#(which are all readings we've done or will do before the paper is due)

[hazellight11]

Audhd: *needs instructions in order to do assignments*

College professors: write an essay about [topic]. No i will not elaborate just do it.

[oc-aita]

Am I the asshole for killing my girlfriend?

So basically I (??, original, F) had been surviving in post-nuclear apocalypse... I don't know. As soon as I woke up (radiation bringing people to life yknow yknow) I met this girl (??, original, F, THEY/THEM) and they were like "You seem really strong. Come with me!" (Not exact words) and dragged me along, and we've been travelling companions ever since.

They were oddly clingy, which I tolerated. When I first became companions with them, one of us would take turns going out to scavenge, and the other would stay home (? Not sure if I could call a grass bed under two metal roofs that). They got weaker due to radiation as time went on though, so we started going out together more.

Oh yeah, they're a daisy flower. That's kinda important because naturally they're frailer because of this.

They gave me fake paper dragon ears, wings and tails on a trip, because they had been reading my own contents (i'm a book) to me and I was fascinated about that. Apparently I'm a guidebook for a game about dragons or something? Anyways, on that same trip they confessed to me and I actually couldn't pinpoint if I felt the same way (I feel different towards them everytime i think about them, I don't know why), but I reluctantly accepted anyways. So we stopped having solo scavenging trips from then on.

Now, from when we met until the end, they've always kept me away from populated areas. They didn't want me to see another person, and at first I didn't question it, until we actually did run into someone else (??, not sure if original or modern, M). My gf and him seemed to have bad history, which I was confused about, and they told me to stay away from the situation). He pulled me aside after the convo, and told me about how my gf is a liar and has abandoned 30(?) people back to back on their long journey of survival across the country? And then he asked me about how we met, so I told him, and he told me that they specifically chose me as their companion BECAUSE I just woke up and wouldn't know anything about what they have done, and also they could teach me anything they wanted.

Obviously, this disgusted me, but I didn't know what to do about it, so I just brushed it off and went on as usual, until one day, when I was sick, my gf found a group of people and decided they should be there next. So they stole my dragon plushie as entrance fee and ran off. Now, I should've mentioned this before, but the plushie meant a lot to me, because I woke up under it and its been with me as a comfort item ever since. And they stole it.

I followed after them, and caught up quickly because they were kinda too weak to have gone far. I asked them to explain themself, and made it clear that I would've been fine with all this if they just gave the plushie back to me, but they only apologized for being a liar. I repeated my demands, and they refused to budge, so I eventually got so mad I saw red. I hadn't realized immediately, but I struck them in the neck and killed them. I didn't even feel anything about it eventually besides anger, so I just left their body out to rot.

Now I feel really really bad about it, was all that wrong of me?

[awheckery]

DEATH TW and mentions of murder so if that is triggering for you don’t read, but if it’s not then i’d like to ask if you’ve heard of forensic genealogy? while i am uneasy at the prospect of using it to find suspects, it can also be used to find the identities of unidentified decedents, who die of accidental causes or are murdered, and often it’s the only hope to identify those who have been unidentified for decades. the dna doe project is a nonprofit that’s mostly volunteer run, and i think that your research skills could be useful there or somewhere like there. i know this is kind of a random ask to receive, identification of unidentified remains is my special interest but i don’t have the time or training to get better at researching beyond a few tricks here and there.

I feel like we've read the same articles recently; did you see the tumblr post (and linked articles) about Joseph Augustus Zarelli, the Boy in the Box?

Which is to say, yes, I am aware of forensic genealogy and the DNA Doe Project, because like many white American women, I'm a true crime junkie.* My big Thing is investigative procedure tho, so I'm also deeply interested in plane & train crash investigations, medical mysteries, archaeology, anthropology... basically 'what happened, and by which processes and methods do we figure out what happened?'

So far as getting into the game myself, I dunno. I assume there's probably some sort of required formal training, along with the expectation of reliability and sustained effort, and I'm a chronically ill autodidact with ADHD. I'm the research equivalent of a sprinter; investigative genealogy requires a marathoner, because there's so much exhausting, grinding work involved.

Something I've never seen brought up before in any investigation is how many extant family trees are just wrong. Genealogical sites make it too easy to crib notes from other users, and all it takes is one person deciding 'eh that's probably the right guy' for dozens of other amateur researchers to make the same mistake, and then somebody ties that erroneous information to their DNA profile. I don't know how the forensic genealogists deal with that.

You also have to take into account how many people throughout history have just gone missing, or otherwise fallen off the historical record. Just because someone's date of death is absent doesn't mean something nefarious happened to them. (Just because someone's date of death is present doesn't mean it's correct.) People emigrate. They marry. They change their names. They die alone and unknown in a ditch**, or they die somewhere that doesn't make those records public***. Paper records can burn or flood out, and family stories rarely make it down more than one or two generations. History is messy.

I've only done serious research into my family background for two years, in fits and starts interrupted by illness flare ups. Half the time it feels like I find more questions to ask than I get answers. I've found a pair of illegitimate daughters and a handful of adoptees. I've found some two dozen 'missing persons' who may as well have disappeared into thin air, for how suddenly they dropped out of the historical record. I've found a murder victim and a (maybe) would-be murderess.

And four months ago, I found the answer to another family's 150 year old missing person case, and it changed everything I thought I knew about my mother's family.

This is how.

Five months ago, I thought I knew everything there was that could be known about John Robert McDowell.

I knew he was born July 1st of either 1868 or 1869, in Belfast, Northern Ireland. According to his naturalization petition, he came to the United States in April of 1883, when the absolute oldest he could have been was fourteen, and at the time of his naturalization in 1896 he claimed his nationality was English, presumably due to anti-Irish sentiments at the time.

I knew John's handwriting was idiosyncratic: he wrote the J in his name with a rightward upper loop that scooped up again before curving back around the center staff, and his uppercase R was a mess of curlicues. I've never seen the like before or since.

I knew that despite living in America for ten years longer than he'd lived outside it, John still had an accent in 1908 when his second son was born. Spelling is incredibly inconsistent across historical records because up until very recently, it was the practice of the record keepers to write down their best guess at what they heard, and in 1908 a midwife heard and recorded John's surname as McDoul.

John's life was actually remarkably well-documented, in comparison to his contemporaries. I bought myself access to Newspapers.com along with my Ancestry subscription, and he made semi-regular appearances in the Newport News Daily Press for the better part of thirty years as a Navy veteran, successful entrepreneur, and president of a labor union that later became the United Steelworkers Local 8888. (A seemingly throwaway notice in the Daily Press was the only record I've yet been able to find for his divorce, which eventually led me to find out whatever happened to his wife, which is another saga entirely. Pauline, you dirty rotten cheater.)

I knew that John was in and out of the hospital with thyroid cancer, but he was such a tough old bastard it took the better part of fifteen years to kill him, and he died in 1954 at the age of 86.****

According to John's death certificate (and the U.S. Government records at the VA hospital where he died), his parents' names were Thomas McDowell and Isabell Rabb (or possibly Robb, the Accent strikes again.)

This is the only record linked to either of them on Ancestry.com at all.

I have most of a history degree, so I wasn't surprised. There are next to no records of the 1890 census of the United States, and that was down to a fire in the National Archives. Ireland was dragged backwards through hell by the ankles for centuries by a succession of British monarchs and governments, and Belfast was in the prime of especially conflicted territory for much of it. No census records from John's lifetime were kept, and the likelihood his parents would show up in the surviving fragments from 1841 and 1851 was slim to none.

There were transcribed indexes from birth and marriage records available, at least, and I scoured them through, looking for a John McDowell, and there wasn't a single damn one born to a Thomas or Isabelle McDowell in a decade on either side of 1868. There wasn't any record I could find at all of a Thomas McDowell marrying an Isabelle Rabb until well after John left Ireland.

Five months ago, as far as I knew, John Robert McDowell was probably a bastard, who'd either been left out of whatever records were taken at the time, or he was one of the unfortunate ones whose birth record had been lost.

Four months ago, I realized that the record indexes on Ancestry included film numbers, which meant there were pictures of those records to be found somewhere. If they were organized chronologically, I could try to find his birth registration that way. Googling "ireland civil registration records" brought me to the Civil Records search page of a genealogy site run by, of all things, the Irish government's tourism department.

Once again, there wasn't a John McDowell born to the right parents during the right time period, so I went looking for his parents' marriage. And found it.

If they married in 1872, John would probably still technically be a bastard, but I had a point to start from. Once I clicked into the actual scan of the record I nearly snapped myself in half sitting upright in attention, because Thomas McDowell's father's name was Duncan, John named his eldest son Duncan, Isabella's father's name was John, I had to have the right two people, this couldn't be a coincidence.

And then I noticed Isabella was a widow. Isabella was a widow.

Who was your husband, and when did he die, Isabella? I searched again, and found her marriage to a Thomas Logan July 30th, 1866. No men named Thomas Logan died in Belfast between 1866 and 1870, which meant he was probably still alive when John was born. It meant I had been looking in the wrong direction the entire time.

John Robb Logan came into the world on July 1st, 1868, in the Ballymacarrett district of Belfast, the second child of four born to Thomas Logan and Isabella Robb. Once I knew what I was looking for the rest came easy.

John's early life was riddled with tragedies. His younger brother Joseph was six months old when he died in March of 1870. His father died of smallpox in December of the same year, exactly one month after the birth of his sister Mary. Three months before his fifth birthday, his first half-sibling Bella died, at just five months old. And in 1879, his older brother William died after a long, miserably drawn-out illness from spinal tuberculosis.

(As an aside, god, poor Isabella. She had four children with Thomas Logan, and a further nine with Thomas McDowell, and before her early death from a long respiratory illness she buried a husband, two sons, and two daughters. How do you go on after that, how are you not forever shattered?)

If I hadn't been sure I'd found the right family, I was after William died. Thomas McDowell was the person who reported William's death to the registrar's office after sitting by his deathbed. The registrar recorded William as a "child of [the] baker" that Thomas was by profession; Thomas McDowell claimed his stepson as his own.

Duncan McDowell, John's step-grandfather, had a family burial plot in Ballygowan, and he named William Adam Logan as his grandson, with no qualifiers, when they buried him.

All the evidence suggests that the McDowells loved John Robb Logan and his siblings, and he loved them back every bit as much. You don't choose to take on the surname of people you hate, and it seems very much the case that John chose to go by McDowell when he came to America. I'm honestly not sure there was a way for Thomas McDowell to bequeath his name to his stepchildren, given John's brother William died a Logan and his sister Mary married as one.

John Robb Logan disappeared from history after his baptism, and John Robert McDowell made his first confirmed appearance in the historical record in 1883, but I was certain they were one and the same. The problem was proving it to my mother, because McDowell was her family name. She'd grown up with it, as had her sisters and her dozens of cousins and her father and his siblings and her father's father; I only had a paper trail arguing the name she knew didn't belong to any of them by blood.

So I went for blood.

I refuse to give my DNA to Ancestry.com on a principle born from paranoia and ethics concerns. It's absolutely not happening, ever, like hell do I expect a corporation to do the right thing with my genetic material. My mother doesn't share my concerns, either now or four years ago, when she bought an Ancestry DNA kit and then did absolutely nothing with her results besides marvel at the unexpected Swedish heritage in her 'Ethnicity Estimate' because doing anything else looked like too much work.

It took a few days to figure out how to hook my mother's DNA results into the tree I've built, and a few more for all the features to populate, but all told it took less than a week between learning the truth about my great-great-grandfather's parentage and proving it irrefutably with DNA, via several descendants of his full-blooded sister Mary and a grandson of his half-brother Wallace.

Ancestry doesn't tell you when new DNA matches are found, or when someone adds you to their tree (and thank god for that, my mother has somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty thousand matches). To those descendants of Mary Thomasina Logan, the handful of John's descendants who've shelled out for Ancestry DNA kits could be any random person. Frequently the relationships between matches aren't clear, because of all the folks like my mom who never add a tree to their results, or those who don't try to go any further back than their grandparents.

As far as Mary Logan's descendants know, the sons of Thomas Logan dead-ended his line, and when I do find John in their trees there's never more than a birth year and a blank space where there would usually be a year of death. (They all have the wrong Isabella Robb too, but I don't really blame them; apparently Isabella was one of the most popular names for girls for well over a century, and Robbs weren't exactly thin on the ground.)

Someday soon, I'm going to reach out. People who study genealogy do it because they're looking for something: long lost relatives, answers to questions asked too late, or even a better, more personal understanding of history by learning about the people who were there when it happened. Every family has its mysteries and this one, at least, could be solved.

John's story doesn't end here. Here is where it begins.

~

*I'm aware of the problematic nature of White Lady True Crime Brain Poisoning, but I'm gonna have to pull the 'I'm not like other girls' card. I'm incredibly discerning about my crime shows, I hate the fucking cops, and I'm realistic about how unbelievably low my chances are of ever being the victim of a violent crime. I'm white, I'm broke as shit, I'm built like a running back and walk like the Terminator, and most importantly, I'm single and planning to stay that way for the rest of my life. The only way I'm getting murdered is if I happen to get caught in a random mass shooting, which isn't outside the realm of possibility because America.

**In case anyone's gotten this far and is still interested, there's strong evidence that the mystery of the Somerton Man was finally solved last year. At some point I'd like to take a look at the tree the forensic genealogists built tho, because I have some Doubts. There was only one person in that family that fell off the map in the 40's? Just one? I was lightning-strike kinds of lucky enough to find John's real parentage, but I dug up more unanswered questions with it, because two of his half-brothers dropped out of the records after 1901. Completely setting aside the possibility of infidelity in the Webb family and how common inbreeding has been (both historically and in recent memory) in populations of European descent, I have a hard time buying that Carl Webb was the only person who could be the Somerton Man. It's still cool as shit that they have a strong possibility tho.

***Maryland and Kansas specifically can blow me, if somebody died in either of those states I have to find an obituary or a tombstone to get the mcfrickin' date, and I have to either pay money and prove a relationship to see a death certificate, or show up to an archive in person to search on their intranet, MARYLAND WHY DO YOU NOT WANT ME TO KNOW WHEN MY GREAT-GRANDMOTHER DIED. (Being fair, I don't know if she died in Maryland, that's just a great-uncle's best guess, because she ran away from her family in 1949 and nobody ever saw her again after the early 60's. Helen, where the hell did you go?)

****One of the big reasons why I got into genealogy in the first place was to see if I could find how far back the predisposition to early deaths and autoimmune disease went in my family. What I hadn't expected to find was a predisposition for extreme longevity on all sides. Longevity as in 'skewing the life expectancy bell curve' kinds of longevity. As long as someone didn't come down with a freak illness or make a looooooooong string of poor life choices, they were apparently immune to death, which honestly explains a few things about Crazy Grandma, god damn.

[cryptid-kay]

How I Write

Alright, it’s writing post time! Just a little summary of how I write, because I do get questions about it. Usually how I can write so fast, or in a short period of time. So aside from citing NaNoWriMo, this is a more in depth process on how I get from start to finish in about 3-6 months on a draft, all in part thanks to a bow tie wearing man at my college who taught advanced comp (ask me about that story sometimes). This will be quick, not super detailed, but if you have questions, feel free to ask! 1. Planning/Plotting So, I don’t plot. Except I do. This is a process I tend to use for "stuck" ideas or more fleshed out ones, but I also use this during rewriting and would like to use it more during my real writing and I find it eases some of the pitfalls of the more pantser method I had been using. In this method I begin with my stakes, my characters, and their motivations. This is best done after fleshing out my characters, but can be applied to characters I haven't fully explored as it grants a starting point. Once I've nailed down the stakes, I figure out first how my MC is going to react, then how this is going to get them into trouble. Basically creating for myself a method of raising the stakes through the story. This is where I start writing. 2. Drafting Alright, this is where the process gets funnn. I will take a day or two to plan out a chapter in my head. Then I put it on paper. Sometimes it comes out different, but usually as long as I adhere to the major beats of the story, everything is fine. This helps me break up my stories into chapters that flow into one another. I treat them like mini short stories of about 2-3K with something important happening in each. I write linearly, so start to finish, and I can usually complete a chapter in a writing session. (I plan to write about an hour on my writing days). I admit I do not write daily. I find it burns me out, but I do swap between planning days and writing, and if I get an idea, I'll write notes. This process is both the simplest, and takes the longest, usually around 30-60 days for about 50-100K. This is in part due to the speed of my writing (around 50-75 wpm), and the fact I plan so I have a clear vision of my chapters before I write them, making the writing process faster for me. 3. Revising - Round One I found after rewriting Half Crown last year a new method of revision, which requires some tedium, but ultimately I enjoyed it and am working it into my process. It begins with going through the whole book and making a spreadsheet. This spreadsheet is a chapter by chapter breakdown of scenes including: the summary of the scene, characters present, motives, and the major stakes. I also sometimes add notes for things I want to change. This scene breakdown for me was useful because I could see a cohesive breakdown, and as I was summarizing I found areas to improve. It also helped me keep the book consistent. Once I finish, my first round of revisions is quite simply going through and adding/deleting/altering scenes with the notes I or my readers have put in the scene breakdown. 4. Beta Reading This is the part that takes foreverrrr and it's not anyone's fault, I just can't work on the story very much while it's being read. This is in part so I'm not updating beta readers with new versions, but also so I can take a more objective look when it comes back from them. 5. We've had first revisions, but what about second revisions? Honestly, this is just like first revisions, I consult feedback and notes, and then I revise. After that, I would send to an editor. I will be having my first big editing experience this year, so I won’t detail that part yet, but I might add to this in another post! That’s it, the whole process. And as I stated before, this is just me. I think it works well for my brain, for my time constraints, and for my lifestyle, but your process might be different! 

[devnmon]

the round room, 1:45 a.m.

