#Bee-Box Row

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"You surely don't believe...you can beat me?"

Bio: Since everyone liked the first one, I made another based on this post.

Lili Rochefort!reader x yandere batfam

The next Iron Fist tournament was being held in Gotham, and you were bouncing up and down with excitement, giggling like a schoolgirl. Of course, you signed up, writing your name on the dotted line with a pink pen. Little did you know your family would be attending, so when it was your turn to fight, you saw them in their fancy suits and dresses. But you wouldn't let them ruin your fun. You strutted down to the ring, flipping your blonde hair to the side and gently wiping it away from your face. Your pink, little, open-finger boxing gloves and stylish pink dress, along with heels—yes, not fighting-proof, but who cares?—were quite a sight. You saw a dude wearing a tiger head, but when they spotted you taking a fighting stance, let's just say they were having a full-on heart attack. I mean, you dressed like a princess, acted like a princess, and enjoyed sweet peppermint tea with cookies. You do not fight!

Bruce is absolutely confused. Why are you in the tournament? He thought you were doing this for attention or were just an announcer, but when you roundhouse kicked a man cold onto the mat, he was in pure shock. His daughter, who used to play with dolls and have tea parties with a teddy bear, is not fighting grown men in a tournament ring. He's sitting at the edge of his chair, watching you dodge every punch and every hit, hoping they don't touch your sweet face. He's terrified but also very impressed. How did you learn to move like that? Is that one of your ballet moves he watched you do when you played the Swan Princess? He's so confused and scared. If you wanted a good fight, the two of you could have brawled, but he would be gentle, of course your still his little girl.

Dick just came back with the drinks and snacks, only to see your last fight on the big screen. Your finishing move—a flip into a kick—was amazing! How did you make gymnastics look so elegant, and ballet look so violent? You're so good, and you're doing all this in heels! He literally dropped his popcorn on Jason, who was sitting in the second row, making him look up at the big screen to see what Dick was gawking at. And that spoiled Bart is a fighter, and a good one at that. You're taking out guys twice your size and beating literal assassins. He did watch you leave the family gym all tired; he thought it was just gym and ballet, not fighting. But he feels some pride seeing you fight. If those losers touch a hair on your head, they're dead.

Tim is analyzing your fighting style and how you're able to put all your weight into one kick. He is intrigued and completely engrossed in the fight, but as he watched you, all you care about is the fight. You don't care for the trophy, award money, or the Mishima company; you just want to fight. He sees it in your crazed smile that you try to hide behind a girlish giggle and little taunts, how you flip your hair after every [action] to hide how giddy you are—a little devil in angel clothes. He is studying you like never before, plus you like the attention.

Duke and Steph are cheering; their names are the only ones in the family actively yelling at the tournament. Their eyes never leave you—each kick, each punch, each dodge. It's like you're a butterfly, so sweet and graceful, but your kicks are as bruising as a bee's. You can't help but blush as you hear them yell your name from the stands. Why do you care now, all of a sudden? You let it slide, but when the big screen switches to them shouting your name, you hide your face behind your blond locks. They're killing your vibe. Cassandra is in pure awe of the way you fight; it's making her wish she were in the ring against you. She never paid you any mind, thinking you were just weaker prey, something she had to protect and take care of from afar. But when she sees you go all out, you're not some pretty house cat; you're a lioness stalking her prey. She must fight you; the two of you must go toe-to-toe as sisters of course, and no one else can be your opponent, obviously.

Damian, don't get me started. His face is full of scowl; sure, he likes the fights, but you should not be there. Remember, you're a Wayne. For God's sake, you're ruining your reputation by being a fighter in some stupid tournament. If you wanted a good fight, he would be a great option, or he could get some of his assassins from Ra's estate to fight you. It's some cry for attention because it's clearly working, but when someone lands a hit on you, giving you a small bloody nose, security has to hold him back while a small dagger is in his hands. No one puts their hand on you, and I repeat, no one!!!

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

halfway there (fully smitten)

written for @steddie-spooktober Halfway to Halloween pop up event!

rated G | 2,832 words | on AO3: halfway there (fully smitten) | prompt: half-o-ween meet cute, modern au, flirting, steve harrington is simultaneously super charming and on his game AND easily flustered

Steve would do anything for his kid siblings.

He would.

It’s just…

“Why’d it have to be this Saturday?”

“Because that’s the halfway mark?” Dustin says as if it was obvious, rolling his eyes for good measure.

“Oh you’ve got to–” Steve scrubs a hand down his face; Yeah. fine. That makes sense. It is called the ‘Halfway to Halloween’ craft fair. “You don’t even like crafts.”

“There’s going to be more than just crafts.” Dustin says, again, like it should be obvious. “C’mon Steve, even Max wants to go. Like, actually wants to go.”

Steve looks over at the Max in question, gazing up at him with her usual scowl on her face.

“She doesn’t look like she wants to.”

“Yes she–”

“She does.” she says.

“See??” Dustin gestures excitedly towards her.

Steve sighs again. Of course she’d want to go, she’s always been all about that spooky crap.

He looks down between the two hellions he’s so proud to call his siblings.

Internally.

Internally he is.

He sighs again, turning away from where they’d corralled him at the end of the hallway.

“C’mon Steve where’re you–”

“I gotta call Angie,”

“But–”

“I have to call off our date, dingwad!"

Dustin insisted that they be there right when the fair opened at 10 am, but after a syrup incident at breakfast and a couple bathroom breaks, their two hour drive to the 4H grounds the show was being held at, turned into two hours and 45 minutes, landing them in line at 10:10 am.

They waited their turn to pay the entrance fee, Dustin bouncing on his toes the whole time, and as soon as the bright orange bracelet was on his wrist, he was off. 

Surprising Steve further, Max was right on his heels, scanning seriously over the first line of vendors.

“You shits better have your phones on you!” Steve calls after them, getting offhanded waves in return.

He watches them go a little on ahead, sliding between the already hearty crowd much easier than he would, then turns to look at some of the vendors’ wares himself.

It was not a great place to start paying attention, to be completely honest, the racks and tables filled with all sorts of stuffed animals with bloody gashes, exposed broken bones, and dangling bloodshot eyes..

His shock must’ve been fully apparent because the bearded man behind the stall table guffaws at his expression.

“S’not for everyone, kid. I get it.” he says when Steve apologizes.

There are people selling their collections of movie memorabilia, specialty indie costume companies selling their scarily (ha) detailed rubber masks, some folks are selling crystals, some are selling crochet, some have tiny taxidermied mice..

It’s honestly kind of overwhelming.

He stops at one end of this barn (the second in the grounds’ row of five that were full up for the occasion), leaning up against the open double doors.

He’d originally been concerned about the cool cloudy weather, thinking it’d be too cold to be walking around outside like this, but a lot of vendors had space heaters plugged in behind their booths, and there were so many people bustling through and around the space that the wide open doors were a blessing to his already sweating brow.

Taking advantage of his spot out of the flow of people, he opens his phone to check on where the gremlins were (two barns down already what the hell??), when Dustin’s text comes through.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and continues on.

The next booth he comes to is another with taxidermied things, though these are all bugs. Different beetles, bees, and butterflies pinned into shadow boxes.

For some reason, he gets kinda stuck at the display of colorful wings. He’s never really liked bugs, never had a strong opinion about butterflies, but these things are… seriously beautiful.

Some he remembers the names for without having to look at the little tags the vendor wrote up for them; Monarch for one, and he knows this blue one is an Emperor Butterfly from that Animal Crossroads game Max got him hooked on for a while a couple years ago, and he’s inspecting the pattern of greens and oranges on another when he feels someone brush up against him.

Suddenly aware of how long he’s been standing in front of the display, probably blocking a whole bunch of others from getting to look too, he glances back, stepping out of the way with a “Shit, sorry!”

“No worries man, I can look just fine from right here.”

Steve’s busy looking down at his feet to make sure he’s stepping around the boxes stored under a nearby display table, “No, really, I just got caught up looking at them;” he finally gets his feet in a safe spot, and turns to the newcomer, “They’re all really–”

He’d made the mistake of looking up at the source of the voice, and now his own is stuck in his throat.

Steve’s a sucker for all things 80s, the aesthetic (a new word introduced to him by Max) at least, and this guy looked as if he was plucked right out of time and delivered to him on a shiny silver platter.

A mess of dark frizzy curls, deep dark eyes, ripped skinny jeans and some sort of band tee under a leather jacket and denim vest..

Even the sun decided to point out how much of a simp he was about to be over this guy, choosing that moment to break through the clouds outside the doors and give hot 80s metal guy a hell of a glow.

“--pretty.”

Hot Metalhead smirks and ohjesusfuckingchristhehasdimples.

“You’re not too bad yourself, big boy.” the man says, and Steve swears he can feel the other man’s gaze trail over him. “You got a favorite?”

He gestures back to the display of bugs, and Steve shakes his head clear, “Uh.. The orange one maybe, the Monarch? But this one is really cool.” he points to the green/orange one.

Hot Metalhead nods, “The Madagascan Sunset Moth, that one’s my favorite.” then he levels a smirk at Steve, “Seems you’ve got good taste, pretty boy.”

Something kicks to life behind Steve’s ribs, and suddenly he feels completely back on his game. He slowly drags his gaze over the other man, lingering on his lips (chapped, but perfectly pouty even in their smirk), “Seems like I do.”

Steve meets the man’s eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something else when they’re broken from the moment by none other than Max.

“There you are! Do you ever check your phone?” she gripes, pulling him out of the booth

“What–Max?” A rock sinks into his stomach, “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help picking something for Lucas,” she puts her hands on her hips and it’s like he’s looking in a mirror.

The rock rolls out his stomach with the roll of his eyes, and turns to say something to Hot Metalhead, but he’s already a couple booths away, bending low over a table of books.

“You can flirt later, I really need your help!”

Sighing, but figuring he can find Hot Metalhead later, he follows Max to a bigger movie memorabilia booth in the center of the next barn over.

Eventually, they settle on two gifts for Max’s “He’s not my boyfriend nor do I want him to be.” boyfriend (“He’s not my boyfriend, Steve! Urgh, you’re the worst.”): a Freddy Krueger sweater, and a jersey boasting the Haddonfield Butchers, with the last name Myers and number 78 on the back.

“Are you sure that’s not secretly for you?” Steve asks, clocking the reference immediately. He had, afterall, been made to sit and watch Halloween close to a zillion times over the course of he and Max’s foster journey together.

“No, it’s for him. It's something I like fused with what he likes." She reasons.

“Sure, sure,”

Max wanders off again after that, and so does Steve, scanning the crowd for messy brown curls as he scans the other vendors.

Eventually, he comes to a booth covered in pins and earrings. 

He immediately thinks of Ms. Hender– Claud— Mom when he sees all the earrings, and starts looking through the spinning racks, snapping a picture to send to the goblins as he does

“Find something you like?”

Steve glances up, one of the two ladies manning the booth has stood from her chair, the strawberry blond with the ponytail, smiling brightly at him. A pair of cigarette earrings hang from her lobes, one new and one half burnt down.

“Yeah, sorry, I was sending a picture of these to my siblings,” he picks up the fangs, “Our mom would love these.”

The woman holds out a hand and he passes the set to her, “Awesome, let me get them bagged up for you!”

“Do you want a different color?” The other woman says, looking through a basket of what looks like even more pairs of earrings; she’s a dirtier blond with a choppy bob and freckles.

“Another color?”

“Y’know, black, orange, purple, glow in the d–” that’s when she looks up at him, “Steve Harrington?”

Steve’s brain goes into a jumbled state of ???????????

“Uhm, yeah? How’d you–”

“You went to my high school!”

A rock plunges into his gut, “Oh, uhm.. I’m sorry? I don’t–”

“You dated Tammy Thompson.”

He feels his face pull into a cringe, “Yeah, that was… yeah.”

“She was on American Idol!” the strawberry blond says.

Steve finds himself laughing, “I don’t know how she made it, she sounds like a muppet when she sings.”

“She does!” She laughs at the same time Choppy Bob says an indignant “She does not!”

The rock is back, “Oh, sorry.. Was she a friend?”

Ponytail laughs again, saying “No,” at the same time as Bob but continuing on with “Robin here had a biiiig crush on her.”

 Bob, Robin apparently, goes all splotchy, “Shut up Chris!”

