#they gave us a new oven so I had some hope but. alas

[llycaons]

another reason to move is that my ac unit started to make super loud noises when I tried to sleep last year and my property manager's solution was to send a guy who failed to figure out the problem, so then just removed the entire unit and left it on my bedroom floor. so idk the situation this upcoming summer bc the unit is still in my closet and if we don't get a new one...maybe I can get a fan like I had growing up. idk

[theclockworkmonk]

Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 2

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Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

************

"They can't be serious…." Harry muttered in disbelief as he stared down at the very official-looking letter.

"Who's serious about what?" asked Ginny, stepping into their living room.

Harry jumped and quickly tried to hide the letter behind his back. "Nothing!" he squeaked.

He should have known better. Ginny got a mischievous glint in her eye and darted around him, trying to get at the letter. They spent a minute chasing around each other, but eventually Ginny faked him out into tripping over the coffee table, and she quickly snatched the letter out of his hand with a triumphant laugh, making Harry once again wonder if she wouldn't be even better at Seeker.

"Ooooo," Ginny sang dramatically as she saw the emblem at the top of the parchment, "an official statement from the Wizengamot! Have they come up with a new award to bestow on you?"

"No, it's even worse," mumbled Harry.

"Oh, well now I'm very interested," Ginny teased, "am I worthy to take a peek at such official correspondence between such important people?"

"Well, it actually concerns you too, Missy," said Harry, crossing his arms, "so go ahead."

"Hold on, let's see if I can get the right tone." Ginny cleared her throat, pointed her nose in the air, and continued in her haughtiest tone,

"To the esteemed Harry James Potter,

After consideration of your actions to serve and protect the Wizarding World of Great Britain, as well as the recent discovery of your lineage to the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell, previously thought to be lost, it is with great honor and pleasure that we offer to restore your line to its former status by bestowing upon you one of the vacant Lordships!?"

Ginny dropped her character and her mouth gaped open in disbelief. "Along with the accompanying seat on the Wizengamot!" she finished quickly.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, and her face split into a wicked grin and Harry knew he would never hear the end of this.

Harry snatched the parchment back.

"Yeah, so in other words," he began before she could start getting her jokes in, "they're embarrassed by how many of their seats are still empty after half their members were thrown in prison or fled the country for being Death Eater collaborators, so they're once again trying to use me as their poster boy so they can look like they've turned over a new leaf. Except they clearly haven't, since they only deemed me 'worthy' after they found out which dead pure-bloods I'm descended from, so they're still the same navel-gazing, inbred aristocrats they've always been!"

By the time he was finished, he was shouting and he panted to catch his breath.

Ginny, however, still found the whole thing hilarious.

"Oh, it breaks my heart to see Lord Potter so displeased," she bowed low to him with a flourish of her hand. "Let me know if there's anything a lowly peasant like me can do to serve you."

"Yeah, yuck it up, Weasley," said Harry dryly, "Like I said, this affects you too."

She looked back up at him with a sardonic look. "How does your having to sit through long parliamentary bullshit have to do with me?"

"Well," said Harry, stepping toward her, "if I'm a Lord, that means that, if I ever get married one day—"

"Hypothetically speaking," said Ginny.

"Yes, then that hypothetical girl — whoever she might be — would become a Lady."

"Hmmm," hummed Ginny thoughtfully. She wrapped her hands around his neck and he snaked his arms around her waist. "So you think this is relevant to me because you're hoping to make me your Lady? That's mighty presumptive of you, Lord Potter."

"Well, I wouldn't say hoping," lied Harry. "It's just a logical possibility to consider, strictly because you're pure-blood, of course. But I'm still keeping my options open. After all, you know how much of a ladies man I am."

"Yes, of course. But you know…" said Ginny thoughtfully, tracing circles over Harry's chest with her finger, "'Lady Ginevra Potter….does have kind of a nice ring to it."

"Oh, but things would be expected of you, m'Lady," said Harry, "and you would definitely have to stop all that Quidditch nonsense. Such a vulgar and violent activity is beneath a woman of your standing."

"Oh, well, I guess that's settled, we have to break up," Ginny sighed, "We're just a part of two different worlds."

"I'll always remember you," said Harry romantically, "but alas, I must kiss you goodbye."

He bent down and gave her a kiss, then they broke apart as they cracked up into laughter.

"Come on, I'm not going to let anyone call me a Lord," said Harry, rolling his eyes, "and obviously I'm not actually going to sit on the bloody Wizengamot. Those seats are transferable, so I can give it to someone who will actually know what they're doing. My first instinct is your dad, but he probably won't want it either, and they'll do anything to get him off again. Andromeda would probably feel at home there, but could do some good. Or maybe McGonagall."

Ginny groaned. "You can be so boring sometimes, you know that? You have a chance to put Luna in a position of power, that would drive them insane! Oh, or how about Aberforth, that would be hilarious!"

Harry laughed. "We're not all agents of chaos like you, Gin. I swear, sometimes I think you're Eris in disguise."

"Oh, you think I'm a goddess?" Ginny flirted, "then I guess you better worship me."

"Hmmm," Harry kissed her again, but then sighed and pulled back. "Sadly, there's no time for that, we're already running late for dinner at the Burrow."

"Alright, should we go together or do you want to keep up the pretense that we're actually living in different flats?" she asked him pointedly.

He gave a weak, embarrassed smile. "I know it's ridiculous, and I might be a coward, I've just managed to escape your mother's disapproving stare so far in my life, I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

Ginny rolled her eyes but led him by the hand out the door of their flat, past the wards they had put up. Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, and turned on the spot, feeling the squeeze of Disapparition.

*********************

"Come on!" urged Ron, "I'm hungry!"

"What else is new?" laughed Hermione, as she finished a letter she needed to send and tied it to Pig. After she sent the little owl on his way, she turned around to see her fiance standing by the fireplace, bouncing on his feet like a child on Christmas morning.

"Honestly Ron," said Hermione, shaking her head, "one would think you haven't eaten in a week, and there's no way that your mother even has dinner ready yet."

"Yes, but her pre-dinner scones should be coming out of the oven right now!" said Ron cleverly, "And I might as well have not eaten in a week, don't pretend like I'm the only one who's sick of our sad attempts at cooking."

"Alright, alright!" said Hermione. She joined him by the fireplace, threw some floo powder into the grate, and together they stepped into the green flames.

"THE BURROW!" Ron shouted clearly, and after the spinning sensation and flashes of various fireplaces, they stumbled into the sitting room of Ron's childhood home.

Ron's excited smile faltered when they saw the sitting room completely empty, with no one there to greet them. He recognized the overlapping voices of his family instead coming from the kitchen, and with a rush of horror he feared that his precious scones were already being eaten by an army of Weasleys. He led Hermione by the hand across the room towards the kitchen, and he started to make out individual voices.

"I just don't understand why they haven't told us!" said his mother.

"He probably knows what we're likely to do to him," grumbled Charlie.

"You've been away too long, brother mine," chuckled George, "I guarantee you she's the one keeping it under wraps."

"In any case, we know that pushing the issue will do nothing but make things worse," said Ron's dad gently, "We just have to—"

"Scones ready?" asked Ron loudly as he and Hermione entered the kitchen, and Hermione had to resist the urge to swat him. The conversation he had interrupted seemed interesting, and her suspicions were confirmed (and her curiosity inflamed) when all talk instantly ceased the moment they walked into the room. Six heads snapped towards the arriving couple as Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George widened their eyes in surprise and fear, like they were caught discussing something covert. Hermione also noticed how a few of them (mainly Ron's two oldest brothers) then narrowed their eyes venomously at her and her boyfriend.

While the kitchen of the Burrow was usually one of the warmest, most welcoming rooms in the world to Hermione, she noticed a distinctly cool, tense atmosphere this time. She looked sideways and saw that even Ron had clearly noticed, his eager smile slipping from his face.

There were several seconds of silence as the older family members' eyes all flittered between each other, holding a silent conversation that Ron and Hermione didn't know how to join. Then the loud ding of the kitchen timer made them all jerk suddenly.

"Wow, do I have great timing or what?" said Ron proudly, trying to ease some of the tension in the room, but some of his laughter died in his throat. His stomach didn't let him dwell on it, however, as Molly bent down to take the scones out of the oven, and the sweet, fresh smell filled the kitchen.

After she put the plate of scones on the table, Ron casually flicked a cooling charm over them before grabbing one greedily. The other Weasley men took their own, but they looked more like it was just something to do with their hands. While Ron hummed as he took a big bite, they chewed theirs thoughtfully.

"I should check on the washing," said Molly quietly, without looking at anyone. She grabbed a laundry basket and headed outside towards the clothesline.

"I'll help!" said Hermione cheerfully. She was always happy to help with the chores at the Burrow, but she also wanted to get one of the Weasleys alone to figure out what they had been talking about.

Molly didn't answer and continued outside with Hermione behind her.

"How have you and Arthur been?" asked Hermione pleasantly.

"Well, my days are still dreary, with no children left in the house," Molly sighed. "I knew that children don't stay children forever, but I certainly wasn't expecting my younger ones to hit so many milestones so quickly….and in the wrong order." She finished more quietly

Hermione frowned. Did Molly think she and Ron were getting married too soon? She had never expressed that before, she was overjoyed when they had announced their engagement.

"Er….well, Ron recently got promoted from Junior Auror," said Hermione uncertainly as she began helping Molly take garments off the clothesline and put them in the basket. "He'll be taking more serious cases now." So his career is well on track, if that's what you're worried about.

"I'm touched that you and Ron are willing to indulge that to me!" said Molly sharply

Hermione pursed her lips. Her patience was running out.

She stepped towards her soon-to-be mother-in-law and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Molly…"

For the first time, Molly turned to look at Hermione and the younger woman flinched back at the cold distrust and disapproval she saw in her eyes. Hermione felt a rush of deja vu, and after a short moment she realized where she had seen that look before: it was the same look she had received from Molly her fourth year, when the older witch had believed Rita Skeeter and was under the impression that Hermione was Harry's manipulative girlfriend, breaking his heart by messing around with Viktor.

"Mrs. Weasley...have I done something wrong?" asked Hermione weakly.

Seeing the hurt on Hermione's face, Molly's own harsh expression softened and was replaced with a wave of guilt. Her eyes got watery and her lip trembled, and before Hermione could say anything else she suddenly found herself being hugged tightly.

"No dear, you haven't done anything wrong," said Molly in a choked voice, as Hermione awkwardly patted her back, thoroughly confused. "I'm just being silly. I understand you're not choosing sides, you're just being a good friend."

Molly pulled back, and was smiling weakly at Hermione.

"Er...thank you," said Hermione, more bewildered than ever. "I don't mean to be rude, Molly, but I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh no, of course not," Molly winked dramatically, "There's nothing to tell, I'll drop it. Come on, dinner is just about ready."

Before Hermione could insist more strongly that Molly explain what the hell was going on, Molly picked up the now-full laundry basket and returned to the house, leaving Hermione blinking dumbly behind her.

******************************

As Hermione followed his mother outside, Ron continued to chew into the warm, buttery scone, barely looking at his surrounding family members, the earlier tension all but forgotten to him.

"So….little Ronnie doesn't come around for dinner as much as he used to," Bill pointed out.

"He and Harry have been burning the candle at both ends at the Ministry," said Percy.

"Hmm-hmm," Ron nodded, engrossed in his scone, not looking up to see the stern looks on his brothers' faces. "More than we need to be, honestly. But because of Harry's saving-people-thing, he's always sure that the next case will end in disaster if the dark wizard isn't caught right now, and of course he would be lost without me, so whenever he's working overtime I am too." He shrugged.

"Oh yes, I think we're all well aware how loyal you are to Harry," Charlie said darkly, "Even over other, older loyalties, as a matter of fact."

"Charlie…." began their dad warningly.

Ron looked back up, and grew uncomfortable again when he saw that all of his family members were looking directly at him. Earlier, he had assumed that the awkward tension in the room was because he and Hermione had interrupted an important conversation, but it seemed to go beyond that, like they were pissed directly at him for something he had done.

"What's going—"

He was interrupted by his mother re-entering the house, holding the laundry with one hand and wiping tears from her eyes with the other. Hermione followed in shortly behind her, and Ron looked pointedly at his mother and gave his fiance a quizzical look, but Hermione just returned a confused, helpless shrug.

"The roast should be almost done now," said Molly happily, and waved her want to send a flurry of plates and cutlery flying to settle in front of where each of the Weasley men were sitting.

"And I'm such a terrible mother, I neglected something," chuckled Molly, and bent down to kiss the crown of Ron's head. "We all missed you, dear."

"Mum…" Ron grumbled awkwardly, but he saw his brothers look at each other with slightly guilty expressions, and as they followed their mother's lead, the atmosphere of the room became friendlier.

Charlie drew in a deep breath and sighed. "I need a drink."

"Excellent idea!" pipped George. He waved his wand and summoned a large bottle of firewhiskey from the cabinet along with several glasses, which zoomed right past Molly's face, causing her to jump and shriek.

"For the last time, only the cook can summon in the kitchen!" Molly scolded him, "I won't have this room devolve in complete chaos of flying objects until someone gets a concussion!"

"And I know you don't always act like it, but you are all of age," said Arthur, raising his eyebrows at George pouring several glasses of whiskey, "so I see no reason why you can't bring your own drinking supplies instead of raiding mine."

Molly huffed. "Well maybe it will be best if we stopped keeping that poison in the house—"

She stopped abruptly as they heard a faint pop from outside, coming from down the pathway, and Ron knew that Harry and Ginny must have arrived. Instead of beaming and rushing out into the garden to greet her two favorite children, however, Ron saw his mother gasp and a bit of the color drain from her face. His family members all looked at each other with that same expression he first saw when he came into the room.

Charlie gave a low growl and picked up a glass. "Yup. Definitely need a drink."

[jefferoni-quotes]

hotter than this heatwave

Jamilton, 13,045 words

I am begging y'all, don't let this flop it took an ungodly amount of time and I am so proud of it. Full fic under the cut.

Also, leave feedback! I love reading what you guys thought of my writing!

Hamilton is hot.

There’s no other way to say it. He’s hot, miserably so. Even with the air conditioner full blast, and a fan directed straight into his face, he’s simply sweltering in the heat. His childish refusal to remove his shirt (even in the privacy of his own home) isn’t helping the sweat cease in their races down his back, and the base of his ponytail sticks to his neck. He grimaces every time he even tries to move, and thus he’s resided himself to the expanse of couch, positioned himself under an open window. But there’s no breeze, none reaching him anyway. If he lifts himself on his shaking arms, and peers out the window, he can see the trees aren’t swaying. The leaves bustle occasionally, but it’s far from the usual dance they perform. He can hear all too clearly conversations, chatter from those subjecting themselves to the summer heat. Perhaps Alexander is more a winter person, ever since he had moved to America he had been, after all, he saw snow, something he thought only existed in movies, and immediately fell in love with the season. Being able to choose if he was to be pleasantly warm, or surprisingly cold during winter was an experience. To have the option of curling up like a cat by the fire, or lying in snow, making snowmen and such. And Christmas dinners- Alexander could go on and on for hours about the wonders of the coldest time of year, alas Hercules would disagree, argue Summer was so much better. But Hercules is Irish, he has enough of the cold to last him a lifetime. Now Hamilton would bet the man wishes he had just held his tongue, because he must be suffering in the heat too. 

Fuck heatwaves, and fuck New York.

He thinks to himself as he throws a cushion across the room in frustration. It hits his air conditioning unit, and before he knows it the apartment is plunged into a volcano. The unit malfunctions, turns off and doesn’t turn back on, even when Alexander shoots up from his languid position and desperately tries to fix it. He beats his fist off the top with pent up frustration, sincerely hoping that magically it would be fixed. Alas, it was not, it gave one last spluttering attempt to turn on before dying with a not so graceful clank. What sin has he committed to be tortured in such a way? It feels as though Satan himself is clawing his way up from the circles of Hell, and has declared Alexander’s apartment his spawn point, where the Heaven vs Hell war will begin. Whatever war is about to commence, Alex is on Satan’s team, as God must have something against him to send this wave of heat his way.

“Fuck!” He yelled, kicking the machine and cursing even louder at the shock of pain coursing through his toes. He clutches his foot, hopping around his apartment like some hurt rabbit and hisses through clenched teeth. He finally jumps his way ungracefully back to his couch, collapsing onto it in one foul swoop. His legs involuntarily give out under him, and he’s almost thankful for it as he half considers stripping out of his shirt, aching for some kind of relief. He starts tugging on the hem of his shirt, mulling over the idea before pushing his own hands away in disgust. A respectable man always remains fully dressed for any occasion. What if a visitor were to come by? He would likely demand their exit from his home, but he would at least like to do so in style.

The rooms are quick to grow stuffy, uncomfortable and as though the walls are too close and getting closer. Suddenly removing any clothing is a thought long forgotten, quickly replaced by the innate desperation to escape the closed doors of his apartment. He scrambles for purchase on the arm of his couch before forcing his muscles to revive and motor him towards the exit. He passes by his kitchen, opens the fridge for a moment just to feel the coolness on his body. He closes the door before all his food defrosts, albeit reluctantly. He would stand there all day if he could. Leaving the kitchen, he examines how his kettle has evaporated of all remaining water inside. There goes Plan B of making iced coffee, or worse, iced tea. Who could subject themselves to the bath water like clutches of cold tea? Disgusting.

He doesn’t stop to grab sunscreen, doesn’t consider sunburn a thing as he grabs his keys and shoves them in the pocket of his ratty cargo shorts. He pushes his feet into sandals, Birkenstocks, brown ones. He half contemplated putting socks on with his sandals, and automatically laughs at how much that would irritate Jefferson if he just so happened to run into him. The man is obsessed with his looks, conceited and vain in every way. Alexander wouldn’t be surprised if the man carries a pocket mirror on him, just to examine his appearance and remind himself of how goddamn gorgeous he is. Because he is gorgeous. Alexander is stubborn, not blind, and even he can admit the things he would give up for a fling with the man. His pride would never allow him to plead Jefferson for a one night stand however, and he knew Jefferson would never come to him, so that fantasy may as well remain just that. A fantasy. 

So he leaves the socks behind, but not because he cares what others think. Of course he doesn’t… simply because socks would just be extra layers. He doesn’t care if people think his hair is a mess, which it is, so he drags his hand through it. The hand comes back damp, and he grimaces, wiping it on the tan material of his shorts. And he certainly doesn’t care that one of the buckles on his sandals is about to break. He glares at it, willing it to sew itself back together. It does not. Hamilton sighs and folds, giving up on attempting to appear presentable. It’s not like anyone else outside looks much better, save for the few teenagers posing on the streets in incredibly short shorts with a Starbucks they probably waited an hour for. 

Alexander practically throws his door open and is met with a pleasurable breeze as it swings, which quickly dissipates into a blast of scorching air, as though opening an oven too quickly. You would think after being born in such a humid climate he would’ve grown used to the hot weather. Apparently, this was a false assumption. He fishes his keys back out of his shorts and locks the door, standing out in the lobby of his apartment complex. 

Now that he’s escaped the confinement of his home, Hamilton doesn’t know what to do. He could run down to Starbucks, take his mind off the heat with an ice cold Frappuccino. However, that would only distract him for a moment, perhaps an hour, until every drop of coffee has been drunk, and he’s left with an empty cup and a smoldering heat once more. And besides, if he's so desperate for an iced coffee then he could just make his own. That idea drains down the gutter, because he doesn't have any ice and there's no way water would freeze very fast in this temperament. He can briskly walk to work if he so pleases, despite being ordered to stay off, but that would require changing into a suit and now that he thinks about it… does his office even have air conditioning? 

A long, broken sigh escapes his lips and he drags a hand through his hair, which has grown ever so slightly damp with sweat. Maybe a walk to clear his head, and if he strolls in the right direction, the wind will hit him perfectly and he should cool down. 

He accepts this as the perfect idea and walks his way out onto the street, practically able to feel the burning tarmac through the soles of his sandals. He hopes there are no poor dogs or felines roaming the streets, or on daily walks on this day. The pavement would be far too much for their paws. Alexander feels which way the warm breeze is flowing and begins to trek directly into it, finding a sense of overwhelming relief at the sensation. (Even if it is relatively brief.)

Alexander’s feet carry him wherever they please, walking him down long streets, past empty stores. He stops to glance into a bustling Starbucks, hears through the glass a man screeching at a barista who is refusing to take his order because, “no shirt, no service.” He continues past, rather glad he had decided not to go inside, as it looks far too crowded, even for a small man such as himself.

His strides are short but swift, floating him along the streets with an air of confidence that he is known to possess. It is undeniably cooler outside, a welcome surprise as a gust of wind blows his hair from his face. He hears the simultaneous sighs of alleviation from the few on the streets, clearly walking around for the same reason as Hamilton. 

Time ticks by and Alexander allows his mind to wander, as it all too often does when he gives it the chance. His thoughts speed past a mile a minute, tempting his brain to consider them longer, grabbing them like falling petals before letting them drift to the ground and blow away once more. 

He passes through Time Square, finding it bustling, more so than he had imagined. However, it’s not ‘Christmas Crowded’, the eloquent name given to Time Square by Lafayette for when the area becomes full at the most amazing time of year. He makes his way past people, brushing shoulders and probably contracting some undiscovered disease off of some of them. It’s New York, he wouldn’t be surprised. He jumps out of his skin when some man behind him traces their fingers up his spine, but when he turns around the person is gone, laughing to their friends. He scowls, half considers shaking his fist and exclaiming about “kids these days!” But he doesn’t, he just shivers despite being roasted alive and continues on his way. 

He spaces out again, wondering about work and then he doesn't know what he starts thinking about. But in his head he can picture a man. A man with a jawline that could cut glass, eyes blacker than the depths of the sea, yet shining as though filled with fire. He can see springy curls, imagines himself running his fingers through the mystery man's hair and cooing as he mumbles his disagreements. He sees a dark complexion, sharp cheekbones, with soft edges. The colour purple is prominent in his clothing, and it takes a moment further for Alexander to identify the male in his mind.

He zones back in as soon as he realises he's thinking about Jefferson. Again. He's thinking about Jefferson in a good way, thinking about doing couple things, about dates. And he grimaces. He convinces himself it's just a fluke, only because he sees Jefferson every day at work. 

He starts checking the watch on his wrist, which is starting to heat up in the sunlight. It’s been almost an hour and forty five minutes since he began walking, and he checks the number on the street. It’s all okay. He can always catch a cab. He looks around and finds himself no longer in the bustling parts of New York, but instead part of a classy suburban area. Rows of white picket fencing and neat little gardens, full of wilting flowers meet his eyes. In the lawns of a few are men and women of all ages tending to the plants, feeding them with water to try and keep them going through the unbearable summer heat. 

All the homes are different colours, some a perfectly average, cream white, others slightly more lavish baby blues. There’s one where the exterior walls are a glowing lemon colour, and it fills Alexander with an unexplained wave of joy. Then again, the colour yellow always has. It feels warm, welcoming, like a friendship long awaited. Something that has awakened the craving in him that demands the enveloping arms of a smothering hug.

A child - probably around eight - runs down the street, being chased by who looks like his friend. The girl racing after him knocks him to the side and he goes down on a patch of grass, flat on his back while his friend stands over him with a look of pure pride. Her curls bob as she jumps up and down beside him with glee, and Alexander observes as the boy stands. They lean against the tree beside them for a moment, before he mutters something and this time the girl takes off sprinting, the boy following five seconds later. He chuckles at the purity of the situation and takes it upon himself to continue his walk. It’s warmer than ever, but he doesn’t care as much anymore. 

The kids race ahead, the girl much further ahead until she stops. Alexander observes from the sidelines as he walks, and the boy taps her on the shoulder. They stand there, childlike joy radiating from their area. 

Alexander breezes past them, halfway down the stretch of street. The houses grow larger than the previous as he continues to walk, yet still feel as homely. An amazing feat really. He can hear the soft patting of his Birkenstocks as they tap off the pavement each time his feet hit the floor. A car trundles past, down the street, at what must be 10 miles an hour, giving kids on the road time to move out the way. He doesn't catch a glimpse of the driver, but he has respect for them nonetheless. 

As he passes a large, pastel green house, a tall woman exits her garden. She’s old, that much is obvious, but she doesn’t live up to the ‘little old lady’ aesthetic. She’s tall, she’s not hunched and the only part that gives away her age is the wrinkles lining her face. She brushes a grey curl from her face, tying back her hair afterwards. She’s mumbling under her breath, something that sounds like, “it starts soon! The concert!” And for a moment he feels awfully bad for her, thinking she has Alzheimer’s or something similar.

She has a thick Southern accent, and reminds him of Jefferson in a way. Her curls are similar, perhaps not as bouncy or as soft looking (in fact the only similar thing is that they’re curls,) but it has the same obvious care put into maintaining their pristine appearance. Her skin tone isn’t at all similar to his however, she’s pale while Jefferson’s complexion is almost tawny in a way. He can’t see her eyes from where he stands, but if they’re anything like Jefferson’s, then they must be dark, and perhaps they sparkle like his does when he gets passionate about what he’s speaking of… And when did he start thinking about Jefferson so much? Why does he know Jefferson’s eyes glimmer in certain lighting, or burn with a fire when they argue? Why is he paying so much attention to the man's pupils, and how they fail to hide the emotions his stone-cold face manages to maintain? When did he begin to study his rival so closely that he noticed all these oddities? Little details; like the way his lips twitch into a soft smile when talking to Madison, or recalling fondly his time in Monticello. Or now his eyebrows quirk upwards whenever Alexander opens his mouth to speak during meetings, conveying his irritation, yet innate fascination with the words flooding the room. How does he know that Jefferson’s curls would be soft to touch, without ever being close enough to feel them between his fingertips. Why does he feel that the man could go pliant with a scratch to the right place of his scalp? Where did all this knowledge come from? The depths of his bustling mind-palace? Or is it some fountain of information that Alexander and few others have access to? Is there some key to access the quirks about Jefferson, a key that he has? Or does he simply have the mould, a fragmented ideology of a key? Has Jefferson personally handed him this key, trusted him with it? Or has Hamilton snatched it from his clutches like a criminal from an off-guard prison warden? To think of it, why does Jefferson - the ever flowing river of confidence - stash his emotions away, hiding them like a gold hoarding dragon in a cave. He sits on them as though a mother bird would protect her eggs. He keeps them unseen to the passing onlooker. Is he scared? The idea is ridiculous. Thomas Jefferson? Scared? Hell would freeze over before the moment Jefferson is frightened. Or is anxious a better word? Why does he covet to know what it’s like to wake up secured in those arms? (God those arms.) Why does his head claw for the intelligence to feel Jefferson? (Whether that be a warm hug or a simple swing of their hands, linked together?) Why is Alexander asking himself all these questions? Why is his brain grasping and reaching for the answers, as though the forbidden apple that he craves a bite of.

Why does he care?

It’s a recurring thought, one that his mind cannot seem to formulate a complete answer to. Perhaps because it’s the nice thing to do? But no, fantasizing about someone’s eyes like some schoolgirl is not a “nice thing to do.” It’s a crush, is what it is. Wanting to know more about Jefferson, seeking the answers to his many personal questions is not simply because it’s a nice thing to do. It’s because he needs the answers. His mind demands he become closer with the man, the vain, uncaring man. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Out of all the people his heart could sing a yearning song for, it chose Thomas fucking Jefferson.

Why has his attention been undeniably captured, held hostage, by the Southern fuck?

This one, he can justify. It’s a simple answer really, one that is half the solution to his hundreds of other questions, the ones that buzz in his ears like insistent flies. And it’s two words, one word if you so wish to keep it incredibly succinct. 

His wit.

His brain, his intelligence only matched and rivalled by Hamilton’s own. The way his fingers tap out word after word on keyboards, or scratch out essays upon essays onto paper with pens, pencils, whatever he can get his hands on. His intense expanse of knowledge that spans from American finance, to Shakespearean literature. His ability to argue and debate and speak for hours and hours with Alexander without losing his pace. The way his mind formulates sentence after sentence where he debates and there’s a fiery, yet somehow icy cold, passion in his tone. The fact that Hamilton finally has an equal. Where it’s unlike arguing against Burr, a stone wall of indifference. Jefferson is a stone wall that Alexander knows exactly how to make crumble. And he does. Over and over, yet Jefferson keeps rebuilding, stronger than before. He makes Alexander fight for his right to get his ideas across and as much as if pisses him off… he can’t deny that he loves it. He adores having to work his way up, enjoys knocking away obstacles that continue to respawn. What’s life without a little competition after all? Alexander enjoys hiking, and Jefferson is the ultimate mountain to climb. 

But he wants more. He needs to know more about this mysterious man. He wants to know what it’s like to share sweet moments with him, wishes to be granted passage to his heart. He wants the key to be given to him, not stolen away. He wants Jefferson to trust him. He wants to know his talents, his skills, his hopes, his dreams. He wants to know about his past, his present and his future. Wants to know his real personality, the one he has secured in a vault. Because Alexander is stubborn, this much as already been said, but he’s not stupid. He can see the twitch in his fingers, the brief panic that flashes through the man's dark eyes whenever he has to present in Congress. He can hear the way he stumbles and stammers his way through speeches, as though he’s ready off a particularly shitty script. It’s only when they debate, when they argue with that familiar intensity, that the inferno is let loose.  And Alexander is happy to be consumed in its flames. 

