#oh god i know this is the second 3/4 view portrait of him but in my defense:your honor‚ his hair is so beautiful to me ToT

[yakny]

They stood, in abject horror, as a heavy acrid smell of rust, of butchered meat and its rotten fermentation under the sun, entered their nostrils. The cocoon bled through its growing fissures, spurting and slopping down, till it darkened the sand with red. Left behind were pulpous strings of fat and unground flesh, clotting thickly upon the sand. "Someone tried to kill me, again. Someone I know, has," the hemorrhaging cocoon gently sorrowed, spoke its words like lullabies without tune. "I do not know any of you."

[marshmallow-phd]

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

**

You didn’t have any destination in mind, only “away”. Away from the dorms where Willa was sleeping, away from campus where someone else might see you. By your side was your trusted camera. Why you brought it, you weren’t sure. Its not like the two of you were going for a portrait session. You hated those types of shoots anyway. But you felt better with it. The bag was like an anchor, keeping you grounded. If things grew awkward or too silent, you could simply pull out the camera and start shooting. A handy distraction.

For the first few blocks, Minseok walked half a step behind you. Once the campus was merely an outline on the skyline behind, he stopped you with a warm hand on your wrist. It was a gentle tug, nothing forceful or demanding.

“Where are we going?”

You pursed your lips nervously. He hadn’t let go of your wrist and your skin was sparking from the contact. There was an urge to step forward and envelop yourself with him to feel that electricity all over. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, I did. But all we’ve done is walk.”

“Just a little further.”

His jaw twitched with the want to argue, but he dropped your wrist and waved for you to continue. Yes, you were simply putting off the actual talking part. He didn’t need to know that. Or he’d already guessed that and was simply allowing it to happen. You were scared of what might come out of your mouth if your feet stopped. But you couldn’t walk the earth forever. When a line of trees came into view, you sighed silently in your head. There. That would be the place to talk. You beelined for the forest, Minseok hurrying to catch up. You went in just deep enough to be invisible to the city.

“Okay,” you said as you turned around. “Talk.”

Minseok looked taken aback by your sudden attack. “I… um, I just….” He finished off with a sigh that blew up his rounded cheeks. When he didn’t continue, you pulled out your camera and snapped a picture of him. He blinked at the sudden flash. “What was that for?”

You shrugged. “You weren’t doing anything else.”

You continue to take pictures of nothing. It felt wrong to not actually think about what you were capturing, but it was all an act. You needed to be doing something so you didn’t spiral into an interrogation. By it’s own will, your camera turned to Minseok and snapped another candid.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” You could tell he wasn’t used to being the subject of a photo. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets and looked off to side, only giving you profile.

“Yup,” you answered gleefully, snapping another picture. “At least until you tell me what you wanted to talk about.” Now you got a slight smile. He moved back to face you fully and reached out for the camera.

“Come on. That’s not fair.”

You easily evaded him. “No, what’s not fair is showing up randomly at my dorm and saying you need to talk and then not saying anything.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” You took another picture. He pounced again. You dodge again. So, he mixed up his strategy. Instead of going for the camera, he went for your waist. That, you couldn’t dodge and the two of you crashed down on the grass below. The camera flew from your fingers and a horror ran through you at the thought of it being damaged. Being the hero with incredible reflexes, Minseok caught it safely in his palm. The strap swung calmly in the breeze, unaware of what almost was.

“Oh, thank god.” You tried to take back from him, but he held it out of reach. The position the two of you were in gave him the advantage. So close was his face that you could feel his quick, shallow breath against your nose. Everything stopped. No longer could you hear the soft rustling of the leaves or the distance hums of car engines. Only Minseok was in focus as the two of you lied on the forest floor, mere feet from the city but so far away at the same time.

“(y/n), I….” His voice came out scared, unsure. He frowned and looked away like he was chasing after the words he wanted to say. Finally, he caught up with them. “What I wanted to say was... I… like you.”

Your breath halted in your throat. When the tension was unspoken, it was safe. But with his confession you were now forced to examine that fork in the road. It terrified you. Making the wrong decision terrified you. If only you could have avoided it forever. A luxury that never existed. “Minseok, I-”

“I know we haven’t known each other long,” he said, cutting you off. “And I know you have a boyfriend, but I just had to say… something.” It didn’t feel like the end of what he wanted to say, but nothing else came out.

You left his words hang in the tiny space between you and him. I like you, too. That’s what you wanted to say. He’d been brave enough to tell you and yet, you were a coward. In your silence, he lifted his hand and brushed away a blade of grass from your cheek. The electricity that you should have expected still stunned you. How could he transfer so much energy with the slightest of touches? It was only the tips of his fingers, but your whole cheek was aflame.

Minseok’s eyes flickered down to the bottom half of your face, to your lips. He snuck another peek at you as if asking for permission before looking down once again, leaning in closer. And you let him. You let him come closer at a snail’s pace. He was giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t want to. How many times had you accidentally found yourself fantasizing about a moment like this? Far too many. You’d asked yourself if his lips would be soft, if they would be warm and gentle. Now you could find out.

But it was spoiled by circumstances. You couldn’t do this. Not now.

At the last second, you pulled away, standing. “I have to go.”

“(y/n)-”

You grabbed your camera and shoved back into its bag. “Good night, Minseok.”

“At least let me see you back to your dorm. It’s dark out and-”

“I’ll be fine.” You ran out back into the city, back to reality, not giving him the chance further a logical argument. You needed to get away before you turned around and found the answers, right or wrong.

The whole way home you beat yourself. Leaving with him in the first place was wrong. It seemed you were constantly making the wrong decision these days. Back at the dorm, you quietly slipped into your room, careful not to wake Willa. It didn’t work.

“(y/n)?”

“Yeah, its just me,” you whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“M-kay.” In the dark you could barely make out the lump on her bed flipping over.

As you headed for your own mattress, you stripped off your clothes and blindly felt for the t-shirt you typically slept in. Under the covers, you lied there, staring at the wall. A single tear fell down your cheek. You stopped it in its track. It stayed on the tip of your middle finger as you brought it out in front of you. Great. Now you were crying.

What the hell were you going to do?

**

Minseok was unable to move. He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. It had all gone so quick. First he was silent, then he was speaking words and almost kissing you. His confession – if it could be called that – hadn’t done any good. It was stupid to go about it in this manner.

He’d wanted to tell you everything and all he gave you was a small sliver of the truth. The word “like” was an understatement. Mate or not, he was falling in love with you. He was fascinated with the way your mind worked, like an artist’s. It was so different than his more analytical nature. The way you smiled, the way you laughed. To him, those sights and sounds that belonged only to you made him feel like he’d been living in an isolated cave his whole life and was only now coming out to discover the surface.

Grabbing a fist full of grass, Minseok threw the blades into the air in front of him. The anger still didn’t dissipate. He fell back, his head hitting the dirt with a thunk. The pain was easy to ignore. His focus was completely on how stupid he was. How stupid this whole mate situation was. Maybe Jongdae had the right attitude all along.

No. Minseok wasn’t that bitter about life. Maybe he would have been if his parents had dropped him off at a relative’s house with absolutely no explanation of his heritage, but Minseok grew up in a fun, loving home. He was raised to be optimistic.

Sitting up, Minseok sighed. He wondered if he’d messed the whole thing up. For now, he’d give you space. Even though it felt impossible not to follow his instincts. He didn’t want to come across as desperate as he felt. He just hoped that the two of you could come together, before the consequence came to light.

**

It had been three days and you were still stewing over Minseok’s confession. Your heart went back and forth between being elated and being bogged down with worry and guilt. While Erik sat across from you at the table in the student cafeteria, you clicked through the pictures you’d taken of Minseok that night. A smile subconsciously pulled at the corners of your lips.

“(y/n)?”

Your head snapped up. “Yeah?”

Erik pushed his glasses up his nose. His pen was bouncing off his textbook. Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk. “Are you okay? You seem distracted lately.”

You feigned ignorance. “I’m always distracted.”

“This is different. I feel like you’re so far away lately. Something’s happened in the past few weeks.”

“Nothing’s happened!” Because acting defensive always worked. You slid back the chair, the legs scarping against the tile with a high pictured squeal. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Erik didn’t try to stop you at all. You’d left your things behind so he knew you’d be back. Luck decided to throw you a bone and give you an empty bathroom to sulk in. Letting the water run, you waited until it was freezing before splashing your face. The burst of cold to your skin made you gasp. With a paper towel you dabbed at the water droplets left behind until you felt somewhat dry again. In the movies, a scene like that came with clarity, a decision and an answer sparkling in the mirror as realization hit. No such moment came for you. All you were left with were two wet eyebrows and smeared makeup. Wonderful. Tossing the paper towel into the trash, you left the restroom and headed back to the table.

When you arrived, you couldn’t sit back down.

Erik had your camera. His thumb hit the arrows back and forth. He flipped through the film furiously. It didn’t take a psychic to know which photos he was looking at. “You used to take pictures of me like this.”

“Erik-”

Sighing, he put the camera back down, pushing it gently to your side of the table. “I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, huh? Freshman relationships don’t usually last as long as ours. It was only a matter of time.”

“No! It’s not like that!”

“If you say it’s not, then I’ll believe you. Everyone’s allowed to have friends. But… you don’t even use the notebook I gave you anyone.”

You flinched back at that comment. “I… lost it. I’m sorry.”

Erik’s reply was a nod. He stood up, gathering his things and putting them into his bag. He started to walk away but paused just as he passed you. “I think we should take a break.”

“A break?”

“For now.”

You collapsed in the chair as soon as he was gone. What a mess you’d made. And you hadn’t even really done anything. Were changing feelings really such a crime? Being here wasn’t giving you any room to think. You needed solitude, space.

The woods.

You were in the car and down the street before you could blink. The road was so familiar by now that you didn’t even remember actually driving. Getting out of the car, you threw your unneeded school supplies in the trunk while keeping some essentials and personals. For good measure, you turned your phone off. You didn’t get great service out here anyway. It was a spin wheel if the call came through or not. So, the trek began.

You pushed your way through the trees in the direction of the clearing. More leaves had fallen since your last visit, leaving a fresh carpet of brown and green for you to walk on. It muffled your steps. The forest sounded quiet today. Hardly any birds chirped and no bunnies came running across your path. The lack of wildlife caused your heart to race. You worried if you’d made a mistake coming here. When the clearing came into view, you stopped.

Near the middle of the field lied the wolf. He was alone. His ears flicked every few seconds or so, possibly picking up on the noises of life around him. But why was he just lying there? It was odd behavior for a wolf. Or, so you figured. Zoology was not your major. Your fingers twitched towards your camera, but you thought better of it. You didn’t know why, but you wanted to simply… watch him. It was calming, being in this wild animal’s presence. He looked so peaceful. You didn’t want to disturb him so you decided to stay on the outskirts.  

Ten minutes went by and the wolf decided he was done. He stood up on all four legs and turned to walk in the direction opposite of you.

Follow him.

You blinked. That reaction came from nowhere. Following a wild animal deeper into the woods was something only a crazy person would do.

Apparently, someone needed to put a jacket on you and call you crazy.

You kept your distance, far back enough to not spook him but still be able to keep him in your line of vision. He walked for what felt like miles. You’d never been in this part of the forest before. Which made this even more of a ridiculous adventure. The only consolation prize was the fact that he didn’t zig zag around, so you had a straight shot back to the clearing. You should be able to make your way back to your car from there. Up head, the tree line broke. It gave way to another clearing, but this one was far larger with two buildings sitting near the center. You stayed back, clinging to one of the last trees for cover as you watched the wolf walk towards the front porch. A familiar looking man stepped out and waived to the wolf. Was he their pet?

No.

The answer was a big, glaring No.

The wolf’s shoulders shivered and rolled. His body morphed like clay until he was no longer on four legs. You gasped.

Minseok.

Both men’s eyes snapped in your direction. You made eye contact with them both, then you turned and ran for your life.

You didn’t make it far. Minseok caught up with you easily.

“(y/n), wait!”

“Stay away from me!”

He did exactly the opposite, tackling you from the back. You both rolled in the leaves as you fought him off.

“Let me go! Don’t touch me!” Your last scream was enough to make him step back. You pushed yourself to your knees. Each breath was a huff as you tried to recover from the sprint. You could feel the fear emanated from your eyes.

Minseok held his hands up as if that would be enough to convince you he was harmless. “I can explain.”

“What are you?” you demanded.

“I’m….” He cringed as he sucked back the word you both knew he was going to say. “I’m a… werewolf.”

“Its you, isn’t?” You pushed yourself up onto shaking legs. All the stories you’d read as a child, all the movies you’d consumed, and all the folklore from around the world told you what kind of creatures werewolves were. “You are the one who killed those campers, aren’t you?”

“No! It was another wolf. A rogue!”

You shook your head. “How am I supposed to believe that? You’re not even supposed to exist! Was this all a game? Lure me into a false sense of security before you ripped me apart?”

“No, (y/n), listen to me!” He was in front of you, hands on your shoulders before you could react. “I. Did not. Kill. Them. And I would never hurt you. There’s a rogue omega around here and we haven’t caught him yet. Please, I’m begging you. Come back to the house with me and I will explain everything.”

“Why do we have to go back to the house?”

“So I can put on some clothes.”

You coughed and shifted your eyes high to the sky. “Oh, right.”

Minseok held his hand out for you to take, but you let it hang there in the air as you passed him. You heard him sigh behind you then his footsteps fell into rhythm with yours.

[stoopsbookstore]

Kinktober Day 11 (10/11/2019)

Kink - Breast/Nipple Worship & Torture

"Mr. Dokyeom, can you come here for a secone?"

Dokyeom pushed his glasses, slouching over to his teacher, clutching his bookbag straps.

"Did I do something wrong, Ms. Hyelin?" Dokyeom started to panic, "whatever it was, I'm sor-"

"It's okay," Ms. Hyelin gestured to a seat in front of her desk, "can you please take a seat?"

Dokyeom sat in the uncomfy office chair, fidgeting around and looking at all the portraits the vice principal had on her wall.

"I need you to tutor someone," Ms. Hyelin bluntly announced, "her name is Y/N, she's been doing well, but recently her grades have suffered. She's at this university on a scholarship, so I figured I'd have my best student help her."

"Wha-"

"And before you decline, this will look good on any applications if you continue past a four year degree," Ms. Hyelin pointed out, "it's up to you, I don't want you to feel pressured."

Dokyeom stuttered, his mind malfunctioning as he sputtered out a very unconfident "okay."

"Alright, here's the tutor schedule," Ms. Hyelin handed him a piece of paper, a confuses look at his face, "it was tailored with you in mind as the de facto tutor, so it already accounts for your chorus rehearsals. The first session is today at 4 in Study Room G. I appreciate this so much, Dokyeom."

Dokyeom walked out of the office, his face undecerinable of any emotion, taking his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

"3:07, I guess I should probably head there."

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

Knock knock.

"Come in!"

The door opened, Dokyeom seeing Y/N already sitting in the closet-type toom, her notebook already covered in work.

"You must be Dokyeom?" Y/N held out her hand for him to shake, "it's nice to meet you."

"Yeah, me-me too," Dokyeom's eyes wondered to Y/N's chest, the top 2 buttons undone, sitting down next to Y/N, "shall we get started?"

"I mean it's early, it's only like 3:30, but sure!"

"What are we learning today?" Dokyeom took out his math textbook, opening to a random page as Y/N gave him the page number.

"Distribution, page 524."

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

"So, try this problem," Dokyeom warmed up to Y/N in the past hour, their classwork sprawled out on the table along with snacks and discarded candy wrappers, "if x has a Poisson distrubtion of Mu .9, what is the chance x equals 3?"

Y/N's head were in her hands, the math all jumbling in her mind, "fuck, I have no idea, 4.9%?"

"Correct!" Dokyeom smiled as Y/N practically slammed her head on the table, "are you okay?"

"I've just always hated math," Y/N leaned back in her chair, stretching to relieve some discomfort from sitting in library chairs, "not my strong point, I've sucked at it ever since middle school."

Dokyeom eyed Y/N down, a sliver of her emerald green bra peeking out from her undershirt, subconsciously licking his lips, not noticing Y/N had caught on and has been purposely teasing him for the past hour.

Fanning herself, Y/N pointed at the window, "do you mind putting that down, the little curtian?"

"Oh, um, yeah sure," Dokyeom reached from his chair, his height being an advantage to simply reach over and pull the curtain down.

As soon as Dokyeom turned back around, Y/N had already slippes out of her button-up, her cleavage exposed as Dokyeom audibly gulped.

"Are you okay, Dokyeom?" Y/N put her pen next to her lips, Dokyeom's pants tightening at the clear shot down Y/N's tank top.

Dokyeom bumbles, no coherent sentence coming out of his lips, "ye-ye-yeah, I'm fine!"

"Are you sure?" Y/N put her hand on Dokyeom's forehead, giving him an even better shot at her bra.

Dokyeom averted his eyes, Y/N hiding her laughter at his reaction, "dude, they're just boobs."

"Huh?"

Y/N took off her tank top, "they're just boobs. You know, balls of fat that people have that may or may not be used for feesing babies, but somehow cause people to go feral as fuck because 'oh no female presenting nipples?'"

Dokyeom was flabbergasted at Y/N's bluntness, covering his eyes as Y/N continued to snicker.

"Do you have like a boob fetish or something?"

"Uh, umm, may-maybe," Dokyeom scratched the back of his neck, "I ju-just never knew someone so, so forward before."

"You can touch them if you'd like," Y/N turned her seat to face Dokyeom, allowing him a full view of her chest as his eyes immediately zoned in on them.

Dokyeom didn't waste a second, his hands, with a mind of their own, started squeezing Y/N's chest, her moans filling the tiny room as Dokyeom pulled Y/N into his lap, straddling the tall boy.

"They're so perfect," Dokyeom began kissing the fabric that covered Y/N's chest, "I've been eyeing them since we began this session."

"Normally, I wait until the third session," Y/N threw her head back, almost leaning back into her original chair, "but I'll make an exception for you."

Dokyeom pulled the bra down, biting one of Y/N's nipples, grinding her hips down on his painful erection.

"Do you want to get out of here, find somewhere more comfortable?" Y/N managed to get out as Dokyeom continued biting and nipping at her mounds.

"In a little bit," Dokyeom motorboated Y/N, earning a squeal from her, "They're so beautiful, I'm serious."

Y/N leaned to reach into her bag laying on the table, feeling around for an item as Dokyeom begun to leave hickies all over her chest.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something," Y/N latched onto what she had been looking for, "my friend got as a gag gift I think would work well in this situation. I was too lazy to clean out my bag, so I forgot about it."

Y/N pulled out a nipple chain, two clips on each end, placing it in Dokyeom's hand.

"Use i-"

Y/N was cut off by Dokyeom placing the clips on her breasts, the pressure on them adding immense pleasure, Dokyeom pulling on it gently as he continued to be mesmerized by Y/N's breasts.

"God, Y/N, I'd love some photos of these," Dokyeom admitted, "in your favorite lingerie, in my favorite lingerie or hell even naked, but you have to be smart, no face or defining marks. Can't allow those photos to get out."

A knock on the door pulled the pair apart, Y/N hastily putting on her button-up as Dokyeom hid his boner under the desk.

"Time's up, room G!" The voice of Mr. Taemin yelling echoed through the wooden door, "it has to be clean or else one week ban, please and thank you!"

Dokyeom opened Y/N's shirt once more, tugging on the chain as Y/N bit her lips to conceal a moan.

"Keep that on, let's go to my place and we can continue this and the study session later, okay?"

"Okay."

[psycheswritings]

Nothing’s Fair in Love and War - Six

Title: Nothing’s Fair in Love and War

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Daphne Scott (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing.

Word Count: 4022

Author's Note: Hello, people! Here we are with a brand new chapter. A few warnings before we begin (or after, because is basically information about somethings mentioned during this chapter and it could be interpreted as spoilers, so it's up to you): 1. I know that according to the audio of "The Ballad of Tommy Shelby" the boys enlisted in 1915, but as @andtherewerefireworks​ pointed out, this doesn't fit with the historical facts and informations given by the show (as a lot of other thing's don't, but apparently Steven doesn't give a fuck about it - don't let me get started) so I ignored this piece of information - the boys enlisted in 1914 instead and the world makes sense again; 2. I did some research to know more about military nurses and took a poetic license to ignore the age that was permited for women to enlist at the time; 3. Kugel really is a Jewish dish and I am shamelessly entertaining my headcanon that Alfie does, in fact, cook/bake. Sorry, not sorry. 4. Have I mentioned that sometimes I hate Steven? Because I do. There were somethings that took me a lot of time to figure out between episodes 04 and 05 of the third season and I am still not sure about somethings, so if you feel confused about something you're more than welcome to come talk to me and I can explain it.

Fair warning, as always, if you find any mistakes feel more than free to report back to me; warnings are expecific for each chapter; and your feedback is always appreciated (given the fact that this is a sideblog, answers always are in the name of my main one thanks to dumb Tumblr - @myplaceofheavenorhell​). Also, if you haven't read my "BIG ANNOUNCEMENT" post (I really don't blame you), please, start following me on @amysteryspot​.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Summary: Alfie and Sabini make amends and join forces to get rid of the Peaky Blinders. Daphne and Polly have a very pleasing evening and Tommy goes visit May to ensure that things are going according to his plan, only to be met with a question he doesn't want to answer.

Masterlist

Six

Alfie Solomons was never known for a man who has a lot of patience, no, people tend to think that he actually has none at all but that is far from the truth. God knows that he had to have a lot of fucking patience to get where he is now, Alfie is a man who is always waiting for the right moment to do the things that would benefit him the most. And that was what he was doing right now - waiting to see if the decision he has made would, in fact, bring him any good.

The doors of the bakery were opened by two of his men and Sabini came into view - the italian flag on his hands, three of his men behind him and his second in command, Matteo, with a white flag by his side. They approached each other, the Jew gave the Italian the basket of bread that was immediately passed over to Matteo, before he stepped closer to Alfie giving him the standard three kisses on the checks as a form of greeting.

“I can’t help but notice that there is a presence in absence here today. Isn’t Miss Scott joining us?” Alfie was kinda expecting that since the Italian seemed to have a soft spot for the young woman, but the question almost made him frown for entirely different reasons. Daphne had left hours before to go to Birmingham and meet with Polly Gray, she didn’t knew about the meeting or his plans but somehow that didn’t make Alfie worry less about her like he thought it would.

“Daphne is out in another appointment. Just us today, so let's talk, eh?” Sabini shared a look with Matteo before nodding to Alfie guide them through the bakery. The Jew sat on one side of the table with Ollie by his side, cane propped up in front of him, his hands resting on top of it, while Sabini and Matteo did the same at the other side, their men behind them and a menacing silence filling the room until the Italian leader spoke.

“Did you know they was going to take the Eden club?”

“I know about the Eden club, yes.”

“Did you know they were going to do it before they did it? Because that's the one who's in charge, isn't it? The one who knows before it happens.”

“I know what I know, you know. If you don't know, then you don't fucking know, do you?”

“Did you know they was going to take Wimbledon dogs? Harringay? The trotting tracks?”

“Talk, all right? I genuinely want to hear you.”

“You've lost control, Alfie.” Matteo was the one to talk, making Alfie look at him in concealed anger.

“Have I?”

“Everybody knows.” The Italian added.

“Talk to me, Alfie.” Sabini said, interrupting the argument and making Alfie’s attention go back to him again.

“Talk to you?” The Jew paused for emphasis. “All right, I'll talk to you. I'll fucking tell you how it was, right? What happened was this. All the time you were talking about dirty fucking Jews. All the fucking time - dirty fucking Jews, dirty Kikes, dirty dustbin lids…” The Italian leader shared a look with Matteo again.

“Everyone makes jokes.”

“You want to talk about not getting into places?”