Chris just waves her off, “Oh he’s fine, he’s one of us, did you not see his pin?”

Steve looks down at his own chest, Max’s gifted bi flag pin glinting up at him from his jacket, then back up at the two; the lanyard around Robin’s neck jumps out at him, striped in pinks and oranges and whites, and Chris has what looks like one half of a heart in colors matching his pinned to her sweater.

“Huh.” Robin says, looking perplexed, “Who’da thunk?”

“You’re telling me.” Steve jokes, finally getting Robin to smile back at him.

Suddenly, and at the same time another potential customer comes into the little stall behind him, Dustin comes out of the woodwork to tug at his arm, “Finally, there you are! Stop flirting and come with me, you gotta see these cars!”

“Whoa, dude! Chill out for a second, okay? I’m trying to pay the nice lady.”

“Well hurry it up dude,” he mocks, “They’ve got the Ghostbusters’ hearse back there!”

Dustin squeezes very impolitely past the other person in the booth, and Steve turns back to Chris, “Sorry, brothers you know?”

“He’s got a point, the Ghostbusters one is pretty impressive,” She says as Robin accepts his $10 bill for the jewelry, and passes him back a small bag and a card, “I wrote our cell numbers on the back, we should all meet up again sometime!”

“Course! I’ll let you know how my mom likes ‘em, yeah?”

Steve squeezes out the stall and Chrissy picks up her phone. 

Dustin was right (what’s new?), this last building is packed full of hearses of every shape and size. 

A 1940s era one, a slightly newer model painted entirely in matte black, one with a padded coffin hanging half out the end for people to pose for pictures in. But the real star of the show, at least according to Dustin, was the one for one remake of the Ghostbusters’ white one.

Steve follows him down the row, pausing at the hood of the replica to take a picture of the giant slime ghost plush in the passenger seat, then on to peer into the cab.

He was still inspecting all the old dials in the dash through the open window, when someone says, “See something you like?”

“I was told by a very reliable source that yours was the one to beat.” Steve says, taking in the shockingly low number of miles on the odometer, “And I gotta say, still having the original dials in the dash is pretty cool– Hey! It’s you!” 

The guy leaning his weight onto the car’s roof with one hand grins, “Hello again, your majesty.”

“Majesty?”

 “You liked the Monarchs, remember?” Hot Metalhead pushes himself up off the car and offers Steve the same hand, “I’m Eddie.”

“Steve.” he breathes, taking Eddie’s hand in his. 

Eddie shakes his hand once, his fingers calloused and warm, “Well, King Steve, what brings you all the way to my neck of the woods?”

“I heard there was a super special hearse back here so I had to come see it for myself.”

“Good eye, Stevie”

“Only if it’s easy on ‘em.” he says, starting to get his normal voice back, “‘Easy on the eyes’ y’know?”

Eddie just laughs, “Yeah big guy, I got it.”

Steve’s face is on fire. He clears his throat, finally letting Eddie’s hand go. He notices a familiar pin on the front breast pocket of his denim vest that he hadn’t noticed before, this one striped in shades of blue, green, and white, the opposite half of Chris’ pink, purple, and blue one.

“Oh, hey! You know Chris?” Eddie's face flashes into confusion, so Steve clarifies, “She’s got the same half heart pin as you…?”

“Chrissy you mean? Tiny? Ponytail? Bangs?”

Steve shrugs, “That sounds right.”

“Has a girlfriend about yay tall? Freckles?”

“I mean, she didn’t stand up..”

Eddie considers him for a moment. “Nope. Never heard of ‘er.”

Oh god he’s a dork.. Steve’ll never survive this.

“D’she send you over here?”

“Kinda? Dustin wanted to see the cars anyhow so..” he holds his arms out at his sides, “Here I am.”

“So this curly-haired menace is yours then?” Eddie asks, turning to stand at Steve’s side and gesturing to where Dustin is talking with a balding man at the end of the car, “He’s been talking my Uncle’s ear off each time he’s come by.”

Steve nods, “Him and the redhead who’s… around here somewhere– there!” He points out Max as she heads outside into the sun, making her hair glow bright, “She’s my foster sister, Dustin’s mom took us both in about a year ago now, she was really great to take us in together, even with me being ‘aged out’ and all.. I wanted to make sure she had something stable going forward y’know? And I really don’t know why I’m telling you all that but.. There it is..”  

His face is going to be permanently red at this point, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind his rambling, looking at him with a mix of amusement and something else in his expression. “You can tell me whatever you want, whenever you want, Stevie.”

“Is that your way of asking for my number?” Steve asks on impulse.

Eddie laughs, “You give me way too much credit Stevie, I’m not even remotely close to that good of a smooth-talker,” he reaches into his back pocket and produces his phone, “But no way am I passing up the opportunity.”

Steve smiles and takes it, entering his information into Eddie’s phone, “Apologies to your uncle by the way,” he says as he sends himself a devil face emoji from Eddie’s cell, “Dusty can get to be too much sometimes. I hope he’s not giving you too much trouble?”

He hands back the phone as his own chimes in his pocket, taking it out and passing it to Eddie.

“Not at all; Wayne’s more than happy to talk about anything to anyone who’ll listen; He’s already told me everything he knows.”

“Don’t you mean ‘taught’?”

“Not in the slightest.” Eddie grins at Steve’s laughter, punches something into his phone and passes it back. “There you go, big boy, one brand new phone number just for you.”

Steve looks down at the screen, ‘super hot sexy metal deathlord eddie 😈🤘’ is at the top of his message screen.

He looks up at Eddie, who just waggles his eyebrows at him; Steve rolls his eyes, but can’t keep himself from smiling. “Perfect, thanks.”

“No problem…” he mimes looking down at his phone, “‘steve’.”

“Oi! Can you two flirt your way to the gut trucks, or are Dusty and I gonna have to get some grub ourselves?”

The two jump apart at Wayne’s words, both their cheeks burning (brighter in Eddie’s case).

“Yeah, yeah, shut your yaps, we’ll go get something.” Eddie grumbles, striding off toward where the food trucks are parked, pulling Steve along with him.

if you don't have one around you at this time, this is a real thing that happens in my area every may!! and it's on the 10th this year!! all of the things mentioned are things i've seen at my fair; my own pair of vamp fang earrings are truly a favorite pair of earrings i own :o) spiderweb divider from @saradika-graphics! vampire earring pic is from this etsy listing!

there will also be a part 2 to this tomorrow, LINK HERE!

[letterful]

NOSTALGIA

Remember the 1340s? We were doing a dance called the Catapult. You always wore brown, the color craze of the decade, and I was draped in one of those capes that were popular, the ones with unicorns and pomegranates in needlework. Everyone would pause for beer and onions in the afternoon, and at night we would play a game called "Find the Cow." Everything was hand-lettered then, not like today.

Where has the summer of 1572 gone? Brocade and sonnet marathons were the rage. We used to dress up in the flags of rival baronies and conquer one another in cold rooms of stone. Out on the dance floor we were all doing the Struggle while your sister practiced the Daphne all alone in her room. We borrowed the jargon of farriers for our slang. These days language seems transparent, a badly broken code.

The 1790s will never come again. Childhood was big. People would take walks to the very tops of hills and write down what they saw in their journals without speaking. Our collars were high and our hats were extremely soft. We would surprise each other with alphabets made of twigs. It was a wonderful time to be alive, or even dead.

I am very fond of the period between 1815 and 1821. Europe trembled while we sat still for our portraits. And I would love to return to 1901 if only for a moment, time enough to wind up a music box and do a few dance steps, or shoot me back to 1922 or 1941, or at least let me recapture the serenity of last month when we picked berries and glided through afternoons in a canoe.

Even this morning would be an improvement over the present. I was in the garden then, surrounded by the hum of bees and the Latin names of flowers, watching the early light flash off the slanted windows of the greenhouse and silver the limbs on the rows of dark hemlocks.

As usual, I was thinking about the moments of the past, letting my memory rush over them like water rushing over the stones on the bottom of a stream. I was even thinking a little about the future, that place where people are doing a dance we cannot imagine, a dance whose name we can only guess.

— BILLY COLLINS

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 31 - Retirement (Epilogue)

“The bees were restless this morning. I think a storm might be coming through today,” Sherlock mentioned as he glanced over the print of his newspaper. He didn’t look at John. It was a habit of old. He would start a conversation but continue the task he was on.

“Oh?” John replied, removing his glasses and looking up from his book. He enjoyed this ritual of theirs. “I was going to suggest a stroll to the village for dinner tonight. It’s our anniversary.”

Sherlock let his paper drop down to look over at John. “It’s not. We were married in June, John. You’re too young to be going senile.”

John smirked. “Not that one.”

“How many anniversaries does one have?” Sherlock checked looking confused.

John pulled an item out of his pocket and held it up.

“You know my eyesight isn’t that good,” Sherlock moaned, not even bothering to squint to try and see it.

“And I’ve told you to go back to the optometrist, so it’s your fault entirely isn’t it?” John teased. “You will just have to wait.” He returned the item to his pocket with glee and put his glasses on to return his focus to his book.

Sherlock didn’t move. John could feel him glaring, thinking, brow furrowed, calculating but no retort came.

“In any case, let’s see what the weather does. We still have that lamb I can cook up if the weather is against us,” John suggested.

“I’ve heard they invented a fantastical object that you can hold up and it actually stops you from getting wet in the rain. Marvellous,” Sherlock said full of sarcasm, pulling his newspaper back into line with a smirk.

John snorted and shook his head, and the room returned to its original state - silent companion reading.

Twenty five years to the day, John thought to himself. But he waited. He waited all day.

The rain did come and had set in but the storm had eased off to a more gentle, steady rain. John decided that the stroll would do Sherlock some good anyway. His joints had been freezing up quite a bit lately and he needed to get out and move more. John found their two umbrellas in the cupboard beside the door and waited patiently for Sherlock to make his way down the stairs.

He was wearing a lovely suit. One of John’s favourites. He clearly respected the occasion even if he didn’t remember what it was for.

They strolled hand in hand down the road to the village, mostly in silence, looking around them. The occasional comment would surface, about their neighbour’s property, the farm down the road must have bought more sheep, had the little girl been riding the ponies again, she hadn’t been seen for a while, the pot hole at the junction had gotten bigger and they would need to be mindful of it when they had to drive out for Christmas with Mycroft and his partner. Just general conversation followed by comfortable stretches of silence.

John finally slowed his pace further, bringing them to a halt at the crest before the village. He loved this spot. From here you could see across all the fields. You could see the top of their cottage roof in one direction, and in the other, you could see the village row of shops below. The rain had slowed too, ever so slightly so he put down his umbrella and fished the item out of his pocket, settling himself under the edge of Sherlock's umbrella instead.

Sherlock watched him carefully unable to see what it was but excited for the surprise. John was cupping it secretly in his hand.

“Sherlock Holmes,” John began.

“Yes John Holmes-Watson,” Sherlock interjected with a cheeky smile.

John flashed him an irritated glance. He hated being interrupted. These days, he was likely to lose his train of thought.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he began again. He had practiced this. Over and over. “I was cleaning the spare room out the other day and I found a box of your things. I don’t think it’s been opened since we moved here, since we retired to the country. At least, the dust would say as much. And I found this,” he said, opening his hand and holding the item up so Sherlock could see it. Finally, Sherlock’s eyes began to sparkle with recognition, and a little mist, it seemed.

“I was reminded of the fact that it’s actually been twenty five years,” John continued. “Twenty five years ago you stole this mistletoe and held it above my head,” he said with a smile. “I didn’t see you grab it back out of the snow. I didn’t know you still had it.”

Sherlock’s eyes were glistening properly now. And for once in his life he was speechless.

John gave a gentle smile.

“You were the only man who could make me run without a cane in a matter of hours, or leave the city for a quiet country life together, or get married, despite all my arguments to the contrary. You have always been my exception. To everything. And I thank God every day you stole this bloody mistletoe and showed me how much you needed me. Because I needed you just as much.”

“I know,” Sherlock managed to choke out. He reached over and took the mistletoe from John’s hand. He moved it around in his own hand looking at it like a rare gem. “I forgot I had it, too,” Sherlock sighed. “Poor Molly.”

“She did just fine. Four kids, ten grandkids. She had a good life, Sherlock," John said, with reverence, remembering their friend, passing from cancer only a year ago. "And a much better life, I imagine without you.”