The thoughts are almost enough to frighten him. The way they consume his constantly changing mind until he can think of nothing else. The burning heat in the air has been forgotten, replaced with a searing, white-hot pain through his chest. A heart attack maybe? More likely a soul attack. Hamilton uses his clairvoyance, he isn’t stupid. He knows this crush has been around since the day they had met. Since the first inklings of their argumentative ways. The kindling that sparked a fiery rivalry. One sure to last a lifetime. Well, maybe on Jefferson’s end. Alexander has felt this way, this white hot pain for a while, but now his body registers it and it hits all at once. Like a slap to the face, a punch to the stomach and a kick in the balls. It’s never hurt this much. Not with Aaron, not with John, not even with Eliza. The three most important relationships of his life had never been this intense, and he and Jefferson aren’t even together. Perhaps that’s what caused the pain to harm him so much. The craving of a thing he can’t have.

He gets the same feeling, the same way he felt around his other relationships. With Aaron, it was calm, predictable. It was boring. He needed more, he needed a spark, something he could bounce off of and then melt together. Aaron was grey. Monotone, and straight lined. He was a man who needed something still. He required security and promises to stay the way they were. But Alexander was a storm, unpredictable and wild and fully intent on ravaging the waters, while what Burr really needed was a lighthouse. Someone who was a beacon of light to shine him to the right place. Hamilton could never provide that.

John had been close. He had been orange. Intense, swirling like a fire, like a burning heat. But not enough. He was too quick to back down, to agree and leave arguments unsettled. He didn’t put up enough of a fight, backed down from debates and left Alexander with many more points to push across. They had the same opinions, there was no need for a friendly debate. It just wasn’t enough for him. There was passion, but not in the way Alexander’s heart craved. John needed something grounding, someone to match his intensity with a cute yellow or a fellow orange. And he found that, he found that in Peggy and Alexander was happy to watch him go. He wanted his orange to be happy.

The third person had been blue. Eliza was the sea and the sky. She was beautiful and calm and swaying. She was helpful and loving, quick to input her opinion only to retract it later on. Alexander had thought she was perfect. She was, Eliza was perfect. But Alexander was not. Blue didn’t mix right with whatever colour Alexander was. Blue turned dark and foreboding, into something he didn’t want to experience. Their fire had been wrong, and if Eliza was the ocean, then Hamilton was the smoke on the water clouding her. She needed a similar colour, a green like the Earth whom she could surround and heal. Or another blue to swim with. It appeared Alexander was neither of those.

But Jefferson. Jefferson was different. He was intense and angry and punched out. He was red. A dark crimson that demanded attention at all times. A matching light to Alex’s own. They bounced off each other, before they crashed together in a mess of colours, an abstract painting of similarities. Jefferson was passionate, he had an intensity that matched Alexander’s previously unrivalled one, and he loved it. He loved red. Red was the colour he needed, the colour that felt best in his heart of hearts. And that’s when he knew that he was red too, that he was a candy red. He was bright and flashing and Jefferson was dark and mysterious and together they were perfect. Together they formed a shade of undiscovered colour. 

That’s what Alexander needed. He needed his red. Everyone else had theirs! It was his turn! It was finally his shot to find love, and he had no intentions of throwing it away.

In his time thinking, he’s almost completely forgotten the putrid heat, and the fact that the woman from before is walking down the street just a foot or two away from him. She’s brisk, in a hurry clearly, occasionally checking the time on her surprisingly high class smart-phone. In fact, another person joins him on his venture down the street, the little girl from before, but without her friend. And if he thought the woman reminded him of Jefferson, then this girl is the spitting image of him. Same hair, but longer and tied into puffy pigtails, the same wide and toothy smile as she taps Alexander on the side.

“Hey there, Mr!” She waves, and the first thing he can think is Stranger Danger. Did this girl's parents never teach her the importance of not talking to random people on the streets? “I’ve never seen you round here before, are you lost?” He supposes that he sort of is. He doesn’t know his way home, but somehow he’s not concerned. He can call a cab, or an Uber or Lyft. There are plenty of ways for him to arrive back home. But the fact that she asks him this is evident that this is one of those neighbourhoods. One where “everyone knows everyone.” Which is sweet, but annoying, because now he stands out. He wants to blend in with the crowd for once, but as he looks around, that’s been impossible for a while. He notices everyone out in their gardens or on the streets are white, which is expected at this point. It’s a flaw in the American housing system, one that he should bring up in Congress. Perhaps he could get Jefferson to support him for once, team up even. That’s the dream. 

He hasn’t said much for a few seconds, and the kid looks up at him with large, expectant eyes. “Oh, I’m not lost, no. Just going for a walk,” he nods gently and she seems to understand. He thinks she’s just going to run off after receiving an answer, but she seems insistent to interrogate Alexander a little more. 

She hums to herself, “what’s your name?” She asks ever so superficially, like an employer ready to write someone up for bad behaviour or poor customer service. Alexander knows those write ups all too well, it’s the reason he’s been forced off work today, something he was happy to let happen as soon as the heatwave hit. Work doesn’t have good air conditioning, if it has air conditioning at all. 

“Alexander,” he answers with a flick of his head, casting his glance to the sky. They’re still walking, nearing the end of the street. The old lady has stopped, and the little girl has too, which subsequently has Hamilton stopping. He looks down at her, chin tilted down as she glares up. She seems livid at his name, and he wonders what he’s done wrong until he realises she’s staring directly into the sun as she tries to suss him out. Her gaze is warm and welcoming however, childlike and pure and it’s a nice break from the cool stares he’s used to.

She nods happily, “my name's Patsy, I’m eight,” she grins and turns on her heel, casting one final look over her shoulder. “I’m going to play, if my Pops leaves the house tell him that’s what I’m doing!” She runs off, leaving Alexander wondering who her father is. The old lady is leaning on the fence of the house in front of him, glancing up to an open window. She looks like an NPC in a video game, purposefully placed in a specific spot just for unimportant exposition. Alexander is an expert in certain video games, and if her position isn’t just begging for him to go interact with her. She seems as though she may have some enchanted knowledge to pass down onto him, maybe even a cherry pie recipe if he’s lucky.

He walks over to her side, resting his forearms on the flat tops of the white fence. The house in front of him is painted a soft violet, it’s pretty. There’s neat rows of tulips and petunias in the lawn, which is freshly trimmed so it seems. There are bushes in the middle of the grass, cut into a point. Everything is seamless, blending together. It’s homely and calm, and Alexander smiles. The woman is smiling too. He glances at other things in the garden. Tucked away into the left corner by the porch is a barbecue, and not too far from that a wooden bench. There are thin cushions resting on it, but no one sits there. The lights in the house are off, the windows open along with the curtains. But when he looks in, he sees no one. Then again, he can only see directly into the window and up, so anything at the other end of the room is out of sight. Perhaps he should’ve worn his glasses today, unable to see very far in front of his face. In the driveway is a family car, a blue Chevrolet still spongy with a few soap studs. Newly washed, he notes. 

“It starts soon,” the elder comments, gesturing vaguely to the home before them. So she’s not an NPC. Alexander can’t put his finger on if that’s annoying or perfect, because he doesn’t have to start the conversation.

Yet his interest has been piqued, he was always a curious soul. It gets him into fits of trouble occasionally, but for now it seems as though the only thing he can get out of it is an intriguing talk. “What’s starting?” He asks quietly, tone low. His lips are dry, and he smacks them together to coat them with saliva to hopefully stop them cracking.

“The concert,” she answers, as though it’s the most typical thing in the world. Alexander is about to open his mouth to argue against that fact, to insinuate that a concert happening in someone’s home is ridiculous - (Even if all the Disney Channel movies taught him otherwise.) - but the woman is talking again. “Tommy always plays at three in the afternoon on a Sunday.” She seems transfixed, and every time Alexander tries to speak she hushes him. She holds up her hand to silence him, and it gives him the same feeling George Washington gives him, authority radiates from her and Alex finds himself actually shutting up. It’s two fifty-nine now, and he’s waiting for the music to start from this mysterious “Tommy.” 

He’s impatient, and authority only hushes him for so long. He fidgets, picks paint off the fence and then speaks. “When does it start?” He hisses, bored. Come on, it’s three! Almost at least. 

“I told you, he plays at three.”

“It is three!” Alexander whines pathetically, crossing his arms over. He’s stood still in wait for long enough, and if music doesn’t start in the next thirty seconds he’s going to walk away and never look back. He’s all set to move when the lady grabs him by the shoulder.

She hisses, “it’s starting!” 

And indeed it is. Through the open windows, pouring out the house are the sweet chords of an expert violinist. It’s a harmony, seems sad, longing almost. The melody starts slow, and carefully picks up pace as it goes. He can only imagine who the player is, male or female it doesn’t matter. His mind whirs with ideas, forming the musician in his mind.

Their hands would grip the bow with precision, glide across the strings with a focussed expression. He can see their- no, his, eyes turned down to the instrument, pupils darkening as they get lost in the notes. The violin is balanced on his shoulder, tucked under his chin and his hair falls into his view but he keeps playing. The straight, actually, it’s curly. The ringlets of curls are brushed away quickly, in one movement as he continues to play. 

Alexander spaces out, losing himself to the music. It appears the lady beside him does the same, but he can’t be sure. He tries to put a colour on the tone of it, tries to decipher the meaning behind the song. The violin fades into an instrumental where it’s clear the player should be singing, but they don’t. He tries to picture a face, going as far as to close his eyes and block out everything but his own imagination and the melody flowing to him. It’s like a siren call, coaxing him towards sudden death. And Alexander is all too happy to submit to the urges. 

He finds a face, dark eyes, curls, complexion. Once again he’s picturing Jefferson. Over and over the man comes to mind. He tries to push him away, attempts to imagine someone else standing in the home and playing just for him. But it’s futile. And the song does feel like it’s for him. It feels like it matches the music his heart sings, the yearning harmony that lathers his soul is rivalled by this player. By Jefferson. It’s not like he’s ever going to meet the violinist, so he’s free to picture whoever he pleases. 

He’s sweating, it’s the heat, it must be. His palms that are clenched into fists by his sides are coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his forehead growing damp again. He makes no effort to wipe it away, he lets the heat sweep over him. He allows the flames to engulf him, the chords of the song floating to him still. 

But as soon as it’s begun, it ends. The violin fades out, leaving the music buzzing pleasantly in his veins. The lady smiles, nods and starts to walk off, back to her house. The concert comes to a close, curtains shut and shun all backstage visitors away. But when has Alexander ever abided by the rules? 

His feet march him into the garden, down the lawn and up to the porch. He steps up the stairs, both of them at once. He’s having trouble summoning courage, something that’s rare for him. Typically he isn’t walking up to a strangers home just to congratulate them on their musical talent… that he probably isn’t even supposed to hear. 

It takes Alexander a long minute of just standing there before he swallows his pride and taps his knuckles off the door. There are footsteps, coming closer and as they do he rids himself of the urge to run away. 

He’s almost expecting Jefferson, he’s built him up in his mind and placed him on a pedestal. Or maybe it’s better to say that he’s trying to force the man into a treasure box, as he does with all the things he loves. His mother’s memory goes in there, his pens and his laptop and the pendant necklace from his mother. He’s trying to push Jefferson into the box too, to keep him by his side but he won’t stay. Perhaps it’s impossible to keep a person preserved in a treasure chest, or maybe it’s just Jefferson. He needs room, he needs space to evolve and change and grow and Alexander’s treasure chest can’t provide that. Alexander can though. He just has to let Jefferson stay out of the box. 

Like he said, he’s almost expecting Jefferson to be at the door. But he still gets shocked when it actually is. It actually is Thomas fucking Jefferson standing in the doorway and Jesus he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt so tight it should be illegal. It’s difficult enough for Alexander to handle when he can practically see Jefferson’s chest through his sheen white dress shirt at work, but this is too much. This man is an Adonis. He’s the sun, Alexander is an icarus and he feels as though he simply has to fly closer. 

“Hamilton!”

Shit, has he been speaking this whole time? Alexander flicks his gaze to Jefferson’s face, and fuck him he’s wearing glasses. Chunky black hipster frames that balance on the bridge of his nose. Christ, he’s in deep isn’t he? 

Jefferson waves his hand in front of Alexander’s face, grabbing his attention. “Hu-uh?” Alexander stumbles out his words pathetically, lighting up red soon after. He goes the same crimson as Jefferson’s shirt, the colour he identifies the man with. He looks like he’s about to slap Alexander across the face if he doesn’t start properly talking soon.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jefferson hisses, venom laced in his tone. He’s like a snake, coiled up into a spring, ready to attack and bite at the next to approach. In his hands (lord, those hands!) he holds a clear water bottle, knuckles white with the ferocious way he grips it. He brings it up to his lips and takes a careful sip, eyes trained like a sniper on Alexander.

Hamilton collects himself, gathering his thoughts, which shouldn’t be as difficult to do as it is. He coughs into his fist, realising how dry his throat is. The aspect of water is welcoming, and he wants to reach out just to snatch the plastic (reusable, how environmental) bottle off of Jefferson to guzzle down the remaining liquid. Alas, he does not. Because that would be weird. 

He still hasn’t answered, thus Jefferson continues with a hiss. “What are you doing here?!” He’s not angry, Alexander knows this. He has seen the man angry. 

One time, he had seen the man in his furious element. The cabinet meeting had just ended, and Jefferson had stormed out after Washington had taken Alexander’s side once again. It wasn’t Hamilton’s fault he was better! Jefferson had stalked towards his office, and Hamilton had followed after him, the cheap fake leather of his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum. Alexander had continued his argument, much to the dismay of the taller man. Jefferson had tried his very best to slam the door on Hamilton’s face, using all his force (which was a lot) to close it behind him, but Alex managed to stick his foot in the gap and wretch it open, still blabbering away. Jefferson had collapsed into his office chair, held his head in his hands and muttered to himself as Alexander got closer. His voice had stayed a constant, boisterous and accompanied with gesticulating gestures until he lost his cool and whipped Jefferson’s seat around himself. 

“Answer me already! You spit and stumble your way through speeches, I bring out the real you! I bring out the fires! Show me him and argue back!” The animosity had been high in Alexander’s tone, he liked the unabashed Jefferson who fought with him. The man who poured wisdom from his tongue like his mother language. Why he held it back when talking to anyone else baffled him beyond belief. But this meeting he had barely spoken, just shared his points with a quiet voice and sat back down, not bothering to debate Alexander. He was furious, made sure to target Jefferson in some of his words just to try and get a rise, a reaction, anything! But it had not worked, so he resorted to his last lifeline, and followed the man to his office. 

Jefferson snapped his gaze up, and there it was, the fire he so dearly wanted. The red-hot passion that licked at his pupils, threatened to burn Alexander. “You bring out the real me?! No, Hamilton,” he had spat his name like it was some dirt on the bottom of his polished shoes, “you bring out the worst in me! You bring out the angry, tired part of me that doesn’t want to deal with your bullshit!” 

“My bullshit?” Alexander had smirked as though he had won, and in his sense he had. For a moment at least. Because he had gotten a reaction, the thing he craved as much as air. He had gotten his red to reply and that’s all he really needed. He was happy from here on out. But, he could always push it further. So he had. “Care to explain to me what my bullshit is? Is it my financial plan? Is that what it is, Jefferson?” He had remained sickeningly-sweet, words sugary like honey, dripping in the same way. 

Jefferson had laughed, hysterical really. A break from his usual smug laughter. A break Alexander didn’t enjoy very much. He was never one to like breaks, preferred to continue in a way he always had. And he and Jefferson had a dance, a specific way they did things that they had yet to break. A routine that Jefferson was so arbitrarily destroying just with a fit of chuckles. “Your financial plan is a piece of insulting garbage, but that is not what I mean-“ he had scoffed, and rose from his seat, towering over Alexander with a menacing glint. “-You are a parasite to me, you trail around like some sad puppy, desperate for attention! But why me? I stammer through speeches, but alas it’s better than talking a million miles a minute where no one can understand you! You bring out the fire, the hellfire! You make me want to snap you into pieces and scatter you on my lawn like fertiliser. Do us all a favour and get out!”

A little shocked by the imaginative insult, Alexander resisted. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Jefferson had him by the collar next, shoving him up against a wall, face so close he could feel the hot breath of his rival on his face. “You talk a big game, Hamilton, yet you forget to follow through. The fire you bring out in me is the worst part about myself and I’d prefer to hide it away,” he had growled, low and rumbling in his chest, “you’re not good enough to lick the dirt off my shoes. You must think you’re so special, yet all you do is hump the President’s leg until you get what you desire. God knows why he takes your side on every political matter.” He had dropped Alexander after that, left him scrambling to his feet. “Get out of my office.”

Scared, but stubborn, Alexander had supplied a retort. “Or what, old man? Gonna make me?” 

Jefferson had grit his teeth together, grinding them so hard Hamilton was surprised they hadn’t faded away. “Or else.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alexander scoffed in return, making his way slowly to the door. He cast a look over his shoulder in time to see Jefferson physically slump back into his chair, looking tense and stressed and he couldn’t help but feel bad. He had felt Jefferson’s eyes on his back the whole time he had left, felt them searing holes through his jacket and burning into his skin. Not that he was complaining though. 

And once again, Alexander peers up at him with wide eyes. “Oh, well um-“ he directs his gaze over Jefferson’s shoulder, “it’s kind of a long story.” He’s hinting quite obviously at his pleas to come inside, and Jefferson must catch on because a hint of realisation casts over his dark eyes, the eyes Alexander spends so much of his time thinking about. 

“I have time,” came Jefferson’s grimy reply. One long finger came up to push his glasses up by the rim, unlike anyone else who would push them up by the bridge. Alexander inadvertently stashed this information away in his treasure chest. He taps his foot in a way that almost feels surreptitious. Or perhaps that’s the incorrect word. Jefferson keeps looking over Alexander’s head, then glancing behind him, eyes darting in all directions. 

Alexander has the sun beating down on his back, and he can see Jefferson squinting in the light. It’s hot again, too hot in all the wrong ways, and Alexander only feels hotter with Jefferson’s eyes on him. “Well- uh- it started because my AC unit broke and-“

“Hamilton, I didn’t ask for a life story,” Jefferson fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, looking almost nervous. Which was ludicrous! Jefferson? Nervous? That… made a lot of sense actually. His stammering through meetings, his constantly tensed shoulders, the time he had overheard Madison and Adams talking about him a few years back, saying “He was born stressed out about something.” It makes the shuffling around start to add up, how he loses his cool around Alexander and loosens up because he stops thinking. He stops worrying and starts concentrating solely on deconstructing Hamilton’s argument. He feels a little rush of pride at that, that he can get Jefferson to let go. Yet at the same time, it feels like it’s perverse knowledge he isn’t supposed to have access too, which brings him right back around to the key metaphor. A metaphor he’s using so often it’s beginning to lose meaning, and he’s beginning to imagine an actual key, which confuses his head even more than it already is. 

He’s broken from his thoughts by Jefferson speaking once more, “would you like to come inside?” He asks quietly, shifting foot to foot. Alexander steals his gaze downwards, unable to look Jefferson in the face as he processes that question. His rival (whom he’s established as the man he wants to date, and god it feels so much more real when he thinks of it like that), has just invited him into his home. His home that Alexander always imagined to be bigger, more spectacular and less… welcoming. “You could inform me of why you’re standing on my doorstep in broken sandals over a glass of Chardonnay?”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” Alexander responds almost mockingly, stepping into the home as Jefferson moves aside. He shuffles and a hand goes up to card through his curls, and Alexander wonders if they’re as soft as they appear. He resists the urge to stride over and find out for himself as he steps inside. “I would take my shoes off, but I feel as though barefoot is even more disrespectful.” He hums absent-mindedly.

Jefferson seems to tune back in at that as he flicks his gaze to follow Alexander. “And since when have you cared about being respectful towards me?” His words are sharp, upset almost. It’s strange, but Alexander kind of likes the vulnerability, it feels special. As though Jefferson is trusting him with the real real him. “Just leave your shoes on,” he adds carefully onto the end with a flippant wave and a frown. 

Alexander does just that, but wipes his feet on the welcoming mat Jefferson has placed in his hallway. “What’s your liquor of choice?” Jefferson asks, sauntering off towards his kitchen, voice growing quieter as he walks off. Alexander finds his eyes following his back, watching the way his red shirt clings to the muscles of his back, and he swallows slowly, with intent. 

“I believe I was promised Chardonnay, Mr Jefferson!” Alexander calls after him, taking it upon himself to look around the hallway. It’s cooler inside, thank god, but it’s not chilly. Jefferson knows how to set his AC without breaking it, Hamilton could never relate. The walls are painted a warm brown, framed family photos lining the hall. There is one, where Alexander counts twelve people in the image. The camera quality isn’t great, but all the people in the photo are similar in appearance, the only two who stand out are the ones who look like parents, as their hair is turning grey and there are wrinkles along their foreheads. He spots Jefferson - well, Thomas because he’s managed to figure out everyone in the photo is a Jefferson - rather quickly, he’s the second tallest in the picture, just after the one who looks like his father, but he looks younger, smiling wide at the camera and holding a baby boy on his hip. He looks much too young to have a son, so he must be Jefferson’s brother. 

There's another photo of him cradling a small child in his arms, a newborn, little girl based on the pink wool hat on her head. He looks older than the previous photo, so Alexander deciphers that this is his child. He looks around. There are no children about. He’s smiling wider than he’s ever seen before, down at the baby whose eyes are tightly shut. Alexander grins to himself and ghosts a finger over Jefferson’s face, or at least over the glass. There’s a corner of a woman’s face in the top left, she looks tired. Jefferson does too, bags under his eyes and smile creases by his lips. But he still looks… god, what word can he use?

The next photo makes his fond smile fall faster than a rock from the top of a cliff. A wedding photo, Jefferson in his mid-twenties, dressed in a suit (that hugs him in all the right places, damn) and kissing a short woman in a flowing white wedding dress. He looks so happy, beaming as his hands rest on her hips. A wave of jealousy crashes over him as he studies the image closer. It’s outdoors, must be in Virginia, and the two newlyweds are standing under an arch laced with pink roses and light pink tulips. He frowns, there goes his chance. But it won’t hit him yet, it only will at around midnight, when he’s emailing Washington where he will pause and scream for a minute as it sets in.

He’s so focused on the wedding pictures that he doesn’t even notice Jefferson coming up behind him. “That’s Martha,” the low voice by his ear makes Alexander jump out of his skin, clasping a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. “Sorry, did I scare you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and continues to talk, “I thought you would’ve been in the living room, but I suppose I never told you to make yourself at home.” Alexander turns around and chokes on a breath. Because fuck, Jefferson is right there, glasses slipping down his nose, cheeks dusted red and lips inches away from his own. He swallows again, takes a step backwards and hits the wall with his back. 

Jefferson hands him a champagne flute with a bubbling glass of white wine, and Alexander nods in return. "Thank you," he studies Jefferson carefully as he flicks his chin up quickly and takes a step away, giving Alexander room to finally breathe. He quickly glances back at the few photos on the wall, catching a glimpse from his peripheral vision as Jefferson sips from his glass. "Martha was…?" He waits for the other to finish his sentence impatiently. 

"My wife," Jefferson answers with ease, gulping back a small drink. "A million years ago at least." He chuckles. And Alexander doesn't quite understand. Typically, divorcees don't keep photos of their marriage hanging in the entrance way to their home. Apparently the confusion is evident in his expression, because his host keeps talking. "She passed away eight years ago, just after giving birth." 

Alexander bites down on his bottom lip, regretful. He was just thinking about how jealous he was, thinking about going home, calling Laurens or Lafayette and talking shit about Jefferson and his supposed wife. Well he certainly wouldn’t be doing that anymore. “Oh,” he says, rather ineloquently, “I’m sorry.”

Jefferson shrugs, takes another long drink from his glass, like the conversation pains him. It probably does, Alexander realises. “It’s alright, it was a long time ago,” he drawls, making sure to not finish his glass. It’s half full now, and Alexander sips the sparkling liquid. Jefferson clears his throat, looking much like he does during meetings. Uncomfortable, small almost. “Well, can I tempt you to sit in the parlour with me?” He raises an eyebrow, leads them through to a room with windows that are almost floor to ceiling, spar for the comfy looking window seat (covered in a knitted quilt and tartan pillows) that Alexander plops himself down on. The other man seats himself by a small round table, mahogany for the looks of it. 

Alexander wants to speak, as always. His tongue flicks in his mouth, forming words but Jefferson cuts him off. “So, Alexander, tell me, what brought you to my doorstep on this… boiling afternoon?” It doesn’t slip past him that Jefferson uses his first name. The way it rolls with his accent, drawling slow as always until Alexander is hanging onto every syllable. 

His brain catches up with the question after being so hung up on the way his given name sounds on Jefferson’s lips, and the fact that he would love to hear it in other contexts- God, he needs to stop. But the man is right there and- No. “I broke my air conditioning unit, and needed to get out.” He shrugs and takes a slurping drink of Chardonnay, perhaps if he irritates Jefferson enough, he’ll see the fire he wants.

“That doesn’t explain why you knocked on my door,” Jefferson flicks his wrist and places his glass down. Alexander can practically hear the cogs in his brain (that wonderful mind) whirring as he thinks. He can see the intelligent man putting the puzzles pieces together, in order to view the whole picture. He stops to admire his fellow Secretary’s brilliance far too often, and he always has. It’s a constant, a comma in his life where he pauses and admits to himself that Jefferson is smart. And sometimes he hates it. He hates that Jefferson is so so bright, but is full of only stupid things to say. Like he doesn’t learn both sides of the argument before presenting. Or perhaps that’s just how humans work, they’re always going to be biased. 

Alexander coughs into his fist again, seeing Jefferson grit his teeth that he had the audacity to slurp his expensive (probably French, pretentious bastard) wine. “I decided to go for a walk,” he began to explain, as confident as always. “And then I ended up here,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, “because I heard you playing violin and wanted to come speak to whoever the player was. Didn’t know it was going to be you.” 

Jefferson appears uncomfortable. He finishes his glass in one large gulp and places his now empty glass on the table. He pushes his glasses up his nose by the rim once more, sighing softly. “You say that like it was bad playing.” He said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at his empty glass, refilling it with only his eyes and exhaling as it refuses to fill. How disappointing.

“No, no!” Alexander waves his hands in a flurry, almost spilling his Chardonnay on the laminate flooring. Jefferson’s eyes catch the droplet that flies from the glass and lands on one of his quilted cushions. Hamilton is too busy explaining himself to realise. Why is he being so considerate of Jefferson’s feelings? (He has a crush on him, he knows this. He knows it’s because the man looks so much more vulnerable in his own home, in shorts and t-shirt and glasses. And oh fuck he’s staring again.) “I wanted to come tell the violinist how incredible their playing was!” He watches the man who is supposed to be his rival smile, genuine and pure, and his heart soars. Butterflies swarm in his stomach, flapping their wings at a hundred miles an hour. It’s like he can take flight, all because of Jefferson’s shy little grin, watching the way his lips twitch upwards. It’s so different from his other sly, wicked smirks, all teeth and hatred. Is it hatred really though? Alexander doesn’t have the time to ask himself all of these questions again, he’s never going to find an answer. 

"I've played ever since I was a child," Jefferson replies, tapping his fingers off his thighs. As Alexander has established, everything about this man seems to be carved by the gods out of stone and his legs are no exception. 

"Impressive." He isn't lying. Alexander finds it wildly impressive, violin is a difficult instrument to master. He believes Jefferson mutters something along the lines of 'thank you', but he isn't particularly paying attention. He needs more to drink. He doesn't want to have to think anymore, so he doesn't. Instead, he downs his glass. 

“Want a refill?” Jefferson drawls, rising to his feet and taking both empty glasses. All Alexander can do is nod and watch as the man walks off, eyes concentrated on his back and definitely not other places because that would be crude. 

Alexander crosses his legs (sits criss-cross applesauce) on the windowsill seat, fluffing a pillow behind his back and cautiously leaning back to rest against the window panes. He’s almost scared of breaking them, or of the glass popping out. So instead he turns and tucks his knees in slightly, sitting along it sideways to lean on the wall that slightly juts out. He must appear comfortable, because when Jefferson comes back in he laughs carefully. “Made yourself at home I see?” He hands Alexander the glass of Chardonnay, and he notes that in his other hand is the bottle. 

“Yeah, got a problem with that?” Alexander responds sarcastically. Jefferson plops himself down - surprisingly - beside Alexander, in the small space between his feet and the other wall. He hadn’t expected the sudden closeness, and all cognitive thought grinds to a stop when he realises he can smell Jefferson’s overpriced cologne. It’s probably perfume, when he thinks about it. Flowery and reeking of money. But Alexander thinks (after smelling it before, and now smelling it here) that he’ll kill Jefferson if he ever wears anything else. 

Jefferson sips from his glass. “Not at all.” Alexander wants to stretch his legs out, but felt as though he couldn’t do that. Jefferson was right there! What can he do? Put his feet on the man’s lap? … he could do that. He could actually do that. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Hammy?” He purrs teasingly, raising a curious eyebrow and chuckling to himself. Alexander can’t help but notice the slight flush of his cheeks, the dusty pink across his skin. He eyes him suspiciously, before he finally realises that the man must be a lightweight. Now there’s something he didn’t expect.

“Hammy?” Alexander quirks an eyebrow, suspect. It’s amusing how Jefferson seems to relax that slight bit as he sips his Chardonnay. The slightly older man just nods in return, bringing his glass to his lips and taking another drink. Alexander does the same, swirling the wine in his champagne flute with a chuckle. “Just that I wanna stretch out.” He shrugs and continues to drink, observing as Jefferson’s face scrunches up unattractively. Somehow, Hamilton still finds it adorable. Who would’ve thought he would find Jefferson cute? How strange.

