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sulphuryasecretcloset · 4 years ago

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What if...? Part 6

Again, this one goes out to you beautiful enablers! You who comment, reblog and are along for this journey through AU land! I see you, I appreciate you and you make my day :D

So, uh, a quick question: Which do you, read readers, prefer; either one giant part 7 or more regular sized part 7 + a part 8... What’s your vote?

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

“I want you to train me. Teach me how to fight.” Dulsissia blurts it out as she settles herself down next to where Davarax is sitting on the floor with his blaster meticulously laid out in pieces on a blanket in front of him to do maintenance on the different parts.

Davarax freezes for several seconds and then he cautiously puts the pieces he was holding down and he looks over at her. “I, uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Dulsissia frowns. He doesn’t think she can handle it?

“I’m sure we can ask Decco to train you.” Davarax offers.

“Bee-cause you don’t want to.” Dulsissia draws out the word, not entirely sure whether to be hurt or offended, but right now she’s leaning towards both.

Davarax lifts a placating hand, sighing. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

Had it been any other man, Dulsissia would have gone on a rant by now, but she knows Davarax wouldn’t say no if he didn’t have a good reason. “Would you mind telling why not?”

His hand slowly sinks down again and he makes a couple of efforts at starting a sentence, but in the end; Davarax’ shoulders sag slightly with defeat. “It’s just… not.”

“Why not.” She insists. Fine, Dulsissia can ask Decco, but she will at least know why the most skilled fighter in the Covert refuses to train her. He’d even called her Mandokarla once. “You don’t think I’m Mandokarla any more?”

When had she broken his faith in her? When she’d panicked over that storm trooper? Was that it? Mandalorians aren’t allowed to show fear?

“You are!” Davarax blurts out. “You definitely are. Mandokarla. You are.” He then sighs again and gestures faintly towards himself. “It’s me, okay? I’m the problem.”

“You?” She narrows her eyes suspiciously. How can he be the problem? He’s their best fighter.

“I’m too…” Davarax searches for the right word. “...invested.” He finishes, somewhat lamely, and his hand just drops to his lap.

Dulsissia snorts. “You’re training my son, your own kids, but you can’t train me?”

“You’re different.” Davarax mumbles, sounding awkward.

“Nonsense.” Dulsissia inches closer. “I want to learn and I want to learn from the best. Please? I’ll be a good girl and do everything the teacher says.”

Davarax makes an odd sound deep in his throat.

“I know you are busy and you’ve already helped me so much and it is incredibly selfish of me to put another burden on your shoulders,” Dulsissia confesses, feeling the taste of shame again, “but I trust you. And… I like spending time with you. No offense to Decco, she has been wonderful, but she’s not exactly… cheerful. Or especially fond of conversing. She threatened to glue my mouth shut yesterday and I honestly think she wasn’t joking.”

Davarax chuckles, sounding both resigned and fondly amused. “She wasn’t.” Then he hangs his helmet low for a moment or two before sighing yet again and looking over at Dulsissia. “Okay.”

Letting out a low squeal of delight, Dulsissia bumps her shoulder against his. “Thank you! You won’t regret this.”

Davarax makes a sound as if he’s not entirely convinced about that before he picks up the blaster pieces again and continues his work. “Tomorrow. Thirty minutes before I teach the kids.”

“Thirty minutes?” The man pushes the children far harder than that. “That’s it?”

“One, it’s your first lesson. We’ll be going over basics. Two,” Davarax’ t-visor turns to look at her, “I thought you were going to do what the teacher told you to do?”

Dulsissia puts on her sweetest smile and nods. “Thirty minutes. Before the kids. Yes, sir!”

Davarax sighs, how many times is that now in such a short while, and turns back to his blaster.

She meets up a little early, eager and wearing her finest skirt, ready to impress and become the best student Davarax has ever had. Dulsissia straightens her spine and gives him a bright smile when Davarax enters the training room.

He comes to a halt when he sees her, then clears his throat and continues to walk over to her. “You’re early. Good.”

Dulsissia tilts her head, still smiling. “Ready for training. As you can see.”

Davarax makes a non-committing hum.

She can’t keep it up any longer. Dulsissia reaches down, undoes the two buttons and lets her skirt fall to the floor to reveal the far more practical pants she’s wearing underneath. “Ha! Got you!”

He does the Davaraxian huff of a laugh and rewards her with a faint nod. “Funny. Very funny.”

Stepping out of the skirt before picking it up to fold it, Dulsissia rubs her successful prank in with a smug cackle. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to say anything. You’re so sweet.”

“I can’t believe that you don’t think I won’t get back at you for calling me out on it.” Davarax replies, crossing his arms and tilting his helmet in a challenging way.

Dulsissia grins, puts the folded skirt by the wall and trots over to stand in front of him without a hint of fear. “Whatever you got, my good Lord Davarax, I can take it.”

Davarax just looks down at her, breathes, and for some reason; Dulsissia’s heart does a flip.

Then the Mandalorian suddenly unfolds his arms, clears his throat and steps away to take up a position she’s seen the children start the day with.

“We’ll start with the basics. Just the basics. It’s going to be harder for you than the children because you’ve grown accustomed to your body in a way they haven’t had the time to yet, and you’re going to have to unlearn a bit of that plus replace some old reflexes with new ones.” Davarax says.

Dulsissia forces herself to focus and tries to copy the stance. “I’m ready to sweat. Show me.”

Davarax glances over at her, she can feel his gaze slide over her, then he nods.

Yeah, okay, Dulsissia is starting to understand why he’d been hesitant to agree to teach her. He’s an excellent teacher, explains things so well, but she’d failed to take into consideration how every single touch of his hands on her, despite the gloves, despite the layer of clothing, results in flares of heat, moments of complete distraction and a flush to her face that has nothing to do with the strain of the exercises.

She had complained about thirty minutes not being long enough, but after twenty five of them; Dulsissia resolutely sits down and lets out a loud, unladylike groan at the ceiling. Who could have known copying moves that Davarax makes seem easy would be this hard? And while Dulsissia had not considered herself to be out of shape, this has left her completely exhausted.

“Still five minutes left.” Davarax points out, standing next to her, sounding smug.

Dulsissia decides to wipe that smugness off his face. Fast as lightning, she flings herself over and grabs a hold of his lower leg with both of her hands, aiming to bring him down to her level, and she yanks with all of her might.

Nothing. It’s like trying to pull at an AT-AT. And Davarax just looks down at her.

Groaning, Dulsissia lets go and flops over to lie on her back. “It was worth a shot.”

Laughing, a low, warm sound, Davarax eases himself down to sit next to her. “It was cute.”

Cute? Dulsissia glares over at him. And before he realizes his mistake, she launches herself at him, climbs into his lap and shoves at his shoulders. Maybe she couldn’t topple him over on his feet, but surely she can knock him over like this?

No.

She’s not entirely sure how he does it, he moves too fast, he’s too strong, but suddenly she’s on her back on the floor and he’s hovering over her. His hands are pinning her wrists to the floor and a quick tug tells her she has absolutely no chance of getting loose. Dulsissia grins. “Also worth a shot.”

Davarax hums, deliberately not to touching her with anything but his grip on her wrists. “Be careful with your shots, Dulcy. You don’t want to end up like this with the enemy.”

Her face burns. She’s suddenly so very aware of him. “It doesn’t feel all that bad, to be honest.”

It feels like all of the oxygen in the room abruptly disappears, gravity gives up and the temperature sky-rockets. Neither of them move. The tension keeps growing and then…

Davarax looks over at the door and scrambles away from her half a second before the children come stomping into the room, chattering and eagerly anticipating today’s lesson.

Dulsissia closes her eyes and let out a long exhale, just as she hears;

“Mom…?”

It’s Din’s birthday. Dulsissia had overheard it by accident when Din had been talking to her son and he’d mentioned how he was counting down the years to when he would finally be allowed to put on the helmet.

She’d asked when he was having his birthday celebration so she could get a present for her son to give him and felt no small amount of horror when Din said there wasn’t going to be one. His parents had said there was no point so he assumed that meant no celebration.

Well, he was wrong about that.

As Din is more comfortable there, she arranges the birthday celebration in her and Corin’s room and invites the rest of Davarax’ children, plus the man himself. It’s a small thing, compared to the parties she used to throw, but it is a huge deal to Din. He shies a bit away from being the centre of attention, but with Davarax and Corin both encouraging him; Din ends up actually enjoying it a little.

And it is all worth it when a red-faced and awkward Din gives Dulsissia by his own free will a quick hug at the end of the day.

Dulsissia then has to hide a smile when Paz ‘innocently’ mentions how he has his birthday exactly one standard week after Din’s while they are seated at the table and devouring the sweets she’s made. (She’s getting pretty good at this baking thing. The fighting? Less so, but she’s improving.)

Paz’ father has a big celebration for his day, but while Dulsissia mostly observes it from the outside, she can’t help but to notice how, while it is in his name, very little is focused on Paz himself. It’s mostly about his father, adult food and strong spirits. Not much for a twelve year old to enjoy.

So she throws him a party in her quarters with the other children and their teacher like she’d done for Din. And Dulsissia feels her heart break yet again when, at the end of the day, Paz hugs her so tight he almost squeezes the air out of her.

Standing next to her, Davarax sighs as he watches Paz leave with the other kids in tow. “I didn’t really celebrate my own birthday much so I never thought about theirs. I let them down.”

“From what I’ve seen,” Dulsissia replies with a bittersweet feeling, “you are the only person in this place who hasn’t let them down.”

Davarax shakes his head. “Not entirely true, but thank you.”

She turns to face him, places her hand on the breastplate where she’d feel his heart if not for the armor. “You took them under your wings when everyone had given up on them. You didn’t just give them the abilities to survive that they are going to need, but your attention and kindness as well. You are those children’s entire world. And I don’t think they could have chosen a better man.”

Davarax reaches up and covers her hand with his. “Dulcy… Do you know what a kov’nyn is?”

She shakes her head. Her heart is going faster and faster.

“Find out.”

“How?”

Davarax does his trademark huff-laughter. “You’re a clever girl. You can do it.” He then lets go, says his goodbye to Corin, who sits on the bed and watches them with a far-too-knowing grin on his face, and gives a final bow to Dulsissia before leaving as well.

Flustered and a little breathless, Dulsissia walks over to clean up the last traces of the dinner.

“Mom.” Corin says.

“Mmh?” She replies, wondering if she can ask Decco what a kov’nyn is or maybe just try to find some sort of dictionary so she won’t have to trouble her all the time.

“Can we ask Din to stay here with us?”

Dulsissia gathers up the plates. “Baby, I don’t think Din’s parents would like that.” Unfortunately.

“He says they wouldn’t mind.” Corin replies. “Also, when you and Davarax become girlfriend and boyfriend, can I call him ‘dad’?”

Dulsissia straightens with a jolt and her face flares up so badly it hurts. “Go brush your teeth, baby.”

“But-”

“Go brush your teeth!”

The Tribe doesn’t have an abundance of datapads or old fashioned books. Most of their teachings are done verbally, but Decco is kind enough to ask around and two days later, a Mandalorian in an orange armor agrees to borrow Dulsissia something similar to a dictionary.

Too curious to wait until she is back in her room where Corin is getting ready for bed while she rushed out to get the book, Dulsissia stops in the middle of a hallway to look up the word. She’s dying to know what Davarax had hinted at, what he was trying to tell her and wanted her to know.

Turning the pages, Dulsissia finally finds the word. ‘Kov’nyn’! There it is!

A headbutt.

Dulsissia blinks. What? Excuse…? She vividly remembers the sight and not to mention the sound of Davarax headbutting that poor Mandalorian during his training and her eyes widen with startled surprise. What?! Was he going to do that to her during their next training? Oh, nonono, no way.

Just as she’s about to slam the book shut and declare that Davarax had been right; Decco might be a better teacher after all, Dulsissia almost accidentally reads more of the text.

Or: A kiss between couples when wearing armor.

Now she does slam the book shut and she’s finding it a bit hard to catch her breath.

Oh.

“I heard you were looking for a book on Mando’a.” A voice says behind her.

Making a startled sound, clutching the book close, Dulsissia spins around and is even more startled when she sees the golden armor and fur cloak.

It’s her. The leader.

“Yes. I, uhm,” Dulsissia awkwardly pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, “I thought it was about time I learned a little more about… Mando’a. You have all been so kind to me.”

The leader looks at her and her body language is as impossible to read as her facial expression hidden by her helmet.

Dulsissia tries to smile.

“I also hear your son is making good progress in his training.”

Nodding, Dulsissia tries to hide how nervous she’s feeling.

“On his travels, Davarax has brought back many Foundlings. That is his Way and that is The Way.” The leader says. “But he has never brought back an outsider.”

Dulsissia loses the smile and she feels her shoulders sagging a little under the heavy weight of shame. “He… He was kind enough to save me from some horrible men.”

“Mmh.” Is the flat reply. “Are you going to take the Creed?”

Surprised, Dulsissia struggles to find the right answer. She’s been so busy trying to deal with the present that she hasn’t really planned her future. “I… I don’t know.”

That does not seem to impress the leader of the Mandalorians. “Then find your Way. Before you ruin his.”

Watching the Mandalorian walk away, Dulsissia isn’t entirely sure how she feels about this conversation. She’s getting the distinct feeling that this was a message for her to stay away from Davarax, but why? Surely the leader of a warrior tribe does not care about the love life of one of her soldiers? And what gives her the right? Rude.

Frowning, Dulsissia starts walking back to her room while the thoughts keep churning in her brain.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do, not even when she walks over to Davarax’ door instead of her own and finds herself knocking on it. Dulsissia waits until he opens the door, says her name in a slightly confused tone, and then… she drops the book, reaches up with both hands to take a hold of the top of his breastplate and promptly pulls him down to thump her forehead to his helmet.

Ow.

Letting go, Dulsissia takes a step back and rubs her forehead. One eye closed, she stares at him in confusion. “I think you people got kissing a bit wrong. It’s not supposed to hurt, you know?”

Stunned, Davarax finally straightens back up and reaches out a hand to take a hold of her upper arm in case she falls over. “I don’t… That’s not how…” The Davaraxian laughter huff appears before he urges her to take the step back to him. “Can I show you?”

Dulsissia moves closer to him willingly enough, but she keeps rubbing her forehead and hesitates. “I’m not sure if I want another concussion.” Maybe she isn’t Mandokarla after all? She prefers softer things than headbutts from her date.

“Trust me?” Davarax asks in a quiet tone.

Sighing, Dulsissia lowers her arm. “Fine. But if I am knocked unconscious, you’re in charge of making breakfast to Corin tomorrow as an apology.”

“Deal.” Davarax murmurs, but in an absent way. His hands are already sliding up to cup her face and she shivers at the memory of them without gloves. “Close your eyes, Dulcy.”

Swallowing hard, she does. Suddenly she doesn’t care if he headbutts her into tomorrow as long as he doesn’t take his hands off her or stop talking.

“It’s mean to be gentle…” Davarax says, so soft and smooth, his hands tilting her head backwards, just a little, but enough so her body automatically arches against his. “It’s meant to be warm…” One hand moves to cup the back of her head, the other slides down to her lower back. “It’s longing…” Smooth beskar gently meets her now very warm skin and he eases her body close, so very close, until she’s firmly up against him with a very strong arm around her waist. “and it’s giving.” He tightens his grip around her.

Reaching up, Dulsissia’s fingers dig into the fabric on his upper arms, desperate to hold on to something so she doesn’t just swoon in his arms like a bad theatre actress.

Davarax lets out a soft exhale, it’s sounds almost like relief, and she can feel the muscles in his arm tightening a little more, his hand cupping her head and holding her there, as if she still isn’t close enough for him.

Time stands still. All she feels is heat, him and her own frantic pulse.

Breathless, far too warm for any decent explanation, Dulsissia reluctantly opens her eyes when he pulls away and shivers with disappointment when he lets go of everything but her hand.

“That’s what it’s meant to be like.” Davarax says.

“Oh.” Dulsissia manages. Okay, maybe everyone else had something to learn from Mandalorians.

It takes a visible effort for Davarax to make himself let go of her hand, for a second she can see the twitch in his shoulders when he stops himself from pulling her close again, but he lets go and now he is the one to take a step away. “Good night, Dulcy.”

“Good night.” She whispers, and it takes a visible effort for her to turn around, pick up the book with numb fingers and go over to her own room.

Stupid Mandalorians and their stupid headbutt kissing! Now Dulsissia can’t even look over at Davarax without feeling her face burn or be near him without having her heart to backflips all around her ribcage. This is making her life very frustrating!

And her only comfort is suspecting that Davarax isn’t faring much better either. Judging from how he walked into that table yesterday when she stretched out.

The training? Oh, it’s the sweetest torture ever.

She’s on her way to pick up Corin at Din’s room when a familiar piercing way of screaming catches her attention and Dulsissia doesn’t hesitate to run towards the sound.

Inside what looks to be school room with several pillows on the floor placed around a larger one. A group of scared children are huddled together in one corner while a Mandalorian who looks to be the teacher is restraining a fully feral Raga, with one big hand gripping her arm and the other hand is locked around her neck and preventing her from moving her head.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dulsissia shouts, stalking in and shoving the Mandalorian away.

Once again surprise is on her side and the Mandalorian stumbles away, releasing the little girl and Dulsissia does not hesitate to crouch down and wrap her arms protectively around the flailing child. Pain flares when sharp teeth dig into Dulsissia’s arm and latch on.

“She’s completely feral!” The teacher shouts, pointing at Raga. “I’ve taught children, youngsters and foundlings alike, for decades and I’ve never met a child that feral! She’s hopeless!”

“What do you expect when you restrain her like a rancor? I’d bite you too!” Dulsissia shouts back at him. She gets up, hoists Raga in her arms, ignores the pain of the teeth still digging into her and marches out of the room with her.

She’s halfway to her quarters, Raga still hasn’t let go but at least she has stopped flailing and screaming and is just quietly twitching so that’s something, when a Mandalorian comes trotting with Davarax on his tail. They both come to a halt when they see Dulsissia carrying Raga.

“I was just coming to…” Davarax points helplessly in the direction of the classroom. “They said she…” He sighs at the sight and reaches out towards Dulsissia’s arm. “Here, I’ll try to-”

“No.” Dulsissia snaps, turning away to shield her arm and Raga from him. “I got her. I’m taking her to my room. You go tell Corin, he’s with Din, that I’m going to be late, and then you go get us Paz.”

Davarax seems a little surprised, but eventually he gives a nod and Dulsissia continues her march back to her room, giving a quick couple of pets to Raga’s back as she’s still twitching.

Once they are inside in the safety of her and Corin’s room, Dulsissia walks over to sit down on the bed. Raga is a bit larger than Corin, her thin frame doesn’t make her much heavier, but she’s taller and it takes a little arranging of her skinny legs and arms. Once they are settled, Dulsissia continues to run her hand up and down Raga’s back and just waits.

To her surprise, Raga lets go of her arm. And a few seconds after that, the girl quietly mumbles; “M’ sorry…”

Smiling, Dulsissia continues to stroke her back. “It’s okay, baby. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“He said I had to sit in the corner because I threw some thing at him.” Raga mumbles. “But I didn’t. It wasn’t me!” She starts to get agitated again. “I told him it wasn’t me and he said he was going to tell my parents I was a liar and have them punish me!”

Forcing her own anger away, Dulsissia strokes the girl’s back again. “I’m sorry he did that to you, sweetie. I’m sorry he didn’t believe you. That was wrong of him.”

“It wasn’t me…” Raga whispers.

“I believe you.” Dulsissia reassures her. And for the next ten minutes, she just holds her close, strokes her back and pets her hair. And anger quietly simmers inside.

Finally Davarax arrives and in his footsteps, Paz follows. He instantly darts by his teacher at the sight of Raga and the girl doesn’t hesitate to twist around to reach out to him.

Dulsissia gets up from the bed and watches Paz take her seat, pulling Raga close and lets her curl up on his lap. She almost disappears in his embrace. That boy is going to end up a giant if he doesn’t stop growing soon and yet he treats his friend with such mesmerizing gentleness.

“Your arm…” Davarax asks quietly, looking over.

“It’s fine.” Dulsissia replies. It aches like crazy and there will definitely be bruising, but that is not what is important right now. She looks over at him. “They called her a liar. They were holding her down like a rabid loth-cat. And they are surprised she bites?”

Davarax shakes his head. “I know…” He sounds pained and resigned. “The four of them are marked as troublemakers. If something goes wrong, if something could have gone wrong, they’re always blamed. And I can’t stop it.”

Dulsissia’s eyes narrow. “Stay here with the kids.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to talk to someone.”

Dulsissia raps on the door with urgent haste and this time she doesn’t wait for the drowsy Mandalorian to speak before she asks; “Is he in?”

He is.

She knocks and then barges in to the room, startling Barthor into a defensive stance. Dulsissia ignores the tiny fists. “What I’m about to ask you can never be repeated. Do you understand?”

Barthor stares at her, slowly lowering his fists. “What?”

Dulsissia stalks closer and he backs up a step so she crouches down for them to be the same height. “I need you to do something for me and no one can ever find out.”

Barthor’s dark eyes slide from side to side, as if checking for hidden cameras. “Do… what?”

“I want you to make me a stink bomb.”

Snorting a laugh, Barthor shakes his head and walks over to sit on his bed. “I don’t know how to-”

“You know.” Dulsissia interrupts him. “Will you make me one?”

Barthor frowns, now suspicious. “Why? What are you going to do with it?”

Dulsissia raises an eyebrow. “I want to place it in the room belonging to man who teaches Raga’s class.”

That seems to make Barthor even more suspicious. “Why?”

“Because he’s a bully to Raga.”

Something flickers in Barthor’s eyes. “He was mean to Raga again?”

Again. The word hurts Dulsissia’s soul. If that man had been mean to her son, he wouldn’t have had the chance to do it ‘again’. She nods.

Barthor stares down at that floor for a little while, then he jumps to his feet and sighs. “Okay, give me ten minutes.”

It takes him eight to finish it. But he insists on joining her when she goes to plant the contraption.

“You might do it wrong.” Barthor informs her, gingerly easing it into a small bag.

Dulsissia rolls her eyes but follows him when he marches off towards their unsuspecting victim.

Once there, it’s clear it won’t be as easy as they hoped. The man is in his room.

“You distract him, I’ll plant it.” Barthor declares.

Dulsissia nods. “Be careful.”

Barthor smirks. And they go to work.

Knocking on the door, Dulsissia waits for the man to open it and then begins lecturing him on all the wrong ways to handle a sensitive child, not letting the man get a word in, and she barely catches the shadow of little Barthor sneaking by them and into the room.

She keeps her rant going, the man is too surprised and startled to do much than come with feeble objections, and the second Dulsissia sees the shadow sneak out by the man’s legs again, she finishes her speech.

“Good day to you, sir!”

Marching down the hallway, she rounds a corner and finds Barthor there. He looks up at her with a hint of respect.

“Not bad.” He says with grudging respect.

“You too.” Dulsissia replies, reaching out a hand and shakes his when he takes it. “But remember, no one can know.”

Barthor grins. “Don’t worry. No one is going to be able to to prove anything.” “Good.”

When the stink spreads in the man’s room, Dulsissia and Barthor has picked up Corin, and somehow Din ends up tagging along, and they are all safely in Dulsissia and Corin’s room, along with Paz, Raga and Davarax. Eating cookies.

And Barthor was right; nobody is ever able to prove who was behind it.

“Mom, are you sure we can’t ask Din to stay here?” Corin asks one morning.

Sighing, Dulsissia looks over at her sweet son. “I told you, baby. I don’t think his parents will like that. Is there something wrong? Is that why you keep asking?”

Corin, sitting on her bed, shrugs and looks down. “He doesn’t like it there.”

Clearly, as the child spends most of his time with them rather than his parents, but Dulsissia isn’t sure how Mandalorian adoption works. She’s fairly certain it would be frowned upon if she just started hoarding children from them. Otherwise, she would probably have had bunk beds and five children in this room. “I’m sorry to hear that, Corin. Has he tried to talk to his parents?”

Corin shakes his head. “He doesn’t like talking to them.”

Dulsissia has a sneaking suspicion that Din doesn’t like much, except Davarax and her son. At least he has excellent taste. “Do you think he’d like me to talk to them?”

Corin shakes his head again. “He won’t like it if he knew I’d told you.”

Figures. Dulsissia sighs. “Then I don’t know what we can do, baby. They are his parents. We are guests here.”

“Well,” Corin looks over at her, “at least he can come and visit as much as he likes?”

“Absolutely.” Dulsissia confirms. “And I’ll ask if he can stay over some time. Would that help?”

Her beautiful boy lights up with delight. “Really? You’re the best, mom!”

“Remember you said that when I tell you to clean up your toys.” Dulsissia declares.

Corin laughs.

It’s such a wonderful sound. He never used to laugh. He’s always been such a silent child, like Din, but the longer they have stayed here at the Covert; the more Corin has come out of his shell.

He no longer cowers behind her leg when they are in the common room with the other Mandalorians. He still flinches when someone raises their voice, but at least he doesn’t go pale and look like he’s about to pass out. He has friends. And there is a father figure whom Corin greets with joy and looks forward to spending time with, unlike his biological father.

Losing her dresses and servants is a price she’s more than willing to pay to see her son this happy.

There is just thing that could ruin everything. And considering it’s not just harmless flirting any more, Dulsissia decides it is time to tell Davarax.

She asks Decco to look after her son, which she grudgingly agrees to despite meaning the boy is old enough to look after himself, and then Dulsissia asks Davarax to meet her in Din’s hiding space.

“Well,” Davarax say as he steps over a piece of engine and barely manages to make his way over to where she’s sitting on a sofa pillow without falling or knocking himself unconscious against some metal part sticking out amidst the debris they are surrounded by, “this is romantic.”

“Sorry.” Dulsissia says, too nervous to be amused by the graceless way he tumbles down on the pillow next to hers. “I just wanted us to be able to talk in private.”

The tone of her voice makes him sit up and pay attention. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to tell you something.” Dulsissia says, sighing. “And I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”

“You can tell me anything.”

Oh, how she hopes that is true. Dulsissia takes a deep breath, looks down at her own hands as she wrings them nervously in her lap. She smiles a little when his hand moves over to cover them and stops her from hurting herself. Okay. Here goes. “I told you my name is Dulcy.”

“Yes?”

“It’s not.” She glances over at him. “Well, it kind of is. It used to be my nickname. My name is Dulsissia.”

Davarax gives a faint shrug. “Okay?”

“Dulsissia Motti. The man looking for me, his name is Macero Valentis. He is Corin’s father.” Dulsissia braces herself, turns her gaze down to his gloved hand over both of hers and dreads the moment it will withdraw.

Davarax’ voice is carefully neutral. “If you’re a Motti, surely your family will help you get rid of Valentis?”

Dulsissia’s smile is bitter and it hurts. “No. I stupidly defied them to marry him and I’ve been told that I have to lie in the bed I made.”

Davarax hesitates. “Would you like to go back your family?”

Looking over at the man by her side, unable to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes, Dulsissia shakes her head. “No. And they’re not my family. They don’t know what the words means.”

Davarax’ hand withdraws from hers, but only so he can gently cup the side of her face. “Mottis and Valentis, they don’t scare me if that’s what you were worried about.”

“Kind of.” Dulsissia admits, a tear slipping from her eye. “I have seen the destruction they can cause. I don’t want to bring it here.”

“We’re Mandalorians.” Davarax says, a slight grin in his voice. “We thrive on battle. It’s in our blood. And they would find us a lot more dangerous than any other opponent they’ve been up against in the past.” His thumb caresses her skin, wiping away her tear, and his voice softens. “They don’t matter. They’re in the past. You are here now. You’re Dulcy. And Corin is safe. You both are.”

It might not be Mandokarla, but Dulsissia doesn’t care; she leans over and he wraps his arms around her.

“As long as I breathe,” Davarax mumbles, holding her close, “you and Corin will always be safe.”