“Hey!” Sherlock grumbled.

“You weren’t meant for her,” John said gently. “You were always meant for me. It just took us a while to find our way.”

“It took you a while,” Sherlock teased.

“Well, maybe if someone stopped drugging my tea, or stealing my laptop, or turning my skin green, I might have noticed,” John said with a smile.

“Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten about the green!” Sherlock exclaimed, chuckling to himself as John rolled his eyes.

“And this is why we have retired. I feel you used those brain cells up at a faster rate than the rest of us,” John teased. “But I was certain you would have had a shelf in the mind palace for Elpheba-John.”

Sherlock snort laughed and John joined in. But then Sherlock stopped laughing and looked lovingly into John’s eyes. He lifted the mistletoe up.

He leaned in part way and John met him in the middle. Under the old, crumpled mistletoe, they shared a chaste, but loving kiss beneath Sherlock’s umbrella.

“There is no one else in this world I would have wanted to marry and retire to the country with, John Watson. It’s always been you. From the very beginning.”

“Watson-Holmes,” John finally corrected. “We agreed. After much argument, I recall. And you know I rarely get to win. So I will keep reminding you.”

“Oh yes. As ever, you are right, my love,” he said, returning the mistletoe safely to his own jacket pocket. "I love you John Watson-Holmes.” He held out a crooked elbow. “Dinner?”

John took it and then rested his head onto his husband’s shoulder as they shared the one umbrella. “Starving,” he said.

And so they began to walk to the village arm in arm to celebrate. Best friends, lovers, husbands, destined to find each other. Always.

The end.

Dear readers - thank you so much for sticking with me across December. I hope you enjoyed this story. It was a new adventure for me, to try and tackle a chapter each day and try to lead it in a direction that linked in some vague way without really knowing where it was going. I have a new appreciation for all of you who do these prompt months on the regular! I’m ready for a break now!! Navigating some Tumblr after all these years has been fun too. So thank you for everyone that engaged with me and made it fun! And thanks @notjustamumj and @totallysilvergirl for enticing me to try it!

Happy New Year to you all. May 2025 bring you new creative inspiration or more wonderful fics to read.

If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my writing on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesian_love

I really appreciate the support xx

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear 

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[bradleysass]

grow - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 729

Regulus doesn’t remember planting anything.

Grimmauld Place is still a tomb—cold in the mornings, quiet after dusk, soaked in the perfume of mildew and old secrets. The war is over, but this house doesn’t seem to know it yet.

Still, there’s a sprout in the window box outside the kitchen. Bright green, tiny, determined.

He stares at it for the third morning in a row, tea cooling in his hands, robe bunched around his elbows like armor.

“Did you plant that?” he asks without turning around.

Behind him, James yawns. There’s a rustle of curls and oversized flannel. “Plant what?”

Regulus lifts his cup toward the window. “That.”

James leans in beside him, blinking sleepily, shoulder brushing his. “Huh. Look at that. Pretty stubborn for something growing out of a box full of ash and cobwebs.”

“Fitting,” Regulus murmurs. “For this house.”

James hums. “Or for you.”

Regulus stiffens, but James doesn’t backpedal. He rests his elbow on the windowsill and grins at the sprout like it’s a tiny miracle. “You’re like a little flower, Reg. You just need to wait and grow.”

Regulus rolls his eyes so hard it almost gives him a headache. “Please never say something so sappy to me again.”

“No promises,” James replies, unfazed. “Sappiness is my love language.”

Regulus nearly chokes on his tea.

It becomes a ritual. Every morning, that sprout. That window. That accidental quiet between them. Regulus tells himself he stays for the tea, for the silence, for the window’s east-facing light.

James starts bringing biscuits.

And somehow, without permission, the sprout becomes theirs.

“I think it’s a daisy,” James says weeks later, chin in his palm, eyes on the now-budding plant. “White, maybe. Or purple.”

“It’s a weed,” Regulus replies.

“It’s trying,” James says, too gently for Regulus to handle. “Let it.”

Regulus doesn’t remember when he started sleeping. Actually sleeping. Without potions, without nightmares clawing at his throat. Without the feeling of drowning in dark water.

Maybe it’s the way James hums in the hallway, always a bit off-key. Maybe it’s the sound of mugs clinking, the scent of chamomile, the way James always knocks on his door before coming in, even though the house technically belongs to Regulus.

Or maybe it’s just the daisy.

It blooms in April. White petals. Tiny, trembling. Beautiful in a way that doesn’t try to be.

Regulus stares at it, chest tight, throat locked.

James notices. Of course he does. “You’re not the same person you were during the war,” he says. “You know that, right?”

Regulus shrugs. “I’m still here. That’s all.”

“You’re still here,” James echoes, softer. “And you’re learning. And healing. And being a real human again. That’s not nothing, Reg.”

Regulus looks away. But he doesn’t move when James steps closer, hand resting at the small of his back. Doesn’t flinch when he whispers, “It’s okay to grow slowly.”

One night, James finds him in the kitchen barefoot, hands trembling, back against the counter like he’s barely holding himself up. It’s not a nightmare this time. It’s just everything. The war. The ghosts. The guilt that doesn’t sleep.

James says nothing. Just wraps his arms around him, steady and warm. Regulus folds, finally. And in the silence that follows, James whispers, “Little flower. Still blooming.”

Spring stretches into summer. The daisy gets neighbors—marigolds, violets, a burst of peonies that James insists were on sale. The window box becomes a garden.

Regulus begins to laugh more. Not often. Not loudly. But enough. Enough that Sirius stops looking so worried. Enough that Harry smiles softly when he visits. Enough that James—James beams at him like the sun itself.

“You were right,” Regulus says one morning, watching a bee land on a bloom.

“About what?” James asks, sipping from Regulus’ mug.

Regulus watches the light shift over his freckles. “About growing.”

“You’re not a flower anymore, Reg.”

“What am I, then?”

“A small tree,” James says thoughtfully. “One of those stubborn ones that grows out of cliffs and defies gravity.”

Regulus snorts.

James leans in, bold and bright and warm. “Can I kiss you?”

Regulus blinks. Then nods. “Yes.”

Later, James falls asleep with his head in Regulus’ lap, daisy petals pressed between pages of an old herbology book. Regulus brushes his fingers through messy curls and thinks—

Maybe some things are worth waiting for. Maybe even him.

[magpie-trove]

Nostalgia

by Billy Collins

Remember the 1340s? We were doing a dance called the Catapult.

You always wore brown, the color craze of the decade,

and I was draped in one of those capes that were popular,

the ones with unicorns and pomegranates in needlework.

Everyone would pause for beer and onions in the afternoon,

and at night we would play a game called "Find the Cow."

Everything was hand-lettered then, not like today.

Where has the summer of 1572 gone? Brocade and sonnet

marathons were the rage. We used to dress up in the flags

of rival baronies and conquer one another in cold rooms of stone.

Out on the dance floor we were all doing the Struggle

while your sister practiced the Daphne all alone in her room.

We borrowed the jargon of farriers for our slang.

These days language seems transparent, a badly broken code.

The 1790s will never come again. Childhood was big.

People would take walks to the very tops of hills

and write down what they saw in their journals without speaking.

Our collars were high and our hats were extremely soft.

We would surprise each other with alphabets made of twigs.

It was a wonderful time to be alive, or even dead.

I am very fond of the period between 1815 and 1821.

Europe trembled while we sat still for our portraits.

And I would love to return to 1901 if only for a moment,

time enough to wind up a music box and do a few dance steps,

or shoot me back to 1922 or 1941, or at least let me

recapture the serenity of last month when we picked

berries and glided through afternoons in a canoe.

Even this morning would be an improvement over the present.

I was in the garden then, surrounded by the hum of bees

and the Latin names of flowers, watching the early light

flash off the slanted windows of the greenhouse

and silver the limbs on the rows of dark hemlocks.

As usual, I was thinking about the moments of the past,

letting my memory rush over them like water

rushing over the stones on the bottom of a stream.

I was even thinking a little about the future, that place

where people are doing a dance we cannot imagine,

a dance whose name we can only guess.

[andromeda-pleiades]

Captain's Favorite

WORD COUNT: 1,694

PAIRING: John Price x NB!Oc

Part 1 | Part 2

The base barracks buzzed with the usual evening chatter as soldiers wound down from another grueling day of training. In the communal bathroom, steam rose from the row of sinks as lieutenants and sergeants cleaned up before evening chow.

Lieutenant Bee stood hunched over one of the mirrors, a box of bleach and developer spread across the counter like medical supplies. Their naturally black hair was sectioned off with clips, each strand carefully painted with the harsh chemicals. The acrid smell made their eyes water, but they gritted their teeth and continued working.

"You sure about this?" Sergeant Martinez asked from the next sink over, watching with barely concealed amusement. "That stuff's gonna fry your hair off."

"I know what I'm doing," Bee muttered, though the tremor in their voice suggested otherwise. They'd watched enough YouTube tutorials—how hard could it be?

The truth was, they had no idea what they were doing. But when Lieutenant John Price had mentioned offhandedly that he found blondes attractive during a conversation with some of the other lieutenants last week, something desperate and stupid had taken root in Bee's chest. They couldn't get the image out of their head—Price's eyes lighting up with interest, maybe even running his fingers along their freshly cut fade.

Not that they'd ever admit that. No, if anyone asked, this was about rebellion. About breaking the stupid grooming regulations just enough to get under Price's skin. About proving they weren't just another soldier following orders blindly.

Thirty minutes later, Bee rinsed out the bleach, heart hammering as they watched the water run from orange to clear. When they finally looked up at their reflection, their stomach dropped.

Their hair was... yellow. Not the platinum blonde they'd envisioned, but a brassy, uneven yellow that made them look sickly under the fluorescent lights. Chunks near their scalp had barely lifted at all, while the ends looked almost white. It was a disaster.

"Holy shit," Sergeant Riley whispered from behind them, having just walked in. Simon was one of the few people who bothered to check on them regularly, though he'd never admit it. "What did you do?"

"Shut up," Bee snapped, running their fingers through the damaged strands. Several pieces broke off in their hands. "It's... it's fine. I can fix this."

But they couldn't fix it. Three different box dyes later—each one darker than the last in a desperate attempt to cover the mess—Bee's hair had gone from yellow to an muddy orange-brown that somehow looked worse than the original bleach job. The different colors striped through their hair in uneven bands, and when they touched it, the coils felt brittle and fried, completely destroying the natural texture they'd spent years learning to care for.

"You look like a bumblebee," Corporal Jenkins said the next morning at breakfast, barely containing their laughter. "Yellow and brown stripes and all."

"Fuck off," Bee growled, but the nickname stuck. Within hours, half the base was calling them Bee, and by the end of the week, even the officers had picked it up.

The worst part? Price hadn't even noticed. At least, not until later.

Two weeks later, Bee stood in formation with their hair tucked under their regulation cap, the damage mostly hidden. Their scalp was still tender from all the chemical processing, and they'd had to cut off nearly two inches to get rid of the worst of the breakage.

"Today we're running tactical scenarios," Captain Morrison announced. "Price, you'll lead Red Team. Bee, you've got Blue Team. Standard capture-the-flag rules—first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it to base wins."

Bee's pulse quickened. This was it—their chance to prove they were better than Mr. Perfect Price. They'd been watching him for weeks, studying his tactics, learning his patterns. He might have seniority, but Bee was smarter, faster, more creative.

"Don't look so confident," Price murmured as they passed each other heading to their respective starting positions. "Wouldn't want to embarrass yourself in front of the whole company."

"The only one getting embarrassed today is you," Bee shot back, their cheeks heating. Why did he always have to stand so close? They could smell his aftershave, something clean and masculine that made their stomach flutter annoyingly.

Price chuckled, low and warm. "We'll see about that, Lieutenant."

The whistle blew, and both teams scattered into the training woods. Bee had spent hours planning this—they'd send Martinez and Thompson as a distraction team to the east while they led Corporals Wade and Chen in a flanking maneuver from the west. It was textbook, but executed perfectly.

Except Price wasn't where they expected him to be.

"Blue Team, report," Bee whispered into their radio as they crept through the underbrush toward Red Team's base.

"Distraction team in position," Martinez responded. "No sign of Price's main force."

That should have been Bee's first warning. Price was many things, but predictable wasn't one of them.

