#oh it was so wonderful! that was their first time really playing. dickens tried to initiate play once or twice but it scared her

[britneyshakespeare]

Don't tell my mom but this new puppy loves me the most

[matchavellichor]

Hi, I hope your day is going well when you read this!! I know you said you were currently taking a slight break from writing due to school, and first of all, I'm wishing you the very best of your studies! But I thought I would send a request just in case you do resume writing fics in the future, but feel free to ignore this! This seems a bit plain, but I was wondering if you could write an ominis x fmc where mc is terribly shy and avoidant to no one but ominis due to her feelings for him? Over time, though, Ominis observes her personality when interacting with other people, becoming fond of her but is left conflicted seeing how nervous she is around him, leaving him to wonder if she hates him or not. Since Ominis can’t see MC staring at him or how her cheeks go red around him, we could perhaps have Sebastian take note of this and act like the typical tease-playing wingman to set Ominis and MC up? It’s a pretty fluffy request, but you can lead it down any road you want, whether it turns out suggestively or not.

A/N: hi!!! tysm for the kindness <3 uni is still kind of hectic at the moment unfort, but i LOVED this idea sm so i decided to write a lil something anyway. ty for the request, hope you enjoy!

Great Expectations

Ominis x f!MC - Fluff - 3k words

Summary: Urged on by Sebastian's insistence that the reason for MC's evasiveness is that she harbors a secret crush, Ominis decides to take Sebastian's advice and find this out for himself.

Tags: Miscommunication, Wingman Sebastian, Clueless Ominis, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Banter, First Kiss

"Some light reading?"

Ominis can sense the way she startles, nearly dropping the tall stack of books balanced carefully in her arms.

“Oh, uh…hello, Ominis,” she greets as she rights herself, voice oddly tight. “I hadn’t realized you were here.”

“Always am. The library’s practically my second home at this point,” he smiles warmly, making some attempt at small talk.

There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat to break the silence. “I uh, I hadn’t realized you were such an avid reader yourself,” he tilts his head, waving his wand over the topmost title in her pile. “Ah, and you have taste! Dickens is brilliant. I’d love to pick your brain sometime about—”

“I apologize, if—you’ll um, if you’ll excuse me,” she suddenly interrupts, eyes trained at her feet, before she’s brushing past him in the tight corridor of shelves and exiting towards one of the more populated corners of the library.

Ominis frowns, brows knitting together in confusion and what’s beginning to morph into genuine offense at this point.

“Was it something I said?” he mutters under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ever since they had become acquaintances, any attempts at amicability on his part had been met with brisk dismissals, curt replies, and her avoiding him like the plague. At first he thought her simply timid, but after observing her behavior with the likes of Sebastian or Garreth or any of her other friends, Ominis had been seriously considering some innate character flaw of his own.

He had thought he had made some progress in their relationship at the last gathering they had frequented, a weekend get-together in the Slytherin common room, but it was quickly becoming apparent that he’d been sorely mistaken.

Was he really so unapproachable? Dreadfully unlikeable? Did she simply have no interest in befriending him?

Ominis tries to pretend his ego isn't bruised by this notion, but fails miserably when his brain wanders to more woeful reasons as to why she would want nothing to do with him. His family’s notoriety and the rumors surrounding his person that are frequently pedaled around the castle undoubtedly have already reached her ears.

Filled with a strange sense of defeat, Ominis abandons any of his original plans of reading in favor of sulking in the common room alone. Less than two steps towards the library exit, however, and he’s bombarded by Sebastian.

“Ominis, you sly dog, don’t think I didn’t see you two warming up in the back shelves,” he grins, poking his friend in the ribs and waggling his brows.

Ominis frowns, swatting at the brunette’s hand. “Warming up is certainly not the term I would use. She despises me.”

“Despises you? Are you blind?”

“...Yes?”

“I refuse to believe you’re that blind,” Sebastian amends, scoffing. “Don’t tell me you really haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what? The way she can’t bear to spend longer than a minute around me?” Ominis grumbles. “Trust me, I’m well aware.”

“Oh Gods, you’re just as hopeless as she is,” Sebastian groans, deeply pained. “She doesn’t despise you, she’s head over heels, Ominis,” he leans in with an all-too smug tone. ���Take it from a man who knows the ladies.”

Ominis turns his head over his shoulder as if in search. “And, pray tell, where is this man?”

He receives an indignant smack on the arm. “I’m serious! Trust me, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. I mean, why do you think she’s always so nervous around you?”

“She probably thinks I’m going to curse her or something,” Ominis mutters. “My reputation isn’t exactly the nicest, Sebastian. Are you forgetting who my family is?”

Sebastian barks out a laugh. “I’m sorry, Ominis, but anyone who takes even a second out of their day to speak to you will know you’re incapable of harming a lacewing fly. Trust me on this, she likes you.”

Ominis pauses for a moment, considering the possibility that had never before crossed his mind before. An involuntary warmth spreads over his skin, surfacing all kinds of unbidden feelings he doesn’t have much experience in handling. Noticing his contemplative silence, Sebastian peeks at the blonde.

“Oh, Salazar, you’re blushing,” he gasps, no small amount of delight seeping through his tone. “You know, for a while I was half-convinced you were incapable of it. Me and Garreth actually had a bet that were half-vamp—”

Ominis scowls, pushing Sebastian’s fingers away from where they were currently trying to prod at his flushed cheeks. “I am not blushing. Look, this whole notion is ridiculous, even for you, Sebastian. She can barely tolerate me, much less harbor some crush on me.”

“Fine,” Sebastian shrugs, feigning acquiescence. “Then flirt with her. See what happens, and if she truly despises you as you say, then no harm, no foul.”

Ominis sputters. “I will not flirt with her, don’t be absurd.”

“Why not? If you already believe she hates you, what do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? My already maimed ego? You’ve seen her in Defence against the Dark Arts, if we’re being realistic I’m probably in risk of breaking a couple bones as well—”

“Ominis, just try,” Sebastian groans, looking ready to rip his hair out. “If you don’t, I’m marching right back into that library and flirting with her for you.”

Immediately, memories of Sebastian’s past trysts with women and the sheer amount of crudeness in even his most tame chat-up lines come to mind. Ominis panics. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, we both know I would,” Sebastian grins, stopping in his tracks and turning back towards the library doors. “Remember that one boiling cauldron line Garreth taught me? I’ll go up and tell her you begged me to use it for you—”

“Stop, stop, alright,” Ominis grits, fisting a hand in the back of Sebastian’s robes to pull him back. He sighs. “I’ll….I’ll speak to her, alright?”

Sebastian claps a hand over his shoulder, pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

//

As much as Ominis would have liked to postpone the inevitable as much as possible, fate was not on his side. He had the misfortune of running into her while on his way to the Great Hall for dinner, and with Sebastian by his side, he would have no chance of escape.

After urging his friend on with not so friendly threats, Sebastian made himself scarce, though undoubtedly somewhere within earshot so he could listen to disaster unfold.

“Just the person I was looking for,” he greets with as much warmth as he can manage, though his nerves are broiling a storm in his gut. “Have you gotten in any good reading today?”

Once again, she seems startled by his presence. “You were…looking for me?”

“Well, yes. I was wondering if I might accompany you to dinner?” he smiles. “Would give me a chance to bore you with my fascination with muggle literature.”

“Oh,” her eyes widen, looking almost excited before it’s washed over with anxiety. “I’m sorry, I uh, I wasn’t…going to dinner.”

“Oh,” Ominis frowns, noting how close they were to the Great Hall. “Where were you heading then?”

“The library,” she blurts out and Ominis tilts his head in confusion.

“But the library’s in the opposite direction,” he nods over his shoulder. “And haven’t you just come back from there?”

“I–I have to go,” she says, suddenly swiveling in the other direction and brushing past him. “Apologies.”

Once again, Ominis is left perplexed, and increasingly hurt. The only thing the interaction has done is given him a bigger headache, her behavior irrational in the face of Sebastian’s theory. Ominis finds himself even more convinced she hates his guts.

As if on cue, Sebastian ducks out from behind a tapestry shielding an alcove, an almost pained sort of grimace on his face.

“That was…bad.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ominis groans. “Do you see what I mean? She clearly doesn’t like me, Sebastian. All I’ve done is made a bigger fool of myself.”

“She’s nervous, Ominis. She was blushing the entire interaction. Look, maybe try being more direct? Girls like confidence! Tell her you will spend time with her and that you won’t take no for an answer.”

Ominis blinks at him. “Are you trying to get my bollocks hexed off?”

“While that would be deeply amusing, no,” Sebastian assures. “Look, she’s clearly just too shy to let herself spend time with you, that’s why she runs away. You can’t give her a way out, hell, incarcerous her if you have to.”

Ominis looks genuinely concerned for any women that have had the terrible misfortune of being the objects of Sebastian’s romantic interest. “How you’ve not found yourself in Azkaban yet amazes me.”

“Oh, shush,” he scowls before suddenly snapping his fingers, metaphorical lightbulb lighting up his face. “I’ve got it! Remember how Sharp gave her detention this weekend for sneaking ingredients for Garreth? Just muck something up tomorrow in Potions, and done! She’ll be forced to spend a whole evening with you.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“It’s brilliant,” Sebastian grins, far too proud of himself. “Everyone knows detention is the best place to snog.”

Ominis chokes. “There will be no snogging—”

“Oh, got bigger plans in mind, have you? Ominis, you dirty little devil—”

The tips of his ears burning bright-red, Ominis pushes through the entrance doors to the Great Hall before Sebastian can get another word in, thanking Merlin she’d foregone dinner tonight.

//

While sprinkling some erumpent horn powder in Sharp’s cauldron during a practical demonstration was easier than he’d thought, actually having to go to detention the upcoming Saturday evening was not.

Pacing his dorm room anxiously while he counts down the hours until he has to make his way down to the Potions classroom, Ominis can’t help but be besmirched by his own stupidity at how he inevitably let Sebastian talk him into this.

Like the devil, Sebastian pokes his head through the door, not even bothering to knock. He plops himself down on one of the beds, eyeing the blonde with poorly-concealed bewilderment. “What are you so strung up for?”

“Not helping,” he glowers. “What if she runs away again?”

“Relax, would you?” Sebastian rolls his eyes, standing to walk over and muss the blonde’s hair. Ominis scowls and swats at his friend, but Sebastian is nothing if not stubborn, pulling at Ominis’ neatly folded uniform tie until it drapes messily around his neck.

“Perfect,” he grins, standing back to examine his work.

Ominis frowns, attempting with great futility to smooth his hair back into place. “I look like a delinquent.”

“How would you know?” Sebastian raises a brow. “You look great. Girls like a bit of a bad boy, you know. And after your stunt in Sharp’s class you’re certainly starting to build a reputation.”

“You were the one who told me to do it!”

“I told you to get yourself detention, not cause a minor explosion.”

Waving a wand over his wristwatch to check the time, Ominis’ pulse doubles when he realizes he has to be in Sharp’s classroom in a few minutes.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Sebastian is dragging him out the door, blabbering terrible advice as if he’s sending his friend off to a first date and not detention with a grouchy Potions master.

“—And most importantly of all, compliment her, Ominis. I know you’re not very expressive, but for the love of Merlin, tell her she looks nice,” he practically shoves the blonde through the common room door, adding a final, “have fun! Use the contraceptive charm!”

Ominis is promptly left alone in the dimly-lit corridor, a heat involuntarily rising to his cheeks, praying some greater force will strike him down before he has to humiliate himself any further.

//

The classroom is empty when he finally arrives a few minutes behind schedule, except for where he inevitably finds her scrubbing cauldrons in the back of the room. She tenses when he approaches, but doesn’t startle when he greets her this time. Ominis wonders if he can put it down as progress.

“Sharp asked me to tell you we’re not allowed to use magic,” she nods towards the stack of cauldrons perched on the workspace. “And, um that we’re only to bother him if someone’s bleeding, dying, or dead.”

Ominis nods, pointedly taking the space beside her and dragging one of the soot-covered cauldrons towards him to begin working.

There’s a tension between them that Ominis can’t ignore for the life of him, only the sound of scrubbing to cut through the painstaking silence. After a few unbearable moments, he clears his throat, remembering Sebastian’s advice.

“You look nice tonight,” he attempts, though his voice sounds oddly thick with nerves.

The sound of scrubbing stops. “Sorry?”

“I said you uh, you look very nice,” he attempts with more firmness, though his hands are white-knuckled around the edge of the table to stop himself from bolting from the mortification.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“What?” he asks perplexed, forgetting momentarily a crucial reason as to why the compliment would seem absurd coming from him. “Oh dear Merlin, no, no that’s not how I meant it all.”

“Very funny, Ominis,” she takes in a sharp breath, dropping the brush with a dull clatter into the cauldron before she crosses her arms and faces him, all timidness suddenly replaced by a glaring frustration in her tone. Ominis isn't sure if it's an improvement, but at least she’s talking to him. “Did Sebastian put you up to this?”

“Sebastian? What? Of course not,” he sputters, desperately trying to amend. “I— Look, I’m—I’m sorry. Can I start over? Please?”

She raises an expectant eyebrow.

“You don’t look nice,” he tries, trying to suppress the wince that washes over his features. His only consolance is that Sebastian isn’t here to witness any of it. “I’m sorry, no—that’s not—I meant, I’m sure you do look nice, not that I would…know, but,” he runs a hand over his face, certain that if she didn't hate him before, she certainly does now. “I meant, you smell very nice. That I can tell, you…you smell very lovely, actually.”

There’s a long pause where she simply stares at him before her frustration inevitably only seems to double. “Is this what you find entertaining?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re taunting me,” she seethes. “You obviously know what I feel for you and now you’re making fun of me for it, aren’t you? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“What? Salazar, no, that’s not it at all—”

“Truly hilarious,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “Very mature. Maybe try being more subtle—”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“You can stop pretending you want to hang out with me all the time now—”

“Will you listen? I’m not—”

“Next time, if you don’t feel the same way, then simply—hmpph!”

Despite the blaring alarm bells that should be going off in Ominis’ head for doing something so painfully impulsive to someone who could hex his entire bloodline in the time it takes her to take out her wand, his mind blanks out into a puddle of warmth as he crashes his lips to hers.

She freezes, mouth unmoving against his in the time it takes awareness to seep into her brain and for her to realize he’s kissing her.

To his relief, when the realization does set in, she kisses him back.

She seems to melt just as much as Ominis, her body instinctively leaning into his, hands going slack at her sides before they instinctively come to hold at his forearms where he’s cradling her face so she can’t pull away.

Ominis pulls him towards her, and then, urged on by some coiling heat inside of him he’s admittedly not too familiar with, he crowds her against the workspace. He nearly topples over several cauldrons in his franticness to deepen the kiss, muttering sheepish apologies through heavy breaths, but he’s far too consumed to feel embarrassed.

His lips on hers are clumsy and impatient, and maybe far too hungry for a first kiss, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her hands come up to thread through his hair, to drag down his scalp, and Ominis couldn’t stop the groan that leaves him if he had all the composure in the world.

He’s so far gone he doesn’t even care about all the soot they’re getting on each other, too preoccupied with trying to keep his knees from buckling, to press his body even more against hers as if it’s the greatest offense known to history that they’re not physically molded to one another. When he slots a thigh between her legs and she lets out a little noise against his mouth, he thinks he might just collapse.

Ominis skin feels hot to the touch, nerves prickling with want, with the urge to touch and taste and grind until he goes numb. She finally breaks the kiss, panting heavily against his mouth, eyes glazed over with just as much raw need. Though the loss is almost physically painful, Ominis is grateful for small mercies, because he was a few seconds away from tearing through her uniform top.

“You’re…” she swallows, trying to clear the breathlessness from her voice. “Uh, very committed to the bit, I suppose.”

Ominis can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

His shoulders shake, forehead dropping to meet hers, and when he glances back up he smiles, lips still raw and undoubtedly kiss-bruised. She returns his grin, until he can feel her smile against his mouth when he leans down to press his lips to hers again, because he simply can’t help himself.

They barely register the sound of the door to the professor’s office swinging open. Only when he clears his throat do they finally tear apart, and Ominis wonders if it’s possible to drop dead from sheer mortification.

Sharp lets out a long-suffering sigh, as if he’s accustomed to walking in on much, much worse by now and his hardly fazed.

“Just get the cauldrons clean,” he grumbles, grabbing a few texts on one of the adjacent tables. He hobbles back to the door, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Bloody teenagers and hormones, don’t get paid enough for this shit…”

He ducks his head out before closing the door, pointing a stern finger in their direction. “And not on my tables.”

[invisibleraven]

Date prompts! I could show you a good time, jatp sweet tarts

There were a lot of days that Carrie honestly wondered what had become of her life. Not that long ago she had ruled the school, her loyal Candis by her side, a cute jock on her arm, and totally above those who had once been her friends.

Then The Orpheum happened.

Julie and her band had blown Carrie away, and given her dad had some weird psychotic break at it, she kind of wanted something normal and real to fall back on. Not Nick, she was well and truly done with him, they were too on again off again for her. And while the Candis were nice, Carrie didn't think of them as genuine friends, more like acolytes.

So she tried to repair her friendship with Julie. It was stilted at first, and they would never get back to where they were, but it was nice. Even if Flynn still glared at her every time she found Carrie hanging out in the garage.

Which she did-a lot.

Sure she could say it was to spend time with Julie, which was true. But there was another reason-a reason clad in black leather and red flannel. A reason who liked to flirtatiously wink at her and tell her the worst pick up lines. Who sat down and actually explained the stupid calculus that both she and Julie were struggling with. Who wrote her a whole ass country song that made her laugh so hard she snorted.

And well, Reggie lit right up at that, which kind of made up for her embarrassment. So sue her, Carrie had a crush. But no matter how many signals she sent, no matter how hard she flirted back, Reggie never asked her out. Never texted or added her to his socials.

Maybe they didn't have Instagram in Sweden? Sure the long distance thing kind of sucked, and the hologram thing meant she couldn't touch him, but Carrie was smitten, and she was ready to take matters into her own hands.

"So," she started one afternoon when they were the only ones out there, twirling her hair around her fingers. "Are you and the guys ever going to come visit LA?"

Reggie looked up from his bass, startled. "Oh um... not during the school year."

"Aren't you done school?" Carrie asked. She could have sworn that Julie told her the guys were 17.

"Alex and I are, but Luke took a...sabbatical, so we're waiting on him to finish," Reggie said, the tips of his ears pink, his eyes avoiding hers.

"It's just... I really want to meet you in person," Carrie said, almost shyly. "Show you the sights around LA. Maybe we could go get something to eat? Catch a show?"

"You asking me on a date Wilson?" Reggie teased.

Carrie blushed and shrugged. "I could show you a good time, if you wanted."

Reggie groaned, running the palm of his hand down his face. "Oh if only you could."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Carrie asked. "Because if you do..."

He shook his head. "No, no girlfriend."

"Is it me then?" Carrie asked, her voice tiny and thin. "Do you not like me?"

"Carrie I like you so much," Reggie assured her. "Probably more than I should."

"Then why?"

"We can't date because I'm not some hologram coming to you from Sweden," Reggie said. "I'm a ghost."

"Like a government operative kind of ghost?" Carrie asked. "Or a witness protection kind?"

"Like the characters from a Dickens novel ghost," Reggie replied. "The guys and I... we died in the 90's. Julie brought us back as ghosts somehow and people can see us and hear us since the Orpheum. Before that it was only when we played music with her. None of us really know how or why."

Carrie reached out, swiping her hand through his form, her fingers coming back cold and tingly. "Well fuck."

"Yeah," Reggie said sadly. "We can touch Julie sometimes, but it comes and goes. And we're kinda... stuck at 17. So not great dating material."

"But Julie and Luke-"

"Are taking a chance being together until we cross over," Reggie said sadly. "They both know it won't last, but they want to have some happiness while they can."

"And we can't do that?" Carrie asked.

Reggie shook his head. "I couldn't break your heart-or my own-like that."

Carrie sniffled. "It's just-I really like you."

"I really like you too," Reggie replied quietly. "I would have loved to have you show me a good time. Time just isn't on our side."

"Cn we still hang out though?" Carrie asked, swiping at her eyes.

"Well d'uh, I have to write a sequel to Heart Bent," Reggie said with an eyebrow waggle.

"Can't wait to hear it," Carrie said, sitting back on the couch. Not telling him how bent her own heart felt at that moment. But no matter how bruised and broken Reggie eventually crossing over would leave her, Carrie silently resolved to stay right here.

And enjoy what time they did have-in whatever form she could get.

[wcmi-22]

The Past of a Hatter

By Allison Blossom

It was after a dress rehearsal for the new winter play that would be shown throughout Wonderland. It was a classic of course! Specifically, Charles Dicken’s “A Christmas Carol!” Reginald was to play young scrooge and Alice got the misfortune of playing Belle, aka the love interest of young Scrooge. With each Rehearsal, it seemed like it was getting harder and harder to get through the play past the love scene. Of course, if a certain hatter wouldn’t try to change it up so much to where he blew off his line for a pickup line, then it would help the timing better. Plus, it wouldn’t cause Alice to lose her cool as she acted.

After rehearsal the very same evening, Reginald graciously galloped toward his cricket and was packing her bag to leave.

“Say, Alice!” He stated “Perhaps we could rehearse together! You and me and a cup of tea!” he said pulling a teapot out of his hat.

“Mr. Theophilus.,” Alice said sternly.

“The third!” he interjected.

“I’ve decided to quit the play!”

“What?! Why?!” Reginald said surprised.

“Because I simply cannot be around a miserable cad like you! You have ruined the one thing I was enjoying right now just like the last time and the time before that and the time before that! Honestly, I don’t understand you sometimes! It's like when you show the least little kindness and understanding, you go around and become so inconsiderate. No wonder so many women don’t want to be around you! You’re a miscreant and you will never change!”

“But, but,” Reginald said shyly

“No buts, goodbye!” She says and leaves through the door and slams it on the way out. Thus, leaving poor Reginald all alone and feeling bad.

“Well, Reg now you’ve done it!” Ears said hopping mad toward him.

“Now I’ll have to find another leading lady!”

“Not now Ears,” Reginald said, “ I need to be alone.” But before he could walk away Ears successfully stopped him dead in his track by grabbing onto his ear.

“Oh no, you not!” Ears scolded “You are not having a pity party!”

Soon Ears grabbed a shiny silver watch and tapped the tip of it. Once he hit the tip, suddenly both Reginald and Ears were flying through time and space itself passing every shadow of the present until finally, they were at a halt in Wonderland Square. Ears then released Reginald’s ear and checked on the pocket watch.

“Ok, first of all, now!” Reginald said rubbing his ear. “Did you have to pull on my ear that hard?! And second, where are we?”

“Well, first of all, yes!” Ears stated, “And second, it's when are we?!”

“When?” Reginald asked

“That’s right Reg! We are in the past! specifically, your past!”

“But how?”

“Father Time lend me his watch to help me with your situation!”

“So when are we then?”

“This is one of many dates you’ve been on where you broke a woman’s heart with your carelessness! And don’t bother trying to hide anything from me because Father Time says the past holds all the truth even ones we didn’t see!”

“Wait? Really?!” Reginald stated shocked.

“Yes, indeed!” Ears assured

“Oh, dear Disney!” Reginald panicked “Ears listen we shouldn’t be here! There are things here you are not meant to see but I can explain and ..”

“If you are worried about if things get “grotesque” don’t worry I have the watch set to different times so we can skip that mess!”

“No Ears that are not…”

But before Reginald could say anything suddenly he heard a jingle from the restaurant. There he saw himself with a beautiful blonde woman dressed in red on his arm. They were laughing and they seemed very happy!

“Oh, Reggie!” The woman said. “This past week with you has been so delightful!”

“They certainly have been, Paulette!”

“But you know, there’s something “kissing” for this evening!” Paulette said with a wink.

“Alright! Here is the moment you ask her to go to the hotel nearby then run away!” Ears said as he tried to click the watch but suddenly a woman cried out “NO?!”

Ears looked at the scene and saw Reginald with his head down in shame.

“What do you mean no?” Paulette asked.

“I mean I just don’t feel ready for that kind of um interaction,” Reginald said nervously.

“Oh really? Or maybe you were just leading me you, the cad!” She yelled and then dumped her leftovers all over his head and then left.

“Wait! Hold the phone!” Ears said confused “You told me that that sesame chicken was because of your romantic escapade?”

“Actually,” Reginald confessed “you assumed that and I never corrected you. Just like the … other times.”

“Other times?” Ears asked then pressed the watch.

As they passed through time, Ears saw all of the stories Reginald told about each experience were lies! Every woman tried their best to seduce him but never got any closer than a peck on the cheek or even a peck on the lips. Either way, Reg gave each girl an excuse for why they couldn’t move forward in their relationship.

“I have a lot of work to do in the morning!”

“My head hurts!”

“I’m still recovering from Mercury poisoning!”

Each one makes a woman slap him or even dump something onto him.

Ears even saw that they spread lies about him in retaliation for his rejection which made things more complicated for Reg.

Suddenly, Ears tapped the pocket watch once more and everything stopped in its tracks.

“Reginald?” Ears asked “I don’t understand, why didn’t you move the relationships up? Why did you lie about these stories? Why didn’t you defend yourself against these rumors? And why didn’t you tell me, your best friend, what’s been going on?”

Reginald hung his head in shame and sighed.

