#th: tea jam bread

[aishangotome]

Elbert Greetia: Chapter 14 Premium Story

Chapter 14

♡———♡

--A gentle breeze blows through the deserted flower field.

Kate: Mmm, this feels so good...!

Elbert: ...Yeah.

We set the basket near a spot dappled with sunlight and sit down right beside it.

Kate: I love days like this, with such nice weather. How about you, Lord Elbert?

Elbert: I prefer sunny days too; they make me feel calmer. ...Though I don't dislike the rain either.

Finding out Lord Elbert's likes and what he finds enjoyable... something that can make him happy. That's my secret goal for today.

We chat idly as we arrange the bread and scones we brought onto a cloth.

Kate: Do you prefer your scones with jam, Lord Elbert?

Elbert: Ah... yes, I suppose I do tend to put jam on them more often than clotted cream.

Elbert: I'm not very fond of milk, to begin with.

Kate: You like bitter things and dislike milk... You have quite the adult palate.

Elbert: ...And you?

Kate: I... I like both sweet and bitter things... And I put both cream and jam on my scones.

Elbert: ...Hehe.

Kate: What is it...?

Elbert: Your... unexpectedly gluttonous side is... cute.

Kate: ...!

Elbert: You have some cream... right here.

He wipes my mouth with his finger, and I quickly turn my flushed face away.

Kate: Th-thank you...

(Dislikes milk, likes bitter things.)

(Doesn't have much of an appetite... but probably doesn't mind watching me eat...)

The casual conversation continues until we finish the scones, and Lord Elbert tells me all sorts of things.

How horse racing is popular among the nobility, but Lord Elbert isn't very interested in gambling.

He prefers to go horseback riding himself.

With each new thing I learn, my heart can't help but leap with joy.

Kate: ...I'm so happy to hear about all the things you like, Lord Elbert.

(I'm supposed to be trying to understand him to help him, but...)

(I'm the only one getting happy... It's almost a bit troubling.)

As I mutter this while sipping my after-meal tea, Lord Elbert suddenly turns to face me.

Elbert: ...Have you decided to give me your heart?

Kate: Eh!?

I almost drop the teacup I'm holding, but I manage to gently set it down on the saucer.

Kate: N-not yet... not yet.

Elbert: I see... That's unfortunate.

Kate: W-Wow, look! This flower is so pretty!

I deliberately changed the subject, avoiding his piercing gaze.

(...I need to stay strong.)

(If he realizes that my heart has already been stolen...)

(I might be taken away, just like...)

(Just like the other collectibles, displayed in that room.)

Elbert: ...Indeed, it's a lovely flower.

Whether he noticed my attempt to deceive him or not, Elbert shifted his gaze to a small flower blooming nearby.

Elbert: I used to enjoy making flower crowns...when I was a child.

Kate: ...Crowns...?

My gaze is naturally drawn to his profile, as if he's reminiscing about something.

Elbert: Everyone always smiled happily when I gave them presents...

His fingers, like those of an artist, gently pluck the flowers and skillfully weave them into a crown.

Kate: Wow... You're really good at this.

Elbert: ...Here you go.

Elbert gently places the flower crown on my head.

Kate: Thank you...

Elbert: .......

His happy smile makes my chest tighten with a bittersweet ache.

(He likes making flower crowns... and making others smile.)

I gently touch the flower crown.

I feel like Elbert, who continues to collect beautiful things, is fundamentally the same as the young Elbert who made these flower crowns.

(He wanted the people around him to smile...)

(That's all it was, wasn't it?)

Along with affection, pain wells up in my chest.

It's his overly pure kindness that's causing him pain.

Kate: ...That's a wonderful talent, just like you, Lord Elbert.

Lacking the confidence to hide my pain, I lower my head and tremble.

Elbert: ...Kate.

Suddenly, he calls my name in a serious tone.

Kate: Yes...?

(...!)

When I raise my face, jewel-like eyes are right in front of me.

Long golden eyelashes and porcelain-like skin are somehow so close...

(Ah, his lips...)

Just as I think they're about to touch, I instinctively push Elbert's chest away.

Kate: L-Lord Elbert, what are you...?

Elbert: I want to kiss you.

Kate: ...What?

His low, husky voice whispers, close enough for me to feel his breath.

That alone makes my head spin, to the point where I forget how we were even conversing a moment ago.

Kate: But why...?

Elbert: Because you won't kiss me.

Kate: B-But that's... I...

Elbert: I want to touch you more.

Elbert: .......I want to know your voice, your breath, your body temperature, everything.

Kate: ... N-no, I can't.

Elbert: ... Really?

Kate: ...

His probing gaze made her words catch in her throat.

(Because...)

(This is... to "possess" me, isn't it...?)

Elbert: The more I look at you, the more unbearable the pain becomes...

Elbert: ... It's like poison is coursing through my body.

Elbert: If you would become mine--- surely this pain would disappear.

(Don't look at me with such serious eyes...)

---My heart wavered.

I couldn't bring herself to believe that this plea was a trick to possess me.

Lord Elbert wasn't a man of many words or expressions, but he was a man who didn't lie.

That's why I couldn't help but hope.

I hoped that Lord Elbert simply wanted to touch me because he genuinely liked me.

(If I... confessed my feelings for Lord Elbert)

(Perhaps Lord Elbert would forgive himself and wish for happiness with me)

It's like "true love's kiss," breaking the evil spell that torments him—

I might be able to save the kind Elbert from the sins he carries and the acts he does to atone for them.

I can't help but wish for such a fairy tale.

(To be the key to saving Elbert)

(If only I could become it—)

Elbert: ... Move your hand away.

Kate: ...!

Elbert: Kate.

His voice, mixed with a sigh, makes his shoulders tremble.

Kate: ... Please don't whisper in my ear like that...

Elbert: Why not? ... Because you won't be able to push me away with your hands anymore?

Kate: Because I... I won't be able to stay calm...

Elbert: Does that mean... you're captivated by me?

Elbert: ... If so, I have no reason to stop.

Kate: ...

My heart is beating so loudly, it feels like it's going to break.

It's screaming, wanting me to give in to this impulse.

Elbert: Kate...

Kate: Ah...

Elbert's arms wrap around me from behind, embracing me gently.

Through my palm, still pressed against his chest, I can feel his heartbeat quickening too.

(How easily he embraces me)

I'm reminded that my resistance is but a trifle.

Elbert could easily hold me like this at any moment.

He could forcefully take my lips.

(But... he waits for my answer because)

(He's worried that if he's rough with me, he won't be able to captivate my heart...?)

(Or... is it because he doesn't just want to take me, but because he...)

A faint hope swells in my chest, threatening to burst.

Elbert: ...Kate.

Kate: ... Ah...

I feel the touch of thin lips on my earlobe.

It's such a faint sensation, I can't tell if it's accidental or intentional, but it sends a sweet shiver through my skin, making me feel unbearable.

Kate: ... Lord Elbert...

Elbert: Why don't you push me away?

Kate: ...

(Because...)

(Because I love you, hopelessly...)

(I really want you to touch me)

(I want to tell you that I love you and kiss you)

(But, what if)

(What if Elbert can't forgive himself, even if he's loved by me?)

Elbert will take me, who confessed to being captivated by him.

As an offering to atone for his sins.

(To hurt and "take" someone who says they "love" him—)

(It would hurt Elbert... so deeply)

Kate: ... N-no.

Exhaling a heated breath, desperately pulling myself together, I pushed back against Elbert's chest.

Kate: Please, don't kiss me...

Elbert: .............

It was a choice that wouldn't save him, but wouldn't hurt him either.

I didn't know it would be this painful to say words that go against my heart.

Elbert: ... Alright.

Elbert muttered quietly and gently let me go.

(... Ah... In truth)

(In truth, I don't want you to let go)

A burning impatience to chase after him and a slight sense of relief mingle together in my chest.

Just then—

Kate: —!

Elbert's head rests on my shoulder.

Elbert: ... Will you allow me this much?

His golden hair brushes against my neck.

I can't see his expression well, but... his voice sounds sad and relieved at the same time.

Kate: ... Yes.

Elbert: Thank you...

He nuzzles his forehead against my shoulder like a child seeking comfort.

(... I want to hug him)

It's painful not being able to tell him how much I cherish him.

We stayed like that until sunset, leaning against each other, swaying in a fragile peace that could be shattered by the slightest touch.

-

That night, after dinner, Victor and William called us over.

William: About the auction Elbert was invited to, the one hosted by Bernard Trading Company...

William: It seems highly likely that Bernard, the head of the company, will be there.

Victor: If we win the bid for the main attraction, we might have a chance to make contact with him.

(The main attraction... He must mean the blue diamond.)

William: It would be ideal if we could get Bernard alone during the event and eliminate him.

William: But even if we can't, just create an excuse to contact him later, that's all we need.

Elbert: ... Yeah... Got it.

William: We're counting on you. Oh, right.

William: Apparently, to attend this social party, you need to bring a partner...

William: Elbert, have you decided who you'll take?

Without hesitation, Elbert's gaze settles on me.

Elbert: Kate... I'd like you to come with me.

I somehow manage to regain my composure and suppress the pounding in my chest.

Kate: ... Yes, I'd be happy to.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 15

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[itsalwaysthesamehere]

Hey guys! This is from my ana doc that I keep private for the most part but I figured sharing would be great considering a lot of these tips/collections I got from tumblr anyways haha. I take no credit for any of this besides the food logs which are from my first week of relapsing. Ive tried to take things slower because I do have people Im hiding this relapse from so pleaseeeeeeeee no judgement. Im also super broke so I basically have to eat whatever we have at home. Enjoy yall!

Week one: No meat products. Prep soy sauce eggs, spicy foods and have breakfast, nothing off limits but only eat half of whatever you get for the week. Tons of salad and avoid heavy foods. 

Monday: 1800, high protein. 

Tuesday: 1600 Wednesday: 1400 Thursday: 1200 Friday: 1000

Saturday: 1200 Sunday: 1000

Monday: 1200

Tuesday: 1200

Wednesday: 1000

Thursday: 1000

Friday: 800 Saturday: 800 Sunday: 800 

Food log:

12/03/2023-

2 slimjims- 80 cal

One street taco- 75 cal

Cheese- 50 cal

Ravioli and salad: 350 calories

Total for breakfast- 205 calories

Total for dinner- 350 calories

Snack at night: 3 bananas, chocolates, chips :<, 1020 calories

Food log #2:

Breakfast: cottage cheese and raspberry jelly on toast, calories 147

Dinner: Spaghetti with garlic bread, calories 600

Snack: Garlic bread guts, 600 calories (heavily estimated, heavily exaggerated 

Total: 1,350 calories 

Food log #3:

Breakfast: White bread, cottage cheese and sugarfree raspberry jam, calories 200

Dinner: Cowboy stew with cornbread, calories 800

Snacks: Pastry :<, poptarts 1,150 calories

Total: 2540 calories

Lunch: Cowboy stew, 800

Snacks: One bite of pastry puff, cottage cheese with ritz crackers,pringles,  calories 437 

Total: 1,237 calories

Food log #5: 

Snack: Cottage cheese with sugarfree raspberry preserves and blueberries,, one chocolate, yahoo milk, sucker 335 cals 

Dinner: Alfredo with penne pasta, calories 600

Food log #6: 

Breakfast: 1/5th of a grape fruit, 1 egg white, 3 strips of bell pepper, 3 strawberries, and half a pom drink. Cals: 139

Snack: Icecream bite, 50 cals

Safe foods: 

Airhead - 60

Popcorn - 64 (per cup airpopped)

Animal crackers - 85 (ten crackers)

Baby ruth - 98

Milky way - 99

Vitamin water sugar-free - 0

Sparkling ice sugar-free - 5

Bai - 5 (any flavor)

Caprisun - 30-80 (depends on the flavor)

V8 - 45

Chinese fortune cookie - 15

Laffy taffy - 33

Pop rocks - 36

Cotton candy - 40 (10g)

Lollipop - 47

Candy cane - 59

White bread - 67

Angel food cake - 72

Victorian sponge cake - 72

Opera cake - 80

Buttermilk Pancake - 83

Pancake - 86

Pepperoni - 10

Chicken breast fillet - 17

Prosciutto- 18

Sushi - 39

Literally any lunch meat, they're all low cal!

Strip steak - 40 (3 slices!!!)

Quail breast - 69

Turkey wings - 53

Chicken wings - 77

Beef tripe - 80

Beef jerky - 82

Mushrooms - 1

Baby carrots - 5

Celery - 6

Bell pepper - 15

Tomatos - 20

Zucchini -  33

Green beans - 34 (per cup!!! Just throw on some red pepper and lemon juice and feast, sisters)

Artichoke - 60

Cucumber  - 66

Cherries - 4

Apricots - 17

Passion fruit - 17

Plums - 30

Cantaloupe - 23 (per 70g)

Mandarin oranges - 47

Peaches - 60

DON'T BINGE: 

Take a moment and talk to God about it (even if you’re not a believer, it doesn’t hurt to try!)

Watch mukbang about the food that you are craving

Watch supersize vs superskinny (its on YouTube)

Look in the mirror and remind yourself why you are doing this in the first place

Read a book

Do your homework

Do chores

Smell at the food that you are craving

Write down your feelings and cravings (trust me it helps sm)

Drink A LOT of water. Drink until you feel like you’re about to explode

Clean your room! Get rid of all those water bottles and dishes.

Clean out your closet, decide what clothes you don’t wear and donate them to your local thrift store!

Go on a shopping spree! (Don’t spend all your money though!)

Organize your Pinterest boards

Compare yourself to th!nsp0

Weigh yourself

Listen to music

Drink calming tea

Catch up with a friend!

Talk to your pet about your feelings

Sleep the cravings out

Take a long walk

Take a cold shower

Watch a movie you haven’t seen before

Take care of your nails!

Look up how to do something you have always wanted to learn (make-up, macramé, origami, sign language, …)

This might sound weird but I love sudokus and they always get me focused enough to stop thinking about bingeing

Make a to-do list for the rest of the week

Listen to a podcast

Have a self-care day (take an everything-shower, put on a face mask, take care of your hair and body)

Make an essay about any topic you like

Start writing a book

Re-decorate your room

Make a New Year’s resolution list! Who do you want to be at the end of 2024?

^ or make a vision board !!!

Call a friend or family member

Read the newspaper (lowkey more interesting than I expected it to be)

If you’re frustrated about it, scream into a pillow

Scroll on insta or tiktok

Built a Lego set

Pick some flowers!

Practice deep breathing

Try yoga if you haven’t before!

If you are still standing in your kitchen, girl get out rn

Ask yourself if you are physically hungry, the answer is most likely no

Keep a food diary

Munch on a low cal snack instead, take veerryyyy slow bites

Thing I do but definitely don’t recommend:

Binge and purge (if you purge make sure you brush your teeth abt 30mins after)

Sm0ke or v@pe (depends if i’m able to go outside or not)

Sh (please, pleaaaase don’t do this)

I’m so guilty to do this to my family and the people who think I’m in a true recovery. But if I don’t Im scared of what might happen, I’m scared I’ll kill myself or even worse. I just really want to lose weight and feel like myself again

On day one I did mess up by having meat early on but we have to go through meat products before I can buy vegetarian substitutes plus we don’t have eggs rn. 

so you think you're "stuck" here again? you're not actually stuck, you're just not trying hard enough. you can lower your intake, walk more, exercise harder, fast for longer. the only thing stopping you from losing weight is you. why haven't you changed that? do something.

It’s only been two hours and you are already eating again. You are gonna be huge forever.

if you're looking at some food and doubting yourself if you should eat it or not, the answer is no 

I doubt that eating makes you as happy as stepping on the scale and seeing that you lost weight

You aren’t hungry, you’re just bored.

Excuses to not eat:

My tummy hurts from gallbladder

I took my pills in the morning and got sick

Sky kept me busy all day

Shared breakfast and lunch with sky

Thought I ate, forgot. *Go to get a snack and come back with a drink or small treat*

Spend time cooking for others

Talk about how you ate different things for breakfast

Smaller chest

Sharper jawline

Less curvy thighs

Square hips

Dainty hands

Collarbones

Slutty waist

Sharp shoulders

To float in my clothes

To look hot in emo clothes

Deeper set eyes

Visible spine

✨️Hipbones✨️

To save money (less food eaten, less food to buy)

Mesh tops

Muscles easier to see

People telling me I'm so small

Boyfriends being able to pick me up like it's nothing

some tips on food fixation and binging urges:

hellooo, ive been thinking about compiling some things that have helped me get my mind off of food and overall just writing down some rant -- so here it is!

keep in mind, im not an expert and this is mostly just me babbling. im writing this as a motivation for myself, and it will probably not work for everyone, but if you find any of this stuff helpful -- my pleasure!

★ mindfulness ★

`` first of all -- ive found that that strong-urge-to-binge thing is more of a state, not a feeling. it helps me to treat it as such: a mental state, a spiral, and to come out of that spiral you can:

◌ stop!

◌ breath in, breath out. ground yourself. have that thought of "wait, what am i doing?" in the space between you and the fridge

◌ check in with your body. what position are you in? does something hurt? are you cold? are you tired? overenergized?

◌ check in with your mind. is there any buzz? are you overwhelmed?

