brighter than the sun @dazeydaisyxx - Tumblr Blog

wxmacnair‌:

Walden’s eyebrows furrowed at her, ‘so few words know how to have a good ‘W’ sound’, what was he supposed to do with that? Thank her? Roll his eyes? Who knew. This has always been a problem for him with Daisy, she always threw him for a loop. “I am rude, so that is to be expected.” A nonchalantly shrug occupied his broad shoulders, looking her over with narrowed eyes. “First name basis is reserved for more worthy individuals these days.” Though, he supposed in certain circles using one’s surname was fairly common as a show of respect. Not the sort of circles Daisy existed it.

Why did she have such a bleeding heart and keep such poor company? Her, Malachi Greengrass– purebloods who were willing to stand against those of their own kind. For what? Some idealistic version of how they fancied the world should work? He’d watched Daisy’s hands set aside what to him otherwise looked like a perfectly good tomato, trying to run through his head as to what he should be saying. Mostly he was just kicking himself for bothering to come to the market in the first place.

Talking to him was like trudging through a snowstorm sometimes, fighting for every forward step as the wind whipped at you and you couldn’t quite see where you were going. But maybe they were at their best when they were fighting, anyway. Still, she didn’t let his words diminish her smile. She had done that too much before. “Just because it’s expected doesn’t mean you have to do it. If anything, that’s all the more reason not to do it. Too much expectedness and you end up sleep-walking through life.” She swallowed, sounding a little braver than her thumping heart felt. Why did they have to run into each other today? Her hair was a loose disaster, and she was only wearing her second-favorite lipstick.

Turning back to the tomatoes, she busied herself with picking out another one. A better one. She would make better choices today. “Anyway, how are you? You look-- well, of course, but there I go falling into the expected thing to say.” She gave him a wry smile, and held a tomato out to him. “What do you think of this one? Do you think it wants to go in a sandwich? I don’t want one that doesn’t want me.” So why did a part of her still want him, when he had shown her time and again that his heart didn’t echo hers?

#walden

tildenxtoots‌:

tilden laid on the couch, having gotten home from a hard day of work and plopping down into the comfy seat and promptly falling asleep. he had been dedicating so much time to his and greta’s radio show, along with working over at the greenhouses. he hadn’t had much time for himself, or with his friends and he dearly missed them. although, his last time with daisy still hung prominently in his mind - of course it did, she was all he thought about most of the time.

so, it wasn’t a surprise that he had been dreaming of her again. holding her hand, hugging her tightly to his chest, his face in the crook of her neck, twirling her hair, listening to her laugh, kissing her and dreams he’d probably never tell her about. she was his dream girl, his dream life, everything he wanted and hoped for and would be that missing puzzle piece in his almost finished puzzle. he dreamed of a home with her, kids, a life - how he wanted it so much. what a shame it was, to wake back up to reality and none of that was his.

hand traveling down her stomach — and then he was jumped awake by a knock on his door. he sat up quickly, his heart pounding and alert. tilden let out a groan after that, having almost been to the good part of his dream before being awaken. the sing song voice that came from outside, made up for him missing the rest of his dream he decided. he knew that voice like no other, had literally just been dreaming about her and doing whatever he wanted — and he headed towards the door.

opening the door, he was greeted to a swaying daisy who’s smile always made his heart feel full. “you know i’d always find you, silly.” tilden told her, realizing she was hella drunk. “here,” he gently grabbed onto her arms, pulling her into his apartment and fixing her hair. “you okay?” voice soft as he asked, his eyes even softer. a smile fell easily onto his lips as he looked onto her beautiful face.

Daisy was just getting ready to knock again-- patience was a virtue she was still cultivating-- when the door swung open. “Tilden!” she cried out excitedly, raising her arms in the air. And then she remembered that she was in a hallway at two in the morning, and maybe some people were making wiser choices than her, and she should be quieter. “Shhh,” she said, bringing a finger to her lips. “Tilden!” she whispered, before falling into a fit of giggles.

