#looking at it now i might take out the chimney though hm

[justaduckarts]

BONES THIS SERIOUSLY CAME OUT SO BEAUTIFUL UGH I'M OBSESSED!

I had sm fun working on this AU with you! All the ideas! All the ways to incorporate the different movies and universes!

That being said, your drawing and all our chatting has my mind going wild <3 So I'll stop babbling and give you the drabble now!

Smoke poured out of the crooked chimney. Massive, spider-like legs stuck out from beneath the castle. The legs carried the unusual castle across the fields, past little villages and ever onward.

Sun's castle would run all day. Every day. Moving with urgency as the radiant magician searched tirelessly for his beloved. For you.

Where had Moon hidden you away?

The radiant magician paced about the castle balcony as he contemplated where to check next. He had already covered so much ground with no luck. And Sun's powers were not as strong at night. He would have a harder time searching when the star he was named for disappeared from the sky.

Where could Moon have gone?

The two had not spoken in many years. They were brothers divided, with no desire to reunite.

What Sun didn't know was just how divided.

For Moon had grown tired not only of his brother but of the mortals on the whole. He'd grown to loathe the sun in the sky and the short lives of those around him.

And so he'd stolen away into the spirit realm. To surround himself with things as ageless and wonderfully strange as himself.

Now, though.

Now he was in the company of a single mortal.

"The dragon did well to bring you to me." Nimble blue fingers rolled a gold coin between them. Another hand held aloft of a pipe.

Cold red eyes glared down at you.

"I can see why my brother would be so inclined towards you." Moon turned, blowing smoke. The room was heavy with the smell of incense.

You'd thought Sun's room was fancy. It paled in comparison to Moon's office. The golden abacus, the peacock quills. Richly colored, handwoven rug. Large mahogany desk.

Rising from his chair, Moon drummed his fingers along the top of the desk.

"Won't you give me your name?" Moon quirked a brow. "It's bad manners not to introduce oneself."

You shifted.

"Introduce myself, certainly. However, my name is mine and I don't plan to give it away." You watched closely as Moon stalked around the desk. The tunic he wore seemed to be spun from the stars themselves.

"Aren't you clever?" His voice was deep and cool. Like the rumble of thunder.

You said nothing. Moon huffed, puffing on his pipe once more.

"That's fine. I don't need your name." He shrugged. "You're here, that's what matters."

"Why did you bring me here?" You frowned.

"Hmm..." Moon blew a ring of smoke at you. His lips curled up into a wicked grin, sharp teeth glinting in the lamp light.

"Because it will make Sun miserable." He tapped the tip of your nose. "And that will make me happy." Moon turned, looking over his desk.

"The question now is what to do with you..." he sank into his chair. "A human in the bathhouse might cause trouble. Or get eaten..."

Moon examined you for a moment.

"But you seem familiar with spirits."

"I grew up near an old forest." You clenched your fists. This fellow put you way on edge. You were trying to keep yourself focused. All you needed to do was stay cool until you found an exit. Then you would be with Sun again. Things would be fine.

"Old forest, hm? Oh yes. Old places like that do house spirits." He nodded. Moon picked up a scroll and unfurled it.

"I know. You can fly a broom, can't you?" He looked at you. You felt your throat tighten.

"...How did you-

"I have sources. I'll take that as a yes?" He tilted his head at you.

"...Yes."

"Wonderful. We'll have you run deliveries. You'll stay busy." Moon flicked his wrist and the scroll vanished in a flourish.

"You can't just make me-

"I certainly can. You are in my house now. And if you want to stay alive, you will do what is asked of you." He folded his hands on the desk.

"Are we clear?"

You shifted. What a cold, horrible creature.

"...Fine." You just needed to tolerate it until you could sort an escape plan.

Moon's grin returned.

"Lovely. Well then, little spot. Welcome to the family." Moon gestured, and the door opened. You were greeted by the strange grinning boy from earlier.

But now you knew better than to trust Lunar. You knew the frightening beast he could become.

"Lunar. Show our new helper to the delivery room. Keep them out of my sight." Moon shooed the two of you away. Lunar nodded eagerly, turning to you.

"Alrighty, delivery! That means we'll get to work together!" His eyes sparkled. You felt your dread mounting.

Still, you turned and followed him out of the office.

Moon sat back, grin stretching.

Things were finally getting interesting around here. Who knew how long it'd take Sun to find them?

By then, though, Moon was sure he'd have convinced you to leave Sun behind.

a ghibli au i am cooking up with @justaduckarts.

[contest-winning-pest]

"... So my first question is-- how are you in Lavaridge? I figured you lived in Mauville."

"Even therapists need to relax, Kerry." Xi wore the red suit, with the blue tie, this time. Was it someone different? Surely not.

Kerry wasn't sure how to take that answer, but sighed and laid down. "So now I'm interrupting your vacation, too."

Xi shook xir head, looking outside at the hot springs. "Let's keep the focus on you for now, please. I know this is tough for you, but, if you could, tell me from your perspective what happened over the past week or so."

"... Well, I got my Dynamo Badge."

"Congratulations."

Kerry found herself taken aback by this simple compliment. "Th-thank you? I-- Well. Wally and I-- I talked about him before--"

"Yes, when Ripley got injured, I remember."

"Anyway, we tried to go to Lavaridge together, but..."

Part way through-- "I see. So you knew these Pokemon?"

"-- Oh! Yeah. Mama Laxxy and Papa Loppy are my grandfather's. ... Were my grandfather's, I guess."

"You seem to care about them a lot?"

"Yeah! They were really the best. Mama Laxxy was always so warm, and I learned a lot of what I know about Pokemon care from Papa Loppy. Sure, it was basic stuff like brushing, first aid, massage, and things like that, but he was also-- well he was more patient than Grandpa."

"-- Hm. You don't seem to have a high opinion of your grandfather."

"No! No, he was fine. He was good. The village didn't like me much, but they tolerated Grandpa, and so when he took me in, they didn't complain at all."

"-- How did you know they didn't like you? Did they ever tell you?"

"Aura-sensitive, remember? I could tell every time they were feeling pity and disgust, or pity and anger, or shame." Kerry sighed. "It was pretty obvious by the time I was eleven that they saw me as a mistake. But. I am Iridia. And I want to bear their hopes forward. I guess... No, what am I saying? Someone got kidnapped, and I rushed out the door to help."

"Aha, I take it this brings us to the crisis."

"Well... The start of it, anyway. It's a long way from Fallarbor to Meteor Falls. It's about the same way from Meteor Falls to Verdanturf. The doctors said that I shouldn't have done that, but..." Kerry wrapped her arms around herself. "What else was I gonna do? I couldn't leave anyone captured and getting beaten on to get information. And even if I wanted to-- Even if I wanted to, how could I not go on to Mt. Chimeny knowing what I know? It was horrible. According to the routes I went some 95 kilometers over two horrible rides. By the time I got to Verdanturf, the doctor says I should have been useless for at least a week.

"Instead, I spent the night and made ready to climb Mt. Chimney."

"-- So, let me ask: why didn't you contact Security Team or other Survey Team members?"

"Well... Brendan had already been beaten by Team Aqua. And I don't know who Birch had in the area, but..." Kerry bounced her head from side to side. "-- Security Team's an odd way to say it, though."

"-- I like to occasionally be a bit more archaic in my speech."

"-- I see. Well. I could have called up Wattson, it's true, but..." She paused. "I was too tired. I didn't think of it."

"-- Well, that's progress. I suspect that before today you might have said 'who would believe me'."

"Because I have. Several times. It-- it'd make this story longer than it already is. So... Wally and I go up to Mt. Chimney...." Kerry continued.

"I have to ask-- was there a better way to have left the crater area?"

"Better? Yes. Quicker? No. And Wally was already choking, even with his respirator. I didn't have any gases on hand so I had to get him down the mountain as soon as I could." Kerry rubbed her head, at the temples. "I... Well. I took Jagged Pass instead. It... It was probably too much risk. I probably could have taken the cable car. But at the time, all my head was full of was... Mud, and worry."

"So. Do you remember the task I set you at our last meeting?"

"... Yeah. But ... If I hadn't been here, what would have happened?"

"An important question to Lavaridge, to be sure, but..."

"But this isn't their session it's mine," Kerry groaned, and then found herself calming again, before the vibes the therapist gave off. Warmth. Like she was in arms she didn't realize existed.

"So. On the one hand, I think you already talked through why this was a few different lapses in judgement. And the time in hospital wasn't very fun for you by all accounts."

"Yeah."

"And you mentioned feeling the hopes and dreams of the Iridia clan on your back, which is strange, I think, if you're so certain they hate you."

"... I wish they could take me back."

"Why can't they?"

"Dunno, ask them." Was she... Crying? "I wish there was somewhere I'm okay. Somewhere people don't fear me or hate me. But there isn't. And that's fine. I'll live. But it hurts."

"I think your world view is a little out of sorts, here..."

[stuckwith-harry]

Hide-and-seek

A/N: Oh, to be a chicken in times like these. (CW for discussion of death, nothing graphic.)

In the chicken shed it might as well still be the eighties, as though time had only gone on for the humans living in the house on the other side of the fence, but not in here, where the hens are quietly clucking and cooing and enjoying their naps, until Ginny shakes a handful of lettuce in the air like an invitation, a beckoning – then they come hurrying towards her, beaks tearing greedily at the green leaves.

When the hens have had their fill, Ginny looks over the gaggle of bickering ladies and finds her favourite amongst them, Genoveva with her warm brown feathers and clever eyes, who yells and shrieks when Ginny lifts her up by her impossibly soft belly, crouching down in the chicken shed, and pulls the disgruntled hen to her chest.

“Look, I’ll make it up to you”, Ginny tells her quietly. She fishes sweetcorn out of the front pocket of her dungarees and holds her open palm out to Genoveva, not flinching or grimacing when the sharp beak leaves little red marks on her skin as the hen gulps down her treat.

Ginny smiles.

The summer after her first year, she climbed into the chicken shed every day. She was soothed, then, by the arrhythmic clucking and the smell of fresh hay and the fact that the hens allowed her to share their company, that they did not recoil in horror at her sight.

It was her that named them, while she sat here for hours and hours with a chicken in her lap, more often than not Genoveva, who, for all her complaining, was easily the most patient of the bunch, and who nestles into her lap now, blinking slowly in the twilight while Ginny strokes her feathers, the burning inside her ribcage dull and pulsating like that of an infected wound.

Like it was her that took the damn Killing Curse to the chest.

“You’ve no idea how lucky you are”, she mutters, meeting Genoveva’s sharp eyes. “Nothing in those little heads of yours except earthworms and soft hay.”

She sits there for ages and ages like she did that summer, willing the comfort of the soft animal to sink into her like warmth. When she finally gets up to leave the chickens be, she tosses the rest of the sweetcorn into the hay (Genoveva looks utterly betrayed), fills up the grains in the feeder, and climbs out of the shed with the smell of warm feathers and wheat straw still in her nose.

“Chicken-feeding duty?”, calls a voice from near the house as she swings her bare legs over the wooden fence and strolls back towards the Burrow. When she looks for the voice’s owner, she discovers Ron, sitting on the weathered bench below the kitchen window.

“What’re you doing out here?”, she calls out as she comes closer.

“Hiding”, he says dully. “Mum’s crying again.”

Ginny feels something inside her chest take a tumble. “Is anyone with her?”

“Yeah, I’m not that much of a dickhead. Dad and Percy and Bill are all in there.”

“You’re not a dickhead”, Ginny says automatically, surprising them both. Then: “Mind if I stay?”

He shrugs. “Be my guest.”

So she sinks on the bench beside him, joining him in his grim silence. They gaze aimlessly over the soft green hills all around, the shape of the lake like a blue thumbprint in the landscape, where they whiled away so many happier, warmer days than this, and Ottery St. Catchpole’s mismatched roofs in the distance, smoke rising from the chimneys.

Ron finally looks over at her. “Were you with the chickens this whole time? I thought you’d grown out of your obsession with them.”

Ginny musters up a grin. “Never. I love those stupid hens. That was just an elaborate ruse so I could hide in the chicken coop when we used to play hide-and-seek. It never occurred to any of you to look.”

“Well, you stopped growing at about five feet, I figure you fit right in.”

Ginny whacks him in the knee. In a true testament to the severity of the situation, Ron does not retaliate.

She tells herself it’s that, not how much they aged him, the few short months that he was gone.

It’s less blatant now that Mum has shorn back the unkempt mop of hair that was falling into his eyes and growing down the back of his neck like wild weeds when he walked through the secret entrance of the Room of Requirements with Harry and Hermione; now that he’s shaved the patchy stubble on his cheeks and his face has regained a little fullness. But sometimes she still looks at him and wonders how ten years have not passed since she watched him slip away into thin air at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

“Did anything happen?”, she asks. “With Mum?”

Ron shrugs, expression blank. “Some fool said his name again. I never noticed how rarely we actually said the twins’ individual names until we had to break the habit of saying Fred-and-George all in one go. It’s like he’s Voldemort.”

Ginny doesn’t laugh.

“I know”, she mutters. “Don’t think it’ll ever come naturally.”

He nods mechanically. “Anyway – I made a run for it. I just couldn’t do it right then, having to comfort her and everything.”

Ginny looks over at him. “Funny, you’re so good at it.”

“You just say that because I make the best tea.”

“Well, you do.”

The same way that children can recognise each of their family members by the sound of their footsteps as heard through a wall, or the rhythmic pattern with which they knocked on the door, the Weasley siblings have learned to read each other’s silences since they’ve come home. Often now, they appear at each other’s bedroom doors at all hours of the night, shaken from nightmares or too restless to sleep or, rarely, weeping.

Most nights, two or three or four of them eventually find themselves in the kitchen, where Ginny turns on the lights, and Ron puts on the kettle, and they sit there and while away the small hours in each other’s company, in silence, in quiet understanding, in murmured chatter about nothing at all.  It’s good comfort, the idea that even after everything, there’s nothing in this world that a hot cup of tea can’t fix.

Ginny shifts on the bench next to him, pulling her knees to her chest. “Remember when that fox got one of the hens? I was inconsolable, and you were so nice to me when we put her in a shoebox and buried her behind the house, you didn’t even make fun of me.”

“You lot are different, that’s easy. I just can’t take it when it’s our parents.”

Ginny hums in understanding. “I think seeing Dad cry was worse for me. At the memorial.”

“Cheers, thanks for bringing it up again.”

She snorts.

“You’re good with Harry”, she says softly. “D’you miss him at all?”

He rolls his eyes. “He just sleeps two floors below me, it’s not like he died.”

Ginny winces.

Ron does not miss the look on her face or the heaviness of her silence, as they have all learned to do, and asks in an unnaturally light tone: “How’re you coping with him waking up three times a night?”

He seems relieved, for a moment there, when she smirks.

“It’s not too bad, actually. At least he makes for a great pillow.”

Ron looks appalled. “What the hell happened to the camp bed?”

“Oh, we just keep that around for decoration now.” She grins, comforted by the opportunity to tease him. “And he doesn’t wake up as much anymore.”

His face lights up. “That’s good news, at least. Lead with that next time.”

“Oh, he’s just … stopped going to sleep altogether.”

“That really solves that problem”, he says darkly. “The idiot.”

“I don’t think it’s purposeful”, she says. “He’s always pretending to be asleep when I look at him, but I can always tell. And when he does doze off, I’ll just stir next to him, and that’s enough to wake him up again.”

“He’s a really light sleeper these days”, Ron says apologetically. “The worst camping trip in the world will do that to a person.”

Ginny grins faintly. “Yeah, he’s mentioned it.”

“He’s talking, then?”

“Hm-hm.” She wraps her arms a little tighter around her legs. “Which is good, I guess.”

He watches her for a minute, as though unsure what to make of her tone. “Anything on your mind?”

She laughs. “Anyone ever told you you’re turning into Mum?”

“Well, we’re here anyway!”, Ron says, ears flushing. “Spit it out, will you?”

“He, uhm –”

It has not occurred to her, until right now, how difficult it would be to pass the story on, even to someone who has heard it before. Harry handed it to her because she asked him to, and still it knocked into her like a wild animal, pouncing, the weight of it like a Hippogriff standing on her chest, pinning her to the earth.

“He told me about walking into the Forbidden Forest.”

“Ah”, Ron says hollowly. “No wonder you’re hiding in a chicken coop.”

She looks around at him. “It’s not Harry I’m hiding from.”

“But you are hiding”, Ron says wisely.

Ginny shrugs. “I dunno what I expected. Somehow I’d convinced myself I already knew the worst of it. Which, as it turns out, was a bit stupid of me.”

She draws in a shaky breath.

“I thought he was in on it. Ever since I watched him come back to life at Hagrid’s feet … I thought there was some sort of plan. But there wasn’t, or Dumbledore didn’t tell him, anyway. I thought he knew he was going to survive, and it turns out that, uhm – he didn’t know shit. He went there to die, for real.”

Ginny looks back at him, words coming faster now. “And I’m – I’m so angry, and I don’t know why. Or who I’m angry with. It can hardly be Harry.”

“In all fairness, I kind of felt like punching him when he told us”, Ron says quietly, and her mouth briefly twists into something like a smile. “If anything we should be angry with Voldemort, or Dumbledore, even – but they’re not within punching distance, so what are you gonna do?”

“If Dumbledore wasn’t already dead, I would kill him”, Ginny says. “I swear, I would kill him.”

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable”, Ron says good-naturedly, patting her arm.

“And Harry – Harry keeps apologising, and I don’t know what for.”

Ron’s expression is pained. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

He sighs. She handed this to him, and now he is steeling himself to hand something back to her. She can tell.

“My best guess is … for not saying goodbye.”

Ginny does not look at him. Suddenly she is blinking rapidly in the fading light, sitting there as the blow rolls over her, something blunt and violent that should have broken her ribs like the impact of a Bludger; but there is no injury, only an ache that does not abate, that sits all around her, inside her. She doesn’t think it’s ever going to go away, all that hurting, writhing and straining inside her like a second skeleton.

“How could he have? We would’ve dragged him back to the castle by the damn hair.”

“Of course we would have”, Ron says robustly.

For a moment he looks like he’s going to reach out to her, hold her, maybe. He seems to think better of it in the end, and she’s almost relieved, dreading what she’d do if someone hugged her.

It’s another thing that won’t ever come easily: showing up on someone’s doorstep, weeping.

“If it’s any consolation”, he says after a while, “I think that’s the worst of it.”

“I’ve been wondering”, she mutters. “Can’t think of very much that beats walking to your own death. No fucking wonder he doesn’t sleep.”

“It’s funny”, Ron says, “I talked to him less than an hour ago, and he seems alright, almost.”

Ginny shrugs. “Isn’t he always? Remarkably functional, considering.”

Ron makes an attempt at a smile. “It’s such a Harry thing to do, though, isn’t it? Always dying for other people. Or trying to, anyway.”

“Hardly just a Harry thing, it turns out.”

It’s all shit, she thinks when he looks at her. Being the person knocking at the door, and the one listening on the other side, opening it.

“He told me about Malfoy Manor”, she says softly.

“Ah.” Ron kicks at the dirt to his feet. “Well, then you know what keeps me up at night.”

“He said – he said you offered to swap places with Hermione. Let Bellatrix have you instead.”

“And? You would’ve done the exact same thing for him.”

Ginny almost smiles. He might as well still be the boy who stuck stubbornly by her side next to the chicken fence all night, when she couldn’t bear to head back to the house, in case the fox ever came back.

“Yeah. I would have.”

It settles on her shoulders as quickly and unnoticeably as night, rapidly falling all around them: everything she would’ve done, in a heartbeat, in an instant.

“I would’ve taken the forest, too”, she says, more to herself than to Ron. “I would’ve done it all for him.”

It seems significant, somehow, that Ron does not resist this. That maybe he knows what it felt like, to Ginny, when they walked out into the courtyard and saw Harry.

That, too, felt like a Bludger to the chest: the sight of him, a kid in Hagrid’s arms, his glasses askew. How she wished it was her lying there, dead in his place.

“Those two”, Ron says abruptly. “Some day they’re really gonna be the death of us.”

Ginny almost laughs.

“So you won’t strangle him for abandoning the camp bed?”

