#chicken pocket pies

[afinickyguide]

episode 145: chicken pocket pies 🍗🥘🥧

[vegan-nom-noms]

Savory Vegan Cajun Chick’n Hand Pies

[securewithtss]

Tasty Hand-Held Chicken Pot Pie Pockets Recipe Easy to make and eat, mini chicken hand pies are pockets made of refrigerated biscuit dough filled with boneless breast chunks, frozen veggies, gravy, and instant potatoes.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Preview...

"A Tattoo and the Bloodsucker Blues"

(A Terry Richmond Vampire AU Fic)

Summary:

You thought the tattoo on his arm marked him as one of those Hoteps or Nation of Islam brothas that hawked bean pies on the corner with the Final Call. But little did you know it meant more than that. That's why you have to track him down and kill him... before the baby in your belly can turn into his kind.

(This fic will strictly be for the grown and sexy. Smut, Violence, Blood. Dropping October 30th at Midnight on All Hallow's Eve.)

“I don’t wanna wait for love

Every time I do

I don’t wanna wait for love

Waitin’ on him

Are you warm enough?

Coco blood

Are you warm enough?

Coco blood”

Celeste – “Coco Blood”

Celeste Profitt checked the GPS on her smartphone one more time before stepping out of her gun metal gray Dodge Charger.

She drove out to find the pale green double shotgun house, which was sequestered on the outskirts of St. Celestine Parish. Ten years previously, there had been flooding in the county her grandmother named Celeste after, and many families left the area when their insurance wouldn’t pay for water damage. The houses left behind looked like gaps in the teeth of someone with infected gums. It reeked of working class poverty, the kind of poverty Celeste ferociously clawed her way out of by holding down two jobs. One at the poultry factory, where she removed the putrid raw entrails of slaughtered chickens, and the other at a nursing home, where she cleaned shitty bed pans and kept company with neglected elders with no kinfolk nearby.

The shotgun houses left standing weren’t different from the Creole cottage she rented less than seven miles away, and she cut her eyes back to the one she needed. Damp air with the hint of rain coming caused her to sniffle. It smelled old around there, and something had definitely died in some bushes across the street. She zipped up her dark blue windbreaker and fingered the pepper spray she carried in the jacket’s pocket. Couldn’t be too careful around folks who chose to stay in a bad situation. It still smelled like floodwater and deep regrets.

She pulled a cigarette from her purse, but stuffed it back down to the bottom, reminding herself that she was pregnant now and couldn’t hurt the baby that rested in her womb. The urge to puff daily was a struggle, and she refused to toss a ten-dollar pack of nicotine in the garbage. Shit, she might sell a few loosies if she needed to. Her funds were getting low paying for all the high-priced gas she burned through looking for her baby daddy.

Terry Richmond.

That’s what he called himself, but now she wasn’t too sure if that was his real name or not since she couldn’t find his ass anymore once she decided to keep their baby. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She needed to stay calm and not think about the hurt and hate she carried in her heart for that man. Never trust a pretty boy with pretty eyes and a third leg. That should’ve been her motto from jump. But that was neither here nor there with the position she found herself in at the moment. Right now she needed some answers and the woman inside the pale green shotgun house was supposed to have the solution.

She fingered a plastic grocery bag she also carried in her purse. Inside it was a blood plasma bag she toted around every day that she fed from when the urge overtook her on some days. The cravings for blood grew worse, and the fetus inside her stayed absorbing every nutrient from her body. What it wanted most lately was the blood in her purse. The baby inherited fifty-fifty of its parent’s genes, and back when she thought things were cool between them, all lovey-dovey and real passionate in those early days…well, Celeste imagined their baby inheriting Terry’s pretty eyes and her thick wondrous hair. He was lighter than her and she figured the baby would come out a gorgeous brown that was a mix of their two different skin tones. The last thing she wanted was for her child to come out with Terry’s hunger.

For blood.

Celeste zipped her purse back up and concentrated on what she was there to do.

Talk to the Black witch of St. Celestine Parish.

The renowned Voodoo priestess down in Nawlins last weekend was a grand failure at solving her problem. That lady's Catholic ass made the sign of the cross several times throughout Celeste’s consultation, which was a bit much for her taste. Celeste grew up Catholic too, but found it irritating that a Voodoo priestess acted so scary about a bloodsucker, while also bragging about turning people who were made into zombies back into human beings. At least that’s what she claimed on her website. That phony bitch started whimpering and calling for Jesus when Celeste pulled back her shirt and lifted her bra to show the fang marks on her titties that Terry made that never healed properly. She explained how she became allergic to her silver jewelry, and fought with a three-inch bundle of developing cells over blood intake from the plasma bag.

She left the fake Madame Zeroni’s Curio shop disgusted and a hundred dollars broker.

Her homegirl Mercy texted the name of a woman who quietly practiced Hoodoo on her phone. Mercy believed everything Celeste told her because she had been there from jump, and without judgment, guided her to another root of the African diaspora tree.

Celeste lifted her foot onto the first creaky step of the shotgun house and the front door on the left opened. Behind the screen door she made out the face of a man with the skin-color of dark tobacco leaves.

“Yeah?” he said in a gruff tone.

Celeste glanced at the door on the right, which was her destination. She ignored the man and knocked on the glass window on the upper half of the wooden door. The neighbor opened his screen and stepped out.

“You sure you here to see her?” the man asked.

Without a screen barrier, his face looked younger and more handsome, his short locs pointing every which-way on his head like tiny black antennas. The front door on the right opened and a pretty, dark brown-skinned woman stuck her head out.

“Mind ya business, Bertrand. She ain’t here to see you.”

“Lynn?” Celeste asked.

“It’s me,” Lynn said.

She opened her door wider and glanced back at her neighbor.

“Come on inside before anymore noisy birds stick they heads out,” Lynn said.

Celeste stepped over the threshold and passed Lynn to get inside.

“Good Lord, gal, you got a head full of hair on you! How long you been growing it?”

Celeste touched her heavy and long bongo locs that fell down to her waist.

“Ten years now. Since I was a teenager.”

“So thick and pretty. Betcha when you go swimming it’s like fighting with an octopus, huh?”

Celeste grinned.

Lynn was much younger than she expected. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Out in the parish swamps, there was no telling how old melanated folks could be.

“Come on back here into my kitchen,” Lynn said.

Celeste waited for her to lead the way and they walked past two rooms straight to the neat kitchen.

“Hungry?” Lynn asked. “Got some beans and rice on the stove. Frying up some pork chops, too. Go ‘head and sit at the table.”

Celeste took a seat at a small table with a pink plastic covering. The savory odor of red beans and seasoned, fried meat made her mouth water. Her stomach grumbled.

“Oh, yeah, you hungry. I’ma fix you a plate.”

“Please, don’t go to any trouble for me.”

“Ain’t no trouble. Got plenty. I made extra for you, anyway. Pregnant women gotta eat good.”

Celeste stared at the woman. She wasn’t even showing yet and never mentioned being pregnant over their phone call consultation. Did Mercy tell her?

“Don’t get spooked, Celeste. I work as a mid-wife. I can smell a pregnant woman a mile away. Relax.”

Celeste watched the young Hoodoo woman fix a big plate of string beans, red beans & rice and a thick cut of pork chop fried to golden brown perfection. She plopped it down in front of Celeste and fixed herself a plate, too. Her close-cropped brown hair had a cute undercut, and both her ears had at least seven small gold hoops pierced through them. She wore an off-the-shoulder white t-shirt and booty shorts for the heat. Her eyes were small for her face and were the only thing on her that looked mature. Had she not known any better, Celeste would’ve thought she was chatting with a senior in high school.

Lynn sat down across from her and held out her hand toward Celeste.

“I like to say grace over my meals,” Lynn said.

Celeste clasped her hand, and a charge of energy seeped into her palm from Lynn. She closed her eyes as Lynn said a short, heartfelt prayer, then lifted a half loaf of Wonder Bread from her table. She unfastened it and handed Celeste two pieces.

“Ooh, wait, I forgot some libations.”

Lynn jumped up and brought back a large glass pitcher of fresh lemonade. She grabbed two plastic cups and poured them each a good fill.

“I don’t have no ice cubes for it, sorry,” Lynn said.

Celeste sipped and the sweet/tart taste was delicious and cold enough. Both women ate quietly for a few minutes, and after Celeste’s third bite of her pork chop, Lynn stared at her directly with fierce chocolate eyes.

“Did you bring the things I asked for?”

Celeste nodded and pulled out a bundle from her purse and slid it to Lynn.

“I got some hair from a brush he used at my place, and summa his semen. We made love the last time I saw him and he wiped himself with a washrag and threw it in my dirty clothes hamper.”

“Semen is good. Anything liquid from the body is good,” Lynn said, collecting the items that Celeste stuffed in a little sandwich baggie.

“Tell me everything about this man you’re looking for. From the beginning,” Lynn said. “In order for me to make a root powerful enough to find him and bring him back, I gotta know every detail.”

Those chocolate eyes stayed intense.

Celeste fought the urge to sip on the blood in her purse and took another healthy swig of lemonade from her cup before she told the tale, from top to bottom, of how Terry Richmond, a whole ass vampire, seduced her out of her panties, stole her heart, bit her, then left her with something growing in her belly that she was afraid of…

A.N.:

Reminder, this long fic is dropping All Hallow's Eve at Midnight! Comment below if you want to be tagged for a sexy, supernatural treat at the end of the month!

Tag List Thus Far:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

@nayaesworld

@notapradagurl17

@4pfsukuna

@yamst3rdamctrl

@sweettea-and-honeybutter

[haikyu-mp4]

So uhm 👉🏻👈🏻 I’m applying for Osamu, I’m organised and a problem solver 🌟

look who came back for more ☀️ I had some ideas for part two of this, and this is the final request for this event! thank you for participating sugarplum<3

Cookies and cream, part 2

Osamu is a regular and finally asks you out, for the now hiring! event

word count; 1387 – f!reader

One might say that Osamu became a regular after that initial meeting, making time to stroll across the street at least a few times a week during his break. Your wit, your laugh, and your… physical attributes– it all drove him crazy. Somehow your laughter could make him smile even when he was alone in his kitchen and thought back to moments spent with you.

When you could, you came over to have lunch in the restaurant, and the two of you would occasionally converse through text messages after work. He had no reason to think you weren’t interested by now. Every day he would hype himself up to ask you out properly, only to get lost in conversation and chicken out.

On the other side of the street, you were always glancing through the windows to catch a glimpse of him or checking the time for when he would usually arrive.

This time, he came in through the door while you were serving a coffee to a regular, so he tucked his hands into his pockets and silently waited for your attention. You straightened up when you noticed him and smiled, nodding your head once in greeting. “Osamu! Hi,” you said, already breathless for some reason.

“Hey!” Osamu had accidentally placed himself between you and where you were going, so the two of you awkwardly went back and forth trying to decide who would pass by who and on what side, until you both broke into a light giggle. The chef placed a hand on your upper arm and took a step to the side, so you could pass by.

“Thank you,” you whispered and looked at the floor as you passed, trying to hide the flush on your face from both him and the rest of the customers who just witnessed that clownery.

As you came around the counter and once again faced him from the other side of the register, it didn’t take long until you two were back into the usual flow of conversation.

