#the little duck to the side to avoid sneezing on you and the string of apologies afterwards

[sapphicsnzs]

kissing someone and your noses brush against each other and it’s just enough to make them sneeze…fuck

[bowieandqueen11]

Good Luck Charm / Jareth Headcanons

Request: Hiya lovely! I was wondering if you’d be able to write a few headcanons about Jareth being given a ‘good luck charm’ by the reader and his reaction to it being accidentally broken somehow? No pressure or rush! <3

I’m sorry this took so long my dear friend @squibzib!! <3

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Okay, so, this whole ordeal started on what appeared to be just a normal July day to outside goblins. It was a warm, rushed morning, with goblins running screaming around with piles of clothes and suitcases, as Jareth had just confessed to you that he had been called away on urgent business for the week in the human world.

Although, naturally, you were upset that your husband had to leave from your home again, he was more upset than you were. Usually, for at least a month after he comes back, he’s more than usually clingy. He keeps lying over your lap like a lounge cat while you’re trying to get things done, or playing with your fingers while he’s in the throne room, or dragging you out with both arms wrapped around your waist to go for afternoon strolls by the Bog with him. 

Although he’s too stubborn to fully admit it, you can always tell by the way his eyes look grief-stricken and lonely in their gaze, despite the fond smile he tries to give to you. 

He just missed the love of his life an awful lot whenever the stars dared to drag the two of you apart for even the most miniscule shred of a second. This time, you wouldn’t let him go without a piece of you to take away too. 

If it couldn’t be your heart, then it could be your luck.

So, the evening before his morn trip you kick all the poor goblins out of the throne room and sit on your husband’s lap. He sighs in content, nuzzling the dip of your neck as you trap his legs underneath your thighs. 

He gently rests one larger hand upon one of your legs, thumb stroking over your skin before he he hums in amusement at the way your fumble with his fingers and quickly shove something over his knuckles.

It’s a little good luck charm wounded beautifully around some black twine - a quaint glass heart with an wooden carving of an owl in it.

‘Hmm, what are you doing my star shine?’

‘Giving you all the luck and love I have to give before you go.’

He nuzzles his nose against your own, crinkling the edges of his eyelids as he laughs. He’s so close, you nearly sneeze at the amount of white eye powder that falls from his eyelashes onto your cheeks.

‘You already give me far more than I deserve’, he whispers against your lips, his hand sliding up to grip you tighter on your hip. ‘I’m the luckiest man in the world.’

Despite his words, he pretends to be very cool and collected when he gently presses his lips against yours in thanks, but inside he’s really s c r e a m i n g!!!

You catch him gently caressing it and looking all almost embarrassingly lovey-dovey at it all day - you catch him stroking his fingertip over the edge of the heart, stopped on the middle of the staircase. You spot him playing, fiddling, fidgeting with it during a really boring midnight meeting with the goblins. You also catch him tugging at the string and already fraying the edges when he takes off his makeup before bed.

In the end, as he jumps on the bed and prowls up the red silk sheet that’s covering your legs, the two of you end up giggling as he pounces on you and starts pressing loads of kisses along your face.

So, the next morning, when he manages to slam into a tree during his journey to avoid a flock of pigeons (lmao) and the glass smashes, he becomes so worried that he spends the whole rest of the day freaking! out!

First, he has to collect every single piece. Every single shard, and scrap that he digs out from the dirt with his gloves, which takes him a while. And then he has to try and use his magic - and although he becomes a blustering, tired mess, it still doesn’t work. Plus, as he thumped down cross legged onto the ground with a huff, it wouldn’t be the same because every time he looked at it, he would know it wasn’t the real one. It hadn’t come from his heart. From his soul. From the love of his life.

He mopes about when he comes home, because he’s too afraid and too upset to just come out and tell you. So he tries to avoid you a bit, which absolutely breaks your heart - he ducks round the other side of the stairs when he spots you during the early morning heading down to the kitchen chambers for breakfast, or locks himself away in his dungeons because he thinks he deserves to be alone.

Finally, you manage to corner him in the kitchen - you back him up until his upper thighs hit the edge of the colossal, flour stained oak table in the middle of the cobblestoned walls. But you don’t stop there! Grabbing the rolling pin off a goblin trying to bake a tart for lunch, he runs, terrified, out as you point it at Jareth’s face.

He bumps the table with his bottom, an eyebrow raised as you start telling him how upset he’s made you - not realising you’ve backed him up so fully that he’s jumped up onto the table and now you’re standing with your legs flash against the tights on his hip, his riding boots straddling your legs and trapping you against his chest.

He finally caves in, and to your shock, starts crying, although he tries to summon a cloud of glitter to hide the few tears he tries to rub away behind his fake laughter.

Plus, his mascara is slightly streaked when he finally looks into your eyes, which is a total giveaway. 

‘I'm so sorry sweetheart. I broke the only thing I own that I care about.’

You shush him, pulling him into a hug and telling him not to be silly, and that you’ll make him an even better one.

He just sniffles into your neck, trying to make you laugh by pretending to blow his nose on the ruffles of his dress shirt - although you can feel his fingers twitch as he pulls you just that bit tighter against him.

‘Can you make a matching pair this time?’

[sicprowl]

Gleann na Dùin

Fairy AU - Dimileth

Co-written with @hiddenfangirling

Part 2

Now on AO3

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, King of Faerghus, and his ever loyal vassal, Dedue, rested a moment on their path. They had been on a tour of the border for some weeks, something he personally did every year. As they sat atop their horses to drink from canteens, the forest to one side caught Dimitri’s eye.

Gleann na Duin was known to be the home of fairies, the Sidhe, and so was usually avoided.

Dimitri, despite the respect he had for Fae lore, couldn’t help but think this forest would be a fine place to hunt.

He climbed off his horse, the beast nickering and shifting from hoof to hoof as he set an intent gaze just inside the tree border.

"Give me a moment, Dedue. I would like to go check something."

“As you wish, your Highness. “ Dedue gave a small bow from atop his own horse, and began to rummage in a saddlebag for fruit and cheese for when his master returned.

Dimitri stepped through the thicket of trees with little trouble, pretty pebbles and stones skittering about his steel boots while his hands worked to push aside branches.  He almost had to fight a twig to release strands of blond hair, gauntlet swatting impatiently at the offending appendage before he was free.

He released a short exhale.

Then immediately felt how different the atmosphere was.

Hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.  His skin shuddered in soft prickles and the king had a strange urge to sneeze.  But none of it compared to how fast his heart began to thumpthumpthump in his chest.

Dimitri swallowed, recalling stories of men who experienced the same sensations - to fall for the allure of the bizarre and unique, only to disappear without a trace.  Never to be seen from again.

Yet there was a game trail ahead.  Something that was more nature-made, more familiar, then a string of stories that were told to him as a child.  And so he curiously followed it, wondering what kind of animal had made it.

A breeze wafted past his ear, carrying the sound of lilting flutes.  He focused, eyes closed and hand gripping his lance as his ears strained for the pleasing melody.

Soft high notes...long, gentle, wistful.

Dimitri turned to what he thought was the east and notes that it’s the same direction as the game trail.  How convenient.

The warrior King crouched and studied the soil, observing a mixture of game; rabbits, maybe a boar, even deer.  He blinked and stood up, curious at what other varying creatures reside here and how many could fill the tables and stomachs of the people in his home.

He ventured further in, careful to stay on the trail while straining his ears for the soothing melody.

As he ducked under a fallen tree, the King spotted claw marks on another nearby, possibly a bear. He must definitely make plans with the others for a grand hunt here. Dimitri smiled at the thought of his friend Felix, excited for a hunt but pretending not to be.

A moment more and he stopped in his tracks. The forest was nearly silent, the flutes were no longer playing.  He spun back the way he came, and realized he had gone much further than intended. The tree line was no longer in view. Instead, bright blue eyes focus on the tall stones he had just passed through, and the mushrooms at his feet. He cursed, and pushed back down the path with a new sense of urgency.

Then everything grew quiet.

A kind of quiet that rang in one's ears after a powerful spell.  The kind that set your teeth on edge and made your mind ache for the simplest of sounds.

Dimitri couldn't help but feel unnerved.  The back of his neck felt like it was burning while every inch of his skin grew cold with foreboding.

He sneezed before cursing under his breath, feeling like the noise echo loud enough to fill the entire forest.

The King looked around, on edge when he saw nothing but underbrush, trees, and stillness.

"I should head back…”  He said, unsure why he was talking out loud.  “Dedue will grow worried."

But as he looked through the trees, Dimitri realized he didn't recognize the path he just walked. The colors were different, the smells too. There were plants here that he had never seen before, and he realized belatedly one had snaked around his ankle and was attempting to pull him down. He recoiled in surprise(and maybe a little in horror), tearing the vine from the ground in the process.

His eyes scrambled to find something, anything familiar. Finding nothing, the King decided to take a chance.

"Dedue! Dedue can you hear me!?”

He yelled in the direction he thought he came from. His words don't seem to travel as far as they should - simply eaten by the trees.

The silence fell thick again and Dimitri knew he had to move. He picked a direction and started to walk. More plants, this time with thorns, crossed his path and he cut them down with his lance. He thought he saw eyes staring at him from the foliage but he ignored them, trying to look intimidating (he'd been told he's very good at it).

Dimitri looked for any sort of landmark he thought he could use, wildly wishing he had not gone on this adventure in the first place.  All of the trees felt like they were blending together, branches entwining and blocking anything resembling a path.  Bushes latched onto his armor and acted more like prickling thorns than normal leaves.  He found himself tripping over rocks, plowing through deep pools of mud, even push through what looked like a wall of vines.

“Blasted-!”

He stopped, suddenly feeling a gaze on him that made his entire body feel on edge.

The grip on his lance tightened as he spun around, arm raised at the ready only to face nothing but a wall of trees and brush that looked more overgrown than when he first walked through it.  Eyes narrowing, Dimitri slowly lowered his weapon despite how tense and on guard he felt.  He took no more than a few steps before he realized he could hear it again.

The flute.

Dimitri turned left the moment he felt the tune tickle his ear, making long strides and leaps as he chased after the ever-quickening melody - fighting off creeping vines and sticky thorns.

The music rose to a pitch, digging into his mind, and ringing in his ears as he shouldered past two trees that had fallen together. In his haste, he walked into something soft as it wrapped around his face. Spider webs clouded his vision and tickled his nose. Dimitri swiped at the threads in his eyes, and when they were clear he stopped dead in his tracks.

He couldn’t see it, but he sensed something large sneaking up from behind. He gripped Areadbhar tighter and rolled onto the balls of his feet, preparing for whatever may come. It happened quickly. A large, hairy, segmented leg punctured the ground in front of him and Dimitri dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the glistening fangs of a giant spider.  Its many eyes sparkled at the sight of its prey as it lunged again.

Dimitri had dealt with much worse than this, and the spider was too slow. He strafed again, underneath the giant foreleg, spinning his lance and removing the appendage before burying the blade deep into the creature's middle. It hissed in agony, venom spraying in all directions as the beast writhed, falling to the ground with a thunderous crash and curling in on itself before becoming still.