Ron eyes her for a moment, a sort of benevolent sternness in his expression – and Ginny was right, that’s all Mum. “Yeah, I’ll consider it.”

“I’m sorry, anyway”, she says, half-smiling. “For costing you your roommate.”

Ron sighs. “They grow up so fast.”

“And for all this, too. You were trying to hide, I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s all right. You had to find me eventually.”

[antoni-anxiety]

Tommy is babey, literally tho

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TOMMY

Run. Run. Run was all that could go through his mind right now. Dream was chasing Tommy. Tommy just wanted to get away from there. Dream blew up Logstedshire; Tommy had nothing to lose, apart from his life apparently, which was what he was running for right now. After about 15 minutes of a very close chase between Tommy and Dream, Tommy seemed to outrun the elder, which he was ever so thankful for.

After running so far, Tommy was exhausted and rightfully so; he almost just died. He was so, so cold, he was stuck, surrounded by snow. The boy decided to walk north for a bit further, in hopes that he would find rescue, and just as he hoped, he did. In the distance, he saw a small spruce cottage, with smoke erupting from the chimney, signaling that someone lived there; whoever it was, Tommy prayed that it wasn’t Dream. Uh oh. His vision became dotted and he could barely see, that probably wasn’t good. Right as he reached the front door and was about to knock, his legs collapsed and his mind went blank. He had passed out.

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TECHNO

Technoblade finally had some time to himself. He’s been busy breeding the hounds and organising all day and he hadn’t had much time to relax in a while, and therefore he was now all cozy next to his fireplace, reading some books on greek mythology. He was pretty relaxed, well, until he heard a thud at his front door that is. He contemplated leaving it however his curiosity got the better of him. As he opened his door, he saw someone laying on the front step, ‘There’s no way that they’re older than 16.’ he thought to himself. Now, Techno is a ‘lone wolf’ as some might call it but he wasn’t gonna let some malnourished kid freeze to death on his front step. The man maneuvered the boy from outside onto his small couch; now that he got a better look at the boy, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

This frail, skinny boy was his younger brother. Worry filled Techno’s eyes, even though he pretended that the younger annoyed him ever so much, he had a soft spot for him, the kid could brighten anyone’s day by just saying hello. He had no idea what happened but that kid who was a ray of sunshine suddenly looked as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks and if anyone were to merely touch him, he’d crumble right then and there on the spot. Techno didn’t really know what to do except make Tommy comfortable until he woke up, and once he did, he’d ask him about everything. Techno couldn’t help but wonder what Tommy had gone through before he was there, ofcourse, he knew about Tommy’s exile but if it was like when he was exiled for the first time, Tommy wouldn’t be like this. Techno scoured his mind for what he knew of Tommy’s latest exile; Dream was to look after him, well clearly he wasn’t doing a good job. Oh fuck. Dream must have been abusing his little brother. With that thought, Techno stood up in rage. He was gonna kill that green bastard. That was until he heard stirring and a small whine from the couch. Whipping his head around, he saw Tommy try to sit up and ran over to him. The second that Tommy saw him he immediately started panicking. Techno being the awkward man he is, hugged Tommy in attempt to calm him down. This was gonna be a long night.

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TOMMY

Tommy opened his eyes to be in an unfamiliar place, so of course, his first instinct was to panic. He sat up as quickly as he could and looked around, he saw his older brother approach him. Still in his tired state, his mind was all over the place and all that was going through his mind was ‘POSSIBLE DANGER. RUN’. Before he could process what to do and where to go, Techno had seemingly sensed his anxiety and hugged him tightly. The physical affection seemed to do its job and calm the younger down but it also made him feel loved, something he hadn’t felt in such a long time. The overwhelming emotions made the boy burst into tears, something in his mind seemed to shift, it made him feel younger. However, that was utterly absurd, it must’ve been the stress getting to him. Oh no. Tommy realised what was happening, he almost forgot that he used to do this to cope during all the wars. Of course, nobody knew about it, he’d be caught dead before he let anyone know he regresses; however, his mind was too foggy right now to tell what was happening and therefore reciprocated the hug. Techno was surprisingly a good hugger, and when he finally let go after 5 minutes of a silent hug, only filled with Tommy’s little sniffles, the younger slightly whined at the loss of the calming touch. When Techno looked at Tommy’s eyes, something about them was.. different. They were filled with a somewhat childish innocence which made Techno suddenly feel so protective of him. Tommy seemed to come to his senses and tried to get out of headspace, which he somewhat succeeded at, and immediately apologised to his big brother. ‘I’m s-so sorry Techno- fuck- Imma go, imma go now,’’, Techno was now worried for his baby brother so he couldn’t let him get off the hook so easily. ‘Hey, Toms you’re not going anywhere, you’re clearly ill and I’m worried, tell me what’s going on, hm? You usually wouldn’t burst into tears just like that..’ Techno stated with clear worry in his voice. Tommy was contemplating just lying to Techno but he knew that it wouldn’t work. For someone who barely socialises, Techno is really good at reading people just like open books, so Tommy decided to, reluctantly, tell him about his regression above all of his other issues, seeing as he was already on the verge of regressing again. ‘Uh so about the crying thing.. have you ever heard of fuckin.. Age regression or little space of some sort?’ Tommy just hoped that this wouldn’t go badly. Techno of course, read a lot, so he had the general grasp of what Tommy was talking about, he guessed that his little brother regressed, and he couldn’t lie, just the thought of it was utterly adorable. The piglin hybrid noticed that he hadn’t actually answered Tommy’s question and nodded, ‘So.. you regress? I know a little bit about this stuff, do you wanna be little?’. If he was being completely honest, Tommy had no idea that Techno would be acting this accepting and.. caring? He subconsciously made the choice that Techno was friendly and it was okay to regress around him, and he gave a small nod, on the edge of completely slipping.

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TECHNO

Techno sat himself comfortably next to the younger boy, looking at him in awe; the boy was only 16 and he’d gone through multiple wars and several betrayals, he was so very strong, Techno couldn’t even begin to describe how proud he was. ‘Hey buddy how old are you feeling?’, Techno got a reply of Tommy shying away into his hands and raising 3 fingers. ‘Very small then hm? We should get you into something into a bit more warm, you look quite chilly buddy.’, Tommy made grabby hands at Techno and how could he deny such an adorable request? Techno lifted the skinny boy and brought him to his bedroom, placing him on his bed. Techno once again couldn’t help but get upset once again that his former friend hurt his baby brother; Tommy could have gotten frostbite or hypothermia with the tattered, thin clothes he had been wearing in such a cold biome. Techno finally fished out some joggers and a red hoodie he hadn’t worn in a long time. When he turned back from his closet to his bed, the sight he was met with nearly gave him a heart attack with how pure and adorable it was. Tommy was sat on the bed, knees tucked to his chest and played with his fingers softly, a tiny smile painted on his face. Sadly, this is the happiest Techno had seen Tommy in months, or years even. Techno sat on the bed, next to his younger brother, and helped him get dressed, slowly and carefully, making sure that he didn’t startle the baby. Techno picked Tommy back up and placed him back on the sofa; the two were just cuddling, that is until they heard the front door open. Tommy curled himself into a ball, while Techno protectively placed himself in front of him. The older was slightly relieved to see Phil in the doorframe, however he didn’t know how their father would react to Tommy’s regression, or whether Tommy would even want him to know: Techno could tell that Tommy was very shy and secretive about it. ‘Hey Techno, mate, who’s that?’ Phil asked, clueless about the stress that his sons were in because of his presence. Techno was almost physically sweating with the pressure being put on him, he awkwardly replied ‘Oh uh, hey Phil,’ Techno looked to Tommy who looked terrified. ‘Hey Toms? It’s just Phil, you’re okay..’ Techno whispered to the boy in attempt to calm him down; it seemed to work quite a bit. Unfortunately for the boys, Phil heard what Techno said and jumped at the opportunity to talk to his youngest son, ‘Did you say Tommy? Hello Toms, what’s up?’. Tommy froze and slowly looked up at his dad, tears gathering up in his eyes, Techno noticed and went to comfort his little brother. Phil was beyond confused, and did what anyone would do, ask what was going on. Techno looked to Tommy for approval before telling their dad, to which the boy nodded. With the knowledge Techno had gathered, he tried his best to answer Phil’s question; Phil is a nice guy, he helps anyone who needs it, and so he knew of quite a few coping mechanisms, and this was one of them. The eldest seemed to grasp onto the idea surprisingly quickly, and was immediately helping Techno coddle the younger. Neither of them could deny, the baby was adorable, babbling to himself and chewing on his fingers, which wasn’t exactly sanitary but adorable nonetheless. With the three being fully aware that Ghostbur wouldn’t mind this version of Tommy, and would have fun taking care of Tommy, Techno and Phil couldn’t help but hope that their family could grow close once again. Philza was sure to never let his baby boys go again, they would all rekindle their relationship with each other day by day, and soon were a fully functioning family once again.

[pookamaluka]

I Didn’t Need You to Protect Me.

-Detective Edric Graham x Specialist Agent Mason - 1566 words -Hurt/Angst/Romance

-Art of Edric x Mason here

Edric was irritated. It was dark and cold out. He was working overtime for the fifth night in a row and he had a freakin vampire staring at him. He felt the heaviness of Mason’s stare on the side of his face as if it were a physical presence. He hadn’t wanted to be paired up with him for a simple stakeout, but Ava insisted on him having backup.

Now he was stuck. Stuck with an unusually quiet Mason. Edric knew he was still pissed off but he didn’t give a rat’s ass. He had nothing to be angry about. It was Edric who had a right to be upset. 

He wasn’t even watching the bar entrance. He was just.staring.at.him!

“What!?” Edric snarled.

Mason’s eyes narrowed. He took his sweet time answering to further mess with him.

“You need a haircut. Hair keeps getting in your eyes.”

Edric scoffed. “I need a haircut? Me? Have you seen yourself?”

Mason shrugged.

“You look like a fucking labradoodle, Mace.”

Mason’s lip curled. “At least I’m not messing with it every ten seconds.”

Edric rolled his eyes and went back to keeping an eye on the door.

The awkward silence grew. Edric heard the flick of a lighter behind him and frowned. Mason rarely smoked around him anymore, but it seemed his presence wasn’t having the calming effect he sometimes spoke of.

Good. Edric thought. Then he immediately felt his heart squeeze. Not good. 

He sighed. Being with Mason was, for the most part, wonderful. Not that they were in a relationship. No. They always skirted around labels and around commitment. Edric knew his reasons. He had never had what he would call a successful relationship. Not because he slept around. Well, he had. But he had also dated people for long stretches of time. 

Bobby had been the last person he’d been in a relationship with. And it ended badly. Not the worst experience he’d had, but close. He could feel he closed himself up more and more after each failure. So it’s understandable he didn’t want to open up to Mason. Well, besides screwing each other silly any chance they got, that is.

He thought he could keep it like that. He’d done it before. But fate had other plans. He was fucked. He was in deep. And that was a problem. 

“Are you sure he’s here? Did they give you the right description?” Mason asked.

Edric looked back at him. His eye twitched.

“No. I just wanted to stand out here freezing my ass off, with you smoking like a chimney next to me.”

Mason growled. “Well, how do you know!?”

“I’m a detective. That’s how!”

He huffed and walked back to the car to fetch his phone. Mason sighed. When the detective came back, he’d dropped the lit cig on the ground and stomped it. Edric looked at the discarded butt then back at his face. 

“Here.” He shoved the phone at him.

Mason read the report Tina had forwarded earlier that night. 

Male. 25 to 35 years old. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Average height. Heavy. Last seen 24hrs ago fleeing home after a domestic dispute.

“That’s the gist of it. Asked around, he meets his douchey friends at this bar. Not the first time he’s done this either. Hoping charges stick this time. Need more details or should I get you the witness statement too?”

Edric snatched back his phone and turned his back.

“I wasn’t doubting your abilities.”

Edric muttered. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘You could’ve fooled me.’ That seems like your thing lately. Questioning every damn thing I do.”

Mason’s lip curled up enough Edric could see one of his fangs.

“I apologize and you throw it back at my face. Classy, Graham.”

Edric grinned. But there was no humor in it.

“You have not, in fact, apologized.”

“What the hell do you want me to say?”

“How about ‘thank you’? Hm?”

Mason reared back. “Thank you? For what!?”

Edric stared at the vampire for a while before shaking his head.

“Forget it. Go back to the Warehouse. I’ll probably be safer without you around. Seeing you just makes me angrier and I’m distracted.”

Mason gritted his teeth. “So you’ll get kidnapped again? I don’t think so.”

“Ah. He remembers.”

“Yes! I remember. I remember you were stupid enough to get yourself kidnapped, again, and we spent two days trying to rescue you. Why would I thank you for that?”

Mason pulled out a cigarette from his jacket but didn’t light it.

“Because I saved your life.”

The vampire growled. He was in front of Edric in a blink.

“You should’ve let them take me.”

Edric sighed. “You were unconscious. Good God, Mason. They would’ve killed you. They said as much!”

“Why didn’t you run then? You just stood there and let them take you.” 

Mason walked into Edric’s space prompting him to step back, but he grabbed the front of his shirt to stop him.

He sighed, “Because they could’ve found you. I hid you but if they had combed the place… So I just waved a carrot in front of them.”

“Yourself.” Mason growled.

“Yes.”

It was quiet. The vampire opened his mouth multiple times but closed it without uttering a word. Until finally he asked,

“Why?”

Edric looked down at him. The anger he had felt was dissipating. All that he had left was a suspicious stinging behind his eyes and a scratchy throat. His next words were whispered. He didn’t trust they’d come out right otherwise.

“You know why, Mason. Isn’t that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Edric could feel a shiver go through Mason. The hand grasping his shirt trembled. 

“I haven’t-”

“Ava had to ask you to join me, didn’t she?”

Mason shook his head.

“Don’t lie.”

“It was your mother.” Mason said.

Edric snapped his mouth shut. It still surprised him when he heard his mother worried.

“I see. Look, you don’t have to stay.”

Mason pushed him back. A little harshly, making him wobble on his feet a bit.

“Shut up. You’re giving me a migraine. You want a thank you? Well fine. Thank you for being a bloody idiot. Thank you, for giving me a heart attack. You have no idea how happy I was knowing I got my ass kicked, you captured and possibly killed. For 48 hours I wondered if you were alive. But sure, Edric. Thank you.”

Mason pushed his hair back. He wouldn’t meet his eyes. Edric was stunned. He’d known the man was angry at him for putting himself in danger. But he’d thought… He’d thought he was mostly annoyed. Worried. Mason, however, sounded defeated. 

“I thought you were dead.” He heard him say. “At least you knew I was alive.”

Edric’s eyes closed, he felt a stab in his chest. 

“You would’ve done the same damn thing. You already did once. Remember Sanja?”

Mason looked at him and his shoulders fell. “I remember..”

“I won’t apologize, Mace. I can’t.”

The vampire was about to reply when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his jacket and set it to speaker.

“What now?” Mason snapped.

“Ooookaay. Did I interrupt something steamy? My bad.” Felix's voice had his usual playfulness.

“No.” They chorused. Then Edric added, “What did you find out?”

Felix huffed. “You two sound so relaxed. I swear.”

“Felix…” Mason warned.

“Fine. The man you’re looking for seems to have friends in high places. And these friends? They’re in the know. Ava and Nat are on it. But Agent Graham asked that you come back.”

“Wait, they know? What do they know, exactly?” Edric asked.

“Let’s just say you should keep a low profile. “Be inconspicuous” is what Nat said. If they know about vampires, they probably know about your blood too, Detective.”

Mason scoffed. “Inconspicuous? Not like he’s almost seven feet tall or anything. What is he supposed to do?”

Felix hummed an ‘I don’t know.’ “Hunch over or something on your way here. I recommend getting back before Ava returns or she’ll fetch you. You’ll want to avoid that. I speak from experience.”

Edric smiled. “Thanks, Felix.”

“No problem. Hey, I was-”

Mason ended the call before the other vampire could go on.

“Great. More people after you.” He muttered.

Edric rolled his eyes, “And after you.”

Mason glared. “If you get kidnapped again..”

“What? You’ll come after me?”

The vampire breathed deeply and bit his cheek.

“I’m this close to smacking you over the head.”

Edric shrugged. “Try it if it’ll make you feel better. I’d do the same but I might break my hand on that block you call a head. Let’s go.”

“Fine.” 

He started following Edric to his car. The detective looked over his shoulder and called back.

“Oh and Mason.”

“Yeah?”

Edric smirked. “You’re welcome.”

Mason shook his head and got in the car after him. Edric knew it wasn’t over. They still had to not talk about it some more. But there were more important matters to handle. Life and death, as it always seemed to be. It didn’t mean he couldn’t get a little revenge on the way to the Warehouse, though. 

“You’re not singing all the way back.” Mason glared.

But Edric just pushed Play. And he did indeed, sing all the way back.

[theoldaeroplane]

HARDWIRED: 2. Observation

"That your wife?"

The first time Dell was asked this question he nearly spit out his beer. That, however, was almost six months ago. Today, settling up the bill for his and April's breakfast at the diner closest to the motel, he just shakes his head and glances back at where April sits in their booth, staring out the window. "Nah. Old friend."

"Oh?" says the cashier. She's a woman of middle age, with hair leaning silver and early crow's feet complementing a soft smile. "Then you won't mind me asking where you've been all my life, hm?"

He laughs, demure. It's a rare thing for him, flirting, though to his relative confusion it's increased a great deal as he's aged. "Sorry, ma'am," he says, sliding a ten across the counter to her. "Afraid I've got to leave again just as quick."

"Oh, all the good ones do," she says with a snort and a smirk. "That's my lot. Where you headed?"

"Don't know, if I'm being honest. She's the one driving."

"You sure she's not your wife?"

"I think you'd have to hog-tie her to even get her near a ring, let alone wear one. Keep the change."

When he returns to April, she sits with her head resting against the sun-warmed glass, staring at nothing. Her shoulder, too, is warm when he nudges her and says they should get going.

---

Six years ago (God, six years, really?) Dell would have made a good deal more fuss about being driven somewhere without any particular idea of where. Even after the arsonist had proven herself more friend than foe, he certainly would not have gotten in a car with her for longer than a few minutes. Oh, he had more responsibilities then: BLU might call at any time, and he was something of a pillar in tiny Bee Cave as the best mechanic available---to say nothing of the fuss his extended family would raise if left without an idea of where he was.

That family, though, is still under the impression he is dead, as is Bee Cave. BLU is gone. He no longer has a dog to mind, as Shep is well and truly April's now.

And of course it is not the arsonist he has been riding down the flat, winding highways with for the last day and a half. The master of this expedition has a name, and a face that is not made of rubber.

This is why he does not ask April where they are going.

That, he muses as he watches her take yet another random back road, and the fact he has a pretty good idea she doesn't know, either.

---

The first time he had visited after Jeremiah's wedding had been the first of the mid-month sojourns, and at April's specific request. She had been in good spirits after the wedding, after the revelation of Tobias's park, and so he'd thought she was fine, at least as far as she went. It had been a surprise when she'd called him just two weeks after with a request that he come to see her, though less of one when he heard her choice of words: it just feels empty here.

In truth, it had been inconvenient at the time. He was house-hunting and had several appointments with several people that would all have to be cancelled. Also in truth, it was April. He went.

The house hadn't changed, of course, big and state-of-the-art and with over half a dozen chimneys leading up from over a dozen fireplaces, sitting haphazardly in a patch of land hidden from the highway's view by the acacia copse. Shep nearly got himself run over in his excitement to see his old master; the old boy's got one eye that might be going, and he's getting gray around the muzzle. He knows all this, and it wasn't a surprise.

The woman that opened the door, on the other hand, startled him. She's unmistakable, of course, but he almost mistakes her anyway, because she looks nothing so much as the arsonist that haunted his property that summer of '68. It's not the rumpled clothing or the Zippo in one hand, or even the way her blue eyes seem to have sunken in her burned face---and at least those seem to light up a little when she sees him---it's---

"You cut your hair," Dell says.

She lifts her eyebrows and touches the short black hair, hacked off by unsteady scissors. It doesn't look bad on her, but he had grown used to it long, and had liked it. Not that his opinion on what she does with herself means jack, but---it's still a startle.