◌ if you located the issue (eg. im tired! i want comfort! so food = comfort!) -- great! move on from there to resolving this issue in a more mindful, not-involving-food way (then i should nap, do yoga, just lie on the floor, watch comfort movie)

why are we doing that? in my opinon, its very important to train that "what am i doing" moment of conciousness, because through that you can see better why you want to binge. is it a mental thing? how can you cope without food? is it a physical feeling? an effect of restriction? how can you tweak your eating to make it better (imo, fasting does better job at managing binges than plain restriction)

you cant just showe thinspo at your face everytime you crave something, after all : )

★ activities ★

`` make something with your hands! ohh my god! i cant stress it enough, it can help you to not get fixated on thinking about food so much! it can be something easy like drawing, or you can look up something new for yourself

`` go on a walk. i know, it can be very tiring to even think about, but t does wonders at distracting you

`` yoga. very simple and very effective. or, alternatively

`` do nothing at all for a bit. just. lie down, turn off your phone, no sound, no nothing (helps if your binging urge feels overwhelming)

`` if you havent already, try drinking coffee. it really is called an appetite supressant for a reason

`` i wasnt the one who told you that, but you can look up some gross stuff involving food.. f*eeding k*ink usually freaks me out on multiple levels for long enough to forget about food

`` test yourself and allow yourself to feel bored. put down your phone. watch a really long flm. boredom is a part of our lives, and if you teach yourself to feel it in such small portions without binging youll be so so proud of yourself

Thinspos i have^

[moibymd]

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[m-jrgymrubix-nollchtr0]

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[lunarflare64]

Qe are so fuckint hammered we've been basicskky liveblighing the night to our brother and its been a fucking roller-coaster, trolls simping fnaf simping, mental breakdown anf relapse, suddenly fin3, broke a vent trying to fix it, can not agree on what to eat, we're a mess, why do we drink we knoe full wll ths type of shit will haoo3n good gods KEYTL3 DOEN TEA TUME TIME FOR TEA TIME FOR TEA BREAD AND JAM AND COMPANY

[valgasnewsthings]

Diet nr 10 a.

 In heart diseases with failure for blood circulation for 2-3 Th stages, hypertension for 2 nd stage with destroy for brain blood circulation, or failure for blood circulation. In diet limiting substances meal and products as exciting for cardiovascular, central, nerve systems, irritating kidneys, liver, as affecting on bowel swelling, and rising products with calium, vitamins, lipotropic substances.

Zrazy potato with mussels.

300 gr ready dish are 65 gr mussels scaled, 200 gr potato, 20 gr onion, 15 gr vegetable oil, 12 gr flour, 8 gr carrot, 4 gr petroselinum, for sauce are 10 gr tomato pasta, 2 gr carrot, 4 gr petroselinum.

Cleaned, boiled potato as warm to mince meat, add 3 gr millet flour for bunch, mussels chop, fry slightly with boiled onion, carrot, petroselinum as shredding. Of potato mass form zrazy, and in middle put force meat, roll in flour, fry and serve as hot with tomato pasta.

Proteins 6.8 gr, fats 19.2 gr, carbohydrates 49.7 gr, energy value 364.1 kcal, dish use for diets nr 8, 9, 11, 15

Diet nr 10 a.

Diet limiting proteins on 60 gr, carbohydrates 250-300 gr, salt cooking as salt free cooking, free liquid 0.6 l, daily ration mass on 1.5-2 kg, energy value 1800-2000 kcal.

Rubbing meal, water of cooking, salt free, serving a warm, chopping meal for 6 times/day.

Bread white and not pastry cookies, salt free, vegetarian soups, half portion of chopping vegetables, cereals.

Meat, fish not fat in chopping, or rubbing meat as pieces, of grinding meat, meat purée, meat balls, quenelles , steam cutlets.

Sauce milk.

50 gr ready dish a milk 50 gr, flour 5 gr, butter oil 3 gr.

Proteins 1.5 gr, fats 4.1 gr, carbohydrates 6.8 gr, energy value 56.7 kcal.

Dish use for diets nr 1,1 a, 1 b, 3,4, 4 b, 4 a, 5, 5 a, 5 p, 7-10, 7 b, 10 a, 11, 11 b.

Sauce fromage.

For 50 gr ready dish a vegetable broth 40 gr, fromage 40 gr, millet flour 5 gr, proteins 0.8 gr, fats 3.0 gr, carbohydrates 4.0 gr, energy value 45.3 kcal.

Dish use for diets nr 1,2,3, 4 b, 4 a, 5, 7-10, 10 i, 7 b, 11,15 .

And for you are benefit vegetables , potato of, beet, cauliflower, squashes, pumpkin, rubbing as, boiled, stewed, baked potato. Cereal porridges of water, milk, rubbing, or good cooked as cutlets, puddings. Soft boiled eggs, stew omelet. Kefir, sour milk, fresh curd, curd soufflé, and in good enduring is milk, butter salt free oil.

Ripe berries, frits, soft, raw, or of mouse, purée, marmalade, jam, wetting dried apricots, prunes, white, fruit sauce.Fruit and vegetable juices, hibiscus drink, weak tea.

from Valga s health news,gardening,and cooking ,and beauty . https://ift.tt/GdOcrm7 via https://ift.tt/cKL0uCE

[ephrampettaline]

tea with jam and bread | iann, freddie, ephram

It would be cheating to bring booze, because Iann would’ve just nicked it from Stonefruit anyway. So in the spirit of melon-Cthulu, instead Iann toted over a slim, well-packaged box of assorted glacé fruit which included small pears, clementines, plums and even a row of chestnuts, apparently. All of it derived in some supernatural way; because Iann wasn’t just satisfied with regular humanish tokens of appreciation. He jabbed at the doorbell of their Jamara mansion, calling out. “It’s me!!”

Ephram had, naturally, left the entirety of guest-preparation – from tidying to menu to decor – in Freddie’s hands. taking it upon himself only to dress himself and sit patiently through a short lecture from Oliver on what would count as proper behaviour during this little … playdate. “Well, I wouldn’t call it that,” Ephram protested mildly. “It’s a proper tea! Ain’t that pretty much the standard for polite gatherings?” Of course Iann chose that moment to ring the doorbell and simultaneously yell through the door and Ollie huffed in what passed in Chin for an amused eyeroll. “He’s excited,” Ephram said, with a firm nod. “I am too. Don’t make fun of us.” 

He went to the door and opened it, flinging it wider than it really required as his eyes went immediately to the fancy box Iann was holding. “Is that for me? Come on in, man, good to see you oh hey is this fruit? And what’s –” Ephram rudely took the box and started prying into it immediately, shutting the door behind Iann with his shoulder and hollering, “FREDDIE! IANN’S HERE! HONEEEEYYYY!”

The door was flung open by Pettaline, and Iann didn’t mind the way the witch grabbed the box. It was for them after all, but now Iann was wondering if he should’ve also brought….flowers or something pretty but impractical. Iann never really understood the appeal of bringing dead flowers to someone’s house as a greeting. At least booze was drinkable, candied fruit edible. If he could’ve brought over a fancy electric drill to help then out with future home repairs, he would’ve. 

“Let him primp,” Iann said with a wave, when Ephram hollered for Freddie. He took off his coat and baseball cap as Pettaline asked about the gift. “It’s like those whole fruit that’ve been candied. The candymaker guaranteed they’d have a crunch and they were juicy. Oh! And they’re all grown in a special fairy farm, apparently. Not in the Otherworld, of course. But in some sort of magical pocket-dimension.”

Freddie, who still didn’t know what to make of this entire endeavour - caught somewhere between touched that it was happening, and waiting for the other shoe to drop - heard Ephram call for him and slipped on one more ring, straightening his watch on his wrist, before coming out of the closet and heading down the stairs, to see his husband and his business partner stood in the foyer pouring over some sort of box in Ephram’s hands. 

“Hello, love,” Freddie said, dragging a hand slowly across the small of Ephram’s back and giving Iann a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he smirked, “-but I see you haven’t made it very far, so I suppose I’m not holding things up too badly. How are you, darling?” he asked, as Ollie trotted out, his nails clicking on the hardwood, to check on their progress.

Ephram held up the box for Freddie to look at, having already prised out a glistening sugary clementine for himself. “Chestnuts,” he supplied helpfully, “magic ones, too. From a fairy farm. I didn’t think there was any fairies in the world who’d have an interest in farming, but then I reckon my view of fairies all revolves around you.” Ephram snickered and sampled the candied fruit, his teeth crunching into it – as promised – and syrupy juice dripping onto the floor. Not that he paid it any mind, tucking the rest of the sweet into his cheek so he could hang up Iann’s ballcap and coat. 

“I know you been here before, Iann, but it’s different when we’re here too, ain’t it? I mean our home ain’t really homey unless we’re in it at the time.” Ephram gestured grandly to the enormous wooden sculpture of a raspberry that was reclining in the middle of their foyer. “Like it? I call it Bigfruit. Freddie thought it would look good there. It’s new since you was housesitting.” As if Iann wouldn’t have realized.

Freddie helped himself to a candied plum, smiling at the rich juicy flavour, chewed politely, swallowed, then laughed at his husband’s assessment of farming fairies. “In all honesty,” he said, “-I’d never have thought of farming as an attractive fae career option either - but it takes all sorts, I suppose. And if this is the crop they yield, it does make a bit more sense to me.” Freddie smiled again, rather proudly this time. “And Bigfruit DOES look good there. It’s a statement piece and it needs space to really be seen and experienced.”

“Good. Cold,” Iann responded gruffly, leaning into Freddie’s kiss before he nodded his chin towards the, well, Chin. “Hey you,” he said, because he’d just seen Ollie at the Stonefruit yesterday. It only made Iann realize then that he hadn’t seen Freddie there. Maybe the fairy was at the Inn yesterday, but Ollie was who Iann remembered. He took a tiny pear from the packet and crouched down, holding it out for the familiar to try as he squinted up at the other two. “Try this one. All types of fairies, all types of farms,” Iann intoned, then squinted between Freddie and Ephram’s legs at the wood sculpture. “Oh, uh. What is it?” Iann asked, his uncouthness shining through.

Ollie accepted the little pear graciously, made an approving sound, and shot a small doggie grin up at Iann, already pleased by how well things were going, then huffed out a put-upon sigh when Iann asked what Ephram’s sculpture was, wondering if this was the beginning of the end already.

“It’s a raspberry! Only big. Bigfruit,” Ephram supplied only semi-helpfully, figuring that from this angle, Iann wasn’t able to make out what the sculpture was exactly. He watched Ollie eat the pear, because seeing the little Chin eat non-dog-friendly food never got tired, and then rumpled the back of his head and asked, “Where we settling down, honey? The kitchen, or the living room? I can get the fire going.” He grinned at them both. “I can even use the magic way to get the fire going, for once. Instead of building one up my own self.”

Iann wasn’t out to be insulting or cruel, it was just he didn’t understand art, and didn’t try because it would be inauthentic. That didn’t mean he couldn’t respect creation, even if his artistic intelligence was low-to-nil. So when he stood up again he went over to the sculpture and pet at the drupelets. “Can I touch it?” Iann asked, even though he already was. “Is this mahogany? That’s a good wood.”

“I was thinking the living room, actually,” Freddie said, “I think we’ll all be happier if we keep things a bit more casual. So if you start the fire, sweetheart, that would be lovely, and I’ll start fetching things out of the kitchen.” He turned to Iann. “You make yourself at home, love, yeah?” and then glanced down at Ollie, fairy and familiar passing a silent communication between them before Ollie herded everyone off to the living room.

Ephram nodded, pleased by how this was all going so far. “Touch away,” he encouraged. “It looks like mahogany, don’t it? But it’s a local wood I discovered tends to fall over a lot in stiff winds, so I reckoned I’d make use of the downed logs. Called smoothbirch. Scratch it,” Ephram told Iann. “It smells like nutmeg.” 

Once Bigfruit had been admired, they meandered to the living room where Ephram flicked at the ensorcelled control panel for the fireplace and flames instantly crackled along the small pile of logs there. “I don’t know what all Freddie made neither,” Ephram confided to Iann as the fairy bustled off to the kitchen. “So this is gonna be a surprise for me too. You'ns got somethang like this at work? At the bistro? We had to shut down a place near the University for having a high tea where they was booked up for months in advance.” Ephram paused, then elaborated, “–uh, on account of one of the proprietors being involved in criminal activities, not because of their tea. I just mean it seems like a popular thing.”

“No shit??” Iann said, perking up and using his bitten nails to scratch at the wood, leaning in to sniff it. “Smoothbirch,” Iann repeated to intern into his memory. “Where’d you find it?? I should ask Ranger Will to find me some, seems useful. Not for carving shit, I’ll leave that to the experts. But I think I’ve seen it mentioned for ritual stuff before. I just thought they meant birch that’s been like, sanded and aged and waxed or something.” 

Iann followed Ollie and Ephram into the living room. He shook his head, then argued with himself at Ephram’s question. “No. Wewll yeah - I mean when it’s booked and arranged for a thing, a function or some special event, ah, special. Not a normal offer on the menu.” He grinned, finding a couch to sprawl onto. “Krizti Kameda, who ran Almond Cream Teahouse, yeahhhhh. I know what she was up to.” Iann dabbed at the side of his nose.

Freddie brought out his first tray of finger and open sandwiches, along with the slow-cooked breast of quail, set it all down, then paused to buss Ephram’s cheek and ask for help with the rest. “The cakes and pastries and the actual tea, love,” he murmured, “I’ll be ages dragging it all out here myself, and I’d rather not leave you and Iann on your own for too long.”

Ephram hopped to his feet, seeing no reason why he couldn’t loudly trail this conversation with him to the kitchen and back again. “Of /course/ you would know Ms. Kameda,” he said with laughing exasperation at Iann. “She’s right up your god dang alley, with her underhanded deals and trades. Don’t drag my husband’s good name down with yours now, y'hear?” 

Ephram cackled to himself as he piled his long arms and big hands with the baked goods and pot of tea, getting it all arranged safely for the trip back to the living room. Freddie’s ‘good name’, of course, being in somewhat the same neighbourhood as Iann’s when it came to sly thievery and dabbling in the illicit and forbidden. “I’ll draw you a map for the smoothbirch after we have tea.”

“His good name, huh?” Iann repeated in mild amusement. He watched Freddie return with a tray of sandwiches, all of them neat and uniform, and what looked like a tiny bit of chicken. “Is that oh-so good name hyphenated by the way? I don’t know if I know. Like, like did you guys go for the whole Watts-Pettaline, or Pettaline-Watts name change thing?” He did nothing, letting Freddie and Ephram do all the to and fro since Iann at least knew how to read situations like this. Trying to 'be helpful’ could quickly become 'awkwardly getting in the way’ and everyone wanted to prevent that. 

So Iann stayed with Ollie, grinning in anticipation at all the food being toted out. “We’re the lucky ones, huh? Don’t have to lift a finger,” he said to the familiar. “Thanks man,” Iann said to Freddie, sitting forward but still waiting until he got the green light to dig in. “It looks amazing. If this is high tea then no wonder we only haul it out for special occasions at the Inn. And no wonder it’s always sold out.”

Freddie chuckled along at the idea of his 'good name’, following Ephram back to the living room with the pot of steeping darjeeling, and making sure everything - including plates, cups and cutlery - was accounted for before finally sitting down himself to answer his friend’s question. “No officially, no. I’m still Watts and he’s still Pettaline - but we do use the hyphen amongst ourselves sometimes. Just for fun.” He waved a hand at the spread laid out before them. “Eat up, everyone - and thank-you, darling for the compliment. You’re right though - high tea is a pain in the arse and that’s why we only do it every so often. Chef would have my guts for garters if I foisted it off onto her every week.”

“Pettaline-Watts, is the going version.” Ephram efficiently harvested at least one of each food item onto his plate and devoured a finger sandwich or two before adding, “–it sounds nicer that way, cadence-wise.” The quail put Ephram in mind of eggs, and he bounced slightly in his seat, saying, “Oh! I can’t rightly recall who I told what plan to, about the Golden Fowl, but we’ll all go together this time, right? Freddie was saying that since the island is hidden with fae magic, all Otherworldish and stuff, then his fairy dust might be able to affect it. We might be able to help that atronach feller was stuck in stone on there, Iann, remember him?” Ephram shook his head dolefully. “So much bird shit.”

“No, I don’t remember him.” Iann replied, but his tone was conversational, like he cared less about the plight of the atronach than Ephram did, but was still amenable to locating the unfortunate fellow again. Iann was too occupied with his plate of sandwiches, looking at them with interest before trying them, then deciding which ones were his favourite so he could go back for more. “Oh really? Affect it how?”

Ephram, shocked that Iann didn’t remember the plight of the frozen-stone atronach, subsided momentarily into a teacake and two cups of darjeeling.

“Well,” Freddie said, giving a bit of a shrug and glancing at his handsome husband for both encouragement, and just the sheer pleasure of looking at him, “-I’m not entirely sure. But being that this island sounds to be an Otherworld outpost, or pocket dimension, and fairies are infinitely more powerful in the Otherworld, I thought maybe that might make a difference. Plus, Ephram told me that you can’t carry more than one bird over the bridge, but I can fly so that seems like a bit of a loophole in and of itself.”

Iann paused with a partially consumed sandwich in front of his open mouth. “Holy shit,” he said, then crammed the sandwich in his mouth and tucked it into his cheek as he spoke. “We could totally try and fly some of those chickens out of there! We could fly like five of them. They probably need to be culled anyway. Not like they got any natural predators on that special little island of theirs. Unless that island exists in another dimension that’s accessible by other fae-kind who happen to like a bit of KFC.” Iann grinned. “Alright - we’ll try and take chickens and eggs. And that help out that atronach fellow as well, sure.”

Ephram crammed in the rest of his cake and swallowed it down with tea, sitting back a little to slow down in eating now that he’d sampled enough to start filling his belly. “Carefully, though,” he admonished the other two, looking between them, their alert, clever faces. He’d had moments of envy when it came to how Freddie and Iann worked together so well – he’d be lying if he said he was never jealous – but when it came down to it, Ephram liked the idea of them. As friends, as business partners; it could get lonely for people of a certain temperament if there was nobody else around who could keep up, engage, lob ideas back. They could get carried away on the shining brightness of their ideas, though, which was why Ephram felt it his duty to say, “We can try with the eggs and chickens and flying, but the very minute it seems like it might be going south, we drop everything and get the hell outta Dodge. Otherworld Dodge Island. Whatever.”

Freddie leaned over and kissed the corner of his husband’s mouth tenderly, laying a hand over his witch’s heart. ���Carefully,” he promised, “No foolish risks taken, love. I guarantee it.”

Iann smirked and tried the chicken nugget, which turned out not to be chicken but some other sort of fowl. Whatever, it tasted good and Iann always ate whatever Freddie put down in front of him. Pettaline getting all cautious made Iann smirk (not at the fowl nugget) because Iann didn’t balk at efforts of authority. He rather liked it because either he could just go along with it if it suited him, or skirt around it if it didn’t. But regardless of whether or not he chose to listen (depending on the situation) Iann always appreciated when someone could be a Voice of Reason. It wasn’t easy to take that role in a world full of wannabe rebels and anarchy-geeks. 

