#its a disastrous household but they all love each other

[inherlight]

Ardem / Lore / Devoted but Lecherous

For centuries Ardem tribe has the largest population in Meority thanks to their immense desire for… procreation; and if not for low fertility rate of their eggs it would be extremely high way before current age. It comes from a fact that round every second month is a mating season for Ardem, during this time faint smell of cinnamon and fruits from their sweat and pheromones soars around. While growing appetite and infatuations can warn about incoming carnal desires beforehand, it became routinely for sistren of other tribes to expect minor delays or halts in some systems and infrastructures during these weeks. But we should pray first for Ardem’s othertribe partners, trapped and wrapped in web of endless love – it is a great challenge to survive emaciation and exhaustion and tortures of pleasures.

It doesn’t mean that outside of these seasons Ardem are not sexually active, after all its Ardem Engifted who founded “Slime and Tentacles” Doctrine as well as their engineers design various pleasure machines, but at least they are sober enough to become remarkably diligent and endeavorous members of society, committing themselves to amend “wasted” time, never afraid of assuming responsibility or take difficult tasks, performing best at their capacity and extra if possible. For Ardem laziness is inadmissible in bed and work alike, so they expect each other (and other tribes) to commit in full aptitude in every aspect of life, or face systemic contempt and scorn. In thought, it is presumed that they want to uphold societal stability for own good so they can continue dedicating themselves to what they enjoy, without worsening of benefits and qualities of life we achieved after centuries of progress.

Except… there is another way Ardem can channel their prurience. As much as they are passionate about sexual pleasures, it all comes to mental response from physical and psychical sensations, receiving or giving, and a minor re-wiring can easily turn desires for lust and procreation into frenzy of ruination. A mental switch that converts any Ardem into a vicious berserk who revels in carnage and seeks for pain.

Confrontation face-to-face with Ardem warriors in such state were always dreaded by other tribes: with razor-sharp blades on their quick tails, and piercing claws and fangs, they swiftly shred their victims in a carnival of flesh; not bothering if mangling themselves in the process, for their brain shuts off any limits on body – even if blades and hands are broken, and earth is soaking wet with own blood leaking from bone-shattered limbs – with a smile they will hunger for more pain, own and foe’s. The most terrifying thing is to realize that such amorous and seductive people like Ardem can turn into bloodthirsty creature not from hate or envy, or to protect what dearest to them, but for pure pleasure.

During less peaceful times of our history some nations would count Ardem as a major war asset, managing military campaigns according to their mating seasons and population on each side. Though, most disastrously infamous battles were made when both side would send their numerous Ardem on each other, resulting only in a combined wave slaughtering every othertribe sistren around – Ardem berserks don’t attack one another as long as they can sense different prey around.

***

As a result of highly promiscuous lifestyle Ardem are generally bisexual and don’t hold common concepts of a family – when ready for a long relationship they assemble into groups of a dozen or more mutual spouses called Garappe, where together they share one bed, parent responsibilities of future eggs and household-financial problems... but especially bed. In such relationship Ardem don’t elude to secret affairs and dalliance: flirt is acceptable to find new spouses for Garappe, yet faithfulness is expected to the rest of relationship from now on, for a sole exception being participations in Carnal Rites within Ardemial Chapels of the Church of Thighs with the rest of familiar congregation. As well Ardem immunity system is untouchable by venereal diseases (which are so few and innoxious among other tribes anyway).

Ardem comprise of four distinct genetic groups: Ardem De are the most common and most lustful of them; Ardem Va are truly vicious – they often turn to violent side of inner nature instead of procreation, spending time hunting for Cults of Envy or Jealous Beastiary, hence they are genetic minority; Ardem Al are sanguineous in a different way – they are fascinated with feeling of pain and prefer very rough and extreme activities for body and mind, so if you don’t make them moan from pleasures of agony… then it will be you; Ardem Do are the shy ones (for their kin) – sexual drive is not as licentious, mating seasons are shorter and they can even bond to a single partner for a long standard marriage.

Unlike many other tribes, instead of commonly structured nose with nostrils Ardem have four spiracle-like orifices on their necks with “nasal” cavities surrounding trachea tube before connecting to it slightly below. Respiratory system, however, is still connected to Pharynx for voice modulation through use of airflow. Under primary eyes there are two smaller ones which can see ultraviolet light. Besides scalp Ardem are absolutely hairless. Syringe-like fangs designed to quickly deliver substance from venom glands in a swift bite, and in Ardem’s case it is an aphrodisiac fluid: compatible with most sistren tribes but highly potent thence dangerous.

Spinnerets located on each wrist under carpus, and are typically segmented into three orifices, each producing own filament. Silk glands located in forearms inner side and between bones. Combining filaments from both arms can produce silk thread strong enough to hold weight of own weaver, and when Ardem fully emptying silks glands they can produce a thread of such strength forty times longer than own body height. For more precise work on web Ardem use nails on hands to separate and move filaments around.

***

Ardem adore all bodies – because body is art. Comfortable with openly exhibiting own beauty and sensuality, they, as a widely spread tribe, set an example which sistren tribes quickly followed, and eventually Expressions of the Body were seen as meritorious since before preserved history (in reasonable suggestive limits of course, unless Revealing is imposed by religion or status). Expressions of the Body is an Ardemial founding philosophical principle – not sexual lust, but aesthetic love and appreciation of bodies granted to us by our Allmother, as arousing and hot as She intended. Our flesh is made of Her flesh, thus these bodies are not to be ashamed or hidden, but to be presented in all beauty for each other to admire, which also means duty of ours is keeping these bodies healthy and fair as they are given – a healthy mind in a gorgeous body. Evidently until middle Age of Crumbling Ardem were almost naked in good weather, wearing just sandals and loose loincloth, but in time other tribes influenced them too, and Ardem understood that clothes shall be, but not to conceal our bodies, no, they believe otherwise – clothes are first to complete and emphasize our gorgeousness, to add more flair and heat.

There was no peculiarity in Ardem migration patterns during Age of Crumbling, with a rapidly growing population they would settle on every new lands that was discovered. Ancient ruins all over Northern Continent suggest that even back then Ardem were already devoting themselves to faiths in Her Bottom and successfully captivating other tribes to join. Although it was forbidden by the Hegemony, Ardem kept praying in secrecy for two millennia.

After the Church of Thighs was established and second Angel of Love was pronounced as the Matriarch of Thighs in first century AA, Ardem flock to the Northern Continent where her teachings are spread wide, and avoid the Realms of Bosom where it is less welcomed. Though every Sacred Tribe worship their Aspect, Ardem are so passionate and dedicated to Angel of Love and Her Church, They all as much believe themselves to be her spouses and not jealous each other. As well it is hard to find any Ardem goods and services which are not adorned with Runes of Love or Trigons of Hips and Thighs.

Through spiritual discipline, prayers on Thighs and Carnal Rites, Ardem embrace and rejoice inner desires, as well as train abstinence and perseverance against them while contemplating lovemaking of others – means to tame oneself and able to repel these corporeal calls later when a calm decent mind is needed the most in a society full of tribes less libidinous. Thus it is common for Ardem to continuously lock and chastise own flesh outside of dwellings residence to not give in bodily impulses so easily (measures they still enjoy experiencing of course). Moreover, the Church of Thighs is taking care of Ardem whose carnal ardor is endangering even for own kin. They are shaving scalp clean to wear sacrosanct Gimp Garb, and either: surrenders oneself to surreptitious Horny Attics of Thigh Chapels where Angel of Love personally drain them of lusthood, or descent into the Forbidden Catacombs of the Golden City to hunt heinous Cult of the Worm… in any case, these Ardem are near to never to be seen again.

[bladengineer]

Can we got some more Blitzkrieg Boys stuff? Like their everyday life after the abbey, what carreer they would chose, relationship stuff, some more little quirks? (I just love your headcanons so much and you portrayed them so well on the BlitzBoys, so yea

hey anon, im fukin love you okay?

shgdjg THIS GOT REALLY LONG?? IDK MAN I THINK I TEARED UP A BIT BUT HEY HERE HAVE SOME BLITZBOYS AND WHAT I THINK HAPPENED DURING VFORCE

my biggest headcanon for them is, after the whole Abbey got shut down and all the boys were rescued, they ended up in the foster care system since they’re all underage after all – Tala fought tooth and nail to keep the four of them together, there was no way authorities could separate them, not on Tala’s watch

finding a good foster home for them was hard: years of training and conditioning in the Abbey made it hard for them to integrate themselves back into society where they could have normal lives – they were taught to get rid of every shred of emotion they had, Winning was everything and to Lose was the greatest humiliation possible

to ‘outsiders’ they were seen as nothing more than problem children and kids their age feared them – but they didn’t know, they had gone through years of punishment and harsh conditions, they don’t know what it means to be cared about, to be nurtured in a positive way, they didn’t trust adults, they didn’t trust anyone; it was them against the world

it wasn’t until Mr.Dickenson personally filtered them out of the system and brought them to a single foster mother, who was all around known to take many strays in – it was also the first time the boys were greeted by something else than apprehension and fear: kind eyes and a happy grin

building their own life with the freedom to to do as they pleased (within reasonable limits of course) was…a journey for them; naturally they had to visit a few people regularly too – therapists and private tutors, all funded by Mr.Dickenson, and it wasn’t always easy, their road to recovery was bumpy and loopy

but their foster mother wasn’t a quitter: she put tremendous effort into raising those boys with as much love and care she could give, it honestly baffled the boys, since they weren’t always kind to her – Tala especially, being the one who distrusted people the most and always shielded his teammates from any potential threat

yet…in the end, everything was worth it: Bryan started to regularly attend his anger management classes, Spencer stopped feeling unbearably tense around the house, Ian regained a childlike attitude and Tala? Tala found himself growing closer to his foster mother – it disturbed him for a while since he knew he already had a mother, somewhere out there, and there was this old feeling in him not wanting to replace her, but his foster mother wasn’t asking him to

“Family isn’t just blood, solnishka”

the boys were healing, it took time and it wasn’t always easy, but they were healing and they were having a good life – and it also meant the their foster mother ended up with four (4) full-fledged teenage boys that started to act like actual teenagers and that brought a whole new set of experiences

Bryan once came home drunk late at night and tried to sneak into the house, but got caught red handed by his foster mother who was awaiting him in the living room, disapproving frown on her face as she turned on the light next to seat she was sitting in – it was all very dramatic, Spencer likes to say that Tala got his melodrama all from her

*crashing sound from above*

Foster Mother from the kitchen: “IAN I TOLD YOU TO TRY OUT YOUR GADGETS OUTSIDE”

they boys started to get extremely petty towards each other, basically started to interact like literal siblings and it’s hysterical

Bryan: “Spence, if you take my shit without asking one more time i will tell the Boss Lady that it was YOU who broke her expensive vase with the hyacinths on it”

Spencer, horrified: “you wouldn’t dare–”

all of the boys have different names for their foster mother – Tala is a little shit and likes to call her Babushka just to tease her; Bryan, more or less the resident troublemaker, calls her Boss Lady; Spencer is overly polite and calls her Miss [first name], and Ian kinda copies Bryan most of the time, but he is the one who slips up the most and calls her Mom

at one point he stopped being embarrassed about it and fully uses it to his advantage

Ian: “MOM BRYAN IS THREATENING TO EAT ALL MY CEREAL”

Bryan: “DON’T LISTEN TO HIM HE’S LYING”

Ian: “AM NOT”

Bryan: “ARE TOO”

Foster Mother, appearing in a bathrobe, hair rolls in and face mask on: “what’s going on in here???”

Bryan & Ian: [screaming]

their foster mother is incredibly fond of them and uses plenty of pet-names, mostly also just to embarrass them, but usually she just goes The Pretty One (Tala), The Handsome One (Bryan), The Cute One (Spencer) and The Adorable One (Ian)

they’re all embarrassed

even worse is that they recognise who’s being called and just. automatically answer, it’s hilarious

they did have a few talks about the future with their foster mother – they haven’t thought too far ahead yet, too focussed on just living like normal teenagers, but they have expressed to try and attend a public school

mostly Ian has expressed interest; he loves his older brothers, but he low-key desires to have friends his own age too

they all dream of an even brighter future, to finally achieve their own goals and chase after dreams they thought long lost – it won’t always be easy, but they look forward to it, to that future

and it’s nice to know too that they’re not alone

that they have Family to come back to

[lollytea]

What do you think Flapjacks opinion on Willow is? Sure, I bet he likes how happy she makes Hunter but like, will he ever just cuddle with her? Or just nuzzle on top of her head while gardening? ( I also like to think he's the ultimate wingman for Hunter, besides Gus ofc.)

And do you think him and Clover get along well? I've seen some people ship Flapjack and her but I'm not sure what my opinion is on it overall.

A thing we've noticed is that Flapjack has interacted with Luz, Amity and Gus. But not directly with Willow. Flapjack pushed Hunter to socialize with Amity and Gus and inserted himself into the moment while he was talking with Luz. But when it comes to Hunter and Willow, Flapjack stays out of the way. So like there's absolutely nothing canon to determine how he feels about her. EXCEPT for their established personalities and motives, which honestly mesh perfectly.

Flapjack is almost entirely driven by the safety, wellbeing and happiness of Hunter and it's shown that the thing that earns his approval of other people is how they treat Hunter.

And like Willow?? She's kind to Hunter, she's affectionate with Hunter, she challenges Hunter, she inspires Hunter to be his best self. I'm pretty sure she's ticking every box on the list of traits Flapjack looks for in a friend for Hunter. (Unfortunately she does not carry crabapple claws in her pockets. But other than that, she's golden.)

But I feel like the most important thing is how protective she is. Willow is all about keeping her loved ones safe, as is Flapjack. And fortunately for them, they share a loved one.

Think of that scene in King's Tide where Willow catches Hunter out of the air but consider it from Flapjack's perspective. He was making a nose dive to save Hunter in that moment but he wasn't going to make it. But then in swooped Willow in the nick of time. You KNOW Flapjack was like "Oh YOU!! I LIKE YOU!!!"

Hunter feels safe around Willow and I like to think that not only does Flapjack pick up on it, but it also puts his own anxiety at ease. Protecting Hunter is his job obviously but it's nice to know that he doesn't have to be so vigilant if Willow is around.

Speaking of Flapjack and vigilance, it's my headcanon that he doesn't feel safe without Hunter. He can't sleep unless he's nearby. They are each others' guardians.

But one day Hunter is wandering around the Noceda household, calling his name. He eventually finds Willow in the garden, Flapjack fast asleep in the cup of her hands. And Hunter is just. Completely stunned. But then he just shrugs, figuring that it's actually not that surprising at all. If he feels completely safe around Willow, why wouldn't Flapjack?

But yeah Willow is so tender and Flapjack loves attention so you KNOW she would smother him with affection and he would eat it up. He's snuggle up in the crook of her shoulder while Hunter is preoccupied.

It makes me think of that one Riley comic where its not even huntlow centric but it has the kids watching TV and Clover is curled up on Hunter's head while Flapjack is on Willow. That shit is SO cute.

As for wingman Flapjack, I feel like, for the most part, he allows Hunter to take control of the situation. And even if its awkward and disastrous, Flapjack doesn't intervene because at least he's trying and being his real authentic self.

It's when Hunter hesitates to approach her or say the things he wants to say that Flapjack gets on his case about it. He doesn't force Hunter into anything he doesn't want to do, only pesters him to do the things he does want to do deep down. His method of getting Hunter to do things is "Pull hair - ???? - Profit."

Flapjack and Clover are friends!! It's not mentioned a lot but we gotta remember that all of the palismen (except maybe Ghost.) lived with Batqueen and were all in the same group for Palismen Adoption Day. Who knows how long they've all known each other. Could be over a century for all we know.

I dont ship palismen. They are strictly aro creatures in my mind. I see them as these little guys that are just so filled to the brim with love but not the kind of love that easily slots into any specific category (friendship, familial, romantic etc.) It's just LOVE yknow? They're fucking bursting with love. They love their witches, they love the people their witches love. Huge hearts and tiny brains. I love palismen.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 31

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L  Warnings: Language, smoking weed, shitty parenting, mentions of death A/N: more of a filler but it helps establish stuff. *unbeta'd

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 31: Drowning on Dry Land

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The week before her flight back, Matthew’s parents invited her over for dinner.

Waiting to greet them at the door was Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin. Matthew’s father, a Half-Maj, was a Potioneer while his mother, an Old-Maj, was a Court Scribe. They wore large, kind smiles as Mrs. Gaplin pulled her into a tight, crushing hug.

After pleasantries, she and Matthew kicked off their shoes while his parents ushered them to the dining room.

“How are you darling? '' Mrs. Gaplin asked, floating plates in their direction as everyone began helping themselves to food. “Matt wouldn’t stop talking about you since we knew y’were coming.”

She side-eyed Matthew who groaned loudly. “Did not!”

“Sure thing,” she added, which caused Matthew to slump in his chair as his parents laughed at him.

It was a nice, charming evening; filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations. His parents continued to gloat about Mathew’s achievements that he hadn’t told her. It caused him to almost get up and run out of the room from embarrassment before moving to boast about Y/N. Even Mr. Gaplin asked her regarding her OWLs which pleasantly surprised her.

A few times, Mr. Gaplin pressed a few cheeky kisses to his wife’s face as Matthew made loud retching noises.

“Disgusting!”

Mr. Gaplin laughed. “Ya sixteen. Suck it up.”

“But you’re still my baby!” Mrs. Gaplin cooed, getting up to collect the plates.

Matthew tried to look insulted but she could see the small smile that threatened his lips as jealousy nipped at her toes.

The next few days were spent staying at the Gaplin household. Matthew’s parents insisted constantly that she should stay over so they could utilize the little time they had left before leaving. At first, the idea made her feel intrusive. Although, her mother hadn’t returned to the brownstone house, preferring to sleep in the on-call rooms at the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. It quickly got lonely and boring before Y/N finally agreed. Besides, Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin were only around for breakfast and dinner - working for the day but never failed to return; always wearing larger smiles than the previous night.

They made her feel welcomed and warm - even taking her and Matthew to the local pictures. They included her in everything, even their trivia and board games after dinner.

It was quite the change compared to her family life.

Then an identical routine ensued. She would wake up, get ready for the day; spend hours with Matthew; then twilight fell as they stayed awake into the early hours of the morning.

The day before she was due to leave, she and Matthew ran up to his room after dinner. He went to lean on top of the small coffee table, rolling up a joint as she collected her possessions scattered around his room; not wanting to leave it for the last minute.

“Fancy some grass?” He asked in a poor British accent.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “But thanks love.”

Mathew’s smile turned bashful as he stood, turning on the radio in the background. She moved to open his window which was just above the roof of his shed as she stepped out with steady feet. Perching herself down on the blankets and pillows they hauled outside the night prior, she stared at the glowing city splayed in front. From the window, The Velvet Underground flowed softly.

Matthew proceeded to hop out, sauntering over as he threw a flirtatious wink.

“Brough this,” he said, tossing the camera he’d taken from her bag. She caught it as he nestled beside her and lit the joint; placed in his mouth. Billows of smoke clouded around them while she snapped a few photos of the view.

“Ya sure you gotta leave?” Matthew whined, embers of the end of the joint sparking with another huff. “Maybe you can smuggle me. Shove me into that trunk.”

She pulled the camera away from her face, inhaling the earthy, pungent scent. Her head felt a bit lightheaded from it. “A hardcore criminal at sixteen?”

Matthew was mildly amused until a troublesome look passed through his features. “Um — name something ya miss most about home.”

Home. What a funny word — place — feeling. Home was supposed to be something that made your heart glow, feel warm and happy — by that definition, a year ago home would’ve been her little house back in Toronto with the beautiful maple trees swaying in the backyard. Or home would’ve been Ilvermorny and its tall ivory walls. But now, London, or maybe just Hogwarts, had become her home. The scrolls around the Herbology greenhouse, the library, sneaking around past curfew; the Black Lake, Hogsmeade — Lily, James, Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, Regulus…

Unsure of what to say, she opted for, “You?”

Matthew rolled his eyes, bringing the joint to his lips. “Real charmer.” Then, smoke surrounded them. “But really.”

“Why?”

“C’mon! I need an answer! — I don’t know… say somethin’ like… lobstah.”

She chuckled. “Lobster? Really?”

“Or coffee from ya regular cafe.”

Deliberating it for a second, lips tugged up. “Coffee Crisp.”

He snorted. “A candy bar? Really?”

“Or Ketchup chips. Haven’t seen them in London yet.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

And then the silence returns but it makes Matthew shuffle in his spot. He blurted out, “Go — more brit insight.”

Y/N felt a bit hazy from the secondhand smoke. “More? You’ll get bored.”

“I won’t,” Matthew replied quickly, sounding oddly sincere. “Please, just… go on. Tell me everything.”

“Um… a friend of mine says crikey a lot. I think it just means to be mildly surprised? — They don’t say bloody or blimey as much as you’d think… Oh! Tea — they really drink that much tea. Also —”

Continuing, Matthew shut off again, going completely silent — not once speaking up or adding funny commentary; only staring at her, simply watching.

“Okay,” she turned to take the joint from his hand, “You're freaking me out. Spill, what's up?”

“S’nuthing.”

Whack!

“Jeez! Would ya stop wiv that! Gonna kill me…”

“Spill.”

“Fine! It’s just that…'' Matthew shifted, obscuring his face. Maybe if she didn’t feel so fuzzy, or if there wasn’t the smoke coming from the blunt or her small headache forming, she would’ve picked up on all the little signs. “It’s just —” he sighed, “I wanna hear ya talk — commit it to memory.”

“Obsessed with me? Not new.”

But that seemed to trouble him more. “It’s just… I don’t know if or when I’ll hear it again…” He looks up to the city in front. “Ya my… best friend. Could never forget ‘bout ya, but s’hard — keepin’ in touch.”

She pats him, encouraging and smiling. Her voice was hopeful, so much so that it made Matthew’s lip quirk up. “We’ll find each other. Always.” She said simply. “You and me, we’re like… salt and pepper. Soap and water — Hansel and Gretel!”

“Fuckin’ Dr. Seuss,” he smiled, that worried look fading away.

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The warm summer breeze flowed around them, just as the sun peeked above the airport. Expanse, clear skies with blue mingled with deep purples and pinks shimmered against the metal from the building.

“Gonna miss ya,” Matthew muttered into the crown of her head. Her mother didn’t want him to come, but Y/N simply ignored that request as he came to send her off.

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she joked but felt her throat become tight.

“Betta get goin’ — Doc’s lookin’ like she’s ‘bout to butcher me if ya don’t.”

She snickered, pushing Matthew’s shoulder as she picked up her bags, walking backwards while waving. “Write me!”

“Course I will! Until next time!”

“Till next time!”

Once the plane took off, awkwardness swelled among the two women. Not once had her mother said anything to her — not to apologize or see how she was doing — although they never really did talk much. Honestly, she half-expected her to leave her in New York with the Gaplins. Easy to dispose of her.

The next few days Y/N, poorly, attempted to fix her sleeping schedule. It was a miracle that she managed to get up before dinner as her head poked into the master bedroom.

She cleared her throat, feeling herself swaying in place. “Um — hi. I’m making dinner tonight.”

Her mother was dressed in a simple, yet sleek dress. She was bent over, putting on high heels as she looked up.

“The hospital is throwing a party for me — the surgery was a success.”

“That’s amazing! Er — will you be back for dinner though? It’s just that I leave soon and... two parties are better than one.”

She considered her for a long time, eyes mostly distracted by her hair slowly changing to a different colour.

“Sure. But I have to go now.”

“Right, sorry, have fun.”

Thudding down the stairs and the door clicking shut, she followed not too long after. Making her way to the kitchen, she picked up a dusty cooking book, blowing off the dust and cracked it open; flicking through the pages.

Deciding on the seemingly easy noodle dish, she rushed out of the house to the local grocery shop for ingredients. It would be the first time they would be spending any time together. It had to be perfect. But she overestimated that no matter how closely she stuck with the dishes’ instructions, the outcome was a disaster.

The noodles somehow were rock hard. The sauce she made looked grey and was chunky, similar to badly mixed concrete and it tasted horrid. At one point, even the stove exploded into flames as she had to grab her wand and use magic to extinguish the fire.

Potions... She could use a cauldron, use multiple ingredients, make some of the most complicated spells and even had tricks of her own to make the process easier but she couldn’t make a simple dish…

Her face screwed together as she glanced up to the clock; she was going to come home soon as the dinner she made was disastrous. She panicked, cleaning up everything in a rush and decided to order food.

Waiting patiently at the dinner table, her eyes fluttered up to the clock in anticipation. She felt giddy, a surge of excitement rattling throughout her bones at the prospect. Her mother wanted to spend time with her! And she should be home any minute.

But then a minute turned to two, then five, ten, twenty, thirty — then an hour ticked by.

And then another.

