#The pink one is around after Dandelion’s birth I think

[floralstorms]

they’re dads..

@sludgemetalsnufkin

[awlimagines]

Hand in Hand - Romantic Walks Part One

All credit to @novelbear for these super cute prompts. I left everything up to a generator to decide which character got the prompts, and it's been so much fun to write.

They started looking long and I've got several more to go, so I broke them up. I think the list of prompts is about seventeen all together. So, some bachelors and bachelorettes got the luck of having two rather than one.

This part includes prompts for Celia/Cecilia, Cody/Gordy, Daryl, Flora, and Gustafa below the cut. I'll post all of them in one place on Ao3 when I finish all of them, so they'll be together there.

CELIA / CECILIA

It was soon after Cecilia and you began dating. You were keenly aware of Matthew’s dislike for the relationship and how important the man was to Ceci. While she didn’t seem bothered by his overprotective nature, it made you second-guess each action. Swallowing down your nerves, you boldly interlaced your fingers with her as you walked to the Goddess Pond. You relaxed as Cecilia beamed at you, though your peace was shattered moments later. The brunette dropped your hand a moment later to skip ahead on the path. You panicked, realizing your nerves had made your hand sweaty. Hastily, you wiped the moisture off against your pants.

“Make a wish!” Cecilia chirped, shoving a plant in your face.

“A dandelion?” 

“Yes! They’re my favorite flower because they grant wishes.” 

Her sweet nature and smiles always made you forget your worries. You couldn’t fight a smile as you took what most would consider a weed. After a hasty wish for the safe birth of a pregnant animal, you blew. Cecilia and you watched as the white stems floated from you. 

“My turn! I wish for all of our crops to grow great!” 

Your walk continued until you settled beneath the towering tree the sprites lived in. The fistful of dandelions Cecilia picked dwindled quickly as the two of you took turns making wishes. All too soon, only two remained. There was only a wish each remaining. You gently spun the stalk between your fingers, contemplating your next wish. 

“Then, my next wish is for more dates with you,” you proclaimed. There was more, much more, you wanted to wish for than just her time and interest. But you didn’t want to appear too greedy too early, either.

“I wish Y/N would kiss me before taking me home,” you blinked in shock at her wish. Her face tinged a lovely shade of pink, and Cecilia offered an awkward smile. “Oops, I didn’t get all the seeds off.”

You pinched the stubborn seed between two fingers and plucked it away. You leaned forward to catch Cecilia’s lips as it fell from your hand. She tasted like tomatoes. It wasn’t unpleasant but not what you expected. 

“Wish granted,” you grinned. Dandelions were quickly becoming your favorite flower.

BONUS CELIA / CECILIA

It was freezing. You had expected a mild winter after how tame the summer was. But the once refreshing breeze blowing from the sea now bit viciously through your coat. Maybe roasting sweet potatoes on the beach at the change of seasons wasn’t as romantic as you thought. You had convinced yourself to pack up when a pair of arms caught you around the middle. The warmth of their body pressed into yours made you want to remain unmoving forever, but you also wanted to see the owner’s face. You managed to twist around in her grasp enough to see Cecilia smiling at you. 

“It’s cold,” she informed you, puffing an exhale of warm air to emphasize her words. 

“I was about to come to see if you’d rather bundle up at the farm,” you couldn’t help but grin as a pout crossed her face. “We can roast the potatoes in the oven.” 

“It’s not the same,” she sighed. “But, if I get sick out here, Vesta and Matthew will keep me confined all Winter.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come steal you away,” you promised, kissing the tip of her nose before gathering everything.

Cecilia locked her hand with yours after a playful argument about who would carry the supplies home. You were in the middle of listing what you had ingredients to cook for dinner when Cecilia gasped. Startled, you went to steady the girl as she excitedly bounced in place. 

“Look, look, Y/N! The first snow!” Cecilia pointed toward the sky. You tore your eyes from her to look where she indicated. Sure enough, fine specks of snow floated down around you. “I can’t believe our luck!” 

“Why’s that?” you asked. Snow falling didn’t seem lucky to you. The animals needed to be moved in and fed, and you’d need to check the last of your Fall crops.

“Oh, you don’t know,” Cecilia blushed. “Don’t worry about it! Your livestock is in the pasture, right? We should hurry back and-” 

“Hey, talk to me. Why is it lucky?” 

“Well, they say seeing the first snow with someone you like leads to falling in love and a lasting relationship.” 

Your heart thudded in your chest as you reached into your pocket and tried to remain calm. It wasn’t what you planned, but maybe this was better than your plans. Cecilia clearly cared a great deal about the validity of this superstition. You nervously grinned as you pulled your hand from your pocket and offered her the Blue Feather.

“So, does that mean I’ll be lucky enough for you to accept this?”            

CODY / GORDY

You couldn’t believe your luck. Gordy found inspiration on your farm! While the thought made you ecstatic, it was nothing compared to the butterflies in your stomach as you walked alongside him. Nothing could you bring down.

“Hey, Y/N?” the artist’s deep, soft voice called for your attention. 

“Yes!” 

“Aren’t slugs bad for your crops?” 

“Um, probably? I’ll have to check with Takakura for sure,” you answered, watching the insect leave an oozing trail as it slipped between your crops. 

The thought of grabbing the thing to relocate it made your skin crawl. You watched in horror and awe as Gordy knelt and moved the slug from your field. After thanking him, you attempted to continue your walk with Gordy around the farm.

Why was it that every insect known to man was appearing today? Grasshoppers made you jump as you walked along the pasture. Bees made a home in the untamed field at the back, causing you to flinch as they buzzed past your ear. As another something flew past, causing you to sidestep yet again, you caught sight of a slight smile on Gordy’s face. The artist hadn’t said a word as he redirected each insect that ventured near you. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you questioned, leaning closer to him for a better look. 

“I just think it’s cute a farmer is so scared of bugs.” 

“W-well, there weren’t as many of them in the city!”

His casual bluntness and the slight chuckle that escaped him colored your face bright red. Goddess help you. Gordy wasn’t even trying to sweep you off your feet, and here you were, doing the utmost not to drool over him. Artists had never been your type in the city. Were all of them as dangerous for the heart as Gordy? 

DARYL

If someone told you a year ago you’d have someone to spend Starry Night with, you would have laughed in their face. Finding such a relationship in such a small time frame seemed absurd. Yet, here you were, following Daryl as he set traps for Mukumuku. It wasn’t the night you had in mind when you invited the scientist to spend Starry Night Eve with you. Though, his dedication was something you had grown to love about the man. The thought warmed your face despite the falling snow. 

"Are you cold? We could turn back around," his question interrupted your thoughts.

Your eyes lifted from watching him set another trap. Despite his interest in catching the furry beast, he had noticed the redness of your face immediately. Daryl should be the one freezing. The man was dressed no different than any other day of the year. His exposed hands and face were both an irritated bright red. You were sure at least one sock was soaked through as well through the busted sole of his shoe. The maniacal enthusiasm in his black eyes had dimmed slightly with concern for you. 

“I’m freezing. I’m sorry; we can finish here first, though.”

“Nonsense, you shouldn’t get sick from this. I have enough new data to review from earlier in the season. Besides, conditions are worsening. We might have a blizzard blowing in,” Daryl tutted at your offer. 

Any feelings of guilt you had for your lie disappeared as his hand grasped yours. You fought a gasp as the coldness of his hand cut through your gloves. If you hadn’t lied, the year might have ended with Daryl seeing Dr. Hardy for frostbite. He probably still ran the risk. You should have insisted on dinner and exchanging gifts first. At least then Daryl would have had the winter coat you splurged on to keep him warm.

BONUS DARYL

Daryl came to your farm early in the afternoon. He claimed to need your assistance gathering herbs and insects from the mountain. When you skeptically asked why, the scientist rambled off a long speech about noticing your crops being decimated by an influx of pests. It caught his attention, and Daryl believed he could make an effective and environmentally safe pesticide to help. Since it was for your farm, it was only natural for you to help. 

You quickly thought through your chores for the day. It wouldn’t hurt anything to stop here. And if Daryl could make something to help, then it was hard to resist. His impatient fidgeting ceased as you agreed, and he rapidly snatched your hand to drag you to the mountain pass. You wondered if the pink flush on his neck was from the summer heat or something else as you followed behind him. 

Once you arrived at the mountain, the man’s sense of urgency disappeared. Daryl leisurely led you from one location to another. It was nice spending time with him wandering the wilderness. He knew a tremendous amount about almost anything you spotted and asked about on your hike. But as the sun began to dip below the horizon, you worried. It would be harder to spot the type of grass he wanted in the dark. Before you could voice your concerns, you were distracted. The empty field in front of you sparked in flashes of light as fireflies emerged. Tears sprung to your eyes at the sight.

Daryl had asked at the end of Spring how much Forget-Me-Not Valley had changed from your memory. You honestly answered that you weren’t sure. Most of your memories were fleeting ones. Your strongest memory of the valley and your dad was from your last summer. Your dad had taken you to catch fireflies while your mom packed for the move to the city. You still felt terrible for pinching the bulb of one to smear on your arm and glow in the dark. 

“I believe I made a mistake in calculations. The specimens I need are not active during the Summer. I’ll have to return in the Fall. So, these jars won’t be used,” the scientist stated, avoiding eye contact. Daryl was a horrendous liar. 

“Is that true? I find it hard to believe such a brilliant scientist would make an amateur mistake,” you teased.

You got the response you wanted as his attention whirled back to you. Annoyance at your teasing fought with his embarrassment of trying to make a romantic gesture. Your giggles made him throw his arms up and his foot rapidly tap as he waited for you to stop.

“You could just be honest about doing something nice for me.” 

“Why? So you can tease me more?” the scientist pouted. 

“But you look so cute when flustered,” you smirked. You watched momentarily as the tips of his ears turned red, and the scientist searched for a retort. “I’ll make you a deal! Whoever catches the most fireflies wins a wish. The loser has to do whatever is asked of them.”

A gleam returned to his eyes as Daryl hurried into the field with a jar.

FLORA

You wanted to walk on the beach with her like the dozens of romcoms you grew up watching on the television. The beach was one of the reasons you were so excited about Forget-Me-Not Valley before you even met Flora. The tiny strip of sand was not suited for much of a walk. At first, you felt disappointed and angry there wasn’t more. But as you stewed over the limited space, an idea formed. 

“Flora! Do you have plans?” you asked, interrupting the blonde as she knelt. Flora looked up from the wild raccoon she fed fish to you. 

“No? Why?” she questioned, blinking up at you. 

“Let’s take a walk and have dinner then,” you smiled, offering your hand. 

You patiently waited as Flora bid her friend farewell before helping her to her feet. Keeping her hand in your own, you set a leisurely pace toward the beach. The pace of your heart picked up the closer you got. Did she already know about your surprise? It took you a couple of days to alert others in the town to keep the beach semi-private. Everyone seemed on board with the idea, but would Carter have said something to tip her off? This was your first grand gesture toward Flora, and you worried. She was far more laid back and went with the flow than you, and you wanted everything to be perfect.

“Oh, is this for us?” she softly asked as you stepped on the beach. 

“Yes! It’s all ours!” you beamed, waving a hand toward the blanket and baskets. “I’ve got snacks and drinks, a radio if you want music, and I’ll catch us fresh fish for dinner.” 

At her continued silence, your smile faltered. Did she not like it? Maybe you were coming on too strong. You prepared to apologize when Flora’s hand moved to your shoulder. This was it, the big letdown. You squeezed your eyes shut while waiting for her to turn you down. Instead, it felt like she was leaning some of her weight against you. When you opened your eyes, Flora was taking off her second boot and sock.    

“Did you need me to support you so the sand doesn’t get all over the blanket?” 

“I’ve got it!” you chirped, kicking off your shoes. Flora eagerly followed you to sit and begin going through the baskets you brought.

GUSTAFA

You knew at the start of Fall that Gustafa was the person you wanted to spend your life with. Despite your intense feelings, getting the nerve to confess took a while. The musician seemed so comfortable with everyone around him that you couldn’t understand how he felt for you. Now, as the season gave way to winter, you wondered how you had ever missed the signs. 

His smiles for you came faster and were filled with a warmth that others didn’t receive. Others had to find him, or he spoke with them in passing. Gustafa went out of his way to ensure you spent time together. The daily walks you shared, from the Goddess Pond to his yurt or farm, were your favorite part of the day. He asked questions about your farm and shared any new music he worked on. Sometimes, you walked in silence, fingers intertwined. 

“It’s getting cold out. Is there anything you can grow in Winter?” Gustafa’s question broke you from thought. 

“Um, I think Vesta said potatoes, carrots, turnips, and strawberries,” you answered, noticing it had begun to snow. The weather forecast had hinted that early snow was possible for the day. You nervously watched as it fell. You were pushing it with the last of the autumn crops. 

“You’ll have to start wearing gloves soon.” 

Gustafa shoved your joined hands into his coat pocket with the comment. You glanced down at your other hand as the one he held tingled from the new heat. You hadn’t noticed the tips of your fingers had turned red. When did that happen? You must have been so focused on finishing farm work and then running to meet Gustafa that you failed to notice the dropping temperatures. Your face felt warm as you realized Gustafa noticed it immediately.

“Did you need to protect your crops from the weather?” 

“Yeah, I should probably cover them.” 

“I’ll get it figured out with Takakura,” the musician offered, spotting the older man already at work. Before you could protest, Gustafa placed a quick kiss on your hand. “You should go get warm before you catch a cold.”

BONUS GUSTAFA

You set out from the farm early, but it was already hot. After spending so much time indoors in the city, Summer in Forget-Me-Not Valley did not feel mild. You paused outside the farm, looking over the mostly still town. Hugh ran in the distance, his little legs trying to match his father’s pace. While you appreciated their dedication, the sight made you decide on your next action. The mine should be nice and cool to work in for the day. Not to mention, the extra artifacts would be a nice boost to your earnings when Van visits tomorrow. 

Hours later, you followed Flora from the work site. As Carter examined your finds, you stretched out the catch in your back. You decided the shortcut would be better than the bridge further downstream as you shoved statues and coins into your rucksack. You hadn’t even set foot into the water when you caught sight of Gustafa on the other bank.

“Gustafa! Hey, wait a minute, please!” you called. 

You excitedly rushed across the river path as the musician stopped to wait. You enjoyed your interactions with him, and not a tiny part of your enthusiasm for seeing him was from your developing crush. A step away from the bank and his side, your footing slipped from the submerged path, sending you tumbling into the waterfall’s pool. Your head quickly bobbed above the water’s surface as you scrambled for the bank. 

“Hey, you okay?” Gustafa asked as he helped pull you ashore. 

“Just a bit shaken, is all,” you replied, keeping your face turned to the ground. At this point, the rapid beat of your heart was more from embarrassment than the surprise of falling in. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! I’m fine! I have your request here, so I was trying to catch you.”   

It was soaked, you realized as you grabbed your bag. You dug through the rucksack for the bottle of milk Gustafa had requested on the community bulletin board. Nothing in your bag was dry. You felt your excitement deflate faster than a popped balloon. The milk was fine to carry without leaking, but you weren’t sure the seal was tight enough to prevent water from entering. 

“Um, let me get you another bottle from the farm. I’m not sure this one is still okay,” you mumbled, trying to stand. The moment weight was on your ankle, pain shot through your leg. Gustafa quickly steadied you as you stumbled forward. You could see a glimpse of blue eyes behind his glasses as the man frowned in concern. 

“Sorry, I guess I twisted my ankle a bit.” 

“Let me help you back to your farm,” the man offered. After thinking it over, you accepted his help. You expected Gustafa to help hold an arm as you hopped back. Instead, you felt confused as he turned his back to you and crouched down. It looked like Gustafa was offering you a piggyback ride.

“W-what are you doing? You’ll get wet,” you garbled. 

“It’s fine; I’m not worried about it. You don’t need to put weight on your ankle.” 

You tentatively climbed onto his back, trying to find a way to hold on without wrapping your arms around him. As his arms wrapped around your legs and he stood, you closed your eyes. This close to him, you now knew Gustafa smelled faintly of leather and flowers. It felt way too hot, even after getting soaked. You told yourself it was the summer heat as you tried to enjoy the ride home.  

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 1) [Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti x female reader

Part 2 here

(A/n): Okay okay I know I have some requests yet I decided to write something super indulgent. I'M SORRY! This past week I've just been writing so much angst *looks at inbox* AND MORE ANGST TO COME I really need that dose of Vitamin F(luff) 😭

===========================

Noctua's Heartbeat (Diluc)

For a man who had the whole world in the palm of his hand

With looks, fame and all the wealth he could demand

But what stole away his breath was something not to be bought

For it was merely the calming presence of your living and beating heart.

Your heart was a dignity born for empathy, so beautiful and magnificent with the kind of charm similar to white Cecilias blooming across Mondstadt's fields. Diluc would watch from afar, admiring their glow. It shines without reservation, blissfully unaware to a fault that he couldn't help but feel afraid knowing how the real world would simply pluck you from your roots and shape you in the way they wanted to. People who were tainted souls with tainted soles roaming from the shadows, constantly trampling on other's beliefs before leaving them to rot.

Ah but of course, Cecilias are wildflowers. No matter how many times they were stepped on, they could still withsand any force nature throws at them. Whether it'd be raging storms or scorching heat from the summer sky, you were the same through it all. Love. You were in love. You were in love with the wind, you were in love with people, you were in love with the world and everything that lives in it.

And so, Diluc wonders if that was the reason why everything suddenly began to shimmer.

He treaded on a path fated for loneliness while longing for the dawn to appear out of the night horizon-- where emotions once frozen until you came in to melt the ice. He blocked his heart but you tore down those walls. Diluc swore to never feel if it meant protecting himself and yet you held onto his shattered pieces tenderly, dearly, blowing the love of life and teaching it how to beat again.

Your heart was like a fountain of all the hopes he abandoned years ago and the dreams that no one had the courage to envision, cleansing everything within it's reach and freshening them anew. You were a being so in tune with your emotions that it sang through all that you did, laughing despite your obstacles and shedding tears when overjoyed, a single drop it was but still held the depth of the entire ocean. Diluc vows to protect you for your heartbeat was also his own. He'll gladly lay down his life because losing you deemed far worse than any death he could imagine.

~xx~

The other eye of Pavo Ocellus (Kaeya)

The knight's shining armour serves only as a disguise

When beauty from the surface is one's own demise

He used it to protect himself, decorating his words with pretty lies

But unmatched when facing against your truthful eyes.

They say the eye was an open window to a person's true colours. If that were the case then the painting inside him must have been an unsightly one.

Every once in a while the people of Mondstadt would speak about their Cavalry Captain's eyepatch, whether he was injured after being sent out on a mission or if he wears it for the sake of image. No one knows, it was rather unsettling, why someone would cover their eye despite not being injured. Secrets? Perhaps. Kaeya was known to be a man shrouded in mystery after all.

Your gaze was his Death After Noon. Sparkling upon the surface yet with the tasteful allure so captivating that it was almost dangerous. Just one glance and he was intoxicated, eventually leading to a slip of the tongue, revealing what was buried deep within his contaminated essence. Kaeya hated that you had the uncanny ability to see through his mask. Your innocence so contrasting, he felt like looking into a mirror, reminding just how much of an ugly person he truly was in comparison.

But mirrors are easy to break, no?

The thought delivers a sinister smile on his face. Pitiful-- is the state where you were. Pitiful-- it's what he is. How could he think of such things when all you offered was kindness? Unlike Kaeya, you were an honest person, always wearing your emotions on your sleeve and unaware of the devil's vicinity. He was tempted by the invite to crush you and run away like the coward he was meant to be. However as he stares deeply into your eyes he realized they weren't made of glass. They were gems. The most precious gems hardened by the pressures of experience.