“Honestly - has anyone ever seen this guy do anything that could even be within the realm of 'foolish’? But I see what’s going on, uh-huh. 'Foolish’ to rhyme with 'Cardero’, okay, mm-hm, yeah, I’m onto you two. Think you’re subtle, huh. I’ll behave.” Iann reached out to get one of the scone-looking things. “Oh I like this.”

Freddie set the clotted cream and strawberry jam in front of Iann. “Oh, that finger wag was as much at me as it was at you, love,” the fairy chuckled to his partner, and then squeezed his husband’s knee. “But I mean it, sweetheart, I won’t push my luck, hm? None of us will.” Freddie paused for a moment, looking from Ephram to Iann and back again, then said, “Now speaking of luck - namely mine, as I’ve got you both here, getting on like a house on fire - what do I have to thank for this little miracle? I mean, really, yeah? Because this is lovely.” He chuckled again. “Even if I have to admit that I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop a bit.”

“Oh right–” Iann said, reminded by the jam and cream that the scone-things were matched with the spreads. He opened one up and slathered one half with both. When he bit it, cream and jam wet his moustache as well, but Iann mopped his face with his cloth napkin, replying blithely. “Yeah well, it’s not as miraculous as you think. Pettaline showed up at Stonefruit and we talked shit over and then I made him invite me for a snack. But this is a fucking feast, which is even better.” As for the other shoe, Iann shrugged and looked over at Ephram. “No hidden shoe coming from me. I won’t even put them up on the couch, promise.”

Ephram sipped at his tea demurely, feeling very satisfied with his and Iann’s efforts so far. “Ain’t no other shoe, Freddie, come on now,” he said, voice low and warm even through the scolding. “Can’t a couple of fellers decide it’s high time to work through whatever bad business has gone on in the past?” 

He looked back at Iann as the other man turned his glance over at Ephram. “Especially when said bad business wasn’t actually neither of us doing the other one wrong.” Anaxis, possession, branding, metuo sanguis – a morass of horrible things, but nothing that either of them was at fault for. Just uncomfortable associations that got tied to the other one. “I mean, I like it being called a lil miracle, though. But obviously that’s something Iann and me was never gonna agree on, heh.”

Iann nodded, consuming the other half of the scone as he pointed towards Ephram as the witch talked. “Agreed, all of that. That fucking demon,” Iann grunted and then took a gulp of tea. He didn’t really think there was much to elaborate, since he’d explained this before to Freddie, and Ephram already understood. So repeating that refrain would be redundant. 

“Also agreed on the lil miracle thing,” Iann smirked, waving towards Ephram to indicate that Ephram was welcome to claim the title - and far more deserving of being considered a 'lil miracle’, all things considered. “That Cinquefoil really upped the ante, I guess.”

Freddie smiled and held up his hands as an act of concession, happy to be wrong in this instance. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled, “-you’ve both made your point. And you’re right - there’s no reason the two of you shouldn’t be able to clean the slate and move forward.” He smiled again, giving a gracious nod. “I’m sorry for doubting you. I’m just glad we’re here, is all. So from here on out, I’m just going to shut up and enjoy it.” He turned to Iann and said sincerely, “I’m glad you’re here.” And then he turned to his husband and took his hand, kissing Ephram’s knuckles, “And I’m glad you invited him.”

Freddie laughed. “It’ll just take a bit of getting used to; that’s all.”

Ephram pushed his knuckles gently against Freddie’s chin, scrubbing them into the growth of beard there. “Don’t shut up and enjoy anything!” he protested. “Or at least don’t shut up, you need to enjoy this vocally. Plenty of talking, Freddie, you know you can hold your own against Iann and me.” 

Ephram was very pleased indeed that Iann was being gracious about the whole miracle aspect of it, saying, “Well, now – you laid the groundwork for the Cinquefoil your own self, Iann, can’t forget that.” Ephram took Freddie’s hand, turning it over to show the prettified markings there that had replaced the ugly scorched brand that the demon had caused, oh so long ago. “God, sometimes it seems fuckin’ unreal, what we went through.”

Iann stayed quiet, more than content to watch Pettaline protest to Freddie, in a clearly comfortable way for them both and therefore very comforting to Iann. He didn’t begrudge their relationship, far from it. Iann had known for a long time that the pair benefitted each other continually and why would he try to dissuade his friend from anything so completely good? Rare and special as 'good’ could be for individual people? Yet still, Iann knew he’d still managed to bungle it all up. “Sure, sure. I understand that I’m the one on probation here,” Iann said with a wry smile, as he leaned back and extended his arm across the back of the seat (after wiping is hands clean first). “So take as much time as you need, and, ah, I’ll keep trying to improve myself.” 

He waved aside Ephram’s words. The witch was generous to say it; but then Iann considered Ephram an overly-generous man, particularly to people who didn’t always quite deserve that generousity, like Iann himself. He didn’t want to take any credit where it wasn’t due. 

He looked down at Freddie’s hand, as Ephram displayed his palm, face getting grimmer. “What we went through,” Iann repeated, and then pointed three splayed fingers at Freddie, Ollie, and Ephram. “What you three went through.” Despite the clear cheery afternoon tea, Iann had no compunctions with bringing up such an old grim topic. They’d never all actually debriefed together before, after all.

[miss-floral-thief]

lol bought two drinks instead of one b/c #treatyoself 8D; 

[prettygreenpills]

When dad is gone - N. M. - part 6

characters: Narcissa Malfoy x fem!reader run down: your father is at work and you’re home alone with Narcissa after you father proposed her warnings: argue!, mommy issues, angry!narcissa, crying!, mean!narcissa word count: 1,6k+

request status: closed

You looked at your breakfast from under the puffy eyelids which were ruining your face. The tip of your nose was red and it was glistening. All because of that you’ve spent the last night crying onto your pillow.

Taking the bread with butter and jam on it, you took a bite. Swallowing it through your swollen throat you put your breakfast down onto the plate and turned around to make yourself a cup of tea. At the same time you could hear the alarm clock. A sign of that Narcissa was waking up.

Breathing out, you took another bite of your breakfast and swallowed. Knowing that her first way will be right into the kitchen, you decided to finish your breakfast before she could walk inside.

Placing your plate into the sink you wanted to wash your hands. Bad move. Narcissa walked inside of the kitchen before you could’ve left. As you turned around, she smiled at you and supported her chin with her hands. All you could focus on was a huge ring on her finger.

“No good morning darling?” She asked you with a huge smile on her lips and you ignored her. As she tried to be sweet, something happened in your stomach. It was like somebody tied a knot there. “What happened Y/n?”

“Nothing,” you said only and wanted to walk past her. You were almost out of her reach when she grabbed you by your hand and squeezed it.

“What happened?” She asked again and you pulled your hand out of hers.

“I said nothing happened, leave me alone,” you spat out and were ready to leave when Narcissa stood up. With one huge step, she reached the doors and closed them, moving her eyebrows.

“Now you will sit your ass onto that chair and tell me what happened. Who hurt you?” She asked and the answer slipped out of your mouth faster than you could think about it.

“You did!”

Silence filled the whole kitchen and you looked up at her, already crying. Trying not to look at her ring finger, you were pretty unsuccessful.

“I did? And what did I do?”

“All of this wouldn’t have happened if I haven’t met you,” you said, giving Narcissa a look of disgust. She just smiled a little at you and looked at her ring finger. You bowed your head, ready to leave because you had nothing more to talk about to this woman.

“And maybe this wouldn’t have happened if you had no mommy issues.”

The sentence rang in your ears. You looked up at the blonde woman in front of you, not being sure if it was her. Your lower lip started shaking and you took a step back.

Narcissa soon realized what did she say. She turned to you with fear in her eyes, lifting her hands up a little. “Y/n, I didn’t mea-“

“All you wanted was to get married to my father. This was all you wanted,” you whispered quietly and kept watching Narcissa. “You didn’t really mean all of that what happened-“

“Y/n, don’t be silly-“

“Y-you’re a monster Narcissa,” you whispered as you swallowed your tears. Something lit up in Narcissa’s eyes and she leant her hand on the kitchen counter, blocking your way to escape from the kitchen.

“Now listen,” she started dangerously. “Do you think that would be okay if I had something with you? Do you think that I am that dumb I’d fall for you when i have your dad wrapped around my finger?” She asked you, taking a step closer. “It was nice to have a little fun with you. I just needed to get close to you, to make your father believe that I love you enough to act like I am your mother.”

“Y-you will never be my mother,” you spat out and turned away from her. Narcissa was as quick as you and she grabbed your forearm, her fingers wrapping around your skin pretty tightly, that tight you hissed. “L-Let go-“

“You think that I will never be your mother? I am already your stepmother darling and when I get married to your dad, I can do whatever I want. Your father loves me that much, it would be enough just to snap my fingers and you will be visiting somebody who would help you with your mommy issues,” Narcissa whispered to you and you closed your eyes.

“Let me go-“

“Why would I do that hm?” Narcissa asked you back with a little grin on her lips and you whispered once again.

“Let me go-“

“There,” she said and threw your hand away. Without looking at her, you grabbed the spot where she was holding you and rubbed it gently. You stepped away from her and ran out of the kitchen with a blurry sight.

Your chest was all from your tears when you arrived to your room. Walking to the wardrobe, you opened it and immediately took the sets she bought you. Throwing them into the middle of the room you couldn’t stop crying. Every single piece of clothing found it´s place on the floor and you had to take a deep breath.

How could you be so stupid? She was right. What has been happening between you two- wasn´t. She was really waiting to get married to your father. She just used you. To get you onto her side.

You took the shirt which she gave you few days ago. It was her shirt. You looked at it and threw it onto the top of the rest of the clothes which had been bought from Narcissa´s money. You sobbed really loudly as you looked at the clothes. Then you looked back into your wardrobe, where only your clothes were at the moment.

You slowly let the last piece of clothing fall onto the ground. Watching all of the clothes on the floor, you decided to give them back to Narcissa, but you didn´t really want to talk to her at the moment. You just knelt down and grabbed the clothes which were in the middle of the room and threw it to the corner, thinking about if should you give them back to her and if yes, when.

You sat down onto the corner of your bed and pulled your knees to your chest. Hugging them tightly, you placed your chin into the valley between your knees and looked out of the window. Tears filled your eyes once again and you didn´t want to let out any sound.

“Y/d/n?” You heard Narcissa´s voice from the next room and you frowned. Why was she calling your father? What the hell did she want? “Yes, uhm, I think we need to talk when you come home,” she said and your eyebrows lifted a little. “No, nothing is happening, don´t worry love. I just wanted to ask when are you coming home?”

As you heard what did she say into the phone, you started to feel sick. How could she be like this? Did she have two faces or what? Well, she clearly did after doing what she was doing...

You decided to ignore the phone call and you just laid down onto your bed. Closing your eyes, you weren´t really listening, but you realized when did the phone call end. You could hear her putting down the phone and then the doors of the room she was in opened. 

Listening to her footsteps, you knew that she wasn´t about to go inside of your room. She walked the opposite direction and when you couldn´t hear her footsteps anymore, you looked at the clothes.

Leaving your room soon, you opened the doors. Checking if she wasn´t in the corridor, you walked outside of the doors and went straight to the basement. You lit up the lights even if you knew where exactly was what you needed at the moment and you took the garbage can bags. Not knowing how much of those you would need, you took the whole package and went back to your room.

You didn´t meet Narcissa while you were walking back. Thank god. You just slipped isinde of your room and closed the doors. Your eyes fell onto the mountain of clothes and you sighed once again.

“Let´s get into this,” you tried to cheer yourself up as you fell onto your knees to the clothes. You started showing them inside of the black bags. When the first one was full, you made a knot at the top of the bag and placed it aside. It wasn´t that much you had to throw away, but it wasn´t too less neither.

Placing the last piece of that filthy clothing into the bag to the others, you stood up from the floor and cleaned your legs. Taking the full back into your hands, you had little troubles with carrying those out of your room, but you made it to the corridor.

Walking past her doors, you didn´t even look there. When you walked past, you could hear them open, but you didn´t turn around neither.

When you left the house, you walked straight to the garbage containers which were right by the road. You walked there in your slippers which you were wearing only inside of the house and threw all of the clothes out. You closed the container and your eyes traveled up to the windows for some reason.

It was her standing in the window. She was looking at you and she didn´t really seem nice. You just looked away from her with no sadness in your face and walked back inside of the house, waiting for your father to get home.

Part 7

[mathemagiks]

@scholarlostintime replied here:

Fennie gave a warm smile as the two entered, taking his seat at his desk once more. “It’s nice to meet you, Ehn. Thank you again for coming by.” From her spot on a nearby cushion, Ruby gave a cursory wiggle of her nose at Rascal, before standing, tail flicking as she gave him a sniff. Fennie took a few moments to listen to Ehn’s explanation, nodding in understanding — at both the man’s seeming nerves, and his mention of “quirks”. At the miqo’te’s nervous tapping of his knuckles, Fennie quietly pushed over a small tray, topped with a pot of fresh-brewed tea, a clean mug, and a basket of still-steaming bread rolls with two small pots of jam and butter nestled within. “Courtesy of my husband, please help yourself.” he offered quietly, before reaching for a notebook and pen. “In a sense, you would be helping with my research, if you wouldn’t mind my asking a few questions about said ‘quirks?’. If you’re comfortable, that is. Any information you’re willing to share will certainly be of use.” Fennie set his pen down a moment, offering another smile, this time in a sort of solidarity. “And, please feel free to ask any questions of me, as well, if you’d like.”

Ehn had finally allowed himself to sit down when the tea tray was pushed towards him, ears going up before giving a curious flick. “O-oh, you don--” He paused, catching the words and holding them on his tongue for a moment before reaching for one of the rolls. “... th-thank you.”

He didn’t eat it right away, merely turning it over in his hands a bit before Fennie mentioned the ‘quirks’ again. Ehn could nearly hear the quote-marks around the word in his voice.

“Well... uh... I don’t think my free company knows fully about what it is yet, but... I do.” Would he sound crazy for admitting it out loud? That fear always clanged loudly in his mind when people started to poke and prod. “... it’s an Echo. Though... from a lot of what I’ve seen and heard in others, mine doesn’t... entirely work right. At least, not for the most important part.”

[ladywynneoutlander]

Hi guys. So I am writing a little story for the holiday season. It is very fluff-tastic, mostly family and love with a minimum of plot. I very much hope someone enjoys it!

Heart’s Abundance

Part 1 - Giving Thanks

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6

Bree and I are sitting in the kitchen, enjoying my own special blend of “Liberty Tea,” a mixture of dried strawberry leaves, lemon balm, and chamomile. It is hot, fragrant, and delicious. As we sip, the afternoon sun warms the whole room, giving the feeling of a golden cocoon in the midst of a particularly cold November day. Adso is with us, basking in a windowsill, and we are all practically purring with contentment. Then the sound of dried leaves crackling underfoot reaches our ears. We have visitors. Brianna and I sigh slightly but smile at each other. She opens the door while I take a honey cake from the cupboard.  

It is Young Ian and Rachel. I smile warmly at them. Ian is dressed in particular native splendor today, owing to a visit from a group of prominent Mohawks passing through. His head is freshly plucked and spiked, with metal ornaments and turkey feathers hanging from the back.  Over his pink calico shirt is a vest decorated with astonishing beadwork, and his buckskin trousers are fringed. Next to him Rachel’s Quaker attire is a contrast. She is in a gray wool dress with plain white cap and kerchief. As she enters the sunny room, she unwraps her shawl to reveal the newest Murray, snuggled in a sling against his mother.

Brianna closes the door behind them, then her face lights with a smile, “Why, you look like a Thanksgiving pageant!”

The couple look at each other in incomprehension. “A what, cuz?” Ian inquires.

“You know! When the Pilgrims and Indians ate together. At Plymouth? It was a long time ago…” Her voice becomes more hesitant as the faces of our guests remain blank.

I understand the difficulty. Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated now, even though the famous harvest meal happened more than one hundred years before. I’m struggling to salvage this time-travel faux pas when Jamie steps through the door leading to the front of the house. He bends to kiss my cheek then crosses to wiggle a finger at the newly freed baby. “And what’s that then?” he says, turning to Brianna. “Is thanksgiving not something you do, no a meal?”

“Well…” she hesitates, then boldly rushes on. “Where I grew up, in Boston, some people take a day near the end of November to give thanks for their blessings. They celebrate with a feast and invite close friends and family.”

“It sounds lovely,” Rachel says kindly, “though oughtn’t we to give thanks every day?”

“Of course,” Brianna agrees, ‘it’s just nice to take a special moment for it now and then.” She looks wistfully at me. “Right Mama?”

Suddenly I recall craft-paper feathers, Macy’s parade on the television, and the taste of a cranberry jello salad in perfect vividness. I move to stand by Brianna and take her arm, smiling softly in understanding. “Yes, darling. It is.”

Jamie looks at us and his own face grows tender. Rachel still looks confused, but Ian, who has been watching carefully exclaims, “Sounds like a fine idea! We should have our own thanks meal, aye?”

I look at Ian gratefully, thankful indeed for his enthusiastic spirit. I also see Jamie’s face. It is creasing slowly into a smile. “Aye. We should.”

Brianna’s hand tightens on my arm in excitement. “Great! We’ll have Thanksgiving on the Ridge!”

-o0OOO0o-

A few days later I pull Brianna’s turkey out of the oven and baste it well with drippings, butter, and thyme before pushing it back inside for another half hour. It is nearly time to eat and the bounty of the Ridge is spread throughout the kitchen. It will be a delicious meal (if I do say so myself). The smell is heaven, and by the discreet peeking and increasingly frequent visits of men and small children, they think so too.

Jamie and Brianna brought down this large tom the day before. Even with ten people there would be plenty to go around. I had also dug the last of the fresh vegetables and emptied the pantry. Fanny had spent the entire prior afternoon baking. It would be a feast indeed.

The table is set and festooned with colorful dried leaves and pinecones. Roger even wove a clever cornucopia from twigs and filled it with gourds. Perfect. The turkey has a chestnut mushroom stuffing. There are also yams and brussels sprouts and onion gravy, and (elegance indeed!) yeast dinner rolls rather than corn bread. Crocks of butter and honey and jam round out the meal. My mouth waters just setting it all out.