Adrenaline coursed through his blood like a burst of magic, making his skin tingle with energy and his breathing hard with exhaustion.  His grip on Areadbhar loosened as he closed his eyes and allowed the peace to wash over him.  But no peace came; not when worrying thoughts tainted his mind and making him wonder if he’d ever get out of this place.  It didn’t help that it was so quiet too - no singing birds or rustling of brush, just an eerie feeling and a gigantic, dead spider that left him reeling.

That was when Dimitri realized the music had stopped playing.

That is probably a bad sign,  the King thought while wiping his bloody blade on the grass.

Looking around, he spotted a dim light far in the distance as it filtered through the trees.  It seemed promising (and perhaps his only option) as he walked towards it, not noticing the corpse of the spider twist and twist until it bursts into a cloud of flowers and fairy dust.

Dimitri strained to listen for the flute, but found only silence that was both eerie and comforting on his trek - his escape - from this strange place.  Leaves rustled in the wind and he glanced up, watching them bristle against the sky while the tree branches stayed strong against the agitated gust. He noted he still couldn't hear any animals, a fact that kept him on guard in case there were more of those long legged beasts around.  

Scowling, he looked around again, finding he did not like this place one bit.  

With quickened steps, the King became more determined than ever to escape this maddening forest with it's insane, terrifying creatures.  Giant spiders.  Strange pathways and plants that try to trap and bind.  This place was certainly treacherous and bizarre - a death trap for all those foolish enough to venture in.  Foolish people like him.

Dimitri pushed through the tree line with angry, clumsy swipes of his lance; not allowing the branches and leaves to block his path to freedom and sanity.  Despite wishing he could direct his anger at himself for being stupid enough to be lured in, he couldn’t help but feel relieved when he stumbled into a small clearing.  

Though the surrounding forest signaled he had yet to reach freedom, he found the little area a welcoming sight from snagging brush and creeping trees.  Just the sight of what looked like a freshwater pond made him smile, but his eyes couldn’t help but flicker at the reflection that rippled across the surface.

His breath hitched and he looked up.

Dimitri thought visions like this only happened in fairy tales.

A girl, somewhere around his own age, sat next to a small pond surrounded by flowers and reeds. A ray of light shines through the treetops, perfectly haloing a head a fluffy light green hair that wrapped around a beautiful, placid face and shining green eyes.  They widened just slightly at his appearance, her body still as she sat at the edge of the pool with fingers dipped into the water and little fish nipping at the tips.  Dimitri's attention traveled down following a curvy torso covered in a simple dress to pale legs and bare feet.

He stood stunned, unable to tear his eyes away or keep himself from stammering like he had as a schoolboy. "A-Ah. Good -"

Dimitri was so mesmerized, he didn't notice the boar charging in behind him.

The girl covered her gasp with her hand as Dimitri is plowed into the pond; the grunting, grumbling, huffing pinkish-red boar stomping in place before she waddled off.  Just as she disappeared under the brush, the blonde stranger broke the surface, his arms flailing and head spinning around as he tries to find what had hit him.

The girl relaxed back on her knees and leaned close, face plain but eyes shining with slight concern. "Are you all right?"

Dimitri spun at the sound of her voice, mouth gaping and face lit with confusion, awe, and bewilderment.

"O-Oh, uh, yes!  Yes, I'm quite fine!"  

There didn’t seem to be a bottom to this pond. Luckily he knew how to swim since Sylvain had once pushed him into a lake years ago.   He reached for the edge and began to climb up out of the bank. The girl reached out and took his arm to help, and Dimitri thought he might fall back in from the shock he felt at her touch.

He clambered out, neck red with embarrassment as he tried to stand and look like the King he was, despite being a sopping wet mess. "Er...I'm sorry for..." His hand waved vaguely at the pond, and the forest beyond. "...this. F-for disturbing you." Her hand still hadn't left his arm and he imagined he can feel its heat through his gauntlet. "Ah. I think I am lost...I don't suppose...?" His eyes never left her face

The girl tilted her head at him curiously,  "You've must've walked a long way to end up here."

Dimitri couldn't help but rock on his feet at the sound of her voice, finding that it somehow made his heart tickle, but in a good way.

"Y-Yes, I must have."  He swallowed, mouth dry.  "You see, I was with my friend, Dedue.  We were out on patrol when I seem to have wandered off.  There was a trail and some music..."

Now he was just babbling like a fool while this pretty girl beautiful woman looked up at him with apt interest.

"-And then I found this clearing and you and...uh, well, you know the rest of course.".

Her eyes crinkled up at the side, and the corners of her mouth turn up just slightly. A tiny breath huffed out of her nose as she remembered the last few minutes. Such a small change and yet it was like the sun shining through the clouds.

"Ah. I- My name is Dimitri." He gave a small bow, tendrils of his damp hair sliding in front of his eyes. He was shocked when a small hand pushed them out of the way and the woman's face appeared in front of his own, much closer than before.

"Dimitri." He swore hers is the voice of an angel's. "My name is Byleth."

The King straightened up quickly, wondering if he would ever have a chance to get his feet back under him. "Byleth. I-It's nice to meet you. Do you...do you know the way out of this forest?”

Byleth frowned and placed her hand on her face in thought, "Not particularly."

Dimitri found he could not understand what she meant by that.  Did she live here?  If so, she should surely know the way out - or at the very least - around the area.

"I'm sorry, I don’t understand..."

But Byleth was looking away from him now, hand back on his arm, making him freeze as he zeroed in on it.  He couldn’t help but marvel at how small and fragile it looked against his rough, black armor.

He suddenly wondered how it compared to his actual arm and wanted to see.

"It's growing late," Byleth said softly.  "It would be unwise for you to wander around alone in the dark."

He looked up, trying to see through the tree tops. It had gotten darker and he hadn't noticed. But Dimitri knew he needed to get out sooner, rather than later, even if he could feel the temptation to stay tugging at him. He chuckled darkly.

"Despite the last few minutes, I can take care of myself. If you'll only point the way, I think I could be out before full dark."

He felt her hand twitch. Byleth shook her head slowly. "I don't think you will. My father's house is near. Come, get dry. You can try to leave in the morning."

Dimitri wanted to argue, but the truth was he was getting cold, and he had already had enough of this forest for one day. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted more time with this girl he had just met, as well. He nodded reluctantly, and let her start to drag him away.

"The morning, then."

[honeybee-babe]

Sharing is Caring (Except When You’re Sick) Chapter 11

aaaaaaaaaaaaand that’s a wrap! Final chapter of my collab fic ith @hargreevesstyles featuring Sick!Klaus and Sick!Luther, can also be read on her blog!

They drove into town chatting idly. Klaus wanted to play the radio but Vanya hated it, so their accompaniment for the ride was the sound of Klaus blowing his nose and sneezing occasionally in the backseat. He twiddled his thumbs anxiously as they went to the dry cleaner’s, the hardware store, and the post office before they finally made it to the stop Klaus had been waiting for: Target.

He left Diego with his inhaler at the CVS Pharmacy counter (thank god there was a line), and immediately dragged Vanya over to the women’s loungewear section.

Vanya giggled as she waited for Klaus outside the gender-neutral dressing room. “So this is why you wouldn’t go to the other CVS. Diego’s gonna be pissed.”

“Shh, don’t tell him!” Klaus flung the dressing room door open and stepped out dramatically. He stepped out in a pair of light grey joggers and a salmon-colored sweatshirt, strutting down the waiting area.

“So cute!” Vanya cheered. “So much better than the stupid sweats you’ve been wearing these past few days.”

“So much more meeeeee!” The outfit was roomy and comfortable, yet still cute and fashionable. Klaus twirled around, only stopping when he was hit by a wave of dizziness. He grabbed onto the door to his fitting room. “Whoa.”

Vanya reached out her arm to steady him. “Hey, be careful. Don’t want you passing out again.”

Klaus shook his head. “Wasn’t… hih! planning on it.” without thinking, he buried his nose into his elbow. “Hh’nxgtsh! h’nxgtshehhh! h’tDISHieww!” He looked down at the shirt, which was now connected to his nose by a string of snot, and grinned. “Guess I have to buy it now. Can I snag a tissue?”

Vanya handed him one. She always kept a travel pack handy. “Who’s gonna pay for it?”

Klaus blew his nose and shot her the most convincing green puppy eyes. Vanya rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair.

“Okay, but only cause you’re sick.”

Klaus attacked her in a hug, making sure to avoid her face in case of contagion. “Thanks, Van! Love youuuu.”

“Hey, where were you guys? I’ve been looking all over for you!” They both turned their heads to see Diego standing there, prescription bag in hand. “They said your inhaler didn’t need to be refilled for a month.”

Klaus shrugged. “You said it yourself, better to be safe than sorry.”

Diego tossed the bag to him. Klaus caught it; his reflexes were starting to come back to him. “Nice clothes. Is that why you dragged me here?”

Klaus smiled sheepishly and got up to spin around again.  “Bingo!”

Diego was so happy to see Klaus’ normal energy coming back, that he just rolled his eyes and smiled. “You’re ridiculous. Come on, go get changed and we’ll check out.”

Klaus did as he was told, stripping off the new clothes and pulling Diego’s old sweats back on. His mood shifted dramatically when he was back in Diego’s clothes. It was as if the exhaustion hit him all at once, coupled with the uncomfortable feeling of wearing someone else’s clothing.

He listened to Vanya and Diego speaking in hushed voices outside the changing room as he tried to fold the three new outfits he had picked out. They both wanted to pay for his clothes. Klaus smirked to himself as he gave up on the clothes and threw them unfolded into his basket. A part of him appreciated having them care so much about him, but another part of him reveled in having both wrapped around his little finger.

He got his penance for his mischievous thoughts in the checkout line.

“Ihhh….hi-ixgtshiew! Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly at the cashier before ducking his head back into Diego’s hoodie sleeve. Diego and Vanya were splitting the bill evenly. “Hhhr’itxtshyuu-nxgt!” He blinked his eyes wearily and averted the annoyed stares of the people behind them in line. Why couldn’t they have just done self-checkout?

When they pulled out of the parking lot, Klaus was yawning. He immediately changed into one of his new sleep shirts in the car and put Diego’s hoodie behind him like a pillow. He shut his eyes and nuzzled his face into it.

“Look at him,” Vanya cooed, whipping out her phone to take a picture from the passenger seat.

By the time they reached home, Klaus was out cold. Diego carried him inside and deposited him (lovingly) on the couch.

When Klaus woke up, and Legally Blonde was playing on the TV. Diego was petting his hair. Vanya was on his side. He blinked his eyes open just long enough to see Luther, Allison and Five on the other couch. Ben sat in front of the TV, loudly laughing at every joke. He’d never seen this one before.

“Ugh, shut up, Ben!” he mumbled as he buried his face back into his arms. Everyone shushed him, and a smile slowly spread on Klaus’ face. In his new clothes, surrounded by his siblings, he felt truly comfortable for the first time in days. Actually, for the first time in years, excluding his time with Dave.