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Baby Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #What if

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creativeskullcreations · 4 years ago

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Buddy’s Problem part 2

Okay! Part two is done! Part three probably isn't gonna be until after the New Year, though, but it should be the final part.

Enjoy the story, and have a Merry Christmas! :D

As it turned out, being a campaign manager was pretty difficult, especially when Buddy had to travel to a whole different town for it. Filbo lived in a small farming town called Kinsing. Several other members of the expedition lived there too, though Wiggle, Gramble, and Cromdo lived in Gippsenburg. Either way, apparently Filbo wasn't very well known, having moved to Kinsing recently.

That was useful, and Buddy could totally work with that.

First was getting him nominated, which was easy as anyone could throw their name in. Filbo actually did that himself, though he needed some coaxing from Buddy to actually put it into the box. They then went out for burgers(not Bungers, thankfully) afterwards. They were joined by Beffica, who was shocked that Filbo was running for a real political position.

"Like, seriously? That's awesome you squeeb!" She gave him a soft punch to the arm, which he winced at. She didn't notice, or maybe just ignored it. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"Well, I mean, I ended up doing pretty good back at Snax- on Snaktooth, so I figured I might as well try for the real thing." He told her, rubbing the soon-to-be-bruise. "Worst thing that could happen is I'll lose to Robbzoni."

"Ugh, Robbzoni. He's the worst." She helped herself to Buddy's fries, even as he tried to yank the plate away from her. "He's the real reason we don't have anymore flowers by the roads. He kept stealing them, so eventually the town stopped replacing them."

"How the grump did you find that out, Beff?" Buddy asked before shoving the whole handful of remaining fries into his mouth. She just shrugged and went for Filbo's plate instead.

"I snooped, Bestie. Just like I always do. Did." She corrected herself quickly, looking away. "I, uh, used to do that."

"So..." Buddy searched for a new topic. "What do you do now, anyways?"

"Oh, I got hired as a reporter at CGN. It's a bit of a commute, but not so bad." She shrugged. "And my coworkers aren't so bad, either."

Ah, the rival for GNN. Buddy remembered all the fights that had broken out between reporters at events. He also remembered the time he raided their office with some of his coworkers and stole all of their paperclips. It was in retaliation for them stealing all the rubber-bands at GNN. Which was to get back at them for stealing all of CGN's staples.

Good times.

"Here." He dug out a bottle of pepper-spray and handed it to the shorter Grumpus. "You'll need this."

"Uh." She looked between him and the large canister. "... Thanks. I think."

"No problem." He took a long drag on his soda as the conversation drifted away from him. Which was just fine, as he was busy brainstorming anyways, writing down plans and ideas into his journal. So far he didn't have a lot, but he'd talk to Filbo about it later and see what they could do.

Maybe a party? Filbo always seemed to like them, back on Snaktooth, so maybe that would be a good way to win him some votes.

The rest of the time passed by in a blur. Events were held, debates, parties, even a couple of bake sales that reminded Buddy of his school days. Speeches were made, each carefully crafted to have the best effect on the small populace of the town.

Wambus was actually a big help with that. As a farmer himself, he knew what to say to get and keep the farmers on Filbo's side. So they ended up conferring with him a lot, which meant going to his and Triffany's house a lot.

He was a surprisingly good cook, honestly. The meals they shared there were some of the best Buddy ever ate. He really would miss those nights when everything was done here, but that was no reason not to continue the "quest" for Filbo.

It was one such night, where Wambus had grilled some delicious steaks and corn on the cobs. He also had some homegrown sauces that he'd brought from Snaktooth, which made Buddy a little uneasy. But, the older farmer seemed to know what he was doing with that so he let it go for now.

"You seem to be getting pretty popular, dear." Triffany was saying to Filbo as Buddy doodled in his journal. He flipped it around to show Wambus his idea of a steak-based Bugsnax, only for the farmer to just grunt in acknowledgement. That was good enough for him though and he put the book aside to eat some more.

"Heh, yeah." Filbo rolled his corn on the cob in some butter. "It's all thanks to Buddy, though. He's doing great on the whole 'campaign manager' thing."

"It's not that hard." Buddy shrugged. "Not like you're running for Minister of the Public or something. It's just a few events to plan, and, like, two debates."

"True, but it still seems like a lot of work." Filbo actually looked kind of concerned, but Buddy waved it off.

"It's... it's really not." He told them, even though it kind of was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night's sleep, but it was definitely before Snaktooth.

"It would be tiring to be around all those people all the time." Wambus agreed. "I could never do that."

"Of course not, dear." Triffany agreed. "That's why you're a farmer."

"Yep."

Buddy watched the exchange with a small smile as Filbo took over the conversation, asking after the sauce crops. Whatever problems the couple had, he was glad they were working them out. He didn't want to even think about what would've happened if their marriage had broken up like...

Well, it wasn't good to dwell on it.

Wambus was right though; it was tiring being a campaign manager. He was almost glad the elections were ending soon, if only so he could get some more sleep. And then focus on finding a real job, as his savings were starting to run a little dry.

Still, as he watched his three companions, he felt content with how it was shaping up. Filbo was excitedly explaining all his plans for being Mayor, from replanting the flowers around the walking paths to finally getting the pot holes fixed. He even started explaining his plans to renovate the park in detail before Wambus finally reminded him to actually eat his steak.

"Oh, heh. Right." He cut a piece off, then opened his mouth to keep talking. Buddy took the opportunity to grab his wrist and shove the fork into his mouth.

"Eat it." He told him firmly, to quiet giggling from Triffany. Filbo shot him a glare, but obeyed, chewing quietly. Buddy then grabbed a forkful of his own steak to chew on, ignoring Triffany's pointed look.

The rest of the night passed without incident. In Buddy's opinion, it ended too soon. But then, it always did. And soon enough Buddy was back at his table in his apartment, drawing up more plans for the campaign. Luckily, the people seemed to really like Filbo. Or maybe they just hated Robbzoni that much more. Either way, according to the mid election survey Filbo was looking to be the popular candidate.

Still, he couldn't relax yet, there was still too much to do. The election itself was tomorrow. People would vote in the morning and the results would be announced both that afternoon, and in the next morning's paper. There would be one last speech before the vote though, and Buddy wanted to make sure it was perfect.

However as the time got later, and he had started the speech pretty later anyways, he found himself unwillingly drawn into sleep. Even as he tried to fight it off with copious amounts of caffeine, he inevitably passed out.

When he woke up, it was to Filbo calling him. In a panic, he grabbed his papers and raced out the door, practically flying down the stairs and into his car. He broke several traffic laws, but he managed to get to Kinsing Town Hall just barely on time. As he ran inside, he tried desperately to sort through the garbled mess of a speech he'd written.

He made his way to the backstage area, where Filbo was talking to... someone. Buddy felt like he should know the other Grumpus, but his exhausted mind just refused to make the connection. In any case, as soon as the Grumpus had left he was rushing up to Filbo, rapidly spewing apologies all the way.

"Sorry, sorry! I think I still have some time to, uh, to-to fix this? Maybe?!" His voice rose an octave and he quickly cleared his throat and tried to laugh off the rising panic. "I was up too late I think. Working. On this." He gave another short laugh, internally wincing at how off it sounded.

"Hey hey, it's okay." Filbo had to grab his shoulders, forcing them down from where Buddy had unconsciously hunched into himself. "I've got this one." He told him. Buddy blinked in surprise, hands lowering and almost dropping his papers.

"... You... you 'got' this?" Just what did he mean by that? Was Buddy unneeded? Had he been unneeded this whole time?

"Yeah. Since you've been working so hard lately, I figured I'd just, y'know, handle my own speech for today. " He gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry, I probably should've told you sooner-Oh!" He jumped at something the Grumpus on stage was saying. "There's my cue! See ya later!" He gave a quick wave before rushing off to get on stage, oblivious to Buddy's aborted attempt to reach for him.

'He didn't need me...' Quietly, Buddy dropped his speech into the trash. He then went for the snack table they had set up to get some coffee. 'I don't know why I even tried.'

The speeches were said, and then the voting happened. The surprising part, at least to Buddy, was that as they each voted the other members of the expedition would come up to them. A couple offered a "Good luck" or two, but none of them really left afterwards. They all hung around, and talked.

It made Buddy feel even more like he shouldn't have come. Filbo had plenty of people to keep him company for this, he didn't need Buddy Nobody did anymore.

So he sat just a little bit outside of the group, speaking only when someone talked to him directly. Other than that, he just drank his coffee quietly and wondered when would be a good time for him to leave.

It turned out never. The others never forgot about him for long enough for him to be able to slip away. Floofty in particular seemed intent on watching him, and they weren't blinking. He knew this because he straight up had a staring contest with the mad scientist, and they didn't blink once.

Soon enough, voting had closed and the votes were being counted. Poor Filbo was anxious through the whole thing, but never said anything about regretting running for mayor. Buddy was actually kind of proud of him for that, if he was being honest. He knew how hard the light blue Grumpus could be on himself, and he was glad he had gained some confidence at least.

Even if it was just another sign that he wasn't a help to him anymore. That he wasn't a help to anyone here anymore.

But, when they announced that Filbo had won, that he'd done it and beat out longtime Mayor Robbzoni, everyone present cheered. And not just the ones from Snaxburg, either, but everyone else who was hanging around. As everyone congratulated the new Mayor, and the MC announced when the official swearing in ceremony would take place, Buddy gave a quiet sigh into his coffee. Mentally, he ticked this quest as complete, but no new objectives came to mind.

"Hey, Buddy!" He looked up to see Filbo waving at him, and gave a small wave back. "We'll all going to Gramble's place to celebrate. You coming?"

Would he go? No. There wasn't anything for him to do there and besides, he had to get started on job hunting.

"... You guys go on ahead. I'll... I'll catch up with you later." There. Now he could go home and the others could get started on whatever came next for them.

Filbo hesitated a moment, searching Buddy's face intently. Then he shrugged and turned to follow the others. "Well, okay. If you're sure."

And then he was gone, along with the rest. Buddy put down his still full cup and stood up, dusting his fur off. He went to his car, a tiny little red thing that really needed to be traded in, and drove down the road back to Gippsenburg. He had a stop to make before he went home to his apartment, and then maybe he could finally work on forgetting everything.

#bugsnax #buddy's problem #the journalist #buddy copperbottom #filbo fiddlepie #beffica winklesnoot #wambus troubleham #triffany lottablog #floofty fizzlebean

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biwenqing · 4 years ago

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So this is for the day three prompt: Social Media AU for Spring Sleuthing over at @tsomdevents! I wrote this fic a while ago, and it fits perfectly for this. But I realized it was going to be more than one chapter. I will continue it once the prompt week is over!

WZ @theroommatedilema

i made this secret account to live tweet my two oblivious roommates having a quarantine romance. or not. they are idiots. follow to find out will they/won’t they.

he/him | Joined March 2020

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 27 we are starting week 2 of quarantine and i realized i needed to document this. my two roommates who have been dancing around each other since before shit hit the fan are driving me crazy and if i have to watch this the world has to as well.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 27 we need to give them code names because, while i don't think either of them will find this account, best not to tempt fate. so we have 'hot chef' and 'smart aleck'.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 27 all that out of the way, we can now get to the live tweet. hot chef was doing his laundry so he was walking around the apartment shirtless. smart aleck walked into a wall, not once, not twice, but three times. hot chef didn't help this when he put on an apron

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 28 smart aleck started the day by almost burning down our kitchen trying to make breakfast to impress hot chef. luckily i was awake and stopped things before there was a grease fire, before making breakfast myself. they both seemed to like it.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 29 hot chef thinks we should try and exercise, but i think it is cold and slippery out, so if he expects me to join him on his morning runs, he is wrong. smart aleck did make an attempt and i got to watch him wipe out from the window. lucky for him hot chef caught him. yea i know

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 29 follow up to wipe out: hot chef helped smart aleck back into the house and then took care of him, before then still going on his run. smart aleck pouted next to me on the couch, watching out the window for when he came back like a puppy.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 smart aleck has decided he needs to clean and organize the whole apartment. i think he just doesn't want to do his real job. this has led to an argument with hot chef because smart aleck has taken everything out of the kitchen cabinets and messed with his books.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 as a household, we have a pretty solid 'don't touch my stuff' understanding, but that apparently goes all out the window during a pandemic. hot chef keeps all his cooking tools and supplies in a special order that makes sense only to him and i leave it be

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 but smart aleck wants to "help" and didnt ask if anyone wanted help so here we are. don't worry, this account isn't in vain, i can confirm that their argument is more bickering and that bickering is the stereotype of an "old married couple"

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 SA: but you do so much, i wanted to help! HC: if i need help, i'd ask for it SA: *arms crossed* would you? give an example of when you have asked for help. HC: ....i haven't needed help SA: bullshit! remember when you got the flu last year and didn't tell us?

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 SA: you practically passed out before you let WZ and i take you to see a doctor! and then you still argued about us making sure you got the food and fluids and everything you needed so you didn't die! HC: ...i didn't want either of you to get sick

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 SA: oh yes so ignoring the issue really helped? it’s better that you almost died? in case you didn’t already notice, smart aleck is always dramatic.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 for those wondering, smart aleck is not wrong here. this is exactly how events occurred. it was only a few months after I moved in with them. for the fight i think smart aleck somehow won this round. tune in tomorrow for what happens next!

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 4 no updates because they have been pretending to ignore each other and focused on work. hot chef in particular. smart aleck claims it is because hot chef isn’t used to being cared about. he told me this in a deliberate stage whisper.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 4 i think it is important to note that hot chef did still make dinner each night to share... he just went back to his room after.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 i got a question asking what we all do for work. that’s classified. and mostly unrelated. though it is how we met in a very odd course of events.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 that was not an invitation to send me more questions. i know you are all nosy, or else why would you be following this account. but we have established this account must go unnoticed.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 fine. general ages = smart aleck is in his 20s. hot chef is in his 30s. and because you for some reason all want to know: i am also in my 20s.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 pets = yes one. smart aleck has a pet cat named goat he inherited from a past roommate. goat the cat tries to eat anything and everything, thus the name. she particularly likes to eat house plants. she likes smart aleck the least, hot chef the most. i hold a pretty solid 2nd place.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 6 update: they made up. a package arrived today and it was apparently a pan to replace one smart aleck had destroyed. hot chef made smart aleck’s favorite dinner. SA talked the whole way through to meal, and HC looked smitten. so we’re back to normal.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 10 where do we rank the level of domestic where one person brushes their teeth/gets ready for the day while the other is in the shower? bonus points for some mild discussion and/or bickering.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 11 smart aleck has a new scheme. he is trying to persuade hot chef to teach him to cook. so far HC has held firm. we mark day one of this new standoff.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 12 i’ve been asked a few times why i don’t just use initials of smart aleck and hot chef’s names. it’s all part of keeping this hidden. i have also chosen nicknames that i don’t think they would think i’d use for them.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 12 smart aleck is the type to figure this out if i’m not careful. he’s both too clever and too dumb for his own good. which is part of the reason i must document all of this, so i can shove it in his face later.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 12 we are also on day two of cooking teaching standoff. i think some of you rightly assume SA is imagining hot chef standing behind him and idk helping him cut vegetables

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 13 standoff continues. i made dinner to see if that would throw the balance off. no change yet

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 14 resolution! hot chef did give in, on the condition that he teaches both of us. i didn’t manage to escape because smart aleck seemed to decide this was the only way. don’t know how this fits into whatever romantic daydreams he had.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 14 i see those comments that this might give me a chance to put them together. but i think it is more fun to not help them at all. they need to do this on their own

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 15 to do such teaching, a grocery shopping mission is needed. because the world is... well. i suggested just they go together so fine. maybe i will try and assist.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 15 level of domestic of sneaking things you know your “just friends roommate” loves but won’t buy for themselves in the cart without them knowing?

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 15 you ask how i know that and it is of course because smart aleck, so proud of himself, announced it as soon as he reentered the apartment. goat the cat tried to get into the bags to eat raw fish while this occurred.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 16 first cooking lesson, some simple stir fry. i already can cook this so i get to just perch at the counter and watch. vote on the poll below how you think this will turn out

[hands brushing softly] [sparks, and not the sexy kind] [food hopefully?]

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 16 everyone who voted for fire won. the neighbors are quite upset. and not even goat the cat will eat the final product. i ordered take out and a fresh fire extinguisher while they dealt with the mild fire and smoke detector.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 17 smart aleck is pouting so there will be no cooking lessons today. the good news (for his employer) is he seems to actually be focusing on doing his job.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 20 hot chef actually asked smart aleck if he wanted to try cooking again. very interesting. this has mostly been coming from SA’s side, so i would call this positive movement.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 20 SA has completely perked up and agreed.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 20 oh apparently the plan is SA will watch and i get the place as the student in the kitchen. this is probably safer for everyone

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 21 for those asking what happen: dinner was made with no issue. I was in charge of the main dish and that left HC to work on side dishes. SA even helped wash and chop some vegetables. goat took some chicken right off SA’s plate and ran away with it growling.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 21 i take that to mean the cat approves of my cooking. but she also tried to steal things from the trash, so that isn’t much of an endorsement.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 22 SA is avoiding work and trying to clean again. he actually asked if he could move stuff around. growth.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 25 hot chef spotted leaving smart aleck’s room this morning?

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 25 false alarm, he was just looking for the cat.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 30 final report for this month: progress made in communication. new together activity established. the apartment has not burned down. a baby step closer, yet still so far away from them figuring this out...

#the sleuth of ming dynasty #tsomd #wang zhi #tang fan #sui zhou #springsleuthing #my fic #we'll pretend any grammar or spelling issues are on purpose idk amshauwhroaw #it is very late and i am Tired #sleuth trio #idk how dong'er fits into this i'm thinking on it #since this is only the start

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whatdoesshedotothem · 4 years ago

Text

x Thursday 30 May 1839

6 50/..

12 ¼

Incurred a cross sometime after getting into bed thinking of A- and she snoring by me very fine morning – making memoranda F56 ½° inside and 55° outside now at 7 50/.. am and went out with Robert the joiner – hurt at Booths’ manner of speaking to him yesterday – all mistake and with Robert Mann till 9 ½ had Jagger under surveyor of the Goldey road to ask to set them slope down the high ridge on my side as they have done on the Sour milk hall side – said I did not like to refuse him, but did not like my green [?] being do denuded they take the sod (he said only 2 yards back) to cover their new slope – would be done for 3/6 a rood – at last, if the commissioners would let me carry my Lodge wall down in a straight line (cut off the corner left) I would consent at once to the slope being done – breakfast at 9 ½ in about ½ hour or more – then had A- out with me – to Listerwick, and about home – till about 11 ¼ - then with DB. took him and Robert Mann up to Walker pit to see about the pit-toad sheds, and colliery conveniences – sinking the present road would be somewhere about 350 yards of stuff to shift extra – and sinking 4 yards about the pit etc. would altogether = 1700 or 1800 yards of stuff – shewed them my intention as to masking the conery wood wall – and fencing off the wood, and turning part of what used to be wood into field – remainder of the old some of the pit all to be moved and a good job and good field to be made of the whole – then talked over the laundry court road job – the road to be stoned at convenience – the stuff shifting to be done immediately – would take Robert and John and Sam Booth 3 weeks – then Robert to take the colliery job and its belongings, and have all ready at WP. by the time the main gates are driven up – they will drive off these 2 yards a day but of the mine(=80 yards) from the coal-workings up into WP. they would hardly drive a yard a day .:. say 160 days + 23 Sundays = 183 days

300+435 = 735÷2 = 367 ½ days + 53 Sundays = 420 days

.:. the main gates = about 1 year and 2 months and the mine = 26 weeks or ½ year

.:. if the main gates are begun about 1 August they ought to up at WP. the 1st of October next year and if the mine is begun now for the sake of getting and siding the stuff, it ought to be done by Xmas – the gin to be set directly and the stuff to be carted to the spot where wanted – and to begin as soon as Thomas G- has cut his hay grass – he has now sown the field his house stands in with the 3rd crop of oats, full as the land is of [quicks] – I said I was as bad as he to let him do so – yes! RM. thought I was – Told DB. to give G- notice I could not allow this kind of farming – DB. to be put into my place, but Robert M- (under him) to be answerable for keeping the horses employed – explained about cistern to be placed at the mouth of the water drift that falls into the low fish pond, and about 14lbs. to the yard inch lead pipe to be laid from there to the present lead cistern – came in about (after) 3 – ordered cold meat for DB- and he was to go immediately afterwards to the clerk of the gas light and coke company with the tender of coal – (vide p. 101 line 14) – DB. copied what I wrote yesterday – and took it with him – just before he came this morning about before 11 came someone from Mr. Crossley, the attorney, of Bradford and served upon me a written in the matter of Messrs. Nelsons masons – I told the man I would have nothing to do with it – he might throw it down upon the ground if he chose, and so he did and I called William Lord to pick it up and give it to Robert Mann, and almost immediately came Booth who (it seemed) was in the servants hall, and whom I called to the spot, and Robert M- gave him (DB.) the written which I told DB. to take to Mr. Parker – sometime (from after 3) with Robert the joiner ordering about the housemaids closet – told him I had spoken to Booth who never meant to say anything to hurt him, and was sorry he has been so mistaken by Robert – all right – then till 5 (A- had returned in the meantime and sat writing her journal by me) wrote all but the 1st line of today – she had begun yesterday and finished this morning tracing copy of my case estate plan – nicely done – at 5 20/.. William Keighley came – to have his bill paid – settled

SH:7/ML/E/23/0055

with him – then had Holt till 6 ½ - he takes the farm, on agreement to value on and off at £70 a year but I agree to make his salary for taking care of the colliery on condition that he does A-‘s bits of measuring and care taking £20+£10 so that his rent is in reality £40 per annum and I told him I thought there were £20 per annum of cottages to let off if he chose – but that I should only put the place in tenantable repair – he agreed to take £20 per annum for the colliery and DB. to have the same I said I should give him Holt the extra ten pounds as a separate thing – he seemed very well satisfied – said he should try to agree with john Oates tomorrow if he could – It was understood on Tuesday that I reserve the bit of ground Mallinson has – and it must also be understood that holt must give me a blue vote, or, tho’ he may enter I will quit him; for it is so notorious that I make a point of this that my not having thought of naming it at the moment ought to make no difference – I told him if the colliery was let, he would have no chance for it; and he must think whether it would be disagreeable or not, to have some sorts of tenants of the pit – I asked if WP. could be set going by 1 October 12 months yes! could £200 be cleared by Xmas towards the engine – ye! Did he think he could keep the colliery in my own hands – he would try, and said it as if he intended it should be kept in my own hands and pay me well – he will not mend the wages of the men driving up to AP. so that the 2 gates stand at as let 3/. per yard and 1/. per yard as let with task of coal – he said he would keep them as tight to it as they did their own – on asking who there was to succeed him, he said his brother Joseph – I said I should not name it but should take notice of him – but as for him, he would be a new man – it would be different – meaning he must pay the rent – H- will be here at 10 am tomorrow

tell him I must have his vote

and Mallinsons’ bit of ground

and will only put the place into tenantable repair –

dinner at 7 – to 8 – when came upstairs – finished our bottle of champagne brought up yesterday and A- slept on the bed by me till after 10 – from 8 to 11 at accounts – my own rental and looking over rent book – very slovenly kept by SW. no entry at all of Sutcliffe wood farm – very fine day – F56 ½° inside and 48° outside now at 11 ¼ pm – Letter tonight 2pp. from Marian – Mrs. Button died last Monday evening – her legacy to Marian £120 – Marian thankful High Royds is sold – for £2250 to be paid for 20 July – note from the philosophical society – paper to be read on the China opium trade -

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dwestfieldblog · 3 years ago

Text

A VERY REMOTE ENGLISH TEACHER

Where meditations, rants, reverie and absent seizures cross over... closer to one gun with one bullet, the rose of ruby and the cross of gold...uff, and MENTACIDE IN THE TIME OF MASQUES. Although I have never suffered from the guilty masochistic torture of ‘pleasure anxiety’, Bacchus hath indeed drowned more men than Neptune. So I stopped drinking for 18 days to fool myself I was doing something positive and threw away enough things to be minimalist again. Arf. Beauty and/or function uber alles.

Been treading water for three years and trying not to drown...big round of one hand clapping for the former poet. Meanwhile, in this temporary world and perception I have created of it, I am looking at a very possible exile one way or the other...my ‘plan’...a long phased withdrawal or hasty retreat. My wish is to stay, but once I leave, it might well be very hard to return. Read as many metaphors as you want into that but in spite of my dislike of the conservatively minded Aristotle’s ‘either/or’ nonsense, there do indeed appear to be only two this time. And appear is the operative word. Appearances can be deceptive and emotions (unless raised and focused) cloud over what should be clear. Pain has a tendency to breed worry and fear too but let’s draw a veil over that for now eh? Suppress, suppress, release comes later...breathe deep and try not to cough, onward we go where the game gets rough...Just like Tom Thumbs Blues 65.

Remember Roman Protasevich...As Lukasenko himself said...‘Belarus stood at the edge of an abyss and I helped it take a step forward’. Look good on your tombstone that will Al. Fecking outrageous the Indian PM only admitted in May that covid was transmitted in the air. He needs removing... as do two thirds of all the other world leaders East and West. Hello Bollsanaro. People are very easy to manipulate when they’re are scared or angry...and right now the world majority are both. But, ‘there is a crack in everything... that’s how the light gets in’... and ‘things could change’, doesn’t have to be for the worse. It can take decades to realise this as actual truth, but still nice to read and try internalise the following last week.’The odds actually favour the optimists, since dissipate structures are more likely to evolve into more information rich (intelligent?) forms than into primitive or chaotic forms.’ All my friends bar my best one are optimists..Hello you:-)

Ever onward deeper downward with Orban in Hungary and his mission of ‘Christian values’, which involves a familiar routine of arresting, beating and disappearing dissenters in the name of Christ and taking over the universities to replace professors with those who understand on which side their bread is buttered. Decent judges long gone. Nice fascist communism...and ex soldiers in France and the Czech republic warning of civil war...

And now spiraling we go into the black hole vortex of Disaster capitalism, ‘Let the bodies pile high’. There’s gold in them thar ills....ISLAND PARANOIA and PERFIDIOUS ALBION! A country which demands a contract, agrees, signs to it and then refuses to honour it. We look worse than ridiculous, we look deceitful. Gentlemen, your places please. Boris Johnson is a clumsy, inept, disgraceful charlatan, con merchant and LIAR. A blustering master bullshit artist, the only decent thing about his recent secret wedding is that now he legally has one less bastard child.

Recently I read that British people are displaying signs of Stockholm syndrome...in that they dislike those who hold power over them and make the rules but during the time of pandemic, they are the ones who will release the saviour vaccine and get everything moving again. So rather than rocking the boat and daring to express dissent at the DIABOLICAL handling of the last 18 months, they have mostly kept quiet and voted for the same endlessly failing, corrupt and venal politicians who made a bad situation far worse. (That said, it bears repeating that there are a few million in the UK who didn’t quite understand that that the spread of a highly contagious airborne virus can be slowed by the wearing of masks/applying basic hygiene and even took offence at being told what should have made sense to any adult homo SAPIENS half capable of cogitating for themselves. Morons and scum. Same where you are?

By the way BBC...the colossal dearth of stories about the endless government failures in relation to Covid, death, corruption and the NHS...ever since they blackmailed you with threats of revoking the TV licence fee and got you to change Directors has been noted. Long may Have I Got News For You continue the satire and balance needed in a DEMOCRACY. Obey your public servants? Why, when they do not serve few but themselves? Power OF the people? Which ones...the mob? The same bleating pricks who follow populists?

Four eyed beanpole fop Rees Mogg, with his wonderful line that the benefits of Brexit will be seen ‘over the next fifty years’...well yes, that is why most people vote in democratic elections eh?...So they will be dead or ancient before the change they hoped for comes...and the politicians who lead them now, will have all long moved on to revolving door chairman of the board offshore limited liability company paradise. Bread today jam tomorrow fairytales. What I tell you three times is true.

