anothertv-blog

[hannahssimblr]

“Jude,”

A small finger prods my cheek. My Forehead. My chin. “Jude. Jude. Judie.” I groan and pull the duvet over my face to stop the sun from searing my eyeballs. 

My voice is hoarse, “Did you open the blinds?”

“It’s eight. You’re supposed to get up.”

“God, why?”

My sister repeatedly slaps my head through the covers, “There’s no baguette.”

“No baguette?” What is she talking about? “Ivy, stop, stop,” I grab her little wrist and pull it away from me, awake now and not pleased about it. “Why did you come in here, huh? You’re not supposed to come into my room.”

She whips her arm out of my grip, “But it’s eight,” She says, “and there's no baguette left.” 

“Oh, for breakfast,” I rub sleep from my eyes, “Okay yeah, I get it. We’re out of bread.”

“You have to go to the bakery before they all sell out. All the old grannies get there first and they buy up the baguettes,” She throws herself down at the foot of my bed and kicks her feet up in the air. She’s dressed herself already, I see, in scruffy clothes that she’s usually only allowed to wear when she’s staying home. “And I think I feel like a chocolate croissant today.”

“A chocolate one? Since when are you a spoiled little brat?”

She sticks her tongue out, “Uh! You always sneak me a chocolate one when mom and dad are away.”

She’s right, I was just teasing. “Okay, get out of my room and wait for me, I need to get changed.”

She runs obediently out while I drag myself out of bed and into yesterday’s shorts, cursing every other teenage boy who will get to sleep in until midday and beyond today, blissfully free of all responsibility and all little sisters. And Jen too, in the guest room next door, probably sleeping soundly and won’t have to deal with anything like this, and will run free all summer, sleeping under the same roof with different rules to the ones I must adhere to. 

It’s a bright morning. The tide is in and the air is salty and fresh as seagulls circle over the strand. The beach cleaners are always out at this time, in their high visibility jackets and yellow rubber gloves plucking up the debris left over from yesterday's holiday makers. Ivy skips alongside me with her worn out sandals crunching on the sand that’s blown in over the ground, gleefully kicking the fallen palm fronds over into the low stone wall that borders the path. 

“What are you so happy about?” I say accusingly, though her joy is unfortunately contagious. 

“Everything. I’m going to kids club and it’s sunny today and mom and dad are working in Dublin for the whole week and I’m getting a chocolate croissant,” She sings that last word with glee and skips and spins ahead of me, flapping her arms around with free, unfettered delight like she could take off and fly. 

“C’mon, you’re hyper. Save some energy for the club. What are you going to be doing today anyway? Art or sports?”

“Yesterday was sport. We did dodgeball but with those soft, squishy balls.”

“The foam ones?”

“Yeah, and one of the boys took a bite out of one of them, it was disgusting.”

I laugh, “You know I used to take bites out of them too.”

She comes back and gives me a slap in the thigh, “You’re a smelly, disgusting boy too, then.”

“Yeah, I am, but I don’t care. Foam has an interesting texture, huh?”

“No it doesn’t, and it’s filthy and it’s all rolled all over the floor and had dirty old hands all over it.”

I shrug, when I was a child the last thing I cared about was whose dirty hands touched what, nothing like Ivy. I shoved everything I could find in my mouth with abandon, I didn't care. Honestly I still don’t really care, because at this point I’ve put the kinds of filthy, unregulated things into my mouth that make a foam dodgeball seem gourmet. “So if you did sports yesterday, does that mean you’re doing art today?”

“Yep.”

From where we stand in the queue outside the bakery, the smell of fresh bread and buttery pastry floats right toward us and makes my stomach growl, “So what do you think you’ll be doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Well… once, in school, we did paper weaving.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

She looks at me incredulously, “You know what paper weaving is.”

“No, I don’t.”

A scoff, “You already know everything about art, so you definitely know about this.”

“Well let's pretend I don’t and you can tell me about it.”

And she does, she goes into incredible detail while we wait, and then I buy a baguette and three chocolate croissants, one for Jen, and I get Ivy some juice for the hell of it and a coffee for me even though I’m not sure if it’s coffee I like or the idea of it. 

I’m happy to let her talk like that. It fills a gap, and I like it, because when she’s talking so much it means that she’s comfortable and not conscious about annoying our parents or saying something that they think is silly. I want her to be silly. It’s what seven year olds are.

Back at the beach house I even put on music while I make some breakfast, Low by Flo Rida, because our mom hates music like this and always turns the radio off when it comes on, which is all the time lately because it’s plagued the charts for months. 

“How can she have apple bottom jeans and baggy sweatpants?” Ivy wonders as she munches on her buttered baguette. 

“I guess she has four legs,” I say, and she flinches as I try to grab her nose, “you shouldn’t be listening to the words of this song anyway, they’re for adults.” Last week she asked me what ‘promiscuous’ meant after I let her listen to Nelly Furtado and then I had to pretend I couldn’t find it in the dictionary.  

“Why? Because of her big bum?”

“Ivy!”

The boat club is busy that morning with hoards of parents leaving their children at the kids club. Children and parents and me, a sixteen year old brother. I feel self conscious as we wait to sign her in. 

“Good morning Ivy,” the activity leader beams down at her with a toothy grin, “Where’s mammy today?”

“Home in Dublin. She’s working.”

“And daddy?” I want to laugh at the absurd impression this woman has that our dad has done anything meaningful or useful for either of us in his life. 

“He has to work too.”

“They’re very busy,” I explain, “They usually need to be at home during the summer for several weeks on and off so I’m just stepping in for now.”

“Well lucky that they have you to take care of it all.”

Yes. Lucky me. I pass Ivy off to her and wave goodbye, and as I’m making my way back towards the exit I pass the dining room. I stop and peer through the door curiously, just in case, and alas, in the bright sunlight from the windows, the sound of cutlery and glass and the smell of breakfast in the air, she crosses the room, a flash of blonde in tight black clothes.

“Hi, Clóda.” I say. I’ve caught her off guard. 

“Jesus chr- Hello,” She puts the tray she was holding onto an empty table with a clatter and tucks the two front strands of her hair behind her ears. “Where did you come from?”

“I was bringing my sister to the kids club.”

“That’s nice of you.”

I shrug, “I like to give my parents a break from parenting sometimes.” I peer into the chaos behind her, “You busy?”

“Yes, I-” She turns around anxiously, “It’s very busy at breakfast time.”

“Okay well I’ll leave you alone then.”

“No, I-” 

I stop, and she pats her silky hair, twisted into a bun at the top of her head, “Are you hanging out on the beach later?”

“Uh, no.”

“Oh right, well, that’s fine then I was just-”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I interject quickly, “I’m just looking after my sister all week while my parents are away, I can’t really leave her alone at night or anything so I won’t really be around.”

She blinks, “Your parents left you alone for a week?”

“Yeah they always do that,” I say casually, “It’s fine. Jen is staying with us so sometimes she helps, but actually, no, mostly she doesn’t, which is fair enough.” I move away from the door to let a patron pass by and Clóda comes to lean with me against the wall, “But if you like, and it’s not weird for you you could always come over and babysit with me sometime.”

“How old is your sister?”

“She’s seven.”

“Cute.”

“She’s not cute, she’s a brat, but she goes to bed at half past eight, so,” I shrug, again, attempting to be cool and casual, and it seems to be working because Clóda is blushing now. “If you’re free tonight? We can watch a film, or… something…” I trail off, privately delighted by her pretty smile, evidence that she’s forgiven me for not touching her boob last week. Maybe I’ll remedy that tonight if she gives me another chance. 

There’s a man behind the bar watching us now, “Clóda,” he says sharply, “you have to work faster, get busy please.”

“Oh, um,” She wipes her hands on her trousers and reaches around awkwardly to retrieve her tray. “That’s my dad. He gets annoyed when I chat too much. Especially to… non-customers.”

I grin at the older man and wiggle my fingers at him while he practically snarls, his face jowled like a bulldog. “Nine?” I say to Clóda.

“Yeah, I’ll try.” And she’s gone. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[love-bitesx]

OMG OMG IMAGINE YOU PUTTING YOUR HAND ON HOBIE’S FACE AND THEN HE INSTEAD TILTS HIS HEAD SO HE KISSES YOUR PALM AAAAA 😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

ANONNNNNNNNNNNN I LOVE YOU

hobie x gn!reader

sweet lavender hung in the air, wafting through your apartment as the incense stick burnt down to its stem, clumps of scented ash crumbling onto the wooden window sill. gentle hum of music emanating from the decorated stereos, uniting elegantly with the whisper of traffic on the streets below your window.

hobie’s weight held you flush against the sofa cushions, legs tangled like web, hovering over you. veined hand running along your thigh, across your hip, stomach, anywhere he could reach. it wasn’t suggestive, nothing inappropriate, just the gentle touch of a lover – drinking in your skin through his fingertips. content hum vibrating your throat, hobie lowered his head to nip at your collarbone, a path of tender kisses leading to-and-from your lips.

it was a treasured moment. you finally had him to yourself – no patrol duties, no grumpy miguel chirping away, no missions or grand tragedies – just your hobie, soft to the touch, present with you for as long as he wanted. there was no rush, no need, no pressure, simply his lips sipping on your sweet aroma; a scent that refuses to leave his clothes, his skin, his mind. he doesn’t complain.

ghosting your fingertips along his arm, following the veins that wrapped his forearm like ivy, you danced across the distantly scarred skin of his chest, his body melting in your wake. your movements were slow, steady, and he grew restless in anticipation. teasing along his neckline, following the lines of his throat, you rested both hands on his cheeks – soft, but jagged from stubble.

cupping his face kindly, you succumbed to his dark brown eyes, half-lidded as he smirks down at you. no words were necessary, your eyes told him everything he needed to know, and he hoped that his carried the same sentiment. and boy, they did. dark with passion, and lined with a look that said nothing but ‘i love you’, lashes sitting pretty as you looked at him in awe.

turning his head, he placed a kiss to your open palm, eyes still trained on you and if his hands weren’t still firm on your waist, you could’ve sworn you’d turned to liquid and melted into the couch, putty in his hands.

“you have no idea what you do to me, hobie,” you whisper softly, so soft it falls through his chest like heaven, and he wishes he could bottle the sound.

placing another kiss, further down, and one more onto your wrist, your skin erupted into goosebumps, body shifting underneath him, and this time, it didn’t feel so innocent.

“why don’t you show me, then, darlin’?”

tags: @melisseus @meowmeowmau @fiannee @reneny @midnightnoiserose @sweetheartlizzie07 @soulaanshere @punksnlovers

[elysianslove]

Ok so I just read your little things they do piece and my heart❤️ I’m such a softie ( read: simp) for Ushijima and I was wondering if I could put in a request for like a HC where his s/o visits his home/ dorm and sees all these plants and he’s like “ meet y/n . Y/n...” I hope this makes sense! Thank you so much!💜

hi anon!! i hope this satisfies ur simp fantasies 😏 thank you so much for requesting, and i hope you enjoy hehe! <3

public service announcement that i love this himbo <333

moving on

i really wanna go deeper than just what was requested i hope that’s okay :) 

i don’t think ushijima really knew what it was like to love someone so much the way he loves you 

i don’t think he knew he was in love with you, even throughout your relationship in high school

there were a lot of little things that would make him, like, pause 👨🏼‍🦲

maybe because his heart clenched in his chest or maybe because he couldn’t hold back a smile while admiring you even though all you were doing was picking out which ice cream flavor you were gonna have

when you first tell him you love him, he freezes up, and you realize this and immediately say “it’s okay! you don’t have to say it back. i just wanted you to know that i do. that i love you.” 

it’s all he thinks about for 

well forever tbh 

he wants to say it

but he wants to say it when he truly means it. 

he doesn’t realize he’s always truly meant it until it slips accidentally 

he’d invited you over to his apartment, a year after graduation 

he’s living alone, giving him more freedom and control over the design of the apartment. it’s very simplistic and minimal, but there is such a large variety of plants all over the apartment 

never disrespect him and say they’re fake

he’ll spike a ball to your chest 🏃🏻‍♀️

anyways 

you come over, and it’s your first time seeing the apartment. he hadn’t wanted you to see it until it was fully set up 

“toshi ur plants are so pretty 🥺” 

i just know wakatoshi is so straightforward and blunt with his compliments. he’d say some shit like “you’re pretty” but in a monotone voice it doesn’t SOUND like a compliment but please believe him it is

while you’re taking a look around the place (and looking at the pictures he’d hung up of the two of you im screaming) he’s just 🧍🏻‍♂️

and then he goes “can i show u my favorite plants” 

and you’re like YES PLEASE SHOW ME YOUR FAVORITE PLANTS

romance this strong is only alive fictionally </3 

he takes you to his bedroom, and there are a bunch of plants lined up on the window sill 

he takes your hand and guides you to them, and keeps his hand in yours as he points to the first one and says “this cactus is sweetheart, after you.”

you’re already combusting 

“and this one” — a jade plant — “is darling, after you.” 

“and this one” — a peace lily — “is y/n-san, also after you.” 

“and these” — ivy plants — “are love bug, after you.” 

and teasingly, you go, “love bug?” 

and 

remember when i said he’s so casual and nonchalant about compliments 

THATS WHY HE ACCIDENTALLY SAYS IT

“because i love you”

someone call the ambulance, y/n is dead <3 

you stand there mouth agape and wakatoshi is still going on about his houseplants on his windowsill that you kinda nudge him to catch his attention

when he sees the look on your face, he stops and straightens up, unconsciously squeezing the hand that was still in yours 

“toshi you love me?” 

and he just nods gently and goes “after all this, how could i not?”

bruh

BRUHHHHGGHHEBKW

he sees your expression with your teary eyes and he softens up so much 

personally i hate crying in front of people but i would straight up start sobbing lmfao

he lifts up his free hand and cups your cheek and nods again, more firmly “i love you,” and his smile gets wider as he himself starts to process what he just said 

and then he leans forward/leans down and presses his lips to yours, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck as he pulls he closer 

and god 

wow love is so nice ❤️

on your way back home you buy ivy plants and name them “toshi” and you send him a picture when they’re set up at your windowsill 

(responds to the text with 👍🏼 bc he has dad energy) 

(im sorry) 

he sends you a picture back with his own ivy plants named “love bug” mimicking your picture exactly <3

end note; this was so cute omg im cryin. i hope the requester and everyone else enjoyed that!! and, like always, requests are open!!

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter One

“What’s that garden over there?” she asked the landlady.

“Oh, so you spotted it,” she replied. “It’s a funny thing to see around here, isn’t it? How’s the saying go? ‘Like a sore thumb.’”

“Or a green one,” Gianna agreed.

“It’s a bit small.”

The landlady nodded and gave Gianna a sympathetic smile. She was a stout, older woman with drooping features behind wide-framed glasses that dominated her face. Gianna’s more generous first impression of her was that she looked kind, and the way she spoke reminded her faintly of her mother, though the landlady’s accent was thicker and her voice crackled and dragged with age like a damaged film reel.

It was due in no small part to this assessment that she’d chosen this apartment in the first place. That and the low price of rent. Although it was a decent neighborhood the building was fairly run-down and the long winding staircase leading up to her floor was creaky and narrow.

The unit she was supposed to be living in when she’d first made to move in had suddenly had to undergo renovations after a pipe burst behind one of the walls. Gianna couldn’t wait for the repairs or for another cheap space to miraculously open up in New York City, so she agreed to move from the second floor to the only other available unit, which was on the sixth floor.

It was little more than a single room with a bathroom and kitchenette attached and-- she could not emphasize this enough-- it was on the sixth floor in a building with no elevator. Thankfully, the rent was also considerably cheaper, and the landlady had offered her a discount for the inconvenience as well. Even if she’d stuck her on a cot in the basement for twice the amount she would have had little choice but to take it. It was either that or take the long, shameful train ride back to her parents’ house, tail between her legs.

Living with her parents after college had been fine for a while, but only just fine, and she wasn’t willing to settle for fine any longer. She wanted a life, a career, maybe a girlfriend? No, no, probably not that. Not yet. Being trapped in a town where every eligible bachelorette was somebody she’d gone to highschool with-- no thanks-- had left Gianna touch-starved and sexless, but that wasn’t enough to make her lose track of her priorities. She’d start her new job on Monday, focus on saving up enough for a marginally nicer place, then she could think about getting laid.

“Be careful about the light in the kitchen,” the landlady warned. “The wiring is old so if you leave it on for too long at a time in the summer it’ll start to spark.”

“Oh great,” she deadpanned.

“Tsh. You won’t miss it. On a sunny day like today you don’t even need the extra light.”

That was one thing she did like about the apartment. There was indeed a lot of natural light that came in through the windows along the east wall. She walked over and opened one, hoping to air the place out before she finished bringing up what little she’d brought with her. Despite the recent heatwave, the breeze that afternoon was cool and sweet, only smelling very faintly of car exhaust and asphalt. She sorely missed the sea-salted winds that had blown in from the shore when she had been traveling abroad, and reminded herself again that this was a temporary arrangement.

As she admired the view-- one of the few true perks of her new living arrangement-- a splash of green amongst the brown and gray colored landscape caught her eye. She pulled up the mesh screen and leaned her head out, one hand braced on the windowsill, expecting to see maybe a stubborn curl of ivy that had climbed its way up the neighboring brownstone. Instead, she was surprised to see a lustrous garden growing out of a terrace a couple floors below. If she took a good running leap, she mused, she could jump right onto that ledge from here, providing she didn’t miss and end up splattered all over the alleyway.

