#out of cake mix :( will i make a mug cake from scratch. no. maybe

[beesorcery]

AND i cant even make myself a sweet treat

[lordabovehelpme]

Big Bear- Clyde Logan x Reader

Request: So we all know how the best nickname for Clyde is Bear. But how about the first time reader called him that? It doesn’t have to be a whole fic, it can totally be a headcanon or just a thought! Love you! - anon

A/n: Ahhh I love this!!! And I love you for sending this in!! I hope you enjoy! 

Summary: Everything he does reminds you of a bear, but you’ve never told him. What happens when the little nickname slips one night? 

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As soon as the comparison crosses your mind, it never leaves. It just makes so much sense. The way he get’s all huffy and rumbly in the mornings. Those pillowy lips of his pushed out into a pout and his eyes half closed yet sparkling when they see you. His grumbles will thunder down the halls as he tries to find you. Every morning it makes you think of a bear waking from hibernation a little too early. And every morning you’ll cup his cheek and stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to that pout. And his pout will slowly turn into a small smile.

It’s the way his giant hand wraps around your own, in fact your whole hand can fit in his palm. When he offers his hand out to you, you have to bite back your giggles at how he seems so similar to a bear offering his paw. And it’s not only his hands, it’s also his feet. Those large feet carrying him all around the world and barely fitting into his shoes. They also remind you of paws.

Then it’s the way he hugs you. Those big arms wrapping around your form and pulling you into a strong chest. If he’s behind you, he will rest his chin on the top of your head. Most often he’ll let an overdue sigh escape and relax around you, content with your touch. And if you could see his face, you would see closed eyes and a lazy smile. But if he’s facing you, then a kiss is pressed to your forehead before you are fully pulled in. Then he’ll tug you impossibly close to him and nearly tuck you away into his embrace. Your arms wrap around his waist and slide under his shirt, your nails lightly scratching at his back. Shivers will run up and down his spine and you’ll be pulled even closer, a purr vibrating from beneath his chest.

It’s also the way he eats. It’s like you never feed the man or like he’s never eaten before. He will shove as much as food as he can into his mouth and eat it so quickly. It’s a miracle he hasn’t choked and died yet. But you don’t mind it as much when he’ll give you a thumbs up, his eyes closed from happiness, and a smile with his cheeks puffed out with your cooking concoctions.

But all that good hearty food leads him to look like a bear. His shoulders are wide and nearly take up an entire doorway, muscle cushioning the bone and making a perfect spot for your head to lean on. His chest is broad and strong, pecs pulled taut and slightly protruding from his favorite (and your favorite) shirts. But when he takes those long deep breaths, he swells with air and grows before your eyes, you can’t deny the heat that rises to your cheeks.

However, your most favorite part (if you can even choose) is his tummy. It’s so soft that you literally cannot wait to run your hands over it every night. He’s fed well and you love that it shows. He used to hate it when you first started dating. You would wake up to find him gone, putting himself through various workouts, trying to burn it off. But over years of you telling him how much you love it and how it’s nothing to be ashamed of, he’s grown to like it. It tells you that he’s healthy and loved. And you both know he can’t refuse your baking, especially when you make those gooey apple pies.

The funniest comparison you’ve found though, is the way he sits. The way his entire body will fill any chair and his shoulders kind of slump. But it’s most apparent when he sits backwards on chairs, large thighs surrounding the back and his arms resting on his knees. One time when the two of you were watching a National Geographic Documentary on bears, they showed a scene of a bear sitting in a field. You happened to have looked over at Clyde during that scene, and had to bite your lips to stop from laughing. He was sitting in the exact same position. Your head went back and forth from the TV screen to your man bear on the couch, giggles hidden behind your hands. You could have put their pictures next to one another and said “Spot the difference.” Although, that wouldn’t have really worked because there was no difference.

But there’s something about how warm and cozy he is that really puts the icing on the cake. Countless nights you have found him on the couch, book in his large paw and cooling mug of tea on the small coffee table. And countless times he’s just lifted his arms as you’ve crawled onto his lap, he’ll set his book down on the armrest and drape a blanket around you, tucking in all the corners. Then, without a word, he’ll go back to his book and his arms will hold you close. Sometimes, if you ask, he’ll read aloud to you, deep voice grumbling out poetry and old english in his little drawl. You can feel it rumbling around in his chest and it draws your eyelids to shut. The scent of woods and faint cigarettes mixed with the warmth of his embrace makes you fall asleep in seconds. You’ll nuzzle further into his hold and his shortened forearm will trail up and down your back, caressing you as you drift off.

In your mind, clyde is a bear and there is no other option.

However, you haven’t told him of this comparison yet. Pet names aren’t uncommon between the two of you, he’s always calling you one, “Sweetpea, suga’ plum, sweet’eart, and his favorite, darlin’.” But something about comparing him to a wild animal is keeping you from telling him. Maybe it's the fear of him not liking it, maybe it’s just embarrassment, whatever it is, you don’t know.

The first time it slipped was a late night at the bar. Clyde made you fancy cocktails that were way too good and he looked even better. Your thoughts started to come out unfiltered and you could tell he was getting a kick out of it.

“Darlin’ I think that’s enough fer ya.” He said with a chuckle making his voice even deeper.

You let your lips push into a pout as you stared up at him with your best version of puppy dog eyes. “But bear, I’m already going home with you, one more won’t hurt.”

He froze, eyes widening but after a second he shook his head and let a small smile take over his face. “No more fer ya darlin’. I’m sorry, but you’ll thank me in the mornin’.”

The two of you never spoke about it.

Well, you didn't speak about it for three days.

He was curled around you that morning, dead to the world as his snores thundered through the house. (Even his snores sound like a bear’s!) You wiggled out of his hold and padded into the kitchen, starting to prepare all the ingredients for omelettes. Mindlessly you hummed a little tune and started to chop some bell peppers.

Suddenly an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you away from the counter, lifting you into the air. You scream and start to kick your legs before loud chuckles come from behind you. Realizing who it is you relax in his hold and frown.

“Clyde, I had a knife.”

“Darlin’ if that's how you fight against a bear, I’ll never be able to take ya campin.”

The amusement is loud and clear in his voice. You know you’ve been caught.

“What do you mean bear? I don’t see any bears.” When worse comes to worst, what do you do?

Play dumb.

It’s also not your fault he sprung this upon you in the early morning. Your brain’s not even awake yet.

He sets you down and you turn around in his hold, eyes wide with faux innocence. His own eyes slightly narrow, but a small smile stays on his lips.

“Hmm.” He stares down at you, silently testing your acting abilities. “Some little birdie told me that ya think I’m a bear.”

“Well obviously the birds around here are terrible at gossip!” You cross your arms and turn back to your peppers.

He lets out a loud hearty laugh. Then he wraps his arms around your waist and sets his chin on top of your head, watching as you try to not fumble and fluster under his gaze.

“I just wanna know why ya said it? And why you’re now denyin’ it.”

You sigh and set the knife down on the counter, looking up and out the small window above the counter. “Promise me you won’t laugh at me?”

“I promise.”

Everything in you screams at you to not tell him. But he said he promised and you know that eventually it would come up again, so why not tell him now?

“Ikindathinkyouactandlooklikeabearsoinmyheadit’sbecomeanicknameforyou.”

He takes a second to think over what you said so quickly. You can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. But with each second that passes, the anxiety bubbles up further in your stomach.

“I like it.”

That is the last thing you expected him to say. “You like it?”

He turns you around so he can look at you. “Yeah, it makes me feel like I can protect ya better. Like a bear.”

Your cheeks hurt from your smile. “Really?”

He swoops down and presses his lips to your own. “Yeah.” His own lips are pulled into a smile. “I’ve got ya darlin’ and now you’ve got yer bear.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press another kiss to his lips. “My big bear.”

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

So yeah, I totally was swooning the entire time I was writing this! I hope you enjoyed! 

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! It means the world to me and I also love hearing what you all have to say! 

Love forever, Lordy :) 

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[caiminnent]

reasons I have kissed you today [domestic kylux fluff, rated T]

Prompt(s): Day 1 - Comforts by @kyluxpositivity​, based on a @foxes-in-love​ comic.

Summary: It dawns on Kylo, how empty his life had felt before Hux. It still feels like a dream, sometimes: something that may slip through his fingers like sand if he opens his eyes. Ben had never imagined that he could be loved with the focused, intense way Hux loves Kylo—never thought he could love someone so fiercely, either. How in the world did he get so lucky?

Or: a marriage in ten kisses.

Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Married Couple, Armitage Hux Wears Glasses, Established Relationship, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Coffee as a Metaphor for Love

Notes: Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash.

3.2K || Also on AO3

i. we woke up

Kylo wakes up in the middle of the night.

Taking a deep breath, he blinks up at the ceiling with aching eyes, distantly wondering what disturbed him. The room is bathed in the dim, half-light of early morning, the streetlights drawing orange shapes on the far wall.

Too kriffing early to be up on a Sunday.

Hux is still sound asleep next to him. A car passes, the headlights illuminating the room enough for Kylo to see the lines of his face for a moment: smooth and relaxed, the way they rarely are while his high-strung husband is awake.

The urge to reach out and run his touch over the long lines of Hux’s hands, to feel the skin-warmed metal on his finger grips Kylo. It’s not insecurity; Hux headed off half-joking remarks about Hux eventually taking the ring off so swiftly that Kylo doesn’t carry more than the passing, baseless worry brought by the occasional bad brain day. He just enjoys the physical reminder that Hux is his.

Hux’s alarm goes off, startling Kylo. Unlike the groggy, half-hearted way Kylo wakes, Hux commits to it: When he opens his eyes and reaches to turn his alarm off, he’s ready to take on the day ahead.

Scratching his stubble, Hux looks over to Kylo, finding him already watching. “Good morning, you creep.”

Kylo smiles, rising on an elbow. Brushing a strand away from Hux’s eyes, “Mornin’,” he mumbles, leaning over to kiss Hux.

“Ugh, morning breath,” Hux grumbles, but he’s smiling, too.

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

ii. you made me caf

The next time Kylo wakes, the room is finally bright with the morning light. Hux’s table clock reads half past nine.

He rolls onto his back, running a hand down his face. His body feels anchored to the bed, the caked warmth of the room weighing his eyelids down. Part of him wants to press his face on the cold side of the pillow and ignore the world for a few more hours. He might have, maybe, if the other side of the bed weren’t despicably empty.

The bitter scent of caf filtering in through the ajar door helps with the decision, too.

Stepping into yesterday’s shorts, Kylo shuffles to the kitchen, where Hux is making himself his nth cup of tarine tea as the caf machine drips Kylo’s java into the pot. Hux’s favorite coaster sits next to his book on the kitchen island, the bookmark sticking out somewhere near the end.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Hux says without turning, mixing low-fat milk into his tea with the preciseness of a surgeon.

Not ready to be awake yet, Kylo grunts in response, grabbing the A/C remote off the caf table before dropping himself on the couch. He sets the temperature as low as Hux can stand—which isn’t much, but it’s infinitely better than getting cooked in the summer heat that’s seeping in through their south-facing windows.

Hux comes over with a big mug and a coaster, placing the latter on the caf table. Keeping the caf hostage, he extends his cheek, awaiting his payment of a kiss first. Kylo is more than happy to give it.

Satisfied, Hux surrenders the mug and returns to his book. The A/C kicks in in full force, blasting cool air right onto Kylo’s heated skin.

It’s perfect.

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

iii. I passed you by on my way to the kitchen

They have different ideas of how a Sunday works.

For Kylo, it’s time to finally leave the workweek behind and enjoy himself. He likes to curl on the couch with Hux and watch a movie, go out for a late lunch, take evening walks without his phone. Hux, on the other hand, sees it as an opportunity to prepare for the next week; he takes up laundry and deep-cleaning, while Kylo is tasked with cooking meals to re-heat for dinner over the next week and ironing.

Kylo manages to postpone the inevitable until the third time Hux reminds him of it, the thin line of Hux’s mouth promising hell if Kylo doesn’t get on with it already. Kylo dutifully closes the lid of his laptop and heads to the kitchen, pausing to drop a peck on Hux’s lips in apology.

“Don’t think you’re forgiven,” Hux says after him, his tone already softer.

-----------------------------  

iv. you passed by while going to the shower

Once done with the cleaning, “I’m going to take a shower,” Hux announces, going through the folded pile of newly pressed clothes. Putting the flat iron aside, Kylo helps him find a shirt and the pair of khaki shorts that make Hux’s thighs look sinful, wrapping an arm around his waist to show how much he appreciates the choice already.

“Kylo, I’m reeking,” Hux complains, batting a hand at him. Kylo puts a wet kiss on that spot under his ear before letting him go.

Hux shakes his head in disapproval, but his look is fond.

-----------------------------  

v. you were gaming and didn’t hear me sneak up on you

Long after the shower turned off, Hux still hasn’t come back to the living room.

Kylo finds him at the study, hunched over his cherished desktop with Kylo’s sound-cancelling headphones on. Perfect. Seizing the opportunity, Kylo tiptoes into the room until he’s right behind Hux, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Hux jumps with a loud curse, the mouse tumbling off the desk as he rips the headphones off. The look he pins Kylo with over his work glasses is almost funnier than the reaction, though Kylo keeps his laughter in check. Hux is nothing if not vindictive.

“Sorry,” Kylo says with an apologetic half-grin, kissing the top of Hux’s head to appease him. On the screen, that city building game of Hux’s is on, snowy plains and mountains interspersed with black and gray buildings stretching on and on. “Still working on Starkiller Base?”

Hux grunts in affirmative, bending to pick up the mouse. A few clicks take care of whatever Kylo messed up; Hux switches to the live view afterwards, watching the flow of movement in different parts of the map.

A month ago, the base was a big, almost brutalist complex seated in the middle of vast whiteness, most of the structures placed underneath a dome until Hux built proper snow protection—or so Hux explained while giving Kylo the grand tour. It looks more like a military base now: Pairs of white-clad soldiers stomp through long, well-lit hallways in rhythm while spaceships with hexagonal wings circle around, black shuttles whizzing around underneath them.

Hux switches back to build mode, scrolling to the edge of the base, where a large watercourse—that might be a stream or river; Kylo can’t make sense of the scaling in this game—circles a white building with red, blinking lights at the top.

“What’s that?” Kylo asks, pointing at the building. Admittedly, it looks about the same as most others to him, but it seems like something Hux might be excited to talk about.

Hux pushes the glasses higher, giving him a sidelong glance. “A fusion power plant,” he says gruffly, deleting some of the pipeline between the plant and the body of water. “I thought one of these would be enough to power the entire base, but the upgraded stations are draining all the electricity. I’m trying to see how many more plants I can build without having a drought problem.”

Kylo hums, leaning in to get a closer look. Hux breaks into an explanation on how the plant works, outlining the current infrastructure at large and his next plans for the base, scrolling around the map where needed. Kylo watches the way Hux’s hands dance on the keyboard, the glint in his eyes and falls in love all over again.

-----------------------------  

vi. I was bored

Money never sleeps; neither does First Order Inc., apparently.

“I’m so sorry,” Hux says for the hundredth time as Kylo brings him a new cup of caf—which by itself speaks for the direness of whatever task Snoke just dropped into his lap. “I didn’t know it would take this long.”

Kylo doesn’t say it’s okay, because it’s not. They could’ve finished season 3 in the time Hux sunk into work, and it doesn’t look like he will be done anytime soon. It isn’t Hux’s fault though, so he says, “I know what Snoke’s like, too,” instead. Transferring to Resistance HQ was his second-best decision in life.

While Hux works, Kylo busies himself with his phone, scrolling through the holonet and catching up on the latest news that he doesn’t give a damn about. Daytime TV is as shitty as it’s always been, and he’s not stupid enough to Netflix-cheat in front of Hux, so he runs out of things to do within the next hour.

Hux’s eyes are fixated on his screen, his mechanical keyboard clack-clack-clacking rapidly. “Are you almost finished?” Kylo asks, dropping his phone on the caf table. Hux jerks his head up, blinking at him owlishly. “You’ve been at it for a while. Will you be done soon?”

Hux’s lips twist in remorse. “I’m really sorry.”

Kylo sighs, pushing off the couch. Circling around the kitchen island, he towers over Hux, crossing his arms. A plethora of spreadsheets decorate Hux’s screen, all split in multiple ways.

“Why don’t you take a break,” he says, less a suggestion than a veiled threat. “You’ve been sitting there for hours; you need to get your blood back in your head.”

“I don’t want to lose my momentum,” Hux mutters, adding several closed parentheses at the end of a formula. Another moment and he’s practically forgotten that Kylo is still standing there.

Kylo scoffs, giving him a hard stare. Hux doesn’t even look his way, buried in his color-coded columns and rows.

Fine.

Kylo puts a hand on Hux’s arm, stepping smoothly behind him. Sliding both hands to Hux’s shoulders, he presses his thumbs into the tight muscle below Hux’s neck, dragging a half-pain, half-pleasure grunt out of him.

Brushing a light kiss over the short hair on Hux’s nape, “Take a break,” Kylo says, lowering his tone to the timbre that Hux enjoys. Hux doesn’t shiver as Kylo hoped, but at least the clattering of the keyboard stopped. “Snoke has you six days of the week. Spend one with me.”

Hux snorts. “You mean on you. Are you that bored?”

“Out of my damn mind,” Kylo admits easily. “Seriously, Snoke won’t even remember that report until mid-week. The great FO won’t fall because you didn’t send one file early. You’ve done enough, you can finish it tomorrow.”

Hux drums his fingers on the island, silent as he thinks it over. Kylo encourages him by massaging the base of his neck, the area between his shoulder blades, skimming around his ribs to graze his sweet spots.

“Give me one hour,” Hux says, sounding for all the world like it’s taking him great pains to capitulate. Kylo hides his grin in the crook of Hux’s neck. “Either it’ll get done by then or I’ll be done with it.”

-----------------------------  

vii. I was tired

The evening falls, the oppressive heat giving way to a gentle warmth in the air. With 47 minutes to go on Hux’s countdown, Kylo decides to stretch his legs for a bit.

A walk around the block turns into a casual jog, then a run until the discomfort of having gone rusty gives way to a quiet head and the feeling of being on top of the world. He almost doesn’t want to stop and get back home, but home is where Hux is and he will always go back to Hux.

He walks the way back, taking the scenic route to cool off a little. When he walks inside, he finds Hux lying on the couch with a new book, still wearing the glasses.

The couch is big enough for two; they tested it. Multiple times. Still, Kylo drapes himself all over Hux instead, throwing an arm and leg over him.

“Kylo,” Hux grumbles, rescuing his book from under Kylo. He hits Kylo on the hip with it. “I’ve just cleaned the sofa.”

“Too tired to shower,” Kylo lies into Hux’s shoulder, turning his face to kiss Hux’s collarbone. For all that Hux seems made up of sharp edges, he’s unexpectedly comfortable to rest on. Kylo doesn’t feel like letting go of him just yet.

Putting his book in the empty space by them, Hux reaches down to grope Kylo’s ass, dipping a hand between his legs and back up. Tease. Kylo raises his hips with an impatient hum. Between the bliss still running in his system and the smoky, woodsy scent of Hux’s cologne in his nose, it won’t take much to get him going.

A hard pinch to his thigh makes Kylo yelp. “Hux!” he hisses, rising on his elbows to glare at him.

Hux grins up at him smugly. “You’re clearly not too tired,” he says, batting Kylo on the hip again. “Now go and wash up. If you’re fast enough, we may even continue this.”

-----------------------------  

viii. I was happy

Too lazy to set the table, they eat on trays in front of the TV.

Hux is an objectively horrible person to watch things with. He has the unique ability to find something to hate in everything he lays eyes on; his scathing, running commentary often drowns out whatever is playing. Not even the things he loves are safe from his sharp tongue.

Still, Kylo loves these calm moments with Hux more than anything: sitting nearly pressed up even though there’s space, bantering through the slower scenes, rewinding the important ones until they’ve pointed out every little detail to each other. Now that Kylo’s experienced this, he can never go back to being a passive audience.

The show ends—exactly where it shouldn’t. They speculate on the loose ends through the dishwashing routine, picking holes in each other’s theories until it becomes a debate, each defending their point with zeal and dish soap bubbles. By the time they agree to disagree, they both got their fair share of suds all over them, their sides aching from laughter.

It dawns on Kylo, how empty his life had felt before Hux. It still feels like a dream, sometimes: something that may slip through his fingers like sand if he opens his eyes. Ben had never imagined that he could be loved with the focused, intense way Hux loves Kylo—never thought he could love someone so fiercely, either. How in the world did he get so lucky?

His heart too big for his chest, he takes Hux’s ring hand in his, kissing the inside of his wrist. Hux’s soft smile lights up Kylo’s insides.

-----------------------------  

ix. you were there

Leia calls to ask what they’re going to bring to the Life Day dinner.

Kylo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mom, it’s August,” he points out, suppressing his scoff. “We barely know what we’re gonna eat next week.”

“There were too many potato dishes last year,” Leia says evenly, unmoved. “I need to make sure this year’s spread will be more balanced.”

The front door clicks open, closing just as quietly. Throwing the phone on the bed by his ear, Kylo listens to the routine sounds of Hux putting away his shoes and bags instead. Call him clingy; knowing that Hux is home with him, even if they aren’t in the same room, comforts Kylo.

A moment later, Hux steps in, two mini-cups of ice cream in hand. The best husband in the universe, hands down. Hux extends a cup and a spoon to him, nodding at the phone in question.

Kill me, Kylo mouths, sitting upright to take the ice cream. Leia is still chattering on the other end of the line, something about acorn squash and broccoli. Kylo puts her on speaker to make Hux share his suffering.

“I told Poe to bring the pecan pie,��� Leia continues, clearly not minding Kylo’s lack of reply. Hux sits down next to him, digging into his own cup. “Rey wanted to make it again, but—between us, of course—she can never get the crust right, so she and Phasma will bring garlic bread instead. Armitage’s focaccia is straight out of heaven, but I don’t want to load up on bread. You’ll need to choose something else, I’m afraid.”

Licking his spoon clean, “Hello, Leia,” Hux says. “We were planning to bring, um, blue milk biscuits and green bean casserole. Is that all right?”

“Of course, Armitage,” Leia responds, the warmth of her tone increasing a few degrees. If she’s surprised to hear Hux’s voice, she doesn’t let on. “That would be great.”

“Wonderful,” Hux says, feigning cheer. “Now, you must have many people to call yet; we oughtn’t keep you any longer. I’m sure Kylo will catch up with you at a better time.”

Kylo will do nothing of the sort.

Once they say their farewells and hang up, Kylo releases a long breath. Conversations with his mother always take something out of him, no matter the subject. Hells if he knows how he got through them before Hux came along.

He reaches for Hux’s forearm, squeezing it in a silent thanks. It’s the easiest thing in the world to drag his hand up Hux’s arm, shoulder, neck and to cup his jaw, pulling him down for a kiss.

Hux tastes of strawberries and chocolate. Kylo can’t get enough of it.

-----------------------------  

x. no reason at all

Like every good thing in life, Sunday ends.

