#and i already know i'm going to get more stuff heaped on my plate while i'm there

[andithiel]

I wrote a thing for the first prompt of @hdcandyheartsfest "Second Date"! This got away from me a little, it's 1,3k so I'm putting it under a cut. Rated T I guess for mentions of sexy stuff having happened and going to happen again. Thank you as always to the bestest of betas, my lovely @crazybutgood 💖💕

When Draco wakes up, he’s in an unfamiliar bed. Unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. The mattress is a little softer than he’d like, and the sheets are way too rumpled to be comfortable, but there’s also a pleasant ache in his muscles that’s probably the reason why he’s put up with—

He snaps his eyes open, wide awake now. Shit. Shit shit shit. It all comes back to him, how Harry kissed him when they were saying goodbye and how that kiss led Draco to forget all about grace and decorum, and how he foolishly went back to Harry’s.

This was a bad idea. He needs to find a way to get out of this.

He rolls out of bed and starts Summoning his clothes. His shirt comes flying from a chair by the door where Harry carelessly tossed it after he’d struggled with the buttons, and Draco hadn’t even objected. His trousers, pants and socks fly up in a bundled heap from closer to the bed, because Harry had stripped him off them in one motion before sitting him down on the bed and going down on him. Draco’s heart rate speeds up at the memory of Harry wrapping his lips around him while his green eyes looked up at Draco under heavy lids.

There are soft clinking noises coming from the kitchen, shaking Draco from his mental image, and he notices a delicious smell wafting through the half-ajar door. He quickly pulls his clothes on, trying his best to ignore how they’re all wrinkled beyond recognition and comfort (really, it’s not like him to get so carried away that he forgets about these things), and sneaks towards the kitchen.

Harry’s standing by the stove, scooping bacon on a platter. His hair is rumpled, his t-shirt ill-fitting after many washes, but looking so soft that Draco wants to feel it under his fingertips. The grey joggers are equally soft-looking, and the elastics have gone lax so that they’re sitting obscenely on his hips, making a gap between the shirt and the hem of the trousers where one could easily slide a hand in and—

“Aw, shit, you’re already up!” Draco snaps out of his ogling and fantasising and looks up at Harry, who’s smiling bashfully. “I was hoping to wake you up myself.”

“Oh. No worries. I, uh…” Draco starts, but doesn’t have time to say that he really must be going before Harry’s grabbed him by the hand and dragged him through the kitchen into the dining room, plate of bacon in his other hand.

“Sit down, I’ll just get the orange juice. Tea’s already here.”

Harry dashes off, and Draco blinks as he takes in the amount of food before him: the table is crammed with a lavish breakfast that looks like it could feed at least one of the house tables at Hogwarts. He doesn’t have time to digest it all before Harry has returned and plopped down beside him.

“Please, help yourself!” When Draco doesn’t move, he continues, “I didn’t know what you like so I made some of everything. I, er… I hope it’s not too much.”

He rubs at his neck, a shy smile on his face, and Draco shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does. He knew that agreeing to a date with Harry Potter would be dangerous territory, and now here he is, stupidly infatuated with the man.

Draco tentatively reaches for the kettle and pours himself a mug of steaming Darjeeling, first flush, if his nose isn’t deceiving him. But he doesn’t dare to eat anything, too afraid he won’t get anything down for fear of it rising back up.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, and it’s more than annoying how adorable he looks when he’s worried.

Draco clears his throat, deciding that he’ll need to just spit it out. “I’m sorry, I— I never sleep with anyone on the first date.”

Harry perks up, a pleased, almost boyish smile on his face. “Really?” 

“Yes, really,” Draco says, and before he has time to regret it he blurts, “because when I do, there have never been any more dates after that.” It’s a difficult thing to admit, and on top of that, he doesn’t want to examine how disappointed he is with himself that he couldn’t control himself enough to refrain from going home with Harry. He’d had big hopes for this date, and now, there’s not going to be any more of them.

“So, when do you usually sleep with someone?”

Draco’s not sure he heard right. He knows Harry lacks a few filters that Draco himself has had firmly installed by his parents, but even by those standards, that’s kind of an invasive question. 

“Second date? Third?” Harry continues.