“ Ears, though I liked going out with other women and enjoyed a little flirt or two, I wasn’t trying to use those women for my enjoyment and lust, but I was also punishing myself!” Reginald explained sadly.

“What?!” Ears asked sad and confused.

Then Reginald took the watch and saw Reginald turn the hands and tap the tip of it.

They soon shifted back again to a different time. This time was in winter and there was a young Reginald with a young blonde woman with freckles, wearing a warm green winter dress. They were laughing, skating, and having the time of their lives.

“Mary Ann!?” Ears asked.

Reginald nodded.

“Mary and I were friends since we were young. “ Reginald explained “Our families believed we would be a great match for each other without our knowledge of the course. But for a time before I knew it, I thought we were as well.”

Suddenly, Ears and Reginald heard a thunk and saw young Reginald, who looked to be around 17-18, who had crashed into a snow pile with Mary Ann. They both sat up and laughed at the situation and gazed into each other’s eyes his blue eyes into her different color eyes (blue and green to be exact)

“You were really in love with her, weren’t you?”

“Well, I did like her a lot but,”

“But what?” Ears asked

“Reginald!” Called an old fat man with round reading glasses.

“Oh! I wonder what father wants?” Mary Ann said.

Reggie just shrugged and stood up then walked to the old man as did Reginald and Ears

“Walk with me, dear boy!” The man said.

And so they did.

“Now my daughter is a delicate flower so for the wedding, we should have delicate flowers to represent her!”

“That’s right, you were briefly engaged! Weren’t you?” Ears asked.

“Yes. Ever since we were children, her folks and my grandparents thought we were a perfect match so in a way that’s why they had us play together, sit together and even eat together for years on end!” Reginald explained.

“We had every Christmas, Easter, Halloween, Hanukkah, you name it with each other! The old man even announced the engagement before I ever proposed! I nor Mary had no other options around us.”

“As much as I wish to discuss more the wedding,” Young Reginald said looking at his watch. “ I really must be going! I have work to do tonight! So sorry! And do give my regards to Mary!”

“Will do future Son in law!”

Reginald soon left in a hurry out of the park.

“You were quite uncomfortable!” Ears stated.

“Well, when someone plans your whole life as they did, you too would feel uncomfortable! And maybe I was a little committed phone. And I couldn’t tell Mary how I didn’t know if I was truly in love with her or not! I mean I was young, I wanted to see what life had for me before settling down.” Explained Reginald.

“So, what did you do then?”

“So instead the only escape I knew was work! Eventually, with my booming success, I was able to postpone the wedding for two-three more years. Of course, Mary started to ask questions but, I simply told her we would discuss them another time.”

“ I see.”

“Until, one day!”

Suddenly, the scene shifted to Reginald’s office where Mary soon came in through the door with a sad look on her face.

“ Reggie, can we talk, please, about the wedding?” She begged

“Mary please,” Reginald insisted nervously “I have a lot of work, and can’t we talk about this another time?!”

“ But, I’ve been waiting for you to marry me all these years, Reginald!” Mary pleaded sorrowfully “ But you keep putting it off more and more! I mean do you even love me?”

Reginald stopped in his place.

“Mary, we can discuss this later.” He said then turned back to his work.

“I could have told her I had doubts, or even tell her if she felt this engagement was for us!” Reginald sighed.

“But, I didn’t! Eventually, I realized my feelings for Mary but before I could talk to her,…��

“She left.” Ears finished

“We never even said goodbye,” Reginald said with his head in shame.

Soon, things shifted back to the present. Ears and Reggie were back near the theater.

“ Now you know, Ears.”

“Yet, there’s one thing I don’t get, why Alice?”

“Ears, I regret a lot of things in my life!” Reginald stated “ Meeting Alice isn’t one of them. And I never mean to be a cad but, of course, with my mind, I can see how she takes offense to some of them.”

“But, you aren’t a cad, and you… do you?”

Reginald soon turned his back on Ears and said “if you’re going to ask if I truly love Alice, I do. Not because she looks like Mary Ann or because she is some prize to be won but, because she is different from all the other women who were easy for me and who I thought could make me happy with a few dates and kisses. ( nothing more of course) but I was wrong! They didn’t and now here is an amazing woman in my life and I’m blowing it every which way.”

Then Ears came to him, hugged him, and said “ Well, maybe you could try being honest with her instead.”

“She’ll never believe me, the rumors spiraled too much in her mind to believe me,” Reg said.

“ Maybe if you tried being yourself and being honest.” Ears said.

Reggie smiled at him

“Thanks, buddy”

“Like, I’ve said to you, let her come to you, and then be honest with her!”

“I’ll try!”

The End

[rason-rodd]

The Boy Who Didn’t Like Christmas - Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You decide to surprise Jason with a Christmas tree but things don’t go as planed. Did he really just call you a friend? 

Warning : Fluff, Humor, Slight Angst  

Author’s note: A new Bat-Christmas one shot, this time with Jason (the last one will be with Dick). I tried to make Reader as general neutral as possible. Hope you’ll like it

“You’re clearly not from the Hill … or the Narrows.” You were pretty certain the rebuke would have hurt ten times more if Dana Harlowe had said everything she was keeping well hidden in her badass heart. But there was no need to say more. It was clear she didn’t hold you close to her heart.       To her, you were the pain in the ass from Uptown Gotham, the one who certainly knew nothing about striving to get out of the dirt and who had certainly always get what she wanted by simply twitching her nose. In a nutshell, everything she was happy not to be. But you had one thing in common. Or at least, one person. Jason Todd.         Dana had known him for over a decade. You had known him for a couple of months. But you as well as she had learned to deeply care about him, except that one of you had let things go way beyond friendship quite a couple of times. That one being you.     “I was just suggesting bringing Jason a Christmas tree to decorate his apartment, Dana. That’s it.” You tried to defend yourself as you buried you hands in your pocket.           “And how many times should I tell you that Jason hates Christmas?” You sighed as you both could barely keep your annoyance to yourself anymore. “No one really hates Christmas.” “So what you’re going to show up to his place with a goddamn tree, all dolled up, flutter your eyelashes and hope he won’t be mad at you?”     You shrugged. “That’s an idea”

***

And Dana hadn’t been able to stop you. So, one Sunday afternoon you showed up to Jason’s place with a bag filled with brand new Christmas decorations and a heavy tree that had made you sweat streams to carry in the old staircases and, with a tired sigh, you rang at Jason’s door. He opened it without waiting or looking through the spyhole, apparently not thinking (or caring) about the possibility of a lunatic waiting on his doorstep with a deadly weapon. “You know I could have been a very angry elf with a gun. You should use that little peephole”     “ Y/N” He looked astonished to see you here, especially with all that Christmas stuff “I…” “By the way, you should also write your co-ownership trustee and ask for an elevator. Yours stairs are a living hell.” You declared to make sure he wouldn’t have time to realise or protest against what you were planning to do. “Give me a hand, would you?” You asked as you tried to drag the tree by the crown inside the apartment, sprinkling the ancient wooden floor with pine needles.     “Explain.” Jason demanded as he helped you carry the Christmas tree to the corner of his living room and erect it. “There! Perfect.” You clapped your hands, proud that the tree was still looking good despite the mistreatment you have given it and also because it was standing in Jason’s apartment, contradicting all of Dana’s sayings that “a Christmas tree will never cross Jason Todd’s doorstep”. “Suck it, Dana!”         “Alright. You’re weird today. What’s with the tree?” Jason’s face seemed a bit twisted, as he didn’t know if he should smile or be worried. “Next week, it’s Christmas. You can’t celebrate Christmas without a Christmas tree.”       He frowned, definitely looking for the right words in his beautiful yet tortured head of his to be sure he would not kill your excitement or hurt your feelings. “Y/N. I wasn’t planning on celebrating Christmas this year.” “I know. Dana told me about you being Scrooge Jr.” You joked, not caring at all, as you opened the plastic bag full of decorations to empty it on the couch. “That’s a bit overstating things.” Jason scratched his head. He had never heard anyone compare him to Dicken’s famous character. “I mean. Not liking Christmas doesn’t make me a miserly bitter old man.”       “Were you planning on spending Christmas alone sitting on your couch with cold noodles, watching Netflix and calling Christmas humbug?” He waited before answering, trying to see how he could debunk you little argument. But there was no way. “Not Netflix. Cutthroat Kitchen.”           “Oh my god. You’re Scrooge.” You sighed, exasperated before showing a beautiful transparent Christmas ball with little snowflakes inside. “Look how cute!” Your enthusiasm made him smile discreetly but not discreetly enough to go unnoticed. “I guess there’s no way I’m gonna stop you, right?” You shook your head. “You can still try but no. I’m going to give you some Christmas spirit, choke you with it if I must and I won’t leave this place until you love it. And mark my word, I will use string lights if needed” You threatened as you showed him the lights. “You would really tie me up to the tree? You know BDSM is not my thing.”           “ No I would tie myself to the tree. Because as much as I know you can throw that tree away once I’m gone, I’m sure you won’t be able do so if I’m tied to it.”             “And why so?” He smirked, curious to know your reason. “Cause you like me too much.” Was he really an open book? He never thought so but there was something with you, something weird and unusual that could make him act in strange ways. Perhaps was he getting soft. “And also, because you wouldn’t get my very special gift if you kick me out.” Jason squinted and you played with your eyebrows as you bit your lower lip so that he would get the naughty message. That eventually made him laugh and he tried to remember when was the last time he thought sexy could be funny.         “Ah. The things I would do for you.” He kissed the top of your head softly, making your shiver and close your eyes and for a second you tried to resist the sudden urge to catch him by the neck and kiss him on the lips. Not that he would have minded, you thought. But there was a difference between occasional sex and displays of affection. “Let’s do this. Before you decide to make me sing Mariah Carey.”       “Oh …” You pretended to think about the idea with a finger over your lips. “Don’t push it.”

And so you ended up decorating the Christmas together, laughing and chatting about some random stuff until you dared ask. “Why don’t you like Christmas?” Jason froze for a moment and you saw him close his eyes to take a deep breath. “Well it’s difficult to like Christmas when you’ve got a family like mine.” He finally declared as he hung a Christmas ball on a branch.         “You mean Bruce …” You supposed though you were not sure of you should continue this conversation. “If only there was just Bruce.” You decided to be quiet when you noticed his sudden bitterness but he chose to keep talking. “I never had a proper Christmas as a kid. When mum wasn’t completely stoned on the bathroom floor, dad was in jail. And when we were finally together, well … Let’s say Christmas spirit wasn’t something the Todd family knew about.”             “I’m sorry.” You said, wondering if you should hug him or at least caress his arm as a sign of comfort. “Don’t be. Plus, it’s not like I cared that much about Christmas as a kid anyway.” You could tell it was a lie, a huge bad lie only made to mask some deep-rooted wound, a lie Jason had learned by heart as if it was a mere line and had probably served to anyone around him for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t hard to guess. You just had to see how hurt he looked deep down in his beautiful tortured eyes. “I mean, there are other days to offer gifts.”       “Sure.” You had a light smile and you focused again on the decoration of your tree. “But I appreciate what you’re doing, Y/N”       “By what I’m doing, you mean … making you celebrate the event you hate the most without complaining?” You tried to joke. “That.” He chuckled. “And being a good friend.” A friend? Was friend really the right word? Well, maybe … in a way … or not. After all, what friends occasionally end up fucking when the sexual tension becomes too hard to handle?     “I know you’re doing this because of your permanent worry about me. But you don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”           “I’m sure you are.” You sighed and Jason caught your hands in his. “Hey. I’m a tough guy. I’ve got thunder thighs and sharp abs. You said it yourself”. You chuckled briefly, remembering the time when you told him this. Pretty sure you were naked and drunk by the way.           “I know you’re tough Jason. Actually, you’re certainly the toughest person I know. But I’m not stupid. And I know there are things that you’re hiding from me.” He suddenly frowned and you felt his grip around your hands loosening, as if he was ready to run away from you. “And I’m not asking you to tell me what it is. I understand that you have your secrets. I do to. I just … I just want you to be honest with me, to tell me when you feel low, when you need me.” You added as you grabbed his arms to keep him close. “We’re … friends after all, aren’t we?” You hated that argument but you decided to use anyway, just to see his reaction.     “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Jason whispered after a second of heavy silence. “We’re friends.” Not the reaction you wanted.   “Good.” You let go of him and went back to hanging Christmas balls but you both could feel the weird tension, the awkwardness and you couldn’t help but blame yourself for ruining that moment which had begun so well. You should have listened to Dana. “Maybe I should go.” You declared as you resigned yourself to get the hell out of here before making things worse between you two.     “No!” Jason almost shouted. “No. We … Let’s finish the tree first okay? Please” You sighed. “Plus you mentioned a gift, right?” Normally that comment would have made you smirk but not today, not now. “That’s not a gift you give friends, Jason”

***

“You played the friends card? Not cool.” Jason suddenly remembered the little mental note he had left for himself the last time he had talked to Dick about his love life. ‘Never again.’ But Roy was gone and so were Artemis and Bizarro or any other friends he could have confessed to. “But we are friends.” He tried to justify himself. “I think.”     Dick shook his head, slightly exasperated yet amused by his little brother. “You saying ‘I think’ makes me believe you don’t see Y/N as a friend.”             “Why does it have to be so complicated?” Jason sighed as he tried to remember when was the last time he had seen you as merely a friend.       “Because it’s love and nothing is ever simple when it comes to love. No need to be a relationship expert to know this.” Jason glanced at Dick who was smiling at him. “I hope you don’t consider yourself an expert considering the failure that is your love life and your on and off relationship with Babs.” Dick shrugged. Yes, apparently he was. Cocky boy wonder. “I’m expert enough to know you don’t call someone you have sex with a friend.” “Oh come on! Ever heard of friends with benefits?” Jason harrumphed, slightly annoyed by his predecessor’s judgemental attitude right now.   “Jason please. You guys are not friends with benefits and you know why? Cause your relationship is not platonic at all. You like Y/N and Y/N likes you. But you are too unconfident or too scared to admit it so you end up having sex when you don’t know how to handle your feelings anymore. Now can we take care of that bunch of lousy criminals before they escape with the money?”             As much as it hurt Jason to admit it, Dick was right. He liked you. He liked you a lot. Maybe he was in love with you even, he didn’t know. But what he really knew right now was that he had screwed up, bad, and that he wanted to fix things between you two.

***

You turned your key in the keyhole, exhausted by your long day at work and blaming the snow that had literally frozen your toes and fingers on your way back home. “Maybe I should ask for a ugly pair of Uggs for Christ…mas”           You couldn’t move, your limbs as frozen as your fingers and toes or maybe worse. Eyes widened you looked around you and at the thousands colourful lights illuminating your entire apartment and the Christmas decorations scattered all over the furniture. “What the hell happened here?”             “Do you like it?” You yelled and jumped and, out of pure reflex and fear, punched hard the person standing right behind you before you could realise it was actually Jason. “Oh my god, Jay.” He groaned and put a hand over his nose to calm the pain. “Damn. I think you broke it.”   “Let me see.” You tried to remove his hand from his face to see how badly injured he was. “No! Don’t touch it. Don’t touch it.” He cried out as a sign of protest but eventually let you take him inside right to your couch where you left him an instant to go fetch some ice in the freezer. “What are you doing here that late?” You asked as you came back to sit by his side. “I wanted to surprise you. I guess it worked.” He hissed as you finally put the small bag of ice against his nose.             “You did this?” You asked as you looked again around you. There were probably at least dozens of flickering string lights hanging from the ceiling above your head as well as fake snow all over the floor of the living room and miniature Christmas trees and other lovely decorations carefully placed on the furniture. “Yeah.”           “How? When?” You couldn’t believe he had done this.             “This afternoon while you were gone. I entered by the window. You know you should check if they’re close before leaving.” You smile when you understood the nod to what you had told him last you saw each other. “Why?”     “ Well. Because it’s dangerous of course. I mean a lunatic could enter and turn your place into a Christmas shop. Oops too late.”     “ No, I mean. Why did you do this?” You asked again, not really in the mood to laugh at his joke right now. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? … And I like you” He said while looking at you right in the eye. “And not as a friend. Cause clearly we’re not friends and we’re not …” You dropped the bag of ice to catch Jason by the neck and kiss him passionately. How long have you waited for him to finally say it. “Ow. Ow. Easy.” Jason complained right against your lips when your nose pressed too hard against his. “Sorry.” You whispered with a smile. “Don’t smile at my pain. I’m really hurt.”   “Aren’t you a tough guy?” You teased, using his own arguments against him.         “Not when I’m with you.” He confessed and approached your face again, slowly and carefully, to kiss your soft lips with a delicacy that made you shiver. “There are so many things I want to tell you, Y/N.”       “ Then say them.” You whispered still close to his face, feeling his hot breath against your skin. “It would ruin Christmas’ spirit.”   “I thought you didn’t like Christmas.”       “I lied.”

[lynelovespopculture]

THE CHILLING ADVENTURES OF ZELDA CHAPTER 17-WITCHES IN A MORTAL WORLD

 AS CORDELIA FEELS HER FRIENDS DIFTING AWAY FROM HER, FAUSTUS MUST DEAL WITH VERY UNWANTED ATTENTION FROM NINA.

 The silence in the car was deafening.  Once or twice, Cordelia felt brave enough to turn her head to look at her father.  Usually, she could gage how her father was feeling just by looking at him, but now his face was just as unreadable as her mother’s usually was.  Still, Cordelia knew she had to say something to defend herself. After all, she didn’t do anything wrong.

“Dad,” Cordelia started. “I had nothing to do with whatever the Warners and that new girl were doing in that bathroom. I swear, I was only there a second before Becky came in.” Becky Mercer was the hallway monitor, who had entered the girls’ room right after Cordelia did. Becky incorrectly assumed that all 5 girls were in on this together, so all 5 girls were hauled off to Mr. Putnam’s office. Unfortunately, Faustus and the new 8th grade teacher, Mrs. Robinson, were already there. Cordelia felt very uncomfortable having her father there as Becky described the scene in the bathroom. When it came time to leave, her friends gave her dirty looks, as if it was her fault. “I swear I had nothing to do with it.”  Cordelia stressed.

“I know.”

“You do?"

“Of course, Cordy,” Faustus turned to his daughter, smiling. “I know you know what real magic is. It’s sure not a painted piece of cardboard made by Parker Brothers.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

Faustus shrugged. “Why should I be? If you say you weren’t involved…”

“I wasn’t.” Cordelia insisted.

“I didn’t know that the triplets were interested in magic.”

“Nor did I. But I suspect that their new friend, Sara, could be  at the heart of it. She claims to be a wiccan.”

“A wiccan!”  Faustus scoffed. “It’s a false word used by mortals to made themselves feel powerful. Besides, all I have read says that real wiccans died out with the age of  the pagans and there  has not been any pagans in Greendale since before you  were born, Cordelia.”

Cordelia knew that it was time to change the subject. “So, why were you in Mr. Putnam’s office anyway?”

“Well, while your friends were trying to start the 2nd fire of the day, Theo was dealing with the first one. You see since both the 8th grade classroom and the library  are  burned and therefore will  be unusable for several  months, Mrs. Robinson and her class have nowhere to go and since our  class happens to the smallest one this year-“

“They’re going to move the 8th  grade in with  us.”  Cordelia finished.

“Yes.”  Faustus confirmed.

“Do we even have that kind of room to share?”

“We should, once we move some desks and things around. What I can’t tell you is how they expect 2 teachers to run 1 classroom.”

Cordelia didn’t know either, so she just shrugged and looked out the window.  They were passing city hall when she saw a happy  brunette couple on the front steps. Cordelia thought she knew the woman, but she couldn’t quite place her.

 “There, that should do it!” It was Friday afternoon and Faustus and Nina were finish moving the last desk. They had been working afterschool all week to rearrange the room. 8 graders on 1 side, 7 on the other.

“Now you can all move in Monday.” Faustus smiled.

“Great! After bunking down in the cafeteria all week, it will be nice to enjoy lunch again, not have to rush to dismiss  my class early for it every single  day.”

They both laughed then Nina came closer.  “Seriously, Mr. Spellman, I’m really grateful to you for taking me in.”

“Oh, think nothing of it.”

“No, I mean it. If I can do anything, and I do mean anything, to thank you, just ask.”

Faustus’s smile remained on his face right up until Nina goosed him.

  “What?!  Oh no, Faustus, she didn’t do that.” Zelda giggled.

It was late that night, Faustus and Zelda were alone in their bedroom.  Faustus was telling his wife about his day.

“Oh yes, she did!” Faustus insisted. “And I didn’t misread or misunderstand the situation. That foolish woman walked straight up and goosed me! She willingly and knowingly grabbed my left buttocks with her hand and squeezed, hard.  So hard that I think she left a mark.”

Zelda burst out laughing. Faustus felt annoyed. Zelda was the only woman he had ever been faithful to.  Hecate knows that he had no plan or desire to change that, ever! Still, was it so wrong to want the woman he loved to be a tiny bit jealous? That he would comfort her and calm her fears by telling her, truthfully, that he immediately stepped, (okay, more like jumped), several steps away from Nina and told her that he was flattered but very happily married. Was that too much to ask? Faustus supposed it was as Zelda continued to laugh.

“I’m glad this amuses you, dearest. I know that I’m pushing 400, Zelda Spellman, but I thought that another woman being attracted me isn’t that humorous.”

“It isn’t humorous at all.” Zelda was instantly serious.  “I wasn’t laughing at that. You’re a very handsome man, darling. No, I was laughing at the irony.”

Faustus was completely lost. “What irony?”

“Her name.”

“Nina?”

Zelda shook her head. “No, Faustus. Mrs.  Robinson. A woman name Mrs. Robinson made a pass at you! Have you never seen the movie, the Graduate? All that’s missing is for that woman put her leg on a chair and the camera to pan under her leg.”

Now, Faustus was the one laughing.

Zelda smiled. “Remember, dear heart, sexual harassment goes both ways.”

“I’ll remember that. In that meanwhile, I have a question for you,” Faustus leaned forward and tucked some fingers into the knot of Zelda’s bathroom and gently pulled his wife into his arms. “Will you seduce me, Mrs. Spellman?”

“I thought you would never ask.” Zelda smiled and kissed him.

 Ever since they were 7 years old, Erin, Emily, Erica and Cordelia had a deal with their parents. As long as they kept their grades up, the girls were allowed to have sleepovers once a month. They took turns at each   other’s houses. That 1st Saturday after the start of 7th grade, it was Cordelia’s turn to host the triplets and she was excited about it. True, she saw her friends all the time in class and hung out with them outside of school quite often. But something was off this week, namely…Sara. It wasn’t that Cordelia didn’t like Sara, the girl had done nothing to her. It was just that she had known Warners a long time and knew that the sisters had loud, different personalities.  So, why were they seemingly turning into Sara’s yes men? Cordelia tried to bring the subject up to the triplets but they all stared at her like she was crazy. It was like Sara was voted president of a club, a club that Cordelia wasn’t even sure that she belonged to. Of course, they would play with other kids sometimes but the sleepovers were always just for the 4 of them and that’s why Cordelia was so excited for it. That’s why her heart sank when she heard Mr. Warner’s car pulled up and Cordelia saw at the window that the sisters had brought Sara with them.  Still, Cordelia knew it would be rude to turn Sara away so Cordelia swallowed her disappointment and welcomed all of her guests. The girls usually bunkered down in Cordelia’s room but 5 girls didn’t fit, so they made themselves comfortable in the living room. 3 hours into the sleepover, Sara turned to Erica.

“So, are you going to ask her or what?”

Cordelia immediately felt ill at ease. “Ask me what?”

“Cord, you know those old books you have in your attic?” Erica started slowly. “We were wondering if we could go take a look at them.”

“You mean, my cousin Ambrose’s collection?” Cordelia asked, knowing full well that’s exactly what they meant. “Why would you guys want to look at that?”

“To see if Sara could find a spell in one!” Erin said excitedly.

Of course. Cordelia forced herself not to roll her eyes. After never talking about it ever before, the triplets talked about nothing but magic all week long. The only difference between this week and any other, as far as Cordelia knew, was Sara. Still, Cordelia knew she better play it cool.

“You guys don’t want to go up there. It’s nothing but dusty 1st editions of Charles Dickens and Jane Austin.”

“And you’re sure you can account for all the books up there?”

It was comments like that made Cordelia think that Sara was annoying.

“Trust me guys, if I would come across something as cool as a spell book, I would share it with you.”

The triplets agreed and the subject was dropped, or so Cordelia thought. In the middle of the night, Sara woke up the triplets and said that she found books to look over right there in the living room.

“Should we wake up Cordelia?” Emily asked in a whisper.

“No,” Sara whispered back. “She’s only try to stop us or slow us down.”

They all took an armful of books and went into the hallway, leaving Cordelia in a deep sleep on the sofa.

 1 hour later, the triplets were ready to give up.

“There’s nothing here.” Whined Erin.

“Hey, I think I found something!” Declared Erica, but her smile faded quickly. “Never mind, these words aren’t in English.”

Sara took the book from Erica and immediately started to chant words that the triplets could not understand, leaving the sisters to stare at each other. Soon, a fog of green smoke rose up out of the book.  It floated away to the left and into the Spellman dinning room.  By the time the girls had turned the corner, the smoke had turned into a 7-foot green monster. Erin gasped and Erica rushed to cover her sister’s mouth. Only…she wasn’t fast enough for the noise caught the monster’s attention.