---

Long roads. Long hours. But sometimes he can stir conversation out of her. Or say the wrong thing, as the case may be: he's commenting on the contents of the local paper he'd picked up at the diner when she interrupts, all brimming frustration and bile. "Why the hell do you go along with my shit?"

Dell allows himself a few seconds to formulate a response. "How do you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" she says, slapping the steering wheel. Shep's ears swivel toward her in alarm. "Shit like this, like driving off somewhere without saying anything. I don't know where I'm going."

He considers this. "Well," he says, "I imagine you'll know it when we find it."

"Dell," she growls. "Don't fuck with me."

"I'm not, missy."

"Don't call me tha---"

The next few seconds is a racket of sound and broken glass and screeching brakes, because one of those antlelope from the day before has just come careening straight in front of the truck.

---

The good news is the antlelope survived.

Dell's truck is a little less lucky. The hood is crumpled, and blood smears both engine and body. Through some miracle, there is only a palm-sized cobweb of shattered glass in the passenger-side corner of the windshield. April, hardware savant but hopeless with cars, paces and drags Shep away from the fascinating knots of blood and fur stuck haphazard in the grille while Dell tries to diagnose the damage.

"I think she'll take us to wherever the next town is," he says, with no small amount of trepidation. The last time he'd touched a vehicle was Coldfront, and that had been touch-and-go. "Worst case, we pick up a new one while we're there, leave this for repairs."

"I'll pay for it," April says, fidgeting with the lighter that had---of course---appeared in her hand.

"What's it matter?"

"If it doesn't matter, then just let me do it."

She is looking for a fight. "Okay," says Dell. "D'you want me to take over driving?"

---

That first visit after April had cut her hair was colored by more than the haircut.

Dell's observant, he has to be. He's gotten to be very observant of April, especially over the last year and a half: there was, after all, nothing else for him to do but observe, when Esau was holding him down. He's learned about her, how she moves, the way her mouth curves when she's annoyed or amused. In truth he knows three different Aprils, and the language of this newest incarnation is its own animal. Pyro was another; the arsonist, the first.

This is why it's troubling that he's noticing things April's never done, but that the arsonist did quite often. It's the constant fidgeting with lighters and matches, it's the short, sharp way she interacts with things around the house, it's even in how she touches Shep. Her speech is clipped and distracted. He mentions none of this that first night, after setting up in the guest room, which has not been touched since his last visit.

She asks him how he is, and it's code. Has Esau done anything? It's the first time she's been April that day, not the arsonist. He's too relieved to see her again to put as much care into his responses as he should.

He tells her about his search for a new house---he's renting in El Paso, taking his time to figure out where he wants to settle down again. "Cool," she says, absently. She has not been out to see him. "El Paso sounds nice."

"It's nice enough. How you been holding up?"

"I'm fine," she had said, and the dreadful thing is that he thinks she believed that.

---

The mechanic they find is every inch a stereotype, grizzled and gruff and covered in grease. Dell feels a mild kinship with him, but bristles at the way his eyes keep darting to April. To her scars, mainly. "A week at a rush," the mechanic tells him. "Best I can do."

Dell relays this to April; it's questionable if she really hears him.

It's a good-sized town, this place, Musabruk or something like that. Big enough that they take advantage of the mechanic's offer of a ride to the nearest hotel, and once again Dell feels himself souring each time he notices the mechanic's eyes roving over to the rear-view mirror to catch sight of April's burns. As if she hasn't got enough to deal with. He's not sure if it's for better or worse that she doesn't seem to notice.

It puts him in a mood, anyway. Enough of one, apparently, that when they finally make it to their room and he excuses himself to the bathroom, the ring of lights is waiting for him.

Dell has never suffered the dramatic effects of looking-glass syndrome that had plagued April. He hallucinates little, he has almost never had cause to doubt his faculties. This makes it all the more startling when Esau does appear, a hexagon of electric blue lights looming in space. He does not acknowledge the lights as he goes to wash his face.

You are angry.

It's a simple observation, in the same flat, observational tone that Esau's voice always takes in his head. Dell does not respond. It takes a great deal to make him respond to Esau, at least when Esau does not have any purpose to his manifestation. He knows he is angry. He does not need to be told.

She has heavy scarring. Most people go a lifetime without seeing anyone as disfigured as she is.

A response jumps to his lips---she's not disfigured---but he stifles it. But apparently he is too tired to resist him entirely, between the driving and the deer and the mechanic. "You got something to say?"

The lights flicker. Not as you intend the question. I am only curious how long you will go without addressing the problem.

"And I guess you know what the problem is?" he says, but the lights are gone.

[writefinch]

The Prince’s Offering, Pt.2 (”Historical,” bondage, harems)

The Prince, the Brigand and the gift followed their host through to a sitting area, and all three visitors sat down on plush cushions indicated to by their host, though Thom had to guide the woman-gift into place, grabbing her chest roughly as he pushed her down.

Davai looked around and took in his surroundings. A low, square table, barely an inch off the floor, occupied the center of the room, with four plush cushions placed around it, upon which the three visitors and their host currently sat. The table was laid out with a selection of pastries, fruits and sweetmeats, as well as a heated bronze pot for the decanting of tea.

The floors were strewn with fine rugs and more cushions, and upon some of those cushions lazed serving girls, bronze skin visible under impossibly sheer gauze, their necks, wrists and fingers weighed down with a fortune's each of intricate jewelry. They all seemed in possession of an ethereal beauty unlike anyone the young lord had ever seen, and when one glanced his way with the briefest of sultry smiles, Davai felt his cheeks glow pink.

In one far corner a small pool was recessed into the floor with a gauze-clad attendant lounging beside it, in another corner was a set of bookshelves where one girl perused a scroll by lamplight, and the back of the room on a raised dais sat an empty throne, flanked by four hounds on each side.

As Davai peered at the dais, he realized that it was not a true throne, and they were not true dogs. The throne was a frame, empty underneath the seat and strewn with scraps of fabric, and the dogs were cast-iron statues with golden engraving, draped in many layers of the same gauze that the serving girls wore. It did not take a scholar of the arts to adduce the meaning of this display: The Old Duke had overseen eight fiefdoms, each ruled by a Lord Knight, and the symbol of the knights was a black wolf. In the Mughal display, the Old Duke's throne was hollow and worthless, his proud wolves were dogs and whores, and they would be nothing more than a near-forgotten backdrop to a new age of Imperial rule.

Finally, his eyes settled on his host. He was a man of Turkish stock, roughly two-score years of age, with a square jaw, a full moustache, and a day's growth of stubble across the rest of his face that did nothing to hide the thick white scar on his chin. He was tall, with several inches on Thom and a full foot over Davai, and carried himself with the bearing of a fighting man. His eyes were warm and his smile warmer, and Davai watched as the man bought a cup of hot tea to his lips and sipped at it, before setting the tea down and looking right at him.

"Heated floors," blurted Davai, and felt profoundly stupid for having done so. Their host chuckled graciously.

"Indeed, heated floors. Technology of the ancients, something the General had fitted into this castle by one of the finest engineers of Persia. Water is heated in a great vessel elsewhere in the castle and carried by pumps to an intricate series of pipes underneath the tiles, and a web of chimneys within the walls pulls away sweltering air and foul humors. Rather ingenious," he said, before furrowing his brow, "though of course this keep was never built with such a thing in mind, hence the damnable whistling. Pasha, play a tune for us."

Davai's ears perked up, and he could still hear the shrill cries of the vents until one of the serving girls placed a wooden flute to her lips and began to play. A soft, calming tune carried forth, and it seemed to have been composed in a manner that utterly masked the noise underneath.

"Thank you, my dear," said the man. "Now, Thom, I have met you before, yes?"

"You have sir, indeed," replied Thom. "I was delivering tithes from some of the nearby holdings, and you were receiving them. An honour to meet you again, sir."

"And a pleasure to see you, sirrah. Would you do me the favour of introducing your employer?"

Thom nodded. "I present to you Lord Davai of the line Kestrel, representative of the Houses of the Amber Plains, next in line to the Barony of East Barleycorn."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Davai. My name is Sir Karim the Acquirer, and I am a... hm, how would I say... a scrivener, yes, a scrivener for the Great Empire."

"A pleasure in kind, Sir Karim," said Davai.

"Mhmm." Karim opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, then opened it again. "As we are to conduct our business on behalf of the Great Empire, the necessary ritual must be undertaken beforehand," he said, lifting his robes enough to stand up before pointing to a clear patch of rug beside the table. "From this spot, Karakorum lies in the direction of the pool."

Davai said and did nothing for a moment until he was poked in the ribs by Thom, who did not even have to mouth the word before Davai remembered the need to kow-tow. The three men each took kneeling positions facing east and touched their foreheads to the ground repeatedly in the correct display of respect, with both Thom and Davai making two more bows than Karim. With the ritual complete they returned to the table, where Karim bade them to eat.

They partook of crisp apple slices dipped in honey, black bread slathered in butter, almond sweets filled with pomegranate jam and strong black tea while Karim made light conversation. They spoke of the approaching harvest, of the last and next tournaments, of the advances in astronomy, and of playing companies.

Karim placed his empty teacup on the table, and a serving girl refilled it the moment he loosed his grip on it. He paid her no mind, and looked across at Davai instead. "I understand you have traveled some distance to join us here. How was your journey?"

"It was a straightforward one," said Davai carefully. "The new roads are smooth, and there is no worry of bandits." He aimed to acknowledge the benefits of Imperial rule, but was keen to avoid overt fawning.

"Yes, mhm. And, Lord Davai, might I ask why you have traveled all this way? As smooth and safe as our roads are, I assume you did not come all this way to merely test them."

Lord Davai fought the overwhelming urge to swallow and instead cleared his throat, but could not avoid nervously brushing a curl of hair out of his face. "Baron Vadim has sadly passed away, and as he was tragically bereft of heirs, some of his holdings stand to be inherited by the Houses of the Amber Plains. A great many of his holdings, in fact, and though the Great Empire graciously consented to oversee the Amber Plains in their stead in exchange for fealty and fair tithe, they did not offer such consent with holdings twice that size in mind.

"In light of this change, we wish to reaffirm our loyalty, to demonstrate our awe and fear of Imperial might, to give our gratitude for the Great Empire's mercy, to offer new gifts and tribute in line with our resources, and to beg counsel on the Great Emperor's desires in how his holdings should be overseen, should he deign to allow us to continue our stewardship." Now he swallowed, and quickly sipped tea to sate his suddenly dry mouth.

With a broad smile, Karim nodded. "Well, I cannot speak to everything you have mentioned yet, but I can say this: the Houses of the Amber Plains have made a wise choice in sending a well-intentioned emissary. Had every noble in every city in my homeland made the same choice in light of the Grand Empire's overtures..." He trailed off, and then grinned darkly. "Suffice to say there would be a great many more cities remaining in my homeland."

Davai nodded. "It behooves us to learn from the folly of others, and never more so than when the cost of folly is so dear."

"Indeed," said Karim, and there was a momentary and uncomfortable lull in the conversation. Davai looked to Thom for counsel, and the ruffian looked at him and then to the scroll case by his side.

Clearing his throat again, Davai held up the scroll case. "Sir Karim, I bear a written pledge of fealty from the Houses of the Amber Plains, alongside details of our holdings, and a new offer of tribute."

"My deepest thanks, Lord Davai," said Karim, taking the case. He called over the serving girl by the bookshelves and lectern, who took it from him in turn. "I will review it with our scriveners in due time."

Davai looked nervously to his companion once more and then said, "We would also humbly offer some gifts, as the Great Empire has shown us favour by simply offering this meeting." He looked to the bound girl, loaded with bags and boxes like a beast of burden, and felt a cold stab of regret, but continued nonetheless. "With your consent, Sir Karim, I would ask Thom to present these gifts."

Karim laughed warmly. "It would be my pleasure and honour to receive your gifts on behalf of the Emperor. Please, proceed."

"Yes," said Davai, wiping some of the sweat from his brow that had appeared from the warmth of the room. "Thom, sirrah, if you would."

With a flourish, Thom the Brigand unstrapped a finely-carved cypress box from the woman-gift, flipped it open, and began to display the contents.

"Among the first box of gifts is an engraved silver tin filled with a powder of mushrooms and antimony which is known to induce waking dreams, an enameled brooch which was made by the Gauls in ancient times, an alchemical treatise on that which can create a solution of gold, a relic of Saint Peter..."

Thom continued in this vein for some time, methodically displaying the contents of the dozen-odd containers attached to the woman-gift until she was bound but unburdened. He displayed jewels and gems, potions and tinctures, ancient heirlooms and war trophies, spirits infused with the essence of cherries, lambskin-bound tomes filled with painstakingly translated works from the Ancient Romans, old and secret maps.

The collection had been pulled together over months at great expense, and had already led to strife and bloodshed between the noble houses. A dark grin almost spread across Davai's face at the thought: such a collection would pale against the curiosities room of a moderately successful merchant of Mesopotamia, and to the Mughals these items would mean little more than children's toys.

Karim watched the display with mild interest, and clapped his palms together at the conclusion. "Lord Davai, I am an honest man, and I eschew mistruth wherever my fealty does not demand it," he said, "so I am afraid you must know this: my masters will most likely treasure the spirits more than anything else in this collection."

"I cannot fault their taste," said Davai wryly, "I am rather partial to them myself."

A belly-laugh from Karim carried around the room. "Quite so! In truth, you have provided one gift without knowing it--you have outdone several local rulers who claim more wealth than your noble houses but delivered a more impoverished offering than this. Such knowledge may earn favour with my masters, though I am not sure it will help your popularity among the wider local nobility, and as I said before, they will be glad to indulge in your spirits!"

Thom openly leered at a serving girl as she brushed pastry crumbs away from Karim's lap, and licked his lips. "I can think of some things they would prefer to indulge in."

"Yes, you spoke of them at great length on the journey here," said Davai acidly. "I'm not sure there is a single foul desire in your heart that didn't pass your lips over the course of the week."

Thom glared at him contemptuously. "I beg your pardon then, had I known you were not a noble lordling but instead a novice from the abbey, I would have been more circumspect."

"Address me as my station demands, brigand!"

Thom bared his teeth for a moment, and then muted his expression. "I apologize, Lord Davai. I spoke out of place."

"Yes. Remember that place, Thom the Brigand, or I will remember to make you remember."

They stared at each other for a moment before a noise returned them to their surroundings, and they both looked to see Karim snickering at them. Thom coughed awkwardly, and Davai's guts twisted with embarrassment. "My dear guests, please," said Karim, gesturing grandly, "I am keenly aware of the boredom and stresses inherent to long journeys. I implore you to accept a neck massage from the serving girls, you will feel like new men afterwards." He snapped his fingers. "Tabitha, Bahar, Mido, if you would."

Before he finished speaking, three serving girls appeared and slunk behind the men. Davai could not help but give a start as he felt soft hands on his shoulders, a gentle breath in his ear, and warm bosoms pressed against his back.

"I am Bahar, my lord," purred the girl, in a thick Persian accent. "May I begin your massage?"

Thoughts of continence, piety, and guilt swirled within Davai, and he froze. "Ah--"

"Dear guests," groaned Karim, already enjoying his massage, his voice so deep it was almost a croak, "my delightful girls are skilled beyond reproach, and they will take care of you completely. Take any offer from them as freely you would from me."

Davai did not need to be reminded to accept all and any hospitality from their host. He turned his head until he could see Bahar's veiled face out of the corner of his eye. "Yes--" he swallowed, "--yes, you may begin."

With a soft giggle, she ran her palms along the width of his shoulders, pressed, and Davai felt a shiver of warmth quite unlike anything he had felt before. Fingers played over his muscles and the sensation grew stronger still, a buzz of pleasure that seemed to both relieve his muscles and invigorate them. He bit his lip, stifling the urge to moan, but as he noticed Karim's contented humming and some kind of... gurgling coming from Thom, he let out a coo of delight and fell back into Bahar's skilled hands.

Pleasure mixed with pain in a way that seemed to intensify both at once as she worked her thumbs over a spot by his shoulder blade. "Were you injured, lord?" she murmured in his ear.

"Mhm." He had closed his eyes without even realizing it. "A jousting tourney."

Her lips brushed his ear for the briefest of moments, and he felt it glow red with heat. "Do you joust, lord?"

He nodded, his neck feeling unusually smooth as he did so. "Poorly."

The girl giggled and resumed her work. Davai worried that he would fall asleep, but as the massage continued the deep relaxation turned into something light and springy, and he felt more awake than he had done in several days at least. He opened his eyes again to take a drink of tea, which another girl had refilled at some point, and saw the two other men with dazed, slack expressions. Karim wore it well, appearing deeply contented, but it made Thom look quite demented.

As the three men roused from their dazed states, they each found their eyes drawn to the one person sitting at the table who did not have a serving girl behind them. Karim looked upon the woman-gift and observed, "I have travelled far and wide, but I do not recognize this breed of pack mule you have brought along."

"Mhm!" Thom jolted himself to attention. "Sir Karim, I lost myself so deeply in displaying the gifts she carried that I missed one gift entirely. She is to be yours, to serve the Great Empire in whatever way is most pleasing."

Karim appeared to mull this over. "I see. Might I ask who she is?"

"Her name is Justyna, and she is the fairest and most beautiful woman in all our lands," said Davai. The sensations of the massage could not touch the hollowness he felt inside as he spoke, and he hoped at least that the hollowness had not crept into his tone.

"A delight indeed, then." Karim ate a slice of apple, and then said, "I admit, such a heavy veil had me expecting something rather plain. Might I gaze upon her?"

With a nod, Thom moved behind the bound woman and untied the ropes that fixed the veil to her head. He removed the veil without ceremony, and returned to his seat. He grinned, Davai felt something ache inside his chest, and Karim beamed at the sight.

The sweat on her brow nor the tears on her cheeks nor the grease in her hair could detract from her beauty. Her eyes were a pale blue, her cheeks full and dotted with freckles, her copper-red hair was soft as any silk, and she had an unearthly air to her, like a captured nymph. She remained silent; a second, smaller gag had been underneath the cleave gag formed by the veil and rope the entire time. This gag was formed of two pilfered silken handkerchiefs, one balled up and stuffed between her lips, the other wrapped around her head and mouth to keep the first in place. Unbeknownst to all but the woman and Thom the Brigand, the handkerchief in her mouth had been doused liberally with Thom's male seed before being forced between her lips. She stared forward into space, exhausted on every level.

For the first time since the meeting began, Karim appeared genuinely impressed. "A true beauty indeed," he said softly. "Pray tell, is she of noble birth?"

Davai shook his head. "There are many striking noblewomen in the Houses of the Amber Plains, but none so enchanting as her."

"I see." Karim straightened up and looked directly at Davai. "I must inform you, if you intend to give this woman over as a gift, she will be received as a slave."

Davai opened his mouth to speak, but Karim held up a hand. "I beg you, heed me well before you speak further. To sell a slave is one matter, but to gift someone into slavery is another matter entirely. It is the custom of my people that before a slave can be given away, the giver must be wholly aware of what such slavery will entail."

For a moment Davai said nothing, and then he nodded. "What, then, would such a thing entail, Sir Karim?"

"The first detail is that she will become a serving girl for a harem. This is without question. The second detail is that this will require training and induction, both of which will be severe and intensely taxing. The third detail is that any serving girl--but especially one of such beauty--may be bartered on to another harem. She might never see her homeland again." Karim sipped his tea, set it down, and continued. "Finally, I counsel you to ask the girls how they became part of the harem. If your Justyna becomes a slave, her experience may be different in the detail, but not in the broad strokes."

The hollow feeling grew stronger, but Davai willed himself to push it down inside him. He heard a high giggle, and looked at the serving girl who had draped herself over Karim's shoulders. "Lord Davai, I am Tabitha,” she said. “Would you like to know how I became a serving girl?"

(Part 3 here: https://writefinch.tumblr.com/post/641949398777102337/the-princes-offering-pt3-cn )

[goldenworldsabound]

Last Night Under The Stars

After Golden and Kabu finally find a Sizzlipede den and Golden catches it, they spend one more night out in the wild area together. They get to sharing stories about the things they’ve experienced. Content warning: none, word count: 1902

With a new Sizzlipede pal in hand (or, in Poke'ball as the case may be), Golden and Kabu were bringing their wild area expedition to an end. They would spend one final night together in the wild area before making the trek back to Motostoke tomorrow.