Warnings: NSFW, sub!emily, semi-public sex, oral (emily!receiving), posessive!reader, reader covering em's mouth with a tie, degradation kink lowkey, 3 different positions bc im a whore, pussy slapping, reader is also wearing a shirt and tie

Summary: You find Emily among the last of the individuals in the BAU building at night. What happens afterwards is a venture in itself.

wc: 2.3k

a/n: heyy welcome to my first Emily Prentiss fic! I've been wanting to write for her but forgot for a while. So here is a rare sub!emily fic; she's usually written as a dom, but this is based off my own hcs of her. i <3 this fic and i hope u all do too. more to come soon xx

A long day's work had finally come to a head.

Currently, it was late at night, after hours in the BAU office. You continuously read through many case files that were due on Hotch's desk first thing in the morning. It wasn't until the whole bullpen had cleared out, that you concluded the final report.

For the first time in a while, you glanced at the now darkened area around you.

The clock on the wall read 1:45 a.m., which wasn't the usual overtime hours for you at the BAU. Usually your profiler team was out in the field, working on a case for about a week. Unfortunately, it happened to be a night of paperwork and long hours in the office.

The only belongings you saw at the surrounding desks were Reid's bag and sweater. Any other light source still on besides your lamp were the one on Reid's desk, and the few slivers of light that beamed through the slightly open blinds from the round table room.

From the bullpen, you could tell there was someone inside.

You pondered who the movement behind the blinds belonged to. A moment later, you heard a stack of folders drop to the floor. That was enough to raise you from your seat, making your way towards the sound.

A low voice muttered behind the ajar door, which hung open a little less than halfway. Your hand pressed against it, revealing Emily hunched over on the floor, reaching for each of the files she'd dropped. You saw the back side of her black hair, trying to clean up the plethora of tan folders, not having noticed you yet.

"Need help with those?" You asked lowly, trying not to startle the woman from outside the door. Upon speaking, Emily jumped a bit before she turned around, then immediately relaxed once she saw you.

"Hey... yeah. Thanks." She breathed, a little startled that someone else was at the office as late as her. The two of you gathered each of the files, making sure they all contained the correlating pieces of paper they needed. When the folders were placed neatly back in a pile, Emily placed it on the table, sighing in content. Still shorter than her with the both of you in heeled boots, you looked up at her with a smile.

"You alright? Must be tired, it's almost two. Shit, we've been here so long that even Hotch beat us home."

She chuckled at the rarity of that ever happening.

Somehow there was no doubt that you both (and probably Reid) were the only ones left here for the night.

"I'm exhausted. Been working on this caseload all damn week.. but now that I'm finally done, I can go home and relax." The dark haired woman replied with a flirtatious smirk. Right away, you knew what she meant.

"Mhm... but I can't wait to get home. I want you now..." Your breathy voice made Emily clench around nothing, remembering all the times you'd hit the spots that drove her crazy.

She bit her lip, immediately pulling you in by the tie for a kiss, the few soft pecks becoming deeper with each one she left on your mouth.

“Been thinking about you all day..” Emily muttered, your lips began to travel down her neck, breathing becoming heavier. She felt a gush of heat in her core, one that was drawing her in to you.

“Mmm.. yeah?” You asked, loving how she looked in her white button down shirt.

Emily, dark haired, heart-shaped lips, quick-witted Prentiss, was the type of woman who fluttered in your presence. She tried her best to hide it, but even Hotch picked up her strange behavior around you. During the days, at the office, it was best to keep your noses buried in work. You couldn't imagine what would happen if you and her were found indecent somewhere in the building.

“Yes…” she breathed, “Could barely get any work done all day today cause I was thinking about you..”

Your teeth nipped at her skin, picking up the hitch in Emily's breath as your lips followed a trail down to her chest. Pulling away only made her want more, jutting her bottom lip out. Those dark brown eyes of hers locked onto yours.

"I saw Reid's bag... he's still here. Can't have him finding us with my head between your legs..." Upon hearing your words, Emily's dark eyebrows furrowed, stepping away from you for a moment.

She reached around to close the rest of the round room's blinds, while you shut the door and turned off the overhead lights. The only glow that remained was the monitors mounted on the wall.

Once she turned back to you, you connected your mouth to hers again. Emily hadn't put on lipstick today, which you realized upon first taste. Your hands wrapped around Emily's waist, pulling her close while you sat her back on the table. Her hands raked through your hair, pulling slightly at moments.

Your hands traveled to her off-center belt buckle, an aspect of her style you found unique, and that looked good on her as well. Her pants undone, you pulled them down past her thighs before stopping to whisper in her ear.

"Don't make a sound... or someone will hear you, baby." She nodded vigorously in response, her desperate state slapping a smirk across your face.

While unbuttoning the buttons, your lips traveled down between the valley of her breasts and stomach, shrugging her shirt the rest of the way off. This area of her body was always as sensitive as others, not knowing how many countless filthy sounds you've pulled from her just by playing with her breasts.

Goosebumps covered Emily's skin while you softly rubbed her torso, crouching down to spread her legs. The pair of panties she wore had a visible wet stain soaking through the front.

"Fuck, you're soaked already... " You praised, hearing Emily groan at the sound of your voice. One of your hands cupped her heat,

"Please babe... it's so late now," Emily breathed between breathy sounds, wanting to be pleasured by you, but also wanting to get home.

But you just couldn't help yourself.

Another whimper escaped her lips, an inaudible please, watching as her head fell back. Chuckling to yourself, you pulled your hand from between her thighs and stood up. Her eyes immediately shot back to you, confused and upset at the loss between her thighs.

"Get off the table." you demanded, watching her hop down from her seat, a confused but innocent look on her face. Pulling her pants the rest of the way off, she walked over to you, only to be met with you bending her over the table forcefully.

A hand of yours rested on her behind, the other unclipping her bra. The minute you moved off her, you grasped her ass, hooking one of your fingers around the band of lace lying between her cheeks. Letting it snap back against her skin, she jolted at the feeling.

You left desperate kisses down her back, while her now unclipped bra flung apart and onto the floor. Two of your fingers hooked under the band of her lacy panties, pulling them down slowly. Her pussy was on display, wet and needy to be touched.

"Like what you see?" She asked, smirking. Too tired to punish her for her smart remark, you decided to tuck that moment away for later.

"Yes, baby. Very much." Panties fell down her legs the rest of the way, revealing her cunt before your eyes. It wasn't often you were in the mood to even think about doing something like this, especially at your place of work.

Maybe it was the late hours that pushed you too far to give in. Your filthy daydreams of playing with her pressed over this very table were always something of a fantasy. Once you saw the opportunity to make them a reality, you took it and ran.

The slick from her folds shone in what little light there was, feeling drawn to her in a much bolder way than usual.

"Spread your legs for me, come on. Don't be shy now, honey." You spoke in a sultry voice, the very one Emily had a weakness for. It made her knees buckle, and you could barely lower your tone around her without it ruining her focus for the rest of the day. You swore, every time it happened, she texted you the most filthy things her brain thought up. It was quite distracting.

Emily's feet stepped apart, revealing her in full to you. The sight wasn't enough, you needed to taste her. Your lips pressed to her pussy immediately, moving slowly through her already messy folds.

Your sudden contact sent a jolt through her body, slipping a moan through her lips.

"Fuck.." you heard her whisper, knowing she couldn't control herself sometimes.

"What did I say, pretty girl? Don't make a sound." You spoke, going back to making out with her cunt. Your tongue circled and swirled around her clit, teasing her hole with one of your fingers.

"'M sorry- oh.. f-fuck, I'll be quiet, baby. I'll be quiet..." She swallowed another sound at the end of her desperate attempt at an apology. It ran a shiver up your spine, hearing the tone of her voice in complete submission to you.

"If you can't handle it, I can just make you stay quiet." You began, knowing Emily liked the thought. You pushed a finger inside her slowly, curling ever so gently.

"Ah-" Emily's voice rang out again, lower than before, but still audible. You hummed against her, hips jolting above you. After a few minutes of just one finger inside her, you added another, and that's when she really slipped up.

"F-Fuck!" She called out, loud enough for someone on the floor to hear. For a second, you took your mouth off her, waiting a moment to see if anyone was still around.

"Mmmh..." Emily whined above you, to which you slapped her cunt to quiet her.

"Fucking brat," you muttered, "You don't know how to shut up, do you?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Emily still began, "No- I do, baby.. I do."

"Apparently not good enough." you began removing the tie from around your neck, reaching to wrap it around Emily's mouth. Her whimpering and whining never completely ceased, but it definitely quieted what she couldn't hold back.

Your tongue moved fast and smooth against her folds now, your fingers still pumping inside her. They curled quickly to coax Emily's orgasm from her. The amount of her arousal dripping made it easy to fuck her with your fingers at a quicker pace.

“Love seeing you like this, all a mess for me. You fall apart so easily.. How desperate you are, how fast I turn you on…”  You murmured in her ear.

It was then you removed your fingers from her, pulling her up from the table to press yourself against her back. You removed the tie from around her mouth, letting it hang around her neck.

"You getting close, baby?" You muttered against her ear, feeling her body tremble against yours.

"Mhm.. yes, oh god, 'mclose." Emily whispered, one of your hands grasping at her chest while the other rubbed her clit from the front.

"Yeah, gonna come for me?" You asked, fingers swirling at the pleasure between her legs.

"God yes..." Emily's orgasm neared quicker than ever, the enamor she held for you overwhelming every part of her. You turned her towards you, hands roaming her body, before stopping on her breasts to twist her nipples between your fingers.

Emily tried her best to be quiet, but it resulted in her hand clasped over her mouth in another poor attempt to silence her.

Without warning, you reached down, pulling her by the thighs to connect your mouth to her wet cunt. Immediately she called out your name, moaning and rocking her hips from your tongue. You hum under her, the vibration shaking Emily to her core.

She inched closer with every second your tongue swirled through her wetness, heavy breathing coming from the woman above you. One of her hands raked through your hair, pressing you impossibly closer.

"I’m gonna-“ She whimpered, “Gonna come, baby..”

Her hips began to stutter against your mouth, a flutter of gasping breaths slipping past her parted lips.

Emily was caught in the high of her orgasm as it washed through her body, calling out your name wantonly. Your fingers pumped in and out while she came down from her orgasm. Gazing at her, you watched her chest heave in satisfaction.

"Aw, sweetheart. So pretty when you come for me.." you murmured, standing up to kiss her flushed cheeks. Emily's breath continued to steady, arms wrapping around you.

"We should get out of here..." you heard her whisper, though her hands remained on the belt of your pants, "But... What about you?"

A smirk crept onto your face, "It's really late, babe. Let’s get home first."

Emily nodded, knowing it was exactly what you needed to end the night. She leaned in to place feather light kisses on your jaw. You began picking up her clothes from the floor, helping her get redressed.

Both of you acted as natural as possible while exiting the round room, gathering your belongings to accompany each other to the parking garage.

The only way you’d keep your relationship with Emily a secret was to prevent people from seeing you leave and arrive together. Though, you were part of a team of profilers, who could always tell when something was different.

It was only a matter of time before one of your co-workers figured it out. For now, you and Emily were enjoying being a secret.

As you drove off into the night, you imagined what the rest of the night would bring the both of you.

A/n: Thanks for reading <3 Please support by reblogging!

[besthimbomachine]

I want your commentary on a section of one of your fics, or a whole fic, that you've been DYING to get your thoughts out on. 😊

I hope you've been having a good day, and wanted to get this in before I go to bed glrbfj.

Owwwn thank you sweetheart <3

Btw I got this ask for the Directors Commentary thing AND another one for that too by an anon, nonnie I'm gonna save yours until chapter 4 is done cause I'll for SURE have things to talk about chapter 4 too. I fought through the pure angst of chapters 1 and 2 to get to the other ones which will have more funny, fluffy and horny things which I love writing. Chapter 3 already starts that off with the horny.

Anyways into the commentary proper, I did a bunch of parts of chapter 3 cause I really liked writing it.

I guess first I wanna comment in the fic as a whole. If anyone doesn't know, the title "my love when it counted" comes from the hozier song shrike. If you haven't listened to it, go and look it up, it's great and very much the vibe of this fic.

Anyways, this fic came not from a prompt or situation I found hot as most of mine do but from a feeling. Like, we know Kenny talked about thinking of retiring due to his injuries and we've been getting the vibe, esp after this week's show but also on his feud with Osprey, that he has been feeling the years. That he knows time has started to take it's toll on him. And I myself have been kinda going through my own crisis cause I'm reaching thirty, and as someone who only fell in tune with my own skin after I was 25, the dawning of my youth scares me.

So a heavy theme of this fic is time, how it changes you, in some ways it's bad, in some ways it's good, but it changes you. It has the power to change you so thoroughly that you become a stranger to your past self. So this is a story about the inexorable march of time and the changes it forces on you, and how sometimes you can be the right person at the wrong time. It's also about learning to live with your mistakes and putting in the work to fix things.

Also, every chapter has a working title so I can tell from one look at my Google docs what it's gonna be about, this one was "down memory lane hard".

Chapter parts will be under the read more

That was the box Kenny had dumped any photo with you in, to never be seen again. Shit, he didn’t even know he still had that. He was supposed to have thrown it away, but he never did quite get up the courage to do so. Looking at them now, he could feel the bitter sweet pang of nostalgia, the way it tasted like ashes in his mouth. Swallowing thickly, he stacked the photos together in the box again. That’s when he noticed something else, the black metal previously hidden by the scattered papers shining back at him. (Kenny made the big mistake of giving himself time to doubt instead of just throwing things out right away, big mistake buddy. Nostalgia is a drug, and also a liar, rarely the past is quite as good as it makes you think. Anyways, this is not the last we will hear from the nostalgia box, it still holds something else we haven’t heard about yet.)

For the most part, the camera seemed ok, and it sparked in Kenny a curiosity that he knew he shouldn’t feed. Whatever pictures it held, he knew they would do him no good right now. He knew he should just put it back in the box and leave it be. But he couldn’t resist as his finger pushed the power button, body moving on its own, ignoring all common sense. All he could do was hope the thing just would not turn on. (These three first chapters are just a long stretch of Kenny making bad decisions, some he really thinks would work out - like pretending you are strangers instead of trying to behave normally - and others he really know wouldn’t work out and still he does. At this point he is doing this almost as a type of self flagellation, he knows it will only hurt but it feels better to have the pain than nothing at all)

But of course it did. (hello ominous one liner in italic my old friend)

When Kenny finally made his way to the old photos, the first thing he was greeted with was his own face. Those same baby blues staring back at him, although a good few wrinkles less and many years younger. (references to how he feels about his age are actually important but hey kenny time did you good, you look better now) He had a smile on his face, features framed by the ropes as he sat on the floor of the ring. Behind him, he could see the silhouettes of Matt and Nick facing the vast empty arena, only a few more blurred forms dotted in the background. 

Sighing deeply, Kenny moved on to the older photos. Passing through pictures of him, Matt and Nick preparing in the ring, as well as pictures of you getting ready or climbing on the ropes. There was one video from that day that had you and Kenny dancing around the ring, and for the second time now he felt his heart shatter as his memory failed him. He made through the pictures of the four of you, but nothing moved his mind, the memories truly lost to time. (Time and how it changes people is at the core of this fics theme yes and the first thing time goes for in a person is their memories, the human mind is actually very bad at remembering things and sometimes that’s great but other times it’s depressing.)

Biting his lower lip, Kenny laid back against the headboard, finger pressing the button again, but the picture meeting him this time being completely different. The photo had been taken in front of a large mirror outside a building, and standing in the frame were the two of you. He had an umbrella in hand, and you had the camera covering half of your face as you looked through the viewfinder. (Go ahead and imagine the most Wes Anderson looking ass picture, that’s what I was going for, and yes I do deserve to get sent to the content gulag for my hipster crimes)

Sighing again, Kenny flipped through the photos rapidly before stopping when he noticed a change in environment. The picture he’d stopped in was of you, looking away from the camera with your hair tied up, water covering your bare chest all the way above the breasts. He paused, studying the environment, the stone walls and hazy fog circling you were hard to mistake. You two were at an onsen, by the size of it a private one, probably from whichever place you were staying at. (Hello darkness my old friend, like I said, I would have a hard time getting into an onsen cause the japanese still connect tattoos to criminal behavior and I’m covered in tattos but I’ve never commited a crime [Maria has in fact commited multiple minor crimes ranging from drug possession, to showin her tits in public, to having sex in a public-ish place, to stealing from a supermarket to the worst of all,multiple accounts of  piracy])

Kenny’s eyes trailed the exposed skin on the back of your neck, eyes following the curve of your spine as it delved underwater. He felt his chest tighten again, you were so gorgeous, if he closed his eyes he could almost feel your soft skin on his fingertips. The next picture had you laughing, waving one hand at the camera as if trying to shoo him away. Your movement - and the surrounding fog - made the photo blurry, but he could still see your exposed chest. Warm water spilled down the inside of your breasts, kissing your skin in ways he could only have in his dreams now.

Moving on to the next photo, Kenny felt the air hitching in his throat as his eyes met with your own, large and entrancing in a way that he never found again after he lost you. Your beautiful irises stared back at him through the screen, keeping him locked in place for a good moment as he felt himself dragged to the bottom of a lake. And for a second there, he really didn’t want to resurface. (Kenny is longing to the point of self destruction, poor guy, but like I said I like to write my man a little pathetic, take him down a notch, make him suffer for his crimes and have to work to get the girl)

When he finally remembered to breathe, Kenny fully took in the image. You stared straight ahead, deep sultry eyes locked with the lens as his hand touched your face. One of your hands held his own, your lips touching his knuckles and the back of his fingers in a soft kiss. Water droplets ran down the curve of your breasts, with the way you were sitting the water just about touched your chest, not fully reaching your nipples. God, you looked like something out of this world, like a siren ready to drag him underwater, a lure he’d never deny. (If he won’t let you do like a siren and drag him to the bottom of a lake to kill him, does he really love you?)

Blood rushed to Kenny’s face and in a moment his breathing became hard, air evading him for a long second. It was almost like he’d forgotten just how gorgeous you could be. His fragile memory - and his most shameful dreams - not doing justice to a sight he once had so freely that he didn’t fully value. He was young and stupid, and you were too beautiful for him to understand - and fuck, from what he saw in the ring you’d only gotten better. (Gotta make sure to remind yall that we are romanticizing aging in this house, you look better in your early thrities than you did in your early twenties!!!)