“I have been awakened.” The monster boomed at them. “Once I dispatch with you 4, no one can stop me from spreading my brilliant fear.”

“Boy, did you pick the wrong house.”

The monster turned toward the new voice and then the girls saw who was in the doorway.

“Mr. Spellman?”

“Warlock!”  The monster’s growl was so loud that it woke up the 3 people in the house who were still sleeping. Zelda came out of her room and met Jake in the hallway.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”  He answered.  

Meanwhile, in the living room, Cordelia opened her eyes, pushed herself up by her elbow and saw by the dying firelight that all the sleeping bags, 2 on the floor, 1 on a chair and 1 on the sofa across from her, were empty. “Um…guys?!”

After getting up, Cordelia was met at the door by her mother and brother.

“Cordy, what’s happening?”

“Don’t know, Mom, but my friends are gone.”  Cordelia saw the books in the hall and brushed by her brother. “Oh no! I told them not to go upstairs and sort through Ambrose’s collection.”

“They can’t! They might find a spell book!”

Little sister gave big brother a dirty look. “Jeez, you think so?”

Another noise came and Zelda ran into the other room. Cordelia was right behind her and Jake stayed behind just long to pick up the only book that was still opened. They stopped right behind the girls and Sarah. They also beheld the monster with their only eyes. After Jake shook off the shock, he turned the page in the book he held and spoke a sentence.  Instantly, the monster howled in pain and then it disappeared. As it did, green goo spat out of the monster’s mouth and landed on Faustus’s face.

Zelda watched her husband as his lip quivered and she came closer. “Darling, are you alright?”

“Please, don’t leave me, Zelda.”

“Leave you?”

“I know you can have Mambo Marie or anyone in the realms that you desire. But no one can love you like I do. Hecate, I love you so much, Zelda! Please don’t leave me, dearest, please!” Now openly sobbing, Faustus sank to his knees and clung to Zelda’s nightgown.

Unsure what was happening and not sure what to do about her husband, Zelda sighed and looked back at the children. “Cordelia, take your friends back to bed. Jake, perhaps you can fetch the girls some hot coco to calm them down.”

“Calm down?!” Erin shrieked. “Are we just going to ignore the fact that the R rated version of Shrek just came and went? What was that? Why is Mr. Spellman now crying?”

Erin had a million more question as a fuming Cordelia gathered her friends and led them back into the living room. “I thought I told you not to go to the attic and look for books.” Cordelia’s tone was very much like a disappointed parent.

“We didn’t,” Sara shook her head. “All the books we found, came from that cabinet.”

But I locked that up myself before you got here. Cordelia thought silently. For the 10 minutes, Cordelia tried and failed to come up with an explanation for what had happened.  She was so grateful when Jake came in with the hot coco. Emily remarked how yummy the cinnamon was. Cordelia’s mug didn’t have any for she knew that the cinnamon was laced with aunt Hilda’s kitchen magic, designed to make her mortal friends forget the events of this night.

  The next morning, Faustus woke up   with a splitting headache.

“Darling, you’re alright!” Zelda rushed to his side. “How are you feeling?”

Faustus groaned. “Did anyone get the plate of that truck?”

Zelda smiled. “There was no truck. Turns out that our friend, the not-so-jolly green giant is a demon. A fear demon, to be exact.”

“But why did I get hysterical last night and then I remember…nothing else?”

“Well, you were crying so hard that Jake and I couldn’t even think so we put you under a sleeping spell and put you to bed for the night. As Cordelia tended to her friends, Jake and I were able to study that spell book and that’s how we discovered it was a fear demon.”

“But why did I cry at all?” Faustus asked.

“It’s the fear demon’s green goo.  Once the goo made contact with your skin, it made you believe that your greatest fear had come true. Given, how you asked me not to leave you, does your greatest fear involve me?” Zelda asked gently.

Faustus sighed. “As a matter of fact, my greatest fear is you realizing what I already know. That you can do so much better than me.”

Zelda clicked her tongue, sat beside Faustus on the bed and took his hand. “Darling, that’s simply not true. I will never leave you, never! Why won’t you believe me when I say I Iove you just as much as you love me?”

“Because I’ve never been that lucky.” He muttered.

“Will I do.” Zelda insisted and kissed him long and deep.

After gently stroking his wife’s cheek, Faustus got up and reached for his robe. “1 final question, dearest, how long should we punish Cordelia for showing off in front of her friends?”

Zelda frowned. “I’m not sure Cordy did this. She seemed just as shocked as Jake and I was and she’s never behaved like this before.”

“If Cordy didn’t do this, then who did?”

Zelda shrugged as Faustus put his arm around her. As they went downstairs and toward the kitchen, Zelda explained how they were able to rid Faustus of the demon’s goo   by using the strongest anti-spell they had. The one Faustus had discovered himself when they first found LJ and she had spelled Cordelia as a baby. In the kitchen, they saw Jake, who was sitting on the kitchen island, eating a bowl of cereal.  Ambrose and Prudence were at the table, studying a book.  The sleep over guests were gone but Cordelia, still in her pjs, was pacing back and forth.

“Dad!”  Cordelia ran up to her parents as soon as she saw them. “Are you alright? Are you okay?”

Faustus reached down and tucked a stray red hair behind his daughter’s ear. For the past 12 years, 1 of Faustus’s greatest joys in life had been able to raise and claim Cordelia as his own since the moment she was born. Something fate had cheated him out of with his other 3 children. The fact that she was also Zelda’s child was just extra icing on a very sweet cake. The way she ran up to him, coupled with the heavy concern in her eyes made Faustus feel bad he had accused her of anything. He bent and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m perfectly fine.”

Zelda sat down at the table, addressing Ambrose and Prudence. “What are you 2 doing here so early on a Sunday morning?”

“I called them,” Jake explained. “I know you and I studied the spell a lot last night, Mom, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to call in the expert.” Jake pointed his spoon at Ambrose. “Especially since Cordy still says she’s innocent.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “I am!” Cordelia insisted. “The only thing I’m guilty of last night is of falling asleep.”

“I believe you, Cordelia, and I believe the evidence does too.” Ambrose said calmly.

“You found something?” Zelda asked.

Ambrose nodded. “This just happens to be 1 of the oldest spell book in the whole house. The demon summoning spell would have had to be performed by someone who   could speak perfect Latin.”

“And we all know that my Latin is very far from perfect.” Cordelia cut in.

Prudence was confused. “So, the Warners did this?”

Her little sister shook her head. “No, no, no. Erin, Emily and Erica don’t speak a word of Latin nor do they know any magic. I’ll tell you exactly who did that spell. It was the new girl from school, Sara Reed. It was her.”

“Do you really think so?” Faustus asked his daughter.

“I’m certain of it! The triplets have slept over here hundreds of times and nothing bad ever happened until last night when they brought Sara with them.  Hecate, it was Sara’s idea to go upstairs to haunt for books.”

“Is this Sara girl magical?” Jake asked.

Cordelia crossed her arms. “She’s a self-proclaimed wiccan.”

“But a wiccan isn’t magical, none that we’ve ever seen anyway.” Prudence pointed out.

Cordelia shrugged. “I don’t know who or what Sara truly is but I know now that my gut instinct was right. I don’t trust her.”

 Cordelia was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. She was still angry on Monday morning when she entered the school and the 1st thing she saw was the triplets and Sara huddled together in front of a poster. After a heavy sigh, Cordelia went to join them.

“Well, ladies, it seems that it’s play season yet again.”  Emily said as her sisters moaned.

“What? Don’t you like plays?” asked Sara.

Cordelia was now near enough to hear her friends and she was happy. She was happy because they were talking about normal stuff confirming that the hot coco had worked. Also she was happy because she knew the problem about the play without having to ask, unless Sara.

“This school does a play 2 times a year, in the fall and in the spring. But the only play they ever put on, year after year is Death of a Salesman.” Emily explained.

“They?” asked Sara.

Well, the play is mostly done by the 7th & 8th graders.” Erin said.

Erica lit up. “That’s us this year, guys. Maybe we could request a change of the play.”

“That a great idea!”

The 4 girls turned to see Cordelia.  The triplets greeted their friend warmly, but as Cordelia noted, Sara did not. The girls had no more time to talk since the bell rang. But Cordelia managed to block Sara’s way.

“I was just wondering how did you learn how to speak Latin?”

Sara shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know a word of Latin.”

No wonder I don’t trust you. Cordelia thought as she watched Sara walk away. You just lied straight to my face.

The school day didn’t get much better. Since this was the 1st day that grades 7 and 8 were sharing a classroom, it was fitting that their 1st assignment was a joint 1. The whole class has 2 weeks to research and write an essay about their family trees. Later that afternoon, it was announced that some of the 7 graders, including Cordelia, would been bumped up to grade 8 English.

“I’m very excited about the first novel we’re going to read.” Mrs. Robinson declared. “It was 1 of my favorite when I was your age. It’s The Witches by Roald Dahl.”

Faustus overheard all this and didn’t have to look up to know that his daughter had cringed.

 “So, what do you think your father will say when you tell him you’re dating a white guy?”

LJ smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think my father will have anything to say about it. Mostly because he’s a white guy himself. I didn’t tell you because, well, it just slipped my mind.  That’ s how unimportant it is to me. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all. I just needed another reason to say we’re dating.”

It was a week later and it was lunchtime at the hospital. After 3 weeks of spending every spare moment together, LJ Spellman and Peter Watson are very happy because last night they both decided that they were officially dating.

“My family is very important to me.” LJ told Peter as the 2 doctors sat down with their food trays. “In fact,” LJ reached into her pocket and fished out her wallet. “I always have this with me.” LJ said as she placed the photo in the middle of the table and slid it over to Peter. “See the tall guy with the black hair in the middle there? That’s my father, Faustus.”

 “I had no idea you had such a big family.” Peter said, studying the picture.

 “It’s not that big. It just looks like it because we have the whole gang here.” LJ got up and went closer to Peter to guide him through the picture. “I’m 1 of 4 children. The girl with the platinum hair here,” LJ pointed, “is my older sister, Prudence. The boy next to my father is my twin brother, Jake and this is Cordelia, my baby sister. And this is Zelda, my stepmother-“

Peter frowned. “You have a stepmother? Ug, I’m so sorry. I’ve 2 stepmothers of my own and, well, there a reason why they called evil stepmothers.”

LJ shook her head. “I’m sorry if you had some bad experiences, but it’s not like that for me. Zelda is wonderful, in fact- “LJ sighed, how to explain the insanity cure to a mortal? “Look, I know how insane this will sound, but I swear to you that all of it is true.”

“Okay,” Peter said slowly.

“Jake and I were babies when we were kidnapped by a…would-be cult leader.” LJ continued. “The man was insane and sexiest. He taught us all the wrong values. Thankfully, when we were 16, Jake and I were returned to our father. It wasn’t easy having to relearn almost everything and basically how the real world worked. But our father was there for us every step of the way. So was Zelda. I was so mean to her in the beginning but she refused to give up on me or Jake. Whatever or whenever we needed her, she was there. Even though she had a 5 month old at home and a whole school to run, she was never to busy to help us or hold us, whatever we needed. Zelda wanted to adopt Jake and me right from the start but she waited until we wanted it too.  Our birth mother died in childbirth, so Zelda is the only mom Jake and I have ever known.”

Peter was impressed. “Wow, I’m sorry for my earlier comments. You obviously love Zelda very, very much.”

LJ smiled and then pointed out the other people in the photo. Her Aunt Hilda, Uncle C and cousins, Ambrose and Sabrina.

“They all seem delightful. When can I met them?”

LJ blinked. “You want to meet my family?”

“Yeah, I want to find out for myself if they’re as cool as you” Peter said before kissing her.

  Early the next morning, Faustus was at his desk when Nina came in and without a single word, closed the door and sat in his lap!

“You’ve been holding out on me.” Nina sing songed.

Meanwhile, Faustus could barely be bothered to look up from his work. “No, I’m not.  As I told you before, your makeshift desk is over there” Using his pencil, Faustus pointed to the corner “and if you require a new chair, I suggest you get yourself one.”

“No, it’s not about that. You told me that you were happily married. You lied, Fausty.”

“No, I did not.  And don’t call me Fausty, ever!”

“But you did lie,” Nina insisted. “I asked around and that is how I learned that you are famous or should I say I infamous, for cheating on your wife.”

Faustus made a face. “You asked? Who did you ask?”

“You know, just around town.”

Faustus was furious, standing up and Nora rolled off him and would have crashed to the floor if she hadn’t awkwardly grabbed the desk.

“Where do you get off?” Faustus demanded. “Running around town, asking everyone about my personal business!”

“Look, I’ve respected your marriage up until now- “

“Are you kidding me? In the 3 weeks that we have shared this classroom, all you ever do is come on to me, shamelessly flirt with me, use any excuse to bump or brush up against me and talking in double meanings. Often in front of our students, 1 of which is my own daughter!”

“I won’t tell your wife, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Faustus sighed deeply. This was truly like talking to a brick wall. Actually, the brick wall would be more of an upgrade. “I don’t care if you talk to my wife because there’s nothing to tell her.”

Nina shook her head. “That’s not what I heard, and you know the saying, once a cheater, always a cheater.”

“I’m no longer a cheater! I am not that man anymore!” Faustus declared. “And comparing my 1st marriage to my second is as pointless as comparing day and night. Judging from that look on your face, I can tell that you didn’t know that I’ve been married twice, which proves just how little know about me.”

“Then why don’t enlighten me?” Nina came closer.

“Fine!  But because it’s almost class time and I have no desire to tell you my life story so let me give you the cliff notes. I was blackmailed into my 1st marriage.  Since we met less than a month before our wedding, I didn’t even know Constance when we got married and when we did get to know each other, I didn’t like her. Yes, I cheated on her, a lot, because I was so unhappy. I was trapped in a   marriage I never wanted. My faith doesn’t allow for divorce and worse of all, I had to sit by and watch as the only woman I’ve ever love go out with men that were beneath her.  Aside from my twin children, nothing good came out of my marriage with Constance. When she died, I was finally free to marry my Zelda and it was the best thing I ever did.  It’s been 13 years and I still thank all the stars in the sky every day for that woman and the family she gave me. My marriage to Zelda has given me a happiness that I never knew existed. I used to think that you needed power to be happy, not so. As long as I know my children are safe and I get to wake up next to Zelda each morning, I am perfectly content. You see, Zelda is my very best friend as well as the love of my life and I would never do anything to willing hurt her. For I would be completely lost without her.”

Nina crossed her arms. “You told me about yourself. Now, let me tell you about me. Back in New York, I’m considered a legend. Once I’m interested in someone, that’s it. He’s mine. A man has never refused to share my bed.”

“Well, you know the saying, there’s a 1st time for everything.” Faustus returned.

Nina sighed as she unbuttoned half her top, exposing her bra. “Does this give you any ideas?”

“You know, it does.”

Finally! Nina thought as she smiled, closed her eyes and puckered up for a kiss. Only there was no kiss, and Nina could only feel a tiny movement of fabric. She opened her eyes to see Faustus now had his back to her. She looked down to see that he had buttoned her blouse back up. She was going to call out to him when the bell rang and the children flooded in. After attendance, Nina had an announcement.

“As I told you on Monday, your request to do a new play has been approved. After taking your suggestions all week, I’ve decided to go with the Warner girls’ and Ms. Reed’s idea.”

At her desk, Cordelia frowned. She had no idea that they had submitted a play idea, and the triplets used to tell her everything.

“As per their suggestion,” Nina continued. “we will be doing a watered down version of The Crucible by Arthur Miller. For those of you not in the know, this play is about the Salem witch trials.”

That is when Faustus and Cordelia sighed and buried their faces in their hands at the exact same time.

[stardancerluv]

Alex Sees and Cares

Summary: Alex knows...

Warning: Alex fingers reader, and lots of fluff

For @guns-n-marvel ... hope you like it! I love...love writing Alex! Italtics is the opened portion of Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. And I just had to make a silly references to Ewan!

You had been feeling particularly blah. You woke, you showered, you ate, you went to work, you spent time with your wonderful boyfriend who was the best and then you go to bed and repeat. Life had become horribly routine.

Alex, was truly wonderful. His friends well they were not the best. At the moment, you were feeling so horrible down. You were on the cusp of full on tears. You swallowed them down.

“Baby, you want me to get you another drink ?” You felt a reassuring hand on your back.

You jumped, slightly. “Oh yes, Alex?”

“I wanted to know, if you wanted another drink?”

“Oh! Yes, please.”

“You ok?” He you could see concern warming his blue eyes.”

You smiled. “Of course. I am.”

“Ok, baby.”

As you sat there, you nervously played with your bracelets. Thankfully, it was the weekend. You really didn’t want to go to work. Maybe you’d sleep in and shake off this gray cloud of feeling blah.

You smiled back at Alex, as winked at you from the bar. Seeing him, leaning against it. Those jeans, that t-shirt and that flannel shirt, you have stolen several times to sleep with when you couldn’t be together. . He still made your heart flutter even after dating for three months.

Turning, your attention to your purse, you decided to turn your phone off. You didn’t want any stupid calls or texts.

When you, looked back at your boyfriend. Your heart cracked. Some girl in a tight skirt and and sloppy yet cute shirt was. Leaning on the bar very, close to your Alex.

He was smiling and laughing as he looked down at her. A sharp pang went through you. They looked really good together as they chatted. You looked at you torn jeans and slouchy maroon shirt. Suddenly, you felt really self conscious.

Alex, grabbed your drinks and motioned for you to come over. Your heart began to race. Why would he did do that? Did he find her that amusing? She looked so much cuter then you.

Alex slid onto his stool next you, his one foot resting on yours. He put the drinks in front of the two of you.

Where your midriff, peaked a place, Alex said was always his weakness, he slid his arm around. “Erika, meet my girlfriend, Y/N.” He gave your hip a squeeze.

She grimaced and offered a hand. You shook it. “So you are the girl that stole our Alex’s heart?”

You glanced at him and then back at her and shrugged. “Yes?!”

He nuzzled your cheek with his nose and gave you a quick kiss. “You did.” He whispered.

“All of us office girls were crying the day that happened.” She chuckled.

You heard Alex sigh. “Yes, but look at you. You are all set to get married in the fall and Jenna just dating Derek.” He took a sip of his scotch.

“True. Though we missed you.”

You wondered what she could have possibly meant by that. It formed a knot in your stomach.

******

Walking out of the bedroom you put your hair up into a a messy pony, and your pajamas, you were going to veer to the kitchen. Maybe grab some chips or something. Finding, Alex’s side of the bed did not help the knot that was still in your stomach. What could she possibly mean that they all missed your boyfriend.

“Come here baby.” Alex, stuck his head and gave you one of those smiles that made everything disappear but right, you felt like you were on the cusp of tears all over again.

“Ok.” You replied, softly. Your eyes widened when you saw the coffee table. All your favorite snacks and drinks. “Alex?” You spotted your favorite book, A Tale of Two Cities. But you also , saw one of your favorite movies, Scarlet & Black.

He patted a spot in front of him, it was your spot. You’d sit there watching, movies or game shows. You’d also sit there reading, while he would work on his latest news article. Though all that was there were things you enjoyed. You sat down, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you and gave your should a kiss.

“Did you, sleep well baby?”

“I guess but I didn’t like not waking up to you.”

“I’m sorry baby. Had to get this all spread out for you.” With that, you felt as he gently pulled your hair from the hair tie. “Much, better!” he breathed into your hair. He ran his fingers through your hair. “So soft.”

“Thank you.”

He made a sound. “No thank yous. You’re my girl. I don’t spoil you enough.” He kissed your cheek.”

You turned to him. The tears were there bubbling, threatening to flow.

He cupped your chin, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Look, I noticed you had been a little down, blah even.” He gave you another soft kiss. “My new article stole me away but I’m back. And I am taking care of you today.” He kissed you again.

Oh, Alex.” You shook a little.

“No tears. Ok.” He rose his eyes the way, he knew made you melt.

“Ok.” You said softly.

He leaned over and grabbed the book. Before settling. “I want to read some of it to you. I was just rereading it. I remembered how much, Iiked it.”

“Really, Alex?”

“Yup, giving it a second chance.” He kissed your shoulder again. “Then after maybe the first chapter or two we’re gonna watch half of Scarlet and Black. I know how much you love that Ewan McGregor.” He chuckled. “I like him when he played that villian with the great suits..”

“Roman Sionis?”

“Yes. He was awesome there but I know you like some of his more romantic roles. And well today is your day...so I will suffer through it. Maybe I can learn some of his moves. “ he chuckled.

You nudged him, already beginning to feel better. “Alex Law, you are perfect the way you are.”

“I better be, ok. Get comfy.” He opened the book. “A Tale o Two Cities, by Charles Dickens.” He cleared his throat.

You got comfy, sighing as he began to read. Only thing that distracted, was his hand that, rested on your hip.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,”

His hand slipped under your t-shirt. He gently traced the band of your shorts. “Alex,” You breathed.

“Baby, I’m reading focus.” He paused, then he began again. “it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us,”

You felt as his fingers slip down your panties. He cupped you. You squirmed under his touch, your heart began to beat harder. You were growing incredibly wet under his touch. He stopped his fingers, to sigh. Before he began reading again. “we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way–“

He found your, soft opening, he rubbed you there teasing you. You knew and the knew you loved how was touching you. You tried to bit back a moan but you couldn’t. He slowly slid a finger in. He stopped to turn then page.

The whimper that came from you brought a kiss from him on your shoulder. You were certain he was smirking as he slipped another finger into you, moving them slowly as he began to read once again.

“In be short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil,.”

He tossed the book to the side as he increased the pace of his fingers. “Feel good baby?” He asked softly by your ear.

“Yes.” You finally said. “I am so close.” You whimpered again.”

“Cum then baby, I want to make you cum.” He whispered.

He caressed and held with his other hand so you wouldn’t fall. Feeling you, press against him. He knew you were close. “Cum baby, cum for me,” he urged.

He up the sounds as you shook and came hard against him. Slowly, he dragged his fingers away from you. He licked them clean, smirking at you as you turned to look at him dazed.

“Cuddle in sweetheart. I’ll read a little more then we can start the movie.” You cuddled in and relaxed. Your gray cloud of blah was finally gone. He brushed some hair from your face. Giving you another quick kiss, as your heart and breathing began to even out. As the words came from him again.

@mac-n-cheesie @obiwankenobiness

[artificialqueens]

Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 6/10 (Taywhora) - Juno

Chapter summary: For alternative ingredients week, the bakers are challenged by a vegan signature, a gluten-free technical, and a dairy-free showstopper which will threaten to derail them. Meanwhile, Aurora is confused by Tayce’s seemingly opposing actions. Bimini’s motives are a mystery to everyone in the tent. And Lawrence’s strange avoidance of Ellie may send her to breaking point.

WEEK 6: ALTERNATIVE INGREDIENTS WEEK

All of Aurora’s side had moved up one space following Asttina’s unexpected elimination last week. Now Lawrence was at the front of their row, with Ellie behind her and Aurora behind Ellie. On the other side there was Bimini at the front, followed by Tia, then Veronica, and Tayce at the back, still on her own as Aurora’s side dwindled each week.

It was the halfway point in the series, and Aurora wasn’t nervous any more.

Screw that. I’m Star Baker. None of them had better mess with me.

Five more episodes to go, and only four more eliminations. It almost felt like the home stretch.

Aurora was a little taller this week, letting her gaze drift around the much-emptier tent, wondering who the three finalists would be.

Me and Tayce for definite. But who else?

Bimini and Ellie had a badge each, while Tia, Veronica and Lawrence were yet to win one. But Asttina had won the first week and gone home.

Besides, they all had strengths and weaknesses. Ellie couldn’t get consistent in Technicals, but always made up for it with her Showstoppers, a seemingly boundless imagination in that head. And Bimini had been fair, not bad but not great; but they’d won Bread Week. Anyone who watched more than one season of this show knew that winning bread week was basically a Willy Wonka golden ticket to the finale.

Then again, Veronica was a great baker, and she had yet to have a disastrous round, even though she hadn’t exactly done anything groundbreaking either. And Lawrence was consistently in the top half of the pack, and Aurora thought she could have won Bread Week too - if Bimini hadn’t pipped her to the post.

That just left Tia. Tia, who could bake an amazing, light-as-air cake; whose rainbow-iced biscuits were just the right ginger flavour; and whose bread was delicious - but whose bakes always looked like she’d sat on them before presenting them. Great taste, but appalling presentation.

If she starts nailing the looks of her bakes, she’s gonna win a badge.

Still, badges didn’t guarantee you a place in the final. Asttina had already gone home; someone else with a badge might do the same this week.

What if it’s the Star Baker curse? Coming back to take us badge-winners out one by one? Maybe it will be badge-less finale?

But Aurora pushed that thought away.

There isn’t a Star Baker curse. That was just some previous seasons. You don’t win Star Baker and get eliminated the next week any more.

Bimini was grinning from ear to ear, and Aurora realised why - it was alternative ingredients week, and there was definitely something vegan in the pipeline for Bimini to excel at.

——

Signature: 6 vegan mini quiches.

“Prue and Paul would like you to make six vegan mini-quiches this week. Now, these are not quiches made out of vegans, but quiches made with no animal products at all - no dairy or eggs.”

“And of course the filling must also be vegan - so no meat or cheese for the flavourings.”