In the shine of thine eyes resides the stars and the moon as if stolen from the Abyss, leading to the edges of the universe that was blessed within your mind. The look of curiosity filled with rich hues all held by a soulful stare while they pierced through the armour shaped around his heart. It was your ability to recognize beauty amongst the most wretched of things that he fell so hopelessly in love with you because for the first time someone had seen him-- his flaws and his faults, his abyss painted darker than black but loved him despite it all. As he drowns himself in the world of your gaze, Kaeya prays to never be the one who will steal away those stars or moon because they looked the most beautiful on you.

~xx~

The Winged Nemesis who flew towards the Sun (Xiao)

He looks at your face as if he saw spring for the first time

An unsual encounter, wondering how could something be so sublime

The yaksha stands upon the corpses while reaching for the sky

Seeing the sun in your smile that he wishes to fly

Xiao has dealt with the cards of death and won through many of it's games. But his life was a gamble as the karmic binds may one day bring the same fate that was done upon his comrades-- insanity, murder and corruption. So he swears an oath to his god and himself, ensuring the darkness only he could bear does not seep into the light.

A gust of wind sways in when you pass by, he was struck by pensive bewilderment because happiness was a feeling unknown to him. It was the expression you made whenever you greeted him good morning. The complexion you had while charging through life's challenges. And the face you wore even during the times where there was no reason to smile. Xiao has felt the might of the sun for her light will never be exstinguished by his darkness, he could only succumb to it.

But you were not just the sun, you were the flowers that bloomed beneath her heavenly sky and the birds that chirped upon those earth-like trees. You were a whole new world he didn't dare to touch because dreams were delicate and his cursed self would only devour them until nothing was left. Still, the mighty sun shines through it all, stretching out her rays like a welcoming embrace until the universe had been revitalized, giving birth to new life after winter's storm.

If pictures told a thousand words then he had a thousand reasons and more to love you. Xiao witnessed the sweetest joy decorated by pink petal blossoms dancing around him, the one who pulled him out of his spiraling trance of darkness. The breath he takes no longer felt suffocating and instead was replaced by the smell of nature's greatest gifts: you. Stay away, he says, because there were times where you shone so brightly that he had to look elsewhere. Your rays burned him and he thinks it might drill holes into his wings. Painful it may be but if the splendor of spring could only be admired after the harsh cold snow, then maybe pain and love were only two sides of the same coin.

A world without the sun--such unfathomable thoughts--is a death he does not wish to deal with.

~xx~

A song she sings for the God of Wind (Venti)

Man lives by the power of the tongue,

Whatever Man speaks is aligned with Man's choice.

Hearken when she talks for her words are to be sung,

Because not only was she lovely but so was her voice.

-Venti

There were many reasons why Venti loved music. The freedom to express oneself when words weren't enough, allowing one's spirit to flow out of their mouth and be with the wind. It was the feeling he had when he listened to you because your voice was sweeter than any song he sang or played.

When you speak it was as if the world around you danced, bringing them to the mercy of your stage. Like standing upon the soft grass while letting the sparks of dandelions dust against his own skin, Venti would close his eyes as he hears you speak-- it was you, just you and that was all he needed. He swears that no one in the world could sound as living as you did because it was the words you say that stole his heart away.

The vibration in your tone was fleshed with kindness yet so sure and firm to the point it could even bring a god to his knees. If he were a sailor then you were the siren, enchanting him with your bell-like voice and bringing him to a territory where he can never escape from. It was the spell of your divine song, his Carmen Dei, that tricked the trickster. Venti did not mind as long as he was able to feel the blessing amongst his ears.

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair: 1/?

I know I said that I was going to wait until I finished this to post, but I changed my mind. I spend tons of time thinking about this story - way more time than I've spent actually writing it. So I thought going ahead and posting may give me a kick in the pants. I'm hoping to post weekly, fingers crossed.  

I wanted to be extremely clear in the tags what this story entails, but I hope some of you will give it a chance nonetheless. Yes, it's going to have heavy parts, but there will also be swooning and epic true love. You'll also see in the tags that this angst, though heavy, will have a happy ending. So . . . trust me? I hope? Haha. This is a CS AU of the Nancy Werlin book Impossible, so if you're familiar with that book, you know what I mean. When I read it, it broke my heart, put it back together again, and gave me massive CS vibes. 

Impossible itself was inspired by the folk song Scarborough Fair. Though the most famous version is by Simon & Garfunkel, there are many versions out there. I tweaked the lyrics to fit this story and the world of Once. Enjoy!

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all. 

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!) 

Words:2k+

Also on Ao3

Chapter One

“O, where are you going?" "To Scarborough fair,"

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

"Remember me to a lass who lives there,

    For once she was a true love of mine.

 And tell her to make me a cambric shirt,

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Without any seam or needlework,

    And then she shall be a true love of mine.

 And tell her to find the town which no one knows,

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

And reunite the lovers there with a kiss ,

    And then she shall be a true love of mine

 And there she must sow an acre with but one kernel of corn,

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Upon the seashore before the tide comes,

   And then she shall be a true love of mine

Emma saw the rusted shopping cart rattle past out of the corner of her eye. She tried to keep her gaze mostly trained on her friends or on her lunch, but she couldn’t help glancing over towards the fence that surrounded the lunchroom courtyard. Mary Margaret’s long dark hair was matted as usual and laced with drooping, dead dandelions. She had a thing with flowers. And birds. She liked to swipe lawn ornaments for that reason. Propped sideways in the front of her shopping cart was the same chipped and faded bluebird, missing one eye, that she’d had for as long as Emma could remember. The giant pink flamingo was new, though. It rattled against the sides of the cart, banging against the bottles and cans littering the bottom. A whirligig painted like a giant sunflower leaned against the garish flamingo. It spun in the breeze with a faint whir. 

Emma forced herself to look nonchalant as she nibbled at her peanut butter and jelly. Maybe it was only a coincidence that Mary Margaret was just outside the schoolyard fence. 

“That girl right there! She’s a princess! Princess of Misthaven!”

So much for coincidence. Emma’s gaze lifted and caught Anna’s across the lunch table. Anna arched her brow as if to ask what she could do to help, but Emma was frozen like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. 

“That woman is so weird,” Lily muttered, watching Mary Margaret let go of her shopping cart to clasp the chain link fence in a white knuckled grip. 

“Don’t forget who you are! Princess of Misthaven! Daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming!”

Her voice had risen to a shriek, and the teenagers around Emma started to laugh at the homeless woman. A few boys yelled at her to shut up, and one threw his can of soda at her. It clanked against the fence, spraying brown liquid all over Mary Margaret, but the woman didn’t even flinch. 

Please don’t say my name. Please don’t say my name. 

“Hey, hey you! Emma! I’m talking to you!” 

Emma pressed her eyes closed tight. Mary Margaret was so hysterical, it was difficult to understand her, and besides, Emma was a common name. Right?

“Is she yelling at you?” Lily asked, leaning across the table. 

“I’m done,” Anna proclaimed, a bit louder than necessary as she jumped up from the table. “Let’s go to the restroom before the bell.”

“Okay,” Lily shrugged and stood up, gathering her tray of barely touched cafeteria food. 

Emma followed suit, Anna looping her arm through hers after they’d both tossed their brown paper lunch sacks. Emma’s sister practically dragged her into the school building, and Lily hurried to catch up. 

“That blonde right there! The really pretty one!” Mary Margaret continued to yell. “Stop her! I need to talk to her - warn her! You’re too pretty, Emma! Too pretty for your own good!”

That had been Mary Margaret’s obsession this past year and a half - that Emma was too pretty. For some reason, it stung worse than every other crazy thing she had ever said. 

“Why was that homeless lady yelling at you, Emma?” Lily asked. 

Anna laughed and waved her hand dismissively. “We saw her at the park a couple of weeks ago. We tried to be nice and talk to her, but that was obviously a mistake.”

Hm. Anna was a much better liar than Emma would have expected. Lily seemed to accept it, too.

“Well, I’d go tell the front office if I were you. Maybe the secretary will call the police. That’s harassment.”

Emma only had time to nod at Lily’s suggestion before the bell rang. When the brunette turned her back, Emma mouthed a silent thank you to her sister. As much as Anna could run her mouth, no one in the family would ever breathe the truth about the local homeless lady, the one who claimed to be Snow White. 

Because the ugly, embarrassing truth was - “Snow White” was Emma’s mother. 

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

 Ingrid Jones grinned as she saw the name flash across her phone screen. If he was calling her, that could only mean two things. Either he couldn’t reach his brother, or he wanted something. Something he didn’t think Liam would agree to.

“Killian!” she said blithely as she answered. “It’s nice to hear from you.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he replied, and Ingrid’s lips ticked up into a smile. Yes, he wanted something. 

Ingrid closed the files littering her desk and leaned back in her office chair. “How did finals go?”

“Well, I think. I mean, I felt pretty confident about everything but statistics. That class was tough.”

“You’ve always been too smart for your own good. I’m sure you did more than fine.”

Killian chuckled in a self-deprecating way. He was an odd dichotomy of cockiness and insecurity. It was part youth and part the tragedy he was born into.

“Listen, Ingrid,” Killian transitioned, clearing his throat nervously, “there’s been a slight change of plans, and I’m afraid it’s going to throw the entire summer off.”

Ingrid laughed merrily at his typical melodramatics. “Which is it, Killy, a slight change or an atomic bomb to the entire summer?”

Killian ignored the nickname that he only - rarely - tolerated from Ingrid and Anna. “If I wanted someone to tease me, I would have called Liam.” 

“Sorry, sorry, what’s the issue?”

“Well, you know that on-campus summer job my roommate helped me get?”

“Yes. The job that broke all our hearts because you wouldn’t be coming home.”

 “Broken hearts?” Killian asked, and she could practically feel his smug grin through her phone. 

“Of course! Melodramatics are apparently a family trait.”

“In that case, maybe I worried for nothing. The job fell through, which means we have to move out of the dorm. I’ve already gotten a new summer job, it pays even more, actually. It’s just -”

“You need your old room back?”

“Please?”

Ingrid laughed again, able to hear the puppy dog eyes and pouting smile in that one emotionally laden word. The boy could charm his way into - or out of - anything. 

“Of course you can, Killy.”

“Liam won’t mind?”

“Not if I tell him I already told you yes. And the girls will be thrilled. If only Elsa wasn’t interning on the Titanic.” 

“It’s a research ship in the North Sea, Ingrid.”

“Still sounds like she could hit an iceberg or something.”

“Nope, that’s the Atlantic.”

“It’s really annoying having such smart kids, you know.”

Killian laughed, and Ingrid found her heart filling up at the thought of him being home. Truth be told, she had been a little down lately over her college kids foregoing summer break at home. Summers and holidays were supposed to ease the whole “letting them go” thing. 

“If Liam’s not mad about it -”

“You really think your brother will be pissed that you’re coming home?”

“I know he loves me and wants to see me, but we argued over that on campus job when I applied for it. I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t want to hear him rub it in. Or find out he’d finally changed my room into a music room.”

“He’d have to get through me first. I’m the sentimental one, remember? So, what was your other request?”

“Help moving out this Saturday? It’s probably gonna take all four of you, but I really need Liam’s truck.”

“First of all, I find it hard to believe a nineteen-year-old college student has that much stuff. Second, the girls and I can’t help. We’re prom dress shopping this Saturday.”

“Emma’s going to the prom!”

Ingrid thought she heard a thud followed by scuffling noises. “Did you just drop the phone?”

“Uh no, of course not.”

“And you did hear me say girls, plural. Anna’s going too.”

“Oh, like a group thing.”

“No, they both have dates.”

“I knew Anna was seeing that idiot, but since when does Emma date?”

Ingrid sighed and turned her chair towards the window. A spring breeze tossed the leaves of the trees. “The idiot’s name is Hans, and for Emma it’s just a date. She’s a junior. She wants to go to the prom. A guy asked her. That’s it.”

“What guy? I mean, Emma’s always gone on and on about how foolish girls get about boys in high school, and how that’s never gonna be her.” 

“His name is Neal Cassidy.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. He goes to school with Emma. They have a few classes together.”

“You mean you haven’t met the guy!”

“Well, no” Ingrid frowned as she watched sparrows flit amongst the branches of the tree. Did Killian have a point? Should she have invited this Neal kid over? It was amazing that after seventeen years, she still second guessed herself at this parenting thing. Even a college freshman  seemed to be more concerned about prom than she was. She shook her head at how ridiculous that sounded. Killian had always been over protective of his sisters. He’d gotten into his share of fights over Elsa in middle school when she’d been bullied, he’d crawled through a thorny bush on a camping trip to get to Anna when she sprained her ankle two years ago, and then there was Emma. Perhaps because of the specter that was Mary Margaret, he was particularly protective of Emma. 

“Listen, Killian, I know you take the over protective big brother gig very seriously, but I really think you’re making a big deal out of nothing. Emma told me she has no romantic interest in this guy. Common interests, those were her words. Honestly, she sounded like she was picking out a sensible car instead of a prom date. She’ll go, she’ll dance, she’ll eat, she’ll come home. It’s not quite the crisis situation you're imagining. This is Emma we’re talking about. Now Anna with that creep Hans, on the other hand . . .”

Killian let out a shaky breath. “I suppose you’re right. Emma’s the smartest girl I know.”

A voice behind her chair made Ingrid whirl around. Linette, her level-headed yet compassionate human resources director stood there looking a bit dazed, her hands fluttering nervously at her waist. 

“Um, Killian, I need to let you go okay?”

“Sure. And thanks, Ingrid.”

“We’re family. No thanks needed.” She ended the call, then focused her gaze on Linette. “Everything okay?”

“More than okay,” the woman replied with a dreamy sigh. 

Ingrid narrowed her eyes. In the past twenty years working together, she had never seen her like this. “Just spit it out, Linette.”

“I hired someone.”

“For what? We have no openings!”

“I know.” Linette blinked, as if trying to focus, “but when you meet him . . .”

“I assume this is the lovely director?”

The man standing in the doorway was in no way a heartthrob. He was older, for one thing, with shoulder length, messy gray hair. He also walked awkwardly, leaning heavily on a cane. Yet there was something about him, an aura. Ingrid felt light headed, and a silly giggle tumbled from her lips when the man leaned over her hand and kissed it. 

“Charmed, dearie,” he said to her in a dulcet voice.

Ingrid’s gaze was drawn to the amulet about his neck which he touched with long, thin fingers. The longer she gazed upon it, the hazier her thoughts became. 

“Now,” he said, putting an arm firmly about her shoulders, “let’s talk about my new position here. More importantly, however, I want to know all about you and your family . . .”

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells​ @teamhook​ @kmomof4​ @jrob64​ @xhookswenchx​ @winterbythesea​ @thisonesatellite​ @welllpthisishappening​ @spartanguard​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @tiganasummertree​ @sparlecorn93​ @sals86​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @xarandomdreamx​ @zaharadessert​ @huntressandlioness1​ @jamif​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @onceratheart18​ @sparlecorn93​​ @sals86​​ @pirateprincessofpizza​​ @xarandomdreamx​​ @zaharadessert​​ @huntressandlioness1​

[mollymawkwrites]

For the first times prompt meme: first time making them laugh for Eskel/Jaskier

This prompt has been sitting in my ask box for so long and I am so sorry, but I'm actually quite happy with the result, and I finally managed to keep it short for once! Small victories!

Thank you for sending me this cute prompt, I hope you like it! 💕

CW: none.

Eskel is killing Geralt the next time their Paths meet.

Rarely has he felt such hatred and rage, and never towards his brother-in-arms, his best friend, his other half.

But here he is, sitting on the rickety bed in Jaskier's Oxenfurt lodgings, Jaskier himself laughing so hard to his face that there are tears streaming down his cheeks and his lungs are starting to make a wheezing noise.

You have to woo him, to seduce him, you know, like one of these dumb novels he's always reading, Geralt had said. He says there's nothing more romantic than someone baring their heart with big gestures and bigger bouquets.

That in itself sounded rather reasonable. The bard is a known sap, a romantic at heart like he likes to say, and what's more logical than listening to the poet's pretty words, when you're trying to court said poet?

So he planned everything, bought so many rose petals two apothecaries had to empty their stock, ordering Zerrikanian chocolate that could only be shipped twice a year to Oxenfurt, picking all the yellow wild flowers in a perimeter of two miles around the city walls.

Fiorano is his favourite wine, Geralt had said, so Eskel went to three different shops to find a bottle from Jaskier's birth year that cost more than the reward for an average Basilisk contract. 

He said something about pears. That they taste like love? Or they look like it. Can't remember. He likes them a lot though.

There's a cup full of pears under a stasis spell because it is definitely not the season for them to grow so far north, next to the bottle of Fiorano and two wine glasses. The rose petals are scattered all across the room, with a focus on the bed, which is nearly made, with red silk sheets Eskel rented to the closest brothel because his purse was empty from all the other expenses.

He asked Essi to play some viol under the window, but she laughed at him and said he couldn't afford her, which is technically true. She was nice enough to lend him a poetry book though, from one of Jaskier's favourite modern poets.

So he's sitting on the silk, roses covered bed, a bouquet of buttercups and dandelions in one hand and the book in the other, and he barely managed to read half of the poem when Jaskier entered the room after his evening lecture before the bard erupted in a booming laugh, cornflower blue eyes glistening with mirth and tears, pink mouth open in delight as his hands came to rest on his belly to ease the ache of his abdominal muscles.

It's been five minutes now, and Eskel is definitely killing Geralt when he sees him next. Behind the fury of having been mocked and lied to, shame and rejection are starting to show themselves. The Witcher stands, closing the poetry book and putting the bouquet on the table next to the uncorked bottle of wine and unnaturally green pears. As Jaskier's laughter finally begins to dwindle, he gathers the rose petals in his large, clumsy hands, and not finding anywhere to throw them, tugs the silk bed sheets undone to wrap around the dry petals. The smell was starting to make him nauseous anyway.

"What are you doing?" Jaskier asks, and the remnants of humour and mirth in his voice is another stab to Eskel's heart.

"I made a mess of your room, 'm sorry. I'll just… get out of here once it's cleaned."

"What? Eskel, no," a hand comes to rest on his bicep, light and gentle, encouraging him to turn back. As always, Eskel is helpless in the face of the bard's wishes.

"I'm not laughing at you, my dear," and the hand on his arm rises to cup his cheek instead. "This simply is such an unexpected - but welcomed - sight, and it is so… unlike you, I was surprised. What brought all of that on?"

His free hand waves at the flowers, the chocolates, the book, his eyes lighting up when he spots the Fiorano.

"I wanted to… seduce you," Eskel deflates, cheeks warm, gaze downcast.

Again, Jaskier laughs, this time a fond, private thing  crossing the space between them to caress Eskel's face where Jaskier is not touching him.

"Oh, my love," the poet breathes, "but you don't need all of that to seduce me. You see, I think this happened quite a while ago, and you didn't have to do anything but be yourself."

And the wine might be corked once they get around to drink it, the pears might be tasteless, and the flowers might trigger Jaskier's allergies, but this is, without a doubt, the most romantic evening of Eskel's long, long life.

I'm taking drabble requests!

[lieblingspulli]

Cherry Blossoms in the Spring

w.c: 1.4k

Taehyung drabble!

Summary: Taehyung spends some time admiring the cherry blossom bloom.

Masterlist!

-

A light breeze trickled through the afternoon air. The water from the small stream nearby rushed as if the water itself were in a hurry. The tinkling of water rushing and birds chirping gave the day a sense of calm. It was as if the birds were singing to each other very lightly. It was music to the ears and calming for the mind.

The light chirping, the water rushing past and the breeze were refreshing. The air was fresh with new rejuvenation, it was the first day of spring after all. The flowers would soon start to bloom with vigor as the days become longer and the clouds bring invigorating showers. Color would start to paint the landscape soon. Springtime starts today.