O, but the English do so love to be told what to do by dumb posh boys who treat them like dirt. Some are forelock tugging and some are self flagellating middle class upper class wannabes who will never get there but still feel proud they are not street level proles. Doby the house elf alien hamster Michael Gove found guilty of breaking the law. Nothing. Internal inquiries run by those connected to the money changing hands find nothing illegal. Corruption for all to see...and ignore. ‘Well, what can we do?’ The uselessly inept serial failure Dido Harding to be in charge of the National Health Service? (she of the collapsed Woolworths, Talk Talk and the 22 BILLION pound loss of the Covid Track and Trace program where non working consultants/insultants, were paid 1000 pounds a day). American style privatisation is coming where only the wealthy or criminal can afford to be repaired and well. Sick.

Meanwhile, All our imported nurses out, and all the lobster red fat Spanish costa de la sol criminals back in. Great exchange, fair trade and forward thinking. The Kremlin are manipulating/supporting Scottish independence... I read years ago about their base in Edinburgh for Russia Today (the foul insert in The Daily Telegraph) and they were already encouraging it. Rees Smug has accelerated and supported their freedom with his snobbish utterances on countries in the UK other than England and their ‘foreign languages’. With every patronising, arrogant pronouncement, the Eton trifles fuel the fire in Scotland which has a long bitter history of being tortured, murdered and subjugated by their southern masters. Perhaps the chumocracy in Downing Street believe the Celts to be as easily cowed as the middle and working classes down south. Here’s hoping not. ‘Rebellious Scots to crush’? Not this time pal.

As for the future of Britain? A dystopian open prison where the lower social classes toil only at the pleasure of their masters. The higher caste getting richer and all others cast into a living Hell of debt, crime, and sickness. Serve until you die and be thankful we allow you to exist. Increasing in utter irrelevance to the world, other than as an example of how wrong a former democracy can go. This future started decades ago...its baobab roots truly deep now. Better education and critical thinking for the masses in the UK (or anywhere else) is highly unlikely now. Optimism huh? As long as I am not in England, I will still be able to tap into it, but once enclosed long term in the group mind there...trapped in a grey quagmire. Keep smiling...

Several weeks ago, I watched a video on YT of apparently English protestors running after the police in London, some attacking and throwing things, one pulling off the pandemic mask of an officer and all shouting abuse at the outnumbered cops who had to keep pulling back. As always, to get my caffeine rush of fury going, I read the comments and was surprised to see two or three from Chinese names. Almost all comments were against the government (fair enough) and dumb against the lock down, masks, vaccinations etc. Checking again, I saw the video had been posted by CGTN...a media company owned and run by the communist party in Beijing...and not one author of diatribes had mentioned this, nor speculated with a critical thought as to why such an organisation might enjoy turning people against their own democratically elected government (however mind rippingly foul and corrupt they are).

I copy pasted the Wikipedia paragraph about the company onto the page and hoped someone else would make the connection. I wouldn’t mind so much IF there were a credible and decent alternative other than the diseased populist poison for which the demonstrating goons chant. China really cares about the standard of democracy in Britain eh? Persuade your enemies to weaken themselves. Destroying countries by encouraging their ‘patriots’.

(That was written on the anniversary of Tienanmen Square...a few days later Xi Jinping gave a speech saying ‘...a lovable and respectable’ China must be presented to the world and must ‘expand its circle of friends’. Tell that to your teenage ‘dissidents’, Muslims, Falun Gong and Tibetans being tortured and brainwashed in prisons or being used for organ harvesting. Tell it to Hong Kong and Taiwan.)

Unholy America...against abortion and the pill, sex education’s not Gods will and in the Name of Christ they kill...if truth be known, we’ve failed the test...but Jesus was a Socialist and Republican conservatives hate them. The founding fathers of America were Very clear about separation of church and state with damn good Reason. Another part time Christian, Mike Pompeo wants to be president. Q Onan deepstorm morons/Kremlin stool pigeons aka POLEZNYYE IDIOTY continue to push for Trump and his Big Lie...He with the brain where ‘In the left, nothing is right and in the right, nothing’s left.’ Arf.

Over the last two decades, the dumb have been finding their voice and are now louder and prouder of their dumbass ignorance. 74 million in the US alone, their egos unable to retreat in the face of endless evidence to the contrary, they all double down. Like children sticking their fingers in their grimy ears sing songing ‘la la la can’t hear you’. 74 million versions of Eric Cartman, loud, proud and wrong. And uuff, Megan Markle, Majorie Taylor Greene, walking Picasso collage (bad car driver) Caitlin Jenner and Ivana Trump in politics...not exactly holding a proud lantern for women eh? I’d like to buy them for what they are worth and sell them for what they think they are worth. Not very PC?

That was the point. Could easily been written about all of the men written about here too. Next examples follow...

Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones compete for who can be as mentally ill as trump. The Miami school where the husband and wife directors told teachers not to return if they had HAD their vaccine shots because their proximity to students was interfering with menstrual cycles and uuuufff...The sickness of utter mind buggering stupidity. I had my first shot, now waiting to turn reptilian when the 5G masts triangulate my position. Fnord. Covid appears to be killing more overweight meat eating males than females...perhaps testosterone is not useful for the coming Race of non binary mutant hermaphrodites...and look out for the end of the Y chromosome, coming to a temporary universe near you...in 4.6 million years. Yes, really.

Glad Netanyahu is out at last, smug corruption is never a good look unless one is a rich criminal. Ha. The Promised land of Israel...If I was in court for serial murder, breaking, entering and stealing and then defended my actions by saying that God had told me to do it, would the Judge; A. Call for a psychiatric report, B. Disregard the statement as unprovable and pass the appropriate sentence, C, say Ok mate, you’re free to go, good luck to you. ? Moses had a good schtick.

The law is only to punish the poor, do you feel as if you suffer from empathy? Once you know, you no longer need to believe. What does ‘reality’ seem to be? The more certain you are, the stupider you get and belief is the death of intelligence. The machine is running the engineers. What is the definition of rationality...the quality of being based on or in accordance with reason or logic.

Nothing is, but thinking makes it so. Epicurus.

EVERYTHING NOT COMPULSORY IS FORBIDDEN.

The glamour illusion of the mass of pointless hot influencers needs a constant renewing of the Banishing Ritual as much as all the pigslop bile coming from Fox News and Sky. Bloody long haired commie liberal faggot they cry against any not identical to them. Some days I have only flamethrowers of hatred for these idiots. Other days...not exactly self doubt, just questions...most of us seem to believe our opinions are more valid when there are emotions connected to them. Including me. Again, this seems like a very weak version of ‘truth’, unless disciplined, channeled and focused to a certain end.

Life appears to exist in order to become via chaos.

Most of us are working only not to be homeless, some because of the joy in our chosen work regardless of finances. Until ‘reality’ kicks in the door...the bondage gets tighter when you struggle. How much hardship is the individual willing to endure these days by choice? Surrounded by a universe of distraction and destruction, Maya mewling for our attention. Five years of Trump, rampant populism and Brexit doing a Hexagram 23 on democracy, compounded by the pandemic...all on top of ‘normal’ daily life. The ego feeds and the immune system breaks down. Hard to ignore without being on a mountain or in a parallel dimension and emotion free other than compassion. But BY GODDESS IT CAN AND WILL BE DONE. Ladies of Life Nin Khursag, Isis, Kali, Aradia...Love one, Love ALL. At very least have respect for thyself but be not thou proud of thine arrogance nor thy suffering.

Or just Remember where you came from, what you were, seem to be and will become.

Heal, heal, more work to do, more love to give, more love to feel, Heal. Stay in drugs, eat your school and don’t do vegetables. Impose your own reality upon and through yourself, breathe, exhale, repeat, and continue, LOVE UNDER WILL. Experience and absorb but ‘It’s a house of tricks, ignore the world’’.

Stay well, be seeing you:-)

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stiltonbasket · 4 years ago

Text

chancellor of the morning sun: misunderstanding (youth)

In which Nie Mingjue has something to hide, and Lan Xichen is confused.

For the past five years, Lan Xichen has spent each one of Nie Huaisang’s birthdays at the Unclean Realm, taking part in the day’s celebrations and doting a little more on her future baby brother than she usually does—because heaven knows A-Sang is one of the sweetest little boys in the world, but if she spoils him too much he clings to her and cries when she has to return to the Cloud Recesses, which always elicits a scolding from Mingjue-xiong and then more tears than Xichen’s heart can bear.

But even so, Nie Huaisang is always spoiled on birthdays, even if Lan Xichen isn’t the one doing it—and his brother spoils him more than everyone else does, which is why Lan Huan finds herself so taken aback when she arrives in Qinghe on the morning of Huaisang’s thirteenth birthday to find her intended conspicuously absent.

“Zongzhu was called away on an emergency night-hunt,” Nie Zonghui says, bowing low at the waist as Lan Xichen emerges from her carriage and ushers Wangji out ahead of her. “He told me to pass on his regrets at having missed you, Sect Heir Lan.”

The title is still so new that Lan Xichen smiles despite herself, returning the bow with one of her own while A-Zhan fidgets at her side. “Mingjue-xiong is always swift and thorough with his hunts, as are his companions. I wish I could have seen him, but I suppose it can’t be helped. Is he expected back tonight?”

“Um—no, Sect Heir Lan, he isn’t. He and young master Meng were caught unaware, without any of the others, so he sent word telling me not to await his return until tomorrow.”

“An emergency night-hunt alone? With only A-Yao?” Lan Xichen worries, barely conscious of A-Zhan tugging at her hand as Nie Huaisang comes running into the courtyard to throw his arms around her waist. “Nie-gongzi, why did he—”

“Da-jie!” Huaisang squeals, squeezing her so tightly that Wangji clears his throat and glares at him. “Did you bring birthday presents?”

“Huaisang!” Nie Zonghui scolds, prying him away and chasing him back inside. “You ought not to say such things, Mingjue-xiong would send back all the gifts he gave you if he heard—”

And Lan Xichen laughs and follows them into the stronghold, pushing her worries about Mingjue and the night-hunt to the back of her mind as A-Sang drags her from place to place until his birthday feast begins.

___

Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to the Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie

Mingjue-xiong,

When I was last in the Unclean Realm for A-Sang’s birthday, Zonghui told me that you and A-Yao were away on an emergency night-hunt, and that you dealt with the matter yourself instead of calling for your cultivators to join you. I hope it went all right, and I wish I could have seen you, since the last time we met was at New Year’s, but I left a package of your favorite buns with Huaisang for you to eat when you get back! There’s a bag of coconut pastries, too, though I don’t know if they’ll be as good as the red-bean buns. This was only my second time making them, and I couldn’t get Shufu to try them first because he doesn’t like peanuts.

Until Qixi,

Xichen.

___

The Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie to the Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan

Xichen,

You must stop bringing food whenever you visit, if you have any regard for your betrothed at all! The last batch of sweets you made at New Year’s was so delicious that I finished them all just two days after you left, and then I went out to the market in Tangshan and bought a whole boxful of buns in an attempt to find some that tasted like yours—but none of them were even half as good, even the ones from that confectioner’s shop in the second quarter you like so much. If you keep this up, I will be as round as the moon by the time we are married, and you shall have to roll me up to Lan-zongzhu’s tablet in the ancestral hall so we can make our wedding bows.

As for the buns you brought this time, Huaisang ate more than half of them before I came home, but the ones I did have propelled me straight up to the heavens and then brought me down again, so I could finish the rest. (Huaisang told me I had to write it that way, but they truly were divine, Xichen. My lips still taste of coconut, and the sweetness of the pastries made me thirsty, but I have not dared to drink any water since for fear of washing the taste away.) And the night-hunt went smoothly enough, though it was very sudden, and I was sorely disappointed when I knew I would not have the chance to see you even for a moment.

Faithfully yours,

Mingjue.

___

The Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to the Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie

Nie-er-gongzi,

Will Nie-zongzhu be present at the crowd-hunt in Changlun next week? My sister will be leading the Lan disciples, and she has been greatly looking forward to fighting alongside your brother ever since we heard that a delegation from Qinghe is expected to attend. Please reply as soon as you can, so that I may relay your answer to A-Jie.

Yours sincerely,

Lan Wangji.

___

The Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie to the Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan

Wangji-xiong!

Da-ge is nearly pulling his hair out at the thought of missing Xichen-jie again, but he has three trials to preside over that day, so he can’t go. Perhaps he and your sister will have better luck next time!

Your favorite future brother-in-law,

Nie Huaisang.

P. S.—What does Xichen-jie think of the new list of eligible young masters? Da-ge came second, since half the ladies on the voting panel are from either Qishan or Lanling, but I refuse to believe Wen Xu is any better-looking even if he did come first.

___

The Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to the Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie

Huaisang,

It does not matter what my sister might think of the list, since Nie-zongzhu ought not to have been on it at all. He is already spoken for, and it is the height of disrespect towards my A-Jie for the voting panel to put his name alongside Wen Xu’s as if he were unattached. And even if he were not betrothed, such lists are the height of foolishness and frivolity, and A-Jie would never look at them.

Your future classmate,

Lan Wangji.

___

The Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie to the Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan

Xichen,

Letters are a poor substitute for your presence, especially when Huaisang comes bringing news that you were looking forward to mine, and it grieves me endlessly that we have missed each other yet again. But as you said in your last missive, we will surely be together at the Qixi Festival at the end of summer, and then…

___

“He’s avoiding me,” Lan Wangji hears his sister say one night, after letting the latest note from Nie Mingjue slip down onto her desk. “I—I suppose I’ll stop writing about our future meetings, then.”

“What?” he demands, the blood already pounding in his veins at the sight of the sad, lost look on Lan Xichen’s face. “Nie-zongzhu’s avoiding you, Jie?”

“He went out alone during Huaisang’s birthday, but when the spring report for emergency night-hunts came to Shufu there was nothing marked for that date,” Lan Xichen says quietly. “And the hunt, when he said there were trials—there were, but it was only a case of some stolen grain, in one case, and a pair of delinquent kicking down marker stalls in the others. That isn’t something a sect leader usually tends to, is it? Mingjue-xiong has so much work to do, and he always leaves little matters like that to his council. Or to A-Yao, since he handles them all so well. And then two days ago, when we visited Lanling for Jin Ziyang’s formal naming ceremony...I know it isn’t the kind of thing someone of his rank must attend, since Jin Ziyang is Jin Zixuan’s second cousin, but he was invited, and still…”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have the slightest idea what might comfort his sister, or how to begin trying, so all he does is sit close to her side and help handle their own sect matters with her, until she shoos him away saying that growing boys of thirteen really ought to be in bed by eight o’clock, even if curfew isn’t until hai shi.

“Go on, A-Zhan. I’ll get the rest of it done within the hour, and then we can present it to Shufu together tomorrow.”

He protests, but A-Jie only presses a warm sweet bun into his hands (the same kind she always brings to Nie Mingjue whenever they visit the Unclean Realm, he thinks sourly) and sends him out the door with a tender kiss on his forehead, which makes him feel so much like a petted child that he falls asleep the moment his head hits his pillow with a crumb of sweet bean paste still clinging to his lips.

And in the morning, for want of anything better to do, he writes another letter to Qinghe.

___

The Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to the Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie

Nie Huaisang:

Your brother has injured my A-Jie’s feelings. She even sent me to bed early last night so that I would not see how badly she was hurt by Nie-zongzhu's insistence on not attending any of the events where she might be present. Tell him to atone for his unkindness at once, and ensure that he does so, or I shall never help you with your recitation again.

Regretfully yours,

Lan Wangji.

___

The Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie to the Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan

Xichen,

Earlier this month, I wrote to you about the clan—Pingzhou Cheng, you remember?—that gave us boxes and boxes of rare scrolls when we cleared out the haunting in the forest they owned, since the trouble was too much for the Cheng disciples to manage alone. I finally had a chance to look at the scrolls this morning, and I think they might be to your liking—so if you will forgive my brashness in asking such a thing so suddenly, may I come and visit you with them tomorrow? I will not remain a second longer than you want me, but if you should by chance find joy in my rough company, wild dogs could not drag me away, sect matters be hanged.

Devotedly yours,

Mingjue.

___

On the morning of Nie Mingjue’s arrival in the Cloud Recesses—for the first time in nearly a year, since he last flew to Gusu in response to a plea from Xichen to help settle their marriage on his terms, now that he is Sect Leader Nie instead of his late father—Lan Xichen rises from her bed feeling somewhat washed out, greyer than the oddly foggy sky outside the house she shares with her brother and uncle as she takes a cool bath and arrays herself in the clothes she wears whenever she argues with the council.

She puts on her father’s old silver crown (not the one he had during his six brief months as sect leader, but the one he wore as Lan-da-gongzi more than twenty years ago) and then a set of his worn silk robes, before donning one of her mother’s lace overgowns and dressing her hair in the fashion common to young men about to come of age. Xichen has never once worn the soft, sweeping hair-styles that most highborn women do, simply because Shufu always says that the less softness there is about you, Lan Huan, the safer you will be, and the world seems determined to prove him right over and over again.

But she was always soft with her Shufu, worrying over his meals and how late he went to bed even when he told her that Sect Heir Lan ought not to concern herself with such things, and of course she was soft with A-Zhan. Lan Xichen—still Lan Huan, back then—promised her dying mother to look after him, and Mother had asked her to be Zhan’er’s muqin when she no longer could.

Mingjue has that last in common with her, after all.

“Xichen!” she hears him call, as she drifts through another courtyard and finds herself in the rock garden in front of the lanshi. “Xichen, you’re here!”

Lan Xichen feels her lips turn up in a smile despite herself, and she nods once in his direction before marching over to his side. “Mingjue-xiong. It’s good to see you, I—”

And then she stops short in her tracks, because Nie Mingjue is not smiling at her in return. Or at least, she can’t see it, even if he is; the lower half of his face is wrapped in a grey satin cloth, so that all Xichen can see of him is his eyes and the bridge of his nose, and neither of those two features look as if they might be hiding any signs of happiness.

“Mingjue-xiong?” she ventures, as the apples of his cheeks turn pink. “What’s the matter with your face?”

There has to be something wrong, she thinks anxiously, nearly reaching out to touch the veil before taking a step backwards. It is still only just after midsummer, and even the Cloud Recesses are hot, these days: so Mingjue must be wearing the cloth to cover something, or…

“Don’t laugh,” he says meekly, looking down at his shoes. “I—I haven’t been avoiding you, Xichen! I promise, I..I really haven’t.”

Xichen blinks at him. “What?”

“Wangji wrote Huaisang yesterday, and—I haven’t left the Unclean Realm in weeks! I’ve been shut up in my room, and I haven’t let anyone visit, because—”

“Why?” she asks, horrified. “Are you ill, A-Jue?”

The endearment slips out of its own accord, as so many things tend to do when it comes to Nie Mingjue, and she feels her own ears burn crimson as he gasps in surprise. “No, I’m not,” he stammers, suddenly looking all of thirteen again, even if he is a sect leader now. “I—promise you won’t laugh?”

“No, never,” Lan Xichen vows, suddenly aware that her pale hand is clasped in his larger, suntanned one, and that the flush in Mingjue’s cheeks has crept all the way up to his forehead. “How could I ever laugh at you? Tell me what is troubling you, and I’ll help.”

Nie Mingjue’s free hand comes up to the veil, pulling it down just enough so Xichen can see his face.

She blinks again.

“I—there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong,” she soothes, wondering what exactly he wanted to show her. “What is it?”

“This!” Mingjue cries, pointing to the straggling new moustache growing on his upper lip. “I’ve been trying to grow a moustache for the last month, and it’s taking so long—I thought it would just need a week, but it grows so slowly, and I couldn’t let anyone see me like that—especially not you, A-Huan! Huaisang told me that it looked like a mouse’s tail, and Zonghui said it wasn’t doing my face any favors, so I was going to shave it, but I only started growing it in the first place because—”

“Because…?”

“New year’s day,” he mumbles, refusing to meet her eyes. “At the firework festival. Remember?”

And Lan Xichen nearly breaks her promise on the spot and bursts into laughter, because she does remember; the two of them were watching the new years’ fireworks together in Tangshan that winter with A-Zhan and Huaisang, and Huaisang had asked her what Shufu looked like without his moustache. He then proceeded to say that he was sure her uncle would look much better clean-shaven, whereupon Lan Xichen interrupted and declared that she thought moustaches were quite handsome on the right sort of faces, and then—

“I think Mingjue-xiong would look very nice with one,” she said. “He has the right kind of face, doesn’t he?”

“Oh!” Lan Xichen cries now, smiling from ear to ear. “You’ve been hiding in your room all month for this, Mingjue-xiong?”

“It’s stupid, I know,” he says wretchedly. “And it’s the ugliest moustache I’ve ever seen, so it was all for nothing in the end.”

“I think it’s a beautiful moustache,” Lan Xichen beams. “Will you keep it? Just until it grows, so you can see how nice it is?”

Nie Mingjue fumbles with the scrolls under his arm and drops them all onto the pebbled path, and when the two of them kneel down to pick them up together, Lan Xichen finally gives in to temptation and snorts until her intended starts laughing, too.

___

“A-Jue.”

“Mm? What is it, beloved?”

“Remember the time you hid in your bedroom for a month because you didn’t want me to see your moustache before it was done growing?”

Lan Jueying lifts her fluffy head from Lan Xichen’s chest and blinks curiously at her father. “Story, A-Niang?”

“It’s a very good story, A-Ying,” their elder daughter says from Lan Xichen’s other side, sticking her tongue out at Nie Mingjue as he groans and flops down onto the bed beside his little family. “A-Die didn’t have any hair on his face when he was little, but one day A-Niang said she thought he would look pretty with a moustache, and then…”

#nielan #the untamed #my fic #mo dao zu shi #nielan arranged marriage au #chancellor of the morning sun

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etraytin · 4 years ago

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Quarantine, Day 236-238

November 2-4 Well, it's been a hell of a few days but I have to write the journal entry sometime, I suppose. Monday night I went to bed super early and last night I was exhausted and heartsore, and today I've got a nervous stomachache that just won't quit, but if I'm journaling this year, this is going to be a pretty important inflection point. Monday was a day where not a lot happened, or not a lot I can remember at this point anyway. I made my butternut squash soup in the evening so I could take it to the precinct in the morning and put myself to bed at 10pm, several hours earlier than normal because I had to wake up at four. I didn't sleep great, but I used the Boring Books for Bedtime podcast to get me to sleep and I was able to get some rest. I also laid out my clothes ahead of time so I wouldn't have to wake my husband up at that hour just so I could get dressed. Tuesday morning I woke up, showered, dressed and packed up my bag for the precinct, all in less than an hour. I wound up cutting it a little close at the end, so when I got to the car and realized I'd forgotten my piping hot travel mug of pumpkin spice coffee with pumpkin spice creamer, I reluctantly went on without it. There was coffee from a machine at the precinct, but it definitely was not as good. But I did arrive on time, so that was good. There is a lot to do in the hour between 5am and 6am when the polls open.

My position this election was procedural specialist, which basically meant that whenever a situation cropped up that required a procedure, I was the one who went and did it. This was things like "voter with absentee ballot wants to trade it in for a regular ballot," "voter with absentee ballot does not have their ballot and will have to vote provisionally," "voter is not on the pollbook and is not 100% sure whether they are registered, but wants to vote provisionally just in case they are," "something about voter has changed, usually married name or address, and they need to fill out a new voter registration form while they are voting" and "voter has no ID/ voter wants to give us a hard time about ID and needs to fill out the confirmation of identity form before voting." There's a lot of stuff to remember, and I crammed pretty hard in the days before the election, as well as stuffing my manual with post-it flags for important topics.

During a busy election, being a procedural specialist could be pretty daunting, even overwhelming. Every unusual voter has to be handled carefully, to give their vote the best possible chance of being counted. Lucky for me, our precinct had very heavy early-voting representation. Out of 2200 registered voters, more than 1300 had voted early in person or gotten absentee ballots in the mail. We only had 398 voters all day long, which is primary-light turnout. It was a little funny because we'd staffed for a contentious and complex presidential election and had nearly double the usual staff load for an election, and all of us sat around almost all day. I wound up with only six provisional votes all day, plus four ID forms, four or five voter registration updates, and three absentee-for-regular ballot switches. Unfortunately situations seemed to crop up everytime I went to the bathroom for awhile in the morning, but I had a lot of downtime. We did have some extra staff positions that needed filled, so it was good we had some extra people. There was an outside team of four people, keeping an eye out for any trouble, handling curbside voting, and directing people to the correct door for voting or vote dropoff. We had one position for "drop box guard" because every precinct in Virginia was also an authorized drop-off location for absentee ballots on Election Day. The election board was quite concerned about the possibility that somebody might abscond with a whole damn ballot box, even though it's the size of a school-age child, so somebody had to sit next to it all day long despite the fact that we only got three dropoff ballots. And of course there were the sanitizers, people whose job was to follow every voter leaving a station and sanitize that station with disinfectant before the next voter arrived. Other than that, though, we had a lot of extra people and mainly used the day as an opportunity to train the newbies. I spent four hours in the afternoon not even working the pollbook, but watching other people work the pollbook to make sure nobody made any mistakes. It was incredibly boring. The last hour of the night, after the polls close, is even busier than the first hour of the morning. Everybody really wants to go home, and of course the registrar is chomping at the bit to get the vote totals, but everything has to be done exactly right or we all get in trouble. In Virginia, there are a dozen boxes and envelopes that need to be filled, accounted for, sealed and returned to the office at the end of the night. Each envelope needs specific paperwork, and each paper requires the right signatures. The actual used paper ballots go in their own box, marked on the top, sealed with tape, and then further sealed with three security labels signed by every officer of election. Normally with 12 officials this is not a big deal, but getting 22 names onto those labels this time was an exercise in writing very small. We were in good shape at the end of the night because we'd had no discrepancies and only one incident all day (Laptop 3 crapped out around 3pm, leaving us with two pollbooks for the rest of the day but it didn't matter because turnout was so light that we never had any lines), but it was still a lot of work. My particular job was to shepherd the provisional ballots and the provisional ballot log and make sure they got where they needed to go. I had to have a second officer of the opposing political party ("Hey, I need a Republican who isn't doing anything!") count the six ballots with me, affirm that there were six ballots on the voting log, and then sign and seal them into their envelope. After that I helped get documents into the correct envelopes and make sure that everything got sealed according to the extremely arcane rules. It was honestly the most exciting and fast paced part of the entire day, and we broke down and packed up the entire precinct in only ninety minutes. I went home exhausted to watch results, and of course it wasn't what we'd been hoping for. I can't believe so very many people are still totally ready for more of Trump's bullshit and incompetence. It honestly boggles my mind how such a hateful man gets so many otherwise reasonable people to vote for him. Even though I understood in principle the idea of a red mirage with early ballots being counted late, I was heartsick when I went to sleep and despite being exhausted, I slept very poorly. This morning the news was better, though not great. A close race means litigation, and of course Trump claimed victory overnight despite huge numbers of uncounted ballots. He is human garbage. Our Democratic congresswoman held her seat, and her opponent made a gracious concession speech that was actually eloquent and nice. It's bizarre how quickly something like that becomes an oddity. But most of the mail-in ballots were for Democrats, as predicted, and the outcome is better, though still far from certain. After all these failures of prediction, I'm afraid to believe in anything at this point. But maybe tonight I will at least get some sleep. Despite everything, life went on today. The kiddo had a day off for teacher workday because it's the end of the first quarter already. Jesus. I cleaned up the kitten room enough that my husband can now use it as the office it actually is supposed to be, so he worked in there today and I got my bedroom back. That was a high point of the day, definitely. I got my period, so that sucked, but at least I could lay in bed for awhile and not be on camera for a bunch of college students. In the morning I drove down and transported a cat to the recovery room for spaying tomorrow, which closed up another TNR site. We're picking away at our list, slow but sure, but it just keeps getting longer. There are so many cats! Later in the day, I noted that the kiddo had been using a lot of screen time and we had a discussion about whether he'd done the chores to actually earn those points. He cleaned out the dishwasher and went to clean his bathroom, and I was just about to start dinner when I heard the terrifying dual noises of running water and "MOM! THE TOILET IS FLOODING!" And it sure was, with gusto! I ripped the tank lid off and grabbed the float to stop the water running, and made the guys grab every towel in the house to get water off the floor before we gave the downstairs neighbors a bath. The flood lasted only about 30 seconds, but it put quite a bit of water on the floor. I was able to get the flapper back in place and determine nothing in the tank was actually broken, the flapper had just gotten stuck when the overflow began and it had cascaded from there. But what had caused the backup? There was no waste in the water, one small blessing, just lots and lots of disintegrating toilet paper bits. The kiddo admitted that he'd had an inspiration while cleaning the toilet. There was a lot of gunk under the rim, he had explained, and he thought that if he could get the water high enough in the bowl, it would wash away the gunk with no need to scrub. So he'd taken a bunch of toilet paper and shoved it in the toilet to block it up, gotten the bowl nice and full, and then immediately realized he'd created a situation he couldn't stop. (He seemed to have been planning to use the plunger to remove the blockage, not realizing quite how much toilet paper he was using.) He was extremely contrite about the whole thing and promised to run future brilliant cleaning ideas past a parent for review. The clog proved highly resistant to plunging, and after an hour I was almost ready to throw in the towel and call maintenance to snake the damn thing. As a last ditch effort, I completely emptied the bowl, then filled it with a bucket of the hottest water I could coax from the bathtub, and used that to plunge. It worked, and the toilet finally flushed. Whew. And then I had to make supper! I put together a nice meatloaf and preheated the oven, only for smoke to come pouring out of the damn thing. See, yesterday while I was working the polls, my husband cooked something, chili I think, in the oven, and realized that the pot he was using was much too full. He put a pan under it, but apparently the pot was much-much too full, because it overran that and the pan and got all over the oven and set off the smoke alarm. He'd wiped out the oven, but I think he missed the broiler and that's why it smoked right up again. At this point I just sighed and started looking for microwave meatloaf recipes. I did find one, and though it was not as good as oven meatloaf, it was edible, and I was really very done with household tasks for the day. Now it is getting late and I'm beat, but the nerves won't go away. It is so hard to be in the same position as four years ago, disappointed in your country, terrified to hope for anything, but clinging to the possibility that things will be okay. It hurt so badly before, even worse than now I think, because it was so shocking. I guess it's like the first time your home gets ruined by a flood versus the second time, both times your house is ruined, but the second time at least you weren't surprised that something like this could happen. I wish I knew how to get off this flood plain. On the other hand, my Tumblr post of kittens has really taken off and has over a thousand notes. Apparently I was not the only one in need of high-octane cuteness to give my brain a few seconds of peace and happiness. I'm going to try and get some sleep now, here's hoping for better dreams and better tomorrow. Please, please, please.