The elevated garden was too high and too hidden to be seen from the street, but from above she could get close enough to count the leaves on the shrubbery. It was quite an impressive collection, particularly the many-colored array of flowers. Gianna wasn’t exactly a florist, but they looked exotic, unlike anything she’d seen before.

“What’s that garden over there?” she asked the landlady.

“Oh, so you spotted it,” she replied. “It’s a funny thing to see around here, isn’t it? How’s the saying go? ‘Like a sore thumb.’”

“Or a green one,” Gianna agreed.

“Honestly I almost forgot about it. You can’t see it so well from the other apartments. The man who lives there is a… what’s the word? A stay-inside man. You know, someone who doesn’t go out much-- a shut-in! He likes his privacy. I remember once he called the office phone one day in a terrible mood, saying if I got in the habit of housing peeping toms he’d have to inform the police. Horrible old man.”

She tutted disapprovingly.

“Geez, all that over someone looking at his plants?”

“Well, he didn’t say it outright, but I got the feeling it was more about the girl. His daughter, I think, or granddaughter maybe. I never met either of them in person, and for that I thank God.” She blew a kiss towards the ceiling and chuckled raspingly. “Now come this way, I need to show you what to do if the sink gives you trouble.”

With no small effort Gianna pulled her gaze away from the window. The richly colored blooms just across the way captured both her attention and imagination in a way that made her wish she hadn’t given up painting. When the last of the paperwork was settled and she was alone in her-- her!-- apartment, she returned to the spot and stared.

At the center of that mass of plantlife, that color swatch of eden, there was a big ceramic fountain with even more flowers filling up its basin, taking root who knows where. Delicate vines dotted with purple and yellow flowers spiralled up the center statue, a broken, half-eroded thing which must have once depicted a human figure, though now all that remained was an offwhite pair of naked legs and the beginning of a torso.

After a few minutes of languishing by the sunlit sill like some lazy housecat, a door slid open and Gianna saw a figure enter into the garden. She took one look and knew this must be the man that the landlady spoke of. He was wearing a dark dressing gown over his clothes, which hung loosely from his bony frame, and moved as though he were ankle-deep in quicksand, plodding through the mass of green at a snail’s pace. As he came more into view, Gianna began to glean why. The man’s face was sallow, sunken, with an unscrupulous smattering of pure white stubble on his chin. Even from a distance, he was unmistakably ill.

Just like the beauty of the terrace garden had caught and cradled her attention, so too did the ugliness of its master. She felt bad for spying, but it was like a car crash on the highway or a particularly inane online argument; she couldn’t look away.

The man pulled on a heavy pair of gardening gloves and a paper mask and began to prune and pluck at certain growths. He gathered and sorted the clippings into little plastic bags. If he had some sort of system driving his path, it was an inscrutable one. After a while of picking through the garden seemingly at random, he retreated back inside.

However, just as he was shuffling through the sliding door-- the phrase, “back from whence he came” came to mind-- he paused with his hand on the glass and raised his head. He turned and, as if guided by some preternatural intuition, stared directly into Gianna’s window.

Their eyes met and Gianna withdrew with a gasp. Of course after the moment had passed, she laughed at herself for her reaction. There was no way he’d been looking at her. Coincidence paired with a chronically overactive imagination had made her see something where there was nothing. He was a sick old man with a perfectly normal hobby, not some sinister ghoul.

Nevertheless, she lowered the blinds and kept them lowered for the rest of the day.

-----

By Monday, Gianna had more or less forgotten about the creepy old man and his garden. There was unpacking to do, furniture to acquire and then spray with bedbug killer, and most importantly, a fancy new job to buy some fancy second-hand clothes for.

That was maybe overstating things a bit. She was hired on to work with a small team restoring and preserving a local university’s art collection. The reality of the occupation wasn’t glamorous, but it was dignified. It was something Gianna could and did take pride in, undoing the damage wrought by the passing years one cotton swab at a time, revealing the beauty underneath.

Being back in the city, she nostalgically recalled a field trip to the Metropolitan back at the age when the nude sculptures made her classmates giggle, earning rolled eyes from the chaperone, and made young Gianna deeply uneasy in a way she didn’t yet have the words to explain. But it was the women with the flowing finery and piercing painted stares that caused her insides to flutter with something like hope. Billowing skirts caught in suspended animation mid-twirl, whether staged in the dramatic light-vs-shadow games of the baroque period or abstracted by a million tiny brushstrokes in a more impressionistic style. They had changed something in her.

But in spite of her love of the arts, she could never seem to sum up the same confidence when the brush was in her own hands. After long struggling on her own, she reluctantly accepted her dad’s offer to put a word in for her with connections at Fordham. Once upon a time the idea of returning to her dad’s alma mater would’ve warmed her with pride. Now she was just thankful the surname Alexander was common enough that the chances of anyone recognizing her was slim. The last thing she wanted was to start her first day with people already thinking she was only here by the grace of her family connections.

In spite of all her apprehensions, her first day went by without a hitch, save for the belated realization that she’d forgotten to tear the tag off her new blouse. She didn’t think anyone noticed. By the time she stepped on the subway that evening she was practically vibrating with a frantic, ecstatic energy that didn’t abate into exhaustion until she was home and sweating off her six-story hike. That, more than anything, was going to take some getting used to, she mused.

She shed her good-first-impression suit in favor of a cropped halter top and sweatpants. The setting sun cast beams of golden light through the slats in the blinds and over the back of her neck, the curve of one freckled shoulder. It wobbled iridescent through the glass and on a whim Gianna got up to open the window. There was that sweetish scent on the wind again, overpowering even the smoke that wafted up from the tenant below as he ground his cigarette butt against the masonry. Innocently, almost incidentally, she cast her gaze upon the little eden. There was someone new in the garden today.

The woman in the violet dress was opposite to the old man in every way. Dancing through the garden, touching every bloom and bud as if it were the hand of a treasured friend, Gianna had never seen anyone more alive. Short, dark curls like fiddleheads bobbed around her plum-flushed cheeks. In the pink twilight, she almost seemed to glow.

It wasn’t like Gianna to start waxing romantic over a stranger. She hadn’t felt that sort of blind infatuation since her first year of college, when she left home for the first time and a whole new world of opportunity suddenly opened to her the way it never could have with her passionately Catholic mother looking over her shoulder. This, she reasoned, must be something like that. She was just getting high on that feeling of possibility and freedom again.

Before she fully realized what she was doing, Gianna had opened the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. She climbed from platform to platform until the neighboring terrace was only a stone’s throw away, until she could hear the young woman’s voice as she murmured fawning nonsense to the flowers. In her distraction, Gianna’s foot slipped on the last rung of the ladder. She caught herself, though not gracefully and not before making a notable clamor on the way down.

The woman’s head shot up. Her eyes were the same color as her dress, and there was a leaf caught in her hair.

“Hey,” Gianna said, trying and failing to recover smoothly.

“...Hi.”

She swallowed. “I live up there.” She pointed. “I’m not, like, a burglar.”

“You wouldn’t be a very good one,” the woman said with a timid, uncertain smile.

She stepped away from the ledge and started to walk away. As Gianna’s heart sunk, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“I just need a refill.” She held up an empty plant mister. “I’m coming back.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t,” she said under her breath, hands covering her face from the embarrassment. What is wrong with me?

“Are you the new tenant? My father said there was someone new. He hated the last person who lived in that apartment.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “But, I mean, I’m sure he’ll like you.”

She huffed a laugh, taking some comfort from the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one so utterly awkward at introductions.

“I’m Gianna.” She put out her hand, although it was obvious she couldn’t reach to shake it.

The other mirrored the motion. “Beatrice. It’s a pleasure to meet you, new neighbor, and a relief.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

Beatrice fiddled absently with her dress, twisting one thin strap around her finger. “None of the other neighbors ever come to say hey. It’s been boring.” She smiled. “You don’t seem boring.”

That fluttery feeling returned, the tender thrill of standing before a piece of artwork. Here like there, now like then, something just clicked.

Insects filled the silence with their buzzing hums of contentment. A butterfly alighted onto Beatrice’s shoulder as she settled on the garden wall and a faint woozy feeling overcame Gianna as its wings slowed, spasmed, then went rigid as it fell motionless to the ground.

--

next chapter

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 81 - The Deathly Hallows

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 2,638

Summary: The trio seek help finding the horcruxes.

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

Spring bled in slowly with April snowfall punctuated by bright sunny days. The last snow clung to frigid grass mounds and the hilltops, but the brightness of daffodils signalled that winter was over.

Yato explained the vision he had when the locket was destroyed; the feathered metal of some sort of tiara with a large blue gem in its center. The only clue they had to its location was Hogwarts.

“Perhaps it's Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem?” Hiyori suggested. “We thought that the horcruxes were linked to the founder's items in some way, maybe this is the next one?”

Yato nodded in agreement. The visions had let up slightly, but he felt a shift now. The Sorcerer must have felt the horcrux being destroyed; it was part of his soul, after all. It was all beginning to fall apart, piece by piece, revealing the location of each part of his soul, and he was powerless to stop it.

Something inside Yato thrummed with urgency, whether it was the nervousness of being traced or the excitement of final destroying a horcrux, he could not tell.

The next horcrux in their sights was Helga Hufflepuff’s goblet, but that presented a new challenge. Its location was shrouded in mystery, and the jewels and gems that filled it in Yato’s vision offered no clues.

After moving camp for the third time that week, they settled into the chilling afternoon sun and ate dinner. The radio filled the air with the latest updates – not that there were many to begin with over the last couple of weeks. Kazuma’s tinny voice rang out around them, crackled every now and then by the poor signal. The usual list of the dead and snatched and Wanted rang out, but there seemed to be no new restrictions or laws.

Perhaps the Sorcerer had implemented everything he wanted, Yato mused.

“We – I – hope that you are keeping safe during these times. W- I have nothing new to report on the Ministry’s activities, but I will update you as soon as we – I know.”

Yato scrunched his nose before digging into his food. He’d never heard Kazuma blunder so much when speaking unless Bishamon was involved, but it seemed she hadn’t joined him for some time. He wondered if Kazuma had even found a job, as the radio show seemed to be taking up so much of his time nowadays. Then again, not many employers would want to take on an illegal radio show host working against the Ministry of Magic in the first place.

“Thank you for listening. Yato, Yukine, Hiyori, wherever you are, whatever you need, you know where I am,” Kazuma signed off with the usual spiel he’d adopted in the last few months. The radio clattered for a second with a few mumbles before a click sounded, leaving the radio static.

They sat for a moment in silence, eating, before Yukine spoke.

“Do you think we should try contacting Kofuku?” Yukine asked.

Yato shot him a look, spooning stew into his mouth. “Why?”

Yukine shrugged. “She might know more about the goblet and the diadem if it disappeared when she was a student, or she can find out for us in the archives. Any clues would help.”

Yato made a face. It was a good idea, but with a large problem. “How could we contact her? We can’t go to her, and I don’t have Coo Phone.”

“It should be Easter break now; we might be able to reach her without anyone knowing,” Hiyori chimed in. Yukine nodded his agreement; it was already mid-April, so most teachers and students would have gone home for the holidays.

“What about Kazuma? He knows what’s going on, hell, he probably knows where they are,” Yukine suggested, pointing at the crackling radio. “He’s been saying that if we need help, we can go to him. Do you know where he lives?”

“Somewhere in Devon. A secluded, countryside mansion his parents rarely stay at as they’re away working for MACUSA,” Yato recalled, putting his bowl on the ground by his chair. “I went there once and broke his toilet. Never got invited back.”

“I wonder why,” Yukine said dryly. “Well, Kazuma should be able to get a message to Kofuku. Maybe we could arrange a meeting somewhere?”

“Could do,” Yato agreed. “We’ll just have to work out a way for her to get the message back to us.”

“Ok then,” Hiyori said, turning off the radio static. “Next stop, Kazuma.”

~

They packed up camp and Apparated at the closest village to Kazuma’s house. Shouldering their backpacks, Yato, Hiyori and Yukine made their way through the winding roads that led them into the countryside. Past the fields of cows and dilapidated barns, they came to a stately gate bordered by trees and two Griffin statues, though one was missing half of its head. The gates original purpose seemed to have failed to keep trespassers from entering through the buckled railings.

They started up the path, hugging the treeline until the house came into view. Kazuma’s house was indeed a mansion, though parts of it seemed to be crumbling along with the rest of the grounds. Hiyori and Yukine exchanged glances as Yato made his way up the path; it felt too exposed for them to just walk right up to the front door. Any worries they had weren’t shared by Yato as he looked back and waved them forward.

The front door was framed by a tangle of ivy that worked its way up and around the windows, spreading like a disease over the grand house. It seemed there was a hole in the roof judging by the protruding pigeon's nest overhanging them, the tiles charred by a small fire.

Yato rapped the bronze knocker three times, and almost instantly Hiyori saw a curtain twitch in the window. The door opened slowly, and a green framed eye appeared in the crack.

Yato smiled. “Surprise?”

The door swung open and Kazuma stood before them, haggard and unkempt, mouth open.

“You came,” Kazuma gawked.

Hiyori and Yukine once again shared puzzled looks, and Yato looked over his shoulder with a quizzical smile. “Is that ok? We’ve been listening to the radio-.”

“No, no! it's fine! Great! Come in!” Kazuma gushed. A grin had taken over his face, wider than they’d ever seen, giving him the appearance of a madman.

The house was even worse inside. It appeared he had no need for cleaning with no guests, but the state of the kitchen peaking at them from the end of the hallway was worrying. Kazuma led them to what should have been a dining room, but it was too full of newspapers and radio equipment to see a table beneath it. A small desk sat by the window, bathed in grey sunlight that filtered through the torn net curtain. On it sat a radio, a microphone, and two sets of headphones.

They avoided touching anything as they picked their way through the debris before stopping in the middle of the room.

“Were you born in a barn?” Yukine grumbled to himself, but it went ignored.

“We’ve followed your radio show,” Yato explained. “And we need a favour. You’re the only one who can help.”

Kazuma nodded, his smile slipping slightly and a troubled frown coming into his brow.

“We were hoping you could get a message to the Order,” Yato said. “We know what the next horcrux is, but we need some help tracking it down.”

“Yes, yes,” Kazuma murmured, though it seemed he wasn’t really paying attention. His eyes kept sliding to the window as if worried someone would burst in and find Public Enemies One, Two, and Three all in his house.

“Do you have an owl?” Yukine asked.

“Yes.”

There was a pause. No one moved. Kazuma fiddled with his thumbs, looking out the window.

Yato cocked his head slightly. “Could you… get it?”

Kazuma snapped out of his thoughts at the suggestion. He nodded and left the room.

Yato shook his head and began riffling through the bits of parchment that had taken over the table. “I think he’s lost without Hogwarts. Too much time away from Bishamon and books. Try and find a pen.”

Yukine and Hiyori set about diving through the rubbish in search of something to write with. At the back of the house, they could hear Kazuma rummaging around, shortly followed by a soft owl hoot and a ruffle of feathers.

Yukine looked around, noticing that two chairs had been pulled away from the table to huddle around the makeshift radio station. There was a mug and plate growing mold in the window sill, but the other mug was fresh with coffee. It seemed odd since Kazuma was the only one home.

There was more scraping – from their search as they found and handed a pen to Yato – and from the kitchen as a door opened and closed. Yato scribbled out a note, detailing that they needed to find what happened to Helga Hufflepuff’s goblet.

“Look at this,” Hiyori said. They turned to look at her, seeing she held a battered copy of the Daily Prophet, dated to only a few months ago. The headline read ‘TENJIN’S GRAVE DISTURBED’.

Yato frowned. “Why would anyone break into his grave?”

Yukine shrugged, waiting for Hiyori to stop skimming the pages for answers, but none came. They heard footsteps in the hall, and Yato turned to ask Kazuma.

“Kazuma, what happened…” Yato started, but then Kazuma rounded the corner and stood in the doorway. They looked at him and his empty hands. All thoughts of the Daily Prophet slipped from their minds.

“Where’s the owl?” Yato asked.

Kazuma blinked at him. Had he forgotten to bring it? What had he been doing?

“She’s sleeping,” Kazuma answered, but the lie was flimsy.

They looked at him for a long, unsettling moment. The Kazuma they knew didn’t act like this. He didn’t live like this, or look as disturbed in the eyes as he did at this moment. Yukine’s eyes slid back to the pairs he’d noticed in the room. Two mugs. Two plates. Two chairs. Two headphones.

One person.

“Who else is here, Kazuma?” Yukine asked lowly. His hand was already reaching for his wand, and the flicker of Kazuma’s eyes told him he noticed.

“What do you mean? It’s just us,” Kazuma said, hands splayed.

The silence of the house confirmed it, but it still set them on edge. Something – someone – was amiss.

Hiyori’s voice cut through the tension. “Where’s Bishamon?”

Yato turned his head to look at Hiyori. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, eyes ablaze. Just like Yukine, she’d noticed the extra items.

Kazuma stammered for words. “W-what do you mean?”

“I know she has been living here. Your parents are in America, but there are two mugs out and two chairs around that radio. Wasn’t Bishamon doing the radio show with you until recently?” Hiyori replied.

Yato looked back at Kazuma. She was right. Bishamon had been a regular guest on the show, recanting Quidditch tales and the like, but she was nowhere in sight. It had been months since they’d heard her, and it looked like it had just been Kazuma for a while.