Y/N got up, her chair squeaking loudly. Losing all her appetite, she went to her room, sleeping in early.

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August 20th, 1976

Going through the potential NEWT courses she could take was the highlight of her day. The possibilities were endless.

Wanting to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations and most of all, Potions, left her excited for the school year.

But the more she thought about the upcoming school year or potential courses, she was left to contemplate what ther5 future entailed.

Was she ready to give up magic? Something that fundamentally altered her life and moulded her into what she was? Magic was her essence, something she developed and nurtured — but to put her life in danger…

Rethinking that word again: home… Was London her home? Was she willing to leave, move again to be safer? But practicing magic around the world these days for New-Majs was dangerous. Or the potential danger she would put her mother in if she continued with it?

But magic… Maybe home wasn’t necessarily a place — but rather something she carried. In all sense, magic made her heart glow, feel warm, safe and happy — it felt like what home was supposed to feel like. And the idea of being ripped away from it, forcing herself to live a normal, Muggle life…

Magic was home.

So die, but have what she cared and loved most was by her side or live a dull life without magic — ensuring her life would be miserable.

There was a clicking of shoes in the hallway that snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother came walking by.

Lips smushed shut into a tight line, still annoyed from the other night but was determined to spend some time with one another.

“I was planning to go to Diagon Alley for the first time — to get my textbooks... '' She stood awkwardly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I can’t,” she replied, so quickly that it had Y/N almost scoff in disbelief. “Work. But have fun.”

She sighed but still waved her off and said a small, ‘I love you, stay safe.’ Her mother only gave her a look, something unreadable and left without a word. With a heavy heart, she grabbed her purse filled with gold and left for Diagon Alley.

Passing through the Leaky Cauldron was an adventure in itself. The shabby, tiny pub was jammed with wizards and witches zipping by.

Diagon Alley was bustling with so much magic she could feel it pumping through her blood. Students were hypnotized by the shiny new Firebolt on display; others were giggling, running around with shopping bags while older witches and wizards took a scroll. Her head turned in every direction; walking into the Apothecary, a potions ingredients and book shop.

Emmeline was there. She gave a tight-lipped smile which she returned.

Emmeline by every definition was nice, extremely kind and neither girl ever had a problem with the other. James was the problem and Y/N would gladly stay out of their feud.

Passing clamouring students, she managed to get all her supplies but stopped in front of the potion ingredients. She took a few minutes, flicking through the Advance Potions textbook and grabbed everything listed needed for most of the potions.

She made her way around Diagon Alley, going through many shops. The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling with books and materials. She spent more time than necessary there but it was beautiful.

As she was paying for her Herbology textbook, a large boom! rumbled the ground. Y/N took her bags, ready to sprint to the Leaky Cauldron but the shouts caught everyone’s attention.

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” A crowd of witches and wizards shouted. Their wands were transformed into microphones as a few shot fireballs up in the air.

“What’s happening?” A woman asked an old wizard. He only shook his head, grabbing a copy of the Daily Prophet, handing it to the witch.

On the front page, there were moving photos of people protesting, similar to the wizards and witches currently shouting.

‘Protests Break out in Light of Muggleborns and Halfbloods Burned Alive

Voldemort and his followers have been attacking Muggleborn and ‘blood traitor' families with the usage of fire. By burning them alive, or their houses. They bonded the witch or wizard with magic, making it impossible to apparate or leave their houses. Their broken wands were found at the scene.

Since then, protests all around Britain and Scotland have broken out. The Ministry of Magic —’

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” The crowd chanted.

Rage filled every inch of her body as she stomped out of Diagon Alley.

If she wanted to stay in the magical world, she had to be the greatest at whatever she did, because if she wasn’t, someone of her status was never going to get anywhere.

Magic was home, and she wasn’t going to let them take it from her. She didn’t want to surrender. They weren’t going to take that away from her.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Immediately after Diagonal Alley, she began working; taking in her thoughts from earlier to heart.

Making sure to cover any windows from prying eyes, Y/N fiddle with first with new charms. Still unassured by her abilities in Charms, she considered taking another class before realizing all the different routes it led to. To become a Healer, Auror or Potioneer, she needed Charms.

Multiple charms backfired, causing them to ricochet off the walls, leaving a dent or chipping the wallpaper.

After trying out more than half the Charms in the book, there was one spell in particular that she attempted to cast many times, but without fail, was never able to properly cast it. Frustrated, her hand made a sharp flick and the spell spurted out instantly.

She tried again with the same hand gesture. To her astonishment, the charm produced easily. Quickly, she jotted down the note in her book.

Next, she glossed over her Transfigurations and Defense Against the Dark Arts book until her eyes caught onto the word: werewolf.

She learned briefly about werewolves, but that was in third year. And now that she knew a werewolf, it would be good to rehash it.

A werewolf, also known as a Lycanthrope, is a non-magical or magical being who transforms under the rising of the full moon. However, non-magical beings have a greater risk of dying rather than turning.

As the name suggests, werewolves are closely related to the non-magical animal, wolves. However, they have distinct characteristics that make them easily identifiable from wolves.

She flipped the page.

Wolfsbane flowers are poisonous to the non-magical world but it has been proven to have no effects on werewolves like they do on wolves. Werewolves are immune from the poison they emit and there are reports that Wolfsbane flowers help alleviate symptoms.

She underlined that section.

It’s a uniquely magical illness known to spread by saliva and blood. Werewolves are dangerous, blood-thirsty beasts — she flipped the page.

They cannot choose to transform and will no longer retain their human mind. Given the opportunity, they would slaughter their loved ones — flipped the page.

A mixture of powdered silver and dittany applied to bites help seal bite wounds. It’s also commonly put in liquid and digested in anticipation of full moons to help with the symptoms of transforming.

Y/N’s face scrunched as she continued to read.

There is no known cure Potion used to help treat lycanthropy.

She felt oddly intrusive knowing parts about Remus’ condition. But then questions arose. How were there no Potions of any kind there to help werewolves during their transformation?

Pushing the thought away, she turned to the cauldron, picking a potion to brew. They all were fairly easy, some she’d even done before just by playing around. But one potion that grabbed her attention was Draught of Living Death. Even at Ilvermorny, that potion was notoriously difficult.

Starting up the cauldron, she grabbed hold of the sopophorous bean. However, it kept jumping when she tried to cut it. She quickly resorted to another method, running down to her kitchen and grabbing the handheld garlic press, placing the bean inside, squishing it down as so much juice spurted out, even going all over her clothing.

The potion turned into the light lilac like suggested. But then as she stirred, her potion quickly became ruined as she restarted immediately.

Hours ticked by; several items in her room were Transfigured into cauldrons, as she poured the existing solution into the nine other cauldrons as she conducted her experiment.

Stirring counterclockwise was a sham, so she stirred clockwise. Nothing, the potion went bad. The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise and then clockwise, alternating between every stir. It showed promising progress before it turned a bright red after the seventh stir, bubbling over.

The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise, then clockwise after the seventh stir as the potion turned a pink pale. That’s what the book said would happen. She quickly cleared the rest of the cauldrons, pouring in the pink liquid just in case.

She continued to stir until it became a clear liquid. Surely, that was good enough but she could never be sure. After all, she didn’t know if this was what it was supposed to look like.

Deeply immersed, she hadn’t realized how late it got.

She laid on her bed, her light on as she read the scribbles on the margins of the books she'd penned. The textbook was outdated and everything she’s written down, there were easier ways to perform spells, create Potions and more. The other books must’ve been outdated too.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 22nd, 1976

Today, her attention was drawn to her Herbology textbook as she flipped right to the medicine section. Y/N had sneakily stolen a few of her mother’s medical journals as she scribbled down notes.

She flicked through the diagrams. Wizards and No-Majs were different when it came to their bodies and sickness, she knew that, but their anatomy was still the same.

An opera played in the background as she sat in front of the television. It filled the silence as her mother came from behind her, creeping her way closer to the door.

Y/N called out from where she sat. “Care to join me?”

“Can't, work.” She grunted out.

She placed the pen down, full attention drawn to her. “I only have a few days until school starts… you can’t spend some time?”

Her mom wasn’t looking at her, ostensibly staring at the floor, anywhere other than her face.

“It’s not that interesting, but um - I need help with medical terms and illnesses. You’re the best at that!”

“I can’t,” she said roughly. “Can't you see? You have to stop bothering me when I’m busy.” And then she left again, leaving her alone. Y/N would’ve been more bothered had she not been so focused on her studies.

There was a pattern.

In the Herbology textbook, in the werewolf section, there were a few ingredients used to help alleviate symptoms of Lycanthropy.

Dittany, Powered silver, Powdered Moonstone, Aconite…

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 26th, 1976

“Do you want to —” “Work.”

“But you always have work… can’t you take some time off?”

“You know it’s important to me. Why do you keep trying to limit that?”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 29th, 1976

She was partially through her Potions and Charms textbook. It was all she could fixate on.

Deciding to take a break, Y/N went to stretch, getting up to talk to her mom who again, was getting ready to leave. She opened the honey-coloured wood draw close to the door. She pulled out a set of keys, fixing her appearance in a nearby mirror.

She had already opened the door.

“Hey mom, I was thinking of getting lunch… Will you be back soon?”

But, there was faint muffling outside the door.

“Ready for our date?”

Y/N, desperate, seized hold of her wrist, pleading. “Please, I leave in a day.”

“I'll make it up to you,” mom replied, “I promise.” And then, the door clicked shut.

Again.

She stared at the door, trying to regulate what she was thinking.

What made them worthy of her time when their’s were limited.

Robotically, Y/N turned to walk to her room, her hip bumped into the drawer which hadn’t been fully closed. Her eyes flew to it, about to push it in as she caught a flash of white.

Yanking it open, she swore her heart could’ve shattered. White envelopes filled the draw; her familiar handwriting scribbled on top of each letter. She picked one up, twisting it over to the flap.

It was unopened.

She picked up another. Unopened.

Then another. Unopened.

Unopened.

All of them were unopened, sealed. Hardly tampered with and there was hardly a wrinkle.

Was there something wrong with her? Something so disgraceful that made her so disgusting that people kept forgetting - pushing her away? Like an insidious disease.

Was she truly that unloveable? That much of a nuisance? What made someone else so much more important than her?

It was too much to process but if she had to describe the feeling, it was like drowning on dry land.

Whatever home was, it shouldn’t feel like this: cold, lonely, sad.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary (+ a bit of history bc i didn’t realize how many ppl didn’t actually understand what I was talking about in other chaps):

Coffee Crisp = a very popular chocolate bar sold in Canada. It was a variation of a treat made by a company from the UK. It was briefly introduced to the UK in the 60s but was pulled back because people thought it was too similar to Kit Kat. From what I know, Coffee Crisp is not commonly found in England (I've never seen it in stores) but it’s sold in Scotland.

Candy bar = US term for chocolate bar / chocolate

Grass = during the 60s - 70s, the term 'grass' was very popular slang for weed in New York bc it featured in vogue.

And yes, the British do drink that much tea.

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[naceisonthecase]

Summary: Basically, red string of fate but make it supernatural.

Word Count: 5,218

[Read on AO3]

@aceandnancy @bughead-bones @ismokechurros @nacegolden @nocturne-alley

🔎

The Red String of Fate: Fact or Fiction? The title of the article read. Nancy couldn’t read anymore, not even if it was Bess who had sent it and was most likely going to broach the subject as soon as she came downstairs. Grabbing her bag off the hook she left her room and headed down the stairs.

“Good morning Nancy!” Her dad and Ryan echoed as she entered the kitchen. This was still taking some time to get used to, her two dads side by side drinking coffee and cooking breakfast as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Which, Nancy thought, would explain the state and smell of the kitchen.

“Morning,” Nancy replied. She moved through the kitchen toward Carson, letting him wrap his arms around her. As he moved away Nancy spied a circle of red around his pinky finger. “What happened to your finger?” Her eyes wandered away from the mark on his finger, the same size and shape of his wedding ring, scanning his face for any sort of incriminating clues.

“Must have burned it when helping Ryan cook.” He said, nonchalantly. He shook his hand as if that would erase the mark.

“That’s unusual for a burn. It’s a perfect circle.” Nancy had grabbed her father’s hand and was turning it back and forth to observe it more completely. “Does it hurt?”

Carson wrestled his hand back. Placing both hands on Nancy’s shoulders he held his daughter at arm’s length. “It’s just a burn, Nancy. Nothing serious, nothing supernatural.” Another thing that would take some getting used to -- her dad knowing about the weird, paranormal happenings around their seaside town. “And, no it doesn’t hurt. Not even a little.”

Nancy nodded at her father, not quite convinced, and he released her. She wandered over to a cabinet and grabbed a mug to pour herself a cup of coffee. The action caused a small red object to be knocked off the countertop. Her coffee momentarily forgotten, Nancy bent down and picked it up. A spool of red thread. How did it get there? Who did it belong to?

“What’s this?” She showed the spool to Carson. He had started dishing himself up a plate of food and squinted at the object in Nancy’s hand.

“It's a spool of thread. Probably belonged to your mother.”

“Mom didn’t sew.”

Carson shrugged. “We’ve reached our before breakfast question quota. Can we discuss it after we eat?”

Nancy put the spool back on the counter and turned to Ryan. He was wearing an apron and a gaudy chef’s hat standing by the stove with a spatula in hand.

It would have been comical if it wasn’t so disastrous.

“You want some,” Ryan asked proudly, showcasing his burnt scrambled eggs as if they were a masterpiece.

Nancy screwed up her face. “I think I’ll pass.” She said, finally pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“They aren’t as bad as they look or smell.” Nancy turned to see Bess seated at the breakfast table. She had a plate of burnt eggs, bacon, and toast in front of her and was smiling around a mouthful of food.

“Nancy, you have to eat something,” Carson said, passing by Nancy to seat himself down by Bess.

“I’m fine with just coffee. I’ll just get something at The Claw,” she said, shrugging off her father’s recommendation. She snuck a look at her phone to check the time. “Speaking of, Bess, I think we should get a move on. You know how George is when we’re late.”

“You think it’s a good idea to go back to work so soon after…” The rest of Carson’s sentence faded away, the implication of after hanging heavy in the air.

“Yeah, Nancy, George ok’d your extended absence. Just as she did Ace’s.” Bess was quick to add, filling the silence.

At the mention of his name, Nancy’s hand tightened around her mug, her stomach spinning. She put the mug back down on the counter. She hadn’t mentioned her dreamscape or the part each of them played in the journey to any of her friends. The closest she had come was Ace, and that hadn’t gone as planned.

“It's been weeks. I need some semblance of normalcy back in my life, and that means,” Nancy swung her bag over her shoulder so it hung across her body, “returning for my usual shift at The Claw.”

“Remember, you can come home at any time.”

The smoke alarm chose then to blare its angry head. Carson rushed off to the smoke alarm, ordering Ryan to begin opening windows around the house.

“And, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Nancy said to Bess, speaking louder over the wails going off in her house.

Bess nodded, just as happy to escape the chaoticness of the household as Nancy was. She reached for a napkin that was laying on her lap, dabbing at her lips politely as if she were dining at a fancy restaurant, and quickly went off to get her belongings.

🔎

“Don’t you think it’s quite romantic though?” Bess said, continuing the conversation they were having on the ride over about the article she had sent Nancy.

“It sure is something.”

Bess gasped, a hand flying to her chest in shock. “You don’t believe in soulmates?” She nearly screeched.

“Love I believe in,” Nancy said, approaching the door to The Claw, “but soulmates…there’s no proof.” Nancy pushed open the door to The Claw. Her gaze travelled over the room -- she spotted George and Nick at the bar. With Ace.

Ace was home? He wasn’t supposed to be home for another two weeks.

Nancy felt her throat constrict, she stood frozen in place. She thought facing him with these new fully realized feelings would be difficult enough standing on his front stoop, a rehearsed speech at the ready, but that didn’t hold a candle to seeing him unexpectedly here amongst their friends in a familiar environment and completely lost for words.

Ace looked up at the door at the sound of the chime. He beamed when he saw his two friends but his eyes remained on Nancy longer, Bess having already sauntered into the restaurant and over to the bar, wrapping her arms around Ace from behind, Ace’s hand coming up to pat her arm. His concentration broke off Nancy for the time being.

Nancy took a deep breath, then crossed the threshold.

Out of Bess’s hold, Ace was off his stool and was coming towards her before Nancy was even halfway across the restaurant. She froze in her tracks.

“Hey, Nancy!”

“Hey, Ace! Uh, how was your trip? How is...how is Amanda?” She felt a sudden prick against her finger, nothing more than a needlepoint but it made her look down anyway. Her finger was snagged in her bag buckle and she yanked it free.

“It was great.” She heard Ace saying And looked back up. “Amanda is good too.” It was as if he wanted to say more but shut his mouth instead.

They were such simple answers but it made her heart ache. The throbbing in her finger intensified and she jammed her hands into her coat pockets, slowly moving away.

“I should put my things in the back,” Nancy announced, walking away.

“Wait, Nancy.” He reached out a hand to stop her progress, his hand lingering on her arm. “How are you doing?”

She took a deep breath in before answering. “I’m alright.” She nodded, a faint smile tracing her lips. “Just recovering from nearly dying. So, you know, the usual.”

Ace nodded, not taking his hand or eyes off her. The pain in her finger had subsided, it was nothing more than pinched flesh after all. She was only thinking about it because she couldn’t allow her thoughts to settle on how Ace’s touch felt on her arm. Like his touch was meant to be there.

She gulped, trying to find her voice, and pulled away. “Ace, I need to go.”

She saw visible disappointment, concern, and curiosity flash through his eyes. Then she turned and disappeared into the kitchen. He stood there watching after her until Bess called him back to the bar to fill them in on his romantic getaway, and as a loyal platanchor he willingly obliged.

🔎

Nancy sat on the bench in front of the set of lockers. The kitchen was empty and she could spend the short time before her shift alone. And, Ace wasn’t yet in the kitchen, watching her from above.

He was with Amanda, and according to him, they were doing good. She couldn’t have these thoughts. She had to forget about this crush, or whatever it was, and move on. No matter how much she wanted to run her fingers through his gorgeous locks, again, or kiss him, and not an almost dreamscape kiss this time, she couldn’t act on it. She wouldn’t. She would just have to figure out a way to get through this shift without these feelings interfering and then figure out how to get over him.

“Drew, get your ass out here. We need you.” George called from the dining area signalling that her shift had begun.

She stood from the bench and smoothed down the front of her uniform, composing herself before heading out into the thick of it. Her first day back in weeks.

Ace was entering the kitchen as she was leaving, the two were in a dance for access to the door. He moved to his left, she moved to her right. Then vice versa. Eventually Ace allowed her enough room to scoot by, laughing. She felt his eyes on her back as she moved past. What greeted her on the other side was the typical Saturday lunch rush. She did want normalcy, she remembered, as she dug into her pocket for her notebook and flipped it open to a clean sheet to begin taking orders.

From there the hours became a blur of jotting down orders, filling and refilling water glasses, and polite smiles that she didn’t wholeheartedly feel. It was filled with lobster rolls, fried calamari, fish and chips, and The Claw’s famous clam chowder being passed from the kitchen to the awaiting customers. She was more or less in a state of workflow uncommon to her gig as a waitress when Nick stopped her, pulling her aside.

“Nancy, your hand looks serious.”

It had begun to hurt more, a constant pounding but she continued to play off as best she could even though the pain was getting to her. She looked down and saw that her finger was scratched up and bleeding, and a rash was beginning to spread through her entire hand.

“I must have been itching it. Not a big deal.”

George and Bess had gravitated towards her too and Ace had moved to the serving hatch, a cloth hung over his shoulder and his arms resting on the ledge. Great a full audience!

“I know first aid,” Ace piped up eagerly from the hatch, “I was a Boy Scout”

Nancy’s heartbeat quickened but she kept her voice steady as she said, “as much as I appreciate your concern, and I do, it’s just a few scratches. I can easily wash it up in the bathroom and be back in a minute.”

“You are not serving food with that,” George pointed in the direction of Nancy’s hand, a look of horror on her face.

“Oh, Nancy, it’s dripping!” Bess exclaimed, hands fluttering to her mouth. A few patrons close enough to be in earshot turned to see what the commotion was about.

Sure enough, during the few seconds of the conversation, it had gotten worse and now a green goo was emanating from the wound.

“Oh, ew,” Nancy said, extending her other hand quickly just in time to catch a glob before it fell to the floor.

“Take Ace up on his offer,” George ordered, nodding towards the kitchen, “then go home. The rest of you back to work.”

Nancy sighed. Keeping her mind preoccupied and not focusing on her crush on Ace hadn’t worked and now she was going to be in a room alone with him. Unprepared and in unknown territory. Then she winced and pulled her hand toward her chest. Her hand was in excruciating pain and she had to admit that it needed tending to. So, with a groan, she turned to meet him.

🔎

Ace was sitting on the bench searching around in the first aid kit when Nancy arrived in the back room.

“Let me take a closer look,” he said when he saw her paused at the top of the steps. He tucked his hair behind his ear, watching her descend the stairs and closing the distance between them.’God, that hair!’ she thought as she sat down beside him and extended her hand for him to inspect. “It looks like an infection. A gnarly one.”

“Gnarly?” Nancy said an awkward laugh in her voice. He smiled. She looked away. She couldn’t fall back into their usual behaviour no matter how easy and familiar it was.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing we can’t fix.” Ace said, picking up and ripping into the small packet, unfolding the wipe into the perfect square with such care.

She found herself staring too long at his hands as he took her own and wiped away the blood and grime from her skin. She flinched, shaking herself away from the memory of those fingers entwined in hers.

���Does it sting?” Ace’s hands slowed. Nancy shook her head. “Good,” he said, ripping into another packet. “Because this isn’t a one-and-done job.”

In the end, it took seven of the tiny wipes to clean the blood and green goopy mess. During which, Nancy had gone through all the symptoms she’d experienced with the lust butterflies, many times over. Although, fortunately for her, under better control. By the time Ace was applying a thin layer of an antibiotic ointment to the scratches she was wondering if he could feel how fast her pulse was racing, how sweaty her hand was in his or if he could see the heat upon her cheeks, and if he did, did he assume it was just a side effect from the infection or something more? After he secured the bandage in place he dropped his hands to his lap.

“All done.” He said, proudly. He admired his handiwork for a moment then looked up, meeting Nancy’s eye.

The two of them shared an extended moment of eye contact, his eyes so blue and portraying a deepness that many didn’t know the extent of, an ocean she was falling into. She scrambled to her feet at once conscious of how close she had gravitated to him. She had been practically sitting in his lap.

“Uh, thanks, Ace. It feels better already.” She felt herself falling back into those eyes, and pulled away before it could last any longer by heading for her locker. “I should be getting home.”

“I can give you a ride.” Ace said. Nancy popped off her lock and turned to look behind her. Ace was still on the bench, his hands balled together in his lap. He was rubbing his thumb against his other hand, watching her, eager for her to accept.

“It’s fine, Ace,” Nancy said. “I can walk. Bess can drive my car home.” She proceeded to shimmy into her jacket, careful not to upset her bandaged finger and fanned out her hair that had been trapped behind the collar. She then reached into her pocket for her car keys, putting them into her empty locker and writing a quick note, slipping it through the slates of Bess’s locker.

“Are you mad at me?”

Nancy faced Ace, her hands stilled on her coat buttons. “No--no I’m not mad at you.” She couldn’t take that sad, puppy dog-eyed look and busied herself with her coat.

“Then why have you been avoiding me all day?”

Nancy thought back on her shift as she continued with the buttons. When Ace was at the serving hatch she would wait until he was back at the sink before continuing her job. When she was in the kitchen she would ignore his calls and waves for her attention, And, if he was out in the dining area fetching something or chatting with George, Nick, or Bess she would take the longer route to where she was going. It hurt to stay away. It almost felt as if she was being pulled in his direction but she fought against that feeling.

“I--I wasn’t -- I haven’t been avoiding you.” Nancy lied.

“And, you’re letting Bess drive your car? She still drives on the wrong side of the road.”

“You should keep Florence here,” Nancy said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “For when you pick up Amanda from the hotel.”

“Um, Nancy, actually about that.” Ace started. He stood from the bench in an attempt to stop her but she had already made her exit through the back door.

Outside, Nancy leaned back on the wall of The Claw. Her eyes shut.

When did this become so hard?

Ace was her best friend. But she had to put a kibosh on these thoughts before it ruined what they had. And, luckily for her, she had a mystery on her hands to do just that. Literally.

🔎

Nancy hadn’t walked home. Instead, she had made the trek to The Historical Society. She had let herself in and found Hannah doing inventory.

“I need your help,” Nancy said after acquiring Hannah’s attention. She had her bandaged hand raised. When she had left The Claw it was, as she had told Ace, feeling significantly better but by the time she had reached The Historical Society the pain level was off the charts and the green goo was seeping through the bandaging. And, she was beginning to feel faint.

