#so i was like fine. ill decorate a few cakes so that lady can have a cake tomorrow

[florida3exclamationpoints]

I am laughing

[lady-of-the-lotus]

The Undershirt

The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty - Suitang - 2k - G - first kiss fluff - AO3!

..............

“Hand it over,” orders Sui Zhou.

Tang Fan pouts, a pout somewhere in between his “I’m hungry, feed me” face and “Dinner was an hour late, I almost died” face.

“I ran out of clean ones,” he says when Sui Zhou holds out his hand, “and I had to pack in a hurry—”

“I had only three rules. Rule one: Don’t mess up my house again—”

“Alright, alright,” Tang Fan says before Sui Zhou can lecture him. Leave it to Sui Zhou to take an inventory of his clothes as soon as he got home, all because Tang Fan had left his things just the tiniest bit mussed! “Take your stupid undershirt back; it’s too big on me anyway.”

Sui Zhou turns back to his cooking as Tang Fan slips halfway out of his robe, making a face as he removes the undershirt. Missing Sui Zhou, Tang Fan had pilfered the distinctive draped-neck garment from his things after he’d left on his ill-fated “business trip.” “Happy now, Sui-baihu?”

Sui Zhou glances up briefly from the soup, eyes flickering over Tang Fan. Sui Zhou’s handsome features are soft in the warm yellow candlelight and the orange glow of the stove. “Better.”

Tang Fan stands there with his robes draped around his waist, chest exposed, shyly holding the undershirt in front of him, watching Sui Zhou’s strong, sure hands as they slice vegetables and meat and then, once dinner is cooking, assemble the dessert, grinding the sesame seeds and working the delicate mixture.

A swell of fondness fills Tang Fan’s chest as Sui Zhou puts the finishing touches on the little sesame cakes, decorating each with a pink circle of honeyed flower petals.

"Aren't you going to put the undershirt back on?” Tang Fan asks as Sui Zhou puts the last petal in place. Most of the shyness has worn off as Sui Zhou tells him about how he developed the recipe, his deep voice low and soothing as it fills the cozy little kitchen.

"Later." Sui Zhou glances up, eyes flickering once again over Tang Fan's bare chest before returning to his work. Perhaps it's the warm glow of the candle, but Tang Fan imagines there's a hint of color in Sui Zhou's cheeks.

Too late it occurs to him that he should have at least put his robes back up over his arms and chest. Jiejie had driven it through his head that to wear robes without an undershirt was uncouth and a sure way to get the robes dirty, but…

"Do you still have your prison clothes? That was a good look." The question escapes Tang Fan before he can censor himself. "I mean—your uniform is good too—I mean, your normal undershirt is better than that prison one.” He dangles the undershirt from his fingertips, as if this question was just an extension of him returning Sui Zhou's undershirt. “I mean...”

Sui Zhou cranes his neck away slightly, as if trying to avoid looking at Tang Fan but probably only checking to make sure Dong'er isn't nearby to see Tang Fan in this state of undress. "Be careful with that. You're going to set the kitchen on fire again."

Grinning, and more at ease now that the conversation is back in familiar teasing territory, Tang Fan sidles closer to Sui Zhou, waving his shirt near where the mutton soup is bubbling on the fire. "Oh, that was on purpose. You know, to get you to free Dong'er—"

Sui Zhou gives him that look of his, the one that appears completely expressionless but in fact contains a half dozen emotions from all corners of the spectrum. "You set fire to my house on purpose?"

"Well—"

"What about the time you fell asleep with the candle beside your bed, and the time you tripped and fell holding the lamp—"

"Fine, it wasn't on purpose. But the bad food was! I can cook, if I wanted to—”

"You can't cook."

Tang Fan inches closer. He's not quite sure why. "You could teach me."

Sui Zhou frowns slightly. "You step foot in my kitchen without me here, and you sleep outside with the sheep."

Tang Fan wrinkles his nose. "The sheep has a name ."

"Li Qing?"

Tang Fan almost drops the undershirt on the stove. "How did you—”

Sui Zhou turns away again as if to hide a grin. Li Qing is the main character of Tang Fan's magnum opus, My Sexy Lady .

"You didn't read it!" Tang Fan leans forward in consternation. He's not sure why he's so thrown. It's a brilliantly-written work, like all of his books, but somehow to have Sui Zhou privy to—to all that — "Wang Zhi told you or something—wait till I get my hands on him!"

Sui Zhou is definitely holding back a grin. "I liked the part where the ‘sexy lady’ sets fire to Shi Yang's house after she thinks he stole her necklace."

"That never happened! She never did anything half so crazy!”

Sui Zhou is no longer holding back his smile. "Maybe in the sequel, My Sexy Wife."

Tang Fan laughs out loud. People who don't know Sui Zhou think he's stiff and cold and completely humorless, but Tang Fan knows better. It's subtle, but Sui Zhou's sense of humor and appreciation of the outlandish is definitely there. If it weren't, Tang Fan doesn't think he would get along with him as well as he does.

Which, when he stops to think of it, is rather odd. His getting along with him so well, not the sense of humor. Despite having lived in the capital for years, and having many acquaintances, Tang Fan has few close friends. As he knows he’s a delight to be around, never complaining and generously standing people meals, he can only assume it’s a failing in other people.

A failing that Sui Zhou evidently doesn’t have, to appreciate Tang Fan’s virtues, both hidden and overt.

It’s not that Tang Fan annoys people. That can’t possibly be it, no matter what Jiejie says. But he can’t deny that not everyone appreciates him, and that hurts, sometimes.

A sudden thought, and Tang Fan abruptly stops laughing. Why did Sui Zhou pick that example? Surely it was just a joke after what they'd been talking about—he knows it is—but of all characters to pick—

Tang Fan had based a lot of Li Qing on himself. Like him, she's a beautiful genius often put-upon by those who fail to appreciate her properly, driven to do the right thing at whatever costs, someone who appreciates fine food and faces the world with a smile no matter how she's feeling.

No. Sui Zhou is just teasing him, as usual. That's it. He probably hadn't even finished the book...

He wants to ask Sui Zhou if he liked the book, but despite it being his best-selling work, he’s hesitant to ask. Sui Zhou is nothing if not honest, and what if he didn’t truly like it?

Tang Fan resolves to start work on a sequel that night. Perhaps Shi Yang could enter the imperial guards and, together with Li Qing, solve a series of increasingly exciting mysteries that pit them against the world. Back to back, they’ll chase justice and stand strong against the winds of—

“Here.” Sui Zhou slides the plate of sesame cakes towards him. “For coming to get me.”

Tang Fan grins. “You mean rescuing you.”

Sui Zhou turns back to the soup. "Just eat them."

Tang Fan inches even closer, more to annoy Sui Zhou than anything else, he thinks. "Go on, say it. I rescued you."

"Keep this up, and you're getting kicked out of my kitchen."

" Your kitchen? Why is it—oh, right. It's your house." Tang Fan looks down at the sesame cakes. It's almost a shame to eat them, they’re so beautifully decorated. "Am I allowed to eat them before dinner, or are you going to get all sulky?"

Sui Zhou gives Tang Fan a look as if to say, I'm not the childish one here, and reaches for a sesame cake just as Tang Fan does. Their fingers brush, and tingling current runs up Tang Fan's arm. Startled, he jerks away, dropping Sui Zhou's undershirt on the stove.

Spattered in mutton grease, it erupts in a column of flame.

"Augh!" Panicking, Tang Fan drops the shirt in the soup. “Put it out! Put it out!”

Sui Zhou snatches the shirt out of the soup and drops it in a pot of water. "What did I just tell you about setting my house on fire?"

Smiling weakly, Tang Fan begins sidling in the opposite direction as Sui Zhou comes closer. "You startled me! You grabbed at me just as I was trying to eat, I haven't eaten all day, I was hungry, you forced me to take a cake—"

He bumps up against the wall. Sui Zou leans over him, one arm framing him, his face a mix of exasperation and—and fondness, Tang Fan wants to believe, though it’s hard to when there's a charred, soup-soaked undershirt not five feet away.

"It wasn't my fault I burned your shirt!" Tang Fan continues bravely. Whining has always worked on Old Pei and Jiejie, though he still hasn’t quite learned the exact point Jiejie’s indulgence tips over into slapping-him-across-the-face territory, hence all the slapping. "Tired after weeks of traveling, traveling across half the empire to rescue you, if you recall, weeks of seasickness and danger and unpadded saddles and not being able to finish my rice noodles in the one good restaurant between here and I thought you were dead at one point, and that was almost as bad as the noo—"

Sui Zhou bends forward and kisses him.

Tang Fan goes rigid.

Did—did Sui Zhou just—

Sui Zhou kisses him again, as if to clear up any doubts.

"Well, that's one way to stop you from talking," he says.

Tang Fan's heart is beating like a war drum, but strangely enough it's not from nerves. There's a smile on Sui Zhou's lips (rather full lips, he notices. Until now he's been too distracted by his arms and shoulders and—well—all the rest of him, most likely), and there's definite fondness in his eyes.

"I once talked through an acupuncture session for a sore tooth," Tang Fan says boastingly, more to calm his nerves than anything else.

He’s never been kissed before. Or rather, being a man, perhaps it was more appropriate to say he’d never kissed anyone before.

He’d always changed the subject when Old Pei brought it up. The local girls had never interested him, and he’d never though there were other— options—

"You can ask him at dinner,” he blusters on, pulse fluttering. “I was probably able to give him some good tips and pointers, I once read a book on acupuncture that—"

Sui Zhou shuts him up again, cupping his face in his hand. It smells of honey and spice, the callused palm somehow soft against Tang Fan's cheek, his long fingers curling around the back of his neck as he kisses him.

Tang Fan is suddenly very aware that he's half-naked, but it's somehow nice being around Sui Zhou like that, not uncomfortable as he's sometimes felt in the past around others. Natural, despite his first-time nerves.

He suddenly realizes that Sui Zhou is looking down at him as if waiting for him to say or do something.

"Am I allowed to speak again?" Tang Fan asks.

Sui Zhou half-smiles. "Nothing could stop you from talking for very long."

"I want another one of your undershirts, but a black one this time. I saw one tucked away in the chest, but Dong'er said it wouldn’t match my robes, though what does she know? I want the black undershirt, and—"

"Black to hide any future char?"

"This was an accident! You startled me!"

"The one you were wearing today is mostly black now, after you set it on fi—"

Tang Fan kisses him.

"You're right," he says, grinning at Sui Zhou, who seems to have forgotten how to speak. "That does work."

*

AO3

[tokimihyachi]

Christmas Boy

Happiest Birthday to Clover Kingdom’s very own, William Vangeance! to celebrate his birthday, here’s a drawing— a rushed one, and another special one shot to commemorate such lovely day.

Pairing: William Vangeance x OC

Warnings: None.

24th December. Other than this day being Christmas, it was not much of a special date to one eccentric man in Clover Kingdom. William Vangeance, bare-faced, stood up from the silk sheets of his bed and rubbed his eyes to welcome the day before him, light from his balcony (he has one here, so shush.) casting light upon his face.