Kim Taehyung opened his eyes and breathed in the fresh scent of the newly blooming cherry blossoms. Light shades of pink and creme surrounded the grove of trees as petals were beginning to show. The bare branches from December were no longer thin and frail. They had become hearty and full with flowers that had yet to bloom. Winter had brought harsh snowfall and frigid winds, these trees had seen better days. But as the snow thawed and the sun confidently brought warmth to the people of Seoul, growth had seeped into every nook and cranny of this garden.

The water flowed gently again and the birds came out of the trees to sing their songs. The air became softer but still fresh, as it caressed the cheeks of anyone out for their daily walks. The crisp morning had transformed into a bright and sunny afternoon,Taehyung smiled at the warmth of today.

The final sign that spring had truly come early this year was the vivid outburst of color that seemed to creep up on the garden. Winter days were dull, blue and grey to the naked eye. Color seemed to hibernate for the cold days and the streets were sad without any wildflowers to decorate them. The frigid temperatures had blurred every line and made the sky murky with streaks of grey. To an artist, winter was either tragically beautiful or depressingly sad.

But spring had come early this year. Taehyung had noticed this slowly as he began his springtime strolls again. Every afternoon, during his lunchtime break from recording, Taehyung walked this stone path. Secluded enough, Taehyung did not have to worry over the inevitable recognition that someone might have when they saw him. This garden was truly a safe haven.

Recently, wild flowers and dandelions had started to poke out from the edges of the stone path. Taehyung had memorized this path long ago, but every time he came, the walk was just as beautiful as it was the day before. With dandelions came tiny white flowers, as if they were coming out of hiding from a game of hide and seek. Similar to how children shy away when caught, these white blooms didn’t stay for long. Taehyung had thought nothing of them.

Flash forward to today, Taehyung scolded himself for being so ignorant. He had seen the first signs of spring and dismissed them without a second thought. Although it seemed trivial to stress over tiny white blossoms, it was a larger thought to him that he hadn’t thought much of it. There is a sense of beauty in watching things grow, thought Taehyung. He had missed the first steps of it. But no matter, the vivid pink cherry blossoms were starting to bloom and the white orange blossoms were here already. It was a delicate but entrancing sight to see.

The brook gently called to the birds, trying to lull them from being too loud. Taehyung sat on a particular stone bench and in the distance, a bamboo deer scarer clacked. His bangs tickled his nose as the breeze picked up again.

Taehyung felt at peace here, engulfed in the newly birthed sounds of spring. Not a single soul was in the garden other than him, but he didn’t feel lonely. The birds and buzzing beetles were in unison today and added a texture to the noises around him that he couldn’t quite describe. Today’s song was like a symphony to Taehyung's ears. He was nostalgic for it, as he hadn’t heard true life like this in several months. This felt like home again, warm and embracing.

Taehyung sat and observed for several minutes, lost in the sounds of the garden. He could think of nothing as refreshing as this, and thought back to the day he promised himself that he would be thankful for everything around him. The garden helped energize him with new excitement for his life and his job.

Lately, he had become really tired. Winter had drained Taehyung’s sense of creativity and energy. Writing songs felt like a chore and being happy with his brothers felt impossible. But here he was, promising to be thankful for his life. Sometimes Taehyung felt that his feelings were like the season, changing drastically and extremely with no sense of empathy for its surroundings. But every time spring came around, he relished in it’s warmth. Because after every harsh winter comes one spring day that thaws the snow and with it, the sadness that it brought. He knew this.

This was Taehyung’s garden of eden, reminding him that beauty still exists even if winter was overwhelming and harsh. The brook continued to sooth his ears, almost as if telling him to focus on the present. Taehyung put his hands in his pockets and closed his eyes again. This precious thing that he had calmed him like nothing else. The lullaby of birds and water trickling overpowered any thoughts he had and he gladly embraced it. Sunshine trickled through the branches and shined on his closed eyes, warming his face.

Suddenly footsteps loudly interrupted Taehyung’s moment of bliss. He cracked his eye open to check for anyone he might not know. If he weren’t an idol, Taehyung would just have let them walk by. Instead, he found his friend walking towards him, eyes focused on the blossoms around them. Hands in his pockets, his younger friend awed at the sight of today’s blossoms. It really was magnificent.

Taehyung closed his eyes again and smiled. He hoped his brother would find the same bliss in this garden as he did. The footsteps stopped and Taehyung felt a presence sit next to him.

“The blossoms are magnificent this year, hyung.” His friend was careful not to speak too loud, in fear of interrupting the bird’s songs. Taehyung hummed in agreement.

“I see why you are here everyday. But doesn’t it get boring sometimes? Let’s go out for lunch hyung! I’m hungry!” The younger man jokingly complained. Taehyung opened his eyes. His bliss was over too soon. But he was hungry. He looked over at his friend and put his arm around his shoulder, pulling him to stand up.

“When are you not hungry, Kook?” Taehyung smiled widely. A pink petal floated down in front of them. Jungkook pushed him away and pouted. “Let’s go for lunch, I know a good place nearby. You are on your lunch break right?” Taehyung nodded and picked up the fallen petal.

“Alright then, let’s go.” He placed the petal on the bench and patted his friend’s back before walking ahead.

“Wait for me hyung!” Jungkook ran up to Taehyung and began to babble on about things from his day like how Namjoon was starting to work out with him and how Yoongi was starting to show up to the studio more after recovering from his shoulder surgery. He seems excited and happy today, Taehyung thought. That’s good. He nodded and listened to his friend speak as the sounds of the stream and deer scarer faded behind them.

“Hey Kook, want to have lunch in the garden tomorrow?” Taehyung suddenly asked.

“Ooo, sure. It’s so pretty here, that sounds amazing. Let’s get coffee too!” Jungkook smirked and Taehyung pushed him away while chuckling. He hated coffee and Jungkook knew that.

“Sure kookie, whatever you say.” Jungkook just giggled and continued talking about his day as the two strolled through the gates of the garden. Hopefully tomorrow would be a nice warm day like today, Taehyung thought. The cherry blossom trees rustled from the breeze, as if to say that they would make sure of it. Taehyung smiled and walked down the sidewalk with his friend, content to see the first day of spring again.

[moonlightreal]

Fate ep 3, first half

They should���ve just changed everybody’s names.  I like Terra but she’s nothing like Flora... but Aisha and Musa are nothing like themselves either and Stella is the polar opposite.  Bloom is the only one with anything like her own personality and that’s ‘cause “destiny-ridden protagonist” is a pretty universal personality.

But let’s dive back into the show we do have!

When we left our heroine, Bloom had gone all white-eyed!  Looks like she’s having a vision of her own birth!  Hospital monitors and whatnot, then an old lady leans into view and says, “When the time comes, find me.”  Well that was proof you’re a destiny-ridden protagonist if ever I saw it!

So it’s still evening of day 3.  Counting days is important.

Aisha asks Bloom what happened and Bloom says, ‘I think I just saw the fairy that left me in the human world.”

Opening sequence!

On the way to class, with backpacks and books.  Aisha is wearing a very acceptable teal snakeskin-print outfit.  Bloom’s in a red shirt. Bloom stops to look at the alumni photos on the walls, trying to recognize the fairy from her vision.  Aisha is unimpressed with this plan, which I think is pretty sensible.  The most powerful fairies come through Alfea and this fairy was powerful enough to easter-egg a memory in Bloom’s head for sixteen years.  Bloom of course hopes this fairy can lead her to her birth parents.  Aisha just doesn’t want Bloom to get her hopes up.  Clearly aisha does not recognize the signs of protagonistness.

Outside it’s cloudy and all the specialists are doing their martial arts stuff.  Silva’s looking remarkably healthy for someone who was extremely poisoned yesterday!  He corrects some students, and Sky and Riven put on a great show.  Props to the actors and choreography people!  Riven fights with two swords, and he dumps Sky on the mat at the end.

...nope, it’s been a week since the attack.  It is now day ten and the boys are worried about their teacher.  And so am I, if Burned One poison is always deadly how is Silva still up and about?  And after the way he described his father dying of it he seems the type to totally take his own way out.  I wonder if he’ll survive to the final battle in episode 6 and heroically sacrifice himself, that’d fit.

There’s Stella wearing pastel pink and a skirt the real Stella might almost put on.  And a sweater and scarf.  I wonder how much of the costume choices are just because it’s quite possibly really dang COLD in Ireland and they don’t want the cast to suffer.  They also could be trying for an otherworldly feel by having the clothes be unfashionable but that’s a very strange choice.

Stella has given no thought to poor Silva and thinks he’s fine, only “Are you training later or are we hanging out before the party?”  Sky also infodrops that Burned Ones are like vampires and if they kill the one that tagged him Silva will survive.

So either there’s two Burned Ones or Aisha didn’t kill the one she pinned to the tree.  I guess they didn’t mention to Dowling that they went out and pinned a Burned One to a tree.

Anyway Stella kisses Sky, who barely notices ‘cause he’s worried for his mentor’s life, and goes to class.  Riven starts guessing why Sky took up with Stella again and assumes it’s ‘cause Stella does kinky stuff.  Riven giggles like a twelve year old at the thought and Sky pushes him off the bench.  Then in a more mature moment Riven pretty much says ‘I'm there for you’ on the whole Silva thing.

I have this suspicion that we’re gonna find out Sky and Stella aren’t having sex, that Sky is trying to help Stella with her magic behind closed doors.  Sky’s vibe is so unseduced.

Classroom scene!  Potions, I’d guess by the flasks on the desks.  16 students at 8 desks in a very skinny room with Dowling at her desk at the end. The teaching is specific to each student though.  Terra blooms a dandelion.  Musa’s instruction is to focus on one thought.  Bloom has a little pile of twigs and is instructed to light one and keep the fire from spreading to the rest.  She says it’s impossible, but then manages.  Beatrix just has a little fizz of lightning.  She snarks Dowling a little and Bloom and Beatrix share a look.  Aisha lifts a sphere of water but when Dowling instructs her to separate drops, the whole thing falls splashing Aisha and Bloom.  It seems like she should be able to just un-wet them but I guess not.  Class over, Aisha heads off for a swim.  Beatrix senses weakness and smirks.

In the greenhouse Silva is getting treatment.  Poor guy’s got a great rotting crater in his back with black veins spreading from it.  Ouch!

Harvey goes out to get something and Terra’s outside waiting to ask how Silva’s doing.  Harvey lies and says he’s fine, and praises terra again for the brave rescue.  Terra catches on, ‘You can tell me. I’m not a little kid anymore.” but her dad doesn’t tell her, just kisses her hair and heads off on his errand.  T

Terra’s left looking at her reflection in the greenhouse glass.

Beatrix and Callan plot.  No luck getting through the barrier in Dowling’s secret passage.  They have this chat while walking in the gallery above the cafeteria in public.  Callan says they shouldn’t be seen together and Beatrix goes with, “everyone’ll just think you’re perving on me.” and calls Callan a pedo.  She shoves him off and twirls right to Riven, who in a charming-slash-weird display, chomps an apple then leans down so Beatrix can bite the apple still in his mouth.

Terra is as baffled by this as I am.  Dane describes Beatrix as a huge nerd who can recite the entire history of the Otherworld in between bong hits.  So bongs exist in fairyland, and also dowling does a really bad job at keeping her students off drugs.  Maybe she needs more than 3 staff members.

Anyway Riven invited Dane to the party and Terra is shocked and clearly territorial/protective over Dane.  

At their table Musa and Bloom are talking about Aisha’s failure in class.  Turns out Bloom’s parents call her at two in the morning because that’s a sensible hour Switzerland time and it wakes the whole dorm up!

Terra comes over to incoherently ask why Beatrix the history nerd is getting action while she can’t keep Dane’s attention away from a jerk like Riven.  She doesn’t say that with words but that’s the real question.  

Off in the background Sam catches Musa’s eye and holds up snacks, inviting her to come share.  Musa picks cute boy over awkward conversation.

Terra deflates.  “I know why really.  ‘Cause she drinks and smokes and looks like her and I’m… sorry.  How are you?” and Terra turns the conversation to Bloom’s search for the old lady in her memory. Which leads to yearbooks to how Silva is to if Sky’s ok to Terra basically saying, “Sky is a great guy but Stella will straight up murder you if you look at him.” to Stella staring at them from another table.  Bloom says she’s just worried about Sky and Terra says, “Ok.” realizing Bloom does not grasp the gravity of the Stella murder situation.

Sky arrives in the greenhouse where Silva is putting his shirt on after another treatment.  They talk, Sky offers to take over some teaching so Silva can rest.  The army is tracking the Burned One but Silva is running out of time.  He starts the ‘my final wishes’ thing but Sky is more interested in how to fix things.  But for soldiers, final wishes are as fixed as things can get.  Sky says, “I already lost one father.” so Andreas is indeed dead.

Cut to Stella hangin’ with the minor fairies!  they’re gossiping about the soldiers!  “hot Marco” is leading them, they’ll get that Burned One no problem.  Stella looks relieved.  She’s not actually heartless.  

Cut to a sign that says “18 Winx Suite’ there it is, the word.

Bloom looks through yearbooks.  Aisha tries to waterbend with no luck.  So little luck that she asks Bloom how the search is going.

We see a page of yearbook with names including “Ranger Colly” “Sparta West ‘Red’”  “Devon Waller”  Maybe the one nicknamed ‘Red’ is Bloom’s mom?  Also a little sad that they didn’t stick in the names of a few of the minor fairies, it would’ve been such a tiny thing so few fans would’ve caught it, but it would have cost them nothing.

Bloom has an idea!  She had the vision after using lots of magic, so maybe if she goes to the stone circle and draws on lots of magic again she’ll get back in touch!  

Aisha knows a bad idea when she hears one.

They are interrupted by Terra calling from the bathroom, she tried to do a cat eye and failed in floods of eyeliner.  Bloom and Aisha rescue her and Musa comes into this strange scene as Terra tells them, “I need full suite support, we’re gonna go show everyone we’re cool and fun...” the girls crowd in front of the mirror and smile.

This is exactly the kind of scene where the real Stella could have shone, sweeping in to make Terra look amazing... but the Stella we have is in Sky and Riven’s room doing her makeup because sharing the mirror with firsties is a nightmare, as Riven pours booze into his flask in preparation for the same bullying he pulled on Dane at the last party.

Wait, a party every ten days?  That is the most Winx Club thing about this show!  Hah!

Also the “there’s not enough staff to keep the students from abusing substances” is gonna be the new “the Winx band needs security guards” innit.  Sigh.

Riven brings the truth bomb: “If everyone around you is a nightmare, it’s not them.”

Stella wants a sip, but Sky isn’t drinking.  Stella thinks she knows why, she turns to reassure him, “Marco is on the Burned One.  As in, badass Marco?  Strongest fairy in a decade?”  But Sky’s still not drinking.  I get such a vibe that Sky is getting his life straight, growing beyond Stella while she remains a bundle of needs and fears.  Of course Bloom is ALSO a bundle of needs and fears so I’m not sure how that’ll work out.

We go to Badass Marco himself, out on rolling green fields.  He and his team are reporting in by radio: they’ve tracked the Burned one up to a river, which may stop it.  Burned Ones have difficulties with large bodies of water.  They should have killed it by morning.  Back at Alfea Dowling says they may not have ‘til morning.  She and Silva, whose eyes are white-ing over but still seems himself, are tracking progress on a map.  Marco and his team move out.  I want to know more about this battalion, Marco’s second is a woman with sort hair who seems to be named Laura, Harvey says her name as he comes to join the other two.  They’re in the cafeteria under the arches. Harvey pours shots all ‘round.  They wish they could be out in the action, not babysitting while their former students face danger. Marco and Laura are the best of the best but have never faced a Burned One.

Then Harvey mentions “the specialists’ annual debauched kegger.”

Silva: “I imagine they think we don’t know.”

Dowling: “I imagine they think you didn’t start it.”

Ok, I adore these three. Mixed feelings about the teenagers with familiar names but all three of the adults seem such solid characters.

...and with that revelation, I need a break from reviewing.  Got a sewing experiment to take apart and put back together, so we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to see if Badass Marco and his team survive or if the first-year students have to take over!

[jamesmarlowe]

RADTASK002: A GIRL AND HER DOG

March was a month without a season. Couldn’t call it spring yet; most of the trees were still bare, their long, dark limbs scraping up against the sky. Temperatures hovered indecisively around the low-fifties, then plummeted steeply each night. But there was something stirring: a birth of new smells, a trace of green in the yellow grass. A feeling of change, or the very brink of it, which had possessed him like an infusion of fresh blood and driven him outdoors— despite his three-hour block of afternoon classes, despite all the half-finished projects waiting for him in the studio. Outside, clouds skimmed the blue sky and squirrels tightrope-walked the phone lines. Birds huddled on exposed branches, returned from their long winter vacations. There was a smell of mulch in the air, fertile and earthy. A warm wind was blowing— as he walked outside the art building, Marlowe could feel it blowing through him as if through an open window, airing out all the trapped gloom in his soul. 

Gloom could accumulate even in him, of all people. There was something elemental about his need for sun and fresh air and open space; it was a quality he shared with all the other wild creatures who, after several long months deprived of all these things, were now also emerging from their dens and burrows, hungry and restless, desperate to roam. 

Today he was wearing a paisley bandana fashioned around his head, Springsteen-style, and a silver hoop through his ear. Both of these accessories gave his appearance a swashbuckling, pirate-y effect. Marlowe seemed to embody the part as he cleared a railing one-handed like a rodeo clown, then took the rest of the stairs two-at-a-time to where a girl waited for him at the bottom, her blonde hair lifted by the breeze. She kept her head bowed over her hands, deeply engrossed in the cat’s cradle she was weaving. 

Spacey Kasey. She was a junior in the Comp-Sci program. Sometimes people reacted to this information with a slow raise of their brows, or an actual laugh— more out of surprise than anything else, but that didn’t make it any kinder. No one really knew what to make of her. She could write code like Mozart wrote symphonies, but might also ask you if you knew how pineapples got their name, since they looked nothing like apples? Marlowe had met her at a party where she’d wondered precisely that, out loud, before turning her wide eyes to him; she had a child’s inquisitive stare. Why not pinefruit? He’d been fascinated from that moment on. His love for her had been a product of that fascination; he’d sensed something dreamy and outcast in her, something rare, easily misunderstood. They’d coupled up in late September, lasted till early November, the days dwindling and the nights lengthening by the time his old restlessness caught up with him— not her fault or his, just the natural progression of these things. Now, their relationship had lapsed into something easy, casual. Friends, sometimes more. He still found her endlessly fascinating. It was just a matter of how many other things in this endlessly fascinating world were also competing for his attention.

At the sound of cowboy boots smacking the pavement, Kasey looked up. The thread between her fingers went slack and her blue eyes brightened the way they always did whenever she saw him coming. Marlowe could not prevent a smile in response. Blue, he’d once heard, was the true color of the sun.

He whistled a short, upwards swoop. “Kase the Ace! Right time, right place!”

She was wearing an outfit almost as egregious as his own, tie-dyed shirt in sorbet shades of pink, purple and blue with only a pair of Lycra bike shorts underneath, exposing legs pale and goosebumped. There was a face looking at him from the front of her shirt, sinister drippy eyes loaded with glamorous make-up. Kasey’s own face was bare, her fair eyelashes almost invisible. Her earrings were a pair of mismatched plastic dinosaurs— one a red triceratops, one green T-Rex. Marlowe watched with visible amusement as she struggled to untangle the knots around her fingers. 

“Jeez, I used to be so good at these! I once taught all the girls at my summer camp how to do a ten-step cradle and I was like, their guru.” 

