pronounced.

“Penn. Don’t be so stubborn. It’s not like I haven’t seen you in just your bra before.”

He makes another grab for the hem of the sweaty shirt she’s still in, and this time, his hand gets smacked away as she hisses out, “Ashton, I’m not wearing a bra.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh. Um…” he clears his throat awkwardly, sure that his face is approaching the same level of redness as the maroon fabric clutched in his hand.

Penn takes the clean tee-shirt from him and flaps her hand. “Just...uh...turn around. I’ll lean on your back if I start feeling faint or something.”

Quickly swiveling and swinging his legs on the bed so he’s sitting cross-legged, he stares up at the roadmap of cracks in her ceiling as he makes a concerted effort to try not to focus on the sounds of rustling cloth behind him. Halfway through, though, Penn keeps her to her word and ends up resting her back against his, using his shoulder as a pillow for her head as she softly pants out, ever so close to his ear, “Nearly there.”

Christ. His hands find sections of the comforter to clutch until his knuckles go white.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity and a half, even though he knows it couldn’t have been more than five minutes or so, he hears Penn flop back down on the mattress and mumble something that he assumes is a go-ahead for him to turn around again.

She’s got her forearm thrown over her face, covering her eyes, and he nudges her with his knee. “You should try to get something in your stomach, okay? I slaved over a hot stove to make this soup for you, so at least try a bit.”

Sighing, she pulls herself up into a slouched position against the headboard, pulling up her voluminous duvet to cover her up to her waist. “Give it here, then.”

Ashton passes her the tray, after taking off the glass of ginger ale to set it on her side table. “Now, even if it tastes like shit, I want you to lie to me and say it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

Penn grins at that as she brings the spoon up to her mouth, and he carefully watches her for a reaction. She takes another sip, and then another, before she speaks.

“Y’know, this is good enough that it might even give George a run for his money.

“George?” he asks, even as he grins at the compliment.

She waves her hand around a bit, while eating some more of the soup. “One of the chefs at the restaurant that specializes in soups and stews and chowders and bisques and those kinds of things. Looks like a monkey a bit, but a nice bloke all told.”

“Are you the only woman in that entire restaurant?”

She goes to answer, but then starts coughing again. Reaching forward to take the bowl from her, Ashton passes her the glass. “Take it easy there. Have some of this, too.”

After she drinks perhaps a third of the cup, he takes that from her as well, feeling her forehead. It’s both clammy and exceedingly hot at the same time, and her face looks red as a sunburn.

“Tell me,” he says, “why you’re so determined to go back to work when you’re obviously quite under the weather? Your well-being is worth a little bit more than one day off the job.

Pursing her lips, Penn folds her arms across her chest. “It’s not that simple, Ash. And, it’s really kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time. No classes today.”

“...Okay.” He’s surprised at how quickly she acquiesces. Must be the illness talking. “It all started when I was right about two or three years old…”

    One of Penn’s first memories involves her grandfather’s favorite folding chair and a colouring book. Specifically, a colouring book featuring fanciful black outlines of princesses and castles and dragons, waiting to be scribbled over crayons wielded carelessly by her small, chubby hands.

It’s not so sunny under Pop’s chair, which is why she had squirmed under there in the first place. Getting sticky in the heat did not make for much fun.

She babbles along, making up songs on a whim, and shrieks with laughter as her grandfather reaches under his chair, newspaper folded in his lap, and scritches across her sides, tickling her.

(“Is there a radio down here? I can’t hear it clearly enough! Better turn up the volume!”)

Gran strolls out onto the patio, giving her husband a kiss on the cheek and a fresh cuppa. She peeks under his chair, reclips Penn’s fringe back in a sparkly barrette, saying, “Now, can’t let your hair get in the way of your art, can we? Oh, this looks gorgeous!”

Penn beams back up at her, pressing her palm flat on the rough paper and pushing it over to show her all of the colouring she’s managed to complete.

Except the page she’s proudly displaying gets torn out of her book with a resounding rip! and her older sister stand in front of her, picture in hand.

“Prissy! Give it back!”

Miriam turns to glare at her other granddaughter. “Priscilla Rose! What possessed you to do such a thing?”

With a six-year age gap, Priscilla already looks down on Penn from a significant height, nose turned up in distaste. “Mummy says you’re not allowed to colour such ridiculous things.”