“Then just do it,” Jefferson suggests with a smile, shrugs his shoulders and sips his drink. Alexander is surprised, never would’ve thought Jefferson would allow him to kick his feet up. It feels intimate, like a cute-couple thing to do. He hesitantly stretches his legs out, untucking his knees and placing his feet up on Jefferson’s lap, who hums his approval. 

Alexander sips his Chardonnay, starting to speak. And Jefferson? Jefferson starts to listen. 

Half an hour, and the rest of the bottle of Chardonnay later, the two are on the right side of tipsy. They’re just drunk enough to feel comfortable enough to sit shoulder to shoulder, resting against each other without looking like they’re being forced into the close proximity. Except they are no longer shoulder to shoulder, in fact, they’re closer than that. Alexander has his head on Jefferson’s lap, his glass long forgotten on the table, along with Jefferson’s champagne flute too and the empty wine bottle. Alexander is continuously muttering about the current political climate, ranting quietly while Jefferson listens, occasionally inputting his opinion.

“Are you not gonna argue with me?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. He’s trying to irritate Jefferson, and pokes his cheek to try and agitate him more. But Jefferson doesn’t react, other than blushing an even darker crimson. The colour he is. He’s crimson, but now he’s dull and Alexander misses his booming red. 

Jefferson hums to himself, eyes fluttering shut. Alexander reaches up and pushes the other man’s glasses up his nose by the bridge. Jefferson flicks his eyes open suddenly and stares down at him, catching his wrist in his hand. Alexander feels paralysed, feeling his large palms around his own bony wrist and holding it in a loose grip. He doesn’t answer the question, “it’s so nice outside. Why are we still sitting here?”

“Why indeed?” There’s a ever so slight slur to his words, drawn out a little more than usual. Alexander kicks his feet to the ground, standing so casually it’s like he stays and hangs with Jefferson all the time and not never at all. He turns to face Jefferson, overlooking his features. He’s never had a chance to look at him so relaxed, and he notices how tense Jefferson typically is compared to now. At work, his shoulders are straight, hunched up to his ears and his posture is a horizontal line. Whereas now, he’s a little more slumped, tension gone from his body. It’s a breath of fresh air, one he never thought he would experience and accept so easily.

Jefferson rises to his feet, and typically he would be towering over Hamilton yet now, he doesn’t feel as dominating. Instead, he’s softer, edges aren’t as sharp or predatory. The mirthful glint in his pupils has faded, but the fire still licks at his eyes. It’s a welcoming heat, like the fireplace on a freezing day. And despite the current heatwave, Alexander finds himself wishing to curl up by the fire like a purring cat. “Come on, let’s go sit in my backyard.” 

Alexander expects to trail after him, certainly not for the man to offer his hand to Hamilton. But he takes it, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest and the way his head is screaming at him. “You’re holding his hand! You’re holding Thomas Jefferson’s hand! He offered it to you! You didn’t even have to ask!” His pulse races in his ears, as he leads the two of them into his back garden. It’s beautiful, a large monkey puzzle tree in the far right corner, casting a lovely shadow over a section of the yard. Jefferson guides Alexander over to the tree and sits down under it, gesturing next to him. “C’mon, Hammy, I don’t have all day.” Alexander feels his heart flutter again, starting to race at the ridiculous nickname. If anyone else used it, he would be quickly driven mad. It’s all because of this damn Secretary. 

Alexander takes a seat by him, leaning against the bark of the tree and exhaling. It’s warm, but at least vaguely cooler under the tree. Jefferson certainly seems to appreciate it, as the slightly intoxicated man removes his glasses and places them on the trimmed glass next to him, tips his head back until it hits the tree truck and breathes out happily. Alexander eyes the expanse of skin by his neck, and starts to feel like a particularly famished vampire, gazing at the muscles of someone’s neck of all places. But there’s a familiar itch in his fingertips, the urge to have his face tucked into the crook of his neck and just breathe. The thought would be scarier if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his blood. He feels confident, confident enough to lean against Jefferson and carefully hide his face in his shoulder. Not his neck, sure, but it’s close. 

Alexander can feel his counterparts breathing stutter and he gently nuzzles against him, appreciating the muscle under him. “Hamilton, are you alright?” He’s sobered up, the shock of Alexander curling around him like ivy clings to a house seemingly having knocked the wine out of his system. He allows Alexander to wind himself tighter around his body, like it's cold out and he’s the only viable source of heat. It’s not. It’s still absolutely sweltering, evident in the way sweat beads at Jefferson’s brow and Alexander longs to reach over and smooth out the developing stress lines. 

“Mhm…” Alexander hums his answer and buries his head into Jefferson’s neck, finally finally being close enough to him.  Yet… somehow he’s dying to be closer. “I’m great, perfect! Even,” he giggles, the alcohol definitely making him a fun drunk. He’s a lightweight, that’s for sure, but when it hits him, it hits all at once. He’s got a rush of flirtatious courage surging through his veins, hot in his blood. 

Jefferson moves his hand across and gently caresses Alexander’s pink cheeks, observing how he keens into it like a cat. That’s exactly what Alexander reminds him of, a cat. Hissing and violent in his worst moments, yet clingy and desperate for attention in his best. It’s a good thing Jefferson likes cats then. He drags an arm around Alexander’s shoulder, taking in his appearance. Small and (gross, his back is damp) hunched over, tucking into him and smiling, pink lips twitching into a happy grin. He’s so soft like this, vulnerable in a way Jefferson’s never seen him before. He’s intensity is being channeled into a new emotion, and Jefferson knows he’s still red. Still a fiery red, but it’s dragged in a different direction. It’s pulling him into love, and it makes his stomach do flips. Because if he has to be honest to himself, he’s had a crush on this ridiculous gremlin (excuse of a man) politician since the day of their first Cabinet meeting. Alexander could keep up with his thunderous talking pace, and he loves it. He loves it so much. “You’re sure?”

“Well,” Alexander decides it’s now or never, “I suppose there’s a way it could get…” he darts his tongue out and licks his lips, “even better.” He moves an inch away from Jefferson, eyes flickering between his eyes (no longer covered by lenses) and his lips, which look all too kissable. Jefferson doesn’t seem to catch on, just catches Alexander’s gaze with his own intense one. 

“How so?” He raises an eyebrow, arched brow almost judging him. 

“Kiss me,” Alexander breathes, tilting his chin upwards and leaning forward, hoping Jefferson will close the gap. And he does. God he does. He leans down and in, dipping his head and pressing his lips softly to Alexander’s own. They’re soft and insistent and gentle against his own chapped ones. And Alexander finds himself sober, before getting drunk on the feeling of Jefferson kissing him and ha! He’ll be able to rub this in Lafayette’s face later! Suck it, Frenchie! 

Alexander cards his hand into Jefferson’s curls, because he’s scared he’ll never get the chance to feel them again. They’re as soft as they look, springy between his fingers and wonderful to the touch. It’s such a wonderful kiss, their first kiss, and Alexander wants to keep on kissing him forever. Jefferson makes a quiet whimpering noise and Alexander forces himself to pull away before he melts and never does. “Jefferson,” he breathes across his lips.

“Thomas,” the other corrects delicately, a meer whisper before he’s tangling his hand in Alexander’s hair and tugging Alexander back to meet his lips. It’s feverish this time, desperate and needy. The roasting heat must be getting to them, because they’re rivals, are they not? Well, not anymore. Because he’s pretty sure enemies don’t kiss in summer heatwaves, under monkey puzzle trees in their rivals back garden. But they do now, because Alexander isn’t giving this up for the world. Not now. He has his red. 

“Thomas,” Alexander repeats Jeffer- Thomas’s words as they break away again. The name feels heavy on his tongue with the taste of its owner on his lips. Like it should be a sin, a sin to have enjoyed that so much. But he will gladly go to hell if it means getting to experience that intimacy again. The base of his ponytail has started to be tugged out, knotting where his fingers have tangled in the locks. He lays his head on the man’s shoulder, starting to slide half in and half out of his lap. It’s insane, the burning feeling in his chest as he locks this memory away in his treasure box, saving it for a rainy day, just in case this was a one time thing.

Thomas cradles Alexander’s chin in one hand, thumb hooking under his jaw and tilting his head up so that he can look into his eyes. Hamilton could get lost in those eyes, as he has many times. So many times during cabinet meetings he has stared at Jefferson, at those dark eyes and simply dove in, gleeful at the aspect of drowning in them. Only for the man to spout some ridiculous shit and drag Alexander out of the waters, slap him around and take him to his senses. “Yes, dear?”

That voice was going to be the death of him.

“I-“ He lost all forms of cognitive thought, the train must’ve derailed when Thomas pressed their lips together. Because fuck, he can even feel the violin chords buzzing in his veins again and it’s all so much and he loves it. Alexander flicks his gaze around Thomas's face, (he really has to get used to calling him that) kiss-swollen lips, the deep blush across his cheeks. He must look like an awestruck child from Thomas's perspective, because the man chuckles and takes his free hand through Alex's hair, taking it out of the pony tail in one movement. "Red." Alex mutters finally.

"Red?" Thomas repeats with a cocked eyebrow, hands Alexander his hair tie and brings both hands back to his lap. He really isn't sure what Hamilton means. What does red have to do with anything? If he had to put a colour to this moment, he would call it tickled pink. Intense and warm, but full to the brim of love and devotion. Pink.

Alexander nods, presses a finger to Thomas's chest, and another to his own. "Red," he nods, taking his fingers away, instead splaying his palm across Jefferson's chest absent-mindedly. "That's our colours. We're red."

Thomas never imagined he would be agreeing with Alexander so easily. With Martha, their relationship had been a soft pink. The fire was there, buried beneath the surface of dedication and loyalty. It was comfortable, it was perfect. He never needed anything else, because everything he needed was in Martha. But was he pink? Certainly not. She was his high-school sweetheart, the only real relationship he had ever had. He didn't count the many women (and men) in France, they never lasted longer than a night of sub-par activities and a morning of awkward goodbyes. 

"We are, aren't we?" Thomas hummed, eventually pulling himself from his thoughts before he sunk too far. Thinking was a dangerous activity, one he didn't take time to do in fear of never emerging again. 

"But," Alexander continues, and Jefferson's heart sinks. There's always a catch, isn't there? "We're the opposite reds. You're the darker red, most definitely. You're secrets and feelings are locked away, while I display mine like the lights on Broadway." 

Thomas gulps. Never before has he been called out so boldly, or in such a forward manner. Yet Alexander has hit the nail on the head, first try and won the prize so it seems. He softens a little further, slumping against the tree. A low hanging stick swats at his head, and he bats it away with one hand.

"You keep everything behind lock and key… no one else has the key, I don't think," Alexander draws little swirls and patterns with his fingertip on Thomas's chest, the art fading as fast as it appears. He feels the man quiver, trying to hold himself together, and he knows that stone wall he hides behind is breaking. 

He shakes his head in a curt motion. "Ja- Madison has a key," he corrects, inadvertently agreeing with Alexander, "Martha… Martha had a key." He finishes there, hands folding into each other, fingers fidgeting with discomfort. His face contorts as he screws it up, not allowing his mind to drift, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Stay in the tickled pink time. But how do you make pink from two reds?

"I'd like a key," Alexander adds, "if you'd be willing to lend me a spare." He glances up at Jefferson through his eyelashes, shall he offer something in return? The key to his treasure chest perhaps? The place he stores his most prized memories? 

Jefferson chews on his lip. "I think you already have one. Whether we realised it or not… you've always had one." The metaphor is starting to confuse him, muddling with his mind. So many keys, and so many possible doors they could unlock and it's all a bit much. What door should he go through first? None of them have labels, none of them have a clear cut future secured behind them. How does he choose? Maybe he should let Alexander choose for him, go along for the ride.

Alexander smiles. He drapes himself further across Jefferson, kicking one of his legs over both of the man's and leaning into his shoulder, tucking himself there. The hot air, accompanied by the events that just occurred have sobered him almost entirely, but it feels so much better to experience this without the alcohol tainting his memory. "Thank you."

"For what?" Thomas raises an eyebrow, because as far as he's certain, he should be thanking Hamilton. Or cursing him. Cursing him and whatever magical force drew them together. This may just make him believe in fate, in destiny. He wasn’t a Christian, not anymore anyway, but this had him thanking god. Thanking every god for bringing them together. This was good, he could sit under this monkey puzzle tree, feeling the way he is now for the rest of eternity. Not good, no, that didn’t do this justice. Amazing? Fabulous? Stupendous?

"It's a preemptive thank you, since you'll be paying for tonight's date. Say seven o'clock." Alexander smirks up at Thomas, watches as the man chuckles. That laugh, there's a sound he could get used to. And to know he caused it? Fills him with joy. The laugh is like yellow. He doesn't know why, it just is. Colours fit everything, his mother was a deep navy blue, his father a cold icy white. Lafayette is purple, a mix of strength and flowing like the sea, but passionate like red. Hercules is green like juniper, he’s a grounding presence, one that Alexander can rely on to stay strong for them all. Angelica is pink, full of passion, but for some reason she just doesn’t hit that red mark. Washington stands bold in yellow, along with Peggy, but much like Thomas and Alexander, opposite ends of the spectrum. He can’t say why these colours fit, where he got them from or why they are this way, but it just does. It all slots together, everyone in his life has an assigned colour. And he thinks they always will.

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Alright, I'm sure the neighbour will be fine taking care of Patsy for a bit," he hums. It's nerve wracking, because Jefferson doesn't have a clue if Alexander is alright with kids or not. His brain is screaming at him that Alexander is going to see sense and run, hear the talk of kids and sprint. After all, they're both in their mid thirties, so it's normal for someone their age to have a child. What if Alexander doesn't like kids? God, was this a mistake?

“Patsy? The little girl playing out in the street?” Alexander asks, laying himself across Thomas. He feels comfortable, like himself already, and he feels like this could go places. Because reds match, and opposites attract. They’re just lucky they’re opposite reds. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s playing with John,” Thomas sighs out his nose, grabbing his glasses and pushing them up his nose. He smiles at Alexander and giggles, actually giggles, a sound that makes Alexander’s heart fly like doves around his chest. “Dress comfy, I hope you like picnics.”

“Picnics?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. “I love picnics.” It’s true. Hell, if they picnic in the back of Thomas’s garden, criss-cross on a blanket under this tree, that could be one of the best dates of his life. 

“I’m glad, it’s my dream date,” Thomas admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “look at us, getting to know each other already!” He chuckles again, noticing the flush it causes to Alex’s cheeks. Gorgeous. He cups his jaw, watches as the smaller man leans into the touch with a soft purr. 

“You know what’ll make it even better?”

“What, if I bring more Chardonnay?” 

“No!” Alexander bats at his arm playfully.

“Then what?” Thomas asks through laughs.

“If you kiss me again.”

And he does. God, he does.

-

Reblogs > Likes

please this is 13,045 words I spent to much time on this I'm begging yall, if you liked it please reblog it, I dont want this to go unnoticed.

Tag list: (just ask to be added!)

@a-nice-tea-time @skyluni @khiara1776 @beetlejuicebeetlejuicebeeeecause @slushy-sloosh-musical-person @i-can-get-extra-with-my-ships @iss-yaboi @patt0n-sanders @karixx-png @tryingtohealandgrow @justthehopeleft @pufflypuffle @swagdiplomatlightkid

[yanderes-stuff]

pspsps....firebrand yandera

Mmmm yes lonely fire God goes mental just 

to have you in his arms again I love it

Words:1,841

TW: Cussing, murder, kidnapping and also yandere stuff and LOTS of grammar errors

P.S this is probably the last fanfic I'll do that includes Noah Maxwell

Also, I got a head cannon that Firebrand can have inky tentacles out his back at will 

"Hey, hothead wanna hear something fucking infuriating," HABIT questioned the man towering in front of him which already seemed infuriated from the man's presence.

"Piss off and go bother someone else for the love of God." the shadow-man spat back glaring daggers at the shorter man, which just made HABIT cackle in amusement to him

"It's about your weird-ass obsession with your long-lost best friend," HABIT informed him in a ridiculing tone to capture his attention which was a success by the way Firebrand perked up at this.

A long time ago before Noah became a God he recalled kidnapping you in a snowy winter from your house before that Noah was planning to ask you to come over for dinner Which you gladly accepted following that he came over and you made pleasant conversation with him

discussing childhood memories on the sofa about how you, him, and Milo being the best of buddies but when you brought up how you were sad for drifting away from Milo he seemed miserable when you asked him what's wrong he admitted that Milo overdosed

To say you were horrified was an understatement you apologized for bringing up such a traumatic event to Noah which he excused and changed the subject

But your conversation was interrupted by the beeping of the oven signaling the dinner was ready and so you got up and started preparing the dinner which gave Noah the perfect time slot to slip a drug into the beverage you set on the table 

You clutched your glass and told him dinner was ready so you both seated yourselves and continued your conversation whilst eating some steak, and potatoes but suddenly you were more and more drowsy as the conversation progressed

 With your head hanging low in exhaustion until finally with a small thud your upper body hit the dining surface giving a sign to Noah that it's time to flee the area and go home

He cheerfully settled you in his bed in the house surrounded by the snowy woods he selected winter to abduct you since you wouldn't bother escaping the logic being

 You would surely freeze to death if you even attempted, giving you enough time to start your Stockholm syndrome for him, and also a chance to enjoy the winter holiday with each other.

But alas 3 weeks into late January long since the snow settled you managed to find a paperclip that was disguised burrowed in the carpet floor and successfully utilized it to pick the lock Noah put on your window and my God once you were running you never stopped out of fear until you knew your safe

Much to Noah's dismay, but despite that he swore to one day find you, and this time he'll be sure you won't have a chance to leave but once he hunted out for you, the collective found him once again making him their victim to torment...which leads him to now 

"This better be good." Firebrand was trying to hide his interest in what HABIT was about to say hoping you weren't dead by his hands but the shorter man just gave him a sly smirk and composed himself 

"Wellllllll...I remember how you said you knew where she used to live." HABIT said with great confidence

"I threatened the landlord to kill him and his entire family if he didn't give me her moving notice and if he told [Name.] So he gave me the new address."  He sounded so pleased with himself the fucker might've just proven to be useful 

"But that's not all, once I found her neighborhood I googled it and found the neighborhood's social media, in which pictures of her were posted…but not just her." He emphasized the word not. while explaining his efforts to him still with that sick smile

"She had a wedding ring in her posts and mentions some guy's name...what was it again." He was teasing him at this point stroking his chin while doing it

"Spit his name the fuck out." Firebrand demanded already weaving a plan in his mind on what he was going to do when he kidnapped you.

"It's Connor I'll cut you a deal, you let me kill him with free creative means while you kidnap [Name.] Deal?" Not even taking a moment to consider the man already made up his mind

"It's a deal." Firebrand approved now his objective has been set and he was trying to hold back his excitement to see you again.

The day following after that 

"Hey, Connor I'm out to do errands sweetheart I'll be back later tonight." You proclaimed to Connor who was relaxing on the couch watching T.V 

"Okay got it," Connor replied to focused on the T.V to pay attention to your words little did he know of the two men that broke in and are lurking in the living room closet 

As soon as they were sure you drove off they both stepped out of the space and HABIT set foot in Connors direction with purple duct tape in hand while Firebrand waited patiently for him  

As soon as HABIT was behind him he snaked his hand over Connors's hands pinning him while grabbed his tape with the other hand as Connor wiggled to get free HABIT was wrapping both his arms in tape

Firebrand finally stepped out while walking towards the scene in front of him flashing a malicious grin on his face he needed to know why his life would be coming to a bitter painful end 

"Look asshole this is for the best, I'm only doing this because she's mine and mine alone." Completely ignoring Connors's fearful look "All I want is her. All I ever wanted was her and I can't lose her to your dumbass. So here we are." Firebrand continues a cold look plastered on his face 

"I told him he could kill you any way he wants while I take [Name.] Back home where she belongs." Firebrand was visibly eager despite his cold look he just couldn't wait to see you

HABIT smirked at Firebrands words and carried the screaming restrained man to the basement to proceed with his work while Firebrand watched him descend the basement stairs 

When he was out of his sight he started to prepare his confrontation with you, readying a tea kettle on the stove and heating it till it made that easily recognized whistle

 While the echo of Connors screams was slowly drowned out by both the kettle and his painfully slow demise coming to an end as HABIT was most likely cleaning up the body now as Firebrand waited in the corner of the kitchen next to the door frame

As you finally walked in carrying the days work on your shoulders the house was oddly silent besides the whistle of a kettle Connor must've made tea for you and him while you were gone 

You shouted his name in hopes of some kind of response back only to be met with the same hissing...maybe he didn't hear you but when you got closer to the kitchen the sizzle came to a sudden halt

You waltzed into the kitchen only to be tackled by a bizarre-looking individual who had pinned your arms down on the floor and was straddled on top of your body you immediately started struggling to break free but upon your closer inspection of the man

He seemed to be completely jet black with inky tendrils coming out of his back to add to that his expression with pinpoint eyes and a demented smirk that seems to be getting wider by the second and a gold chain adorning his neck, he seemed oddly familiar 

"Who are you? What are you? stay away from me!" You shouted squirming in his grip you were trying to kick him off but he was easily overpowering you without breaking a sweat despite your best efforts 

"You really don't fucking remember me?" He seemed pained by your words his smile now turning into a light frown while his eyes bore into yours 

Regardless of your trembling, you examined his figure, and then you instantly recognized him "N-Noah?"

His face lit up at the sound of his name being said. so you do remember him! "Of course you remember! how could I have ever doubted you." He muttered enthusiastically "But the name's Firebrand now." He added

"Please...I don't want anything to do with you, not after the things you did to me." You told him trying not to waver your voice 

His face immediately transformed from enthusiasm to an upset expression as the words processed in his mind as the room became dreadful and uneasy. It was already getting hard for you to breathe especially when you were trying not to have a mental breakdown in front of him then he begins to chuckle which grabs your attention 

"Your pleads are so cute like anything could get you out of this." He confesses casually as he continued "I didn't think you would say that so quickly." The brunet was starting to laugh maniacally now which disturbed you further 

"You're probably still shocked and scared but luckily for you, I have just the thing for that." He whispered the last part to himself while smiling whilst you on the other hand had your heart was beating faster than ever before 

He arranged both your arms together over your head and wrapped his humid sticky tendril around your wrist while he pulled a syringe with a unique liquid from his pocket and put a hand over your mouth to smother your commotions

He searched for the best place to insert it feeling around your neck with his warm rough fingers and in a matter of seconds you felt the prick of your skin and your world succumbed to darkness 

You woke up in an unfamiliar room tied up with duct tape your mind was foggy and you couldn't think straight you tried to move but to no avail just then you saw a figure move in the corner of your eye which only made your movements more frantic 

The figure shifted to be closer to the bed you were in until he was at the foot of the bed you felt a smooth tentacle wrap around your neck 

"Hey, sweetheart did you miss me cause I really missed you." He couldn't believe you were all his again but my God was glad about it but one thing is for certain

This time he was going to be sure you would accept his demented affection

[yasuda-anis]

A Blessing for a Friend

One of my first released works for Anis, I wanted to give something to a friend of mine. To @writer-and-artist27​, Vy I’m glad to have met you and I love your stories. I hope we can keep being friends for a long time.

As for what I listened to while I wrote this it’s Wonderful Future or Prekasno Daleko. Just cause I really like it and the mood got me excited. May your future be bright.

The heavy smell of bread blew into Anis’ face, fogging her glasses in a few seconds. It seemed that despite all the enchantments that Medea and others had placed on them for protection and preventing them falling off, some things could just never be avoided.     Anis waited a few seconds for them to clear up, enjoying the rich scent of vanilla and almost drooling. But it was important that the last part be done right.

If she messed this up, the whole thing would lose more than half the impact. But the heat coming out of the oven was still intense enough that she hesitated reaching in, even with her gloves and apron.     “Need a hand there Master?” A cheerful voice called out behind her before a large heavy paw settled on her shoulder. It was a familiar feeling, but something she hadn’t felt for a while. 

“Thanks Tamamo,” Anis sighed as she stepped aside. “I’ve been out of the kitchen for a long time so-”     “No problem, no problem Master!” She grinned as her tail whapped her master gently. “I see you when you come to eat everyday so I do see you. But this is certainly something new.”

Back in the days of Chaldea… that was - never mind. When she had first arrived Tamamo had been there for her. Making sure she ate, making sure she had someone to talk to, and more importantly, being there for the warmth Anis had been missing. Back then, Anis would always stop by at least once a week to be with her- to talk, be pampered, spar, or just to get some motivation. It had been some time since Anis had come back to see her.     Cat had come to visit herself mainly. But that was enough of that.     “It’s a bit of a special occasion,” Anis confessed, breathing in the warmth from the tray Tamamo passed under her. “I really wanted to do something for her.”     The fresh pastry was then quickly flipped over into a small basket, the smell of vanilla a bit more muted now. Cat moved over to bring over the picnic basket and pack in plates, utensils and some drinks.     Anis put on her gloves- made out of materials she was sure a regular mage would kill her for- and reached into a small box to pull out small clay figurines. She then cut small holes into the pastry and inserted them, quickly closing up the holes with nata.     The figures had been a group effort between her, Medea, and Nito. Making them heat resistant and non toxic had been a bit trick, but according to Medea the materials were easy enough to come by.     “All ready here!” Tamamo saluted with feral glee. “Now! Quickly before that other cat burglar comes in!”     Anis had factored in anyone coming in to try and steal it. But even the best laid plans need to adapt quickly, she thought as she wrapped it up in cloth and shut it in the basket. But alas, the smell, however faint, still escaped the basket. She would have to hurry. Or else…

“I’m off then! I’ll be back later!” Aniis yelled as she started moving quickly to the door. She could run. But the chances she could trip weren’t her main concern. Gotta act natural. I have an important appointment! But too fast and they’ll catch on!

    Tamamo waved her away with a handkerchief, calling out all sorts of fun jokes at her. Anis waved back and went off the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hallways of Novum Chaldea were packed. The early days of an empty Chaldea faded in the first months, and Anis was used to wandering both in her old Chaldea and in this one like a metro station.     Staff and servants moved in their flows- the main speed being kept except for a few who were assumed to just be beyond reprimand. Anis would normally be a patient walker, her pace easily adjusted to suit whoever she was walking with. Today though she wove and dashed through the flow, trying to minimize her impact by calling out warnings to those ahead.

Excuse me! 

Pardon me! 

Sorry! 

Hi! 

Sorry, a bit busy! 

No problem, just gotta go!

Not right now thanks!

Oops! You good? I’ll make it up to you later!

Sadly though, the kids had caught her. As she expected. The child servants were always on top of any delicious snacks and treats in the base before the other two threats of Jaguar, who would demand them, and Ibaraki, who would never bother to ask and just take it.     I lost 5 minutes to negotiations, but hopefully I can still make it on time! The kids had realized quickly what the occasion was, but demanded an equal treat and participation in one of their tea parties. Apparently, Mori was hosting this one as his first foray into western tea ceremony. 

But there it was! The door to Vy’s room! With one of her servants waiting out front as usual. Today it happened to be Emiya and Artoria, or Art as Vy called her. The pair had been chatting in front of the door before noting Anis, a bit winded, approached them.

“Hello there you two,” Anis panted, checking inside the basket to make sure nothing had spilled. “Is she back yet?”

Opening the basket had apparently been a mistake, since the culinary duo immediately caught onto what sort of treat Anis had brought and smiled. “She is not back yet, but if what you brought tastes as well as it smells I should believe my master will enjoy it,” Arotria smiled, her gentle gaze clearly showing her desire to try some as well.

“It’s been a while since I smelled something like this. Is that-” Emiya approached, starting to reach out to the basket.

Anis flinched back, covering the basket with her free hand. “Sorry about that, it’s best as a surprise ya know? Don’t worry though, it’s meant to be shared.”

Artoria nodded. “Indeed. You should learn to be patient like me. After all, Miss Anis has told us quite clearly it was meant as a surprise for all of us.”     A letter had gone out to Vy’s main servants last week, indicating that on her birthday, they should split into two teams- one to distract Vy, and one to stand guard and prepare the room. Anis had barely made it to the room before the deadline.

Anis held out the basket to Emiya, until he took it with both hands. “I’ll just leave this with yall then and head off after telling her-”

“Telling me what?” 

“YA!” Anis yelled and stomped her foot hard to prevent from accidentally swinging her elbow towards the voice. A very bad habit that had been the sad result of both martial arts training and poor nerves. 

“Eeep! I-I’m sorry Aqui! I didn’t mean to scare you like that…” Vy mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s been a while since we saw each other, so-”

Anis breathed out, trying to relax. “It’s fine- fine” Anis breathed out again, her heart rate returning to normal. “Happy birthday Vy.”

She said it in the gentlest tone she had. Because it was her. One of the kindest souls she’d ever met, and deserved all the respect and charity the world had in return. Even Anis’ servants would treat her kindly and take time to chat with her from time to time. 

“Thankie Aqui,” she smiled back in the way that had made her so warm to all she met. “What's that? It smells delicious~” “Hold on there little sparrow,” Robin grinned as he put a hand on her shoulder, earning a small pout from her. “I think we should all go inside and get the full surprise right?” Anis nodded, glad to not disappoint. “We came up with a nice little thing for you Vy!” Anis smiled, something she wasn’t too familiar with, but she was glad her tone at least matched the mood. “I wanted to give you something as thanks for what you’ve given me and others here. And sorry to say, I won’t take no for an answer.” “Muuuu. This better not be something too big Anis.” _________________________

It was a simple affair. Anis had simply planned to leave the gift after explaining, but Achilles and Emiya had forced her to take a seat at the table. Apparently, she had a responsibility to see it through to the end.     The cake sat at the center of the table- a Rosca de Reyes, a delicious pastry in the shape of a round loop topped with concha sugar in vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. There were also some fruits as well, but only on half of the cake since Anis didn’t care for them.