“Everybody makes fucking jokes. I didn't know you had no sense of humour!”

“And I ain't going to FUCKING mention, right, the great big fuck off elephant in the room.” Sabini closes his eyes for a brief moment before talking again.

“Look, Alfie…”

“How many of my bookies worked Epsom this last May? None. None. Not one.”

“So, for a few fucking jokes and Epsom, you fucking invite a tribe of savages into the city and just fucking unlock the fucking gates!” While Sabini is yeeling and gesticulating frantically with his hands Alfie is just sitting there, not even bored by it.

“I'm sorry, what are you saying, mate?”

“I'm saying I'm sorry about the Jew thing.” To say that Sabini seemed bothered by his own words would be an understatement because he was completely put off by it, to Alfie’s deepest contentment.

“Are you saying you're sorry?” Patience, patience always paid back in kind.

“Yeah.”

“You're sorry about the Jew thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I want that in writing.” He turned to Ollie. Write that down. He said, ‘I'm sorry’.” Looking at Sabini again he continued. “And also write down that all our bookies can go back to Epsom.”

“He didn't say that.” Matteo barged in.

“Who's asking you?”

“No. Write it down. It's all right. Come on. Alfie's an old friend.”

“My friend.” The Jew gangster says while staring at Matteo and pointing at Sabini.

“Now, admit it, the Peaky Blinders is out of control.”

“Yeah, they're out of fucking control, mate. They come down the canal, they spread like the fucking clap.” Although the kind of problem that the Blinders have gotten to the Jew were ones fairly different, the Italian didn’t needed to know.

“Right. So now they're everybody's problem.”

“Yeah.”

“Alfie.”

“Mm.”

“You and me, we've been fighting since we was at school.”

“Yeah.”

“All right? Now, also, we've been friends.”

“Mm, yeah.”

“You know, it goes backwards and forwards. How much better is it when we're friends?”

“Oh, it's much better, mate, yeah.”

“You write that down.” Ollie looks at Alfie that just nods at the younger man.

“So what we're doing here, right, is we're writing down some kind of a deal thing, right?”

“Yeah, a written deal.” 

“Written deal, good. Well, why don't we discuss the border between the Italians and the Jews going back to Farringdon Road.”

“Farringdon Road”

“Yeah, Farringdon Road.”

“Fuck! That's ancient history.”

“Write down Farringdon Road.”

“No, no, no, write down Camden Road.”

“Farringdon Road.”

“Camden Road.”

“Write down Farringdon.”

“Camden.”

“Farringdon.”

“Camden. Write down Camden Road.”

“Just write down ‘peace’. Just write down ‘peace’, right, between the Jews and the Italians.”

“And war against the gypsies.” Alfie just grumbles to the statement, thinking to himself about how Daphne will react when she discovers his plans. It certainly won’t be pretty and for the first time in a long while the Jew gangster starts to rethink his actions.

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

Daphne was waiting at the parlour in the Shelby family home on Watery Lane, the youngest Shelby was the one who guided her there saying that his aunt was coming in a minute and then leaving her alone since Josiah had chosen to wait for her outside, in the car. The young woman took off her coat and hang it on the coat rack on the wall just beside the front door, deciding to take a look around instead of sitting down.

There were a lot of photographs hanging on the walls and on top of the furniture, most of them were of the Shelby’s children growing up. Daphne recognized a young Ada and a little Finn in one of them, just beside the fireplace there was a photograph of each one of the Shelby siblings but what caught her attention almost immediately was the portrait of the three eldest Shelby boys in their uniforms. Her fingers automatically went to her locket, caressing the metal as a way to soothe her own thoughts.

“They were taken just before they left.” She must have been really distracted because she only noticed that her hostess arrived when she was already closing the door, taking off her own coat and approaching her. The gipsy woman noticed that Daphne was yet again playing with the necklace hanging from her neck. They shook hands before the both of them turned to look at the images again. “I’m sorry for making you wait, there were things that needed my attention.”

“Don’t bother, I’ve had only been here for minute.” Silence filled the room but unlike what Daphne expected it wasn’t a discomfortable one.

“It feels like it was a lifetime ago.” There was this hint of sadness that Daphne knew too well when people who had loved ones on the war usually had when talking about that period.

“And at the same time it seems like it was yesterday.” Polly looked at her then, surprise in her features.

“You’ve been there.” Daphne took a deep breath, not looking at the woman beside her when she spoke.

“Yeah. Whole four years of it.”

“My God, you must have been only a child when it started.” The young woman felt quite amused by the motherly concern in Polly’s voice.

“Eighteen.”

“You’re almost John’s age then. He was nineteen when he left. Arthur was twenty seven and Thomas twenty four.” When Daphne looked at her still observing the pictures there was a hint of a smile on her face. “They were so different, so full of life.”

“None of us came back the same. We all left a part of ourselves there.” As her hand rested in her chest, feeling the all too familiar form of her locket through the fabric Daphne thought that she certainly had lost a part of herself there, a part of her that she would never recover.

“You sound like Tommy.” Daphne smiled at that, shaking her head briefly while Polly observed her with a mixture of admiration and curiosity.

“It’s not the first time that I hear it.”

“Come, I will make us some tea.” They headed themselves to the kitchen were Daphne sat at the table while Polly walked around preparing things for the tea. When the pot was ready she served them both a cup and sat down.

“You’ve caused quite the impression on the boys.” Daphne quietly sipped on her tea. She didn’t know what to expect of the encounter, what she did knew was that Polly was baiting at her, getting her out of her comfort zone to see how she reacted and further analyze her especially now that Alfie wasn’t around. But one thing that Daphne have learned from experience was that people involuntary let their guard down at home and even knowing that Polly had another house to call her own now, this was the one she passed most part of the time in still, the one where she lived most part of the last years and the one she still called home.

“A good impression, I hope.” The gipsy woman looked at her, smirking slightly, the action a little warmer than the cold demeanor that she had showed on the party.

“Ah, it was good just alright! I think Arthur is still teasing John for trying to flirt with you.”

“He had it coming.” Polly laughed, really laughed and Daphne couldn’t help but smile too.

“He sure did, but I gotta say that he is not used at being rejected. None of them are, really.” The young woman choose not to answer that, just smiling and sipping at her tea again and Polly decided to change the subject. “You and Ada know each other for long?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while. Before Freddie fell ill.”

“You’ve met him?” Polly was surprised that the two women knew each other for that long.

“Once or twice, he was more running from the coopers than at home.” Polly scoffed at that, getting up to take the food and put it on the table. “You didn’t approved of them.” It wasn’t a question but Polly answered anyway.

“Freddie was a good man, I just wish that he knew how to prioritize his family instead of the cause.” Daphne nodded in understanding, since she befriended Ada she had had quite some debates with herself about the way the Thorne’s lived. It was hard for Daphne to understand how Ada accepted living on the run because of love, her parents were not exactly the image of true love - an arranged marriage, like the one she was supposed to have if she hadn’t gone to France - even though she believed that her mother had loved her father at some point, the other way around was definitely not true.

“I never really understood how Ada accepted living like that but I don’t have much to compare so I tried not to judge her for it.”

“No lad caught your attention after you came back?” The gipsy woman took a sip of her tea before continuing. “Or during your time in France?” Daphne had a pretty good guess that she must be talking about William since she had seen them together at the party.

“No. Not that way.” The older woman just nodded, eyes trained on the other woman’s reactions.

“Not even Solomons? He is not hard on the eyes and you two seemed quite close.” Daphne laughed at the statement - people seemed to never give up on the subject of her and Alfie being a couple.

“Alfie is family.” The way she said it, so naturally, so devoid of doubt made Polly think that their bound was deeper than she first predicted. Polly was certain that there was more to their relationship than what they let people know - Alfie Solomons wasn’t a man known for his honesty or loyalty, nevertheless, the woman in front of her had been by his side since the end of the war.

It was obvious to her too that the man who was observing her and Tommy from the mezzanine during the party felt more than just friendship towards her but it seemed that Daphne didn’t reciprocate it - which, apparently, left the way clear for Tommy and that’s where the lived the danger. Then she decided to make a bold move.

“Let me read your leaves.” Daphne was quite taken aback by the request, she blinked twice before answering the gipsy woman.

“Why not.” Polly was surprised that she accepted the request so easily - maybe more surprised by that than by the fact that she had requested to read the girl’s leaves in the first place.

“Pour some tea into the cup and swirl it.” The young woman did what she was told. “Now put the tea back into the teapot.” Polly extended her hand for Daphne to give her the cup, after taking it she gave one last glance towards the young woman before starting to analyze the cup.

“There’s happiness in your future but there is also a lot of pain.” Silence filled the room while the older woman swirled the teacup in her hands. “You will be betrayed and have your heart broken. You will also find something that you thought was lost.” Polly rested the cup into the table and looked up to meet Daphne’s hazel eyes in silence for a long time before she finally spoke again. “You seem like a good girl, Daphne, and if I didn’t thought that I wouldn’t say to you what I’m gonna say now: be careful. Love is a good thing but sometimes it can blind us and that’s when we get hurt.”

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

When Tommy arrived home at the end of the day one of the first things that he noticed was the teacup resting on the kitchen table. He picked it up, looking at the leaves inside it and directing his gaze to his aunt who was observing him, sipping her own cup of tea while leaning onto the kitchen counter.

“Lizzie’s been here for you to read her leaves again, Poll? You still leading her own…”

“It wasn’t Lizzie.” He recognized the smug look on his aunt’s face - she was leading him to something, the teacup left onto the table was a bait for him to talk to her, it was all part of her plan. He put the cup back where he found it and turned around to pour himself a drink.

“Then who was the poor soul that was believing in your predictions?”

“Daphne. She left just some minutes ago.” He stopped for a brief moment but it was enough for Polly to notice. Daphne had been here? How he didn’t know that?

“Didn’t think that she would be one for these kind of stuff.” He turned around, glass of whisky in his hand and her aunt’s gaze still on him and his curiosity got the best of him. “What did you find out?” By the smile on his aunt’s face he knew that this is what she wanted all along.

“That she is a good girl - too good for you.” Tommy huffed at the statement taking a sip of his drink - he didn’t need any tea leaves to know that. “She will have her heart broken by the man that she loves.” Polly walked to her nephew, stopping right in front of him and holding his gaze. “Will you be that man, Tommy?” He just stood there nursing his drink, long before the woman had left. He had vowed to himself to never let another woman into his heart again, not after Grace, but it was difficult to remember that when he was around Daphne. She was constantly proving him wrong, challenging him, sneaking into his family’s good graces. Would he be the one to break her heart or would it be the other way around?

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

Alfie was waiting for her when she arrived home - sitting on his usual chair in the balcony of the drawing room, humming something to himself. Daphne approached him and called his name but he didn’t seemed to notice, to lost on his thoughts.

“Everything alright?” He looked at her then, his attention caught by the hand she gently placed on his shoulder, the woman could tell that he seemed a little off just by the expression on his face.

“Yeah, yeah.” The Jew got up from his chair to stand in front of her. “How was tea with the gypsies?”

“It was just Polly. Everything went fine, she is actually very hospitable.”

“Hum. Good.” He didn’t seemed less tense after her answer. “I’ve made you some kugel for dessert, I know it is your favorite.” Daphne frowned at that.

“There is some special occasion that I’m forgetting? You haven’t cooked in ages.” He stared at her in silence for a long moment before answering.

“No, just appreciating the company, love.”

“Well, thank you, kind sir. I’m just going to take a bath and we can have dinner then.” Alfie nodded at her, letting her go upstairs while he just observed as she disappeared. He really hoped that at least for one time in his life he was doing the right thing.

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

As Tommy drove to the Carleton’s property he thought about his next steps. May had showed her interest in him and he was going to play his cards to ensure that his horse would be able to run the Epsom. She had also mentioned having contacts at the War Office and that could grant them information on Daphne. He just wasn’t expecting the extent of the Carleton’s wealthiness.

“Mr. Thomas Shelby, madam.” One of the maids announced him and Tommy entered the room without a second glance at the girl.

“Nice house.” He says as he looks around and approaches May, who is looking at him a little unsure. It was more than nice house, probably the most expensive fucking place he had put his foot on during his entire life.

“Would you like a whisky? Scotch or Irish?”

“Irish.” She turns her back to him to serve the drink and he takes the time to look out the window, taking a cigarette from his case. “Sorry for the short notice. I was passing.”

“We're not quite on the Birmingham road.”

“It was a small diversion.”

“Sixty miles, I checked.”

“That's a small diversion these days.” He says, approaching her and lightening the cigarette that is already between his lips.

“So, I'm a small diversion. Good.” She hands him the whiskey before taking a sip of hers. “Your horse is still out on the gallops, but I had Mickey prepare this report. You can read it now if you'd like, then we can go see her.” May hands him the file with the reports and he rests it on the table, starting to scan the pages as he clears his throat. “Is there enough light for you to read?”

“Yes, it's fine.”

“It's getting quite late.” She sits down on the couch, Tommy doesn’t react to her words and continues to read the report but he notices that she is nervous. “Mickey says she has the lungs of an elephant. She's nimble in the heavy going, but bounces a little on the hard ground. Sorry, I'll let you read.”

“So, he thinks she'll favor good to soft ground, eh?” Tommy closes the file while talking.

“A little juice in the grass.”

“Mm. Well, that's good for Epsom.” He pauses, looking at her and placing his empty glass on the table. “Does he think she's not good enough for Epsom?”

“She needs a lot of work.” May observes as he takes a drag from the cigarette. “The race board will need convincing.”

“I imagine you have some influence.” She doesn’t answer him directly.

“Mm. That's the suggested program for the next two months.” As Tommy goes back to looking at the report, May gets up from her seat. “Your glass is empty.”

“It's fine.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes, a bit.”

“I can prepare something.”

“Do you have engine oil?” There’s a hint of surprise in her features as she looks at him. “Before I set off for Birmingham, the car needs oil.”

“I'm sure my husband kept some in the garage. I can get someone to do it.”

“This evening or tomorrow?” They stare at each other for a moment, he waits for her next step.

“Well, we're so far from anywhere, people usually stay over.” She is clearly nervous as she takes a set at the couch again, sipping her whisky. “Especially before cars, when it was just carriages, people used to stay over all the time.”

“But I have a car.”

“Yes.”

“And you have engine oil.”

“Probably.” Her words are all but a whisper before she pauses, nervously looking at the other way. “But it would be very usual.”

“What would?” His eyebrows raising as he waits for the answer, making her admit it out loud.

“For a guest to stay. We have a whole wing called the guest wing.”

“Oh, you…” He almost smirked at the information. “You have a guest wing. Well...” Then Tommy notices that she is crying, silently, trying to hide her tears by facing the opposite wall. He walks to her, calling her name softly and resting a hand on her shoulder, trying to soothe her. Thomas never liked when woman cried, most part of the time it put him off because he didn’t exactly know how to react and, in this particularly scenario, it wasn’t something that he had predicted. “Have a smoke.”

“Thank you.” She accepts the cigarette from his hands and observes as he takes a step back to light another, taking a sit at the other end of the couch. “Ignore this. It's actually all right. I put all his photos in a drawer and locked it, as if that was going to make a difference. I'm like a fucking lighthouse keeper, out here on my own, keeping his flame burning. But, of course, when anyone sees a lighthouse they stay clear, don't they?” May observes as he seems to take a moment to think.

“Now, do you have a map? Of the house. Do you have a map? Because I'm not going to be able to find my way in the dark. You see, at midnight, I'm going to leave my wing and I'm going to come find you. And I'm going to turn the handle of your bedroom door without making a sound and none of the maids will know.”

“You don't know maids.” She scoffed at him.

“They hear a pin drop?”

“If there's a man in the house, they listen. They take turns.”

“So, let them listen.” Things were going according to his plan but Tommy couldn’t help remembering his aunt’s words that would keep echoing inside his head for the whole night.

Taglist: @stressedandbandobessed7771​

[kevkesblog]

Translation: Kai Havertz portait in ZEIT newspaper (January 2019)

NOTE: Hey guys! This time I tried something new. I translated an exclusive portrait the german weekly newspaper DIE ZEIT did with Kai in January. They interviewed him as well as Kai’s family. Its very candid and has alot of details. I hope you guys like it, since DIE ZEITs writing is usually very difficult - even for germans. And I apologize for spelling errors as usual. 

The original text in German

Kai Havertz: the peace itself

 (January 23, 2019)

People praise Leverkusens national player Kai Havertz, 19, for his serenity with the ball which put him on the radar of many European top clubs. His parents start to realize that he is likely becoming world famous.

By Jörg Kramer

The most promising german football talent these days picked a table very far behind in an restaurant somewhere in Cologne to order himself some spagetti gnocchi – inconspicuous.

There is no star posturing with Kai Havertz. The 19 year old could even go through as a normal university student; with his bright hoodie and somewhat cheap and not even special occurence.

And with his voice, which has this typical regional dialect, without the typical empty phrases that young football player use to often in order to cover up their meaningless sentences. But people know his face by now. So thats why he doesnt sit right next to the entrance.

He belongs to the celebrities of the football scene. European top clubs are scouting the young men in stadiums, team mates from Bayer Leverkusen praising him and forecasting him to have the potential to become a world star.

He already scored nine goals this season, decided some games by his own and played his first games for the national team. Havertz became the centre of his clubs game by playing at the centre midfield. His role only changed slightly and the importance of his role not at all, since Peter Bosz took over as head coach. He views this very relaxed and talks in an restaurant somewhere in the Belgian Quarter of Cologne about Leverkusen being the „perfect place“ in order to develop as a young player. And thats where he wants to give his all for the last half year ahead. Ooops!

His last half year? That was a slip of the tongue of course, he meant to say the next half year. Because his contract with Bayer is still running until 2022 without an exit clause. But things now are developing in a rapid way which runs parallel to his explosive performance currently. Its just a matter of the perfect timing that someone like him will end up going to Barcelona, Manchester or at least Munich – a choice between summer 2019 or summer 2020 maybe.

Havertz walks over his misspelled sentence like nothing happend. Once in Nuremberg in the middle of a turmoil of an rainy game, it seemed as if he stopped – as if he was reconsidering the situation with him having the ball. Like if somebody pressed a ‚Stop‘-button. And he chiped to ball in an cool and unemoitional and scored.

Coaches and team mates are citizing his body language, he says. So he works on looking more aggresive. He even participates on useless discussions between his teammates and referees after controversial decisions on the pitch, in order to get a penalty for the other team or some revenge. But it doesnt really look good him when he does it, he admits – even after a though tackle or when going after the ball. „I’m a player that shines with his tranquility.“ A nice sentence that gives away his elegante style of play.

Havertz remained an artist on the pitch. Every foul is a sign of weakness. Everytime he gets the ball, which is his job as an offensive player, he never runs into his opponents – he anticipates. „I try to imagine, which options my opponent has, what he would do if I were him.“ He then runs with a planned pass way and he gets the ball.

Havertz learned in the past almost two and a half years all systems and tatics of modern football. Starting with a radical system, almost a raid-strategy under coach Roger Schmidt, by which the goal keeper kicked the ball high and it flew wide over the pitch – almost always directly aimed at Havertz‘ head – because he is 1,88 meters tall.

Then the mixed system under Heiko Herrlich. He always had to look for his team mates before he passed. Now with Bosz, a planfull offensive style with flat passing. He runs through all the chapters. The first began on October 15, 2016.

It was a Saturday. A day where the Havertz family from Mariadorf near Aachen still couldnt realize that their youngest son, will probably end up living off football and perhaps even become famous. They cant really believe it up until today, says Anne Havertz, his mother.

On that day – October 15 – Kai was a youth player, in a big house next to the woods in Mariadorf having breakfast – when suddently coach Schmidt called. Lars Bender, professional Bayer-player who was supposed to play against Werder Bremen that evening, got injured and had to quit. Kai had to come to Bremen, immidiately! His mother drove him to Leverkusen. A special shuttle took him to Bremen. His whole family was sitting in front of the TV that night.

Kai was sitting on the bench as expected. Then, during the 83th minute, the commentator saw already more than the viewes and said: now we are experiencing a debut. Kai Havertz was ready to get subbed. In the real Bundesliga. Anne Havertz said: „Oh my god!“.

(Credit: Instagram: kaihavertz29)

Kai’s mother, who worked as a lawyer until she got pregnant with her eldest son, came to the restaurant in Cologne one day after Kai to talk about life as a family of an future world star. She brought her husband – Kai’s father, and her daughter Lea, Kai’s sister. The sister is studying marketing and digital media in the city.

People can reach his father in an emergency by dailing 1-1-0. He is a police officer working at the police station 3 in Cologne-West. He says he is really impressed, about how cool and routinely his football playing son manages post-game interviews and how we stays cool when people recognize him in public and everybody is watching,

The Havertz family is still perplexed about a football world where colleagues of their son, order their own cooks to cook for them at home. And whenever he puts his legs into an special bag in order to regenerate. Almost the whole family – except his oldest brother and the dog – are having apple pie and salate and looking back at the stages of his career, which started at Alemannia Mariadorf. Kai skiped two age-groups. He then played with older players than actually intended. Then he transfered to Bayer Leverkusen. All because the scout was tough but not intrusive like the other scouts. By the age of ten, Bayer drove Kai to training sessions three times a week.

4 year old Kai Havertz (Credit: kicker tv)

He was still among the smallest players in the team by the age of 14. Then suddently - a growth spurt which resultet in issues with his knees and his back. They were responsible for Kai loosing his fixed spot on the team. This was also the hard time because he left home and moved to Leverkusen. The club doesnt have an academy so he stayed at a guest family – the family of the stadium announcer from Bayer, together with two other players. A year later he moved into an apartement with his older brother, until Jan had to move to Nuremberg – he has a marketing job at adidas now.

A lasting memory: endless discussions within the Havertz family about the overarching question: does the boy need a german high school diploma (Abitur)? Will he pass the tests when he is travelling around with his professional teammates?

Kai Havertz attended the Landrat-Lucas-Gymnasium. An elite school of sports where he could skip classes in the morning for training. But he always had to catch up school stuff from the day. Once he played with Leverkusen at the DFB-Cup at Sportfreunde Lotte. He was subbed late, it went into penalities and after the team was eliminated from the cup he arrived home late – at 3am. At 8am he had an English exam.

The family became a team. His mother and sister helped him with biology exams. One day the young football player said to his family, he has no power left anymore. „But he never said: I want to quit!“ his mother insists. This was a breaking point by which his parents thought about quitting and stop pursuing the Abitur. But suddently coach Roger Schmidt intervened and said Kai should pull through. The whole Bayer team will support him.

The Abitur became a factor of will power, a test of life. The school supervisor of Bayer, a former athlete herself, said something memorable: it will shape his whole life if Kai quits school now. Whenever something becomes difficult, if something goes beyond your pain barrier, he will always have this option to quit in his head, that you can just give up.

Kai Havertz choose the pain, the Abitur. Now he will always choose the hard way if the theory of his supervisor holds.

On this January afternoon in Cologne, he is being asked what other job he would have picked if it wasnt for football. He likes the job as a barber, for men’s hairstyle. He smiles. Some curls are hanging on his forehead from left to right. A Barber. He wouldnt have needed an Abitur for that.

He is a genius at football. He won the German junior championship with Bayer and scored 19 goals in 29 games. He got awarded as a Under-19-player as the best of his age with the Fritz-Walter-medal from the DFB. Kai made it onto second place on his position after Marco Reus from Dortmund in a list of the football magazine „kicker“ which they publish every half year – but seven spaces in front of Munich’s Thomas Müller.

Coach Heiko Herrlich says Havertz reminds him of Toni Kroos. Football critic Reiner Calmund compared him to Franz Beckenbauer. His head goals remind him of Michael Ballack. Mesut Özil was always Kai Havertz idol, because of his tranquility with the ball and his ability to read a game. Sometimes Kai misses the final conciseness in front of the goal, which was visible after the recent 0-1 loss against Borussia Mönchengladbach.