Kylo putters around the apartment until he has no chance but to slink into the bedroom. An unnecessary and unneeded part of his routine, the if I sleep, it’ll be a workday morning dread that starts creeping up as soon as it gets dark. It’s not even that he hates his job; he just loathes the end of his free time.

Hux is already in bed, probably finishing up his weekly review and preview like the freak he is. He puts the phone aside when Kylo enters, waiting for Kylo with his hands folded on his stomach.

For a moment, all Kylo can do is stop and stare, his breath catching in his lungs. With his lightly tousled hair bright against the bedding and his dainty ankles casually crossed, Hux is a sight to see. No one has a right to look that good in sleepwear, much less the feared CTO of First Order.

Kylo crosses the room in three steps, climbing onto Hux’s side of the bed and crawling over him. Supporting himself on one elbow, he leans down and kisses Hux deeply; Hux opens up for him without skipping a beat, pulling Kylo even closer.

Once they part, “What was that for?” Hux asks, running the backs of two fingers down Kylo’s face with an amused slant to his lips.

Kylo shrugs. “No reason at all.”

[hazbincalifornia]

Soiled Tea

Chapter 23: Blitzo gets home and contemplates things.

Warnings: As always, mpreg, and brief mentions of underage drinking. Generally shitty thoughts about babies.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Blitz.” There was a pounding on his door, and it took a few seconds to process that it was Loona. “You’ve been in there for like three hours. The fuck happened?”

“Piss off!” Blitzo called back, scrolling mindlessly down Voxtagram with only a pause to scrub at his sore eyes. The phone buzzed with another text from Stolas, and he swiped it up without looking like the last twelve. A growl rumbled from behind at the door, and the scratch of Loona’s claws dragged down the wood.

“Fine, don’t tell me! It’s not like I care either way, I just want to know if you’re going to start bitching at me over whatever it is!” Loona’s weight creaked the floorboards as she padded away from the door, mere moments before Blitzo’s stomach growled.

Oh. Right. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and the little fucker was going to be feeling that.

...It’d be easier to starve the bastard if it wouldn’t hurt him too. He only realized that his fingers had dug into his stomach when the red glow fluttered in and out, and his teeth gritted as he pushed himself off the bed, the creak reminding him how badly he needed a new mattress and frame. Stolas sleeping on it the other day couldn’t have helped, and it was going to collapse under him one of these days. There was probably some kind of metaphor in there he didn’t feel like puzzling through at the moment.

Moping later. Food now. He was pretty sure they’d stocked up a few days ago, so unless Loona had eaten everything since he’d been out, he could make some cup noodles and curl back up on the bed in peace. Loona was draped over the couch with screams and gorey splatters echoing from the TV when he exited his room, and she raised an eyebrow at seeing him mere moments after he’d told her to piss off. Blitzo sighed.

“Look, I just want to bury my sorrow in some cheap-ass junk right now, got it?”

She pointed to the freezer. “Try the strawberry scoop.”

“Thanks, dear.” First he needed to get the noodles, though. Blitzo opened the cabinet, reaching for the cups before brushing against a small bag. Why did he have a bag in the…?

His fingers froze, touching the edge of the packet- it was Stolas’s tea from their café meeting, tied with a pretty little bow. He’d mostly been over the nausea hump by the time he’d gotten it so it had been stuffed in the back of the cabinet, and right now, it was leaned against a partially-opened hot chocolate packet that must have been years old. It made the wood smell both moldy and chocolatey-fresh. Over the last few weeks, the powder had seeped into the mix of the tea- and probably ruined it too. There was an ant curled up in front of the fancy little bag which was almost certainly dead, flat on its back with legs curled heavenward.

The thing was moving again, but when he smacked the side of his stomach, it turned over a little with a shudder and stopped. Progress.

His hands were shaking by the time he pulled the noodles out from next to the tea (and next to the hot chocolate, and some expired crackers, and the little baggie of rat poison he’d borrowed from Millie and Moxxie’s closet) and began boiling the water to prepare them the same way he’d done hundreds of times before. No thinking required. The TV droned on in the living room, but the volume was low and he could still hear the water dripping from the leak over the fridge and his own heartbeat.

Casually, he leaned back against the countertop as he waited for the water to soak in, then realized that angle made the bump stick out even more, and also that he’d never actually taken off Stolas’s shirt. The knot in the back was thick and hard on his back, and it pressed on his protruding vertebrae against the granite. He tapped the end of his tail next to a stray protein bar wrapper on the countertop before sweeping it towards the trash. It missed, fluttering down to the dirty floor like a dying moth. Blitzo scooped up the cup, stabbing the top with a fork before bringing it back to his room and turning on a video of some idiot screaming at video games to drown out whatever thoughts couldn't be suppressed otherwise.

Loona didn’t bother him for the rest of the night, but he could hear her slam the fridge’s door shut and pop open a can of something around ten. He peeled off the shirt and went to bed.

__________________

An hour after going to bed, he realized that the sex-sweat stuck to his skin was itchy, sticky, and smelled like shit. He managed to last approximately fifteen more minutes before dragging himself off the bed and crawling into the shower, flipping on the water and twisting it to scalding. He didn’t bother to scrub anything down, simply letting the pounding water pelt into his body until the caked sweat slid off like a bug shedding its skin.

Loona was still in the living room, playing some kind of racing game. They made eye contact for a few seconds and she sighed, chucking him a chocolate bar that she’d fished out of the cushions at some point during the night when he’d been in his room.

Sure, she couldn’t actually eat it herself anyway, but the gesture was nice, even though his teeth felt kind of fuzzy when he flopped back on the bed again after pulling on a worn-out band tee that had become a crop top at some point even before the pregnancy. 

__________________

The kid was moving. Of course they were. It wasn’t like he could ask for sleep or for them to allow him to pretend they didn’t exist for a few hours, could he? They were just a lump of stupid meat, they didn't know any better than being an annoying pest that their daddy couldn't stand. He screamed into the pillow again. It didn’t help.

__________________

Maybe he could join the circus again. He had new, better jokes now. Like his life. (That one would have gotten a laugh, or at least it would have with a crowd that wasn’t drunk off its ass- or maybe that would have been the exact audience for it. Kids were never drunk enough, and the ones whose parents shoved bottles at them to get them to shut up just puked everywhere. Their taste buds weren't developed enough yet, it just tasted like piss half the time before you got used to it. He still remembered the smell of the cheesy chips incident.)

__________________

Had Stolas planned this all along? He’d sure as fuck seemed to think that Blitzo had already known what the deal was, and maybe he’d wondered a little, but come on, the guy had been so excited, anybody would have figured that he wanted to be the one to raise it. Babies were (literally) shitty little leeches on the lives of whoever was unlucky enough to pop them out, but Stolas had been so pumped for another kid, obviously he’d wanted to raise it. This was entirely his fault. This was entirely his fault. Blitzo was a smart guy, he'd find some way to get out of this. He'd made it this far, hadn't he?

__________________

Could he get out of this? He tried to remember exactly how the deal had been phrased, but then realized that Stolas would probably yank the book back if he did manage to find some way to kill the thing without offing himself. Well, shit. That’d suck, and he’d probably lose Moxxie and Millie in the bargain, and then him and Loona would get chucked out on the concrete and have to forage for scraps until they managed to mug some particularly wealthy sinner. Could you pass on syphilis through bites? Loonie’d probably know. It was something to keep in mind as a potential threat.

__________________

Did orphanages do speed dial? No, Stolas would find it somehow. He probably had some kind of magic tracking device for occasions like this.

__________________

God damn he needed a better mattress. He could still feel the indent where Stolas had been if he rolled over just right, and he smacked at it until it felt like the rest of the bed.

It didn’t actually help that much, but at least when one spot got hot, he could roll over a little to the cooler half without sinking in.

__________________

What would it even look like? Would it be kind of cute or some mutant monstrosity? Both its dads were hot, so it would have to have something going for it if it wasn’t just some horrible moaning mess of feathers and patchy skin.

He hadn’t really minded the thought of being, like, an uncle or some shit. There for the fun parts, popping in like twice a month to jingle keys above its face and teach it to play paintball. If Barbie had squeezed something out after fucking around when they were still a duo act he could have dealt with that as long as they didn’t have to sleep in the same room- he didn’t really mind kids that much in small doses. They could be fun little chaotic monsters, even though they were judgmental as shit and smelled fear.

With this, though, he couldn’t just hand it back when he got bored, and he always, always got bored or scared or- fuck, not thinking about that.

He would try scrolling Voxtagram again, but he came across an ad for maternity wear before trying to go to sleep the first time and nearly chucked the phone. 

__________________

The only thing that kept him from rolling off the bed and grabbing a hard drink to knock him out, baby be damned, was the fact that he’d found a spot that almost was comfortable in the sheets now soaked with sweat again. Unfortunately, the clock said it was 5:13 AM.

__________________

The alarm blared directly in Blitzo’s ear and he whapped it with a pillow, slamming it off the bedside table and into the floor. It was definitely broken now from the horrid cracking noise, and he groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

“Morning, sleeping ugly,” Loona said as she gargled mouthwash in the sink. She had the bags under her eyes that probably matched his and said she’d been drinking more than usual last night. Smart kid. He’d picked one that he could be a parent to without changing diapers for a reason- so he could be supportive to an actual person and not just a screaming little meat-lump that couldn’t even drink or smoke yet. Maybe Stolas could make it magically grow up so he wouldn't have to deal with that shit? “You gonna finally tell me what the fuck happened? You look like you watched the apartment blow up and you smell even worse.”

“Come on, honey, I showered-” Blitzo cleared his throat. To be fair, sex-stink didn't come off that easily when you were going at it for days, and Loona had always had a real sensitive nose. “Daddy’s maaaaaybe got a little tiny problem,” he muttered, and she raised an eyebrow.

“And that problem is? Usually, you’ll be upfront about why you’re being a whiny-“

“Apparently,” he started, and his tone made Loona’s mouth snap shut, “Stolas thought I was going to be the one actually raising the little bastard.”

“What the fuck? You two didn’t clear this up months ago?” Her claws dug into the counter as one eye twitched, and a bit of mouthwash foam dripped off her chin.

“I didn’t think we’d have to! He wanted the thing, he’d take it, that made sense!” He dragged a hand down his face, and Loona leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms. The foam hit her top, soaking in next to the left tit.

“So get rid of it.”

“I can’t, he enchanted my guts.” Blitzo snatched a butter knife smeared with long-dried jam off the table and aimed it at his stomach- moments before it touched the skin, red flashed. His hand shot to the side, preventing anymore more than a slight scratch. “I don’t even want to know what’d happen if I tried to take a pill or something and puked it up. Explode, probably.”

Loona sighed. “Well, this is fuckin’ peachy.” She crossed the kitchen, grabbing some toast that popped up, pressing more down and dropping the plain bread with a pad of butter on the side on a plate in front of him. “Toss it at an orphanage.”

“It’s gonna be a freak, it’d probably just get mauled. Imp kids are vicious, especially orphans, they’ve all gotta fight for table scraps.”

“Why would you care?” Loona shifted a little on her seat. “You get rid of it either way.”

“Stolas’d kill me.”

“He likes your dick too much, he wouldn’t. I’m not changing diapers. Why can’t he take it again?”

“He thought his wife would shank the fucker. Considering she tried to stab me, it’s probably not that far off. I’ll find some way to-” he yawned. “To pawn it off or something. Maybe we find somebody that likes exotic pets.” His head swam with visions of a shiny, gilded cage containing a little feathered imp that wore sequins and hissed at anything that got too close. He stabbed at the butter. “I don’t want this either, alright?”

“But you went along with having it anyway, and with me, you wanted-” She cut herself off and drummed her fingers against her bicep. “This is your fuck-up, I’m just saying don’t drag me into it.”

“Very reassuring, thank you,” Blitzo muttered, sarcasm thick enough to gore like it was a pig. "We have any coffee?"

"I finished it the other night. We can go to that place on Sixth before work." Loona snatched her own toast as it popped up too quickly to actually have toasted any and stuffed it in her mouth plain, tearing off a bite and chewing in a way that was reminiscent of thoughtful. “I don’t think he’d be nice enough to let you die when it pops out, and you screw up all the time and haven’t completely ruined your life yet. You can figure shit out from there. Maybe we can sell them on the black market and move out of this fucking dump, or you can flutter your eyelashes and get him to change his mind. Worst comes to worst, it's sharing your room.”

“Thanks, Loonie,” Blitzo mumbled around a mouthful of bread. “Always know how to cheer me up.”

The phone buzzed, and he was about to ignore it again until he saw that it was from Millie.

“Still at Stolas’s or coming in to work today Blitz? Moxx and I miss you :)’

Blitzo wiped crumbs on his pants and groaned before typing back.

‘yeh im coimin back’

He added extra jam to the bread before shoving the rest in his mouth, and the kid kicked his bladder hard enough that he almost pissed himself right at the table.

Today was gonna be fuckin’ peachy.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Photographs, Cuddles and Hot Cocoa (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: Happy birthday, @flowers-in-your-hayr​ 🎉 May your day be the most beautiful! 🌺 Hope you’ll enjoy this silly thing I wrote. And @maggiescarborough​, thank you for planning this special challenge.

Of course, I chose an Ivar's moodboard. And now it’s Christmas in May 🎄

Once again, I wholeheartedly thank you, @inforapound​. You’re the best beta ever. And my friend 🌷

Obviously, the moodboard belongs to you, @flowers-in-your-hayr​ 😉

Summary: You’re tired and wanted to cuddle but Ivar’s got other plans. You’re not thrilled.

Warnings: fluff with no plot; Ivar may be a little OOC, sorry about that.

Words: 2066

"Ivar, where are we?"

Looking around, frowning, you don't even try to hide how annoyed you are, your head resting against the car window. He gives you an amused smile, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek.

"You don't remember? I thought you'd recognize this place."

He seems slightly disappointed, which doesn't help your mood. Because you should be the disappointed one. Well, you probably are. More disappointed than he is, anyway.

"No, I don't."

He lets his hand fall back into his lap, clearly surprised by your increasingly irritated tone.

"Just look around, love."

"That's what I'm doing, Ivar! I'm not sure what you want me to say. That we are in the middle of nowhere? Okay, we are!" Blowing up, you raise your voice. "I'm not stupid, Ivar! I know we're on the heights of Kattegat, not far from the chalet since we didn't drive long. But we could be anywhere! It's white, white and white! There's snow everywhere!!! How am I supposed to recognize this fucking place, Ivar???"

"Okay, take it easy Y/N!" Smiling, he squeezes your knee. It's infuriating how he can stay calm on the rare occasions when you're the one who gets angry. "Remember, we're on vacation and we've got all the time in the world. Just tell me… what's wrong?"

You soften in spite of yourself when his forget-me-not blue eyes peer into yours.

"Imtiredandwantedtocuddle." You mumble, suddenly shy and embarrassed, sucking on your lower lip.

You're speaking the truth. Christmas Day with Ivar's family had been surprisingly successful. Sigurd had behaved, Aslaug's cooking had been, as usual, scrumptious and the gifts appreciated. Your somewhat grumpy lover had even been cheerful – well, most of the time. So yeah, everything had gone well. But it had been exhausting. Waking up at dawn, baking a cake, a two-hours drive to Kattegat, a whole day of smiling and keeping the conversation going, you and Ivar eventually had arrived at the Lothbrok's chalet very late last night, for a well deserved week's holiday, just the two of you. And this morning, all you wanted to do was cuddle, wrapped in a thick blanket. But here you are now, wearing your brand new snow suit, in the middle of nowhere, at the insistence of Ivar, your stubborn fiancé.

Ivar stifles a chuckle, scrunching up his nose. "Fuck, I love your pouty face, Y/N!"

Sticking your tongue out at him, you can't help but close your eyes, purring with delight as his hands cup your face. You love him so fucking much.

Still, you're not ready to admit defeat. Not just yet. "I'm not that easily bought, Ivar!"

Flashing his trademark smile, he gives a peck on your forehead, laughing. "I know, love!! If I promise tons of cuddles later, will you be less angry?"

"Maybe." A whisper escapes your mouth while a faint smile appears on your face. As much as you'd like to, you can never stay mad at him for long.

"Then I promise." His voice is soft now, his smile genuine, his eyes full of love, and you know he won. You'd do anything for this man, for his happiness.

Intertwining your fingers with his, you bring his hand closer, kissing it gently while releasing a light sigh. "Okay, let's start again." You stop, glancing around one more time. When you speak again, there's not the slightest hint of annoyance in your voice. "Mind telling me where we are? Because I swear to you, I don't have a clue."

Leaning forward, Ivar points at a snowy tree out on the right side of the car. "Doesn't that oak remind you of anything? Really?" Frowning, he looks truly astounded, maybe disappointed too. Realizing that you probably unwillingly hurt his feelings, you stare out at the winter scenery, paying particular attention to the majestic old tree. And it just hits you. Shit.

"Oh gods Ivar, I'm so sorry… Of course I know where we are. But you know, with all that snow, I had no bearings. Yet I should have known. Oh gods, I can't believe I didn't recognize…" Stopping your useless rambling, you can't help but cringe, mentally scolding yourself. Your hand grazes his cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Swallowing hard, you lower your gaze, slightly ashamed. "I'm so sorry, Ivar. That's our tree."

Your tree, which regally overlooks a small pond. This is your little paradise. Your secret place, where you first kissed eight years ago, after he gave himself to you like never before, revealing all his fears and insecurities. Your secret place, where he proposed to you last summer, crying in your arms, gobsmacked that you said yes.

"Yes, our tree." Smiling softly, Ivar grabs his camera from the back seat. "I'm glad your memory returned, I was beginning to wonder if this place meant as much to you as it did to me." He winks at you, but you can see concern in his eyes. Ivar will never be completely sure of your love, no matter what you say or do, because he thinks he doesn't deserve it.

"It's the best place in the whole world, Ivar." You reassure him, your hand barely squeezing his thigh. "I'll gladly forego a long cuddle session if it means spending an hour here with you." Tilting your head, you reach out, fingers skimming his jaw, before kissing him tenderly. You're the first to pull away, looking intently into his eyes. "Now tell me, my love, why did you choose to come here today? If this is about asking me to marry you, you remember I already said yes, right?" Chuckling, you pepper light kisses over his face as he wraps his arm around your waist, drawing you closer.

"Actually, I've wanted to take pictures here during winter for a long time." Backing up just enough to show you his camera, he gives you one last peck on the lips. "I've never had the chance since we usually only come here in July or August. So yeah…", he shrugs, looking sorry, "that's why I rushed you a little bit this morning. But just look…" Getting excited, he gestures wildly, showing you the scenery around you. "All this fresh snow, it's beautiful. And the brightness today is amazing. A perfect day for perfect pictures. It would have been a shame not to come."

His words bring a broad smile to your face. You love seeing him like this, passionate and committed. Photography is his happy bubble. A world where his legs don't matter, where he doesn't have to compete against his brothers. A world which taught him patience. And gods, he's good at it! One day his pictures will be exhibited, you're sure of it.

Scratching the back of his neck, he scowls for a second, his hand squeezing yours. "I realize just now that it was silly to bring you here. You could have stayed at the chalet. Shit Y/N, I'm sorry. Do you want to wait for me here? You could stay in the car, so you won't get cold. I promise to be quick. What do you say?"

Shaking your head, you put on your woollen gloves, your pompon beanie already on your head. "No way, Ivar. Of course I'm coming with you."

Your hand on the door handle, you give him a questioning look. "Where do you want to go? At the risk of repeating myself, there's snow everywhere."

"I know that," he giggles at your obvious, rolling his eyes. "We'll go to the pond of course, where else?"

Doing a double take, you stare wide-eyed at him. "To the… pond?" Your high-pitched tone giving away your unbelief, you see Ivar furrowing his brows.

When he speaks again, it's with an expressionless face, apprehension clear in his voice. "That's what I said, yes. Is there a problem?"

A problem? Of course there is. The truth is, there is a problem. A long list of problems.

First, walking in the snow is always challenging for Ivar, his leg braces and his crutch. And right now, even the wheelchair friendly path leading to the pond is nonexistent, covered with a thick layer of snow.

Second, it's too cold out here. Too cold for his legs, which will stiffen in no time, causing him terrible pain.

Third, he woke up this morning unwell, wincing, swallowing with his orange juice a double dose of painkillers while complaining about how the previous day had been stressful and tiring.

You're about to talk, to explain, when you catch his pleading eyes. He knows exactly what you're thinking. There isn't a sound out of him, but it's not necessary, you can't miss the silent question in his gaze. “Please. Don't."

Overwhelmed with mixed feelings, you remain silent for a minute. You hate seeing him in pain, struggling to take a step and knowing he'll pay for it later makes you sick. Yet, you don't want to be the one clipping his wings. You can't be the one restraining him. You're his lover, not his mother. Your task is to trust him, be there for him no matter what, not to coddle him. You have to remember that your high school sweetheart is not as reckless as he used to be. He knows his limitations as well as his abilities. He's learned not to overwork himself.

Biting your lip, you release a shaky breath. "I won't." Your whispered answer to the question he didn't ask brings a faint smile to his face. He nods, closing his eyes for an instant, relief written all over his face. "Thank you."

***

"I'll be right there, love." Leaning heavily on his crutch, Ivar slowly crosses the kitchen, heading to the open-plan lounge, two mugs of cocoa in his free hand.

Getting up off the couch, you rush to him, a warm smile on your lips. "I got them." Reaching out, you quickly grasp the cups, putting them on the coffee table before returning to him.

As soon as you slip your hand on his waist, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, a gesture expressing a sign of affection as much as the need to be helped.

He's in pain and exhausted. You know it, you see it but it was worth it. His radiant face, his joyful exclamations, his childish enthusiasm were worth it. Watching him taking pictures for almost two hours, his eyes full of stars, raving about the pristine white landscape was worth it.

"Here, careful." You don't let go of his arm until he sits down, cursing under his breath. "Don't tell me 'I told you so', please,” he mumbles, hiding a wince as best as he can.

Kissing his forehead, you laugh, shaking your head, “How could I? I've told you absolutely nothing,” before grazing his left leg. "May I take off your braces?" Knowing that he trusts you and he won't mind, you get to work right away, gently removing the heavy contraptions. He gives you a grateful smile as you carefully lift his legs, helping him to settle on the wide couch before snuggling against him, the both of you tucked up under a fleece blanket.

The crackling fire, the invigorating cocoa, the warmth of your man, the love you feel, your two beings radiating happiness and those cuddles you were craving for, everything is perfect.

You're dozing off when Ivar breaks the silence, his fingers brushing your side. "How about a bath?" You lazily raise your head, yawning and stretching. "Hmm… A relaxing bath… Sounds like a good idea,” you say, as your hand lightly rubs his thigh, feeling each and every knot.

Sighing with relief, Ivar sits quietly for a while before grabbing your wrist, his suddenly husky voice startling you. "No… not necessarily relaxing… See… that's what…" sucking on your earlobe, he's hard to understand as he puts your hand on his crotch, "… I was thinking about."