He was so comfortable that he drifted off into sleep again. It was a peaceful sleep, one of the first few Klaus had had in a long time. His siblings cuddled around him, finishing the movie in peace. They were all together and happy as a family. Diego wasn’t screaming at Luther, Klaus wasn’t awake sneezing his ass off, Ben was as close to his family as he had felt in a long time. It was as close to perfection as this fucked up conglomerated family could get.

Exactly ten days later, Luther was down with a fever again. He had been coughing and sneezing and blowing his nose frequently throughout the whole day. Everyone wrote it off until the congestion and the exhaustion really kicked in and Luther felt bad enough to tell everyone what was going on. He was confused, as he had just kicked the last sickness he had been dealing with a week ago.

“How the hell did you manage to get sick again? Are we sure this is something different? Did it just come back badly?” Diego asked. Frantically, he pushed Klaus out of the room.

Five answered for Luther, “He’s got a shitty immune system after being isolated on the moon for four years. It’s hard to catch so much as a sniffle up there without coming down with something from stress. He’s not used to our germs again. Chances are he’ll be like this for the next year or so until his body really gets used to living here.”

Everyone groaned.

“That’s it. I’m buying Klaus a damn hazmat suit,” Diego muttered.

Klaus managed to escape from catching this cold, but there were many more for him and Luther to come.

[eldbitch-horror]

Mirrors and Fruit

A commission for @hyperfashionist that they waited far too long for.  An au where hannibal is not a cannibal and is actually nice to people.  Can also be read here if youd like to give kudos or comment! 

also thank you to @grahaam  for betaing. and @jadegreenworks  for the advice! and to @avidreadr2004 for encouraging me! 

Friendship is a profound thing. It sneaks up sometimes, nestling itself. Making itself comfortable in the corners of your mind, slowly taking up more room. It was beginning to occupy a whole room of Hannibal’s mind palace. It’s occupant was a troubled, ornery little man that showered little and ate even less. It was not the kind of friend Hannibal envisioned having. In his mind palace, his friend would be much like him. Perhaps even a mirror of himself . If this was a mirror of himself, it was a funhouse mirror. Distorting himself into something he surely was not.

Hannibal had been patient with Will. More patient than anyone had ever been before- much to Will’s disdain. Despite his best attempts, his snappy remarks and attempts to shove him away, Hannibal had just smiled patiently or given him a quick retort. Hannibal tended not to be a patient man, contrary to what is expected from a psychiatrist. There was something special happening to Hannibal. In all his reserved, disconnected, surgical precision. He was becoming attached. A foreign but not unwelcome concept.  

He’d invited himself over for dinner at Will’s house. It was dirty and the dogs were hairy, but it didn’t seem fair that Will was always the one to make the drive from Wolf Trap to Baltimore. He’d brought his own ingredients, not trusting what he might find in Will’s pantry, or more what he wouldn’t find. If only there was a feasible way to bring one’s own stove as well. Will’s was disappointingly but unsurprisingly pitiful, hardly holding a flame.  He made do, noting the film of dust that had settled on it.

“A microwave connoisseur?” he asked, smiling softly. Will seemed embarrassed, and he rubbed his stubbly chin absently,

“Unfortunately not. It’s just as dusty.” He avoided his eyes as he spoke, and Hannibal just nodded slowly. If he didn’t use the stove, or the microwave. What was he using? “I’m not starving. Don’t worry. I just tend to eat out, order in… or just skip it.” Hannibal made a face. All of those choices were disgusting.

“That’s not good, Will. Diet is important.” Before he could continue, with an anecdote or a story, Will cut him off,

“I don’t need the lecture, thank you. Some nights my appetite is off.” He drank his dinner some nights. After long days where his thoughts were scrambled, and he lost who he was. “Is it cold in here to you?” he asked, rubbing his arms absently. Hannibal assumed he was trying to change the subject, until he saw him physically shudder. Without a thought, he reached forward and felt his forehead.

“You do feel warm.” he noted, “Have you been feeling well?” He wasn’t aware he had invaded his space until Will ducked away. Hannibal was ignorant to his need to feel Will’s flesh against his own until his hand was left empty. A small, worried expression just faintly tilted his features down.

“I’ve been feeling... “ There was a pause, and Hannibal waited patiently. Always patient. Drove Will insane. He had to decide whether honesty would be his best policy. “I haven’t been feeling myself. Like I’m fading.” He admitted, noting to himself it was quite a dramatic way to put it. Hannibal just inclined his head in thought, before nodding once.

As he began serving them plates, he looked to Will, “Perhaps some Tylenol for now, for the fever.” Hannibal recognized Will’s natural scent, but something heavy hung within it. It was a sickly, sweet smell. Fever, but something more than that. Inflammation, but he couldn’t smell exactly where from at his current position. It was difficult enough to get physically close to Will. Though as of recent, their personal bubbles were becoming smaller. Chairs moving closer, standing side by side at the ghastly crime scenes. Hannibal sometimes irrationally felt they should be holding hands.

Will had complied, and took his tylenol. “You shouldn’t be here, if I have a fever. I could be contagious.” He murmured in his sad little way. A tone that told Hannibal he wanted him to stay, but out of politeness, or perhaps fear, was asking him to leave.

“I don’t think you’re contagious, Will. You aren’t coughing, or sneezing. Besides I can boast of a very adept immune system after working in a hospital for years.” He offered him his plate, and watched him go sit in an armchair near the coffee table. What human-being didn’t own a table? Though Hannibal figured if you basically lived through filter feeding the air, it really wasn’t necessary, now was it. It still shook him to his core.

“Perhaps I will buy him one…” A surprising thought, that he quickly tucked away. Although he did sometimes splurge on others, it wasn’t often. Certainly not on patients. Their doctor-patient relationship was quickly dismantling into something else though.

Talk was cheap over their food, and then a long silence settled over them. Will continued to shiver on occasion, and Hannibal kept a close eye on him. He’d be setting an appointment for him with a specialist. His fingers had a firm grasp still within the world of medicine, and it wasn’t difficult for him to pull a few strings to get prompt care. He figured it was no different if it meant care for a patient of his.

--

Life had never dealt Will Graham the fair hand. Almost every decision in his life had lead to roadblocks and further sinking into the mire. Sinking sand. A fun fact about sinking sand, however, is that you don’t sink very much at all. In fact, it’s unlikely you’d sink farther than your waist. You can get plenty stuck, but you won’t truly drown in it. That was the state of Will Graham’s life. Waist deep in the sinking sand of his mind, his condition. Trudging along for meager scraps of food and water. Little tidbits of happiness and peace.

He had learned in the jungle of his mind that low hanging fruit was often poisonous. If it was easy to reach, it was too good to be true. The best fruit, was hard to reach. Maybe impossible. He was unaware that not only was the best apple hanging low, but disguised as an obstacle.

Hannibal invaded his space, touched his things, made faces at his dogs, silently chastised his living conditions. Hannibal did all the things Will Graham hated. Yet, he wasn’t pushing him out. Giving him ‘subtle’ signals it was time to go. No mentions of it being late, of the dogs needing to be walked or other nonsense. Despite what could be marked an awkward silent. Nothing but the sound of metal against porcelain to break it. The truth was, despite the intrusion. The judgement. He liked that the chair beside him was occupied. The space was filled. He felt he could feel the energy buzzing beside him, a warm glow against his face. In his imagination, in his own mind palace, that is how they looked. In a sense it could be said that Hannibal was radiant.

It helped that the food was good. The food was always good. He ate it even when he wasn’t hungry. He ate it when he was even feeling sick . Perhaps it was his need to please. Perhaps he was so desperate for some companionship that he would subject himself to a sore belly. Or maybe it was that he was hungry a lot more often than he would admit to himself. Whatever the case. The food was good.

“It’s good.” Will finally said, just for the sake of breaking the silence. This seemed to please Hannibal, as he settled back in his seat a bit more.

“Thank you, Will. Roast chicken with fennel Panzanella. Not my most complicated meal.”

“I appreciate that. My palette hasn’t been able to handle much recently.” It was half of an admission. He hadn’t been eating, except for fast food and on occasion, some noodles. He was assuming it was from the strain of work. He was going too deep, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to get back to the shallows. He knew he could reach for Hannibal. He could, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t need help. He wasn’t intaking water just yet.

--

He should have made the phone call by now. His pride kept him from it. He fidgeted with the phone, then fidgeted with his schedule. He checked one more time at the page with Will’s name on it. Will was missing. Late actually. He was now twenty minutes late. He was always prompt, early usually. Missing. He finally picked up the phone. He should have just charged his insurance for a late fee. Failure to call. Something. But no, instead he called. His brows furrowed in worry as it rang. He got a full mailbox. Not surprising, Will was that type of person not to ever check his voicemail, and not pay attention to if it was full or not. He tried once more, then went to start the paperwork for a late penalty. He pulled out the forms from his desk, and stared at them. He was holding the pen over the paper, but he didn’t let it touch. Something wasn’t right. He set the pen down, and abandoned the papers. He got his coat, and headed out.

On his way out of the office, after locking up, he called Jack. He didn’t know where Will was either. He would start his search at Will’s house. It would be a long drive. It could be for naught  He needed to try. It would turn out he wouldn’t have to bother. As he unlocked his car, a very flustered looking, sweaty Will was rushing towards him.

“I’m late, I’ll pay the fee.” Will said, obviously embarrassed about his tardiness. Hannibal gazed at him, and he would have probably given him a snipped remark. He didn’t. Will wasn’t wearing shoes. He had no jacket. His feet were covered in mud.

“Will, what have you been doing?” He asked cautiously, watching him shiver. Was it from the cold outside, or from the fevered heat he could smell rolling off of him. It couldn’t wait anymore. He started back up to his office, and Will followed, stumbling out an explanation.

“I was at my house, with the dogs. I let them out. I heard something in the woods. Like one of them were hurt and then I-” he stopped abruptly mid sentence, in realization. “I don’t know what happened after that. I must have driven here. I don’t remember.”

Hannibal listened, then nodded. “Will, I’m calling a doctor. He’s a friend of mine. He will help.” Will recoiled at the thought. He didn’t like doctors. He was poked and prodded enough growing up. He didn’t want anymore. But he was really falling apart. Taking in water. He had to reach for Hannibal.

He quite literally had to, stumbling on a step, and falling into him. Hannibal caught him in strong arms, swaying just slightly on the steps.

“Arm on me.” Hannibal ordered, in a way that made it seem Will didn’t have a chance at arguing. He put his arm on his shoulder, and they made it the rest of the way to his office. Hannibal gently set him down, then got his phone to make his call. He pulled some strings, called in some favors. Despite it being well after hours for his friend, they would be meeting him within the hour at the hospital.

--

Will was still reluctant to go. He was arguing against it. If one could even call it an argument. Hannibal hardly spoke, just gave orders.

“I’m not getting poked and prodded.” He announced stubbornly, even as Hannibal prepared Will’s file to be taken with them, records of his descent into what Will felt was pure madness. Hearing voices, sounds, losing time, waking up with police lights blinding him.