All the sadness of the night, the frustrating loneliness, melted away at the sight of Tilden. Some days her heart felt like an empty bucket that she was trying to fill with alcohol, only there was a hole at the bottom that made it impossible for her to stop. But he filled her up in a different way, sunshine and warmth and a fluttering hope. Or maybe that was fluttering nerves. Good things never lasted, after all.

She let him easily lead her into the apartment, although she did reach up and rumple her hair again after he fixed it. “I like it that way,” she said with a sniff. He was looking at her so earnestly, and she knew he meant the question with just as much genuineness. She could tell him the truth if she really wanted to, and he would hold it as gently as he held her heart.

But she smiled instead, and flung her arms around his neck as she snuggled in for a hug. She pressed her nose to his neck, breathing in the scent of him deeply. “I’m wonderful now that I’m with you.” And that was the truth, even if it wasn’t all the truth. “How’s my Tilly? I didn’t wake you, did I?” She pulled back just enough to be able to see his eyes, although the rest of her was still clinging close. She told herself it was only because she felt so wobbly.

#tilden

mavencalore

she dreams under the midnight sun of colour and melodic heartbeats; a lustre of stars, palely glowing, and kisses, avid and apple-sweet.

her dreams love her // n.s. (via patroculos)

#quote #musings

gretacatch‌:

“Always?” Her grin returned full fledged then, “if I ever do end up actually seeing someone, I do not know if they’ll want to invite you into our bed to cuddle.” Greta teased, snickering. “Yeah, I am thinking ‘Oh, sorry handsome, I need you to move your fine butt over because Daisy is joining us’ just won’t go over too well.” Laughter filled the kitchen, the blonde a bit too amused by her own joke. Nimble fingers claimed the eggs that’d been floated to her, cracking them by hand as her own attempts at wand-flick egg handling has at times unpredictable.

“I am sure he’ll be fairly proud.” It was easy to feel like sometimes Tilden was the more mature one out of the little trio. Other times, it wasn’t so clear cut. They each had their own way of coping with things and none of them necessarily seemed very graceful about it. “We will at least give it a try,” Greta mused. Knowing full well not everything could be cured with baked goods, something she was reminded of every time she’d brought them by the safe house Lily Evans was held up in. A cup of tea could warm your hands, help settle your nerves and something sweet could renew your energy or spirit; but the world itself couldn’t just eat good food and suddenly make itself right again. If it could, Greta might feel a little more useful these days than she otherwise happened to. “Boring?” She’d gasped melodramatically, a hand flying to her mouth. “Daisy Hookum, I cannot believe you would say such a thing of our Tilden. Not wanting to see either of us hurt doesn’t translate into boring, miss.” Greta wagged a finger at Daisy, her playful scolding accompanied by a chuckle. “A hedgehog?” She echoed, diligently mixing the cupcake batter while she puzzled over Daisy’s somewhat sudden declaration. “Why specifically a hedgehog?”

“Always,” Daisy echoed firmly, although her lips dropped into a pout as Greta continued. “We’re a packaged deal, and whoever’s lucky enough to get you should understand that.” She shrugged, not entirely sure if she was being serious or teasing. Sometimes it was hard to tell, what with the complicated way her heart beat possessive over Greta. If there was such a thing as platonic soulmates (there was, of course there was, the universe could be beautiful sometimes), Greta was hers.

Still, Greta deserved to have someone in her life who could give her the kind of kisses Daisy couldn’t, because everyone should get kissed regularly. “Maybe you should let me set you up. Like on a blind date.” She reached for the tub of frosting again, dipping a finger in. Maybe she should’ve just gotten four tubs of frosting, and skipped the cupcakes altogether. Giggling at Greta’s theatrics, Daisy offered a mock-innocent look of her own. “I didn’t call him boring, exactly... Well, I did, but I didn’t mean it in the usual way. I just meant-- he worries more, you know? And he fusses at me sometimes. Although so do you, so...” Daisy gave her head a shake. She was losing track of her argument, which meant she was probably losing the argument as a whole. Luckily, she didn’t much mind losing to Greta. Greta was too sweet to ever hold it over her. Daisy beamed as she thought of a sweet little hedgehog, tiny enough to curl up in the palm of her hand. “Because everyone else wants cats or dogs,” she said simply, as if that was reason enough. “And my flat’s too lonely. I tried to pick something small and cozy, but it keeps growing bigger on me every day. Maybe it’s enchanted.”