Bursting out laughing, you playfully squeeze his cock. "Is that so? Well, all you can think about is sex, right?"

Hand on his chest, Ivar gasps, playing that he’s offended, making you laugh even more. "How can you think so little of me? Of course not! All I can think about is you, Y/N. I just can't help it, you're so beautiful. And so fucking perfect!"

Gods. This is your man. And he's so fucking perfect too!

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @saldelys​ @waiting4inspiration​ @hecohansen31​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @gearhead66​ @readsalot73​ @lonewolf471​ @milkkygirls​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @maggiescarborough​

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Rules

(Ok my Good Omens Lockdown fic is complete! And not at all what you were expecting! Check tags for brief TW for one of the final scenes.)

--

Dear Crowley.

The black ink flowed across the yellowed paper, trailing behind Aziraphale’s pen.

He frowned, and scratched it out.

My Dearest Friend.

He barely finished the final letter before crossing it out even more frantically than before.

Anthony.

Now that was just absurd. Another sharp line across the page.

Crowley.

Aziraphale all but threw the pen into the inkwell. He grabbed the paper in both hands and tore it in half – in half again – and again – and again, ink smudging and staining his fingers.

Stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

When he was finished, he dumped the confettied remains of the letter onto his desk and glared at them until they started to smolder, the first wisp of smoke twisting into the air.

Then, with a sigh, he waved his hand, returning them to a single sheet of clean parchment paper.

How long had he been in lockdown now? Six weeks? Seven? Eight?

Long enough to start coming up with foolish ideas. Long enough to begin questioning things that he knew were probably better left unquestioned and unsaid.

He took himself over to the shop’s kitchen and started the kettle boiling again. Cocoa? No, tea. And a nice slice of cake, that’s what he needed. The red velvet this time, he thought.

Crowley liked red velvet cake. Not that he admitted to it, but he never turned down an offered bite. And he would smile, just a bit, as he chewed it, eyes hovering across the top of his glasses...

When he’d gathered his treats, Aziraphale settled again at the desk, carefully restacking his books to make room for the cake and mug. He dimmed the lights around the shop, put on a soothing record, tried to find that calm center that allowed him to think clearly. He’d never actually found it before, but he’d read about it in books on meditation, and it sounded jolly useful.

Finally, with a deep breath, he carefully picked up the pen again, tapping it against the glass of the inkwell so that it didn’t drip, and tackled the paper again.

My dear Crowley,

I hope these strange new days see you well, and that you are not causing too much trouble on your side of London. Things have certainly been quiet over here, but you know that’s how I prefer it. Perhaps I should close the shop more often!

I finally had a chance to read that author you suggested, and while I couldn’t locate any of your recommended titles, I’ve found Chesterton’s “Orthodoxy” to be quite a fascinating read…

--

…and so I find myself with rather an overabundance of time! While the baking has been going exceedingly well, I feel that something is missing. I can’t quite put my finger on

The sound of breaking glass at the back of the shop. Aziraphale frowned. He didn’t keep anything breakable back there, just boxes of newly arrived books, supply storage, and of course the back door –

Ah. That probably explained it.

He stood up, pausing to wipe the crumbs from his face, and retrieve his favorite umbrella from the hat stand. A soft thump from somewhere in the back room put a little more speed into his step.

--

“Watch where you’re going,” Dru hissed, jerking his foot free of the box Tommy had knocked over. Books spilled out across the floor.

“Sorry,” muttered Tommy leaning over to restack them. They were those old books with weird hard-cloth covers, stamped with the names of dead poets he half-remembered from school. They smelt like dust. The whole shop smelt pretty gross, actually, like someone had hidden old cheese in a corner and let it sit there since Christmas.

“Don’t bother with that.” Dru kicked over the books. They slid across the floor, mixing with the broken glass. Tommy scrambled back. Dru was much bigger than him, over six feet tall, taller when he was angry. “I told you, look for the cash box. It’s gotta be back here somewhere.”

“Says who?” Jack was on his hands and knees nudging his way through more boxes towards the corner wall. “I’ve been looking forever and there’s – look, nothing again.”

“Shhh.” Tommy shrank back towards the broken window, glancing into the alley outside. He could still hear the scratchy old record playing at the front of the shop, and he didn’t think he could jump out the window quickly enough if they were caught. “This was a stupid idea, Dru. There’s someone here, and he’s going to hear us –”

“Just some old bloke,” Dru waved his hand angrily. “He’s run the shop forever, gotta be a hundred years old. You scared of him? Just find the safe.”

“What safe?” Jack crawled back out of the corner. “I told you there isn’t any bloody –”

“There’s always a safe in the back. It’s a rule.”

“I’m afraid it is not, in fact, a rule. Otherwise I would have one.” Tommy spun, and there, not ten feet away, stood the old bookseller. He was dressed in an ancient suit, hands resting on a tartan umbrella, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. “However, I’ve always though the logical place to keep money is in the till, so that’s where it is.”

Dru whipped out his knife, pointing it at the bookseller’s face. Jack followed a moment later, fumbling with the unfamiliar blade.

The bookseller just watched them, lips pursed. With a sinking feeling, Tommy realized he was nowhere near a hundred. The white-haired man looked barely older than Tommy’s dad, and at least as strong. Tommy had a good sense for when someone was not a person to cross, and this man set off every alarm bell.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly afraid the bookseller might recognize the dust from the brick Tommy threw into the window.

Dru waved his knife, trying to recover. “You just stay over there, right? We don’t want to hurt you.”

“No,” the bookseller said seriously. “You don’t.”

Jack lowered his knife and shuffled his feet.

“Shut it,” snapped Dru. “Right. We know where it is now. Tommy, go get the till.”

“Thomas do not get the till,” the bookseller snapped. His eyes flicked down, studying the mess all across the floor. When he looked up again, pulling his glasses off, his gaze pierced Tommy like a pair of blue icicles. “Did you knock over my books?”

“Yessir,” Tommy muttered, flinching away. He never liked arguing. Easier to go along with what people told him. Normally, at least, he would just agree and keep his mouth shut. But today, he felt the words bubbling inside him, fighting their way free. “And I broke the window. But Dru kicked the books over. I tried to clean, honest.”

“I see.” The blue eyes studied Dru, then drifted over to Jack. “And you?”

“I just moved the boxes, I didn’t break anything.”

“Well.” The bookseller took a step towards them. “I hope you all feel very ashamed of yourselves.” Tommy immediately did, though that wasn’t too unusual. He always felt ashamed of something. “Don’t you know there’s a lockdown going on just now? Pandemics are very serious business. You are breaking the rules – rules that are put in place to keep you safe. People could die from your carelessness, do you understand that?”

“Look,” Dru stepped forward, waving his knife a bit more urgently. “I don’t give a shit about that. You need to –”

The bookseller swung his umbrella like a sword, knocking Dru’s knife across the room. “I wasn’t finished talking. Now you go back over there and listen for once in your life. And mind your language in this shop.” Dru blinked, and shuffled back towards the wall. The bookseller’s eyes turned to Jack, who was already hastily putting his own knife back into his pocket. “Much better. Where was I?”

“People could die,” Tommy prompted.

“Right. Thank you, dear boy.” He smiled, just briefly, and for the first time in a long, long time Tommy felt that maybe there was more to the world than a steaming pile of garbage. He almost wanted to smile, too. “Now. You three being out right now is against all the rules, not to mention breaking and entering, and putting your hands – and feet – on my books. These are all very serious crimes.” He put aside the umbrella and folded his hands behind his back. “I want you to tell me what, exactly, brought you here tonight.”

“Money,” Tommy said quickly, but he could feel more words twisting their way up his throat, secrets threatening to spill across the floor.

Jack beat him to it. “Bored. Nothing to do. Just sitting at home, watching my folks grow old, and everyone gets angrier and angrier and I can’t think inside that room anymore, I don’t feel anything –”

“What are you talking about?” Dru demanded, stepping forward again. He didn’t look as confident as before, but much, much angrier. “Look, we’re here for your money, not to tell our life stories. I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull here, but just hand it over and I won’t have to get medieval on your ass.”

“Really? What a curious turn of phrase.”

“Dru always gets angry when he’s not in control,” Tommy said, not really knowing where the words came from. “I don’t know if he’s ever killed anyone but he always acts like he has.”

“Does he indeed? I’m afraid I know the type.” The look he gave Dru could have broken through a concrete wall. “And what do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

“That you’d better fucking watch yourself, old man.” He’d managed to get right up to the bookseller’s face, and now jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Or you’re gonna regret what comes next.”

“Yes, I’m rather afraid I will.” The bookseller turned and picked up an ancient telephone, spinning a little dial on the front. “I want you to know that I tried very hard to keep it from coming to this.”

“Who you calling?” Dru sneered. “The cops?”

Frowning, the bookseller pressed the telephone to his ear. “No, Andrew Morgan, I am calling your grandmother.”

For a moment, there was no sound in the shop but a strange, strangled noise coming from Dru.

“Ah, yes, is this Delores Morgan? Yes, I’m afraid there’s a rather angry young man in my shop. Tall, rude, really using the most atrocious language – ah, yes, I’m afraid so. Yes. With a knife. Oh, of course.” He held out the telephone. “She’d like to speak to you now.”

With a shaking hand, Dru took it from him. “Nana?”

--

Half an hour later, Tommy was sitting at a little round table in the back of the shop, nibbling on a scone. Jack sat next to him, dipping his own in a mug of tea, trying to eat it quickly without dripping.

“I’m not saying I don’t understand,” the bookseller started, coming over with another plate. “Sourdough?”

“Yes, please,” said Tommy, taking a thick slice.

A thump echoed from the back room. “Just stack them up neatly like they were, there’s a good lad,” the bookseller called cheerfully. Dru grumbled, but not so that they could make out the words.

“As I was saying. This is a very difficult time for all of us. Financially, yes,” he nodded to Tommy, “but it can also put a strain on our mental health. I really do think you should talk to someone.”

“Where am I supposed to find a doctor at a time like this?” Jack complained.

“I have been led to believe the Googles can provide these things.” Tommy fought back a laugh. “What? What did I say?”

“It’s…uh, it’s not called the Googles.”

“It isn’t? Oh, dear. Regardless, I’m sure you can use your computer to find what you need. There are resources. But you must follow the rules. They are here to keep you safe.” He picked up a tray of muffins and carried them back towards the hidden kitchen. “In the meantime, perhaps you should try revisiting an old hobby. What is it you like to do?”

“Dunno,” muttered Jack. He started glancing around the room for inspiration.

Tommy had already studied their surroundings pretty thoroughly. Tons of trinkets, some of them cheap looking but almost all of them old. Pieces of art, some of them framed, others carefully laying across tables. Statues. One statue wore a bit fancy medal around it’s neck. The plates of cake and pastry on literally every surface. And the books. So many books.

Granted, he’d expected those, but the shop seemed bigger inside, crammed with more books than a person could even take in, never mind read. And the titles. The other table nearby was stacked with books called Forbidden Rites: Necromancy in the Fifteenth Century or Magic: An Occult Primer.

Tommy took everything in as quickly as he could. Jack, meanwhile, seemed to stop at the strange old drawing of a dark-haired man with his hand on a book, hanging from one of the shelves. A smile flickered across his face. “I guess…I liked to draw. When I was little.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Yes, drawing is a very useful talent.” A moment later the bookseller emerged, carrying two enormous plates filled with cakes, breads, and something covered with cream and fruit, all wrapped carefully in plastic. “Now, this one is for you, Thomas, and mind you share with your sister. And this is for you.” When Jack took his tray, the bookseller placed a pile of printer paper on top, and two pencils. “And these. To get you started on your drawing again. It takes time, but I suppose that’s one thing we all have in abundance now.”

The bookseller clapped his hands and beamed at them. Jack muttered a thank you, but Tommy couldn’t even bring himself to do that, just stared at the tray, blinking back tears.

“Oh, and I’ll expect you both to bring the plates back when the lockdown is over. Not before! Remember, the rules are there to keep you safe.”

“Yessir.”

“Erm, excuse me.” They all turned to face Dru, who stood with his head bowed, and an expression Tommy had never seen him wear before. “All the books and glass are cleaned up. May I have some cake?”

“Well,” said the bookseller, pursing his lips. “I suppose one cake, now that you’re finished.” He walked back to the kitchen to start another tray.

--

After the lads had left, Aziraphale settled into his armchair, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. It took a lot out of him, reading people like that. Nudging them to tell their secrets. Perhaps he was just out of practice.

It had felt good, really, helping people like that. He forgot that, sometimes, how much he enjoyed giving people that little push towards solving their problems. Perhaps he should get out there and try it a little more often. After the lockdown was over, of course.

He glanced at the table, where the letter to Crowley sat half-finished. He’d quite lost his train of thought now. Oh, dear. He was sure he’d been on the cusp of something important, but his mind was too heavy. Perhaps after another glass of brandy or two…

--

Three days later

--

…It occurs to me, my dear fellow, that we’ve never exchanged letters. Not properly. And no, I will not include those ridiculous coded missives you used to send, although I did appreciate the book ciphers. But throughout our long

The pen hovered in the air, bead of ink poised to drip. Aziraphale knew the word he’d been planning to use. He could see it, trace the letters with his mind. But…

No, once again, he lost his nerve.

centuries, we’ve never used this method to simply exchange pleasantries. Well, what is this time for, if not to finally accomplish that which we had long planned to do? Research. Baking. And finally writing a proper letter to my

Another moment of panic, as his mind twisted around the one word he desperately wished to write.

Someone knocked at the back door, quick and sharp.

With a sigh, half disappointment and half relief, Aziraphale placed his pen in the inkwell and went to investigate.

--

Tommy wrapped his arms around his stomach. “Come on, Emmy. This is a terrible idea.”

His little sister scowled. “You kidding? He’s an old man who bakes cakes. What are you afraid of?”

“It’s not…there’s something off about him.” He shivered as she rapped against the door again. “He’s going to figure it out, as soon as he looks at you.”

“I think you’re just chicken.” She tossed her head with a grin, short fringe of dark hair hanging in front of one eye.

“Shut up, Emmy, you don’t know –”

The door opened.

The bookseller looked a little smaller by daylight. Plump, pleasant, almost harmless, except that his frown still cut sharply across Tommy’s heart. “I’m certain I told you not to return until the lockdown ended.”

“Sorry. I just –”

“You!” Emmy stepped forward, waving her finger at his buttoned-up waistcoat. “What did you do to my brother?”

The bookseller blinked. But today his gaze seemed soft, almost normal. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. He was fine before he came here, now he sits around talking about responsibility.” She gave him a dirty glare. “Tries to make me do my homework.”

“Ah. Well, you really ought to do your homework, my dear.”

“You’re joking, right? The whole world’s gone to shit and I’m supposed to be doing math problems and reading Shakespeare?”

“Oh, I love Shakespeare!” The bookseller’s eyes lit up. Tommy felt a strange wave of delight that almost loosened the knot in his stomach, before the anxiety crashed back into place again. “Such a wonderful man. Not particularly charming, but oh, he had his moments. Are you reading Hamlet? It’s my favorite, you know.”

Emmy snorted. “It’s everyone’s favorite.”

“Yes, it…it is, isn’t it?” For a moment his entire demeanor changed, eyes drifting down, face turning rather pink. “Well, I did rather hope…er, never mind. What brought you two here today?”

“Emmy thinks you put a spell on me, or cursed me or something.”

“I know you’ve got magic devil books in there. Tommy saw them last time, he told me and Dad.”

The bookseller glanced between them, smiling. “Oh, good. You told your parents what you were up to.”

Tommy shrugged, hunching his shoulders, waiting for what came next. Obviously the bookseller would see right through him. “He was really pissed off.”

“Yes, my boy, I’m sure he was upset at the time, but you’ll find that honesty is…” he trailed off as Emmy and Tommy exchanged a look. She was smirking, smug, while he just felt confused. “What? What is it?”

“I thought you knew,” Tommy muttered, shuffling his feet. “Cuz you can, y’know, read minds or whatever.”

The bookseller looked at Tommy until he was ready to burrow into the ground and die. Finally, the old man said, “I can’t…always. I think you’d better come in and explain things.”

--

“Whoa,” Emmy said, grabbing a slice of thick, red cake covered in icing. “I thought you were kidding about the damn cake. Look at all this!”

“Emily,” Tommy hissed. “Behave yourself.”

“At least I’m not trying to rob the place,” she pointed out, stuffing her face. “Oh, you’re right! Look at these books!” She reached for one, but the bookseller got there first, snatching it away from her frosting-covered fingers.

“That is quite enough of that. Take a seat and mind your manners or I will send you straight home.”

Tommy sat quickly at the table, putting his hands on his lap, trying to force his fingers to stay still. Emmy, however, kept staring at the book, tilting her head to study the title.

“What’ve you got a book on necromancy for?”

“You don’t even know what that is,” Tommy pointed out.

“Do too! Its magic that brings people back to life. Like zombies and stuff.”

The bookseller sighed and tucked the book onto a shelf. “It’s a treatise on fifteenth century necromancy, if you must know, and it’s rather more complicated than that. The word at the time referred to many types of magic, including divining the future using the bodies of the deceased, and spells and incantations to control demons.”

“Oh,” Emmy nodded. She grabbed a cupcake off a tray and shoved it into her mouth whole as she sprawled across a chair. “How come they don’t teach us that at school? And why do you want to control demons?”

“I don’t,” he said simply, grimacing at the crumbs she sprayed as she spoke, as if trying to track each one through the air. “And I’d like to make sure no one else can, either.”

“You got more magic books?” She reached for another that was lying nearby, but again the bookseller got their first, gently pushing it further away.

“This is a book shop. I have many types of book. But we aren’t here to talk about that.” He pursed his lips and studied Tommy, settling into a chair across the pastry-laden table. “I believe we’re lucky your sister wasn’t here the other night. She is almost worse than your loud friend.”

“Dru’s not my friend,” Tommy muttered. It still made him cringe inside to contradict an adult, even when the bookseller wasn’t angry, but he didn’t like being associated with Dru. “And Emmy was here.”

“Was she?”

“I was the look-out.” She reached for another cupcake, this time licking the frosting off so it smeared across her mouth. “You had them in here forever, then they all come out, carrying cake and things. Dru was acting like a baby. I thought he was gonna cry.”

“But you can’t be more than thirteen years old!”

“I’m not.” She jumped to her feet again. “Got any more of that angel’s food cake? Tommy ate all the stuff you sent home.”

The bookseller looked at her, and Emmy gave her winning smile, the one that never fooled Tommy for a second. With a sigh, the bookseller pointed her towards the kitchen. “Please be careful with the dishes. If you break one –”

“I’m not going to pay for it,” Emmy snorted, wandering off. “Do we look like we have money?”

The bookseller frowned, watching as she took a plate out of the cupboard and started piling it with food. “Well, I suppose that brings us back to the question at hand. You said you came here for money. Was there more to that story?”

Tommy nodded, forcing himself to stare at his hands. He didn’t have any appetite this time, even though the bookseller gently pushed a plate of bread towards him. “Yeah. Dad threatened to kick me out a few years ago. Makes me pay rent. Says I’m old enough to have a job.” He shrugged. “So I dropped out of school. Started working.”

“Ah.” The bookseller sat back, nodding slowly. “I take it you no longer have a job?”

“Closed. Cuz of the lockdown.” His knee was starting to bounce nervously. That strange calm that had come over him the first time...it was there, hovering around the edge of his mind, but he didn’t really feel it. “But Dad still wants the money.”

“How much?”

“Six hundred pounds.” Tommy stood up, leaning on the back of the chair, trying to meet the shopkeeper’s eyes. They were warm, trusting, and once again he felt that tug in his gut to say more than he wanted. “Look, I know, I could move out for that. Probably could have already if I was smart. But I’m not. And I can’t save because Dad takes everything and…” He watched as Emmy walked behind the bookseller, tearing into an enormous slice of cake with gleeful abandon. “You know. I gotta watch out for my sister.”

“And how does your father expect you to produce six hundred pounds in the middle of…ah.” The bookseller stood and walked around the table to stand next to Tommy. “He wants you to steal.”

Tommy shrugged, keeping his eyes on his feet. Trying not to meet the booksellers eyes, not to watch his sister wandering around the shelves, to ignore the awful knot inside. “We hit three other places this month. But I’m still short.”

“You needed the money, and I gave you pastries instead. I take it your father didn’t like the exchange.”

“He, uh,” Tommy tried to smile. “He wasn’t impressed.”

A soft, well-manicured hand landed on the back of the chair near Tommy’s. “Look at me, please, Thomas.”

Clenching his jaw, he looked the bookseller in the face. And gasped to see the hard, sharp glare back in those eyes.

“What brought you back here today?”

To his horror, Tommy found he couldn’t lie to the bookseller.

While he was still trying to choke out an excuse, the old man’s eyes narrowed, and he spun, grabbing Emmy by the arm. The plate clattered to the carpet.

“Oi!” She shrieked, jerking her arm, trying to pull free. “Let go of me, you pervert!”

“Put. Them. Back. Now.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, you loon!”

“Young lady.” And though his voice didn’t get any louder, suddenly the bookseller seemed ten feet tall. Tommy scrambled back against one of the pillars. He knew he should help, should defend his sister, some instinct in him screamed to do so. But he was completely frozen in place, barely able to breathe. “That book is over two hundred years old. For that alone I would throw you out in a heartbeat. But if that drawing has one rip – one wrinkle on it, you will regret the day you ever set eyes on this shop.”

Emmy reached under her shirt and pulled out a rolled-up paper, trying to dangle it out of the bookseller’s reach. “So it’s valuable, then?”

He held out a hand, waiting. “It is priceless. And you will never find someone to pay you even a fraction of its value. Now give it back.”

Snarling, Emmy slapped it against his palm. “What the hell, old man? We need the money more than you.”

“Leave my shop.” He let go of her arm and cradled the roll of paper like it was a baby.

“Fine. Whatever.” She stalked towards the back door. “And stop hiding Tommy, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to be the adult.”

“Emily.” The bookseller’s voice echoed through the shop. Shadows seemed to stretch out from every shelf and corner, reaching for Emmy. “Leave that book.”

She scowled back at him, but he wasn’t even looking in their direction. She out the ancient leather-bound book she’d tucked in the back of her trousers and started to throw it on the ground. At the last moment she seemed to lose her nerve, and tossed it onto a chair instead.

Once it was out of her hand, Tommy felt the strange grip on him vanish. The shadows snapped back to where they belonged. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath of the strange shop air. Before, he’d thought it stank. Now he thought it was charged with electricity.

“I gave you a chance, Thomas,” the bookseller said coldly. The bright blue eye looking over his shoulder seemed almost to glow. “This is how you repay me. Go. Now.”

He didn’t have to be told again.

--

With shaking hands Aziraphale unrolled the scroll. The five-hundred-year-old parchment felt crisp under his fingers, and he gently massaged a miracle into it, softening it, freshening it just a bit. There were no rips or bends, but to be safe, he pressed it flat against a table, weighing each corner down with a stack of books.