“You won’t be poked and prodded. You will have an MRI done, and if that is inconclusive, some blood tests.” He explained. “Now, please draw a clock for me.” Will’s eyes rolled childishly, but he drew the clock. For some reason he felt cocky about it. Draw a clock, what a stupid thing to ask. He drew a regular old clock, or at least what he thought was a regular clock. He was unaware it was completely distorted, hardly recognizable if it weren’t for the numbers jumbled together. Hannibal tucked his clock drawing in his file he was preparing. “You are very sick, Will. You can refuse treatment, but I can’t advise it. I would appreciate it greatly it if you would accompany me to see this doctor. He is very professional, and is renowned for his skill.”

Will usually wasn’t a fan of bargaining. He could sense Hannibal’s urgency though. He felt compelled to give in. He was silent for a few moments, rubbing his scruffy face in distress. He didn’t want to go, but he wanted to. Well, he wanted to please Hannibal. Not for the greater good, or because it would save someone’s life. He just wanted to make him happy, though he hesitated to admit it to himself.

“Fine, I’ll go.” he relented finally, and for a brief moment he could see the relief all over Hannibal’s face and whole body. His shoulders relaxed, a soft sigh left him, and his face softened.

“Thank you. We should go then. I will drive.”

“Don’t trust my driving?”

“It’s important I stay honest with you, Will. I don’t trust you are capable of driving right now. No.”

With a melancholy smile, he nodded, “I get it. Fair enough.”

--

Hannibal met Dr. Sutcliffe at the door, and he ushered them to the MRI room. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Hannibal.” he reminded him, which of course made Hannibal smile.

“Of course, thank you for your time. I can tell you, it will be worth it.” He reassured, glancing to Will. He was looking pale and tired. He felt bad for him. He felt compassion despite all his training to disconnect. He couldn’t disconnect from Will. He was becoming attached.

Once in the MRI room, Hannibal gently walked Will through the process, but it seemed he was aware of how it worked already. He would have to pry later.

“You still haven’t told me what you think is wrong with me.” Will’s head turned to him as he adjusted himself in his lying position. Hannibal met his eyes, and his gut jumped. They were filled with fear. Vulnerable and open. He reached to grasp his hand, holding it tightly in his own. Will didn’t recoil, but instead squeezed it.

“It’s nothing I won’t fix.” He reassured. He finally realized what was happening to him. Something he thought himself incapable of. After losing so much, and learning to be disconnected from his emotions, for both his surgical and psychiatric career. It was inconvenient, unprofessional. It completely broke every code of ethics. He was falling in love with his patient. He was falling in love with Will Graham.

[sneezyminniejo]

Here’s the allergic Chan fic

Hyung You’re an Idiot

"Ugh, Bless me again." Chan said after sneezing for the upteenth time during breakfast. He was getting rather fed up with nose, and wasn't at all sure why his allergies were so bad today.

"Guys I know what you're th-thinking, but I'm fi- heh-ighiew. Bless me. I'm fine to go in today. It's just allergies. I'm just g-going to be a bit sn-sneezy" As if on cue, Chan abruptly turned to the side and sneezed a harsh triple into his elbow. This time however, Chan kept his nose placed firmly in his elbow, and didn't say anything.

The others were waiting for another volley of sneezing to come, but when it didn't they all gave Chan a questioning look. The eldest was barely heard muttering 'tissues' into his elbow in English. Everyone heard Chan say something, but Felix being the only other one to fluently speak muffled and congested Australian, was the only one to make out what the eldest had said. He was quick to leave and come back with a box of tissues. The younger Aussie decided to keep an eye on the older just to be safe.

Chan graciously accepted the box of tissues, taking several to clean himself up before blowing his nose rather productively. The other members cringed slightly at the sound of it.

Chan also knew that with the near constant sneezing he had done during breakfast, he probably should stay back. But he has far too many responsibilities as the leader to take a sick day when he isn't genuinely sick.

Once breakfast had ended, the eight members needed to quickly get ready for the day, as their ride was going to arrive soon. Felix, knowing how Chan has a tendency to forget to properly care for himself when he's sick or his allergies are particularly bad, made sure to put several packs of tissues into his bag along with all of Chan's allergy meds and some extra water bottles. He had packed the elder's meds because he had probably forgotten to take them given how bad he was already.

When they arrived at the company Felix quickly pulled Chan aside. "Hyung, did you remember to take your allergy meds this morning? You’re really bad today for being medicated. If not, I brought them with me."

Chan thought for a moment, not quite being able to remember. His thoughts were interrupted however by an all too consuming itch in his nose. "Hih-nxtshh, heh-stishhh, HEH-ISTIEW. Sorry, bless me. I'm like ninety percent certain that I did.

Felix frowned at that statement as he handed the elder some tissues. With how bad his sneezing was, Felix highly doubted that Chan took his meds. But Chan's statement meant that they had to wait a few more hours before he could take more.

It became quickly apparent to everyone that Chan was not in any condition to do vocal practice. They tried, but Chan nearly deafened Changbin during recording, and nearly deleted a track on accident when he tried producing, so they decided to focus on dance today. The third song had just barely started when Chan interrupted again. "Heh-istiew, heh, hih-ktiew, huh-UGHIEW. Bless Me! Sorry guys, let's start over." Everyone went back into position except for Felix.

Felix gave Minho a pointed look that said don't start the music yet. He walked over to the eldest and began talking. "Chan-hyung, let's go back to the dorm. We won't be able to get anything done if we're stopping every five minutes because of a sneezing fit." 

"But Fe-"

"Don't you 'but' me Bang Christopher Chan. Now go get your things together to go back to the dorms." Chan gulped at the use of his full name and sulkily went to pack up his bag.

After Chan left the room, the others couldn’t help but ask Felix how he had managed to talk Chan into going home. Felix shrugged his shoulders then replied "Referring to one by their full name generally means they’re in big doo doo trouble. I'm going to head back with him to make sure he doesn't try to work or do something stupid." Felix grinned before grabbing his things and quickly followed the eldest out the door.

The ride back to the dorms was full of sniffling and occasional sneezing from the eldest. However he was secretly glad that someone put their foot down and made him go home. Chan was beginning to develop a sinus headache, and he was doubting his earlier statement on taking his meds. Chan was also glad that Felix had decided to follow him home, as listening to another Aussie accent brings him comfort when he isn't feeling good.

When the duo entered the dorm, Felix made Chan go take a shower to wash off whatever pollen was on his clothes and so he could hopefully break up some of the congestion. Felix got started on making lunch while his hyung was showering.

At one point Felix was able to hear a string of very itchy sounding sneezes followed by a crash coming from the bathroom. He immediately went to knock on the door. "Hyung, are you okay?" "I'm fine Lix, I dropped my shampoo. I'll be out in a minute." Felix sighed and went back to getting things ready.

Chan joined Felix in the kitchen feeling a little better. He noticed that the younger had gotten the ground beef out to make hamburgers. He decided to help out.

Shortly after Chan began making patties out of the ground beef, an all too familiar sensation began to take root in his sinuses. The only problem being he was in the middle of the kitchen and his hands were full of raw meat, so he couldn’t really cover.

"Fe-Felix" Felix turned to face Chan at the desperate sounding call of his name, only to be met with a pre-sneeze face that was mixed with a bit of panic. Felix also noticed Chan had his hands full with raw meat, so he stepped into action. He quickly grabbed a handful of tissues and put his tissue covered hand over Chan's mouth and nose.

It was only a split second later that Chan ducked into Felix' hand with two very lound and and harsh sneezes. "HEH-ISTIEW, HUH-UGHIEW". Felix did not immediately remove his hand from Chan's face, instead he said a word which embarrassed Chan more than he already was, "Blow."

Chan blew his nose quite productively and finished making the burger patties. As he handed the patties over to Felix to cook, he told the younger, "Thanks mate for you know" "It was no big deal, bless you by the way." Chan nodded in response and decided to go to the living room to watch tv, as he didn't want a repeat performance of earlier.

Lunch was mostly silent aside from the occasional sniffling, sneezing and nose blowing from the eldest. He was still feeling quite embarrassed about Felix catching his sneezes. If he didn't think he'd be scolded to oblivion, he'd go straight to his studio to hide for a couple of hours. But since he couldn't, Chan decided to do the next best thing, avoid Felix as much as possible for the next few hours.

It was painfully obvious to Felix that Chan was trying to avoid him. He figured it was because of what happened when they were making lunch, but he needed to talk to the elder. Mainly because it had now been long enough that Chan could safely take his allergy meds, so he grabbed the meds and went to the living room where the eldest was watching tv.

When Felix got to the living room Chan's face was buried in a tissue, blowing his nose again. This time however, it had triggered a couple of sneezes that were strong enough to propel him off the couch. Chan cleat hadn't been expecting it because he ended up on his butt. "Bless you hyung." Chan startled at the sudden appearance of Felix "Um thanks Lix."

"Hyung, I just came to give you your allergy meds. It's been long enough that if you did take them this morning, there won't be any adverse effects." Chan sighed in relief at this and happily accepted the pills and water. He noticed Felix was hovering next to the couch like he needed something. "Felix do you need something?" Felix made a curt nod before replying. 

"You've been avoiding me since lunch. And I know it's probably because you feel a bit embarrassed at what happened with the burgers.” Chan merely looked down at his hands, essentially confirming Felix’ suspicions. “I just should have been able to go to work and make lunch without incident. I’m the leader. I’m supposed to be able to keep it together.” Chan sniffled then grabbed a tissue and blew his nose.

“Hyung, you’re an idiot, you know that?” Chan stared at Felix with a little bit of shock at being called an idiot. “Yes you’re the leader, but you do not have to keep it together all the time. It’s okay if you need to take time off for your health, even if it is just allergies.”

Chan sighed because he knew the younger was right. He should have taken the day off from the beginning, but his stubbornness got in the way. “You’re right Felix. Can we watch Spirited Away?” Felix just nodded and got some popcorn ready.

By the end of the movie Chan had realized something. “Hey Lix, I don’t think I took my allergy meds this morning.” Felix kind of already knew this, but wanted to humor his hyung. “What makes you say that?” Chan shrank into himself a little as he responded “I took my meds about fifteen minutes before we started the movie, and I haven’t sneezed once since. Whereas my sneezing was almost uncontrollable beforehand. I should have listened to you.”

“It’s okay hyung. Everyone has a tendency of miscalculating when they’re not feeling well, brain fog and all that. Let’s watch another movie.”

That’s how the duo spent the rest of their day until the others returned. Having a Studio Ghibli marathon.

[what-happened-to-agent-georgia]

I know you can hear me

For the ( @rvbficwars) RvB Angst War. Prompt by @riathedreamer: “Simmons returns to the moon to find it empty”

Rating: Teen for language

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/language, Spoilers through Season 15 Episode 10.

Pairings: Simmons/Grif

Word Count: 1960

Ao3

It’s around the time Caboose says, “You talk about Grif a lot” that Simmons realizes what he’s been in denial about for days. Why that hollow feeling hasn’t gone away.

He’s made a huge mistake.

When he sees the way Tucker and Agent Washington grin at each other like idiots when they pick up the Freelancers on the beach, Simmons realizes he has to go back.

“Drop me off at the moon,” he demands. Or, he wishes it sounded demanding. It comes out more like, “Drop me off, uh, at… the moon?”

“What?” Agent Washington is the first to speak.