“I’m… Fourth, I guess,” Draco says, giving up on decorum. Merlin knows he lost it with Harry ages ago.

“Hmmm.” Harry scratches his head, messing his hair up even more (Draco does his best to ignore how it still looks like he’s newly fucked), then fishes out his wand from his pocket. He Summons a pair of candles from the other side of the room and lights them with his wand. Then, with another swish of his wand, he dims the lights. “Okay!” he says finally, looking at Draco with glittering eyes. “We’ve got candles, we’ve got flowers,” he indicates the bouquet haphazardly thrown into a vase standing in the middle on the table, “and I cooked you a meal. The most important meal of the day, might I add. By any standards, this definitely counts as a date.”

Draco swallows while he finally dares to see all the things that Harry has done for him this morning, but he doesn’t have the courage to believe that Harry is going where Draco hopes he’s going. 

“And I was thinking of asking you to go with me to the cinema tonight, because I assume you’ve never been to a Muggle cinema before and I think you’d really like it,” Harry continues, and even leans forward, taking Draco’s hand and brushing it with his thumb.

For the first time in his life, Draco is speechless. Not out of fear or embarrassment, but because there’s a tiny bubble of hope rising in his chest, through his throat, threatening to burst out in hysterical laughter.

“I don’t sleep with anyone on the first date, either,” Harry says, and his expression is so open and earnest, more than usual. “Not unless I’m really into them.” 

Draco inhales shakily; he’d no idea he’d been holding his breath. “So, you’re into me?”

Harry lets out a soft laugh, but Draco also notices his shoulders dropping. Was he also unsure about Draco’s intention? 

“What do you think?” Harry murmurs and leans in for a kiss, lips gentle and exploring against Draco’s, even though they had plenty of practice yesterday. 

Draco’s a little light-headed when they break apart, but he manages to find his words. “I think I could be persuaded to sleep with you on the second date.”

Harry laughs again, a little louder this time, relieved. “Then we’d better get this date started, because I have some things I’d like to do that we didn’t have time for last night.”

“Oh,” Draco says, fishing out a scone from the bread basket in front of him. “Would that involve the handcuffs I saw next to the bottle of lube in your bedside drawer?”

“Nah, that’s for the ninth date, at the earliest,” Harry says, almost causing Draco to choke on his scone. 

But by now, Draco has found his footing, and he’s not willing to be outdone by Harry. “So, if we go at the same rate as planned, dating wise, I could have you tied up and have my way with you by…” he counts on his fingers, “Monday.” 

He turns to Harry, whose eyes have become darker and breathing heavier.

“I can make an exception,” he says, grabbing Draco’s hand. “I think this date is nearing the end.”

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

Hello CEO of the founder appreciation society, hope your doing well. I’ve come to ask you another random question.

Do you think Carla and Shin would like coffee and alcohol? If yes would they drink either of them regularly? Or has this been already confirmed/denied canonically.

I'm doing well thank you! Apologies for the slight delay in answering.

I'm going to start with discussing coffee and then put any discussion of alcohol below the cut just in case anyone would rather not read about it.

So, I can confirm that it's canon that Shin drinks coffee. There are two examples of this in the Daylight comics (the first involving him ordering an extremely complicated latte at a coffee shop, while in the second it's cold so he tries to get a warm coffee from a vending machine but... it ends up being cold >_>).

As for Carla... I'm not aware of it being specifically mentioned that he's tried coffee before (although I don't own a couple of his bonus CDs so I guess it could have come up in those). Given his propensity towards trying out random stuff from the human world, I can certainly see him trying it at least once. Whether Carla likes sweet foods or not is something up for debate, but I imagine he'd be more likely to enjoy a coffee on the plainer side rather than something with a bunch of syrups in it. Personally I headcanon him as more of a tea drinker (there are scenarios in which both Shin and Carla drink tea), but knowing Carla he probably ends up liking the most pretentious and expensive coffee he can find, adding yet another huge expense onto the Tsukinami household budget.

As for alcohol, I can't remember it coming up with either of them in the games, but in Shin's LE vampire ending CG, Shin and Yui are holding wine glasses (I think, I don't drink very much myself so my knowledge is... somewhat limited) with something that looks like red wine in them. It could easily just be fruit juice or something but I still thought it was worth mentioning.