Eventually the two of them set off for the trees that hemmed the edges of campus. He briefed her about the reason for today’s outing—  a hunt for materials, looking for found objects not yet found—  but knew it wasn’t necessary, because Kasey could always be counted on to show up when he invited her. She was always happy to tag along, if only he asked. The quad they passed looked soggy and matted down in parts, the streaming sunlight revealing all the bald patches of mud and first sprigs of dandelion shoots. Marlowe kept his gaze ahead, away from that wide expanse of grass, letting Kasey’s idle chatter filter pleasantly through one ear and out the other. His gait was lopey but brisk, hers uneven as she skipped ahead, long blonde hair streaming behind her like a scarf thrown to the wind. 

“So what are we looking for today?”

Marlowe angled his face up to the sky, watching a bird disappear into a cloudbank. “Y’know, the usual. Hidden treasure, lost artifacts. Ancient ruins. Maybe a secret Amazon warehouse deep in the woods, that’d be useful. Could steal a lifetime supply of bubble wrap.” Rarely did he embark on such expeditions with a specific item in mind; mostly he just wandered around, expecting unusual things to find him and reveal their significance. Maybe it’d be a loop of blue ribbon, snagged on a wire fence. Or a child’s plastic bucket abandoned by the side of the road, handle broken, too lost to find its way back to the nearest sandbox. He searched for these banal objects that existed somewhere between tenderness and neglect— overlooked by so many who passed them by without any idea what they might’ve been before, what they could be next.

Kasey had begun walking backwards. There was a white patch of vitiligo on her forehead. Combined with her skipping and prancing, she often reminded him of a painted palomino. “I brought granola bars! They’re a little stale, you’ll have to use your back teeth.”

Marlowe flashed her two-thirds of a grin, revealing teeth that were good and strong, if a little crooked. “What if I told you I don’t have any? Will you mash them into a pulp and spit ‘em in my mouth?” He mimed the open-mouthed, head-back position of a hungry fledgling.

Kasey made a retching sound, dissolving into a giggle.

Soon they were stepping off the paved campus sidewalk and crossing the marshy grass towards the surrounding woods. The trees were sparse, still just skinny bodies stripped in the cold, but slowly the forest became denser the deeper they went; thick-trunked oaks and dark beeches grew here, close together, their twigs sprouting tiny green buds and unfurling fists of leaves. Branches criss-crossed the sky. Marlowe led the way through the corridor between trunks, but Kasey immediately began crashing through the skeletal undergrowth off to the side. 

“How about this?” Marlowe looked to where she’d hiked her leg up onto a large boulder like a big-game hunter posing with a kill. The stone jutted out of the ground at an odd angle, making him think of a dislocated jawbone. Kasey looked down at it, her expression deeply pensive. She tapped the toe of her sneaker. “You could like, give it a face. Glue eyes on it!”

Marlowe imagined an oversized pet rock in the likeness of Rocky Balboa, Stallone’s heavy scowl painted on. Shaking his head, he rewarded her sincere effort with an equally sincere smile. “Babe, I’m flattered that you think of me as some kind of circus strongman, but I’d need like, triple my current muscle mass to carry that.”

They found other things. An empty gallon jug, the kind used to hold water or milk, split almost in half. A tattered piece of fabric too muddied to even tell the original color. And most interestingly, a thin sheet of metal with torn edges, sharp as shrapnel. It leaned against a tree like a large canvas; the patterns of corrosion on its surface— oxidized red, blue rings of mold— made it seem less like a raw material and more like an already-finished work. Marlowe stood back with one finger resting against his chin, head tipped to the side as he appraised it like an art collector at a gallery. But in the end, he decided not to carry it either. He wasn’t up-to-date with his tetanus shots. 

They began to follow their own trail, no map or compass, forging a path through the woodsy vegetation that grew close to the ground and left long, raking scratches on arms and legs, resisting intrusion. Kasey swept back the flexible branches of saplings and peered into rotted tree hollows. Marlowe was more inclined to follow a few steps behind her, no urgency in his loose-limbed stroll. He tilted his head back and admired how the naked branches looked like slats of a broken roof letting most of the sky in. By now, the chill on his face had turned itself inside out; he grew warm, renewed in some vital way. He wanted nothing more than to walk deeper and deeper through these woods and never turn around, never retrace his steps, never go back. If he had to, he could survive out here. He’d exist just like the wild birds and foxes, on a diet of small, hard berries and foraged mushrooms. 

It was often in these moments of complete distraction that discoveries happened. The trees stood back. A secret flagged him down from behind them, kept until today, confessed now in this partial glimpse. “Hey, I think I got somethin’,” he said out loud. He didn’t look to see if Kasey heard or noticed. Eyes fixed on the gap between trunks, Marlowe forced his way through a thicket of mulberries to get to the other side. 

In the clearing, there was a statue of a little girl. One arm outstretched, sunlight on the crown of her head. Her empty eyes grazed the sky. Some kind of moss crawled up her legs, giving her the appearance of wearing knee socks. There was a dog at her feet— a terrier with perked ears. 

“What did you find!” called Kasey, still wrestling her way through the brambles. The sound of snapping twigs and a soft ow! told him she was making slow progress of it.

“Something,” Marlowe replied. Unusual, he added only to himself. “Some kind of statue.”

The pose of the statue, he thought, must’ve been intended to look like the girl had just thrown a stick in a game of fetch, but there was something about the frozen gesture that told a different story. It was an open grasp, fingers straining; he almost turned around to see what she was reaching for.

“Woah.” Kasey exhaled the word in a single breath. She had finally spilled out into the clearing behind him, looking disheveled but no less enthused, tugging one checkered sock up around her ankle. “Who’s that?”

Marlowe was already crouched. He brushed dirt off the foot of the statue but there was no inscription; if there’d ever been one, time had worn it away. Now she was as nameless as the trees around her. Standing up, he slid hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked backwards, giving the girl the same look he’d given that piece of rusted sheet metal: eyes slant with a certain sharp curiosity, their color like a jar of dark honey with sunshine in it. “Don’t know. Maybe a memorial or something. Or,” He began to pace around the statue, boots leaving sunken footsteps in the loam. When his phone buzzed in his back pocket, he reached for it absently. “Maybe she got turned to stone by some wicked Baba Yaga ‘round these parts. Her, and her little dog, too.”

It was hard to read anything through the disaster of the cracked screen. His eyes scanned Syd’s incoming messages and when he got to the last two, Marlowe stopped walking. His heart stalled.

SYD: also ?? im at the studio and haven't seen my sculpture anywhere SYD: r u sure you dropped it off?

Of course she had noticed by now; of course she was looking for it.

“Who’re you texting?” Marlowe raised his eyes to find Kasey observing the standstill he’d come to; she was leaning down to give the little stone dog a scratch under his chin. “Syd,” he answered, simultaneously dropping his eyes back to his phone. “She named her cat Martin. I’m expressing my deep, deep disappointment with her lack of imagination.” I did, at the gallery, he texted back. forgot 2 text you but the eagle safely landed. 

The thing about lying was that it came so easily, so naturally, he usually felt no guilt doing it.

“Tell her I say hi!” Losing interest in the statue, Kasey had found a divining rod. She was sweeping it back and forth now with brisk efficiency, like a metal detector. “How ‘bout this? Look, it’s almost perfectly symmetrical,” she asked. 

Message sent, Marlowe let his hand drop back to his side. He used his laugh to distract them both. “Does that thing have a crude oil setting? Fuck making art, let’s start fracking. I’d rather be a Texas millionaire.” Kasey whipped around, face lit by a wide, genuine smile; but as another text from Syd arrived, his own smile barely skimmed the surface of his face, too distracted to really stick. He typed back another answer. 

i'm sure it's just misplaced syd don't sweat

worst comes to worst, we can case the frats and make sure no one stole it to be their new beer pong deity or whtever the fuck those guys do

Like any good liar, he prided himself on being truthful most of the time— which made it that much easier for a lie to slip through, unsuspected. A wolf in honesty’s clothing. No less convincing than everything else he said. And wasn’t it a little bit of a favor, in this case? Better that Syd think some hulking frat brothers had stolen into the art studio under the cover of night and carried off her sculpture for a ritual sacrifice, some dark summoning to help the university through its football championships. Better that than the truth. 

Marlowe glanced over his shoulder in the same direction as the statue’s outstretched fingertips. Clouds worked across the sky, ragged and white, and behind them there was only blue, but now he felt like he could see what wasn’t there; a new, bad darkness, descending fast out of the western sky. Like those sudden thunderstorms in Virginia that rolled over the mountains, pouring like smoke over the lip of a bowl. The knowledge of the storm’s inevitable arrival sank low in his chest: present, but not yet fully understood. 

Even if she asked him in person, he’d deny it. He’d lie again. He’d help her look for a sculpture that he knew was already unsalvageable, dissolving with each cold rain that swept over the campus, turning to paste beneath the soil.

“Hey, c’mere.” Eager for distraction, Marlowe lowered himself down to the base of the statue, where there was deep cold beneath the velvety moss. Obediently, Kasey trudged closer, still holding the forked branch; when he pulled her down, she fell giggling and side-saddle across his lap. She circled his neck with her arms. He wrapped his own loosely around her waist.

“Would you ever hate me if I did something, like, really bad?”

Kasey pulled back to look at him, the wrinkle in her brow implying that she didn’t understand. “Like what?” 

Marlowe shrugged beneath the weight of her arms. “I don’t know, I don’t have an example. But like… bad. Something that really hurt you.”

Thoughtfully, she thumbed the silver hoop in his ear. The light was full on her face— she wore no make-up, and her lips were chapped. She must’ve been chewing them before, because he could see the faint bitemarks. His heart twinged, suddenly protective.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think so.” Her expression went away for a moment. There was a soft vacancy in her eyes that he’d gotten used to in their time together. When she returned, the look she gave him was earnestly sweet. Whatever the imaginary hurt, she was looking at him like she’d already forgiven him for it. “Because I’d know you didn’t mean to.”

Because you wouldn’t mean it, Syd had said close to his ear that one night at Splatterhouse. He did things without thinking. Did them so often, it had become his defining trait. Marlowe knew he escaped accountability because of it; he was one of those people the world tended to forgive too easily, meaning he’d always be protected from himself, sheltered from the consequences of his actions, because there was no real intention to hurt behind them— and that alone absolved him. You couldn’t blame the tornado that destroyed your home, not when it was only doing what tornados did.

Marlowe kissed the stain on her forehead, where the skin was pinkish like a newborn’s. He kissed her between the eyebrows, then lower, just underneath the chin, on the pulse that beat like a hummingbird’s heart. Kasey pulled away to look at him again. Her hands had strayed to the back of his neck, toying with the hair curling up at the nape.

“Ew, Marlowe, in front of a little girl?” Her big eyes lifted up towards the statue. The shadow of that reaching arm fell over them both. 

“It’s spring,” he replied in a what-can-you-do tone, though it was still only the end of winter. It was only March. His eyes met hers, glinting with uncivilized suggestion. There was a faint smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. “And y’know, considering how long she’s been here, she’s ancient. A withered old crone, hundreds of years old. If anything it’s weirder to have a dead dog watching us.”

She frowned. “Why’s the dog dead?”

“Dogs don’t live for hundreds of years.”

She pouted at it. Poor thing. It didn’t seem to occur to her that humans didn’t live for hundreds of years either. Then she leaned back in, meeting him in his daring with another kiss, hands twining into hair, one bare leg swinging over to straddle him. And all around there was the sound of unseen birds, calling to each other from the trees: mimicking, teasing, pleading. A riotous awakening of spring. The next text from Syd would go unread for several hours, left without an answer. The Burger King meal she’d promised him would be forgotten. And the encroaching darkness would also recede, withdrawing to the far-back reaches of his mind— for now, the coming storm was only a dim, gauzey threat on the horizon, rumbling with the promise of distant thunder.

[fic-al]

Two Types of Stuffing

Prequel to Christmas 1958

Christmas Day 1957 Nonnatus House

Patrick Turner glanced over his shoulder once again. He looked longingly beyond the dining room door. He knew that staring repeatedly in the direction of the Nonnatus telephone was not going to make it ring, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

He turned back to the table and suddenly felt ashamed. He was positive everyone knew what he was hoping for. Timothy sat to his left, he certainly knew he could see it in the boy's eyes. He had grown up so much, in such a relatively short time. Wise beyond his years. Honed through the illness and eventual loss of his mother. Followed by almost a year of what? Grief, struggle, survival. Patrick tried to shake himself from his melancholy and self-destructive thoughts. He was so proud of Marianne's son, sat in his school tie and blazer.

The boy was animatedly talking to Sister Evangelina. He was glad Sister Julienne had sat Timothy between himself and the bustling nun. She was never short of conversation and had a soft spot for his son, as she also once had for the boy's mother.

Opposite the doctor sat three of the young nurses, he worked with on a daily basis. Nurse Franklin was dressed a little like she was having Christmas dinner at the Ritz, but he thought she carried it off. Nurse Lee a little less flashy, he could see Marianne in something like that. He knew the more diminutive Nurse Miller would also be wearing a new dress. Marianne always insisted a woman needed a new dress for Christmas Day. Apart from last year, last Christmas she asked for a new nightdress.

Absentmindedly, he glanced again in the direction of the still frustratingly silent telephone. What was wrong with him? He had accepted this kind invitation for Timothy's sake. Granny Parker always spent Christmas with Timothy's cousins in Liverpool and he hadn't wanted her to change her plans, there had been too much change. He had to snap out of this wave of self pity.

Please let the next call be a woman in labour, possibly breech or twins. A safe, but long labour, but get me out of here, please! Let no harm come to anyone, just free me from this odious obligation. Timothy is in good, safe hands. No need to feel guilty or selfish, is there?

"Would you care for some more stuffing, Doctor?"

The sudden question directed to him in a warm Scottish lilt shook him out of his malaise.

"No,no thank you Sister, I have ample."

"Mrs B has dared to be a tad adventurous this year and made two types of stuffing. I must say Dr Turner, I prefer the traditional sage and onion myself."

"I wasn't aware Sister until today that there was more than one type of stuffing." He interjected, trying to crack a weak joke. The poor girl, what had she done to be sat next to such a miserable, boring old sod at Christmas.

He looked around the table; The nurses sat together and whispered and chatted. Although Trixie couldn't be accused of whispering at present.

Sister Evangelina sat comfortably next to Timothy, the pair gently trying to heal each other's wounds. Sister Julienne at the head of the table as her seniority allowed, watching over her family, with a careful eye on Sister Monica Joan at the other end. Poor kind hearted, devoted Sister Bernadette had got the fuzzy end of the lollipop, when it came to the seating plan and was stuck next to him.

"More wine Doctor? I must say Constable and Mrs Noakes have been very generous in supplying us with beverages, before they decided to spend Christmas with Constable Noakes' mother."

"Erm, not much more for me Sister, I know Dr Enys is on call. Which is very kind of him, in the circumstances."

They both glance at Timothy. The boy takes a good slurp of his Dandelion and Burdock, another treat from the Noakes'. Sister Bernadette starts to wonder if the Fortescue-Cholmondeley-Browne empire had been built on off-licenses.

Patrick continues, "He is a fine young GP, but I did say I would be available, if you know he gets snowed under, or may need my guidance in a complicated maternity case. I gave him this number and told him not to hesitate to call…" He was interrupted,

"I see, Doctor."

Patrick looked at those piercing blue eyes. Oh yes, even as a very happily married man and devoted husband, he noticed the blue eyes. Even when she was a 22-year-old postulant and he an enthusiastic new father and war veteran, he noticed the blue, blue eyes. They saw right through him at that moment, the blue eyes knew he would rather be tending to a bad case of haemorrhoids than pulling a Christmas cracker, containing a very bad joke, with an increasingly giggly Trixie.

Sister Bernadette glanced behind her once again, looking longingly beyond the dining room door. She knew that staring repeatedly in the direction of the Nonnatus telephone was not going to make it ring, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

The Nonnatuns took turns on Christmas Day to be on call. Sister Julienne always attended the first call. Sister Evangelina the next, Sister Bernadette followed and quite often that order would repeat itself throughout the day. The Sisters understood that Christmas may have a different interpretation for their young colleagues, and they would want to mark it in a different way.

It had been Sister Bernadette a few years younger than the others, that had suggested that they took the strain over Christmas and New Year. To serve Him and to have the privilege of delivering a Christmas or New Year baby. Also, young enough and generous enough to realize her secular colleagues would greatly appreciate any time off during the holidays.

At this moment, Sister Bernadette wasn't contemplating such noble thoughts. Basically, she just wanted to get the Hell out of there. Alone in the work environment between the forceps and cursing mothers, she could ask him how Timothy was doing? How was he coping? Here it had to be so polite, so appropriate, she could see he was struggling for breath, for cover, for safety. All she could do in this situation was talk about stuffing.

She needed that phone to ring, this was stifling. Please let the next call be a woman in labour, a very long simple, safe labour, but get me out of here please! Let no harm come to is too anyone, this is too painful and there is so little I can offer in way of comfort.

Relief finally! Just as the plum pudding and brandy sauce was being served, again thanks to Chummy.

Dring, dring, dring! Sister Bernadette and Dr Turner nearly knocked each other over in their urgency to answer the blasted thing. However, while the pair of them were untangling chair legs and actually getting themselves more entwined. Sister Julienne beat them to it.

Patrick took a deep breath. Nothing too bad, too cruel on Christmas Day, but something, maybe a lonely old pensioner, just needs some company.

Sister Bernadette took a deep breath. Nothing too bad, a multiple birth, twins, that would take time and be joyous.

Sister Julienne answered, "Mother Jesu Emanuel, Merry Christmas."

Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette returned to their seats and looked their plum pudding square in the face. Silently and slightly sullenly, the pair focused on their dessert and rather rich sauce. Suddenly they both dropped their spoons in response to a rather loud noise.

No, this wasn't the telephone, but rather a call of a different nature. With its very own calling card, a rather pungent odour. Someone was suffering from a bout of flatulence.

Dr Turner immediately swivelled in his chair and glared at his son. Timothy, who was obviously well aware of why his father was glaring at him, was shaking his head furiously and mouthing, "Not Me," at his dad.

Dr Turner flicked his eyes from his wide-eyed son to the rest of the dining party. They incredibly continued chatting as normal and quite loudly, especially Trixie. He didn't mind; it was nice to see the young nurse enjoying herself and letting her hair down. She was a grafter; she deserved it. But the smell! Well, they were nurses after all, probably immune.

He was just about to admonish Timothy again when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

What was she going to say?

Not only had she had to endure Christmas dinner with the dullest man on Earth. Unfortunately, they sat only inches apart. She must have just had the same experience as him. His mind was racing. Now what must she think?

He turned his head slowly in response to the sleeve tug. The first thing he noticed was the pale almost opaque skin of Sister Bernadette was pink, very pink indeed. She had a rosy glow across her cheeks. Her eyes, those blue eyes, were throwing off a light show only he could see. When he was able to tear his eyes away from those northern lights, he noticed she was biting her bottom lip and seemed to be shivering.

Suddenly she was able to release her bottom lip for a moment and mouth to him, "Not Timothy." She cast a glance down the table past Timothy. Patrick's eyes followed and so did his son's and the colour returned to Tim's cheeks. Relieved he was off the hook and also because he wouldn't have to be the one to drop his dining companion in it.

Patrick now aware that he and his family had not disgraced themselves, looked back at Sister Bernadette. Who now seemed to be steadying herself, with her left hand firmly attached to the seat of her chair. Still pink, still quivering. She was in hysterics, silent, hidden hysterics. Trying for the life of her to not show it. He could only be about nine inches away from her. For the first time since Patrick Turner had walked through those convent doors that morning, a genuine ghost of a smile crossed his face.