Aurora grimaced. Here we go.

This was the week Aurora had been dreading. She’d tried to make vegan cakes and gluten-free treats for her work with the shelter, but they’d almost always failed. She’d sworn off making anything for her best friend Blake, who was celiac, telling him to go find a professional baker.

“But that’s you!” He’d protested, nudging her as she declined to make him a birthday cake last month.

She’d sighed. “I’m not that good, mate. I don’t really want to kill you.”

He’d tilted his head. “Bit rich to think you could get rid of me that easily. If you kill me with a bake, I’ll just come haunt you. Rattle some chains at you like I’m fucking - Marley or whatever his name is.”

Aurora sighed at the memory. Trust Bookworm Blake to bring up a Dickens reference.

Once Matt and Noel had announced that it was time to start baking, Aurora grabbed the ingredients she needed and ran her pencil back down her recipe again. The dough for the pastry cases was straightforward enough - she had to replace the milk, but there were plenty of replacements, and Aurora had opted for oat milk, which she’d read was best for vegan baking.

The real challenge, and she thought everyone was thinking the same thing, came to the filling. She had her pastry cases ready to go in no time, but making the filling eggy but also egg-less would be the biggest issue.

God. What do vegans do about eggs?

“You alright, babes?”

Aurora met Bimini’s hazel eyes as they stood, leaning on their elbows at Aurora’s workbench.

“What - what are you wearing this week?” Aurora said finally. Bimini’s outfit this week was a red and silver jumpsuit under the plain beige apron, causing an absurd clash of colours. “You look like a can of Coke.”

“Oh, this old thing? I found it in the back of my wardrobe earlier this week. Nah,” Bimini waved their hand, “it’s a replica of an outfit Noel wore when he was in The Mighty Boosh. You know, that comedy show he did? You never seen it?”

“And he wore that?” Aurora nodded. “Okay. Well, I guess it looks as if it will repel food if you spill it on yourself.”

“You alright, anyway?” Bimini switched straight back to concern, a concern that Aurora was unsure was real.

We’re at mid-point. Is this some kind of game plan that Bim has?

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because baking something vegan is normally weird enough for people when they don’t have any vegans in their lives, but like, when it has to be egg-less, people tend to lose their minds a bit.”

“Well -“

Aurora faltered for a second too long; and that was enough of a cue for Bimini to round the corner of the workbench and sift through Aurora’s ingredients.

“Hang on. What are you replacing the egg with?”

“Uhm,” Aurora held it up. “Silken tofu. I thought I’d blend it and use that for the filling.”

Bimini gave a low whistle, nodding and evidently impressed. “Good choice! You just have to make sure you blend it so there’s no lumps. Whizz it up really fast. Give it a splash of oat milk too, you don’t want lumpy quiches. Oh, and if you have nutritional yeast, it will give it a really good flavour.”

Before Aurora could say another word, Bimini had skipped away to Veronica on the other side of the room. “You alright, babes?” She heard them say to her.

“What’s Bim doing?” Aurora asked Ellie as they went to the tea tent together.

Ellie shrugged. “Don’t know. They came over to me earlier and gave me some tips on the egg mixture.”

“They did the same thing to me! Did it help you at all? Are they - d’you think they’re playing the game?”

“Weird game to play,” Ellie shook her head. “And my egg mixture seems to be alright. What I’m wondering is when are they gonna make their own quiches? They’ve spent twenty minutes coming and looking at all ours instead.”

But when Ellie and Aurora went back to the tent, Bimini had put their pastry cases in the oven and was doing some sort of rap and dance with Noel, the cameras trained on them both.

This day is just getting strange.

While her own pastry cases were baking, Aurora watched the judges approach Tayce, who was a little behind the rest of them, still moulding her pastries into the cases and preparing the beads at the bottom of them to keep their shape whilst baking.

“Morning Tayce!”

Tayce blinked, for a second in a dream, before putting on her winning smile. “Bore da, judges! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Tell us a bit about your bakes.”

“Well,” Tayce leant over the workbench, surveying them through her eyebrows. “I’m making some mini quiches flavoured with onions, tomato, and broccoli.”

“What’s inspired that then?”

Aurora’s heart stopped beating for a moment as Tayce paused for a couple of seconds, and then chuckled, a strangely sad sound, her head suddenly dropping to hang.

She straightened back up, putting the winning smile back from where it had slipped.

“Makes me think of my Pops. Out in the allotment, digging around for onions and potatoes and all that stuff, he liked to bring me along and gave me a little trowel and let me dig for worms. He’d say, Oh, they’re good, worms, good for the earth.” Tayce paused, tentative, before her next words. “Would have been his birthday today.”

“That - all sounds very nice,” Prue said gently. “Best of luck! Can’t wait to taste them, Tayce.”

And they were gone, going out the tent to grab themselves a cup of tea for their own break. Tayce stared straight ahead for a few seconds, before biting her lip, turning her gaze down to the onions she was about to start cutting.

Aurora realised her own hand was on her chest, at the base of her throat.

——

In spite of the ingredients being a little unorthodox, not what she was used to at all, Bimini’s tip for blending the tofu worked surprisingly well, and when Paul and Prue had both praised her tomato, spinach and olive mini quiches - not Aurora’s idea, one her nan had told her to do to be ‘more posh’ - Aurora realised with a rush that almost everyone had had some good critiques this week, mostly on the quality of their egg replacements.

And they’d all been based on Bimini’s good advice.

Handshakes were being dished out like Oprah’s cars. Lawrence got a handshake, then Veronica got a handshake, then - Aurora gasped - Tayce got a handshake, looking flustered for the first time since Aurora had known her, with a high-pitched giggle that Aurora was unfamiliar with, and a gasp of “Who, me? Like this?”

“Contest seems to be heating up,” Aurora said, as they sat in Carr Hall’s common room during the break. “And we thought you were trying to sabotage us, Bim!” She said as Bimini approached them, grinning from cheek to cheek, a pile of mini quiches on their plate.

“I’m just happy I get to try everyone’s this week,” they replied, picking up one which Aurora recognised as her own, and biting into it. “God. It’s so harsh seeing loads of cakes and stuff each week and only being able to try your own.”

“I’ve tried vegan baking before, it just always goes tits up,” Tayce piped up, coming to sit down. “Like me on a Friday night. It goes flat, or it goes wonky donkey, or it falls over.”

“Is that the cake, or you on a Friday night?” Bimini nudged Tayce with their foot; Tayce responding by slapping their arm.

“Hey! Cheeky bitch. Bet I’m not the only one.”

Tayce was laughing and joking as usual, while Aurora couldn’t help chewing her lip. It was a little uncomfortable, Aurora found, being around Tayce right now.

Last week had been the strangest week yet. She’d found herself floating through it in a mixture of fun at flirting playfully with Tayce, a little bit of pride at being the centre of attention for once, and trying to let herself enjoy the baking in the same way she did when she baked for her friends - filling it with love and good thoughts and positivity.

And it had worked. A bright badge in the shape of a dessert sat on her chest.

But the day of the Showstopper, things felt distorted again.

She’d known this whole flirting thing was meant to be a play for the cameras. That was what Tayce had implied only two weeks ago, that their romance was mainly for on-screen. But last weekend, Tayce in her bed, warm and secure and silent, was heavenly; both of them comfort for each other during this time, and Aurora dared to hope that Tayce might be starting to feel the same way as she did …

… until she’d woken up the next morning to find an empty bed, a cold spot where Tayce should have been.

And then again in the evening, just the two of them. Tayce hadn’t even responded to her kiss, instead opting to leave straight after, as if she didn’t want to be around her at all.

Aurora didn’t understand, all her thoughts about what was going on and what this blur from fake flirting into actual closeness was … tangling into one big worrisome knot that occupied most of her mind.

Does she have any feelings for me at all, or … is this fake-flirting thing a really elaborate scheme to distract me and get me sent home?

——

Technical: 12 Gluten-free pitta breads

“Any tips for the bakers this week, Paul?”

“Yes.” Paul straightened up. “The ingredients are there to be used.”

At the relative silence throughout the tent, Matt shrugged. “Alright then. That’s nice and clear. They have to leave the tent now, so goodbye judges!”

Once the judges had gone, and the Technical had been announced, Aurora shut her eyes, her fingers drumming on the workbench again. Gluten-free pitta bread? This week was going to be even more hell.

She focused on making notes on her instructions, and once she’d got her ingredients into the KitchenAid, she was starting to feel a little calmer, as she did once things were starting to move. She was running her pencil down her notes when her thoughts were interrupted by a voice in front of her.

“You alright, babes?”

She looked up to see Bimini leaning over her workbench, chin in their hands. Aurora tried to hide the frown. Again?

“Hi. No - no. I can never get gluten-free baking right. My best friend is celiac, and I haven’t managed to make anything he can eat that doesn’t look like a mess.”

“More xantham gum than you think,” Bimini muttered with a wink. “That’ll make it less crumbly. Oh, and if you rest it, it will help the bake.”

When Bimini skipped away again, over to Tayce to most likely give her the same tip, Aurora stared dumbstruck after them for a good ten seconds before shaking her head in wonder and adding another teaspoon of xantham gum to the dish.

“Did he say they wanted six pitta breads?” This time it was Ellie’s voice that made Aurora look up.

“No - twelve.”

“Ah - alright.”

Aurora concentrated on kneading the dough, trying to give it as much air as possible, when she was interrupted again, this time by a gentle but familiar hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at Tayce, who held a cup of tea in her other.

“Thanks.”

The cameras were absent, pointed at Bimini and Noel doing some dance at Bimini’s workbench, rapping along to something.

“You looked like you could do with some tea. Giving that dough some welly, aren’t you?”

Tayce’s voice was strangely subdued, her fingers twisting in front of her. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes to savour it. “I love the smell of dough. Makes me think about my nana’s house. She was always baking stuff. Her whole kitchen smelled like a bakery.”

She was stopped in her reminiscing by Ellie knocking her baking tray to the floor with a crash. Pushing her hair behind her ears, Tayce nodded to Aurora.

“Right. Well. Better get back to it.”

And Aurora stared at her retreating back, wondering what had come over Tayce today. She wasn’t really as flirty, more … caring, even bringing over tea for her. This whole arrangement was just getting more confusing. It was supposed to be fake, but now lots of threads of what seemed like care were starting to entwine themselves into the knot her mind was in.

I just can’t think about Tayce right now. It’s too confusing. Focus on pitta bread.

By the time Aurora was laying out her pittas on the baking tray, Ellie spun round to her again, hands clutching at her hair.

“Is it six pitta breads?”

Why am I bloody Wikipedia all of a sudden today? And didn’t she just ask me this a minute ago?

“Eleanor,” Aurora said sternly, while Ellie grimaced, seeming to shrink slightly.

“I know, I know -“

“It’s on the top of the instructions as well - look - twelve pitta breads! I think you need a break or something, Els,” Aurora pointed outside. “Why don’t you take two minutes or something?”

But Ellie’s hands, still in her hair, balled into tight fists as she spoke, sounding a little hysterical. “I can’t - it’ll spoil - I don’t -“

“Ellie, go outside! Go on! You’re panicking!”

As Ellie marched past her outside, Aurora watched Tia, her breads already in the oven, rushing out after her. But Lawrence, in front of Aurora, simply glanced to the clear partition of the tent briefly, before turning back to putting her bread on the baking tray.

“Lozza?” That was Tayce, who had noticed the same thing. But Lawrence didn’t seem to hear her, even though everyone else in the tent did.

“Lawrence -“

“I’ll go get her in a tick, alright?”

Aurora swallowed, watching Lawrence as she arranged her breads, putting them in the oven, and she had no choice but to do the same; time was running out for them all.

It wasn’t long before Tia led Ellie back into the tent, arms linked, as Tia dropped Ellie off at her bench and stopped for a second to talk to her. “It’s just a bake, alright? Sometimes bakes go wrong for whatever reason, and that’s okay! Remember, you can only get better from making mistakes, alright?”

And Ellie nodded, grabbing her dough to shape into the pitta breads. Tia gave her one last squeeze on her forearm before heading back to her own bench to carry on her pittas, which were starting to look a bit flat.

Hopefully that will be the kick Ellie needs to turn this bake out.

When it came to judging, she sat with Tayce, who nudged her in the ribs with an oddly saccharine smile. Ellie still looked subdued on her other side, so she took her hand, rubbing it with her thumb, but to no reaction.

“In seventh place, we have this one, whose is this?” Paul motioned to Ellie’s plate, and Ellie defeatedly raised her hand no higher than her chin.

“Ellie - far too much baking powder in these, it burns the tongue - and a little bit over-baked, we expect them to still be soft in the middle.” Paul nodded to her, but Ellie just blinked in response, pursing her lips.

“And in sixth place -“

“Oh, that’s me,” Tia replied, raising her hand.

“Tia, these are burnt. I know you tried to scrape them a little so it looks a little bit better, but they cracked when we tried to bend them.”

“Okay,” Tia nodded, the earnest smile still on her face. “Next time.”

Aurora still cringed to herself whenever Tia said next time in response to her disasters. When in the name of Dawn French would she ever have to make gluten-free pitta breads again?

Maybe she has a bestie who’s celiac that she really wants to make some bakes for. Like Blake is.

The realisation stung Aurora harder than she thought it would. After all, she’d been wondering if she could make these for Blake one time. She leaned forward and saw Tia, no tears, no self-pity, graciously smiling at Veronica as Veronica tried to comfort her.

She never makes excuses. She’s never sorry for herself. She just … tries again.

Maybe that was it. This competition was about self-improvement, wasn’t it? Aurora pictured how happy Blake would be if she told him when she got back that she’d made something gluten-free and that she could now bake more things the same way.

How much she’d grown as a baker only in these six weeks.

“Whose is this one?”

Tayce was nudging her, and Aurora saw that Paul was behind her photograph. She raised her hand.

“Aurora - really good bake, well done. It just came down to the colour on this one. Which means the winner is … this one!”

Second in Technical! That’s gonna help at this point.

She joined the polite applause given to Veronica for her top placement, Veronica’s mouth agape in apparent shock. But as they all trudged out to the tent for their interviews, she watched Veronica spin in elation, her balled fists in the air to celebrate her placement, as if she’d expected it all along.

How much of any of this is real?

——

“Are they annoyed at us?” Veronica murmured, watching Tia and Ellie on their own on the opposite side of the room. They’d both opted to sit alone together, chatting quietly at first, both pallid and shaky, but now they sat silently, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned.

“I don’t think so -“ Aurora began, but Lawrence was chewing her finger again, and Veronica’s jaw twisted as she watched them. “I mean - you got top and third in Technical, you’re doing good - and they’re happy for you -“

“They don’t look fucking happy,” Lawrence muttered.

“They are, honest to God,” Aurora said, trying to calm Lawrence’s evident nerves, “but like … it’s hard, isn’t it, seeing people do better than you at this stage in the competition? We’re all here to win, at the end of the day.”

“We are all here to win, but …” Veronica trailed off with a sigh. “Me and Tia … we’ve really bonded.”

“You’ll still be friends afterwards! Or - y’know, whatever you two are.”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Veronica snapped.

“It’s pretty obvious to anyone with eyes, Veronica,” Lawrence added, “I don’t think you can really try to downplay that one.”

“Oh, right?” Veronica’s face grew redder with every second. “What about you then, Lawrence, if we’re bringing that up? You’ve been trying to avoid Ellie since Tayce said she saw the two of you canoodling after Asttina’s elimination last week!”

Lawrence’s jaw dropped open, and she frowned. “Canoodling? Did you really just say canoodling in a sentence?”

“I’m gonna go outside if you two are going to just argue,” Aurora muttered, shaking her head, standing to walk away from them both.

Her feet led her outside into the warm evening glow, watching the first of the stars come out into the deepening blue of the sky. The trees around the grounds caught the last orange light, a ring of fire, still a hot pressure cooker of a contest.

Aurora knew where Tayce would be. Through the grounds by the trees was a lake they’d found only last week, that Bimini had told her about, having found it on their morning run. And sure enough, she found Tayce on the bench, leaning on one elbow and kicking dirt with her shoe.

In spite of the confusion in her mind, Tayce still drew her in like a magnet.

When Aurora came to the bench, she startled Tayce momentarily, before Tayce’s easy smile came back, and Aurora sat with her, pulling her close into a one-armed hug.

“Hey.” Tayce gently disentangled herself, still not sounding herself. “Coming to see me?”

“I can’t stand being around those lot any more,” Aurora huffed. “I don’t know what’s going on with any of them, but it feels like you can cut the air in the room with a butter knife, for God’s sake.”

“They’re just annoyed because one of them is getting eliminated tomorrow.”

Aurora blinked at her strangely sharp words. Tayce scuffed the dirt with her shoe, turning to meet Aurora’s stare and to give her a reassuring smile, but it didn’t stretch to her eyes, and she looked as if she almost didn’t seem to believe it herself.

“You got a bit emotional earlier as well, when you were talking about your quiches.”

Tayce shrugged. “Yeah, yeah I did a bit.” She turned back away to scuff her shoe again, a little rougher than before.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shrugged. “Not much more to tell, really, just me and my Pops going to get veggies from the allotment. He had tomatoes in his greenhouse. And broccoli. He had loads of veggies.”

“Did he bake with you too?”

“Yeah. Actually, he liked making a quiche or two. Normally with ham, but he used to let me put the beads in the pastry tins to keep the crust from moving. Or he’d make a pie and let me do all the crimping on the edges.”

Tayce’s smile was fading as she spoke, leaning her head back to look at the sky.

“I miss him.”

Three words that hit Aurora right in the middle of her chest.

Her own eyes welling up, she rubbed Tayce’s back, until Tayce shuffled nearer and let herself drop her head to Aurora’s shoulder, let Aurora pull her in tightly, sitting silently to count the stars as they came out of their hibernation.

“It’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Aurora asked.

“I dunno, just - it’s weird the things that remind you of people.”

“That doesn’t sound weird to me.”

“I mean …” Tayce began, but she stopped, twisting to get comfortable. “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

Tayce was an elastic band, pulling away before snapping her back with a modicum of tenderness, and letting Aurora back in to see through some of the cracks in her armour. Just enough to keep Aurora hanging on, so it felt.

It was exhausting.

——

Showstopper: A dairy-free, vegetable-based novelty cake.

The Showstopper seemed straightforward enough. Everyone liked carrot cake, right? At least, Aurora enjoyed a slice of the orange stuff, although when she’d mentioned it to Ellie this morning she’d wrinkled her nose in an adorably disgusted manner.

“What’s yours going to be, then?” She’d asked.

“Beetroot.”

“Beetroot?”

“Yeah,” Ellie had nodded earnestly, “like, I know it sounds a bit weird, but trust me, when you mix it with chocolate it tastes like heaven.”

Aurora hadn’t pushed the matter any further, but a bigger part of her than she anticipated was hoping Ellie could pull it off. After all, she and Tia were practically tied for worst at the moment, and as much as Aurora was growing to like Tia, she and Ellie had bonded far more.

On Aurora’s left, she watched Tia chopping sweet potatoes that would form the basis of her own cake, ready to cook and then go into the mixture. Veronica, in front of her, was also making sweet potato cake, but Aurora wasn’t worried about Veronica.

When she and Tayce had spoken about who she thought would excel at this week, they’d both said Bimini above everyone, but Veronica had been the shock frontrunner, the dark horse, as she had been all this contest. Veronica tended to keep to herself, grinding her teeth and locking her jaw, a cool stare keeping everyone away.

How someone as uptight as Veronica had thawed to someone as lackadaisical as Tia was anyone’s guess.

“Yeah, I guess she’s a bit stiff,” Tia had shrugged when asked about Veronica, “and yeah, don’t mention anything about the two of us to her, she’s a bit nervous about it being public yet. But we actually have loads in common. She’s really arty. She painted one of the scenes I photographed and showed it to me this weekend, and that meant a lot.”

“She - she paints?”

Tia had shown them all Veronica’s instagram, where Veronica had painted breathtaking scenes and posted them there. Watercolours mostly, with the odd acrylic, some experimental but mostly true life, leaping from the screen and into their minds.

Veronica might not be quite making the same art as usual now, but her bakes definitely showed some artistic flair when she presented them. They always had to be just so. And her colour palettes were always a theme in the judges’ comments.

“Well,” she’d grinned nervously this morning at breakfast when asked, “I’m left-handed. So I’m a bit arty farty, yeah.”

Aurora stole glances around the room as always, seeing Bimini with Tia a lot more today, leaning over her workbench and giving her guidance. Ellie looked a little less nervous, but she and Lawrence still weren’t really communicating.

Maybe Lawrence really is trying to avoid her. Or maybe they’re avoiding each other.

But Ellie had changed the subject this morning when Aurora had tried to bring it up. Turning the conversation back to her and Tayce.

And that was complicated enough.

This morning was the second weekend in a row she’d found herself falling asleep with Tayce in her bed, and the second weekend in a row she’d woken up in the morning to find an empty space there again.

It was a strange, numbing place, and Aurora wasn’t even sure what they were at the moment. Sure, they’d agreed to put on a bit of a show for the cameras. And Aurora could deal with that, with the playful nicknames, the kisses, the touch that didn’t feel tender enough to be more than method acting.

But Tayce spending the night in her bed had been an odd addition. Aurora had held her hand as she’d drawn her back from the pond, and they’d both ended up back in her room again, Netflix on, curled up into one another under the duvet.

All it had taken last night was half an episode of Glow before their hands and arms had intertwined, drawing them nearer still, into slow breathing in tandem with each other. Tayce purring at Aurora’s fingers as she played with her hair, until her breathing had relaxed even more and Aurora had looked down to see Tayce asleep at her chest, too serene to disturb by shifting her.

Nothing about it felt like an act. In fact, it was practically the opposite - bare bones, honesty, sincerity.

A far cry from the motions in the tent.

“Hey, babe. How’s the carrots?”

Speak of the devil.

Before Aurora had the chance to look up, she felt Tayce’s fingers at her waist, her chin resting on her shoulder.

Tayce seemed to be feeling a little better this morning. Her relaxed smile was back, her eyes glinting with the same mischief, and Aurora’s stomach was turning somersaults at the contact.

“Carrots are good. Just grated far more than I’ll need, just in case. What are you making with yours?”

“I’m making carrot cake too!” Tayce chuckled in her ear, sending a shiver down Aurora’s neck. “What a coincidence. It’s almost like we’re really in tune with each other. I hope you haven’t read my mind on what my flavours will be as well?”

But as Aurora looked, two cameramen were following them over to Tayce’s bench, as Tayce’s hand hovered at her back. “Carrot and cream cheese replacement, and I’m gonna shape it into a cow’s head, because … you know, no dairy?” Tayce chuckled. “I’m a comedy genius!”

“So we’re a bit different then,” Aurora nodded, as Tayce rested her head at her shoulder. “I’m adding diced pecans to mine.”

“So different then,” Tayce interrupted her, smirking, a hideously fake giggle bubbling at her throat. “That’s good. We’re just doing carrots at the same time! Imagine if we’d had the same recipe and the same idea. That would be strange, wouldn’t it!”

She’s trying a bit too hard now.

Tayce’s fingers were looped round her waist, her head on her shoulder; but she didn’t seem to be listening, just talking at the cameras pointed at them both. Aurora disentangled herself from Tayce’s touch and smiling as widely as she could, backed away.

“You going back to your bake?”

“Yeah - lots to do, Tayce,” Aurora muttered through gritted teeth.

“Alright. Cwtch you later.” Tayce cocked an eyebrow as she smirked, but Aurora’s stomach twisted at how sinister her words seemed to sound on her tongue.

——

“Veronica, would you bring your cake up to the front please?”

Veronica was last this week - the judging had been in alphabetical order - but Aurora had also barely been concentrating. Tayce’s actions this afternoon had confused her yet again, and she’d tried to avoid speaking much to Tayce for the whole rest of the day, but that hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. Tayce had come over regularly, and cameras had followed them both around.

“It’s - it’s a sweet potato cake flavoured with almonds, and the icing is dairy-free buttercream with a vanilla flavour.”

Veronica was giggling nervously, while the rest of the people in the tent smiled at her. But Aurora’s mind span in a whirlwind of thoughts.

What if Tayce really is trying to distract me? To throw me off?

The thought struck her over the head, a sudden bolt of lightning that left her numb with the shocking gravity of it.

No. Tayce is trying to keep attention on us. She’s trying to help us.

… or at least help herself.

But Aurora hastily pushed that notion away. After all, everyone else in the tent was also fighting for that attention, whether they meant to or not.

Take Bimini, and their absurd dancing and rapping with Noel, what they insisted was called a crimp, whatever that meant. Was that genuine, or was that the result of them all being on the show? Maybe Bimini was a bit of an exhibitionist, but maybe they weren’t - maybe it was a front.

Was that really all that different to Tayce wanting to play up their relationship to the cameras?

How do I know that she feels anything for me at all?

“Beautiful. Beautiful flavours, you don’t get anything apart from a rich, sweet cake, and the design is ingenious. Really great week for you, Veronica.” Prue was smiling her sweet smile, and Veronica hunched shyly into her shoulders as she took the cake back.

The fog of dread was descending on them all as they walked back to Carr Hall. The bakes were always put on a table for them to try, before being given to the crew at the end of the day; but no one really felt like eating anything as they went in, the fog following them all.

“We don’t want anyone to go home at this stage,” Veronica said grimly.