As for my own personal opinion, I could see Shin potentially enjoying the flavour of nut-flavoured liquors (like amaretto) but I can't imagine he'd drink very much in one go or drink any very often. If I remember correctly, in Shin's LE route, he makes a comment about Zweig stinking of alcohol and while he probably just wanted to insult him, it does give the impression that he doesn't think much of people drinking a lot. I definitely don't ever see him drinking to deliberately get drunk, he's much more likely to deal with emotional distress by going out and punching furniture and/or other demons and I'd bet money he'd get way more pleasure out of a fight than alcohol.

Carla's a little more tricky for me to pin down. Again, I don't see him ever deliberately drinking in excess either (a King should not take leave of his faculties) but I could see him partnering a plate of cured ham with some very fancy alcoholic drink that pairs well with the flavour (I do not know enough to be able to guess what sort of alcohol that might be).

However, one scenario I could see happening to Carla is him trying something, not realising it's alcoholic, and then draining the bottle. He remains none the wiser until he tries to stand up and the entire room tips, at which point he becomes convinced someone is attacking the castle. This has the potential to end badly but is more likely to result in him tripping on his own scarf and ending up in an undignified heap on the floor. Any remaining supplies of the drink in question mysteriously go missing the next day, the only signs they ever existed at all being some faint scorch marks on the wooden shelving.

I hope that answers your questions and that you have a lovely day!

[ssadumba55]

Fancy Feast (Remy x Rat! Reader)

Request: Hello! I don't know if you do Ratatouille, but if you do, can you do a Remy x Rat!Reader where Remy takes the reader out on a fancy date?

Please why does this suck, I'm sorry. I'm a little rusty, getting back in the swing of things. Either way, enjoy!

You sniffed at the garbage in the alleyway, hoping to find something worth eating here. It had been a while since you’d had to scavenge for food, living with Remy and eating whatever he cooked but you needed to do this.

Scavenging was in your blood you couldn’t completely let your skills go to waste, if you did then when you were back on your own, you’d never be able to survive…

“(Y/n)? Are you out here?” Your tail twitched at the sound. Remy was approaching, you quickly dived behind the garbage, groaning inwardly as a little bit of something sticky stuck to your fur. Even though you believed it was important to know how to scavenge, you could NOT let Remy know you still did it.

He wouldn’t be all that supportive of it.

“(Y/n) … I saw you digging through the trash,” he was standing in front of the trash heap. You still refused to move. Maybe if I don’t move, he’ll never know I’m still here. He’ll think I’ve moved on…

“Alright, fine,” he turned on his heels getting ready to scamper back in the direction of the restaurant. “I guess I set up that fancy feast for us all for nothing. Oh well, guess I can just eat it all myself.”

He began to scurry back to the restaurant, and you sighed. As much as you didn’t want to entirely depend on him, a feast sounded nice. Your stomach grumbled and you crawled swiftly out of the garbage, trying to shake the stickiness out of your fur.

“Remy! Wait, I’m coming!” You called after him, hurrying to catch up.

He stopped at the entrance to the restaurant, looking at you and chuckling. He always claimed you were predictable, but you thought that was mean. Just because you had little habits, doesn’t mean you were totally predictable.

The two of you walked in, the restaurant was empty, and the table was set up, food already served for you both. He walked around to your seat and pulled the chair out for you. You wanted to be upset but you couldn’t really. He had done all of this nice stuff for you, the least you could do was appreciate it.

“What do you think?” He asked, nose twitching slightly as he waited for an answer. He was obviously nervous about this, maybe he’d been planning it for a while.

“It’s amazing, Remy, really.” You smiled and began to dig in, looking back up at him after a moment.

“But you didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

There’s something sad in his eyes as he watched you eat, stuffing food in your face as fast as you possibly could. You realized halfway through your plate he was watching you and stopped, suddenly embarrassed by how fast you had been eating before.

“Remy? Is everything alright?” You asked him, startling him out of his thoughts. He sighed and shook his head.

“It’s just… You know you don’t have to scavenge for food when you’re with me right?” He asked. There was a tense silence hanging in the air, this was the conversation you'd been dreading having. Sure, it was inevitable.

