#like cows & rabbits THANK YOU for gaving us more pets !!!!!!!!!!!!!

[narrators-journal]

Oh raven won’t you sing me a happy song

So, if you haven’t noticed, this is an older fic. I’ve improved since this point, and I’m also taking time to edit my work, so there is a descrepency. I hope those who read this can find enjoyment in it anyway though! And I hope my editting saves it from being total garbage

Warning: here

previous part: here

cw: dubcon, weaker writing, Gogol being a sadist, I think that’s all!

After your first run in with the man, you learned his name was Gogol, Nikolai Gogol, and even though he was very fucked up personally, keeping you in a cage was something of a dead give away for that, he did at least have a nice side. Aside from being pervy and really wanting to touch you when he came to deliver food or take trays, he was respectful enough to not hurt you. He'd grab your hand, kiss you on the wrist or lips, really anything he could to give you small affections, but rarely anything severe. It was a mixture of charming and creepy.  You couldn't really figure out exactly what his intentions were.

For a while, you did try to avoid him, scrambling from side to side in the cage to try and avoid his touches, but after a few days you gave in. You'd let him pet your (h/l), (h/c) hair, or kiss the backs of your hand, being an obedient little bird in hopes of earning freedoms.

When he realized you were growing more obedient, his orders grew bit by bit. Allowing him to simply touch you turned into you now initiating contact, you assumed that was because of some level of touch starvation, small kisses turned into letting him leave hickeys on your neck. It was on the creepier side of things, but you were determined to get at least a little bit of freedom so you could try to escape, so, you indulged him, grabbing his hand, or playing with his hair for a moment when he came down to your basement, and slowly, you began to enjoy him coming around.

Being locked in a massive suspended bird cage in a windowless basement wasn't the best setting for a social life, so to avoid going insane from loneliness, you didn't shame yourself for the flutter of joy you'd get when the tall man would come visit. Luckily for you, he came around for more than simply feeding and watering you, he'd sometimes come down and just sit with you, talking about nothing in particular, showing you magic tricks, small things like that. You weren't quite attracted to him outside of looks, but you didn't exactly push yourself to find some similarities to relate to or anything, you just needed physical contact for your sanity, you didn't want to so easily be that girl who falls for a violent kidnapper. However, you also fought against the shame you felt for even finding him attractive at all. After all, if you were going to be stuck in a cage in a basement for however long you were gonna be there you couldn't afford to guilt yourself over such fickle things as physical attraction.

Allowing yourself that freedom from guilt helped you to cope without going absolutely bat shit. It wasn't the best situation, you still had plenty of days where you tore at the fabric that formed your cage's cushion, kicked at the bars and threw one hell of a tantrum, but at least you were doing the best you could be expected to. Right? It was on one of your bad days, one of the days where you yowled curses at Gogol and try to tear up your cage like a rabid dog that you heard it. Once you were tuckered out, reduced to a puddle of sobbing screams of despair clutching your blanket and biting at the cushion of your flooring you heard him, or more, his laughter. When you looked up, into the darkness of the basement where your dim lantern couldn't reach, you could just make out Gogol's silhouette, only sure it was him due to the dim glow of his mismatched eyes. At least, it looked like they glowed, it could've been the light reflecting just right to give that effect.           "Awww, little Golubka, why so upset?" he asked, a sickeningly cheerful lilt in his thickly accented voice "I thought we were past these fits. Although, I do admittedly find them to be very entertaining~" he sang, getting up from the bed across from you and meandering over to the cage, his grin evilly charming.

When he was right in front of you, he reached out and tried to touch you, not being able to quite make contact, and while you didn't want him to touch you, you also didn't want to piss him off when he seemed to have some sort of teleportation ability, so you moved closer and let him grab your hand.          "How about this, my little dove, I'll make you a deal. All you have to do is give me a blowjob." he said, giving your hand a firm squeeze when you tried to yank away. Your cheeks were crimson, your stomach churning with anxiety and embarrassment...and lust, but Gogol didn't let you go, "Come now, Golubka, a blowjob is not too hard to ask in exchange for a nice little walk outside, right?" he soothed, and after a moment you nodded. He gave you a charming smile and yanked you forward, making you squeak and close your eyes. When you opened them again you were outside of your bird cage, being held by your captor. He happily brought you over to the king-sized bed and plopped down on it, keeping you in his lap for a moment before beginning to nudge you back until you took the hint and got between his legs like he wanted. You didn't want to ponder how he got a boner seemingly so fast, so you simply focused on pulling his striped pants down to free his erection. You weren't super shocked to see that he was a healthy size for his height, not unreasonable, but not quite average either, you were surprised though at how quickly your lust grew. Though you were also thankful for that, it made the task easier on your mental health ever so slightly. The way he hummed when your fingers brushed his length made you think he wouldn't take too much to get off, which made you feel a bit better about the situation. It wouldn't last too long. So, you gave him a lick from base to tip than pumped him with your hand until the clown tangled his gloved hand in your (h/l), (h/c) hair and pulled you forward with a groan. So, you smartly decided to skip the foreplay, just slipping him past your lips and going as far down as you could before needing to pull back. You started off slow, needing to work up you courage before bobbing your head faster or anything, though you did try to be considerate and used your hand to stroke what you couldn't reach. Your actions earned a few moans from the white haired Russian, the noises sending little bolts of pleasure to your own nether regions while his hand gripping your hair tighter and pushing you down more when he got impatient with your pace. At least, not long after that he did orgasm, forcing you to choke on his member as he did, humming with satisfaction and grinning when a few tears slipped out of your (e/c) eyes. Finally, he let your hair go and let you sit up properly to cough and breath. While you caught your breath and gagged on the salty taste of his cum, Gogol got up and pulled his pants back up before heading upstairs and heading into what you assumed was the rest of the house. He left the door open, and was gone for a long moment, so you felt a spark of hope flutter to life in your chest. You were shaky, but you got up from the cold concrete floor and scrambled and stumbled for the door. Your heart beat like a jackhammer and your nerves felt like they were burning with energy as you tripped over yourself on the stairs and got to the door,  stumbling into some sort of pantry  that led to the kitchen. With the new scent of anything but stale basement air, you were flooded with adrenaline that made your muscles shudder, urging you to bolt like a scared rabbit, but you forced yourself to creep forward and peek out. The kitchen was empty, no Gogol in sight, and, your luck was good, a backdoor was in reach. So, you dashed for it, too excited and panicked to care about the noise or anything else, trying to unlock it with unsteady hands and than tearing it open.

However, before you could run out into the cold, crisp night air that had just hit you in the face like a schoolyard bully, without a sound of a single footstep to warn you, you felt a strong arm wrap around your midsection and hoist you up until your feet no longer touched the tile floor. You kicked and shrieked of course, but from what you could see, the house was at least in the countryside, so your pleas for help were unheard by anyone but the distant cows or deer.            "What a naughty, naughty Golubka! I was already going to take you outside, you should've known better than to try and go out alone!" Gogol chided, sounding sickeningly amused by your attempt. You hated that, hated that in this moment of near freedom after such an embarrassing low point, you were snatched back into the darkness, and he had the balls to be happy. As if the small crumb of escape  wasn't insult enough, you wouldn't even get the pleasure of pissing Gogol off. Instead, as you thrashed and yowled, fighting for all your worth to get free before he could shut the door and lock you away again, the clown was giggling. He giggled and relished the struggle you put up as he carried you back through the pantry, tore your hands from the door frame when you tried to latch onto that, getting a few more gulps of non-basement air before being brought back into your cement prison and teleported back into your cage. Of course you threw one hell of a fit, throwing pillows and blankets at the bars, shrieking insults at the twisted grin of your captor, but he simply waited for you to exhaust yourself before speaking again, his voice a calm, almost playful scolding,            "Now look what you've gotten yourself. Instead of a nice walk with me, you must now stay in the cage. Maybe next time either think twice before bolting, or be quicker." he said, and you kicked the cages side again, making him full out laugh before vanishing again. The last thing you saw before returning to the dimly lit darkness, was that slice of light being slowly, tauntingly thinned until the basement door clicked shut once more.

#yandere gogol #bsd #bungo stray dogs #nikolai gogol x reader #fanfiction #quotev #not sfw #sing sweet nightingale

[restingdomface]

Lan Wangji makes extremely deadpan videos of his daily life with Wei Wuxian and their kids and nephews (and nieces if JC and JYL had more). This would include:

*shows a video of LWJ staring out the window for a solid thirty seconds, face entirely unchanged and somewhat disappointed, turns camera around to show Wei Wuxian and the kiddos putting mentos in soda bottles and trying to chuck them at each other, camera pans back to his face, still entirely devoid of emotion*

That one time Jin Ling got stuck up a tree and Wei Wuxian tried to get him down and also got stuck up there and now the other kids are looking for a ladder while LWJ just watches them from the patio, drinking tea. The kids finally give up and shamefully come to LWJ and ask him for help, he gets his husband and nephew down without a word.

The one where he buried 5yo A-Yuan in a pile of bunnies and got scolded by Lan Xichen for it because they might bite him if they get annoyed with him.

There is an entire compilation of rabbits that won’t leave him alone. Climb into his lap. Follow him with every step. Get excited when he comes outside. Hear a guqin and start looking for him. Just. He’s the rabbit whisperer. One of the black ones is just about always with him.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian interacting in any capacity is going to involve a lot of hitting each other and pushing each other over. Only-child kids think they hate each other, but people with siblings are all ‘no no, siblings are just Like That’. People think Yanli is all innocent till they realize she def only tells them to stop when she thinks they might actually get on each other’s nerves. She’s in the ‘boys will rough house and probably only have one collective braincell’ category.

People won’t stop asking him if he speaks so he vaguely makes mentions of having extremely low verbility. They ask if he does sign and he’s not really sure how (lol cause words hard) to explain to them that sign doesn’t really help when the issue is more of him not having much to say tbh. This is apparently the wrong thing to say because then people start being all ‘yeah I get you, I’m pretty dumb too, at least you’re pretty’ and he’s just sorta sitting there with this smacked fish look on his face while WWX can’t stop laughing next to him at the very idea of someone calling his husband slow. Wow. LWJ just sorta finally gets out that he has like two degrees and teaches giqun lessons and it’s amazing. The kids find out about it and can’t stop laughing for hours.

“Hey, why did you name your son ‘sorrow and longing’?” *commense 10 minute video of that time Wei Wuxian got arrested for something to do with a satanic ritual and that’s when LWJ ended up with custody of his adopted son for the next three years and he was in a really angsty mood tbh so it just kinda happened* not a single commenter expected that, even less so when he mentions that they weren’t even together at that point

Films what the viewers think is a prank at first, where he pours a dangerous amount of chili powder into a mug of hot chocolate (with a completely straight face) and then brings it to WWX who takes a drink and makes a dreamy little sigh and goes ‘you always know how to make it just like I want it’ and no one is sure how to react to this video. It’s like watching someone peel and eat a lemon.

You know that video of the girl with the deadpan voice saying she went downstairs to take a shower and there was something brown in the bottom of the tub but it turned out to be potatoes and she’s all ‘not a problem I was expecting, but a problem I can handle’? Okay so that’s how he talks in every video. WWX hands him a baby and he talks to them exactly like that. People ask if he’s good with kids and WWX is all ‘yeah, he’s not just a rabbit whisperer, he’s a baby whisperer too, he’s super great with kids’ *shows LWJ talking to a baby in That Voice while the baby looks at him in utter adoration*

“What’s it like growing up gay? Do you ever get shit for it?” LWJ.exe has stopped working, he has only met one straight couple the same age as him and they’re his sister in law. His brother has three boyfriends, one of which is his brother-in-law. He doesn’t know what a het-er-o-sexual is and he doesn’t want to. Pretty sure his uncle is acearo and hasn’t seen his parents in like 20 years.

LWJ: ‘I apologize for being so emotional in my last video.’ *viewers scrambled to find what video he meant because they ain’t ever seen that man emotional before but end up finding a video where Sizhui told him he loved him and called him papa and gave him a hug while WWX filmed, you can barely see LWJ’s left eye twitching and he pets Sizhui’s head for a moment* viewers are very confused on how this constitutes emotionalism.

Viewers ask to see his brother ‘you know, the one who apparently has three boyfriends’ and LWJ posts a video of LXC passed out on a couch with like three fully grown men all in various states of sliding off onto the floor while the teens play a game of ‘who can stack the most random objects on uncle’s bodies without them waking’ because apparently LWJ and WWX were gone for a weekend and the uncles were supposed to watch the kids (like, all ten of them probably, there’s probably a lot of kids) and it’s Sizhui filming the whole thing cause he’s the ‘good one’ and never does bad things. But he’s also like Auntie Yanli and is totally gonna egg them on from the sidelines.

WWX hands LWJ literally any food and LWJ will eat it all with a completely straight face but as soon as WWX is turned around LWJ is chugging a glass of milk with a look of death on his face. The kiddos straight up can’t stomach his cooking.

😭 someone asks why their hair is all so long and LWJ puts up a video of chatty adorable Sizhui braiding WWX’s hair while he tells him about his day at school. It’s. Too. Cute.

The never ending debate on if LWJ’s deadpan personality/speech is acting or not. No matter how much everyone assures them he’s really just Like That people just aren’t convinced.

Someone points out several times that in their house they have a room with a satanic symbol on the door. That’s just WWX’s home office it’s all good. This is treated as ‘lol WWX is so dramatic’ for like four whole weeks before LWJ posts a video of Sizhui standing outside the office looking nervous. ‘What’s wrong?’ He says. ‘Dad called me into his office.’ Sizhui replies. ‘WWX must be a very strict father,’ the viewers think. That’s not it. That’s not it at all tbh. That video got flagged on like four different platforms and kept getting removed for graphic images and half their viewers don’t. Want. To know. What happened. In that office. (WWX doesn’t even see what the big deal was, that goat was dead when he bought it shut up.)

The others do videos sometimes too lol. Videos include

Jin Ling’s compilation of ‘Mom, what’s for dinner’ and the answer is Always Lotus root and pork rib soup. Someone asks ‘lol she must make that often’ and JL is all ‘lol often, fairly sure she got same-food syndrome, it’s always soup’.

Lan Sizhui at like 17 years old: The one true secret I’ve never told my dads? My most shameful lie? Rabbits aren’t my favorite. My favorite is butterflies. *proceeds to cuddle a bun* I’m sorry Mister Bun, but you just aren’t nearly as pretty as butterflies.

Shaky video of someone sitting on the couch, pointed at NMJ: Brother, while you’re away on vacation with your boyfriends, I don’t plan on leaving this spot for even a minute. NMJ: Oh yeah? What’ll you do when you have to use the bathroom? NHS: Listen, I found a guy on Craig’s List who’s exact fetish is lazy young men who refuse to move and also diapers exist and he’ll be my slave for the week if I let him change me. NMJ: ...I’m taking you with me on vacation. NHS: Yay! NMJ: I’m also taking your phone away. NHS: -wait, no- NMJ: Too late.

Jin Ling: JiuJiu, I spilt soda on your Valentino white belt. Jiang Cheng: *incomprehensible sputtering* -soda on my Valentino white belt-!

Sizhui: *brings Jingyi a bowl of food* Here. Jingyi: Thank you! *takes a bite, face falls in terror, gives Sizhui a betrayed look* Sizhui: Dad’s worried I’m getting sick, he said this would clear my chest cold up. He didn’t consider what horrible things it would do to my bowels instead. Please eat it, he gets sad when I don’t finish what he makes. Jingyi: *glaring* Just dump it down the garbage disposal! Sizhui: *def has a fever if he didn’t think of that* Oh. Good idea.

LWJ: *swaying in place* WWX: This bitch drunk as hell. LWJ: I’m. Gonna comit. A crime. WWX: *crying a little* I love drunk hubby times. A full shot of vodka and he’s not gonna remember any of this. Hey kids, I’m taking Papa on a walk! Sizhui’s in charge!

Zizhen: *sitting quietly on the couch while LSZ, LJY and JL all argue behind him somewhere, covering his mouth with a slightly horrified look* Jingyi: I mean, that’s not fair at all! Who HASNT made out with their cousin at one point or another? Ling: ... Sizhui: You said you’d never bring that up again please shut up. Ling: ...!!!!!! Zizhen: Amazing.

That one time the kiddos hypnotized Jin Ling into thinking he was a kitten. The adults all thought it was really weird that he was finally going through the whole ‘pretending to be an animal’ phase at like ten, but then the kiddos fessed up to learning how to hypnotize and they aren’t sure how to fix it. WWX instigated a rule that no brainwashing is allowed outside his office from now on.

People ask how WWX and LWJ met and it’s told from the POV of Lan Qiren who progressively getting drunker as he tells the story of the terrible high school romance that he had to watch between bad boy WWX and his precious baby angel nephew that made him consider quitting and how no one believed them when they insisted they didn’t get together till after WWX got out of jail for the cow incident.

#the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the untamed #mdzs #incorrect untamed quotes #incorrect mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #jiang cheng #lan sizhui #juniors #lan jingyi #lan juniors #jin ling #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #nie brothers #ouyang zizhen #lan qiren

[kurowrites]

Anytime

So, I saw this post and @sarah-yyy‘s tags, and since I’m a dumb person with the attention span of a goldfish, I completely forgot about all my other projects and wrote this instead.

So have Wei Ying owning a car, and Lan Zhan being very, very weak for that smile. Enjoy.

---

The first time it happened, it was… not necessary, perhaps, but certainly welcome.

Lan Zhan stood just outside the large central entrance of the library, barely shielded from the downpour by its projecting roof. The weather broadcast this morning hadn’t announced rain, so Lan Zhan had rode his bicycle to university as he usually would. While he had been studying in the library, however, the weather had changed from partially sunny to what some might be tempted to call the precursor to the apocalypse, and he had missed his chance to return home unscathed. The library would close soon; returning inside wasn’t an option. Neither was riding his bicycle home in this deluge. He could only wait, and maybe call his brother if the bad weather persisted.

He had just made peace with the thought that he would be standing there for a while when someone bumped into his side. Taken by surprise by the sudden physical contact, he swung around, stepping back, but what he found... was Wei Ying, smiling up at him with his usual incandescent grin.

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying had shared exactly one class in their first year of university, but ever since then, Lan Zhan had been unable to escape the acquaintance. Had eventually given up trying to escape the acquaintance, submitting to the inevitable.

It didn’t help that Wei Ying’s happy smile always made his knees weak. Wei Ying was loud and obnoxious, but Lan Zhan would gladly take that loud and obnoxious if it came in combination with that smile. The one that Wei Ying always used on him.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaimed happily. “Fancy meeting you here! Are you going home?”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan agreed.

When he didn’t move, but simply kept staring out at the falling rain (in an attempt not to stare at Wei Ying for too long), Wei Ying’s smile turned into a frown.

“Ah,” he said, concern now tingeing his voice. “You forgot your umbrella, huh? Not that it will help you much today. It might break in this weather before you’ve made it as far as the next building.”

Lan Zhan had expected Wei Ying to leave after he’d made his customary greeting, but a moment later, he bumped into Lan Zhan again.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Want me to give you a ride? I have a car!”

Lan Zhan opened his mouth to decline politely, but Wei Ying was already pulling on his arm.

“Look!” He pointed through the heavy rain, though Lan Zhan couldn’t see what he was pointing at. “My car is right over there. If we run, we can make it!”

And with that, he ran out into the rain, pulling Lan Zhan after him.

It was a mad scramble to reach the car relatively unscathed, and Lan Zhan was panicking about the contents of his bag all the while, but eventually they made it, only halfway drenched. They jumped into the car and slammed the doors shut as fast as they could, not caring about anything but getting out of the rain. For a moment, they just sat there in the front seats, breathing heavily as the rain kept pounding onto the windshield. Suddenly, Wei Ying laughed, shook himself, and inserted the key into the ignition.

“That was something, huh, Lan Zhan?” he asked between his laughter. “Look at us, two rats drowned in a storm.”

He shot a look at Lan Zhan.

“You still look as handsome as ever though. That’s so unfair. Do you ever suffer from the phenomenon known as human condition?”

Lan Zhan didn’t bother to reply to that, but privately, he thought that Wei Ying too looked as handsome as ever. The wet hair and drenched jeans added something to his look. It was... Lan Zhan quickly averted his eyes.

“Come on, Lan Zhan, tell me something fun,” Wei Ying continued, not cowed by Lan Zhan’s unresponsiveness. “Is there a time of the day where you don’t look perfectly put together? I’m asking out of scientific interest.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said in warning.

Wei Ying laughed again, more quietly this time, put the car in reverse, and skilfully manoeuvred out of his parking spot.

“You can’t blame me for my curiosity, Lan Zhan. Can’t you help a fellow man out?”

“There is nothing for me to help out,” Lan Zhan replied. It was, after all, the truth. Wei Ying was already handsome enough. Beautiful enough. Attractive enough. Bewitching enough. There was nothing that Lan Zhan could do to improve that.

“Ouch, Lan Zhan, that stings!” Wei Ying said dramatically. “I know I am a scruffy, feeble man, but do you have to say it like that?”

That was certainly not what Lan Zhan had meant. He opened his mouth to reply, but Wei Ying shot him a teasing look.

“Careful, Lan Zhan,” he warned him with more laughter in his voice. “If you aren’t nice to me, I’ll leave you on the roadside, drowned rat or not. See if someone else will pick you up in this weather.”

Wei Ying would never do that, Lan Zhan knew, but he didn’t want to risk insulting Wei Ying by accident a second time. He kept his silence.

“Honestly, Lan Zhan, I had figured you’d own a car. Your family is certainly rich enough for it. “

“Unnecessary,” Lan Zhan replied. “Uncle is strict about protecting the environment.”

“Ah, I see, I’m an evil polluter then,” Wei Ying laughed, shifting gears. “Sorry. I swear the car is necessary, or I’d never make it to university.”

“It was not a judgement.”

“I know that, Lan Zhan, I know that.”

He quickly patted Lan Zhan’s knee, probably to express that he wasn’t angry, but the gentle touch robbed Lan Zhan of his breath. Wei Ying had touched him again. This was the fourth time tonight.

Not that he was counting.