#greta

There were so many things in the world you could get drunk on. Alcohol was the one most people thought of, of course, but it was far from the only intoxicant out there. There were laughter and just-out-of-the-oven cookies and sunshine you could practically drink up. There were fairy stories and goodnight kisses and hello kisses and kisses that made you want to die. Daisy wanted to get drunk on them all, to spin out into delicious oblivion and melt away with laughter. Maybe tonight she would find that elusive happy freedom she couldn’t stop chasing.

(Was it freedom she wanted, or was that just another lie to get drunk on?)

Despite all the things in the world to get drunk on, she started with alcohol, because the last time she had made cookies she had burned them, and she didn’t really want to kiss any of the people in this bar. She was alone, but not; chatting it up with the people who mistook her smile for an invitation. She laughed and flirted and tossed her hair over her shoulder. God, she was so utterly sick of herself.

Maybe she drank more than she should have, or maybe she drank just the right amount, the alcohol swirling through her veins with all the heat of passion and none of its pain. It was late, closing time, closing, her legs were so open, her mouth always was, yet her heart was always closing, closing. Tilden’s warm eyes flashed across her mind and she blinked him away. She was so good at pushing him away.

Home. It was time to go home, and maybe sleep, or try to, at least. Sleep was the purest oblivion, but it was so damn hard to find sometimes.

She apparated home and--

Oh. Not home. She giggled softly as she stared at the familiar outline of Tilden and Greta’s front door, swaying before it. “Oops,” she breathed. She must have apparated there by accident. Home had never really been a place, anyway.

She barely hesitated before lifting her hand to knock a playful rhythm at the door. “Tilly?” she called out. “I think I’m a little bit--” A tiny hiccup. “Lost. Can you come find me?”

@tildenxtoots

#this is crazy long pls don't feel a need to match length #<3 #tilden

wnq-writers

One of the biggest lies we are told is that art has to be pretty and that it has to mean something. Sometimes art’s purpose is just being. It is alright if that is your purpose too.

n. m. (via wordsnquotes)

#quote #musings

tildenxtoots‌:

tilden’s heart pounded as he had her so close, and yet his grip on her not tight enough. was it ever? she had always slipped from his hands and floated away, to where he couldn’t reach her. then she’d fly on back and he’d have her once again. trying to keep a hold on her and whispering sweetness into her ear. he’d break her walls, her mask, and cradle her until she was ready to leave the safety of his shaky arms and glittering eyes. she was the sun, and every time they touched he could feel himself melting, melting, and melting into her every little bit. she had all of him, all his puzzle pieces and she was the only one withholding her own parts of the puzzle.

he would worship her if she’d let him, he’d kiss her fingers and toes and tell her how his eyes would never leave her face. tilden would wholeheartedly devote himself to her (even more than he is now) and without hesitation. “you are the sweetest flower.” he told her, gently taking the hand on his chest and squeezing it. his eyes were so bright for her, his big smile for her, and all his heart for her. he’d hold it in his hands and offer it to her, begging for her to take it and sometimes he might even beg not to hurt him anymore. but she was freedom, she needed space and love was never so easy.