But it still wasn't going to be easy.

"I know I don't. It's just I keep thinking about what happens when you leave and I'm on my own again," you looked around the restaurant eyes drinking in every little detail. "I need to be able to fend for myself."

He shook his head, reaching across and taking your paw into his own. Your tail twitched slightly, enjoying being so close to him and touching him.

He met your eyes. "I will never leave you alone, (Y/n)."

Somehow, even though the back of your mind was still worried, you believed him. He had always had a way of calming your thoughts, even when it felt impossible.

"Alright, alright. I'll... Stop scavenging, as long as you keep making me these fancy feasts," you teased, once more digging into the delicious meal before you.

He laughed along with you and dug into his own plate of food.

"I'll make you as many fancy feasts as you want."

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

I was thinking a fluffy piece with mom bruno just like comforting you when you're down and have no motivation to do anything. It could be cuddly and stuff, like bruno making breakfast and stuff. Like we all need a mom bruno in our lives to like remind us to take care of ourselves sometimes ya know? But I'm really grateful for this opportunity, like thank you again, I'm really touched. But also take your time, I dont wanna take away your sleep or anything!❤❤❤ -anonanon

*checks date this message was sent vs the day I posted this* oh no worries you absolutely didn’t do that.  Anyway, I hope you liked this!  Happy birthday, as embarrassingly overdue as this is!

“Are you there?”

The knock is quiet, genteel, three taps on your door in quick succession.  Your visitor’s voice is polite but confident, the tone of someone who knows they’re imposing but forges ahead anyway.  It’s the absolute last thing you want to hear at this moment, but you don’t have a choice in the matter, do you?

Silence reigns in the several seconds that pass, and you’re debating just not answering the door at all—giving up on today entirely, in fact, crawling back into bed and nestling in your covers until the daylight abandons you, too—but you finally get out of your chair the moment you realize you can’t put this off any longer.  The chair grates as it drags against the kitchen tile, punctuating your movement.  I’m coming, I’m coming, the noise says, as if it’s exasperation that makes your feet drag and not dread.  You studiously avoid every reflective surface you can on your way to answer the door; you know how you look.  Maybe your visitor will get the hint and leave.

Bruno Buccellati, with frustratingly typical grace, doesn’t comment on your haggard features.  If you didn’t know your own face, you’d have no idea he saw dark circles and smudgy eyeliner that hadn’t washed off properly, hair that hung lank and unwashed, but you do, and you don’t even have it in you to flush with shame, confronted with his crisp suit and immaculately styled hair and soft, wide blue eyes that look at you with something that’s gentler than reproach but humiliating all the same.

“Nobody’s heard from you in days.”  Is that a question?  A statement?  An accusation?  Your hand grips the door as if it’s a shield.

“You didn’t have a mission.  I didn’t think it would be a problem.”  

“We were worried about you.”  He tilts his head in what you know to be concern.  Your obstinate ego, however, insists on interpreting it as scorn.  You lower your gaze.

“Well…I’m fine,” you mumble, and the statement is so patently untrue it could almost be a joke, “you don’t have to worry anymore.  I’ll be ready when you need me, I just needed a break.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

It’s like he’s talking to a wounded animal.  You’re gripping the door so hard that your knuckles are turning white, and you don’t realize it until you see Bruno’s gaze flit towards your hand and then back to your face.  He takes a breath as you force your fingers to straighten.

“We don’t have to if you don’t feel like it.  Though…you don’t look like you’ve eaten; at least let me come in so I can make you something.”

The contents of your fridge—a carton of heavy cream, now expired, half an onion, assorted leftovers better classified as biological weapons—flash before your eyes.  Do you really need him to know how far you’ve let things go?

“I don’t have anything to cook.”  The words aren’t even fully out of your mouth and you’re kicking yourself; typical of you to bypass an easy, polite lie in favor of the incredibly pathetic truth.  To your vague surprise, though, Bruno just smiles and holds up a bag that had, until now, been hidden from view.  Even from here, you catch the smell of something tantalizingly fresh, and your watering mouth is quick to remind you that you haven’t eaten in over a day.

“I happened to run by the market on my way here; I figured you hadn’t done your shopping if nobody had heard from you.  How about it?”