Silence settled over the car, only interrupted by the unceasing sound of pounding rain, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Being with Wei Ying was never uncomfortable, unless one considered Lan Zhan’s inappropriate feelings.

One day, he would learn better than that.

One day.

From time to time, Lan Zhan gave the necessary directions, and before long, they arrived at their destination. The rain had grown slightly weaker by now, though definitely still not enough to risk going home by bicycle.

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said into the silence of the car as it idled at the side of the road. “I’ll see you at university.”

“Anytime, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying folded his arms and leaned on the steering wheel as he smiled at Lan Zhan, a Cheshire grin as if he was letting him in on a secret. “I’m always happy to drive you around.”

Lan Zhan didn’t know what to say or where to look, so he simply bowed his head once before he opened the door and dashed to the entrance of his apartment building, his bag of papers clutched to his chest to shield it from the rain.

That had been the first time Wei Ying drove Lan Zhan home, and, Lan Zhan assumed, the last time, as well.

He was wrong about that.

 ---

It wasn’t a big difference to take public transportation to university the next morning, though Lan Zhan missed his customary bike ride. The public transport took longer and he’d never particularly liked being surrounded by so many people at once. Still, he arrived at the university in good time and went on with his day as he usually would.

He didn’t see Wei Ying that day and returned with his own bicycle in the evening. He banned all thoughts of Wei Ying and moved on. It was useless to dwell on it. It had been a favour, and Wei Ying was simply a good person for making sure Lan Zhan made it home safely in a rainstorm.

Three days later, when he was leaving the library, someone bumped into him again. This time, he didn’t startle, but simply turned around, and there he was: Wei Ying. He looked good in his usual black leather jacket and high ponytail, smiling up at Lan Zhan with that particular smile of his that seemed fine-tuned to make him weak.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying greeted, repeating his words from last time. “Fancy meeting you here! Are you going home?”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan replied.

“Well, in that case, let me give you a ride again, okay? You were such a good customer last time.”

And just like last time, Wei Ying took his hand and led him over to the parking area, and Lan Zhan, smitten fool that he was, followed without complaint.

During the drive home, Wei Ying chattered on about his day, about his siblings, about the horrible dog he had seen the other day; about anything his brain would settle on for a moment, it seemed. Lan Zhan enjoyed the chatter, offering quiet, encouraging noises for him to continue from time to time. Before he knew it, they were already home.

“Thank you again, Wei Ying,” he said when Wei Ying stopped the car.

“Anytime, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied with a smile.

Lan Zhan’s bicycle had been left at university again, but that didn’t matter. Not when he had found a way to spend time with Wei Ying, just the two of them on their own.

 ---

The next day, Lan Zhan found a notice from the university tacked onto his bike to not leave it at university at night, or it would be towed.

We-ll, he thought to himself, this was a sign that he should stop accepting rides from Wei Ying.

And yet, when Wei Ying asked him the next time, he let himself be guided to the parked car by Wei Ying’s hand, and he sat next to Wei Ying during the ride thinking to himself that he had to go back and pick up his bike later on. It was a waste of time, and yet he found himself incapable of rejecting Wei Ying’s offer.

“Lan Zhan, my neighbour got pet rabbits,” Wei Ying excitedly told him. “They are so cute, I tell you. I could eat them, they are so cute.”

Lan Zhan frowned. “Not food.”

“I know, I know. Have you never seen anything so cute that you’ve wanted to eat it?”

You.

The thought came unbidden, and it startled him. He felt his ears burn at the thought, but luckily, Wei Ying kept his eyes on the road.

This time, he stifled a sigh of relief when they finally arrived at their destination. He felt like he was losing his mind. Wei Ying was too much.

“Thank you again, Wei Ying,” he said out loud.

“Anytime, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied with a smile.

Returning to university to pick up his bicycle was a waste of time, but he had to do it.

It was also so, so worth it.

 ---

Lan Zhan’s new habit of letting Wei Ying drive him home, returning to university, and driving home again continued for a while. It was fine, he told himself. He wasn’t hurting anyone with it. Except for himself. Keeping his desperate hope up that Wei Ying could ever see him as more than the person he sometimes drove home after seeing him at the library.

It was fine.

Like all good things, however, it had to end at some point. The end came unexpected.

Wei Ying had driven him home that day as usual, talking about his neighbour’s rabbits and how much they had grown since they had first arrived. As usual, Lan Zhan had thanked Wei Ying before he’d gotten out of the car, and Wei Ying had replied, “Anytime.”

As usual, he had returned to university to pick up his bike. Before he could pick it up at the parking area, however, he had run straight into Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaimed with surprise. “Didn’t I just drop you off at home? Did you forget something? Do you want me to drive you back?”

“I– Wei Ying is still at university?” Lan Zhan asked, confused.

“Ahahaha yeah, funny story that, I forgot I still had a meeting to go to!”

Was it just him, or did Wei Ying seem strangely nervous?

“Forget, my ass, you’re just trying to avoid your responsibilities,” Jiang Cheng groused.

“Hey! I had important stuff to do!”

“Oh yeah? What’s the oh-so important stuff you had to do? Every Thursday, you say you have important stuff to do and end up being late, but you evade answering what that ‘important stuff’ is.”

Wei Ying’s eyes flickered over to Lan Zhan for a moment, before they settled on Jiang Cheng again, teasing whim while simultaneously trying to appease him without actually answering the question.

Something stuck in Lan Zhan’s mind. Thursday.

Thursday was generally the day that Wei Ying would catch him at the library and drive him home. Thursday was apparently also they day on which Wei Ying had meetings which he was late for regularly.

Wei Ying shot him another look, his cheeks tinged red. He looked… panicked.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I came to pick up my bicycle,” he said.

In a moment, Jiang Cheng was forgotten. Wei Ying’s attention was all on Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan! You commute by bicycle? I didn’t know!”

“You never asked.”

“Oooh, shit, you are right! Oh man, I’m so sorry! You were too nice to say anything! I feel so bad now!”

“I did not mind.”

Wei Ying stopped and looked at him with big eyes.

“I did not mind… Wei Ying driving me home.”

There was a punctuated moment of silence between them. Lan Zhan was quite sure Jiang Cheng was frowning somewhere in the background, but he could not attend to that now.

Slowly, understanding dawned in Wei Ying’s eyes.

He took one step ahead.

Then another one.

Then he latched onto Lan Zhan’s wrist.

Squeezed once, and smiled when Lan Zhan’s hand turned around to hold onto Wei Ying’s wrist, too. They were almost holding hands.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying quietly said, looking at their hands and then up at Lan Zhan’s face. Looking at their hands again, holding onto each other. “Next time… let me pick you up in the morning.”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan agreed. His ears burned, but he wouldn’t let go now.

(“Not with me in the car!” Jiang Cheng shouted from somewhere behind them. But Lan Zhan couldn’t be bothered, because he was currently faced with something far more devastating. Wei Ying’s smile, while he had thought it impossible, had just managed to grow so impossibly bright he had to close his eyes. He couldn’t look, or he might go blind by the sheer force of it. Still, he looked. The damage was worth it, he thought. That smile was sure to burn itself onto his soul, and he could not find it inside himself to regret that the slightest bit.)

#kuro writes #the untamed #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Honeylocust || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Recent

LOCATION: A farm not far out of town

PARTIES: @deathduty and @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Deirdre take a break to visit some cows.

CONTAINS: brief mention of past abuse

The farm was some miles out of town, secluded off a thin stretch of road. The humble homestead rarely brought traffic or attention, but the owner was passionate right up to his passing, of which Deirdre did her duty to observe. But unlike most deaths she watched, she couldn't stir her mind from what this man left. His home, his animals, and the family that would undoubtedly sell it all as soon as they flew in from the big cities they found far more alluring. It was by some combination of asking around, promise-binding and careful planning, that she knew his farm would not be attended to. A tragedy, surely, but an opportunity on another hand. Of course, all she told Morgan was that she wanted to show her something.

"I think it's just over here," Deirdre explained, resting her arm along the door, windows pulled down to let in the cool summer breeze. Her luxury car wasn't suited for the cracked road under them, and the forest-lined street seemed about as exciting as the occasional bump in the road. Every so often, they'd hit a patch of wide grassland to look over, the shimmering ocean beyond them, but the view was quickly obstructed by trees again. "Or at least I think it is. I might be lost. I don't see any signs for 'fun and special surprise for Morgan'. We didn't pass it, did we?" Her voice hid her amusement poorly, even if the lopsided smile and mischievous glint hadn't given her away. Deirdre might have considered trying to act more convincing if she wasn't so excited. She had a feeling Morgan would like the rabbits the owner kept, they were big and fluffy and as much as Deirdre compared humans to rabbits, she thought the gesture would be well received. If the rabbits didn't work, they did have the stranger's house to themselves. And, well, if that didn't work either, there was a beach just further down that was decidedly less cursed than the one they knew. "You know, why don't we pull up into that farm there and ask for directions."  Pulling up to the small house, she turned on to rough gravel that gave way to smooth dirt. The red brick burned against the well-kept, white wood accents, revealing a house that was both humble, yet striking. Small, yet loved dearly. Deirdre shut her car off, smiling at Morgan before taking in the sight. Beyond the house was the pasture, which had the jersey cows lazily grazing, and beyond them was the chicken coop. The rabbit pen was somewhere by the chickens, as Deirdre remembered. "Or, you know, it might just be that the surprise is around here somewhere. We should get out to look." She grinned, already half out the car.

Morgan would have spent the drive in Deirdre’s lap if she could. The summer had been hard, marked with death and restless nights and now, in a twist she should have seen coming, more cruel magic. She watched the sun glint off the windshield and imagined how the heat felt to the concrete, how the lacy wisps of cloud above them might long for more moisture. She imagined it was the same way she longed for this break from White Crest. The world she wanted, the kind one, the one where she could still feel and connect without pushing her mind to its limit, that was hers and Deirdre’s felt harder to reach when there were strange voices and underground cages and alchemists filled with iron and rage around each corner. But there was safety in the sprawl of the forest, with its trees so old they seemed to lock arms against any trouble. And there was hope in the curl of Deirdre’s smile as she drove. Morgan shifted in her seat just to look at her better and sneak a candid picture to add to her collection. “Fun and special, huh?” She asked, smirking as she lined up the shot. The sun was so bright it made her hair look like it was streaked with gold. “As opposed to the boring and super ordinary kind of surprises you’re just full of. Although, I would probably find a ‘boring’ surprise really interesting. Anything from you is worthwhile, babe.”

The world peeled away turn by turn, simpler and greener than the one they were leaving for the day. She laughed softly as Deirdre carried the charade all the way up to a cheerful looking farmhouse. Not the kind of place she would’ve imagined Deirdre liking at a glance. It was tidy, lovingly maintained, and still within view of other, similar homesteads. But these little surprises of discovery endeared her more to her love. They could stay together for a century or more, and Morgan still wouldn’t have all the answers to her. “So, what’s this?” She asked, playing along with exaggerated curiosity. “Are we staying the night here? Because I definitely didn’t pack a bag and there will be nothing to save us from my morning hair.” She stepped out and stumbled through the rocky grass to take her girlfriend’s hand. “Are you taking me to a picnic? Is this why we brought extra snacks? Ooh should I close my eyes so I’m extra surprised?” Morgan bounced on her toes and gave her a chaste kiss. “Not that I’m not already surprised and happy to be here. I can’t begin to say how much I need this. So, thank you, my love.” She tugged her along the grass, walking backwards. “Show me your special surprise now?”

“Anything from me, huh?” Deirdre smirked, doing well to hide the nervous flutter that claimed her stomach. She wouldn’t mention her three-part contingency plan, or how she was beginning to think that, just maybe, rabbits weren’t that thrilling. But when she’d seen the farm for the first time in a vision, all she could think of was how it might be nice to take Morgan to a place like this: idyllic, calm, loved and friendly. White Crest gave Morgan no breaks, but Deirdre could carve one out for her, on this homestead, some miles out. Even if the rabbits were a miss, the summer sun and the late farmer’s garden hammock sounded pleasant enough. “You know, I’ve never wanted to be saved from your morning hair, I happen to like it.” Deirdre grinned, squeezing Morgan’s hand a little tighter as she took the lead. “Unless you mean in addition to being adorably fluffy, it also has a mind of its own. Is it going to strangle me? Now I’m intrigued.” Her banter continued over her unlocking the pasture gate, and leading them into the open field. “I wouldn’t recommend closing your eyes---” And in saying so, Deirdre’s gaze met one of the cow’s, who had paused its grazing to regard them curiously. “Actually,” she turned to Morgan, “close your eyes and stand--” she moved her, “--right there. Hold your hands out like--” she gently tugged them up “--that.”

Jingling carried along with the breeze, the cow happily galloping towards them, its bell swaying with each step. It mooed quietly as it nudged Deirdre’s hand first, who then led her to Morgan. This cow, brown in color and smaller than the rest, Deirdre pulled out from the farmer’s rambling as Penny. As a Jersey cow raised on his homestead, she was as friendly as she was soft to the touch. Penny began to nudge Morgan’s hands, trying to rub her head against them to incur the scratches she wanted. When that wasn’t working, she pushed closer, rubbing against Morgan’s arms until she had successfully squeezed in between them. Despite her greed for attention, Penny was a gentle creature, as most dairy cows were. She mooed again, finally solidifying what she wanted from Morgan by licking her face. Deirdre raised her hand, grabbing Morgan’s and bringing it right behind the cow’s ear. She curled their hands together, rubbing them across the fur as the cow tilted her head towards them, clearly pleased. “This is Penny,” Deirdre released Morgan’s hand, “she’s very excited to see you.” The other cows began the slow jaunt towards them, their bells clanking as they moved lazily across the pasture. “The owner of the farm passed away. I’ve had to bind someone into coming by to take care of the animals since his family is a little uninterested. I must have...left some gaps in that promise.” Very attention-hungry gaps. Penny whined again, insistent for more. “You don’t mind if I take care of them for a little bit, do you?”

“Anything,” Morgan emphasized. “Try me, I dare you.” She followed Deirdre through the grass, content with the mystery of her surprise, bubbling softly with laughter as she teased. “Oh, now you’re interested? What about my shiny afternoon hair? Or my just straightened magazine hair? Maybe my evening hair wants to strangle you with much more elegance. You know, with a little rosewater, a classy strangling, as you do.” She reeled Deirdre into a kiss just as she asked her to close her eyes. “Ooh, now I’m intrigued,” she murmured against her skin. “As you wish, my love.” She let her hands be posed and held them in place, the picture of obedience.

Morgan knew better than to expect anything in particular, but the strange wet pressure on her fingertips still made her squeal with surprise. “Oh, Stars! What is that? Is that a--!” She squealed again as the creature moved her head under her palm, insisting on some form of pets. “Are we petting cows?” She giggled. Slowly, after enough halting efforts, she realized that Penny liked a firm, scratching hand just like herself. Morgan released the tension in her arms and opened her eyes. Penny’s limpid black cow eyes were bigger than any she’d seen on any animal. Her lashes fluttered and her moos changed in tone as she reveled in the new attention, spotted tail swinging. Morgan turned her face just in time to avoid getting licked in the eye and redoubled her efforts along the cow’s fine hair with her free hand to prove she understood. She craned her head back at Deirdre, who was bursting with a look so soft and nervous, Morgan stopped to nestle her girlfriend’s body even closer against her back.“Penny, huh? Has that always been her name or did you just give it to her so she knows she’s special?” She looked back at the young cow, almost as attention-hungry at Moira, and resumed her scratches. “She’s beautiful. She...she looks like she’s real soft. All that fine hair, and all that pink on her ears. She probably feels as soft as she’s gentle, huh?” Her voice trailed off thoughtfully as she went on, trying to remember if she’d ever pet a calf at a petting zoo or at the ranch field trips her school had bussed them out on. She must have, she was sure, but she couldn’t remember, much less how the cow was supposed to feel or whether she was being too rough or if her skin was going to prove too cold before long.

“Of course you can,” she said softly. She lifted their joined hands and kissed Deirdre’s knuckles before turning her attention back to the cow, running her hand along her back in long strokes now. “Are these like the cows you raised in Ireland? You had one that you named once, didn’t you?”

With snide comments about hair subdued, there was nothing but the cow to focus on. “You can be rougher with them, you know,” Deirdre explained softly, demonstrating the force Morgan could use by pressing her fingers against Penny’s head, then applying the pressure to Morgan’s arm. “They’re not delicate. Not like the cats. In fact, she really wants you to be less gentle with her.” Penny kept insisting for more from Morgan, nudging her with her large nose, or rubbing her head against her clothes. “But if you’re worried about it, she seems good just using you as a brush. I’d warn you about the rough tongues, but I think you’ll be okay.” She moved around, wrapping her arms around Morgan’s waist and tightening her grip as she spoke. “She’s very soft. As soft as she is gentle. Imagine Anya with a rougher coat, it’s still silky, but just thicker.” Deirdre pressed a kiss to Morgan’s cheek, “and if you’re good with her, my love, let me just go grab a brush.”

Deirdre rolled up her sleeves as she moved to the side of the house, which she knew was where the farmer kept a few supplies. She filled a pail with water from the hose, grabbing the cleanest towels of the ones left out (cow saliva had a way of drying like glue, and she thought Morgan might appreciate washing it off her face). Then she picked two brushes out, both with thick enough bristles and solid handles. With her items, and towel flung over her shoulder, she made her way back. It was something about carrying a metal bucket that made her feel like she was back to doing her chores in Ireland. Those days were too far gone now to be missed and too unimportant to be mourned, but she carried herself with familiarity of the motions: setting the pail down, readying her brush.

“‘Penny’ is the farmer’s doing, by the way. I have better taste than that. I wouldn’t know what to name a cow in any case.” Moira was the result of a verbal fumble, her creativity couldn’t extend that far. To name something was to give it value, to have value in something was...to care. And to care was---Deirdre shivered. “We had a different breed in Ireland. Thicker coats.” She held her hand over Penny’s neck, remembering Ella’s, adorning mismatched cuts as she struggled to summon the power necessary to end her life cleanly. She was only 10. “Just one.” She raised her hand, expecting to see a knife where she held the brush. She ran the rough bristles along Penny’s coat in slow, deliberate streaks. She marveled at the lack of blood, the pleased exhales instead of the pained whistles. “To care was to lose, and it never made sense to name creatures that only lived to be hurt.” Penny moved her head, positioning herself best to get as much brushing and petting as she could, in the places she wanted. The other cows mooed, renewed in their desire to join Penny. Deirdre’s gaze, however, had wandered away from Penny to watch Morgan. “Here,” she held the extra brush for Morgan to take. “This might be better. You’ll know you’re being too rough when the cows aren’t leaning into it.”

Morgan let her hands grow idle and still as she watched Deirdre come marching up the field with her supplies, more confident and at ease at once than she’d seen her in a while. Her banshee was self-assured more often than not, but this was different, another side of her emerging into the glaring day for the first time in, well, who knew how long, really? Morgan tried to imagine her carrying such heavy things as a girl, her big workboots, her adamant determination to do all she was capable of, and felt a part of her heart throb and give way to Deirdre, who was still so much more than Morgan realized. “Sure you would. You named Moira pretty well, didn’t you?” She said, beaming from Deirdre to the cow and back again.

“Is it...wrong or weird somehow, to remember the lives of animals, the way you do people? I mean, if they were cared for, if they were known and you loved them…” Morgan hesitated as Penny insisted she pet her more roughly. “I guess what I’m trying to ask is if it’s okay to talk about her. Your cow. Or...any others you cared about. We don’t have to, I don’t want you to be a way you don’t want to or anything, I just wondered. You already seem so...there’s something different in you here. Something nice, though.”

Morgan hesitated as she reached for the brush, even as Deirdre guessed her thoughts. She had only made Moira uncomfortable once when she squeezed her too tightly to her chest in a burst of fondness. She had released the kitten at once and left her alone the rest of the day out of shame, even though Moira was ready to sit near her within an hour to herself. Morgan had never felt like a monster, but hurting a kitten, even on accident, was enough to make her wonder. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll try my best.” She started at Penny’s neck and followed the fall of her hair. Short strokes at first, then harder as Penny continued to but her head against Morgan’s arm. “They’re pretty resilient for being so gentle. I can see why you might like them. I bet they’re good listeners...”

"I was trying to name her after you," Deirdre confessed quietly, "one of the stupid pamphlets in the lobby said you could try naming them after things you liked. It was—it was geared towards children, but in my defense, it was the closest thing to read to where I was sitting." She hadn't named Moira, so much as she had stuttered and Morgan filled in the blanks. She couldn't name a creature again, it felt dooming. "And it….had a crossword on the back that I did. I just—you remember it, the wait was long." Embarrassed, she turned back to Penny, moving down to brush along her ribs. She was happy enough to leave the conversation there, but the inquiry to the animals she knew left her tense. She remained silent for a moment, glancing over to Morgan eventually. "You're doing good," she praised. "Oh, the best listeners, but terrible gossips. You really have to be careful when telling them anything." It was another moment before she remembered she hadn't answered Morgan's question, and so she turned away from smiling at her love to trying not to over-brush the same spot.

