#like oh yes tea and cleaning and heavy metal

[misc-obeyme]

They need to launch more metalhead barbatos content im starved i can't take it anymore i need to see him in corpse paint i need mc to invite him to a concert i need to discover his favorite type of metal his favorite band....sighs

I mean, the only canon content we have of this is him confirming in a chat that he enjoys listening to heavy metal. Like they just dropped in that crumb and then completely deprived us of further information about it.

I too would enjoy knowing more of these details! Alas, I don't believe they will ever give us more... because they never give us what we want lol. We just have to fill in that information ourselves! I'd love to hear what bands you think he might like!

If I could draw at all, I would have absolutely drawn metal style Barbatos 'cause you know that man is gonna look good in anything he wears...

[jaylienpotter]

Rosekiller smut, requested by @star4daisy

TW: explicit sex, risky sex, blood, knife play, kink, dom sub, choking, dangerous behaviour, toxic relationship, dubious consent, mentions of necrophilia

2k words

Mental

(Alternative link - Ao3)

"Hey."

"Oh hi. I thought you went to Hogsmead." Evan had stayed behind, not in the mood to be social.

"I was going to but eh. Dora is going with Lovegood, Cas is with Mckinnon and Reg wants to drink tea." Barty rolled his eyes, not a fan of the calm and quiet. He'd much rather a firewhiskey. "Besides, I don't have the patience to see him staring at Potter."

"Jealous?"

"Nah. I got a great boyfriend. And..." He got close to Rosier, holding his tie. "He's hot as fuck." Ev knew his boyfriend still had some feelings for their best friend.

"Is he?" Barty pulled the green and silver tie, slightly choking the other boy while pulling him for a kiss. They both smirked during the make out, fighting for dominance. At one point it became less kissing and more so sucking and biting, pushing each other against walls, clothes flying around.

"You're mine." Evan would make sure Barty remembered that. Possessive? Yes. But that's just how they were. Toxic. And they wouldn't have it any other way.

Barty squat down and grabbed the other boy by the legs, throwing him over his shoulder and then again on the bed, kneeling on top of his legs to trap him. For some extra dramatic effect, he took the pocket knife he had at all times (don't ask) and pressed it against the Slytherin's throat.

"I win." Ev bit his lip shamelessly, glancing at the blade touching his skin, his pupils dilating. A dark eyebrow raised and the knife was dragged down, the blade always in contact with skin, sending shivers. The heavy breaths turned into a moan when the metal touched a specific spot on his left rib.

Barty pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, wondering. His mischievous stare went from green eyes to a ribcage, where he made pressure, leaving a small cut.

"Mh- fuck!" It hurt. But pain wasn't the reason behind the grip on the bedsheets.

"Kinky bastard."

"Shut the fuck up." Blade back where it was at the beginning. "Careful with the neck!"

"I'm offended, Rosier! As if I didn't know where to cut and not to cut if I want to kill someone."

"That's hot."

"Yeah? Y'know what else is? The dirty sounds that you made just now." After whispering in his ear, Crouch bit it and sat, doing another cut without warning.

"F-fuck!" It was deeper. Not only did Barty press a little harder, Evan arched his back, digging the knife even further.

"Aww, you're bleeding." There was absolutely no remourse or guilt, the tone purely sarcastic. He cleaned the blood with his fingers, pressing the wound a little. His boyfriend's squirms got him hard, repeating the movement.

"Mmh... Barty-" Two bloody fingers were licked and sucked clean. It was wrong of Barty to do it. And wrong of Evan to like it. But fuck it. The blood was licked directly on the cut, unheavenly sounds dancing around them.

"You always did like my tongue."

"Shut the fuck up and keep fucking going."

"Bossy." One cut on his abdomen. Two. Three. The fourth on his inner thigh, his dick peeking out of the boxers. "Someone wants to get out."

"Don't you dare touch my dick with that thing. That goes past all levels of kink."

"Relax. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course not." The one on top wasn't even offended, simply shrugged.

"Fair. Don't worry, I like your cock too much to damage it."

"Good because if you do, I'm cutting off yours."

"Feisty." While kissing, Crouch started cutting the sub's boxers from the inside, the tip of the knife digging into his skin sometimes. When both sides were cut, the underwear fell out, revealing red, bruised thighs and a throbbing cock, already leaking pre-cum. "Aww, such a pathetic little whore."

That was it. The switch in the blonde's brain. Strength wasn't on his side, he was hurting from all the wounds, several of them slightly bleeding. No, he had to go for the surprise effect.

"How about you talk less and kiss more?" It did the work. Barty started a trail of kisses from his inner thigh (where he bit), to his cock, to around his upper half, licking the red liquid as if it was juice. He could be a vampire and Ev wouldn't be surprised. If anything, it made things hotter. When their lips finally met, Rosier turned them around, blade fallen from the strong grip.

"You little fucker." The gleam in those beetle eyes showed amusement. He would seem angry to everyone else, but not to his boyfriend. Those eyes also carried madness but that aspect was clear as glass. "Good job, I can't move. Someone's learning."

"From the best." Their kiss was intense, mostly tongue and bites, the taste of their salivas mixed with the iron from Rosier's blood. "Can I mark you?"

"Mark me?" Intrigued, suspicious. As he should be. "Mark me how, exactly?" The knife was held by a different hand, less harshly, more delicate, equally as deadly.

"With this."

"You want to carve into my skin?"

"Mhm. I want to write something." This was the part where people would fight for freedom, scream, or plead. Of course Crouch did none of those.

"You're mental."

"I'm mental about you."

"Alright. Do it." Green eyes turned dark, not many people got to see this side of him. If you did, you were probably dead afterwards. Evan hadn't finished the first cut before Barty started laughing. Laughing!

"What the fuck are you laughing about?? The fuck Barty?!"

"It tickles!"

"It tickles?! It tickles?! Bloody psychopath, you are. Fucking laughing, I swear to Merlin..."

"You're saying that as if it was a surprise. Come on, babe. I tried to poison my father. Twice. I carry a knife with me. I've done so much shit and only now you realise I'm out of my bloody mind?"

"Shut up. You somehow always surprise me. Now hold still while I write!" He tried, he did. But he couldn't hold in the giggles from the pain and the feeling of blood dripping down his waist or inner thigh. "Stop moving, for fuck's sake! It's cutting deeper than its supposed to because you won't stay fucking still!"

"What's taking you so long anyways? The fuck are you writing?"

"I'd be faster if you stopped being a lunatic!" He took matters to his own hands (quite literally) and choked his boyfriend, hoping he couldn't laugh without breathing. It worked, to some extent. Barty still moved and it was harder to write with one hand. "Done! Bloody hell." After a cough, Crouch slightly lifted his body to see what his boyfriend did.

"Did you fucking carve 'EVAN' on my crotch??" The blonde licked the bloody knife, his boyfriend licking his lips, momentarily forgetting his question.

"Yes. So when you or your dick think of someone else, you'll have this little reminder of who you belong to."

"You're so fucking possessive." He wasn't mad. If anything, he thought it was hot. Ev getting so worked up because of Barty's ex crush on Regulus, the darkness that possessed his eyes when no one else was around, the grip he had on his lover. If Rosier fell, you bet he'd drag him along. And Barty would let him.

"I'm just claiming what's mine."

"And I'm the psychopath?!"

"We're both mental, love. But I hide it better." Hot whispers sent shivers to the boy below, the tattooed neck was invaded with tongue, lips and teeth, used as a canvas to leave dark spots on.

"We got a problem. How are we going to have sex? That shit tickled at first but now it's burning, I don't fancy bumping it against you fast and hard, you know?"

"I'll fuck you, obviously."

"Can't bend my legs, tosser."

"You're fucking thick. Get up." Once on their feet, Evan pushed the other against the wall, grinding from behind. "I can fuck you standing up..."

"What're you waiting for then?"

"You're not stretched enough." Neither of them had monstrous dicks but it was still difficult to penetrate dry.

"Use a spell or spit then!"

"Bossy." He extended his hand in front of his boyfriend's face, who got the message and filled it with saliva. Ev stroked his cock to make it slimy and used the remains of the wet substance to prep the hole he was about to destroy. Two fingers in, curling and scissoring impatiently.

"Mmh- go in, I can take it." Lean fingers were replaced with a shiny cock, struggling to slide in. Both boys adjusted their positions and soon enough, Evan's whole length was buried inside Barty. He didn't wait for a sign, beginning fast harsh thrusts with no warning. "F-fuck!"

"You're mine, Crouch. Got it? Mine. If I catch you with someone else, I'm killing them and then you. And I'll fuck your body afterwards." The boyfriend laughed again, it was annoying yet hot. As if he wasn't taking Rosier's words seriously. But they both knew damn well of what each other were able to do.

"Yes, my rose. Don't worry, your dick is my favourite."

"Is my dick all you care about?"

"Of course." He didn't need to see Barty's face. He knew he was smirking. He wouldn't be after his cock got grabbed, the grip too tight.

"You sure?" The one in front of him groaned and panted, reacting just the way he wanted.

"Your- lips are quite good too."

"If you're going to act like a whore, I'm gonna fucking use you like one." He grabbed a fistful of dark hair, yanking it back. His other hand still around a thick cock. He drilled himself inside the slut's ass, the intensity higher than usual. He moved his hands to choke him and press on the 'EVAN' wound.

"SHIT! Fuck!" The gasps and silent moans brought Ev to his limit, filling up his boyfriend. "Hey! Don't you fucking dare to stop! I haven't finished!"

"Too bad. You don't deserve it." Crouch leaned back, trying to go after the dick pulling out.

"You're fucking selfish! I like all of you, is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes. But it's not enough. If you want to cum, earn it." A dark eyebrow raised in response to the smirk.

"If you're expecting me to beg, it's not gonna happen." Rosier wasn't going to back down, stubborn motherfucker. His boyfriend was one too, though. Plus stronger. He pulled blonde hairs and pushed down, pressing on one of the cuts to double the boy down.

"Ah! Fucker!" Having got what he wanted, Ev on his knees, Crouch forced his mouth open with his thumb and slid his cock inside.

"Bite and I'll cut your throat, got it?!" Green eyes looked up at him, showing defeat. He fucked that smart mouth deep and ruthlessly, making a mess out of his drooling boyfriend. Not even giving him a chance to breathe until he came undone. "Swallow." Rosier pulled away and opened his mouth, showing his clean tongue. Tongue he then used to lick along the bloody cuts he inflicted. "I still can't believe you fucking carved your name onto my skin. You're bloody mental." Getting up, brushing their lips together, Evan whispered in a hushed voice, just before pulling Barty in for a deep kiss.

"Right back at you."

[preservationofnormalcy]

[I am in a nature preserve in rural Louisiana. A small ranger station-like structure in the middle of the wetlands welcomes me through chain link fences as my driver signals his approach, and as I exit my vehicle, a man steps out of the station.

He is heavy-set, tall, a little overweight but in that working-man sort of way where his strength is evident. He’s wearing a white labcoat over a colorful shirt and jeans, with messy hair and old school mutton chops. I can’t decide if he’s going for a vintage look or just doesn’t want to deal with his facial hair. Huge hands clap together once as I walk up to the building, and he smiles.]

Meghan] Mr McCollough?

Jethro] Please, please ma’am, call me Jethro. Please, come in.

[The first room seems typical of what I would expect a station in the middle of the swamplands to look - a cot, couches, radios and locked long glass-paneled cabinets with guns. A large metal door on one end leads me into the next room, and this one is different. Computers, rows and rows of filing cabinets, and haphazard piles of paperwork on a laboratory benchtop that yield to clean, colored tape-zoned areas holding glassware, boxes of “Vacutainer” tubes, plastic racks. A well-used benchtop centrifuge in the sun-bleached cream and baby blue colors of equipment from the 80s holds tubes of separated liquid – clear on top, a strip of white, and deep red at the bottom. Another metal door on the opposite side leads further into the building. He gestures to a somewhat empty table with a chair on either side.

Jethro’s accent is slight but noticeable, quiet but gregarious. He doesn’t sit yet, but fumbles with a kettle and a hot plate.]

J] Don’t get many visitors out here. Pardon the mess. Tea?

M] Oh. Please, actually.

J] Yes, ma’am. The people above my head tell me you’re here to ask questions.

M] That’s right. I saw the, uh… immunization posters in the Virginia site I toured.

J] Oh, sure. That’s been routine for decades, now. Since they were developed in the 50s. Lots of progress, of course, but always lots to do. Half the issue’s the paperwork, you know. But, uh, yeah.

M] Does everyone get immunized?

J] If I had my way, yes. That’d be the right way to do it. But no, it’s only really required for so-called high risk zones, that’s what they decided.

[He gives me a wry smile over his shoulder.]

J] This here’s a high risk zone, ma’am. But…you won’t be here long enough for it to matter.

M] …here’s hoping. Umm. I had a list of questions.

J] Top of the list is probably “Jesus H, they’re real?”

[He laughs briefly at his own joke.]

M] …my work is more about the efficacy and efficiency of the Office’s divisions, departments, and programs. But yeah, kind of.

[He pours the hot water into two teacups, and hands me one, sitting on the opposite side of the table. His cup looks comically small in his large hands.]

J] Get the feeling you’ll be asking that a lot in the next months.

M] I do too. Let me see… what is the objective of the… Abnormal Virology Department?

J] So our mission statement is about the research, control, and prevention of diseases – viral diseases specifically, but other stuff comes up, but y’know, that’s another story – uh, diseases that fall outside the Office’s definition of “normal,” and our big goals hopefully are curative or preventative treatments for those diseases. It’s a tall order.

M] And… lycanthropy is a virus, like the flu?

J] I mean, as much as any virus is like another. Each one’s unique, even the flu subtypes, but yeah. If I may use some jargon,

[He pauses with a hint of eagerness for affirmation before continuing.]

J] It's a lysogenic virus, so if you get infected, it integrates into the host genome, more like, uh, I guess herpesvirus is one most people would know. Once you get it, you got it for life because it hides in your DNA. Like herpesviruses too, you have lytic phases too, where it becomes active again, it emerges out of the genome based on cues from environmental pressures or host conditions. Like the phase of the moon, you know, which is kind of unique. When it’s not actively causing disease, when it’s just sitting in your genome at these sequence specific integration sites across the chromosomes, it also screws with normal gene regulation. The sites it sits down, you get dysregulation of normal transcription, you start growing more body hair, eyes change color. Where the virus integrates is a little different across host genetic backgrounds, think like ancestries; do you know SNPs?

[He clears his throat.]

Anyway, that lysogenic, passive phase is why we need the boosters, it’s laying low, immune cells don’t see anything to protect against, and it preferentially hides out in memory B cells, some lymphocytes, and that also kind of messes up a normal immune response. Which is why you have the immunoglobulin in the shot too, but that’s getting into the weeds. Because if you don’t have a way for the immune system to stop it quickly when it decides to jump out of the genome again, then, of course, you have the active phase, which… you can guess about that.

M] How successful would you say the treatments are?

J] It’s pretty good, especially given this stuff is almost the same as we were using mid-century. If you have a healthy immune system, if you’re vaccinated at least a few weeks before exposure, so you have your standard immune repertoire ready to go, and then they’re exposed – assuming the inoculum isn’t, you know, that can be pretty high sometimes – then they probably won’t “catch it,” so to speak, it’s neutralized and doesn’t integrate into the genome, so you don’t have a permanent case of it. We can also suppress symptoms with treatments for those with especially bad cases. Treatment’s kinda heavy, with the administration and the side effects; not like you’re just popping a pill under your tongue; but once it’s taken hold, there’s no, uh, no real cure.

[Jethro is quiet for a moment, taking a glance out the window as he drinks.]

J] … listen, ma’am. I’m biased. I got a personal stake in all this. I’m kind of a lab guy, sure, but sometimes I go out there and actually… you know. I’m the boots on the ground here too. And I don’t carry the big guns like the guys in Security do, no, I’m here giving out shots to kids and families. There’s communities in this country, whole towns out in the swamps or up in the hollers that are majority-infected. They live with it, they make do. And they have a chance at that, at life, because of us. Hard to quantify, of course. If you’re looking for hard numbers, I can try and find ‘em–

[He gestures to the filing cabinets.]

J] If you got a week or two.

M] We can… coordinate records later. But we’ve successfully eradicated things like… you know, smallpox. Can we eradicate things like lycanthropy?

[He gives me a strange, wary look and picks up a plastic knife from the table, oddly stirring his drink. I take a sip of mine.]

J] I’d be careful, talking like that. Lotta people don’t just think they’re sick, they- we’re talking about people. People with a condition, sure, but the minute you start talking about eradicating is when we start having camps again.

M] … again?

J] There’s rural areas in this country that the Office hasn’t been in for decades. We aren’t welcome.

M] Can I ask what happened?

[Jethro takes a deep breath.]

J] In ‘55, the United States rolled out its polio vaccine program. Of course, the Office used the infrastructure, hustle and bustle of the whole thing as a cover for our own lycanthropic treatment programs. We, and when I say “we,” I mean the Office in general of course. I wasn’t even a pup then. But a couple Office research groups, the Wagner lab, they’d done deep research into the condition, validated a few hypotheses, and they were ready to pilot the production of a vaccine. They just needed plasma. From infected hosts.

M] … I think I see.

J] Yeah. Yeah, back then infected folks were basically ignored unless they were in legal trouble. Legal personhood hadn't been extended to lycanthropes yet.

M] Legal personhood?

J] Ask Ferd about that when you get back to Virginia. Unfortunately, that plasma was taken from… people who didn’t volunteer. Inmates at first, murderers. But scaling up collection, then it came from people who stole some cows, and then people who were even just accused of things. When the Wagner people showed the shot was actually working, the Office needed a lot more to even think about rolling it out everywhere it was needed, and people weren’t really volunteering, so…

[He sighs.]

J] We shouldn’t have been surprised when a lot of communities then rejected us after that. Word travels fast, and the symbol–

[He taps the OPN crest on his badge.]

J] –became the mark of the Beast. Figuratively. It’s been decades getting to the point where we can help people, and pardon my bragging, ma’am, but it’s people like me who are the reason why we can. Part scientist, part… social worker, I guess.

[The phone rings, and Jethro slides over on his rolling chair to answer it. He seems immediately worried, and after a moment of conversation he hangs up and rubs his face.]

J] Real sorry ma’am, gonna have to cut this short. I know you had a long trip. Maybe I can meet you somewhere that ain’t so out of the way.

M] Oh. That’s okay, Jethro. Um. How’s next Saturday?

[He rolls over to a calendar on the wall. July 2021.]

J] No… no, I’ll be needing a day or two off ‘round then. For the… weather.

M] …I think I see. I’ll call you, we can finish over the phone.

J] Probably for the best, ma’am. If you’ll excuse me, I got an emergency downstate. Small outbreak just confirmed, got some of that social work to do.