He looked at her, really looked at her, maybe for the first time. She was pretty. Well yes, he knew that, but at this moment, she was simply radiant. She was sat only a few inches away shuddering with joy, trying to suppress an almighty laugh. In almost ten years of working with her, she had always been so proper, always been so professional, always been so self controlled. Right now, Sister Bernadette's control was slipping.

This was much more enticing than two types of stuffing. He was that close. He didn't sit him there-that was Sister Julienne's doing-he didn't even want to be there. Did he?

"You know if you hold on to that chair much harder, you are going to break it."

He was close enough, just for only her to hear the soft whisper in her ear. The rose pink turned to scarlet, not just across her cheeks but also down her neck, her shivering turned to a gentle rocking. He knew he should stop, of course he knew….

"If you bite that lip any harder, you might need me to take a look at that."

He didn't quite get the reaction he was looking for. Her head turned to face him, chin-up, and she stared straight into his eyes, blue into green.

"Best behaviour please, Doctor." She managed to squeak through gritted teeth.

It was at that point Sister Evangelina's battle with the sprouts came to its climax. Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette were somehow in suspended animation. The game had suddenly changed, they both knew the one to take their eyes away from the other would be the first one to break into fits of laughter.

Sister Bernadette found herself grasping the chair even harder, and Dr Turner found he was doing the same thing. Meanwhile, Timothy was making the adults to his right, look like primary school children. Hardly batting an eye or losing track in his conversation with his table mate. While she remained as unnerved as ever.

Suddenly, the stalemate was broken. Trixie trying to relate a story to a less than attentive Jenny, resorted in wild hand gestures and in doing so knocked over her wineglass. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, it was only half full.

For the first time the table hushed and focused on one person, well almost everyone that is. Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette eyes flicked to Trixie and then back at each other. Not wanting the now mortally embarrassed nurse, to think they were laughing at her, they hung on to their self control.

The tables focus soon moved to another when Sister Monica Joan suddenly exclaimed out of nowhere. "Not only have I been subjected to a stench that would only be outdone by Vesuvius in eruption. Now, that inebriated young woman has just shed her wine all over the mince pies!"

The awkward silence that followed was broken by a sudden loud girlish giggle, that had lost any hope of censure and a deep masculine laugh, that had been begging for air, for too long. An eyebrow or two were raised in the direction of the ridiculous hilarity, but it was fleeting. The release of the built up tension in the pair seemed to influence everyone. Permission had been given for everyone to forgive, relax, smile and carry on and to clear up the mess.

Timothy took on the responsibility of rescuing the mince pies. Relieved that a reason to be excused from the table had finally presented itself. What no-one else saw was that on Sister Monica Joan's outburst, Sister Bernadette's resistance finally broke. She lost all control and could no longer contain the mirth mounting up within herself. Feeling unnerved and unbalanced, she felt unstable in her chair and grabbed the nearest thing available to steady herself. It wasn't until she required her left hand to help her remove her glasses and dry her tear stained eyes. That she became aware that what she was using to steady herself was in fact the doctor's leg. Just above the knee.

The one thing she was never able to comprehend, not then, not later that same night, not even in the sanatorium, was why before removing her hand from the doctor's leg? Did she first look left, to see if Timothy had noticed and then look right, to see if Sister Julienne had noticed. It was only when she was finally certain that neither had noticed, did she then and only then, remove her hand from its inappropriate mooring.

As people stood to clear the table, the was one person Sister Bernadette was definitely not going to look at. Even though she knew he was looking at her. Sister Bernadette had been searching all night for something to quell her school girl giggles, and now she had found it. Grabbing the doctor's knee in the possible full view of his son and her superior certainly did the trick. She had found her cure.

Sister Bernadette's back stiffened, her demeanour changed. She rose steadily from her chair. "Excuse me, Dr Turner," she said without a hint of a smile, eyes completely focused on his shoulder.

"Of course," he replied with just a hint of amusement, which she chose to ignore. She knew he was watching her walk through to the kitchen, but she wouldn't look back, she would never catch herself looking back for him. She remembered this silent promise, ten months later on a misty road in the Essex countryside.

[ladywinchester1967]

Bittersweet Symphony:

Chapter 4

Paring: Dean x Kaylee

Warnings: FLUFF OF DOOM (like so much fluff, Build a Bear would be jealous), smut adjacent, protective!Dean, Dad!Dean, angst....I think that’s it. 

A/N: Here is the final chapter of Bittersweet Symphony, I hope you guys enjoy it!! Unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine, pics are NOT. 

Need to catch up?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Four years later.....

“Daddy, Daddy!” Delilah yelled as she ran out of the house and jumped into Dean’s arms.

“How’s my little dandelion?” Dean asked as he squeezed the little girl tightly.

“Good!” She said as she held Dean tight “Mommy said I was good today so I got TWO gummy bears!”

“Two gummy bears?!” Dean asked as he walked into the house, still holding her “That’s so many!”

“Mommy, Natalie!” Delilah yelled as they walked through the door “Daddy’s home!”

“DADDY!” came a high pitched squeal from inside the house.

“Oh thank god.” Kaylee said as she came around the corner, holding the hand of their two year old daughter, Natalie, and their four month old son, Charlie, in her arms.

“Who do you want me to wrangle?” Dean asked as he kicked the door shut with his foot. Natalie toddled forward, letting go of Kaylee’s hand and yelled

“Daddy, Daddy!” as Dean bent down and scooped her up as well.

“Can you get the girls a bath?” She asked “I gotta feed Charlie and start dinner.”

“Don’t worry about dinner,” Dean said “I’ll order pizza.” He set the girls down and then crouched to their level. “Ladies, go get your towels and I’ll meet you in the bathroom.” He said to them.

“Don’t wanna bath!” Natalie said, a grumpy expression on her face.

“I know, but you can play with your mermaid doll in the tub if you want.” Dean said

“MERMAID!” Natalie shouted excitedly and then she and Delilah ran to the back of the house. Dean laughed as he stood up and kissed Kaylee.

“Mh, you’re sexy when you take control.” She said through the kiss.

“That right?” He asked as he opened his mouth for another kiss, which she obliged.

“Yes, very sexy.” Kaylee said.

“I’ll show you how sexy I can get after we get these rug rats to bed.” Dean said, wiggling his eyebrows. Kaylee laughed and said

“I’m holding you to that cowboy.”

“I know you will.” Dean said.

Later that night, once all the kids were in bed, Dean and Kaylee we’re finally able to sit down and enjoy a little bit of dinner and time to themselves.

“How was work today?” She asked Dean.

In the four years since Delilah had been alive, Devin hadn't made any other attempts to see or get custody of Delilah, and she'd never known anything different than Dean being her Dad.

It had been too hard for Dean to be away from Kaylee and Delilah, then Kaylee got pregnant with Natalie, that’s when Sam and Dean decided to hang up hunting for good. He and Sam had agreed that there were other hunters to take on the baddies of the world and it was time that they got a chance to live their lives. It took Dean a long time to get comfortable being away from the bunker, he and Sam had left it in Garth's hands along with all of the lore and knowledge they had gained over fifteen years of hunting. Dean would get restless; nightmares still plagued him and he needed a good amount of alcohol to get to sleep. He was downright obnoxious about the house being on lock down against anything or anyone that wanted to come and take revenge on him. Kaylee had figured out ways of warding the house, such as scratching sigils into the backs and sides of the door frames and windows that way they didn't show. She had also planted protection plants and engraved their flower pots with warding. He and Kaylee made it their mission that none of the kids knew what they'd previously done nor did they know what was really out there. Kaylee fell into a comfortable routine faster than Dean had. By the time Natalie was born, she knew and had tested all of their neighbors; who she was happy to report were all totally and completely human.

Dean however, remained on edge. There was no way he could have all of this good after all the bad he had done. Even after the birth of Natalie, he was sure something was going to happen to him, Kaylee or the girls, which was when his nightmares were at their worst. Over and over, he dreamed of coming home and finding all of them kidnapped or dead. One evening, things finally came to a head when Dean came home and couldn't find Kaylee or the girls. He had gone ballistic trying to find them and when they finally came home he was ready to explode.

“Where they hell have you been?!” he yelled at Kaylee as he scooped up Delilah, who was two at the time.

“Dada,” she said as she hugged him back “Dada, Dada.”

With tears in his eyes he grabbed Kaylee into a tight hug and she asked

“Why are you so upset? I texted you and told you what was going on.”

“I didn't get a text!” Dean practically yelled as he set Delilah down.

Kaylee shot him a ferocious look and then softened her face to look at Delilah.

“Baby,” Kaylee said to the little girl “come on, let's get you set up with that movie I promised you.”

Once Delilah was occupied with Tangled and Natalie was settled in her crib, Kaylee and Dean went into the kitchen.

“I texted you,” she told him and showed him her phone “Jody and Claire were in town and they wanted to see Delilah and meet Natalie.”

Dean showed her his phone and said

“See? I didn't get the message! I thought-fuck, you don't want to know what I was thinking happened.” he put his phone to the side and wrapped his arms around her “I'm sorry for yelling, I was scared.” he breathed her scent in, her shampoo and the smell of fresh, summer air filled his nose.

“I'd tell you not to worry, but I know you too well,” she told him and pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as tears spilled out of his eyes. “Dean,” she said softly “it's okay, we're right here. We're okay.”

“You don't understand,” he said, his green eyes full of pain as he leaned into her touch “if something happened to you or the girls,” he paused and bit his lip “I don't know what I'd do.”

“Babe,” she said “I know you're paranoid, but we've locked this house down, and I was with two of the best hunters we know, don't forget, I used to hunt too. I know what I'm doing and what to look for.”

“I just worry.” he said “I don't want anything to happen.”

She pulled him into a sweet kiss and said

“We'll be okay, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked, his voice shaking a little.

“I don't know,” she told him with a shrug “I guess I just have faith, that's all. Faith in us as parents, in us as a family that we'll look after one another as best as we can. Something in my gut just says that we'll be okay.”

He bit his lip and then kissed her again, gripping her hips as he worked his mouth over hers.

“Promise me,” he said as he kissed her “you'll be safe.”

“I promise.” she told him as she kissed him back “I'll be safe.”          

“Good,” He said as he devoured his second piece of pizza “finally got the drywall hung in the living room of that model home.”

“And the other houses aren’t far behind right?” Kaylee asked and Dean nodded.

“Nope,” He said “everything’s actually on time, which shocks the hell out of me and Sammy.”

Dean had gotten a job in construction and was on the fast track to being site foreman while Sam was in planing and management for the same company.

“And nothing shocks you.” Kaylee pointed out and Dean laughed.

“Yeah you’re right.” He said “How was everything here?”

“The girls got a good report from preschool today, which is why they got gummy bears.” Kaylee told him.

“I wish someone gave me gummy bears for being good at work.” Dean fake grumbled and Kaylee kissed his cheek.

“You get something WAY better than gummy bears for doing well at work.” She chided him and kissed his cheek again.

“Yeah, I know,” he said with a grin “I’m just teasing.”

Kaylee admired him for a few seconds, he’d taken a quick shower after the girls had gone to bed so his hair was still a little wet, he hadn’t shaved in a few days so he had just the right amount of scruff on his face, his freckles were more prominent since he was in the sun more often than not. She grinned as he turned and looked at her.

“What?” He asked as he looked down at her.

“Nothing,” she told him as she looped both of her arms around one of his “just getting a good, long look at my sexy hunk of man.”

He laughed and kissed her forehead.

“Thanks sweetheart.” He said and tilted her face up to his, planting a tender kiss on her mouth. She opened her mouth and swiped her tongue across his lips. On the next kiss, his tongue met hers, wrestling for dominance as the heat between them built up.

Dean swung Kaylee up and into his lap so that she was straddling him. She held his face in her hands as they kissed again feverishly. He tightly gripped her backside as she started to grind into his swelling cock.

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me.” He moaned as she kissed his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“But I want you,” She moaned “god I want you so bad.”

“Want you too,” he gasped as she bit down on his ear “fuck do I want you.”

“Take me to bed handsome,” she moaned as she kissed him “show me how well you take control.”

“God damn it.” He said as he stood, picking her up with him and throwing her over his shoulder as he made his way to their bedroom.

Dean carefully locked the door behind him and Kaylee as he laid her on the bed, crawling on top of her.

“As much as I like this dress,” he said tugging at the floral patterned summer dress she wore around the house “it’s gotta go.”

She nodded and tugged it off, throwing it to the floor as he placed heated kisses across her neck and collarbone.

Later that night, Dean poured himself a glass of whiskey and did his nightly patrol. He checked on Delilah and Natalie, who shared a room. Both girls were in their beds and clutched their stuffed cats that Sam had gotten them for Christmas. Natalie’s was pink and Delilah’s was purple. Dean smiled as the night light in the shape of a dragonfly dimly illuminated the room. His next stop was Charlie’s room which was totally dark. Dean used the light of his phone to find his son in his crib, snug as a bug in a rug.

He then checked all the doors and windows to make sure they were properly locked and shut, he checked under all the door mats to make sure the demon traps were intact and that all the warding on the doors were properly done. Usually by this time, he had finished his whiskey and felt secure enough to go to sleep. He left his glass in the sink and walked back to his and Kaylee’s room. Before settling back into bed, he took a second to admire her. She slept on her stomach with her back rising and falling with each deep, sleep filled breath. She had one arm under her pillows and the other stretched out to his side of the bed. He let a half grin cross his mouth, she’d wake up soon if he didn’t get in bed. With one last check on the kids, Dean was finally back in bed. He tucked himself in as Kaylee made her way over to him, her head on his chest and her arm wrapped around him. He folded his arms protectively around her and kissed her forehead.

“I love you.” She mumbled sleepily.

“I love you too.” He answered as he looked at the picture on his side of the bed. Sam had taken it, Charlie was barely a month old and Dean was holding both girls in his arms as he and Kaylee smiled at the camera. For the first time in a long time, Dean let out a deep breath. He felt secure, and all was well.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I hope you guys enjoyed that, as usual, your kind feedback is deeply appreciated, be sure to like and share with your friends, smash that “follow” button if this is your first time here and you want to see more content from me! I love you guys and I’ll see you soon!!

The Squad:

@waywardbaby​​​​​​ @waywardnerd67​​​​​​ @familybusinesswritingbro​​​​​​ @ain-t-bovvered​​​​​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​​​​ @unholyqu33n​​​​​​ @dacleverfox​​​​​​ @emoryhemsworth​​​​​​ @bobasheebaby​​​​​ @myinconnelly1​​​​​​ @mogaruke​​​​​​ @imma-winchester-addict​​​​​​​ @purpleskiesandcherrypies​​​​​​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​​​​​​ @animerose96​​​​​​​  @roonyxx​​​​​​​ @snffbeebee​​​​​​​ @ezilyamuzed​​​​​​​ @mirandaaustin93​​​​​​​ @srsllydunnodoncare​​​​​​​ @latetothewinchesterparty​​​​​​​ @emilyshurley​​​​​​​ @atc74​​​​​​​ @midnightsilverafterdark​​​​​​​ @adoptdontshoppets​​​​​​​ @biawol​​​​​​​  @spaceystacey123​​​​​​​ @bella-ca​​​​​​​ @clo-heda​​​​​​​ @closetspngirl​​​​​​​ @thekatherinewinchester​​​​​​​ @maddiepants​​​​​​​ @idreamofplaid​​​​​​ @love-those-boys-in-flannel​​​​​ @flamencodiva​​​​​ @blueberrykushlovexoxo-blog​​​ @sandlee44​​​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @rainbowsinthestorm​

Dean/ Jensen:

@spnbaby-67​​ @akshi8278​​ @deanscarlett​​​​​ 

Bittersweet Symphony:

@beautifulbowleggedangel @schmidten17

[hrrytomlinson]

here are a bunch of AMAZING fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of august. I recommend that you read these great fics in september, if you haven’t already!! also check out the HL Summer Fic Exchange!

(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)

1. How Far We’ve Come 32k

“This is Harry Styles,” Chiron offers.

He’s beautiful. His eyes are a stunning green, the color of new foliage. The new kid’s limbs are long and lanky—he looks extremely uncomfortable and uncoordinated. Louis internally smirks to himself, guessing the kid probably won’t be too skilled with a sword, or a bow, or anything sharp, most likely. His hair falls to his shoulders in sets of loose, brown curls. The color is rich and luscious, resembling soil so much that it looks like flowers could sprout from his hairline at any moment. But Louis’ eyes are stuck on his soft looking lips, pink as flower petals and slightly parted as his eyes scan the horizon of the camp.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Harry.”

2. It’ll All Come Up Roses 4k *

Louis was leaning against the railing of the bridge, looking down at the water completely lost in thought when he heard someone approach the bridge from the side that he came from. Glancing up, he noticed Harry walking towards him, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, and seemingly lost in thought. Louis shifted his weight onto his other foot and stood up properly, watching quietly as Harry walked past him. Louis opened his mouth. He wanted to say something to Harry to break the silence, or at least to get him to notice him standing there against the bridge railing - but the words got stuck in Louis’ throat, and he snapped his mouth shut, going back to staring down at the water mindlessly instead. All the while, trying hopelessly to figure out what the fuck he’s doing with his life. Harry kept walking, and soon Louis was once again left alone to his thoughts.

Or the one where Louis really doesn't hate his neighbor who keeps waking him up at the crack of dawn. Ft magic, Liam, Niall, and Zayn barely being mentioned, Harry and his fucking motorcycle, a date and a kiss.

3. Freeze This Moment in a Frame and Stay Like This 5k

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

4. Wrap You Up In Daisy Chains 10k *

Ten minutes later, an awkward, long-legged, curly-haired, so pale she’s reflective, and so obviously gay-looking Harry Styles is sitting shotgun next to Louis in a bikini, denim cut-offs, and heart-framed sunnies.

Or, Harry and Louis and a too-small bathing suit.

5. Small Doses (Loving You It’s Explosive) 38k

Louis Tomlinson finds himself at Vitality Fitness to try and turn his life around after having left his cheating boyfriend of four years. The gym's owner, Liam, quickly becomes a good friend, but his right hand man is rude and dismissive from the get-go.

Louis and Harry continue to clash all while Harry is trying to move his way up the ranks in Manchester's amateur boxing circuit, but they can't seem to stay away from each other.

6. Some Flowers In Your Hair 23k *

When Louis mentions offhandedly that he’s really been enjoying watching some TV show called Alone, and that the idea of humans surviving without magic in the wilderness fascinates him, he would never have guessed it would land him in a situation like this.

This is supposed to be a friendly camping trip between Louis and Liam, just a couple of bros surviving in the wilderness for bragging rights, not whatever rigmarole that fucker is currently outlining. And certainly not including one Harry Styles, pretentious twat that he is.

What is he getting himself into?

Or, a magical camping AU in which Louis is jealous of Harry's magic, Liam's a little too enthusiastic about surviving in the wilderness, and Niall might have misunderstood the rules.

7. We’ll Be Seamless 52k **

Green reblogged an old photo of himself. It was from back in October, a Halloween special. A pulse shot all the way through Louis because this photo was his absolute favourite, and it had taken the rest of the year for him to wean himself off of it.

Green was on his knees, arms stretched out in front of him with his fingertips digging into the surface of his bed. He was wearing a pair of cat ears on his head, his curls falling forward. His back was arched, and in the foreground of the picture, Green’s bum was high in the air, a long, black cat tail sitting neatly between his cheeks.

Louis spends all his spare time scrolling arty nude blogs on Tumblr but amongst them all, Green is his favourite.

8. Chasing Empty Spaces 79k **

The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

9. It Had To Be You 45k **

A When Harry Met Sally AU.

Harry and Louis are strangers who share the drive from Chicago to NYC after college. They don't have anything in common, don't get along, and at the end of their trip, they're both glad to say goodbye. During a chance meeting five years later, they find that nothing has changed, and they part ways expecting never to see each other again. Ten years after their first meeting, Louis and Harry meet once again, but this time they become friends. Eventually, things get complicated.

