Ashlyn is without her jacket because she does, on occasion, enjoy physical contact. Bradley's one of the few people she's okay with her skin touching.
She's used to people grabbing on to her for help, or to stay with her to stay safe during disasters, in which she couldn't let them, because otherwise they'd get sucked into the next portal with her, and she's stuck trying to keep them alive until they get back to that disaster, where she'd then have to let them die :/
Cavendish, Dakota, Milo, and Bradley are in her inner circle of "family unit", and they know to opt to grab her by the jacket if necessary. The only time they'll actually touch her skin is if she initiates contact, gives the okay beforehand, or they're trying to keep her grounded.
So one perk that comes with being part plant is that he can hold her hand with the plant one if she doesn't want to be touched, but still wants contact :) helpful when she's doing herself a panic.
hnnng the babies I love htem so much
Done using ~this~ wonderful base by @mellon-soup !!! :D
"My dear, you aren’t too much, nor do you think too much; you don’t feel too much. Perhaps it’s through your passion that some people can feel anything at all.” - Carolyn & Brady
@lifeofkaze - and it is through your passion & Puffsonality that keeps me sane-ish.
A very Merry Christmas to my favourite person from across the (big) pond, my most relentless cheerleader, my friend with the incredible, unstoppable mind, and the life story I still hope to one day get told in all its glorious and unbelievable-but-true detail.
Thank you for another year of creativity and friendship, for letting me be part of your creative process, thank you for taking care of my brainchildren while yours are playing at my place. None of this would've been the same without you @kc-and-co.
Merry Christmas. I love you dearly 💛🎄💙
“Why is this not working?”
The impatient voice of Carolyn Pendleton rang through the abandoned rooms of Pendle Hall. Her husband Brady had taken their children for hot chocolate and biscuits after decorating the family manor, so no one was there to witness her plight - no one but the old house-elf who tentatively poked her head inside Caro’s workroom.
“Is the Lady Carolyn alright?”
Caro sighed, pressing the fingers of her gloved hand against the bridge of her nose. Her dress was wrinkled, her hair a frizzy mess from the dampness in the room. After checking her recipe book again, she threw it onto the work table with an irritated noise.
“Mitze, why is this not working?” she repeated her question, this time directed at the startled house-elf.
“Mitzie is ever so sorry, but she doesn’t know anything about potions.” When she advanced the bubbling cauldron anyway, her big eyes widened even further as she recognised the pale yellow liquid bubbling inside. “Is Lady Carolyn brewing eggnog?”
“This is everything, but certainly not eggnog,” Caro replied stuffily. She eyed the cauldron darkly. “I really don’t know what went wrong this time. I tried all possible combinations, rations and light conditions, yet I can’t seem to get it right.”
“But Lady Carolyn doesn’t enjoy eggnog. Why is she going to such lengths to make some?”
Caro sighed deeply. “It’s my husband’s drink of choice on Christmas Eve. He is always so very attentive with his gifts, but I have a notion that he took no pleasure from what I gave him in the past.”
“Master Brady would adore even the most trivial thing if it was selected by his lady,” Mitzie assured her, but Caro shook her head.
“He doesn’t deserve trivial. He deserves the best.” She glanced at the old house-elf bashfully. “He used to love your eggnog growing up. He never tires of telling me how he stole a goblet full when he was but a boy and fell asleep beneath the Christmas tree.”
The memory made Mitzie smile. “Master Brady had to be levitated to his bed before Master Bradford would have found him. He was a sweet boy.”
“He still is,” Caro agreed with a slight smirk, “even if he’s all grown up now.”
“The Masters never really grow up,” Mitzie said with a sheepish smile. Kneading her gnarly hands, she peered up at Caro. “Does Lady Carolyn require Mitzie’s help?”
Caro blinked in astonishment. “Why would you do that?”
“Because Lady Carolyn isn’t the only one to hold affection for our good Master Brady.”
“It is supposed to be a gift. Having you assist me would feel like I was cheating.”
“But Master Brady will never know,” Mitzie replied innocently. When Caro nodded after a moment’s hesitation, she clapped her hands in delight. “The Lady is too kind to old Mitzie.”
With a snap of her long fingers, the fire burning beneath the cauldron went out, making Caro’s brows draw together in irritation.
“First rule of Mitzie’s Extra Eggy Eggnog - no magic allowed.”
“But whyever not?”
“Eggnog needs to be made with love,” Mitzie said and summoned a fresh batch of ingredients from the crate at their feet. “And also, it is not cooked. Now Mitzie would humbly ask Lady Carolyn to put down her gloves and listen.”