The main gift though was the act of cutting the cake, Anis explained. “See, this is technically a celebration cake that’s eaten either on christmas, or on the actual feast day in January,” Anis explained as she passed the knife to Vy on the opposite side of the table.

“Let me get that for you,” Robin said as he started to reach out for the knife only to have Anis give him the look she usually gave those who started deviating from the rules in board games.

“The main thing is cutting it, Robin, so she needs to choose what part she wants and cut it herself,” Anis explained, tapping the cake. “It’s not just a cake you know, it’s a game.”

Vy tilted her head and squinted at the cake. “A… game? Like, with rules?” 

“Not that kind of game,” Anis chuckled as she waited for Vy to grip the knife. “See, it’s about making choices and seeing if you get lucky.” Vy still looked a bit confused, but eventually started cutting into the Rosca, the rich smell leaking out with each cut.

Crshh!!

“W-what was that?!” Vy pulled the knife out and looked inside the cut. “Is there food inside too? But it was so hard?”

“Got one already?” Anis asked, a bit surprised at the game starting off so quickly. “I tried to mix up the placement, but with your good fortune it makes sense you’d hit it off on your first try. Make your next cut for now, okay? But only cut as much as you can eat.”

    So Vy, still a bit confused, cut again, and hit something she couldn’t cut again. The look on her face though was more of curiosity and interest though, which helped relax Anis a bit. She held out a small spatula and Robin took it to lift her piece out, pulling a bit hard to separate the piece, revealing-

“What the? Is that?” Robin asked, not entirely sure of what had just happened.The other servants were all mostly curious as well, leaning forward to see. 

A small blue bird’s head poked out from the left side of the slice, the rest of its body supposedly buried inside. On the right side though, was a small tile with a flower motif that fell onto the plate with a small clink.     Vy picked it up and looked it over. The small white ceramic tile was two sided- a lily on one side and a lotus on the other.

“Two prizes so far Vy! Congrats!” Anis clapped, excited to see the reactions of surprise. “The game is meant to be that each person has a chance to find a prize and get good luck! I kinda adjusted it though and just made plenty of small prizes so every one of y'all could get something. So please, go ahead and enjoy it.”

Vy and the other servants started to get excited and began to cut their own slices to find prizes. A large variety of small figures and decorated tiles came out- a miniature crystal horse, a golden chariot, a lion cub, a golden ram, even a miniature Fou! The cake wasa soon gone and the figures were gathered in front of the empty plates, with Vy enjoying the rising atmosphere.

She deserves it honestly. She’s been working hard to take care of so many people. I just gotta give back something. Anis knew how late Vy stayed up at times- both working and because of stress. She also knew from how Fujino treated her that there were obviously more details about her past that shouldn’t be approached. But the unconditional love her servants had for her… Honestly, it made her a bit jealous. But that was fine. She had her own servants she cared for and could rely on. And a fellow master who she could always count on to hear a lovely tune sung or performed. A wonderful flower that bloomed once in the ice and now again in the sea. 

Thank you for being born Vy. I’m glad to have been able to meet you. And more so that you could consider me a friend. May you overcome all your hardships, and keep  your kindness forever.

[justaghostingon]

Warmth of the Heart

Mona has a few very unexpected guests in the form of her ‘dear nephew who she’s totally met before’ Hugo, and his new friends.

Set in the same universe as “Cogs in a Steal Heart”

To read on ao3, click the link, https://archiveofourown.org/works/25256038 

or read below the cut.

Living in the west district meant Mona had her fair share of interesting encounters. After all, the west district was the “weird” district in the eyes of every other person in the city. Certain cobblestone streets burned as hot as fire beneath her feet even in the coldest winters. Voices whispered in the darkened entrance to the open sewers, where everyone knew better than to investigate. Mysterious Alchemists bought and sold strange magic to local mafia, minor nobles, or anyone who came to their shop with enough money to pay. In a place like this, it would be weirder if she hadn’t had a few strange experiences in her life.

So when four children appeared in front of her door in strange, bright clothes that were covered in oil stains and grime, she was not nearly as surprised as she probably should have been. Children were no strangers to her door. In the absence of any children of their own, she and Cyrus tried their best to provide a safe place for all the neighborhood children to come and eat a cookie or two. It was only a matter of time before that knowledge spread among the street rats of all the districts, and really she was more surprised it had taken this long.

But there was something undeniably bizarre about these children, something that tickled in the back of her brain. For one thing, they were considerably older than most of the children who came to their door, being either near adulthood or having just begun it. Not that age made them stop being children, Cyrus had a thousand stories of Hugo to prove that fact, but it was still odd to see them here.

Then there was their clothing. Even under all the grime, she could see the bright colors and light, floating fabric that only nobles or foreigners would dare to wear. They didn’t even have any spikes or hooks or anything sensible to tell people to leave them alone! The closest they had were the strange balls in that weird staff, which looked far too fragile to be used as a weapon. Honestly, she wasn’t certain how they’d made it to her doorway in one piece.

The only one who didn’t look like they were a walking trouble magnet was the tall blond in the front. He was dressed in sensible muted green, and had spikes on his wrists and goggles. The goggles tickled the back of Mona’s mind, but she couldn’t place why. His eyes darted back and forth, clearly aware of exactly how strange his friends were. He was most likely a local, and there was something oddly familiar about the way he held himself that reminded Mona of Cyrus.

Their eyes met, and he gave her a charming smile, but there was something strained in its corners. “Auntie Mona?” he asked, voice loud enough to carry into the street while the shadow in his eyes begged her to play along.

Calling her Mona, now that was definitely odd. She narrowed her eyes as she looked him over once again. Most children called her Auntie and never bothered to learn the rest of her name. She searched his face. Blond hair up in a ponytail but clearly well taken care of, glasses well polished and pushing up on his nose to mock people, A charming but insincere smile, and a scar on his eyebrow. Mona bit her lip. She knew how he’d gotten that scar, Cyrus had sobbed it out in her arms. It was a face she had never seen with her own eyes, but whose description she’d learned so well through her husband’s rants.

“Hugo??” She exclaimed, pulling the startled young man forward. “What happened to you?” And where was Cyrus? He’d said they’d stopped traveling together, but there was no way Hugo would be coming to her if something hadn’t happened right?

His eyes snapped wide, as she pulled him inside, muscles tense under her grip as she pulled his face down to examine it for damage.  “I-I,” he stuttered, before taking a deep breath and stepping slightly back, pulling gently away from her grip. “I’m so glad to see you again, Auntie,” he flashed her a smile that was clearly meant to seem familiar but came off as nervous. “But could we all be inside for the introductions?”

“Of course, of course!” Mona waved them all inside, closing the door firmly to keep out any watching eyes and locking it. She was well liked in the neighborhood, but one could never be too careful. She turned to her new guests, who stood awkwardly in the living room. “What happened?” she asked, fear clawing in her throat as she leaned heavily against the door. Where is Cyrus? she hoped Hugo understood her unasked question.

“We were attacked as we tried to complete an alchemic trial,” Hugo waved his hand dramatically, but his eyes sent her a warning look. “By a rival alchemist and a thug for hire. But never fear, we escaped without any conflict.”

“And thug?” Mona’s hand tightened around her heart.

“He and the alchemist are regrettably still out there,” Hugo bowed his head as if in shame, but he shot her a look that clearly said, ‘he’s fine.’ Mona closed her eyes with relief.

“We’re sorry to bring trouble to you,” her eyes snapped open to see the boy with the staff had stepped forward. “If you don’t think it's safe harboring us, we can leave and look for shelter somewhere else.” He smiled, but there were dark shadows under his eyes. Mona felt her heart go out to him.

“No, no,” she shook her head. “My husband has quite the reputation in the community, so you’ve nothing to fear here.” Hugo shot her a look and she quickly snapped her mouth shut, realizing that mentioning the man who probably helped attack them was not a good move. “I’m Mona,” she gestured to herself, hoping the change in topics would provide a distraction. “You can call me Auntie.”

“Varian,” the boy in front said, extending a hand to shake. Mona took it and found his grip was strong for someone who looked so skinny.

“I’m Yong!” the shortest said, pushing himself forward to pump her hand up and down enthusiastically. “It’s nice to meet you!” he beamed up at her with a smile brighter than the sun.

“Nuru,” the young woman dropped a curtsy. Mona stumbled into a rough copy of her movements, feeling suddenly horribly underdressed in her work clothes and stained apron. The girl before her moved like a princess.

Princess? Why did that word remind her of Cyrus’s letters? She cast another searching look over the three companions, noting the goggles on Varian’s head and the dynamite strapped to Yong’s leg. Something in her mind clicked. “You’re Princess,” she pointed at Nuru, whose eyes went wide as saucers. “And you’re Goggles, and Firecracker,” she pointed at Varian and Yong in turn.

“How did you...?” Nuru opened his mouth and then closed it with a shake of her head. Yong and Varian both tensed minsiculy and Hugo shot her a panicked look.

“Letters!” Mona clapping her hands together. All three children’s attention snapped to her. “He sends me letters!”

“I do?” Hugo mouths at Mona as the three children’s attention snaps to him. “I do!” he says loudly as he runs his fingers through his hair, flashing his friends with his trademarked smile.

The smile that never worked on people who knew him well, if she remembers Cyrus’s words correctly.

“You send your Aunt letters?” Varian says as he raised an eyebrow at Hugo. “That’s surprisingly sweet of you.” Hugo blushed bright red and sputtered. Which is not in character at all with the boy Cyrus had described. Now wasn’t that interesting?

“What did he tell you about me?” Yong bounced on his feet. Oh no. Mona felt her hands twitch as he fixed her with a wide, eager smile.

“How about I make you some cookies?” she offered as she linked her hands together to stop their movement.

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

Being in the kitchen calmed Mona. Her hands moved with practiced ease, almost entirely of their own free will. There was very little need to think as she beat the eggs and mixed in the dough. But alas, there comes a part of baking were the food must go inside the oven, leaving Mona to pace and stew as she waited.

She wished Cyrus were here. He was more comfortable in silence that she was, and he knew Hugo well enough to easily pass for a relative when the questions began to inevitably began. He’d even gotten a fairly good read on his friends if his letters were anything to go by. Meanwhile she’d never even seen Hugo’s face before today. How was she possibly going to be able to keep this up?

A small part of her wanted to throw her hands in the air and admit the whole thing. To tell them that she was the wife of the man who they had fought, and that she wasn’t really a relative of Hugo’s at all.

But...but Hugo had come to her house for aid. Hugo, who trusted no one, who bragged about his ability to go it alone and complained heavily on having to rely on anyone else had come to her and Cyrus’s house when he was in trouble. That meant something. That was important.

She’d suspected as the years had passed that Hugo had grown somewhat attached to her husband, as much as he could attach himself to anyone. And now here he came knocking on her door with three other children for whom he’d willingly turned on Donella, the closest thing he had to a family, asking for Mona’s help. Hugo must be fully aware of how if Mona wanted, she could very easily send a neighbor up to her husband’s workplace and bring Cyrus and Donella down on Hugo’s head. But he’d still come here, not because of anything she had done, but because he trusted Cyrus enough to risk trusting in her.

She didn’t know what had happened on that journey he and Cyrus had gone on together to change Hugo so drastically. Perhaps it was his new friends, perhaps it was living away from Donella’s toxic influence, perhaps something else. But whatever the cause, Hugo had taken a leap of faith coming here, and Mona was loath to let him down.

Biting her lip, Mona tried to make a mental list of everything that Cyrus had told her about Hugo, and everything about her new house guests that had filtered through his letters. She had a war to wage, and she was going to do it right.

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

Mona marched back into the living room like a soldier going to battle, wearing a smile like a shield and holding a plate of cookies like a weapon. “I brought cookies!” she practically sang as she placed them directly in front of Yong, whose eyes lit up as he reached automatically for one. Nuru batted his hand away, and directed his attention back to Mona as she slipped into her seat at the end of the table. Both children stared up at Mona, hunger written in their faces.

Mona gave a laugh as she waved her hand. “You can eat them, that’s what I made them for.” That was apparently all it took, because both Nuru and Yong instantly reached for the cookies, devouring them with a gusto that made Mona feel slightly proud and very concerned for their stomachs. Varian joined in as well, and even Hugo took a cookie, although he only nibbled on it, shooting her nervous looks from his place to her left as he did so.

Mona gave him a wink, confident her cookies would buy them some time before the questions began, but she underestimated her opponents. No sooner had he bitten into his second cookie than Varian said, “So Auntie, what has Hugo told you about us?”

The question sounded casual, but there was a glint in his eye that was sharp as steel. Hugo stiffened and for a brief second Mona panicked, afraid that their cover had already been blown. But no, Varian was leaning far to much into Hugo’s space, and the tilt of his smile was lopsided and teasing. She’d been married for many years, she knew that look.

“You’re a little shorter in person,” she said, watching Varian reel back in shock, teasing smile melting into surprise and slight hurt. Hugo spun towards Varian, hand half raised to reassure him as Mona delivered the final line, “But just as handsome!”

“H-handsome?” Varian’s cheeks turned red as cherries. She hadn’t seen anyone get that red since Cyrus’s blush when she’d loudly proclaimed to the guild leader that Cyrus gave the best hugs in the world in front of all the other guild members. She hadn’t actually meant for anyone else to hear and had been quite embarrassed, but Cyrus had pulled her into his lap for the rest of the evening, so it was worth it.

“MONA!” Hugo screeched, and that’s right, she was in the present, dealing with love struck kids and not back in the past with Cyrus. She had to focus here or they’d be caught.

She flashed Hugo her best apologetic smile. “I’m sorry dear, was I not supposed to mention that?”

“Those letters were written in confidence,” Hugo grit his teeth as he struggled to come up with a believable reason to stop her from talking. “Shouldn’t they be kept confidential?”

“Oh no!” Varian leaned forward, head in his hands and a goofy grin on his lips. “I want to hear all about how handsome you told your aunt I was.” From across the table, Nuru rolls her eyes.

Mona gave the boy an indulgent smile. “Now, now. If Hugo says the letters were in confidence, then I will of course keep quiet.” And not give away just how little she actually knows about them. She glanced at Hugo, wondering if he planned that, but his head was ducked as he nibbled on his cookie, ears flame red.

Yong piped up, asking about the cookie recipe, and table filled with quiet chatter. Mona kept herself alert, trying to steer the conversation to baking and other neutral subjects while Hugo did the same. She almost felt herself relaxing when Yong raised the innocent sounding question, “What was Hugo like when he was a kid?”

Mona’s face froze in a smile, and Hugo shifted slightly in his seat to hid his discomfort. Oh no, what would be the least suspicious answer? “A handful,” she said at the same time Hugo says:

“She doesn’t know.”

Mona started, glancing over at Hugo to meet his wide green eyes. Mona flicked her eyebrows towards the others to signal, “what now?”

Hugo cleared his throat. “What I mean is, when I met Auntie Mona, I was already in my teens.” He shot her a look that clearly said, ‘follow my lead.’ It looked very much like the one Cyrus used, and she had a feeling he would be proud.

“Thirteen is still a child,” Mona added, because really, it is. Hugo frowned and she continued, “I’m the auntie to all the children in our neighborhood.” This is the truth, and Mona has always felt that when lying, its best to stick to the truth, so there’d be less to remember.

“So Hugo grew up here?” Nuru asked with a curious tilt of her head.

Mona opened her mouth, but Hugo cut her off. “No,” he says, shooting a look at Varian. “I grew up in a different part.” Varian’s eyes fill with sympathy, and Mona wondered what parts of Hugo’s actual childhood he has told the boy. Clearly nothing to do with Donella.

“My husband found him,” she decided to explain, hoping Hugo would understand what she was referring to. “Chased off some thugs who were messing with him.”

Hugo grimaced, clearly not happy at her choice of backstory. “I would have been fine,” he grumbled with a half pout, then clearly remembering he needs to keep his friends curiosity sated he added. “They were more interested in hurting Olivia Cheese.”

“Yes.” Mona blinked for a second, trying frantically to remember who in the world Olivia Cheese was. A little mechanical mouse caught her eye, waving its paws frantically from the side of the room. She didn’t even question how it got on the table, so relived to recognize it from Cyrus’s story. “Yes what happened to her was horrible,” she gave Hugo a mock frown. “But I do remember having to clean human blood out of my carpet.” This was again true, although the blood was not Hugo’s.

Hugo’s shoulders hunched. “I was okay in the end though,” he said, sounding for all the world like a petulant kid upset over an embarrassing memory. Mona was impressed with his acting skills.

“You did brighten up after we got some food in you,” she conceded, and this is a lie, but it wasn’t too much of a stretch given most children’s reactions to her cooking.

“That’s true,” Hugo leaned back in his chair. “And I’ve been coming to visit ever since.”

“I’m glad you had someone one your side,” Varian’s smile is warm, but his eyes are far, far too old. “Having one person can make all the difference.” There’s a history there, Mona can tell, some time in his life when he’s had no one. But he seemed genuinely happy for Hugo, and it broke her heart for the child Hugo really was.

“Oh my, look at the time!” she hastily jumped to her feet. “I have to get the stew started for supper!” Hugo shot her a look, but she ignored him, tilting her head so he couldn’t see the sadness on her face. She only stopped when she reached the doorway to the kitchen, half turning back with a fixed smile, “Any allergies I need to know?”

There was a course of ‘No’s” and she hurried out of the room, hoping no one noticed the tears welling up.

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

Ok, so she’d gotten a little emotional at the end, Mona thought as she absently chopped the potatoes and pushed them into the waiting pot. But it was nothing a few deep breaths couldn’t solve in the sanctity of her kitchen. She could already feel the tension leaving her shoulders as she watched the boiling pot.

Today’s meal was her famous stew, and as Cyrus frequently reminded her, it was a dish that not even the pickiest child could refuse. It was simple, easy, and best of all, it could be expanded to feed the many unexpected guests that had a habit of wandering through her house. It was perfect.

Cyrus would be sad he missed it though. A slight frown graced her lips as she got to slicing the carrots. She would need to save him a bowl, for whenever it was he came home.

And wasn’t that going to provide its own set of problems? She’d have to meet him at the doorway, or have Hugo to get there first. Someone had to warn him of what was going on. Had Hugo’s friends seen Cyrus’s face? Hugo mentioned they had run into Cyrus and Donella, would any of the remember him? Best not to risk it. But what could she do to prevent that? She glanced up around the sparse kitchen, looking for anything that could hide his face. Her eyes landed on the doorway and she froze.

Varian leaned against the door frame, a sheepish smile on his lips. “Do you need any help?” he offered as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“That’s very kind of you,” she gave him her warmest smile, “but I’ve got it under control.”

“Are you sure?” Varian pressed. “I know they’re a lot of us to drop by unexpectedly, and I’m very good at chopping vegetables.”

Mona opens to her mouth to turn him down, but stopped. There was something about the way he stood, a practiced relaxation hiding a strong desire to move that showed itself in the twitch of his hands. The barely hidden eagerness in his eyes to be useful, to make her like him.

It was a pattern of movement she was far too familiar with, from her own experiences trying to make a good impression to Cyrus’s family and friends. And from other, much darker parts of her past. But she didn’t dwell on those.

She moved slightly over to reveal the half chopped carrots behind her, as well as the rest of the vegetables. “If you could get these chopped for me, that would be a big help,” she said.

Varian didn’t need telling twice, quickly crossing the tiny kitchen and picking up the knife. He was very good, Mona noted, in fact he might be better at slicing than she was. A man who could cook was always a plus, she thought to herself, Hugo certainly had good taste.

And on the subject of Hugo... She spun the stew carefully. “How did you meet Hugo?” she asked, trying to keep her curiosity hidden.

Varian gave a start, clearly not expecting the question. Interesting. “Its a bit of a funny story,” Varian gave a half laugh, turning his eyes down to the carrot underneath his fingers. “He kinda...stole the totem from us?”

“Did he now?” Mona mused. That certainly sounded like Hugo. Varian gaped at her lack of reaction, and she realized she must have made a misstep somewhere. Perhaps thievery was a less common method of survival in his kingdom? “Hugo has his own path,” she said as she gave the stew another stir. “I’m not in a position to tell him which of his limited options he should take.” Varian still looked a little disgruntled, really, what kingdom was he from? so she added. “That being said, I am glad to see him putting his energies into questing with you and your friends.”

“Yeah,” Varian nodded, appeased. “Yeah, I’m glad he’s with us too.” He smiled down at the vegetable below his hands, this time a turnip. For a few minutes there was silence, before his shook himself out of whatever daydream he had entered. “But you want to know how he joined us right?” he gave her a sheepish grin.

“If you please,” Mona nodded, hoping to move the conversation away from any questions on her rather lackluster response to finding out her supposed nephew was a criminal.

“He gave it back,” Varian said, a slight smile playing on his lips. “The totem I mean, told us we were absolutely useless on the road and would need his help. It did not make a good impression.” Varian shook his head as he reached for another turnip. “But he was right. I-we did need him.” He bows his head, bangs brushing over his eyes, as if he thought that could cover the bright red blush on his cheeks.

“I’m sure he needed to go with you too,” Mona offers as she gave the stew another stir. “He’s a lot happier now. With all of you.” In more ways than you could possibly imagine, she didn’t add. Varian peeked up at her through his bangs, a pleased twinkle in his eyes.

“Varian where are...oh,” Mona looked up to see Hugo in the doorway, eyes darting between Varian and Mona. “What’s going on in here?” He asked, a note of panic giving away his inner turmoil that his otherwise relaxed demeanor did not.

“Just getting to know each other,” Mona giggled and Hugo’s eyes widened in alarm. “Your friend here is quite the cook!”

“What can I say?” Varian leaned against the counter with a smug grin. “I’m gifted in many areas.”

Hugo raised an eyebrow, “I don’t think chopping counts as cooking by any means.” Varian sputtered in protest, and Mona threw her head back and laughed.

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

Dinner was an all around success. The children loved the stew, and all of them went back for seconds. Mona was glad she’d saved a bowl for Cyrus, sitting innocently off to the side.

The conversation was also far easier to navigate, as its seemed the more personal questions has all been used up over cookies, allowing Mona and Hugo to direct the conversation to safer topics, like where they were all from. It was here she learned that Nuru was an actual princess, and not just called that because of her proper manners. Varian was from Corona, which explained his aversion to crime, if even half the rumors of King Frederick were to be believed. Yong had a passion for fireworks and gunpowder that would have served him very well if he’d grown up in their kingdom, and Mona was privately glad he reserved it for much happier things.

But as the evening began to wear down, Mona began to grow quieter, eyes on the front door. Cyrus was out awfully late. Hugo had said that they had fought him. She knew Hugo thought Cyrus had been uninjured, but perhaps there had been an injury he hadn’t seen?

Hugo bumped her foot slightly under the table, and she turned to see him give her a reassuring smile. “She’s probably just keeping him late, like she always does when she loses,” he whispered to her. Mona gave him a weak smile in return, and tried to look at the door less. Hugo must be feeling really guilty if he was trying to reassure her, and the last thing she wanted was to make him worry more.

The sharp scratch of old keys in the door echoed through the room, and both Mona and Hugo jumped to their feet. “That’s my husband!” Mona cried as she pushed forward, “I’ll go greet him!” Hugo,” she waved her hand behind herself, “take care of the guests.”

“Oh hell no.” Hugo said as he hurried after her, leaving their three guests confused at the table. “They can take care of themselves.”

As the key made the final turn, Mona quickly pulled the door open a smidge and pushed herself outside, making sure that Hugo was directly behind her to keep the three curious kids from seeing him. Cyrus’s mouth opened in shock as he got a glimpse of Hugo’s face behind her, before she was tugging him down the street as the door closed behind them.

“What’s going on?” Cyrus gasped as Mona pulled him into a hug.

“Hugo’s brought his friends to visit,” she hissed in his ear. “Put this on and don’t talk.” She pulled a brown paper bag from the pocket of her apron, and pushed it into his hands.

Cyrus placed it over his head without question, and oh, Mona loved this man. But she restrained herself. She couldn’t kiss him with a paper mask on after all, so she settled for linking their hands as she pulled him back inside.

Hugo shot them a look that made it very clear how very stupid he thought the paper mask was, but he couldn’t exactly object as Cyrus’s large form came into his companion’s view.

“Everyone, meet my husband! You can call him Uncle!” she smiled as brightly as she could. Cyrus squeezed her hand in reassurance.

All of Hugo’s friends stared at Cyrus’s mask as if they’d never seen anything so strange in their entire lives, which Mona did not think was fair considering the adventures they’d been telling her about. “What is on your head?” Yong piped up with the question that no one was voicing.

“I can explain,” Hugo stepped forward between his friends and Cyrus. “You see, he suffers from horrific facial scaring, which he is quite embarrassed about.” All three children had the decency to look a bit ashamed of staring after that response, and Mona felt privately grateful for his silver tongue.

“That’s horrible!” Nuru said, expression morphing into one of sympathy. “May I ask what type of scaring?”

Cyrus let go of her hand to make a fist. With his other hand, he wagged his fingers around it to mimic fire.”

“Third degree?” Nuru gasped, raising a hand to her mouth. Beside her Varian and even Yong looked upset.

“He means fire,” Hugo rolled his eyes. “He got in an explosion.”

“Then why was he holding up three fingers?” Yong frowned.

“Those were the flames,” Mona offered, and Cyrus gave a thumbs up.

“We’re very please to meet you sir,” Varian said, clearly trying to take control of the conversation, but halfway through a yawn punctuated his sentence.

“Oh dear,” Mona raised a hand to her lips. “It’s gotten very late. Perhaps you kids should go off to bed.”

“We’re fine,” Varian suppressed another yawn, which set off Nuru and Yong. “We wouldn’t want to be rude.”

“Yeah, they can handle a bit of rudeness, trust me,” Hugo moved forward to tug Varian out of his seat. Cyrus made a shooing motion with his hand to agree.

“We really don’t mind,” Mona added, hoping that they would give in and just go to sleep so Cyrus could take off the paper bag she’d stuffed him in. It couldn’t be fun to wear. “The guest room is the second door on the left. Go on.” Varian looked like he might protest, but another tug from Hugo was all he needed to stumble off, Yong and Nuru trailing behind him.

As Hugo pushed the door closed on the others, muttering some excuse about needing to talk to his relatives for a moment, Cyrus turned to Mona and tugged off the paper bag. “Anyone going to fill me in on what’s going on?” he whispered.

Hugo and Mona exchanged a look. This was going to take a while.

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

“You know the one thing I don’t get?” Cyrus murmured as they cuddled together on their bed, voices low so as not to disturb the sleeping children in the next room. “Why’d he bring them here?”

Mona raised her head from his chest to him in the eye. “I thought something happened on the trip, something to make him trust you more?”

Cyrus shook his head. “I listened to him give his reports, but he was totally willing to lie to me to keep me away from them. Him coming here after that, it doesn’t make sense.”

“I see,” Mona frowned. Thinking back on Hugo’s words as he’d explained himself to her and Cyrus. “Maybe then he did it for the reason he said, ‘because it’s the last place Donella would look?’”

“No way,” Cyrus ran an absent hand through her loose hair. “He’s got a hundred better hiding holes than this one, and a lot of shady places and favors that even Donella doesn’t know about. I just didn’t mention them so he wouldn’t get defensive.”

“Well,” Mona bit her lip, trying to come up with the words to express what she was thinking. “That wouldn’t be very welcoming would it?” Cyrus cocked his head to the side, and she knew she had his full attention as she pressed on. “They’d be safer, but they'd be cold and miserable. Coming to us, its a lot warmer, you see?”

Cyrus gave a nod, and pulled her close. “We do run a very warm household,” he agreed.

“The best in all the kingdom,” she murmured as she snuggled back into his chest.

Tomorrow they would have to wake up super early to sneak Cyrus out of the house without their guests taking to much notice. Tomorrow she’d have to brew them all a very large pot of porridge to feed them properly before their big journey. Tomorrow Hugo would leave with his friends, after dramatizing his sadness at leaving his “dear aunt and uncle.” But tomorrow could wait a few more hours.

[hannitizer]

To Have a Home Part 19

Summary: After Draco is found guilty of an attempted murder, he is  sentenced to the Lupin’s house with hopes he’ll finally understand what  it means to have a family. Only problem? Draco doesn’t want it.      

A/N: Hey Y’all! Here’s part 19 to To Have a Home! I’m super excited that the story has gotten this far! Sorry for the infrequent posting; this school year is a lot, and there’s so much going on, but I didn’t want to leave the story hanging, so here we are. As always, I hope you all enjoy!

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“Abigail, are you keeping an eye on the cake?” Remus called from the living room, his eyes skimming through that week’s copy of The Daily Prophet. 

“No, are you?” She called from the bedroom, where she was currently putting two braids in her hair. 

“No, but it does smell like it’s burning…”

Abigail shot out of the bedroom, her long light blue sundress billowing out around her. “Then why aren’t you doing anything about it? Remus!” She pulled her wand out from the front pocket of her dress, spelling the oven door open and sending the chocolate cake to a cooling tray. “You could’ve helped.”

“But I knew you had it under control,” he mused, not looking up from his newspaper.

“You’d better be careful, Remus, or you’re not going to get any of it. Draco and I will eat all of it right in front of you and you can just watch.” She smirked. “We’ll see if you like it when I’m in control.”

“You really don’t have to bake me a cake,” Draco mumbled, pushing his face further into his plush wolf. “It’s not that important.” 

“Oh, but it is!” said Abigail, getting to work on frosting the cake. She piped the light green mint frosting onto the top, making a swirling pattern. “You’re finally getting that boot off and we’re going to celebrate it!” 