Hannah was at her side at once, immediately leading her over to a chair. She re-cleaned and bandaged the wound and handed Nancy a high-strength painkiller and a glass of water, which dulled the pain a bit. Hannah sat down across from her to hear the events that lead to this predicament.

“Hand me your bag.” Hannah requested after Nancy finished detailing the story. “I’m going to test the buckle for any supernatural or natural causes of this infection.” Nancy did as she was told, but the short litmus paper-type test turned up nothing of concern.

“Could it be something from the lockboxes, something I let out when I got the shroud? Which, again, I profusely apologize for.”

Hannah was silent for a moment, in thought. “This is nothing like anything I recall seeing or hearing about before. But we can take a look.” Hannah got up from the table and returned with an armload of gathered papers, records, and books that could be of use.

That had been four hours ago and still, there were no answers. And, her finger was again protesting loudly.

“I’m sorry, Nancy.” Hannah placed a hand on the younger woman's uninfected hand and squeezed it.

“It’s alright. We tried.” Nancy reassured her. “Actually, Hannah, while I’m here could we discuss something else?”

“Anything.”

Right now Nancy needed motherly advice. And, after losing a mother, a grandmother, a potential step-mother, and learning about her biological mother’s death all in less than a year, Hannah Gruen was the last maternal figure she had.

Nancy took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow exhale. “Have you ever had a crush on someone that wasn’t available?”

“Yes, I have. My best friend.”

“What did you do about it?”

“I told them.”

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up. “You told them?” She said in disbelief. “Even though there was no chance you’d be together? Weren’t you worried you were risking your friendship?”

Hannah shook her head. “I was at the beginning. But, it ended up being better for the both of us that I told the truth. The truth holds power.”

The truth holds power, that was something Nancy believed too.

“Thanks.” Hannah gave Nancy’s hand another squeeze, then she got up from the table to return to her work.

Nancy felt a sudden weight in her coat pocket. Reaching in she pulled out the spool she had found in her kitchen that morning. She stared at it for a few seconds in bewilderment. How had it magically appeared in her pocket when she had left it on the counter before she left for The Claw? The longer she stared at it the object and the colour became familiar for some reason, something that Bess was talking about. Nancy dug her phone out of her other pocket and opened it. The article that Bess had sent her was still on the screen. The red string of fate. Nancy scanned the article.

‘According to Japanese legend,’ she read, ‘there is a thread that originates from the heart and extends through our pinky finger connecting us to those that we are fated to meet.’ Nancy looked down at her finger. The infected finger, the one now covered in bandages, was her pinky. The red mark her dad swore was a burn wound its way around his pinky. ‘It is said that no matter how much you stretch or tangle the invisible red string it can never be broken.’

Nancy recalled how her finger felt better when feelings of attraction were coursing through her body when she was in the back room with Ace and had gotten worse when that attraction was being suppressed, as she was trying to do the entire day. How she had felt that strange pull whenever she was near him as if being pulled closer by a thread.

So much for forgetting these feelings. They were as much a part of her as her traumas.

“Hannah,” Nancy called, and the owner of The Historical Society appeared in her office doorway, “I think I know what this is.”

Nancy placed the spool on the table and handed her phone to Hannah so she could read through the article herself. She recounted for Hannah finding the mark on her dad’s finger. Him downplaying it as a burn.

Nancy’s eyes widened, as a thought occurred to her. “I need to see if he’s alright.”

“You check on your dad, and I’ll look further into this,” Hannah said, handing Nancy her phone back. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

Nancy grabbed her bag off the table and ran out of The Historical Society. Her phone clutched in her hand, she dialled her home number. Carson didn’t answer after the first or second ring and the worry began to build in Nancy until her stomach ached. When he did pick up on the third ring he could hear him talking to someone in the background. Ryan she presumed.

“Did you happen to touch the spool? The one I knocked off the counter this morning.”

“Hello to you too,” Carson replied sarcastically. He covered the receiver but she could still make out him saying “It’s Nancy.” to Ryan. They had a snippet of a side conversation and then she could hear the sound of the speakerphone being turned on.

This wasn’t the time for the speakerphone.

“What were you saying?” Carson asked and Nancy repeated herself. “I kicked it off the stairs by accident, picked it up and put it on the kitchen counter. Is this important for something sleuthing-related?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Nancy said, putting an end to that line of conversation. She decided to change her tactic to avoid his growing suspicion. “Hey, by the way, how’s your hand?”

“Same as the last time you asked.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you soon.”

“You’re coming home?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a long day.” Nancy ended the call and dropped her phone into her pocket. She slowed her pace, suddenly feeling weak and dizzy. Her worry catching up to her.

She had nothing to worry about. Her dad was fine. Good even, he seemed to enjoy having Ryan around. Maybe she was wrong about this lead and the spool hadn’t caused the infection. But that still brought to mind why she had found it in her pocket. Nancy caught herself itching her finger over the bandage as she thought this over. The wound had begun leaking through the bandages again and she stopped her itching.

Suddenly her phone began ringing and she took it back out to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Nancy,” it was Nick who answered the phone, “you have to return to The Claw ASAP.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

There was a shuffling as the phone was passed between hands. Now it was George’s voice on the other end. “It’s Ace, he’s caught whatever weird finger fungus you have.”

No, this was definitely the spool.

🔎

Nancy got back to The Claw in record time. Although it was not yet eight o’clock the restaurant was empty of patrons and only Nick and George could be seen in the dining area.

“They’re in the back,” Nick called as soon as Nancy passed through The Claw’s doors.

Ace was sitting on the bench, Bess knelt in front of him pressing a damp cloth to his face. “Oh, Nancy, you’re back!” She exclaimed once she saw her.

Ace turned. He was pale, too pale, showing off dark bags under his eyes and a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, soaking through his clothes. And, his pinky was just as green and goopy as hers was. Despite this, he smiled at the sight of her. Nancy threw her bag to the side and knelt beside Bess.

“I’ll give you two some time alone,” Bess said, handing Nancy the wet cloth, then she exited the backroom.

Her phone then decided to ring. She snuck a look at the caller ID. “It’s Hannah.” She said to Ace. “I should take it.” Getting to her feet she walked a few paces away to take the call.

“I was looking through my photocopies of the Women in White’s spellbook,” Hannah explained after Nancy accepted the call, “and found a spell similar to this red string of fate curse.”

“This isn’t exactly the Women in White’s MO.” The moment she voiced it she knew. “It’s Temperance’s.”

“I was thinking the same thing. She’s changed the spell in some way. To only hex those who haven’t found or confessed to their destined partner. If they have it shows up only as a red mark around their pinky, no infection.”

The red mark showed her dad had met his soulmate, her mom, and even though she was gone she was still his soulmate.

“The bad news does remain the same,” Hannah continued, “when the infection gets to the heart both destined partners die.”

Nancy swallowed hard and looked back at Ace. He was looking back at her. This time when they shared a long moment of eye contact she didn’t avert her eyes. Her heart pounded. “Is there a cure?” Nancy felt her voice crack on the final word.

“Nothing that I’ve found yet, but I’ll keep looking.”

There was no discernable cure. Ace was running out of time. And, because this curse had connected the two of them, so was she.

Nancy thanked Hannah and hung up, gravitating back to Ace, and sitting by his side. She entwined her hands with his cold, clammy ones. Not caring how the goop squelched between their fingers. It had made her feel better when she was at her worst when they were unattaching the wraith from feeding on her life force, and she wanted to show the same compassion to him. The longer they sat there, the worse her symptoms got until she was the same feverish mess that he was.

She held his hand as tight as she could, ignoring all the butterflies fluttering inside her. “This is my fault,” Ace parted his chapped lips to protest but Nancy silenced him. “No, that’s the truth.”

This reminded her of what Hannah had told her back at The Historical Society. Truth has power. Maybe confessing would lessen the curse.

She couldn’t look at him as she spoke instead looking over his shoulder as she recited a modified version of the script she had planned weeks previously. “In New York, I had this dreamscape experience with you at the bluffs. It was -- it was powerful and I felt things. For you. At first, I thought that it was the wraith manipulating how I felt but it wasn’t. I-- I know that now. And, I know you’re with Amanda and I don’t want to ruin that. And, right now I should be my first priority and put relationships on the backburner. And, I know this could risk everything we have, but, I needed -- I needed to tell you.”

Ace was silent, and he removed his hands from hers. Nancy was preparing herself for the worst, for Ace to say that he didn’t want to be friends with her anymore. That she should stay out of his and Amanda’s relationship. She frantically wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself for what was coming.

“And, you don’t need to reciprocate. You’ve--you’ve become very special to me and I--I can’t lose you.”

“Nancy, slow down,” Nancy looked tearfully into his eyes, stopping her unconscious stream of thought, and he grabbed her hand again. Some of his colour had returned and the dark circles under his eyes weren’t as pronounced. “Amanda broke up with me.

Nancy gulped. “She did what now?” She hadn’t expected this.

“She said I wasn’t all in. And, she’s right. I’m not. So, she stayed behind in Portland.” Ace squeezed their conjoined hands. “And, you’re right too. Your first priority should be yourself right now. You shouldn’t be jumping into a relationship with me or anyone else until you're ready. But, I’m always going to be by your side. Nothing will change that.”

A sudden green smoke filled the room making Nancy and Ace cough. When enough smoke cleared away, and they were able to get a good look at each other, Nancy noticed Ace’s pinky had healed, good as new, and quickly removed her bandages. Except for the line of scratches, it was as if nothing had happened in the first place.

George, Nick, and Bess rushed into the back room, waving the smoke away with their hands that was drifting towards them as it drifted to the kitchen windows.

“What the hell is going on back here?” George said, “We smelled smoke.”

“It’s the tail-end of Temperance’s soulmate curse,” Nancy responded.

When each of her friends looked back at her with confused and shocked expressions she unclasped her hands from Ace’s and stood to face her friends. She had another truth to reveal.

“Temperance is back. She used my blood from her machine to return. Now, she’s somewhere in Horseshoe Bay. Waiting. Trying to learn about me. About us. About this town. So she can destroy it.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Ace said, coming up to join her. “How are we going to kick this bitch out of our house?”

Nancy smiled at him.

Maybe there was something about this soulmate thing after all.

[happyandticklish]

Silent Laughter

Notes: It has come to my attention that I have written nothing for Shincelty, despite the two of them being one of my favorite parings on that show, and I have decided to right that wrong today. 

Summary: Shinra proposes an experiment and Celty deals with her own inner doubt.

Usually, Celty didn’t mind the fact that she couldn’t speak.

It had its downfalls, of course. Pulling her phone out every time she wanted to communicate even the simplest of concepts wasn’t ideal, and could be highly frustrating at times. However, she had found over the years that there weren’t many moments when she needed to speak. Living with Shinra meant that conversations tended to carry themselves, even if she never spoke a word. His bubbly enthusiasm for everything more than made up for her monotonous silence.

There were moments, though, when she found the block highly aggravating.

That day brought forth one such moment. Celty had been relaxing, her body splayed lazily upon the leather couch the two shared while she waited for her husband to return. Normally, Shinra was the main occupant of their household, as he worked from home. Today though, he had been invited out by Izaya.

Or. Well. Invited probably wasn’t the right word. Izaya had called the other up on the phone and threatened to kill Shizuo should Shinra not meet with him to discuss “important personal matters”. This was code for Izaya being too stubborn to merely ask Shinra to hang out with him. He did this often, threatening homicide (usually towards their beloved Shizuo) if the other did not agree to meet up with him. At first, Shinra had been concerned, but after it had happened a couple of times he quickly saw through Izaya’s lazy façade. He called him out on it occasionally, but each time Izaya would merely shrug, insisting he had no idea what the other was talking about.

Celty herself had never understood their friendship. It wasn’t that she necessarily disliked Izaya; she understood that people were complicated and did complicated things because of it. Still, he seemed like a dangerous friend to keep, and one whom Shinra was often irritated by. Whenever she inquired about it, Shinra would just smile in confusion, replying, “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

Celty allowed her thoughts to drift aimlessly as she waited, allowing the sun filtering through the blinds to warm her. Today was the first day in a while that she hadn’t been busy with work. Izaya, one of her main employers, was pre-occupied for the day as previously stated. Even the various gangs scattered throughout the city, all of whom tended to want her for some impossible task or another, had lightened up in their normally relentless persistence. She could hardly remember the last time she had been free to simply lounge around. She decided to take advantage of the moment, allowing herself to drift off into the vague semblance of sleep she exhibited.

She was roused almost minutes later by the sounds of a door kicked open and the exuberant tones of Shinra’s voice as he entered. “Celty! I have returned! Sorry I’m late; Izaya ended up running into Shizuo at Simon’s and I had to prevent the two from destroying the city in one go. Are you home?”

He struggled out of his shoes, hopping back several steps in his attempts. He popped his head into the living room, smiling once he noticed her. “Hey.”

Celty sat up, waving slowly as she brushed off the remaining lull of sleep. Shinra slowly slipped off his coat, taking a seat besides her on the couch. She started to bring her phone out from her pocket, intent on typing some semblance of a “how was your day?”, but before she could do so she found herself enveloped in the arms of the scientist. She froze, the suddenness of the action throwing her off guard for a moment. He buried his face into her shoulder, softly mumbling, “I missed you.”

Slowly, Celty allowed her muscles to relax, melting into the embrace. Shinra tended to be a more physical person than most, eagerly leaning against shoulders and knocking knees with others while watching movies; whenever they went out for any kind of date he always made sure to interlace his fingers with hers as they walked through the crowded streets. Sometimes, if the stress of work had caught up to him, he would curl up on her lap and she would run her fingers through his hair, allowing the other to relax. For him, touch meant affection, love, and caring. She had learned as much over the years.

She wrapped her arms around him in unison, wishing she had a mouth to kiss him, to reassure him how much she loved him too.

“How about we stay here?” he implored into her shoulder. “Forever. Just you and me and Shooter. We’ll both quit our jobs and I’ll cook you omelets and you can watch those dumb tv shows you’re so fond of, and neither of us puts our lives on the line for the sake of Ikebukuro.”

She curled her fingers in his hair, implying in that gesture everything she couldn’t say. He sighed, his body drooping against her. “I know. That doesn’t mean a man can’t hope.”

Celty retrieved her phone where she had dropped it on the cushion. She typed out a quick sentence, tapping Shinra’s shoulders insistently. He glanced up, eyes scanning the screen. We can grab something to eat, if you’d like? There’s a new sandwich place that opened up downtown.

“No,” he said, shaking his head resolutely. “If I cannot stop time, then at the very least I can make this moment last as long as possible. I’m sorry Celty, but I’m afraid I cannot move from this position. If I were to let go of you, there could be earth-shattering consequences.”

Earth-shattering? she replied skeptically.

“Utterly disastrous,” he confirmed in deadpan.

She tilted her neck down at him disapprovingly. You’ll have to let go eventually, you know.

“You can’t make me.”

Those words, spoken impetuously from the mouth of the foolish scientist, forewarned his doom. In the two’s time together, Celty had discovered many things about Shinra. She knew that he was fond of games and had a strange taste in cooking. She knew that he still listened to pop music, completely unashamedly, she might add. She had also learned that he was, quite possibly, one of the most ticklish people she had ever met before.

If she had possessed a mouth, she might’ve smirked.

Slowly, she returned her hands to his back, running her nails gently up and down the other’s spine. Shinra closed his eyes with a relaxed sigh, utterly unaware of the trick she would soon play on him. As time went on, her touch traveled casually away from his back, almost, almost, brushing against his sides. He tensed against her, arching a little against her touch.

“Celty.”

One finger carefully drew a path up his left side.

“C-Celty,” he tried again, his smile transforming into a wobbly grin as he tightened his grip around her. “No.”

Two fingers, scratching just under his ribs.

“This is entirely unfair,” he informed her, squirming away from her touch. “C-Completely and u-utterly uncalled fohor.”

All at once ten fingers on either side, scribbling with devastating softness. He yelped, bursting into a round of panicked giggles and squeezing her tight as he fought to keep himself from shoving her away. “Cehehelty, thihis ihihis mehehehean!”

His thin button-up did little to protect him, and she managed to get at his slender sides with ease. Each curl and twitch of her fingers sent him into helpless spasms, his arms trembling in their hold. Only when she pinched that one spot on his hips did he finally let go, arms shooting down protectively.

“Ohohokay, okay!” Shinra yelped, scrambling back on the couch. He took a moment to regain his bearings, pointing a finger at her accusingly. “You can’t use that against me every time you want something, you know.”

But you love it?

“That is…” he trailed off, a flush rising on his cheeks. “Irrelevant information. Besides, it’s not fair. How come you’re the only one who ever gets to tickle me?”

The black smoke surrounding her swirled inquiringly. What do you mean?

“Well, I mean, you’re—” he stopped himself, giving her a stern look. “You’re… not ticklish, right?”

Why wouldn’t I be ticklish?

“Well you’ve never reacted when I tried before,” he pointed out.

Shinra, she typed slowly, as though she were speaking to a child. I don’t have a head—I wouldn’t be able to laugh.

This gave the other pause. It had never occurred to him that her lack of reaction could have been because she couldn’t react, as opposed to her being unaffected. Now that the idea had entered his head however, it wouldn’t leave him alone. Part of it stemmed from a purely scientific viewpoint (could Dullahans be ticklish?), though he couldn’t deny that a greater portion of him was grateful for the chance at revenge.

He leaned across the couch eagerly, his attention entirely captivated by this new concept. Celty leaned back warily, but not away. “We do know that you feel pain, admittedly to a more muted level than most. That would imply that you can feel sensation. I guess I never connected the dots in my head before.” He put his hand to his chin, considering. Finally, he looked back up at her, a slightly hesitant look to his eyes. “Would you… would you be okay if I tested it?”

Tested it? Celty repeated slowly. As in…

“Tickle you,” Shinra filled in. “Only if you want to, of course. I wouldn’t consider doing it without your permission. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be dying of curiosity. But I understand if you don’t want to.”

Celty tried to imagine it, what it would be like to experience what had brought Shinra to the ground many times in the past. She knew she had been tickled before, though usually never purposefully. Merely an accidental glance against the side, a poke to get her attention. Once Shinra had grabbed her hips and squeezed suddenly, but his attempt had ultimately failed as Celty merely turned questioningly towards him.

She found it difficult to believe that something as simple as a light touch could bring her to hysterics, though she’d seen it work on Shinra countless times.

Alright, she agreed at last, finding that she herself was curious as to the outcome. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Shinra’s eyes widened, clearly having expected more of a fight from her. Still, he wasn’t about to let a chance like this pass him up. Cautiously, he uncurled her leg, placing it on his lap gently. He raised his hand, pausing inches away from her foot and quickly adding, “Oh, and make sure to tell me exactly how this feels! This is research, after all.”

Celty tensed, preparing herself for an onslaught of… well, what she wasn’t sure. But when Shinra lightly dragged his finger up her sole, she didn’t experience any kind of profound reaction. It was a prickling sensation, one that alerted her nerves to the action, but nothing altogether noteworthy. Shinra continued to drag the same finger up and down her arches, seemingly wanting to take it slow so she had time to process.

“How does it feel?” he asked curiously, glancing up from his task but not stopping as he did so.

Celty raised her phone, ready to type out a response, when suddenly Shinra’s finger drifted slightly, going in vague zig-zags down her foot. She jerked forward with a start, her toes curling protectively.

“Celty?” Shinra asked hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

Yes, she typed out, the words halted as she tried to come to terms with her own feelings. It just… tickled.

“It did?” Shinra confirmed excitedly. “That’s incredible! What did it feel like?”

You know what tickling feels like, she pointed out.

“Well, yes,” he said, nodding. “But for all we know, it’s an entirely different sensation for you.”

Celty’s fingers paused over her phone as she tried to decide a way to describe the earlier feeling. Electric. But also soft, at the same time. Sort of like when a bug crawls on your skin, but more intense.

“Interesting,” Shinra murmured. “I would say that’s pretty accurate to what it feels like. Still, we’ll probably have to do more testing to further confirm it. Would you be okay if I kept going?”

Celty thought about saying no, the vague devious excitement in his eyes making her wary, but she found that she was just as curious to experience the startling sensation again. It was strange to think that in all the time she had been among humans, she had never participated in the silly ritual. She nodded, and eagerly Shinra returned to his task, scratching lightly at her soles once more.

Again, strange sparks of feeling shot up her leg, and she jerked against his hold unconsciously. Shinra appeared more bold now, spidering his fingers softly over her sole with reckless abandon. She clutched her phone tightly, drawing her other knee up to her chest. It was somehow a comfort to protect the one foot that she could, the action giving her a strange sense of control over the situation. When he reached the ball of her feet, she spasmed, hilarity rising in her throat.

It was odd. Throughout all her life, Celty had never known the ability to laugh like others could, and never before had she felt an especial need for it. Now though, with Shinra’s fingers wrecking hell upon her, she found the need to laugh growing stronger, despite the fact that there was no outlet for it. She shook noiselessly, her shoulders drawing in.

“Wow Celty,” Shinra said, smiling affectionately over at her. “I never realized you were this ticklish. If I had known, I would’ve struck my revenge years ago.”

Celty wrapped her arms around herself, knowing that had she the ability to, she would be blushing right then.

She was able to survive a couple more minutes, squirming futilely on the couch, though that was more an unconscious protest than a genuine attempt to escape. He had discovered a spot on her toes that made her jump, her hands fisting into the fabric of the couch as she fought to keep herself from shoving him off.

It was only after five minutes had elapsed, that she began to realize the silence filling the room, stretching like a chasm between them. Guilt prickled slightly at her chest. Normally when the two of them were together, she had her phone on her and could therefore uphold easy conversation. Now though, with the distractingly pleasant and unbearable sensations squirreling through her, she was finding it impossible to type anything.

In an instant, black mist had wrapped itself tightly around Shinra’s wrists, pulling his hand away. His eyes widened in surprise at the sudden gesture, and he turned to see Celty quickly typing out a response. “C-Celty—”

Wait.

He frowned, tilting his head in concern. “Is… is everything alright? I didn’t go overboard did I? Whatever I did, I’m sorry—”

No, she interrupted, waving her hand fiercely in denial of his statement. You didn’t do anything. It’s only…

She hesitated on her next sentence, trying to think of a way to phrase it. Shinra waited calmly for her response, his eyebrows drawn down with vague worry.

I was just thinking that this can’t possibly be fun for you, she said at last. Shinra opened his mouth to deny the statement, but she quickly began typing again before he could say anything. I can’t laugh like other humans, or smile, even though everything in me wants to. Doesn’t that take away from it? For you I mean?

Shinra blinked, the words clearly the last thing he had expected. “Celty… how could you possibly think that?”

Celty didn’t respond, though her silence said everything he needed to hear.

He held up his hands imploringly, and after a moment Celty dissipated the mist with a flick of her hand. Once he was free again, he reached out, grasping her hand in his.

“For all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never had to identify you with a voice. And so I learned to recognize you by the other things that made you you, the soft step of your footsteps, the impatient cross of your arms when you’re exasperated with me. I don’t need to hear your voice to know you’re there. So in that case, how could I possibly long for a sound I’ve never even heard? I don’t need to hear your laugh to sense its presence. I can see it in the way you scrunch your shoulders, the tension in your muscles, the way your body shakes besides me. It may not be audible, but to me, it’s the most beautiful sound in the world—the laughter of silence. It’s so perfectly you, how could I possibly hate it?”

His words were spoken innocently, like when a child brings forth a truth they know to be real beyond a shadow of a doubt because they haven’t learned to suspect the world yet. Celty’s heart lifted in her chest, a burst of euphoria lighting and melting her limbs. She clutched his hand back, before reaching for her phone once more and quickly typing a response.

Thank you.

He grinned, flushing a little, as though her ineloquent reply had meant just as much to him as his words had to her. “There’s no need for that. I was simply speaking the truth. Although…”

She startled as he reached forward suddenly, enclosing the two of them in a hug. The true intention of his gesture became clear in a moment as his hands latched onto her sides, his fingers curling in just slightly. “If you really want to thank me, then I wouldn’t mind a continuation of our earlier experimentation?”

Celty paused, and then, with a wild carelessness, she hugged him back, tracing out a simple word onto his back.

Yes.

[themurphyzone]

PatB/BatB AU: If I Can’t Love Him Ch 1

Summary: Sequel to Imprisoned and part of the PatB BatB AU.

The Beast knows he’s too far gone, in too deep to ever have hope of regaining what he lost. But one action leads to another, and through a series of mistakes, discovers he may have been wrong about so many things.

Pinky is running for his life. He knows he made a promise, and he finds the servants charming, but he can’t stay. The castle was not and will never be his home. But things aren’t always as they appear.

AN: OK ok technically the disastrous dinner request does happen first (as of posting this first chapter, the dinner request scene has not been written yet but I do hope to get around to it), but I just wanna write the West Wing and its aftermath ok lemme have my angst.