M] Should I be worried?

[He grins, throwing his labcoat onto a chair and pulling a dirty jumpsuit out of a pile.]

J] Hell no, ma’am. We’re professionals. Ain’t gonna be any rowdy gators causing any trouble.

M] …gat–

J] I trust you’ll see yourself out, ma’am.

(Buy the poster here!)

[sylvanfreckles]

Bunet being psychologically tortured by being forced to watch Alfred, Yunaka and/or anyone else bad at cooking make an absolutely terrible dish.

So many requests right away!

Well, here you go! Based off an infamous Reddit post!

Boil 'Em, Mash 'Em...Add Raisins?

Characters: Alear, Alfred, Bunet Genre: Humor Rating: G

Bunet was enjoying a nice cup of tea at the Cafe Terrace, when his peaceful afternoon is shattered by an unwelcome disaster.

Alfred and Alear...attempting to make mashed potatoes...unsupervised.

They may none of them survive this.

Bunet settled onto the little café chair with a cup of expertly prepared tea and let out a long, self-satisfied sigh. Yet another fantastic meal, prepared to his exacting specifications, to the delight of both Prince Fogado and Pandreo (and Clanne…the young steward-in-training had shared some of his pickled vegetables with Bunet a few days ago, and it was only fitting to return the favor). He longed to cook for the entire company, to create an array of dishes to suit a variety of palettes, but they lacked the proper space and tools here in the Somniel. Perhaps later they could all return to the royal palace of Solm, where he could prepare a banquet worthy of the divine dragon and his companions.

Speaking of…

“Divine One!” Alfred, prince of Firene, was trotting into the café on Alear’s heels. “Stopping for lunch?”

“Oh, hello, Alfred,” Alear paused for a moment to let the prince catch up. “Yes. I know it’s not a regular mealtime, so I thought I could prepare something just for myself.”

Bunet nearly stood, to offer his own services to the divine dragon, but Alfred spoke up too quickly.

“Good idea! I’ll help you.”

“You know how to cook?”

“How hard can it be?”

Bunet leaned over his table, coughing, tea spraying from his mouth in an undignified manner. How hard could it be? Why, it was a skill that only a few could master!

“I thought I could make some mashed potatoes, like Vander makes.”

He settled back down in his chair. Mashed potatoes. That shouldn’t be too hard, then. Surely he could trust the divine dragon and the crown prince of Firene to cook such a simple dish on their own.

“Perfect! Look, here are some potatoes. So, we just crush them, right?”

…or not.

“Alfred—no, wait—you can’t crush them like that!”

There was a bang, a crash, the whub-whub-whub of a metal pot lid clattering to the floor.

“They have to be cut up and cooked first, then you mash them.”

“Got it. Can I borrow your sword?”

“No, there are knives here, see? I think those are better. Wait, we need to wash them first, don’t we?”

“I don’t think so, not if we’re cooking them in water. That’s enough to clean them.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

Bunet rested his head in his hands. Dear gods, they were going to get themselves killed cooking like that.

More banging. Rustling.

“Is that enough water, Divine One?”

“Well…it should be? We don’t want too much water in the potatoes, right?”

“Makes sense to me.”

The kitchen fell ominously silent. Bunet perched on the edge of his chair, tea forgotten, hands clenched so tightly in the tablecloth he was nearly wringing it into pieces. He was silently counting the seconds in his head—time for the water to boil, for the potatoes to cook to the perfect texture. Time seemed to crawl by in the heavy silence, and then:

“Alfred?”

“Yes, Divine One?”

“Is it supposed to smell like that?”

Scrape!

“Why’s it all black?”

“It’s burning! What do we do?”

“I don’t—add more water?”

Hiss!

“It didn’t look like that when Vander made it.”

“We just have to stir it, Divine One! It’ll be fine!”

Scrape! Scrape! Scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape-crunch!

“Uh…”

“What’s wrong, Alfred?”

“I broke the spoon.”

Bunet let his head drop to the table.

“That’s all right. We have more spoons.”

They were doomed.

“Here, see if you can pick the pieces of the spoon out, I’ll get the rest of the ingredients.”

“Ingredients?”

They prayed to him. They prayed to him, and followed him into battle, and trusted him with their lives and the future of their world, and he didn’t even know how to make mashed potatoes.

“I know I’ve seen my sister add butter.”

Bunet had been invited to tea with Céline once. She’d been a gracious hostess and plied him with a delicate blend of spiced black tea paired with fresh cakes. If she’d been in the kitchen he would have nothing to fear, but that hallowed ground was now being defiled.

“It still doesn’t look right.”

“Hmmm. Well, looks aren’t everything. How does it taste?”

Scrape!

Silence.

Bunet nearly held his breath, horror pinning him to the spot.

Someone coughed—Bunet guessed it was Alear, as the enthusiastic back-slapping that followed could have only come from Alfred.

“Divine One?”

“It’s very…bitter.”

“Oh.”

Scrape!

“Well, it isn’t that bad.”

A sigh. “I thought we followed the directions. Maybe we’re missing something.”

“That’s it! Wait right here!”

More clattering. Bunet froze, wondering what on earth Prince Alfred could be looking for. Milk, perhaps? Maybe some garlic, as the strong taste would help balance out the overwhelming bitterness of the burned potatoes? Or another herb, like the strong spices the Brodians used in their cooking? Or something with floral notes, from Firene’s kitchens?

“Here we are! These should do the trick!”

These? Onions, perhaps? Maybe another vegetable, or a few slices of meat?

“Are those…”

“Yep! Raisins!”

Bunet gagged.

“The potatoes are too bitter, right? So, we just need to add something sweet to balance it out.”

“Well…I guess that makes sense.”

No. No, no, no, it did not make sense, and he was not going to sit here and—

“There, that should be enough. Ready to eat, Divine One?”

“Of course. If you’ll carry the plates out, I’ll grab some of that cider Clanne’s been making from the orchard fruits and meet you out there.”

“See you there!”

He was too late, and nearly bumped into Alfred as the prince strode out of the kitchen, a plate in each hand.

The plates were piled high with…something. It was gray with bits of black in it, and he couldn’t tell if it was burned potato or raisins. He fought back another gag and backed away, arm over his mouth and nose to block out the smell.

“Oh, hello, Bunet!” Alfred said cheerfully. “I didn’t know you were here—we made plenty, if you’d like some?”

He held a plate out toward Bunet. The scent of burned food and too much butter wafted into his nostrils, and a wrinkled, dry raisin rolled off the top of the…food…to land on the floor at Bunet’s feet.

His vision went white, the wind roared in his ears, and, for the first time in his life, Bunet fainted.

[crimsonfacets]

@ebonyxwhispers asked: "Mey Rin." Came a firm, but soft voice from behind the redhead. A voice that said 'I know what you did' but also flavored it in honey distinctive to Sebastian's usual charm, "Would you care to explain what precisely happened in the parlor?" He's already reached his hand up to press to his temple. Eyes closed and a heavy sigh presented in disapproval. Like he already knows the answer. She was trying to get to something. Something slipped and chaos ensued. A tragic tale befitting the young woman. That was his theory, and he'd wager that conclusion was probably accurate. "What ever will I do with you." [ ebonyxwhispers <3 For Mey Rin of course. ]

It was a strange, strange sensation to be both startled and flustered. Had he sounded more annoyed, Mey-Rin might have shot right out of her shoes through the ceiling and hoped she would make way to one of those constellations she overheard the young master and his Lady discussing. But no, Sebastian chose to lacquer his words with saccharine deception and keep her firmly planted here on Earth, making her only jolt and jitter in place like a mouse cornered by a cat; water pail shaking against its metal holdings to the point of vibration.

"S - S - Sebastian!!" Mey-Rin stuttered, turning on her heel quick as a whip and clutching her cleaning tools even tighter for dear life, as if they would keep her safe from a lecture. Oh sudsy bucket, we're really in it now. Her mind mind raced. She had finally gotten herself so pleasantly distracted by her chores that she forgot about that.. and yes, she tried to forget it, get her mind off it. She was intending to return to it eventually with a clear head, she swore! "Well - I - y'see, it started with - I mean - it BEGAN - it was, I, mm!" Now, though, she stammered, trying to catch any sort of fleeing, rational thought outside of babbling that screamed and ran about in her head in sheer panic and escaped her grasp.

Then, Sebastian hit her with the 'What ever will I do with you' and made it all stop; every frantic brain cell stopped and slumped ashamedly in synchronization with Mey-Rin's frame.

SiiIIiIiIIiiIiighHhHhh.

"It was an accident, Sebastian.." Mey-Rin confessed, guilt pouring from every word and breath. "M'glasses, they got funny on me when I was fiixn' up the display cabinet. I couldn't see anythin' properlike. I got the dizzies and I tried to stay still, I really did!" Really, she did! "But I tripped over m'own two feets and.. the plates and the tea set, the cups.. But the little dog statue's okay! I did save that, I did!" She pulled out the little porcelain dog from her pocket, holding it out semi-triumphantly with a crooked smile to the heavily disappointed black butler. "S- See? N- Not everything's broken.."

[hanniejji]

OKAY. IM NOT SURE IF YOU WATCH DEMON SLAYER BUT OMG-

What if lil maple is like mitsuri ( little spoilers? Not too much just a bit) like super super strong like her.in manga it's says that mitsuri is 8 times stronger then normal person and when mitsuri was 13 months old, Mitsuri lifted a stone that weight around 10kg (I'm not sure in manga it says "4 kan" but i think that 10kg)

Anyways!

Lil maple is really really strong! And i think Kazuha mentioned that Yoimiya's fireworks are heavy, but what is lil maple just lift them whitout struggle! Or when maple was 4 they were able to hold kazuha's sword even tho it was heavy for kids that age.

even some of crew members were surprised when lil maple would help them carry heavy things around

-🍁

i do watch demon slayer! i have masterlist for my kny works!

YES I DO PLAN TO GIVE LIL MAPLE SOME OF THAT KAEDEHARA GENES LMAODNAJD

under the cut because i got carried away and also a tiny blurb at the end ehe

the kaedeharas are a known samurai clan, hence kazuha being a ronin (masterless samurai, i think that's what he is if my knowledge in samurai things serves me right). neways, i think it was mentioned in some of my fics that maple does watch kazuha when he's practicing his swordmanship. i headcanon that the kaedehara clan, despite the whole irodori shit drama, are set on training their descendants in using a sword (soumon swordmanship, according to kazuha's talents) and that kazuha was trained in his early childhood. the same goes for maple!

for a short period of time before the complete fall of the clan, maple had started with the basics, still clumsy but they know what a sword can do to a person. but since they're a timid person and the whole runaway thing, they weren't able to learn all that it takes to use a sword

BUT!

they've always been stronger than your average kid! to be able to hold a sword, you need to be strong enough to wield one! (kendo classes coming in clutch lmao) while maple haven't learnt much with a sword, they can pack a strong punch! their timid, soft, and child appearance can fool anyone, even kazuha when he first saw maple deck someone on the shins!

kazuha's not completely clueless when it comes to maple's strength. due to his father's *ahem* family drama *ahem* it was mostly kazuha who trains them, especially now that it's just the two of them left and he doesn't want them to be completely defenseless. he knows, like KNOWS, about maple's strength. fuck the sword when they can render someone's leg useless with a punch to their knees!

he's seen maple carry heavy metals when they're still at the estate, helping in cleaning the spare swords and when the family swordsmith need assistance. heck, he's seen them swing a real sword around, clumsily tho because they haven't started training by that time yet, but they can carry it without wobbling like any normal children would! he soon found out that it wasn't just purely from training that maple got this strength, but somewhere in their family bloodline, someone had super strength or something that skipped a few generations and now maple has it his mother theorized this when he told her about maple's sudden burst of strength and he spat his tea out from shock

"oh my, are you sure you want to help, little one?"

"mhm!"

it's been a few weeks since you and your brother joined the crux fleet. the crew was very welcoming to the two of you, letting you travel with them even after you escaped the vision hunt decree. to repay their kindness, kazuha had decided to help them in their feats for the mean time. and wherever kazuha goes, you go.

you weren't exactly a bubble of happiness around other people. you keep to yourself, collectively calm like your older brother but you still have that glow that children has. you're eager to discover and see the world with those sparkly young eyes! beidou and her crew cooed when your eyes sparkle at the sight of liyue harbor while excitedly rambling to your brother how different it was to inazuma.

despite being shy and reserved, you're very helpful! assisting and running errands around the ship and making everyone happy at the sight of your tiny figure going around the deck with a determined look to help others.

kazuha stood at the side with a proud smile, nodding and telling himself, "mhm, that's my little maple," and beidou would sigh, "yes, we know, you've told us a thousand times already."

that's why, when you first tried to help in carrying the shipments in and out of the ship, the whole crew had their jack slacked to the ground.

imagine a child, seemingly weak because of their small stature and quiet nature, casually carrying a box filled to the brim with wine and other products without breaking a sweat.

everyone casted a look on kazuha, seemingly unaffected and unbothered. in fact, he doesn't seem to be shocked in the slightest!

"your little sibling..." beidou's voice trailed off.

"hm? what about them?"

he searched for your tiny figure amongst the crew, finding you waddling back and forth to deliver boxes in and out the deck, and looks back at the crew's astonished face. he paused, before snorting when he understood what made them so shocked.

ah, he could never get tired of other people's expression when it comes to your strength.

"oh, that's normal. my maple has always been like that."

"NORMAL!?" they all exclaimed, while your menace of a brother laughs.

"that's a box filled with shipments of fireworks from the nagonohara family!" one of them pointed out, "even you complained how heavy it was!"

"and they just carried on like it was nothing!"

his laughing fit trailed off, glancing back at your focused face, smiling softly at the sight before his smile turned smug, proud and amused at their reactions.

"well, that's a kaedehara for you~"

"THAT DOESN'T EXPLAIN ANYTHING!"

oh, how he loves whenever this happens.

[patrickswhore]

Karl Heisenberg X male reader

A/n: i couldn’t find any gifs of my daddy so I made one 😂 also sorry for not updating for a while, schools been tough but I’m in self isolation so I have plenty of time to write 😂 also light smut towards the end.

I stood at the back of my house, chopping wood for the burner. The snow fell heavy, making the wood crunch as it hit the cold ground.

I could see my breath as I breathed out in exhaustion. This winter was gonna be tough for me and my family. As the only man in my household and newly turned 21, I was just waiting for my sisters to play match makers and find me a young lady... hopefully that would be a while. In my village, being attracted to the same gender isn’t really a thing. So I’ll just have to suck it up, marry and have kids... you know, conform to society.

I walked inside with the lumber, shaking to get the snow off me like a wet dog. I placed it by the fireplace and threw a few blocks on the fire.

I hung my jacket on the coat rack and walked to the living room where my sister was sitting, chatting with a friend and drinking tea.

“Where’ve you been, (Y/N)? Fooling around with a lady?” My sister asked sarcastically, making fun of my lack of luck with women.

“Very funny, Paula” I rolled my eyes and walked into my moms bedroom, knocking softly on the door before entering.

Mother was laying in bed, looking at the ceiling. I knelt by her side, taking her hand. Ever since father passed away she hasn’t been the same, she lays in bed all day, not talking nor eating much.

“How are you feeling, mother?”

“....”

“I haven’t found a job yet.. but I promise I’ll find the money for your medicine, mother.... I promise”

She didn’t answer, she just kept on staring. I sighed and walked out the room, closing the door softly behind me.

“(Y/N), one of the neighbours came with this letter for you when you were out”

My sister handed me a letter, my name on the front in a crude handwriting. I opened the letter, it had a beautiful wax seal, decorated with a horse. The letter read:

Dear (Y/N)

Congratulations on your 21th birthday. You’ve been selected to come work for Karl Heisenberg at the factory on the outskirts of town. You’ve been selected because of your high grades and physical attributes. Please report to the factory as quickly as possible.

Kind regards, Karl Heisenberg.

My heart skipped a beat, Karl Heisenberg was asking me to come work for him. I couldn’t believe it, I rushed to me and my sisters room, quickly putting on some clean clothes and my prayer shoes. I ran into my mothers room, kneeling besides her once again.

“Mother, great news! I’m gonna go work for Lord Heisenberg...”

“.....”

“I love you mother, I’ll be back soon”

I rushed out, giving my sister a peak on the forehead and storming out the front door and into the freezing weather.

I walked up the hill to the metal doors, the factory was up and running, making a hell of a lot of noise. I banged on the heavy doors before it slowly opened on its own, revealing a room filled with scrap metal.

I heard the cracking sound of an intercom before hearing a low voice speaking.

“Ah! (Y/N) great you’re here so quickly. Please make your way to my office, all you have to do is make a left where you are and walk straight. It’s as easy as that, I’ll be waiting”

That must be lord Heisenberg speaking. I straighten up and walked as I had been instructed to. The condors were cramped and dimly lit by red lamps. I felt like the further into the factory I got, the more a putrid smell started to emerge. I finally reached the door, knocking two times.

“Yeah come on in!”

I slowly pushed open the metal door and was pleased that the wretched smell was now being overpowered by the scent of cigar smoke. There he sat, his back turned to me as I slowly shut the door. His hair was long and rugged, and he was toying with a small knife between his fingers.

“It’s great to finally meet you, (Y/N) (L/N). My men has had their eyes on you for a while, but you’re more impressive in person” the man stood up, he was taller then me to start with, but also physically more pumped. I was kinda scrawny, but the winter without my farther had put some meat on my bones.

“It’s an honor to be able to work for you, lord” I bowed my head slightly before looking up and finding him much closer then before. He put a finger under my chin, inspecting my face from different angels.

“My men were right, you surely are a very beautiful man”

My breath hitched in my throat.

“I beg you pardon?”

“Oh don’t play dumb with me, boy... we both know what you are”

“So that’s why you brought me here... not for work”

“Well a special kind of work, if you catch my drift”

“....”

He let go of my chin, moving a step back. I couldn’t deny it, he was extremely hot, but the thought of not being able to sustain my family drove me mad.

“Don’t worry, you’re getting a job at the factory too, and I’ll pay you handsomely for your services.. I know how much your family needs the money”

A stone lifted from my heart. What had I done for mother Miranda to gift me with such fortune? A well paying job and a handsome boss, who could ask for more?

“When do I start?”

“Well, immediately. But first, I have a question” he asked walking closer to me, slowly pushing me against the wall behind us. One hand on the wall besides my head and the other on my waist.

“Do you find me attractive?” His head was inching closer to my neck. His smell was intoxicating, a mix of sweat, cologne and rusty metal. I couldn’t get enough of him.