With dinner out of the way and the sky mostly dark, Golden found herself sitting on a log next to Kabu, a campfire glowing in front of them. Despite the exhaustion of the day, she felt like she wanted to make the most of the remaining time with Kabu. But how? She turned to look at him, thinking. As if feeling her gaze, he looked back at her, smiling a little.

"I've never been to Johto." Kabu said after a moment, as Golden scrambled and failed to find a topic. "Is that where you're from?"

Golden nodded. "Yeah. Ecruteak, specifically. That's where I grew up." She leaned back, smiling up at the sky.

"Ecruteak is a sort of...cultural epicenter with regards to legendary Poke'mon, is it not?" Kabu asked, gazing at her intently.

"You could say that. It's steeped in tradition and legend. The Burned Tower and the Bell Tower, tied to the three legendary dogs, as well as Ho-oh and Lugia." Golden rattled those off without effort. "People come from all over to try and gain the attention of the legendary beasts, and Morty, the gym leader, has a long standing desire to meet Ho-oh."

The way Golden said that last line, Kabu felt she was leaving something out.

"Have you?" He asked bluntly.

"Have I? You mean, met- heh." Golden grinned, looking away again. "When you ask me that directly it's hard not to be honest with you." She closed her eyes before meeting his gaze again. "I have. I've met them all."

"..." Kabu was shocked. He had expected from her reaction that she had met one of the legendary Poke'mon she'd mentioned. But all of them? That was... "You must be a very special person." He finally said after a moment of silence.

"Hm." Golden was still smiling. "That's what the legends would say. Don't let that spread around too much though." Her smile turned apologetic.

"Of course. Would it be...rude of me to press you for more information?" Kabu asked, quirking his brow with a wry smile.

"Ha. I'll allow it this time." Golden looked thoughtful. "Well, how about this. You have any run-ins with a legendary Poke'mon?"

"I was still in Hoenn for the incident with Groudon and Kyogre." Kabu admitted, internally wincing at how he'd aged himself with that statement. "I remember it well."

"Oh, wow." Golden blinked at him. "I was...I was young, for that. I hardly remember much, other than hearing about it on the news. Alright then," She grinned. "I'll tell you about one of my encounters, and you tell me about one of yours. Which one, then?" Her grin turned sly as she turned the question onto him.

Kabu looked thoughtful. "Suicune." He requested after deliberation.

"Good choice." Golden steepled her fingers for a moment as she thought. "I first saw Suicune in the Burned Tower as a child. I wasn't supposed to be in there." She chuckled. "But I wasn't a very obedient child. The real reason I went in was...I thought I heard...crying? Whimpering?" She shook her head. "I was trying to find a safe way down to the bottom floor, when I fell." She still remembered that terror. Her Mareep and her Eevee had both called out to her in a panic, but they'd been powerless. "That was when Suicune appeared. Suicune caught me on it's back."

Then came the moment she would never forget. She'd slid off it's back, and held out a hand. Suicune had headbutted her hand affectionately. Then, it motioned towards a ladder, gesturing for her to go. She climbed up, Suicune watching from below to make sure she made it up safely. With the encouragement of her own Poke'mon, and Suicune matching her from below, she carefully made her way back to the entrance. Once she was safely in the entrance, Suicune had gracefully jumped up to join her. A rumble came from it's throat. And then, as silently as it had appeared, it had run out of the tower, going out of sight at an incredible speed.

No one else had seen Suicune that day, Golden learned.

"Ah, that was also when I met Haunter." Golden added. "Well, Gastly at the time." She smiled, glancing over at her shadow, which seemed to vibrate in response. "He followed me out, though I didn't realize for quite some time."

"That is an incredible story." Kabu replied, voice genuine.

"It is. I could have died that day, if not for Suicune." Golden wasn't done yet, though. "Once I grew up and took on the gym challenge, I saw Suicune intermittently on my journey. I felt that it was trying to tell me something. And in the end, I met it again in the Burned Tower."

Golden went quiet. That was too personal to share, the reunion between the two of them. The way that they had battled. The way that Suicune had given her a chance to capture it, but she had refused. I will see you again. She had said. This masterball doesn't need to contain you for you to be my friend. And then Suicune had left. She hadn't seen it since. But she knew in her heart she would, one day.

She didn't realize she'd put her hands over her heart, gazing into the fire distantly as she recalled her memories. Kabu's hand on her shoulder stirred her back to the current.

"Thank you for sharing that with me." Kabu bowed his head. "I was already impressed with you from how I've seen you battle, but if you impressed Suicune, you must be even stronger than I know."

"Heh. One of these days we'll have to fight with both of our full teams. You ain't seen nothing yet." She joked, winking. She yawned, blushing a little. Ugh, it was late, wasn't it? But she felt anything but ready to sleep.

She tensed briefly as she felt Kabu slip his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to lean against him a little. Her face warmed as she heard him laugh, his body shaking a bit against hers.

"I'll take you up on that sometime." He smiled down at her. "I've wanted to visit Johto myself." Golden felt momentarily lost in his gaze. "Did you want to go to sleep?"

"N-no!" Golden objected vehemently, flushing deeper. "I mean, I'm a little tired, but I'd like to hear your story. That's only fair, right?"

Kabu laughed softly. "Of course. You can rest your head on my shoulder, if you'd like, while you listen."

Swallowing, Golden nodded, before shifting to let her head rest on his shoulder as he'd suggested. It was comfortable to be touching him like this. She was glad the firelight was low, hopefully hiding her blush a bit.

"Thanks...a-anyway, go ahead with your story."

Kabu hummed thoughtfully. "I grew up in Lavaridge town. I was still there when Team Magma and Team Aqua had their dispute that rocked the entire region." His tone was wry as he spoke. Team Magma and Team Aqua had goals that were hard to comprehend. And yet, they had had the power to almost decimate an entire region. Kabu breathed in deeply, Golden feeling his chest expand with the motion. He exhaled.

"When Team Magma tried to raise Groudon from Mt Chimney...it was terrifying." Kabu frowned. "It had long been rumored that Groudon lay dormant inside the volcano, but...no one had ever tried to awaken it. The ground shook, and we thought the volcano might erupt."

"I went up to the top of it, to see if I could put a stop to Team Magma. But two young trainers were already handling it. By the time I got there and figured out what was going on, they'd fought down Team Magma and stopped the volcano from erupting." Kabu was quiet for a moment, recalling the vivid memories.

After a moments hesitation, Golden wrapped her arms around his torso, closing her eyes as she hugged him. Whereas her story had been a tale of personal growth, Kabu's was one of fear and terror. Blinking, he looked down at her, smiling gently before diving back into his tale. She felt him squeeze her arm reassuringly.

"And then, of course, when that storm began from Kyogre and Groudon fighting...many of us went to the top of Mt Chimney. The storm clouds over the ocean were visible even from the mountain." He shivered involuntarily. "The blows they were exchanging were visible as flashes. It was a great power. It was even raining up on the volcano." The sound of droplets hitting the lava, hissing as they evaporated instantly, had been almost deafening at that time. "And then- Rayquaza descended from the clouds." He gazed into the crackling fire. "I was awed. I couldn't tell what it was that Rayquaza did. But the clouds and the rain began to fade away, and the legendary Poke'mon disappeared out of sight before long." He laughed a little. "I don't think I'll ever forget that image. The long, green dragon descending from a beam of light. It was almost too heavy handed." The last line was a joke, accompanied by a wry smile.

"Legendary Poke'mon are kind of just like that." Golden added with a grin, pulling her arms back to her chest, even though she remained resting against Kabu. "That's an incredible experience too."

"Hm. Yes. We were very lucky to have the trainers who put a stop to it by involving Rayquaza. But it was a reminder of just how powerless I was." Kabu admitted, biting his lower lip ever so slightly. "That was what really kick started me to pursue my dream of becoming a gym leader."

"I can imagine." Golden replied softly, afraid to disturb the vulnerability he was showing. She gazed up at him tenderly, blushing as he looked back down at her. Throughout his story he'd been watching the campfire flames. Now his intense gaze was turned to her, and she felt unable to look away.

"Nonetheless. It's not as impressive as meeting a legendary firsthand." He teased, squeezing her arm again. "Very few people can lay claim to that sort of experience. Let alone multiple legendaries."

Golden looked away awkwardly, clearing her throat. "Yes, well...that doesn't mean I'm better than anyone else, or anything like that. And who knows," She couldn't help but smile. "Maybe if you visit me in Johto, you'll get to meet them too."

"That would be wonderful - legendaries or not." Kabu replied with a grin. Golden yawned again. Kabu laughed a little. "I think you really ought to get to sleep. We have a long day back to Motostoke tomorrow."

"Mm, yes, I suppose so..." Golden admitted reluctantly. "I'll get up in just a minute..." Her cheeks burned with her thinly veiled attempts to remain like this a little longer. But Kabu seemed happy to humor her, or perhaps he was enjoying the moment just as much - she couldn't keep her eyes open, much less judge his response. They sat in comfortable silence for longer than they should have.

[buckleysjareau]

you feel like the perfect escape now

"In the symbolic language of jewels, a sapphire in a wedding ring means marital happiness."

or

Eddie planning his proposal with the help of Hen and Karen. Featuring good ol' Buck and Chimney banter, soft and in love boyfriends, and tooth rotting fluff.

part two of three in my series ‘cause i’m not too far and you’re my favorite place on ao3

Eddie Diaz was never the type of guy to actually think about marriage. He’ll sound horrible saying it, but he didn’t really think about his marriage to Shannon. He loved her, he’s loved her since their third date when they were caught in the rain and instead of freaking out, she grabbed Eddie’s hand, dragged him out from the shelter and spun them around, head falling back in happy, care-free laughter. He loved her when she told him, with tears in her eyes, that she was pregnant. He loved her as she walked down the aisle with a grin on her face, carelessly happy. He loved her when she gave birth to their world.

But he never thought about it as it happened. When she’d told him she was pregnant, after he got over the initial excitement, his first thought was oh, we should probably get married now. Before that, it never occurred to him that he would ever marry Shannon, even though he loved her.

It was different with Buck.

Realizing he wants to marry Buck, not because he should but because it’s the only thing he can think of when he goes to sleep at night and when he wakes in the morning. He realizes the difference in the thought when it comes to planning his proposal to Buck and how he treated Shannon’s proposal.

He loved Shannon, but he was never in love with her. The thought sends an uncomfortable amount of guilt through him, but he hears Buck’s voice in his ear saying, you can’t help who you fall in love with.

Not exactly what he meant when he said it but it helped Eddie shake a lot of the guilt.

He was wholeheartedly, one-hundred percent, completely, utterly and stupidly in love with Evan Buckley.

The second it struck him how much he not just wanted, but needed to marry Buck, he couldn’t wait a second longer to start planning it. 

The first thing he has to do before he even starts planning anything, though, is ask Christopher if he would be okay with him marrying Buck. He knows his kid loved Buck more than life, but sometimes he’s scared that Chris will think that if he marries him, he’ll be replacing Shannon.

When it happens that Buck and his schedules don’t line up, he takes Christopher to lunch at his favorite place and asks. 

“Christopher, can I ask you a really important question?”

He giggles when his son looks up from his triple chocolate pancakes with whipped cream and chocolate already covering his mouth. “What is it, dad?”

“Abuela’s gonna kill me for letting you order all of this sugar.” He shakes his head as he smiles before he clears his throat. “You know how before Buck and I got together, I asked what you’d think about it?”

“I said I loved my Buck and got really excited.”

“That’s right! Well, Christopher, how would you feel if I asked your Buck to marry me?”

Chris’ smile grows immediately. “You’re gonna marry Bucky?”

“If that’s alright with you.” He smirks.

“Yes! Yes!” 

His heart soars. He was really going to ask Evan Buckley to marry him. 

After he texts Hen for her help and the twenty texts he receives of her freaking out in the language of keyboard smash, he tries to plan it. Keyword: tries.

From Hen;

Alright, alright diaz-buckley, how do you plan to do this

To Hen;

I have no clue!!! That’s why i asked for your help to research and what not. I’m not Buck, i’m not good at research or whatever

Also

*future diaz-buckley, we’re not married YET

From Hen;

boy... you’re in love in love huh

Your boy is sitting right across from me 

*photo attachment*

What’s he smiling at eddie?

To Hen;

Probably dog videos 

Now helllllppppppppppppp

From Hen;

You were right. A golden retriever looking at videos of golden retrievers

Patient, diaz! 

Got a call, we’ll talk later

To Hen;

Tell buck to be careful!

You too obviously

bu t you know what I mean 

He doesn’t know why he thought he could get anything done regarding the proposal through text. That’s how Hen and him were, they had never been able to stay on one conversation at a time when texting. There was one time when Hen had asked him for a recipe Buck wouldn’t give her, followed by a text about a playdate with Denny, and a text asking his high score in Candy Crush. He responded to say he’d ask him and send it and continued the conversation. Talk of playdates turned into talks of weirdest calls, talk of high scores in Candy Crush turned to talk of modern technology and so on. By the time Hen stopped responding, presumably because Karen got home, Eddie realized he’d never given her the recipe. 

It was different in person, they could sit for hours and talk about the same thing. He cherishes any conversation with Hen, though. He cherishes their friendship so much. Next to Buck, Hen was his best friend. 

That’s why he couldn’t think to ask anyone better to help him plan the next step in his life with the man that he loves.

From Hen;

Heads up, your boys in a sour mood 

Dont worry though because ik you are!

Im sure a nice cuddle from his soon to be fiance will do the trick

To Hen;

Why shouldnt I worry? An hour ago you sent me pic of him smiling 

Now hes in a bad mood? Something happened

Hennnnnnnnn tell me what happppppennnnnneddddd

What was the call

im bored and worried 

From Buck; 

Can I stay the night? Ill bring wine and chinese <22222

<4444

To Buck;

You okay there babe? Haha

You never have to ask 

Or bribe me with food and alcohol

But i will accept it <3

From Buck;

You know i hate texting don’t judge me!

See you in 10 love love love you <3

Eddie’s worried. Buck practically lived at the Diaz’s, he never had to ask to stay the night and he knew that. All Hen had sent back was the shrug emoji so he was on his own to figure out why.

As promised, Buck walks in ten minutes later with two bags of chinese food and a bottle of white wine. He seemed tense, but when he sees Eddie in his presence, he can automatically see his whole body relax. 

“I hate when we’re not on shift together.” Buck says in lieu of a greeting. He places the wine and food on the coffee table in front of them before he plops down next to Eddie.

He leans into Eddie’s touch, instantly lying his head on Eddie’s chest and closes his eyes.

Eddie smiles down at his boyfriend, automatically moving to run a hand through his curls, wrapping the other arm around Buck’s chest. “Me too. I missed you today. So did Chris.”

“I missed you both like crazy today. I can’t wait to just cuddle up to you and fall asleep.” He mumbles. “You’re my world.”

Even after all of this time, Buck can still make Eddie blush like it’s nothing.

He presses his lips to Buck’s forehead. “And you’re mine.” 

It stays quiet after that until Eddie’s stomach growls, startling Buck into sitting upright in laughter. 

“I think it’s time to eat, huh?” 

“You’d be right.” 

Buck gets up and gets two wine glasses from the kitchen. The way in which Buck walks so comfortably around his home will never fail to bring a kaleidoscope of butterflies to his stomach. He knows where everything is and he knows how everything works and it feels empty when he’s not there. 

Eddie turns on the TV and picks a random station that’s playing reruns of a cop show he’d seen here and there. Eddie and Buck’s legs are interlaced and resting on the coffee table, food in their laps when things settle. The ease on Buck’s face makes him wonder why he was even worried in the first place.

They don’t talk as they eat their food and sip their wine. They just take in each other’s company as they watch what’s on in front of them, perfectly content in just being together. 

Buck’s phone rings from the coffee table. When he lets it ring through to voicemail without even looking at ID, Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the one who said you should answer every phone call because it might be important? Or are you just a clone of my boyfriend?”

Buck snorts. “I know it’s not important.”

It starts to ring again and Eddie sees Maddie’s name flash on the screen. “It sounds important.”

“I promise you it’s not.” 

Then she calls a third time and Buck groans. “Fine, fine. I’ll answer.” 

He doesn’t leave the room, doesn’t make any effort to grab his phone, just sits back and pouts as Eddie hands him his phone. 

He listens to Buck’s side of the conversation closely. He’s talking about not wanting to go somewhere because he doesn’t know if someone is going to be at that place and he doesn’t want to risk it. Hm.

“I was having a nice, relaxing night with Eddie before you called about something you knew the answer to, so if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to get back to that.” He throws his phone onto his lap after he hangs up, then smiles sheepishly. “Any chance you can ignore that?”

“If you don’t want to talk about it right now, that’s perfectly okay. But we do have to talk about it eventually. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you snap at Maddie, so something must have happened.”

Buck cuddles back into Eddie’s chest, revelling in his arm comfortably wrapped around his shoulders. “It’s really not a big deal, Eds. It’s just stupid.”

“Well, lucky for you, I like hearing everything you have to say. Even if it’s stupid.” 

“Did you just boop my nose?” 

“And what about it?”

All Eddie feels is the shaking from Buck’s giggling. “Shit, whoever decided I was good enough to have you in my life is someone I’d like to meet because...man, I love you.”

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Eddie smirks.

Buck hides his face in the nook of his neck. “Stop making me blush.”

“Never.”

It’s quiet again after that until Buck finally talks. “So, uh…”

“Yeah?”

“I got a wedding invitation in the mail today. It’s from my cousin, she’s getting married in Los Angeles so she invited Maddie and me. We get along just fine, always have, but I haven’t talked to her in a few years and now Maddie thinks it’s completely necessary to actually go to her wedding. I just don't know if I want to risk going and have them be there as well, you know?”

“Your parents?”

“Who else?”

“Well think about it this way. If the risk of seeing your parents again was out of the equation, would you want to go?”

Buck sighs. “Of course I would. It’d be nice to see her again and have a good time, but Eds… you know how my parents are.”

It’s true, he did know how his parents were. He remembers when they’d come to Los Angeles when they found out their first grandchild had been born. He remembers how tense Buck had been the entire time, how he let his parents walk all over him and tell him how big of a failure he was like it was a normal day to day conversation. He especially remembers yelling at Buck’s father after a particularly barbaric comment on Buck’s lifestyle. 

He knows why he’d want to avoid his parents, because Eddie would too. 

“Can you bring a plus one?”

“What?”

“Can you bring a plus one to the wedding?” He smiles when Buck nods. “Take me. If your parents are there, I’ll have your back. Plus, your cousin seems nice, I’d love to meet the family that’s not pretentious.”

Buck choked on the wine he’d taken a sip of. “You think Maddie’s pretentious?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely pretentious.” He jokes. “I mean your extended family. You’ve met mine.”

Buck sighs. “Whatever. I guess we’re going to a Buckley wedding. I really did want to see McKenna so you win.”

“I always do.” He grins before he connects his lips with Buck’s and giggles against it when his fingers press against the only ticklish part of his body.

“What? Did that tickle?” Buck gasps. “You said you weren’t ticklish!”

“I’m not!” 

“Mhm.” 

Then suddenly, the wedding worries were long forgotten, tickle war long taking its place. 

“Oooooooh, so you’re going to a wedding with him, huh?” Hen wiggles her eyebrows from where she stands across her kitchen. “That’s gonna be you one day.”

Eddie sighs exasperatedly. “Not if I have nothing planned. I wanna make this special, okay?”

Hen’s face softens. “Anything you do to propose will make it special, honey. You’re Buck’s world, a simple Marry me? would be the most romantic thing in the world to him.”

“Maybe so, but that’s how it was with Shannon. She was pregnant with Christopher so I thought the next logical step would be marriage, but this is different. Buck is different.”

“Alright, alright, let’s get to work, then.” She opens her laptop. “What are some of your favorite things about him?”