“Now we know that jumping out of windows is not the best thing to do, right?” Remus looked over the top of the newspaper, a smile forming across his face. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever.” 

Remus set the newspaper down on the table. “What’re you reading there?” 

“Oh, nothing.” He flipped the book closest to him over, but Remus grabbed it quickly. 

“Charlotte’s Web, eh? It’s one of Abigail’s favorites.”

“You’re reading Charlotte’s Web?” Abigail perked up from behind her large cake. “Wilbur’s some pig, isn’t he? I used to read that book almost every day of my childhood. Then I discovered Little Women, and the game changed. Remus, what was your favorite?”

He thought about it for a moment, setting the book back by Draco. “Hmm… I think my favorite was The Hobbit when I was growing up. Something about the dwarfs and the dragon made it my favorite.”

Abigail smirked. “Of course the one with short people trying to get back their gold is your favorite.”

“This is coming from the person who was obsessed with a talking pig for most of their childhood.” 

“But that’s not… you know what? Nevermind.” She put the icing down on the counter, licking some of the stray bits off her fingers. “Draco, what’s your favorite?”   

“Well, I really like Little Women, but I don’t know if it’s my favorite.” But he did know. That was his favorite book he had ever laid his hands on. Whenever he was sad, he would pull it out from under the couch and just read. He’d read about Jo’s struggles to publish her book. He’d read about Amy and her relationship with Laurie. It made him feel safe and secure, like a friend that he could hold in both hands. 

“Oh, sure, agree with Abigail,”Remus rolled his eyes, “that’ll help boost her ego.” 

Abigail flung a bit of frosting at him, threatening to lay a silent spell on him. He held up his hands in mock defense. 

She went back to setting up the table, spelling plates and forks and fresh fruit on the table. Draco spied the discarded newspaper on the table and he grabbed for it. Remus was faster, snatching it away before Draco was even close. 

“But…”

“No Draco, you can’t read this.” Before Draco could protest any further, he threw it into the burning fireplace. It caught a flame immediately and burned to pieces, reduced to ashes. 

“I want to know what’s going on out there! I want news that you won’t tell me.” 

“There’s a reason that we don’t tell you Draco. Besides, you shouldn’t be worried about what’s happening out there. All you need to focus on is yourself.” 

Draco was about to open his mouth to argue again, but Abigail came up from behind him, all smiles. 

“I think it’s time for the boot to come off!”

Something about how excited Abigail was made Draco forget about the newspaper fiasco. He gripped his plush wolf hard as Abigail started to pull the straps loose on the boot. It came off fairly easily, but the skin underneath was incredibly dry. 

“Hmm… we’ll have to put some lotion on that sometime.” Abigail said, mostly to herself. “Honey, can you grab me a warm washcloth?” 

Remus didn’t get up from his seat, but he did pull his wand out of his pocket. Muttering accio under his breath, the washcloth came floating into the living room. He handed it to Abigail, who ran it over his ankle. Draco hissed a little under his breath.

“Is everything okay?” Abigail asked, confusion spread across his face.

“Yeah, it just feels different.” He said, looking down at his feet. His left ankle didn’t look too different from his other one; if anything, it was a little more swollen still. But since Abigail wasn’t worried, he decided he didn’t need to either. 

“Okay,” Abigail finished up cleaning his ankle, “I’m going to move it around a little bit. It might feel tight, but that’s normal. If it hurts more than a feeling of tightness, tell me.”

Draco nodded his head. When she started to move it, Draco felt his jaw clench up. The tightening sensation came up on him, but it wasn’t necessarily painful. Just… different. A good different. 

After a few minutes, Abigail stopped, straightening up as she dusted off the front of her dress. 

“I think that’s good enough for today. We can keep doing those stretches so you’ll have the full range of your ankle again. But…” she looked over her shoulder at the table. “The cakes all the way over there, and I think Remus is done giving piggyback rides…”

“For forever.” He said, standing up to join his wife. “But if you say please, I’ll drag you.”

Draco laughed, bracing himself at the end of the couch. For over a month he’d dreamed of this moment. When he had his leg back. When he wasn’t at the will of Remus and Abigail anymore. He could move where he wanted to, when he wanted to for whatever reason he wanted to. 

He felt the carpet with both of his feet, and very slowly, he pushed himself off the couch. He thought he was going to lose his balance, but at the last moment, he managed to find it. Taking in a deep breath, he took one step forward, and then the next. He felt a little pain, but it was enough to power through it. Abigail took to his side almost immediately, not close enough to touch him, but near enough to catch him if he were to fall. 

Finally, Draco was at the table. Abigail gave a cry of joy, throwing her arms around him. 

“Okay, thank you, Abigail, but please get off.” His voice was muffled under her. 

Abigail took her time, messing up his hair as Remus cut the cake with a spell. All three quickly dug into the cake, not bothering with formalities. After Draco’s third slice, Abigail cut him off. 

“No more, or you’re never going to sleep tonight.” 

“Wow, Abigail, you sound just like my…” Draco didn’t finish the sentence. A silence fell over the group, no one knowing how to cut the silence. 

“Well, um… What movie should we watch tonight?” Remus said, putting his fork down. “I was in the mood for something with a happy ending.”

“Is there any of those--Disney I think they’re called--Disney movies we haven’t watched yet?” Draco said, liking the way this conversation was going. 

“I think there was a new one that came out last year that we haven’t watched yet… Hercules, if I’m not mistaken.” Abigail got up, walking over to their vast VHS collection. She ran her finger over a few titles, before pulling out the right one. 

“Here it is! Or, if you want, we could watch Cinderella.” She pulled that one out too. “I know we haven’t watched that one either.”

“Yuck, Cinderella is a girl’s movie. I want to watch Hercules.” 

“I guess that settles it then. Hercules it is!” Remus winked at Draco. “I didn’t want to watch Cinderella anyways.” 

“Well, we can watch Hercules, but not because Cinderella is a girl’s movie. Cinderella is a wonderful movie. It’s about seeing someone for who they truly are, and I think that’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because you’re a girl.” 

Remus laughed at Draco’s remark, which landed him a pillow to the face courtesy of Abigail. 

“Whatever, boys, just get over here so we can watch this thing.” 

And for a moment, they seemed like a normal family. A loving one. The ones without cracks or blemishes. One without faults and secrets.

But alas, moments are only that: moments. 

Before anyone could move, the fireplace roared to life, fire spitting out in every direction. Abigail moved back quickly, and Remus went to bodyblock Draco. 

Out of the fire was spat Isla, looking dazed and angry. Her head swiveled towards Draco, and she rushed towards him. 

“What did he do to you?” 

Draco wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re…” 

“Your father, Draco. What did he do to you?” 

[smartkookiee]

// cookies & keys //

Jimin x Reader (f) // one shot

Genre: slow burn, romance, comedy, neighbors au, holiday au, neighbor!jimin, baker!reader

Word Count: 4.06K

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff

Summary: You are in the middle of making cookies for your Christmas eve party that you and your brother, Taehyung, are throwing. Just when you put a batch in the oven, you run to get decorations out of your car. To your discovery,  you have locked yourself out of the apartment, and you need to get some help to get back in before the cookies burn the house down. Luckily a sheepish neighbor boy is around to help out.

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A/N: This is your present @httpjibooty​ !!! I am your secret Santa, Merry Christmas!! I hope you had a great Christmas! Sorry it took me to get out! I was really busy with Christmas but here you go. I’m so excited to have a new mutual! I really hope you like it. I’m sorry if some parts seem choppy.

This story is also my submission for the @kwritersworld​ Christmas event! I thought this prompt was a perfect Christmas idea and I’m glad to share it with everyone! 

This part is unedited currently so sorry if there are any mistakes, I have dyslexia so I do apologize.

Enjoy!

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“I swear to god, try not to eat the damn decorations.” You stomp around the kitchen at a frantic pace.

“You see you say it’s a decoration but it’s really just the fourth batch of cookies, when you have made six.” Tae takes another cookie from the snowman pile, you snatch it from him just before he took a bite, “Hey!”

“Kim Taehyung, get out of my kitchen. Don’t you have somewhere to be? Aren’t you going to Jin’s game night or something?” You huff and you begin to move all the cookies off the kitchen island onto the counters to keep some space between them and Tae.

“Kim Y/N, No I will not get out of our kitchen. I live here too and I will not take this disrespect.” He put his hands on his hips and pouted. You rolled your eyes.

“You’re my brother, you lost that respect years ago.”

“It’s the Christmas season Y/N why not share the love.” He tried to sneak his way to the cookies again but you grab one of the lean mixing spoons and start hitting him with it.

“Out!” You point the spoon at him. He holds his hands up in surrender.

“Fine, fine. I’m going. You sure you don’t want to go?” Tae begins to walk over to the door and starts to put on his shoes and grab his keys.

“No I don’t want to go. I’m not in the mood to deal with your creepy ass friends before Christmas Eve.” You continue to mix your cookies together again, trying to prep to put another few in the oven. You had two more batches to go. All of these were being prepped for the Christmas even party you both were throwing tomorrow but of course Tae was going to be no help and go off and party.

“Hey they are not creepy!”

“Tae I’m not going to listen to another joke about Jin trying to deck my halls and or jingle my bells.” You start to put new cookie piles on a cookie sheet.

“Point taken. I won’t be gone too long so if you need anything you can call or text okay?” He starts patting his pockets to make sure he has everything.

“Got it.”

Before he walks out the door Tae quickly sprints behind you and takes a handful of cookies and runs out the door. You are following in tow before the door slams in your face. You let out a frustrated groan. With Tae’s absence you could now actually hear the ruckus that was happening across the hall. The two boys who live across the hall were throwing a party and you had been able to drown out the sound until now. It didn’t really help that they were both incredibly attractive but both total meat head jock types. Charming, but nothing under the surface. You decided to try and ignore it, because this was a regular occurrence during the weekend or holidays.

You put a new batch of cookies on the tray and pop them in the oven. You went back to the island to start making another batch. These cookies were in the shape of red and silver snowflakes and you had done some designs on the top. You had some snowman’s one you had been cookies and some Christmas tree ones as well. You were proud of the work you had done. You were trying to stick to theme of red and silver this year, compared to last year which was gold and blue.

You set the timer and you were about to walk away, and you remember that you left some other decorations for the apartment in your car. You weren’t much about the decorations or the music of the holiday, but you wanted to try a little bit to make it look like you like the holiday. You just liked baking so that was the easy part. All of this was basically done for Taehyung’s expense because he adores Christmas and unfortunately you love your brother. Christmas otherwise was just another day for you. You had left your car unlocked because you had been going up and down all day and so you walked over to the door and slipped on your boots and coat and decided to run outside quickly. You closed the door behind you and went down the stares that went right to the parking lot outside.

You jogged over to your car quickly and just as you thought, it was unlocked, which probably wasn’t safe, but you grabbed the decorations and you began to make your way back up the stairs. Passing by some party goers leaving from the adjacent apartment. You set the box of decorations down on the ground and you begin the at your pocket for your keys. You patted you coat pockets and then your pants pockets… nothing. You started to feel around everywhere and look everywhere but alas, no keys to be found. You looked in the box of decorations just to be sure and of course nothing. In your heart you wanted to believe that the door was going to be locked.

“Ha!” you try to grab the knob and turn it in the hopes its open… it’s not. “Shit.”

You try not to panic. I mean it’s not a big deal. This has happened to everyone once in a while. Everyone gets locked out. Whether its their car or their apartment. No need to panic. You decided to pull out your phone and you call Tae. He didn’t leave that long ago, he should pick up. You dial his number and the call immediately goes to voicemail. You proceed to try again, and it rings two times than straight to voicemail.

So either he is ignoring you, or his phone is off. Lovely.

“That’s great I mean, he says I can call him if something goes wrong, but than when I need him he disappears on me. Fuck off...” You mutter to yourself trying to scroll through your phone to find the handy man’s number.

You pound your hand against the door a couple of times to see if it will unlock. Of course nothing. You even admittedly tried to use… the force to see if it would open. Even you knew that one was stupid but you were desperate. Some time passed and you could smell the cookies on the other side and you began to get really worried. If you didn’t get this door open this all could end badly. You find the number in your phone and you heard it ring twice as well but went straight to voicemail.

“You have reached the voicemail of the Ridge Edge Apartments Maintenance staff. Due to the holiday season we will not be available for help until the 26th of December.. for more help-“ You hung up the phone.

“Oh come on you piece of shit.” You sink down to the floor in front of your door in defeat. You are sending Taehyung like a thousand texts to come back but you see that none are delivered. He wasn’t ignoring you he probably has his phone off.

You watched as some people stumbled out of the apartment in front of you and down the stairs. With how fast they were going you would have expected to see them fall right down the stairs. You ran a hand through you hair and moved your legs out of the way as to not trip anyone else coming out of the apartment. You could see glimpse inside and the apartment wasn’t any bigger than yours, you don’t understand how so many people were inside.

You took a long deep breathe in and you were then reminded of the smell of cookies that were slowly burning on the other side of the door. You begin to stand up and you are shocked to see a hand outstretched in front of your face. It actually surprised you so much you fell right back on your ass.

“Jesus-“

“Oh I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. Do you need a hand?” You looked up to see the a silver haired boy who gave you the widest and sweetest doe eyes. His hair was a little messy but parted to one side and he had a grey blazer and shirt and dark skinny jeans.

“Uhh... um… yes thank you.” You take his hand and he helps you up to your feet.

You politely smile but awkwardly stand there because you literally have nowhere to go.

“I’m Jimin.” He says and holds his hand out to you to shake. You take his hand and he gives you a firm handshake. He does one of those things where he places his other hand on top of yours.

“I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you but I’m kind of in an emergency so sorry but I need to uhh-“

“Anything I can help with?” You step away but he steps into your eye line again.

“Sorry. I don’t think so unless you know how to pick a lock?” You at him with a confused expression. He was just all smile from the moment you started talking.

“I don’t, I am unfortunately not an expert in that area.” He smiles and shrugs.

“Than if you don’t mind I’m going to try to get a hold of someone who can help me.”

“Hey I don’t bite. I just wanted to see if you were alright. You seemed a little frazzled.”

“Yeah.” You snip at Jimin and you try to text Tae again.

“If you want you are welcome to come stay in our apartment until someone arrives. I know there are lots of people around but-“

“Wait… you live next door?” You are suddenly shocked by this discovery.

“Yeah, 201.”

“I thought only two guys lived in that apartment.”

“Yeah you might be thinking of Jungkook and Hoseok. They are my roommates.” He shrugged and leaned against the wall.

“Why haven’t I seen you around?” You lean against the other wall.

“I’m not really the party type. I am either in my room or I am at work most of the time. I’m not really about this whole party scene.” He shuffled his feet a little bit.

“How did you end up living with meat head 1 and 2?” You ask with a little tug on the corner of your mouth. That’s what you referred two the other two. Maybe shouldn’t say that to one of their friends.

Jimin laughed endearingly at the comment though.

“You aren’t far off. They are pretty great when they aren’t being the frat boyish type! I’ve known them since the start of college. We have lived together ever since basically.” He looked over to the door of his apartment as some more people stumbled out.

“I can imagine not wanting to be around all of that.” You point towards the people leaving down the stairs.

“It can be fun! You should join sometime.”

“Oh I am not the type. I usually like to stay inside.” You clasp your hands together and start playing with your thumbs

“Baking perhaps?” He smiles at you. You laugh at him a little nervously.

“Yeah how did you know?”

“I can smell it from over here. I always want to come over and knock on the door and ask for some but I always get to nervous and don’t.”

“You should! I would love to share!” You stand up straighter.

“Really? That wouldn’t be weird?” He leans off the wall and stands a bit closer to you. He looks like a little kid, his eyes get all big.

“I mean we have already broken the ice. You are welcome anytime. I usually make bread and cookies… cookies… Oh shit!” You lean against your door and start sniffing. Luckily nothing seems like it is burning yet. You turn around and let out a sigh of relief but notice Jimin is giving you the most confused look ever.

“What-“

“Please tell me you saw none of that.”

“Saw what.” He winked at you and you could feel your cheeks get all red. Back to business though.

“Honestly, I would love to stay and talk but I need to get on the other side of that door Jimin.” You look at him seriously and he doesn’t break eye contact with you. You can see him think for a moment.

“Follow me.” He takes your hand and pulls you into the opposite apartment and you just watch as your door slowly slips behind the crowd of people that surround your eyesight.

You then were surrounded by a sea of drunk college students who were all shouting and jumping around and you were being dragged by this boy… Jimin. You basically are putting all your faith in him not to die or get lost. You had a death grip on his hand, and you were basically getting knocked into people left and right. You came to a sudden stop and almost slammed into his backside.

“Hey Jungkook!” Jimin had to yell over the music because you both had landed close to the speakers that were half your size. You expected the police to be showing p soon about noise complaints.

“Jimin?!” The guy who you assumed was Jungkook responded to him.

“Hey can you help us with something in the hall!” Jimin cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled back.

“You what!”

“Can you come help us!”

“What!”

“Just- Come with us!”

Jimin then proceeded to grab your hand and his hand and began to drag you both out into the hallway again. Jungkook reached over his hand to you to shake your hand. You reached over and shook his as well.

“I’m Jungkook!’ He yelled to you.

“I’m Y/N.” You yelled back and you tried not to laugh because Jungkook almost completely face planted.

Jimin opened the door and all of you piled into the hallway and he was able to shut the door on the party so the noise in the hallway subsided.

“Hello!” Jimin smiled, “Now that we are away from that… Jungkook, y/n, y/n, Jungkook!”

“What’s the deal?” Jungkook asked and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Right… so like I’m useless when it comes to a lot.” Jimin went wide eyed and then looked at you, “Not that I’m completely useless or anything…. I mean just with doors... I mean not like that-“

You laughed at him a little bit. Jungkook could see his struggle and decided to jump in.

“As you can tell y/n, Jimin is an idiot who can’t work doors. Anyways, what’s wrong?” He eyed your door, you could smell the cookies even stronger now. They were slowly burning, and you knew it.

“I got locked out of my apartment. I’m stupid and left my keys went I went to my car. We are also on a time crunch and I have cookies in there that are beginning to burn.” They both looked at you concerned. “I’m sorry to rope to people I don’t know into this but if I don’t get in there, I am going to burn the whole building down.”

You smile cheekily. It sounded a lot more serious out loud.

“Oh” Jimin looked completely stunned.

“Right… well alright well… here goes nothing.”

           You had to take a second to realize what was happening. Jungkook leaned and whispered into Jimin’s ear. You then proceeded to watch as they both squared up to face your door and back up as far as they could, and both took a step and both high kicked your door. Leaving two prominent foot prints. Both than bounced back and slammed against the opposite wall with a thud. You sat in complete shock as to what happened. Literally nothing happened. You began to wonder if you enlisted the help of two idiots.

           “Jungkook…” Jimin’s voice got lower, “Clearly that didn’t work.”

           “Yeah I figured not. These are metal doors.”            “Okay! Fucking noodle head than why did we kick it at all!”

“I thought it would be funnier.” He smirked and than opened the door to his apartment. “Let me get some tools. We will have that door off in no time.” He saluted you and ran down the stairs, assumingly to his car.

“Idiot.” You hear Jimin whisper.

“Being a little feisty Jimin.” You bump his shoulder.

“Hey you are just getting to know me. I’ve got lots of surprises.” He smiles at you. You notice just how big of a smile he actually has and its beautiful.

“Can’t wait to find out.” You tried to be a little flirtatious back. He smiles at you and your heart flutters a bit.

“What are you making cookies for?”

“Oh tomorrow my brother and I are hosting a Christmas eve party for friends and such. Kind of like a friendsmas I guess. So I was stress baking because our friends who come over are monsters and will eat everything out of our fridge.” You roll your eyes and you start to bounce a the stress that will be get everything ready for tomorrow.

“Jungkook is similar. He eats almost everything.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

“You should join us. We will have lots of food and stuff. You can even invite Jungkook and… Hoseok was it?”

“Really? I mean we wouldn’t be intruding?”

“Not at all.” You sink down to the floor in front of your door and Jimin joins you, “My brother has a creepy friend who hits on me all the time so you would be doing me a favor to be honest.”

“I would gladly help you avoid a creepy friend.” You both laugh a little and your legs bump together as you are sitting on the ground. You suddenly feel your phone buzz next to you. You see that Tae is finally calling you back. You pick up

“Kim Taehyung.” You mutter angrily into the phone.

“Y/N are you okay? Are you still locked out?”

“Yes I’m still locked out, I have someone who is going to attempt to open the door but can you please come back?”

“Yeah Ill be on my way in just a minute. You aren’t alone are you?”

“No I am not alone. I have someone here with me” You glance over at Jimin.

“Okay, who is it?”

“Okay bye! See you soon!”

“Wait Y/N-“ You hang up abruptly.

“Who was that?” Jimin asks you.

“Oh that was my brother. He is on his way back.”

“I got the goods!” You both suddenly hear at the bottom of the stairs. You both stand quickly as Jungkook begins to trot of the stairs.

“You are a live saver Jungkook. I owe you one seriously, you are saving my ass and my house.” Jungkook kneels in front of your door and starts to work on the door handle.

“Eh no worries doll. Let’s do dinner sometime and it’ll be-“ Jimin suddenly stops Jungkook with a slap on the back of the head. “Ow, Jimin” Jungkook whines

“You don’t owe him anything Y/N. We are happy to help.” He looks pointedly at Jungkook. Jungkook immediately retreats and continues to pick the lock on the door.

The door suddenly clicks open, faster than you thought it would.

“Oh.. that was fast.”

“Jimin and I have gotten locked out before as well so I practiced so we could easily get in again.”

“That’s a horrifying thought to know you could break in and kill me.. but thank you.” You push the door open quickly and the apartment has a thin layer of smoke in the air.

You immediately run to the oven and pull out the cookies. Jimin runs to the two windows in your living room and immediately pops them open. You start to grab some towels and you start to fan the smoke out the windows and the door. You were the lucky the sprinklers or the fire alarms weren’t triggered while you were stuck out there. You tried to hold your breath as much as you could because you didn’t want to breathe in too much smoke.

“That’s one batch ruined.” You sigh looking at the dark brown cookies in front of you.

“Yes but it’s one apartment saved.” Jimin continues to fan some out the window. The smoke had already cleared out a bunch, so you walk over to close the door.

“Thank you so much again, Jimin. I’m sorry to drag you and Jungkook away for a minute. Even though he seems to have gone right back into the thick of it.” You look around and notice he wasn’t around. You glad Jimin wad though.

“Honestly it wasn’t even that good of a party anyways. I’d rather be over here with-“ His eyes suddenly went wide when he actually noticed all the sweets that were laid out on the counter. You watched as Jimin skipped over to your side and he looked like a little kid.

“You can have whatever you want for helping me. Take some for Jungkook too. I insist.” You grab a plate of the snowman cookies and hand them to him.

“Well I think I’ll take some of these sweets.” He started to take a few cookies odd the plate. He then suddenly takes the plate from you and then puts the plate back on the counter for you. “If I could also ask for another thing.”

“Yeah anything. I really owe you both.” You were nervous as to what he was going to ask for.

“Well, I think it could all be made up for if you would let me take you out sometime?” Jimin asked sheepishly.

“What?” You were completely taken aback by Jimin’s request. “You want to take me out?”

“I mean yeah why not. Unless you don’t want to than I will be completely embarrassed and will never both you ever again.” Jimin rubs the back of his neck and you giggle at him a bit.

“I would love to go out sometime. After Christmas though. As you can see, I have my hands full with all this baking.” Speaking of which, you actually start to clean up the burnt cookies and throw them into the garbage and you began to plan out another set in your mind.

“I may be a horrible cook. If you ever need an assistant I would happily come to your help.” He took a bow to you and you smiled.

“I may take you up on that.”

“Well… I best be getting back.”

“Yeah…”

Jimin begins to walk away and he opens your front door just when you have a thought.

“Do you want my number?” you almost impulsively say. Even though it makes sense because he, of all people, wanted to take you out.

“Oh yes, I wanted to ask but I didn’t want to seem creepy.” He comes back over to you immediately pulling out his phone. You type in your number and disgustingly put some stupid emojis by your name.

“I hope to be hearing from my assistant chef soon.” You smile.

“I mean I live never door, it’s not like you couldn’t walk over and ask for my assistance.”

“True.”

“Well goodnight Y/N.” Jimin smiled and started to back out of the door slowly. You followed him slowly out.

“Goodnight Jimin.” He than walks to his door and waves to you before he practically forces his way back inside and through other party goers. You wave back just before he goes in. You could feel your cheeks blushing super hard. He was absolutely adorable. You couldn’t believe you didn’t know he lived next door.

You plan to be going over there more often.

“Disgusting, I need to see you basically undress our neighbor with you eyes/.” Tae was seen out of the corner of your eye walking up the stairs.

“Hey, I needed to get someone’s help since you took ten thousand years to get here.” You rolled your eyes and walked back into the apartment.

“Warn me next time when you will be having neighbor boy over.” Tae groaned.

You punched hit in the arm and you both finished the rest of the night watching a bad Christmas movie and eating your leftover cookie dough. You were thinking about Jimin the whole time.

[eightrigrams]

Here’s my fluffy gift for the Fairy Hearts exchange! My match is @sassyhazelowl

I hope you enjoy your fic! I’ll be crossposting on AO3 as well

Pairing: ErLu

Rating: G

Title: Strawberry Stardust

The blonde paced back and forth, finger pressed to her chin in contemplation. Her deep brown eyes roamed the space of her apartment, and came to rest on the counter space that her friends and teammates usually occupied. For once, the area was clean, and Lucy remembered one of the more recent visits Erza had paid her.

The fierce redhead had raided her kitchen while she had been out shopping, and Lucy had come back to the welcoming scent of a freshly baked cake. Of course, Erza has been a bit… overzealous, leaving the counter and the sink cluttered and filthy. But the cake itself had been worth the shock and surprise. Lucy shouldn’t have been surprised anyway. First Natsu, then Gray and Erza, they all took it upon themselves to walk into her home uninvited. They hardly ever walked in, actually, since they seemed to like climbing in through her windows.

Lucy’s thought brought her an idea, and she purposely brushed a finger against one of the keys resting on her belt. She’d scarcely let her wish flutter through her mind before Virgo appeared in front of her.

“Punishment?” the maiden spirit inquired, smiling slightly at her mistress’s exasperated sigh.

“I need your help, Virgo,” Lucy declared, her eyes shining with determination. “We’re going to surprise Erza.”

A blush crept onto the celestial mage’s face. “I haven’t asked her about being my valentine yet, but I think I have an idea, Virgo. Can you help me out with this?”

The maiden bowed deeply, but wore an evident expression of amusement. Her Princess was so awkward, and she found it positively endearing.

Lucy took a second key from her belt and let her magic flow into it.

“Open, Gate of the Ram: Aries!” she requested, smiling as the spirit appeared next to Virgo.

Aries shrank back with a squeak, always fearful that she was inadequate in some way. Lucy smiled reassuringly at the ram spirit, beckoning her friends to her.

“Aries, Virgo, I need your help to make this surprise a success!” the mage said brightly. “Erza loves strawberry cake more than pretty much everything, so we’re going to bake her the best strawberry cake she’s ever had. My feelings will get through with a gift like that, definitely. Right?”

“Oh!” Aries squeaked. “I-I’ll do my best!”

Lucy rummaged through her cabinets, grabbing mixing bowls and dry ingredients. “Virgo,” she began. “There’s something I’m hoping you can help me with.” The flush one her cheeks deepened for just a moment.

“Anything, Princess,” Virgo replied confidently.

“I need you to set aside some celestial clothes for Erza and I. And I’d like to recruit everyone to help decorate - we’ll surprise Erza by giving her a romantic visit to the Celestial Spirit World.”

The pink-haired maid smirked, a glint in her eyes. “Big brother will help me, and we will have everything prepared for you. Call if you need anything else, Princess.” As she finished speaking, she disappeared, closing her gateway into the human world.

Lucy giggled, then set her face into a determined expression. “Could you help me with baking the cake, Aries?” she asked gently.

“Well, I can try, yes. I hope I’m not a burden to you, Lucy…” Aries let her voice trail away with a wavering note of uncertainty. Lucy was used to her friend’s insecurities by now, but it still broke her heart to see Aries worry so much.

“Come on, let’s work together, Aries,” Lucy grinned. “You can help me keep the cake and the frosting light and fluffy. When I bake by myself I have trouble with that.”

Aries’ wool magic had many uses, and hopefully infusing just a tiny bit of it into the baking would help with the consistency. If not, Lucy would just have to clean up yet another disaster. It wasn’t exactly something she wasn’t already accustomed to doing.

The blonde hummed lightly to herself as she started measuring ingredients out. The mixing bowl she had set out for dry ingredients slowly filled as she added one piece of the puzzle to the next. She mixed everything together carefully, taking in the scent of sugar.

Before she could even give direction, Aries gave her the next bowl, as well as the butter, eggs, and vanilla. In some ways, the spirit was gaining confidence. Lucy smiled gratefully, accepting the bowl and setting to work thoroughly mixing the wet ingredients together. When she was happy with the consistency, she slowly began to add the dry flour mixture, making sure to pay special attention to keeping the mixture from getting lumpy.

The soft vanilla scent waited upwards each time the spoon scooped through the bowl, filling the mage with a comfortable warmth.

When she was done preparing the cake batter, she let it fill the round cake mold that she hadn’t ever used before. In truth, she didn’t even know where she got it. Maybe from Mirajane at some point early in her guild days.