After overcoming the initial qualms of accepting the house-elf’s help, they made good progress. Caro continuously relaxed as Mitzie guided her through the recipe, and not only because of the prolonged stage of finding the perfect mix of spices.
“Does Lady Carolyn know why Master Brady loves Christmas so much?” Mitzie asked as Caro bottled the finished eggnog, her words followed by a little hiccough. “It was the only time Master Brady could express himself, even if furtively. He was a good boy, so very different from his father. It was a source of grief for Master Bradford. He didn’t want his heir to decorate the halls and ice biscuits.
“We house-elves let him do many a thing that was forbidden when the Master and the Lady weren’t looking. Mitzie once had to burn her ears because Master Bradford caught Master Brady wrapping gifts. But he enjoyed it, so Mitzie thought it was worth it.” She thoughtfully rubbed at the burn mark on her ear. “Christmas allowed Master Brady to be who he was instead of who he was expected to be, and he never forgot about old Mitzie and the others.”
Caro nodded her head. “You raised him to be a good man.”
“Master Brady deserves everything good in this world.”
“He does. And, Mitzie?” Caro added as Mitzie was almost out the door. “I -”
“It’s alright, Lady Carolyn. Mitzie knows.”
***
The Pendletons spent Christmas Eve singing carols by the enchanted pianoforte Brady’s cousin had gifted them, sharing the feast the children had helped the house elves prepare, and sitting by the fireplace watching the candles glitter on the gigantic Christmas tree.
After the four children had finished their hot chocolate and had passed out on the sofa, Caro leaned back in her armchair with a sigh.
“Finally,” she breathed, brushing a blonde lock from Cressida’s little face. “I nearly feared they would never tire.”
“Did you do anything different, my love?” Brady asked, smiling affectionately at this son, who had fallen asleep over the pages of his book. “They did seem more resilient than last year.”
“They grow so quickly. It messes with the doses,” Caro replied, rising to her feet to put away the bottle of Sleeping Draught she had kept hidden in the sleeve of her dress. She returned to Brady carrying two glasses of port wine. As she handed him one, he sniffed it, shrugging apologetically when he saw the look on Caro’s face.
“Only making sure it’s without extras.”
Caro wrinkled her nose. “Do you really think me capable of drugging you?”
They looked at each other for a moment before touching their glasses together with a laugh. Both of them sipped on their wine, the comfortable silence only broken by the crackling of the fire. Presently, Brady rose to his feet.
“I know it may be early, but I simply cannot wait to see your face any longer. And don’t tell me I shouldn’t have. I won’t ever resist spoiling you.”
From behind his back, he pulled out a present. It was clad in emerald green wrapping paper, with a ruby satin bow and a twig of holly stuck on top. Caro raised an eyebrow at her husband, her scepticism fading into a chuckle as she read what he had written on the card in broken Swedish; even after all these years, he pretended to have a poor grasp on the language, and for his amusement, Caro made a point in playing along.
The soft expression on her face fell away as soon as she undid the bow and opened the gift. Inside was a jewellery box, the most intricate one Caro had ever seen. It was fashioned to look like a cauldron, its silvery sides engraved with intertwining vines and flowers. In the middle of each flower, tiny emeralds were set, gleaming and glinting in the flickering firelight. The vines climbed the sides of the cauldron onto its lid, joining together at the centre and forming a single blooming rose. Caro touched her finger to it and raised her eyes to Brady.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered reverently and swallowed hard, “and entirely too much.”
“Nothing could ever be too much for you.”
“Where did you find this?”
“Nowhere. I had it made, especially for you,” Brady smiled, visibly satisfied with himself.
Suddenly feeling like she couldn’t speak, Caro set the silver cauldron on the side table. With an abrupt motion, Caro rose to her feet and strode to the window. It was dark outside, so all she could see was her pale reflection, the ruby earrings Brady had given her for her birthday gleaming in the light. A moment later, Brady’s image joined her.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“You have not.”
“Then what is the matter?”
His voice and touch were gentle as he laid a hand on her arm, but Caro shrugged him off.
“You can’t ever seem to do wrong,” she said hotly, glaring at her dumbstruck husband. “You always ensure Christmas is perfect - the perfect feast, the perfect decorations, the perfect gifts.”
Bardy laughed as she gestured at the silver cauldron sitting innocently on the coffee table. “Are you complaining about finding my gift to your liking?”
“Of course it is to my liking!” Caro called out. “How could it not be?”
“My apologies, but in that case, I can’t seem to find the issue. Come,” he added with a soft smirk, “let us see your gift. I bet my cauldron will pale in comparison to the newest silks from Paris.”