Deirdre began in a low, soft rumble of a voice. "They're animals. If their lives have any meaning, it's because someone prescribed it to them. They're animals." Which was synonymous with having minimal value. Her family did a good job of separating things out; the humans were like animals, but the animals were better behaved. Deirdre paused, dropping her hand away from Penny, who was preoccupied now with Morgan. "She wasn't my cow, she was just a cow. Animals are...truly innocent creatures. All instinct and nothing else. It was hard not to like them. But I'd killed them all, one way or another, and there's no sense in—" Another cow nudged Deirdre hand, seeing her unused brush. Painful as it was to remember the creatures she slaughtered, harmed, or did nothing to protect, she couldn't stop herself from laughing with simple delight. "Okay, okay," Deirdre soothed the cow. She spent enough time with animals to know they had personalities and quirks. To know that, for all their supposed lack of value, the ones at the estate always appreciated her arrival. She'd never stopped to wonder what it meant that the things happiest to see her, were the animals. Animals easily won over by treats and attention. Animals she had the great task of harming for the sake of her training. "Remorse was the first thing my mother trained me out of. To give a creature value is to care about them, and you couldn't care about things so far below you. I only thought to care about humans better…because of you. Because it wouldn't be fair to you otherwise." Her voice was soft, absent as she lost herself to the actions of brushing this new cow, just the way she knew cows liked. She always enjoyed the methodical way that caring for animals went. When she didn't want to think, which was often, she lost herself to the motions of care and routine. It was breaking the habit of caring for them that was the hardest, one she hadn't quite learned even now. "I don't think I was particularly kind to the animals. But the ones I liked best died first, and I never knew what to make of that except apathy. Yet, my mother never stopped me from giving treats to the ones we'd just screamed at, or the ones I knew were to be slaughtered. I think she thought it was harmless. I see now that she should have stopped me." It was an Achilles heel of emotionality, it must have been. The very thing that would have made her capable of caring for a human then, of falling in love with one. "I only ever had the nativity to name one of the animals. I wished I could have thought of them with apathy, but we only had a handful of animals on our farm. And I was the one who fed them, bathed them, cared for them. Even if I never gave them a name, I knew exactly which ones we were hurting. And I watched their livelihood deteriorate. Everything I cared for died, by my own doing, to teach me not to care in the first place." She dropped her hand away from the cow, suddenly unable to muster the strength to continue. "I don't think I'm some kind person, Morgan. I just think I'm one that fell in love with you."

Morgan paused in her brushing at Deirdre’s confession. “After me? Oh, my love…” Morgan reached out for her shoulder, running her knuckles gently over her skin. “I am honored by your intentions. I wish you’d said something sooner. You are too kind and too good to me.” She leaned over to kiss her arm and went back to brushing Penny, who was bearing her neck for the brush with more excitement than either of their cats. The cow cooed gently for Morgan and pawed the ground with excitement. Would she always be this way? Or was she only excited because she sensed, somehow, that Deirdre and Morgan wanted to be here in a way her newly promise bound caretakers didn’t? Morgan stared into one of Penny’s eyes in search of the answer, but she felt Deirdre’s fond gaze on her and realized she was probably just being silly.

She almost missed the beginning of Deirdre’s story. Her voice was so soft, and she came about it so strangely at first, Morgan thought she was just making conversation. “Of course we make them more special. Their lives have value in the universe like everything else, but care has value too. Love has value…” But that was Deirdre’s very point. Or the one her mother had tried to torture out of her. Morgan brushed Penny’s neck as Deirdre went on, shushing the cow with extra scratches when she seemed to fret that Morgan was touching her too gently. It was strange to find herself relating to Penny’s desperation to feel comfort, to have the relief of just the right amount of pressure. Morgan felt all the worse for coming to understand her better as Deirdre’s thoughts made their bitter end. Morgan gave Penny’s coat a good, hard squeeze and turned to Deirdre, coming up to hold her from behind.

“Of course you’re kind,” she said, laying her cheek to rest on her back. “How else would you have known to be kind to me if you weren’t already. And then there’s Blanche, Ricky, Remmy, Lydia, and Ariana, and you even sacrificed a fresh bone to help save Winston. And you couldn’t help but pay attention to your cows, to know them so well even without a name to set them apart.” Morgan untangled a hand to start finger combing Deirdre’s hair the way she liked. Gently, she reminded herself. Deirdre never minded her touch, even when it was too hard, but so few things in her life had been gentle with her. Morgan wanted her to remember that she was meant for softness as much as any other creature alive. That she should be touched with tenderly, even if Morgan was too desperate to feel her to give that tenderness too often. “Why else would you give them treats after they’d suffered, or when you knew they were about to hurt? Why go out of your way to make a poor cow happy for a moment, if not to be kind, Deirdre? Your heart must be so great, to withstand all of that work and still want to care. You can forgive yourself for doing what your mother asked of you. It doesn’t make you any less kind or ‘good’ if that’s even a thing. Not to me, my love.” She paused to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Should we sit somewhere for a bit?”

"I don't know if that's something you should be honored by…" Deirdre laughed lightly, relaxing under Morgan's touch. She tried to untangle her thoughts just enough to explain them; something or another about how there was nothing she loved more than Morgan, no other name on her lips. But as her gaze settled back on Morgan and Penny, she thought better of interrupting them with unformed confessions, clumsy as they were sure to be. She let the silence and the wind carry her love instead, hoping they'd be more eloquent. To say she loved Morgan more than the sun was bright, bursting between the lazy rolling clouds above. To say she loved her as the wind pulled around them, for each hair on Penny, for every blade of grass under them. For more than her words could ever dream of saying, and just so much that when asked to name a cat, the only meaning she could think to give it was Morgan's.

"From what I've learned of care, there's a difference between that and guilt; sympathy." Deirdre stood stiff, musing on how her mind had drifted so far from trying to figure out how to explain her love to lamenting a life long gone. Morgan's fingers in her hair were gentle, just enough to draw the pain away, and the cows—unlike Moira—didn't issue any vocal complaints to the lack of brushing. But Deirdre had just one: "why do you do it like that?" She asked, turning to pull Morgan into her arms as well, so they could hold each other. "So gently, I mean. You don't have to." Deirdre knew the answer, more or less, but for every time Morgan summoned that gentleness for her, she hadn't been any less awed. "I'm sorry, this isn't the thrilling surprise I had planned, exactly." She laughed into a kiss, cut short as Penny nudged her. "I can take being good to you, kind in your eyes. It's a far more valuable metric anyway." She could trust it, and she had just started believing it. Penny nudged her again, and Deirdre laughed as she turned to pet the creature on her wet nose. "Alright, I get it! Fates, I don't remember cows being this needy." Then again, she might just have known more about killing them than she did caring for them—or at least it felt that way. "Sitting sounds good. We could do that here, the cows might put their heads on us, if you ever wanted a creature 11 times your weight to use you as a pillow." One of the cows mooed, seemingly offended. Another had already taken to laying in the grass near then. "The surprise I wanted to show you was the owner's—he had a small garden. With rabbits. A rabbit garden. It's nice, or it looked nice in what I saw. I thought you'd like it. We could go there now or—" Penny nudged her again, as gently as she had the times before just the force was enough to jolt Deirdre upright. "Well now I know you're doing it on purpose." She held her hand out against Penny's bowed head. "And for the record—" her voice softened as she turned back to Morgan. "I don't care about being kind, I just want to be good, for you. But I wonder, sometimes, if I'm doing enough or—" Deirdre's gaze fluttered back to Penny. "If I've done too much wrong to even think of being any way else. Maybe I'm a fool for even trying. But I named the cow Ella, and I missed her when she was gone, even if it was my doing." She dropped her hand away from Penny, finding her place easily again, wrapped around Morgan. "Sorry, we should sit. Sitting would be better."

Morgan loosened her hold with ease as Deirdre turned in her grip. She pulled her down so their heads could rest near each other while they rested in each other’s arms. “You were a child, Deirdre. You were having to take this on while other kids were learning how to care at all. But even then, without any knowing or teaching, you tried to make things better for them, however briefly you could. You did as much as you knew how, as much as you thought you could. What more could anyone ask of a little girl?” She tightened her hold for a moment so they were pressed firmly enough for her to feel the comfort of Deirdre’s weight around her. She sighed, relaxing her body to savor the feeling, better than any weighted blanket, and relaxed her grip so it became gentle once again. She turned her face to give Deirdre’s cheek a tender kiss, nuzzling the spot with great care as Deirdre posed her question. “I do it because you’ve had so little softness in your life before now, and when I was alive--” she sighed, reaching back through memory to try and share in the tenderness with Deirdre. “When I was alive and with you, so many of the best parts were so gentle. The first time I got to play with your hair, the way you touched me that first time I stayed over, and those times we came back together after being apart. We were so gentle and it felt so good I swear I cried at least once. I don’t want you to lose that. Even if I never get to feel just like that again, if it has to be different for me, I don’t want it to be like that for you. You were made to be touched gently. I want to still be able to give you that, even though I’m like this now. I do it because I love you.” And to prove her point, Morgan brushed her lips against Deirdre’s skin, so faintly to her senses it felt like she was kissing the air. Slowly, she reached back up to her girlfriend’s hair and resumed her finger combing. “I hope that’s okay,” she whispered.

Morgan couldn’t help but laugh as Penny nosed her way between them by degrees. It made Morgan wonder if Deirdre had visited with her when she came to fulfill her duty, made friends and given them extra scratches and brushes, knowing their fates might take a bitter turn before too long. “Don’t be sorry one bit,” she assured her. “And for the record, you are always enough, Deirdre, and you are plenty good as far as I’m concerned. You have already done so much good, how could you not be? If you’re a fool for trying, then you are my beloved fool, and we’ll be fools trying together. But I don’t really think you are at all.”

Morgan wrapped Deirdre up in her arms again. “Yes, let’s sit. Anywhere you want us to, since you know the place. A nice tree, or by the rabbit garden you wanted to show me, anywhere as long as we can sit close. And you could tell me why you named her Ella, maybe? It’s a pretty name. Sweet, like I bet she was.” Morgan tugged on Deirdre’s arm, leading her backwards towards the gate and the rest of the quiet, sylvan farmland. She held her gaze as she moved, her face all gentle with trust and devotion. “Anywhere, Deirdre.”

A lot more, Deirdre wanted to explain. She had never been a child, her mother didn’t like children. And what she took as praise, being treated as an adult, she knew she could never subject another child to. There was a lot she was asked to do; her duty did not lessen because she was a child. Yet, Morgan had a way of speaking that was light, as though Deirdre might believe her, as though she could. “A lot more…” she croaked anyway, wincing as she recognized the way her mother’s voice could retch out of her---that she was something less herself, and more like the things that made her. She could regurgitate in perfect form her mother’s words, and if she didn’t stop herself, she was almost inclined to. But with Morgan was the only place she never felt the need to, where she could be as she was---however unsure she felt of exactly who that woman was. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’m not a child anymore.” She pulled herself closer to Morgan, twisting so her body fit the way it was supposed to and the knotting of worry inside of her subsided. Morgan had a way of being that was light, as though there was more, there would always be more, and whatever wretched hold Deirdre found herself in, she could always find her way out.

And she had a way of touching her that was gentle, but deliberate--like the softest kiss, or her fingers combing through her hair. Deirdre had expected the answer to be that she was loved; even when Morgan was alive, Deirdre had enough sense to recognize the gentleness she was offered as care. But Morgan could derive no sensation from the act, it was strictly for Deirdre’s benefit. “I remember…” she mumbled, “I didn’t have the words then to tell you I cared, or the bravery to share what words I did have, and so I was gentle instead. We were.” But Deirdre never had been good at taking things just for herself, and where her touches could no longer be gentle, her voice was. Something needed to be given, and there was precious little she wouldn’t give. “I haven’t lost it, I wouldn’t have---even if you didn’t. You don’t have to be so gentle, Morgan. But I---thank you. It’s okay. It’s more than okay. I love you too.”

Their trek to the pasture gate was met with resistance in the form of mooing, and the clanking of Penny’s bell behind them. Deirdre had made the mistake of glancing back just once, finding the eyes of the other cows expectant and watching. She snapped her gaze back to Morgan instantly. “You’re too good to me, you know that?” She couldn’t think of what more to say. Many of Morgan’s compliments early into their relationship were met with rebuttals or disbelief, but she had come to a place where she could accept them with silence---mull them over in her mind, and store them in a place where she might just dare to remember them. For a moment, her expression mirrored Morgan’s, bursting with her own love and faithfulness, and then her gentle grin cracked upwards, taken with mischief. With a rush forwards as the pasture gate clinked shut behind them, Deirdre tightened her grip around Morgan’s waist and lifted her up just enough to spin her back, hoisting her up against the rough white pasture fencing. “Or we could stay right here,” she said, inching closer to Morgan’s lips. “One good turn deserves another, doesn’t it?” She kissed her rough and hungry, pressing against the coarse wood of the fence. It was in pulling back for the sake of her silly, silly, lungs, that she noticed Penny’s head propped up beside them; staring. And beyond her, the eyes of the other cows, still waiting. “Or….not.” She pushed back, rubbing Penny between her eyes. “I think the rabbits will be less manipulative.” They had to be, Deirdre already felt poor enough for leaving the cows. She’d see about convincing Morgan they needed one more brushing session before they left. “Come on, before Penny starts getting ideas.” But as they left, Deirdre muttered an apology to the cows in Gaelic, hoping somehow the different language would detract from the embarrassment of apologizing to cows.

Deirdre led Morgan around to the farm’s right, opposite the pasture. While the front of the house was marked by old trees, staunch watchers of the homestead, the right side was decorated with vegetation, and grand white trellises complete with intertwining vines. The rabbit garden stood in the center, with flowers and hedges trimmed to be proportional to the creatures. The sizable fenced area read more like a miniature garden without the fluffy creatures bouncing around, but thankfully for them, the rabbits were out in full force, exploring their lovingly made city. Their cabin house was empty, the rabbits finding more delight in the tunnels, ramps and raised platforms of the garden. What Deirdre thought Morgan might delight in was the attention to detail in all the miniature pieces; like any grand garden, it had a fountain, and spades and gloves inside a wheelbarrow---all scaled to size. “The garden is all edible, I think. Something about them being free range. The chickens don’t even have it this good.” Deirdre gestured to the wooden patio swing overlooking the spectacle: their place to sit, finally. “After you.”

“Mmm...I’m not sure if there is such a thing as too good to you, babe,” Morgan crooned. “But I’m interested in the concept, it sounds like something I could get on board with.” She watched, smitten and awestruck as Deirdre’s expression shifted, opening towards her with a tenderness that made her want to lean in and surrender herself, to redouble her own efforts to express the affection giving way and expanding inside her. But there was only so much the muscles in their faces could do, only so much that could be held in the flutter of their eyes or the curl of their smiles. She couldn’t hold the expression forever, it was moot. Morgan’s face cracked into a smirk, then wider, until she was laughing to the sky. It was too absurd to be this full of feeling she had no way to express fully. You would think they’d stitch the word for every feeling that could pass through mind somewhere, or come up with some better ideas in the centuries sapient beings had been around to think it over, right? But there was no kiss, no word to fit the strange warmth between them or the way she felt held and soothed by Deirdre’s gaze. Morgan laughed all the way to the fence and into Deirdre’s kiss, hard and strong enough to make her senses feel sharp again. There was no one gesture that could fit everything between them, but there were moments like this that reached as hard as they could.

“Wow. I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or just jealous,” Morgan said. “Are we being too scandalous for your pasture, ma’am? Will you forgive us for getting carried away in the middle of your wonderful grass?” She scratched the cow affectionately, ventriloquising, “‘Yes, but only if you give me even more scratches just like this,’” with a Texan twang, as if all cows were somehow spiritually from the south. She loved on the cow until Deirdre lead her away and out of reach.

“It’s a shame we can’t see them more often,” Morgan said as they walked. “This place really does feel kind of special. And I like what being able to care for the animals does to your face.” She jumped to peck her cheek and tucked herself into her side as they approached the rabbit garden and the bench that overlooked it. “Aw! Do you think they have names too? That one looks like it could be called Peter, don’t you think? I almost wish the owner hadn’t had to die just yet. There’s so much love in this place. Look at those ramps, who comes up with that? And those little stairs that are extra wide for their big hind legs to hop on? It’s incredible.” She sat down on the bench as Deirdre asked and pulled her girlfriend down with her, hip to hip, legs entwined at the ankles. Morgan peppered her with kisses everywhere she could reach easily as she tucked them in as close as she could without upsetting the bench off its balance. She squeezed her, greedy for more pressure, more feeling. If it weren’t for the bench rocking back with their every movement, she might have climbed into her lap and insisted on picking up where they left off.

“I never really thought a farm could be so romantic,” she admitted. “But this is lovely.” She pressed another kiss, now at her earlobe, and murmured gently into her skin. “We don’t have to talk about Ireland if you don’t want to. I was just curious because I want to know more of you and being here makes all your stories more real in my head. But you can tell me something else you’re thinking. I’m happy hearing anything from you...which I feel like I keep saying a lot. But that’s just because it’s true. Funny how that is, huh?”

“You know Jersey cows are British, right?” Deirdre watched her girlfriend with unspeakable fondness. Though she meant to tease her, her voice fell too gently at each syllable. She thought of adding more, a clever remark sat at the tip of her tongue, but she could not summon it above the hubbub of affection that wanted to bubble out of her. Though rare for her to deny a moment of mischief, she always managed to hit a threshold of affection in which the desire to share it with her love was too great---even enough to stop retorts, as the only words she could think to vocalize were declarations. It was in these moments she deeply considered the ramifications of simply having Morgan right where she stood, of tackling her to the floor or making use of a wall---she thought it terrible when the mood struck her while they were apart; she realized it was worse when she knew it would be inappropriate to interrupt them. And so, she lingered close as they moved, her desire shooting through the twitch of her fingers and the smirk on her lips. Her shoulder remained stiff as she managed to keep them moving along without interruption.

“The owner’s family plans on selling it as soon as they can. I don’t know where the animals will go…” Deirdre stopped herself there, afraid her pessimism would sour the moment. “...my face…?” But her confusion quickly dispelled the frown. Her face continued to be furrowed as they went on---she reached up to touch her face when Morgan seemed preoccupied with scoping out the rabbits. It felt the same to her. “Oh, you know, now that you say it, that one does look like a Peter. Just the same as the ones from those books, though much more portly. And--don’t ask me why I know of a children’s series about a thieving rabbit. Oh, hey, that one looks like a ‘Margaret’.” She pointed a rabbit out who was fast asleep, and seemingly unbothered by the strangers in its territory. “You mentioned wanting a place for potential cats, when I asked you about the kind of house you’d like, and I wondered if it’d look like this but...cat-sized.” It was, by all accounts, a paradise for rabbits. “Maybe a little larger, with some space to explore and---” And now she was thinking about it. Deirdre coughed, allowing herself to fall on to the bench, uttering a small gasp in surprise at the swinging that their sudden sitting wrought. After a moment to steady herself, she was quick to wrap an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder, holding her tight and close. The kisses were harder to reciprocate from her angle, but there was little barrier that could stop Deirdre from giving back her share of affection--she did so readily, happily. She hummed under her touch, trying to anchor them closer together, despite the rocking. The bench was clearly made for the stationary observer and not the affectionate couple.

“As someone who was raised on a farm, they’re still not romantic.” Deirdre laughed easily, trying to tilt her head to press a kiss to Morgan, but being able to catch only the corner of her lips. “I don’t mind sharing, not to you, my love.” It was true that she’d grown far more comfortable telling Morgan of her life, but she still held her reservations. She only ever spoke of the quieter moments from her childhood, knowing that the rest of those days were colored by bloodshed and torture and her adult life was a blur of dutiful monotony. She had so little to speak of that seemed like it might be of interest, but for the first time, she opened herself up to the stories she hid, and she gave Morgan every power to ask for them. “You wanted to know why I named that cow Ella? I must have been learning about our family history at the time; my great-great-grandmother had gotten to the bits with the baronies of Ireland, and our ruined castle in Eliogarty. I always wanted to visit, she described it so fondly, yet...sad. I wondered what it must have been like to lose a thing like that, and then I suppose it was poetic that Ella was the first animal I killed.” She paused. “I marked each place by the training that took place there--the drowning or the bone breaking or burning or the rites. I learned how to kill and maim on the animals, the acres of our farm weren’t so our cows could frolic, but so our screams wouldn’t draw any unnecessary attention. I watched those creatures suffer because of me, and then I was applauded for it.” Her fingers curled around the edge of the bench, trying to snap wood she knew she was too weak to break. ”I lived secluded on that farm for years, and when I was finally old enough to leave it, I couldn’t figure out how to be without it. All I knew of a home was that place.” She paused again, watching the rabbits mill about their garden. “The first death I ever saw was a rabbit’s. I must have been five, maybe younger. I watched and waited for a fox to dart out and claim it. Then I felt privy to a part of the world so many people didn’t know, of death and nature. Then of how to explain the world I lived in, a place of predators and prey---humans and those who kill them. All I knew of life was that.” Deirdre turned to lean against Morgan, burying her head into the crook of her neck. “Until you,” she mumbled against her skin, pressing firm kisses where she could. “I don’t know what you want to hear about the estate. I can tell you anything you want. But I’ve run out of pleasant stories and ways to tell you that at least the scenery was pretty.” Deirdre was sure all she had about days spent preserving fruits, baking and celebrating ancient family holidays, she had already shared---or simply couldn’t think of the value of sharing them.

“You can’t just say you know about Peter Rabbit and then not tell me how!” Morgan whined. “This is seriously new information. Beatrix Potter isn’t even Irish! Were you allowed to read them as a kid, or did you just get curious later? Also, that one’s totally a Flopsy.” At the fall of Deirdre’s laughter over the romance of pastoral life, Morgan couldn’t help but laugh with her, albeit sheepishly. “Okay, I’ll admit, this is a little smellier than what I had imagined from the stories you told me, but I was a city girl. The only thing I’ve seen close to this was a horse ranch for a school field trip. And, you know, the local petting zoo. And it’s all so green and loved and alive, and you are just so--” She shook her head and shrugged, speechless. Deirdre was herself, deliciously bright and mischievous and kind. She was still weighted by her duty, by her years of loneliness, but crystals were no less wonderful for their heaviness. And yet there was something else, something feather-like that emerged when she looked at the animals and gave them the care she so desperately wanted to bestow. And something sad too, as Morgan suspected, Deirdre’s own memories turned color and shifted under her new perspective. She was not one woman but several, past and present reflecting off and around each other, different but complete, like a perfectly cut crystal prism. But how could Morgan explain how she saw this? How did she prove the way her eyes shined and shifted in the sunlight or what mix of feeling she read in her dimples? Morgan poked one affectionately and continued to revel in her love’s beauty, how expressive it was, how telling of all her strange little thoughts, too weird and deeply buried to be unearthed at once. At last Morgan settled for saying, “You’re amazing, as always. Just more so right now. And so to my very untrained eye and inexperienced self, this peak Hallmark material.”