“Where is Bishamon, Kazuma?” Yato asked lowly.

“I had to,” Kazuma said shakily. “I had to bring you here.”

Yato pulled his wand from his pocket in sync with Hiyori and Yukine. “Why have you brought us here?”

“They said they’d kill her –,” Kazuma started.

“You tried to steal the Sword of Gryffindor, didn’t you?” Yukine cut in.

Kazuma whirled at the question, eyes frightened behind his glasses at the mention of it.

“A while back, you said the Sword of Gryffindor was moved to a safe location,” Yukine continued. “It’s because you tried to steal it, wasn’t it?”

Kazuma nodded after a moment. “Madame Kofuku told us about the will, and how the Sword of Gryffindor was meant to go to you. We tried to steal it using the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement-.”

“We?” Hiyori pressed.

“Me and Bishamon.”

“What happened?” Yato asked.

Kazuma stammered silently for a moment, mouth opening and closing. “We got caught. Oshi, all those Deatheaters… they tortured us, to find where you were. When they realised we didn’t know, they sent me back to catch you… They… they took Viina-.”

Kazuma broke off in a choke, hand pressed to his mouth.

“Where’s the owl, Kazuma?” Yato growled, but he already knew. It would be at the Ministry by now.

“I’m sorry!” Kazuma choked. “I couldn’t leave her to die!”

“Yato!” Hiyori’s warning rose. Dark figures blurred by the window, the rush of black robes caught in the wind as they sailed past the house.

“Shit!” Yukine swore, raising his wand to the window. “Kazuma, you bastard!”

“Out!” Yato roared above the blubbering mess Kazuma had become, begging for forgiveness, begging for understanding, but Yato wouldn’t hear it.

He pushed Yukine and Hiyori out of the dining room and down the hallway to the kitchen. The front door shattered to pieces behind them with a red flash and they heard Kazuma scream. Yukine pressed his back against the wall next to the back door, and Hiyori ducked low against the counter, peering beneath the window drapes to see the swirling figures on broomsticks.

“Stupefy!” Yato cursed a Deatheater as they stepped into the threshold of the house, but he could see more running up to take his place.

Yato slammed the door shut and pressed his back to it, swearing under his breath. He looked to Hiyori. She looked back, terrified.

“We have to go. Now!” Hiyori hissed.

Yato caught Yukine’s eye and nodded. He reached for the door handle and flung it open, and Yato burst outside in a wave of curses that returned tenfold at him. The house opened up into a wide field with a sky of Deatheaters above it, and beyond it, a forest.

He didn’t need to look back to know that Hiyori and Yukine were hot on his heels, sprinting across the stretch and deflecting spells more than they could send them. Deatheaters advanced and swooped at them, fingers just missing their hair and clothes as they staggered to the edge of the wood, slipping down the muddy trails and over tree roots deeper into the thicket.

Spells hit and scorched trees as they weaved their way through the woods, heaving and panting, stumbling, and tripping. Flashes of red and blue lit the woods ahead of them, the crunches of feet on bracken behind them telling them that the Deatheaters were now persuading on foot. Whoops and shouts rose, calling directions and strategies that were lost on the wind that whistled past their ears as they blindly stumbled through the woods, unable to reach each other to Disapparate.

Hiyori stumbled down a slope, a clearing opening up before her where more voices could be heard. Panting hard, she just barely heard approaching footsteps behind her, and Yukine’s shout.

Hiyori spun, wide-eyed as she realised Yukine had been Snatched. It was of little relief when she saw Yato cresting the slope, throwing glances back over his shoulder and running at full pelt towards her. Hiyori realised with a sickening dread that there was no way out ahead or behind. If they caught Yato it was game over…

But what if they didn’t know it was Yato?

Hiyori had no time for thought as she raised her wand. The Stinging Jinx hit Yato square in the face and he fell backward like he had hit a wall. A pained grunt slowly escaped his swelling lips, and Hiyori said a silent apology.

Above the crest, Hiyori saw the Deatheaters and Yukine – bound by Incarcerous – in tow.

They had been Snatched.

[writers-block-is-now-a-person]

Even Truth Lies in the Thicket

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

The following days were a blur. I played countless melodies on countless instruments, just to please the countless guests Lady Elowyn entertained. All sorts of Ladies and Lords came to congratulate Elm, all asked questions of the shy Astria and how he managed to get her hand.

I ignored their conversations as much as I could. I was shivering through each performance, not from fear, but something colder in me, trying to tell me something. I ignored it, my music quality was more important than silly fear.

I think it had been a week since the announcement. I had played almost every hour of every day, my fingers and arms and lungs hurt. I had never realised how much pain plucking strings and blowing flutes could cause. I had been dressed in fine silk dresses and velvet suits for each performance. It was Lady Elowyn’s way of showing me off, as well as her newly high status.

It was just after dusk, the sun had turned the sky a deep purple, stars dotted the sky. The windows were open, allowing the cool breeze in and billowing the curtains. I was curled up on my bed, the pillows creating a small nest. Lady Elowyn let me rest properly for the night, after noticing the blisters on my fingers and the darkness under my eyes.

“I forgot you were mortal, your music seems so much more ethereal for such a weak creature,” she had said, guiding me to my rooms.

“Why should we take care of such a weak creature then?” Dale sneered from his perch by the window. “Wouldn’t it be less of a hassle to enchant the instruments?”

Lady Elowyn ignored her son, he continued to glare at me as we passed.

I had used the rest of Elm’s balm on my fingers, the pain made me hiss but the bumps had started to ease. I cradled my hands as I tried to get some rest. The fire in the grate burned slowly, the logs charred ash.

A rock bounced off the side of the bed, flying in from the window. I was too tired to investigate, fae threw rocks at mortals all the time.

Another rock, round and red. I knew who was throwing these stones. These red pebbles came from Locklan’s family estate, scattering the paths that wound through their maze and gardens. Locklan wanted something from me.

I could hear him climbing the vines and bricks of the house, he was not a very good climber. His red hair and wide smile popped into the window frame. His amber eyes glowing.

“Heard the songbird was given a rest, how’s the preening?” He shimmied himself onto the sill and propped his feet up on the frame. If this was a different story, he would be prince charming coming to save the princess locked away in the tower.

I tried to smile. “My hands hurt too much to brush my hair, and I have no need for vanity.”

“So I’ve heard, songbird,” Locklan gazed around the room. He never minded the mess, his family thrived in mess and chaos. His family’s mansion was always littered with drunk fae from revels and all the ruined extravagance that came with them.

I still felt embarrassed, Lady Elowyn would faint if she knew another fae had seen the state of my rooms. I pulled my feet under me and cleared my dry throat. “Why are you here?”

Locklan rolled his head to face me, his eyes narrowed, he smiled smugly. “You know, dear songbird, so why chirp and question?”

I did know, but I also hoped tonight would be different.

Locklan stepped into my room, swinging his legs over the seats under the window. He offered his hand to me, the fire made his silhouette glow. “Come along, little song bird, time to take flight.”

The sinking feel in my gut had left, now replaced with hatred and need. I took his hand gently, he was careful with my blisters. Locklan helped me into a long coat and tall riding boots, I didn’t realise how sensitive my hands would be after playing for a week.

We stuffed pillows under the embroidered quilts, creating the illusion that I was sleeping. Locklan climbed out first, using the thick wisteria vines as foot holds. I took my time, I was not taught to climb out windows, I was raised to perform.

The grass was soft under the boots, silencing my mortal steps. Locklan moved like wind, silent and flowing. He held the cuff of my coat and led me through the immaculate gardens of my own home. I never had time to admire the flowering gardens of Lord Bryn’s estate, the large and colourful flowers blurred around me as Locklan hurried through.

He pushed through the surrounding wall, thick rows of aspen trees and twisting ivy, holding my cuff tightly as he dragged me through.

We emerged into a clearing, where Opal and Evora waited patiently. Opal was fluttering, her moth wings, stirring up the leaves under her. She squealed with joy and took me in her arms.

“I’m so happy to see you! It has been ages since we last talked,” Opal smiled brightly, holding my face in her hands. She was wearing a black dress with fluffy skirts and thick slippers with ribbons that wound around her calves.

“Hush Opal, we don’t want to alert anyone!” Evora whispered, her dark green cloak matched her dark skin and eyes and covered her entirely, masking her ethereal beauty.

Opal pouted and took my hand, careful of the blisters. “Of course you wouldn’t worry about not seeing her, how many times as Harper played in the palace halls?”

Evora looked guilty. “Just because she’s played in my home doesn’t mean I could talk to her, I was crowded with suitors and questions at every turn!”

Opal wanted to retaliate, Locklan made a show of ruffling his coat to get our attention. “As much I love to reunite with our dear songbird, if we keep this up we won’t be back before dawn. And Lady Elowyn will have her head if she finds out that her songbird has left their cage.”

He was right, but he didn’t have to say it like that. We all followed him out of the aspen forest and into the thicket that surrounded Folkshire. Opal fluttered next me, then seemed to blink out of existence. The first time she did this, I almost screamed, I never expected her to turn into a real moth. Her family were luna moths, able to change their appearance from fae to moth instantly. Opals teal and green wings fluttered silently around my head, she seemed happy. I could faintly hear her voice giggling.

I watched Locklan closely, his transformation was always fascinating. His pace quickened into longer strides, he seemed to shrink in on himself as he leaned forward. His snout grew from his face, ears from his head, and soon he was a red fox trotting through the fallen leaves beside me.

“I wish I could morph, all the fae who morph get up to far more fun than me,” Evora huffed next to me, she seemed far to close.

“It is rather fun, until you get caught in a fox trap,” Locklan said, voice clear from fox jaws.

The fae who could morph themselves could still talk, that’s how you got stories of talking deer and foxes in the darkest parts of the woods. It was the fae, happy to create some stories to weary travellers.

Evora couldn’t morph, she didn’t have the power to. Only very few fae could, that’s why Locklan and Opal’s families were so well regarded.

We walked silently for a while, the forest was cold and silent, I pulled my coat tighter. To other travellers, we would be seen as two young girls following a fox and being pestered by a large moth. No doubt that would create stories of a clever fox guiding lost girls to the town.

The thicket grew denser, the trunks of the trees were thicker, their branches lower. I didn’t know what type of trees they were, I guess they were magic of some sort. They had dark green leaves and even darker wood. I’ve heard stories of the woods eating people, making them turn in circles, or making them walk for days on end only to emerge with having no time pass at all.

I never liked the thicket. I don’t like these trees.

Evora held tightly onto my coat. She wasn’t touching me exactly, and my arm kept trying to pull away from her. But I knew that if she let go, I would be lost. The magic of the thicket was far stronger and older than Lady Elowyn’s, only the fae born in Folkshire can navigate it. We climbed over fallen trees and through paths I would never have been able to see. Locklan led the way, Opal’s wings gave off a soft glow.

I knew Evora could see. That’s another thing the fae have over humans. With their senses being almost double mine, they have no trouble walking around in the dark.

We climbed over one last log. Months ago, Locklan had wedged one of his red pebbles into the wood, the pebble acting as a marker for us. We had broken through into a clearing of sorts, the magic trees had thinned out and I could see the cobbled road a few metres ahead.

Locklan sniffed the air, his whiskers twitching in the wind. “This way, not far now.”

Evora and I followed, Opal fluttered higher, desperate to see the lights of the little mortal town. We weren’t going into the town, not tonight. We traveled along the cobbled road, I could see tire tracks and hoof prints. I remembered the old horse ranch that was just on the outskirts of the town. My heart ached, it ached for something I never had.

With the thicket on one side, and the mortal forest on the other, I could see the difference in trees. The enchanted thicket seemed darker, impenetrable and untouchable. The thicket looked haunted. The oaks and pines on the mortal side looked harmless, leaves rustling in the wind, branches swaying slowly.

We kept walking, following Locklan as he guided us through the outer parklands of the town. I heard the sound of laughter, the smell of a campfire and melted chocolate. The sickening need in my heart hammered away, the greed ugly.

Locklan circled the camp first, then beckoned Evora and I forward. Evora whispered under her breath and blew, the air shimmered around us. She had used some sort of glamor, some spell to keep us hidden from human eyes. We huddled behind a fallen oak tree, it’s trunk thick with moss. Evora and I watched the group of mortals with wonder.

They sat on weathered stumps and chattered around the fire. Two sat close, one holding a spool of wool while the other knitted a blanket that was draped over both of them. One was leaning forward and gazing at the flames, they seemed distracted by the flickering heat. There were two others, one held a bright red ukulele and was laughing through jokes.

I knew who the one holding the ukulele was. It was me. It was the fae child they switched me with.

They had the same hair, face shape, eyes and even skin tone. But they looked nothing like me. They had clear skin and eyes that glowed in the light. Their hair flowed like silk and they held themselves with such confidence it made me feel fake. They looked like my reflection, but maybe they were the better version of me.

The mortals around them might not have seen it, but Evora and I could. I could see their pointed ears and teeth, the black slits replacing round pupils. They were fae, but they disguised themselves to look like me.

The mortal holding the spool of wool chuckled slightly. “Come on Harper, there’s no way Caroline’s jokes are that funny.”

The girl next to the fake Harper scrunched her nose. “And what would you know about humour?”

The spool holder smiled. “More than you, morgue girl.”

Caroline stood up, Spool Holder did as well. The knitter beside them made a startled sound and pulled the Spool Holder back down. The Spool Holder mumbled apologies and sat back down, smoothing out the blanket their friend was knitting.

Fake Harper stood up and smiled. “Come on guys, no need to be mean. We’re here to have fun. Let’s enjoy the time we have before school starts again and we are all flogged with homework.”

“Says you, Straight A’s,” the boy staring at the fire said, he seemed unimpressed. “You hand up your work the day after and it’s bloody perfect. You have no idea how long I’ve spent on essays.”

Fake Harper looked uncomfortable, they swung the ukulele under their arm and smiled. “Well, I have no control over you, but I have control over the mood.”

They plucked the strings, I cringed at their melody. The ukulele was in dire need of tuning but Fake Harper sang a crude song anyway. The group laughed and smiled and sang with him. Evora frowned next to me.

“They are nothing like you,” Evora said.

Locklan had prodded my side and pulled at my sleeve. He wanted us to leave. I tried to pull Evora along with me, but I couldn’t touch her. She seemed frozen in place, hands still placed on the mossy log.

I followed her gaze, she had locked eyes with the boy who had been staring at the fire. He seemed angry, or scared, or entranced by Evora’s beauty. Locklan had latched onto Evora’s sleeve with his jaws and pulled her away, dragging her out of her trance and through the oak and pine.

We ran quickly over the leaves and cobblestones. Locklan didn’t slow down as he leapt over the log we crawled over before. He didn’t slow his pace through the thicket either, not even stopping to check if we were following. I couldn’t see Opal, I hoped she was behind us.

Locklan stopped when we were on the fringes of the aspen forest that surrounded Lord Bryn’s property. Evora and I struggled to catch our breaths while Locklan shifted to his human form. His brow was knotted.

Opal appeared, she stretched her arms and wings. “Why the hurry? What went wrong?”

“He saw Evora, or Harper,” Locklan said. “I don’t who he saw, but he saw us.”

“Who did?” Opal questioned.

“The boy watching the fire,” Evora said, she sounded startled. “I don’t if he really saw us, or if he just heard Locklan in the leaves.”

“Do you think he could have seen you?” Opal asked, eyes wide with fear.

“Surely not, my glamor cannot be seen through by mortal eyes,” Evora said, still, her voice shook.

We had ventured out at night countless times in the past few months. These only started when I was bought by Lady Elowyn, before I was her property, I belonged to a market worker who used my music to attract customers. All of his woodcarvings were horrible, so he used my music instead. My melodies attracted Lady Elowyn and she bought me from him.

It didn’t take long for Locklan to notice me at revels, he pestered me with questions and jokes in an attempt to befriend me. Then he introduced me to Opal, who then brought Evora into our ring.

When Locklan learned of my Switching, he spent days trying to find my Fae Switch. Then we started sneaking out to see them. I have seen Fake Harper laugh riotously with their friends down a dark street, ride their bike over a large rock and go tumbling into a stream, throw stones over a frozen lake and then step onto the ice themselves, unafraid of the frozen waters. I’ve watched them and the friends I should have march down the street in coloured flags.

Every action they did, they looked exactly like me, but their wide smile and glowing eyes and pointed ears meant I could never be like them. I felt guilty for the humans my Switch had befriended, and knowing that they would never like the real me made me feel worse. I would never have that human life, of eating bright coloured ice cream that stained your tongue and singing loudly around a campfire. I could never have that, I never will.

Tonights adventure had shaken us, that human boy looked straight at us. None of us knew if he actually saw us, but the prospect of his knowing there were other people in the woods would create suspicion. From what I could remember, the boy watching the fire was called Flynn, he never talked much but followed Fake Harper even if he hated them.

“There’s no way he could have seen us!” Opal said. “Evora’s magic is too strong to be seen through by mortal eyes. There is nothing to worry about.”

Evora nodded, most likely to reassure herself. “Opal is right, he must have been looking at the shadows the fire created. My magic is not weak.”

Locklan crossed his arms, he didn’t seem convinced. “Well, if your so convinced that we were not caught, how about we all retire for the night. I heard there is a tournament tomorrow so Elm can prove his strength for Astria.”

