#still easier than some flat pack furniture

[creepycreepyspacewizard]

[work in progress] I’ve been working on this 7cm tall model house for about three years. It’s tiny so I keep losing it amongst the other projects. This week I’ve been working on some teeny tiny furniture kits, it’s unsurprisingly difficult to build chairs half the size of your fingertip. (House and furniture from MyMiniatureRoomBox on Etsy)

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

"I fucking hate it here."

"Understandable," Michael agreed, the bitter, sullen disgust in his voice somehow greater than Gerry's. He gingerly approached a dresser that was in the middle of the hall, for some ungodly reason, and tugged on the stuck upper drawer until it opened. The documents inside were spotted with mould, and he was very glad he had brought a respirator and gloves. Paging through them revealed years of sales receipts, which could be of interest, if they weren't in such bad shape. Michael made a mental note of them and shut the drawer again. They weren't what he and Gerry had come to Pinhole Books for.

It had been a slow and gradual process to move Gerry into Michael's flat with him. Neither of them had ever come out and admitted that's what was happening‒ at first it was some of Gerry's clothes in Michael's closet, then it was his jewelry joining Michael's own on his dresser, then Gerry's art supplies started piling up on the rarely used kitchen table. Michael had treasured each and every addition, and made space for both Gerry and his things. They were all welcome.

This was the first deliberate venture they had made to Pinhole together, with the express intention of collecting more of Gerry's things and bringing them to Michael's‒ their flat. Two suitcases waited by the stairs, packed with shirts and trousers and other articles that hadn't made the journey already. Gerry was still in his old room, gathering more things, but the rest of the flat was stuffed to bursting with books, and there didn't appear to be much else of Gerry's worth taking.

That was making Michael's chest hurt, and not because of the mold and mildew. Pinhole was so obviously Mary's domain, her store, her home, and Gerry was like an afterthought. There was barely anything in the rest of the flat to show that there had been another inhabitant‒ no shoes by the door, no pictures on the refrigerator, no additional furniture for him to sit on. No touches of Gerry. 

In a way, that made things easier, as far as extracting Gerry from such an awful place. But it still made Michael feel utterly sick to his stomach.

He paused at what must have been Mary's office, struck by the large painting on the wall. What had once been a large and intricate eye was in tatters, shredded to pieces by what looked like large claw marks. The rest of the room was in disarray, as if whatever had caused the mess had left it for someone else to clean up. Michael didn't know if it was Gerry or Mary herself, but it clearly hadn't been touched.

"Mum's poltergeist phase." Gerry's flat voice came from behind him. Michael immediately turned and reached out, pulling his boyfriend into his arms. Gerry's face was blank and pale beneath his respirator, eyes dull and vacant, as if being in that place had sucked all the life from him. He gave no reaction to being in Michael's embrace, stiff and unmoving, even as Michael hugged him closer. "I thought…I thought she actually liked that painting, but then she…ripped it apart like nothing. And chucked books at my head. And…and…"

His words dried up, lost to the pages of books that filled the space around them like a tumor. Michael bumped his forehead against Gerry's, the only show of affection he could manage with the safety gear. "Do you have everything?" he asked, desperate to get Gerry out of the damned building. Gerry shook his head, brushing past him into the room, moving like a ghost lost to the past. He crouched, and the floorboards creaked and complained as he lifted one up, sneaking his hand beneath to pull something free.

When he returned to Michael's side he could see that it was a glass jar stuffed with papers, sealed against the dust and mildew, that Gerry cradled very gently against his chest. "It's the only place she wouldn't think to look for it," he explained, the hurt in his voice sneaking out past his face mask. Michael nodded, taking hold of Gerry's arms and guiding him out of the room and through the hall, past the towering piles of books that threatened to collapse on top of them. He didn't bother to ask again, just pulled Gerry along with him, collecting the suitcases on their way out. Out into the fresh air and sunshine, finally free of Pinhole Books.

Gerry stayed silent for the trip back to their flat, holding his jar with a blank look on his face. Once they were there and stripped of their work clothes, he drifted away towards their bedroom, and Michael opted to leave him in peace for a bit. He busied himself with the laundry, not wanting to risk contaminating their flat with whatever had been in Pinhole. When he finally emerged from the kitchen, smelling strongly of chemicals, he found Gerry sitting on the floor of their room, the glass jar empty and its contents laid out around him. Michael paused, unsure if he should intrude, but Gerry looked up at him with eyes wet with unshed tears, and he was helpless to resist.

"I saved everything that I could," Gerry explained as Michael sat down behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle and setting his head on his shoulder. "It wasn't a lot, but for a while she left things as they were before. Didn't bother to throw them out." He scrubbed his arm over his eyes, his burned skin coming away wet. "When I was…twelve, I think, it was the first time I snapped back at her, and she…it was like a storm, she destroyed everything. There was nothing left." His fingers hovered over a ripped piece of paper, a scribbled outline of a flower in a rainbow of colors. "I felt so stupid, but I wanted to hang on to whatever I could. I know we were never a happy family, but maybe…we were a family. Once."

Michael reached over and picked up a photograph by his knee, creased with lines from being folded to fit in the jar. A lump formed in his throat as he looked at the baby held between Mary and Eric, plump and bald and smiling gummily at the camera. Mary looked like she was merely tolerating the experience, but Eric was positively beaming. "You look like him," Michael commented quietly.

"I think that's why Mary couldn't stand to have me around," Gerry noted, his voice thick with emotion, passing Michael another picture. He was a toddler in that picture, standing next to a crouching Eric at some sort of park, both of them wearing large sunglasses and smiling exactly alike. "I used to hear him through the walls sometimes, when Mary summoned him after I'd gone to bed. I thought I was just dreaming, and when I learned…" the tears in Gerry's eyes finally spilled over as his breath stuttered painfully. "She stopped summoning him. And I never got a chance to…know him."

Michael gently set the pictures aside and pulled Gerry back against his chest, pressing his forehead against his temple. "I'm sorry," he whispered, because that was the only thing he could say, because there were no other words to say that could ease Gerry's grief. "I'm so sorry." He was mourning too, for a man he'd never met, but who's absence had affected Gerry all his life. "He would have loved you so much."

Gerry nodded against his collarbone. Whatever he tried to say was broken by a choked sob, so instead his hand scrambled for a roll of papers amidst all the others. They were tightly coiled around an object, and as Gerry struggled with them, a thick metal pen slipped out and onto the rug. Michael picked it up and passed it to Gerry, who held it close and watched as Michael unfurled the papers. 

He barely made it past the first line before he was crying too. It was a letter from father to son, a pre-mortem that Eric probably didn't know would be one of the few things he left to his child. Michael couldn't even bear to finish it, putting it aside before his tears ruined the paper. Judging from the places on the letter where the ink was smudged and blotchy, that had happened before.

Gerry was running his fingers over the pen, his own tears falling unheeded as he stared down at it. It was obviously a custom piece, something intended to be passed down, and now it was safely in Gerry's hands where it belonged. Michael tugged him close again, burying his face in Gerry's hair. Now he knew for certain that his boyfriend had inherited his mother's hair color. No wonder he hated it so much.

"He was an artist, too," Gerry choked out, pulling a few pages loose from the tight coil. It was lettering, looping and beautifully crisp, made by the pen now in Gerry's hand. His son's preferred name seemed to be Eric's favorite to practice. "I found these in her office and hid them. When she asked what happened to them I lied and said I didn't know, but I don't think she believed me. I wasn't as good at lying to her then."

There was more unsaid about what Mary's reaction to that was. There was no way for him to soothe that pain, but Michael ran his hands over Gerry's chest, gentle passes up and down, with as much love as he could. A kind touch for every one of pain. "That's all over now," Michael managed to say, sniffing inelegantly and shifting so Gerry's hair came unstuck from his wet face. "You, you don't have to ever go back there again. If you forgot anything I'll go get it for you, but you don't ever have to go back there. You're home now."

Gerry shook in his arms, like Michael's words were a physical thing that had settled over him. "Say that again," he asked, turning and wrapping his arms around Michael, desperately tight, tucking his face into the hollow of Michael's neck. "Please say that again."

"You're home," Michael repeated, rocking them from side to side, hands in constant motion across Gerry's body, familiar and loving. "You're here with me now, you don't have to go back. This is where you should always be." Gerry's sobs sounded like they hurt, but he was clinging back, held safe in Michael's arms, where he belonged. "You're home, my love. You and everything that matters to you, we're all here now. We're not going anywhere."

Those words were as true as he could make them. He didn't know all that the future would hold, but Michael knew that he wanted Gerry in it with him, for him to love and care for and show how good life could be. And he could feel the full weight of Gerry's love for him, the way he clung back to him, seeking comfort from him. Gerry trusted him with his pain and his grief, freely sharing it with Michael after a lifetime of holding it in. That mattered to him more than anything in the world.

Over Gerry's head, Michael examined the pieces of Gerry's childhood, carefully salvaged and hidden for so long. No more, he decided. Those treasured childhood photos could join the ones on their refrigerator‒ the strips from all the photobooths Michael had pulled Gerry into, and the stupid selfies he'd printed off because they made him laugh. Eric's calligraphy would be preserved in a frame, where Gerry could see it whenever he wished. And Michael could take that empty glass jar and fill it with the memories of them together‒ ribbons and snapped shoelaces and love notes and candy wrappers and a million pieces of them. To show to Gerry and anyone else who looked at it that their lives were full of love, and neither of them needed to hide it away anymore.

[zanywinnerphilosopher]

Wayfair Furniture: Revealing Hidden Costs and Assembly Surprises

Buying furniture online is convenient. Wayfair makes it even easier. Their wide range, low prices, and free shipping tempt many shoppers. But there’s more than meets the eye. Hidden costs and surprises can pop up after the order. One of the most common issues? Assembly. You might expect your new furniture to arrive ready to use. Instead, it often comes in pieces. That’s where the trouble starts. The price of convenience may include frustration and extra work.

Take Sarah’s experience, for example. She ordered a new bookshelf from Wayfair. The picture looked great. The price? Even better. What she didn’t expect? A box filled with screws, boards, and a confusing manual. After hours of struggle, she still had pieces left over. She finally had to hire help. Sarah’s “great deal” became an unexpected expense. Wayfair is clear about what assembly is needed, but many shoppers don’t realize how hard it can be.

Another hidden cost is time. Sure, the furniture is affordable. But how much is your time worth? Many customers spend hours putting pieces together. Some give up halfway through. Worse, instructions can be unclear or parts can be missing. That means more waiting for replacements. Tom, another Wayfair customer, faced this problem. His desk arrived with missing screws. Tom reached out to customer service, but it took days to get help. The desk was cheap, but the wait wasn’t worth it.

There’s also the issue of quality. Some customers say that assembled pieces feel less sturdy. Flat-pack furniture can have parts that don’t fit well. Emma bought a bed frame from Wayfair. It looked sleek in the photos. But once she put it together, it wobbled. She tried to tighten the screws, but nothing worked. Emma ended up returning the bed, but the return process cost her extra time and effort. So, while Wayfair offers good deals, those deals often come with added stress. Shoppers should keep these hidden costs in mind. Assembly, missing parts, and time spent can quickly add up.

[vipcabinetss]

Flat Pack Furniture

Flat pack furniture has experienced a surge in popularity. Most of it is made from cheap chipboard or medium density fiberboard (MDF). It can also contain formaldehyde, which is toxic to humans. Some high-end RTAs use solid wood instead and offer lifetime warranties.

IKEA popularized the concept. People love it, but it is known for being fragile if not assembled properly. Using a PRO assembler is a smart idea.

Cost-effectiveness

Flat pack furniture is becoming increasingly popular due to its ease of assembly and cost effectiveness. It also has a lower environmental impact. Most products are made from particle board, which uses fewer resources than solid wood panels. They are cut using CAD and CNC technology, which reduces labour costs. The smaller size also allows them to fit on trucks more easily.

If you’re considering buying a flat-pack home, it’s important to know the cost involved. Many companies offer a finance solution to help you pay for construction. These loans typically require a 20 percent deposit and a minimum credit score of 620.

Most RTAs are designed to withstand frequent dismantling and relocation, making them a great choice for frequent movers, renters, or landlords. Some are even paintable and can be repurposed as different pieces of furniture. They are also more affordable than custom-made, solid-wood pieces. They can also be assembled on-site, which cuts down on labour and transportation costs.

Easy to assemble

The flat-pack furniture market is thriving and has been embraced by the ‘generation rent’ who prefer its affordable prices and minimalist Scandi design. However, if you’re not a DIY expert the assembly process can be difficult.

If you’re tackling a flat-pack project, be sure to read the manual instructions and understand their sequence. This will help you avoid wasting time by not repeating unnecessary steps. Moreover, it’s important to keep a clean workspace when working with small parts like nuts, bolts, screws and nails. Organize these items in separate piles to avoid having to shuffle through a mess.

It’s also important to have patience and a clear plan. It’s also helpful to find a friend or partner to work with, especially if you’re assembling a large piece of furniture. Having someone to help you with the assembly will make the task much easier and less stressful. In addition, having a good attitude will make the experience a lot more enjoyable.

Easy to disassemble

While flat pack furniture is inexpensive and easy to assemble, it is not known for being durable. It can easily break if it’s not assembled properly or is handled roughly during transit or storage. It is best to wrap the pieces in blankets and old towels to protect them from scuffs and scratches. It is also a good idea to keep a camera handy to take pictures of the flat packed items before you start disassembling them.

For those who want to take apart their flat-pack furniture for storage or transportation, IKEA has recently introduced easy-to-read disassembly instructions. This is intended to help households extend the life of their products one allen key at a time. This is a great way to save money and extend the lifespan of your flat-pack furniture. You can also use the reusable parts to repair damaged furniture or build new pieces. This way, you can reuse the old components and save on waste and landfills.

Easy to transport

Flat pack furniture is a cheaper and more convenient way to furnish your home in the short term. It is less expensive to manufacture and easier to transport. It is not as durable as solid wood pieces, but it is still a good option for those who move house often or are landlords. Moreover, it is easily customizable and highly versatile. Whole communities have formed around Ikea hacking, a practice whereby RTA furnishings can be altered in shape and color.

The flat-pack design allows for more furniture to be stocked in a warehouse, which lowers shipping costs and storage space requirements. In addition, manufacturers can use computer-generated CAD designs to reduce labor costs. The materials used in flat-pack furniture are also more environmentally friendly than those of solid wood. Most furniture is made from particle board or medium-density fiberboard, both of which are manufactured using recycled wood offcuts. The result is a much smaller carbon footprint than traditional wood furniture.

[capseycartwright]

okay but buck and eddie + "pretending you're going to kiss your best friend to see how they're going to react, they grab your face and kiss you back" from the kissing prompts

Eddie would, without question, move heaven and earth to make Christopher happy. It’s not something he’s ever had to doubt about himself - Christopher is his main priority in life, and Eddie would stand on his head for hours if it meant he got to see his son smile. All that being said - he might have bitten off more than he could chew, with this one.

Christopher was in El Paso for a week. Pepa had been going there anyway, and she’d taken Chris to see Eddie’s parents - despite Eddie insisting he could take Chris himself. Their work schedule wasn’t too bad, that week, and they had three days off in a row without having to use any vacation time, so he could have flown out there, but Pepa - and abuela - had insisted Eddie take some time for himself, which was not something he was very good at, so instead, Eddie had decided to surprise Christopher with a total room makeover.

Chris was the definition of a tweenager - he was hitting the age where everything was starting to be totally embarrassing (Christopher’s words, not Eddie’s) and so he thought his room was too childish. It’s just - Eddie hadn’t had the time, before now, to clear the room out, repaint it, replace all the furniture - the works.

Buck had been on board from the second Eddie had suggested it, and three trips to the hardware store, a whole day of painting Christopher’s room a seafoam green, and one very stressful trip to Ikea later, Eddie was sitting on the floor of his sons room, Buck looking entirely too self-satisfied as he pointed out Eddie was definitely building Christopher’s new desk wrong.

Eddie glared at his best friend. “Did you look at these instructions? It’s not exactly my fault that I put it together wrong,” he huffed, throwing the crumpled paper at Buck. “There’s pictures, and no words.”

“That’s supposed to make it easier, Eddie,” Buck said, smoothing out the instructions. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. We’re firefighters, we’re not going to be defeated by flat-pack furniture. Well, I won’t be - I don’t know about you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You’re real cute, Buckley.”

Buck looked up, grinning. “Aw, you think I’m cute?” he teased, making kissy-faces at Eddie, leaning in impossibly close - close enough that Eddie could feel the huff of his breath against Eddie’s own cheek, close enough for Eddie to be able to study every flutter of Buck’s eyelashes. “You think I’m cute. You think I’m the cutest ever,” he continued, his laughter genuine and bright, filling in every crack of Eddie’s heart as always. “You think I’m cute, and you want to kiss me.”

Buck was probably joking, Eddie realised - but something about his words, they made something snap inside of Eddie.

His feelings for Buck, they had changed, a long time ago - in hindsight, part of Eddie had to wonder if their friendship had ever truly been totally platonic, given how deep the connection was, from day one - but Eddie had really accepted he had been in love with his best friend right after he’d gotten shot. The moment the bullet had torn through his shoulder had been a strange one - it was as though Eddie’s life, past, present, and future, had played on some sort of desperate, sped-up, movie-style preview, and his heart and brain had gone into overdrive. He hadn’t been sure of what it had meant, until he’d woken up and seen Ana where he wished Buck was, and he’d only lasted a few more days before breaking it off with Ana.

(“It’s Buck, isn’t it?” she’d asked, more perceptive than Eddie had given her credit for. It felt like the movement took every ounce of strength in his body, but Eddie had nodded. “I hope it works out, Eddie,” had been the last thing she’d ever said to him.)

But Buck had been with Taylor - and he’d been happy, for a long while, until they’d broken up pretty amicably. They’d wanted different things, out of life - Buck wanted a family, a house in the suburbs and a happily ever after, and Taylor’s vision of her future hadn’t looked like that.

(“It was too big a difference, to find a compromise on,” Buck had shrugged. “I want a family - she doesn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to ask each other to change our minds on that - but we’re still friends, and I’ll be okay.” He’d sounded so sure, that Eddie was helpless to do anything except believe him.)

The breakup had been months ago, now, and Buck had all but moved in, since, spending all his time with Eddie and Christopher and all those feelings Eddie had buried for the six and a half months Buck and Taylor had dated for had come back with a vengeance, and Eddie had felt like he was drowning in how much love he felt for Buck.

So maybe Buck was joking -

But Eddie wasn’t, when he dived across the floor and cupped Buck’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to Buck’s in a desperate, urgent kiss. He’d imagined so many versions of their first kiss - slow, and romantic, exchanged over dinner, desperate and hurried, exchanged in the midst of an emergency. Eddie had never imagined this - never imagined the way Buck was frozen, in Eddie’s grasp, never imagined feeling too scared to pull back because he was worried that would be the first, and last, time he ever got to kiss Buck.

Eventually - Eddie had to pull back.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, trying to wrack his brain for an excuse for his behaviour. Could he blame it on the paint fumes, maybe? Say that they’d addled his brain and gotten him a little high? They hadn’t worn masks, when they painted, after all.

Buck’s grip on his wrists was tight, stopping Eddie from moving away. “Do you think I don’t want this, Eddie?” he asked, his cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink, eyes wide and sincere as he looked at Eddie.

Eddie had never felt more embarrassed in his life. “You didn’t kiss me back,” he pointed out, wishing Buck would let him move away.

“You didn’t give me a chance to,” Buck said, and before Eddie could say anything else, Buck was kissing him again, slow and unhurried, as though they had all the time in the world to do this, to figure out how best to fit together.

Eddie couldn’t help the surprised noise he made against Buck’s mouth as the younger man pulled him into his lap, the way Buck’s strong hands gripped his thighs and easily maneuvered him unfamiliar - but not unwelcome. “Do you really want this?” he found himself asking, steadying himself by holding tightly to Buck’s shoulders.

He’s not sure he’d ever sat in someone's lap before, as an adult. It was kind of nice.

Buck nuzzled his face against Eddie’s neck, breathing deeply for a second. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Eddie,” he admitted. “I can’t remember how it feels to not want you - to not want this, us, our family, forever.”

“Our family,” Eddie echoed softly, brushing Buck’s sweaty, gel-free hair back off his forehead.

“Is that okay?”

Eddie nodded, leaning in to kiss the worry off Buck’s forehead. “It’s more than okay, Buck. It’s perfect.”

(It was hours later, when Eddie looked in the door of Christopher’s bedroom, a half-naked Buck doing his best to distract him as Eddie surveyed the wreckage of half-built flat-pack furniture littering Christopher’s floor.

“Chris is home tomorrow,” Eddie sighed, reaching back to run a hand through Buck’s hair. “We really need to finish.”

Eddie didn’t need to look at his best friend to know the younger man was grinning. “How do you feel about getting a TaskRabbit, Eds?”)

[imo-chan-imagines]

『 As your boyfriend | FKBU Headcanons 』

Characters: female!reader, Kambe Daisuke, Kato Haru

Tags/warnings: Fugou Keiji Balance: Unlimited (anime), 18+, strong sexual references, fluff, angst, Haru's PTSD, headcanons, daddy kink and cockwarming (kind of?) for Daisuke, breeding kink for Haru *coughing intensifies*

⚠️ 18+ CONTENT! MINORS: PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT ⚠️

A/N: Felt like writing some more for these boys because ~holy shit~ do I love them, and I maybe went a teensy bit overboard. Oopsie! 🤭 But anyway, have y'all seen episode 6?! Let's freaking gooo! (No spoilers, don't worry) Thanks for reading! Enjoy! Imo~

Kambe Daisuke

First up: daddy kink. I know it, you know it, we all know it. So let's not beat about the bush

Quite dominant and firm with you (see: daddy kink)

But he absolutely loves spoiling you

Expensive gifts, like one-of-a-kind necklaces, seductive perfumes, satin dresses, lace underwear, etc.

He loves dressing you up and showing you off

But he also loves spoiling you in bed more like ruining, I am deceased

A lot of butt grabbing in public hnng

He likes it when you don't wear any underwear because it makes for easier quickies like bent over the sink in the bathroom at his favourite club

He likes you sitting on his lap in front of people, too aye papi

American gangster vibes, honestly

He's not really one for soppy, romantic PDA, but he loves you letting people know that it's him you want and nobody else

He loves the look on people's faces when you call him 'daddy' that grin will be the death of me

Especially the look on Haru's face, lmao. He blushed like a tomato and couldn't speak a coherent sentence for a whole hour

Hickeys. Lots and lots of hickeys. And don't even think about covering them up

Daisuke loves sleeping naked and has a habit of walking around the house in just a towel when he gets out the shower fight me

He's also completely oblivious to what it does to you

A MASSIVE bed with super soft, satiny sheets. They feel like clouds uwu

He gets HEUSC to remind him of important dates, like birthdays, anniversaries, etc.

Date Ideas: Unlimited sorry, not sorry

From fancy restaurants, to exclusive movie premieres, to late night helicopter rides to the other side of the country, Daisuke can and will pay for anything if it makes you happy

He also lets you introduce him to lots of new things, like trying different kinds of street food on dates, going rowing on the pond in the park, having a go at karaoke, renting bikes and cycling round the city, going hiking at the nearest nature reserve or wilderness, etc. adorable

He's like a curious kitten when he's trying new things, putting a lot of trust in you to guide him through it

He always looks perfect in the photos you snap, even the ones he wasn't aware you were taking, and it's a lowkey frustrating that he nearly always looks prettier than you

But it's not his fault, so you'll only pout for a little while

His face is pretty hard to read most of the time, but you eventually get used to it and pick up on all his little mood indicators

His ears move when he's happy, and you can't convince me otherwise

He'll hold your heels for you when your feet hurt on a night out

He smells of leather and sandalwood, and his kisses taste of expensive whisky and cigars

He loves it when you bite his lower lip while making out

He's kind of possessive, but in a protective way

He never thought of himself as a particularly jealous person, until one night he came back to the bar and saw some other guy hitting on you the attention was definitely unwanted on your side

It made his blood boil – clenched fists, piercing glare if looks could kill

But he managed to stay calm and maturely tell the guy to get lost, with his arm snaking round your waist

Daisuke made it very clear that it wasn't you he didn't trust. It was that he didn't trust that guy – or any guy, for that matter

His favourite ~position~ is on a table or other surface with your legs over his shoulders

He's a god at eating you out

He's a god at everything in the bedroom, tbh

Saint Laurent condoms, because he's that fucking extra I'm screaming

His hair always falls out of place when you're fucking it's so hot and cute, wtf

It's a lot of glitz and glamour on the surface, but when it's just the two of you, you know just how much you mean to him

The King of Aftercare™

He used to suck at aftercare until he properly tried it. Then he realised that he needed it as much as you did le cry

Back rubs, forehead kisses, playing with your hair, soft whispers in your ear

He holds you so tightly that it gets hard to breathe, and you can feel his heart beating hard against your back

Sometimes he likes to just stay inside you after finishing

He enjoys the feeling of you around him, and honestly, you like just feeling him being inside you cockwarming, kind of?