Tears well up in Penn’s eyes, and Priscilla rolls her own in turn. “Don’t be such a baby, Penelope. This isn’t even that good. You’re never going to be an artist anyway.”

Ichiro Bunting snaps his newspaper closed, and Penn’s never seen him this furious. Without one word, he storms into the house where her parents sit with her brother over brunch, discussing the best medical programmes in Great Britain. Never mind the fact that her brother is only thirteen.

Her sister huffs and marches back towards door to the house, dress flouncing and paper crinkling in her small hands.

Penn’s sobbing right now. At only three years old, she’s still not really sure why Prissy is always so mean to her, and why Pierce is always so cold to her and why Daddy only reads really boring books to her and why Mummy insists that she sit like a lady.

There’s yelling coming from behind her, in a strange voice that sounds like her grandfather’s, but warped and fed through a loudspeaker, and her daddy’s speaking too, in that odd tone, but Gran’s picking her up now, hoisting her on her hip and striding into the garden where the iron trellis-towers covered with bean runners block out the sound.

They spend the afternoon out there together, Miriam telling her youngest grandchild all the different names of the numerous plants she’s growing in her raised beds, letting Penn pull out carrots and feel the velvety leaves, and knowing with a sinking feeling in her heart the enormous pressures Penn’s going to be put under.

    All of her fantasy colouring books get replaced with anatomical medical print-out pages one night, and Penn, age four and already bitter, knows not to ask her Mummy about it. She scribbles over them half-heartedly in red and blue and relishes the days when she goes over to her grandparents’ flat after primary, where her gran lets her draw until her heart’s content and her pop reads novels to her that talk about magic of all things.

Pierce gets accepted into a top university medical programme, of course, and the only things that capture Priscilla’s attention are texts on the bar exam and her mum’s platitudes about how diligent studies and high goals will lead to desired results.

And there’s nothing that Penn can do but pretend to go along with the stifling atmosphere of being pushed into a life that doesn’t hold any appeal for her whatsoever. Her father regales her with the benefits of being the last child, as now she’s got the option of either medicine or law now, since they’re already going to have a doctor and lawyer in the family. Maybe even engineering. She’s got choices.

Bullshit.

Things get tenser at home and strained is the key descriptor for her parents’ – especially father’s – relationship with her grandparents. Soon, she’s spending most of her free time at the latter’s flat, even taking to sleeping on their pull-out sofa instead of trekking back to her hideously pink room which her mother absolutely refuses to let her paint over.

Her gran passes her pamphlets about art school and universities that offer degrees in botany, while her pop talks about the benefits of just going undecided or, horror upon horrors, not going to university at all.

“It’s not for everyone. Do what’s right for you and don’t let anyone make you do anything different,” he shrugs as he flips the page to the crosswords and pats her hand, arthritic thumb rubbing over hers comfortingly. His nonchalance about stating something so important to her brings tears of gratitude to her eyes, and she throws her arms around his neck, crawling as best she can into his lap, and cries into his thin chest.

But then he dies, a sudden stroke that nobody saw coming, and it’s like Penn’s missing a lung. There’s half as much oxygen in the air – she can’t breathe – and a gaping hole in her heart, and, if anything, she and her gran only get closer from their shared grief over the loss.

She fails half her GCSEs and couldn’t care less.  

Nothing like that matters to her any more, and Penn gets into such a horrible row with her parents – nasty, horrible, scathing things get shouted across the living room, deadly barbs – that she moves into her gran’s flat until graduation.

There was nothing there for her at her parents’ place, except bucketloads of sighs and complaints about how she’ll never amount to anything, never be as successful as Pierce, who’s just finishing his residency, or as Prissy, the second-youngest to pass the bar exam.

So she leaves.

They didn’t want her anyway. Just another trophy child.

Then she meets Zayn and starts wearing things other than the dresses and skirts her mum had always purchased for her and chops her waist-length hair off into a chunky bob.

(Horrified her mum and Prissy of course. They had to hid her in the back of Prissy’s wedding photos. Her gran just thumbed the end of one of the pieces and told her that it suited her. That Ichiro would have told her she looked beautiful.)

Zayn’s always there for her, just like her gran, just like her pop, giving her all these new opportunities and letting her rant about her ridiculous family and how her dad practically fawns over Pierce’s newborn son while she’s not even allowed to hold the kid.

(She’d also be lying if she didn’t say that she’d had a crush on him for the better part of the time she’s known him. She also leaves this part of the story out when telling it to Ashton.)