From the center of the paper, Crowley’s face looked back at him, smiling just a little, serpent eyes almost visible behind those glasses. Da Vinci had really captured his look. Not the face, though it was a very good likeness, but something more. The beauty mortal eyes could not quite perceive, something almost ethereal yet at the same time, quite the opposite. It hovered over the page, captured in the simple linework.

Crowley had kept this portrait, in secret, for five hundred years. Aziraphale had never known his own was part of a matched set, until a few months ago, when Crowley presented it to him, saying, “They’re a pair, you know. Supposed to be together. Displayed together. So I thought you should have this.”

He’d been too flustered to say anything at the time. He wanted to, though. He so very desperately wanted to say something.

But Aziraphale was a fool. He’d always been a fool. Trusting the wrong people. Ignoring those he shouldn’t. He’d probably never change.

--

Three days later

--

…There are many things that have stood unsaid between us. Perhaps it is our way. Perhaps it will always be our way. But for all that, I truly hope there will never again be silence between us. Conversation with you might be the thing I most miss just now, and is surely what I most look forward to when this strange time has passed.

Until then I remain,

Yours

The pen hesitated one last time. Yours what?

Yours respectfully?

Yours sincerely?

Should he try to be funny? Profound? Was there some clever play on words he could put in?

Or.

Perhaps, for once, he could let the unsaid word speak for itself.

Until then I remain,

Yours

Aziraphale

--

A drop of deep green wax. Was that too forward? Too subtle?

He pressed new his signet stamp against it, sealing it shut with an emblem he’d designed with such good intentions. Would Crowley see what it meant?

Too late for doubts. Too late for second thoughts. The front of the letter was already written, perfectly neat: Anthony J. Crowley, Esq. Now all he had to do was get a stamp from his desk and –

He pulled open the left drawer. Empty.

The right drawer. Nothing but pens and scraps of paper.

He dug around the endless stacks of receipts and tax documents, destroying his neat piles in a desperate search.

No stamps.

Burying his face in his hands Aziraphale said, for only the second time in six thousand years, “Oh, fuck.”

He sat like that for a long moment, then slowly lifted his gaze to stare at the telephone.

--

“You know, I could…hunker down at your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle of…a case of…something…drinkable.”

Something rose up in Aziraphale, a terrifying fear he couldn’t begin to name.

“Oh, I-I-I-I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules. Out of the question. I’ll see you…when this is over…”

“Right. I’m setting the alarm clock for July. Goodnight, Angel.”

Aziraphale set the receiver back into the cradle, trying to stop his hand from shaking. His heart – which really, didn’t need to beat at all – was doing something altogether unexpected in his chest.

No, he told himself firmly. This is the right thing. Wait out the lockdown. Like you’re supposed to.

The rules were there for a reason. They told you what to do when the world stopped making sense, when your own mind was ready to betray you at any moment. When you couldn’t trust yourself, you trusted the rules.

He’d followed that philosophy his entire existence and look where it had gotten him. A lovely shop, a home, filled with books and art and cake. And no one else. No friends. No Crowley.

Just himself, alone, bent over a telephone.

And a heavy, frantic knocking at his back door.

--

Tommy pounded on the door, echoing the pounding of his heart.

“I told you, this is a stupid idea,” Emmy grumbled.

“Well, we tried your way last time and look what happened.” He slammed his fist against the door again. “So just…just shut up and follow my lead.”

“I think I liked you better when you were scared of everything,” she said, trying not to smile.

“I’m still scared of everything,” he snapped. “But what else am I gonna do?”

He started knocking again, just as the door jerked open, and he nearly fell into the bookseller. The old man looked paler than before, and somehow even less happy, but maybe that was the evening light playing tricks. 

His eyes weren’t gentle or sharp this time, but something new, something that made Tommy’s heart ache in his chest.

“You two. I told you to leave.”

“We did leave. And. Um. Now we’re back.” Tommy cringed but rushed ahead. “Look. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I was an ass. I shouldn’t have tried to lie. And Emmy’s sorry for everything, too.”

“Well,” she grunted, not looking at the bookseller. “I’m sorry for some of it.” Tommy shoved her arm, and she rolled her eyes. “Most of it.”

“That is something, I suppose.” The bookseller pressed his lips into a line, and settled behind the door, looking completely immovable. “But I’m afraid I’m still not going to allow you in this shop.”

“Fine, right, I understand. I just need, um, a hundred and twelve pounds.” The booksellers jaw dropped, but Tommy rushed on. “I’m not just, it’s not charity, right? I brought stuff. Here.”

Emmy handed over the backpack and he dumped it out on the ground. “There’s some books, and a couple of these weird trinkets, I saw you had some around the shop, and this jewelry…”

“This is a bookshop, not a-a-a pawn shop!” The bookseller gave them an indignant look. “And I am most certainly not a-a fence for your stolen merchandise.”

“It’s not stolen. Look.” His fumbling hands grasped the thick computer programming textbook and flipped it open. Thomas Finch was scrawled on the inside of the cover in smudged, faded ink. “I bought this a few years ago. Trying to learn enough to get a better job. Only I’m real thick and I couldn’t follow it at all. So – so you can have that, right? It cost a lot, so it’s gotta be worth something now.”

The bookseller tilted his head, a look of vague disgust on his face. “Well, I don’t really have much use for a computer book…”

“Fine.” He tossed it aside and rummaged through the pile again “Or, look. This necklace. I don’t think it’s gold-gold but it’s really nice. It doesn’t rub off or turn your skin green or anything.”

With obvious reluctance, the bookseller took the chain and studied it up close. “I suppose it does look…Is this yours, young lady?”

Emmy turned her face even further away, arms crossed over her stomach. In the evening shadows, she seemed almost to disappear. “It was our mom’s. Before she died.”

“Ah.” He held out his hand, but Tommy didn’t accept the necklace back. “I wouldn’t take such an heirloom from you,” he tried again, and his voice was surprisingly gentle.

“We don’t want an heirloom, alright?” Tommy could feel the panic rising in him, but he had to force it down, force past the tightness in his throat and the wetness in his eyes. Had to get through this. “We want a hundred and twelve pounds, by tomorrow, or my dad’s going to throw me out. In the middle of the lockdown, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I’m sorry, truly I am, but you’ve already tried to rob me twice.” The bookseller let the necklace fall to the ground, joining everything of value Tommy and Emmy could find. “And once again you are here, outside, breaking the rules –”

“Shut up about the fucking rules!” Emmy spun back, glaring at him from behind the fringe of her hair, swept across her eyes. “How are the rules supposed to help Tommy now? He can’t get a job, or a loan, or anything. It’s all shut down. So what’s he supposed to do?”

“Emily.” Tommy knelt down and started putting everything into the backpack again. He kept dropping things, his hands shook so bad. He was out of ideas. “Fine. You won’t help me. But, look, Emmy’s just a kid. She’s made some mistakes, but…when my dad throws me out, can she stay here?”

“What –”

“What?” Emmy shoved him so hard he nearly fell over. “That’s not the plan, shit head! You can’t just dump me on some…some random –”

“Yes, I can.” His chest ached as he tried to meet her eyes. “I’m not leaving you with Dad, and I can’t take you with me if I don’t even know where I’m going. I don’t see another option.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“You’re twelve, Emily.” Tommy stood up and put his hands on his sister’s shoulders. She wore her usual tough expression, but she trembled, fighting back tears. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” said the bookseller in an overly bright voice. Tommy started, guiltily realizing he’d forgotten the man was there. “I seem to be missing some information here.”

Tommy looked at his sister, saw all the fear that he’d been carrying for years echoed in her eyes. He took her hand, squeezed it tight.

Emmy took a deep breath, and brushed the hair out of her eyes. Showing the large, half-healed bruise on her face.

The bookseller was quiet for a long moment. “Your father did that?” His voice seemed to be very carefully balanced.

“Yeah. Um.” She cleared her throat. “I’m. I’m trans. So my dad. I guess he thinks if he hits me. Um.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “Fuck that guy, though, right?”

“Ah.” Another long silence. Tommy clutched at her hand, neither of them breathing. Emmy hated coming out to strangers, to anyone really. Lots of bad experiences. He could see her remembering them now, in the way her shoulders hitched, her jaw clenched. “And does your father hit you, too, Thomas?”

“Um. Yeah. Different reasons. But yeah.” He shrugged. “Since I was younger than her.”

“I see. Wait here.”

The bookseller stepped away from the door, disappearing back into his shop.

“I say we run,” Emmy said, reaching for the bag. “He’s probably going to call the cops on you, right?”

“I don’t know. Are you ok?”

She wiped at her eyes. He could see her jaw was still tight with tension. “I’m fine. Just. I hate telling people my shit.” She sniffed and glared at her feet. She still pretended most of the time, at school, even around their dad if she thought it would make him less angry that day.

She hated it. She pretended it was fine but watched that hate and pain eat away at her for years, just another thing he couldn’t protect her from.

“Look, Emmy, I’ll figure something out, I promise. We’ve got time. Another day, yeah? I’ll...I’ll think of something.”

“Shut up,” she shook her hair back in front of her eyes before turning her glare on him. “Just go if you have to. I’ll be fine. I’m used to being alone. I can take care of myself, and –”

“Oh, good, you waited. It’s nice to see you finally listening to me.” The bookseller stepped through the door to stand next to them, and the smile Tommy had glimpsed that first night was back on his face, warm and open. It made the evening seem just a little less miserable. “Here.”

He pressed an enormous wad of banknotes into Tommy’s hand. More than a hundred and twelve pounds. A lot more.

“That should be enough to get you started in a flat of your own. It won’t be easy during the lockdown, of course, but by some miracle there are a few places available in the north of London that should suit. Please be careful with that, it will likely need to last you some months.”

“I…” Tommy stared at the pile of money. It was more than he could have imagined such a crummy shop would hold. “Why…how…”

“I believe this is when you usually say thank you, although I’m not very good at that part myself.” Before Tommy could even find his words, the bookseller had turned to Emmy. “As for you, young lady.” He reached to put a hand on her shoulder, then quickly pulled back when she flinched, instead tilting his head down to try and meet her eyes. “I wish I had some advice for you, I really do. I don’t think I even know where to begin.”

“It’s --” Emmy started.

“Do not say it’s ‘fine,’ my dear, because it’s not.” There was a sharp edge to his tone, but it quickly softened. “It’s never ‘fine’ to feel alone. And if you’re suffering, that’s all the more reason to reach out.” There was a moment of uncertainty - Tommy saw the bookseller bite his lip, and his eyes grew distant, lost in his own thoughts. Then he turned back to Emmy and smiled, holding out a small stack of business cards. “And there are organizations you can reach out to. I’ve put the ones that specialize in teenagers on top. Support groups. Hotlines. Legal aid. Which reminds me,” his eyes shot over to Tommy again, “you should probably call the police on your father, but I’ll understand if you want a stable living situation first.”

He pressed the cards into Emmy’s hand. “I know you might not be ready to talk, but when you are...there are people ready to listen.” She stared at the cards in her hand. “You aren’t alone, my dear, and you don’t need to take care of yourself. Let the people who love you take care of you. Especially your brother.”

“I don’t…” Emmy’s fist closed around the cards. “I’m not…”

“Not quite what you need? I have a few books on gender identity. I always find that a bit of reading helps me think about what I’m going through. You’re welcome to look through them any time, under strict supervision, of course. I’ve seen the way you eat.”

“So…we’re allowed back in?” Emmy wondered.

“Yes. Any time.” He patted her hand, then stepped back. “Especially now, if you need a place to go for a few hours. Just please come to the front door next time, this alley is horrendous.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be on the streets,” Tommy mumbled, still feeling dazed. But he felt his lips twisting into a smile. “You know. Against the rules and all that.”

“Well. I suppose…sometimes the rules do sort of get in the way, don’t they? I can…make an exception.” He beamed at both of them, the sort of smile that made it impossible to think of anything except smiling back. “Well. Jolly good. Now I think you two will need a bit of time to come up with a plan. What do you say we discuss this over cake?”

--

Two hours later

--

Aziraphale pressed the phone against his ear, listening to it ring. He had only rehearsed his conversation twice this time. He hoped it would be enough.

“Now what? Don’t you know I’m trying to sleep?”

“Hello. It’s me. Aziraphale.”

“For the last…I know.”

“Er, right. Ah. I just wanted you to know. Um. That is.” Drat. He really should have rehearsed more.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice turned very serious. “Is something wrong?”

“No, w-w-well, yes, that is…” His eyes drifted over to the table, the stacks of books, the cakes, the bottle of cognac. “Yes. Dreadful emergency. I’m nearly out of brandy.”

“You’re. Are you serious?”

“I am extremely serious, Crowley.” He took a deep breath. “And what with the lockdown on. Well. I would need someone to…to break all the rules in order to get me more.” He bit his lip. “And-and possibly some Merlot, or a nice Riesling. I have ah…rather more red velvet cake than I can eat.”

A long pause, Aziraphale tugging at the cord of the phone nervously.

“I thought you wanted to wait out the lockdown.”

“I did. I just…” He started to sit down, then sprang back up again, too anxious to hold still. “I realized, well, I can take care of myself, but that…that doesn’t mean I have to. And the rules…um…they…”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted softly. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

The smile trembled across Aziraphale’s face. “Ah. Yes. Good. I have some new neighbors to tell you about, I think you’re going to like them. And. Uh.” His fingers fell on the folded-up parchment, sealed with a drop of wax, green for hope. “And I have something for you, Crowley.”

--

(Thanks for reading! I apologize the OCs got so much of this fic. I’m trying to work on better OC-husbands balance, though in this case I hope you can see the parallel I was going for. I’ll probably write another Lockdown fic more focused on just Aziraphale and Crowley, but I really wanted to answer the question: who were the lads who tried robbing AZ Fell’s???)

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Help Wanted

Huge thanks to @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian!

--

Caduceus Clay is finally starting to find his feet in the city, ever since he moved away from the family graveyard. He's opened his own cafe, he's found his own friends, he's found the freedom he's been looking for.

However, with his cafe growing, he's realised he needs an assistant. Fortunately, his friends know someone who would be perfect- Fjord, back in town and looking for a job before he can go out on the ocean again.

And things get complicated from there.

---

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3!

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Caduceus didn’t know how to have friends.

He knew how to have siblings. How to love and hate them with the same ferocity and at the same time, for how they reflected your own flaws back at you and made you laugh so hard you didn’t think your jaw would ever be the same again. He knew how to have parents. To have them hold your face and tell you they loved you so deeply and sincerely you thought your heart might burst and then have them make decisions you couldn’t understand. He knew how to have family.

But Caduceus did not know how to have friends.

That hadn’t worried him too much when he’d first moved out of the grove and into the city. The only thing he’d been concerned with then was getting to be himself. Learning how to be alone, finally of his own free will. Silence by choice.

And he’d managed that. Hours and hours of silence, in the tiny apartment he’d rented and then made even tinier by stuffing it full of plants. And, after he’d eventually figured out how banks worked, silence in the storefront he’d bought, with the sagging roof and the warped flooring and the rats. Hours and hours of silence, broken only by his sawing and hammering and holding long conversations with the rats, promising to drive them up to the woods and find them new nests.

And finally, silence after a long, long day in his cafe, called the Blooming Grove in a fit of questionable humour, the silence that fell after the bell rang out at the retreating back of the last customer, the silence that wasn’t really a silence because the coffee machine would always be humming, the ovens grumbling, the clink of mugs as he washed them one by one, the music he’d play and keep on as he closed up.

But then something happened that surprised Caduceus, as much as his own contentment had.

Friends found him. And they taught him how it was done.

“That’s the third yawn you’ve stifled behind a mug today, Caduceus.”

Caleb had a habit of stating his observations aloud, often not realising what he was observing was something another person was trying to hide. It was endearing in its way, except when you were that person.

“Another late night?” Molly stood next to Caleb, as always. Lately the two had been impossible to separate, ever since they’d officially become an item after making eyes at each other for months, all while insisting there was no way the other would ever be into someone like them. Caleb’s arm, threaded through Molly’s, the tielfing’s head resting lightly on top of the human’s, proved that they’d kind of been idiots about the whole thing.

“Not that late,” Caduceus shrugged and busied himself with the pair’s drink orders. He’d memorised them both, of course, but if he looked like he was concentrating maybe they’d stop asking him questions he didn’t want to answer. Not that it didn’t brighten his day when his friends came in- which happened every day- but he knew where this was leading.

Caduceus wandered down to where his counter turned into the domain of two immense hulking beasts of steel and copper, his drinks machines, cantankerous old things that would only work for him. He began pressing buttons and twisting dials like he was playing a very broken organ, trying to appear busy. Unfortunately, Molly followed him down, Caleb in tow, peering over the glass cloches full of the day’s baked goods.

“Was it last night? Or technically this morning?” he pressed, concern in his voice.

Cad pulled a lever down, sending up a gout of caffeine scented steam, and sighed. He didn’t like to lie. But he also didn’t like the discussion the truth would invite. So he said nothing.

He focused on the coffees instead. Dark as sin for Caleb, with a number of espresso shots that made him feel guilty for his part in his friend’s inevitable early grave, no sugar at all because his stomach couldn’t process it properly. Spoonfuls of cinnamon and chai spice in Molly’s along with generous spoonfuls of caramel just on the verge of burnt and clouds of whipped cream so the drink was bitter, spicy, sweet and rich all at once.

The tiefling clearly did not appreciate being ignored and wouldn’t let it stop him. He leaned forward, over the box of lemon and poppyseed cake bars that weren’t selling as well as Cad had hoped, like not getting the firbolg’s attention was the problem.

“Cad, you are going to run yourself into the ground if you keep on like this,” he said seriously, red eyes narrowed, “This place is getting bigger, which is great, but if you keep trying to run it single handedly, pretty soon you’ll be getting no sleep at all and you’ll die and we’ll have to bury you here.”

Cad frowned, setting their mugs on the counter above the ‘Collect Here’ sign, “This isn’t where I want to be buried…”

“Then hire an assistant!” Molly threw his hands in the air, making his bangles and bracelets clatter, “Like I’ve been telling you over and over and I know Beau and Jester and Yasha have been telling you too!”

“I don’t need an assistant,” Cad’s ears dropped and he folded his skinny arms defensively across his chest, “You have all told me and I’ve told you all the same thing.”

Molly rolled his eyes with a noise of frustration but Caleb piped up instead, voice quiet and soft, like every word was carefully chosen before he said it, “We are just worried about you, Caduceus.”

Cad’s shoulders fell, some of the tension leaving them, “I know.”

And the worst thing was, he couldn’t say their worry was unfounded. It was getting difficult, as his cafe became more and more popular, particularly with the students from the Academy nearby, particularly non humans who found their tastes weren’t catered to elsewhere in the city. There were new faces every day, new people to talk to and new stories to learn, though of course there would always be that knot of colourful students who had piled into the booth on that first day and showed Caduceus how to have friends.

Whereas before he’d have fiddled with his machines and idly tweaking recipes to fill the hours, there were now some days where he didn’t even sit down until the sign on the door had been turned over. Fixing drinks behind the counter, taking food orders and running back and forth between the kitchen and the tables, trying desperately not to knock anything over and keeping track of what went where with an elaborate system of scrawled notes that would be incomprehensible to anyone but him. Loading dirty dishes into the washer, bussing tables, watering plants and rotating them around so the ones that needed shade got shade and the ones that needed sun got sun, talking to the ones that were lonely and scolding the ones that had been greedy. Prep for the dishes, cutting vegetables when he inevitably didn’t make enough in the hours before opening, keeping track of when to take the fresh pastries out and when to turn the things under the grill and when he could spare a second to run and get a band aid to put on his burns or cuts.

It all needed to be done. And yes, sometimes it took so much time that he didn’t get back to his apartment before it was technically tomorrow.

“You guys are sweet to worry,” he conceded, palms flat on the counter, fingers stroking all the nicks and scratches in the old wood, sanded down smooth, it always made him feel better, “But it’s just...adjustment. Pretty soon I’ll get used to it or it’ll level off and things will be fine again. I’ll get a handle on it.”

He was met by two disbelieving gazes, Molly’s open and challenging, Caleb’s mixed with worry.

Cad felt a bitterness rise in his throat, the need to snap and pout and insist that he could do it, though stares like that weren’t helping, no matter how many people thought he should spend the rest of his life alone in a graveyard, keeping it nice and clean for whenever his family decided to come home and pat him on the head for being such a good boy.

But he stopped himself, leaning back and inhaling deeply, the way he’d learned to do. He thought he’d left thoughts like that behind…

Either way, Molly and Caleb didn’t deserve those words. He knew their concern came from a good place.

That was part of having friends, he’d learned. They would say things you didn't agree with because they were worried about you. The big difference between them and your family was you weren’t obliged to do as they said.

You could just appreciate the fact that they cared.

“Things will fall into place,” Cad said with confidence, clearing the tiredness from his voice and making himself stand up straight with bright eyes, “They will. I’ve gotten this far.”

Molly looked like he wanted to argue more but Caleb squeezed the crook of his arm and spoke first, “We know, Caduceus. And you know we’re here if you need help.”

Cad nodded slowly, mollified and already ashamed for his own thoughts, “Thank you. Enjoy your drinks.”

Caleb gave him a small smile behind his beard. Caduceus often got the sensation that he understood him most, out of all their ramshackle little group. Molly didn’t seem as pleased but he relented, as he always did when his boyfriend asked anything of him. The two of them retreated to the table they always took when they were on one of their post-Caleb’s-classes dates and Cad turned back to his work.

He already had more customers waiting.

It seemed simultaneously like no time at all and an eternity before the windows were letting in the burnt orange of the sunset and Cad could turn the sign over.

As he turned to the empty cafe, he was already making a list of jobs in his head. Take in the dishes still sat hastily piled on the tables, wipe them down, wash the crockery all through in the kitchen, sweep the floor, mop, get the ingredients ready for tomorrow…

Cad sighed and hung up his cooking apron behind the counter and pulled out his cleaning one instead, trying to click his neck and back and win himself a few more hours before they became unusable. Tomorrow, he told himself firmly as he went to change the music to something more suited to his tastes, he’d be able to tell his friends that he was home and in bed by eleven.

He found a song he liked with far too many panpipes to be suitable for his customers and tucked his long braid into the back of his shirt to keep it out of the way. The list in his mind was still growing so he’d need to make a start soon.

First, he let himself have a sit down on the few tables surrounded by sagging, comfortable sofas. Just for a few minutes, just to reset the deep, throbbing ache in his ankles. Then he’d be up, get everything done and be home in time to do some sewing. Things falling into place, just like he’d promised.

The next thing Caduceus was aware of was his eyes opening to the sound of cars blasting horns outside and harsh morning sun hitting him right in the face. He winced, curling himself up like a woodlouse that just had it’s log pulled out from above it, though he found himself tipping too far over and hitting his head with a thunk on the arm of the sofa. Groaning, he wrapped his arms over his head, ninety per cent of his thoughts bubbling up in frantic panic at just how much stuff was now undone for the start of the day and how he had no time to do it at all.

The remaining ten percent was in some state of mania induced calm, humming that at least he could confidently tell Molly he’d been asleep way before eleven. Even if he hadn’t been in bed.