Stretching as he stood up, he neatly folded the used quilts and placed the pillows to where they were situated before he slept on them last night, before walking towards the windowsill and opening it, as a flock of various kinds of birds swarmed him like the Snow White that he is.

The sounds of the birds chirping was music to his ears, but to someone else, it was rather a nuiscance.

‘You’ve been doing that for years, William. Grow up will you?’ Patri sneered. The elf did not dislike birds, actually, he’s used to seeing and hearing them chirp every morning since before, he liked to hide in the shade of the tree where many birds live, but to be accustomed with William’s company is another thing.

‘Is that how you should greet me today, Patri?’ the boy with eyes as gold as the sun scoffed.

'I’m sorry. Happy birthday, my friend.’ Vangeance smiled at his friend’s acknowledgement. Carefully placing the newborn bird back in its nest using his World Tree Magic to extend the branched of the tree, he bids his other friends a good day before heading towards the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast.

— — — — — —

Despite reminding them countless of times, members of the Golden Dawn continued to pursue their plans to surprise their captain and greet him a happy birthday. William smiled at them as Letoile lit the birthday cake’s candles up and Alecdora took it from her hands, bringing it closer to his captain.

Hearing them sing the melodous song one chants during birthday celebrations was more than enough to the masked man as his day of birth has never been celebrated before. Considered to be a cursed child, her parents, particularly his Mother, considered December 24th as an ill-fated day he was given to them.

Unlike kids his age, he never received a cake that was decorated with sweet frosting. Never been greeted— locked even most of the time, and never had a friend who would voluntarily give him a present.

He was given a gift once by the kids he used to play with, but when he opened it, it was filled with powder that catapulted to his face.

“You should keep that powder on your face. That way it’ll hide that hideous scare of yours!”

"Why were you even born into this world, you monster!”

“He’s probably the reason why his own father died. Cursed being.”

For years those memories alone haunted him, which is why Julius and Yami had a hard time trying to find a perfect gift to him. In the end though, they treated him to dinner and sometimes agreed to do whatever activity he wanted to for the day.

Yami didn’t like his choices. They were total opposites that got along after all, but William rarely opens up much about his own self so he begrudgingly obliged, as long as there was free food at the end of the day.

‘Truly, I am blessed.’ The purple-eyed man thought as he blew the candles on his cake and the Golden Dawn clapped in cheer. Seconds later, they formed a line while bringing out their individual gifts for him. He warned them several times before that it would only be a hassle if they bought him gifts as there was still a party during the afternoon, but the stubborn girl one of them is, she pushed through with every festivity yearly.

Speaking of, where is she? William’s eyes wander the room, trying to search for the a pair of eyes redder than any rose he’s seen before, but alas he could not find her. ‘Has she, perhaps… forgotten my birthday?’ A pang of an unknown feeling went through his chest like a spear directly piercing his heart as the thought was processed by his mind.

Alecdora notices the unease of his beloved captain’s presence, so he opted to speak up, “Captain Vangeance. If I may, Lady Artemis is still sleeping…” he trailed off, failing to stitch more words together as William stood up from his chair to excuse himself, claiming that he must fetch and reprimand the sleeping woman.

The Golden Dawn shared knowing looks at one another, chuckling lightly afterwards as they were observant enough to know what was about to happen. William cautiously knocked at the door for a good couple of minutes before deciding to walk inside, scared that she might actually be in danger as he could not sense her mana at all.

“Artemis?” he called out. His voice laced in fear anxiousness more than he could ever imagine.

He expected two things or scenarios to play out when he turned the know of her door. One, she was either peacefully in deep slumber, the kind of sleep where her mana almost feels like it disappears completely or Two, she would be there on the floor, struggling for her life. But upon entering the room he stopped, seeing both of the imaginative situations he made were not in front of him.

Instead, there stood Artemis who clearly smelled like she took a bath, with both of her arms open and awaiting him to come forth as if she anticipated that he would walk through the door. The masked man gave her a confused look making the woman sigh and bring her hands down.

“What are you doing, Artemis?” William asked that further vexed the green-haired mage.

“Well,” she began, walking towards her captain slowly, giving the masked man a chance to see how alluring she looked under the touch of the sun early in the morning— her eyes burning brighter than any fire, her skin more supple and radiant than any sky, and her lips… tempting and soft, its presence even more so overwhelming than the usual.

“My gift isn’t exactly finished yet so I’m giving the next best thing.” as their eyes finally locked, Artemis’ gaze landing on his ear that were decorated in a light shade of pink making William cough to divert her attention, “And that is?” he inquired.

The woman rolls her eyes opening both of her arms again, “A hug! Now, come here you big baby!” chuckling at her little patience, probably because she waited longer than he thought, William gladly mirrors her gesture and wraps his arms around her figure.

In the darkness of his life, her cuddles feel like a little touch of heaven, warm, together, cozy. William could only wish that he could extend or perhaps stop time just so he could stay close to her longer, safe in her embrace. Artemis’ arms wrapped right around him brought a peace he’d never known before, calming of the storms in his heart.

The hug was a simple enough gesture - affection, perhaps the fragile beginnings of love. The arms that held him were soft, yet strong. The feel of her body so close to his soothed him more than he had expected. But within seconds she pulled away, his mind swam not with the heady excitement of a new relationship but with thoughts of why his heart was thumping loudly against his chest.

Her presence, more ominous than the usual. Was it because of the war nearing them? He could only guess. ‘You mean you can only deny?’ Dismissing the thoughts of his friend, Artemis took her captain’s wrist and pulled him outside her room, locking it afterwards and giving him a smile.

“There’s still a party ongoing below right? Not to mention one tonight with the captains so let’s go, Willy!” she yelled as they ran through the corridors. The masked man’s eyes dart on her hands holding his wrist and he had to bite his inner lip to prevent himself from making any noise. ‘What is it with this feeling?’

How he wanted to just grab her hand and intertwine her dainty fingers like that of a porcelain doll with his own, but he was not selfish and shamless. Artemis is a fine woman with class and exuding much elegance. She’s kind, selfless, thoughtful, exceedingly beautiful, and above all else, she’s smart. ‘and dense. Don’t forget clumsy as well.’

He could not risk such ripe and fruitful future ahead of her if he consticted her in any relationship with him other than being good friends that relied and trusted one another even if their lives depended on the situation, but he’s considered it— many times, and wondered what if he had the courage to speak his mind.

Alas he told himself not to. Both of them were healthy, given that, they still had plenty of years in front of them. So the possible lifetime they might share can wait, if it means he can treasure her longer and build up the willpower to face whatever consequence confessing might bring.

‘Wait, does this mean… I like her? Romantically?’ he shook his head. After years of denying was he about to accept and let these feelings consume him? Perhaps this was enough for now as he had other priorities to face. Yet in a few days these very thoughts would betray him, but how wrong he was to have not grabbed such golden oppurtune while it was still within his reach.

Complacency was never a good thing. And William Vangenace would soon know of this.

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 7: more talking

But it’s important talking! Clues are not gotten! A proposition is proposed! And damn, does SpellCheck not like Sans’ dialogue. D:

Chapter link here, hi @lostmypotatoes

When they strolled up to the chapel entrance, the captain on duty was the very one who had been in charge of Sans' cell the day they met. He was discussing the fireworks with one of his subordinates, who looked over the captain's shoulder and got very, very quiet. The skeleton took a great deal of pleasure in waiting for him to turn around, then saying, "Well, hey there. Don't I know ya from somewhere?"

The captain was ready to have a conniption until he spotted Frisk: Sans was leaning far sideways, and she was standing almost on tiptoe, holding the crook of his elbow so that he was escorting her like a proper gentleman. "Your Eminence!" the captain gasped. He looked back and forth between them, hand on his sword hilt. "My lady, where have you been? Has this creature done something to you?"

"He saved me from being ill in front of half the kingdom," Frisk said coolly. "I am fine now, Captain, thanks to his timely intervention. Has the benediction been performed yet?"

"Uh...no, my lady, but—"

"Then I will do so." With her head held high, the High Priestess led the skeleton past the guards and straight into the chapel.

Unsurprisingly, their entrance caused quite a stir. The last verse of the last hymn was starting, and as the pair approached the altar, Frisk signaled for the choir to keep going. The congregation watched, stunned, as Frisk took Sans with her through the ring of guardsmen and stood to one side at the front of the chapel, waiting for the music to end.

She hadn't planned on this, but she wouldn't have done it any differently; it was impossible not to smirk a little. The boss monster must have felt the same way, because he bent down to say, under the cover of song, "Didn't think I'd get t'walk ya down the aisle today."

"You do know that a girl's father does that for her, not the groom?" she murmured back, and Sans looked so chagrined that she snrrked again.

The hymn came to a close, and Frisk moved up to read the benediction. She tried to put her facade back on, but she couldn't help smiling; when she formally ended the service, there was more applause than she'd ever heard.

Though the guards prevented anyone from coming up to the altar, she reclaimed Sans and, ignoring all attempts to stop her, went to stand in the back of the chapel to speak with people as they left. Sure enough, despite the presence of her massive escort, there was such a traffic jam around her that Frisk ended up having to move outside the entrance.

Of course, amidst the compliments and well-wishes came several questions about her absence from the middle of the ceremony; enough people knew about Sans' abilities to ask if they'd really seen a woman and/or men vanish from the congregation, and why the people sitting near them had been taken away quietly by armed guards.

Frisk made a quick guess as to what had happened, and that the woman and/or men's families were the ones talking loudly to the guards in the next room. She told the questioner that extraordinary measures had been necessary for everyone's safety, and certain persons had had to be taken into immediate custody—no one had been spirited away to never be seen again, and no one would be, which her listeners seemed willing to believe.

It was also a matter of great speculation why someone would trouble themselves to put on a fireworks display in full daylight, and a time when everyone was in church and wouldn't see them. Luckily, the consensus was that it had been a mistake, and Frisk could feign ignorance along with her parishioners.

More cute, but problematic, was the custom of children offering her little tokens like flowers and ribbons on their way out. There were no pockets in her wretched dress, so her hands filled up quickly, and she could only tuck so many golden flowers behind her ears. On impulse, Frisk started winding the ribbons around Sans' arms instead and tying the flowers on; seeing that Sans was not killing or eating her, the children soon began ignoring the priestess and going straight to the skeleton, decorating his legs and poking flower stems through his wristbones.

Throughout this ordeal, Sans had no idea what to do, so he opted to stand there, expressionless, and do nothing. This happened to be the least threatening and therefore correct option; Frisk checked frequently on the crowd's reactions, but after the first few minutes, no one was frightened at all. Parents were even bowing to Sans and mouthing "Thank you" up at him as they reclaimed their delighted offspring.

The priestess had been sure to speak loud enough for the nearby guardsmen and any curious bystanders to hear, and when it was time to step away from the crowd and confer with His Holiness privately, she didn't have to repeat herself much. That was when she learned that magically infused items had been brought into the chapel in lieu of daggers or crossbows, and how Sans – still bedecked in flowers as he gravely related these particulars – had used his teleportation to thwart their efforts; the three suspects' friends and families had already been escorted upstairs for further questioning.