“oh yeah,” he had totally forgot about the wishes and when she slid from his arms he felt an emptiness, and coldness. the world would dull a little and he would face it all brave and tough and wishing for her once again. these moments came and went. he took the flower, twirling it in his fingers and a soft smile on his face. “i think i might have everything ive ever needed.” tilden’s voice was quiet as he stared at the flower and his voice dropped to a whisper as he told the flower, “thank you.”

he got to his feet and headed back towards the fountain, “let’s wish then.” and tilden closed his eyes and hoped that everything would keep going the way they were going. that the world would change and be good instead of the scary place it was. for the health and happiness of his loved ones. with that, he let out a sigh and dropped the flower into the water. watching slowly spin and sway in the fountain and his hope curled around his heart, resting there as it always did.

Oh, if only she could be a flower. A perfect little flower, petals bright and unbruised, uncrushed by the world and its ravages. He called her a flower often-- he spoke in the language of plants, after all-- and she wished she could let herself believe it. Sometimes she almost did, when he said it with such sincerity. He looked at her the way he looked at his real beloved flowers, like she was something precious, and the intensity of that gaze left her breathless and terrified. Could she live up to that much hope?

Things withered, after all. Even flowers. Perhaps especially flowers. Nothing lasted, no matter how hard she tried to hold fleeting moments of sunshine in her hands, life kept spilling through her fingers. And yes, he loved her now, loved her from a distance, but would that love not fade? Could it withstand the force of reality. of her not being this beautiful image he had built up in his head? She was hardly the perfect girlfriend, or even a good one. Years with Walden had taught her that. She was too impulsive and she left her clothes all over the floor and sometimes her passion for life came out as yelling instead of laughing.

But she smiled all the way to her fingertips as he whispered to the little flower. It was just a tiny violet, so fragile, so precious, but maybe, maybe--

Hope was fragile and precious, too. Maybe, maybe.

She wondered what he wished for but she knew better than to ask; wishes wouldn’t work if you said them aloud. Was that why she could never say to Tilden what she needed to?

Stepping up to the fountain, she closed her eyes and breathed out gently over her violet, imbuing it with all the hope and promise and magic she could summon from her veins, from her wildly thumping heart. “Please,” she whispered, opening her fingers and letting it float down into the water. Maybe, maybe her heart beat.

Turning to Tilden, she reached for one of his hands, lacing their fingers together and dragging him back to the grassy open area. She was still barefoot, and she loved the way the grass whispered against her skin. Laughing, she lifted their joined hands up and spun herself underneath them. “Sing to me?” Few things were as purely magical as his voice. “I want to dance with you.”

#tilden #after five million years.... a reply :)#so sorry for the delay my dear #also don't feel you need to match length I got rambly lol

annabelweldon-deactivated202104

Moodboard || Friendships - Greta, Tilden, & Daisy ( 1/?? )

@tildenxtoots & @dazeydaisyx

Serendipity: noun, the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

#muse #tilden #greta

tildenxtoots‌:

holding daisy had always felt like a dream. everything felt so slow and yet too fast at the same time. he wished to stay like this forever. this was what heaven would be to the man. to have the woman he loved in his arms, surrounded by plants and love and warmth even in their soaked and chilly clothes. he wanted this forever, wanted her forever. all her bad, all her good and everything in between. he wanted her tears, her kisses, he most of all wanted her heart. that’s all tilden did, he hoped and he wanted, and wanted, and wanted.

he couldn’t help the smile on his face as she talked of winter, how it wasn’t so bad. her last statement made his heart flutter, made his mind jumble just a little and he itched to kiss her. he held her so tightly now, didn’t want her to move away from him at this moment. he knew eventually they would have to but she was everything to him and “stay like this.” he exhaled. “just for a little longer.” he didn’t want to have to beg but it was almost going there. he let his head lean onto hers, his nose in her hair.

would this always be how they were? stealing fleeting moments to store away and remember and hurt. should he have kissed her and caused more confusion, the chances of her running away? he could have let her go, should have probably as it wouldn’t muddle up their relationship more. he couldn’t help it. he wanted, and wanted, and wanted. tilden rubbed small circles in her back as he kept her in his arms for just a little longer. gods, just let him have a little longer.