They made it all the way to the flag—a bright red bandana tied to a tree branch in a small clearing—before they realized it was a trap. The moment Bee's fingers touched the fabric, Price's voice rumbled from directly behind them.

"Looking for something?"

Bee spun around, heart hammering, to find Price leaning against a tree not five feet away. His arms were crossed, and that infuriating smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

"How long have you been there?" Bee demanded, proud that their voice came out steady despite the adrenaline coursing through their veins.

"Long enough to watch you creep around like you're playing hide-and-seek," Price replied, pushing off from the tree. "Nice plan, by the way. Textbook flanking maneuver. Shame it was so obvious."

Heat flared in Bee's chest—part embarrassment, part anger, and something else they didn't want to examine too closely. "Just because you got lucky—"

"Lucky?" Price stepped closer, close enough that Bee had to tilt their head back to maintain eye contact. "I had my whole team in position before you even left your base. Ghost's already got your flag, by the way."

As if summoned by his words, Riley's voice crackled over both their radios: "Red Team wins." Even back then, Simon had that uncanny ability to appear and disappear like a ghost.

Bee's shoulders sagged in defeat, but before they could step away, Price reached out and tugged off their cap. Bee's ruined hair tumbled out, the uneven colors obvious in the dappled sunlight.

"So this is what all the fuss was about," Price said quietly, studying the uneven colors in the dappled sunlight. "The whole base has been talking about Lieutenant Bee's new look."

"Don't," Bee warned, trying to snatch their cap back. But Price held it just out of reach, his eyes still focused on their hair.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "it does look like a bumblebee. Yellow and brown stripes." His eyes met theirs, something softer in his expression. "Though I bet you'd look good as a proper blonde. If you ever wanted to try again... maybe get it done professionally next time."

Bee's heart hammered at the compliment, heat rising to their cheeks. "Why'd you do it?" Price asked, his voice gentler now.

The honest answer—because I have a pathetic crush on you and thought you'd notice me—stuck in Bee's throat. Instead, they lifted their chin defiantly. "Because I felt like it. Problem with that, Lieutenant?"

Price's eyes searched their face, and for a moment, something shifted in his expression. Something warmer, more curious. "No," he said finally, handing back their cap. "No problem at all, Bee."

The way he said their new codename—soft, almost fond—made something flutter dangerously in Bee's chest.

"Alright, here's the deal," Price said a week later, cornering Bee after evening chow. "I'm tired of you skulking around, glaring at me every time I outperform you in training."

"I don't skulk," Bee protested, though they were definitely glaring right now.

"Right." Price's mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. "So here's what we're going to do. Tomorrow's combat assessment—whoever scores higher gets to assign the loser extra duties for a week."

Bee's eyes narrowed. "What kind of extra duties?"

"Oh, I don't know," Price said, his tone deceptively casual. "Cleaning my gear, organizing my footlocker, maybe doing my laundry..."

"You're on," Bee said immediately, their competitive streak overriding their common sense. "But when I win, you're doing my laundry for a month."

Price laughed, rich and warm. "Deal. But Bee?" He leaned in close enough that his breath tickled their ear. "I don't lose."

The shiver that ran down Bee's spine had nothing to do with the cool evening air.

The combat assessment was brutal—hand-to-hand combat, weapons proficiency, tactical problem-solving under pressure. Both lieutenants pushed themselves to their limits, each determined to come out on top.

Bee threw everything they had into each challenge, their movements sharp and precise. They were good—they knew they were good. But Price was better, and he made it look effortless.

When the scores were announced, Price had beaten them by exactly two points.

"Looks like you'll be doing my laundry after all," Price said as they walked back to the barracks, sweat still cooling on their skin.

"This isn't over," Bee muttered, but there was less venom in it than usual. Competing with Price was... exhilarating in a way they hadn't expected. He pushed them to be better, made them work harder than they ever had before.

"Good," Price replied, and when Bee glanced over at him, his expression was almost pleased. "I'd be disappointed if you gave up that easily."

That night, as Bee carefully folded Price's t-shirts in the laundry room, they tried to ignore how the fabric still smelled like him. Tried to ignore the way their pulse quickened when they imagined him wearing these shirts, the cotton stretched across his broad chest.

This was getting dangerous. But as they pressed their face briefly into one of his shirts—just for a second, just to see—Bee realized they were already too far gone to care.

The bets were just the beginning.

All banners by @cafekitsune

[toasttt11]

round two

May 8, 2024

Ophelia was sitting on the floor in from of her stall during the first intermission.

It was game one of round two against the Oilers and currently the Canucks were down 0-2 heading into the second period.

Ophelia glanced over at Arturs and immediately giggled seeing the ice pack on his head. Arturs peeked one eye open hearing Ophelia’s giggles and just smiled.

Arturs didn’t noticed Nils sneaking up behind him and stealing the ice pack of his head. Arturs flinched in shock and shouldn’t have been surprised to see it was Nils stealing the ice pack.

Nils tossed the ice pack to Ophelia and she laughed as she put it on her own head.

Arturs just shook his head at those two. Quinn smiled a bit at Ophelia, Arturs and Nils antics.

The Canucks headed out for the second period. Ophelia scored the first goal for the Canucks and then the Canucks scored four goals in a row.

They won game 5-4.

May 14, 2024

Jack slowly woke up feeling someone softly shaking him awake and opened his eyes seeing Ophelia holding a plate of donuts with candles in his favorite donut sitting next to him on the bed, Ellen holding a phone that he could see Luke and Jim on the screen and Quinn was sitting on the other side of the bed with a pile of presents.

“Happy Birthday!” Ophelia immediately spoke first with a happy smile.

Jack smile softened and he blew out his candles, he grabbed the plate setting it next to him before pulling Ophelia into his side, “I finally get my Bee birthday cuddles.” Jack flashed a smug grin at the phone purposely for Luke.

Luke let out a long sigh rolling his eyes, “Happy birthday to you Jackass.” Luke sniped back making Jack just snicker in reply as Ellen shook her head at her boys.

Quinn didn’t say anything but gave a small head shake with an amused smile.

Jack ate his favorite donut while just enjoying some time with his family who were here with him and on face time.

Jack opened all of the presents that were not from Ophelia first because in his words he is saving the best for last.

Jack opened the box and pulled out a smaller box first, “No way these are sick!” Jack pulled out a stack of his favorite rubber bracelets and he immediately loved the one with a bunch of bees the most.

Ophelia smiled at his reaction as she was still curled in his side, “They are all for something too i put all the papers in the box too.” Ophelia knows Jack loves his rubber bracelets but especially because they are all for something.

Jack’s smile softened at her thoughtfulness and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her hair in reply.

He pulled the things out of the box and saw a stack of hats.

“You need more and new hats.” Ophelia spoke, “All three do you do.” She said bluntly and knows the boys steals each other’s hats so now they would all be wearing newer hats.

“Thank you Ophelia! I’ve been saying this for years!” Ellen smirked satisfied glad someone else agrees. Ophelia laughed softly in reply.

Jack got most of the day with Ophelia, Quinn and Ellen. They went out to breakfast in Edmonton and spent the morning doing what Jack wanted before Quinn and Ophelia had game four and Jack and Ellen went to the game and the four had dinner after the game.

Jack could only have a better birthday if Luke and Jim were there too.

May 16, 2024

Ophelia let out a deep breath setting her stick across her thighs as she got ready to take another face off.

It was currently game five of the playoffs in the first period and the Oilers were up one goal already.

Ophelia won the face off in the Oilers zone passing to Elias who lost puck and when the Oilers went to pass the puck out of the zone, Ophelia intercepted the pass and flicked the puck right into the net.

Ophelia grinned at her goal as she was immediately pulled into hugs.

Annoyingly the Oilers scored another goal only seconds after Ophelia’s and the Oilers were up heading into the second period.

It was only a couple of minutes into the second period and Quinn had the puck and passed right to Ophelia, who easily took the puck to her backhand and tossed the puck into the net and tying the game up again.

Ophelia let out a little yes as the game was tied up again and she smiled leaning into Quinn as he squished her.

Score was still tied into the third period.

Ophelia was at the boards over half way through the period fighting for the puck with an Oiler and she didn’t see a Oiler skating over to her quickly not even trying for the puck but hitting her making her smash into the boards.

Her chin took most of the hit as she crumbled down to the ice. Ophelia coughed a bit trying to catch her breath as she was just smushed into the board and got a harsh elbow to the back of her.

Jt was shoving the player away from Ophelia immediately and was quickly dropping his gloves fighting for Ophelia.

Quinn skated right to Ophelia quickly kneeling down next to her as her knees and elbows were on the ice and her chest heaved.

Quinn eyes widened seeing some blood on the ice, “What hurts?” Quinn asked firmly but gently as he set a hand to her arm not sure what to touch yet.

Ophelia slowly shook her head thankful they didn’t cause any pain which is good, “Nothing bad.” Ophelia slowly got out trying to catch her breath from the hit.

The trainers game over and put a towel to her chin, the underside of her chin had spilt open and was bleeding.

Ophelia eventually caught her breath, nothing felt injured she was just sore and her chin was cut open. She got up with Quinn’s help and headed down the tunnel to get a few stitches.

Ophelia pulled the bubble down as she headed back down the tunnel with the score still tied and barely two minutes left.

“You good?” Brock asked her as he softly patted her knee when she sat down next to her.

Ophelia gave him a firm nod in return before they hopped over the boards with Elias.

The puck kept getting whacked at in front of the Oilers net after many failed attempts at a goal.

Ophelia whacked at the stick and it slid under the goalies pad with thirty seconds left.

The crowd in the Canucks arena was insane as the ice was rained down with hats for Ophelia’s hat trick and getting her game winning goal with less than thirty seconds left.

Ophelia laughed so happily and loudly with tears in her eyes and she cheered getting tackled by Elias, Brock, Nils and Quinn even Arturs came down the ice to join the hug.

Canucks won their third game and only needed one more win.

Ophelia got her first ever hat trick in the playoffs.

May 20, 2024

Canucks lost game six and headed to a game seven.

No one scored the first period.

Within a couple minutes in the second the Oiler’s scored three goals making the idea of the Canucks wining become hard and harder.

Connor scored for the Canucks in the third and a few minutes later Ophelia got the puck from Quinn and hitting the puck into the net.

Canucks were only down a goal but it wasn’t enough.

Vancouver lost game seven and was eliminated from the playoffs.

Ophelia’s eyes stayed on the ice as she stayed close to Quinn’s side. She was devastated obviously but she was also proud of what the team did this season and postseason.

Ophelia’s rookie season was officially over and she was proud of herself with what she accomplished in her rookie season.

Ophelia let out a sad sigh making Quinn pat her shoulder as they got in the handshake line.

Ophelia blinked as she was stopped and looked up seeing McDavid giving her a genuine smile, “You had a wonderful season James, i look forward to playing against you again.”

Ophelia blinked a few times at his words and she gave him a very tiny smile, “Thank you.”

McDavid nodded and patted her shoulder once more before letting her go.

Ophelia made sure to give Arturs a hug and make sure he wasn’t blaming himself too much.

Ophelia took a quick shower wanting to go back to the apartment and soon Michigan as Quinn made sure Ophelia knew she was welcomed at Michigan always and that’s where she plans to spend her off season.

She decided to head out of the locker room after her shower to go find Ellen and Jack instead of waiting for Quinn.

Ophelia had head down not paying attention making her accidentally run into someone and she felt a pair of hands go to her forearms quickly and catching her from falling.

She glanced up seeing a boy who looked near her age and looked very familiar, he was looking at her already but before she could say anything she heard Jack calling her name, “I’m so sorry.” She quickly got out before walking away quickly to Jack.

The boy’s head turned watching her walk away before he heard his brother call him.

“Mack!”

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Ellie: Say Hello to My Little Friend(s)!

Summary: Ellie wants you to kiss all her little stuffed animal friends goodnight! Based on this

- - - -

It has been both the best and worst thing: putting Ellie and Sarah in their own beds, in the same room. Best, because they play with each other all day and keep busy. Worst, because they play with each other the whole day and keep way too busy.

Every time you walk in, there's a new arrangement. The room started with Ellie's stuff on the left, Sarah's on the right. Then the next night, somehow, Ellie's bed was turned over and half on Sarah's, making a lofted tent fort. Then the next night they were both pinned upright unsafely against the wall, clearing the floor space for cartwheels and mini gymnastics.