She kicked out her legs and started to swing them gently, sighing as Deirdre showered her with affection. She mumbled an I love you into her hair and listened as she told her story. She interjected sporadically (“How is a ruined castle not romantic? That’s something people write poems about.”) until the solemn current of Deirdre’s words overtook her. Gradually, she put her feet down and let them rock more and more gently until they stopped. Morgan moved a hand down to cover Deirdre’s, white knuckled on the bench beneath them. “I am sorry that your farm couldn’t be like this. That you only knew it by the different ways you had to suffer or hurt, that you didn’t get to see the animals you cared about be happy, or not for long. I know it wasn’t what you completely wanted…” She prised her fingers off the bench so they could hold hands properly. “You know I’d take any sad story you wanted to tell me, but I guess all my questions about the estate are just...stupid little things. What your bedroom was like, and what grew around your lake, and where your little hiding places were, and where you would visit the wild fae cats. But I also wonder how you did manage to leave, how to feel okay separated from everything you knew. How to change what home could feel like. You must have been on your own a little before coming here and finding me. I don’t think you’ve told me anything about that time. It feels like it barely exists in my head. I don’t need to hear only your good stories, I just don’t want you to feel like you have to, just because I’m curious or asking. You don’t ever have to if you don’t want. We have time, you know? You could tell me what made you think about my dream kitty kingdom instead, for example. I don’t even know the last time I’ve thought about it. Although, if you must know, the one I imagined is kind of like this, but cat-sized, and indoors. It would obviously take up the better part of one of the guest rooms. With lots of levels to explore and window seats that get good sunlight and shade.” She shrugged, letting the improbability of it all drift away like the clouds above them. “And you can tell me about how you see the world now. For both of us, I reckon. We don’t have to just look back. We can look forward too.” She twisted in the bench seat and cradled Deirdre’s face gently in her hands and brushed their lips together in a kiss, tender and careful, a gift only to her. Then, keeping their heads tucked close together, she draped her legs over Deirdre’s lap with a self satisfied smile. This was much better than just being side by side.

“They were the only books appropriate for children that we owned! They were purchased a hundred years ago and my grandmother read them to me but substituted everything with skeletons. And what---just because my family is very Irish, doesn’t mean we only own Irish literature.” Deirdre huffed, feigning offense. Mostly, she was embarrassed in that way she always was when describing anything she enjoyed as a child. “The one’s a Mortis,” she pointed to another rabbit, dropping her hand away as Morgan’s laughter drifted through the air, more captivating than any note of a song. “Oh,” she laughed along with her. “I’m sorry. I thought I did a good job describing the manure to you. Haven’t I told you about my favorite chore shoveling it?” By which she meant that she complained at length about being made to do it. The animals I liked, I will admit I liked them, she would say, defeated, but they shat so much, and it was so big. She tapped the tip of Morgan’s nose, “now imagine how it smells for me.” But Morgan was right about the farm being green and loved and alive, even if she didn’t understand her comment about being different here. Nature did calm her, she thought. Maybe it was that. “ If this was Hallmark material, I think one of us would be a secret prince, right?” Her smile grew, so much so that her cheeks began to ache. “So I should cancel the very romantic hot air balloon ride I have planned for next week then? Have I peaked?”

Deirdre was bursting to share at that point. Her heart was full, and she believed she risked injury by not speaking. Her life, her stories and all the things she knew, she had always thought too strange to share in entirety with Morgan. She had trouble reconciling what part Morgan must’ve loved and cared for. If it was truly all of her, or some strange vision where she was kind and cared about animals. She worried any story she might tell would reveal the face that Morgan didn’t love. Each was a dagger she held over her heart, waiting for the moment Morgan would plunge it into her. That moment never came, but Deirdre never learned to stop waiting for the ire. “I just don’t know what to share,” she admitted quietly. “When I try to draw my own thoughts to kind, they won’t come. But if you ask, I can conjure them. And I do want to share---I do.” Morgan shifted, and Deirdre found the opportunity to hold her better, tighter. The bench swung lazily, threatening to throw them off balance if they dared for too much affection, but Deirdre didn’t care. She thought about the things Morgan had brought up, and then began on them. “My bedroom was plain. Maeve kept stealing my bones, so I had to leave my collection by the lake where it was often shifted or taken by animals. The only thing I had was the sheep skeleton, which Maeve thought was too beneath her to take. And it was wildflowers that grew around the lake, nothing special. But there was this one that looked like bells on a stick, and it grew under the moonlight. I’ve been all over Ireland, and I’ve never seen it anywhere else.” Deirdre paused to collect her thoughts again. This time she wondered if it was odd to share so much of herself in one shot like this, but she was aching to share herself. As much as she normally worried about it, she was burning to give herself to Morgan. “The farm was very big, all of it could have been a hiding place. The garden was a favored spot, but I’d normally take a horse out to the far fields when I wanted to be alone. I was just close enough to be called back if I was needed, but far enough away that I didn’t have to think about anything in particular. I never did this often, I was obsessed with training.” Earning her mother’s praise, her family’s astonishment. She worked herself to fever, often to injury. It wasn’t all her mother’s teaching that left her scarred. “I left for school. I studied in Dublin and lived in the dorms my first year, but the human roommates were unbearable, and so I lived alone after then.” The days of her adulthood came back to her and she winced. “I wasn’t so separated. I was still in Ireland, mostly, and if I wasn’t, I only went where there was family or fae. I came back to the estate often. I did nothing, was nothing. That was my life, and that would have been my life until I died. I wasn’t myself so much as...whoever I needed to be in any moment. It was reflexive.” She sighed, “none of my past feels like it’s mine anymore. Maybe there’s more I could say, but I’ve never wanted to contemplate it. My childhood is different because it feels like a ‘before’, a becoming of who I was meant to be. I couldn’t tell you about the ‘after’, I don’t know how.” She needed time to parse the childhood she was still struggling with, she needed more to understand the adulthood that was a blur. All she knew of it was loneliness.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it. The kitty kingdom--um, in theory. About the things you said you wanted, but clearly were too afraid to try for yourself. I’ve always thought about it, I’ve always wanted to give those things to you, my love.” She wondered if Morgan realized the firepit that suddenly materialized after Morgan’s moving in was an example of this, of how often she thought of and tried to make things better for Morgan. There was a plot of land and a future house that also stood as an example, but she dared not mention it. “Do you...want to talk about the future?” She turned her head, curious. “When I said I would love you forever you seemed a little….well, it seemed like it might have been too much to say. And you’re right, it is a lot. And we don’t have to talk about that either. We do have a lot of years ahead of us; we have time.”  

“You? Peaked? Never,” Morgan chuckled. She played with Deirdre’s features more as she talked, doting on her with the gentlest caresses of her fingertips. As Deirdre struggled her way into her story, however, she lost the will to maintain such exhaustive control and settled for draping herself snug against Deirdre and pressing close, as close as they had practiced before. From her position she could hear Deirdre’s heartbeat. Once her skin used to prickle the little hairs on her ear, startle her senses wide awake. But now it was only Deirdre, another part where she happened to fit so easily, another hollow to hear the subtle drum of her heart. It was so many seconds between each beat, the rhythm was almost imperceptible. But how incredible, how constant it ws. Even when Deirdre could not find herself, even when Morgan feared her love might slip through her fingers, this heartbeat remained.

“You don’t have to know right now,” she crooned near her ear. “It’s okay, babe. It’s kind of hard, looking at everything all different and new. It’ll probably take time. It is a shame, though, that you had to miss out on yourself, and everyone you met missed out too. You’re pretty wonderful. But maybe that means you get to discover yourself instead, and appreciate who you are better.” She situated herself closer in her lap, coming dangerously close to capsizing the bench swing, but it was worth the extra jostling to be closer to her.

“Always?” Morgan asked, brow furrowed. She couldn’t imagine that. “Since you asked me or--even before?” She had been endeared to Deirdre early on, but she hadn’t imagined it had been at all the same. She remembered very clearly relying on this assumption in the early days, something to steady herself from falling in all at once. But that hadn’t helped any, had it? She lifted her head to look at Deirdre a moment and felt a fearful hope strike through her. Could she have been cared for so easily? So completely? She was silent to Deirdre’s question, twisting the two in her mind at once.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “It just...feels like one thing for me to say that I’ll love you forever. That even if things fell apart tomorrow, I would still love you, I would still want you to ask for me if you needed anything, however many years away it might be or however many miles I might have to travel. I didn’t think I could care this much for anyone, but I know it to be true and I don’t see any point in pretending otherwise.” She squeezed Deirdre briefly, just enough to feel her girlfriend’s chest rise and fall against her own. “It just feels so...different, to imagine someone else to say they’ll love me as much, or as long. No one’s wanted me this long before much less loved me. I always messed it up or the curse got in the way. And it’s scary because…” she faltered, her throat going stiff. “Because I do believe you. Or I believe you much, much more than my fear doesn’t. But that means my fear can’t bungee me back if I...I don’t know, if I do something reckless or say something stupid like, oh, even if the universe makes me stay on this earth after you’ve gone from it, I’ll still probably love you and still hold onto our promises because they’ll be all I’ll have left of you.” She sniffled and tried to laugh with airy self deprecation. “And if I can’t bungee myself back to safety, I don’t have anything to keep myself from breaking if something goes wrong. And I just...I’m not even cursed anymore and the ground keeps crumbling even when I don’t do anything! And I think, well, maybe I just won’t think about the whole ‘earth could fall part’ thing. I’ll just keep moving and I’ll hang onto you, and then it won’t seem like anything at all. But then I keep wanting to make new plans with you. Future place plans. And that means having to think about scary, ‘well what’s the point if it doesn’t happen or if we get killed tomorrow or I screw it up like everything else or scare you away like I did before, I don’t even know how that could be, but…’” Even in explaining herself, she was growing rigid and small, her body begging her to shrink further and further until she could slip through the cracks in the bench and fall away. But Morgan held on and forced herself to meet Deirdre’s eyes. “No one’se wanted me enough to even ask for something like what you…” she shook her head as a shiver overtook her spine. “And you know me so much, and you’ve forgiven me for everything I’ve ever done, and you still...when we’re together everything is so...there isn’t a better place, you know? I don’t have any good reasons not to believe you. So I do. I believe that you...you really could. You...you do.” At last she broke her gaze, sniffling. “We can...I mean, looking ahead in terms of months isn’t so scary. Lots of people do that. I’ve tried to work my head around this issue long enough that I don’t feel scared talking about a few months ahead.  I’m not saying I don’t want to talk about it. I’m just...I feel like I should explain, in case maybe you thought it was some other reason. I was too scared before, and I didn’t think I deserved it, and I’m still not sure if I do, but I want you anyway, even if maybe I really don’t deserve you. I want you and I want to be good to you. And good for you. I love you, Deirdre. I love you so much and I want all of this to be good, I do, I’m just…” Scared. And still at a loss as to how to see beyond what little she knew.

Deirdre's face contorted with discomfort. Discovering and learning how to appreciate herself sounded like something humans did, something that culminated in a trip to India which she would return enlightened from. She didn't like it. She didn't like it just as much as she hated anything human being prescribed to her. What kind of an idiot didn't know who they were? And yet, she could not discern which bits of her were honest, or if they all were. When she had fallen in love with Morgan, the woman she knew as dutiful and unapologetically fae, had crumbled away. She could not exist alongside the one that loved Morgan, human or not. And was that woman the same as the one in her adulthood, ruthless and lonely? Was it the same as the girl she hated, the one that cried? Did she have anything to do with the one that came after, the girl who was haughty and stubborn? Were they all her, or had she truly lost herself in the quest to please her family? Stupid as it was, she held no answer. There were three truths she knew how to cling to now. One: that she was a banshee (and this itself meant many things). Two: that she loved Morgan (and this also, meant several things). And three: that she loved pie (this meant nothing but just that, but Deirdre would believe her superior taste in dessert foods would mean she was generally smarter and more right than anyone else). Maybe there was nothing else to discover about her. Maybe she had always been some fragment of a person. Maybe it was too late to look for the answer.

But the topic of her love for Morgan, she could discuss ad nauseum—and then some. She delighted in it far more than speaking of herself, and there always was a steady beat of confidence under her words as she spoke about her love. "Always," she mumbled, trying to think of a more accurate answer. It must have been since her argument that Morgan could have anything she wanted switched from something she said simply to argue to a truth she believed. But she'd always believed it in some respect, and in another she was fascinated with Morgan the moment she met her. It was hard to pick apart her logic then; that too, felt like someone else. “Maybe since that first letter I sent you; probably before then. Maybe since we went bowling, or when you came over that first time. I don’t know, exactly. It feels like always, and maybe that’s not factual, but I know as soon as I pieced together what your life had been...I’ve only wanted good for you.” Which she could vaguely remember her telling herself was the logical thing to do, when confronted with another’s tragedy. Deirdre’s face screwed up in contemplation. Would it be incorrect to color their past with the love she felt now? Had it been there longer than she assumed? Her thoughts were a jumble then, and she was so hung-up on Morgan’s humanity that she didn't dare think of anything else. “Always,” she repeated. It felt right.

“You don’t have to---” Deirdre’s voice trailed away, halted by Morgan’s explanation. She listened, sticking her leg out and digging her foot into the ground to stop the bench from swinging wildly. She held Morgan closer to her, a little tighter, trying to ease away the fear. She didn’t know what to say, either. She had surrendered herself to Morgan and the love she felt the moment she confessed it. In some small part, she knew something would be given up; her duty squandered, her identity as a fae shattered. She trusted Morgan, and she wanted to be with her more than she was afraid of it. She understood the feeling. But in that surrendering, she knew how easily Morgan--or life--could take it all away, and yet, she saw no reason to hold herself back. Even now, the breadth of that love shocked her. She held back feebly against telling Morgan that in the event of her passing, premature or natural, she wouldn’t mind the obstruction of fate--to find some way to live longer, live as long as she had to. She grasped the idea of simply promising Morgan awkwardly in her chest, the only deterrent being that she knew Morgan wouldn’t accept it. But what else was there to say? She was afraid too, she had been for a very long time. She held Morgan tighter. “Thank you for believing me,” she said after a moment, then paused. “Can you hear it? My heart?” Her heart rate had spiked, as it would naturally as fear bubbled up in her too. She knew Morgan often laid near her chest, and she wondered if that was what she was listening for. She wondered if she felt every flutter, every skip, every time her heart sang in its cage for Morgan. “It’s yours, you know? Each beat; it’s yours.” She paused again, staring out at the bunnies that continued to pay no mind to them. She remembered each thing her mother told her about rabbits, her metaphor for humans and life and their place above everything.

“The nature of life is such that you will inevitably encounter something new; the nature of relationships is that one will always be longer than the rest, it will always be new---and new is terrifying. It’s alright to be afraid, that’s how you live, that’s how you survive.” She turned back to her girlfriend, “and you’ve had to survive so much.” She did what she had to do, optimistic so her circumstance wouldn’t crush her, fearful when she knew she could lose much---Deirdre understood this. “It’s okay, my love. I’m not asking you not to be scared, I’m not even asking you to trust me, I’m not really asking for anything at all. The fact that you do believe me is more than enough, but I don’t say that I’ll love you always for the sake of making you trust me. I say it so it’s there. I mean---so you have it, so you can think to trust it if you want, leave it if you don’t. I’m not asking for anything Morgan, I mean it. You don’t need to be less afraid of the future for me, it’s scary, I know that. It’s okay. We don’t need to think about the long-term, if you don’t want. And we can make plans for months from now, years, weeks, whatever--or we don’t. Or you can cancel anything you don’t feel like going through with. I don’t mind. We’ll do this at our pace, Morgan. Whatever feels right.” She reached up, sparring just one of her hands tasked with holding Morgan tight to cup her face, thumbing along her bones. “Bad things happen. It doesn’t matter if you’re cursed or not; they happen, they’ll always happen. I don’t believe in being so afraid of life that you’re scared to live it. You can have good things, Morgan. Good things that stay. I meant it when I said it then, I mean it now. I believe in it, I’ll believe in it for you. I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, and I’m not asking you to try. If you wanted to--if you wanted to try--I’ll be here. And if you want to stop trying, I’ll still be here. If you want to make plans, and then you want to stop them, I’ll be here. I love you. I’ll love you anyway. I trust you, Morgan, and I believe in you.” Deirdre paused again, pulling Morgan into a kiss--to say what her words might have struggled to convey: it was okay, it would be okay, no matter what; and that she loved her, she loved her so very much. “I think we should convert one of the guest rooms into a space for the cats. I know we only have two, but we should do it anyways. Maybe we’ll get more, maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll move, maybe we won’t. Maybe you’ll hate it, but we should do it anyways.”

“I can hear it, yes,” Morgan whispered. She tried to imagine the organ growing arms and sliding through Deirdre’s ribcage to wrap around her, to draw her even closer, safer, against the fae she loved. She imagined these arms as a red blanket, with her name embroidered in the corner that marked their connection. She tried to remember warmth and imagine that too, even though Deirdre’s arms had always been a cool kind of comfort, her touches down her back like melting snow. Morgan listened and tried. The images came to her so easily: yes, Deirdre gave herself to Morgan, gave everything and more, beyond anything Morgan would have dared ask. But she struggled to think of it as hers, as something she could keep, that could stay wholly in her hands without having to be given back. Part of it was wanting to give it back, so Deirdre could love her friends and love herself, even more than she wanted to hoard her care and attention. Morgan’s hand settled over her chest, trying to conjure the feel of its rhythm. She wanted to tell Deirdre that she would put her own heart next to hers, that she sometimes wished for her alchemy back so she could demonstrate the magic that ran between them, diagram the places where she felt so inextricable, she could never be broken away even if they fell out of love. Instead Morgan dragged her lips down from her neck to the flat of her chest, just above her heart. She kissed her sternum and pressed as hard and close as their bodies would allow and listened to the wind in the grass and the rise of Deirdre’s pulse. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “It’s my favorite thing to hear at night. Well, and my ocean sounds, but you know what I mean. It’s special.” It was special because her own heart was silent, and she needed to borrow Deirdre’s to stay tethered to the earth until the morning came with all its tasks and responsibilities. But there were other moments when the heartbeat, with all its steadiness and silence, played itself in Morgan’s ear as exactly Deirdre’s. She thought of its music as the centuries she was meant to live out, as the code to her self, still so mysterious and wonderful to Morgan’s attention, as a signal of the incomprehensible constancy she promised her.

Her eyes welled as she hung onto this thought of the abundance and sureness in the lungs beneath her ear and listened to the rest Deirdre had to say. When Deirdre lifted her face to kiss, Morgan’s eyes spilled over. Long used to it by now, she paid her tears no mind, but slung her arms tight around Deirdre’s neck and kissed her back with greedy hunger. “I do,” she mumbled between kisses. “I trust you, I believe you. Don’t let me say any different, because I do. You’re the safest place I know.”

A laugh burbled out of her at the suggestion of making the cat room a reality. “I’m not going to hate it. It’ll be great. And the cats are already becoming friends. They’ll like having somewhere they can go no matter what. Anya will like being able to climb even when the weather’s bad. We can do that. That’s--I think that’s a good plan.” She pulled herself into another kiss and pressed her head down against Deirdre’s shoulders when she felt her banshee’s pulse jump with the need for air. “And can we--sometime, I mean, can we go to Ireland together? Some fall or winter when it’s safe and quiet, would you really take me? I’ve been thinking about it lately, how much I want to see it with you. Or, maybe I didn’t realize I was thinking about it so much, but then Mercy mentioned it with the whole sharing my head thing and pointed out I should say something. Make sure we get to go sometime. And...even that’s a lot, I know, maybe too much, but you said you wanted to go and I want it and I want you. I love you and I don’t want to lose you.” She pressed her arms around Deirdre tighter, clinging to her. “Is there...is there something else you want? Something we can do...that we can plan for, that’s soon? Can I...I don’t think I’ll be such a mess if we plan for soon, or soon...ish? I don’t...not want to try. Maybe...maybe this is something I can give you.”

“Well, nothing can compare to ocean sounds.” Deirdre smiled softly, turning her head away to make it seem like the pastures far off were far more thrilling a sight; a blush she tried to hide, suddenly embarrassed by the very attention that she spurred. It was thrilling to hear that she was special, not for any part of her that she created, but for something she could not touch or change, even if she tried. For something as mundane, yet integral, as her heart. And she could believe it too, only as Morgan said it. Only ever when Morgan said it. And it was the way she spoke: earnest, giving, as if the only thing she knew to speak was the truth. It might not have been true in the grand mechanics of the world, but it was true to Morgan, and Deirdre thought that was more precious anyway. And when they kissed, there wasn’t a more precious feeling. Deirdre held Morgan tight, digging her foot into the dirt below to try and keep the bench from swinging them out of position. “I love you,” she mumbled against her, nodding along to Morgan’s words.

“Cat room it is then.” Deirdre pictured the room in her head; they could use the guest bedroom in the center, which caught the sun’s rays better than the other rooms, perfect for a cat to nap curled up under the heat (Deirdre, of course, preferred the small sunroom off the kitchen for her napping needs). But her fantasy burst with mention of her homeland. “Ireland?” She nearly pulled back, though only due to shock. “That---” She pursed her lips together. She’d thought of it, naturally. She knew the best times to bring Morgan there, where they could avoid her family and still catch the beauty of the place she’d grown up. She’d then considered taking her to meet her family, officially. They could go between the festivities in winter, or even on one of the auspicious days. She’d thought about it, she’d thought about it a lot. “I didn’t know you’d been thinking of that.” There were so many things she wanted to share with her: her lake, the wide pastures, the gentle indifference of the animals, the pale horses in the barn up the hill. But it was a home she hadn’t made her peace with yet, a home she hadn’t properly cast away. Would it be okay? Could it? “I’d like that. If you’d ever want to meet my family...we could do that too. But maybe just Ireland first, unspoiled by whatever they might think. There are...so many things I want to show you there, Morgan.” Her smile grew wider as she spoke. “Yeah. Yeah, that could be good. We could take the horses out to the lake, or I could take you to the antique shop I used to spend all my allowance in, or the old bookstore beside the post office.” Yet her voice fell more sheepish as she went on. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” she corrected, “but I’d like that very much, I think. If you’d want to still, whenever we go.”