The oven gave a beep behind her, the cue for her to put the cake in to bake. “That’s the hard part done I think,” she declared as the oven door closed. “You’re doing great, Aries!”

“I didn’t do much,” Aries mumbled, but she didn’t protest further.

Lucy gathered up the dirty dishes and placed them in the sink where they wouldn’t be in the way. As she turned back to her counter space, she flashed a bright smile at the gentle spirit. “Now is the most important part - the frosting and the strawberries. I’ll need you for this, Aries.”

The celestial mage searched her cabinets for another moment, emerging victorious with a recipe for buttercream frosting. Another gift from Mirajane that she hadn’t remembered to use or really thank her for before now.

The two worked in companionable silence, carefully measuring and adding as they went. The fresh scent of strawberries filled the tiny kitchen, and Lucy smiled in appreciation. Aries did her best to keep the frosting fluffy and light,and as she finished, Virgo appeared before them without warning.

“Punishment?” she asked as both Lucy and the other spirit jumped in surprise. When she recovered from her shock, Lucy laughed and shook her head.

“No, no punishment, Virgo. What’s the situation?”

“Big brother is taking care of everything,” the pinkette delivered with a mischievous smirk.

While Lucy trusted Loke with her life, she was absolutely certain that something would end in disaster if Erza decided she didn’t want him in her space. Lucy sighed, deciding to put her faith in Virgo and her other spirits, even if they were just as crazy as the rest of the people she knew.

“I hope Erza just doesn’t try to kill him,” the mage muttered to herself.

–

Inside the newly rebuilt guild hall, Erza looked on from the bar as her friends jovially bantered with each other. Asuka giggled at everyone and poked fun at the couples exchanging gifts, pretending to shoot them - like Cupid, she insisted.

The redhead wasn’t surprised to find Gray and Natsu arguing once again about who put in more effort with their own gifts. In a far corner, Freed paced anxiously, and Erza had no doubt that he was waiting for Laxus to show.

Erza allowed herself a smile and turned back to the bar, calling Mirajane over. The white-haired demon woman grinned brightly and appeared to float over, she was so light on her feet. Mira tilted her head to the side, a quiet inquiry for her dear friend and rival.

“Have you seen Lucy?” the requip mage asked, knowing that if the blonde had been to the guild hall today, Mira would know. In answer, the other woman shook her head.

“Sorry Erza, she hasn’t been in yet.”

Erza scowled, wondering what her next move should be. The two had grown especially close in the last few months, more than the words “friend” or “teammate” could fully capture. But neither had taken the step past the invisible threshold in defining their feelings for the other.

As she contemplated her options, the doors to the guild hall swung open. Loke walked in, speaking to each lady in the guild as he did, and everyone collectively expressed their annoyed resignation to their guildmate’s habits. He greeted Gray casually, interrupting the ongoing argument with Natsu. For once, the dragon slayer didn’t threaten to fight the Zodiac leader, earning looks of relieved surprise from those who were nearby.

The ginger spirit elbowed Gray and left the pair to continue their heated discussion, turning his attention to his real task. He sauntered over the the bar and took the empty seat next to Erza, greeting her and Mira with a lazy, lopsided grin.

“Need something, Loke?” Mira asked.

The lion spirit laughed. “Only the lovely lady next to me, sorry Mira.”

The redhead in question glowered and turned to face her new annoyance. “What do you need?”

“Oh, I don’t need anything, dear Erza. My beautiful princess would like to see you. Alas, you come between us, but I cannot say no to my lovely Lucy,” he replied, melodramatic as always. Mira giggled at the exchange, but uncharacteristically didn’t offer her opinion on the matter.

Erza stood, straightening her back and fixing a slightly less annoyed glare on the Zodiac spirit. “Let’s go,” she said, enjoying the note of authority in her voice.

The walk to Lucy’s apartment seemed much quicker than it usually did. Erza did her best to focus herself on the annoying spirit instead of the fact that Lucy wanted to see her. On Valentine’s Day. She fought down the heat that started to crawl up her neck under the cover of her armor as they approached the apartment door.

With a flourish, Loke excused himself back to the spirit world, leaving Erza alone to work up the courage to knock on the door. The redhead, as confident as she always was, couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She shook her head, willing herself back together. Maybe if she just didn’t think…

Before she knew that her closed hand had made contact with the door, Lucy was looking back at her, cheeks faintly pink and a dusting of flour in her hair. Suddenly it was even more difficult to hide the flush that threatened to set her face on fire.

“Erza!” Lucy exclaimed in a harried greeting. “Loke didn’t cause too much trouble I hope?” There were no signs of destruction in the hallway, so everything seemed fine.

“No more trouble than usual,” the requip mage said with a small smirk. As much as Loke annoyed her, he was harmless enough. And she was in a good mood.

Lucy steppes back, allowing room for Erza to step inside. Frankly, she was used to everyone climbing in through her window, and she hadn’t thought to give Erza space to walk through the door until she started to feel embarrassed.

“I have something for you, Erza,” the celestial mage said softly. “I hope you like it!”

Erza blinked, unsure whether she had heard right. But then Virgo was there in her maid outfit, handing her a set of clothes from the Celestial realm, Lucy smiling gently.

The fiery redhead didn’t even dare to think, lest she wake up and find herself back at the guild hall on the bar counter. Virgo placed a hand on her shoulder and by the time she blinked again she was in the spirit world for the second, maybe third time in her life.

In front of her, all of Lucy’s spirits were gathered together, red and pink streamers decorating the area with care. Virgo stepped away to join her fellow spirits, leaving Lucy to explain her gift.

“I… wanted to do something special for you,” she began, twirling a lock of golden hair around her finger. “I know I haven’t really been as straightforward as I’d like to be, but I was wondering - would you be my valentine, Erza?”

The flush on both their faces grew to a deeper ruby, and for a moment the two just stared at each other. Uncomfortable with the silence, Lucy spoke up again. “I baked you a cake! Strawberry, I know it’s your favorite.”

Erza gave a wide grin as she finally came up with an answer. “I’d love that. Let’s get some cake.”

[random-imagines-blog]

Behind the Crimson Door {Pippin x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2741 Summary: Pippin shows you around the shire. Notes: I am SO sorry that this has taken me so long. I have no excuse. :(

You were not a big part of the journey that saved Middle Earth, but you were still proud to say that you were a tiny part of it. Well, tinier than tiny, anyhow. When the hobbits had made it to the town of Bree, and entered into the Prancing Pony looking for shelter, you had been the one to serve them after your boss disappointed them with news of Gandalf not being there. Most of the men in the place looked down at the hobbits, and not just because they were short. The four in their home-spun clothes with their goofy grins and short curly hair didn’t belong in such a dark and dingy place like the Prancing Pony, or Bree in general. When they ordered their drinks, you had brought them over, large pint glasses filled with the finest beer that you could find in the place. Wherever they had come from, wherever they were going to go, they probably deserved that beer. 

“Are you from the Shire?” You asked the shortest of them. It was the only Hobbit settlement that you had heard of, and even catching snippets about that was rare. It was from the wizard that they were seeking, Gandalf, that you had heard of the place. It had stuck in your head because it sounded like a perfect place. Green grass, sunny skies, cute little houses built into the hills, and no fights are clanging around. A good place for some peace and quiet - which was something that you never got in Bree, the place that you had been born and raised.

“Why yes!” He spoke proudly, holding up his pint glass which was about half the size of him. “Have you been there?”

“No, I’d like to though,” You smiled, seeing his excitement. It was nice to see a happy face around here. They were so unbelievably rare. “I’ve heard about it, from Gandalf.”

You and Pippin made introductions to one another and he spent the next fifteen minutes going on about his favorite things about the Shire. It painted a really pretty picture, especially the gardens that he’d often steal vegetables from, a story that made you laugh. You were sad to see him go, but you were glad to hear that he escaped safely. You managed to avoid the Dark Riders who came into the Prancing Pony, because thankfully, you didn’t actually live in the inn. You had a small place to yourself on the other side of town which one of the other bartenders would escort you to after your shift was over. You thanked the stars that night for keeping you safe, as well as those hobbits, and that it was only the gatekeeper who ended up hurt - but not dead.

-

Those Dark Riders had brought fear into the darkness of Bree. Word was always coming around, since it was a travellers town, and people were always coming and going. People trying to escape the wars in the east and south came through, looking for shelter and the inn was full to capacity each and every night. You managed to keep your job, but ended up leasing out a room in your house to a family in need from the south. All throughout this time, you thought of those hobbits, and Pippin in particular, despite only sharing a small amount of time with him. You hoped that the darkness of this world had not sunk into the Shire, the perfect place in your mind.

For months, the world lived in fear as forces beyond imagination streamed out of Isengard and Mordor. But then word came to Bree that Isengard had been defeated - by nothing less than two Hobbits and ents! You had heard stories about ents in the past, but didn’t know that they were still around, much less getting involved in the wars of the world. You weren’t sure if it was Pippin, or any of the other hobbits that you had met that night, but it had seemed like they were on the start of a perilous journey which could very well end up in such an awful place. When you had heard that news, you and the owner of the Prancing Pony had hugged each other with delight for it brought a lot of hope into the world.

And then a while later, it was heard and rejoiced that Mordor had been defeated, and fell into a desolate ruin, the orcs being swallowed up by the earth. The ring of power that had started this whole war had been destroyed, and all of the hobbits had returned home to the Shire. You were thankful for all of that, but you did wish that they may have stopped by on their way home, just to show that they were alright. But alas, they did not, so you took matters into your own hands. You wrote a letter.

The letter contained a reminder of who you are, your plan to visit the Shire because the war had made you realize that life was far too short to not live out your dreams, and of course, a thank you for his part in saving the world. You received a letter in return weeks later, with Pippin’s messy handwriting. It looked as if it was written in a rush, and reminded you of how he had spoken to you. Stumbling over his words because he liked to speak his thoughts as he thought them. The letter contained a date that he could meet you on the Bucklebury Ferry, and take you on the best tour of the Shire that you would ever get.

There wasn’t enough time to compose another letter before the date that he had listed. You packed, and gave a notice to the innkeeper that you were going away for a little while, but you would definitely be back. You packed some clothes into your nice little packing case that was a gift from your parents long ago. Your name was hand painted on it, and just managed to fit everything that you needed.

The road, which you hit as soon as the sun started to ascend, was not hard to traverse. It went over valleys, and woods where the leaves were crunching underfoot, and before too long, you found yourself at the water, looking for the ferry that Pippin had told you about. And there he was - coming closer across the water, holding onto a large stick and using it as an oar to control the wooden ferry. You smiled, holding your trunk in front of you as the Hobbit came closer.

“Get here alright?” You asked as you stepped onto the surprisingly stable surface.

“Course!” He said, enthusiastically. With that, he smiled goofily, looking up at you. When you noticed his eyes on you like that, a small flush came across your face. His journey had matured him, you could see that, but he still had the spirit that you had admired when you two had met all that time ago. “Y/N, good heavens, we might make it in time for supper!”

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” You asked. Immediately, he used the stick to back up from the shore, and go back over the lake, towards the Shire. A feeling of anxiety and excitement was bubbling up in you stomach, and your hands tightened around the handle of your suitcase. You were getting ants in your stockings, as your mother used to say, for you were fidgeting and couldn’t stand still. “You know, I don’t even really know what you eat in The Shire,” You said to break your silence. Pippin hadn’t broken his, he was rambling on about the farmer who had chased him out of his garden once more. He had ended that story with how things just haven’t changed despite him being a hero.

“All sorts of stuff! I’ve got a salted pork in the oven, just waiting to be eaten! And some carrots. They might be stolen though but that won’t get rid of their flavor!” He seemed more enthusiastic about the dinner than about anything else. That was one thing you’ve definitely learned about Hobbits - they love their food.

You smiled, strolling along with him through the pathways after leaving the ferry. “I didn’t know that you could cook,” You said, keeping your arms in front of you, holding the suitcase securely, but you felt relaxed enough to look at your surroundings. Unlike Pippin, you were about as tall as the cornstalks and could see your way through them just fine. But you didn’t need to look, for the Hobbit by your side knew this place better than the back of his hand, and didn’t lose his footing once.  

“Why’d you assume I couldn’t?” Pippin asked with a cheeky smile that matched the youthful curls. He seemed to radiate a sort of childishness that you couldn’t help but admire, but you knew there was something more behind those rosy cheeks. You knew that he was a hero, who had saved this Earth. You knew that he was part of the reason the Shire was still the peaceful place that it is.

“No, no, I didn’t assume anything.” You said with the same smile. “Don’t think for a moment that I would assume anything about you, Pippin. No, I just didn’t know that knights could cook at all.” You brought up his past in Gondor and saw a flush go across his cheeks. “Is that saying too much?” You asked, hoping that you didn’t say the wrong thing.

“No, not at all, though I didn’t have to cook much while I was there. I’ll be honest with you though...” He said, looking around to make sure that no one was listening. “I just took a lot of Denethor’s food when I had to serve him. He left so much waste, I felt it was my duty!”

“I’m sure the gardens thank you for not letting their food rot,” You said, holding in a grin.

-

Your thoughts on the Shire being beautiful only grew while you were on the tour. As the two of you passed by his many neighbors, Pippin always did a bow to his head to them, while they looked away grumpy. Having the saviors of the world in their city, as their neighbors and friends, wasn’t enough for these people? You were surprised to say the least but Pippin took it all in stride until he took you to a hobbit hole with a red door and a near-immaculate garden.

“You don’t seem to be the most popular guy in town,” You said in surprise as the Hobbit started to dig in his pocket for his keys. He laughed, his curls bouncing around his face.

“People from the Shire don’t know how bad war is,” He explained.

“That’s probably a good thing,” You sighed, understanding what he was saying. He grinned at you then put his key into the lock, revealing his own home to you.

“I think so,” He said, and walked inside, bare feet against the soft wood flooring. You stepped in after him, having to duck a little to get through the round door frame but you were comfortable inside the main house, which was more spacious than it looked from the outside. Pippin took your hand and excitedly showed you his favorite room - the kitchen, of course. “Gandalf always keeps me supplied with the best!” He said, showing you his pantry, the top shelf of which was just pipe weed, which made you giggle. As you looked around, you felt Pippin’s eyes on you, looking for any sort of judgment on your features. The only thing on your face was a smile.

-

“Why is the Shire celebrating?” You asked as Pippin took your hand and was dragging you towards a sprawling piece of land that was adorned with streamers and balloons. The Shire had been a quiet, peaceful place during the day but now, you were going to be experiencing the nightlife.

“It’s Samwise Gamgee’s Birthday!” Pippin announced grandly, getting the attention of some of the other Hobbits. “I had to tell them I’d introduce ya-”

“Because he’s been talking about it since you met!” A friendly faced hobbit popped up beside the two of you. You recognized him as Merry, and your eyes lit up at seeing him again. “Well, did you bring me a pint?” He asked with a broad grin.

You laughed and continued to smile as you were brought into a hug by the Hobbit that you had heard the most about since you arrived here. It was clear that these two were the closest out of all of the hobbits - even closer than brothers, since they did a lot of things together. “Not today, but stop by the Prancing Pony anytime, it’ll be free for you.”

“Marry this one, Pip,” Merry winked, then made his way through the crowd, leaving both you and your companion blushing.

“You’re uhh -” You stammered, trying to think of a way to get off that topic. “Oh - is that food?”

“Food?” That was always a good way to get a Hobbit into a different way of thinking, apparently. But it also made him grab hold of your hand and tug you over to a table ladden with different fruits, and a couple of different fruit pies as well. And ale, of course.

“Pippin, don’t go eating everything, it’s for all the guests!” A male voice came from behind a pile of apples.

“Fine, Sam,” Pippin sighed. “Just a couple of delicious pies maybe-”

“Pippin!” The same voice said, and another head of curly hair, sandy blonde this time, came with a grumpy expression. “I’d promised Rosie that there would be enough for everyone.”

“The birthday boy!” Pippin said, leaning in to hug Sam while shoving a few plums into his side pocket while the other hobbit was distracted. Oh, how that made you grin, just  because it was such a Pippin thing to do. It’s only been a day with him but you felt like you had leaned a lot. “Please, tell the ol’ lady I say hello.”

“You’re not staying?” Sam asked, face contorted into confusion.

“I’m taking y/n to the best place to see the fireworks!” Pippin said, looking at you with pride as he spoke his idea out loud. It was a pleasant idea, and you were excited to see the fireworks that were described to you. Sam looked between the two of you, and you stepped forward to re-introduce yourself, but he must have known that you were coming since he gave you a big smile and said he was more than happy to have you here.

It didn’t take long for Pippin to take you out of there, and then onto the hill where his crimson door was embedded. What was surprising was that you didn’t go inside, but rather, he set you up on the top of the hill, viewing right where the party was. You settled in right away though, your suitcase safely stowed inside, your thoughts only on what was ahead. When you and Pippin sat next to one another, the height difference seemed barely there anymore. You inched just a bit closer to him as the sky darkened quickly, and he gently took hold of your hand with an eager look on his face. Whilst the fireworks were going on behind you, you were looking at the colors that splashed across his face with every burst. You thought that he was one of the most beautiful people in this world, and you’d seen humans, elves, dwarves and three other hobbits.

Deciding to take a chance, you got a little closer and leaned your head on his little shoulder. He did the same in return, resting his head on yours, hands still being held, and together you watched the show.

What would happen next while you stayed in Hobbiton, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t nervous at all to find out since you had the best company possible.

[katlyn1948]

An Unexpected Journey: Part 14

An Unexpected Journey

Katlyn1948

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Chapter 14

: The Seed Is StrongSummary:

Arya and Gendry begin to pick up the pieces of their life and some news bring family together.

Notes:

AHHHH! I am so sorry that this took so long to get up!! I want to fully warn you that this is UNEDITED and there are a lot of mistakes. I have been writing this chapter for the last month and I just really wanted to get it out. I have one more chapter after this then the epilogue. Next chapter will be the wedding and it won't be a long one. I wanted to add the wedding to this one, but like this chapter was just DRAGGING. I was getting frustrated with it and I knew that it was just time to get it out there. Because it is unedited, there are some choppy bits and doesn't flow as well as I would like it to. I do plan on editing the entire story after I get it done, but that may take some time. Anyway, thank you all for your patience and enjoy!!

PS This counts as my AXG Week entry for "Don't Lie to Me," I will be grabbing the bit that I wrote in this story and post it as a stand alone because it can be, I just have to rewrite it a bit. Happy reading!!

Chapter Text

The sun gleamed through the thin curtains, spraying light heat across Arya’s aching body. The events from the previous night had left her sore and tired; her muscles felt like loose mud and the very thought of rising from the soft featherbed annoyed her. She was content on where she laid, with her very stubborn, very alive bull beside her.

He was gripping her tightly, her back to his front. They had fallen asleep like this, drowning so deep into slumber that neither had moved an inch while sleeping. Arya sank deeper into his still sleeping form and embraced the warmth that his body emitted. Although they had been apart for only several days, it felt like years had passed since she had been this close to him.

It was familiar feeling to have him cradle her in such a way and Arya could not help but smile as his hand rested over her stomach. She had not told him yet of the babe, but she was sure he would take the news with joy.

As swiftly and as quietly as she could, she turned her small frame to face his large one. She wanted to see his face while he slept. His eye was swollen still and his breathing was coarse; no doubt from the few broken ribs he had received from his beating by Lord Swann’s men. His lip sported a large cut and his nose was a shade of purple. Gendry had gotten the most beatings during their time captured, and Arya could tell on every inch of his body.

It panged her heart that she could not get to them sooner. Mayhap if she did, she could have spared him a few cuts and burses.

Arya wiggled her arm free from under Gendry’s and began lightly tracing his jawbone. She brushed her fingertips over his face, making small circles around his cheek. The light touches has stirred the sleeping bull from slumber. He cracked his good eye open and saw the face of the woman he loved staring back at him.

There was a comfortable silence between the two as he marveled at her beauty. Her gray eyes bore into his blue ones and her brown hair was disheveled in all kinds of directions. She had a small cut above her lip that was now healing, leaving nothing more than a small scar. Gendry also noticed how her face became rounder and fuller in the nearly four moons that she was had been there. Gendry reached up to brush a fallen piece of hair out of her face and leaned to press a small kiss atop her forehead.

“Good morning.” He said in a weak and groggy tone.

Arya smiled, “Good morning.”

Gendry groaned as he stretched his aching muscles, “Oh, I thought surely this was a dream and I was still held captive by Lord Swann, but alas, here you are wrapped in my arms.”

“Mmm, well I hope I am better company than the arrogant Lord Swann.” She mused as she gave Gendry a long kiss.

Gendry happily returned the kiss and enveloped Arya into a tight hug. He breathed in her scent; the smell wafting his nose with familiarity.

“Thank you, for saving me. For saving all of us.” He whispered into her ear.

Arya pulled back from the embrace and looked into Gendry’s eyes. There were welling with tears as she grasped his face in her hands.

“You do not need to thank me. I would have done everything twice over if it meant that you were safe. I love you and I cannot imagine my life without you in it any longer.”

Gendry smiled, “Good, because I do not think I would be able to give you up as easily as before.”

They laid in bed for a better part of an hour before a small knock stirred them from their embrace. Gendry rolled over and hobbled out of the bed, grabbing onto his side and wincing in pain as he did. His ribs were sore and the maester had warned him that the pain would be debilitating. He groaned as he trudged across his chambers; his feet feeling a hundred pounds heavier.

It took him longer than normal to reach the door and with a quick jest he released the latch and sung open the oak barrier.

Jon was standing in the doorway. He had yet to get used to the idea of his little sister having a man in her bed, but that could be discussed at another time.

He was standing with a tray of sweet bread and honey along with a pitcher of water. Gendry pushed the door open even further so that Jon could enter with ease. He shuffled to the small table in front of the fireplace and set the tray down, grabbing a chair to sit as he did so.

Gendry’s cheeks were flushed red and Arya could not help but smile at his slight embarrassment. This man had survived Gold Cloaks and Wights only to be scared out of his breeches by her brother. It was an amusing exchange as Arya glanced between the two men she loved most in the world. She could see the uncomfortable stance that Gendry was holding as he hesitantly sat across from Jon.

With a groan, she shifted out of bed and grabbed her nearby breeches, pulling them over her hips with a slight jump. They had become tight here of late and she knew exactly why. She drifted towards the table and drooled over the smell of the sweet bread. She was ravenous and could devour a whole cow if they would let her. She took the seat beside Gendry and grabbed a piece of sweet bread from the tray, lathering it up with honey. The bread was warm and smelled as if it had just come out of the hot stone oven. Arya shoved the sweet bread into her mouth and moaned with delight. It had been nearly 24 hours since she last ate and her body was craving sustenance.

“Hungry are we?” Jon questioned as he raised a thick eyebrow in her direction.

Arya grumbled, “I’m ravenous.”

She took another bite of her sweet bread and grabbed her goblet to water to wash it down. Gendry grabbed his own piece and nibbled at the baked good.

“I have received a letter from Dany. Lyra is doing well and has yet to question where you are. I think the twins have been keeping her occupied.” Jon states as he hands Gendry and Arya the letter.

Arya smiles at the sweet words Dany wrote. She jabbed Gendry in the shoulder and said, “I told you she would get along just fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right.” He said as he rubbed her shoulder from her jab.

“Bran also sends his regards. He trusts that you will punish those accordingly.” Jon states.

Gendry swallowed and nodded his head.

“Speaking of…who do we have imprisoned?” Arya questioned.

Jon sat up in his chair. He pulled a piece of parchment from his jerkin and handed it to Arya.

“We have Lord Storm along with several of his banner men. Lord Swann’s sons are being held prisoner. His oldest claims full responsibility on behalf of his dead father, but I doubt he is telling the truth. Most of Lord Swann’s soldiers have laid down their arms, and have sworn fealty to Gendry.”

“Donnel is lying. He never wanted any part in this coup. If anyone deserves to be set free, it is he. As for the other son, I do not really know what his role was. Give the lands to Donnel; he will make an excellent lord.” Arya stated through chews.

“And what about Lord Storm? Is there anyone else who can rule over House Carion?” Gendry asked.

Arya shook her head, “Not that I am aware. As much as I want the man to rot, I do not think we should kill him. According to Rena, he was not a part of the original coup against you. I believe he got a little over zealous and followed a stupid Lord thinking he would get more land.”

“That still does not excuse what he did.” Jon stated matter of fact.

“Of course not, but must the man die?” Arya countered.

“What? The all-powerful Arya Stark does not want a man dead. What is this strange miracle?” Her brother teased.

Arya threw her fork at his head, which he narrowly missed. “On the contrary, Jon. I do not want all men dead. I am just…tired of all the killing and death. I have had enough of it.”

She spoke the truth.

What she did the night before was necessary but the feeling of taking a face had not set well with Arya. She hated that she enjoyed so much; that taking a life was a simple as a snap of the fingers. If was indeed with child, then she did not want them growing up around death. She did not want Lyra growing up around death. There were alternatives for men like Lord Storm and she would see to it that there was another option.

“We could send him to The Wall. If that is still a thing.” She suggested.

Jon scoffed, “Arya, the wildlings man The Wall. A man has not been sent north to take the black since it fell five years ago. Although….we could send him to live among the wildlings. Tormund can reform any man.”

Arya glanced at Gendry and he nodded in agreement.

“Good, that settles it then. We send Lord Storm to Tormund and Donnel can keep his family lands. If his brother was a part of this coup, then send him with Lord Storm. He’d never survive a day.” Arya said as she pushed from her chair. She circled around the table and headed towards the oak door, opening it for Jon to exit the chambers.

“We will be down in a few. Thank you for the food, now please leave.” She said to him as she waved her hand to gesture him out.

Jon chuckled and rose from his seat, giving Gendry a sturdy pat on the back, “We will talk later.”

Gendry gulped and gave a slight nod as Jon exited the room. Arya closed the door behind him, latching it for good measure. She did not want any more unwanted guests to interrupt their morning. She crossed the room and embraced Gendry into a tight hug.

“How long do you think we have until the maester comes to check on my wounds?” Gendry whispered against her lips.

She chuckled, “Not long. Besides, as much as I would love to take you to bed and rip your clothes off, we have to get ready to greet your castle. They have been through a horrific experience and they need their Lord Paramount to reassure them.”

“Don’t you mean ‘our’ castle? You will be their ‘lady’ soon enough, they should hear from you as well. After all, you did just save them.” He pulled back to look her in the eyes.

Arya groaned, “Gods, I hate talking to people.”

“You won’t have to do it much, just this once…and maybe after we marry.” He joked.

Arya scoffed, but could not help but have a smile on her face. The word ‘our’ felt nice against her lips and she truly could not wait to experience that life with the man that she loved.

They stayed embraced until another knock pulled them apart. Arya went to open the door, revealing the maester on his morning rounds.

She let the old man in and he immediately went to assessing Gendry’s fresh, but healing wounds. He applied another layer of salve over Gendry’s lip, protecting the gut from any dirt that may make its way inside the cut. He then began to bind Gendry’s abdomen to help relieve some of the pain from the broken ribs.

Arya watched the maester work on her injured lover and tried to suppress a laugh each time Gendry’s face twisted in pain. She did not take enjoyment at his pain, but rather the faces he made towards the maester every time he would jab something painful on Gendry’s body.

For nearly an hour, she watched the maester work. It was a remarkable sight; she had never actually seen a maester work and the intricacies and dedication that they put into their work was extraordinary.

“How long have you been a maester?” She asked as pressed a cold rag to Gendry’s eye.

“Nearly thirty years. I decided to join just shortly after my 21st nameday.” He responded.

Arya nodded, “So, you have seen quite a bit of things?”

“Aye, I have.”

“How many babes have you delivered?” She questioned.

She knew she was walking on hot coals. She did not want to shout she was pregnant, but more so imply just enough for the maester to understand her and for Gendry to be completely oblivious.

“Thirteen babes. All survived, as well as the mother. Why do you ask?”

Arya sighed. She wanted so badly to tell them that she thought she was pregnant. But, what if it turned out that she was not? She could not help but feel a slight panic rise in her chest. For years, she believed to be barren, but now there was a possibility that perhaps she was not. It was not the fear of not being with child that scared her; it was the disappointment that she would feel if she was not. With as much courage as she could muster she said, “Because, I think that I may be with child.”

Both men has swiftly lifted their gaze to her.

Gendry’s expression was that of shock, excitement, and confusion while the maester showed nothing but concern. He quickly finished up with Gendry and shuffled over to Arya’s side, instructing her to lift up her blouse. With some hesitation, she did as he commanded and the maester immediately went to pressing on her soft, yet firm abdomen. He did not seem to notice the scars that racked her abdomen. If he did, he did not mention it.  

“Hmmm, you may very well be. Your belly is firm and there is a slight roundness to it, but it is still too soon to tell. If you are, I can wager that you are maybe three or four moons along. Have you bleed recently?” The maester asked as he finished examining her belly.

Arya’s cheeks turned a bight shade of crimson. She had not talked to anyone; expect Sansa, about her moon bloods. It was an embarrassing topic for her, considering her last bleed was at the age of thirteen.

“I-I do not bleed, maester. I have not bleed since my thirteenth year.” She confessed.

The maester pursed his lips, “No doubt from your physical activities that you’ve endured in your younger years. I have seen it before, especially with young women who do more dutiful tasks than their men do. Not to worry dear, that does not mean that you are not with child. I have encountered at least three other women who did not bleed that had children of their own. Come to me later and I will conduct a few tests to see if you truly carry a babe.”

Arya nodded and escorted the maester out of their chambers. She clicked the door behind him and returned to her dumfounded bull still sitting on the bed with his mouth hung open.

“Why the look of surprise?” She asked him with a smirk and she returned to her chair at the table.