"I'm bolting the beds to the floor," Joel murmurs as you and he reset the room for the 5th night in a row. "I don't care if it ruins the floorboards. They can't keep bein' interior decorators!"

That makes you swoon a bit. "aww. our little interior decorators--!"

"NO!" he points at you sternly.

You huff, settling the bed down in the corner again.

Things calmed down once they started collecting more junk. Sarah had more hair clip and makeup kits, princess dresses and coloring books than Joel could keep track of.

And Ellie? She somehow was bringing the entire forest in with her. Sticks and leaves would trail from the backyard door up the stairs and into the closed bedroom door. She would make little scenes and tiny "houses" for her "ants". When you needed to clean it, she'd scurry you away and demand you leave the animal nests alone.

So Joel gave her a giant cardboard box in her closet, and told her she can keep her twigs and leaves and rocks, so long as they went back in the bin each night. No more trails around the house.

"Why can't she be obsessed with magic marker," he sighs. he vacuums the last of the dirt she'd trailed in with her little boots.

"You got a kid who loved paint already, remember? is this so that much worse?"

Joel thinks back to Sarah's insatiable painting phase. he shivers just thinking about the amount of stains that supposedly removable but very clearly not removable paint kit left everywhere.

You go to tuck the girls in bed. Sarah got her squishmellow wrapped in her arms as you plant a fat kiss on her cheek.

You crawl over to Ellie's bed, beginning to tuck her in too.

"No! you have to kiss Gab gab nighty first." she holds up her stuffed bear. You grin, giving Gab Gab a hungry kiss over his belly.

"And Bee!" she holds up the next plush. You laugh and do the same.

You're about to turn away when she grabs your hand. Yet another animal in hand awaiting his kiss.

If those sweet innocent cute little eyes weren't her father's, you'd be a free woman now. But you can't deny your baby a single thing. So off you go kissing each animal and pillow and blanket she holds up.

"And Poppy! She's just like Mommy!" she yellows, double fisting a rather realistic looking opossum. You tilt your head funnily. Even if Joel couldn't, you absolutely recognize each stuffed animal you bought the girls (hello, they're like family!). You definitely didn't buy Poppy, though maybe it was a cool gift from uncle Tommy. No matter; you lean down to plant your lips on Poppy's furry little forehead, just like the rest of the beady eye'd babies.

You weren't ready for those beady eyes to turn LEFT of their own accord, staring you dead on as you got closer--

-

Joel hears a blood curling shriek from the girls room. He flies off the bed, sending his book and glasses into the ball, racing down the hall so fast that he can barely pump the breaks as he reaches the room.

You're running out of there like your ass is one fire, spitting profusely and screaming hysterically.

"What is it ?? What happened?" he demands, holding your arms by your side. You're stomping your feet, elbows fidgeting, shaking all over like you needed to shake out free in a frenzy. You were inconsolable , just shaking your head over and over again.

Joel looks over to Ellie. She has her wide big scared eyes and pouty face, like she somehow very innocently wasn't sure what happened either.

"Um. I told you guys about Poppy," Sarah said calmly.

Joel and you look over to her, confused.

"You didn't listen," she shrugs, going back to her pillow.

"Ellie," Joel says. slowly. firmly. "Who's Poppy?"

Ellie reaches from behind her to reveal an upside down possum.

"Mommy scared her," she says, cradling the animal.

"Thats--that's a opossum," Joel gulps plainly. He can very clearly tell; there's a real fucking live possum in his 5 year old's lap.

"Mhm!"

You sob into Joel's shoulder, unable to look at it, rubbing your mouth over his shirt a million times.

His mouth forms so many words yet none of them leave his lips. How? Why? Where? When? What?

"You said its fine if she goes in her box," your little one says softly.

Joel can feel your furious eyes burning into his cheek.

he gives you a 'how the fuck was i supposed to know she was gonna bring a real wild animal in the house?' look of defense.

"Ellie."

"Ya?"

"Um. Poppy needs to go back home."

"Mm. Okay!"

She hops off her bed, carrying the thing like a football. you cringe inward, shuffling to the opposite side. She carries it so calmly, so naturally.

Youngest daughters scare the fuck out of you.

She opens the closet door and settles Poppy into the dark box. "Her babies were waiting," Ellie whispers.

You let out a terrified squeak as you and Joel horrifically lean over enough just to see the reflection of 18 more beady little eyeballs in the dark staring up at you.

Joel swallows, leaning back slowly away. His eyes are wide as he looks down at his midget, scary little thing he's created.

"Um. Ellie."

"Daddy?"

"We, uh. need to talk. about... why animals...don't come inside."

"But. Spoon?"

"Spoon is an indoor animal."

"RuRu?"

"And Rutabaga." he nods. "but um. You can't just take other animals who live outside, baby. You see, that's their home."

"I made new home!"

"They have to stay in their own home. You wouldn't want Spoon living outside suddenly, would you?"

She looks down at her feet, contemplating before shaking her head no.

With much aid from her, Joel helps remove momma Poppy and her babies back outside. Again, with 0 effort and her uncoordinated hands, she somehow scooped them up with ease and carried them haphazardly down the stairs and out the yard, their little feets dangling around her belly helplessly.

Momma hissed at him from within the box. He set it down and let the babies scamper back to her, and they all took off into the woods.

Ellie rubs the tears in her eyes. "Buh bye Poppy!" she croaks, sniffling.

He lets her wave goodbye for a few minutes more. After another shower, vacuuming, laundry load, Joel sets Ellie to bed.

You both get in your covers and just stare off ahead.

Both of you were thinking the same thing, suddenly remembering Sarah saying there was a possum living in their closet last week.

Neither of you believed her.

"She's your DNA," you mumble before shifting off in the bed.

Joel sighs, nodding with exhaustion. He turns off the light and lays back.

the room is quiet for a moment.

"Wait, she's YOUR DNA too??!! She came outta you!" he snaps.

You flip the covers over. "Oh yeah, like she gets that from me."

He flips them back over on you. "I ain't bringing animals in here! You damn well know I protested every single dog n ducklin that came into this house!"

"The ducks don't even LIVE in this house. You took inside animals and put them outside!"

"They literally had a jacuzzi and waterslide. I think they were doin' jus fine glampin' out in the backyard. You're the one tellin' her to be a little animal whisperer!"

"Oh please Like i had any idea she'd bring a real fuckin possum in here and mAKE ME KISS IT!"

Luckily, neither of the girls can hear their parents bickering. Instead, Ellie cuddles the tiny rabbit she had plucked from a hole under the house the moment before coming inside this evening with Joel.

"Don't worry, you were inside already! That makes you inside animal!" she kisses its noggin and strokes its ears soothingly.

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @urlivingdeadgirl @yourmommycallsmemommy @kellielovesmovies @whoaitspascal87 @yournameyn @jeewrites

[mattsundaes]

hoshina + yellow 😣🙏 btw your spicy sleepover fics literally keep me sane they’re all so good I read them no matter what character or what fandom bc I always know they’re going to hit !!!! thank u for sharing your work with us 💕💕

(thank you so much nonnie<3 i appreciate you!!)

soshiro hoshina x reader

c: fluff, established relationship

Soshiro’s never really cared for the color yellow—its pale shade has always reminded him of long, hot afternoons spent on his knees in his grandmother’s garden. He can still remember it now, the acrid feeling of sticky sweat dripping down his neck, his fingers cramping beneath stiff gloves as he pulled endless rows of dandelions from the soil while other children in the village played and laughed nearby. 

(He’s long since acknowledged the lessons that were to be found in the laborious work, holds no ill will to the sage, weathered woman for instilling a sense of duty in him at such a young age—but he still hates dandelions to this day all the same.)

He’s never cared for the peculiar taste of bananas, isn’t overly fond of the biting cold that soon accompanies the yellowing of the leaves as fall approaches.

Mustard is the least agreeable of toppings, in his opinion, and even a hint of turmeric makes his stomach turn.

Bees are bothersome, and that’s just a fact.

But as the weight of the velvet box tucked away in his pocket presses heavily against his thigh, unbeknownst to you while you skip ahead uphill where a sprawling vista awaits, the soft yellow fabric of your new sundress billowing softly in the warm summer breeze—

—as you near the edge of the cliff and gasp at the view of the city below, eyes sparkling with wonder as you turn back to Soshiro with a smile stretched across your face that makes his entire chest ache with fondness—

—as the gentle, golden glow of the sunset pours over you when you step out from beneath the shade of the trees—

Soshiro thinks this sight alone would have brought him to his knees either way, even without the prompting of the cool metal of the ring now clutched between his fingers as he waits for you to turn around.

(And he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he's a bit fond of the color now.)

[thesecond-if]

Can I have some cute RO fun facts? Figure this IF is gonna be a lot of pain (don’t get me wrong I am SO ready for the angst, but) so some fluff would be nice. :D

Yes. YES. Here’s some fluff to wrap yourself in like a bloodstained blanket 🥰

✝️ Father Isaac Rowe

Has the softest laugh when something actually genuinely amuses him.

Keeps bees. There’s a hidden little hive box behind the chapel. He says it’s for the garden, but he names the bees.

Likes the way you smell. Won’t admit it. You catch him leaning closer and pretending it’s a coincidence.

🎙️ Silas Wren

Once made a 37-minute voice memo just ranting about how good your voice sounds when you read things out loud.

Uses “research” as an excuse to hang out with you. Brings snacks and drinks and everything and then insists it’s “strictly work.”

Is embarrassingly bad at cooking but will still try to make you breakfast.

Has one (1) hoodie you left behind that he swears he’s “just keeping safe.” Meaning he sleeps with it.

🕯️ Sister Mercy

Sings while she works, quiet, soft hymns in a language you don’t know.

Will brush your hair (if applicable to your MC) with reverence. Claims it helps her think. (It doesn't. She's just obsessed with touching you gently.)

Draws little symbols on your hands with her fingers.

🧠 Dr. Elaine Marrow

Will read out loud to you without realizing it. Gets completely immersed in her books and just starts narrating while you're nearby.

Has a very specific way she likes her coffee and will remember yours down to how long you let the spoon sit.

Has an extremely dry sense of humor that only comes out when she’s half asleep.

🚬 Detective Jonah Redd

Will always give you his coat without asking. Doesn’t care if he’s cold. If you try to give it back, he just shrugs and says, “Looks better on you.”

Quietly keeps your favorite snacks in his glove compartment.

Hates dancing but will absolutely let you sway with him in the kitchen at 2 a.m. if you ask nicely.

👁️ The Second (HIM)

Leaves you gifts. Never when you’re watching, just strange little offerings: black feathers, polished stones, dried flowers.

When you're overwhelmed, He silences the world around you, not metaphorically. Literally. Everything stops: the buzzing, the light, the static. Just for a moment. Just so you can breathe.

Watches you like He’s never seen anything so precious.

[ttllynotmyshyt]

Building a rectangle house with my enemies 💀

Y/n: “Hello gamers, what’s up. Today we’re starting a brand new survival world, and yes, I did in fact drag three people into this mess with me. Two of them know what they’re doing. One of them... is Mandy.”

Cut to Minecraft title screen, then loading into the world.

Martin (VC): “New world smell. Don’t ruin it yet.” Hamzah: “Too late. Mandy just punched a bee.” Mandy (deadpan): “Do you punch with right click? Or—sorry. Left click? Ow. How do I stop it from attacking me?”

Everyone in a meadow near a forest.

Hamzah: “Alright bois and girlbosses, we speedrun wood.” Martin: “Someone get tools, someone get food. Mandy, go... um. Look around.” Mandy: “Can I collect these plants? What if I made a flower garden? Or can you do crops?” Y/n (laughing): “Literally building Stardew Valley while we starve. Yeah, Mandy if you punch the grassiest grass, you might get wheat seeds. Get a bunch—I’ll make you a hoe and show you how to grow stuff.”

Mandy: “Why doesn’t this make a chair.” Hamzah: “Bro get the hella outta here with that IKEA crafting.”

Cuts to a janky birch shed.

Martin: “Guys it’s getting dark—”

Y/n: “We have a house! Kind of.”

Hamzah: “This is a rectangle…”

Y/n: “Wow, so picky. At least you have a roof and a warm bed. Be grateful—there are children in active warzones right now.”