Soft little nuzzles with his nose in his sleep even better when he's fallen asleep while still inside you

He's not perfect, but being with you makes him try to be better

Help, my heart's so full 🤧

Kato Haru

This man is a sweetie pie, honestly

Not just boyfriend material, but husband material put a ring on it, hun

Lots of home cooking, and it all tastes so good you honestly believe he could just quit being a cop and open up a restaurant

He loves cooking with you, too. It's fun bonding time

Sometimes he stands behind you and guides your hands etc. it sometimes goes a little further, if ya know what I'm saying 👀

Knows how to do all the chores and housework, and actually does his share look at my practical hubby

Random pillow fights that turn into cuddle sessions

He talks in his sleep waaahh, so cute

Sometimes it's utter nonsense, like 'Don't let the donuts escape'

Other times, it's things like, 'I love Y/N so much,' or 'Let's have babies,' while he's holding onto you, and you just melt

Spooning. So much spooning

Lots of budget date ideas, like building pillow forts, watching sunsets and stargazing from the balcony, going for hikes and runs together, going for picnics, feeding ducks at the pond, etc.

One time, a duck chased him around the pond because he had the bread, and he had to run for 20 minutes before it gave up thank God for all that cardio

The Master of Flat Pack Furniture™ – because he takes his time and actually reads the instructions

Daisuke had a ™ so Haru needed one too

Takes good care of you on your period and actually knows about different sanitary products

He smells really fresh and clean, like Imperial Leather soap and air-dried laundry as long as he hasn't been on a stakeout, lmao

He loves taking showers with you, but like, actual showers

The first and only time you had shower sex was hot and steamy until:

1. You realised that water does not a good lube make and 2. He slipped and accidentally shoved his dick in your ass instead

You fully passed out, and he was so frantic that he bundled you into the car and drove you straight to the ER you were in just a towel, might I add

You both look back on it now and laugh, but he was genuinely scared

Shower sex = never again

But he loves it when you straddle his lap and start grinding on him bonus points if you kiss his neck and run your hands through his hair

He's a pretty vanilla boy when it comes to sex, preferring positions like missionary and cowgirl, and liking a fairly even balance of power

He got super embarrassed and flustered when he finally mustered up the courage to suggest having car sex

And then even more embarrassed and flustered when you actually ended up doing it

He was blushing so hard the entire time and came really quickly, which only added to his embarrassment but you thought it was cute

He has really sensitive nipples which you use to your advantage

He absolutely loves hates it when you send him nudes or try and sext him while he's at work, because he gets a massive boner and will either have to live with it and probably get laughed at by those goobs in the office, or deal with it in the bathroom, which feels wrong to him on so many levels

Doesn't really stop you sending them though, because whenever you do, he comes home and fucks you really well

One thing that's not vanilla about him is how much he likes cumming inside you breeding kink, welcome to the party. Please take a seat

He didn't tell you about it for the longest time because he was embarrassed about it and was afraid you'd think it was gross or something please cum in me, sir

He was so relieved when you were understanding about it and open to the idea of indulging him

But he genuinely really wants kids some day he'd be a great dad

His PTSD doesn't stop him being a good boyfriend, but he's convinced that it does

Most days he seems okay, like he's over it, even

But sometimes you'll wake up in the middle of the night and find him curled up in the bath, shaking and crying into his knees my poor baby, I can't

Excuse me while I go and cry into my pillow for a while

You're his safety net

When he feels like he's drowning, you keep his head above the water until the waves eventually calm and recede, and he can breathe again

He hates putting so much on your shoulders

But you swear to him that you wouldn't want to be doing anything else, and that you're not going anywhere

This got so angsty, my heart can't take this 😭

© imo-chan-imagines 2020

[princessofgayskull]

our secret moments in your crowded room // pt. 2

a catradora drabble (companion piece to this) featuring Melog

summary: Catra doesn’t want to go back to sleeping alone, and her new room in the Bright Moon Castle is too big not to be lonely

The first night Catra sleeps alone, she doesn’t sleep at all.

She doesn’t understand how anyone expects her to, either. The night that followed Horde Prime’s defeat, the first time the moons rise on a planet that finally peace, is total and complete chaos. It’s the feel of magic settling in the air, it’s clones who don’t know who they are or what to do expect stand around everywhere, it’s the victory cry of Etherians echoing across the horizon, Catra’s voice joining them for the first time. 

It was also too unfeasible to go all the way back to Bright Moon and make it there in time for anyone to get any actual sleep. Not that anyone gets much rest back at camp either, but at least those shelters were already made. The night was equal parts celebration and retribution. For the first time in years, Catra falls asleep on Adora’s shoulder with Melog sprawled over both their laps. For the first time in years, Catra wakes to find Adora still there with.

But going to Bright Moon is unavoidable. It’s unavoidable because it’s Etheria’s center, it’s where the diplomacy flows out and into the rest of the system, it’s where the new beginning actually begins and Glimmer has this idea in her head that Catra should be there and should be a part of it. What, like she’s gonna go back to the Fright Zone? There was nothing left for her there. 

Everything important in Catra’s life is heading towards Bright Moon for the next phase, and they want Catra to come with them. Adora wants Catra to come with them. And when Adora tells her that when they’re breaking down camp, her hands on Catra’s shoulders and that soft look in her eyes, that instinctual urge to run away disintegrates into nothing.

She just doesn’t expect her first night in Bright Moon to be spent staring up at a ceiling so far up in a room enveloped in the night’s darkness and the paralyzing sound of her own loneliness. Melog sleeps across her chest, a white noise machine of warmth, keeping her grounded in this reality of this room that has its own gravity. Catra can’t find it in her to close her eyes as she lays across what’s more of a pillow plush than an actual bed.

The only reason Catra’s in here is because Glimmer gifted her the room out of legitimate kindness. As it turns out, Adora got one of her own when she left Catra- sorry, defected from the Horde- because people here were actually treated like people and regardless of what Catra had done in the past, she fell into that category now. She was one of them now. It didn’t make her a princess or queen by the longest shot, but around here that counted for something.

“Pretty sweet accommodations, huh?” Glimmer had thrown her words from Horde’s Prime back at her, holding back no amusement when she had shown Catra around the room, teleporting in a craze from one piece of fancy furniture to the next.

All of the moments that Catra had spent overwhelmed and so, so out of her depth since walking into Glimmer’s palace were coming crashing down on her now and she could barely breathe under the weight of it all. Figuring all her snarky commentary about the way Royals lived was enough, Catra didn’t bother voicing her discomfort. Deep down, she hoped that the way Melog wrapped themselves between her legs and curled their tail up her thigh clued Adora- or anyone really- into how much she wanted to be whisked away from this.  

Why hadn’t Adora just asked Catra to stay in her room? Catra would’ve been more than okay with that. 

Running her claws down her face, Catra groaned. It had been stupid to think that those sleepovers Glimmer gushed about when it was just the two of them on Horde Prime’s ship would last forever now that she was a part of the gang. Not as stupid as thinking Adora would be up for some sort of cohabitating, shared sleeping arrangements with her when they’d been sworn enemies less than a month ago.

“I need to give Adora space. She’s her own person, she can make her own decisions.” Catra tells herself, trying to take a deep breath like Perfuma had taught her. “And I’ll fall asleep eventually. I don’t need her around to do that.”

This statement prompts Melog to lift their head, ethereal blue eyes wide and shining with packed judgement.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Catra hisses at her animal/alien companion. The dissonant purr of Melog’s reply fills the empty space around them.

“You didn’t ask Adora if she wanted to sleep alone. You can ask her if she wants to sleep together, and if she says she wants space, then you know,” Melog’s purr ends and Catra rolls her eyes before throwing her head back on her pillow.

“How does that help me now? Adora’s probably asleep already. Last thing I wanna do is wake her up and get punched in the nose. Again.”

Melog, keeping their eyes on Catra, withholds their reply. Not backing down form the staring contest the alien cat has incited, she glares at her companion. Which is useless knowing how she’s practically see through to this creature- wait, she stops herself, blinking. See through.

Catra has the beginnings of an idea. A creepy idea, so she doesn’t bother trying to think it through, rather pushes Melog of her legs and trips off the giant pink pillow puff that’s her bed so she can act before she uses her bravery. 

A purr makes Catra’s ear perk up, “Really? Are you sure this is a good idea?

“Hey!” Catra sent a flat look in Melog’s direction. They’re shielding her legs and making her think twice. “Laying next to that cot Adora has cloaked isn’t great but it’s better than being in here alone!” Alone with the images that haunt her, the images she’s sees when she lets her eyes close: Shadow Weaver taking her mask off before ceasing to exist, the violent green waters of Prime’s baptismal font, Adora unconscious in her arms as the world ends around them. With shaking hands she asks, “Are you gonna help me or not?”

Melog runs through her legs, rubbing her calf with their phasing mane. Catra’s companion heads for the door.

 _

Sneaking past the Queen’s Guard is child’s play. Melog has her back, keeping the both of them cloaked, as Catra sneaks around in her Horde issued bra and sleeping shorts. Maybe one day she and Adora will get around to finding clothing that can withstand the strain of battle that doesn’t carry the Horde’s symbol, but Catra doubts a shopping list is high on anyone’s priority list right now.

It’s not like any of the guards that stand at fourteen feet intervals- Catra notices- are on high alert, or would rat her out for being out past curfew. Because there’s no curfew here and that’s not their job. But Catra breathes a little easier knowing she can’t be seen. Maybe it’s because they can’t ask questions if they can’t see her, can’t make her rethink her strange stalker like actions. Maybe it’s because wearing their clothes, Catra hasn’t exactly shaken off the rust of growing up in the Fright Zone.

Melog keeps her out of sight as they walk past Bow’s room, sending her a look when they hear his snores seeping out from under the door frame. Catra shrugs. 

With no guards around, Melog starts up again, “Why did they put Adora’s room so far from yours?” which Catra knows is probably code for, “how much longer do I have to keep this up?”

“You big baby,” Catra runs her hand over Melog’s tail, “And I dunno, how I am supposed to know the inner workings of Sparkles’ mind? I’m like, the first person new here that hasn’t been a prisoner.”

Her claws trail the wall and she keeps up with Melog’s steps. 

The fact that the room Glimmer put her in was where they’d been “keeping” Scorpia didn’t go over Catra’s head. Yeah, she and Scorpia are on better terms these days, but remembering how Scorpia left her for the Rebellion still brings a sting to Catra’s throat. Remembering that it was her own fault is like the punch in the gut she didn’t ask for, but probably deserv- WHACK!

“Ow!” Beyond the pain resonating in Catra’s forehead, she can hear Adora cry out. 

“Adora?!” Melog’s cloaking falls and Catra is standing in front of her, well, sort of girlfriend, wincing and holding her forehead there in her gray tank top and shorts.

“Catra?!” Adora yells with the same tone when she realizes what the invisible force she butted heads with actually is. “What are you doing out of bed?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” replies Catra.

Adora takes a guarded stance and Melog looks between the two of them before her shoulders fall, “I- I couldn’t sleep. I thought, um, that I could come see you? I mean, I did think you were going to be asleep and I thought I could just stay there with you-” as she speaks, a sort of softness overcomes Catra. How had she managed to survive on the other edge of Adora’s sword? No wonder her destiny as a Force Captain was doomed from the start, that her anger sputtered and left her burned out. Catra had so much love for this woman. It was always going to win out at the end of the day. “-is that creepy? I know, it’s creepy but I just really wanted to see you-”

Catra grabs Adora’s hand and looks her in the eye. “Do you wanna come lay down? With- with me?” 

“Mmhmm,” nods Adora. She intertwines their fingers together, and when Catra starts to pull her back up the hallway, she follows without hesitation.

Since they’re going back the way they came, past Bow and Glimmer’s rooms, Catra’s hand finds Melog’s forehead and the cloaking flows through their bodies. Catra and Adora don’t make any noise, don’t make any stops, beyond the looks Catra throws her over her shoulder. Right before they reach the door to Catra’s room, Adora squeezes Catra’s hand. 

“Hey,” her voice is barely above a whisper, “why were you out of bed?”

“No reason.” Catra turn her face away, hoping that the cover of the dark will hide her growing blush. She curls her tail around her waist and keeps it there to keep it from betraying her.

“Oh my gosh, Catra- were you coming to see me?” Adora throws her hands onto Catra’s shoulders, a playful instinct that Catra can’t fight the subconscious need to return.

Melog’s cloaking falls.

Grabbing Adora’s fingers, Catra pulls her sort of girlfriend to her front before grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the wall. Their noses touching, Catra lets herself smile, “Okay, maybe I was. You’re not the only person who doesn’t want to sleep alone.”

“Is it also cause you like me?” teases Adora. 

Even in the dark Adora’s the most beautiful thing Catra’s ever seen; blonde hair unrestrained and kissing her defined shoulder, standing up against the wall in her pajamas, she’s all Catra’s ever wanted.  

“You idiot,” Catra kisses her lips, “it’s actually because I love you.”

_

Catra wakes to a warmth against her back. A chest rising and falling, a hand lain across the crook of her elbow. Opening her eyes, she sees that it’s not only light out, but that the dawn has come and gone, turned in midmorning without their permission. There’s no way she and Adora haven’t slept in way past the time the promised to be up and ready to take on the challenges that awaited them in peacetime.

“Adora,” she mutters, rolling over and buries her face in the space between Adora’s shoulder and head, “you’re hogging the blanket.”

Adora doesn’t open her eyes as her grip on Catra’s waist tightens, “‘S’not fair. You have Melog.”

Running her hand down the side of her animal companion, Catra lets out of a breath. She’s sandwiched in between Melog and Adora’s warmth, the little spoon wrapped in Adora’s calm embrace. There’s nothing Catra would change about this. This is the way she’d keep things forever if it were up to her.

“We have to get up soon,” Catra tries, yawning and stretching her arms out.

Her girlfriend’s hands come down over hers, “Don’t want to.”

“Adora-”

“I want to stay with you, Catra,” her sleepy voice reverberates over Catra’s ears and they flatten under her chin. Tail winding around Adora’s waist, she pulls her closer and sighs.

“What if Rainbow and Sparkles come looking for us?” 

Adora, eyes still closed, lets out a happy sigh. “Let them.”

It goes without saying that Catra never has to sleep alone again.

reblogs > likes!

[thetravelerwrites]

Henry (Amphiptere Naga) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Naga Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Naga, Amphiptere, Best Friends to Lovers, Demisexual, Graysexual, Sex Worker, Cam Model, Mutual Pining Words: 6104

A gift from @oddacle​ to her friend/roommate! A woman moves back to her home town after an online friend offers her both a job and a place to stay. She accidentally learns an interesting secret about him that she tries, and fails, to hide. Please reblog and leave feedback! Art by @oddacle​!

The Traveler's Masterlist

You stretched at your desk and sighed. “Well, Henry, I should get to bed,” You said. “I’ve got a lot of packing to do tomorrow.”

“Dude, I can’t wait to see you in person finally!” He said over the headset. “I’m so excited you’re coming to work in the store.”

“Me too!” You said. “It’ll be nice to see you in person! And I can’t thank you enough for giving me a job and a place to stay. Working at the grocery store was crushing my soul.”

“I get that,” He told you. “I felt so out of place when I worked construction. I’m so glad I decided to save up to open the flower shop.”

“You and me both,” You said. “Flower arranging is something I love to do. I about fell out of my chair when you said you owned a shop.”

“Two more days and you’ll get to see it yourself,” He said with a laugh. “Go get some sleep. I’ll see you soon.”

“Night, Henry,” You said, smiling to yourself as you logged off. You had met Henry while gaming almost five years ago now, and he had been one of the best friends you’d ever had. At first you just played together, but after about a year, the two of you had exchanged phone numbers, and since then you texted each other constantly and called each other once a week. Despite that, you had never actually seen what he looked like. You didn’t mind; maybe he was body-shy. You could understand that.

When you finally quit the soul-suck of a job in the back of a grocery, he was quick to offer you a place in his shop, in your own home town, no less, as well as one of the apartments above the store. You’d been homesick since you moved away with your mom when you were younger, so the idea of going back had massive appeal. Combined with your dream job and working with your best friend, it was like everything you ever wanted was just falling into place.

That Saturday, you loaded every single thing you owned into a rental truck and headed to Santa Barbara, excited to start a new life and meet your best friend for the first time.

You pulled up to Henry’s Floral Arrangements later that evening just before sundown, driving nearly nine hours straight with only a few breaks for food, gas, and bathroom visits. You pulled out your phone and clicked Henry’s number.

“Hey, are you here?” He asked excitedly.

“Yep!” You said, stepping out of the truck. “I pulled up just now. Are you in the shop?”

“Yeah, I’m coming out! Be right there.” And he hung up.

You giggled at his enthusiasm and walked around the truck just as he came out of the shop, his face as excited as a brand new puppy with a brand new toy, and you stopped in your tracks.

He. Was. Beautiful.

He was a naga, but a rarer breed than average: an amphiptere. He had short, two pronged horns on his head and large wings on his back. His horns were teal, and the feathers of his wings were teal and ocean blue with black accents on the outside and grey on the inside, like the skin of his torso. His snake skin was teal and ocean blue as well, with giant black rings lining his back. His eyes were as golden as his nipple rings. He had lovely tattoos on his arms, neck, and back of waves and geometric shapes. He was lean and muscular, and had short black hair. He wore no clothing, so every inch of his glorious body was on full display.

You stood staring at him, unable to speak, as he slithered up to you. Oh god. This was not a possibility you had entertained. Living next to your best friend had sounded like a dream. But now… oh no, this was a disaster. How could you be attracted to him? You never felt attraction, not ever! Of all the times, of all the people, Henry had to be… this! This lovely specimen of a naga, and the best friend you’d ever had! What were you going to do?!

“You alright?” He asked, tilting his head and lowering himself down to look at your face.

You blinked and smiled breathlessly. “Yes! Yes, I’m great! It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“You too!” He reached out for a hug and you walked into it. His skin was cool and smooth to the touch. He smelled like peonies. “Come in, come in, let me show you around!”

“What about unpacking?” You asked.

“Oh, leave that till tomorrow,” He said. “Let’s order a pizza and eat in the shop.”

You grinned. “That actually sounds amazing.”

“Come on!” He held out his hand and took yours and pulled you into the shop.

Oh, it was incredible. It had just crested into the middle of spring and the seasonal flowers were exploding all over the place. Color was everywhere. You closed your eyes and just breathed in the fragrances.

“Have I died?” You asked, your eyes still closed. “I’ve died, haven’t I?”

He laughed. “I hope not, you just got here.” He picked up his cell phone from the counter. “Pepperoni and pineapple on thin crust, right?”

“Yep!” You said, sitting at the counter, your eye catching on the decorative cherry blossom bonzai tree that you’d sent him for Christmas two years ago. You weren’t sure if he’d even like it, much less have kept it, but there it was, right next to the register where everyone could see it. It gave you a warm feeling in your chest.

He took you to the second floor, where there were two apartments, one on either side. You couldn’t help but notice one half of the stairs was covered with a ramp, likely to make it easier for Henry to get to the second story.

He led you to the apartment on the right and opened the door. It was a modest place but comfortable, and from the smell it seemed like it was recently deep cleaned and freshly painted in a pretty holly-green color with blush pink accents. There was a vase with all your favorite flowers spilling out of it on the kitchen table. It was mostly furnished with older but functional furniture, so you hadn’t needed to bring any heavy wardrobes or mattresses or anything, thankfully. Most of what you had in your old place was junk anyway.

“I love it,” You told Henry. “And I love the flowers.”

“I thought it would be a nice touch,” He said, holding his arm almost shyly. “I wanted you to feel comfortable.”

“I feel more comfortable here than I did in the two years I spent in my last place,” You said truthfully. “You know, we can leave the unpacking for tomorrow, but can we go down and get my rig and gear and hook it up while we wait for the pizza? It’s the only thing I have that I don’t want to leave in a truck overnight.”

“I get that,” He said.

The two of you managed to get your PC, laptop, gaming gear, and computer desk up the stairs in one trip. There was a flat screen TV on the wall of the living room to which you hooked up your PC. You ran a diagnostic as Henry heard the buzzer from the door and rushed down to get the pizza. Then the two of you spent an incredible evening eating pizza, watching comedies on Netflix, and solidifying the strength of your friendship.

You were comfortable, more so than you had ever been with anyone. Five years of talking to him was wonderful, but being close, seeing his smile, hearing his laugh and the way his eyes crinkled when he did was pure magic.

Magic that you didn’t want to ruin by being weird or creepy just because you suddenly felt attracted to him. Would he be weirded out by the fact that your brain turned into goo the moment you saw him? Would he think it was just because of his looks? You didn’t want that.

And you didn’t want to fuck up what was already an amazing relationship. Hell, meeting him in person and hanging out with him had already been a huge test of your friendship; working with him and living next to him would be an even greater one. You didn’t want to complicate it even further with an, in all likelihood, one-sided attraction.

By the time the pizza was gone and he headed back to his apartment for bed, you’d already decided to put the attraction or any notion of a relationship beyond friends out of your head.

But by God, he was beautiful.

You sort of jumped into the deep end when you started in the shop: prom season was just beginning, so you spent weeks making corsages and lapel pins. Henry thankfully spared you from having to deal with spoiled teenagers, entitled moms, and annoyed jocks dragged in by their girlfriends. Henry seemed well practiced at fielding angry customers who couldn’t make up their mind.

After work, the two of you often ate dinner together, either in his place or yours. Even though you were usually exhausted at the end of the day, you still played games together at least four times a week from your respective apartments, talking to each other over headsets even though you were probably only two walls and twenty feet apart. Sometimes you took your laptop to his apartment and played at the same desk.

It went on that way for months. It was amazing and you treasured every minute you got to spend with him. Despite putting the idea of dating him away in the back of your head, it was easy to pretend like it was just the two of you, together, against the world

After prom season ended, business slowed dramatically. You weren’t as tired in the evenings, so when you weren’t playing games with Henry, you did a little writing. You were too shy to let anyone read it, even Henry, but it still felt good to have a creative outlet.

One night, as you were writing, you heard Henry’s voice over your gaming headset on the desk. The two of you had quit playing over an hour ago, so you put it on to see if he needed anything.

“You alright, Henry? Are you back online?”

He didn’t respond, so you thought maybe you were just hearing things, but as you went to pull your headset off, you heard him say, “I’m glad to see you again. I’ve missed you.” The sound of his voice was distant, like he didn’t have his headset on.

Did he have company? His voice sounded silky and sultry, a tone you’d never heard before, and you wondered briefly if he had a girlfriend, or boyfriend. Or whatever. He’d never mentioned anything like that to you, but you weren’t his mom; he was allowed to have private things he didn’t share with other people. You did, after all.

Still, the idea that he was in a relationship cut a little deeper than you would have liked.

You heard another voice, but it was strangely robotic sounding, like it was coming through a speaker, and you couldn’t quite make out what the other person was saying. Whoever they were, they sounded male. Maybe he was in a long distance relationship?

“Mm, I love it when you talk to me like that,” Henry said, a sexy lilt in his voice. “Tell me what you’d like me to do. I could touch myself. Would you like that?”

You blushed and your heart began to race. You shouldn’t be listening to this, you knew that. It was private and none of your business. But… you couldn’t take the headset off. You wanted to hear this. You wanted him to talk to you that way. Maybe through this person, vicariously, you could have an intimate moment with him. It may be the only chance you ever got.

You heard him moan over the headset, and a sparkling heat filled your body. You bit your lip at the thrill you felt, but you were unable to move, like a deer in headlights. There was a dangerous quality to this, the idea of getting caught listening in terrified you.

You heard the person on the computer say something, but you couldn’t understand them.

Henry responded, “Of course I will. I know how much you like that… mmm, that feels so good.”

