#it'll be short hannah says to herself

[silent-dark-entries]

Something I’m in the middle of writing !!!

Word Count: 1175!!

Warnings: Still proofreading so maybe some mistakes! Also my first Wizarding world fic so its probably not accurate ._. This also will be a smut but I’m just plot building :))

Oh!!! And seizure warning!!

Birdie looks herself in the mirror for the fourth time. Was her dress too short, too tight? She can't breathe, so she loosens her ribbons...for the third time. Maybe a muggle designer wasn't the brightest idea, but it's too late. Birdie can feel her friends, Nerissa and Imogene, growing impatient waiting outside in the Slytherin common room. They never have troubles getting dressed for these types of things. They're the exact same body type, if it looks good on one of them it'll surely look good on the other.

Birdie looks one more time. A green plaid slip dress, and shiny Mary Jane platforms  Final decision.

Birdie takes a swig of the smuggled in firewhisky as her and her fellow Slytherins make their way to the Gryffindor common room. The burn is dreadful but nostalgic nonetheless.

Birdie listens to her friend's talk but doesn't give them a second thought. She feels guilty of course. She had ignored their letters all summer holiday scared they would've known what she was up to. Scared they knew what her Mother had done. She didn't even sit with them during the sorting ceremony. In fact, she hid in the toilets when the food had come out. But they found her and cornered her asking if they had done something wrong. She denied it and just blamed it on an upset tummy.

Someone in the front of the line of students does the secret knock making the fat lady creek open. The students move through the silenced, glowing green, stone tunnel into the common room full of students. Birdie takes another swig of the fire whiskey before it's swiped by Imogene.

"Pace yourself Birdie." Nerissa says as they find their designated corner to stand in. Imogene throws her sandy Blonde hair behind her tiny shoulders before taking a hefty sip. She screws her face as the burn leaves her throat.

"Fuck's sake Birdie! They weren't kidding when they named this shit." Imogene rasps out. The three girls laugh before taking more tiny sips each.

Birdie floats towards the dance crowd as muggle hip hop blares through the speakers, her friends following closely behind her. Birdie throws her arms up along with the firewhiskey as she yells along to the lyrics of Rump Shaker. Birdie shakes her ass to the beat and occasionally drops to the floor as she's sandwiched between the two girls.

The crowd cheers as the song ends. Birdie opens her eyes that she hadn't realized were shut tight. The room spins beneath her feet as she makes her way towards a group of people sitting on the floor in a circle.

"What is this? huh, some kind of prayer circle?" Birdie snorts out. Birdie hates being seen as a mean girl but it's what people expect from her.

"It's kiss or drink." A gravelly voice from below her says. Birdie looks down at the familiar voice that she usually has great talent in ignoring to see none other than Fred Weasley staring back at her. He smiles up at her before blowing out the smoke from the joint he held between his lips. "We'd ask you to join us, but I'm sure you wouldn't want to tarnish that niminy-piminy attitude you keep up."

Birdie's jaw dropped. Her first thought is to take her bottle she has clenched in her hand and smash it against his head. But instead she sits where she stood inbetween Fred and some nobody sixth year. She keeps her eyes straight ahead ignoring the stares coming from the rest of the group.

Hannah Abbot, a geeky blonde girl leans forward and spins the green translucent bottle that sits in the middle of the circle. The groups hoops and howls as it lands on Neville Longbottom. Hannah giggles as she crawls across the circle closer to Neville before feverishly locking lips with him. Birdie bites her tongue trying desperately not to gag at the sight of the spit string between them as they part. Neville spins the bottle awkwardly fast.

Birdie takes the last swig of her fire whiskey instantly regretting it for it finally sent her over the tipsy versus drunk threshold. She wipes the dribble from her mouth before putting the bottle down between her thighs. She looks at the bottle in the middle to see who it landed on and it's of course her. Birdie looks up to see Neville moving towards her slowly.

"Take the drink Longbottom." Birdie says through her teeth. Neville nods defeatedly before throwing a shot from the bottle back. Birdie rolls her eyes before clumsily leaning in to spin the bottle. She looks around the circle to see if there's anyone worthy enough to kiss but sees no one she actually cares to kiss. Which works out for her for the bottle lands on herself.