They all knew what she really meant, Bimini more than anyone, as they nodded and stretched their legs out. “It’s shit. I feel like a jinx. Get too near to me, and you’re gone. Happened to Ginny, then Asttina.”

Aurora thought back to the judging for Bimini’s Showstopper, which hadn’t gone as well as any of them had thought.

“I thought this week was yours for the taking, Bim,” Aurora said quietly, cautious. “It’s all vegan stuff, and alternative ingredients. No one would have thought you’d be getting those sorts of critiques.”

Everyone murmured in agreement. The judges has been kind as always, but it was clear that Bimini had landed themselves in trouble at the expense of helping out everyone else in the tent, helping them all with their recipes.

“Well, I did.”

They all turned to stare at Bimini’s dark words.

“Bim?”

“It’s my own fault. Well, not even really a fault. But somewhere between Asttina going home and me coming back here this weekend, I decided it’s probably not important.”

“What isn’t?”

“A cake stand.” Bimini laughed bitterly. “That’s what it is! A cake stand. And I can get one of those from M&S. I could get Joe to come with me. No, I knew this was gonna be an okay week for me, so …” they shrugged, “I wanted to help you all out too. So it looks like I didn’t really … try.”

But Bimini was smiling still.

“I mean, it’s not all bad, is it? You can now all bake vegan quiches. You can make stuff for your intolerant mates, or your vegan mates, when you get back. That’s more important to me than winning this week - getting you all to be able to make more stuff vegan for your friends. Anything you can bake, I can bake vegan, and I feel like spreading awareness is gonna be better in the long run than me winning a badge!” They waved a fist in the air.

“Don’t you … want to win?” Aurora asked.

Bimini paused for half a second too long before nodding.

“I do want to win, course I do - but this show is a platform as well, know what I mean?”

——

When the producer came in to call them back to the tent for the elimination, Aurora watched as Ellie jogged to Tia to hug her around the waist, both of them holding back to let the others go, Tia wiping tears from her cheeks as they stood there.

As Aurora left them to it, she walked into Lawrence, at the doorway, watching the entrance intently.

“Lozza?” Tayce called to her from the grounds, but Lawrence waved them on.

“I’m coming - see you inside.”

Lawrence and Ellie were last in the tent, the rest of them on their stools while they waited, no one quite sure what they were doing outside. But when Aurora finally watched Lawrence come in with Ellie, both of them had red eyes and Lawrence’s eyeliner was running as they sat down.

Veronica put a hand to her mouth at being called for Star Baker. Aurora clapped her politely, while Tia smiled widely and rested her head on her shoulder, pulling her into a one-armed hug.

But Tia was biting her lip, waiting for the call for the next person to leave the tent. They all knew it was between her and Ellie, and Aurora could hear Lawrence whispering to Ellie, who was staring straight ahead as usual, but she couldn’t make any words out …

“Tia. I’m so sorry, Tia.”

Veronica’s hand, lingering at her mouth, shook as she gasped.

But Tia, her face deadpan as ever, tilted her head. “Are you sure? Positive? I mean, I don’t have any other plans, so …”

Aurora managed a laugh at Tia’s attempt at humour at the situation, but she appeared to be the only one. Bimini’s eyes were downcast as they got up to hug Tia, and Tayce was rubbing Veronica’s back to comfort her. Lawrence had her arms linked around Ellie’s waist while Ellie dabbed her eyes.

“Come on, Els - it’s fine, I knew it would be me -“ Tia wrapped an arm around them both, unable to disentangle Lawrence from her, drifting over to Aurora next, and then Tayce.

Veronica, both hands in hers, stared up at her with eyes pooling with tears, as Tia bent to whisper something in her ear, causing Veronica to snort with laughter and double over, before tugging Tia towards her, wrapping her arms around her waist, Tia dropping kisses on her forehead before they both left the tent for their winning and exit interviews.

“What did Tia say to you?” Aurora asked Veronica later on, when Veronica came back to Carr Hall, her face red and eyes bloodshot.

“Oh,” Veronica snorted again. “It’s nothing, just silly stuff -“

“It must have been good, if it made you perk up?”

“Alright,” Veronica said, sniffing. “She said - she said If I had a badge, I’d be leaving it to you in my will. That was it. I don’t even know why I found it funny, but it was at the time.”

Tayce threw back her head in a laugh. “Only way you’re getting another badge, Vee!”

Veronica blinked before smiling, more like a grimace; but Aurora’s blood had frozen at Tayce’s comment. The languid smile on her face, the flash in her eyes, just made Aurora question Tayce’s intentions even more than she already was.

Tayce had changed.

The woman who had helped her cut and load her brownies only two weeks ago, now tossing verbal barbs at any opportunity. Yesterday about Tia and Ellie. And now to Veronica. And as much as she was madly attracted to Tayce, there was no denying that doubt crept around the edge of Aurora’s mind at this new development, unsure what Tayce was truly thinking.

What would she be saying about me if I’d gone?

——

SIX BAKERS REMAIN

[joealwyndaily]

 Joe Alwyn — Red Magazine (Jan 2020) interview 

You’d think that a back-to-back Hollywood movie career and a megastar girlfriend might have changed Joe Alwyn, but he’s quick to assure Nathalie Whittle that his feet remain firmly on the ground. 

“So you didn’t see the part where the aliens attack?” asks Joe Alwyn, a playful smirk on his face. He’s referring to his latest film, Harriet, which I had a sneak preview of the previous day, although the fire evacuation (false alarm) meant I missed the ending. The biographical drama tells the story of Harriet Tubman (played by Cynthia Erivo), the historic abolitionist who escaped slavery and led hundreds of others to freedom. Alwyn plays her insufferably cruel and capricious slave master Gideon Brodess. He is, of course, joking about the aliens. At least, I hope he is. Today, we’re tucked away in the corner of a dimly lit bar at London’s Covent Garden Hotel. It’s the sort of drizzly afternoon that might dampen the moods of most, but not Alwyn. He appears cheery and at ease, sporting country casuals: a grey mohair jumper, blue jeans, and brown boots along with an unkempt beard; perhaps an attempt to disguise the boyish good looks he’s become known for. He stops to interrupt me only once with a look of alarm: he’s forgotten to offer me something to eat or drink. I can have anything I want, he assures me.

At 28, Alwyn has had the sort of career trajectory that most aspiring actors wistfully dream about for years, even decades. His education included a degree in English literature and drama at the University of Bristol, followed by a BA in acting at London’s Royal Central School of Speech and Drama. But within two weeks of his graduate showcase, Alwyn received a life-changing phone call. He refers to it as the thing “I owe everything to.”

“I’d just signed with an agent and I was kind of pinching myself, you know, how surreal is that?” he says. “She sent me a portion of the script for a film, Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk, that Ang Lee was directing. I’d grown up watching his films — Brokeback Mountain and Life of Pi — so I couldn’t believe I was even going to do a tape for someone like that. I got my dad to film me in a scene in my bedroom and some mates to film me during a lunch break. The next thing I know, Ang wants to meet me in New York.” Cue a series of auditions and screen tests that led to Alwyn bagging the title role in his first big-budget Hollywood film. He was just 24. “It was so much so fast that I didn’t really compute what was going on,” he concedes. “Before that I was just a poor student who barely understood how people got auditions, let alone landed jobs.” Did he have any jobs before that? I ask. “I did have this one job in London,” he says wryly. “Do you know that frozen yogurt place, Snog?” I’m struggling to picture Alwyn serving up frozen delights. He’s laughing now. Was it a good gig? “Exceptional!” More laughter follows. “I mean, I was paid some money! Then I worked in a menswear shop. I did what I could to make some extra cash.”

A far cry from a frozen-yogurt counter, doors started opening to bigger and better opportunities as soon as Billy Lynn hit cinemas. The next script Alwyn read was Yorgos Lanthimos’s The Favourite (released in 2019), in which he secured a small but riotous role as young baron Samuel Masham alongside acting greats Olivia Colman and Emma Stone. “Putting on giant wigs and running around in make-up and chasing Emma Stone through the forest — what more could you want?” he laughs. The film earned widespread critical acclaim, receiving seven BAFTAs and a record 10 British Independent Film awards. 

Having further honed his craft in subsequent films Mary Queen of Scots and gay-conversion therapy drama Boy Erased, Alwyn is about to enter into unknown territory. This Christmas, he’ll play Bob Cratchit in his first-ever TV drama, BBC One’s A Christmas Carol; a “darker, twisted, less glossy” version of the Charles Dickens classic. He’s “feeling good about it,” but I’m curious as to how he’s approached this change of scenery. Was he not nervous? “Oh, very. I tried to watch other people. It’s the second time I’ve worked with Guy Pearce [who plays Scrooge] and I asked him a lot of stuff, which probably annoyed him. I watched the way he works and the questions he asked on set when he was approaching a scene.”

Two people who will definitely be watching Alwyn’s TV debut are his mother, a psychotherapist, and his father, a documentary-maker. “They’d better be watching!” he laughs. Born in London’s Tufnell Park, Alwyn recalls being given stacks of videos every birthday and “watching them to death, until the tapes burned up.” One of his favourites was The Mask of Zorro. In fact, he was so obsessed with it that he and his best friend took up fencing lessons at a local community centre in Crouch End, where, by chance, he was spotted by a local casting agent for the hit British romcom Love Actually. She asked him to audition for the role of Sam; he breaks into a wide smile when I ask what he remembers of it. “I didn’t know much about what the film was; I was most excited about the fact I got the day off school! But I remember being in a room with Richard Curtis and Hugh Grant reading scenes, many of which didn’t make it into the film. And I left the audition thinking, ‘I really recognize that guy from somewhere’.”

Alwyn didn’t get the part. Instead, he forgot about acting for a while, with the exception of summer holidays, where his parents would send him and his older brother off to “some drama camp as a way of preoccupying us.” He explains that when he later realized he wanted to act on a serious level, he kept it a secret. Was it because he was worried how his parents would react to a somewhat precarious career choice? “Well, it meant putting myself out there in a performative way, and that wasn’t necessarily something I did or was used to doing. It felt like it should be quite a ‘look at me’ job, and that wasn’t really how I felt growing up. I wasn’t a painfully introverted kid, but I wasn’t a particularly extroverted one, either. So maybe I was self-conscious about the idea of saying to people, ‘Look, I can do this’.”

He credits drama school with giving him “permission” to go for it. “Plus my parents were great about it. They’re both freelance themselves, so while they recognize the perils, they also couldn’t say to me, ‘We can follow what we want, but you can’t’. There wasn’t a boundary, which helped a lot.”

I wonder if it’s been difficult acclimatizing to the level of fame that’s come as result of his roles. “There have definitely been changes that have taken some getting used to, whether it’s sitting down and doing an interview or someone recognizing you,” he says. “There are things that have changed in my life, but I still very much feel like the same person. It probably helps that I’ve been hanging out with the same friends literally every day since I was 12 years old. Maybe it’s when those things change that people change, I don’t know.”

It’s fair to say that the level of interest in Alwyn has, in part, been heightened by the fact that, in his spare time he plays the role of Mr. Taylor Swift. The pair reportedly met in late 2016 and became in item shortly afterwards. I’ve been warned ahead of our meeting that Alwyn “doesn’t talk about that”, and he’s keen to justify his stance in person. “I feel like my private life is private and everyone is entitled to that.” he says. “I’ve read stories recently about people like Ben Stokes and Gareth Thomas, which are a gross invasion of their privacy and of their lives. It’s disgusting. That’s not journalism, that’s just invasive.”

It must be tough, I suggest, being in a relationship that is surrounded by so much scrutiny. “I just don’t read the headlines,” he says. “I really don’t, because I can guarantee 99% of them are made up. So I ignore it.” Recent rumours suggest the pair are engaged, and are owed in part to one of Swift’s latest songs, Lover (’My hearts been borrowed and yours has been blue. All’s well that ends well to end up with you’), as well as a piece of string tied around Swift’s finger in a Vogue cover shoot. According to die-hard fans, this means something. But to Alwyn, it’s clear it means nothing at all. Is he never tempted to respond to the mistruths, to shut them down? “No, because it’s just pointless,” he sighs. “It won’t change anything. I just don’t pay any attention. I have my life and it’s kind of separate to all that stuff.”

I’m curious as to how much time he gets to simply enjoy the success he’s experiencing. “There’s lots of time not working, I wish there was less in a way!” he laughs. “I go to the pub, play football, go to gigs, watch TV (he’s just finished season three of True Detective), pretty normal things. There’s no ‘secret life’. But ultimately, I worry about finding the next job; that’s the truth. In the midst of everything, there’s always that feeling of ‘I’m never going to work again’. It’s a cliche, but you can’t just sit there waiting for the phone to ring. You have to try and take control. You’re at the mercy of the things you seek out — the directors and the connections — so I try to be on top of that as I can and read what I’m sent and be discerning. I try to pick wisely and follow up on people and leads that I’m interested in.”

Is there an end point he wants to get to, where he’ll feel like he’s made it? “Things have certainly shifted in my twenties,” he says. “Success to me now is doing things that make me happy and that make me feel fulfilled, doing what I want to do and being on the right track. Not in terms of being on a results-based track, but just doing something I love.” He pauses and smiles. “That sounds a bit sentimental, doesn’t it?” 

[aion-rsa]

Where in Fiction Would You Spend Christmas?

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It’s been a staying-in kind of year. That New Year’s Resolution you made to travel more? It’s gained 20 pounds, started cutting its own hair and is now in a jigsaw club with your neighbour Ken. The only marathon you’ve completed in 2020 is a Battlestar Galactica rewatch. The only mountain you’ve climbed is the metaphorical one it takes to shower daily. That beach trip you’d planned? It went okay actually. You made some bells by selling coconuts to Nook’s Cranny and dug up a bunch of Manila Clams with a flimsy shovel.

For obvious reasons, escape is on our minds this year more than most. So we started thinking, if you had your wishing socks on, where in the collected imaginations of everyone who’s ever dreamt up a film, TV show, game or book, would you spend the holidays? On the holodeck of the Starship Enterprise or roasting on an open fire with The Simpsons, exchanging gifts with Ewoks or witnessing Scrooge McDuck’s transformation from miser to philanthropist first hand?  

To get things started, here’s what our writers picked…

Alec Bojalad would spend Christmas … reveling with the Sterling Cooper staff on Mad Men

If I’m to indulge this hypothetical in which I’m torn away from one reality and thrust into another, one thing is very clear: I will have to be extremely intoxicated to avoid my heart exploding from the stressful terror of it all. Thankfully, I know exactly where in pop culture to go to get absolutely blitzed: Mad Men. In terms of sheer debauchery, a Sterling Cooper Christmas party probably falls somewhere between a Bacchanalian orgy and Valhalla itself. As Don, Roger, Bert, Peggy, and company gather together to celebrate another successful year schmoozing clients and sexually harassing one another, I will don my finest 1960s attire and infiltrate the festive event. 

As Don Draper wonders who this soft-bodied weirdo in an ill-fitting suit is, I’ll catch up with Harry Crane about television. Then I’ll ask to see Bert Cooper’s weird tentacle porn painting. Sometime around my 9th J&B Whisky on the rocks I’ll visit the secretarial pool and beg them to demand better treatment because “you’ree ssssooo strong and eleganttt. Don’t listen to thessseee men. They’re Mad Men.” Hopefully I’ll be taken away to an old-timey hospital at that point, given electroshock treatment, and return back to my own continuity.  

Ryan Britt would spend Christmas… at Deanna and Will’s cabin from Star Trek: Picard

When Jean-Luc Picard uses the spatial projector to zap himself and Soji across the galaxy to the planet Nepethene, the result is a cozy pizza dinner with Will Riker, Deanna Troi and their daughter Kestra. For those who had been pining for more ‘90s nostalgia in this Trek series, the episode ‘Nepthene’ delivered, but with a strong shot of realism. Although Picard was written and created before the Covid-19 pandemic, the idea that Riker and Troi would leave the busy and crowded life of Starfleet, and retire in a remote cabin to protect their family is a choice many have actually faced in 2020. As people around the world have fled pandemic epicenters and tried to put shields around their own families, the peaceful and remote home of the Riker-Trois represents the optimistic ideal of Star Trek with a quiet, and very close-to-home twist. 

Spending time with the Riker-Troi family would mean great conversation, great music (oh the jazz!) and, above all, great food. I would happily put my own family in their ‘pod’ if only so Kestra could teach my three-year-old daughter the best way to construct a bow and arrow, and of course, how to learn that secret language of butterflies. 

Then, after the kids were in bed, having a glass of wine or some Romulan whiskey with Will out on the porch sounds pretty damn perfect. 2020 has been tough. A bear hug from Riker seems like the perfect Christmas gift of all. 

Caroline Preece would spend Christmas… at The Muppet Christmas Carol’s Penguin Skating Party

Ever since young-me set eyes on the ultra-festive world of The Muppet Christmas Carol I’ve wanted to visit. I can’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas Eve than in the cuddly version of Dickens’ cautionary tale, helping Kermit and his co-workers tidy up Scrooge’s office for the holidays, dancing down the snowy London streets and attending the Penguins’ annual Christmas skating party as the ultimate topper to a perfect evening. 

As well as being super-merry and joyous (‘tis the season), judging by Kermit���s performance on the ice, they let anyone take part.

It could just be the general lack of socialising and festive frivolity in 2020, but Bob Cratchit’s hopeful walk home from the office (remember the office?!?) on the night before Christmas has always epitomised the idea that the anticipation of Christmas Day is the best part. Add to that a trip to the market to pick up some singing vegetables, or the cosy Cratchit dinner with Miss Piggy and their gaggle of pig and frog offspring, and it’s a version of old-timey festive cheer that will always hold a place in my heart.

Louisa Mellor would spend Christmas… with the strippers in Hustlers

This choice won’t reflect well on me. It’s neither edifying nor improving and has a core of savage capitalist consumerism, which is probably what makes it so Christmassy. Midway through Lorraine Scafaria’s Hustlers – a film about a group of strippers who right the wrongs of the 2008 financial crisis by drugging Wall Street guys to run up their company credit cards – there’s a scene that’d make anyone’s heart grow three sizes. 

A dozen lap dancers gather for Christmas in a high-end apartment, their daughters and a grandmother in tow. Dressed in luxe loungewear and chunky gold, their skin glowing like a sucked butterscotch, they swap gifts, smile and sing and dance and thank the lord for their sisters. Expensive elegance is everywhere. Someone gets a fur coat, somebody else a pair of animal-print Louboutins. The woman who dips the dancers’ tits in bowls of ice before they go on stage is given an iPhone 4. Mostly though, they give each other affirmation. Without a natural hair colour, nude fingernail or a man in sight, it’s a dream family Christmas. Picture a Norman Rockwell painting with Jennifer Lopez in gold lamé, a cashmere Santa hat and a balcony bra. Feel-good festive perfection. 

Michael Ahr would spend Christmas… secluded in Hogwarts

Some may have found Harry Potter’s winter holidays without his friends rather lonely, but I can think of nothing more magical than having the vast empty halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry all to myself. Why let the staff have the warm, dry, magical snow that fell annually in the Great Hall all to themselves? Not being of school age myself anymore, I might choose to share a butterbeer (or perhaps a hot buttered rum) with Dumbledore and Hagrid by a roaring fire.

I might even be tempted to make the trip to Hogsmeade to see all the shops decked out with lights and blanketed in snow. I’d still be able to enjoy the comparative solitude without all the kids running around, but I’m almost certain there would be a group of carolers wandering about the square, never mind the singing enchanted suits of armor back at the school. And of course, if I could pick a particular present, I’d choose to receive the same amazing gift Harry received that first Christmas from Dumbledore: his father’s Invisibility Cloak. I’d likewise pass it along as a family heirloom to my own children on some Christmas morning to come.

Jamie Andrew would spend Christmas… in a Deep Space Nine Holosuite

At first, I entertained the idea of spending Christmas in Baltimore with the denizens of The Wire, mainly because I liked the idea of children running up and down the streets hollering, ‘Omar’s coming!’ moments before the shotgun-wielding Robin Hood of the Hood came swaggering down the street wearing a big red coat and a white beard, tossing out bank notes and whistling ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’. Then I realised that the chances of me ending up a corpse inside a boarded-up derelict building before the turkey was even cooked were surprisingly high, so I thought I’d try Christmas with Frasier Crane and family instead. Unfortunately, my foreknowledge of Martin’s and Eddie’s deaths would cloud the occasion, and I’d probably spend all night slumped crying in Martin’s recliner, unable to tell anyone why I was so upset without violating the temporal time directive. 

Best, then, to spend Yule time on Deep Space Nine. Christianity and its associated festive traditions don’t appear to exist in the 24th Century, so after saying hello to Sisko and co., and maybe playing a bit of Dabo at Quark’s, I’d probably spend the rest of my time in a faithful Holosuite reproduction of a 1990s Irish bar on New Year’s Eve getting absolutely wasted with fellow Celt Chief O’Brien. Now THAT’S what I call Christmas. 

Juliette Harrisson would spend Christmas… in Narnia

Not, of course, the White Witch’s eternal winter, when it’s always winter but never Christmas, but a regular Christmas in Narnia. It would, of course, be a white Christmas because otherwise, how would Father Christmas come and deliver presents to everyone? So I could spend the season in a snowy woodland surrounded by magical creatures, and be in with a chance of a really good present. Or possibly a sewing machine.

Read more

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Why Chronicles of Narnia’s Santa Claus Celebrates Christmas with Weapons of War

By Juliette Harrisson

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The Rod Serling Christmas Movie You Never Saw

By Chris Farnell

On the first moonlit night when there’s snow on the ground, Narnian fauns, dryads, and dwarfs perform the Great Snow Dance, with the fauns and dryads dancing around while the dwarfs throw snowballs that don’t hit them (an often forgotten detail from the book version of The Silver Chair!). I would join in, although possibly not throw any snowballs as my aim isn’t that good. Then I’d go back to Mr Tumnus’s for sardines and cake on Christmas Eve and talk to him about his somewhat dubious taste in books (just what is Nymphs And Their Ways about, eh Tumnus?). I’d spend Christmas Day up at the castle of Cair Paravel, eating and drinking like a Queen, and then I’d go visit Mr and Mrs Beaver on Boxing Day for a feast of leftovers and maybe a little light ice fishing.

John Saavedra would spend Christmas…celebrating Life Day with Star Wars’ Poe Dameron 

No one has ever cared so much about Life Day, the Star Wars galaxy’s own version of Christmas, as much as ace pilot Poe Dameron does in the Lego Star Wars Holiday Special. From decorating the Millennium Falcon and choosing the right Life Day sweater to roasting the traditional tip-yip (also known as Endorian chicken), Poe shows there’s something much stronger than the Force in the Star Wars universe: holiday spirit. Who knew the Resistance hero best known for his knack at blowing stuff up had such a soft spot? 

Hanging with Poe on Life Day would mean chestnuts roasting on an open exhaust engine, drinking whatever passes for cocoa in the Star Wars galaxy, hanging out with Wookiees on their homeworld of Kashyyyk, singing festive carols in Huttese, and finding just the right Life Day tree for the Falcon. It’d also mean dancing to the hip tunes of Max Rebo’s drum (the rest of his band is unfortunately no longer with us) and partying with Lando Calrissian, Finn, Rose, Rey, Jannah, Mon Calamari, Jawas, Rodians, Ewoks, and maybe even Chewie’s son Lumpy. If you’re not sold by now, your taste in holiday parties might be bantha poodoo. 

Elizabeth Donoghue would spend Christmas…. at The Office’s Classy Christmas

Dunder Mifflin has many memorable Christmas parties, but Steve Carell’s final festive special includes some of my favourite things about The Office; weird Gabe, Michael’s enduring hatred of Toby, and Michael and Holly’s adorable relationship.

After Toby announces he is taking a leave of absence for jury duty (‘Thank you, Scranton Strangler. I love you. You just took one more person’s breath away’) Michael learns that Holly will be returning to Scranton and demands that Pam’s regular Christmas party must get classy. What makes a Christmas classy? A backwards Kangol-esque Santa hat, a red velvet smoking jacket and a quarter of a jazz quartet of course.

I would actively enjoy watching Dwight take down Jim in their snowball fight (total bully, needs to be taken down a peg or two), get drunk with Kelly and Meredith, dance with Phyllis and Erin and learn more about the enigma that is Creed. And although it is slightly more subdued than their Benihana and Moroccan Christmas parties, I’m sure we could keep the party going at a Poor Richard’s after-party.

Kayti Burt would spend Christmas … on Themyscira

The Amazons’ decision to opt out of the “Patriarch’s World” has always been a relatable one, but never so much as in The Year 2020. Historically, I’m not really a beach person, but Themyscira, aka Paradise Island, has a lot going for it: warm weather, a supportive community, and live sporting events where you don’t have to worry about some drunken dudebro spilling cheap beer on your toga. 

As far as I can tell from the Wonder Woman movies, no one (besides Young Diana, who’s usually working through some stuff) ever seems to be having a bad time on Themyscira. And why would you? The pre-Crisis comics incarnation of the island (which I am going to choose to accept as my holiday canon) includes indigeneous kangaroo-like creatures called Kangas that the Amazons ride like horses. Diana’s is called Jumpa; mine will be called Jimmy Hoppa, and we will explore the island’s cascading waterfalls and cliffside terraces together. In the evenings, I will attend performances at the Themysciran amphitheater with my new Amazonian friends or, if I’m feeling introverted, catch up on my book reading and crossword puzzles.