Before the panic could swallow him completely, one of the strings of ivy he’d allowed to grow through a specially made net across the ceiling stretched out it’s longest frond, just above his head, and tickled his nose pointedly.

“Yeah…” Cad groaned to the plant, knowing very well who was sending him this particular message. Someone he really did need to listen to, “I get the idea.”

The day after next, all of his friends found themselves at their usual table, the biggest in the place, an oaken monstrosity backed by benches rather than chairs that Cad had rescued from a garage sale and revarnished. It was a little rare to see absolutely all of them together, with everything going on in their lives but every so often things would align just right. Beau and Caleb would have an afternoon off their classes, Molly and Yasha would be able to duck out of work early if there was a show that evening, Veth would leave her husband in charge of the lab and Jester would just float in on her usual cloud of bustle and low level chaos from doing whatever she’d been doing. They’d all sit and that corner of the cafe would be filled with laughter and loud conversation, a lot of it the well intended insults of bone deep friendship.

Often Cad would wish he could be over with them. He’d go and say hello, of course, but there would always be things that needed doing, things that would keep him from sitting down and really feeling part of them.

But not today. Today, as soon as they all gravitated together, Caduceus cleared the last of his customers still waiting, saw them off with whatever they needed and one of his broad smiles, then slipped out from behind the counter and sank into the chair they always left open for him, even if he was too busy to occupy it.

All of their eyes turned to him, surprised and happy and a little confused. Before any of them could open their mouths, he sighed and looked down at his hands.

“I need an assistant. Do you guys know anyone?”

There were a lot of relieved exhalations, Molly rolling his eyes and Caleb nudging him with an elbow, Jester’s face brightening as she gasped and slapped the table repeatedly in excitement.

“Oh! Oh! We do! We know someone who’d be perfect!”

Beau caught on, she had a knack for interpreting her girlfriend’s bursts of energy, “Ahhh...you know what, I think he would be ideal actually.”

“Who?” Caduceus was already starting to fidget, fingers drumming.

“A friend of ours,” Beau stirred her ice coffee, “He is...or was, I guess, a sailor. But his contract’s up and he’s looking to spend a little time on dry land. Needs a way to pay the rent until he can get a thingy on another ship.”

“Berth,” Caleb piped up from where he was eating a beetroot brownie while pulling it apart into crumbs, “It’s a berth on a ship.”

“Yeah,” Beau waved her fingers in his direction, “One of those.”

Cad nodded slowly. If he was a friend of his friends, surely it wouldn’t be so bad. That must be someone he could trust to water the plants and man the counter and look after the place he’d built from the ground up and represented his first chance at real freedom.

He took a deep breath, the drumming getting worse, “What’s his name? Maybe we can talk...I mean, maybe a trial period or...or something...”

Jester already had her phone out, fingers tapping energetically on the keys, grinning to herself and talking animatedly about how great this all was. Beau smiled fondly at her and turned to answer.

“Your new assistant is called Fjord.”

[roseduroi]

Memory of Touch

Pairing: Tom Holland x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: Tom comes home but his daughter doesn’t recognize him

A/N: Thank you for your request! I had some problems with publishing it, then with editing it but I really hope it really works this time and everything’s fine.

English isn’t my native language, I’m so sorry for the mistakes.

Tom opened the door of his parents’ old house, stepping in, smiling a soft but nostalgic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he looked around and thousands of memories flashed in a single blink. So much time has already passed. It seemed like only yesterday he auditioned for Billy Eliot, got the role and played Spider-man on the big screen, made the children’s day in the hospital rooms. And now here he was, years later, standing in the same doorway he used to pass when he chased his brothers, but he wasn’t a kid anymore.

He closed the door, and for a moment the house was completely silent. But just for a moment. Tom dropped his bag, let go of his suitcase and Tessa was the first one to greet him. His smile grew and the dog jumped around him, whining of happiness as she saw her owner for the first time in months.

“I missed you too, girl.” He scratched her under the chin, noticing the grey hair that started to grow a long time ago, and nostalgia filled him again. But he brushed it off once Tessa stopped moving and backed away from him as if giving him space to take off his shoes.

Taking off the shoes was harder than Tom had thought, especially when pairs and pairs of shoes and boots, and high heels, caught his eyes. It’s been so long since he saw so much footwear in one house, this house. But it was those small, for small feet white sneakers that really caught his attention. He took one in his hand after he removed his own, and placed the small sneaker on his palm, examining it.

“It’s not your size, it won’t fit.” Someone joked, interrupting his thoughts, and Tom almost dropped the shoe when the voice had startled him. He turned his head to the side and one corner of his lips turned a little bit up when he saw Sam standing there and smiling.

He chuckled silently, shaking his head. “Yeah, obviously,” then the grin suddenly dropped. “It’s just… she’s so big now. When I last saw her…” Tom trailed off, putting down the shoe; he stood up and now fully faced his younger brother.

“Hey, hey; No need to get emotional over a shoe now, mate.” Sam tried to offer comfort, a tiny smile too to make his brother stop beating himself over and over again. Unsuccessfully; “She’s growing up, you know.”

Tom wanted to say without me but decided against it, his heart was already sinking in guilt and sorrow, no need to pour salt and sink it deeper. So instead, he pulled Sam into a brotherly hug, realizing just then how much he had missed them. No amount of cameras, phones, and other devices will ever equate to being right there next to the one you love, feeling their touch, feeling their warmth and their closeness.

No matter how much Tom had to travel the world, do his job and act thousands of miles, days and nights long journeys away from his home, he would never get used to the emptiness and loneliness deep in his heart sinking his soul. And though filming was pretty much fun and games, and always adventurous, though he loved his job and meeting new people, his entire body and soul every time ached home. And home meant family.

His dad and youngest brother were already standing behind Sam, waiting for their turn to greet the Movie Star as Dom loved to call him. And so Tom let go of Sam, pat him on the back once, maybe letting him know he thought everything will be the way it’s meant to be or maybe he was just telling him someone else was waiting for that ‘coming home’ hug. Tom greeted his dad and Paddy who now was the same height as him, perhaps even taller if it really mattered. After all, it’s been years since they were kids and Tom was able to use the height difference to his own advantages.

“It’s good to see you home, son.” Dominic grinned and Tom did too. And oh, how glad he was to be finally home. “Come on now, everyone is waiting.”

He saw his mother first, wearing an apron and cutting cucumbers and tomatoes with such gracefulness that he’s known her for to do everything so sincerely and put every bit of herself into everything she did. Then he saw Harry in black pants and white shirt, putting knives and forks on the table, each tool on the proper side of the plate. The table was full of food, bread, salads, chicken meat, and more dishes and drinks. There was a coffee table next to it, full of sweets, juices, cake with a ‘Welcome Home’ written on it, and cupcakes with chocolate on top.

His mother was the first to notice him, also. Nikki dropped the knife, wiped her hands on the same apron she was wearing and rushed to his side and once she stood in front of him, she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Tom laughed the first time that day, generously, and wrapped his arms around his mum, too.

“I missed you so much.” Nikki squeezed her boy and Tom grunted, but couldn’t stop the laughter escaping his lips right after.

“Mum, can’t breathe.”

“Oh, sorry,” She loosened her grip on him, slowly stepping back, sliding her hands to his broad shoulders over the soft material of his grey jacket. She studied his face, capturing all his freckles on his cheeks and nose, his curls that fell on his eyes, those dark brown eyes that could hold so many emotions in one time.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” She whispered, her eyes tearing up in a moment when she brushed her fingers gently across his face. “We all are.”

“I’d never be there where I am now without all of your support.” He nodded but turned his head to the side once he heard snickering.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: Sentimental Tommy!” Harry clapped his hands together, laughing at Tom’s facial expression, stepping closer to his older brother.

“Says one who cried during Toy Story Four,” Tom teased back, grinning. Nikki shook her head at their childishness, but smiled nonetheless and stepped aside to let them greet each other.

“As if you didn’t,” Harry snorted and then Tom received the fifth hug (and still counting) that day. It felt nice. It always was. “It’s good to have you back, bro.” The twin smiled.

Tom pulled away and his eyes scanned the room, again and again, and one more time to be sure, but what he was looking for was nowhere to be seen. Everyone was there: his parents, the twins, and Paddy, even Tessa was lying in her corner; everyone but them. “Where- where are they?” He stuttered out, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. Or maybe it was fright?

“Upstairs,” his mum reassured softly, feeling his anxiety. “The little one got messy helping to cook cupcakes. Her momma’s helping her change.” She explained, offering him a small smile, but Tom didn’t say anything in return, just nodded his head and looked back to stare at the cupcakes.

Indeed.

So much time has already gone past.

Tom had a sweet little girl; he was a father now himself. He loved the girl with all his being and would turn the world upside down to make sure she had everything she ever needed. He remembers the times when he would put his hand on his wife’s, swollen belly, stroke it gently and whisper sweet words as he waited for the insignificant kick he would still feel under the touch. It always put a smile on his face, even in the darkest of times.

He remembers the first time he held her, so small and fragile in his arms, staring right back at him with those big innocent eyes, mouth wide open and cheeks flushed red. He swore to protect her at that exact moment.

He remembers her first unique word (just like herself) as she held his pointing finger in her small fist, looked him in the eye and squealed softly a four-letter word. Mine, she had said. He was, truly and completely.

He remembers her first steps; she stood on her wobbly legs, barefoot on the soft carpet that evening; he was next to her, arms extended, palms out and waiting. But she didn’t move a muscle before he took her hand in his, endless trust she had in him as she took her first step forward with her jelly legs. He vowed to her he will never let her fall but catch her if she ever did.

He knew she didn’t understand those things yet. Sometimes even he didn’t, and he was an adult, she – just a 3-year-old. She was too young. The girl couldn’t distinguish between sugar and salt from each other, so there was nothing left to say about those things. Tom just knew he was going to raise the girl with world happiness and its brightness; the warmness of protectiveness and loyalty, the strength of love and trust. It softened the tragedies world was already full of.

But it was for salt and sugar that made him smile a little bit while looking at the cupcakes. Tom remembers once when she had accidentally poured a whole spoon of salt in his mug of tea, thinking it was simple sugar. But he had drunk it anyway, how could he have not? She was staring at his eyes with those big ones as he drank the liquid, and he could’ve sworn she looked so hopeful and proud, so how could he have spat it out and then say it had been awfully disgusting? He couldn’t either; he just didn’t have the heart.

When he cooked pancakes in the morning and his wife was still soundly asleep in her bed, when he could hear small feet hitting the floor and feel someone shyly peeking at him from behind the wall, he knew she had heard him downstairs. He would sit her down on a chair so that she could reach the table and they would cook the pancakes together. She would pour sugar and a bit of salt (he made sure she didn’t confuse them) into the bowl, he would hand her this big wooden spoon for her to mix everything inside and he would help when he saw her struggling. It would always put a smile on his face when he held her in his arms as she squealed and watched the pancakes fry.

Tom could have sworn he heard her squealing now, in this exact moment, coming right behind him. So he spun around faster than lighting struck and froze when he saw his wife and his little girl right before his eyes, in front of him, holding hands and smiling at each other.

His eyes fell on the little girl and he couldn’t believe how big she’s gotten. Her hair was longer, fell down her shoulders in wavy curls and bangs covered her face. She wore a grey and ivory cotton dress set and matching socks, but it was still her. His daughter, his baby girl, his Y/N;

So Tom sprinted forward, past Nikki and Dom (he almost forgot they were all there, watching. It was as if time has slowed down) and he was almost there to reach them, Y/N and his wife. He was almost there to touch, to feel, to hold and never let go. Almost; and then time snatched them out of his reach and Tom stopped dead in his tracks.

Maybe it was for his sudden movement, the unexpectedness. Maybe it was for the months he’d spent apart. Or maybe it was all him.

Tom had heard those stories before from people who were parents, about their children not recognizing them after they had been apart for a very long time or for another reason. They said their little ones would shy away from them once they were home after months being away, wouldn’t recognize them immediately. They told him to never make the same mistake as they had.

But Tom just… he just didn’t think it would happen to him, but when the girl stumbled back behind her momma and looked at him with such a shy and almost timid gaze, he knew she didn’t recognize him. Not at that moment, anyway.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his lips partying after. He heard someone’s voice hitch, someone’s bad word and then a smacking sound when someone smacked the person for cursing, he guessed. Tom would’ve laughed; hell even scolded the person for swearing in front of his daughter himself if this situation weren’t so oppressive and his heart hadn’t just dropped miles deep hole.

He glanced at his wife but she wasn’t looking at him but rather at their small miracle. Y/N was gripping her momma’s hand tightly in her grip, keeping her eyes on him and following every move Tom made from the second he rushed to them.

His eyes welled up and his heart hurt, but Tom knew it was his entire fault. He was the one who left and it didn’t matter if he was shooting or working on the other side of the world, because the little girl didn’t understand, and in front of her stood just a man who she was supposed to know. She was a big girl in Tom’s eyes but not big enough to recognize his face after being so long apart.

“Sweetie..?” Y/N’s momma gently caressed her daughter’s cheek, making the little girl look up at her instead of Tom. “It’s daddy, remember? You used to talk to him over the phone.” She tried to convince their daughter, but the girl wasn’t having any of it, she only clung to her momma’s hand tighter than ever and shook her head from side to side.

“You always blown air kisses to him, remember? Just like this, yeah?” The woman smiled softly at Y/N and sent an air kiss to Tom. “And he would catch them with his hand and press it to his cheek.” She explained and Tom did just that. His eyes crinkled at the corners just as the girl nodded her head, her own eyes wandering over his features.

“You would ask me when he’d be home and I’d always tell you soon.” The little girl peered at her momma and the woman felt the girl’s grip loosen when she turned her gaze back to Tom and from the way she looked at him, she knew they were close. Just one more push all it needed.

“It’s daddy, Y/N, and he’s finally home.” She whispered and felt her hand slip away from hers.

Tom dropped to his knees when he saw Y/N walk towards him, her footsteps small and hesitating, but she didn’t stop until she was right in front of him. She raised her hand and her touch felt like a feather to the skin as she traced his cheek. He leaned into her touch, had been missing it for months, and gathered her into his arms, putting his hand on top of hers, stroking it gently with his thumb.

She cocked her head to the side, staring at their hands with wonder in her eyes and a small gap between her lips as she watched him stroke the back of her hand. She met his eyes again and Tom could swear he saw the frown and confusion disappear.

“Dada…” Y/N tasted the word on the back of her tongue and when it felt just right, the smile fought its way back to her face. “Dada!”

Tom let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding and shut his eyes tight when it started to sting but nonetheless picked the girl into the air after she wrapped her arms around him. He buried his face in her hair, which always smelt nice, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Yeah, dada…” He laughed through his tears as he caressed Y/N’s back, holding her close and listened to her laugh. Tom smiled, but just this time, he smiled a smile which reached his eyes as he whispered the soft I love you’s to his little girl.

And after all;

It didn’t matter how much time has already gone by;

It was his touch she recognized first. And it seemed that they were never really wrong, the ones who said the memory belonged to a touch. And while it’s in their heart, it’ll never gonna die.

Much more time is still waiting to go by and that’s fine, too; for time is on their side.

[pipsqueakparker]

31? for the kisses prompts + snowbaz

Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips

s/o to whoever originated the whole prof baker simon headcanon i lean into it heavy

————

Three years.

That was apparently how long it took before Baz let himself believe that Simon Snow really loved him back. Not that he ever thought Simon was lying, but he was always ready for the other shoe to drop. For Simon to realize his mistakes, to turn back into Agatha’s arms, or maybe find someone entirely new.

But now it had been three years since the night Simon kissed him in the woods. Three years since they spent a night on the floor of Baz’s childhood bedroom, snogging until their lips were sore. Three years since all hell broke loose and the Humdrum was ‘defeated’ and the Mage died and Simon’s life fell apart. And they had spent three years trying to piece it all back together.

In those three years, Simon had started a small business that he ran out of his flat, making speciality cakes and various baked goods for birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, and other such special occasions. Baz and Penny helped, Baz with the actual business parts and transport, Penny with baking assistance and moral support.

In those three years, Baz had shifted his studies to more closely fit what he would need to help Simon run that business, and he had managed to graduate early. This was his gap year, before he started looking into Masters programs, and he was using that free time to double down his efforts with Simon. Both in the business and in their relationship. There were points during uni where he felt he was neglecting their relationship too much, but how else would he manage to graduate early? Now he had the time to make up for all of it.

In those three years, Penny had nearly finished her own degree. She wasn’t graduating early like Baz, but she wasn’t upset about it. She loved uni, she loved her classes, and she had managed to fit in enough credits to dual-major (which Simon did not see the point or desire to do).

Also in those three years, Baz found himself falling deeper in love with Simon Snow. And he could finally let himself believe - no, trust that Simon felt the same way. It should have been obvious all along, that’s what Penelope told him all the time, but could one blame him for thinking his hero of a boyfriend would change his mind about dating an actual vampire? Penny also told him that was ridiculous, so it would seem one could blame him. But three years had passed, three years of dates and nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms. Three years of snogging across both of their apartments, snuggling together and watching terrible movies, and helping each other through their best and worst times. Three years of love, and three years of them to falling completely head over heels for each other.

Three years for Baz to realize he didn’t want to, couldn’t imagine having to, spend his life with anyone else.

“I‘m going to propose.”

Penny hardly glanced up from the book she was reading, sat across from Baz at their small dining room table and sipping at a mug of tea. She sat the mug down.

“Propose...? What? Something for the business?”

“No, Bunce.” Baz leaned across the table, covering the page she’d been reading with a hand so she would look up at him. She settled him with a glare, but he pressed on. “I want to propose. To Simon. Ask him to get married. To me.”

Penny’s glare was gone, replaced by wide eyes and a look of surprise. “Wha - Oh! Oh, Nicks and Slicks, Baz! That’s - well, that’s fantastic, isn’t it? How’re you going to do it?”

Her book was forgotten, pushed to the side as she placed her elbows on the table, more than ready for this conversation. Baz sighed.

“I... I haven’t really thought about that bit yet.” He dropped his eyes to the table top, scratching at a crack in the grain with his fingernail. “I was hoping you could help.”

Penny pursed her lips. “Well, Simon’s not you. He wouldn’t need anything extravagant or dramatic, would he?”

“I don’t need things extravagant or dramatic,” Baz muttered. Penny raised a brow at him, almost in perfect mimicry of his own signature move, and he suddenly understood how Simon felt when he did it. He rolled his eyes, unwilling to concede even if he knew it was true. “At least my plans weren’t to stop time.”

“And it best stay that way, I’ll not have you and Simon stealing my proposal.” Penny took another sip of her tea, furrowing her brows as she thought. Finally, she sat her tea on the table once more, gave Baz a small smile and said, “I may have an idea.”

—

The thing about Penny’s plan was that it was so simple, yet somehow so difficult. It took a full week of nagging Simon to take a night away from the kitchen to even set it into motion. Apparently there was a big event coming up he’d been hired for, and he was stressing over making sure everything he was making would be perfect. It was the biggest event he’d done yet, it was some posh fundraiser and hundreds of people were expected to attend. Really, it shouldn’t have caught Baz off guard when Simon bowed out last minute.

“I’m sorry, Baz, I have to meet with the organizers tomorrow with samples - I‘ve not even got half of them.” Simon sounded genuinely upset and apologetic over the phone, Baz couldn’t even be disappointed. He knew how important this was for him, and even though he felt like tonight could have been an equally important night, it wasn’t like Simon knew that.

“I’ll come help,” Baz offered.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to.”

“Baz, you’re a nightmare in the kitchen.”

“You’re a nightmare in general. We still let you help, don’t we?”

Simon’s laugh rang tight and tinny through the phone. “Alright, fine. Come help me.”

Baz really was a nightmare in the kitchen. He had many talents, Simon would argue that he was sheer perfection, but baking seemed to be his weakness. Simon gave him the simplest tasks, mix these pre-measured ingredients, melt the chocolate, things he would have to try to fuck up.

Simon, however, was graceful in ways Baz had never seen when he was baking. In daily life, Simon was heavy-handed and clambering around everywhere he went. Here in the kitchen, Simon floated from counter to cabinet to oven, sure-footed and confident. Baz nearly burnt the chocolate, too busy ogling Simon as he measured out dry ingredients, tongue sticking out between his teeth in concentration.

“Oi! Basil, eyes on the stove, you’re gonna ruin perfectly good chocolate,” Simon barked as soon as he caught Baz’s eyes on him. Baz jumped, hadn’t even realized how long he’d been staring, and turned back to the task at hand. Once it was melted down suitably, he removed it from the heat and Simon stepped over to check it.

“Perfect, darling.” He kissed Baz’s cheek before turning back to one of the many mixtures laid out across the counter.

The whole scene was so domestic Baz felt like his heart was going to explode. He could see it, two, three, ten years from now, in their own kitchen doing just this. Simon floating around and making sure Baz doesn’t ruin things, sharing soft kisses and touches as they worked alongside each other. Together.

That’s all he wanted, wasn’t it?

This, being with Simon, for the rest of their lives. Or however long he could get, his mortality was still a big question mark, but he wanted Simon for as long as he could have him. And it was a simple want, one that he was sure Simon shared.

He hoped.

No, he knew.

Right?

There was only one way to find out, and the words left Baz’s lips before he could think twice.

“Would you marry me?”

Simon dropped the spatula he’d been using to stir some of the batter, it hit the counter with a wet clatter.

“Sorry?”

He turned to Baz with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. Baz was suddenly less sure, had he actually read it all wrong? Maybe it was ridiculous to think that Simon wanted this the same way he did.

“I - uhm,” Baz stuttered in a panic. Simon definitely heard him clearly, there was no way he could brush this off. Maybe this was the beginning of the end.

“Baz.” Simon abandoned the bowl and spatula, stepped in closer to Baz, the surprise on his face melting down into a soft smile. Baz’s own panic was quickly turning to confusion, until Simon’s mouth was on his and it was familiar and safe and warm and welcome.

Baz grabbed Simon’s shoulders, pulling back to find that dazzling smile looking back at him. “Wait, so is that...?”

Simon leaned in for another kiss in response, his hand winding around Baz’s neck and fingers threading through his hair. He pulled away just enough to speak, his lips brushing Baz’s with each word, “Of course I would, you numpty.”

That was what Baz needed.

He surged forward, not that he needed to as Simon was right there, and maybe it was a little too hard but neither of them cared. Simon parted his lips under Baz’s and Baz brought his arms around Simon’s waist, pulling him flush against him.

“Why didn’t you say that to begin with?” Baz asked between kisses, and Simon laughed into his mouth.

“Caught me off guard, didn’t you? I wasn’t expecting you to propose all the sudden.”

Baz nipped at Simon’s lower lip. “Neither was I, but you’ve been ruining my plans to do it all week, you arsehole.”

“Hey, don’t be mean to me, my boyfriend just told me he wants to marry me. This is a good night.” Simon dropped kisses along Baz’s jaw and cheek.

“Technically, he just asked if you would want to marry him.” Simon bit down where Baz’s jaw met his neck, eliciting a small noise from the other, before returning to his lips.