"Well I can't kiss myself." Birdie picks up her shot.

"It's on Freddie." George cheekily says. "You have to kiss Freddie!" Birdie looks back down at the bottle. Certainly it's slightly pointed to the left, straight at Fred.

"Just let her take the shot! I told you she's too priggish to kiss anyone here." Fred sneers. Birdie slams her shot glass down and gets on her knees. She throws her arm around Fred's neck and the other hand on his cheek. Pushing him closer to her face until their lips finally meet. Soft and innocent first until Fred dips deeper snaking his arm around her body pulling her closer and slipping his tongue against hers.

Birdie breaks first scooting back on her knees leaving Fred's body cold next to her. She takes the joint from his hand whilst standing and stumbling away to find her friends, leaving the the small circle speechless

"Well" George says breaking the silence. "I don't know how we could continue after that."

Birdie finds her friends in the corner with their arms crossed staring back at her. She takes a hit of the joint and offers it to her friends in which they partake.

"What the hell was that shit, Missulena?" Nerissa says blowing the smoke into the air.

"It was hot!" Imogene says. Birdie shrugs lazily.

"She's pissed. We should get back to the dorms before she gets sick." Nerissa says gesturing them towards the door.

Birdie follows behind her friends before feeling a sharp pain it the middle of her forehead. She shakes off the pain before searching for her friends in the crowd. Birdie stumbles forward but before she could catch her balance she feels her legs give out beneath her making her fall straight on her back. Her arms become stiff against the sides of her sides as her back arch towards the ceiling. Birdie's eyes rolls eerily to the back of her head as her gaped mouth lets out a ghostly howl.

Nerissa and Imogene push pass through the crowd surrounding as Birdie's body rattles violently against the old rug beneath her body. Birdie looks up at her friends through her tear filled eyes. Until her eyes finally closed.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 22

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 21. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

Elo allows herself to be taken to hospital. She doesn't like it though. She knows no one is overly fond of hospitals, but for her, they remind her too much of the morgue, and of course that's where dead people stay while they wait for the living to help them get closure enough to pass on. She hopes never to die like that – an anonymous body in a low-trafficked area, gone in the dark of the night. She'd like her death to be something obvious and blatant. Not that she's suicidal, but if she had died this night, it would have been one she was satisfied with. Cloven in two by a giant sword is difficult to miss, even if its wielder is less than prosecutable. Fortunately her time there is short. Someone has called Farren, who shows up with her Police Academy sweats. He helps with a stand-up wash and deals with the ruined dress while she's being stitched up. The doctors want to keep her overnight for observations, but her health package will not cover the cost, so Farren drives her home and helps her to her room.

Elo has lost all sense of time, but by the lack of movement in Craig Spine's room as they make their way slowly up the stairs, it is not yet considered morning. Farren gently deposits her on her bed, then dithers. "Brek, go home," she says. "I'll be fine." He harrumphs, then kicks his shoes off and shucks his jacket. "'S too far and I'm knackered. Budge over." "Really, this isn't–" She's cut off by her partner sliding into bed, putting himself between her and the door. "Breakwood." "Get some shut-eye, Bug." Elo sighs and squiggles over so he has more room. "You're annoying," she mumbles. "So are you," he mumbles back. The lack of revolver under her pillow is discomforting, but the solid slab of muscle lying next to her more than makes up for it.

–––

By the time she stirs, it's midafternoon and Farren is unsurprisingly gone. At first, she only lies there. Bright sunlight slices through the blinds, and on the window, she hears the intermittent patter of angels' tears. The bed is soft and warm, the covers like a cocoon she doesn't want to escape from. She has a faint memory of Farren leaving, telling her to stay home, he'll deal with her absence. She has a mind to roll over and continue sleeping. Then her belly grumbles, loudly and with great insistence. So she hauls herself up and forces her way through a stand-up wash at the basin in her room and digs out a clean suit. The new dressing she applies isn't nearly as neat as it could be, but it's good enough and anyway it'll be hidden under her jacket. Her belly growls again. The landlady prepares a breakfast buffet as standard and dinner only by request. Elo's on her own for food, she thinks, as she drags herself out of her room and down the stairs.