This last fact turned out to be a slight problem. Frisk had thought the "fireworks" would be easy to trace to anyone who had left the chapel in a hurry a few minutes after her hymn, but it seemed several people had been escorted out for questioning at the same time. Many of them had been loud or troublesome enough for someone to have followed the group out and slipped away without notice.

"Pity. Overall, a job well done, sir," the Cardinal told Sans, and gave the guard captain a look that forced the poor man to say through gritted teeth, "Indeed, sir. Thank you for your service."

"Thank you, Your Holiness. We'll take our leave, then," Frisk said smoothly, giving Sans the slightest tap with her foot. "A Happy All Souls Day to each of you."

Sans mumbled something similar, and with a couple of bows, they were free to go. The priestess was starving, but the second they got back to the workroom, she shuffled at top speed to her dressing room, slammed the door, and peeled the gown off as fast as she could. Her sigh of freedom was so exaggerated and yet genuine that she heard Sans mutter, "Guess it was good fer you, too," which made her laugh till she had to sit down amidst her shoes and catch her breath.

It was strange; by unspoken agreement, neither mentioned their embrace in the hallway, but as she came out in her loosest, oldest dress and they sat down to breakfast, the silence was completely comfortable. They each ate a small pile of soul cakes, some eggs, and then more soul cakes, not stopping until they ran out of milk and Sans finally allowed her to take the basket away.

They sat around for a few minutes afterward, half asleep, with the boss monster lost in thought as he picked flowers off his arms; she knew it was serious when he began shifting around and tapping his heels on the floor. "Hey, Frisk?" He twisted a couple of flower stems together. "How do ya go about gettin' a list of what human's got what monster? It's a Church thing, right?"

Frisk had been sitting cross-legged on the floor to unwind the ribbons around his legs, and stood up slowly to place a handful on the table. She'd known this conversation would have to happen sooner or later, but why did it have to spoil such a nice, quiet moment? "Is there a specific reason you want to know?" she asked cautiously.

"Yeah. One of the people after you was gonna use an ice spell she got from a monster named Snowdrake. The magic felt pretty fresh, not like they drained 'im already and jus' used it now. I figured he must still be alive."

The priestess sat down beside him and picked up another golden flower. "I'm going to be honest with you, Sans, and in return, I ask that you not get too angry with me." He nodded without looking at her, and she continued, "I already asked the Cardinal for those exact records, back when we met him and the King. I am deeply sorry for my phrasing, but I said 'a specific class of goods' because I wanted to be circumspect in front of you. I didn't know what you would say if I asked for a list of all the monsters registered as slaves. It is indeed 'a Church thing,' I am disgusted to say. Again, I apologize for—"

"Nah, you were right, I'd'a gone nuts. Ya don't hafta be so stiff about it. I know ya don't actually think of us as stuff ta buy and sell."

The words were mature enough, but Frisk didn't like the look on his face. "I suppose it's time we had a real talk about this," she said. "I've been thinking it over for years, and I have an idea of what we can do to put an end to the monsters' slavery. Will you hear me out?" He wouldn't answer, and Frisk tugged at his sleeve. "Please, Sans."

The giant skeleton flicked at the pile of flowers, sending them flying across the tabletop and onto the floor. "Fine," he growled. "Talk."

"All right. First, I don't know if you know the exact legalities, so: it is technically against the law to go to the border with the Underground, find a monster, and bring said monster back here to be sold, but it's rarely enforced, and it is legal to sell, buy, or own them. It's definitely a crime to buy or own a monster without registering him or her and paying the proper taxes, and the Church enforces it very strictly. ...Sans, I'm not saying any of this to upset you. I have to be sure you know exactly what we're fighting, and that if you charge out and start liberating monsters, you're going to make everything a thousand times worse. May I explain why?"

His teeth were gnashing so hard that it sounded like metal on metal, not bone. "I am tryin' very hard ta be good right now, kid. Ya better get to the friggin' point soon."

"Very well. The point is that if you decide to free any or all of the monsters and you kill a human in the process, not only will you go from an emissary to a wanted criminal, you'll reinforce everyone's fears about monsters being dangerous, even the people who left church today thinking that skeletons may not be evil after all. That much fear could very well push the King to declare war."

No reaction. Frisk stopped to pour herself some water, but she was thinking so hard that she just stared at it while she said, "I wouldn't be able to stop them from sealing the Underground and forcing every single monster in it to choose between slavery and starvation. And if you think you could use your magic to free monsters without killing anyone, don't. They'd figure out it was you, and you'd be banished at the very least. Meanwhile, I'd be stripped of my title, forced to pay double the full value of each monster, and imprisoned."

That made him sit back a little, but Frisk was not done by a long shot. "Now, if I thought that money would make the problem go away, I would've done it a long time ago—but no. If I were to buy every monster in the kingdom, it wouldn't stop anyone from going out to get new ones. In fact, it would drive prices so high that humans would be racing to set up camp in the no-man's-land and raid the Underground itself for more slaves. They wouldn't care what the law says. They'd be making more than enough to just pay the fines, or be so numerous that the King couldn't arrest them all. If you tried to fight them off, they'd kill any monsters who attacked them, claim self-defense, and get away with it. No one would stop them because we've gotten so dependent on magic, and right now, humans still think monsters are—"

"Shit on a brick! Fine! I get it. You're right. Yer totally goddamn right." Sans' head sank between his elbows, cheek grating on the table. "So, we play nice 'n let everyone see how cuddly I am, an' a few hundred years from now, humans might like monsters enough ta feed us every single day?"

"I'm getting to that, Sans. By law, monsters must be provided adequate food, water, and shelter, and any accommodations their unique biology may require. They're also not supposed to be used to commit crimes. If someone used Snowdrake's magic to fashion illegal weapons, I can have him confiscated and placed in my custody, and I'll register his new location as a house I own on the outskirts of the city. How long would it take you to make one round trip from here to the house and the Underground, and back? Could you do it, say, overnight?"

"Hmm. Yeah, it'd just take a lot outta me." Frisk couldn't help noting that he now considered it a given he'd be coming right back, and allowed herself to be very happy for a moment before he went on, "With Snowdrake, G—the doctor already told 'em to find whoever took his magic for that spell. So that's already happenin', which just leaves...how many monsters are there here?"

"I don't know the exact total offhand. I promise to show you the records as soon as the Cardinal gives them to me, if you promise you won't use them to do anything rash, which I define as 'anything you know Frisk does not want you to do.' For the immediate future, the best plan of action would be to check the conditions each one is being kept in and see if we can legally take any more of them. We'd need to do it before word gets out and everyone suddenly starts behaving perfectly—that's what usually happens when I try to order surprise inspections."

"Great, but when can we get started on makin' this shit illegal t'begin with?"

"When we have enough political support. We need people to feel that it's wrong to keep monsters like animals, even if they're well-treated, and we also have to be prepared when they ask, 'But where will we get our magic?' Part of the answer will be the natural power sources you and the doctor are working on now, which he should be able to formally present to the King before you leave. But also..." She trailed off, her throat closing up with sudden nervousness.

Sans lifted a hand. "What? Spit it out."

Frisk's heart was pounding. She knew Sans wouldn't like this part, but if she couldn't convince him, the entire plan was sunk. How to begin?

Something occurred to her, and without thinking hard enough, she said, "I'm sorry for the comparison, but it reminds me of Luke and his birds." He stiffened, and she hastened to add, "Don't get me wrong—monsters are not pets, and I'm not suggesting you stay confined in any way, but it's a valid example of working within the constraints of supply and demand. If we can't eliminate the demand for magic, we need to supply it without exploiting monsters, and we have to make it as painless a transition as we can. In this case, not only do we work on wind and solar generation, we..." A deep breath, almost a gulp. "...have monsters give magic voluntarily. You could sell it to us, or perhaps trade it as part of a peace agreement, or for food, until we learn to make enough for ourselves. Partners, not slaves."

Sans didn't move. "...Partners?"

One word, nothing more. Frisk's heart sped up until she felt sick. The boss monster was sitting stock-still, but the air around him started to turn faintly red, smelling like heat lightning. Frisk made herself say, "You hate humans. I know that. I won't claim to know exactly what you're feeling, but I—"

"Ya couldn'a picked a worse monster fer this. Ya know that?" The skeleton turned his head, and Frisk flinched: his right socket was blank, and the left was solid crimson, the same color as his blaster the day he'd been prepared to kill her and all the guards in his prison cell. "Lemme tell ya somethin', kid. I'll admit that you've been treatin' me right, and I don't mind bein' cutesy 'n nice once in a while if it'll make other monsters safer." His fist slammed into the solid oak tabletop, leaving a dent. "But I'll be fucked in the eye 'fore I go back ta Asgore and say, 'Hey, maybe they'll quit squeezin' us out like jelly rolls and leavin' us to scream ourselves inta dust, we just hafta promise we'll be good helpers!' Are ya kidding me, Frisk? This whole time, you've been plannin' to end slavery by gettin' us ta whore ourselves out instead?!"

The priestess' ears were ringing. She hadn't seen or felt him this angry since the day they met. Should she back off, try to placate him, and wait to bring it up again later—maybe shelve it entirely till she could talk with another monster?

No. She knew Sans. If she left things like this – especially if she apologized for proposing it – she'd be all but telling him that he was right to be angry with her, and he wouldn't have to face the possibility that he was unfairly pointing a lifetime of hatred in her direction. Not only would that gall her on a personal level, it'd unbalance him even further, maybe to the point where she couldn't reach him anymore. Nice, quiet moments were all well and good, but she had to be able to talk to him about difficult things, not just chess and stupid jokes!

Frisk pressed her lips together, burning with determination. She turned to face the boss monster, though they were so close that she had to tip her head back. "I don't know what else you expected, Sans," she said firmly. "As things are now, monsters have no future. Short of killing literally every human alive, the only way for you to live in peace is to live with us and make the best of it. You don't have to like it, but you do have to acknowledge reality. May I ask if you have any better ideas?"

His eye was starting to leak a fine red mist. "Mmm, I dunno about every human. We could start small, maybe a few hundred, work our way up."

That reminded her—partly out of curiosity and partly to distract him, she asked, "After you were imprisoned, did you stay put for all that time because you were waiting to kill whoever came to get you out?"

"Ding ding ding! Smart lady. Mostly." Sans suddenly reached down for her face. Frisk held steady as those huge, slightly pointed phalanges brushed her temple. "I did wanna get more information before I busted out, maybe identify who all had magic so I could kill 'em later." Something rustled her hair as Sans removed one of the golden flowers still tucked behind her ear, lifting it all the way back up to his eye level. "But I mostly wanted ta see exactly what kinda person thought they could box me up like yer little dumbshit boyfriend 'n his stupid-ass birds." A giant, horrible grin. The flower evaporated in a cloud of fine ash. "Then I was gonna snap their arms 'n legs an' wring their head off, nice 'n slow."

Frisk dug her nails into the ball of her thumb, controlling her own anger and, yes, fear. She had to stay calm and think very, very carefully about what she did next. She'd been trained in mediation—what was it Sister Maribelle had said? "Pay attention to little asides or silly demands that they refuse to concede. There you'll often find the real heart of the matter."