“Bradford Pendleton, don’t you dare mock me,” Caro hissed, wiping the grin from Brady’s face.
“It wasn’t my intention. Oh, very well, it was,” he admitted after a moment. “But surely your gift is going to be marvellous. What is it?”
Caro pursed her lips. She was a potioneer, not a cook, but even so, she knew that her eggnog was far from what she considered passable. Mitzie had told her it was fine, but Caro had seen her tinkering with it in an seemingly unobserved moment.
“You’re going to see tomorrow,” she decided eventually and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“That’s hardly fair.”
“If you decide to give me my present early, it is hardly my fault.”
They argued back and forth for a while until Caro threw her hands in the air.
“Godric, fine. I’m going to get you your present.”
She watched Brady apprehensively as she brought the eggnog bottles inside and handed them to him. A flicker of surprise passed his face, followed by a somewhat astonished smile as he lifted one of them from their basket.
“You got me some eggnog?” he chuckled. “Now, this is a surprise.”
“I didn’t exactly get it,” Caro said, hating how warm her cheeks felt. “I made it.”
Brady almost dropped the bottle. “As in, by yourself?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” Caro replied, secretly glad when Brady decided not to answer. Instead, he conjured two fresh glasses and popped the bottle open.
“Let’s put your skill to the test then, shall we?”
He poured them some eggnog, and even before she tasted it, Caro knew it wouldn’t be good. The consistency had changed overnight, more so than she had expected. The cream-coloured liquid looked clumpy, not at all like she knew it to be from previous years, but if Brady noticed, he didn’t let it show.
“This is quite delicious. Who knew you’d have such undiscovered talents in the kitchen?”
He was lying, and both of them knew it. What had been a reasonably well-balanced taste the day before was now too strong on the brandy, with too much clove and too little cinnamon. Brady, who knew how to read her silence, sighed.
“Come now, it’s not that bad.”
“‘Not that bad’ is quite different from ‘delicious’, don’t you think?”
“It’s a technicality.”
“It is not,” Caro said and rose to her feet. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
Before Brady had a chance to say something, Caro stalked from the room. She already was in the process of removing the last of her hairpins when it knocked on the door, and Brady cautiously stepped into their bedroom.
“Has your temper worn off?”
Caro glared at him, even more so when he set the tiny cauldron down on the dressing table. “Why did you bring this here?”
“Because this is where I meant for you to put it.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Whyever not?”
Caro sighed. “Because it’s beautiful.”
Brady tilted his head in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“What is there not to understand?” Caro said, angrily flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Your present is better than mine.”
“Giving gifts is not a competition. It’s -”
“If you continue this sentence with ‘the thought that matters’, I’m going to poison you for real.”
“- the thought that matters,” Brady finished anyway, “and I think you making eggnog for me was very thoughtful.”
“But you don’t deserve thoughtful. You deserve the best, and this was not it.” Caro sighed in frustration. “Every year, you go above and beyond to spoil me, but I simply cannot compete with you. I love making you happy, but your unique way of giving gifts… it’s just not me.”
The words had tumbled from her mouth in a rush. Caro pressed her lips together once she was done, but Brady only shook his head at her.
“I know it’s not you, and that’s why your effort is all the more special to me. I never would have expected you to put on an apron without poisonous splatters to make eggnog for me.” He paused. “You did put on a fresh apron, didn’t you?”
Caro’s glare was piercing. “Who do you take me for?”
Not quite sure what to make of her answer, Brady shrugged it off. “It was your own idea, and how could that not make me happy? You do so every day. I would never want you to change, especially not for me. So if that means I’m going to get an overpriced, dull -”
“They’re not dull at all!”
“- scarf or hat for the rest of my life, it’s perfectly fine.”
“No, it’s not,” Caro insisted. She pointed at her jewellery box, which was stuffed to the brim with all the elaborate pieces Brady had given her over the years. “All of these you either selected or had made for me, but there’s nothing I have ever done to compare, and it doesn’t even stop there.”
She stood up, marched past Brady and returned with a big box she set on the bed. The silk paper lacing the inside rustled softly as she took off the lid.
“Look at all these things,” she said to a wide-eyed Brady. “Here’s the very first sketch you ever made of me when we barely knew each other; and here, the leaflet from the ballet in Moscow, where we danced on the snowy street after; the postcard you bought in Central park from that Muggle and drew all the little fairies in for William to find; the rose you pressed after I helped you brew Amortentia because you fool nearly failed at Potions…”
She took a deep breath, indicating all the things she had just mentioned and the many more still lying in the box.