Having the ability to remain calm, even when you get tackled is the result of a deep confidence in your own strenghts: screen your surrondings – in short time if necessary – and then make the right decision. Joachim Löw praises Havertz „good orientation“, something he said about Özil years ago. What he means is a certain sense of space on the pitch – an inner compass. Something that has to do with attention and memory. Havertz, who is a master of navigation, doesn’t even need practice. Some creatures have special senses and are able to find orientation on earth through a magnetic field – like migratory birds for example.

Kai Havertz likes watching Champions League games. And while watching them, there is always a wish inside him to participate as well whenever the big games of the quarter- and semifinals are on. „I think you can only reach that level by going to a top club at some point“ he says.

Mother, father and sister Havertz say, they don’t expect things from him. Something they never did in his career. But if someone asks them, who will follow Kai in a foreign country to get used to everything – they start to think about it. They would alternate. One week his mother would visit, next week his sister and then his grandmother maybe.

Kai Havertz still has a room back home in Mariadorf. Back in the day he used to have posters from FC Barcelona. So it could happen maybe one day, that youngsters in Barcelona will have posters with Kai Havertz on them.

++END++

[twistednuns]

February 2020

I managed to use my iPad as a second monitor for my computer. So tech savvy. Yay me!

Joking about developing a sex-based cardio programme with Manu. Powerfucking! Might help against aggression as well.

A late night phone call with Tom. Not saying much.

Making a huge pot of my grandmother’s signature veggie stew.

More Bon Appétit test kitchen videos. Chris recreating tacos. Claire making Ben&Jerry’s. Priya making her mum’s Indian curries.

Writing a letter to Lena. Drawing upside down bats (which makes them look like they’re having a wicked dance-off). Just the act of writing. I thoroughly enjoy looking at my handwriting.

Using the Salted Coconut handscrub by Lush. Especially now that I wash my hands so often when we’re working with clay at school. I feel like the peeling triggers some pressure points on my palms.

That Saturday productivity high. Cooking and preparing heaps of stuff, cleaning the windows, doing laundry.

Painting my nails like an expressionist artist.

Some portrait studies. Accidentally drawing Sirius Black.

Being really motivated to improve my Spanish. Working with Lorena, the Duolingo app and even starting my own grammar/vocabulary book.

This ultra quirky ASMR video. Also: watching videos with Erin an her boyfriend Chris. It’s amazing how well they work together. How you can almost feel their connection, how similar they are.

Carrot cake oats.

Seeing the The Darkness live again, this time with Margit. Justin’s outfit and personality, singing along, especially to Time of my Life, the band’s traditional first song after the show.

Meeting Chris. Having a Bramblette cocktail at Pusser’s. I like that place. Feels very old-timey with a rowing boat right under the ceiling. We made out in front of a tiger slide in a toy store window on our way to the next bar.

Peeling fresh carrots.

Pickling onions and making kimchi. My fermentation game is strong these days!

Looking through Dominik’s sketchbook. I loved the tree whose bark resembled a mole burrow with its underground tunnel system.

The flu. Yes, really. Fewer pupils at school. Quiet times. I’m actually surprisingly healthy. I’d guess my probiotics must play a role here… Who knows.

More sourdough experiments. Writing about it (DELICACY - a haiku. Oven-warm sourdough / salted butter, alpine cheese / and a strawberry).

Finding a really interesting list of SanFran hippie era book recommendations at the end of Robin Sloan’s Ajax Penumbra: 1969. In the mood to read Maya Angelou, Tom Wolfe, Jack Kerouac, Richard Brautigan.

Even more beautiful books: I really enjoyed Die weiße Stadt by Karolina Ramqvist, a feminist author from Sweden, and the graphic novel version of To Kill a Mockingbird. But two books that literally (well, figuratively obviously) blew my mind were Circe by Madeline Miller (mythology, loneliness, animals and plants, magic and monsters, some desperate kind of feminism, independence and strength) and Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo (magical realms, university setting, psychological depth, unexpected twists and turns). I haven’t read anything comparable in a very long time and I desperately hope that there’s more to come from these authors.

A beach collecting all the world’s single socks in The Magicians. Oh and of course seeing them break the moon. What a sight. The show is super confusing, obnoxious and absolutely fabulous at the same time. Best example: the Freaky Friday szene in which Margo and Eliot switch bodies. I love how the actors took on each other’s speech patterns and behaviour.

A new addition to my colour vocabular: celadon (a greyish green; there is a type of ceramics you’ll only see in this colour which is not surprising since the shade provides such an interesting contrast to the the earthy, rusty orange of burnt clay.)

Manu telling me that he had rarely seen people with more joy in their eyes than me (“Ich habe schon Freude in deinen Augen gesehen! So ein Leuchten kann man nicht simulieren.”) after complaining about being bored and lifeless. / Making curry with or, well, for him the other night. Drinking Liqueur 43 with cinnamon and milk. Playing the Jackbox party games for which you can use your phone as a controller.

Finding myself in a well-known sitation from the past. Lying in Frank’s bed in the early morning hours, not that tired yet, when he starts talking about his life and his depression. In English, obviously, because that’s our emotional filter. Relating, since I feel quite similar. Coming up with a suggestion for a reciprocal support system. Let’s see what we can do for each other.

Looking at travel photographs. The sea, the cenotes. Longing to go back to Mexico or Australia. Diving. Taking it all in.

Dreaming of my grandmother talking about her biggest regrets in life. Weirdly she was in a little bundle under a coffee table, much like Voldemort in the last Harry Potter movie.

My weird, weird brain. How both pleasure and pain enhance my sense of smell and increase my brain activity, almost causing hallucinations and fixations on ideas. Like geometric shapes in gloomy off-colours and a beige silicon-like surface the other night. All I could think of was a benchscraper.

Blue eyeliner.

Brainstorming three-letter-words with Frank since I’m thinking of getting personalised Nike Blazers. Sad cat. Yes but. Dat ass. Why tho.

Flying squirrels. Watching them wobble through the air. How they look like cute exhibitionist when they’re extending their limbs and thus stretching their, well, let’s just call it wings.

The fact that red cabbage has an intricate pattern like brain convolutions when you cut it open.

Talking to Sonja for the first time in over two years. What a strange person. Interesting, too. At least in homeopathic doses.

Ripe strawberries and nectarines. Oh my god. I love fruit.

Meeting Eve at Pub Quiz. She identifies as female, loves swing dance, used to be an animator and I love her style. Also, I realised that really like Betty. And Dennis wasn’t mean to me for once. I love my nerd friends <3 And I learned that Starbucks was named after the first mate in Moby Dick! Also, coincidentally they asked a question about the city where To Kill a Mockingbird takes place (Maycombe, Alabama) after I had read it the week before.

Inviting Lorena to the Botanical Gardens. I always feel very happy and very much myself when I’m there. I sometimes wish I was a gardener. Lorena was late so I walked along the Spring Path outside and it might have been the first time I’ve seen a brussels sprouts plant. Inside I learned lots of Spanish words and marveled at the incredible butterflies. The huge yellow one right behind the entrance was my favourite. Its delicate feelers were fascinating.

Washing my hands at the Keg’s bathroom. Looking into the mirror. Suddenly thinking of the perfect karaoke song… Rescue Me by Bell Book and Candle! I kept singing it for days on repeat. My neighbour must hate me (nothing new here) especially since my voice is too low for the chorus.

It isn’t hard to see how such attachment patterns can undermine mental health. Both anxious and avoidant coping have been linked to a heightened risk of anxiety, depression, loneliness, eating and conduct disorders, alcohol dependence, substance abuse and hostility. The way to treat these problems, say attachment theorists, is in and through a new relationship. On this view, the good therapist becomes a temporary attachment figure, assuming the functions of a nurturing mother, repairing lost trust, restoring security, and instilling two of the key skills engendered by a normal childhood: the regulation of emotions and a healthy intimacy. // An interesting article on attachment styles and why theraphy works; it makes me want to learn more about attachment theory. This School of Life video is a nice addition as well.

That dream. About a book shop modeled after my picture of Penumbra’s 24-hour bookstore. There was an old man in a very narrow but high-ceilinged room full of books. There was no light source except for moonlight or some street lights. There were loads of stairs, very steep, leading to the back of the house. Upstairs the man would set out cat food and on the rooftop there was an old sailing boat. One day the man decided to open the door to the roof and let visitors see the ship, much like a museum; perhaps to attract customers. However, in the next night a cat-shaped ghost appeared who reminded me quite a lot of Kot Behemoth character in Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita. The ghost was not amused about the old man’s decision and took away his key, a big golden one adorned with a red ribbon.

Toasted sesame makes pretty much every dish so much better.

Watching High Fidelity with gorgeous Zoe Kravitz (I adore her effortless style and her outfits), getting in the mood for making a playlist and listening to more music in general. There are all these great songs out there I forgot about.

Remembering the xkcd storm chaser comics.

Making a wicked good batch of Pho for Tom.

Spending a nice evening with Alex at Shamrock. Singing along to American Boy by Estelle. Confirming the hypothesis that the nerdy, quiet ones usually have a freak streak. That moment in the morning. Eye contact and kegel exercises.

Karaoke with Margit and Betty. Meeting Manu’s doppelganger. Same type, looks, voice. Eerie.

Making a BA Gourmet Makes meme for Steffen after he had passed his law examps. Strangely Gaby kinda looked like him after I was done with it.

Saturday morning in bed. Reading comics and graphic novels. Fresh bedclothes, surrounded by books. Since it was February 29 I thought about leap years and asked a few friends what their inner seven-year-old would have done that day (based on the thought experiment that your birthday was on February 29 and you’d age in 4-year-steps which would divide your age by 4 obviously).      

I came up with: visiting grandma / eating Cini-Minis / falling asleep with my face buried in a cat / beating my neighbour Anna at Memory / drawing while listening to a Bibi Blocksberg cassette.

Alex said he’d have been outside all day, building a snow igloo. Not noticing his mum telling him to come to dinner. If the weather had been bad he would have played with his dinosaur collection. His inner 7-year-old was a hopeless dreamer who got agitated whenever his parents had a fight. Who came home late from school every day because he forgot about time when he was talking to his friend next to a hedge with thorns that looked like tiny airplanes.

Lena said she would have been outside all day long, playing in the mud with the neighbours’ kids. Of course.

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

WARNING : Graphic description of BLood and Violence. A Mild description of Panic/Anxiety attack .... 

And Not Beta Read. Sorry if there’s a mistake.

Click link to read on AO3. Click Keep Reading to read on tumblr~~

Chapter 1 3

Chapter 2

Word count : 2.4 k

From time to time their hangouts on Fridays become less frequent. Tim had already made meeting with Jason -a regular civilian- hard enough with his lifestyle. Back then, Jason would always seek Tim, just taking him out of that busyness for a chill night out. Or just because he misses Tim, and wanted to see his face.

Jason doesn’t do that anymore.

They used to meet once a week, that turned into once in a while, and it’s been two months since Jason saw him last. They would still text regularly though, because even though it’s hard to meet Tim face to face, Jason never wanted to cut Tim off, never. So texting and calling it is, and it’s so much easier than seeing the person physically.

Jason loves when Tim sends him pet pictures. Tim would send a picture Titus the great dane snuggling with Alfred the cat, and it was the cutest sight he’s ever seen.

Sometimes he would check on Tim, asking if things are well. They would call and chat about petty things at work or things they’re mildly annoyed with. Or sometimes just banter about politics. None of them know how they got into that, but they did.

Jason would ramble about novels and Tim about a newfound manga. Talking and chatting like that is easier than meeting Tim, but it gets less and less easy for Jason.

Sometimes their call will be interrupted by someone. Sometimes Tim sends a couple of pictures with Superboy. Sometimes Tim didn’t reply for a month because of a mission, and Jason can’t do anything but to pray to the void and the universe that he’s alive at least.

He hated those days without hearing from Tim. There are times that his hands will start to shake whenever he was reminded that he hadn’t heard about Tim. His mind just whirls into the worst possibility ever and it’s swirling down too fast for Jason to stop.

It gets dangerous when he would drop heavy things in the middle of work. A car engine, a box of tools, his phone, and as a bonus, sometimes they land on his feet. Or when he sees bad news from a villain on TV, the world would spin a little and it’s harder to breathe.

He wanted to check up. He just wanted to walk to Wayne manor and demanded to know where he is.

To calm himself, he reminds himself that Tim has superheroes friends on his side. A Kryptonian as a soulmate too. Tim will be fine.

But sometimes those train of thoughts backfires.

They really have grown up after all. Jason promised himself that he’ll never let Tim grows away from him, but knowing the path he takes, and the soul mark on his body, some things are inevitable. Even so, Tim will be fine. With or without him.

As ridiculous as it sounds, Jason is anxious because there’s nothing to be anxious about.

“Jason!”

The ground is so close to his face. When did he get down on his knees? No, not on his knees anymore, he’s sitting on the side of his hips. He sees his open hands on the grease-stained ground, and they started to double into four.

“Breathe, Jason. Come on, follow my lead.” It’s Mrs. Knope’s voice. Feeling her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back and following her commands to inhale and exhale.

Jason is getting his composure back, enough to look back to the TV hanged on the wall.

A swarm of robots attack in central Gotham. Red Robin is the first to respond. Tim’s bleeding, thrown to the ground, but he keeps getting back up. Jason wanted to run there, to help, to do something.

His friends came in. Superboy carries Red Robin away.

And Jason sighs at ease.

Tim is safe.

Tim will be fine.

++++++++

[Two Months ago]

Tim

Saw you on tv todya

Today

I rly thought you gonn die if not for your bf saving your dumbass so many times

Get back to me after you’re conscious you mad lad

[One Month ago]

I hope you’re on a mission rn and not purposely ignoring me

Or are you still recovering? you better be having some fingers cracked for not replying to me

Jk tho heal faster bitch I need some Alfred’s fluff belly pics

[Three weeks ago]

Tim what’s going on?

[Two Weeks ago]

Hey, dude, I’m just checking in

Saw you in crime alley

You’re dressed as a girl but you ain’t fooling me

[Two weeks ago]

Nvm it’s not you

Where are you tho?

[Yesterday]

Tell me you’re okay at least

Just something

Anything

Tim

++++++++

It struck like a bad feeling. Like a ghost going through your body, sending chills down your spine that can only mean nothing but bad. He’s started shaking like a scared rabbit. The ground under his feet feels like moving like a boat through a storm, he lost strength in his grip and his legs.

He lands himself on the side of the car he was working on, leaning there until he gets his ground again. From far away he can see Mrs. Knope coming over to him.

“Jason, it’s okay,” she turned the TV off, knowing it’s one of Jason’s trigger.

It’s not. Not this time, and the reason is something Jason couldn’t explain. He holds on to her, and regain his breath like the practice she taught him.

“Mrs... Mrs. Knope,” Jason said after finally catching his breath, “I have to go, right now, I’ll work on weekends in return.” Then Jason takes off without looking back.

“What- oh you better!” she scolded before she’s out of Jason’s hearing range.

Running aimlessly, Jason found himself in the depth of Crime alley, trying to look for Tim there and it is as crazy as that sounds, but his mind is awry from rational thoughts to think any differently. So, there he goes running like he’s a scared tourist. Then, after regaining some of his sanity, he calls and texts Tim even though his chat from two months ago hasn’t been read yet. Unsurprisingly, Tim didn’t pick up.

Bearing no fruit from running around, the only reasonable place he can look for Tim is the Wayne manor.

He has absolutely zero fucks at the moment that it’ll make Batman know that Jason knew about their identities. That’s a problem he’ll deal with after he calms his sudden anxiousness. It sounds like a petty reason but currently, Jason feels like dying.

There’s no public transport to the rich residential area, but there’s a stop near there so he takes it. Annoying the people on the bus with the tapping of his foot. He calms himself, thinking about good things, positive things. That maybe he’s just imagining things, that Tim is fine and maybe on a prolonged mission, and he’s making a fool of himself.

That must be it. He just needs to know that Tim is fine, even though going to his home is stalker-ish, it’s just something Jason needs to do. His embarrassment will have to wait.

Jason runs there as soon as the bus’ door open, powered with adrenaline and anxiousness. Soon, Wayne Manor came into view, and he spams the bell by the gate until someone finally speaks from the speaker in a British accent.

“Wayne Manor, state your business.”

“I need to see Tim,” Jason demanded.

“I’m sorry sir, but Master Timothy is still at work.” Oh, that’s good, now he just needs to go there.

“Where? Tell me the adress.”

“And what is your business with Master Timothy?”

“I just need to see him, he’s not returning my calls and texts the past two months. So, just tell me where he is!” Jason is getting impatient.

“Pardon me, but I don’t like your threatening tone, please contact Master Timothy himself if you’d like to meet.”

“No! Mr. Pennyworth I’m sorry just listen to me,” Jason called his name, and the static noise means the butler hasn’t disconnected yet.

Jason felt like his breathing is getting hard, but, oh god, not now...

“I need to see him,” Jason’s breath is getting shallower, he doesn’t want to do this, but Pennyworth is stalling, deflecting, now Jason knows something is wrong. “I know you know who I am, and I know...” Jason gulps, “I know.”

There’s a pause from the other end, and the gates open.

“Please come in Mr. Todd.” The speakers say before it’s off.

Jason runs through the pathway to the grand 4-meter tall door. A butler opens it before Jason has a chance to knock. Face stoic and head high. A balding drey hair, matching thick mustache, judging eyes and dressed in a pristine black suit and white shirt. The old butler moves away from the door and gestured Jason to come in.

The room inside is warm and cozy, but so big that it feels uneasy for Jason that used to tight spaces. Carpeted floor, a high ceiling with a chandelier in the middle of it and a massive family portrait at the end of the wall. Tim is in it, along with Bruce Wayne, the first adopted son Richard Grayson, the second adopted daughter Stephanie Brown, and the blood son Damian Wayne.

“Master Tim had gone off-grid for an hour,” Pennyworth informed, “The others are trying to find him at this moment, we could wait together if you’d like, to calm yourself from having an attack.” The butler eyes him knowingly, eyes fond and understanding.

Jason grits his teeth, impatient, “No, where is the last point he’s offline.”

“If you have any intentions to find him, I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“You have to,” Jason stares down at the butler with fist clenched, “Depends on the area, he may not make it.”

“I assumed you knew about Master Timothy’s capabilities, I guess I assume wrong.” The butler shows his deprecating face towards Jason, and he’s not having that.

“Oh I know Tim can kick-ass, but I know these people even more, and their reputation underground. You don’t know how deep those villains connection runs. The people down there will do anything, only for a few bucks, or just something to eat. And you bet they would kill and conspire, and they won't care who they kill.”

Then, the butler’s expression is finally something else than calm stoic, but he stays silent.

“You don’t need to tell me anything else, just what his alias is, and the last time he’s visible. Please,” Jason begged, and it’s hard to control the croak threatening at the back of his throat.

“He’s last seen on Fulton street,” that’s near Crime alley, “his alias is Cal Corcoran.”

Jason sighs a relieved breath, “Thank you, and one more thing, don’t tell them that I’m looking for Tim.”

“Why is that.”

“Because he won't like my way, and I don’t want him to hold me back.”

Pennyworth’s face twisted in regret, but before the butler can say anything. Jason holds his arm in a firm grasp, eyes sharp the other’s pair of old wise eyes.

“I know you don’t trust me, but you have to believe in me. I’ll find him.” He’s filled with unshakable tenacity, newfound courage and an absolute determination to do anything. “Even with my life on the line.”

Pennyworth doesn’t move even a muscle on his face, then he holds the hand on his arm.

“Please bring him home,” the butler finally says.

Jason nods gratefully and runs towards the city. He knows exactly who to see first.

++++++

Jason had never been back here for years. When he left, he never looks back. How many years has it been? Yet everything is still the same. Still so easy to pick the door open. The room still smells foul, and the furniture is just as old and scarce.

An old man sprawled the couch, a beer on his hand and the tactical gear on his body means that he just returned from ‘work. He looks even older as if that’s even possible compared the state Jason last seen him.

“What are you doing here,” his dad slurred in his speech, not even bothered to stand up.

“You are going to tell me the list of your friends and where I can meet them.”

“And why do you think I would tell you?” He smirks, and he laughs, like a drunk. Then he throws the bottle of beer, aiming for Jason’s head, which he gives credit to his dad it was pretty close.

But he avoids it with ease, and the bottle breaks on the wall behind him.

“Get out! Get the fuck outta--” His dad finally shuts up, thanks to Jason’s knife against his throat.

His dad twists his face in outrage, “You don’t have the balls to--” Jason takes the knife away, leaving a red mark on the neck, and sink that knife on his dad’s right hand and through his thigh when Jason sees it grabbing into something in his pocket. The man only screamed for a millisecond before Jason shoved a bundle of cloth on his old man’s screaming mouth.

There are tears rolling down his sunken eyes. Jason never saw him cry before, not even when his mom died.

Jason left the knife there, and pulls another one and place it on a red line on his neck. His dad twitch away, he tried to, but Jason’s knife presses his neck hard against the couch. There’s no compassion left in him for his dad, not ever fear or guilt when looking at the man’s terrified and pained face.

“I will and can kill you if you’re not useful. I can get the names from anyone else, but I figure... You’d like a chance to do your son at least one favor, wouldn’t you?” Jason doesn’t frown, doesn’t show any expression. He doesn’t want to grace his dad with any expression. The knife sinks into the think fled on his neck, and Jason mercilessly drags it towards his Adam's apple like cutting a cake, leaving a trail of red that leaks blood.

“Wouldn’t you?” Jason says more firmly, pressing the knife even deeper.

His dad is shaking, eye blown wide in terror, and finally nods.

“Good, and along with the names, I’m going to need your guns and stash of drugs.”

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58

                                                    Chapter 59

As with every instrument Feliciano practiced with, the very first song he learned to play on the harp was ‘Accept to be mine’. It was a melodic stirring that filled the gardens in awe, in halt to the work of whatever servants worked there, even the Queen couldn’t focus on the reading she was giving Feliciano. She eased into it, resting upon its tune, swayed in a delicate cloud, and to be honest, Feliciano joined her in it too despite how it was being made by his own hand. In that floating state, he lost whatever rhythm and the harp answered to his mistake violently.

 There was a sudden burst of light and luckily Feliciano aimed it out of danger on time, into a slight jump in the air where it then exploded into ice. Queen Louis and Feliciano were covered in a sudden blanket of snow, harshly awaking them from the intense dream state they were in. Feliciano prepared for a harsh scold, but it seemed to disappear from Louis’s thoughts when Pookie emerged from his own cover, the most surprised and startled, an adorability that Louis couldn’t help but laugh. Pookie found his cover of heat once again with Feliciano, who freed his hold on the harp to hold his little winged lion instead, cuddling him into his cheek, only intensifying his smile and laugh.

 Ludwig was supposed to be as dedicated to his own readings, but he distracted with that beautiful smile that was the star of the entire view of the garden from the King’s study room. He slumped well into the glass, hoping to reach him that very moment.

 “Ludwig!” Aldrich had called again, loudly, starling the other from his love-struck stupefaction. “Boy, listen to me, we’re reading important clauses concerning animal abuse laws,” he scolded.

 “I-I’m sorry, Opa.” He forced his eyes back on the reading.

 “What were you staring at anyways?” The king stood himself to check and when he noticed the young arising queen playing with his St. Mark, leaving his own harp practicing and readings with his wife, he smirked in understanding.

 “Ah, your heart and land,” Aldrich chuckled, easily earning a flush from Ludwig. “How have things been with him lately?” He wondered, not minding this break from their teachings, putting the book down and getting ready for a chat.

 “To be honest, we have been too busy with our practices to really do much. Our times together are at dinner or in our bedroom, which I don’t think are enough.”