“Yes, very much”

“Good, because I need you to fix something for me” he grabbed my wrist with the hand from my waist and guided it to his crotch. I cupped his growing bugle as he made a low growling noise, almost like a dog. I started to softly stroke it as he removed his head from my neck, setting his hat on a nearby table before going back to my neck, kissing and biting along the side. I softly grabbed his dick, sending a shockwave through his body. He pulled back, looking at me through his sunglasses, I could slightly see his eyes which were full of lust. He put both his hands on my waist before moving me to the table, turning me around and bending me over it.

“You like that? You dirty man” he huffed, grinding against my ass, a hand on the back of my neck and another under my shirt on the small of my back.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you hear me?” He gave my ass a hard slap, I cried out in pleasure and surprise, gripping the edge of the table.

I could hear his belt buckle being undone as I waited. Suddenly a voice over the loud speakers outside.

“All four lords, report to the castle immediately. Glory be to mother Miranda”

“You have to be fucking kidding me, what does that super sized bitch want now?” He huffed in annoyance buckling his belt again. I stood up, sitting on the table which I had just been bent over.

“I’ll be back very soon” he placed himself between my legs and gave me a passionate kiss, I of course, kissed back.

He put on his hat before storming out the door. I sighed and hung my head. Fuck...

Bonus:

“You’re late, Heisenberg” Alcina snapped as Karl stomped inside.

“I was in the middle of something”

“In the middle of what? You’re such a-“ she stopped dead in her tracks as Karl sat down, completely forgetting about his huge bulge.

“Oh.. I see, you’ve gotten a bit too happy for one of your experiments again”

Karls eyes widened as he swung his jacket over his lap, covering his crotch.

“Shut up bitch, and stop looking at my dick”

“ watch your mouth, child. Moreau, wanna bet on how long this one is gonna last until he kills him?”

Moreau giggled before getting hit in the back with a sheet of metal.

“Not this one, freak!.... this one is different”

“Mhmm, let’s see about that”

“I’ll rip your fucking over sized head off, you stupid bitch!” The hammer flew into Karls hand before Miranda interrupted.

“I’ll fucking show you... he’s the one”

[cyborg-franky]

2, 5, or 13 of the new lovers prompt with Eustass?

hope your break went/is going okay!! be sure to take care of yourself Franky!

It's going okay my love, thank you <3

So I picked this prompt and I've looked at wiki and it looks like Kid Pirates don't have a medic so I thought this might be fun to make a reader the medic. I hope you like poppit!

Kid x GN Reader SFW Prompt: Kissing your lover's wound after having bandaged them up Word Count: 426

You had been enjoying a nice cup of tea in your office just flipping through the pages of a book when the door slammed open, smashing into the wall behind it, the impact causing things to rattle on the walls, something fell over and broke.

Wrinkling your nose in irritation you watched the red head storm into the room, not even bothering to shut, slam, the door closed behind him. He turned his attention to you, kicking the chair from under the desk so he could throw himself down onto it.

The poor thing creaked under his weight, his heavy boots kicking the legs of the desk to demand your attention. You folded your hands under your chin and gave your captain a look.

“Yes captain, you have my undivided attention, is there anything I can do for you?” You tried to keep the annoyance our of your tone, Kid was a lit fuse the best of times.

“I cut myself” He muttered and moved his hand, showing where a piece of metal was still lodged “It’s pissing blood and I can’t stop it” He grunted.

“Is this you saying, ‘my love, can you please help me?’” You batted your eyelashes at him from across your desk. He grunted once more, nodding his head, dropping his arm on your table, blood leaking from the wound over your book.

“Just… fuckin’ do something will ya?” He hissed at you through grit teeth, you rolled your eyes and grabbed your med kit.

He wasn’t normally this abrasive, it must have hurt, or he’d done something stupid and was simply hiding it behind misdirected anger, naturally, this was Captain Kid after all. You wheeled your chair around to where he sat, looking at the fresh cut.

“Can you move the metal please?” He rolled his eyes but did as he was told, you disinfected the cut, cleaned it up before you worked on giving him stiches, he held still, kept silent and didn’t moan at you.

Wrapping it with bandages you glanced at him, his expression had softened since you’d started work on him. You pat his thigh to signal you’ve finished “All done captain” You smiled and noticed he was still looking at you, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Oh, wait” You leaned down and kissed the bandaged part of his arm, softly, sweetly, your eyes keeping contact with him “All better”

He mumbled his thanks under his breath, a slight tinge on his face before he pushed his chair back, standing. You watched him curse to himself before leaving.

[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch. 2

Ch. 1

Summary: Cassanda Awkward Asshole Dimitrescu

---

After a couple weeks of doing normal maid chores, Nicole was not expecting to see the dungeons again. Not after Cassandra’s little “failed experiment”. But all good things must come to an end eventually, don’t they? And to an end they came when a faint buzzing reached her ears mid-mopping the floor in one of the main halls.

 Two gloved hands were placed on her hips, pinning her in place, while Cassandra's chin came to rest on her shoulder. She inhaled deeply before finally speaking. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" 

Yes you very much are. 

"Of course not, my lady." 

"Good good. Sadly my study is quite a mess again and I was wondering…" one hand came to teasingly caress Nicole’s cheek. “You aren’t busy tomorrow, are you?”

She wasn’t. In fact, tomorrow was Nicole’s day off, something that she would bet on a lifetime supply of coffee that Cassandra was well aware of. It took every ounce of self control not to let a groan accompany her next words.

“I am not.” Asshole.

She felt herself being spun around, Cassandra’s face uncomfortably close to hers. “Be there by ten then.” And, with the sickle now under Nicole’s chin, “Don’t be late.”

And just as easily as she appeared, Cassandra dissipated into a cloud of flies and made her leave. A sigh of relief got caught in Nicole’s throat when she noticed the other two sisters standing in the doorframe opposite from the one Cassandra flew out of. They both gave her an amused look, seeing the faint blush on Nicle’s cheeks and, to her dread, they both approached her. Bela was the first to speak, thankfully keeping her distance.

“So what exactly is your deal? Immune to all the blood and gore, hm,” she hummed, eyes inquisitive .

“It’s been a while since Cassie was so dead set on scaring someone,” Daniela chirped in from behind and Nicole had to force herself not to snort at the nickname.

So that’s what this was about. Lil’ old Cassie was throwing a hissy fit because one person in this castle wasn’t cowering and bowing at her feet the moment they saw some blood splattered on her otherwise beautiful face. If she had to work in this hellhole of a village, then at the very least she could get some mild satisfaction out of annoying the family sadist. With the other sisters however, there was no point in hiding what her “deal” was. 

“I worked as a medical examiner.” At a raised blonde eyebrow she specified, “I used to examine dead bodies. Autopsies and all that.”

Bela’s face turned from mild shock to amusement, her eyes darting to the younger sister who straight up started laughing while the eldest, at least trying to keep her composure, chuckled. 

“Oh this is gonna be interesting,” the redhead said through giggles.

---

Nicole really had hoped that Cassandra meant 10 pm, with how the Dimitrescus were nowhere to be found during the early day, and she would still have the day to herself until night came. That idea went completely out the tinted windows when, at nine thirty, the head chambermaid came to remind her of the change in schedule. She quickly downed the remaining coffee from her cup while mentally cursing and bolted to her room to change into proper attire, then out the door she went. 

Where was she even supposed to meet the brunette? The doors to the dungeons were bolted shut and she doubted Cassandra would oh so graciously escort her this time. Then again, Lady Dimitrescu did say that she had to be supervised. She got her answer when the doors opened with a click and a drawn out groan from the heavy wood. Cassandra was standing there, eyes scrutinizing as ever while giving Nicole a once over. Then she pulled out a pocket watch that looked at least a century old.

“You’re…” eyes narrowed at the small silver object. “Seven minutes early. Oh you’re as annoying about being on time as Bela aren’t you?”

Well you did make it a point to tell me to be on time, you absolute hypocrite. Instead of voicing her opinions though, Nicole settled for following the other girl deep into the castle’s undergrounds, through damp and oddly warm corridors. The giddiness was back into Cassandra’s demeanor, golden eyes occasionally turning to the small redhead walking behind her with an expression of barely concealed glee. This was definitely not good news. 

It took about .5 seconds to notice what got the brunette so happy when they entered her study. The room was definitely cleaner than the first time, only a handful of devices were dirty and the floor needed some mopping. The tables however... One was covered in fresh blood and the other had a dead body sprawled on it, partially covered by a stained sheet. Oh the irony.

While Nicole was cleaning the unoccupied table, she was facing the brunette, somehow trusting her even less with a scalpel in hand than with a sickle. Not that watching her absolutely botch an autopsy was much better mind you. 

Has nobody taught you about the Y incision?!

That's too dee- congrats you’re making a mess.

That cut needs to go lower. What, are you afraid of some balls?

Oh my god are you trying to take the heart out before even taking care of the guts-

“What is it?” Cassandra’s voice came with a low growl, then a slight cock of the head. “You’re staring.”

“N-nothing,” Nicole stumbled over her reply, realizing too late that her hand had stilled on the rag she was using to clean the blood.

“One thing that I hate more than being disrespected is being lied to.” The warning was clear in her tone. “So I’ll ask again: what is it?”

Nicole was sure that being criticized was something she would hate even more, so she made the split second decision to go with a white lie.

“I just...find autopsies quite fascinating.” Well, in a way she did.

“...You do?” Golden eyes widened in what was probably the first truly genuine emotion Nicole has ever seen on Cassandra’s face: surprise, and a hint of curiosity. 

When Nicole reaffirmed her reply, the brunette’s eyes stayed on her for a few long seconds, trying to find the traces of a lie. When she found none, she just dismissed the other girl with an awkward cough and a “Those knives won’t clean themselves.” 

A tense silence fell on the room, only disturbed by the occasional clink of metal tools or the sloshing of organs being handled by the brunette. After the table was wiped to a reflective surface, Nicole moved on to mopping the blood trails on the floor. She was grateful for the chance to step away from Cassandra, if only for a bit. After the floor too was clean, it was time to wipe the few dirty blades, thankfully not as many as last time. She took a dagger from its holster on the wall and carefully ran a piece of cloth over the blade, washing away dried crimson clots. 

As much as it was probably a bad idea, she couldn't help throwing a subtle glance behind her at Cassandra. A few organs were placed on the table at the body’s feet, and she was taking notes in a leatherbound notebook that looked well used. The idea that she had any interest in the bodies beyond being food gave Nicole an oddly nostalgic feeling. It sent her right back in high school, when one of her friends who took art history classes was telling her all about how da Vinci used real dead bodies in order to study anatomy. Yeah, da Vinci but the more attractive versio- fuck.

She hissed and retracted her hand as she felt the sharp blade cut her wrist and almost dropped the dagger. The effort to conceal the pain was there, but useless as Cassandra was by her side in mere seconds. 

"Oh did you cut yourself?" She asked with feign concern, and grabbed her hand. "Here let me help you with that." 

"Oh no I'm okay really no nee-" 

Nicole's words died in her throat when Cassandra stuck out her tongue and dragged it, slowly, across the cut, collecting every last drop of blood. To top it off, she let out a low moan and gave the soft skin there a small nip, successfully making the redhead’s breath hitch. Now any normal and sane person would think I still have a knife in my hand, I should use it, but Nicole would be lying to everyone and then herself if she said she didn’t have a thing for danger. And it doesn’t get much more dangerous than this, now does it.

“Mm...you taste wonderful.” 

Was she supposed to thank her?

“You’re lucky you intrigue me, otherwise you would make for some fine wine.” She finished with her trademark cackle.

Oh she was definitely not getting a thanks now. Nicole rolled her eyes slightly, tugging her hand away. She was half expecting Cassandra not to release her, but instead she let go of her wrist and, with a giggle, she returned to her work without another word.

---

That night, Nicole made damn sure to wash the cut until her skin felt like it would have a permanent sensation of pins and needles. Once a bandage was securely wrapped around her wrist she sat down with a cup of tea, not quite ready to sleep yet. How ironic would it be if she died of an infection while living in a castle where people are literally turned into food and wine.

Although in all honesty, she was quite certain her death would be far more entertaining.

[disastermages]

[read it on ao3]

“Shijie, how do I make soup?” Wei Wuxian wrestles the phone between his shoulder and his ear while he tries and fails to dig through Lan Zhan’s pots and pans quietly. He needs a stock pot, Wei Wuxian knows that much, and carrots and celery and onions. That’s how Jiang Yanli starts most of her soups, he’s seen her cook and pretended to help her enough times to know that.

On the other end, Wei Wuxian hears Jiang Yanli hum laugh softly, “A-Xian, if you’re hungry, you can just come over, I’ll even send you home with leftovers.” It makes Wei Wuxian smile, but he shakes his head, even though his sister can’t see him.

“It’s not for me, Shijie, Lan Zhan is sick, and I want to make something to help him feel better.” Lan Zhan still hadn’t even admitted to being sick by the time Wei Wuxian had convinced him to lay back down. Lan Zhan had been too tired and too uncertain on his feet to argue, not that he could have stopped Wei Wuxian from putting him to bed.

They were supposed to go out for dinner, but Wei Wuxian had canceled that reservation while he sat beside Lan Zhan, running his fingers through sweat-dampened hair.

“Oh! Well that is different, now isn’t it?” Jiang Yanli’s voice only sounds more amused now, and distantly, Wei Wuxian hears clattering on her side of the phone call, “Do you have chicken broth?”

“Lan Zhan has some vegetable broth from Xichen-ge.” There’d been uncertainty on Lan Zhan’s face the first time he’d told Wei Wuxian that Lan Xichen had taken up cooking, but he was getting better at it.

“That will work just fine, A-Xian.”

Slowly, Jiang Yanli walks her younger brother through the process of making a simple soup, her voice gentle and encouraging, even as she reminds Wei Wuxian not to let the onions and garlic scorch in the pan, because it will make the soup bitter.

“My XianXian is growing up.” Jiang Yanli sounds as if she’s speaking to herself, but it makes Wei Wuxian pause, mushrooms in his hands hovering above the stock pot he’d had to climb half way into Lan Zhan’s cabinets for.

“XianXian is three, he can’t even make soup by himself, he needs his Shijie to hold his hand.” Only when he can laugh at himself does Wei Wuxian finally drop the mushrooms into the soup. Carrots and potatoes roll to the top while the stock boils.

He expects Jiang Yanli to play along with him just like she always does, he waits for her to insist that he’s only a year old, but instead she pauses, though not unkindly. “A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli sounds more serious than Wei Wuxian has heard her in a very long time, “you’re making soup for Lan Wangji because you care for him, right? You’re going to want to add some rosemary now, there’s no need to cut it, just make sure you pull out the sprig after the soup has simmered.”

Wei Wuxian dutifully adds the rosemary, the smell of it spreading through his chest and widening like warmth, “Of course I care for him! He’s my… He’s my Lan Zhan.” They hadn’t named whatever it was that they’re doing, but it’s true enough, isn’t it? Lan Zhan is Wei Wuxian’s Lan Zhan. “Do I need to add anything else?”

“You can add some tofu if you like. When you found out he was sick, did you have to think about it, or did you just go right into taking care of him?”

Reluctantly, Wei Wuxian steps away from the stove long enough to look inside Lan Zhan’s fridge for the tofu, jars and bottles clinking in both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli’s ears while Wei Wuxian pulls the tofu out of a stack with one hand. The soup is still on the stove, unscorched and free of ruin when Wei Wuxian comes back to it.

“I just did it, I guess, I wanted to.” He hadn’t been able to find Lan Zhan’s thermometer and Lan Zhan couldn’t stay awake long enough to tell him where it was, so in the end, Wei Wuxian had kissed Lan Zhan’s forehead and found him to be burning with fever. He’d taken off his leather jacket and set to work trying to take care of Lan Zhan after that.

“You’ll need to cut the tofu, but don’t make it too small.” There’s the light, metallic tapping of Jiang Yanli’s tasting spoon against her stockpot, still spotless, but far more used than Lan Zhan’s. Wei Wuxian nods again and picks up the knife he’d pulled out of Lan Zhan’s kitchen drawers, his sister had told him to find one that felt right in his hand. Wei Wuxian cannot see Jiang Yanli, but he knows that she’s thinking hard about something, her nose wrinkling slightly and her mouth pulling into that small, thoughtful frown.

“A-Xian, do you know that I’m proud of you?” The chunks of tofu land in the pot with wet plops, but Jiang Yanli doesn’t give her brother the chance to ask her what she’s proud of, “I know you don’t like cooking, and you say that you don’t know how to care for someone who’s sick, but you’re trying very hard for Lan Wangji. You could have called Lan Xichen, and he would have come running over to take care of him, but you’ve done it without a second thought. You are growing up, and you’re growing up well.”

“Shijie,” Wei Wuxian starts, but he can’t finish, something big is blocking his throat and making his eyes sting, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“You’ll need to let the soup simmer for a while before you can serve it, keep it stirred, and in the meantime, you should do the dishes and clean up any messes you made while you were cooking.” Jiang Yanli’s own voice sounds wobbly and emotional, now, but it doesn’t mask the pride shining like the sun through storm clouds. “You should serve it to Lan Wangji with some crackers, or maybe toast, it’ll settle his stomach a little.”

Finally, Wei Wuxian can speak, a smile spreading slowly across his face, “Should I call you and ask you how to make toast?”

Jiang Yanli laughs at the joke and sets the lid onto her own pot, “Xianxian could blacken the toast completely, and I think Lan Wangji might still eat it, but only because you made it for him.”

They only talk for a while longer before they both hang up and Wei Wuxian starts to clean up his messes, chasing after thin, wispy onion skins with the broom and wiping down spills that have long since hardened while he was too busy to clean them. He looks in on Lan Zhan, still sleeping, and digs through the cabinets again to find the tea Lan Zhan only drinks on special occasions.

There’s nothing left for Wei Wuxian to do after the tea is brewed and steeped, so he sets about gathering up a tray, taking care to slice the toast into crustless triangles, just the way he’d seen Jiang Yanli do for him and Jiang Cheng when they were younger. With his hands full, Wei Wuxian is grateful that he’d left Lan Zhan’s door open just a crack, though he still kicks it closed as gently as he can.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian calls, setting the tray down on the empty side of the bed, his side of the bed, to lean over Lan Zhan and shake him gently, “it’s time to wake up, Lan Zhan.” He knows he shouldn’t, but he still fixes a kiss to Lan Zhan’s temple, and then his cheek. Lan Zhan wakes up slowly, his eyes still heavy and his skin somehow paler, even as he stares up at Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Ying.” The roughness of Lan Zhan’s voice digs itself right into Wei Wuxian’s heart, and for one moment his smile falters.

“I made you something special, Lan Zhan, it’s going to help you feel better.” Wei Wuxian pulls the tray into his own lap, but Lan Zhan looks at it doubtfully, though he still makes the effort to try and smell it.

“Wei Ying made this?” He asks, and Wei Wuxian beams. He hadn’t burned anything or added too much spice, the broth hadn’t even turned red.