Soon everyone gathers and we ceremoniously present the pièce de résistance on a platter. Looking from face to face around our large farm table I see Fanny’s eyes widen and smile happily to myself. We are all here, Brianna, Roger, Jem, and Mandy. Germain and Fanny. Jenny and Ian and Rachel with the baby sleeping peacefully in a basket. Jamie takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, then leans over and whispers, “I often think your time strange, Sassenach, but this is fine, aye?” He kisses my lips softly.

The others, used to us, are chattering away. Jamie straightens, clears his throat and waits for quiet, then looks to the end of the table, saying formally, “Ieremiah, an toireadh tu taing?“

Jem, sensitive to the honor thus bestowed, sits up straight as an arrow, “Aye, sir.” He folds his hands before him and I am suddenly reminded of my first dinner at Leoch, when young Hamish said grace. Jem has the same red hair. I add Hamish to my prayers as we all bow our heads together.

“Dear Holy Father. Thank ye for the food before us. Thank ye for our family and friends. Bless us, O Lord, and help us to do good always. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Amen,” the table echoes.  

Jemmy peaks at his father, and at Roger’s nod of approval relaxes happily in his chair. Jamie carves and wafts of fragrant steam are released. The table makes noises of appreciation all around. We fill our plates and enjoy the meal.

“You know,” Roger says, buttering a roll. Since we are giving thanks today, maybe we should each say something we’re thankful for. I believe that’s something they do in Boston, aye Brianna?” He smiles at his wife and she nods.

“Oh yes, it’s a tradition.” When no one volunteers she goes on, and looking directly at Jamie and I, “I’m thankful to be home.” Brianna then turns to Mandy on her right. “And what about you sweetheart? What are you thankful for?”

Mandy turns up a honey-smeared face and smiles. “I thankful for Esmeralda!”

Everyone chuckles and Roger goes next. “I’m thankful for family, for my wife and bairns.”

Jem says, “I’m thankful for Grandda. And Grandma,” he adds hastily.

Germain is next. “I’m thankful for my friends.” He smiles at Fanny and Jem.

Fanny answers in a small voice, “I’m thankful to Mr. and Mrs. Fraser for keeping me.”

“Oh Fanny,” I say gently, “We want to.” She blinks quickly and gives a small smile and we continue.

Jenny, Ian, and Rachel take their turns.

“I’m thankful for our new wee bairn.”

“I’m thankful to have my mam here, and my wife.”

“I’m thankful for the peace we enjoy here.”

Jamie says simply, “I’m thankful for ye, Sassenach.”

I look around the table slowly and finally turn my face up to Jamie, the man who is my heart, “I’m thankful for each of us. For love and family. For every moment.”

“Amen,” he says, and kisses me.

-o0OOO0o-

Soon afterward the table is cleared, and dessert brought out. We have apple tansey, clootie dumpling, and for Brianna, pumpkin pie. There is also custard and sweet cream. I am just setting coffee to boil when a solid thump sounds on the front door. Everyone freezes in surprise for a heartbeat. Visitors are nearly unheard-of this time of year. Then, just as chaos breaks out, Jamie rises. He walks to the front of the house, myself close behind. He seems unhurried and calm, but I notice he carries the carving knife in his left hand.

Jamie opens the door, letting in a blast of frigid November air. What greets us looks like nothing so much as a bear covered in deer hide. Albeit a bear with merry blue eyes glinting above his beard.

“Myers!” Jamie greets the mountain man warmly, discreetly passing the knife to me. I stash it in my deep pocket. “Welcome! What brings ye here so late in the year?”

The bristles part with Myers’ grin. “Well, I’ll tell ‘ee sir. I’ve come wi’ company. Found ‘im near frozen on his way up from Cross Creek.” He steps aside to reveal a second figure in the dooryard, just as tall, but more solidly built.

Peering around Jamie’s shoulder my mouth falls open in shock. The last person I ever expected to see on the Ridge is the Ninth Earl of Ellesmere.

For once I recover more quickly than Jamie, and step around my husband. “William!” I say in sincere pleasure.

The young man looks up a bit uncertainly, then seeing my happiness recovers himself. “Mother Claire.” He might have said more but is prevented by a blur of yellow homespun that comes hurtling through the door and crashes into his middle. William teeters precariously at the impact before coming solidly back to his feet, Frances Pocock clinging to him in perfect imitation of a baby opossum on its mother’s back.

“William! Oh William! I thought I might never th-, see you again!”

William gingerly pats the capped head. “It’s good to see you again too, Fanny.” He smiles gently down, a slight shadow passing briefly in the depths of his slanted eyes. He gently disentangled Fanny and turns to Jamie. “I hope our arrival isn’t a cause of inconvenience to you sir. I…”

Seeing him hesitate I break in as politely as I can. “Of course not! You are both most welcome! Come in and warm up. We are just about to have dessert.”

I usher the newcomers and the gaping crowd back into the kitchen. In a few moments of flurried activity William and John Quincey are greeted by all and settled at the table, the children relocated to stools.

“We had a fine harvest this year so we’re having a wee meal to celebrate and give thanks for it,” Jamie explains, smiling.

“Judging from this bounty, indeed you have!” Myers exclaims as he unabashedly fills his plate with apple tansey, sweet cream, and one of the remaining rolls covered in honey and jam. Jem and Germain looking on in fascination.

I pour him coffee, hiding a smile. “We’re pleased to share it with you.”

William eats more sedately, but with evident pleasure. Watching him, Fanny on one side and Brianna on the other, I wonder suddenly why he has come. Then I look at Jamie. He is watching the boy as well, and though his face is expressionless, to me his eyes reveal the joy he takes in the sight. No. The reason doesn’t matter. I slide my arm around Jamie’s and lean against him, expressing without words my own joy in his happiness.

[meet-me-in-the-kitchen]

Life Has No Title (H.S, 1)

Y/N Y/L/N is looking forward to summer— until she finds One Direction, England’s top-selling band, hiding in her barn. Now, she has to deal with rockstar egos, an unwanted admirer, and the dark force that sent them into hiding in the first place.

inspired by the starstruck movie and the ff. descrip. please don’t sue lmao.

“Y/N!”

The young woman in question grumbled something about rice and bunnies, sighing in bliss as she burrowed deeper into her warm, freshly washed covers.

“Where’s my hairdryer! You so have my hairdryer.”

“I don’t have your bloody hairdryer,” she mumbled, refusing to do anything, but succumb to the distant calling of sleep and wrap herself tighter into cocoon of bedsheets she was sandwiched inside. Her sister’s voice was far away, now... but a blip in the universe, distant, until it disappeared altogether from this new world of rice and gravy, and...

“Give. Me. Back. My. Hair. Dryer!”

Y/N could hear Anna rummaging through her belongings, intrusively spectating at each book and cranny of her bedroom, like the lunatic she seemed to always be. She could just picture the stuck-up expression she had on, nose upturned and eyes narrowed into slits.. but that doesn’t exist here, remember? The rabbit that suspiciously resembled Regina George reminded her airily, she nodded dazedly in her dream. She doesn’t even go here.

“Why would I have your hair dryer?”

“Just give it, you freak! I need it!”

“I told you, I don’t have the bloody hairdryer. I don’t even use it, I’m a hairdryer virgin,” she groaned, eyes squeezed shut as she struggled to cling to the remnants of her dream, but the giant rabbit/Regina George was waving goodbye with a blank expression..

A pillow hit her head.

“Go away,” she bemoaned, her hand emerging from the covers to wave her sister off in a ‘shoo’ motion. Sundays were days that were supposed to be safe from sisterly intervention. “Come back tomorrow... Even the post stops on Sundays.”

“Neither rain, sleet, or snow,” Anna stated, with way too much pride.

“We don’t live in America,” Y/N whispered, a brief, awkward pause following, before Anna cleared her throat. Thank goodness for that, Y/N thought to herself, snuggling further into the linen sheets: otherwise we’d go bankrupt, treating Anna’s chronic lunacy, expensive health care, and all...

“Whatever. Now give me—“

“Did you check under your bed?”

Anna did not speak, the fading sound of her footsteps indicating she was finally skittering out of Y/N’s room. She closed her eyes immediately, resuming the dream of bunnies, and rice, and perhaps, Barack Obama...

Slam! Thwack!

The sounds of Anna opening and closing drawers and Y/N’s wardrobe, caused the sleeping girl to jolt upwards in her bed, eyeing her loony sister blearily with her hair a bird’s nest and mouth dry, but a bit sweet from the chocolate she’d religiously inhaled at three in the morning.

“Wha’sa matter,” she spluttered, a helplessness of sorts festering in her chest at the sight of her sister pulling out one skirt after the other, holding it against her legs and inspecting her tall, skinny figure in the mirror and then dropping the articles of clothing onto the ground. Y/N watched, mouth opening and closing in unspeakable outrage as her floor filled up with a heap of clothing in seconds.

“I need a skirt,” she said matter-of-factly, not even pausing or seeming the slightest bit out of her element. She huffed and threw her another skirt she had deemed mediocre, down onto the hardwood floor. “Mine got wet.”

She moved slightly in her bed, craning her neck uncomfortably to eye the small splotch on Anna’s denim mini-skirt. She squinted. Water.

“Why can’t you get one from your own closet? It’s just water, it’ll dry—“

“My clothes are all in the wash,” she answered impatiently, flinging a top across the room. “Do you have anything remotely fashionable in here?”

She scoffed, a little bit offended. It was summertime, and after being gone to university all year, it was refreshing to come back home for a break. A full wardrobe was awaiting for her, back at home when she returned, and she thought her clothes were comfortable, but also simultaneously fashionable. Irritation burned inside of her, but fizzled to nothing as her sister continued with her antics.

“Most of the skirts you’re trying on are your hand-me-downs.”

“They looked better on me,” Anna stated, finally fingering and then clutching a hot pink skirt that burned Y/N’s peripheral vision. She had given that skirt to her on her sixteenth birthday, a few years back. She could barely bend, without it revealing her chamber of secrets. “Besides, I have a date with Phillipe.”

“Anne, we’ve talked about this. I don’t think you should count sitting with your friends in the diner he’s eating at, and following him across town, dating. That goes by the name of stalking.”

Anna rolled her eyes, glimpsing at her reflection in the mirror in slight satisfaction, but Y/N had learned that her sister was never fully satisfied with anything. She patted her sleek platinum blonde hair down.

She made her way out of Y/N’s room, her delicate feet moving along steadily, not a tremor in her step. She was the very epitome of grace.

“Whatever, freak. Get up. Mum’s been calling you for ages; it’s twelve in the afternoon.”

Y/N pulled herself out of bed, stretching her back out. There was no point in laying in her bed anymore. Anna had scared Regina George rabbit away. She rubbed her eyes, and as soon as her feet touched the floor, she stumbled.

“Meow,” Harry, her cat, called, affectionately rubbing his small, furry face against her bare arm as she sighed, laying in a pool of clumsy limbs and disappointment.

“Y/N,” Her mother’s voice came echoing up the stairwell, an edge of warning colouring her tone. “Come downstairs.”

“Just coming, mum,” she called back. She adopted a softer tone, picking up the cat and holding him to her chest as he slowly blinked at her. “Morning, Harry.”

She threw a toy mouse down the stairs, and he leapt out of her arms, chasing the prey. He swiveled his bottom for five seconds, pounced, and then proceeded to miss a step and roll down the stairs, pupils dilated as he screamed and slowly sunk to the floor, claws extended in futile attempt.

Shaking her head, she quickly made her way to the washroom, finishing brushing her teeth and peeing in record time.

“Harry,” she scolded lightly, as the cat chose to lounge on the stair steps, right as she began to come down. He blinked at her, rolling over and purring playfully. She rubbed her foot against his face and quickly hopped down before he could begin playing with her toes. The sound of the television playing the morning news and the quiet rustling of the newspaper as her father did the crossword flittered into her conscience, along with the scent of her mother’s coffee and whatever influencer inspired (laxative) tea Anna had left brewing in the kitchen.

“Morning, baby bear,” her father, Mark Y/L/N, called, gazing at her amusedly from under half moon spectacles as he pretended to read the paper in the living room, and her mother hushedly remarked on how her and her father led unhealthy lives from the kitchen, across the hall. She smiled, crossing the distance and sitting beside him.

“Morning, Dad,” she chirped, snuggling into her father’s side, him affectionately kissing her cheek. “What’s mum up to?”

“She’s making breakfast. Or brunch, if you’re one to believe in the concept of linear time,” her mother rattled off sarcastically, Y/N wincing in retaliation. She looked at her sharply, but there was a hidden warmth in her eyes that told her that she didn’t really mind.

“Sorry, mum,” she said sheepishly, smiling cheekily as her mother simply shook her head in disbelief and grabbed the car keys. Y/N noticed her parents were both clad in outdoor wear. “Where’re you guys going?”

“Grocery shopping. We have to buy food for our road trip to the lake house; not that we’ll end up buying food, anyway. We will end up purchasing that processed garbage you and your father stuff into your bodies.”

She giggled as her father rolled his eyes in amusement, before winking at her over the paper. They both shared the same sweet tooth and loathing of the surplus of vegetables and other herbivore foods that they were constantly forced to consume by her mother and Anna. Those two were total health freaks. Anna even was a germaphobe and avoided anything greasy, as if it were the plague. Y/N and her dad, however, found ways to hide their secret stash of junk food around the house, and find salvation in it at three in the morning.

“You only get one body, Y/N,” her mother stated broodingly. The girl in question nodded seriously, before leaning over her father’s crossword and grabbing a pen. She began to scrawl: Buy those small, multipack chocolate bars. John nodded. Of course, he wrote back. “Come eat something and then do the dishes.”

She complied, making her way over to sit in a breakfast chair and eat forkfuls of omelette as the morning news played and her mother sipped her coffee, browsing Facebook next to her.

“Are you almost done packing for our trip?”

“Yeah,” Y/N answered, spreading organic strawberry jam over some toasted bread. “Anna’s been a bit distracting, but I’m almost finished.”

“I heard you and Anna,” her mother said before she sighed. “I wish you two girls would try a little harder to get along. You two used to be so close.”

“Mum,” her voice was muffled, but still protesting through a mouthful of cooked egg. She had this conversation at least once a week. “You know that’s never going to happen.”

Her and Anna had never been quite close— well, that wasn’t exactly correct. They were close from the moment Y/N had been born right up to when she had been accepted into a gifted school Anna had not gotten into. From that moment, her favourite person’s affections had suddenly ended. Instead, Anna grew colder to her younger sister: refusing to play with or breathe in the same room as her; calling her cruel names, that although were deemed silly by Y/N, still pricked somewhere deep inside, even years later.

The two girls were so different, Y/N often questioned if she had been switched at birth, or if they even had similar DNA. From her tamed platinum blonde hair, to the way she wore her make up immaculately, every single day, without fail. It didn’t matter how sick or feverish Anna Y/L/N was, she was always very together. She ate the right things, wore the right clothes, networked with the right people. Hell, she even made sure to blow her nose into the right tissues. Up at five o clock, hitting the gym or spa with her giggling posse. Unquestionably organized, prepared, and always trying to exceed expectations. Y/N, however, couldn’t care less of most of the things Anna devoted most of her time and effort to. This reflected in her comparatively smaller and less consistent group of friends, her curvier figure, and—something that bothered Anna most to no end— her often chewed, dirt encrusted fingernails. But with her uncontrollable hair and endless source of energy, she had a fierce determination and a passion in every breath she took that many girls her age lacked.

All things considered, it was not very surprising that their two strong, different personalities clashed. It wasn’t surprising that they didn’t see eye to eye.

At the mention of her sister, Y/N’s stomach growled with the intensity of a small earthquake; the sound of which caused Harry, who had taken to resting on the chair beside hers, to lift his head up in alarm.

Fighting and interacting with Anna made Y/N hungry, she realized. Without another word, she placed another piece of toast over the one slathered thickly with raspberry jam, and bit into her new sandwich.

Choosing to ignore her daughter’s bleak response, albeit with an eye roll, Marie placed the jar of jam back inside of the pantry.

“Just make sure your suitcase is ready to go,” she told her pointedly. “You aren’t very organized. I want us to drive up to the lake house early, this year. Traffic can be terrible, now that it’s summer break and all.”

Every year, the Y/L/Ns drove their way to their cabin by the lake. And every year, Marie Y/L/N spoke of driving up to the lake house early, when they all internally knew that they’d be lucky if they made it there by nightfall. There, they stayed for one week. It was the highlight of Y/N’s summer: she loved feeling the wind against her back, going fishing and playing soccer with her father in an open field, and just spending time freely in the nature. Anna despised the getaway, always trying to make excuses that may get her out of ruining her shoes in the grass or getting a bit dirty.

“Mmphkay,” she replied through a mouthful of jam. She placed her sandwich down onto a plate, and sauntered lazily into the living room. She flopped down on an empty couch and twiddled with the remote, pushing buttons and changing the channel to some boring, English news channel. She would have skipped past it, but something caught her eye and— sort of— her interest, as well.. The words that stood out first in the headline below the reporter speaking animatedly onto the TV screen were: “Modest Management” and “Public Humiliation”. Serves them right, she thought to herself in satisfaction. That company was bonkers. She felt a brief flame of joy, which was instantaneously blown out once four faces appeared on the screen. Four equally infuriating faces. Ones that sent her blood curdling in hot frustration. She gripped the television remote harder.

“You may be familiar with One Direction for their catchy songs, bestselling albums, breathtaking tours, and devilish good looks— or simply their irresistible charm and charisma,” said the reporter, practically swooning as clips of the four boys signing body parts, walking around with models during PR stunts, singing, and following other rockstar protocol played. “And if you aren’t— you must be living under a rock!”

“Someone needs to hit your head with a rock,” Y/N muttered darkly. Unintentionally, her grip on her sandwich also tightened to a squeezing point, until raspberry jam came oozing out of the grainy barrier.

In her rage, she had failed to notice her mother’s sudden presence in the living room, where she leaned in and cast a look at the television with mild interest, just as a particularly curly haired member smirked into the camera. Y/N noticed her as her voice traveled from the doorway.