Sometimes she wondered why she didn’t just give him all her heart. He had nine-tenths of it already. But that last tenth-- No one had ever held that. Maybe not even herself. It was sacred space, something precious, the last piece of her that hadn’t been bruised by anyone. Yet. And Tilden was wonderful, some kind of perfection, really, but could she trust herself to be perfect with him? No. She was too good at making all the wrong decisions, at following mistake after mistake down the rabbit hole of good intentions.

And wasn’t what they had good enough? It was wonderful, mostly, except for the way his eyes got sad when he looked at her sometimes, and the way she didn’t quite tell him everything. It was still better than anything she had had before, and wasn’t there some story about Icarus flying too close to the sun and dashing himself on the rocks? This was a good distance. A safe distance. Still, his words tugged at her heart, had her hands clutching at him a little tighter in reassurance. “For always,” she whispered. She pressed her palm down over his heart. “Even when I’m not in your arms, you always have me here.” She settled into his arms the way the sun was settling over them, wrapping them up like a blanket as it slowly dried their clothes. His arms were her favorite cocoon.

She laid with him for a long while on the grass, maybe even fell asleep for a few minutes. When she blinked her eyes open, she tipped her head to smile up at him. “We still haven’t made our wishes,” she said softly. She wanted maybe to kiss him, but maybe that was a bad idea, so instead she just shifted up to press her nose to his temple, inhaling deeply. She pulled away with the scent of him, the feel of him, still lingering all over her. If only there was a way to bottle that up.

She didn’t have any coins on her-- she was always forgetting-- but she spotted a little patch of violets not too far away. She picked two of the most well-meaning ones. Before walking back to Tilden, she toed off her sandals, wanting to feel the grass against her feet. She was smiling as she held a flower out to Tilden, hair damp and mussed by the wind and water, dress clinging to her. “For your wish. Flowers are better than coins, anyway. More alive.”

#tilden

wxmacnair‌:

Fuck– It was likely to happen, unfortunately, Walden could not simply choose to literally never see certain people again. If it was possible, he’d be first in line to sign up for such a service. Though, morbidly, he realized there was one way to get rid of someone; he just wasn’t looking to utilize that particular method in certain cases. Or, in any cases where it wasn’t deemed necessary. Macnair was a problem solver, not a problem seeker.

Daisy Hookum on the other hand seemed to pop up now and again like some kind of weed he thought he’d already stamped out. Inwardly Walden was hoping she might not notice him, but his towering six foot one frame made him hard to not notice even in the slightly crowded market stalls. Fuck, he swore under his breath again. Odds seemed like either she took the first step towards him, or he took the first step towards her. Given he liked being in control of most situations, he’d chosen the latter. “This is why one does not run their own errands,” Walden sighed aloud–stopping in front of Daisy with a fairly putout expression blanketing his features. “Hookum.” The biggest wall he had in his storehouse had to go up with Daisy around, or else she got ideas in her head and his heart started aching all-over again.

@dazeydaisyx

Beginnings were always so much better than endings. Beginnings held promises that weren’t yet broken, and hope that still had a chance to be fulfilled. He had been her first in countless ways, her everything at one time. And although he had hardly been her last, it was the scars he left behind that cut the deepest. Daisy didn’t think of him often anymore, and she only dreamed of him sometimes. That was progress. He hadn’t meant to hold her heart, but his fingerprints had been etched there anyway.

She noticed him out of the corner of her eye first, or maybe even before that, like her body sensed his presence. She had a basket hooked over one arm, an old one that she had found at a thrift store, because old things had more love stored up in them. In her other hand she held a tomato, forgotten now as her breathing stuttered at his approach. She smiled in spite of herself. When it came to bruises, there was such a thin line between pleasure and pain. “Are we on a last name basis now, Macnair?” She judged the tomato in her hand. It was all wrong, not enough hope. She put it back on the pile. “Because it’s awfully rude of you to deprive me of the chance to say Walden.” She rolled the name across her tongue. “So few words know how to have a good ‘W’ sound.”