“I called Shijie for help, but I did all the work by myself, I even cleaned the kitchen after I was done.” The statement is half meant to brag, and half meant to settle any worries Lan Zhan might have about a mess left behind in the kitchen.The way his eyes widened minutely hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Lan Zhan takes the spoonfuls carefully as Wei Wuxian offers them to him, bleary eyes still glancing up at Wei Wuxian, disbelief mixed with something else that Wei Wuxian can’t name, but it fills him with hope.

“Wei Ying should not have gone to so much trouble, I cannot taste it.” Lan Zhan admits once the bowl is finished, his hand drifting towards Wei Wuxian’s knee. There’s guilt building up on Lan Zhan’s face like storm clouds, dark and heavy, before Wei Wuxian covers Lan Zhan’s hand with his own, thumb swiping back and forth in a quiet attempt at comfort.

“I wanted to do it, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian says softly, lifting Lan Zhan’s hand up and kissing it quick, “You know you can’t stop me or change my mind when I decide that I want to do something.” Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop Lan Zhan when he decided he truly wanted to do something either, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t bring that up now, not as he sets his other hand onto Lan Zhan’s back to guide him to lay on his shoulder.

Lan Zhan’s arms wrap around Wei Wuxian’s neck easily, the movements comfortable and automatic.

“Wei Ying will get sick like this.” Lan Zhan insists, his voice stubborn and childish, even as he makes no attempt to pull away, if anything, his arms tighten.

“If I do, will Lan Er-gege take care of me?”

“Yes.” Lan Zhan’s answer is automatic and unquestioning. Wei Wuxian buries his face in Lan Zhan’s hair for it, breathing in the scent buried underneath sweat and sick. “Will Wei Ying make more soup later?”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t stop himself from laughing before he gives Lan Zhan another kiss, this time pressed to his jaw. “You don’t know how much soup I made, Lan Zhan, I can warm it up for you as many times as you want.” He’d made too much, really, but Jiang Yanli had said that was normal.

“I want to be able to taste your cooking.” Lan Zhan insists, and Wei Wuxian kisses him again, on his forehead and on both of his cheeks.

“You will, Lan Zhan, you won’t be sick forever.” It was only a cold, or maybe a flu, but Lan Zhan will get better, Wei Wuxian will make sure of that.

Wei Wuxian knows that he should get up and he should wash the dishes that they’d used, but when he tries, Lan Zhan only holds onto him tighter and refuses to look at Wei Wuxian for a long moment. “Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

“I will, Lan Zhan, I will.”

Wei Wuxian would stay as long as Lan Zhan would have him.

He would take care of him as long as he was allowed to.

[blinder-secrets]

False Employment

tommy shelby x maid!reader, 5,900 words

warnings: power play, dominance, nsfw

ao3 link

a/n: this is essentially the second piece in a maid series i’ve accidentally started, read michael’s here <3

When you were eight, you’d told your mother that you were going to be a dancer. Then a dressmaker, a poet, a horse-groomer. As a teen, you’d decided that you’d be a wife, just a wife, who’d raise the kids while your husband was away making fortunes, no doubt. Your mother had been happy enough with that idea, but it had soured on you. After all, you thought, why spend your time looking after others and not yourself?

In the end, though, you’d found work as a maid. A house-servant in black and white, cursed to parole the hallways of an estate that’d never feel homely, or private. The irony of it was not lost on you. Employed to look after people that weren’t even yours to look after, half the reasoning but triple the pay. At least this way, the work you did was profitable, and the money you made was saved in your own name. The catch, however, was that you hated it. And you hated it because you were frustratingly terrible at it. No matter how many times Frances taught you to fold the sheets, you got it wrong. Somehow. No matter how carefully you swept, or cleaned, or shined the child’s shoes, you missed a spot. You always missed a fucking spot. It’s like you were cursed, destined to be the worst possible maid in the Midlands, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The strangest part, of course, was that you hadn’t been fired yet. You’d hardly even been chastised. The most unbecoming maid in the history of housekeeping, and you still had your job. You were still paid more than the industry standard. Despite all you knew about him, it seemed Mr. Shelby, unlike most employers, was endlessly forgiving of his staff; it was only when you started to question why, that you realised that wasn’t entirely the case.

On the Friday, you’d been called to bring tea to the front sitting-room. You’d say it’s one of your least favourite tasks but, honestly, they all sit equally on the list of things that you hate to do. The dishes always clatter on the tray, rattling wildly as you take the stairs from the kitchen. The china is scolding to touch each time you go to pour it. The spout is short, the saucers fragile and ill-fitting. Really, there’s a lot less grace in serving tea, than there is in drinking it, and that day was no different.

‘Your tea, Mr. Shelby,’ you announced, once you’d wobbled through the doorway. The milk had spilt onto the metal, but the cups and teapot had stayed strong, thank God. ‘Where would you like it?’

He wasn’t alone, the aunt and his cousin were waiting with him, but only your cold-faced boss had acknowledged the arrival. He was stood by the window, picking a cigarette from his case, and had paused to give instruction that no-one else would offer. His gaze flicked to you briefly, then over to the low coffee table in the centre. ‘There.’

You obliged with a nod, before crossing the room to set the tray and its precarious contents down. ‘Should I pour you some, sir?’ you asked the cousin, hoping he’d say no, hoping he’d let you return to some other, more menial job. One that at least let you work without an audience. Instead, he nodded, and leant forward to hold one of the tea-cups up. Why he couldn’t just leave it there, on the flat surface, where no spills could do any damage, you didn’t know. He probably thought he was being helpful; tragically, he failed to take into account that you were the clumsiest tea-maid in the house.

The handle stung, as expected, the moment you took hold of it, but you were interrupted before you could even begin to pour.

‘Shouldn’t milk go first?’ he asked, continuing once you looked at him like he was wild. ‘In china, to stop it from cracking?’

‘Oh.’ You stuttered, straightening from your bend with the burning teapot in your hand still. ‘Of course,’ you answered. Of course there was some rule you had forgotten, some high-class superstition about breaking the bone china they could replace so easily. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead you smiled, and set the tea down again. ‘Sorry, sir.’

When his cup was filled with an inch of the obviously critically important milk, you tried again to pour his tea. The aunt and Mr. Shelby were talking around you, but you were so focused on the act that their words fell away into rubble, just birds chattering between the trees. You lifted the pot again and poured as steadily as your arm would allow.

From the sudden hiss of breath between his teeth, it hadn’t been steady at all. You’d poured scolding tea onto the rim, the saucer, and finally, unfortunately, onto the pinstripe-stretch of his knee.

‘Fuck,’ you burst, ‘sorry.’ The pot went back to the tray quickly, your hands into the pocket of your apron. You hadn’t realised you’d sworn until it was too late to correct it. Another X against your name, surely. ‘Forgive me,’ you told him, pulling a cloth free to offer it, ‘it’s clean.’ At least, for your sake, you’d remembered that dabbing the stain yourself would be inexcusable.

He took it, sighing, and his mother rolled her eyes so plainly that you couldn’t have ignored it if you tried. ‘It’s alright,’ he said, though his scowl didn’t agree. ‘That’s enough anyway.’

You nodded, leaving him to pat awkwardly at the stain, balancing the cup and saucer in his free hand. What Mr. Shelby thought of the ordeal, you didn’t know. He was behind you, quiet, and impossible to see without turning entirely. The embarrassed heat that lingered in your ears was enough to keep you from trying. The last thing you needed, was another unimpressed look sent your way; you got enough of them from Frances.

When you shifted to face the aunt, she spoke before you could, insisting, ‘I can pour my own.’

You smiled before she’d even finished. ‘Course, ma’am,’ you offered with a shallow curtsey. Anything to get out sooner was welcome, even if it was a dig at your serving expertise.

Straightening fully, you smoothed the back of your dress and spun, facing the windows and the silhouette before them. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ you asked as you met his gaze —which had already been there, waiting. Taking account. He’d been watching you fuck up, yet again, probably wondering how you got the job in the first place. You chewed your lip as he deliberated.  

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment, speaking through the cloud of his cigarette, ‘that’ll be all.’

Why you got off so lightly, made no fucking sense, but you weren’t about to stand there and argue with him. Instead, you dipped your knees again and left. It had felt like he’d watched you until you’d gone out of sight, through the doorway, but that was more likely to be a symptom of your over-thinking. Just jumping to paranoid conclusions like you always did, assuming his eyes had clung to your back until the door had shut them away.

By the next week, you were starting to think you weren’t paranoid at all.

Frances had caught you in the hallway between your room and her own, just as you were heading down for something to eat. ‘Mr. Shelby will be home soon,’ she said, stopping in front of you with a sure knot between her brows.

You watched her undo the tie of her pinafore. ‘Okay?’

‘He’ll need his coat taking, and offer him a drink, not supper.’

You balked. Why was she telling you this? ‘Isn’t that your job?’ you asked, feeling dread settle into your stomach. She was top of the hierarchy, the one he trusted most, you were a scullery maid at best. It’d make more sense for his boy to greet him, over you.

She sighed like you were at fault, and folded the pinafore over her arm. ‘He’s asked for you.’

‘He has?’

‘And don’t speak more than you should,’ she continued, ignoring your obvious alarm. ‘Just, just do as I would.’

But you didn’t know what she did. You never paid attention to what she did. ‘Do you think he wants to speak to me?’ you asked, following as she started towards her room. ‘Am I in trouble?’ Was it finally the chopping block for you?

She turned sharply, causing you to stumble to a halt. ‘I think,’ she stressed, ‘that he wants his coat taking.’ Then her door opened and she shut herself inside, leaving you to stand aimlessly in the hallway.

With little else to do, you made your way downstairs to wait within hearing distance of the front door. It didn’t take Mr. Shelby long to require your services, but it did take just long enough for you to think yourself into a panic. No, not a panic, it was more of a steady confidence. A certainty that he had asked for you, specifically, so that he could tell you to work harder. Better. So that he could get you alone, and threaten a cut to your wages if you didn’t stop pouring tea onto his guest’s laps. It was the only plausible reasoning you could settle on.

When he stepped into the entry-way, your heart was beating hard enough to trick your mind into labelling it as excitement. A twisted bout of adrenaline at the thought of being fired. You’d have laughed if you weren’t trying so hard to be professional, instead, you kept your face serious. ‘Good evening, Mr. Shelby,’ you started, moving from your post to meet him. ‘Can I take your coat?’

You thought you saw his lip twitch upwards, but it was redirected into a short nod. ‘Frances changed the rota,’ he said, though it was obvious. He turned, showing you his back, and you pulled the collar from his shoulders before you could overthink the motion.

‘She did, sir,’ you agreed. Don’t talk too much. Don’t talk too much. ‘Have you had your hair cut?’ you asked, unable to stop once you’d noticed the close shave at the back of his head.

He faced you again, letting the coat peel from his arms until he was separate, and you were left to wrangle the heavy fabric alone. To no surprise, he didn’t answer your question. He didn’t even remove his cap. Instead, he stared, squinting slightly, then held the briefcase out for you to take.

You were running out of hands to be useful with. The folded coat was thick enough to render one arm useless, and now his case occupied the other. ‘Would you like something to eat, sir?’

‘No,’ he answered, too quick to have really considered it. Then he looked down, eyes on the leather gloves he was removing, and asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘[Y/n], sir.’

He repeated it once. Rolled it over his tongue and out again like he was testing for its flavour. Analysing its worth, though he had surely heard it a hundred times before.

Your adrenaline had finally been replaced by fragile nerves. The silence felt like an open invite for critique, and you’d rather have it filled with the forbidden small talk than let it begin. ‘Would you like me to fetch Char—‘

‘Have you lit the fire in my office?’ he asked blankly, interrupting you as he lifted his eyes to yours. The blue alone was enough to quiet you. His stare was more intimidating than luxurious; if he had been watching you as you thought he had, you weren’t sure that was a good thing anymore.

‘No,’ you stammered. ‘Should I have?’ It was dark already, but you hadn’t noticed the cold yourself. ‘Should I do it now, Mr. Shelby?’ you corrected, playing catch up on your responsibilities. ‘I’ll put these down.’

He shook his head and put the gloves, together, on top of his coat. Piled it all on you like you were a walking hat-stand. ‘Make sure you have next time,’ he said. ‘It’s winter.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry.’

It didn’t look like the apology meant anything to him, probably because you had rushed it out nervously, rather than sincerely. You didn’t often know what you were apologising for after all, just that you should be, and that you were normally at fault in the first place. So you said sorry quickly, before he could leave. And then, once he had done, turning from you after a final clinging-look, you said sorry again into the absent space he had left behind. Sorry, Mr. Shelby, don’t fire me, Mr. Shelby. I know I’m a terrible fucking servant, Mr. Shelby. He didn’t look back, nor did he ask for you again that evening. From your perspective, that was a win. It meant he hadn’t planned to stage an intervention, or to tell you off like a scorned school master. He had simply wanted you to do your job, well, Frances’ job, and somehow, you hadn’t massively disappointed. A few mis-placed questions hadn’t caused your downfall, and you found yourself hanging his coat with an easy smile. Perhaps you were valuable to him then, or at least acceptable. Perhaps you were employed for a reason.

When he next went away, you made sure to light the fire before he returned. Clever, you thought, well remembered indeed. What you failed to do, however, was time it well enough that it would be lit, burning strong and heating the room, before you had to meet him at the door. You were still knelt by the hearth when he arrived.

He cleared his throat once, from the doorway, and the noise was loud enough to startle you over the snaps of the fire. You sprang from the floor in one panicked burst of energy, turning in almost the same motion, moving faster than you felt you ever had.

‘Oh, Mr. Shelby,’ you panted. ‘Sorry, sorry, I was just finishing the fire.’

He was fully dressed still. Obviously, because you hadn’t been there to pull the outer layers from him as you should have. It wasn’t even a difficult task and you’d seemingly failed on your second try.

‘Have you been there long?’ you asked, hoping that if you kept him talking, and kept his eyes on yours, he would fail to notice the ash on your knees. The grey powdering of your tights and the hem of your dress, dirtied from kneeling too close to the bricks. It could be brushed away easily, but you hardly wanted more attention drawn to it. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

He shrugged, not bothering with a real answer. The nonchalance made you nervous. He could’ve been standing there for seconds, or he could’ve been there for minutes, watching you bent in half, folded in front of the fire as you worked. Whether someone could even be judged on their fire-making skills, you didn’t know. But he seemed the type to be able to judge anyone for anything.

‘Sorry, I should take your coat,’ you started, crossing the room with your hands out.

‘It’s alright.’ He walked past you before you could even reach him, moulding into the study like he was a part of it. ‘I have to go out again, anyway.’

You nodded. He didn’t offer any other instruction, so you just stood there, dirty like a chimney-sweep, gormless like a fucking goose in the river. ‘Should I go, sir?’ you asked.

His case went on top of the desk, his body dropped into the seat behind it. He didn’t look at you, or answer you, he just pulled a cigarette from his inside pocket and lit it. You watched him inhale and exhale once before growing tired.

‘There are things I should be doing, sir,’ you said, hoping to sound more apologetic than rude. In truth, you were just bored. Uncomfortable. You couldn’t stop thinking about the ash on your knees.

It definitely wasn’t paranoia that time. His eyes finally found you, in the middle of the room, and drank you in like you were one of his racehorses. The flashy ones that he bought for the sake of money and money alone. You fidgeted under the weight of them, knowing the crystal irises were skimming every part of you that should’ve been ignored. Especially for a maid, for one of his house-servants. Your body should’ve been nothing beneath the rigidity of your uniform, and yet he scooped it out from between the seams, looked at the curves that you were sure had been hidden.

‘Do you live at the house,’ he started, voice low and catching, ‘or at home?’

‘The house, sir.’ You threaded your fingers together, kept them clutched over your pinafore. ‘I share the room next to Frances.’

The smoke pooled from his lips again, trailing after him as he leant back into his seat. He was looking at you down his nose, through his lashes, holding the silence just long enough for it become taut. Sharp enough to make your cheeks warm.

‘And when she hears the bell at night, do you hear it too?’

You frowned, but nodded. The service bells were mounted on the wall between the doors.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘next time it goes, I want you to see to it.’

His gaze was unmoving. Yours had been charmed into the same fate, unable to pull away from him. ‘Sir?’ you said, understanding his meaning, but not believing it in the slightest. There was no innocent reason for him to switch orders like that. The older woman had always covered the night work, as infrequent as it was.

He cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes in one quick pulse of intent. ‘Let Frances have her rest, eh?’

It was either a promotion, or a proposition. You had neither the gall or the desire to ask which. ‘Of course, Mr. Shelby.’

After that, your encounters with him had remained short and indifferent. You took his coat, brought him tea, whiskey, followed orders when he gave them. You’d watched him, watching you, every time, and thought nothing more of it. Or at least tried not to. You never saw him interact with other staff, so you couldn’t dispel the idea that he treated you any different from them; he could’ve held all of his employees under the same searing gaze and you wouldn’t have known. Frances had commented on his favouring of you, claiming ‘he’d ask for you over anyone else’, but she had seemed relieved all the same. She liked her work, but she liked free time just as much. His request to switch you to the night-calls, however, had been a dormant one, an almost pointless one, because he’d never rang. Never asked anything of you once he’d taken supper.

At least, he hadn’t before now, right now. This very moment. You’d been dragged from your sleep by the dull clanging of the service bell, and now you’re hot-footing down the stairs with your pinafore barely fastened. What the allowed time for dressing is, you have no idea. You’re trying to rush, but there’s no way of knowing how long it has been, or how presentable you are. The only comfort is that he’s yet to ring the bell again, so you obviously haven’t been long enough to make him impatient.

The door to his study is shut, but there’s nowhere else he’d be, so you knock once you’re stood in front of it. You hear him cough from the other side, before saying, ‘Come in.’

Right then. Here you go. You take a few steps into the room, just enough to be present, but not intrusive, and force a quiet breath before speaking. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Shelby?’ you ask, starting as he shows no sign of doing it on your behalf. He hasn’t even looked up to acknowledge you.

He’s leaning on the end of his desk, staring into the embers of the once lit fire, with a half-filled tumbler in his hand. His jacket’s off, shirt sleeves rolled and shoved to sit above the elbow. If it weren’t for the waistcoat, still fastened and adorned with the chain of his pocket-watch, he’d look almost scruffy. Off-guard. ‘So,’ he says, ‘you heard the bell, then.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you don’t mind the disturbance?’

‘No.’ Though, if he’d brought you down just to test the mechanism, you would hardly be happy about it. ‘Is that all, sir?’

He snorts, following it with a sip of whiskey. The motion causes the gold band around his bicep to catch in the lamplight, glinting at you. A lighthouse through the dark. ‘You don’t get bored of saying sir?’ he asks, finally flicking his eyes in your direction. ‘You say it more than the others.’