You’re still mentally fumbling for a lie, some excuse to ward him off and return to wallowing in the dark of your kitchen, when you step aside and let him step into your apartment.

***

“Do you want mushrooms in your omelette?”  You look up from the coffeemaker—dumping grinds into a filter and waiting is your way of feeling useful—and look at the pan.

“You’re the one who bought the ingredients, so really it’s up to you,” you shrug.  He laughs, a light lilt that mingles with the sizzle of cooking eggs.

“Not an answer, but I’ll take it.  Sit down, sit down; the coffee won’t boil faster if you’re hovering around it.”

He dumps a liberal amount of mushrooms into the pan and then adds the cheese.  You hesitate.  This is your kitchen; shouldn’t you be doing more?

“Maybe—“ you’re cut off as he waves the spatula at you impatiently.

“Sit!  Sit.  We’re off duty, don’t make me order you.”

You make a sullen show of dropping into one of the two seats at the kitchen table—you used to have four, but one got lost in a move and Narancia broke another showing off (and subsequently was banned from your home) and you’d never had a need to replace either of them because you didn’t really have people over, and wow this was just reminding you of how lonely and pathetic you were.  You nudge one of the forks to be more parallel to the plate, bereft of anything to do but sit and stew in your thoughts.

That bastard.  Did he plan this all along?

The coffeemaker gurgles, signaling completion.  Bruno’s already got a hand on the pot, however, before you can even move to get out of your chair, expertly pouring two cups into your mismatched mugs without spilling a drop.

Bastard.

“It’s not wrong, by the way,” Bruno says offhandedly, back to you as he flips the omelette, “to not be okay.  You don’t need a reason.”

You freeze.  It doesn’t make a sound, but Bruno’s tone shifts as if he saw you react.

“It’s hard to bring this kind of thing up, especially when you seem to be doing better.  Not many people understand that it doesn’t stop, that recovery isn’t linear…there are still going to be lows, and they’ll be so extreme that it feels like nothing changed at all.  That’s what you’re afraid of, right?  People thinking you aren’t trying hard enough?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you say in a strangled voice.  Are you okay do you wanna talk can I help you just say something pulses in your ears.  You force yourself to focus on something else, anything else—the enticing smell of cooking food, the shine of the light against your silverware, the sensation of your fingernails cutting into your palms.

“Alright,” Bruno finally comes over with the skillet, tilting the omelette onto your plate, a steaming heap of perfectly-cooked egg stuffed with mushrooms and tomatoes and cheese.  He’s gracious enough to not look at you.  “One more thing and I’ll drop it for good: you can depend on me to take care of you, when you need it.  You don’t even have to ask.  This isn’t a question of weakness; this is what I do for people who are important to me.  You’d do the same if I needed it, wouldn’t you?”

Your throat is closed up, and something hot and needle-sharp is burning at the corners of your eyes.  You just nod.  Bruno smiles, gentle and angelic, and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Then there’s no problem.  You can stop feeling guilty about it, okay?”  He settles into the chair next to you, after bringing the coffee and his own omelette over, and the minutes pass in companionable silence.

It’s the best breakfast you’ve had in a while.

[nothingeverlost]

penny!verse. I'm curious how Belle & Gabe walk the line between a teenage boy getting into halloween and Claire being just old enough start to understand the holiday and be scared of some of the movies and things, especially given what B&G have seen because of their jobs. tricks and treats?

Apparently when I said ‘flashfic’ I lied.  Are we shocked?

Takes place about 5 years after Belle returns. Claire is a little over two.  

____________

Halloween stores were not Belle’s favorite place.  She’d seen too many skeletons laid out on coroner’s tables to be amused by the styrofoam immiations.  One aisle was entirely fake weapons, from plastic knives painted with fake blood to rubber guns that looked too realistic.  Worst were the costumes that declared ‘serial killer’ and ‘sociopath’ and ‘insane patient’ to be the perfect way to dress up.

Unfortunately she needed a costume for Claire, and didn’t have the time to look more than one place, of the skills to make it herself.  Bay, seeking a costume of his own, had decided to join the trip which meant she couldn’t just stick to the aisle filled with rainbow colored costumes.  Claire settled relatively quickly on a ‘pun-kin’ costume.  Belle wondered if Bay would be as easy to please.