It did him no good. (Ominous one liner here again to remind Kenny that he should have just turned off the camera)

Watching the scene in the camera had Kenny groaning, extending his legs out in the bed, free hand coming to rest on top of the bulge now formed in his pants. He watched the image of you continue to tease him on the screen, licking his swollen head as you made eye contact with the lens. Muttering curses, his eyes followed the movements of your tongue, his fingers caressing his large bulge over the fabric of his pants. Just the sight of your lips surrounding the head of his cock being enough to have him fully hard. (One hard thing about this chapter was making it clear what was happening on the screen and what was happenning in current time you know, I wanted to make it clear enough so that things wouldn’t be too confusing. Anyways, love writing handjobs and blowjobs, this short smut gave me both, I should have expanded on it but I was tired already.)

Shit, he knew he shouldn’t be watching this. Let alone taking his pleasure from it.  It felt wrong, but he didn’t really wanna think about that right now. Kenny only barely remembered filming this video, let alone that it still existed somewhere. He brushed against it again by pure chance, it was not like a premeditated thing. 

Fuck, he missed you in more ways than he’d want to admit, and he didn’t want to deny his body’s desire. He didn’t want to deny the way seeing you in the ring had his mind reeling. The way hearing your voice in the backstage halls sent shivers down his spine. He knew it was wrong, but for a single moment he chose to give in to the desire burning deep inside his core. (We get a ‘I know it’s wrong but fuck it’ moment. Was it wrong of him? Yeah, kinda. But as someone who has been friends with people attracted to me and has artistic nudes floating somewhere in the internet, my personal belief is you can jerk off to a picture of me whatever so long as you treat me like a normal human being I don’t care)

Pulling the waistband of his pants down, Kenny released his throbbing cock. Veins popping around the thick shaft and sensitive head, his fingers sliding around it lazily. (thick and veiny is my favorite) He watched as you started slowly moving your head up and down on the screen, each time taking more of his shaft inside your mouth. Groaning, he cursed the lack of audio on the camera, wanting nothing more than to hear the delicious sounds he knew you’d be making. Kenny’s large hand wrapping tight around his length, fingers barely meeting as he pumped himself slowly. (One way I like to give the idea of dick size in smut instead of using the extremely vague and relative ‘it’s huge’ or the waaaay to specific and not sexy at all ‘X inches’ is to compare it to other things, writing blowjobs and handjobs is good for that. I mean, you know how large Kenny’s hands are, if his fingers can barely touch when he warps his hand around his cock, you know it’s BIG)

Kenny took in a sharp breath as he saw your lips getting close to the base of his cock, the camera shaking in his hands as a shiver coursed through his body, setting every nerve alight. He threw his head back, cursing under his breath before looking down again, watching you with darkened eyes. Taking his hand from his cock for a second, Kenny spat on his palm before he went back to fisting his length, fingers now picking up speed. (Spit is not good as lube I know, but it gives a raw sense of desperation that I find sexy for blowjob scenes)

Darkened eyes followed your movements as you bobbed your head a few more times, from tip all the way down, until your lips finally reached the base. The image shook a little before it steadied again. Kenny could almost feel the sensations, the tip of his cock touching the back of your throat, the wet warmth of your mouth stretching around his dick. He’d never forget that feeling, sinful and holy, pleasure bordering on pain. (Deep throat! Deep throat! A girl got a well trained gag reflex, kudos. Also, I know it’s cheap using a pleasure/pain comparison but I like it, I do.)

You continued your sucking on screen, and oh, what wouldn’t Kenny give to hear the noises. He groaned, trying to conjure them in his head as he fisted himself faster now, one hand almost not enough to satisfy his full length. Pre cum dripped from his swollen head, onto his fingers and down his veiny cock, making his movements easier and faster. His erection throbbing in his hand, feeling hot and heavy against his rough palm. (I love this whole paragraph, man. It’s cause Kenny has those hug beautiful hands with long thick fingers. Imining that pumping a big fat cock has me way too horny. I’m a sucker for nice hands.)

You locked eyes with the camera once again, and Kenny could see his hips bucking forward in the video. The hand in your hair stuttering in its pace as your tongue slipped out of your mouth and under his cock. Shit, just seeing that had him delirious, spilling praises out of his lips that he knew you’d never hear. (Gotta slip at least a little ‘alas, poor kenny’ moment in the middle of this horny mess) He imagined the feeling of your mouth, the warmth of your tongue all around him. Deft fists pumped up and down at a voracious speed, his cock heavy and slick in his hands, balls feeling full and tight.

In the screen, his hips bucked erratically now, not even caring if he was bringing your head all the way down or not. Your lips looked wet and abused as they stretched around his girth, moving up and down fast. Pulling your head all the way to his tip, Kenny’s hand moved to your lip, pulling your open mouth towards the camera before coming back to his own cock. He fisted himself a couple times, resting the head of his cock on your tongue as his thick length twitched. Rope after rope of his thick white cum spilled past your plump lips, filling your mouth with it. (I regret now not thinkin gof using the word flooding instead of filling, it would be sexier, but also I find the ‘cumming on someones open mouth so you can watch it’ thing very sexy)

Kenny pumped his hand faster and harder, feeling the coil in his gut snap as he watched you close your pretty mouth, swallowing all of his hot cum, tongue darting out to lick some that had slipped down your lip. He felt his orgasm hit like a truck, shutting his eyes as the intensity of the feeling had him seeing stars. With a grunt, his cock spasmed in his hand, shooting his cum like a torrent. Multiple white, thick ropes spilling from his cock, feeling hot as they poured on his exposed thighs and hips, staining his shirt where they fell on the fabric. 

Kenny rode his orgasm for what felt like forever, ecstasy completely clouding his mind. When he finally came to, eyes opening to see his still hard cock twitching slowly. Pearly white of cum painted his fingers, a string of it coming from the head and connecting to his hips. He swiped his thumb over his still sensitive head, spreading his thick white jizz over the tip. He was breathing hard, and it still took him a moment to fully return from his high. (I have a cum kink, send me to the nasty jail cause I’m gonna write guys who cum a lot and also guys whose cum is thick, you know I’m really horny for a character if I give him both traits, I like the image of a throbbing cock too, just *chefs kiss*, once again, loved writing these two paragraphs. Press F for Kenny’s shirt tho, depending on the fabric this is gonna be hard to clean.)

Looking at the mess he’d made, Kenny felt that pang of guilt back in his chest. Shit, he shouldn’t have done that. Pushing his cock back into his pants, he cleaned his hand in his already stained shirt before sitting straight against the headboard, the full weight of his guilt crashing down. He ran his hand through his hair, lips feeling dry as he swallowed hard.

He really shouldn’t have done that. If Kenny had felt bad after your recent fight, he felt even worse now. Like a sleazy, cowardly excuse of a man. One who was too weak to let go and too harsh to fix things. Worse, he felt like he had slipped back into the self centered asshole you’d left all those years back. Shit, this wasn’t who he wanted to be, and it made him sick to the stomach. He looked back to the camera, the video had already ended, the final image being your smiling face. (like I described this chapter once: Kenny’s very bad no good at all post nut clarity)

With a quick push of the buttons, Kenny deleted the video, erasing it from existence like he had done with the others after your break up. This was the right thing, and if he had known about this camera, known about this video, he’d have done it a long time ago. Now it was done, still he felt like shit. And there wasn’t really any way to erase that taste of guilt from his mouth. (We finish with Kenny doing the correct thing and also showing that he was an asshole but not a completly awful person, he did have the mind to at least do the minimally decent thing of erasing the sex videos he knew he had - he may or may not have jerked off to them before that just as he may or may not have jerked off to videos of reader’s matches - and this one he is erasing now. Like I said he will get the chance to straighten up his act and make some better choices, I don’t wanna end this in angst no happy ending)

[starlessea]

Here Comes the Sun: XXI. When You Were Young (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 5907

Chapter Warnings: Language, Insecurities.

You snapped the book shut and looked up at your class, who stared back at you in complete awe. You laughed, taking in their expressions. The first time you had read this novel, your face looked something similar to how theirs did now. You couldn't help but let out a little laugh, uncrossing your legs and standing up from your seat. Immediately, they started to chatter amongst themselves about the ending, and the volume rose as their voices ricocheted off the walls of the small classroom. 

In the last couple of months that had passed since the takeover of Woodberry, the prison had been completely transformed. It was barely recognisable from how you'd first found it. The cells each had a bed, and now resembled actual rooms. The field had been tilled and converted into farmland courtesy of the Greenes, and you even kept livestock in wooden pens. Best of all, Rick and the others had set up a classroom for you to teach the children. You could remember it like it was yesterday. It had certainly been a well-kept secret, and almost everybody had known about it but you. 

Daryl and his team had scavenged some desks and school supplies, as well as an old blackboard that reminded you of the one you had first written your name on. They'd even brought back a wooden bookshelf - which they had to tie to the roof of one of the vehicles just to get it home. Over the course of the next few weeks, it began to collect books, filling up more and more each day.

Your first assignment had been for your students to create a poster on any book of their choice - and as a result, they also filled the white space of the walls. Before long, the former guards’ office resembled an actual classroom, brimming with colour and, surprisingly, children eager to learn.

"Okay, everyone!" You called out, clapping your hands to get their attention. "Now that we've finished this book, I want you all to write your own short story in response to it."

The group started to murmer amongst themselves again, and you yelled out over the chatter.

"It can be a sequel, or even something different inspired by it." You explained, your voice getting lost in the crowd. "Be as creative as you can." 

It was a real learning curve getting used to teaching younger students. Though, it was a lot more rewarding than you thought it would be. You remembered teaching Carl briefly at the Greene farm, which felt like a lifetime ago now. You never expected for your class to grow to the size that it was.

"I'm looking forward to reading them all tonight before bed." You added, once they had settled down enough to do so.

It was a tradition for you to do all of your marking in the evening. It filled up your time and kept you occupied until Daryl returned. He'd been going on a lot more runs recently, and it made you worry less when you had something to take your mind off it.

"Any questions?" You asked, and saw a flurry of hands go up in response.

"Teacher!" A young girl called, waving her arm to get your attention.

You smiled almost unknowingly. If adults had even half the enthusiasm of children, then maybe a lot more would get done around here.

"Yes?" You answered, and nodded in her direction.

The legs of her chair lifted a few inches off the ground as she swung back a little, and you fought every teacher-urge inside of you that said to pull her up on it.

"Is Mr. Dixon going to read them with you?" She giggled, and suddenly you forgot about the chair.

You couldn't contain the snort that left your mouth from the name 'Mr. Dixon.' You'd have to tell him about it later.

"I meant questions about the work." You chided gently, but the smile on your face told another story. "Though, he might. So make them interesting." 

Once again, you were unable to control the class as they got rowdy, and you just shook your head.

"You don't want him to fall asleep when I read them to him, do you?" You added, as you started to hand out the paper.

The children spent the next hour or so furiously scribbling out their stories in messy handwriting that you'd be tasked with deciphering later. Daryl had been gone for a few days on a run, but he was due back at some point today. Though, you wouldn't put it past him to conveniently arrive home late, to get out of marking duty with you.

When the time came to dismiss your class, you were given a lot of hugs and waves from everybody as they left. Perhaps it wasn't the most professional, but nothing really was these days. You were lucky to even still have a profession given the circumstances. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a figure looming in the entranceway, holding the door open for the children as they left the classroom. It was Carol, and she gave you a warm smile when she caught your eye. You beckoned her in after everyone else was gone, and she made her way shyly towards you with her arms behind her back.

The two of you had grown even closer over the last few months - all of you had. Though, you and Carol got along like a house on fire. She had the most brilliant sense of humor tucked away, and you were often lucky enough to get a glimpse of it when she felt mischievous. Daryl had given the pair of you the nickname 'dynamic duo' - and you thought that nothing could suit you both better.

"What are you doing here, Peletier?" You asked in a mock stern tone. "I don't remember giving you detention."

The woman smiled sheepishly at your teasing, before more confidently sitting down on your desk and stretching out her legs. From behind her back she brought out one hand, and placed a fresh, red apple over your paperwork. You laughed immediately, and so did she.

"I've always been a good student." She told you, with a grin. 

You hummed to yourself, unconvinced. You started to collect the loose sheets of paper from your students' tables, and the woman hopped off your own desk to help you. 

"I caught the end of your lesson. I hope you didn't mind me listening in." She admitted, and you shook your head in response. 

Normally, you got nervous if you were being observed. One time, Daryl dropped by to give you some supplies you'd asked for - and you'd gotten so red that the children made fun of you for the rest of the day. Yet, Carol's presence made you calm; she always was the one to have your back.

"They seem to really love you." The woman added, nonchalantly.

The compliment really did warm your heart. Even before the world ended, all you'd wanted was to gain the approval of your students. Except, that was the one thing that adults struggled to give.

"I just want to make it fun for them." You explained, picking up another hand-written story.

You could tell whose it was just by the handwriting. At this point, you'd gotten to know all of the children so well that they felt like part of your extended family; everyone in the prison did.

"I know they should be learning practical skills, too." You went on. "But I can't let them forget how to read and write."

You were mumbling to yourself, and barely noticed as Carol handed you the other half of the papers. You filed them all into a neat stack, and placed them onto your desk. Except, you now noticed a book sitting on it that hadn't been there before.

"I came to give you something." Carol said, pointing. "Well, to return something."

Your eyes widened as you read over the title. It was in pristine condition, with a shiny cover and an unbroken spine. 

"It's not the same copy." The woman explained. 

You could tell; it was much too neat to be the one you'd brought with you to Atlanta. That one had crinkled pages and a ripped cover even before you had leant it to Carol.

"I asked Daryl to keep an eye out for one on his travels." She admitted, and you perked up at the name. "Thought maybe you could read it to the kids one day."

You held the copy of The Little Prince in your hands, your eyes glancing over the delicate illustration of a young boy lost amongst the stars.

"Carol, you didn't have to do this-" you said quietly.

The woman cut you off before you could go on, nudging you gently with her shoulder.

"I did. I wanted to." She corrected, and you finally looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry for what I did before." 

She said the words quietly, as though ashamed, and this time you were the one to elbow her back and shake your head. She gave a small smile.

"I liked the part with the fox." She told you. "Where he says that important things can only be seen with the heart, not the eyes."

You looked at Carol with a dumbfounded expression.

"I did read it, you know." She laughed.

So, the two of you did finally get to discuss the book together, just like you'd hoped to do all that time ago - back in the warm summer shade of the Greene farm.

When you spotted that mop of hair from across the courtyard, you knew instantly who it was. Well, the crossbow and that familiar leather jacket also gave him away. You started to run in his direction, before you spotted a group of your students and slowed down to an embarrassed jog. The man eyed you, and you could make out his taunting smirk even in the distance. 

It hadn't been that long since you'd last seen him, but your heart still ached to feel his arms around you. You never knew how lonely the nights could seem once you got used to sleeping besides someone you loved. 

You approached Daryl casually, feeling eyes on you. There were people working the fields, and others on the fences dispatching walkers. Even if they seemed busy, you weren't oblivious to their side-eye glances every now and then.

"Hey there, Stranger." You finally greeted the man. "Was starting to forget what your face looked like."

With the influx of survivors, Daryl had taken on even more responsibility than before. He was out for longer and home even less, but you knew it couldn't be any other way. You knew that - but it didn't stop you from resenting the fact.

"Too many damn mouths to feed." Daryl grumbled, pointing to the string of squirrels hanging from his belt. "These people are eatin' like kings." 

You laughed at that, thinking back to the last harsh winter where you'd all had to survive on some questionable meals, to say the least.

"Ah yes, the luxury of fresh squirrel." You teased, eyeing the dead animals strung up by their tails.

You made a face, and Daryl made one back.

"I'll give yers away if ya gonna keep bein' picky 'bout it." He warned, but it was much too light-hearted.

Still, you held your hands up in defence.

"Okay, okay." You replied, sending him a mischievous smirk. "I'm sorry."

The tension was thick between you, despite the banter. Even as dirty as he was, you wanted nothing more than to fall into the man and press a number of kisses to that face of his. Yet, you refrained. Maybe you could get him into the shower first, away from all these people as well.

"Just take a look at your hair, Dixon." You remarked, once you finally noticed it. "Are you growing it out for me? Because I said I had a thing for guys with long hair?"

It hung over his face, and he pushed the loose strands away from his eyes with the back of his hand. It suited him, but he was definitely in need of a good shampoo.

"Yer really pushin' yer luck today, aren't ya?" Daryl muttered, taking a step closer to you.

You couldn't hide the smile that had spread over your face. Even an exchange as simple as this left you beaming. There really was no one else who could make you laugh quite like Daryl Dixon.

"You've been gone for two days." You reasoned lightly, trying to hide the way it actually made you feel. "Am I not allowed to have missed you?"

He tended to tease you about it, so you tried not to make a big deal whenever he returned home. Yet, you failed every time. 

"What d'ya say?" Daryl asked, rubbing his ear.

He'd probably gotten mud stuck in there. It wouldn't surprise you - given how filthy he looked.

"I missed you." You repeated, begrudgingly.

Daryl narrowed his eyes, like he couldn't comprehend what you were saying in the slightest.

"Hmm?" He prompted, waiting for you to explain again.

You huffed and shook your head. You would be dragging him into the showers as soon as he got to the cell block.

"I miss-" you started, before the realisation kicked in.

You immediately slapped the man's chest with the back of your hand, and a smirk spread over his face.

"You're messing with me!" You yelled, and he shrugged his shoulders innocently - like he was completely oblivious.

You attempted to shove him again, but this time he caught your wrist and pulled you in close. Your chest hit his, and you felt the warmth you had been craving. You didn't care anymore about the curious stares, and it seemed that he didn't either. Daryl wrapped his arms around your waist, and you snaked your own over his neck to pull him down to you. 