 “Enough for what?” Ludwig’s answer was interrupted by Kiku’s entrance, in his arms scrolls and books, surely with questions and duties.

 “Aldrich,” he bowed, “I have the writings concerning internal dark magic processing.”

 “In a minute, Kiku, Ludwig here is dealing with emotional issues.”

 “Uuu!” And Kiku sat as if this was a theater play to watch.

 “Don’t make fun of me.”

 “We are not, we just want to help.”

 “You can start by giving me ideas this instant,” Ludwig groaned.

 “You did say there is an issue with time.”

 “You could always try to take lessons and practices with him, or for both of you to finish as soon as possible or organize them for other times,” Kiku suggested.

 “Your relationship is important to the kingdom as well and I will set aside what I can,” Aldrich already promised.

 “Good, now there’s the issue of what to do with that time.”

 Aldrich and Kiku remained in silence as they thought, meeting in a gaze as if to judge if their ideas would be enough.

 “Well, your grandmother and I did the very traditional. Strolls through the gardens, private dinners in our room, the typical…flower and chocolate gifting.”

 “I’m sorry, your majesty, but that is all too dull. I don’t think it will be the ideal for Ludwig and Feliciano, after all this is another generation we’re speaking about,” Kiku added.

 “Um…singing,” still Aldrich awkwardly suggested, which earned raised eyebrows, surely denying.

 “No, something more them, something that will have them sparking, something…” Kiku snapped his fingers as if trying to fetch the idea to come. He caught a small portrait of Ludwig as a child, and with it he was reminded. “Feliciano told me you made a lot of promises you didn’t keep.”

 It was not something Ludwig wanted to be reminded of, but he sighed in embarrassed disappointment.

 “Then fulfill them!”

 “We were kids when we made them. We were naïve, we didn’t know anything.”

 “What does that matter! It was something you both wanted in the past. I’m sure some of them can be something you can enjoy now. It will be a sweet token that you will both appreciate! It will mean that you’re trying and that you want a deeper relationship to grow! Now, think of one!”

 It was immediate to Ludwig, who stood as the idea began to grow in his head. “I got it.”

  It was a long climb up, stairs after stairs that Ludwig went up ready and confidently, while Feliciano had to stop every level to take deep breaths and internally cry every time he looked up to the still missing heights to take.

 “I hope-I hope…you’re showing me a room full of gold!” Feliciano concocted as they must have reached the highest point in the castle, no other stairs, only a single hall with a long window at the end that showed the heights they took. There was a single door to a single room, whatever Ludwig wanted to show him there.

 Feliciano practically let himself faint once he reached, almost hugging the floor in relief. Ludwig chuckled, helping him up and presenting him before the room. “You remember when we were kids… that I told you I would give you a painting room…with the best light and everything you would need.”

 “I honestly thought you had forgotten,” Feliciano had to sadden.

 “I might have acted harsh, Feliciano, but I never forgot.” Ludwig took a better grasp of both his hands, exciting them both the more. Ludwig couldn’t hold it any longer and pushed open the doors, lighting the entire hall in a brightening as if the very sun was caught in this room. Feliciano was momentarily blinded, letting the gold die down until he could notice that the reason for all this light was the coverage of long and wide windows across the circularity of this room. The marbled floor and the pillars that surrounded helped to make more of that bounce, some curtains of red from the walls present for if lessening was wanted. Oh, but Feliciano loved this light, he entered with an opening of arms, letting it embrace him wonderfully. When it had been enough, he finally noticed the items that loitered around the room. Easels, canvases, fabrics, cloths, paint, so many jars of paint in different boxes, some in different shelves, an array of colors that Feliciano hadn’t even tried before.

 “What…what is this?” Feliciano wondered, spinning and only meeting more items that were the ideal for any artist.

 “Royal painting room. Been used by several of our monarchs for centuries, has been so because of this.” Ludwig ushered Feliciano forward to the edge of the windows, Feliciano’s eyes widened at the immensity of the city shown, its forest of vicinity, the hills that surrounded, even the far sea that separated them from the Scandinavian area of the kingdom.

 “This is the highest point in the castle!” After that climb, it was only obvious to Feliciano. “Yes, everything you want to see in your reach, non-ending inspiration and the best light in all the castle, and all yours.” He moved to place his hands on his shoulders, turning Feliciano once again to the area of work, already an infinity of things to do that fell instantly on Feliciano’s mind.

 “Re-really?” He was kind of hesitant to reach any of the items, but the temptation was so clear.

 “Yes! So take it, start! I know you want to.” Ludwig pushed him slowly and although Feliciano remained in his standing, frozen for seconds on, he interrupted it with a loud laugh, an excited jump, but not before turning, taking Ludwig in an embrace and kiss of potency, passion, as brightening as the sun that reigned in the room.

 When they departed, dazed and flying, Feliciano whispered in a seductive tone: “Thank you.”

 Ludwig didn’t know words anymore, his entire being was still flying in the magic that is always Feliciano’s kisses. He answered in silence and whispered stutters. Feliciano chuckled and removed himself to quickly pick from one of the many canvases, to put on an easel in a good center, plotting his ideas as he used his hands to picture how he could organize and set what he was still thinking. Ludwig picked a stool and settled it close to him, content enough in taking a simple seating.

 Feliciano looked to him as if he had committed a crime. “Oh no, you’re sitting right next to me, Luddy!” Feliciano stood to force him into his closeness, Ludwig rolling his eyes but accepting.

 Feliciano picked the softest and most fitting brushes that adjusted well to his hold, the prettiest jar of colors, some cloths for effects and he didn’t mind with getting something to cover his clothes. Who cared if he got them spotted with fine colors, he already wanted to stroke and paint and he wasn’t going to have anymore interruptions.

 “How about… a nice snowy day in Berlin,” Feliciano imagined, raising a brush into the air as if to declare it. “What do you think?”

 “You’re the one whose painting. You decide whatever you wish.”

  “What do you mean I’m the only one whose painting?” And that’s when Ludwig was reminded of how exactly that promise had gone long ago.

 Feliciano smirked, surely ready to impose.

 “No,” Ludwig already decided.

 “Come on, how many times do we have to go through this?”

 “Until I have convinced you enough that I am terrible.”

 “You aren’t!”

 “Seems I still have work to do…”

 “Just… like we used to, just like we did when were in the Oralee.” The reminder of that sweetened moment, one of the first in their opening, gave a weakening, a smile, one that had Ludwig docile enough for Feliciano to pull his arm, forcing both to a unity of that brush hold.

 Ludwig sighed and settled once again to Feliciano’s wishes, both starting a baby blue stroke in a beginning. The comfort gave him quite a confidence for something grandiose even with his mediocre skills. Feliciano was there, smiling up at him, sure to love whatever they created together. And so, they stayed and gave themselves all the time they wanted in a room of color, inspiration and strengthening love.

  “Und frische Nahrung, neues Blut Saug ich aus freier Welt: Wie ist Natur so hold und gut, Die mich am Busen hält!!” Ludwig read as warm, as the embrace that Feliciano needed with the coming near cold.

 “Die Welle wieget unsern Kahn Im Rudertakt hinauf, Und Berge, wolkig himmelan, Begegnen unserm Lauf.” Ludwig had a sitting in one of the near chairs, deciding on a standing and joining Feliciano, who was seated on the floor, right in front of a window, a new large sketchbook in his hand that he was using dark pastels on to recreate the rain that was currently falling.

 “Aug, mein Aug, was sinkst du nieder? Goldne Träume, kommt ihr wieder? Weg, du Traum! so gold du bist: Hier auch Lieb und Leben ist.“ He sat close, in a clear touch, a hand holding him behind him.

 Feliciano suddenly stopped in his drawing, instead smiling up to Ludwig at the words that he found so lovely even though he couldn’t understand it completely.

 “You sound so wonderful in German,” Feliciano said dreamily.

 Ludwig smirked, continuing. “Auf der Welle blinken, Tausend schwebende Sterne, Weiche Nebel trinken, Rings die türmende Ferne.“ Now Ludwig laid his head upon Feliciano’s as he read on, as Feliciano sketched, both somehow managing to do their activities through the blush, the high activity of love streaming through their bodies that did well to heat the room.

 “Morgenwind umflügelt, Die beschattete Bucht, Und im See bespiegelt, Sich die reifende Frucht..“

 “Feliciano, Ludwig, there is need of opinions for the-” Queen Louis’s voice could be hidden well out of the wall that was built to keep the moment fresh and lovely to themselves.

 The Queen watched with adoring eyes at the scene, too beautiful to just depart, to miss such growth, such a reminder of a past that she thought would never repeat.

 “Your majesty, the power con-”

 “Shh, look at this,” she interrupted the messenger sent, pointing to the two figures sitting beside each other so warmly.

 The messenger, even with the weigh of many duties, breathed and awed. “It’s nice to see them be so lovely together,” she admitted.

 “Yes, yes, so much,” Louis agreed, finding more treasure in the caress Ludwig gave Feliciano’s hips. “There is more yet!” She assured, confident and loud even if she had only whispered the words to the other. “Come now, is this about the power containments?” She already moved aside, attentive once again, leaving the messenger behind, who almost tumbled as she turned and took her pace.

  “And that’s…200 cookies!” Feliciano gave that last count, closing the oven with the last addition.

 “Great!” And still Ludwig was mixing something else.

 Feliciano giggled as he rested his head on his hands, a cute lean on the counter, staring with the ever-growing fire of love in his eyes. “Aren’t 200 cookies enough?” He joked.

 The others that were already done sat in piles of decorated plates to the side. Feliciano, since he had helped in the majority of the day with the baking, thought there wouldn’t be a problem if he reached for one. It was stopped by a hit of Ludwig’s spoon.

 “Hey!” Feliciano pained, rubbing the forming red in his hand.

 “They’re for later. A little bit of patience, liebling.” Oh, how Feliciano was adoring being called that. It almost made the sting go away completely.

 “I thought of making some cinnamon rolls just for us. You still like them?”

 “I’ve never stopped,” Feliciano laughed.

 “This won’t let me make 200, but it can make us a couple,” Ludwig smiled, the dough ready to be formed.

 “I’m sure I’m going to love them!”

 That moment, a visitor came, luckily his robes familiar, Kiku taking a seating by one of the many stools. “I must say, Ludwig, I’m really glad you took this baking hobby,” he admitted, loving the smell, or just how happily and calm his arising king and queen turned each day, a new forming of all kinds of activities that did more than just the duties they had kept to before their journey.

 “He’s improved like you have no idea,” Feliciano cheekily added.

 “The last time you had something I baked, we were ten. How was I supposed to properly do this as a kid?” Ludwig excused.

 “I’m glad you practiced through the years.”

 “I completely stopped after Romulus’s letter.” Ludwig placed the bowl on the counter, dreading the memory, yet feeling its depressing grasped all over again.

 “It’s going to be fine. We’re training, preparing and I’m sure we’ll take Khaos when the times comes. But, let’s focus on what we’re doing now.” Feliciano took Ludwig’s hand in assurance and they smiled to each other confident, indeed just settling in the light and smells of this kitchen.

 In that distraction, Kiku neared his hand to one of the piles, thinking he could sneak in a cookie. He was stopped by another hit of Ludwig’s spoon.

  There was a mess of planning, scheduling and notes in Feliciano’s desk, and the aid of a playing baby that said arising queen was helping to the growing of this disruption wasn’t ideal to the current queen.

 “Feliciano, are you sure you should have Augustino here?”

 To be honest, Louis hadn’t been able to concentrate with the baby’s babbling, cries and Feliciano’s coos. How he had managed to work throughout the holding of his nephew was quite a feat.

 “I promised Lovino and Antonio to take care of him while they trained. I want to be a present and loving uncle. I want to be with him whenever possible,” he tried to convince, placing a quick kiss on the baby’s head while the other hand wrote on some documents on the desk.

 It was quite adoring to see Feliciano deal so well with children while working well at the same time. It assured her of a proper father for a future heir, as well as someone who could keep well to his queenly duties despite so.

 “If you want, I can go to another room,” Feliciano suggested.

 “No, no. Just make sure to calm him, all right?”

 Feliciano nodded and they both could focus on these preparations.

 “Are we going with the ground ballroom?” Feliciano asked.

 “Do you think it’s the best idea?” Queen Louis had learned after the first ball experience to trust Feliciano with his choices.

 “I believe so. Every royal from every kingdom will be coming, and I’m also thinking of inviting many others, so we will have plenty of people from different kingdoms. Because of the space and access, I think it would be best.” He signed the document officiating it, decided.

 “What about rooming? Will you take those guests into the castle too?”

 “We have the space and I’ve already spoken to the servants about availability and cleaning.” He even made a drawing and raised it to show the proof of his word. She smiled in deep pride.

  A clear beautiful night in the kingdom, and Ludwig and Feliciano didn’t waste it, rested well together in a comfortable couch they placed in the balcony. They took all its corner in a ball of themselves, Feliciano dressed in that very comfortable free robe Francis had giving him when they were in Paris.

 With Ludwig, his own free pants and shirt, glasses of wine in their hands, pure bliss in their expressions, it was the scene of royalty and riches that anybody expected for the arising king and queen. Closed were their eyes, every breeze another caress to get them to sleep just like this, out in the open as held together they had lately slept in their bed.

 “Hey,” Ludwig tried to awaken as sweetly as he could, raising Feliciano more into a proper sitting.

 “Luddy…I was almost falling asleep,” Feliciano groaned, having to rub away whatever had caught him. “I know, I’m sorry, but…I was meaning to suggest something we could do this weekend.” He noticed that they had some time of freedom, one deserving after what they had gone through in the week, their instructors feeling that they needed rest and calmed minds before they continued with another wave of harsh responsibilities.

 “Hmm…mud bathing,” Feliciano relaxed at not only the soothing of it, but of the fun and play that can come.

 “Feliciano…no.”

 “Then what…tell me already.” He was still sleepy and wanted to crash as soon as Ludwig omitted this plan.

 “There’s an island, north of the German province, reaching well into the Scandinavian provinces, called Norderney. It’s not exactly the beaches we saw in the Oralee, or the Grecian islands or even the ones from Italy. But it’s still a great place to swim with peculiar things that are worth seeing. My family has a cabin there and I really don’t think they would mind us taking it for the time.”

 With the swaying Feliciano maintained, eyes fluttering constantly in temptation to sleep, Ludwig had worried he hadn’t even listened.

 “That sounds wonderful, Luddy. But-” he yawned and stretched, then wrapping his arms well around Ludwig’s torso- “why do you want to go?”

 Ludwig sighed, “I made a promise to take you everywhere, didn’t I?”

 Feliciano smiled and blushed so adorably. “Didn’t we kind of do that for the last couple of months?” He chuckled.

 “We did, but it was mostly because we had a duty to fulfill. I want to do something more fun and just…for us,” Ludwig wanted to coax.

 Feliciano cuddled more into his chest, smiling deep, imagining the awe that will surely lay in this trip. “Will we go tomorrow?”

 It was sudden, and Ludwig wondered if Feliciano just said it in a dreamy haze. Yet…it was possible and even better.

 “Yes.” It was decided.

  “My Tino, Tino, Gustino, Augustino.”

 “Stop singing João’s stupid ass song!” Lovino scolded, holding out his arm to have his son back. Feliciano gave him, but not before leaving him a long kiss on the top of his head.

 His little nephew was already a month old, more adorable each day, growing, smiley and energetic.

 “Aw, I’ll miss him so much!”

 “Feliciano…we’re only leaving for three days.”

 “Still!” He slammed his hands on the side of his thighs.

 Ludwig grinned, “come on, let’s get going.”

 Ludwig took Feliciano’s hand and lead him forward down the castle entrance steps, to an awaiting carriage at the bottom, only but simple bags over their shoulders.

 “Don’t get too frisky!” Lovino called from his spot.

 Ludwig froze, and Feliciano rolled his eyes, “we won’t!”

 Just as they arrived before the carriage, about ready to take their entrance, Pookie huffed angrily on Feliciano’s shoulder.

 “Pookie, what is it?” Feliciano wondered. His little St. Mark had never reacted this way when getting on a carriage.

 Cocky, with a prideful shake, fly, and walk to the pavement, he took a stance and let the growing magic run over him. The light he was engulfed in grew and grew, until the large beast was before them again, wings expanded, prepared, ready, but Ludwig and Feliciano didn’t understand for what, remaining in their stand confused.

 “Uh…what does he want?” Ludwig asked.

 Pookie seemed impatient, ready to growl out his distaste. He shook his bottom, laid even more on the ground, and pointed with his wings to his back, then expanding them even more.

 “I think he wants us to…get on him,” Feliciano understood. He gave some steps closer, the idea one that settled well on his head, wanting to take those wings and let them fly off with the wind as any creature of the sky.

 Ludwig could see his interest, but he was still suspicious, remaining still by the carriage. “What? No. That is highly dangerous!” He tried to bring sense to both the animal and his arising queen, but neither gave head.

 “But…he really wants us to,” Feliciano pointed.

 “You really want to!”

 “Yes! Come on! Let’s try it out.” It seemed Feliciano was already decided, coming near and trying to find a way in which he could mount without causing too much weigh on Pookie. Ludwig still stood by the carriage, looking to the horses as if expecting them to help him convince these two.

 Feliciano was now well placed, excited, smiling already at what this kind of traveling would be. He could imagine himself riding exactly like Augusta did in her depictions, into battle or whatever unknown sunsets in the horizon. Ludwig still stood apart not wanting any of that.

 “Luddyyyyy,” Feliciano whined.

 “We’re not flying!”

 “This is Pookie! He wouldn’t let anything happen to us! Besides, it’s new and it would be really fun! Come on, let’s try it out!” Feliciano continued to persuade, with a deep wish in his eyes that Ludwig was slowly falling weak to.

 He gave up, although huffing, with arms angrily wrapped on his chest, his nearing steps as loud and mad. He gave a quick signal for some of the near servants to save the carriage and horses, taking sitting on the winged lion behind Feliciano. It took him a while to really get comfortable, Pookie so annoyed Feliciano feared he would knock out Ludwig on purpose.

 “If anything happens…we’re taking horses back,” Ludwig warned.

 “Yes! And don’t worry, everything will be all right!” He smiled back to him. “Now, hold on to me.” Feliciano could feel Pookie going through his preparation to fly off at the instant the wind took him.

 “I think I’m good like this.”

 “Are you?” Feliciano really wanted him to think, but it was already too late. Pookie’s wings were spread and he blasted off into the heights, in a moment having them even higher than the castle. Both had panicked, Feliciano holding tightly to the fur and having to lay his face in it, the rush of the wind hitting badly. Ludwig, after an unceremoniously shout, realized he had no other holding than Feliciano, wrapping his arms rather strongly around him, leaving Feliciano breathless as Pookie adjusted well into the air.

 After a fearsome spin, a leaning and then another rush of altitude, Pookie finally found his settling, now calm, a smooth direction to north on an outing of the city. At this point, the breeze became calm, the ride peaceful, Ludwig and Feliciano could dispatch themselves from whatever hiding and actually look appropriately around them.

 What a beautiful glow of the setting sun, the spread of colors of their capital city, of red mountains, bountiful villages, shinning rivers and lakes, all in a radius of freedom and reaches that made them more ruling than any powerful throne they could be given. There was a running of emotion as if they could feel every life moving below them, the horizons showing a liberation of places to explore and never reach limits. It brought ease and content to the riders, falling in ease, no fear blinding them any longer from the majesty of it all. Pookie seemed to grin and raise his head in pride…but with a shake of his mane that gave an awakening slap to Feliciano, he reminded that there was still a place to reach.

 “Oh, yeah,” Feliciano remembered, bringing his hands back to the hold of the mane as a wheel to their flight. Feliciano tested it out, Pookie obediently following whatever direction he decided to move him toward to.

 “Where to?” Feliciano asked Ludwig. He was the one that knew well the direction to Norderney and they very much depended on him for that.

 Ludwig took a better look at their surroundings, to the routes that looked diminutive and the landmarks but specks below. “West through Grunewald,” he could identify, and they could begin.

 Feliciano nodded as did Pookie, and the lion turned to fly over the familiar forest. Onward for the first time on the back of a St. Mark.

 Lovino had watched it all from the comfort of the castle, not being able to hide how impressed he was by the spectacle of watching his brother fly off on Pookie like in ancient stories. Augustino was just as wondered, his eyes following their dot even as it disappeared in the distance.

 “I hope your uncle doesn’t teach you to be that crazy.”

[spikeisawesome456]

So... I decided to do all of these asks, because I was bored. :-D 

Obscure Asks.

1. what’s your favorite way to dress? Uhh… Comfortably. I tend to just wear yoga pants, graphic t-shirts, and a Dipper hat.

2. if you could change anything about yourself, what would it be? Ohhh… I both want to say lots of things, and nothing. Because on one hand, there are things about me that annoy me (I overshare, I sometimes get insanely hyper, like now, I can be really mean/rude, etc.…), but on the other hand, I do enjoy who I am. For all my faults, I am proud of the person I’ve become, and the person I’m still becoming. Maybe I’d make my memory better, so I could really utilize my intelligence, and stop forgetting people’s names because it’s starting to get really rude.

3. what movie/game/etc. helps you calm down? Eh… I like to play Stardew Valley, but it doesn’t help me calm down. I play it when I’m calm. It actually used to stress me out… probably not a good example. Uh… Nothing, I guess. Music helps. Sometimes. Basically, when I’m stressed, the only thing that can help is solving the problem or ignoring the problem. And if I can’t ignore it, I just… get stressed. Hugging my mom sometimes helps.

4. what does your room smell like? Like… a room? It smells okay? It recently smells like Maple Cinnamon Pancakes, because I got a Maple Cinnamon Pancake candle from Bath and Body Works, so… yeah?

5. do you like to organize? Ehh… Like to, yes. Do I do it? Noooo….

6. what kind of music would you listen to if you could only choose one? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Why Would You Ask Me This???????????? Also I’m assuming this means genre. But… Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

7. what song is your aesthetic? Um… I don’t really know my Aesthetic? I’m a bit all over the place. Girly, tom boy, shiny, glittery, matte…. Fast, slow, everything in between and outside. If you know of a song like that, then that’s me! Otherwise… Eh.

8. what color do you think goes best with your personality? Uh… No idea. I like blue, though. I’m not that calm a person, though. Well, sometimes, but not always. Well, it depends on what you mean by calm. So… Probably purple, a mix between loud red/orange and cool blue.

9. do you believe in auras? Not… really? A little? Like, we each have our own personal feel, and energy. Like, in a psychological way. But in the color way? Not really. Can people feel other’s energy better than others? Sure! But that’s just a hyper awareness of self and other, not a “six sense,” or whatever.

10. what do you wish you hated, but actually like? I don’t wish to hate anything.

11. vague about your crush(es) I… don’t have any. I decided a long time ago that crushes were stupid, after I ruined a good friendship with my weird crush. Plus, I don’t spend enough time around people to develop crushes.

12. is there someone you have mixed feelings towards? Not… really? Some of my old professors, maybe. My Abnormal Psychology professor was nice, sometimes, but could say such mean things at times about people with mental illness.

13. talk about an au or story you came up with Oh! I made up a story about a man who has two sons (though I changed it so one child, the elder, was a daughter in the last edit, so…) who sold his soul to keep them safe and happy, after he lost all his money when his business partner skipped town and left his embezzlement charges with the man. The man didn’t get sent to jail, since the small town had pity on him, but he did lose all his money, meaning his eldest, now a daughter, had to steal. Hating that, he made a deal with the devil. 2 years later, the devil (who isn’t evil, but more like the Jewish idea of the devil, who is a temptation) comes knocking and the man learns that instead of taking his soul, since the devil would get it at his death regardless (in order to make a deal with the devil you had to commit the greatest sin, murder, thus tainting your soul), the devil took the thing you loved most. For selfish men, it would be their fame and money. For lustful men, it would be their object of affection. For the man, who had made the deal for selfless reasons, it was his children, whom he loved more than anything.