Mandy: “I think it’s giving modern minimalism.”

Hamzah: “I think it’s giving hospital waiting room.”

(Y/n places four beds in a row.)

Martin: “Why are the beds all snuggled up like that? Is this a double date?”

Y/n (laughing): “It’s a team-building exercise.”

(Hamzah’s character immediately picks the bed next to hers.)

Martin: “Oh my god. Is it because you’re lovers?”

Hamzah (without missing a beat): “No. And quick PSA: just because someone roasts you on vacation doesn’t mean they love you. Probably.”

(Beat. Y/n silently places a torch over his head.)

Y/n: “Okay anyway—food tomorrow or we die. Mandy, I’m gonna teach you how to garden and fish.”

Mandy: “I don’t like these sounds… growling. Wait—is this a creeper? Is that like what’s on one of Y/n’s hoodies?” (Zombie groan. Explosion. Cut to death screen.) Y/n: “Okay well. RIP Mandy.” Mandy: “That was a jumpscare. You didn’t tell me this game had jumpscares.” Martin: “You walked up to a creeper and said ‘what’s that lil green guy.’”

Cave: mining, armor, etc.

Hamzah: “Me and Martin are gonna explore this cave like men.” Martin: “Let the record show I did not agree to this phrasing.”

Y/n and Mandy build up top. Mandy places torches at odd angles

Y/n: “Mandy, you placed torches like we’re summoning Herobrine.” Mandy: “Maybe I am. He seems nice.”

Hamzah finding diamonds and instantly getting humbled by lava.

Hamzah (after yelling, high pitched): “Gamer moment. Near-death experience. I got humbled.

Y/n trying to tame a wolf, wasting 15 bones and having it run away

Y/n: “Alright. Running away after getting so much bone. Guess this one was a bitch…”

Martin falls in a hole:

Martin: “God I hate gravity.” Hamzah: “That’s not gravity, that’s just being dumb.”

After having found a village, Y/n puts a villager in a boat

Y/n: “This is Kurtis, our mayor. Do not touch him.” Mandy: “I fed him wheat. He didn’t say thank you.”

Ending

Y/n: “Alright gamers, we survived our first Minecraft day. Mostly. Sorry Mandy.” Mandy: “Sorry me??” Martin: “Next episode we’re either building a proper maximalist base or dying in a cave. Place your bets.” Y/n (to camera): “If you liked this gameplay, thought it was like… Gnarly? Like and subscribe. Comment your favorite professional boxing star and tell Mandy she’s doing amazing. If you don’t believe that—don’t lie. But if you do, let her know. She is amazing. Let’s get some Mandy love in the comments.”

Mandy smiling shyly at the camera. Cut to outro music—slowed down replay of her trying to craft a chair.

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕄𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @bl4cktourmaline request: yahoo~ bee! it's me again:33 I saw the requests are open? If it is and I'm not tripping then may I request for Lyney with an oblivious reader who is a big fan of his and they are like... mutual pining for each other but they aren't even aware of it that it's become annoyingly sweet lol

Words can't describe how I love this man

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Hey hey! You're not tripping don't worry I see our mental state is similar lol But omg help I love it!! Down for Lyney too won't lie-

But omg, I kinda wanna write part 2 of this!! If I'll still feel like doing this after my requests are all done and I don't forget, I'll def be continuing this!

Anyway tho... I hope you enjoy! I personally kinda like it so I really hope you do too ^^

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ platonic/fluff

At this point Lynette and Freminet were watching you two. Even if they were 2km afar, they could still see you two and could only sigh about the view.

Lyney gave you another rainbow rose. It was like... 24 day strike by now! He gave you one every day, and every single time in a different time. First time it magically appeared in his hand, yesterday he pulled it out from ear your ear and today he "found it" in your tea!! How's even that possible?!

"For you, mon cherie~"

"Awh, thank you! I actually got something for you as well!"

"Oh really? Now what could it be... maybe you got me a reward for my latest magic show?"

"Well... yeah you could think so! Though I actually mean it as a gift for being such an amazing person for me!"

He could only chuckle as he took small box from you. His cheeks flushed gently but somehow, it just didn't got through his scalp what you really meant...

"Well isn't that sweet! Now what could we... ah- that's my favorite cake! How did you know?"

"I just happened to remember it. It's the least I could do for all the gifts you gave me recently."

But maybe it wasn't just him who was being a bit blunt here. You were as well, he was giving you rainbow roses every day, flowers meaning he loves you and yet, you just couldn't notice that special meaning...

"Should we finally help them?"

"Let them be for a bit longer."

2 siblings were now considering just coming up to you two and hitting you in the head, maybe then you'd notice how you both have obvious feelings for each other!

They know their brother has a crush on you because after every meeting with you, he's kicking his feet like highschool girl with crush in his bed. And you? You admitted yourself to Lynette while asking for advice because you thought he hated you when in reality, he was a tomato and had to run away from emberassment.

But both eventually decided to stay back and watch. They don't want to take this special moment away from you... But maybe the can at least do some backstage work at helping you with confessions?

"You see... I got something just for you! I have very important snow this weekend and naturally, I reserved a seat in front row just for you!"

Lyney smiled as he hands you the ticket with small bow, his eyes never leaving yours but not in a creepy way, he just couldn't help but admire you a bit.

"Oh you didn't had to really! But I do appreciate it. I'll definitely show up, thank you!"

"No need to thank me! It'll be enough for me if you come and let me see your smile~"

"What?"

Finally realizing what he said, his cheeks became red and began stuttering even tho he's usually smooth with his words.

"I meant- naturally I'd want to make... my audience happy! That's... just natural... magician's instinct! Yeah."

"Oh that's understandable! Well knowing you, your abilities and charms, I'm sure it won't be hard at all."

But he wasn't any better. You were clearly trying to compliment him, but he thought it's just you saying it as audience and not as someone with a crush...

"Actually... let's maybe make a plan. We can start tomorrow."

Freminet nodded on his sister's statement and entered their hous, leaving the two of you be and prepared the great plan with simple goal: getting you two together!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot - come get your charming magician~

[ghoulodont]

Cardiac Action Potential

The birds and the bees, for a ghoul, are the tria prima and a human sacrifice.

Relationship: None... yet Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Words: 1.3k

Read below or on AO3

Six ghouls wait silently at the locked door of the chapel. On the schedule tonight is the summoning of a singular addition to their lineup, a bass player.

Originally, it was a lead guitar ghoul that the group needed, but the clergy had noted Dewdrop’s proficiency on the guitar, his drive to learn an instrument he wasn’t summoned to play, and offered him an opportunity. After some deliberation, it was decided. The lead guitar ghoul role was filled, and the bass ghoul role was empty.

Dew liked the old lead guitar ghoul, and they had great chemistry together onstage. But he wasn’t continuing with the band. That’s life, Dew supposes. Or, that’s undeath, or however a ghoul’s state of being should be classified.

Regardless, because of this change of plans, the final summoning of this iteration of the band had been slightly delayed. Now that it was confirmed they did indeed need a new bass ghoul, they are ready to proceed.

Eventually the door creaks open, pulled back by a single sister of sin. When the ghouls enter, she closes the door behind them and twists the deadbolt shut with a heavy thunk.

Inside is a chapel designated specifically for summoning. It’s rarely used, but immaculately maintained. If you were to see it between rituals — and you wouldn’t, unless you were tasked with its upkeep, because it’s otherwise kept securely locked — you would hardly know its purpose. One of the only subtle hints is the coffin shape of the stone altar at the center of the raised sanctuary.

Another is the circle surrounding it, painted on the floor with something dark red, its circumference lined with intricate sigils. That might be a hint too.

The altar is bare, pristine, except for six black candles, flames glowing steadily, one at each corner. Copia stands at its head, hands clasped behind him.

Copia, only a cardinal, taking on the role of a pope. It’s all very non-traditional, but it’s not like Dew has much experience with anything else. It’s not the only atypical feature of this summoning, anyway.

The ghouls file into the pews along one side of the sanctuary. The matching pews across from them remain empty. The small nave is mostly empty too, save for a row of sisters.

When the ghouls sit, Copia nods to the sisters, who proceed up the single step into the sanctuary and make their way to the altar. Each of them holds a ritual item, cradled carefully in two hands.

Dew has seen all of this before. He just recently saw it three times in quick succession. It doesn’t get any easier to watch. He’s not sure what the purpose of the existing ghouls’ presence is anyway. It must just be tradition.

The necessary items for the ritual were prepared beforehand, ingredients carefully measured into their own little containers, oddly like the mise-en-place of a cooking show on TV. The first three sisters each hand a small bowl to the cardinal. He takes them, one at a time, and pours the contents of each onto the altar, along its long axis, each reagent in its own place.

The first is a fine yellow powder, a tiny, dusty mountain on the stone surface — sulfur.

The second is a shiny, slippery liquid, forming a little round puddle — mercury.

The third is a white and crystalline substance, pebbles of it tumbling down the sides of its pile — salt.

The penultimate sister is holding a black wooden box, intricately carved and inlaid with gold. She lifts away the lid and Copia removes from it a human heart, which he places on the altar, two thirds from the top, at its widest point.

The final sister hands him a chalice filled with a deep red liquid. This, Dew has been told, is blood, once belonging to someone who is now no longer alive.

Briefly, Copia holds the chalice aloft. Then he lowers it and pours its contents across the altar in a wide, splattering stripe, drenching it and all of the prepared items upon it. The liquid spreads, rivulets reaching the edge of the altar and running down its sides to the floor.

There is a tense beat of silence. Then, the salt sizzles, the mercury bubbles, and the sulfur erupts into bright blue flame.

When the reaction fades, the reagents are gone. The only thing left on the altar is the heart, unmarred. The chapel is silent and still, as if maybe that’s all that will happen, and it’s already over.

But, moments later, the main event begins. Blood vessels sprout from the top of the heart and grow, snaking, across the altar. They twist and branch into a vaguely humanoid shape, a shadow over the stone.

Individual organs congeal, wet and shiny, each budding from nothing and blooming into something recognizable — lungs, liver, kidneys. A brain. Ducts and vessels reach out to one another.

Bones form, the biggest ones first. They start out spindly like twigs and grow in length and diameter, creaking as they expand. They lie disjoint from each other, draped over the existing viscera in a loose semblance of a skeleton. As the first ligaments are created, they begin to pull together. Arms slide into shoulders, legs into hips. Ribs attach to a sternum and vault over the organs of the chest cavity.

Muscle and sinew forms, layer by layer, a macabre, meaty papier-mâché. As flesh connects to bone, the ghoul twitches. His limbs jerk unceremoniously, like a marionette.

One of his flailing arms knocks a candle off the altar and onto the marble floor of the sanctuary. Hot wax pools under it, but the flame continues to burn, rising perpendicular from the wick.

He lets out a low, breathy groan, whatever air was in his lungs pushed out by the contraction of his brand new diaphragm.

Final layers of adipose and skin cover his raw, exposed tissue. As all of his bodily systems come together he continues to twitch, smaller movements but more of them now, until he’s almost vibrating.

Then he flops limp on the altar, motionless.

Copia reaches down and feels for the new ghoul’s pulse, placing two fingers into the juncture between his neck and his jaw. When he nods, the waiting sisters flurry over to lift the ghoul’s body off the altar. As two of them raise his upper body into a seated position, his head first lolls back and then snaps forward, like he’s suddenly awake. His eyes fall open.

Dew watches him take a deep, gasping breath. His first.

Two more sisters join to help pull him up until he’s standing. A fifth drapes a blanket over his shoulders. He’s taller than all of them. The sister with the blanket stands on her tiptoes.

They lead him to sit on the opposite side of the sanctuary. If he were summoned when he was supposed to be, he would be sitting among other newborn ghouls. Instead, he’s alone. At least he doesn’t have to sit through any more summonings right now, to witness his first and only memory as an outside observer before he’s had any chance to get his bearings.

No, Dew wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone.

Dew isn’t listening while Copia says the closing rite. He’s watching the new ghoul. His replacement, yet he’s still here to witness this. It hasn’t ever happened before, at least not that he’s aware of.

The ghoul is pulling his blanket around himself. His head is drooping forward slightly, like it’s too heavy for him to hold up. He’s breathing hard enough that Dew can see the rise and fall of his shoulders from the other side of the sanctuary. When Copia dismisses them all, the sisters return to his side and help him file out of the chapel with everyone else.