Your brows sink together, frowning before you can help it. You weren’t aware there was any other thing to call him, or that sir had a quota, one that you were seemingly well over. ‘Am I wrong to address you as that, Mr. Shelby?’

Quietly, he stands from his lean and tips his head back to finish the final portion of his drink. You watch his neck against the light, follow the whiskey as it travels down his throat. Once it’s empty, he turns to face you with his arm limp by his side, glass dangling in his palm. ‘No,’ he says, shaking his head half-way, ‘call me what you like.’

You catch a whim in the dim-setting, a spark of courage from the fireplace. It’s like the quiet of the house, the certainty of your solitude together, is daring you to test the bounds of your employee-boss relationship. His lingering pause gives the same effect, his blank stare waits to be challenged.

‘Not Tommy, though, sir?’ you ask, wanting to smirk with it, but missing the moment. Or rather, losing the courage as soon as the name’s left your lips.

His chin lifts a fraction. ‘No, not that.’

Tommy is too personal, too close to him. The faint hope you had, that he’d allow you to say it, is squashed into the rug beneath his feet. Without asking, he holds the glass up, arm straight and pointed toward you. You understand his meaning well enough and cross the room to take it from him.

‘Do you often wake a maid, just to pour your whiskey?’ you ask from beside the drinks cabinet. The decanter is there, ready, un-topped and waiting. You fill his glass a quarter, and then a quarter more after a pause of consideration. It doesn’t seem like an evening for single measures.

He doesn’t answer until you’re back in front of him. ‘No,’ he admits shamelessly, leaving you yet another silence to fill.

‘Just me then, sir?’

He nods. ‘Yep, just you.’

He takes the glass and lifts it for a drink. By the time he’s swallowed, and set it down again, you’re two steps back, waiting in the middle of the rug. Anxious for the next order. You’d hoped that the late hour would’ve made him more accessible, more willing to drop the formalities and pretence of your relationship. Instead, it’s made you all the more aware of them. All the more sensitive to the ladder of power between the two of you, and the way he manoeuvres it. He seems so easy, so comfortable, unapologetic of his status and the benefits that it gives him. He can walk the line without risk of misstepping, because he’s the one who sets it.

‘Do you like your job, [y/n]?’ he asks, sounding as if he knows the answer already.

You chew the reply over in your head. As lucky as you’ve been so far, the outright truth might finally throw you into the cold. ‘I like the company,’ you answer, ‘the people.’

He pushes a laugh through his nose, amused but barely smiling still. ‘Didn’t ask you that.’

No, but you won’t lie to him. ‘I’m terrible at my job, sir,’ you say. He surely knows that as well as you do, maybe that’s the reason for him calling on you. It’s time for the meeting you’ve been dreading. The conversation was here at last. ‘In all honesty,’ you tell him, ‘I don’t know why you’ve kept me on.’

Sighing, he half-sits on the desk again, arms folding across his chest. ‘You think you’re that bad?’

‘Awful, sir.’ The added responsibilities have done nothing to improve your prowess. His extra requests have just given you more things to misplace, more damages to cause. ‘Why have you never said anything?’ you ask, adding a ‘sir’ at the raise of his brow. ‘Most people would’ve docked my wages by now.’

He blinks once. ‘Do you want me to punish you?’

The heat it sends up your neck is scorching, embarrassing. For a moment, you forget that he could mean it plainly, that he could speak as an employer and an employer alone. If he had any other expression, you’d be able to validate that, but he’s stoney as ever, waiting for a response like he’d simply asked for the time. ‘No, sir,’ you manage. ‘I just wondered why.’

He takes a sip before answering, hissing the whiskey between the set of his teeth. ‘You know why,’ he says, watching his hands for once, giving you respite from his stare. ‘You look at me just the same.’

‘I do?’

You don’t know why you’re asking, because you’re already in agreement. The self-indulgent glances you’ve taken of him were for the exact same reason you had hoped he looked at you. It wasn’t judgement, but hunger. You had thought it silly to imagine he felt that way too. Maybe men were men after all, easy to read regardless of status, free to want as they liked, but not without the worry of consequence.

‘I don’t want to misunderstand you, Mr. Shelby,’ you say carefully, speaking slow enough to set your thoughts straight. ‘Why do you employ me still?’

You’d expected bravado in reply, but his eyes are on the glass and his voice is taut. ‘I can’t,’ he states. He knows the reasons as well as you do. The chains that bind him, the ones that keep both of your roles in place. There are rules in this house, things that can’t be changed for desire’s sake and he’s counting on you to respect them; the sheer fact that you’re here, alone with him in the middle of the night, proves that his willpower is faltering. He expects you to make up for what he lacks.

The irony, of course, is that you’ve never been any good at meeting expectations. You feel your heartbeat in your skull, right behind your ears, as you take a step forward. ‘Can’t say,’ you challenge, ‘or can’t act on it?’

Another step and you’re an arm’s length away from him.

He puts the glass down and faces you steadily, like he’s flicked the switch back into place, like he’s got cold, iced water in his veins again. ‘You’ll tempt me in my own house, eh?’ he chides, pushing it through a smirk. ‘So quick to be a whore.’

‘I’m not a whore,’ you answer, ‘I’m a maid.’ You chance it and put a hand to his waistcoat, pinching the edge of it between your fingers. He doesn’t stop you. You’re invincible then, you could do anything in the world, and he still wouldn’t think it reason enough to fire you. ‘You don’t seem like a man to ignore his wants, Mr. Shelby.’ Indulge while you can, taste what you’ve been thinking about for so long. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help,’ you purr, ‘then it’s surely my job to do it.’

He doesn’t say anything, but maybe he’s ran out of words. Maybe they’d just take him further from what it is that he wants. Now that you both know it, there’s no reason to discuss. You may be terrible at housework, but men have never been a challenge, you could never fail at something you enjoyed so thoroughly.

Standing, he takes you by the wrist and pulls your fingers free of the waistcoat. He holds your hand in front of your face like you’re a caught criminal. ‘Go back to bed,’ he says, bluntly enough that you almost turn and run. But you were so close to the impossible, so close to tipping over the line, that adrenaline catches you instead.

‘Why?’ Your brows pinch, your manners forget themselves in the disappointment. ‘You suddenly have morals?’ you ask, teetering on laughter. ‘Shame?’ He could kill a man, but fucking his maid is where his ethics hardened. Where they steeled to a stop.  

His jaw sets. For someone so familiar with staff, and giving orders, he’s struggling to put you in your place. You know it’s coming though, you can see the threat behind his eyes.

‘Are you scared, Tommy?’ you taunt. ‘Worried we’ll be found out?’

It was a risk, but it paid off, and he switches the play so easily into his favour, that the wind is knocked out of you before you can piece together what’s happened. He’d pulled you forward, then past him, so that your thighs are against the edge of the desk and his chest is pressed along the length of your back. His arms are either side of you, palms flat on the wooden top. ‘Is that how you want it?’ he bites, putting the question to your neck. Down the collar of your uniform. ‘Ay? Against the boss’s desk?’

‘If that’s what suits you.’

He puts a knee between yours, pushing your legs just far enough apart to feel like he’s predator and you’re prey. Like your body is his to bend, to set in place and enjoy. ‘What?’ he asks, breath hot and liquored by your ear. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

You clear your throat, willing your voice to strengthen. This was what you’d initiated, after all. This is the side you’d asked to see. ‘If that’s what suits, sir,’ you say again, stressing the ‘sir’ like it’s the key to it all, the fuel under the fire. By the way his breath shudders against you, you’re starting to think it is.

He exhales again. ‘We shouldn’t.’ He’s quiet with it, like the thought had escaped without him realising.

‘I want to,’ you insist. You lean forwards slightly, curving your lower back upwards and into him. ‘You want to, sir.’ It was obvious enough. The extra work, the lingering stares, the hardness growing against the back of your thigh —it all lead to one thing, to wanting, lusting. To favouring desire over anything else.

His hands lift from the desk-top to your waist. Taking the bait, then, making it his.

You turn between them, not caring that the motion has skewed your uniform, twisting the skirt beneath his hands until it’s sat, bunched, at your hips. It would have to be moved eventually, taken off entirely if he had the time. ‘If you take any longer,’ you say, ‘the house’ll wake up, Mr. Shelby.’

‘Yeah?’ He lifts you as he answers, putting you onto the desk, and himself between the spread of your legs. ‘And you’ll have duties to attend,’ he says, looking over you, rather than at you. His gaze is foggy from the need. You hum in agreement, playing the game, following his lead as you’re paid to. When his nose finds the space beneath your earlobe, his lips ghosting the edge of your jaw, you melt. You pour into him like scorching gold. ‘I’ll have to have you now,’ he decides, ‘while you’re off the clock.’ The words rumble out of him, low and careless, shouldered by a kiss.

You close your eyes, holding his biceps to keep you upright. ‘If I’m off duty, should I call you sir, or Tommy?’ you ask, barely managing a hoarse whisper.

His mouth opens against your neck, hot and possessive. His lips drag down to the base of your throat before he replies. ‘Are you a maid,’ he asks, panting into the skin, ‘or a whore?’

A whore, you think. He’d never kiss his wife this way, would never have relations like this with any other member of staff. You purl against him as his hand goes between your thighs. ‘Whatever, sir,’ you breathe, ‘I’m whatever you want.’ Right now, you’re a torched flame, you’re a white hot coal, split apart by the heat. His fingers move like he’s known you before. ‘There,’ you tell him, sighing as he finds that tight bundle of nerves through the cotton. ‘There, sir.’

When he kisses you on the mouth, you’re almost surprised enough to reject it. You had wrongly assumed he would avoid kissing you like a lover, but his tongue swept between your lips, pushing in to find yours, and then the thought had gone entirely. You kiss back like you’ve been starved of it, your arms around his neck to ensure that he’ll stay.

‘I imagined it like this,’ he pants, pulling back to say it into your cheek. ‘From the start.’

Really, you want to ask, right from the beginning? But instead, you moan and curl into him, spine mirroring the path his thumb had taken across your clit. ‘I didn’t,’ you breathe, humming as he repeats the motion. ‘I imagined more fucking.’

His hand pulls away fast enough that you regret saying it, but he speaks so urgently that you don’t have time to mourn the loss. ‘Take them off,’ he says, already starting on the fastening of his trousers. ‘Now.’

You do as you’re told, unclipping the garters from your tights, so that you can push your underwear down and over your knees. He’s back against you before you can shake them from your ankles.

‘It’s just a fuck,’ he says, with one hand on himself, and the other on the bare bone of your hip. ‘Alright?’

You nod, meeting his gaze with the same rushed sincerity. ‘I know.’ You hadn’t doubted that for a second. You’re after the same thing he is: relief. A purge of the tension that he had been building between you, a break from the questioning of ‘what if?’.

‘Just a fuck,’ you repeat, desperate now the heartbeat pulses from your head to your toes. Now it thumps from you, to him. You’re sure he can feel it as he presses into you.

He groans, savouring the sensation, and lets his hands stray to grip your thighs. ‘That’s what you wanted?’ he pants, rocking his hips forward again. ‘That answer your question?’

You lie back, over the newspapers and the letters. Let him fuck you like you’re just another object on the desk. ‘Yes,’ you sigh. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, Mr. Shelby.’ It not only answered your question, but clarified another that you had yet to consider. You knew now, why he employed you still, but you’d discovered why you worked for him, too. Why you kept the job you hated, why you hadn’t quit after failing so many times. ‘It’s this,’ you tell him, ‘it’s for this.’

[redchestnut]

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

According to neuroscience, certain activities and strong emotions can help people with amnesia regain their memories. Levi is willing to do anything to help his wife remember him.

Anything.

AO3 link here 

Smut/Humor

Written for Smut Sunday of Levihan Drabble Week ( @levihan-drabbles )

Prompt:  "Ah yes, the endless abyss. The unforgiving darkness in which I will be alone in foreve- Wait who the hell are you?!"

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Sitting on one of the tables by the window, Hange sighed dramatically for the third time in the last ten minutes. Outside the tea shop, the heavy rain was beginning to flood the street and leaves from trees and newspapers sporadically flew through the gray color that covered everything outside. Hange sighed once more, this time much louder and more dramatic.

"Tsk, stop with that." She heard Levi complain behind her, at the back of the place. Hange stretched out on his back against the table and looked at her husband. "Come on, Levi," she complained.

"I already said no," he replied behind the counter, as he cleaned another cup before putting it back on the shelf.

“They said the storm would last into the night. No one has come all morning. And no one will come all day and you know it."

"I don't care. Our slogan says “Every Monday is a good Monday with tea”. Today is Monday. Today we are open. End of discussion."

"It's okay if you close the store for a day," she whined like a little girl trying to convince her parents to have candy for lunch.

"I won't do it"

"Close it," she said a little more aggressively, sitting back at the table.

"No"

"Close it!"

"No."

"Arg," she whimpered before stretching across the table again. “Even the lab closed for today. We should seize the day. You and me...” her voice went from plaintive to seductive. "Alone. With the rain..."

"Well, that's what we're doing, seizing the day by cleaning. Or at least that's what I'm doing. You should too, after all the store is yours too "

"Ah, so it's mine too but I can't decide when to close it."

"Exactly"

Hange began with another round of dramatic sighs, which was only interrupted once by a laugh, after she saw a man run after his umbrella being blown away by the wind.

"Four eyes!" she heard Levi call her. She turned to look at him. "Help me with this," Levi was looking at a series of coffee pots that were on the top shelf of the cabinet. Obviously he couldn't reach it.

"And the stool?" Hange asked disinterestedly.

"I left it back. At home."

"But home is behind that door." She responded by loosely indicating a door at the back of the tea shop that had a sign that read ‘no entry - authorized personnel only’.

Levi and Hange stared defiantly at each other. Hange narrowed her eyes at him.

"Are you going to help me or not?" Levi insisted.

"Alright," Hange said dramatically, as she got up and walked towards him like it was a great effort. Behind the counter, she stood on tiptoe and began pulling out the decorative coffee pots one by one. As she did so, Levi went to the table where she had been sitting, to accommodate the chairs Hange had left out of place.

A thud, followed by the sound of metal hitting the floor, made him turn automatically. Hange was no longer in sight, however, it was possible to see her arm stretched out on the floor sticking out from the side of the counter.

"Hange!" he yelled as he jumped over one of the chairs that he had moved and rushed behind the counter. "Hey, don't move," he told her as he took her face and checked for injuries on her head. At his feet, one of the coffee pots had been completely disassembled. Hange, eyes still closed, frowned and complained.

"Fuck. That hurt” she tried to open her eyes, but the light made her close them again. "I died? This is it?" She opened her eyes again, this time more easily. "So this is it. Ah yes, the endless abyss. The unforgiving darkness in which I will be alone in foreve- Wait who the hell are you?!" She asked, scared, once she met Levi's shocked face.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Levi asked carefully.

"Do I know you?"

“Of course you do. I'm Levi. I'm your husband” he said somewhat annoyed.

"Husband? Impossible. I don't believe in marriage"

Levi stared at her in horror, before standing up and grabbing something from the side of the register. It was a small photograph. In it was Levi wearing a gray suit, and behind him, hugging him and resting her chin on his shoulder, was a smiling Hange. She wore a simple dress of a soft golden color and in their hands they both held a glass of champagne. Hange stared at the photo, then looked at her left hand. There, on her finger, a thin ring gleamed.

"I can't believe it," Hange whispered.

"You really don't remember?" Levi asked in an anguished tone.

Hange shook his head. "It must be Transient global amnesia," she said to herself. "I know about that," she began slowly, remembering. "Of course I know about that, I'm a neuroscientist!"

"Yeah!" Levi nodded enthusiastically. "Yes you are. And do you remember now who I am? "

Hange stared at him for a few seconds before answering. "I'm sorry, but I don't."

"Ok, we are going to the hospital." Levi made a gesture to stand up.

"No, wait. I don't think that it's necessary." Hange stopped him. “If I remember correctly, transient global amnesia passes after a few hours. And there are, hmm, certain things that can help. Certain strong emotions, they can unlock memories."

"Strong emotions?"

“Yeah… strong emotions. For example...” Hange looked down at the floor and blushed. "We are married, right?" Levi nodded. "Well... how was our honeymoon?"

"Our honeymoon? We went to Paradis Island. We dive." Levi replied with a shrug.

"We dive."

"Yeah"

"And what else?"

"Hmm, we did a tour to-"

"I'm talking about sex, Levi," Hange interrupted impatiently.

There was a short silence. "Oh" Levi managed to reply. "I see" There was another silence that was only interrupted by the noise of the wind and the rain hitting the windows. Levi settled on the floor. “Well, we made it out in our hotel room, every night. And every morning.” Hange nodded as if they were talking about the weather. “And once on the beach, at night. And once in a restaurant bathroom. And in the bathroom on the plane.” Levi felt the heat on his cheeks. Hange simply nodded.

"What else?" she insisted.

"Do you want details?" Levi asked incredulously. She waited in silence while Levi thought. Of course he remembered the details. The way the sheets were strewn on the floor every day. Or that night they didn't make it to bed so they just made it out on the floor, as soon as they opened the door to their room. He remembered the feel of the sand on his back, and Hange's hands on his chest as she rode him, the vulgar sound of their bodies colliding mixing with the sound of the sea waves. He remembered the way he ignored the banging on the restaurant bathroom door as she knelt in front of him. And he remembered how he had to cover Hange's mouth so that her moans were not heard throughout the cabin of the plane. Of course he remembered. His body remembered too. And it did it very well. He had to change the position in which he was sitting on the floor, suddenly his pants were too tight.

Hange noticed this immediately. Her gaze fixed on his crotch before meeting his eyes again. Their gaze suddenly changed. "You know ..." she said in a soft, slow tone, as she placed her hand on Levi's ankle, and began to slowly move it up over the fabric. "Actions speak louder than words. They generate more emotions as well”. Levi swallowed and let out a small muffled groan when she felt Hange's hand, who was still staring at him, on the already noticeable bulge at his crotch.

“Hange, I don't know if this is a good idea. You don't remember me."

"But I want to. I'm your wife, right?" Levi nodded slowly. “Then I trust you. Help me remember,” Hange insisted as she advanced toward him and straddled him. She took his face in her hands and looked him straight in the eye. "Will you help me remember?" Levi couldn't take it anymore and kissed her passionately. His hands took their place on her hips as she began to rub against him, in a soft but firm sway. Less than a minute later, a first moan from Hange was lost between their mouths. Levi brought his hands to the knot in Hange's loose pants and untied it. He slid one hand carefully under her pants and her panties and felt her. She was already wet and soft. Hange rose slightly, putting all of her weight on her knees, to give Levi room to move freely in her.

As he continued to kiss her, he wrapped one of his arms around her waist to keep her from pulling away. With his right hand, still between her legs, he made a fist so that his knuckles were just below her most sensitive spot. He stopped the kiss and looked her straight in the eyes, enjoying the show of Hange whining as she rocked against him. 