The plot would have gone into the man trying to escape the devil, who graciously gave him a week to prepare, but I didn’t know how to write it, and it’s kind of been in my notes on my iPod for years. It would have ended with the devil catching up to the family, with the man finally begging the devil to let his children live, that it wasn’t their fault. And the devil would have smiled, sweetly, before killing the children while the man watched. As the devil turned away, the man would have brokenly asked why? Why he couldn’t have left them alone? And the devil would have chuckled sadly and said that it was what had always been planned. That the entire chase had been futile from the very first moment. The devil had sympathy for the man, but he couldn’t go against the orders of God (my version of the devil is kinder, more sympathetic to the plights of humans, since I view the “devil” not as an enemy, but as, I previously mentioned, a temptation. He tempts people, on God’s orders, but doesn’t have any true animosity towards humanity. He just follows orders). Finally, the man begs the devil to kill him, to end his suffering, that even an eternity in Hell would be better than living knowing he killed his children. And then, I’m split on the ending. In the dream that inspired this story, the devil smiles wickedly and says, “I thought you’d never ask,” before bashing the man (me, in the dream) over the head with a bat, since in the dream the devil was eviler. But I think it’s more poignant to let the devil laugh softly again, turn, and say “Oh, my dear man. That’s the whole point,” before walking away/disappearing.

Anyway, that was my main story idea. I really like it, and wrote about 20,000 words for it, but got stuck on the middle part. I wanted to add an old friend of the man’s, who became an alcoholic following the death of one of their old friends. The friend group fell apart after the man left for plot reasons, which I don’t have time to explain, and it grew worse until one of their friends died, and the whole friend group fell apart and she became an alcoholic. However, I wasn’t sure if this subplot took away from the whole plot, and I felt it was written poorly, so I kind of gave up. Plus, I had no idea what obstacles the devil could put in their way, since I don’t know religion. Though… I am currently taking a bible course in college, so maybe I’ll revisit the story. If anyone wants to read what I have, send me a message. :-)

14. do you like makeup? Eh… Depends. I sometimes like it. Also, after writing about my whole story, going back to these questions just feel weird. Eh.

15. do you prefer space or the ocean? I like the ocean, since I can see it more often. Though, I love looking at the stars when I can. I just live in a city with tons of light pollution and can’t ever see the stars.

16. if you could pick any planet besides earth, where would you live? ????? What other planets could I live on??? I don’t know any real planets that have life on them, and none of the 7 others we have interest me much. Or is this fictional? In which case… I don’t know?

17. what form of government do you like the most? (capitalism, socialism, etc.) Um… this took a dark turn. “Hey, what’s your favorite color??” “Do you like makeup??? :-D” “What is your political preference, you capitalist/commie scum???” This question just feels like a trap the cops laid in the middle of a silly, fun little quiz.

18. what animal would you keep as a pet, if you could? I’d keep a cat, but I’m allergic. And a little afraid. Also, I think this means like, wild animal, or mythical creature, but I wouldn’t want to keep a wild animal captive, even if I could. Same with mythical creature.

19. what do you think our purpose is in the universe? To do our best and to enjoy the life we’ve been given. This relates to the next question, but I believe that if there is a God, they’d want us to enjoy life.

20. do you believe in god(s)? Continuing from the last question, yes and no. I believe in a higher power, since I don’t see how the entire universe and life can just be random, but I don’t really believe in “God” or “gods” as humans have imagined them, as helpful or destructive forces that meddle with humanity. I believe they would be a high creature, humans unable to sense them since we don’t have the body parts available to “see” them. There would likely be multiple higher beings, but it is possible one is in charge of earth, to look over us. Though, no miracle granting or listening in, since they probably aren’t on the same timeline we are, or an entire generation to us is a second to them. The afterlife is tricky, which is why I’m so terrified to die, so I won’t go into it. But, long story short, yes. I do believe in a sort of “God.” What they mean to earth, what they want with us, I don’t know. But I do believe something created the universe, and watches over the various planets. Also, I believe that other planets have life, and that aliens may or may not have visited earth, but if they did, we might not have known, since, like with “God,” we don’t have the appendages or body parts available to “see” them. I mean, if we didn’t have eyes or ears, we’d never know what we were missing. Who knows what we can’t “see” because we don’t have the right parts?

21. is there a song you can’t handle listening to, even though you like it? Ehh…. Nothing, really. But, there was a P!nk song I had to turn off halfway through. Not because I hated it, but because it reminded me of my family too much it hurt. I didn’t really like the song, but it was okay. I think it was called Family Portrait? Update, I looked it up, and yes, it is called Family Portrait, by P!nk. It’s not completely similar to my family, but it’s close enough that it just… hurt.

22. what ex do you miss the most, if you have one? If you never date, you can never have an ex you miss the most. *Insert guy tapping his forehead meme here*

23. do you like soft, fluffy blankets or rough/smooth blankets? Soft ones. Who… who likes rough blankets??? What??? I mean, I prefer smoother ones, I guess, to super fluffy. But rough? Really??

24. what is your favorite thing to learn about? Psychology!!! I love it!

25. what country’s history do you find the most interesting? Um… I don’t really like history. I’m taking a history class, though, and I liked Islam’s history. No one country, but the history of the Middle East and Islam.

26. what do you think about genderbent ____ (insert someone here) I think this is one where you had to send in a question for. So, feel free to ask me about any genderbend you like, but warning: I tend not to like genderbent characters. I just think it’s weird, and pointless. Especially if you genderbend a character to make a gay ship straight. Like… dude. Or, vice versa, to make a straight ship gay. It’s just… unnecessary. Make new characters or find a different ship.

27. what breakup was the hardest, if you had one? *insert answer from question 22, but exchange “Ex you miss the most” for “hardest breakup”

28. do you have someone where you can’t decide if you like them romantically or just as a friend? Not really. Going back to question 11, I don’t spend enough time around people to really know. But, as I have weird understandings of friendship and love, as well as a deep loneliness that makes me emotionally invested in anyone who is even slightly a friend, this sort of happens all the time. I just want to be less lonely, usually. I’m just… bad at people. I tend not to like them, and they bore me, yet I long to be around people and have friends. So. Lots of contradictions.

29. what do you think about Tumblr discourse? Eh. I think most of it is stupid. Just… chill. The world sucks, it’s best just to do things you enjoy, don’t sweat the small stuff. Even the big stuff. If there’s nothing you can do, just… move on. Live with it, and live your life. Don’t yell at random people, even If they’re “terrible.” Nothing is black and white, and as soon as you start attacking others because of your opinion, you’re becoming a person in the wrong, even if your view is virtuous. No one is right. No one is wrong. It’s just a matter of opinion. Now, does that mean you shouldn’t argue your point? No! Your view is valid and if it matters to you, express it. But don’t hate on another because of it. Or else you lose your virtue, your moral “righteousness.” Sorry, this went in a wrong direction. But… yeah.

30. what instrument do you wish you could master? Piano, guitar, and violin. Piano the most, though.

31. how easy is it for you to be honest? Pretty easy? I tend to be honest, most often, because I don’t really see why not. But it’s also easy to tell white lies or to omit truths, if it makes my life easier. So. Eh.

32. do you have any strange interests? Nothing I can really think of? Nothing that other people aren’t interested in. I like collecting coins, but so do many others.

33. do you have any strange fears? Ehh… I’m a bit afraid of animals, but it’s mostly because I’m afraid of them hurting me, which isn’t really strange?? So… again, not really? Most of my fears are common. Maybe my fear of holes? Like, on the skin? But people have that fear, too. And it’s less a fear and more of a disgust.

34. what food do you binge on when you’re lazy? Anything I can, really. I tend not to get super hungry, so I only eat when I’m bored or “lazy”, or when I know people should eat. Also, I dislike calling it lazy, since I think that’s a negative word for a more complicated feeling. For me, at least.

35. when you get angry, how do you show it? I tend to go quiet and seethe. I don’t usually yell, though I will if the other person (my dad usually) is yelling. I prefer leaving the room, though, or else getting all “righteous”. Like, righteous fury, though I’m not always righteous when I get angry.

36. do you have any impulsive movements? (twitches, ticks, flapping, etc.) Dude, yes. I tend to crack my knuckles/twist my hands impulsively/nervously. I also tap/rub my thumb against my fingers, or move my foot. Mostly when I’m “hyper,” or possibly manic. Otherwise, when I’m more down, it’s just the cracking knuckles thing.

37. what do you listen to music on? iPod/Phone, and my computer. I tend not to listen to radio. Sometimes I’ll listen to new music on YouTube, but it’s mostly iTunes/the iPod/phone music app.

38. are you left brained or right brained? Well, we all have both right and left brains, so I am both. Since no one side of the brain can be really more dominant. Unless part of your brain is dead, like my mother’s, who is more right brained, since parts of her left brain died when she was born. But, since I understand what this question is asking, I am, really, both. I’m creative and logical. Shocker.

39. earbuds or headphones? Oh, headphones, every time. I HATE earbuds. They always fall out of my ears. I mean I’ll take them if I have nothing else, but I hate them.

40. do you like light blankets or heavy blankets? Eh…. I tend to have heavy blankets, even though it’s hot where I am, and I need a fan to keep me cool. So. Yeah.

[flightyrock]

Laundry Day

Summary: It’s laundry day for a certain pair of half ghosts.  But when Vlad digs deeper than he should, he finds more than dirty laundry, testing the bonds between father and son.

OR

A shameless fluff fic in which Vlad is too hard on himself (as usual), Daniel does his best to reassure him, and Vlad proves he is father of the year material.

Featuring: accidental naps, hugs galore, and rambling internal monologues.

Characters: Vlad Masters, Daniel Masters

Tags and Warnings: Father/son relationships, Backstory, Emotional fluff/pain, Really Long Flashbacks, invasion of privacy, miscommunication, allusions to suicide, hopelessness, fake science, grey ethics, fake medical jargon, dehumanization, Vlad’s special brand of angst, mild body horror, clichéd tropes, happy ending, cuteness

If you’re concerned, feel free to PM me and I will be more than happy to provide a detailed summary or tell you what parts to avoid.  All of the iffy ones, save for the emotional hurt/comfort, only last for a few paragraphs.  Most of them are contained in the flashbacks, which are in italics. But on a whole, it’s father/son fluff and feels.  Be safe!

Word Count: ~10,500

I’ll also make this available on AO3 for your viewing pleasure, since I know some people (myself included) prefer that format better.  But tumblr makes it easier to share, so that won’t be linked for awhile; I’m thinking a week?

Some notes before we dive in, since this is the first fic I’ve written in this particular universe, so there are a few (read: a lot) of things I need to cover.  Explanation and story under the cut!

Update:  This isn’t posting right, so I’m going to remove the links for now.  If this works, I’ll make a separate post with the links.

This fic takes place in what I’ve nicknamed the “Perfect Son AU,” an alternate universe to Danny Phantom where Vlad successfully created a clone, which he named Daniel.  It’s a working title, and someone else might have already come up with something better, but I’m running with it for now.

I did not create Daniel; he was originally introduced as an unnamed character along with a possible future version of Vlad in Butch Hartman’s second “Danny Phantom: 10 Years Later video.” All we’re told is that he’s a mixed clone of Danny and Vlad.

Of course, this premise has tons of potential, and several artists have created content for him.  I fell head over heels for @schnivel‘s interpretation; the designs and characterization are just incredible, and gave me that creative itch. I live for that cute picture of Vlad and Daniel at a Packer’s game.  There are also a bunch of doodles, and the tags provide fun details, hinting at character dynamics and firmly establishing Daniel’s presence in-universe.  The rest of his art is awesome, too; it’s incredibly expressive (facial expressions and body language are always SPOT ON), and he has some really neat OCs, so be sure to check him out!

Schnivel also took the time to chat with me, and answered many of my questions regarding Daniel’s characterization.  Thank you so much!

I discovered that other artists loved this version of the character as well, and during one of schnivel’s discussions with prom during one of @promsien‘s streams, she had the fun idea that Vlad knits Daniel sweaters, and heaven help anyone who ruins one of those.

Needless to say, this (and other details surrounding the fallout) gave me…ideas.  This incident is only hinted at in this fic, which started out as a cute 1500 word fluff piece I thought up on the bus back to school after Thanksgiving break.  But then plot and angst snuck in, and the characters just weren’t quite right, so four rewrites, 9000 words, and about two months later, here we are; the longest piece I’ve ever written.  

Keep in mind that this is just my interpretation of schnivel’s canon, based on details from several sources, so the events described here may or may not have occurred; essentially, it’s a fanfic of schnivel’s AU.

This story takes place after about a year after Daniel’s creation, in the transition period between schnivel’s 16 y/o and post puberty designs.  While not necessary to enjoy the story, I strongly recommend taking a look at these before you begin reading; you won’t be sorry.   Some other quick details to keep in mind:

1.  Daniel is still in high school, and is enrolled in Casper High.

2.  Daniel =/= Danny

3.  Yes, Daniel knows Danny and they do not get along.

4. Vlad and Daniel live together, and share a healthy (and frequently adorable) father/son relationship.  They get along incredibly well most of the time, and genuinely care about each other.  Vlad is finally happy (mostly), and it’s my favorite thing ever.  Do me a favor and do not tag this as ship, please and thank you.

5. Danny is not in this fic, but he is referenced a couple of times; once, confusingly, as Daniel.  (I’m sorry; blame Vlad.)  It’s not mentioned in this fic, but he doesn’t call Danny “Daniel” anymore, for obvious reasons.

Alright, enough notes!  I’ve rambled long enough!   Kudos to you for reading this far; I do think the context is necessary to fully appreciate this story, so if you skimmed, I completely understand, but I urge you to check out the five-point list and links  [sorry guys, removed these to see if they were the problem] above. And remember to check out @schnivel and @promsien.  Thanks, guys!  So, without further ado, enjoy!

“Daniel, laundry!”

The amiable call echoed off the interior walls of a luxurious but tasteful mansion overlooking Amity Park; walls that had changed extensively in the past year.  Previously, the nondescript barriers existed out of necessity, stabilizing the considerable load of the structure and dividing too much space into too many cold, empty rooms.  

One wall in particular, located between the entry and the main staircase, changed dramatically, and now proudly announced to visitors that two shared the space, and quite happily at that.

An eclectic selection of frames housing amateur photographs were mounted artfully in a quantity bordering on excessive.  From this, an outsider could reasonably assume that the curator was either an overly-enthusiastic hobbyist or a new parent.

In this case, both assumptions would be correct.  Indeed, most of the photos focused on a single boy, specifically, a teenager, sporting unique, striped locks and a smile.  

But this wasn’t your average, awkward, get-me-out-of-here, oh-my-god-are-we-still-not-done-taking-pictures-yet kind of smile that most teenagers plastered on instinctively to escape the camera: No, this was a genuine, candid expression of happiness that would make any photographer worth their salt dissolve into blissful tears.  It would have been hard to believe the boy was truly a teenager, if not for the distinctive, almost puppy-like proportions that suggested there was still growing left to do.

He was occasionally joined by an older gentleman wearing a smile of his own; more guarded, but no less genuine.  In these photos, the boy veritably beamed at the camera or the man himself, expression all the brighter in his company, leaving no doubt just who was responsible for cultivating such joy.  Likewise, the boy coaxed the man out of his shell, steadily transforming a shyly quirked corner of the mouth into a joyful grin as the series progressed.

The gentleman in question was currently strolling around the house, dressed casually in socks, slacks, and a button-down.  His sleeves were neatly rolled above the elbows, exposing muscular forearms that strained to maintain an awkward hold on the large basket of casual wear.  His burden couldn’t have been too cumbersome, however, as he took a moment to admire the photo wall, as he always did.

He shifted the basket, clamping it against his left hip with the same arm, freeing his right to compulsively straighten an already perfectly-aligned portrait of the boy, providing an excuse to linger.  

It was one of his favorites; a candid shot he had snagged during one of their first snows together.  He was quite proud of it.  Daniel kneeled on the plush window seat, dwarfed by the dual floor-to-ceiling windows.  His features were alight with childlike wonder and the soft, winter sun, breath fogging the glass as he peered out of the pane, entranced by dancing flakes.  Vlad’s eyes grew misty, recalling cold, damp clothes, laughter, and hot chocolate   His shoulders softened a touch, mouth pulling upward fondly.

The reverie was broken by an uncomfortable burn in his forearms as the basket slipped slowly downwards under gravity’s influence, prompting him to readjust his hold and resume his search.  

It was that time of year again; the relentless heatwave had broken at last.  Residents of Amity Park gave a collective sigh of relief, enjoying cool days and brisk evenings just shy of uncomfortable as summer gave way to autumn.  Full suits were no longer suffocating.  And football season was in full swing.

In short, life couldn’t be better.  There was something invigorating about the crisp, cool air that accompanied the changing seasons, putting Vlad in the rare mood to do some tidying.  Housework was a small pleasure he had rediscovered recently; busy hands left the mind free for reflection, something that Vlad wasn’t as eager to avoid these days.  The reason for this?  Well…

“Daniel!” he called again, perplexed by the continued lack of response from his young charge.  No, his son, he reminded himself, distracted for a moment by the thrill of excitement and anxiety that still shot through him at that thought.  Against all odds, he was a father.  

He savored the feeling as he searched, peeking around the corner to the living room on a whim, and bit back another call.  Warm affection swelled in his chest at the rare and, admittedly, adorable sight.

His son, Daniel, was sprawled lengthwise across the couch, out like a light.  Sleep had hit him hard and fast; the awkward position of his limbs was telling, and looked anything but comfortable.  

A socked foot was braced on the floor while its twin was slung over the couch’s far arm, still trapped in a sneaker, laces tangled from an abandoned attempt at removal.  One arm hung limply to the side, while the other was likely going numb, trapped against the back and beneath the Maddies, who were taking full advantage of their human’s compromised position.  

The opportunistic felines were curled up on the half-ghost’s broad chest, passive-aggressively close to one another, soaking up the warmth.  Like many cats, they managed to radiate smug bliss even from the depths of slumber, much to Vlad’s amusement.  

He really couldn’t blame them.  Naps for Daniel were a rare occurrence, after all; the boy rarely slowed down long enough.

But Vlad had almost forgotten what else autumn meant; school was once again in full swing.  A ridiculous amount of coursework accompanied Daniel’s ambitious class load, pushing the limits of an already-taxing daily schedule.

In addition to coursework, he participated in several extracurricular activities, made time for friends, and dedicated himself to a rigorous training and tutoring regimen of Vlad’s own design. No wonder the boy was exhausted.

Not that he had so much as hinted at fatigue, eager to prove himself.  

Vlad mentally shook his head, pride mixing with fond exasperation.  He had, admittedly, forgotten just how difficult it was to be a teenager (though he thinks he can be excused for this oversight given that it’s been over twenty years since then; twenty long years).  He vaguely recalled expectations to tackle a workload any self-respecting, paid employee would strike over.  

Daniel, like many teenagers, did that and more with only a fraction of useable energy at his disposal at any given time, resources diverted to accommodate the emotional and physical stress the body underwent as it matured.  Puberty had hit Daniel late and with a vengeance.  The boy had been shooting up like a weed lately, the gap between his cuff and ankle widening at an alarming rate (not surprising given the state of the pantry at the end of any given week; the teen had to be burning through massive amounts of energy in the process).  

As his coach, Vlad had noticed he was struggling physically; his center of balance shifted so rapidly he just couldn’t keep up.  Daniel’s frustration was all but tangible at times, face heating with anger and humiliation when he fumbled through warm-ups and drills that had once been simple. Recently, more often than not, he left their practice sessions drained and irritable, shower doing little to dispel a dark mood that carried over into their evening lessons.

Vlad wondered if he was sleeping enough.

Judging from his current state alone, the poor boy needed all the rest he could get.  Vlad quelled a rush of remorse for pushing him so hard, reminding himself that Daniel had set the pace.  

Insisted, really.  He was normally eager, almost desperate, to improve, diving into training with a single-minded intensity that rivaled Vlad’s own.  Daniel had protested furiously when Vlad had suggested they take it a bit easier during the school year, pushing himself even harder.

Vlad chuckled fondly; Daniel was his son, after all.  But perhaps he could persuade him to revise their schedule to an every other day kind of thing; in hindsight, it was a bit ambitious to have lessons and physical training on the same day…

Musing about schedules, he set the basket aside and approached, debating whether the merits of repositioning gangly limbs into a more comfortable position outweighed the risk of waking the boy.  

No, better to let him rest. He was young, after all; he probably wouldn’t suffer from the stiff neck Vlad wouldn’t admit to getting if he slept at the demonstrated awkward though, admittedly, impressive angle.  (His neck definitely did not twinge in sympathy. He wasn’t old.)

He settled for carefully prying off the remaining shoe before unfurling a fuzzy throw that hung over the back of the couch, settling it gently over long legs, careful not to disturb the felines.  They, of course, would have no such qualms about waking Daniel in their subsequent bid for freedom should they be trapped beneath the heavy fabric.

His fond gaze migrated upward upon completion of his task, settling on Daniel’s face, relaxed in slumber. It was a rare treat to observe his son in such a peaceful state, and he was somewhat tempted to take a picture (too bad his camera was in his room).  

Daniel looked so young this way.  The man’s eyebrows bunched, oddly nostalgic as he took in the boy’s strengthening features, an early sign that he wouldn’t be one for much longer.  Soon, soft lines would vanish completely, giving way to the strong jaw and defined cheeks that were already taking shape.  

He would miss these days. Vlad felt an irrational surge of longing and loss, feeling absurdly cheated out of the early years, of a tiny Daniel smiling at him, of endless questions and childlike wonder (which was absolutely insane, considering he didn’t even like children.  There was a reason he’d decided to create a teenaged clone).  But if that was the case, Vlad supposed he wouldn’t be the Daniel he knew now.  It was probably for the best.

He sighed, and ran a gentle hand through thick stripped locks, marveling at the silky softness as it slid through his fingers.  It really was getting long, Vlad thought idly, scratching lightly across the scalp, delighted when the crease between Daniel’s eyes smoothed, and he sunk deeper into sleep with a content sigh.

Vlad lingered for a moment before withdrawing reluctantly, gathering up the basket again with a sigh of his own.  A nap would do the boy good, he reminded himself, so he’d best leave Daniel to it.

Of course, this meant he was back to square one with the laundry.  He was looking for Daniel in the first place to gather his dirty clothes so Vlad could start a load or two before dinner.

Well, perhaps he could still do that.  He could always take a detour into the boy’s room himself.  He was certain Daniel wouldn’t mind the intrusion; after all, he was simply retrieving laundry, so he wouldn’t be there long.

Decision made, he turned back, pausing to empty his basket in the laundry room before ascending the stairs once again to the wing that housed their personal quarters, hesitating for a moment before cracking open the door and entering Daniel’s room.  

It was strange, being here without the room’s main occupant.  He felt a bit like an intruder.  The space was shockingly well-kempt for belonging to a teenager, not that he was surprised; Daniel was hardly your average teenager.  

As expected, his dirty laundry was in the hamper, and Vlad wasted no time in sorting through it.  

Something was off, though. Vlad lived with his son, so of course he noticed that Daniel had started sweater season as soon as he no longer ran the risk of suffering heat stroke.  That meant there should be about two weeks’ worth of ripening knitwear, as none had been sent out recently.  But there were none to be found in the hamper, and, despite the fibers’ natural resistance to sweat and grime, it was certainly time for a wash.

Most, if not all, of Daniel’s sweaters were handmade, knitted by Vlad himself, so required special care.  He supposed Daniel could be keeping such garments separate in a display of caution. Conscientious, as always.  