Your noses touched, and you smiled against him. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds, just taking in the sight of each other - and the feel. You could tell that you'd unintentionally gathered a bit of an audience. The new members of the community rarely got to see Daryl like this, so you often got quite a few looks whenever you were together - and a lot of follow-up questions when you were alone. You ran your fingers through the ends of his hair, that went all the way down to the base of his neck now.

"Well, if you're not going to let me cut it, the least you can do is let me braid it." You whispered, your face still close to his. 

You'd threatened it once before, but you were more adamant this time.

"Ya can fuck off." Daryl grumbled back, but somehow he managed to make it sound affectionate.

You laughed lightly, and finally gave him the shortest of kisses that only left him wanting more.

"I think the words you're looking for are 'I missed you, too'."

Daryl Dixon was a stubborn man. You'd realised it from the moment you met him. He was the type to stick to his guns, even if they weren't loaded. You'd seen him argue his way out of something even when he was wrong, and convince you of his viewpoint even when you were right. Daryl Dixon was stubborn - but he always cracked eventually when it came to you.

"Don' say nothin'." He snapped, and you bit your lip to hold back the laugh.

"I didn't say anything." You quipped, as naturally as you were able.

You plucked another daisy from out of the grass, and handed it to the child. She took it in her small fist, and threaded it through the man's hair - messily between the braids you'd given him.

"Yer face says it all." He grumbled, his own looking like thunder.

Daryl was sitting cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by a few of your younger students. They'd begged him to let them put flowers in his hair after eavesdropping on your earlier conversation, and you'd said yes before he could even reply. He was a stubborn man, but he was also a people pleaser.

"Mr. Dixon, what's your favourite flower?" Another girl asked politely, twiddling a bluebell stem between her fingers. "We'll see if we can find it."

You laughed, but quickly disguised it as a cough.

"Yes, Mr. Dixon." You chimed in. "What is it?"

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over. Except, the man didn't look all that intimidating with stray daisies interwoven in his hair, and loose plaits that were in the midst of being braided by clumsy hands.

"Stop bein' a lil' shit." Daryl bit back.

Though, he immediately got punished for it.

"Teacher, he said a bad word!" One of the children exclaimed, pointing to Daryl like he was a shamed dog on the naughty step.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure, and watched as the man did the same.

"Daryl Dixon, if you swear like that again we'll have to wash your mouth out with soap." You scolded, in your most teacher-like voice.

The children laughed their high-pitched laughs, and you could see a small fire burning behind the man's eyes.

"'M gonna murder ya in yer sleep." He mumbled below his breath.

You yanked on the strand of hair you were braiding, before half-heartedly apologising and claiming it to be an accident. Daryl flinched, and whipped his head around to glare at you.

"What the f-" he started, but you narrowed your eyes at him. "Frog." He finished, and you lost it.

You let out what was perhaps the most unattractive snort of your life, which was much too bold to be disguised as any sort of cough. You knew you'd pay hell for this later, but for now you just wanted to relish in the power. You had Daryl in the palm of your hand, his hair quite literally wrapped around your little finger. He turned to glance at you, but you tugged again - but more gently this time.

"Jus' watch what yer doin'." He reminded you, before muttering some more underneath his breath. "Are ya tryin' to scalp me?"

Somewhere in the midst of the exchange, Deputy Grimes has sauntered over with an expression equally as smug as the one you wore. He had Judith in his arms, resting over his hip, and looked down at Daryl with a grin as he approached. He was wordless, but when the two of you made eye contact it was hard to remain that way.

"Jus' don't." Daryl sighed, sounding completely defeated.

"I didn't say anything." The officer replied, and at this point you couldn't deny that there were tears in your eyes.

Daryl looked up at Rick and squinted from the sun. He shook his head.

"Yeah, yeah. Tha's what they all say."

Rick watched the exchange in amusement. It had been refreshing to see him so relaxed during the last few months. You thought that he really deserved a break - and it seemed that he was making the most of it by spending time with his children.

"What did you do this time?" The man asked Daryl.

He shrugged in response, before one of your students reminded him to keep still.

"Nothin'." He grunted, seeming to be at the end of his rope. "Dunno why 'm bein' tortured for feedin' the lot of ya."

The string of squirrels had been passed along to the cook before the children had all but seized Daryl and demanded that he played with them. You may have had some involvement in his kidnapping, but you were only a bystander, really.

"Quit complaining, you big baby." You reminded him, before tucking a flower behind his ear.

Daryl had a vacant stare, but it soon became a warm one when he noticed Judith making some gurgles and smiling in his direction. She had her arm outstretched towards him, and Rick lowered her down so that she could be closer to what she was reaching for. The baby smiled a gummy smile, and ever so gently patted Daryl's head - eyes wide at the array of colourful flowers there. The man stayed completely still and allowed her to do it, and you just watched. You wished you had Glenn's camera during moments like these.

Not long after, the officer said his goodbyes, and left with his daughter. She peeked over his shoulder at the two of you as they walked away, and it made your heart melt as you looked at her.

"She's so adorable." You said, to no one in particular. "I want one."

Daryl choked, and you smirked at him deviously.

"Just kidding." You admitted, as though you hadn't almost caused the man to have a heart attack.

Daryl spluttered again before standing up. Most of your students had left the two of you alone, having gotten bored during your chat with Rick. You watched as the man shook out his hair, letting the flower petals float to the ground like leaves from a tree. 

"Jesus Christ, woman." He muttered, looking in your direction. "Calm down, would ya?"

You smiled as you helped him untangle the braids.

"There's only so much a man can take in one day." He went on.

Before long, Daryl’s hair went back to looking just as messy as it had done before, and you once again prompted him that he needed a shower. So, the two of you headed back to the cell block, and you slipped your hand into his to also remind him of how much you'd missed him.

"You never did say which flower was your favourite." You said, once the thought came into your mind. 

You glanced over at the man as you walked, but he just gave a small shrug in response.

"Dunno." He said quietly. "Guess I like the yellow ones."

Despite wanting to spend the night alone with Daryl, cuddled up under blankets in your cell as you read him some imaginative hand-written stories, the two of you had been convinced otherwise. Usually, alcohol wasn't permitted inside the prison - something about productivity and sharing that you hadn't really paid much attention to. But, since a lot of people had just returned from a long run, an exception had been made so that you could celebrate. 

It was hardly anything, really. There was barely enough to go around to get you tipsy, let alone drunk, and there were only a dozen of you sitting around the campfire - taking swigs from your plastic cups. The spirits had been diluted to stretch it out a bit more, and you were reminded of being a teenager again, swapping out vodka for tap water so that your parents wouldn't notice. 

Even so, your body hadn't had alcohol in a while - not since the Jack Daniels you'd all polished off back at Hershel's farm. Already, your head felt fuzzy, and your laughs sounded giddier than you'd intended. You were all sitting on the ground, out in the field. It almost felt like that first night you'd cleared the prison - except so much had changed since then. Rather than tentatively holding Daryl's hand in the dark, when everyone else was asleep, you were now sat in between his legs as his arms held your waist. His chest was warm against your back, and you could feel it rise and fall regularly.

You could also smell the alcohol on his breath, but you didn't really mind. It was rare that Daryl did drink - even when it was available to him. You liked the fact that he could relax for once, since he always seemed to bear the burden of looking after everyone else.

"You two!" Tyreese shouted, catching your attention.

Across from you, the man sat beside his sister, Sasha. Vanessa was also next to them. Out of everyone here, you knew the three of them best. Admittedly, you hadn't got around to learning everyone else's names yet. 

You looked up, startled, and Daryl chuckled softly at the way you flinched in his arms. 

"How'd you meet?" The man asked, and offered a smile in your direction.

If there ever were such a packed question, it would have been that one. It was the type of question that required a whole book to answer - like one of the stories you'd set for your students to write. You glanced back at Daryl, only to find that he was already looking at you. He remained silent, so you raised an eyebrow at him before realising that you'd be the one answering.

"It was really romantic, actually." You spoke after a few seconds.

Everyone else's chatter had died down, and you suddenly felt very exposed as you became the centre of attention. Except, liquid courage always did work wonders where you were concerned. 

"The first time I met Daryl, he told me to fuck off and called me a mule." You announced, like you'd been waiting for the perfect moment to do so.

Your audience erupted with laughter, and you took in the looks of disbelief around the campfire - feeling satisfied with your choice of words. Except, it didn't last long. Daryl jabbed you in the ribs with his elbow, and you shot a glare back at him.

"Tha's not what happened." He argued, and everyone fell quiet once again to listen to what the man had to say.

It was rare that they got to see Daryl like this - letting loose and talking without being prompted to do so.

"Jus' fought off two walkers only to have some chick yelling at me, sayin gimme yer hand like the ghost of Christmas past or some shit." He explained, his voice more animated than you'd ever heard it. "Thought my time had come."

A few more chuckles could be heard in response, but Tyreese eventually spoke up.

"Can someone translate for them?" He asked, and it was then that you realised just how much detail you'd need to tell this story of yours.

So much had happened between you and Daryl that you'd need countless sheets of paper to recount it, unlimited words and a number of chapters. You leant back further into the man, deciding how to officially introduce it.

"Well, it all started with this yellow tent." You said, and the others listened.

You went on for a bit, taking sips of alcohol between your words. Everyone seemed enraptured by you, and it even seemed like Daryl was hearing the story for the first time, too. It felt strange to recount it in such a way, and it made you realise just how much had happened since the world had ended. 

You smiled as you finished, deciding to give one last summary to your captivated audience.

"So basically I pulled Daryl up from a cliff-face, then hauled his ass halfway across Georgia, before finally taking a bullet for him."

The alcohol had long since ran out, but everyone had stayed to hear the ending. Maybe you were oversharing, but spirits gave you loose lips - and you always did have a bad habit of running your mouth.

Tyreese started clapping slowly, before pointing at Daryl where he sat.

"You, brother, are one lucky man." He remarked with a smile.

You heard Daryl grumble something next to your ear, before addressing him back.

"She leaves out the part where she stuck 'er finger into my wound and sang outta tune next to me for three hours straight."

You bit your lip before finishing off what little was left of your drink.

"Minor details." You mumbled.

Some of the men you didn't know were murmuring amongst themselves beside you, but your head was too foggy to make out what they were saying. Perhaps Daryl could, since he had a scowl over his face. You didn't have time to question it, though, because Vanessa soon interjected with a laugh.

"So you're telling me that you now share a bed with the same guy who had walker ears around his neck when you first met him?" She teased, and you beamed back at her.

"Yeah-" you muttered, before sighing dramatically. "Sometimes I question my own judgement, too."

The walk back to your cell was more of a stumble, but no one had to know that. You and Daryl both made it there in one piece, so no further questions needed to be asked as to why you were missing a shoe, or who you'd tripped over along the way. It had seemed all fun and giggles, until you realised that it had been one-sided fun and entirely your own giggles.

Once you entered the room, you finally noticed how quiet Daryl had been. He toed his boots off wordlessly and threw his leather jacket into the corner. He knew how much that frustrated you, but he seemed too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care. 

You walked up to the man and snaked your arms around him from behind, so that your chest was pressed to his back. All day, you'd been craving for the two of you to just be alone - but now that you were, he seemed too agitated for his own good. You thought that you must have missed something, because Daryl definitely didn't seem like himself. 

You rubbed your palms along his chest slowly, but he stopped you with his own hand, and pulled away. He turned to face you, and you cocked your head to the side as you took in his expression. His eyes were narrowed, and he was chewing at his lip like he always did when he was confused. Eventually, he shook his head.

"Yer too good for me." He stated, like it was a fact. "'M a lucky man." He went on. "Why'd ya want someone who wore walker-"

"Whoa, slow down there." You cut him off. 

He was reciting all of the things that had been said over the campfire, you realised - except they'd all been playful jokes, and he knew that. The man sounded like a broken record, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what had made him break.

"Someone's had too much to drink." You reasoned, but raised an eyebrow as you did so.

You weren't convinced yourself, but you had no other explanation as to why he was blurting out the things that he was. Daryl was a big man, and the amount of alcohol he'd drank was nowhere near enough to get him drunk.

"'M fine." He confirmed, but you knew there was more going on. "Jus' the truth, s'all."

The man looked down at his feet as he spoke the words, and you sighed.

"We are not doing this again, Daryl." You warned, and took a step closer to him.

Ever since more people had been coming to the prison, Daryl had seemed to convince himself that there were plenty of better options available to you - all without consulting you about it, of course. It had gotten to the point where you'd snapped at him, almost a month back, and it had escalated into a fight. You understood where he'd been coming from - a few people had gotten a little too friendly with you on more than one occasion. But, you'd convinced him that you were right where you wanted to be, next to his side. 

You'd thought that had been the end of it, but something must have happened to bring it back to the surface.

"I see the way they all look at ya. Like they want ya." Daryl snarled, like he was seeing things that you couldn't. "They were talkin' 'bout it right in front of me."

And suddenly, it all made sense. The men you had noticed staring and mumbling had set Daryl off. You realised that he must have heard what they were saying - and that it must not have been good. Yet, part of you still felt frustrated that he had even listened to it. You'd spent the whole night recounting how you met the man, and how much he meant to you, only for your words to be completely unravelled by words of others that were insignificant.

"So?" You finally responded, more forcefully than you intended.

Daryl's head snapped up to look at you, and you met his eyes in return.

"I go through the same thing with you."

The man was silent for a few seconds, like he couldn't fully comprehend what you'd said.

"What?" He asked, and you shook your head.

"Just because you're blind to it, Dixon, doesn't mean that I am." You told him.

You placed your hands over his chest again, but this time he didn't shrug you off.

"They look up to you. You're a hero to a lot of these people." You explained, like you'd truly accepted the fact. 

You could feel the heat radiating off the man from underneath the tips of your fingers, and you took another step closer to him so that he could feel you, too.

"You don't think there's days that I hear women giggling about you? Talking about you like you're some knight in shining armour who rescued them from this world?" You said, chuckling a little as you did so.

At first, it had killed you to see. Every time you noticed someone staring at the man, or whispering about him when they thought you couldn't hear, it made your blood boil. But, after a while you became numb to it - mostly because Daryl never even spared them a second glance.

"It makes me feel pretty shitty, too." You admitted, as you let your fingers rest over the first button of his sleeveless shirt.

You looked upwards at him, and he gave you a small nod - so you started to unbutton it.

"But then I come back to our cell, and I'll see that you've left me flowers on our pillow." You went on, smiling in the direction of your mattress, where you had missed the man’s presence over the last few days. "Or I'll notice a new cassette tape in my walkman without you even saying anything."

You reached the last button, and shrugged the material over Daryl’s shoulders so that you could see his bare chest.

"And then I forget about all those other people." You confessed, and pressed your palm over his heart. "Because I'm reminded everyday that you're mine."

Daryl immediately placed his hand over the back of yours, and squeezed it gently. 

"I'm yours." He agreed, and this time leant down to give you a kiss of his own without being prompted.

It was soft, but you'd missed the feel of him - and it made you impatient. You could taste the alcohol on his lips, and so you broke away before you became too intoxicated by it.

You hooked your fingers around his belt loops and pulled his body closer to yours - so close that his bare chest was warm against you, and you could feel his heart pounding.

"Then show me." You said, and he did.

A/N: So every time I write a chapter of HCtS, I delete the notes for it from my masterplan - and I’m getting so emotional seeing it get smaller and smaller each week. We’re coming to the end and I can’t deal-

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[redrisingsun]

Swedish Holidays for all your Young Royals needs

Due to popular demand (by like five people) here’s a brief description of all the major Swedish holidays and how they’re celebrated because I can’t stand here and pretend as if we really celebrate Christmas the 25th. We have more holidays, I've only written about the ones we celebrate in my family. I come from a working class family and live in Southern Sweden, however I do have family in Stockholm. I'm not religious in any way and as far as I know, most families don't celebrate these holidays because they're religious, but because it's tradition.

yall better appreciate this, it took me literal hours

January

1: Dubbed as one of the collective pizza days in my household. It's the day after New Year, and most people either order in or eat leftovers.

Week 2 or 3: Most people return to their jobs, schools and other daily activities.

February/March

Fettisdagen ("Fat Tuesday"): celebrated 47 days before Easter. The actual date varies, all from early February to early March. It's an old Christian tradition where you'd eat fatty foods before the "before Easter"-fast and is supposedly a thing in other Christian countries as well. These days, most people celebrate by eating semlor with their family, and most don't fast before Easter.

The semla is a sweet bun with whipped cream and almond paste.

Våffeldagen (Waffle Day, 25th of March): I think this day stems from a Christian tradition, but these days the day is mostly to get together with family and eat waffles.

April

Påsk (Easter): Again, the date varies, but Easter is usually in April. Easter stems from Christianity and is celebrated to remember Jesus' death and resurrection. Easter spans over a week, but I personally only celebrate one of those days.

Påskafton (direct translation: Easter Eve, English translation: Holy Saturday) is the Saturday of the Easter week. In my family, the children get to look for Easter eggs (often filled with candy).

Some children also dress up as Påskkärringar (Easter crones) and I think this tradition has to do with the Witch Trials in Sweden, but I'm not sure. Chances are you won't need to know anything about this for your Young Royal fics, because mostly girls dress up.

Sometimes, we decorate eggs.

Later, we sit down to eat together and spend time with our families. Common things to eat for Easter is potatoes, eggs, herring and meatballs.

Valborgsmässoafton (Walpurgis Night, 30th): We burn a big bonfire in the evening to celebrate that spring is here. I live in a fairly small town, so mostly everyone gathers at one spot and burns the fire together. When the bonfire is burned, most people go home and that's it. It's also seen as a reason to have a party (mostly for teenagers and young adults, I think) and get drunk as fuck.

May/June

Sveriges Nationaldagen (Sweden's National Day, 6th of June): Most people are home from school and work. We hoist the Swedish flag. Idk. However, the Royal Family celebrates by getting dressed up in Swedish costumes. This year, the King held a speech and the family went to Skansen (which is an amusement park/zoo. You can read more about it here). There's music and the military does their weird little thing. You can watch the National Day Celebration on Skansen from 2014 here.