But to think of what she wanted for herself in some future’s time, was harder by several degrees. “I want you,” she started, as she did any question of her desires. “I know that’s nothing to plan for. But I do want you. Now, and certainly still in some months.” Deirdre tried to think. She leaned into Morgan, pressing her into the bench. It was an awkward shape and angle to lay her down on the wood, but she pressed forward with intent. “You don’t have to give me anything, my love. You’ve already given me so much, you always give to me.” She paused, laying her forehead against Morgan’s. “Could you plan to join me inside the house? I think we could work out what needs to be given better without--” Deirdre lifted her leg up, letting the bench rock dangerously back and forth, its old chains creaking. “I want you.” She brought her leg back down. “And as far as plans go, well--” She smirked. “I can think of a few things.”

Morgan’s nerves shivered as Deirdre processed the Ireland request. She felt something strange, even sour about how that particular question struck between them. It was like she’d stepped on a chord and released a whole confetti drop of questions, but she could only see one or two flitting past her eyes on the way down. Even as Deirdre seemed to settle and become excited about the idea, Morgan’s sense of caution spiked through her chest and she resolved to put those hopes in a box and not open them again until Deirdre brought it up seriously. “Unspoiled Ireland sounds beautiful,” she said, already wistful about it. “Especially all those places you like best. Of course I’ll want to. It’s all a part of you. It won’t mean as much if I’m not seeing it through your eyes. But whenever you think is best. It doesn’t have to be a whole, elaborate, intimidating deal.”

She couldn’t help but smirk at Deirdre’s assertion that she wanted her. “Hey, you already have me. I’m yours. You have me right now…” But Deirdre was very serious. There was no joke gleaming in her brown eyes, no twist in her smile. “But how is that...is that really enough?” Morgan asked in a small voice. “What if I want more for you than just me? Or if I want to make you happier, even just for a little bit.” The bones and roadkill she brought home made Deirdre perk up, more so when she was able to demonstrate how her impulse control was coming along. But she did that so often now, she wasn’t sure how much the gesture really excited or what dreams it fulfilled. She squealed when the bench rocked and clung to Deirdre and the chain at once so she wouldn’t topple off. “You’re not funny,” she said, giggling. “But I mean it, Deirdre. If I could give you something, anything more, even some small, silly dream like a cat room, I’d like to have the chance to try. Just think about it sometime?” She still wasn’t sure what her girlfriend meant by how she gave to her always when Deirdre was the one giving Morgan a home, a cat, a cat room, her history, her insights, her support, her patience, not to mention clothes nicer than anything she’d had the nerve to transmute, and enough stability build up respectable savings. She caressed the strands of hair that had flown in Deirdre’s face with deliberate gentleness. It was the only thing on hand she thought she had to offer. She gave her a look, affectionate and pleading. Let me, please just let me.

Slowly, Morgan’s mouth widened into a grin and she pulled them up to solid ground. “I do think I like the sound of your immediate plans, though,” she said gently. “As long as you give me very strict instructions. I’d hate to leave you anything less than completely satisfied.”

"I miss home," Deirdre confessed quietly, hoping it would explain her thoughts better. "I miss Ireland, but I don't know why or if I should, even." She glanced behind them, beyond the rabbit garden and into the flat pasture and out across the forested area bordering the homestead. She could pretend it was the same, if she didn't think, but she knew the landscape was all wrong; the temperature, the trees, the way the sun rolled across them. The more she tried not to think about it, the more she realized she was in foreign land. "I want that place to be good to you, like it is to me." If Morgan could just feel the way a breeze hit up the cliff side, maybe she'd see it like Deirdre too. "I want you to like my family," she said, even smaller. "I want them to be good to you too." Her body shrank into itself, unfolding only when the conversation was done.

She was quiet again for a moment. Deirdre caught Morgan's expression and she understood it well, but she couldn't think of anything else she wanted. "You are my dream," she explained softly. "I don't want anything else but you, and everything you give me." Maybe she could explain it better, go over each touch and what it meant to her. Each moment Morgan listened to her half-baked thoughts or came to her side before she even realized she needed someone there. All that she had believed in her for, and for all the patience she had given. To be loved by someone this way, this much, this kindly, was all a dream to her. Her mother said it would never happen, and Deirdre had believed it. And then it did, and she had nothing more to want. "I'll think about it," she rasped, "but I want you; you love me, you've given me your love, and I don't want more than that. That is...all I've ever wanted. Just you, as you are and everything you give, are all I've ever wanted." It sounded dramatic, and perhaps that was why Deirdre allowed herself to be pulled up and away, the conversation easily replaced with something more suggestive. "I can do that," the confusion rippling through her face dissolved into a smirk and the eagerness splayed behind her eyes. "I wouldn't want to lead you astray. And you'll be good for me, won't you?" She tapped Morgan under her chin, playfully tilting her head up before she took her hands, pulling them along.

Morgan melted at Deirdre’s words. There was no seduction in it, no pretense. But the mystery of her love called to her like the great arcane mysteries had, beautiful and inexplicable. What did she give her that any good partner wouldn’t? How could her little walking corpse and all her nerves and hopes and recklessness be transmuted into a dream worthy of a fae without offering anything else to the universe? How could there be no gesture, no task that she could do to set herself a little higher, give Deirdre a little more comfort or joy? Morgan wasn’t sure if she could ever know enough to figure how the math came out even, but she hoped in spite of her fear that she would be able to try. “Okay,” she soothed, lips brushing her ear. “You don’t have to worry about any of this right now. It’s okay...”

When they were on their feet again she had to reach to brush back Deirdre’s hair and dust the pollen and dirt from her sleeves. “Aren’t I always a good girl for you?” She said coyly, batting her lashes in a way that only tempted challenge in the delicious sort of way. She may not have understood what she amounted to in Deirdre’s eyes, or how she could curb her own wants for a clear, promised future where the ground stayed firm beneath her and hopes sprouted as green as the farm around them. But it was a comfort to cast her eyes no further than a handful of hours ahead and the evening to follow. If her questions reared their head again, she could ask them later.

The rabbits could wait, even the cows undoubtedly eager for their next brushing could. But Deirdre and all her bubbling desire and burning need to show Morgan just how much she wanted her, and in just what ways, could not.

#honeylocust #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #wr #wickedswriting

[rex101111]

Eri meets the Doomslayer, and Rewinds Daisy's rabbit foot charm back to her living state.

(there was no way to answer this seriously so I went for broke)

Eri has had her fair share of confusing days. More than once she would sit down on her couch at the end of a particularly hectic 24 hours and wonder what she just went through.

Today would trump them all.

It started out simple enough, as all days do, with her accompanying Ochako and Izuku on a shopping trip. They bought her clothes and ice cream and overall she was having fun on an easy Saturday afternoon. They decided to go to the park for a short walk to end the day quietly.

And then a red portal opened up, shortly followed by hideous monsters pouring out looking to eat people.

The next few moments were a blur of action, Izuku and Ochako herding her to safety while fighting off the monsters before they could close their (far too many) teeth on any passing civilian. They were like something out of a nightmare, or one of those album covers in Mr. Fumi’s room, red skined with protruding horns and glowing eyes, screaming hellishly as they swarmed everyone around them.

If she were anyone else Eri might have been overwhelmed by the horror of it all, but considering what she had already gone through in her short time on earth this sort of life-death situation merely unnerved her rather than terrify.

And the day wasn’t quite done being weird just yet.

As Izuku and Ochako were busy fighting off the monsters, another portal opened up, blue instead of red, and a person walked out. He was tall, burly, and covered head to toe in green, futuristic armor. He took a few heavy steps, his metal boots cracking the pavement, before he launched himself towards one of the bigger monsters, grabbing one its black horns and pulling it’s head back to a painful angle.

With one firm yank the neck snapped like a dry twig, and the armored man quickly moved on to the next, pulling out, seemingly from nowhere, a double-barreled shotgun and shooting the nearest monsters in the chest. The gory chunks that were once an enemy didn’t even hit the ground before he turned around and sliced another in half with a wrist mounted blade.

Eri was reminded of a movie her and Uncle Kacchan watched a few months ago with her guardians’ knowledge, about an alien in a forest hunting people down. It was an old one...hunter? Something like that.

(She wondered if this guy also had a squid face...)

Izuku and Ochako, along with some of the other heroes he came by to help, were transfixed for a quick moment by the display. Barring the frankly disturbing efficiency this man employed as he cut a swathe through the demons, and what else could they be, he was leaving any one without red skin and sharp teeth well enough alone, so he seemed to be on their side.

A few people with mutant quirks gave him a wide berth, just in case.

Soon they joined him, beating down the demons as they poured from the portal, a few of the more vicious heroes, Miruko who had recently returned to active duty after acclimating to her new prosthetic arm for example, followed the new arrival in massacring them.

The man in green armor even throw a pistol to one gun toting hero, who used it to pop a demon’s head off with one precise shot of blue energy.

Eri, along with the rest of civilians ducking away from the action, was starting to think she should have brought popcorn. The demons seemed to stand little chance against the shotgun wielder on his own, much less with the help he was getting from the heroes, so they started to relax.

But the demons weren’t quite done yet.

The red portal doubled in size of a sudden, and from it stepped out the largest demon so far. It stood nearly as tall as a house, with curled black horns adorning its cow like head. One leg and one arm each was mechanical, the arm being a massive canon of some kind.

The massive demon raised it canon arm straight at the armored man, ignoring everything else, snarling in some distorted language that made Eri’s ears hurt to hear.

The man rushed straight at the giant monster, pulling out some sort of assault weapon mid charge and emptying its magazine as he ran closer. A few heroes distracted the beast with attacks of their own, giving the man in the green armor time to close the distance.

He climbed on the demon quickly, grabbing one horn while extending the blade under his wrist, before quickly stabbing the beast right between its eyes, causing it to roar out in pain. It flailed wildly trying to get him off as he continued his stabbing, crying out and roaring in anger and desperation.

With the last of its strength, the beast somehow managed to dislodge the warrior, smacking him away with its canon arm and into a nearby try, cracking the armor clean open.

As the demon fell dead, the portal closed and left the park in chaos.

And the one who helped them laying motionless on the ground, bleeding from a chest wound.

Eri got to her feet faster than her mind could keep up, rushing over to the wounded man before even any of the heroes, putting her hands on his wound. In the midst of the blood she saw a rabbit’s foot on a neck chain, which made her laugh nervously, “Guess we’re all a little lucky today huh?”

“Eri! Ochako called out, coming closer to them both. “Sweetheart it’s not safe!”

“He’s hurt!” Eri answered while keeping her eyes on his wound, her horn starting to glow. “He needs help now, I can do it...” She had gotten significantly better at managing her powers, only reversing things minutes and seconds instead of just erasing them completely. A minute is all she would need for this. “I got you mister, just give me a second...”

The man groaned in pain from behind his helmet, but otherwise made no move to stop her or said a word, which worried Eri some, but she kept on. Her horn glowing brighter and brighter.

“Eri...” She could her Deku behind her with Ochako, but he didn’t move to stop her so she simply kept on her task, not noticing that she was grabbing the rabbit’s foot as she was activating her quirk.

When she gathered as much force as she thought she needed, she pushed her power into the wound, willing it to reverse and heal, just like she did with Deku.

A bright light filled the park, the man in the armor flinching violently for a quick moment before settling with a sigh of relief.

When the light cleared, his wound was gone...but something else took it’s place.

Eri blinked owlishly at the small brown rabbit, twitching it’s nose calmly as it sat next to the armored man regaining his bearings after being healed. The man checked his armor and his weapons, sweeping his sights to see heroes and civilians alike to see what he’ll do now that the demons were dead.

A deep grunt sounded from his helmet as he nodded a brief thank you to Eri before he began to sit up...only to freeze at the sight of the rabbit, who had hopped closer to him as he moved away, staring up at him with it’s dark eyes.

They stared at each other like that for a moment, before another sound escaped from the green helmet, “D-Daisy?” The voice sounded hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken a word to anyone for years, and seemed to wobble, like he was on the verge of crying. “Daisy, is that you?”

The rabbit, Daisy, answered by hopping closer to him, and putting her front paws on on his leg armor, twitching its nose and bouncing lightly in place.

The man ripped his helmet off, revealing a buzz cut and a chiseled face (for some reason Eri could only think of the word generic to describe it) stretched in a weepy grin. “Daisy!” He cried out in joy and wrapped the rabbit up in his arms, spinning it around as he laughed in relief. “Daisy! My little Daisy! I thought you were gone forever! Oh I’m so glad to see you again!”

If Eri hadn’t watched this man systematically rip and tear about four dozen demons a few minutes ago, she would have called this display adorable.

“You!” He turned to her with the same grin, holding Daisy up to his face to nuzzle. “Thank you for this, you have no idea how much this means to me.” He put one, heavy armored hand on her shoulder, his voice serious and humble despite the ferocity of his actions from before. “How can I ever repay you?”

“O-Oh! No don’t worry!” She waved him off with a blush. “It’s okay I’m gonna be a hero when I grow up!” She grinned widely at him before turning to look at Izuku and Ochako behind her. “Doing stuff like this is only natural!”

A let out a pleased laugh. “Well said!” He got to his feet, picking up his helmet with his free hand while the other was still holding Daisy up. “Keep that up and you’ll be a hero in no time.”

He began walking away, another blue portal opening for him. He took a step towards it, before he was stopped by Izuku putting a hand on his shoulder. “Wait! You’re just going to leave?” He pointed towards the corpses of the demons littering the park, blue and orange blood staining the grass. “What if those things come back?”

“Don’t worry.” He waved the concern off easily, putting his helmet back on. “I’ll make sure they stay away.” Something in his voice changed, growing deeper and more deranged. “They knew not to mess with the Doom Slayer.” His voice went right back to the friendly tone as he waved goodbye. “Have a nice day!”

And just as soon as he arrived, the “Doom Slayer” vanished back into the portal with his pet rabbit, leaving everyone one shocked and flatfooted in his wake.

After a few seconds of silence, Eri tugged on Izuku’s pant leg. “Hey, Deku?”

He shook his head to regain his balance, smiling down at her. “Yeah Eri?”

“Can I get a pet rabbit?”

“...We’ll ask Aizawa back at the dorms, okay?”

#my hero academia #Doom #Eri (bnha) #this was lame I apologize #but this was such a fun idea #chapelseed #answers

[kookiemuffin]

Kookie makes cookies!

"Kookie!" Jimin called from across the house, holding a bowl of cookie dough.

Jungkook came prancing from his bedroom, wearing his lamby pajamas. He giggled happily and stopped only centimeters away from Jimin. He looked up at his hyung with his big eyes and stood on his tip toes.

"Do you want to help me make cookies, Kookie?" Jimin asked cheerfully.

"Yes! Yes!" Jungkook beamed bouncing up and down.

"Your stool is at the island, hop up." Jimin said, leading Jungkook to his purple stool. The younger stepped up, slapping his hands on the counter top. Jimin set the glass bowl of cookie dough down in front Jungkook, whistling a tune.

"Take this big spoon and mix it up!" He chirped, holding the bowl steady, as Jungkook slowly mixed the already combined treat.

"Where da choco chips at?" Kookie asked cutely, reaching his mischievous hands into the dough, squishing it between his fingers.

"Yah, don't put your hands in there!" Jimin scolded, taking Jungkooks hands and wiping them down with a wet paper towel. "We don't know where these paws have been. We don't want any earwax, boogers or dirt getting in our cookies." He explained gently.

"Otay...but I like my boogers." Jungkook said casually. Jimin chuckled to himself, tossing the dirty towel into the trash.

"You sure do, but everyone else doesn't." Jimin mused, taking a bag of chocolate chips from the cabinet behind him. "Look, pour these yummy guys in."

"eeeeee!!" Jungkook shrieked, clapping his hands. Jimin gave him the now open bag and pulled out his phone to take video.

As Jungkook tilted the crinkly bag, the contents fell out into a bowl. The little laughed and flipped the bag upside down, emptying all of the chocolate chips into the mixture. The brown pieces piled up on each other into quite he mound that reminded Jungkook of their walk in the woods.

"It's bunny poop!" He laughed, pointing to the chocolate. "Like what TaeTae stepped in!"

"Oh, Kookie. I guess it's similar?" Jimin said to himself, stopping the video. "So much for a cute clip. Start folding those in with your spoon." He instructed, playing kids music from his phone.

Jungkook moved the spoon around the bowl, smushing the chips into the dough and moving them around. He stuck the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. Jimin smiled at the boy and began preparing the metal baking sheet.

Jimin showed Jungkook how to ball the cookie dough and where to place it on the tray. Kookie took a big handful of the cookie dough and started rolling it into a ball shape. He had lots of practice with his playdough and knew this was the moment his life had been waiting for. Jimin finished placing the third ball and glanced at Jungkooks work.

"That's going to be a big cookie, Kookie." He stated, chuckling the enormous amount the boy had picked up. Jungkook stayed silent, rolling the ball in his hands over and over again. Nearly a minuet later, Jimin placed about ten more cookie balls and paused to check on Jungkook.

"How's your cookie ball coming along?" He asked.

"Not perfect." Jungkook pouted, looking down at the bumpy dough ball in his hands.

"It doesn't have to be perfect, baby. When we put them in the oven they will flatten out into circles." Jimin explained and assured.

"Not gonna be a ball cookie?" Jungkook asked, the complexity of how this ball could turn into a circle, genuinely confusing him.

"No, sorry. Maybe we could find a recipe for ball cookies next week, does that sound good?" Jimin asked, praying that Jungkook wouldn't get upset. There had to be some sort of recipe for what Jungkook had in mind.

"Mhm, I wan daddy to have dis one." Jungkook said, handing his dough ball to Jimin.

"Okay, you can give him this one. Can you make some more, but make them a little Yeah smaller?" Jimin asked sweetly while he put Jungkooks cookie on a separate tray.

"Yup!" The little answer, taking a decently sized clump from the bowl and rolling it in his hands.

Ten minutes past, and the boys had a total of 36 cookies on four sheets, plus Jungkook's massive cookie on its own tray. Jimin helped Jungkook wash his hands and gave him a high five. Jungkook watched with curiosity, as Jimin loaded the metal sheets filled with cookies into the oven. Jimin set the timer and turned his attention to Kookie.

"What would you like to do now, baby?" Jimin asked, holding Jungkook on his hip.

"I dunno! Lay wif stuffies!" Jungkook decided.

"Sounds like a plan." Jimin confirmed, planting a kiss on kooks hair.

Jimin carried Jungkook to his regression room and placed him down on the floor. Jungkook scampered off to the big blanket he had laid out in-front of the window covered with all his stuffed animals, and laid down. He curled up with a tan fox stuffie, giggling and kicking his feet. Jimin smiled widely, that boy was just too darn cute.

Jungkook lay peacfully with a puppy pillow pet under his head, looking up at his ceilings glow stars. With a giggle he grabbed a small big eyed bear and pretended it was flying through space and running away from aliens. Jimin, on the other hand, sat down on the cushioned rocking chair and watched Jungkook play.

He watched, as Jungkook's eyes fluttered shut and he lowered his arm to his chest. Nap time. Jimin smiled softly and got up from his seat to give Jungkook a forehead kiss. Then he quietly left the room to start cleaning up the kitchen while the little one slept.

Time passed, and Jungkook slept. Jimin pulled out all the cookies from the oven and left them on wire racks to cool, even Jungkooks once fist sized dough ball that spread out into an uneven circle. Jimin chuckled to himself and started to actually clean up all the dishes they used.

"Jimin-ah, where's Kookie? Isn't he regressed today?" A worn out looking Yoongi questioned, scratching his face.

"Uhm yeah, he's in the playroom napping. Do you want a cookie, hyung?" Jimin offered, picking up one of the warm treats from its place in the cooling rack.

"Sure." Yoongi said, allowing Jimin to shove the cookie in his mouth. "Christ, Jimin! I can eat it myself." He said half annoyed, half amused. Jimin giggled and wrapped his arms around Yoongi, giving his hyung a bear hug.

"Is it good?" Jimin asked, looking up and Yoongi.

"Mhm!" Yoongi mumbled, mid chew.

"It's my moms recipe. She used to make these every other week." The younger said, picking up a cookie for himself to eat.

"I should stay at your moms place from now on." Yoongi joked, examining his cookie.

"But you can't leave meee!" Jimin whined, latching himself to Yoongi's body. "I'll make these cookies everyday!"

"Hey, I was just kidding. Right here, is perfect." He explained, petting the back of Jimins hair. Jimin sighed into Yoongi's shoulder and took a step back.

"Good." He affirmed with a smile. Yoongi nodded, his gaze drifting to the large brown circle that was on a wire sheet.

"What the hell is that?" Yoongi questioned, pointing his finger. Jimin turned around and chuckled to himself.

"Kookie made that. It's a big cookie for Namjoon hyung." He mused. "I don't even know if it's cooked all the way through." Jimin admitted, poking the center of the cookie.

"Namjoon shouldn't notice." Yoongi said, scrunching up his eyebrows.

A small pitter patter came from down the hall, alerting the two boys the Jungkook had woken up. The little appeared promptly, his baby blanket tied around his neck and stuffed giraffe in his hands. Jungkook head butted Yoongi and set to Jimin, climbing into the elders hold.

"Someone's awake, huh?" Yoongi mumbled, rubbing his hip.

"Cookies!" Jungkook cheered, a patch of drool glistening on his cheek. Jimin agreed and wiped the spit away with his hand. He placed Jungkook back in the floor and handed him one of the cookies.

"Here you go, baby!" He chirped, watching Jungkook a take a big bite of the still warm cookie.

"Yummy! I wanna give daddy his!" Jungkook exclaimed, energized from his snooze and generally happy to be eating food.

"What do you want to give me?" A deeper voice asked form around the corner. Namjoon stepped into the room, dressed in all black and holding a pair of headphones.

"Daddy!" Jungkook squealed, running into said persons arms. "I missed you!"

"I missed you too, bunny. All day, the only thing I could think about was my little bunny rabbit, and how much fun he was having while I was gone." Namjoon said, holding Jungkook tightly to his chest. His heart seemed to be refilled after the long tiring day he endured.

"Guess what!" Jungkook said loudly.

"What is it?" Namjoon asked, easing an eyebrow.

"Made you the biggest cookie in da world!!" Jungkook nearly screamed, wiggling around in his daddy's arms wildly.