Sarge narrows his eyes and Carolina crosses her arms. Tucker tilts his head to the side. Temple looks over his shoulder from where he sits with Loco in the cockpit, and it feels like the only person who isn’t looking at him is Caboose.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Tucker says, letting out a short laugh.

“No, I’m not kidding,” Simmons says. “I would appreciate it if you dropped me off at the moon.” Simmons hesitates before adding, “Please?”

“And fraternize with that no good, lazy traitor?” Sarge snaps. “Why, the very idea makes my blood boil!”

“Yeah, dude,” Tucker adds, “Grif quit. He’s an asshole. Why go back?”

Because I never should have left. Is what Simmons doesn’t say.

“I just… I need to go back, for, uh, my Dungeons and Dragons books. I forgot them,” is what Simmons says instead.

It’s a lame excuse. He knows it, and everyone else knows it.

“Uh huh… Look, Simmons,” Tucker says, “I know your… nerd shit is important to you, but it’s too risky to go back. And it’s out of our way.”

Simmons’s gut twists at too risky. He remembers what Temple said about the UNSC bombing the fuck out of Freelancers, wonders if they bombed the moon, then shoves the idea from his head because his anxiety is already through the roof.

“I’m afraid I’m with Captain Tucker on this one,” Temple calls. “We don’t know if it’s safe to go back.”

“We don’t know if it’s safe with you!” Simmons points out, regretting it instantly. He tries to backtrack, “I mean, safe. Uh, at the base. Not that we’re not safe with you, just maybe… at the base. It’s underwater.”

Temple gives a start like he’s hurt. He frowns and his eyebrows knit together, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Hmm,” Sarge growls. He fidgets with his shotgun before turning to look out the window. “If you ask me, this is a perfect opportunity for some reconnaissance, to see what the enemy is up to! And for killing Grif. Who also happens to be the enemy!”

“What?” Tucker swings around to look at Sarge. “Reconnaissance? For what? To see how many packages of Oreos that fat ass has eaten? To see what a moon blown to shit looks like? No fucking way.”

It hits Simmons then that Tucker misses Grif too. Feels betrayed too. He also tries not to pay too much attention to the words blown to shit.

“Well, if it turns out the moon is… has been bombed, or whatever, we don’t have to stop,” Simmons reasons. “Then we can just go back to the, uh, underwater base.”

Simmons notices neither Carolina nor Agent Washington has said anything. They keep doing that thing where they give each other pointed looks, though, and Simmons thinks maybe, just maybe, they’ll let him do this.

“Yeah I have to go to the bathroom,” Caboose chimes in. “When is the next gas station?”

Tucker and Agent Washington exchange a look of what appears to be sheer panic.

“The moon it is,” Agent Washington says.

**

Simmons steps off the ship as Caboose clambers back on, then watches it leave. When it’s nothing but a black speck in the sky, he still watches. And when it’s no longer visible, Simmons watches a bit longer.

His mechanical heart is flipping its shit, and Simmons feels ready to overheat.

Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out. Just go in and apologize. Make this right.

Simmons closes his eyes for a second and tries not to think about it. It’s no big deal. Definitely not the single-most terrifying thing he’s ever done.

Fighting the Meta, taking down Hargrove—fucking cake.

“Shut up, Simmons,” he mumbles to himself.

Simmons shakes his head, opens his eyes, and takes one more deep breath before turning towards Red Base.

“Just start walking,” he tells himself. “One foot in front of the other…”

With the speed to rival a sloth, Simmons makes his way to the base they haphazardly plastered together after Donut burned down the other ones.

Simmons would laugh at the memory but he’s too busy concentrating on not hyperventilating.

It really is beautiful here, he thinks.

The sun has begun to set, casting an orange glow on the surrounding landscape. A soft breeze ruffles the grass, and when he focuses on the crashing of waves on the cliffs he feels his breath slow to synch up with the sound. As he crests the hill right before reaching the base he notices the Warthog Sarge crashed is still there, another casualty in the war against gravity.

There’s no sign of Grif as Simmons approaches. No radio playing, no makeshift hammock surrounded by empty cans and dirty dishes, nothing.

Simmons stops in front of the entrance and stares at the opening.

“Fuck me,” Simmons breathes.

For a second he stands there, frozen. He’s starting to sweat, his heart’s whirring in his chest again, and his feet are screaming at him to run the other way.

Don’t be such a baby, he scolds himself. Move, dammit!

On the other side, there is only darkness to greet him, and he adjusts his grip on his rifle before sticking his head inside.

“Grif?” He squeaks. Tries again, louder this time, “Grif?”

Silence.

Lazy ass is probably just sleeping.

Taking a deep breath, Simmons takes a step inside the base.

It looks exactly the same as the day they left, only darker. Dustier. Simmons makes his way to the kitchen first, dreading the pile of dishes that surely waits for him.

“Grif?” he calls out as he walks into the kitchen. There’s no answer.

The dirty dishes in the sink are from weeks ago.

Simmons knows because he’s the one who put them there, to be washed, before Miss Andrews showed up.

Doesn’t mean anything. His dishes are probably just upstairs, or outside, or something.

“Yeah,” Simmons whispers and nods to himself.

He opens the fridge. Cringing, he’s thankful for the filtration unit in his helmet. Almost everything in the fridge has begun to mold, and it probably smells godawful. Those meals Simmons made weeks ago, the last half of Grif’s pizza, a stick pink pool where one of Sarge’s strawberry YooHoos broke open and spilled all over the top shelf.

Simmons stumbles back from the fridge and sprints from the kitchen.

Grif’s got a snack stash, so he probably just hasn’t left his room.

Simmons makes a mad dash for Grif’s bunk. He bursts in, only to immediately trip on a pile of dirty laundry. Landing face-first in the worst mess of all time, Simmons waits for (prays for) the insult he’s sure is coming.

But no one says anything.

Simmons flips onto his back. Stares at the ceiling—how did Grif manage to get that stuck up there?—Simmons takes in the room around him.

Clothes, bags of trash, wadded up paper, and other trash Simmons can’t quite make out in the darkness have taken over the room. Simmons wonders how Grif can live like this, then, seeing his spare glasses and pajama shirt laying on the edge of Grif’s cluttered desk, remembers he lived here too.

Remembers he stopped caring about the mess, as long as it meant he was in the same room, the same bed, with Grif.

The bed.

“Grif?” Simmons asks the mountain of blankets. It doesn’t respond.

Simmons unearths himself and moves to turn on the light. Then he removes his helmet and glares at the blankets again. Looks for telltale signs of breathing.

There aren’t any. Not even his mechanical eye picks up signs of life.

“Grif?” Simmons marches over to the bed anyway. “Come on, fat ass, I know you can hear me!”

He rips the blankets away and is met with an empty mattress. No Grif.

Simmons drops his helmet to the floor. He thinks his rifle was lost somewhere among the heaps of garbage, but he doesn’t care.

For the next hour, Simmons moves from room to room. He even checks Sarge’s room, ducking to avoid the shotgun rigged to fire when the door opens (“You just got Sarged, hehe” the gun quips). After avoiding the bullet, he leaves, knowing Grif wouldn’t take the time to reset the trap if he were in there.

Carolina’s room is practically empty, save for her mattress and a tattered upside-down photo on her desk. Simmons resists the urge to look at the photo and backs out of her room.

His own bunk is just how he left it—spotless. The only difference now was the thin layer of dust covering everything. Simmons plops onto his bed and lets out a sneeze as a cloud of dust flies up into his face.

Where the fuck are you, Grif?

He shucks his armor and finds his pair of hiking boots underneath his bed. A little voice in his head warns him against taking his armor off in a potentially hostile environment, but he ignores it. If the UNSC decides to bomb the moon, there’s not much his power armor can do for him anyway.

Simmons moves on to Blue Base. Grif’s ukulele is still there. Untouched and—Simmons plucks one of the strings—out of tune.

“Grif?”

Then he searches the clearing where Grif taught Carolina how to relax. Attempted anyway.

“Grif?”

He’s moving faster now, tripping over his own feet as he makes his way to Grif’s cave.

He’s got to be there. Fat ass doesn’t think I know where his secret napping place is, but think again…

Peering inside the opening in the rocks, Simmons regrets leaving his helmet at Red Base. It has night vision, and now he’s going to have to rely on his mechanical eye.

Half-blind and half-panicked, Simmons enters the cave.

“Grif?” he calls out. The only reply gets is from his echo as it bounces off the cave walls. He can hear water dripping somewhere in the far-left corner, he can hear the thud of his footsteps on the stone, and he can hear his ragged breathing as he moves further into the darkness.

But he doesn’t hear Grif.

Simmons backs out of the cave.

When he emerges, the sun has almost set, a small golden sliver peaking over the horizon.

“GRIF!” he shouts one last time.

The waves whoosh in response, and Simmons lowers himself to the grass and watches the last of the sun disappear as the moon goes to sleep.

When he finally moves it’s because he’s shivering. Without the warmth from the sun, it’s freezing. Arms wrapped around his torso, he shuffles back to Red Base.

Right foot left foot right foot left

Simmons stumbles past his own room and finds himself outside Grif’s bunk. Wading through the ocean of garbage and filthy laundry, Simmons scoops up the blankets he ripped off the bed. It feels like years since he was in here.

Flopping onto the bed, boots and all, Simmons wraps himself in Grif’s old blankets. They smell like him. He can’t seem to get warm.

Simmons closes his eyes and tries not to think about the hole in the bed next to him.

[sfgooglebooks]

Cover Story by Rachel Bailey

"What sad person would want to smash an innocent gnome?"

That's right, Simon said she was the one to coin the word 'gnomicide.' "What about the neighbors? Maybe it was the result of a dispute?"

Her jaw dropped. "Good lord, no. No one around here would stoop to that level."

I rested the end of my pencil on my bottom lip as I thought. "Funny, that's what Simon said."

"You think we're wrong?" A bejeweled hand fluttered up to cover her gaping mouth.

Frankly, I couldn't blame her for the reaction - who'd want to live next door to a vandal? Especially one who picked such appallingly trivial targets. "One thing I've learned in this job is there's always more to every story. Maybe someone has a resentment they've been repressing or a... or ah... ahh..."

Dammit, I was going to sneeze. There's nothing I hate more than sneezing. So I don't. I do this funny little "fink" sound and stop it. At least I'm told it's a funny little sound - I'm not usually paying attention at the time. I'm also told I can burst a blood vessel in my brain by doing it, but hey - I like to live on the edge.

I made my "fink" sound.

"Bless you!" Dot raced to get me a tissue then hovered, looking like she wanted to tuck me into bed with chicken soup. "You poor thing, that was the strangest sounding sneeze I've ever heard."

"I'm fine. Allergies." I blew my nose and tried to recapture my professional air. "Did anyone on the street see anything?"

"I haven't had the chance to ask them all, but Valentina next door, said she and the Sinclairs, on the other side, didn't see anything." She paused and checked in the direction of the hall. "I asked Gerald, Anna's grandfather, but," she gave an apologetic shrug, "he's... not quite all there... so he's not much help."

I turned as I heard a noise behind me.

"Sorry to keep you, Ms. Fletcher, but I thought it'd be better for me to put Anna to bed and let you speak to my mother first."