Tonight, they will go their separate ways. This new ghoul will be whisked off for further initiation rituals, and then closely monitored for a few days as he builds strength in his new body.

Dew watches as he’s led down the hall in the opposite direction. He looks like a baby deer, unsteady in an endearing sort of way. Something about his proportions adds to the image — he’s all legs under his blanket.

As they turn the corner and continue out of sight, Dew wonders what his name will be.

[fairvstairs]

DAN AND MATT WEDDING!!!

The events take place about 4/5 years after their graduation.

You could say that their wedding is the most anticipated of the year.

Because of their careers a lot of journalists tried to crash the wedding to get good pictures of the foxes. Neil was in charge of hiring the security but one of them disguised himself and got past them. Andrew smashed his camera and almost punched him.

The wedding is amazing, almost everything is perfect, but the proposal couldn't have gone more wrong. After buying the ring, Matt goes to Neil's apartment to show him. Andrew lives in another city, they are in different teams, but they share custody of a cat. Of course, with their luck, when Matt goes to leave... the ring is no longer in its container. The cat swallowed it. Of course he did. They go to the vet but they just have to wait for... nature to take its course. When it finally does- it is not Matt's ring. It's a normal ring. Not his very expensive engagement ring. They look everywhere in the house for it but it's just gone out of thin air. He starts to think, what if it's a sign? What if he's not meant to marry Dan? What if this is the way of the universe to tell him that he shouldn't even ask her? Neil slaps him to make him come to his senses. It works.

Later that night, at dinner, while he's sitting in front of Dan, he has to pretend that everything is fine. She, of course, notices that something is wrong but he just blames it on a rough round of practice. After they finished cleaning he gives a kiss and then goes to take a shower. He has only taken his pants off when he hears something hit the floor. He takes a good look around and that's where he spots it: his ring! He inadvertently screams out of joy only for Dan to come rush into the bathroom, thinking he has fallen. They both stare at each other for a couple of minutes: her, still with her hand on the door handler, looking at him with wide eyes and him, in only his shirt and boxes, with the ring in his hands. Matt lets out a breath, kneels and asks her.

Neil is the best man, Allison is the maid of honor and Renee officiates the wedding. Nicky cries after her speech. Very loudly.

Bee, Abby and Wymack are sitting in the front row, he walks her down the aisle. He doesn't immediately let her go, he just looks at her while nodding his head, he then gives her a kiss on the forehead and goes to take his seat. He takes Abby's hand between his own and doesn't let go for the entire ceremony.

Dan is the most beautiful bride ever and, even if their wedding is considerably small, everything looks and feels like a fairytale. Of course, Allison was the wedding planner.

They do a private first look and Matt immediately starts crying. They don't really talk much, they just hold each other while silently crying. Tears of joy, of course. Dan's cheeks hurt by the end of the ceremony.

They get married in late June, at the beach. (I don't even like beach weddings but it's just perfect for them!)

Dan's vows are absolutely amazing but Matt's just leave everyone speechless. Witnesses claim they saw Kevin Day wipe away his tears. He will later be seen scream at Aaron Minyard that some sand got in his eyes.

Matt doesn't even wait for Renee to finish her sentence ("You may now kiss the bride") that he immediately lunches himself at Dan. The kiss lasts for a long time. And I mean a very long time. Nicky whistles.

During the reception, Matt takes Neil aside and thanks him for being the best best man. He knows it's not easy for him being in the spot light and he really appreciates it. Neil thanks him for giving him this opportunity. He looks for Andrew and spots him walking towards the beach with his phone at his ear, away from the eyes of everyone else. He, of course, follows him. They stay in silence for a while.

"Would you want to do this one day?" the blonde asks.

"Would you?"

Neil expects Andrew to say "I asked you first," but, instead, he takes out a box and hands it to him. Inside there isn't a ring but a key, it's bigger and heavier than the others. On it there is a writing that says "Stay forever".

"My coach called, the transfer was accepted. I'm moving to your team."

Five months later, they enter their new house for the first time. Just them, two cats and two rings on their fingers.

[graycats-arcane-blog]

Lightcannon Week, day one fic!

Prompt: fake relationship

Fic Title: Here for Diamonds, not Dames

Rating: T

Length: 3.9k words

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57355789

@lightcannonweek

Synopsis: Jinx breaks into the Crownguard estate to steal some diamonds. When her would-be-victim asks for her help, Jinx finds herself sidetracked on a mission to convince Lux's brother and her would-be-suitor that Lux isn't available.

. . .

Jinx got bored sometimes, and she didn’t cope well with the feeling. Boredom became uncomfortable as it grew inside of her, building up, up, up, like a pressurized bomb. Before long, it would bubble under her skin and push behind her eyes, and she would have to find a way to let it out before it drove her mad!

… Well, maybe it was too late to stop her from going mad.

Robbing Pilties was fun, and it was interesting enough to keep her boredom at bay. Jinx got a rush from finding shiny new trinkets to take home, leaving the site of her thievery with a BANG, and watching enforcers buzz after her like a swarm of angry bees. Sometimes her sister and her tophat-wearing girlfriend joined the fun, which always brought a spicy dash of drama to the game!

However, once she’d cased every rich family across the river at least three times over, it started to feel like Jinx was going through the motions. Everything became so predictable that she might as well have been living the same day over and over again! To make matters worse, the enforcers weren’t even trying to make things fun anymore! Jinx had caught Fat-Hands and Tophat telling their buddies not to give chase or engage with her, that they should just let Jinx slip off so that she would cause less damage and hurt less people, and it was infuriating!

Big, mean sis! She knew. She knew that Jinx needed this! Why did she want Jinx to be bored and miserable? Didn’t she care at all?

Well, if she couldn’t get her kicks in Piltover, she wasn’t sticking around by the river to play with those soil-sports. It was time to mix things up and find new people to play with!

It was time for Jinx’s big, bad, burglary tour of Runeterra!

. . .

So far, she’d swiped nine necklaces in Noxus and five fur-coats in Freljord, and she was having the time of her life! Each place she visited had rich families to scope out, security to weave around, and new authorities to piss off on her way out. She should’ve done this ages ago!

She kinda missed having familiar faces to play with, though. Scaring strangers was nice, but there was nothing quite like pissing off someone you had history with, like Sis and Cupcake. But what was Jinx supposed to do? Stick around somewhere, make friends, and wait for things to get boring again? No, it was better for her to keep moving.

Now, in the regal nation of Demacia, Jinx had her heart set on stealing a dozen diamonds! Naturally, she wouldn’t turn down any other shiny collateral that caught her eye, but the diamonds were essential for her to win this game she’d cooked up for herself.

. . .

Jinx found herself sneaking through the halls of an estate owned by the Crownguard family. She couldn’t help but be impressed at the digs – this place was even fancier than the Kiramman’s mansion! The grounds had an older, more established feel, and the rows of ancestral portraits lining walls of white stone really nailed down the fact that this family had old, old money.

Now, where do they keep the jewels around here?

She sniffed her way past several guards and into countless rooms, but had yet to find anything resembling a vault. There’d been plenty of fancy, metal cutlery in the kitchens and even some cool swords mounted on mantles downstairs, but no diamonds! Undeterred, Jinx decided to scope out some of the bedrooms and see if she could locate a rich dame’s jewelry box.

Scaling to an upper floor, Jinx paused briefly by a door, pressing her ear to the ornately-carved cedarwood to check if anyone was inside. Reassured by the lack of sound, she moved with the silence of a phantom, placing her hand on the gilded doorknob and turning it slowly. The doorknob didn’t squeak thanks to Jinx’s deftness, and neither did the hinges whine as she pushed the door open and peeked inside.

Now this was promising! Arranged around the room, Jinx saw a neatly-made bed topped with several fancy pillows, a sturdy desk laden with leather-covered books, and a vanity sporting a round mirror framed with platinum and blue stones. Practically shivering with excitement, Jinx darted inside, jumped onto the bed, and bounced several times, taking pleasure in watching the airborne pillows flop messily onto the floor. Once she’d gotten the urge to bounce out of her system, she hopped off the bed and raced to the vanity.

Jinx pulled open the top drawer with her lip between her teeth. Hell yeah! There was some expensive-looking shit in here! Necklaces, bracelets, rings, a horse-shaped brooch, and… Oooh, a dagger! Fun!

Lifting the dagger, Jinx admired its sharp, shiny edge. Someone had been maintaining it well; the blade appeared to be freshly-touched by a whetstone. Turning her attention to the hilt, Jinx admired the warm, ruddy sunstone at its center, a jewel about the size of a grape. Around the sunstone sat a ring of pinhead diamonds. Grinning, Jinx tossed the dagger into the air, catching it by the hilt when it fell.

Perfect! This’ll do!

Placing the dagger’s tip against the bottom of the vanity’s drawer, Jinx carved out a choppy JINX WUZ HERE, then added a smiley face for good measure. She then deposited the dagger in a side-pocket of her backpack and retrieved a can of pink spraypaint. Popping the lid off, she shook the can a few times, aimed it at the mirror, and…

... Footsteps thundered down the hall.

Jinx perked up, listening raptly. The footsteps were loud, and they were getting closer. Where was this person going? Would they pass the room, or was it time for Jinx to trade her paint can for a chomper and initiate her fiery exit?

Deciding that she might as well let herself be discovered and add a new player to her game, Jinx set her paint on the vanity and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

SLAM! The door bounced harshly against the wall, and a blonde woman around Jinx’s age leaped into into the room, panting. Jinx swiftly looked her up and down and became fascinated by an aurora of light encompassing the woman’s hands. Jinx couldn’t see her holding anything shiny, so maybe she’d dipped her mitts into some sort of glow-y chemical? How daring!

The woman was so preoccupied that she didn’t notice Jinx at first. Spinning back toward the entryway, she glanced into the hall, holding perfectly still and silent save for her heavy breaths. Jinx noticed that there was another, more distant set of footsteps approaching – or were there two? Two more people coming?

“Luxanna!” someone called out in a deep voice. “Lux, are you home?”

“Shit,” the woman hissed as tendrils of light began threading through her hair. Woah! The glowiness was spreading! Maybe there was some sort of injection spreading through her, like shimmer! Was that why the fancy-chick looked like she was hiding? Had she injected herself with something to get high, and now she couldn’t risk her posh, uppity family finding out about it? Oooh, the possibilities were so dramatic!

Tucking her illuminated hands against her chest, the glowy woman clenched her fists in anxiety before turning away from the hall.

When she saw Jinx standing next to her vanity, she jumped, and her light flared all the brighter.

The pair of them locked eyes for a long moment. The woman looked startled, like she didn’t know what to make of the intruder in her room. Jinx took her time observing the woman’s face, appreciating the strange light shining in her irises. She was a bit taller than Jinx, and the short sleeves of her well-made clothes betrayed a decent amount of musculature.

Since the new player of her game didn’t seem prepared to kick off any action, Jinx took the initiative to get the ball rolling. She struck a smile, making sure to show off as many teeth as possible to look nice and unsettling, and leaned casually against the vanity. “Hiya, Sunshine!” Jinx greeted. “You don’t mind me calling you Sunshine, do ya? Come here often?”

The woman blinked. Jinx’s greeting seemed to help her break loose from her startled stillness. She glanced at her open vanity drawer, then at Jinx, then to the pommel of a dagger sticking out of a side-pocket of Jinx’s bag. Then, she turned her head back toward the hall, where footsteps continued to tread ever louder.

“Lux, Prince Jarvan is here to speak with you!” the distant voice called.

Intense thought was going on under that pretty face. Jinx could tell that the woman's gears were churning as her brow furrowed and her nose scrunched. The woman must’ve put two and two together; Jinx knew she’d seen the stolen dagger sticking out of her bag! Were the people approaching somehow more interesting than the fact that this woman was getting robbed? Jinx had to know! “Penny for your thoughts?” Jinx asked in a chipper tone.

Sharp, bright eyes fixed on Jinx with rapt intensity. A pink tongue darted out to wet dry lips, and she spoke...

“Stall them,” the woman ordered. “Stall them until I can get this…” She opened the palms of her glowing hands. “… under control, and I’ll let you take everything in the vanity, plus all the coinage in my closet.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow.