#walden

messr-black‌:

Sirius Black was pretty well known for finding ways to blow off steam. These days he had a lot of problems to forget and plenty of ways to do so. One of the ways he occasionally liked to blow off steam was smoking, thought it was more just when the opportunity arose. Which it had today. It hadn’t really taken much for Daisy to convince him to smoke with her, and now they were sitting together passing a blunt between them. “Almost,” he agreed as he took the joint from her. He took a drag from it with his eyes closed, holding it for a moment before he exhaled slowly. “It definitely feels like there’s less problems,” he said, passing it back to her.

“Sometimes I think this could solve the war. If everyone just sat down together and had a smoke,” she said. She started giggling at the image of it. But really, how absurd was it compared to other elements of this war, compared to the whole ridiculous notion of blood purity? She stretched out her legs, letting her bare feet rest gently against the outside of his thigh. Daisy was never much for personal space. “Do you ever think about doing something really crazy? Like just running away from it all?”

#sirius

thequotejournals

I exist. It is soft, so soft, so slow. And light: it seems as though it suspends in the air. It moves.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea (via thequotejournals)

#muse #quote

tildenxtoots‌:

oh, if only tilden could give her everything she hoped and dreamed. if he could make those ‘if onlys’ happen and grant her wishes true - but he was a simple man with rough hands and nothing close to a god. he wanted to worship her as if she was one, to show her the sun and tell her that things are still beautiful. to uncover the plants that are just sprouting and show her life lives on and she is tough and beautiful and she can too.

when he heard her voice crack, he began to sit up. he watched her now, closely and listening. it broke his heart to see her anything but happy, and most of the time she wasn’t happy. he couldn’t fix this - fix her, as he had thought but he developed patience and understanding (mostly. on bad days these were forgotten concepts.) he let himself move over to her, his hand going to rub her back and reminding her how to breathe. “daisy, breathe in and count to three and then breathe out and count to three.”

the whole world was cold, but sometimes it wasn’t and tilden had to believe that. how could it be so cold when the sun stood in front of him (even when she believed to have no sunshine left) with tears glittering her eyes and he felt the warmth clear as day. he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, whispering to her how good and tough she was and the world wouldn’t always be this way. “i got you,” he’d tell her, here in the fountain before stepping out and gently hauling her from the waters as well. “i got you, dais.” his voice soft as he crossed the line and held her form in his arms in the dirt with all the trees and flowers privy to their private intimacy.

“in winter, you can’t farm anything. plants don’t really grow during that season and so typically i had called it the season of death. things could only wither and die, and it was sad.” tilden began as his hand slowly made way to run his hands through her hair. their confusing relationship was all so easy and yet frustratingly hard at the same. he didn’t help it, and that selfish part of him didn’t care either. “but spring always comes back around. ice and snow melts, and so do people’s frozen hearts. everything regrows, changes and maybe even fit to fight another winter if only to see the spring again.”

tilden looked towards the ever greying sky and told her, “what good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” the only john steinbeck book he had ever read that kept his attention, didn’t know he’d ever find it come in handy one day. “things change, regrow, and fight. daisy, you are tough - believe me, i’ve seen it.” he looks at her now, holding her face in his hands and staring at her with nothing but compassion and a brave face. “you’ve always had enough sunshine in you, you’re just in the shade so you never see it yourself, love.”

Plants were so difficult to grow. Daisy had tried so many times, and so many times she had failed. She loved them, but they didn’t love her back, not enough to stay. It wasn’t the same with Tilden, though. He could grow anything as if he was breathing life into it with just his smile, as if that was the real magic. He made it look easy, so easy, he made everything look easy, and Daisy longed to follow him into it. He believed in things as naturally as breathing, while she struggled for every lungful.