All right. She had anticipated some resistance to her proposition, but nothing this violent. Yes, he hated humans, and she hadn't touched that nerve so much as sucker-punched it. But why had he mentioned Luke like that, and why did he sound so bitter? Was he that offended at her comparing monsters to captive birds? Or...

...Good Lord. He couldn't be...jealous, could he? There was no way—but even if he was, why bring it up now? This argument had nothing to do with—

Unbidden, her mind flashed back to that moment in the hallway. She'd needed comfort so badly, and with someone she trusted right at hand, she'd been selfish enough to take it. Her body tingled at the memory of his hand resting on her back as she clung to him, and...

She still didn't understand what had happened to her heart. It didn't seem the kind of poetic, butterflies-in-the-stomach attraction she'd read about; this was literal attraction, keeping her against him for as long as possible. It'd felt absolutely wonderful, but a little frightening, like her – what did the monsters call it? – like her SOUL was literally stuck to him, and would tear loose from her chest if she tried to pull away. Was that normal? Maybe it was why so many romantic songs and poems mentioned a moment lasting forever...

Frisk shook herself. He'd been very patient with her hugging him, and pushed her away as lightly as usual, but she couldn't ask that of him again. There was no point speculating exactly how else he'd felt about it, or imagining anything more.

But there was a point in speculating about how Sans felt now. He'd had to get up early to sit around with someone who was clearly interested in her and who she hadn't done much to discourage—probably a bit annoying, but not problematic until she went and threw herself into his arms just a few hours later. It had probably come off as mixed signals at best, and leading him on or using him at worst. She could only suppose that it was still bothering him on some level, and then she'd brought it up amidst the stress of talking about monsters and slavery...

Well, Frisk wasn't going to give him a free pass to say or do whatever he wanted, but she wasn't nearly as angry anymore. "I won't apologize for having a workable plan towards peace, but I am sorry for likening you to birds," she said, keeping her voice quiet enough that he had to focus to hear it. "Lord Owen was a poor example, too. I don't even know if I'd like to see him again," she added.

Sans' aura receded ever so slightly, his brow creasing. "Why's that?" he rumbled, adding too late, "Not like I care. We're gettin' off topic."

Frisk was a little surprised herself. She let Sans see her hesitation as she thought out loud. "It's...tiny things. He's so perfect on paper, but..."

"But what?" snapped the skeleton.

"He didn't say 'Please' to the maid. No one in his family ever does," Frisk remarked. "They're not at all cruel to their servants, or even rude, necessarily. They just—and another thing. When he was moving my hand for Ruby to perch on, he was too rough. He scratched me a little when he took my bracelet off, which reminds me that I left it there. Wonderful." Despite herself, Frisk closed her eyes. Through the adrenaline of fighting with a volatile boss monster, she could feel exhaustion hovering on the periphery, clouding her judgment and keeping the words flowing: "You're almost twice his size, and you never manhandle me like that. He'd be more considerate if I asked him to, but I don't like his presumption. Did you notice how he smacks his lips when he eats? And unless he's changed completely in less than a year, his sense of humor is boring." She cracked one eye open, suppressing a yawn. "I know I'm being spoiled and ridiculous, but I can't help it. He's rich, he's very kind, and his whole family would welcome me with open arms. I've dreamed of having a family my whole life! But, still, he just seems...adequate. Am I wrong for wanting more than that?"

Sans tilted his head at her. His eye was still pulsing red, but he was clearly thinking something over; she didn't know whether to be hopeful or put up a preemptive barrier.

A long moment later, with an even more visible effort, he pulled the scarlet haze almost all the way back into his bones. "I got an idea, too," he said roughly. "You an' me ain't gonna talk about this 'partner' crap any more, 'cause there's no point. But you tell yer King what ya just told me, if ya haven't already. Get the plans squared away for convertin' all yer shit to run on good ol' Mother Nature, not from breakin' anyone's ribs an' tearin' their SOUL out." His eye dimmed. "I'll take ya back to the Underground with me an' get you in ta see Asgore. Then you can ask him what he thinks about it."

Frisk felt the blood drain from her face. "You...you want me to go to the Underground and speak with your King?"

He nodded shortly. "I won't lie t'ya, Frisk. I fuckin' hate yer plan. I'd never go along with it. But maybe he would, and he's the one in charge." The skeleton snorted. "And nah, I don't have any better ideas. Just...come back with me."

The thought of going to the Underground, and the way he said it—something in her chest unclenched, and just as swiftly squeezed itself back into a knot. Suddenly, all the exhaustion, tension, and frustration she'd been holding back threatened to boil over, and to her embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears.

The red vanished, all of it. "Frisk?" Sans leaned over her, orange pinpricks reappearing in his sockets. "C'mon, kid, don't do this again!"

"What if—" She had to stop and swallow a few times. "What if I'm tired, and you've just made my life a lot more complicated, and I need to 'do this again'?"

"Oh, I'm the complicated one?" Sans looked ready to launch into another tirade, but Frisk sniffled and rubbed her eyes, and the skeleton covered with his face with his hand instead. "O-kay. Ya know what I think? I think we both need a traditional All Souls nap. Sleepin's a good way ta honor dead people, right? It's all they do."

That startled a laugh out of her. "I'd argue if I could." She scrubbed her eyes again. "I need to think about this. It'd be quite an undertaking, but...who knows? I've already made you an emissary against your will. Maybe I can return the favor."

Sans perked up so much that she wondered if he was being sarcastic. But no, he just answered, "Sure, take all the time ya need. I'm still stayin' another, what, twenty days? That's forever." More somberly, he picked a golden flower from behind her other ear. "You'd be way better at it 'n me. King Asgore's not the same nice guy he used ta be, but I think he'd listen to ya. Either way, me 'n Tori would keep you safe," he said quietly.

Dirt. Frisk scratched her cheek where the petals had brushed it, wondering for the hundredth time how someone so big could move with that kind of gentle dexterity. She couldn't handle this right now. "I don't know," she tried to say, but her voice cracked.

The skeleton looked a little panicked. He glanced at the tabletop, guiltily moving a plate to cover the dent he'd made. "Nap time," he muttered.

Frisk nodded. Without another word, she rose and went into the office, and shut the door. She slid down against it to the floor, and tried not to burst into tears, or look at the couch, or think of the rosewood box hidden beneath the floorboards. But how could she not when he had flat-out asked her to go back with him?

That damned box. "For you to reclaim, or not," the Mother Superior had said the day Frisk left the convent.

Why had the old woman given it back to her? Why hadn't they thrown it away?

Why hadn't Frisk thrown it away?

What would happen if she just had Sans smash it? Would the orb evaporate, or would everything hit her at once? The thought was terrifying. She knew all too well that the women who ran the convent were neither sentimental nor faint-hearted; she couldn't imagine the state she must've been in for them to take that much. It had to have been literal life or death.

Frisk shook her head, giving one last sniff. Sans was right. She did need a nap. But when she thought of staying in here alone on the couch again, more tears started leaking out until she wanted to howl like a small child—again, the way she probably had when they first brought her to St. Brigid's.

This wouldn't do. The priestess wiped her eyes on her threadbare skirt and got to her feet. She didn't care if she woke Sans, he could always—

When she opened the door, she was met with a gigantic ribcage and a huge hand curled up in her face, ready to knock. Frisk leapt back with a little squeak. "Don't do that!" she cried.

Sans had also jumped back. "What the crap?! Ya scared me half t'death!"

They glared at each other for a moment. Then Frisk's mouth twitched, and Sans tried to scowl, but snickered, and soon they were both laughing helplessly, leaning against the doorframe and the worktable, respectively. "Okay, okay," the boss monster managed. "If ya really hafta have another slumber party, c'mon."

Frisk giggled again, wiping her now-raw eyes. "Is that what you were doing? Inviting me back over?"

"Well..." The skeleton headed towards the bedroom, scratching the back of his skull. "I can't do my job when yer in another room, am I?" He opened the door wider for her. "'Sides, Pap's not here, an' I can't fall asleep unless I've been buggin' someone."

The priestess gave him a watery smile. "I missed you, too."

Sans turned an interesting shade, and muttered a general denial of missing anybody, which she ignored. "Hey, hold on a sec," he said as Frisk retrieved a large quilt and climbed into bed. "Where's yer fort?"

She stole the single pillow and plunked it down on the far side of the mattress. "It's a pretend fort." The young woman lay down facing him and shook out the quilt, draping it over herself and scrunching the corners into a sort of burrow. "There. I can't see you, and you can't see me," she said through the top, and yawned. "Come on. Don't make me put you to sleep."

Sans' mouth opened and closed a few times. "What, ya mean—"

"I mean that I'm tired, and so are you, so get into bed and be quiet. That's how naps work."

"But—"

"Sans."

The skeleton didn't bother arguing further. He stood for a moment, and turned to leave. He stopped. He shook his head, and reached for the doorknob.

A movement from deep within the quilt was his only warning before the now-familiar vibrations swept through him and his hand drooped, hanging limp at his side. She was cheating: her humming was too muffled to hear if he went any further out of the room. Telling himself this was against his will, Sans shut and locked the bedroom door, went back to the bed, and stretched out in his usual spot, letting his eyes close and his SOUL soften as the sound lapped at him.

It was so nice to be safe with someone besides Papyrus, especially in a room big enough for him. He knew better than to be this happy with a human, and yet the thought of her really, actually coming home with him made him want to...he didn't know what, because he was out of practice at happiness. Smile, maybe? No, it was a deeper-down feeling than that. Grabbing her was out of the question. Sans tried to think of something else happy people were supposed to do, only to find that he couldn't move past the grabby option.

What did come to him was that quiet image of Kris holding his hand and beaming up at him. Yep, it still hurt. Hadn't he learned his lesson? He and Papyrus – all the monsters – had loved their little human buddy, and then he was gone, taking a tiny chunk of their SOULs with him.

It's not gonna happen this time, the boss monster argued with himself. We couldn't have stopped those assholes from taking Kris away 'cause he was a kid. She's the High damn Priestess, and if she wants to be Underground, we just have to tell the Kings to go to hell, and no one else can tell her what to do. She won't have to leave, and she doesn't have to marry that scratchy little prick!

The humming paused as Frisk pulled back the quilt to check if he was asleep. Sans grunted to let her know to keep going.

A patient sigh; the quilt came back up. "Sans?" she murmured.

"Hm?" The skeleton opened a citrine eye. "Wha?"

"Will you take me to the festival this evening? We can sleep until then, I promise."

"Hmm. D'I hafta put skin back on?"

"Yes, if you can. I don't want to make a scene. I just want to walk around, get some cider, and have my fortune told."

That made him open his other eye. "Fortune?"

"It's an All Souls tradition, a real one." Yawn. "There's a man, he charges too much, but everything he says..." Another yawn. "I have an important question. Don't want advice. Want to know what'll happen if I do or don't...something."

"Don't we all." Sans yawned, too. "Sure, we c'n go. Skin."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya want."

The humming resumed. As the world went fuzzy around the edges, Sans wondered idly what would happen if she did meet someone she liked. Couldn't he just kill the guy? If it happened a couple times in a row, word would get around, and she'd never have to marry anybody.