The people she robbed were rarely this cooperative. Frankly, she’d expected the chick to call for guards the moment she found her room occupied. Were the consequences of being caught glowing so dire that this woman would rather take her chances trusting a thief than allow herself to be discovered?

Fascinating!

This was turning into one of the most fun games Jinx had ever played!

Jinx grinned, saluting the woman the way she’d seen enforcers salute to Top-Hat. “Aye-aye, Sunshine! I’ll keep ‘em busy!”

The woman winced sharply. “No light-related nicknames, please,” she said, edging toward the room’s attached restroom suite. “If you say a word about my condition, I promise, will personally blast you out of this building.”

Ooh, thrilling! Maybe Jinx should give her away, just to see what the glowing lady could do!

Then again, she already had an idea for how she wanted to stall the woman's friends, and she reeeally wanted to see if she could pull it off. Maybe she could start with stalling, let the woman get her light under control, and then give her away just when she thought she was in the clear! That would be fun!

“Her room is just down this hall,” The approaching voice said. Jinx could clearly distinguish now that there were definitely two pairs of footsteps out there, and they were close.

The woman shot Jinx a final, pleading look, then leaped into her restroom without another word, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Giggling, Jinx tossed her backpack onto the floor. She leaped onto the massive, mussed-up bed, folded her arms behind her head, and waited for the game to start. After a moment’s thought, she pressed a thumb to her bottom lip and dragged it, trying to smudge the dark lipstick she’d put on that morning.

Seconds later, two men appeared at the entrance of the room. One of them had a face resembling the woman's, but more square-jawed, serious, and with darker hair. He was also ridiculously tall and broad shouldered, and was wearing a pair of massive, metal pauldrons, which Jinx had never seen anyone bother with so far from a battlefield.

The second man was only slightly shorter than the first with a similar, muscular build. He was also the fanciest schmuck Jinx had ever seen, his tailored clothes bedecked in gold tones and royal insignias.

Both men, upon finding Jinx sprawled on the bed, immediately unsheathed their swords, baring them threateningly in her direction. “Who are you?” The first man growled, his tone low and threatening. Stomping closer, he added, “and where is Luxanna?”

Removing her arms from beneath her head, Jinx held up her palms in a gesture of innocence, pushing her lower lip forward in a pout. “Relax, buddy!” she groused. “She’s just fixing her makeup.” Raising her voice, Jinx added, “Isn’t that right…” No light-themed nicknames, huh? “… Blondie?”

From behind the restroom door, Luxanna helpfully chipped in, “She’s right, I’m just freshening up, Garen! I’ll be out in a few minutes!”

The men’s swords hesitantly lowered. The second man placed his weapon back in his sheath, but the first, Garen, kept his held low, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You’re a friend of Lux?” he questioned. “I’ve never seen you before. You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

Jinx hummed, stretching her legs, scraping her still-booted feet against the bed’s intricate quilt. This movement seemed to annoy the man, so Jinx doubled down, pressing hard enough for the dirt on her soles to leave marks. She glanced at the pens and stationary on Lux’s desk. “We’ve been pen-pals for ages,” she told him. “Didn’t Lux ever mention me? Good ole’…” Would these people recognize the name of Piltover’s Most Wanted? Best not to risk losing the game just yet. “… Powder? She’s been beggin’ me to visit. I’m surprised she forgot to tell you I’d be here.”

The man remained unmoved. “Lux hasn’t mentioned you at all,” he said.

“Well, you’ve heard of me now,” Jinx announced. Baring all her teeth in a too-wide grin, she added, “Good to meet ya, big guy!”

The second man laid a hand on Garen’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Families like ours live very public lives,” he reasoned. “It makes sense that Luxanna would wish to keep some of her friends to herself.”

Garen’s tense shoulders lowered at his companion’s gesture, but he still frowned. “Lux doesn’t keep secrets from me.”

Jinx couldn’t help letting a giggle slip loose as she recalled the light that Lux was currently hiding.

The man’s brows sunk lower, casting shadows over his eyes. Garen pinned Jinx with a long, hard look. “Miss... Powder,” he said, “You shouldn’t be in Lux’s quarters unsupervised, friend or not. You shouldn’t even be in this house without a guard to mind you, but for Lux’s sake, I’ll let it slide this once. That being said, It would be best if you left Lux’s room for the time being, as she is needed for a private discussion with Prince Jarvan and myself. If you return to the foyer, one of the house staff will be happy to escort you through town to the place where you’re staying.”

Jinx pouted. “Awww, but Lux said I could stay the night here!” she complained. Then, after biting her lip in a way she hoped came across as suggestive, she sighed, “Besides… I’m reeeally out-of-breath from finally getting’ to know my pen-pal after all that time long-distance. Lux really knows how to treat a gal.”

Jinx thought she heard Lux drop something from behind the restroom door. Prince Jarvan’s eyebrows shot up. Garen’s jaw clenched.

After a long, tense silence, Prince Jarvan said slowly, “… I didn’t realize Luxanna was… otherwise occupied.”

“She isn’t,” Garen stated, enunciating each word firmly.

“She is,” Jinx opposed blithely.

Prince Jarvan glanced between the two of them. He looked very much like he no longer wanted to be in the room. “If Lux is busy, then perhaps we’d better postpone discussion of the arrangement.”

Garen hissed a breath through his clenched jaw. “No,” he said, “there’s no need for postponement. I believe there’s been some misunderstanding about why Lux brought her friend here. We can have her wait in one of the guest rooms while we…”

“A misunderstanding?” Jinx tipped her head, maintaining an innocent expression. “Oh, sorry. I was trying to be subtle. Polite, you know. But, yeah, just to set the record straight: Your hot sister has been making out with me. All afternoon. And she's really good at it, too.” Adopting a dreamy expression, Jinx mused, “I think I’m in love with her.”

The two men were so busy gaping at Jinx that they seemed to miss the flash of light that flared beneath the restroom door.

“She…” Garen’s face was flushing red – whether from outrage or embarrassment, Jinx wasn’t sure. “… What?”

Jarvan took a step back, passing through the doorway and into the hall. “I’ll leave you to discuss matters with your sister,” he stated after an awkward pause, then he stepped out of sight. Jinx could hear him marching down the hall, drawing further and further away. Silence reigned once the footsteps dispersed, and Garen and Jinx were left staring at each other, one red-faced, the other grinning dreamily.

Garen cleared his throat. Averting his eyes from Jinx, he turned his attention instead to the restroom door. “Lux,” he called, “Please come out and explain your new friend to me.”

“Um… Ah…” Lux’s tentative voice was muffled by the door. She spent several seconds searching for words before she meekly settled on, “She’s already explained herself to you. Do you really need me to repeat it?”

Jinx could feel her grin stretching wider. Hell yes, Blondie was in on the ruse!

Unfortunately, Garen’s next words made it clear that he was unconvinced. “Whatever you’re trying to hide behind this show, I need you to come clean about it now so that we can clear the air with Prince Jarvan as soon as possible. You know what he was here to discuss.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow curiously. What was the prince here to discuss? Something important?

“… Yes,” Lux said, and Jinx detected a shift in her tone, as if the shiny gal wasn’t too happy with her big brother. “I know all about the arrangement that you proposed to him without my say.”

Ooh, there was some drama here! The game just kept getting better and better!

“Come out now, Lux,” Garen demanded, stepping deeper into the room.

Now, that wasn’t a very nice tone! “Hey now,” Jinx protested, “is that any way to speak to your sis? She’s a big girl, and she can choose for herself when she wants to... come out.”

“It’s alright… Powder,” Lux said, her footsteps shuffling behind the door. “I’m… I’m ready now.”

Awww, already? Jinx didn’t want the game to end! This was fun!

Slowly, Lux pushed open her restroom door.

She’d gotten her light under control. Her hands were dull, and her eyes were an even sky-blue. Stepping into the room, she looked up at her brother, mouth parting slightly as if to say something… But then she squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip.

“Well?” Garen prompted.

Lux’s eyes sprung back open, but she didn’t meet her brother’s gaze. She looked at Jinx.

As the woman began to march toward the bed, Jinx’s eyebrows shot up. What was she…?

Lux leaped upon the bed, rolled over Jinx, and kissed her.

“Mmmph!?” Jinx squirmed for a moment in surprise. The mouth above hers pressed down insistently, lips slightly parted, and a hand pinched her arm as if to get her attention.

Garen was watching them incredulously.

The game. Right. The game. The game!

Hamming it up with a moan, Jinx wrapped her arms over Lux’s shoulders, tilting her head sideways. Although Jinx considered herself to be pretty good at keeping up with games, she did become a teensy bit startled when Lux’s arm slammed onto the mattress beside her head. Lux’s mouth sucked wantonly at Jinx’s, prompting a second moan, this one unintended, from Jinx. She let her eyes roll back as Lux closed her teeth over her bottom lip.

Hot damn, this Demacian could kiss. Her fingers dug into Jinx’s hair, tugging her head to a preferred angle. It felt really fuckin’ good to get man-handled by this strong, intense woman, and to feel the heat of Lux’s muscular body hovering over her. Lux’s teeth detached from Jinx’s lower lip, and Jinx let her mouth hang open, preparing to welcome the woman’s tongue.

However, as the seconds passed and nothing entered her quickly-cooling mouth, Jinx had to crack open her eyes to reassess what was going on.

Lux was looking down at her. For a moment, there was something stern in her expression, as if Lux were silently telling her to keep-playing-along-or-I-swear-I'll-blast-you-into-the-sun. Then, Lux smiled tenderly, stroking gentle fingers against Jinx’s cheek. “Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart,” she purred in a tone that sent fireworks popping through Jinx’s chest. Then, looking up at her brother, she said, "I don’t know what you think we still need to talk about. I’m not interested in the arrangement with Prince Jarvan. I’m otherwise occupied today, and will continue to be so for as long as Powder wishes to stay. If you want to be helpful, you can ask the staff about setting up a guest room for her. If not, I’ll just let her stay in my personal quarters.”

Seemingly shell-shocked, Garen stood and stared, the redness in his face not abating. Then, he hastily turned away, storming wordlessly down the hall.

Jinx had hoped Lux would start kissing her again once her brother was gone, but to her disappointment, Lux rolled away. The taller woman sighed, settling to a seat with her back against the headboard of the bed. “Well,” she mused, “you certainly had fun choosing what story to stall with, didn’t you, Powder?”

Jinx licked her lips – they tasted nice. Did Lux wear flavored lipgloss? “Kinda felt like you were having fun for a minute there, too,” she pointed out.

Lux’s ears tinted pink. Not meeting Jinx’s eyes, she huffed, “Your ruse was unnecessarily personal in its implications. Regardless, you’ve provided me with cover for my light and a delay in my…” Her expression soured. “...unwanted engagement. I doubt your intentions were kind when you broke into my room, but I’m thankful for the aid you’ve provided.” She let out a long, tired breath. “As we agreed, the vanity’s contents are yours, as is the coin-bag in my closet. It’s hidden in the box beneath my boots.”

Huh? Oh yeah, right. The game came with a prize. “Sweet,” Jinx said, still not really feeling motivated to leave Lux’s bed. She’d felt oddly weak-kneed since Lux had pounced on her.

“…” Lux pressed her lips together, glancing between Jinx and the empty hall. “… If you’re at leisure to stick around for a few days, and if you don’t mind lying to some powerful families, I…” Hesitating for a long moment, she seemed to second-guess her next words before she slowly continued, “I’d appreciate your continued assistance in making me appear off the market. My brother’s not going to give up on pairing me off, and I know he hopes I’ll attend the upcoming festival for the King’s coronation anniversary with Prince Jarvan. It would be convenient to have a… a date, so that I’ll have an excuse to reject any offers. And, of course, I’ll provide generous payment for your cooperation.”

Jinx tipped her head to the side.

If I keep playin’ along, then she’s probably gonna end up kissing me again, right?

Clarity struck her a moment later, and Jinx mentally slapped herself. And she'll give me diamonds! The thing I came here for! I’m on the hunt for diamonds, not Demacian dames with tasty lips, and shiny eyes, and really strong arms…

... Like I was saying, DIAMONDS!

“Yeah,” Jinx agreed, “I’ll lend you a hand! It’ll cost ya, though. I accept payment in precious jewels of the clear-and-expensive kind.”

Lux stared at Jinx hard, bit her lip… Then held out her hand for Jinx to shake. “Very well. I look forward to doing business with you.”