Listen, I wouldn’t want to spend forever on Themyscira—I’d miss my friends, family, and TV shows (Themyscira doesn’t seem to get a good wireless signal)—but a few weeks (or months, especially as I will be quarantining for my first two weeks) for Christmas 2020? Bring me to the enchanted feminist utopia.

Alana Joli Abbott would spend Yule… at the coven house from the Nightcraft Quartet

Witchkind, as presented in Shannon Page’s Nightcraft Quartet, don’t celebrate Christmas, but they do love a good Yuletide celebration. Page’s witches and warlocks are separate from humans, long lived, and magical. Young witches train in the magical arts at a coven house, living there like a dorm; the adult women of the coven (always numbering thirteen) may be involved in scientific research (like protagonist Callie), medicine and healing, or reading Tarot, and they teach their specialties to the young witches. The coven house is a central place where women gather to live, to practice magic together, to celebrate, and to honor traditional rituals. While Callie’s coven in San Francisco has their problems, the community there is caring and genuine, full of both youthful energy and centuries of experienced witchery. 

One of the perks of editing this series is that I get sneak peeks into parts of the story readers haven’t seen yet—including Yule decorations. Rather than cutting down dead trees, witches coax living fir boughs to weave along the walls and mantles, accented with red ribbon and gold—coins, beads, chains. I can imagine the cozy San Francisco coven house filled with witches all rushing to perform their tasks to make the perfect celebration, some of them convincing the fir boughs to expand in just the right ways while others brew hot chocolate or prepare the feast. I picture them eating in the large hall, voices lifted in joyful chatter, and then making their way out to the grounds beyond the house to celebrate beneath the stars, singing midwinter songs and looking forward to the next year. After months of 2020 with smaller communities and less human contact, being surrounded by such a vibrant, magical group of women sounds like just the right way to end my year.

Rosie Fletcher would spend Christmas… with the Roy family from Succession

Go hard or go home, they say, so since I can’t go home this year, I’m going round the Roys. That is, of course, the family at the centre of Succession, a show peopled by the very wealthiest and utterly worst. Festivities would be held at the home of patriarch Logan Roy. His children and their partners would be obliged to attend. Logan would hire a chef to cook, waiting staff to serve, some of whom he would abuse. I would give them sympathetic “I’m sorry” looks but do nothing, secretly thankful Logan’s ire wasn’t focused on me. 

In all likelihood I would be a figure like Greg (the egg), or Tom Wambsgans – mostly tolerated, vaguely despised and very much the second class citizens of the Roy clan, skulking on the periphery as Kendall, Roman and Shiv compete for Logan’s love and oldest son Connor comes up will another entirely ridiculous life plan – I dunno, maybe this year he’s decided that his next career move is to become Santa Claus. 

The food would be extraordinary. The booze the very finest – how long before, like Greg, I would be claiming the bottle of vintage rose champagne I had just motored through was ‘not my favourite’? And the dinner table conversation would be electric. Electric like an electric shock – sharp, painful, disorientating, unexpected. 

So Christmas has become too commercialised? Fine, fuck it. I’ll take the eye-wateringly expensive gift that’s grudgingly bestowed on me, I will gorge on the finest cheeses known to man and coat my tongue with port made from molten rubies, knowing I am on my way to moral bankruptcy and doing it anyway. Go hard or go home…

Kirsten Howard would spend Christmas… singing along in the closing moments of Scrooged 

You’d be hard-pressed to find a Christmas movie that feels as genuinely uplifting during its climax as 1988’s Scrooged. Bill Murray’s arrogant TV boss Frank Cross, having been visited by the Ghosts of Christmases Past, Present and Future, disrupts a live broadcast of A Christmas Carol to rant openly and honestly at the cast and crew (and eventually you) as he makes a passionate case for a life less invested in exploitation and capitalism, and eventually kicks off a collective singalong of Annie Lennox and Al Green’s version of ‘Put a Little Love in Your Heart’.

That’s where I’d like to be this Christmas. Not just to sing along with Bill, but to be around people immediately swept along by the much-less-explored altruistic route of ‘no fucks given’. 

Also hanging out with Bill Murray, though, of course.

So much of the last few years has been a public race to the bottom of Nothing Matters Mountain, but even if it hadn’t all been so demoralising and forced so many of us to reevaluate our priorities, Frank’s message of redemption in love and living as well as we can, while shrugging off our own heavy expectations of success, still feels really special. 

This Christmas, there is light at the end of the tunnel. We may not be able to grab the nearest stranger and sing “put a little love in your heart!” at them right now, but we CAN carry that feeling with us into 2021. As Frank says: “There are people who are having trouble making their miracle happen”. We can always try and find time to stop focusing on our own for a while and to help them.

David Crow would spend Christmas… chilling with Harold and Kumar

Not many people are aware of this, but A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas is the best Harold and Kumar. It may not have the pop culture cache of their medicinal-fueled quest for mini-cheeseburgers, but it does have something very special, indeed: Wafflebot. If you’ve had the misfortune of living your life oblivious to Wafflebot’s existence, allow me to introduce you to a greater world of wonder and magic.

Wafflebot is the best Christmas present to ever come out of Santa’s Workshop. Displaying an eerily sophisticated artificial intelligence for a toy meant only to cook delicious breakfasts, Wafflebot can make you waffles any time by just popping the top and letting that batter drop. But he can also do so much more! Vaguely aware of the concept of friendship, this brunching Frankenstein can learn how to love and appreciate his owners… and defend them from any threat with scalding hot projectile syrup!

With the ability to serve breakfast, save your life, be manipulated into dangerous attack mode, and learn how to see the real you, all while playing a mean drum solo, Wafflebot would make any Christmas a sweetly warm experience. And then Harold and Kumar, and I could also steal a Christmas tree from NPH or something.

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[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Whole Truth - 2

(Full story available on AO3! If you want to be tagged as new chapters are posted, leave a comment “tag me” on this post!)

(Please note: Tumblr continues to make my Italics disappear. It’s very frustrating, so I apologize if the formatting makes anything confusing.)

Monday

1999

--

Aziraphale stared at the book on his desk. “What kind of curse?”

“Don’t know, not my department.” Gabriel smiled, excited, just a little distracted. It tugged at something in Aziraphale, made him want to prove he was worth the Archangel’s attention, too. “Michael’s soldiers seized it in a raid. Very dramatic stuff. Pity you weren’t able to make it.”

“Ah, yes, well…”

“Could have used another sword.” A nudge of the elbow, so hard Aziraphale staggered a little. “Those demons fought back hard.”

“Yes, terribly sorry. As I’d said there was this urgent business to attend to. Demonic possession. Entire family cursed. The house itself had become sentient. And. Carnivorous. I really had to deal with it all immediately.”

“Sounds frightening.”

“Oh, it was. Very frightening. And gory. And certainly not rated for general audiences.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat. The last thing he needed was for Gabriel to learn about movie night. Well. It was mid-ranked on the very long list of things Gabriel shouldn’t know. He hated lying to the Archangel, but no – things were better this way. “Regardless. You say these – these demons had this book in their possession?”

“Oh, yes. Not sure what they were planning to do with it, but it’s cursed. Very cursed.”

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale picked up a pen and used it to lift the cover, peering at the first page. He could just make out the writing. “It’s printed, not handwritten. Not Roman or Cyrillic alphabet.” He let the cover fall and started searching for a pair of gloves. “In fact, I don’t recognize the script at all. I’ll need a larger sample—”

Gabriel clapped his hands. “Good! Excellent, that’s just what I like to hear. Your obsession with material objects and human record keeping finally has a use. So glad we have an expert to consult on this.” Aziraphale hid a little smile at that. Expert. “See what you can find out by the end of the week.”

“End of the – you can’t be serious.” Aziraphale pulled his glasses off, waving them as politely as he could. “I mean, I’m sure you have your reasons, O holy Archangel, but deciphering an unknown text takes time. Not to mention identifying a curse—”

“We already have a team on that,” Gabriel interrupted, before Aziraphale could confess to knowing very little about demonic curses, apart from the sort Crowley shouted at other drivers.

“Oh. Jolly good.”

“Yes, they’ve told me the curse is so potent, any angel attempting to remove it would be immediately destroyed. Incinerated was the term they used.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale took a step away from the desk. “Well, I suppose that does change things.”

Gabriel shrugged. “As long as you don’t try to remove the curse yourself, you’re fine. Anyway, by Friday night, they’ll have worked out a proper disposal method. I proposed launching the book into the sun but apparently that would cause a, what did they call it, Superb Nova.”

“Oh dear.” Another step away. “You know, Gabriel, as…happy as I am that you wish to entrust this task to me, er, we are currently located in a major population center, and I don’t think—”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel gave him that warm look, the one he saw so rarely, the one that made him feel included. “This raid was a big deal. I don’t want to start any rumors, but…it’s possible the demons were planning something. I would consider it a huge favor if you could just, I don’t know, poke around a bit? Find out what they wanted?”

“Well…as…as a favor…” There was a shiver of happiness running up his spine at that. Gabriel never asked for favors. “Yes, I think I can…learn a few things that might help you out. As long as it’s safe?”

“It’s fine!” Gabriel picked up the book and waved it around. “Perfectly harmless to angels; obviously, don’t let any humans near it. They might set something off. Probably blow up half the city!” He laughed, tossing the book. It hit the table with a crack, falling open to a random page.

“Oh, dear.” That hardly sounded safe. “What…if a demon tried? Er, someone come looking for his lost property, perhaps?”

“It would be very bad. No one touches this but you. Understand?”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling rather ill. He should say no, there were too many things that could go wrong.

His eyes drifted to the open book, the strange writing, a drawing of some horrifying creature. One word was a little larger than the rest and for a second, it looked familiar. He bent closer, almost instinctively. “This text…I almost think I’ve seen it before. No, it’s gone now, but perhaps…” He looked up in time to catch an eager gleam in Gabriel’s eyes. “Yes, I think…I can take a look. As…as a favor.”

“Excellent! That’s exactly the attitude I like to see. Now if you’ll excuse me, lots to do, places to be. I’ll follow up with you on Friday. Say, four o’clock?”

In a twinkling of light and a pop of air pressure, Aziraphale was alone with the book.

--

“He just – just left you with a cursed book?” Crowley paid the ice cream vendor and handed Aziraphale his cone.

“Yes. Is that so strange? I am an expert on Earth tomes, and languages, and treatises on magic.” He puffed his chest a little. “Why shouldn’t Heaven give me such a fascinating project?”

“Because they don’t care about any of that,” Crowley snapped flatly. “Besides, languages? I’ve heard you speak French.”

“I was having a bit of an off day,” Aziraphale pouted. “I shouldn’t be judged based on a single incident – what was it, two hundred and six years ago now? For all you know, I’ve been brushing up on my French ever since.” He licked the ice cream, smiling at the thick, creamy texture of it.

“Have you though?” Crowley sauntered alongside him, hands in his pockets, red hair slicked and gelled tight against his head.

“Well, no, but only because I’ve already read everything of interest in French.”

“Is that so?” Crowley smirked as if he was so clever. “Does this mean you finally got around to reading Proust?”

“Well. No. But neither have you.” Aziraphale took a quick bite of his ice cream before it could melt down his hand.

“Yeah, but I don’t live in a bookshop,” Crowley took a few steps ahead and started walking backwards, smirk evolving into a rather large grin. “So that makes me wonder who else you haven’t read. Dickens? Twain? Dostoyevsky? Is the Principality Aziraphale, in fact, a giant sham?”

The angel pursed his lips. “Any luck getting your car to play other music?”

Crowley’s face fell. “No,” he muttered, circling back to walk beside Aziraphale again. “At this point I’m really starting to get sick of Queen. Hope it doesn’t go on too much longer.”

--

Aziraphale stood before his desk, book lying innocuously on the blotter. He wore the thickest gloves he could find and – just to be safe – had rolled his sleeves up past the elbow. He still approached it with extreme caution.

One finger carefully tapped the spine, pulling away instantly.

No sparks. No chills. No cloud of demonic energy.

Just a perfectly ordinary book, really.

With feather-light touch, he brushed his fingers down the cover. Leather-bound, deep red-brown. Hopefully normal leather, but you never knew with demonic books, or for that matter certain obscure human texts. Sturdy and thick, the binding worn through in a few places just enough to indicate irregular use. No title, but gold pressed into the leather formed some sort of broad-leafed plant. Nothing he recognized.

Lifting the cover, he inspected the pages inside. Thick, rough paper – the edges a bit uneven and ragged in places. When he leaned close to inspect them, he detected the distinct dusty scent of old book, with just a hint of spice.

It seemed that Gabriel was correct. Nothing suggested the book was dangerous to touch.

Aziraphale set his armchair beside the desk and settled in for some proper investigation.

The first step of his process: Aziraphale turned to a page at random. He liked to think providence was guiding him to the first clues.

It looked much as that page he’d glimpsed during Gabriel’s visit, yet also entirely different. Small, curving letters – a bit like calligraphy, half unical, he thought, perhaps English or Irish – arrayed around complex illustrations of green plants on one side, and something that might have been an insect on the other. The artwork was immensely detailed, with subtle color variations, but resembled nothing he had ever seen.

The text was also strange, the longer he looked at it. He skimmed the page looking for patterns, groups of letters that appeared together more than once. Nothing. There were distinct words, all between four and seven characters, but each was unique. And the characters each looked sharp and clear and perfectly uniform in size, but there was variation, each uniquely formed, as if handwritten.

He turned the pages, sheet after sheet, looking for anything he recognized, leaning closer as he read. Sometimes a word would look almost familiar and then – no, it was gone.--

--

(The horror movie Aziraphale mentions is supposed to be “The Haunting” but I got it a bit confused with other movies from the late 90s. The mysterious writing and diagrams are loosely based on several mysterious texts, most notably the Voynich Manuscript.)

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 15

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 15 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 15/? SUMMARY: The Doctor’s death is looming on the horizon and Elise is growing every day. What the Doctor doesn’t know is that he has 200 years to teach Elise all he knows. Amy, Rory, and River let Elise in on their secret, because River knows she will keep it. What will Elise do when he’s gone?

Loud music played through the speakers in the console.

It was some rock song that Elise had never heard by a human band she’d never heard of. Elise decided she didn’t like Rock n’ Roll.

Amy and Rory played darts while Elise was sitting on the stairs sketching Idris while the Doctor stood in front of the monitor.

“Forty six. Rubbishy, rubbishy, rubbish,” Amy told Rory.

Elise rolled her eyes. She’d never understand human games. She and the Doctor played football sometimes when the Ponds were sleeping and she wasn’t too tired.

“Hello? It's a double top,” Rory argued.

“Wrong side of the wire, mister.”

“You're on the oche, Red.”

The music abruptly cut off.

“Who wants fish and chips?” the Doctor asked.

Rory raised his hand. “I'll drop you both off. Take your time. Don't rush.”

“Er, and you?” Rory asked.

Elise had once again been forgotten. Maybe she needed to speak up more.

“Things to do. Things involving other things.”

“Well, we'll stay with you. We'll do the other things,” Amy said, joining the Doctor on the platform.

“Nope.”

“Whatever you're up to, I'd personally like to be a part of it.”

The Doctor looked at her apprehensively.

“What?”

An alarm went off and the TARDIS lurched.

Elise was thrown from stairs. The Doctor grabbed her before her face could slam into the console.

“Solar tsunami. Came directly from your sun. A tidal wave of radiation. Big, big, big.”

The Doctor pulled levers as he tried to direct the TARDIS.

“Oh Doctor, my tummy's going funny,” Rory moaned.

“Well, the gyrator disconnected. Target tracking is out. Assume the position!”

“What does that mean?!” Elise yelled.

“Do I what do,” Amy told her. Amy ran to the jump seat and put her head between her knees.

Elise copied her.

Rory knelt down on the platform and did the same.

The TARDIS landed and everything was quiet.

The Doctor jumped up. “Textbook landing.”

They made their way to the TARIDS doors and the Doctor threw them open. “Behold, a cockerel! Love a cockerel.”

They all stepped out.

“And underneath, a monastery. Thirteenth century.”

“Oh, we've gone all medieval,” Amy commented.

“I'm not sure about that,” Rory told her.

“Really? Medieval expert are you?”

“No, it's just that I can hear Dusty Springfield.”

There was indeed music coming from the monastery.

The Doctor knelt beside a hole with an exposed pipe. “These fissures are new. Solar tsunami sent out a huge wave of gamma particles. This is caused by a magnetic quake that occurs just before the wave hits.”

“Well, the monastery's standing,” Amy said.

The Doctor took a snowglobe out of his jacket and shook it. Elise failed to see how that helped anything. “Yeah, for now.”

“Doctor, look,” Rory told him.

“Yeah. It's a supply pipe.” The Doctor scanned it with his screwdriver. “Ceramic inner lining. Something corrosive. They're pumping something nasty off this island to the mainland.”

“My mum's a massive fan of Dusty Springfield,” Rory commented.

“Who isn't? Right, let's go. Satisfy our rabid curiosity.”

The Doctor and Amy took off for the steps leading to the monastery. Rory and Elise cautiously followed after them. The steps led to a courtyard.

“So where are these Dusty Springfield loving monks, then?” Amy asked as the Doctor scanned their surroundings.

“I think we're here. This is it.”

“Doctor, what are you talking about? We've never been here before.” Rory said.

“Hmm?”

“We came here by accident?” Amy reminded him.

The Doctor turned to face them. “Accident? Yes, I know. Accident.”

Rory reached out to touch one of the pipes, only to yank his hand back. “Ow!”

“Acid. They're pumping acid off this island. That's old stuff,” the Doctor reassured him, “Fresh acid, you wouldn't have a finger.”

Amy inspected Rory’s hand as the Doctor walked off.

“Intruder alert. Intruder alert.”

The Doctor walked back to them. “There are people coming. Well, almost.”

“Almost coming?” Amy asked.

“Almost people.”

Amy and the Doctor ran off.

“I think we should really be going,” Rory said.

Elise nodded, agreeing with him.

“Come on!” Amy yelled.

“I'm telling you. When something runs towards you, it is never for a nice reason.”

Amy grabbed onto his jacket, pulling him after her.

Elise ran to catch up with them.

They ran into a room full of people in harnesses.

“What are all these harnesses for?” Amy asked.

“The almost people?” Rory guessed.

“What are they, prisoners, or are they meditating, or what?”

“Well, at the moment they fall into the “or” what category,” the Doctor told them.

“Halt and remain calm.”

“Well, we've halted. How are we all doing on the calm front?”

A group of people, the same people in the harnesses, came running into the room. They were all brandishing spears of some kind.

“Don't move!” a man told them.

“Stay back, Jen. We don't know who they are,” another said.

“So let's ask them. Who the hell are you?” Jen asked.

“Well, I'm the Doctor, and this is Amy, Elise, and Rory, and it's all very nice, isn't it?”

“Hold up. You're all. What are you all? Like identical twins?” Amy asked them.

Two people in odd looking suits came down a set of stairs.

“This is an Alpha Grade industrial facility. Unless you work for the military or for Morpeth Jetson, you are in big trouble,” the woman said. She seemed to be in charge.

“Actually, you're in big trouble,” the Doctor said, pulling out his psychic paper.

The woman snatched it out of his hand.

“Meteorological Department? Since when?”

“Since you were hit by a solar wave.”

“Which we survived.”

“Just, by the look of it. And there's a bigger one on the way.”

“Which we'll also survive. Dicken, scan for bugs.”

“Backs against the wall. Now,” one of the men in the orange suits said.

The Doctor, Elise, Amy, and Rory did as they said.

“You're not a monastery, you're a factory. Twenty second century army-owned factory,” the Doctor said.

“You're army?” Amy asked.

Elise smirked as she remembered Amy in Churchill’s bunker.

“No, love. We're contractors, and you're trespassers,” the woman said.

“It's clear, boss,” Dicken told her.

“All right, weatherman, your ID checks out.” She held out the psychic paper as the Doctor came towards her. “If there's another solar storm, what are you going to do about it? Hand out sunblock?”

The Doctor took it from her and laughed. “I need to see your critical systems.”

“Which one?”

“You know which one.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The woman, named Cleaves, led them into room with a vat full of a milky white substance.

“And there you are,” the Doctor said, wonder in his voice.

“Meet the government's worst kept secret,” Cleaves said, “The Flesh. It's fully programmable matter. In fact, it's even learning to replicate itself at the cellular level.”

“Right. Brilliant. Lost,” Amy said.

“Okay. Once a reading's been taken, we can manipulate its molecular structure into anything. Replicate a living organism down to the hairs on its chinny chin chin. Even clothes. And everything's identical. Eyes, voice…”

“Mind, soul?” the Doctor added.

Elise’s eyes met his. She narrowed them, wondering what he was up to. What was he thinking? She knew by the way he was acting that they hadn’t landed there by accident. An idea hit Elise. Was this to do with Amy? She’d seen the Doctor scanning Amy for pregnancy, but the monitor couldn’t make up its mind.

“Don't be fooled, Doctor. It acts like life but it still needs to be controlled by us, from those harnesses you saw,” Cleaves told him.

“Wait, whoa. Hold it. So, you're Flesh now?” Rory asked.

“I'm lying in a harness back in that chamber. We all are, except Jennifer here. Don't be scared. This thing, just like operating a forklift truck.”

“You said it could grow. Only living things grow,” the Doctor said.

“Moss grows. It's no more than that. This acid is so dangerous we were losing a worker every week. So now we mine the acid using these doppelgangers. Or Gangers,” Cleaves explained, “If these bodies get burnt or fall in the acid…”

“Then who the hell cares, right, Jen?” Buzzer, one of the men, asked.

“Nerve endings automatically cut off like airbags being discharged. We wake up and get a new Ganger,” Jennifer said.

Rory nodded, understanding.

“It's weird, but you get used to it,” the other man, Jimmy, commented.

“Jennifer, I want you in your Ganger. Get back to the harness,” Cleaves ordered.

Jennifer left as the Doctor scanned the Flesh.

“Hang on, what's he up to? What you up to, pal?” Buzzer asked.

“Stop it.” The Doctor jerked his hand back and pocketed his screwdriver. “Strange. It was like for a moment there it was scanning me.” He placed his hand on the surface.

“Doctor…Get back, Doctor! Leave it alone,” Cleaves told him.

He finally pulled his hand back. “I understand.”

“Doctor? Are you all right?” Amy asked.

“Incredible. You have no idea. No idea. I mean, I felt it in my mind. I reached out to it, and it to me.”

“Don't fiddle with the money, Doctor,” Cleaves said, her tone patronizing.

“How can you be so blinkered? It's alive. So alive.”

It finally dawned on Elise.

“You're piling your lives, your personalities directly into it.”

There was flash from outside and the monastery shook.

“It's the solar storm. The first waves come in pairs. Pre-shock and fore-shock. It's close,” the Doctor said.

“Buzzer, we got anything from the mainland yet?” Cleaves asked.

“No, the comms are still too jammed with radiation.”

“Okay. Then we'll keep pumping acid until the mainland says stop. Now why don't you stand back and let us impress you?”

Elise did not like Cleaves one bit.

[all-things-fic]

first kisses pleeaaaaseeeee

First kisses: Hesitant and nervous. Lips hover inches from each other for afew seconds before they just barely brush. It’s just a soft press, but itignites their entire bodies. Pinkies link afterwards, still wanting to beclose, and each looks down, smiling softly.

Based off these prompts

***

You wanted to kiss him.

You didn’t have any idea what he wastalking about as you were holed up in the hidden jewel of a pub under LondonBridge that looked like it had walked straight out of a Charles Dickens novel.All you were aware of was that his lips were incredibly pink, and mesmerisingand he had some of the best teeth you’d ever seen, straight but still so fullof character. And whatever it was that he was saying had you laughing, headthrown back as your hand clutched at your pewter tankard of beer in thecharacterful bar, which was so quintessentially British with its genuinesurroundings that it had you filled with an indescribable warmth and comfort.

It was when he repeated the punchline of the joke around a chuckle of his own, almost in disbelief that both youand he found it so funny, that you prayed somewhere within you that he’d beensaving it just for you. That part of him wanted to impress you just as much asyou did him.

And honestly, this wasn’t meant tohappen was it? You weren’t meant to standing in the corner of the pub,sheltered from the hustle and bustle of millennials also enjoying a cosy night,by Harry Styles who stood in front of you dressed every inch the soft boyfriendyou didn’t even realise that you had been longing for. Because the night you’doriginally met him hadn’t meant to have happened. That night you’d been draggedout to Shoreditch, almost kicking and screaming because you didn’t want to goand meet your friend’s latest conquest who went by the name of Johnny.

But Johnny’s friend Harry had beenevery inch kind and funny, never mind intelligent and quick witted to match.He’d taken interest in you, his eyes letting you know he was just as much awarethat both he and you were the wingmen for the evening, both willing to sufferto aid a friend. But no suffering took place. He’d somehow manage to coaxstories out of you that evening, over your Gin and Tonic and his glass of tequila,that even your eldest friends didn’t know in as much detail. And somewherebetween buying you a double Hendricks and slimline tonic – without the cucumber– he’d taken to enjoying the way you said his name and wrinkled your nose inhis direction when he became a bit too laddie with his jibing. And sure, youwere easy on the eye, but he knew he wanted more than to just shag you,especially the minute he’d seen the way you’d heatedly knocked back the rest ofyour drink the minute you’d overheard the mention of Brexit on the table nextto you.