10. Perfect Sky 11k

Deep, deep down, Louis knows Niall hadn’t meant to do this. He knows that this really was a last minute conundrum Louis had found himself in. Louis could’ve muddled the dates just as easily as Niall could have misremembered them. This hurts for other, more difficult reasons.

This hurts because it was supposed to be Louis’ honeymoon.

Louis meets Marcel at the lowest point of his life. A few poorly timed jokes, and a cigarette (or twelve) later, Louis starts to think love’s not a sham after all.

11. Magic Everywhere We Go 19k

Fifteen years after first meeting Louis at a mutual friend’s birthday party, Harry is just as in love with his husband as he was on their wedding day. And with the birth of each new child, Harry seems to have only grown to love him more.

And now Harry is spending four days at the happiest place on earth with all of his favorite people – his mum and stepdad, his four beautiful children, and his perfect husband.

Life couldn’t get any better than this.

Or, Harry and Louis go on holiday with their family to Disney World.

12. One Day, Maybe Next Week 6k

Louis was staring at him, expecting a response, and Harry was supposed to be the one coming up with that response, and he was so not prepared, so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Where were you? You weren’t on the bus for a few days.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Uh… Sorry, I just- Um, sort of noticed that maybe you weren’t on the bus since last week. Not that I watch for when you’re on the bus or anything. That would be weird. Obviously, you have your own schedule, and I have mine. I just saw that you weren’t here, so I wondered what you were doing, or if something bad happened, like you got kidnapped or something. God, that sounded creepy. I promise I’m not threatening your life or something. Jesus, just stop me. If you have pepper spray, I would totally understand if you got me in the eyes right now.”

Louis had his lips pressed together at this point, holding back a laugh. Harry really didn’t blame him for that.

Or, the one where Harry just really wants to talk to Louis. And when he finally does, everything he says just comes out wrong.

13. Building Castles In the Sky 22k **

"D-dad? You think I c-can do it? Y-you think i c-can..." Evan trailed off looking down at his chest. And Louis' heart melted.

"I think you can do everything, love. Everything." Louis said while pulling his boy closer. "Because you, my little dandelion, are very brave! And so strong and wonderful and so very bright! You will go up on that stage, and you will blow everyone away. I just know it."

They laid there on their porch while they hugged each other tightly. His little boy was so brave. Louis didn't need to see him on a stage to be proud. He was proud of him already.

"You know,” Evan mumbled aloud again. “Mr. S-Styles says the same t-thing. He s-says I c-can do e-everything too.”

And Louis couldn't help but smile.

Or, where, Louis had a four year old with a stuttering problem. Harry was always there to help.

14. I Come Alive When I Hear Your Voice 7k

Harry let out a satisfied sigh and sat back in his cushioned office chair. He looked down at his laptop and tapped his fingers against his bottom lip in contemplation. He was fairly pleased with what he’d finished so far on his latest project; he just needed to fine-tune some bits and then send it off to his management for their approval. He sent his coworkers an e-mail giving them commenting rights on the document for any constructive criticism they might have, and cringed when his stomach let out an unholy gurgle.

Aka: Harry the mute songwriter falls in love with the single dad working at the bakery down the street from his studio.

15. Cupid’s Defense 116k **

In which Harry is Cupid, Louis and Liam own a law firm, and they're all getting sued.

16. Palms Reflecting In Your Eyes 6k **

Harry visits Louis at his campus and finds a crop on the wall.

17. There Is No Resistance 1k

It's Harry's birthday and Louis has found him the perfect gift.

18. Sound Like a Song 14k **

In high school, Louis Tomlinson lit up Harry’s world like nobody else, even if Harry did most of his pining from the safety of his tightly knit circle of friends. Ten years later, Harry is ready to make some changes. He’s tired of having so many regrets and not taking charge of his life, and he still hasn’t forgotten how brightly Louis shines. He’s about to get a long awaited second chance.

Or the one where Harry helps out at a farmer’s market and gives Louis free vegetables.

19. I’ve Seen How You Sparkle 56k *

Their eyes locked again and Harry blushed, suddenly feeling shy. Louis just smiled at him, tilting his head a little as his eyes ran over the younger boy. Harry self-consciously placed his arm over his stomach, afraid that Louis would somehow see through his clothes and notice the druid mark on his right hip. It was a triple spiral, a triskele. Although it wasn’t that big and fairly easy to hide, Harry was always paranoid that he would maybe stretch too much and reveal the mark.

It wasn’t that he actually believed Louis would have him executed, but he knew Louis was fiercely loyal to his father. If it came to choosing between Harry and his father, Harry was honestly not sure what Louis would do.

Or Louis is the Crown Prince of Camelot and Harry is a druid hiding his magic. It would have been a lot easier if he didn't also have to deal with a forbidden love, a dangerous quest and a whole lot of trouble.

20. One Shines Brighter 11k *

“Hi, baby. You doing anything fun today?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Thought I’d see how I was feeling before making any plans.”

“You wanna get married?” Louis asks. Harry’s face breaks into a smile, and he nods.

Louis’ lips are just brushing Harry’s when Gemma appears in the hallway. “You two are in so much trouble.”

Harry's wedding was never supposed to be the happiest day of his life. No, that was going to be the day after, when he finally got to start his marriage. Unfortunately his family (and Louis) have other ideas.

Featuring a pair of moms who only want the best for their kids, meddling sisters with too much time on their hands, and a groom who gets caught up in the fairytale.

[weshallc]

Nonnatun Card Exchange (FF3).

This story was written for Gillian, hope you don’t mind me sharing. This is also dedicated to @eatapinkwafer because it’s her favourite.

Christmas 1957- Nonnatus House

Patrick Turner glanced over his shoulder once again. He looked longingly beyond the dining room door. He knew that staring repeatedly in the direction of the Nonnatus telephone, was not going to make it ring, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

He turned back to the table and suddenly felt ashamed. He was positive everyone knew what he was hoping for. Timothy sat to his left, he certainly knew, he could see it in the boy’s eyes. He had grown up so much, in such a relativly short time. Wise beyond his years. Honed through the illness and eventual loss of his mother. Followed by almost a year of what-grief, struggle, survival?

Patrick tried to shake himself from his melancholy and self destructive thoughts. He was so proud of Marianne’s son, sat in his best tie and blazer. He was animatedly talking to Sister Evangelina. He was glad Sister Julienne had sat Timothy between himself and the bustling nun. She was never short of conversation and had a soft spot for his son, as she also once had for the boy’s mother.

Opposite the doctor sat three of the young nurses,he worked with on a daily basis. Nurse Franklin was dressed a little bit like she was having Christmas dinner at the Ritz, but he though she carried it off well.Nurse Lee a little less flashy, he could see Marianne in something like that. He knew the more diminutive Nurse Miller would also be wearing a new dress. Marianne always insisted a woman needed a new dress for Christmas Day-apart from last year-last Christmas she asked for a new nightdress. 

Absentmindedly he glanced again in the direction of the still frustratingly silent telephone. What was wrong with him? He had accepted this kind invitation for Timothy’s sake. Granny Parker always spent Christmas with Timothy’s cousins in Liverpool and he hadn’t wanted her to change her plans, there had been too much change. He had to snap out of this wave of self pity. Stop wishing for some tragedy at the worst, slight irritation at best. To befall on some innocent Poplar family, just to free him from this odious obligation. Leaving Tim in good, safe hands and him almost guilt free,perhaps?

“Would you care for some more stuffing, Doctor?” The sudden question directed to him in a warm Scottish lilt, shook him out of his malaise.

“No,no thank you Sister, I have ample.”

“Mrs B has dared to be a tad adventurous this year and made 2 types of stuffing. I must say Dr Turner, I prefer the traditional sage and onion.”

“ I wasn’t aware Sister, until today that there was more than one type of stuffing.” He interjected, trying to crack a weak joke.

The poor girl, what had she done to be sat next to such a miserable, boring old sod at Christmas. Patrick chastised himself internally.

He looked around the table, the nurses sat together and whispered and chatted. Although Trixie couldn’t be accused of whispering at present. Sister Evangelina sat next to Timothy,the pair gently triying to heal each other’s wounds. Sister Julienne at the head of the table as her position allowed, watching over her family, with a careful eye on Sister Monica Joan at the other end. Poor kind hearted, devoted Sister Bernadette had got the fuzzy end of the lollipop, when it came to the seating plan and was stuck next to him.

“More wine Dr, I must say PC and Mrs Noakes have been very generous in supplying us with drinks, before they decided to spend Christmas with Constable Noakes’s mother.”

“Erm, not much more for me Sister, I know Dr Enys is on call. Which is very kind of him, in the circumstances.” They both glance at Timothy. 

The boy takes a good slurp of his Dandelion and Burdock, another treat from the Noakes’s. Sister Bernadette started to wonder if the Fortescue-Cholmondeley-Browne empire had been built on off-licenses

Patrick continues.” He is a fine young GP, but I did say I would be available, if you know…he gets snowed under, or may need my guidance in a complicated maternity case.I gave him this number and told him not to hesitate to call…”

He was interrupted, “I see, Dr.”

Patrick looked at those piercing blue eyes. Oh yes, even as a very happily married man and devoted husband, he noticed the blue eyes. Even when she was a 22 year old postulate and he an enthusiastic new father and war veteran,he noticed the blue eyes.Those blue eyes saw right through him at that moment.Those blue eyes knew he would rather be tending to a bad case of haemorrhoids than pulling a Christmas cracker, containing a very bad joke, with an increasingly giggly Trixie.

Sister Bernadette glanced behind her once again, looking longingly beyond the dining room door. She knew that staring repeatedly in the direction of the Nonnatus telephone, was not going to make it ring, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

The Nonnatuns took turns on Christmas Day to be on call. Sister Julienne always attended the first call. Sister Evangelina the next, Sister Bernadette followed and quite often that order would repeat itself throughout the day. The Sisters understood that Christmas may have a different interpretation for their young colleagues and they would want to mark it in a different way. It had been Sister Bernadette a few years younger than the others, that had suggested that they took the strain over Christmas and New Year. To serve Him and to have the privilege of delivering a Christmas or New Year baby. Also young enough and generous enough to realize her secular colleagues would greatly appreciate any time off during the holidays.

At this moment Sister Bernadette wasn’t contemplating such noble thoughts. Basically she just wanted to get the Hell out of there. Alone in the work environment between the forceps and cursing mothers, she could ask him how Timothy was doing? How he was coping? Here it had to be so polite, so appropriate, she could see he was struggling for breath, for cover, for safety. 

All she could do in this situation was talk about stuffing. She needed that phone to ring, this was stifling.

Please let the next call be a woman in labour, a very long simple, safe labour, but long.Get me out of here please! Let no harm come to another.This is too painful and there is so little I can offer in way comfort.

Relief finally! Just as the plum pudding and brandy sauce was being served-again thanks to Chummy.

Dring,dring,dring! Sister Bernadette and Dr Turner nearly knocked each other over in their urgency to answer the blasted thing. However while the pair of them were untangling chair legs and actually getting themselves more entwined. Sister Julienne beat them to it. 

Patrick took a deep breathe. Nothing too bad, too cruel on Christmas Day,but something, maybe a lonely old pensioner, just needs some company. 

Sister Bernadette took a deep breath. Nothing too bad, a multiple birth, twins, that would take time and be joyous.

Sister Julienne answered, “ Mother Jesu Emanuel, Merry Christmas.” 

Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette returned to their seats and looked their plum pudding square in the face. Silently and slightly sullenly the pair focused on their desert and rather rich sauce.

Suddenly they both dropped their spoons, in response to a rather loud noise. No this wasn’t the telephone, but rather a call of a different nature. With its very own calling card, a rather pungent odour. Someone was suffering from a bout of flatulence.

Dr Turner immediately swivelled in his chair and glared at his son. Timothy who was obviously well aware of why his father was glaring at him, was shaking his head furiously and mouthing,“Not Me,” at his Dad.

Dr Turner flicked his eyes from his wide eyed son to the rest of the dining party. They incredibly continued chatting as normal and quite loudly, especially Trixie. He didn’t mind,It was nice to see the young nurse enjoying herself and letting her hair down, she was a grafter, she deserved it. 

But the smell! Well they were nurses after all, probably immune.

He was just about to admonish Timothy again, when he felt a tug on his sleeve. What was she going to say? Not only had she had to endure Christmas dinner with the dullest man on Earth, unfortunately they sat only inches apart. She must have just had the same experience as him. His mind was racing, now what must she think?

He turned his head slowly in response to the sleeve tug. The first thing he noticed, was the pale almost opaque skin of Sister Bernadette was pink, very pink indeed. She had a rosy glow across her cheeks. Her eyes, those blue eyes, were throwing off a light show only he could see. When he was able to tear his eyes away from those northern lights, he noticed she was biting her bottom lip and seemed to be shivering. Suddenly she was able to release her bottom lip for a moment and mouth to him, “ Not Timothy.”

She cast a glance down the table past Timothy. Patrick’s eyes followed and so did his son’s and the colour returned to Tim’s cheeks. Relieved he was off the hook and also because, he wouldn’t have to be the one to drop his table companion in it.

Patrick now aware that he and his family had not disgraced themselves,looked back at Sister Bernadette. Who now seemed to be steadying herself,with her left hand firmly attached to the seat of her chair. Still pink, still quivering.

She was in hysterics, silent, hidden hysterics. Trying for the life of her to not show it.

He could only be about 9 inches away from her. For the first time since Patrick Turner had walked through those convent doors that morning, a genuine ghost of a smile crossed his face. He looked at her, really looked at her, maybe for the first time. She was pretty. Well yes, he knew that, but at this moment,she was simply radiant.

She was sat only a few inches away shuddering with joy, trying to suppress an almighty laugh. In almost ten years of working with her, she had always been so proper, always been so professional, always been so self controlled. Right now Sister Bernadette’s control was slipping. 

This was much more enticing than 2 types of stuffing.She was that close. He didn’t sit him there-that was Sister Julienne’s doing-he didn’t even want to be there. Did he?

 “ You know if you hold onto that chair much harder, you are going to break it.” He was close enough,just for only her to hear the soft whisper in her ear.

The rose pink turned to scarlet, not just across her cheeks but also down her neck.The shivering turned to a gentle rocking. He knew he should stop, of course he knew….

“If you bite that lip any harder, you might need me to take a look at that.” He didn’t quite get the reaction he was looking for. Her head turned to face him, chin-up and she stared straight into his eyes-blue into green. 

“Best behaviour please, Doctor.” She managed to squeak through gritted teeth. It was at that point Sister Evangelina’s battle with the sprouts came to its climax. 

Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette were somehow in suspended animation. The game had suddenly changed, they both knew the one to take their eyes away from the other, would be the first one to break into fits of laughter.

Sister Bernadette found herself grasping the chair harder and Dr Turner found he was doing the same thing. Meanwhile Timothy was making the adults to his right, look like primary school children. Hardly batting an eye or losing track in his conversation with his table mate. While she remained as unnerved as ever.

Suddenly the stalemate was broken. Trixie trying to relate a story to a less than attentive Jenny, resorted in wild hand gestures and in doing so knocked over her wine glass. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, it was only half full.

For the first time the table hushed and focused on one person, well almost everyone that is. Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette eyes flicked to Trixie and then back at each other. Not wanting the now mortally embarrassed nurse, to think they were laughing at her, they hung on to their self control.

The tables focus soon moved to another, when Sister Monica Joan,suddenly exclaimed out of nowhere.

“Not only have I been subjected to a stench that would only be outdone by Vesuvius in eruption. Now, that inebriated young woman has just shed her wine all over the mince pies!”

The awkward silence that followed was broken by a sudden loud girlish giggle, that had lost any hope of censure and a deep masculine laugh, that had been begging for air,for too long. 

An eyebrow or two were raised in the direction of the ridiculous hilarity, but it was fleeting. The release of the built up tension in the pair seemed to influence everyone. Permission had been given for everyone to forgive, relax, smile and carry on and to clear up the mess. Timothy took on the responsibility of rescuing the mince pies. Relieved that a reason to be excused from the table, had finally presented itself.

What no-one else did see, was that on Sister Monica Joan’s outburst, Sister Bernadette’s resistance finally broke. She lost all control and could no longer contain the mirth mounting up within herself. Feeling unnerved and unbalanced, she felt unstable in her chair and grabbed the nearest thing available to steady herself. It wasn’t until she required her left hand to help her remove her glasses and dry her tear stained eyes. That she became aware, that what she was using to steady herself, was in fact the doctor’s leg. Just above the knee.

 The one thing she was never able to comprehend, not then, not later that same night, not even in the sanatorium was…Why before removing her hand from the doctor’s leg? Did she first look left, to see if Timothy had noticed and then look right, to see if Sister Julienne had noticed. It was only when, she was finally certain that neither had noticed, did she then and only then, remove her hand from its inappropriate mooring.

As people stood to clear the table.There was one person Sister Bernadette was definitely not going to look at. Even though she knew he was looking at her. Sister Bernadette had been secarching all night for something to quell her school girl giggles and now she had found it. Grabbing the doctor’s knee in the possible full view of his son and her superior certainly did the trick. She had found her cure. Sister Bernadette’s back stiffened, her demeanour changed. She rose steadily from her chair.

“Excuse me, Dr Turner,” she said without a hint of a smile, eyes completely focused on his shoulder.

“Of course,“ he replied with just a hint of amusement, which she chose to ignore. 

She knew he was watching her walk through to the kitchen, but she wouldn’t look back.She would never catch herself looking back for him. 

She remembered this silent promise,10 months later on a misty road in the Essex countryside.

[forestwater87]

Fic Writers Week 2017 - Day 4

The Devil’s in the Details: Highlight details you put into your work

Oh boy. Okay, let’s see . . . I think even when I’m the most critical about my work, there are little bits to each fic that make me smile and I hope people noticed. So I hope @ficwritersweek​ doesn’t mind too much that I’m kinda using this as a self-esteem-building exercise, but here are a couple lines I more or less liked from each of my Camp Camp fics:

The Adventures of Tigger & Eeyore

Shrieking loud enough to give her a headache (except for Ered, who was too cool to scream, and Nurf, who had taken the opportunity to throw Harrison off the dock like a javelin), they stampeded into the lake, leaving their impromptu Molotov cocktails to singe circles of black in the damp grass.

Tigger & Eeyore: Camp Campbell and Beyond

Gwen wanted to tell him that she'd missed him too, missed him with an intensity that kind of scared her. Even talking in some form almost every day, it hurt like homesickness. 

Because when God was putting together all the little boys and girls of the world He must've dropped her, something was broken inside her chest, something was missing and there were monsters rattling around in that empty jagged space and everyone she'd fallen in love with left, because she could only pretend to be whole for so long before the rattling became loud enough that everyone could hear it, and no one could sleep next to that kind of racket. Even if they could, even if like David someone managed to ignore it or not hear it — the monsters brought out their claws, because it was a hell of a lot harder to avoid scratches and they wanted her all to themselves, to eat up all her insides and walk around her body.

And that all sounded good, but it was bullshit because Gwen knew there weren't any monsters inside her. She could blame God or her parents or whatever she wanted but she was the only one inside her head and she was the one who kept fucking up, and she was the one who knew David was too good for her and she went and fell for him anyway like the selfish idiot she was. Because if there was a monster it was her, and the only person being hollowed out and destroyed was him.

And there'd been a part of her that'd known that, and it hadn't stopped her.

Gwenvid Week 2017

He nestled his face in the crook of her neck, nosing aside her hair and gently kissing just above the collar of her shirt. “I was trying to save money.”