“You are with child? But I thought…you told me…how did this happen?” He stuttered.

Arya chuckled at his utter confusion, “Well, when a man and woman love each very much-”

“Do not patronize me. You know what I mean, Arya.” Gendry interrupted, with slight irritation in his voice. The excitement had worn off, leaving only the confusion and fear.

“I thought you said that you could not bear children. You said that The Waif…what she did to you, damaged your insides.” He looked at her with questioning eyes.

Arya sighed, “I truly thought that I could not. Between missing my moon bloods and the attack from The Waif, I was highly certain that I could not carry a child. I guess I was mistaken.”

She looked over towards Gendry. He is face was still mixed with confusion, but the surprise had now turned to fear. She could tell he was afraid. She was not sure of what, exactly, but it was evident that he was afraid.

“Talk to me. Do you not want this child?” She said in a small voice.

Gendry snapped his gaze to hers. He immediately stood from their bed and made his way to where Arya was sitting. He gently lowered onto one knee and grasped her hands into his.

“Of course I want the child! What would have you think otherwise?”

“You look terrified, Gendry! I thought…well I do not really know what you thought.” She confessed.

Gendry chuckled, “Seven hells, I am terrified! A new born babe is always scary, but we will face it together.”

Arya smiled and pulled Gendry to meet her lips. She kissed him longingly and fiercely and never wanted to let go, but he pulled from her and she suddenly missed his presence.

“Come, the people want to see us and I think we have hidden for far too long.” He said as he lifted her from her chair.

Arya groaned and reluctantly followed behind him.

The descended down the stairs and made their way to the Great Hall. Although the Round Hall would have been a more suitable place to address the loyal liege lords and people of Storm’s End, the wounds of what happened there were still too fresh.

A large crowd had gathered in the Great Hall. Everyone from the liege lords to the housekeepers were accounted for. Even a lowly merchant from the nearby town had made an attendance. Arya was surprised to see such a large gathering, but it was comforting to know that there were still plenty of people that believed in Gendry to be Lord Paramount.

As they entered, Arya noticed that Jon, along with Ser Davos, Lord Archie and his wife, Lady Rena were all seated at the main table atop the large dais. There were two chairs that laid empty, seated right in the middle of the table. Arya and Gendry stepped onto the large dais and took their seats amongst the rest of their party.

Gendry lifted from his chair and cleared his throat before speaking to the crowd before him.

“Thank you all for coming. I know most of you are here to see what will become of those that have betrayed no only me, as their Lord Paramount, but the crown as well. For those who do not know, Lord Swann is dead. He threatened me, my family, and my other liege lords causing me to take action. His own stupidity killed him. As for those who followed him, they have been dealt with accordingly. I know that most of you here felt the tyrannical force that Lord Swann had bestowed these last few days. I can say nothing but thank you. Thank you for your understanding and your cooperation.”

Gendry nodded and the crowd before taking his seat once more. He turned to Arya and smiled, lightly squeezing her thigh under the table. She grasped onto his hand and assured him that he did was what right.

The rest of day was spent speaking to the liege lords and informing them of the pressing matters that did not need to be spoken in front of common folk. Gendry was gone the better part of day, leaving Arya to roam around Storm’s End for the first time in days. She started off by going to the stables. Little Lyra’s horse had been burned with the rest of the dead, leaving only a handful of horses in the stables. Arya was glad to see that horse who have given birth not too long ago, was still kicking, along her babe.

“I am surprised to see you here.” Rena’s voice said from behind Arya.

Arya jumped and turned to see her friend. Her wounds were healing, thanks to the maester, but the glimmer that was once in her eyes were now dulled by the recent events.

“Rena! Seven hells, you scared me.” Arya said as she clutched her chest, trying to ease her racing heart.

Rena chuckled, “Now you know how it feels.”

Arya laughed and looked at her friend. She could tell that Rena was not the same Rena she left just five days ago. This Rena was quiet and reserved and had a weariness to her that Arya was not used to.

“How are you?” Arya asked her after a short period of silence.

Rena scoffed, “The physical wounds will heal, but the mental ones may take longer. What is worse about the whole thing is that my children had to endure it.”

Rena’s voice cracked and she could no longer hold her composure. The tears welled in her eyes and spilled along her cheeks. Her young son would never remember the whole ordeal, but little Ginger had awoken in the early morn with nightmares that plagued her young mind.

Arya could not stand to see her friend in such turmoil. She quickly reached over to Rena and embraced her into a tight hug, letting her own tears weep from her eyes.

Arya knew what it was like to have those mental wounds. Even years after what she endured, there were occasions she would wake in terror. Since she has been in Storm’s End, the nightmares were less frequent, and she likes to think it was because of Gendry.

The two women held their embrace even after their tears were dried. It was comfort for the both of them to have someone who understood what the other was going through. Arya squeezed Rena once more before letting her go. She wiped her tear streaked face and laughed at the fact that the second time she has cried was in Rena’s presence.

“On a better note, I have something to tell you.” Arya said.

Rena perked and Arya saw a glimpse of the old Rena she used to know. “What is it?”

“Well, I am going to the maester later to confirm, but I am with babe.” For the first time since knowing, Arya did not feel embarrassed or hesitant when speaking about her pregnancy. With Rena, it was different. There was an ease when it came to telling her. Perhaps it was because she was a young mother and someone that Arya could turn to if she had any questions, which she was sure she would have.

Rena’s eyes sparkled, and for the first time in several days, Arya saw the old Rena return. She quickly embraced Arya and laughed with joy.

“That is amazing…unless it is not?” She suddenly realized as she let go of Arya.

Arya shook her head, “At first it was terrifying. For as long as I could remember, I never wanted children and there was time where I thought I could not carry them. Then I find out that I may be with child and,” Arya shrugged, “I guess it had to do with who I created that child with. I am not going to lie I am still terrified. I still have some reserves, but I am hoping that you and my sister will be able to help me through that.” She confessed.

Rena gleamed, “Of course I will help!”

The two women laughed and talked for some time before Arya left the stables. Rena stayed behind to watch the horses and Arya thought that with time, she would be the same Rena as before.

The day was nearing an end and Arya had stayed in the stables longer than anticipated. Gendry should have been finished with his liege lords, but that was not the man she was looking for. Jon had stated that he would be headed to King’s Landing come the morn, and she needed to speak with him before he left on his journey.

She wondered the castle grounds until she finally came upon him in the Great Hall. Most of the early morning crowd had dissipated leaving just a few stragglers behind. Jon was seated at the head table munching on stale bread and more often than not, stale ale. She climbed the dais and took a seat beside her brother, who seemed lost in thought.

“Something on your mind, big brother?”

Jon jumped slightly, but chuckled when he realized it was Arya that had greeted him.

“Mmm, everything is on my mind. How’d you guess?” he asked as she shoved another piece of bread in his mouth.

“Because you are brooding.” She stated matter of fact.

Jon scoffed, “I do not brood.”

“Yes, you do. Do not make me ride all the way, to King’s Landing to ask your wife if you brood. I’m sure her answer would be ‘yes.’” Arya laughed.

Jon chuckled. He finished off his ale and turned to face his sister.

For the first time since she had been back from her travels, Jon really looked at Arya. He could see that she was no longer that little girl he had held so close to his heart. She was woman grown taking on responsibilities he never though she would. He could see how mature she had gotten in her time away, and although he hated the idea of her leaving Westeros in the first place, he cannot disagree that it helped her in many ways.

“Why are you staring?” Arya asked after sometime.

“I am just admiring how much you’ve grown in these last few years. I did not see it in King’s Landing, but here, I can tell.” He said as he pushed a strand of hair away from her face.

Arya smiled, “Thank you? I think. So…I hear you ride for King’s Landing in the morning. Are you coming back?”

“Aye, I am. Who do you think asked me to go? I am bringing back the whole troupe.” Jon said with a wide smile.

“Everyone? As in…everyone?” Arya asked, wide eyed.

“Yes, dear sister, everyone. Gendry had mentioned riding up to King’s Landing to retrieve Lyra, but I had a better idea. I think Sansa is tired of the capital and would enjoy an escape. The twins will love it and Bran needs a break from kingly duties. Since I offered to go, Gendry asked me to bring Lyra. It gives you two sometime to yourselves” Jon said matter of fact.

Arya did not miss how Jon mentioned her time with Gendry. She could tell that he still felt uneasy about their pairing and perhaps a little betrayed that Gendry did not mention to him sooner that he knew Arya. It made telling Jon all the more difficult. She knew that he was a man of honor, so his reaction to her being with child is one she does not look forward to seeing.

With a deep sigh and quick clearing of her throat she says, “I have something to tell you.”

“You’re with child.” He said before she could even muster her response.

Arya stared at him with wide eyes. She did not think that it was yet noticeable, but perhaps she was mistaken. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, trying to avoid Jon’s gaze. She could feel his eyes dig into her skin and the lingering silence only made the situation tense.

“How…how did you know?” Arya finally asked after she mustered up whatever courage that was left in her small body.

Jon shrugged, “Gendry told me. ‘Bout killed him when he did. He was not thinking when he told me. Figured you would want to tell me, but it came out in a rush. I think he was just excited.”

“Well if you did not kill him, I certainly will!” She exclaimed.

Jon waved his hand dismissively, “Oh leave the poor boy alone. It was an accident.”

Arya furrowed her brows in confusion. She was oddly surprised at how well her brother was handling the news of her pregnancy out of wedlock.

“And you are okay…with all of this?” She asked as she gestured to her stomach.

Jon sighed, “If I am being honest, no, but I also know that if you did not want it then Gendry’s cock would be cut off. I also know that he loves you and you love him and you two would protect each other to the ends of the earth. As an older brother that is all I can ask for.”

“Thank you. Truly.” Arya said to Jon. She lifted from her chair and embraced her older brother.

He returned the embrace and tried to hold the tears that were threating to spill.

Jon released his sister and watched her sit back into the chair. He finished off his ale and began picking up the remnants of his meal when Arya asked, “Where is he?”

“Who?” Jon inquired.

“The bull headed man that spilled my secret?”

Jon shrugged, “Try the forge. He mentioned a scuffle with one of his liege lords and wanted to blow off steam.”

Arya nodded and watched as her brother departed.

She stayed at the grand table for a short time, munching on whatever left over bread there was. Dinner would not be served in the Grand Hall today, which meant her meal was most likely waiting for her in their chambers.

The sun was beginning to set and Arya had contemplated on going to Gendry in the forge, but the idea of the taste of honey and stew was consuming. Despite her better judgement, she went towards the forge where she could see Gendry hammering away at a hot piece of steel.

She could tell that each swing hurt more than the previous. With his injured ribs, she could not imagine that the task was an enjoyable one. She watched him swing and swing; the sweat pouring down his face. Even with the light breeze of night, the air was still sticky causing the forge to feel like an inferno. Arya could feel the heat wafting from the fires causing her leather breeches to stick to her skin.

Gendry was shirtless, aside from the leather apron that adorned his body. His focus was solely on the steel in front of him. Within the last several years, he had gotten better at drowning out the world around him. He knew that the only place that he would feel content was in the forge, hammering away. It reminded him of simpler times. Albeit, those times were dangerous, but at least he did not have a whole damned kingdom to run.

“I thought lords weren’t supposed to work in the forge?” Arya said as she creeped from the shadows.

Her sudden presence made Gendry jump with fright. He eased once he realized that it was just Arya.

“And I thought that princesses were not supposed to lurk in the shadows.” He quipped as he set his hammer down on the table beside him.

Arya smile and crossed the forge to where he was standing. She wrapped her small frame around his and breathed in deep, basking at the scent he was emitting.

“When have I ever been a proper princess?” She grumbled.

“Never. But when I have ever been a proper lord?” He countered.

Arya chuckled, “Never.”

They remained in silence as she embraced him. She was careful not to hug him too tightly, for his ribs were still bruised and broken.

“So, about Jon.” Arya chimed after some time.

Gendry’s face paled and he shifted uncomfortably in her embrace. He moved from Arya and returned to the fires, stoking them to burn brighter.

“What about Jon?” He asked innocently.

“You told him?” She questioned. He could see from the corner of his eye. Her arms were crossed and her stance was that of annoyance.

Gendry cursed silently under his breath, “Told him what?”

Arya grumbled in frustration, “Stop trying to deflect the question. You told him about the babe, did you not?”

Seven hells

“Mmmm, I do not recall.” He was digging a bigger hole for himself with every word that came out of his mouth. He should have known better than to believe Jon.

I will not tell her you told me, Gendry recalled their conversation. He had scoffed at the proclamation, knowing it was nothing more than a load of horseshit.

“Don’t lie to me, Gendry. It doesn’t look good.” Her hands were now placed on her hips and he knew that he was in trouble.

With a defeated sigh, he dropped his head and nodded, “Aye, I told him, but it was an accident! I swear!”

Arya burst into laughter, making Gendry’s scared expression turn into one of confusion.

“Oh, I know it was an accident. I just wanted to see what you would do if you were confronted. Now I know that you will never be able to lie to me.” She laughed.

Gendry scoffed, “I was never able to lie to you when we were children.”

She crossed the room and gave him a small pat on the chest, “It was a valiant effort. Now, please, come to bed.”

Gendry nodded and leaned down to peck her lips, “As milday commands.”

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

Jon had left the following morning, leaving the couple to themselves. Although she wanted nothing more than to spend her time with Gendry, she knew that he was still a lord and had lordly duties to attend. She herself tried to keep busy with archery lessons to the small folk that worked in the castle. Most of her students were young women eager to learn the trade. Rena had even decided to learn how to shoot from the famed Arya Stark.

Between her archery lessons, she would practice her water dancing. She wanted to get in as much as she could before her belly swelled, preventing her otherwise.

As the night came, she would trudge up the stairs, muscles aching and stomach growling, only to be greeted with her stubborn bull half finished with his supper.

For nearly a week, they maintained this routine. It was becoming familiar to Arya, yet she still could not wait for her family to arrive. Storm’s End had been rather quiet without little Lyra causing a ruckus. Arya was sure that the little lady was enjoying her time, especially with her new found cousins. She was preparing herself for all the stories that Lyra would be telling her in the coming nights.

When the royal envoy was spotted just beyond the tree line, Arya became giddy. She was like a little girl again, running up to the gates to await their arrival. She stood for nearly an hour waiting for the envoy to enter the gates. Three large carriages came through, each for members of the royal family.

The workers around Storm’s End were scrambling to make the castle presentable. It had been ages since royalty had made their visit, exciting everyone from the young to the old.

Sansa was the first to exit her carriage. Podrick was right behind with their babe nestled in his arms. Arya nearly toppled Sansa over when she ran to embrace her sister.

“It’s good to see you too.” Sansa exclaimed with a chuckle.

The housekeepers began to loosen the trunks from the carriage, taking them to their respective rooms.

“Oh please do be careful with that one.” Sansa chastised to a young girl who had dropped one of her small trunks in the mud. The young girl blushed and nodded quickly as she retrieved the trunk.

Bran was the next to exit his carriage. Meera was close behind, along with Tyrion and, who Arya assumed to be, his wife.

“Lady Arya.” Tyrion bowed as he passed her.

“Lord Tyrion.” She bowed in return.

He and his wife went to stand behind the Lord of Storm’s End as they awaited the exit of Jon and Dany.

Just a few short moment later, the third and final carriage’s door burst open. A mop of brown curls jumped out and immediately ran to Gendry’s open arms.

“Papa! I missed you so! I had a lot of fun with the princesses. They are my new best friends. I cannot wait for Ginger to meet them!” She shrieked as Gendry lifted her up into a giant hug.

Gendry chuckled, “I am sure that Ginger will be enthralled with them.”

Lyra threw her arms around Gendry’s shoulders and hugged him fiercely. It did not take her long to realize that Arya was standing just a few short feet away. She wiggled out of Gendry’s arms and ran towards Arya with a toothy grin.

“Arry! Arry! Where were you?” She asked as Arya lifted her.

“Oh, sweetling, I had to come back her and help your father with things. You were having so much fun that I did not dare bring you back. I’m sorry if I worried you.” She whispered to the young girl. Tears were threating to spill from her eyes. If she had not been able to save Gendry, then she would not know what would happen to little Lyra. She was sure that her family would protect her, but there was the chance that Lyra would never truly be safe.

“‘sokay.” She shrugged. She quickly placed a snotty kiss on Arya’s cheek. Arya smiled and hugged her tightly, taking in the faint smell of lavender and coal that the child emitted.

She placed Lyra down and Lyra immediately when bouncing back to the carriage where Jon and Dany had finally emerged, their twins as their heels. Lyra grasp each of the twin’s hands and pulled them from their parents, running off towards the Great Hall.

Arya smiled as she saw the young children depart. She turned towards Jon and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you.” She released him and turned her gaze to Dany, “Both of you.”

“I do not mean to interrupt our greetings, but we have a wedding ceremony to plan.” Sansa intervened.

Arya’s eyes widened and she glanced over to Gendry, whose face was full crimson.

“What do you mean?” Arya slowly asked as she looked around the courtyard at each of her family members.

“I told you it would be a surprise.” Jon had said from behind her. She shot him a glare before turning gaze to Gendry.

I am going to kill him.

[thatwritingho]

Momento Mori

Chapter 2

Setting up a meeting with Olive Axworthy was proving to be much more of a challenge than Charles had expected. She had rejected all of his phone calls by the third ring, and was ignoring any letters sent by mail. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was throwing them out unopened. No one in their right mind would willing turn down working for Dethklok, especially in such close proximity to the members as she would be, so she must not have listened to his voicemails or read any of the invitations for an interview at all.

Her evasion had put a wrench in his plans, any other credible doctor he could have hired and had on the job a week ago.

Charles sighed as another attempted phone call went to voicemail. That settles it then. He’d just have to go in person.

.

It had been a long, hard day for Olive. The coworker scheduled to come in as her replacement had called in, something about his kid having the flu, and there had been a rather large pileup on the interstate leaving quite a few dead, so what should have been a typical 8 hour shift in the morgue had turned into a 14 hour shift as she was the only one there.

To top it off, she had been getting calls from an unidentified phone number at least twice a day for the past week, leaving her voicemails she hadn’t got around to listening to, and she was pretty sure the same one responsible for the calls was the one sending her a letter in the mail from an undisclosed address every single day.

And now, she was being followed.

A large, beefy man in all black had been tailing her for the past two days everywhere she went, and it was really starting to piss her off. Couldn’t these fuckers get the hint that she wasnt interested in whatever they wanted to use her for?

The next phone call she received, she would answer and give them a piece of her mind.

Organizations, societies, various private interest groups, and wealthy assholes all with questionable agendas frequently sought her out, seeing her as an easy acquisition what with her current employer. They expected her to pounce at the opportunity to work for somewhere “more esteemed” as they liked to put it.

But time and again, she had shot down all offers. Didn’t they realize that if she wanted to work for someone like that, she would use the connections she already had?

Idiots, all of them.

They hadn’t all taken ‘no’ as an answer, but none had been quite so persistent as this current pursuer.

With one last glance over her shoulder, she quickly unlocked the door to her building, nearly running face first into her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Baker.

“Whoah there, honey, keep your eyes forward when you walk!”

Olive placed a hand over her racing heart, giving the widow an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, sorry. Just had a long day, thought I saw someone I knew out there,” she glanced behind her one more time, but the mysterious stalker was no where to be seen, “Did you remember your key this time, Mrs. Baker?”

The old womans face fell, and she gave Olive a sheepish smile.

“Oh dear…”

This was a daily occurrence with Mrs. Baker, who’s memory wasn’t the best.

“Its ok, I’ll buzz you in when you get back. How long will you be?”

“Oh, I can’t imagine being gone more than a half hour, just running to the store!” The old woman put a wrinkled hand on Olive’s shoulder. “Thank you, dearie.”

“It"s no problem. Be careful, there’s creeps out tonight!”

Mrs. Baker’s face crinkled as she scrunched her nose, “When is there not?”

They both laughed and parted ways, Olive’s boots making the old staircase creak in protest as she tromped her way up the three flights. Yelling and music could be heard coming from her various neighbors as she ascended, as well as the smell of both cigarettes and weed despite the building being No Smoking. It was a typical, lively Friday night, but all she wanted was a fat joint, a frozen pizza, a shower, and to crawl into bed and be dead to the world for the next few hours.

Her body ached, her head was pounding, and she was so hangry she was ready to punch a hole in the wall.

After fighting the lock on her front door(her landlord still hadn’t gotten around to getting that replaced), Olive slammed the old wood behind her, clicking all 5 deadbolts into place, as well as the chain lock. She turned the knob on the old oven to preheat for her pizza, and stripped out of her nasty, smelly work clothes on her way to the bathroom for a well needed scrub.

.

The shiny, brand new rental car stuck out like a sore thumb in front of the dingey Brooklyn apartment building, and many passerby were staring at the man in a suit standing next to it. Charles had to double and triple check the adress, as this was not where he had expected someone of her talent and access to wealth to be living. Alas, it was correct, and he turned to the Klokateer who had driven him.

“Stay here, this won’t take long.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charles approached the listing and buzzer system on the outside of the brick building, scanning over the names until he found her, pressing her button and hoping she would answer. He knew she was home, he had had her followed to be sure, of course, but with the way she had avoided contact so far, he was skeptical that she would let him in.

The sound of a buzz and the door unlocking after only a few moments wait startled him, and he straightened his tie as he pushed open the squeaky door, making sure it shut fully behind him before making his way up the creaky stairs to the 3rd floor.

.

Olive had just barely had time to shower, change into an oversized Cattle Decapitation tshirt and a pair of yoga shorts, and throw her pizza in the oven when the buzzer ran.

“Oh, Mrs. Baker, what’re you going to do when I’m not here anymore?”

With a sigh, she pressed the button to open the front door without a second thought, plopping down on her couch and grabbing her tray from the coffee table, skillfully rolling herself a joint of indica to hopefully help her sleep. She had been having trouble getting a decent night’s rest as of late, mind plagued by nightmares she couldn’t remember upon waking.

It’s probably a good idea to run some diagnostics…

The curt knock at her front door made her jump in alarm, nearly knocking the rolling tray off her lap as she shot up to a standing position, eyeing the door warily. She had not been expecting company.

Shit. The stalker.

Damn, why didn’t I use the intercom to check to see if it was really Mrs. Baker?

Socked feet tiptoed silently over to the door, hearing enhanced for any slight sound that could alert her to the person’s identify. After all, it could just be Mrs. Baker after all, coming up to ask her something or another, or bring her cookies, or thank her for letting her in.

Yeah, I’m being too paranoid. I’m sure it’s just Mrs. Baker...

Despite her attempts to reassure herself, her heart continued to pound as she leaned in to check the peephole.

Thankfully, it wasn’t the stalker, at least, but it was no Mrs. Baker, either. Before her door stood a brunette man sporting glasses, a briefcase, and what she could tell was an Armani suit even through the shitty lens.

Oh, great… Better go ahead and get this over with.

.

Charles was a bit surprised at the sound of multiple locks undoing, he hadn’t even heard her footsteps approach the door, which seemed impossible with such old, squeaky hardwood flooring. He barely had time to push up his glasses and straighten his tie once more before the door cracked open just enough to allow for a tan face and mass of pink hair to be seen, chain lock still in place.

“Can I help you?”

“Olive Axworthy, yes?”

Dark eyes narrowed, pouty lips turning down into a scowl. “What do you want?”

Charles cleared his throat. This was going to be more difficult than he anticipated.

“My name is Charles Foster Offdensen, CFO and manager of Dethklok. May I come in?”

Her face morphed into one of confusion, but she took his offered business card, he didn’t miss the spark of curiosity flash across her eyes, and she closed the door without a word, opening it fully a moment later after removing the chain.

.

“This is a, ah, lovely place you got here.”

The man, Charles Foster Offdensen, eyed her apartment with well hidden disdain, despite his attempt at a compliment.

“Sure. So, what exactly are you doing here? Unannounced, at that.”

He fixed his eyes on the petite woman before him, even given his own short stature, he still towered over her five-foot-nothing figure.

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to come unannounced, if you had answered any of my calls or responded to my invitations. Did you even listen to any of the voicemail I left?”

“No, sorry.” Olive’s eyes held no remorse despite her words.

The man sighed, “I thought not. This is by no means how I had wanted to conduct your interview, but it will do I suppose.”

Her face melted into once of quiet rage and disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

“I, ah, have an offer for you. An employment offer. To be the members of Dethklok’s personal physician.”

A few moments passed of utter silence as she stared at him in bewilderment.

“Um, sorry, but what? Did I hear you properly? You do know I’m a mortician, right?”

Charles seemed unfazed, happy that the bristly woman hadn’t kicked him out of her apartment yet.

“Yes, well, I’ve looked through your history, and in spite of your current position, I find you to be a perfect candidate for this role. The, ah, only candidate, in fact.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m sure there’s plenty of people more qualified than I am.”

At this Charles shook his head, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Sorry to say, but coming here’s been a waste of your time. I’m obviously not who you need, and I’m not even looking for a new job,” She turned around at the sound of an oven ding, waving a hand over her shoulder in dismissal.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, buddy.”

Charles was undeterred, standing his ground and making no move for the door.

“I would make it worth your while. The yearly salary would be in the triple digits.”

A scoff was his only reply as she grabbed an oven mitt, removing her dinner from the oven as if he wasn’t even there.

“At least let me inform you of what the position entails.”

She turned back toward him with a roll of her eyes, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms, leveling him with an dull expression.

“Ok, I’ll humor you, man. Go ahead and tell me all about how wonderful an opportunity it is, how it’s going to change my life and grow my crops and clear my skin and make all my problems evaporate into thin air. But do finish before my pizza gets cold, yeah?”

The man cleared his throat, “Well, I can’t promise all of that, but if you’re having skin issues, we do employ a wonderful dermatologist who would be at your disposal should you so choose.”

Dark eyes widened, blinking owlishly at him as her face morphed into a small smirk.

“You’re funny, dude. But I don’t have all night.”

“Right. Like I said, the position is for a personal physician to Dethklok’s members. But this is a bit more advanced than just being an on-call doctor. You would be required to be present at all events, concerts, appearances, as well as living at Mordhaus, free of charge, of course, and stay in close proximity to the band at all times to provide both preventative care and as insurance in case the unexpected were to happen, along with your typical check ups and tests. This includes being present for all band meetings, recording sessions, and any general, ah, excursions the boys might partake in. While living at Mordhaus, you would have access to all amenities there, within reason, of course. And as I said, you would be well compensated for your efforts.”

Charles finished his schpiel confidently, staring down the shocked woman who’s mouth was agape, body more relaxed and less guarded as she processed the information.

Dethklok. This guy really hand selected her to work with Dethklok. And so closely with them, too! She had to stop her inner fangirl from getting too excited at the prospect, and she hooped it didn’t show through to her expression.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying you want me to be, like, a body guard, but, like, against health conditions instead of attackers? Did I hear that right?”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

“And this is a serious offer? Like, do they really want this?” Olive was understandably in disbelief, after all…

What kind of rich asshats need an ever-present doctor at their disposal?

It was an utterly ridiculous request.

“Well, I wouldn’t say the band wants this, per say, but it is in their best interest and they have agreed to give it a shot. Which is what I’m asking of you. Just a two week trial, to see if you’re a good fit for the boy’s needs.”

Charles walked into the kitchenette, setting his Maxwell Scott briefcase down on the counter and popping open the latch, pulling out a stack of paperwork and a gold and black Montblanc pen.

“I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a contract for your trial run, give it a read over and sleep on it. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

He handed the papers to the stunned girl, then gathered up his belongings and headed for the door, stopping halfway to turn back to her.

“And do make sure to answer my call this time. I’d rather not have to make another special trip.”

With that, he was gone, leaving as quickly and unexpectedly as he had arrived. Olive glanced to the contract in her hands, skimming over the first page. This seemed legit. What the fuck. This was insane. Absolutely, utterly, comically insane.

But not as insane as the fact that she was seriously considering it.

With a heavy, long suffering groan, she carefully placed the papers on the counter, she needed to eat before she could deal with reading business jargon. Turning back to her untouched pizza, she nearly cried in frustration to find it was cold.

God damn it, what an asshole.

.

Charles, now comfortably back in his office the following day, was pleasantly surprised when Olive answered the phone, and after only two rings at that. Before he had the chance to greet her, he was interrupted, and a smile of satisfaction stole across his face at her words.

“Alright, man, as much as I wish I could turn you down to wipe that shit eating grin off your face that I’m sure you’re gonna have after this, I can’t. Good job, man, you convinced me. When do I start?”

.

Alright, chapter two! I actually finished it when I said I would, too! Fucking unbelievable, I stg. Let’s see if I can keep this up and post chapter 3 tomorrow! Olive will be introduced to the band!

[tetsuskitten]

Kenhina get lost in town together!! And have talks about stuff and find out a lot about each other that they didn't know!!!! Maybe when both schools are having joint training or something?? And Hinata wanders off and Kenma goes to find him??? Idk if this is too long for a prompt sorry ;.;

It’s amazing for a prompt! And these two are an amazing and pure couple, thank you so much for the request!!

On their way to Tokyo to train with the Nekoma’s, coach Ukai had giventhem the talk about not wandering off on their own and the seniors were to makesure that didn’t happen. “Keep an eye on them”, the coach had said, but it wasn’tso easy when you had energetic and curious boys on a completely unexplored andnew place.

Although they had this talk, Hinata and Kageyama had missed it becausethey were still back home retaking their exams. You could say it was impliedthat they do not wander but alas…

Which takes us to a few hours after Hinata and Kageyama arrived. Theywent straight to volleyball practice and when the coaches had called it a day,both teams had decided to go for a walk. The Nekoma team had offered to showthe others around for a while since they had a few hours to spare before it gotdark.