That’s when she latches on to the idea of being a chef.

That’s something she can do – something that she’s actually good at – and something that she’d be proud to do. Making her way up, fighting tooth and nail for each step up the rungs of the ladder, gives her more confidence in her abilities than anything else.

And, it’s a real fuck-you to her parents, Mum especially, who consider food service to be on par with janitors and rubbishmen.

Solidifying a position as head of a potential Michelin five-star candidate restaurant also would solidify her position at the top of the industry, giving all of her hard work visible, tangible results that, as much as she loathes it, could force grudging recognition from her parents that she is just as successful as her siblings, just in a different manner.

Which is why she desperately needs to win this competition and why getting ill at this time is the absolute worst fucking thing to happen to her.

   By the time she finishes relating everything, Penn’s eyelids are drooping in exhaustion, and Ashton doesn’t blame her. He tucks up the blankets over her shoulders as she turns on her side and nuzzles into her pillow, brushing her hair off her cheek and back behind her ear.

Getting up, he goes through the motions of putting away the leftover soup into the refrigerator to heat up later and washes the dishes and lets the dogs back in from where they’ve been romping around in the fresh bit of snowfall on the terrace. It’s not until he notices that Cardy has something sticking to her hind paw that he realises Penn’s still not opened the letter yet.

Ashton pats it down with a tea towel and fills up a glass of water, bringing both back into the bedroom to set on her side table. He leaves once more, to grab his glasses, textbook, and a spare quilt, and curls up in the corner chair. Just so he can keep an eye over her.

   She wakes up sometime later, throat dry, and finds the glass of water.

Chugging it, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, glancing over to the corner. Ashton’s book lies haphazard on the floor, glasses askew on his face, toes peeking out from the bottom of the quilt, and he’s snoring lightly. She can’t quite stop the fond grin from crossing her face.

Settling the now-empty glass down, the crinkle of paper and swirl of purple lettering catches her eye. But, sleep is already calling to her again, so she resolves to investigate when she wakes again and settles down under the blankets again.

[justincharlacher]

My Favorite Stuff of 2016

I was asked today if I had any favorite records of 2016, and after some consideration, the answer is no. I just didn’t listen to much music this year, and I’m actually relying on the year end lists of others to rectify that. I did watch a bunch of stuff and listen to a bunch of podcasts this year, so here is a list of stuff that moved me in those media, as well as two live music events that rocked me to bits in 2016.

Live music

The Local H reunion with original drummer Joe Daniels for a tour celebrating the 20th anniversary of their second record, As Good As Dead, kicked off in Chicago at the Metro on the anniversary weekend, April 15 and 16. I was there, and it was huge for me. Folks who know me know that Local H has been the band I’ve most consistently followed ever since seeing them touring for AGAD opening for Stone Temple Pilots in Philadelphia in November of 1996. So to be in their hometown for two sold out shows with Joe behind the kit for a set comprised of the entire AGAD record was amazing. It was made only better by the fact that current drummer Ryan Harding and singer/guitar/bass lunatic Scott Lucas kicked off the proceedings with a blistering set, and Lucas was then flanked by both drummers beating the ever-loving fuck out of a pair of quivering drum kits for a finale heavy on tunes from my favorite H record, 1998′s Pack Up the Cats. I would catch up with the tour a few weeks later in DC and Philly, a night that ended with a cheesesteak outing with the band and began with the fellas even tighter and more comfortable playing together. These dates were the highlights of my crappy 2016.

Nearly as awesome was seeing New Oreans sludge weirdos eyehategod in a tiny club in New York City in the fall. I’ve certainly seen EHG in tiny clubs before, but on this tour Lamb of God’s Randy Blythe was filling in for the ailing Mike Williams, and he was insane. I haven’t been into LoG for many years, and they long ago grew out of playing clubs, but this was a reminder of why I loved them so much. Blythe was a force of nature, a wild animal unleashed on a stage to a small room 2/3 full. Dude is the truth. Williams had a successful liver transplant at the end of the year, so hopefully he’ll back out croaking his unearthly vocals for the band soon enough, but catching the Blythe version was a real treat. 

Podcasts

Extra Hot Great remains my favorite podcast. The crew who brought you Television Without Pity and Fametracker brave tech issues and thousands of miles of distance to bring discussion of television and ridiculous games. David T. Cole, Sarah D. Bunting, and Tara Ariano are the best thing I pipe into my earholes every week. 