This will be a 4 chapter story, each chapter named for a lyric from If I Can’t Love Her from the BatB Broadway musical. It’s a really heartwrenching song and every time I hear it I just wanna hug poor Beast.

AO3 Link

Ch 1: Careless and Unthinking

The Beast heard music drifting from the large dining room, traveling along the wind until it reached his usual haunt on the castle roof just above the West Wing.

Though he was too far to properly hear the lyrics, he recognized that irritatingly catchy melody to Be a Pest, a song the Warner siblings performed on a semi-regular basis ever since the curse upended their lives.

He should’ve known the Warners wouldn’t leave the prisoner alone in his room to starve.

The Beast huffed, a misty cloud forming in the frigid air.

He wasn’t sure why he said that when he didn’t actually want the prisoner to starve. It was counterproductive to breaking the curse.

And that mouse was far too foolish to suit his purposes. Arguing every order, determined to defy him at every turn, uncaring of self-preservation when he skipped into the castle and announced his presence without the slightest attempt at stealth.

Not that anyone else bothered to heed his orders, despite his higher station, but it was especially irritating from someone who was supposed to be a prisoner.

Surely all his hopes of regaining his rightful position weren’t dependent on an idiot whose head was permanently up in the clouds!

Rage mounted in the depths of his deformed body, and though he tried to hold back, he couldn’t stop the primal roar that worked its way past his throat.

It echoed off the trees, a flock of faraway birds taking to the air to get away from a perceived predator.

He struck the roof with one clawed, oversized hand. Several loose tiles spiraled into the abyss below.

The rush of adrenaline was overwhelming. It felt good to be so powerful. His old body was woefully lacking in strength and height.

He’d never been able to climb onto the roof before. A mouse was far too small and fragile to ever attempt something so death-defying.

Nor was he able to tear furniture apart so easily. But now he could.

Give in, a voice whispered, sweet and tempting and malicious all at once. Why resist your anger? Give in now, and you won’t be hurt ever again. I promise.

Anger was the only emotion worth feeling. It was blissful to not experience anything other than splintered wood and torn cloth under his claws. No worries, doubts, or fears to hold him back. When his thoughts became nothing but a simplistic chant of destroy, destroy, destroy.

Then all coherent thought would cease, and only instincts were left.

But anger was a fickle companion. It would encourage him, drive him forward, yet it would suddenly flee. It didn’t stay with him in the wake of his destruction.

And the guilt came.

His shortsightedness robbed everyone of a comfortable life. Nobody was spared. Not the innocent toddler, not the orphans or stray animals seeking a safe haven, nor the regular household staff.

On that first long, horrible night, he’d promised to break the curse. They’d be back to normal before they knew it, and they’d only remember it as one odd, terrifying nightmare.

But his plan didn’t work. And he made that promise again. Then his next plan failed before he set it into motion.

Tomorrow night. I’ll break it tomorrow night for sure.

For the past five years, he made that same promise every night.

But the curse wasn’t broken. The nightmare wasn’t complete.

Every plan failed. He tried everything.

That is, he tried everything except for the condition laid out from the very beginning.

The beautiful witch’s voice haunted him, mocking him through every waking hour and dream, taunting him with fate-sealing roses and mirrors that reflected the monster he was.

“If you can find somebody to love, and earn their love in return, my enchantment upon your castle shall be lifted. Fail in your quest, and you shall remain a beast for all time.”

The condition was an open secret in the castle, though only the Warners dared to bring up the topic within his vicinity.

He laughed, but it was a harsh, guttural laugh, completely devoid of joy.

Love? How could he possibly love anyone?

Love only brought pain.

As a foolish child, he loved his parents.

Then they abandoned him in favor of the lavish court. His existence was a scandal unto itself, and he was secreted away to a province with little royal oversight.

He let out an ugly snarl, cruel fangs digging into his upper lip.

The harsh, unnatural sound only served as a reminder that nobody would ever love him back. His mind, which once held ideas on how to reclaim his throne and improve life in this neglected province, was now dull and dimming further by the day.

He couldn’t read or invent anymore. His hands were too large for the delicate machinery, his claws ripping apart everything he touched. He barely remembered how to stand on two legs, and the few times he tried, he quickly lost his balance and had no choice but to stalk the hallways on all fours, stripped of all dignity.

Intelligence was all he had. And even that would be gone soon.

Nobody wanted a dumb, slavering, mud-colored beast for a lover.

A chilly wind blew snow into his fur, startling him out of his ponderings. The night had quickly grown dark and cold, the land below shrouded in an early winter. The moon and stars were hidden by thick, low clouds.

He didn’t hear any music. The prisoner had likely eaten his fill by now.

The silence unnerved him.

It was quiet on the rooftop, but without the background noise of the servants working or screaming from the unfortunate souls who were assigned Warner or Mindy duty, it was far too quiet for comfort.

When it was silent, the most unwelcome thoughts nagged at his deteriorating mind.

He sighed, regretting his decision to ponder on the roof this long. But then, it seemed his entire life was just one bad decision after another, so he was hardly bothered.  

Stretching his sore limbs, he carefully gripped the slippery tiles as he descended down to the West Wing balcony. The wind whipped at his cape, and his exposed fur stood on end to keep his body warm.

This body was more resistant to the cold, able to endure conditions any weak, normal mouse would hide themselves from.

He was powerful.

But that thought quickly came to an end.

He lost his grip on a handhold, sliding several inches on the slippery stone.

The brief scare made whatever remained of his shriveled heart leap in fear, and he was reminded that regardless of physical prowess, he was still mortal.

On some nights, being mortal was a good thing.

He took hold of a thick, tangled growth of ivy that crept up the stone walls over the years, so thick that even his sharp claws couldn’t cut through it. The servants had valiantly battled the plants over the years, but there was only so much they could do.

The castle would crumble once the curse took hold permanently and become nothing more than a relic lost to time.

He crept down the ivy to the West Wing balcony, allowing the mysterious, cruel light of the enchanted rose to guide him to safety in the darkness.

Brooding over a rose and making doomed plans in the vain hope of breaking this curse.

That’s all he was good for these days.

Just as he set foot on the balcony, his ears perked at the sound of footsteps within his chambers. He growled quietly to himself.

He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the Warners’ antics tonight. Not when their advice proved little use against the prisoner’s stubborn refusal to have dinner with him.

But the footsteps sounded…different. Lighter.

Not brassy like Yakko’s, wooden like Wakko’s, or clinking like Dot’s.

The Beast inhaled sharply.

No.

It couldn’t be.

His prisoner was an idiot, but surely he wouldn’t break the only rule he’d been given. He should’ve been thanking the Beast for his leniency with the guidelines to follow for his stay within the castle property.

Don’t go into the West Wing.

But the mouse was right before his eyes, still on the far side of the room, twirling around in awe at the torn draperies, splintered wood, and haphazard bedding.

“Narf. This room could use a good sweep. I’ve seen pigsties cleaner than this!” the mouse tsked, shaking his head at the sorry state of the West Wing.

Really? The Beast wanted to scream. That’s your main concern right now?

Never mind that the West Wing was a grim testament to just how far he’d fallen, the shadowed lair of a beast, the broken décor scattered and abused throughout the years because it felt so good to lash out at something without guilt, and his prisoner commented on the mess of all things?

His claws brushed against a shard from a broken vase, and he sullenly flicked it aside. The ceramic remains skittered across the balcony.

Alright, so maybe the West Wing was a little messy…

An odd sense of embarrassment washed over him.

He crouched behind a thick tangle of ivy, feeling very much like a predator lying in wait for unsuspecting prey. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to do anything, and the mouse would just leave on his own.

The mouse picked his way through the West Wing, stopping to gawk at a shredded mattress and pile of ragged blankets that served as the Beast’s bed. He plucked at a strip of fabric that had fallen on the floor, and the Beast growled lowly. His sleeping area wasn’t a spectacle.

It was simply where he woke up from a nightmare, only to find that he never truly left.  

The mouse gasped, his ears twitching. For a fleeting moment, the Beast believed he’d successfully chased him out of the West Wing. But the mouse turned to a portrait in a golden frame, one that had been painted so long ago, in a faraway life.

He’d dragged his claws across that painting many times, when he could no longer take the image of himself as a prince, mocking him with his dead-eyed stare and prestige.

Reminding him of what he used to be.

Though he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it permanently, some part of him couldn’t bear to throw it away. He didn’t know why.

He was tempted to spring out of his hiding place and tell the mouse to get out right now, but the gentle, almost reverent way the mouse pulled the hanging scraps of the portrait up to what remained in the frame made him hesitate.

In the entryway of the balcony, the rose sparked within the bell jar, its ethereal glow blinding for just a moment before it settled once again.

His hesitation cost him.

Slowly, the mouse approached the enchanted rose. The glow was always mesmerizing, always the only beautiful thing in an otherwise dark and ugly room.

Sometimes he fantasized about shredding the rose to pieces and scattering the petals to the wind, so that he wouldn’t ever have to look at it anymore.

But he wasn’t the only one affected by the curse, though he was the one who bore the brunt of it. Too often, he’d come close to forgetting that.

The rose floated just above a small, elevated platform. Five petals had fallen so far, lifeless and dead. More would join them soon enough. The pink glow illuminated the mouse’s unusual blue eyes, which were already lit up in idiotic wonder and curiosity.

With a surprising amount of strength for a mouse so slim, the prisoner carefully lifted the bell jar and set it aside.

The sheer stupidity of that action stunned the Beast.

Then the mouse reached out, fingers outstretched, just a few inches away from-

THAT FOOL WAS GOING TO DAMN THEM ALL!

All-consuming fear and fury seized hold of the Beast’s mind, his vision filled with red haze as he sprung out from behind the ivy thicket.

Protect the rose. Protect the rose at any cost.  

The Beast snarled, ignoring his prisoner’s startled gasp. The mouse tripped over his own feet as the Beast snatched up the bell jar and slammed it over the rose.

For a moment, he feared he was too rough with the precious items. Though no petals fell, he wouldn’t allow himself any relief.

Not until the intruder was dealt with.

He gripped the bell jar tightly, slowly turning to face the mouse who thought he could just barge into the West Wing without any consequences whatsoever.

“What are you doing here?” the Beast growled, blocking the rose from the mouse’s view.

The mouse held his hands in front of his face. “I…I’m sorry!” he stammered.

Did he truly believe a simple placation would work? That he broke the one rule, a rather generous rule, just to satisfy his own curiosity?

“I warned you NEVER to come here!” he snarled, caring nothing for the apology.

The mouse stumbled over the corner of a ceramic vase which had oddly survived the carnage the Beast had wrought over the years. His eyes were wide, his ears limp. He squeaked something in protest, pitifully trying to justify his poor reasoning.

“DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU COULD’VE DONE?”

A roar tore out of his throat. He was dimly aware of a terrified scream, his large paws smashing a vase into jagged shards, and all he knew was the pleasure of unleashing his wrath upon anything that couldn’t fight back.

He only saw red.  

“GET OUT!”

A pile of broken wood flew past the mouse’s head. He let out a ragged cry and fled the West Wing. His piercing scream echoed in the Beast’s ears, banishing the red, vengeful haze that overtook his mind.

Broken furniture surrounded him.  

Downstairs, the servants pleaded in vain for the mouse to stay. A cold wind blew through the castle, icy enough to pierce through his defenses.

The Beast turned to the rose, just in time for the sixth petal to fall.

It had a wicked sense of humor.

The enchanted mirror reflected cruel, sharp fangs as he panted for breath. The portrait’s gaze bore into him, dead-eyed and mocking and judgmental.  

And the twisted black horns which adorned his head were heavier than before.  

AN: I’m sorry mice, I love you, I swear…

No I did not start the BatB AU as an excuse to torture Brain as much as I already do. It’s kinda sad that many character traits of Disney’s Beast and Brain overlap. Short temper, arrogant, a goal they want very very badly but their own vices prevent them from ever obtaining it, brooding, someone they love so much they’ll do anything for, even give up their own desires, but they don’t believe they can be loved back…yeah. 

I tried to do the West Wing justice cause it’s such a great scene in the movie, but I don’t think it translates well to a text based medium. Oh well, you can just listen to the soundtrack, but I think I did well enough with it.

[everlasting-yours]

Careless For Once

TAEYONGxREADER

Smut, light angst, prudence here and there, slightly old-fashioned, life in marriage, signs of doubts, troubled thoughts, romance, selflessness, Taeyong loves Y/N, okay?

25.K+ words (a long-ass one shot)

Enjoy~

Okay, so your husband, Lee Taeyong was naked and standing before yourself. That wasn't too surprising. Not that he tended to be exhibitionist—come to think of it, he is just the opposite, isn't he? He doesn't parade himself around the house as other men might be known to do. But he did say that he was taking a bath. One does tend to be stripped for such a procedure. You heard the water running. So, obviously, he had something important—possibly urgent, considering his unusual state of undress—to say to you. So you waited in expectation.

He spoke, rather in a monotone, almost, "I think you need to be clean as well."

You considered your state of cleanliness. You had a shower the night before, and while you might enjoy a nice bath, it didn't really seem time for it. "Perhaps tomorrow morning," you replied, curtly.

"No, I think sooner than that." He was curt as well. Perhaps not curt, but a bit... forceful. This was odd. He was not one to remark on your hygiene. You cared for yourself in a proper, expected way, and no one complained about your state of filth or of any unacceptable odors. Nor did he. But here he is, naked as a newborn, not yet having his bath, telling you of your need to be cleansed. Most irregular.

And you said so. "Look here, I don't think you have any place to be telling me of ..."

Well, you tried to say so, but then Taeyong rudely interrupted. "Actually, I think you need to have a bath." Then he paused a moment. "Now." And before you knew what was happening, he had reached beneath your thighs and back, chuckling, and was carrying you away to the bathroom.

You didn't want to struggle, lest he dropped you, and then you would be injured, possibly seriously. So instead, you began in a torrent of words meant to break that smile from his face and to cease from such unacceptable activity. "Put me down! I think that enforced bathing is illegal in this country and you don't even have a license! I am really not prepared to get wet, in any case, because my hair... well, my hair is up, but that shouldn't make any difference, it might get wet which would be disastrous—just horrible. And you don't think... no, you wouldn't really put me in the bath with all my clothes—that would just be monstrous—OH!" Still chuckling, he placed you gently into the steaming tub.

Well, you thought, at least the temperature is to my liking. Sizzling hot. "For a bath, this is not very relaxing. To be shanghaied from my place on the couch and then placed in the water fully clothed... it will take all day to dry these clothes!"

Taeyong knelt beside you and replied, "They would be easier to dry if they were off." Then he began unbuttoning your blouse.

Ah, so that's his game. All right, then. I suppose we ought to just enjoy it. That's what I'm supposed to do, isn't it? You leaned back in the bath and closed your eyes. After erasing all thoughts of knives and straight pins digging into his flesh, you realized the possibilities here. Here you were, in an unexpected bath, with a personal servant to undress you, caress you, coddle you and fondle you. This could be pleasant indeed.

Taeyong noticed your visible relaxation and kissed your closed eyes. "That's right. Take some time for yourself. I'll give you whatever you need."

Your blouse was fully unbuttoned and now he was clumsily working on your bra. You sat up and released it, then took it off. Your breasts floated, being fully supported by the water. The unbuttoned white shirt lay about you. You threw the shirt about yourself, in mock modesty. "I can't have you looking at my..." Taeyong smiled wider. You looked at your chest and found that your breasts were fully visible through the thin, white, wet garment. "Well, I suppose it doesn't really matter," you said as you stripped off the shirt.

Your denim skirt and underwear came off quickly and easily. Taeyong gathered up the clothing and rung the soaking garments out in the bathroom sink and hung them up.

Temporarily alone, you allowed your heartbeat to cease racing, sitting back in the tub, and forcing yourself to rest. His attack had unsettled you considerably, and though his intentions were honorable, the method was, shall we say, somewhat unorthodox. You had never been exposed to such a blatant display of testosterone, not by him, even as quiet as it was. In approaching things of amour, Taeyong had always been a gentleman—admittedly, somewhat childish and selfish—but gentle and considerate of your feelings and of your need to adjust to a new mood. However, this time he had given no signal of lovemaking, no warning of his desire. Instead, he blindsided you, putting you in a mood of... danger, almost.

It is a bit exciting, you admitted, and allowed your heartbeat to increase a bit. It isn't every day a woman is gently ravaged by someone who loves her. Someone who desires her in such a way that he had to respond instantly, on impulse. Picking her up without warning. Putting her in a tub of water in order to be passionate with her. Stripping her gently under his adoring eyes. That's not so bad, really, is it?

Of course not. Nevertheless, it would be nice to take some revenge—in a loving manner, of course. You could plot and plan as well as the next woman. And take great pleasure in the results of your plotted torture. Oh, yes, you can plan. And he will regret. (All for Taeyong's benefit, of course, she assured herself.)

"All right," he spoke, commandingly, but gently, "it is time to clean you up."

"All right," she mocked in a friendly manner. Then her voice went meek and pleading, "But... what will you use to clean me up, sir?"

He reached across you and grabbed the Dove and a washcloth. Firmly, he replied, "Just this: soap, water, and a cloth. Please kneel and the cleaning shall begin."

You reinterpreted to yourself: the pampering shall begin. You planned to enjoy this thoroughly. You got up onto your knees, then sat on your feet and rested your chest on your legs, arms at your sides, curled up in a ball. "Please," you continued in a squeaky, pleading voice, "don't hurt me."

Taeyong's firm tone softened a bit, but he was still in character, "Don't worry, little miss. I'll take good care of you." You trembled slightly, part in your playact to show trepidation, part in real anticipation of his touch.

You were a woman who felt love at the touch of a soft caress. Without the touch, without physical closeness that had no hint of a selfish, sexual drive behind it, then in your heart of hearts, you could not be assured that you were loved. Intellectually you could acknowledge it. Your mind could assure you that you were really loved, but assurance in your deepest self would always be evaded unless you were gently caressed with direct intent.

Your husband, Taeyong, of course, was a man for whom touch was practically foreign. He grew up in a household where touch was not quite forbidden, but certainly never encouraged. Early on, when you were dating and engaged, he fawned on yourself, touching you constantly. You were not sure until later that his seductive fingers were, in reality, paws, longing for the sexual release and freedom that could not happen until you were married. But that never bothered you.

But he turned into a man who never showed you love...no, wait, that just wasn't true. He rarely showed you love in the manner in which you can truly, deeply feel it. You were confident in his love. Although his attentions waned in later years, focusing on work, a family of his, and the others who constantly came to the house, he would always take occasion to show that he cared for you. He would take you out to dinner. He would call you when it was unnecessary. He would give you little gifts. Basic romance stuff. But his touch...let's just say it was rare. Instead of sitting next to you on the couch, he chose a chair—as independent and full as an opportunity for thought as he is. And if you sat next to him on the couch, he would be briefly stiff and then relax, but he would not reach his hand to you.

Admittedly, Taeyong was tired. And he would converse with difficult people all day. And "touch" wasn't in his vocabulary of love unless you added some form of the word "sex" with it. You often sighed, disappointed at his distance.

And then sometimes, out of the blue, a light would come on within him, and he would scratch the back of your neck, softly. Or he might softly squeeze your shoulders for ten minutes. Or—a blessing of all blessings—he might take the time to give you a full backrub—no strings attached. That last was rare, very rare. On the occasional birthday, when you didn't need to sleep more than anything else in the world. Or the romantic anniversary. And thus did his displays of love descend.

Like God, you knew that he loved you, but only occasionally did Taeyong display it in action rather than in dusty, oft-repeated words of the past.

And so you trembled in anticipation. Even though the touch came through a cloth, rubbed with soap. Even though he was anticipating his own pleasure in a few minutes, or perhaps an hour. Even though he still wasn't recognizing your deepest need. You wanted this. Wanted a touch of love more than life.

Your back was fully exposed and he very gently rubbed the whole length and width of it, until small bubbles foamed all over your back. Being fully convinced of its cleanliness, he set aside the cloth and placed his fingertips on your skin. His caresses were firm—but not hurting—and the film of the soap causing each touch to be silky and smooth. You sat warm in the tub, your legs and front fully surrounded by the hot water and your back and shoulders lovingly warmed by his flat palms. After an infinitely brief time—perhaps ten minutes—he said in a soft version of his commanding character, "Up, on your knees, now. We have to clean the rest of you." And the pleasure was over.

Well, over for you. He took great delight in soaping up your chest, your buttocks, your pubic area, your thighs. Again, he dropped the washcloth. Taeyong climbed in the tub with you, kneeling behind you and reached around to cup your breasts. He fondled you all over, moaning his pleasure. Fingering your nipples, cupping your groin, squeezing your butt and rubbing them over and over.

His pleasure made you dizzy. In some way, you enjoyed his sudden yet slow approach down the road that has but one climax for two. His pawing was pleasant like you were overlooking a child taking great pleasure in brushing your hair, although he was mussing it all up. You were too cold, out of the water. Your nipples were hard, but not from pleasure and his touching was slightly unpleasant. You were gaining little out of the rubbing of her buttocks, but the somewhat pleasant touch. The touching of your pubic area was personal and intimate, but not sexy.

Did Taeyong think he was doing this for you? That he was causing waves of pleasure in you? No. His erection sticking up between your two buttocks, (for he had pushed it in with his pelvis) showed you that. He was not aware of your responses, but his eyes were closed to allow all of his sensory functions to focus on his hands, the touch he was receiving. Obviously, he felt that he had given you what you wanted, for now. And though he planned to "focus on you" in a little bit, he was taking what he wanted, for the moment. That was fine, you thought. But let's give him a little more. Or more than a little.

You took the discarded soap and rubbed it on your hands. Then you reached behind yourself and caressed the tip of his hard cock. Taeyong moaned at that, all right, and squeezed your breasts a little more, causing just a little pain. All right, you thought, let's do this. You turned around to him and saw his closed eyes and his dry skin except for his legs. "Tsk, tsk," you scolded like a kindergarten schoolmarm, "you are still all dirty. This will not do."

You wet him down, got more soap, and began soaping him down thoroughly. You rubbed his chest and back, seductively lathering them, having to press your chest into him to reach around to his back. You lathered his neck and legs, using your fingernails to scratch his skin with pleasure. You bent down to reach his buttocks and took the opportunity to give a little lick to his cock. Then you set into foaming up his groin, lingering at his tip. Taeyong backed off a bit then, saying, "We don't want to go too far." You smiled. Then you rinsed yourself and him off, front and back.

Taeyong slunk down for a moment, a bit weary from pleasure. You could tell that he was "steeling himself up" to work on your sexual desire. But before he could rise, you pressed into him, wrapping your arms about his neck, and allowing his face to touch your bare breasts. It was time. You queried seductively, "Do you know what I want?" You backed a bit and began rubbing his nipples. Taeyong sat down in the lukewarm water, eyes widening, placing his legs on either side of you. Perfect. You bent down on top of him, your breasts resting on his hard cock, forcing it down on his stomach. You whispered again, "Do you know what I want?" Again, he made noises that "we" don't want him to climax too soon.

You ignored his plea, kissing his chest and licking his nipples, hard and quick. You lifted up your face to his, breathing the words onto him, "I know what you want." You sat up, your opening, wet with excitement (although emotionally you were not ready for sex), rested on his dick and you rubbed a bit. He moaned, "Not yet. Let's focus on you." You chuckled. "But that's not what you want." You rubbed a finger through his hair, around his neck, and let it descend to his nipple. You licked it and let the saliva lubricate between his nipple and your finger, while your pussy softly thrust on his erection. "You want to be wet. You want me to rub you." Beneath your hand on his chest, you could feel his heartbeat racing. "You want my body on you. You want to be surrounded by me. You want to be smothered by my softness"

You raised herself up, pressing your breasts into his face and picked up his cock inserting the tip into yourself. "You want to moan with pleasure. You want to touch me all over." Slowly, you descended upon him and he grabbed your buttocks. "Oh," Taeyong moaned. And you moaned with him, for him, "Oh, I feel you inside. How lovely you feel." Taeyong started to make cautionary noises again until you pulsed on him. "Come on," you spoke slowly, "put your hands on my breasts," you pulled at his arms until he grabbed your chest, longingly. "Squeeze my nipples, just a little." It was slightly uncomfortable for you, but he enjoyed it. You continued with your patter, " Come on, baby. Squeeze me. Kiss me. There, please. Oh, yes. Do you feel me?" Taeyong nodded. You thrust down harder, "Press yourself inside of me—yes... Oh, how I want you, I want you, I want you..." Suddenly, Taeyong exploded inside of you, feeling him tense up and then release. You continued moving on him until he motioned for you to cease.

After his breathing became normal, you got up off of him, turned to let the water out, and grabbed a towel, drying yourself off. "But," he said, "you didn't get a chance to.." Guilt and exertion made his face red. Your sweet revenge was all set up.