As you thought back to that night, alittle over three weeks ago, while you stared into his twinkling eyes from thebar lights behind you, what you didn’t realise was he was thinking the exactsame thing. Harry was conscious that he was beaming, from ear to ear, eyesglassy with pure adoration and he was giggling. Giggling. He wasnervous, palms sweaty, being rubbed against the back of his jeans several timesthat evening in fear that his glass would indeed slip from his grip with hisfumbling and shaky fingers and he would make an absolute tit of himself.

“That was awful,” you giggled,pressing your lips to the cool exterior of your tankard, watching the way heplayfully raised his eyebrows at you and your complete lack of confidence inhow you tried to play it like you hadn’t loved his Dad joke after all.

“It was, wasn’t it?” he scrunched hisface up at you in agreement, dropping his head and shaking it quickly beforelooking back at you.

When his eyes met yours instantly ashe raised his head, you watched the way he wiped his palm down his lightlystubbled face and found yourself wondering if he had a made a consciousdecision to come out looking more unkempt than the last time you’d shared hiscompany as a way to go incognito.

Cause you were conscious about theway you were stood, wedged into the corner. So close to each other that if heor you were to take a step forward your chests would be pressed together. Andall it took was the swipe of a phone screen to snap a picture and the wholecarefree aspects of the Sunday evening rendezvous would change. Especiallygiven the way that his body was angled towards yours.

“Wha’s wrong? Have I got summat onm’face?”

The apples of your cheeks warmed, asyou watched him wiped along his jaw before you could even respond to hisquestion. His thumb and forefinger wiped along the outline of his lips,pinching delicately at his bottom lip for the shortest time but long enough foryou to see.

“Just a poor excuse for facial hair,”you joked, a smile creeping onto your lips as you saw the way his jaw moved from side to side, before herolled his lips into his mouth, trying to fight smiling at your joke at hisexpense. You were surprised he hadn’t gone with the age old drop of his jaw inmock offence at your jibe.

“I’ll remember you said that,” hereplied, enjoying the way you nudged your chin up at him in a fashion that toldhim you were more than ready when he was to get into a friendly exchange full of teasing remarks. He cleared his throat, as he kept hiseyes on you, nervously biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back hisdimples from forming and giving away just how soft he was from simply admiringyou.

“‘M sure you will,” you sipped youdrink, keeping your eyes trained on the way his dropped to your lips as youlicked them following swallowing your beer. “You’re thinking something.”

“Might be,” he shot back, noddinglightly as his eyes trailed over your face, lingering on your lips as he sawthe way you nervously pulled your bottom lip into his mouth. And he knew hischeeks were flushing pink, he knew because he saw the softest smile pulllopsidedly onto your lips. “Is it me, or is it hot in ‘ere?”

That caused you to laugh, headdropping backwards and lightly hitting the stone wall, which was painted white,behind you.

And before he could stop himself, hewas dropping his head forward, resting the tip is his nose into your tiltedback jawline as he tittered breathily against your chin.

“‘M thinking a lot of things,” hemumbled as he felt the way your chest stopped shaking while your laughter dieddown. He was all to aware the compromising position he found himself in now,but he didn’t care because the way your perfume pulled him in made him know hedidn’t want to smell another scent in his entire life but instead find outwhich one he would be buying your for the rest of yours. “Can’t believe I jus’said tha’-“

“Like what?” your question was light,choosing to ignore his follow up comment, as he hummed and relieved your hand of thetankard glass, placing it messily against the wooden bar to his left.

“Things like kissing you,” heanswered truthfully, his nose nudging against your skin silently coaxing you todrop your face down to his.

“Really?” you asked, a mixturebetween a surprised squeak and dreamy sigh. How was someone so attractive andself-assured suddenly adorably diffident.

“Oh yea’,” he hummed, nodding andletting his eyes fall over your face, taking note of your fluttery lashes andthe light freckles that dotted the bridge of your nose and cheekbones.

He thought you were beautiful before,but up this close and personal he was without doubt about to become the biggestfool for you.

“What are you waiting for?” Youasked, hand now free from your drink make it so it could clasp gently at the cableknit jumper and pull him just that little bit closer to you.

He cast his eyes from you, downwardto see the pleasing way your red nails looked against the grey fabric of hisjumper. “Can’t,” he clasped, “Not in ‘ere, doll.”

Someone surely had to have recognisedhim by now and while it killed him to not simply cup your jaw and devour youuntil neither of you could breathe, he didn’t want to put you under scrutiny soearly on.

Regardless of the way you wereplayfully close to him, cheekily nudging your nose to the side of his andlooking into his eyes so deeply, he knew he couldn’t give in and hang you out todry. You were already too special to him for that.

Lips hovering so close and over eachother, they barely brushed as your eyes sparkled back at him. “‘M in so muchtrouble wi’you,” he admitted, as his chuckle bounced against your lips and heshuffled closer.

You tutted, shaking your head at him and his actions as he almost rubbed histop lip over your bottom and went against his word; dipping down and creating a gap between the two ofyou that had him reaching for your hand trying desperately to keep you closeto.

Next his lips were against your skinof you hand, lips soft and enticing as he mumbled, “Where are you off to?”

Looking at him over your shoulder,you tugged on his hand, “To find a dark corner we can snog in.”

It was simple and almost teenage-likeas he fell over his feet and crashed his chest to your back, tripping overthe leg of someone’s chair as they sat in the bar and laughing out a “sorry,mate” as you giggled in front of him and hastily found your way to the pubentrance, tugging him behind you as you went.

God, you were anxious, a nervousnessbubble running through you like no other you had felt. His fingers fitted so easilynext to yours as he slotted his still clammy - there was no way around it -hand, that he once again brought up to his lips.

You didn’t know where you were goingas you exited the pub, head turning to the left as Harry ushered you with anudge of his chest to your shoulder to just go with it. Andyou stumbled a little, both wanting to stay close to each other as you zigzagged the tiny path underneath the bridge talking about mindless nonsense andadmitting out-loud that you felt “a little bit pissed” now that the cold nightair had hit you.

With his thumb stroking yourknuckles, he chuckled and desperately hoped you weren’t too pissed that you’dregret this the next morning because all he could think about was how he wasplanning your second date. And your third. Even your fourth and fifth.

“Strangely nice down here,” youwhispered as the sound of Londoners and the city seemed the fade the furtheryou walked. Save the clicking of your boots, or was it his? “S’it hidden enoughfor you?” You teased, taking to turning and walking backwards as you looked athim and felt him reach from your second hand, lacing your fingers together.

He shushed you, playfully, trying toget you to come closer to him but noticing the way you stubbornly planted yourfeet against the cobble stone beneath you, making it more of a challenge to getyou to come back him. “S’tha’ how it’s gonna be, wan’ me to come to youinstead?”

He hummed, tugging on your hand againto give it another shot. You budged, even if only slightly, as he hummed,“Thanks for comin’ out wi’me-“

“Thanks for asking,” you responded,shyly letting your feet take you to him to close the short distance between thetwo of you.

Then it fell silent and a heavinesslingered between you both as he admired you in the dim moonlight. “I’d quitelike to do this again, t’be ‘onest,” he admitted, brushing some of your hairoff your shoulder and cupping his hand gently against your neck. “If you’ll‘ave me, that is.”

Humming you whispered, “I’d quitelike that too.”

“Would ya?” He asked, dropping hisforehead to yours and seeing the way your eyes drooped as nervous and breathypants bounced against his lips. “And again,” he nudged his nose against yoursas he lifted to slide it to the other side, lips barely brushing, “and again,and again, and-“

You pushed up onto your tip toes,only slightly in your heels to cut off his husky voice and hesitantly took hislip top lip in between yours. Hand gripping to the back of his neck, you desperatelywishing he hadn’t opted for a beanie as you sought to push your hands throughhis hair and anchor his lips to you.

Nails delicately dug into the skin onthe back of his neck as you felt him smile against your lips, slightly pleasedthat you’d been the first to cave into your urges because you were just thatinto him too.

Harry was quick to change the way youdesperately squashed your faces together, letting out a tiny breath when hebrushed his lips and tilted your faces just the way he wanted it to firmlypress your lips together. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and hefelt you shuffle a little bit closer to him as he widened his stance andpressed his hand firmly against the small of your back to help your chests meldtogether and for you to feel secure in his hold.

You hand clung to the fabric of hisjumper at the top of his shoulder blades as he coaxed your mouth to open widerfor him with a smooth of his thumb along your chin and jawline. And he smiled,what you knew even without seeing was the dreamiest smile, as vibrations ofprotests fell from your lips when he ever so slightly lifts his lips away fromyours longer than before to test whether you were ready for him to mouth hisway along your jawline and below.

How was this better than you hadimagined and how had he not fucked it up? You were good, so good at this,together. Soft sighs and quiet hums, gentle flicks of your tongue, warm and wetin the best way possible and gripping as his hands cupped your neck so gentlyrunning soothing circles along your exposed neck and enjoying the way your freehand held his forearm leaving occasional light scratches against the fabric ofhis jumper.

You tasted like he thought. Sweet andsatisfying. And when you parted, mainly because you couldn’t ignore the burningof your chest and the way he was panting through his nose, Harry pressedpanting pecks to your lips, chasing after you when you fell down from your tiptoes and back to your normal height. He was definitely a goner.

You were just as giddy, especiallywhen you felt his toothy grin against the apple of your cheek, which was justas prominent and round due to the smile that was held upon your lips. The feelof him shaking his head, his nose squashing into your skin as he heard yourthroaty laugh, head tilting back, made his heart soar.

“Any good for you?” he hummed,deeply, body falling forward as yours bent back and he clung to you. Hisquestioning wasn’t bashful, it wasn’t even him needing an answer. He knew thekiss the two of your shared was good. He knew by the girly giggle that yoursquealed at the end of the sexiest laugh he’d heard from you that evening, andhe knew because your fingers were desperately trying to tangle into his hairunderneath his beanie.

But he knew mainly from the way your lipstrembled, ever so slightly as he lingered at the corner of your mouth knowinghe wouldn’t need to be asked twice if you wanted to go again.

“‘M not sure, try me again,” youpurred, feeling the way he melted against you.

“Be my fuckin’ pleasure.”

[apollosvotive]

a fanfic about the cinnamon salt cinnamon characters written for the writeblr fic exchange for @apricotwrites. i chose to write about jay because i felt like i could grasp his character the best, but i dont know a lot about the characters so hopefully there arent too many inaccuracies aaaa. hope this is okay!

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Borneo is white sand shifting underfoot. Fat winged insects sluggishly dragging their heavy bodies from one flower to the next, the audible thrum of their wings. It’s the muggy air, the heat of the glowering sun as it pitches itself at the highest point of its trajectory. It’s the constant need to slap himself on the limbs multiple times to ward away a stray horde of hungry bloodsuckers. But still. Anywhere is better than home.

Jay lounges in the shade of a coconut tree, a hand beneath his head, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell the rest are off a little ways down the beach from the loud splashing and occasional squeals of laughter. Sohla’s voice is clear and distinct. She’s shouting at Ruben something along the lines of ‘You have approximately half a brain cell in your head, Ruben, and that’s me being generous.’ Then comes Ruben’s indignant remonstrations and Birdie’s light, high laughter and Jay starts thinking all over again about how chance, how fortuitous, that the universe might allow the paths of these seven people to cross and become what they are now: together. A ragtag team of misfits, a family.

When he first set foot onto this island, it would have been impossible for him to even think about the fact that he might find a group of people who understand him on such a level. Of course, when he first set foot onto this island, he was still angry and alone and blameful, thinking thoughts about his leg or, more accurately, the lack of it. But then he met these guys, and he saw shy and quiet Will, prone to smiling to himself and listening, really listening when someone talks as if to make up for the fact that he cannot see them. Ruben, who, for all the clumsiness of his left foot, manages to banish any impressions of awkwardness with a simple, urbane smile. Or unpredictable Alison, lover of Shakespeare, Shelley, Dickens, names of the dead. She’s always got that strange smile playing on her lips as if she knows something he doesn’t. She keeps her thoughts close to herself, never one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but he has come to know to find glimpses of her in little things, like in the way her eyes are always roving, looking for her brother, never allowing herself to let him out of her sight.

Come to think of it, there’s one voice that he doesn’t hear, floating up to him from where the rest of them are.

“Why so antisocial?”

Warmth lands on his face, flooding the darkness of the back of his eyelids with orange. He cracks an eye open. Alison is in front of him. She has shifted a palm frond away so that it no longer blocks the sun from his face.

“Not my thing,” Jay says simply.

“No?” She folds her arms in front of her. “You’re the only one not down there. How about for once in your life, don’t be a sad ass party pooper?”

“You’re here with me,” he counters.

“Only so that you’re not up here withering by yourself,” she shoots right back, without missing a beat. She isn’t looking at him. Her eyes are directed at a spot on the sand. “Oh, look at me. I’m Jay, I’m so cool, too cool to go down to the water and have fun with the others. Sorry to ruin your daydream, Jay, but from down there, you don’t look like you’re in a 1080p montage shot in a Fincher-esque style with emo music playing in the background. From down there, you look like a sad… ant.”

“Ha-ha,” Jay deadpans. “And that’s all an English lit student can come up with? Now put back my leaf. And go find your brother.”

Alison gasps in mock-affront. “Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?”

“I do,” Jay says very seriously. “I do bite my thumb at you.”

“Unbelievable! Incomprehensible!” she cries. “Hell is empty and all the devils are here!”

Finally, she succeeds in wresting a laugh out of him. She’s obsessed with Shakespeare. She’s memorised hundreds of quotes across all his plays and she enjoys quoting it back at him to annoy the shit out of him, which is, evidently, an effective method in getting him to do things. He shakes his head, unable to stop the upward twitch of his lips, and he pointedly ignores the smug and satisfied look in her eyes.

“Come on, Jay.” She jerks her head in the direction of where the others are. “I won. Let’s go.”

He covers his eyes with his arms stubbornly.

She sighs. “What’s going on? Are you homesick?”

“Homesick?” He scoffs from beneath his arms, as if it's an absurd concept. “No.”

“Woah, okay. Must you say it like the Bubonic plague originated in the tiny town of Laurels, Maine?”

“Laurels, Maine,” he repeats slowly. Just saying the name brings back to mind the feeling of inexorable boredom. Days of endless repetition. Just work and sleep and work. Days of friendlessness and hushed whispering and guilt-filled glances at his leg. The problem with a small town is that everyone knows everyone. This means that everyone in the little town knows that it was an accident that took Jay’s leg away from him when he was twelve and everyone knows he’s never been quite the same since. “More like ‘Bumfuck, Middle of Bumfuck Nowhere’. Wouldn’t go back if you paid me to. I am perfectly happy where I am now, thank you very much. It’s up to the rest of them to not go all Lord of the Flies and start killing each other.”

“Oh, considering that out of the seven of us, the only person to not scream at the sight of spiders is Will and it’s because he’s blind, I wouldn’t put my money on it.”

“I don’t scream.”

“I saw your face when there was that spider in the toilet the other day. Face of a pants-pisser.”

“You’re dysfunctional.”

“Aw,” she says. “Thank you.”

“C��mon, Jay.” She tries again. One more attempt that sounds as though its approaching finality. Sometimes Jay wonders how many times he can push others away before they stop coming to him altogether. He’s spent so long in Laurels angry and alone, convinced that no one else in the world could understand him, that finding this group of people, on the island of Borneo, of all places, feels like a rare stroke of luck he isn’t meant to have, the only thing the universe has done right by him. And the thought of losing them, that he might push them away enough times for them to not bother anymore – it makes him scared.

There. He said it. It does. It makes him scared.

“They’re waiting for you. ”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jay moves his arms away. He squints against the light flooding back into his vision, then his vision settles and his eyes come to rest on the black silhouette blocking out the rest of the light that is Alison.

She extends a hand to him. He takes it and allows himself to be pulled up.

“This better be good,” he tells her. She makes to place a hand on his back to support him but he shakes his head and moves away. All these years with a prosthesis and he’s gotten used to it even over tricky terrain. In fact, it feels no different from his old leg until he looks down.

“Come on, cranky old man,” she says. “Let’s go.”

They walk down the beach to where the rest of them are. Perched contentedly under a large beach umbrella, Will and Nolan sit, listening to music. They share Nolan’s headphones. Each one holds the muff to their ears as they quietly listen to whatever’s filtering in. Depending on who has control of the aux, the song is most probably either a romantic ballad or an orchestral score. Nolan turns one of his stimming toys over and over in his other hand. Lying next to him is a half completed drawing of the beach. Down by the surf, Ruben has sand packed on top of his entire body so only his head is visible. Birdie and Sohla stand on either side of him, and the three of them appear to be bickering lightly.

“Make me a mermaid!” Ruben is saying. “Give me a sweet pair of conch-covered tits and a cool tail.”

“No,” Sohla says. “Make him a mole rat. Give him grabby claws and a skinny tail.”

Ruben’s head swivels around frantically to look at Birdie. “Don’t listen to her, Birdie. Do not make me a molerat.”

Birdie quirks an eyebrow at him. A lopsided smile spreads across her lips. “You know I can’t do that.”

“No!” Ruben’s protests are nearly drowned out by the sound of Birdie and Sohla’s laughter as they begin patting the sand surrounding Ruben into a rodent-like form. “I am the sand guardian, guardian of the sand! Poseidon quivers before me!”

“Clam it, Stuart Little,” Sohla says lightly, inciting a string of rapid-fire protestations from Ruben, and Alison turns to look at Jay and Jay – well, Jay can do nothing more but smile.

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Queerly Beloved

Author: SmilesAwakeYou

Year: 2009

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Garth Marenghi, Dean Learner, Todd Rivers, Dr. Rick Dagless, Lucien Sanchez, Liz Asher, Thornton Reed, Julian OC, Noel OC