Locklan was right. I have been watching Elm practise his sword skills in the garden today, I could tell he was anxious. Elm was not a knight, but he was skilled with a sword. I hoped he had enough skill and strength to win tomorrow.

Opal took my hands again, her wings kept her above me slightly. “We can’t follow you home, Harper, but we will see you tomorrow if you’re there.” She wrapped her arms around me, fluffy hair smothering me. “Sleep well, the stars will watch you rest.”

Opal often said that. With her mother being the Royal Astrologer, Opal often said whimsical things about the stars and planets. Opal would sometimes predict the future with the stars, sometimes she got it wrong, but she tried anyway.

She fluttered back, letting Evora say goodnight. She couldn’t touch me, but she tried anyway. Her dark eyes kind as she said goodnight. She left with Opal, heading towards the palace in silence.

“You shouldn't look at her like that, songbird,” Locklan said, his gaze careful. “Princesses don’t fall for mortals.”

“It’s not that Locklan, it never was,” I lied, thankful my mortal tongue could. “She seemed to  be startled by that boy, he seemed to have shaken her.”

Locklan sighed. “Sometimes magic is weak when we don’t focus, something could have shimmered through.”

“Did you do anything?” I said, walking towards the ivy and aspen wall.

“I was under the log, watching the Fae Switch sing their horrid tune. I only noticed the boy look over when he didn’t look back to the fire,” Locklan admitted.

He couldn’t lie, not even slightly, so I knew he was telling me the truth. Locklan helped me through the ivy barricade and through the gardens. He didn’t have too, but he did. He followed me back up the wisteria wall and into my bedroom, helping me out of boots and coat.

“Can you manage the rest?” He said softly, gesturing to my clothes and the bed. The fire had died out, only warm coals left, my room was cold.

“I’ll be fine Locklan, I’m not as weak as you think I am,” I didn’t mean to be harsh, but I hated being insulted by fae.

“I never meant it like that, you know I would never insult you,” he couldn’t lie, I knew he was honest. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. I know that sometimes our adventures leave you desperate for reassurance.”

He was trying to be kind, but his words still stung. I swallowed the hurt and smiled. “I’m fine Locklan, truly.” I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tightly, his coat smelled of woodsmoke and cinnamon. “Thank you Locklan.”

He hugged me tightly back. He let go slowly and creeped back out the window. “Goodnight, little songbird.”

He was gone, and all was left was silence. I closed the window and flipped the latch, keeping them locked for a while. I changed into something less tight and buried myself under the heavy quilts. I only had a few hours until sunrise, then a few sparse hours before I was needed.

I tried to sleep, but the face of the Fae Switch flashed in my head. Their perfect face taunting me. I could never be them, I could never be that perfect.

All I saw was the gaze of the boy by the fire. Flynn. His eyes were cold grey, he had startled Evora. He had seen something. 

I couldn’t sleep, I tossed and turned in the blankets. My fingers ached, my head pounded. And my gut kept trying to tell me something. Something was wrong, or something bad was about to happen. And I know I would see it coming, only if I knew what it was.

The sun had peaked over the horizon, turning the sky pink and my room gold. I rolled over again, burring myself under the covers. Desperate the get some sleep, desperate for some rest.

[ff-imagines]

How dare you.

Pairing: Boston lobster X MA reader

Pronouns: x

Summary: you’re nice to Boston, it makes it hard to hate you. He hated that about you.

Warnings: x

How dare you.

It’s a perfect evening, freezing cold with rain beating down on the windows, the pitter patter would normally sooth him enough to sleep, the cold biting his limbs felt like a silken blanket to his skin.

Tonight, it was different.

No amount of cold could help his burning temperature, the sweat beading down his neck irritated him beyond belief.

He’s stripped down to simple sweatpants, any more layers and he’d be sweating buckets.

So instead of sleeping, he lays in his bed staring at the ceiling and scowling at nothing in particular. His mind would normally race with hundreds of thoughts, not all of them particularly kind to his psyche. Remnants of days where he was nothing more than a tool, a toy for humans to push to his limits and rebuild him again. But that had changed. Now he was always thinking of you.

How dare you take his mind as a prisoner.

You, a simple, completely abnormally normal human. You had no rights over his body, his mind, but you had stolen his hands and head, keeping them in your back pocket without even noticing.

Perhaps the fact that you were so completely you was what made it even worse.

It would be so much easier to hate you if you treated him like the rest of humanity had in his past.

If you forced him past his limits, if you had mocked him, if you had done your best to break him, it would be oh so easy to toss you aside.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you showed him care. You showed him what it meant to be looked after, to know you could always rely on someone no matter his past or his intentions.

How dare you treat him so kindly, keeping his heart cradled in your loving hands.

The thought of you made his mind race faster than ever before, the blush rising in his body. The more he tried to get you off his mind, the more his thoughts traveled back to the same face --and the more his body temperature rose. Whether from anger for your kindness, or embarrassment that he’d let you snake yourself around his heart… he didn’t know.

He closed his eyes and growled, turning on his side, now watching the raindrops beat against the clear glass.

He distracted himself as best he could, watching the rain splat against the window and drip patterns across it. He studied as the droplets ran down, down, until his eyes lingered on the window sill, to one, tiny potted plant.

A small, freshly sprouted ivy.

A gift from you.

Shit. His thoughts came back to you again. Shit.

Boston turned over on his back again, sighing. Face still scrunched in displeasure. He brought an arm to cover his face.

Giving up on distracting himself, Boston closed his eyes and bit lightly on his pointer finger.

A crack of thunder made him jump, biting down further on his finger and causing it to bleed slightly.

He cursed loudly, sitting up and shaking his hand. Bringing the finger up, he watched as the blood prickled out of the wound and dripped onto his lap.

He groaned and lifted himself out of bed to find a bandage.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, while his body felt sluggish and sleepy his mind did not.

You were becoming a problem.

Boston stumbled into the bathroom, pulling the mirror cabinet forward and shuffling until he spotted a bandage. No such luck. Cursing again in annoyance, he leaned down under the sink and rummaged through the sink cabinet, nothing.

“Where the hell…”

He gave up, lifting himself and settling to just wash off the wound and hope it didn’t bleed enough to stain his blanket. Flicking the water on, he ran his hand under it and winced as a small sting shot through his finger. The rushing water and sound of the fierce rain outside shielded his ears from the gentle pap of feet against the floor, him only noticing another presence when he heard the door creak open.

He sighed, leaving the water running. He didn’t even need to turn and look to know it was the very last -yet very first- person he wanted to see

“Hello, attendant. Come to bother me again? There are more productive ways to spend a night, you know.”

He scoffed, turning the water off and pressing a towel on his wounded finger.

“Boston, it’s late as hell. What are you doing awake?”

He still didn’t look at them.

“It’s common to not be able to sleep. How could anyone sleep in a storm like this?”

They nodded, couldn’t argue with that one. The booming thunder was what had kept them awake as well.

“Is there… something wrong with your finger…?”

Boston finally eyed them, seeing his attendant wrapped in a large blanket, hair frizzled and eyes glazed with exhaustion.

“Noting you need to worry over.”

They held out a hand.

“Here. Let me see.”

He faced them more, raising a brow. He would have protested, but he found he was too mentally worn to argue extensively over it. He pulled the towel away from his wound and held the hand out to them, his breath catching his throat when he felt their warm hand graze over his own.

Normally he despised heat, so why now did he find himself leaning closer to the warmth his attendant exuded?

How dare they make him crave their touch, their heat.

They studied the wound, grazing a finger over it in a feather light action, but it was enough to make him wince ever so subtly.

“Come on. I’ve got some bandaids in my drawer.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You probably don’t, but I still want to help y-“

A crack of thunder interrupted them, them yelping at the sound and nearly jumping out their skin.

Boston smiled at their reaction, deciding not to mention it just yet.

“Only once, attendant.”

Surprised yet relieved at his compliance, they gently grasped his wrist and pulled him to their room, the blanket dragging behind them.

Boston looked down to their hand, small and tiny compared to his. ‘Cute…’

He barely found the will to stop his traitorous thoughts anymore.

Their room was dimly lit by a small lamp, the bed dishevelled. Boston’s attendant let go of his wrist to lean down to a drawer at their bedside, he found himself missing the gentle warmth.

Rummaging for only a few seconds, you find the small pack of bandaids and hummed happily when you grasped them, earning another swoon from the food soul behind you.

Taking one out of the container, they held a hand out for Boston to place his own in. He did, a lazy smile drawn on his features. They took the plastic off the bandaid and placed it on his cut, wrapping it around the finger and smoothing it down with their lips parted only slightly. ‘Cute…....’

Maybe it was his sleep deprived brain, but he completely gave up on denying himself the thought of you, your kindness, your scent, of you.

Smoothing down the bandaid, you sighed.

“Ok. It’ll be better in no time, I’m sure. You’re pretty quick to recover.”

He huffed.

“All of us are. Humans are just slower. Weaker.”

“And that’s why you’re here. To keep us safe.”

Why didn’t he like their reply?

Why didn’t he like just being a tool to them?

It made it easier to hate someone when they didn’t care about you.

“To protect you.”

“Yea. Even if you’re less than happy about it, you’ve saved me more times than I can count, you know.”

“Is that why you care about me? You feel indebted to me?”

His frustration bubbled to the surface, he wanted to be more to them than a bodyguard, more than a piece of flesh between them and the blade.

Their eyes flickered down, they’re small hands still cradling his wounded hand.

“No.”

“No?”

They looked to the side, avoiding his gaze.

“No.”

“Then why dote on me? Why focus on me? You think I can’t notice how much you coddle me compared to the others?”

He leaned down, reaching the hand they weren’t clutching to grab their chin and tug their face to meet his own.

His attendant still remained silent, letting out a deep breath as if they’d been holding it.

They let go of his injured hand, balling them and keeping them in front of their chest.

Taking a step forward, he forced his attendant to take one back.

Despite the words he’d spit at them, his attendant knew the feeling his eyes radiated. He held no malice, just sorrowful curiosity.

Why did they treat him so kindly?

He took another step, then taking more backwards.

He didn’t scare them, not in the way that one fears the dark or the monster under their bed, no. This was fear in way that keeps the words of longing stuck on your tongue, the pierce through your chest at the thought of unrequited feelings.

He asked a simple question. It had a simple answer. Saying it however, wasn’t so easy.

Another step, another step backwards, they felt the lump in their throat make their mouth run dry.

They had to try to give the answer, he deserved that much.

They reached and brushed his bangs away from his face, watching as his brows furrowed.

“I want to.”

Boston’s lip curled, his eyes not shifting from their piercing glare.

“Why?”

Another step, but they had nowhere to go, their back hitting the wall with a loud thump.

He smacked his other hand beside their head, a much louder bang sounding as he hung his head to stare at the floor.

“Why? Why? Why do you want to?”

His fingernails dug into the wall, scratching the surface. He took his hand away from their face, resting it on the other side of their head.

“I don’t want you to.”

They chewed on the inside of their lip.

“I know.”

“I don’t want your doting.”

His snark grew with each word.

“I know.”

“I don’t want your care.”

His attendant swallowed loudly, looking anywhere but at Boston.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He brought his head to look at them at last, they dared to dart their eyes to view him.

“Do you, attendant?”

His attendant kept their lips tight, finally bringing up a hand to shakily rest on his cheek.

He hated that he found himself leaning into the warmth.

“I don’t want… I don’t…”

His fingernails ached from how intensely he dug them into the hard surface of the wall.

“No.”

He swallowed, letting one hand relax and drift downwards to rest on their shoulder.

“I do. I do want… I want to mean more. More than meat. To you.”

He choked out the admission, his hand leaving their shoulder and brought his hand to his chest, feeling his hearts pitter-pattering noisily in his ribs. His attendant said nothing, just uncurled their hands and carefully snaked their arms around his waist.

He said nothing either, only letting his head sink down to rest on their shoulder, his arms wrapping around them in a lazy, unsure hold.

“You… you already are, you know.”

They stroked his back, feeling him bury his head into the crook of their neck.

“You always have, Boston.”

He hated that he believed you.

No, this wasn’t hate, was it?

A deep, uncertain pile of emotion that bubbled within his chest, this wasn’t hate.

A mix of fear, of adoration, of possession, and above all of unsaturated joy.

He could deal with this later.

Maybe they could help him untangle the knots in his chest, but… maybe later.

For now, he held the fragile human that combed their fingers through his hair in a way that made his eyes start to sink closed, a small, real, innocent smile gracing his features.

[nah-she-didnt]

Surprise! A Jily multi-chapter for your consideration

Hey y’all! 

I had this idea today, wrote all this down, and proof read it exactly one (1) time. So we’ll see how this whole multi-chapter-thing goes, but I’ll likely be building the plane as I fly it. Please enjoy Chapter 1 of my new fic, Spirits and Bones, based loosely on “Ivy” by Taylor Swift.  CW: Brief rape mention, not explicit

Also read on AO3!

Spirits And Bones

Chapter 1: The Hawthorne

Lily knew there was no magic in this place.

She could always feel magic before she could see it. She felt the vibrations on her fingertips, the electricity beneath her bare feet on hallowed ground. Magic was light, intense. This house, however, sat heavily upon the earth. Nothing buzzed beneath her feet as she stood and looked up at its high walls. She could see the window sills were still covered in heavy snow from last night’s storm.

“Come, now.” Petunia seized her above the elbow and marched her toward the front door. Her dress itched her arm beneath her sister’s hand. It was new, deep green silk and trimmed with braided bronze fabric. Petunia deemed the color acceptable against Lily’s pale complexion. “We may as well try to make the most of it,” Petunia had huffed, glaring at Lily’s deep red hair. Red hair was generally regarded as unlucky, and Petunia was sure that it would prevent Lily from making a proper match.

Their father trailed behind his daughters. He didn’t speak, but Lily thought she saw him flinch when Petunia grabbed her arm. He had a gentle heart, she knew, but he was a weak man. Far too weak to stand up for her now.

Lily felt her sense of dread grow as they marched toward the oak front door of the house. This was never supposed to be her future. Her mother had taught her to read, write, and heal before the age of six. Lily was supposed to become a proper healer and perhaps, one day, marry if she chose. As the youngest daughter of a wealthy man she had options. Now that she was the youngest daughter of a poor former lord she was only a burden.

Petunia knocked, and the family waited in silence for someone to appear at the door. A small girl in a simple black dress, her hair tucked into a bonnet, answered and bade them enter. The house was certainly larger than an average cottage but seemed contradictory. Fine tapestries lined walls made of dilapidated old stones. There were expensive-looking trinkets displayed on every surface, but the place had a musty smell to it. This, Lily supposed, was the trouble with coming into new money. There was enough to decorate your home so that it appeared impressive, but not enough to truly live as the wealthy lived.

The girl led them down the hall and into a large room lit with torches. Ominous-looking paintings of sour men grimaced down at them from above. “My master will be with ye’ soon,” squeaked the girl, and she left the room.

Lily wasn’t sure what to do now. Should she sit and arrange herself into a pleasing pose on one of the chairs? Should she stand by the fireplace? No, Petunia would probably say that the firelight would only exacerbate her already unfortunate hair. She compromised by standing between her father and sister, trying to look more confident than she felt.

The door banged open and Lily jumped. A tall, mean-faced man stood in the doorway. He had long, lank, jet-black hair that fell into his black eyes. His clothes looked expensive, but not well cared for. She noticed a burn on his collar as if he had let ash from his pipe burn away the fabric there.

The man strode into the room, followed by a boy around her age. He too had long dark hair that looked unwashed, but he didn’t look hard like his father. He looked frightened.

“So,” said the older man, as he shook Lily’s father’s hand, “how are you, Bartholomew?”

“I am well, Tobias” said her father, who looked as if he were also trying to exude confidence where he had none, “this is my daughter, Lady Petunia Dursley.”

“Charming girl,” Tobias took her sister’s hand and kissed it, “I’ve done business with your husband, Lady. A fine gentleman.”

Petunia beamed. “Your acquaintance with my husband does not surprise me,” she simpered, batting her eyelids, “he trades with all the most noble men in the country.”

The man let out a mirthless, booming laugh. “Oh, my dear, you flatter me. And this,” he said, pushing his son forward, “Is my son, Severus. Say hello, boy.”

“‘Lo,” Snape muttered, not looking at Lily.

His father nudged him hard in the shoulder, “Louder, so the lady can hear you. It’s never too early for a wife to learn to heed her husband’s words, am I correct, Bartholomew?”

Lily’s father produced a tight-lipped smile in response. Lily felt her face burn.

“Now,” Tobias growled, as if he had just noticed that Lily was in the room, “this must be your youngest. Shame my own wife lives and that this flower is to be given to my son.”

Petunia laughed. Lily felt like she might be sick.

“You honor me, my lord,” she said through gritted teeth. She knew she had to appease the father if she was to marry the son.

He leered at her for a moment more, then turned back to her father. “Right,” he said, rubbing his hands together eagerly, “I believe we have some business to attend to. Come, step into my study and we can finalize the arrangement. I believe your daughter can serve as chaperone for the time being. Not that they’ll need a chaperone much longer, ha!” And with that, Tobias motioned for her father to follow him out of the hall. Her father gave Lily one apologetic look, then left the room.

Lily, Petunia, and Severus stood in silence for a moment.

“Shall we sit?” Severus gestured awkwardly to the chairs in front of the fire. Desperate for something to do, Lily followed him. The chair was intricately decorated but uncomfortable, and she tried to arrange her hands in her lap like she’d seen other ladies do.