As Simon pulled out the chair beside me, I noticed he looked tired and I felt that tug at my heart again. "You can call me Tobi."

He smiled and suddenly didn't look so tired anymore. "Are you getting anywhere, Tobi?"

There you go. Tugging at heartstrings leads to familiarity, which leads to flirty smiles. Not a constructive progression of events. I cleared my throat and tried to put on the professional face again. "Not much to go on at the moment, but I'd like to speak to the neighbors, if possible." 'Like' was probably an exaggeration, but I was going to write this story if it killed me.

Dot reached out to pat my arm, smiling with what was probably maternal pride. Not that I had much experience of being the subject of maternal pride myself, but I'd seen it before in other people's mothers. "I knew when Simon told me about you that you were the one." She threw Simon a satisfied smile then looked back at me. "If you come back tomorrow, Anna and I'll take you around some of the neighbors. We'll miss a few who work, but it'll be a start for you."

"Thanks, Dot, I appreciate it. Nine o'clock suit you?" She nodded as I put the pencil back in my bag and moved to get up. I could feel another sneeze coming on and I didn't want to do it again in front of Dot - she might not be able to resist the chicken soup thing this time.

"I'll be leaving then." I tried to rush, but couldn't stop the "fink" sneeze.

Simon cocked an eyebrow in amusement but I didn't give him a chance to say anything. I lifted my chin and strode out the door, oblivious to any grinning that may or may not have occurred.

"You know," he slowed his steps to look at me, "you don't have to solve the crime. It could have been anyone this side of the city. The chances of you finding them are pretty slim."

He was right, of course, but if I could just get an outcome - a result - from this absurd assignment, I might be able to salvage some pride. "I hate loose ends."

"The loose ends don't matter. We just wanted people to be vigilant and to consider the effect of vandalism on someone like Anna." Love for his little girl shone from his eyes - something I found oddly attractive. What was that about?

I blew out a breath. "Yeah, but it'd be nice to solve it, too. I... I..." I could feel a sneeze coming but managed to hold it off. I'd forgotten to take more antihistamines with dinner.

"You were saying?" We'd stopped at my car in his driveway.

"I'm sorry, I forgot." I was much more concerned with avoiding a sneeze before I could make a getaway. I could feel the pressure building behind my nose and my face starting to contort. Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. There was no stopping it; it was like a loaded freight train.

"Ah... fink."

When I opened my eyes, Simon was regarding me like some creature at the zoo. "You know you could hurt yourself doing that - maybe burst a blood vessel or something."

I rolled my eyes. "So I've been told."

He rocked on his heels, hands in his jeans pockets. "Then why do you do it?"

"Thank you for your consideration, but I'm more than capable of handling my own sneezing affairs." I tried for my steely gaze to put him off.

"You're welcome," he said, unfazed. "Why don't you just let yourself sneeze properly?"

Why was everyone so hung up on my sneezes? Surely they had other things to occupy their minds? Although, I supposed, all evidence was to the contrary.

I folded my arms. "For your information, it's not that simple. I've tried, but it's a habit now and I couldn't have a proper sneeze even if I wanted one."

His eyes danced and the corners of his mouth were turned down, repressing a smile. "Has anyone ever told you that you're uptight?"

"They have, actually, but I'll add you to the list." I turned to get in the car.

"You should let go a little." His voice dropped a note. "Relax and have some fun."

Oh, that was rich. I turned back to him. "And you're basing this advice on knowing me in a purely professional capacity for less than thirty-six hours?"

He shrugged. "You journalists haven't got a patent on observation."

Of all the conceited, cocky men... "And you think... ah... ahh... you think... ahhh... fink." Dammit. "Look, I have to go. Can you say goodnight to your mother for me?"

He grinned, damn him. "Sure. 'Night, Tobi."

I scrambled into my car and made a quick getaway. What did he know about me? I stopped at the liquor store and bought some cheap red wine - I'd show him I could relax!

"So you're not excited about the new puppies?"

Her eyes widened in shock. "Surely you can't be serious? They'll be mongrels."

Even though I wasn't a dog person, I thought that was a little harsh. I finished my green tea and set down my cup. "Thanks for the chat and the tea, I've got to get back to the office and... ah... ahh," dammit, "ahhh... fink." My antihistamines must have worn off.

Ethel was all concern. "That sounds terrible, dear, have you had it seen to?"

Not again. "No, it was just a sneeze."

She brandished a shortbread cookie at me. "That, my dear, was not a sneeze. You should see a doctor about it."

I stood, madly searching through my bag for the antihistamine packet, but couldn't find it. I'd have to stop at my apartment or a drug store on the way to the office. I made my farewells and hastily retreated to the sidewalk, still searching my bag in the vain hope that I had a spare tablet hanging around from an old packet. I was so engrossed in my task, I failed to notice which house I was passing. It all happened so fast. From the shrubs on the right, a black shape flashed toward me. Needle-tipped claws dug into my ankles, then the shape streaked off again toward number five.

I stifled a scream that was part surprise, part pain. That damn Attackcat had broken skin. I bent down and saw that he'd left five scratches, three parallel lines on one side of my ankle and two on the other. He'd also managed to ladder my stockings but, thankfully, he'd missed my trousers. Those claws would have ripped the cotton.

"Damn you, Winston, I'll... ah... ahh... fink."

Shaking my head, I rushed over to my car. I managed to get in, but before I could make a getaway, my cell rang. I glanced at the ID, groaned, then answered.

"Hi, Mom."

"Tobi, dahlin', I saw your little piece on the garden gnomes the other day. Very cute."

I gritted my teeth and made my voice even. "It wasn't cute, it was a waste of newspaper space and a waste of my time." Too late, I realized my mistake.

"Well, sugah, if you felt that way, why didn't you give me a call? What's the use of having a mother on the board of the publishing company if she can't pull a few strings every now and then? I'll just call Kevin - that's your editor, isn't it? - and tell him to make better use of my baby's talents. What would you like to write a little story about? I'm organizing a spectacular fashion show next month to raise money for sick children or something, I’ll tell him to have you cover that instead."

"Mother." Was there any use telling her that a journalist would have written countless articles by then? No, probably no. "Mother," I began more softly. "Please don't call Kevin, everything at work is fine."

"If you're sure..."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "I am. I... ah... ahh," dammit, "ahhh... fink."

"Tobi, dahlin', take an antihistamine, will you? You don't want people seeing your sneezes - you know how unattractive they look."

"I will," I said through a clenched jaw. "Mom, I have to go, I'll call you later."

"Oh, if you must. Ta-ta."

I disconnected and beat the cell against my forehead several times.

"That's probably not good for the phone, let alone your head."

I whipped my head around to the source of the now familiar voice. Too wrapped up in the drama with my mother, I hadn't noticed Simon's car pull up on the street behind mine.

"The welfare of my phone is the lowest of my priorities at the moment." But I dropped it back into my bag anyway.

"Want to tell me about it?" He leaned an elbow against the roof of the car and ducked his head a little to peer down at me.

"Not really... ah... ahh..." Oh, no, not in front of Simon again, please. "Ahhh... fink."

I opened my eyes and chanced a look up at him. He was clearly amused.

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"I'm not laughing at you." But the grin didn't recede. "Why can't you let go enough to sneeze properly?"

"I don't want to." I put the key in the ignition.

"You know, they feel great. You should let yourself have one. They're one pure second of letting loose." His voice became almost imperceptibly huskier. "Don't you think you'd like that?"

I narrowed eyes that were already starting to puff up from my allergies. "Are you flirting with me?"

"I wouldn't dare to." His voice had changed back to the amused tone, which was just as annoying. "Why do you hate sneezing?"

"If you'd grown up with a pollen allergy, you'd hate springs full of sneezing, too."

"If you say so." He was smiling and the warmth in his eyes told me he was teasing, but I resented being challenged by a virtual stranger on my personality flaws, just the same.

[herperlo-d]

How To Be A Saviour Without Trying

In which Tseng meets Cloud way before CC and as a result, saves the future.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 3]

Chapter 2: Acknowledge that Adults are Stupid

Cloud watched the strange man struggle down the tree curiously, hands still scratching Fenrir behind the ears, the idiot wolf rumbling lowly in pleasure, head pressing against his hand more insistently. Really, this greedy, idiot wolf. Cloud thought, completely exasperated. The other wolves around him whined piteously and nudged Cloud as well, looking for their own ear rubs, but he batted them away with short pats on their snout. His eyes were trained on the man currently stubbornly muscling his unresponsive body into moving. Sharp eyes caught the moment the man slipped and fell and Cloud sighed in annoyance, bringing out a Time materia to cast a Slow and lowered the unconscious man onto the floor. Stupid adults. If he needed help he could have just said so. Cloud stuffed the materia back into his coat pocket and went over to the man, the pack following closely behind him.

Cloud knelt beside the man, quickly cataloguing his injuries- a multitude of scratches and gashes, primarily on his arms and legs, and a nasty looking burn along one calf- met a dragon before this then. So you’re stupid and unlucky. His skin was pale and cold to the touch and judging by his actions, his fingers and toes were numb too. Frostnip edging towards frostbite. Cloud decided and sighed at the stupidity of adults. Who on Gaia goes to Nibelheim with such little clothing?

In his tent in Wutai, General Sephiroth sneezed loudly.

With a grunt, Cloud swung the man onto his back like how his Ma showed him- right arm around his left shoulder and right leg over his right shoulder, body lying across his shoulder blades. Staggering to his feet, Cloud turned to look at the wolves again. They looked back at him, eyes glancing worriedly between him and the man on his back. Cloud huffed and resisted rolling his eyes,

“I’ll be fine, you worry-warts. If you guys hadn’t attacked him I wouldn’t have to do this, now would I?”

The wolves whined again, ducking their heads with ears pressed against their skulls and their tails drooping low on the ground.

“Yeah, well it’s too late now. I’ll come back tomorrow once I’ve gotten him sorted out and we’ll go hunting together, ‘kay?” Cloud then really rolled his eyes when Fenrir and the rest of the pack perked up excitedly like two-month old pups.

With a last kiss to Fenrir’s snout and a nuzzle to each wolf, Cloud turned to hike deeper into the trees, feet easily travelling through the frozen undergrowth, the man surprisingly light on his back. Cloud walked up and down slopes, around bends and turns, squeezing through closely spaced trees and hopping over frozen creeks until he reached the mouth of a cleverly concealed cave and dropped his cargo onto a bed of soft furs and treated dragon hide. He went deeper into the cave and went about doing his daily routine, picking up a pack of dry twigs from a pile and lit them up with a short Fire in the fire pit. The fire pit had a small opening above to let the smoke out on the opposite side of the rock wall, avoiding attracting predators to his little home.