Slate’s Panoply network has expanded to include a wealth of great content, but I still gravitate to the OG lineup of The Culture Gabfest, Hang Up and Listen, and The Political Gabfest, which I turn on as soon as I wake up on Friday mornings. Each of these has three hosts with unique points of view and awesome chemistry, though they aren’t afraid to disagree. 

The Read is Kid Fury and Crissle. Angry. Black. Queer. Put on your helmet!

The Film Pigs have the only podcast about movies on the internet, and certainly the only one that Chuck D. composed theme music for. Just ask them. 

The Cracked Podcast often retreads ground covered in the articles on the site, but it’s worth it to hear Jason Pargin aka David Wong talk about anything. Dude is smart, thoughtful, and the kind of voice that needs exposure behind a humor site. 

We Hate Movies. Start with the Boondock Saints II  episode. You’ll thank me.

Television

Fleabag (Amazon Prime): This show you guys! Six episodes. Three hours. I dare you not to do it in one go. Phoebe Waller-Bridge is a revelation as the eponymous hero with a foul mouth and the need to nervously chat with the audience throughout her adventures. To say too much would be doing disservice to the fantastic narrative that Waller-Bridge, who also created and wrote the show, has constructed. Just brace yourself for a wallop of an ending--and the urge to start over again as soon as you’ve finished. This was my favorite tv thing in 2016.

Catastrophe (Amazon Prime): Season two. Rob and Sharon are parents. What could go wrong?

Banshee (Cinemax): This show aired its fourth and final season in 2016, though I only caught up with the first three seasons earlier in the year. It’s the show for folks (like me) who love the kind of R-rated, big dumb action pictures that Hollywood doesn’t make anymore. An unnamed thief gets out of prison after 15 years and hauls ass to small town Pennsylvania to meet up with the woman he left behind. By chance, he witnesses the death of the town’s new sheriff, and using quick thinking and a hacker best friend dressed in drag, assumes the sheriff’s identity. As sheriff Nate Hood, our hero fights crime and corruption, and an apostate Amish kingpin. The action is filmed spectacularly, the violence would make Kurt Sutter blush, and it’s Cinemax, so you know the sex is sultry and plentiful. This show is an underrated gem.  

Rectify (Sundance Network): Like Banshee, this one wrapped a four season run in 2016, and I had only just caught up with it. The tale of Daniel Holden, a man sentenced to death at 18 and released nearly twenty years later on a technicality (the show is cagey about his guilt), this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen on television, full stop. With standout supporting performances from Abigail Spencer and Clayne Crawford so powerful that I followed the actors to lesser network dramas, this show creates a portrait of people just trying to work through an emotional bomb that as been dropped as the shattered son, brother, friend, and step-brother they thought they’d never see again walks among them. Powerful stuff from Ray McKinnon, who I still think of as Reverend Smith on Deadwood. 

Better Call Saul (AMC): Season two finds Jimmy with the opportunity to settle in as a legit lawyer and partner to Kim. Watching him willfully blow it is agony. 

Search Party (TBS): So yeah...TBS is making quality dramedies now. Alia Shawkat leads a group of painfully self-involved friends as they search for a missing girl who they sort of maybe knew in college. Being lost in life is the real thematic game here, and the show finds a fresh way to engage this age-old trope. 

Bojack Horseman (Netflix): I’m not sure that there has been a show as depressing as this one. Bojack Horseman wraps the self destructive tendencies of Walter White, Don Draper, and James McGill together and multiplies them. It’s made worse because he also really feels things, kind of. The third season dropped on Netflix in 2016, but you have to start from the beginning and give the show some time to hook you. It’s well worth it.

The People V. O.J. Simpson (FX): Never in a million years did I think I would even like this, but boy howdy... I loved it. Sarah Paulson is jaw-dropping in bringing Marcia Clark to life and her chemistry with Sterling K. Brown’s Christopher Darden is scorching. Whether or not Darden and Clark hooked up in real life, I can’t imagine many folks who didn’t want these two characters to just get busy already. Courtney B. Vance crushed the role of Johnnie Cochran. And what in God’s name was Travolta doing?! I hate Ryan Murphy products. I loved this show!