She frowned and bit her lip, while keeping her gaze on him. She soon closed her eyes against her will and began to tilt her head back. That was the signal for Levi to pull his hand away from her momentarily, prompting a groan from Hange. "Not yet," he whispered against her neck. He moved his hand between her legs again, placing two fingers at her entrance. She was already so wet that he was able to enter without effort. "Fuck", she trembled.

The wet sound of his fingers in her filled the tea shop, mingling with the sound of the rain and their heavy breathing.

Hange's groans increased, becoming almost a cry. Levi knew she was close, so he started caressing her with his thumb. "You like it, don't you?" he said in a deep voice. Hange's body began to shake in response. "You forgot— oh fuck," she said between moans. "You forgot the history museum." She managed to say before cumming with a long whine.

"What?" he asked as Hange laid her forehead on his and kissed him. "During our honeymoon we also had sex in the history museum. You forgot to mention it before." She said like nothing.

"What?" Levi repeated, disbelief and annoyance in his tone.

"The audiovisual room. Remember? It was empty and dark and-"

"Were you faking it?!" Levi interrupted her. "The memory loss shit. You were acting?" He grunted.

Hange bit her lip and widened her eyes. A smile appeared on her mouth and ruined her face of false innocence.

Levi began to nod slowly. His eyes darkened as he looked at her. "Oh you little bitch." He said threateningly, still nodding, as he put his hands on the back of her knees. "So you were faking it." He pushed Hange off with a nimble move, knocking her onto her back. She gave a little cry and a laugh in response. With his hands on the back of her knees he dragged her close to him making her giggle again.

Hange covered her face. "What are you going to do?"

Levi's hands worked nimbly to remove her pants and underwear. "I'm going to fuck you so hard I'll make you lose your memory for real." Hange groaned in satisfaction and anticipation at Levi's words.

At the precise moment that Levi unbuttoned his pants to release the erection he had been enduring all this time, the sound of the bells hanging on the door made him freeze in place.

"See? I told you this place was always open on Mondays," said a voice. Levi and Hange looked at each other with wide, panicked eyes. "Oh shit," Hange muttered. Levi buttoned his pants again, full of frustration. He stood up and appeared behind the counter in front of the customers. "Welcome to Ackerman's. Please have a seat, I'll be right with you." He said while trying to calm his breathing.

He looked down as the customers left their soaked jackets on the rack. Hange was finishing pulling up her pants on the floor, frowning wide. Levi took his order pad, walked over Hange carefully, and approached the customers.

Hange overheard him commenting on the menu to the couple. She cursed under her breath as she stared at the ceiling. 

Oh man, how she hated that stupid slogan.

[cedric-stories]

Wassailia Cookies (Cedric x Reader)

Word Count: 2,800

Warnings: Very suggestive (what’s new? Lol), no sex but strongly implied, language, fluffy.

Plot: You’re gonna need to read it to find out 😉

Author’s note: hope there’s no errors. Sorry it took me so long to post again.  Have been busy for the past few days packing for vacation. I’m happy to say there is a ‘by the ocean’ fic in the works, lol. Happy Holidays y’all!!

(and yes, the suggestive content is suggestive but there is no sex. Tbh, I’m a little scared about writing my first smut so I keep holding off. Eventually though, lol. I’ll mark where it gets weird with a 😊 and where it ends.)

Last thing, THANK YOU ALL MY NEW FOLLOWERS!!! I APPRECIATE THE SUPPORT!! AND TO ALL YOU WHO LIKE MY POSTS!! I’m glad y’all enjoy it

Wassailia Cookies

Reader pronouns: She/her

“Love, can you please get the door?” you called outside the tower.

You waited outside with two heavy, brown boxes crowding your view.

           “It’s open.” He said, not sure that you could see.

“Thanks!”

           Once you got inside, you placed them down on the nearest wooden table.

Your chest was heaving up and down, “Oh man, those were heavy.”

           “What on earth are they?”

You smiled, trying to catch your breath. “Ingredients to bake Wassailia cookies.”

           Cedric cocked his head. “Bake cookies?”

“Um, yeah,” you wondered what he didn’t understand. “I thought we could make some sugar ones together. If you want to?”

           He still had a puzzled look on his face.

“Alright, that would be fun, but why not just conjure some?”

           Your perplexed expression turned to utter shock.

“What fun is that? It’s a tradition to make cookies by hand during the holidays.” You explained with your ‘you should know this’ tone. “Didn’t you do this with your family?”

           Cedric shook his head. “I never have. Growing up, mother always just conjured some, if we had any at all.”

“So,” you began, “did you guys have any family traditions for the holidays?”

           “Well…no I guess not. My father was always” his expression sadden, “to busy to do things like that.”

           You felt bad for him. Here the love of your life has never had any traditions over the holidays. You had just presumed he did. Not knowing what to say, you just stood in front of him.

           “Well, why don’t we just make some traditions of our own?” you said, trying to cheer him up.

           Cedric’s eyes met yours and gained back the familiar twinkle.

“Alright! Do you still want to bake?”

           You grinned. “I’d love to!”

You picked up a box and Cedric picked up the other. The two of you started into the kitchen and set the stuff down on the counter.

Cedric put a hand on your back, and you shifted into him.

“Now, you must me patient with me, love. I am not much of a baker.”

           You giggled. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

           After standing there for a minute, you began taking ingredients out. You asked him to grab a few bowls and you brought out the mixer. You rummaged through a few papers and picked one out.

           “Here, this is the recipe, if you want to get the wet ingredients out of the fridge and start putting them together that would be great.” You said, still looking into the box.

           “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

           When you finally finished getting things organized you walked over to the mixer to find the beginnings of the dough already made.

           “Oh, wow. Thanks, honey.” You were surprised by how fast he had gotten things combined.

           A few minutes later, you put the dry in with the wet and began mixing it.

“It says not to overmix, so I think we better stop it, don’t you?” Cedric asked. You hadn’t even noticed it was on the verge of overmixing.

           “Right!” you blurted out, running over to the mixer, and shutting it off. “Thank you.”

Cedric replied with a ‘uh huh’.

           You put the dirty bowls and spoons into the soapy dish water and started to clean up when you saw Cedric steal a piece of dough from the bowl.

           “Cedric! Don’t eat that! You’ll get poisoned!” You exclaimed, stomping over to scold him.

           “No, I won’t.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, you will.” You snapped, snatching the bowl away from him and wrapping the dough into two separate balls.

           “You’re just that worried about me, huh?” Cedric asked with a smug look on his face.      

           “Well, maybe so.” You said, walking over to your boyfriend.

Cedric was leaned up against the counter when you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed against him. You looked up and gave him a small kiss on the lips.

           “You do know how much I love you, right?” You questioned, looking at his shimmering, cognac eyes.

           Cedric’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“I think so.”

           After sharing another gentle kiss, Cedric and you walked into the living room and sat down.

You had your head on his shoulder and began thinking.

“You want some hot chocolate?”

           “Yes, I’d like some.”  

You got a tea pot and poured some warm water from the sink into it. The

Water dripped down slowly from the nozzle as it filled. The soft even sound of the liquid hitting the metal surface made your shoulders relax and put your ambiance at ease. You reached up, grabbed the glass handle, and pivoted your hand to shut off the water. Placing the pot down, you walked over to the blackened stove and flipped a burner on. The flame flickered and crackled as it rose above the center of the burner. A small line of smoke twisted as it floated up into the air. You placed the pot onto the burner carefully and opened the cupboard to the left to find the hot chocolate mixture.

           While the packets you had bought from the store were fine, you always liked to add extra bits of chocolate to make the drink more potent. You got out the bags and a gold-wrapped bar of chocolate and set them aside. Next, you walked past the stove to the right and reached up to open the other dark, woodened cabinets. You found two glass mugs that were almost teacup shaped and added the packets to them.

           Unfolding the golden wrapping from the chocolate, you dropped two squares into each mug, making sure they were about equal amounts. When you were done, you slowly wrapped up the chocolate again and put it back.

           You began hearings a small, steaming sound from the pot. Then, a loud whistling came screaming out from the spout. You grabbed the teapot and started pouring the boiling water into the cups. Steam rose up and the water splashed, conforming to the shape of the mugs. After you had poured enough water in till it was about an inch from the top, you set the pot down and grabbed a spoon. You dipped the spoon down into the hot liquid. While you were stirring, you heard footsteps from behind.

           The steps got closer until they were right behind you. The next thing you noticed were two arms gently wrapping around your waist. As you continued, the warm body pressed you up against the counter from behind.

           Kissing the top of your head, Cedric began to speak.

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

           “Yes, there is no place I’d rather be.” You replied, stiffening your back, and curling into him.

“Are you almost done? It’s boring without you.” He said, brushing his hand across your stomach, causing your middle to twitch.

“Almost.”

           The spoon had moved onto the other cup and you were just about done. You tried scooching up to grab some marshmallows from the cupboard, but Cedric pushed against you harder to try to keep you in place.

           “Honey,” you giggled, “I need to get the marshmallows.”

“No, you don’t,” he denied, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “stay here, who likes marshmallows anyway?”

           You immediately stopped fighting.

“You don’t like marshmallows?” You asked, once again in shock of something he said.

           “No, do you?”

“Oh course!” you cried. “How can you not?”

           “Too sticky for me.”

“Cedric, you can’t have Wassailia spirit without marshmallows!” You said jokingly. You were giving full expressions with every word you said, but since you were stuck facing the cupboards between the counter and your boyfriend, it looked like you were talking to two cups of hot chocolate and a wall.

           “Well, I think I will manage.” He laughed, letting you free to grab your beloved, squishy, white clumps of god know what.

           After grabbing the package, you put a few into your mug and left them on the counter. Walking back to the living room, Cedric grabbed a book and sat down on the couch. You followed and plopped down. Snuggling next to him, you began to think about your relationship the past year.

The two of you had been together for 9 months now and it was beautiful.

You could not believe he asked you out that day. He was all you had waited for, and believe me, the first time you looked into those brown eyes was like the first time you had ever felt alive. It was almost like you were suffocating for years, and then suddenly, when he looked at you, you were able to breathe. Now, a few months later, you were sitting next to him, watching him read a book.

You couldn’t believe you were here, with him. Your whole life, the two of you had been separated by dimensions* and now he was yours. You looked down his body and noticed the wrinkles in the dark robe he was wearing. You observed the crinkles of his gloves as he licked a finger and flicked a page of his book to the other side. You laid down across his lap and felt the warmth radiate off his body. Yes, this was truly happiness.

You looked up at your boyfriend as he kept reading. You began tracing your finger along his jaw and kissed up his chest. You wrapped your arm around his waist, curled your legs up next to him, and nuzzled his stomach.

“Excuse me, what in the world are you doing down there?” Cedric asked, lifting his hands so he could see you.

You gave a little smile up at him.

“Nothing, just begging for your attention.”

           😊“Oh really? And why are you doing that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I love you.” You began, sliding your hand up his shoulders. “I think you’re handsome, and kind, and sweet, and beautiful,” you paused, “and I’d really appreciate it if you’d kiss me.”

           Cedric’s lips curled up and he leaned over and quickly set his book down on the side table. You wrapped your legs around his waist, guided your arms around his neck, and leaned up into him.

           Settling down onto his lap carefully, you noticed how turned on he was. You tried to hold back a sigh and looked up at him; his face was beginning to turn red.

           “Well, I didn’t know you were enjoying this so much.” You tease, slightly bucking your hips.

Cedric let out a small whimper.

           “Yes, but I-I didn’t expect you to get close enough to notice.” He answered, shifting his gaze to the side.

           You began running your hands through his thick, raven black hair and smiled. You knew you had him. Kissing his cheek, you traced a figure around his ear.

           “God, have I ever told you how lucky I am?” You asked, your lips still inches from his. “First, I get a job as a nurse in the castle, then I get to go out with the guy of my dreams. Next thing I know, I’m sitting on his lap waiting for Wassailia cookies.”

           Cedric gave another noise in response and tried kissing you, but you shifted away from him and gave a grin.

           “I never believed in my wildest dreams that I’d end up with you. You’re my everything, my world, and I wouldn’t change any part of it. My life is complete with you, Cedric.” You began kissing down his cheek to his neck. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?” He asked with a flirty look.

           You smiled.

“Anything.”  

           Cedric chuckled. “I love you so much, Y/N. I can’t believe you feel that way about me. You truly are the best thing that’s ever happened.” He said, pressing his forehead to yours.

           Your expression softened even more, and your heart began to melt. In the mists of this, you still noticed he was hard. Cedric was not like most and his emotions were very connected to his desires, and you knew that. You also knew he was probably dying to kiss you but was holding back to continue the moment. While you could’ve given in and kissed him, you decided to play a little game and see what he’d do.

           He moved your face towards his and leaned in to kiss you. You tried pulling back again to tease but he didn’t let you.

           “Oh no you don’t, I’m not falling for that again.” He said, recalling an older event (not today).

“Mm.”

           Instead of kissing you though, he just looked into your eyes. The moment lasted a little longer than you had expected, and you began getting impatient.

“Oh, Cedric,” You sighed, shifting in slowly. “Did I ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are?”

           He blushed once again and smiled. You could tell he was trying hard to hold back, in case you were truly just trying to be sweet.

           You traced along his jaw again and brushed your fingers lightly along his neck, running your hands down his chest. Moving your arms back up around his shoulders, you adjusted slightly and then began a slow bucking motion across his lap.

           That was the breaking point for him. You felt his hands firmly grasp the sides of your face and his lips crashed into yours and he began bucking back up against you. You let out a sharp breath and moaned as things began heating up. His hips hit harder and harder the longer you went on. You felt your legs begin to shake. As much as making out was fun, it wasn’t giving you enough.

           “Cedric!” you almost shouted in between kisses. “Please, please just fuck me!”

           The next thing you knew, he was on top of you, pawing at your shirt.

“Can I?” he asked for consent.

           “Oh god, YES! Please, just hurry up!” You gasped, struggling to untie his robe. 😊

Awhile later, you fixed your clothes and hair, and made your way back to the kitchen with your boyfriend attached to your side. You opened the fridge to check on the dough.

           “I think it’s done.” You said softly, wiping sweat from your forehead with a napkin.

You grabbed the two round discs and set them on the counter. After, you wandered over to get some flour and sprinkled it down along the surface. Unwrapping the plastic, you placed the dough down and started rolling it out.

           You had the side of your body pressed against Cedric as you continued. Every time you’d fix the sheet of cookie dough, he would kiss your cheek. You loved this so much.

           Once the dough was in a thin layer, you grabbed a cutout and flowered it.

“If you wanna start cutting out shapes you can.”

           Cedric nodded and grabbed a star shape.

Within a few minutes, the two of you were done and had cut out both entire sheets. Cedric seemed to particularly like the snowman shaped cutout.

           Cedric opened the oven carefully and set the timer for 14 minutes.

Cedric heard the oven go off and opened the door.

He took out his wand and gave it a light flick. The silver sheet came slowly out of the oven and floated its way over to the counter. Smiling, you got out a spatula and gently began lifting each cookie off the pan. They bent to the spatula as you scooted the thin end under. After each cookie was securely balanced, you would slowly move to the other counter and flatten the edge to it. Then, you’d begin to lift the cookie in a slight angle to slide them onto the surface. You repeated this motion until the very last cookie.

           You looked at the star shaped, tan, sugary treat and, instead of placing it with the rest, you cut it in half. You grabbed a piece and handed it to Cedric.

           “Here, try some handmade cookies.”

He took it from you and took a bite. He seemed to like it.

           “Good?” you asked.

“Very good.” He answered, piling the rest of it in his mouth.

           You decided to give him your half and started making some royal icing. You colored it red, yellow, green, white, and black.

           “Alright, I got some bags out and made icing, now we just have to decorate!”

           Cedric grabbed a chair and sat down next to the table. You sat down on his lap and grabbed a cookie.

           The two of you began frosting the cookies (stealing a bit of icing in between) and decorated them. You liked doing small designs with the icing while cedric just liked to flood the whole thing. After a few hours, you had finished the two dozen cookies and set them onto a few plates.

           “Thank you, Cedric.” You kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, y/n, for letting us share this experience together. There marks the first year of traditions for me. Now, how about we take a few of those cookies and go sit by the fire?”

“That sounds great!”

           You headed out with a plate full of cookies to the fire and smiled looking at the Wassailia tree proudly standing in the corner with ornaments and tinsel.

“Merry Wassailia, Cedric.”

           “Merry Wassailia, Love.”

[buglife]

21 for Dadmaster Mato and Ghost :)

“What did you do this time?”

(Again no beta reader, sorry for any errors!)

The wind blew as harsh as they ever did, carrying the faint whistling sounds from far off places as it ruffled the cloth in the door way. Mato had since learned to listen to the wind since he made his home so far off in the Howling Cliffs. The wind carried so much that could be read if you knew how to do so. So it was there he sat, a small fire before him warming up some water for tea, in his typical position of meditation.  The fire and the wind tended to help his mind focus on what is important, but to also provide noise he can sink into and let his mind drift.

He thought about his child, mostly. It has been a while since they visited and even though he knew they were capable, he still couldn’t help but worry. Sly had told him similar, the last time they were able to speak. No matter how capable someone is, to be loved is to be worried about, plain and simple. So, he tried to cast his mind outward to listen to the wind and see what news it brought.

The wind had picked up in its howling, blowing the sound of scattering pebbles and the sharp slice of the nail cutting through. A thin scraping noise and the shrieks of lesser beasts told him that something was coming. Indeed, after some moments of listening, came the soft limping patter of tiny feet and the sharp dragging of metal just outside his dwelling. Mato opened his eyes long enough to see the inner cloth door waggle, before a figured messily fell through to land with a wet splat on the floor. Their small shining nail clattered a few inches away before stopping

The figure was familiar and Mato found himself climbing to his feet in record time at the sight. “Ghost!”

Said Ghost was face down on the floor. Their mask had cracked and their cloak was littered in burns and splashes of orange. A thin puddle of black dribbled out around them, no doubt hiding other wounds. Motes of black drifted from the visible cracks in their head as they shook, trying once again to get up.

They didn’t need to do anything, as Mato had already gathered up the small child, his child, in his arms. He felt them use an arm, the other seemed fit to just dangle, and patted his mask. He had learned to tell by the tilting of their head, the slight angle of their eye holes, and the way they relaxed on being held, that they were smiling at him. They were obviously glad to see him, just like any other time since the first when they walked into his humble home. But he could also feel their exhaustion, how they were struggling to breathe and not shiver too hard. Each expanse of their sides was a hard won battle and one he was deathly afraid of them loosing.

“Ghost, my dear little child…” Mato heard himself say. He snuggled the small form of the little warrior close. “What did you do this time?”