#quarantine #election 2020 #voting #toilet #long post

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janeofcakes · 4 years ago

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KYFC..: Chapter 21 (Johnlock meets roller derby and gets off)

Hahahahaha!!! I couldn’t help adding a little silliness to the title of this, the last chapter. I want to thank all of you for your support and dedication, for going on this wonderful, mad journey with me into an AU I feel has been sadly neglected by Johnlockers. It has true potential, as I think we all see. This has been a joy, a true joy and I am so humbled and touched that all of you came along with me from beginning to end. I have to say I’m sorry to see this John and Sherlock go. I have grown to really like them, and the precious friendship between Sherlock and Molly. I think you’ll be seeing more of that from me in the future. Hopefully, I’ll be able to mix it up a bit so it doesn’t seem the same from one story to the next. Haha. Anyway, this is all stuff I should say at the end of the chapter. I’m getting ahead of myself, so I will stop and let you enjoy this last chapter.

---

Never knew I could feel like this. Like I’ve never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss. Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you until the end of time. -- Nicole Kidman & Ewan McGregor, Come What May

Ten days have passed since Greg pulled John from the waters of Lake Erie. Their lives, and the whole of roller derby in Detroit and their division, were thrown into utter chaos that evening and things haven’t settled down one bit. The loss of a coach, and especially under these circumstances, does not sit well with the league board. The Demons’ season is immediately suspended and the team’s remaining bouts all forfeited. Every member of the team and staff is to be questioned in the coming days to determine level of involvement in the conspiracy.

The police have their own investigation as well and, oddly enough, the two entities have cooperated quite well with one another. Moriarty, Moran, Sarah Sawyer and Janine are all behind bars awaiting trial on a number of charges. Janine confessed first, her conscience getting the best of her. She laid out the plan as it began and explained how it changed over time. They had poisoned Dr. Wiggins and planted Anderson within Rock City, but Anderson had been an idiot. His attraction to Sally Donovan and subsequent removal from the position proved to be his undoing. John would not have been alone in Lake Erie, had the plan to murder him been successful.

After hearing of Janine’s confession, and accepting a deal that lessened the extent of the charges against her, Sarah confirmed all Janine had said. She also revealed more details and pointed the finger at five Demon skaters, one of which had poisoned Molly with a hidden needle in her wrist guard, just as Sherlock thought. They were all arrested and confessed, three of the five had been coerced into helping. Sarah even agreed to take police to the spot where Anderson was dropped into the lake.

Sherlock, John and Greg have not been able to rest since returning to the Metropark marina. Between additional police interviews and statements, and flying to DC on more than one occasion to be interviewed by the Board, they have had time for little else. Select others have been interviewed as well: Molly, Harry and other skaters who were injured, Dr. Wiggins and Mrs. Hudson, many of the Rock City staffers. To his credit, Sherlock has kept the Rollers on their winning streak throughout all of it. Just as John had said, they voted unanimously to refuse any resignation Sherlock might try to submit. Mrs. Hudson agreed wholeheartedly, scolded Sherlock for even considering it, and planted a motherly kiss on his cheek. He had rolled his eyes and grumbled, but John could tell how much it meant to him.

***

Exhausted, Sherlock stumbles into his condo and drops the duffle on his shoulder. The laptop bag on his other shoulder goes down more gingerly. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it by the door, noticing that John’s coat is no longer on the peg next to his. Of course. He had expected John would have moved out before his return. If he is honest, he thought John would be back at his own place within two days of Moriarty’s arrest, but he did not leave. Neither has he slept in Sherlock’s room. Granted, there has been a lot of traveling in the last ten days and not much time at home. Both he and John had to go to DC twice to appear in front of the Board, and they had also gone to St. Louis, Chicago and Memphis for bouts. Naturally, Moriarty’s plan had to blow up at the busiest traveling time in the season and Sherlock has no idea how long the Board’s investigation will last. At least they work their interviews around Rock City’s schedule. Just barely though. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, will see the team on a plane for Charlotte and then Raleigh. To top it all off, Sherlock had been summoned to DC a third time two days ago, leaving practices in the capable hands of Molly and Sally.

Sherlock cracks his neck and debates upon checking in with them before trying to get some sleep. Packing his things for the morning and getting a shower before turning in would also be good. He sighs, his mind still lingering on something else. John is gone. He must be. It’s not like Sherlock will never see him again. He is still the team doctor. It just feels that way. An invisible finite end to it all. The same way his condo feels empty without that coat on the hook. He resists the urge to go into the spare bedroom and wallow in the scent John has left behind, but only just. Part of him wants to sleep in that bed tonight. A very big part.

Sherlock trudges into the kitchen, pops a flavor cup and mug into the coffee maker and turns it on. He rests his hands on the counter on either side of it and stares at it blankly as if it holds all the answers to the universe and everything. He had not wanted John to leave, but what was he to say? The danger has passed and they have only known one another a few months and yet… Sherlock huffs a mirthless laugh and scrubs his hands over his face. How could he ever expect John to stay? It’s absurd. How could Sherlock even ask him? How can he tell John he wants to spend his whole life with him and that they were always meant to be together when they are so new to all of this? God, he’s an idiot. None of it makes any sense in his head and yet, it makes perfect sense to him. It isn’t going to if he tries to say it out loud to John though. He shakes his head sorrowfully with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m such an idiot,” Sherlock covers his face with his hands as his shoulders slump and he bows his head in defeat.

“I’m not saying I disagree,” a familiar voice says from the direction of the kitchen door, “but what specifically makes you an idiot this time?”

Sherlock’s head snaps up and he stands ramrod straight, looking into the crystal blue eyes of his wayward doctor. As if to punctuate his surprise, the coffee maker pings cheerfully to signal its cup is ready. John laughs softly and walks into the room, a white grocery bag hanging from his left hand. His eyes still on the startled coach, John sidles up to the counter and sets the bag next to the coffee maker.

“I thought you’d be gone,” Sherlock says in utter befuddlement.

“I was,” John smiles brightly. “I went to the market.”

“That’s not..” Sherlock’s expression finally returns to normal as his brain works through the shock. He narrows his eyes and looks at John wryly. “I thought you would have moved out by now. Obvious.”

“Oh, right,” John takes a short step back, suddenly much less sure of himself. Sherlock is screaming inside.

What the fuck are you doing, you idiot!

“I didn’t think… I should have done straight away, of course,” John stumbles over the words, losing his sure footing. “I got comfortable, I guess.”

“Right,” the word springs from Sherlock’s lips. He cannot seem to put together coherent thoughts or words and keeps saying the stupidest things possible. In the meantime. Every word he utters is sure to push John away. God, he really is an idiot.

“Right,” John parrots, his upper lip disappearing beneath the lower one.

An awkward silence hangs in the air between them as Sherlock struggles for words, wanting to physically kick himself. His mind feels like it is running overtime and he still cannot put what he wants to say to John into words. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out and he just furrows his brow instead. John nods ever so slightly and reaches for the grocery bag on the counter.

“I’ll just put these away, shall I?” Without waiting for an answer, John shuffles to a cupboard and places a box of his favorite tea bags inside. Then he moves to the refrigerator and puts a carton of milk and a few apples. The doctor loves the fruit, but will only eat it if it is cold. Sherlock tilts his head and cannot stop himself from silently marveling at how well he has come to know John’s idiosyncrasies in such a short time. John knows his too and they only seem to have made him more fond of Sherlock.

“I’ll be in my room,” John’s voice pulls him back from his reverie. “I’ll just pack. You’re right, I should have gone already. I mean, it’s all over, isn’t it?”

John disappears around the corner and Sherlock’s tense body immediately goes slack. He face palms with one hand and props himself up on the counter with the other.

Jesus Christ. Idiot. Idiot!

Sherlock turns toward the counter, pulls the coffee mug from the appliance and takes a sip. Frustration seeps from every pore. He resolutely does not want John to leave. Ever. Yet here he is more or less throwing him out. For whatever reason, John has not gone and does not seem to have any interest in doing so. Sherlock is not sure why, so he takes another sip and examines the evidence. John is definitely in love with him, but does he know it? Unclear. Although John was quite affectionate as they sailed back to Metropark, they have had no real physical contact or tender moments since they stepped off Greg’s boat. That would seem to indicate a desire to leave Sherlock’s condo or at least keep his distance if he stays. Maybe the doctor wants to be roommates like in those absurd sitcoms on NBC.

What the hell are you doing? Talk to him.

Sherlock sighs and sips the coffee again. He lets his eyes slip closed as the warm liquid slides down his throat, soothing and spreading comfort through his weary body. His chest feels noticeably warmer as the liquid passes through to settle in his stomach. He has eaten nothing but airline food, which is usually deplorable, since lunchtime and suddenly John’s homemade chili sounds absolutely delicious. Sherlock nearly moans at the thought and he tries not to visualize the two of them making the chili, cuddling on the couch, reading to one another or watching one of those awful spy movies John likes. Sherlock does not succeed in this endeavor. Not even a little. He sighs again and takes another sip of coffee, telling himself that the warmth spreading through him now is just from the hot liquid.

“The thing is,” John’s voice sounds loud in the quiet room. Sherlock’s grey eyes pop open to see him standing just inside the door. John’s body is tense, every muscle tight as ripcord. “I don’t want to go.”

Sherlock lowers the mug from his lips, his gaze locked on John. The doctor takes a hesitant step and swallows hard.

“I’d like to stay,” John eyes him with uncertainty, searching for a hint of approval. “I want to stay.”

“Of course,” Sherlock splutters, recovering his wits. He is nodding a little too quickly. “You may stay as long as you like. I can arrange to have your things moved, if you like.”

“I don’t want to move into the spare bedroom,” John says without preamble.

“Oh?” Sherlock’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. Then his brows rise to the curls hanging down from his hairline, realization dawning. “Oh.”

The room is quiet. The two men stare at one another. Sherlock cannot believe, cannot allow himself to think John is saying what Sherlock so wants him to be saying. He must be misinterpreting the words. John must mean something else. Could he really be that brave? Sherlock looks at the doctor, lips parted and eyes wide. John could mean nothing else.

“Sherlock, we need to talk,” John says without looking away, though Sherlock can tell he would like to. “I’ve been meaning to, wanting to, but with all the traveling and confusion… I let it get away from me.”

“Erm,” Sherlock feels off balance. His mind that is always rapidly winding its way through thoughts, strategies and plans grinds to a halt. John wants to move into Sherlock’s room. With Sherlock. Has John figured it out? Sherlock dares not hope. He opens his mouth and remains silent, his vocal chords seemingly unable to vibrate and his mind struggling to turn its gears again. He swallows, trying to revive his dry throat. ”I...don’t know what to say.”

Oh, god. You idiot. Tell him you love the idea. Tell him you love him.

“Why don’t you let me do the talking?” John inches into the room. His hands are clenched at his sides, his movements stilted and anxious. He straightens his fingers and clenches them again, this time glancing at the floor for a split second. When he looks back at Sherlock, his eyes are resolute with a decision made.

“I… I haven’t done or said anything before now because I didn’t want you to think it was out of gratitude or some sense of obligation for saving my life,” John begins, his face open and sincere. “It’s nothing like that. I mean, I’m glad you found me, and brought Greg, and had such a brilliant bloody plan.”

“It was an awful plan,” Sherlock interjects in a clipped tone, placing his coffee mug on the counter and gesturing with one hand. “It was all I could think of under the circumstances.”

“Maybe, but it worked,” John insists.

“Moriarty is unpredictable, John,” Sherlock chides, shaking his head doubtfully. “There were so many variables.”

“Sherlock,” John warns.

“Any one of them could have changed everything,” the mad coach continues.

“They didn’t,” John interrupts, crossing the space between them and stepping right up into Sherlock’s personal space. He takes Sherlock’s hands in his own and Sherlock goes quiet in surprise. John’s hands are so warm and soft, the pads of his thumbs pressing into Sherlock’s palms gently. A small crackling sensation starts low in his belly and he cannot take his eyes off John. “I’m very glad you took the chance. You and Greg, but that’s not why I want to move in for good.”

“For good?” Sherlock leans back a bit to study John. He wrinkles his brow and watches as John’s expression melts into that of a man looking at something utterly adorable, like a puppy. Sherlock is not adorable. He makes a mental note to speak with John about it later. He will not interrupt this moment. John gives his hands a squeeze and answers Sherlock’s mumbled question:

“Yeah, if you’ll have me.”

Without much thought, Sherlock cocks a sharp brow that says it all. John laughs.

“I know, I know,” John chuckles, but sobers quickly. “I just don’t want to take anything for granted.”

He bites his bottom lip and looks down at their joined hands. John moves his thumbs over the soft, pale skin and raises his sparkling eyes to Sherlock’s, conveying a depth of emotion that Sherlock can feel in his very soul.

“I decided so many things about myself long ago and just assumed they would never change, and they didn’t,” John shakes his head ever so slightly, “until I met you. It all changed. I don’t know when it started, but I can think of a dozen times right before all this happened when I should have known. I haven’t said because I really don’t want you to think it’s because you saved me like you did. It’s so much more important than that. You have to understand.”

The final few sentences he says in earnest, squeezing Sherlock’s hands as he does so. The coach searches his eyes and face. He knows exactly what John is talking about, but he has to hear him say it. It won’t feel real if John doesn’t say it out loud. Sherlock’s heart skips a beat and his eyes widen a fraction. Sherlock tries not to break into a foolish grin, but the corners of his mouth are already turning up of their own volition.

“What, John?” he asks with the spark of excitement in his voice. “What’s changed?”

“You have to understand,” John repeats and begins explaining with a shrug. He releases Sherlock’s hands in favor of putting one on his own hip and ruffling the hair on the nape of his neck with the other. As John speaks, he lifts Sherlock’s mug without thinking and takes a drink before placing it back on the counter. Never does he take his eyes off Sherlock. It is like he believes them under a spell that will break if they look away from one another. “I liked everyone I dated and was certainly attracted to them. I just didn’t...feel this way about them. I didn’t love them. I didn’t think I could love anyone.”

John pauses to wet his lips. Sherlock, still fighting an excited grin, nearly loses his composure at John’s expression. It lies somewhere between an earnest plea that Sherlock understand him and utter terror that he will.

“You’re different, Sherlock. You’re so different,” John says insistently. “You mean so much to me. You mean everything. I… I love you, Sherlock. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to figure it out. I’m just such an idiot. I can reason through a million different things in seconds, but not that. Not my own feelings for you, or I couldn’t, but now… Now I know. I love you.”

As soon as the words are out, all of the tension visibly drains from John’s body like water through a sieve. Looking relieved, he regards Sherlock with soft eyes and a crooked smile. Sherlock feels the grin he has tried so valiantly to hide, curl his lips as he marvels at John. Instead of being nervous or frazzled by the confession he just made, John seems more relaxed than Sherlock has seen in a long time. He deduces that all the uncertainty of having feelings for Sherlock but not knowing what they were had been a heavy burden on John’s shoulders. Knowing it himself and now having it out in the open, has made John positively giddy and Sherlock loves him for it.

“John,” his deep voice catches and he feels a pricking in the corners of his eyes. John places his hands on Sherlock’s forearms as if to hold them both steady.

“I love you, Sherlock,” John repeats emphatically, his voice bubbling with excited energy. “I want to be with you and never leave your side or your flat or the team. I want to be yours.”

He stops abruptly in much the same way Sherlock has while making such declarations and it warms Sherlock’s heart. The very words themselves had flown from John’s lips with such speed that they clearly got the better of him and he said far more than intended. Of course, Sherlock doesn’t mind at all and John seems to have picked up on it because the fear that was in his eyes has gone, replaced by affection and elation.

“If you’ll have me, of course,” John completes the thought with a cheeky wink.

Sherlock lets himself grin from ear to ear, but only for a moment before fixing John with a haughty gaze and pulling his arms free of John’s grasp.

“Really, John, you are an idiot,” he says sharply. “For someone who is so ‘bloody brilliant’ you are incredibly stupid. You should have arrived at this conclusion as soon as you moved in.”

“Oh, yeah?” John huffs a laugh and reaches for the man’s hips. “And what makes you think that?”

“I don’t think, John. I know,” Sherlock stares him down with a glare that has no heat and lets himself be pulled closer. He keeps his arms crossed over his chest and looks down at John imperiously. “All the necessary data was there, but like Mrs. Hudson, you see…”

“But do not observe?” John asks him with a knowing smirk and nudges at Sherlock’s arms, but they remain steadfast.

“Of course in your case, you didn’t even see it,” Sherlock adds in mock consideration. “You just barreled on, ignoring it entirely. Very shortsighted for a person of your intelligence.”

“All right, all right,” John laughs fondly and pulls the lanky coach close. Their hips press together and Sherlock encircles John with his long arms, grinning down at him. John matches it, but then quickly tries for serious again. He does not pull it off in any sense and looks so adorable trying that Sherlock’s heart gives a squeeze.

“So,” John begins, still trying to chase away the smile from his own face, “do you think you can manage living with my egregious lapses in judgment? I know it’ll be difficult to cope. Should I pack my things?”

“Hmm,” Sherlock hums, tilting his head and pretending to consider John carefully. “I’ll muddle through. No sense in turning you out. I’m sure you can be taught.”

John huffs a laugh as he snakes a hand up Sherlock’s chest to cup the taller man’s cheek.

“I count myself lucky for that,” he says as he closes the gap for a chaste kiss. Sherlock feels every nerve tingle like electricity racing through his body. God, how he has longed for this moment. To kiss John with all his love, all his emotion and have John feel it for him in return. It is heaven on earth.

Sherlock chases John’s mouth when he starts to pull away and flicks his tongue quickly over John’s lips when he catches them. John hums in approval and raises his other hand to hold both sides of Sherlock’s face. The man imitates the posture and peppers John’s lips with kisses before settling into a long, wet one. Filled with promise, Sherlock teases John’s mouth open and their tongues slide together.

John deepens the kiss, his left hand now buried in Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock licks inside, eager to taste and claim. They have done this before, but now John is truly his and it is like the first time. It is delicious. There are no doubts or questions between them. John knows he loves Sherlock. He said it. Out loud. Sherlock’s body feels so light and every nerve tingles with the press of a thousand needles. It should be unpleasant, really, like when an appendage falls asleep, but it is exhilarating and Sherlock welcomes it. It makes it all real. Sherlock is not going to wake up the way he has dozens of times before. This is really happening.

Their kisses growing heated now, Sherlock’s hands skim down John’s spine. He squirms under the feather-light touch, a ticklish spot to tuck away for the future. Sherlock’s palms come to rest on John’s ass, his fingers giving the right cheek a light pinch. John smiles against Sherlock’s lips.

“You like my ass,” he chuckles and nips.

“Damn right I do,” Sherlock replies in a husky tone and gives John’s lower lip a suck.

“That’s all right,” John growls, his eyes growing dark. “I like yours too.”

He slides his hands around Sherlock’s back and spreads his fingers over both luscious cheeks. He gives them a squeeze. He has not yet had the pleasure or the opportunity to property address his fascination with Sherlock’s luxurious backside and the lanky coach is more than happy to let him indulge. Sherlock most certainly wants a chance at John’s body too. Mmmm, what John said is true. He is no Greek god, but he is far from ordinary. He is beautiful and his physique is perfectly glorious in Sherlock’s eyes. He wants to touch it and kiss it, all of it. He wants to worship every inch of it.

“Oh god, I wanna sink my teeth into it,” John nearly moans, smearing a messy kiss over Sherlock’s lips as he kneads his lovely ass. Sherlock kisses back just as hot and wet. John says something else, but Sherlock is lost in his own mind with visions of John’s naked form spread out before him. He drinks in all the skin he can touch and suck and kiss. A full body shudder overtakes him when he thinks about letting a stray finger slip between John buttocks...or his tongue.

Sherlock’s vision snaps back into focus and his body goes stiff. Every part of his body, and John is seconds away from realizing it. He panics for a moment, wondering if he should pull away before it is too late. John may have confessed his love, but he did not specify the rate at which things would move forward. It is true that they had sex in Baltimore, but Sherlock does not want to assume…

“Stop thinking,” John mutters, pulling Sherlock close and looking into his eyes. “I can hear you thinking.”

John grins as he holds the coach steady while he presses a passionate kiss to his full lips. Sherlock melts into it, his mind and body turning to jelly. Well, not all of his body. A quiet noise of surprise escapes John’s lips when Sherlock’s burgeoning erection presses into his hip. A jolt of exhilaration and lust rushes through them, renewing the heat of their kisses. It is maddening and fucking spectacular all at once. God, they can’t move fast enough.

John begins nudging this way and that until he is a few steps from Sherlock’s bedroom. He kicks the door open wide when they reach it. The kisses don’t stop as they move. Nothing stops. Their hands are grasping and clutching and holding close until Sherlock fists his fingers in John’s sweater and pulls it over his head. John drops his arms again as soon as the article of clothing is free of them. He holds the nape of Sherlock’s neck with one of them as he licks into the man’s mouth. Sherlock returns it just as fervently, their tongues sliding together, tracing teeth and lips. Sherlock holds either side of John’s waist with an iron grip. He wants to hold even tighter and never let go, to always be at the side of this amazing man. The pad of a finger strays onto a narrow patch of skin left exposed by a t-shirt that rucks up from John’s jeans. Unable to resist, Sherlock grabs at the hem of the tee with both hands and pulls the soft fabric up to John’s chest. The doctor breaks free from the kisses to look at Sherlock with blown pupils full of desire. They are still for a moment, looking into one another’s burning eyes, blinking slowly and taking in every detail.

His gaze not straying from Sherlock’s thin grey irises, John slowly raises his arms over his head. Sherlock wets his lips and lifts the shirt just as slowly over John’s head and arms and hands and drops it to the floor. Then he traces down John’s arms with unhurried fingertips, watching the blue of his eyes grow smaller and smaller until only a sliver remains. His fingers continue to trace over the muscles of John’s chest and stomach before he doubles back to rest his palms on John’s pectorals. John lowers his own arms in a fluid motion, fingers skimming down his back and places his hands on either side of Sherlock’s slim waist. He shuffles back again and bumps into Sherlock’s tall bed.

“What the hell?” John snickers, trying to look back at it. “The mattress is as tall as a table. Perfect for sitting on?”

Sherlock does not have an answer for John’s joke, so he shrugs and lets out a quiet laugh without breaking eye contact.

“Seriously, why the hell is it so high?” John continues in a jocular tone. “Something to do with your mile-long legs?”

“There are drawers under it,” Sherlock shrugs again after a moment, leaning in to place a soft kiss on John’s throat before straightening his neck to look at John. “I need the storage space.”

The doctor bursts out laughing, closing his eyes and gently swatting at the coach with his left hand. When he opens them again, it is to see a very indignant Sherlock staring back and John tries to hide his grin. He fails, of course, his face is so bright and merry it could light the sky. His conductor of light.

“What?” Sherlock asks, affronted. “I keep extra skates and gear in them.”

“No, no. Of course you do. It makes perfect sense,” John looks at him fondly, a wide smile stretching his lips. “God, I love you.”

He kisses Sherlock once softly and then lowers himself to sit on the bed. John reaches for him and slowly opens the buttons of his shirt, one by one, never taking his eyes off Sherlock’s. When John reaches the last one above the waistband of his bespoke charcoal trousers, he pushes the fabric open to reveal Sherlock’s pale chest and stomach. John leans in to lick a stripe over the left nipple while gently pinching the right. Sherlock moans and keens at the light touch of his rather unexpected ministrations. Jesus, it’s amazing. He cards his fingers through John’s short, blonde hair and throws his head back when John bites gently at his nipple.

“Oh god, John,” Sherlock gasps. “Don’t stop.”

John chuckles low and gravelly as he continues and it’s all Sherlock can do to keep his toes from curling in his shoes. When John does stop, he looks into Sherlock’s eyes and pulls at his body gently, gesturing backward toward the headboard. Sherlock’s lips curl into a half smile and he nods minutely. John shifts back as Sherlock leans forward and places his hands on the bed on either side of John. He raises a knee and plants it on John’s left side, the other on the right side and he crawls up and onto his doctor. With a sensuous smile on his lips and half-lidded eyes, John rests his back on the soft mattress and Sherlock works his way up the man’s body, straddling his hips. He kisses along John’s jawline and licks the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue. John squirms under his touch. Another ticklish spot to store away in his mind palace. Exploring John’s body is becoming very interesting to say the least.

Sherlock moves to John’s neck and collar bones, licking his way from one side to the other. He licks into the suprasternal notch and then rests his head against John’s chest. The smooth skin is soft on his cheek and he inhales deeply. Sherlock has never felt more comfortable or more at ease with anyone in his life. It is mind boggling and absolutely perfect. He raises his head to rest his chin on John’s chest and meets his eyes.

“How did you come to me?” Sherlock whispers, shaking his head slightly. “I was certain I would never love again.”

He tilts his head and looks at John with a thoughtful expression. The doctor gazes back and brushes the curls from Sherlock’s forehead with gentle fingers.