You smiled wickedly. "You never answered my question." He faltered a moment. "You know...? My question?" You repeated for him slowly, "Do you know what I want?"

Taeyong was clearly confused. His previous agenda for the evening was foiled by your sudden turnabout and he wasn't sure where he stood. He got up and you came up close to him and handed him a towel. You asked again, seductively "Do you know what I want?" You kissed his neck and stroked his shoulder.

Quickly, his thinking mechanism returned to its usual working state. "Ummm... a backrub?"

You smiled and backed away. "Right. Now get wiped off and come into the bedroom, please. But not too quickly..." you added. "I've got a couple of things to set up and I want you dried with no goop on you." You glanced down at the white/clear fluid on his groin. He got the message. "Oh, and don't bother putting on any clothes," you concluded cheerily, "we're not done yet."

Entering nude into the bedroom, you realized that he wasn't done with his surprises yet. The bed was straightened up and the covers pulled back. The pillows were neatly set, with a piece of chocolate on each one. Towels were set on the mattress, neat and flat. The sill on top of the headboard was decorated with a row of candles, dimly lit. And in the background, some Blues was playing softly, romantically.

Oooh, you thought. He hadn't just planned to throw you in the bath and have his way with you. He had a small romantic evening planned. How sweet, you inwardly gushed and gave him credit for his overall plan. You started to regret your thwarting of his plans, but then you erased your repentance. "Actually," you mused, "isn't this what the best of marriage is about? Taking two plans and putting them together to make one fantastic one? Too bad it doesn't work that way usually."

You lowered the covers further and set another towel on your side of the bed, still muttering, "Usually marriage is either one person getting what they want and the other person not, or some compromise is reached where both parties have less than they want. We've done pretty well," you said as you smoothed the bedclothes, "although I've made a lot of sacrifices. Well, he has too. It just... doesn't seem like he has made as many. Maybe that's just the way it is between men and women. A woman wants the pleasure of her man more than he wants her pleasure." You heard him coming, so you quieted down.

Taeyong came in, cleaned up and dried with a towel around his waist and another draped on his arm. "How can I serve you, ma'am?"

You smiled and kissed his cheek. "I love the way you set up the room. It was really thoughtful of you."

Remaining straight-faced, he said, "All part of the service, ma'am. Now, how can I help you?"

"Oh yes... one last thing." You ran out of the room and returned from the living room, just as quickly. In your hand was a phone with timer all set up to 55 minutes. You set it on the nightstand on the other side of the room.

You stood before your stony-faced husband and said, "Taeyong-ssi, I want you to rub my back until that timer dings. You may use some lotion, but I would prefer no oil." You sat on the towels on the bed. "I shall be lying here."

Taeyong answered, "Ma'am, I have two questions."

You laid down, with your arms to your side. "Yes, Taeyong-ssi, what is it?"

"First, what if you fall asleep? Should I wake you?"

Humph, you thought. I should be asking you that question. "If I fall asleep, let me sleep and I will dream of you rubbing my back. Nothing could be better."

"Very well, ma'am. One other question. Since you have not a stitch of clothing on—a fact I greatly admire and appreciate—do you wish me to rub only that which one might call 'the back' or to perhaps cover all of your 'back', from neck to foot?"

"As you see fit, Taeyong-ssi. Although I do wish that I had shaved my legs in the tub."

"You could do so now, ma'am."

"Enough. The timer is running."

"Yes ma'am." And, kneeling beside the bed, he began.

* * *

3rd person/1st person

He set to the task, for the task it was. It was difficult enough to stay awake to give a long backrub, let alone to figure out what he should do during the backrub. Over the years he had given her many backrubs, usually, the longest was a half-hour. Of course, he thought, she wouldn't consider them many. Perhaps two a year. I suppose two a year is a paltry sum when one's goal is to have a backrub every night. But he did give her other, "unofficial" backrubs—a rub on the neck, exercising her shoulders, the gentle caress here and there. But it couldn't be done all the time. Life is simply too busy.

To start with tonight, he did not use lotion but simply his fingers, barely touching her, raising goosebumps on her flesh. He drew circles on her, caressed her, using his fingernails, his open palm and the heel of his hand. He gently relaxed the back of her neck, her shoulders and shoulder blades. He wanted to linger at her buttocks, to perhaps caress the side of her breasts, or spread her legs open and move his fingers about in her vagina. But he knew better. He knew that the pleasure she wanted was touch, pure and simple, free without a demand.

Sex, of course, isn't really a demand, he thought. It's a pleasure for both of us. It is something we both work on for the pleasure and satisfaction of both of us. That's what makes her action in the tub so confusing. She was doing that all for me—and I didn't have an opportunity to bring her along. Of course, I did kind of startle her. Maybe she just wasn't ready. Or maybe a backrub is really what she wanted tonight. Well, I could have given her one after she climaxed. Of course, it really did feel good. Just... too fast. I'd really like to try it again. But she really doesn't seem interested. He mentally shrugs, A backrub it is, then.

...

He reached over to pick up the lotion. He pumped a number of times until a mound of the goopy stuff raised upon his hand. He rubbed it between his hands for a bit until it was almost body temperature. Then he slathered on your back, working it in from your shoulder to her waist. Your skin drank it in—dry, as usual. He got more lotion and slathered it on again, focusing on your legs this time.

It's odd, he thought. Why wouldn't she be interested in sex more? Well, it isn't that she isn't interested—she enjoys it, that's for sure. But for me, I feel that when she really focuses on giving me pleasure in sex, I feel so close to her... no. Wait. That isn't it. I don't feel close to her when I go. In fact, sometimes when we're just "taking care of me" then I feel sexually satisfied but still lonely. Separated. It's only when we both gain pleasure—when it's really "good". But what makes it "good"? Is it the pleasure we feel? No, because we can both enjoy it, but it still seems shallow. As if we are just going through the motions.

Admittedly, that's what we usually do. Go through the motions. A little non-direct touching, then some caressing of her breasts. I caress her nipples, then lick them, then I get some lubrication and caress her just above her clitoris. Then she's ready to go. Usually, she'll lick my nipples a bit, I touch her some more in her vagina and we're ready to go. I get on top of her and rhythmically push just a little inside her and she climaxes. Then we might do her again, or we might go with me—long strokes and I've released and I'm outta there. That's our normal, usual sex—when I can keep it up or don't release myself too soon. It's okay. We like it. But that's not how I feel close to her.

There are some times... some times that we just feel so intimate. It's amazing, almost mystical. Early in our marriage, I did think of it as mystical. As if we were two beings, merging into one. "One flesh" really described it. Perhaps it was just an emotional experience, but it was real to me. Very real. Central, almost. I wanted to have that experience all of the time. Perhaps that what junkies feel, that high. I can understand not wanting to ever turn away from it.

But, in reality, in marriage, eventually that feeling does fade. Sex is good, a part of life, but it isn't blissful. It isn't a great high. Except sometimes. Sometimes you still reach it. The intimacy climaxes in sex, but it usually doesn't begin there. You talk... about stuff. Whatever you talk about. Books. Movies. Possibilities of having kids one day. The problem of the week. He caresses you. Not in a sexual way. Taeyong has to focus on that if he can do it. His mind—either it's sex all the time or none of the time. No middle ground.

Then... what? What is it that makes it good for both of us? When I look at her and get that feeling of how lovely she really is? Maybe it's when we both really give each other pleasure. Or when I know that she is really excited. Or maybe it happens when we do something new, spontaneous, unthought-of—breaking out of our usual pattern. Hmm. If that were so, then what she did for me in the tub would have been great. But it was just me, not her.

Or is it ever just good for me? Maybe I'm just fooling myself. Maybe I'm the one who really feels connected, feels at peace at those times. Maybe she doesn't feel it at all. Maybe for her, she just gets pleasure from it and enjoys my pleasure, my surrender. But that's all. Does she feel love? The intensity I feel? The feeling that it isn't just me going into her, organs rubbing against each other. But that it is in some way her going into me—us connecting, merging. Does she ever feel that?

Taeyong's hands' massage your back still. The lotion is worked in and your skin is smooth and soft. Not greasy, but without creases. Almost without blemishes. Nothing for the hand to get caught on. He massages deeply, but not so hard that there is discomfort. The hand and fingers slide over the skin, as a skateboard slides down a ramp in a park. Ski on the snow. Perhaps a ski takes pleasure in just the simple movement over packed snow. A satisfaction that it was made to glide, to pass effortlessly, without friction over fields of white. Maybe that is the same kind of pleasure you are feeling now. That in receiving a backrub, you are experiencing what your skin was made for. Affection.

He remembered when he first started giving you backrubs, near the beginning of your marriage. Of course, you wanted backrubs before you were married and he gave them to you—other rubs, as well, he recalled. But they weren't "official" backrubs. They were dry, and while you enjoyed them, you didn't relax like you did after you were married. That seemed to be real enjoyment for you—total relaxation and separation from all that you have been doing that day. You would try different oils, different candles, some music—whatever you could to bring peace and romance and togetherness to your crazy lives.

Things were crazy. I was crazy. Why did I get so upset all the time? Things were fine when people were over or when they were working... but every once in a while when it was just the two of them... Well, maybe it was more than every once in a while. Maybe it was more often than I would want to think. I was a jerk. No, I never hit her. But I yelled. Controlling bastard, that's what I was. Why couldn't I just let her be who she was? Why couldn't we make our decisions together civilly? Of course, sometimes it wasn't a matter of decisions. It was a matter of who cared more. We knew who cared more by who through a fit first. So stupid.

But the nights that the first year, <ou were lovely. Not every night, but every other night you would get naked with one another and play. Just relax and have a good time. Have sex, read, sleep, talk. You had all this energy for each other. You would stay up until one or two or three, just to be together.

You are so worn now. It's a good night if Taeyong can stay up past eleven. You talk, but mostly about "issues" or the latest read. What you did or learned about others during the day. Everyone is falling apart, it seems, and you are there to fix them. Although you never do. Mostly you just watch people slowly fall apart. Or slowly get better. Depending. Sometimes you don't even have time to talk. You read, but you don't read "together" anymore. Actually, maybe you never did. Taeyong didn't know just how caught up you get in a book. That's how come you couldn't hear him set up the bedroom or wonder why it was taking him so long to take a bath. Lost in a book.

He smiled. You are so cute, he thought. He looked down at you, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. Long hair braided and put on top of your head. Straight back, round butt, strong, thick thighs, and beautiful legs. Toes that are kind of crooked that they seem broken. Cute.

The timer went off. Taeyong got up, walked across the room, and turned it off. You sat up. He asked, "Did you fall asleep?"

"Nope. I was just relaxing."

He sat down beside you. "Pretty deep relaxing."

"I guess so. But I felt every stroke." You placed your hand on his shoulder and bent your head to kiss him. As your lips parted, you whispered, "Thank you."

Taeyong looked into your eyes—peace, with only a touch of your usual weariness. "No problem."

You grinned at him. "That's good." You laid back down, on your back this time. "This time I want you to do the front."

Taeyong was shocked for a moment, wondering how he could stay awake for another hour, just touching you. "Really?"

"Yes, really." You took his hand and placed it on your breast. "Feel the heartbeat?"

He was pleasantly shocked. "Y-yes."

You glanced down at his groin. "Just as I thought. If you felt the beating of my heart, you would have the energy to get up again."

Taeyong hesitated. "Do you really want that?"

You sat up and kneeled before him, kissing his lips. At the same time, you reached down with her hand and stroked his hardening member. "I really want you," you whispered. Then you laid down again. "Now, do my front."

He willingly obliged. "But if I'm going to do your front, I'm going to do all of it."

"Hmm. What do you mean by that?"

"Open your legs, and you'll see." And you did.

* * *

As you lay on the bed, still, after exertions, you breathed quietly, "That was fun. Very enjoyable."

Taeyong grinned at your praise. "Yes, it was. It was a good idea, you think?"

You turned your head to look at him. "Fine idea. Especially the way you set up the room. Very nice. But it was really more of an impulse than anything else, don't you think?"

Taeyong replied, "Not the room. It took me a half-hour to set that up without you hearing me. But," he admitted sheepishly, " Picking you up and set you in the tub, fully clothed—that wasn't completely thought out. I wouldn't normally act so...careless."

You lay your head down on his shoulder. "Of course." You paused for a moment and placed your hand on his chest. "It was all very nice, though. Even putting me in the tub." He looked surprised. "It was exciting, in a way. It set my mind thinking about new possibilities that I wouldn't have thought about before."

"Nice possibilities."

"Mmmm."

Taeyong gazed in your eyes and then lightly pressed his lips on yours, as you closed your eyes. As the close proximity comforted you, your lips barely a millimeter apart, you spoke, with your eyebrows descending, "But don't you EVER do that again!"

With a smirk plastered on his handsome face, Taeyong playfully replies. "What? Plop you fully-clothed in a bathtub?", but far from his expectation, you reciprocated with words you wish you'd say more so often to him, a genuine smile full of fondness reaching your eyes.

"Never doubt us and our way of loving."

[holy-honeybees]

Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and  their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

A/N: I started this back in November 2019 but sadly never finished the work. I was thinking of holding off till it started to snow again, but figured now was as good a time as any to try and finish this.The title is taken from Snail's House song "[snowdrift]" which you can check out here!

My hopes of having a regular posting schedule were completely dashed by the disaster that is the year 2020. But I’m still here, I’m still writing, and though I don’t know when the next chapter will be, I know there will be another. Beware that from here on, there may be some slight SPOILERS for the latest MSA video, “The Future!” If you haven’t already watched it though, you absolutely should, it was amazing, and the whole team who worked on it are all so talented!!

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Chapter One

Chapter Seven

Lewis glanced behind him to watch as Vivi and Mystery disappeared into the woods, the flashlight beam wavering as his friends passed behind trees and headed deeper into the forest. His own fluorescence gave the surrounding snowdrifts a soft, pink glow, illuminating his path as he headed along where he guessed the road to be under the thick blanket of snow. The ghost fought the urge to turn around and check on Vivi and Mystery again, knowing if he gave in now he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from watching until the last glimmer of their flashlight faded from view. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them to take care of themselves. He knew how fearsome Mystery could be, even after his injury, and though Vivi was frustrated by her lack of mastery over magic, she’d taken to it readily. If her friends were in danger, Lewis knew nothing would stop her, magic or no. It was just hard for him to give up old habits. He couldn’t help but think of being the protector as his role in the group, especially after so many years of Arthur hiding behind him. Despite his size, Lewis had never been much of a fighter when he was alive. He’d always relied on his height and broad shoulders to intimidate, whether it was Arthur’s high school bullies or whatever monster of the week had decided to pick a fight with them. His death had surprisingly come with a few benefits, the supernatural speed at which he now travelled being just one of them. Already he had come to the bend in the road where their near miss had occurred just days ago, the guardrail and sign warped out of place from the impact with the van. Lewis ran his hand along the arrow on the sign, brushing loose snow to the ground.  

It was hard to believe that they had been having snowball fights and drinking hot cocoa just the other day. The snow which had once been so entrancing to him now seemed ominous and deadly, the winter wonderland having transformed into a frozen wasteland. Lewis suppressed a shiver. He shouldn’t have been able to feel the freezing temperatures, but the cold gnawed at his bones nonetheless. He was reminded of the walk-in freezer at the Pepper Paradiso. Once, while he’d still been in high school, Lewis had accidentally locked himself in the walk-in at the restaurant. He’d only been stuck for about fifteen minutes, but the cold had seemed unbearable for even that short amount of time. He’d been lucky that Ma and Pa Pepper were so quick to get him out. He couldn’t get his teeth to stop chattering until his mom had fixed him up a special batch of her hot chocolate flavored with cinnamon and cayenne pepper. Lewis remembered sitting in the dining area, cradling his mug of hot chocolate as his dad rubbed a hand up and down his arm to help warm him up. His mother had been livid and had immediately called the fridge manufacturer to demand they send someone to replace the faulty door release on the inside of the walk-in. Despite his parents’ best efforts, the chill hadn’t left him until late that night when he was curled up in bed, bundled in extra blankets.

Lewis wondered just how long Arthur had been gone before the others had discovered him missing. He feared that the mechanic had been gone too long already. He knew now just how fragile people were, and given Arthur’s tendency to stress himself out and forgo basic needs, he worried for the mechanic more than most. Shifting his focus from his worries to the task at hand, Lewis turned to search the expanse of snow surrounding him, trying to find a sign that the mechanic had been this way at all. Each direction looked the same as the others though. It was impossible to tell if it was because Lewis had picked the wrong way to go or if the belligerent snowfall had simply covered Arthur’s tracks. Without any kind of path to follow, Lewis picked a direction at random. Phasing through the twisted metal of the guardrail, he sped away from the road into the snowy fields beyond to continue his search. The plains the ghost now flew over were as flat and empty as the rest of the landscape had been. Lewis hoped it would make the mechanic easy to spot, even with the moon covered by clouds and the thick snowfall still coming down. The snow in the distance went almost blue with shadows, but if he passed close enough to the mechanic, the ghost was sure he would recognize the bright orange color his friend so frequently wore.

“Arthur!” Lewis called. The snow on the ground muffled his shout, and the lowly moaning winds quickly drowned out the remaining sound. Still, Lewis couldn’t help but feel disappointed when he received no response. The spirit pushed onwards, constantly scanning his surroundings for a glimpse of familiar orange amidst all the white. As he rushed further away from the road to continue his search for Arthur, Lewis was struck with a sense of déjà vu. For a moment, he could have sworn that the snowy landscape had shifted, changing from a seemingly barren tundra to a familiar hallway, lined with portraits and doors that looped back in on each other in impossible patterns. The stripes in the wallpaper blurred together as he flew by, hunting down the scrawny mechanic that had betrayed him.

“Arthur!” the ghost bellowed.

Lewis skidded to an abrupt halt, shocked by the wrathful tone of his own voice. As he looked around again, he was back in the snowy field that lay beyond the bend in the road, no haunted mansion in sight. Just an endless, featureless white landscape. It had all been so real, the desire to find Arthur and punish him so strong, that for a moment Lewis had forgotten where he was. He’d forgotten himself and had lost the careful control he had on his anger. Even now that the specter had forgiven Arthur and come to peace with his own demise, the rage never seemed to go away. It was always simmering just below the surface, waiting for him to slip up and boil over. Afterall, it wasn’t just his attachment to Vivi that had brought him back, but his desire for vengeance as well. This anger was a part of him now, as much as he hated it, as much as he was afraid of it. Normally he kept it buried deep, able to force it back down whenever it reared its ugly head. He hadn’t felt such an intense flare of rage in months, and his fury had never boiled over without any provocation before. The imagined cold that had seeped into his bones was now completely burned out, the golden locket that served as his anchor thrumming with anger.

Did he really still hate his friend so much?

Lewis shook his skull back and forth, his hair flickering wildly at the movement. He had to keep it together. He thought back to all the late night conversations with Arthur that had helped to keep his loneliness at bay over the last few months. How before the cave, they would camp out on top of the van and look at the stars, guessing at the names of constellations, the mechanic at ease enough to fill the silence with idle chatter about science fiction and space travel. He remembered how his friend had helped him study for the law school he’d hoped to get into, shuffling through stacks of flash cards filled with legal jargon over milkshakes at the restaurant. Teenage years spent at each other’s houses, sleepovers filled with binge watching Sailor Moon andsuffering through Surf’s Up Pizza because he knew how much Arthur liked it. The only kid in middle school who had readily accepted that Lewis hadn’t been a part of the Pepper household up until the day he was.  

The ghost put a hand to his anchor, willing himself to calm down as he wrapped his fingers around the heart-shaped locket. He didn’t hate Arthur. At least, not anymore. Facing down a murderous, possessed kitsune together hadn’t magically spirited away the hurt Lewis had felt. His behavior towards Arthur had ranged from cold to cruel in the first couple of months following their reunion. During one disastrous case, it had gotten bad enough that the mechanic had almost walked away from the Mystery Skulls for good. While on an investigation out of town, Lewis had lost his tenuous grip on his temper and had blown up at the mechanic to a nuclear degree. Arthur had fled, even leaving his precious van behind, determined to hitchhike his way back home to Tempo. Mystery had tried to talk the mechanic out of it, but Vivi had ended up having to drag Arthur away from the roadside herself. With the mechanic refusing to talk, the blue-haired girl had resorted to taking him to a bar and had plied him with alcohol to get him to open up. Arthur had finally broken down into a blubbering mess after several drinks. Once their tab had been paid and the mechanic tucked away safely in the back of the van to sleep it off, Vivi had tracked down Lewis to give the ghost a piece of her mind with a stern lecture that Ma Pepper would have been proud of. While she was sympathetic to the ghost’s position, she reminded him that it wasn’t really Arthur who had pushed him off the cliff, and that the mechanic had been devastated and desperate to find Lewis after he’d gone missing. Vivi also pointed out it wasn’t fair to force her to choose between the faithful friend she’d had by her side over the past year and someone she had only just started to remember having loved. Faced with the prospect of tearing the Mystery Skulls apart and driving away the people he cared about, the ghost had begrudgingly agreed to try and put the past behind him.

With the winter winds swirling around him, Lewis could feel the beating of the heart in his hand slow to a steady thump, thump, thump as he reminisced. Things had been hard at first. The smallest of slights irked the ghost, and it took tremendous concentration to think before he snapped. He had still failed on occasion, with his only choice then being to leave his friends behind while he cooled off. Little by little though, he was able to box up his resentment and pack it away, having a much easier time dealing with it in smaller pieces. He then found he could control his anger, and even if it had become a part of him, it didn’t have to control him. Talking with Mystery had helped. The kitsune had centuries of life experience to draw from, and was more than happy to offer advice or just sit back and listen when Lewis needed him to. Vivi was just as willing to help, but couldn’t always stop herself from offering up ideas and solutions when Lewis talked about his problems. Sometimes it was nice to have someone to just listen without interruption. With time, practice, and help from his friends, the ghost was finally able to be around Arthur again, and being around his former friend reminded Lewis of why they had been friends in the first place. After a while, he found he actually liked being around Arthur, even in their new circumstances. He wanted to try and be friends again, but there had been so much to remedy between them. It had taken a long time for the mechanic to let his guard down around the ghost, not that Lewis could blame him. When he finally did, they had slowly begun to mend their friendship, but something was still missing. Lewis struggled at times to keep his distance, not wanting the mechanic to feel uncomfortable or threatened by his presence after so much bad blood between them. He waited respectfully for Arthur to bridge the gap, but, even now, the mechanic still seemed wary of him. Lewis had to wonder if his friend just needed more time or if he’d irreparably broken something between them. The ghost would never forgive himself if he’d missed his chance to fix things. Lewis looked at the locket in his hand and flipped it open. Eyes unclouded by anger, he could clearly see the picture of the four of them it contained. Together, just the way they should be.

All he wanted now was his best friend back.

Lewis heaved a sigh, closing the locket again as he prepared to continue his search. The sight of the golden heart had given him an idea. Concentrating, the spirit summoned his coffin, the dark lacquered wood standing out against the snow. The casket lid sprung open to reveal six purple-colored spirits, each adorned with a small golden heart of their own. The Dead Beats immediately poured out of the coffin, winding around Lewis’s shoulders and bumping up against his shins. Vivi had been enthralled to be able to study the small ghosts up close once they’d been formally introduced. According to Mystery, they were weaker spirits drawn to Lewis’s power, feeding on his cast-off energy. The kitsune had assured the Mystery Skulls that they weren’t some kind of paranormal parasite though, and no harm would come to Lewis from their presence. It was a symbiotic relationship, and while there was no direct benefit to him, Lewis did find he enjoyed their company. They reminded him of affectionate cats sometimes. Especially with the way they rubbed against his legs, humming instead of purring, as they did now.

“I’m happy to see you too,” Lewis said earnestly, patting at one of the little specters’ heads, “But right now I need your help. Can you do something for me?”

The Dead Beats harmonized in a way he knew meant ‘yes’.

“Good,” he replied, “Arthur is missing. I need you to split up and help me look for him. If you find him, come tell me where he is right away. Can you do that?”

Another affirmative humming sound.

“Thank you! Please, go as quick as you can!” Lewis set about pointing each of the Dead Beats in a different direction, one of them doubling back to see if Arthur had travelled further along the road Lewis had left behind. The others fanned out through the field to cover more ground and expand their search radius. Lewis watched as they took off in every direction, zipping over the snowbanks as they began to search for the mechanic. Satisfied, he continued forwards on the path he’d chosen for himself. There were now six extra sets of eyes looking for the lost mechanic. Lewis only hoped that if one of them did find Arthur, they wouldn’t try to play any tricks on him. The Dead Beats had quite a mischievous streak, with Arthur being the favorite target of their practical jokes and pranks. Having the extra help in his search was a huge relief, but Lewis knew he wouldn’t truly feel at ease until his friend had been safely recovered.