What felt like every time Atsumu came around to visit his brother, he was over at the café and Atsumu would watch in disgust through the window as the two of you smiled brightly, touched lightly, laughed heartily and were certainly getting along well.

He would wait around with his arms crossed until Osamu seemed to float through the door to the restaurant, and Atsumu had to admit he found some joy in being the reason that lovesick smile fell off Osamu’s face.

Seeing as there was no line behind him, Atsumu leaned over the counter and watched you work so you knew you didn’t have to hurry over to the register for him. “Now that you’re dating my brother, do I get a discount?”

“Aren’t you a pro athlete?”

“Can’t pro athletes be economically conscious?”

The miniature metal mug you used for milk dropped from your hand onto the counter, luckily not filled with anything. Did I hear that correctly?

Slowly, your head turned towards him with confusion written all over your face. “Wait, what do you mean now that I’m dating your brother- did Osamu say that?”

“No, why? Ya keepin’ it a secret?”

You squinted, now eyeing him with suspiciousness. “We’re not dating.”

Atsumu realised he made a mistake and pursed his lips, avoiding your eyes. He even threw in a very inconspicuous whistle as he tried to conjure up a way out of this. You could see the cogs turning in his head while he stretched the time out.

Would be nice to have Osamu owe him... and Atsumu does enjoy meddling… “Guess that scrub still hasn’t asked you out,” he said, sighing for effect.

“Tsumu,” you scolded with a nervous laugh, looking away from him, but not before he could see the light flush on the tops of your cheeks. “Why? Do you think he will?” you asked, fiddling with the buttons on the register.

Atsumu shrugged with a mischievous smile and picked a lollipop out of the glass jar that stood on the counter beside him. “This and my usual, please.”

Atsumu found it funny how his brother’s reaction was so similar to yours.

“I asked your girlfriend if I could get a discount now that you two are dating, can you believe she said no?” he had said and scrunched his nose at the sound of something dropping from Osamu’s hand and into the sink. Luckily, it wasn’t something breakable.

Osamu’s head slowly turned to Atsumu with a look of disbelief. “You… why would you say that? We’re not dating!”

“And whose fault is that?” Atsumu argued back, picking up an onigiri to chomp on.

“Now it might as well be yours!” Osamu seemed to take a deep breath and Atsumu held his breath in anticipation of the scolding he might get, or even a knuckle to the jaw, but was surprised when Osamu just broke eye contact and asked, “She just said no?”

Atsumu smiled again, leaning on the bar and making a gesture of zipping up his lips. “That’s between us girls, but I will say she didn’t seem opposed to the idea.”

Osamu’s body language was a bit different the next time he visited, and you would have noticed it had you not been making your way around the café in a hurried attempt to stay distracted. He held a little takeout box filled with fresh tuna onigiri.

As you were going over the rest of the orders you had to finish in your head, although it wasn’t even that many, you were startled when you finally noticed the handsome regular who stood in that same spot, a charming but seemingly nervous smile plastered on his face.

“Osamu! Hi.” You brightened like usual but busied yourself with starting the next coffee order.

“Hey,” he said, followed by a soft chuckle as he watched you drop two ice cubes on the floor instead of in the plastic cup. “Is this a bad time?” He scratched the back of his neck.

“No! No, just give me a couple of minutes,” you told him, running your forearm over your forehead as you poured the coffee mixture into the cup, finally slipping the lid on and sliding it over the counter to the young woman waiting patiently. “Have a nice day!”

“I wanted to ask ya something,” Osamu said as you walked closer to him with a smile, but it was interrupted by the oven beeping in the back, telling you the other order was finished toasting. “I’ll let ya get that.”

And you did, whipping out the brown paper with the café logo on it to partially wrap the sandwich before plating it and carrying it over to the kind man who sat a few tables down.

“Remember you told me about that show you liked?” You stopped for just a second before continuing what you were doing, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“I do, did you watch it?” you asked in return after giving the customer his food with a soft ‘hope you enjoy, sir’ and walking back over to your station.

“No,” Osamu said, and he seemed to let the next words simmer on his tongue before putting the box of onigiri in front of you. Finally, he had all your attention. All the other orders were done for now and your eyes were set on him with the utmost interest. “I made these. You looked busy earlier and I wanted to make sure you had lunch,” he explained.

Your heart warmed in your chest as you picked the box up, glancing inside and holding back the grateful tears. “Oh my gosh, thank you!”

“And uhh…” The nail of his pointer finger was repeatedly tapping on the counter while he looked at it. “I was wondering if you might want to watch that series with me this Friday? I could make us a nice dinner as well.”

He finally looked back up and you were pursing your lips to keep back from having a loud vocal reaction of glee. “That sounds like the perfect Friday,” you answered. “Is it a-” You moved your hands through the air like you were hoping he would finish the sentence.

“A date? I would like it to be.”

“I would like that too.”

masterlist

[annemarieyeretzian]

a priest reprimanding grog and pike, saying “under no circumstances does my piety allow me to partake in such lower class forms of–” and grog asking pike “did he say he has pies?” and pike giggling and asking “do you have pies? do you have a pie in your pocket? or are you just happy to see me, sir.” (bonus: grog and pike then simply listing pies they like,,, “I like apple pies. rhubarb pies.” “pumpkin pies.” “peanut butter pies.” “ham pies. chicken pies.” “ooh, chicken pies.”) 🤣

[bipolar-sad-and-ready-to-cry]

I have a the sun and moon show AU brewing ♡┉ˏ͛ (❛ 〰 ❛)ˊˎ┉♡

What is the AU? Well they are all magical girls (but most are men lol) with pretty dresses and pretty much all of them are one big happy family (family includes KC, Sun, Moon, Eclipse, Solar, Bloodmoon, Lunar, and Jack o moon) and I’ve been drawing designs of them and their weapons for the past few days so I shall show the first one I drew which is Sun and explain things about the AU

Ok so in this AU there are magical beings who get stronger with every soul they have and the one of and the most common ways they can get souls is to make a deal with a mortal and take their souls, Frank is a magical being who takes the form of a small plushie for of himself and he has only one soul and that’s KC’s soul (yes animatronics have souls in this AU) and KC asked that he and his children all become magical girls, Frank who doesn’t really enjoy the power that comes with souls agreed to this deal, At this point KC hadn’t made his children yet but first came Sun and Moon then Eclipse and Solar and then the Bloodmoon twins and then Lunar and then Earth and Jack was created by Solar much much later so he is KC’s grandson in this AU. I will be showing the rest of the designs soon if you guys wish but for now about a bit about Sun!

Sun’s weapons are guns (duh) his skirt acts like a pocket that he can reach into and pull out any gun he wishes but they are always covered in yellow glitter so he tracks glitter everywhere, he is the second oldest out of all the siblings but he is also the most dramatic, he loves his rom coms and reading those drama magazines, he finds internet drama too crazy tho. He can eat foods and his favourites are spaghetti, chicken pot pies and the occasional ice cream! Also he may or may not be a balance king I mean those shoes and he has taller shoes

I probably won’t be writing any fanfics based on this AU but do tell me what you all think! ☆*✲୧( ○ ╹ 〰 ╹ ○ )୨✲*☆

Also I understand probably a few of you do not like tsams and I respect that entirely but I like it so I make AUs with it but I will only label it tsams for the people who don’t wanna see it!

[hetaologist]

World Meeting (pt. 1)

England: *Enters the meeting room* Right, I want to address a particular Tweet as today’s meeting topic…

*All Nations stop what they’re doing to look at England*

England: Just last week, I read a Tweet from a *specific* individual, talking shit about my food.

*All Nations groan, America snickers to himself*

England: *Narrows eyes at America*, I’ll have you know, my ‘Pie and Mash’ is a good, hardy meal and a British classic!

America: *Stands from his desk with a cheeky grin* Come on dude, don’t tell me you actually look forward to eating dry ass meat pies covered in nuclear green gravy and a side of wall paste~. *He laughs mischievously*

England: WHY YOU CHEEKY BAST-

France: *Clears his throat* Mon amie~, I’m forced to agree with America…unfortunately.”

England: *Snaps his head towards France* WHAT!? Says you, you snail sucker! Your food is overrated and overly complicated to make.

France: *Clutches pearls* Sacré bleu, you heathen! At least my food is desired for and doesn't make people fat, no~?!

*America and England both glare at France*

America: Excuse me bro...?

*Germany stands up and places hands on table*

Germany: Now's not the time to talk about frivolous topics as such. The three of you, sit down und shut up!

America: Hmph, says you. You think it's perfectly okay to eat boiled sausages with boiled potatoes and noodles with no seasonings.

*Germany gasps and gets taken a back*

Germany: DON'T TALK SCHEISSE ABOUT MY FOOD, YOU LARD COVERED ARSCHLOCH!

France: And no, covering everything in mustard or paprika doesn't count~.

*Germany is fuming like a hot baked potato*

England: Hehe~. Now you know how I feel in this situation, you bland Kraut!

America: HAHA! And your beer tastes terrible~.

*Everyone deadass looks at America*

America: What?

Russia: That's some bold words coming from you, Америка~. Germany's beer is pretty good, your beer tastes like man pissed into bottle before closing it.

America: HEY! At least my food is well seasoned and diverse...

China: Yeah right, your shit is just our stuff but with too much sugar and salt.

*All Nations nod their head in agreement*

America: No it isn't! I just like lots of flavor....

*England looks over at America's Stanley cup on his desk*

England: I bet that coffee cup is filled to the BRIM with pure sugar and syrups, you fat ass.

America: Nah dude, it's filled with my *:･ﾟ✧special sauce*:･ﾟ✧.

*America opens up his giant cup filled with sauce*

America: It's a combination of ranch, hot sauce, chicken tender sauce, tangy BBQ sauce, ketchup, mustard, mayo, bacon bits, chipotle, sour cream, sweet n' sour and chili sauce~.

*Everyone looks in horror at America's concoction*

England: What in the ACTUAL FUCK AMERICA ?! Why do you have a huge ass cup of JUST SAUCE?!

America: To quench my thirst, of course!

*Everyone's jaw drops in disgust, some start to gag*

Russia: I should have bombed you when I had chance...

America: Nah, I'm just playing! It's for my chicken tenders.

*America pulls out a box of fast food chicken tenders out of coat pocket*

Germany: WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT WITH YOU?!

America: It's my snackies :3c , this is the sauce I use for everything! Like tacos, burgers, pizza...

*North Italy faint after hearing 'pizza'. South Italy gasps and tends to his brother.*

South Italy: You sick fuck, you always fuck up our beloved pizza and pasta!

America: Wha- no I don't!

South Italy: You are the bastard that put pineapple on pizza and fucked it all-a up!

America: Actually, that's Canada's invention...

South Italy: WHAT?!

*Everyone looks at Canada*

Canada: ...damn it. It's really not that bad, honestly.

South Italy: You're just as bad as your brother!

Canada: Fair...

*America gets on the desk and stands on it*

America: How about we once and for all decide who has the best food in the world and that person can talk all the shit they want about other countries food!

*All Nations agrees to the motion, except for Germany*

Germany: Gott in Himmel... *facepalms*

(to be continued...)

[takeariskao3]

I love Already Gone so much. It’s such an interesting premise and way to view Hinny’s relationship! This might be a weird ask but I love drama and was wondering if you’ve ever thought of doing Harry’s POV of the end of chapter 3?

She vaguely registered Harry shoving back in his chair from across the table. He looked like his mouth was moving, but Ginny couldn’t hear the words.