“After Victor,” Sherlock sighs heavily, a note of sorrow creeping into his tone, “I vowed to never give my heart to anyone again. Then I walked into Greg’s office and there you were. My stomach flipped just at the sight of you.”

“What? You’re not serious,” John huffs an incredulous laugh. “No, you’re having me on. You avoided me for days. Weeks. I was convinced you didn’t like me at all.”

“I did like you, John, and that is precisely why I avoided you,” Sherlock replies almost accusingly. “I was trying to keep my distance and stay out of trouble.”

“Yeah, well, a valiant effort,” John chuckles with a knowing glint in his eye. He brushes that errant curl away from Sherlock’s forehead again. “Didn’t work though, did it?”

“No,” Sherlock says simply.

“And that’s… good?”John hesitates, suddenly unsure of Sherlock’s meaning. Unacceptable.

“Very good,” Sherlock lowers his voice an octave and fixes John with a searing gaze that both disarms the doctor and convinces him that Sherlock’s answer is true.

John’s shoulders, in fact his whole body, relaxes into the mattress and he smiles up at Sherlock. He hides nothing, his face is completely open. Sherlock studies him a moment, just to make sure everything is right, because he has to know and he can’t stop himself. He can see in John’s eyes that he knows what Sherlock is doing and he nods, every so slightly, his approval.

Sherlock reads him in an instant and sees love so deep, it could hold the ocean and still not fill up, and John knows. He knows what he feels and that Sherlock loves him back, and he is not frightened in the least. Sherlock leans more heavily into the muscles and flesh of John’s chest again, suddenly overwhelmed by his deductions. He takes a deep, grounding breath and focuses on nothing in particular over John’s left shoulder. His nerves must show because John cups his face gently and strokes his thumb over a cheekbone.

“It’s okay,” John whispers into the space between them. “There is no time table here. We do things at our own pace. I won’t push. I know what I said...about wanting to stay, but if it’s too fast… I’ll go back to my place, if you want.”

“You most certainly will not,” Sherlock announces in a petulant and forbidding tone with an expression to match. He lifts himself to prop on his elbows and glares down at John.

“Okay, okay,” John laughs. “I get it. You want me to...stay.”

The last word comes out slowly as John traces Sherlock’s cheekbone with great care, gentle affection on his face. Sherlock flashes a small, but brilliant smile and lowers his head to catch John’s lips with his own. The kiss is unhurried, not at all like the ones they shared before, but it is no less passionate. Love radiates from one man to the other like heat and both have a heady feeling when they part.

“This is your bed now,” Sherlock breathes and god, he can’t wait to spend a whole night in it with John. Tonight and every night after, and each one will feel like the first time all over again. He can see it in his mind palace. The two of them tucked under the blankets, resting their heads on one another, talking and kissing and touching.

“Our bed,” John’s soft voice pulls Sherlock from his reverie just as it was becoming interesting. He looks into John’s eyes and sees a promise meant only for him. A warm feeling moves slowly through his body, beginning where John’s thumb still touches his cheekbone. It is like the point of light in Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. It has brought Sherlock out of the darkness and back to life.

Sherlock covers John’s hand with his own and tilts his head into the touch. He is calm, serene, and it is a new feeling for him. Sherlock typically has a thousand things rolling around in his head and that constant state of motion, fluid though it is, comes with a certain degree of tension. That is when it hits him: His mind is clear. Not blank, not at all. Everything is still there in the great room of his mind palace, the room that acts as the meeting point for all of his thoughts, but it’s...clear...and quiet. Every thought is neatly stored and no one item, or group of items, screams for his attention. He is free. His mind is free. Free to focus on John, only John.

John.

Sherlock turns his head into John’s hand as he holds it close and presses a gentle kiss to his palm. He blinks once slowly and does not move a muscle. Neither does John as he stares back into steady grey eyes. They gaze at one another for an untold amount of time. Sherlock spends a great deal of it soaking in the many shades of blue in John’s eyes and naming them. Some are obvious: cerulean, oxford, cobalt, Persian, sapphire, and pale blue. Some he has never seen before and names himself: captain blue, sea salt, Hamish. Sherlock chuckles softly at the humor of the last one and John tilts his head curiously.

“What?” John asks with an answering grin and then jokes. “Something on my nose?”

“No,” Sherlock laughs again, “nothing like that. It’s just...you. I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe I’m letting myself do this again. I know, I know.”

He shifts an arm to put a finger on John’s lips when he makes to object. Sherlock fixes him with a serious eye, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

“I shouldn’t compare you to him, or this relationship to that one, but it’s so hard,” Sherlock sighs and slides off of John’s body. Lying on his side flush against John, Sherlock props up on one elbow and rests his head on his hand, leaving his other hand to stroke John’s chest in smooth patterns. “I collect data, John. You’ve seen me do it. I’ve done it to you. It’s in my nature to compare and contrast that data.”

“Sherlock, that’s okay. That’s you,” John folds an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, to hold him gently to his naked torso. The skin exposed by Sherlock’s open shirt touches John’s and it is delicious, hot and smooth. “If you have done it to me then you know I am nothing like Victor, and could never be.”

Sherlock opens his mouth, but John holds up a finger this time and gives him a very serious look, brows raised like an actor who has messed up his line and is trying to keep everyone else from laughing so they can continue filming.

“No, no, okay?” John says by way of keeping Sherlock quiet. There is a short pause between them as they both look into one another’s eyes. “You say you compare and contrast it. I think you’ll see more differences than similarities in me and our relationship, and it’ll work in our favor. Hopefully.”

He adds the last word with some hesitation and an awkward smile. Sherlock rests his hand on John’s head, stroking through his short hair. He wears a fond expression, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Absolutely,” Sherlock tells him with assurance. “You bear no resemblance whatsoever. It’s just…”

He stops, paused in time. He cannot tear his eyes from John’s deep blue gaze. So honest and open, and also concerned. His forehead is wrinkled and his brows are still raised as he waits for Sherlock to find the words.

“I vowed I would never love again. I’ve spent years blocking out romantic love and emotion. I had a plan for my life,” he explains in earnest, “and then you happened.”

They are both silent. The words hang in the air around them and John’s expression is unreadable. Or is it? John almost looks nervous, but surely that can’t be. Sherlock is the one confessing his fears. Well, not fears...his past. Everything he decided long ago when he was still hurt and bleeding, when he thought love would only bring him pain. That was all changed the moment he met John and now Sherlock looks ahead to their future together with a hope and excitement he thought he would never have. He just can’t seem to find the words to say it. Sherlock wrinkles his own brow in frustration.

“And that’s... good?” John’s voice rises more than normal at the question and Sherlock frowns. None of this is working. He is trying to explain himself and is only making things worse. He must find the words to put John’s concerns, concerns he stirred up in the first place, to rest.

“Very good. Fantastic,” Sherlock says quickly. Too quickly and he still sees the doubt in John’s eyes. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

He tilts his head in his hand and rests the other on John’s chest again as he looks him in the eye. His breath catches as he tries to continue. He can feel the beat of John’s heart beneath his palm, strong and sure. It’s steadiness keeps this man alive and Sherlock with him.

“I felt something for you immediately,” the words tumble from Sherlock’s lips and he is not even sure where they are coming from because his mind feels blissfully empty, save John. ”That’s no secret. I tried to resist, but it was a hopeless endeavor, and then it filled me and my soul. After that it became a battle with myself to not express my feelings.”

“Not express them?” John looks at Sherlock straight on, confusion plain on his face. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me? Why hide it like that?”

“I didn’t want to frighten you off,” Sherlock shrugs, looking at him meaningfully. “You were determined you couldn’t love anyone and it was all so new between us. I knew you would run if I announced that I loved you, if for no other reason than to keep me from being hurt.”

John’s brows lower with his narrowing eyes. His lips press into a thin line with down-turned ends. Sherlock can see his warring thoughts in the lines on his face. John used to be so guarded and Sherlock could seldom deduce him after that first day, but more recently, since Baltimore, John has let Sherlock see and know more. Now is no exception as John debates between denying Sherlock’s assertion or agreeing with it.

John opens his mouth to protest. His eyes are sharp and his brow knitted in disapproval. He inhales, readying to speak the denial on his lips, and then his expression softens. He lets his shoulders sink back into the mattress as the tension in his muscles loosens.

“Fuck,” John mutters, looking down at Sherlock’s hand still resting on his chest. “You’re probably right,” he looks up to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “I probably would have.”

The corners of John’s mouth curl up slightly, but his eyes look pained and regretful. It is a sad smile he wears and Sherlock wants to kiss it away. He slides his hand down to touch John’s arm almost shyly and John’s face brightens. He blinks slowly, just once, his blue gaze on Sherlock. John’s smile grows as he brushes that same wayward curl off of Sherlock’s forehead and looks at him fondly.

“For the record, when you did say it, it was good. Brilliant. I couldn’t believe my luck,” John beams, even as Sherlock gives him a haughty shake of his head.

“You didn’t believe me,” he retorts, swatting John’s bicep.

“Can you blame me?” John asks in a defensive tone. “We’d only just met and...and you’re you.”

“What?” Sherlock wrinkles his nose. “What are you talking about?”

“And I’m me,” John continues without acknowledging the question.

“John Watson,” Sherlock stops him in a commanding tone, “are you implying that I am ‘out of your league’?”

“Well,” John swallows and pulls back a bit for a better look at Sherlock, hesitant and pensive. “Yeah, actually.”

Sherlock huffs.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” he straightens his long neck to gaze down at John imperiously. “That is utter nonsense. What on earth would lead you to that conclusion?”

“Oh, come on,” John snarks. “You’re beautiful.”

“And you are a golden-skinned surfer with a brilliant mind,” the coach quips. “Honestly, John, you do not do yourself justice.”

“All right, maybe,” John remarks hastily, shifting his body restlessly. “What I meant to say is that once you did tell me how you felt, I didn’t know what to say, but I was glad you told me. I did feel lucky and happy. However confused I was about my own feelings, it made me feel…”

John hesitates and glances away from Sherlock’s face to pale chest, biting his lower lip and second guessing himself. Sherlock gives his arm a squeeze of reassurance to let John know that he can always speak his mind without worry. John sighs deeply, still not raising his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” John finally looks at him with soulful eyes. “It made me feel...well, warm. And safe and...free somehow. That’s the exact opposite of how I’ve felt in literally every other relationship I’ve been in. I knew it was something different, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around what it was.”

“I knew you loved me,” Sherlock confesses and then adds. “Before you told me.”

“What?” John’s gaze is on him now, unwavering. He wears a critical frown and his face is scrunched up in a way that usually precedes grumpiness. God, why did Sherlock even say that?

“But I had no way of knowing whether or not you would realize it,” the words pop from his mouth before he can stop them. John’s frown deepens. What the hell is Sherlock doing? Is forcing an argument really the best way to spend their first night in their bed?

“Wait, what?” John asks again, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“And then Moriarty took you.” Jesus Christ, is there no way to stop this outpouring of idiocy? What is wrong with him? Sherlock fidgets in John’s arms, pulling away and thinking about how quickly he can dash into the bathroom.

“Sherlock, stop. Stop,” John curls his arm tighter around Sherlock’s shoulders and lays a hand on his bicep, both regain his attention and keep him from running. They meet eyes once again and Sherlock notices that John’s are soft and searching, not at all like the growing annoyance he expected to see. “You knew I loved you, but didn’t think I would figure it out? You didn’t think I’d return your feelings?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answers honestly. No point in denying anything now. John lets out a quick breath, almost like sigh but with a sound of dismay to it.

“And you were just going to resign yourself to that?” his tone is light, as though tip-toeing around a subject that would make Sherlock suddenly realize what a fool he had been to pin his hopes on John. As if anything could ward him away from this man.

“I wasn’t resigning myself to anything,” Sherlock snaps defensively. “You had expressed your interest and clearly cared for me. It was only a matter of your own self-realization.”

“Right,” John replies unconvinced.

Sherlock gives a frustrated sigh and resolutely ignores the doctor’s skepticism as he trails a hand down John’s sleek chest to his belly, coming to rest on his belt buckle. John shivers, but does not lower his eyes or even glance away from Sherlock’s.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” Sherlock announces with certainty. “You did realize it.”

John is still staring and silent.

“Problem?” the taller man asks, beginning to wonder how they got on this subject and wishing they hadn’t if John is going to look at him like that.

“What? No. No, I guess not,” John replies almost absently. He has the distinct appearance of someone trying to organize a great many thoughts. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to settle.”

“Settle?” Sherlock repeats in an incredulous tone.

“Yeah,” John confirms. “For the likes of me.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Sherlock says dismissively, sitting up in the bed.

“I’m serious,” John sits up and turns his body to face him fully, bending his legs and tucking one under the other. “If I had never pulled my head out of my ass… Sherlock, why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry, John, I am,” Sherlock tries to stifle his mirth, but still giggles in between every other word. “The very idea that being with you is ‘settling’ is such nonsense.”

John’s frown grows as he watches Sherlock continue to laugh at his expense. The taller man shakes his head and places a hand on John’s naked chest. The skin is warm to his cool fingers and palm, and his heart flutters behind his ribs. His laughter finally fades and the eyes he casts upon John have a solemnity they had not before.

“You are the kindest, bravest and wisest man I have ever known. To see that as settling for anything is preposterous. I would stay by your side with a smile on my face until the world ends,” Sherlock cuts off his voice with the snap of his mouth closing, but not quickly enough.

Jesus Christ, he really is an idiot. That sounded like nothing less than a marriage proposal or at the very least, ‘I’m fully committed to you. Let’s stay together forever’. For god’s sake, he just told John he didn’t want to drive him away. So the next natural step is to, of course, bring up the desire for a life-long relationship.

Fuck.

Sherlock closes his eyes slowly as the full magnitude of his stupidity washes over him. He wants to jump off the bed, lock himself into the nearest room master bath, and disappear into his mind palace for at least a month. Frankly, he is surprised John hasn’t beaten him to it. Seems like the appropriate response for what he just blurted. That’s when Sherlock realizes that John has not moved. Not an inch. In fact, there is a gentle pressure on Sherlock’s knee like John is actually touching him instead of fleeing. It is warm and welcoming, and exudes no hesitance or awkwardness.

Armed with that knowledge, and curious as hell, Sherlock opens his eyes to see John still sitting before him. He wears a small and somewhat disbelieving, but pleased smile. The hand on Sherlock’s knee gives a little squeeze that actually tickles. He suppresses the urge to jerk away or move at all, wanting to hide the ticklish spot from John. He has observed a few such areas on John’s body and wants to keep the upper hand. Unfortunately, his efforts seem to be in vain because John’s expression does nothing less than advertise the fact that he knows exactly what he has just found. Aside from that, John’s face is difficult to interpret.

“John,” Sherlock begins abruptly, set upon laughing this off or explaining it away.

“Really?” John interrupts in a quiet tone that brims with anticipation and...hope?

Sherlock frowns and fixes John with a probing gaze, presenting the polar opposite of what is going on in his mind. His mind palace has just run completely off the rails with joy. He would be leaping through the air as ticker tape fell from above if he didn’t feel the need to maintain a cool and collected exterior until he can suss this out. Sherlock takes a moment to consider John’s demeanor, posture and this one word he has uttered. He cannot believe what is found:

Against all odds, John is pleased, pleased by Sherlock’s verbal diarrhea.

Sherlock blinks once, twice, a third time. His body is entirely still. He cannot believe his ears and must be dreaming. This conversation cannot be real, but it is. Energy and electricity pulse through Sherlock’s body with frightening speed as excitement fills his veins and threatens to burst from their thin walls. He wants nothing more than to throw his arms open wide and shout to the heavens that John Watson wants to spend his entire life with him, Sherlock Holmes, but he must remain calm and rational now. He doesn’t want to overwhelm John and has to pace himself.

“Yes,” Sherlock answers honestly, his eyes widening as he does. That is not at all what he had planned to say. Paralyzed, his surprise so complete he cannot even berate himself for this slip-up. He simply watches John with trepidation and regret. God, why didn’t he just lie? He could have said any number of things, the least of which was ‘Hell, yeah, I meant it’.

Sherlock is about to close his eyes a second time, but does not. Instead, they widen further as the corners of John’s mouth turn up into a big and very genuine smile. John’s thumb slides smoothly back and forth over Sherlock’s knee, and light dances in his blue eyes.

“Me too,” John says in a voice so sincere that the words jet straight into Sherlock’s soul and his heart swells with a kind of joy he could never conceive of without this man. He has found it. His perfect puzzle piece, as his mother used to say. Molly calls it the other half of his heart. His lobster. Wait, what? Goddamn those absurd NBC sitcoms for entering his psyche!

Whatever the label, he and John were meant to be.

Without another thought, Sherlock’s hand raises to touch John’s cheek deftly. He nearly jerks with the jolt of electricity that whizzes through his body anew and nearly snatches his hand back at the shock of it. He silently marvels at it. Its surprise and pleasure, its comfort. How can just one touch mean so much? Sherlock almost laughs at himself. He is handling John more carefully than anything in his life and apparently, John finds it just as amusing.

“I won’t break,” the doctor chuckles quietly. His hand on Sherlock’s knee is warmer than ever now. The flesh beneath his trousers simmers at the touch of it. Sherlock huffs a breath.

“I know. It’s just…” he wets his lips. Every inch of Sherlock’s body tingles with anticipation and desire, but he holds his hand steady. He sighs, damn near frustration. “God, I want to touch you. I want all of you.”

“I want that too,” John gazes deeply into those grey eyes and leans forward to graze his lips over Sherlock’s, eliciting a gasp from the coach. “So come and get me.”

He slides his hand up Sherlock’s long thigh, stopping dangerously close to his groin. Sherlock gasps again as his body tingles and tenses. John’s lips quirk up and he slides his hand up over Sherlock’s belt to the skin exposed by his open shirt. He sighs when he rests his fingertips against Sherlock’s belly and an undisguised shiver runs through John’s body.

“John,” the name comes out in a quiet rush of breath. Sherlock’s hand lifts of its own volition and cradles John’s cheek. The doctor leans into the touch, his sparkling eyes speaking to Sherlock as clearly as any words could.

Yes.

The fingers of both hands are dancing up Sherlock’s torso now. Palms that push the shirt open further come to rest on his chest and John’s eyes glide up the remainder of the way, drinking in his long pale neck and sharp cheekbones until John meets Sherlock’s eyes with an adoring gaze. The coach’s lips part as he feels the gravity of it and oh, how he wants. He wants to touch John and feel his body pressing back. He absolutely cannot wait another minute.

Sherlock leans forward, letting his eyes close just before his lips press against John’s. Another gentle kiss and he pulls back to look at his lover again. John looks amazing and wrecked and hungry, so hungry. His gaze darts down to Sherlock’s mouth and back up. His palms burning hot on Sherlock’s pectorals, pressed over peaked nipples. It feels exquisite. God, it feels perfect.

Sherlock swoops back in, this time with his mouth open and his tongue licking along John’s lips. The doctor parts them and the wet heat of their mouths coalesce, sharing the same breath. Their tongues slide together and Sherlock tilts John’s head with his hands on either side of John’s face to deepen the kiss. John’s fingertips dig into the skin of Sherlock’s chest, his fingers instinctively curling to grab a fistful of shirt where it has already been pushed aside. He knows just how the doctor feels. He wants to be closer, deeper, stronger. He wants to touch every inch of John’s body with his own. He wants to be on top of him again, inside him.

Surging forward, Sherlock pushes John onto his back with force, their lips never parting. John’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing the shirt off of them. Sherlock releases the doctor’s face long enough to tear the sleeves from his own arms and throw the shirt to the floor. His hands are instantly back on John’s body, holding him while they kiss and lick and suck at one another’s lips and tongues. Sherlock breaks away to mouth down John’s neck, lick, nibble and suck along his collarbones.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John moans. His hands stroke the man’s back, gliding up his neck and tangling in his curls. “God, yes. Yes.”

Sherlock takes a nipple between his lips and sucks. He flicks with the tip of his tongue and smiles around his ministrations as John writhes beneath him.

“Shit,” John curses breathlessly while Sherlock moves to the other nipple. His hands rove over his lover’s body as he thrusts up to meet it. “Fuck. Come here. Come here now.”

His hands cup Sherlock’s face and pull him up gently, but firmly to crash their lips together again. For god knows how long, they both give and take in turn, caressing and lavishing attention on one another. Sherlock yelps when John heaves his body unexpectedly and rolls them over so his legs astride the man’s hips. His hands are in between their bodies, scrabbling at Sherlock’s belt and trousers. The coach reaches down to help, but focuses on John’s zipper instead. They each scramble to get their own trousers off, John rolling off of Sherlock to divest himself of every stitch of clothing on his body.

When they meet again, they are on their sides and kissing with passion, a frenzy of emotion each can feel down to his core. Their arms are wrapped around each other, groins rubbing frantically. Both moan at the friction and buck their hips, desperate for more. Climax is ever-present, getting closer, so close, and then Sherlock stops. He pulls away to catch his breath and looks at John with his cheeks flushed pink and lips kiss swollen. Beautiful.

“What?” John gasps, his brow already wrinkled with worry. He swallows and pants, searching Sherlock’s eyes. “What is it? Is it too much? I can slow down. We can go slow if you need to, if you need some time.”

“No,” Sherlock blurts between gasps. “I don’t want slow.”

Sherlock presses his lips together and then parts them, taking a little time to regain control of his rapid breathing. John does the same, still watching him with concern. Finally, Sherlock bites his lip and places a hand on John’s naked hip. The skin is on fire and Sherlock nearly moans at the heat of it.

“I want you,” he begins tentatively. “All of you and god, I can have you. I want...I want to be inside you.”

Sherlock finishes in a rush as if he has to sneak the words past John so he will agree before he realizes what has been said. Sherlock has never felt more nervous in all his life. No championship has ever come close to this, and he is beginning to think he has fucked everything up because John is just staring at him, agog. He isn’t even blinking. Shit. Shit. Sherlock cringes at his own presumption and stupidity. John had mentioned this before - there’s no fucking way Sherlock could forget - but he had turned him down. Sherlock had wanted it. Of course, he did, but he had wanted John to know he loved Sherlock before they took that step, even if it meant they would never take it. Now has he ruined things by bringing it up without ever explaining himself first?

An apology on his tongue, Sherlock opens his mouth, but John speaks before he can say a word and the doctor’s words render him mute with shock.

“You would want to do that?” John’s voice is quiet and startled. “Before, you said no. I thought...you didn’t want that… with me.”

“No. No, no, no,” Sherlock cups John’s face in his hands. His voice is urgent, but soft. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel that. I just...wanted you to know you loved me before we…” he sighs deeply and allows himself this vulnerability. “It’s important to me. I don’t just take men to bed.”

“I know. I know, and I do,” John breathes and cracks a small smile. “I love you, Sherlock. God, I love you so much.”

Sherlock grins brightly at those words, his whole face shining, and he leans in to kiss his doctor. It is only a tender brush of lips, but it starts an incredible feeling of anticipation that spreads throughout his body in seconds. When the kiss ends, Sherlock exhales a shaky breath and rests his forehead against John’s for a moment before pulling back to see his face.

“So now the question is do you want that, John?” he asks breathlessly, nervously. He looks unflinchingly into John’s eyes and hides nothing. All of his thoughts and feelings are laid bare, exposed for John to see. His needs and desires and, above all, his love for John so deeply rooted in his soul he can no longer remember his life without it. He watches John as he sees it all and melts.

“Oh god,” John whispers in a quick gasp. “Yes. God, yes.”

That is all Sherlock needs. He dives in and kisses John to within an inch of his life. Then he trails kisses and lips and licks down John’s torso, pushing him onto his back as he goes. His lover strokes his shoulders and tangles fingers in his curls, all the while moaning soft curses and encouragement. Sherlock wiggles in between John’s legs, spreading them wide as he works his way down John’s body.

“Jesus. Oh, god,” John sighs, letting his head fall back only to jerk it up again when Sherlock licks a stripe down his shaft, tip to root, and then does not stop. “Fuck! Sherlock! What..ooohhhhh...are you doing?!”

Sherlock’s only answer is cupping John’s balls and licking across his hole. John’s whole body shudders in surprise and profound pleasure, even as he squirms to stop him.

“Sherlock,” John gasps frantically, “you don’t have to.”

Warmth that starts low in Sherlock’s belly radiates out into every corner of his body. It is a sense of arousal he can barely believe or contain. Every nerve, every damn molecule is alive with the sensation and the desire to take John apart piece by piece.

“Do I look like I have reservations?” he asks quietly and more articulately than he expected. He looks up at John from under long, dark lashes, his face still a hair’s breadth from John’s ass.

“Oh, fuck,” John’s pupils swallow the color in his eyes and his breath stutters.

“I want all of you, John,” Sherlock repeats. “I want this. Please.”

“Oh, god. Yes. Yes,” John answers desperately. “I want it too. I want you, love you so much. You’re perfect. You’re…”

The words die in John’s throat as Sherlock spreads his cheeks to lick at first and then thrust his tongue in, licking a circle around the tight heat. John cries out and squirms, helpless to desire and pleasure. Sherlock continues thrusting in and out, licking and mouthing. He takes turns with his mouth and lubed fingers as he works John open. All the while John writhes and curses and tugs lightly at Sherlock’s curls.

When he is satisfied with his work, Sherlock buries his tongue one last time and wiggles it before thrusting once more. His intention is a final gesture that opens the door to more, but it proves to be too much for the doctor and John’s body suddenly jerks beneath him. Uncontrollable spasms rack John’s body and he is cursing loudly, his head thrown back. John is coming hard, his penis straining against its own skin and completely untouched. Sherlock feels a tinge of regret at that, but knows there will be more opportunities to explore. Instead, he kisses John’s thighs and uses his fingers to ride it out, brushing John’s prostate with a feather-soft touch and John comes again with a sudden spurt onto his own belly.

“Fuck!” he shouts, gasping for breath and clenching his fists in the sheets. He rasps on breathlessly as the orgasm ebbs. “Oh, fuck. God. Fuck. Sherlock.”

John pants heavy and deep as he opens his eyes to look at Sherlock. He swallows hard around great gulps of air and wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before reaching for the lanky coach.

“Goddamn, Sherlock,” John’s voice is hoarse and cracking under the weight of his rapid breaths. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock, get inside me. I want you now. I want your cock.”

Obliging instantly and nearly bursting, Sherlock lines them up and pushes in slowly, sending a moan from both their lips. Thank god they’re both clean, he has no patience for a condom right now. Fighting his own body and most of his mind, he carefully pulls out a bit and slowly pushes back in. He does not want to hurt John by being too enthusiastic, though he quickly sees that he needn’t have worried. John’s body is more than ready and apparently, so is John. The doctor grabs Sherlock’s hips with both hands and thrust hard, tearing a loud cry of ecstasy from Sherlock’s lips. With stars already in his vision, he meets John’s blown eyes and is greeted with lust and desperation.

“Ride me,” John demands. “Take me. Take me hard.”

With those words, Sherlock loses all control. He knows he isn’t going to last long after all of John’s cries and spectacular release, so he works quickly. He thrusts into John hard again and again, stopping suddenly with his tip against John’s prostate and a curse on John’s lips.

“Fuck! Fucking yes. Yes!” John’s hands are gripping Sherlock’s hips, his body tense and slick with sweat and meeting his thrusts perfectly.

Sherlock loses all sense of space and time, always hitting that spot with each new thrust. John’s arms fly up, his fingers clutching and scratching at Sherlock’s shoulders and arms, anywhere he can gain purchase. Before long, Sherlock slows his pace, knowing it is coming soon. A hot, spiraling surge of pleasure coils in his belly and every bit of him tenses deliciously as he chases his release. Its rings burst apart in an explosion of heat and wet and rapture, and Sherlock is completely taken apart by the force of it. He shouts and thrusts and twitches, joy and sensation swallowing him whole and drawing him down deep into a part of his mind palace he has never seen before, some of it being built right before his eyes. He had already made a whole wing for John, but this is different. This is their space. Every detail designed for the two of them, to hold every feeling they experience together and hold every memory they make. The first to find quarters in this new place is John’s face, as well as Sherlock’s, the moment he said ‘I love you. Sherlock, I love you’.