Henry’s moaning over the headset made you feel both exhilarated and astonished. You felt like you could listen to him moaned for hours.

Henry grunted sharply and repeatedly, then gasped for a minute before speaking again.

“That was wonderful,” Henry said. “It always is with you.” The other person said something you couldn’t understand, and Henry answered, “Oh, I’m afraid we don’t have time for that, darling. Our date is almost over. If you’d like to purchase a ten minute extension, you can donate an additional five hundred tokens, or you can schedule another date from any of the open slots on the main website. You know I’m always happy to spend time with you.”

You sat up in your seat, confused. Tokens? Website? What was he talking about?

There were more words you could hear, and Henry tutted. “Aww, are you sure?” He pouted. “Well, alright. I hope you won’t make me wait long, darling. See you soon.”

There was some tapping on his keyboard, and there was a power-down sound. Henry sighed and you could hear him slither out of his office, closing the door behind him.

You sat for a moment, trying to wrap your head around what you’d heard. Was he getting paid to jerk off for people? You opened a web browser and typed “amphiptere cam model” into the search engine.

You knew amphiptere nagas were rare, of course, so you weren’t surprised to only have found two results. You were surprised to find Henry’s face on one of the profiles, wearing beautiful make up and a sexy underbust corset with matching opera gloves. You clicked it, and realized he was both very expensive and highly sought after, considering all of his five weekly slots were already filled for the next two months.

Henry was a cam model. And he was apparently very good at it.

You put a hand to your forehead, stunned. What was happening right now? This was something you could never have anticipated. He was hot, of course, but he always seemed like a shy, down-to-earth kind of guy to you, even after meeting him. Who knew he had this in him? You weren’t judging, it was just surprising.

You didn’t manage to get much sleep that night, and when you did, you dreamt of being on the other end of that screen and woke in a sweat.

The next morning, you stood in the shower with your thoughts in a roil. Should you tell him you know? Would he be upset with you? Probably; listening in was a huge breach of both privacy and trust. Oh, god, what had you done? How were you supposed to act around him now? He’d know something was wrong; you could never hide your emotions well and he knew you better than anyone. Was it too late to live in a cave and cut ties with society altogether?

No, there was no internet in caves. Fuck.

You couldn’t avoid him forever; you were due downstairs for work. You could tell him that you were sick, but knowing him, he’d shut down the shop for the day to take care of you. He was so damn sweet.

No, You said, mentally slapping yourself. Don’t get distracted by his adorableness! This is a crisis!

You got out of the shower and started brushing out your hair, your stomach in knots. A knock at the door made you jump clean out of your towel. Throwing on your robe, you went to answer it. Henry was standing there with a bag and coffee, and his eyes widened when he saw your bathrobe.

“Oh, sorry, I just came to bring some breakfast. Felt like treating you a little.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat and smiled. “Thanks, this is awesome. I’ll get dressed and meet you down in the shop. You’re the best.”

He gave you a full, sharp-toothed grin and snaked his way downstairs, leaving you to grip the door to keep from falling to your knees. Did he have to be so kind? He was the worst!

You met him downstairs and tried to be normal through breakfast, but all you could think of was the way he moaned last night and tried to keep the blush off your face. Work wasn’t any better, you had all of ten customers that day, so you spent most of it talking to Henry and daydreaming about him calling you darling. It was all you could do to hold it together.

After closing the shop, he asked if you wanted to have dinner and a game at his place, but you declined, saying you were tired. He seemed concerned but didn’t press it, and you were able to escape upstairs.

You made yourself some tea to try and settle your nerves, stress-eating girl scout cookies straight from the box as you waited for the water to boil. Was it going to be like this forever? This was torture.

Another knock at the door startled you into dropping your cookies.

“Fuck!” You hissed at yourself as you bent to pick up a box. “Get your shit together!”

Henry was at the door. He had a bag from a deli.

“I brought you soup,” He said. “You seemed like you weren’t feeling well today. Is anything wrong?”

You felt incredibly guilty, staring at that bag for a solid minute, unable to talk.

“Hey,” He said, frowning and squinting into your eyes. “What’s up? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, Henry,” You said without thinking.

“Sorry?” He said. “For what? What happened?”

You were having a hard time articulating your thoughts. You hadn’t meant to say sorry, and once it slipped out, your mind blanked.

“Look, can I come in?” He asked plaintively. “Something is obviously wrong. I want to help.”

You scrubbed your face. “Okay.”

He followed you in and laid the soup on the table. “So… tell me. What’s going on?”

“I don’t even know how to say it,” You said, looking around helplessly. Your eyes fell on your headset. You picked it up and listened to it, and you could hear the fan from his office running. “Here,” You said, handing it to him. “Listen.”

He put the headset on, frowning with confusion.

“Do you hear anything?” You asked.

“I think that’s the fan, right?”

“Yeah, from your office,” You said.

He laughed as he took it off. “I’m an idiot, I must have forgot to disconnect last night after we were playing.”

“Right, it was active last night. All last night. I could hear you.”

His face went from confusion to blank shock, his mouth hanging open.

“...oh,” He said quietly. “Oh, god.”

“I’m so sorry,” You said. “I shouldn’t have listened. I should have taken it off and ignored it. I’m so, so sorry.”

There was a pause. “How long did you listen?”

“I think it was the whole thing. I heard you… finish.” You blushed just thinking about it.

“That was a thirty minute session,” He said, confusion back on his face. “Why did you listen so long?”

You looked away and bit your lip, unable to meet his eyes.

“Did you… enjoy it?” He asked. He sounded almost hopeful.

You couldn’t speak, but you nodded once.

“Really?” You heard a smile in his voice, and you managed to look up. He had a goofy, sappy grin on his face. “You don’t think it’s gross or anything like that?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m curious, though. Why do you do it?”

“I only do it during the off seasons,” He said. “The first year was really hard for the store and I almost lost the shop. I got into camming to make ends meet, but the money was so good I just continued to do it when business is really slow. I’ve been able to save a lot of money this way. I was even thinking of opening a second location, and I think at the end of this season, I’ll have enough.” He looked very shy. “You really don’t mind it?”

You shook your head fervently. “No, not at all.” You looked at his earnest face. He didn’t seem angry, and while you were relieved, you also felt inquisitive. “What’s it like? Does it feel weird?”

“It did at first,” He admitted. “But it’s normal now. It’s actually fun, especially getting ready and putting on the clothes and stuff. I don’t really get to wear that stuff out, so it’s the only time I get to feel… I don’t know, fancy.”

You smiled softly. “I think I get that.”

“Actually,” He said, rubbing his neck. “I was going to record a free promo to put up on the website tonight. Do you want to help me do my makeup? I sort of self-taught myself, but I can never get the eyeliner right.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course, sure!” You said. “I really liked that corset I saw you in.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and smirked. “Did you Google me?”

“I had to,” You said. “Wouldn’t you?”

He laughed. “I guess.” He took your hand and led you toward the door and his apartment. “Come on. I’ve always wanted to have someone help with this. I’m never sure which colors compliment my skin.”

“Wait, let me grab my makeup bag,” You said, running back to your bathroom, snatching it up, and returning. “Okay, let’s go.”

Helping a guy with his makeup counted as a date, right?

He took you to his bedroom, which you’d never been. There wasn’t any furniture, not even a bed. Instead there was a huge nest of fluffy pillows and soft blankets which took up most of the floor space. He had a large walk-in closet where there was a hidden vanity with fairy lights around the mirror. The hangers had various corsets, fishnet shirts, and gloves. There was another desk that seemed to be a large jewelry case.

“This must have cost a fortune,” You said, impressed. You wished you had the confidence to wear some of this.

“A small one,” He told you. “Sometimes in camming, you have to spend to make money. The customers like variety; it’s why I record a new free promo every week. I don’t want my patrons to get bored with me.”

“Who could ever get bored with you?” You blurted without thinking.

You blushed. He blushed.

“Uh… I don’t have any chairs,” He said. “But you can sit on my tail, if you like.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, looking at his tail as it made a hump for you to rest on. “Won’t I hurt you?”

“No, no, not at all,” He said. “Please. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Really, it’s okay, I’ll stand,” You said, unable to even imagine sitting on his beautiful tail. “Now, let’s see. We’ll wash your face first and then we’ll start on your make-up. What about a gold lip? That’ll make your eyes pop.”

“Ooh, that’s a good idea,” He said. “I just bought some new shades recently, and I think there’s a gold in there.”

Applying his makeup for him was a stressful experience. You were eye to eye with him, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. His lips were inches away from your own, and you were having trouble not dwelling on that fact. He was cold-blooded, and therefore generated no heat, but you wondered if he could feel yours at this distance, if he enjoyed it or was made uncomfortable by it.

You did also notice, though, that his tail had wrapped around the two of you twice. He let his arms dangle, but you noticed the muscles twitching a few times and asked yourself if you might be making him self-conscious. After all, you were the only person in his real life who knew about all this.

“Makeup done,” You said. “You look amazing. I wish I could pull off a look this daring.”

“I bet you could,” He said with a smile, looking at you fondly. “Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen you done up before. I’ll have to take you somewhere really nice so that I can see what that looks like.”

Again he blushed, even through the makeup, and pressed his lips together.

You didn’t answer that statement, trying not to read too much into it, and instead looked over at his vast array of cute garments. “How about that gold and blue underbust with the Victorian scrolling pattern? I think it would look good with your makeup.”

“Oh, yes, that’ll work nicely,” He said, grinning. “And that shrug with those gloves. I usually work a little bit of a striptease into these promos.”

You cleared your throat. “You… uh… you’ll have to let me go,” You said, gesturing at his tail.

“Oh!” He jumped and unspooled, so to speak. “Sorry. Have you ever laced a corset before?”

“Yeah, once or twice. I’ve had friends who’ve worn them before. Would you like help?”

“Yes, please,” He said. He lifted his arms to let you reach around him and position the corset, gingerly moving the feathers of his wings out of the way so that you didn’t crush them. “Thank you for this. I’ve never gotten finished so fast before. I should ask you to help all the time.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” You said, pulling the strings taut. “This was fun.”

“I’m glad you think so, too,” He said, looking over his shoulder. “If you don’t have any plans after I’m done filming and editing the video, would you like to come back over and help me take all of it off?”

You looked at him and blushed.

“I didn’t mean that in a dirty way,” He said hurriedly. “It’s just nice having someone who knows and I can talk to about it.”

“I get that,” You said as he pulled on the gloves. “Are you ready to record?”

“Yeah,” He said. “Thanks for helping.”

“Sure,” You told him. “I has happy to. I’ll let you get to it, then.”

He nodded and you saw yourself out.

When you got back to your apartment and sat down at your gaming desk, you sighed heavily, the thoughts of how good Henry looked revolving in your mind. You were both extremely attracted to him and a bit jealous that he looked better than you in all that stuff. It actually made you laugh a little bit.

“Welcome back,” You heard Henry say, and you looked down at the headset laying on your desk.

Oh jeez, he left his headset plugged in again. God you loved him, but he was such an idiot sometimes.

“I’m glad you could join me. I’m hoping your having a lovely day.” You heard the soft shhff of him taking off one of the gloves. “I always love seeing your face. I love the way your hands move. I love the smell of your shampoo when it mixes with your perfume. I love that soft little smile that you get when you arrange flowers across the shop from me.”

…what? What did he just say?

“I hope you’re listening. I’ve tried so hard to say this to you when we’re face to face, but I can never seem to find the words. This way, I can say what I want. This way, if you don’t hear me, then I haven’t risked our friendship, and if you do hear and don’t feel the same, you can ignore it, and nothing has to change. But… if you do feel the same… come back. Please. This show is for you and no one else. I’ll be waiting for you.” You heard the headset being pulled off and laid down on the desk.

You stood up and did the same. He couldn’t mean you, could he? There was no way. Stunned, you walked back toward your front door and opened it, looking across the hall at Henry’s door.

It was cracked open.

With your heart in your throat and breathing like you just ran a mile, you pushed it open and walked slowly toward his office, only to find it empty. The headset was laying on the desk and the camera was off. Looking down the hallway, you saw the light in his bedroom was on and the door was also cracked. Swallowing hard, you walked down to his room and opened the door.

He was laying there, curled up around himself, laying with his head on his arms, looking a little forlorn.

“Henry?” You asked.

He popped up immediately, his eyes widening. “You came.” He whispered. “You actually came!” Before you could respond, he rushed up and snatched you off the ground, hugging you tight. “Does this mean you want me, too? The way I want you, I mean.”

“I… yes,” You said. “I just didn’t want you to think it was because of… well… all this.”

“I don’t care about that, I’m just so happy,” He said, kissing your cheek. “I’ve been in love with you forever, even before we met in person. I was just scared that if you found out about my second job, you’d be disgusted. Knowing you don’t mind it gave me the courage to try and confess.”

“I’m glad you did,” You replied, hugging him tightly around the neck. “I’d never have been able to do it.”

He pulled back and looked at you. “Can I kiss you, please?”

You laughed at the absurdity, but you appreciated that he asked first. He was thoughtful like that. You nodded, and he didn’t waste time, pressing his lips to yours hard enough that you could feel the fangs behind them.

His kisses became hungry, and he gripped your clothes. “I… um… don’t want to assume,” He said breathlessly between kisses. “But… um…” He looked over at his bed-nest, and regarded you with a questioning look.

“It’s okay,” You replied. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, too.”

He snaked over to the nest and lay you down in it, unbuttoning your shirt.

“Should I take off the corset for you?” You asked him.

“I can leave it on, if you like,” he said seductively, kissing your neck and leaving a trail of sparkling gold lipstick on your skin.

“Would that be uncomfortable?” You asked.

“Not at all,” He replied, his kisses moving lower. “I want to look good for you.”

“I’m not a client, Henry,” You said. “You don’t have to work so hard to impress me. I’m already in love with you.”

“That’s good to hear,” He said, his lips against your breast. “But it’s not about wanting to impress you and I don’t see you as a client. I see you as the woman I want to be with. I should put more effort into my time with you than anyone else. I want you to know you’re special to me.”

“You’ve done more than enough to make me feel special,” You said. “I want to return the favor.”

Your hand went into his hair as his tongue swirled around your nipple, and the lower half of his tail moved up around your head. When you turned to look at it, you saw a swollen, puckering slit, normally hidden underneath him as he moved, that he now revealed to you. You pressed your finger along the line, and he moaned against your skin. One of his hands reached down into your pants, into your underwear, and touched you.

You gasped softly at his fingers tickling your slit, you doubled your efforts on his own, moving your head so that your tongue could reach it and licking a slow stripe upward. A strangled, broken grunt came from him.

He continued to undress you slowly and kiss your body, touching you and teasing. You writhed underneath him while sucking at the slit on his body, watching as a bright golden organ slowly peaked its way out, followed by another. You were startled at first, but it was fascinating to watch. You took one in your hand and sucked on the tip of the other, reveling in the sounds that he made.

His lips finally came back up to meet yours, the need in his body evident as he lined one of his cocks up to you, the other resting against your clit. He rose up to look at you.

“Still okay?”

You nodded. “It’s okay.”

He began to push himself inside you, kissing your forehead and cheek as he did so. You gripped his shoulders and held on as he fully seated himself, his second member resting between you. The slit was farther down on his tail, about halfway down, so the position was a little awkward at first, but the two of you pulled each other close and found a rhythm that suited you.

He lifted you up easily, his tail between your legs, undulating into and out of you, and all you could do was hang on for the ride. You moaned, held securely in his arms, his wings flaring out behind him, the light of his bedroom lamp filtering through the feathers like sunlight through clouds.

“I’m so close,” He gasped, picking you up as a flood gushed from the cock you had been riding, splashing against your leg and his tail, before he moved you onto the second one and kept going.

“That’s handy,” You said, also gasping.

“When this one is done, the other one will be ready again,” He said as you bounced on him.

“Oh, god,” You wheezed. “What have I gotten myself into?”

He laughed breathlessly and kissed you again, hitting harder and faster. You felt your own wave coming fast and you began to moan and whimper, not able to control the sounds you made.

Finally, you came, and the rush of ecstasy filled your mind. You lay your head on his shoulder as you dangled in his grasp bonelessly, his tail still moving inside you slowly.

After giving you a moment to recover, he sped up again, and you came again. It might have been hours before the two of you found a stopping point, or more precisely, and exhaustion point. He lay you down in the nest, corset and makeup still on, and the two of you slept in a sweaty pile.

The next morning, he woke up with the makeup smeared across his face and a serious case of bed-head. You laughed.

“What’s funny?” He asked sleepily, smiling at you from the coil of his tail.

“I think I should have taken you up on the offer to help you dress down,” You said. “Let’s get that taken care of.”

You helped him out of his corset and the two of you stepped into the bathroom, three-fourths of which was just the shower. Stepping into the shower, you soaped him down and washed his long body, and he did the same for you. The two of you couldn’t help kissing and giggling and cuddling the whole time.

He ordered in breakfast as you dashed across the hall to fetch some clothes. When you got back, you said, “You didn’t get to record your promo.”

“I can do it tonight,” He said. “Will you help me with it?”

“Of course,” You said. “I’ll be your manager or assistant or whatever you’d like to call me.”

“I’d like to call you my girlfriend, actually,” He said with a smile.

“I like the sound of that,” You replied, hugging him around the waist. “Partners in all things.”

“I like that, too. Speaking of which, I think I might be able to open that second location sooner than I thought.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, if you live with me in my apartment, we can rent out your apartment, and the extra income will help. Two birds, one stone.”

You smiled. “Sounds good to me. As long as I’m with you.”

“Always.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 2/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: thank u so so much if you left a lil love or a reblog on the first chapter of this!!!! it honestly means the world and i do see and appreciate it all so thank u SO much! hope u all enjoy the next chapter!

last chapter: December- A'whora and Tayce finally kissed after months of build-up after A'whora was jealous of the attention Tayce recieved on a night out.

this chapter: September- On a damp, bright Saturday in September, six flatmates move into their student flat and meet for the first time.

***

september- i can’t remember when we met

It’s a damp, bright day when Tayce arrives in the city for the first time.

She’s been here before- once when she was eight and again for the open day- but today it’s as if she’s seeing everything through fresh eyes. The sunshine on the puddles on the pavement gives everything a sparkle and a kind of magic, and the blue sky that pokes out from the jagged edges and roofs of stone buildings fills her with a sense of excitement and optimism.

They’ve been on the road since nine in the morning and awake since seven, and Tayce should be tired, shattered even, but she feels energised and alive as she peers out the passenger window and drinks in every last little detail of the place she’s going to be calling home for the next few years: the cobbled roads that make her Mum worry about the car’s suspension, the way the streets and roads seem to snake, dip and overlap over each other in a series of bridges and tunnels that make it almost impossible to navigate, every single little cafe and boutique and restaurant and office and kebab shop. The signs for places she’s never heard of and the buses on their way there.

Nothing can dull her excitement when they pull up on the narrow, hilled street where her block of flats are hiding, not even her Dad almost having a nervous breakdown at the wheel about the lack of parking. They decide to throw caution to the wind and park on the double yellow lines outside, her parents hurriedly helping her with her heavy, stuffed suitcase and the bin bag with all her bedding in it and walking with her as she not so much trundles but drags her things through the gates into the courtyard. Tayce takes in her surroundings with darting eyes, too much to drink in at once. There’s a high stone wall in the far left-hand corner and what looks to be the laundry room on the ground floor of the building beside it. A few scrubs of plants lined with bricks are dotted around the courtyard, where a few students are already sitting smoking. The rest of the buildings that hem them in are tall with little windows dotted all over them, and each side is painted a different colour: white, powder blue, or coral red. It’s an interesting combination but Tayce supposes she doesn’t have to look all too long or all too hard at the outside of the building if she’s going to be living inside it.

There’s some little tables set up outside with uni staff manning them, so Tayce leaves her parents with her things while she goes over to pick up her keys. It’s not a long process- she gives her name and she gets handed two keys (which she’s told are her room key and her flat key) with a keyring on them, a messy scribble that reads block 4, flat 10, room 2 with a four-digit code for the front door of the block. A welcome pack gets thrust into her other hand, and she’s sent on her way with an “enjoy freshers!”.    

It doesn’t take the three of them long to find block four, but they’re instantly dismayed to find out that flat ten is on the top floor and there’s no elevator. Tayce’s Dad is left to carry her suitcase up each flight of stairs while her Mum takes the bin bag and casts a judgemental eye over each floor of the echoey stairwell, clearly nervous about leaving her oldest child in the care of five strangers who could all very well be psychopaths.

“Mum,” Tayce cocks an eyebrow at her, reaching out to loop her arm through hers as they reach the top floor and the door of her flat. “I’ll be fine, okay? I’m a smart, sensible, responsible, gorgeous young lady. You did a great job raising me, I’ll be fucking golden, okay?”

“Hey! Watch your language, missus,” her Mum warns her, and Tayce stops herself from rolling her eyes and arguing about the fact that she’s about to begin her actual journey towards adulthood in favour of giving her Mum’s arm a squeeze of apology. “Of course you’ll be fine, I know you’ll be fine. You’re still my baby, though, I’m allowed to worry.”

“I know,” Tayce smiles sheepishly, looking down at her phone at the message she’s got from her sister. Opening it, she ends up snorting with laughter and beckoning her Dad over to look. “You should probably be more worried about what these three are getting up to with Gran, though.”

“Shit in the kettle,” her Mum exhales exasperatedly as she looks at the photo on the screen- Tayce’s sister mid-scream in the garden, as her two brothers and her Gran appear to be in the middle of a silly-string fight. Tayce is doubled over as her Mum turns to her Dad, insisting that she knew they should’ve taken them all on the journey up. Tayce is inclined to agree- she knows there wouldn’t have been space for all of them as well as her huge suitcase, but her family are close and she’s used to doing everything together. As much as she’s excited for uni, it’s going to be weird living somewhere other than her big crazy, busy house in Newport, with constant noise and bustle and the walls almost bursting at the seams with love.

If she thinks about it too much though she’ll end up getting emotional, so she pulls her keys out of the pocket of her jacket and flips her hair over her shoulder, because it’ll make things easier for her parents if they think she’s as confident and self-assured as she seems. “Besides, I’m sure the girls I’ll be living with will all have their heads screwed on alright.”

As she turns the key in the lock and opens the door, she’s met with a loud blast of music from the hallway that almost physically knocks her back a bit. Tayce turns to her Mum and Dad, smiling tightly as if to urge them not to let the loud music discredit the point she’s made.

“Hello?” Tayce yells into the hallway, tentatively approaching the first room where the door’s open and that the music is blaring out of. When there’s no answer she peers through the doorframe, a little nervous. Inside there’s a single bed, a cupboard, a set of drawers, a desk, and a bedside table all in the same pale wood-effect colour. There’s also a sink, a mirror, and a window. It’s all a very basic set of furniture, but the girl inside the room is livening the surroundings up a bit. Her hair falls in bouncy brown curls that rest on her shoulders, with a purple ribbon that snakes through them and is tied in a bow at her parting. She’s pale with dark eyebrows but the little absent-minded smile on her face goes some way to assuage Tayce’s nerves, and she’s humming along with her music as she unpacks her clothes from the suitcase she’s heaved onto the bed.  

(It occurs to Tayce, as a result of the fact that Madonna is playing and that the girl’s wearing a red flannel shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted Mom jeans, that at least she won’t be the only lesbian in the flat.)

It’s the relief that prompts Tayce to yell out a “hey!”, which in turn makes the girl in the room yelp and snap her head around to face her, her mouth set in a slack-jawed expression of surprise which quickly melts into one of relief.

“Fuck me sideways, I just about shat myself there!” she laughs loudly, immediately turning down her music. “Oh my God, hi babes! I’ve got a flatmate, finally! We gettin’ pished or what?”

Tayce bursts out laughing, darts her eyes to her Mum and Dad’s slightly horrified expressions from further down the hall. “Bit early for that, nah?”

“It’s never too early in Scotland!” the girl cackles, approaching Tayce and immediately giving her a hug. “Hey flatmate, I’m Lawrence! Do you want a drink?”

Tayce keeps trying not to laugh but fails when Lawrence looks out into the hall and sees Tayce’s Mum and Dad, her face immediately falling in embarrassment.

“Oh. Hi, Mr and Mrs Flatmate! I’m Lawrence!”

Tayce snorts at the way her Dad gives her a resigned wave and how her Mum’s face is the picture of grimaced concern.

“I’m Tayce. That’s my Mum and Dad,” she introduces. Then, slightly embarrassed about the fact she’s got her parents with her, follows it up with, “But they’ll be leaving soon anyway.”