Mrs Higgins greets her on the first-floor landing, inviting Elo into her own apartment. The landlady plies her with a cold lunch and insists on reapplying the shoddy dressing. Throughout her fussing, Mrs Higgins has this peculiar smile hovering on her lips, which Elo doesn't understand at all. Then Mrs Higgins says, "There's some folks hanging around downstairs. I think they've been waiting for you." Elo tenses. "Did they show you any badges?" "Yes. The wee girl is a copper. The burly lad's said he was a… CPPO?" Elo relaxes. "Close personal protection officer. It means he's a bodyguard. They say what they want?" Mrs Higgins shakes her head. "They complimented my scones though." Elo grins. "That's because you use butter, not margarine like most places." "Should I tell them you're still asleep?" And bless her, Mrs Higgins is giving her the option of leaving via the dumbwaiter or fire escape. But the CPPO is most likely one of King Storri's ubiquitous black suits, and the copper is probably someone from First Precinct who wants her statement from last night. So this time, there's no harm in greeting them. "No, thank you. I'll go down and say hi." "Alright then, pet."

Sprawled on the waiting sofa is a slim, short, blond woman. Stood so still by the door that she almost dismissed him as a piece of furniture, is a copper-haired ubiquitous black suit. "Ayton!" Elo cries, grinning at the woman on the sofa. "El!" The woman springs up, clasping Elo's shoulders and looking her over. "The hell did you do this time, girl?" "Ruined a very expensive dress by getting stabbed at a high-class shindig." "Godsdamn, you never do things by halves, do you?" "What are you doing here?" "Cap sent me–" "Gods," Elo whines. "How much trouble am I in?" "Nah, girl, it's fine. I'm here to keep an eye on you." Elo screws up her face. Ayton puts a hand on Elo's shoulder. "Relax, wouldya? He's just worried. Breakwood said it was bad. Terrell's got the day off, so it was either come babysit you or be stuck on desk duty. Handsome over there's got the same orders." She looks over. "Hey, Handsome. Tell her what you told me." The ubiquitous black suit moves away from the door and joins them at a respectful distance, and now Elo can see him, she thinks maybe he was one of the suits on the terrace last night. "My Lady, I'm glad to see you're faring well. Jakob Hembo, at your service." He bows. "His Majesty wishes to convey his regrets for what occurred last night, and has sent me to ensure your safety for today." Elo looks between the two and takes a step back, her hands raised in a halting gesture. "I don't need a minder." "His Majesty respectfully disagrees," Hembo says. "So does the Captain," Ayton says. "Listen, El, you don't get to scare the living shit outta the higher-ups and not expect some comeuppance." "Fine then. I guess you get to follow me back to the station, and–" "Nope. You're on sick leave, girl. All you're gonna do is sit your ass down and watch daytime TV." "Like hell I am. Ayton… Ingrid, I'm fine. It's just a little scratch. I've got work to do." "Not today you don't. Cap said you gotta relax and heal." "Kóngurinn minn ordered me to sit upon you if you tried to do anything I deemed stupid. Going back to work with a fresh injury qualifies." Elo is starting to wish she'd gone out the fire escape. "Can I take a walk, at least?" Ayton and Hembo give each other a considering look. "Ja," Hembo says. "You can do that."

Determined to do something useful in the few hours until evening, Elo takes them to the Shield. Ayton is good-naturedly annoyed at the loophole. Hembo looks tired but rolls his shoulders and gets on with his job. Elo is permitted to read to the kids, help with some accounting, and talk to people. Ayton sticks to her guns about the ban on police work – when she catches Elo trying to compose her formal report of the night before, her writing implements are confiscated and she's kicked out of the tiny office. Any time someone asks her to do something remotely physical, Hembo politely informs them Elo was injured protecting the Icelandic King and they must find someone else. It's cute the first few times; by the tenth, Elo wants the ground to swallow her because it's embarrassing the looks of awe she gets. By six o'clock, she's starting to flag so her minders decree she must go home. Elo makes a token protest, then does as she's told. Back at the tenement, she tells them she'll be fine and to go home. Ayton gives Elo a wink and says she'll see her in the office tomorrow. Hembo is a little harder to convince – but promising to give His Nibs a glowing report mollifies him enough to leave. Dinner and a dressing change are provided by Mrs Higgins, and then Elo is back in her room, awkwardly slipping into her nightshirt and lying down.