“Isn’t that the boy Anna likes?”

“Likes?” She shook her head cynically with distaste at the wild understatement. “Worships. Acts likes he’s a bloody spiritual entity, mom.”

“Language,” Marie cautioned distractedly, already ignoring the cynicism of Y/N’s comments and slipping out the doorway. Then, much to Y/N’s horror, she called for up the stairs, “Anna! That boy you like is on TV, again!”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror. “No.. no, don’t call her down! she’ll—“

“OUT OF MY WAY.”

CRASH. BANG.

Before Y/N could take another breath or sound the slightest syllable, Anna Y/L/N came bounding down the stairs with startling fervour and acceleration. Her speed challenged those of athletes drugged up on steroids. Her determination was akin to great leaders fighting for change.

“ONE DIRECTION,” she squacked, flying off the banister in record time. Y/N was sure that her older sister was in a trance. Glazed eyes, biting her lip. Her parents were unfazed, used to Anna’s unhealthy obsession.

She bolted past the kitchen, into the living room, and down on the ground, gravitating to her one and only ‘beloved’ and ignoring everyone else in her wake. She was now salivating over the television screen, after wrestling the remote out of Y/N’s hands and turning up the volume to a deafening pitch— in a matter of seconds. She was a fangirl; The distant sound of glass shattering and animals whimpering could be heard as Anna’s esophagus released a sound so high-pitched, it was at a volume mankind had yet to discover.

They were currently showing clips of One Direction’s latest gigs; two of the boys were strumming guitars and groping each other whilst running around stage, the idiots looking like rabbits on crack. A third was abusing a drum set, further downstage, while the final member was swaying girlishly and shook his tambourine like it was some fine art.

“Look, it’s your crush,” she muttered as the same green eyed curly haired face that lined Anna’s bedroom walls filled the television screen.

“Harry!” Anna squealed, physically throwing her body over Y/N, and knocking her sandwich to the ground, in the process. Y/N fumed, steam practically blowing from her ears and face heatening as Anna eyed the band member widely with all of the stupid admiration in the world. She even let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, Harry. One day you’ll know we’re meant to be together. I can’t wait for that day.”

“Good,” she growled through gritted teeth, attempting and failing to control her rising temper as she gathered the crumbly remains of her morning snack from the stained shirt. “Then you can go marry him, take all his money, and BUY ME A NEW SANDWICH.”

Anna turned to fix a very serious expression towards her younger sister. In a momentary loss of judgement, Y/N actually had enough hope in her sister’s sanity and enough belief in her logic that she had the inkling of a thought that maybe, just maybe, she was on the brink of apologizing; instead, all she did was provide further evidence of her unstable state of delusion: “you may joke about it now, Y/N,” she said, somehow managing to keep a stoic, straight face, “but you won’t be laughing, when we do get married.”

“Yes, I will, actually,” she protested gleefully, with the biggest smile, showing all of her teeth. “I’ll be laughing when you have him handcuffed, tied to the altar, and held at gunpoint while he nervously recites the vows you stole from your favorite fanfic.”

“Shhhh,” she replied, waving her off and leaning forward. Anna might as well have been hyperventilating, kneeling before the television with unblinking eyes as the band member ran his hand through his messy head of curls. Y/N thought she heard her chanting mine, mine, mine under her breath. She gagged as Anna began to swoon, when a clip of him grabbing his crotch on stage was featured. Much to her dismay, the band members of One Direction were replaced by a team of stoic looking business people, a middle aged, bald man caught in the middle, wearing a grim, borderline threatening expression— as if everything hadn’t gone his way.

It was the creator of Modest Management, Vladimir De Montgomery. He was by definition a Russian Business tycoon, a multimillionaire with rapidly increasing power, wealth, and influence. The man Y/N despised more than One Direction and their pathetic music. He had created a business that slowly, but surely had developed entire lines of superstores and outlets that wiped out small businesses and caused irreversible harm to the environment. Montgomery was a silent killer, and Y/N hated him for it. He was on the quest for world domination. Perhaps she was exaggerating a bit, but in her mind, Vladimir De Montgomery might as well have been wearing horns and dancing naked with an inflamed pitchfork.

“However, the nation’s golden boys—“ Y/N rolled her eyes at the titles, “are nowhere to be found. It is no surprise that Montgomery, although wealthy, is not very popular. In order to enhance his business and bring in more people, Modest Management arranged for One Direction, the boy band they are contractually responsible for, to play at their newest Departmental store. However, fans were devastated once the band failed to show up. This left Montgomery humiliated, with a population of hundreds of guests, who had shown up only to see the band, which is currently M.I.A. Sources claim that Vladimir Montgomery reacted angrily at the band’s absence, and the agents and publicists of the band refuse to leave a comment, seemingly without knowledge of the whereabouts of the boy band members, as well. The verdict is unclear. No one has disclosed or holds knowledge of the whereabouts of these four talented musicians. The stage is empty, and from the look of things: It seems like we have a boy band on the run.”

The news story had ended, instead switching over to a slideshow filled with black and white pictures of the band members laughing and singing and flexing. Y/N felt amazed by the amount of bullshit that could be accumulated for these things, once eerie, sad background music began to play. Anna was blinking stupidly at the television screen, before she let out an ear-splitting shriek, one which caused her sister to jump in fright.

“Calm down,” she grumbled.

“Calm down—“ Anna gaped, bugging her eyes out to make it seem like Y/N was the lunatic in the household. “Calm down?”

“Or not,” she muttered.

“How could they just ABANDON their fans like that?”

“Are you kidding? Standing up Montgomery and Modest is, like, the one sensible thing they’ve done in their entire, laughable careers.”

Anna stood up, shooting Y/N an ugly death glare. “Like you would understand.” Then she was making an exit and coolly stomping up the stairs. “This is a CRISIS,” she bemoaned from the top floor, followed by the sound of her door slamming shut.

When she glanced back at the screen, Y/N couldn’t help, but feel a small flicker of admiration for what the four band members had done. Then, he’d face grew ashen as she recalled how they were pompous, egotistical assholes, and flicked the off button on the remote, just as a black and white picture of Niall Horan eating a drumstick while wearing a tutu floated mournfully on screen.

“Where could they be?”

—

Somewhere in the outskirts of a small English town, a beast howled. The four teenagers inside of the ratty, broken down minivan sighed.

“Shut up, Niall,” the darker haired member hissed. “Your stomach’s been growling like that for ages.”

“Because I haven’t been fed for ages. Feed me, Louis.”

“You literally ordered and ate everything off of that Nando’s driveway menu we passed by. And you brought leftovers, and finished ours as well as yours,” the bronzy, spiky haired member shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “How could you possibly still be hungry?”

“I just am..” the blonde trailed off, patting his stomach almost proudly. Louis tossed a bag of baby carrots at his face, and he opened the ziplock bag and began to happily munch.

“What the fuck is this, anyway?” Louis gestured dramatically at the dingy vehicle they were currently stuck in. Niall nibbled happily.

“Princess,” Zayn muttered, leaning back into his seat with crossed arms, using a content Niall as his human shield from the dangerously flashing eyes of Louis Tomlinson. The band member driving the car rolled his eyes from under the shades covering them, and the beanie holding in his thick waves of hair. The one hand he had easy over the steering wheel tightened.

“You wanna say that to my face?”

“Sure, Niall’s too fat for you to get to me, anyway.”

“HEY—“

“This,” Harry stresses, pinching his nose in exasperation, closing his eyes for a second, before carrying on with the reminder. “This is a revolution, remember, Louis? Whatever bullshit you used to say about the people revolting after the government being unable to represent them anymore, and how Modest was our government— think of that. Please, just go to your happy place.”

Louis grumbled, and then began chanting something along the lines of “revolution and happy, anarchist society” under his breath with his eyes squeezed shut, his lips forming into a light smile. “I love me some anarchy.”

“It shows,” Zayn muttered, causing Louis to shoot him a glare and position his fists to his face, aiming for a punch. At a last resort, Zayn pushed the Irish boy who’d lost his previous grudge in heaps of chicken, in front of him. The fist hit his stomach. Zayn roared with laughter. Niall whimpered. Louis crossly looked out the window, eyes boredly running over the landscape of cows and grass and manure, and then a really ugly ass barn. Louis’s nose scrunched up at the mere sight of the hideous structure, broken down in some places, erosion running its course in other.

“That is the fugliest thing my beautiful eyes have ever rested on.”

Zayn scoffed. Then, his eyes widened, at the same time the car flew back as Harry stepped on the brakes.

“Barn!”

Louis’s eyes shot into terror filled consciousness.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus...”

—

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Niall’s tone was positively murderous as he stared at the decrepit barn in front of him, horror-struck.

Harry rubbed at his temple, tiredly. They all stared in silence from their car windows, at the tired looking barn. The car they were in was going to die any second now, and they were in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, it was pretty shitty, but he knew it was their best option, at this point. “Got a better idea?” he questioned flatly.

“Yeah, how about let’s not lay in animal shit?”

Three of them were now against the idea. Niall was shaking his head, now full of both hicken, and disbelief. Louis looked pale. Zayn looked a bit put off by the idea, too. Louis squinted, pulling down the windows manually.

“And where do you suppose we sleep?” He spat, scrunching nose and waving at the foul air dramatically. “Bloody hell, what is that?”

“It’s either hay for a little while, or being abducted by those crazy psychopaths. Pick your poison. It isn’t even that bad.”

—

“No.”

“But—“

“No.”

“Loui—“

“No.”

They were all out on the field, just metres away from the barn after parking their car somewhere further from the landscape and walking, so they wouldn’t be traced in any way. Niall was clutching his packet of chicken tenderly to his heart, a frown playing on his lips, Zayn wore a deadpan expression, Harry looked exasperated. And then there was Louis, practically on the verge of tears, his foot elevated in a slick pile of cow manure.

“Come on,” Harry urged through gritted teeth, voice growing lower and dangerously teetering towards tranquilizing Louis and sending him hurtling into the barn via T-Shirt cannon. The tone by which he spoke seemed to have struck a chord with Louis, for the dark haired boy’s lips trembled. After a few short seconds, a breathy sound escaped from the back of his neck.

“Er,” Niall sounded helplessly, shoving his hand into the grease splotched brown paper bag and successfully retrieving a half-eaten fried drumstick. He held it in front of Louis’s face. “Chicken?”

Louis took one, long look at the deep-fried mutilated chicken body part, and then his designer, new running shoes, lathered with cow shit, and his face crumpled and he promptly burst into tears.

“I wanna go home,” he sobbed brokenly, Niall fumbling for a handkerchief, but failing to find one, causing Louis to simply grab Zayn’s hoodie-clad arm and blow sorrowfully into it. “I want to—“

“Alright,” Harry spoke, looking over Louis and instead at the farm. He would commit a murder, if he had to hold onto the weight of most of their essential belongings and Louis’s luxurious hair products in an overpacked knapsack in the overbearing heat for even a minute longer. It was getting dark. “Let’s go.”

Zayn moved in the direction of the crimson coloured, off-white framed wooden barn, immediately. In fact, he sprinted, creating more distance between Louis and himself. Niall shrugged, popping the drumstick into his own mouth while taking a casual stroll inside. Harry glanced toward Louis, who made a pitiful noise. Shaking his head in disbelief, he jogged into the barn.

Mutilated was the right way to describe the barn, if it wasn’t already beyond description. Mutilated beyond measure. Everything was either rotten, rotting, or about to rot. There was hay in the back, and an upper tier that was collapsed in some places, sharp edges of wood broken down. However, it had a roof, and a gate that slid shut. It was also in the middle of nowhere, both a comforting and terrifying thought.

“Definitely abandoned.”

“No intruders,” Zayn said weakly. “No one would think to find us here.”

Niall walked a bit further inside, stepping on the hay while trying to figure out where to crash for the night. While he moved, something made a squelching noise, under his foot. Everyone collectively winced.

The three young men stood in part analytical, and part defeated silence.

“Dibs on that stack of hay,” Niall suddenly shouted, running for and leaping onto a stack, and landing with a soft thud. This caused them all to break into genuine laughter, at this and all they’d been through.

After that, it was easier to get settled in. They all claimed stacks of hay to sleep on, rating them on durability (likeliness that it wouldn’t collapse on them), softness, and location furthest from where the barn was warmest in the scalding heat. Now that they’d taken off and changed their clothes in the alleged locker room area, and relieved themselves in the randomly placed portable bathroom smack dab in the middle of the field, things were running smoothly. Niall even left out some of the food he’d brought to share. Things were harmonious.

After a while, their eyes turned to Louis, who had just stepped into the barn and was looking quite unsure of himself.

“I have candles,” he voiced. He explained: “To help with the ghastly smell.”

Harry rolled his eyes in faint amusement. “You get the unstable stack of hay at the top-pier, mate. And no complaining. This is home.”

“Yeah,” Niall sighed, cuddling further into his stack of hay. He was becoming immune to the smell, quite quickly. “Home, sweet home.”

For a moment, Harry’s eyes were drawn a small pile of childish belongings resting at the very corner of the barn: dolls fashioned from sticks stuck together with vines, paper drawings, candy wrappers, and a faded tiara, snapped in half. His eyebrows pinched together in curiosity and alarm, but he reminded himself no one could possibly be nearby. He wandered off to help build a table of sorts.

Then, the four young rockstars fell onto their soft stacks of hay, content under the cool beeeze the merciful summer air had blown their way. They slept under the thinly veined stars, shining with brilliance, viably from under the cracks of the eroding, crimson barn. They faded into sleep with full stomachs and, at least temporarily, satisfied minds, knowing they were alone, out of reach from the rest of the world.

They thought so, anyway. Oblivious to the house hidden behind a thick thatch of vines, trees, and greenery, inhabited by a family unit comprised of a mother, a father, and the most obsessive girl the world had encountered, accompanied by the fiercest.

For now, they’d sleep. Until Niall would eventually wake them all in the middle of the night with a girlish shriek, frightened by some stick he claimed was a sword, anyway.

—

Anna hadn’t descended down from the closed parameters of her room, all evening.

Even after every coax, beg, and eventual scold (from their mother), she remained adamant, staying up in her room and grieving the loss of four random boys who’d somehow gotten lost. It was nearing night, when she’d finally come down, just in time for dinner after Marie had practically pushed her down the stairs, and then into her chair.

For dinner, they’d had some salad or whatever that Anna usually liked, but today she just scraped her fork against the plate, causing sharp, screeching noises doing nothing to console Y/N’s already heightening frustration at the leaves they were consuming for dinner. Dinner was supposed to be a meal, wasn’t it? Meals were supposed to make you happy. She thought of the time Harry had gotten lost, how Anna hadn’t done so much as paste a poster. Now, she was practically fasting for these strange rich people, in grief.

Now, it was nearing midnight, and Y/N was slowly tiptoeing down the stairs, stomach grumbling and making obscene sounds, due to the dissatisfying meal she’d pushed down her throat. She yawned, rubbed at her eyes and tied to think of what to eat to satisfy the hungry ache in her stomach that was boring a hole through her soul. Then, the sound of plastic crinkling sounded through the room, and she froze. The lights were all shut, the halls all enveloped in darkness.

She tiptoed further, stopping and holding her breath when she spotted the closed walk-in closet in their hall, lit up from the inside. She pursed her lips, moved forward, then swung the door open.

All of a sudden, the man made quick moves to haphazardly close whatever packet he was eating from. A sharp squeak came out of his mouth, and Y/N relaxed. It was her father. In a rather comedic stance, really. Clutching a packet of crisps to his chest, mouth stuffed full. His eyes were wide with fright, resembling a deer in the headlights. He swallowed, relaxing some when he noticed it was Y/N.

“Oh, Y/N, I thought you were your mother,” he outstretched the packet of crisps as a sort of offering, pulling it from where they kept their secret stash of what they liked to call ‘real food.’ “I should’ve known. You’ve always had an amazing radar for junk food.”

“Gimme,” she squealed, launching herself forward and grabbing fistfuls of greasy chips, not minding as they crumbled into her mouth. She closed her eyes. Her stomach cried with gratitude, she saw the colours of freedom. “Mmm.. saturated fat,” she moaned, reaching for another handful.

Mark laughed and his eyes—so much like Y/N’s— lit up, giving his face a boyish glow. “Save some for later,” he advised, prying the packer away from his daughter’s greedy hands. “Your mother’s making boiled tofu, again, tomorrow.”

“Ew, barf,” said Y/N, scrunching her face up in disgust.

Mark chuckled and ruffled her hair affectionately. “That’s my girl.”

Later that night, Y/N ventured out to leave the cat food and water, and at the same time, by some divine coincidence (Marie Y/L/N’s bullying), Anna was also sent to throw away the recycling and trash. This was her fault, anyway. She’d complained that Harry shouldn’t eat his ‘meaty slimy food’ in the same room where they all ate. So, their mother, a typical Anna-pleaser, had shifted the cat’s food and water dishes outdoors, by the shed. Y/N obviously found this a very unjust thing to do. Would it be fine if she protested against Petunia clipping her toe nails in the same washroom she showered in? No. but Harry didn’t mind it. He ate, drank his water, and rolled around in the grass for a while, afterwards.

Y/N and Anna walked for a while in complete, awkward silence, her sister clutching a handful of trash bags, and her the cat food with Harry meowing in tow, leaping around, and begging for food. The garbage bins were located right next to the shed, so that was even worse. Y/N hadn’t trusted her sister with throwing out the garbage after an incident four years back involving Y/N, Anna’s surprising lifting and throwing strength, and, well.. a garbage bag. So, she kept at a distance. She hoped they could get through this whole little excursion without exchanging a word, which would honestly probably be better off for the both of them. However, Anna couldn’t seem to hold it in the moment Y/N pulled back the metal strip, opening the canned salmon to put into Harry’s food bowl. Anna sniffed disgustedly and complained, “Ew, gross! That’s disgusting, get that stuff away from me!” Although she wasn’t even near her.

Naturally, Y/N couldn’t not smirk. She immediately pulled the lid right off the salmon, then casually strolled upto her sister. “No, seriously, it smells great! Try some,” she held it under Anna’s nose, and her expression went from irritated to downright petrified.