Midsommarafton (Midsummer): date varies, but is celebrated a Friday in late June. I'm sure there's a Christian explanation for this one, but I don't personally know it.

Midsommar (midsummer) means middle of the summer.

Again, this is a day to eat and spend time with your family (or drink, depending on who you are). We eat pretty much the same things for Midsummer as we do for Easter.

For Midsummer we also dance around a Midsommarstång (direct translation: Midsummer Pole, English translation: Maypole) and make flower crowns.

How Midsummer is celebrated depends a lot on your age (most teenagers and young adults again see this as a reason to party), where you're from and a million other things.

My personal favorite Midsummer tradition is probably more common in the country than in the city, for example. You're supposed to pick seven different flowers without saying a word. Then, you sleep with the flowers under your pillow. Supposedly, you'll dream of your future husband (or wife! But I think it's more common that women and girls do this). This tradition also varies. Some people say you need nine flowers and some people say you have to climb over fencing for it to count.

Some teenagers or young adults spend time with their friends to party, instead!

You can watch part of a Midsummer celebration at Skansen here.

The Royal Family usually celebrate Midsummer privately, but I think there's usually new pictures of the entire family around this time.

Day after Midsummer: Collective Pizza Day 2. Everyone either eats takeout or leftovers because no one can be bothered to make anything and like half of the population has the worst hangover they've had since New Year.

Summer Holiday Note: most people in Sweden have four weeks of paid leave each summer.

July/August

Kräftpremiär (Crayfish party) - date varies, normally early August. Basically people get together to eat crayfish and drink. You can usually get paper plates and plastic cups and whatever with ugly crayfish motives (which is fun), but I've never done this.

October

Halloween (30th): Halloween is nowhere near as big in Sweden as it is in the States. We just buy some lösgodis ("loose candy", where you can throw whatever kind of candy you want in a bag. See pictures). Trick or treat is so unusual in the town I grew up I've only ever had one kid ask for candy and when I celebrated Halloween with my grandparents (in a city not far from Stockholm), it was the same. I usually buy some candy and watch a horror movie, but that's about it.

However, Halloween is (again) a reason for teenagers and young adults to drink and party.

November

Alla Helgons Dag (All Saints' Day): Date varies, usually early November. It's a day to remember the dead and we usually light a candle at the grave yard.

December

Första Advent (First Advent): Date varies. Sunday four weeks from Christmas Eve. We mostly just light a candle, honestly. Then, each Sunday for the next four weeks, we light a candle. Here's actually the Crown Princess wishing Happy First Advent with her family! Unfortunately without English subtitles, but here's the translation: "Today is the First Advent. Advent means arrival and hope, something that feels extra important this year. (her husband lights the candle) We want to wish everyone a happy first advent!"

Andra Advent (Second Advent): date varies. We light the second candle.

Tredje Advent (Third Advent): date varies. We light the third candle.

Fjärde Advent (Fourth Advent): date varies. We light the fourth candle. In my family we usually decorate the tree this Sunday.

Julafton (Christmas Eve): Celebrated the 24th. YES, THE 24TH. Christmas Eve obviously varies from family to family, but there's a few things most people have in common. Usually, we get one gift in our sock (which hangs on our bedroom doors in my home, because we don't have a mantle) when we wake up. As kids me and my brother almost always got a movie or something to keep us busy until it was time to leave for our grandparents house.

For lunch we eat the Christmas dinner. It's the same damned food as our other holidays. Herring, meatballs, potatoes, sausages etc, but now, we also have julskinka (Christmas ham). Some people eat ham even for Easter, but we only really eat it for Christmas in my family. Obviously the food varies a little from season to season, but as a picky eater I always just eat potatoes, meatballs and ham.

At 3, Kalle Anka (Donald Duck) is on. Yeah, we watch the same damned stuff every year. It's tradition, alright? Anyway, Donald Duck lasts for an hour or so, and first you get to see Santa work in his workshop, then Disney characters wish you a Merry Christmas with scenes from their movies (original, I know). There's Lady and the Tramp, Donald Duck (obviously) and a million other things. Then there's also one or two trailers for movies Disney will release the coming year. I really couldn't be bothered to find everything on YouTube for you to watch, sorry!

After Donald Duck, we open the Christmas gifts in my family. Normally we just rip out gifts open lmao.

After opening the gifts, we usually eat a second time. This time it's time for porridge. Tomtegröt (Santa porridge) is sweet and often served with cinnamon. Usually, everyone is so stuffed at this point that you only eat because you "have" to eat porridge for Christmas (again, at least in my family).

The last thing we do in my family, is to get a puzzle out. My grandpa almost always gets a new puzzle for Christmas, so we'll put that on the dining table and work on it together until it's getting too late for us to stay.

The Royal Family usually release new pictures of the family for Christmas and wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

Day after Christmas: Not a collective pizza day! There's usually too much Christmas food left to be able to order pizza. Usually, we have Christmas food to eat for four-ish days after Christmas, and by then you're getting really tired of it.

Sometimes we watch something on television, but for the most part we just sit around and spend time together. I think the Crown Princess read something from the Bible this year? I'm not actually sure if the Royal Family go to the Christmas Service, but I don't think so.

Nyårsafton (New Year's Eve): last day of the year. We shoot fireworks, eat food and dessert and spend time with family. This day we normally eat something "fancy" or something you we don't usually eat.

At twelve, we go out to light some fireworks (or just watch fireworks). When that dies down, it's time for the cheese platter. My dad wants it, no one else ever eats from it, we still do it every single year because "it's not New Year's without it". When we've had the cheese platter, everyone go to sleep and that's that.

People obviously celebrate this differently, as well. It's not uncommon to go see your friends or have guests over, and some people party rather than have fancy dinner with their parents. I personally prefer spending time with my parents, because that's what New Year's is for me.

Some people give resolutions, but I think it's more common in the States.

Christmas Holiday Note: It's common for people to not work between Christmas and New Year's Eve where I'm from.

Some things you might want to know about the Swedish Royal Family and Sweden overall:

The Royal Family in Young Royals is not the real Royal Family (obviously).

The Royal Family usually spends time on Öland during the summers.

Chances are Wilhelm and his family live at Drottningholm Slott (Drottningholm Palace) and not Stockholm Slott (Stockholm Palace). Drottningholm is used as a home for the current King and Queen and is located west of Stockholm. However, the scenes where Wilhelm is home is shot at a palace called Stora Sundby Slott. I doubt Wilhelm and his family would live here if they were the actual Royal Family since it's used as a place for people to gather when they want to hunt for sport. However, if they truly live at Stora Sundby, it takes almost two hours to drive from Stockholm to the castle.

Bjärstad is AT LEAST two hours away from Stockholm.

Bjärstad to Stora Sundby Castle takes approximately an hour and a half by car, and between nine and twelve hours by bus. Which means these two boys can't just take a twenty minute bus to see each other.

Bjärstad to Drottningholm takes a little over two hours by car and four-ish hours by bus.

Bjärstad to Stockholm Slott takes over two hours by car and three and a half hours by bus.

Hillerska is shot at Kaggeholms Slott (Kaggeholm Palace), and is a hotel.

The age of consent in Sweden is 15, HOWEVER it's illegal to have sex with someone four or more years younger than you if you're not both over the age of 18. Let me illustrate: -Person A is 15 and Person B is 15. It's legal because both are 15. -Person A is 15 and Person B is 20. It's illegal, because there's a five year old gap between them. -Person A is 15 and Person B is 18. It's legal (but probably frowned upon), because they're both 15 or older and there's not a four year gap between them. -Person A is 18 and Person B is 30. It's legal, because both are 18 or older. Idk if this makes sense or if this is what it looks like anymore, but this is what it was like when I still went to school. Obviously people aren't going to run around and call you names if you happen to date someone four years younger than you (I know a girl who met a guy when she was 14 and he was over 20), but please, be mindful of this. Our age of consent doesn't give you a right to be weird and nasty to teenagers (yes, I'm talking about Edvin).

Also, the Royal Family have their own website, which you can find here. As far as I can see, there's more information on the Swedish page, but there's plenty translated to English. You can also read of the Swedish Royal Family and its history on the palaces's website, here.

All pictures have been taken straight from Google. I haven't used any sources, because this is shit I do every single year with my family. Feel free to correct me or add things you do, but keep it respectful, please!

Friendly reminder that I've simplified some parts of this to make sense, specifically the dates of the Advent celebrations.

If there's anything you don't understand or want more information on, you're welcome to contact me! I take pretty long to reply, but I'll definitely try to get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you!

[narconfessions]

Tw people attempting to sui-bait people for intrusive thoughts, past s/h, mentions of scratching on hands/legs due a cat play-attacking them, passive scar ment, passive murder ment, passive torture ment

Quick disclaimer: no cat/kitten was harmed in any way and the only physical harm was to me, which wasnt intentional and is considerably superficial/not serious. On the mental end however...

(Btw i have bpd, ocd and potentially aspd. I really need a place to put this who wont judge me cause its helping me calm down right now.)I have some impulse issues, intrusive thoughts as well as just adopted a 12 week old kitten(clarity: i have own cats all my life, this is not my first experience with kittens). He'll attack my feet and it hurts every time. All i can do is wiggle him off or pick him up and move him. Hes been doing this the entire time we've had him( about a month now) and ive gotten full on scars from him play attacking. If you saw me and my gfs hands and legs, you'd think we stuck them in paper shredders.

Its been a long emotional and triggering day today and i was just trying to clean up a complex mess of papers and stuff on the floor and he refused to leave me alone, attacking and pouncing on every single thing i picked up or put down. I warned him with just simple words like stop or no so he can get used to them(our older cat picked up what they mean) and i even encouraged him to go play with our older cat like he usually dose. His kennel was behind me and at some point i was just done with dealing with him.

I picked him up and was going to put him in his kennel to calm down when he wiggled really hard and scratched the shit out of my hand. It really hurt and it was on my wrist which really triggering with my past with self harm. I was so angry and done and my impulses and intrusive thoughts just really wanted to hurt him because of just how many times he's hurt me. But i didnt, i just picked him more securely, put him in his kennel and went to the bathroom to clean my hand.

My thoughts got so loud and demanding and was already lightheaded from seeing my scratches that i had to turn the water to freezing cold just to keep my eyes straight and stop myself from drifting and potentially passing out( its medical).

Then i sat down and checked online for some heat of the moment tips to make sure i didnt spiral like deep breathing or how to quiet the thoughts and oh boy was that a mistake. Just people on forums asking for advice for the exact situation i was in and they didnt want to hurt anyone but they had the thoughts. 1/8th of the comments are people telling you to seek therapy, which is vaild but dosent help in the heat of the moment, the other 7/8ths? People talking about graphically murdering or torturing the poor op. Acting rightous for telling him how they hurt him or that he should commit sui. Some shit they said to this guy is stuff ive only heard in the true crime community.

Safe to say, with 0 warning, that was the absolute worst things for me to be reading at that moment. In a sound mind, i know im not my thoughts or impulses. I know that hes a kitten and he did not intend to hurt me, he was just excited and wanted to play with me because he loves me. I know that im worthy of life and just because i felt or thought it, dosent mean i meant it or wanted to hurt someone. But in the moment? That hurt. Alot. And I'm lucky it didnt lead to sh or even worse.

Im sorry if this isnt what this is for but i dont feel safe anywhere else to put this and the internet showed me that today in a moment of weakness.... It still amazes me how people can scream for support for people with adhd or depression but the second traumatized people with intrusive thoughts enter the picture, we are monsters...

Im ok now but this is what leads to alot of hurt or worse mentally ill people who are just reaching out for help before anything gets worse and some in the "anti-ableism" community pretends its not them in the comments telling people to hurt themselves instead of others while the intention should be getting them help so no one gets hurt. Its not shocking at this point.

it sounds like you handled this situation the best way you could, by not hurting yourself or others. i’m proud of you anon. but it sucks you had to see that, it’s a sad truth of how people who are supposedly “supportive” of MI people, will easily throw us under the bus the second our symptoms are too much for them :/

[apixrl]

SINCERELY, YOURS.

hanta sero x fem!reader

WARNING(S): none

word count: 3.0k

song: sincerely, yours // nohidea

note(s): i just think that he'd be the perfect hubby tbh (EDIT: I'M SO DUMB I POSTED W/O TAGS PFAHAHHA)

Hanta finally managed to force open the door to the log cabin that had long been awaiting your arrival, the wooden structure welcoming the approaching warmth and laughter of the newly wedded couple. The ravenette smirked joyously and let out a triumphant 'hoorah', your laughter only adding to the display of ego on his face.

"And you said I'd drop you," Hanta mocked your earlier words, looking down at you with that very same smirk. If not for your arms wrapped around his neck and entire weight held in his arms, you most likely would have pushed his face away by the cheek. To avoid that shit-eating, joking smirk that rarely left his dumb and lovable face. The face you fell for so undoubtedly swift and heavy.

"I didn't say you would I said you may drop me," Was your response. "It's not every day we walk through so much snow!"

"Hush now, that was nothing to me," Hanta lifted the arm that supported your back, planting his lips on your forehead in a sweet welcoming kiss. Your lips curled in approval, accepting the gesture as Hanta used his foot to close the door behind you both, driving away the cold breeze from outside as warmth replaced it. "Now would you look at this place!"

Heeding Hanta's words, your eyes averted from his addicting gaze to the bonnie log cabin interior set out before you two. From left to right the cabin maintained an earthy theme, consistent in wooden textures excluding that of the supple beige sofas in the centre of the room. They were accompanied with ripening red cushions, as well as a few other pieces of furniture containing the same colour to maintain an advertising aesthetic no doubt. Lengthy beams stretched from one end of the walls to the other, set out in rows. The deepest wall (opposite to the entrance) was made mostly out of glass and onlooking a gorgeous snowy forest scene, small golden lights lit up outside to only add to the aura already presented. Built-up by red bricks and extending up toward the ceiling was a great open fireplace, already sparked alight and sensing a contrasting warmth to the bitter cold outdoors. In the corner of the room were a set of stairs most likely directing themselves off to the bedroom, though you and Hanta were so taken by the bottom floor's interior neither of you even processed there were more rooms to see.

"Wow... this place is gorgeous!" You said through a whisper, face lighting up at the sight. Never had you thought a place could be so beautifully arranged and so beautiful in general, and the two of you had this place to yourselves for an entire two weeks... it made you feel like the luckiest person alive! That you were really, as you'd just tied the knot the love of your life and were starting an entirely new journey with him. From the very moment you'd both uttered 'I do' in front of all your friends and family - the paths you lead became one that you would waltz down together.

"So you like it then?" Hanta asked, ebony eyes trailing away from the open fire and down to your own E/C irises. His smirk slowly transitioned to an endearing grin upon seeing your face of wonder, heart skipping a beat as your gaze met his and your expression mirrored.

"Of course! It's just how I imagined it - even more stunning than the pictures online," Your hand grazed Hanta's gloved one, though the barricade of wool and cotton did nothing to prevent the love and desire sent through the tips of your fingers. The ravenette admired your beauty in that lingering stare shared between you, exhaling a content sigh. You never failed to astound him with your beauty, the way your eyes glowed whenever you looked at him. How your hair fell perfectly into place no matter the circumstance (even on your worst of hair days you somehow managed to make it work). Not to mention your smile and laugh - those specific factors alone making Hanta fall for you over and over and exceeding limits of love and admiration he didn't even think he possessed.

Just before Hanta was to fall into daydream you shook him out his thoughts, the shifting of weight in his arms struck him to shake out of it, realising that you were attempting to shuffle out his arms in order to stand. So he let you down, grip loosening and reluctantly allowing you to step away.

"I'm glad," He quickly uttered, his hand lifting to his head to remove the woolly hat resting there. Then he proceeded to unbutton his winter coat as did you, the pair of you making light work of it due to the excitement of exploring your temporary home.

"So our suitcases are already here?" You asked Hanta, straightening out your knitted turtleneck jumper which was a soft pink shade. Usually something you wouldn't wear, but it was well-suited for the weather and didn't irritate your skin. So you took advantage of the purchase. From your left Hanta hummed softly, turning towards you once he was done hanging his coat on the rack. He too had a turtleneck on, but his donned a collect of abstract patterns and stuck to more neutral colours than yours.

"Yep, they should be upstairs," Hanta replied, running a hand through his hair as he looked over at you. He shifted over to your side, hugging you from behind with a mischievous chuckle. "But we can unpack tomorrow,"

"I like the idea of that, I just wanna snuggle," You responded with a giggle, leaning back into your husband's hold. After a few seconds Hanta stepped forwards, forcing your feet to follow suit. The ravenette guided you both to the nearest sofa, where he messily fell back against the ruby red cushions and you alongside him.

"That's because you procrastinate more than you've ever been willing to admit," Hanta turned you over so you sat atop his middle, hands settled on your hips like they were structured to hold them. There was a smirk on his face as you rolled your eyes at his last comment.

"I procrastinate because you distract me," You corrected, poking his chest with a prominent finger.

"Ah well, what can I say? I'm just that pretty aren't I?" He replied, laughing joyously. You couldn't help but echo with your own form of a chuckle, shaking your head as the smile on your face sent Hanta all kinds of elated emotions through his veins.

"You're not wrong there, Tiger," You grinned ear to ear, staring lovingly in his direction. Words weren't enough to express how much you loved him, your mind struggling to form sentences most of the time with just how much he took your breath away. In truth, you would have allowed yourself to remain gazing into Hanta's eyes the entire night. But you were due to catch sight of an envelope on the coffee table next to you both, drawing your attention away from him as fast as it came. The item too out of the ordinary to ignore. Peculiarly you leaned over to grab it, tilting your head at the item.

"What's that?"

"I don't know," Was your answer. Your fingers proceeded to slit open the top, discovering a smaller, folded piece of paper inside. Curiously you opened it up, voice filling the room as you discovered golden ink was printed on one side and intended to read it out.