Adjusting his tie and shifting the book in his hand, Garth regarded the camera aimed at his handsome face. He raised a brow and opened the pages of Blood Gush to read the genius that lied therein. Mustering all of his strength, he tried to think of what exactly it was he was trying to convey to the camera. What did newscasters call it again? Ah yes. Gravity. So, with all the gravity he could muster, he stared the camera down as inspired words tumbled from his lips. “’Ah,’ she yelled, clawing at the bloody stump that was once her beautiful pearly alabaster arm. ‘My arm, my bloody arm, what have you done with it you ruddy bastard?’ “’Eaten it, of course,’ replied the rabid magical badger who was still noshing on the bloody vestiges of her once beautiful appendage. With that, she kicked ‘im in the head so hard, his eyeballs popped out and exploded like two water balloons full of cream getting hit by a lorry.’” Turning his full attention back to the camera, Garth arched his eyebrow once more. “Hello. That was my terrifying and harrowing epic Blood Gush, a tale of a woman caught in a lie betwixt herself and a satanic cult of terrifying woodland animals.” He allowed a small smile to flit across his face. “Let’s see if you can muster up the courage to travel alone in the woods again after reading that bit of literature.” He killed the smile as a sudden burst of gravity hit him, causing him to scowl. “In my television program, Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace, I sought to venture into the deepest, darkest, most dankest vestibules of my twisted psyche. What were my fears? What were my terrors? What had made me most whiz the bed as a kid? “As I answered those and many other unanswerable questions, I came to realize that the horror I had to spill upon the unsuspecting world would leave her crippled, mangled, like a bird that’s run into a closed window because it’s so stupid it can’t see that it’s glass and then leaves a streak of blood there that I’ve then got to go and clean up because my wife’s too squeamish, even though Sheffield United is playing. Because of this, Darkplace was canceled. That and the Beeb found out it had more stock footage of baby animals than it had originally thought, leading to the premiere of Baby Animals Yawning Are Quite Cute, Yeah? now entering its 25th season. “Anyway, as I questioned and pondered and schemed and was generally brilliant, I came up with an episode so mind-shakingly and bowl-movingly earth-shattering that it was never allowed on air… much like the other six episodes. Of course, it dealt with very sensitive issues and, with the help of my producer Dean Learner” – a picture of Dean and Garth flashed across the screen, both of them looking dapper as Dean stroked his glorious moustache – “we wrote what proved to be the most harrowing episode yet. An episode that dealt with… the Gay Issue.” Garth paused, waiting for such a monumentous statement to really sink in and stick to his viewers’ sides. “So join me now and sift through the demented horrors from my brain as this episode, previously unaired on British television, is seen for the first time. Unless you’re from Finland. They got a hold of it there somehow. We may be suing.” ******* CUE OPENING CREDITS EPISODE #7: “QUEERLY BELOVED” DR RICK DAGLESS, MD walks down a hallway in slow motion. Various hospital goers look on in impressed wonderment. He is truly a great man, as is evident from his walking prowess. DAGLESS [voiceover] Darkplace. It’s a bit mad to work in a place this dark. All this mad darkness can get to a lesser man. Sometimes I think I might just have to blow this popsicle stand and go somewhere a bit less mad and dark. LIZ and SANCHEZ walk by, waving merrily. But, hey, they people here ain’t so bad. Plus, were I to leave everything would go to shit. Cut to THORNTON’s office. THORNTON is sitting at the desk, smoking a cigar and stroking his moustache. DAGLESS [voiceover] Thornton Reed. Now there’s a mangy old grizzly bear if I’ve ever seen one. Which I haven’t but I have seen specials on the Beeb and they are quite impressive. Anyway, Thornton had called me in to discuss some very important business which was business as usual, given the fact that I was his official important-business go-to guy. DAGLESS So, what’s the word, Thornton? THORNTON Puts down his phone Oh, Dag! I cannot believe how mad and dark this place is. So mad and dark! If you were to leave, everything would go to shit. DAGLESS [voiceover] See? DAGLESS Well what dark madness is afoot today? THORNTON Well, you see, there’s some mess happening with one of our morticians. Turns out he’s gone missing! DAGLESS Missing you say? THORNTON Yes. DAGLESS Well, that’s no good. Probably off fucking about with one of the cadavers. THORNTON Laughs heartily before looking deadly serious. Now Dag, dead bodies aren’t something to joke about. Especially since all the cadavers are male! Necrophilia is one thing but gay necrophilia is a horse of a different color. Specifically all the colors… meaning a rainbow-painted horse. A gay, rainbow-painted, dead horse. DAGLESS Gives a manly laugh. If that’s one thing I can’t abide by, it’s anal sex with dead bodies. SANCHEZ and LIZ enter SANCHEZ What’s Rick talking about? His normal Friday night? LIZ Now come on fellas, there’s a lady present. DAGLESS Hardly! Everyone laughs at the hilarious joke. LIZ Still laughing. Oh, I find it so attractive when men put me in my place! THORNTON Striking his desk with resolve. Now now. Let’s come to order. As I was telling Rick, there’s a small order of business concerning a missing mortician. DAGLESS Necrophiliac you mean. Everyone laughs. THORNTON Now Dag, while I too find the prospect of a man getting his jollies by do the genital jamboree with some dead sod downright hilarious, we still need to figure out just where in the Dickens he might have got to. LIZ Is it possible he might have gone home? THORNTON Trust a woman to come up with such a stupidly hair-brained idea. He shakes his head. No, Liz, he hasn’t gone home because he CAN’T go home. He sleeps here. Prefers to, actually. Plus he’s contractually obligated. All the morticians are. Can’t have them running about, giving away secrets of the dead to just anyone. SANCHEZ Well where could he have got to? DAGLESS I don’t know. But wherever he’s got, we’ll find him. I think we should start in the basement. THORNTON Right, you three go down there to the morgue and I will stay here and make sure he’s not skulking about in the proper hospital. DAGLESS Sounds like a plan. ********* INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER Dean, his mustache twitching thoughtfully, gave the camera a baleful look. “Now, when Garth came to me with this idea, I thought he was downright mad. A whole episode about the gays? Preposterous! But then he sat me down and actually talked out the plot with me and, well, I’ll be diddled with a fiddle stick if it wasn’t downright brilliant.” INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI Arching an eyebrow, Garth regarded the camera. “Now, you might find it interesting to know that we actually created more of a stink with our talk about morticians than the homos. Surprising, that. Turns out morticians are very easily offended. It’s not our fault that their jobs almost invariably involve bumming the dead.” INTERVIEW WITH TODD RIVERS Todd, shifting in his chair, steepled his fingers as he contemplated the camera. “Well, yes, when Garth told me about the subject matter of this episode, I was duly alarmed but it is my duty as an actor to overcome all obstacles, no matter how gay. Actually, the thing I ended up taking issue with the most was all that bad-talking about morticians. I got an advanced copy of the script and told Garth, ‘Hey now! What have you got against morticians?’ You see, my grandfather worked in a morgue and I remember many a happy childhood day spent romping about, putting make-up on corpses and coming home smelling of grandma’s pie and formaldehyde. But Garth stuck to his guns and, yes, I think the episode benefited from it in the end.” ******* Cut to the basement. It is dreary and dripping noises sound from all around. DAGLESS [voiceover] Now this was certainly an odd case. Morticians are notorious for being boring and not having much of a life, so where could this one have disappeared to? It was quite a mystery indeed. SANCHEZ Oh, hey now, what was that? LIZ I didn’t hear anything. DAGLESS That means absolutely jack shit, Liz. It’s a well-known fact that men have a superior sense of hearing to women. What did it sound like, Sanch? SANCHEZ It sounded like a distant moaning. DAGLESS A distant moaning? SANCHEZ Yes. DAGLESS My, that is odd. LIZ Perhaps we should go down to the morgue? DAGLESS My God, Liz, no one likes a pushy woman. But perhaps you’re right. LIZ I’m sorry, Rick, that was out of line. DAGLESS It’s alright. There’s a wailing noise, like man mourning the loss of a child. Or that of a wounded monkey. SANCHEZ Hey now, what could that be? LIZ It sounds like it’s coming from the morgue. DAGLESS Only one thing to do then. Let’s go! They all begin to run in slow motion. Cut to MORGUE. DENNIS THE MORTICIAN pulls up his pants and whirls around. DENNIS Oh, Dr. Dagless. Other doctors. I didn’t hear you coming. SANCHEZ Well, you seem like you were too busy doing some “coming” yourself. DENNIS His small eyes dart about like a shrimp. I was just changing my pants. DAGLESS Right, well, we’re not here to discuss your disgusting habits. We came here to discuss a missing mortician. DENNIS Oh, you mean Maurice? Yes, he’s been missing since this morning. DAGLESS Any idea where he could’ve got to? DENNIS No. Not one. Though he did say that one of the bodies was behaving… strangely. Everyone exchanges a look. SANCHEZ Strangely, you say? DENNIS Yes. Strangely. Then he buggered off. Suddenly, the moaning noise is heard again. SANCHEZ Sweet holy moley, Dag, what was that? DAGLESS I dunno, but it’s sending chills right up the old spine chord. LIZ Perhaps we should go investigate? DAGLESS You and your bright ideas, Liz. The moaning continues. But perhaps this once you’re right…. Again. SANCHEZ Pulls out his pistol. C’mon lads! And lady. Let’s go find us a mortician! DAGLESS, LIZ, SANCHEZ and DENNIS all take off, running in glorious slow motion with intense music drumming in the background. They enter a small, dark room with candles and spiderwebs everywhere. DAGLESS [voiceover] As soon as we entered the room, I knew something was afoot. This was some bad joojoo. SANCHEZ I don’t feel good about this, Dag. DAGLESS I know. I know. DENNIS whips around and points to a corner. DENNIS Oh God! What is that? LIZ shrieks. LIZ Oh my, how horrible! A man with fantastic hair lurches forward, flinging out his arms and doing jazz hands in a sparkly red jumpsuit before grabbing SANCHEZ as his gun goes off. SANCHEZ and the man grapple and wrestle until DAGLESS jumps in to pull them apart. Throwing the man off of SANCHEZ, he pulls a cross out of his shirt. DAGLESS Be gone, foul creature! The man hisses and sashays away. DENNIS My God, that was Maurice! DAGLESS It’s too late now. You’re friend has become a vampire. A demon of the night. Nosferatu. LIZ Oh my! How could such a thing happen? DAGLESS Well, when you’re messing about with dead bodies all day, it’s no wonder that a vampire might sneak its way in. Turns to SANCHEZ. You alright? You’re holding your neck. SANCHEZ Holding his neck. Oh, I do believe I’ll be alright, old friend. He falls to his knees. But I think I also got bitten. He falls completely on the floor. DAGLESS drops to his knees and rips open his shirt. DAGLESS Nooooooo!! SANCHEZ picks his head up. SANCHEZ Well, I don’t think I’m dead yet, so you might still be able to save me. His head falls to the floor again. DAGLESS Oh. Alright. ******** INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER “People actually seemed surprised that Garth and I wrote this episode together. To be fair, it was Garth’s concept to begin with. But then I got in on the action which some people – i.e. my wife - found rather suspect. I mean, what’s so strange about two men researching an episode about gayness by going to pubs that cater almost exclusively to homosexuals? Sure, the experience was disgusting, but it was also educational.” He paused. “And hazy.” ****** Cut to a hospital bed where SANCHEZ is lying down, a bandage around his neck. SANCHEZ Thanks for dragging me out of that hell hole, friends. DAGLESS Not a problem, mate. I know you’d do the same for me. DAGLESS [voiceover] The problem was that we didn’t know when the vampirism would manifest itself. Or how. LIZ Don’t worry, Sanchez. You’ll be good as new soon. SANCHEZ Thanks, Liz. DAGLESS turns to DENNIS. DAGLESS Now you: go and try and find out where Maurice or whatever’s left of him could’ve disappeared to. I’ve got to go talk to Reed. Cut to THORNTON’S office. THORNTON Pounding his desk authoritatively. I don’t like it, Dag, I don’t like it one bit. A vampire? In this hospital? Now that is just a pain in my arse. And neck. DAGLESS I don’t like it much either, Reed. Not at all. And there was something a bit off with this vampire. He was a bit… fabulous. THORNTON Fabulous? What in God’s great glorious manteats do you mean by that? DAGLESS …I don’t know, Reed. I just don’t know. DAGLESS [voiceover] But I did know. Or at least, I had an inkling. I suspected that this vampire might be the rare kind… the campy kind. A gay vampire. ******* INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER “It was actually my idea to make it be vampires that would spread the gayness. Because, you know, gayness – just like vampirism – is spread through the blood.” He glanced over behind the camera to where the producer was shaking his head. “Oh, it isn’t? Well, anyway, that’s what we thought at the time. I originally wanted to call the vampires ‘campires’ – get it? Campy vampires? – but Garth didn’t get it and I thought… it Garth doesn’t get it, who in blue blazes will? So we chucked it. Best decision I’ve ever made.” INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI Garth regarded the camera with an annoyed look. “We ended up running into a bit of a problem with the gay community given the fact that the gayness could be transmitted through the blood. Something about AIDS or some bollocks. So I just said, ‘look, I don’t get all uppity when one of you tries to play it straight, alright? So don’t get in my face when I try and give you people some airtime.’” He smirked and settled back in his chair. “And that ended that argument.” He paused. “Although we weren’t allowed to air the episode. But that’s neither here nor there.” ******* Cut to SANCHEZ’s bedside. He is unconscious and DAGLESS sits beside him, looking manly and concerned. DAGLESS [voiceover] I was worried about Sanchez. Would he be turned gay? Or would he just become a vampire? I wasn’t sure which was worst. Sure, getting my blood sucked out by my best friend was bad enough but getting chatted up by him as well? That was just bone-chilling. SANCHEZ stirs. DAGLESS Can you hear me buddy? It’s your friend, Dag. Just know that I won’t rest until you’re back to normal. Of course, I might also have to give you a stake through the heart but, well, that’s something I’d be willing to do to save you. SANCHEZ In a faint voice. …Dag? DAGLESS moves in closer. DAGLESS Yeah, mate? SANCHEZ I… I feel strange… like… like someone’s doing the electric boogaloo in my Johnson… I’ve got the strange urge to… to dance to ABBA… DAGLESS Shh, it’s ok old friend. SANCHEZ I… I think I might fancy… Boy George… DAGLESS Fight it, Sanch, fight it! SANCHEZ I… Dag? DAGLESS Yeah? SANCHEZ What am I wearing? With that he pulls down his sheets to reveal that he is wearing cut-off jean shorts and a bedazzled silver top as well as a kerchief. His eyes have also gone red and vampire fangs appear. DAGLESS raises an anguished fist. DAGLESS Nooooo! THORNTON and LIZ burst in as SANCHEZ prances up to try and bite DAGLESS. They struggle until DAGLESS gets out his cross again, throwing the transformed SANCHEZ off of him. SANCHEZ cowers in glorious slow motion. SANCHEZ Waaaaargh! ******** INTERVIEW WITH TODD RIVERS Todd crinkled his forehead, his fingers still steepled. “Uh, in that scene I was actually meant to kiss Dagless rather fervently on the mouth. But, as I’ve stated in previous interviews, there’s no limit to my acting… save when it comes to making whoopee with another man. Because while I may be a professional, I’m still straighter than two jockstraps filled with testosterone. And me trying to do the tongue tango with a bloke, well… it just wouldn’t be convincing. Even if I acted my ruddy pants off.” ********* The fighting continues until SANCHEZ is thrown off DAGLESS, causing him to lash out at both LIZ and THORNTON. DAGLESS Get away from them you animal! But it is for naught because both LIZ and THORNTON are bitten. THORNTON Oh, oh ow! That ruddy hurts, it does! LIZ Oh, I do believe I have been wounded! SANCHEZ pauses before running out and DAGLESS goes to the doorway. DAGLESS I will find you and get you! LIZ and THORNTON both fall to the floor. Oh no! Liz! Reed! He looks to the sky. Noooooooo! Sanchez! You gay bastard! Dennis bursts in. DENNIS Dagless! I believe I found out who the root of the problem is! He looks around. What happened here? DAGLESS They got bitten by Sanchez. I’ve got to go stop him before he bites anyone else. DENNIS But wait! You know that body that Maurice had said was behaving strangely? DAGLESS Yes? DENNIS Turns out he’s the head vampire! Only he, uh, bit me too. He continues to look unharmed. DAGLESS looks him up and down. DAGLESS Where? DENNIS shifts uncomfortably before gesturing to his bathing suit area. Ah. Well, where is this vampirical bummer? DENNIS Downstairs. Hurry! DAGLESS runs out of the door. Cut to the basement again. It is still dark and dank and drippy. DAGLESS is running through the halls in slow motion. DAGLESS [voiceover] Now this was worrisome. The head vampire? Here? In this very basement? That was quite the head scratcher. Why here? Why Darkplace? Why Sanchez? This bastard was going to answer those questions. And more. DAGLESS enters the cave-like room that MAURICE was in before. There is a man standing there in a purple cape with his back to DAGLESS. DAGLESS Oi! You! The vampire turns around. He has on sparkly gloves and a pink fedora. He hisses. VAMPIRE How did you find me, lovie? DAGLESS By my own wits. That and Dennis told me you were down here. VAMPIRE Really? He didn’t seem to mind me too much before. DAGLESS Scowls in disgust. Hey, what you do in the privacy of your own home is your business. Except for when you’re at my hospital. The VAMPIRE starts to advance but DAGLESS whips out his cross again, stopping him in his tracks. Nope, not so fast. Now tell me… why are you here? VAMPIRE Very well. I can tell your will as well as your heterosexuality is too strong for me to sway. He sweeps his cloak and walks around the room, DAGLESS mirroring him. I came to this hospital by accident – I had been hiding out after wreaking havoc on a naval yard by posing as a dead body – and couldn’t help but bite that pretty Maurice when I saw him. Now that I’ve seen this place, I’ve realized that the hostpital is no place for a woman… it is a place for big, beautiful, capable men doctors. And I love it! Not even you can stop me from making this into one big poof factory! Because that is the goal of the gay vampire: MAKE EVERYONE ELSE GAY! DAGLESS I can stop you and I will stop you! Just you wait! The VAMPIRE cackles before disappearing in a plume of smoke, leaving DAGLESS alone and coughing. The others! DAGLESS dashes out of the cave. ******** INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI “Now, there were accusations that this episode was homophobic.” Garth scoffed, leaning forward to regard the camera. “So, yeah, maybe I do find bumming grotesque, but this episode is about awareness, yeah? To show that homos are people too. Or rather anyone can be gay.” He thought for a moment. “Or a vampire.” INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER “Yeah, I heard lots of things, right, like ‘oh, you’re perpetuating the stereotype that gay is contagious’ but no!” Dean pointed a decisive finger at the camera. “No. We were trying to show that it’s not contagious.” He paused, stroking his moustache. “Lest of course you exchange bodily fluids. Big difference.” ****** Cut to THORNTON’s office. SANCHEZ and THORNTON are dancing to loud techno music while DENNIS and MAURICE throw satsumas at each other in their underwear and giggle. THORNTON is dressed only in a mesh shirt and a banana hammock. Everyone has fangs. DAGLESS bursts in, breathless. DAGLESS No! No men! Remember you’re men, not poofs! Everyone ignores him. SANCHEZ runs his fingers through THORNTON’s hair and grinds against him. ****** INTERVIEW WITH TODD RIVERS Todd’s hands fell into his lap and he shifted, avoiding the camera lens with his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t actually remember filming that scene.” ********* DAGLESS Turn off the techno! Put on your pants! Stop with the glitter! The VAMPIRE enters in a cloud of smoke, laughing. VAMPIRE All are powerless to the draw of manflesh! He outstretches his hand, flashing his fangs at DAGLESS. Join us, Rick! Join usssss. DAGLESS Never! At that moment, LIZ enters. Her arm is wrapped around another very attractive nurse. LIZ Hi, Dag. So you found the head vampire? DAGLESS nods. Oh, well, I’m a lesbian now. This is Nancy. NANCY Hi! LIZ Isn’t she adorable? DAGLESS Er… LIZ and NANCY begin to snog. It is very hot. Everyone stops dancing to stare at them. MAURICE drops a satsuma. VAMPIRE What? Why did you stop dancing? Keep going! Grind on each other! DAGLESS laughs a manly laugh. DAGLESS You forgot, vampire, the only thing a heterosexual man can never forget: that lesbians are HOT. VAMPIRE Nooooo! DAGLESS And now, for your weakness… He pulls out a wooden stake. Stake to the heart! At that, he thrusts the stake into the VAMPIRE’s heart. He shrieks and disappears. The techno music turns off and everyone goes back to wearing their normal clothes save MAURICE, who stays in the red jumpsuit. LIZ and NANCY stop making out, causing everyone to groan. SANCHEZ Come on, Liz! Don’t stop now! LIZ Sorry fellas, I’m back on men. SANCHEZ Hey-o! LIZ …Except for Sanchez. SANCHEZ …Hey! THORNTON Thank Christ on a cracker for you Dag! I was actually beginning to think Duran Duran was a stellar band! And Sanchez’ pecs were driving me absolutely nutty. SANCHEZ Thanks, Reed. But thank you more, Dag. Without you, we all would have been bumming within the hour. MAURICE Yeah, thanks for saving us! DAGLESS Don’t mention it. Just remember to be more careful when you muck about with those dead bodies from now on, ok? DENNIS Will do. Now we need to get back downstairs to those cadavers. DAGLESS And your necrophilia! Everyone laughs for a good two minutes. MAURICE Alright, thanks again! MAURICE and DENNIS begin to leave, holding hands. SANCHEZ Um, you fellows do know you don’t need to do that anymore right? They exchange a look and drop their hands. DENNIS Right, yes, sure, it’s a… a mortician thing. THORNTON Right… or a gay thing! Everyone laughs again as the camera pans to look at each of their mirthful faces. Cut to the roof of Darkplace. DAGLESS is standing, solitary, overlooking the city below. DAGLESS [voiceover] That day we dealt with vampires, sparkly shirts, gays and, most importantly, the hotness that is two women snogging each other. What did we learn? Was there a point to it all? Had that mortician really been boning a dead body? Was there a reason why that other mortician had been dressed like a very tarty woman? Did Liz have any lingering bisexual tendencies? These and other questions had to be pondered. But for now, we were all a little bit older, a little bit wiser and a little bit more wary about going into the basement. ********** INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER Dean shifted in his chair, cocking his head and lighting a cigar. “Sure, so maybe the focus groups didn’t go wild for the episode but I thought it was a hell of a success.” He paused, looking wistful and taking a puff. “I just didn’t see why my wife felt the need to use it as evidence during our divorce.” INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI Garth leaned back in his chair, an earnest look on his face. “So, as you can see, there was absolutely no homophobia in this episode. Only truth. And two hot women getting it on. So, really, the gays didn’t need to get all up in arms about it. And the guy who played the Vampire? Absolutely did not need to sue us. I mean, how was I to know he was actually gay? You should really warn people about that before they accidentally make jokes about poofters and shirt-lifters in front of you, expecting you to laugh.” Garth regarded the camera with utmost seriousness. “It’s just common courtesy.” CUE END CREDITS

[let-it-raines]

Indirect Deposit Extra

So, here's about 2,200 words of extra to Indirect deposit (AO3 | Tumblr) that is literally of Killian having to take his kid to one of his lectures. That’s it. That’s the story. It’s for @thejollyroger-writer and @captainsjedi because right when I finished the story they told me that they absolutely had to have this. I mean, those might not have been their exact words, but that was the gist. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little drabble!

“Um, Dr, Jones, can we ask why you have a baby strapped to your chest?”

“Ah,” he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment as he feels his daughter move in her wrap. When he looks down, Sienna is still sleeping, and he hopes it stays that way for the next hour and fifteen minutes even though she’ll likely wake to be fed. “So my wife is still on maternity leave and had to go into work unexpectedly today to deal with one of her cases. We don’t have a daycare for Sienna here yet because the one we used for our older daughter isn’t near our new place, and alas, I had to bring her with me. I hope you guys don’t mind.” “Can we see her?” Savannah asks, her face lighting up in the same way that half the class does while the others not so subtly roll their eyes. “She’s asleep right now, but I can show you some pictures.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and mirrors it to the projector while he looks for some to show. It’s a bit of a dangerous game mirroring his phone to the screen. His pictures are likely fine, but he knows that somewhere in there are a few more risqué pictures of his wife and possibly a few family moments that he’d rather not share with his students. They’re private, precious, and he’s learned to treasure the memories, the one photographed or not. He missed two months of Sawyer’s life, and he is never missing anything again, especially now that he’s got three ladies who are the light of his entire world. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. No one ever cares about their professor’s personal life unless they want to waste time.” “Yeah, but you talk about your family a lot. We like them. And babies are cute.” “Until they scream.”

“Amen to that,” he laughs as he looks up to Luke in the back before clicking on a picture he took of Emma holding Sienna on Sunday while they played with Sawyer in the park. That’s far too many S’s, but he likes his daughters’ names. He only got to pick out one of them, but they’re perfect. The names, not the kids. He loves them, but the sunshine and roses of it all began to fade on about night thirty-four of wailing and refusing to eat.

Lights of his life.

And the people who keep him up at night.

Maybe he thinks they’re a little perfect.

But Emma looks so beautiful in this picture, her hair mixing in with the sunlight and emerald eyes actually shining, and she’s got this smile on her face...God, it’s a smile he loves so damn much. And Sienna looks so ecstatic to be outside even though she’s only ten weeks and doesn’t really know. Her blonde peach fuzz shines a little too. She doesn’t have nearly as much hair as Sawyer did when she was born, and if she did, it wouldn’t be nearly as bold. Genetics are so odd that his children could look so like he and Emma and so not like each other. Of course, he and Emma don’t exactly look alike. “So this is my wife, as you guys know, and this is Sienna Rose Jones. And yes, I realize she’s the cutest baby you’ll ever see, and if you say otherwise, I’ll fail you.”

“What about your other daughter?”

“She never hears a word of this, Mr. Ramirez,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes a bit at his favorite student if he were to have favorite students before switching to a picture of Sawyer in the middle of an attempt to get into Sienna’s crib. It was all fine, but Sawyer definitely was having a bit of an issue having another kid around for awhile, but she seems to have adjusted to it. Instead of showing that picture, though, he finds one of her when they went to a pumpkin patch two weeks ago. She’s in a blue jumper, one that brings out her eyes, and she has paint covering the red and white stripes of her long sleeved t-shirt underneath her. Her hair is long enough to need to be braided or pulled up every day, and Emma’s been teaching him how to braid hair in different ways. She says it’s for their kids. He knows it’s so that he can play with her hair since she enjoys that.

“This is Sawyer, my oldest,” he continues, tracing his finger over the picture. “We’d gone to a pumpkin patch and she got to paint a pumpkin. I believe it was supposed to be a minion, but really, all it did was get the paint all over her clothes.”

“How old is she now?”

“Three and a half, growing like a weed.”

“How’d you meet your wife?” Lola asks him, and he smiles to himself. They’re trying to distract him, and he’s going to fall into their trap. He’s in a good mood today, even with the chaos at home and Emma freaking out over a kid in one of her cases possibly having to go to foster care (he knows that’s why she went in, why he’s got his daughter strapped to his chest right now while his other is at her pre-school) if she didn’t go in and try to clear things out.

“So you guys really don’t want to read A Christmas Carol today?” His class groans, each and every one of them, and he stifles his laugh before looking down at Sienna to make sure she hasn’t woken up. He keeps waiting for it. She has to. There’s no way that he’s going to get away with having a quiet baby for his entire lecture. “Oh come on, you are all ridiculous. You’re university students who are reading a simple book because I wanted us to have a break before we delve into your essays.”

“It’s not even Halloween yet, Dr. Jones, and we’re reading a Christmas story.”

“Yeah, well, no offense to you all, but I won’t be teaching you all over winter break. I’d say you could come over to the apartment, but my wife would kill me.”

“The old ball and chain, yeah?”

“And five points docked off Brannon’s essay. I’d dock more, but, well, I believe it’s unethical. Plus, you are already screwed if you think that being married is some kind of torture where your wife controls what you do.”

His students quietly laugh, none of them wanting to get too much in Brannon’s face and all of them likely scared that he’ll dock points off of their essays too. He’s lax, but he does have his limits. Usually they’re academic. And he’s not going to dock the points, but Brannon doesn’t have to know that.

“So your wife?” Lola asks him again as she twists her hair up into a ponytail.

He clicks his tongue before looking down at his phone and immediately going to find a picture of Emma on their wedding day. No one would ever know that it was their wedding day from first glance, but he does. That’s what matters. Emma’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a pale pink blouse, the sleeves flowing off from the elbows. Her hair falls down in front of her, the slight waves draping over her shoulders and her chest. Her hair is wonderful, glorious even, and he’ll never quite be over it, even when it gets in his face when they’re sleeping or doing more enjoyable activities that have led to their children.

Well, child.

The other got here in a way that would make a damn good television show. Jane the Virgin kind of stole their thunder, though.

Not that he watches Jane the Virgin.

(He does.)

But in the picture Emma has this bright smile on her lips, one that takes up her entire face, and it’s just after they’d gotten married at the courthouse, Sawyer having a meltdown while the ceremony was being done. It had been a disaster, but it had been the best disaster of his life.

He wouldn’t change it for a thing.

“So this is my wife, Emma,” he starts, sitting down on his stool and adjusting Sienna. “You all know a lot about her from my stories, some of you have seen her pictures on my desk, more of you would if you showed up to my office hours, and if you’re lucky, you might get to see this beauty in person one day.”

“She’s far too pretty for you.”

“Matthew Ramirez, you are lucky I like you because you and Brannon are walking on thin ice. Except Brannon was wrong, and you’re right.” He kicks at a pull in the carpet, looking down at his loafers and making a note that he needs a new pair. Maybe for Christmas. “But anyways, Emma and I lived in the same apartment building. We were across the hall from each other and kind of knew each other, but it wasn’t until she lost her key and the landlord wasn’t available to let her in her apartment that we really began talking.”

He leaves out a lot of the truth when he tells this story to anyone that is not family, but it’s not because he’s somehow ashamed over how he and Emma became friends or how Sawyer was conceived. It’s because it’s personal, and he’d rather not have all of his students and then all of the people they speak to knowing a story that he wants to treasure with Emma. Their story is unconventional, but it’s theirs.

Some things should be kept private.

“She’s this spitfire who is as brilliant as she is gorgeous, as funny as she is kind, and as caring as she is cunning when she needs to be. And she’s not a ball and chain, Brannon. She’s by and large the greatest thing to ever happen to me, and I’m glad to be committed to her and my daughters for the rest of my days. Now, who wants to read some Dickens?”

His class goes as normal, even if his students never really settle after their distractions. It doesn’t help that Sienna wakes up with ten minutes left absolutely wailing, her face turning as red as a tomato. He tries everything short of feeding her right then, but when she doesn’t stop crying, he knows that’s what she needs. So with a sigh, he releases the class early, telling them to finish the book for the quiz on Tuesday. They groan, but it’s a short read. The quiz is to help them, not hurt them, but college students, like toddlers and newborns, often whine without much reason.

Well, there’s a reason, but sometimes it’s simply that they don’t like something.

He takes Sienna to his office to feed her before packing up all of his things (plus an extra diaper bag that weighs more than the actual baby) and loading up in the car to go home. When he opens the front door to the apartment, he’s greeted with the sound of Sawyer belting out the words to the PJ Masks theme song and Emma joining along with her, her voice a little more soothing. There are toys all over the floor despite him cleaning on Sunday, but honestly, he doesn’t care. This is his life, one he stumbled into and then chose for himself, and despite – or maybe because of – every single bump (pregnancy bumps included) in the road, he can’t imagine his life going any other way.

“Sawyer, I think someone is home who needs a big hug,” Emma prods, poking Sawyer in the back until she turns and looks at the door, her eyes blowing wide before she drops the toy microphone she was holding to run toward him, jumping on his leg at the same time that he puts Sienna’s car seat down.

That will never get old. Ever.

“Daddy,” she yells, laughing as he scoops her up and covers her face in his many tickly kisses (her words, not his) as he can. “I went to school today.”

“That is very impressive, little love, but I’ll have you know that your sister is the youngest university student to ever exist in the Jones household, possibly the world.”

Sawyer looks at him with her brows furrowed and lips pursed, like she doesn’t have any idea what he’s saying, and she doesn’t. He knows that she doesn’t, but Emma does. So he’ll get to talking to his daughter later, get to talking about things she actually understands, but first, he’s going to kiss the holy hell out of his wife so that their ten week old feels embarrassment.

If she’s going to be a university student at the place where her dad teaches, she’s going to need to be able to handle it.