She screamed, swatting at the can, causing the contents of pink salmon to run down Y/N’s tank top, staining it. “Great,” she said. “Now, you’ve ruined two of my shirts, and Harry has to eat dry food.”

“Serves you both right,” Anna huffed, walking to the garbage bins.

By the time she had fetched the dry food and poured it into Harry’s bowl—which caused him to stare at her, hard, for a very long time, questioning why there was only kibble in his bowl— Anna was still cautiously and very slowly throwing away the trash, gingerly dropping each bag, every now and then, keeping a safe distance from the bin. Y/N started to walk back, and it was a fair jaunt, with their property being so big. She heard the trash bin finally shut, and Anna let out a little yelp, presuming it was from the waft of ‘garbage air.’

Y/N rolled her eyes. As she did this, she caught a glimpse of something at the far end of the property. Across the field, behind a couple of fir trees, was the old barn house, neglected over the past decade or so and half-deteriorated by years of harsh weather and a lack of maintenance. Y/N hadn't visited the barn since she was very, very young. Even then, it had been a blend intrigue and fascination that drew her to it, a temporary fixation to satisfy her curiosity. She'd taken Anna back there, one summer's night, lured her in, closed the door on her and run back to the house. Apparently, Anna didn't have very good navigational skills in the dark, because she hadn't been able to get out until she'd been retrieved by her father and carried back in tears. Y/N was grounded for three weeks. Anna was scarred for life.

Needless to say, nobody had ventured back to the barn ever since.

So it was strange, now, that as Y/N glanced inadvertently in that direction, she saw a miniscule light shining at the back of the field.

She stopped in her tracks and narrowed her eyes, wondering if she was hallucinating. Nope, it was definitely there. A shudder swept through her at the sight of it, but at the same time, she was fascinated. Just like when she was a child, she felt drawn toward the barn by an eerie sort of curiosity. It was almost pitch black out by now, but really, how dangerous could it possibly be? Without giving it another thought, Y/N deposited the water bottle she'd used to fill Harry's dish and began to walk purposefully in the direction of the mysterious light.

"Wh-where are you going?" Anna asked suddenly. In her voice was a combination of annoyance and anxiety; annoyance at the fact that Y/N was doing something strange and impulsive, and anxiety originating from the fact that Y/N was going for a stroll while leaving Anna in the vastness of their yard, in the pitch-black, with nothing, but a plastic recycling box.

"As if it concerns you," Y/N said dully.

"You can't just leave me here alone!" Anna voice was so high-pitched, it was like listening to nails scratching ballistically at a chalkboard. Y/N cringed and was forced to stop once again.

She swivelled around, made a duh sort of face at Anna, and said, "Well then, you're going to have to come with me, aren't you?"

As expected, Anna froze up and adamantly shook her head. "Uh, no way. Never."

Y/N turned around exasperatedly and continued to saunter across the field. "Then, for goodness' sake, Anna, shut up." She quickened her pace.

A couple of seconds went by, and then, as predicted...

"Wait!"

Anna hurried along behind her; evidently, her fear of being alone in the dark had won out over her reluctance to visit that place again. Y/N couldn't say she hadn't expected for this to happen, but she wasn't particularly over the moon at having acquired a companion. Anna, being said ally. As they crossed the darkened field, drawn toward the light in the corner, her sister jumped at the tiniest of noises, kept glancing around as if something was about to jump out at her at any moment, and, at one point, actually grabbed onto the back of Y/N’s shirt in her panic, pulling at it viciously with her perfectly manicured claws.

“I swear, Anna, if you ruin this one, too,” Y/N hissed. She liked this shirt. It was a dark blue Rolling Stones one, that led down to her mid thighs and was super soft.

"This is a really bad idea," Anna hissed, Y/N rolling her eyes as she completely ignored her threat. She seemed to be getting more antsy as they approached the closest tree to the barn. Her eyes darted across the field, then to the barn, then to Y/N. "You're not just going to lock me in there again, a-?"

Y/N shushed her impatiently and dragged her behind the tree. She was focused on the voices she'd just picked up on, drifting toward them from inside the dilapidated building. There was the unmistakable sound of male laughter, the occasional girlish whimper, and one voice that was deeper than all the others, speaking in a slow, spine-chilling monotone.

Resembling one of the more placid, fearful voices in the barn, Anna whimpered. "I told you this was a bad idea!" she whispered. "You're going to get us murdered! Who knows what could be in there - it's probably a serial killer on the run, or a monster, or a serial killing monster-"

Y/N had had enough. She pivoted on her heel, slapped a hand over her sister's open mouth, and fixed her with a harsh, patronizing look. She tried to keep her voice low, but it was difficult to suppress her rising anger. "Shut your goddamn mouth, Anna, or I swear, I will put you out there as bait. Do you understand?"

Wide-eyed and stunned into sheer silence, Anna nodded hurriedly. Y/N yanked her hand away and gave the barn one last glance from her lookout point before stepping out from behind the tree and beginning to walk quickly with padded feet, across the remaining stretch of lawn.

She could now pick up on distinct pieces of conversation emanating from the barn.

"And then the werewolf creeps up behind the unsuspecting traveller, and... BANG!" Somebody shrieked at this; next to Y/N, Anna jumped. "Snaps his neck!"

"Oooh, I'm scared," said another voice mockingly. "Honestly, these stories suck. Where did you get them from - Nialler’s bedtime story collection?"

Y/N didn't hear anymore, because Anna had begun to tug urgently on her arm.

"What?" she hissed.

For once, Anna showed some damn common sense and kept her voice lower. Her eyes, however, told Y/N that she would have spoken much louder, had they not been in such a situation. "I know that voice!" she whispered excitedly. "I would know that voice anywhere!"

Y/N shot her a confused look, but decided not to ask questions. Anna wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind, childhood trauma and all. Instead, she took the final few steps that led her to the barn door, reached out tentatively for the handle...

...And, in one fluid motion, threw the door open.

The voices stopped abruptly.

Anna let out an ear-splitting shriek.

Four boys sat completely still in the centre of the barn, their faces frozen in various expressions. They were gathered together on a cluster of hay bales; one, with shaggy black hair, held a flashlight to his chin and had his mouth open in shock. To his left, a rather blonde boy looked scared out of his mind, and the other two wore similar looks of horror, as if they'd been caught in some despicable act.

But they hadn't done anything terribly wrong. What had caused Anna to scream - and Y/N to go still, completely rigid from head to toe - had been the mere sight of their four faces.

Four faces which were all startlingly familiar.

The members of One Direction.

To Be Continued...

MASTERLIST | Requests are open!

A/N:

*cracks knuckles* here i am again, with a series fic i may very likely never update. anywho XD this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and it was quite grudging to type at some areas cause my fingers got tired, but i was supposed to study for an exam, and my procrastinating ass naturally flocked here. lemme know what you think. i love hearing from my jared 19s :)

[jocelyn-wellson]

Paid Forward 

Yesterday 

Jocelyn had spent the last two days convalescing. Her breakfast with Myzariel had been nice, friendly — well, as friendly as it could have been with the cynical personalities involved. She liked that the elf had a similar outlook on life, she appreciated it more than she let on. Now, two days later and with no food in the pantry, she had to go out.

She got out of bed, eyes catching the small walnut raven Myz had gifted her. She grinned. She went into the washroom, cleaned up, and opened a small, red case next to the sink. Jocelyn sighed, pulling a gauze pad and a bandage from it. She looked down at her abdomen and ribcage — while certainly not black and purple anymore, she had yet to return to normal; her skin had taken on a greenish hue. She changed the dressing where one of her shattered ribs had jutted through her skin, finishing by binding her ribcage with a compression bandage. While the Northshire cleric had done an excellent job in mending the bones with the power of “the Light,” the magical intervention had left a deep and lingering ache. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It felt relaxing, breathing did. Soothing. 

Soon she had shrugged into her chain knit sweater and pulled on her tight denim trousers and boots, tucking a karambit into it before grabbing her sling-pack and badge from the desk. Her eyes once again fell on the raven. She chuckled and stepped outside. 

Old Town was warm. She didn’t mind it, sweater or not. Years of discomfort had inured her to such inconveniences. And, besides, the fresh air felt good on her face. She thought back to when that black-haired woman had brought her from Boralus; they had stopped for a cinnamon bun. Quite honestly, it was one of the best things she had ever eaten — and after recent events, she could definitely use another. 

Jocelyn stepped into the bakery. The sweet scent of milk bread and pastries made her stomach growl.

“How’re ya doing, lass?” asked the shopkeep, peering at her from behind gold rimmed spectacles. He was taller and portly and spoke with mirth in his voice. 

“In th’ wan’in’ o’ somethin’ swee’,” she said, pointing toward the cinnamon buns. 

The man smiled from behind his bushy white mustache. “Just for you, or another, too?” 

“Why ya askin’?” 

The man dusted his hands on his apron. “I got two kinds. Those there, and some in the back you can split. They’re real big, feeds three to four. Whaddya think?” 

The images of Myz and the raven flashed through Jocelyn’s mind. She thought about all the kindness extended her over the past week. “Yanno... I thin’ I’ll take ya up on tha’ big ‘un.”

“Alright then!” he clamored with a belly laugh. He disappeared into the back, leaving her alone to marvel at the bakery’s offerings. Sweet jams slathered across a variety of breads, light white crèmes poking from the tops of puff pastries, and a collection of teas. She lifted the lid and scented each. They calmed her fraught nerves. She thought it was magic; it very well may have been. 

“Ah!” said the baker, boxing up the enormous cinnamon bun. “I see you found the teas ... does any one interest you?” 

Jocelyn looked at the labels; while they had familiar characters, she could not yet put them together to form words. She pointed toward one of the glass mason jars. “Tha’ one there,” she said. “‘ow much fer et?” 

“The Jasmine?” The baker hefted the pastry box. “I can give you 2 ounces for 5 gold pieces. Throw the cinnamon bun in there for 7. 12 gold.” 

Jocelyn fished her coin purse from her sling pack. She pulled out 15 pieces and set them on the counter. “Alrigh’,” she agreed. “No change, et’s yers.” 

The old man was somewhat surprised. “Since you put it that way...” he said, stepping to the teas. He wrapped a bit more than 2 ounces in wax paper. “...here ya go, miss.”  

She smiled at him. “Ya can call me Joci,” she said. 

“Jack,” replied the baker. 

“Thank’ee, Jack,” she said, hurriedly taking the box from the counter and leaving with a bag of tea leaves and a impossibly large and warm cinnamon bun. 

A short while later, Jocelyn crossed the bridge out of Stormwind. She saw Zeehva’s caravan and Mrs Stanley’s house. She took a deep breath, enjoying the flowers and the grass and the leaves. She saw her friends on Mrs Stanley’s porch and waved at them as she approached. Zeehva stood and met her at the stoop: “Joci,” she said. 

“I ‘ope yer ‘ungry,” Jocelyn said, handing the heavy box off. She took the tea leaves, still wrapped in wax paper, from her pocket. “Both of yas.” 

Mrs Stanley boiled water. They sat in the grass, breaking the cinnamon bun into three pieces and sipped the delicate tea. They talked about Zeehva’s upcoming trip. They may have grabbed a bit about the man going with her. There was laughter. The elderly woman excused herself, needing to tend the roast she was making. Jocelyn and Zeehva both leaned back into the soft, warm grass, knees pointing up. They watched as birds flew about, and squirrels and chipmunks ran up the stout oak trees, those pillars of the blue sky. 

“Thank’ee,” said Jocelyn. 

“For...?” 

“Wha’ ya di’, wha’ yer doin’, fer me.” 

Zeehva rolled her head, looking toward her friend. “Joci, that’s what we do — cinnamon buns, battered bodies, mystery wine?” She chuckled. “It’s just what we do for each other.” 

Jocelyn glanced over. She flashed a brief smile. “Et is,” she said before staring back up at the sky. A raven flew overhead. She closed her eyes. This is good, she thought. This is good. 

( @myzariel @zeehva )

[themockingcrows]

Two Fates, Two Kingdoms Ch. 20: Reaching Sun, Healing Moon

Jake&Aradia, JohnDave this chapter is sfw ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2606711/chapters/64558639

With Jake attempting to warm Dirk up to him on one hand and finding a new Alternian friend on the other, it would be easy to assume he had more than enough on his plate. Yet when you add in John and Dave's affairs, as well as the issues in Prospit that continue to hang over his head, it's anything but easy to keep up with it all.

     “Sire, wouldn’t you be more comfortable wearing a cloak? It’s a bit nippy in here,” Jake asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between himself and Dirk, silence gained through effort and careful work for the last few days. Dirk looked up immediately from his book to appraise the Prospitian, now dressed in a proper tunic and trousers, thick, warm slippers made for the pair of them till proper shoes could be made and fitted to them both. Green suited him as much as the white sleeves did, brought out his eyes, made his warm toned skin even more rich looking, his hair even darker than the raven’s wing it already was.

     Anyone else would find this man handsome. 

     Dirk found him troublesome. Handsome, but troublesome.

     “I’ve no need for a cloak. There’s a chill, yes, but it’s refreshing and keeps me plenty awake.”

     “All the more reason for the cloak then, don’t you think?” Jake teased. Dirk raised a brow at him as he gestured to the fireplace with its dying flames. “Or perhaps another few logs on the fire?”

     “Are you trying to subtly tell me you’re cold and that you’d like the room warmer?” he asked, closing his book on his hand to keep his page so he could rest his chin on his upturned palm.

     “Ah- Well. It is a bit chilly. I just assumed with your pro-. ...difficulties as king, that you’d prefer to be cozy,” Jake said awkwardly.

     Dirk sighed. “You’re doing the eager puppy thing again, Jake.”

     Jake worried his lip before exhaling a sigh, taking a breath, and trying again. “I merely thought a man of your standing would enjoy having something to warm him that was handsome as himself. Surely your wardrobe has plenty on offer?”

     Dirk lifted a brow.

     “It does. But I’m enjoying the chill, as I said. It’s keeping me awake.”

     “Surely a bit more rest wouldn’t hurt, you’re enjoying some spare time reading as it is so that means there’s a bit of free time, yes?”

     “If this is a ploy to make me lower my guard, it’s not working,” Dirk said as he went back to reading. “I want to read right now. I can sleep when I’m dead.”

     “Dying young and leaving a handsome corpse for reading a book?”

     “Who said I was dying young? And that’s twice you’ve called me handsome in a very short amount of time. Mind your tongue or people will talk like fools.”

     Jake’s cheeks colored a bit, but he went to help himself to the fireplace, crouching down and adding a few logs till it was going nie and steady once more.

     “How about some tea then, at least?” he asked, perking up. “Tea and snacks?”

     “I’m reading, Jake. If you’re hungry go feed yourself. You’re aware of where the kitchens are now, just have Dave accompany you.”

     “I’ve gone once myself and haven’t had any issues yet,” he said with a cheeky grin. “But if you insist. I’ll return with some snacks for the both of us.”

     “I’m not hungry, Jake. Nor thirsty.”

     “Pish posh, there’s always time for a spot of tea! Especially in winter, it’s practically a law,” Jake chuckled, waving his hand Dirk’s direction before he took off from the library, mind working quickly as he went down the halls. He was making headway with Dirk, he could feel it. If he could just keep this flow going, keep edging his way into his good favors, surely they’d be bosom buddies soon enough. If not buddies, then at least on better terms personally, which would make things far better for John and Dave’s issues with wanting to be wed. Hopefully. Maybe. If he was lucky.

     Damn it, Jake, stay positive!

     It was hard to stay positive in this chilly damned castle, though. Even with the long sleeves he felt the chill all the way to his bones and had to keep reaching up to rub his arms while in the halls. How the Dersian soldiers he saw here and there survived, hell how the work staff survived in their shorter sleeves, he couldn’t imagine. Maybe it was just being used to the environment, and his people’s habit of practically hibernating during the winter months that was prompting his sluggishness and desire for warmth. Even if he was pressing that desire for coziness onto others. Well. One other. With the ulterior motive of making the man rest a bit more often to make his fangs less potent towards others and grease his wheel of usefulness towards other causes he was disinclined to naturally pursue.

     Dirk’s attitude seemed to be more positive after he’d rested or eaten enough, but it was looking like a full time job to coerce the fellow into taking proper care of himself. Jake felt he was up to the task, even if it was just in tea, pastries, and warm blankets leading to a potential nap time for the royal. It was much like taming a wild beast, Jake thought, though the comparison drew a bit of his ire after all the rude things people had said about Dave in Prospit.

     Little did they know the true beast was his brother.

     Dave in comparison was a normal, upstanding fellow, mild in temperament and sweet in general disposition. Though, then again, Jake had also never seen him very angry before. Perhaps the monster lay in him as well, lurking in his blood waiting for the proper time to strike. Dirk’s rested at the surface, what you saw was what you got, but Jake couldn’t help but wonder if there was something… softer beneath those scaly hides.

     The kitchen was easy enough to find for him, following his nose as much as the general direction of Downwards towards the warmth at the heart of the palace. Being allowed access was also easy, given nobody wanted to tussle with someone his size, but getting what he needed was a chore. Everyone chose to ignore him save for curious staring and murmurs, gestures to their own necks as they discussed him in whispered Dersian.

     “Where uh. Where might I find a teapot? And tea?” he asked the room at large in Common, unsure who to personally ask. “And.. oh, bother. Where is anything in here?”

     The previous visit down here had been for some milk and to grab some things that had been left in baskets for storage as excess. At least, he hoped they’d been excess, since he’d grabbed several for himself and Dave and John to nosh on. This required several more steps and some decorum. He was no master of tea, but Jake was certain he could manage the pot properly once he found the damned leaves he needed.

     And the pot.

     And the water.

     And th-

     Ugh this was going to be complicated, wasn't it. When Jake got no response from anyone in the kitchen, he finally bit his lip and mimed pouring tea and drinking it, then mimed eating food and wiping his mouth, hoping to get the point across.

     “We can understand you,” one brave soul finally said, stepping forwards. Jake realized from the accent she was likely Alternian in origin, dark hair sweeping down to her knees in waves despite being tied back at her neck, rich red on her lips and the corners of her eyes. It was a bit of an outlandish appearance compared to what Jake was used to, but it suited her fine features perfectly. “Let me help.”