Petunia sat stiff as a board in her chair. “So, Severus,” Petunia sniffed, “what do you intend to do for an occupation when you and my sister marry?”

Severus looked surprised that Petunia had spoken so frankly. “I plan to manage the land that belongs to my father while I learn his trade. He trades luxury goods to nobbles.”

Petunia pursed her lips, and Lily could tell that she was trying to hide her displeasure. “Lovely. Doesn’t that sound lovely, Lily?”

“Yes, very lovely” said Lily quickly, “where is this land, Severus?” Where is the land where I will spend the rest of my depressing life, she wanted to say.

Snape motioned towards the wall lined with windows. “Just over the hill there, we’ll still be close to my father.”

“Oh. Good.” She forced herself to smile, but she felt hopelessness begin to close in. This could not be her life.

“The house is modest, but not uncomfortable,” he looked slightly embarrassed now, “father says that if I learn his trade I may one day knock it down and build a grander house. A castle, maybe.”

Lily smiled and nodded as if this idea pleased her. All she could think about was getting out of this itchy dress.

They sat in silence for several long minutes. Lily felt her thoughts drift back to her mother. The elders in her town said that her mother, Isadora, was the daughter of faeries, that she knew the ways of old magic. It had caused a minor scandal when Isadora had married Lily’s father. She didn’t come from money, and her father had been a wealthy and influential man back then. He always said that he married her mother for love, not for advantage. This had always been Isadora’s plan for Lily as well. Petunia dreamed of a good match ever since she was a little girl, but Lily had magic in her bones.

Her mother had noticed Lily’s magic one day as they walked through the woods together. Lily remembered that she had grown hot under her blue child’s dress and tugged at her sleeves and collar. Her mother had asked her what was wrong. Lily replied that the air around her pricked at her skin.

Ever since that day Isadora taught her daughter to recognize signs of magic in the earth. They walked into the forest and pressed their palms to tree trunks to feel the vibrations beneath the surface. They let water rush over their feet until Lily could trace the stream’s progress over the rounded stones in the riverbed. And, most importantly, Isadora had taught her to heal.

The doors banged open again. Tobias and her father strode into the room, Tobias roaring with laughter over some unknown joke.

“Cozy, are we?” Tobias smirked down at Lily and Severus. She saw Severus’ sallow skin flush with embarrassment.

“We will return in one week for the ceremony,” Lily’s father extended a hand to Tobias. He shook it vigorously.

“Yes, soon these lovebirds won’t have to wait anymore to be husband and wife. I’m sure you are both thrilled, are you not?”

Neither Lily or Severus spoke. Petunia poked Lily hard in the back so Tobias couldn’t see.

“Yes, thrilled, my lord.” She hoped that she wouldn’t have to sound this disingenuous for the rest of her life.

--

The ceremony was not a grand affair. Only Lily, Severus, and their immediate families attended. Lily read vows off a scrap of paper written in her sister’s hand. They had been the vows that Petunia used when she married Vernon. The words made Lily want to jump into a well.

After the ceremony Severus showed her to their new home. It was a small stone cottage with two floors, a dusty kitchen, and a small space for a garden outside. It was grim, Lily couldn’t lie to herself, but she supposed there were worse circumstances in which to live. At least she had a view of the pasture of sheep from her sitting room window. The only thing that truly enchanted her about the house were the tendrils of ivy that covered the walls from ground to sky. The branches snaked so thick across the stones that Lily could hardly see the blue-gray bricks beneath.

The wedding night was, mercifully, brief. Severus fumbled for her in the dark for a few moments while she lay as still as possible. She should be grateful, she supposed, that he did not have his father’s strength or appetite. He seemed timid to touch her, as if she was made of glass and would break at any moment. This did not, however, stop him from consummating the marriage.

She spent a few days exploring the grounds around the house. Severus spent most of his days with his father, so Lily traipsed through the growing snow banks that blanketed the fields and forest. For three days she felt no magic. The trees here seemed as dead as the big house had felt. But then, on the fourth day after her wedding, Lily felt something.

As she approached the expanse of forest at the edge of their property she ground beneath her feet grow warm. It was hard to tell through the thick snow boots she wore, so she removed her shoes and stood with her feet planted firmly on the ground. The snow felt unnaturally warm to the touch, as if she stood on sun-baked sand not frozen water.

She took a step forward and winced, withdrawing her foot from the frozen earth. She turned west and stepped again, this time feeling warmth once more. She meandered like this for a while, leaving an unpredictable pattern of footsteps behind her as she pursued the magic. After about an hour Lily noticed that her neck ached. She had been so busy watching the ground around her that she hadn’t bothered to look up.

Lily raised her head and gasped. She found herself in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by an unnaturally-perfect circle of trees. In the clearing’s dead center stood a lone Hawthorne tree. Lily recognized the tree’s branches as a Hawthorne from her studies with her mother. Legend said that Hawthornes were the doorway between the magical and mortal worlds. Most mortal people did not trust them. Farmers often ignored Hawthornes that stood in their fields, refusing to cut them down to make room for livestock, lest they anger the faeries that lived there.

Lily knew better than to fear a Hawthorne tree, but she still kept a safe distance. She could just make out a group of strange markings carved into the trunk. No mortal would dare to mark a Hawthorne tree…

She took a step forward, feeling the warmth grow once more beneath her feet. Suddenly, she heard a loud snapping of branches, and nearly jumped out of her own skin. She whirled around to find the culprit.

An enormous, magnificent stag loomed between two trees surrounding the clearing. His coat was chestnut brown, and the tops of his antlers stood at least ten feet off the ground. The stag looked at her curiously, his head tilted to one side as if he had never seen anything like her before. Perhaps he hadn’t, she thought, she wasn’t sure how populated these woods were. Suddenly she felt nervous, those antlers looked like they were more than capable of ripping through her flesh if the stag felt threatened.

Lily held up her hands in front of her placatingly. “I’m sorry,” she said in a loud, clear voice, “I’ll leave now.” Why on earth was she speaking to a stag as if he could understand her?

The stag huffed and pawed the ground nervously. She backed away, hands still raised, but to her surprise the stag followed her. He approached her slowly until he was directly in front of her, then lowered his magnificent head. Somehow she knew what the stag wanted from her.

She reached out a trembling hand and placed her palm between the stag’s eyes. She felt a jolt run through her and flinched, yanking her hand back in surprise. The stag gave her one last knowing look and turned to gallop away into the trees.

[ohvalleyofplentyyy]

Chamomile - chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Cottage Called Home

“What’s a fucking Witcher doing here?!”

You could hear a pin drop in the room it was so deadly silent. Y/N took a calculated breath.

Oh, so that’s why he asked…

The bartender, a fat bloke who smelled of liver disease and sweat, came waddling out from the other side of the bar table. “Answer me you bloody murderer, what are you doin here?!”

Alright, time to step in,

Y/N stepped between Geralt and the bartender, “Okay, that’s enough Caran. This man is my gues-’’ “I don’t care WHAT he’s to you Wiccan,” the man spat. There were a couple of people that stood when he said that, and Geralt somehow rose taller than he already was.

Alright fucker—

Y/N grabbed the bag from Geralt that held the ghoul’s head. She pulled it out and shoved it into Caran’s hands. There were screams from some of the ladies and shouts from other men in the room. Caran yelled and dropped the head, it rolled at his feet.

“This is what the Witcher is doing here— killing the beast that's been wreaking havoc on this whole town. Now pay up, there’s a bounty to be had. A thank you to him would be appreciated too.”

The bartender grumbled but when he looked up at Geralt again, the monster hunter now with a more angered face, he hurried to the back room and came back with a large pouch of coins. “Would ya get that stinkin thing out of my pub?” Y/N raised an eyebrow but nevertheless picked up the head— and sat it on the counter, facing Caran.

“I think I asked for one more thing.”

The bartender bristled at the face and then turned to Geralt after arguing with himself for a moment. “Thank you.” He forced out. Y/N grinned and put the head back in the bag. “Take care Caran, let’s go Geralt.” Y/N led the way as they exited the pub.

Once out in the road, Y/N turned to Geralt. “Well that was adventurous; Where are you planning to stay tonight?” His eyebrows rose ever so slightly, “Probably at an inn in town.” She shook her head,

“From the show we put on at the bar, I don’t think you’d get a room tonight. You can stay with me.”

Did I actually offer room and board to a man I just met? Yes, I did. 

What the fuck. Oh well.

Y/N looked to him for approval, when given a head nod, she ventured onward out of the town. After a quick walk of about a mile, Y/N cut off onto a path in the forest. After about another 5 minute walk, they came upon a quaint cottage that sat next to a stream. It was made of stone and had a wheel turning due to the water current.

Some ivy was growing up the right side of the house. It was a perfect house for her. Away from everyone but close enough to not be in danger of the creatures that lurked in the forest.

“Home sweet home.” Y/N opened the door and walked in, hanging her satchel on the hooks by the door. It was a cute house, and Y/N loved it. Her grandfather supposedly built it, so the sentimental charm was there too.

The cottage had wood floors; when you entered the house, on the right was the kitchen. It had a stone countertop that went across the right wall with a cut out in the middle to pour water in. There were little bottles and bowls perched on the two window sills that had herbs and mixes Y/N had concocted that looked out on the stream.

The left of the house had a small table with three chairs around it sort of closer to the front door and a big old sofa pressed up against the opposing wall to make it easier to see any visitors that might approach the house.

Books were piled high on the small shelf that was bolted to the wall over the couch and on the small bookcase next to the couch on the left.

There was a fireplace with a kettle over it right across the front door on the kitchen side next to a tiny hallway that had two doors that led to Y/N’s room on the left and her supply and ritual room on the right. It was where she could tend to the water wheel for power and perform special rituals.

Geralt took a deep breath in. The house smelled of lavender and it surprisingly calmed him to be in such a loving place. “You can sleep on the couch, I think you’ll fit fine. I’ve slept there many a nights with plenty of room left over.” He nodded and slowly walked over, analyzing the array of books she had on display.

Y/N took the kettle and filled it with water from a pitcher she had on the stone counter, she placed it back on the fire and walked back to her room. “I’m going to grab an extra pillow and blanket for you!” She called out.

YN’s room was her space; it was hers and only hers. The room had a queen-size bed with a blue quilt draped over it against the wall opposite the door, close to the end of the room. Y/N had a large drawer set underneath the long window sill next to her bed.

There was a rug on the floor that looked as if it had been restitched multiple times and a desk cluttered with papers next to the doorway. On the wall that the couch sat against on the other side, was a long mirror propped against it that had a small crack line in the lower-left corner.

There was a nightstand that separated the side of the bed from the wall on the far side. It had upon it an amethyst, a small moonstone and a chunk of peridot next to an oil lamp.

Y/N came out with a giant blanket presumably for picnics and a pillow.

I hope this blanket fits, it’s the only one I could find large enough!

“Would you like some tea? I’m going to reheat the vegetable stew but it might take a little bit.” Geralt took the items from her and nodded.

“You’re not a talker, are you?” She asked while pouring two steaming cups of water into some homemade clay mugs.

Geralt laid the blanket out and put the pillow down, “Not when I can help it… and most prefer it that way.” Y/N hummed at his answer and started working on reviving the stew. She placed it in a cooking pot and switched out the kettle for it over the fire. She walked over to her satchel and took out the various items she had stowed away, especially the chamomile she collected earlier.

Y/N took some of the flowers out and ground them with her mortar and pestle. In two small little fish net-like bags, she poured the flowers into the pouches, pulled the drawstrings taut and plopped them in the mugs.

“Here you are.” She said, handing him a cup. “Thank you, for the tea. And, uh, letting me stay here for the night.” Y/N waved her hand and went to sit down at the table, he followed in suit.

“Don’t worry about it. I too know what it's like to be, well, excluded from the group for being different. Some people just don’t understand other’s way of life and it just doesn’t seem worth it to them to try and understand.”

A small candle that had been burning very well magically went out before Geralt’s eyes without any wind, Y/N had lit it on the mantle over the fire when she had put the stew on. 

“Uh, a candle has gone out.” He said, pointing over to it. 

Y/N’s eyes lit up, “Oh good! That means the stew is ready.” She got up and took the pot off the fire with a thick cloth, grabbing a ladle and taking out a couple scoops into a bowl for Geralt and then for her.

When she brought them over, spoons in hand, Geralt had a perplexed look upon his face. “How did it—“

Y/N laughed and sat down, “Oh! It’s just a small spell I learned from my mother. You can enchant a candle to be like a, oh, a count down till something is ready. I use it for cooking and baking mostly. As well as rituals. It’s very convenient.”

The two ate in peace, occasionally making eye contact and just being content with the silence. Once done, Y/N took the dishes outside for a quick wash in the creek downstream from the wheel and then came back in to get ready for bed.

Geralt had taken the time while she was outside to take off his armor and wash his face in the counter water cutout. He was settling down on the couch when she came back in.

“Alright, I’m headed off to bed. Is there anything you need before I go?” Y/N asked while blowing out some candles and snuffing out a couple oil lamps. The only light left was the gentle glow of the fire.

“I’m fine, thank you Y/N.”

“Good night then, Geralt of Rivia.”

“Good night Y/N.”

chapter 1 ---->  chapter 3

taglist :

@lizliz3107 @yoyoanaria​

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[wlwinry]

that summer breeze (the way it’s calling me): ii

eyyyyyyyyy finally updated this

prologue

chapter one

summary: 

The legendary thief known as Mech finds a tower. The boy in the tower finds a way out.

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

All things considered, Mech thought today had gone pretty well. She’d just committed the crime of the century by stealing the Crown of the Sun (hello, eternal infamy), successfully ditched and double-crossed two of the most dangerous criminals in the world (no brownie points earned with the criminal underground of Xerxes and Amestris there, she supposed, but it did mean the score was all hers), and escaped the Royal Guard despite a very harrowing chase. Sure, she’d pissed off the Captain of the Royal Guard and had to deal with him shapeshifting into a giant, angry wolf the size of a horse, but one short fall off a cliff and a quick duck into a mysterious cave covered in ivy, and that problem was thankfully solved.

              Temporarily solved, at least. Mustang was still after her (since when could the asshole shapeshift, anyway? Especially into one of the best tracking animals in the world? She would be screwed if she stayed in one place  too long), and if she got caught it was bye-bye pretty priceless artifact, hello gallows and a public square. Luckily, she’d found that the cave was more like a tunnel, a stretch of dirt and stone going only a few feet before springy grass started popping up and sunlight once again dappled the forest floor.

              Prime real estate awaited her, really—a beautiful valley, a waterfall pouring down from high, shining cliffs as a brook wound through the clearing. In the middle of it all, strangely enough, there was a tower. Narrow and tall (at least seventy feet, if not over a hundred, like it had been separated from a palace and dropped down here), made of shimmering stones and covered in crawling moss and ivy. Pretty. Possibly full of treasures. And, most importantly, no stairs, ladders, or anything a giant wolf-slash-human-guard would be able to climb up.

              It only took half an hour to climb, with a little boost from her magic and using the arrows of her quiver to nudge some stones out enough to use as footholds, grasping iron-infused arrow shafts and hauling herself up step by step. The one window she’d seen near the top was, thankfully, unlocked, and she’d slipped inside, pausing for a moment on the sill to check her satchel. The crown was still in there, thankfully, shining gold and jet-black stones and diamonds—a pretty, delicate circlet meant only for the Crown Prince of Xerxes. One the current heir would never have received, and never asked for, because it belonged to his brother.

              The Lost Prince. Sometimes, she wondered what had happened to him, to that little baby with those bright golden eyes she saw in those tapestries, those mosaics. Dead, probably, said the most practical part of her, but sometimes—well, sometimes she hoped. Sometimes (right now, not that she’d admit it), she felt bad for stealing from his kingdom…and his crown.

              Most times, she knew just how stupid hope was, and that sympathy was even worse. Especially for a wanted criminal.

              Especially for the legendary Mechanic.

              She swung her legs over the sill and closed the shutters behind her with a sigh, closing the satchel with a smirk. “Alone at last,” she crooned—

              Then something slammed into the back of her head, and Mech’s world went dark.

***

              Ed hadn’t been having the best birthday—or day-before-his-birthday. Sure, things started off well. He’d managed to hide his Cress from his father, the Barn Owl finally flying off before he hauled him back up into the tower, got all his chores done quickly and busied himself with whatever pastimes were approved. Painting, fortunately, was still top of the list, and though he was running out of space, he’d moved the mantle-piece over the fireplace enough that he could paint the empty wall.

              Inky skies, shining, floating lights, and a boy watching them with glowing golden hair. His birthday present, one he��d been looking forward to since he was old enough to have memories, let alone dreams. Or—well, he’d hoped it’d be his birthday present. He was turning eighteen, which was the age of adulthood for almost every nation according to the stories he’d found in the books Father gave him. Surely he was mature enough for a short picnic in the forest, where he could see the floating lights better, right?

              Not right. Father didn’t like that he’d asked at all, even though it was his birthday and Ed felt really small and cramped (weakstarvedscaredneedlightlightlight) within the walls of his tower. He’d humored it at first, after Ed used his hair to soothe him after the wilds of the outside (he’d messed up the song by going too fast, though, and maybe that was why Father got mad), but then—well, then he’d reminded Ed about his lost leg, about the raiders who’d loved nothing more than to chop off his hair and sell him.