" Dear Mr and Mrs Sero,

We are beyond pleased that you chose to stay with us for your honeymoon. Have a wonderful and splendid time at the start of your journey together and we wish you nothing but happiness and joy during your stay.

Kindest regards,

[resort/name] "

"Mr and Mrs Sero," Hanta repeated with a thoughtful stare to the wooden beams above. "I'm still not used to hearing that and we've already been married a week," A smile formed on his lips, releasing a chuckle from the depths of his chest. Almost like he couldn't believe the words he had just uttered. Tilting your head, you pondered on what he meant.

"How do you mean?" You didn't receive an answer straight away, the man you called your husband gently sighed, almost with the case of the lovesick. Somewhere during the exhale Hanta's eyes fell from the beamed ceiling and onto you, gratitude threaded in his expression as he stared at you.

"I just don't know how I got so lucky to marry someone like you," His hand extended to cup your cheek, cradling the slightly chilled part of your face (thanks to the cold air and wind from outside) as his thumb stroked the surface of your skin. Your eyes widened, all too used to the gesture but rarely ever prepared for it whenever Hanta committed to it. You smiled, nuzzling into his warm hold as your eyes closed.

"Me too," You hummed, sighing out yourself as your heart fluttered higher and higher with each passing second. A short silence ensued, ending as you abruptly let out a little laugh. It caught Hanta's attention, his head cosying into the cushion behind him as his brows raised.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the night you proposed. That's all," Another laugh escaped, humour striking you as you recalled how it had played out. From the manner your lover rolled his eyes, he clearly still hadn't emotionally recovered from it.

"That stupid fire pit," He groaned, eyes closing in annoyance. "I can't believe I let it ruin the moment,"

"I don't think that was the fire's intention, Hants,"

Despite being blatantly confident and bold, when it came to more... intimacy-related things, Hanta Sero's expertise dwindled dangerously. It had taken him months of knowing you to actually ask you out on a date, and when you finally got together? Well, it took him four years before he began to think about popping the question - three months more to actually pop it. Whilst you did say yes once he got down on one knee on the balcony of your holiday home for your fourth anniversary together, the events that proceeded after were what truly traumatised the poor ravenette.

Your holiday was spent somewhere in the Caribbean at a beachside residence that locals rented out for tourists. You and Hanta had always been big on travelling, hence your honeymoon location being such an unconventional place. Or as far as you knew, you didn't have an exact number on how many honeymoons were spent in remote mountain ranges surrounded by blustering winds and snow. It was a nice change of pace to the intense heats nearer the Equator.

During that vacation in particular though, that was the year Hanta finally decided to propose. After a long day on the beach, swimming in the ocean and feeling the sand between your toes as evening approached, you watched the sunset on the balcony of the second floor, neighbouring your bedroom. To set the mood the firepit in the centre had been lit, creating a stunning orange glow in Hanta's eyes as he held you close to his chest.

You noticed he was quite fidgety in his seat, wondering what was wrong with your lover as he gripped his knee tight. Like he was uncomfortable or nervous. Like he needed to get something off of his chest. It was only when you pointed out your concern and his odd behaviour that Hanta managed to shift his stance. Moving from his stiff position to wobbling on one knee, then came the heartfelt speech that gave you a sense of where he was going. A subtle reach into his pocket and before you knew it, you were shouting yes into the night sky and your eyes foggy with tears of complete and utter joy.

Hanta placed the ring on your finger, the realisation hitting him at that moment that you and he were engaged. His excitement got the better of him, the male sweeping you in his arms and swinging you around as he babbled sweet nothings into your ear. The speed wavered his balance, his leg knocking into the table holding a bottle of wine he had ordered specifically for the occasion. Much to both of your bad luck, it all collapsed against the firepit and tipped it over - and one can only imagine what happened next. A rather chaotic ruckus erupted between you as Hanta grabbed you by the waist and flung you both out of the building via the balcony to ensure your safety. Then he 'thwipped' straight back up to the fire and frantically searched for the fire extinguisher to put it out, all whilst you sat on the sandy ground outside, frozen to how drastically the mood had changed.

Luckily the fire didn't spread too far. If not for Hanta's efficiency in dealing with it upfront, it could have spread to the bedroom and the rest of the house. It did not, however, the most damage being the balcony sofas that were scorched no thanks to their wooden frame and white cushioning.

Despite having just been engaged, there wasn't much you and Hanta could do to celebrate. So the night ended with you and he falling to slumber in the early hours of the morning, too exhausted after dealing with the owners' wrath after the slight mishap of nearly setting their building ablaze.

"At least you didn't burn the entire house down," You tried after a few seconds of quiet, earning a scoff on Hanta's part as he ran a hand through his hair.

"It felt like it when I called the owner's to tell them what happened," Hanta answered, softly frowning at the shrieking yells he heard during that call ringing their way through his mind again. Long after he'd shut them out based on the humiliation of being on the receiving end. You giggled, recalling how you were able to hear them despite the phone not being on speaker.

"I'm surprised they let us stay for the rest of the week,"

"That's because I paid the money for the damage caused within six hours of them demanding it," Hanta reminded you, dragging his hands down his face as he groaned out. Probably expelling his inner cringe at his foolishness that night. "Times like that make me relieved I'm a top ten pro, helps out with emergencies a great fucking deal,"

"Are you sure that didn't play any part in their generosity? That you're a top ten pro?"

"No way," He said and sat up to meet your height, hands looping to cradle the small of your back. He held back continuing to briefly peck you on the lips. "The bill they gave me was the complete opposite of generous,"

"How much was it again?" You asked, memory not serving you the answer. The ebony-haired male leaned forwards to kiss you again before he moved his lips up to your ear. His voice became a whisper, telling the sum in Yen which made your eyes widen in astonishment.

"Wow," Was your instinctive reply, Hanta scoffing a laugh in agreement based on your tone of surprise. It was there he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling through his nose to catch a whiff of your scent. The aroma acting as a sedative to wipe the memory from his mind permanently. All he wished to remember of that night was the way your face lit up as he asked you to take his hand in marriage. How your tears formed and how your lips uttered the words he had oh, so desperately wanted to hear after months and months of worry of being rejected.

And look at you both now; husband and wife and on your honeymoon. Holding each other as close as close can be with no doubt or hesitancy in your minds at all. Why he had worried so much was something he would never be able to figure out. As looking back, all of it felt like the easiest thing he had ever had to do.

Due to that, Hanta smiled into your neck. The change could have been missed, but you were far too attentive to not notice. The feeling of his cheeks shaping his smile made you smile as well, your arms wrapping around Hanta's neck in a desperate need to pull him closer. Your fingers ghosted the back of his neck, tickling the hairs that attached with care like no other. You rested your chin on his head, eyes closed gently in comfort. In response, Hanta hummed lowly, hands starting to rub up and down your back like he was giving you a massage.

Silence passed, the two of you simply enjoying the other's company and the intimate moment you had welded together. The proximity created a warmth that could fight any cold, the fireplace behind you both unneeded to fight the swirling snow outside. Your eyes peaked open as the faint crackle of the fire nearby caught your attention. You watched the flames dance for a second or so before you plucked up the confidence to speak.

"Just... let's not set fire to this place. Alright?" You mused, holding your breath as you waited for Hanta's response. Luckily he didn't dismiss it, actually finding the comment quite funny. He voiced a blurt of a laugh, head shaking as much as he could make it whilst it buried into the depths of your neck. Hanta's mouth opened to make his reply, quickly hushing up again to return to the peaceful silence of before, not at all ready to let it go just yet.

"Agreed,"

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 15

The Darkling x reader

Time was in fact ticking and as minutes went on, your palms got sweatier and your heart never stopped thumping in your chest. Any minute now Aleksander could stroll into your chambers flanked by oprichniki and have you arrested. You had crossed the line and you acknowledged that but there was no other way to do it with him. He was never going to sit down and have a regular conversation with you where he detailed his plans out step by step, even if you said please and begged on your knees.

It was morning now and still no word from Aleksander. You had to return to your boring duties of reading trade agreements and approving Grisha posts at the war fronts, none of which passed the time any quicker. You skipped breakfast and threw on the first kefta that caught your eye, only making sure it wasn't black. A simple summoner blue, to reflect your sullen mood.

A knock on your door caught you by surprise but you opened it anyway to reveal your least favorite Heartrenderer sulking at your doorstep.

'Ivan'

'The General requests to see you'

'He sent his puppy to fetch me, how cute' You open the door wider to let yourself through letting a deep breath go in preparation. Ivan sent you a glare worth a thousand words, something along the lines of I hate you.

'Relax, I'm only jesting'

The walk to Aleksander's quarters was silent. Ivan wasn't the chatty type and even if he was, he probably wouldn't have much to say to you.

As you went to open the grand double doors, he caught your wrist tightly

'Don't lay a finger on him again, or I'll rip your heart from your chest' He warned. Either Aleksander tattled the events that took place yesterday or Ivan was eavesdropping, your gut told you it was the latter.

'I didn't take you as the type to disrespect your elders Ivan' You didn't care to return his tone of voice. He was simply Aleksander's lapdog, not somebody to be scared of or feared.

'Run along now' You dismissed him, watching as he huffed and turned down the hallway.

Aleksander sat at the same desk as yesterday except now he faced you. He was back to his normal self, void of emotion and collected in his embroidered black kefta. You sat down on a random chair, clearing your throat.

'Did you finally come to your senses?' You weren't here for pleasantries or to dance around the subject, you needed answers.

'Of sorts. Yes'

'Get to it then, you have a lot of explaining to do. And remember, I know when you're lying' You tapped the skin above your heart, indicating that he had no way out but to tell truth.

'Ask away.'

'How are you going to weaponize the Fold?'

'Alina. She can let us get through it, I can expand it into the borders.'

'How?'

'The stag. I'll use it to control her powers as well as amplify my own. She won't comply otherwise. ' He's going to use Merzost to control the Sun-Summoner.

'The King?'

'Gradually being poisoned by Ms.Safin. He'll take to being ill when the time comes.'

'You're not going to kill him?' To ascend the throne, the King needs to die.

'In time' You took a quick pause and let the information settle. You still needed to ask the most important question and you feared once he answered it, your heart would break in two.

'Alina.'

'Yes. Alina'

'Is it real?'

He took a sharp inhale and pondered for a quick second while you held yours.

'Not anymore.'

'Anymore?'

'Before you got here, perhaps there was something, But not now. I swear on the Saints. All she is is a key to more power. Everything we've ever wanted lies in our future if we play our cards right Y/N' You were sitting too far away from him, but his hands still itched to reach for yours.

'I'm suspecting there is a downside to all of this'

'I need her to trust me.'

'And the only way to do that is by loving her I assume' You hung your head low when he gave a small nod.

'I wish there was another way. She's young and blinded by her friend Mal to see what's truly happening'

'What if she finds out?'

'We'll cross that bridge when we get to it' He stood up from his seat and kneeled beside you, firmly holding your knees.

'You're not a loose cannon Y/N. I didn't want to tell you because if I told you about Alina, you would seek us out and watch. I don't want you to see me with her' You recognized that everything he said was true, his heart hadn't skipped a beat since you got here.

'I'm sorry for the other night, for what I said. I didn't mean it' Throughout your years with Aleksander, you had witnessed him apologize to you and every time he did, his eyes were the true apology. They reflected his whole soul, bared his deepest emotions to you, and begged for forgiveness with immense desperation in ways that his words couldn't. This was no exception.

'We all say things we don't mean in the heat of the moment' All it took was those simple words for his eyes to wash away the guilt and reappear filled with affection.

'Why didn't you tell me about Zoya?'

He sighed again, resting his forehead against your arm 'I don't know'

'Are you done with her?'

'She was just an outlet Y/N, I truly haven't loved anybody since you. You crowded my dreams and my daily thoughts, do you really think I could move on?' He gave a gentle laugh with an undertone of embarrassment at his inability to get over you.

'I'm flattered'

Although the areas of the future that involved Alina rubbed you the wrong way for many reasons, you were glad to finally know the things Aleksander kept from you. No doubt there were things you omitted that would come up in due time, but you had gone what caused you the most stress.

'Will you finally stop running away from me? I've barely had any time to enjoy your presence' His hand came up to your face, nudging a thin piece of hair away. You melted into his touch, grabbing him by the shoulders and embracing him tightly, forcing both of you to stand. He held you as close, if not tighter.

'I'll do anything you want me to if it means you trust me again' His words stuck in your mind as he spoke against your hair. Your statement must have cut him deep. It hurt you too, you loved this man, you've loved him for more than a century, and being scared to trust him dwindled your memory of him.

You were the first to pull away but only for a second as your lips crashed onto his. It wasn't rough or needy, it was sweet and reflected your love for him. It was the kind of kiss you imagined when you dreamed of him at your weakest; when your dreams were vivid and lucid in comparison to your feverish body as it lay on the brink of death.

'Have you eaten?' He asked as you wrapped your arms around him yet again, not ready to let go.

'Not yet, but give me a minute' You closed your eyes, reveling in his scent and warm touch.

At last, I finally got my hug.

***

It was later on in the day now, you had forced yourself away from Aleksander after breakfast and retreated into your chambers, sifting through documents and pointless papers. You barely read them as you signed away, doing the tedious work Aleksander passed onto you as he focused on the stag. You didn't know much about the animal and willingly chose to stay out of the affair, never really caring for the amplifier. For now, all that it entailed was chasing false leads and ending up at dead-ends. Not your cup of tea.

The Winter fete was coming up and much to your displeasure, you were asked to make sure the Sun-Summoner was up to scratch for her showcase. It was important she makes a good impression on the foreign ambassadors, Ravka needed stronger alliances now that Zlatan was claiming the West needed to break away. He was colluding with the druskelle to capture Grisha, and wherever your Grisha were concerned, you had to get involved.

You realized the measly reports of Alina's progress weren't enough and you had to go right to the source. There wasn't a single part of you that looked forward to stepping into that boiling hut and conversing with the rude woman, but work had to be done.

You took your time walking down, chatting to bystanding Grisha and trying to stall, you really weren't in the mood to be bullied. You didn't bother to knock, you just waltzed in and searched the dark for her hunched figure.

'You again' You could've sworn she appeared out of thin air as her voice carried disgust along the room, it usually did when it came to speaking to you but you stopped caring a long time ago.

'Why are you back, Witch'

With the track record Baghra had with you, the nickname never failed to fuel your temptation to throttle her.

---

Part 16

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Crossroads

Strictly speaking, deals with the devil should be done at a crossroads. They were that ideal liminal space, betwixt and between the realms of life and death, the no man's land between the worlds where paranormal meetings would traditionally take place. Unfortunately, due to a quick to municipal planning, the town of Middle Drooling was unable to oblige.

Mrs Clutterbuck made do with a roundabout.

It was one of the nicer ones the town had to offer, with a lovely floral display in the middle, which she felt helped to bring some sense of ceremony. She couldn't imagine doing this at the mini-roundabout before the entrance to the local supermarket, let alone the awful interchange to get onto the passing A-road. This compromise might have been necessary, but demonic covenants still deserved some measure of decorum.

The other side never failed to disappoint. Once Mrs Clutterbuck had said the usual incantation, the demon arrived with all the pomp and pageantry one might expect from a visit from the beyond: the ground trembled, the wind howled, and the streetlamps on the corner flickered off and on, although the latter might have just been the council budget cuts again.

Amongst the usual theatrics, he had his own spiel to recite, like one of those telemarketers who won't let you go until they're rattled through their script, or perhaps more like the police putting you under caution with a reading of your rights. Mrs Clutterbuck had heard it a few times, so she gave a little cough early doors to nip this performance in the bud.

"GREETINGS MORTAL," it began. "YOU HAVE SUMMO- oh, it's you. What do you want this time?"

"Good morning!" Mrs Clutterbuck greeted him with all the cheer in the world. "It's lovely to see you again. How have you been keeping? We've been having some truly dreadful weather recently, but I suppose it's rather more toasty where you are?"

"SATAN'S PIT ALWAYS BURNS WITH THE HEAT OF A THOUSAND SOULS BEING RENT FROM THEIR SINS." The demon gave the voice another go. People were supposed to cower when he spoke, but she always just looked politely interested.

"Oh, I'm sure it does. All right for some, isn't it? All with no heating bill in sight, I don't doubt." She paused for a response, and he had to nod to get her to continue. "Gosh, how the other half live - relaxing, rending souls, jet-setting off to the Caribbean and the like. Not that I'm against all that. We were looking into a time share in Tuscany at one point, you know, but Alf was never keen. You wouldn't believe it, but the food disagrees with him."

"Is that your wish?" the demon asked, trying to chivvy her along. Sometimes he felt she only called him up for a chat. "A holiday on the Italian coast? A cured aversion to spaghetti?"

"Gosh, no," she said again. He'd have to look up the policy on minced oaths. Did that count as half a blasphemy? "I couldn't afford all that, not at my age. I can't be doing with all the blood rituals and the like. No, that sort of evil bidding is a young woman's game. I'll stick to bidding on the lower value items, if it's all the same to you."

"So... what will it be?" The demon had been called a servant of evil on many occasions in the past, but somehow the implication that his evil was on a kind of budget range was much harder to take. "I can offer you a life of hedonism, pleasures beyond your wildest dreams, mystical abilities, forbidden knowledge...."

"Ooh, I could do with some forbidden knowledge," Mrs Clutterbuck stopped him. "Now, let's see. It would have been this week's cryptic crossword in the local paper, 8 or 9 across. Something about a tune."

"It was 8 across," he said. Knowledge of mortal affairs could be awfully mundane. "Gloomy rendition of a sober tune."

"That's right. It's bingo tonight, you see, and Margaret at number seventeen gets all smug if she's solved it first. What'll it cost me? An hour of my life?"

"Two."

"Oh, come now, I don't have many left. A young woman might pay two, but mine are worth more to me. Go on, what can I get for one? Half the answer?"

"I suppose," the demon answered wearily. Mrs Clutterbuck always liked to haggle, and for increasingly petty things. He might be immortal, but she somehow still found a way to waste his time.