Her lungs were tight and burning now, but they eased as she let Tilden’s instructions filter in, let the warmth of his hand filter in, too. He always knew how to talk to her, just like he always knew how to talk to his plants. She wanted to be a flower, for him. Maybe someday she would be.

He pulled her out of the water and into the safety of his arms, and Daisy curled up there like she had done a hundred times before, resting her cheek against his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was cool and wet, grounding. Flowers needed water, too, not just sunshine, she remembered.

She closed her eyes as he started telling her a story, each word stitching back together the pieces of her heart. He was good at stories. She was good at silly ones, at play-pretend, but he could do all kinds. He could speak the things she was too scared to even think about, the thoughts she hid away in the little (big) boxes in the back of her mind.

She was quiet for a long time after he finished speaking, letting his words settle into her bones. “Winter,” she whispered. “It’s not all bad, winter. There’s snow. And hot chocolate. And warm scarves.” She sat up enough to be able to look into his eyes, one hand resting on his chest. “And this winter’s not all bad, either. There’s fountains. And big trees.” Her smile was watery, eyes soft and shining. “And you.” Her fingers flexed on his chest, and then straightened again. “You’re too good to me. If I have any sunshine at all, it’s because I’m reflecting yours.” Love. She wanted to add the endearment he had used, but she couldn’t toss it out as casually as he had, so it hovered uselessly on the tip of her tongue. She leaned down and kissed his cheek instead. She had always better with actions than words, anyway.

#tilden

gretacatch‌:

On instinct any of the stiff-edge that manifested during her little ‘I am not in denial’ speech melted from her frame the second Daisy had wrapped Greta up in her arms. If there was anyone the blonde should be better at allowing to see her unravel, it should at least be Daisy, and yet for some reason she’d never quite entirely surrender. She would always rather be the one comforting Daisy than the other way around. Even some random upset-looking person off the street was likely to be unblinkingly allowed Greta’s compassion, her support, a willingness to listen and bare their burdens. Yet, she permitted so very few to do the same for her.

“We’re going to cuddle? See, this is precisely why I keep you around.” Greta teased, a soft smile slowly returning to her features. Maybe, just maybe, she felt a little better at least somewhat admitting out loud why Greta was being so weird anytime anyone pressed her regarding her love life. Once upon a time she’d been spoiled by how seemingly easy things were with Hope, only to have the tables turn so drastically when she’d fallen for Caradoc. Both of whom the former badger was now trying to piece a friendship back together with. “We’ll see,” Greta offered in answer to the gentle reminder that she should possibly talk more about it all than just off-handedly mocking herself. “Hmm, I survived that reasonably unscathed… perhaps I am maturing.” Greta teased, then, eagerly got back to the business of baking. “I don’t think Tilden would approve of me kidnapping you.”

Greta was the perfect size for good hugs and cuddling, Daisy had always thought so. There were some people who just fit perfectly in your arms, and in your heart. And maybe Greta didn’t always let Daisy in on what she was feeling, but Daisy knew she still got to see more glimpses than most. Every little one was something she treasured, a bit of Greta-heart to store up and remember for later, for when it was needed.

“We can always cuddle,” Daisy replied, utterly serious. Cuddling was not something to be joked about. With a wave of her wand, she got a couple of eggs out of the carton and floated them over to Greta, not quite trusting herself to crack them. She either went too gentle or overly exuberant when she cracked eggs, and both resulted in a mess. Daisy softly hummed a half-forgotten (or was it half-remembered?) tune as she let Greta slip away from more talk of Caradoc. That was enough pushing for one day. “We’re going to be so mature Tilden will hardly recognize us,” she replied, laughing. “We’ll solve all our problems over cupcakes.” If only the world was as simple and sweet as strawberry frosting. “And I don’t care if he approves or not. If we only did the things he approved of, we’d have a very boring life, indeed,” she added with a sniff. Even though she was half-joking, it was true that Tilden was quieter than either of them, let alone the happy tornado that was the two of them combined. “Speaking of kidnapping... I think I want to get a hedgehog.”