She hears a muttered “charming” from her Dad.

“What room’ve you got?”

“Uh…” Tayce checks her keyring, reminding herself. “Two.”

“That’s next to me!” Lawrence says enthusiastically, banging on the wall at her side as if to make her point. “Here, I’ll let you go get unpacked and say goodbye to the fam and we’ll chat after that, awright? I’ll see you after.”

“See you in a bit,” Tayce replies, trundling her suitcase down the hall as her parents follow her. As she unlocks the door to her room, she turns to them and smiles encouragingly. “See? She seems nice!”

Her Mum’s raised eyebrows prompt her not to push things.

Tayce’s room is identical to Lawrence’s- the furniture’s all in the same positions and all in the same style. A little further down the corridor past the other bedrooms is the kitchen and living-room area, which her Mum runs her fingers over to check it’s been cleaned properly. When it’s been established she’s satisfied with it the three of them return to Tayce’s room, empty apart from her belongings. The blank canvas fills her with a little tingle of excitement at the possibility of getting to decorate it all to make it properly hers, chill and cosy just like her room at home. When she thinks about home again, though, it makes her want to burst out crying and never stop, so she turns around to her parents and takes a little breath, fixing a smile onto her face.

“Well! I guess you two can leave me to get up to all sorts of mischief now. Drink beer upside-down from a tube or…whatever happens here.”

Her Mum tearfully laughs and it becomes even harder to stop herself getting upset. She asks Tayce if she wants she and her Dad to stay to help her get unpacked or if she wants to go for some food anywhere, but Tayce’s Dad, stoic as ever, says what Tayce wants to but won’t in case she hurts her Mum’s feelings- that Tayce will want to talk to her flatmate, and she won’t want her parents hanging around for too long.

So they hug goodbye tightly with tears in their eyes and snuffly noses, Tayce promising to phone every week (but she’ll probably get so homesick that it’ll be more frequent than that). She feels guilty as all hell waving her parents off down the stairs, as if she’s leaving some well-loved pet behind at a rehoming centre, but she tries to push down her emotions in favour of the small rush of excitement that’s beginning to bubble up through the upset- she’s here, it’s uni, it’s freshers, this big event that’s been built up so much in her mind.

She hopes it lives up to the hype.

It’s when she closes the front door that she hears a movement behind her, a series of small thuds against the floor.

“Right! You wanting a drink now?”

Lawrence sits in Tayce’s room while she unpacks and they talk like old friends. There’s not really any awkwardness with Lawrence; she’s outgoing and energetic and knows how to hold a conversation. Because of this, Tayce would’ve guessed she’d be studying something to do with film and TV, but it turns out she’s studying textiles and she gets excited when Tayce tells her she’s studying fine art because they’ll both have lectures at the art college. Lawrence is seventeen which shakes nineteen-year-old Tayce to her core, and they have a huge discussion about how the hell they’re both starting uni at the same time when there’s such a disparity in age between them. It turns out that the answer is Tayce taking a year out to decide what she wanted to do with her life after sixth form, and a Scottish school system that lets kids start school at the age of four. Lawrence doesn’t seem worried that her inability to get into clubs will hinder her freshers’ week, as she’s got a friend who’s in second year and is letting her borrow her ID for the week (Lawrence’s post-9pm alias for the next seven days is named Rosé McCorkell).

“How come you didn’t just take a year out and wait til you were eighteen?” Tayce asks, taking a sip of peach schnapps from one of the plastic tumblers Lawrence has offered her.

“Because I didn’t want to,” Lawrence shrugs, and Tayce raises her eyebrows in a fair enough. “I wanted to leave home- not in a bad way, but I was just bored. You’d be too if you lived there.”

Lawrence is from Helensburgh, a town Tayce has never heard of but apparently has a Waitrose and that’s about it. This indicates to Tayce that Helensburgh is a town full of Tories. No wonder Lawrence was in such a rush to get away.

Her parents seem like they’re the cool kind of parents. They dropped her off at the flat at two in the afternoon with her suitcase and a Sainsbury’s bag full of alcohol for the week (hence the reason she has so much for someone who can’t legally buy it). Her Dad doesn’t really agree with what she’s decided to study, because apparently she got the grades for something like Law or Medicine and he wanted her to do something where she was guaranteed stability and a career. In response to this Lawrence apparently sent off five different applications to five different art schools in one of the most silent, passive-aggressive fuck you-s in history.

Tayce can relate to this. She tells Lawrence what it was like to have finally decided on something to do at uni, only to be met with “are you really sure?” and “do you think that’s wise?” and “but what will you do with that?”. They moan about how it’s so frustrating to have to justify wanting to study something when really the only desire comes from just finding it interesting, or fun, or being passionate about it.

They’re about to launch into a conversation about what each of their experiences at school had been like (stemming from a story Lawrence told her about telling her guidance counsellor to get fucked when he suggested she should train to be a teacher) when there’s a commotion out in the hall, which in turn makes the two of them run to the doorframe in excitement. They find two new flatmates laughing and grappling with their suitcases which appear to have become stuck in the small hallway: one with straight, flowing dark hair that hangs over her shoulders, dark makeup, leopard print sweatpants and an excitable smile on her face, and the other with a chaotic blonde bun that looks as if they’ve slept in it, a black bralet underneath a denim jacket, and a little Kate Moss-esque gap in their teeth when they smile.

“Here! You wantin’ a hand with those?” Lawrence yells, and the two newbies give a shriek of delight, abandoning their suitcases and climbing over them to hug their two new flatmates.

They talk at about a mile a minute as they introduce themselves and pile into Tayce’s bedroom, uninvited but by no means unwelcome. Leopard-print sweatpants’ name is Tia and bun-head’s name is Bimini. In a spooky twist of fate it turns out that their seats happened to be opposite each other on the train up, and they got talking and realised they were both going to be at the same uni, in the same accomodation, and in the same flat. They’ve been excited and a little drunk ever since, Bimini tells them, the trolley on the train acting as a mobile bar for the pair of them to order endless amounts of prosecco and toast to their new friendship.

Lawrence and Tayce decide to let the pair drop their things in each of their rooms, while they relocate to the kitchen which is much bigger. Lawrence sets all her alcohol out on the rickety dining table while Tayce thuds herself down on one of the purple sofas, looking out of the adjacent window and taking in the views out onto the buildings and streets below. She’ll go exploring tomorrow, get her bearings a bit. Tonight is for getting silly with her new flatmates and sussing them all out. She’s lucky, though, that they all seem nice enough so far.

“They seem nice, don’t they? The other two,” Tayce turns to Lawrence and verbalises what she’s thinking, and Lawrence nods in agreement as she crosses over to the sofa and takes her cup to refill it.

“Yeah. I think we’ve got lucky, to be honest, My friend in second year- that one whose ID I’m borrowing- she’s told me total horror stories about weirdo flatmates.”

“We’ve still got two to arrive, there’s still time,” Tayce considers with a snort, and Lawrence shrugs in agreement.

Bimini emerges first, wedging the fire extinguisher against the kitchen door to prop it open so that any of the other new flatmates arriving will instantly know where they are. Lawrence shoves a tumbler into their hand like some sort of bartender and they all squash onto the sofas as they chat to their new flatmate. Bimini is another one who’s glad to get out of their hometown, and has come to uni to study journalism.

“I’ve already got the fucked sleeping pattern and constant hangover, so I’m halfway there,” they say almost proudly, their accent making Tayce laugh in spite of herself.

Tia joins them all as Bimini’s halfway through a rant about how hard it was to try and sort accommodation for uni, which the other girls agree with.

“They seemed to think I could commute from Helensburgh to here every day,” Lawrence rolls her eyes, and Bimini laughs in agreement.

“Well I had a fuckin’ nightmare as well. They tried putting me in a twelve-person flat at first-”

“That’s not a flat, that’s a fuckin’ small village!”

“Right! So then they kept trying to shoehorn me into an all-boys flat, because fuck, I don’t know…they heard the words ‘non-binary’ and thought ‘man’ I guess?”

“Jesus,” Tayce wrinkles her nose up. She can’t think of anything worse than having to share with a bunch of guys. No wonder Bimini didn’t want to.

Bimini laughs ruefully as they finish their story. “In the end I rang them up and said look, what do you want…do you want me to scan you a picture of my fuckin’ genitals? Why are you so obsessed, love, just give me the fuckin’ flat I want before I pass out!”

“I never thought how annoying that must be. You know, the whole all-girl flats and all-boy flats,” Tia muses, Tayce nodding in agreement. Bimini waves a dismissive hand.

“Aw, don’t get me wrong, I’m sort of glad they exist. I mean I already know I’m gonna like living here with you lot way more than a bunch of rugby lads who barely understand the concept of women, never mind me,” Bimini smiles, and the fact they’re already feeling positive about the flat makes Tayce’s heart warm. She feels the same- she’s getting good vibes from her flatmates already, and they’re doing wonders to offset the rumbling feeling of homesickness she’s pushed to the back of her mind.

Talk turns to Tia, who’s travelled all the way up from Essex. She’s studying computer science and is, in her own words, excited to turn up to her lectures and remind everyone that women exist. She’s another girl who’s come to uni straight from school, and from the sounds of it Tia couldn’t wait to leave. Essex girls- or at least the ones in Tia’s year- seemed to live up to the stereotype, and the fact that Tia didn’t walk around constantly caked in fake tan, lash extensions and heavy makeup made her a walking target for catty comments, poorly-concealed laughter and the occasional shove in the corridor.

Tayce laments with the others about how mean people could be in school. She didn’t have things too bad, she considers. Tayce was well-liked and popular for the right reasons. She always made sure to be kind to everyone (because her Gran would’ve killed her if she wasn’t) and if she had any nasty comments to make she kept them strictly between her and her best friend Cara, who she knew wouldn’t spread things around.

(She’s also the only person at school she came out to. She imagines her high school life would’ve been a lot different if she’d brought that into the mix.)

They’ve moved on to discussing what they think uni life will be like (Bimini is particularly looking forward to getting to make pancakes for breakfast every day) when Tayce notices Lawrence’s gaze lock onto something behind Tayce’s head. Her face grows shocked and awed, and a massive smile starts to spread across it. As Tayce turns around she sees another girl standing at the doorway into the kitchen with a similar expression on her face.

Tia, who’s sitting beside Lawrence, shoots the girl a smile and a wave. “Hey-”

“Aw, fuck off! Not you! Not you!”

Tayce flinches as Lawrence leaps up from the sofa, running across the room to wrap the girl in a massive hug. Their height difference makes the hug look funny, as the new girl is tall. Tayce always thought she was tall, but this girl almost defies the laws of physics. In fact, everything about the girl seems to work in extremes- her blonde hair is so thick and full of volume that her curls seem to stick out at all angles, barely tamed by a pink scrunchie keeping half of it in order on the top of her head. Her makeup is bold and perfect, two sweeps of eyeliner framing her big eyes and pink eyeshadow dusted over her lids. Two huge heart-shaped purple earrings hang from her ears embossed with the word “bitch”, which skews Tayce’s first impression somewhat. But the girl is also in a full pink tie-dye Barbie tracksuit, so she can’t be all that mean.

Lawrence finally releases her from the hug, and the girl’s laughing breathlessly as she continues to talk. “What are you actually doing here?”

The girl splutters a laugh, shakes Lawrence by the shoulders. “Bitch! I live here! I’m moving in!”

Lawrence gives a screech of excitement again, throwing her arms around the girl and swaying her from side to side. Tayce shares a look of bewildered amusement between Bimini and Tia, none of them any the wiser as to what’s going on.

When Lawrence releases the girl again, she addresses the others this time. “Well, folks, it looks like we finally got a shatmate!”

“Fuck up!” the girl shoves her side, then dashes over to the sofas. “Hey! Nice to meet you all, I’m Ellie!”

The others all get up to hug her excitedly and introduce themselves, happy that they’re all one step closer to having a full flat, and Ellie budges up in between Lawrence and Tia on the sofa opposite Tayce as she chats about herself and learns about the others. It turns out that she and Lawrence are old friends in the most bizarre coincidence ever.

“Every Easter my family would go down to the Haven holiday park in Northumberland,” Ellie tells them the story, looking at Lawrence with a rueful smile on her face. “And we’d always get the same caravan. Well, my family got talking to the family in the caravan next door, and they had a daughter the same age as me and my brother. Turns out it was this cunt, wasn’t it!”

Lawrence laughs, smacking Ellie on the arm. “We ended up going down at the same time every year! This was from when we were six right up until we were like, sixteen. And me and her and her brothers would cause absolute abject riots together. We’d spend all day in the arcade doing the dance mats-”

“And we’d always thrash you because you were so shit!” Ellie squeals, the others laughing as Lawrence gives Ellie another thump. “I still remember when you kicked the poor guy in the Bradley Bear costume in the balls because I was so scared of him that I was crying!”

“Jesus Christ, we’re really kicking off with the embarrassing stories already,” Lawrence rolls her eyes, but from the little twinkle in them Tayce can tell she’s not really too bothered.

Ellie’s another seventeen year old (Tayce makes some joke about Scotland’s school system sending infants to university) but she seems to have ordered a fake ID off some website and it looks legit enough, Tayce inspecting it as she passes it around proudly. She’s from a place called Broughty Ferry (“but it’s easier to just say Dundee”) which has a beach and a funfair and a caravan park.

“It’s the posh part of Dundee, which is a bit of a juxtaposition in all honesty,” she explains, earning a blurt of a laugh from Bimini.

Ellie’s the first in her family to go to university, and she’s studying costume design which makes Lawrence and Tayce excited about having someone else to walk over to the college of art with in the mornings. It turns out she’s got two brothers, one of which is her twin, and she and Tayce bond over how weird it’ll be to not be living with their siblings for the first time in their lives.  

Tayce doesn’t know when the minutes turn to hours but they do, the sky outside gradually growing a little darker before she even realises it. In all honesty, she feels she’s got lucky with her flatmates; they all seem to be a good laugh and kind and normal enough. It’s odd, though, that there’s still the five of them. Tayce checks her phone and she sees that it’s gone seven.

“Do we think the other girl’s going to come tomorrow?” she wonders out loud, as Tia tops up Ellie’s glass with the litre bottle of vodka she’s brought with her.

“Maybe? Bit weird not coming for the first night of freshers,” Ellie wrinkles her nose in disapproval.

“Well maybe she’s got a long haul flight or something,” Tia shrugs.

“I hope she’s not posh.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and turns to her friend. “Lawrence, you think anyone that’s from anywhere south of Paisley is posh.”

Tayce snorts at Ellie’s delivery and Lawrence’s affronted reaction, despite the fact she couldn’t put Paisley on a map if you paid her. Just then, Bimini emerges from the hall, having been to their room to grab some cigarettes so they can smoke out the window.

“We talking about the last flatmate? There’s someone moving around in the room next to mine.”

Tayce’s eyes widen a little as she looks at the others. “Have they just arrived?”

“Nah, door was shut so they’ve probably been there a while, we just ain’t noticed. Too busy getting bevved.”

“How come they’ve not come through?” Lawrence asks, her eyes narrowing. Ellie gives her a dig in the ribs with her elbow, her drink sloshing out of her glass a little.

“Because you screeching every word you speak doesn’t exactly scream ‘calm, welcoming environment’?”

“Did you knock on the door?” Tayce asks Bimini, who pulls a face.

“Well, it was kinda awkward. Think they might’ve been crying. I could hear a lot of sniffing. Still, maybe they just got a runny nose. Or they were doing a key.”

The girls all splutter at Bimini’s turn of phrase, but something heavy and uncomfortable lodges itself in Tayce’s heart at the thought of one of her new flatmates in their room on their own, alone and upset. That could very well have been Tayce if she hadn’t had Lawrence’s infectiously funny energy to pull her out of her potential slump. She decides to slide off the sofa, decisive if a little nervous.

“I’ll go see if I can talk to them.”

“Should we come with you?” Ellie asks earnestly, earning her a snort from Tia.

“Babe, the last thing she wants if she’s upset is all of us barging into her room half-drunk and hyper!”

As the others laugh, Tayce watches an ashamed little blush colour Ellie’s face. She shrugs and addresses her new flatmates as she heads towards the doorframe. “I’ll be five minutes tops. Then we can all get ready to go out.”

Tayce leaves and her plan makes the others give a little cheer of anticipation. She’s admittedly a little nervous, though. She doesn’t want to disturb her new flatmate if they just want to be left on their own, nor does she want to annoy them or give the impression of being too nosy. The only thing that keeps her approaching the room beside hers, however, is the knowledge that if it had been her in their position, she’d have wanted the same.

The door to the girl’s room is slightly ajar, but Tayce still knocks before she pushes it open a little. She doesn’t hear a “go away” or a “piss off”, so she takes that as a cue to go inside. As the room is gradually revealed to her, Tayce realises that Bimini was right when they said she must have been there for a while- the room is more or less fully decorated. There’s a string of pink fairy lights which gives the room a soft, warm glow, and photos are stuck to most available surfaces. A rose gold Macbook sits on the desk beside a little money plant in a dark green pot, and there’s stationary all perfectly laid out too. Everything is tidy and neatly in its place, and on top of the bed with its palm leaf printed duvet cover and pillows a girl is sitting curled up into a ball, hugging a well-worn cuddly toy cat to her chest which is immediately discarded under her pillow when she realises Tayce’s eyes are on her.

“Hey,” Tayce begins softly, acutely aware she’s intruded on an emotional moment. “Do you mind if I come in?”

The girl swipes two perfectly applied acrylics under her lashes, snuffles and gives a forced smile. “No, of course! No. It’s fine, come in.”

Tayce smiles tightly as she crosses the room, perches on the edge of the girl’s bed awkwardly. “I’m Tayce, by the way.”

The girl takes a little breath and composes herself. Her makeup is still perfect save from the small black smudges at her lower lash line and the way a little bit of her foundation has rubbed off on her nose. Her smile grows a little more genuine as she introduces herself to Tayce in her Northern accent. “I’m Aurora. Sorry, this is so embarrassing!”

“Oh, babe, don’t worry,” Tayce reassures her, shaking her head. “Honestly I was almost like that leaving my parents as well. Only reason I wasn’t was because I had the others to take my mind off things.”

“Still, not exactly a cracking first impression I’m making. Hiding in my room like a freak,” Aurora rolls her eyes at herself, stretching her legs a bit so they’re not hugged at her chest. She gives a little sigh. “Just…it was hard leaving my sister. We’re really close and I’ve not been away from her like this before. Longest was probably a week on year six camp and I cried like a baby every night then as well. Good to know not much has changed.”

Tayce smiles gently at her joke. “It’s alright, I don’t think I’ve matured much since I was in year six either.”

Aurora lets out a genuine giggle and tucks her long, blonde hair behind her ears. Knowing she’s helped her feel a little better reassures Tayce that coming to see her was the right thing to do.

“Probably a good thing that you decorated your room first anyway. I still haven’t made my bed, that’s a job for drunk me coming in tonight,” Tayce continues, heartened as Aurora laughs again. “You’re gonna hear me stumbling around with a sheet over my head like a Scooby-Doo ghost.”

“I’d offer to help but my goal for the night is to get so drunk that I forget about missing my family entirely, or that I even have a family. Or that I’m even a sentient human being.”

“Oh, that’s the goal right there. First night of freshers, gotta go big or go home,” Tayce winks, and the pair of them share a smile.

“So wait, are you next door to me then?” Aurora asks, tilting her head with intrigue.

“I’m on that side, Bimini’s on your other side,” Tayce points at each wall in turn, and Aurora nods. Tayce bounces a little on the bed as she slaps her lap decisively. “Speaking of, d’you want to come meet everyone?”

Tayce can see the uncertainty and hesitation on Aurora’s face. She clearly notices Tayce watching her, because she meets her eyes and gives a bashful sort of smile. “God, honestly, I promise I’m not normally this shy. I’m just scared that everyone thinks I’m a total weird bitch for hiding in my room.”

“They don’t at all!” Tayce protests, smiling kindly at Aurora as she insists. “They’re all lovely, honestly. Bimini is so fun already, Tia is really nice and so’s Ellie, and it’s impossible to be sad when Lawrence is around, she’s hilarious. C’mon, I’ll go with you.”

“God, I’ve probably ruined all my makeup,” Aurora moans, sliding off her bed and crossing the room to look at her reflection in the mirror. She turns around to face Tayce as she speaks again. “Do I look like total shit? You have to be honest with me, we’re flatmates.”

Tayce laughs at Aurora’s joke, and she looks properly at her flatmate. She’s got these big brown eyes and long lashes and Tayce is already a little jealous of both of them. Her lips are full and her nose is small and her skin is clear and glowing.

She’s really pretty.

“You look lush,” Tayce smiles supportively, putting a hand on the doorhandle and making to open it. “Don’t be nervous. I’ll even be your government assigned emotional support flatmate tonight, if you want.”

“Tonight? I think I’ll need one every night,” Aurora laughs bashfully, tucking her hair behind her ears again. “This was really kind of you, y’know. Thanks, Tayce.”

Tayce opens the door and holds it open for her, glad she’s drawn her new flatmate out of her shell and excited for the first night of freshers to properly begin.

“No worries. Let’s go get drunk.”

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 35

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----

Chapter 35

“I’m going to miss this little place,” Ron said. 

“It was a good place,” Harry agreed, using his wand to lift the final suitcase into the pile of things that needed to be sent to Nottingham. “Small, but nice. Nice and cosy, I’d imagine.”

Ron nodded, looking around at the still-furnished flat he would be leaving behind in a few short minutes. He really had liked living here — not so much for the place itself, but because of what it meant. It was the first place he and Hermione had shared together. The first place they could call their own, even if it never truly belonged to them. They didn’t even own the furniture, yet… it had felt like theirs. 

He remembered the nights falling asleep with Hermione in his arms or waking up with her beside him. Or waking up to find her already up — on weekends still in her pyjamas and a pot of coffee already made; on work days, dressed and showered and nudging him to also get up lest he be late. 

There had been times where they had curled up together under a blanket on the sofa, talking and laughing, sometimes getting into petty arguments about one thing or another. Sometimes their talking would become intimate, and it’d lead to kissing, sex, or just straight up romance where they would fall asleep holding hands. 

The kitchen was where they cooked food — Ron learning how to cook out of necessity with Hermione’s crazy work hours. 

Even the bathroom held some memories — especially the times (as rare as they were) where Hermione wasn’t in a rush and she’d let him jump in the shower with her. 

Of course, he knew these things wouldn’t change in their new place, but there was something special about it being their first. 

But he also knew that their new house would create so many more memories over so many more years, and he was looking forward to the rest of his life living there — with the absolute love of his life. 

“I’m also keen to see what you’ve done with the new place since I saw it last, though,” Harry added. 

“Not much,” Ron confessed. “It didn’t need much work. Just the protective enchantments, really. So no peeping neighbours wonder why we never have to garden, or why there is smoke in the chimney all year round.” 

The biggest change they’d made in the last month of owning the house and not living in it had been purchasing all of their own furniture. They now had their own bed, their own sofas, their own table, their own kitchen appliances (which Ron was still getting the hang of). They’d gotten the keys in December, slightly before Christmas, and had spent the last six weeks preparing to move into it, all at the same time trying to enjoy their short break away from work, and spending time with family. 

But everyone had volunteered to pitch in to help — Harry and Ginny helping with the packing, Hermione’s parents even making the two and a half hour drive to help them with the furniture deliveries. Molly had cooked them a week’s worth of meals so they wouldn’t have to worry about it. 

And today was the day. January, and finally they were moving into their new house. 

“The two of you are taking a lot of huge steps together,” Harry said after a moment, and there was an element of pride in his voice. “You’re in this for the long haul, huh?”

Ron turned to Harry, about to ask where he’d been for the past almost three years, but stopped himself when he saw Harry’s mischievous grin. 

“Ha, ha, very funny.” 

Harry shrugged, and then put his arm across Ron’s shoulders. “It really is great. I love you guys, you’re my family, and as much as you drive each other crazy, it’s a good kind of crazy. I swear you argue less now that you're together than you did when you weren't. You really love each other.”

“More than anything,” Ron said. Over the years, talking about his feelings to Harry had become slightly easier. In fact, talking about his feelings in general had become easier the moment he could admit them to Hermione. He hadn’t even realised how much he’d been forcing himself to keep quiet, terrified of the consequences were he to admit that his feelings for one of his best friends really crossed those boundaries of friendship. 