“You show your love so openly and kindly while I can’t bring myself to care for all these little things. Sometimes I hate you for being so disgustingly perfect in that regard.”
“Good gracious,” Brady breathed. “I don’t think anyone ever called me that before.”
“Stop making fun of me.”
“I’m not, I promise,” Brady said, sitting beside Caro on the bed. “But how can you think that you’re not caring? You kept all of these things and never said a word. Some of them not even I remember anymore.” He picked up a token from the Ferris wheel they had visited in Paris. “I shouldn’t be surprised you and your remarkable mind memorised all of this. You are like our family’s extended archive.”
“You really think so?” Caro asked quietly, leaning against Brady’s shoulder as he pulled her closer.
“I do. This is a roadmap of what has shaped us, and I can’t wait to discover what’s next for us.” His lips pulled into a smirk. “And if it makes you feel better, I can always exchange the cauldron for cooking lessons.”
At that, Caro leaned away from him and raised her eyebrows. “Don’t push your luck.”
“What to say?” Brady laughed and flipped the token into the air. He caught it, pressed a kiss to it and placed it into Caro’s hand. “I’m a gambler at heart.”
“Yes, Miss Pendleton, I see your name on my list. You have always been one of my best customers. Rather, your father has. Just this afternoon, while you were trying on these very dresses, his letter arrived. You may see for yourself,” the sales clerk handed the parchment across the counter, “Your line of credit has been terminated with us here at Henri Bendel. Your father has closed your account. I am sorry. Unless you have cash on hand for your items, we will need to return them to the shelves.”
Cressida Pendleton stood frozen as the boutique blurred into the background. The sounds of silver bells faded into the beating of her heart while the jolly chuckle of the store’s Santa was drowned out by the grinding of her teeth. Even the merry refrains of the carolers at the vast stained glass windows were no match for the sputtering of profanity she hadn’t realized she was producing as her father’s note confirmed her worst fears.
The Pendleton Girls were cut off for Christmas.
As if the holidays could not get worse, Cressida walked home alone in the frigid December bluster, empty-handed, to find Wilhelmina Stagg sitting on the stoop outside of the Pendleton Townhouse. When Cousin Willa was not giving a performance at the city’s finest concert halls, she was playing for tips in the seediest speakeasies the underbelly of New York City had to offer. The three had made the city their playground since their arrival. Piano gigs, bootleg cocktails, and gentlemen were a dime a dozen for Willa. While Cressida had seen her fair share of the glamorous nightlife that living with Willa provided, she was not keen on the dangerous crowd that ran the speakeasy. Something about the man with the bloodied brow sent a new shockwave of disappointment through Cressida Pendleton. She removed the hood from her cloak and swatted at a snowflake before addressing the two with a hard stare. “Willa, do something about your friend. Our reputation is in trouble already. Get him inside,” she demanded with a huff.
Wilhelmina offered a pleading look to her cousin before turning her attention to the young man at her side. She shrugged. “Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. Want me to walk you home?”
Hudson Delancey rose and closed his eyes as he gripped the wrought iron banister. “I know when I am unwelcome. I’ll be ok once I am on the train. Walk with me to the station?” Willa took his arm and narrowed her eyes at Cressida before realizing the Nyberg ire was flaring in the stare she received back. Willa could stare down a Vipertooth, but a Nyberg? She knew better.
Cressida watched the two hobbling north while she dug her wand out of her handbag, “alohomora,” she sighed and entered the door. She nearly tripped over her twin sister, Cassandra, who she found on her hands and knees, waving her wand over the droplets of blood in the foyer. “Merlin, Cass, did you duel Willa’s boyfriend away?”
Rolling her eyes, Cassandra gathered her skirt in her hand and stood. “Poor bloke was bleeding before they arrived. This one is a boxer, but he didn’t seem like a boyfriend. She’s got her mum in her, that one. A boy gets punched, a boy gets doted on, and so it goes. Anyway, he got no further than the entry before I shooed him out. You know daddy’s rule. No boys in the townhouse. Can you imagine a muggle seeing mum’s office? Happy Christmas, sir. I’ll need to obliviate you now,” she mused.
“I should have let him stay,” Cressida huffed, “I’m done with daddy’s rules! Do you know what he has gone and done? I’ll tell you. We’re poor. Well, we aren’t poor; we’re Pendletons. However, for now, we are on our own. He’s not sending any more money until we learn what Christmas truly means. How are we meant to learn about the season of giving if we cannot give a party, give the bartenders big tips, and what about gifts? What is Christmas without gifts?”