“Yeah, good thing you spared us those fifty whole dollars. Made a real dent in the other three thousand.” When he didn’t say anything, just pressed another soft kiss to her neck like he could get away with apologizing without actually admitting any wrongdoing, she laughed and hiked him up a few inches to readjust her grip, wincing as he let out a small distressed squeak.

for a few minutes she studied his profile, the bleached moonlight glancing off his nose and forehead and cheekbones so that his freckles looked almost black and his eyes were practically silver.

David wasn’t the kind of guy to do anything halfway. When he was happy he was HAPPY!!, like a puppy on a sugar high. When he really let himself get mad, he was genuinely intimidating. When he tore off whatever band-aids were papered over his smile, when he was genuinely overcome with that three-in-morning gut-wrenching despair . . .

Well, if sadness was physical they’d be splashing through four feet of blood.

Like this place wasn't enough of a zoo?

After a few more seconds he stopped, panting, his tail flicking back and forth. There were some pretty impressive gouges in the frame, and Gwen raised her eyebrows. . . . 

He glared down at the ground, crossing his arms. "Fine," he muttered, tugging at his septum ring sullenly.

The air was still, the lake lapped gently at the shore, glimmering like liquid silver in the moonlight that drenched everything in cold white light 

Destiny's Kinda Overrated

And it definitely wasn't her fault that everything about her, from her hippie-punk fashion to her shy half-smile to the way her voice softened when she was nervous, drew him to her, like she'd been hand-formed out of everything he didn't know he'd always wanted. 

He loved how the lake turned into a sheet of pink fire in the evenings, rippling with orange and yellow and touches of purple as the sun set. It was beautiful, calm and yet somehow the most vibrant and explosive thing he'd ever seen.

Maybe a Little Bit Personal

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "What kinda serial killer doesn't even know how to knock someone out?"

"I-I do! I just . . . usually . . . hit them. To sleep." He looked away, the pink that'd been beginning to fade brightening across his cheeks and neck. "But mostly I don't . . . bother with all that. It's really just . . ." He held up his weapon and shrugged. "You know. Knife."

Worth Saying

He shrugged, hanging his head and hugging himself. "Sorry," he mumbled to his boots, sounding close to tears.

Nature Family

Nikki laughed, picking at a dandelion and shredding the stem, smearing the milky-sticky fluid across her fingers. 

Together

She likes the way they can smile like an eternity has passed and yet they’re seeing each other for the first time. How easily they fit together, how painless and automatic and like breathing it looks, but how sometimes they still forget how to speak and get distracted by small things like Jasper’s pretty eyelashes and David’s strong hands. How they still haven’t gotten used to each other.

She likes the way they work together. How Jasper smooths down the rough edges of David’s personality so that his excitement is less grating, his eagerness less oppressive. How he understands instinctively that it can hurt to be believed in, and tempers that enthusiasm with humor and irreverence. She likes that David knows when to be quiet and take a break from joking around, and how with a touch on the arm and a gentle word he can bring Jasper to a halt. That they both understand Max is a volatile substance, an unstable ecosystem, and they carefully weigh their love and support so that it’s just enough, never smothering but always present.

Whatever You Say, Boss

The strange old man who'd had a million-dollar bounty on his head for the last twenty-one years, who with a bad eye and a missing hand was somehow unkillable. (Gwen herself had taken a shot at the bounty when she'd first moved to the city, young(er) and cocky and fresh off a heist that had left her armed to the teeth. She'd escaped with a broken wrist, some cracked ribs, and a scar that sliced through her left nostril and twisted her lips into a permanent snarl.) Hook was Campbell's right-hand man, had been since the explosive birth of the crew.

The little boy who always seemed to be in the right place at the right time and not for a second longer; if there was a heist or shootout, inevitably it would come out that someone had noticed a child wandering around just a few hours earlier. No one could ever say what he'd done, exactly, but he was always there and then gone just as fast: a flash of golden hair, a bright neon jacket and light-up shoes. And yet he'd never been identified successfully, in pictures or lineups or security cameras (the eye was drawn immediately to those clothes), so everyone called him Ghost.

The bodyguard who stayed plastered to Campbell's side, who never seemed to speak — no one knew if he even could — and whose eyes were always hidden by locks of mangy brown hair, except for a beak-like nose that overwhelmed the rest of his face. Gwen had laughed when she'd first heard he was known as the Platypus, but no one else had; stone-faced, she'd been told that he hid poisoned spikes on him at all times, and that a kick from him would leave her writhing in agony and fevered delirium for days after — if she was lucky.

[witchy-writes]

And dark prince set his handsome eyes on me [chapter 5]

Summary:

“You were also a great paladin and a fighter, Lance. You still are.”

‘A great paladin wouldn’t go around sleeping with the enemy.’

Lance opened his eyes and found a blue sky and clouds above him. He felt something soft under his palms and Lance recognized it as grass.

“Sleep well?”, fingers moved gently through the locks of his hair.

Lance tilted his head back and meet Lotor’s dark blue eyes. His head was resting on his husband’s lap and he, apparently, had just woken up from a nap. The two were under the shade of a tall tree.

He sat up, “Lotor?”, he held Lotor’s head between his hands, “You’re alive?”

“What are you talking about?”, he crooked an eyebrow.

Lance leaned in and kissed him, at first in his lips, and then little pecks on his cheeks.

Lotor couldn’t resist a laugh, “What’s gotten into you?”

Lance rested his chin on Lotor’s shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around him. He looked around and immediately realized where he was. This was the planet where their wedding ceremony took place. The vast green fields covered with flowers remained the same as the last time they were there.

Lance’s eyes landed on the generals, that were far away from them. While Zethrid and Ezor seemed to be doing some sort of hand-to-hand combat practice between each other, Narti and Axca kept their distance from them and preferred to relax for once. Axca leaned back against a trunk of a tree and Narti sat close to her, petting her cat that squinted his eyes and purred.

Lance, when he first joined them, was so terrified of that cat. Especially because the first time he tried to lay a finger on him, he hissed and scratched his hand. Now, he sometimes lets Lance pet him a little behind the ears and under his chin.

They were okay. It had all been a bad dream, after all.

Lance plucked a flower that was near him. It resembled a dhalia, its thin petals of the color white and pink. He blew on it, the same way you do for a dandelion, and a few petals flew with the wind.

Then everything changed.

The sky was no longer blue and the sun was gone. Lance now looked up to see dark clouds above him. The beautiful and serene scenario that had been in front of him just a few seconds ago was now a grim one. The flowers around him had all withered, including the one he still held in his hand. The dry grass and flowers were now prickly against his skin.

The generals had disappeared and were nowhere to be seen. He turned his head to the side, in panic, and his eyes locked with Lotor’s pain-stricken eyes. Lance then saw it. A long sword stabbed right through the prince’s chest. And Lance was the one holding it. Lotor coughed violently and blood drops smeared Lance’s cheeks.

Lotor body fell back, the blade slipping out of his body. Lance recognized the weapon in his hands as Keith’s bayard.

He suddenly felt a numbing sensation from the pit of his stomach. Blood trickled down from between his legs.

“No, no, NO!”

Screams tore through his throat. He thrashed around in his bed, frantic, his hands gripping the sheets.

“Lance, Lance, wake up, please.”

Hands held his head, trying to calm him down. Lance snapped out of his nightmare, but he continued to struggle, tried to slap those hands out of him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s me.”, Pidge shushed him. She kneeled on his bed, hovering over him. Allura and Hunk were behind her, next to the feet of the bed. Concern written all over their faces.

“Just breathe, Lance.”, Pidge told him.

He hadn’t even realized he was hyperventilating. He licked his chapped lips, feeling the taste of the sweat that drenched his entire face. He closed his mouth and breathed through his nose.

Breathe. Just breathe.

His heart was beating in his ears. Then images of his dream started to flash in his mind. He sat down and pushed the covers off of him. There was no blood staining the mattress. He put a hand over his stomach, where a small bump had started to show.

His child was still there.

He fell back into the bed, draping an arm over his eyes.

Pidge was no longer in his bed, now standing back with Allura and Hunk.

Lance managed to hear Allura whispering something to Hunk.

Hunk was out of his room after that and Pidge followed after him. Allura stepped closer and pulled his arm off his face.

“No.”, Lance shook his head.

“Come with me, please.”, she kept tugging at his arm, gently.

Lance ended up complying and got out of his bed. He let Allura lead him to wherever she wanted to take him.

---- Allura brought him to an empty room, located far away from the Paladins’ sleeping quarters. When they arrive there, Allura pressed some button and one of the wall slid, revealing a wide glass window that gave them a view of space.

They were sitting on the ground, in front of that window. It was somehow calming. Stars and interstellar clouds of dust, and the silence and dim-light of the room.

Allura was in her pink nightgown, while Lance wore his pajamas under his dark-blue robe. They kept his clothes even after he left them.

Lance had calmed down, and was now leaning on Allura’s shoulder. The princess held his hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.

Lance started to think about the immense grief Allura must suffer from having lost her planet, her home, her culture and her people. Everything she loved. She had been able to put her own pain aside for the sake of the universe and portray strength through everything.

Meanwhile, Lance can’t endure the loss of his lover.

Thoughts and memories of Lotor made him fall apart and nightmares haunted him during the night.

It had been two weeks since the Paladins “rescued” him and brought him back to the Castle-Ship. Lance and Keith’s relationship hadn’t been the same. Lance, for the first days, was resentful towards Keith. He was violent and didn’t hold his tongue back when Keith tried talking with him. He didn’t care if he was hurting Keith with his words. He wanted Keith to suffer like he did.

When a week had passed, Lance had finally allowed Keith to come closer to him. Keith knocked on the door of his room and Lance told him to leave, but something made him change his mind and he let Keith inside.

Their conversation lasted only two minutes and Keith ended up on the floor after Lance punched him in the face.

“Get out!”

“Lance, listen...”, Keith propped himself up on one elbow while his hand cupped his red cheek, where Lance’s fist had hit him, “The baby...”

“You don’t get a saying on this.”, Lance had a protective arm wrapped around his swollen belly.

“I’m worried about you. This pregnancy could be too much for your body.”, Keith was standing on his feet again, “Birthing is not something easy. And that isn’t a human baby growing inside of you. It’s a hybrid. We don’t know how this can affect you.”

“Enough!”, Lance yelled, covering his ears and shaking his head, refusing to hear anymore of what Keith was saying, “Just... leave.”

Keith, instead, moved closer and tried to graze his fingers lightly on Lance’s face, but he stepped away from his touch.

Keith drew his hand back, a defeated look on his face. He then left.

Lance closed his eyes tightly as he tried to forget that conversation. He squeezed Allura’s hand a little.

“So... how have you and Blue been?”

“We’ve established a strong bond between each other.”. Allura smiled, her eyes sparkling, “I always wanted to be a Paladin, like my father, and I was so happy when the Blue Lion gave me that chance.”

“You are an amazing paladin. Better than I ever was. Even before you were a paladin you were braver and stronger than all of us.”

“You were also a great paladin and a fighter, Lance. You still are.”

‘A great paladin wouldn’t go around sleeping with the enemy.’, Lance believed that that was what Allura thought of him. What the whole team thought of him. If he had been brainwashed, like they thought at the beginning, they could still forgive him for turning his back on them.

But no, Lance willingly chose to be by Lotor’s side and walked out on them.

How could they forgive him? Lance had no idea. Especially, Allura, who had given him nothing but comfort and sympathy since he returned. She should hate his guts, but instead she is here, sitting by his side and holding his hand after he had a nightmare.

The door to the room opened and someone walked in. It was Hunk, and he was carrying a platter in his hands. He sat down next to Lance and put the platter on the ground, near their feet.

There were three mugs filled with a steaming liquid that Lance assumed was some sort of tea and plates with pastries that were, no doubt, baked by Hunk.

“I’m not hungry.”, Lance tried to reject. His stomach was still a little uneasy from the horrid nightmare he had.

“Lance.”, Hunk put a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Bearing a child demands a lot from your body. I know you haven’t eaten regularly since you’ve been here.”

Lance only sneaked into the kitchen to eat whatever was there when the hunger was too much to handle. He knew it wasn’t healthy for himself and his baby, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit down during meals with the others. He was afraid he would have a breakdown right in front of them and he didn’t want that. Lance came up with excuses about why he skipped meals; he had fallen asleep, morning sickness, wasn’t feeling well,...

Yesterday, Shiro brought him a plate of food goo, when once again, Lance preferred to be somewhere else than at the dinner table with the paladins. Shiro found Lance sitting on the floor of the training deck, back leaned against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest.

Shiro didn’t bother asking him why he was there. He simply handed the plate and the spoon to Lance and sat down next to him as Lance shoved spoonfuls of goo into his mouth.

“Can I ask you something, Lance?”

Lance swallowed his food, but didn’t look at Shiro, “Sure.”

He had become a little comfortable around Shiro again, so he was fine talking about some things with him.

“Did Haggar do anything to you? Did she or the Druids ever try to modify you.”

“No.”, Lance replied, “In fact, Haggar is no longer there. She disappeared a long time ago.”

Shiro’s eyes widened in surprise.

After Zarkon’s death, the witch went missing. Her Druids also left for reasons unknown.

Lance, at the time, in which Zarkon was still alive, had only been with Lotor for a month. Haggar stood at Zarkon’s deathbed, trying to save him, but nothing worked. When she wasn’t using her magic to try to wake Zarkon from his comatose state, she tried to destroy his and Lotor's relationship. She called the prince a 'fool' for letting a paladin seduce him and that Lance, certainly, intended to manipulate him and bring down the empire his father built.

Lotor defended Lance against her accusations, but no matter what he said, nothing convinced her that Lance wasn’t just using the prince’s love to his and the paladins of Voltron advantage.

The news of Zarkon’s death were delivered by medics that had also tried to save the emperor’s life. Haggar was nowhere to be found. Not even during the funeral ceremony was she present.

Lance, when it was just him and his beloved in the throne room, after Zarkon's funeral, asked Lotor if he was okay. He had just lost his father and his mother disappeared without a word.

“I’m fine.”, he ran a hand through the throne in front of him. He then sat down on it, “I have an empire to rule, now.”

Lance knew things would be a lot different with Lotor in control.

He took hold of Lance’s hand and pulled him closer,  gazing affectionately at him, “And I want you to rule it with me.”, he bowed his head and kissed the back of his hand.

Lance picked up a sweet from one of the plates and took a big bite out of it. It was delicious, like he was expecting. It looked exactly like a a muffin, like the ones his mother used to bake for him to take to school and the ones we saw at display at the windows of bakery shops, but the ingredients used in these were definitely not from Earth. He brought a mug close to his lips and after blowing on it to cool it down a little, took a sip.

Hunk and Allura also enjoyed the snacks and drink . “So Lance.”, Hunk nudged him lightly with his elbow, “You had a wedding and didn’t even invite me to be your best man.”, Hunk tried to lighten the mood, but he realized how insensible he probably ended up sounding.

“If you had been to my wedding, you would have probably been chosen as the ‘flower girl’.", and for the first time, during those two weeks, Lance laughed.

---- Shiro, Pidge, Coran and Keith were in the kitchen.

Lance’s screams had awakened them all and they had rushed to his room. Pidge and Allura were faster and Hunk followed after them. They heard Pidge calming Lance down and were relieved that Lance was just having a bad dream. Shiro stopped Keith from going into the room. Keith tried to move past him, but Shiro held him back.

“It’s best if you don’t go.”

Keith knew Shiro was right. Keith was the last person Lance would want to see right now.

Hunk and Pidge walked out of the room.

“I’m going to the kitchen to prepare something for Lance. Allura will take care of him.”, Hunk told them.

They, along with Coran, decided to also go to the kitchen and sat there as Hunk fetched the food he had baked the other day and Pidge warmed tea. After Hunk left to take the food and beverages to Lance and Allura, the four remained there, sitting at the table. They said nothing to each other, until Keith finally broke the silence.

“We have to find out what is wrong with Lance.”

All heads turned to him.

“This ‘love’ he has for Lotor, it can’t be real. It has to be something they implanted on his brain.”, he turned to Shiro, “That witch could have messed up with his head and tried turning him into a weapon against us, like they tried to do to you. ”

“I thought that was the case, at the beginning. But Keith...”, he sighed, “I already told you. Lance wasn’t brainwash. I talked with him yesterday...”

“They could have still put fake memories into his head. About him and Lotor being in love.”, Keith interrupted, his palms hitting the table.

Pidge and Coran exchanged glances, no idea of what was the right thing to say in that moment.

During these two weeks, they had all ended up learning one thing: Lance loved Lotor.

Shiro and Keith were the last ones to believe it. After his talk with Lance, yesterday, he no longer had doubts about it. But Keith was stubborn and refused to think that it could be true.

“I’m going to talk with him.”, Keith got up from his chair and moved towards the door. Shiro got there first and blocked his path, “Get out of my way, Shiro.”

“No. Keith, I know how you feel towards Lance...”

“Move out of my way.”, he tried to push Shiro off.

“.... that you love Lance....”

“Move!”, he shouted and tried to punch Shiro, in a fit of anger. Shiro managed to grab his wrist before it could hit him.

Keith tried to pull his arm back, but Shiro held his hand in a firm grip.

“... and how much you must be hurting from this.”

Coran and Pidge remained in their chairs, knowing it was best not to intervene. Tears prickled the corner of Keith’s eyes.

“But Lance has fallen in love with someone else. Even if that someone turned out to be our enemy.”, he let go of Keith and the red paladin stepped back.

He stared at Shiro with anger, that began to slowly fade as he wiped the small tears from his eyes.

“Why? Why did Lance fall in love with him?”, Keith's hands clenched into fists.

Coran knew how much it hurt to love someone who doesn’t love you back. In his youth, he had fallen in love with Alfor, but never confessed his feelings, knowing that Alfor’s heart already belonged to a girl, who, a few deca-phoebs later, would become Alfor’s wife, queen of Altea and the mother of princess Allura.

Coran sometimes wished he hadn’t become enamored with someone like Alfor. It would have spared him from heartbreak.

Coran stepped forward and stood by Keith’s side. He gave him a symphatetic look.

“I guess it’s true what they say. You can’t decide who you fall in love with.”

---- Two days later

The Castle-Ship’s alarms were blaring. The paladins rushed to the bridge, where Coran and Allura already were.

Lance, who had been resting on the couch, was the last one to arrive. When he got there, he saw his teammates and the two alteans staring at the Galra ship in front of them with bewildered and shocked looks on their faces.

It wasn’t just a Galra’s ship, it was...

“Lotor.”, his husband's name escaped from his lips.

He was alive. Please, let him be alive. Lance prayed, realizing that there was also the possibility that someone else, aside from Lotor, could be on that ship.

The Castle-Ship notified an audio message being sent to them from the other ship.

‘Princess Allura...’, Lance’s heart skipped a beat as he heard the voice of his lover. The voice he thought he would never hear again. ‘... I don’t have any intention to launch an attack on you. I believe you know why I’m here. And once I’m done, I will leave.’

Allura and Lance’s eyes met.

‘I ask you to let Lance return to me. If he wants to come back on his own free will.’

Lance wanted to respond to that, saying ‘Yes, I want to return to you’, but the transmission cut there before he could open his mouth.

The particle barrier was activated, protecting them from any blasts.

“Lotor is not going to fire at the castle. Not while I’m here.”, Lance had no doubts about it.

Keith walked to Lance. He took hold of his arm and, without warning, started to lead him out.

“Wait! Here are you going?”

“We have to keep you somewhere safe in the ship. Where Lotor won’t find you.”

Lance shook his arm off before Keith could drag him any further.

“No!”

They stood in the middle of the room.

“Lance...”, the red paladin was almost pleading, “Lotor will be coming after you.”

“I’m going back to him.”

Keith’s eyes shot open. Lance turned to the rest of the team.

“This is what I choose. I want to return to my beloved.”, his eyes now focused on the ship, where Lotor was waiting for him.