They had gone inside a store to buy some snacks and, in a matter ofseconds, when they got outside and looked around, realized two tiny playerswere missing. Daichi looked at Suga, Suga looked at Daichi and they proceededto shout in unison “I thought you were keeping an eye on him!”

The fact that Hinata would wander off wasn’t surprising, however, whenKuroo realized Kenma was nowhere to be seen either, he began to worry. It wasn’tlike Kenma to do that, not without warning him.

Kenma didn’t go in the store with everyone, deciding on waiting outsideand enjoying the cool breeze. He was regretting not bringing his console, allthis time wasted when he could be beating level 55 and becoming the DragonMaster of La Masmorra. Anyhow, it’s not like Kuroo would let him walk and play.You trip and sprain your ankle once, andsuddenly you’re a “risk to your own safety”, quote unquote.

As he was distracted with these thoughts, out of the corner of his eyehe saw an adorable orange cat and after it an adorable orange head of hairtrying to pet it. He smiled slightly but then Hinata had disappeared into analley, no doubt still after the cat and not realizing he was distancing himselffrom the others. Kenma looked briefly inside, thinking he should warn Kuroobefore going off to bring Hinata back but he was afraid he’d lose him if hewasted any time. He made up his mind and ran after Hinata and the orange cat.

“Shouyo!” He called out, spotting Hinata’s uniform, already too far awayfor his liking, just about ready to turn another corner. But Shouyo didn’t eventurn around, he was too far to hear him. “Damn it.” Kenma cursed under hisbreath. He was going to get into trouble because of this. But… He couldn’t justleave Shouyo alone, he’d get lost, not know his way back, what if he panicked?What if someone hurt him?

Kenma took a deep breath, this wasn’t the time for paranoia, this wasthe time for a sprint. Which was arguably even more dreadful. Be it as it may,Kenma ran, he turned the corner and there he was, disappearing into a parkafter the damned cat. He couldn’t waste time and when he finally caught up,Hinata was laying down on the grass, cat laying down on his lap, receiving thepetting of his life, purring into Hinata’s hand.

“Shouyo.” Kenma breathed out, right before collapsing next to him,spread out like a starfish, catching his breath.

“Hey Kenma!” He looked at the other. “Why are you so tired?” Hinataasked, inquisitively and genuinely surprised.

You gotta be kidding me, Kenma thought.

“I was running.”

“Well, sure, I can see that, but why were you running?”

“Because you disappeared after that cat. You were going to get lost.”

“No, I wasn’t.” Hinata pouted, sure in his mind he would have been ableto get back safely on his own.

“Where are we then?”

“I don’t need to know where we are to get back. I just follow the samepath.”

“What path did you take then?”

Hinata opened his mouth but soon realized he couldn’t quite remember. Hewas following the cat, how should he know? He huffed in frustration.

“Exactly.” Said Kenma, somewhat satisfied to prove his point.

A few seconds later, Hinata was shrugging it off and going back to hiscarefree self.

“Wanna pet him?”

“Hm? What?” Kenma was on the floor, practically dozing off. He feltsomeone shake him weakly and opened his eyes slightly. Shouyo’s face was righton top of his, looking down, hair falling down around him.

“Don’t fall asleep.��� Hinata said, moving to sit back. He looked aroundand the cat was gone. “Kenma!” He whined. “He’s gone!”

“Good, we have to go.”

Hinata sighed.

“I didn’t know you liked cats so much.” Kenma added, surprising himself a bit. He wasn’t usually interested inother people’s lives. But it was Shouyo. Whatever that meant.

“Oh. Yeah… Me and my sister had a kitten. Milady. That was her name. Butshe was ran over… and mom didn’t let us have more pets after that. I reallywanted to though! Because … oh, you know.” Shouyo trailed off, as if he hadsomething else to say but was too afraid or embarrassed.

“I don’t know… could you tell me?” Kenma asked, curious but careful notto push the subject too much, in case it made Shouyo uncomfortable.

“Makes you feel less lonely. I guess.”

“Oh… yeah, I do know that.”

Shouyo looked at him, a serious look, hopeful even.

“I…well, I have Kuroo, you know but it’s not like he’s always there, hehas his life. So I have my videogames…they keep me distracted enough on thosetimes I have no one with me.”

Shouyo nodded and they sat quietly for a while.

“What snacks do you eat when you’re playing?”

That’s kinda of a weirdquestion, Kenma thought.

“Oreos.” He answered anyway.

Shouyo perked up. “I like to eat banana bread!”

Kenma smiled.

“Does your mom bake it for you?”

“She used to but now I bake it myself since she lets me use the oven onmy own.”

“You do? Wow. I’d love to try it someday.”

“You would?!? Well, next time I visit I’ll bring you some!!”

“That’d be great, Shouyo.”

“Hey Kenma, why do you call me Shouyo?”

“What do you mean, you call me Kenma.”

“Yes, but everyone calls you Kenma, everyone calls me Hinata.”

Kenma gave it some thought.

“I like to call my friends by their first names.”

Kenma was certain he could see Shouyo’s eyes sparkle at that moment andhe was practically bouncing.

“Can I hug you?” Shouyo asked, nervously. But Kenma’s lips pulled up andhe nodded and Shouyo almost jumped from his seat to hug him. Surprisingly, hedidn’t squeeze him to death. He was just there, gave a little squeeze beforeletting go. It was nice.

“They’re going to kill us for being gone for so long, you know?”

“Yeah…”

Hinata got up in a jump and outstretched his hand for Kenma to take. Hehelped Kenma up and then they were on their way back when the cat reappearedout of nowhere.

Quickly, Kenma grabbed Shouyo’s hand.

“Wha-!”

“You are not running after that cat again.”

“Fine…” Hinata looked down, dejected. But then he realized Kenma wasstill holding his hand and he found that he liked that.

“Why are you red?” Kenma asked.

“Oh! Ah…the sun?”

“Are you asking me?”

“The sun.” Shouyo affirmed, feigning confidence. Kenma nodded. He knewit wasn’t the sun. But he didn’t take his hand away either.

[artificialqueens]

Fame goes vegan ~ Hobnob

A/N: The other night i was watching countryfile and a segment about vegan cooking came on. I was disgusted, i turned off the telly. My mum asked me what was wrong and i just shook my head because I don’t like the vegan lifestyle. They make me feel sick. However, i like to consider myself a non judgemental person. I thought about what i did and decided to write a fic about the vegans to better understand them.

I really hope you enjoy and i also hope you read this during bake off because it’s on tonight and I’m making an apple crumble for my big brother. ~ Hobnob

Pee ess: this is a continuation of my critically acclaimed novel, more than meats the pie. If you want sweet gooey context go read that first.

Miss Fame felt rumblies in her tummy, and that only meant one thing. Time for some good eats!

The possibilities were endless. She thought about Maccies, nandos, even a subway. Alas there was only one food branch that would fill the gaping void in her gut. Greggs.

She nodded to herself and made her way out of her bungalow, all 3 chickens following behind her.

“Time for us to grab a bite to eat.” Fame said elegantly, re-applying a roll of industrial duck tape around her forehead.

Dobbin, the mentally challenged chicken clucked in agreement. Fame loved her chickens.

Once they got to Greggs fame posed in excitement. What would she get today? A yum yum? A steak bake? Prehaps even a slice of za.

She entered promptly and behind the counter was of corse Sharon Needles herself, making scary faces at babies as they cried.

Fame was the store manager of Greggs, and Sharon was a pretty shit employee, but she got the job done.

“I’ll have a…”

Fame looked over the various options like a nonce in a playpark. Mmmh.

“Wait, whats this one?” Fame pointed with a contoured finger, arching an already arched brow.

“I call that the spooky pot pie!” Sharon retorted, jumping at the sound of her own voice. “I’ll give you it for a quid h0h hOh!”

Fame tried to furrow her brow but damn botox got her every time. She looked over to her chickens. Big Dave was looking into her eyes with wonder. Fame had never been surer of anything in her life.

“I’ll take it 4 free I’m store manager” Fame bckawed, smashing through the counter to grab the pie herself.

Once she clasped the savoury treat in her hands, she pecked at it, savouring the crumbs as they dropped down her oesophagus wetly.

“Ah mm” Fame said, arching her brows a little more somehow. “Wott are these made of?”

Sharon looked to the distance in consideration. “Used needles, crushed up Alaska, soap…”

“Ah” Fame nodded, taking another peck.

“Oh and chicken.”

Fame froze.

She dropped the pie and looked down to her hands. They were shaking.

What had she done.

She fell to her knees and let out a roaring screech. Her chickens all looked disappointed as they left the Greggs, shaking their heads. Fame would never see them again.

Dobbin…Lidl…Big dave…She had failed them all. Her attention turned to Sharon.

“YOU. YOU DID THIS.” She said angrily whilst maintaining the same facial expression throughout. The light of the Greggs bakery flickered as all of the customers looked on in horror.

“Don’t blame this on me, you shouldn’t eat anything from here we don’t own ovens”

“get out”

Sharon left hanging her head, red tears running down her cheek as she cried softly into a cheese and onion pastie.

Fame needed to make sure this would never happen again, that she would never loose another chicken as long as she lived.

Fame needed…to go vegan.

Busting out her nokia Fame looked through her contacts. She needed to assemble a group the likes of which the world had never seen.

Then she saw her. Of corse. A fellow vegan to help her plight. She began to text.

Fame: Courtney act i need your help.

Courtney: I’m touring atm mate can you fuck off

Fame: no Courtney the people need to stop eating animal based products

Courtney: It’s true. For too long Ive sat by and watched Willam eat pork

Fame: Contact every vegetarian you know

Fame: We need to stop the issue at it’s source

Courtney: what

Fame: we need to…kill rupaul

Courtney: k ill get adore on the phone

Yes, it made perfect sense. Rupaul gave Stacy Layne Matthews that bucket of chicken, she used cow milk for her chocolate bar, she even made an entire mini challenge dedicated to eating chicken.

Rupaul had often rubbed Fame the wrong way. How she constantly remarked about her head, how she sent her home after a stellar performance. Absolute slag.

She would have to be an example to the world to show the consequences of eating meat.

Fame felt her phone buzz and glanced towards her screen.

Courtney: Aight all done meet us outside wow presents in manchester

Fame: Thanks you aussie bastard

Courtney: If we can save even one animal with no quality of life from death so it can go on living life with little to no self awareness, its all worth it.

She threw her phone out the window as it landed on little John from down the road. Everything was coming together nicely. It wouldn’t be long now.

Soon…

~

Getting to the Logo TV building in Manchester was hard. She had to take the London underground with Alexis Michelle who kept trying to make subwayfish happen.

The room was less than glamorous and smelt like curry, but she could work with this.

Fame tapped the microphone as she looked over the sea of faces. She recognised most of them. Fuck they were ugly.

She cleared her throat but accidentally made a clucking noise.

“I presume you know why i gathered you all here today.” She began.

“Meat is murder!” Alaska yelled.

“Hoooooneeeeeyy is an animal based product!!” Trixie screeched.

“Fame should i be at work?” Sharon queried.

Fame rubbed her contoured temple. This was an absolute shitshow.

“Alright we need to kill Rupaul on live television. Does anyone have any ideas?”

Everyone scratched their stubble and thunk for a moment. It would be no easy task after all.

“I HAVE AN IDEA” Bianca spoke, raising her pitchfork.

“Yes Bianca what it it?”

“LETS SLASH HER FUCKING NECK.”

“Thats a start Bianca.” Fame nodded, scribbling it down in her notebook. She didn’t know how to read or write but it made her look professional. “Anything else?”

“Lets cover her in pigs blood and gasoline then light her on fire!!” Adore added.

“Jesus christ Adore alright” Fame said, jotting down the graphic notes.

“We should give her the wrong dosage of paracetamol and wait for her to die of kidney failure over the course of 5 months!!” Trixie added.

“You know what lets go with Adores” Fame concluded. It was settled, they would pour blood over mawma Rupe then light her on fire. The plan was almost complete except for one thing.

“Everyone here but me is busted I’ll paint all of you personally” Fame said elegantly as a few party poppers went off. Everyone looked well exited. Trixie began to sob tears of pure joy!!

“Before we begin, let it be known. THE REVOLUTION WILL BE TELEVISED!!” Fame screeched, raising a fist into the air. Everyone did the same, chanting her name in unison.

She let out a tear for a brief moment remembering her lost chickens, then sucked it back in so she wouldn’t look bustid.

Everything was falling into place.

~

20 hours later and everyone in the room was painted by Fame. No exceptions. They were like this hive mind with the same goal, trampling everything in their path.

The group of vegans and vegetarians made their way to the studio of Drag Race which happened to be in Yorkshire. Courtney jogged behind with a big bucket of pigs blood.

“Say Courtney…” Fame began “How did you acquire that pigs blood?”

“It’s Willams he unfollowed me on twitter”

“Oh”

Soon enough, there they were, stood outside the studio. A bouncer walked up to them with an angry expression.

Wait…that face…

Jujubee.

“I know why you’re here ladies.” She said, producing a piece of fried chicken from her pocket and taking a biiiig munch. Fame clenched her fists.

“Out of our way juju, we have no quarrel with you.” They all said in unison, expression unchanging.

“You managed to paint everyone…Did they accept willingly?” Juju said, turning her head to the real Fame.

“Or did you just not tell them the second you painted them, they would be mindless zombies under your control.”

Fame pulled a knife out of her contoured titty’s. “They didn’t need to know that. It’s better this way.” They approached each other slowly. One of them wouldn’t make it out alive, and it sure as shit wouldn’t be Fame.

“This is bigger than you and me jujubee. You know it’s true. Eating meat is…sick.”

“Well unfortunately for you, i love long walks on the beach, big dicks…and fried chicken.”

That was the last straw. Fame lunged at her, but ended up crashing into the wall. The cult joined in, throwing themselves at juju.

Juju was fast, dodging and ducking whilst continuing to eat fried chicken. She even managed to take out Alaska with a mighty blow. Courtney sobbed over her mangled body.

“You know me Fame, we don’t have to do this, just turn back!” They were head to head now, both brandishing knives.

“Like fuck i will you little shit!” She menaced, managing to graze juju’s face with her knife. She recoiled in pain and grasped at her bleeding wound. They both paused for a moment.

“You know this piece of chicken right here?” Juju began, taking out a new piece. Fame held back the tears. “What was his name…hmmm. Big dave?”

“B-big dave…” Fame froze in shook, though her expression was still basically the same.

“And this one…” Juju said taking out another fried piece, “Ah yes…Dobbin!”

Fame couldn’t take it anymore. She covered her ears and began to sob, curling up into a ball on the floor.

“Pathetic.” Juju sneered, spitting on the floor next to her.

Then her expression dropped. Juju was…coughing up blood? Spluttering she collapsed to the ground with a large pitchfork sticking out of her back. She’d been impaled by Bianca!

“Not today satan…” Bianca said stoically through heavy breathing. “Not today…”

Fame got up and gave Bianca a Scooby snack. She turned back around to see the group, most in tatters and lying on the floor.

“DO YOU SEE WHAT THEY WANT TO DO TO US.” Fame yelled, gesturing towards the door. “IF THEY DO NOT PERISH, WE WILL.”

The feint sound of runway music filled the air. Season 9 was in session. The pounding baseline mimicked their heartbeats. She could hear Ru’s cackle as she shamelessly plugged her products like the rat she was.

“NOW I DONT KNOW ABOUT YOU…BUT IM READY TO COMMIT MURDER ON LIVE TELEVISION!”

Spirits were back up, though they were never really down to begin with. Everyone was brainwashed and incapable of any consciousnesses beyond the realm of completing their primary directive.

“TO BATTLE!!!” Fame screeched as everyone joined in. She busted down the door and sure enough all the season 9 queens stood around the runway. Christ they were ugly.

“Hello Fame!” Alexis Michelle yelled, waving her hand.

“Not now Alexis fuck off.” She said Signalling everyone to halt for a moment. Then she spotted her. Rupaul. Fame went positively red under her foundation as her fists shook in fury.

“Fame?” Rupaul said, only slightly surprised rolling her neck a couple of times. “We didn’t schedule a previous queen redemption arc…Michelle pass us the script.”

“I can’t we used it for the paper mache challenge. Bob Ross was the guess judge.”

“SILENCE.” Fame vouged, kicking michelle visage off her chair. “Your days of killing innocent animals is over Rupaul!!”

Ru gasped, looking towards the crowd of angry vegetarians that all looked like Fame. “You can try…but first you’ll have to get past my girls!” Rupaul said elegantly, gesturing over to the stage of season 9 queens.

“Why? You treat us like shit!” Shea piped up.

“You gave me a villain edit!!” Aja added.

“You eliminated Cynthia!” Sasha yelled.

Everyone shook their heads and went to the interior illusions lounge to enjoy an absolute cocktail, exept for Charlie who coughed up some dust and stayed in the same place.

“Shit, come back ladies! Stop listening to your inner saboteurs!” Ru cried in desperation. “Michelle, bring back my girls!!”

Michelle got up off the floor, which was no easy feat due to the weight of her breasts. “I’ve got my nieces piano recital in ten gtg.”

“Wait, don’t leave me here!”

But it was too late. Ru was alone in a room full of pissed off vegans and vegetarians.

“Oh how the tables have turned…” Fame began, taking the bucket of blood from Courtney.

Ru took a long homosexual breath and looked down. Her days had been numbered. If only she had taken an alternative lifestyle.

“Ladies, before i die let me ask you this.” She said, a slight hitch in her voice. Fame was getting pissed, things were getting well off track.

“We’re all just looking for a meal to fill the void in our guts, and the presence of lesser lifeforms will always ensure we partake of the flesh. We were given dominion over God’s creatures. They are ours to enjoy in this cruel joke that is existence. Pain is only momentary in contrast to the eternity of death, and if the blood of animals must be shed for our pleasure, so be it. After all, What is man if not the harbinger of chaos?”

Fame leaned in. “Thats just the thing. We are not man.”

There was a long pause as the room went deathly quiet.

“We are queens.”

In a quick sweeping motion the bucket of blood was poured over Ru, who was mildly aggravated by this turn of events.

“Quick Adore knock us the lighter!”

Adore stopped chonging her weed and threw the lighter half way across the room, straight into Fames contoured palm. She flipped the cap and lit it up, putting it against Rupaul’s wig.

She lit up like a torch, blazing like a fallen goddess. Ru reached out a hand in her agony, but nobody was there to hold it.

“Alriiight we did it right on.” Fame nodded, looking over to Courtney.

“What now?” Courtney asked, clutching Alaska’s bloody dead body in her arms.

“Uh.” Fame looked over to a crisp Rupaul and shrugged. “I’m not sure. In hindsight this is all extremely illegal.”

“Does being vegetarian say anything about eating human?” Trixie asked.

Fame got out her vegetarian handbook and flipped through the pages. “It’s ambiguous.” she concluded, tucking the book back beneath her wig.

Courtney took out a carving knife, slicing into the crispy Rupaul and popping a chunk into her mouth.

“As they say in Australia, ‘This human flesh is cooked perfectly, everyone gather round.’”

And so they all joined together, laughing and telling stories of seasons past.

Fame had done it, and on live telly too. That was pretty good. Reddit would go mental.

Five weeks later she got on Countryfile and did a segment about vegan cooking and proper animal care.

Fin~

[coffin-child]

Things I forgot to post:

I truly thought that some moments had escaped my grasp completely.

Intimate fragments without care or obligation.

The kind where you share little corners of your soul and entrust another human-being to hold them dear for just a short while, with all the sincerity they can truly muster, and you in return, do the same.

My little whore heart used to call it being eclectic.

Looking back now, it wasn’t the sex I craved, but the little pockets of intimacy.

Sharing a tidbit of time with another soul, that would be here and gone within the confines of an evening.

It was about releasing a part of myself to someone who momentarily gave enough of a damn to listen.

It was about even reciprocation.

Its was about collecting these little slivers of fascination and putting them away for a rainy day.

Some of my favorite ones were shared with a tall gangly artist with a tick that made him take pause within a busy sentence.

He drew comics, I met him at some party and cannot recollect how I came to be at his house late at night watching ALF till three in the morning. We would fumble around in the dark on his inflatable mattress to awaken with it sunken in. The lighting from the floor of his room took me to other places, far far away and much more magical. He made the only coffee I would ever drink black, to this day. I would slip it slow, as to savor the understanding of the meaning of adulthood with each wave upon my pallet. A simple breakfast was made as I sat across the counter from his tall figure bumbling around the kitchen, a soft smile erupting from my sleep paralyzed face every time he would hiccup on a word just cause it his mouth couldn't keep up with his heart. He was one of my favorites.

I like moments like these because they steal away into the night just as gently as they came.

You get to adore another human, without falling helplessly inlove. Because love is what makes you want to die.

You bleed yourself dry as you lay every inch of your soul out in hopes that whom you love would want to start up cartography as a hoby, just in a mirrored addoration.

But alas, you hope in vain.

I made my way to some olf forgotten rundown neighborhood in the cover of night. I met him a few years back when I was bartending. Always thought he was cute, but in that Peter Pan kinda way, fun but never to fuck seriously.

He invited me over for dinner and business plans. We took hits of korean beer from colorful little glasses as we shot the shit of how life had been trucken along for the both of us. I perused his anphibian collection and danced aound his livingroom to new music that just just spoke to the souls of my shoes. I checked my makeup and my intensions in the upstairs bathroom which was donned in mermaids, most certainly by the artistic eye of his girfriend, taking note of my judgment in what one would crudely call taste. There was an intricate shuffle of hustle and bustle in the kitchen as he buzzed about preparing a meal the best that he knew how. We spoke of the shittiest times in a twangy country accent as he made the oven mit tell me jokes in the inbetween interludes. I genuinly laughed. He pulled me in and kissed me quick, but with intent, just before the peppers ahd to be washed, and just as quickly he left me in the still of the moment to do so. The main course was served on the kitchen table before dinner ever left the oven. We sat down and eat, so naturally, as if it had been done a hundred times before. Somehow, some way we made it into the livingroom for seconds. It was nice. The comfortablilty of everything . I was stripped naked and didnt think twice about it as I laughed at him shaking a full moon about without a hint of shame.

There was not a care to be had, and I had laughed with a sincerity that I thought had been lost.

These moments are meant to be brief. They bring relief. They remind you that certain parts still work.

That the mundane drudgery of life has reprieve.

Oven mitts that tell me jokes and dissecting synth machines are the things I collect in the palm of my tired hands, for that rainy day I know for certain is bound to come.

[rachelisnotatwork]

Ich war eine Berlinerin

A long time ago I decided in a daydreaming moment to spend a month at language school in Germany. In my head this was going to be largely drifting around town feeling cultured and multi-lingual. So I merrily booked some lessons and an airbnb in Berlin. Then it got closer to the time and I remembered I absolutely hated every minute of German lessons at school, and the only way to drift around feeling cultured and multi-lingual would be from cramming German into my aged brain. This triggered what could best be described as the “complaining phase”, which was weeks of bitching to Marcel that I didn’t want to go, I hate German grammar and this was the worst idea of my life.

We arrived 5 days before language school started in order to get settled. This mostly involved me complaining at a number of places around the city, and on a trip out of town. Our first weekend was forecast to be sunny so we decided to head out into the countryside of the East to go canoeing. Step one was rent a car, which turned out to be phenomenally expensive and involve driving out to the airport. We then immediately took the wrong turning and circled the whole airport trying to find our way out...and straight into a non-moving traffic jam. Google maps refused to consider there might be any possible alternative routes to spending 2 hours in a traffic jam. Neither did our car satnav. So instead I decided to get creative with the map and managed to navigate around the whole thing, whilst being incredibly smug about it (which I’m sure Marcel deeply appreciated).

When we finally got out to the East I was pleasantly surprised. The only real news that reaches the UK of rural East Germany is neo-Nazis and depopulation. Thankfully the first wasn’t visible where we were, and the second meant lots of wildlife. We saw a real live stork (not delivering a baby) before we even got there.

Our canoe trip was down the Havel to try and see beavers (of the wildlife variety). It was a stunning day and a pleasantly quiet river. Naturally we saw zero beavers, and due to Marcel’s ambitious nature we had to paddle back at speed to get back from our 16km run before dark. My muscles were screaming (and only screamed more over the next few days). We also had to return the car before 21.30, which involved driving back and then getting lost in the airport AGAIN and circling it twice. Now feel like I know the roundabouts of Tegel extremely well.

After bitching about language school heavily, it turned out to be...surprisingly fun. Or I got stockholm syndrome. Not really sure, but after a couple of weeks I had settled into a very nice routine of morning classes, then a leisurely lunch at our awesome airbnbs with the best views in the world, followed by museums or excursions in the afternoon. My language school card bought me an annual museums pass for 25 euros, so I got to relive the student dream again!

It was pretty hot whilst we were there so we got into the local lake swimming culture. Our favourite turned out to be Krumme Lanke. It is surrounded by forest but still accessible from town. On day one we were there, we saw a grass snake emerge from the bank and go for a little swim with it’s head above water. Being from the UK where wildlife is...sparse, this was extremely exciting. When we returned a few days later, it was much busier and I thought to myself “poor snake, it has no chance of a swim today”. Only to find myself looking down whilst swimming in the water a couple of hours later to find the snake swimming entirely underwater by my legs. Turns out whilst I like wildlife there are limits and that is definitely one of my limits.

One of the other benefits of it being hot was I decided a policy of daily ice creams was essential. We started off at our local ice cream place but then one day found an amazing place that was about a 15 minute walk from our house. I then took to making Marcel take daily walks in the broiling heat with me to eat them. We also discovered that German museums don’t really do air-con after some of the hottest museum trips of my life to the Stasi Museum and Ephraim-Palais Museum. Sort of surprised we didn’t have to step over the collapsed forms of over-heated tourists between exhibits.

My language school did an afternoon programme of lectures, seminars and activities. Whilst Marcel was around, I didn’t attend any as for some weird reason Marcel didn’t want to hang out and listen to someone explain things very slowly in basic German to a bunch of language learners. Odd that. However at one point he went off to visit his relatives near Frankfurt and I decided to attend a seminar on art in the Third Reich. This was a great lecture but lead me to become...somewhat over-confident with my German. On Marcel’s return I decided we should escape the boiling weather by doing one of the tours run by “Underground Berlin”. They did one inside a flak turm and because the tour timing was more convenient in German that in English, I decided I’d be fine going on that one.

My first indication that I might not be fine was when our guide took a huge breath before starting because it turned out he was one of those people who had a lot of information to impart and didn’t want to waste time doing so. A rapid torrent of German poured forth from him, with me barely able to assess where one word finished and the next started. Which would have been fine if it hadn’t been the safety briefing he was giving as he handed out hard hats. Would strongly advise not getting over-confident with your language skills when you are going to be touring a half-blown up bomb site. I spent most of the tour understanding nothing but trying desperately to copy the others in the hope of not dying down there. Marcel very nicely said it was very technical and harder to understand than his C2 language exam he had to do to prove he was a real German, and then gave me a long summary afterwards about what the whole tour had actually been about. Anyway it was a really cool site and I thoroughly recommend you sign up for the (English language) tour of it. Plus the park it is in has red squirrels, which Marcel and I got unbelievably excited about but actually turns out to be really common in Europe.

Other cool tours we did included one of the Bundestag, which was free although it was hardly spontaneous. You had to email to book tickets ages in advance and then bring your passport (weirdly not the only exhibition I had to do that for, also had to do it for the world press photography exhibition which was taking place in a political party’s head office [as you do]. I think this might feel more normal for Germans who are used to carrying ID at all times, but if you are British it is quite hard to remember and feels strange). The tour was pretty interesting though and there is uncovered Russian graffiti all over the walls inside from the second world war, which was cool to see.

Beyond that we largely mooched and ate a lot. We were staying upstairs from a fondue restaurant and a vietnamese place, and just around the corner from a vegan Szechaun restaurant. As a result, we did ate out a LOT. Also given how hot it got, we very much appreciated not using our kitchen and letting someone else heat up their place by using their oven. Instead we’d just eat out and admire the views from our amazing balcony.

It got hotter and hotter until towards the end of our stay we had three days of epic thunderstorms in a row. We had a great view from our balcony of the Fernsehturm, which Marcel managed to see get hit by lightening twice, both times after I had despaired of seeing it happen. The first two days the thunderstorms were at about midnight and kept us awake with constant lightening and huge claps of thunder. The last day it happened at about 6.30. Which was sub-optimal as that was when my mother’s flight from London was due to land. Weather went from fine to “wind so strong the leaves and flying upward past our 5th floor balcony, followed by rain and mist so thick we couldn’t see anything anymore” in about 5 minutes. We constantly checked my mother’s flight updates online and her landing time kept getting pushed back and back. And then suddenly it just disappeared entirely from the landing/landed screen. Note to German airports, this is not very reassuring. Nor is it when you phone the airport and ask what happened to the flight and you say you “don’t know”. We then looked on the BA website, who said the flight had been diverted to Hamburg. We phoned Hamburg to check this and they said they didn’t know and hadn’t heard about that. Thankfully at just about the point when a full freak out was starting, my mother texted to say they had landed in Hamburg after several terrifying abortive attempts to land in Berlin. They did then fly them back to Berlin when the storm finished so she arrived pretty late and then we had to take a huge diversion back to her hotel because of trees blown over the in the street. Oh the delightful summer weather.

By the end of the month, I was entirely in love with Berlin and the relaxed life of a language school attendee. But alas we’d planned a road trip and our airbnb booking was running out so I had to say a very reluctant goodbye to my language class and Berlin and hit the road.