Yes. That was the perfect solution. Everything was perfect. Ignoring a little shiver of apprehension, Sans gave up thinking, and was asleep in moments.

[sijunxx]

house of lanterns.

There was no fear, no doubt, no worry at all until the moment he was truly alone. In a way, getting thrown in the dungeon, meeting all the people, even tricking a Lan sect kid down the mountain with him...those events all kept his mind busy and his heart free of burden. Now, as the sun drooped over the horizon and evening breeze began clawing through his one layer of stolen robe, Sijun’s felt his chest tightening.

He was afraid, because there was no home to return to. His father had told him very clearly that the day he stepped out of the forest would be the day he stopped being Yueyang Chang clan’s Sijun. He would no longer be Chang Youwei’s son and Chang Sian’s brother. Even if he wanted to visit his mother’s grave, he would not be permitted entry through the gates.

“This is fine,” Sijun told himself, even though the reality felt quite the opposite. Slowly, he sank down to the ground, burying his face into his knees as he willed his mind to come up with a strategy. Wasn’t this something he was good at? Hadn’t he survived when the storm made creatures of the trees on that first night he was thrown into the forest? Did he not manage to keep his eyes open, even when death came knocking on that fateful day, beckoning at him sweetly with an offer of freedom from his pain?

At least he had his sword back. Managed to swipe it on his way out of Cloud Recesses.

A sword you can no longer use properly.

At least he had some money.

From a coin pouch you took off of a corpse.

At least he had the clothes on his back.

Also not yours.

“Okay, cut me some slack!” He yelled into the air before bending back down, pressing his nose into the soft fabric of his stolen robe, breathing in the unfamiliar scent as if that would somehow comfort him.

“This isn’t fair,” he mumbled. “I’ve been so good all of my life. Donated my pocket money to the beggar on the streets. Wished for peace whenever there was conflict. Never allowed myself to hold anger even against those who wronged me. Why am I here, now, with nothing?” A wave of resentment stirred in his chest, which he swiftly forced back down, recalling his mother’s words regarding the dangers associated with becoming hateful. It was advice given by one of the only two people who ever loved him, on her death bed, so he must honour it.

“I must have been a psychopathic serial killer in the past life or something, otherwise why am I being punished like this?” He tried to make himself laugh, because what else was he supposed to do in this situation?

He didn’t raise his head even though he realized someone was approaching. The scent of her perfume was so strong it was nearly to the point of unbearable. When she tapped his shoulder, however, the movement was gentle. Instinctively, he leaned into the touch, not knowing or even caring about who she was. When he did finally look up, he saw two ladies in silk gowns. One in violet, the other in peach, both of them were lovely with their painted red lips.

Perhaps it was inherited from his father, but beauty had a of lifting Sijun’s spirit. Ink black eyes followed the lady in violet, as her fingers ran from his cheeks down to his chin, caressing his skin with the same softness one would use on a baby animal. “Come for a cup of tea with your sisters,” she said, eyes curving from her smile. “Dew Drop here made some walnut cakes and I am sure you would like them.”

Sijun returned her smile with one of his own, slow and thoughtful. The violet lady opened her mouth to speak again but found those words stuck in her throat as she felt warm lips against her fingertips. And then her palm. Sijun exhaled, his breath escaping in a white puff of smoke, tickling along the lady’s delicate veins before finally disappearing into the night. “I have no money” he said, releasing her slender wrist. “I don’t wish to force the burden of my poverty on my beautiful sisters.” He looked towards the street, where many were abandoning their path home for the building decorated by flowers and colourful lanterns. “I’ve chosen a terrible place to sit, pardon me.”

He stood up and walked, but not so fast that she couldn’t latch onto his arm and stop him. “Your sweet words earned you a cup of tea,” the lady in violet said. “And your face is worth a dish of cakes. Honestly, I am so tired of looking at ugly men,” added in one in peach as she grabbed hold of his other arm.

The tea was warm and the sweets sat comfortably in his stomach. Later in the night, after a few rounds of conversations, they gave him something even more valuable - information. The Madame of this brothel was once upon a time the second wife of a wealthy merchant. He abandoned her and her son after falling in love with another. Her son became ill and the stone-hearted man refused to spare his child even one last look. Sijun thanked the sisters and waited for his opportunity. When the Madame busted into the chamber of the ladies, wondering why they weren’t out there, gathering clients, he grabbed hold of her sleeve with lowered eyes.

He fed her a story of his life, keeping it carefully at half truth - half lie. By the end of the tale he weaved, her eyes were soft. With her wrinkles smoothed out by the candle light, Sijun thought he could see the beauty she must have been in her youth. She told him that he could stay without specifying any job duties. From that day on, a man who had introduced himself to others as Xiao Li, meaning little pear, found himself attached to the House of Lanterns. During the night he told jokes and stories, while during the day he read palms and played cards with the sisters.

It was a simple life, but also peaceful. In a way, perhaps this was fate’s way of giving him what he wanted.

What a shame it couldn’t last.

[nevillelongsbottom]

fred weasley’s house of horrors (?): a birthday fic for @charlotteweasley​ <3 happy birthday from your fave uncle! (i hope)

His head hurts; in fact, his everything hurts, from the throbbing ache in his head to the whining groan of the joints in his toes, and when he stretches out, it’s just brilliant: he can hear the popping that comes with the satisfied relief of movement, and though it doesn’t help his head or his growing backache, it’s something.

It takes Fred effort to peel his eyes open, but when he does, he’s rewarded: the room he’s in is historical and elegant, with a domed and painted ceiling and pillars and mahogany furniture; he himself is spread out on a dark green four-poster, wearing matching velvet pajamas that certainly aren’t his.

It’s a long time before he manages to convince and synchronise his body parts to get him to sit up, but he’s annoyingly stubborn and manages it in the end: just gas he does, he hears the slam of a front door and jangle of keys.

“Hello?” he croaks; it comes out like Lee’s prepubescent voice cracks, but with added scratchiness to force a few coughs. Someone walks up the stairs, tentatively, with careful pauses, as if they’re afraid; and the door creaks open, slowly.

“You’re awake?” Draco asks gently.

“I am now,” Fred coughs; Draco disappears for a moment, returning with a glass of water. “Thanks,” he chokes before downing it, too fast, coughing it up in a splutter of liquid. “Ah, crap, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco says, taking a seat on the end of Fred’s bed, looking uncomfortable.

“Okay,” Fred says slowly, trying to pace himself (which is quite an endeavour). “So, the question that’s on everyone’s lips: how did I get here? And where is here?”

“My family’s country house. You fell out of the sky, and I found you, so I took you here.”

Fred nods absently. “Huh. Sounds… about right.” He glances down at himself. “Do you still have my actual clothes?”

“The blood stains haven’t quite come out, but I do,” Draco replies; with an effortless snap of his fingers, a slightly unfriendly-looking house elf appears. “Bring Fred his clothes.”

The house-elf blinks. “Master Draco, I haven’t been able - shamefully - to remove the stains…”

“It doesn’t matter.” The house-elf nods, disapparating only to return a few moments later with a pile of Fred’s folded clothes: despite the darkening stains on his collar and sleeves, it’s probably the cleanest his casual clothes have been in a while. “I’ll give you your privacy; you’re also welcome to leave here at any time, considering your feelings about me.”

Fred quirks an eyebrow, possibly one of the few things that distinguishes him from George (a two-eyebrow-raising shmuck). “Don’t think I’ll be going anywhere anytime soon, mate.”

“You can leave when you can, then.” Draco gets up, crossing the room in too-quick strides and hastily shutting the door behind him; the house-elf leaves with him, emptying the room save for Fred.

It, as ever, takes him what feels like a small eternity through which a bird has chipped through a marble wall to change his top, and despite the visual clash, he leaves his own trousers folded on the floor to attempt to put on another time; he’s now wearing a Mr Happy T-shirt with his velvet pajama bottoms like he’s just been ejected from the decade prior, and he rubs his crusty eyes, pulling himself to his feet and trying his best not to collapse on his wobbly legs (which, of course, he does).

“Goddammit,” he mutters, wishing for George.

-

It takes him about a day to explore his room, shuffling like a penguin, and the next few to explore the rest of the country house: it’s, of course, terrifically grand, with an extensive library that spans several rooms and an elegant and well-stocked kitchen from which the house-elf Nacht (Fred nicknames him Nacho immediately) makes Fred’s hearty thrice-daily meals and twice-daily snacks, bringing them up to him before he’s well enough to make it to the kitchen and never showing any signs of anger when Fred’s body forcefully ejects some of the bigger meals.

“Hey, Nacho,” he says over lunch one day; he’s managed a bath and is wearing some clothes Draco brought on a brief and impersonal visit: a black T-shirt and black jeans that don’t quite match his sunny socks. “Why do the Malfoys have this house?”

“To store their library,” Nacht replies stiffly.

“Here in the countryside, they may read and study in peace - though they scarcely use it, save for Master Draco’s frequent visits.”

“I can see that. The dust bunnies are reproducing like real ones,” Fred cackles. “Do you think Draco would mind if I lightened it up a bit?”

“He very much would.”

And that settles it: as he recovers, Fred takes to dusting - he doesn’t like cleaning much, but he can hardly conduct his wonderful plans in a dump, and Nacht happily sets to work helping him, often providing more of the hard labour than Fred can. “I feel like a bloody nanny,” Fred laughs halfway up a cast-steady ladder, spelling out the bugs and spiders, reminded of gutting Grimmauld Place; he’s half-terrified dealing with the Boggarts, but just on the day when he’s ready to get it over and done with, Draco arrives.

“Why are you cleaning?” he asks dumbly.

“Because your house is dirty and I’m bored?” Fred shrugs. “By the way, does George know I’m alive?”

“He does. I sent him an anonymous owl, but nothing more since I figured that your family would just blame me for your injuries if I attached my name to them.” He sets a plastic bag down on the table by the door. “I brought more food for you, but I’m here to use the library, so leave it be.”

Fred grins. “Sure, Your Majesty.”

Draco snorts. “Glad to see you’re back to your usual self, Weasley. I was worried when I saw you cleaning.”

“Dead or alive,” Fred says, “I’ll be cracking jokes.”

-

The basement of the “Edgar Allan Poe summer house” quickly becomes Fred’s favourite part of it: it’s awash with treasures, from Draco’s kicking baby photos to a dusty old record player with twelve inches from Celestina Warbeck to Elvis Presley; he finds some of Narcissa and Lucius’s Hogwarts achievements in the form of congratulatory parchment and gifted textbooks, and passes them over to Nacht, who cleans them as if they’re first edition Bibles.

“Did Mr Weasley get any achievements in Hogwarts?” he asks, almost smug in the knowledge that Fred, who makes immature jokes out of the library’s Latin titles, most certainly has not.

“If leaving in style is an achievement, then with distinction,” he says proudly. Nacht says nothing to this, clearly deciding there’s nothing worth saying; Fred grins, sifting through the old box of records, past every single record The Beatles have ever released and suddenly into the dark chalk of Sonic Youth’s Confusion Is Sex. “Hey, Nacho; whose records are these?”

“Lady Andromeda Tonks used to stay here often with Lady Malfoy,” Nacht replies. “These must be her daughter’s.”