Finally, I’m going to toss out a group of good but not great shows that also watched intently in 2016. The Girlfriend Experience on STARZ expands on Soderbergh’s film with a real actress this time (though I think Sasha Grey did what was asked of her in the film). Quarry on Cinemax tells the story of a man who returns to Memphis after two tours in Vietnam and finds himself drawn into a mysterious underworld as an assassin. Lethal Weapon on FOX is far better than it has any right to be, and casts Rectify’s brilliant Clayne Crawford as Riggs to Damon Wayans’s Murtaugh. And Timeless on NBC tells the story of a hijacked time machine and the ragtag crew sent to chase it through American history. Abigail Spencer shows up in this one, so score another extension of Rectify. None of these shows is going to compete with greats like Rectify or Breaking Bad or The Wire, but even in a crowded tv market, I think they are worth a look. They are solid. 

Movies

This is a short one as I saw very few new movies in 2016.

Green Room: Jeremy Saulnier brings the hurt with this tale of a hardcore band touring the Pacific northwest who get caught up with group of violent skinheads after a gig. Practical gore. Psychological horror. Patrick Stewart bringing soft-spoken menace as the cool leader of the neo-Nazi group. Also, one of Anton Yelchin’s final performances before his tragic death. This one had me watching through my fingers in the theater.

Brand: A Second Coming: This documentary chronicling the ups and downs of Russell Brand was probably the most thought-provoking film I saw all year. Directed by Ondi Timoner, who has made a career of examining male hubris, this film depicts a man who seems to truly mean well but simply cannot get out of his own way. I found it to be a very powerful character study. 

The Nice Guys: I’m in the bag for Shane Black. He still makes the big dumb action pictures. I even liked Russell Crowe in this one.

The Conjuring 2: Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga are terrific. These films are legit scary. James Wan expertly uses his camera for maximum tension.

Blue Jay: Sarah Paulson again. I love her. And I’ve also become very fond of Mark Duplass the actor. I’ve mentioned this film before. A lovely two-hander about what could have (and maybe should have) been. 

So that’s it. On to 2017! Thanks for reading.

[itwasalwaysjustred]

prompt #010 - avail

hints of Azem/Hades if you squint; Hades laments the existence this fractured Azem; 1.4k

content warnings: MAJOR 5.3 SPOILERS DO NOT PASS GO IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED THE CURRENT PATCH

Hades will admit he had his suspicions, ever since Elidibus spoke of Hydaelyn’s champion, this so-called “Warrior of Light.” It wasn’t just that he meddled; it was that he showed up, companions in tow, and succeeded in his meddling, doing things no mere mortal should have feasibly been able to accomplish. Whatever he involved himself in, no matter the hardships, he saw it through to the end, triumphing over the multitude of foes sent his way to the point of even getting the last laugh at Lahabrea. In all of this, Hades couldn’t help but be reminded of an old friend 

Yet despite the part of him that whispered of its possibility, nothing could prepare Hades for seeing the Warrior of Light in person. He knows the colour of the soul the moment he lays eyes on it, burning deep in his core like a beacon even corrupted as it was by the Lightwarden’s aether. Hades is unprepared for the torrent of emotions that rise up within him like a monsoon, momentarily stealing his breath as he tries furiously to push them all away. Anger, first, and that is comforting at least. The fire of Azem’s soul is so, so small, even partially rejoined as it is. He is nothing but a pathetic fragment of a once resplendent being and Hades seethes just looking at him, disgusted by his mere existence. 

He wants to smother it, this pathetic excuse for a flame. It shouldn’t exist like this, not when it had once been so beautiful. Let him return to the Lifestream, let Hydaelyn pluck him from it once more after those loyal to Zodiark have engineered a few more calamities and his soul might be closer to what it once was. Allowing Azem to exist like this, to play shepherd to the people of these stars when he doesn’t even know who he is feels like a crime. It makes Hades’ lips curl in disgust and his hands itch for violence. 

(He doesn’t want to destroy this tiny flame, not really. In truth, Hades wants to cradle it between his palms and hold it close to his chest, to feel even a fraction of the warmth it once gave off. Azem’s embrace used to feel like holding the sun itself. Hades wishes he hadn’t taken it for granted. He wishes, when he looks upon all that remains of his friend’s beautiful soul, it did not make a thousand, thousand year’s worth of loneliness dig painful fingers into his chest and steal away his breath.) 

Hades had never remade Azem in his phantom Amaurot, after all; he told himself that it was because his friend had abandoned them when they needed him most, that Azem had no place walking the magnificent streets of their once-beautiful city, even as a ghost. He told himself it was definitely not because he couldn’t bear the thought of trapping a pale shade of his friend there, knowing his memories alone would barely do Azem justice. It was bad enough he had done that to Hythlodaeus. 