Not that it was necessary; Vlad only hired the best, and, of course, always ran a brief inspection of the sorted garments before they were taken to the proper cleaning facilities. Details meant everything in his line of work, and his appearance was one of many he monitored personally.  Sure, he was a billionaire, and could afford purchase a new wardrobe any time he wished, but it hadn’t always been this way. He was taught to take pride in his possessions, and waste was unthinkable; far be it for him to neglect his roots.

Shaking himself out of his musings (he certainly was distracted today), he got back to the task at hand; finding the sweaters.  He supposed he could simply wait and ask Daniel during their evening session, but leaving the job half-done would bother him.

Vlad was a completionist to a fault, and knew that if he put this off, he ran the risk of losing his productive mood.  Not to mention the thought of the laundry sitting half-finished would torture him all evening; it would have been better to have not started at all.  And he wouldn’t wake the boy.  But this also toed the line of invasion of privacy.  

He weighed his options, and decided that a taking a brief look couldn’t hurt; he was already here, after all. In such a neat space, there weren’t exactly an abundance of hiding places.

He checked the walk-in closet first.  A thorough search left him baffled by the complete lack of sweaters, dirty or otherwise. He had checked the drawers (meticulously folded), hangers (formal wear was sorted by degree of formality then color), and even the floor (his shoes were lined up so perfectly he put showrooms to shame).

Daniel clearly treasured his possessions, and Vlad felt a rush of pride.  His son kept his space in perfect order, and everything had a logical place.  Except for the sweaters, it would seem.  Which didn’t make any sense.

His frustration grew as he continued to pace the room and failed to find a single one.  He was running out of ideas, and was uncomfortable at the thought of exploring much further.  On a whim, he ducked his head under the bed, admittedly feeling a bit foolish; this was one of the oldest clichés in the book.

But his eyes were immediately drawn to a large cedar chest, a copy of the one he himself used for keepsakes.  He had forgotten the boy had one as well; Daniel had been delighted with the gift, especially when Vlad had shown him the contents of its twin in his private study.

Vlad slid the heavy container out, running a hand across the sanded, weighty lid, hesitating for only a moment before giving in to his curiosity and lifting it before he could change his mind.

Sure enough, here were Daniel’s sweaters.  He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.  Mystery solved.  The quantity bordered on insane, way more than he remembered making, Vlad observed somewhat sheepishly.  What could he say?  He was a stress knitter.  

But he was particularly fascinated with the way the garments were packed.  Despite the large quantity, each sweater was folded with a degree of precision that spoke wordless volumes of care.  Handmade garments often had quirks; small flaws that made each piece unique, making it nearly impossible to pack them away neatly.  Daniel had somehow managed it by treating each sweater as an individual, modifying his folding technique slightly to ensure optimal fit.  Even the dirty ones were carefully folded, and placed on the smaller, right-hand side of the central divider.  It made his closet look sloppy in comparison.

Reluctant to ruin what was clearly several hours of work, Vlad carefully flipped through layers of sweaters, separated with tissue paper, the garments growing smaller as he descended. He was sure most of these didn’t have a hope of fitting Daniel any longer.  

One stood out from the others, though.  It rested at the very bottom of the heavy chest, and was individually wrapped, obscured by many layers of delicate tissue and tied loosely with string.  This deviation from the established system sparked Vlad’s curiosity further, overriding common sense, and before he knew it, he was carefully removing the wrappings.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.  

He drew in a sharp breath, unnerved, and delicately traced the ragged edge of a black-rimmed tear with shaking fingers, transfixed.  It extended downward from right shoulder to sternum in a great slice, like it had been severed with a hot knife.  

Bafflingly, someone had also gone to great lengths to attempt repair; the edges were joined with neat, if pointless, stitches.  Only the lack of patching material revealed that this was a rush job.  Admirable effort, but an exercise in futility nonetheless; nothing could hope to fix the charred edges.  

The garment was utterly ruined.  No wonder Daniel kept this one covered so well; it likely brought back unpleasant memories, but the boy clearly didn’t have the heart to get rid of it.

Upon closer inspection, Vlad realized he recognized this sweater.  The vague unease grew into a feeling far more unpleasant.

It was the first one he’d ever made for Daniel, not that he’d known that at the time.  It had been started with his own dimensions in mind, but modified on a whim; gold and green, stitched together with hands bathed in the eerie green glow of the incubation chamber.  

He had been a different person then, twisted by hatred and blinded by his obsession with the Fentons.

Each stitch had been formed in bitter anger, to keep him grounded, patient.  Clicking needles helped to cover up the maddening hiss of the central air system and the relentless beep of monitoring equipment.

He knew at his core that this would be the last plot, his last attempt to take what was rightfully his; should he fail yet again, the fallout would be devastating.  He would be unable to stop himself from giving up, from descending irrevocably into madness.  Because at the end of the day, hate was all he had, his only constant along with his pride. But hatred took energy, and he was tired.  So tired.

Lips curled in disgust as he ran the clumsily-constructed fabric sitting in his lap through his fingers, reliving the turmoil through the record of amateurish mistakes that littered the garment.  Each pucker and twist, invisible to the untrained eye, glared at him accusingly, reminding him of sins he could never atone for.  Made him sick with guilt as they whispered to him, reminded him of a time when Daniel had been merely an “it” and “the clone,” a tool he had every intention to use for revenge.

He was practically living in the dim, sterile, underground room, on standby to respond in a moment should the clone destabilize again.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in his own bed (he kept a cot down here), gotten more than two consecutive hours of sleep, or eaten something more substantial than the occasional protein bar. He carefully refrained from imagining the state of the companies he was neglecting.

But this stage of the project was too unpredictable to leave unattended, the clone’s outline in the cloudy fluid filling the tube bobbing peacefully up and down, blissfully unaware that its existence could end in an instant.  But he wouldn’t let that happen.  He would have his prize.  With a completely obedient half ghost by his side, he would rule.  He had taken no chances, had combined a stolen sample of the Fenton boy’s DNA with his own.  It was his ultimate weapon.  No one would be able to stop him. No one could keep him from his rightful place.

But throughout human history, it is in moments like these that astounding things can happen.  Picture a person building a perfect pyramid, finally reaching the absolute top, standing on that tiny, sharp pinnacle, at the very highest they can go.

It is when we are at this peak, feel the most unstoppable, have the firmest foundation, are the most confident in our convictions, that the smallest breeze can topple us over and force us to rethink the foundations of our self-constructed realities as we fall, force us to shift our reality; rebuild, or cease to exist.  

It is the small things that shake us to the core, that have the power to change us forever.

Be it stroke of luck, fate, divine intervention or pure coincidence, one such moment occurred in that sterile lab when a rare set of circumstances coincided.  The fluid ensconcing the clone ran clear for several minutes, reflex prompted new eyes to flutter open, and Vlad happened to look up.  

And looked into a familiar set of blue eyes that he hadn’t seen anywhere other than a mirror since his mother had passed away all those years ago (he had searched for her desperately after he learned the nature of his transformation, to no avail).  They may have been obscured by fluid, but the shape and shade were unmistakable; they were her eyes.  His eyes. Staring unseeingly back at him.

It was…disturbing, to say the least.  Blame it on sleep deprivation if you will, but he felt his mother’s eyes cut right through him, accusingly, judging him for his behavior in her absence.  Forcing himself to do something he had done his very best to avoid, in a way only she ever could.  

So Vlad Masters took an honest look at himself for the first time in several decades.  

And he wept, because he knew that she didn’t like what she saw, was disappointed in him.  He had known this, on some level; it was why he had been putting off this realization for years.  But, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t disappointed he had fallen so far; no, because she knew and he knew now, too, that he had fallen.  Which meant that he was capable of picking himself back up and hadn’t. He had chosen not to, had chosen temporary comfort over the harder but healthier path.  But he could do better.  He would do better.  If not for her than for himself.

And on that paradigm shift, he rebuilt his world.  The eyes closed.  

And Vlad, with fresh eyes, truly looked into the face of the being he created for the first time.  But dread overtook him when he realized he wasn’t seeing the face of a clone.  No, instead, he was looking into the face of a child.

It took him back to the first time he had met young Daniel at the college reunion, blindsided by an irrational rush of paternal pride and unspeakable longing to get to know this boy, realizing that he wasn’t, didn’t have to be alone anymore. (How wrong he was).

That familiar, fierce longing again surged to the surface, become part of his world once again.  A desire he had buried long ago when the hopelessness simply became too much to bear.

All he had ever wanted was someone to love.

He thanked everything he could think of that he hadn’t started the programming, that is, the brainwashing, yet. And he wouldn’t.  He’d keep the basic learning protocols, so the boy could communicate, have basic knowledge about the world, but nothing else. If he wanted a son, he’d earn his trust and affection the old-fashioned way.  The right way.

But he was forgetting something.  New hope warred with sick dread.  But why? What threatened his happiness now? Because this being he created wasn’t a tool, this was a child.  His child. So still.  So fragile.  

The realization opened the floodgates, and he fought to keep the rush of panic at bay. What had he done!?

Once again, in a display of arrogance and ignorance, he had put someone at risk.  He already cared too much about the boy, was once again on the verge of losing everything. Because the child, Daniel, was dangerously unstable.  He could die.

Vlad couldn’t let that happen.  

For the first time in years, he was truly terrified of the consequences of failure.  Because he wasn’t used to consequences.  In an instant, the project had evolved into a horrible tightrope walk between life and death. He hoped the anxiety wouldn’t kill him first.

It was touch and go for a small eternity.  Vlad lost sleep, hair, and his lunch to far more close calls than he cared to recall.  He was certain he aged about twenty years that month, trapped in a micro-hell of his own design; he still had nightmares about that innocent face devolving into ectoplasm, but awake, screaming in agony from the confines of the tube at a pitch that made his hair stand on end…

Vlad mentally shook himself. No.  He thought about this quite enough at night, no sense in dwelling on it during waking hours as well.  

Preoccupied with the stressful task of keeping Daniel alive, sleeping in the lab even after the boy had stabilized out of sheer paranoia, he realized he was woefully unprepared to care for a child; embarrassingly so.  He panicked when Daniel emerged from the tube, realizing he hadn’t given a thought about basic needs.  Like clothing, for example.  

His “newborn” was freezing; his small frame shook uncontrollably in the thin sterile gown as he was propped upright on a cot so Vlad could monitor his vitals, a pile of medical blankets doing little to combat the chill. The boy was in tears; uncomfortable and confused, agoraphobic and overwhelmed by this strange new world, so Vlad had grabbed the completed sweater instinctively and helped the boy into it, hoping the warm weight would ground him, rambling about inconsequential things to distract from the alarming machines as he worked to reattach feeds and wires.

He cringed; in hindsight, he had risked further overstimulation that way, and the outcome could have been disastrous.  His palms still grew slick with cold sweat, and his blood pressure skyrocketed whenever he thought about everything that could have gone wrong, all the mistakes he had made in those early days.  He cursed his stupidity.  

Vlad shook off his self-disgust in favor of gathering up the old sweaters, having forgotten his original task, otherwise occupied with the chaos of his memories.  They didn’t fit Daniel any longer, so there really wasn’t any sense in keeping them.  

It was embarrassing how amateurish they looked now.  They were an unwelcome reminder of a time when he was at an absolute low.  He just wanted them gone.  Especially that first one.  The marred fabric seemed to mock him.  Yes, better to dispose of it, and bury the anxiety and fear that came with it.

He gathered his legs under him with mild difficulty, surprised to discover he was a bit stiff—he had been kneeling on the floor longer than he thought—and glanced up at the doorway.

Only to lock eyes with Daniel, who stood, gaping, in the doorway, hand frozen in an abandoned attempt to straighten tousled locks.  Tension radiated from his too-still frame, and wide eyes flickered from confusion to shock to panic.

Vlad froze as well, uneasy; he had never seen this look in the boy’s eyes before, and never cared to again.  Sick dread pooled heavily in his stomach as all other thoughts evaporated; he knew without a doubt that something was very wrong.

“Dad,” Daniel whispered, hand dropping abruptly.  “What are you doing with those?”

His gaze lowered, fixed on the pile of sweaters in Vlad’s arms.  Vlad looked down as well, and blinked, bemused by the sudden lack of sweaters there.

Daniel hugged the garments to his chest tenderly, like a young child would cuddle a favorite stuffed toy for reassurance after a scare.  In moments like these, Vlad was reminded of how new to the world the boy really was; it was too easy to forget when he wore the skin of a teenager.

A familiar, irrational stab of loss joined the budding guilt and self-loathing; that strange yearning for early years that never occurred.  

Nostalgia must be a theme today, he thought idly.

Reason returned as he watched Daniel drop carefully to his knees a deliberate distance away to begin refolding the stack.  Vlad’s inquisitive and concerned gaze was studiously avoided as the boy focused entirely on the task at hand.

Careful hands guided handmade fabric into precise creases reverently, deep blue eyes gleaming with a look of concentration so intense, it might have been comical under different circumstances.  If he didn’t recognize the carefully constructed front for what it was.

Upset was an understatement; and despite an admirable effort, Daniel was unable to conceal the slight tremble that made his hands clumsy and slow, an obvious tell that only intensified the harder he tried to hide it.  

Overall, he gave the impression of one who had survived a close shave.  As the shock slowly abated, Vlad’s mental alarm bells became more insistent.  This reaction was a bit extreme, even for someone experiencing the emotional fragility that was part and parcel of an unplanned nap.  Something wasn’t quite right; he was missing some crucial detail.

“Daniel, what…” Vlad trailed off, at a loss, hands reaching toward the boy helplessly, then falling short, uncertain.  “What did I—”

“You were going to get rid of them, weren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. The words were tight, clipped. His eyes remained fixed studiously downward, even though it was obvious that he wasn’t truly looking at the abandoned sweater in front of him, fists clenched in an a futile attempt to suppress trembling fingers.

Daniel abruptly rocked back on his heels and wiped roughly at his face, shattering the invisible barrier between them, allowing Vlad to finally take action.  He scrambled in his haste to close the gap.  

He gathered the boy clumsily into his arms, and Daniel practically melted into the firm embrace before returning it fiercely, clinging to him in turn.  A striped head filled his peripheral vision, resting its comfortable weight on his shoulder, and soaked the light fabric covering it in warm wetness.

It was unclear how long they remained that way, respecting an unspoken agreement to set aside the circumstances for awhile in favor of comforting another; indulging in the unique security that came from holding a kindred spirit close.  

After a while, Daniel pulled away reluctantly, sniffling wetly and wiping halfheartedly at his nose. Vlad produced a fresh handkerchief and settled into a cross-legged position, facing the teen, waiting patiently for him to collect himself while he gathered his own thoughts.

“I apologize, Daniel,” he began, slowly, when the sniffles had eased, and the boy settled into a similar position, rolling edges of soft fabric anxiously between his fingers as he met Vlad’s gaze.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that I am at fault here, but I do admit that I’m not entirely sure what exactly I did to cause you this much distress.  Regardless, I should not have been in your room or searched through your things without your express permission.  I knew better, but I did it anyway.  I invaded your privacy, and for that, I am sorry.”

Daniel maintained eye contact, reddened and puffy appearance doing nothing to diminish the sincerity evident in their depths.

“I forgive you.”

There was no hesitation. The honest declaration mowed through Vlad’s emotional barriers, and his vision blurred as identical blue eyes prickled with tears of their own.  

He bit his lip.  His mistakes had long entrapped him, clinging fast and weighing him down.  Experience taught him that, once made, he would never be rid of them.  This knowledge, this fear, were iron shackles. It was his curse.  But this boy…

Never before had he known such forgiveness.  

Daniel absolutely hated to see his dad cry.  There was just something fundamentally wrong about seeing someone you cared about in distress.  So he was quick to reassure, hoping to fend off the flood and the inevitable interrogation.

“There’s really no harm done.  They’re all here, they’re safe.”

Honestly, this assurance was just as much for himself.  Of course, he would have forgiven Vlad regardless of the outcome; his dad was way more important to him than keepsakes, but this had come completely out of left field.  

He had always been so careful, and seeing his collection spread across the floor had been the last thing he had expected after trudging upstairs to finish his homework before training, cursing himself bitterly for falling asleep.    

He had really only meant to rest his eyes for a second or two, having gone distractingly cross-eyed while undoing his laces, falling instead into the deep kind of sleep that left one feeling fuzzy-headed and irritable upon waking instead of rested.

Daniel looked over at his favorite sweater, the one he had taken the most care to preserve.  As always, fury at the damage was tempered with fond warmth.  He flushed lightly, briefly recalling the circumstances of its repair.

His dad, who had since pulled himself together, followed his line of sight, brows drawing together in confusion, focused on the blackened article.  

“Why keep these?  Most are much too small, and this one,” he pulled the garment closer, “is damaged beyond repair.”

Daniel’s hands twitched instinctively, ready to come to the rescue at any moment.  

Honestly?  The thought of getting rid of them had never even crossed his mind, so he hadn’t.  And he felt much too strongly about the garments to ever consider it.

But his dad was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer.  He had no idea how to put his jumbled thoughts and feelings on the matter into words, so he called upon the time-tested art of stalling.

“But you made them for me,” he settled on a basic truth, trying to buy a bit of time as he scrambled, struggling to string his thoughts into a pattern his dad would accept.

“I can make more, you know,” Vlad pointed out reasonably.  “There’s no sense holding on to something that’s outlived its usefulness. At this point, they’re just clutter—”

“They’re important to me!” Daniel snapped, and Vlad blanched, drawing back in shock.  

Daniel’s eyes widened, immediately regretting his outburst.

He didn’t mean to yell at his father!  But that statement hit distressingly close to home.  It was like Vlad wasn’t talking about the sweaters at all.  For a moment, his nightmares were playing out before his eyes…

He forcefully shoved his insecurities to the back of his mind in favor of running damage control; he had hurt his dad, and he looked on guiltily as his father struggled to school his features into a neutral position.

“I’m sorry, Dad!” Daniel rushed to explain, mentally kicking himself for his tone.

“I would never get rid of these.  I just can’t. You spent so much time on them, and it makes me feel cared for, kind of important, you know?”  

He traced the hem of the special one, eyes softening as his face heated up, but he was determined to get this out before he could talk himself out of it.  “Not to mention they’re basically portable hugs.  You’re with me all day this way.”

He hadn’t exactly wanted to give quite that much away.  But if he had to choose between his pride and his dad, his dad would win every time. It was the truth, after all, and he knew he had made the right choice when his dad’s eyes softened, and he was swallowed in his embrace once again.

Daniel had learned a long time ago that his father’s hugs went beyond the physical; they were part of an extensive nonverbal language, expressing what words simply could not.  

Because he maintained a stern public image, a necessity in his line of work, most people didn’t realize that his father was a very emotional man.  Daniel had seen how often he was misunderstood and slighted by his peers (to Daniel’s fury) because they never experienced this.  

For someone who claimed to have little experience in the area of affection, he sure didn’t act like it. Daniel still had no idea how he managed it, how exactly he coordinated the variations of timing and pressure into such clear but complex expressions.  This time, Vlad was conveying relief, awe, gratitude, and as always, more than anything, love.

The guilt intensified, sitting heavy and low in his stomach.  He didn’t deserve this.  He’s such a hypocrite, furious when others fail to appreciate his father, but hasn’t he done the same thing?  Vlad cared so much, almost too much, about other people; he would do anything for the ones he loved, for Daniel.  Anything.  And yet, Daniel was upset because he had tried to declutter.

Of course, Daniel is fully aware that this isn’t exactly the reason he’s upset, but he’s very careful to avoid the thought.  Now is not the time to think about this.  It’s much easier to tell himself he’s simply sentimental.  Nothing else.  

Vlad’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly, seeking reassurance, and Daniel pushed aside the painful train of thought, eager to provide it.  

He returned the embrace fiercely; he loves his dad more than anything, and he was determined to convey this. He knows he can’t hold a candle to Vlad’s raw skill in this area, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

He must have succeeded to some degree, because he feels his dad relax a bit.  Daniel sighed, settling his head once again onto a broad shoulder, still a bit damp from earlier, and takes the opportunity to burn this moment into his memory, to add it to his collection.  

He savored the slight tickle of grey locks on his upper check, sprung loose from their ties; the pleasant burn of cologne mixed with a scent that was simply Vlad drying his sinuses and coating the back of his tongue; the unnatural heat radiating through his silky shirt, warm and comfortable. For a small eternity, he knows nothing but safety, comfort, and love, and basks in the feeling.  

They eventually break apart and, once again, take a moment to collect themselves before Vlad looks again to Daniel’s favorite sweater.

“What happened?” he ventured, concerned by the implication that someone had attacked his son in human form (and rightfully so), but reluctant to upset Daniel further.

Daniel gathered it up with a sigh, reluctant to delve into complicated memories again.  He began to refold the garment, grateful for the excuse to avoid eye contact as he, fumbled for an answer that would satisfy his father, struck with an annoying sense of déjà vu.

“I took care of it. Doesn’t exactly fix this, though.”

Vlad sighed; he knew that truth all too well.

They kneeled there awkwardly for a moment, neither entirely what to do, caught in that strange limbo that followed any major argument; that period where you tell yourself everything’s okay now, but you know deep down that it’s a lie.  Because the cycle of injury, apology, and forgiveness isn’t some magic fix, and no relationship pops back to how it was before even though the issue has been resolved.  Things weren’t really okay yet, and they probably wouldn’t be for a little while.

Honestly, the invasion of privacy didn’t sting nearly as much as his own insecurities; he’d move on. But would Vlad?

Daniel glanced surreptitiously his father.  Vlad was an expert at the practiced neutral face, but Daniel knew better; his poor father would be beating himself up about this for days.  

Sure, he was still a bit shaken, but nothing had happened.  Vlad was just too hard on himself.  He had been a mess for weeks that time he had broken Daniel’s nose after opening a door too quickly, despite the fact it had healed without a scare in a matter of days. He had hated the way his father had tiptoed around him, hated that tortured look in his eyes as the incident no doubt looped in his mind, on repeat; over and over again.

If only there was a way to reassure his dad that he still had Daniel’s trust, a way to break through his uncertainly.  He played with a loose hem pensively, cursing the circumstances that had led Vlad to rummage through his sweater box in the first place…

Sweaters.  It was so obvious.

He gathered up the unwearable sweaters into a neat pile again.  He was embarrassed by how reluctant he was to go through with this, but if he had to choose between his dad’s happiness and sweaters that didn’t even fit anymore, well…

There really wasn’t a choice at all.

He got to his feet, and hefted the pile (there really were a lot of them), depositing them in his father’s arms.  He smiled wryly as his dad looked down at the pile, bewildered, before raising his gaze and quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Take them.”

Vlad blinked, lips parted slightly to respond, before they shut again.  He glanced to the side, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to reconcile the large volume of mixed messages he had received that afternoon.

“What?” he asked, settling on the explanation that, somehow, he had simply misheard.

“Take them.” Daniel maintained firm eye contact, staring into blue pools identical to his own.  “You were right, they don’t even fit me anymore.”

“But, Daniel, those are yours,” Vlad sputtered, intelligently.

Daniel smiled softly.

“They were.  But now I want you to have them.”

Vlad looked helplessly at the pile, as if it held the answer to the puzzle that was currently throwing him for a loop.

“But why, Daniel?  You told me you love those sweaters.”

He left his father on the floor and walked to the door, grabbing his backpack on the way.  He’d do some homework at the kitchen table for a while, give his dad some time alone to process.  He paused in the doorway, a melancholy smile pulling at his lips as he gave his answer over his shoulder.

“I do.  But I love you more.”

                                                      ><><

This particular project normally would have taken months; Vlad had it done in one.  But not because he had rushed; no, he made absolutely certain it was perfect.  Nothing less for Daniel.  He didn’t sleep much anyways.