But then she had kissed him, and his barrier had been dropped, completely punctured through. She loved him, too, and all of a sudden, he could tell her, and he could tell the world — including Harry, who really didn’t want to hear about it to begin with.

Now, Harry felt like their biggest supporter. As if he really did want them to last.

Ron laughed lightly. "You should have heard us the other day. Arguing about what sheets to get for our new bed. We couldn't agree and it took us an hour to decide. They thought we were mad, the people in the shops."

Harry also laughed and shook his head. "I'm not really surprised. You ready?"

Ron nodded. Everything was packed now. Hermione and Ginny had taken Crookshanks and their owl, Arwen, over to the new place already, along with some other things. All that was left were the suitcases filled with clothes and other little things that wouldn't fit anywhere else. 

"It'll be sad to have you guys a little further away," Harry said as they both lifted their wands at the remaining stuff.

"You're only a Floo call away,” Ron said. "And we've set up Apparition boundaries too, not too far from the house — we thought it would be weird if any neighbours saw you exit the house but not come in, so that way you can at least look as if you walked."

"You moving has made me think about it a bit," Harry said.

"What, move out of Grimmauld Place?" Ron asked, not entirely surprised by that news. Harry had always said it was temporary because he’d always hated it there.

Harry shrugged. "It was never a long term arrangement. And it's already been longer than I planned. And it's huge for just me and Ginny." He hesitated a moment after that, looking uncertainly at Ron. "You'd, um, be okay if I proposed to her soon, wouldn't you?"

"What?" Ron asked.

Harry suddenly looked very uncomfortable. It had been a long, unspoken agreement that small details of Ron and Hermione's relationship were allowed to be shared, but Harry and Ginny's was taboo. Ginny may have been okay gossiping with Hermione about her brother's sex life (even though Hermione was adamant that never happened), but it was not something Ron even wanted to think about, let alone hear about.

But that wasn't even what shocked him… or annoyed him. It was the fact that for once, Ron had hoped to be the first. 

"I mean… soon?" Harry said. "You'd be okay with it, right? If I asked her?"

Ron didn't say anything for a long while, his wand hanging limply in his hand. 

No, let me ask Hermione first, he wanted to say. For the love of Merlin just let me have this one. 

But who knew when that was going to be. With the house, and then the furniture, and then the probability of that damn car neither knew how to drive (granted, Hermione had decided to learn) he'd had to reduce his payments to fortnightly and with fewer Galleons. 

"Well," he said, keeping the bitterness from his voice as best he could, "I don't really have a say, do I?"

"But you're my best mate," Harry said, "and her brother. Your opinion matters."

"I'm okay with it," Ron said. "I mean, it's not like I'm surprised anyway. You just caught me off guard."

Ron thought he'd handled that very well. He smiled, genuine. Harry mistook it as an approval smile. 

"I know it weirds you out," he said.

"Not nearly as much as it used to," Ron said. "As long as we continue with the whole need-to-know basis, then it's all good. When do you plan to ask?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't actually know. It is only a recent thought I've had. Not for a while, I guess." 

Ron nodded again, smiling. "Well, congrats, mate. I'm happy for you. Hermione will be too. We'll have a celebration once it's over with."

"Over with?" Harry chuckled. "You make it sound like it's some lengthy procedure you want to get out of the way."

"Well… the thought of it is kind of terrifying, isn't it? I mean… there's always a chance they'll say no. They'll change their mind even if they’ve assured you they’ll say yes. That they'll say they don't actually want to get married."

Harry didn't say anything for a long while. Suddenly, he looked mildly terrified, causing Ron to feel guilty. "Obviously, that's not going to be your case!" he added hastily. "It's just… a thought."

"I guess I never thought about that," Harry said. "I mean, she is playing Quidditch, she's rarely home… do you think she'll have time to even get married?"

"I'm sure it would be a top priority, mate."

But Harry didn't look overly convinced, and the guilt hit Ron like a slap to the face. He hadn't meant to worry Harry. He'd just been expressing his own internal fears he'd been too uncomfortable to admit to himself until now. 

"Just ask her," he said after a moment. "It's not going to go badly. Trust me."

"I've never done this before," Harry said. He turned to Ron. "How do I do it? How do I ask?"

Although he’d never admit it, Ron felt rather put out that their conversation had turned to Harry talking about how he was going to ask Ginny to marry him. 

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "I would have told you if I'd done it, don't you think? I can’t even afford a stupid ring, so you’re asking the wrong person.”

"Ring?” Harry asked, looking at Ron with a stunned expression. “I'm sorry, what?" 

Ron went red. He hadn't meant to say that. "Nothing," he said quickly. “I mean… forget I said that.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. “You have a ring?”

“Well… no,” Ron said, realising he’d already said too much. He may as well tell Harry the whole story. "That’s the thing. I went to… get one last year. In April. I was going to ask Hermione, but the ring I wanted to get was ridiculously expensive, so I've been paying it off each week. Well, fortnight since we got the house."

"You were going to ask Hermione to marry you?" Harry asked softly, apparently now more interested in Ron's story than his own romantic plight. 

"Yeah," Ron said. "I really wanted to do it right, too. But the shopkeeper won't give it to me until it's all paid off. It was supposed to be a year, so I'd have it this April, but with the house and everything, I've had to delay it a little longer. I probably won't get it until the following April at the rate it's going." He sighed again. "I was so ready to do it and everything; I'd even organised a whole romantic evening that I had to cancel because it was pointless otherwise. She was so confused. I think she realised what I was planning, and then I cancelled and… I don't know. She hasn't said anything about it. She hasn't said anything to you, has she?" 

Harry shook his head, shrugging. “Not a word. You mean to say, you’ve put it off for almost a year now?”

Ron nodded. 

Harry watched him for a moment. Then,“You're the biggest idiot I've ever met.” 

"Thanks," Ron muttered. 

"You're telling me you've been planning to marry her for almost a year, and the only thing holding you back is the fact that you decided to get her an engagement ring that is far too expensive?"

Ron shrugged. 

"She doesn't care about a stupid ring, mate. I can tell you that much."

Ron shrugged again. "It was the only one that felt right. I didn’t want to just get her any old one because it was cheaper. I chose that one before I knew the price and I knew it was right for her."

Harry laughed. "You're an idiot," he said again. "But while you're being an idiot, will you at least help me come up with a plan for Ginny? Seems you have some idea on what to do, which is more than me."

"Yeah," Ron sighed. "I'll help. Just don’t tell me the intimate details, will you? One of us may as well be getting married while the other is being an idiot."

Harry shook his head, still laughing. "I wonder if Hermione realises she's moving in with the biggest prat in the world."

Ron stuck out a leg to kick Harry.

"Is that any way to treat your future brother-in-law?" Harry asked.

"Careful," Ron warned. "I might just tell you I'm not okay with it."

"And I'd have to tell you that you were right — it's not really your decision, is it?"

They grinned at each other, and Ron felt glad that his friendship with Harry had stood the test of time and many, many obstacles. And that his best friend would one day be family for real. 

“We should actually get this stuff to the house,” Ron said, nodding at the pile of things they’d been tasked to transport. 

Harry nodded, and together, they Vanished the stuff to what would hopefully be the new place. Hermione had shown them the spell, becoming frustrated when they hadn’t managed it first go, muttering something about them going to make useless Aurors if they couldn’t manage a simple Vanishing charm. 

It felt like old times, like when they were back at Hogwarts and studying for exams. The only difference this time was rather than telling her to lay off them, Ron had pulled her towards him and kissed her. It had been the most effective measure in silencing her for the past few years. 

“Ready?” Ron asked, gripping Harry’s arm. Harry nodded, and Ron spun from the living room of the flat, landing a moment later in the living room of the new place…

...to a pile of suitcases and bags which had crash landed on the brand new coffee table he and Hermione had bought, causing one of the legs to snap.

Ron grimaced at the mess, and then looked up to where Hermione and Ginny were muttering about their uselessness in moving things.

“Well, how were we supposed to know where exactly it was going to land?” Ron argued as Hermione repaired the coffee table. “We couldn’t see.”

“I managed to get the other stuff in the correct places,” Hermione retorted. 

“Yes, well, we already know we aren’t as accurate with magic as you are. Rub it in, why don’t you?” Ron grumbled, shifting the bags and suitcases into the corner of the living room. “Where do these go, anyway?”

“Upstairs,” Hermione said. For a moment, Ron thought she was going to Vanish them up there herself, but when she didn’t move, Ron realised she wanted him to drag them up himself, probably as punishment for destroying their brand new table before they’d even officially moved in. 

“I’ll levitate them, at least,” Ron told her, to which she only raised an eyebrow. 

“A little help?” Ron said to Harry, who had been standing back slightly. 

Harry nodded, and they began levitating the objects, guiding them through the doors and upstairs. “She has a point, really,” Harry said on their way up. “We should be able to do that spell.”

“She’s just stressing as Hermione stresses in situations like this,” Ron said. “Everything has to go perfectly to plan.”

They let the bags fall onto the floor of the bedroom, where all that was there was a bed — made up and looking fresh and clean, and ready to be slept in. 

“Hermione?” Harry asked, nodding toward the duvet. It was a pale blue and white cover, which was one of the many small arguments they’d had about the decor of the house. Ron had not liked it, but then she had won the argument by stating she didn’t like the idea of Quidditch hoops in the garden, but she wasn’t telling him no to that.

So they had bought that one.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “I get the Quidditch stuff, she gets everything else in the house, and I’m okay with that. I really want the hoops.”

Harry chuckled. “Married life, I guess.”

“Not yet,” Ron reminded him. 

“As good as.”

“Yeah,” Ron said with a small smile. It was.

A moment later, Hermione and Ginny came into the room as well, laughing at the sight of Ron and Harry staring at the bed. 

“You moved a few bags and you’re contemplating taking a nap, are you?” Ginny said. 

“No,” Ron and Harry said together. 

“We were just commenting on the duvet,” Harry added. “It’s… nice.”

“A good thing you don’t have to sleep there then, isn’t it, Harry?” Hermione said. “Ron doesn’t like it either.” She looked at Ron, amused. “Mum and Dad just got here with a few extra little things we realised were missing this morning. Is everything gone from the other place?”

“Yep, it’s just the keys to pass on now. Where’s the cat and where’s the owl?”

“Crookshanks is exploring the garden, and I told Arwen she could stretch her wings.”

They made their way back downstairs and into the kitchen where Hermione’s parents were both standing by the bench. A pile of small bits and pieces sat atop it, and a bag full of groceries.

“We thought you might need a head start,” Jane said, smiling. “So you don’t go hungry. Though, I hear Molly has you covered for that as well?”

“Mum would never let us starve,” Ron said to Hermione’s mother. He took the bag from the bench and looked at Hermione. “I may need some help with what goes in the refrigerator,” he added.

“If it’s cold, it goes in, if it’s not cold, the pantry,” Jane said. 

“Thanks,” Ron said, and he began unloading the butter, some milk and eggs into the refrigerator. Arthur had spent a good thirty minutes admiring it when they’d put it in a week ago. 

“Fascinating,” he had kept saying. “And, Ron, you’ll be living with elektisity. Amazing!” Much to the amusement of Hermione’s parents, who had also been there.

Ron had to remind him that Percy was also living in a house with electricity with a gentle nudge to go and bother him. 

Now, Ron continued unloading the groceries. Hermione’s parents had bought some vegetables as well, which stumped Ron. Harry had to help him sort them out. 

“Merlin, that’s going to take some getting used to,” Ron said. “The flat was all magic. We didn’t need one.”

“You’ll figure it out, I’m sure,” Jane said kindly. 

“You’ll be fine,” Hermione added, smiling at him. 

He returned her smile. Anywhere with her was home. 

“Well, perhaps we should go to our hotel for the night,” Jane said after a moment. “Check in. We’ve decided to stay in Nottingham, just to see the two of you settled in. In case there’s anything else you need.”

“Thanks,” Ron said, and he didn’t just mean for the food. Ever since getting the house, they had been so busy that he’d not had a chance to really thank her parents for the help they had given for the house. “I mean… for everything, not just today. For… the house.”

Both of her parents smiled. “It is the least we can do, Ron,” her dad said. “To get the two of you set up.”

Sixteen thousand Galleons equivalent wasn’t a small thing, but Ron didn’t push the matter. He was grateful for the help, because without it, they wouldn’t be standing there right now. 

“We’ll go back, too,” Ginny said. “I’ve got tomorrow off, but training starts again on Monday. We’re going out for dinner tonight, me and Harry.” She beamed. “It’s been forever.”

“Enjoy,” Hermione said. “Maybe try the Floo back to your place. Make sure it works. It was a hell of a lot of paperwork to get it connected, so you may as well use it.”

“Will do,” Ginny said, grinning at them. “Enjoy your first night in your new place. Try not to break any more furniture.” She turned to Hermione’s parents then, and added quickly, “I do mean literally. Ron broke the coffee table earlier.” She looked back at Ron and Hermione. “We’ll drop by again tomorrow. See you.”

The four of them left after that, Harry and Ginny Flooing back to Grimmauld Place, while Hermione’s parents drove back down the driveway toward the city of Nottingham where they were staying. 

Ron threw his arm around Hermione’s shoulder as the car disappeared down the road and they closed the door behind them.

“Tomorrow we give the key back, and then this place is truly ours,” he said. “Just you and me.”

“How do we spend our first night in our new place?” Hermione asked. 

…

It was nearing ten o’clock at night, and just as Ron had imagined all those weeks ago, they sat on the sofa, curled up together with a blanket thrown over them. It wasn’t even that cold, but it was comforting and the romantic in Ron had insisted. 

“This is nice,” Hermione said, and her voice sounded faraway, as if she was almost asleep. 

Ron drew her closer towards him, his thoughts wandering into something resembling pure bliss, only interrupted a few moments later by an intrusive memory that he’d brushed aside until now. 

“Apparently I am helping Harry figure out a way to ask Ginny to marry him.”

“What?” Hermione lifted her head off Ron’s shoulder and sat up. “Since when?”

“Since this morning, apparently,” Ron said with a shrug. “He asked me if I’d be okay with it, which… well, yeah, I am. Then he asked me if I could help him do it. I mean, I assume he meant helping him find a way to ask her that doesn’t seem ridiculous and cheesy.”

“That’s great news!” Hermione said, and she sounded genuinely thrilled. If there was any thought in her mind about when she’d be getting engaged, she hid it very well. “Oh, I’m so happy for them. Do you know when he’s planning it?”

“No,” Ron said. “You know Harry — if it’s something that involves even a small plan, then he prefers to dive right in, head first.”

“Ginny did say they were going to dinner tonight…” Hermione began.

“Yeah, but he asked me for help,” Ron said. “And I haven’t given him the slightest bit of help.” He thought back to earlier that day, and Harry’s amusement over the whole ring situation. “Except, I guess, what not to do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked. 

“Nothing.” Ron shook his head. “Just something that happened while we were packing up the stuff at the flat. You think Ginny will say yes?”

“Certain of it,” Hermione said. “Though, with the Quidditch season starting up again soon, I can’t imagine when they’ll find the time to get married. They’ll have to squeeze it in between a game, I guess. And that all depends on whether the game has actually finished before the next one is due to start.”

Ron laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Hermione asked.

“Well, I’d hope — and correct me if I’m wrong if I’m assuming too much — that Ginny would actually consider missing a game or two for her own wedding.”

Hermione flushed, and it was obvious that the thought hadn’t actually occurred to her. “I… I suppose you’re right.”

Ron watched her for a moment. Now he knew she definitely was thinking about their own potential wedding. She had an air of guilt about her. 

“If you and Harry find you’re struggling, I can offer some suggestions, too,” Hermione said after a moment. “I do think, considering it’s Harry and Ginny, something simple. Or something Quidditch related.”

“Maybe at a Quidditch game?” Ron suggested.

“Harry wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself like that,” Hermione argued.

“Good point.”

“A dinner is a little cliche, but nice and simple, and if it’s in the house, then there’s no one else around.”

“Wouldn’t that be boring, though?” Ron asked.

“I think it’s romantic,” Hermione said. “I think it would be nice for them to become engaged just at home, no one else around…”

Ron smiled at her. 

Hermione flushed a little, and added quickly, “But I mean, if, um, Harry doesn’t want to do it that way then there’s other options. Start by asking him, I guess. You’re good at that kind of thing, Ron. Better than he is. I’m sure you’ll think of something. It’s so exciting for them!”

Ron’s smile widened. “I love you,” he said. 

She responded by kissing him. 

…

There was a cool breeze floating through the window the following morning. Ron shivered. What was it doing open in January? It was far too cold for such a thing. 

And then he remembered. 

Their first night together in their new place had become heated, especially when they’d decided to come to bed. They’d needed to open the window after a bit, just to cool themselves down. 

And now it didn’t help in the morning that he’d fallen asleep without any clothes and the blankets were tossed down around his waist. 

He groaned and rolled over, drawing them back up to under his chin. “Morning,” he said groggily, reaching out an arm to place around Hermione. She didn’t respond, but he could feel that beneath the blankets she also had forgotten to get dressed. He snuggled into her, partly for warmth and partly because he was still very much remembering how he had fallen asleep and wanted to be as close to her as possible.

Her even, gentle breathing lulled him back into a sleep. He didn’t know for how long, but he was woken again by Hermione shifting against him. She rolled over and before he could even open his eyes, her lips were on his again. 

“Good morning,” she whispered, snuggling into him. Her skin was so warm and soft against his. 

He grinned, still through closed eyes. “Very good morning,” he said, moving his arm under the blankets and drawing her closer towards him. “You’re so warm,” he added, suppressing a shiver. “Dumb idea, leaving that open all night.”

“I was going to close it, but then I fell asleep,” Hermione said, keeping her voice low. 

Ron drew her even closer to him, sinking lower under the blankets. A moment later Hermione pulled away. His eyes sprung open as she reached for her wand, pointed it at the open window and then snuggled back in under the covers.

“We don’t have to get up today, do we?” Ron asked. 

“I’m okay to stay here,” Hermione agreed, and she kissed him again.

And they would have gladly stayed in bed all day, enjoying their new house (and each other’s company), but at some point (Ron didn’t know and didn’t care what the time was) there was an annoying disruption.

A rush of flames, and then a shout that sounded a lot like Ginny’s from the bottom of the stairs. “You two up there?”

“Great idea linking the fireplaces,” Ron groaned, pulling away from Hermione unwillingly. “Your best idea yet.”

Hermione, also looking rather annoyed at the interruption, sat up in the bed in a very flustered state. “I don’t think we’re in any state to go down just yet,” she said. 

Ron definitely wasn’t, so they laid back down, Hermione flicking her wand to open the window again. 

“I doubt they’re sleeping,” Ron heard Ginny say, probably to Harry. “It’s midday. Honestly.”

And then there was silence, with any luck the two deciding to go back home. Though, Ron knew that was wishful thinking. 

“I suppose we should get up,” Hermione said after a while, once the cold air began to become a nuisance again, and not a relief. 

“Annoying little sisters,” Ron grumbled as they both sat up and attempted to find something to dress into. Nothing had been unpacked yet, and by the time Ron had found a shirt and a pair of jeans to throw on, Hermione was opening the door in her pyjamas that she definitely had not worn last night.

Harry and Ginny were waiting in the kitchen, both with a mug of hot tea in front of them. 

“Sorry, should have sent word when we were coming over,” Ginny said, and to Ron’s surprise, she actually looked a little embarrassed. 

“Yeah,” Ron replied, unable to contain his annoyance at their unwelcome intrusion. “Also should have used your brain.”

Hermione gave him a whack across the chest.

“Ow.”

“It’s alright,” Hermione said, accepting an offer of tea that Harry had just poured. “We were just about to get up.”

That was so far from the truth that no one believed her, but no one said anything. 

“So, how’s the place?” Harry asked. “You’ve settled in alright?”

“Yep,” Ron said. “There’s a lot more space than we’re used to, but that’s alright. We’ll get used to it, I’m sure. It already kind of feels like home.”

“I’m glad,” Ginny said with a smile. 

They moved into idle chat after that, Harry and Ginny talking about their date night, and then moving onto work, and the new Quidditch season. It wasn’t until Hermione jumped up from her seat and said, “Harry, can I see you in the next room?” that the conversation died.

“Is that some secret work business going on in there?” Ginny asked. 

“I dunno, maybe,” Ron said, though he had a feeling that Hermione was sharing all her sudden ideas about how to propose to Ginny in the next room. He repressed a sigh.

“Harry told me what you said to him yesterday,” Ginny said after a moment. “About the ring. You’re an idiot.”

Ron glared at her. 

“I’m serious,” Ginny continued. “You. Are. So. Stupid.”

“I’m not getting into this discussion with you,” Ron said. “It’s too late now, anyway. I can’t back out, and I don’t want to.”

Ginny stared at him for a moment, then shook her head again, stating, “You’re an idiot.” 

“That’s what George told me when I told him what I did.”

“Yeah, well, he’s right, too.”

Ron couldn’t say anything, for Harry and Hermione returned, Harry looking rather overwhelmed. 

“We should head back,” Ginny said. “I have to be back in Holyhead at seven in the morning tomorrow.”

“Good luck for this year,” Hermione said. “We’ll try to get to some games to see you play.”

Ginny smiled, giving Hermione and Ron a hug each. “Thanks. We have a pretty strong team. I’m just glad to be playing this year at all.”

“You deserve it,” Hermione said. 

“Thanks. See you guys, and enjoy the rest of your afternoon. We’ll remember to Apparate next time, or send word first. Sorry.”

Once they had gone, Hermione turned straight to Ron and said, “You need to help Harry. He’s clueless.” And she took another sip of the freshly brewed tea. 

[metalworkmania]

What can you do with a Workbench?

If you’re a DIY-lover or metalworking enthusiast like me, you might be thinking of investing in something to further advance this hobby.

One thing I think every handy man or woman needs is a sturdy workbench, something that just oozes quality.

Now, I’m not talking about the wooden workbenches or the flat pack ones that you find for mega cheap on Amazon, eBay or any different marketplace. Whilst the sound of a cheap workbench might be tempting, it’s seriously not worth it. Yes, you can buy a work bench for as little as £30-£40 but it just won’t do the job as well as something else.

I’m talking about a proper manufacturer, someone that specialises in quality materials and building the best products possible. If you can find a company who source all of their materials locally, manufacture the workbench from scratch rather than importing it and deliver it fully welded, then you’ve got a winner.

I recently invested in one of these workbenches whilst previously owning a cheap bench I found on a random website, it came flat packed and when I put it together, I knew I made the wrong decision. That bench lasted around 6 months before it buckled. The bench I have now? I’ve had it for 10 years and counting. Granted, it was around £250 more expensive than the one I had previously and it did seem like a big chunk of money at the time. However, if you put that into perspective, I paid £40 for the one that lasted 6 months, so, what if I got a new one every time it broke? That would of cost me £800 to date. £290 doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?

When you think about it, there’s a big difference between price vs value. The value for money of the cheap one? Absolutely horrendous. What about the expensive one? AMAZING. Grade A quality, I can see myself still completing my DIY jobs on this bench in 20-30 years. Honestly? I’ll probably buckle before the bench does.

So, now I’m done with my rambling about investing in a good bench, click here if you want to learn more about that, let’s get into the title of this blog post.

What can you do with a workbench? The possibilities are endless, I’m an avid DIY-lover and have a job within metalwork, so you can imagine I use mine quite a bit.

Uses of a Workbench

· Using tools – there are some large, heavy power tools that require a surface that’s sturdy and can handle the weight of them. There are a range of tools I can think of. These include sanders, drills, saws, grinders, vices, rotary tools, lathes, planers, compressors, wrenches, tile cutting machines and more. Honestly, whatever fixed power tool you work with, work benches are ideal for them. Whatever you’re doing, you have a great working surface to do it on.

· Gardening – you might not think it, but there’s a lot of work involved with gardening that owning a bench would make easier. Ideal for when you’re potting and repotting plants for your garden. Also, most manufacturers stock or let you customise benches with a storage space, either a shelf or cupboards. This is perfect for storing your old pots for reuse or your tools for gardening like your trowels, shovels, gloves, buckets, seeds and more. You have a solid surface when taking care of your plants and a strong storage space that can hold all of the things you need it to.

· Refurbishing – do you own any furniture that needs a new lick of paint or varnish? A workbench is ideal for this. If you have any refurbishment jobs on furniture, picture frames or any other object you have in your house, then you’ll need a smooth, strong surface paired with a vice to hold the object down whilst you work on it.