     Someone else nearby hissed something to her, and even in his limited understanding of Dersian, Jake could understand a No when he heard it.

     “I’d hate for you to get into trouble by helping me,” Jake said with a shake of his head, glancing to the person who’d hissed.

     Aradia grinned a broad smile that showed dimples in her cheeks before shaking her head. “Oh, no, I won’t get in trouble. Everyone seems to think you’re dangerous, so they’re concerned for me to do anything with you,” she explained, dusting flour off her hands before going around to a cupboard and getting a tea set out. “Is this just for you?”

     “No, I’m ah. I’m bringing it for the king,” he explained. “And for myself.”

     “An audience with the king over tea? How very unlike him.”

     Jake couldn’t help but chuckle as his assumption was proven correct. “Please, tell me where things are and I can help you out.”

     “I’d just as soon do it myself,” Aradia admitted. “Buuuut…” she trailed off, glancing to the others in the kitchen, “if you don’t mind bumbling a bit amid people who are afraid of you, I wouldn’t mind the help at all.”

     “So long as they don’t think I’m trying to maim them when I’m simply grabbing bread, then by all means,” chuckled Jake, taking a few steps to come closer to her side. “My name is Jake, by the way.”

     “Oh, I’m well aware,” she said. “My name is Aradia.”

     “Well aware, eh?” he asked, chuckling. “Has my name preceded me, then?”

     “You could say that,” chuckled the maid. “Here. The hot water is over there, warm the pot for me? The tea leaves are here. Which blend would you prefer?”

     “Something popular here,” shrugged Jake, “I’m sure it’ll be delicious either way.”

     “There is a tea here that is less tea than hot drink. You should try it some time,” she explained, ignoring the nervous shuffling of her coworkers as Jake rounded on the heated water, pouring some into the pot and swishing it around before letting it set to warm. “You take jam and put it into hot water.”

     “...And then?”

     “That’s it, that’s the drink,” Aradia chuckled.

     It was a strange feeling for Jake. Here was this woman who was by all accounts lovely as could be, and yet he didn’t feel attraction towards her. He felt a pull, a strong one, but there was no desire to flirt or even be overly witty. He settled for watching her move about, sorting tea and bits of berries into a strainer for him, charmed with how her hair moved and how every gesture seemed to have a story behind it. He wondered at her life, how she came to be in Derse, what her hobbies were, but kept coming back to the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

     Why. He hadn’t felt this since he was a lad, trying to befriend the stableboy. 

     “It should be warm enough,” Aradia said. “Dump it and add fresh, and we can set the tea inside now.”

     “Certainly,” he said, doing just that with fluid motions. “While it steeps, would you mind telling me abou-”

     “The pastries are over here, there are a few to choose from,” Aradia interrupted in a matter of fact tone. “I’d recommend the ones on the left, they have honey custard inside.”

     “That’s wonderful, but I was wondering abou-”

     “If you’re wanting something savory or more filling, though, we’ve go-”

     “Miss, really, it’s not the food I’m wondering about!” Jake laughed, interrupting herr. “I was going to ask about you a bit, that was all!”

     Aradia blinked, then grinned that same broad smile. “Really now? You stand in Castle Derse and you want to know about one of the maids? I’m not that kind of girl, just to let you know. I’ve already someone I’m sweet on.”

     Jake lifted his hands quickly and shook his head. “Oh! No, no, miss, that’s not my intention at all!”

     The smile didn’t diminish at all, though she drew closer. “Oh? You seem quick to say that. Are you telling the truth, or are you saying I’m not worth it? I’ll have you know: I’m more than worth it.”

     “I. ...I’m not-. Oh, bother, I’m not certain how I’m meant to answer that without sounding insulting,” Jake admitted, stumbling over his words as he grew more and more flustered. “I’m sure you’re worth it, I’m just. I’m not. I mean I AM but not with YOU but not because you’re- I MEAN IT’S-”

     Aradia laughed at him, head tipping back and pearly white teeth showing. She laughed till tears formed in the edges of her eyes, and shook her head. “Jake, please. I’m playing with you, relax before you strain something important.”

     “Playing with me. Right. Yes. Of course,” he said as he started to settle down, face flushed. He adjusted the collar around his neck as if it were suddenly too snug, causing it to jingle as he pulled his hand away. Aradia looked at him for a long moment as if considering something… before going to pick up a plate. The remainder of the waitstaff was either keeping their distance still or had vacated the area entirely to tend to other business linked to the upkeep of a busy castle. 

     “I came to Derse when I was small,” she said. “My family were indentured servants, and I was a servant as well from the time I was very young. I used to clean the ashes from the fireplaces.”

     “Ashes from the fireplaces?” Jake said. “That sounds like a miserable time.”

     Aradia shrugged. “It’s what happens when your family is lower class. We were the lowest of the low even in Alternia, so Derse was a big improvement. They were patient here while we learned to speak Dersian, didn’t complain that we spoke Common so often to get by, and didn’t skimp on our food or water. When our contracts were up, we were hired properly and started earning wages.”

     “Are your family still here?” he asked, curious just how many attractie red lipped women may be running about behind the scenes, curious if another of them would light the spark that this one was fanning in a different way.

     “No. My family returned to Alternia and were killed,” Aradia said as simply as if she were reporting on the weather. Jake’s throat went dry and he shuffled, tall and awkward and bumbling. The steeping tea smelled sweet and delicate on the countertop, the thin jet of steam pouring from the spout like dragon’s breath. Aradia blinked at Jake’s suddenly somber attitude and smiled. “It’s alright, they had a lovely funeral I’m told. They’d have been happy.”

     “That’s. ...I’m sorry, mis-”

     “Please, enough with the Miss talk, call me by my name!”

     “...Alright. Aradia, I’m sorry to hear that, you must be quite lonesome. But I’m not sure how much of a consolation a nice funeral is when you’re already deceased.”

     “Oh, they enjoyed it,” she said matter of factly. “And it’s not as if I’m alone anyway.”

     Jake frowned, furrowing his thick brows in confusion. “Didn’t you just say your family, ah…?”

     “Died? Yes.”

     “Then how are you not alone? Oh! Friends! You mean you have many friends, yes?”

     A woman that must have been the head chef piped up then, interjecting loudly enough that Jake nearly jumped out of his skin despite her being half his size. 

     “You shouldn’t bother talking to her, she’s crazy. Thinks she can talk to her dead parents.” A scullery maid giggled from behind a soapy plate before ducking her head and returning to her labor of scrubbing out a particularly stubborn pot in the sink. 

     “And others!” Aradia added, nonplussed by the commentary. “There are many dead in Derse. Many old dead. I don’t always understand them, but I can hear and see them. My beloved hears them too, sometimes, though… he hears those who are going to die, instead. Wails and cries of souls tha-”

     The chef lifted a large ladle from the soup she was working with and wielded it like a weapon Aradia’s direction, frowning aggressively. “No, none of that talk! None! Not in my kitchen, you quiet your trap girl! Damned crazy Alternian girl cursing my kitchen, dredging up hauntings and who knows what else,” she hissed in annoyance, before cursing for a moment in Dersian. At least, Jake was fairly certain it was cursing. It definitely didn’t sound very happy, and she kept shaking her head while speaking as she went back to work on the food.

     Aradia, still unbothered, set a plate loaded with treats down beside the teapot and lifted the lid to peek at the liquid inside. “Ah, it’s bloomed out plenty now, fully steeped. Dump the leaves in the trash for me?”

     Blinking slowly, Jake did as she asked before coming close to her side, leaning down to whisper to her. “Are you quite alright with her saying such awful lies about you?”

     “Lies? What lies?” she asked, canting her head to the side. “She said the truth, except for the cursing and the hauntings. There’s nothing to dredge up, I just notice what’s already there. And Sollux hates what he hears, so it’s not as if he cares what some older woman says.”

     Jake gaped at her till she made a noise and pointed towards the trash, reminding him to dump the leaves. He dumped the leaves mechanically, pivoting, and trying to make up his mind about the situation.

     “So you mean to tell me you can hear spirits.”

     “And see them!”

     “And you’re not just saying that.”

     “Nope.”

     “And you’re not crazy.”

     “Last time I checked I wasn’t, but there’s no telling if that will remain the same forever,” she said, lips curling into the same red bow of a smile. Jake felt something in his chest warm as she did so. There was the same strange feeling as earlier once again, though this time Jake was finally able to understand what it was. Or, at least, what he was fairly sure it was. Friendship. The strange bonding feeling that one had when a new instant friend was located, as if you were bosom buddies in a past life that had just been reconnected at the drop of a hat in the new world. There was just an instant connection, and Jake found himself anxiously hoping that she felt it too somehow.

     How did one even explain that feeling to someone? “Hello, I feel we should be chums,  embrace this new friendship with me”? No, that was foolish.

     “You can come speak to me again you know,” Aradia said suddenly. “I’d quite like it actually, Jake. You’re strange.” It wasn’t an insult, how she said it, but more as a form of endearment that made him as happy as he was to hear she wanted to see him again.

     “Certainly, the pleasure would be mine,” he said. “It’s always good to have another friendly face when you’re somewhere new.”

     “Yes!” she agreed, and set the tea pot and a few cups onto a tray, adding the dish of treats afterwards in a neatly balanced arrangement. “Here, now. Take this back to the king while it’s still plenty hot. He drinks slowly, if you pour it while it’s this hot, it should be perfect temperature once he actually drinks it.” As an afterthought, she shoved a tea cozy onto the pot to help trap the warmth, a gaily colored purple thing with tassels that just made Jake smile even more with how silly it looked.

     “Yes, certainly. Thank you!” he said, lifting the tray and… immediately setting it down again without releasing his grip on it. “Erm. Where, ah… where am I meant to go again? The direction?”

     “Where was he last?”

     “The library.”

     Aradia stepped to Jake’s side and turned him to face a specific direction as she spoke, visually steering through the air with her arm to help explain the idea more thoroughly so as to help him avoid getting lost. With more thanks on his lips, Jake leaves in an excellent mood, returning to the familiar looking surroundings of the library with ease. It was only upon his arrival, however, that he realized just how much he’d really missed. 

     John and Dave were standing in the library speaking with Dirk about something, with speaking being the ideal state compared to how many things there were to yell or argue about potentially. Jake cleared his throat when he entered, lifted the tray with a grin in offer to the others, and came to set it by Dirk’s side before pouring a cup full of the tea for him. The conversation didn’t so much die as quiet for a moment, before beginning again.

     “Surely it wouldn’t be missed that much,” Dirk said. “You can’t keep it forever. You’ll already have marks from the damned thing, the fewer you bear the better off you are.”

     “I don’t know how to explain it to you,” Dave said slowly, “but I can’t take it off. Not right now. Not yet.”

     “But when, Dave? If not now, when?”

     Jake realized they were discussing Dave’s collar, the slender piece of equipment that had graced his throat the entirety of the time Jake had known him.  It was a symbol of many things by now, none of which were good, but both Jake and John knew better than to try forcing Dave to do anything he wasn’t interested in doing. If he wanted to keep it on, whatever be the reason, it would remain on. He reached up to toy with it, holding it securely in place with both hands as Dirk murmured something in Dersian to him, and quickly shook his head.

     “No, thank you, just. Later.”

     “Dave. Please. For my sake, then, take it off.”

     Dave cringed visibly at the wording, and gripped the collar tighter for a moment before putting his hands down as if ashamed, fingers curled into fists. The tension in the room was suddenly rising, and Jake wasn’t sure there was enough tea or treats to help bring it back down to a suitable level. Dirk sets his book aside and ignores the tea in favor of standing. He reaches out slowly, as if approaching a wild animal.

     “Easy now,” he murmured. “This will make you feel so much better,” he promised.

     Dave flinched when he set his hands on the collar, back seizing up, body trying to subtly lean away from the source of the discomfort. He looked like a cat avoiding a bath, eyes widening, mouth thinning to the barest line. It wasn’t until Dirk found the mechanism that held it together and tested it, tugging on either side, that Dave shouted and pitched himself down to his knees. He curled forwards bodily, hands resting on either side of his collar, shoving it as if he were the only thing keeping the sturdy item in place against unyielding forces, shouting in Common as he shook.

     “NO. NONONO. NO. NO.”

     Dirk appeared startled and took a step back, while John knelt down, touching Dave’s back. Or trying to at least. Dave flinched back from his touch as well the first time he tried, only yielding when he touched further down on his lower back, far from his neck.

     “It’s alright,” John murmured. “Nobody’s taking it off.”

     “Nononono,” repeated Dave, this time in Prospitian.

     “What is the meaning of this?” Dirk asked, looking between John and Jake before gazing at his kneeling brother, confusion mixing with traces of… what was that emotion? Disgust? Concern? Jake found him hard to read, but with John trying to calm Dave down, he decided it best if he took up the reins to answer.

     “He doesn’t want it off,” Jake said, realizing how unhelpful that sounded.

     “Yes, fool, but why? Or are you going to start screaming if I remove yours too?” Dirk snapped. John glowered at him before looking back to Dave, hugging him when it was finally allowed.

     “Ah.. I mean. I’m thinking it has to do with some trauma,” Jake said cautiously, measuring his words. “That collar was put on during his training, I assume. There was likely a lot of er.. Training. That went into teaching him to keep it on.”

     There was the disgust, Jake could put a name to the emotion. The earlier one must have been concern if this was disgust.

     “Your people treated my brother like a dog.”

     “They did,” agreed Jake. Before everyone had warmed up to him, before they’d realized more about their own beliefs, he was ashamed to realize even he’d thought of Dave as a little beast at first. “...We did,” he said softly.

     “And all this time, you’ve never gotten him over this?” Dirk demanded, looking to John this time. “You wish to marry him and yet he’s still unable to bear having that thing removed from him? Are you mad?”

     “I’m not sure how to go abou-”

     “I’ll say this now, so listen well, John: until he can handle taking that off, and KEEPING it off, I’m forbidding so much as any talk of marriage. If you flee and try to do it, I’ll have you hunted and Dave returned home. If a fucking Prospitian cannot remove this curse from him, his family will instead,” Dirk said, tone grave.

     John was silent, but Jake knew the look on his face. It was the face of a man challenged.

     “Get him to his chambers and calm him down properly,” Dirk muttered. “I’ll not have him kneeling and shivering and panicked somewhere he might be seen.”

     “Are you ashamed of him?” John demanded. “It’s not his fault he’s like this, you know.”

     “I know,” Dirk said. “It’s yours. Spare his fucking dignity and take him to his room, now, or I’ll take him myself!”

     Setting his jaw, John carefully moved position and settled into a better crouch before grasping Dave beneath the arms, lifting him till he stood bent over. It made it easier for him to grasp behind his knees and his upper back then, carrying him bridal style so he could curl up, turning after a moment to bury his face against the skin warmed metal around John’s own neck rather than see his brother as he continued to shiver.  With one hand he opened the door, and with his foot he slammed it shut again behind them upon leaving.

     Jake wrung his hands anxiously, looking from the door to where Dirk still stood, nostrils flaring in rage as he tried to control his breathing. When he failed, he wheezed before beginning to cough, grabbing his handkerchief from his pocket to catch the mess he was no doubt coughing up once more before slowly sitting down in his seat again. When the fit passed, he rubbed his face with one hand, slowly coming to rest on the bridge of his nose, pinching away a migraine that was trying to form.

     Unable to think of what else to say, Jake sighed and reached for the cup he’d poured, lifting it towards Dirk in offer. “Here. For your throat. It can’t be good to keep coughing like that.”

     “It’ll be too hot, I’ll drink it later.”

     “It’s the perfect temperature,” Jake assured him, smiling slightly when Dirk took the cup. “I was assured by the maid I met. She was quite the intriguing woman.”

     “I’d prefer if you didn’t flirt with my servants while you’re essentially under arrest,” Dirk said with a tired sounding sigh.

     “It’s not like that!” Jake cried, squeezing the tea cozy as he pulled it off of the pot. “Augh, she thought the same thing at first, but it’s really not like that! She’s a beloved of her own, and I just want to be her friend very badly!”

     Dirk lifted a brow at him as Jake poured his own cup of tea, a bit confused, but took a sip. Surprisingly, it was indeed the perfect temperature. “Hm. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so dead set on friendship before, servant or none. Fine. Tell me about this maid friend of yours.”

     “I’ve no idea if you know her,” Jake said. “She was in the kitchen and knew her way around very well. She speaks to spirits. Alternian girl, wh-”

     “Pardon?”

     “Spirits. And she’s from Alternia and-”

     “Spirits.”

     “Yes, spirits,” Jake said, taking a sip of tea and immediately burning his mouth a bit. “Ah! Ow ow ow, oof. Oh I shouldn’t have done that..”

     Staring at him, Dirk sipped his own drink, savoring the taste and letting it soothe his throat. Jake had been good to bring the tea, perhaps it had been a necessity after all. “...Go on.”

     “Oh. Yes, right. She’s an Alternian girl who can speak to spirits, and she’s rather funny and quite charming, and-” Jake said, stopping suddenly. He stared off into space for a moment before lifting his brows. Somewhere, deep inside his mind, thoughts had connected. “THAT’S IT!”

     Startled, Dirk nearly dropped his cup. “What? What’s what?”

     “HOW TO TALK TO THE GIRLS!”

     “...What did I just say abou-”

     “No! No, no, no, my girls! My sisters!” Jake said excitedly. He set his cup down and jumped up towards the center of the room with a jingle, pacing like a tiger in its cage as he talked, gesticulating with his hands. “They’re on our side, my sisters. They looked the other way when we left, when we took Dave and escaped. They’re next in line now, should anything happen to Father. Far as John and I can tell though, their best bet is a coup if they want to stand any chance of ending this damned war. Or at least talking with you directly about ending it. I know how to contact them now!”

     “How in the fuck do you plan to do that?” Dirk asked, genuinely curious but just as unnerved by Jake’s outburst as before. “It’s not as if you can just send a letter. ‘Hello girls, nice to hear from you, by the way I’m at castle Derse! Send the army!’ hmm?” he said.

     “Aradia!” Jake said, turning around and gesturing to Dirk with two pointed fingers, thumbs up, one eye closed in a wink. “She has contacts in Alternia. She knows Alternian. We were also close friends with the seamstress, and on good terms with the librarian at home, who are also Alternian! Nobody would suspect to read a message from home.”