"Inside voice, baby." Jimin reminded gently. Jungkook nodded, and continued his excitement.

"It's over dare!" The little exclaimed, lowering his tone and pointing at the kitchen island.

"Let's go see." Namjoon said, heading in the direction he was pointed in.

"Holy sh-" Namjoon gasped.

"Cow!" Jungkook interrupted goofily.

"You made that?!" Namjoon asked, genuinely amazed the the cookies size. Jimin and Yoongi laughed together. The leader wasn't exactly knowledgeable when it came to baking. He didn't know how it was an actually pretty easy thing to do.

"Yup! And it's all for you!" Jungkook said, clapping his hands.

"Thank you so much, bunny!" Namjoon chuckled, lightly bumping heads with Jungkook. "I'll enjoy every bite, except, it may take me a few months to finish."

________________________

#littlebts #littlejungkook #sfw agere #bts #jimin #yoongi #hoseok #namjoon #jin #taehyung #jungkook #btsfanfiction #fanfic

[umbrahighpriestofgiratina]

Rude Awakening Epilogue

Well. This is it. The end. This fic has come a long way in three years and while I'm glad it's over I'm gonna miss it. But! I'll save further thoughts for after the main attraction - though thank @veniasilente for one of the many, many foreshadow-y cameos:

Epilogue: New Game +

Hoopa looked over the survivors he had rescued, scrutinizing them carefully, before extending one of his massive hands to one. "Gimmie. I know you stole it from me." The man yelped and produced a gold crown, which zoomed telekinetically into Hoopa's hand. Hoopa cackled and turned to Palkia. "They're all good to go!" "Alright," said Palkia. "We're going to need to educate them on what the Pokemon world is like. Show them a few moves. Maybe teach them that the local wildlife is under divine contract not to murder them on sight and in reality would rather be friends." "Okay!" Hoopa turned to the crowd. "Alright folks! Lessons with professor Hoopa start now!" Palkia chuckled and moved on. ----------- Morgan was concentrating on her dragonstone as Panne watched. She grimaced and concentrated until it finally glowed and... ...An Axew stood in Morgan's place. "Huh? How come I'm so small? I don't even have any wings!" "It's because of the influence of this world," said Dialga, approaching. "For the most part only humans and Pokemon exist." "I do not wish to be a manspawn then," said Panne. "Make me one of those Pokemon." Dialga paused, then turned around and spoke into a portal. A small, pink, bespectacled creature emerged from it, looking around. "Alright, Dialga," said the Mew. "Who needs a species fixer-upper?" "There, Bartelby," Dialga said, pointing a hoof toward Panne. Bartelby waved one of his tiny pink paws and in an instant Panne was a small, blue, pointy rabbit-like creature. "Hmmm." said Panne. "Small but comfortable. I think I like this." "You're faring better than I am!" said Morgan, changing back to human soon after. Dialga chuckled. "Don't worry Morgan. You'll be able to make your new dragon form reach stronger and stronger stages. Same with Panne's new form." "Really?" said Morgan. "That's so cool!" "That would be useful, yes," said Panne. Dialga thought a bit. "Though first... we're going to have to find you two new homes." He glanced over at Virion and Libra, who were bickering over a platter of biscuits. "...And them too I suppose." --------- At a facility on the outskirts of Goldenrod City a man with brown hair and a teal shirt was tending to Nidoran, several Nidoran, and a few Nidorina and Nidorino to boot. It was then a human Dialga approached, holding Panne. "Excuse me... Doctor Machali?" The man looked up. "Yes?" "Hello. Quentin here. I believe I've approached the PEFE before." "Oh! Yes. Lovely to see you again Quentin. What is it?" "Well, you specialize in the Nidoran line and..." he held up Panne. "I'd like you to take care of this very special Nido before she gets passed along to a Trainer I have in mind." "Oh! Oh, certainly. Come here, little girl..." He took Panne carefully into his arms. Panne squirmed a bit, but eventually settled down. She looked Dialga in the eye. Dialga smiled, carefully petting the Nidoran that were surrounding him, and gave a thumbs up. Panne smiled back. ------------ In Lumiose City, Libra and Virion were sitting in a Gogoat-pulled trolley, enjoying the view. "This new world is amazing Libra!" said Virion. "So many sights to see, so many people to meet, so many hair care products..." "Mhm," said Libra, looking around. "What's wrong?" said Virion. "I don't really care about any of that. At least not in and of itself." "Why not?" Libra smiled. "I care about sharing it with you." "Wait, reall-" Virion was interrupted by Libra kissing him. Startled, he soon kissed back. ------------ Dialga, Palkia, and Morgan - all in human form - approached a lavish mansion, and knocked at the door. The door opened to reveal a man, woman, and young girl. "Mr. and Mrs. Hale?" said Dialga. "Yes, Mr. Quentin, Mrs. Valentina?" said Mr. Hale. "How are you all doing?" said Palkia. "Good, good," said Mr. Hale. "Especially after the Unown situation you helped stop." "Is this the girl you called about?" said Mrs. Hale, looking at Morgan. "Yep!" said Palkia. "This is Morgan." "Hi!" said Morgan. "I promise I won't break anything. Within the first day anyway." Mrs. Hale chuckled. "Molly? Meet your new big sister." The girl's expression changed from one of curiosity to one of pure joy. She immediately ran up and hugged Morgan. "Big sis, big sis!" she said. "Good to have you too," said Morgan. She then felt something tugging at her leg and looked down to see a Jangmo-O. She picked it up and cuddled it as Dialga and Palkia stared. "Oh! That little girl followed me everywhere on a recent trip to Alola, so I brought her home," said Mr. Hale. "She seems to like you Morgan!" The Jangmo-o purred as Morgan pet her. It was then Dialga noticed a familiar mark on the Jangmo-o's head and remembered Naga's words. "I am not the first Naga... There have been others before me... The role and memories are passed down from one incarnation to the next." Despite the weight of her words Dialga couldn't help but smile. He then looked over to Palkia, who was deep in thought. "Something the matter sister?" "It's just... I'm thinking about Robin," said Palkia. "I gave his last vestige some of my power,in hopes he'd escape. She looked up into the sky and smiled. "And... I feel like he has! He's out there somewhere, I know it!" ------------ At a table, six people were conversing, talking and laughing happily, except one, a young man with white hair. "Something wrong Robin?" asked a girl with teal hair. "It's nothing wrong," said Robin. "I was thinking of a dream I had. A hopeful dream." "Like what?" said a man in a hat and coat. "About someone who helped me... Long ago. Helped me survive long enough to get here." "That's pretty nice, yeah," said a teal-haired boy. "Yeah, we're glad you're here, Robin," said a girl in white. "You've made yourself quite at home," said a girl in red. "Thank you." said Robin. He looked up to the sky. "And thank you... Valentina Palkia." THE END *** Holy cow. The process for this fic has been amazing, even with some roadblocks (the year-long delay much) and it's been wonderful sharing it with you all. I know I got more response some places than others but all the response I've actually gotten was incredible, and this is hugely significant in being the first chapterfic I've actually finished. Thank you, all of you,  for the feedback and likes and follows and everything, and I'm looking forward to sharing more of Heroes After All and my future projects... Though expect some trivia for this fic down the line.

#rude awakening #fanfic #fire emblem #pokemon #we did it guys #we made it hapen

[therumbellehappyendingaward-blog]

Summary: The little witch was special beyond her blossoming powers. The wizard knew it well. A curse was destined to be broken, but who would pay the cost?

Chapter 1 writer: @thespinningmeanie

PROMPT: WITCH

AO3: HERE

Belle wandered alone down a beaten path. She was trying to hold herself together, to stop the tears that gathered in her eyes from falling. It had been two months since her Mama died and left her under the care of her Papa. Her loving Papa who doted on her very much was replaced by a man Belle would either find pass out on the couch or a drunk with an ill temper.

She didn’t really know where she was headed, only that she needed to get away fast from the taunts of her classmates and that she doesn’t want to go home yet.

At a young age she knew she was different - special, her Mama reassured her that she was whenever she confided in her. Mama was her strength, she taught her that by being brave bravery would soon follow.

Belle hoped she was doing it now but her steps falter when she felt a chill in the air. She knows what’s in front of her - an evil spirit who hasn’t found rest yet. Some of them only yearned to rest but some causes harm to the living. Belle ignored the spirit and tried to walked around it. It seemed to work, so she let her guard down then it grabbed her by the shoulders and flung her to the ground.

She winced when she tried to get up while the spirit glared menacingly, about to lunge at her.

Belle closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to come but it didn’t.

Slowly she opened her eyes and was greeted by the sight of a man dressed in an eccentric fashion, a top hat resting atop his head, his umbrella swinging back and forth in his hands.

“Hello.” The strange man said as he held out his hand to help her stand.

“Thank you.” She was gratified that he helped her but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a stranger who have powers to vanquish evil spirits as it seems. She almost asked him if he’s a friend of -

“So what are you doing here in the woods?”

Instead of answering him she asked him the same. “What about you? Why are you doing here?”

He gaped at her and shook his head. “Nevermind that. I’m Jefferson.”

“Izzy.” She took his proffered hand and shook it.

“Would you mind helping me? Like I did with you.”

“You mean help you stand?” She said, testing the waters. “You’re funny Jefferson.”

“Oh Come on! Y’know what I’m talking about.”

She took a hasty step back only then she felt a finger gently twirl her hair.

“Let me take care of him, pet.” She heard him whisper and she knew that she’s safe. She watched her friend straightened and made the scariest face she’s ever seen him make.

“What did I tell you about entering my domain unannounced Hatter!” He bellowed interrupting Jefferson’s tirade. Rumplestiltskin’s  lips pulled to a snarl, he is doing everything he can in maintaining that facade but it dropped immediately when he heard Belle giggle at his performance. Damnation, the little witch made him soft.

“R-Rumplestiltskin!” Jefferson stuttered, the sudden appearance of the Dark One startled him.

“This little witch here is under my protection Hatter. So unless you’re looking for a way to abolish your efforts in becoming one of those pesky deities I dare you to scare her again.”

“I wasn’t scared.” Belle said, deciding to join in the conversation. Rumple scowled at her dejectedly and she sheepishly apologized for cutting short  his fun. She watched him slumped at a tree like a sulking child and she let him be, knowing his spirits will be back later.

She glanced at Jefferson and she thought his head might get torn off from his neck because he was shaking it back and forth at her and the sulking imp. “Rumple didn’t turn you into a snail. You must be his friend.”

“I- He told you that?” She could sense that he was going to say something more so she stayed silent. “Of course! I am dear Rumple’s friend. Did you know that -

“Shut the lies Hatter.” Rumplestiltskin twittered, sulkiness all gone and the twittering imp is back.

“It’s getting late. I’m going home now.” Two heads turned on her direction, Rumple’s face crumpled but he nodded his ascent.

“Don’t worry Rumple, even if I’m not your best friend I still consider you mine.”

She faced her back to them, hiding her grin. She had only taken a few steps when she heard him wailing. “Belle!”

“Wait for me! I thought her name was Izzy?”

She ran deeper into the forest but this time she had a clear picture on where she is headed. She knows the way like the back of her hand, she knew home.

Belle squealed when Rumple caught her, he lifted her of the ground and they spin. Their laughter echoed and Jefferson watched them with curious eyes.

Rumple carried her on his back on the rest of the way to his castle, she kept chattering with him about her week although she avoided telling him that her classmates continued their name calling.

Jefferson joined in and occasionally replied. She could see that Rumple trusts him and  Belle considered that he might make a good friend. But no matter how many friends she might have Rumple is her best and dearest friend.

“Off you go to the library, dearie. The books are waiting for you.”

It felt like he’s hiding something from her but his eyes sincerely pleaded for her to understand that he’s not to make her leave, perhaps when Jefferson leave Rumple will tell her. Belle beamed at him and the worry coloring his face faded. She ran off, unable to contain her excitement to read the new books Rumple has provided for her whenever she visited.

“You knew.” Jefferson cowed at him as he crowded Rumplestiltskin’s personal space. He jumped up and down like a child on his birthday but Rumple paid him no mind, his attention was solely focused on the fading image of the brave little witch walking away from them.

He snapped his fingers and a crimson smoke enveloped them. When the smoke receded a clawed hand shot out and slammed Jefferson to the wall.

“Rumple, you -” Jefferson choked and Rumplestiltskin’s fingers tightened on his throat.

“I am well aware that had I not intervened you would go and try serve her up in a silver plate to me again, Jefferson.” He growled, his golden eyes cracked with fury.

“But I only asked her to get the hat for me. No one can enter your pri-”

Rumplestiltskin almost crushed his windpipe before releasing him and Jefferson slumped at the wall, heaving deep breaths.

He tried connecting the pieces all together. Rumple is overprotective of the girl. The girl - Izzy trusted him. Rumple is letting her peruse his library full of magical tomes. Then it clicked to him.

“When Izzy and I first met I was wearing a disguise.” He stated but Rumple ignored him and continued browsing the cabinet, gathering ingredients for a potion he’s probably brewing.

He sighed and admitted to the accusations thrown at him earlier. “I know who she is Rumple. That’s why I sent her to you. Either she get me the hat or you killed her.”

Rumplestiltskin abruptly turned around, crooked yellow stained teeth barred.

“And what, dearie, are you hoping to get when you executed that little plan?”

“That you’ll help me.”

He tsks. “So you���ve gotten tired and decided to take the easy way out.”

“No that’s not-“

“I wonder what little Gracie would say.” He taunted Jefferson and the man fumed just as he expected.

“I was helping by giving Izzy to you. I didn’t expect to see her again alive and well and protected.”

“Hatter, what you knew about Belle will stay between us.  No one of our world should become aware of her existence. If they had gotten wind of your interactions with her tell them you were trying to con her into getting that hat of yours but didn’t succeed.”

“Why?”

“She is under my protection, Jefferson.”

“But you could’ve been -“

His explanation was caught short when Rumplestiltskin threw the hat he was looking for. That hat opened passage ways to other realms. Rumplestiltskin giving it to him only means that the price is his silence about Belle.

“Be careful in using it.” He added. “If they caught you simply tell them that the Dark One gave it in exchange of a child you’ve conned.”

The door barged open, and to their astonishment, white rabbits went in and one even hopped inside the hat in Jefferson’s hands.

“Rumple, look! I summoned them and I had one perform a trick.”

Belle followed the rabbits inside, quite proud of what she’d achieved. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think me turning people and spirits into snails are still more amusing.” He replied blandly.

“You did great little rabbit!” Jefferson praised her, he got teary eyed because Belle’s enthusiasm reminded him of his Gracie. He bid them both goodbyes as he prepares the hat to jump back to his realm but before he could leave Belle called him back.

“Thank you for sending me to Rumple’s castle to get your hat, Jefferson.”

He glanced at Rumplestiltskin, his eyes steely, body tense as he waited for Jefferson’s response.

“You take care of our sulky imp then, Izzy!”

They watched Jefferson hop inside the hat and disappeared along with it. Belle held onto Rumple’s hand while she raised her free one, then she murmured an incantation and the rabbits thrashing the lab vanished from sight.

“Very good, pet.” She heard his praise and the pride in his tone. Belle tried stifling her yawn but Rumple’s enhanced hearing caught it. “Time to go home.”

“This is home. I want to stay with you.” He chuckled and bent down to carry her in his arms. “You’re growing heavy, this castle spoils you too much.”

“I think the master likes me well enough to feed me.” She threw back at him as they made their way down the stairs. “I’m serious Rumple. I want to stay and never leave.”

“I thought you want to travel, pet.”

“Being with you is already an adventure.” Her voice was slightly muffled due to her burying her head in his neck. He smelled of spice, wood, and magic and it soothes her more.

A crimson smoke enveloped them and teleported them to Belle’s room. There he gently laid her in the bed and tucked her in. After he made sure of the wards he’d enforced around her house was strong he leaves.

His remembered Jefferson asking him if he knew as the golden scales that covered him receded and gave way to the pinkish skin of mortals. Then whisky brown replaced his gold flecked amber eyes when he breathed one word

“Yes.”

#group black #finish this #rumbelle #thespinningmeanie

[ernmark]

Because I’ve been posting a whole lot of really sad stuff lately, here’s something a little bit more fun.

The prompt comes courtesy of Kya, who requested Juno undertake a very particular kind of case, with some details based on a conversation with @crownsnbirds​. 

Rita’s laid down the law: there will be no more dry spells in the Juno Steel Detective Agency. Juno has two weeks to recover, just long enough for the sunburn to finish peeling and the vertigo to fade into mild dizzy spells when he stands up too fast, and then he’s back on the job. 

He should probably thank her for that, at least when he’s done being annoyed at her about it. 

After everything that’s happened, the current case is a relief. There’s no conspiracy, no murder, no hostage situations, no rigged elections. Just a run-of-the-mill Uptown blue blood whining because their favorite tiara went missing.

“No, not a tiara,” insists Theophania Frost. “It’s a diadem. An antique from my dearest grandmama.” 

“Your... diadem.” Goddamn rich people. “Right. Now are you sure it’s actually stolen? Have you checked with your staff? Made sure it’s not out for cleaning or repairs or whatever?” Hell, maybe somebody left it in the refrigerator by mistake. God knows he’s done that with his eye patch once or twice after a long night.

“Detective Steel, I wouldn’t have called you here if I wasn’t absolutely certain it’s been stolen-- and I know who did it, too!”

Juno sighs. The tone of their voice tells him he’s going to be in for a long day. “Do you?”

Frost leans in conspiratorially and drops their voice to a whisper, as if they might be overheard. “Have you ever heard of the Bouquet Bandit?”

Oh god, not this again.

“Is this one of those crooks with a theme song trying to get into the Fortezza? Because this is a hell of a bad time to cash in on that deal.” 

“I don’t know, Detective, but I’m not the only one who’s been stolen from. Sam Spare, you know, the botanist? Xir diamond shears went missing a month ago. And Telemnachus Wake’s collection of antique horsehair necklaces was taken two months ago, and on the same day, they were sent flowers.”

“Flowers.” 

Frost takes Juno’s exasperation for enthusiasm. “That’s right! Every time he takes something, he always leaves behind a dozen roses.”

“Thus the name, I got it.” 

Why did Rita have to pick now to start doing her job?

Whoever this Bouquet Bandit is, he’s good. The crime scene is spotless, and there’s no signs of forced entry whatsoever. While Rita goes over Frost’s security system for footage and signs of tampering, Juno looks into the other alleged crimes of the serial burglar, looking for something they had in common. 

The best bet is in the delivery personnel-- people this rich get a lot of deliveries, and nobody thinks twice about a person in uniform with a box in hand walking right up to the front door. There are a few people on the security feeds that Juno pegs as suspicious, and not just because of the one thing they all seem to have in common: no matter where they are or what they’re doing, Juno can never get a good look at their faces. 

He scours the timestamps on the videos, looking for others that might give a better angle or reveal some kind of other identifying mark, but there’s no luck so far.

And honestly? He’s kind of loving it. After all the shit that went down, he’s been in need of a good, clean, straightforward case. It’s been too long since he’s done legitimate investigating that he could feel good about.

The thought barely has the chance to cross his mind before he hears Rita start talking to someone at her desk. A moment later, she’s poking her head inside his office.

“Hey, Boss? You got a delivery.” 

She looks about as concerned as he feels. Because in her hand is a bouquet of twelve red roses.

“What the hell?” He starts to his feet. “Rita, did you see who delivered these?” 

“Don’t worry, boss, I already asked. It was just a kid. She said some man stopped her on the sidewalk and gave her a whole bunch of money to deliver these to you.” 

“Did she see his face?” 

“I asked, but she wouldn’t say nothin’. She just gave me the flowers and ran.”

Juno grabs the card from among the roses and turns it over. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Juno’s still got the card in his pocket when he arrives at the meeting point. Rita insisted she come with him when she saw, but this time he was the one who put his foot down-- the last time she joined him on a job, she fell in love with a murderer, and this time he’s going to cut off the inevitable tragedy before he has to buy two pints of ice cream and sit through her forty favorite sad movies.

The card itself is infuriatingly unhelpful. The paper is high-class cardstock, but nothing so fancy that you couldn’t get it at any stationary store in town. The text is digitally printed in a fancy but publicly available font. The message is short:

Detective Juno Steel

Meet me at the Jacobi Convention Center at 3 PM on July 5.

Don’t be late.

It screams ambush-- which is another reason why Rita isn’t coming.

Even if the ambush is apparently going to happen at the local Y2K Faire.

It makes sense in its own ridiculous way: there are hundreds of people coming and going, half of them in costume, and everyone’s going to be carrying a shopping bag or a replica glock or sword or whatever, and there’ll be enough reenactors demonstrating fake duels that nobody’s going to notice if things get heated until it’s too late.

Old Americana-style signposts mark the different sections of the faire, their directions spelled out in big white letters against reflective green rectangles. One catches Juno’s eye: its metal pole is decorated with a dozen roses. It looks like a regular decoration, but he takes it as a sign and follows its lead. It’s not hard to find a second sign post covered in roses a little further, and another, until he’s on the far end of the convention center. By now the trail is easy to follow, laid out in a path of rose petals on the floor. They’re fresh, not quite dried out yet, not nearly as trampled as they should be, given how many people are here. The bandit can’t have been here more than half an hour ago, tops.

The trail leads to an exotic animal exhibit based on old-fashioned Earth petting zoos. Which... can’t be right. Juno checks all the way around the enclosure, just to make sure he got it right, but no. That’s where it ends. 

What the hell is he supposed to do with this?

He stares, perplexed, at children reaching through the bars to offer handfuls of pellets and sliced vegetables to cows and ponies and old Earth species of rabbits-- the kind that are fluffy and bright-eyed and small enough to hold in your arms.

The kind I’m used to eat carrots and wrinkle their little nosies.

The thought makes Juno’s heart ache a little bit. Reminders of Nureyev always do. 

He’s staring into the enclosure when he notices something that doesn’t belong: a bit of paper, fancy card stock the same stiffness and shade as the card in his hand, carefully pinned to the wool of a star-horned goat on the other end of the enclosure. He hurries over to the spot of fence closest to it, but as soon as he gets there, it’s on the move, meandering around to the other side.