Cloud started shedding his layers, spreading everything neatly and hanging them in a nook carved out in the corner of the rock face to dry. He dropped the materia from his coat into a satchel with the rest and dug out a Restore, the materia glowing a soft green in his palm. Cloud dragged the man, bedding and all, next to the fire and proceeded to methodologically strip him of his ruin clothing until he was left only in his boxers. He raised an eyebrow at the collection of guns, knives and Shinra-issued phone he found before placing them beside his bag of materia. The ripped clothes were hung up with his. Cloud then got up again to pack a small pot full with snow, heating it above the pit. He left the snow to melt and went about swathing the man in fur pelts, rubbing the man’s hair dry and tying it out of the way with a leather band. Cloud slowly powered up the Restore in his palm, casting Cure on the scratches and Cura on the deeper teeth gouges, watching as the flesh and muscle knit together beneath his hands leaving behind only blood stained skin.

By then, the pot of water had come to a rolling boil and Cloud took it off the fire, placing it on the floor beside the man. Dipping a small towel into the steaming water, Cloud wiped the man down, removing all traces of the dried blood before carefully cleaning the nasty burn and casting a Cura. The wound closed up beneath the spell, but it had gone untreated for so long that Cloud couldn’t heal it completely, leaving a silvery patch skin behind.

Cloud covered the man’s whole body with hot towels, massaging the blood back into circulation in each limb. Replacing the towels periodically, the man’s skin gradually pinked, and even in his sleep the man groaned uncomfortably at the feeling of pins sticking into his skin. Cloud huffed at the good sign, relieved, and removed the towels on his torso and thighs, wiping him dry and tucking the furs in, leaving the arms and lower legs covered in hot towels.

Warming someone up from the brink of frostbite was not easy and by the time Cloud was satisfied with his efforts, he was exhausted. Cloud only had enough energy left to ensure that the man was tucked firmly under layers of fur and to cast a last general Cure before falling asleep under a dragon hide coat, propped up against the wall of the cave, warmed by the small crackling fire.

_______

Tseng woke up completely- all at once, between one second and the next, just as he was trained to do. He kept his eyes closed, breathing even and muscles loose, not giving away the slightest hint that he was awake. Tseng took in his surroundings: soft prickling against his skin- he was half naked, he noted with a jolt of unease, a hint of warm air breezing across his face- a dying fire to his right, soft breathing to his front, a bit to the right- the boy, he remembered. Tseng didn’t sense any of his weapons nearby, but that didn’t matter. He could easily subdue the boy with only his hands. A small shift told him that all his injuries had been healed and all ten of his fingers and toes are in place. The tingling that remained right beneath his skin told him that they were healed by magic and Tseng vaguely remembered that the boy had also cast a status spell on him when he fell.

The rustle of fabric snapped him out of his thoughts- the boy was awake. Tseng heard the boy get up and stretch, shuffling closer to him and small, warm hands pressed gently against his forehead and his neck. Tseng inwardly flinched at how vulnerable he suddenly felt. The hands retreated and the boy walked a few steps away before stopping again, another rustle of fabric and muffled clacking sounds. Then, a soft whisper before the faint warmth Tseng felt against his face suddenly intensified. He barely stopped himself from jumping instinctively into action, his body twitching slightly at the reflex. More muffled clacking sounds and the boy moved around the fire, the shadow covering Tseng’s face leaving with him, and he sat down.

“Mister, are you going to stop pretending to be asleep now?” The boy asked.

Tseng held back his startled expression and opened his eyes to turn to look at his saviour. A young face stared back at him- six, maybe seven years of age- cute, with big, bright blue doe-eyes and chubby cheeks, topped with a mop of vibrant, spikey blond hair that reminded Tseng strongly of the chocobos in the stables back in Midgar.

“Hello, I’m Cloud. What’s your name?” The boy- Cloud- asked pleasantly, like he didn’t just catch a Turk, even a rookie one, feigning sleep.

Tseng decided that there was no harm in playing along and replied, “Tseng of the Turks, nice to meet you.”

Cloud hummed in response, rummaging through the satchel beside him and emerged with a string-tied package that opened up to show strips of dried meat. Cloud picked out three long ones and held them out to Tseng, who sat up smoothly, wrapping the furs around his shoulders to keep the warmth in and gratefully accepted them. A quick sniff ruled out the possibility of it being cow or chocobo meat, and it smelled too thick to be pig or chicken meat. Tseng glanced back up to Cloud who was in the process of ripping his strips of jerky apart and swallowing them swiftly.

“Cloud, what type of meat is this?”

The boy looked up at his question, mouth still chewing the dry meat. “It’s wolf meat.” There was a silent undertone of no shit stupid in the answer and Tseng came to a fast conclusion that his saviour was a bit of a brat.

Still, food was food and Tseng cautiously brought the first piece to his mouth and bit down. The meat gave away surprisingly easily under his teeth and a burst of smoky flavours assaulted his taste buds. Tseng wasted no time in gobbling down the rest of the food and accepted a skin of water from the boy with a nod of thanks.

“Your clothes and other stuff are over there if you wanna get changed. I tried to repair as many of your clothes as I could, but I think you should think about getting a coat or something if you don’t wanna freeze to death out there.” The boy’s eyes were judging him so hard Tseng could almost hear the question: how stupid can you be to come here like this.

What a brat.

Tseng ignored the silent question and sighed, “Thank you.” He got up to put on his clothes. The small, even stitches along the rips and tears were surprisingly neat for a child, but an occasional stitch out of line showed his inexperience in hemming clothing. He went back to sit on the bedding, pulling on his dried boots and sliding his weapons back into place, out of sight. Tseng looked up at Cloud again and decided to ask the question that had been bugging him since he woke up. “How did I get here?”

Cloud raised an eyebrow at him- he sure was a very judgemental brat, “I carried you here.”

Tseng raised an eyebrow in mirror, “You carried me here by yourself?”

“Yeah.” The tone behind that screamed you idiot so blatantly that Tseng felt his eye twitch in annoyance.

“Then how did you heal me?”

“I used materia.” No duh.

Tseng repressed a sigh and continued, “What did you equip it with?”

Now the face got onto a whole other level of judgmental. Tseng could practically feel Cloud questioning his intelligence, which was actually a very novel experience for him. Even as a Turk trainee, he was considered on par, if not better than most official Turks, bar a few- Veld to name one.

“What in Hel’s name is equip? I just cast it like it is.”

The other eyebrow joined the first, “And how does a kid like you get his hands on so many materia?”

Cloud visibly bristled at the insult. “I’m eight years old- not a kid!” He pouted (Cloud would deny ever doing such a thing even years later). “I just find them around.” He paused, turning away huffily. “What’s a Turk anyway? It sounds dumb.”

Tseng smirked in amusement at the pouting face and the childish response. “Turk is another name for the Department of Administrative Research of the Shinra Electric Power Company.” He explained.

Cloud scoffed, crossing his arms. “So what. You Shinra people come to Nibelheim just asking to be frozen to death? How stupid can you get.”

Tseng gritted his teeth at the slight. How does an eight year old rile him up so easily? “I had no other choice.”

Cloud raised a long eyebrow. “No choice? Then you’re stupider than I thought." He paused again, silently deciding between his options before imperiously naming him, "Stupid.”

Impulsively, the word slipped from his mouth in retaliation, “Brat.” Tseng twitched at the sheer immaturity the conversation had been reduced to.

Cloud gave him a disgruntled look and turned his face away, mouth pinched together tightly, evidently not wanting to continue the argument. Tseng took a few deep breaths to calm himself and stood up. Cloud whipped his head back to look at him in alarm.

“You’re leaving already?” He looked reluctant to see him go. Tseng could sympathise. Despite only being conscious for a portion of their short meeting, Tseng hadn’t ever felt this comfortable with someone in a long time, if ever.

“Yes.” He sighed, “I have a mission to complete.”

Cloud scrambled to his feet and bit his lip, looking away. All traces of their earlier argument were gone from the air, instead leaving a sense of dread.

“Fine.” Cloud said shortly, after a pause and immediately turned to rummage through his stuff.

Tseng looked over his shoulder curiously and was surprised when Cloud turned around abruptly, stuffing a drawstring bag into his arms along with a large fur coat. Tseng juggled the items awkwardly before swinging the bag around his shoulder and tugged on the fur coat- it fit him surprisingly well. He looked at Cloud who mumbled quietly at his feet,

“The coat… was my dad’s.”

Tseng noted the past tense and decided not to comment on that, instead ruffling the silky hair and chuckled softly when Cloud glared at him.

“Thank you, Cloud.” He said warmly. For saving my life, for healing me and trusting me with something so precious to you.

Cloud looked away, long bangs hiding his blushing cheeks and Tseng laughed lightly- he had laugh more within the hour than he had in the last few years. How sad was that? Tseng turned to go, footsteps echoing in the cave, quiet, save the merry crackling of the fire. He was just as unwilling to go as Cloud was to see him go, not wanting to lose this feeling of companionship that he’ll probably never feel again, not with Cloud all the way on this side of Gaia. Just as he stepped out into the snow, Cloud called out from behind,

“Wait!” and forced something hard and round into his hand, small fingers closing his much larger ones around the glowing materia. “Take this. Idiots like you probably need it more than I do.” Then he added after a short pause, “Stupid.”

Tseng smiled and ruffled Cloud’s hair again, ignoring the indignant squawk- like a chocobo he mused. “Brat.”

Then he left, steps stronger and surer this time around, fingers wrapped tightly around the soothing hum of magic in his palm- a fully mastered Full Cure if he wasn’t mistaken. Tseng chuckled again. He had a feeling that Cloud would never cease to surprise him. Perhaps after the war was over and he had clocked up a few vacation days he could come back to Nibelheim to visit Cloud again.

Maybe. He couldn’t wait.

[anneedmonds]

Simple Upgrades for a Showstopping Table

I’ve always fancied being the sort of person that could throw one of those dinner parties that seemingly only exist in Ferrero Rocher commercials and magazine shoots; French farmhouse tables overflowing with flowers and flickering candles, fine linen napkins placed upon artfully stacked place settings… A proper lavish dinner party thrown by the sort of grownup that I thought I would become. One day. The organised and stylish sort, possibly wearing a one-shouldered fuchsia organza ballgown and sporting an elfin crop.

In reality my table is covered in crayon and if I even get the food served onto it it’s a bloody miracle, especially at Christmas – who has time to arse about with flowers and linen when the turkey’s still defrosting in the sink and the cranberry sauce has bubbled over onto the hob and you’ve accidentally blocked the kitchen sink with goose fat?

But this year, this year, my reader friends, I am stepping up my table game. Partly because I met an actual real-life Tablescaper (it’s a thing) at a luncheon and became transfixed with her Instagram feed but mostly because for the past few years I have had an urge to make everything in my life a bit more domesticated and adult and this Christmas is the proverbial climax. I’ve bought a food processor so that I can make grown-up shredded vegetable ‘slaws’ like Jamie Oliver, I’ve bought a welly rack so that I can stop slugs from taking up residence inside my wellies. I use the phrase “willy nilly” and also “goodness gracious” (mainly to stop me from saying for f*ck’s sake all the time) and I bought some pot pourri.

See? Completely domesticated and adult.