Eddie’s face erupts into a look of pure adoration at that question. “Oh, Henrietta, you have no idea what you just got yourself into, asking that. What are some of my favorite things about Evan Buckley? Let’s see… When he wakes up in the morning, he makes this cute little noise when he stretches and it makes my heart fill with joy. He loves Christopher like he’s his own and he never treats him differently. He just has so much knowledge about literally anything. Random facts upon random facts are stored in that beautiful brain of his and whenever he tells me one of these random facts, it’s suddenly the most important thing in the world. He’s so selfless, you know this. When we got together and I still wasn’t sure about being open about my sexuality, he put my fears above his own fear of telling you guys. He’s an amazing cook, so amazing I have a hard time believing that before he joined the one-eighteen the only thing he could cook was ramen. Even if he could still only cook ramen, I’d still love him, we’d just be living off of frozen food. I love the little family we’ve got going on now. I can go on for hours, but I won’t. Any of that help?” 

By the time he was done, Karen was home and trying her hardest not to tease the lovesick man.

“Oh, honey, you’ve got it bad.” Karen giggles. “Buck has it just bad, though.”

Hen clears her throat. “What’s something that’s specific to you and Buck? Christopher, too. You can always propose that way. Doing something and it’ll just come completely unexpected?”

The metaphorical light bulb over Eddie’s head flashes on. “I have it!”

It’s a Friday morning at the firehouse and Eddie finds himself next to Hen, looking over her shoulder as she helps him navigate what needs to be done to propose. 

His eyes travel up to meet his boyfriend’s as he walks up the stairs, and even though his smile is bright as he sees him, there’s bags under his eyes. The second his eyes land on Chimney though, he deflates and rolls his eyes. Chimney has a smug look and Eddie knows he definitely missed something.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Buckaroo.” 

Buck looks over to Hen and Eddie, making an exaggerated face of confusion. 

“Did you guys hear something?” 

Bobby laughs from where he’s at in the kitchen, Hen snorts, and Eddie is grinning, looking between the soon to be brother in laws.

“How mature of you, Evan.” Chimney rolls his eyes. “I just wanna talk about the wedding next week and he keeps rolling his eyes and running away. Eddie, make him stop.” 

Buck scoffs. “You’re sitting here whining and you’re calling me the immature one.” 

“I wouldn’t be whining if you just talk to me for once. I just want more information, who I’m gonna meet, if your parents are coming, c’mon give me something.”

“Alright.” Buck smirks. “For good luck, Egyptian women pinch the bride before the wedding.”

Chimney groans. “What?”

“Engagement and wedding rings are worn on the fourth fingers of the left hand because it was once thought that a vein in that finger leads directly to the heart.”

“That’s beautiful, but I wanna talk about the wedding next week.” Chimney whines.

Eddie is torn between wanting to laugh and being worried about his boyfriend. It’s obvious Chim doesn’t know that this is Buck’s classic mode of deflection, and Buck seems to know this. Eddie can tell Buck is just beginning, too. 

“Seventeen tons of gold are made into wedding rings each year in the United States.”

“Maddie says you would know more about the family that’s going to the wedding, so why won’t you just tell me?”

“Ancient Greeks and Romans thought the veil protected the bride from evil spirits. Brides have worn them ever since.”

Chimney turns to Eddie and Hen, arms out in exasperation, desperate. “Eddie!”

Eddie shrugs his shoulder. “If he doesn’t wanna talk about the wedding, don’t make him talk about the wedding. I’m not gonna make my f- my boyfriend do something he doesn’t want to do.” 

Buck’s too distracted in his minds’ files of facts on weddings to tell Chimney to hear him almost slip up, but Chimney’s got his eyebrow raised and he hears Hen snicker under her breath, nice one. 

Chimney eyes him suspiciously for a moment before he goes back to the problem at hand. “Maddie doesn’t know her cousin all that well, she’s more around Buck’s age, I just want to know what I should expect because I know how the Buckley’s are. Why can’t you just tell me something, man?”

“The most expensive wedding was Sheik Rashad Bin Al Maktoum’s son’s marriage to Princess Salama in Dubai in 1981. It was forty-four million dollars.”

“What about your cousin’s wedding?”

“In the symbolic language of jewels, a sapphire in a wedding ring means marital happiness.”

Before Chimney can ask once more, Eddie cuts in again. “He hasn’t seen anyone in his family in years, why would he know who’s going?”

“Thank you!” Buck sighs and drops next to Eddie, who shuts his laptop so fast it probably would have broken the screen. “I have plenty of more facts about weddings if you want to keep talking about the wedding, though.”

Chimney hears the message it is and sighs. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like talking about your family. I’m just feeling a little anxious here, ya know?”

Buck sighs. “Me too, Chim. But if it helps you any, McKenna is not at all as pretentious and callous as my parents. That’s all I can and want to tell you about though, so please… Let it go.” 

Hen reaches over and places her hand on Buck’s in an attempt of comfort before her soft smile turns to a smirk. “So Buckaroo, why do you know so much about weddings?”

Eddie’s eyes go comically wide. 

“A little late night reading.” He shrugs. 

“Hm.” She turns to Eddie with a smirk when Bobby calls Buck over to help.

Eddie groans softly, resting his head on the cold wood of the dining table. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Three days later, Eddie finds himself at a jewelry shop on Wilshire with Hen and Karen.

“I feel like all of these rings look the same.” He whines. 

“You’ve looked at four rings and this store is huge.” Hen rolls her eyes. “You’ll know when you’ve found the right ring, okay?”

“Will I?”

Karen snorts. “Yes, you will. Trust me, I went through this same thing when I was proposing to Hen. You’ll just know.”

So Eddie keeps looking. He’s completely indecisive as if it’s him that’s going to be wearing the ring, because Buck definitely wouldn’t care about a fancy ring or any ring at all, but Eddie needs it to be special. 

“How about this?” Karen calls from the other end of the store. When Eddie reaches her, she’s pointing at a black band, definitely something he can automatically picture on Buck’s hand. It still didn’t feel right to him, though. He says as much to Karen before he starts searching the glass case in front of them for more. 

He gasps as soon as he sees it. Hen was right about just knowing.

He calls over the jeweler and asks to see it. The second he’s holding it in between his fingers, he can see himself getting down on one knee. He can see it on Buck’s ring finger, shining brightly to everyone Buck proudly shows it to. It’s definitely the ring.

“This is it.” He grins, looking side to side at the women standing next to him and then smiles at the jeweler. 

Karen and Hen squeal loudly. “What is it about this ring, Diaz-Buckley?” 

“In the symbolic language of jewels, a sapphire in a wedding ring means marital happiness.”

[crazybagelbitch]

Non obligatory part 3 and this might not be where you wanted to go with it so obvs ignore if you want! Hen eventually gives in and let’s Chim go home but gets 🤔 when she notices a few hours later that Maddie has pawned a drunker buck off to Eddie and disappeared from the party. Guess who’s knocking on chims door like I know you didn’t ask but.... I couldn’t stop thinking about you

Hen can’t help but laugh a little, albeit with an eye roll, when Maddie semi forces Eddie into being Buck’s chaperone for the night with promises of pizza delivered to the both of them the next day and her “owing him one.” She knows exactly what’s coming, so she sends Chimney a text to alert him to the fact that Maddie Buckley might be showing up at his door sometime within the next hour.

“That was quick,” he murmurs, a hint of a smirk on his tired looking face, before he explains, “Hen saw you give Buck to Eddie and figured you were coming here, gave me a heads up.”

“Ah,” Maddie sighs, shifting her weight back and forth, “I-I know I told you to call me if you needed anything and that you didn’t so you probably don’t need me here, but... I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Are you okay? You didn’t seem okay earlier...”

“I’m okay, Maddie,” he whispers, looking like even he knows it’s not convincing.

“You left before the food was out at the party,” she pouts, “can I maybe come in and order you some Chinese food? Need something in your belly. You look so tired and I know you’ve been stressed and maybe you haven’t been eating too good, too. Maybe that’s why you’re not feeling well, hm?”

She gets the feeling that the not feeling well was just an excuse to leave the party, but still, he looks to off to not be feeling at least a little rundown.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs, but she can tell that he wants her to come in so she more or less pushes her way through the doorway with a huff.

“Want to. Gonna keep you company and maybe even give you some more belly rubs.”

“Maybe?” he asks, his turn to pout.

“If you’re good,” she half-teases, bringing her hand to his cheek, “and not stubborn and let me take care of you.”

“Mmm. Might be worth it for the belly rubs.”

“You’re not nothing to me,” she sighs, looking directly into his eyes, “and how could you ever be? After everything... you’re so good and kind and sweet and I just feel so safe and lo-- well looked after when I’m with you. Not nothing, not nothing at all even though things are just weird right now.”

“Still only a minute?” he asks, and the hesitation in his voice, as if he’s not completely unconvinced that she hasn’t changed her mind and wants to permanently end their budding relationship breaks her heart.

“Only a minute,” she nods emphatically, “now go make me some hot mustard for our Chinese food. Gotta earn those belly rubs.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[thomas-and-the-chocolate-factory]

Thomas and the Chocolate Factory - Chapter 1

A Sanders Sides / Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Crossover

Summary: Remus Duke is the greatest chocolatier of all time, and after living the past few years a recluse, he decides to finally open his factory once again. And it's young orphan Thomas Sanders' dream to win a ticket and get to go! Will he win a ticket? And if he does, will he make it out alive?

Masterpost

----------

Thomas Sanders was an orphan. He’d never known his parents, and had grown up in an orphanage with the many other kids there all his life. The owners of the orphanage, Dot and Larry, weren’t very wealthy. They tried their best to keep the place in good condition and give all the children the care they needed, but with every passing day, it became more apparent that the place was facing problems.

Not all the children realised as the portions of food became smaller at meals. Thomas did. Not all the children noticed as the chocolate they got weekly as a treat changed to be a monthly treat, and then changed again to a yearly one that every kid only got on their birthday. Thomas did. Not all the children noticed as things in the orphanage like the television and furniture were sold and switched out for cheaper, second-hand stuff. Thomas did. Not all the children noticed the look of relief Dot and Larry had when a child was adopted or fostered, as it meant they had one less mouth to feed. Thomas did.

So, Thomas decided to try and help out. He got an after school job doing the paper round. It didn’t earn much, but Dot and Larry were grateful all the same.

His new job meant the boy would have to pass a certain building in his town four times a day. A building that was torture for him to be near.

This building was a chocolate factory. And it was the largest in the world.

Remus Duke, the owner, was like the local town cryptid. Many in the town were once employed at his factory, where he created the most amazing candy inventions in the world. While the Duke brand chocolate bars were the signature item, other creations included ice-cream that would never melt, gum that never loses its flavour, bubblegum that can be blown to enormous sizes without popping, and more! It was incredible!

However, other chocolatiers grew envious of Remus’ booming business and ability to create things seemingly impossible. So, they sent in spies to go undercover and learn Remus’ secrets. Soon, Slugworth was releasing the ice-cream that never melted, Fickelgruber was selling gum that never lost its flavour, and Prodnose was selling the bubblegum that could be blown to enormous sizes! Remus, panicked, fired all his workers and closed his factory forever.

Forever didn’t last very long.

One day, smoke was coming from the chimneys again. Duke products were being sold at candy stores once more. Remus’ ex-employees raced to the factory, hoping to be given their jobs back. But Remus never came out from the factory to announce his return. Ever since its closure, no one had ever gone in, and no one had ever come out. No one knew who his new workers were. Apparently, shadows appeared in the windows, but no one could ever make them out.

Thomas would give anything to go into that factory. The place had fascinated him ever since he first heard the story of it. He wanted to know how Remus created the things he did, he wanted to know who the workers were, and he wanted to have the chance to try all of the Duke products he could. The only thing he’d ever tried were the chocolate bars he got for his birthday.

That’s why it was torture for him to walk past. As he walked from the orphanage to school, from the school to the news office, from the news office to the houses subscribed to the paper, and from those houses back home, he’d pass those large gates and the smell of warm sweet chocolate would flood and override his other senses. His stomach would growl hungrily, and he’d shuffle by slowly, imagining he were eating it as well as smelling it.

Torture. But blissful torture. It was his method of escapism.

One that he really needed as food portions got smaller and smaller.

One night, he’d been getting ready for bed. Larry came into his room to say goodnight, only for Thomas to speak before he could. “Larry? How much longer will you be able to keep the orphanage open? And where will we go when it closes?”

Larry sighed. He walked over, sitting on the end of Thomas’ bed. “... We don’t know how much longer. But there’s an orphanage in the next town over with a lot of spare rooms and in much better condition. They’ve agreed to take you all in when the time comes.”

Thomas nodded solemnly. “Okay… What about you and Dot? What are you going to do?”

“Dot’s probably going to go back to teaching. As for myself… I’m not that sure yet. But we’ll make do. You don’t need to worry, Thomas.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“We’ll miss you too, Thomas. But it’s okay. We’re not closing this place just yet. Now get some sleep, you have school tomorrow.”

“Okay… Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Thomas. See you in the morning.”

Thomas buried himself under his thin blanket as Larry stood up, flicked off the lights, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Thomas’ eyes drifted to the window. There in the distance was the Duke factory, and the sky above it was filled with stars. And one of said stars was a shooting one, firing across the sky. As he saw it, Thomas wished with all his might that some good luck would come his way. That something would save the orphanage. That he’d get a new life and not have to go hungry anymore.

-

“I’m home!” Patton Gloop called through the bakery as he stepped inside. Only he shouted in German, obviously, given he lived in Germany.

His mother, Harley Gloop, poked her head through the doorway behind the counter that led to the kitchen. “Pat! Perfect timing, I just put in some cookies in to bake for you. I made an extra batch of dough with no eggs so you could eat it.”

Patton grinned, dropping his school bag. He ran behind the counter and into the kitchen, going right over to the bowl and digging in with the spoon. Mm, it was so good! He really needed this…

Patton hadn’t had the greatest day at school that day… He’d had PE, his least favourite lesson.

Patton was fat. He knew the word had bad connotations, but he didn’t think it should. He liked his body!

Well… he tried to. But it was hard to stay positive when no one else seemed to like his body.

He didn’t get bullied necessarily, but… People would tease him, call him nicknames like ‘butterball’, ‘chubs’ and things like that. He knew most people meant it in an endearing fun way, but it could still hurt sometimes.

However, one person who always meant for it to be taken seriously and hurtfully: his PE teacher. The guy was a… was a b-hole.

I know, it sounds very harsh, but it’s true. Due to Patton’s weight, he decided to force him to work a lot harder than any of the other kids. Patton would have to do exercises double time, put all the equipment away after the lesson on his own, sprint when the other students were told to jog, and jog when other students had to walk, and multiple times had been worked to the point he was physically sick. One of his best friends, Terrence, often found himself knelt beside him, comforting him as his breakfast came back up.

Little did Mr Wyatt, the PE teacher, know, said actions just enabled Patton and made him eat more. Because that’s what Patton did when sad: eat! It made him feel so much better; the delicious tastes distracted him from the bad feelings and made him feel bright and happy! Which is why he was so happy to be having this delicious cookie dough.

“So, honey, how was your day?” Harley asked, finishing up icing a cake to put in one of the display cases for the next day.

“It was good.” Patton didn’t like telling his mum what happened to him in PE. It would make her sad and angry, and he didn’t want to feel the bad feelings he did. “Terrence and I were talking about having another sleepover soon! I’m on snack duty as usual. I know both our favourites, after all. I think it’s going to be at Terrence’s this time.”

“You know what date yet?”

“Not yet. Hopefully soon, I can’t wait!”

Harley smiled, kissing his head as she passed him, taking the cake to the front of the store. “Why don’t you take that dough up with you to the apartment, get in your onesie and pick out a movie. Once the cookies are done, I’ll bring them up and we’ll watch it together.”

“Okay!” Patton picked up the bowl, running upstairs to his and his mother’s flat above the shop. It was small, but neither of them minded. It was all the two of them needed, and they were happy in it. He put the bowl down on the coffee table, before running to his room. “Hey, Toby!”

Toby, Patton’s dog, yawned awake from where he was curled up in his bed. Patton gave the dog a quick hug before going to his wardrobe and pulling out his grey cat onesie. Once he’d changed into it, he whistled for Toby to follow him, before leaving the room, returning to the lounge. He scooped up another spoonful of cookie dough, before going over to the DVD shelf.

“Hm… which one…?”

Patton looked over them a little longer, before smiling and pulling a DVD from the shelf. Winnie the Pooh was his favourite movie, but this was his favourite documentary. Well, by ‘favourite’, I mean the only one he actually liked and was interested in. It was all about the Duke factory, detailing the rise, fall and resurgence of it. Though, Patton didn't care much for the mystery side of the factory’s history. He just liked watching the candies, sweets and chocolates being produced. It looked so delicious, and always made him desperate to go out and buy a bunch of Duke chocolate - it was his favourite, after all.

Patton ran to the TV stand, putting the DVD into the player, before returning to the sofa. Toby immediately jumped up and curled up on his lap. Patton petted the dog’s head, before picking the bowl of cookie dough back up and digging back in. Soon, it was empty. With perfect timing, his mother came in holding a plate of cookies just as Patton put the bowl back on the coffee table. Harley sighed, smiling, as she saw what DVD Patton had chosen. “Why am I not surprised…?”

Patton giggled, taking a cookie from the plate. “You know how much I love Duke chocolate; it’s the best ever!” He smiled, turning back to the screen and pressing play on the remote. “I’d give anything to get a lifetime supply or see inside, or anything like that.”

That would be nice. Maybe, if he got to go and see inside, he wouldn’t be picked on anymore because everyone would want to be his friend to hear his story of what’s inside. Or, if he got a lifetime supply, everyone would want to be his friend so they could have some.

Either way, he’d get a lot of friends. And that would make him happy.

-

“Daddy, I’m home!”

Roman Salt called through the mansion as he stepped inside, the butler having let him in after driving him home from school. He pulled off his fur coat and handed it to said butler, waiting for his father to come in and greet him. He waited… and waited… and-

There were the footsteps. He turned to the person coming into the entrance hall, and his face soured. It was neither of his parents. Instead it was his nanny, Pryce.

“Welcome home, Roman. Now, I-”

“Where’s my father?”

Pryce sighed. “Roman, your father is on a very important business call in his office, and it will probably last for the rest of the day, so-”

“The rest of the day?!” Roman almost screeched. “My performance is tonight! He’s seriously missing it?!”

“Yes, he is. I’m sorry, Roman, but I’ll be taking you in-”

“This is unfair, he’d better be able to properly make it up to me! If not I’ll SCREAM!”

Before Pryce could respond, Roman was storming off in the direction of his dad’s office. Pryce chased after him, calling for him to stop and calm down, but Roman’s temper was a fire that could not be put out. He slammed open the door, causing his father, Romulus Salt, to almost jump out of his chair.

“YOU AREN’T COMING TO MY SHOW?!”

Romulus muttered to himself, before turning to his laptop. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He muted the call, before standing and turning to his son. “Roman, let me explain-”

“DON’T! I don’t want to hear an excuse! What I want is retribution!”

Romulus sighed, knowing what was coming. He put on a smile. “I’ll get you whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Good! I want a horse. Valerie said she got one for her birthday, and they’re so much better than my stupid ponies. She may be my best friend, but I cannot let her show me up. Also, I would like a new mink coat - the fur’s getting all matted on my current one.”

“Of course, my little pri-”

“I’m not done! I want you to get a professional dressmaker to make me personal, high quality replicas of all the Disney Princess dresses. They need to be good, not like some cheap dress-up thing from a Disney store.”

“Okay, Ro, I’ll make sure you get all those things as soon as possible.”

“...Good.” Roman turned and left the office, head held high, the smuggest possible look on his face.

Once the door was closed, Romulus sighed in relief. Peace and quiet, once again. He took a moment, enjoying the calmness, before sitting back down behind his desk. He unmuted himself from the call, and returned his focus to business.

Roman, on the other hand, found Pryce once again, and gestured for him to follow him to his room. “I need to look my best for the show tonight, I need you to do my makeup. BUT!” He turned on his heels, glaring up at his nanny. “If you ruin any of my palettes, lipsticks,  anything … I’ll make sure daddy has you fired.”

Pryce nodded. “Of course. I’ll be very careful, Roman, I promise.”