The lack of gun under her pillow is even more disquieting without Farren there. Doubly so when, just as she's drifting off to sleep, someone knocks at her door. No, not her door. Her closet. She pulls a knife from the bedside table.

[troglobite]

laksjdlfaskdjfdlksj mother's day cw

we couldn't do anything for my mom today bc of short notice and everyone and their mother (literally) going out and about without any covid precautions

so we can't have takeout, right, bc it'll be busy

but i was like i bugged her all day yesterday w eurovision, i'll leave her alone today to veg out and watch movies and shows

so i did

and then she asked to watch the dnd movie & i suggested hannah gadsby so all we had to do was figure out dinner

i suggested ordering delivery pizza

for some reason the website is being weird and it's hard to order online and she just. gives up. says it's not worth it.

suggests this frozen mac n cheese we have. so i'm going to do that.

but then she instead suggests this other dish we sometimes have

so i go to start making it

the boxes of the stuff are months old, like inedible. but i didn't catch it until i had already started prepping.

so now i've dirtied up dishes when we don't have a dishwasher so i have to clean them bc i'm not going to let her do it

and then it's like okay we'll go back to the mac n cheese thing

except we don't have the fucking mac n cheese thing

so now there's literally nothing i can do

she decided to just have bacon and eggs and i said i could make it for her

and she said no, since i don't touch raw meat, and she'd be in the kitchen doing that anyway, she'd just make it herself

and now i'm having a minor fucking meltdown abt it

this happens every holiday and every birthday for her

all i do is disappoint her

i'm a fucking failure

and idk what the fuck i can possibly do to help

i'm so weak and pathetic

i won't touch raw meat? grow the fuck up.

i'm so done

and now i hear the bug spray which means there was yet another fucking spider in the fucking house bc of the heat wave and our BUSTED fucking garage door that we CAN'T EVEN HAVE FIXED NOW bc they have to rip all our doors off the hinges to replace the flooring in the WHOLE FUCKING HOUSE anyway

i want to die. i'm so tired. i can't even give her a half-decent day

[bubmyg]

just pls write some squishy soft jk bedtime cuddles :((

genre/warnings: youtuber!guk, established relationship, fluff. so much fluff lmao, it’s wholly inspired by that one youtube live u know the one, bun on a bun makes an appearance

word count: 1,499 

“Are you coming to bed anytime soon...?” The last syllable trailed off into a noise of inquiry, one that curled in the back of your throat as you paused halfway into Jeongguk’s office. 

You couldn’t see much, not in the swath of neon light curling from strip lights taped in neat rows above foam pads meant maximize sound quality. Not when the only other source of light was that of his monitor set up, all blaring to their highest setting, all opened to windows that were white or grey in manner. Perhaps hazy glints of rainbow curled in the tired squint of your eyes that you’d previously been digging your knuckles into, but that didn’t hinder you from seeing the jeans still pasted to your boyfriend’s far too long legs. 

He’d turned just enough to address you properly when you were beating him to the silence. 

“Why the fuck are you wearing jeans?”

Jeongguk’s expression crossed from confusion to amusement, glancing down at his legs. One wavy strand of hair not contained in the hair elastic he’d stolen from your dish in the bathroom stuck into his eyelashes as he blinked up at you. “I’ve had them on all day?”

“Yeah, but...” Your eyebrows pinched in confusion this time. Reinforcement. “It’s one in the morning? I thought you changed earlier?”

In your defense, he hadn’t emerged from his editing cave upon returning from Jimin’s after a full afternoon of filming. To pretend you hadn’t noticed them before would be a lie, however. Infuriating. 

“No,” Jeongguk laughed. Pointedly, he patted his thighs. “Do you want me to change?”