Dizziness enveloped her, followed quickly by nausea, then her world went black.

Like yaaaasssss that’s perfection for my little dramatic heart ❤️❤️❤️

honey. you have unlocked something in me that cannot be bottled back up again. i hope you know that.

Harry slipped out the back door to find Hermione waiting for him in the shade of the porch. She didn’t bother with a greeting and instead jumped straight into inquisition mode.

“Did you tell her?”

Avoiding her gaze, he grumbled out a soft, “No.”

Hermione’s eyes went skyward in clear impatience. “Should I even ask why not?”

“No.”

Harry took off toward the garden but Hermione grabbed him by the elbow and prevented his escape.

“Harry,” she sighed. “This is getting ridiculous…”

"Is it?" he snapped, anger crackling to life in his chest. "Which bit, exactly?"

"Look, I..." Hermione's shoulders slumped. "I know this hasn't been easy, but--"

"No," Harry cut across her. "You don't know."

His bite fell flat, even to his own ears, his voice a little too shaky to truly put an end to the subject. Looking down the path, Harry's eyes followed Teddy's progress as he snuck up on a couple of garden gnomes.

Hermione stayed resolute, fidgeting with her hands while she waited for Harry to give her more of an explanation. But that was the problem, he had no idea how to explain the rolling, churning knot of agony in his stomach.

He decided to try with the bare minimum. The facts.

"I know I said I'd talk to her," he muttered, casting a glance behind him to make sure no one was around. "But she almost fainted when... when Teddy ran in the room."

Face smoothing in understanding, Hermione rocked back slightly and crossed her arms around her middle. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah, she's fine. Pulled herself back together but--" Harry dug his fingers into his eye sockets until he saw stars. "I'm not risking it, alright?"

I'm not risking her.

Hermione huffed and shook her head. "When, then? The longer you wait the worse it's going to get."

"Just--" Harry gave her a pleading look. "Just leave it alone for today. Please?"

She didn't look happy about it, but after a few moments of contemplative silence, Hermione finally agreed.

Harry spent the next quarter of an hour helping set up chairs and making sure his godson didn't try to pocket any Apple Blossom Fairies. Andromeda and Mrs. Weasley had completely outdone themselves with the food. After sorting out the place settings, the contents of the kitchen floated out to the two long tables until they were completely laden down with roasted chicken and hams, pies of every variety, cakes and breads, and seven different kinds of potatoes.

Ginny had told him once that her mum coped by cooking. He'd never understood that more than in the last few weeks.

Everyone was quick to find a seat and no one wasted anytime dishing out their helping and passing the serving platters along.

Harry hadn't planned on it, really he hadn't, but of the two dozen places he could've ended up, he ended up right across the way from Ginny.

She was relatively quiet for most of the meal, only speaking when spoken to and listening intently to all of the toasts and stories and tributes. Meanwhile, Harry was being an absolute coward and refusing to make eye contact with anyone, but especially with her.

He wasn't avoiding her, the physical presence of Ginny and all that she meant to him. However, he was avoiding the sharp stab of loss that pierced his lungs everytime she looked at him like he was a puzzle she hadn't quite figured out yet. This was a very important distinction in his mind.

Up until this entire torment of a situation, Harry had never given much thought to how Ginny looked at him. At least, not passed the surface level familiarity of their eyes meeting from across a room, that spark of playfulness letting him know she was thinking something unforgivable, that warmth of understanding and acceptance that only came with shared history.

Now, he was left with glances that skirted past. Brows that furrowed in contemplation. Eyes that slid away, instead of sought him out.

Of all the blasted nonsensical shite he'd had to endure the last month, that had been the most unbearable.

Because hers were the eyes that gave him strength.

And he had no idea how to do this without her. He wasn't equipped for it.

About halfway down the table, George stood and cleared his throat. Harry steeled himself for the speech, for the grief. Four whole years later and it still didn't feel real...

It was instinctual, then, for his eyes to dart up and find hers. He couldn't help it. The act felt compulsive. Habitual. Addictive.

Her warm brown was glowing golden in the afternoon sun, her hair glittering copper and her cheeks slightly pink.

She looked healthy. Healthier than she had in months.

She looked like she didn't need him.

Ginny blinked and looked away first, oblivious to the swelling ache and burning moisture threatening behind Harry's eyes.

Then he registered the white knuckle grip she had around her goblet, and the slight sway of her shoulders, followed by a blink that took two beats too long.

"Ginny?" Harry asked urgently, vaguely aware he was interrupting George's speech and not caring in the slightest. "What's wrong?"

Ginny didn't seem to hear him. She blinked again. Her eyes glassed over.

"Ginny--" Harry said again, this time shoving back in his chair and readying himself to leap over the table to get to her.

Once more, she gave no indication that he'd spoken.

His entire focus narrowed to just her, Harry couldn't have said what a single other soul in the back garden was doing at that precise moment, because all he could see was Ginny--his wife, his best friend, his entire world--go limp and slump sideways out of her chair.

[no-sleep-fox]

Some People Shouldn't Cook

Warnings: Kickin being a silly dummy /silly /affectionate

Note: don't ever let him cook or bake anything…by himself or with others. This is based off of a lil idea of a Kickin I roleplay as in a discord server btw! :]

The small door to the chicken coop opened and shut softly with a click. Standing there, now leaning a skateboard against the wall next to the door, KickinChicken stood. A relaxed, small smile on his face as he took off his jacket and hung it up on one of the nearby hooks.

Kickin was slow to make his way to the kitchen in the small home. It had been a long day that summer day. Having spent most of it playfully competing against Hoppy to see who was better at soccer and surfing.

Obviously Hoppy won soccer multiple times, while Kickin was able to easily beat her at surfing. And having to sometimes ensure that she was ok whenever the rabbit did fall off of the board. Before the day was even over, Kickin had decided to part ways with his friend group for the day and head on over to his skatepark to have a bit more fun there.

So, all-in-all, Kickin was actually quite tired now after such an eventful day. And what better way to end off the day by having a small snack before going to sleep? The chicken certainly didn't feel like cooking or baking much of anything. Mostly baking due to his…last attempt at it.

With a small sigh of exhaustion, now in the kitchen doorway, where there was actually no door. Kickin shuffled over to his fridge first to see what he could find that was small and simple to just plop in the microwave. Finding nothing, Kickin moved to check in the pantry. The chicken looked around in there for a while before finally settling on something; Mac and Cheese!

There's no way something could go wrong with that! And it was in one of the little bowls made for itself. Exactly what Kickin was hoping for, so now he doesn't need to look for a pot or a microwaveable container! Or even a microwaveable glass bowl. With a small yet tired smile, eyes half lidded due to the sleep slowly trying to take hold, Kickin closed the pantry door and moved away from it.

With tired eyes, the chicken quickly, and lazily, scanned over the instructions to ensure he knew everything. Which usually wasn't much. Without even reading all of it, Kickin undid the lid halfway before taking the cheese packet out and placing it to the side. Without even thinking much, the chicken soon opened the door and lazily placed it in there before closing it.

Pressing one of the numbers, the microwave started up, slowly turning the plate inside with the cup and macaroni in it around. With a small yawn, Kickin took a seat at the small table he had placed in the kitchen further away from the fridge, microwave, and stove. Watching the macaroni do its thing to be down halfway so he can put the cheese in it.

After a couple of seconds, Kickin's eyes narrowed in slow realization, slowly realizing that he didn't even put water in the cup yet. Or at all for that matter, and just put the macaroni in there without doing anything besides taking the packet out. The chicken was about to slowly get up before the cup inside the microwave had suddenly bursted into a flame, startling Kickin.

“OH SHIT!”

Kickin had yelled out, hurrying out of his chair, knocking it down in the process, and opening the microwave door. Panicking, Kickin was about to nearly pick it up before at least a small bit of logic kicked in again. Panicking further, Kickin didn't know what to do, let alone think of something logical at the moment to figure out what to do.

Then a thought crosses his mind; he could possibly call Bubba! The elephant is way smarter than him, so perhaps he would know what to do. Instead of calling 911, like a normal person (/jjj), Kickin dialed up Bubba after rushing out of the kitchen. Having to snag the Smilephone out of his jacket pocket before going back to the kitchen and staring at the microwave and the still on fire cup.

“Come on, Bubba, pick up. Pick up, pick up…please oh go-”

The phone finally stopped ringing with a click, Bubba had finally picked up after two minutes.

“Kickin? Why are you calling me?”

“Bubs! Heeeey! So, I have this funny question. Heh…how do you stop a fire inside of a microwave?”

“A fire inside of a microwave? Kickin, what did you do this time?”

“Nothing!! I mean— uh…ugh, well…I might have forgotten to add…some water to a cup of macaroni…”

Kickin answered Bubba, feeling a bit embarrassed for having forgotten such a simple thing. Especially now that he had said it out loud and was admitting to it. Even if it was to someone in his friend group. It was just so…embarrassing to him.

Kickin heard a heavy sigh on the other side, a bit of grumbling which made him feel a bit more embarrassed for being so forgetful. Rubbing the tips of his fingers with his free hand as Bubba didn't answer for a few seconds. Just those few seconds made him not only worry about his own situation, but also worry if he had finally gotten on the elephant's nerve once and for all.

“Alright, I'll explain what you need to do.”

Kickin beamed at that, glad that his friend was still willing to help. Giving his thanks, the chicken listened carefully. Doing exactly what Bubba instructed him to do, with a bit of fumbling with some items. Mostly due to the still lingering panic he felt from seeing the cup of macaroni on fire, though was doing well nonetheless!

Once the fire was out, with a sigh of relief, Kickin spoke to Bubba once more.

“Thanks again, man. I own you one, heh.”

“It's nothing, Kickin. Just be sure to add water next time. Now, I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Kickin.”

“I’ll try. Goodnight, Bubs!”

“Kickin…do actually be careful. Don't just forget this within two days.”