“Hey Belle, you should totally dress up this year.  There’s a ton of stuff here.  Just not, you know, the sexy FBI agent costume because that would be weird.”  Bay didn’t seem to have found a costume yet; the only thing in his hands was a pumpkin carving kit.

“I wish I thought you were joking.”  She had nothing against dressing up.  And certainly she and Gabe had tried their hand at role play more than once, but the general sexualization of women’s costumes upset her.  Sometimes it seemed there wasn’t any other option and she hated the message that it sent.  “We’re only taking Claire to a few homes this year before dinner at David and Mary Margaret’s.  If anyone asks I’ll tell them that I am a FBI agent.  What about you?”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to Gabe yet, but I think I’m missing dinner this year.  There’s this party, one of the guys in my chem class is throwing it.  I can’t decide, is Dracula too overdone or is it classic?”  He looked at his hands; Belle hadn’t noticed the fake blood container on top of the carving kit.

“Classic,” Belle decided.  It certainly was better than a lot of other options he could have come up with, and she knew that he had almost everything he’d need at home.  They just needed to find fangs and a cloak.  When she thought too much about the party, though, the hairs at the back of her neck stuck up.  He was nineteen, in college now but mercifully had decided he wanted to live at home.  He needed, even more than other kids his age, to feel like he belonged.  In high school it had been common knowledge that he hadn’t grown up the same, that school was new to him.  He was small for his age thanks to poor nutrition.  It had taken time, Gabe had told her, for him to settle in and begin to make friends.  Now as a college freshman he had a fresh start in many ways.  

She knew what could happen at parties.  Knew that kids on their own for the first time would be testing their limits.  And Halloween always seemed to make it worse, the anonymity of masks and costumes allowed people to do things they wouldn’t usually consider.  She had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him it was a bad idea.  She would have to talk to Gabe and figure out how they prepared their boy as well as they could.

Every year since she’d moved back they’d all had dinner at the Nolan’s - the first time she’s almost hadn’t gone, but Emma had talked her into coming and Archie had gone home with her; they’d watched Christmas movies for hours declaring it the start of the holiday season.  The next year she and Gabe had been together, and had come with Bay and gone back to the pink house.  Three years ago she had only just learned she was pregnant.; the next year there had been four of them.  Last year she’d dressed Claire up as a dragon and Neal Nolan had been a knight.  Emma, Graham, Ariel, and Archie had all joined her, Gabe, Mary Margaret and David was they’d taken the two around the neighborhood.  Henry and Bay had spent most of the night playing video games.  Perhaps she should have known then that the tradition was changing, but she would miss it.

“Awesome.  Give me five minutes to grab a couple of things and I’ll be ready to go.”  True to his word Bay was back in four with a red lined black cloak and an uncomfortable looking set of plastic teeth.  He also had a gold plastic necklace with a large medallion that was supposed to look gothic.  Perhaps she would at least be able to sneak in some education on the historical and literary character of Dracula. She paid for their purchases even though Bay offered to cover his own, and was relieved when they were headed home.

II

“Would you like paints too, sweetheart?  It might be safer for you.”  Belle teasingly moved the carving knives closer to Bay and offered her husband a paintbrush.  Claire, covered in an old shirt of her brother’s, had a paper plate covered in easy wash paints in front of her and a pumpkin waiting to be decorated.  Bay was already sketching out a monster’s face on his pumpkin, while Belle’s plan was for something more traditional.  

“I haven’t had a kitchen accident in ages, thank you very much.”  Gabe accepted the brush, though, thinking it might come in handy.  It had potential for tickling a certain brunette on the back of her neck, for starters.  And perhaps other places as well, when his kids weren’t around.  He jumped into his own carving without a plan or sketch.  Everything was quiet for a few minutes before Claire started crying.

“Sweetheart?”  Her hands were covered with paint, and somehow her left cheek as well, but he didn’t hesitate before pulling her onto his lap.  He was closer than Belle.  “Can you tell papa what you’re feeling?”

“Hurt,” she sobbed between her tears.  