“You’d better hold to that promise.” Roman led the way into his bedroom, sitting down at his dressing table, which was laden with more makeup than most people would buy in a lifetime. “Right, I’m playing a prince, so I need to look as handsome as possible, obviously - though to be fair, you don’t really need to do much to make that the case. A red and gold colour scheme is best, as my costume is white, red and gold. Make sure it’s bold enough to stand out on stage, but not to the point where it’s too unnatural and weird looking.”

Pryce nodded, already planning out the look in his head. Thanks to working with Roman for so long, he was an expert at creating very high quality makeup looks and then applying them fast. The boy had very high standards, and Pryce knew if he didn’t meet them, he would be fired. And he couldn’t let that happen - the pay was extremely good. So, Pryce had to bring out his skills now, and make sure not to comment on how extreme Roman’s makeup request was for what was just an amateur school play performed by a bunch of ten and eleven year olds.

Well, Roman did like to stand out and be the centre of attention.

Eventually, Pryce finished. He stepped back as Roman turned to his mirror. Pryce waited with bated breath, before Roman hummed. “It’s acceptable.” He picked up a hairbrush and hairspray, handing them to Pryce. “Now do my hair. It needs to be neat, and enough hairspray to hold all evening, but not so much that it will take ages to wash out.”

Pryce held back a sigh, starting to brush Roman’s hair. ‘Don’t worry, Pryce…’ he thought to himself reassuringly. ‘When you finally put your creative writing degree to good use and write a book and get it published, you can quit and move away...’

Roman raised an eyebrow as he noticed Pryce wasn’t quite focussed. He folded his arms, clearing his throat. When that failed to get Pryce’s attention, his expression soured. “PRYCE! Focus!!!”

Pryce started, face flushing. “S-sorry…” He drew his focus back to what he was doing. When he was done, Roman gave a nod which translated to ‘acceptable’.

Roman stood. “We need to get going if we’re going to get there on time. You packed me a dinner to have at school, correct?”

Pryce nodded. “I’ll go grab it from the kitchen and meet you in the entrance hall.” He held the door open for Roman, letting him past. Roman didn’t thank him, heading down to the entrance hall.

“Butler!” he called. He’d never bothered to learn any of the staff’s names apart from Pryce’s, since Pryce was the one who practically raised him.

The butler came in. “Yes, Master Salt?”

“Get my coat.”

“Which one, Master Salt?”

“Hm… the leopard print one, please.”

The butler nodded, heading to the coat room. Roman’s patience wore thin very quickly, as it usually did. When the butler came back, he snatched the coat. “Took you long enough.” He pulled the coat on. “You’ll need to drive Pryce and I to school. He’ll be here in a minute.”

When Pryce finally came in, Roman snatched the bag that contained his dinner away from him immediately. “Be a little faster next time.” He opened the bag, humming as he looked over its contents. Pasta, garlic bread, and for dessert, a Duke chocolate bar. He nodded. “Acceptable. Now, let’s go!” He turned and left the mansion, Pryce and the butler promptly following.

-

It was all down to this. The teams were tied. The Bayshore Little League team had one batter left. They needed a homerun. Luckily, it was their best player who was stepping up to the plate.

Logan Beauregarde narrowed his eyes at the pitcher, blowing a bubble with the gum in his mouth. He sucked the bubble back in as he raised his bat, gaze focused on the ball in the pitcher’s hand.

The pitcher threw the ball, and as it neared, Logan swung his bat as hard as he could, hitting right on target. The ball was sent flying, and he took off running. He reached first base as the ball had landed and stopped rolling, was at second by the time one of the fielders got to it, reached third as the ball was thrown back near the diamond. It was a race to home base.

He skidded to a stop at the base just before the catcher caught the ball.

Cheers rang out from the home team’s dugout as well as the stand where the team’s family and friends were. Bayshore had won! The team ran out from the dugout, all going into a hug on the field. Logan beamed with pride as his teammates and coach all started cheering him, calling him awesome and the best player. He knew it to be true, but that didn’t change the fact he liked to hear it. However, he knew he couldn’t stay for long; he had somewhere to be. He pushed through the crowd, heading towards the stands, which his dad was coming down from.

“Lo! Oh, you did amazingly, I’m so proud!” Teal Beauregarde smiled, hugging his son close.

“Um, Dad? Hugging… You know I don’t really like hugging…”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Teal pulled away. “But you really did do great.”

“Thank you…” Logan paused, looking around. “Where’s Pa?”

“Oh, he, um…”

Logan sighed. “He didn’t come again?”

“He was probably busy with work. But hey, you know he’ll be really happy when he hears you won!”

“True...”

Teal sighed, trying to think of a way to cheer his son up, before remembering something. “Hey, I ran into Joan earlier. I said maybe they could come round and you two could have a sleepover tonight. We could order pizza, you can watch movies, play video games-”

“Can’t. Busy.”

“Huh?”

“Dad, you know the high school asked me to fill in for a missing member of their mathletes team, and then after that, tonight, I have a chess tournament.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Tomorrow night, then?”

“I have astronomy club, a soccer match and then karate. And before you say the day after, I have robotics club and then ice skating. Now I need to go get changed into my mathlete uniform, Pa’ll probably be here soon to take me there and I need to be ready.”

Logan turned and was about to walk away, when Teal caught his hand before kneeling down in front of him so he was the boy’s height. “Lo, you don’t get too overwhelmed, do you?”

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You do so much in a week, every week. So much extracurricular, so many competitions… Promise me you’ll let me know if it’s ever too much, okay?”

Logan responded with a simple eye roll accompanied with a slightly cocky smirk. “Dad. I’m a world record holding gum chewer; I’ve been asked to fill in for a high school mathletes team when I’m still in the 5th grade; I currently hold the title of the champion of the under elevens national chess championship, a title which I’ll defend tonight; and I could go on with a bunch of my other achievements. Trust me, I can never get overwhelmed by a workload. Remember the motto Pa gave me? ‘Win or die trying’. I’m sticking to it.”

And with that, he turned and walked off towards the changing rooms, blowing a bubble with his gum as he went. Teal sighed as he watched his son leave. He often worried Logan was a little too confident for his own good. Teal wished he had the guts to talk with his husband about what he was teaching their son...

Logan, meanwhile, quickly got changed, before heading back out, only this time leaving the field and going to the sidewalk, where he quickly found his Pa’s car parked. He ran over, before climbing in the passenger seat.

Anton Beauregarde turned to him as the boy climbed in. “Did you win?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good,” Anton nodded. “Still got your gum?”

“Yes, I do.”

Anton nodded again, before starting the car. As he pulled away from the curb, he started talking again. “It’s very important you win this round of mathletes tonight. You need to get through to the quarter finals, since that’s televised.”

“I’m not aiming to get into the quarter finals,” Logan replied. “I’m aiming to win the finals. And before you say it, yes, I’m aiming to keep my chess championship title. Don’t worry, my motivation hasn’t waned.”

His father didn’t respond, so Logan assumed Anton had heard all he wanted to hear. Logan turned, looking out the window, absentmindedly blowing another bubble.

Logan’s pa had always been… hard to please. He wasn’t the affectionate type, a trait Logan appeared to adopt from him over his development. This led to Logan quickly learning that he would gain praise - the closest thing Anton gave to affection - if he made his father proud by being high achieving and being, well, a winner. So, at school, Logan threw himself into academic studies. He quickly climbed to the top of his classes, and started taking academic extracurriculars. It didn’t do much. So, he started going outside of his comfort zones, dipping into different sports. Baseball, soccer, karate, ice skating, gymnastics. Still nothing. So he decided to do something big: break a world record.

Breaking the world record for the longest time spent chewing the same stick of gum was an obvious choice. Logan liked gum - he often chewed it while working to stop himself fidgeting. The current record was only three months, something he knew he could easily beat. So, he went to a candy store and bought a stick of Duke brand gum, specifically the gum that never loses its flavour. Not losing the fruity taste to bland nothingness would make it easier.

Three months and a day later, he was awarded a certificate saying he was now a world record holder, which was hung up in the living room to this day. Anton finally started acknowledging his son’s achievements and started getting more involved in Logan’s life. Logan could have given up gum chewing then… but he’d gotten kind of addicted. And what if someone broke the record and he lost his pa’s respect? So he kept chewing, and hadn’t stopped since.

And he was happy. Yeah… he was happy.

-

“Virgil! Virgil!”

Virgil Teevee’s eyes did not leave the TV. He didn’t even hear the voice calling his name to be fair - he had a headset on, his ears filled with the noises from the game he was playing as well as the voices of the people he was playing online with.

“Shoot, I’m out of ammo…” he mumbled as his character pressed his trigger to no avail. “Can you guys cover me while I try to find more ammo?”

“Sure,” one of the guys he was playing with - Andy - replied. “Also, here. Not much ammo left in it, but it should last until you find more.” Andy’s character dropped a handgun in front of Virgil’s.

“Thanks.”

“VIRGIL!!!”

This time, Virgil heard. He pulled off his headset, before calling, “What?!”

His mother’s voice called back. “We have to get going, come on!”

Virgil immediately paled. “Um… go where…?”

His mother, Linda Teevee came in, pulling on a cardigan. “We have that meeting with your teacher, remember? I reminded you this morning.”

Virgil felt like he was going to be sick. He knew his grades had been dropping. He knew he hadn’t done 90% of the homework assignments that he had been set so far this year. He knew he barely paid attention in class, just sitting in terror that he’d be called on to answer a question. This was going to be the worst meeting with the teacher of his life.

He needed to prepare.

He left the game, turning off the TV, before running upstairs to his room. He pulled on his sneakers first, before he grabbed his largest pair of soundproof headphones, as well as his phone and Nintendo Switch. He plugged the headphones into his phone, started playing music, and turned up the volume. He slipped a game cartridge into the Switch, turning it on, and starting to play. He left his room, heading downstairs, not lifting his eyes from the console in his hands.

This was his plan. This was how he was going to get through this whole evening. Just ignore everything and bury himself in Mario Kart and Animal Crossing and the other games he had for his Switch.

It had worked before, and would likely work again.

Linda didn’t bat an eye as she saw Virgil come in head down, glued to the screen. Over the years, she had gotten used to his apparent gaming addiction. If anything, she encouraged it. His games kept him out of trouble.

Linda remembered when Virgil was younger… He was such a handful! When he was in kindergarten, she felt like she was called in every other day because Virgil had a screaming match that led to him being sick. Then, when he started elementary school, she kept having to come in because Virgil passed out in lesson, apparently due to getting extremely panicked when called on, leading to him hyperventilating and being unable to breathe.

But then he started getting into video games. Suddenly, he was calmer, much more reserved, and kept out of trouble. She didn’t have to come running to pick him up from school on a regular basis anymore.

So, she got him the consoles and games he wanted, and left him to his own devices. She was happy, her son was happy. It was good all around.

“Come on, then, lets go,” she said despite knowing full well Virgil couldn’t hear her. She left the house, Virgil trailing behind. They climbed into the car, before heading off.

Linda didn’t bother to try and start a conversation with her son as they drove up to the school. She knew by now that he always kept his music up so loud he couldn’t hear anyone. 

And she was right. To Virgil, the journey up to school, the meeting with his teacher, and the journey home all blended together. Whatever happened during the meeting, Virgil knew it couldn’t be good, so he purposefully stayed ignorant. When they got home, he wordlessly went up to his room before his mom could try and question him about what was said by his teacher. He turned off his Switch, before getting out his laptop. On it, he returned to the game he had been playing before he left the house.

“Hey, Verge, where’d you go?” Andy’s voice spoke as Virgil turned his mic back on.

“Had some stuff. Doesn’t matter, I’m back now. What’d I miss?”

“Missy choked on his Duke chocolate bar after his brother scared him.”

Virgil chuckled. “Missy, you need to get Pranks under control…”

Missy mumbled incoherently in annoyance, Virgil and Andy laughing.

Talking to his friends online was the best thing, Virgil thought. Even better than having real life friends. Real life friends judge you based on your appearance and popularity. Online, all that mattered was whether you were good enough at gaming, and if you were, boom, you're in a group who’ll invite you to play no matter what. They couldn’t see Virgil and what a mess he could be. All they knew about him was what he told them. And they liked what they knew of him.

And that was good enough for him.

-

To be continued

Feel free to ask if you would like to be tagged!

[writingwiththeghosts]

November (OS)

Sadly, I can’t find the person whom I got the seasonal prompt from. Also, I’m way too late to post. Whatever. I really wanted to get it out there.

All the crossed out words are words one is supposed to use!

________

crisp air

memories

tea time

rainy

carriage ride

star gazing

mysterious

early sunsets

historic

cozy

shooting stars

gloomy

cuddling

scarecrow

gratefulness

stellar constellation

blanket

rainboots

hugs

mist

fireplace

steaming mugs

wind

puddles

moonlight

Thanksgiving

grey sky

smoke

apple cider

lanterns

NOVEMBER

Autumn never arrives on time, yet it always does - at least in the northern hemisphere.

Usually that happens around October, seldom only in November. However, climate change happens to make some changes in the expected seasonal weather, so you may find yourself only in a T-shirt and some jeans, even though the sun sets early already.

Jay coughed. Even though September 23rd had been around two months ago, fall seemed to only arrive now. And Jay was not dressed for the occasion. Why had she decided to walk to her friend’s house from the train station (and where were her rainboots?) - puddles seemed to be everywhere.

The young woman was not one to back down from a self-set challenge, like walking to a friend’s house for one’s health, so she set her head straight and started walking again. A cold wind picked up and suddenly she wished she were in a neighborhood with more regular taxis.

Even though she couldn’t even see the moonlight in the grey sky, likely due to all the mist, a lot of houses were already decorated for christmas and therefore very well lit. Smoke came from the chimneys and it made the whole neighborhood more alive somehow.

Jay wished it was less alive. She kept imagining a black figure creeping up behind her, but every time she turned around, no one was there.

It wasn’t too bad in near all the houses, Jay was more worried about the path she had to take through the fields - no lanterns, many scarecrows… ugh. The whole atmosphere was gloomy, the further she got away from the neighborhood centre.

Suddenly a hand grabbed her arm and Jay’s heart stopped beating for a second. Now it was over, she thought. Then she rammed her elbow into the tall figure behind her and wanted to start running, until she heard a familiar grunt: „Bloody hell…“

Jay turned around and her panicked expression slowly turned into an annoyed one.

„More like, what the hell? You can’t creep up on someone like that!“ „I wasn’t creeping up on someone, I was creeping up on you. You know me.“

Jay scoffed. „Sadly. What are you doing here?“

„Same as you, I suppose. Thanksgiving dinner.“

„They invited you?“

Eric gave her a look. „You don’t seem to be in the holiday spirit. How about a little gratefulness? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the weird people around here.“

Although Jay wanted to punch him (like always when she saw him) he did have a point. Not wanting to admit that, she just shrugged: „Yeah, one is right in front of me. I did think someone was following me, but again, must be you.“

„Don’t flatter yourself. I was taking a cab, but the driver refused to drive further than this village - something about tariff zones -, so I had to walk the rest of the way.“

She contemplated whether or not he was telling the truth, but then again, why would he be following her? Only to show himself now? A cold shower ran down her back. „Fine“, she murmured and turned around. „Let’s go.“

Eric rubbed his hands together and sprinted after her, with a sarcastic „yay!“.

They walked in silence and left the houses behind them and walked on a path next to a corn field. With every step their surroundings were harder to keep apart from each other as it got steadily darker without street lamps.

„I should have just given the driver more money. A little bribe never hurt anyone.“

„Scared?“ Jay raised her eyebrows and tried to put on a cocky voice. He did not need to know how she actually felt.

„No. I just prefer light, warmth and coziness over fog and mysterious woods.“

„We’re in a field.“

„Yeah. In front of woods.“

„Pff.“

„At least it’s not rainy.“

„Hm.“

„Have I done anything to offend you?“

Both parties couldn’t help but chuckle at that statement. It was this unspoken rule between them that they just didn’t like each other. Ever since high school. It might have been over petty disagreements, but there was no reason to change their opinions of each other. At least their banter usually got a laugh out of their friends and (not that they would ever admit it to each other) sometimes made them rethink their actions.

„The question is, what haven’t you done?“ Jay mused and Eric nodded in agreement. Or at least she thought he was, it got darker and darker around them. „However“, she continued, „I agree that it’s a little spooky out here. Therefore, a little conversation can’t hurt.“

„Spooky“, he echoed. „Very mature vocabulary.“

„I’m about to never speak another word.“

„You couldn’t keep your mouth shut to save your life if I said something you disagreed with.“

„Don’t act like you’re above me, or may I remind you of my use of the word spooky?“

He didn’t respond, which might have been due to the harsh wind picking up again. Maybe the fog would finally disappear. Jay shivered and subconsciously closed the space between her and Eric.

„I would give anything for a cab. Or a carriage, that would have been fun“, he mused. Jay turned to face him and shoot him an incredulous look - without much success thanks to the darkness.

„A carriage? Like… the historic mode of transportation with horses?“

„I doubt you’re using the word historic right.“

„How else would I use it?“

Then two separate discussions started at the same time, one about the word ‚historic’ and the other one about whether or not a carriage would make the whole situation even creepier. (It would.)

After that they fell into a comfortable silence, at least until they saw a deer. Well, Jay was certain it must have been a deer, whereas Eric insisted it must’ve been a cryptid of some sort („Will you stop it? Don’t make this worse!“), so they decided to talk about more comforting topics. Like autumn itself.

„You know it’s autumn when the air gets like, really crisp“, Eric stated as an answer to Jay’s earlier thoughts about the seasonal definition. Jay nodded. What he said made sense, in a weird way. „What’s your favorite fall memory?“ he asked her then, sounding almost sincerely interested. So Jay decided to humor him: „Stargazing.“

„Isn’t it like… really cold outside all the time?“ And so Jay told him about stellar constellations, shooting stars and ghost stories around a campfire. And somehow, the more fun they had, the less cold and gloomy their surroundings seemed to become.

After all, when they arrived at their shared friend’s house for Thanksgiving dinner, enjoying tea time with steaming mugs and apple cider around the campfire, cuddling with hugs and blankets, Jay knew what she was thankful for this Thanksgiving.

[stuckwith-harry]

swear to be overdramatic and true

Snow, is his first thought upon materialising behind the apple trees.

Harry Potter draws his wand and slips into view from his Apparition spot, stepping out into the wintry night. A fluffy white blanket has fallen over everything, the grass and the windowsills and the rooftop: the apple trees are all wearing hats.

Above his head, a square of warm, golden light falls from the window that overlooks the garden into the night. Harry’s heart stirs quietly at the sight.

He leaves no trace in the fresh snow on the ground as he makes his way around the cottage to the front door. Auror boots leave no footprints by design, erasing every step behind themselves immediately: by the time he’s slipped through the front door, no sign outside the cottage’s walls betrays he was ever gone.

Harry exhales.

He is extraordinarily lucky, and he knows it: he’s spent most of this mission waiting for something, anything, to go awry like it usually does, for one of the juniors to make a mistake, for the lot of them to walk into a trap, for him to spend the holidays at St. Mungo’s again. Even now that he’s here, looking around at his quiet home, at the enchanted fairy lights floating around the ceiling: it all seems a little too good to be trusted.

It isn’t even midnight yet. Harry bites back his smile for fear of jinxing it.

He slips out of his Auror gear and leaves it in the downstairs bathroom, memories of the mission quickly fading as he sneaks up the stairs in just his t-shirt and boxers. A stripe of gold glowing under James’ bedroom door disappears at the sound of Harry’s approaching footsteps: his eldest hastily pulls his duvet over his head when he pushes the door open.

“Evenin’”, Harry says softly into the room, and James’ scarlet head reluctantly reappears under the pillow, moonlight illuminating his sheepish face. “Not asleep yet?”

“Dad!”, James whispers, folding back the duvet. “You’re back!”

Harry is well aware that his surprise is – at least in part – feigned, but the sheer elation on his son’s face is real: he notices it with a quiet warmth unfurling in his chest.

“And you’re up past your bedtime, I believe.”

“I wanted to wait for you”, James says quickly.

Harry doesn’t bother reminding him that waiting is pointless: for all they knew, he may not have made it back before Boxing Day.