“I hate you.”

“I love you,” Baz whispered against his lips, unable to fight back his smile.

“I love you, too.”

They didn’t pull apart for several long minutes, until Simon suddenly jerked back from Baz’s embrace. “Fuck, wait! We still have to finish these. Shit, the chocolate’s already hardened again...”

Baz laughed and wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist from behind, kissing his neck gently. “It’ll be fine.”

“No, no more distractions.” Simon reached up and flicked at Baz’s nose, shocking him enough that he stepped back. “We finish these, and then we’ll come back ‘round to... this.” As stern as his voice was, Baz could see the smile that stretched across his face and remained there as he set back to the task at hand.

Baz had to keep his eyes down if he didn’t want to ruin something by getting distracted by Simon, but it was difficult. His mind was spinning in the best circles.

Simon wanted to marry him.

They’d had three years, and there were so many more ahead of them.

[mock-star-aq]

Supermonster Dinner Party: a Dragula fic.

Happy Holidays y'all! This is my fic for the @rpdrficexchange for Wolfie, aka Wolfie @thepastpresentandfutureofdrag !! I hope you like this darling! (For some reason I can't tag you in this?)

This is a weird cannon divergent style where they are their drag personas but dragula and drag race still happened, (if that makes sense) so make of that what you will.

Edit: Thanks to @hellobiqtchlasagna for helping me come up with the surprise at the end. I forgot to credit them in my rush to get my fic up and I feel bad😅

"Do you know anything about him?" Vander asked, pulling a batch of cookies out of the oven and sliding them onto a cooling rack. Biqtch was leaning against the wall, nursing a mixed drink.

"Just that he's Boulet approved, same as you." Biqtch drawled. " Swan actually told me to be nice, as if I would be mean to anyone who wasn't mean first, or a Republican." 

"You can be a bit crass at first. Drac told me to be mindful of not coming across too snooty, but she's one to speak." 

"Oop, I'm snitching! I'm going to tell her you said that!" 

"Oh, she knows, she makes fun of herself. And she would just brush it off. I can tease her a little since I know her relatively well." 

"Yeah that's fair, Lord knows they talk shit about us all the time in private."

"I'm pretty sure it's mostly good things, but yeah, they absolutely poke at our screwups with each other. " 

"Because they want the best from us, cause we're super monsters and all that." Biqtch pushed herself up from the wall, crossing over and rinsing out her cup to use again later. 

"And also because we have to work together from now on, so we have to be at least cordial to each other." Vander said, pulling out her phone to check the time. "He should be here anytime now. I told him 6, and it's 5:55." 

Just as Vander stopped speaking, the doorbell rang. 

"Speak of the devil, that should be him." Vander motioned for Biqtch to follow her as she went to the door, smoothing out some wrinkles from Biqtch's shirt before opening the door wide. 

"Hi, nice to finally meet you! Landon, right?" 

"Yup, Landon Cider. Nice to meet you too." He affirmed, holding a hot bag. Vander waved him inside and relieved him of his dish, allowing him to hang his coat up as Biqtch closed the door. 

"Nice to finally meet you, I'm Biqtch Pudding, and that's Vander Von Odd. You're hot as shit." Biqtch introduced herself, leaning against the wall as Landon took off his outerwear. The most prominent thing about him was how chiseled he was, even his face. The Boulets weren't ones to choose supermonsters based on conventional standards of beauty, but Landon was certainly very attractive. 

"Ah yes, you two are infamous. The first two supermonsters!" Landon smiled, slightly blushing at Biqtch's remark.

"I hope our fearsome reputation precedes us." Biqtch flexed, her arm about half the size of Landon's. 

"Landon, does this need to be warmed up at all?" Vander asked, holding up a casserole dish from the hot bag, interrupting before Biqtch could embarrass herself more. 

"Maybe? I pulled it out of the oven before I left, so it should still be warm." He crossed over and took off the top, holding his hand over what appeared to be a lasagna. "Oh it's fine. It probably needs to cool down a little actually. Biqtch, I know you're a vegetarian, so this is just cheese." 

"Yasss thanks doll!" Biqtch cheered. "What do you want to drink?" Biqtch led Landon over to Vander's drink cart as Vander pulled together the last little bits of the meal and set the table. She put the basket of rolls down as Landon and Biqtch came back, and Landon immediately put his drink down to help Vander put the last few things on the table. 

"Thanks babe." Vander said as they all sat down at the table and started serving food. It was quiet for the first few minutes while they ate, but then Vander started asking Landon questions, since the main point of the dinner was to get to know him. 

"So tell us about yourself Landon, where are you from, what do you do outside of doing performing .."

"Are you single?" Biqtch interjected. And Landon chuckled before responding. 

"Well, I'm from Long Beach, and I have a Hispanic background. I am happily married, sorry Biqtch." He apologized, and Biqtch pretended to be upset, pouting and snapping her fingers before sitting up and shoving his shoulder, indicating that she was joking. 

"We fucked like the all of the drag race winners do when they win but neither one of us liked it, so she was hoping to get a second chance." Vander explained, and Landon spit out his drink. 

"And you know that HOW?!" He spluttered as Biqtch clapped him on his back. 

"Sasha told me. She doesn't love the tradition, but I have a feeling she'll change her tune if Shea wins an allstar season." 

"So they haven't fucked?" 

"Oh no, they have. And they'll take any excuse to fuck. They're just rarely in the same place at the same time anymore. Trust me, Sasha's an open book once you get to know her well enough. So are most of the other RuGirls. Several of the other winners have offered to include us in the tradition, but unfortunately that probably ends with you. At least the sex part, most of them would probably be willing to makeout with you or cuddle with you." 

"Fine by me!" Landon declared, wiping his brow. And they all started laughing. 

"Yeah, we all saw you make out with Evah!" Vander teased, and Biqtch hooted appreciatively. 

"Neither of you can talk!" Landon retorted, and they all started laughing harder. "Biqtch is a dick pig and Vander handled a pup during her final floor show. Hypocrites, both of you!" He wheezed out, clutching his stomach with one hand while pointing with the other. 

"Look at the pot calling the kettle black!" Biqtch screeched. 

The rest of the night dissolved into hysterics, scream laughing at each other so loud it was a wonder they didn't get a noise complaint. The food was barely touched and cold, but no one cared. 

"I was inside so I couldn't see, but you could just hear her screaming! FUCK THE BIG PICTURE CLINT!!!" 

"That's better than Loris's temper tantrum. "NoT tOnIgHt!" 

"Well we didn't have any fun catchphrases like y'all did!"

"Bitch the fuck you mean? Everything that came out of Disasterina's mouth was fucking iconic! "Attention human males? She's murdering my pussy?" You just gotta think!" 

"Ooh ooh! I know! "You're just a trigger happy alcoholic that's what I said bitch you gotta pop a xanax every 10 fucking minutes!" That's the closest thing  Dragula has to the sugar daddy speech so far!"  

"Ok, you both are right. What can I say? I just a dummy ass thick Biqtch." She joked, standing up slightly to twerk slightly to the amusement of Vander and Landon, who laughed even harder.

The doorbell rang, interrupting their laughter. Vander got up to answer it, and came back carrying a white box, slightly damp from the snow. 

"What is that?" Biqtch asked as she and Landon got up and walked over to the counter where Vander sat it down. 

"No idea, but it's addressed to me and it's from a really nice bakery." Vander replied, cutting the string tied around the box off with a pair of scissors and opening the box. All of their jaws dropped as the lid fell back and revealed what was inside. Biqtch came to her senses first, hunching over laughing and clutching the counter. Vander covered her mouth and started wheezing as Landon chuckled and pinching his forehead as if he couldn't believe his eyes. 

"That is not what I think it is." 

"It is." Vander and Biqtch said in unison. Biqtch pulled out her phone and took a picture, still laughing. 

"I'm sending this to her right now. It's so lifelike, and I should know, I stared at her mug for weeks!" Vander laughed, kneeling to get a better look. 

"Did she send it?" Landon asked, taking out his own phone to take a picture. Vander plucked up an envelope that was beside the cake and opened it, laughing harder when she read it. 

" It's from the Boulets." She wheezed. 

" Happy Holidays uglies. Hope you don't mind if Meatball crashes your supermonster dinner party. We truly are proud of you all. XOXO. Dracmorda and Swanthula."

"Swan wrote that." Biqtch said, looking over Vander's shoulder. "Drac has chicken scratch." 

"Ooh! I'm snitching!" Vander mocked, and Biqtch doubled over again while Landon laughed in a confused way. 

"So who wants to do the honors of cutting Meatball's head and seeing what flavor her brain is?" 

"Landon should do it, welcome to the family bro. " Biqtch said. Vander nodded and handed Landon a knife, which he took. 

"Alright, cheers Meatball." Landon said as he sunk the knife into the cake shaped like her head and cut away a piece. 

"It looks like Red Velvet." Vander said as she held out a plate for Landon to put the cake piece on. 

"That's clever as fuck!" Biqtch smiled, watching as Landon cut the next piece. 

"Now I know how the Boulets feel, this is a powerful feeling, slicing someone up." 

"Oh he's definitely one of us!" Biqtch cheered, high fiving Vander. Biqtch high fived Landon as Vander's phone went off and she unlocked it. 

"Swan's glad to hear we got it and Meatball sent a bunch of grave emojis." 

"That tracks." Biqtch said as Vander put her phone away and went to grab wine glasses and a bottle, uncorking it and handing them all a glass of red wine.

"A toast." She said as she held up her glass. "To the Boulets, to Dragula, to good food and good times, and to the supermonsters, past, reigning, and future. Cheers." 

"Cheers!" Biqtch and Landon echoed. And they all drank. 

"Now let's go eat our cold food and our Meatball head cake." Vander directed. "This is a dinner party after all." 

"A holiday dinner party! Where's the mistletoe?" Biqtch joked.

"I am not kissing you again! Once was enough!" 

"Spoil sport. Landon will make out with me, won't you Landon?" 

"Umm, we'll talk. " 

"That wasn't a no!" 

Landon rolled his eyes and laughed at Biqtch's perseverance and Vander's apologetic face. This family was strange and weird and unconventional, but he loved it and wouldn't have it any other way.

[cg29]

Fluffember Prompts

A collection of  prompts from @gumnut-logic Fluffember challenge. (Now posted in my Pick & Mix collection with previously shared Fluffember stories)

*** ***

The Beast. Day 8: Encounter.

It was dark. Only a few rays of sunlight managing to penetrate the lair he had entered. He had been warned on numerous occasions about the beast that inhabited this area and was known to attack when woken, but he had not believed. Yes, he had seen it on many occasions, but all of those times it had been funny, friendly and caring. Surely, just because it was woken early it wouldn't attack. Especially since it was him.

He creeped closer. Currently it was lying on its stomach, eyes were tightly shut, and bizarre noises were emitting from it. Finally, reaching his destination he leant towards it, his hand reaching out, but then a sudden snort from the thing in front of him was released causing him to jump back. Maybe it wasn't best to disturb it? Maybe Gordon was right, and the beast did attack if provoked this early? Although his brother was known to make things up. This probably was just one of his jokes and the usual encounter would be received. He had to be brave and find out the truth. Straightening himself up, he stepped forwards, and placed his hand confidently on the shoulder in front of him…

"Virg…"

No movement, no signs of him waking, so he tried again…

"Virgie?"

This time a groan emitted from his brother, then once again he grew quiet…

"Virgie," he pushed harder on his shoulder, "please wake up."

A yawn, and a pair of bleary eyes opened, grumpy and nothing like the kind-hearted peaceful ones he was used to… He moved backwards… Maybe this was a mistake… But then there eyes met, and a soft gentle smile illuminated the features of his brother.

"Hey Alligator, what's up?"

"Nothing," Alan replied with a little snigger at the nickname.

Virgil regarded the three-year-old in front of him. "Nothing, really?"

"Well, Gordy said you were a beast in the morning, but I didn't believe him, so he said I should come and see for myself."

"Did he indeed?"

Alan nodded his head.

"Well, I'm not a beast."

"Knew it!" Alan cheered happily.

"But," Virgil looked at his clock, "when I am woken this early, I am known to turn into a bear."

Alan gasped in shock.

"And you know what bears do, right?"

Alan scrunched up his little nose and shuck his head…

"Well, they are known to attack."

"Really?"

"Yes, with…" Virgil paused for dramatic effect… "tickles!"

A fit of giggles erupted from Alan when Virgil pounced, flung him over his shoulder, then onto the bed where he began tickling him madly.

*** ***

Favourite Drinks. Day 9: Hot Beverage.

We all know Virgil likes a… Okay, scratch the likes and replace it with needs… That boy needs a cup of coffee to function. In fact, his need for the beverage runs so deep that there is a coffee machine on Two. As soon as he's in flight and the autopilot as been selected a quick press of a button will dispense, just underneath the control panel, a deliciously rich warm coffee with one sugar and no milk or cream. Just the way he likes it. The machine is actually a new addition. A birthday present from Brains. Oh, and yes, the rumours were true, Virgil did cry with happiness when he was gifted it. So, yes, our artistic guy is a coffee addict, but what about the others? Have you ever wondered what their favourite hot drinks are…

Alan. Well, his favourite will always be hot chocolate made with milk and topped with marshmallows and cream. The best hot chocolates though are made by John, who also claims this drink as his favourite. When on the homestead he will whip up Alan's and then make his own with water, no milk. Then they will sit, just the two of them, beneath the stars they love.

When Penelope is nearby Gordon will claim that his favourite beverage is an English breakfast tea with a drop of milk, and yes, while a nice cup of tea is enjoyed, it actually takes his second spot. His first choice, well, that will always be hot water with honey and lemon. The taste, soothing. The smell reminding him of his childhood and time spent with just him and his mom after he had completed an early morning swim. Also he likes to think of himself as a no-frills kind of guy… Yes, I know, hard to imagine!

Scott, like Virgil is a coffee addict. Okay, not as bad as Virgil, but he does like a drink to help spur him on after a long morning run. However, unlike his brother he prefers his beverage Irish. Coffee with a shot or two of whisky. It was actually his father who introduced him to the mix after his first difficult rescue. He put a drop in some of his and Scott's mugs and they sat together talking through their troubles. Now, while sipping on the warming liquid, Scott will drift into a daydream, one filled with him and his father, finally reunited after eight years apart.

And the rest…

Well, Lady Penelope's choice is certainly no mystery. She is a Tea connoisseur, with numerous flavours tested throughout the years. Everything from English Breakfast, green tea, berry infusion or a simple chamomile to a chocolate mint, and even a candy floss blend. Which she personally found a bit sickly. Her favourite, Earl Grey which will always be consumed at eleven am.

Parker, just like the lady of the manor loves a good old fashioned 'cuppa' tea, with full fat milk, two sugars and don't forget the digestive biscuits for dunking.

Brains, doesn't have a favourite, and will drink anything you put in front of him… Which should be done often because he'll just get wrapped up in his work and forget to hydrate.

Kayo does not do hot drinks, of any kind, and will always turn to a homemade fruit smoothie.

Grandma. She's a perfect mix of four of her boys, and loves nothing more than a freshly made mocha, with chocolate sprinkles of course…

*** ***

The Secret Talent. Day 12: Food.

One of the boys has a talent that his family don't know about. Well, actually, Kayo knows because it is impossible to keep anything from her, but she has always kept the secret for him, even if she doesn't quite understand why he keeps it hush. There is also a strong possibility that John knows too, he has never actually brought it up, but the guy knows all and sees all. The rest of the family though, they don't, and Gordon the one who possesses this particular skill would prefer to keep it that way. Not that there is a reason in keeping it a closely guarded secret. Yes, he would probably receive some gentle teasing at first but once his brothers clicked on to the benefits of his talent and that they had actually been happily enjoying the results of his gift for many years then they would definitely let it go. Yet, he still would like to keep it from them. Prefers it that way because although he shares the final results, the preparation part, well that is just for him…

So, you are probably wondering what this mystery ability is?

Gordon can bake. Cakes to be precise. From cheesecakes and blueberry muffins to double chocolate fudge cakes or a good old-fashioned Victoria sponge. Big proper sized ones, tiny minute ones, fantastically intricately decorated ones and even tiny bitty cupcakes with triple frosting. You name it, he will bake it, he will even add intricate decorations on top. Oh, and if you are wondering, yes he has even made ones in the shape of their individual birds before.

His favourite time to bake will be when he is alone. Everyone else might be out on a mission and he isn't, or they are off island for some other reason. That will be the moment, his time, to grab an apron, put on some music and get all the ingredients he needs. Then when prepared, he will whip up some cakes ready for when his weary family return. Other times will be usually really early in the morning. He will wake about two hours before Scott, whip up some cakes then stick them in the oven. By time they are coming out Scott will be getting up, but he heads straight for a morning run, and never catches the clean-up and decorating process. He will then stow them away for later in the day.

The taste… Well, they certainly do not taste like anything their grandma would make. In fact, anyone who has been lucky enough to try one as always remarked on the exquisite taste and then will ask where they were purchased from. Gordon will come up with some wacky cake shop name to cover his tracks and no one, not even his brothers, will think to go and look for this place because he will tell them that he enjoys picking them up. So they let him, because if he isn't pulling some sort of practical joke then that is a good thing, and when it comes to food they know he won't jokingly tamper since decent food is a precious rarity in the Tracy household. There is also a secondary reason Gordon would never add a silly ingredient to his cakes, and it's the exact same reason he would never dream of messing with Virgil's piano or one of his paintings, because baking is an art form, a way for him to express his inner self.

[vegandoughnut]

PART 5: Are You Kitting Me?

"You're good to go, Anekke" says Stephen, scribbling on his clipboard as if he were actually using it for something. Anekke frowns.

"I can't just finish the hour?" She presses, nearly pouting.

"Fine but make sure you clock out on the dot. I just don't have the patience this evening" Stephen says, voice laden with an exhaustion that doesn't even make sense. Anekke continues to spray some of the food prep surfaces with the natural mint scented surface cleaner and wipes with the cleaning rag.

Humbert hums in a whiny pitch as he adds the finishing touches to another serving of the Fall Special. Black anise waffles, vibrant orange pumpkin ice cream, chocolate chips and raisins, cat face drawn with chocolate or molasses. The ingredients seem to have plastered themselves all over Anekke's brain. She mutters them to herself as she cleans.

"What's that?" Comes Humbert's voice.

She ignores him, almost laughing with relief when Kitt joins them behind the counter. Kitt looks tired, with dark circles forming under her eyes. She flashes a smile to counter it.

"You need a coffee" Anekke says.

"You've never been more right" Kitt replies, picking up the staff french press off the ceramic hot plate, and pouring herself a mug of aromatic medium roast. "I have like five minutes to snag Gary Nygard's autograph but I just can't bring myself to. This is a once in a lifetime thing. Like. He's going back to Finland at some point. The band doesn't even tour anymore. Today literally feels like a weird dream and I don't know how to move. Like I'm walking through invisible cake batter or something"

"This is not a therapy session. You have a customer Kittie" says Humbert. Kitt sucks her teeth before turning to face the rest of the cafe to take a customer's order.

"You know we already have a supervisor and a manager right?" Anekke says through clenched teeth. Even if Humbert had said it to Kumlyun instead of Kitt, she would still jump in on the defense. She was getting tired of Humbert's antics, and was glad she'd be going home soon.

Humbert grunts and gets back to putting together a catering box.

"Wow" says Anekke, shaking her head.

A customer walks up to the bar holding Salem, the chill black cat purred softly in his arms. He orders an oat milk vanilla shake. She let's Kitt take that order, then goes back to cleaning, annoyed that earlier Kumlyun had implied the mess was made by her, when really it was probably Harper who was often sloppy with the food prep and forgetful of cleaning up. But at least she made Kumlyun look bad by implying she came in on her day off on purpose.

Finally some serenity blankets the cafe when all the customers are seated and eating, drinking or petting or feeding the cats they were paired with. Anekke quickly checks her pocket planner and crosses off a few things she remembered to do.

Memorize the recipe for the blueberry muffins by heart. Check. Disinfect the sink. Check. Renew library checkouts online. Check. Schedule a dentist appointment for next week. Check. Organize the discarded customer cards into her little file folder. Check.

"Anekke"

Anekke nearly jumps out of her skin when Kitt places a hand on her shoulder from behind.

"You scared me Kitt" she says, stealthily shrugging out from under her hand.

"I seem to do that for a lot of people" she says with a frown. "Anyway, what time are you leaving? so I know when to mentally prepare for the next few grueling hours behind this counter"

"Honestly just 30 minutes to go" says Anekke, taking a sneaky bite of the energy bar she hid in her half apron.

"Okay. Thanks" says Kitt.

Carl turns to look at the counter and smiles warmly when he coincidentally catches Anekke's eye. She smiles back quickly but goes back to her resting face just as soon.

"Hey Carl, want to cover for me real quick?" Kitt calls from the bar, undoing her waist apron.

Carl walks over immediately, and almost trips over a feathered pet toy but regains his balance without much embarrassment. Anekke watches intently. Still nervous, that one.

"You'll be working with the pretty blond, she should have no problem drawing in lots of orders so you can take a few pointers" says Kitt to Carl. Anekke's head spins upon hearing the strange sentence, and she wonders what Kitt was really saying. She had to force herself not to spiral into the whirlpool forming inside of her. What does she mean? What does that mean? Is it face value? Is there a joke or jab hidden in the arrangement of the words? Why does Kumlyun complain so much? Does Kumlyun whisper lies about Anekke to Kitt? Is Kitt trustworthy? Is Kitt priming Carl against her? She said "pretty blond". Maybe she should go to HR about Kitt. That'll make things make sense.

Carl and Kitt switch places. Carl ties a waist apron on and picks up a few beechwood mixing spoons. Why?

"Break a leg" Anekke tells Kitt who walks carefully towards Gary Nygard. Kitt flashes a confident cheese smile before heading straight for the Special Guest, the charming gothic rock star who had been in the cafe since before noon.

Anekke had thought he'd looked familiar, then realized he was a member of a band that had been really popular back when she was in high school. Yuck, she thinks, picturing those cringey teenage years in her mind with distaste. It was hard to imagine Kitt was one of the spooky kids who were obsessed with vampires and fingerless gloves, but who would've imagined that "pretty blond" Anekke was a nerd with no friends? The one who, even if she tried to make a joke, it came off as awkward or distasteful? Why were these things bothering her so suddenly?

20 minutes pass. Two customers came. Carl had watched eagerly when Anekke operated the waffle maker which she hated completely. The waffles would sometimes have holes in the outer pockets around the edges if the batter didn't spread perfectly. That's why she hated it.

"See you guys on Thursday" Anekke says, gathering her khaki trench coat, personal mug and backpack. It was without really looking at anyone in particular.

A few co-workers say bye in friendly voices. Why so friendly? Do they think she's stupid? Childish?

Then Carl says, "thanks for the tip about the waffle maker. I'm sure people prefer a perfect waffle over the skeleton of one" he says with a warm smile, trying to make her laugh probably. Anekke nods then goes out the door, relieved beyond words.