“Where does it hurt, my love?”  He couldn’t see anything but maybe the paint was hiding it.  Or maybe it wasn’t something that could be seen; she’d had the flu a few months ago and had thrown up enough that they’d had to take her to the emergency room for an IV.

“Pun-kin hurt.”  She pointed to his pumpkin, the top cut off and some of the seeds removed.  “Bandaid?”

“Oh dear,” Belle spoke from across the table.  “I hope this doesn’t mean I picked the wrong costume.”

“It’s okay, peanut, the pumpkin likes it.”  Often times anything Bay said was okay was taken as law by Claire, but today she wasn’t having any of it.  She only cried harder.

“Hurted.  Pun-kin owey.  Fix, papa.”  She looked up at him and if he wasn’t convinced by the tears he was when she touched his cheek.  “Peese?”

“Mama will go get some bandaids while we wash our hands, princess.  We have some surgery to prepare for.”

II

“It’s just me, Claire.  Your brother.  See?”  The scary man crouched low, holding out his hands so he could take her away.  He’d already taken her Bay and was in his room, his face the wrong color, like the same as her milk, and blood on his mouth.  She wanted her Bay.

“It’s a costume, kiddo.  I’m just getting ready for a party.”  When he came closer Claire wanted to run but maybe Bay was hurted.  Claire did the only thing she could think of, she kicked as hard as she could and ran to find her papa.  He would make the scary thing go away and find her Bay.

II

It was after two when he pulled into the garage, his cloak in a heap in the passenger seat and the ridiculous fangs in some trash can.  When he looked in the rearview mirror he could still see streaks of white from the makeup he’d mostly washed off.  Unfortunately he could see some blood on his lip, and not the fake kind.  Hopefully it would look better in the morning, before he had to sit across the breakfast table from his family.

When he opened the garage door he found that there were still a few lights on.  Normally catching Gabe and Belle kissing on the couch made him feel both good, because of how much they loved each other, and weird because who wanted to see their parents doing that?  Tonight, though, he just hoped they were distracting each other enough that he could get to the stairs before letting them know that he was home..

He should have known better.  FBI agents, even when one was retired, were not people you snuck away from.

“Aren’t you going to say goodnight?  Or perhaps good morning?”  He couldn’t ignore Gabe, and took a deep breath.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me.  I would have let you know I was home.”  He knew they worried, and understood it.  Appreciated it, even.  Before meeting Gabe he hadn’t known anyone could care about him.  

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, Bay, we just…”  Belle stopped, and got off the sofa.  “What happened to your lip?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”  Or it least it didn’t until Belle touched it, no matter how soft her touch was.  “It was a good party.  Most of it.  There was just this one guy.”

“Someone you liked?”  Gabe asked, frowning.  

“Hell no.”  It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d told Gabe how he felt about guys.  Had said the word ‘gay’ outloud.  Gabe had told him it was the person that mattered, not their gender.  He’d also gone into embarrassing detail about what it meant to be safe and protected.  There had been a guy at the party and there might have been some fumbling in a literal closet, but he wasn’t about to talk about that.  “Someone who liked a girl that didn’t like him back.  He didn’t accept the word no.”

“Bastard.”  Gabe’s expression could only be described as a snarl.  Belle touched his arm and gave it a squeeze.

“Is she alright?”  Belle asked.

“Yeah.  I gave her a ride back to her dorm.  Dom was too busy holding his nose to notice where we went.”  He wasn’t ashamed at the pride he felt in what might have been a broken nose.

“I’m glad she’s safe.  And you are too.”  Belle kissed his cheek.  “Now let’s go get some ice for that.”

II

“It’s too much to hope that the experience has soured him on parties, isn’t it?”  Thirty minutes later Bay had gone to bed, Claire had been checked on and was still sleeping in her costume, and he and Belle were finally getting ready for bed.  “It was easier when he was still in high school.”

“He’s smart and he’s kind, and he’s not alone.  That matters, sweetheart.”  Belle spoke from the bathroom.

“At least Halloween is over for the year.”  He stripped out of his clothing and slipped under the blankets.

“Not until the sun rises.”  When Belle came out of the bathroom she wore a witches hat and a black lace nightie covered in bats.  And nothing else.  “Not everything about Halloween is bad.”

He had to agree.