Without being able to say anything else, Bubba hung up. Rubbing the back of his head, Kickin looked over at the microwave with a small frown. Welp, he isn't going to be making any Mac and Cheese for a while now…

[punkbakerchristine]

coming up on a year of me baking, so here are some things i’ve picked up on along the way:

read the recipe, especially with baking. if a recipe tells you to do something, it’ll probably tell you. the biggest mistake i see happen with people on the great british baking show (especially the celebrity one) is people overthinking things. a recipe is basically a successful lab experiment that was recorded, so i would listen to them if i were you.

that cooked.wiki/ shortcut is a huge lifesaver. really, i don’t know where i would be without it.

baking is science. cooking is an art. in fact, it wasn’t until around the 18th century when women started entering the kitchen to bake. i.e., this whole trope that baking is a feminine thing flies right over my head.

as mary berry would say, chocolate melts in your pocket. in other words, it literally does not need that much heat in order to be tempered.

if chocolate is shiny, that’s good. if not, turn down the heat and keep going until it is.

good way to save a frosting that’s “split” or curdled in appearance: add some more liquid and keep beating it.

butter is your friend. so is olive oil. hell, any kind of fat is your friend—except margarine. avoid that shit at all costs.

oil is used in spice cakes because butter will turn them into bricks. oil makes it lighter and fluffier.

when you’re adding some more wet ingredients, add a little more flour. this will help balance out the batter. this works the other way, too: add a little more liquid if it’s too dry.

a good method of making chocolate a little more chocolate-y: add a tablespoon of coffee. i did this for the chocolate bailey’s cake on st. paddy’s day and my last two chocolate babkas and the chocolate came out rich and delicious.

cardamom does this with cinnamon and ginger. one of the reasons why i love my recipe for spice cake so much is because cardamom enhances all the spices.

literally the best way to stop yourself from overbeating a batter is pause the mixer as you pour in an egg, dry mixture, whatever. you spare yourself from injury doing this, too.

always flour your surface and rolling pin before you roll out your cookie dough/pie crust/any kind of dough. do the same with powdered sugar for marzipan and fondant, too.

literally watch caramel as its melting down and bubbling because it turns amber in the blink of an eye. another big mistake i see on tv all too often.

the hellofresh kits: their best proteins are their beef, shrimp, and anything ground up. their chicken and their pork can be pretty hit-and-miss, but when they’re good, they’re amazing.

wash your hands after handling any kind of raw meat, eggs, onions, and chili peppers. make sure your knife is sharp and you’re wearing some kind of protection when you’re slicing an onion (something i heard in welding and machine shop a lot whenever i took off my glasses: “nothing worse than a blind engineer.”)

don’t ever let anyone tell you that you have to laugh if things go awry in the kitchen in order to be classified as a good cook or chef. shit’s an emotional experience and you put your heart into the food, probably more than art or writing (and i get emotional over art all the time, and i’ve found i give more of myself in writing than i do art). like… i cried over a quiche.

i actually have mad respect for anyone who does vegan baking. i made a vegan chocolate cake back in january of this year and it was like a crepe 😅

bake what you like. i like spice cakes, anything chocolate, breads, cookies, pies, and tray bakes. i like stuff that’s kind of unusual like babka and anything jewish, canadian, latin, indian, or british. i like aromatic stuff. i like the kinds of goods you get at halloween or christmas, like they’re warm.

if you’re making something like a pot pie or a wellington, something that has an interior that needs to be cooked, cook it beforehand and then put it in the crust and bake it.

you actually don’t always have to blind bake a pie crust, like if it’s a meringue pie or one of those enclosed meat pies you can get in england. it is a good idea if you’re making a tart, a quiche, or any fruit pie, however.

forget pastry: if you can master bread, you can tackle anything.

when you’re baking bread, you don’t necessarily have to bloom the yeast—i guess some authors do this because it wakes up the yeast and preps it for the dough, but moisture + flour will do that trick as is.

keep the salt and yeast on opposite sides of the bowl. salt stunts the yeast and will take longer for the dough to rise.

depending on the type of dough, you can just knead bread with your hands. if anything, this is the best way to do it. go by time, too: my first loaf took me 15 minutes to knead until it felt as smooth as the inside of my arm; really put your arms and shoulders into it, too, make your muscles work (and this was back when i was still over 200 pounds, too).

fewer things in life are more satisfying than kneading bread dough. it’ll make your arms and shoulders nice and strong, too.

good way to tell if your bread is underproved: there’s a big split near the top. if you poke the dough, and it doesn’t bounce back right away, let it proof for longer. if you poke it, and it sort of collapses, it’s overproofed (never been a problem with me because i’m always on top of that, but i see it a lot in my bread making group on facebook).

mnemonic device for remembering the different types of meringues: french meringue starts with “f”, “f” for “foundation”, it’s the most basic meringue with the egg whites, cream of tartar, and sugar. swiss meringue. “sw”. “sweet”. “sweet water.” whip the egg whites over a bain-marie and add the sugar there (swiss meringue inexplicably is a bit sweeter than french). italian meringue is made by pouring a simple syrup into the egg whites so it looks like the boot of italy. at some point, i’ll come up with one for the different types of pastry cream 😅

salt is also your friend, even in sweet goods. especially in sweet goods.

it’s a little difficult to confuse salt with sugar (especially if you’re like me and you keep them in separate cupboards). a mere taste will save you on that, too.

145° is the safe temperature for beef and pork. 165° for chicken. 200° for bread.

iirc: it’s your cheekbone for rare beef. the tip of your nose for medium rare. your chin for medium.

less really is more with baking and cooking. this is another thing that people on baking shows do that drives me nuts (judges often don’t like it, either, believe it or not). you don’t need to add cherry, lemon, ginger, and nuts to that chocolate cake, becky, you can just do the nuts.

i just barely started with sourdough but so far, i’ve learned that with some recipes, when it misses, it REALLY misses. like i made sourdough english muffins a while back: they were good and we ate them at breakfast, but they were weirdly heavy, like hockey pucks.

i actually really don’t like it when there are other people in the kitchen with me. i’ve always been autonomous and did better working alone without any distractions. for this reason, i could never be on a baking show, what with all the cameras in your face and producers running around.

the more you bake, the more you’ll want to turn away from any store bought baked goods.

and finally, i really could not have become a baker at a better time, if i’m honest. i made my first loaf of bread on october 7, when the middle east fell into chaos again and this fated feeling swept over me. food in america is mostly comprised of things that aren’t even food, like high fructose corn syrup—that’s part of why i managed to lose 60 pounds since then, i know what’s going into what i put in my mouth and i can think ahead to what i’m going to eat through the day (and we wonder why american society is having the mother of all health crises, on a physical and mental level: everyone is eating garbage and not getting their vitamins, good fats, good carbs, and proteins, and everyone isn’t treating themselves to something comforting like a donut or a piece of pie). i hope more people realize this, too, like… when shit hits the fan and america descends into chaos itself, turn to those of us with the tools of the trade and like to work with our hands.

[sleepymccoy]

I think the American who wrote saying 'we only have sweet pies' had a bit of a mental hiccup? Because savory pies are very much a thing here in the states. We call them pot pies, they're cheap frozen food, and they're like stew in a pastry crust. Not as good as pasty but still a popular option. Also the ubiquitous Hot Pocket is very much a savory hand pie, in this usamerican's opinion.

Look that makes more sense to me. I can appreciate culture weighting one way or the other but to the extent of ignoring all savoury pie? Seems extreme

Go on tho

[momomoon]

Ash sat on the ground, brushing the fur of a mamoswine, their newly acquired client. It was on its way out, finally content and okay with human contact and other pokemon around it. 

“There you go. It feels nice, right?” Ash grinned as the mamoswine rumbled, happy. 

Ash dropped the brush and stood up, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his arm.

“Your trainer will come back for you tomorrow morning! You'll see all your friends again!” Ash patted the pokemon lightly. 

He waved as he walked away. He removed his hat and scrubbed a hand through his sweaty hair. 

“Pi pikachu!” Ash turned around and spotted Pikachu wagging his tail, perched on Paul's shoulder. 

“Paul! Pikachu!” He smiled. He jogged over to the pair standing on their back porch. 

Ash leaned over and pecked Paul on the cheek. Paul moved at the last minute and caught his lips instead. Ash flushed but grinned in return. 

Pikachu jumped onto his head and squeaked happily. 

“Welcome back, buddy. Did you protect Paul?” He asked. 

“Pika!” 

Paul shook his head and patted Pikachu l's back. “He did well. The group of wild magnemite have returned to the city.” 

“Good job, Pikachu! I knew we could count on you!” Ash exclaimed as he pulled out a sweet from his pocket and offered it to Pikachu. 

“How's the mamoswine?” Paul asked as he sat in and reclined in one of their porch chairs. 

Ash climbed on top, laying against Paul's chest. Pikachu hopped off and away to find friends. Paul wrapped his arms around Ash, feeling the dampness of his shirt against his arms. 

“It's fine. It wandered off into the woods, but its trainer is coming tomorrow.” Ash stretched in Paul's arms before turning to lay against Paul and on his side. 

“Tired?” Paul stroked Ash's arm. 

“Yeah, the mamoswine is fine now, but the wild Haunter’s been taking a lot out of me today.” 

“Gengar?” 

“Has been helpful, but this Haunter is probably just as playful. Gengar has had a hard time keeping it away and settled.” Ash yawned.

“Should we catch it?” Paul asked. 

“Maybe? I'll see in a few days. It comes and goes, so I don't think it feels comfortable yet.” Ash caught Paul's hand and tangled their fingers. 

“You go shower and take a nap. I'll feed all the pokemon. It's almost dinner time.” Paul smiled, squeezing Ash’s hand. 

Ash shook his head cutely against Paul’s chest. “No, I can help.” Ash yawned once more. 

“Fine. I'll move the chair into the shade and you can watch and rest.” 

“Fine.” Ash pouted as Paul moved to wiggle from under him. 

“Cynthia has a battle scheduled to air tonight. By the time I'm done we can shower and watch it together.” Paul stood up. 

“Really? We haven't showered together in forever!” Ash said excitedly. 

Paul shook his head. “You're impossible.” 

“Shower and a battle? Is this real?” Ash giggled in the chair. 

“You're too adorable for your own good.” Paul used a finger to tilt Ash’s chin. He planted a soft kiss on his chapped lips. 

“But Paul, shower and a battle! “ Ash pushed himself off the chair and hugged him. “We haven't had a night off in weeks.” 

Paul chuckled. “Love you, too. Let's not count our chickens. We have way too many pokemon right now.” 

“No need to worry, Paul. Our pokemon are helpful. It'll be no problem!” Ash stood up. “Suddenly, I'm so energetic!” 

Ash grabbed Paul’s hand. He almost tripped as he pulled Paul down the porch stairs. “Time to feed some pokemon!”

[eddievanhammettmunson]

Wanted

Eddie Munson x GNreader

Authors note- hola my ghouls, gremlins and fellow goblins. This is just a short one shot for my homies that want to feel wanted.

Warnings- rough home life, angst, fluff, use of pet names like sweetheart but no gender or mentions of y/n

Summary- after getting a letter from your mother, you take a look back on your life and the people that make you feel wanted. 1.4k

Eddie was worried to say the least. You were his best friend and he hadn’t heard from you in days. At first he thought you were just sick but now he knows you’re definitely avoiding him. He drove by your house twice in the last 3 days and every time he stopped by he could tell you were home but not answering the door.

Not only were you not showing up to school but now you were avoiding him. He doesn’t know what he did to upset you but he was determined to figure it out.

He sat on the edge of his bed, guitar in hand as he strummed away and thought about what he could have done to upset you but he couldn’t think of anything. The last time he’d seen you the two of you went to the movies together. All he can think of was that he tried to hold your hand half way through the movie but chickened out at the last minute. Maybe that’s why you were mad at him. Maybe you noticed and didn’t feel that way about him. Maybe you noticed and wanted him to hold your hand. Maybe you- and Eddie is snapped out of his thoughts by a knock at the trailer door. He jumps up to answer it, figuring Wayne must have forgotten his lunch or something.

The last thing Eddie is expecting to see is you on his doorstep looking distressed and upset. But that’s what he finds.

“Sweetheart? What are you doing here? Are you okay? Here come on in you must be freezing.”

Eddie steps to the side and lets you in the trailer. Wordlessly you step inside and make your way to the couch in the living room where you plop down and begin to fiddle with your fingers from nervousness. Eddie can’t help but notice that and the way you chew your lip. He knows something is eating at you.

Eddie steps forward towards the couch but doesn’t sit down. Instead he kneels in front of you and grabs your hands to stop you from fiddling with your fingers. Trying to get you to relax.

“Sweetheart? What’s going on?”