Please don’t let me be too late…to find him…to fix things.

There was still so much Lewis wanted to say. They never talked about that night in the cave, and though sometimes Lewis felt that they didn’t have to, he did wonder if it would help. He hoped he would get the chance to find out. While Lewis had calmed himself considerably, his worried thoughts still tumbled about like a brewing storm as he continued the search for his missing friend. He ignored that, deep beneath the hopes and fears he felt, a spark of anger was still burning in his chest, refusing to go out.

[dontthrowsticksatme]

I accidentally wrote 1600 words of Pansy Parkinson and her family as the Kardashians. I'm sorry.

Pansy succeeded in dragging Draco along to the party at the Parkinson Property. Her brother Penstemon and sister Primrose had come over, and the Parkinsons were at its chaotic peak with all five siblings present. It was Draco’s firm belief that the entire family shared one single brain cell when they got together. The biggest survivor move on a day in their household was to figure out whose turn it was on the brain cell, and to stick with that person at all times.

Primrose and Penstemon had brought along their respective partners, heightening the chaos even further. Primrose was dating a giant American Quidditch-player named Nathan B. Daniels. He was Beater for the Sweetwater-All Stars and twice Draco’s size, and for some reason – perhaps sheer respect – everyone kept calling him Nathan-B-Daniels as if it was just one name.

Mr. Parkinson had been utterly against the guy at first. ‘Nobody knows him, we have no idea who his family is! I refuse to tolerate any common American marrying my daughter! It is simply not happening, Primrose!’

Primrose had kept yelling over him, ‘Who said anything about marrying? Who said marrying, dad?! Seriously, I never said anything about marrying, did I?!’

It had split the family apart for days, until Mrs. Parkinson arranged a dinner to meet the new boyfriend. She’d seated Mr. Parkinson next to Nathan B. Daniels at the dinner table... and they'd instantly hit it off, talking about sports and model racing brooms like they'd known each other for years. Ever since, they got along like a house on fire; sometimes it seemed like Mr. Parkinson loved Nathan B. Daniels even more than Primrose did.

The night of the reunion party was no different than any other. The house elves had served them all – including the children – big glasses of wine on the porch. Sipping their Superior Red, they overlooked the sunset over Parkinson Property, while their mother related stories about disastrous mistakes she prevented her friends from making and Penstemon raved about his job. Pansy kept slapping Primrose’s butt or poking her boobs – for no particular reason – along with the occasional insult, while Primrose was sitting on Nathan B. Daniels’ lap.

Ordinary night.

After one or two glasses, Primrose started asking her little sisters Poppy and Periwinkle invasive questions about their “secondary sexual development” that Draco would not be comfortable to repeat, at which Pansy and her mother shrieked with laughter while the little ones slouched in their seats with flushed faces.

‘Leave them alone, Primrose,’ said Penstemon, at which Nathan B. Daniels shot up with a face as if he wanted to fight. Draco only just met him, but he could already tell the man fitted into the family just fine.

‘Relax, honey,’ simpered Primrose, petting her boyfriend. ‘He’s joking.’

‘I’m not joking, actually,’ said Penstemon, clearly keen to fight too.

‘He’s always telling you what to do,’ Nathan B. Daniels hotly told Primrose. ‘I hate how your family tries to keep you down all the time.’

Primrose hushed him, but Penstemon shot to the edge of his seat. ‘No, Primula Vulgaris, by all means! Let the man speak!’ he shouted, not allowing the man to speak at all. ‘Tell me, how am I trying to keep my sister down? How long have you even been in this family? You don’t know us!’

Draco sipped his wine, relishing in the warm glow of another Parkinson feud.

‘Settle down, Penstemon,’ said Mr. Parkinson, and Draco braced himself, knowing it was like throwing oil at Penstemon’s fire to tell him to settle down.

‘The only thing I said was that I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask the girls – who are minors! – about their private affairs! In front of everyone! How is that keeping anyone down? Tell me! Do you think it was appropriate to ask the girls those things in front of everyone, dad? Do you?’

Primrose winked at Nathan B. Daniels, and proceeded to give her youngest sisters some advice on the best ways to please a man.

‘Primrose!’ roared Penstemon, while Pansy almost peed her pants, she was laughing so hard. ‘You are being so inappropriate right now!’

‘Penstemon,’ Mrs. Parkinson intoned, ‘please.’

‘You are honestly being so inappropriate right now! My wife is here! Do you people ever think about anything other than yourself for even one second?’

Mrs. Parkinson – leaning back in her chair, wine in hand – loudly put in her two cents: ‘These are perfectly normal topics to discuss – I don’t see why you’re making a fuss, darling. You know, maybe you should think about surgically removing that stick up your ass.’

‘Mum!’ yelled Pansy, while Draco burst out laughing, almost spitting out his wine, and Penstemon jumped up.

‘What did you just say? What did you say to me, mum?! You are supposed to be the adult here! My wife is here. You are all being so rude right now. Honestly, you are being so childish. I can’t be with this family anymore!’

‘Oh come on,’ Mrs. Parkinson drawled, but Penstemon stormed off, dragging his wife along.

The family watched in silence. The crickets in the fields surrounding the Parkinson Property chirped their song.

‘You shouldn’t have said that,’ Mr. Parkinson weakly told his wife.

Mrs. Parkinson’s eyebrows were up in her hair. ‘Why, what did I say? Honestly, I don’t understand what I did.’

That was Pansy’s cue to slam down her glass. ‘You can’t tell your son he has a stick up his ass, mum! He was right, you were being so rude!’

‘I was joking!’

Pansy jumped up. ‘Shut up, mum! I’m telling you, you can be so rude!’

Her mother made to get up, but didn’t actually bother. ‘I was joking!’ she called after Pansy, who was storming off now too. Draco wondered if he should follow her, seeing as he was her friend.

‘Penstemon should learn to take a joke!’ Mrs. Parkinson lazily shouted after Pansy. Then she leaned back in her chair again, allowing the house elf to top up her glass. ‘It was just a joke, you know.’

Primrose was looking around in confusion. ‘Is Penstemon angry with me?’

‘Don’t worry about your prissy brother,’ said Mrs. Parkinson. ‘He should learn to loosen up. Those topics we discussed are perfectly ordinary topics. It’s important the girls learn these things.’

Mr. Parkinson facepalmed. ‘Dion…’

Meanwhile, Poppy and Periwinkle were dancing in the yard, unbothered by it all. Nathan B. Daniels was kissing Primrose everywhere and touching her under her clothes as if they were alone. Draco tried not to stare, but stared. He shook his head, forcing himself to look away, and went to find Pansy.

She was in the kitchen with her brother and his wife, who only ever talked to agree with Penstemon. The three of them seemed to be rehashing the fight till eternity, and it became clear to Draco that neither of them owned the brain cell that night. After a few minutes, he had enough, and when he returned to the patio, the entire mood had shifted.

Primrose was crying, flanked by her little sisters, who were petting her shoulders and her hair. Her mother was crouching in front of her, unsteadily because of the wine and the stilettos, while Nathan B. Daniels kissed Primrose's neck, arms and hands.

‘He’s my only brother,’ Primrose wailed with big, woeful doe-eyes. ‘I only just got back from France. I hardly see him anymore, and I was so excited to be here and now we get into this huge fight. He is so important to me. You know how important my family is to me. I’d die for you guys!’

The girls simpered and ‘aaw’-ed and told her they, too, would die for their family.

Draco sat down next to Mr. Parkinson. They shared a look.

‘Penstemon is my only brother, you know,’ Primrose wailed on. ‘I used to be so close to him, remember? Wasn’t I always so close to him, mum?’

‘Yes,’ Mrs. Parkinson solemnly swore. ‘You two have always been the closest of all my children. Right, Al? Didn’t I always say how close Penstemon and Primrose were, growing up?’

‘Yes, my dear,’ said Mr. Parkinson obligingly. ‘Two peas in a pod, our two eldest.’

‘Oh, I can’t stand this tension,’ said Mrs. Parkinson, getting up to put her hands on her hips. ‘This fight is tearing our family apart.’ She was looking expectantly at her husband.

So, groaning, Mr. Parkinson took his cue to get up. Draco followed him to the kitchen, where the man beckoned Penstemon to come outside. ‘Your sister wants to tell you something.’

Penstemon crossed his arms and cantankerously looked away. ‘She’s not my sister anymore.’

‘She will always be your sister,’ said Mr. Parkinson. ‘You should give her a chance.’

Penstemon huffed, but after a second he gave in. ‘Fine…’

‘If she doesn’t apologize, we’ll slap her,’ grumbled Pansy.

‘Fair enough.’ Mr. Parkinson walked out, fully expecting his children to follow – which they did. Draco trailed after them like he was their house ghost.

As soon as they reached the patio, Primrose dried her tears and ran up to Penstemon, telling him how sorry she was and how important he was to her. Penstemon teared up too and hugged her, telling her how sorry he was and how important she was to him.

‘Thank Merlin!’ said Mrs. Parkinson emphatically.

‘I am honestly so relieved,’ Pansy told Draco in a deadpan. ‘They were always so close, you know.’

Draco nodded, having a hard time not to laugh. ‘It was tearing the family apart.’

The house elves quietly refilled everyone’s glasses. The girls turned up the music, which led to ugly dancing, dirty jokes and lots of loud laughter, and to Primrose giving Nathan B. Daniels a lap dance.

Draco loved the Parkinsons with all his heart.

[imaginepirates]

Belonging

For @wxntersouljapods. The reader is a stowaway who gets caught by the crew. Jack allows them to stay, but gives them the offer to leave and make a life for themselves somewhere else.