He knew of course, that his child, his student, was mute. They could write and knew some sign language, which was something he thankfully knew. Sly was insistent on all three brothers to know it, as a language that was completely silent was the best way to communicate deep within enemy territory. He watched as they patted his face once more, before messily attempting to sign with one hand.

<“Trouble.”>

“Trouble, you say?” He was already moving, kicking a switch near the door to drop down a heavy wooden wall, something to keep out said ‘trouble’ and the howling wind. The room instantly became warmer and quiet after the initial clang of falling shellwood. “Trouble you found, or trouble that found you?”

<”Both.”>

“Nevermind, my child. I will ask questions later. Right now you need help and I fully intend to give it to you.” It was getting harder for Mato to ignore the frigid feeling of void as it started to soak into the cracks between his armor and into the cloth below. Oh, his poor little child must be in a lot of pain, but besides the shivering, an outsider would never be able to tell.

But he had started to learn all about his child and was beginning to read them without words being needed. And he knew, here and now, that he needed to work quickly. Ghost had learned far into their past to hide pain and discomfort, something yes, that would help out in the field. But they didn’t need to hide their pain from him. It was something he was slowly working with them, but it takes a lot more than a few bare weeks to undue years of trauma and hardship.

Ghost patted him again, and then tucked their arm around his neck in a bid to stay upright in his arms. He at first wanted to put them down to gather up his supplies, but decided it was best to keep contact as long as possible. Ghost has learned to gain comfort from his embrace and if they felt like it was helping here, he will allow them to do so as long as it could be possible.

So Mato held them in one arm, letting them snuggle and bleed into the warm, fluffy ruff of his cape. With them comforted and warm, he could gather what he needed. The hot water now perfect for tea was dragged away from the fire and poured into a basin. Strips of cloth, a vial of glowing blue liquid, and a jar of paste assembled neatly in front of a pile of pillows in front of the fire.

“I’m sorry my child, I’m going to have to put you down for now to treat you.” He was careful to tell Ghost what he indented to do. It seemed to keep them calmer and helped them get used to the idea that they were deserving of help. Another thing that is taking time to work on.

He briefly held back his rage and his grief when he remembered the time Ghost opened up to him. He had watched as they wrote neatly on paper to tell him of their father, the Pale King. How they had been forced to climb out of the abyss on a carpet of their dead siblings. Watching more still fall as they attempted the harsh climb upward, hearing their little shells crack and splinter on the rocks below. Only to get to the top and watch their sibling be taken away and then sealed away to be forgotten. How they fell down and down and down and it was at this time Ghost had broken into tears and Mato had hugged them for hours. It was then he had told them that a mark of a true father was ones who were brimming with love and care and if they would like it, he could be their father. Not the loathsome pitiful creature who was once their king, that was no father.

He was surprised and honored when Ghost had hugged back harder and signed ‘yes’.

It was then he knew this was the first time Ghost had ever felt true love and caring from any other bug.

Mato set Ghost down on the pillows and made sure they were comfortable. “Now, don’t wiggle too much, and I will fix you some hot cocoa later.” Ghost had perked up at the sound of ‘hot cocoa’, the little vessel had a sweet tooth that was worse than Oro’s. They tried to stay still despite their shivering and Mato was not going to hold that against them as he worked quickly.

A wipe down with the hot water cleaned them off enough to see what he needed to work with. The gashes and burns in their carapace was quickly coated in a layer of lifeblood and bandaged up with clean cloth. The cracks in their mask was filled with shell paste and also wrapped to keep the edges as close together as possible. He had did his best to clean their cloak. Their cloak was strange and he suspected it was actually alive, perhaps underdeveloped wings? He wasn’t sure but he did his best to wipe it clean. Once cleaned and all bandaged up, Mato wrapped his little Ghost in the fluffiest blanket he could find, moving the entire bundle to his own bed.

Now that he was treated, Ghost looked more tired than they did pained, which gladdened him. He arranged them on the softer part of the bed.

“Now, do you think you can remain awake long enough for your much deserved cocoa?” He smiled as they gingerly nodded their head. They sat up a little straighter and made ‘gimmie’ motions with their hands. One still seemed weaker than the other, but that should do better after some rest.

Not wanting to keep Ghost waiting, Mato made a mug of cocoa as quickly as he could, adding a few teaspoons of honey to the mix. Not only did Ghost absolutely love honey, it was also a boon for healing. Mato added an extra tea spoon for that very reason and carried it out. After helping the vessel drink it, he tucked them in and added even more pillows.

“I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me a little longer.” He couldn’t help but grin again. “I hope you won’t mind a day or two of bedrest.”

Ghost shook their head sluggishly, the warm drink and the various medicines started to drag them out of the waking world. They lazily signed with one hand, the other snug under the pillows.

<“Training?”>

“If you’d like to learn some new techniques, I would be more than happy to teach you. AFTER, I deem you fit for it, and not a moment sooner!” He reached down to gently pat the space between their horns. They sighed and melted into the touch, snuggling further into the warmth.

He thinks they attempted to sign something, but the meaning was lost as they went limp in comfort. He merely took the small hand and tucked it back under the covers.

“Goodnight, my child.” He whispered softly, pulling up the covers to just under their eye holes. They were asleep, and the soft rise and fall of the covers reassured him that they were alive and on the mend. “I love you.”

If they heard that last part of not, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that they finally, in the first time in their life, they could expect to feel it.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Paul Higgs: Baby Daze

Tomorrow I will return you to your regularly scheduled whump programming. Today... this is what wanted to be written.

CW: Teen pregnancy, some crass language surrounding said pregnancy, brief gun reference, some organized crime references

Approximately eighteen years before Tristan Higgs became another casualty of WRU…

-

"Well, look who’s here! Billy Higgs’s boy, come to see us after school, then?" Sean Malley claps him on the back and Paul nearly stumbles forward, just barely catching himself as he crosses the threshold from the sun-warmed walkway with straggly weeds growing stubbornly up through the cracks into the chilly shadowed warehouse. His sneakers scrape along the ground, but he stays standing.

He's hardly even as big as a stick compared to his dad's work buddies, all older guys with thick muscled forearms and sleeves rolled up to their elbows. He’s never had much muscle on him at all, but then his dad didn’t have much in old photos either. Maybe he’d get some as he got older, if he worked here. If they let him. "How’s things, hm? Keeping your grades up?”

Paul smiles, a slightly strained expression. The smile is automatic, it’s what everyone expects with small talk. At school he mostly doesn’t even bother with it, but with his dad’s friends… well, a smile’s polite. Right? Friendly. 

He tries to look more friendly. He needs them to say yes to what he’s about to ask for.

“They’re fine,” He says, squinting as his eyes adjust to the change in light. “Same as always, A’s and B’s.”

Mostly B’s, but they don’t need to know that.

“Good, good.” Sean slides an arm around his shoulders, jovial as always. Paul tries not to be visibly uncomfortable at the touch. Everyone is always touchy, in the world, and he’s never liked it much. Except with Ronnie, but… that’s different. “So, talk to us, Paulie. What's got Billy’s boy mucking around here at the Garden with the old-timers?" 

It's not actually much of a garden, unless you count the dandelions in the sidewalks and the bits of scraggly grass along the edges of the pavement as your rows of plants. Instead, the big warehouse stretches wider than two Walmarts, chopped off into pieces by the standalone temporary walls inside that don't reach the ceiling. 

The ‘Garden’ is a place where things happen that no one with a badge is ever supposed to see. There's shouting, good-natured calling out of sums and figures and code words Paul doesn't know, bouncing and echoing in a constant chaos of sound. Metal scrapes, an odd clicking Paul vaguely recognizes but can’t quite place until he thinks of his dad cleaning his guns now and then at night, carefully putting them back together once he’s done. 

All that noise lays heavy like a blanket over his skin. He pushes past it - he's got a reason to be here, and he won't let Ronnie down. He can’t let her down.

"I'm here to work," He says, going for strong and loud. He doesn't change expression when the men around him laugh. 

He doesn't think their laughter is meant to be unkind, and besides, he doesn't really care if it is. These men have all known him since he was born - if anyone’s going to give him what he needs, it’ll be them. "My dad told me I could pick up some shifts this weekend as a lookout, that you pay cash at the end of the shift, right away. That I could get a couple hundred if I’m good at it, maybe five if I do some running, too.”

"Oh he said that, did he?" Sean meets eyes with Cilly, whose real name Paul has never learned. He isn’t entirely sure anyone here has ever given him their real legal name. Not even Sean. "Will might've let the family know first before he sent his boy here, hm? 

"Well, it's. It's important I get cash. Um. Fast. I just spoke to him, probably he'll call you in a bit thinking he's giving you a warning." Paul tries for another smile, and hopes it's warm enough. A bit of coppery strawberry blond hair falls over his green eyes as he looks hopefully from man to man. 

He's not even eighteen yet, but really, isn't that even better for a lookout? He knows where they do their business, he knows who to watch for, and he doesn’t look like he’s one of them at all. He's paid attention, sat up at night making maps of where they work and what they do. He knows they’ve gotten into business with WRU, even, the big Facility up in Berras has been sending people down here now and then. He’s good at this sort of thing. He knows he can do this. He’s going to make a living at this one day, and everyone starts somewhere.

He just… has to convince them. These men aren't unreasonable, and they're family. Well, sort of. In a way. In that they all commit crimes with his dad. And some of them actually are real family, although he’s not always sure exactly who.

"What d'you need cash for that can't wait for your parents to come back from Florida, then?" That's Cilly, scratching idly at a red spot on his face, sipping a mug of hot tea like they're at a kitchen counter and not a fold-out table by a warehouse door. The others all have takeout coffee cups, but not Cilly. 

Paul's mom buys him new mugs on all her vacations. A gentleman among thieves, she said once. 

Nah, Paul's dad had said. Just a thief. But he puts on airs for you. 

All the more reason to show him my appreciation, Bill. 

The mug he’s drinking from now was one of Paul’s mom’s presents to him. It has a little palmetto tree on the side and Nothin’ Could Be Finer written in swirling script. It came from a trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina when Paul was seven. 

He hated that trip. He never liked sand. Or the ocean. Or the noise of all the people everywhere in the street. He would have been happy with a book on the couch in the condo if they’d have let him stay there. 

"They're not in-"

"Think they're in Georgia," Conor pipes up, the oldest with hair gone nearly gray, cousins to the real boss, a man Paul has met maybe three times and knows only as Mr. Sondheim - which isn’t even a little bit his actual name. 

Conor makes Paul’s skin prickle, the way he thinks maybe a cat feels when it sees a mean-looking dog across the street. Paul's dad came home once with blood he had to wash off his hands and a shirt he had to throw out. When Paul asked, he said only, Conor's temper is going to get someone who matters killed one day. Too bad his grandson's as bad as he is. "Aren't they?"

"Nah," Sean says, shaking his head. "Florida. Definitely Florida."

"Actually," Paul starts. "They're in-"

"I thought Texas," Cilly says, almost thoughtful. He interrupts Paul thoughtlessly, and Paul’s face colors a little with embarrassment. He feels like the odd man out in a conversation meant to be about him. 

"They went to Alabama," Paul finally says, soft. Thinking no one’s listening, but they all look at him then. That's worse than when they weren't paying attention at all. He never meets any one person's eyes, instead focusing on Sean Malley's forehead, a spot that'll look like eye contact without having to be it. He's never liked having to look too many people in the eye. 

Or anyone, actually. 

"Ah, all right then. Alabama. Well. What couldn't wait for them to get back from Alabama, Paulie-Wol?"

No one's called him Paulie-Wol since he was eleven - and he hated it then. He blushes even darker. He's always been easy to make blush, and they laugh again. It's a little meaner this time. He has to not care. It’s important not to care, so they’ll let him work. 

Paul Higgs straightens his narrow shoulders and pulls a crumpled but of paper, shiny on one side, out from his back pocket. "This is why. I need money. Fast. For this."

He can't help how his voice dips, hushed, almost in awe. Sean is the first to take the little piece of paper, eyes widening in surprise at what he sees, before he hands it to Conor, who whistles through his teeth. Cilly takes it next, with a soft exhalation that's either curse or prayer. 

With this group, it could be either. Or both. Paul’s dad always says God doesn’t care overmuch about the difference.

"You're a bit young, aren't you? To need money for this?" Sean asks, and he's… concerned, Paul thinks, and he tries to square himself up even taller. “What’re you, Paulie, fifteen?”

"S-seventeen. It’s-... we didn’t plan on it, Sean, it just happened." This time when his face stays red, heat burning under the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose, they don't laugh. All their smiles are gone, too.

They've gone serious, these men who aren't quite blood but might as well be. They aren't laughing at or with or because of him. They look worried about him.

"Paulie," Conor says, shaking his head. "Paulie, you know better than this. Don't they teach you how to make sure this shit don't just happen? Thought we’d stop having teenagers knocking each other up once we got past the eighties.”

"They did. I had a whole health class where we-... but it doesn’t matter, it still. Happened, okay?" The absolute last thing he wants to do is talk to these old guys about Ronnie, and why, and when. If they ask him he’ll melt into the floor, and die, and just be dead right here and now.  

“So, when you say you need money… Are you looking to drive her up to Berras?”

“No, that’s not... We talked about it, but she said she already thought about it and made her decision. This isn’t… Don’t look at me like that. I like her decision. I’m happy.”

“You are?” Sean blinks, surprised.

“Yes! I'm happy, so don't tell me I fucked up, because I did. I know I did, but… but I talked to Ronnie, and we have a whole plan and I need money for my plan. And just. Look at it.”

Sean glances back down, taking the paper back, smoothing it out. Shiny on one side, it's a printed black and white image, a smeary blur of monochrome shades. Unmistakable in its center, more or less, is a gently rounded blob of white, topped with another and with other little blobs coming off its sides. Labeled along the top is Baby Botham, 14 weeks 3 days. 

“Botham?” Sean asks, head cocked to one side.

“That’s… that’s Ronnie’s last name. She, uh. She didn’t tell them… Because we’re not married.” Paul squares himself up again. “Yet. We’re not married yet.”

He tries not to think about Ronnie crying on his shoulder about how her parents and her sister had screamed at her when she told them, that no one was talking to her and they might throw her out, like this. His throat will close up if he does, in hurt for her, and in anger. 

His own parents he’d just told on the phone today, heard the long silence on the other end. Whispers that didn’t quite carry through the line. Then his mother had said, brisk and no-nonsense as always, So what does Ronnie want to do? We’ll help however we can. Will she need somewhere to stay?

“You’re not married yet,” Cilly repeats, not with derision, just with a kind of flat uncertainty. “You’re seventeen, Paulie. Little young to be talking marriage, don’t you think?”

“Well, we’re talking it, anyway,” Paul says firmly. “And don’t tell me it’s stupid. We already made our minds up.”

“Well, far be it for me to question your judgement,” Sean deadpans. “Since you’re clearly making excellent decisions already-”

“I got married at sixteen,” Conor points out. “Wife and I been married forty-two years this December, too. Sometimes it works out.”

“Different world, different times,” Cilly counters, and Conor has to nod in agreement to that. “Lots of those didn’t work out either, now did they? Besides, kids got options now we didn’t have back then.”

“Ronnie doesn’t want those other options,” Paul says, forcing his voice to be loud enough to carry, surprising all three men, who give him a new kind of look. Maybe even seeing him as nearly a man and not a kid, just for the moment. “She doesn’t. I never told her to do or not do anything, we talked about it, and she knows what she wants to do, and I agree with her. Ronnie and I want to get married, and we’ll need somewhere we can live when-... when the baby comes. So I need to start making money. And I want-... I need some fast, this weekend.”

Cilly’s expression goes cold. “Don’t tell me your folks are making you find a place that fast. I’ll take Billy to the woodshed myself if he’d be such a bastard to his own kid when things get tough-”

“He’s not,” Paul says quickly. “They’re not. Mom and Dad aren’t-... but they get it, they’re helping us. It’s not for an apartment, not yet. It’s so I can buy her some stuff.”

"This is a serious thing," Sean says, and he rubs his thumb over what Paul is pretty sure is his baby's head. The blobs are all sort of odd to look at, but… he's pretty sure that one's the head. It’s where he would put the head, if he were designing a person, anyway. "But I can see you’re quite the serious young man, now. What sort of stuff are you lookin’ to buy, Paulie?" 

Paul swallows, nervously rubbing his palms along the seems on the outside of his pants. “I… I don’t know. What do you buy someone who’s pregnant? I thought, like, baby clothes? Or a crib?”

“No, no, no.” Sean shakes his head. “You can’t just get her baby stuff, not this early. You are not starting with a crib, Paulie. You got nowhere to even put one yet.”

“Then… what do I buy?” Paul looks from man to man. “I’ve never known a pregnant person before, not anyone I cared about.”

“You were around for my wife’s last pregnancy,” Sean says, mildly offended.

Paul shrugs. 

The three older men look at each other, and then sigh nearly as one. Someone pushes out the fourth chair from the fold-up table and Paul sits, each of the other men sitting in turn. Sean picks up his phone and dials. “Hey, Don. Let everybody know we’re off-limits for the next couple hours, ‘til lunch. Yeah, Billy Higgs’s boy stopped by. He’s sniffing around for some lookout work this weekend. Find him some decent jobs for me, will you?”

Paul starts to smile, and it’s genuine this time. Sean hands him back the little picture of the blob that will become a baby, his and Ronnie’s baby, and he tries not to crumble it fully in his hands, worried his sweat will smear the ink. She’ll get another one in a few weeks, said her doctor told her it’ll look more like a person, then. Less like a weird frog. Or like a really, really bad painting.

“Thanks, I’ll owe you.” Sean hangs up the phone and grins, leaning on his elbows on the wobbly little table. The sun shines warmly through the open warehouse doors on Paul’s back. “All right. Between the three of us, we’ve got, what, ten kids?”

“Yeah, but five of those are all Cilly’s,” Conor points out. “And mine stopped bein’ kids decades ago.”

“Yeah, but babies don’t change, and they don’t need much. You need a pen and paper to write things down, Paulie?”

“Write… write what down?” 

“What you’re gonna spend your money on, for your girlfriend. You don’t just show up with baby clothes, kid, you gotta go all out. Let’s talk date, let’s talk gifts for this Ronnie, let’s talk it all out.”

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” Cilly says. “They all get that book, right? Isn’t that the one?”

Sean snorts, derisive. “Don’t get her that, not this early. That damn book had my wife in fucking tears telling her everything that could go wrong. We need to think of a happier book than that.”

“Well, call your wife and ask her what she’d want, then.”

“Maybe I will.”

“You should!”

“She’s liable to start planning a damn baby shower if I do. You know how Christa is about little ones.”

Cilly grins. “Think she’ll make those deviled eggs I like for the shower?”

“Cilly, for God’s sake, we found out about this five minutes ago.”

“Right, but... deviled eggs.”