He longed for the days when securing a soul was as simple as a good old fashioned duel, fiddles at dawn, but he knew better than to suggest it. He'd made the mistake of mentioning that once, and she'd spoken at length about her youngest's struggles getting grade five in clarinet - whatever that meant.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t been warned. Humans always liked to bargain: it was in their nature, the way that they communicated with each other. It was like in the old legend of Mephistopheles, the eponymous demon tricked into serving a cruel academic, seduced by promise of his soul.

There were many such cautionary tales. Another demon, Rumpelstiltskin, had been enslaved to spin straw into gold, paid a fraction of the value of his labour, and then swindled out of that by trickster humans who trapped him in their greed.

"Well, I've already got the E, E, and R," she figured in her mind. "So why don't you give me the odd letters and we'll call it an hour?"

"Deal." He wasn't willing to argue it any more. Humans liked to say the devil was in the details, but he'd always found it the other way around. "The odd letters are T, N, B, O, and S. Is that enough, or do you need the rest?"

She took a moment to work it out, and they stepped onto the pavement to avoid a passing taxi. Middle Drooling was waking up. Dawn was the perfect thematic time for these meetings, the border between night and day, and it also meant they didn't get caught up in the school run.

Once it had passed, they returned to the road. Mrs Clutterbuck had found the spells in an old book on demonology, and neither of them really understood how they worked, but they knew they couldn't leave whilst he was here. Most tales referred to marking out magic circles, in which the demon would appear and be constrained, but she'd found the roundabout seemed to do the trick quite nicely.

It was a circle, of a kind: marked out by humans, and ready-made for them to use. It was mapped out like a Kongo cosmogram, with the streetlamps forming Hecataea pillars, just to cover all cultural bases. Lovely and spacious, too. According to the diagrams in the book, practitioners had traditionally marked out chalk circles in their studies, but that looked awfully claustrophobic. There was nothing wrong in having a bit of space to walk around.

"Tenebrous," she said. "Is that a word?"

"Are you asking for more knowledge?" Demons, like waiting staff, were always encouraged to up-sell.

"Oh, no, you're alright there. I suppose it has to be." She thought for a moment more. "Well, fancy that. There's no way Margaret knows that one, is there? Oh, that's not a question either, by the way."

"Will there be anything else?"

"Ah, well this is the reason I called, you see. Alf's back's been playing up again, and you were able to help mine out a treat. Young Doctor Sharma said he'd never seen anything like it, although he can't be much past thirty, so what does he know?"

"I can do that. It will be the same price as for you, if that's okay. We don't have inflation in Hell. Well, only as a punishment."

"First born, is it?" she said, with the air of someone rummaging in their purse for the exact change. "Our Elsie's got a litter of puppies coming in, breed, darling little things they'll be. I can offer you the pick of the litter. You'll have to look after it, mind. You know what they say: a dog's for life, not just for diabolic rituals."

[riversofmars]

Hello Fam! Time for another update on this epic, we're heading for a big confrontation!! Thank you everyone so much for your lovely comments <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 10: Familiar Faces

Edinburgh, 2021

“He’s due to give an address right now, should finish soon.“ Jack explained as they walked up to the convention centre.

“Let’s hope it goes differently to the last one…“ Ryan winced at the memory of it. They had very nearly all been turned into braindead data storage.

“Martha and Gwen will be in the auditorium, Mickey and I will stay outside, we've got you backstage passes.“ He handed them lanyards with laminated passes. They would get them through some doors, though perhaps not all of them. “You approach him after the speech, push his buttons.“

“That should not be difficult.“ Graham said, which was a fair assumption. They had no way of knowing how he would respond to seeing them again but it wouldn’t be pleasant. They had been surprised to find he was even still giving speeches. His spin doctors had had a tough time explaining everything away as a media stunt but that was a while ago now, and VOR still held a ridiculous amount of power in the world.

“We got you covered.“ Jack reassured them. “Just stay in contact.“ He tapped his ear to remind them of the surveillance equipment they were wearing.

“He’s just wrapping up, better get in here.“ Gwen’s voice came over the radio and they nodded.

“Let’s do this.“ Graham agreed and Ryan answered Gwen:

“We’re on our way.“

“Good men!“ Jack grinned. “We will make Torchwood agents of you yet!“

——

Demon’s Run, 52nd Century

“Keep running scans.“ Vastra advised Dorium over the intercom as they made their way to the airlock one deck below the bridge. They had found a good spot underneath the asteroid, where they could access a seemingly empty section of the space station.

“They haven’t detected us yet, no life signs anywhere nearby.“ Dorium reported. He had remained back on the bridge and Yaz couldn’t be persuaded to stay behind this time around. There would be no need to operate a teleport so Vastra’s excuses didn’t work. She had given in eventually.

“Mr. Strax, if you please.“ Vastra nodded towards the airlock as the others kept back.

“With pleasure.“ Strax grinned and engaged his helmet. He stepped on the other side of the heavy door and the airlock closed. It was hard to make out what was happening through the small window in the door but they gathered around to watch their friend. Strax attached himself to a tether so he wouldn’t be dragged into space as the airlock opened into space on the other side. He leaned out and with two precise shots of his rifle he took out the force field generators that powered the shields in this section. There was a gap between the ship and the space station as there was no docking bay on the other side but they had no need for it. Not when Strax threw a small grenade across the distance to the metal hull of the space station. The explosion wasn’t particularly loud as it wasn’t about the force of it, but it was big enough to douse the area in powerful acid. Strax gave them a thumbs up, and Vastra and Jenny returned the gesture.

“He’s not been as happy as this in months.“ Jenny observed with a chuckle as they watched Strax wheel out an air corridor towards the hull breach on the other side.

“Very efficient.“ Yaz commented, impressed at the effectiveness of the plan. She could only assume that this was something Sontarans were very good at.

“I have no idea what we’re going to find when we get onto that space station.“ Vastra turned to Yaz, making sure she understood what she was letting herself in for. She would much rather she stayed behind but Yaz wasn’t having it.

“Hopefully we will find the Thirteen and work out what they’re up to and save the Professor. Easy, right?“ Yaz asked and checked the charge pack on the blaster Strax has supplied her with.

“Sounds about right.“ Jenny smiled and looked to her wife with a proud smile, Yaz had certainly found a firm place amongst them.

“Keep your guard up, don’t do anything stupid, we can’t take any risks with the professor’s consciousness at stake.“ Vastra implored them as she placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. The airlock opened, safe to cross, as Strax waited for them on the other side, rifle at the ready.

——

Edinburgh, 2021

“Sorry, we’re looking for Mr. Barton, he should have finished his address by now?“ Ryan stepped up to a porter, flashing his ID.

“Backstage area is through there.“ The young man gestured to a door at the far side of the room. “I’m not sure he’s keen on visitors though…“ He frowned.

“He’ll make an exception for us, old friends.“ Graham smiled and before the porter could protest, they marched to the door.

“We’re backstage.“ Ryan informed the others on the radio as they made their way through a long corridor, the hustle and bustle of the main area falling away.

“Here we go…“ Graham elbowed his grandson, spotting Barton up ahead. “Mr. Barton!“ He called out, and they picked up the pace before he could disappear into a dressing room.

“Oh no…“ Barton recognised them immediately.

“Long time no see. Sorry, didn’t catch the speech, fascinating I’m sure.“ Graham said a little out of breath as they came to a halt in front of him, baring his way.

“Who let you in here?“ Barton asked curtly, then called: “SECURITY!“

“Nah, we got backstage passes, mate, it’s all good.“ Ryan grinned holding up his lanyard. “Surprised they’re letting you out in public again after what happened last time.“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.“ Barton tried to push past them but they wouldn’t let him.

“Sure you do.“ Graham said. “What have you been up to lately? 'Cause there’s some really weird stuff going on, people being experimented upon, people dying? Sound like someone you know?“

“SECURITY?“ Barton called again and this time two burly looking men came stalking down the corridor. “Get these men out of here.“ The VOR founder gestured to them.

“Sorry, actually, we’re Scotland Yard.“ Ryan announced and pulled his psychic paper from his pocket, flicking it at the security officers as he’d seen the Doctor do so often. “This is a homicide investigation.“

“You’re not Scotland Yard, you’re…“ Barton started to protest but Graham held his psychic paper out to him in turn.

“Check the paper, Mate.“ He grinned and the security officers kept their distance, unsure of what to do.

“Fine, I’ll be going then.“ Barton snapped. “Have my car brought around!“ He shouted to the security guards and started back in the direction he’d come from. His men hurried after him.

“He’s on his way out.“ Ryan tapped his ear to give the other’s the heads up. “We will have a look around his dressing room.“

“Well done, we got it from here.“ Jack’s voice came through the radio, and Ryan and Graham high-fived before walking into the dressing room.

——

Demon’s Run, 52nd Century

“This way.“ Jenny indicated for them to turn right. She was holding a scanner, charting the way up ahead.

“It’s eerily quiet…“ Yaz observed looking around. They hadn’t encountered anyone yet.

“This place is big, fifty people would barely fill a deck…“ Vastra mused but she had to agree, she didn’t like the quiet either.

“They seem to be gathered on the main deck…“ Jenny explained, interpreting the scanner readings.

“Then that’s where we’re heading.“ Vastra decided. It was their best bet.

“Right into the lion’s mouth for glorious battle.“ Strax sounded extremely pleased with the course of action.

“It’s our best chance of finding the Thirteen and in turn, Professor Song…“ Vastra explained upon seeing Yaz’s doubtful expression.

“Do you not think it’s strange?“ Yaz asked as it wasn’t the direction she was unsure about.

“What is?“ Jenny retorted.

“That no-one had noticed us yet…“ Yaz looked around the empty corridors. “I mean, I know this place is big but Strax knocked through their shields… punched a hole in their wall… loss of air pressure, surely they should have had alarms for those things…“ She carried on explaining, and none of them could argue.

“The lad is right, it’s too easy.“ Strax grinned excited at the prospect of a dangerous situation.

“All we can do is be on guard, we will have to face them eventually, whether it’s with the element of surprise or not.“ Vastra decided that it was too late to worry about it now. They were all more than capable of defending themselves, they would be fine. “Now, which way to the main deck?“

——

Glasgow, 2021

“His car is being brought around.“ Jack’s voice filled the Torchwood Two hub where Kate and the Osgoods were watching a video feed of what Jack and Mickey were seeing. “He’s taking off…“ Jack carried on and they watched Barton head towards a black car. “And he’s making a phone call!“

“See if you can get a trace on that call.“ Kate turned to the Osgoods who were already working the controls. One was zooming in on Barton while the other attempted to hack the phone call.

“Yes, Ma’am.“ They retorted in unison and there was a crackling noise until finally Barton’s voice echoed through the hub:

“I thought you said there was no way of things getting back to me.“ Barton was growling while slamming the door shut on his car.

“What are you talking about, Mr. Barton.“ The voice on the other end of the call was male, and none of them recognised them.

“The Doctor! Her friends are here, asking all sorts of questions. Now, I have no idea what exactly you’re doing and frankly I don’t want to know. Plausible deniability, do you even know what that is?“ Barton barked, clearly unsettled. They had done a good job of rattling him. “Do not contact me until you have results. You have your resources, the facilities, everything else is up to you!“

“Get a tracker on that car!“ Kate instructed quickly as the car started up and Mickey was quick to shoot a transponder to the back of it as it was driving off.

“What did they say?“ The voice of Barton’s contact was still loud and clear in the Torchwood hub.

“What?“ Barton snapped back.

“The Doctor’s friends, what did they say?“ The other man pressed on.

“They know about the experiments.“ Barton growled, his voice low and angry.

“Is that all?“

“I didn't exactly stop to chat.“ Barton sounded exasperated now. “Don’t contact me until you’re ready.“ The call ended abruptly without another response from the other side.

——

Demon’s Run, 52nd Century

“What’s that noise?“ Strax stopped dead in his tracks and the others halted as well, nearly running into him.

“Oh yeah, I can hear it, too.“ Jenny agreed listening out. There was a faint clicking noise, like bottle caps being opened somewhere far off.

“Let’s move along, I don’t have a good feeling about this…“ Vastra urged them on, looking up and down the corridor. Something wasn’t right. There was a change in the air, it suddenly grew stale and heavy. “The air circulation…“ Vastra realised what it was and glanced anxiously ahead to the end of the corridor where a large bulkhead was just rolling shut.

“What’s happening?“ Yaz asked, unsettled by the sudden stillness around them.

“Run. To the bulkhead, we need to open it up!“ Vastra exclaimed, they didn’t have a moment to lose and without questions that would have delayed them, they sprinted forward. An ear piercing alarm sounded and emergency lights started flashing along their way.

“Evacuate this section, the deck will be vented in t-minus two minutes.“ A computer voice announced across the intercom.

“The bulkhead is sealed shut.“ Jenny announced and Strax took a couple of shots at it for good measure. It didn’t budge.

“What’s happening?“ Yaz asked.

“They’re about to vent this entire section into space.“ Vastra explained quickly. “We need to get out of here, otherwise we will be sucked into the vacuum.“

“Well, well, well, what have we here, uninvited guests.“ A voice boomed over the intercom.

“I know that voice…“ Yaz breathed in disbelief, shuddering involuntarily. They all looked around. Yaz was first to spot the camera directed at the bulkhead they were standing in front of.

“The Doctor’s merry men, I presume? Or merry women? He does like to surround himself with the fairer sex, doesn’t he. No, offence, Sontaran.“ The voice carried on with some amusement. “Is he here, too? Oh I really hope he is…“

“It’s the Master.“ Yaz exclaimed, shaking off the initial shock.

“What?“ Vastra frowned as they all looked to Yaz in surprise. The Master was the last person they would have expected to find here. They had presumed him to be on Gallifrey still. Perhaps Dorium’s memory of who had saved him from the Transept had been correct and it had been the Master after all.

“I’d know that voice anywhere, it’s him alright!“ Yaz squared her jaw.

“Is he working with the Thirteen?“ Jenny asked and Vastra replied:

“Wouldn’t surprise me.“

“Now, would you stop talking, that’s just plain rude! Did you really think you could break in and no-one would notice you?“ The voice boomed across the speakers again, he seemed to be able to hear them.

“Kill them now! I want to see them floating through the airlock.“ There was another voice too.

“Patience, the countdown is so much more dramatic. Also, I have questions! How did you find us? Why are you here? And where is the Doctor?“ The first voice carried on.

“The Doctor knows we’re here!“ Yaz exclaimed. It was a bluff of course but perhaps it would make him think twice about killing them.

“Release Professor Song to us!“ Vastra demanded turning glaring at the surveillance camera to whoever was sitting on the other side of it.

“The only thing I’m going to release is you… into space.“ The voice snickered in amusement.

“Ma’am.“ Jenny mumbled, catching her wife’s attention and Vastra looked around, following her wife’s eyes to a maintenance panel on the wall. Yaz noticed it too and without a moment’s hesitation, she raised her gun and shot the surveillance camera above their heads.

“Now that’s not very nice of you!“ The voice snarled.

“Quickly now!“ Vastra urged and Jenny quickly pushed her sword behind the panelling to wedge it open.

“Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work!“ The voice carried on. “You will be dead in a few minutes!“

“Get in!“ Vastra gave her wife a leg up to the maintenance shaft. Strax refused her help and launched himself up with surprising force, nearly getting stuck in the small shaft but Yaz, who followed after, pushed him on.

“Fine, let’s get this over with, if you’re not going to play…“ The air was sucked out of the corridor and Vastra gasped, grabbing hold of the edge of the shaft as the force of the outside vacuum tried to rip her away. Yaz was quick to grab her arms and pull her inside as the air continued to get sucked out. Vastra turned quickly and closed the panel, keeping the vacuum at bay for the time being.

“That was close…“ Yaz leaned against the side of the shaft to catch her breath. It was wide enough to move around in and turn but only if they stayed crouched down.

“We have to be careful now that they know we’re here. We have to find the Professor and quickly.“ Vastra said as they climbed along the shaft. “Chances are, the Thirteen will have the data stick, or whatever he’s using to store her consciousness, with him…“

“You’re sure that was the Master, Yaz?“ Jenny asked, looking behind herself to make sure the others were close behind.

“I’d know that voice anywhere.“ Yaz nodded.

“Then we are facing even greater odds than anticipated.“ Vastra mused, concerned. Perhaps they were out of their depth without the Doctor with them, particularly now that they had lost the element of surprise.

“It will be a glorious battle. I’ve not had as much fun as this in years!“ Strax didn’t seem to mind at all and Yaz nearly bumped into him when he stopped crawling as Jenny had done up ahead.

“Which way?“ Jenny asked, as the shaft split in two directions.

“We ought to split up, cover more ground. We will be harder to track that way as well.“ Vastra said after brief consideration. “Jenny, you and Strax go left, Yaz and I will go right.“ She decided.

“Are you sure about that?“ Jenny asked, sounding insecure for a moment as Strax moved to her side and allowed Yaz and Vastra to pass through to the right.

“It will be fine, my love.“ Vastra gave her wife a soft smile and reached for her hand. “We will rendezvous back at the ship. If you run into trouble, just get back there.“ She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Okay.“ Jenny smiled, gathering her courage. “Be careful.“ She gave her wife a stern look, and Vastra nodded.

“Come on, lad!“ Strax called out, already halfway down the left hand shaft.

“Look after her, Strax.“ Vastra called after him and got a “Yes Ma’am…“ for an answer.

“More like, I look after him.“ Jenny chuckled. “You be careful too, both of you.

——

Demon’s Run Holding Cells, 52nd Century

“The Doctor’s merry men, I presume? Or merry women? He does like to surround himself with the fairer sex, doesn’t he. No, offence, Sontaran.“ The Thirteen’s voice carried through all of Demon’s Run, echoing through empty corridors and to the cell River was being held in. “Is he here too? Oh I really hope he is…“

River tried her best to stay calm, not get her hopes up but there were only so many people she could think of that would steal aboard Demon’s Run with a Sontaran in tow. Someone had noticed that she had been taken from the Library, and they were coming for her, they had to be. He had to be.