And yet here he was now, trailing after a pale shade of his friend now, watching him struggle against the First’s inevitable end. He tells himself spending time with him will free him of his fetters, that seeing him in action will prove to the weak parts of himself that the Warrior of Light is not his friend. Then, when the time comes to put him in his place, Hades will not hesitate because of something as foolish as sentiment. It works, to a certain extent. The more time he spends in the Warrior’s company, the more he catalogues their differences and tallies the ways in which he cannot begin to compare to the Azem of eld. It’s a refreshing exercise, and one that Hades finds a kind of perverse pleasure in. 

(Not good enough, not smart enough, not fast enough, not magically inclined, not—) 

But every so often, he does something so achingly familiar it makes Hades’ breath catch and he finds he cannot look away. The way he laughs when something catches him off guard, unabashed and free. The way he shakes himself after a rainstorm, the way he tips his head back and closes his eyes to enjoy the breeze, the way he tosses his shoes aside and rolls up his pant legs to traipse through the mud. The way sometimes, perhaps when his Echo is the strongest, he tilts his head and watches Hades out of the corner of his eye, a tiny furrow between his brow as though he’s worried. Hades doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. 

They eat at him, these uncanny similarities, gnawing upon his own immortal soul until he is certain he’s half-mad with it all. Perhaps he should snuff out this flame. Perhaps Elidibus will let him go back to sleep so he does not have to endure the weight of his feelings. 

Perhaps then, he can have peace again. 

He comes close one evening, when all the Scions are asleep and he can move freely among them. The Warrior is as unprotected as he’ll ever get, resting in his private quarters that seem far too large for a man of his stature. Hades is aware, of course, that the Exarch could be watching, but he will never be able to make it in time to save his beloved Warrior. If there’s anyone among them that can even dream of standing up to Hades at his full strength it is the creature below him, sprawled in a tangle of sheets and lost to his dreams. 

As Hades leans over the bed, fingers curling around the Warrior’s throat, a pair of mis-matched eyes blink open, and a mouth curls into a familiar, cheeky smile. 

“At least let me give you my safeword if we’re going to get kinky.” 

The quip startles a laugh out of Hades, even as he shakes his head, already easing his face into a familiar look of condescension. 

“My my, you are full of surprises, hero. What would your little friends think?” 

It’s a weak deflection and he knows it. Judging by the way the Warrior lifts an eyebrow at him, he knows it as well. There really isn’t a smooth way to get out of this — “oh, sorry, was going to strangle you in your sleep but I think I’ll take a rain check” doesn’t really have a nice ring to it — but before Hades can retreat, he feels fingers gently encircling his wrists. He makes the mistake, then, of meeting the Warrior’s eyes, expecting to find— honestly? Anger. Fear. Disgust. Anything, except the soft, searching look, like something on Hades’ face will give him that last missing piece that will help everything make sense. 

Hades swallows around the sudden lump in his throat because he knows that look, intimately, and even on another face it’s somehow still the same. He remembers with unexpected clarity the feel of Azem’s hands around his, gentle, coaxing, as he drew Hades towards him and gently bunted his forehead against his, Azem’s normally bright, expressive chimes made soft with concern. 

Hades, my friend, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.   

There’s a brush of something against his mind, reaching out, and Hades recoils instantly, pulling himself away from the Warrior and the questing touch of his immature Echo. Azem would not have been cast aside so easily, but the Warrior is but an infinitesimal piece of his sundered soul. He has neither Azem’s aetherical power nor the power to sway Hades like he once did. It is bad enough that he has managed to do this much, to draw Hades to him like a moth to a false flame, to make him remember the warmth of his friend’s touch and then to be unable to provide it. 

He hates this, hates this doppelganger housing his friend’s shadow, and still—

The Warrior opens his mouth, no doubt to ask him something important, but simply being in his presence is making Hades feel raw, like an exposed nerve. It is time for him to leave — the sooner the better, really — and he has no compunctions about simply interrupting the Warrior to make it happen. 

“Another time. I’ve an appointment I would hate to miss.”

Then he turns and waves a dismissive hand at the Warrior, vanishing into darkness the same way he arrived. There would, of course, not be another time. The next time he appeared before the Warrior, Hades will have mastered himself.