              Reminded him that he was young, and immature, and useless. That he had a history of rambling and getting overexcited and forgetting about his surroundings to the point that he got hurt, or that people around him got hurt protecting him. That he was safer in here, and too weak to handle himself out there.

              And then he’d left to get ingredients for dinner—and Ed hadn’t been able to do anything but sit on the mantle and stare at the painting he’d hoped would come true. The reality that would be nothing but a dream.

              Cress had flown back in from her little nest after Father left, crooning and comforting him with gentle, fluffy wings, preening gently at his scalp. He’d managed a smile as he lowered himself to the ground carefully, setting his foot down first before putting his crutch down—and freezing as the window shutters swung open again and someone walked in. Someone who wasn’t Father. Someone who was tall, with a lithe build and narrow shoulders and thick blonde hair in a high ponytail, with cutting blue eyes and full lips and who was a girl and who definitely wasn’t Father—

              Before he could think twice, he cracked his crutch over her head and scooted away with a shriek as the—person. The real, live person—toppled over soundlessly. He leveled the crutch at her with trembling hands as Cress hooted in alarm, flapping her wings wildly. Oh god. Oh my god. It’s a person, it’s a human, it’s gonna cut off my hair it has razor sharp teeth and probably claws and—and it’s a girl, I’ve never seen a girl before but that’s what they look like in illustrations, right? “Oh, gods—oh gods oh gods oh gods, Father’s going to kill me, Cress!”

              The owl landed on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze with her talons, careful as always not to pierce the skin. He leaned against the wall and tried to breath, before hopping closer, unwilling to put down the crutch—and toppled over with a squeal as his hair snagged painfully on something. He sat up quickly, back stinging and eyes watering as he tugged it off of the whorl in the rafters it was knotted around—ow, ow, OW—and hauled himself upright, scooting over to the kitchen. He snatched the first heavy, vaguely weapon-ish item he could find as he wedged his crutch back under his arm, pointing the object (a frying pan) at the girl as he inched closer.

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispered, prodding at her. She didn’t move, evidently well and truly unconscious, and some of that terror faded. He glanced at Cress, who rotated her head and blinked big black eyes at him, before hooting again and opening her beak in a snarling face.

Right. Other people had razor-sharp teeth that they used to poison people and tear out their throats. He should probably figure out something to do with those, first.

Hesitantly, he reached out with the handle of the pan, pulling her lip up—and frowned. Her teeth were flat, normal. Like…mine?

He glanced around before frowning and grabbing the bag the girl had dropped when he hit her, Cress flapping up to the top of the mirror his father loved so much and perching on it. Ed perched on a stool, furrowing his brow before hopping awkwardly over to the mirror and withdrawing the contents. Something pretty, and metal, with what looked like diamonds and jewels and obsidian set in it. He ran a finger admiringly over the rose-gold, before slipping a hand through it and holding it out. It was too big, but, well, he had no idea what it was. “Like this, maybe?”

Cress flipped her head upside down, before squinting at him. He huffed (tough crowd, huh?), before holding it up to one eye and peering through one of the clear gemstones. If anything, it just made the world look weirder, and he sighed before holding it out again. Alright, well…maybe it’s a hat? Hesitantly, he lifted it up and set it on his head, and—

Oh. Oh. It was a hat, then. A very pretty, fancy hat. “Huh,” he said after a moment, tipping it into his hands before looking up at Cress and stuffing the satchel quickly into a pot by the staircase—and grinning. “See? Look at that!” He gestured at the slumped body of the girl, even as he eyed the blue-painted wardrobe carefully. “I can totally take care of myself! As soon as I show Father this, he’ll have to take me to see the floating lights, right?”

Cress made a worried, warbling sound, but Ed ignored it, hope bursting bright in his chest as he began the task of stuffing the first person who’d ever found his tower into the closet.

I’m going to see those lights after all.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Jasmine Days

Azula Week Day 7: Flower/Tea Shop AU

Summary: After a breakdown, Azula’s therapist recommends something like gardening. She ends up working at a flower shop where she meets TyLee.

It is a little soft for Azula’s liking, but her therapist suggests that it will be good for her. She supposes that the scent of lilac and daisy intermingling with herbal tea is at least kind of comforting. A look around shows potted tulips and lilies on each window sill and every table has either a small potted marigold, rose, lavender or clover. One even has a tiny cactus.In each corner rests a potted sunflower surrounded by lavender. The ceiling is what impresses her the most; somehow the shop owners managed to get live wisteria branches to weave into willow and spanish most to create a natural roof. And from the curling branches hang potted eucalyptus bush. She can even see a few handcrafted wooden birds nestled with in. The interior almost has more flora than the exterior. And the bricks on the outside are almost wholly covered in ivy, the groud below a mural of dandelion and chrysanthemum. 

She stands in the middle of the the flower-tea shop hybrid, somewhat awkwardly before approaching the counter. 

“What can I get you!?” The girl greets cheerfully. 

Azula slides a slip of paper across the counter. 

The girl claps her hands together. “Oh! You’re Azula!” 

Azula nods.

“Follow me, the other girls and Kaito are really excited to meet you.” 

Azula slips her hands into her pockets. The scents and the scenery are lovely, but she isn’t sure how she feels about volunteering here. It isn’t exactly her flavor of work, it doesn’t quite suit the personality she has been cursed with. She fights the urge to tell her new coworker that they are going to wish they hadn’t.

“I’m TyLee.” She introduces. “This is Bokwon.” She points at a girl with green eyes and thick curly black hair. “Li-Hara” and to the girl with golden eyes and short, silky, black hair. “Xi-Qui” her finger falls on a darker skinned girl with big blue eyes and bushy brown locks. “And Shinya.” Shinya appears to be the only boy in the room. But this isn’t what draws Azula’s attention so much as the bright pink splotch of dye in his bangs. 

“Azula.” She introduces herself rather plainly. 

“It’s pretty easy here.” TyLee assures. “You’ll mostly be working with me.”

“TyLee’s super friendly.” Li-Hara cuts in, “you’ll love her.” 

“And I usually work with the flowers. Me, and Shinya. Li-Hara makes tea and Bokwon and Xi-Qui usually serve it.”

“It’s just the five of you?” Azula asks. 

“For now.” TyLee confirms. “That’s why we are looking for volunteers.” She smiles cheerful.  

Azula wonders if the girl is aware of the kind of help that has been sent to her. TyLee motions for her to follow. She pushes a curtain of wisteria out of the way and shows Azula the back room. “This is where we keep all of the seeds. While Shinya and I arrange and sell bouquets, we were hoping that you could plant new flowers and take care of the ones that are already growing.”

That is that nature of her work. Apparently, gardening is supposed to be therapeutic, not that getting dirty appeals to Azula. But, at this point, she is willing to try anything to keep her psyche in a more stable condition. She just wants to be normal again…

She gives a solemn glance to the bright petals all around her. She wishes that she could have her own color back. Lately things have been in shades of grey with shadows weaving ominously in between. 

Somehow the thought of the voices and whispers bring her a heightened awareness of the bottle of prescription pills in her pocket. 

Either TyLee has been sent a copy of her situation or the girl simply detects the sulleness radiating off of her because Azula feels arms loop around her torso, “it’s gonna be alright, you’ll see!” Azula can hear the smile in the girl’s voice. “I promise that you’ll like it here.” 

She has heard that so many times before…

.oOo. 

She isn’t exactly lively, but there is a brighter sparkle in golden eyes that were once so blank only a week or so ago. TyLee watches Azula dig a small hole to place bluebell seeds within. The new routine gives her a sense of normalcy and a thing to ground herself with. The sharp perfume of each herb and flower gives something to focus on and latch onto when reality seems to be slipping.

“What kind of flower is your favorite?”

Azula looks up and then back to her work. Just when TyLee doesn’t think she is going to get an answer, Azula softly replies, “lotus or rosemary.” 

“Those are pretty.” TyLee agrees. Though Azula can imagine that she loves flowers of all sorts. 

“What are yours?” She returns the question. Small talk has never come easy to her.

“I like cherry blossom and jasmine. But poppy is nice too!” TyLee rambles, confirming Azula’s suspicion that she doesn’t discriminate against any matter of flora. 

Azula piles the dirt back over the seeds and adds some water. She stands and washes her hands. Planting the bluebells is her final assignment for the day. “I’ll be going.” 

“Actually, I was hoping you’d like to join me and and the rest of the crew for our afterhour tea.” TyLee tries.

“Afterhour tea?”

“Yeah, every day we celebrate our hard work with Li-Hara’s best.” 

Azula looks at the time, not that it matters, she hasn’t made any other plans. “I guess that I can.” It will probably be good for her to let at least a handful of people get close to her. TyLee seems like a gentle and safe place to start.  

The girl’s face lights up and she throws her arms around Azula. She is starting to get used to the girl doing that, and for once she returns the embrace and pats the girl on the head. “Okay, you can let me go now.” 

TyLee laughs. She grabs Azula’s hand and tugs her over to the tea shop portion of the building. “Azula is going to be joining us.” She announces. 

Azula is rather relieved when no one protests her arrival. For the first time, she truly considers that there is a chance for things to get better.

[squeezethefreeze]

Father Gabriel ^

Tangled is one of my favorite Disney movies and I realized how much of a similarity there is between the dynamic of angel, demon, and asshole and the dynamic of mother, Rapunzel, and Flynn were and I felt it the perfect match. (And wish that Gabriel had died the same way as Gothel tbh)

So, after watching the movie again, I present to you Tangled Omens. (Part 1/?)

Aziraphale was pacing back and forth, working up the courage to ask Father Gabriel to let him go to the lights in the sky. He was finally eighteen this year and wanted more than anything to go. 

“Aziraphale! Let down your hair!”

Gabriel called out in a sing-song-y voice.

“It’s time. I know, I know. Stay quiet.” He returned Pascal, his dove, to his cage and covered it just as Gabriel called out again.

“Aziraphale! I’m not getting any younger down here!” 

“Coming, Father!” He called out, running to the window. He tossed out his long, blonde hair to Gabriel, who looped it around his foot and gently tugged, Aziraphale pulling Gabriel slowly up the side of the tower. He stepped onto the sill and released Aziraphale’s hair. "Welcome back, Father.” Aziraphale smiled, pulling his hair out of the way. 

“Ah, Aziraphale. How you manage to do that every single day, without fail, it looks absolutely exhausting.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Then why does it take so long?”

Aziraphale’s face fell, feeling hurt. He was never a very strong bo- man now. He was never a very strong man and he always did his best. This earned a laugh from Gabriel. 

“I'm just teasing you.”

Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh. 

“All right….. So, Father, as you know, tomorrow is a very big day ...”

“Aziraphale, look in the mirror,”

Gabriel interrupted, pulling Aziraphale next to him. 

“Do you know what I see? I see a strong, confident, handsome young man.”

He huffed softly.

“Oh look, you're here too.”

Gabriel chuckled at his own joke, Aziraphale’s confidence slipping slightly. 

“I’m just teasing. Stop taking everything so seriously.”

He concluded his chuckling and sighed, a smile plastered on his face. 

“Okay….. So, Father. As i was saying, i was thinking tomorrow….”

“Father is feeling a little run down. Sing that song for me. You know the one. Then we’ll talk.”

“Of course, Father!”

He rushed around, pulling over the chair and the stool and the brush before gently pushing Gabriel into the big chair and seating himself on the stool. 

“Flower, gleam and glow. Let my powers shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt. Change the fate’s design. Save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine.” He rapidly sang, Gabriel being zapped by the magic, which frazzled his hair. 

“Aziraphale!”

He glared at him.

“So, Father, earlier I was saying that tomorrow is a pretty big day and you didn’t really respond so I'm just gonna tell you. It’s my birthday! Tada!” He nervously giggled, leaning against Gabriel who was still startledly sitting in the chair. 

“No no no. Can’t be. I distinctly remember. Your birthday was last year.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a second. 

“Well, that’s the funny thing about birthdays. They’re kinda an annual thing.” He wondered if Gabriel was joking with him again. He can’t have forgotten what a birthday was. He took a few steps back from the chair before taking a deep breath.

“Father…. I’m turning eighteen and….I wanted to ask….,” He sighed, working back up to the question. 

“What I really want for this birthday…...Actually what I've wanted for quite a few birthdays….” He mumbled the last part.

“Okay, Okay, Aziraphale please. Stop with the mumbling. You know how I feel about the mumbling. Blah blah blah blah. It's very annoying. I’m just teasing. You’re fine. I l ...love you so much, Aziraphale.” 

He walked off, chuckling, to go and unpack what he had brought back. Pascal waved his wing towards him, encouraging Aziraphale to suck up all his worry and go for it. 

“Ah! I wanna see the floating lights!”

Gabriel looked at him for a few seconds.

“Excuse me, what?” 

“I was hoping you would let me go see the floating lights.”

He paused for e second to try and figure out how to approach this.

“Oh. You mean the stars.”

“That’s the thing. I’ve charted the stars. They’re always in the constant, same spot all the time. These ones only appear on my birthday, Father. Only on my birthday! And I can't help but feel that they’re calling to me. To follow them to my destiny……” He looked at his most recently finished painting, containing him sitting in a tree as the lights fly into the sky from a small castle in the distance. 

“I need to see them, Father. In person. I have to know what they mean.”

“You want to go outside? Why, Aziraphale…”

Gabriel took the other’s hands and Aziraphale instantly knew he was going to start singing. 

🎵“Look at you, as fragile as a flower

Still a little sapling, just a sprout

You know why we stay up in this tower!🎵

“I know but…” He said as he tried to step away. 

🎵“That's right, to keep you safe and sound, dear

Guess I always knew this day was coming

Knew that soon you'd want to leave the nest

Soon, but not yet”🎵

“But --” He tried again to reason with him. 

🎵“Shh! Trust me, pet Father knows best.”🎵

He sang as the castle was plunged into darkness, Aziraphale quickly lighting a candle. 

🎵“Father knows best. Listen to your Father. It's a scary world out there.”🎵

He jumped out at Aziraphale, causing him to holler and step back. 

🎵“Father knows best. One way or another. Something will go wrong, I swear!”🎵

He caught Aziraphale as he tripped over his hair, dropping him to the floor and rushing off.

🎵“Ruffians, thugs, Poison ivy, quicksand, Cannibals and snakes, The plague!” 🎵

Gabriel showed an example of each, the last one a lantern that caused his face to look deathly and green. 

“No!” Aziraphale called out, scared. 

“Yes!”

“But --”

🎵“Also large bugs!”🎵

Gabriel called out, pushing over Aziraphale with a mop, having already painted a demon on the ground where he would fall.

🎵“Demons with their wiles,”🎵

Aziraphale scooted away from it as fast as he could, Gabriel fainting distress.

🎵“And, Stop, no more, you'll just upset me. Father's right here. Father will protect you. Darling, here's what I suggest!”🎵

Aziraphale went to hug Gabriel but it was a mannequin, his attention quickly drawn to where Gabriel was descending down the stairs, candles lit the way. 

🎵“Skip the hoopla. Stay with dada. Father knows best!”🎵

He swings his cloak and all the candles go out, Aziraphale lighting more candles with Gabriel pinching them out behind them. 

🎵“Father knows best. Take it from your dadsy. On your own, you won't survive.”🎵

Aziraphale suddenly found himself faced with a mirror, Gabriel peeking out from behind it. 

🎵“Sloppy, underdressed,Immature, clumsy,”🎵

Aziraphale tried to cover his feet with his skirt, which allowed Gabriel to pull the carpet out from under him and cause him to fall. Gabriel then rolled Aziraphale and wrapped him in his hair.

🎵“Please, they'll eat you up alive. Gullible, naïve, Positively grubby, Ditzy and a bit, well, hmm, vague.”🎵

He unwrapped Aziraphale and gently lifted up his chin before gently tapping it a few times. 

🎵“Plus, I believe Gettin' kinda chubby. I'm just saying cause I wuv you.”🎵

He said as he squeezed Aziraphales cheeks. 

🎵“Father understands. Father's here to help you. All I have is one request.”🎵

Gabriel was bathed in a spotlight, Aziraphale running over to him and hugging him tightly.

"Aziraphale?"

"Yes?"

"Don't ever ask to leave this tower again."

"Yes, Father...."

"I.... tolerate you very much, dear."

"I love you more."

"I l......l.....love you most."

🎵Don't forget it

You'll regret it

Father knows best🎵

[junryou]

TLoU [au] | bandages //

{ reblog, do not repost }

“We’re going to have to sneak around. There’s too many to take on.”

Adrien watched as Mari ducked back down. Her perception was unmatched and had helped them avoid some pretty nasty situations already. He nodded and asked,

“Do you remember the way to the rendezvous point?” “Kind of. It’s been a while since we were in that zone.”

Mari’s brows knit together, eyes apparently darting through her thoughts. Adrien waited. Without a word, his companion rose to a crouch and began to creep through the shadows. Rotting office furniture littered the room. Papers covered in spread sheets melded with the foul, moldy carpet. Muffled banter bounced off the toppled filing cabinets—the Hunters were lamenting not seeing a “tourist” for weeks. Adrien took great care in his steps. The last thing he wanted was those men discovering these two tourists.

*SKREEEAK THUD*

The boy froze. He looked ahead of him. Mari’s shoelace had caught on an overturned roller-chair, causing her to trip forward. Four, no, five voices reacted to the sound. In an instant, Adrien was at Mari’s side, hands slipping the caught lace out of the clutches of the chair’s wheel.