@bonjour-frens @tesserphantom @ilikebritsandbands

~3100 words

~~~~~~~

           Your breathing sounded too loud in your ears. Footsteps echoed in the open room, and gruff voices filled most of the space. They couldn't hear you. They didn't know you were there. 

           You heard someone pull the top off of a barrel. Your eyes were open, but useless; everything was pitch black to you. You hoped your barrel was far enough in the back that nobody would check it. All these men were looking for was a snack or a drink, right?

           You were willing to bet that pirates didn't routinely check through their food stores. What should have been a barrel full of dried meat did not, in fact, contain any. It contained live meat, and that live meat was you. You knew how hungry sailors could get at sea, and hoped that if you were found, they wouldn't opt for cannibalism. 

           You were a stowaway. Running away from an abusive household and an empty life in Tortuga, you'd stashed yourself on the most promising ship. It was a huge but graceful vessel with black sails and made of dark wood. You figured that none of your family would follow you onto a ship with such a reputation. 

           You knew the ship well; it stopped in Tortuga every few months, restocking its provisions and entertaining the men on board. You had a feeling it could suck any other city dry of rum. 

           All the poor children went out to watch it dock and depart. Dark legends surrounded the vessel. Supposedly, it had been captained by ghosts once. Some said it still was. There was a rumor that it had been recovered from the depths by means of witchcraft after having been burned. The tales ranged from horrifying to ridiculous. 

           You were more than willing to lead a more exciting life, one away from home. You loved stories of adventure, and now you were finally in one. Admittedly, it was less action-packed than you figured your first adventure would be. In all truth, it was a little scary. 

           Every night, when no light entered the hull, you slipped out of your barrel with nothing to see by. You opened other barrels, feeling around inside them for what they held. You took as much food as you thought you'd need the next day. Then, you returned to your crate, trying to find a comfortable position. 

           The days were boring. You had nothing to do, and you couldn't move. It was hard enough to live in a small house, but when confined to a barrel, life was dismal. 

           You passed your time by sleeping. It was the only thing you could do besides worrying incessantly, and at least you couldn't feel your discomfort while asleep. 

           The dull thud of another barrel top being shoved to the floor reminded you that you weren't alone. The shuffling of feet was, inch by inch, getting closer. If the pirates got any nearer, you feared they would find you. You didn't want to know what would happen if they did. 

           You'd played the scenario out in your head a hundred times. Your brain came up with all sorts of awful things that could happen to you. You could be killed, or raped, or strung up from a mast and left to swing upside down from your ankles. All were unsavory options. 

           You held your breath. Someone was standing right next to you, and you imagined them reaching out to take the lid off your barrel. You could practically see it. You tried convincing yourself that he was faced in the other direction. It didn't work; fear won out. 

           You sat completely still for a few minutes while the men talked amongst themselves. You sent out silent prayers, but could hardly concentrate over the fear gripping your chest. 

           Just as you were convincing yourself to relax, light blinded you. You blinked up into the daylight. Shocked faces stared down at you. There were two men hovering over your barrel, and both of them looked confused. Realization dawned on one of their faces. 

           "A stowaway!" He said softly. 

           Your neck craned up at an odd angle to look at them. Fear flooded your chest; you recalled everything you'd heard about this ship and wondered what tortures the crew had in mind for a young girl. 

           Now, there were more people looking at you. You felt like some horror in a curiosity shop. You desperately wanted to escape their gaze, but you were stuck in the middle of them all. You couldn't run; a ship wasn't that big. They'd find you again eventually. 

           "Would you like some help out?" The man's voice was strangely soft. Bending to look at the source, you noticed that it wasn't a man at all. A dark skinned woman stood over you, a floppy hat obscuring her face. She held a hand out to you which you gratefully accepted. 

           Standing in the barrel, you took a look at the people around you. They were certainly an odd mix, but contrary to everything you had been told, they didn't seem frightening in the least. 

           One of them stood no higher than your chest. He looked up at you with squinty eyes. Another man, an older gentleman with a grey beard, stared at her without making a sound. There was the woman, too, who stood with a hand on her hip and lips downturned in a way that said she was slightly inconvenienced. 

           Your feelings of dread were slowly dissipating. The three pirates didn't look like they had the slightest idea what to do with you. You all spent a good while staring at each other, waiting for someone to talk. 

           When you moved to step out of the barrel, they let you. You stretched, and they watched, staying quiet the whole time. 

           Finally, the girl spoke. "We should take her on deck."

           This seemed like a satisfactory conclusion, because the short man awkwardly took your arm. There was no force behind his touch; it was like he was deciding whether or not you were a prisoner. 

           You were escorted up to the deck. At first, nobody noticed you. Slowly, heads turned, and expressions changed from neutral to confused as the crew noticed that you were a stranger. 

           A man in a turban stepped up to you. "Who is this girl?" He asked. 

           The others shrugged, letting you introduce yourself. "I'm Y/N," you said in a little voice. 

           "What are you doing here?"

           "I'm…running away from home."

           There was a moment's pause. "Someone should get Jack," said the man in the turban.  

           "I'm not doing it." This was the woman, and she looked disgusted. "I'm not dealing with him."

           There were murmurs of agreement as people avoided the task. More people were staring at you now, making you feel uncomfortable. Whoever this 'Jack' was, he must be terrifying. The entire crew didn't want to fetch him. 

           "Gibbs!" Someone called. "Go fetch Jack."

           A bewildered looking man with mutton chops gazed out over the crowd. His mouth moved as if he was going to speak, but he turned and headed off towards the back of the ship. 

           "Who's Jack?" You asked timidly. 

           "Our captain," said the woman. "Though a lot of good that does us." Her voice dropped with sarcasm. "Right now, he's asleep and horribly hungover. That's why nobody wants to deal with him. He can be a real pain in the ass."

           "Oh." You thought the captain was supposed to be the terror of the Caribbean seas. 

           "I'm Anamaria." She stuck out her hand, and you took it. "That's Marty," she pointed at the short man, "and that's Mr. Cotton. He's mute; his parrot talks for him."

           You didn't know what to say. You'd already told them your name. It was a peculiar group of people. None of them seemed normal in the slightest. It definitely didn't seem like the crew of horrors you'd heard about. 

           Instead of speaking, you nodded. You were a little dazed that nobody had harmed you. These people seemed…friendly, almost.  

           Motion up ahead caught your attention. A man was staggering about, a bottle still in hand. "Who dares wake me?" He hollered. 

           He definitely wasn't what you'd been expecting. People always talked about captains as if they were big-bellied, loud, cruel men who liked to prey on young girls. This didn't seem to be the case. 

           This man was lean with a wiry build. His voice was loud, but only because he was shouting. You suspected the alcohol wasn't helping the back of his throat. He didn't look cruel; you'd have to find that out for yourself. As for the part about preying on women, you hoped you wouldn't have to discover it the hard way. 

           Judging by the unimpressed looks from the crew, he didn't have any of the rumored traits. He staggered closer and almost fell over. When he'd gotten near enough, you could see how hard he was squinting at your face. 

           "And who," he slurred, "is thissss…thiss wench?" He held onto each 's' like a hissing snake. 

           "A stowaway." Anamaria announced. 

           "A stowa-stow-st… why are you on my ship, lassie?" He turned his attention toward you. 

           "Running away from home, Captain."

           He looked thoughtful. "I'm going back to bed. I'll deal with it when I wake up." With a nod, he stumbled away. 

                                  ~~~~~

           You occupied yourself by sitting on a barrel near the rail of the ship  You watched the crew at work, the rolling ocean, and the door of the captain's cabin. You were wary of when he'd come back out. You were dreading the encounter, really. After all, he had the final say on what to do with you, and he could have you dumped into the ocean. Or stranded on an island. Or used as target practice. 

           Your imagination was at it again. Really, you wished it would leave you alone. It was no use thinking up disastrous situations. You wouldn't know the verdict until he gave it to you himself. 

           The hours wore on into late afternoon. Most of the crew had introduced themselves. They were the least intimidating bunch of people you'd ever met. 

           "What about all the rumors I've heard?" You asked Anamaria. "About this ship?"

           "All true, every last one of them. However, they're outdated. The ship has changed both captain and crew since then."

           "And now?"

           "Now, we sail, searching for mystical items Jack wants to find. We talk with witches. We get into trouble with island tribes. We're the bane of the government because we're a minor nuisance that always slips away from them. Jack is good at avoiding conflict."

           "So, you're mainly just adventurers who call themselves pirates?" 

           "We are pirates," she said defensively. 

           "It doesn't sound like you do much pillaging to me."

           She paused, looking frustrated. "We don't."

           Just then, Jack stepped out of his cabin. He was more steady on his feet, and he scanned the deck for you. Finding you, he sauntered over, looking you up and down with dark eyes. 

           "The stowaway. Does she have a name?" He gave you a pointed look. 

           "Y/N." You introduced yourself for what felt like the thousandth time that morning. 

           "Y/N." He repeated the name a few times, rolling it around on his tongue as if to get used to it. It made you a bit uncomfortable. He was…eccentric. That you could tell already. "It's a good name," he said. 

           "Thank you?"

           "What use can you make of yourself on board my ship?"

           "What?" You'd never even been on a ship before. You couldn't possibly be of any help.  

           "Can you cook? Can you clean? If you can't tell," here, he leaned in a little, wiggling his fingers in your face, "I'm not exactly working with a full crew. It puts some strain on things."

           "Oh." You hadn't thought of that. "I can do both of those things, actually."

           "Wonderful. I'll put you to work right away." He nodded, leaving you to Anamaria's instructions. 

           The days wore on. Not only were people nice, but they were helpful, showing you where things were and how to do certain tasks. They complimented your cooking, saying you could work miracles with the food. It was, after all, dry and preserved. Ships could only carry nonperishable foods. They were never any good. 

           You felt generally accepted by the crew. They didn't sneer, or make fun of you, or ignore you. You were included in all activities. 

           Jack often stood at the helm, providing directions with his compass. He was such an odd man, you didn't see how he could ever be accepted as a captain. It was only when you listened to the stories about him that you understood. 

           Jack took the crew on great adventures. Even if they didn't end in profit, the crew had a good time, and memories were made. 

           A few days in, Jack invited you to dinner in his cabin. There were sniggers from all the crew members, but you accepted his invitation despite your embarrassment. 

           Jack hadn't been able to decide what direction to sail in for days. You thought it curious. Didn't he know where he was going? 

           "I hope this dinner clears up his mind," Anamaria shouted. "I don't want to be stuck drifting aimlessly for too long." 

           There were scoffs, and multiple odd looks, but you tried not to pay attention. Your mind was wandering to what the dinner would be like. You didn't know what to expect. Jack was so strange, anything could happen. 

           You felt bad for a lack of fresh clothes. You'd worn the same outfit for days on end, and you figured you smelled awful. You pulled at your hair to no avail. Clearly, it would have to stay messy. 

           You slipped into his cabin that evening. He let you in with a slight bow, which you found amusing. There was no need to feign propriety around a Tortuga girl. 

           He sat you down at a small table that had been drug to the center of the room. Other unidentifiable objects had been shoved against the walls to make room. You sat on a rickety stool that was missing a leg. The ship suffered from a lack of working objects. 

           The dinner wasn't comprised of anything special. It seemed that Jack ate no better than his crew. He did, however, pull out a nice looking bottle of wine. 

           "Do you plan on getting me drunk?" You asked. 

           "It does make the food taste better," he said. 

           You smiled. You couldn't fathom why Jack had invited you to dinner. You were afraid he was going to drop you off at the next port, and he was telling you it was your time to leave. 

           Instead, he asked about your life before running away. "You said you were running away." He absentmindedly tapped his bread against the table, checking for bugs. "What from?"

           You didn't know how to answer the question. "People," you said. 

           "The authorities?" Now, he looked rather interested. 

           "No." You shifted uncomfortably on the stool, which creaked under you. "From my family."

           In the time you had spent on the ship, not once had Jack looked serious. Now, he was sobered and grim. He nodded. "Sometimes we aren't meant to live at home."

           You wondered at that. It was possible that you truly weren't. What, you asked yourself, had Jack been through that he would know the feeling? 

           "We won't be making port for a while. Tortuga is our usual stop, and I doubt you want to get off there."

           You shook your head. You definitely didn't want to end up back in Tortuga. "Where will we stop?"

           "I make no promises, love. But I suspect somewhere in Spain."

           Spain sounded exciting. The people from home told stories about Spain. "What for?" You asked. There were so many things to see in the world, you realized. 

           "They say the Holy Grail lies there."

           "What do you need that for?"

           His eyes flashed with desire. "Immortality."

           "Sounds lonely," you said. 

           "What do you mean?" His nose twitched. 

           "You'd always be losing people."

           "I'd find some new ones."

           "I don't think that's how it works." You certainly didn't want to outlive your friends. Not that you had any, really, but you'd make some. 

           He cleared his throat. "My point is: will you be leaving us or no, savvy?"

           You considered. You liked the crew, and work wasn't too bad, considering you were given the necessary but easy and menial tasks. "I don't know. I'll make up my mind when we arrive, I suppose."

           "Fair."

           "The crew tells me about all the adventures you've taken them on." You looked at your empty plate, flushing. "I've always wanted to go on adventures. I might stay, just for that. Am I on one now, do you think?"

           He hummed his assent. "And I could take you on lots more, love. Lots more." He leaned in a little, tilting your chin up with a finger. 

           It took all your self-control not to squeak. He was certainly close, and the smirk on his face wasn't helping your embarrassment. 

           The night continued. You chatted idly. You didn't get drunk, but you were pleasantly flushed by the time you decided to leave.

           You turned to go, but Jack set a hand on your shoulder. His expression was serious again, and you tensed. "Family isn't always the people who share your name. Family cares." He gazed into your eyes, unblinking. "We can be your family. This crew."

           "The captain, too?"

           "Him too, love."

           You smiled weakly. "Thank you." You pressed a light kiss to his cheek. You took a moment to gauge his reaction, hoping you hadn't overstepped your place. 

           He turned red, but a smile tugged at his lips. Gently, he cupped the back of your head with a hand, the other resting just below your chin. He smelled- and tasted- like wine when he gave you a slow kiss. 

           "Goodnight, Y/N," he murmured against your lips. 

           "Goodnight, Jack." It was more of a sigh than actual speech.

           Jack decided which direction to travel the next day, but that didn't keep him from asking you to dinner again. And again. After all, he couldn't direct the ship while distracted. 

           You decided to stay. The adventure was appealing, but there were other things, too. You belonged somewhere. You weren't about to give it up. 

[chrysalispen]

xx. a head hangs, weighed with snow;

AO3 Link here

She was not summoned the next day, or the next, or even the sennight after that.

Watching the growing anger and uneasiness of the townsfolk as rations continued to dwindle, Aurelia was reminded of that final, fatal summer drought just before her uncle had taken her wardship. Precious little of Gyr Abania was arable; it was a land with brutal and punishing summers, and dry, cold winters. That had ever been the state of things as far as she was aware, and her father said there had been little in the way of proper industry of any sort before the occupation. 

However, she recalled the drought and its fallout all too well. 

It had all started the year of her thirteenth nameday, when the imperial air dreadnought Agrius had set off on her maiden voyage into Mor Dhona’s skies. Legatus van Baelsar’s gamble had not seemed to be one at the time. After all, Eorzea was known to be a wild frontier with no real means to counter imperial might- but none had expected resistance to come in the form of Dravanian tooth and claw. 

Victory against the dragons had come at the cost of the Agrius itself and crippled the war machine so thoroughly that the survivors were forced to retreat back beyond Gyr Abania’s borders. It was not merely a defeat but a shocking rout, the consequences of which had a nigh-immediate ripple effect throughout the whole of the Empire. 

To offset his disastrous incursion into Eorzea and shore up the subsequent border wall construction, the viceroy had levied a hefty per annum tax upon the inhabitants of not only Ala Mhigo but every household in the province. Anyone who owned property had to pay the increased rate, even pureblooded settlers and wealthy landowning nobles like Julian rem Laskaris - who had, of course, grumbled incessantly about the drain on his family’s coffers. But as ever the lion’s share of the burden fell upon the aan, and few if any allowances were made for the lack of food and water even under drought conditions.

The Ala Mhigan people, never wont to labor willingly beneath the imperial yoke, had grown angry and restless in a manner very like unto this one. Riots in the aan districts. Stones and worse thrown at city patrolmen. A memorable - albeit failed - assassination attempt.

She doubted the unrest would be nearly so dire or so long-lived in Gridania as it had been there, for the Elder Seedseer was a much-loved figure and people here believed in the will of the elementals with a fervor that in some cases bordered upon open worship. So long as they felt the outsiders’ presence was accepted by the forest itself, Kan-E-Senna herself was in no danger. 

But she was not fool enough to believe that the better natures of man would serve as any sort of protection. Spring couldn’t come soon enough.

As Aurelia waited upon E-Sumi-Yan’s word, she resolved herself - in between her work in the field kitchens and in the training yards - to make preparations where she might. Today she had chosen to complete the rest of the entry pages in her botany journal - it was an herbal, really, at this juncture, containing all the information she had added to her notes over the past months. 

...And it had really been months now, since Carteneau, she realized. She had once owned a wrist-chronometer, a graduation gift from her uncle (one that, so far as Aurelia herself was aware, had been lost in the barracks of the castrum where she’d been stationed). The Empire ran itself strictly on kept minutes and hours so such contrivances had been vitally important in the context of day-to-day life in the capitol. 

It felt strange, realizing she’d not missed that strictly scheduled and segmented existence. Time had passed all but unnoticed in the relative calm of a pastoral routine.

Aurelia swayed in her desk chair, musing over the notion. Copying her own shorthand into the empty pages of the book was soothing but tedious work and the relative warmth of the room and the quiet were making her drowsy. 

She paused, blinked furiously to dispel the doze that had come over her, and set the quill in its shallow inkpot so she could rub her eyes. Her hand was beginning to cramp unpleasantly as well, fingers protesting against the work to which she’d set them. Hells, what she wouldn’t give for a proper fountain pen about now, she thought, pressing the heels of her palms against her aching cheekbones. 

Maybe she should pause her work and give herself a break. Just for a moment.

She had only rested her eyes for what seemed like a few heartbeats when she heard a rap upon her door. Aurelia ignored it at first, hoping that her visitor might realize they had come at an inconvenient time- but the knock came again, and in a few moments, repeated a third time. Resigned to the interruption, she pushed back her chair and made her way to the door only for it to be shoved open almost as soon as her hand touched the latch. 

Keveh’to shouldered his way into the room without preamble, his tail lashing fitfully. What was he doing? He knew full well he was supposed to knock before entering her bedchamber-

Her angry protest died on her lips at the sight of his face: a taut mask of anxiety. “Grab that ruddy bag of yours and aught else you can carry,” he ordered abruptly, the words sharp as shards of broken ice. “We’ve got to get you out of here. Get your shoes on.”

“What? What’s going on? What about the Guildmaster?” Bewildered she fumbled for the book, shoving it in her pack before seeing to her pattens. “What’s happening?”

“There’s no time to explain! We’ve got a unit out there holding them back but four men won’t be any bloody use against a mob that size. Hurry!”

As if his words had prompted them, muffled and angry shouts drifted into her ears from the other side of the window glass. She could make out a heavy throng of people clustered about the half-reconstructed entrance of the inn, and felt a moment’s misgiving-- there were surely not that many people in Gridania-- and then there was no time left to ponder it. Keveh’to was grabbing her arm, dragging her out the door before she could do more than grab her staff--

They both froze in place at the bright, scintillating sound of breaking glass. The mob had breached the Canopy’s main hall.

"Go!" Keveh’to shouted. 

He shoved her towards the stairwell leading to Miounne’s larder moments before the crowd-animal surged into the common room, roaring and baying as one. Stones and bottles sailed across the room and crashed into the back of the bar with a truly appalling accuracy, and when she tried to look for her minder again she could no longer catch sight of him or his yellow surcoat within the surging tidal wave of the riot.

Wincing against the stitch in her side, she ran for the exit as she was bid, dodging stones as her feet crunched over broken glass and spilled trenchers. The stairs were strangely dark, the well descending deeper than she had ever remembered it. As she continued downwards the light behind her grew dim, and with each step she began to feel her belly clench with apprehension. 

Surely she should have arrived at the exit by now-

Black anxiety speared down her spine, sudden and instinctive, third eye’s proprioception yammering a primitive and frantic warning. Someone - or something - was in her space. 

She wheeled about to meet her attacker, only to lose her footing on the edge of a stair step, and would have tumbled down the endless stairs and into oblivion if the figure had not grabbed her. A gloved hand clamped with brutal force over her mouth before dragging her back into the shadows, and up against her attacker’s larger, cowled frame. 

Something heavy and solid slammed into the back of her head before she could make a sound---

 ==

----and with a violent spasm of her arms Aurelia wrenched herself back into wakefulness, hastily snatching up her papers as the overturned inkpot made a small and rapidly surging flood across the desk.

“Bugger,” she cursed, “seven swiving hells below-”

There was a rap at the door, then another when she didn’t answer.

“Damnit,” she grabbed a handful of discarded draft parchments and crushing them onto the desk’s surface in an attempt to staunch the ink before it could drip onto the carpet. A third knock. “Yes, yes, a moment, pray!”

“Aurelia?” Keveh’to’s voice, its note of concern obvious. “Is aught amiss?”

She was unable to stop herself from casting a furtive glance out the window, overcome with a strong sense that perhaps she still might not be fully awake. But there was no mob crowding the entrance to the Carline Canopy. The street was as empty as it had been most of the winter, dusted white and grey with half-thawed patches of ice. 

Relief blossomed in her chest and she allowed herself a soft sigh. 

“All is well, come in.”

With an effort she concealed her trembling hands; her heart still raced with adrenaline and half-remembered fear. Keveh’to blinked at her.

“The Guildmaster is on linkpearl asking after you- Twelve, what happened in here? Did that book of yours finally try to eat you?”

“Very funny. Can I have the linkpearl, please?”

With a shrug, he deposited it into her hand. “You know how to-”

“I think I can figure it out.”It took a moment of maneuvering - the small device was fashioned for a Miqo’te’s ear - but she was able to hold the linkpearl to her ear with one shoulder and press the button quickly before returning her attention to the pile of soiled papers. “Hello?” she ventured. “Guildmaster?”

E-Sumi-Yan’s smooth voice. “Aurelia. I take it the Sergeant is there with you? Did you-”

“Keveh’to hasn’t debriefed me yet, I’m afraid,” Aurelia said, gathering handfuls of paper and shoving them in the small crate she’d appropriated as a wastebin. “Guildmaster, I appreciate the abundance of caution, all considered, but why not a summons?”

There was no response, but that was not so very unusual. E-Sumi-Yan was not a man to waste his words, a quality she knew her uncle would have appreciated. He would speak in time- once he had gathered his thoughts to his liking, as he always did. In the meantime she scrubbed at the ink on the desk, realizing as she did so that her efforts were largely futile.

Miounne will have my head, she thought ruefully.

Finally there came a long humming sound on the other end of the connection and once again Aurelia remembered that lucid dream, this time with a sharp pang of unease. 

“At the moment,” E-Sumi-Yan began, “I fear it would be very unwise to summon you to the Fane even with your minder present. I am told this line is not entirely secure, but Commander Heuloix assures me there is little concern for eavesdroppers.”

“Go on,” Aurelia said slowly.

“There’s to be a town meeting at the plaza site tonight. I shan’t bore you with the details, but the people of the city are demanding the Elder Seedseer remove all foreigners - adventurers as well, just so you know - for the duration of the winter. If not permanently.”

“What? Surely they must know Kan-E-Senna would never agree to such terms.”

“She would not, no. Council or no, she ultimately abides by the word of the elementals as do all of our order. Unless they tell her the city can hold no more souls, she will take them in.”

“...I hear a ‘but’ in that statement.” 

The guildmaster sighed. “This morning, while you were about your rounds in the refugee encampment, one of your former comrades, was injured on a work site. Someone in the street threw a stone and struck him in the head.”

“Oh, hells.” The ruined desk was all but forgotten. Aurelia threw the last handful of soiled parchment into the crate and adjusted the device at her ear. “Is he badly hurt?”

“No, the wound was mostly superficial. The Wailer on site called a conjurer to see to the prisoner after dispersing the crowd. He’s shaken, of course - very frightened to leave the Fane without an escort, but he has otherwise recovered. Which brings me to my business with you.”

She already knew what he was about to say. “I am to leave the Fane.” 

“Yes. I saw fit to reach out to Hearer Ewald in light of the news. The young man whom you are to replace shan’t leave his post for another few moons, but he confided to me that with the influx of refugees into other settlements the two of them are in need of additional hands. Sergeant Epocan will be escorting you to Willow’s Bend and will remain there with you until you are called back to the Fane. It’s a few malms out from Quarrymill, well off the main roads.”

 “I see.” 

“Under different circumstances, I would have bid you wait until the last snows have passed before attempting the journey, but after today’s incident I think perhaps the sooner the better.” A pause. “Can you make ready to leave at first light tomorrow?”

He’s worried about me, she realized suddenly. 

“I... yes. That shan’t be a problem. Aside from my medicines and my gear I’ve very little in the way of personal possessions.”

“Thank you, Aurelia. May I please speak to Sergeant Epocan?”

“Of course. One moment.” Keveh’to’s expression was quizzical as she passed the linkpearl back to him. “Your turn.”

“What,” he began, then hastily interrupted his query, “Ah, Guildmaster, I-... what? Tomorrow? But... yes. Yes, but the Commander will need to-... oh, he’s already... oh.”

Aurelia wasn’t privy to the other half of the conversation, of course. But it was hardly necessary. Even were she not staring at his face, she could watch Keveh’to’s mood by his flattened ears and the irregular lashing of his tail. It was souring by the second.

“The White Wolf postern gate. Yes, Guildmaster. Understood. Thank you.” The small pearl hanging from Keveh’to’s ear blinked blue to black as he cut the aetheric link.

“You don’t look well pleased,” she said wryly. 

He didn’t smile. An awkward silence descended as he stared at her, then the door, then back at her before he finally spoke. “You know I’m a Keeper of the Moon.”

“Yes...?” 

“Aye, well. Problem is, to a Garlean lass like you that don’t mean a godsdamned thing. I’m just another savage at the end of the day.” At her attempted protest he raised a hand, palm outwards. “Not picking a fight, mind, just... Well, that’s how far too many Shroud folk see us. Savages. Poachers who threaten the whole wood by just taking what we want when we want it.”

“Wait, but that’s not... I mean, I don’t-”

“I’m not done. See, the thing is... the Gridanians have their way of life. And that’d be fine, ‘cept they expect every bloody one else to abide by it too, and woe betide any who refuse. Lots of Keepers still, well, keep the old ways. They hunt and gather, take what they need, and the elementals don’t bother them. You can’t convince these people, though. They see me and think they know what I am.” 

“But you wear the colors of the Twin Adder.”

“That doesn’t mean as much as you might think. A goodly number of us are adventurers. And when a Gridanian notices it’s a Keeper wearing the yellow, you can see it in their eyes- the second they decide you aren’t worth what small respect they might have for the Grand Company. It’s like watching a door slam shut in your face.”

Aurelia hesitated, then reached out an ink-stained hand and squeezed his shoulder. “I understand more than you might think,” she said. “But not all of it. I’m sorry.”

“Villagers in my experience are insular fools. They’ll see you as an interloper and me as a craven thief. But I have my orders.” He shrugged, then smiled at her, a smile that did not meet his eyes. “I’m guessing you do as well.”

“So it seems. We’ll have each other for company, won’t we?”

“...That isn’t reassuring, Garlean.” At her saucy grin, he continued accusingly, “And don’t you smile at me like that, lass. The last time it was just the two of us, you threatened to singe off my tail hairs.”

“Aye, because you walked in on me while I was using the bloody chamber pot.” 

He laughed, finally, some of his irritation dissipating. “Well,” he said, “suppose I’d best go inform Mother Miounne we’ll be taking our leave of Gridania for a time on Guild orders- assuming she doesn't already know. If you haven’t already started packing your things, now would be a good time.” 

Without waiting on a response he turned on his heel and exited the room, the door-latch clicking softly shut behind him. Aurelia squared her shoulders and looked down at her hands, smudged with ink. 

She reached for her black bag, loosed its clasps, and took one last cursory glance of her stock. Most of the daily-use items at this point were long gone. The synthetic analgesics and anticoagulants, local anesthetics and antipyretics that were commonly used in the imperial army’s medical pavilions required reagents that one could not obtain in Eorzea. Short of raiding a castrum, of course- which she doubted anyone was willing to do. 

Carefully she put away the phials and refastened the clasps, then paused in thought before reaching for her travel pack and digging through its contents to produce a spare strip of linen. The imperial insignia with its scarlet-and-ivory tripartite links was clearly visible upon the strapping, and while she didn’t think anyone in a remote village would find it to be of any significance, it was best to be safe. 

Wrapping the fabric somewhat hastily about the strap, she knotted it in place, then set the bag next to her staff and began to tuck her few articles of clothing into the travel pack in tight rolls to make extra space. The journal was next, and she realized with some dismay that two of her draft pages had been ruined by the spilled inkpot before she could copy them to the leather-bound book. Naught to be done for it today.

She placed both bags next to the door, her training wand on top of the side table.

“There,” she murmured. She was as ready as one reasonably could be; might as well join Keveh’to in the main hall and take tea and an early supper. 

Hand on the door latch, Aurelia glanced over her shoulder and out the window one more time. Once more there was nothing to see.

Resolute, she turned her back on the desk and quit the room.

~*~

Grey shimmered at the window between the branches of the trees when the knock came on the door. She had already roused herself, donning her traveling clothes and tucking the wand into her sash before opening the latch- but it was not Keveh’to whom she saw when she opened the door. It was Miounne. The Elezen had a small cloth-wrapped bundle in her hands, and she was smiling ruefully.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as one truly can be, I suppose.”

“Good. Grab your things and follow me. Try to keep quiet. Most of my patrons are still abed and I'd rather not have them stirring before I can start the hearth-fires. Too many inconvenient questions.”

Aurelia blinked at her curiously but didn’t press the issue. They slipped out the exit towards the reconstructed plaza. 

“Keveh’to will meet you at the aetheryte. There’s a chocobo waiting for the two of you at the White Wolf gate. I’ve closed down the Guild’s leves and enrollments for a day or two,” Miounne said, a hand on Aurelia’s back between her shoulder blades to hurry her pace along. “There was an open meeting yesterday evening.”

“The town meeting? E-Sumi-Yan mentioned it when we spoke.” 

“He would not have told you, but it didn’t go well. Things are very tense just now; the townsfolk have worked themselves into a right fury over the lack of wintering supplies. They’re looking for anyone to blame for their woes."

“I know. They see us as a drain on resources.” Aurelia shook her head. She wasn’t surprised; she’d seen the hostile glares shot in her direction, after all. “It’s easier to blame outsiders, I suppose.”

“Yes, it is, which puts all of my freelancers at risk. And...” Miounne shrugged. “Well. I’ll let Sergeant Epocan explain, shall I?”

The plaza was as silent and empty as the Canopy’s main hall. Keveh’to awaited them as promised. The Keeper was fidgeting in place, his expression tense and his body language betraying his nervousness. It did little to set Aurelia’s mind at ease.

“You weren’t followed, were you?” he asked the proprietress as if Aurelia weren’t standing right there alongside. Her brow furrowed in momentary irritation, and Miounne scoffed.

“You worry far too much, Sergeant. This is hardly some daring midnight escape under cover of darkness."

"I simply don't want any trouble to come to you. If-"

"Too late to worry about that. But if anyone asks after my whereabouts, I was simply fetching my own firewood for the hearth for want of any strapping adventurers about.” She held out the package she’d carried with her when she had met Aurelia at the door of her inn room. “This is for the two of you. Eel pies for the road.”

The pair exchanged shocked glances. Miounne was famous in town for her eel pies, but many of the ingredients would have been very difficult to source this time of year. It said more than any words she might have uttered.

“What- Mother Miounne, you didn’t have to go to that trouble,” Keveh’to began.

“No, but I did. Now you mind yourself on the road, Sergeant Epocan. The guildmaster will have my head if you two don’t reach your new posting in one piece. And you,” she turned to look at Aurelia, “all the luck in the world to you. Matron keep you safe, girl.”

“I... yes.”  Unaccountably, she found herself flushing. “Quite.”

“Didn’t think I’d ever in my life find myself wishing an imperial well.” Miounne’s expression softened into a maternal smile. “But stranger things have happened - and you’re worth that much. There’s hard times ahead for all of us and folk will be starved for compassion as much as any rations. So don’t you ever let yourself lose that kindness of yours. All right?”