“Goddammit,” he mutters under his breath, and sets his foot on the metal gate. He wasn’t planning to get cow dung on his shoes today, but whatever.

“Hey!” barks a man who smells like he’s been working with these things for a long, long time. “You can’t go in there.”

Juno would ignore him and make the leap anyway, but the guy grabs him, and hot damn does he have a strong grip. Apparently wrangling a bunch of four-legged antiques for a living builds muscles or something. 

“I said you can’t go in there,” the caretaker repeats slowly. It’s a warning. It won’t be repeated again.

There’s even odds that Juno would win any fight between them, but no matter how it goes, he’ll end the fight by being dragged out by security, which means he’ll lose his only lead on this case. The Bandit’s got a game to play, and Juno intends to win it.

And that means playing by the rules.

“Sorry about that,” he says as sweetly as he can get away with. “I’m just so excited. I’ve never seen a goat up close before.”

The caretaker gives him a weird look, but backs off. “Yeah, well, you’re going to have to do your watching from out here. It stresses the animals out too much to let people into the pen.”

“Do you think you could bring one over for me to get a closer look?” He points at the star-horned goat with the note on its wool. “How about that one over there?”

“Listen, buddy,” the caretaker says. “We can’t do that. If you want them to come closer, we sell food pellets for a cred a bag.”

Sometimes, being a Private Eye means asking the hard questions-- like whether he’s going to include “petting zoo food pellets” in his expense report at the end of a case.

He decides to swallow the cost along with his pride and he buys a bag.

And then he buys two more; the one goat he’s after looks hungry, but apparently not as much as the rest of the animals in the enclosure. In seconds he’s swarmed by livestock, and Juno runs his hands over all of them, just in case the goat wasn’t the only one with a note in its fur.

And... okay, so they are really soft. It’s not like this is his first time at a Y2K Faire, but he’s never bothered to pay money for a chance to pet the animals. It’s actually kind of nice. Especially the cow-- she keeps bumping his hand with her soft, velvety nose, and scrubs her long tongue over the palm of his hand in a way that should be a lot more gross than it is. It’s a shame there aren’t more of these on Mars.

Sure, a few people are complaining about the smell, but Juno spent half his childhood wading through the sewers with giant rabbits. If anything, the smell of hay and manure and animal fur feels a little bit nostalgic. 

It’s not until he trades a handful of pellets to a six-year-old in exchange for a bunch of carrot slices that the goat finally starts heading his way, nosing at one hand while he fumbles to unpin the note from its wool. 

Just like he guessed, it’s the a perfect match for the card that came with the flowers, with the same paper, the same font, and the same obnoxious lack of helpful information.

Hungry, Detective?

Meet me in the Foode Courte.

Even without the little heart at the bottom of the card, there’s something ridiculously flirtatious about the whole thing. But that’s this thief’s schtick, isn’t it? Some kind of hopeless romantic who goes around tossing roses all over the place. Just watch, when Juno finds him he’ll be wearing a top hat and cape. Maybe that’s why he picked this place to sneak around in, so his getup won’t cause any suspicion.

After he washes himself off, Juno follows the signs to the circle of kiosks selling “authentic” twentieth-century cuisine-- things with bizarre names like “deep fried twinkies” and “mashed potatoes” and “blooming onions”. Thankfully, the trail of rose petals on the floor leads him past the more exotic options to a plain-old popcorn stand that’s offering nothing more historic than cheddar-and-caramel among its flavors. The smell of the popcorn is subtle compared to the other foods lingering in the air, but when he’s this close, it’s enough to make his stomach grumble.

Just like before, there’s another note, tucked into one of the pre-portioned bags of popcorn, and he swipes the beg the second the cashier’s back is turned. All expenses paid or not, there’s something criminal about charging seven creds for a quarter’s worth of popcorn. 

Okay, so the popcorn isn’t half bad. Not good enough to justify that price tag, but still, not bad. And he was just thinking he could use a snack.

The note is spotted and translucent with cooking oil, but it’s still readable enough. 

Join me for a game.

“That’s funny, I thought we were already playing one,” Juno says aloud, just in case the Bandit is watching him... which he probably is, dammit.

There’s a section of kiosks dedicated to old Earth carnival games, and sure enough, there’s another trail of rose petals leading him to the right booth: a target shooting game backed up against a funnel cake stand.

He’s not even surprised when he finds the corner of another note sticking out of a cut in an oversized teddy bear.

“Joke’s on you,” he mutters. “I’m great at these things.” 

He used to do these all the time when he was in high school, winning the biggest prize he could carry just to show off for his dates. 

He pays a couple creds to the lady behind the counter and takes aim. All three shots go wide, barely hitting the target.

Anywhere else, that might disappoint him, but not here. Sure, his aim isn’t ever going to be as great as it was when he had the THEIA on and active, but these games are always rigged. The trick is that now he knows which way the laser is skewed, and he corrects his aim accordingly. 

Seven bulls-eyes later, and he’s walking away from the stand with a stuffed bear almost as big as he is. Rita’s going to love this thing-- maybe it’ll make up for not letting her come.

He slips the last note out of the little hole in the bear and unfolds it.

If you want to look into my face, you’ll have to look into your own.

I’ll be waiting in the hall of mirrors.

Finally something direct.

There’s no trail of rose petals this time-- just an “out for lunch” sign and an unlocked door on the old twentieth-century attraction. He never got the appeal of places like this, where everything is dim and warped and confusing. But then, he never really got the appeal of mirrors, either. 

He leaves the bag of popcorn and stuffed bear just inside the door, and he sets out. 

“Alright, I’m here,” he calls into the twisting halls. “Enough of this scavenger hunt. Come out and we’ll settle this.”

His only answer is in footsteps. He whirls to follow the source of the sound, but he only manages to catch reflections of a retreating figure. In the warped glass, he can’t make out a face or a body type, but there’s something about the pattern of the footsteps that feels familiar. 

The Bandit is running, so he gives chase. He keeps seeing flashes of the man, bits and pieces that should all fit together but don’t. All of it feels too familiar. 

And then he’s out of the hall of mirrors and into another corner of the funhouse, this one full of holograms and wax figurines, all of them of celebrities and historical figures and beautiful people through the ages. Some of them are moving, repeating cliched one-liners and overused quotations, and it’s all coming from everywhere, sending false signals from every corner. His senses are so confused that he’s even smelling things he shouldn’t, animals and food and cologne.

Cologne.

“No,” he whispers. “No, it can’t be.” But the more he looks at it, the more obvious it is.

Pet the fuzzy animals. Have a snack. Play a game. Hell, even the flowers--

It’s so obvious. It’s terrible. 

Jesus, why do people keep doing this to him? Sending him on cases that aren’t cases-- it wasn’t even a year ago that he got dragged all over Oldtown for Sasha’s performance review, and then Ramses staged a goddamn assassination for a job interview, and then apparently the stakeout that was a bad excuse to get him to rest up from a stab wound, and now this? 

“Goddammit, Nureyev,” he snaps. “Is this supposed to be a date?”

Nureyev is still out of sight, lost in the dim lights and mannequins, but his voice wafts over Juno. “Are you having fun? I certainly am.”

“You couldn’t just ask--” No, he couldn’t. Because that isn’t Nureyev’s style, and Juno’s never exactly been the type to openly accept that kind of invitation. So he changes tracks. “I gotta say, the location threw me. A Y2K Faire seems kind of low-brow for you.”

“That’s hardly my fault. It did take you some time to respond to my calling card, after all.”

His... oh, goddammit, the serial robberies. “You’ve been trying to get my attention.”

“For months now, thank you for noticing. And you’ve been playing hard to get.” 

Juno sighs. “I wasn’t playing. I was just...” How is he supposed to even put it into words? “My head’s been a real mess.” 

“I can imagine,” Nureyev hums, and his voice is soft and so close that Juno can feel his breath in his ear. “Would you like to talk about it over dinner?”

#the penumbra podcast #writing prompt #fanfiction #100

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 25 - The Hippogriff

Words: 2,607

Summary: Yato’s punishment isn’t as bad as it seems - and it looks like it can help Hiyori.

Previous chapter | First chapter

Thank you Ina @leopah for beta-ing me <3

Happy birthday Pip (@paperypiper)!

Read on AO3

"Oh, look, more shit."

A forlorn expression crossed Yato’s face as he looked at the latest gift for him, leaning on his shovel with a melodramatic sigh.

When he’d been put to work for the Groundskeeper, this wasn’t what he had in mind.

Picking herbs? Sure. Tending the cow-sized pumpkins for Halloween? Why not. Shovelling Hippogriff dung? No way.

Hiyori tutted at him when he revealed his punishment, telling him he deserved it for ‘obstructing other people’s learning,’ whilst Yukine told him not to do anything stupid.

Yato scoffed, and, although he’d seen them in books, seeing them in real life for the first time had stupefied him into a reverent awe.

Hippogriffs were magical of course, but in essence they were half-horse, half-eagle. Powerful hind legs stomped the ground, the front two of which had fierce talons six inches long. Short hair gave way to downy feathers running down their chests and necks to heads that were much larger than a normal bird’s, and much deadlier.

The Hippogriffs in the paddock were various shades of tawny chestnuts and snow whites, along with a couple of palomino and appaloosa which bled their colours over the short hair of their hindquarters and the feathered wings folded neatly to their sides.

Yato’s attention was drawn to their eyes which were shades of amber, some as light as honey or as dark as rubies. The next thing he noticed, which snapped him out of his reverie, was the sharp beaks which snapped at the dead rabbits Kuraha threw to them, tearing them into grotesque hunks of meat before throwing them into the air and swallowing them whole.

Kuraha gruffly told him that he would be responsible for the Hippogriffs upkeep for the year as they would be the subject of his Care of Magical Creatures class.

If Yato was correct, Yukine and Hiyori would be taking this class as one of their options, though it seemed it would be much more interesting than his own. Yato’s experience of learning how to care for Flobberworms – and trying not to get his face ripped off by a demonic textbook he’d taken to belting shut – was less than underwhelming.

Yato’s newfound Care of Magical Creatures entailed shovelling shit after shit, as well as throwing the occasional dead ferret to appease the offended looks he received from the herd of Hippogriffs every time he gagged at the smell. Aside from that, they couldn’t have cared less about Yato’s presence.

However, a particular Hippogriff – storm-coloured with amber eyes – had a curiosity for him that involved making Yato’s life much harder when it came to being an ‘honorary’ Gamekeeper.

Yato thought ‘Buckbeak’ – the name of said Hippogriff – was a stupid name, but did not voice this  for fear of offending the creature. He thought he might lose his head when he was told to bow to the proud creatures, but, after some hoof-stomping and beak-snapping, they accepted him.

The sun had sunk even lower until the forest was plunged into near darkness, showing that summer was well and truly over as short autumn nights and crisp air crept in. Yato swung himself over the paddock fence, wiping his forehead before bundling oversized moleskin gloves and a variety of reins and tethers up in his arms.

Aside from the constant aroma of manure, being a Gamekeeper wasn’t as bad as he’d thought.

The faint trail took him from the shadowy depths of the grove back to the broad expanse of the school grounds. He trudged back to the Groundskeepers hut to drop his load before striding up the twilit path.

The candles had started to flicker to life in the windows of the castle as curfew crept closer, ushering Yato to hurry up into the warm entrance and then down into the chillier pits of the Slytherin dorms.

Even if he did deserve it, this was a punishment Yato would enjoy.

~

Yato was correct – Yukine and Hiyori both had Care of Magical Creatures last on  Friday afternoons.

Trotting through the copse of trees which hid the proud creatures, the class was floored by the majesty of the Hippogriffs.

When it came to introductions, Yukine was the first to be lifted over the fence, followed by Kuraha who coached them through the process: low bow and wait, if they bow back you can pet them.

Hiyori didn't want to think of what they would do if they didn't bow.

Thankfully Yukine’s Hippogriff - a chestnut brown with eyes the colour of liquid gold - bent its knee, giving wordless permission for Yukine to approach.

The rest of the class followed suit one by one, earning inclined bows from the majestic creatures followed by excited whispers as they ran their fingers through soft feathers and coarse hair.  

When it came to Hiyori, however, the outcome was what she had feared. A snowy white Hippogriff with eyes like fire regarded her with reproach when she stepped forward for her turn.

Low bow, Hiyori told herself, bending at the waist with her arms held stiffly by her side, and wait.

A moment passed and Hiyori raised her eyes, expecting, hoping, that it had returned the gesture.

It hadn't.

She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and, unsure of what to do, Hiyori beat a hasty retreat. A twig snapped underfoot. Fear paralysed her, her head still bowed and at the mercy of the Hippogriff who huffed and stomped a foot impatiently.

What felt like an eternity passed before she heard Kuraha’s boots kicking through the bracken, the dead rabbit in his hand distracting the Hippogriff from her failed bow.

Hiyori gave a relieved sigh, straightened up and backing further away, watching the snowy Hippogriff rip the rabbit from Kuraha’s hand and toss it in the air. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to get the Hippogriffs to bow to her.

Class ended shortly after, allowing the third years to make their trek back to their dorms before the dinner. Yukine, glowing with modest pride over his success with his own Hippogriff, tried to cheer up Hiyori, who had a glum face listening to the excited chatter of the rest of the class.

“They’re a bit stubborn, you know,” Yukine said.

“They bowed to everyone else,” Hiyori muttered. Proud or not, she couldn’t get them to bow back. Maybe it was because she was muggleborn? Then again, there were other muggleborns in her class, so what was the problem with her?

Hiyori quietly stewed over her options, not noticing the familiar figure hurtling down the path and weaving his way to her and Yukine.

“Hey!”

Both looked in the direction of the voice to find Yato in front of them, hair tousled and nose smeared with dirt that he didn’t seem to notice in his haste to get to Hippogriff-keeping.

“Hey,” they said together, pausing on the track and letting the remainder of the class stream past them until it was only the three of them left in the leafy shadows.

“First class with Kuraha? How was it?” Yato shoved his hands in his pockets. Since he’d became Hippogriff keeper he’d expressed a keen interest in them, and was eager to talk about them, but Hiyori felt otherwise.

“It was ok,” Hiyori said vaguely, but Yukine wasn’t letting her avoid the topic.

“She’s scared of Hippogriffs,” he said matter-of-factly, earning a betrayed glare from Hiyori.

“I am not!”

“You wouldn’t go near it!”

Yato watched the exchange, eyebrows half-raised in surprise. “You’re really scared of everything, aren’t you?”

Hiyori huffed and folded her arms over her chest. “When it’s a half-horse half-eagle which can tear me in two then yes, I think it’s justified to not want my head taken off.”

Yukine bit his lip and looked at the ground, hiding a smile. Yato, on the other hand, looked at the canopy above them, exasperated and pressed for time.

“Meet me here tomorrow morning. I’ll help you.”

Yato didn’t answer Hiyori’s question of what he meant before jogging in the opposite direction, but whatever it was, she didn’t have a good feeling about it.

~

On Saturday morning, Hiyori, filled with dread, made her way to the Groundskeeper’s hut. The last time she agreed to meet Yato outside of school, he’d summoned a snake to ‘help’ her fear. Although there was a promise of no snakes this time, Hiyori was still dubious as to what Yato was going to do this time.

From the cliff where the castle stood, Hiyori could see the vast expanse of the Forbidden Forest before her, the Groundskeeper’s hut little more than a toy house from her perspective. The path took her from the West Wing exit down the embankment, a meandering path of dirt carved into the side by years of students making the same trek to classes.

Hiyori dared not to look up for fear of seeing Dementors, instead keeping her eyes low. The day was crisp, making Hiyori wish that she had worn something warmer than the casual top and jeans she had on.

The further down she went, the castle disappeared from view until she could see the rickety bridge that served as one of the two entrances to the school, as well as the glittering of the Great Lake in the distance.

Stumbling down the trail, Hiyori could make out Yato who was waiting for her, hands shoved in his trouser pockets and shoulders hunched under a light jumper.

He heard her call his name and turned, and – watching her trip on loose rocks with her arms slightly extended to help her balance – waved in greeting.

He scooped up the bunch of dead ferrets from his feet when Hiyori jogged up to him, her nose wrinkling at the sight which he had grown used to over the past week.

“Ready?”

“No?”

“Then let’s go.”

Yato walked slightly ahead of Hiyori, leading the way despite Hiyori herself knowing the short, familiar path to the paddocks.

Early morning sunlight barely pierced the leafy canopy, the trees yet to begin shedding for the colder weather which would bring hues of gold and amber to the enclosed grove.

The clearing was deserted aside from Hiyori and himself, as well as the creatures they had come to see.

Yato clicked his tongue to get their attention, which seemed to irritate the herd as they moved further away, except for a beautiful speckled grey Hippogriff that watched the pair approach with defiant curiosity.

Yato swung himself over the fence, landing hard on his feet before throwing the rope of ferrets over the gate post. He offered a hand to Hiyori who batted it away, instead using the wooden slats as a ladder to climb down besides Yato.

Hiyori lingered behind Yato as he gave a short bow to the creature, who inclined its head in recognition, before Yato half-turned back to Hiyori.

“This is Buckbeak,” Yato said. “Say hello.”

With a tug on her sleeve, Yato pulled Hiyori to his side. Hiyori stumbled forward, tensing up with a short cry followed by a quick glance from Yato to the Hippogriff.

Tossing his head with what sounded like a disgruntled snort at the impoliteness, Buckbeak stomped a taloned hoof and splayed his wings with a powerful beat which sent up a cloud of dirt around them.

Hiyori’s hand instantaneously found Yato’s and gripped it at the sudden movement, rooted to the spot as the Hippogriff stared directly at her with enquiring amber eyes.

Yato looked at Hiyori, then at their hands, then back to Hiyori.

“Can I have my hand back?”

Hiyori let go. “S-sorry.”

“Just give him a low bow and wait,” Yato instructed her, pushing her back gently so she took a few steps forward. “Don’t worry, I’m right here.”

Hiyori drew her shoulders back, keeping her eyes level with Buckbeak’s before, very slowly, she gave a bow.

She couldn’t see his reaction as her hair covered her eyes, but after a few seconds and a rustling of leaves she heard Yato’s soft voice telling her to look up.

When she did, she saw Buckbeak’s head inclined to her, a knee bent in a noble gesture of respect that Hiyori had finally earned.

Her smile was as bright as her eyes when she caught Yato’s. He was already crossing the yard and throwing a ferret to the Hippogriff as a reward before trailing a hand over his flank.

“You can pet him now,” he said, nodding encouragingly.

Hiyori took slow steps until she was at Buckbeak’s shoulder, who seemed too engrossed in tearing his meal apart to care about her.

Her fingers splayed into the downy feathers at the junction of his shoulder blades and wings, smoothing the silky coat with careful strokes. Buckbeak’s head cocked slightly to the side to acknowledge her, and she caught his eye with a relaxed smile as all her fears melted away.

“See? He likes you,” Yato said.

“Not too sure about the others.” Hiyori nodded at the far corner of the paddock where the Hippogriffs ignored the couple, but still eyed the dangling ferrets at Yato’s waist greedily.

“They’re not so friendly.” Yato’s voice dropped to a whisper when he added, “Buckbeak is the best.”

Hiyori giggled, turning her attention back to the velvety coat, running her fingers over perfect, speckled feathers.

Yato leaned against Buckbeak’s flank, arm propped up by the Hippogriff’s rear and his fingers ran over the glossy down of silver feathers.

“Hippogriffs are very proud. They don’t like everyone, but Buckbeak seems to like me the most.” Yato said boastfully to Hiyori who looked at him with an intrigued, yet unsure, expression.

“I was made his personal keeper because I can be trusted by the school, and because he respe–” Yato’s bragging was abruptly cut off as Buckbeak reared up, wing flapping a dusty tornado around them.

With nothing to recline against, Yato fell backwards, his arms wind-milling as he tried to find his balance, but nothing except empty air was there to stop him.

Smack!

With a wet thump, he hit the ground and landed in something mysteriously soft, wet, and brown; whether it was mud or something else, he didn’t want to know.

Hiyori clapped a hand over her mouth, but a snort of laughter escaped and, unable to help it, she doubled up with laughter.

Yato, lying in what pride he had left, groaned. So much for being cool. A clatter of footsteps approaching him made him raise his ashamed face, finding Buckbeak snorting and snapping at Yato’s waistband where the ferrets were tethered.

Muttering indistinct curses, Yato pushed the beak away and fumbled to untie the cord which Buckbeak snatched out of his hands before trotting away, happy with his haul.

Pushing himself up with his hands planted on the ground beside him, Yato gave Hiyori a casual grin which he hoped would distract her from the fact that he was probably covered in Hippogriff shit.

“I can see how much he likes you,” Hiyori smirked, her arms folded across her chest.

Yato, feet squelching in the mess as he got to his feet and wiped his hands against his trousers, shrugged. Worth a try.

A short pause followed as they gazed at the group of Hippogriffs tearing into the bundle of treats that Buckbeak had retrieved, broken by Hiyori’s voice.

“Yato?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

Hiyori’s cheeks had gone a shade of pink, but a smile still played on her lips when Yato looked at her in surprise.  

He ran a hand through his hair, the dorky, abashed grin on his face matching hers.

“Anytime.”

#birth to my daughter #the queen of my life #my moon and stars #stab me with your pen #noragami #noragami aragoto #yato #hiyori #yatori #yukine #hp au #harrry potter au #in the darkness #my writing #god we're getting into the yatori save us all

[tori4thewin]

Pet Rabbits DO NOT Belong in cages.

Pet Rabbits DO NOT Belong in cages.

08281530

As I begin this book, I am in the heart of a rabbit trust exercise. I am sitting in my lawn chair with my legs up, the computer on my lap. My front door is wide open. My front yard is not fenced in. It is a beautiful and sunny day. My bunnies have the freedom to be inside or out on our front lawn. There are more than several dangers and potential threats involved in this exercise. They could eat something toxic. They could hurt themselves. There could be an unleashed dog, mean outdoor cat, large predatory bird, rouge cougar, bear, or coyote. My bunnies could decide to venture outside of the parameters in which I deem safe. My anxiety is tormenting my innards.     I feel this way about my 4-year-old boy too. I worry about all the dangers of the world and how I can keep him safe. I worry about him constantly. 