“Tonks? So these would be Dora Tonks’s? Wicked.”

The next time Draco comes around, Fred’s halfway to better: he’s in his Mr Happy T-shirt and black jeans and in the middle of baking himself chocolate cupcakes that he hopes will stay down (he’s been able to eat just fine, but if he goes a little over the usual, he brings it back up). He sucks some of the mix off his fingers and offers a spoon to Draco.

“Don’t the Muggles say something about getting ill from raw eggs?” he sniffs.

“Who gives a shit? It tastes great.”

Draco looks at it warily, but takes the spoon and carefully licks at the cake batter; instantly enamoured and hesistances forgotten, he devours the rest. “Hm; it is good. I take it your skills are from your mother?”

“Why?”

“She seems the type of person that would bake cupcakes.”

Fred laughs. “She is - and I’m not, that’s always been Charlie’s thing, really - but since she’s not here, I’m doing it. Give it something like twenty minutes and they’ll be ready.”

“Is the catch that you’ve either put or will put poison in them?”

“What do you take me for, a Slytherin?” Fred pulls a face of offence. “No, no. The prank here is that I’m going to buy some seventies wallpaper and funk this house up and rearrange your library so you can’t find anything. Don’t you guys have enough Gothic houses? Wasn’t living in a dungeon for seven years enough for you?”

“Absolutely not; I insist on spending the rest of my life in a basement,” Draco says dryly. “But fine. Get me a shopping list, and do what you want. I bloody hate this house, anyway.”

Fred grins. “Got a pen?”

Draco snorts. “Fucking as if.”

-

Most of Fred’s decorations end up coming amassed from flea markets and Camden (as do more clothes; he’s only just made it out of the ‘excessive sweating’ phase of feeling ill, and his tops still emit a horrible stench if he gets too close to the armpits); they come from the plain London signs to a taxidermy Kneazle being sold as a dog, and Draco manages to buy all sorts of cringe-worthy warm-coloured wallpapers for Fred to use, as well as a series of lamps from possibly as many decades as lamps have been invented.

“What is Mr Weasley’s plan for this?” Nacht asks strictly as Fred raises both his wand and hand to the wall, covering it in orange and brown blobs. “Ruining the perfectly good architecture of the house.”

“We’re wizards, Nacho; we can set it back if someone throws a hissy fit,” Fred shrugs. “But come on; how are you meant to be happy living in this dismal old place? I’m just trying to brighten it up. How’s anyone meant to recover from falling out of the sky when this place looks so sad?”

“You seem to have done just fine yourself,” Nacht points out. Fred shrugs.

“Yeah, cus of my bright temperament. Not everyone’s as happy and witty as me, ‘cept maybe Lee Jordan or a Hufflepuff.” He sets the record player on the table in the library with a satisfying thud!, pulling one of Draco’s more interesting Camden finds out of its sleeve and setting it on the turntable, pressing the needle to the record and letting loose the beginning of Weird Al Yankovic’s Ricky.

“Hey, Ricky, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Ricky…” He grabs a chunk of books from the shelf, glancing through them; all Latin, of course. “Merlin’s balls, Nacho, you know what I should do?”

The house-elf sighs. “I do not.”

“Arrange them in size order!” Fred says gleefully. “Because then, nobody can find what they’re looking for, because the order is pretty much nonsensical, right?”

“Whatever you say, Mr Weasley. As long as you enjoy yourself and recover, for Master Draco’s pleasure.”

Fred rubs his hands together. “His, or mine?”

-

Fred’s last day is mostly one of lighting up the house: he’s made an artistic arrangement of the lamps all in the second room of the library, hung up the framed Bowie portrait Draco brought back, found a home for the stuffed Kneazle on top of a room-length sloping bookcase, figured out a system to hang the record sleeves on the walls for whole-house browsing, and he just adds the last licks of yellow paint that snake round a burgundy pillar by hand with a brush.

“What does Draco actually do in here, Nacho?” he asks, flicking his wrist up to create a splatter effect that doesn’t quite work and ends up a little ungainly in the same way that Fred is so stocky that his body seems to confuse itself regularly and attempt to recalibrate, which just disorients him.

“He uses it to get away from his own home, in order to study and read,” Nacht says matter-of-factly before lowering his voice, “and to avoid seeing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named too often.”

“I’d avoid him, too,” Fred says in a surprisingly sober moment, his voice poignant before he bursts back into a thousand megawatts and quips, “it’s the nose, isn’t it? So creepy.”

“The nose?” Nacht frowns.

“Yeah, Harry says he’s got no nose, like a snake. Bloody Slytherins, isn’t it?” He steps down from the pillar, humming along to the record player and to Primal Scream’s Come Together, turning as he hears the familiar noise of the front door opening into what is now a time capsule slash matrix.

“Bloody hell, Weasley,” Draco whistles.

“It’s so ugly, I don’t even know where to begin.”

Fred beams. “I’ll tour you.”

Draco stutters. “Merlin, no. Please let me uncover its hidden atrocities in my own time. It will be… an experience.” He pauses. “So, this means you’re leaving, doesn’t it?”

“I’m flying the coop,” Fred shrugs. “Or, as it were: going home. George’ll start thinking I was just an elaborate hoax before long.”

“Do come back,” Draco implores; Fred pauses, startled.

“Only if I can annoy you and Nacho.”

Draco runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, well, your entire existence irritates me to my core; so please come back, I would be thrilled to have to deal with your eccentric company.” Pausing, he rummages through his pocket, producing a packaging Fred knows all too well: a Ton-Tongue Toffee. “Toffee, Weasley?”

“Maybe another time, Malfoy, thanks. And so long.”

Draco just about shits himself an hour later when the clock strikes and a hidden cuckoo clock bursts through the wall; but then he just has to laugh, because despite his illness, despite smashing into the ground and being detached from his unit, the whole house is still unmistakably his: Fred Weasley’s House of Horrors (or, to the open mind, Amusements).

[it-refused]

Prompt:   The idea is basically just Papyrus and Sans in their old age taking a walk and being ridiculous at each other / causing trouble around town. Sans is probably in a wheelchair, and he is probably making Papyrus do all the work of pushing him.

Thank you, @grumpyoldsnake, for a prompt so suited to what I like to write about!  (and an extra thank you to tabascosugar for coming up with an initially innocuous sounding but sort of creepy name for the Home)  

Rating: G

Characters: Sans, Papyrus, Annoying Dog, Toriel, Asgore, Grillby, and mentions of a few others.

The courtyard at the Golden Flower Acres retirement facility for aging monsters was carpeted with soft green grass and the air always smelled sweet from the flowers lining the space.  

The main feature was a huge tree in the center of the courtyard that constantly grew and shed brightly colored leaves.  It had been transplanted from the Underground Ruins in the hope that extra light would heal it and make it green again.  Every morning, the leaves were diligently raked away, and every night, more leaves were scattered underneath it.  

Also every morning, after all the leaves had been raked up (and, more importantly, after breakfast) Papyrus would push his brother around the courtyard and out into town.  He would usually have to nag to get Sans to quit sending bad jokes to Toriel on his computer and get dressed, but never expressed regret about going.

Sans dozed under the tree while Papyrus left him for a few minutes to yell at the tiny elderly dog that was insistently digging up flowers.  When Papyrus tried to chase the dog away, it fled into the Home, tracking mud everywhere it ran.  

"I AM NOT EVEN SURE THAT MUDDY MUTT HAS A RESIDENCE HERE!"  Papyrus stomped his foot and hurried back over to his brother.  Papyrus patted at his hair and pulled out a mirror to double-check that his argument hadn't left his toupee disheveled.  

Papyrus would never admit it, but the years were starting to wear on him, as well.  He had trouble gripping the lid on jars enough to open them, but wouldn't just say that and get one of the many different products designed to help with that.  One day, Papyrus just declared that the greatest and most elegant way to open a jar was to smash it with a bone attack, and he never looked back.

Sans had used his magic to open all the jars in the apartment, once.  He didn't tell Papyrus.  He figured his brother would be happy to see he could easily open things again.  Papyrus had obliviously smashed them all anyway.  

Sans decided that just letting his brother live his life was less effort, in the long run.  

He yawned and stretched.  "your hair looks good from here, bro.  but it's hard too-pay how the back looks if you don't turn around." Papyrus frowned and let him check.  "don't wig out, papyrus, but..."  He chuckled at Papyrus' distressed expression, "it looks great back there, too."

"NEVER MIND!  I DO NOT HAVE ANY IDEA WHY I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE HELPFUL!" Nevertheless, he seemed relieved.

Papyrus started out gently pushing Sans across the courtyard, but once they were out of the building, all bets were off.  

They shot down the main path towards town.  The road was lined with beautiful topiary, lovingly shaped to look like the best known heroes of Monsterkind.  

They were mostly Papyrus, but Gerson and Frisk and Undyne had their own places.  When Sans and Papyrus weren't high-tailing it past at maximum running speed, they could see that one of the topiaries was shaped like the lady who ran the plant nursery by Asgore's house.  It really made Sans think: what's a hero, really?  Maybe it's just someone you like who gives you a big discount when you buy topiary from them.  

They stopped at the grocery store for a few things they could fit into their inventories. Papyrus took the car when he did their real grocery shopping trip, but it was a rare day when Sans didn't run out of chips or Papyrus wasn't worried he was low on milk.  

Plus, all the people in the store thought of Papyrus as a minor celebrity, and got excited when he came in.  They could need absolutely nothing and Papyrus would manufacture an excuse to go in there.  Sometimes he'd put on a suit and sunglasses for his big grocery trips, and the guy who bagged his food wouldn't stop talking about how cool he looked.  

Where they went after that depended on the day, but they almost always ended up at Grillby's.  Papyrus hated going and would sip his milkshake and eat his salad with an expression of grim determination while Sans chatted with old friends and ate his greasy hamburger.  The place wasn't the same since Grillby's kids had taken over (they served salad?), but they left that burger on the menu, just for Sans.  

"HOW DO THEY GET THE LETTUCE SO GREASY?"  Papyrus asked, poking at it with his fork.  "I HAVE TO ADMIRE THE SPECIAL SKILL ON DISPLAY, HERE."  

"that's called salad dressing, bro."

"THAT IS NOT WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT, AND YOU KNOW IT!"  

"tell 'em to lay off on the oil and vinegar and just toss on the vinegar," Sans said.

"HM."

"then smash the tomatoes and that's basically ketchup, right?"

"NO!  THERE ARE NUMEROUS OTHER STEPS, FOR ONE THING.  FOR ANOTHER THING, STOP TRYING TO RUIN MY HEALTHY SALAD EVEN MORE THAN IT CAME TO ME RUINED FROM THE START!  AND YET ANOTHER THING--"

"how many things is that?"

"ANOTHER THING--"

"is that four or three?"

"SANS!  MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT CANNOT BE SO EASILY KNOCKED OFF TRACK!  IT IS LIKE A BULLET TRAIN FROM MY SKULL TO THE LOWER PART OF MY SKULL WHERE THE WORDS COME OUT!  THE, UM...FIFTH THING...IS...IS..."

"you're on the same track but you got derailed."  Sans snickered.  