“It came from over here!”

Beams of light flicked over the desks, casting erratic shadows on the nearby wall.

“Yeah, I heard it.”

As quickly as the flashlights darted, so did Mari, with Adrien right on her heels. The two sidled through a doorway into a back office. A flutter of relief rose in Adrien’s chest: There was a window! His hope crashed as soon as they reached it, though. That’s right… they were on the second floor.

“See anything?” “Naw.” “I’ll check the back. You flank.”

A soft jab in his ribs directed Adrien’s attention to his companion. She gestured to a car just below the window. How far down was that still?

“Hey man, there’s some footprints on these papers.” “So?” “They’re small-size. Not ours.”

Adrien cursed the dampness of this place, wriggling his foot into the floor. He glanced at Mari. Her eyes were wide and the force at which she bit her lip looked painful.

“What?” he mouthed. “No latch.” she returned.

Anxiety welled in his chest when his eyes confirmed her words. They couldn’t sneak out of here. The voices were too close to the door now. No way they’d be missed. In a smooth motion, Adrien released the lead pipe from his pack. Before Mari could protest, he pushed her aside and swung through the window pane. A cacophony followed. Shattered glass clinking on the car below. Hunters yelling. A desk being knocked into as they zeroed in.

“Found ‘em!”

A gangly dude in a wool hat emerged through the office’s doorway.

“Hey kiddos.” He leered at them, making Adrien’s stomach churn. Those eyes were as dead as a Runner’s.

“Go!” Adrien rounded on Mari, propelling her through the window. She replied with a curt yelp, tumbling to the car below with a metallic thud. Adrien gripped the window frame, prepared to leap, and winced at the sudden pressure around his arm.

“No ya’ don’t!”

The beanie-guy yanked Adrien from the sill. Only then did he notice what was in the Hunter’s other hand. Eyes froze on the studded bat. Nails rusted with blood. Without hesitation, he dropped. The abrupt shift in weight threw off the Hunter’s balance, allowing Adrien to break free of his grip. Just as the other Hunters reached the room, he leapt through the window.

The impact made his knees ache, but he ignored it. A flash of red caught his attention. Mari! Scrambling from the roof of the car, he sprinted after her. Taunts and exasperated cries rang out above them, not left behind fast enough.

=

Hours later and the duo made it to the city outskirts. Moonlight poured over a little shack Mari lead them to. Its tin-covered walls shone, at least in the spots not covered in rust… The roof was ramshackle, and ivy hid whatever wood might have been visible at one time. To Adrien, though, it was beautiful. After racing through the dingy brick-and-mortar city, this little place felt wonderful. Mari had told him about the times she and her group would meet up here. Swap food, plan raids, dream about better times… if those truly existed.

Mari waved at him to wait. He thought he saw something flash on her arm, but he nodded and hunkered down by the bushes. In a blink, his companion slunk around the shack. Ah. Checking the perimeter. He scolded himself and made a mental note to follow Mari’s example better. He looked up to see her emerge from the other side of the building. A thumbs-up encouraged him to her side.

“Help me lift this.”

She gestured to a large, flat plank covering a hole in the wall. He wouldn’t have noticed it had she not said anything—the ivy blended it into the wall. Slipping his hands underneath the wood, he glimpsed Mari’s arm again as they slid the “door” away. He grimaced.

Musk and old growth hit his senses when they crawled in through the hole. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the shack, Adrien could make out shelves lined with supplies. Dappled moonlight lay across a ratty mattress in the corner, alongside piles of clothes and moth-eaten blankets. Mari peeled her pack off her shoulders and set it next to the mattress. She plopped down with a ragged sigh. Adrien glanced back at the shelves, grabbed a roll of gauze from a med-kit, and shrugged his off his satchel. He joined Mari, who gave him a quizzical look.

“Let me see your arm.” “Ah…”

She looked down at the torn shirt sleeve and the shards of glass peeking out from it. Her face paled. It seemed as if she had just noticed it. Adrien gave her a sympathetic gaze and reached out his hand. Mari stared at him, not moving. The distrust in her eyes poked at his heart. Why? He retracted his hand.

“Sorry… uh, here?”

He offered the bandages instead. Mari still didn’t move.

“You pushed me.” “I— what?” “Back there. You pushed me out the window.”

Adrien sat there dumbfounded. She was blaming him for saving her?

“I got us out, didn’t I?” “That’s not my point.” “I’m sorry, did you want to be caught sneaking instead?” “No! Again, not my point.” “…okay?” “Why did you push me? I’m very capable of jumping.” “You are.” “Then. Why. Did. You. Push. Me.”

At this point, Mari’s face had regained its flush, and her brows cast a displeased shadow. Adrien’s gaze fell. Why did he?

“I… panicked.”

Plain and simple. Or was it? His words felt tinged with falsehood. Sure, the instinct to get out of harm’s way was strong, but was it the only reason? Adrien looked back up at Mari. The confusion on his face must have been apparent to her—the furrow in her brow eased slightly. He looked down again, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment and guilt.

“I wanted to get you out of there. Fast. I’m sorry… for pushing you.”

His words tumbled out faster than his brain could catch up. The silence that met him stagnated the air. He couldn’t even look up. It was his fault Mari got hurt after all… He was about to apologize again when her arm came into his line of sight. Adrien peeked at the owner’s face. It wore a forgiving smile. His heart twinged again but different this time… more pleasant, if that was possible? He gently took her arm and set the bandages aside. With the greatest care, he removed the bits of glass and peeled back her ragged sleeve. Dried blood and scabbing came with it, making Mari draw in a sharp breath. Adrien dug through his pack for a little bottle of alcohol.

“This will sting. Are you ready?”

Mari nodded, sucking her lips in. Adrien poured a small stream over the gashes. Her arm tensed, then relaxed as he dabbed it dry. He leaned in for a closer look, worrying whether or not some of the larger cuts needed extra care.

“What is it?” Mari asked. “Do you have thread, by any chance? I think this one needs stitches.” “It’s that bad?”

She bent forward, trying to get a better look too. The sudden proximity of her face let Adrien discover her freckles for the first time. She leaned back again and muttered,

“Just stick a couple butterflies across it. There should be some in my first-aid kit.” “Alright.”

Adrien rummaged through her pack, unlatched the white box, and found the little strips. He was actually relieved. The idea of sewing her up left him feeling a bit nauseous. After applying the butterflies, he began to wrap her arm.

“Thanks, Adrien.”

Her voice coaxed him to look up, mid-wrap. Gratitude replaced her look of distrust from earlier. He allowed himself to show her a small smile, then went back to securing the gauze. As soon as he finished, Mari brushed the dead leaves and dust off the mattress and flopped down. Adrien listened to her heave a sigh-turned-yawn. He echoed it. Guess there was truth to that saying about yawning being contagious. He grabbed and shook out one of the nicer blankets lying around and threw it over Mari before curling up on the mattress himself.

The stress of the day caught up to him. Exhaustion crept over his limbs and through his body. His eyelids felt like magnets. Just as Adrien began to slip into the realm of dreams, he felt a warmth at his back. Mari. Her back was a small comfort in this weary, bloody world, but a very welcome one. For a moment, a memory of his father played in his head. A big hand stroking his back, calming him to sleep… His voice… He missed Father. Mari must be missing her friends, he thought. Judging from her slow breathing, she was already out. Adrien whispered to her anyway,

“Don’t worry, Mari. We’ll find them.”

[kumeko]

harley’s rehabilitation

Prompt: Bruce takes in Harley and helps her get a roof over her head for once

Character/Pairing: Harley, Bruce, Cassandra Cain, Selina

A/N: For the @dc-secret-santa for @tjada-sees-the-world-go-round. Sorry for the delay, hope you enjoy! (Harley is so hard to write, I hope I did her justice.). I’m basing this off BTAS for the most part, with a little comic mixed in. I’m in the process of writing up the Diana/Bruce prompt, so hopefully I’ll post that tomorrow.

Summary: It was strange, trying to be normal, trying to be good. Harley wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, let alone having the Batman of all people help her.

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...

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i.                     A favour

“I need a favour,” Selina asked, perched on the edge of the roof. “I know my favours aren’t worth much, but still…”

 Batman glanced at her. She clutched her wrist uncertainly, biting her lip when he didn’t say anything. A nervous energy emitted from her and whatever she was asking, it was important to her. He approached her from behind, staring down at the city. Far below them, tiny headlights zoomed down the street. “What is it?”

 “Harley, she…” Selina took a deep breath, turning to him. “She wants to change.”

 “Does she?” Batman asked. When Selina glared at him, he clarified, “It’s a serious question.”

 “Right…she has tried before.” Selina sighed. “She’s serious this time. I know she is.”

 And how? He didn’t ask—while he wasn’t around for most of it, he had heard of Selina’s, Ivy’s, and Harley’s time together. ‘The Gotham Sirens’, as the underground jokingly called them. For a while, it had worked. Ivy kept off the streets, Harley kept away from Joker, and Selina…well, whatever she’d gained from it, she’d only smile mysteriously when questioned. Like he’d expect any other answer from her.

 And now, it seemed, despite their separation, it had done a world of good by convincing Harley to reform again. Maybe he should have more supervillains live together. Dick was always complaining about how boring reality shows were these days.

 “I did it,” Selina pressed, taking his silence for disagreement. “It took time, I slipped back, but I did it. She can do it too.”

 I’m having a bad day, Harley had declared once, one the verge of release from the Asylum.

 I had them too, he’d answered as he returned her pink dress and perhaps that was all it took. A single bad day. A single good hand. She hadn’t succeeded then but now could be different. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

 Grateful, Selina kissed his cheek. “Thanks!” When he gave her a flat stare, she grinned. “Can’t blame a cat for trying.”

ii.                   A warm bed

Harley Quinn jumped on her bed, testing the bed springs. There was a direct correlation between bounce height and how good a bed was. Science had proven that.

 Probably. She was completely bullshitting it but there was a kernel of truth in every lie. Or so she’d heard. Anyways, this bed was in great condition. Nothing sagged. There was no smell. Hell, there were actual springs inside and none of those cheap slinkies either. Batman didn’t mess around when he helped.

 And perhaps that was the strangest thing about this—not the ordinary neighbourhood or the smooth walls of her apartment, not the normal neighbours or even the cleanliness of her room. These were things she sort of expected when she decided to go ‘good’. The way she got them, though, was completely surprising. Harley Quinn was getting help from Batman. The Batman. What sort of strings did Catwoman pull?

 She’d always thought the pair were close, but maybbeeee…Harley pouted. They could have had girl talk all this time. Ivy was terrible at it, hating people, but Selina? Ahhh, so that was what her sly smile meant when Harley asked about any lovers.

 Well, Harley knew now. Next time they’d met, Selina wouldn’t slip out of dishing it out.

 She bounced one more time before flipping off the bed. Tumbling through the air, she landed almost perfectly. A 9.2, if she was honest. An Olympic contender. Heading to her window, she peered out at the peaceful town. Her street was dark and empty and quiet, so very quiet, nothing at all like the streets of Gotham. In the far distance, she could make out the silhouette of her old home city.

 Better to stay away from it all, Batman had explained after he drove her here. That and Don’t touch that were the only things she’d heard the entire ride.

 Crossing her arms, she leaned on her sill. There might be some truth in that. It was too easy to get sucked back into it in Gotham. Mister J would never let her get away, not for long. Harley knew that, she knew that all too well, each time she got out, like quicksand he dragged her back down.

 Better here, far from temptations reach. From Mister J and his poison, from Poison Ivy and her smile. He was too far gone to turn back and Ivy…she had rejected the choice entirely.

 At one time, Harley would have agreed with that. At one time, she did agree with that. What had she gained from that? Nothing. Nothing at all. All she had was loss. They wouldn’t love her the way she loved them, she could see that now. And if she didn’t have love, what was left for her?

 Harley stepped back and closed the blinds.

 iii.                 A resume

 “Please, take a seat.” The receptionist gestured at the waiting room.

 “Sure.” Harley gave her best Normal™ smile before scanning the fancy-ass glass room. The whole company felt too modern for such a small town. They were here for the tax breaks. The lower wages. And they called her the monster. At least she was honest about it.

 Picking a seat, she adjusted her glasses. God, it was strange wearing them again, she’d been wearing contacts for ages. Her reflection this morning was like looking at a ghost. Brushed back hair, glasses, a suit; it was so easy to look domesticated.

 To be honest, this freaked her out. Just a little. None of her skills in the past few years could help her here. Well, maybe the bullshitting, she was a grade A bullshitter, but beyond that...Harley sighed as she looked at her clear case folder. Inside was her resume, all neatly typed up.

 Batman had installed the latest devices in her temporary house—a laptop, a printer, a phone. He even included one of those fancy-smancy virtual assistants. Oracle, it called itself. Cute name for such as a useful tool. Before Harley could even consider destroying her computer, Oracle had found a template, hooked up her printer, and even found several sites to help write it up.

 “Harleen Quinzel?” The receptionist called out and Harley stood up quickly.

 “Here!”

 iv.                 A rejection

 “Were you raised in a barn?” Harley asked as she closed her door behind her. On the other end of the room, directly across from her, the Batman perched on the edge of her couch. Her non-ratty, non-smelly, barely-stained couch.

 Maybe she should serve him tea. And then take a photo of the great Batman, holding a tiny teacup, his pinky out. And send it to Selina, just to get a rise out of her.

 When he didn’t say anything, she added, “Jeez, would it kill you to lighten up?”

 “Probably not,” he answered, and was that a joke? A dry, bad one, but a joke nonetheless? Before she could follow up, he asked, “How is it?”

 “Let’s see, it’s been…a month?” Harley counted with her fingers, double checking. “A month. I made no moolah. I can’t take care of my babies like that.”

 “You are not taking care of those hyenas even if you made money.” Batman corrected and she pouted.

 “They’re my babies!”

 “Noted. I’ll cover your bills until you make enough.” Was he rich? Or did the JLA have some sort of ‘reform trust fund’? “How was job hunting?”

 “Gee, I wonder what responses you’d expect an ex-super criminal to get?” Harley asked, rolling her eyes as she laid down on the carpet. Stretching her arms above her, she waved her latest round of rejection letters. “I’m actually impressed by how many excuses I’ve heard—and I thought I was a great liar.”

 He took the letters without warning, flipping through them quickly.

 Surprised, she stared at him. “Ya know, reading someone’s letters a crime. I could get you thrown in jail.”

 His lips curved up, slightly, almost a laugh. If there was one thing Harley could take pride in, it was this: Batman had laughed at her jokes, not Mister J’s. Getting up, he headed to her window. “I’ll see what I can do. This is good effort so far.”

 And with that, he launched himself out of his window, without a bye or a see you later. Par the course. Did even his friends at the Justice League have to deal with this?

 “Good effort,” she muttered getting up. The thing people said to losers to make them feel better. Effort. When there was nothing else to compliment.

 Effort. She really shouldn’t like that word as much as she did.

v.                   A night

 Harley barely reacted when another presence landed on the roof next to her. Glancing to her side, she examined a girl dressed in black. There were obvious stitch marks in her batgirl outfit, making her look like a ragged doll.  “Are you all raised in barns?” Looking over her shoulder, she added, “No Nightwing or Robin this time?”

 “No.” Batgirl, or at least someone that looked like a Batgirl, shook her head, her accent thick and heavy. She paused before adding, “No to both questions.”

 Gah. Another serious one. At least Nightwing would play along sometimes. She leaned back on the rooftop, staring up at the night sky. “Say, do you have to be sneaky when you apply?”

 “Apply?” Batgirl asked, confused.

 “Apply to be a night terror.” When all she got was another blank look, she sighed and spoke plainly. “A ‘Batgirl’.”

 “No, but it helps.” Batgirl’s fingers automatically moved as she spoke, signing each word. Deaf? Mute? For someone else? “Why are you dressed like that?”

 “It makes great PJs.” Harley tugged at the edges of her villain costume, rubbing the sleeve against her cheek. “Do you know how much it cost to make this? I can’t just let it go to waste!”

 “I see,” she answered in a tone that clearly saw nothing.

 “I just like wearing it sometimes.” Harley shrugged. “Don’t you just do things cause you like ‘em?”

 Batgirl seemed to consider this for a few minutes before slowly nodding. “Recently, yes. Training.”

 “Training? Blech!” Harley grimaced. Boring, utterly boring. How was Batman raising them? Maybe Nightwing was a fluke? The rest of this batfamily seemed more serious by the generation. Still, they made the perfect straight man, if only she could get them into a comedy club with her.

 After a few minutes, Batgirl slowly said, “You can do this.”

 “Huh?” Harley pointed at herself. “You talking to me?”

 “There’s no one else here.” Batgirl cocked her head, double checking her surroundings. With a shrug, she turned back to Harley. “I was bad too, once.”

 “Oh?” Maybe the JLA really did have a reform trust fund. Though, if they expected her to join without some pay, they had another thing coming.

 “Yes.” Batgirl nodded again. “I was evil too. You can change.”

 It was strangely comforting.

 vi.                 Another attempt

“Alright.” Harley counted the coins in her bowl. $43.85 bucks. Not enough for rent, perhaps, but if she combined it with her waitress job, it could cover food at least. As nice as it was to have the goody two-shoes cover her bills, she need the independence. And less surveillance.

 “You’re funny!” A little girl shouted as she dropped another quarter into the bowl. $44.10 now. The girl skipped back to her mother, waving as she left.