“I want you to come to bed,” You grit, glaring at him. The heat on your skin suddenly wasn’t because of the overwhelming amount of LED contained in the miniscule space. Nonetheless, you poked out a hand in offering too, wriggling fingers and all. 

He had other ideas, locking his fingers through the spaces in yours to tug you closer, continuing to tug your attached limb past his shoulder until you got the hint to climb in his lap. 

Which you did begrudgingly. Of course. 

You didn’t hesitate to use your teeth on the spot your lips had previously been resting on his neck when the clacking sound of his keyboard and mouse came at the flex of his arm rested on your hip. “Come to bed,” You punctuated with a hard, chaste kiss on the underside of his jaw. The one currently craning to see over your head you’d pointedly moved. 

Jeongguk nodded, chin bumping into the bridge of your nose to which he giggled at your noise of indignation. But he didn’t stop clicking. In fact, he seemed to settle further into the chair. 

You huffed, pushing yourself up to a more upright sitting position. He paid no mind, not even a sideways glance, as you stared at the flick of his sparkling irises around the screen. The tiny conglomeration of curls at the back of his head wiggled with the tiny giggle he let out the longer you stared, narrowing your focus to that very thing. As much as you liked his bun, you liked your pillow more. Preferably if your boyfriend was that pillow.

Even in your haste and your effort to sabotage Jeongguk’s work efforts, you were careful in unraveling the elastic from his hair, aiding the neatly curled strands with the straight of your fingers until they flopped completely over his eyes like a curtain. 

His chin dimpled and you could picture the tiny celestial beings in the brown of his eyes even if you couldn’t see them. 

“Well, looks like your computer shut down. Time for bed I think!”

He tossed his head, hand previously tapping an incomprehensible beat against your thigh leaving to tuck the strands firmly out of the way by the bend of his tiniest finger. “Just a few more minutes,” He vowed, sticking out that same digit to you, which you intercepted without hearing him add, “Pinky promise.”

Even in your anticipation for sleep, you flexed the elastic band where it still rested on your thumb and index finger. “Want me to fix it for you?”

He hummed, a noncommittal yes that had you happily leaning forward to scratch your nails through his scalp, reveling in the small noises of contentment that left his lips at the affection. Your self indulgence ended at the prospect of the faster he edits the faster you can go to bed, so you garnered a bun about the same size as before in your palm, gently squishing the curls as you gently looped the elastic. 

When you settled back to eye level, you found Jeongguk staring intently at you, the stars wholly authentic and not a result of the ever rotating colors of the strand of LED drooping a bit just beyond his monitor the farthest to the right. He smiled at you, toothless, but endowed in the tiny crinkles that formed on either side of his eyelids and you couldn’t help but kiss one side of the gathered skin, following the trail across his scrunched eyelid to kiss the tip of his nose. 

Hovering a breath away from his top lip, you murmured, “Hurry up.”

Jeongguk never broke a promise and especially not a pinky promise, LED and artificial white shutting down around you all the same after about ten more minutes of the click of his mouse weaving your eyelashes together. He toddled after you into the bedroom by the connection of your hands, barely remembering to panic over whether he’d saved the draft ten times before killing the power strip when you wandered into the bathroom, leaving him alone to contemplate just how good the bed sounded in that moment. 

He was sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed when you returned, jacket and shirt shed, jeans still on, thumbs fiddling with his phone that just contoured the shape of his nose scrunching in some sort of technologically induced inconvenience. He hummed when your weight joined him on the bed, not flinching as you moved to sit behind him, arms settling loosely to his waist as your lips rested similarly to the dark curls of ink on his upper arm. 

“Bathroom’s all yours,” You mumbled against his skin, finding at a glance that the phone inconvenience in question was an iMessage game from Taehyung. One he’d, evidently, sent seven times in Jeongguk’s endless hours of work. 

“Don’t wanna move now,” Visibly, he relaxed back into your embrace, continuing to twirl his fingers over the screen in an attempt to answer the fourth of seven game requests. 

“At least brush your teeth,” You teased, unlocking your fingers from where they’d woven at his navel to instead dig your fingertips into his sides. “And take these jeans off.”