Kitt pulls her fingers through her dreads, which were the color of fallen leaves--- the characteristic Autumn hue between plum and red. She felt just slightly embarrassed to meet one of her teenage rock idols looking like a millennial-barista-spoken-word-slam-night-attendee-who-keeps-a-million-potted -succulents-around-their-house person, but so it goes. Some of teen-life's craziest caterpillars emerged from their cocoons as less stand-outy butterflies.

But there he was. Gary Nygard looking exactly the same, though less dressy, as she remembered during the heyday of Finnish metal's popularity in her generation. Jetty curtains of hair. The cozy cat skull sweatshirt over the pants with the boots. Gosh his legs were so perfectly thin. Kitt shakes her head.

"Darling" Nygard's voice steals Kitt's attention as he strokes just under the fuzzy siamese cat Sandra's chin. He is smiling slightly. "Is all well?" he says nodding towards her, like he could sense her trepidation, "this is a lovely place, beautiful really. Tell your boss, see, to keep doing whatever he or she is doing to keep it going. The cats are so dear, and you, all of you, have been lovely hosts"

He's so sweet and down to earth and candid and Scandinavian and beautiful and what inspired that song.... and will the band ever get back together and what does he do now that the band is... omg stop brain, stop it.... Kitt thinks.

"How long has the place been running for? It seems like a very hip sort of thing, an import, from Japan maybe... lovely country, Japan. They're very nice there" he continues as Sandra squirms and scratches at his sweater. But Gary Nygard is on to the silly cat, trying to distract her by scratching behind her ears while her head is turned in the opposite directions.

Kitt's mouth opens and closes. She blinks a mile a minute yet there's no wind in her face.

"Just a few years" Kitt responds, finding her composure again and holding onto it for dear life. "Yeah cat cafes, well, themed cafes in general, seem to be way more popular over there. This is kind of a knock---"

"A knock-off, but very nice" he finishes for her with a chuckle. He scratches his head then throws back the last of his green smoothie, Sandra sitting snugly nuzzled into his side on the velvet highback chair. Kitt watches the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows the drink, the pale white of his throat exposed and blinding.

Suddenly she forgets that she can language, and just clasps and un-clasps her hands.

"It was lovely. Truly" he says, getting up from the chair. All 5'10 of him. Sandra scampers off across the cafe to bother some of the other kitties. "Kittie? Was that your name? Good girl" he mutters, pulling on his faux fur jacket. Kitt stands there dumbly.

She is frozen as he crosses the room towards the front door. She pretends to go fix tables near there then discreetly says, "wait. Sorry just a minute"

He stops and turns to face her, pulling a dark grey beanie over his hair and looking more and more like a mysterious pedestrian, becoming less and less real at the same despite. He was crossing the threshold of Kitt's world, reality, back into the far away world of teen angst nostalgia and dreams come true and old fires doused.

"I was a big fan when I was high school..." she says, quietly, softly, only he could hear.

He grins. A warm and genuine smile that touches his eyes that turn up slightly at the outer corners, like a cat's. He hands her his VIP customer lanyard and tag with his name and personality notes on there in his real life, almost-neat handwriting. The one thing customers usually toss.

"Thank you for today, Kittie" he says, with a brief, too light pat on her shoulder.

Then he's out the door.

Just like that.

A dream.

[episodes-ff]

10. Mandatory

Malik

“Shit!” I hissed fanning the small fire forming on the stove top as I quickly picked up the bacon off the skillet. Moving everything over, I heard footsteps and started setting up the plates. “Good morning.” “Morning.” She yawned scratching her big messy bun. “What is all this?” “Well, I figured I’d delight you with some breakfast and then maybe we can go shopping today?” “Malik, I-“ “I know, I know. Just as friends. I just wanna make sure you have a good day.” I said handing her a glass of orange juice before grabbing some napkins. Feeling her small arms wrap around me, she hugged me close and kissed my back. “Thank you for understanding, Leaky.” “That’s what friends are for.”

Kyla

“Ooh! Does this one look cute to you?” I asked holding up the maxi dress as he texted on his phone. “Yea, it’s aight.” “Malik, you’re not even looking at me!” Looking up briefly, he checked out the dress and smiled. “It’s nice. You should get it.” He said before going back to texting as I rolled my eyes.

Ever since that breakfast at my place, he’s been acting like a total fucking asshole and I’m not feeling that shit. One minute we’re cool, the next minute he’s parading bitches around in my face. What kind of shit is that? If it weren’t for the fact that he drove us, I would have dipped already. Being taken out of my thoughts by giggles, I looked up and saw him in the men’s section flirting with some foreign hoe as I got fed up and headed to check out. “Hi, did you enjoy shopping with us today?” “Absolutely.” I said putting on a fake smile as she rang out my items. “You have a good day and come again!” Walking out of the store and leaving him, I made my way down the path to find the Louis Vuitton store.

“K? Kyla?! Yo wait up!” I heard him calling before catching up to me and stopping in front of my way. “Hey! Wassup with you?” “You! I thought we were supposed to be hanging out today and having fun, but you’ve barely said two words or even paid attention to me. You’re being so rude, Malik, and then you keep bringing bitches in my face! I don’t have time for it!” “Time for what? We just friends, remember? I can’t talk to people and be nice?” “Not in front of me, no!” “Oh, so you’re allowed to dangle these relationships with these dudes in my face and still fuck with me, but god forbid I give my attention to someone other than you?” “Exactly!” “You a real piece of work you know that?” “Well you’re-“ “Oh my god, Malik, is that you! It’s me, Monica!” Some thirsty bitch said interrupting as she came over and gave him a close hug. A little too close for my taste.

“Hey, girl, how you been?” “I’m good! We miss you over at Diamond’s.” “Oh yea? Imma have to come out there and pay everybody a visit.” “We’d love that.” She smiled before looking over at me as I mugged them. “Oh, is this your sister?” “Nah, this is my cousin, Kyla. She visiting from outta town.” He said nonchalantly as I scoffed at him. “Awww, it’s nice to meet you!” Reaching to shake my hand, I stared at it in disgust before she awkwardly took it back. “Well, I gotta get going. I’m meeting a friend for lunch, but I’ll see you around sometime.” “Most definitely, girl.” He flirted as she stuck a number in his pocket and whispered some shit to him. “It was nice seeing you again, Keisha!” She smiled before walking away. Looking back up at him in complete anger, he smiled before walking up and leaning down to my ear. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too.” He husked as I shivered at his cold words.

Jackie

“You ok, baby?” “Yea. I’m fine, bae.” I asked for the thousandth time but he continued to play like he was cool even though I knew he wasn’t. It’s been a couple days since this whole ordeal that took place and I can tell Quentin is feeling a way about it. I don’t blame him though. How would it look if your significant other got brutally attacked by a person they’ve never met? It would look suspicious as fuck, and though I’ve tried to assure him that we’re not involved in any way, I can tell he doubts me; even more now that he’s out of town. He got his internship and I knew he was happy, but something just seemed off between us and the longer we were apart, the worse it felt. “Did you want me to pick you up from the airport tomorrow when you get home?” “Nah, my mom is gonna come get me. Haven’t chilled with my family in a minute.” “Ok.” “Yea, well listen, I’ll call you some time tomorrow before I board my flight, I gotta finish packing up.” “Ok baby. I love you.” “You too.” He smiked before hanging up our FaceTime call as I sighed. I just need to see him and talk this thing out.

Hearing a thump against my balcony doors, I scrunched up my face and went to go investigate for myself. Opening the door, I stepped out and shivered in my light choice of night clothing. Looking around, I felt something grab me and carry me into my room as I tried to scream but couldn’t due to a hand covering my mouth. Thinking on quick instinct, I bit the hand and lunged my foot back, kicking whoever it was in the groin as they quickly let me go and dropped to the floor. Grabbing my taser, I got ready to stun the sick bastard before stopping as Anthony shot his hand up and groaned. “Wait! Ahh, fuck.” “Nigga, what the fuck are you doing here and why are you sneaking and grabbing folks in the middle of the goddamn night! I should shoot you.” “I came to explain.” He said clearly still in pain as he shot me a mug and got up. “Bitch, don’t mug me. You the one fucking shit up for yourself. Now why are you here? Didn’t I say I never wanna see you again?” He lucky my parents aren’t here.

“Just hear me out, Jackie.” “You got 5 seconds or I’m calling the guards in here.” Referring to Kolita and Kaiden. Sitting nervously, I rolled my eyes. “Aight, time’s up. Get out.” “Have you ever heard of split personality disorder?” He blurred out as I stopped in my tracks. “Kind of. What about it?” “I have it. Have had it my whole life. That’s why I been acting so crazy.” “Ok seriously, Anthony, that’s a bullshit excuse. You know my grandpa suffers from mental illness so for to come in here and use that as an excuse to just fuck everything up is bul-“ I ranted before he emptied his book bag, letting a bunch of pill bottles clatter to the floor. I counted at least fifty as they continued falling from his bag.

Looking up at him, he stared at me sadly as a tear slipped from his eye. “I’m serious, Jacqueline.” Sitting down next to him, I looked down as the room filled in an uncomfortable silence. “I have split personality disorder and bipolar schizophrenia.” “When did you find out?” “A little before my second birthday. I had a really bad temper tantrum and when my parents took me to get checked out, I told them my name was Tyler. That’s when they ran tests and figured it out. I woke up and couldn’t remember anything.” He explained as my heart fell in my ass realizing that I’d lost my virginity to this Tyler personality.

“I try to live a normal life, but on these pills I just battle between feeling like a robot or not feeling at all. I stopped taking my medication over the summer.” “Anthony, why would you do something like that? That’s so dangerous!” Because I’m tired of not feeling like everyone else, Jackie!” He shouted standing up from his seat as he panted heavily. Looking into his eyes, I noticed they were starting to darken as I got up and hugged him. “Just breathe, ok? Breathe.” Steadying his breath, he hugged me back and I looked up to see his eyes back to their normal light brown shade. “Look, I know it’s getting late, but I just wanted to come by and apologize for my actions since the school year has started. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jackie.” “I forgive you.”

Smiling, he hugged me before grabbing his things and heading back to the balcony doors. “Anthony wait!” “Yea?” “Does anybody else know about Tyler?” “Only my family and the rest of the parents in the crew. I gotta go, I’ll talk to you in the morning.” He said before holding my chin and kissing me deeply. “Thank you for listening to me.” He said before scaling down the wall and running off into the night as I stood in a mix of shock and betrayal. Why would my parents hide something like this from me?

[bosstoaster]

For a prompt: someone (maybe Lance and Ryou) making food for Hunk? Like specifically trying to make his favorite food or something?

Ryou surveyed the spoils of their work, hands on his hips.  They'd completely raided the pantry for supplies, which had resulted in a small mountain of food stuffs.  Most of it, however, Ryou didn't recognize at all.  There was the milk, obviously, and the goo was always easy to pick out.  But the rest of it... Not so much.

There was some powdery stuff that looked like it might be flour... or maybe sugar.  Or salt?  Actually, there were a few powdery things, and Ryou couldn't tell what any of them were supposed to be by scent.  Some of the fruits he recognized, but that was about it.

Apparently, Hunk must have gotten used to the Altean labeling system, because he hadn't bothered to change any of them.  Which made sense, because lots of the ingredients probably didn't have an Earth equal.  Even so, it was frustrating.

"You have any ideas?" Ryou asked.

Lance pressed his lips thin, clearly thinking it over.  "Well, I was thinking... well, I wasn't thinking.  There were a couple of dishes from home I was going to have us try, 'cause I at least have an idea of how to make them.  But not without the stuff."

Looking over their bounty again, Ryou nodded.  "We have some basic things, I think?" He offered.  "There has to be the standard ingredients for baking.  Hunk does it all the time."

Snapping his fingers, Lance pointed to him.  "Right.  Yes.  You're right.  We can do a cake for sure.  It's not what I was thinking, but Hunk loves cake.  Everyone loves cake!"

"And it's not that hard to make, right?  You just..." Ryou mimed mixing.  "Put it all together.  Butter and flour and milk.  Sugar.  Salt?  Baking... soda?"  Nose crinkling, Ryou tilted his head.  "I mostly made it out of a box."

Lance paused and stared at him.  "You've never made a cake from scratch?"

Shrugging, Ryou met his gaze.  "I mean, a couple of times, probably.  Not for a long time.  Heck, I mostly made, like, those powder things that go in the mugs and you add a little water or whatever?  Packaged mug cakes.  They were good, and I didn't have a ton of cake left over."  He paused, then groaned.  "Shiro didn't.  Whatever.  Ugh."

"We get it," Lance reminded him, patting Ryou on the shoulder.  "You or Shiro, that's still pretty sad.  Why'd you even agree to do this?"

Ryou's lips pressed thin.  "It's not sad.  It's smart.  I don't like wasting food by getting a big whole cake for just me when I won't eat it all.  So there.  And I offered because I wanted to help.   It's not like I could help you taste test, right?  But I can stir or whatever.  You just tell me if it tastes good."

Scrubbing over his face, Lance sighed.  "Alright, yeah.  Right, your taste thing."

"Yeah, that."

"Okay.  Okay, yeah.  We can do this.  We just have to figure out what's what."  Lance picked up one of the containers and squinted at it.  Then he turned it on its side.  "How much Altean can you read?"

Ryou shrugged.  "Like, reports stuff.  About a battle.  I wouldn't know the word for 'flour' in Altean if it bit me on the nose."

Sighing, Lance put his container down.  "Me either.  Well, it takes, what, thirty minutes to bake a cake?  Maybe?  I guess it depends.  How long can they distract Hunk for?"

"Um."  Ryou paused, thinking it over.  "Depends on if Shiro gets a signal from us.  When we're done he can stop making up questions about getting a new arm.  I think between him and Pidge they can manage a couple of hours at least."

Lance nodded.  "He should really go ahead and just get the arm changed out.  It'll be good for him."

Snorting, Ryou shook his head.  "No way.  I had to get rid of mine. If I'd had the choice, I wouldn't have."  He worked the fingers of his Altean hand, then splayed them all out.  "It's a risk.  And considering these are our main weapons?  It's hard to put them in danger.  Otherwise we'd be useless in a fight."

"No, you wouldn't," Lance replied.  "Both of you can kick our asses with your arms tied behind your backs.  Besides, your works great, so why worry about it?"

"Still a risk."  Ryou waved him off.  "Anyway. Not the point.  Can we figure this out in two hours?"

Lance surveyed the pile of ingredients, then squared his shoulder.  "Yeah.  Yeah, we totally can.  We're two smart guys with an important mission.  We always pull through when it matters, right?"  He threw his arm over Ryou's shoulder and raised his fist over his head.  "We've got this."

"Right."  Ryou grinned back, wrapping his arm around Lance's shoulders in return.  "This cake is going to be fantastic.  For Hunk."

"For Hunk!"

(Read More Below)

***

Forty minutes later, they had a pan full of darkened goo with a vaguely browned top.

"Okay," Lance said slowly.  "What did we learn?"

Ryou squinted at the mass and poked it with a metal finger.  The whole thing sloshed dangerously under the crispier layer.  "That we definitely need to figure out what Hunk uses like eggs."

"And?"

Ryou blinked, then turned to look at Lance.  "Um, lower temperature?  I don't know what else."

Putting down the tray with a sigh, Lance pulled off the oven mitts.  "That first powder definitely isn't flour."

"Oh!"  Ryou frowned.  "It smelled like flour.  I don't know what else would be right."  He watched their mass dubiously.  "Do we try it?"

Lance crinkled his nose.  "We probably should, right?"

Straightening his shoulders, Ryou went and retrieved two spoons.  He handed one to Lance, then paused with his over the top.  "Try on three?"

"Can we not and say we did?"

"We still don't know if we used the right amount for sugar."

Lance groaned.  "Yeah, okay.  On three.  One... two... three!"

They both plunged their spoons in and tried it.

Immediately, Lance started to cough.  He threw his spoon at the sink, then dove forward to take gulping mouthfuls of water.  "Ugh.  Ugh!"  Swishing it through his mouth, he spat it back out and shuddered.  "That is the- I think I might be sick."  Clutching the rim of the sink, Lance glared back at Ryou, who continued to lick the spoon.  "How are you putting that in your mouth?"

Ryou shrugged.  "No taste.  It has a cool texture, though.  Like melted chocolate."

Still distinctly gray looking, Lance scowled, then gagged.  "I hate you right now."

"Sorry."  Ryou offered a bland smile.  Then he took another spoonful.

Lance gagged harder.

***

The next batch was better, in that it looked like they'd actually managed to create something that looked vaguely like it was supposed to.  Rather than golden brown, the final product had come out a pale blue.  Ryou took a deep breath, then crinkled his nose.  "That doesn't smell like a cake."

Lance poked at the top with a fork.  It sank in like it was supposed to and came out clean.  "Mmm.  Well, at least it's not that goop.  It can't be worse."  He broke off a small piece of a corner and took a sniff.  "Okay, yeah, that is a little weird.  Kinda spiced."

"Try eating it."

Eyeing him, Lance let out a huff.  "I really wish I wasn't the only one suffering, here."

Ryou gave a bland smile.  "When we get it right, you'll be the only one who gets to enjoy it.  So, you know, balances out."

Considering that, Lance tilted his head to the side.  "True.  Fair enough.  It's not a bad smell, right?"

"No, it's not," Ryou agreed.  "Just not very cake-y.  But you said the batter was sweet."

"It was."  Lance took a deep breath, then shoved the attempt in his mouth.  He chewed slowly, then swallowed.  "Huh."

Ryou waited, shifting from foot to foot.  "Well?"

Straightening up, Lance spun his fork in his hand thoughtfully.  "It's not what I expected.  And it definitely has a kick.  Which is weird.  But it's not a bad thing.  Just weird."  He paused, considering, then took another small bit and held it up.  "Try it.  I want to see if it burns your tongue."

"Encouraging," Ryou drawled.  "This is like the impulse to touch a freshly painted wall, isn't it?"

Lance held up his thumb and pointer, the pads nearly touching.  "A little bit.  C'mooon.  Try it.  For science."

For a moment longer, Ryou hesitated.   Then he leaned forward and took the bite.  "Mmm.  Nope, no burn.  Wait."  He swished his mouth.  "Okay, maybe a teensy bit.  Had to have been that cinnamon-y stuff we tried, right?"

"I guess," Lance admitted.  "I don't know what else it'd be.  It's not bad.  If we made a sweet icing, it might be good?  Like spicy hot chocolate."

That wasn't a bad idea.  Ryou considered their blue spicy cake, then nodded.  "Sure.   And better than going back to the drawing board, anyway."  He looked back over at their ingredients.  It was significantly diminished now, with many of the powders sprinkled over the table from their experimentation.  The sink was absolutely filled with cups and bowls as they tried different batters.

"How do we make icing?"

Lance paused, opened his mouth, then shut it.  "Huh.  Well, we have the sweet stuff.  We just make it runny.  How hard can that be?"

***

"Okay, so five cups of the not-honey is way too... this."  Lance pulled out the spoon. The golden brown mass on the end stayed stubbornly stuck, even when he vigorously shook it to try and get it off.

Nodding, Ryou wrote that down in a notebook.  He scratched idly at his cheek, and his fingers came back stained with white.  Oops.  Wiping that off, he flipped through the pad.  "Last time we tried it with a half cup of milk to 3 cups of the honey, and that was too runny.  So maybe two thirds of a cup now, and add a quarter cup more if that's not enough?"

Lance nodded slowly, thinking it over.  "Yeah, okay.  And this time maybe we should chill it if it’s too runny.  Isn't that supposed to help?"

Looking up, Ryou arched a brow.  Then he shrugged.  "Sure.  Cold makes things thicker, right?  Worth a shot."  He glanced over at the clock, then paused.  "Uh, Lance?"

"Hm?"  Lance glanced up from measuring the milk.  "Something up?"

"It's been three hours."

Lance nearly dropped the milk container, only barely catching it on the tips of his fingers.  "What?  No."  His eye went wide as he looked over as well.  "No way!"

Lips twisting, Ryou glanced over at the cake.  "We did take a long time to experiment.  That first goop took the better part of an hour."

"All for that monstrosity."  Lance shuddered dramatically.  "Okay.  I'll finish with the icing, and get it as close as I can.  You get the cake out of the pans and get it ready to go.  Got it?"

Snapping off a salute, Ryou pulled over a plate and started to carefully flip over the tins, tapping at the bottom.  Despite everything else being chaotic trial and error, the cake popped out easily.  From there, he took a knife and carefully carved off the little edge where they'd tasted from.  It took a few minutes of digging under the supplies and pans to find the rack, but Ryou finally dragged it out then put it in the sink.  The cake could sit on that while they frosted it, and then they could put it on the plate where it'd at least look nice.

Hopefully.

Theoretically.

Maybe.

"How's the icing looking?" Ryou asked.

Glancing over, Lance held up a spoon.  The icing came off of it in a slow drip like honey.  "A little more milk, maybe?"  He tasted it, lips curling up.  "Tastes good, though.  Nice and sweet.  If the cake is weird, maybe he still won't taste it?"

"Hunk's got a chef's sense of taste, he'll probably like weird," Ryou offered.  "Like on TV where they make dishes with really weird ingredients for judges."

Lance's brows rose.  "You watch- Shiro watched cooking competition shows?"  When Ryou nodded, he let out a frustrated little noise.  "Then why are you both so hopeless?"

"Lack of interest, mostly."

Sighing, Lance scrubbed over his face and added another splash of milk.  "Fine.  Well, now you'll at least have-"  He froze as the door chirped, the sign that someone had put their palm to the scanner outside.

Uh oh.

In a flash, Ryou rushed across the room, planting himself right in front of the door.  It opened to show Hunk, who visibly started at suddenly having someone in his face.  "Woah!  Ryou!  Sorry, were you coming out?"  Then he paused, frowning.  "What are you doing in the kitchen?"

Ryou resisted the powerful desire to glance back at Lance.  It would only draw attention to him, and what a mess they'd made of the kitchen.  Instead, he rested one arm casually on the door frame, blocking Hunk's view inside.  "Looking for you," he replied, evenly as he could.

Blinking rapidly, Hunk gave a short nod.  "Oh.  Sure.  What did you need?"

Uh.

Couldn't be the arm, because Shiro had just used that excuse, and couldn't be food, because he'd want to go back.  Which left...

...Yellow.

"You had the yellow bayard last, right?"

Hunk slowly shook his head.  "No, I was working with the Olkarion during that last distress call.  You had it then."  His eyes narrowed and his lips pressed thin.  "Did you lose my bayard?"

Oh, Lance so owed him for this one.

Ryou gave a sheepish smile and shrugged one shoulder.  "It's never something I've had to keep up with!  I'm used to weapons you can't exactly misplace."  He waggled the fingers of the prosthetic, glowing a cheery Altean blue.  "I might have left it in the Yellow Lion, then."

Expression still darkly clouded, Hunk set his jaw.  "It better be.  Seriously, Ryou, you know how important it is.  You can't just leave it laying around!"

"I know!  I don't usually lose things, it's odd."  He shuffled in place.  "Would you mind checking your room just in case?  So we're absolutely sure it's not there."