Daniel’s demonstration had the intended effect; knowing he still had his son’s trust even after his mistake meant the world to him.  

It had been a shock, at first.  He hadn’t known what to think when the boy handed his treasured pile of clothing over with barely an explanation.  It had been more difficult than he’d like to admit, allowing his son to walk away after sharing such a sentiment, leaving him on the floor to collect his thoughts. But after the shock (finally) wore off, the implications of the gesture warmed him to the core.  

(He also was trying his best not to dwell on the implication that someone attacked Daniel.  His son.  In human form, no less.  Because if he thought about that for too long, it took him to a dark place.  He trusted Daniel.  He did.  But surely it hadn’t been out of line to investigate the incident himself, not that he found anything, to his frustration.)

By the time training had begun that evening, Daniel appeared to have forgotten all about the incident. To the untrained eye, that is. Vlad had to give credit where credit was due; he had admirable focus during training and finished all his homework, but he’d caught a glimpse of him with the cedar chest out again later that evening on his way to bed; reorganizing.

Vlad truly had no idea the boy was so fond of the sweaters.  He could have kicked himself.  He thought he knew his son so well; how had he missed something so important to him?  Sure, he always beamed and hugged him whenever Vlad presented him with a new one (which may have contributed to the vast number now that he thinks about it, hmm…) but then again, Daniel always thanked him for gifts, equally delighted be it a motorbike or a new toothbrush.

In hindsight, though, the favoritism for knitwear was obvious, in the way his eyes would light up just that much brighter, how he’d wear it the very next day.  And his words…

They’re basically portable hugs.  You’re with me all day this way.

He had replayed this exchange countless times over the past month, the warmth in his chest just as strong as day one.  Never before had he known such happiness.  Such love.

His eyes prickled a bit. It was strange kind of responsibility, to have such a significant role in the happiness of someone else.  He both cherished and feared it in equal measure, terrified he would wake up one day, and he’d realize he’d imagined this whole thing. Or worse, that he would drive Daniel away himself one day, just like every other important person in his life. He’d be alone again.

For years, he chased a mirage of this feeling, feeding his obsession with a woman who would never return his affections, and later, her son.  At some point, he had given up, resigned himself to a lifetime of loneliness and swore revenge instead. He had cursed his failures, then.

Now, he thanked whatever power was responsible for those failures; any “victory” he may have achieved during that time, which now felt like lifetimes ago, would have been a mockery of the affection he craved, a mere taste that would have eventually driven him mad with longing.  Daniel had freely given him what he’d never dreamed could exist.  And it meant the world to him.

He didn’t deserve Daniel. But for some unknown reason, he had decided to stay.  He was the first person who had chosen Vlad above all others, and Vlad longed to show him how much he meant to him.  

He would continue to make the boy sweaters.  Socks. Hats.  Scarves.  Heck, he’d learn how to sew properly and make all his clothes, if it meant this much to him. But one step at a time.

On that note, Vlad put the finishing touches on the piece, feeling the strange mixture of melancholy and satisfaction he experienced whenever he completed a long-term project.  

And to his delight, it turned out much better than he had hoped.  He had conducted extensive research regarding design and technique; it was pretty far out of his comfort zone, and he only had one chance to get it right.  But it was worth it.  Anything for Daniel.

He took a moment to appreciate the fruits of his labor before packing it away with the utmost care.

Everything had to be perfect.

                                                     ><><

Something was up. Daniel’s eyes narrowed as he watched his dad make breakfast.  The change was subtle.  Only someone who saw the man on a daily basis would notice the difference; he was almost twitchy, movements sharp and almost harried as he fixed Daniel’s plate.  

His Dad placed the food in front of him with a quiet “good morning” and a tired smile.  Daniel noted the bruises under his eyes were darker than usual.  Daniel thanked him before focusing on his plate, inhaling sharply at its contents.

Pancakes.  In fun shapes.

Oh no.  It was worse than he thought.

He kept stealing glances at his dad as he ate, watched him worry at the handle of his coffee mug and pick at his own pancakes.  Daniel hated to leave him like this, but really, there wasn’t anything to be done when Vlad was in one of these moods.  And his dad wouldn’t want him to miss school.

If he lingered a bit during his goodbye hug, his dad didn’t comment.  Just bid him to have a good day, like usual.

Daniel tried to go about his day as he normally did, but was unable to shake the concern for his father. They texted as per their habit during his lunch break, in between laughing with his friends, but Vlad seemed a bit…distracted, he supposed.

(His friends could have told him that Vlad wasn’t the only one, but, like all good friends, they didn’t comment, opting instead to respect his privacy, confident that he would talk when and if he wanted to.)

Needless to say, Daniel wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when he crossed the Masters’ threshold that afternoon, hanging his jacket on the rack and shouldering his backpack, anxious to check on his father.

“Dad, I’m home!”

No answer.

He deposited his keys in the dish, and moved through the entryway, calling twice more, trying not to worry when he was met with silence.  

While uncommon, it wasn’t unheard of for Daniel to get home before Vlad.  But with the mood his dad was in that day, he was on edge.  Normally, he would text Daniel when he was working late.

Daniel sighed, running his fingers lightly along the wall of pictures as he made his way down the hall and up the staircase, deciding to distract himself with a bit of schoolwork while he waited for his dad to get back.  He hoped he was alright.

Daniel deposited his backpack beside his desk, taking a moment to kick off his shoes before pulling out his phone to text his dad, making his way over to sit on his bed, glancing up to check the height (his muscle memory wasn’t the most reliable these days; he was running into furniture and walls so often that his dad often joked about childproofing) only to stop short.  There was already something sitting there.

It was a box of medium size, just short of being too large to hold comfortably with two hands, wrapped simply but neatly in white paper.  Resting on top was a light green envelope, with his name inked in gold in a familiar hand.

He furrowed his brows, perplexed, and set aside his phone to pick up the envelope.  Unless he was very much mistaken, this was a present from his dad. Strange.

Not that surprise presents were an unusual occurrence; on the contrary, his dad loved giving him gifts, much more than Daniel enjoyed receiving them.  The quantity had been truly ridiculous at first.  It took a while for him to convince his father to relax, admitting that while he appreciated the thought and attention, he felt guilty that he was unable to reciprocate.  So they had compromised, agreeing to save gifting for special occasions.

Of course, Vlad pushed the boundaries of this rule, but it made him so happy to do nice things for Daniel that the teenager didn’t have the heart to call him out.  As long as he didn’t go overboard, Daniel had decided he could live with the occasional surprise.

He picked at the flap of the heavy paper envelope.  

But, unlike any other time his dad gave him a gift, he wasn’t here.  Daniel knew from experience that the real fun of gift-giving came from watching the recipient’s reaction.  

And his dad’s absence was clearly intentional.  Vlad was a master of presentation; the private location combined with the open and inviting position of the box and envelope was not coincidental.  Not to mention his unusual absence from the house at large.  And no audience meant no pressure, no need to control his reactions with the feelings of other in mind, free to be himself.

Which meant it was a gift intended for Daniel and Daniel alone.  He was touched.  And intrigued.

He finally managed to get a thumb under the tight seal, prying the glue apart slowly, careful to leave the envelope intact.  He pulled out a sheet of simple off-white stationary, revealing a message in his father’s distinctive hand.  

Daniel chuckled a bit; for someone so detail-oriented, his handwriting was atrocious.  He sat down, and began to read.

Dear Daniel,

I apologize for violating your privacy and your trust about a month ago.  I have no excuse.  I allowed my curiosity to overrule my common sense and overstepped your boundaries.  Worse, I used this knowledge to impose my will when it was neither wanted nor necessary, failing to respect your space, and by extension, you.  I am sorry, Daniel, for this, and any similar past missteps that I failed to recognize.

I cannot promise you that something similar will not happen again; I promise to try my best, but as much as I pretend otherwise, truly, I have no idea what I’m doing.  You are the first person I have shared a space with in over twenty years, and those past examples did not end well.  Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I successfully drove away everyone close to me.  I hurt people.  I’d like to think that I’m a bit wiser now, but I know that’s not entirely true.

To be completely honest, I’m terrified, Daniel.  You are my only son.  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you as well.  And I did hurt you, that day.  Others have left for far less.

Imagine my surprise when you forgave me so easily.  I simply couldn’t believe that it could be that easy.  You know that I trust you, Daniel, but you have to understand that years of evidence to the contrary are not so easily ignored.  

And then you decided to prove that there were no hard feelings; you gave the subject of my betrayal back to me, as a sign of good faith.  Your prized possessions.  Given freely.

I suspect you don’t have any idea clue how truly special you are.  So selfless, so kind.  If I hadn’t had such an involved role in your creation, I never would have believed that you were my child.

So thank you, Daniel.  Thank you for being you.

Daniel blinked back tears, taken aback by the forthright nature of the letter.  It was just so honest, so Vlad that he wasn’t sure if he should shake his head or cry.  Honestly, he was a bit disappointed; he had thought that his show of trust with the old sweaters had been enough to assure him of Daniel’s sincerity, and relieve him of guilt.

He loved the man, but it killed him how stubborn he could be.  He didn’t need to apologize again; Daniel had been tired that day, and overreacted, reading farther into the situation than he should have.  They were just a bunch of old sweaters.  This was his dad.  Why couldn’t his dad see that?

He decided to move on, rubbing at his eyes, unable to suppress a snort at the next line:

Now, because I know you, I’m certain that unlike every other teenager in existence, you read the card first. So do me a favor, please; open up the box before you read the rest.

He shook his head.  No one knew him like his dad.  He’d worry about the implications of his predictability later.

For now, he took the box into his lap; it had heft, but wasn’t heavy, per se.  He turned the package over, searching for the seams, and methodically pried tape away from the wrappings, careful not to tear the paper, savoring the anticipation.

He set the paper aside, and grasped the lid of the oversized white cardboard clothing box, prying it away from the bottom half, and brushed aside green and yellow tissue paper.  His hands began to shake.

He was greeted with something familiar, yet new.  He traced the old knit pattern, yarn soft from wear, but freshly laundered.  He tried a couple of times to lift the bulky block of fabric from the box, but it was packed tight, and he was unable to find purchase.  So he gave up and turned the box over onto the sheets instead, then unfolded its contents, eager to see the piece in its entirety.  He gaped.

They were all here. All of his old sweaters, the ones that he had given to Vlad that day.  The ones that he reluctantly put aside one by one when he could no longer slip into their warm embrace.  He had mourned the loss of the memories that went with each one, resigned to enjoy them as mere keepsakes.  

He didn’t regret giving them to his dad, but he had missed them.

Here they were, but not as they were; the torsos had been divested of the sleeves and divided in half down the sides, former front and back forming large patches that were sewn methodically onto an oversized sheet of ultra-soft fabric.  Parts of the sleeves had been repurposed into artful borders to separate individual sweaters.  The construction had been stuffed lightly, and formed a type of quilt.

Overall, the effect was stunning, striking a perfect balance between respect for the past and celebration of a new era.  

As far as he could tell, every salvageable part of his collection had a place.

In the middle, framed like a piece of art, was the front of his favorite sweater.  His first one, complete with mar and repair job.  He traced his friend’s handiwork reverently, taking a moment to reflect before taking action.

He arranged the quilt on top of his comforter, admiring the personal touch it brought to his space.  He itched to burrow under it immediately, but he knew better; there was no way he’d be able to avoid falling asleep right now if he was that warm.

It was, without question, the most thoughtful gift he had ever received.  So much time and care had been poured into this.  He had no idea how his dad had managed to organize the diverse collection into the aesthetically-pleasing and functional piece of art resting on his bed. He felt a rush of concern for his dad.  When had he found time to sleep this month?

With a jolt, Daniel remembered that he still had half a letter to read.  

He bit his bottom lip, conflicted, and decided to take a calculated risk; he burrowed socked feet under the quilt and shimmied down to his hips, sighing in delight.  The warm weight was unbelievably comfortable, and his feeling of nostalgia only intensified with contact. He had missed this.  His dad’s voice colored the rest of the text.

Life is full of change.  I often did my best to resist it, believing it could bring only pain.  You have taught me that this isn’t always the case.  Change can bring pain, but it often brings benefits as well.  Especially when it brings about growth.

Take your sweaters for example. You were, and still are, incredibly fond of them, despite the fit becoming uncomfortable as you outgrew them.  To continue to grow unhindered, you had to take the small sweaters off.

You’ll continue to grow in many different ways.  I look forward to seeing who you will become.  

But you will find that you will outgrow more than old sweaters in the course of your life.  Mindsets, routines, places.  At some point, you’ll realize that they’re no longer as comfortable as you remember, but moving on can be hard.  

When you reach the point of no return, Daniel, you must promise me you won’t linger.  Trying to fit into that “old sweater” again, as tempting as it is, will only bring you pain.

I regret to say I speak from experience.  I was stuck, for many years, trying to fit into my own “sweater,” denying the restriction because it was all I had.  I was stuck, longing to change my circumstances, but unwilling to release my hold on the “then” and embrace the “now.”  

It was painful, to say the least. I wallowed in anger for years, refusing to share blame, placing it fully on the shoulders of my friends, pushing them away.  Then I wondered why I was always unhappy and alone, with only my dark thoughts to keep me company.

I was still that person when you came along.  No hope, intent on using you as a tool for revenge and conquest.  But you were greater than I ever dreamed, far more than I could ever hope: A person.  My son.

It terrified me; you were too good for this world, too good for me.  And I was ashamed, thought myself unworthy to be your father, terrified I’d ruin you. That I’d fail you.

Please don’t make my mistakes.  Make your own.  Grow.  Live.  

Let this quilt remind you that it’s okay to remember the past, but not to dwell on it.  With some imagination, your memories can grow with you.   The past has its place, but life can only continue when you let go.

You taught me this, Daniel.  Let me return the favor.

And no matter what else in your life may change, you can rest easy with the knowledge that I will always be here for you, for as long as you’ll have me.

I am so proud of you, son.  I can’t wait to see what kind of man you’ll become.  

I love you.

-Vlad

An ugly mix of tears and snot streamed unchecked down Daniel’s face, dripping off his chin onto his shirt, arms carefully outstretched to preserve the letter.  

Sure, parts were a bit embarrassing. And sad.  But while his dad expressed his love often enough verbally, it was a different experience altogether see it in writing.  It felt more authentic, somehow.  Perhaps it was the deliberation that was required to record such a sentiment on paper; completely separate from the heat of the moment.  Sincere.

Today had been a roller coaster of emotion, from pancakes to quilts; he was exhausted.

When he first slid under the blanket, he had thought he’d never want to get up, reminded of his dad’s embrace.  But now, he found himself longing for nothing less than the real thing, confident he knew where his dad had been hiding under the circumstances.

In his haste, he elected to phase out from under the quilt, pausing only to set the letter carefully on his desk before phasing through several walls into Vlad’s private study.

Sure enough, there he was. Daniel barely registered that the man was staring blankly, hunched over an old photo album before it was lost from sight as he released the transformation and buried him in a hug from behind, over his shoulders and the desk chair.

Vlad tensed at first, so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the boy come in.

“Thank you,” Daniel whispered.

Vlad relaxed, closing the book before turning around with a tentative smile.

Daniel let go, and Vlad stood so he could hug his son properly.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!  I hope you had just as much fun as I did writing it!  I’m pretty new to writing fiction (I normally write research papers), so I’d appreciate any feedback you’d be willing to give me.  Feel free to point out any mistakes or oversights!  Overall, I’m really happy with how this turned out.  I guess fifth times’ the charm and all that.  I was concerned about the pacing being too slow, so I’m curious to see what you guys think.

I’m also open to requests!  Feel free to hit me up.  I have a few more shorts planned in this universe, namely, the story of how Daniel’s favorite sweater was damaged and an, admittedly, crack-ish short where Vlad and Daniel react to the sketch that started it all (Vlad commissions a family portrait, but has mixed feelings about the result); but after that, nothing’s planned, but I do have a couple of vague ideas.

Thanks for reading!

[geekmama]

Aftermath: The Christmas Album

Side A: 1. I'll Be Home For Christmas, 2. The Holly and the Ivy, 3. O Tannenbaum, 4. The Gloucestershire Wassail, 5. It Must Have Been The Mistletoe, 6. Deck the Halls

I’ll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me…

“It was easier, before,” he muttered as they rounded a corner of the narrow country lane and his parents’ home came into view.

“You mean when you were a high functioning sociopath?”

Sherlock’s peripheral vision had apparently caught her air quotes and suppressed laughter. “I mean, Miss Malapert, when easier meant a quiet Christmas at Baker Street.”

“Miss Malapert? You sound like my maiden aunt.”

“You don’t have a maiden aunt.”

“Yes, I do.” Molly looked down her nose at him, raised her brows, and said in pretentious accents, “She has blue hair and is frightfully posh. You’d get along swimmingly.”

“Liar.”

She grinned. But then said, thoughtfully, and far more soberly, “I haven’t really been to a Christmas at 221B since that one time.”

He frowned as he pulled up in front of the house, and after he’d shut off the motor he turned to her. “I know that. And it… the incident still upsets you? Though I admit, my apology was insufficient.”

She shouldn’t have given voice to it, for now the scene came rushing back to her in detail: the excruciating embarrassment, followed by shock -- everyone’s, not only that he’d actually apologized, but that she had finally had the nerve to stand up for herself. The memory of his lips against her cheek. And then… “Well, that text alert didn’t help matters.”

He grimaced. “No.”

This was ridiculous. It was neither the time nor the place to dredge up ancient history. She said bracingly, “You can make it up to me tonight. I’ll sneak into your room.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, to show him the past was past.

“Why would you have to do that?”

“But… you don’t think--”

“Molly, my parents are quite aware that our cohabitation is far from innocent. We’re engaged to be married, for god’s sake -- and you’ve already held out the lure of grandchildren, remember? Of course we’ll be assigned the same room.”

She blinked, processing the idea of them sharing the bed he’d slept in as a child. But then her lips quirked. “Cohabitation? Another maiden aunt word?”

“I felt it expressed our deliciously sinful arrangement more accurately than just ‘living together’.”

She began to chuckle, her heart warming at the amused light in his eyes. It was sinful, indeed, how much she loved this man, had always loved him, and enjoyed his company. She added, happily, “And our wedding is just around the corner, of course.”

“Please don’t remind me.”

“Oh, Sherlock!” she protested, cast down again.

“Are you certain we can’t elope?” But then he relented. “Alright, don’t look like that. Come here. It was a long drive and it’s been bloody hours since we last kissed.”

Impossible man, she thought, scowling, but moved to comply.

How things had changed between them.

It was a good kiss… a very good kiss… and they were still immersed in it when there came a rap on the window and his father’s muffled but cheery voice: “Now, now! Time for that when you get inside! Your mother has tea and mince pies all ready!”

Molly giggled. “Mince pies -- your favorite!”

“Nothing less would make up for the intrusion,” Sherlock said, grimly, but his smile was irrepressible.

  ❈

  Of all the trees within the wood, the holly bears the crown…

 “Oh, lord. It looks as though a Christmas bomb exploded.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, my son,” his mother said, very wry, as she came into the foyer to greet them. Then her smile grew warmer. “And Merry Christmas, Molly. You look lovely in that jumper.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Sherlock murmured, though his eyes laughed.

Molly said to Millicent Holmes, “Thank you -- and just ignore him, ma’am, your house looks beautiful. Is the holly from your garden?”

“It is! Vernet fetched in the cuttings just yesterday.”

“Well, it’s lovely -- very tastefully done.”

“Except for that!” Sherlock exclaimed with disapprobation as he strode past them and into the living room. He pointed at a group of framed photos pinned to the wall -- and not just any frames, but childish ones, carefully constructed of various papers, yarn, and glitter.

And not just any photos. “Is that you?” exclaimed Molly, coming up behind him and delighting in a portrait of an innocently smiling, curly headed little boy in shorts. “Sherlock, you were adorable! And Mycroft -- look, there are two photos of him, and he’s holding you in this one, you were so little! And is this--”

“Eurus,” Sherlock said. He looked at his mother.

She looked straight back at him, but sounded a little uncertain as she replied, “In happier days.”

Sherlock considered this, then nodded. “Hidden away too long.” He looked at his sister’s picture, then at the entire grouping. “Did… I make these frames?”

His mother smiled. “You did! You were so artistic as a boy. Mycroft, too. I found two ornaments and a little tree he made me. Styrofoam and pasta shapes and gold glitter. Before you were born.”

Sherlock’s eye held a satisfied glint. “You’ll have to show Lady Smallwood when she arrives.”

Millicent chuckled, but said, “Alicia may have helped him make them, for all I know. She did babysit for us, off and on, for a number of years.”

“Mmm.”

Sherlock looked around the room, now, and Molly could see he was pleased. She slipped her hand into his and said, “Admit it: you’re glad to be home.”

But Millicent said, “I’m very sure you being here with him will make it seem more homelike than it has in many years.”

Sherlock turned to his mother in surprise, and she returned his gaze with a look of tender understanding.

Molly, moved, bit her lip.

But then Millicent smiled, and said briskly, “Come! Let’s repair to the kitchen and drink that tea while it’s hot!”

  ❈

  O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum, how richly God has decked thee…

 “I’ve taken your bags up to Sherlock’s old room,” Vernet Holmes said, coming in when Sherlock was on his third mince pie.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Molly protested. “We could have done it.”

“It was my pleasure,” Vernet said with great sincerity, sitting down  at the table as his wife poured out a cup of tea for him. “Ah! Thank you, my dear.” He took a sip, then said to Sherlock and Molly, deceptively bland, “I do hope that bed will be big enough for the two of you. It’s only a small double. But we had to give the guest room to Mycroft and Alicia, since his old bed is a single.”

“We’ll be fine,” Sherlock said, giving Molly a rather cheeky smile.

“I daresay you’ll contrive,” Vernet said, a twinkle in his eye. He picked a one of the little star-topped pies from the plate in the center of the table and took a bite, closing his eyes in ecstasy. “Delicious!” he said to his wife, when he finally could. “My dear, you’ve surpassed yourself. This pastry is divine! But should we save some for Mycroft?” He looked askance at his son, who’d just picked up a fourth pie.

“No,” said Sherlock, and took a bite.

“No,” Millicent agreed, placidly. “I’m making another batch presently, so they’ll be fresh for him and Alicia.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but made no further objection, his mouth being full of pie.

*

After they were refreshed and Millicent had risen from the table to start on that second batch, Sherlock led Molly upstairs and down the hall to his old room.

“The room hasn’t been changed from when I was still in school, I’m afraid,” he warned her.

“Like a shrine to young Sherlock?”

He gave a crooked grin. “Something like that.” But then he opened the door, stopped on the threshold and stared. “Good god.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Molly finally jostled him aside and then gave a crow of delight. “A tree! They’ve put a Christmas tree in your room!”

“Our room,” Sherlock corrected, stalking in behind her. “And not only a tree. Where the devil did they get this duvet set?”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Molly exclaimed, taking in the red striped pattern featuring trees, reindeer, hearts, and stars on a snowy white background. “It’s like my jumper!”

“It’s far worse, since there’s so much more of it. What was my mother thinking?”

“That it’s Christmas?” Molly went over to the corner of the room where the little tree stood glowing, covered with fairy lights, strings of beads, and tinsel garland. “It makes the whole room smell of pine forest! And did you make some of these ornaments?”

Sherlock came to stand beside her, and she saw that he was trying hard not to smile. He said, “Yes. And the rest appear to be some that were given to me by various friends and relatives when I was a child. I had no idea they’d saved them all these years.”

Molly slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. “Your parents love you very much.”

Sherlock’s eyes met hers and his half smile faded. She could see that he was barely able to fathom how such love had remained evergreen in spite of the many ways he had tested it through the long years.

They both sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the tree.

“We must thank them,” Molly said, presently. She leaned against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, and bent his head to hers.