· Repair – maybe something is a bit past refurbishment and is fairly broken. If you’ve got kids, animals or you’re just clumsy (hey, accidents happen!) then you probably need to complete repairs quite a bit. Don’t chance breaking the dining room table as well, invest in a workbench.

· Routine tasks – some things just need doing regularly. This includes changing your bikes tyres, fitting a new chain on your bike, changing the filter on your vacuum or even changing the blades on your lawnmower.

· Woodworking – if you’re an enthusiastic woodworker, then I’m guessing you probably already have a bench. But if you’re just starting out then you really need to invest in a quality workbench to do your work on. You’ll need a bench and a good vice. You’ll be sawing, drilling, carving, gluing and a lot more as well as working with potentially heavy materials, it’s crucial you have a great surface to work on.

· Arts and crafts – if you have a hobby to do with arts and crafts, whether you own a small shop or just do it for fun, a workbench could potentially help you out. A lot of things come under arts and crafts, but if you’re making something then it usually involves materials and handywork – two things ideal for a workbench.

· Industrial uses – as well as DIY uses, a workbench is popular within many industries such as electronics, education, packing, warehousing, distribution, engineering and more. The possibilities are certainly endless and these industries tend to use a heavier duty bench compared with individuals who would just need a medium duty one depending on the task they’re completing.

That was my blog post all about the things you can do with a workbench! I hope you enjoyed. Let me know if I missed anything out.

https://www.benchmaster.uk/

- metalworkmania

[ficforce]

Little Wound Part 2

Joker/52 x Little Lady Reader SFWish Mentions of abuse and non-con

“What are you doing?” Joker threw a glance over his shoulder to Licht and gave a small shrug, The scientist hadn’t visited him for well over a month and a half, “I thought you just wanted to lay in bed all day, now you’re building furniture - why?” “Because flat pack furniture is easier to move through The Nether than already built pieces.” Licht rolled his eyes and entered the room that used to be where they stored random finds, “I know why you’re having to build it from scratch, I meant, why are you doing it in the first place?” Tightening a screw on the metal frame of the double bed and then picking up a vacuum-sealed bag, Joker heaved a sigh at the scientist, “Because,” he threw the bag on top of the frame and cut it open so that the mattress inside could grow, “You said, ‘Get up and do something’.” “I meant to fight the bad guys, investigate Ameratsu, go stalk the kusakabe kid… Not make a better bedroom to lay around in…” He was trying to keep his tone amicable but he really wanted to blow the long-haired man up with some faulty concoction. The room wasn’t at all how Licht would expect Joker to like it, the steel walls had been sprayed a soft colour, the steel ceiling was white, the usual bare bulb now sported a nice lampshade that matched the… “Did… did you lay a carpet?” Joker smiled proudly, “Yeah, so take your damn shoes off.” It hadn’t been easy for him to set up, what was essentially a steel box like most of the manmade hideaways in The Nether, into something that looked like it belonged on the surface in a regular house. “I’m going to get a wardrobe built, a chest of drawers, gonna have a dressing table too. Later I’ll grab some bedding and what do you think of a bedside table with a lamp?” “I think you’ve finally lost it.” This time he did frown and his voice dropped, he couldn’t hide how disappointed he was that Joker wasn’t taking the truth seriously anymore.

He wasn’t blind and Joker lit up a new cigarette, sitting down on the bed to rest his aching body, “It’s for Y/N, Licht. For when I rescue her.” Licht was quiet for a moment, staring at Joker and then at the room and the work going into it, “I think you’ll need help stealing more electric and diverting clean water pipes to make a little bathroom.” x - - When Y/N opened her eyes and she saw a ceiling above her and a lamp on a little table beside the bed she was on, she was confused. She sat up slowly, looking all around her to take in the bedroom she appeared to be in and when she looked down at herself she wasn’t in the shapeless, white uniform of the shadows but in pair of clean pyjamas. The last thing she remembered was fighting with a man with mismatched eyes and then the world morphing and changing as something made her think she’d finally gone mad. Then… “Fuck!” Her eyes widened and Y/N looked around the room harder than before, she stumbled out of the bed and hit the main light switch to disperse all the dark corners of the room. She was alone. Opening one of the two doors she found a tiny room containing a toilet, the smallest sink in the world and a shower. There was an artificial mirror stuck to the wall, she wouldn’t be able to smash it for shards to use as a weapon, a shelf with a few cosmetics she recognised from her time at Company 3 and a towel hanging neatly on a hook - no rail for her to use as a weapon either. Heading for the second door, Y/N wasn’t surprised to find it locked. This was a prison made to look like a cosy room. What was Joker up to? Was he going to lull her into thinking she was safe and then kill her - it was hardly any different from what she had done to him… would he try to humiliate her too? Not a day had gone by where she hadn’t thought of his pleading eye and the way he had reached for her; how he hadn’t stopped even after she had poured her drink over him as he lay there helpless. And now he was back. He had killed the Captain and taken her as his prisoner. Y/N hid beneath the bed, it was obvious he could find her there but as she balled herself up as small as she could go, the tiny space was somehow comforting, despite her claustrophobia beginning to act up and telling her to get out into the open. A scared gasp left her lips and she shoved a shaking hand against her mouth to muffle the onslaught of panicked sounds trying to force their way out. What was he going to do? Was he going to torture her? Cut her? Strangle her? Whip her? Would he… no, this was Joker… but then she had betrayed him. The thought of going through more torture was more than she could stand. The captain had continued to hurt her even after she completed her mission, he had beat her and whipped her and he had continued to defile her at every opportunity. He told her it was for her own good, that he was making her stronger. Sometimes suffering was just suffering. It didn’t make her stronger, it didn’t build her character… it had only hurt. So maybe if she could find that kind part of Joker, the one he had let her see, she could convince him to just kill her quickly. Y/N had wanted the pain to stop and the Captain had told her that the only way she would ever truly be one of them was to get rid of the original Five-Two, until then she would always be a spare card.

Her teeth began to chatter as she hugged herself tighter and her eyes stayed glued to the door. Unable to tell if it was night or day or even how long she had hidden for, Y/N fell into an exhausted half-sleep.

When they opened again she was back in the bed, the small lamp dimly lighting the room as it had before, only this time there was a tall figure sat at the dressing table with his back to her. Y/N felt her body move before her mind could register it, she scrambled into the corn of the bed, the blanket tangled around her legs and heard shaped pillows tumbled to the floor in her rush. The movement made Joker turn around to face her, he figured if he stayed sat she might not freak out too much, “Hey, it’s alright, Little Lady. I swear I’m not gonna hurt you.” He doubted she would believe him. “I don’t believe you.” See? He gave a little sigh, “I don’t blame you. I get it - I was in that same shitty situation. That green-eyed bastard used to beat me to a bloody pulp, he got worse the older we got. He beat me, got into my head, whipped me down to the muscle and on the odd occasion he was feeling a little randy, he’d fuck me too.” He’d been the one to change her out of her old uniform and clean her up, Joker had seen old scars and marks he vaguely remembered from their time together but he had also seen the new marks and scars - she’d really been through hell. “If I had been in your place, I would have done the same thing… I don’t think I would have been kind enough to leave you unfinished though.” He saw her flinch and he gave her a small grin, “But nice job on recognising you couldn’t take me head-on, gaining my trust and stealthily attempting murder like that - that was impressive!”

She had so many opportunities to kill him before that night. Like the times he would fall asleep beside her and be completely vulnerable. That had been one of the things that plagued his mind the last year but also gave him a scrap of hope; she hadn’t even finished him off and that had allowed him the chance to survive. The Shadows would have taught her to always make sure the target was dead before leaving… maybe she had wanted to give him that chance to survive. “Let’s just talk about it, Little Lady,” the man stood up from the chair and took a step toward her, “You said talking was how normal people do thi- Y/N? Wait, hey, it’s oka-” Joker stopped and lifted his hands in surrender as she got off of the bed to run into the bathroom, slamming the door after her. Leaning against the door he called through to her, “Y/N, Little Lady…” she didn’t reply and he heaved out a loud sigh; he had known this would be hard. “Don’t be scared of me, I forgive you.” He had forgiven her the moment he had felt the knife in his body. “I just want to help…” From the other side of the door he heard her begin to vomit and he opened the door, he had guessed she would try to lock it so made sure it wasn’t an option, “I’m going to touch you.” Joker wasn’t asking if he could, he was informing her so that she might not react too badly. He placed his open palm on the middle of her back and stroked up and down until she stopped being sick, the retching sounded painful and it was hardly a surprise because it must have been a while since she had eaten - she’d been there for less than forty-eight hours already. “Okay, let’s get you back to bed.”

“No!” Y/N’s reaction was almost violent as she threw herself away from him in the tiny space and he winced at the force that her body hit the wall, it was enough to shake the shelf above. He watched her breathing become rapid and shallow, her chest heaving and a cold sweat had started to break over her brow. She was beyond terrified. Joker gave her a little space, wary of the wildness in her eyes, “You’re scared this is all a lie and that I’m going to do worse to you than the Captain did. I get that, I know you won’t believe a word I say and I know that if I let you leave here then you’ll either get yourself killed or do it by your own hand. So you either stay here and be scared or let the Stockholm Syndrome start to kick in.” How was he still so bad at people-ing? Did he even register what he was saying half the time? Y/N was half tempted to yell at him for being so stupid but she didn’t have the energy. Instead, she huddled up and hid her face again, “I did everything the Captain told me to… he just kept pushing and pushing and pushing me until I fucked up.” The words were muffled and her breathing was still too fast but Joker understood her just fine, he noticed her nails biting into her skin and without thinking her reached for her wrists to stop her. The action made her scream so loud that couldn’t avoid wincing as it shredded his ears; he didn’t let go even as she struggled and thrashed in his hold. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you but you’re hurting yourself,” Despite knowing it was probably the wrong thing to do, Joker dragged her to him, he let her wrists go and her nails soon found their way into his clothed arms and even into his hair as she tried to escape the forced embrace. It was better to attack him than herself he supposed. “Listen,” he said as firmly as he could to make her understand he was serious, “He was a bastard. A sick, twisted, son of a bitch, who thought he had the right to take what he wanted, that he could punish and treat people however he wanted and tell them it was their fault. He didn’t teach you a damn thing, his lessons were just his excuse for raping you. For making you think you deserved to be violated and defiled.” Y/N froze completely at his words, “He did the same fucking thing to me, from the time he was old enough to get an erection to the time I ran away. If I had thought for a second that killing just one person, no matter who that person was, that it would save my ass for even just one time - I would have fucking done it. Man, woman or fucking child.” He could hear her still struggling to breathe properly but it was enough for him that she wasn’t fighting him anymore, “He’s fucking dead, Y/N. I sliced him up into pieces and now the rats are chewing on what’s left.”

Y/N’s grip in his hair didn’t loosen and he had to twist his head a little to relieve the pressure on his scalp, “He’s dead?” “Dead.” “Then why… why can I still… why is he still in-“

“In your head?” he murmured, “Yeah, he was in mine too - drove me kinda mad.” Finally, she seemed to be able to take a deep breath and her urge to fight him was replaced with a trembling that seemed to go through every nerve and limb. The man loosened his hold a little, giving her the chance to get away if she wanted; to his surprise she stayed in his embrace, her fingers unlatching from his hair as she slowly dropped them to his shoulders and put her face into his neck.“I know you’re scared and I know you can’t trust me yet… But listen up, I promise I’ll let you feel the warmth of the sun again.”

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Nine: Baby You’re A Firework

In some ways life had become easier for Ashley since her pregnancy was leaked to the press, she could freely walk Daisy to school each morning without having to wear the baggiest jumper she could find. She was also inundated with kind messages from other women, who like her were raising children as a young adult, she finally felt ready for her baby’s arrival. Knowing the baby was due to come any day, Daisy was behaving more angelic, perhaps in an attempt to make Ashley’s life easier, or maybe it was to ensure she wasn’t forgotten about when the baby arrived. “”Mummy, when the baby comes will I still be it’s big sister?” Daisy asked as the pair walked to school.

“What do you mean Dais?” Ashley asked.

“Harry isn’t my Dad is he? But he’s the baby’s daddy.” Daisy replied.

“You’ll still be the baby’s big sister darling, in fact you’ll be the best big sister ever.” Ashley assured her. 

“I promise I will be mummy.” Daisy smiled as they approached the school gates.

“Be a good girl today poppet, and remember we’ve got Lou and Lux’s fireworks tonight.” Ashley told her, holding her tight in the warmest of hugs.

“Love you mummy!” Daisy cried before running through the school gates.

“She’s a sweetheart,” One of the mums beside Ashley remarked.

“I don’t know where she gets it from, I was a little tear away at that age.” Ashley replied.

“Surely it’s her dad, he is a national treasure after all.” The lady smiled.

Although Harry wasn’t Daisy’s biological father, the whole world just assumed he was, he loved her like she was his own, and for Ashley that was enough.

“So do you feel ready for the new baby?” Gemma and Ashley had planned to shop for bits for the baby, but the british weather has other ideas. They’d managed to find shelter in a small vegan coffee shop in the back streets of Hampstead. It was one of those cool instagrammable places with hanging ivy trailing across ceiling beams and pink neon light signs.

“It’s less scary this time, even though Harry won’t be there for the birth, I know he’s going to be the best dad.” Ashley replied, sipping on her hot chocolate.

“Definitely, he’s finally mastered flat pack furniture, he’s set up a little nursery in the room next to his.” Gemma smiled.

“You know a mum at the school gates referred to Harry as Daisy’s dad, but I didn’t correct her. Because it felt right.” Ashley told her.

“Daisy will always be his world, we both know that.” Gemma assured her.

“Yeah, she adores him.” Ashley replied.

“And he adores you. He’d move heaven and earth for you if he had to. Where did it go wrong for you two? You were so good together.”

“Maybe we were always just destined to be best friends, and nothing more.” Ashley sighed.

“Ash, I’ve seen the way you look at each other, even at your house when the pregnancy got leaked, he could’ve easily contacted Jeff to protect his reputation and let us look after you, but he went straight to you. For Harry, it will only ever be you.” Gemma explained, she knew her brother better than anyone else, she knew they were right for each other since they were kids. She saw Harry’s face on the day of Ashley’s prom, when she was a bridesmaid at Anne's wedding and when she was on his arm at the Brits, he adored her and he cherished her. If Gemma could put the way Harry felt about Ashley into bottles and sell it, she would, because no matter what happened, or what anyone said, he would only really ever have eyes for Ashley.

It was late in the evening, thankfully the rain had held off, Ashley and Daisy were at Lou’s house for a small bonfire night gathering, the kids were playing in the garden, toasting marshmallows on the bonfire with Lux’s dad Tom, while the mums sat in the kitchen eating the leftovers of the takeaway pizza the kids had obliterated. “So when are you due Ash?” Lou’s sister Sam asked.

“I was due for halloween, but clearly this one enjoys it in there more than Daisy did.” Ashley told her, she knew the baby would come soon as every so often she’d feel a little flutter or a kick in her ribs.

“Have you got any names?” Lottie asked, from across the table.

“There’s a couple, if it’s a girl I love the idea of another flower name to match Daisy, and if its a boy, there's a few nature related names I love.” Ashley had one name in mind, regardless of whether it was a boy or a girl, she wasn’t planning on telling anyone yet, but she knew it would be a name Harry would love and hold close to his heart forever.

All the other parents and children had left, Lux and Daisy were curled up on the sofa drinking hot chocolate while they watched a movie on the TV. “Hey Dais, what are you watching?” Ashley asked as she poked her head around the living room door.

“It’s my Harry.” Daisy whispered, Ashley looked at the screen to see Harry and the boys performing at the O2, the girls had chosen to watch the One Direction movie, a film that captured so many moments that Ashley held close to her heart.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” Ashley asked Lou as she returned to the kitchen.

“What do you mean?” Lou asked, Ashley raised her eyebrows, “You mean Harry don’t you?”

Before Ashley could explain her epiphany the sharpest shooting pain hit her spine.

She gripped onto Lou’s marble top counter, “It’s happening Lou, the baby’s coming.”

“Are you sure?” Lou asked.

“That’s definitely a contraction Lou.” Ashley winced, “Why do I only go into labour in kitchens?” 

“Tom’s out the back, I’ll ask him to stay with the girls, Daisy can stay here tonight. Where’s the baby bag?” Lou replied.

“In the hallway, in the cupboard under the stairs.” Ashley told her.

“Ok I’ll grab that and call us an uber, you sit down and I’ll tell Gem to meet us there too.” Lou instructed her.

Ashley pulled out her phone, ringing Harry, even though she knew full well he would be on set filming, “Hey Harry,” She winced as it began recording her voicemail, “It seems as though our little one is on it’s way into the world, Daisy’s in safe hands, she’s watching This Is Us with Lux, she is so proud of you H. I know you’ll worry but don’t because Lou is taking me to the hospital and Gem said she’ll meet us there. I’ve been a bitch these past few months, I should’ve let you in, but we both know that after the way other people have treated me before, that being open and vulnerable scares the shit out of me. I want you in the baby’s life and I want you in mine, frankly at this point I don’t care what capacity it's in, because you mean the world to me Harry, you’ve been the one constant source of happiness in my life since the day we met. From the day my dad died and you slept beside me because you were scared of what I might do to myself, when I had my first period and you spent your pocket money on a box of all my favourite things and when you were like a father to Daisy, that meant more than anything else ever could. Whatever happens between us Harry, whether we parent our baby as best friends, or whether we grow old and grey together, I will always be your golden girl.”

Compared to Daisy’s birth, this one was a walk in the park, Ashley was sat up in the hospital bed, already fully dilated and the nurses had given her the epidural to relieve some of the pain. “Right Ash, it looks like this baby isn’t hanging around, shall we get going?” The midwife said as she pulled on her surgical gloves. Lou had returned home to the girls, but Gemma stayed by Ashley’s side, holding onto her hand for reassurance. “When you’re ready Ash, I need you to push on the next contraction.” The midwife instructed her, “You are sensational Ash! That's the head delivered, I need you to push really hard to get this little one’s shoulders out now.”

“I am never letting your brother get me pregnant again.” Ashley huffed to Gemma after pushing through another agonising contraction.

“This baby is a chunky one Ash, I need you to give me one last almighty push, use every last bit of energy you have to push it out.” Ashley used every muscle in her body to push the baby out as hard as she could, until the once silent room was filled with the shrill cries of her new baby. “Congratulations Ash, you’ve got a little boy.” The midwife cut the umbilical cord and immediately placed him on Ashley’s chest.

“Hello little man, aren’t you a beauty?” Ashley whispered, a single tear of pride rolling down her cheek.

“He’s perfect Ash,” Gemma smiled, “You were incredible.” 

“Welcome to the world baby Robin.” Ashley whispered, already completely infatuated with her new baby.

“Robin?” Gemma smiled.

“I adored your stepdad, when we lost my dad he was always there for me, he always looked out for me, and I know how much Harry loved him, and it’s the only name that feels fully suited to him.”

Ashley was in love, her brand new baby boy lay sound asleep in her arms, his delicate little hands poking out of the sleeves of his baby grow. Gemma had gone home to get some sleep, which Ashley had encouraged her to do, so now it was just the two of them in the little hospital room. Ashley’s phone began to buzz and she picked it up to see Harry’s face, “Hello stranger.” Ashley grinned.

“Is everything alright? I got your voicemail.” Harry asked from the comfort of his trailer.

“Everything’s great you could even say perfect,” Ashley whispered, “Do you want to meet him?” 

“Him? We’ve got a little baby boy?” Harry replied, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek.

“This is our little baby boy, Robin.” Ashley told him.

“Robin? You know Mum is going to adore that, and I adore him too, thank you for naming him that.” Harry smiled.

“It only felt right, I think I always knew that’s what I’d call him, it just seemed to make sense.” Ashley replied, staring at her little boy in adoration. “He’s way bigger than Dais was, he weighed almost double what she weighed when she arrived.” 

“She’s going to love him.” Harry whispered, “I can’t wait until I can see you all in person again, I miss you all like mad.” 

“We miss you too.”

Robin made Ashley feel truly complete, it was the following morning and she had just changed into a comfier t-shirt and joggers, along with one of Harry’s tour hoodies. Robin was sleeping peacefully in his little cot, having just been fed, as she sent Harry yet another picture of their little boy, a little person popped their head around the door. “Hello Mummy,” She heard a whisper. 

She looked over to see Daisy, holding a balloon and a gift bag with Lou beside her, “Hello my best girl, how are you?” Ashley crouched down, greeting her daughter with open arms, “I’ve missed you so much angel.”

“I’ve been very good, Lou made us special pancakes for breakfast.” Daisy told her.

“That’s lovely,” Ashley smiled, “Thank you so much for having her Lou.”

“It’s no problem really, she is an absolute sweetheart.” Lou replied.

“Daisy, would you like to meet your little brother?” Ashley asked, Daisy nodded in response as Ashley lifted Robin out of the cot. “This our little baby Robin.” 

“Like my Grandad Robin?” Ashley was taken aback, she wasn’t sure if Daisy remembered him, but everyone loved to talk about him fondly, so Daisy must just have picked up on it, it melted Ashley’s heart that Daisy called him her grandad.

“Yes Dais, just like Grandad Robin.” For once it seemed as if life made complete sense, Ashley had two beautiful children who she loved more than anything else, and finally she knew exactly how she felt about Harry.

[busybeeofpositivity]

Puzzled - Chapter 1

Summary: After walking home from a movie night at the theater, Thomas is kidnapped and put into a strange room he can’t escape from. The people who caught him want him to put six different puzzles together. Sound easy enough, right? Well, not if the puzzles have anything to say about it, and they have a lot to say about it.

Characters: Thomas, Logan, Janus, Virgil, Patton, Remus, Roman, and a few ocs that aren’t nice

Ships: None

Rated: T for violence

Warnings: kidnapping, Thomas whump, mentions of a broken nose, being physically assaulted, falling unconscious, inescapable rooms, questioning of Thomas’s sanity, not knowing whether Thomas is awake or not, intimidation, the sides are sympathetic even if they’re a bit mean this chapter

Words: 3,495

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly he returned to consciousness. Either the world shook or his body throbbed that hard it physically moved. He couldn’t open his eyes to figure it out. His tongue was dry. The smell of stale blood clogged his nose. Was it broken? It sure hurt like it was broken.

Slowly he was able to get one hand under him, then two, but the second one hurt more than the first. On shaky arms, he sat upon his knees. The world spun, and he nearly lost his balance and fell backward, but a quick hand behind him kept him upright. He slid his legs into a pretzel position. The wooden floorboards underneath him offered no comfort for his sore legs, which wasn’t an unusual feeling since his house was mostly hardwood, but it definitely wasn’t welcome.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes until they were open. Well, this definitely wasn’t his room.

At first, he couldn’t see much. The square window high above him, even though it was uncovered, showed nothing but dark outside. The only source of light he had was the crack underneath a door across the room. He wondered what was on the other side. Could he even keep his balance long enough to crawl over to it? Could he even see anything?

As his eyes adjusted more, he noticed a door to his left slightly ajar, but it was pitch black inside. Along that wall also sat a mattress on the floor maybe big enough for one person and a single blanket and pillow. He rubbed his arms. Without his jacket on, one blanket certainly wasn’t enough to keep him warm. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a dresser with a mirror, and on top of the dresser sat a box of some sort.

No noise came from the door. In fact, it was deathly quiet outside. Was the place he was in abandoned? How did he even get here?

Wait.

He was walking down the street after watching a movie at the theater. He remembered his brothers making fun of a thirty-year-old man going to see a kid's movie alone, but he didn’t care. The visuals were really beautiful from an artistic standpoint, and the musical score was memorable and hummable. Yeah maybe it was cheesy and predictable, but it was fun, and he hadn’t laughed that hard in a while.

With how rough life was right now, sometimes a little escapism made things easier.

Anyway, he was minding his own business, you know, as one does at midnight when they’re walking home from the movie theater to their house, when someone jumped him from behind. He remembered someone trying to press a cloth to his face. He remembered punching the back of his hand into their nose. He remembered getting free and making a break for it.

He remembered someone tackling him to the ground. He remembered landing a good elbow to their gut and toppling them off. He remembered another person slamming him up against the wall. He remembered hearing his nose crack against the bricks. He remembered another cloth pressed to his face then…

Nothing.

The memory cut off there.

Who were those people? What did they want from him?