Paul takes a deep breath, and sits back in his chair. “I’ll remember, whatever you say. I promise. I don’t need to write it down. Just tell me what I should get her, what I should do.”

“Right. Well, then.” Sean spreads his hands. “Let’s talk gifts.”

-

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.4

The first thing to come to her conscious mind as soon as she woke up were always the faint distant sounds of her home. Faint, as not only was Cassandra's bedroom on one of the higher floors, but any staff members knew better than to make noise while their mistresses were sleeping. Distant barking made its way past a window left ajar, accompanied by scribbling noises.

Nicole turned around, legs tangled in the blanket that was shared until not long ago, to look for a colder spot warranted by the warm May weather. The realization that she was alone in bed made its way through the haze still remaining from sleep. That, in itself, was not unusual as Cassandra almost always woke up first and busied herself with something while waiting for her to wake up.

"Cassandra?" She called out quietly, voice still groggy with sleep and eyes not even bothering to open.

"Just a moment," came her response from the other side of the room, likely the desk, as the scratchy sound of pencil on paper stopped.

The chair was pushed away and a handful of steps took Cassandra to the door, where a maid was waiting outside as per routine. After a couple hushed instructions, the door clicked shut again and she finally approached the bed, looking down at her wife with fondness. She bent down to leave a kiss on top of messy auburn hair.

"Good morning."

Her answer came in the form of a returned kiss and impatient tug of her hand, that she gladly indulged by sitting down on top of the soft cushions that she had priorly abandoned. Nicole wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her side, happy to feel the cool skin underneath a thin grey robe. Cassandra decided that her wife seemed awake enough to receive news, despite the obvious refusal to even crack an eye open.

"Bela wants to go into town later and asked if we'd like to come."

There they were, emerald eyes finally open and staring up at her in surprise.

"Did you say yes?"

Cassandra scoffed. "And finally get the chance to go out and stretch my legs after being locked up in the castle for all winter? Absolutely not."

That got her an eye roll. "In that case I'll keep on sleeping through the whole evening," Nicole said, pretending to go back to the dream she had just left unfinished, something the mild tiredness that had settled in her body seemed more than happy about.

"Oh no you don't."

Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and shifted her into Cassandra's lap, thin lips intoxicatingly close to her ear. "I even prepared the perfect outfits for the two of us, I simply cannot believe you'd pass up this opportunity for some extra sleep."

Nicole laughed at the feign offense, voice finally clear and free from the morning raspiness. She stretched her arms upwards with a few satisfying pops and then let her hands rest on Cassandra's shoulders.

"My, that's so thoughtful of you," she said, leaving a soft kiss on her lips. "Good morning."

The moment was kindly interrupted by a curt knock on the heavy door. Nicole groaned and moved back on the bed, pulling a nightgown that certainly did not belong to her loosely over her shoulders. When she was covered enough to not put on a show, Cassandra chuckled and addressed the still closed door.

"Come in."

A young woman entered the room, one of the latest additions to the kitchen staff as per Cynthia's request, with a tray expertly balanced in one hand, while the other held the leash of one of the thankfully well behaved hounds.

"Eris!" Nicole greeted the black dog, who snapped its big brown eyes in her direction and started wagging its tail. Thankfully for the girl holding the leash, the dog was expertly trained and did not lunge away to its owners. Instead it followed along, not tugging on the leash until both were just by the bed.

"Breakfast, my ladies."

A small assortment of drinks, together with a plate were placed from the silver tray to the small table on Cassandra's side. One wine glass was filled with fresh crimson blood, a cup of hot tea was sitting right beside it, steam rising up from the liquid inside and, in the smaller cup, dark coffee. On the plate, a freshly baked croissant and a small assortment of berries were waiting invitingly.

"And Eris, as you requested."

The girl held up the leash, but Cassandra simply waved a dismissive hand. "Just let her go. And leave the leash on my desk."

She did as was instructed, unhooking the leash with a soft metal click and placing it, coiled up neatly, on the carefully polished wood of the desk. Then, with a slight bow, she left the two alone once again.

Nicole didn't acknowledge that, too busy patting the spot by her side for the black hound to jump up. Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but was a second too late as the dog was already in her wife's lap getting head and neck scratches. She sighed. At least all the hounds were kept squeaky clean outside hunting sessions.

"Stop spoiling our hunting dogs."

"Oh darling don't worry, I have no power over Carolina's training," she emphasized by snapping a finger and pointing it to the far side or the bed, direction that the dog followed dutifully, curling up on top of a folded blanket. "Good girl," she cooed at the furry beast, which elicited a tail wag.

Cassandra shook her head with a small smile tugging at her lips. She passed the small coffee cup to her wife, who took a tentative sip to test the temperature. It was lukewarm, as it always was, the routine of all the family ingrained into each and every staff member to the dot. They knew how Nicole liked her coffee, what tea to pair with any kind of breakfast and, probably most important for their sake, exactly how much blood, down to the milliliter, Cassandra liked to drink in the morning. Well, early evening, but who kept track.

The bitter liquid was downed in mere seconds, the taste accompanied by a sour grimace. Nicole did not like coffee in the slightest, having lost any possible appetite for the bitter taste after drinking one too many, or a thousand too many, cups during her days in med school. Unfortunately, it still did its job of waking her up, so a compromise with a sweet cup of fruity tea right afterwards had to be made.

She passed the empty cup back to Cassandra, who replaced it with the tea.

"I have to say, seeing your face scrunched up in disgust every morning is most entertaining."

"Happy to see my attempt at waking up is enjoyable for you," she replied with a pointed look thrown over the porcelain edge of the mug.

The look however was replaced by a content sigh upon sipping on the tea, the prior bitter taste slowly replaced by a blissful blend of fruit and lavender. While their cook Cynthia was downright an expert at preparing all kinds of meat, human included, her biggest talent was creating the best blends of tea, never too overpowering but always with a balanced taste. At least according to Nicole, and she would hold that opinion to the day she died.

While waiting for the liquid to get to a more drinkable temperature, her attention went back to the dog now sprawled on its side. "Why did you ask for Eris?"

Cassandra took another long sip of her drink, far more elegant than one would expect from a woman who had no issue regularly walking around covered in blood. "I just thought we could bring her along, I know she's your favorite," she finished with a smirk.

"That's not true," Nicole quickly replied, as if she were a mother accused of having a favorite child, which only made Cassandra's grin grow wider. She cleared her throat in an attempt to save some face. "I love all our dogs equally, Eris is just… particularly well behaved, yes."

Her wife simply chuckled, not having bought any of her excuses for playing favorites. Not that Cassandra wasn't guilty of that either. Her first response to picking a favorite would be not unlike Nicole's, but she had a particular fondness for Freya, one of their Finnish hounds, who always seemed so eager to sniff out prey on the hunts. She would be lying to say that she didn't entertain the idea of asking her mother to infect some of their best dogs from time to time, their short lives feeling like blinks of an eye compared to her own immortality.

She placed the now empty glass back on the table, not quite as graceful as her mother always did after a meal. They had plenty of time, so getting up was not yet in either of their schedules.

"Are we going somewhere in particular, or just out for a stretch," Nicole asked in between sips.

"Bela has to pick something up and Dani, surprising to precisely no one, wants to visit the bookshop," Cassandra started with a slight eye roll, leaning on her side on top of the cushions and starting to toy with the hem of Nicole's sleeve. "Since we're doing none of that boring stuff, I thought you'd like to choose."

Nicole tapped a finger of the white rim of her mug, nail making a soft clink. She sighed. "Just a walk around town, I'm really dying to get out too."

"You do realize you're not confined to the castle during winter like I am right," Cassandra laughed.

"And leave my beloved wife all alone while I go out and about," her reply was overly dramatic, complete with a hand gingerly placed over her heart almost as if such an idea was close to blasphemous. It only gained her a small snort.

"Should I remind you that I've spent decades in this castle? I promise I can bear it."

Okay, grandma.

With the tea finally gone, Nicole placed the tall mug on the nightstand closest to her, effectively freeing her hands. Free to trace tender fingers up Cassandra's arm, her neck and around the intricate lace of her choker to toy with the fine chains decorating it.

"You sure about that?" Her voice was sickly sweet, all too aware of her unbeatable talent of making someone as sadistic as her wife melt with little more than a hushed tone and gentle hands.

Cassandra did not respond right away. She was nothing if not a prideful person and admitting to the fact that yes, she would miss her, even for a handful of hours, was not particularly high on her list of things to be said out loud. It was almost an unbearably clingy kind, their relationship. Or at least that's what someone who did not know better would say. Truth be told, they were both the kind of people that looked almost desperately, although a desperation worn with odd grace, for comfort in other people. People they would then fight tooth and nail, or more accurately fang and claw, to keep close. It was obvious in the way Cassandra took on the role as protector of the family, nevermind the fact that Alcina would cut any possible threats to pieces before any of them had time to lift a finger. Obvious, also in the way she was so protective over Nicole herself, the beautifully engraved dagger always strapped to the redhead’s side either under a lab coat or at the belt of a dress rendered little more than a fancy accessory.

Cassandra chuckled, wrapping long fingers around her hand and taking it away from her necklace. "Why don't we get dressed before Bela comes to nag at us mm?" Then black lips were gingerly pressed to the skin, leaving a small kiss on top of bony knuckles.

With a shrug and a less than gracious stretch accompanied by a yawn, Nicole got out from under the covers, the red velvety fabric of the robe flowing after her like an impromptu cape.

"Are you wearing my robe," Cassandra's voice came from behind her, together with hands placed on her waist.

Duh.

Not that Cassandra ever truly complained. Finding the oversized clothing her wife often wore quite endearing.

"It does look quite charming on me you have to admit."

"You're practically swimming in it."

Nicole rolled her eyes which only prompted a small laugh.

They fixed themselves enough to be semi presentable for the small distance that separated the bedroom and the dressing room. Nicole was about to suggest wearing something more casual, but the fact that going out for the first time after the long winter months was almost reason for a small celebration for all three of the Dimitrescu sisters made her shut down that train of thought. No harm in being fancy on occasion after all.

The outfits Cassandra had picked out were nothing short of perfect for the occasion. Matching black dresses, Nicole's a tad lighter with a lacy collar and frilly hems complete with a white vest-like corset, while Cassandra's was made out of a thicker fabric and went down almost to the floor, surely due to her tendency to get cold easily.

Not being the kind that lingered in the dressing room too long, that was more Daniela's style, it took little for them to get dressed. The occasional helping hand for small things that one could maybe twist and turn to do themselves, but why bother when you have a perfectly willing to help spouse, was something they both enjoyed and took a couple extra precious moments to let a hand linger or fingers to trace expertly done sems. After some makeup was applied and the leash was hooked back to Eris' collar, they finally made their way downstairs.

They were close to fashionably late it seemed, as Bela, Daniela and Anita were already waiting in the main hall, the eldest throwing a miffed expression their way upon seeing them descend the grand staircase.

Nicole noticed the absence of one of their usual party members. "Isn't Laura coming with us?"

"She had to go to Donna's this morning. Spring preparations and all," Bela's reply came dangerously close to being accompanied by an uncharacteristic pout.

Oh. Someone's in a sour mood.

They made their way down the stone paved road that connected the castle to the town in relative silence, interrupted only once by Bela telling them when they would meet up to head back home. Other than that, they just enjoyed the short walk. And for good reason, the road was surrounded by beautiful rose bushes on both sides, with pine trees expanding beyond them and the sounds of birds and nocturnal animals beginning to wake up blending together in a quiet murmur so typical to the forest.

Once in the town square under the familiar angel statue, Bela wordlessly left them in favor of making her way down a small street. Daniela and Anita seemed more courteous and said their goodbyes and see-you-laters as they turned around, chattering about something only they understood.

Left alone, with their dog whose leash was attached to the same belt Cassandra's sickle was, they started walking down the quiet streets. It was almost sundown, so even the small crowd of people usually going about their business was almost non-existent, knowing better than to be out at night without good reason.

Something that Nicole was yet to grow bored of, even after a few years spent at the castle, was the small architectural oddities around town. It looked quite regular, albeit old, at first glance but a closer look would reveal the rich symbolism resulting from the centuries of being quite literally broken off from the rest of the world and almost frozen in time.

The go to flowers planted in front of buildings were crimson roses, the familiar patterns of swirling vines and leaves engraved into walls and lamp posts. A bakery they passed by had three sickles hanging behind the glass, complementing the harvest theme the entire shop had, together with dried wheat in vases and warm inviting colors on the walls. The one fishery that everyone in town knew had a mermaid gracefully swimming in a panel just above its entrance and horseshoes were nailed to most doors leading to houses or small apartment buildings. Even a toy store had a suspiciously Angie-like doll, although without the cracks and signs of time its original counterpart sported, looking out at any passersby.

One thing that could never go unnoticed however, were the crows. Statues of the birds, big or small, could be seen anywhere, from street corners to rooftops and atop building entrances. Some had their wings spread out, ready to take flight were they not trapped by stone bodies, others had their bills open wide in a silent croak and some were simply looking on. Real crows were also incredibly common, replacing the pigeons any other city had in favor of the black birds, ironically roosting on the statues of themselves quite often and kindly providing the city background noise with their caws. Nicole inquired about their presence once, and Cassandra had explained how the locals see crows as good luck, being a symbol to Mother Miranda. Many people fed them and even had buildings upon which small towers were erected with the purpose of giving the birds space to make nests.

Nicole had a strong suspicion that some of the birds were a little more than they let on, especially after seeing their so-called goddess break into a flock on multiple occasions. Sometimes, you would look at one of the crows perched on a power line connecting two buildings, and icy grey would stare back, the depth in those eyes far too human to belong to any bird.

Her slight glare towards one crow that seemed to look at them from a windowsill was interrupted by the memory of a small list she had tucked in her pocket before leaving.

"Oh, I need to pass by the pharmacy to pick up a few things we ran out of."

Cassandra simply shrugged. "Sure," and she looked around for a moment to find the street that would take them there fastest. Not like they had any plans other than enjoying the pseudo freedom that being out of the castle gave them.

The pharmacy was oh so conveniently located on the other side of town, adjacent to the hospital near the reservoir. Ever since Miranda had found ways to lessen the negative effects of his mutation, Moreau was the designated town doctor, but due to the still somewhat volatile transformations he was still mostly confined to the place and it's murky waters, a fact that he despised greatly. It was an obvious choice, then, to erect the hospital there. It was a small building not unlike the rest of the town's architecture when it came to size, no more than three floors high and with a small staff that Moreau himself had to teach the ins and outs of medical practice. If memory serves right, even Miranda and her assistants had taught some people particularly well versed in the sciences how to operate the equipment and patients alike. Medical training seemed to be hard to come by around here and Nicole had a gnawing suspicion that it was the reason she was still alive.

The building coming into view behind the trees and the paved road that cut through the small stretch of woods separating the town and reservoir looked oddly new in comparison to the rest, as it had been erected only a couple decades prior. Attached to it, a smaller house with matching tiles on the roof and a sign that read Farmacie above the entrance's double doors.

Dogs were normally not allowed inside, but who was going to stop them of all people from marching right in, black hound happily walking by their side. They were the only ones inside, save for a short woman sitting behind the counter, panic flashing in her eyes when her gaze fell on Cassandra's tall frame, hand in hand with Nicole who was at the moment too occupied with pulling out the list of meds she had written. She gave it a once over and, sure that she had everything down, passed the paper to the pharmacist, who knew better than to ask if she had any prescriptions.

"You could've sent someone to fetch these for you," Cassandra said, eyes following the woman as she disappeared behind tall shelves full of small boxes and pill bottles.

"I know, I just didn't want to wait. I don't like running out of supplies," Nicole shrugged.

Plus, Nicole was way less likely to be questioned on why she's buying twenty different kinds of meds than a random maid. Partly because the pharmacist recognized her and partly because any sane person here knew better than not obliging when Cassandra was looming behind her. A small smirk graced her lips at the thought and a sly look was given to her wife, who was too busy playing with the dog's floppy ears to notice. Eris raised her head at the unforgivable offense, playfully trying to nip at the gloved hands that were tickling her, getting a giggle out of the brunette.

All three were distracted by the soft clink of a bell hanging above the door, indicating that someone had entered the pharmacy. It was an older man, looking to be in his sixties, heavily leaning on a crutch held in his right hand.

Cassandra's features morphed into a scowl and Nicole could practically hear the man-thing going through her mind. The man was probably on the verge of doing a complete one eighty and exit the pharmacy, when a voice called out from behind the counter.

"Ah Andrei, I have something for that infection of yours, hold on a moment," the pharmacist called out, before handing Nicole a sizable paper bag full of what she had requested.

She felt an unwelcomed whiff of decay as Cassandra took the bag from her hands, and sniffled in an attempt to ward off the stinging sensation in her nose. She fumbled with the credit card, mentally cursing the payment for not transferring quicker when the smell was starting to make her eyes water the slightest bit.

"Is everything alright my lady?"

The man's voice, full of genuine worry came from behind them, having moved closer upon the pharmacist's urging, and the putrid stench of death and decomposition flooded Nicole's senses together with the slick sensation of blood running down her face. She had to force down a gag as she shoved the card back into a pocket and all but ran out the door, worried wife in toe.

"Nicole what-" Cassandra swallowed any words she had at the sight of the blood flowing down and staining the until moments before immaculate white of her wife's corset.

Nicole made her way to a corner of the building that nobody seemed to go to, and leaned against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and trying to ward off the lightheadedness.

For someone who spent years working on dead bodies in various stages of decomposition, one would think that the smell of death did not bother her. And it didn't. But this was different, the stench seeming to make its way into her skin and clinging to her senses, coating her throat as if trying to choke her out in the most disgusting way possible. Not to mention that there was no actual dead body around.

She coughed out the blood that didn't make its way out of her nostrils and instead decided to go the throat route. Her hands were a crimson mess and so were her face and dress, a pang of guilt shooting through her for having ruined the outfit picked by Cassandra. At least the bleeding seemed to stop and so did the horrid stench.

Cassandra didn't seem to care, nor even notice, the ruined fabric. Instead she pulled out a handkerchief from a pocket and started to gently wipe the blood away from pale skin.

"What's wrong?" She asked and Nicole could only shake her head.

"I don't know. I don't know why this keeps happening," she almost ran her hands down her face in frustration but had enough clarity of mind to remember how dirty they were. "I thought it would go away, and for a while it did. I don't understand what the hell is wrong with me," she added, voice rising the slightest bit.

Cassandra grimaced, trying to get her face clean. "We can talk to Mother when we get back."

A defeated sigh made its way past bloody lips. Nicole had her doubts that Alcina would know any more than them on the situation, which was nothing. They knew nothing.

She grabbed Cassandra's hand to steady herself back on her feet, mind drifting to what she didn't want to think was her only solution.

If there was anyone who could get to the end of this, it was Mother Miranda.