In the softest voice Eddie’s ever heard you make you finally respond.

“Wanted to see you Ed’s.”

He strokes the backs of your hands with his thumb and he can visibly see you relax in your skin. The way you slump against the couch and you finally give your bottom lip a break from the chewing.

“I came by your house sweets. Thought you were avoiding me.”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his.

“Well I was. But not because of anything you did. I needed to be on my own.”

You rush the words out hoping it will bring Eddie some relief but it doesn’t.

“Sweetheart, why were you avoiding me? What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath and pull out an envelope from your pocket.

“I got a letter….from my mother.”

Eddie, being your best friend, knew the past you had with your family and especially what happened with your mother. He knew how hard it was for you growing up and all the things she put you through. Eddie can’t believe she would have the nerve to reach out to you. Knowing that your family is the reason he hasn’t seen you in days gets his blood boiling. But he keeps his cool because he knows what you need.

You hand him the letter and let him read it.

“Hey kiddo

I know you probably don’t want to hear from me. And I know I have no right to ask anything of you or request your forgiveness but I wanted to let you know I’ve been sober for a few years now and I’ve met a man with 3 beautiful children that I watch after. I know I can’t fix things with you but I just wanted you to know that I do love you and I’m sorry I wasn’t better for you. But I’m trying to be better now. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I hope you’re able to move on to better things in life.

Xoxo mom”

Along with the letter were pictures of her and her new family. As Eddie read the letter he could feel your hand shaking. When he looked up from the letter he found you sitting there with your eyes closed painfully tight. Trying but failing to prevent the tears from falling.

You begin to sob.

“I just don’t understand Eddie.”

“Understand what sweetheart.”

“Why wasn't I enough? Why didn't she want me? Why can she be better for this new family but could never do that for me. Why am I never enough.”

Eddie sets the letter down on the table and leans forward and grabs you in a hug that you accept with desperation.

Eddie begins to ramble. “Shit sweetheart you’re enough. You’re so much more than enough and I want you so much please please please don’t think you’re not enough please.”

As you two continue to hug you whisper in Eddie’s ear. “Thank you.”

Eddie pulls back slightly and brushes some of the hair out of your face.

“For what?”

“For wanting me when nobody else did.”

Those words broke his heart. How could you think nobody wanted you? You were everything to him. When he looked at you he saw the entire universe mapped out in front of him and he couldn’t imagine his life without you. It killed him to know that you thought nobody would want you and it killed him that your own family made you feel that way.

“Sweetheart, listen to me. I’ll always want you. I always have. You’re my everything. And whenever you need reminding of that just come to me. Or Steve. Or Nancy. Or Robin. Or Jonathan. Or any of the kids. Cause we all want you. We love you and we never want you to feel unwanted.”

“That’s sweet Eddie. Thank you. But that’s not what I meant. I meant you wanted me. Sure I love Steve and Nancy and Robin and Jonathan and the kids but you’re my family Eddie. I can come to you for anything and I know you’ll be here when I need you. You look at me and suddenly I don’t feel so alone. I know I’ve got at least one person I can really truly depend on.” You grab his hand and bring it to your chest. Holding his hand over your heart where he can feel it beating heavily.

“And Eddie I want you to know you’re wanted to. In the exact same way I know you want me. You’re everything to me, Eddie Munson.”

It was then that Eddie realised this was more than just a family pep talk. It was a confession. A confession of how deeply you two love each other even if you aren’t ready to say the L word quite yet. This was more meaningful. Letting each other know they’re wanted.

Eddie removes his hands from yours and brings them up to your face where he cups your cheeks gently and leans in. Just enough to where his lips brush gently over yours. He looks into your eyes for that final confirmation. You nod.

He leans in the rest of the way and your lips finally meet. All the both of you feel is relief. The kiss is like letting out all the pent up stress you’ve had for days. You two quickly become intertwined on the couch. Lost in the universe you two have created. When you finally pull away you’re both smiling ear to ear.

“Come on sweetheart let’s watch a movie together and then we can have a sleepover.”

“Only if I get to pick the first movie. But I promise you can pick all the snacks.”

“You really do complete me sweetheart.”

Eddie wraps his arms around you while you watch the movies and the two of you drift off to sleep on the couch. Knowing you’re wanted.

[ala-baguette]

It's the most loneliest time of the year

Busy trying to finish KwtL and trying to stop myself from getting sidetracked with what has become an annual tradition of writing an angsty Christmas fic. So here's a throw-back to last year's instead. Summary: Four Christmases in which Percy Weasley was alone. And one in which he very much was not. Relationships: Percy/Audrey Rating: T | Words: 5.5k | Read it here or on AO3

Christmas, 1994

As he descended the stairs, Percy’s ears were met with a cacophony of clanking pots and pans from the kitchen.  A mouth-watering aroma wafted up to meet his nostrils.  Oh, dear.  Mum.  We talked about this.  He straightened his dress robes as he brusquely took the last few steps down and turned the corner into the kitchen.

As he predicted, every flat surface was covered in food.  A dozen mince pies were still left after Mum had sent off the majority of the batch to the rest of the family yesterday, and all week she had been baking biscuits and tarts and cakes.  Now, dish-by-dish, Christmas dinner was making its way out of the oven.  Percy’s eyes followed a plate of Yorkshire puddings as it flew across the kitchen and over to the dining table.  It came to rest beside a large chicken surrounded by roast potatoes, parsnips, and Brussels. Mum pocketed her wand after conducting the Yorkshire pudding dance and turned back to resume stirring a gravy at the hob.  Dad smiled at Percy as he entered, then went back to setting the table.  Percy immediately took note of three place settings arranged at one end of the long wooden table.  Why do they never listen to me?

“Mother,” Percy said with a sigh.  “This is too much food for just you and Dad.  I told you not to go overboard; I can’t stay for dinner, remember?  Mr Crouch is counting on me to make sure everything is prepared at Hogwarts.” 

“Well, I thought, you know…  Just in case you changed your mind.”  Then clearly not able to resist reopening their previous argument, Mum chided, “Surely you can have a small bite before you go.”  She waved her spoon at him like a naughty child.  “The Yule Ball doesn’t start until eight o’clock!”

“Yes, I know.  But I want to get there early!” Percy ground out for what felt like the hundredth time.  “There’s so much to prepare and so many people to organise.  Someone needs to make sure everything is getting done—tables to set up and the band and the decorations.  Merlin knows we can’t count on Ludo Bagman for help.”

“I’m sure the House-elves will have all that taken care of.  Really, Percy.”

“There’ll be a feast at the ball, Mother!” he reminded her.  “I really don’t need to eat twice.  I told you this.  I have to go.”

“Come now, Percy,” said Dad, passing a gravy boat to Mum to fill.  “Go easy on us.  This is the first time your mother and I have been alone for Christmas evening since before Bill was born!  Can’t blame us for feeling a bit lonely.”  Dad was smiling at him in that way Percy hated so much.  That patronising smile that said he saw something Percy didn’t.  Which was complete rubbish, of course.  Quite the opposite, in fact!

Why couldn’t they understand that this was important!  He, Percy, was Mr Crouch’s personal assistant, and this was one of his first real tests.  Everything had to go smoothly tonight.  Percy was representing Mr Crouch and nothing could tarnish the reputation of his boss or his department.

Or maybe Dad did understand.  Maybe that was the problem.  Maybe he was jealous that in the first six months of his career, Percy was already becoming more important at the Ministry than Dad ever would.

But Percy could hardly say such thoughts aloud. 

Percy sighed irritably.  The nerve Dad had to go for that guilt trip.  It was hardly his fault that Ginny, Ron, and the twins had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the Yule Ball.  Hardly his fault that Charlie had said he couldn’t justify the expense of travelling back when he’d already visited twice this year.  Hardly his fault that they had uncovered some big new tomb in Egypt, and Bill had needed to cancel his trip home to work on breaking down the curses protecting it.  Why did everything always fall to Percy?  Why was it always his job to keep this family together?

But Mum and Dad were both looking at him expectantly.  And he had to admit that it was rather sad to see them standing there with so many empty chairs around the dining table.  And the Yorkshire pudding did admittedly smell divine.

Percy reached up and smoothed back his hair.  “Ten minutes,” he said in compromise at last.  Honestly, it was really quite magnanimous of him, Percy thought.  “One piece of chicken.  One Yorkshire.  A little gravy.  Then I have to go.”

Mum beamed and rushed to kiss him on the cheek.  Dad smiled approvingly.  Percy took his seat, and Mum began piling far more than just one piece of chicken, one Yorkshire, and a little gravy onto his plate.  Percy swallowed his complaint.  None of them would ever truly appreciate how much he did for this family.

Christmas, 1995

His flat was tiny.  One room.  That was it.  He’d managed to squeeze a bed in one corner awkwardly butted up against the kitchenette.  A desk that doubled as a dining table sat opposite.  Percy suspected the bathroom had once been a cupboard before the crumbling walk-up had been repurposed into ‘chique industrial’ flats.  Hermes had adopted the top of the bookcase as his perch, nestling himself into the hollow between some exposed piping.  He was currently shredding a newspaper for recreation, a repetitive shhhrup echoing in the quiet of the room. 

Outside was anything but quiet.  The honking of Muggle cars and the rumbling of busses and the yelling of merchants was a constant roar outside the single pane window.  But the constancy made it easy enough to ignore.

Percy pushed his glasses up his nose as he scratched out a line on the parchment at his desk.  He scribbled a correction in the margin, then read it through again.  Shhhrup.  He glanced up at Hermes and let out an irritated breath.  Then went back to his work.

Yes, it was Christmas.  Yes, he could have taken the day off.  But he really wanted to finish this report for the office.  As Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, it was, after all, his job to stay on top of these things.  The Minister was counting on him to keep his administration running smoothly.  With all the wild rumours and accusations the Ministry had to contend with lately… Well, it was all keeping Percy very busy, and he didn’t want to fall any further behind.  He definitely didn’t need any more distractions. 

Against his better judgment, Percy’s eyes strayed from the document he was working on to a letter lying crumpled on the far corner of the desk.  He could still make out the closing line from where it lay:

              Love from your brother,              Bill

Percy felt his lip pull up in a sneer.  Love.  How could any of them claim ‘love’ for him.  They had turned their back on him—the whole family had.  Turned their back on Percy.  Turned their back on the Ministry.  Turned their back on their country!  They had gone off to join some foolish rebellion, and Percy had been left behind as the sole voice of reason.

‘Rebellion’ was the word Percy used when he was feeling generous.  ‘Treason’ was perhaps the more accurate word. 

Percy had spent the last six months distancing himself from his family.  It was just a matter of time before Dumbledore and Potter and everyone associated with them was brought down, and Percy would have nothing to do with it!

But now Bill had the nerve to write to him of father’s injuries.  To encourage him to visit Dad at St Mungo’s and ‘mend fences’.  To say that surely Percy should be ‘able to see how important family is in times like these’. 

How dare he lecture him?  When his father had literally been caught dangerously wounded in the Ministry with some utterly codswollop cover-story about an escaped beast that had been previously confiscated by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?  How thick did they think the Ministry was?  Did they really think that the Ministry didn’t know that Dad had been up to something shady for Dumbledore?  Just because they couldn’t prove it, didn’t mean they didn’t know.