 Honestly, busking wasn’t a bad gig at all. Maybe it didn’t pay as much as crime but it was almost as fun. Dressed as a clown, she performed acrobatic tricks in front of schools and train stations. Instead of screams, she got applause and cheers. And people said that you couldn’t transfer criminal skills.

 “Take that, Orange,” Harley muttered as she packed up. “‘Our company thinks your skills are not applicable to this position.’, my foot.”

 “It’s good to see you’re productive.”

 Harley stilled at the deep voice behind her. Peeking over her shoulders, she rubbed her eyes as she spotted the Batman. “Wait, are you even allowed to come out at day? Do you even exist in the day?”

 He didn’t dignify her questions with a response, instead holding out a letter. “For you?”

 “You a mailman now? And I thought I was down on my luck.” Taking it, she looked at the front and almost dropped it. “Bruce Wayne? What does he—”

 When she looked up, he was already gone. Puffing her cheeks, she shouted, “Why do you have worse manners than a villain!”

 vii.                A job

 “Why’re you’re still visiting me?” Harley asked when she opened her door only to find Batman once again perched on her couch. Maybe she should call him Birdman. “Bored?”

 “Think of it as post-care.” Another dry joke. He really did have a sense of humour, it was just hard to find.

 She dropped her bag on the floor and removed her coat. Despite the commute from the small town to her office, she’d kept the temporary apartment. Few tech, nice place, and best of all, empty roofs for her to leap around without worrying about some do-gooder or villain noticing. “So?”

 “Like the job?” he asked.

 “Does it matter?” When he stared at her, she relented. “Fiinnee. It’s good enough. I mean, no one really wants to be a psychiatrist to make ads, but whatever.” Rubbing her chin, she added, “Though, maybe I should have just kidnapped Bruce Wayne when he interviewed me. He’s rich, a single ransom and I’m living the high life.”

 “High life in jail, perhaps,” Batman added dryly.

 She wasn’t sure if he meant it as a joke or a threat. Probably the latter. It was hard to tell with this guy.  Brushing it off, she slowly stalked forward to him. “So, I was wondering…”

 “No.” Point blank, without room for argument.

 Harley bristled. “Hey! I didn’t even ask yet!”

 Batman gave her a blank stare. “Hyenas are not pets.”

 “They were my pets,” Harley mumbled, glowering at him. “My babies. I bet they miss me.” When he didn’t answer, she crowed, “I knew it! They do miss mama!”

 “…I’ll consider visitation rights,” he muttered.

 A start, perhaps. But Batman didn’t know exactly how persistent she was. Within the week, she’d have her babies.

[patricksilvrrozartistry]

Current Music Obsessions: February 2019

Time for the second Current Music Obsessions post in the new format! Although the lists are technically longer, only talking about just a handful of songs is so nice. So here are the honorable mentions and regular obsessions.

Textures - Consonant Hemispheres Within Temptation - In Vain Autumn's Mourning - The Morning Mist Bad Wolf - Shooting Star Trail of Tears - Mournful Pigeon Trail of Tears - Enigma of the Absolute Angie - IDGAF Levinia - Prayers Phildel - Electric Heights Young Medicine - Shinju Forever Sill - Rew1nd Leprous - Angel (Massive Attack cover) Todesbonden - Fading Empire Ray Noir - All Alone feat. Mariann Rosa Ivy Crown - Lonesome and Cold feat. Kim Song Sternkopf All Hail - Witch Hunt Rose Funeral - Entercism Stream of Passion - Far and Apart Chemist - Awaken Divided Island - Mermaid Tragul - The Hummingbird Asrai - Restless Lighthouse in Darkness - Monochromatic Memories Stream of Passion - Now or Never Within Temptation - Mad World Qveen Herby - 310 Within Temptation - Endless War Moon Tooth - Trust Palehorse - Dead Wrong Heonia - Shy

Soul Extract - Nebula Pentastone - Poisoned Mind Reism - Broken Romina Falconi - Vuoi L'Amante Vetrar Draugurinn - Hinterlands Skypunch - Psych Edge of Paradise - Face of Fear Diabolical - Betrayal Asrai - Touch in the Dark H.E.R. - Gone Away The Design Abstract - Technophage New Zone - Breathe Jamala - Solo The Birthday Massacre - Red Stars Vetrar Draugurinn - I Am

Now for the main obsessions.

Waterparks - Crybaby

This was just a regular obsession, but then it became a main one. I heard this song while my sister and I were browsing around in Hot Topic one day and it caught my attention so I decided to look it up when I got home and wound up loving it. Like I've mentioned in the past: I'm a sucker for pitch-shift harmonies, and this song has plenty of them. I've checked out some of their other songs and they don't appeal to me (I'm not into pop-punk), but this song is absolutely amazing.

Battle Beast - No More Hollywood Endings

Noora is such a drag queen and I love it. Homegirl PAINTS her face. Anyways, this song is so good. It's such a fun and powerful track. Noora's voice is so strong in this song and is such a great first single for the upcoming release (which I'm so excited for).

Raizer - Precious

I went through a bit of a phase where I was listening to a good bit of electro-rock/metal and this is definitely one of the better ones I heard. It's such a beautiful track and the singer has such a pretty voice. I'm definitely gonna look into more from these guys, because this track definitely has me intrigued.

Jinjer - Perennial 

The Micro EP is a very impressive one from these guys and I think this has to be my favorite off it. The video is great and I especially love seeing the instruments being played by bodies in a graveyard; it's so cool. This track really shows off Tati's versatility as a singer really well and just how powerful her cleans and screams can get.

Qveen Herby - BDE

This is such a fun song off EP 5 and is my favorite off it. And again, Amy turned out some sickening looks for the video. It definitely has a cheesy factor that I really like with all the eggplants all throughout the video for a song about big dick energy. The chorus sounds so innocent and fun, even though it really isn't that innocent. And that rap verse is everything.

Une Misere - Damages

Found this ball-buster of a track thanks to their record label. This is an amazing blackened death metal track and it has such cool and intense riffs. It's constantly in your face from start to finish and I can't get over it. The video might be simple, but the imagery and the atmosphere it creates really suits the song.

Swallow the Sun - Firelights

This is such a beautiful track. I need to hurry up and listen to the new album, because I'm loving everything I'm hearing from it so far. Mikko's voice is so lovely and you get a great feel for that in this song. He puts so much heart and emotion into it. And I absolutely love the nod to Aleah at the end of the video when they showed her iconic necklace laying in the snow. It's making me wonder if this album just might be dedicated to her or if there will at least be a few dedicated to her.

Lunar Path - The One Behind the Mirror

I found this song while digging around on my first YouTube account and I fell in love instantly. I love gothic metal songs that invoke this kind of vibe and I especially love the fact that their front woman isn't afraid to get into her lower register. That lower register in the chorus is everything. It's so beautiful and haunting. I'm definitely am gonna be checking out more from these guys. It's such a bummer they broke up though.

Imperia - Book of Love

This was their second single of Flames of Eternity and it's a powerful one. It's so lovely and heartfelt. Helena has such an amazing way of channeling her emotions into music, and this track is pure proof of that. I especially love the shift to the dramatic side during the last chorus. That power and beauty is just one of the things that I absolutely love about this band. Definitely go check out Flames of Eternity. It's such an epic and amazing album.

I hope you guys enjoy this new format, because I'm loving it. The posts are easier to make and are more spaced out than before, which again, makes these posts a lot easier to do. But enough of that, let's wonder what March has in store for us.

[sabraeal]

Merry & Bright: Chapter 5

The trees better be in another fucking state for how long it takes to walk them.

It’s not like Obi’s watching the clock precisely; his phone is politely tucked away in his pocket, ringer turned to vibrate, and he’s well aware that if he makes any move for it, like family fun-time is not the most riveting activity he’s ever participated in, Kelly Ann will have no compunction about using that axe the unironic flannel-wearing hipster at the front desk handed to them.

But still, he’s got a basic grasp of the flow of time. This is a long fucking walk.

Obi had offered back at the shed to carry the axe -- after all, between the four of them, he’s the one who’s going to be doing the chopping -- but Kelly Ann just gave him a long warning look. It was the sort of glare Clint Eastwood gave outlaws from the other side of town. High Noon played in the background. A tumbleweed rolled past.

Right, yeah. Nothing’s forgiven, they’re just...under truce. Enforced by the sudden and inexplicable comraderie that’s cropped up between Doc and Laila.

Or at least, nearly inexplicable. It is Doc after all. She could make friends with anyone.

They traipse ahead, gloved fingers linked as they crush sticks and pine needles beneath their boots. It’s nice picture: hands swinging joyfully between them, voices half-yelling the words to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” complete with goofy echoes.

(”We shouldn’t say like Columbus,” Doc says, mouth bowed in a worried frown. “He was a real jerk.”

Laila considers this with a thoughtful pout. “That’s the way I learned it in school though.”

“We could say like George Washington,” Doc offers, and, oh, she is just walking into this one.

“Didn’t he own slaves?”

“Oh!” Doc looks stricken. “Y-yes, I suppose he did...”

“Rookie mistake,” Kelly Ann huffs out, teeth flashing behind her lips.

“Only child,” Obi says.

“Oh yeah.” She snorts. “That’d do it.”)

He should take a leaf out of their book, try to cross the gulf of silence between him and Kelly Ann. Be a bigger man. Show her he’s changed. All that good Chicken Soup for the Soul stuff.

“So,” he drawls, slinking close. “I see things worked out with Coast Guard Cal.”

She throws her head back, and he’s half tempted to quote Gayle at her, you do that enough and those pretty eyes are going to roll right out of your head, missy.

“He’s in the Navy.”

“Wha?” He blinks. “When’d that happen?”

“He’s always been in the Navy, Obi.” She makes a quick, irritated gesture. With her non-axe hand, thankfully. “I’ve been telling you that for years!”

“Huh.”

He mulls that over, shifting the uniform in his teen fantasies from blue to black. Nope, not as good. Maybe he’d have to think about dress whites from now on.

“Really?” Kelly Ann raises an eyebrow, and if people tell him he’s the master of the sarcastic eyebrow lift, then she is it’s grandmaster. Barely an inch movement on that scarred brow, and he feels about two inches tall. “That’s all you’re going to say? No witty remarks about how it ruins the alliteration? Something something dress whites?”

“I mean, it does ruin the alliteration.” He twitches his shoulders, letting the movement hunch him over. “I don’t know, I guess I was just thinking about how I didn’t really see you as the Navy Wife type.”

“What’s that mean.” It’s not a question; she grew up in Virginia Beach too. She knows exactly what he’s driving at.

Still. “You know, married before thirty with a three year old.”

Her mouth quivers at the end, but her frown doesn’t budge. “Yeah, well. It wasn’t the most planned.”

He coughs in surprise. Kelly Ann, make a mistake? He would have thought death would come first.

“You’re behind though,” he tells her evenly. “A real good Navy Wife would have three kids under six right now.”

“Oh, tell me about it.” To his utter shock, she laughs, even if it’s drier than tinder. “This whole PhD thing, really putting a damper on pushing babies out for God and Country.”

Obi nearly trips over a root. “You’re getting a PhD?”

Instantly, the air around them is frigid. “What? Is that surprising to you?”

“No, just --” it feels like he can’t get enough air, like he needs to sit down and catch his breath -- “It’s just weird. I didn’t think we’d both be getting PhD's at the same time.”

“What, and it’s somehow surprising that I’m getting one?”

“Cut the shit, Kelly,” he snaps. Her gaze darts pointedly to where Laila is leaping over a log in front of them.

“Cut the cheese, Kelly,” he amends, giving her a look. “You know that’s not even -- you are definitely not the one that’s a surprise, okay?”

Her eyes slip back to the trail. “Yeah. I know.”

“Let’s be real.” There’s something in his voice he doesn’t like, something dark and rough and ambivalent. He sounds less like himself and more like -- like someone he was once. “It’s real surprising that I made it past twenty, never mind that I’m -- here.”

She’s silent for a long moment, letting the wind and the leaves beneath them do all the talking. Doc and Laila start off on “The Holly and the Ivy,” though it’s clear that between the two of them, neither can remember more than the chorus.

“What happened to you, Obi?” She looks back at him, those wildcat eyes fixing him not with judgement, but with curiosity. “Where’d you go when you left?”

There’s a part of him that wants to tell her, that wants someone in that damn house to know what he’s been through, what he put himself through, because he certainly can’t tell Bob, and Gayle’s an even worse idea, but -- but --

“Oh, you know,” he says breezily. “Away.”

He’s always been so good at fucking up. Why stop now?

Her eyes shutter so fast it stings, like he’s caught fingers in the sill. “God, I don’t know why I even bother.” She lets out a long sigh. “I already know the only thing you’re good for is lying.”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, no, you’re right,” she says, deceptively light. He’d not stupid enough to get his hopes up. “You’re also real good at skipping out on people. Top of the class for that one.”

His hands flex in his pockets. “That’s --”

“Hey!” Doc calls back, all smiles. “I think we finally got to the trees!”

It’s Obi that Laila clings to as they walk back. He’s got the tree hoisted up on his shoulder, lifting it as if it were as light as a kitten, and she prances around his legs, the definition of underfoot. He suffers it with a smile, but Shirayuki has to muffle a laugh every time the girl makes him stumble and he rolls his eyes heavenward, like he’s thanking every Power That Be that he didn’t drop a five-foot fir on a three-year-old.

Kelly Ann’s busy trying to manage the both of them the whole walk -- Laila-girl, you best not get underfoot again and I swear to god, Obi, if you drop that on my child I will make sure you can’t have your own, followed by Obi’s annoyed, I’m being careful, or his less polite, I’m doing a fine enough job of that myself, thanks -- but when they draw up to the shed, Obi dropping the tree off to be cut and wrapped, she lags behind, lingering with Shirayuki by the fence.

Obi’s visible through the door, lifting Laila up on his shoulders, pointing toward the candy display right next to the register. A vigorous debate begins, with they flashing numbers at each other -- Obi starts with one but Laila works him all the way up to three -- and -- and --

She really doesn’t need to be reminded how great he is with kids right now. He just felled their Christmas tree in three chops, biceps straining the thermal of his shirt, and --

And she just doesn’t need to be having soft feelings right on top of the way her body thrums at the memory. She knows she doesn’t just want him -- his body -- she wants...everything.

And she -- she has no idea what he may want from her. Sure he’s said some stuff -- done some stuff when he was drunk, but -- but sober Obi, the person he is ninety-nine percent of the time, hasn’t tried anything, and she --

She’s not stupid enough to think someone means something when they’re drunk.

“Hey.”

Shirayuki startles, eyes darting to where Kelly Ann leans on the log fence beside them. “Um. Hi.”

“So you’re a PhD too?” she asks, in a rough way that’s familiar, that’s nostalgic. A habit that’s been long left behind. “With Obi?”

“Yes.” Shirayuki nods, maybe a little too emphatic. “We’re both in the same lab. It’s, with, um, turtles --?”

“He’s good at it, right?”

She blinks. Kelly Ann’s staring right at her, eyes so pretty, and Shirayuki isn’t sure what to say.

“I mean, he does all his work?” Her hands curl around the wood, only a few shades darker than her skin. “He’s smart, right?”

“Yes. Yeah.” She’s at a loss. “He’s one of the smartest people I know. And he -- he’s really driven. He’s meant to do something like this. He excels at it.”

“Good. Good.” Kelly sniffs, eyes cutting to where Obi is trying to steal some of Laila’s Snickers. “How much did Obi tell you. About everyone.”

Shirayuki shifts, stomach flipping nervously. Kelly Ann has a gift of making every conversation into an interrogation; she can see why Obi and her might not have ever quite ended up on the same page.

“Not much.” She crosses her arms, trying to stave off the chill from the wind. “I’d heard about Bob and Gayle, but -- Obi doesn’t like talking about past stuff. Unpleasant things.”

Kelly Ann barks out a laugh. “Of course.”

“It’s his choice,” she says tightly, feeling heat gather in her cheeks. “He’d tell me if I asked, but...it’s his story, not mine. I’m not going to abuse his trust by forcing him to tell me.”

Kelly Ann’s eyes narrow. “Hm.”

“What happened before doesn’t matter.” She’s surprised to find how much she means it. “He wasn’t perfect when I met him, and he’s not perfect now either, but -- he’s someone I respect and care about. He chooses to be that person every day, that’s what matters.”

“And what happens when he doesn’t?” It’s not accusatory, just a question, though the way Kelly Ann talks makes everything sound halfway to rude.

“He hasn’t yet.”

Kelly Ann shrugs. “Well, if that’s what you think, fine. But there are some people who aren’t going to be all kumbaya, let’s forget anything ever happened.”

Her mouth pulls thin. “Like you?”

She shakes her head, teeth bared in a humorless smile. “No, not me. I don’t trust him, but some people...they never got on.”

“What do you --?”

“Hey!” Obi waves at them, holding up the tree. “Am I going to strap this down on my own too?”

Kelly Ann scowls. “I said I’d pay for the tree!”

“Shouldn’t have slept on it, then!” He looks at her, concerned, but Shirayuki shakes her head and he’s all smiles again. “C’mon, this isn’t heavy, but it sure is awkward.”

“Fine.” Kelly Ann rolls her eyes, but hesitates. “Just...remember what I said, Shirayuki. This isn’t going to be easy.”

A smile pulls at her lips, bittersweet. “I don’t think Obi ever thought it would be.”