But the grown-up dinner table thing is a bit more difficult. Firstly, I don’t happen to have a Tablescaper to hand (seriously, it’s actually a thing – check out event designer Fiona Leahy on Instagram) or a food stylist, like in the magazines. No washing up liquid in the beer to make it more frothy, no varnish on the turkey skin to make it gleam – no insulation foam squirted atop the pies to make them look as though they’ve been adorned with the most perfect swirls of cream…

It’s just me and the table. And the five thousand torn-out magazine pages that I’ve been studying obsessively to work out what these stylist people actually do to make everything look so fancy. Here are my thoughts and they’re all pretty straightforward – just little bits and bobs you can change or add to make things a bit fancier looking. Like. And none of these tweaks and upgrades need to be particularly expensive, either, apart from the posh plates bit, if you want posh plates, but even those are saving money in a roundabout way if you follow my advice…

So read on to find out how to make simple upgrades for a showstopping dinner table. (You know it was at the top of your list of priorities.)

Unapologetic Candles

I usually avoid candles like the plague because I am (since having kids) a health and safety fanatic. Although my cat is the same colour as the stair carpet and we’re all at risk of breaking our necks about eighty times a day, so I’m not sure why I even bother worrying.

Anyway, this is an obvious one but candles really do make a dinner table look amazing. And I’m not talking about IKEA tealights, though those serve a purpose, I’m talking about candles of height and distinction. Unapologetic candles. Long, elegant tapered ones that are raised upon ornate holders, so that their flames softly illuminate the chattering guests’ faces and don’t just lie there at tabletop level, heating up the hummus and scorching people’s sleeves.

Get those candles up high and all of a sudden you have drama and theatrical shadows and the thrilling prospect of at least one person knocking them over and setting fire to the tablecloth.

I’ve recently discovered pillar candles, too – the best I’ve tried are the Charles Farris altar candles (you can find them at John Lewis here*, from £6) but I’d welcome your own recommendations. I love how solid and chunky the pillar candles are and how brilliant they look grouped together – I buy different heights and plonk them on a large plate or tray or wooden board.

Leopard candlesticks were bought from OKA here* – £45 for two. Pillar candles bought en masse from John Lewis (see above), pottery is Burleigh x Soho Home here. Table is vintage Ercol, bought from eBay two years ago as a set with six chairs. Napkins are Zara (see below) and the bee napkin rings were from House of Fraser two years ago. 

Beautiful stainless steel cutlery is from Robert Welch – the Palm Bright range here. Pottery shown here is Burleigh x Soho Home as before and Burleigh in Black Regal Peacock, see here. 

Posh Useful Plates

Choosing nice dinner plates (and bowls, and side plates and whatever else you end up getting once you dip your toe into the world of dinnerware) is an absolute minefield because you always end up doing one of two things (at least I do):

1 Buying amazing plates that are far too fancy to eat on every day; they are so fine that they break if you cut your potatoes too vigorously, or they shatter if you sneeze too hard in their direction.

2 Buying plain, solid plates that weigh the same as manhole covers but that spark no joy whatsoever and feel too dowdy for nice dinners, which means that you then also end up buying option one anyway and keeping them in the “special” cupboard for three hundred and sixty days of the year.

What you really want (I now know from vast-ish experience – I have many plates, both living and departed) is a plate that’s practical, reasonably hardy and that sparks utter, utter joy every time you lay the table. Dinnerware that you will use every single day, that isn’t so absurdly dear that you’ll have palpitations about it but that is beautiful enough to serve every situation.

Enter from stage left: Burleigh pottery. My Burleigh jugs (hoho) are some of my most prized home possessions. Sounds silly, I know, but they really bring a smile to my face. The design on them just looks good everywhere. Rustic old table? Put a Burleigh jug in the centre and suddenly it’s a scene from Country Homes and Interiors. Mid Century glass-fronted sideboard? Fill that with Calico tableware and the contrast between traditional and modern is a pleasing one of intense and magnificent beauty.

(Do I spend too much time thinking about how stuff looks? Absolutely. We all have our hobbies!)

The Burleigh pieces in these pictures are a combination of the stately Black Regal Peacock range (on Burleigh’s website here) and the glorious Hibiscus, which is exclusive to Soho Home (Burleigh x Soho Home here). You can find all of the classic designs on Burleigh’s website here. The brilliant thing about Burleigh is that almost everything looks great thrown together, even from different ranges – a mix and match set-up looks cool and purposeful rather than weird and accidental. The feeling should be a general one of “ooh, look at me, I’m too cool to have everything matching – I’m so eclectic!” rather than “shit, I’ve dropped another three plates into the sink Tony, we’re going to have to use some bits from the wedding set.”

Have a browse on their site – there’s also a factory shop, which I must never go near ever, ever because I would buy it all, and there are various pre-chosen sets that offer better value than buying pieces separately.

Oh and if you’re still after gift ideas then there couldn’t be a better gift for a tea-lover than a Burleigh tea set, surely? I love the pretty blue Felicity tea set, here and the traditional Blue Calico, here.

Pillar candles from John Lewis, as before. Pottery as detailed above. Gold cutlery bought from Marks and Spencer last year here*, beast-footed bowl was bought from Anthropologie. Glassware bought from H&M home. 

Proper Napkins

Oh I do love a proper napkin. We never use them at home if we’re alone (bit of kitchen roll if it’s a particularly messy taco-typed meal, otherwise why do you even need one?) but for dinners and special occasions it just feels lovely and so grownup to offer a pressed linen or cotton napkin.

If you can be arsed to press them.

If you can’t be bothered to iron then make sure you get the linen ones that look hipster and cool even when they are wrinkled. And tie a bit of rustic ribbon or brown string around them instead of using a napkin ring, so that they look like something you’ve found in a hay barn. Sprig of dried lavender, job done.

I rather like the napkins simply folded over once and thrown nonchalantly onto the top of the plate, as though a Parisian waiter has laid the table. “F*ck you customer!*”

(*not all Parisian waiters hate their clientele, I’m sure. At any rate, their constant ire is always a great source of amusement to me!)

I bought my table linen from Zara here – the napkins were £19 for four and I bought a matching lace-trimmed table runner. To be quite honest, the runner is something of a faff – I didn’t need it and it’s covered in all of the candles/flowers/serving plates anyway!

Crocodile Candle Holders, £30 each from &Klavering – I bought mine at Amara here*.

Duck leg candle holders, £9.95 each – I bought mine at Graham & Green here*. 

Kitsch Pointless Plates

If you already have serviceable crockery but want something quirkier, adding some smaller plates to sit over the top of your existing ones can be cheaper and less of a commitment than going for a whole new set. It also looks really fancy when you use your normal dinner plate as a charger and then place a smaller, more decorative one on top. Utterly pointless, from an eating point of view, but gives everything a bit of a facelift.

I quite like pointless plates, anyway – good for olive stones, serving individual quenelles of butter, sauces, ketchup or anything you want to decant from a jar or bottle. As plates for eating from, they are ridiculous, but for adding a bit of jazz and flair to the table they are excellent! Which makes them not pointless, I suppose…

I bought these badgery/fruity ones from H&M Home and they were a few pounds each. (I have no clue where they have gone online, they seem to have vanished, but I only bought them the other week so they may have a comeback tour.)

They have that kitsch sort of appeal that seems to be de rigeur at the moment and I thought that they looked relatively festive, too. They are small enough that they can all be packed away into the back of the cupboard when they’re not needed – all much more convenient than buying a whole set of specific “Christmas” plates with – I dunno – pine trees on them or something.

Foliage and Flowers

I am not a person who buys flowers for myself. I’m incredibly fortunate in that now and then clients might send me a beautiful bunch, and in the spring and summer I pick bluebells and various other flowers from the garden, but going to the actual florist has always seemed like a huge extravagance.

However I did splash out a few times this year, usually because I was filming something in particular and wanted to sort of “dress” the background, and it’s amazing how much of a difference a vase of flowers can make to a room.

So put a load of flowers on a dinner table and all of a sudden you’ve halfway there in terms of looks. Add flowers, or foliage, and it’s no longer just a dinner table, it’s a desirable place to be. People are drawn to their seats, everything suddenly looks so sumptuous and decadent and of course the food will be delicious if the setting looks that good…

(Little do they know that you’ve reheated four Tesco lasagnes and put some sprigs of parsley on top. Dug around the edges with the back of a teaspoon to make it look more homemade. Drizzled it with extra virgin olive oil. Scorched the top a bit with a bunsen burner to make it look authentic.)

So yeah: flaaaars. The ones in these pictures were for my birthday and the red berry ones were taken home after an event I was at because I didn’t want them to go to waste. They’ve lasted over a week already – I just need to keep feeding them and nursing them for a couple more weeks and I might be able to use them for Christmas! (Mental image of me gently wiping the berries and leaves with a cool cloth, changing the water hourly, adding special feed powder and carefully snipping out dead bits.)

Joking aside, because I will have to buy more at Christmas, it’s really worth taking a look inside your local independent florist’s. Mine quite often has a bucket of “imperfect” blooms outside, dead cheap, really great condition still but not quite up to the standard they need to be for the full-price bouquets. I agree it’s an extravagance, but a beautiful extravagance and one that – if you’re anything like me – will bring you great cheer.

  Lots of Stuff Overstuffing 

One of the common things you see in the tablescaping images on Instagram (what has my life become?!) is that the tables tend to be really full of stuff. I mean you can barely get the plates in front of the guests. There are huge flower arrangements that take up 80% of the surface area, place names on elaborate cards, candles by the dozen, glasses for this and tumblers for that, gifts for the guests (for the love of God don’t get started on that, you’ll be financially bereft by Boxing Day!), jugs of Seedlip Cocktail, decanters of well-drawn eco-water…

It’s all very OTT and would be faintly absurd in a domestic setting perhaps, but the feeling of table excess does look very appealing and inviting. So I suppose the general rule is to do things with purpose – if you’re keeping it all very elegant and minimalist then fine, a white linen tablecloth and some beautiful candles will do, but if you’re going for the “fuller” look then try not to do it by halves!

You can easily “get the look” by keeping your flowers (if you have any) low and spread out, rather than tall and slim so that they cover more ground. At Christmas, rather than paying for an expensive bunch of flowers, you could ask the florist if they have lots of seasonal green foliage, which is cheaper and looks great in abundance around the centre of the table. Smells amazing too.

(If you have a holly bush/fir tree in the garden then you know where you need to go with your garden scissors!)

If you’re short of bits and bobs and the table looks a bit empty then bring out the condiments and put them in interesting bowls and jugs. It’s a bit of a pain when you have to decant them back at the end of the night but it’s nicer than having a jar of Hellman’s on the table and it gives you more – well – stuff.

I realise this is becoming a little bit Pippa’s Tips obvious, so I’ll stop now, but surely you’ve got the gist of it? Make it look decadent by grouping things like candles and vases, add height to the table with tall candlesticks rather than little tealights and add some interest with gorgeous dinnerware and cutlery. If you’re going the whole shebang with your dinnerware and cutlery then get stuff that you’ll use all the time and not just squirrel away “for best”, and if you’re on a budget or have perfectly good crockery that you just find a bit boring then add some quirky little plates to sit on top. (Hunt around for bits that look good with it, or that purposefully mismatch.)

Right, I’m off to work out how to use my new food processor. Hopefully it won’t go the same way as the last one, which had an accident when it tried to crush some ice. (It had already drunk six salt-rimmed Margaritas…)

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