Those are the words Sherlock hears when he opens his eyes. He is lying on his back on the soft warmth of his bed. John is hunched over him, looking into his eyes with undisguised concern. Sherlock blinks a few times in confusion, trying to get his bearings and decipher what has happened. He must have lost himself too completely in his mind palace and toppled over onto John, who then rolled him onto his back.

“John?” Sherlock croaks, his throat rough and dry.

“Sherlock, thank god,” John’s voice is full of equal parts worry and relief as he touches Sherlock’s damp brow and cheeks. “Your pulse is too fast. Just breathe. Slowly now. Try to slow it down.”

Obeying the doctor without question, Sherlock concentrates and breathes measurably until his body resumes its normal rhythm. John presses two fingers to his neck and counts out his pulse. Happy with his findings, he lets out a long sigh and smiles.

“There we are. Just too carried away for a minute there,” he brushes a curl from Sherlock’s forehead. “Nothing to worry about.”

Sherlock’s heart skips a beat at the soft affection of the touch and he smiles up at his lover. He starts to sit up, reaching for John as he goes, but John stops him with a firm hand on each bicep.

“Wait, wait,” he pushes him down and then laughs at the petulant frown on Sherlock’s face. “We need to get cleaned up, that’s all. Don’t get stroppy, all right?”

He hops off the bed, grabbing a random sock off the floor and holding it to his own belly to keep the mess covering his torso from smearing or dripping as he hurries to the master bath. Sherlock hears water running as he looks down at himself. His groin is slick with lube and saliva and semen. The sight of it gives him the most ridiculous sense of satisfaction and contentment. He inhales deeply and lets it out slowly while stretching his whole body luxuriously like a cat lying in the warm light of the sun.

“Here’s a flannel,” John says upon his return, offering Sherlock a damp washcloth. He takes it, a blank look on his face. John adds with a crooked smile. “To wash off.”

“I know what it’s for,” Sherlock snaps irritably, more so than he intended. He softens his tone again to continue. “But what did you call it?”

“A flannel,” John replies simply. “What do you call it?”

“A washcloth. Obvious. That’s what it is,” Sherlock supplies with a grin and stifled giggle. John narrows his eyes and swats Sherlock’s leg playfully.

“Just clean up, you tosser.”

“Tosser? Oh, that’s a new one,” Sherlock teases, rolling toward the doctor. “Tell me what that one means.”

He reaches out quickly to grab John’s wrist and pull him back into bed, but the man is too quick, just dodging his outstretched fingers. After a couple of jogged steps, John slows to a walk and heads for the bathroom again, still completely naked. Sherlock’s lips curl up as he watches that ass tip from side to side with the natural swing of John’s hips. He also can’t miss the fact that John’s left hand is behind his back, middle finger raised in a rude gesture for Sherlock to see. The coach laughs as John turns in the doorway to look at him.

“Piss off,” John remarks with no venom. His grin lights the room and Sherlock feels like he is home, but like no other he has ever known. Wherever this man is, is home and Sherlock never wants to be anywhere else again.

“I’m going to shower,” John informs him, assuming a business-like tone. Sherlock watches him slyly, knowing he is putting it on. “If you can stop all the teasing, you can join me.”

“Why should I stop? I rather enjoy it,” Sherlock gives him a cheeky grin and eyes John with approval. Not giving him a chance to answer the question, Sherlock raises the washcloth to punctuate his next question. “Why bother with this if you’re going to shower?”

“So you aren’t such a sticky mess when I snog you senseless,” John chooses to answer only the last question. He turns away and gives a swish of his ass as he looks over his shoulder. “Coming?”

Sherlock is frozen for a moment after John disappears into the other room. His eyes are wide and mouth hanging open, in spite of himself. His life is forever changed by the beautiful, wonderful man in his bathroom. Their bathroom. Sherlock looks at the washcloth in his hand, down at himself and then back to the doorway that once held John. A smile spreads across his face as he muses at how this could even be possible. Only a few months ago, things were so different. He was happy, but now… His lobster.

Sherlock springs into motion with the sound of water bursting from the shower head. He quickly wipes himself up as best he can in a rush and runs for the open door, steam already drifting out from within. He wraps his arms around John’s waist soundly as soon as he enters and presses a kiss to one firm shoulder blade. John is under the spray with his eyes closed, arms raised and hands skimming over his wet hair. He smiles fondly, wipes the water from his eyes and face, and lowers his hands to rest upon the taller man’s. Sherlock props his chin on John’s shoulder.

“Hello, beautiful,” John says, tilting his head down to look at their joined hands.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispers, his lips millimeters from John’s ear. He tightens his hold and kisses John’s neck gently.

***

An hour later and they are both settling into bed again. John is on his back with Sherlock just lying down next to him. He folds his arm around the taller man as Sherlock rests his cheek on John’s bare shoulder. Both elected to put on boxer briefs rather than pajamas and John revels in pure delight at the decision. Although, part of him wonders why they put anything on at all. Clearly something to be rectified in the future. In the meantime, Sherlock’s bare legs tangle with his and the warm, naked chest pressed up against his body is heavenly. With a sigh, John rests his hand on the man’s pale skin, inclining his head to touch it to his lover’s crown. The soft, dark curls tickle his cheek as he rests it against them. His fingers move up from the small of Sherlock’s back to the nape of his neck to play with those gorgeous curls, fingertips twisting in the damp rings and freeing tiny droplets.

John opens his mouth to speak, but a wave of realization crashes over him instead. His lover. His lover. His. This is his flat now. The one he shares with Sherlock. Well, as soon as he moves things out of his current flat and into this one. He and Sherlock will be together now. Forever. That’s what Sherlock wants and the more John thinks about it, the more he wants it too. To be by Sherlock’s side. To talk to him and touch him and share a bed with him. To be with him always. Christ, it’s amazing. Life with Sherlock. In this world, in this flat. The two of them against the world. It nearly takes his breath away. He must have moved or gasped or something at the thought because Sherlock tilts his face toward John’s and looks at him with curious eyes.

“All right?” he asks in a deep voice, a sexy purr to John’s ears. A blissful grin spreads across John’s face as that delightful warm feeling pools low in his belly again.

“Yeah,” John answers, smoothing down the curls he twisted into tight ringlets. “I’m good. Perfect, in fact.”

“That is a gross exaggeration,” Sherlock laughs, his body shaking with it. John chuckles with him and shoves at his shoulder.

“It feels perfect then,” John corrects himself. “Is that better?”

“Mm, yes, but still highly subjective,” the taller man teases. “I would expect a man of science to be more methodical and draw conclusions based upon serious analysis.”

“How do you know I haven’t?” John asks, mimicking Sherlock’s haughtiness. He knows for a fact that Sherlock knows exactly what he is doing, but he does not let on. Instead, he simply watches John with narrowed eyes, his mouth curled smugly. “You don’t spend every hour of every day and night with me.”

“I will now,” Sherlock’s lips grow into the grin of a cheshire cat. A gleam flashes in his eyes. “Especially at night.”

John leans down and catches his mouth in a rather insistent kiss. He wants to tell Sherlock so much, everything that is in his heart. He pours it all into this kiss, wanting and willing Sherlock to understand, to see it all without John saying a single word. He knows he cannot get away with that and doesn’t really want to. He has to say it, wants to say it again and again for the rest of his life. All of his days with Sherlock, and nights, as Sherlock reminded him.

John shivers and brings the kiss to an end. Looking into Sherlock’s grey eyes, John sees that understanding. Sherlock knows all and sees all. He’s too damn clever for his own good and John absolutely adores him for it.

“I’m counting on it,” John says quietly. His hand drifts along Sherlock’s collarbone to his long neck. He dances his fingertips up the pale skin to jawline and chin, resting his palm over an angular cheek as he speaks. “D’you know this is our first night in our bed?”

“The thought had occurred, yes,” Sherlock gives a decisive nod. “We have already christened it in the physical sense, and now the emotional,” he looks at John with a knowing expression. “Sentiment.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” John wriggles down a little so his face is closer to Sherlock’s. “Billy mentioned you’re no good with that.”

“Did he?” Sherlock smiles ruefully. “He is not wrong. Although, I would like to think I’ve made some progress on that front.”

“You have,” John replies in a measured tone, but wearing a wide grin on his face.

“Under the appropriate tutelage, of course,” Sherlock continues, nonreactive to John’s jest.

“And you found a true expert to teach you too,” John adds cheekily. “A master of the craft.”

Sherlock snorts at that and John immediately joins in, both unable to hold it in any longer.

“At least I finally got my shit together,” John remarks when the sound of their giggles dies down.

“Indeed,” Sherlock chuckles, resting his palm on John’s chest and lifting his head to look him in the eye, “and I am deeply grateful.”

“Sherlock,” John says with a sudden seriousness that surprises even him. He sees it reflected back in the coach’s expression and rushes to speak before Sherlock’s big brain can start conjuring doubts. “I was stupid. I made myself so blind I couldn’t see what was right in front of me, but I do now.”

He pauses to wet his lips and gathers his courage for what he wants to say next. He expects it to be difficult and then he realizes that it isn’t hard at all. Saying this, declaring his feelings, feels like the most natural thing he has ever done. Everything is with Sherlock.

“I love you, Sherlock and I’m going to spend my whole life telling you and showing you just how much. It all starts here in this bed, in this flat, right now,” John tells him sincerely, covering those long fingers on his chest with his own. “I love you and I want to tell everyone. I want to shout it from the goddamn rooftops.”

They both laugh again for a moment. Still wearing a soft smile, John meets Sherlock’s eyes and touches a hand to his cheek. His fingers cradle the smooth skin and he slides his thumb over one beautiful cheekbone, capturing this moment so he can hold onto it forever.

“My life is yours,” John says simply in a quiet voice, “for as long as you want it.”

Sherlock’s lips curve upward and he looks at John with tears in his eyes. He shifts up John’s body until they are shoulder to shoulder and cups John’s face with both hands. Gazing into blue eyes, Sherlock leans toward his doctor and kisses him softly, sweetly, in a way he will repeat over and over again as the years drift by.

“And mine is yours,” he says in a hushed voice.

They share a kiss so deep, so honest and open, one that tells them both so much that they can scarcely catch their breath when their lips part.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispers against John’s lips.

“I love you,” John breathes back.��

Their words, breaths, and lives mingle together to create one.

They rest their foreheads together and sigh, sharing in the perfect silence of the room. Their own breathing, now coming in identical puffs, is the only noise in the air around them. They both settle into bed again, heads ensconced in pillows and arms enfolding one another.

John’s eyes grow heavy quickly and he almost does not notice when Sherlock drifts off, but the coach gives himself away when he snuffles quietly and snuggles close. John smiles to himself as his eyes close, ready now for sleep to come. In the last ten nights, his last thought before his brain passes into its rest cycle has been of The Crown and his rescue. The dreams that follow rule his sleep as they show him the different ways it could have played out.

More often than not, the dreams have had an alternate ending in which things went poorly. One night when he, Sherlock and Greg were all in DC to meet with the Board the dream ended with Sherlock dead. He had drowned trying to untie the ropes that had bound John to the weights and John was left staring into his unseeing grey eyes as he floated away motionless. John had startled awake that night, covered with sweat. He was so shaken that he had thrown on a hotel bathrobe over his pajamas, gone straight down the hall to Sherlock’s room and rang his mobile until the man awoke. John had wrapped his arms around him as soon as he opened the door with a startled ‘John, what is it?’

John has never explained the dreams to Sherlock and Sherlock has not asked. John will tell him at some point, but not now when it is still so fresh. Soon though.

As for tonight, it seems like it should be no different and yet, it is. Here, in their bed on the first night of their life together, John’s last thought before falling asleep is completely different and the dreams he has open a new world of wonder and excitement.

Sherlock was brilliant at finding clues. Ones I left and ones I didn’t even realize. He could be a detective in his free-time, as if we have any of that to spare.

John’s mouth turns up at the corners slightly and a sleepy snicker passes through his lips as he pulls Sherlock closer.

A consulting detective. Mm, I should tell...him...that.

El Fin

---

I said it all at the beginning, but I will again. Thank you all for being with me as I posted. Your love and support means the world to me. All of you are my friends on this journey. This story has a special place in my heart for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is meeting my lovely beta, MyBreadAndButter. Thank you, my friend. You have help me shape this story and my craft into something truly great. I look forward to working with you, and to seeing all of you again. I will never stop writing. It is a part of me as much as these two idiots are. I pledge to make them fall in love again and again with you all by my side. 😂 Until then... Keep you pants dry and your dreams wet and remember, hugs not drugs. We’ll all get through this together. Love, Jane

@zentris @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @tooolforthissh--stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedsstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow @one-thousand-splendid-stars @irina12maria

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #sherlock au #sherlock roller derby #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #John loves Sherlock #Johnlock fanfic #johnlock au

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megsironthrone · 5 years ago

Text

Choose Your Story Part 3

Here’s part 3! You voted and it was almost unanimously A: Sandor find out the reader’s relationship isn’t what it seems and intervenes. *Characters are not mine!*

Prologue, 2

Warnings: Modern AU, more fighting, a little bit of sweetness, mentions of cheating(which I do NOT condone), and mentions of sexy times(not the reader x Sandor). A couple swears. POV switches

Pairings/Characters: Eventual Sandor x reader, Reader x unnamed S/O

Sandor's POV

It's amazing how quickly time can pass when you're fighting with someone all the time. That was true for Sandor. He spent the majority of the time he wasn't working either ignoring you or arguing with you. In all honesty, it had become a normal part of his daily routine. He was surprised the other neighbors in the building hadn't insisted on the two of you being thrown out. The back and forth was constant. You would do something to bother him and he would either retaliate or share some not-so-nice words with you. But before he knew it, things would shift between you.

Sandor had just sat down with a beer after a long day at work when it started. The noises of you and your significant other. Sandor was in absolutely no mood to deal with it. Joffrey had been more than enough of a brat for Sandor. He was not about to put up with it from you this time. Taking a swig of the cold brew, Sandor stood and left his apartment. He was going to let you have it again. Or so he thought.

Just as Sandor was about to beat on the door for probably the fifth time that week, he heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs. Not wanting to disturb anyone else, he waited. Sandor was surprised to see you coming up the stairs. If you weren't in your apartment, who was? It was clearly your partner, Sandor recognized the voice, with someone that clearly wasn't you. This was about to get interesting.

Normal POV

You were exhausted. It had been a long day and you just wanted to get home, curl up with your partner, and relax. You didn't expect to see The Arse standing outside your door, poised to knock. You rolled your eyes. You did not have the patience to deal with him right now.

"What do you want now? I haven't done anything to warrant another visit from Your Royal Prick-ness today." He stared at you for a moment, as if he couldn't believe you were standing right outside your own apartment. "I asked you a question." He shook his head for a second, but still didn't speak. With a huff and another eye roll, you moved to push passed him.

"I wouldn't if I were you," he warned softly. You stopped fiddling with your keys and looked at him. You arched a brow. "And why not?" Sandor stepped away a little bit. If he told you what he'd heard, he didn't want you to kill the messenger. "You expecting anyone today?" he asked. You looked at him in confusion, a headache starting to form behind your eyes.

"What are you blathering on about? I really don't have time for this today." The Arse let out a sigh. "Fine. I heard a couple people in your apartment…your bedroom to be more precise." For a moment, you stood there still confused. But then it dawned on you. There were only two other people that had a key to your apartment. Your partner and the building's superintendent. You had just seen the super as you were coming up the stairs. That meant only one thing. Your partner was in your apartment with someone else.

Sandor's POV

Sandor could almost see the moment your mind grasped what he was saying. Your expression went from confusion, to understanding, to pure fury in a matter of seconds. "That sneaking, no good, son of a-" You didn't finish your sentence as you jammed your key in the lock and burst through the door.

Sandor wasn't really sure what to do now. Did he follow you? Did he go back to his apartment and put in ear buds to avoid hearing the inevitable fight that was about to happen? Sandor's question was answered for him when he heard the voice of your partner cry out, "Motherfu-Y/N! You broke my nose!", followed by a curse from you. With a heavy sigh, Sandor entered the apartment just as the person your partner had been with tried rushing out. They would have succeeded too, if they hadn't been trying to dress at the same time.

"What the hell?! In my bed?!" you were screaming. Sandor made it to the doorway of your bedroom. Your partner was holding their nose while you were cradling your hand to your chest. "Get out!" you cried. For once Sandor was glad not to be on the receiving end of your anger. Your now ex-partner scrambled to dress and leave the apartment. You whirled on Sandor with eyes burning with rage. "What the hell do you want?!" you snapped, still clutching your hand to your chest. Ignoring your temper, Sandor reached out and took your injured hand in his.

Normal POV

You were surprised at the gentleness he was using with you. He carefully examined your hand before chuckling. "Didn't anyone ever teach you how to throw a punch?" And he was back. You glared, but you knew there was none of your usual malice behind it. There couldn't be. You'd just had your heart broken and he wasn't the cause.

"Shut up. I was too angry to remember how. Can't believe that bastard. And I thought you were the biggest prick on the planet." He laughed again. "Plenty worse than me. You got ice in your freezer?" You gave a nod. "Yeah, I should." He turned to leave your room, prompting you to follow after him. You passed by all the memories and trinkets collected during your relationship. Guess it was time to throw those out.

"Sit," The Arse commanded when you reached the kitchen. "I'm not a damn dog," you muttered. He merely looked at you with his arms crossed over his chest while he waited for you to sit down. With a scoff, you plopped down in the nearest chair. You let yourself stare at the table. You found yourself getting lost in the little patterns you found there. And then you started thinking again. All your insecurities had just been pulled up from deep inside you. It wasn't until you heard the second chair move that you snapped out of it.

The Arse sat down, taking your hand in his once again, and gently pressed an icepack on your bruised knuckles. For a few moments, you sat there in silence. It was the quietest you'd ever been around him. "Guess you think I deserved it, huh?" you finally asked, if only to break the sudden tension in the room.

"No one deserves that," he answered quietly, "Not even the most annoying person on the planet." You laughed a little at that. "Thanks for trying to keep from seeing that. And for this." He shrugged. "I thought it was you. I was coming over to yell at you again. As for this, you really should learn how to throw a punch." You lightly kicked his leg. "Shut up," you grumbled, pulling another laugh from him. As you sat there letting him nurse your hand, you thought maybe he might not be so bad after all.

Voting for the next part will begin tomorrow! I hope you enjoyed part 3!

Choose Your Story Tags: @fallatyourfeet @songoficecreamandfireworks @emmice9 @silversprings98 @thatcutewerewolf CYS tags are separate from other tags, so please let me know if you’d like to be added to the list!

#choose your story #modern au #part 3 #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor x reader #enemies to lovers

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jadekitty777 · 5 years ago

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An Older Brother’s Solemn Duty

So, this story honestly started out as a joke between me and a friend a few weeks ago when Ironqrow showed signs of possibly becoming canon. I brought up the thought of the two actually hooking up and what Taiyang would do if he found out and my conclusion was basically “he’d tease the hell out of Qrow”. This is that idea, expanded and more heartfelt, but also with a hearty dash of my brand of comedy.

I decided to write out the scenario into an actual ficlet as a gift for @lacependragon as a thank you to you for posting back up some of my favorite fics of yours at my request. I apologize it wasn’t finished sooner; I wanted it done by Monday but well. Life has not been particularly kind to me this week. Still, I hope you enjoy it.

Word Count: 2,900

Rating: M, for some suggestive language

Summary: During a mission briefing, Taiyang begins to suspect something is up with Qrow when he starts acting oddly out of character. He quickly discovers the reason behind it lies with the mission coordinator himself: James Ironwood.

Pairings: Ironqrow and mentions of past STR-Crossed

Ao3 Link: An Older Brother’s Solemn Duty

“Well this is…rustic.” Was Winter’s comment as Tai ushered everyone into the room. His daughter’s team, Team JNR, CFVY and SSSN, Oscar, Qrow, Ironwood and his many trusted operatives from Atlas including Penny, as well as Glynda, Bart and Pete all filed in.

“I do appreciate the accommodations Taiyang, but I was hoping we’d have a holograph at least.” James spoke up as everyone took a seat. The crowd was larger than his normal class size, so while most found desks to sit at, a few of them were stuck standing in the back.

“I have a projector from thirty years ago, if you have slides.” He waved towards the old, bulky gadget sitting atop one of the counters. It was old enough the plastic was discoloring where the device got hot, more of a sickly yellow than the beige it had been.

“Pass!” Yang voted.

“Miss Xiao Long, another outburst will earn you a detention.” Tai said in his best teacher voice. He caught her sticking her tongue out at him as he turned back to James. He waved to the rectangular box of whiteboard supplies he always kept on his desk. “If you prefer, I also have markers in fun colors.”

The uncomfortable look on the other man’s face was priceless. “I… suppose that will do.”

“Oh!” Penny zipped to their side. “Allow me, sir! It would be my pleasure to draw up the diagrams.”

James straightened up, more assured now. “Yes that would be helpful.”

She eagerly picked up the box, “Oh they are fun!” and got right to work at an inhuman speed.

Tai marveled at it. Her writing was robotically neat, easy and clear to read. The drawings were equally fantastic. “Any chance I can hire her as a TA?”

“I’m afraid allowing you to take one of my finest soldiers is out of the question. But I’d be happy to look into donating for updated supplies.” He probably meant it too!

“Certainly wouldn’t be unwelcome.” He pat his shoulder. “Floor’s yours, General.”

“Thank you.” James turned to the room, getting into his authoritative pose, shoulders straight and hands behind his back. “As you are all well aware, we’ve gathered here today to discuss our plan of attack on clearing out the Grimm at Beacon.”

As the man continued, Taiyang headed to the back of the classroom, making Ruby giggle when he ruffled her hair as he passed by. He joined Qrow in the back, sharing a smile with him. It was nice having his family back home, plus the small troop of friends they’d bought along. Many were using the guest rooms and living room floor for bed space and their excitable presence tended to liven up the nights. Though, he knew all of it was only temporary. He tried not to dwell on that bit, instead listening to the drone of James’ voice as he debriefed them on the operation.

“Once we’ve gotten in range, Qrow I’d like you to use your reconnaissance skills to scope out the Grimm species and get a rough estimate of their numbers. The most critical entry points are here, here and here.” James was drawing X’s on those spots. “Once you’re able to do so, reconvene with Taiyang here and report back to us-”

“Wait.” Qrow spoke up drawing the General up short. “Just Tai?”

He looked back at them. “Well, yes. Is that an issue?”

Curious as well, Tai glanced at his brother-in-law.

He appeared rather out of sorts, as if he were one of his students who had suddenly been called on to answer a question on the board but hadn’t studied the material. “Don’t you think we’re a little shorthanded?”

“Your teamwork has always been outstanding. And as you’re taking the West Entry which is notably much narrower, more bodies will only encumber you both. However, if you feel uncertain, I could have Clover-”

“Uh no, nevermind.” Qrow interjected hastily. “You can keep going.”

James eyeballed him, raising an eyebrow, but if he had another comment, he didn’t broach it, instead turning back to the board. “Now, Team JNR, I’d like you to-”

Subtle as he could, Tai lent over, whispering, “Everything alright?”

It was strange. Qrow had never put up a protest about them working together before. They’d been partnered at Beacon for maiden’s sake. Even odder was his request for more back-up. There weren’t many people the other man felt comfortable working alongside, too stressed his semblance would do something unforetold to them. The more people, the more potential injuries and causalities he’d end up feeling responsible for – whether they truly were his fault or not.

Tai knew he got a pass because his own semblance, the ability to create barriers, meant he could literally protect himself at a moment’s notice.

Or well, normally he got a pass.

But, whatever was going on in Qrow’s head, it seemed he wasn’t up to sharing as he shrugged it off. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He frowned, but decided to drop it for now. Maybe he’d get him to open up about it at dinner.

The rest of the conference went off without a hitch and James finally dismissed them all roughly an hour and a half later. As the majority of the room cleared out, Tai caught snatches of conversation.

“So, you guys going to show us around?” Sun was opening the door with his tail, waving Yang and Ruby and their friends out like a gentleman.

“Tell me there’s a decent clothing store around here.” The leader of CFVY was mumbling as she got up from her seat to follow her team.

“Tai!” Bart’s voice caught his attention, the historian waving at him. “Perhaps we can get together tonight?”

He held up a hand in response. “Yeah sure! Come by around 8.” He headed to the front of the room.

James was talking with some of his troops. “Clover, you and Penny do one last calibrations check on the airships. I want to make absolutely certain that everything is in working order.”

“Of course sir. We’ll make sure nothing is missed.” He replied with a salute.

Taiyang studied the younger man curiously, remembering he’d been the one James had mentioned pairing them up with. He was in his early to mid-thirties, had short military-trimmed hair and an eye-catching smile. Certainly attractive. One look at his attire and he could clearly see why he might irk Qrow though. The four-leaf clover medallion was bad enough, but a rabbit’s foot and a horseshoe on his belt? He had to be awfully superstitious.

Clover caught him staring, winking in his direction.

Flirty too. He could get behind that. Tai offered as coy a smile as he dared before the other man departed.

He knew Qrow had caught it, because he heard him snort. He elbowed him in the ribs.

Ignoring the grunt behind him, he said, “Your operatives sure are interesting James.”

“That’s one word for them.” He offered the red marker back. “I apologize for having to use your classroom on such short notice.”

“It’s fine.” Tai replied, dropping it back in the box with the rest of the rainbow. Now where was the eraser? “Really, this whole thing is amazing. The restoration effort, getting back the school? It feels like we’re finally putting the world back together again.”

“Wouldn’t go that far. It’s just one small piece.” Qrow said as he leaned against his desk.

James sighed, running a hand over his beard. “There is certainly much work left to do. Haven. Mantle. But Vale needs its Huntsmen training again. And the kingdom needs its-”

“‘Beacon’ back?” Tai interrupted unabashedly.

It actually earned him a chuckle.

As well as a groan from Qrow. “Don’t laugh. You only make the puns stronger.”

“You just don’t want to admit they’ve groan on you.”

Qrow’s retaliation was to throw the nearest thing in reach at him. That was how he finally found the eraser.

James was laughing more in earnest now, which was even more surprising. Even off-duty, the General rarely was so openly expressive. Not that it was a bad thing; Tai had been saying for years how he needed to cut loose and relax more. He wondered what had changed.

“Hey, why don’t you join us for dinner tonight?” Tai suggested as he turned to the board. “And don’t do that ‘I don’t want to impose’ nonsense, because I already have a miniature army at my house.”

“The offer’s appreciated, but I do need to oversee some last-minute preparations for tomorrow.” He paused, then added cheekily, “And I don’t want to impose.”

Jokes too? He was getting tempted to pinch himself and check that he was really awake.

“Don’t make me throw this at you next.” He waved the eraser threateningly.

James held up a hand pacifyingly. “I apologize, maybe another time.” His eyes darted to the other man. “Though, Qrow, if you can swing by my ship, I’d like to go over your part of the mission more thoroughly with you. I should have some time around 6?”

“I can do that. But, you still need to eat Jimmy.” Qrow pointed out, his heel tapping rhythmically on the floor.

“As a matter fact, I have plans to have a nice bird tonight.”

Tai froze in the middle of wiping away the dust cartridge checklist. Wait… did he hear that right?

The tapping had stopped. “I suppose that’s good enough.”

“Excellent.” He straightened his cufflinks, saying, “Well then, I really should be going then. Gentleman.” With a tip of his head, James walked out the door, leaving only two.

Tai stared at where he had retreated. Then, deliberately slow, he pivoted towards Qrow, staring at him intensely.

“W-What?”

He lent towards him. His brother-in-law immediately shifted back.

“What!?”