     “...Even if it wasn’t sent from home,” Dirk mused, catching on. “And you’re certain nobody would check? How many Alternians are loyal to your father?”

     “I’ve no idea but the librarian would likely be the one to get the message. If it’s sent with a book, all the better. It’d look more official.”

     Dirk gave a snort and sipped his tea once again. “Look. If your plan is for your sisters to stage a coup, that’s one thing. If you’re planning on assisting that’s another. You’re still my captives. And I’ll offer no help to my enemy.”

     “My youngest sister is the darling of the military and her men are loyal to her. If she rose up, they would support her, even if it was to put Jane on the throne. It’s just a matter of them doing it…”

     “What would a message home do then? What purpose would it serve?”

     “To let them know we were alright. And that we supported them, if they needed any extra egging on,” Jake admitted. “They’re capable women, I believe in them. But letting them know we aren’t at risk or rotting in a dungeon would be grand and maybe let them carry on any plans they may already have in the works now that we’re not dangling in the cosmos.”

     “If there’s word of a coup… I may call a pause to my men to allow them time,” Dirk said, closing his eyes to take a drink of tea. “I will not help an enemy. But helping by giving them time to sort their affairs and put someone more willing to discuss their surrender on the throne, then all the better.”

     “Surrender?”

     Dirk glanced over blandly. “You don’t expect me to yield, do you?”

     “...No, I suppose not.”

     Pensively, Jake finished his tea before setting the emptied cup down. “I’ll be just a short time, I need to go tell John about this, he’ll be thrilled to bits. Please, help yourself to the treats.”

     “I’m not hungry.”

     “Try them anyway, I’m assured they’re delicious,” Jake said. “Aradia was right about the tea, I’m certain she’s right about the treats!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

     Though back in his own room, Dave still hadn’t quite settled down. He lay curled on his side in his bed, knees tucked to his chest, one hand over his blinded eye to cover it as he groaned.

     “Did you see the way he looked at me,” he murmured softly. “I’ve never seen Dirk look at anything like that before. Or anyone. He looked horrified. I can’t really blame him, I mean. Look at me.”

     “I am.” John promised. He wasn’t certain what to do to help aside from be there, resting up against Dave’s back and gently stroking down his side and over the slight swell of his hip. “And I see someone amazing who’s survived a lot of hardships to be where they are right now.”

     “John, if your family looked like that at you, you’d understand what I’m feeling right now,” complained Dave. ‘At least my hair hides my eye mostly, or else he’d probably have been staring at that instead. Hah, maybe that’s a new reason to keep the collar on: something to stare at other than my fucking awful eye.”

     “You’ve got a world in your eye,” John murmured. “Whether you see it or not, and whether it can see or not, you’ve got a world in your eye that I can see.”

     “What about my sighted eye, then?” he asked. “What does it have?”

     “My heart reflected back to me.”

     “And if it went blind too?” probed Dave. “What then? Would you settle for a blind man for a spouse?”

     “Proudly,” promised John. “Dave, your eyeballs could fall out and roll into a lake and I’d still want to wed you.”

     Dave reached behind himself to swat at John. “Don’t be gross, be serious!”

     “I am being serious, Dave! I don’t know what to tell you, there’s nothing you can do that would make me not want to marry you. ...Well. Short of one thing I guess.”

     “What’s the one thing?”

     “...Telling me you’d be happier with someone else and meaning it,” John said. “I couldn’t live with myself if I were making you sad. If you were happier with somebody else, I’d have to leave so you could have that joy. And I’d do it.”

     All at once, Dave rolled over to face John, grasping around his middle in a tight, clinging hug, burying his face in his chest. “Not allowed. You’re stuck with me, John, there’s nothing else to say on the matter.”

     “Then stuck I am,” John said, kissing Dave’s forehead, “with the world’s most handsome man as a husband to be. ...No. You’re practically my husband already. I meant every word of that vow we took.”

     “Me as well, but I want it official,” Dave murmured, lifting his chin up to peer at John’s face from beneath his mussed bangs. “I want to have a party to celebrate. I want to give my kingdom hope. I want to do all the things I always thought I’d do for a wedding, should I ever have found a love like this.”

     “You know what that means, then. That we have to stay instead of flee,” John pointed out.

     “Yeah...”

     “And that the collar will have to come off someday,” John added, hugging Dave when he began to stiffen anxiously. “Ah ah ah, I said someday, none of that.”

     “You can say that all you want, but all I feel when I hear that is fear,” admitted Dave with a soft hiss. “What a prince of Derse I am. The youngest moon, raised for the blade, raised for knighthood, and I’m terrified of having a slave’s signs taken off.”

     “I could write a novel about all the reasons you’re still a brave man of your kingdom, but that would stroke your ego so much your head would explode,” John said.

     “Try me.”

     “Someone’s in a mood to preen.”

     Dave smirked, and finally it looked normal on his face. Calmer. Present instead of in some dark room in Prospit having his spirit broken in memory. The fear had lessened its grip once more. John hummed, closing his eyes in thought, trying to decide what to say first. Before he spoke, he rolled, pressing Dave down into the mattress solidly to protect him from whatever else his mind tried to throw at him. At the new angle, he had the perfect position to kiss at his cheek, his ear, his neck.

     “You survived in an enemy kingdom, despite all odds,” John said, kissing the round of his ear. “You won the heart of an enemy prince, as well as the admiration of all his siblings, and have the prince wrapped around your little finger,” he hummed, kissing at Dave’s neck as he felt his hands lowering to the bottom of his shirt, beginning to stroke at his skin with his nails in gentle waves. “You survived an accident that could have killed you. You fled a kingdom, essentially got married while being pursued by soldiers, and got the enemy princes into your home in one piece.”

     “Go on,” Dave murmured softly, tugging up the bottom of John’s shirt till he wiggled it off over his head with a jingle of his collar. 

     “You charmed the prince into your bed and made lurid advances to him,” he said, suddenly blowing a wet puff of air against the side of Dave’s neck, making him squirm and laugh.

     “Don’t ruin the mood, damn it!”

     “It’s already ruined,” John said, propping up enough to grab Dave’s shirt, yanking it off of him suddenly enough that he yelped and started laughing after. “But that’s the best part,” he added as he decimated Dave’s laughter with kisses. “I love ruining moments with you, I always get to kiss you when you’re smiling that way.”

     Dave grasped at John’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. “You’re a fool...”

     “I’m your fool, and I’m right, and no I am not accepting criticism,” John said softly, biting Dave’s earlobe gently till Dave shifted his legs, parting them to hug around his hips.

     “Are you ah… accepting anything else?” he asked, squeezing with his legs briefly, crossing his ankles. “Because word is that I’m offering something that isn’t criticism for the next while.”

     “...I may be able to be talked into accepting things that aren’t criticism,” John said, snaking a hand down lower towards Dave’s trousers.

     When Jake opened the door some time later, the exciting news died in his throat. The door closed quickly, quietly as it could be closed, before he slunk back to the library. 

     It could wait a while, he decided. 

[texastheband]

Super Shar

Interview by Simon Gage, Photography by Wayne Maser Taken from Marie Claire UK - December 2001

She's one of the most successful women in British music, but Sharleen Spiteri refuses to let fame go to her head. And she doesn't mince her words about people who do. Here, the Texas singer gives Simon Gage the lowdown on babies, relationships and having Madonna and Guy round for tea. Photographs by Wayne Maser.

'And you need white wine vinegar, which is weird, but it's the secret ingredient,' says Sharleen Spiteri as she jams another slice of toast into her mouth and peers through the steam from a mug of tea big enough to soak your feet in. She's sitting in the television room of the huge house near London's Regent's Park she shares with her boyfriend, Ashley Heath, editorial director of The Face, explaining a pavlova recipe. (She doesn't mention she is making it for Tom Ford, designer for Gucci and Yves Saint Laurent.) The dustbins outside are full of carrier bags from Alexander McQueen - an old mate of hers from way back - and the kitchen is big enough to drive a Jeep around, but it's a homely home, not a stupidly luxurious swank pad. Although goodness knows, it could be. The house is fairly new to Sharleen - bought with the cash she's earned since Texas's resurrection with the White On Blonde album in 1997 made her a multi-millionaire - but it already looks lived in, with books and candles everywhere, a huge Aga and comfy settees. Her mum and dad are down from Glasgow to help her redecorate. Obviously, she could afford to employ a team of painters - she is one of the wealthiest women in the UK, with recent rich lists placing her higher than Posh but she sees this as a nice way of spending more time with her parents. 'And I get a lot of satisfaction from it.' she adds. 'We've been taking thousands of books off the shelves so we can paint. It's one of those jobs where you end up going, "Why the fuck did I start this?", but they're all back now and it looks fantastic.' Sharleen, 33, may be one of the most successful women in British music -the Greatest Hits album is six times platinum and counting but she is not going to let that stop her getting on with painting her shelves and sloping into cafes for junk food. She may have no time for the Mariah Careys of this world - they fell out last year - but to the women in the second-hand clothes shop we stop off at in Camden on our way to Marks & Spencer for bread, Sharleen's probably the nicest customer they'll have all day. The thing with Sharleen is she doesn't do the superstar thing and has a great talent for not being spotted. It's not like she's in disguise or anything - her hair is tied in a makeshift knot, she's wearing 'great label, but low-impact' clothes and she keeps her head up, talking non-stop in her recognisable Glasgow drawl. She even gives me a body-popping run-through of a Missy Elliott video in the middle of a road without anyone batting an eyelid, then goes on to say how shocked she was when a paparazzo tried to take a picture of her nipping out for milk. Shocked not in a 'How dare you?' way, but in a 'Why would you?' way. But that's Shar all over. She still doesn't quite get what all the fuss is about.

So we hear you're about to take two years off. SS: So people keep telling me. I'm not rushing to do the next record. I think people need a little break and so do I. Johnny [McElhone] and I are still writing [songs], but sometimes it's difficult to know where you want to go musically so we had to take a break. Two years is ample time to have a baby. I knew you were going to say that. Even my friends are phoning up and saying, 'Do you want to come to this party?' and if I go no, they ask, 'Are you pregnant?' and I'm like, 'Piss off!' If it happens, it happens. Hell, I ain't getting any younger. You're doing alright, aren't you? Is there anything you still want and can't have? No. I don't think having something you want has got anything to do with being a millionaire [laughs], but you can say that when you're loaded. I've never been happier. I can come and go, see my mates, have them round to the house and just have a laugh. Did you always dream of being a popstar? I never dreamed of being a popstar What defines a popstar? Someone who sings for a living and everyone screams at them. What defines a musician? Someone who does that but no one screams. So, what am I? You're a popstar. Yeah, but am I the same as people like Hear'say? I don't have a group of producers and writers who are writing songs for me and getting records ready so I can walk in and do my vocal. I don't sell newspapers, I sell records. Those popstars who sell newspapers don't sell albums.

Now you've made it, do things still impress you? Like when Alan Rickman phones to say he wants to be in your video? It's funny because [since the In Demand video], women come up to me and go,'Oh, what is Alan Rickman like?' He's lovely, we're mates. There's no bullshit to him. When we were doing the video, he told me he was up for a part in Harry Potter and I was like, 'Oh, my God! I love Harry Potter' When he got it, he phoned and said, 'Do you want to come down to the set?' I was like, 'You're damn right I do.' I took my niece and two nephews. It was so cool. You were supposed to be in Moulin Rouge, weren't you? What part? The Nicole Kidman part, but it would have meant spending a year filming in Australia. Now it's released, don't you think, 'That could have been me'? No. When I say no, it's no. I didn't ever see me doing that part. I was doing The Hush [Texas's fifth album] and that was more important than doing a movie.

What about when Madonna phones to ask you to dinner, does that impress you? My first meeting was at her house, so it's different from being in a popstar environment. It's pretty funny walking in the door and she's like, 'Hi, I'm Madonna.' You're a bit like, 'Yeah, I know that.' But isn't she just like all those popstars with the producers and the writers standing by? I honestly think she takes the music thing very seriously. We played with her and that wasn't a show where you just walk on and go, 'Let's see what happens.' It was very slick. Were you scared of her? Absolutely not. She's very bright - you don't get that amount of success without being bright. And what is Guy Ritchie like? Guy's nice. He's very real. But he gets criticised for being fake. Everyone reinvents themselves. It's bullshit when people go, 'That's not your background and you can't act like that.' I couldn't care less where Guy comes from. You're either nice or you're not. I don't need your family history to be in your company. Have they been to your house yet? No. It's just a case of getting it together. How would you be able to relax? Why wouldn't you? I don't understand. 'Oh my God, Madonna's coming round, I'll have to get the house repainted.' For fuck's sake. The night we went over, it was me, Stella [McCartney], Ash [Ashley Heath], Guy, Madonna, Guy's dad and his wife, and it was dead relaxed, like any dinner.

‘I don’t do cleavage, Cleavage is overrated’ - Sharleen

Did you see Madonna in concert? No. I was really busy. Was she upset? I'm sure she couldn't have given a flying fuck. So if you're not worried about meeting Madonna, what do you worry about? I'm really worried about my niece, because she's being bullied at school. I get angry more than I worry. I'm really bad at biting my tongue. I've seen people's jaws drop in a 'I can't believe she just said that' way. So you don't dream of having a body like Geri? Everyone would like it, but I wouldn't want to do the work. I couldn't bear having to think about it every time I want to eat. That's not living. I think she looks like a very ill girl. I'm just like, 'Get over it.' Would you ever do the bikini thing for a magazine? I don't need to. Some people might find the need to have a photo of them retouched, but I can't think of anything worse than going home after your boyfriend sees you on a magazine cover with your arse up to here and tits ping, ping, and then you go in and it's reality, gravity. Don't get me wrong, I really care that it's a nice picture. If I go into a studio and there's a stylist going, 'We really think...', I'm like, 'No, this is what I'm wearing because this is the way I look.' You have a big female following, don't you? A woman liking me is the biggest compliment you can pay me. After the Elvis video, so many women said, 'Well done, you're so brave.' Why brave? Because it wasn't you in a sexy little dress. I'm so bored with tits and arse. Did you know you were above Kylie and Madonna as the act most requested at Gay Pride this year? I couldn't believe it. I was like, 'Bring it on, the queen has got her crown back.' You've got a big lesbian following. Have you ever been tempted? No. I love women, but I don't fancy them. I look at women and think, 'Man, she's gorgeous.' I'd like to look like Angelina Jolie. I think she's so sexy. I love her big lips and her kooky character, and I find her madness appealing. I don't think she acts it. How does your boyfriend cope with you being a superstar? A lot of men would find that hard. Ashley's not that type. He's a very confident person, always has been. That's what attracted me to him.

When I walk into the East London photo studio about a week later, the first voice I hear is Sharleen's. She's in the middle of telling the team of internationally celebrated photographers, stylists and make-up artists some off-colour stories. The photographer reckons he doesn't know Texas's music, so someone puts on the Greatest Hits, to which Sharleen lip-syncs like a drag queen, throwing in some comedy Mariah Carey moves. As she changes from her white T-shirt into a variety of top-drawer designer togs, most of which she's brought along herself, the only thing that stays the same is her attitude. Halfway through doing a glamorous shot laid out on the floor, she asks if we can see her balls up her skirt, then she comes out in a top with a plunging neckline, pulling the sides together because, 'I don't do cleavage. Cleavage is over-rated.' Are you still big mates with Chris Evans? SS: I haven't spoken to him since he got married, but I really believe that he and Billie are in love. I met her at a funeral with Chris. Everyone is going on about Billie and Chris and you think, 'OK, so Chris has fallen in love again,' because Chris does that. When I met him with Billie, I thought, 'Oh, this is different.' I don't know her, but she was very relaxed in his company, and he was in hers, and I don't see Chris like that very much. I thought she was a really nice girl. I was quite taken aback. But you forget how young she is. What age is she? Nineteen. I never knew she was that Young. Age makes no difference to me. At that age, I was writing I Don't Want A Lover. I still stand by the lyric. Did you go to Madonna's wedding? No. There were only 60 people invited. If Madonna had invited me to her wedding, I would have wondered why. She's only known me a year. Are you going to invite her to your wedding? Who says I'm getting married? [Laughing] That was the cheesiest way of asking me I've ever heard. So ... ? Probably... I don't know how you decide. I always find it horrible when people talk about it. You're big on monogamy, aren't you? I'm a romantic. I think I'm a realist, to be honest with you. Is monogamy a big deal to me? Fuck, yes. If it lasts a week or lasts the rest of your life. So you won't put up with any running around? No. That's like [split sound] material. It's not good. Would you end it even for a minor indiscretion? Yeah. Why would you have a boyfriend? You might as well just be shagging people. Don't you ever fancy a meaningless shag? No. A shag is the ultimate closeness you can get to me, mentally and physically. When I'm having sex, that's completely me. It has to be really special. That's the way I am. You don't think there are different sorts of sex? You're talking like a man; 'I shagged her and it didn't mean anything.' How do you know it didn't to the other person? I think there are lots of girls who kid on that they don't care, but I don't believe women are like that. But I'm not interested in other people's sex lives. I love having a laugh and a great conversation, but you've seen me with my girlfriends and we're like, 'You dirty devil' and laugh like other women. We talk about sex, but not our sex lives. It's an urban myth that women talk about what they do in bed. So what are your thoughts on Posh? Every time I've met Victoria, she's been a sweetheart. Everyone goes on about her, but you still pick up the paper to see what she's up to. She seems pretty normal. Well, not in the sense that I'm normal, but I think she's actually quite normal in her heart.

See the photoshoot: here Read the scans: here Text originally posted on texasindemand.com

[sustenance-soon]

march 29 2020 - breakfast | 🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚+

diy bread + charcuterie plate (caramelized baby tomato halves w/ pepper, butter knife, unsalted butter, blackberry jam, salami, bread & butter pickles, tj’s tomato & basil hummus, tj’s garlic dip) + milky black tea with maybe a half tsp of sugar

—

hands down ths is one of the best things i’ve ever consumed and its so fucking versatile, it’s kust “make sure you cover such and such categories of taste, texture, food group” and bam it’s interesting and nutritious!