The room got warmer, and they both looked up as the door behind the bar opened up and Grillby slowly walked into the room.  He seemed much better than the last time Sans had seen him -- in the monster hospital, hooked up to various machines to help speed up his recovery.  

"i bet he heard you trashing his kids' salads," Sans said.

"OF COURSE I DID NOT MEAN ANYTHING BY MY WORDS!  THEIR SALADS ARE BY FAR THE LEAST GREASY ITEMS ON THE MENU, AND I APPRECIATE THAT ABOUT THEM MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE, EVERY TIME YOU MAKE ME BRING YOU HERE.  I..." His voice turned to a stage whisper, as quiet as he generally got, "I DID NOT THINK HE WAS RETURNING TO WORK?"  

"yeah but that doesn't mean he isn't going to show up all the time."  

"I HAVE ALWAYS RESPECTED THAT HE LOVES THIS GREASE HOLE LIKE IT IS HIS FOURTH CHILD," Papyrus said.  

Grillby hovered behind the bar for a minute, looking around.  His posture wasn't the same straight line it used to be, Sans noticed, and he was a little bit shorter.  He couldn't tell for sure from this distance, but Sans thought he wasn't giving off as much heat as he used to.  Man.  They were all getting old, weren't they?  At least Tori was the same as ever.  

Grillby started walking towards them, and Papyrus started loudly saying how much he was enjoying his milkshake.  

"hey, grillbz."

He nodded at Sans, and then again at Papyrus.

"GRILLBY!  YOUR HEALTH IS CLEARLY IMPROVING!  THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS IMPRESSED BY THE SPEED OF YOUR RECOVERY."

"......thanks." Grillby's glasses were aimed at one of the empty chairs at their table.

"take a load off," Sans said.  

Grillby sat down, without a word.  

"bro was just telling me how he's happy...down to the bone, heh, that you put something healthy on the menu."  

"...my kids...admire you, Papyrus."  

"THEY ARE OFFERING SALAD...BECAUSE OF ME?"  Papyrus asked, taken aback. "I...WELL!  I AM NOT AT ALL SURPRISED!  I HAVE MANY ADMIRERS. OF COURSE.  THANK THEM FOR ME.  TELL THEM THAT..."  He stared down at his picked-at plate for a few seconds.  "THAT IT IS SKILLFULLY MADE, AND..."  Sans thought he might be tearing up. "...VERY VERY GOOD."  

"......ok." Grillby shrugged.  Sans thought the air around him was warmer.  

Papyrus took the walk back home at a slower pace.  

"man, you're really popular.  i think that dog acts up just so you'll give it some attention.  so i'd say you're...pupular," Sans said.

"DON'T CALL THAT CRETINOUS CANINE A 'PUPPY,' EVEN FOR ONE OF YOUR ILL-ADVISED PUNS!  THAT CREATURE IS AN ADULT DOG WHO SHOULD HAVE LONG SINCE LEARNED TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ITS OWN ACTIONS, AND I WILL NOT STAND BY WHILE IT CONTINUES TO WREAK HAVOC ON THE INNOCENT PEOPLE IN OUR HOME!"  

"jeez.  guess its behavior really...dogs you."  

"YES, FINE."

The billboard in front of the retirement home was decorated with the image of a cheerful looking flower.  Papyrus adored the logo, but it always made Sans uneasy.  Papyrus pushed past it, and out of the corner of his eyesocket, Sans swore he saw the smile on the flower suddenly change into something sinister.  He quickly looked away.  

"IS YOUR FRIEND GOING TO BE BY FOR DINNER AGAIN?"  Papyrus asked.  He hated the puns, but Toriel always brought over a pie or cake, so he enjoyed her visits even though he called it an "AUDITORY PUNISHMENT."

"yup," Sans said.  Undyne and Alphys would be by tomorrow, for lunch, and the kiddo was coming all the way down to spend that whole weekend with their old friends.  

Sans had been uneasy about the move - that he'd be stuck all day alone in the Home while Papyrus ran around.  It was a pain to get out of bed, and it rarely seemed worth the effort to get himself any further than the couch and the TV.  He still missed living in the house right next to Tori, but she came by so often it almost seemed like he saw her more often.  

They passed by Asgore, peaceably tending to the flowers along the walkway.  Papyrus had to stop and congratulate him on the quality and taste being displayed in his newest Papyrus topiary.  Asgore brought them back to the little tool shed where he kept the gardening supplies he used when he worked there.  He had a little pot he used to heat up tea. Papyrus took out a box of cookies from their grocery trip while Asgore found some folding chairs for him and Papyrus.  

Asgore just chuckled when an elderly dog burst in through the shed's tiny window, stole a cookie, and raced out again.  He commented that it was impressive how spry it was, at its age.  

"IT IS ALSO IMPRESSIVE HOW IT HAS MANAGED TO LIVE FOR SO LONG WITHOUT LEARNING ANY MANNERS WHATSOEVER!"  Papyrus said.

"still pretty cute, though," Sans said.

"YES, BUT SO AM I, AND I AM ALWAYS POLITE."

There was no denying the truth.  

It was almost time for dinner before they made it all the way back to their first floor apartment.  Papyrus flew around, trying to get everything in order before Toriel arrived.  Sans dozed on the couch.  

He'd been sure once they moved out of their house, he was just a step or two away from Papyrus figuring out where to sprinkle Sans' dust.  That didn't upset him.  He'd had a good run, and he got to go all the way to the end. For a while, he hadn't been sure he'd get that.  

But Sans' friends kept showing up, day in and day out.  Papyrus kept nagging him into leaving the apartment, and taking him to Grillby's even though Papyrus hated the food there.  He was starting to think they were conspiring to keep him alive another twenty years.  

Rude.  

There was a loud knock on the door.  

"who's there?" Sans called.

"OH GOD.  EVERY SINGLE TIME!  EVERY!  SINGLE!  TIME!"  Papyrus ran into his room before he had to hear the punchline.  

"Salami," Toriel said.

"salami who?"

"Salami in already!"  

What had he been thinking, before?  Sans changed his mind.  His friends were all the best.  

Out in the courtyard, the ground was covered in leaves.  

[daysoutwithbex]

12 months of 2017

12 live shows seen 11 months of living in my little flat 10 kg of Nutella eaten 9 new albums bought 8 months of being in a fabulous choir 7 books read 6 holidays 5 kg of chocolates brought back from Zurich 4 afternoon teas 3 new countries visited 2 outdoor cinema trips 1 hell of a year.

It’s my annual round up of the year. Why? Because it seems I like to dwell on the past a lot; but I’m slowly learning that that is not always a bad thing, it’s how you look at and learn from the past that’s important. However, this year has been remarkably better than 2016, despite my brain telling me on most days that it’s a terrible day, week or month. Looking back, it hasn’t been half bad. I have rocks for friends.

As with every January, I celebrated my birthday with friends and lots of food. There was snow on my birthday - and everyone knows how I feel about snow. I’m quite vocal about it! However, trying to drive back from a meal in Mold was not as fun as one would anticipate in snow. But we had had a lovely meal and an amazing waffle, so not much could go wrong after that.

February was a month of celebrations too. A trip to Iceland where we saw the Northern Lights, albeit very briefly, LOTS of snow, a day in the Blue Lagoon, round trip to Gullfoss waterfall and a flat completion date set. My first concert of 2017 was in Iceland too, in the beautiful Harpa music hall. First of far too many (some might say!). All in the first four days of the month. Surely a good omen. My search for the best waffle, or at least one that beats Leeds markets ones, came to an end with a little van outside the  Hallgrímskirkja church. The bar has risen! The last day of the holiday was World Nutella Day, so it was only appropriate to have a Nutella hot chocolate and take pictures of Nutella with some Nutella!

I’ve always had a ‘thing’ about the 10th of the month, as quite a bit seems to have happened on the 10th of a few months over the last few years. 2017 was no exception, when after six months of waiting, I FINALLY got the keys for my new flat that I could call my own. No more sleepovers and begging for a sofa/bed! And the dog could live there too, where she well and truly rules the roost! I got to decorate (my decorating goes as far as pinning pictures up on the wall) exactly how I wanted to and don’t have to worry about blu tack marks or having to fill in holes from nails or screws (which I always do very professionally, I might add)! Also, I finally had space for a music room which was essential.

We won’t get in to the Six Nations!

My first theatre show of the year was Grease in March. It was also an excuse for a catch up, more food and the most amazing cakes and cheesecake I have ever eaten. I started making marmalade, purely because I could, and had jars of the stuff for months. Luckily that fad didn’t last long and space in my fridge was once more. I started looking after plants and they are still alive; bar one. They are cacti and require minimal attention, but they are hanging on in there and growing well!

I started reading the most inspiring of the books I read this year; “Mad Girl” by Bryony Gordon. It’s an insightful and honest account of living with mental illness. It’s reassuring, honest and witty and makes anyone realise that there is no such thing as normal. It’s far too easy to compare life to everyone else’s and think that you are not “normal”. I’m not normal anyway, and by everyone else’s (I shouldn’t tar everyone with the same brush - a lot of people’s) standards, I would get sod all done if I was!

In April, I bought Nutella a fluorescent raincoat, and she was not a happy bunny! I think she instinctively knew that she looked a bit silly, but there was no way the flat was smelling of wet dog, so silly she may look! Brad Paisley released his best album to date and I have a prized autographed edition to add to my collection. Another theatre show in Manchester at the Palace Theatre to watch Wonderland. An obligatory afternoon tea date in the Townhouse Hotel too made a lovely day.

My favourite new creation was a volcano pizza, which I encouraged and made Dad make beginning of May. I also took advantage of my youthful appearance when the election came around and canvassers needed to speak to the homeowner. Seeing as “my parents are at work” and they assumed I was “at school”, I couldn’t help them, so I had a lovely quiet evening! After a lot of planning, I finally got to show up as a belated birthday present for Emerlee in Gran Canaria (whether she liked it or not; sorry!), but I think Adam and I did well to keep it quite for so long. I also got a little bit of sun and a lot of sunburn including a permanent hand print shaped burn on my leg to prove that I had been there - still visible! To finish off the month, another theatre show; Sister Act, but this time, in Llandudno.

June was the eventful Ikea-trip day, when I bought ready assembled shelves because they were so much cheaper, but didn’t factor in that my flat is significantly smaller than a bloomin’ showroom! Luckily, with four heads thinking, there is always a solution and they live happily ever after in the music room and will never ever leave! I bought the dog some stylish Converse - again, she hates them, but I have some beautiful pictures! I also had a meltdown and a right rant at the Guardian, which was entertaining to say the least. Nothing resolved, but I won’t regret not speaking up, at least?!

As with most months gone by, July brought a new show; Annie in Piccadilly Theatre, London with Miranda Hart starring. Literally nothing that could go wrong there! Also managed to squeeze a couple of visits to Criccieth, and shamefully haven’t been back since. I got to celebrate a special birthday and celebrated World Chocolate Day - of course. I also met Prince Charles at work. As you do.

Then August was here, and it was great! It started with Friends Fest. What’s not to love there? And the following day I set of to Zurich, where I had the most amazing holiday and also got to have a quick trip over to Vaduz, Liechtenstein. Ate far too much cheese and chocolate and came home with no less than 5kg of chocolates.