And Percy was just supposed to forgive and forget, just because Dad was injured?  Shouldn’t it mean the opposite?  Shouldn’t something like this be a wake-up call to his family that they had no place getting mixed up in Dumbledore’s insurrection?  Shouldn’t they be the ones coming to him to tell him how wrong they’d been?  To ‘mend fences,’ as Bill had put it?

Shhhrup.

Percy dropped his quill to the desk and a splotch of ink marred his report for the office.  “Do you mind?” he growled at Hermes.  “I’m trying to work here.”

Hermes met his gaze.  The owl cocked his head, blinked once at Percy, then his talons gripped another strip of newspaper deliberately.  Shhhrup.

A growl escaped Percy’s chest.  “You know what?  Here.  If you’re going to do that, why not shred something worth shredding.”  His fist crumpled around Bill’s letter, and he chucked it up on top of the bookcase.  Hermes hopped to dodge the projectile and ruffled his feathers indignantly.

Percy opened his mouth to say something more, but he was cut off by a tap tap tap on the window.  He spun around.  Then was immediately annoyed with himself at the burst of hope and joy he’d felt at the sound.  He paused for a moment, staring at the dark shape on the window ledge outside the glass.  With a sharp release of his breath, he marched over and wrenched the window open.

Errol tumbled in and onto the desk.  The ancient owl was gasping for breath, slumped against the lumpy parcel he’d been carrying.  Percy merely stood there and stared down at him.  A concerned trill came from atop the bookcase.

Percy’s face felt stony as he stared at Errol for a moment.  Then his gaze flitted to the brown paper-wrapped package.  It was lumpy and soft, and Percy had no doubts as to what it contained.  He knew without looking that it would be mustard yellow, because it always was.  Knew there would be not a single dropped stitch.  Knew how it would feel, how it would smell.  He looked back to the owl.

“What are you doing here?”  Errol blinked open tired eyes to look at him questioningly.  “I told her I don’t want anything to do with any of them.”  But Percy’s fingers twitched as a traitorous part of his heart longed to tear open the paper and run his hands across the thick soft wool.  Longed to breathe in the scent of his mother, of his home.  The urge only served to make him angrier. 

“Take it back.”  Hermes let out a warning hiss from atop the bookcase, but Percy ignored him.  “Take it back this instant,” he snapped at Errol.  Errol looked up at Hermes as though begging for help.  The old owl was still slumped and panting and looking utterly exhausted. 

Hermes fluttered down to land next to Errol and glowered up at Percy.  “What?  It’s not my fault they sent him on a long flight to carry a package they knew I didn’t want!” he snapped at Hermes.  Then he turned back to Errol who had still made no move to leave.  “Well?  What are you still doing here?  Go on.  Get out of here!  And take this with you.  Go!”  Hermes snapped his beak angrily at Percy, then turned to nuzzle encouragingly at Errol.  Grasping the parcel in his own talons and nudging Errol toward the window, Hermes spared Percy one last disgusted look before he spread his wings and took flight with the package in tow.  Errol followed tiredly after.

“Fine.  Side with them.  See if I care,” he called out the window after Hermes.  But Percy stood at the open window for a long time after watching them disappear into the night. 

The breeze coming through the window was bitingly cold, but he barely felt it.  He stared after the two owls long lost to the darkness.  Dimly he registered that they were flying northeast, which was not the direction of the Burrow, but he refused to allow himself to wonder why.  It didn’t matter.  Whatever his family was up to, it was none of his concern.  They had made that quite clear.  They had chosen their side.  And so had he.

Slamming the window shut, he turned and marched into the kitchenette.  He bent to retrieve his dinner from the larder, kicking the cupboard door shut after.  He banged the dinner down on the counter and glared down at the packaging.

Mrs Misley’s Magical Meals for One TURKEY ROAST *Tap your wand here and enjoy a warm delicious meal in seconds!

Percy proceeded to prod it so hard with his wand, the packaging ignited.  “Aguamenti!” he yelped, smothering the flames in water.  He let out a long sigh as what appeared to be half frozen turkey soup leaked from the charred packaging.  Cursing under his breath, he scooped the sodden cardboard and some mush that he suspected was supposed to be mashed potatoes into the rubbish bin.  He returned to his desk to finish his report. 

Christmas, 1996

“Weasley.  We’re going,” the Minister snapped through the open kitchen door.  Potter had just swept in from the garden and was returning to his seat at the table with the attitude of a petulant child.  Scrimgeour was clearly in no better mood; he had not even bothered to come in to say goodbye to the family.  The pretence was done with, then.  Thank God.  Just in time.  Because Percy couldn’t have stood a single minute more of it. 

Percy stormed through the back door and slammed it behind him, cutting off his mother’s cry of “Percy, wait!”   He followed Scrimgeour across the garden, the frozen earth crunching angrily under his feet.  Not slowing his speed, he removed his glasses and shook them hard to dislodge the bits of mashed parsnip splattered across them.  He brushed another chunk from his hair impatiently before redonning his specs.

Ahead of him, the Minister was walking faster than Percy would have thought possible with his bad leg and walking stick.  He seemed as eager to be gone as Percy.  Things had clearly not gone well with Potter.  So it had all been for nothing.  Can’t you see they’re using you, Percy?

Percy wanted to hit something.  Fury was bubbling in his chest.  All of this had been to give the Minister an in with Harry Potter.  And Percy had gone along with it.  He’d swallowed his pride and gone along with it because it was his duty.  Because he had trusted that it was in the best interest of the Ministry of Magic.  But it had all been for nothing.  Potter was the most stubborn, pig-headed—

“Dumbledore’s man, through-and-through,” Scrimgeour grumbled under his breath followed by a frustrated growl in the back of his throat.  He shook his head and kept walking, pushing his way through the garden gate.

They were all stubborn.  The whole family was being utterly infuriating.  Why they couldn’t recognise their duty to ally with the Ministry… Why they insisted on sticking to Dumbledore’s secretive agenda when clearly, they were all on the same side… Percy just could not understand them.  None of them.

And yet… Percy had walked into the kitchen a little bit ago.  And he’d smelled the turkey and stuffing.  And he could see the tree covered in fairy lights and Ginny’s paperchains hanging from the rafters in the next room.  And he had seen Mum’s famous Christmas pudding waiting on the counter for dessert.  And he had seen everybody wearing their Weasley jumpers.  And he’d felt Mum hug him, felt her tears on his shoulder, smelled her lemon soap and bergamot scent.  And, just for a fraction of a moment, he had felt like a small child coming down to Christmas dinner.  And he’d had to avert his eyes to keep from wanting it.  Missing it.

Of course the row that started the minute Potter and Scrimgeour had left the room had been very quick to cure him of those thoughts.  Barely had the Minister and Potter left the room before Dad had accosted Percy, demanding to know what Scrimgeour wanted with Potter.  Dad’s voice was still ringing in his ears.  We’re not fools Percy, and neither are you!  Surely you can see what’s happening here.  Surely you can see that he’s just trying to get to Harry.  Can’t you see they’re using you, Percy? Percy felt his teeth grinding together.  What did Dad know of duty. 

Percy followed Scrimgeour through the gate and swung it shut behind him.  The click of the latch echoed in the quiet stillness of the country lane leading into Ottery St. Catchpole.  He looked to Scrimgeour who was now stationary, staring out across the frosted hills and shaking his head with a sour look on his face.  Percy shoved his hands in the pockets of his cloak and waited.  Waited for the Minister to declare the next move.  Waited for his next instruction.  Waited to do his duty to the Ministry of Magic.

But the Minister merely stood there.

It was a full minute later before Scrimgeour seemed to abruptly remember that Percy was there.  He glanced over and looked Percy up and down for brief moment.  He didn’t particularly seem to like what he saw.  “See you at the office,” the Minister growled.  And without so much as a ‘Happy Christmas’, he Disapparated with a pop.

Percy stood on the deserted lane for a long while.  It had grown dark and the cold bit through his cloak.  He glanced back toward the Burrow.  He could just make out the brightly lit kitchen window through the snow-laden vegetation.  The shadows of people moved within the square of warm yellow light.  Then he turned to stare down the road toward the spot where Scrimgeour’s footprints in the snow disappeared.  Beyond stretched a colourless landscape of snowy hills, pastures bordered by low stone walls and scrubby hedges.  Wind ruffled his hair and tugged at his cloak.

Percy spared one last glance toward the Burrow before he too Disapparated.

Christmas, 1997

The rumble of the Muggle street below was the only sound as Percy sat with his elbows propped on his desk, his hands clasped together.  Even Hermes was quiet tonight.  The owl was staring at the window as though expecting something. 

Percy too glanced to the window.  But there was nothing there.  Just as there had been nothing there the last time he’d checked. 

The night stretched on, and still nothing came.  No owl.  No letter.  No soft lumpy package.

Had Mum finally given up on Percy and not made him a jumper this year?  Had something happened to Errol?  Had something happened to his parents?  Would he even hear about it if it had?

Percy reached up to pull off his glasses.  There was a clatter as he dropped them next to his rapidly cooling and hardly touched tray of Mrs Misley’s Magical Meals for One.

And he buried his face in his hands and wept.

Christmas, 1998

We are so late.  The bathroom door was shamelessly open.  Percy had a clear line of sight from where he sat on the foot of the bed.  He chewed a thumb nail as he watched her getting ready, his knee bouncing up and down restlessly.  She kept saying she was almost ready, but her sparkling emerald green dress was still spread on the bed next to him awaiting its wearer more patiently than was Percy.

He cocked his head as Audrey leaned across the bathroom vanity to check her lipstick in the mirror.  It gave Percy a rather pleasant view of her backside, clad only in knickers and sheer stockings.  Her eyes caught his in the reflection and she winked, a small smile curving up her newly red painted lips.  Percy thought she looked rather smug as she turned her attention to her hair.

“You look great.  You don’t have to put so much effort in.  They’re going to love you,” he assured her.

“I know,” she replied, turning around to look at him directly as she ran her brush through straight dark hair.  “Everybody loves me.  I just feel like looking pretty.”

“I’m just saying, no one else is going to be particularly dressed up.  We’re not really that kind of family.”

“Sometimes, I want to dress up for me, you know?”  She laid the brush down on the vanity and gave her reflection one final look over.  “It’s not always about dressing up for other people.”  She smiled at herself, then marched into the bedroom and picked up the dress, stepping into the skirts.

Percy chewed his lip as he watched her.  “Okay.  I’m just saying that if you didn’t want—”

“Oh, my God!” Audrey straightened, and she turned to look at him as though she’d just realised something.  There was a moment’s pause as she studied him, the dress bunched around her hips as though she’d quite forgotten what she was doing.  Percy tried not to stare at her lace-clad breasts.

“What?” Percy asked, startled by her sudden outburst.

Audrey didn’t speak for a moment.  She shimmied her arms into the sleeves, eyeing him with a sudden frown on her face as she did so.  Still with her eyes on him, she reached around to zip up the back.  Percy made to stand to help her, but she just shook her head and did it herself, arching her back to reach the top.  But never once did her eyes stray from his face.  “You’re nervous!” she accused him.

“What?  I’m not—”

“You are!  You’re completely terrified!  You think they’re going to hate me!”

“I don’t think they’re going to hate you.”  He pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Yes, you do!  You’ve been dragging your feet about introducing me to your parents for weeks!  You don’t think I’m going to fit in with your family!”

“It’s not that…”

“Then what?” she demanded, but she had a teasing smile on her red lips.