@lifeofkaze & @cursebreakerfarrier - here we go, part 1 of a fankid Christmas. My favorite gift is sharing such fun ships with you both 💙💛💚❤️
Find all the stories of this challenge here.
Bradford Pendleton belongs to my favourite @kc-and-co. This challenge was created by the wonderful @usernoneexistent
It was the hottest day of the summer so far, and the beach was crowded. Because of the heat, everyone venturing outside had opted for as little and light an attire as could still be considered appropriate. To Carolyn Pendleton, comfort came second on her list of priorities. It took more than a few rays of sunshine to make her appear anything less than poised and perfect.
She had chosen to display her new hat today. It was big and cream-coloured, with a light green hatband that matched the colour of her dress. Following the latest trend, it was adorned with two giant white plumes, which were gently stirring in the sea breeze. Despite its delicate look, the hat was surprisingly heavy. The pins with which it was secured on Caro’s head were pulling at her roots, giving her a slight headache. She braced her shoulders and raised her chin higher; thus was the price of being fashionable.
Her husband Bradford Pendleton, who was walking next to her, gave her a sideways glance. “Is everything alright, my dear?”
“It is,” Caro replied. “Only a matter of slight discomfort. It will pass before long.”
She wanted to add something but had to duck when something small and white suddenly darted past her, close to her face. Caro startled, looking after the seagull that had almost hit her. It turned and made for her again, opening its bright, yellow beak and snatching the rim of Caro’s hat. Caro cried out as the seagull took off again, ripping the hat - including the pins and a good few strands of her hair - clean off her head. She gasped, trying to get hold of the thieving bird, but it was already out of her reach.
“Can you believe this?” she asked Brady, outraged at the audacity of the bird. “It stole my hat!”
“Maybe the plumes made it appear a suitable companion,” Brady chuckled. His laughter died when he saw his wife slowly raising her eyebrows at him. He cleared his throat. “What I mean is, this behaviour is utterly unacceptable and shall not be condoned. I will retrieve it for you immediately.”
Caro’s look changed into a sceptical one. “Are you quite sure about this?”
Brady huffed indignantly. “It is merely a bird. What is the worst that could possibly happen?”
Not heeding Caro’s doubtful expression, Brady set off after the fugitive seagull. He stepped off the wooden walkway, immediately sinking into the tiny, colourful pebbles that made up Brighton’s beach. He stumbled, cursing under his breath as some of them went inside his shoes, but he was not to be deterred by something trivial as stones in his socks - he had a bird to catch.
The seagull had already flown a good bit ahead, Caro’s hat dangling from its beak. Brady dashed after it, pebbles flying to all sides as he made his way across the beach. He tripped several times and apologised profusely as he stumbled right through a haphazardly built stone castle of two loudly protesting children. But nonetheless, the distance between him and the seagull steadily decreased.
When he was almost within reach, Brady lunged at the bird sitting at the edge of the water, but the seagull was quicker. It took to the air, still in possession of the hat, and Brady hit the ground face-first, a wave of cold seawater washing over him a mere second after.
Spitting out a mouthful of seaweed, Brady raised his head and looked after the bird and its prey. It was leisurely flapping towards the water, and Brady cursed the seagull, his pride, and his wife’s wretched hat.
Suddenly, the seagull froze mid-air. The hat fell from its beak and zoomed back towards the beach, right into Caro’s outstretched hand. With the other, she was holding her wand. Brady’s hunt for the hat had taken them to a barely frequented part of the beach. Caro must have followed him and - out of sight of prying eyes - had made short notice of the hat thief.
The seagull - robbed of its quarry - had dropped into the water and emerged a moment later with an angry squawk, but Brady found himself distinctly lacking in compassion. He rose to his feet, brushing the dirt off his beige linen suit. Caro was doing the same with her hat, securing it on her head with another flick of her wand.
She looked at her husband with a raised eyebrow and a smirk she didn’t even bother hiding. “Merely a bird, huh?”
Her eyes settled on the stains on the light fabric of Brady’s jacket. “Let’s go home, shall we? I’m sure Mitzi will know a way to salvage this suit.” She righted his lapels and her smile softened. “I would hate for you to never wear it again. It is looking too good on you.”
Brady only hummed, embarrassed by his crushing defeat. With a sigh, he offered Caro his arm and they made their way back to the walkway. When they had reached it, Brady paused.
“You will not tell Mitzi about this, will you?”
Caro laughed lightly, a sound that made Brady smile every time he heard it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling. Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”
“Nothing, dear,” he smiled and put the one lock that always fell out of Caro’s hairdo back in place. “Nothing extraordinary whatsoever.”