There was a couple of visits to the outdoor cinema, first to see Moana with my “adoptive family”! - I have never ever laughed so much in a film that isn’t a comedy, but everyone was wearing earmuffs, so it was fine! Then we went to see Fantastic Beasts and I made the major error of taking the dog. A nuisance to say the least. She tried to pull to eat people’s pizzas, wouldn’t stop whining and ate the people next to us’s packet of turkey slices. One woman looked Nutella in the eye and ‘shushed’, which didn’t make a blind bit of difference BECAUSE SHE’S A DOG. She’s staying home next year. The dog, not the woman.

I took another trip to Manchester to see Maddie & Tae in the Ritz, and they were fantastic. Though the countdown to their next album is killing me! I finished off the month in Hickory’s and a stomach full.

Mam and Dad went on holiday in September so I had two dogs under my supervision, and I got to go ten pin bowling with John. We celebrated his 22nd birthday and had a lot of food, again! We managed to escape the escape rooms in Chester with barely seconds to spare (I’m sure TMO would say we did not succeed!) I also went to a jungle birthday party, ate a lot of cake and had a lot of fun. We even had a karaoke session in the car, though I think the whole of North Wales would have heard the speakers and Little Mix booming - I was not in charge of the music, I hasten to add!

The boring part of the month was buying a new fridge freezer and in October it was delivered. Being an adult is great. Back to what I live for - I saw Little Big Town in Bristol on the 3rd and Lady Antebellum, with Kelsea Ballerini opening in Manchester on the 4th of October. I caught a guitar pick at LBT which is now sitting pretty with my Lady Antebllum and Band Perry picks, and I managed to high five Charles Kelley of Lady A when he was walking through the crowds. October was off to a fantastic start.

The next trip, a couple of weeks later was with choir down to London. I obviously took advantage of the situation and made a weekend of it. I saw Les Mis, Wicked and Lion King in succession. Also this month, one of my neighbours tried to give a fish away.

My final concert of the year was in November when I went back down to Bristol to see Maren Morris. A quick look in the Bristol markets to get some churros was mandatory too. The next concert we go to and don’t get to the front to lean on the security bar will be a massive disappointment, as I genuinely cannot remember the last concert I was not with perfect view with not a head in front of me! I finished off the month the same way I started December - with choir. Two very different, but very fun gatherings. Both involving food, so that is always a winner for me.

There was a lot of snow for a short period of time, but I am proud to say that Nutella is just as excited as me about it, although I did not care for her whining and longing stares out the window at the flurrying outside. We had a fabulous time at Robert’s 50th surprise, which was pulled off spectacularly. But we won’t speak of what happened after!

Pentatonix did another Christmas special, and it is the only thing that makes me feel Christmassy ever! Which leads on nicely to my spur of the moment holiday arrangement. I am far too excited to be going to see Kirstie Maldonado, of Pentatonix, on Broadway in March. I will cry.

I managed to nail next year’s Christmas card picture, so you can all wait with baited breath for next year’s masterpiece!

The final few weeks of the year, I caught up with my favourite family, ate a lot, laughed a lot and will be watching closing out the year watching The Greatest Showman tomorrow.

Looking back, especially at the good times, is always nice. As part of a management programme, a recommendation I’ve been given is to take a photo a day of anything that makes me smile, so I’m going to try and see how it goes and if it makes a difference. Keeping a diary didn’t last very long this year, but a heck of a lot of pictures has built this essay and a half!

Now I’m off to plan my Copenhagen and New York trips as they’ll soon be here.

If you’ve read this far, bravo! And a forewarning, a photo a day in 2018 means you’re all in trouble!

Life in lyrics: “It doesn't matter if your days are long, It doesn't matter if your night's gone wrong, Just grab your hands and stomp your feet and sing it” (Sing, Pentatonix)

[dpbooks-blog1]

Chapter 9 Aria’s First Formal Dinner

CREAK. CRACK. SPLINTER.

That was the sound with each step that Aria took. McButler, the Prince’s steward, was escorting her to dinner, her hand in his arm. Aria wore a blue dress, beautifully decorated with reflective sequins, a blue sash, and puffy upper arms*.

*(This style used to be called leg o’ mutton. It is loose on the upper arms and then tight on the lower arms. -Dweezel)

They entered the large and fabulous palace dining room. In one corner of the room were four men playing lovely music on stringed instruments. In the center of the room was a very long table, the Prince seated at the head, a seat open to his left, and all of the other seats occupied by well-dressed nobles in fine coats and ladies with elaborate wigs, looking quite astonished at Aria’s size.

The men rose as Aria entered the room.

Aria’s eyes widened as she saw what was sure to be the most interesting part of her evening: The food. There were all manner of delicacies, such as pudding, veal, exotic fruits, desserts, and lots of sea creatures that Aria recognized from under the ocean… They even had lobster!

“Ladies and gentleman,” said Prince Daniel II as McButler escorted Aria to the Prince’s side, “May I introduce you to our distinguished guest? I am told that her name is Aria.”

“That’s right,” she said, keeping her eyes on the delicious spread of the table.

“Aria,” said Daniel, his face flushed, “A beautiful name… Truly beautiful. Well,” he said, shaking himself, “Let me introduce you to my distinguished guests.” Daniel then introduced Aria to a number of guests whose names nobody needs to remember, with the exception of, “Fritzen Heinzburg, visiting dignitary from the tribes to the north.”

“Zes,” said the old courtier with a foreign accent. He looked less put together than the other guests, his coat rough and his wig askew, “Very nice. And now ve eat?”

“Yeah!” yelled Aria, “Everybody shut up so I can eat!”

The crowd gasped.

After a moment Prince Daniel laughed. “A good sense of humor, too? Very well, let us eat!”

The ladies sat down, the men pushing their chairs in behind them.

Prince Daniel pulled out the fancy wooden chair at his side and motioned for Aria to sit on it. Aria looked at the smiling and expectant prince and servant, then she lowered her backside onto the chair.

The chair shattered and Aria fell screaming on the floor. Her dress fell around her immodestly.

“Oh my!” gasped a lady. The King and the men rushed to Aria’s side to help her up. The string quartet’s music faltered.

“I am so sorry, mistress,” said McButler, kicking out pieces of wood debris, “That chair must have been defective!”

“Yes,” said Prince Daniel, “That must be it. Steward, fetch her that chair over there!”

“Right away,” said McButler, retrieving a spare chair from the corner of the room.

“Zoo are sure zat is a good idea?” asked Heinzburg.

“Oh yes, Mr. Heinzburg, of course,” said Daniel. “She can’t sit on the broken chair!”

“Zis is not vat I meant,” said the diplomat.

McButler slid the chair behind Aria.

“This had better work this time,” complained Aria.

As she sat the chair splintered into a thousand pieces, and Aria fell and rolled onto the floor again.

“Oh my!” gasped the same lady as before.

Aria shambled up again, yelling and swearing. After a bit of applied logic the prince was convinced of the need for a stronger chair, and a small crew of stout men were called to haul in the sturdiest chair in the palace. Unfortunately, that chair had come from the dungeon. The steward did what he could to nicen it, draping it with a fuzzy pink blanket, but there was no hiding the grotesque faces cast into the metal.

Aria looked at the chair apprehensively.

“Go ahead,” said the Prince, motioning to the chair. It was far too heavy to attempt sliding it under Aria as she sat. “I’m sure this one will… Mmm,” said the Prince, thinking, “Well, I don’t think it will break. Go on.”

Aria sat. The chair creaked, but it did not break. The guests clapped and cheered, and the men finally took their seats.

“Aria,” said Daniel, “I’m so glad you’re feeling well enough to join us. We were worried, what with finding you passed out on the beach. How did you find yourself there?”

Aria ignored him, eyeballing the food.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to a stuffed bird.

“Roasted pheasant,” answered Daniel.

Aria reached halfway across the table and shred off a piece of the bird’s midsection, then stuffed it in her mouth..

“My lady,” said the monocled courtier seated to Aria’s left, “We typically have Bishop McCowan lead us in a prayer of thanks before our meal.”

A bald and angry-looking man in black robes stood, his head bowed.

Aria belched, shooting some pheasant bits onto the table and onto her neighbor’s monocle. The man took out a handkerchief and cleaned it off.

Prince Daniel rose up. “To honor our guest’s foreign sensibilities,” he said, in a voice of announcement, “We will dispense with the usual formalities for the evening.” Bishop McCowan glowered and slowly sat down. “Further,” said Daniel, “Perhaps we ought to embrace her manners for the evening, to make her feel more comfortable.”

The prince removed his white gloves and placed them in a neat pile on the table. This done, he grabbed a leg of pheasant delicately between his finger and thumb, tore it, and then brought it to his lips, where he nibbled it daintily.

Some of the other guests, taking his cue, tried something similar, though most were openly disapproving and continued to use their silverware.

“It’s about time ve make zis place less stuffy,” said Heinzburg, ripping off a hunk of meat with gusto.

A man with small silver spectacles cleared his throat. “And where do you hail from, Miss Aria?” he asked.

“The ocean,” yelled Aria, mouth full.

“Oh yes,” said the man, “You’re a sailing people like us.”

“What’s that?” asked Aria, pointing at some pudding. Her blue dress was now very greasy.

“That is--” a courtier attempted to answer.

“Mmm,” moaned Aria loudly as she sucked at a pheasant bone.

The court was wide eyed in awkward silence.

“How was the temperature of your bath, milady?” asked a wrinkled woman, attempting to salvage the situation socially. “Was it quite to your liking? I do love lilac oil in my water. How about you?”

Aria had now moved on to a big handful of pudding. “Where I come from,” she said, “I don’t have to bathe.”

The woman looked taken aback, and gasps were heard around the table.

“How uncivilized,” said a woman.

“You must hail from the barbarian tribes to the north,” said a waxy-mustached courtier, knowingly.

“Ve are not barbarians,” said Heinzburg, throwing his fork (which shot over the bishop’s head) and rising to his feet.

“No, of course not,” said Daniel diplomatically. “An honorable people. Great warriors, and even better neighbors.”

“Yup,” said Aria, as Heinzburg returned to his seat huffily, “I really like this fluffy stuff.”

“Oh yes, that’s cake,” said a young lady with an intricate wig. “Delicious isn’t it?”

Aria scrunched up her face and farted super loud and super long.

For a time no one spoke, and everyone’s face was full of shock, with the exception of the foreign diplomat, who laughed loudly and slapped his knee.

“Where I come from,” said Aria, “These come out like bubbles.”

A few moments passed before another guest spoke. It was the young man with the bewigged young woman. “Thank you, Prince Daniel, for the fine dinner. You must excuse me as my wife is feeling... rather ill.”

It turned out that many of the guests found themselves ill, and in ones and twos the guests retreated.

“Zis vas a very funny night,” said Heinzburg as he eventually stepped away from the table. “I like zis fat girl.”

Heinzburg clapped Aria on the back and she burped.

“Aria,” said the Prince once they were alone, “You’re not like any woman I’ve ever met before. What do you say I show you Etenland tomorrow?”

“Whatever,” said Aria.

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