“They’re going to love you,” he said weakly.

“You said that already,” Audrey insisted.  She was refusing to let him off the hook.  “Fess up.  You’re ashamed of me.”  Her broad grin acknowledged that no man in his right mind could ever be ashamed of her and she knew it.

“You’re going to fit in great with my family,” Percy assured her, shifting uncomfortably.  He found his gaze traveling to his shoes.  “You’re… you’re going to fit in better than I do,” he added in a mumble.

He glanced up at her just in time to see her teasing smile faulter.  “Percy…” she said gently. 

Percy looked away again, leaning his elbows on his knees.  He felt the bed beside him sag as she sat next to him and felt her eyes on the back of his neck.  Then a gentle hand he didn’t deserve caressed the hair back from his forehead.

“It’s not you I’m ashamed of,” he managed softly.  “It’s me.”  She was so quiet, he had to turn to see if her face would show what she thought of that.  But she was merely gazing at him sombrely, her expression inviting him to go on.  “You’ve only ever seen me at work or among friends.  But my family…” Percy bit his lip and stared at the ceiling as he tried to consider the words.  “I’ve done terrible things.  Said terrible things.  I turned my back on them.  For three years, I did everything I could to distance myself from them.  But if I had just done what I should… Maybe I could have helped…  Maybe I could have stopped… Maybe he’d…”  Maybe he’d still be alive.  But Percy couldn’t say those words aloud.  Not even to Audrey.  Especially not to Audrey. 

“Anyway.  Family gatherings… They can be… hard.  Everybody pretending like none of it ever happened.”

Audrey took a moment before she answered.  “Has it occurred to you,” she said at last.  “That maybe they’re not pretending?  That maybe they’ve just moved on?  Forgiven you?  And that maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?” 

Percy glanced at her, and she was gazing at him.  He saw no doubt in her eyes.  She merely seemed as though she were waiting for him to cotton onto something that was terribly obvious to her.

“How could they possibly forgive me for something like that?” he asked her.  And he looked into her eyes, desperate for them to hold an answer to a question he had asked himself a hundred thousand times, but never uttered aloud before this moment.

Audrey just smiled as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.  “Because they love you, you tosser.”

Percy felt a huff of disbelief escape his chest, and he turned away, shaking his head.  “You don’t even know them.”

“I don’t have to.  I know that you love them.  And I know that I love you.  And I have excellent taste, so obviously they agree with me.”

He looked at her sidelong.  And the grin on her face was enough to break through the gloom.  He laughed in spite of himself.  Reaching up, he cupped her cheek in his hand and her smile shifted from mischievous to affectionate.  They simply gazed at each other for a long moment, smiling like idiots. 

“I love you too,” Percy said at last.

“Well, good,” Audrey shrugged.  “Because it would be really inconvenient if I loved you and you didn’t love me ba—”

But Percy cut off whatever wisecrack she might have had in store for him next by pulling her face close and kissing her hard on the mouth.  He felt her grin against his mouth before submitting, and her lips softened against his. 

Percy had kissed her a thousand times and would kiss her a thousand times again, and still he would not have gotten over the thrill at feeling her lips against his.  The way they always moved and parted in time with his as though to a well-choreographed dance he couldn’t remember learning.  The way they made his heart pound and his stomach clench. The way they made him feel like the most important man in the world and the humblest, all at the same time.

Loosing himself in the feeling, Percy buried his hands in her silky hair and felt hers running up his back.  He deepened the kiss contentedly, but she pulled back slightly, and he felt rather than saw her smile.  “I thought you said we were going to be late,” she whispered against his lips.  “I know how you hate being late.”

Percy groaned.  He did hate being late.  Audrey laughed softly, pecking him lightly on the lips before pulling back fully.  They allowed themselves one moment more to simply look into the other’s eyes.  Audrey’s gaze darted down to his lips and a funny smile tugged at her cheek.  Percy thought she was considering kissing him again, but she stood up determinedly.  “Give me a minute to fix the damage you’ve done to my hair and makeup.  Then we can go.”

Percy threw his head back and drew in a deep steadying breath as she disappeared into the bathroom again.

They arrived at the garden gate to the Burrow hand-in-hand.  Percy felt Audrey give his hand a gentle squeeze before they walked up the garden path.  The door was flung open before they could knock.

“Oh, Percy, thank goodness!” Mum flung herself on him, hugging him tightly there on the front stoop.  “I was getting worried!  You’re never late.”  She pulled back and looked him over as though assuring herself that he was alive and whole. 

“Sorry, Mum—” Percy began.  But before he could get another word out, she caught sight of Audrey standing just behind him. 

“Oh, and you must be Audrey!  At last!  We’ve been telling Percy to bring you for weeks and weeks!”  Percy found himself pushed aside as she dove to hug Audrey.  But somehow he didn’t mind one bit.  Audrey smiled at him from over Mum’s shoulder. 

“Oh, you’re so pretty!” Mum said, patting her own hair back as she took Audrey in up and down.  “Come in!  It’s freezing out here!  I’ve knitted you a jumper.  I so hope it fits; Percy wasn’t much help when I asked your size.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Audrey laughed, shooting Percy a mischievous grin.  “Men are so useless at that sort of thing, aren’t they?”  The pair of women walked into the house arm-in-arm in happy excited conversation as though they’d known each other for years, and Percy followed behind.

There was a rush of movement and sound through the crowded kitchen as they entered.  Calls of ‘Hello’ and ‘Happy Christmas’ echoed in the cramped space.  Percy found himself separated from Audrey as Dad came up to hug him and Charlie slapped him on the back and George poured him a drink. 

His head felt like it was floating in all the noise and conversation.  Before he could respond to one person, another was greeting him.  Percy craned his head to check in on how Audrey was getting on;  he saw her shaking hands with Harry and, to her credit, she did not appear painfully starstruck like most people were when meeting him. 

Drinks and half-eaten appetisers were claiming spots at the table, but few people were seated yet.  Percy couldn’t help it as his gaze travelled to a particular empty chair at the table.  He was sure it wasn’t empty by coincidence.  No one wanted to sit in that particular spot.

“Hey!  Looking good, Audrey!” called Bill across the room, cutting into an unpleasant reverie.  Percy turned back to look over to Audrey himself.  She had slipped on her first of what was sure to be many Weasley jumpers and was grinning at him from across the room.  The lumpy olive-green wool far from complimented her sparkly emerald dress, but she wore it with so much confidence, the runway models were sure to be adopting the style by next season.  A small cheer went up around the room and Audrey’s grin widened.    “Percy, dear!  Come and get yours,” Mum called, and Percy picked his way through the throng to them.  As Mum turned to collect another jumper from under the tree, Percy felt his arm wrap around Audrey’s waist.  She squeezed him back.

As he’d known it would be, the soft wool was a mustard yellow.  As he’d known it would, it had not a single dropped stitch.  As he’d known it would, it smelled of lemon soap and bergamot.  “Thanks, Mum,” he said softly, kissing her on the cheek.

“Alright, come along, all of you!” said Mum, waving him off, though she had a touch of a blush on her cheeks.  She began shepherding them all toward the dining table.  “It’s dinner time!” she called to the room at large.  Another cheer and some laughter as the group migrated toward the table.

Percy followed suit, but he paused to look around the room.  For a moment, he just stood there, clutching his Weasley jumper to his chest.  He looked around the table as his family took their seats, all chatting amongst themselves, all laughing and smiling and relaxed.  Their faces were brightly lit by the candles on the dining table.  And before them was a spread of all of his favourite foods.  And Ginny’s paperchains were hanging artfully from the rafters.  And the fire was crackling merrily.  And everything was perfect. 

And yet everything was wrong. 

Percy felt his feet faulter.  They seemed unable to make the final few steps to the table.  His breath was coming fast and shallow.  He felt as though he were caught midway through Apparition.  As though a tight rubber band was compressing his chest.  He didn’t belong here.  He didn’t belong in this warm and loving house, surrounded by warm and loving people.  He didn’t deserve it.  How could it be that he was here and someone else was not.  When it had been Percy who had had squandered their last chance to ever again have them all together in this room.

“Er, Perce,” said George as he pulled out a chair across from him.  Percy blinked several times as he tried to clear his head enough to really take him in.  George gestured to his lips.  “Trying out a new shade?  I think red clashes with your hair a bit.”

Percy merely continued to blinked at him bemusedly for a moment.  Then he felt heat flood to his face, and his hand shot up to scrub at his lips.  Several snickers sounded around the table.  He glanced apologetically to Audrey only to find her grinning at him in a way that reminded him uncannily of Fred.  He sighed.  His glare was made rather less effective by the traitorous smile tugging at his lips.  “You didn’t tell me on purpose.”

Audrey shrugged.  “I thought the shade suited you quite well.”

The kitchen was filled with laughter and the screeching of chairs on the floor as everybody took their seats.  George was still sniggering and Dad was smiling fondly at him and Mum was piling food onto his plate and Audrey was beaming at him.  As fast as it had come, the rubber band around his chest was gone.  When he at last sat down, he felt he was exactly where he belonged.

And when Audrey sat herself in the empty seat beside him— the one seat everyone had been avoiding— no one seemed to mind at all. 

Least of all Percy.

[sebastianswallows]

Dangerous and Delightful — Chapter 10 — Kisses in the garden

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is a purveyor of forbidden artefacts, a dark arts researcher, and a curse-breaker for hire. Ominis, desperate to save him from himself, hires Reader in secret to persuade him, by any means necessary, to leave his illegal activities behind.

— WARNINGS: As the title implies, kisses, and cloying sweetness.

— WORDCOUNT: 2.8k

— TAGLIST: @bloofinntoona @sarcasticpluviophile @estrotica

The ink dried on his quill several times as he struggled to find the words. He felt nervous and uncomfortable and was angry at himself for it.

“I shouldn’t be gone longer than three weeks.”

No, too revealing in case it fell into the wrong hands.

“I shall inform you in advance before I return.”

No, too subservient to Burke.

“Will tell you more if and when relevant.”

Perfect.

But it was then that he realised he didn’t have an owl with which to send the letter. He could apparate to somewhere near The Three Broomsticks again, but he didn’t wish to stray far anymore, in case the Aurors were still tracking him. He then thought of their neighbour, the witch Berta… Maybe she had an owl.

Sebastian went to look for his host and inquire about it, but she wasn’t anywhere inside. This left only one option. He followed the sound of chikens and found her outside in the back garden. She sat in a wide rocking chair, mending a pillowcase, with the tall grass growing like a sea at her ankles and the hens and rooster clucking gently all around.

He smiled as he watched her, his hands in his pockets, and didn’t say a word until she noticed he was there. She sensed more than heard him approach.

“Oh, you nearly frightened me,” she laughed.

“Sorry,” he grinned. “You looked so peaceful, it seemed a shame to spoil it.”

Her smile tightened at the flattery, but her eyes still had a peculiar twinkle in them. “Why’ve you come looking for me?”

“I was wondering,” he started, taking large steps now until he stood before her, “if I could speak to your neighbour, Berta.”

“Well, you’re free to speak to whomever you like,” she said, sounding a bit puzzled.

“I mean, is she trustworthy?”

“Of… of course? But this is a rather alarming line of questioning. Why would you wish to speak to Bertie?”

“I need to send an owl, and… I don’t believe you have one?”