“Christmas Eve, with a little luck”, he told Ginny, hesitant to even voice it to the children.

He never makes promises for a reason. The let-down is so much more devastating when they get their hopes up.

Harry sighs. “Close your eyes. Father Christmas isn’t going to stop by here until all children are sound asleep.”

James rolls his eyes.

“It’s not like I believe in any of that stuff anymore – and Mum took the presents downstairs twenty minutes ago”, he adds, as though that settles the Father-Christmas-matter once and for all.

“Lily still believes it”, Harry reminds him. “Don’t go and ruin it for her, hm?”

“Fine”, James mutters, pulling his duvet back to his chin. “Love you, anyway.”

“Love you, too.”

Harry pulls James’ door shut as quietly as he can and continues down the dark hallway; won’t be able to sleep without this.

Lily is curled up in a mountain of blankets like a kitten, clutching her stuffed Crumple-Horned Snorkack firmly in her little arms. Her night-light is floating by the bed, painting her face in faint red and pink. A string of enchanted fairy lights is wrapped around her bedframe, too, cheerily twinkling in the dark.

Harry lets himself linger, just for a moment: brushes hair out of her slender face and watches her brows furrow slightly in her sleep. Far away in a dream somewhere, he knows. He could parade a real Crumple-Horned Snorkack through her bedroom and she likely wouldn’t wake, but he still tiptoes back to her door and throws one last glance over his shoulder before he leaves. Entirely too peaceful to be true, he wants to think, but stops himself.

Peaceful. Peaceful. Peaceful.

Al’s light is on, too: He’s holding his book to his chest with one arm, the other dangling off his bed in mid-air, mouth wide open as he sleeps. Harry carefully loosens the book from his grip, finds the bookmark on the wooden floor, and places it quietly on Al’s nightstand. He gently tucks both his arms back under the cover and runs his fingers lightly through Al’s unruly black hair, so much like his own.

Al shifts and mutters in his sleep. Harry waits until he has stilled, worried to wake him, and quietly backs out of the room only when Al has resumed snoring. Harry grins as he turns to leave, finally arriving at the last door.

A stripe of gold is falling out into the hallway from here, too: he pushes it open to find Ginny curled up in their king-sized bed, already in her pyjamas, but awake, her nose buried in a copy of Witch Weekly. She looks up at the sound of the door, smile ever more radiant in the half-dark and the glow of her bedside lamp.

“I thought I heard someone climb down the chimney”, she says, beaming at him as he climbs on the mattress next to her, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Hi”, she mutters, raking her fingers through his hair and down his shoulder. A tingle travels down Harry’s spine. “I can’t believe you made it.”

He closes his eyes at her touch, tension falling off him: two cold weeks without her are melting quickly in his memory. “Me neither, honestly.”

Harry spots a tower of presents in the armchair by the window. “Want any help with those?”, he asks, despite being far too content, far too comfortable now, to move.

Ginny hums quietly in response.

“In a bit. I think James was eavesdropping.”

“Oh, he was.”

She chuckles, flicking a page. “I thought it was too quiet. Always a bit fishy when they behave, isn’t it?”

And indeed, a peculiar quiet has got hold of the Potter family home: so strange and unprecedented in its completeness Harry cannot help but strain his ears every once in a while, listening intently for tip-toeing in the hallway, heated whispering: all the tell-tale signs his children have slipped out of their beds.

“I know you can’t sleep now”, she mutters after a few minutes of quiet, Harry’s head still on her shoulder. “Do you just want to hang out?”

She knows him too well, he thinks, some strange, wild gladness swelling in his chest.

It’s a part of coming home: letting go of the hyper-alertness that keeps him alive while he’s out there, of being constantly on edge. Sometimes, when he doesn’t get back until the early hours of the morning, he lies awake next to Ginny and can’t bring himself to shut off. He watches daylight creep over the apple trees through the window, waits for everyone else to wake up and ends up dozing off on the couch in the middle of the afternoon, more passing out from exhaustion than real sleep.

Ginny knows that’s part of the deal.

“Reading sounds good, actually”, he says, lifting his head off her shoulder regretfully to go find his book.

Teddy had, in recent months, taken to devouring adventure novels the size of bricks in a mere matter of days and then spending the weekly family dinners at the Burrow talking rapidly about little else. On one such Saturday evening, Harry had politely asked if Teddy would ever let him borrow one: the smile on Teddy’s face was absolutely brilliant, and Harry has been reading along with him ever since, his godson’s sheer enthusiasm, his joy at having someone to talk to after, impossibly infectious.

They flick through their respective pages in comfortable quiet, Ginny’s fingers drawing absent-minded circles on his thigh as she reads. A spark of warmth prickles at the back of his neck at every lazy scratch on her fingernail.

“I’m having an affair with Neville”, Ginny says as though announcing the weather.

Harry looks up from his novel, blinking at her.

“I thought I was having an affair with Neville”, he says, face plain.

“No, that was last week.”

“I see. Who am I sleeping with again?”

“Hermione. Says so right here on page 12.”

“I better give her a call, then”, he says, returning to his book.

The corners of Ginny’s mouth betray her: Harry grins over at her and she snickers into the magazine, her quiet laughter like waves rolling through his body, her cheek leaning against the top of his head. Warm, liquid bliss fills his chest: her small hand resumes caressing his thigh like she’s not even aware she’s doing it, though he doesn’t doubt she is. He draws in a slow, deep breath, too content to move or even focus much on anything except Ginny, least of all his book.

“You alright?”, Ginny asks after a while, not lifting her eyes off of a five-page article about the drummer of some girl band who’d been photographed snogging the bassist.

“Hm?”

“You haven’t turned your page in, like, ten minutes.”

“’M fine”, Harry mutters, forever startled that it’s truthful, and it is. “Wasn’t she dating some Newcomer Harpy?”, he adds, nodding towards the article.

“Hm-hm”, Ginny says. “Nothing interesting about a quiet, amicable breakup, though. That’s why ours are always really dramatic.”

Harry snorts. “Like I’d break up with you in public.”

“It’s adorable how you think I’m the dumpee in this scenario.”

Harry looks up in mock concern, bumping his foot into her leg. “You’re breaking up with me?”

Ginny hums as though deep in thought. “I guess I could loudly ask you for a divorce next time we want to get out of some horrible Ministry party. Might be fun.”

“Wish you’d had that idea last year”, Harry mutters darkly, remembering the lengthy Christmas feast they hadn’t been able to wriggle out of. He’d been shaking lametta out of his hair for hours after. “Alright, I’m down, but I’m taking the kids.”

Ginny pats his leg, unfazed. “Yeah, you wish.”

Harry smiles, slouching into her side – mission forgotten, peaceful, home. Ginny turns to look at him as his eyes flutter shut, exhaustion finally taking over.

All the way from the kitchen, they hear the enchanted garden gnome that lives inside their baby blue cuckoo’s clock – Luna’s moving-in present – announce “twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock!”.

Ginny presses a kiss to his temple. “Merry Christmas, babe.”

“Merry Christmas”, Harry mutters. “Love you.”

“You, too.” He feels the pads of Ginny’s fingers draw slow circles on his scalp, her palm brush over his jet-black hair. “Glad you’re back.”

He merely hums in response, too content to speak, not wanting the moment to end, this strange, deep peace that fills him.

They get to stay like that for a small eternity: Harry’s head on her shoulder, Ginny’s arm around him, warm limbs entangled.

Just as Harry is ready to doze off, Ginny gasps beside him.

“Listen”, she whispers, as Harry reluctantly opens his eyes.

And there it is: from outside their bedroom door comes the quiet tap-tap-tap of small feet on the hardwood floor, sneaking towards the stairs.

“I think we’ve got some Christmas elves on the loose”, Ginny whispers.

Harry grins at her, and she grins back, quietly conspiring.

“Wanna go catch them?”

They climb out of bed as quickly and quietly as they can, pressing their ears to the bedroom door. Ginny shakes her head and reaches for the doorknob.

“They’re lucky we love them so much.”

[the-melting-world]

A Stranger Aura

This fic came about when I discovered @forgedarcana and their apprentice Malon Almasi! It didn’t take long for me and my own apprentice to fall in love with this sweet gremlin. Take a look at how they first meet!

~ 2200 words

A Stranger Aura

In which a humble gardener meets a feral wanderer… .

Despite how unpopular it would make her among the other merchants, the innkeeper was determined to smoke out her communal fireplace by the end of the afternoon. She was convinced that it was the only way to purge her establishment of the family of bats that had taken residence there. 

Kipling Bronne absorbed this information along with other gossip highlights as she arrived for weekly upkeep. She had eleven storefronts to cover. Her potted arrangements were looking a little more overgrown than usual. Some even had leaves that were glistening with sap. Not poisonous or uncommon, but also not particularly appealing to the city dwellers as they went about their errands. 

Kipling took in the sorry state of her plants and groaned internally as her mind generated a lengthy to do list. She really had her work cut out for her.

The block was busy that day. And so was Kipling if anyone took the time to notice. Yet it kept none of the gossipy merchants from interrupting her often and baptizing her ears in the latest scoops whether she invited them or not.

“Kip, have you been by Little Brother’s yet?”

Little Brother. The innkeeper, who happened to be large-boned, robust and a widow, but nicknames were sticky, stubborn things. For the fourth time that morning, Kipling heard about Little Brother’s pest control problem and her radical solution.

“I mean, don’t you think that’s inhumane, Kip?”

Kipling briefly turned away from her work to offer a look of consideration. “I think Little Brother’s customers are tired of hatchlings wandering from the nest and falling in their soup.” She also thought the other businesses thrived off the innkeeper’s unhappy tenants, but she plastered a smile over that little sentiment.

As the day dragged on, the interruptions did not slow down. Kipling could only rely on her familiar’s steady chittering and encouraging ear nibbles to keep her focused as much as possible.

However, as the gardener worked her way further down the street, she noticed that her pygmy lemur grew more and more antsy. Taro was already a lively companion. Add a dash of neurosis on a day like this and it really sent Kipling’s nerves spiraling.

“Taro,” She finally huffed, “what is the matter with you?”

Taro whimpered and bounced around Kipling’s ankles. Usually she could tolerate the lemur’s sporadic bouts of mania, but it was very hot and she wasn’t in the mood. Work was tedious, and the damn shop owners kept bothering her, and —

“Kipling! Might I have a word?”

The inquiry snapped Taro out of her neurotic rain dance. She scrambled so fast onto Kipling’s shoulder that it made the gardener sway on her feet. 

The newcomer steadied her and asked if she was all right. Clearly they were not going to leave, so Kipling affected yet another friendly smile and said, “Can I help you?”

The shopkeeper wrung their hands and threw a glance at the intersection off to the right. Kipling followed their nervous gaze, but saw nothing amiss in the throng of passerby.

“Don’t you see that?”

Kipling narrowed her eyes. “See what?”

The shopkeeper steered her gaze with their finger. “That. Coming back this way right now.”

Taro chittered again with sudden urgency. 

Kipling saw what the shopkeeper was talking about. A Vesuvian to be sure, but walking with a strange gait, like a cross between a raptor and a toddler. With a walk like that combined with those bright, shifty eyes, it had the potential to put people on edge.

“I don’t know what manner of vagrant she is, but she’s been prowling the intersection for the past three days.” The merchant threw their hands in the air. “I can’t figure out what she wants! She won’t buy anything. Whenever someone tries to talk to her, she barks. Once she even hissed at me!”

Kipling fought to stifle a laugh. Yes, the lurker was odd, but otherwise she seemed harmless.

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.”

The shopkeeper fixed her with a desperate gaze. “I was wondering, would you mind maybe just seeing if you can get through to her? Make her go away? Or encourage her to buy something at least. Anything would be better than haunting the crossway like this.”

Kipling tried to think of a polite way to decline when Taro suddenly bolted from her shoulder. 

“Taro, no!” She hastily threw her work tools in her satchel and took off after the purple lemur. It was too hot and crowded to be chasing anything, let alone something so small and fast. And what do you know? Her familiar was headed straight for the wild eyed vagrant.

Taro was already coiled around the wanderer’s shoulders by the time Kipling caught up. Thankfully they were off in a spot outside of the foot traffic. It was shadier there. The road tapered off into a more natural setting. Further in were clusters of trees and beyond that a sparsely wooded glen. 

As Kipling approached, she was able to get a better read on Taro’s new friend. The closer she got, the more she was confronted by a rather unique aura. Gauzy and yellow – a feral essence. Almost exclusively so. Rare for a Vesuvian. Most tended to be elementals or some manner of seer. 

The limbs of the stranger’s magic stretched far, but flailed from a lack of practice. Kipling wondered if the carrier even knew what she was capable of. The stranger was now letting Taro groom her and . . . grooming the lemur in return. 

Taro was not the kind to jump on people she didn’t know, so Kipling wasn’t really sure how to go about this. Not only did she have to ask for her familiar back, but she also had to find a way to tell the stranger to run along – that she was scaring the poor shopkeepers. 

The stranger and Taro carried on, only vaguely aware of Kipling’s presence. That was okay, she still hadn’t worked out the details of what she wanted to say. Plus she was still studying the vagrant and weighing her appearance against the presence of her wild aura. She was tall enough that Kipling had to look up, which happened often because from her point of view everyone was tall, no matter what was considered standard. 

Kipling registered skin that was baked by sunlight and colonized by an army of freckles. Lastly, the stranger had a youthful mop of dark hair and a scar on her lip that gave the illusion of an errant fang. Kipling wouldn’t have been surprised if the shopkeepers had dismissed it as such.

Despite Kipling’s proximity, those bright eyes kept flitting about, fixating on pretty much anything and everything.

“Uh,” Kipling was about as close as she dared to approach. “Hi. Sorry about that.” She gestured to Taro. “She doesn’t usually jump on people’s heads.”

The stranger regarded her briefly, so fast she almost missed it. “It’s okay. Taro is really good at finding ticks.” 

Taro chirped appreciatively.

Kipling blinked. “How . . . ? How did you know her name was Taro?”

The wandering gaze settled. “She told me.” She said it like it was the only natural answer.

Given her sunny aura, Kipling wasn’t surprised. She narrowed her eyes at her familiar, but relaxed her shoulders a little. “What else did she tell you?”

The stranger giggled. “That you’re called Kipling.” Then she shot out a long arm. “I’m called Malon. Or Mal if you want.” The way she pronounced her own name came out like a yawned mewl. It made her wonder if that’s why the shopkeepers mistook her for something primal. 

Kipling smiled. “Hi, Mal. You can just call me Kip.” As she shook Mal’s hand she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do more – hug this feral being or simply give her a bath.

Taro whined in protest as Kipling pried her from Mal’s curly mop. “So, I have to ask. What exactly are you doing out here?” Not happy with the way that came out, she added, “I mean, is there a reason why you keep going back and forth along this street?”

Mal’s gaze was back to wandering, and this time she was sniffing the air. “Do you know what panic dreaming is?”

Bewildered, Kipling said that she had never heard of it.

Mal gave a curious grunt. “Hm. I’ve been wondering why it’s so loud over here.” And when it seemed that her answer was not going to evolve beyond that, Kipling tried a different approach.

“Are you,” she paused, trying to choose her words wisely, “looking for food?”

Mal grinned and reached for Taro. “I can find my own food. See?” She extracted a tick with ease and popped it into her mouth. 

For a moment Kipling was struck with disbelief, but it didn’t last long before she burst into laughter. 

“That is . . . impressive.” And she meant it.

Maybe it was the heat or the boredom of the day’s tasks, but Kipling found Mal’s atypical behavior strangely liberating.

Even though she had Taro back, she wasn’t ready to leave. And she noted that Mal had chosen to stay where she was though there was nothing holding her back from prowling the storefronts again.

Kipling paused in her thoughts. The stores. 

She sobered and said, “Mal? Could you come with me? I think I might know how to help you.”

When Mal cocked an eyebrow at her, Kipling reached for her hand and added, “With eh . . . the noises you’ve been hearing. Panic dreaming, right?”

At that Mal relaxed and wordlessly allowed Kipling to guide her through the intersection. The shopkeeper that had asked for Kipling’s help watched on with eyes that begged her to quit leading Mal further and further into the plaza. But she ignored all of the judgemental stares until she reached the door of the innkeeper.

“Little Brother,” she called once they were inside, “I think I found the answer to your pest problem.”

Kipling’s instincts were right. Mal’s feral aura was strong enough that it gave her the ability to not only communicate with, but also draw animals to her. She was like a beacon for the colony of bats in Little Brother’s chimney. The whole market was completely awestruck as dozens of bats teetered across the cobblestones on all fours, marching blindly in Mal’s wake towards the woods. Kipling and Taro followed close behind, careful to watch out for any strays that might wander off in the wrong direction.

Once they reached the shade of the trees, the bats opened their eyes and properly flocked to a small, but conspicuous cave. When Mal and Kipling caught up with them, Mal strolled into the cave and peered around.

“Didn’t know this was here until they showed me. Cool.” She made herself comfortable in the mouth of the cavern, almost as if it belonged to her. Kipling also noticed how Mal’s aura seemed more relaxed than before, tamer even. Her gaze still traveled, but in reflection as opposed to fruitless searching.

Kipling held Taro against her chest and scratched behind her ears. “Aren’t you coming back? I’m sure the shopkeepers won’t mind having you around now.”

Mal shrugged and shook her head. “Nah. I like it here.” She exhaled. “It’s quiet.”

Kipling didn’t feel right about leaving her new friend here alone in a cave of bats and who knows what else.

“Do you have any plans for dinner?”

Swinging her bare feet and bobbing her head to some imaginary drum, Mal pointed to the ceiling of sleeping bats and declared, “I’ll just have whatever they’re having.”

Kipling glanced up and grimaced. Crickets and cave worms? I don’t think so. 

But she realized that she wouldn’t get anywhere with the mother hen approach. So she tried another. 

Kipling gathered Taro close and whispered, “Guess what we’re having, girl? That’s right! Glazed salmon. Your favorite.”

The mere mention of the dish activated Taro’s excitement. Kipling knew that Mal wouldn’t be able to ignore the lemur’s projection of all of those sensory delights.

For once Mal stopped wiggling her toes and looking around. She went absolutely still and fixated Kipling with a gaze so direct and an energy so concentrated that it practically tickled. 

“You’re really going to feed me?”

Kipling granted herself silent applause as she nodded and held out her hand. Instead of taking it, Mal popped to her feet and rushed forward. 

Kipling squeaked as Mal fastened a pair of wiry arms around her and hoisted her off the ground.

“The bats,” she said, “told me to thank you.”

Kipling suddenly became aware of Mal’s scent of lingering campfires. It stirred some sad ache on the inside when she sensed the solitude underneath. She surrendered to the embrace, leaning her head against Mal’s and breathing in more old firewood.

“You did all the work. I just showed you the way.”

It was getting late and Kipling wanted to go home. She attempted to disentangle herself so they could leave this creepy cave, but the beast whisperer had other plans. Kipling made another ungraceful sound as Mal spun around and hoisted her onto her back. Taro made herself comfortable on Mal’s head and chirped authoritatively. 

Mal said as she marched forward, “Kip, you should get some rest. Taro can show me how to get there.”

It hadn’t occurred to Kipling that the shifty-eyed vagrant had picked up on her fatigue. She was tempted to say that she wasn’t tired, but she had a feeling that Mal would know better than to fall for that.

[highqueenofprydain]

While We’re Waiting...

(Prydain fic, circa The High King)

Melynlas snorts when he steps outside, evidence of displeasure at being left saddled and bridled so long.

“I'm sorry," he breathes, sliding a hand beneath the horse's mane, trying not to acknowledge the tremor in his fingers, the fear knotting his gut. "I was in a hurry when we arrived, and…well, after that, I forgot. It's been…an evening full of surprises."

The big silver head knocks him in the chest indignantly and blows a mild reproof before turning to follow him to the stable. His mind churns, darkly, while he unsaddles the horse, rubs him down. He hasn't been in this building in years, but his hands automatically find the hooks even in the darkness, hanging up tack and jingling bits with a foreboding sense that something so familiar should be comforting, but isn't.