Aurelia nodded. Unbidden she felt a pang of sadness. It was true enough that the Elezen woman had not wanted to house an imperial prisoner under her roof at first, but she had been mindful to treat the Garlean woman as she would any of her adventurers.

Miounne looked as if she wanted to say something else, but whatever it might have been Aurelia would never know. Once she saw that they had accepted her parting gift, she pivoted swiftly on one heel and made her way back in the direction she’d come, toward the Carline Canopy to begin the day’s routine. It was just her and her minder. 

Keveh’to cleared his throat.

“Right,” he said, “this way. We’ll want to be shut of the main thoroughfare as soon as possible.”

She followed him, shifting the weight of her two packs from shoulder to shoulder, free hand at the small training wand on her belt in case of trouble. No trouble came. The only soul that stirred other than the night watch winding down for the shift change was the odd woodland creature, and the sounds of birds stirring in the trees.

As Aurelia had been told, there was a chocobo awaiting at the north gate. The Duskwight man holding the reins of the massive destrier wore the colors of the Twin Adder just as Keveh’to did, and he acknowledged them with a slight tilt of his chin.

“Javier,” the Miqo’te said. “Thank you for waiting.”

The man’s expression did not change. “Pray send word to the Commander upon your arrival. The Wailer outpost has been notified of your arrival, as has the Hearer overseeing the care of the region.”

“Understood. Thank you.”

Keveh’to yanked Aurelia’s packs from her shoulders and slung them over the chocobo’s broad back, lashing them in place with the heavy leather straps that dangled from the double saddle.

“How am I supposed to-” she began but faltered when the Keeper all but hopped into the saddle and held out one gloved hand. She slipped a foot into the stirrup alongside his and reached for him in return, and found her weight guided upwards with surprising ease.

“Hold on,” he ordered curtly.

Aurelia wrapped her arms about his waist. Keveh’to barked a short command and dug his heels into the chocobo’s sides. They were off, crunching through the powder snow and fallen leaves, the cold wind whistling in her ears. It was beginning to snow again, and powder flakes and ice bit at their exposed cheeks as they ventured deeper into the wood.

After a good quarter bell of tense silence, she deemed it safe to lean forward and tap him on the shoulder.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Well, what?”

“Why all the secrecy and grim faces? I’m just leaving town for a guild posting.”

“It’s not the posting itself, it’s…” Keveh’to growled, the tip of his tail lashing against her leg where it had curled around her calf. “...I don’t know how it happened and nor does Commander Heuloix. The Grand Company is investigating the source of the leak but-”

“Leak?” Aurelia said, feeling slow and stupid. “Leak, what do you-”

“The Wood Wailers had security present at that township meeting - to make sure things didn’t get out of hand, you know people have been on edge as of late - and someone in the crowd asked Brother E-Sumi-Yan why the Hearers are sheltering a Garlean. Not an imperial, mind. A Garlean. Someone knows about you. Or knows of you.”

“....Oh.”

“For a mercy no one said more than that. It might even be a rumor that happened to be closer to the truth than they realized. But we’re taking no chances.” 

She felt her belly clench.  But I’ve been so careful. How could anyone have…?

“Cooler heads seem to have prevailed for the time being,” Keveh’to continued, “although Miounne will be facing a fair bit of spite, methinks, as will her adventurers. It’s just as well the guildmaster decided to have you shipped off to the Arbor early.”

“Wait, but what- what about the conscripts? I can well understand why the townspeople would be upset about  me, but surely they aren’t...”

“Aught to do with you lot is classified knowledge, and it’d be beyond the likes of me. I was asked to mind you abide by the terms of your sentence until it’s done and that’s what I mean to do.” His jaw was tight. “The villagers won’t like me any more than they do you, but no use whinging about it, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” she echoed. 

“Hey.” This time he glanced over his shoulder, spared her a quick smile. “It is what it is, aye? We’ll make do. Mother Miounne can handle that lot. You worry about yourself.”

Sazha would have said the same thing, that one phrase that could sum up the entire situation, everything that had happened to Aurelia since the fall of Dalamud. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t ideal- but that changed nothing. 

It was what it was. All they could do was make the most of it.

A curtain of white quickly blanketed the forest floor, concealing the immediate signs of their passage beneath the Shroud’s winter-bared boughs. Within a bell, there was no sign to the casual eye that there had been travelers on the roads at all. 

[errorusernamedoesnotexist]

[Unnamed Town] Third Household

The third house in the rotation is that of siblings Elwood and Edwina Blackburn.

Dr Edward Blackburn was a mathematician but astronomy and xenobiology were his most-beloved hobbies. He was rewarded for his diligence in monitoring the cosmos by being abducted...twice. Although Dr Blackburn adored his half-alien children, not all of the citizens of his home town were as welcoming to the siblings. After getting a degree in art and realizing she didn’t like monetizing her art, Edwina moved back home to consider her options. Elwood, the younger of the pair, discovered the [town] settlement program shortly before he graduated and promptly applied to be the grocer for the new town. To allay Dr Blackburn’s concerns about his baby being all alone in a new town hours away (and having nothing else to do anyway) Edwina applied to be the driver for people working outside of [town] so she could accompany Elwood.

The Blackburn siblings moved in on Monday morning and were greeted by a welcome wagon consisting of Aron Uberti, Cameron Tillens, and Chloe Tillens. Edwina and Cameron were fast friends while Elwood seemed rather taken with Chloe.

Edwina tells Cameron Tillens about the trip to [town] while Elwood just wants to eat his sandwich.

Chloe monopolizes Elwood’s time while I show off how crowded their tiny living room/dining room/kitchen area is. Edwina isn’t even in the picture so its not even as crowded as it could be.

Francis Wilson arrived separately from the welcome wagon, as did Bhaskar Langenberg (as if the tiny Blackburn house wasn’t crowded enough).

Saying Chloe got along with Elwood well was a bit of an understatement.

But Elwood didn’t seem to mind at all. By the time all the guests leave, Edwina is friends with Cameron and Francis, Francis and Cameron have spent a sizeable chunk of the time fighting, and Chloe and Elwood have have crushes on each other. Aron and Bhaskar were also there but weren’t particularly notable.

On Tuesday, Edwina took her job as a driver and left early in the morning with a friendly sim from the Simsinatti Transportation Association who would be training her. Elwood, meanwhile, took a part-time job working at the same restaurant in Simsinatti that Francis works at to help cover their costs of living while the construction on the grocery store he’ll be running finishes up.

Edwina did not get a promotion on her first day like Elwood did but Cameron visited and they became best friends. Wednesday and Thursday passed without much happening but after a disastrous attempt to repair a burger machine at work, Elwood was demoted. Chloe stopped by to cheer him up and the two fell in love..

[segurodeobamacare]

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References Health marketing https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Health_marketing

[starlightinhumanform]

The Art of Love: Chapter 12

Fandom: She Ra (2018)

Ship: Glimadora 

Summary: While Glimmer gets to spend some time with her mother, Angella, she gets a potentially disastrous text from Adora. 

Warnings (for this chapter): Food Mention, One reference to parental death, Some discussions of internalized homophobia (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: I have to say,,, this has turned out to be much slower of a burn than I originally expected but oh well, the story will do what it wants. I am so happy and excited to continue working on it. I have found such a sweet and wonderful community through this silly story and I hope you all know just how much I appreciate each and every one of you. Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    The Art of Love Masterpost    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

A few hours and several hastily done homework assignments later, Glimmer sat across from her mother at the dinner table and quietly moved broccoli across her plate. It was her mom’s day off which meant they finally got the chance to spend time together. Unfortunately it also meant her mother felt obligated to cook dinner.

She glanced up to see her mother mirroring her actions, using her fork to bat at what Glimmer could only assume to be something that was- at one point or another- a vegetable.

Her mother wrinkled her nose as she looked up at Glimmer, “It’s not very good is it?”

Glimmer smiled, trying to lighten the blow, “It’s not... great, no.”  

Angella sighed, “Pizza again?”

“Well, I don’t know. This isn’t too inedible.”

She stuck her tongue out at Glimmer and laughed, “Stop teasing me! I’m trying my best!”

Her mother began moving to get up, presumably to order a pizza for the third week in a row, but Glimmer scrambled to get out of her chair first, “I’ll get it don’t worry!”

Glimmer had a hate/love relationship with having her mom finally home. She enjoyed being able to see her and rant about the stupid shit both of them had been forced to deal with. Their was a certain comfort in laughing until you’re crying with a person you know has the same sense of humor as you. On the flip side, that didn’t happen very often. At least, not anymore. It was far more common for Angella to laugh lightly, leaving Glimmer wondering where all the joy her mother used to hold had gone. She was tired. Work was hard and long and unpredictable; things would have been far easier if she wasn’t the only one bringing income into the household. Glimmer saw the stress it put on her mother- both physically and mentally- and wished she could do something to fix it all.

“Thank you, dear,” Glimmer could hear the relief in her mother’s voice and knew her legs must have been bothering her after standing on them all day.

“Yeah no problem, Mom,” Glimmer grabbed her phone off the kitchen counter and was about to dial the local pizza place when a notification flag caught her eye. The text came from a number unregistered in her contacts but she knew it well. Adora.

She could only see the first few words of the message:

Hey! I was wondering...

A thousand possible situations flashed across Glimmer’s mind- most of them revolving around the image of Elizabeth chattering away to Adora, casual as could be while she ripped apart Glimmer’s world.

And now Adora was texting her, probably asking why the hell Glimmer would ever possibly be foolish enough to crush on someone so out of her league. But she would never say anything like that; she would try to let Glimmer down easy. And it would hurt so much worse because Glimmer wouldn’t even have the comfort of hiding behind anger. It would all be soft words and sympathetic frowns and dull blades that did so much more damage than the one sweeping sword Glimmer wished Adora would reject her with, but knew she never would.

“Everything ok?” Angella called from the dining table, probably wondering why she hadn’t heard a sound when this was usually around the time Glimmer tried to sneak pineapple onto their order.

“Yeah, sorry! Got a little distracted!” Glimmer prayed her voice didn’t sound as strangled as felt in her throat.

“Well hurry up!! I’m hungry!”

Glimmer smiled at her mother’s playfully impatient tone before glaring down at the unopened notification.

She was tempted to throw her phone as far away from her as possible. Maybe into the garbage disposal at which time the switch would mysteriously flip on and the disposer would grind to life, ending all of Glimmer’s problems. On the other hand, she wanted pizza.

Glimmer paused for a second to think, bringing out all her customary mannerisms to do so- from chewing her lip to tapping her foot.

“Are you alright? Glimmer, is there really so much to be distracted by?”

Glimmer set her phone back on the counter face down and took a deep breath. She wasn’t ready to deal with whatever Adora was going to say. Or rather, had said and was now simply waiting for Glimmer to acknowledge. But Glimmer, in all her stubborn brilliance, decided she wasn’t going to acknowledge it. Not yet. Right now she was going to order some god damn pizza, attempt to sneak some pineapple onto it, and spend the rest of the night talking to her mom. The world owed her that much of a break.

She glanced over at her phone, its pastel rainbow case hardly representing the threat Glimmer felt it contained at the moment. All she had to do was was grab the phone and open the lock screen before she got a chance to read the message. Easy-peasy. She felt like a runner, coiled up at the starting line and ready to spring. She gave a small huff of a laugh. It’s just a text; you’re not trying to dodge bullets.

“Glimmer, what are you doing?”

“Yeah, Mom, sorry. I’m getting it now.”

“You’re not texting you friends are you?”

The irony very nearly got a legitimate laugh out of Glimmer, “No, Mom.”

She grabbed her phone, opened her lock with her thumbprint, and exhaled a breath she didn’t she had been holding. The message app held a red little bubble, trying to get her attention so she would answer the texts that had piled up since the last time she had checked. Glimmer knew at least four of them would be Bow, sending her memes. But one of them was Adora.

She shook her head. When it came down to it, she wanted pizza right now far more than she wanted any type of drama. Glimmer quickly pulled up her contacts, gave her usual order to one of the workers and walked back to the dining room; she left her phone in the kitchen.

Glimmer slid sideways into her chair, “So how was your day?”

Angella shrugged, “Pretty boring, really. Didn’t do much.”

“I mean that’s kinda the point of a day off,” Glimmer nodded as she spoke, trying to concentrate on the conversation instead of on the unopened message that waited for her on the kitchen counter. She felt guilty as her mind drifted away from what- no, who- she knew was more important. But it was like fighting an ocean’s tide; no matter how hard you grip the waves, they’re always going to pull away. And through her fingers, Glimmer’s attention would slip, always finding its way back to Adora.

It was beginning to be infuriating. The past few days had seemed completely centered around Adora. Every second Glimmer was getting a stomach ache over worrying about her or she was melting into some sad, pining puddle. Even when she managed to hold some composure, there was some nagging little feeling deep in the back of her mind that would eventually manage to bait and trap her focus. It was beginning to be ridiculous. This certainly wasn’t Glimmer’s first time having a crush, but she had never felt so trapped by her emotions before. It had never been this suffocating, so all-consuming. Anyways, she had more important things to be doing than daydreaming about something that was just that- a dream. But it was beginning to be unnerving. Because Glimmer didn’t know how to stop it.

“Hello there? Earth to Glimmer?”

“Hmm?” Glimmer snapped back to the present, scolding her mind for let her get so wrapped up in the middle of a conversation, “Hi. What were you saying?”

Her mom was smiling, “I was just asking how your day was, Miss Head in the Clouds.”

Glimmer pushed a smile onto her lips, “Oh, yeah I’m fine.”

Across the table, her mother’s eyebrows were pressed together, “You seem very tense.”

It was presented as a statement but Glimmer knew it was a question she was expected to answer.

“Really, I’m fine. I just have a big project right now and it’s... causing me some problems.” Well that’s not a lie.

“Oh?” Angella sat up a little, “What’s it on? What class is it for? What do you have to do?”

Her enthusiasm wasn’t contagious but it did hold a level of charm. Glimmer shook her head, “It’s not nearly as fun or exciting as you think it is. We just have to build a model of an element.”

“Wait is this for your chemistry class with that horrible teacher?” Glimmer’s mother jumped in, interrupting her with surprising passion, “What sort of problems are you having?”

Glimmer rolled her eyes, “Really, Mom, it’s no big deal. I’m... figuring it out, ok?”

Her mind flashed back to the time her mother had marched into the school’s front office- fuming and probably ready to physically fight someone- after Glimmer had complained about some idiots mocking her for being bi. It had been more infuriating than insulting or anything actually impactful. But Angella, in all of her attempts to be a supportive and protective mother, had decided to take matters into her own hands.

“And, uh, I don’t need any help.”

Her mother’s face fell in what Glimmer knew was disappointment, “Oh definitely. I’m sure you can handle it.”

“But if I need help, I’ll definitely tell you,” Glimmer tried.

Angella’s face brightened; it was nice to see her smile, “Ok!”

Silence settled between them. Angella let her eyes roam over Glimmer, studying her. It was obvious she was looking for something, mouth set and eyes slightly squinted. If anyone else had done it, Glimmer would have squirmed and snapped at them for even acknowledging her existence, let alone making her acknowledge it.

Glimmer just snorted though in response to her mother’s scrutiny, “Can I help you?”

Angella gave a tiny frown, “There’s something else going on. You have way too many thoughts floating around in your eyes for this just to be about a project.”

Glimmer shrugged and decided to focus on the easier subject of her plate instead of her mother. Her fork made a plink plink sound as she tapped it against the rim of her plate. It was almost funny to think she was so consumed by it all that apparently just her eyes gave it away. Just as strongly, it was disgusting to think she was so consumed by it, just her eyes gave it away. Even when she was trying to focus on something else, the thoughts in her head were loud enough to be heard by everyone around her.

Her mom’s frown deepened at Glimmer’s avoident answer, “Come on, what’s up?”

Glimmer looked up. Her mother’s warm brown eyes were searching her, concern written clearly on her face. It made a Glimmer wonder- if her mother was so easily readable- what her own face was displaying. What pining, sick to her stomach, completely hopeless novel she set down for people to see whenever they passed her.

Glimmer smiled sadly, if only for her mother’s beauty. She and Glimmer had dyed their hair together and the long pink strands drifted across her eyes and onto her shoulders. Her face was filled with determined warmth, trying to fix whatever was bothering Glimmer. But the creases between her eyebrows were far too deep and the frown on her face fit into place too comfortably. Glimmer didn’t want to add to those lines.

She waved her hand casually, “I’m just having some people problems.”

Her mother leaned forward, “What sort of people?”

Glimmer gave up. Maybe it would be better just to come clean, “Pretty people. There’s a girl in one of my classes that I kind of like.”

“Oh!” Glimmer couldn’t help but laugh at her mother’s genuinely surprised expression.

“What? You really thought my heart was so cold I couldn’t fall for someone?”

Angella opened and closed her mouth before speaking, “No, no it’s not that. That’s just not the type of problems you usually have. That’s almost, like, a normal problem.”

Glimmer rolled her eyes, “Wow, Mom, thanks. That’s not at all vaguely insulting.”

“That’s not what I meant! But that’s fun, isn’t it?” She had gained happy little light in her eyes and clapped her hands excitedly, “Tell me about her! Also a her? I mean, this is the first time you’ve told me about having a girl crush.”

Glimmer could feel her face flushing cherry red. There were so many open wounds her mother had bothered in just a few seconds of speech. Because, no, it wasn’t fun. It was overwhelming and terrifying and it had all hit so fast. It was like a tsunami- no warning and then boom the water was over Glimmer’s head and she was just struggling not to drown. And every time someone talked to her, they were assuming she was standing in the shallow end and just needed to remember how to swim. But swimming wasn’t going to help her now.

And it was intoxicating, all of her thoughts swarmed by emotions that buzzed and made it hard for any ideas to come through clearly. But it was addictive; she could let herself just float in that white noise for the rest of time. She could let herself sink beneath the waves and ignore her lungs as they screamed for air.

“Yeah,” Glimmer let the fork fall back to the plate and moved her hands to start fidgeting in her lap, “I think we’re both still getting used to the whole ‘girl’ thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, don’t you think it could be-“ Glimmer’s voice had risen in aggravation but cracked as she searched for a way to wrap all of her fears into one word, “Dangerous?”

“Glimmer, my darling, we live in a very accepting area- I know two whole lesbians at my job!! I think you’re overthinking it-“

Glimmer slammed the palm of her hand flat down on the tabletop, “Yes! I know! I do that! And people seem to think that telling me how ridiculous I’m acting will help! And guess what? It doesn’t. It doesn’t help in the slightest because maybe, just maybe, I’ll be right one of these days. Because the world sucks so why wouldn’t something else go wrong?!”

“I-“ Angella seemed speechless, marveling at the fury in Glimmer’s eyes. Glimmer sat stiffly and breathed heavily like she had just sprinted a mile. She dared her mother to challenge her.

Finally Glimmer was the one to give in, letting her posture collapse and the anger subside, “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that. It’s just, I’m so tired of being different. I stand out so much already. I’m the kid who can’t do anything but art and I cry too easily and I’m the one whose dad died... I wish I didn’t have to add my sexuality to that list.”

“Oh, darling,” Her mother’s voice was soft and seemed to dissolve into pieces as it broke.

Glimmer realized that maybe she had taken it too far, gone too deep, “I’m sorry. Just ignore what I said.”

“No, if you want to talk-“

Glimmer attempted once again to change the tone, smile a little too forced and voice a little too loud, “So about this girl. Yes! She’s very pretty and smart and funny.”

Angella’s lips twitched into a frown, “You sound like you’re reading off a list. I can tell you’re just trying to avoid the subject, even though you are the one that brought it up.”

Glimmer shrugged and popped a vegetable into her mouth, regretting her actions as the taste hit her but thankful that she didn’t have to answer.

Her mother pursed her lips, “I don’t like you closing everything up from me but-“

The doorbell drilled from across the room and Glimmer jumped up, practically running away from the table, “Pizza’s here!”

She walked back into the room a minute later and set the box down with an exaggerated flourish. She let the performance drop with a grimace when she noticed the defeated look on her mother’s face.

She didn’t try to hide the sigh that escaped her, “What’s wrong, Mom?”

“I don’t know,” Angella shook her head, “I just feel like we haven’t been, I don’t know, connecting lately.”

Maybe that’s because you’re never home. Glimmer bit her tongue, immediately feeling guilty for the words that had very nearly jumped out of her mouth. You know she doesn’t get to choose when her shifts are. You know she works long hours for you. And maybe she would know more if you actually told her anything.

Glimmer reached to open the pizza box and grab a piece, buying time for her to fish for a more appropriate response in her mind. She wished she could just shrug again and brush the whole interrogation off her shoulders. But her mother had a look of soft pleading in her eyes that Glimmer knew was actually veiling steely stubbornness. There was no way she could win this.

She took a bite and chewed it slowly, all while keeping eye contact with her mother. It was a contest of wills at that point and they both knew it. But every possible strategy and escape route Glimmer could construct had twisted itself into a dead end.

“Well, I’m here now so... let’s ‘connect’ I guess,” The words felt weird and awkward as they left her mouth.

Angella leaned forward, grinning triumphantly, “How’s school been going? Have you started any new art projects? Also this girl- what’s so problematic about her?”

The last question caught Glimmer off guard, “I never said she was problematic. What makes you say that?”

Her mother gave a vague, noncommittal twitch to her lips before looking away and grabbing a slice off pizza for herself. Glimmer almost burst out laughing- She’s using my own tactics against me.

After a moment Angella spoke, “There just seems to be more going on; there’s something that’s bothering you right now. Did something happen today?”

Glimmer resolved to shredding the remaining crust in her hands to tiny pieces that she then threw at her plate. There were a thousand things her mother could have been picking up on, all the stray thoughts that bumping on the edges of her mind and dragged her off topic. But there was only one thought that took center stage; Elizabeth and whatever trouble she had no doubt already gotten Glimmer into.

The reminder of Adora’s text still waiting for her in the other room made Glimmer queasy. She felt like Adora was herself perched in the kitchen, patiently waiting for Glimmer to notice her. Glimmer could just see her sitting in the edge of the counter and swinging her legs out, probably looking far too cute than she had any right to given the danger she represented.

It was no wonder that her mother could tell something was up when Glimmer was practically squirming in her seat. Not that Glimmer would admit that. It was too close to the surface; one of those issues that caused her so much more pain because the wave could crest at any moment and the entire crisis would come crashing down her. It was the difference between slowly turning the shower temperature up bit by bit- yes, you might be aware of the damage in the back of your mind but it doesn’t really bother you- and simply thrusting your arm into a boiling pot of water.

Admitting to her discomfort would be admitting to the problem’s existence. She wasn’t ready to do that yet; wasn’t ready to take her arm out of the boiling water. Worst of all, she wasn’t ready to treat the inevitable burns.

The whole situation with Elizabeth was way too delicate to let her mother stomp into the scene. It was a white hot rod that twisted within her and kept her sitting stiffly as it ran the entire length of her torso. But it was like leaving a ticking bomb in the middle of the room and expecting her mom to ignore it.

Glimmer tapped the tongs of her fork against her throughly destroyed crust, occasionally stabbing into it.

Her mother blinked across at her, patient for an answer to the point of obstinance.

Glimmer gave her an awkward scowl, “Yeah, there’s just been some complications.”

Angella opened her mouth, obviously prepared to protest but Glimmer bolted up quickly, filling the room with the sound of her chair screeching against the floor before her mom could fill the space with any other sort of noise.

She grabbed her plate and rushed out of the room before she would have to admit to anything else- or have her body language admit it for her. She let the plate clatter as she hurriedly set it down in the sink and continued down the hall, moving in a straight line to nowhere in particular other than just away. Away from all the reminders. Away from her mother’s eyes that managed to pick her apart with just a glance. Away from those eyes that were too tired and too sad.

It wasn’t until she was half way down the hall that Glimmer realized she had taken her phone with her. She must have impulsively snatched it as she walked out of the kitchen. As much as she wished, it was too late to put it back.

Glimmer paused momentarily and stared down at the small device in her hand. It’s just a phone. It can’t actually hurt you. Even if Adora’s message is, you know, crushing and life ruining, it’s not like she can REALLY do anything to you. The voice of reason sounded flimsy and unsure if itself even to Glimmer- and she was the one creating it. Look loser, you’re gonna have to deal with it eventually.

That made more sense.

She stopped stalling and trudged into her room, careful not to slam the door to assure her mom that she wasn’t mad. Glimmer tripped her way over to her bed; her room was still a war zone of craft supplies from the night before.

Even that was a surreal experience. Part of Glimmer was still convinced none of it had ever happened, another part was sure it had occurred years ago. A final piece whispered that Adora taking up space in her room and her voice filling the house was the norm and Glimmer being by herself was the alien situation.

Glimmer flopped backwards onto her bed. She almost wondered if the soft impression Adora had left in the sheets was still there. She almost wondered if they had held onto that hyper-specific scent that Glimmer knew you could only notice if you sat right next to Adora- or if she had her arms wrapped around you. She almost closed her eyes and tried to pretend that Adora was still there and they still had a few hours until the morning and more clay to paint and time was still their’s to play with because they were just a couple of dumb teens trying to live their lives and sometimes that meant abandoning human constructs and dancing to Hozier. She almost did that. Almost. But she didn’t. She hadn’t fallen that far.

She stared up at her ceiling for a second. It was too bright in there with her lights on for the star stickers to glow. Instead they just sat there looking mildly dirty, just some dusty greenish yellow spots above her that could never measure up to the real thing.

Glimmer finally stopped procrastinating and raised her phone above her face so that she couldn’t see that sickly stars anymore- just the still darkened screen of what was surely her doom.

She took one last gulp of air and she tapped in her password. The message icon was bright green, but it might as have been dark indigo because Glimmer felt like she was diving into a bottomless ocean trench as she opened the app. Here goes nothing.

[cleocazo]

ultimate ship meme: calder n rhea yeehaw

ultimate ship ask meme   /   accepting !

General:

How long will they last? : when i think about them, i think about them going the distance. in spite of anything that comes between them ( usually their own doings, and yes, i’m looking at calder thorson for straight up ghosting ) i like to imagine they find their way back, eventually. 

How quickly did/will they fall in love? : it’s weird, because it happens without either of them even realizing it is. she makes him smile, and he makes her feel… important. they do something for one another that no one else has in a long while, and they become very attached to the feelings they have in each others presence quite quickly - but love, and calling it so, evades them a little while longer. 

How was their first kiss? : long awaited. sexy. awkward. it was the culmination of a lot of mutual pining, and it MEANT something - but it was also a lot very, very fast, and it went very far very quickly, too. their first kiss kicked off their first time ( and rhea’s first, ever ), so… big feels. 

Wedding:

Who proposed? : they live in sin a few years, but eventually i feel it could go either way - but i think it would be very rhea and very sweet for her to propose on leap day, you know… entirely serious, but trying to give the vibe of ‘if you say no, this COULD be just a joke’. it wouldn’t be over the top. she’d try and treat him to something he liked, and she’d probably make a bumbling mess of it, all considered - but she’d get there, and it wouldn’t go horribly bad. he’d try to match it eventually and propose too in his own way ( at the aquarium, a la their first ‘date’? ), but he’d also mess it up a lil even if they were already engaged - so they’d have two wholesome if not funny stories to tell. 

Who is the best man/groomsmen? : i would hope that by this point, the relationship would be… healed, enough, for it to be the remaining next gen. let daniel be best man and rylie and troy be groomsmen, it’s what they deserve. ( if phoebe barton is rocking around, she gets to b flower girl bc i said so )

 Who is the bridesmaid(s) : meghan would be maid of honor by grace of being the only married person that rhea knows, and stephanie would fulfill a more traditional bridesmaid role along with the only friend i can remember rhea having, felicia. 

Who did the most planning? : rhea and jane, together. imagine the bonding sessions to boot.

Who stressed the most? : rhea and jane, haHA.

How fancy was the ceremony? : considering one of them is royalty ( was, probably, at this point ) and the other an asgardian, they went full casual compared to past weddings in their families past. it was a very small gathering, definitely more reflective of them as people. rhea wore the white dress and calder donned a suit, the people fulfilling a role all took them seriously, but their ceremony was in a modest chapel and the afters in a function hall not too far away from. it looked beautiful ( rhea thinks calder’s mum has the best eye for such things she’s ever seen ), but it was done on a small budget.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? : i mean… i don’t think i gotta say loki, but… loki. rhea’s ‘dad’ sure was NOT.  

Sex:

Who is on top? : to b fully honest… they both love rhea being on top. for him i can imagine it being about looking up and seeing her - not to b crass - riding his d*ck. for her, it’s something about the feeling of control. they switch it up because there’s nothing really like the opposite, for rhea ; but… yea ! 

Who is the one to instigate things? : varies too much to have any one answer at their best ( though for a long while, calder ).

How healthy is their sex life? : i would say very.

How kinky are they? : ‘kinky’ is a strong word. they experiment, as they get more comfortable with one another, and as they grow. they try diff things. sometimes they watch some dumb movie, i don’t want to name an actual movie and offend someone so ill just say ‘fifty shades of grey’ and they think ‘oh, that’d be fun to try’ and they do and it ends disastrously, but, like, who am i to judge them-

How long do they normally last? : how is calder’s bedroom stamina affected by him being an asgardian ? does it make it easier for him to last longer ? is he able to get it back up quicker ? i have questions, where are my answers.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? : yes, this is an equal opportunity household.

How rough are they in bed? : depends on the kind of fucking, my friend. both of them enjoy a little bit of roughplay - but that doesn’t mean it’s every time, either. 

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? : a lot. and calder is only the big spoon 40% of the time ! 

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? / How many children will they adopt? : i’m combining two qs in one because… i feel they’d have three full stop, but how many of those are natural / adopted could be up for debate. something to discuss someday !

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? : calder. rhea’s, like… ‘totally fine’ with them, but… also, that’s dad’s job-

Who is the stricter parent? : it honestly varies on child and on the day. o might tell you that it’s calder because he stopped him from doing something wildly stupid, and he’s still pretty butthurt about it. tova might tell you it’s rhea because she didn’t let them dye their hair bright orange when they were nine and they’re still holding a grudge about it. 

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? : honestly… their kids are pretty dumb ( love them ), so… neither? they come home w broken bones or whatever and calder and rhea are like how in the fuck-

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? : rhea ! she never got them as a child, or, u know, basic human affection, so… she packs little notes of affirmation in each one even when they’re old enough to call her cringy, and makes sure they get all their essential nutrients every day.

Who is the more loved parent? : much like the question of who’s stricter - it varies. for the most part the title goes to rhea, not for any particular reason outside of her being more open with her feelings and being more… emotionally present, i suppose the term would be. but tova’s favorite will always be calder, and the boys can vary.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? : they want to go together, but it depends on work for them both and other varying factors.

Who cried the most at graduation? : rhea thinks it was her because she was a blubbering mess, but calder was real up in his emotions about it.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? : rhea never gets the chance, and calder is always first in. 

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? : rhea, after she learns how. not to show my jane stan, but she learns a lot from the most intelligent woman in all the galaxy-

Who is the most picky in their food choice? : pretty decisively rhea.

Who does the grocery shopping? : they take it in turns, but rhea isn’t as trusted doing it - she caves to the kids demands way too easily.

How often do they bake desserts? : once a month or so, but for the most part they are a carton of ice cream in the freezer family.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? : calder’s a meat lover, rhea went vegetarian sometime in her senior year and never went back.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? : calder ! softie.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? : neither. they like staying in, let them have that peace.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? : calder. absolutely lethal man. only ask him to make soup.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? : calder, for the most part. rhea says its because he can reach all the shelves to stack things / his arms don’t get tired from hoovering / etc.

Who is really against chores? : she’s not against them per say, but rhea doesn’t love ‘em.

Who cleans up after the pets? : oh, that’s a rhea job. she’s the reason they have ‘em, she’s responsible for care.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? : rhea.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? : also rhea.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? : calder. 

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? : calder with showers, rhea with baths. 

Who takes the dog out for a walk? : rhea is in the routine, but the kids would join her and if he’s around, calder isn’t opposed to it either.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? : rhea goes all out every single year, almost to make up for the fact that calder doesn’t entirely… get the holidays.

What are their goals for the relationship? : happiness ?

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? : rhea, usually. calder if he’s been busy.

Who plays the most pranks? : the kids.