“No, I don’t,” she sighed. “And neither does Bertie.”

“Oh.” And yet, he couldn’t find it in him to feel disappointed, and it all seemed far less important than it had in his room, and he couldn’t wipe his smile away. “What were you doing?” he asked, even though he knew.

“Mending an old pillowcase,” she shrugged, smiling up at him.

The sun shone so softly on her face, he just noticed, and it warmed him inside just to see her under that distinct afternoon glow. Sebastian bent and sat down on the grass, folding his legs in front of him, and looked at her from a new angle. She cocked a brow in question, but Sebastian only shrugged. She chuckled and shook her head, but seemed to accept his company and went back to sewing.

The grass was a bit cold and damp, but he didn’t mind. The chickens gave him a wide berth, probably because they were still not used to him, while the rooster eyed him curiously. He was a stately-looking bird with a puffed-up chest and thick sleek plumage flaming red and black.

Sebastian turned his attention away from the birds to what lay beyond the fence at her back — there seemed to be another garden there, but far more broad and sparse than hers, and he could hardly see the house that it belonged to hidden behind overgrown trees.

“What do you wish to have for lunch?” he asked.

“I was thinking to have one of those meat pies.”

“Oh… You wouldn’t like something a bit more fancy?”

“No,” she chuckled, then looked at him from beneath her brows. “Do you?”

Sebastian shrugged, resting his elbows on his knees. “I only ask because I intended to cook for you today.”

“You know you don’t have to do that…”

“I know,” he smiled. “But I want to.”

She frowned at him, but a smile still played on her lips.

He knew the conversation from that morning, from the forest, came back to her — which was exactly his intention. He was set on compensating her for her kindness with a little bit of his, and he wasn’t about to let it go.

“What? You don’t fear I will poison you, do you?”

“Of course not,” she huffed.

“Or slip you a love potion,” he grinned, leaning in closer.

She kept her smile as she looked down and her fingers worked, but there was something tense and unspoken about her now that Sebastian couldn’t name… Perhaps he had gone too far.

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning back again. “Bad joke…”

She nodded and her smile relaxed. “That’s alright,” she said in a small voice as her eyes slid down to him again.

“So,” he said, “what do you want?”

What did she want?

Her hand stilled with the needle halfway through the pillowcase. She felt a similar transience within herself: so close, yet stalling. She had Sebastian right there, in her garden, at her feet, transparent like a silent lake, and she knew what he wanted. She looked into his eyes and inwardly asked — could she? It was difficult to imagine, and harder still to do.

And yet, why did she keep him in her home, if not for this?

She took a breath and looked away, and Sebastian could tell that she was thinking, although he could not guess what. As she struggled to find it in her to tell him, he inched closed through the grass.

“Oh,” he said with a surprised chuckle, “you took them off.”

She looked down and realised what he meant: she’d taken her boots off, and her stockings hung over the armrest. Her toes curled into the grass, but it was too late for them to hide.

“Erm, yes,” she said awkwardly, “I forgot that I did…”

His eyes went up to hers, doubtful and playful. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked with a sweet voice.

“A little…”

Without asking for permission, his hand drifted over the earth, through the grass, and found her. He cupped the arch of her foot in his rough palm and pressed it down, forcing his warmth into her.

She smiled timidly and laughed, but her body tensed. Through her mind flashed the question: when was the last time someone had touched her there? Perhaps her mother when as a child she’d gotten some scrape or cut. She hardly ever visited shoemakers or had cause to see a doctor, and her stockings stayed on all the time.

Even when it came to the rest of her, exchanges with strangers happened through gloves, and whether it was her family or close friends like Bertie, she didn’t venture past a hug. Sebastian was being exceptionally forward, and she tried, tried, tried to be angry with him… but couldn’t. Beneath the shock of his touch, the warmth of his hand, how dead her flesh felt beneath it, and the utter impropriety of the act — she found the sensation distressingly pleasant.

So when Sebastian asked again:

“What do you want?”

— she answered without hesitation:

“To feel warm.”

He crawled toward her on the ground and his big hands swallowed her feet and clasped around her ankles and travelled up her skin like snakes until, overwhelmed, she pulled her legs up and hugged her knees.

“Alright, that’s…!”

“Too much?” he asked breathlessly as he looked up, open-mouthed, arrested in a desperate lean forward.

“Too quickly…”

“Alright,” he said quietly, his body relaxing but his eyes fixed on hers as if he were afraid she could disappear when he blinked. “Alright, we can…”

“Can what?” she asked nervously. “What do you intend to do?”

She wanted to slap herself for denying him again, but the more she got to know Sebastian, the more she knew herself — and she understood now she was far too used to loneliness.

“I intend to give you what you want, just as you gave me what I want…”

“Oh, I don’t think I —”

“You said you wish to feel warm,” he said, his hands slowly slipping upward again, trailing the surface of her dress.

He caged her in and he’d never seemed more vulnerable as he stood there, kneeling in the dirt before her, waiting for one word, just one word from her to give him leave to move.

“Yes, but not like that…”

“How, then?” he said, coming closer. “Show me.”

She wanted to… So she did. He’d tilted the rocking chair as far back as it would go and held it there, so the only way forward for her was to uncurl herself, slide between his arms, and join him. Her legs went first and her body followed, brushing past his slowly, smoothly, and then they were face to face. She dropped the half-mended pillowcase to the side to cup his face in both her hands, and Sebastian’s eyes never left hers. She was so close she could have felt his breath, but it stuck in his throat.

“Like this,” she smiled and, holding his face still, she leaned up and kissed his forehead.

She heard him gasp. It was pure and innocent and every bit as loving as she’d dreamed, as comforting as any scene of soft romance in the muggle novels that she read. She kissed his right cheek, and then the left, and although her heart was beating so loudly in her chest that she could hear it, Sebastian looked more scared than she felt.

“Tell me what to do,” he said, sounding like a little lost child.

“You want to be told what to do?” she asked, smile growing soft, eyes holding him in sweetly, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

Sebastian nodded.

“Close your eyes,” she said, “and let me kiss you.”

He sucked in a breath and held it and closed his eyes so fast he almost hurt himself.

She chuckled. The pleasure she felt at having this power over him surprised her, and scared her equally as much. She put that aside and leaned in.

Her lips brushed the surface of his mouth on her way to kiss his chin, and from there she led a trail of kisses all the way down his neck. Sebastian’s head tilted back, resting in her hands, surrending himself with a choked moan. His skin was tougher here, and badly shaven, but she smiled against him anyway. She inched herself forward on her knees, sitting on the ground with her thighs between his. Obligingly, he stretched his legs and made more space her for, letting her scoot closer to him.

Her hands trailed down his face to cup his neck while her kisses went upward, and she kept his head leaning back as she kissed his chin again, his jaw, the freckles on his cheeks… Standing on her knees, she kissed right between his eyebrows. She heard him whimper then, and smiled. Very gently, she leaned left, and right, kissing his closed eyes each in turn, before ending with a long, lingering press of her lips against his forehead.

Timidly, his arms wrapped around her waist to hold her there. His hot breath fanned against her neck, and she could feel him frowning, his brows tensing, but he only held her tighter. Slowly, she leaned back and looked at him.

“Alright?” she asked, hands cupping his jaw again.

Sebastian opened his eyes, the frown still there crinkling them at the edges. He seemed on the verge of tears.

“‘Alright’ might not be the right word,” he whispered, looking at her as if he’d just tasted death.

“What is it?” she asked, a tremble in her voice. “Did I… do something wrong?”

From her previous serenity at this taste of comfort, of closeness, she fell into despair: she had done either too much or too little, she’d miscalculated somehow, and now…

“I just didn’t realise how much I needed that,” he said.

Oh.

“Really?” she grinned, almost laughing with relief.

Sebastian nodded, his cheeks plumping in her hands. “Really.”

His arms tightened around her and he hugged her, tucking his chin over her shoulder, and she did the same. Slotted to each other, they began to gently swing, left and right, and left, and right. It was impossible to say who started it, but soon they were both laughing the wider the swings got. In one canting heave, they landed on their sides into the grass. Sebastian’s arm cushioned her, and her cheek rested on top of his. With a childish giggle, she pulled away to lay more comfortably next to him.

“Was that so hard?” he asked, his eyes gazing warm and happy into hers.

“What do you mean?”

“Admitting that you needed something too.”

She snuggled closer to him, her arms tightening around his waist, trying to hide from his question in the crook of his neck.

“So, now that we’ve satisfied that longing,” he continued, nuzzling the tip of her head with a smile, “ what other ‘needs’ of yours can we address?”

“Who says you’ve satisfied it yet?” she asked, looking at him from beneath her lashes.

Sebastian smirked and pulled her close again, tucking her head under his chin. His eyes closed in contentment. His whole flesh was singing from the feeling of her body, of another beating heart so near his own.

“Ow,” he said suddenly, frowning. Something was picking at his finger.

“What?”

He opened his eyes and saw the rooster there, glaring at him.

“Your birds have mistaken my fingers for worms.”

“How rude,” she laughed. “Alright… We should go inside.”

Sebastian was disappointed to lose her from his arms. She picked up the pillowcase and the sewing kit, and he felt left behind for a moment, but then she took his hand, and looked into his eyes, and pulled him into the house with her.

Her naked feet pattered against the cold wood floor, and she didn’t look back at him until the door closed behind them. She seemed to lose some of her nerve now that they were in the living room — between her bedroom, and his — and Sebastian waited for her to say something, do something, guide him down whatever path she chose. When she turned toward him again, she put on a brave smile, but he knew her well enough by now to tell that she was nervous.

“I know it seems like not much at all,” she started, letting go of his hand, “or like a waste of your time, but…”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer, “I meant what I said. I don’t mind… I more than don’t mind,” he smiled. “And if that’s how you mean to exact payment from me, I think we’ve only just covered the first night.”

He took the items from her hands and put them on the little chest of drawers by the door, and then his hands cupped her elbows.

“I’m just afraid that…”

“That what?” he said.

“That you wish to give more than I want to take.”

He bit his lip — she had a point, but he wouldn’t let that stop him.

“Then why don’t I,” said Sebastian, “let you do,” stepping closer, “exactly what you wish to.”

Closing the space between them, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself into his chest. Her cheek rested against his heart.

It was a convenient proposal. And if he was honest in offering himself to her without asking for anything in return that she couldn’t or wouldn’t give, then it should work to her advance.

On the periphery of her own desires, the mission Ominis gave her returned to her like a bitter memory.

She could satisfy her long-suppressed longing for a warm hand to hold, a body to curl herself around, a vessel for her affection, and all the while she might yet charm Sebastian into wanting to have more in his life than cursework — without the need to ply him with amortentia. She’d only done it once, and still felt terribly guilty about it… But it did bring him to her door, so perhaps it hadn’t been for nothing.

She still feared him, though, and feared even worse that she’d forget he was still that dark wizard that chased after danger and was addicted to it.

In the distance, thunder rolled, and through the silence of the house, she could hear the trees outside begin to sway with a strong wind. She wished now more than ever before to stop thinking. Perhaps that was what Sebastian needed too…

“I had better go,” she said, parting from him with a smile.

“What?” he asked with surprise and disappointment.

“I should put the chickens back inside if it will rain. They get scared easily.”

Sebastian looked down at her disheartened but didn’t argue.

“Besides, I left my boots and stockings out as well,” she laughed.