When he steps out she is waiting for him, standing by the gate, glowing amidst the shadows of twilight. He is struck, again, with how…no, not different she is; that's just the dress. She doesn't look different, she looks…more. She is more herself; taller, softer, wiser, fiercer; there is more carried in the proud tilt of her head; in the sculpted lines of her neck and shoulders; in the grace of her slender hand resting on the gatepost; in the quiet, serious, steady gaze resting on him.

His mouth goes dry with all the things he wants to say, and finally only the least of them comes out. "I thought you were staying with Gwydion."

She looks weary; he thinks, aching, of the light in her eyes earlier that afternoon, now dimmed. "Dallben's chamber is so small," she murmurs, in a voice just as dark. "There wasn't room for all of us, and Achren won't leave him. It's odd, but somehow…she seems to belong there now, more than I."

“You trust her?"

She meets his gaze sharply. "Of course not." He is silent, and her eyes soften, slowly, as she watches him. "But we haven't much choice, have we?" Her breath is a barely audible sigh; she turns away, and he thinks he hears her mutter, "about anything," but maybe it's just his own thoughts, shouting at him.

“This isn't…" he begins, then falters as she pauses, turning back towards him, and the words how it was supposed to be die in his throat. For a few moments he cannot speak, looking at her, standing there. In this place where she belonged. Where her unbearable absence had driven him out almost three years before, full of questions like goads, one - still unanswered - that he cannot, now, bring himself to ask. Not when so much else hangs over them.

The silence stretches, thin as wire. She stirs suddenly, mouth twitching."You really did cut your own hair with a sword, didn't you?"

He blinks in surprise. "I…well. Yes, but…"

She laughs, an unexpected silver chime in the darkness. "You're a fright. Come on." She motions for him to follow her, marching across the yard determinedly. "There's no use sitting 'round doing nothing but worrying. It's like watching yourself get older."

Pausing at the scullery door, she waves him inside, pulling her golden sphere from some hidden pocket in her long skirts before following. Warm light fills the room as the shadows scurry to hide behind rows of baskets and iron pots, to dive into the mouths of clay jars. He stoops to avoid the bundles of dried herbs dangling from the rafters, the air dusty with fading summer smells of rosemary and dill, sage and mint.

She lays her bauble on the table and looks around, sighing contentedly. "This place hasn't changed any, at least. Sit down. I'm going to cut your hair."

He plunks onto the stool she indicates, dumfounded. "You're what? Now?"

“Who knows when I'll have another chance?" She rummages in a wooden drawer, comes up with a pair of shears and snips at the air briskly. "When the world's on fire, find something practical to do. Teleria's advice, and it's surprisingly good, I find." She steps closer to him, squints at his head, and frowns. "Hm. You know, I can't believe I'm saying this, but…you should wash it first."

He raises an eyebrow. "I seem to remember someone complaining about—"

"Yes, well," she sniffs, leaning back, "it's one thing to be scrubbed down against your will when you don't need it. When you actually could use a good washing, that's something else again." She grins, for the first time since that afternoon; her gaze dances down to his feet and back up again, and his heart pounds. "I daresay, after running the woods for as long as you have, the rest of you needs it just as badly, but I'll settle for hair just now."

Hot water still simmers in a small cauldron over the embers in the scullery hearth; she dips out a large pailful; shoves it and the soft-soap bowl into his hands. "Go wash outside. I'll find a comb. And…" She pauses, staring at him in consternation, and slowly reaches up to touch his rough jawline, running her thumb across its edge as though she's never seen it before. "…And a razor, I suppose? Do you even have one? Does Coll have one you could borrow?"

He laughs, to hide the way her slightest touch twists the breath out of him. "What's the matter? You don't like the beard?"

She pulls a wry face halfway between a scowl and a grin. "Is that what you call it? I thought at first you were just filthy. If it were really a beard, I might. Though it would take some getting used to. You don't look quite like you." Her hand is still on his chin, turning his face thoughtfully as she studies him. "But just now it's not one thing or the other. You're like a sheep shorn by a blind man. Did you clean up at all while you were gone?"

“When Kaw showed up and told me you were coming home," he says, nettled, "I thought only of reaching you as quickly as possible. Would you rather I had stopped to…clean up…first?"

Her lips part in an audible breath that seems not quite brave enough to be a laugh, and he memorizes the freckles scattered across her nose, wishing his arms weren't so full of soap and bucket. "For future reference," she murmurs, leaning toward him, unbearably close, "yes. I would."

Her dancing eyes draw him in and he's about to drop the bucket, water and all, but before he can she pulls him up, off the stool, and pushes him toward the door. "Now, go wash. I'll be back in a moment."

The chill night air he stumbles into is a relief, even after he's stripped off his jacket and shirt to pour hot water over his head. But by the time his wet hair is pouring streams over his shoulders and down his back, his skin is steaming into the air and he's shivering and blowing like a horse fording a river. She's already there when he hurries back into the scullery; after one wild, wide-eyed look at him she tosses him a large hempen towel and turns around to add another log to the fire. And stoke it. Vigorously. A little longer than necessary. Certainly the extra light isn't; her bauble on the table is flaring so bright he can't even look at it directly.

He sits back on the stool, tousling at his hair, watching her with a grin. "All right. I'm ready."

She does not turn, but demands, in a voice higher-pitched than her wont, "Are you mad, going about bare in this cold? Wrap that towel 'round your shoulders before you catch your death."

“Washing was your idea," he reminds her amusedly, suspecting certain things he is not yet confident enough to say; but he hastens to obey the instruction. "And you know how wet clothes keep you even colder. Besides, if you thought my hair was dirty, my shirt—"

“No doubt," she interrupts, jabbing at the fire again, sending sparks flaring up the chimney. When she turns her face is scarlet, lower lip gripped tight between her teeth, eyes dilated and glittering, but she avoids his gaze, focusing instead on his hair with an appraising frown. He tries looking straight ahead, but this means staring directly at the hollow of her throat and the light flashing off the silver crescent nestling beneath it, and he swallows hard and shuts his eyes.

“Tch," she mutters, "what a mess you've made of yourself. Good thing it grows back." Her fingers slide through his hair, lifting it at temples and brow, pushing it away from his face; he finds breathing suddenly laborious. "It's going to have to be shorter than you're used to, to get it all even again."

He keeps his eyes shut, but the space is too small; he can't avoid the lavender-and-rosewater smell of her, the warmth of her next to him. His jaw clenches. "Do whatever you want."

The words seem to hang in the air. Her hands and breath pause for an almost imperceptible instant before continuing on, and she moves around to his side, contemplative. "Llyr. You've got some bits cut halfway up your neck. Are you sure it was a sword? You didn't really use a spoon?"

“Would you just cut it?" She's behind him; it's safe to open his eyes now. He reaches up, exasperated, to rearrange the offending strands, but she pushes his hand away.

“Hang on, it's got to be combed first." Carved-horn teeth bite pleasantly at his scalp, gliding over the crown of his head, tugging gently, alternating with the pressure of her hands, the pull when she has to work a tangle free in her nimble fingers, and he sighs louder than he intends. "It's nice, isn't it," she remarks, "having it done for you? One of the things I did enjoy on Mona. Not the washing, you know, but the combing and braiding and all. There's something soothing about someone else's hands in your hair."

“Mph," he grunts, noncommittal; soothing isn't quite the word he'd use, or nice either, though certainly it's all far from unpleasant. The shears open and close with thin metallic rasps and his shorn hair ends graze his shoulders like a caress; her fingers twist, languid, at the long strands at the back of his neck and he makes a sound even he doesn't quite understand, turning it into a cough at the last moment to mask it.

“Be still," she orders, over a breathless chuckle. She works around to the other side and back to stand in front of him, taking his face in her hands to tilt it up and examine her work; he can't shut his eyes again without being desperately obvious. So he allows himself to stare, sinking into the sight of her until he's drowning in it.

“There," she says. The word comes out hoarse and she clears her throat hastily. "Much better. It can grow out properly now."

“Well, so long as you're satisfied," he mumbles, and she swallows hard, favors him with one moment of searing eye contact before turning to lay down the shears.

“I'm not. But the next bit's up to you." She hands him a razor, borrowed from one of the men in the cottage, though he does have one in his saddlebags, a gift from Hevydd the smith, who had first noticed the need for it. "If you know how. I don't want to be responsible for slicing your throat."

“I do know how, thank you." Hevydd had taught him more than smithing. He takes the blade from her and nods toward the bucket. "Need more hot water, though, would you mind?" She fills it silently and hands it to him, pushes the pile of his discarded shirt and jacket to the side and hoists herself onto the table edge. He snorts. "You're going to watch?"

She shrugs, grinning smugly. "What else is there to do?"

He grunts and goes for the hot water to distract himself from the answers that instantly present themselves, all unacceptable under current conditions. Drat Arawn and his everlasting machinations. He can't decide whether to laugh at or be ashamed of himself for being so personally affronted by the latest evidence of trouble brewing; for wishing, if it had to happen, it could have happened just a few weeks later. It feels small, and selfish; there is so much more at stake than the two of them, and yet…

The copper blade shines like her hair in the light of the bauble as he takes it up, willing his hand not to tremble. She watches him with frank curiosity; he's acutely aware of it, every second, as he manipulates the tool over his face.

“Interesting," she observes, after a few minutes. "Ticklish process, isn't it? Would it be easier with a mirror?"

“You know we've got no mirrors here," he answers, shaking out his stiffening wrist. This task is still a novel one and he tends to grip the blade too hard, anyway; now, with her watching, it's almost impossible not to clench his fist around it.

“Oh, I have one," she says, "actually. A gift from Teleria, if it's survived the journey; I haven't checked yet. But I suppose it's best if you learn to do without, what with how rare and fragile they are. And anyway they make it harder sometimes; having to do everything backwards from what you see. You should see me trying to braid my hair in a mirror. It's like weaving with your hands behind your back."

He has a mental image of her hands twisting into her own bright hair, sliding through the tumbling fiery waves of it, and shakes it off hurriedly. "Be glad you don't have to do this as well, then. Girls have it easier."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, no, women have their own ways of handling such things, as I also learned. You'd be shocked to know how many uses there are for honey and beeswax. At least among the nobility; I'm not sure about the rest."

“But you don't have…" he begins, and stops, seeing her expression; that don't-be-an-idiot look he hasn't seen in years but recognizes instantly.

“We don't have beards," she finishes for him, with a catlike smirk. "Thank goodness, because that implement looks dangerous. But we-"

“I don't want to know," he retorts, his face flaming.

Her smile is arch, mocking him. "Oh! Well, then, never mind." Glancing down, she picks up his shirt and holds it up in two reluctant fingers, wrinkling her nose. "Ugh. Shall I take this to be washed, or just throw it in the fire?"

“I only have one spare."

"Wash, then," she sighs, dropping it to the floor. "You might have made yourself half a dozen, while you were busy weaving that cloak. But you've never been a very sensible creature."

He smothers his grin with the towel, lets it drop back to his shoulders, and rubs at his chin to make sure he hasn't missed anything. "There we are, done. Care to inspect?"

She slides off the table and stands before him again, close, too close. Her hands cradle his face, thumbs sliding over his smooth jawline; his newly-exposed skin burns at the contact and he holds his breath.

“Oh, yes." It's barely more than a whisper, fanning over his face. "There you are again, Taran of Caer Dallben." Her eyes trap his, inescapable. "I've missed you."

He's dizzy, drunk, falling, reaching for anything that might catch him and the closest thing is her; but just as her head is drooping to meet his she bolts upright, suddenly, her whole being alert and tense and distant. The bauble-light in the room, blazing until now, flickers like a candle in the wind, and dims.

He clutches at his knees, baffled and off-balance. "What is it?"

She looks through him, her gaze unfocused; grips his arm as though to anchor herself. "Gwydion. He's awake."

"How do you know?"

Her eyes focus on his face again, filled with an unearthly glow - or, perhaps, merely the firelight reflected in them. "I just know," she says simply. He's had to accept stranger things from her before, and scrambles up from the stool, snatching his jacket from the table and wrestling it on as she retrieves his towel and shirt from the floor with a sigh.

They cross the yard together, not touching, in brooding silence, making for the soft glow in the cottage windows. He pauses at the gate, turns to her suddenly. "You know…this isn't how I imagined today was going to turn out."

She stares at him inscrutably, chews her lower lip. "No. Nor I." A shadow of - regret? frustration? - crosses her face, and she shrugs and laughs a short, bittersweet laugh. "But few things turn out like you think they will, I've noticed. Even you aren't quite what I imagined."

He wants to ask what she imagined, and how he's different, and if she knows how much more she is than he had dreamed even in three years' worth of dreams, and a million other things; most of all he wants to ask her —

But there are voices, urgent and anxious, inside the cottage, and there is no use asking questions that can't be answered with any surety, just now.

Before she moves past him to open the door she touches his cheek once more, wistfully; whispers, "Not yet," and he wonders, not for the first time, if she can read his mind, so succinctly and simultaneously to answer none of his questions….and all of them.

[panda-noosh]

Breath of the forbidden- request: their wedding and wedding night! I want to know how it was likefjfiflfbfjfldndjdksl!!!!

     How Takashi could somehow make an event look so beautiful under such short notice was completely beyond you.

    He was by your side, and that was really the only thing that mattered. He didn’t need to go all out, buying bouquets upon bouquets of different, beautiful flowers. He didn’t need to make the seats glisten, didn’t need to have an entire banquet of food laid out for the few guests you had allowed into the venue. All Takashi really needed to do was show up and be himself, and you would have been perfectly content.

    But things were never that easy with Takashi Shirogane. 

    You realised this as you walked towards him, the main ceremony having only just ended; you supposed that he was now officially your husband, after years upon years of complications when it came to your relationship. The two of you were now official and legal and allowed, and it was the greatest, most freeing feeling you had ever felt in your life.

    Coran gave you a hug. It was different to the other hugs he had given you; it had been an awfully long time since you had seen him this happy, and the two of you were still getting used to the feeling. But just like every other situation life had thrown at you, you would figure it out together. 

    “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered in your hair, before pressing a kiss to your cheek and pulling away. “Now, go and find that husband of yours.”

    And find him you did.

    He hadn’t strayed far. Takashi very rarely did, always claiming that he felt safest when he was near his people, when he knew he could protect them upon the drop of a hat. Despite not straying too far from the relatively small crowd, he was still on his own, hands braced against the railing of the balcony he was looking out over. Voltron seemed most peaceful now, the dim light of the evening settling upon the houses, smoke arising from chimneys as people lit their fires in preparation for the cold nights which always bit at Voltron during this time of year.

    You slowly walked up behind him, skirts of your grand wedding dress billowing around you. You tugged at it only once before you reached out and wound your arms around Takashi’s bicep, leaning your head against his shoulder because you could do that now, and it felt incredible.

    He inhaled deeply, not looking at you. He had heard you approach, and so the surprise was gone. He simply leaned into you, radiating a type of emotion that you hadn’t seen on him in an awfully long time.

   He wore one of his go-to suits, the type of suit you always remembered him wearing back when things were a little bit more complicated. It was patterned, bright green zig-zags weaving up and down the sleeves and the bodice. It was a fairly ugly pattern, one you certainly wouldn’t have expected anyone to wear to their own wedding, and yet it suited Takashi. Everything suited Takashi.

    “What are you thinking?” you asked quietly.

    “Just about you,” he replied, equally as quiet. “I find myself doing that quite often. At least now I won’t have to do it with grief in my heart at the same time.”

    You nuzzled your head against his shoulder. “You won’t have to think of me like that ever again, Takashi, because I’m right here. I’m staying right here.”

    “I still can’t believe you truly said ‘I do.’”

    You pulled away, looking up at him with a raised brow. “Why would you ever doubt that I would say ‘I do?’”

    He shrugged, still gazing out over his kingdom with a look of wistfulness in his eyes. “After four years of being married to a woman I absolutely despised whilst the woman I truly loved was banished to a completely different kingdom, I lost all hope that things would finally begin to work in my favour.”

    “Things always work in your favour, Takashi,” you teased. “Even the Lions themselves have a soft spot for you.”

    A ghost of a smile made it’s way onto your husbands lips, and finally he looked down at you. “It’s getting quite late, my lady. Maybe we should retire for the night?”

    “Takashi, we still have guests-”

   “All of whom know how to get themselves back to their residence,” he cut in, wrapping his arms around your waist, barely giving you a chance to protest before he was sweeping you off your feet bridal style and carrying you towards the open bedroom door on the other side of the hallway. “Besides, I think it must be quite uncomfortable for you to be walking around in a dress that big. You never were the type for dresses.”

   “Are you saying you don’t like my wedding dress?”

   Takashi snorted. “I love your wedding dress, but I much prefer you wearing something you’re comfortable in.” He paused. “Or nothing at all, for that matter.”

+++

    Takashi’s breathing was soft, relaxed, but he was not asleep.

    Your head lay on his bare chest, fingers tracing idly circles upon his flesh. The goosebumps that arose amused you, and you found yourself giggling at feel of them beneath your fingertips.

   Takashi sighed heavily, as one might to a child that was having a bit too much fun. He slowly reached up and circled your wrist with his fingers, pulling your hand away from his skin for a moment.

   “I need time to breathe,” he joked. “These hands will be the death of me one day.”

    You grinned, stretching your body to press a kiss against his lips. He hummed against your mouth, ever-so-slowly lowering your hand back to his chest where you continued to run your fingers along his too-sensitive flesh.

     “Or maybe your lips will end it all for me,” he continued once you pulled away. “I suppose we’ll just have to see.”

    “I’d rather not have the power to kill you with either of those assets, if I’m honest.”

   “Hey, don’t take my warnings as complaint,” he said quickly. “I’d much rather die with your hands or your lips on me than by a blade. Please, do not refrain from using your skills.”

    You giggled, nuzzling your head in his shoulder. You were exhausted. The wedding had long since ended, everybody having trekked home after realising that neither you nor Takashi had any plans on going back; Coran had even walked past your bedroom door a few hours previous, calling out a, “We all had a fun night, by the way!” for comedic effect - he knew full well that opening the door would be to his own peril, and had the decency to head straight to bed.

    But now both you and Takashi were awake, laying in a sea of pillows and sweat and exhaustion that you forced away so you could spend just a few more minutes in this time, and this day, in this peaceful mindset. You were aware that once you awoke tomorrow, things would be different. You supposed you were officially queen now, though it didn’t feel that way. Half of you expected to wake up in the morning and immediately start cleaning, taking orders from the guards on what they wanted for breakfast in the same way you used to do.

    But for now, you could live in the moment with Takashi’s arm looped around your shoulders and his bare body pressed against your own. That was why you didn’t force yourself to sleep, despite your bodies clear need and want for such a release. You stayed awake, because going to sleep meant this moment of pure perfection would be shattered, and that was not something you were willing to risk right now.

     “Did I tell you that I loved you today?” Takashi asked suddenly.

    “Hm?”

   “It seems like the best day to do it,” he continued, running his fingers lightly over your flesh. “But I don’t think I recall actually telling you. I was a bit nervous, you see.”

    “I’m sure you told me. I certainly told you.”

   “Yes, I remember. You enjoy making my day that little bit more difficult by making me flustered, don’t you? I was already stressed out enough as it was.” 

    You chuckled. “I still make you flustered by saying I love you after all these years?”

    “Well, it’s been a great number of years since I heard you say it. In case you forgot, my love, you were exiled back to Altea.”

    “Still. Considering you’re a full grown man, I’d have thought it would take a little bit more than simple expressions of love to get you going red.”

    Takashi scoffed, pulling you closer to him. “I suppose you just have that effect on me. That’s why I married you.”

    “Because I make you flustered?”

   “Because you remind me that I can feel flustered. You remind me that, through this persona of a king, I am still a person and I can still be myself.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “The fact that I love you may also have something to do with my decision to marry you.”

     You smiled, butterflies rising in your stomach. The feeling was lazy, nothing more than a gentle prickle against your skin, but you basked in it anyway. You leaned your head back against Takashi’s chest, hummed softly to yourself and let your eyes closed.

    You realised, as Takashi’s arms tightened around you, that you could fall asleep now and be perfectly content with letting this moment slip. Because you would have many more like it, many more moments were Takashi could somehow make you feel like the luckiest woman alive, even when just talking about his own feelings.