Footsteps echoed down the hall. He swallowed. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked those questions, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out the answers. The footsteps grew closer. He instinctively pressed his back against the wall and held his knees to his chest. There was nowhere to hide, so might as well make himself as small a target as possible.

The door opened, and a dark shadow filled the doorway. The light hurt his eyes, and he blinked to try and adjust them. Heavy footsteps tap, tap, tapped across the floor.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the voice said. It was deep and husky like the person smoked thirty packs a day. “I was hoping they didn’t beat you up too hard.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was a squeak. Well, there went any of his chances of looking intimidating.

The stranger chuckled and shook their head. They said, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Thomas Sanders.”

The sound of his name leaving that man’s lips froze his heart. How- why- what-

“Relax. I read your driver’s license.”

Oh.

The person continued, “Really, it’s unfortunate you were the only one out at night. Didn’t your mother at least teach you to walk with a buddy?”

Thomas didn’t humor the person with a reply. Instead, he asked, “Who are you?”

“You may call me Bennett. He/him if you please,” Bennett responded. “And what do I call you? Are you okay with Thomas?”

“I guess,” Thomas replied. “He/him too, please.”

“Very well. Now, as I said, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. Do you see that box on the dresser?”

Thomas looked over to his right and nodded his head. Bennett walked over and picked the box up. Thomas eyed the door warily. Could he get through before Bennett could stop him? A pain in his ankle when he moved his foot told him no.

Bennett picked up the box on the dresser, opened it, and dumped its contents out on the floor. Pieces of wood scattered everywhere. Thomas flinched as the sound overloaded his senses. Eventually, the sound stopped, and a pile of tiny wooden pieces laid on the floor.

“These are puzzle pieces. There are six puzzles here all mixed together, all color coded. Your job is to solve them.”

“Me?” Thomas said, his voice still scratchy. “Why me? How am I supposed to solve those? I don’t even have a picture to look off of.”

“You’ll figure it out. Use your intuition,” Bennett said as he walked toward the door.

“Hey wait-”

“I suggest once the sunlight hits the window, you start. You have a lot of work ahead of you.” Bennett turned toward Thomas one last time before he shut the door and most of the light off in the room.

Thomas sat there listening to the beating of his own heart in his chest. Six puzzles? With all those pieces, that could take ages! And why him? Why couldn’t this Bennett person just solve the puzzle himself?

Thomas sighed. Maybe Bennett didn’t have any friends to work on the puzzles with or couldn’t do puzzles himself. Wait- no excusing the villain! Bennett still kidnapped him! Maybe if Bennett would’ve just asked nicely Thomas would’ve helped if it was that important to him.

Thomas fished in his pocket for his phone, but he didn’t have any hope of finding it. Of course it was gone. Why would they leave him with contact to the outside world? He wished he knew what time it was, but his watch was gone too.

Well, since it was dark outside and he couldn’t really solve the puzzles on his own right now, Thomas volunteered himself to test out the bed. Slowly on wobbly legs, he stood up and used the wall to help steady himself as he made his way across. His knees only gave out twice, and Thomas considered that a win.

With a heavy thud, Thomas flopped onto the bed. It wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was hard. The blanket was as thin as Thomas thought it would be, but it was about as warm as a throw blanket, so not too bad. The pillow, however, sucked. Thomas used his arm to prop his head up as he rested his back against the wall.

The pile of puzzle pieces seemed to stare at him from the middle of the room, and Thomas blinked. What was up with them? Why were they so special?

Thomas figured he wouldn’t get his answer just staring at them and let his eyes slip closed. With a gentle breath in and out, Thomas let his mind start to drift away.

The light from the morning sun gently woke him from his deep sleep. His body didn’t move from its position, meaning he was stiff as hell. Thomas sat up, his joints creaking and his muscles aching. With a gentle stretch, he extended his spine as far as it would go.

After blinking a few times, he unfortunately found out he did not, in fact, make it home from the movie theater and this was, in fact, not a horrible nightmare.

Now that he could see the room a little better, he could see the door from before that led to only darkness led to a bathroom. Oh, thank goodness. Thomas went there first, did his business, then stepped out to stare at the mountain of puzzle pieces in front of him.

He groaned. There had to be a million pieces to these puzzles, and he didn’t even know where to start. Thomas sat down in front of them and examined the pieces. They had all sorts of different colors on one side, but a solid color on the back. Huh, maybe the solid color was a clue to which puzzle went where. Thomas figured maybe he’d start there. He put all the pieces in a pile according to the backs.

Piece, by piece, by piece, Thomas placed the puzzles in a pile. It seemed there were six colors: red, yellow, green, light blue, purple, and navy… or was that indigo? He never was good at telling the difference. At least that theory was matching up.

The red pieces were all sorts of different sizes and shapes. Some had completely smooth sides while others had multiple notches to join the pieces together. None of them were the same. They almost seemed to shimmer in the low light, like every piece shined bright like a diamond. It must’ve been glitter.

The green pieces were like the red pieces, but for some reason, they seemed to bend in Thomas’s hand, like they were not meant to be flat on the floor. For some reason, they felt slightly slimy, but Thomas imagined that’s because of how rubbery they felt. Hopefully they were just flimsy and it wasn’t a 3D puzzle.

The light blue pieces were all geometric shapes, like triangles, squares, circles, hearts, and stars. Some of them were tiny while others were the size of Thomas’s palm. Some of them Thomas didn’t even know the name of. The colors were bright, and the puzzle pieces themselves made Thomas feel warm and safe.

The yellow puzzle pieces all looked the same: a square with two holes on the top and bottom and two connectors on the left and right. Only a few broke this pattern and had a smooth edge, which Thomas assumed meant they were the edges. It looked simple until Thomas realized there were two different pictures on the same side, meaning matching them together was going to be a nightmare.

The purple pieces were all different sizes of the same rectangle shape, and they had the darkest colors out of all the puzzles. Every time Thomas picked one up, he felt like he’d never finish them. They felt… wrong in a sense like they were angry he picked them up. It was probably his own self doubt eating at him though.

The navy (or indigo) pieces were the only ones that looked like a normal puzzle, but all the pieces were the size of his fingertip. There had to be at least a thousand pieces to that puzzle alone, and unlike the others, the pictures on this puzzle were in black and white instead of color.

It took Thomas until lunch to sort about half of the pieces. Someone knocked on the door to bring him a bologna sandwich with cheese and a small bag of barbecue chips and a bottle of water. It wasn’t Bennett, but they weren’t keen on introducing themselves whoever they were. They almost looked sad that Thomas was there, or maybe that was just Thomas’s bad judge of character painting this person as sympathetic when they shouldn’t be.

Thomas sighed. Maybe he should take a break. His stomach growled in agreement. Thomas stood up and walked over to the tray of food. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he ate everything.

After Thomas finished his food, he went back to sorting. Each pile had over 300 pieces in them already, or maybe it was 400 because he lost count more than once. It didn’t matter. The pile in the middle started to shrink, and that was a win in his book.

Eventually, before the sun went down, Thomas finished separating each of the color coded pieces into a separate pile. He wiped his face with his hand and let out a yawn. His back cracked as he sat up, too stiff from being hunched over all day to enjoy the puzzles in front of him. Thomas yawned. His eyes stung and his brain was exhausted from all the mental work, even if it was just matching colors.

After looking out the window and deciding it was a good time to call it quits for the day, Thomas climbed into the bed behind him and bundled himself up in the blankets. A heavy sigh escaped his nose. He stared at the pieces in the six piles, his eyes slowly blinking until they closed from exhaustion.

Thomas must’ve been extremely tired again because when he woke, he was still in the same position he fell asleep in. His neck cracked as he moved it off his arm. The sun didn’t peek through the window, but judging by how light it was outside and how many clouds were out, it was sometime in the late morning.

Thomas sat up in his bed and cracked his back. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and rubbed his hands over his face twice. After doing his morning routine in the bathroom, he walked back into the main room and figured he’d start working on the purple puzzle first.

Thomas blinked.

What-

When he looked at the floor, the neat piles he made the night before were gone. Instead, they were all scattered around the floor. Did someone come in and knock over the piles in the middle of the night? Thomas groaned. All that work yesterday for nothing!

Thomas collapsed onto the floor and grumbled under his breath. Well, back to square one. He reached over to pick up a purple piece in front of him.

His fingers burned.

Thomas let go of the piece with a startled cry. He fell back onto his rear and stared down at the puzzle pieces. Were there sharp edges? Did he cut himself? Thomas examined his left thumb and index finger, the ones that picked up the piece. There were no marks, but the skin was red.

“What the heck,” Thomas grumbled. He looked down at the puzzle piece. Maybe he picked it up too hard. Thomas reached down to pick up the piece again.

‘Don’t.’

Thomas’s fingers hovered above the puzzle piece. His head glanced around. It sounded like whoever said that was right in front of him, but he didn’t see anyone.

Thomas swallowed thickly. He moved his hand closer to the puzzle piece.

‘I said don’t.’

Thomas withdrew his hand and asked, “Who said that?”

Maybe someone was watching him from a hidden camera. Thomas looked around the room, but he couldn’t find any black balls or anything showing he was being recorded. Not even a screen. Of course, the cameras could’ve been so well hidden that he’d never see them.

No one answered his question, however. Thomas stared down at the pieces and sighed. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe he was so tired and hungry he thought he heard someone. Maybe he had a brain injury from when he was attacked. Maybe-

The purple piece burned him again as he picked it up. Thomas cried out in surprise and bit back the curse hissing through his teeth.

“What?!” Thomas yelled to the darkness.

Nothing answered him again. Thomas let out a long sigh through his nose. Maybe he wasn’t meant to solve the purple one first. Maybe he should’ve started with another color. Thomas reached out for a red piece to his left.

‘By the will of the gods themselves you will not touch me.’

That was a different voice than the one from before. Thomas took a deep breath in.

“Okay, what is going on?” Thomas growled. He held his forehead in his hands. “Who keeps talking to me and what do you mean stop? The whole reason I’m here is to solve these puzzles. Do you want me to solve them or not?”

‘NO.’

Thomas jumped back. There were way more than two people telling him to stop now. Thomas tried to still his beating heart. What was going on? This had to be a hidden television show or something. Maybe a lab experiment or something. It couldn’t be real.

Thomas sat on his knees and leaned down over the puzzle pieces, his palms pressed against the wooden floor.

“Why not? What is going on? Who are you? Why would you lock me in a room and ask me to solve a puzzle then tell me not to?” he asked.

‘Because we don’t want you here.’

Thomas blinked. “Who’s we?”

Silence answered him. Thomas swallowed thickly. He asked again. “Who’s we?”

‘We.’

Thomas waited for an explanation, but none came. He sighed and leaned back on the balls of his feet. “Is We your name?”

‘No, there is no We. Just us.’

Thomas chuckled. “Hi, us. I’m Thomas.”

Whoever they were groaned at his joke, except for one that started to laugh. Thomas counted that as a victory in his book.

‘Good one, Thomas.’

“Thanks,” Thomas said as he crossed his legs back into a pretzel position on the ground. He sighed through his nose, “Well, now that you know my name, can you tell me yours?”

Silence answered him once again. Thomas sighed. He rubbed his hand through his hair.

“Do you even have names,” Thomas asked, “or am I seriously imagining talking puzzle pieces?”

Silence answered him once again. Thomas asked a few more questions, but whoever they were didn’t feel like talking to him anymore. He sighed through his nose and looked over at the door.

“Look, I don’t want to be here,” Thomas grumbled. “I don’t even know where I am or why these people want me to solve you- I mean the puzzles. I’m just a guy from Florida who probably eats too much pizza.”

None of the voices spoke up again. Thomas sighed. He decided to leave the puzzle pieces alone and maybe get a little more sleep. Heck, for all he knew, this was all just an elaborate dream still. When he opened his eyes, the pieces would all be separated and he’d be able to work on them and get the heck out of here.

Hopefully, anyway.

Thomas wrapped the blanket around his body once again, but this time, he slept so his back faced the puzzle pieces. He was tired of looking at them. All he wanted to do right now was go to sleep and pretend his problems didn’t exist anymore.

He’d deal with everything after he woke up.

.

..

...

‘Who is this guy anyway?’

‘Didn’t you hear him? He said his name was Thomas.’

‘Yeah, I know, but like, why him? What’s so special about him?’

‘Now, now, everybody’s special.’

‘Sure they are.’

‘Well, he is talking to us, which isn’t something anyone else has been able to do, so there’s that.’

‘Perhaps he’s more unique than I initially gave him credit for.’

‘Unique or not, he can’t be doing this.’

‘I don’t know. There’s something about him that I like.’

‘You like everyone.’

‘He does have a point, Doctor Gloom.’

‘You just like him because he’s cute.’

‘So?’

‘And fuckab-’

‘Please leave the rest of that sentence to the imagination.’

‘Whether we feel any sort of special connection to him or not, we cannot let Thomas put us back together again.’

‘But-’

‘No buts.’

‘Haha, butts.’

‘You know that is not what I meant. Prevent him from putting us together no matter the costs. We cannot be rebuilt. You know what happens if we are.’

‘I know, but-’

‘No. We were broken apart for a reason, and we’re going to stay that way.’

‘Even if I do miss staring at my reflection.’

‘Even if it means hurting someone who didn’t do anything wrong?’

‘Ah yes, because touching someone without their consent isn’t wrong.’

‘He didn’t know.’

‘Thomas could very much be here of his own volition and tricking us all into believing he is innocent.’

‘So we’re all in agreement?’

‘Of course.’

‘I guess.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Right. No matter what, we will not let this Thomas person put us back together. Now, scatter yourselves again before he wakes up.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To be continued ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Within the Circles

Good Omens Spooky/Whump fic.

This fic was written for the @tricketyboo2020 “Trick-or-Treat” prompts; @peppervl requested a scary angel/demon summoning, with the summoners wanting to hurt their captive, a rescue, and Hurt/Comfort (non-graphic and SFW). Well, I have Part 1 ready to go, but rescue and comfort are still being written! I’ll try to get out more later today!

This fic is massive (part 1 is just under 5k), so please consider reading on AO3!

Part 1: Circles of Protection

Crowley snapped awake, fighting off the dream, just as the sun rose. He could still taste the salt and smoke, still see the black candles, the silver sigils laid into the floor, still hear the careful chanting – the words changed over the centuries, but the intent always remained the same.

Someone had started the process of summoning a demon last night, and Crowley was the unlucky target.

“Bad dream?” He shook himself out of the reverie to see Aziraphale smiling down at him, reaching over to gently brush strands of bright red hair from his eyes. “You always get clingy when you have one.”

“Nh.” Crowley was pressed as close to his angel’s side as he could get, arms twined around soft stomach, one leg hooked over Aziraphale’s knees. There was a warmth emanating from him, surrounding them both, a warmth that had nothing at all to do with Hell or Earth, a warmth that could heal everything in Crowley within seconds. “Better already.” He pressed his face into the soft tartan flannel, soaking it all in.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” A little too quickly, perhaps, but Aziraphale didn’t try to pry, simply pressed a kiss to the top of his head, breathing deeply, as if he enjoyed the burnt-match smell that still clung to Crowley even after all this time out of Hell.

“Alright. Get some more sleep then, darling, it’s only just after seven.”

But Crowley didn’t have time to sleep. He needed to prepare.

Was the New Moon tonight? Most likely. And it was halfway between the Harvest and Hunter moons. The night the humans would have the most power. More than Crowley could resist on his own. Hard to judge how strong they were – felt like at least three, could be more. Already he could feel their hook in his mind, tugging at him. It was just lucky his mental defenses were still intact, or else they’d have him now, bound to a circle, and the questions…

Aziraphale noticed how tense he was, rubbed a hand down his back. “Crowley, dear, it’s alright. Just a dream. It’s over now.”

No, it wasn’t over. It had barely even begun.

“Angel…” he started slowly, not wanting to pull away. “I’ve got…some things to take care of today. Why don’t you head back to the shop?”

“Oh, no, I’d much rather stay with you.” There was no denying the growing concern in his voice.

“Really has to be done alone.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Now Aziraphale’s fingers clutched at the back of Crowley’s shirt.

“Ngh.”

He could. Aziraphale could probably help him. Even with his defenses, Crowley would be in for a fight tonight, and there was no one else he’d rather have at his side.

Except.

Except Crowley would have to tell him. Would have to say the words out loud. Would have to admit to all that fear and pain, and see the horror he could just barely keep buried reflected in Aziraphale’s eyes and then what was he supposed to do?

No. Much better to face this alone, as he always had. He could fight this off, and after the New Moon the humans wouldn’t be able to do more than irritate him, no matter how large their group. They’d lose the trace on him in a day or two, and that would be the end of it.

Besides, Aziraphale would only worry. And fuss. And get anxious and lose his appetite, and a thousand other things Crowley had sworn to keep him safe from.

No, this was the way it had to be.

“S’nothing to worry about.” Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand, kissed the back of it. Covering up his nerves as best he could. “Just demon stuff. I’ll call you first thing in the morning when I’m done. We can...mmm…go for a picnic?”

“It’s a bit cold for a picnic,” Aziraphale admonished, wearing his most put-upon frown. “And you know I would much rather spend the day with my husband.”

“Nh, I’m in trouble.” Crowley tried to smile, pushing himself to sit up. He felt a wave of cold the moment he moved away from Aziraphale, his mind filling with that echo of chanting, but he quickly slid beside his angel, head on his shoulder, arm around his middle. Back into the warmth. “I know you only call me husband when you’re angry at me.”

“Or when I’m angry at someone else. Do you remember that rude man in the park?”

“How could I forget?” This time his smile was almost genuine. “You made that old bigot cry. It was beautiful.”

“Well. I obviously didn’t want to use such harsh language, but there were children around. I couldn’t have them thinking his behaviour was socially acceptable.”

“My hero,” Crowley said mockingly, lifting Aziraphale’s hand to kiss it again.

“Stop trying to distract me. Why don’t I stay here and, I don’t know, make you tea? I know how to stay out of the way.”

“I just...it’s easier this way.” Another kiss. “And we do whatever you want tomorrow. Dinner? Trip to Paris? What are you in the mood for?”

Aziraphale pulled away a little, trying to see his face more clearly. “And...you promise it’s safe?”

There was no hiding the way Crowley hesitated, but he pushed through it quickly. “If everything goes right, worst thing that’ll happen is a sleepless night for me. No one else gets hurt, promise.” Not unless something went very, very wrong.

“I still don’t like it,” Aziraphale sighed. “But…I suppose…a nice walk in the woods? See the leaves?”

“Yes! Whatever you want.”

“Scarecrow competition?” Crowley nodded eagerly. “And...a maize maze? Oh, a vegetable grower’s contest! There’s one at that farmer’s market over in Oxfordshire – we can stop by Tadfield and see how everyone is. And then we can fly kits and carve pumpkins and – and have a bonfire with marshmallows—”

“We can’t do all that in a day!” The demon slumped back down with a dramatic groan, head hitting the pillows with a thud.

“You said whatever I like. And if I’m to be deprived of your company for a day, I expect you to make it up to me.”

“Fine,” Crowley growled, rubbing his jaw. “S’Friday tomorrow anyway. We can make a weekend of it.” He’d need to recover, and a weekend out of London sounded more appealing than ever. “Just promise you’ll let me take a nap first. Then we can head over, take the kids wherever you like. I’ll even do jack-o-lanterns. Show them how to make a proper one out of a turnip.”

“Alright. It’s a deal.” Aziraphale leaned across and kissed his lips. “And if you insist on being mysterious and secretive, that just gives me an entire day to think of wonderful autumn activities for you. There will be fuzzy jumpers. Maybe a crown of leaves.”

“Bastard.” Crowley kissed him back, trying to pull in every ounce of that warmth.

He’d need it to get through the night.

--

The back room of Crowley’s flat contained his most important possessions – an eagle lectern rescued from a bombed out church, several artworks by Leonardo da Vinci, a photograph of Aziraphale, the first he’d taken when they no longer needed to keep themselves a secret.

He hadn’t meant for the room to have a theme, but all the important things in his life tended to have something in common.

He tugged open the safe that had once held his flask of Holy Water. The flask itself was long gone - Aziraphale had whisked even that away, a gruesome reminder of his greatest fear. Crowley had never considered asking for a replacement; the first had nearly cost Crowley the most precious thing in his life, and that was too high a price to pay.

Still, he wondered how Aziraphale would react if he knew about the box.

Tucked in a corner of the safe sat the simple chest of dark wood, sigils traced across the lid with little more than a hint of the silver that had once inlaid them. Still, they remained strong enough to keep the box safe, and to keep Crowley safe from it. Even picking it up made the hair prickle down his arms, his fingers tingle. It was almost too heavy to lift.

He carried it to a table in his solarium, settling it between trembling plants. They, at least, would have a relaxing day. No time to shout at them now. The lid rattled when he set it down - it had once locked securely, with a key that he carried everywhere, until an emergency caught him unprepared and Crowley had shattered the latch to get inside. He should get it replaced, probably, but in truth the only one he needed to keep out was himself.

Crowley flipped back the lid.

The inside was lined with deep red velvet, worn and torn in many places, and packed tight with rows of glass vials. Some held salt, others spices, herbs, small stones, one even had a jumble of tiny iron nails; the largest held pure black ink. A side compartment held larger stones – amethyst, agate, selenite, quartz. In another, a bundle of candles, black and white and deep violet. An Evil Eye pendant, the back carved with symbols of protection even more obscure.

Every good luck charm, every token of protection that humanity had ever devised. Everything that had ever been waved at him in fear, in an attempt to ward off the evil spirit - everything except holy symbols. Not because he feared them more (though he did), but because they wouldn’t be any help to him now.

Even without the Holy Water, Crowley could still be a danger to himself. Every object in this chest, if used properly, could harm a demon – some of them almost fatally.

He’d learned long ago that sometimes he needed to take risks to protect himself.

--

Crowley decided to make his stand in the bedroom. No windows, only one door, practically a cave, though a literal cave would have been better. He miracled out all the furniture, leaving a glass-fronted concrete cube, facing west across the solarium to the windows, then set to work scrubbing walls, floor, even ceiling until it was almost astringently clean.

Grabbing a bowl from the kitchen, he mixed salt, black pepper, cayenne and a few other ingredients, muttering words of power few humans would still remember. His fingers began to sting as he stirred them through the mixture, but that just meant it was working. Crowley carefully poured a thin line of black and white powder, moving in a clockwise circle in the center of the bedroom, being careful to leave a gap to move in and out through.

Four black candles, set at the cardinal points; four white halfway between them. Three violet, inside the circle. He wasn’t sure if those last ones did anything, but he’d never been summoned while burning them, and he wasn’t going to risk it now.

Another clockwise pass through the room, putting down incense burners – cedar, cloves, dragon’s blood, sandalwood. Even unlit, the scent of them made his lungs ache. He could feel the power building in the room, like a charge of static electricity, like lightning looking for a place to ground itself.

The vial that should have held garlic was empty. He’d used it all back in the 70s and never replaced it. Stupid. Careless. He could miracle some up, but he’d learned the hard way that anything he manifested would be useless for protection until cleansed by a witch. Book Girl would probably help if he asked, but not without asking questions and making it a whole thing. She wouldn’t be as bad as Aziraphale, but it still wouldn’t be good.

Besides, he didn’t even have time for a trip to the grocery store, never mind Tadfield.

The jar of ink, thankfully, was filled to the top. He snapped his fingers to create a paintbrush – that, at least, he could manifest safely – and set to work dabbing sigils of protection on the floor and across the walls. They were hasty, badly formed – but each one hurt, a burning flash of pain up his arm as he finished it, some of them jabbing at his heart. He couldn’t imagine what a proper sigil would do to him, so he went for quantity over quality.

Sixteen around the outside of the salt-and spices circle, eight more around the inside, and one on each wall. In between he set the stones, piles of herbs, and glass jars filled with dried flowers and less savoury items.

The protection in the air was almost palpable now, dragging across his skin, clinging to him like the heat in a sauna. It made his head spin, and he wasn’t even done.

The box was nearly empty now, just a pile of assorted good luck charms – a horseshoe, a rabbit’s foot, a stone with a hole worn through the center – and the Evil Eye amulet.

They burned when he picked them up.

Fumbling, Crowley set the last items around the innermost circle, barely leaving himself space to sit.

Every time he stepped into the solarium, it was like the shock of a cool breeze on a hot day, or the flare of a campfire on a frozen winter night. Both at the same time. A relief. The bedroom repelled him.

He leaned against the table, eyeing the empty chest, trying to think of anything he’d missed.

Nearly sunset. No time now.