  ❈

  Wassail, wassail all over the town…

 After recovering from her surprise that not only Molly but Sherlock himself had embraced her and expressed thanks for their bedroom’s holiday decor, Millicent Holmes sent the two children out on an errand.

“I must have ground cardamom, I’m making that lovely Swedish Christmas Bread for breakfast tomorrow. It’s still early enough that the shops will be open in the village. Can you two go get some for me, please?

“We’d be glad to,” said Molly. “I’d love to see the village dressed for the holidays!”

Sherlock said to Molly, with a sly look at his mother, “You see? I told you it was traditional to be sent on a wild goose chase for some obscure commodity on Christmas Eve.”

Millicent smacked him on the arm and said, “That’s the least you can do, you impudent snatch-pastry.”

“Ha! Another maiden aunt word,” Sherlock exclaimed, but ducked behind his prospective bride in a most cowardly fashion to escape further retribution.

*

“They’ve been gone an awfully long time,” Millicent said, trying to keep worry from her tone. After all, what could happen to them in the wilds of Suffolk?

“Sherlock is probably just showing her the sights,” Vernet tutted. But he left the kitchen, wandering into the living room to peer out the window, into the fading afternoon. Then, after a minute or two, he called, “Here they come now!” and Millicent gave a sigh of relief -- which was ridiculous, of course.

But still.

She wiped her hands on a towel and joined her husband in the living room, to greet the prodigals, and arrived in time to see that Molly had been driving, and that Sherlock staggered a bit as he exited the car. There was also a suspiciously fatuous smile on his face.

“Good God!” said Sherlock’s father. “But he wouldn’t… not with Molly right there!”

But the two of them actually began singing as they approached the door, Molly’s light soprano a charming contrast to Sherlock’s booming baritone harmony...

 Wassail! Wassail all over the town! Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown; Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree; With the wassailing-bowl, we'll drink to thee!

 “What on earth!” Millicent exclaimed in delight. They hadn’t heard Sherlock sing in years! And when Vernet opened the door the two kept right on singing as they entered the house, Sherlock looking inordinately happy and slightly bleary, and Molly positively glowing.

Millicent’s boy turned to Molly and pulled her into a dance, waltzing her around the foyer and living room until finally they both collapsed laughing on the sofa.

Vernet had closed the door, and now said to the giddy pair, “It appears you’ve been doing some wassailing yourselves.”

“Every shop had a bowl of punch!” said Sherlock happily.

“And there were several groups of carolers!” said Molly. “It was the most wonderful thing! I could’ve listened for hours!”

“But we didn’t,” said Sherlock, reaching into his pocket for the packet of spice. He held it out to his mother in triumph.

Millicent took the packet, not quite laughing. “Thank you, both of you. I particularly appreciate you driving Sherlock home, Molly. It seems he did a bit more wassailing than you?”

“No, not at all,” she said, matter-of-factly, though her eyes danced. “He just can’t hold his liquor.”

“Can too!” Sherlock objected, his smile disappearing for the first time.

“Nope,” Molly said, exaggerating the final ‘P’ as Sherlock sometimes did.

The light of battle was kindled in Sherlock’s eyes, and his smile returned in a rather more mischievous form.

His father said, quickly, “Now, now! Perhaps you two had better retire for a bit, have a nap.”

“Sleep it off,” said Millicent, never one to mince words.

“Yes,” Vernet agreed. “Mycroft and Alicia won’t be here for a couple of hours yet, and mother is just finishing up some baking. It’ll be a good chance for the two of you to… ah… rest.”

“What an excellent idea,” said Sherlock. He hauled himself to his feet, swaying only a little, and pulled Molly up after him. He said scornfully as they headed toward the stairs, “Can’t hold my liquor! Ha!” and he actually gave Molly a swat on the arse just before they disappeared from sight. Her outraged objection was mixed with laughter, and then she gave a little screech and from the sound of it the two were running up the remaining stairs and down the hall.

Millicent turned to her husband and found her disbelief reflected on his countenance. Then they both began to laugh, and after a warm hug, retreated in good order to the kitchen to savor the moment.  

  ❈

  It must have been the mistletoe…

 Molly turned to him as soon as they were through the door.

“No!” she said, trying not to smile, her finger raised in warning.

He halted immediately and stood there, swaying a bit, considering her, shoving the door shut in the meantime. The click of the latch waked something in him and he turned and also set the lock. Then he turned back to her and said, “Yes.”

She almost laughed. “No!”

He came slowly toward her, and she backed away – toward the bed.

“But yes!” he told her. “You have to.”

“I don’t,” she said, chin raised. “Why should I?”

He advanced (and she retreated) just a little more, and then he stopped and looked up toward the ceiling.

She followed his gaze and gave a slight gasp. “Mistletoe!”

It was, tied with a red ribbon to the overhead light fixture -- and coincidentally, hanging over the foot of the bed.

And she’d been caught, now, distracted by the sight of those green leaves and white berries and perhaps by the thought that they’d been placed there with set purpose by his outrageously liberal minded mother. Distracted, and he had stepped just close enough to trap her. With a smile at her sudden surprise, he drew her close against him, said, “Yes!” again, in a voice dark and soft as velvet, then bent his head, and kissed her.

  ❈

  See the blazing Yule before us…

 Vernet Holmes prided himself on his ability to build a fire, and when Mycroft and Alicia Smallwood arrived an hour after sunset on that cold Christmas Eve, that skill was much appreciated.

“Heavens, it’s freezing out there!” exclaimed Alicia, trotting up to hold her hands to the blaze.

“Quite literally,” Mycroft added, taking off his coat. “There’s a chance of snow tonight, and there is ice on the roads as we speak. I’m certainly glad we left London when we did. Any later and it would have been exceedingly dangerous driving.”

“Perhaps we’ll have a White Christmas this year,” mused Vernet. “But you two sit down and warm yourselves by the fire. Mummy’s bringing in tea -- unless you’d like something stronger? No? And fresh mince pies -- Sherlock’s not up from his nap yet, so you’ll have them all to yourselves.”

“His nap?” Mycroft laughed.

Vernet put his finger to his lips. “Mummy sent him and Molly to town and they were a trifle overserved. Or Sherlock was, at least.”

Mycroft nodded and, after his father had gone to the kitchen to help Mummy, he explained to Alicia, “Sherlock so rarely drinks alcoholic beverages that it takes surprisingly little to inebriate him.”

“As long as it was only alcohol,” Alicia said with a grimace.

Mycroft chuckled. “I’m fairly sure Molly would have his head on a platter if he indulged in anything more addictive at this point.”

“Yes, she would,” said Molly herself, coming into the room, following by Sherlock who was glaring, but rather mildly.

The two looked quite cheerful, actually. Apparently it had been a very refreshing nap.

Molly added, “And the rest of him might never be found, who knows? But that’s why he loves me, after all. How good it is to see you, Alicia… and you, Mycroft.”

“Merry Christmas, Alicia,” Sherlock said, with a smile.

Alicia raised a brow.

“I’m full of the spirit of the season,” Sherlock said, sounding facetious but looking at Molly with a warmth that could not be mistaken.

And Molly actually blushed as she returned his regard.

“Well, this is something different for the holidays,” Mycroft said, looking from one to the other. “I knew you’d tamed him somewhat, Molly, but this seems quite extraordinary.”

“Not at all, Blood,” Sherlock said succinctly. “Molly merely has the ability to keep me right.” He sat down beside her on the sofa and took her hand.

“Well! Peace on earth, good will toward men, by all means!” said Mycroft. But just then, Mummy and Dad came through the door with the tea tray and a heaped plate of mince pies, fresh from the oven. Mycroft turned to Sherlock. “If you spoil my enjoyment of those pies in any way, brother mine, you will deeply regret it. Decapitation will be the least of it.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to voice some irreverent retort, but Molly jabbed him with a sharp elbow. He exchanged a glance with her, then sighed in defeat and said, “Oh, alright, then.”

Mycroft and Alicia exchanged a glance, too. Perhaps peace and good will would not be out of the question this Christmas.

   To be continued on Side B…

[azalzalsramblings]

I don’t read enough

Says man who’s about to list the 52 books he read this year

In an insignificant order bellow the cut.

1.The Steerswoman  by Rosemary Kirstein

Fun Adventure, mildly generic but refreshing.

2. Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente

Holy fuck this book is absurd, it’s great.

3. Palimpsest by Catherynne M. Valente

Portal fantasy where sex is the portal, it’s great.

4. The Refrigerator Monologues by Catherynne M. Valente

Can you tell I like this author? If you like comic books you should read this.

5. All the Birds in the Sky by Charlie Jane Anders

This book has some of the most interesting magic I’ve ever read and the best depiction of modern culture I’ve ever read.

6. The Tombs of Atuan By Ursula K. Le Guin

Ursula K. Le Guin is amazing, the “protagonist” of this series doesn't’ show up until half way through this book.

7. The Farthest Shore By Ursula K. Le Guin

The Protagonist in this book shows up in the beginning but he’s mostly being Gandalf and the focus is on his companion.

8. Tehanu By Ursula K. Le Guin

Revisiting characters and pointing out the problematic elements of a book that came out 20 years ago, bravo.

9. Who Fears Death  by Nnedi Okorafor

I need to learn more about African mythology.

10. A Closed and Common Orbit  by Becky  Chambers

Really fun ride, great companion piece to current QC, well Antho PC focused elements of QC.

11. Ever Fair  by Nisi Shawl

Interesting if not greatly carried out book.

12. The Obelisk Gate by N.K. Jemisin

Read this fucking book. (It’s the Sequel to “The Fifth Season” Read that First)

13. The Stone Sky by N.K. Jemisin

This better win the fucking Hugo (mostly so N. K Jemisin gets the first hat trick in Hugo history)

14. Woman On the Edge of Time  by Marge Piercy

I can’t decide if this should be read as companion piece to “Slaughter House 5″ or “One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest” probably both.

15. Ancillary Sword by Ann Leckie

OH MY GOD I GET IT, IT’S ABOUT SLAVERY! Still good though.

16. Minaret by Leila Aboulela

Good book, it provides a compelling immigrant story.

17. Northern Lights (I read the UK Version)  by Philip Pullman

One of the best YA books ever written, re reading this series was an excellent idea.

18. The Subtle Knife  by Philip Pullman

See above.

19. The Amber Spyglass  by Philip Pullman

SPOILERS: Prepubescent sex saves the multiverse. Also there’s like, four or five lines that are different between the UK and US versions, I had too look up what they were.

20. Who Could That Be At This Hour? by Lemony Snicket

Different enough from “Series of Unfortunate Events” to be necessary, still has nice call backs.

21. When Did You See Her Last? by Lemony Snicket

Good book, probably not as strong as “Series of Unfortunate Events” but worth the read.

22. Shouldn’t you be in School? by Lemony Snicket

Uh, there will be a spoiler tag on the next book.

23. Why Is this Night Different from all Other Nights? by Lemony Snicket

SPOILER: Having an eco terrorist as the main villain in a children's book is fucking brilliant. The end is telegraphed but then again I’m probably a decade older then the expected audience for this book.

24. The Children of Hurin by J.R.R Tolkien

Interesting book, it’s probably has the most direct evidence of Tolkien stealing from other mythology (As you only have to mildly well read to see exactly what he’s stealing).

25. Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman

It’s just good. It’s nice to have a modern version of all these legends. I hope he continues to rewrite legends, especially lesser known ones. ((This is elaborating on the last point) Yes I know having a white man write a book about African Mythology is can be somewhat problematic but I’m sure he’d do it respectfully) Also saw him read from this.

26. Red Storm Rising by Tom Clancy

Favorite factoid about this book, Tom Clancy played table top war games to help outline some chapters. That said it is kind of hard to get though and problematic at times. It does have a female fighter pilot who shots down satellites so that’s cool.

27. The Iliad by Homer

SUPER GAAAAAAAY

28 The Odyssey by Homer

The famous part of this is like, four chapters in the middle, mostly it’s “Where fuck is Odysseus and how do we deal with these dickwads in my house?”

29. The Symposium by Plato

See note for The Iliad .

30. Dragons of Spring Dawning  by Margaret Weis , Tracy Hickman

Fun adventure book, not 100% satisfying end to the series (I would have preferred a huge show down with I’m not looking up the name for Dragonlance Tiamat)

31. Dune  by Frank Herbert

There’s a reason this book is legendary, it’s that good, also read relatively quick if you read it while you’re taking a week off work.

32. The Lurker at The Threshold  by H.P. Lovecraft, August Derleth

It’s Lovecraft.

33. Hamlet by William Shakespeare

Not about tiny pigs, still good though. I’m probably still not smart enough to understand all of it.

34. The Prose Eda by Snorri Sturluson

Read this after/before/with Norse Mythology, seeing the various versions of the tales is interesting. Also the version I had went into a lot of the Norse literary elements which is fun (Viking is a kenning I think, it might be a synecdoche )

35. The Library at Mount Char by Scott  Hawkins

Holy fuck this book is amazing, it might be my favorite book I read this  year.

36. The Quran by Muhammad/ Gabriel/Allah 

My favorite part of this book is the part where Muhammad throws shade on his Uncle. 

37. Women Without Men by Shahrnush Parsipur

This is one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever read.

38. The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy  by Douglas Adams

Timeless classic, I don’t know how many times I’ve watched/read/listened to this work.

39. The Restaurant at the End of the Universe  by Douglas Adams

Not as good as the  first, but still good, the Zaphod plot doesn’t 100% work in my opinion idk.

40. Life, The Universe and Everything  by Douglas Adams

Apparently started life as Doctor Who script, it’s a departure from the others b/c of this to some extent.

41. So Long and Thanks for all the Fish  by Douglas Adams

I’ve read this is considered rushed by some people, and I’ll admit it’s certainly different but I think it’s as good as any of the others.

42. Mostly Harmless  by Douglas Adams

Multiverse stuff is crazy in this. Also Elvis is in it.

43. How the Marquis Got His Coat Back by Neil Gaiman

Fun little romp in the Neverwhere world. The Neverwhere world is really great. I heard form his mouth he’s working on a sequel so that’ll be great.

44. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

MY FUCKING COPY WAS ABRIDGED, still, it has its moments, I should reread it one day. I think I liked “A Tale of Two Cities” better.

45. A Portrait of the Aritst as a Young Man by James Joyce

Good book? I don’t think I’m smart enough to get this book. It’s certainly worth the time, I wish I understood it better.

46. Beren and Luthien by J.R.R. Tolkien

Holy fuck this book. First it has Christopher Tolkien giving very interesting commentary (is probably his last book he’s in his fucking 90)  second Luthien figuratively fucking bitch slaps Morgoth (Tolkien’s Satan), it’s great.

47. Too Like the Lightning by Ada Palmer

I’m convinced the author wanted to write an 18th century court drama or a science fiction book and decided “Por que no los dos”

48 For Whom the Bell Tolls  by Ernest Hemingway

Fuck Fascists (Note: This book is about killing fascists, I’m not implying anything about Hemingway although he’s basically the definition of an alpha male although he has some progressive moments like advocating for the elimination of fascism apparently, also has both a bad ass women and a one dimensional women)

49. Venus in Furs by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch

Compelling read, I can see why it was controversial in its time but it’s tame by modern standards. It has its issues but is still a fun read.

50. Venus in Fur  by David Ives 

Sexy, funny, commentary on the above, can be read in like, 2 hours. If you don’t wan to read “Venus in Furs” at least read this.

51. Her Smoke Rose up Forever by James Tiptree Jr

If you read one thing from this read “The Screw-fly Solution” it’s on of the most effective short stories I’ve ever read.

52. Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

This book isn’t about why playing god is wrong, in my opinion that view is 100% indefensible by the text. It’s about why men need to take responsibility for the life they bring into this world. 

[notjustbacon]

Auckland and Birkenhead

Hallo!

Now comes the phase of this blog where I post tons of pics, short stories and answer a few questions... Our first stop from PDX to Auckland, NZ was Los Angelos. You will see pics from a couple fellow travelers who charge phones, chat, rest and stretch before boarding flights to the rest of their lives.

Longly after our flight from PDX to LAX, we landed in Auckland, NZ where we needed to hail a cab to get to our hotel (only about 45 minutes away). Among several readily available cab companies to chose from there was also a helpful chart showing rates - upfront rates, how helpful! My husband intuitively felt called to a certain cab (for the cheap rates), we loaded our bags in the back, and we're on our way. Vicky, our cab guy, was a pretty friendly guy. He answered our questions about driving on the other side of the road and didn't banter us with any questions of his own. In fact, he was very quiet... but not intimidatingly scary or anything. To make a long story short, Vicky really left us with a memory when he decided to make a u-turn in the middle of an intersection, during a red light, then proceeded to drop us off at the side of a non-parking zone. I didn't really know anything was that weird about this - I just thought cab drivers do weird things. Alex paid him and I started to unload the cab when a construction worker started to yell out at me, "Ma'am! You can't get out of the car there. Back in you go, back in you go." I was not frightened by this, but rather embarrassed as I did not realize I had been led into this faux pas. There were some words exchanged via Vicky and the construction worker, but all in all, it went over with no problem. No tickets, no tears, and we made it safely to our hotel.

Tip: Make sure to tell your cab driver that you are going to the CBD (Central Business District) rather than your hotel address to ensure that you get the flat rate versus a timed rate - you'll save some cash!

We made it to our hotel at 9:30am. Unfortunately, check-in was not until 3pm. Fortunately, the hotel clerk was very accommodating. He let us know that we could check our bags in and call the front desk at noon to see if our room was ready. He then gave us a cafe recommendation and took our bags. Sunflower cafe (his rec) was everything and more than we had expected: fresh food, delicious smells, and free wi-fi. After breakfast, we started walking around town and toward the Sky Tower. We splurged for a $40 for a day pass and made our way up 50 floors to the Sky Lounge. It was phenomenal! We saw lots of families, photographers and even spotted a couple people ready to bungy jump from the tower itself!

Note: The Sky Tower is 1,076 ft tall - making it the tallest freestanding structure in the Southern Hemisphere and the 25th tallest tower in the world! I'm slowly building myself up for a major overcoming in fear of heights... I will have video when that day comes.

I could see all of Auckland from the top and really enjoyed taking a few portraits as well. Birkenhead is in the first picture (just over da bridge). That's Rangitoto Island out there in the second picture (Auckland's most iconic natural landmark - it's a VOLCANO). You can get a pretty rad view of the (pink) Nelson Street Cycleway in the third pic. It is just over 1 years old - Happy belated birthday NSC!

TBH, that pretty much sums up our first day in Auckland, because I mostly slept on and off once we got to the hotel. The next day, Thursday, we headed off to Birkenhead to see our new hosts Catherine and Greig via Ferry. We had no idea the amazing week in store for us. Here are a few photos from the ferry through their beautiful home!

We arrived, Greig picked us up from the ferry, drove us around Birkenhead, gave us the layout of the house (and town), then made us a feast for lunch. After a couple hours, Greig and Catherine were off for the weekend - leaving Alex and me to get settled in. Yep, that meant they let us have the whole house to ourselves as a welcoming present - WOW! It really allowed us to explore the town, catch up on some more sleep, and get ready with ease. That Monday morning, we were ready to hit the soil hard and get onto it - Our first WorkAway job!

Day 1 work: Mediterranean garden - consisting of digging out a garden bed, placing the soil on a tarp, wheelbarrowing up some clay, sculpting the clay into 8 foundation pieces for 8 cement stepping stones to lay on top (making sure the stones would not move if stepped on), mixing the soil with compost and pumice gravel, and finishing everything off with shoveling the mix into the rest of the garden bed. It was a lot of work, but we got a coffee (and cake) break, and after 4 and a half hours we did it - we are freakin' artists of the soil land my friends! Alex even got some awesome tunes hooked up. Check it out:

Day 2 Work: Photos - The rain started to make it's way over from Cyclone Debbie (in Australia). So we had an inside workday of taking apart old frames, putting what they held aside, sanding the frames, and then painting the frames black. We listened to Bob Ross Remixed and Rolling Stones Paint it Black along with a little Coffee Table Jazz.

Day 3 Work: Weeding the front garden beds, placing compost on them, and finishing up the picture frames. Woot.

Day 4 Work: Weeding around the bee hive box and installing the copper chain. Thank god Alex is a physics mastermind... working with copper in artsy ways can prove challenging. Also, I was overcoming fear and becoming one with nature by weeding around the bee hive box. I wasn't going to let allergies get in my way - I just kept whispering, "I love you bees... and I think you'll like me too!"

Day 5 Work: Weeding the back garden, putting on the copper tops, fixing the hammock hook, hanging the pictures, and taking pictures of the room. AND CHECK OUT that awesome Kaka bird! The Kaka bird is beautiful, but the Tui bird make the best noises. It sounds like R2D2 among other things... very chatty.

For fun we've been to many places around Auckland and Birkenhead. We plan to make several other stops during our stay as well. Here are a few of the places I've photographed:

Le Roy Bush Trail(s):

Le Roy Bush Trails are like a Forest Park trail of wonder. One entrance to the trails starts just at the end of our host's driveway. You can see a waterfall, jungle fauna, glow worms and even sea eels! The trails are very well maintained because the community pulls together to take care of it: spraying the bottoms of their shoes to ward off weeds and brushes to scrape off any preexisting soil or any soil that tries to hitch a ride out of the area. The trail connects you with different parts of the town. One minute you're in the bush and the next your in the city! Crazy cool man.

Also check out Alex's pics here

Auckland War Memorial Museum: 

When Alex told me he wanted to go to a war museum, I was a little less than cheerful. I walked in with a tude and was quickly surprised to find some pretty spectacular finds. When they say war museum, there is of course war stuff, but they mean to show the history of how New Zealand has become and who it has become with in all of the people in Oceana History. Pretty wonderous.

(Oh yeah, they had a Volume: Making Music in Aotearoa music special exhibitions hall)

Maori Ancestoral Houses... hand carved, hand woven... WOW!

Rad boats

Dinosaurs, Birds and a Frog - Oh MY!

(The frog is for you grandma)

The Winter House, Fernz Fernery, and The Cool House:

We almost passed this by! We were walking down the hill away from the museum and happened to cross the Winter House on our way to catch the bus. I sort of just wandered in and found this secret garden place. It was really magical.

Ponsonby Street:

Birkenhead has some pretty tasty eats, but Ponsonby Street gets the name for it in the Auckland area. We took a bus over to check it out and let our tastebuds decide. It was a really cool spot with sights of the Sky Tower and cityscape in the background. The food was also pretty decent and places started to really come alive after 7pm. Alex got some of the best drunken noodles ever!! They were willing to make them vegeterian style and did not skimp on any vegetables.

Western Park:

This park was really incredible. The place was hilly, relaxing and then thrilling when we found the playground. The playground has a zipline, dueling ~30 feet slides, a ~50 foot slide, a ground level merry-go-round, and so much more. We could not resist playing here for a little bit... Oh and I won the race... just for reference.

So, that's almost it as far as places we've been and visited... except, we went to the grocery store and learned that you cannot buy adult bevvies unless you have your passport on you... and you can find hummus in the "cold dips" section of the store. I'm entirely jealous that they have a "cold dips" section with SO many types of dips!! Anywho, that is what we have been up to!!! It is that time. I need to end this for now. I've spent several hours editing and preparing this... and we need to go to bed for our big day tomorrow. Alex is giving me the big loud sighs every two minutes now trying to get me to stop typing and just be done... But, I do promise to post again next week when we are in Queenstown.

P.S. Our hosts are fricken amazing! I cannot believe that the food they make does not just come straight from a 5 star $100 per a plate restaurant and that it is cooked for us every night with the only expense being that we clean dishes. I cannot believe how generous and at home we have been made to feel by both Greig and Catherine. They are unbelievable and will always have a place in our hearts and a place to sleep (should we ever have a place of our own).

Toot-a-loo!

Alice