He turned just enough for you to see the rise and then wiggle of his eyebrows. “...I thought you didn’t want me to, baby?”

He abandoned his phone after a brief onset of giggles and wrestling which he, inevitably, grew tired of entertaining your strength, and taunted you with unbrushed kisses all over your cheeks and the tickle of loose bangs across your eyebrows. Nightly antics drawing to an end, ones of which always included your stretch across the bed to put his phone on the charger. 

After a total of twenty, grueling, minutes, Jeongguk had settled onto the same pillow as you rather than becoming your pillow. Yet. Technicalities. Ones you almost corrected for yourself until you noted the tiny knot of curls peaking gently out from the top of the pillow. 

You didn’t lift your cheek from the pillow, coaxing him closer to once again thread the elastic from his hair. The newly freed strands fell on their own this time, framing his cheekbones and waning pupils and petaled lips all the same. You couldn’t help but drop a kiss to the place between his eyebrows, gently stroking one side of his fringe away to tuck it behind his ear. 

“Sorry. I forgot.”

You nodded, dropping a kiss lower to the tip of Jeongguk’s nose this time. You forgot things too, like to grab your favorite flannel blanket out of the hall closet when your body finally collapsed in a mid afternoon nap, like to add extra sugar to your favorite brand of cereal mostly marketed towards children, like to pack an extra water bottle for your particularly long day at university. 

Jeongguk remembered those things though. Just like you remembered encourage him to change out of jeans and take his hair out before he slept. 

“I love you,” He added. It wasn’t an afterthought. You could feel the sentiment squeezing you with every ounce of his unrestrained affections. 

Finally did Jeongguk’s thrumming heart become the soundtrack of your pillow, arms hooking around his neck as his accommodated the half drape of your stature over his. You nodded against him, pressing your lips to the freckle on his neck. 

“And I love you.”

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 30

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

Elo is dropped off at City Hall with boxes of sundries from her Mother's list and a promise to help Irvine decipher the victim's notes tomorrow. She drags herself from the car, body aching after the rest it's had in the ride over. She could happily go take a 5-hour nap in Johan's on-call room. But Duty, that impatient mistress, awaits, as it always does.

"Where have you been?" King Storri snaps at her as she enters the Magister's office. A glance at the clock shows her it is precisely 1300 hours, and she is technically not late. But he's in a mood, so she decides not to point this out. "I was getting our lunch," Elo says, holding up one of the smaller carrier bags. "I thought we were supposed to be going out to eat?" "Oh, we are," she says, smiling. "It's a nice day, and you want to see the sights that Toreguard has to offer, yes?" Suspicion is etched into his frown as the King considers her. "Yes," he says with caution. "Excellent. Then we're going to have a picnic in the Gardens of Galana. Unless Your Majesty has qualms about too many flowers or an aversion to sitting on the ground?" His grouchy suspicion morphs into confusion. "No." "Excellent," she chirps. Elo shifts her attention to the Acting Magister, sitting behind his desk, and asks with conjured innocence, "Thazar, would you and Johan like to join us?" The Magister looks up and blinks owlishly. "Hm? Oh, yes, of course. It'll be a delight, I'm sure." Elo considers how frazzled he sounds and thinks he's only peripherally aware she's entered his office, let alone asked them to lunch. She wonders if this has anything to do with King Storri's short temper, and worries about the negotiations. She paves over that thought and says brightly, "Perfect. Merri-love, will you have His Majesty's limo brought around to the front and shepherd everyone down? I left the groceries in the care of the front desk. I'll be along shortly, I'm just going to fetch Johan." "Not Brauma." King Storri interrupts. There's an odd note to his tone, halfway between command and query. And, oh, how can she put this delicately… "The Exchequer is not fond of… unofficial deviations, such as this. If you wish, I can ask–?" "Unnecessary," the King responds quickly. "I trust your judgement on this matter." Elo accepts this with a nod. "Merri, the car?" Meredith, bless her, is looking at Elo like she's sprouted wings. "Mm, aye, I can do that. After you tell me the name of Lorcian's pet rat." Elo is taken aback. "Huh–?" "I'm just checking you've not had a mindstorm." Ah. "It was called StringWhiskers, but we all called it Squeaks," Elo says with a wide smile. Meredith gives her a long look, heaves a sigh, and says, "On you go then." Elo gives an affable nod to the King and wanders out to fetch the Commander-in-Chief.