He reached for the box of matches, then hesitated.

Heading to the back room one more time, Crowley made a quick call on his mobile phone.

“Hello,” a cheerful voice called across the line, and a little worry unknotted almost immediately. “I’m sorry, you just missed us. We’ve been closed since August—”

“It’s me.”

“Oh! Crowley! How are you? Did you, er, take care of what you needed to do?”

“Nh. Finishing up now.” He grabbed what he needed and turned back, feet dragging as if he could delay the inevitable. “Few more hours. So. Um. Don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Well, of course I’m worried, you silly thing.”

“Really you don’t—” The sky burned red as the sun sank behind the buildings of Mayfair. The hook in Crowley’s mind stirred to life.

“It’s my job to worry about you, dear,” Aziraphale went on. “Why don’t you let me come down and help. I’m sure whatever it is—”

“Nuh. No chance.” He snatched up the box of matches, hand shaking so badly half of them immediately spilled onto the floor. Get it together, Crowley! “Stay wh – where you are.” 

“Crowley!” Now there was no mistaking the deep concern. “Something is wrong, I can hear it in your voice.”

“S’fine.” Why was his voice so high?

“I don’t believe that for a second.” A pause, while Aziraphale probably paced around the room, lips pressed together. “I...I know you have your secrets, and I’ve never pried. I won’t start tonight. But, please, just tell me...are you sure everything is alright?”

Crowley took a deep breath, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. No, he wasn’t sure. There was nothing sure about summonings. He’d be in for a fight tonight, and the smallest thing to distract him or throw off his wards could bring disaster.

He knew what he was doing, he was good at this, really. Hadn’t lost the fight in centuries. Not since 1386, when a group of seven summoners had overwhelmed all his defenses. Of course, Crowley had barely escaped them, and when he had…

No. He would not – could not – tell Aziraphale that.

But he wouldn’t lie, either.

“Honestly…no. But I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

“Crowley…”

“S’fine. M’gonna feel…” His throat closed up, and it had very little to do with the lingering scents of incense. “Feel so much better when I see you tomorrow.”

A short pause, and then a voice so soft it nearly broke Crowley on the spot: “I love you, dearest.”

“Yeah.” Crowley wiped at his eyes again. “I, uh…” Swallowed, tried to clear his throat. “I…”

A tug of power at the back of his mind, almost too subtle to feel. So strong already. The sun hadn’t even fully set.

“I gotta go.” Crowley’s voice was rough, even to his own ears. “Call you in the morning.”

He shoved the mobile into his pocket and hurried back into the bedroom, striking a match as he went, trying to keep his fingers from trembling and putting it out.

Moving clockwise around the room one last time, he carefully lit candles and incense, filling the room with thick, cloying scents. The tug on his mind weakened, but the protective charms were almost as bad, flaring across his skin like red-hot razor blades.

When everything was complete, he settled in the center of the room and poured out the last of the salt-and-spices mixture, closing the circle. At least seven layers of protection surrounded him, candles and charms and sigils and everything else humanity’s fantastic imagination could devise.

Crowley tied the amulet around his neck, where it hung like a millstone, and placed the object he’d retrieved from the back room in front of him: the photograph of Aziraphale, smiling at St James’s Park, three days after the world had ended and a better one had taken its place.

The picture wouldn’t provide any protection, but it made Crowley feel stronger anyway.

“Right, Angel,” he managed, crossing his legs and hunching his shoulders. “Here we go.”

Through the windows of the solarium, he watched the sun vanish.

--

The first attack came an hour after sunset, at 7:18 PM, just as the tension was beginning to make Crowley’s back ache.

Candles flickered around the room, and the flames turned violet-black, one by one, growing, towering almost up to the ceiling. Whenever a candle shifted, it tugged at Crowley, absorbing his own power as much as the power invading his space.

A wind stirred around the circle of salt, sending stray grains rattling and tumbling away. Glass vials rattled and clicked, but so far everything held. Crowley tried to recite the mantra he used - Latin, very dignified and appropriate - but he kept messing up the words.

The air of the room sucked at him, like the sea going out before a wave, and Crowley barely had time to brace himself before the wind solidified, slamming against his circle like a physical force, swirling around him, coiling, boiling, trying to find a way in. 

Each impact rattled him, and the hook in his mind pulled, trying to drag him towards the door.

“No, no, no, fuck off!” He braced his feet against the floorboards and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He gave up on the Latin and tried something more his style: Get the fuck out of my home, repeated, over and over, until it was no longer words, just a wave of sound.

The power slammed against his circle again, nearly knocking him over. One foot lashed out, and his toe caught one of the glass vials of protective herbs. It teetered - spun - and fell over, rolling towards the circle of salt. “Oh, shit, no--”

Before he could put the blessed thing back, the power sensed the hole in his defenses and struck. It hit him in the chest, like an arrow, like a harpoon, and the force of it threw him to the ground. Gasping and twisting, Crowley sprawled on the bedroom floor, scrambling for something to hold on to as the line of power started to pull, dragging him towards the door. He scratched at the concrete floor, the ink-drawn sigils, but there was nothing to hold. His toe tapped another vial.

Fuck, why did I put so many of these things in here? He used the pull on his chest to force himself to sit up, despite the pain, and caught the vial before it fell. The first one had come to rest just shy of the circle of powders, leaving them unbroken. Where did this one come from? All the blessed trinkets made circles within circles, and if he didn’t plug the gap—

Something not-quite-solid shot around Crowley’s neck, constricting, squeezing, pulling him to his feet, up, off the ground. It was a hand, he could feel it, fingers digging into his flesh, becoming more real as it tried to pull him to his destination. Crowley twisted in the air, helpless, feet kicking futilely at a captor who stood miles away, scratching at his own neck in his desperation to get free.

One finger shifted, brushed across the amulet he wore, and suddenly it released him, dropping Crowley in a heap in the middle of the circle. He coughed and tugged at the charm, which sliced his finger like broken glass even though it was still intact, and crawled across the sigils to the gap in the circle of stones and jars. Another bolt of pain struck his shoulder, insubstantial fingers plucked at the collar of his shirt, but with a scream of “Leave me the fuck alone,” Crowley slammed the little glass jar back into place—

A flash of black light and a shock of pain through every nerve—

And suddenly everything was still again.

The candles burned, blue flames steady, the circles unbroken.

Crowley curled into a ball at the center of the circle, shielding his wounds. Everything hurt, his ribs, his shoulder, his back, his neck. He felt like he should be a bloody, bruised mess, but apart from the tiny cut on his finger there was no sign of injury. And beyond that, the cold, every part of him down to his core, a bone-deep cold beyond shivering.

With a great effort, he managed to push his sleeve up enough to see his watch.

7:24 PM.

It was going to be a long night.

Already, somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the chanting again, calling to him. The candles started shifting from blue to black. Already.

His eyes fell on the picture of Aziraphale, smiling like a bastard by the duck pond after stealing Crowley’s ice cream. Crowley hadn’t been angry. He’d ordered Aziraphale’s favorite for a reason.

“S’gonna be alright, Angel,” Crowley muttered, forcing himself to sit up even though his arms and chest and head felt like lead. “I’ll see you soon.”

No wind this time; the summoners tried a different approach. The quartz crystals began to glow and hum, a high-pitched noise that ground against Crowley’s eardrums.

He braced himself, eyes on the door.

“Alright, you assholes. Do your worst.”

--

Crowley was not winning.

Candles lay scattered across the floor, most with flames snuffed out, and he had long since lost the power to miracle them back into place. The charms, the herbs, the incense - everything had failed, one by one. Even the sigils were smudged beyond recognition.

Every part of his body was bruised, broken, sore.

Now Crowley clung to the ceiling as a powerful wind shifted the circle of salt, grain by grain breaking down his last barrier. His fingers dug into the light fixture, even as more lines of power than he could count buried themselves into his bones, hauling him towards the door. Metal twisted under his fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned as the circle below grew thinner – thinner – and vanished altogether, breaking the protection with a snap he felt in his soul.

The forces pulling on him – harpoons and snares and hands and everything else the bastards had thrown – suddenly became irresistibly strong, ripping him free, dragging Crowley back along the ceiling.

His feet slammed into the glass above the door, bracing him, but only for the moment. 

It was the last line of defense, the last thing keeping him safe – once he passed through the door they would have him. He pawed at his jacket looking for any other tricks – the amulet had burst shortly after midnight, all the powders burned to nothing, even his mobile phone was gone, lost in some struggle he barely remembered.

Nothing remained but his legs bracing against the wall and ceiling, his mind bracing against the pain and the call, and his glasses…

Shit, that might work.

He pulled them off and glared at the lenses. More black holes than mirrors, but they might be reflective enough.

It was dangerous, trying to reflect power back on the attacker. It worked best if you knew who was attacking you and where they were. A desperate stab in the dark could go wrong in too many ways.

Worse, leaning forward to attempt this might tip his balance enough to drop him through the door, ending this fight entirely.

But what else could he do? Try to hide in this corner until dawn released him?

The glass cracked under his feet.

Now or never.

Planting his feet on the ceiling, Crowley swung his head down, glasses in hand and pointed west, through the door, in the direction the power pulled him. Shoved them right where the pull was strongest and snarled, “Get out of here! Find some other bastard to play your games. I’m not fucking going!”

And just like that, the power released him.

Crowley hit the floor – hard – hard enough to crack his ribs, if they weren’t already damaged, hard enough to slam his teeth against each other. He spat out a mouthful of blood – had he bit his tongue? Or some other injury in the night, ignored until now? – and wriggled across the floor, grabbing four candles as quick as he could. North, east, south, west, all around him. One still flickered and he used it to light the rest before the attack could come again.

But…nothing came. Not even the chanting in the back of his mind.

He looked at his watch, cracked but still running. 5:08 AM.

Had it worked? Had he made it through the night?

Crowley shook his head and let his gaze drift around the room, trying to focus on anything.

What a mess. Broken glass, plant matter and powders scattered everywhere, formless smears of ink, burnt-out wax stubs. Even his glasses were destroyed, frames twisted, glass melted.

Would he have to do this again tonight? Most summoners could only manage an attack like this on certain nights when the forces of the universe aligned, but these had been strong and persistent. There was a chance…

At the center of the room, Aziraphale’s picture suddenly burst into flames, turning to ashes in a heartbeat. Too quickly for a stray spark, for a mundane fire.

“Shit, no, no,” Crowley’s eyes darted around the wreckage for his mobile. Had he dropped it in the corner? Blown out of the room in a stray wind? He snapped his fingers, trying to summon it, but he couldn’t find a whiff of power.

It could be a mistake. It could be a trap. One step out from his makeshift candle circle, and they’d have him, and Crowley didn’t have the strength left to endure what came next.

But if something had happened to Aziraphale, that didn’t fucking matter, did it?

One cautious step past the candles, half in and half out. Nothing.

Three steps to the door, leaning through into the incongruously still-clean flat. Nothing. The plants didn’t even stir.

He crossed the solarium, gazing out through the windows at the night sky. The miracle that allowed him to see the stars despite the lights of the city was rapidly fading, as he hadn’t even the strength to sustain it, but he could still see Venus, clear as lamplight, and Regulus, and Leo…

It wasn’t even near dawn.

And still, nothing tugged at him, nothing beckoned.

Which could only mean…

Crowley ran from the room, all pain forgotten.

--

“No, no, no, shit, shit, shit, no, no, shit, fuck, no,” he muttered the entire drive to Aziraphale’s shop, an excruciating three and a half minutes at speeds the Bentley had never previously reached.

The east window lights were on, the rest of the shop dimmed, the way Aziraphale liked it when he was reading all night in his favorite chair.

The door was blown wide open.

Crowley slammed the Bentley into park right in the middle of the road and staggered out. “No, no, no, Azira—”

There, lying in the doorway: a suit, a waistcoat, a tartan bow tie.

Aziraphale was gone.

Crowley had told the summoners to find some other bastard, and they had. They’d found his bastard.

He collapsed in the street, and for the first time that night, screamed in pain.

--

Thank you for reading, and I’m so sorry! More coming soon!! Special thanks to @angel-and-serpent who gave me so many ideas for protection magic, I’m probably going to have to write MORE fics with witchcraft in them! In particular, thanks for the idea that the protections would hurt Crowley as much as help him, which really allowed me to go off.

[bluejayblueskies]

delphinus

Words: 2.7k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Peter Lukas Tags: AU - Merpeople, No Fear Entities, Fluff, First Meetings, Kissing, They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan Sims, Mer!Jon Warnings: mild blood and brief mention of biting/eating people

|| Ao3 ||

.

If asked, Peter Lukas would say that he wasn’t lonely, and it would be true. He spent six months of the year—more if he could help it—sailing the white-crested waves of the ocean, away from the sights and sounds of land, the bustle of cities and the chatter of people that grated on his ears like sandpaper. He kept as small a crew as he could manage when he left shore, never more than ten or so pairs of hands to handle the cargo he would carry from port to port. Sometimes, though, he would sail alone, packing enough supplies for several months on his small fishing boat and leaving behind a life that, lonesome as it was, remained as sticky and cloying as mud upon the soles of his boots.

This was one of those times. Three and a half weeks ago, Peter had packed enough supplies for four months, set sail from port, and breathed in the salt of the sea with a relief that was as palpable upon his tongue as the taste of brine. He didn’t particularly enjoy fishing, really, though it was as good a story as any to placate the dockworkers and to keep conversation to a minimum. Still, he was not immune to boredom, and so he often would cast a net over the side of his ship and inspect its contents for anything that might spark his interest (or, on occasion, make a sum of money). More often, though, he simply released the mass of wriggling fish back into the sea and settled for watching the sun dip below the horizon, with only the gentle rocking of the boat to keep him company.

Two and a half weeks ago, Peter had pulled the net over the side of his fishing boat, straining at the weight of it, and found a pair of sharp brown eyes staring back at him.

Peter would deny to his dying breath the shout of surprise he let out at the sight, or the fact that the net immediately slipped from his grasp and hit the deck with a wet smack. The answering sound that came from the net, however—a sort of punched-out gasp, almost akin to a groan—was loud in his ears, because it was a human sound. And it had not come from him.

Quickly, Peter gripped his fisherman’s knife and severed the ropes of the net with practiced ease. And when the fish trapped within began to slide out, flopping across the deck like an undulating carpet of silvers and blues, so did the owner of those brown eyes.

Having been raised on the coast, Peter had grown up hearing stories about the creatures that lurked beneath the white-capped waves of the sea that he spent so many days watching with growing fascination. There were selkies, seals who took the form of man to walk on land and who carried their coats beside them, vulnerable and exposed. There were sirens, whose songs could lure many a sailor to their grave with their beauty and with promises of all that one desired. 

And then there were merfolk, with the tails of fish and the bodies of men and with teeth so sharp they need only brush against skin to break it. Merfolk traveled alone; they were solitary creatures whose wit and cunning could trick the smartest of fishermen and whose taste for human flesh could never be sated. They were bad omens, portents of doom, the dockworkers would whisper. Nobody had ever seen a merfolk and had lived to tell the tale.

And yet here Peter was. The creature glared at him with eyes that were startlingly human, but their tail failed to find purchase on the wooden deck and their hands splayed flat against the wood in an effort to keep themself still. Their skin was a darker brown than the wood beneath them and was dotted with scars of a variety of shapes and sizes, and their hair lay across their shoulders and midway down their back, knotted with seaweed and delicate shells and blue-green threads in an intricate pattern that Peter found his eyes drawn to over and over again. Their tale sat starkly against the silver-blues of the smaller fish, an inky black with iridescent purple markings and triangular fins jutting out at regular intervals. Their gaze upon Peter was piercing, and when Peter allowed their eyes to meet, he found that theirs glowed ever so slightly, like morning light streaming in through a dusty window.

They were breathtaking. And when they bared their teeth at Peter, he was unsurprised to see that they were sharp and pointed, like that of a shark. But they said nothing. So Peter felt it only appropriate that he take the initiative.

“Peter Lukas,” he said, for it would be quite rude not to give the creature something to call him, wouldn’t it? “I don’t suppose you speak English though, do you. Pity.”

The creature’s nose flared with irritation, and in a crisp British accent that mirrored Peter’s own, they said, “The only thing pitiable about this situation is the fact that you think me to be beneath you.”

Peter considered the creature with a growing interest. “Now, that is a surprise. It does make this whole affair considerably easier, though.”

“Affair?” the creature snapped, and though their tone was cutting, there was fear in their eyes, sharp and sudden. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come now,” Peter said jovially. “This is my first time encountering your kind. You’ll forgive me a bit of simple curiosity.”

“I will do no such thing,” the creature said, though their face had softened ever so slightly. After a long moment, the creature said, hesitantly, “Though if… if I did entertain such a thought, I would only do so under the condition that you should let me go once you’ve asked your questions.”

Peter considered this. On the one hand, capturing a merfolk would be sure to earn him a large sum of money, perhaps even a fortune if he found the right buyer. On the other, he found that he quite liked the idea of letting such a creature slip free from the hands of others, leaving him with a secret that was his alone to keep. 

And he couldn’t say that he wasn’t curious. It had always been a flaw of his.

So Peter said, with a small smile, “I believe that can be arranged.”

And so the creature spoke. They spoke of the wide-open sea and what lay beneath, and they spoke of a life of loneliness that had lasted far longer than Peter’s had and would last far, far longer still, and they spoke of the tales the others of their kind had imparted upon them—for though they were alone now, they had not always been. They spoke of myth—of fishermen who ran scared at the first flash of sharp teeth, teeth that only ever tore into the flesh of fish and of seals and that rarely broke the skin of a human, for the meat tasted foul, of freshwater and dirt. And as they spoke of beauty and knowledge and freedom, all things that Peter longed for upon the ocean but could never truly grasp, Peter found himself enraptured with the creature—who, they said, called themself Jon. 

So Peter spoke in return. He spoke of a life on land devoid of happiness and filled instead with the breaths and movements and speech of others, none of which spoke to the rushing waves within him. He spoke of a childhood of absent parents and distant servants and time spent wandering the halls of a house far too large for any one person to live within and the gardens and woods outside it, straying further and further from mahogany furniture and marbled floors until one day he simply did not come back. He spoke of the quiet presence of his crew when he took work transporting cargo and how some days they, too, were too much, and he would retreat to the captain’s quarters and would simply stare at the sea, wishing that it would swallow him whole.

He spoke, and Jon listened, and though Peter was not alone, he felt somehow like he had found what he was looking for. Because Jon was the sea, and they were the rushing of waves, and they were the wide-open sky, and Peter found that he very much did not want them to leave. 

But he had made a promise, and a promise he would keep, because despite all else, Peter was a man of his word. So when the time came, he brought Jon to the edge of his ship and allowed them to slip into the ocean below, swallowed by white-capped waves for a long moment before resurfacing once more, hair fanned out around them in a halo of brown and grey.

“I won’t be heading back to land for quite some time,” Peter found himself saying, hoping that his words carried on the sea air to the water below. From the way that Jon’s face twitched into something like a smile, he knew that they had.

“Is that so?” they said, voice neutral yet undercut with something lighter, anticipatory. “Then perhaps we’ll run across each other again.”

And with that, Jon was gone, swallowed by the sea. Peter indulged himself just a moment longer, watching the surface of the sea fold in on itself again and again, before turning away and returning to the solitary comfort of his ship.

He ignored the itch at the back of his mind, telling him that something was missing, and settled upon the deck, looking up at the stars that had appeared as the sun had set upon the ocean and at the moon that illuminated the water in lovely silvers and indigos. He mapped out the constellations with his eyes, lingering ever so briefly on Delphinus where it lay just against the horizon. And when a glimmer of light caught his eye, the quick flash of a shooting star, Peter found that he could not resist a wish.

.

Peter did run across Jon again, a few days later, a quick flash of purple amongst the waves that resolved itself into bright eyes and a hesitant smile. And then again a few days later, and again, and again, until Jon’s appearance became a daily occurrence and Peter spent more time in their company than he did in solitude. But he found he didn’t mind. Not when Jon told such fascinating stories, speaking of a life far beyond Peter’s comprehension yet one that Peter felt his mind snagging upon, for loneliness and solitude were universal feelings, and of this Jon and he shared a striking commonality. Not when Jon allowed Peter to run his hands along their tail, always in the direction of the scales so as not to cause pain, brushing the edges of the fins with the pads of his fingers and pulling away a sticky moisture not unlike that of an eel. Not when Jon looked at Peter with soft brown eyes, lidless and forever watching yet weightless upon him, so Peter never felt suffocated by their gaze.

And not when Jon finally paused midway through a story involving a shoal of fish and a particularly tenacious selkie, laid their hand upon Peter’s where it rested upon the curve of their tail, and said, “I’d heard stories about humans, you know.”

“Oh?” Peter said, for as much as Jon spoke of the sea, they rarely spoke of what lay beyond it, and when they did, it was brief, a simple necessity more than anything.

Jon simply nodded their affirmation. Then, in a quieter voice, they said, “They said that you were cruel. That you would hunt things you didn’t understand, remove them from the sea and butcher them or sell them or keep them for your own. They said that humans would steal the skin of a selkie and lock it away, rid them of the sea for good and keep them bound to the land and to the one who owned them. My kind, we didn’t- we didn’t have such problems, not really.” They smiled then, a wild, sharp-toothed thing, and said, “We found that a flash of teeth and a bite to the arm or leg would keep humans away effectively enough. I expect that’s where the ‘flesh-eating’ myth came from. It’s for the best, I suppose. It’s better than the alternative, at least.”

“I see,” Peter said. For it was true, wasn’t it? Peter had considered it, once—capturing Jon, selling them to the highest bidder, monetizing their rarity and resting upon his fortune afterward. Even now, the thought tempted him, loath as he was to acknowledge it. But it was just a thought, and though he had limited control over those, his actions were his and his alone. So he continued, “And now? I like to think that I can be quite charming when I put my mind to it.”

Jon’s smile was less sharp then, fondness mixed with exasperation. “I wouldn’t be quite so bold,” they said lightly, humor seeping into their voice. “But perhaps I… I might have gained a new perspective on humanity lately.” A pause. Then: “One- one human in particular, I suppose.”

“Really?” Peter said, feigning ignorance. “And who might that be? Goodness, do I have to be on the lookout for some sort of competition? Jon, you should have warned me, I would have prepared myself.”

Jon scowled, with absolutely no heat behind it, and removed their hand from Peter’s, crossing their arms across their chest sullenly. “I swear, I try to be serious for one moment, and you feel the need to make a joke about it.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” Peter said lightly. “You do get such an adorable look when you’re cross with me.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed a faint blue so quickly Peter thought it quite funny indeed, and he didn’t try to hide the small chuckle that escaped him at the sight. “Stop that,” Jon said petulantly. “I am not adorable. I am an apex predator, a fearsome creature of the ocean, a terrifying monster to all of humanity.”

“Right,” Peter said, his bright smile not diminishing in the slightest. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

“Shut up,” Jon said.

Peter raised a single eyebrow. “Make me.”

And so Jon did. They leaned forward with a suddenness that caught Peter off guard, braced their hands on the wooden deck, and kissed him. Peter caught the taste of salt and fish and blood as he pressed into Jon’s mouth and promptly nicked his tongue on the sharp peaks of Jon’s teeth. Jon startled slightly at that and made to pull back, but Peter tangled his hand in Jon’s hair and kept them close, twisting his hand just enough that Jon let out a bitten-off gasp against Peter’s mouth, one that made Peter grin an obscene amount and drew a muttered, “You are insufferable,” from Jon’s mouth.

“I know,” Peter said, and kissed them again. 

And when Jon finally slipped back into the ocean, hair significantly more tangled than when they had arrived—a state for which they had chastised Peter considerably, because It’s going to take me ages to untangle that, Peter, it’s not like I have a hairbrush to work with—Peter felt more at home within himself than he had in years. Perhaps in his entire life.

“Perhaps we’ll run across each other again,” Jon said, a dry amusement in their voice that contrasted starkly with the faint red staining their lips from where Peter had grown careless and gotten his own lip caught in the sharpness of Jon’s teeth, an act which he didn’t regret in the slightest.

“Perhaps,” Peter said, knowing that he had had a taste of the sea and now had no desire to return to the confines of land ever again.

Jon disappeared beneath the waves and Peter returned to his ship, running his tongue over the cut on his lip and tasting the bitter tang of iron and salt that still lingered there. And when, far in the distance, he saw the briefest flash of purple, almost like the wave of a hand, he couldn’t help but laugh.