If he were to, for some reason, reject Lotor’s love and refuse to come back to him, he was sure Lotor wouldn’t try to take him by force. His husband never treated him as a possession and Lance had always been free to leave whenever he wanted to.

The paladins were speechless, unsure of what to say right now.

“Are you sure about this, Lance?”, Shiro’s face twisted with worry.

“I am.”, Lance’s expression softened, “I’m going to miss you. All of you. But I have chosen to spend the rest of my life with Lotor. I belong with him.”

Hunk was the first one to run to him and wrapped his arms around him. Hunk lifted him up a little, until his feet were no longer touching the ground.

Lance hugged him back, “Take care, Hunk.”

“You too.”, Hunk’s tears came easily.

When he put Lance down, the two stared at each other, smiling tenderly. That moment was interrupted when Pidge pushed Hunk aside so she could have her own moment with Lance, too. Her head pressed against his chest. Lance bent down a little, so his chin was resting on top of her head as they hugged.

“I’m going to miss you, goofball.”, her voice cracked a little. She was trying her best to hold back the tears that were already welled up in her eyes.

“I'm going to miss you too.”

Allura came next. The second Pidge let go of him, Allura held her arms open and Lance didn’t hesitate for a second in embracing her.

“You can return to us whenever you want”, she assured him, “We will welcome you back, anytime.”

“Thanks.”

Coran didn’t even wait for Allura and Lance to finish their hug. He joined them by putting his arms around the two.

“You will always be like a son to me, Lance. I hope you know that.”, Coran’s mustache was already wet from all the tears sliding down his face.

Lance nodded his head in response and Coran crying only got worse.

Shiro was waiting patiently for his turn to say goodbye to his friend.

Coran and Allura stepped back, allowing the black paladin to have his chance as well.

Shiro didn’t need to cry for Lance to know how much he was going to miss him. As they hug, Shiro gave him a light pat on the back.

“It was great having you as a teammate.”

“And it was great having you as a leader.”

Once Shiro and Lance finished saying their goodbyes to one another, they let go of each other. All eyes turned to Keith, who kept his arms crossed over his chest and his head hang low.

Lance walked away from the group to stand right in front of Keith. He put a hand over his shoulder, but Keith’s eyes were still staring down.

Lance didn’t wait for any response from Keith. He pulled Keith closer to him and wrapped his arms around him before he could move away from him. Keith’s squirmed against his hold.

“Please, please, Keith, understand.”, Lance’s hand was on the back of Keith’s head, keeping him close “This is what I want. Lotor is who I want. Who I love.”

Keith’s struggle stop and he gave up, surrendering to Lance’s embrace.

Silence between them.

Then Keith’s hands came up and clasped around Lance, “I understand.”, Keith’s face rested against the crook of Lance’s neck.

Lance, hearing those words from Keith, smiled a little.

“I’ve grown to like you a lot, Keith, and I used to hate you so goddamn much.”, Lance let out a small laugh, “I want you to know you will always be a precious friend to me. And I will miss you as well.”

Keith’s hands gripped the fabric of Lance’s jacket harder. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”, a sob escaped from Keith’s mouth. Lance felt the tears brushing against his skin and couldn’t resist shedding a few as he hugged Keith tighter.

“I forgive you.”, those words caused Keith’s breath to hitch and more tears to well up in his eyes.

Lance, slowly, pulled away from him. Keith’s hands lingering on him before finally letting go of him.

Lance smiled to his friends.

“Thank you. For letting me make this decision.”

Lance turned on his heels and ran to the door. He spared one last look at them.

Pidge had taken off her glasses and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. Allura’s hand covered her mouth as tears rolled down her face. Hunk waved him goodbye. Coran was still a crying mess. Shiro smiled at him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Keith blinked his tears away. A bittersweet smile bloomed on his lips as he and Lance shared a last glance between each other.

Lance walked past the door, leaving all his friends behind. The friends that he, after all they went through together, came to see as a family.

He reached the shutter bay where the pods were. He hopped inside one of them and got it working. Before he grabbed the controls to pilot it, Lance leaned back.

This was it. He was coming back to Lotor. His prince, his lover, his husband.

And Lance had no second thoughts.

He grabbed the control and the ship moved according to his commands. In a matter of seconds, he was out of the hangar and floating in space. He stood between the Castle of Lions and Lotor’s ship.

He pressed the communications button, hoping it would establish contact between him and the Galra’s ship.

“It’s me. Lance.”

It took less than a minute for the pod bay doors to open, allowing Lance to board. He couldn’t resist one last glance to the Castle of Lions, before flying right into the ship that waited for him.

Lance landed the pod inside and the doors shut behind him. Before he had even stepped out of the pod and put a foot down, he already heard footsteps rushing to where he was.

The secured doors that gave entrance to the hangar slid open and Lotor was there on the other side. The prince froze at the sight of Lance, as if he couldn’t believe his lover was standing right there.

Lance rushed towards him and threw himself into Lotor’s arms. His husband almost fell back when he jumped at him, but manage to keep his balance. Lance took hold of his face and kissed him, closing his eyes. Lotor kissed back, an arm on the small of Lance’s back, while the other cupped his cheek. Lance pulled away from the kiss and gently bumped his forehead against Lotor’s, his eyes still shut.

Lance put his hand over the one that was cupping his cheek.

“I thought you were dead.”, Lance opened his eyes and tears came pouring down. He bit his quivering bottom lip.

Lotor clung onto him tighter, tucking Lance under his chin, his hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“It’s alright, now.”, he shushed him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “We found each other again. That’s all that matters.”

Lance buried his face in Lotor’s chest, his arms latched around him. Lance felt his heart beat so fast, he thought it was going to burst out of his ribcage.

“Our child?”, Lotor’s voice dripped concern as he laid a hand on Lance’s stomach.

“They are okay.”

Lance was taken by surprise when Lotor swept him off his feet, his arms under his knees, and spun him around. The two laughed heartily, a huge shift from how they were seconds ago.

Lotor put him down and Lance wrapped his arms around his neck, nuzzling the space behind his ear.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Look at the cute love birds.”, Ezor’s voice resonated through the room. She was standing at the doors with the other generals, watching the lovers’ reunion.

Axca nudged her on the side and Ezor pouted.

“I’ve set a course for the Central Command System. We will arrive there quite soon at our current speed.”, Axca informed.

Lotor had kept his promise of leaving Allura and the paladins alone once Lance returned to him.

Lotor let go of Lance, so he could be welcomed back by the generals.

Ezor came skipping towards him and hugged him so tight, he could hardly breath. Zethrid was next and she gave him a hard pat on the back, making him flinch a little, and ruffled his hair. Narti remained in her spot. Axca was the last one. The two shared a forearm handshake.

“It’s good to have to have you back.”, she managed a little smile.

Lance smiled back.

[druidcore]

“What’s a parking ticket when you might get deported, right?” I asked, as my brother parked the car in front of a garage that was clearly meant to shoo us away. It, much like the men that had come to summon me to the Immigration office, was intimidating, standing taller than I ever could. 

Remotely, I thought the joke I’d made had been funny, but physically, I wasn’t laughing. 

I wondered if this was what an outer-body experience was really like, but thought it didn’t feel anything like what I’d always figured it should. I wasn’t floating above my own head like a chess-player in deep contemplation –– there were no secret manoeuvres or cards up my sleeve. I just felt like I was very slowly, very subtly being muted, an invisible dial quieting my senses until my thoughts were lists of stimuli and nothing more. 

I looked at the floor –– fallen feathers in black, gray, white.  The sun –– watery.  My cheeks –– hot.  My stomach –– tight, a ball of nerves like overlapping elastic bands, at the very center of it, this: Illegal Immigrant. 

The words pounded themselves into my skull, I felt them vibrate all the way down to my already broken spine. Like a threat, a heavy-handed hammer. Fractures formed like warnings. I had the sense that this was something long-coming. We’d ignored it for as long as we could, but my long-dead freedom had expired long ago, much like my residence permit. We’d kept the corpse cold beneath the floorboards but there were some things that couldn’t long be hidden –– things like bad grades and hangovers and illegal immigration statuses. The truth felt a lot like panic, worry and a rotten, sweaty certainty that my life was over: people were finally asking questions.

I wanted to turn back time like it was a clock I could wind back 10, 15, 20 minutes. Back to when I was 1000, 1500, 2000 miles away, laughing and joking with my friends, as unburdened as dandelion fluff. Wishful thinking like that didn’t help anyone, though, least of all me. 

Following my brother, I got the feeling that I was one of those dogs, the ones who’s owners corralled around unwillingly. If I had a tail, it’d have been drooping, if I’d had paws, they would have scuffed the floor the way my feet did. I wore no leash, no collar, but I was still forced to follow my body as it stepped and smiled its way into the Immigration Office. As I sat there, and this man with a bald head and little patience asked my brother why I couldn’t leave this very week, I could almost see the gas being pumped into the back of the airplane which would take me far away.  And I was painfully aware of my body. I tried to be what would deem me harmless –– but not meek. I was too quiet, and took up too much space. Contrary in all the wrong ways. I tried to look innocent, my only crime being circumstance gone sour, but it wasn’t like that mattered. The odds were in our favor: The accident I’d been in provided me with a loophole just large enough for me to scurry through. As my brother and the man began to joke, I wondered why I was the only one looking around, feeling lost, feeling that in my haste to save myself, I could have left something behind. Some incriminating evidence that would damn me. It couldn’t be that easy. 

Paranoid. I was paranoid, and scared, and beneath it all –– angry. 

It was unfair. That any one person could have or should have that much say over someone else’s life was unfair. Prejudice and bias were pumped into everyone from birth, myself included, and though I had come out of that office, lucky –– not only on account of the accident, but the color of my skin and my smooth, appealing accent, the sound of a bright future bred into my voice –– the same couldn’t be said for everyone. I wondered about those people. The ones that had lost everything. The ones without names or families or a place to call home, both running away from nothing and running towards something. The ones that had the misfortune of coming in on a day when the man’s coffee was too bitter, when his AC had broken down, when his wrath could shatter someone’s already shaky ground because of a minor inconvenience. 

I tried to explain how I felt to my brother but it was useless. He missed the point completely. As far as he was concerned, we were home-free. We’d made it. But what he didn’t seem to understand was how close we’d cut it. Then again, he wasn’t the one that was in danger; he could have never have known how it felt to be me. After all, I was the one with her head on the guillotine, the one with the noose around her neck, the one that had dangled from a precipice and then fell, hard and fast, before she was snatched up at the last second by someone’s merciful –– or maybe the right word was cruel –– hand. Yes, I’d escaped whole, but not unharmed. The sharp blade hadn’t struck me, but it had scraped my skin all the same.  

Only later, in the supposed safety of my brother’s car, when I tried to forget what had happened, I found that I couldn’t. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was the man’s pink shirt, stretched tight across his belly. The car seat beneath me disappeared as I was transported back to the place I least wanted to be. My stomach didn’t even need to tighten; it had never unclenched. 

Only later, did I realize that while the man knew everything about me –– where I lived, my nationality, my birthday, who my family was right down to my mother and father –– I didn’t know a thing about him. Not even his name.  Only later, did I realize, with burning eyes that I would never belong anywhere. My heart cast out Libya and Egypt, Malta’s patience with me had drained empty and America didn’t want me, even as I desperately needed it. I was stuck, feeling as though I would never truly have anywhere I could ever call home.

[thewritinglemon]

Summers in Mangan

Gem Bonifacio Remaneses was just a girl in my THEA 107 class back in 2016. She was the girl with straight, shoulder-length hair that juxtaposed the milky complexion of her skin. She was the girl with the rosy, round cheeks that are irresistible to pinch and with eyes that seemed to disappear when she smiles. In that class, there were only eleven of us—eleven who had to mount a production within two to three months, and eleven who grew closer to each other even after the production finished. Gem was a person I’ve never expected to be friends with partly because she always seemed to be a woman of a few words and I was the complete opposite. Yet, over the years, she has been one of the few people I can have a crazy laugh with about the smallest of things, sing karaoke shamelessly in KTV rooms, or down a few shots with at the local pubs. There are days when I don’t feel like I know her as much as I should, though. For one, I never knew she had two older brothers at least eight years older than her or that she was of Chinese descent.

Today, I had the opportunity to get to know her better. I sat down with her over dinner at Vat Cave, one of Los Baños famous eateries, and asked about her fondest memory when she was a child. What I got was beyond my expectations because she took me on a journey to an island a hundred miles away, to a place where another version of Gem was unknown to me, and to the house where her happiest memories during her childhood resided.

Gem’s family lived in Muntinlupa, but her father, Margarito T. Remaneses, Jr. was a native of Aklan. Every summer, he took his family back to his hometown where his parents and the rest of his siblings—eight, to be exact—lived. Their trips to Aklan filled Gem with excitement since she wanted to travel—to have a summer adventure where she could see and experience new places. And, of course, coming to Aklan meant playing in a big home with all twenty of her cousins.

The destination wasn’t all that matters. For Gem, the moment she stepped out of their Muntinlupa home, her adventure and misadventures began. The trip to Aklan was long, almost twelve to eighteen hours by land and sea. From Muntinlupa, Gem and her family took the bus to the pier in Batangas. In our conversation, she recalled a time when she was six years old, she and her father were the only ones going to Aklan in their family. Gem was already on the jam-packed bus when her father suddenly needed to use the loo. The bus was departing soon so he told her to tell the driver to wait for him, that he had to go to the loo.

“Lutang at medyo slow ako since birth so, di ko na-gets kaya ayon, nakatunganga lang ako. Tapos, biglang umandar ‘yung bus, wala pa tatay ko. Buti na lang, ‘yung isang matandang pasahero sinigaw sa driver na naiwan tatay ko kaya ayon, huminto,” she told me. “Mag-isa ako noon kung sakali na makakarating sa Batangas.”

In Batangas, they had to board a ship to Caticlan. Gem loved the blending notes of the salty scent of the sea and the metallic odor of the ship, more so, the glittering sea itself. After the ship docked at Aklan, they would take a tricycle to their aunt’s house nearby. Gem recalled another misadventure. During one particular trip, they docked in the middle of the night much earlier than their expected arrival tomorrow morning. They were stuck at the port since her aunt wasn’t answering. Eventually, Gem and her family decided to go there on foot, walking along the beach to the sound of waves gently lapping on the shore. It was a fond memory for her. Although she and her family were exhausted, Gem still had the energy to play a game of catch with the waves—running after the retreating waves and running away as they return to the shore.

“I don’t know when but eventually, we reached my aunt’s house,” Gem said. “I walked with soggy shoes that night.”

After stopping by her aunt’s house, Gem, her family, and her aunt would travel by bus to their grandmother’s home in Banga. The bus ride from Caticlan to Banga showcased the natural beauty of the province—the enigmatic mountains on one side and the glittering cerulean sea on the other. The closer they were to Banga, the cerulean and green were slowly replaced by lush green trees and then by the bustle of the barrio. In Banga, Gem and her family would disembark from the bus to meet her uncles who would then drive them to the house. It would take twenty to twenty-five minutes from the bayan to her grandmother’s house. When the asphalt ran out, the car would rock slightly as they traversed the dirt road leading to the house.

From the road, the huge house wasn’t visible as trees partly covered it. The first part of the estate one could see is the two large fishponds where Gem’s grandfather bred tilapia and hito. Bright pink water lilies juxtaposed the moss green waters of the ponds that flanked the road to the house. On one side, there was a mango tree where the tree house was built, and in one of the branches, hung a make-shift swing. The house was mansion-like in its size. The split-level home was painted in a pastel shade of yellow with dandelion-colored trims and moldings. Inside, there were two salas, six large bedrooms, a kitchen extension, and even an attic.  A blue tricycle sat beside a motorcycle under the house’s second level balcony. Around the back was Gem’s grandfather’s plantation where he grew different kinds of fruits.  

It was different from what Gem was used to. In Muntinlupa, their home was situated near the train tracks. She described a narrow alley, filled with a lot of neighbors, that she had to pass to get to their house. There was no playground, but Gem still found it more fun to improvise their play space and use her imagination. Every few hours, trains would rattle the neighborhood as it whistled by. She was usually alone in Muntinlupa, too, because her brothers were studying and her parents were working. Gem mused that the company she usually kept was that of her nanny who usually busied herself with her textmate.

In Mangan, she and her cousins would ride bikes and chase each other around. She had a vast plot of land as her playground instead of the narrow alleys. Sometimes, they would play hide and seek since there were a ton of places to hide in. There were no noisy trains that would scare her because the entire estate was peaceful—an epitome of provincial living. Gem wasn’t alone either because her titos and titas, lolos and lolas, and all twenty cousins were all there to care and play with her.

Sometimes, she and her father would visit one of the natural beauties of Manga—the mangrove reserves near New Washington. They would follow the long, winding trail that lead to the shallows. It would take them thirty minutes to reach the end but the serenity that the mangrove offered seem to heal their weary souls and soles. When they reach the end, they would just watch the tranquil waves glitter under the sun and enjoy the breeze.

In usual Gem humor, she joked. “sobrang fresh ng hangin dyan parang na-cleanse baga ko after.”

           While Aklan was a natural goldmine of flora, fauna, and people, it was also one of the oldest provinces in the Philippines and had been linked to many folklores about ghosts, monsters, and witches. Sometimes, the helpers around the house would tell Gem and her cousins scary stories like that of Teniente Gimo (even though Gimo was actually from Iloilo).

“Since malapit lang yung Aklan sa Capiz, kumalat din samin yung mga kwento nila tungkol sa mga aswang,” she explained. “May mga nagsasabi pa nga na yung iba raw lumipat sa Aklan.”

           Other stories involved the tiktik, a bird-like monster whose wings flapped louder when afar and softer when it was nearby; stories about recognizing aswangs by using an oil or langis that would boil if an aswang was nearby; and, the folk belief of looking between the legs to see if a person was an aswang were also a brief topic of our conversation. She also mentioned walking about Mangan and getting spooked by the Santo Niños she saw in houses and along the paths.

           I asked Gem about the best memories she had of the house, and I found out that it was the lazy afternoons she loved the most. It was those kinds of afternoons when she was left alone without anyone to play with because her older brothers and cousins had gone somewhere she couldn’t go. She would explore the estate, climb trees, look at snails at the fishponds, skip rocks, and eat siniguelas. Sometimes, she’d just laze around the treehouse and enjoy the summer breeze.

           All great memories are accompanied by bad ones. For Gem, it was coming back to the estate for her grandmother’s wake. Strangers littered the yard in front of the house and more filled the inside. She went inside the house to view her grandmother, thinking how her passing was surreal. Her grandmother’s passing changed a lot of things. The house began to lose some of the vibrancy that it had when she was alive. But perhaps, it was also growing up that made the estate feel smaller for Gem—hallways were now too narrow, the ceiling no longer as high as before, and the vast land behind the house wasn’t as spacious anymore because of her aunt’s newly erected house.

           Mangan has always been a place Gem can come home to, so she didn’t feel sad whenever they had to return to Muntinlupa. In recent years, however, she hasn’t been able to come back to the estate. “My last visit was in 2012,” she said. “As absurd as it may sound, we were all busy. We couldn’t visit as a family. Jobs had to be prioritized, too. It was just my father who goes on vacations sometimes.”

           Gem plans to visit the house in Mangan with her brothers after she graduates. What she told me was a poignant summary of what it’s like to grow up and to grow apart from what we are used to. She lamented, “I am aware that even if I come back, the Mangan that is in my memories is no longer there.”

           She told me once that she didn’t have a province to go home to because she lived in the city, but I believe she had Mangan. A place of peace. A place of endless summer days. It was the epitome of provincial in her mind. While it is true that it is no longer the place she knew back in her childhood, it is still a home that will always welcome her with open arms. _______________________________________________________________ An interview piece I wrote about my classmate and friend, Gem Remaneses, for our Expository Writing class.