–––

"The Gardens of Galana," Elo narrates to His Majesty during the drive, "are a 340-acre park in the southwest corner of the city linked to the Church of the Green Goddess and associated with Her worship. "Prior to the Greydown Incident, the Church and its lands only occupied about 30 acres, but during the rebuilding, it was decided to dramatically increase the acreage for the benefit of the whole city, regardless of religious affiliation." The limo sweeps into the gravelled car park, and they climb out, the supplies being distributed for all – except Elo – to carry. As she leads the merry band, Elo continues, "Now the Gardens see approximately 5 million visitors annually, including pilgrims and visitors from outside Toreguard. To ensure the Gardens are free for all to enter, the Council pays a share of the maintenance costs. The remainder is taken up by the Church via classes, produce, plant sales and," Elo pauses, raises an eyebrow at the King, "donations from generous patrons." He grins. "After the Greydown Incident, the Gardens were one of the first public buildings to be completed. It has been designed to have full year-round coverage, which includes many themed areas, such as the Oriental arbour, scented plants for the blind, and a functioning orchard." "As it's spring, I thought we might take lunch in the wildflower meadow."

Elo steps to the side to allow him to take in the view and for the others to spread out beside them. From here, one can only just see the wisteria spire of the Church over the blooming heads of the fruit orchard. To one side, marching along in a line, fruit bushes mark the border between the orchard and the meadow. A swoop of deciduous, broad-leaf trees marks the other edge of the meadow, creating a semi-oval of ankle-high grasses already scattered with delicate blues, lacy whites, hardy oranges, and fluttering purples. Behind them, the small wood has been allowed to run wild. Its only accedence to civilization is a meandering path which eventually brings one out to the memorial rockery and from there to the Church and lawns. Elo finds herself taking a deep breath of the light, floral air and turns to grin at King Storri. She finds him with his lips pursed, weight shifted to his backfoot. "Your Majesty?" "There is… rather a lot… of Green."

Before Elo can say anything to assuage the fear in his voice, there is a squeal of childish laughter. His head snaps around, and they see several small children racing towards them from a set of picnic benches. "Auntie 'Lo! Catch me!" a little boy calls out, making a beeline for her. Elo's eyes widen, a vision of her near immediate future filled with blood, a crying child and a trip to hospital. The boy launches himself. Before she can move, CPPO Hembo has plucked the child out of the air. He stares at Hembo with wide eyes, and Elo thinks he might start bawling. "My apologies, little master," Hembo says to the child hanging by his armpits in Hembo's hands. "M'Lady Elowyn is not permitted to lift anything." King Storri steps forward, his burgeoning panic attack forgotten. "I, however, will gladly give you a piggyback ride back to the bench in her stead." The child blinks his gaze between the three of them. "It's alright, Ioan. These are my friends, Storri and Jakob." The child considers that for a moment. "Okay," he says, and there ensues a scramble as the child is positioned on King Storri's shoulders.

Johan and Thazar have already made their way to the picnic tables and are helping a petite woman fill out the already majestic spread with what Elo has brought. Ioan slithers off Storri's shoulders to run off and play. Elo clears her throat, and the woman turns around. "Your Majesty, King Storri Norgandsson, Regent of Iceland, it is my honour to introduce you to Oakrose of Toreguarde, Landscape Architect for the Gardens of Galana, and my Mother." Oakrose – for all that she is wearing skirt and pinafore – gives an elegant bow. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty." King Storri inclines his head, lifting Oakrose's hand to his lips. "Truly, the honour is mine," he says as Oakrose's cheeks turn dusky. "I must compliment you on the fair delight you have brought to this world." His smile turns into a mischievous grin. "This garden is beautiful too." Oakrose lets out a peal of laughter and takes the King's hand. "Come, Your Majesty. Let me introduce you to my other children." "Please, call me Storri," he says. Elo gives a soft huff of laughter as they walk away and turns to oversee the laying out of food.