He grinned in the absolutely most shit-eating way he could and said, “He’s having ‘bird’, hm?”

Qrow’s eyes widened, the shade that rose to his cheeks almost matching his eyes. “It-It’s not what you think!”

Oh, and he was actually flustered? Tai knew he had to be in deep on this one. And as the self-appointed older brother, there was only one thing to do with such a sensitive situation.

“Oh? My mistake I suppose.” He pulled back, fishing out his scroll.

Qrow watched him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.” He shrugged, struggling hard to contain his smile. “Just texting James about how he can best prepare that bird of his.”

The look of horror that crossed Qrow’s face had him absolutely losing it. “TAI DON’T YOU DARE!”

Tai danced backwards as he came diving for it, holding his scroll up in the air, tapping a button. “Annnd send!” The second tackle got him, and the device was quickly wrested from his grasp.

“What did you tell him?!” Qrow practically shoved the screen into his face, his panic quickly morphing to confusion, then annoyance. “This isn’t James.”

Tai folded his arms under his head, smug as can be. “Not this time. And if you don’t want it to be next time, then you better spill it bud.”

“Have I ever told you how much I hate you?” He glared at him over the top of the scroll.

“Once or twice – Ack!” The scroll was dropped on his face as Qrow climbed back to his feet. He offered him a hand up too, so Tai knew he wasn’t actually too mad.

Getting Qrow to start talking was always a chore; but once he did, it was like breaking open a dam. Not a lot of people knew he was a chatterbox. Then again, not a lot of people took the time to get to know him well enough to learn the things he was passionate about. The first time Tai discovered Qrow could say more than six words during a conversation was when the Grimm Reaper came up one boring afternoon. It was like a flip had switched and suddenly he was recounting tales of all her old adventures, proudly showing off Harbinger as he detailed out how he mimicked her kamas, and sharing his crackpot theories about how she was actually still alive.

So to see him in a similar state of reverence, and over James Ironwood of all people, was very telling indeed.

Some time later found Qrow sat atop of Tai’s desk, finishing up the story about how the Atlas Celebratory Ball went, his gaze distant. “I couldn’t handle being around all the alcohol so I stepped out for some air. James followed after me and we talked a bit. Then he asked me to dance, right there on the balcony.”

Tai was directly across from him, sitting on one of the students’ desks. “Did you accept?”

“’Course I did, you think I’m a fool?”

A fool in love. Tai thought privately. “And? How was it?”

“It was fine.” He said with a shrug, like it hadn’t mattered. But the way he refused to meet his eyes gave him away completely.

He lent forward, raising a brow, “It was the most magical thing to have ever happened to you, wasn’t it?”

“C-Come on man, don’t say it like that!” Qrow was going bright red once more, turning away and covering his mouth to hide the grin forming there. “But, maybe.”

He laughed softly. “Knew it.” He hit the back of his heel against one of the desk legs. “This why you were so eager to have someone else on our team tomorrow? Were you hoping he’d get the hint and come along?”

This time, he looked a little guilty. “Yeah. Guess I owe you an apology for doing that back during third year.”

He remembered that – Qrow had actually gotten a little ticked off at him when he’d been constantly volunteering to work with one of the girls’ on homework, pair up on missions, seek them out during lunch hour or do whatever other half-baked idea he could come up with to spend more time with them. Since he’d been spacing it out so equally between Raven and Summer, his rather insecure best friend had taken it completely the wrong way, assuming he’d finally gotten tired of him and was purposely trying to create distance between them. Hand completely forced, Tai eventually had to admit to Qrow that he was crushing on both his sister and their leader (and was kind of freaking out about it).

While Qrow accepted this fact and even promised to keep it secret, he also spent the next few weeks see-sawing between calling him ridiculous and teasing him at every available avenue. Tai never held grudge over it but he did warn him that one day, he’d know what it was like too.

Seems that day finally came.

“Got to say, I’m a little heartbroken.” Tai placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “Suddenly I’m not enough for you?”

Qrow’s legs were long enough he could easily kick his knee. “Come off it.” He settled back on his hands, eyes trailing the floor now. “Honestly, I thought I’d feel the opposite way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I figured if I ever felt this strongly about someone else, I’d want them to be as far away from me as possible. Instead, I can barely wait to see him. It’s idiotic.”

Oh, wow. Tai regarded his best friend a long, quiet moment, joy filling him. “That’s what it’s like. Even if you could see a disaster coming, it doesn’t matter. Because being with them makes every second you do have worth it.”

Qrow arched a brow, asking knowingly, “Was that for Summer or Raven?”

“Both. I wouldn’t trade those days away for anything. Neither should you.” He slipped off the desk to step forward. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m really happy for you.”

“What, why?”

Unable to help it, he hooked his arm around his neck and yanked him forward, giving him a brutal noogie. “Because my lil’ bro is all grown up! Sober and falling in love! I’m so proud.”

“Ah! Ack! Stop it!” Qrow squawked as he squirmed in his grasp. “And I’m older than you!”

“Still the little brother.” He let him go, barely feeling the retaliatory punch in the arm. “I mean it though. It’s nice, seeing you this happy.”

“You make it sound like I never am.”

“No but, I always wished it was more frequent.”

“Oh. …Sorry.”

Tai shook his head, saying firmly. “Not something to apologize for. Though, if James is something that invokes such a feeling, he’s a keeper.”

Qrow looked away, that little lovesick smile back. “Yeah, I think he is too.”

Brothers, he was tempted to hug him. So, he did. Qrow took it as awkwardly as always.

“Come on.” Tai said, resisting the urge to swing him around in his own enthusiasm. “We better head home before everyone wonders if we’re having a secret affair.”

“You wish you could get some with an ass as nice as mine.” He joked right back, pulling away.

He leaned to the side, being as exaggerated as possible. “You have an ass?”

“Jimmy sure thinks so.” Qrow wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Tai just laughed shoving him towards the door. If he played his cards right, he just might be able to hear some of those stories too.

#taiyang xiao long #qrow branwen #james ironwood #ironqrow #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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bbrandy2002 · 5 years ago

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The Baby Shower Pt 1

Part of the Two Men Series

Book: The Royal Romance/Heir

Summary: Maxwell throws Riley and Liam an impromtu baby shower that leaves guests feeling...unwell.

Characters: Riley, Hana, Olivia, Madeleine, Maxwell, Drake, Bertrand and Liam. All of them belong to Pixelberry.

Profanity Warning.

Only tagging those who requested to follow the series, just in case this isn't your thing. If you want removed (I promise its fine) or added, let me know.

@gardeningourmet @dcbbw @crookedslimecreatorpasta @moonlightgem7 @katedrakeohd @emceesynonymroll @romanticatheart-posts @carabeth @kimmiedoo5 @ladyangel70 @burnsoslow @sirbeepsalot

You are cordially invited to celebrate in the upcoming birth of a little Prince. This Saturday at 7:30 PM-Beaumont Estate, Ramsford

Contact Maxwell Beaumont to RSVP

Riley looked over the invitation she received to her own baby shower, being held tomorrow. Hana had thrown an official shower last month, however, Maxwell, being Maxwell, wanted to throw one last hurrah with only friends and Madeleine.

Riley, propped up on pillows in her bed, places the invite back on her nightstand.

With a week left until her due date, the Queen was feeling anything but in the mood to party. Her feet were swollen, her back ached, insomnia kept her up most of the night, she just wanted to relax.

Maxwell, insisted, much to his chagrin, it would be fairly low key, or at least by his standards. She was hesitant, however, she has never been able to resist the pouty lips and puppy dog eyes of one Maxwell Beaumont.

While deep in thoughts, she places a hand on her tummy, watching her white, oversized cami contort in odd shapes. "You are rolling around a lot today...You should just come on out and give your mommy a break".

"Little guy full of energy today, Love?", Liam asks with a wide grin, standing in the doorway. He walks over to her side of the bed, removing his robe, before leaning in to kiss her.

"He's always a ball of energy, which I would love more if he would just come out". She raises her voice as she lays her head back with a huff, "...We've tried everything, spicy foods, herbal teas, walks....sex...what else is there?"

Liam climbs in bed next to her, cupping her cheek, "You still have another week, just give it time".

She rolls her eyes, Liam typically is her voice of reasoning and reassurance, however, lately she has been trying to figure out, more and more ways, to 'snip the berries' while he slept.

She sighs loudly, before going off on a tangent, "Time? That's easy for you to say, I've peed my pants twice this week already from sneezing, I'm fairly certain poor Mara won't be walking so closely behind me anymore after last nights supper, and Drake got an eye full when both breast started leaking during our walk this morning".

He starts to laugh, but, the evil stare she shoots him, stops him quickly. He composes himself, while massaging her thigh absentmindedly. The stare doesn't stop as she then moves her glare to his hand on her thigh....she's going to kill me...stop touching her now Liam...

Liam quickly moves his hand away and stretches while yawning, "Ahhhh, okay....I'm just going to move over here on my side, place a few pillows between us, and see you in the morning". He leans in for a kiss, but, the scowl on her face makes him hesitate, as he opts instead to just pat the top of her head.

Liam rolls over, places his hands between his legs for protection and prays silently to himself..."God, spare my life tonight and my...'you know", he says while gripping himself tighter," ...if there is anything you can do to get the baby out sooner, for me...I mean for her...it will be worth it. Also, sorry for using your name in vain three times today while talking to Neville and lying to Madeleine about not noticing the five extra pounds in her ass..err...butt...um..amen".

The next day....

"Do you have to do that?", Riley grunted, as she shook her head, sitting next to Liam in the limo to Ramsford.

Liam looked at her quizically, trying to be patient with her, "Do what, love?" He knew she was about to tell him some ridiculous annoying habit, he was unaware of doing.

She reached over and placed her hand on his, "Tapping your hand on your lap".

-I wonder if exorcism would work on her?

He smiles back at her sympathetically, "I'm sorry, I didn't even realize I was doing it."

She removes her hand, turning away from him to look out the window, "Of course you didn't....I"m sure your loud ass stomach growling for the past thrity minutes was no doubt distracting you".

-Nope, she's too far gone.

The limo driver lowered the partition and yelled back, "Your majesties, we are pulling into the estate now".

"OH THANK GOD!", Liam suddenly yelled out with both fists pumping in the air, eyes closed, taking in a relieved breath. He then looked over at his wife who did not seem amused with his little outburst. He rubbed her arm gently, "Thank God for you, Love", he said with a sly grin.

The limo stops in front of the estate and the driver walks around, opening the door for them to step out. Maxwell runs out the door and greets them almost immediately. He starts to pull Riley into a hug, pretending he can't fit his arms around her. She laughs at him and swats playfully at his arm. Liam watches as his wife smiles and carries on with Maxwell, trying to figure out what happened to her between the limo and the door. Whatever it was, he was ecstatic there would now be six other people for her to berate besides him...of course...that could also mean six other people to annoy her and he would have to deal with it later. This baby needs out now!

The Beaumont Estate Ballroom was beautifully decorated with baby themed displays, a wide spread of delicate treats, sparkling lights and lovely floral arrangements.

Riley and Liam were impressed by the amount of work Maxwell had put into this baby shower, it was emaculate. They had feared, perhaps, this might turn out similar to the birthday party Maxwell threw his brother two months ago. Bertrand was not impressed with the topless belly dancers, nor, the one named, Lusty Lawny, who insisted on giving the birthday boy a lap dance for 20 minutes as he was handcuffed to a chair.

Drake's birthday included a mud wrestling ring, where Maxwell's friend, Bertha cracked two of his ribs and gave him an atomic wedgie.

Hana's birthday was a seance in a local cemetary that gave her nightmares for six months.

Then, for Olivia s birthday, he took her skydiving, in which, he had to piss so bad. He thought it would stream downward instead of spray back up on her.

The last thing either of them wanted was something disasterous to happen. Liam pulled Maxwell aside, as Riley spoke with everyone else.

"Maxwell, I want your absolute word that you don't have anything strange taking place during this shower, and by that...I mean strange for me and not strange for you".

Maxwell wrapped an arm around Liam's shoulder with a serious look, "Liam, I give my word that I have planned no strange activities this evening, just good friends hanging out together before you two enter parenthood".

Liam let out a large exhale, still a little leery, but, hopeful Riley would leave happy and in one piece when it was all over with.

He leaned into Maxwell, speaking in a hushed tone, "It's just...Riley's a little on edge wanting the baby to come right now and I want to keep her as comfortable as possible...it would really help me a lot".

Maxwell nudged him slightly in his side with a smile, "Hey, it'll be fine Liam...plus, I have a really good feeling that tonight is the night the baby will be born."

Liam furrowed his brow, "why do you say that Maxwell?"

Maxwell started to say something when he notices that Olivia has arrived, "Hey!Everyone's here now, so lets get this par-tay started."

Liam tried to yell back at Maxwell, but, he was gone. Did he just call this baby shower a 'par-tay'.

Drake makes his way over to Liam, stands face to face with him, a look of confusion plastered on his face, "There's no booze here."

Liam gestures to his wife sitting at a nearby table, "Since she can't drink alcohol, she insisted no one else can....It will be okay Drake, it's just a few hours."

Drake's face scrunches up, "You've got to be kidding me? I can't do it man, that's how I survive these little Maxwell gatherings."

Liam gripped one a Drake's shoulders as they walked to a nearby table, "Hey, listen....Riley's really short with me right now and nothing can go wrong tonight. Will you just keep an eye out for me and make sure Maxwell doesn't have something planned that would...i dont know...cause me to miss the birth of my first child due to my untimely disappearance".

Drake wanted to laugh, but, he understood his friends plea when it comes to Riley. "I know what you mean, when we were walking the grounds yesterday, she was talking about how denim makes me look tubby. When I pointed out her her own stomach, she called me a son-of-a bitch and kicked me in the nuts. That got her breast leaking and I never want to see that again.... Trust me, I got your back, I'll keep an eye on Beaumont".

With a nod and a smile of relief, Liam sat down next to Riley.

All the guests seemed to enjoy their appetizers, non alcoholic punch, and scrumptous blue velvet cake. Maxwell planned games afterwards, in which, Hana guessed the exact number of 1285 tiny plastic babies in a jar. He had them decorate sacks of flour as babies and diaper them, Hana's was voted the best. Drake rolled his eyes, "of course she won, she's used to decorating socks to use as playmates".

Hana shifted in her seat taller" Well, at least I didn't just write Jack Daniels on the front of my baby in large letters....by the way...your baby is stupid".

One hour later....

Hana looks a little uncomfortable, her stomach is rumbling and she excuses herself quickly. Not to long after her, Bertrand has a pained expression on his face and is grabbing his stomach, he stands and shuffles with urgency out of the room.

Drake is sitting with Liam and Riley, she is continuing to call him a little bitch over his comment yesterday, but, he doesn't even realize it. He starts to sweat and feels a little flushed; his breathing becomes ragged as he clutches his stomach.

Liam notices his change in demeanor and becomes concerned, "You okay Drake, you're not looking so good".

Riley raises a brow, "See....I told you, you little bitch".

"I don't know what's going on", Drake says as he tries to steady his breathing, "it's my stomach".

Riley crosses her arms unconcerned, "....and a fat ass too".

Liam motions to Madeleine, "Sweetheart, I heard Madeleine telling Olivia you have cankles, you should really go talk to her about that".

Riley sat in up in her chair and glared at Madeleine. She started taking out her earrings, "Oh did she now, hold these earrings Liam, I'm about to shove a color coded binder up that bitchs giant ass".

Riley wanted to walk to Madeleine with an attitude, but, the most she could manage was a small waddle.

Liam leans into Drake with a sympathy, "Sorry about her...anyway, you really do look rough Drake, what's going on?".

Drake still clutching his stomach, "I dont know...like my stomach hurts really bad all of the sudden. The only thing I ate was a few tea sandwiches, cake and punch".

Liam thought for a moment, "Yeah, nothing that should cause you to feel this sick. You know...I saw both Hana and Bertrand leave out of here in a rush...neither of them have returned either".

Drake weakly lifted his head and scanned the room for Maxwell. He was at that moment, jumping up and down with excitement watching Riley yell at Madeleine.

Drake took a deep breath before yelling, "BEAUMONT!".

Maxwell stopped when he heard Drake call out his name, he skipped over to Drake and Liam with a big, giddy smile, "Man....she is really giving what for to Madeleine...Im so glad I invited her, Riley made her cry...hahaha!!".

"Maxwell", Drake muttered, "I think the food is making people sick...my stomach is killing me....wait...oh, I gotta go now!!!!". Drake stood up quickly, clenching his backside as he ran out of the room.

Liam looked at Maxwell for a moment. "Maxwell, there is something going on. Three people now have ran out of this room, holding their stomachs or in Drake's case, butt...you did something to the food didn't you?".

Maxwell glanced around the room, nervously. He didn't think his concoction would affect other people, only Riley. He remained silent, contemplating whether there was a connection. His gaze fell on Olivia, who was now looking a little distressed and reaching for her stomach.

"Maxwell, answer me", Liam demanded.

"I just thought it would help her go into labor", he said sheepishly.

"What did you think would help her go into labor?".

Maxwell hesitated, but, Liam grabbed his arm and gave him a commanding look.

He gulped, "Castor oil....I put it in the punch".

Liam, stunned, placed both hands over his face, before opening them again, "So they all have.....the shits?".

How will Madeleine handle her predicament? Part 2

#the royal romance #choices trr #trr fanfic #liam x riley #drake walker #liam x mc #olivia nevrakis #choices trh #bertrand beaumont #trh #the royal heir #maxwell beaumont #trr #trr drake #trr liam

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veorlian · 5 years ago

Text

It Takes Two

Partially inspired by this post. Full link on ao3.

“Andraste’s pressed silk knickers, Garrett, you’re not fighting the Arishok.”

“Aww c’mon Marian, look at me; I’m shredded.”

“He’s easily 300 pounds. What’s your plan, running around the room until he gets tired?”

“…maybe.”

The Tale of the Champion varies widely. Sometimes the hero is a mage, other times a warrior or a rogue. Sometimes they are diplomatic and kind, others snarky or scathing. But there is always only one hero, one Hawke. As it happens, this is wrong.

Or, the one where Garrett and Marian are twins and chaos ensues.

There is a common cliché, with twins, that they have some unspoken telepathic connection with one another, or that they have some spooky, unnatural vibe. Garrett and Marian Hawke, so far as they were aware, didn’t have that. But boy did they sure like pretending they did to fuck with the locals in Lothering, and later Kirkwall. Merrill was convinced they could read each other’s mind for a full six months before they took pity on her and told her the truth.

They’d always been together. Garrett couldn’t remember a time where he didn’t have Marian hot on his heels, fresh from sowing chaos in the Hawke household, both cackling as their father raced after them. Talking with Marian was as easy as breathing, and being a sarcastic little shit with Marian was easier still. Whereas Carver and Bethany were a study in opposites, Garrett and Marian were two halves of a whole idiot. When they moved through the alleys of Lowtown and the hills of the Wounded Coast, they always did so together, regardless of who they brought with them.

“Another one for the dwarf! How many have you got, Hawke?” Varric yelled over the sounds of battle.

“21 for me,” Garrett shouted back.

“Shit, I only have 17,” shouted Marian.

“What can I say, I have a gift.”

“You can cast fireball, that’s cheating!”

“Sorry sister, alas, not everyone can be as dashing and talented as I.”

“I don’t think dashing and talented are the right words for someone who slipped and fell on their ass trying to reach spindleweed earlier,” Marian said, mowing through a horde of enemies with her comically large greatsword.

“Cheap words from the woman who burped in front of the viscount the other day,” said Garrett, smashing a group of mercenaries into the ground with a wave of force magic.

“That’s a low blow, Garrett.”

“You’re too short for a high one.”

“I’m only two inches shorter you jackass.”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you from all the way up here.”

They ended up back-to-back. They fought together like a well-oiled machine, and any enemies that got too close to the other were always blown back or sliced cleanly in half..

“Oi, Anders!” Marian said on one occasion. They were fighting their way through Hightown, because for whatever inexplicable reason criminals saw a heavily armoured group of adventurers and decided that they would make a great target.

“Yes?” Anders replied.

“Do you want to get a drink with my brother later?”

“…are you…are you asking out Anders for me?” Garrett asked.

“No, I’m asking for Carver,” she said sarcastically. “Of course I’m asking for you.”

“Can a man not quietly pine for someone in peace around here?” Garrett complained, neatly ducking out of the way of an incoming sword and slashing at his attacker with the end of his staff.

“Go pine somewhere else, the hormones are making my hair stand on end.”

“Your hair does that anyways.”

“We have the same hair.”

“Yeah, but I make it work. You look like a wet mabari.”

“You smell like a wet mabari.”

“I’d like to get a drink,” Anders interrupted. Garrett paused mid-way through his comeback.

“Oh, well, um alright then,” he said, suddenly unsure, the tips of his ears turning red. “8 o’clock at The Hanged Man tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Anders, throwing up a barrier around Marian as she charged into a cluster of nearby enemies with reckless abandon.

It was different, after the Deep Roads. Bethany and Carver left with the Grey Wardens, and Leandra made it clear in no uncertain terms that she held her eldest children responsible for the loss. When Garrett and Marian laughed together, it was subdued, and their rapier-sharp wit became more defensive, a mask that they held up to protect themselves and one another. Still, they had each other, and they had their friends, and occasionally that same spark of humour shone through.

“Well, one of us is going to have to change,” said Garrett. Their casual clothes for home had been ordered from the same tailor, and as it turned out he only worked in one design.

“Regrettably, brother dear, it looks far better on me,” Marian replied.

“I’m so sorry to hear that your eyesight is going, sister, because anyone with two working eyes can see that I look phenomenal.”

“Shall we put it to a vote?”

“Race you to The Hanged Man?”

“Eat my dust.”

It was, as always, a tie. Anders had voted for Garrett, Varric had voted for Marian, and Fenris and Isabela had voted for both. Merrill refused to take part because she didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Aveline had rolled her eyes and left.

“Betrayed again,” said Marian dramatically, holding a hand against her forehead as though she were going to faint away. “Varric is my only true friend.”

“Damn straight,” said the dwarf, laughing.

“Run away with me, Varric, we don’t need these heartless people,” she said, still mock-swooning, only half joking.

“And have to live outside? You’re on your own, Hawke.”

“Et tu, Varric?” she asked. “I am met with betrayal on every side.”

“I’ll go with you, Marian!” Merrill piped up. Marian smiled and patted her on the hand.

“Varric, you’ve been replaced as my best friend,” she announced.

“You wound me, Hawke, my heart will never recover,” Varric chuckled.

“You should’ve thought of that before you chose insulation over me,” Marian replied. They’d laughed, and drank far more than was good for them, and as always Marian had struggled to convince herself that she loved Varric as a strictly platonic friend.

“You should tell him how you feel,” Garrett said once they were home.

“Oh because you’re a perfect model of expressing your love to someone?” Marian replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oi, it’s not my fault you beat me to it.”

“After years of pining after each other.”

“Pot, meet kettle. I’m sure you’ve met each other.”

“Anyways, he said he’s been spoken for,” Marian said.

“Then he’s a fool,” Garrett replied. Marian snorted.

“Pot, kettle, I assume you’ve met?” she said. Garrett looked indignant and they argued back and forth until both fell asleep in the front foyer with Turkey curled up next to them.

“There is an argument to be made for applying it more widely,” Cullen said of the Rite of Tranquility.

“Ah. I see,” said Marian, eyes dark.

“You see my point?”

“No,” said Marian. “I see my fist knocking out some of your teeth.”

“Come now, sister,” said Garrett, jaw tight. “I think he’d look much more fetching with a black eye.”

“Are you threatening a templar?” Cullen asked angrily.

“You catch on quick,” the twins said in unison. Varric and Aveline had to physically drag them away from the knight-commander, and they were placed in an involuntary lockdown until they’d calmed down. It was several weeks before they were allowed to return to the Gallows, and even then only under strict supervision.

It was different, after they lost Leandra. They were quiet for a long time, sitting together.

“Was this…our fault?” Garrett asked.

“No,” said Marian, struggling to convince herself as well as her brother. “We couldn’t have known.”

“I’d say she wouldn’t want us to blame ourselves, but I don’t suppose you’d believe me,” he said. Marian laughed quietly, hollowly.

“No, I suspect she’s telling father that if Carver and Bethany were still around, rather than Grey Wardens, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Yeah.”

Some time later, when the tears were spent, the others showed up at their door, bringing their overwhelming love with them. It was the same as always, but different. The others started staying over more regularly, filling the unbearably quiet house with noise. Varric got them another dog, insisting that Turkey was looking lonely. Anders got them several cats, insisting that Darktown was too dangerous for them. They threw themselves into battle, growing more reckless with every fight, to the point where they rotated through Anders’s clinic on an almost daily basis, sporting bruises, lacerations, and the occasional broken bone. They didn’t talk to anyone about Leandra, except for each other.

“Andraste’s pressed silk knickers, Garrett, you’re not fighting the Arishok.”

“Aww c’mon Marian, look at me; I’m shredded.”

“He’s easily 300 pounds. What’s your plan, running around the room until he gets tired?”

“…maybe.”

“I’m the eldest, I get to fight him.”

“I’m the tallest, that ought to count for something.”

“Sure, it means you’ll tower over the others as you cheer for me from the sidelines.”

“Mariaaaaaan.”

“It’s a good start, but you’ll want a bit more enthusiasm for the cheers.”

“Just be careful, yeah?”

“When am I not careful?”

“Do you want an alphabetical list or a chronological one?”

And so there they were, the Champions of Kirkwall, bedecked in their new armour, joking again that one of them was going to have to change. There they were, running around the city with their friends in tow. There they were, siding with the mages without a second thought. Marian joked about getting ‘fuck the templars’ tattooed on her ass, but was informed that the message might be misconstrued.

Varric wrote his book, and only mentioned Marian, omitting any suggestion that she had a twin. He explained that having two heroes was too clunky from a narrative standpoint, people would get them confused, and so on. Garrett joked that his heart might never recover from the betrayal.

After the chantry was destroyed, there were choices that had to be made. For the first time, the twins had to separate. Much of the world believed that there was only one Champion, and Marian insisted that she didn’t want to put Garrett and Anders at risk. Garrett had gone with Anders, and Marian had set out on her own. Their goodbyes were short, as they always were. There was no doubt for either of them that they’d see each other again.

Varric lied through his teeth to Seeker Cassandra, describing the life of Marian Hawke, the sole Champion of Kirkwall. She took him to the conclave, and to the events that followed. Marian heard that the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been destroyed, and a part of her broke. She met up with Garrett and Anders on the road, and her brother hugged her tighter than he ever had before. When she eventually got a letter from Varric, she showed up at Skyhold ready to kick his ass for not writing sooner.

“Inquisitor, meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall,” said Varric. Marian snorted.

“I don’t use that title much anymore. Too stuffy, makes me sound like a prat,” she said.

It was Marian in the fade, Marian who offered to die to cover their escape.

“I won’t let you,” Varric told her vehemently.

“You can’t stop me,” she replied. “I love you. And tell Garrett I’m sorry.”

“Tell him yourself,” he said, voice raw.

And then Inquisitor Lavellan, eyes red, asked Stroud to stay. He agreed, and Varric physically dragged Hawke back to the real world.

That night, sitting in his tent, she and Varric talked for a very long time, and he told her the story of how Bianca got her name. Once he’d finished, they were both quiet.

“I do love you,” said Hawke, "in a cheesy, mushy kind of way.”

“Andraste’s ass, Hawke, how long have you been sitting on this?” he asked.

“Hmmm, since about five minutes after I met you, by my last estimate.”

“Shit, really?”

“It’s the chest hair, women just can’t resist it,” she said dryly. Despite himself, Varric laughed.

“Well shit, Hawke, you’ve got me beat there.”

“Oh?”

“It took me ten minutes.”

“Ah, well, I see that our reputations for being dumbasses remain intact, then.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” he said, laughing. Marian grinned and kissed him. And, amazingly, he kissed her back.