Hunk's jaw set. "I know I didn't lose it.  I've never misplaced the bayard and I didn't have it last.  Why would it be in my room?"

"Just to eliminate it!  So I don't wonder and I can keep looking."

Suddenly, Hunk's eyes narrowed.  He tilted his head and looked Ryou up and down.  "Losing something really isn't like you."

Ryou swallowed hard, not sure what the sudden change of attitude was about.  "No, it's really not.  I put everything where it belongs.  I mean, I'm not as serious about it as Shiro is, but call it the family resemblance."

"Are you sure you lost it?" Hunk asked, dawning horror in his voice.  "Or was it stolen?"

Oh, boy.  Ryou racked his brain for a response to that.  "I don't think so?  I don't know when it would have happened.  I had it in the lion and then I don't remember where I put it after, and it's not in my armor."

"We should ask the others if they saw anything strange."  Hunk drew himself up, the gears behind his eyes working at full speed.  "Here, let me use the console to-"

"No!"

Hunk paused and slowly looked up at Ryou's face.  Ryou stared back, eyes wide and his arms braced against the door frame to keep Hunk out.

There was a long, painful silence.

"You didn't lose the bayard, did you?"

Utterly caught, Ryou shook his head.

Hunk nodded, then crossed his arms.  "Why can't I go into the kitchen?"

"Uh, because-"  Ryou scrambled for a decent explanation, but it all dried up in the face of Hunk's painfully direct glance.  He was a good liar, but damn, Hunk could actually be intimidating when he wanted to be.

There was a snicker from behind.  "Actually, he can come in now.  Don't kill us for the mess, it's with good intentions."

Ryou stepped back and turned, so he could see Lance leaning against the counter, the nicely frosted cake on a plate in his hands.  He gave a jaunty wave of greeting.

"How long were you done with that?" Ryou asked flatly.

Lance only grinned back.  "You were doing such a good job, I didn't want to interrupt."

Stepping inside, Hunk looked around, taking in the huge mess,  But then his eyes fell on the plate in Lance's hand.  "You two are cleaning whatever this is up, right?"

Saluting him, Lance nodded.  "Of course.  Just as soon as we're done."  With that, he held out the plate to Hunk.  "We figured you deserved somebody cooking for you for once.  Just for you.  We weren't really sure what we were doing, but... well, call it early Christmas cheer, alright?"

Hunk reached out and gently took the plate, as if it would shatter from the touch.  He looked down at the personal cake, up to Lance, then back to Ryou.   His lower lip wobbled, just a touch.  "You made this for me?"

If Ryou had known cooking for Hunk would get that kind of response, he would have... well, he would have talked to someone else about making something.  Somehow, he doubted it'd be quite as sweet to hand Hunk a plate full of some charred mass.  Or, worse, the goop that had made Lance's stomach rebel.  Not being able to taste had really not helped the lack of cooking skills.

"Thank you," Hunk finally murmured.  He swallowed hard, then smiled softly. "You got Pidge and Shiro in on it, huh?"

Shrugging one shoulder, Lance nodded.  "Wasn't hard.  They wanted to help surprise you.  It's a lot of work, for you to put in the effort to cook for us on top of everything else.  I know just being a paladin knocks me off my feet most days.  So this is a thank you."

Hunk surged forward, plate held carefully to the side, and he pulled Lance into a hug.  "Thank you."  Then he looked over at Ryou and offered him a smile.  "You getting in on this?"

Stepping forward, Ryou wrapped them both in a hug as best he could, carefully to keep away from the cake.  "Don't thank us too much yet.  You have to eat it first."

"I'm sure it's great," Hunk replied.  Then he glanced around the mess again.  "And if not, I appreciate the thought.  Tasting good is..."  He paused, lips slowly curling up.  "It's the icing on the cake."

Lance groaned and slumped dramatically against the counter.  "I was so nice to you!  And this is how you repay us!  Hunk, how could you betray me like this?"

Laughing, Hunk reached around him to retrieve a fork.  "I'm being spoiled, I'm allowed to make puns."  His eyebrows waggled.  "I thought it was a sweet thing to do."

This time, Ryou snickered, mostly at the way Lance flinched like he'd been physically wounded.  "Don't worry about it.  It was a piece of cake."

"I hate you both!"

***

The cake was later declared to be at least tasty enough that Hunk asked for their recipe.  Then he showed them the cookbook he had with ingredient translations that would have told them how to make a cake in under an hour.

It wouldn't have been as interesting, though.

[bamby0304]

Season’s Special: Chapter 1

Spring: March

Summary: Life was simple. You worked at the local cafe, starting your days baking some pies before setting off to serve customers. Everything was routine, all year round. Nothing changed. As a creature of habit you were quite content living your life the way it was. But when a flannel wearing flirt walks into the cafe one morning you begin to wonder if maybe you’re missing something...

Over the next twelve months things start to change. Over four seasons your world is turned upside down... only question is, is it for better or for worse?

Masterlist

Warnings: None so far :):)

Bamby

Riding along the edge of the road on your bike, a basket full of bright and beautiful flowers you’d just bought from the florist, you smiled to yourself. Spring was upon your sweet Kansas town. Flowers blossomed, birds chirped, the skies were blue with cute, fluffy, white clouds floating around like large pillows of cotton candy. You waved to all the locals, receiving friendly ‘hellos’ and ‘mornings’ in return.

Today was going to be a great day. You could feel it.

Turning to the path on your left, you slowed down and came to a stop outside the cute and quaint corner cafe. Sitting outside, tied to a nearby pole, was a beautiful Staffordshire Bull Terrier, his mouth stretched into a smile of his own.

“Hey, buddy.” You leaned down to scratch the dog behind his ears.

His tail wagged in response. His head turning to lick your hand.

Laughing, you pulled back to stand straight again, your eyes looking through the window of the corner shop. Your shop.

Sugar and Spice was your pride and joy. Your very own café in the town you had come to love and call home. It was everything you had ever dreamed.

Recycled wood was used to make each piece of furniture, which had been hand crafted by a local carpenter- the piece that hadn’t been made were all from the local vintage and second-hand store. White paint covered the previously exposed brick walls which were part of the nearly century old building. Beautiful green vines and climbers hung around in pots along shelves, with some flowers mixed in to add colour. Large windows looked out onto the busy street and park across the road, letting light pour in at all hours of the day.

Above the store was your very own apartment. People had thought it was odd you’d decided to buy the whole building and not lease the apartment out, but you had wanted to be as close to the store as possible so you could work to your hearts content.

Every day you came down to the shop, early in the morning, before the birds had even woken, and spent hours baking in the kitchen, working away, doing what you loved most. Then you would leave the shop in good hands… Tom and Susie’s hands.

Tom was efficient and hard working. If you told him to spend the day cleaning the shop you knew you’d come back to shining glass and polished cutlery. He never left a job half done. But you’d never expect that just by looking at him. Not with his disheveled and straw-like sandy blonde hair- which you’d never seen brushed. Not when his whole wardrobe seemed to consist of un-ironed and faded t-shirts, wrinkled jeans, and an assortment of hoodies.

His social skills were just as unkempt as his appearance. Sure, he had manners and could manage pleasantries when on the front counter, but there were times he didn’t know when to reign in his blatantly honest opinions and comments.

You didn’t mind though.

When he’d walked into the shop and ordered a coffee one busy morning you couldn’t help but be impressed when he chose to clear all the vacant tables of any plates and mugs while he was waiting for his drink. In the two and a half years he’d worked for you, you’d learnt to love him and all his quirks.

Susie was what you’d expect… all bubbly giggles and bright blue-eyed smiles. Every day was the best day for her. She never saw the bad in any situation or person, and always found the time to make the customers smile. This sometimes meant she was a little too distracted to work, but people loved her bubbliness, and you couldn’t help but love it too.

It had been a quiet afternoon just over a year ago when she’d walked in, dressed in a rainbow dress and heels that added to her already towering height, with her red ringlets cut into a bob and pulled out of her face with a white cat ear headband. You didn’t see any reason why you shouldn’t hire her, and were thankful for that decision ever since.

Both Susie and Tom had been outsiders in the community. Most people had found Susie intimidating with how loud and cheerful she always was, while Tom had been avoided for his frankness. But now they were both loved and respected members of the community, and part of the small family you’d made in a town where you’d once been a stranger.

Smile still on your face, you left the dog and headed inside, carrying the bouquet of flowers you’d brought with you.

“Hey, boss!” Susie beamed, her eyes shining happily as they landed on the flowers. “Oh, wow! They’re gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at the bright outfit she’d chosen today. With a pair of white lace flats, a yellow dress, a floral apron that seemed to have all the colours of the rainbow on it and a daisy headband, her outfit conveyed her personality perfectly.

“Thanks, Sues.”

You walked around the tables and around the counter, coming to stand beside her as she waited by the glass display of cakes, cookies, pastries and pies. Placing the flowers on the bench you reached under the counter to grab the crystal vase that sat next to the extra business cards you kept there.

“Oh, I’ll go fill that with some water.” Susie offered, taking the vase before you could say a word. She dashed around the corner and into the kitchen with a skip in her step as she hummed a light tune.

“So, how’s everything been going this morning? Everything good?” You asked, reaching into the display to straighten a tray that was out of place.

Coming back to the front room, with water now in the vase, Susie hummed a simple yes. “No problems here. Unless you count Mr Jeffers and Tom arguing about global warming again.” She giggled lightly.

As if waiting for his name to be mentioned, Tom’s head poked through the open window that looked into the kitchen behind you. “It’s not my fault the old fart comes in every damn morning when he knows I’ll be on till duty. And it’s certainly not my fault he can’t keep his nonsense opinions to himself.”

Sighing, a small smile tugging on your lips, you turned to give him a pointed look. “What have I told you, Tom?”

“Smile, nod, and keep my mouth shut. I know.” He rolled his eyes. “But how can I when I have to deal with idiots like him day in and day out?”

“I have to deal with you.” You grinned cheekily.

Susie giggled, placing the vase on the counter. “The boss is right, T. You’re a lot of hard work, but we manage.”

“You manage because I’m capable of having an intellectual conversation… and both of you hate washing the dishes.” He countered. “Besides, I’m hardly the worst out of the three of us. Sues, you’re practically a constantly talking, grinning rainbow on legs.” He looked to you then. “While you’re a workaholic who refuses to have a life outside of this store. I mean… when’s the last time you had a day off?”

“It’s true.” Susie agreed with him.

“First of all, I am not a workaholic. Secondly, you both made me have 3 days off for my birthday. And lastly, I’m the boss. Don’t question me.” You told them, trying not to sound offended.

They were right though. Your life outside the café was pretty much non-existent. But the place required a lot of attention, and you didn’t feel like there was anything else that deserved your focus. This was your love and life.

“We’re just saying, maybe you should get out there and… I don’t know… date?” Susie shrugged, her hip leaning on the counter.

Walking away from the window, Tom headed over to the doorway between the backroom and kitchen before nodding his head at you. “How long’s it been since you’ve gotten any, anyway?”

“Oh, my God. You two are absurd and insane. My sex life has got nothing to do with either of you. And I would prefer it if we didn’t discuss it in the middle of the store.” You snapped in a harsh whisper.

“I don’t know… it seems like a perfectly fine conversation to have. I’m kind of curious myself now.” A new voice spoke up.

Cheeks red with embarrassment, you turned to see a customer standing by the till, waiting to be served. But what made it ever worse was the fact he had to be one of the best-looking people you had ever laid eyes on.

He was taller. Taller than Susie, which was something you didn’t see often. He had short light brown hair, that would probably look almost blonde in certain lights. The faintest hint of stubble lined his jaw line, which was the most defined jawline you had ever seen. His lips were curved into a charming and cheeky grin, a shade of pink that looked good enough to bite. His eyes though? That’s what made your heart skip a beat.

Green. They were a beautiful green. The kind of colour that’s only ever describe in stories, the kind you never thought actually existed. And they were breathtakingly gorgeous. You would bet a million dollars that if someone had those eyes hundreds of years ago they would have been worshiped like a God.

“Hi!” Susie was beaming in an instant, the conversation dropped as if it had never occurred. All she cared about at that moment was perfect customer service, like always. “How can I help you?”

“Two coffees, please. Black.” The man responded.

You’d just been about to turn to get the coffees yourself, but Susie was already gone. Then the phone in the kitchen began to ring, giving you a second chance to leave. But, of course, Tom called out that he had it, leaving you standing there stewing in your embarrassment.

The guy seemed to notice you discomfort and opted to change the subject. “Pie!” He beamed, looking to the display.

Silently thankful for the reprieve, you nodded and gestured to the assortment of pies on display. “Yeah. Today we have banana cream, raspberry pie, lemon meringue, and our season’s special,” you pointed to the pies that sat on the top shelf, “peach and blueberry.”

“Season special?” He hummed interest. “Are pies your speciality or something?”

“They’re the best in town!” A customer seated in the corner cheered.

You blushed lightly, shrugging modestly. “People seem to love them.”

“So, what’s so special about blueberries and peaches?”

“Well… there’s a secret ingredient in each season’s special… which I obviously can’t reveal, but it does make this pie different from any of the peach and blueberry pies we make any other time of the year.” You grinned lightly.

His interest seemed to increase at the mystery of the dessert. “I’ll take one.”

“Slice?”

“No. The whole thing.” He grinned back, being completely serious.

A little surprised- it was rare to sell a whole pie to a new customer- you grabbed a box for the pie just as Susie came out with the two coffees. She ran the order through the till, the customer handed over the money- which included a small and probably unnecessary tip- before he grabbed the box and drinks from the counter, flashing a smile in your direction again.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“It is a small town.” You commented. Later you would mentally kick yourself for how stupid you’d sounded.

Chuckling lightly, he reached over and took a business card from the counter before turning and walking out the door. You stood there and watched, catching him looking back at you with that grin still plastered on his face.

You didn’t realise it then… but your life was never going to be the same after that day.

Bamby

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[ellanainthetardis]

prompt : effie and haymitch at home and effie hurts herself and starts crying and doesnt stop crying and haymitch tries to do something to make her stop crying because he cant take it when she cries

Here you are! [x]

A Crisis & Redecoration Plans

Haymitch lazily scratched his stubble coveredcheek and stared at the coffeemaker brewing his daily dose of caffeine as if itheld all the answers to the universe.

He often did that in the morning: watch the oldrusty machine work and wonder how his life had taken such a drastic turn thathe was now full time responsible for two kids and a woman, all that littleworld not quite sane. The kids he mostly knew how to deal with. Effie… It wasanother story.

He was trying, learning, but ever since she had showed up on his doorstep with herproverbial tail between her legs… It had been… difficult.

Effie wasn’t dealing and he was surprised shehad lasted so long on her own in the city to begin with. He wasn’t sure how tohelp and he wasn’t even sure she wantedhelp. She had been forced to come to him because she had nowhere else to stayand because she was so much in debts she needed money – and admitting thathadn’t exactly been smooth sailing on her part. He didn’t care about the money.That had been the easy problems tosolve.

She had triggers as long as the arm and everytime he opened his mouth he was afraid he would put his foot in it.

She never left the house. Some days, she neverleft the guestroom. Every time the kids were around she was all smiles and pretences,a quick reassurance here and an obvious lie there – because if she was still inpajamas at four in the afternoon it wasn’t because she hadn’t found the will toget dressed but because Haymitch had fucked up the laundry, of course. She had panic attacks. Shesuffered from flashbacks. She was full of contradictions he wasn’t sure how tonavigate – and he didn’t think she knew how to navigate them either – like thefact that she wanted the front and back doors locked but hated feelingconfined…

He didn’t have the best sleeping schedule. Heusually spent half the night up and only went to bed when the sun was about torise only to get up at noon. Effie’s sleeping schedule was erratic. On the daysshe actually managed to get out of bed, she stuck to a strict routine that wasbordering of obsessive and that involved a lot of cleaning. Seriously. His house had never been that clean, not even when Hazelle hadstill worked for him. They could have eaten on the floor. She went to bed ateleven on the dot every night and slept with the lights on. She had nightmares.Very bad ones. Sometimes she let him comfort her, hold her until she fell backasleep… Other times she couldn’t bear to be touched and instead she grabbedwhatever cleaning product was the closest.

He had gotten used to her cleaning at night andhe had kissed his own habits goodbye. He was too scared of leaving her byherself, he was too scared of what she would do although he had never reallyvoiced that worry out loud. He had snooped through her things to make sure shedidn’t have sleeping pills and he had made sure there was nothing stronger thanaspirin in the house. The liquor… He kept his stock in the shed for now. Hesimply didn’t like the self-destructive spark in her eyes.

So he forced himself to go to bed around thesame time she did. If his own nightmares didn’t wake him up, hers did. Or herroaming the house.

Nevertheless that was how he had gotten in thehabit of getting up at ungodly hours – early enough to see Katniss sneak out ofher house and to the woods – staring at his coffeemaker and hoping it wouldsomehow magically give him the answers to his very complicated life.

It would be much easier if she actually talked to him. She had come to Twelve,to him, and he wanted to believe it meant something.However he was also acutely aware that he had been her last resort and that sheresented her hand being forced. They hadn’t parted on the best terms. There hadbeen a lot of things unsaid and unacknowledged about his role in her captureand imprisonment. Things she had thought and hadn’t voiced. Things he shouldhave clarified but had been too scared to face. It wasn’t all forgiven yet. Shestill blamed him to some extent. They would get through it in time. Probably. Maybe. They had always hurt each otherand they had always moved on. Granted, being captured and tortured by theCapitol took the cake but… Effie alwaysforgave.

He should apologize, he thought and thecoffeemaker made that clicking noise that Katniss insisted meant it wouldexplode soon.

“Does that mean yeah or no?” he muttered butthe machine, traitor that it was, suddenly fell silent. He sighed and pouredhimself a mug, filling it to the brim. He was about to add a dash of moonshinewhen the crash echoed throughout the house.

He was out of the kitchen and in theliving-room before he even knew he had moved, worried that Effie had had aflashback or something.

She had been asleep on the couch when he hadwalked downstairs, having probably sunk there after one of her nightly cleaningsprees.

Now she was crouching in front of the smalltable next to the couch, fumbling with the broken pieces of the lamp that hadbeen in the house as long as he could remember. The good one, too. The one thathe used to read late into the night because it was the brightest.

She looked up at him, a mix of dismay and… fear on her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sosorry. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to… I thought it might look better overthere and… I shouldn’t have touched it. I’m sorry, Haymitch. I…”

“Breathe.” he ordered, warily crouching infront of her. He didn’t dare touch her. Her pupils were blown, her moves werejerky and her breathing was loud. It wouldn’t take much to send her over theedge and into a full panic attack.

“I’m sorry.” she repeated. “I’m so…”

“It’s okay.” he cut her off again. “It’s just afucking lamp, sweetheart.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to move it.” She shookher head, still picking up pieces as if she could fix it by simply holdingthem, as if it would somehow glue them back together. “I… This isn’t my house.I shouldn’t move things and…”

“You’re welcomed to move things.” he shrugged.“It’s your house too now, okay? You can move stuff. Hell, you’re welcome tochange the curtains even.”

The brown drapes on the living-room windowswere eaten by moths and every year they looked worse and worse. He wouldn’thave minded taking them down.

And, to be honest, the fact that she wanted tomake it a little more to her tastes made him feel relieved. That was more likethe Effie Trinket he knew.

“Really?” she asked uncertainly, almost shy.

It might have ended right there, he might havemanaged to coax her into the kitchen to eat some breakfast, if she hadn’t cutherself on a broken piece of faience.

“Shit.”he spat immediately, cradling her injured hand between his own, forgetting allabout not trying to touch her so he wouldn’t spook her. It was a deep gash buthopefully not deep enough that it would need stitches. He could already guesshow it would go if he tried to drag her to the hospital anyway so he decidedthey would wait and see. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Come upstairs with me,yeah? I’ve got a first aid kit in my room.”

And he kept it stocked in case Peetaaccidentally hurt one of them or himself during an episode.

Effie didn’t give any hint that she intended tostand up though. She was staring at her palm and at the blood pooling there,her face blank…

Trigger, he deduced, not quite surprised.

“Effie.” he called gently. “Tell me where youare.”

She was silent for almost a whole minute.“Twelve. With you. Safe.”

“Good.” he praised. “Let’s get this cleaned upand bandaged, yeah? Out of sight, out of mind.” She looked up at him and he wasstartled to see her eyes full to the brim with tears. He could only watch, struck,as they rolled down her cheek. “What’s wrong?” he worried, dropping from hiscrouching position to his knees so he could get closer to her. “Does it hurtthat bad?”

She shook her head and started sobbing.

Full earnest sobs that sounded painful.

If there was one thing he truly hated, it was seeing her cry. He had always hated it. Even inthe beginning, when he had still hated her… A crying Effie was a rare thing andall the better for him. It made him mad with helplessness.

“What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong… I’ll fixit. I promise, I’ll fix it.” he pleaded, feeling powerless and hating thefeeling. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t failed her… If he had…

“I’m so sorry I broke your lamp…” she gaspedbetween two sobs.  

He blinked at that. Of all the things…

“I don’t care about the fucking lamp.” he grumbled, annoyed that she wasn’t getting it.“It’s just a thing. This house’s full of things I don’t care about.” She criedharder at that and he realized how it sounded so he placed his hand on hershoulder and, when she didn’t protest, let it travel to her nape… He squeezedgently like he used to do, like she used to like. Affection, comfort,possessiveness… That small gesture had conveyed so much over the years… “You’rethe only thing in here I fucking careabout. I promise you. I’ll prove it. Look.”

He stood up and grabbed the closest thing thatfell under his hand. It turned out to be the ugly miniature of a cat –something that had come with the house too and that he had never bothered tossingaway. He felt a sense of satisfaction when it shattered on the floor. He shouldhave done that years earlier. A lot of things had fallen prey to his drunkenrage since he had won his Games but there were still so much shit that the Capitol had consideredtasteful decoration back in the day…

She gasped when the miniature exploded, herlips pursing into a sad pout. “I liked it.”

He rolled his eyes. Of course she did.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” he declared,carefully helping her to her feet. She held her hand up but blood trickled tothe floor and she blanched. She was still crying but less. “I’ll buy you a newlamp too. You can pick, even.”

“Can I pick new curtains too?” she sniffed, herinterest clearly piqued.

“Sure.” he caved, steering her upstairs.“Curtains, lamps, furniture… Whatever. Nothing pink and we’re good.”

She considered that when he prompted her to saton his unmade bed and ran to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. She hadlost interest by the time he was wrapping the bandage around her hand. Shedropped her head against his shoulder when he was done and he remained still,not wanting to spoil the moment. She sought him for comfort sometimes but itwas rare. She was too confused, he thought, she didn’t know how to accept orrequest his help.

“I’m too tired now but maybe later.” sheoffered.

“Sure.” he repeated, tentatively brushing astrand of hair behind her ear. “I mean it though. It’s your house too now.”

A small fragile thing of a smile floated on herlips.

It wasn’t much but it was enough to make hisday brighter.