Eventually, the children are corralled, food eaten, and lunch turns into a lazy afternoon of games. The children have no care for titles and proprietary, as was Elo's intention, and they'll play with whom they please, how they please. King Storri finds his hair braided with all manner of wildflowers, Johan is an excellent chase partner, and Thazar seems to be teaching structural engineering with sticks and wooden blocks. At some point, Oakrose produces a ball and bat. And what a sight it is – these leaders of nations, tearing around an impromptu rounders pitch, digging in the foliage for a lost ball, getting grass stains on their suits. It becomes a wonderful afternoon of bonding, amiable chatter and raucous laughter, lifting their spirits into the cyan dome of the sky, warm as the spring sunshine. And Elo is so glad it's taken the edge off whatever issue caused the frayed edges and scowls she walked into. She is given one name, in quick, brushed-aside tones: Brauma. And really, sadly, it makes perfect sense. But no one else is dwelling on whatever strife he caused, so neither shall she.

King Storri flops down next to her after a particularly intense game of chase, all grins and chortles. Elo hands him her drink, sitting as she is in the shade of the wood and away from the main shenanigans. Together, they watch her Mother wrangling a child, and Elo notes the soft smile on his face. "Anyone would think you have a type," she says with a grin. "Oh, ho? How's that then?" he asks, gaze never wavering from her Mother. "Short, feisty brunettes. Fortunately, Aunt Selene only matches one of those traits," she says. "Should that I choose to hop on a boat to Europe, it could only be to gaze upon the Magister Selene and see if the rumours of her surety and grace are true." Elo snorts at that image. "No, but really," she says, adding a harder undercurrent to her light words, "Aunty Sel is out of bounds. She doesn't take fondly to suitors." The King turns with an inquisitive raised eyebrow. "Those unlucky few often find themselves taking a quick and unexpected bath in the nearest canal," Elo says. "And on one unfortunate occasion, it resulted in a semi-formal complaint when she nearly exploded The Plot Hook." Storri's eyebrows reach ever further heights. "Some idiot kept bothering her long after she'd told him where to go. So she handed him a martini glass layered with two chemical compounds and told him if he so much as twitched, then he'd blow himself up. Orock was rightfully fuming – something about his insurance premiums becoming astronomical. Aunt Sel nullified the compounds in the end." Elo cocks a grin. "I think quite a lot of people gained a new respect for their Magister after the bomb squad confirmed trace explosives had been found in the glass." "Not a woman to be trifled with." "None of them are," Elo says with no small amount of pride. Storri laughs. "I see where you get it from."

Storri fetches them another drink, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Elo lets her gaze wander as the fresh air washes over her, filled with birdsong, good-natured chatter, and the scent of sweet green things. She catches Johan slipping the children cake while Oakrose is looking the other way, grinning at the memories it stirs. Amidst the flowers, Merri is bouncing one of the youngest on her knee, singing a rhyme with Yoruk, and Elo thinks they look good with a babe between them. Elo breaths, feeling the rough bark at her back, the lush grass under her hands, the warm presence of the King at her side. She smiles, feeling the warmth of contentment and the soft joy of all being right with the world– –when suddenly it isn't. There's no vertiginous warning this time. The cold slices into her chest, warmth leaving her limbs as swiftly as if she has been sluiced with a bucket of cold water. She sits bolt upright, a hand against her chest, gasping with the suddenness. "Elowyn?" Storri is peering at her, a frown on his face. "My Lady, are you well?" "Fine," she gasps. Everything hurts as she claws at the tree, struggling to her feet. All her instincts say to flee – to lead whatever imminent danger this is away from her family. "You most definitely are not fine," King Storri says, rising with her. "Just need a moment," Elo says, her voice croaky with breathlessness as she backs into the foliage. "Lady Toreguarde, wait," he says, even as he's turning away to yell, "Gruksdottir! Attend me!" Elo stumbles away, the shade of the underbrush menacing, pressing her to run – senseless – as behind her, King Storri calls after.