The next day she left for Weisshaupt, and was delighted to find that Anders and Garrett were already there. The I-told-you-so that she received from Garrett was so loud that it bounced off the walls of the fortress, and his vitriolic shouts that greeted her recounting of the fade were even louder.

Years later, the viscount of Kirkwall heard a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said, and was immediately knocked over as two very enthusiastic Hawkes launched themselves at him.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he complained.

“You’ve been saying that since we met you,” said Marian.

“You must be ancient by now,” Garrett agreed.

“Is that any way to talk to the leader of Kirkwall?”

The twins looked at one another and shrugged.

“It’s never stopped us before,” they said in one voice.

They say that there was only one Champion, but that’s not true. There were two.

#dragon age 2 #da2 #purple hawke #hawke twins au #garrett hawke #marian hawke #anders #varric tethras #handers #varric x hawke #if you squint #is this self indulgent? yeah #do i care? nah #give me a happy ending bioware u cowards #hawke

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jovialyouthmusic · 5 years ago

Text

Two’s Company - Changes

A Royal Romance Polyamorous Fanfic

Brad has many questions and Drake struggles to answer them. The dam bursts...

Word Count 2381

A/N This is where we go full on Driam - please, No under 18s and if the idea of two men together isn’t your thing, go no further...

3 The Day it Changed

The next morning Drake walked Brad all over the palace trying to jog his memory. They went to the ballroom where he had first danced with Lucy, and out onto the balcony. They walked to the middle of the maze, and he reminded him of the opening of the racing season, of their visit to Lythikos. Surprisingly he remembered Olivia kissing him on the dancefloor and looked puzzled.

‘I remember inviting someone to my room, to look out at the mountains from the hot tub - it wasn’t Olivia’ He remembered skating and skiing, the ball and the hot chocolate in front of the fire. They talked about Applewood but he couldn’t remember who was voted Apple Queen. He remembered Penelope and Kiara, but not Lucy – and interestingly, not Hana either. They went over the social season and he remembered a few things, then drew a complete blank at the Coronation. He remembered Madeleine but not being engaged to her, and nothing of the scandal concerning Lucy and Tariq.

Eventually Brad balked and refused to try any further.

‘Drake I’m going out of my mind’ he said ‘You’re keeping something from me, I can tell. Please, tell me what it is’

‘I wish I could’ said Drake ‘But the doc said it has to come from you. I have another trick up my sleeve though – there’s someone else that may be able to help you, and we’ll find out tomorrow. But for now, just tell me what you want to do and we’ll do it’

‘I’d like to visit your log cabin, be somewhere quiet and simple’ Brad answered ‘We could stay over, go fishing, have a barbecue’ Drake smiled

‘It’s a bit short notice, but we can do that’ he said ‘I’ll get Bas to drive us over – go pack a bag and I’ll join you. Don’t pack any fancy clothes, casual will do’

Later on they sat outside Drake’s cabin by the fire pit, loaded with wood that they had gathered from nearby. Bastien had thoroughly checked the surroundings and declared all safe, but all the same was on call at a minute’s notice in another cabin half a mile away. They had gone fishing, and their catch was grilling on a rack over the fire. Brad had been proud of the tiny fish he’d caught, but Drake told him he’d starve if he had to live off what he could catch and promptly caught a fine catfish. They ate from tin plates, taking hot flakes of the tender fish with their fingers and blowing on them, the smoky flavour tasting better than the finest caviar. They drank beer straight from the bottle and the sun slowly set, the air starting to cool.

‘I needed this’ said Brad ‘I’d say I can’t remember when we last did this – but you might tell me we were here only last week’ The firelight cast flickering shadows over his features and Drake couldn’t read his expression.

‘No, it’s been a while Brad’ he said truthfully ‘I don’t come out here as much as I’d like’

‘Drake, we’ve always been close, haven’t we?’

‘Like brothers’ again Drake could not read Brad’s face and had to rely on his tone.

‘More than brothers. Leo dropped me into a role I never expected – but you stood by me, you’ve always had my back. I really appreciate you helping me out. I’d go crazy if you weren’t here – but you deserve more. Why are you still here? How about that girl of yours – don’t you want to go off with her?’ Drake groaned inwardly.

‘I can’t tell you why I’m still here – hopefully you’ll remember soon, but I’m not going anywhere’

‘Drake, can you tell me something?’ he asked

‘If I can’

‘When they gave me my things back from the hospital, they gave me two rings. They both look like wedding rings, and they fit – and I’ve obviously been wearing them, I can tell. So what’s going on?’ Drake put his head in his hands and clenched his fingers into his hair.

‘I’m beginning to sound like a broken record’ he said ‘I can’t…’ Drake was fed up of being strong, of being the one to keep secrets. He didn’t know whether the doctor knew what was best for Brad and he kept pushing, asking questions he couldn’t answer. Lucy was hurting and Brad was oblivious. He didn’t know what to do any more. A dam broke inside him and a sob escaped his lips, and hot tears started to leak past his screwed up eyelids.

In an instant Brad was next to him, arm on his back, soothing him.

‘Drake, don’t - I’m sorry, forget I asked’

‘I want to tell you, and I don’t know if I should. It’s such a mess…’ he croaked. He sobbed, crying it all out, and Brad sat with him, waiting for it to ebb away, hand on his back making soothing circles.

‘Tomorrow’ he gulped ‘Tomorrow you might understand. I hope you do, I really do. I’m tired – so tired. Let’s turn in, tomorrow can’t come soon enough’ He felt wretched, lost, alone.

‘No.’ said Brad ‘Tonight we’re alone together, the outside world is a million miles away. Let’s just let this place be all there is, let’s forget what happened before and not worry about what’s to come. Let’s just be Brad and Drake, I won’t ask any more questions’ Drake smiled wanly.

‘If it was that simple’

‘It can be. Come on, let’s go in. Are you okay with sharing a bed again?’

‘I guess’ Drake was too weak to protest. They went inside to the bedroom and Drake sat wearily on the bed, kicking his shoes off. He lifted up off the mattress to take his jeans off, leaving his briefs on and pushing his socks off. He looked over at Brad taking his shirt off. He was in good shape, his chest broad, belly flat and toned, a shimmer of fair hair ghosting across his body. There was some bruising from the car crash but he had gotten off lightly apart from the blow to the head. Brad looked back at him, undoing his belt and dropping his trousers. Again something between them shifted, and Brad came over and knelt in front of him to unbutton his shirt, as Drake was fumbling them. He let him, just looking at him as he shrugged it off his shoulders, concern and tenderness in Brad’s eyes. Brad took the hem of his t shirt and pulled it up, Drake raising his arms and throwing it off – then as Brad rose he paused and their lips met in a scorching hot kiss.

It felt so right, and Drake was desperate for comfort, for touch. He felt his nose pressed sideways, breath hot on his face, Brad’s lips sucking on his, teeth nipping his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth to push his tongue into Brad’s mouth. Brad’s hand was on the back of his neck, tugging on his hair, and he was pressing his palms to Brad’s back, running them over the smooth muscle. Brad got up and put his knee on the mattress, pushing him back onto the bed, and he went with him, scooting back to lie on his back with Brad over him, mouths still sliding over each other. He didn’t care any more about anything or anyone else, he needed this, needed Brad, needed a release. Brad moved away from his mouth, nipping at his neck, moving down, hands going to his briefs and hooking into the elastic at the top. He cleared it over his rapidly hardening length and Drake lifted his hips up so Brad could work them down and off, mouth on his belly now.

Drake’s back arched and his hand went down to Brad’s head, resting on it as he pressed his tongue to his throbbing member, cool and hot all at the same time. He groaned as he worked his lips around him, the tip at first. His fingers stroked through Brad’s hair – not long enough to hold, but the texture teased his fingers and palm. Brad worked his lips around his cock, taking more and more into his hot mouth, tongue pressing on his shaft. Drake wasn’t afraid of being rough, and pushed to the back of his throat. Brad gagged for a moment then recovered, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock so he wasn’t taking him so deep into his mouth. His lips wrapped tight around him, and Drake’s hips bucked and rocked with his need, oblivious to anything else. Brad’s mouth and hand bobbed along his length and he added his own thrust as his need increased, hips gyrating until he felt it coming…

‘Brad’ he groaned ‘I’m going to – uuunghhh’ With one huge arch of his back he shuddered and came, shooting his seed into Brad’s mouth and felt him swallow until he came away, letting him go with a pop, wiping his lips as Drake lay back. Brad lay beside him, head propped up on his elbow, watching as he came down. He turned to Brad and kissed him again, hand on his cheek, tongue probing, hand snaking to the back of his neck, tasting himself on his lips and on his tongue. He reached down inside Brad’s boxer shorts and wrapped his hand around his length, shorter and thicker than his, still more than average in size. Brad’s eyes closed in bliss and he groaned in appreciation

‘Drake’ he moaned ‘You don’t have to…’

‘Yes I do’ Drake’s voice was deep, sated yet still heavy with desire. ‘It’s just Drake and Brad’ Brad was hard and leaking precum, which Drake spread around the tip with his thumb. He didn’t want to talk Brad to orgasm as he had in the past, because that wold involve using Lucy for inspiration. He was long past feeling guilty for not thinking of her at all when Brad was sucking his cock. It had to just be the two of them this time, so he had to use his mouth. Dammit, he wanted to taste Brad, wanted to trace his tongue along his length, feel him writhe underneath him, he couldn’t deny it.

He pushed Brad flat on the bed roughly, eliciting a groan, and crouched over him to pull at the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down, not caring that he wasn’t gentle, not caring that Brad hadn’t even managed to kick them off before he plunged his mouth onto Brad’s shaft, lips pressed along the length, teeth scraping at his flesh. Brad bucked at the rough treatment, hissing and clenching his fingers into Drake’s hair. He relished the burn of his scalp for a moment before reining back his attention. Part of him wanted to punish Brad for not remembering Lucy, part of him wanted to be tender and attentive, and the harsher side was winning.

For the first time he wondered what it would be like to fuck Brad. He wondered what it would be like to be balls deep, stroking into him and hearing him moan, flood him with his seed until he overflowed. He’d had Lucy use a strap on with him but had denied that he wanted Drake to fuck him – but was that just so he didn’t freak him out? He spat on Brad’s cock and took him into his mouth fiercely, lips wrapped tight around him. Brad was writhing and gasping, and again he was rough, cupping Brad’s balls and massaging – not too hard, he wanted him to come, not push him away. He sucked and used his lips and tongue to stimulate, hearing Brad call out raggedly. He held his hips down as he started to buck – he wanted control, wanted to keep him on the edge, to beg him for release, and that didn’t take long.

‘Please Drake, I need – please…’ he gasped ‘Let me come’ Drake let him thrust into his mouth, but wrapped his hand round the base of his thick cock even though he wasn’t at the back of his throat. He felt Brad shudder, tasted the first bitter rush then took his lips off him, watching the thick white seed spurting, landing on Brads belly then dribbling, dripping from the tip as he spurted again – and again as he pumped him a couple more times. Brad trembled, hand over his forehead, breath slowing.

‘Fuck Drake – have we done that before?’ Drake sat back on his heels looking down at Brad beaded with sweat, hair messy, pupils dark.

‘Yeah we have – once or twice’ He hopped off the bed and went to get a washcloth to clean Brad off.

‘Thanks. I should probably shower’ Brad said. The air was thick with unasked questions and unspoken answers. Drake sat on the bed and listened to the water running. Somehow, as he sometimes did after a good orgasm, he felt clean outside and in, cleansed and purified by the heat of passion despite the sweat and stickiness.

‘Careful, the pressure’s low’ he said loudly, and sat, elbows resting on his knees. They had crossed a line, and he had to tell Lucy what had happened. He still wanted her, loved her, adored her, missed her, but his relationship with Brad was deepening. He already cared for him, but did it go further than brotherly love? He wanted him, wanted to possess him, craved his touch. He thought perhaps Brad already knew it went deep but had either denied it to himself or hidden it from Drake.

Brad came through to the bedroom, towelling himself off, and Drake went to take his turn. Brad came in to sit on the toilet, watching the water cascade over him, towelling his hair dry.

‘Are we okay?’ he asked ‘Did we do anything different?’

‘It’s complicated, but just trust me. You’ll understand more tomorrow, I promise.’ Drake shut the water off and Brad threw him a clean towel. He brushed his teeth and followed Brad into the bedroom. They fell into bed, Brad on his side facing Drake, who lay on his back and pulled Brad into his side. They fell asleep together as the embers of the fire outside cooled and dimmed.

@drakewalkerrosenberg @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart@goirishsunshine @gardeningourmet @livingthroughchoices @mrs-nazario@mind-reader1 @ooo-barff-ooo @silviasutton1989 @missevabean@mrsdrakewalkerblog @cora-nova @missameliep @tanelle83 @endlessly-searching-for-you @jlouise88 @drakenazario @tabithacarlisle@furiousherringoperatortoad @notoriouscs @classylady1234@wickedgypsymoon @carabeth @choices-fangirl @indiana-jr @indiacater@noey718-blog @katedrakeohd @bobasheebaby @annekebbphotography@kennaxval @sirbeepsalot @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @aworldoffandoms@iplaydrake @drakesensworld @drakewalkerisreal@samcpossum @melodyofgraves @khakie4 @museofbooks @be-still-my-aching-heart@fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @hopefulmoonobject @emceesynonymroll @dcbbw @cgd03 @simsvetements @mrsdrakewalkerblog @ladyangel70 @crookedslimecreatorpasta @cora-nova @akrenich @stopforamoment

#Two's Company #driam #driam trr #drake x liam #brad and Drake #polyamory

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sparkles-and-trash · 6 years ago

Text

Stalker, Chapter 3

A Sweet Pea x Reader fanfiction

“You keep on talking, shut it up You keep rubbing salt into the cut Broke the cycle, need to reconstruct”

Warnings: Abusive behavior (stalking), swearing, use of the homophobic f-slur, fighting, sexual content in later chapters

Word count: 3.K

Notes: Tag list is still open, let me know if you want to be on it! I might have lost control over it a little bit, so if you’ve asked to be added and aren’t on it on this chapter, let me know!! Also, I don’t dislike Chuck as much after the Carrie episode, but he was voted to be the guy Y/N doesn’t get along with, so ofc I made him worth not liking, so don’t hate me for that please, haha!

Ships: Sweet Pea x Reader, Kevin x Fangs (later chapters), Choni, Bughead, Varchie

Summary: Y/N is a Senior at Riverdale High with her best friends Kevin and Cheryl, and lives mostly on her own on the Southside of Riverdale. But when she starts getting weird notes, letters and pictures delivered to her, and as the feeling of being followed seems to be very real, she finds herself getting help from unexpected places and people to keep her safe, and to find out who is stalking her.

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 -

Sweet Pea’s POV

Ever since Southside High shut down a couple of years ago, Sweet Pea had genuinely tried to stay positive about getting to attend Riverdale High.

The facilities were great, the classrooms had wifi, the teachers were mostly good, and the electives were interesting. He even joined the basketball team last year.

But, nothing is ever perfect, and the school was proof of that.

Because, with a great school, came great jocks and assholes, like Reggie Mantle and Chuck Clayton, who both were currently standing around Y/N, chatting casually.

It took every ounce of self-control Sweet Pea had to keep him from going over there and tell them to fuck off, but it did help that Y/N didn’t show any signs of being uncomfortable.

It wasn’t like he was jealous or something, but with everything going on with her right now, he didn’t like people he didn’t really know hanging around her.

Also, he might have a tiny problem with how she was laughing and smiling with her ex, but he didn’t have time to think about that right now.

As if on cue, Josie entered the room, and Reggie hurried over to her to give her a kiss and take her hand, and then they left the student lounge. It seemed like the lounge were emptying out in general, as next period was about to start, but Sweet Pea had a free period, so he decided to just stay seated where he was.

It seemed like both Y/N and Chuck also had a free period, as none of them left their spot by the vending machine.

Now, however, Y/N didn’t seem to be very comfortable anymore, and just as Sweet Pea was considering going over there to find an excuse to get her away from Chuck, her eyes met his, and she was clearly silently asking for his help.

Sweet Pea tried his best to stay calm as he rose from his chair and walked over to Y/N and Chuck, but he could feel the anger stirring trough him already.

Chuck was leaning on the wall, towering over Y/N and clearly invading her space, but with the vending machine in her back and the wall to her side, there wasn’t really anywhere for her to avoid him.

The way the other boy so clearly invaded her space without a care made Sweet Pea’s blood boil.

“Hey, Y/N, do you have a minute to go over that English paper that’s due tomorrow?” he asked as casually as he managed, and Y/N looked up at him with a relived look on her face.

“Yeah, of course, I-” she started, but Chuck cut her off before she could finish.

“Bro, seriously?” Chuck asked him, and gave a sly smile.

Sweet Pea raised his eyebrows at the other boy.

“Seriously what, Bro?” he shot back, a mocking tone on the “bro” part.

Chucks smile disappeared quickly, as he took a step closer to Sweet Pea, looking him up and down.

“Just back off bro, Y/N were clearly busy talking to me, so your English can wait.”

Sweet Pea clenched his fists and took a slow breath.

“Well, Y/N just said she wanted to go, so if you don’t mind?” he said, and felt Y/Ns hand on him upper arm, softly holding him back.

“He’s not worth it, come on, Pea.” she said and shot Chuck a cold stare, and Sweet Pea couldn’t hold back a victorious smirk towards Chuck.

Just as they turned to leave, Chuck grabbed Y/Ns arm, and she flinched a bit, making Sweet Pea see red.

“Come on baby, why don’t just work on the paper with that little fag bff of yours later, and let Snake Boy here figure it out himself?”

Y/N‘s eyes went from annoyed to straight up furious in less than a second, but she didn’t even have time to open her mouth before Sweet Pea had whipped around and grabbed Chuck by the collar, slamming him against the wall.

“What did you just say, douchebag?” he growled in a dangerously low voice.

Chuck raised his palms and grinned slyly.

“Come on, Serpent, it’s true, isn’t it? The Keller kid is, indeed, a fag, and-”

Chuck didn’t get to finish that sentence however, as Sweet Pea’s fist connected with his jaw.

He was honestly planning on leaving after one punch, but when the other boy recoiled and slammed his own fist into Sweet Pea’s face, he lost it.

The combination of him harassing Y/N and the straight up homophobia, was enough to make Sweet Pea forget everything else, and just throw himself into the fight.

Luckily, only a few more punches were thrown before Chuck was on the ground clutching his nose, and Sweet Pea felt a small tug at him free hand, and realized Y/N was still in the room, right next to him.

“Come on, Rocky, let’s get out of here before someone comes in and starting throwing blame.” she said in a soft voice, and tugged his hand lightly again, and he found himself following her out of the lounge and towards the exit.

“Did you drive your bike today?” Y/N asked him, and he shook his head silently, eyes still focused on their intertwined hands.

“Well, I drove, so we can take my car.” she said simply, and Sweet Pea once again found himself unable to use his words to answer.

After a little more walking, he realized they had came to a holt, and look up to see Y/N looking at him with a worried glance.

“Here,” she said, and gave him a paper tissue, “it’s all I have, but it’s better than nothing until we get to your place.”

Sweet Pea just stared dumbly at her for a few seconds.

“Your lip, Sweet Pea, it’s busted, and I don’t want you to bleed all over my car!” she said with a small grin, and Sweet Pea felt himself grin back at her, even though his lip did, indeed, hurt quite a bit.

He looked behind her, and realized they were standing in front of a big, rather old, black Jeep Cherokee, and he look back at Y/N with raised eyebrows.

“Wait, this is your car?” he asked, shaking his head slightly.

“Yeah!” she grinned proudly, giving him a gentle nudge.

“Now, get in!”

Sweet Pea did what she told him, and got into the passenger side as Y/N climbed into the drivers seat.

"Do you like it?”

Sweet Pea turned towards her and raised his eyebrows.

“What..?” he mumbled, feeling stupid.

“The car!” Y/N laughed, as she started the engine.

Sweet Pea smiled a bit and shook his head.

“Yeah, it’s... not what I expected you to drive, I guess. But it’s cool.”

Y/N backed out of the parking space a bit too fast for Sweet Pea to believe she actually had control, but to his surprise she didn’t bump into anything.

“Honestly I got it because it reminded me of Jurassic Park, you know?” she said, as she drove out of the school property.

“I fucking love Jurassic Park.”

Sweet Pea couldn’t help but laugh, which he instantly regretted, both because it made his lip bleed more, and because it made Y/N look all amused.

“What? Dinosaurs are awesome. You live at Sunnyside, right?”

Sweet Pea nodded, to both statements, really, and Y/N looked pleased.

“Good. I’m gonna stitch you right back up, just wait and see.” she said as she was slamming her hands on the steering wheel to the song on the radio.

“What?” Sweet Pea asked, suddenly unnerved.

“Relax, I’m joking, I’m not gonna stitch anything, but I will fix your face back up.” she said, and shot him a stern look.

Sweet Pea felt a mix between excitement at the thought of him and Y/N alone at his trailer, and terror because of... well, thought of him and Y/N alone at his trailer.

“You really don’t have to-” her started, but she cut him off.

“No, don’t even start!” she said, sternly.

“You just fought a asshole defending both me and my best friend, the least I can do is help you fix up your face again.”

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes, but at the same time couldn’t hold back a smile.

He didn’t really mind time alone with Y/N, and every moment he knew she wasn’t alone and potentially stalked or hurt by the crazy person doing the stalking, was a good moment to him.

- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -

Y/N’s POV

Y/N was honestly already almost dead with embarrassment when she pulled her beloved Jeep up next to Sweet Pea’s trailer.

All that freaking dinosaur talk, what the hell was wrong with her?!

“Yeah, you can just stop right here, next to the bike.”

Sweet Pea’s voice luckily dragged her out of her trains of thoughts, right before she drove her car right into the poor guys trailer.

Yeah, maybe she wasn’t the best driver. Whatever.

They were both silent as she turned of the engine, and the two of the exited the car. Y/N walked a few steps behind him as he approached the trailer, taking a look around.

She had always been kind of fascinated with trailer homes, they looked so small on the outside and the inside was like... a house? Mind-blowing, honestly.

Sweet Pea cleared his throat as he turned the key around, and Y/N turned back to him, hurrying to catch up to him.

“Sorry it’s kind of messy, I wasn’t exactly expecting company today...” Sweet Pea mumbled, and Y/N waved her hand as if to wave away his words.

“Nah, it’s fine, it takes a lot to scare me.” she said as she followed him into the living room part of the trailer.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Sweet Pea mumbled into the now blood-soaked tissue.

Y/N shook her head as she plopped down on the couch.

“Nuh-uh, my aunt is like an actual hoarder, we’re talking an actual on TV level hoarder.”

Sweet Pea’d eyes widened for a second and Y/N grinned, pleased to have taken him by surprise.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” he asked, and Y/N sat upright and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“I am not, there’s an episode to prove it! Now, leave my taxidermy loving aunt alone, and get the medical kit I hope you have somewhere, so I can do what I came here do to, huh?”

Sweet Pea chuckled and rolled his eyes, but turned around and disappeared into what Y/N guessed was the bathroom, before he came back out a minute later, carrying an actual medical kit.

“Great, look at you, being all prepared!” Y/N smiled, as she got up and gestured for Sweet Pea to sit down at the couch.

As she opened the kit and messed around a bit to find what she needed, she could feel Sweet Pea’s eyes on her, and tried her best to seem cool and calm.

“Did you know they think dinosaurs may have had feathers?”

Great job, Y/N. If he wasn’t into you already, he’ll no doubt be now.

Idiot.

But Sweet Pea didn’t laugh at her, at least not to her face, he just looked up at her with a questioning look on his face.

“Is that what you think about when you see my face, dinosaurs with... feathers?” he asked, and Y/N couldn’t hold back a grin.

“What can I say, you’re like... really tall, you know? And that fighting technique you showed earlier was kind of T-Rex like, really.”

Sweet Pea finally gave in and let out a laugh, quickly causing him to wince as he stretched his mouth so his lip, who had just stopped bleeding, started bleeding again.

“Fuck.” he mumbled, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Okay, I know I’m amusing, but I would be great if you could keep it together for like, two seconds, as I work.” Y/N said sternly, earning her a small smile from the boy in front of her.

They both fell into a comfortable silence as Y/N finished cleaning and and bandaging up Sweet Pea’s face.

“There!” Y/N proudly exclaimed a few minutes later.

Sweet Pea looked up at her with raised eyebrows.

“You’re done?” he asked.

Y/N nodded as she cleaned up the medical kit.

“Yep.”

Sweet Pea got up and touched his lip and sore cheekbone carefully.

“Thank you, Y/N, seriously.” he said in a low voice, looking at her with a genuine look that made her knees weak.

“Pfft, don’t worry, you know, you were helping me first, remember?” she said, way too fast, but luckily Sweet Pea seemed to have heard her.

“Still, I really appreciate it.” he said, and Y/N nodded.

“And that asshole has it coming, seriously, who still uses words like that today? And talk about not taking a hint, what an douche, seriously.” he added, and once again, Y/N nodded.

“Yeah, he’s not exactly my favorite person either, you know?” she said and shivered.

Sweet Pea looked at her with narrowed eyebrows.

“You don’t think he could be the on who’s stalking you, do you?” he asked, and Y/N shrugged.

“I don’t want to say for sure it’s not, but I honestly don’t see him bothering to do something like that. And, I’m pretty sure the football team have had several practises and games while this person must have been around me.”

Sweet Pea nodded, and leaned on a counter with a serious expression, while Y/N sat back down on the couch..

“Did Jones an Cooper figure anything out?” he asked, and once again, Y/N shrugged.

“I don’t really know, to be honest, I haven’t seen them much. Cheryl talked about asking everyone who was there last weekend to meet up Friday or something, to talk.” Y/N looked down at her hands, biting her lower lip.

“It feels kind of stupid you know, making such a big deal out of this, and getting so many people involved.”

Sweet Pea shot her a surprised look, and quickly moved across the room to sit next to her on the couch.

“Are you serious?” he asked, and she shrugged sheepishly.

“This person roofied you, Y/N! And follow you around, watching you in your home, that’s some scary shit, and you should not be dealing with that alone!”

Y/N sighed, before she nodded a bit and gave Sweet Pea a small smile.

“I guess you’re right.” she said, as she checked her phone, to see it was way later than she thought, and she sighed.

“I should really get going, it’s Wednesday, and that’s the day my mother pretends to care, so she stops by to check that I’m still breathing!” Y/N said as she got up from the couch, and Sweet Pea did the same.

“That’s... nice?” he tried, and Y/N smiled as she shook her head.

“I honestly think she’s just scared I’ll run away or something, and it’ll end up with her and Mr. Sleaze having to look for me.” she said, as she slowly headed for the door.

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes.

“Parents.” he mumbled, and Y/N nodded.

“You don’t say.”

They reached the door, and Y/N stopped with her hand at the handle, unsure of what to say.

“So, I... well, thanks for going all T-Rex on Chuck, Sweets.” she said, and Sweet Pea shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Well, thanks for fixing my face and telling me about dinosaurs.” he said, and Y/N shook her head, smiling back at him.

“Well, I’ll... see yah?” she said, raising her eyebrows a bit and biting her lower lip.

“Yeah.” Sweet Pea nodded, a small smile on his face.

“And, you know... if anything happens, you can like, call or come over or whatever, okay?” he added, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Thanks, Sweet Pea, I will.” Y/N answered, as she made her way out the door, and into her car.

The whole afternoon left her all mixed up with so much anger at Chuck, and so much awkwardness from herself, and most off all, the nice conversation with Sweet Pea, and the uncharacteristically sweet things he had said as she left.

In fact, Y/N was so giddy and exited she didn’t even notice the note someone had carefully left under her window wipers until she was parked outside her house, and even then, she was way too stressed about her mother being home to do anything but stick the note in her pocket.

That was just the first mistakes on Y/N’s part in the next few days.

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