 I can justify my decision based on this poor bunny that I met earlier today. My child was dropped off from 10 am until 12 pm at this kid’s church group thing. We are not a pious family but we are incredibly open-minded and willing to see from different perspectives. There is only 1-week left of summer break, and there is only 1 week left of this kid’s church group thing. My boy was invited to attend and attend he did. The location was a large ranch-style property. Large grass fields with giant rolls of hay. Fencing and a cattle guard for their cows and bull. Many growing plants and veggies throughout. A beautiful property. We dropped our boy off knowing that he was going to be the new kid, and also the only child in attendance who does not know what the Bible is. I was worried about how his interactions were going to go. If he would be confused about what everyone was talking about. I would have kept him home if I had let these anxieties rule my actions. We dropped him off and proceeded to check the mail and then do a bit of grocery shopping. We arrived to pick him up at 11:45 pm. The children were in the yard singing a song about how important it is to pray after reading the Bible. My husband says “Hey, Tori, look at the bunny.” 

There is a tiny little hutch/cage sitting above the ground, against the house. It is painted green and says “Snuggliest _____ Peter”. My bunnies are named Flopsy and Mopsy. If you have not read the Tale of Peter Rabbit, it is time that you do. This is a fully grown 6 lb rabbit, possibly a Hobnot/Californian breed mix. His cage is only about 1-square-foot all around, maybe 2 feet in height. A tiny little cage for such a big bunny. He has blue eyes and is not aggressive. He was chewing on the cage bars trying to be with us. It took every ounce of will power and consideration for the humans that I could muster up to stop myself from grabbing the rabbit and taking him home. My 2 female bunnies are not fixed yet and this could be trouble for me. It would have been worth it and I would have made it work. It is still worth it and I still wish to make it work. I want to go and save him, today, right now, this minute. However, this is not how adult-life works. I must be considerate and responsible for my own family and these kind strangers. I know that it is the social norm to house a rabbit like this but it is also wrong. My heart aches for this rabbit. 

I stood there outside his cage and spoke to him. I wanted to give him some fresh grass but was unsure if the grass had been treated with chemicals so I abstained. He has 2 water bottles attached to the cage and they are both nearing empty. I look inside and see his only flooring option is the wire bottom with no relief. His 1-square-foot home is further limited by 3 empty, ceramic food dishes. There is no hay available. As he chews on the bars, I try to get a look at his teeth and they seem warped. I wonder if he still has all his toes. I wonder if his nails are trimmed. His feet look bad from my aerial view and I wonder what shape his soft padding is in. This is wrong. I will not stand for this mistreatment. I wonder why they have this rabbit. I wonder if they let him outside to play, ever. I wonder what his daily life is like.

The father of my child’s friend, to whom invited my kid to attend this function, walked up to greet us. I tell him that seeing this bunny in this tiny cage makes me feel very sad. I tell him that I do not like it. I tell him that my bunnies live in the house with us, in our living room and that I do not like to see such an intelligent animal be quarantined like this. I tell him again that it makes me feel very sad. He is aloof. Most humans are aloof to this issue. I ask him if this rabbit is food or a pet. He does not answer. He just smiles. I imagine my comments come as a surprise and he is unsure what to say. I understand. Whatever. I imagine he is surprised that a bunny-lover like me would feel sad after seeing someone else with a pet bunny too. No clue about where my point is. This is not okay. I wish to change this in the world of pets. Domesticated rabbits have had it rough. 

My family, the 3 of us, buckle up and drive away. I can finally talk openly and crassly about how I am feeling. I was trying my best to be considerate and polite before and now is my chance to really extrovert my feeling. I tell my husband that I feel awful and sick about this bunny. I tell him that I want to take him home. I tell him that I will not let this go, no way. He proceeds to remind me that this is how most pet rabbits live. I ask him “If you saw a dog or cat being housed in a tiny cage like that, what would you do?” He said, “I would speak up.” A sharp spike of rage penetrated my soul at this moment. I proceeded to tell him that I am going to defend this rabbit’s life and do something about it.

As an INFJ personality type, I am often misunderstood. Rabbits are misunderstood as well. I wish to make a difference in the world but have been foggy regarding practical applications to contribute. I have read every piece of literature regarding house rabbits. I have read every reputable article, instructional guide, and books about house rabbits that I can find. I have seen all of Loreli’s videos on her channel “Lennon the Bunny”, on YouTube. I follow BudgetBunny, StormyRabbits, Rabbits 101 and have seen every video I can find regarding house rabbits. There are simply not enough resources and literature out there in this world to help sway opinions and save bunny lives. I am going to do something about it. 

It was April of 2019, I had been researching rabbit care and knew I wanted one. It would have been more practical to adopt a rabbit from the SPCA because they are already fixed and ready to go. Instead, I searched on Kijiji and found a rabbit for sale. A black New Zealand bunny with beautiful eyes highlighted by a thin white line circumferentially. She was for sale for $20. I was super excited and naive. I contacted the seller, told her I was coming next week and asked her to send more pictures. She did send me more pictures but I wish she had not. These new pictures she sent of this rabbit better showcased her living conditions. It was this beautiful rabbit and the background was all meshy cage. It was not pretty. My brain compartmentalized this feeling because I put it aside and worked on preparing our home for her arrival. I decided to name this bunny, Lucy. In my head, she will always be, Lucy. I will never forget this bunny. 

It was April, there was still an abundance of snow and ice and the temperature was about minus 10 degrees centigrade. The sun was shining and this was the day I was finally getting my bunny rabbit. We live right in town and all 3 of us drove about 20-30 minutes deep into the rural outskirts. Once we arrived, my husband had to slip and slide down some thick ice in order to open the gate so we could drive up to the house. The seller and her daughter greeted us and I told her how excited I was and that it was a cold and beautiful day. She laughed. She walked us over to where the rabbits were being housed. It was a sight that I will not forget. A large chicken coop with more roosters than chickens. It was fenced in but certainly not predator-proof. There was some roofing over top of perches. The ground was mud. The top was partly covered and partly open to above. In the center of this large, walk-in chicken coop were cages. The cages were above the ground with about 2-3 feet of open-air underneath. They were only about 1-foot in height with access panels that lifted. They were divided into sections. There were more cages underneath the perches. I saw Lucy, the black New Zealand. She was sitting and unresponsive when I said hello. The seller told me that she had 2 other bunnies that would be better pets because they were more calm and good at being handled. She said it was my choice and she was not going to charge the $20. I could either take the 1 black New Zealand rabbit to whom I already had named, Lucy; Or, I could take home 2 bunnies. These other bunnies were really cute. One bunny had white fur with brown patches and upright ears and the other was a brown (agouti) lop. I thought the white bunny was so beautiful. I wanted 2 bunnies instead of 1, obviously. I felt torn because I wanted to take them all home and I had already committed to Lucy, in my mind. I wanted to rescue Lucy from that tiny cage. I looked at my husband and he shrugged and told me it was my choice. I chose the 2 bunnies because I liked how the white one looked. 

I was entirely unprepared to bring 2 bunnies home. I did not have a carrier. I asked the seller if she had an extra, empty cardboard box and she did. My husband carried the white bunny and I carried the brown one. We thanked the seller. I told her about my grande plans for them to be free roam bunnies”, she gave me a funny look. I put the box on the ground of the passenger-side and my husband set the white bunny down there. I did not let go of the bunny I was holding. We plugged the seatbelt in and I sat on it. It was unsafe, especially considering the climate conditions outside but I took the risk in order to hold my bunny without the seatbelt interference. My husband shut the door and we drove home. 

I had the most sincere joy pulsating through my body. I was so happy I could cry. I probably did cry. All I remember is pure bliss. I was high on these bunnies. They lifted my soul and held it up. I was smiling like a child at Christmas. Other than my husband and my child, these bunnies represented everything I ever wanted. Money makes the world go around? Nope, love does. I loved these bunnies already and I did not even know them yet. It was love at first sight. I knew they were scared and I had done my research. I knew what I had to do. I knew bunnies can die of fright and stress. I knew they would not trust me right away. I knew I had to be reserved and contain my energetic excitement towards their presence. 

We were home and I had already set up our back-entryway to accommodate 1 bunny. I did not have a litter box. I had blankets and pretty textiles lining our laminate floor. I had some hidey houses and a huge stack of hay on the ground. I had water, pellets, and fresh veggies. We brought them inside the house and set them down in their area. They were so scared. I sat on the floor and began to speak to them. I made them promise to love them and protect them. I told them that I am very sorry that they lived like that but everything would be different now. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

090420191333

Wabbitat regularly used every day with a litter box on ½ and a blanket on the other with a puppy pad underneath makes it really easy to travel with bunnies. Using it every day, with the gate open, blanket overtop creates a comfortable home-feeling space. When you have to get in the car with rabbits, chase them into their cage, lock the gate and you are good Great for cleaning their area too or anytime you must contain the beasts. When we have to head out of the house with the bunnies, they are perfectly happy being in their cage because it is not a small prison but more like a hidey house with a locking door. About 1-hour before we head out, I will get both of my bunnies into their cage and lock the gate. I like to move the cage by the front door so they get the idea and can see me getting ready to leave. I then use this time to not worry about the rabbits and instead get everything ready to leave, including cleaning up their area. I like to think the bunnies know this means, “We are going out with our family”.

It is not safe to have any animal in the front seat of the vehicle with you. Dogs, cats, other pets, and rabbits should be kept safe and contained in case of a collision. We do not want to imagine our beloved pets flying through the windshield if we hit something. We like to think that we can hold them and secure them with our arms in that event, but this is not often the case.          MORE ON CAR SAFETY LATER.

With all this stated, I will admit that I am not always as safe with the rabbits or even myself when it comes to car safety. We live in rural BC and one is way more likely to hit a deer, slip on the snow, or get caught in a freak storm than to get into a traffic accident. We do not have traffic. We have 4-way stops, long highways, and dirt roads. I love to have my bunnies on my lap in the passenger seat while we drove. I even use it as a method to help me bond with them. It is so nice to have my bunnies, who normally hop away from me, to find comfort in the security of my arms. Talk to them softly, pet their little heads, tell them it is okay, hold them close when we make a sharp turn or hit a bump, it is all irresponsibly wonderful. I would never do this with my child. 

People who insist on calling their rabbits, “their children” should consider taking a second look at this.  If I were to really consider my rabbit to be my child I would certainly invest in a proper car seat for them. I cannot afford one right now. I cannot afford to buy anything extra right now. If I could not afford a car seat for my child, I would not drive. We would forfeit the vehicle all together or find some way to pay for the car seat. We would never just go without, no matter the cost. With my bunnies, I give them the best life I can with what I have. Maybe one day I will have that awesome pet stroller that converts into a car seat, backpack, and a suitcase. One day. Maybe that day will come sooner when we are living in the city and the possibility of a traffic accident greatly increases, probably. Rabbits are family, but they are not my children. I have adopted them, they live in our home, celebrate the holidays with us, get treats and gifts, and are deeply loved. They are still not my children. The human family members still get preferential treatment over the bunnies and that is good and natural. I refer to myself as “their human”; my husband is “the lettuce man”; and our young son is “their kid”; and they are “our rabbits/bunnies”.

[shimydim]

wait the next pack looks so good ??

#i mean lots of things should have been added with seasons but anyway it really lokks fun!!!!!! #like cows & rabbits THANK YOU for gaving us more pets !!!!!!!!!!!!! #and farming hmmm <3

[adventuresineurope2017]

The English Lakes - from 2 perspectives

Tony

It's been 37 years between visits to the Lake District. It's wonderful that almost nothing has changed.

This visit was different though. When you have 10 days to connect with a place you have time to slow down, dig a little deeper, get off the road and into the mesmerising forests and fells, walk in the footsteps of Beatrix Potter, William Wordsworth and others whose writings were inspired by this place.  Time allows you to escape the crowds, gathering in hordes at all the major attractions.  You dodge the selfie-sticks, skirt around the wobbly and confused and their numerous tethered pets (it seems no family holiday is complete without Spot, Socks and Fido. People dutifully pick up their dogs' droppings in little black plastic bags, then drop them conveniently behind the nearest bush), and gradually, just gradually, the crown thins out the further you get from the car park, until you have the fell to yourself and can drink in the mountains and sky.

We were glad of our gradually growing fitness, thanks to our explorations in Europe and Scotland- this was to be tested in our daily ramblings.  We realised that "easy" when applied to descriptions of walks, is a relative term. 'Moderate", we learned, implies the use of knees, toes and fingernails.  Paths, whether created by sheep, deer or humans, are there to be discovered, and frequent checking against maps and terrain is needed. Paths are rough too, not the gravelled, railed, stepped and board-walked imitations our litigation-terrified institutions provide us with back home. The furrowed paths I remember from my Outward Bound days in the Chimanimani mountains of Rhodesia made a delightful return to consciousness and I sloshed along, carefully selecting a way between rocks and exposed tree roots. I seemed to regain long forgotten strength on this giddy diet of heather and bracken, wild blossom perfume, trickling water unseen, and horizons expanding into a mountain wilderness.

There are more people for sure, but it's still the same Lake District, and because it is now a World Heritage Site, it's likely to remain the same place of mesmerising reflections, water and sky, trees, and brooding, cloud-enshrouded mountains. I'm taking away new memories of spreading, ancient oaks, emerald meadows, stone walls, more stone walls, gates and stiles, river crossings of arched stone, no parking please! Hawthorn hedges pressing in, walls of green, passing place, waved thanks. Fresh baked scones, craft brewed ale, country cheese, chocolate, fudge, Kendall mint.

It seemed to matter not that the weather was typically northern-English. We bought a brolly but scarcely used it, relying on our wind-cheaters to keep us reasonably dry. Rain gave us an excuse to shop, and clouds, shafting light, drizzle, rain, black clouds gathering all added drama to many photographs.

Will I wait another 37 years to return? I think not.

Nicky

My idea of the Lakes District before arriving was largely influenced by novels I had read and movies watched - like Pride and Prejudice and Downton Abbey (both of which were probably not filmed there anyway). I imagined rolling green hills as far as the eye could see. While this was certainly a feature, there is much more! The patchwork of fields enclosed by stone walls, some with sheep or cows, were stunning, the grass a vivid green with yellow undertones. These were often bordered by forests of oak and elm, lending hues of light to dark to olive green. The emergence of the sun created a dappled effect through the canopy. Then there were ferns higher up the slopes (called "fells"), interspersed with rocky patches and swathes of heather glowing pink and purple.

I was surprised by the size of the mountains surrounding the many lakes, with water evident everywhere. The lakes villages have managed to retain their historical look and character, and although there are some modern additions, one never feels that this is the 21st century. The houses are constructed mainly of grey stone, giving them a dark, broody character especially on cloudy, misty and rainy days.

Most roads are narrow, with those off the main highway only allowing a single car to travel, so there are many challenging moments as you try to hug the stone walls,lining the road to squeeze past oncoming traffic. Overtaking is quite out of the question!

The area is littered with castles and historic houses (mansions), many of which have long since crumbled, but we did make a point of visiting several, including Beatrix Potter's home, in which all her furniture and belongings had been arranged exactly as it was in her time. Many of her illustrations are based on her house and garden, and you can see the original pieces of furniture used in these. You could really imagine her working away there. It was very authentic for me probably aided by my having seen the movie and having read the Peter Rabbit stories.

Another house we visited was a national trust property called "Allan Bank", once rented by Wordsworth and owned by the man who's vision led to the formation of the original Lake District national park. The house was grand if a little worse for wear. We sat on a verandah on rocking chairs, sipping English tea and imagining being the lord and lady of the house. We definitely felt the role suited us!

Shopping has become part of our holiday since entering the UK. All the pies, confectionery and sweets tempt us at every turn, and of course Sainsburys has emerged as a favourite due to their cheap and delicious cooked meals. Specs are a prerequisite for successful shopping and my efforts without them has resulted in us eating soya yoghurt, chicory instead of tea, drinking yoghurt instead of milk and others I have tried to forget. I mean, who makes plant-based yoghurt anyhow? No success with clothes shopping due to a lack of inspiration but this could change!

[viralhottopics]

Bob Stanley on tracing the pre-history pop music – BBC News

Image caption Bob Stanley (left) lets his love of pop shine through in St Etienne, who turn 27 this year

Every time a rock star dies (and, let’s face it, it’s happened a lot recently) a few trusted books get grabbed off the BBC bookshelves for a hastily-written obituary.

They include classic tomes like the Guinness Book of Hit Singles and Colin Larkin’s peerless Encyclopaedia of Popular Music, but they’ve been joined recently by Bob Stanley’s Yeah Yeah Yeah.

Packed with anecdotes and insights (he describes Berlin-era David Bowie as “a silent movie ghost”), it reflects pop through the prism of the charts, rejecting the “rockist” perspective of most reference books.

“A film isn’t necessarily more enjoyable if it’s based on a true story,” Stanley explains. “Likewise, a song isn’t necessarily any better or any more heartfelt, or convincing, because it was written by the singer.”

Although Yeah Yeah Yeah ends in 2000, Stanley had already come up with chapter headings for the next instalment, including the fantastic “Oops I Did It Again and Again”, about the Swedish hit factory behind Britney Spears, Taylor Swift and Justin Timberlake.

So it’s a surprise to discover his next book won’t deal with grime, crunk or EDM – but big bands, ragtime and jazz.

Called Too Darn Hot: The Story of Popular Music, it’s an attempt to make sense of the 50-year period between the advent of recorded music and the birth of rock and roll.

“It’s the classic case of, ‘if you can’t find the book you want to read, write it yourself,'” explains Stanley.

“There are plenty of books on jazz or the great American songbook – but some of those genres have forceful advocates, who see their music as the music of the era and completely ignore Broadway or Hollywood musicals. So I really want to tie it all together”.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Bing Crosby revolutionised the sound of recorded music, thanks to his unique microphone technique

Last time around, Stanley was immersed in the music he was describing. He started his career at the NME and Melody Maker, before forming his own group, St Etienne, as the physical embodiment of his pop obsession – mixing 60s girl group harmonies with elements of folk, house, dub and northern soul.

His knowledge of pop’s pre-history is altogether more sketchy.

“I’m really starting from a position of knowing nothing about the music, except for the standards which everyone knows,” he says. ” But learning things as I’m going is fascinating and terrific.”

He recently discovered how Bing Crosby’s intimate, laid-back delivery on songs like White Christmas was only made possible by the advent of electric microphones (previously, singers like Al Jolson were vaudeville “belters”, screaming down the rafters in order to be heard).

“Nobody could have recorded a voice that soft before the late 20s,” says Stanley. “And then in the late 30s, he [Crosby] funded the Ampex tape company, gave them thousands of pounds, and made the first pre-recorded radio broadcast.

“He said it was because he got fed up of going into the studio every day and wanted to play golf. But he speeded along recording technology.”

Stanley’s research has received a boost from the British Library, who have awarded him a 20,000 grant and a year’s residency at the Eccles Centre – which houses the library’s collection of American journals, newspapers and sound recordings.

“It means I’ll have access to a lot more material in Britain than I thought,” says the writer, “from early music magazines with amazing names like ‘Talking Machine News’ to wax cylinder [recordings] and people’s diaries.”

Image caption The advent of jazz torpedoed the careers of music hall stars like George Robey

The book’s only in the early stages, but he’s already uncovered a few surprising themes… including the fact that Britain was the dominant force in pop at the start of the 20th Century.

“America at that point just didn’t have the confidence or belief in its own music,” he says, referencing the story of Jerome Kern, who wrote standards like Smoke Gets In Your Eyes and A Fine Romance.

“As a young songwriter, he came over to England and went to see the music halls. Then he went back to America and passed himself off as English because that was the only way he could get his songs on Broadway,” Stanley says.

“That changed very quickly once jazz came in. There are lots of [British] songs about how ragtime is a joke – ‘my wife ragged herself to death’ – but music hall got hit really badly by ragtime and jazz.

“As soon as it has the confidence, America becomes so brash, and everyone is cowed by it that it feels like Britain’s doing a lame imitation of America until the Beatles.”

Technology also plays a huge role in the story – particularly with the advent of radio in the 1920s.

“It’s hard to conceive how it would have felt, if you were working on a farm in Iowa, to be able to hear a live broadcast of a big band from a ballroom in New York.

“That obviously affected what music people wanted to listen to, how it was recorded, how it was broadcast.

Image copyright Rex Shutterstock

Image caption The sound quality of early records lacked the depth and clarity of modern vinyl – as actress Gloria Swanson apparently discovered

“Something else I wasn’t aware of was that record players, like in the 1990s, were consigned to the attic. The quality on radio was so much better than on the 78s [early vinyl records], which always sounded like a man shouting into a tube.

“It was only in the late 20s and early 30s, when the recording technology improved that people started getting 78s out again.”

Stanley’s home in North London is littered with record players – a vintage Dansette and a 1948 gramophone join his sleek, modern turntable amidst the neatly filed vinyl and scattered baby toys of his new son, Len.

He says he intends to listen to the songs he writes about in their original format, whether it be wax cylinder or shellac discs “because they would have been recorded to be played on that format.

“It’s like The Who’s singles in the 1960s. They were made to be played on a Dansette and that’s why they sound thin and strange on a CD.

“So what I want to get across is what it was like to live through that period and how people were listening to music, and what they were listening to.”

Writing the book will have to be slotted in around his other commitments, including a film about the jazz musician Basil Kirchin for Hull City of Culture and a brand new St Etienne album, which is due in June.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption St Etienne are due to tour later this year

Called Home Counties, it reflects the band’s experiences of growing up in Surrey and Berkshire.

The songs tackle everything from the Enfield Poltergeist (a notorious hoax that made the national press in the 1970s) to the rail drivers’ union Aslef, as well as “teenage parties and deceased pets”.

Stanley says he may miss a few of St Etienne’s concerts as he finishes Too Darn Hot – grimacing he recalls flying the 1,000-page manuscript for his previous book on a tour of eastern Europe.

“I want to get this one done faster than the last, because that was five years,” he says. “I’ve got the structure sorted out, and I’m looking forward to talking to collectors.

“It’s just a question of not wanting to go too far down the rabbit hole.”

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