“I wouldn't get my hopes up. We’re just venting the entire section into space.“ Kovarian snarled, stepping up to the forcefield that kept them separate.

River hugged her son to her chest, running her fingers through his short fluffy curls that had grown a little longer since she had last seen him. They must have taken him maybe a couple of weeks after she had dropped him off at Paternoster Row, and now it seemed her dear friends had come to their rescue.

“Do you think Daddy might be coming to get us out of here?“ She hummed to the infant and pressed a kiss to his head. “He’s going to be terribly cross when he finds out about you… but not as cross as he’s going to be with them .“

“The Doctor isn’t here.“ Kovarian retorted and River gave her a condescending smile.

“As far as you know.“ She retorted, returning her attention to her son. She had missed him so much. She had had no idea of the danger he had been in, but for now, she was just grateful to have him back in her arms. Her time in the Library had felt like an eternity and she had missed him every second of it.

Kovarian turned away from the cell and pressed her hand to her ear, seemingly receiving a message.

“I’m on my way.“ She announced and turned back to River. “Don’t go anywhere, Melody, dear. Not that you could.“ She snarled and River smirked.

“Better run and hide, Madame Kovarian. A storm is coming for you.“ River stepped up close to the forcefield, regarding the other woman with nothing but distaste and pity. “There are no Gods, no force in the universe, that will save you when my husband finds out what you’ve done.“

Kovarian lingered for a moment, seemingly considering her response. River was sure there was a little bit of something in her eye, the one without the eye drive anyway. Something akin to a flicker of fear. Kovarian turned and marched away without another word before River had the chance to point it out.

“Right then, dear, time for mummy to get to work.“ River hummed when Kovarian had departed and she walked up to where the control panel for the force field was. “Your daddy is good but so am I, let’s make our own way…“

——

Demon’s Run Main Hanger, 52nd Century

“Ah, there we are…“ The Master stepped out of the TARDIS first upon the Doctor’s request, just in case he was taking them somewhere dangerous on purpose. He knocked against a large computer console and the Doctor realised immediately that it was a TARDIS with a functioning chameleon circuit.

“I know this place…“ The Doctor realised as she looked away from the TARDIS at the surrounding area and a feeling of overwhelming dread took hold of her.

“Oh?“ The Master looked around as well but waited for her explanation.

“This is Demon’s Run.“ The Doctor said and she was sure of it. The battle of Demon’s Run still stuck in her bones despite numerous regenerations.

“Oh I see, I’ve never been but I heard it was quite the party.“ The Master pushed his hands into his pockets as he had a look around. “Where is everyone?“ He asked, then called: “HELLO! ANYONE HOME?“

“Will you shut up?!“ The Doctor slapped her hand to his mouth, shutting him up. “We have the element of surprise here!“

“You really don’t, you know.“ A voice called from the other end of the hanger.

“What…“ The Doctor was at a loss for words. She looked to the Master next to her, then back to the person advancing towards them. Same frame, same dark hair, same face. They even wore the same purple suit.

“Now this is a surprise.“ The other man grinned, proving that their voice was the same too.

“Maybe you were right, Doctor, maybe I’m not as innocent as I anticipated.“ The Master hummed, sounding intrigued as he sized up the man in front of them who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be him. “Now, my loyalties might get a little… conflicted.“

The same mad smirk played on both their faces as the Doctor stood stunned, looking in between the two Masters.

[coralstudiies]

SURVIVAL GUIDE & STUDY TIPS

hello everyone!! this post is a collab with the lovely and amazing @boinkhs because we've both reached 2k followers :D she'll be doing study tips for college students and i'll be doing study tips for high schoolers. check out her post here!

i've split this into part 1. survival, which concerns how to study & learn better in general and just tips on how to get through high school. part 2. is on specific study tips for each type of subject, namely sciences, maths, languages and humanities.

Hope this helps <3

1. Don't snooze please

you just end up snoozing 5 times then you’re late for school

2. If you find you have difficulty getting out of bed, just keep in mind ONE TASK you need to do.

for example, making your bed. then you just gotta focus on that! it should help fight the sleepiness because you’re forcing your brain and limbs to be active.

3. Do the necessary things like brushing your teeth, putting on clothes and eat breakfast

i don’t know why but some people don’t eat breakfast before coming to school like ???? excuse me ???? please eat at least a small snack, or a fruit or something. your body doesnt function on an empty stomach! also, drink some water to hydrate yourself

4. On the road, you should do something that puts you in a good mood.

for me, i go straight to spotify and listen to my playlist. you should also review the previous day’s learning so that you refresh your memory before going back to class. personally this is my fav part of the day HAHAHA

5. If you like, you can choose to read a book.

just make sure you’re calm but ‘warmed up’ to focusing in a sense.

1. Hydrate frequently

idk man it just keeps you awake + i dont feel so icky if i drink enough water

2. Learn actively

if the teacher asks questions, try to answer. sit at the front row. offer to help give out the worksheets or notes. clarify your doubts after. when they speak, copy down notes. don’t worry about the aesthetic; i mean you can but you need to write fast and neat which unfortunately doesnt come together very often. i suggest you spend more brain power digesting and understanding the content.

3. Don’t over highlight

ONLY KEY POINTS that are stressed by the teacher. you can tell when their tone changes, expression changes, when they use more hand motions, or they keep repeating a few key words. yes , that. highlight that. stare at it while listening to them speak. make sure you understand. if you don’t please ask. but make sure you don’t have a fluorescent page because that’s not ideal study material!

4. Write down any questions you have

if they’re answered in the lesson, cancel them off. if not, ask after the lesson. dont be scared! *sends virtual courage*

5. Use whatever free time you have to finish homework

because you’re gonna thank yourself later. you should spend more time at home revising than doing homework. ( doing homework isnt equivalent to revising PLEASE I KNOW SO MANY PEOPLE WHO SAY THEY REVISED FOR 3 HOURS BUT ALL THEY DID WAS HOMEWORK ) also it feels better knowing you have one less thing to worry about

6. Record down all assignments, due dates and test dates

do it in a planner or your phone. doesn’t matter just keep them somewhere. it can be demoralising to see an entire entry of shit to get done but still it’s better than not knowing what needs to be done. ignorance is NOT bliss. try to color code or symbol code them, for example • for assignments (due date behind), - for tests etc. act on this when you go home (see below)

7. Have a file/binder some form of organisation to keep different subjects’ worksheets, tests, notes, reading etc.

you can have one massive binder, one binder for each subject, one folder file for each subject or anything that suits you. for me, i clip all materials of one subject together with a binder clip. the materials i use most are at the front for easy reference. then put those bundles into zipper files, perhaps one for math and sciences, another for languages and humanities. or whatever suits you best! make sure you have everything in one place so you don’t panic and dig through a pile of dog-eared paper.

8. If you can, when it’s near the exam period, don’t stay back after school unless it’s to study.

i used to stay back for training and to play volleyball with my friends and i kid you not we would play from 2pm to 6.30 pm and get nothing done but it was fun. and i’m not saying deprive yourself of that fun but when the exams are near, you should be studying somewhere quiet/ somewhere you can focus. you should go somewhere (preferably home) where you can focus and get things done.

9. Decide if you’re a lone wolf or if you need a study buddy/study group

personally i’m a lone wolf because i hate distractions and i don’t want to distract others. but when my friends ask me for help i don’t mind staying back a little to teach them and/or study with them. Personally i find that for subjects like english which require you to write about an array of topics, studying with someone else can help in generation of essay points and to just broaden your understanding of the topic. so yeah it really depends, just do what suits you :)

10. Take notes in class

try to understand while copying, and if you didn’t understand something, you should raise your hand and ask for the teacher to repeat so that you hear it again. also, it gives you more time to take notes as they re-explain the content. read them after the lesson is over to help internalise some facts. you can create your own method of organisation for your notes, e.g. colour coding.

1. Review the day’s learning on the way home.

if you take public transport, try to flip through your notes and worksheets to review new content for the first time.

2. Eat lunch, have a snack, take a shower, everything that’s necessary.

if you use your phone while eating, make sure you don’t eat slowly just to use your phone because that’s wasting time.

3. If you’re super tired, just have a 15-20min power nap

nothing more otherwise you will NEVER wake up until the dead of night. just take a nap to get some energy back. doesnt matter if you wake up feeling more tired, because you’ll shake that feeling in a while. keep a glass of water beside you so that you can drink it once you wake up!

4. Look through your ‘list’ that you made earlier in the day. (in class, pt. 6)

you might want to spend max 10 mins updating your schedule. then stare at the dreaded homework. start with the easiest and least time consuming to build up momentum. this could actually be the remainder of what you’ve finished in school. then look at the due dates. do them in order of due dates. unless it’s a huge project or assignment, you might want a head start on it!

5. With the remaining time, you should start revising

review the day’s learning AGAIN.

make notes/mindmaps/flashcards whatever works for you. you should prioritise the subject or chapter that you were most confused about. quickly revise and try to clear up any questions you have about the chapter. if you have additional time, go ahead and make notes for the next subject! another way is going through corrections and clarifying your doubts with friends/teachers, and summarise the day’s learning on a post-it or two. if you’ve already taken notes in class, look at other sources e.g textbook and combine what you’ve learnt before re-writing or re-organising your notes.

1. Pack your bag!

remove unnecessary materials, and pack the necessary one. make sure your bag isnt too heavy. you can choose to hand carry some files or binders if they’re too bulky, but make sure you’re all packed before the next morning

2. Have a meal & clean up

again, basic necessities. don’t go to bed hungry or feeling icky because thats not how you treat yo self!

Before class:

if you’re going to continue on a chapter, review the content that came before it. Try to make your own connections between the already learnt and to-be learnt content so that you’re mentally ready for class.

In class:

take down notes, highlight, annotate and DRAW DIAGRAMS. you can’t do sciences without diagrams. for physics or chemistry which require more calculation, copy down the problems your teacher goes through and solve them along with him/her. write the formulas on a post it note so you can stick it onto the page where you’re writing for easy reference. if the teacher plays a video which is MOST DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO WAIT FOR YOU you have to write only the relevant points in the most abbreviated form possible.

Note-taking:

I find that linear notes help me most in sciences. for chapters that involve lots of interconnected processes, for example o chem, then mindmaps or flowcharts will be helpful. also if you tend to forget something, post-it that stuff on the front page of your notes where you are FORCED to stare at it. yes. write down example problems and their steps, then write explanations for each step so that if you’re confused you can always refer back. again, draw any required diagrams.

Answering techniques:

if there’s a ‘standard’ way to answer it then you have to make sure you follow that way even in your homework because it’s muscle memory. when you get to exams, your hand will automatically write in the same format so you don’t lose marks or spend time recalling the correct format.

imo sciences are quite logical so as long as you remember and follow the flow you’ll be fine!

In class:

copy key terms, facts and examples and write all examples that the teacher has gone through. write all formulas and definitions on a post it, then shift it around the pages as needed. if there’s a type of problem you particularly suck at, ask your teacher for help IMMEDIATELY because it’s so easy to forget the steps to a problem.

At home:

do your homework, do additional practice, correct your mistakes, clarify, and repeat. memorise formulas and definitions (perhaps using flashcards or post its) then practice more and make sure your concepts are strong. there’s no easy way and sadly this is all i can comment.

In class:

copy down notes, think actively, and if you’re given a sample essay you should annotate the heck out of it and keep it somewhere safe.

For essays:

read up more and write up. befriend the best writer in class and ask for their essays. write essay plans and consult your teacher. brainstorm possible approaches with friends. read the news, and copy the links of interesting online articles for future reference. have a go-to list of examples and quotes you can use, for any and every topic. read these like your bedtime story and never forget to keep updating them.

For comprehension passages:

read the questions first. then you’ll be more sensitive to what you need to read in the passage and how you need to analyse it. try to question yourself about how and why the author does something or makes you feel something. do not rush-read the passage or you will fail horribly (personal experience). do one or two extra comprehensions and ask your teacher to mark them.

In class:

ARROWS TO LINK EVERYTHING and annotate any class notes given. write down new examples provided by the teacher. if there is a link you ‘can check out’ go check it out. it’s probably something thats gonna be on the exam.

At home:

you have to rely on mindmapping and flow charts because everything is linked in some way and you cannot ignore those links!!!! although i do my humanities notes in linear form, my in class notes are all in the form of mindmaps. and actually i revise from those in a pinch because i can see everything at one go. watch vids on the concepts, for example plate tectonics. those things are so hard to see when they’re deadass sitting on the page and not budging. watch a video where they really move instead of being frozen.

If you’re so frickin lost:

watch more videos on the concepts, watch more videos on the events, search up interpretations online and ask your teachers!!! for everyone who gets equally lost as me when i’m faced with a new chapter, another way is to pre-read before the teacher starts teaching. if you’re lazy to read just watch a couple clips on it so that at least you have some background. even if you wake up the next day with 0 concrete memory, which you won’t, you’ll already have the flow of things which will help you if you’re usually the straggler.

(disclaimer i study geography although i've tried history and english literature but i think that they're similar to some extent, especially on how to study them)

[psycholojosh]

Got my first 1.00 in grad school!

I just want to take the time to share my happiness lately.

When the pandemic began last year, I was saddened by a lot of things. One of them was the lost opportunity to study cognitive-behavioral therapy (or CBT) in-depth when I enrolled in a class. Psych 249 - that was the course code. I was excited for that class because CBT is a popular form of therapy these days. And surprisingly, I learned that it was an umbrella of many therapies that tackle the cognitive and behavioral connection. To top of it, one of my favorite professors, Dr. Divine Love Salvador (awesome name, I know), was instructing us.

Before the lock downs and quarantines and face-to-face classes were still done, I was really looking forward to this class. CBT was a therapeutic approach that I really wanted to hone into and explore. Not to mention, Doc Div (my prof's nickname in school) is an expert in this approach. She and her fellow faculty in the clinical program believe in the power of experiential learning when it comes to training. Our class would meet once a week for three hours. She would discuss theory on the first hour, have a pair demonstrate a technique in front of the class in the second, and have us do our own activity and psychotherapy simulations on the third. The learning was so amazing! I was really looking forward to my turn in the demo since I saw how helpful the post-demo cliniquing was. Plus, my classmates were all insightful people.

Partway in the semester, classes halted due to the pandemic. We were all of a sudden left to our own devices to study. This wasn't surprising to me since I entered graduate school. Grad school has really shaped me to become an independent learner and thinker. But, the complication was the pandemic and the redirected goals to survive and thrive. Doc Div emailed us instructions on the stuff we were "required" to submit with a deferred deadline to a year later - this year.

We were asked to write a case formulation paper - which is a common skill for any psychotherapy class - about a fictional case of an eating disorder. We were also asked to come up with a CBT-informed project that aimed to either educate or be therapeutic for a target audience. This was a group effort and I was grouped with my friends, so I was excited. And lastly, we had to write a final reflection paper based on questions she provided for us in the email. These seemed a lot to finish, so I was thankful for the deferment of our deadlines (and grades).

A few weeks later, as COVID-19 cases were rising and a lot of people were experiencing various psychosocial issues, our university's mental health clinic decided to open its services for free to our own students and staff, frontline healthcare workers, and their respective families. Doc Div was quick to email us the opportunity to volunteer for this initiative for extra credit. I didn't mind the credit at all, yet I decided to volunteer because I wanted to help. And I also realized that the learning I would get from this opportunity would be substantial. Lo and behold, I was assigned to my other professor, Ma'am Sandy Ang (my prof in Psych 264, the Psychopathology class), as my clinical supervisor. In a span of 6 months, I met with a total of 4 clients, each having their own cycles of supervised psychosocial support sessions with me. It wasn't until the end of the year did I accomplish the requested reflection paper. I'll tell more about my experiences here in another post.

Months leading to the deadline, I collaborated with my group to finish an educational blog site about learning skills on boundary setting. We were somewhat happy with the outcome; and we knew that we can improve on it further. Likewise, I have been reading the case given to us for the formulation paper. I started writing bit by bit since the previous year, but only to organize the details. It wasn't until the final two months that we were told that the paper could be done as a group. The idea clicked: I have to work with my group so I could stay afloat from the stress. Luckily, I accomplished a lot in my own, so I only had to present them to the group, ask for their inputs, and add what was missing together.

The process was stressful, to be honest, even as a group. There was a lot of further reading, late night calls to discuss things, writing and preparing materials. It was chaotic, but I felt like I was doing something right and learning something new. Though, I couldn't help but wish for the time that I could "re-learn" all of this with a guidance of an expert or professor.

But anyway... we were buzzer beaters. Submitting by the 11:59pm mark and giving the final sigh as our emails with the requirements attached were making their way to Doc Div's inbox. I felt so much relief knowing how much hard work we've put into our requirements. It didn't take long for our profs to give us our grades from last year. I opened my student portal account and...

An uno?

An uno!

I was so shocked but thrilled that I felt like my hardwork paid off!

The thing is, the sem doesn't count to our final computation of our general weighted averages, so that kinda sucks. But, I'm happy to report how I was able to show some promise with the subject I wanted to learn so much from. Even if I felt alone for the most part, having my groupmates and our collctive efforts made me feel like it was all worth it.

I really do look forward to when the "newer" normal would present us the opportunity to come to school in person again. Online learning is an adventure, but like many I have taken, I get tired of it too. I also miss the things we take for granted, like the facial expressions or the ability to chitchat with my seatmate in class. It made my grad school life all the more fun. But until then, we gotta do what we gotta do.

Cheers! I hope you get your success in these trying times too.

[imperial-martian]

Protective vs Possesive {Mycroft Holmes x Reader} [Part 2/?]

A/N: Sorry that it has taken me so long to get done, but I’ve finally gotten inspiration with the help of @kye06. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I was a bit iffy with it until the end, which I really love. Let me know what you think and if this should be the end or if more parts should be added!

Mycroft x Ex-Wife! Pregnant! Reader

Angst/Fluff

(Mentions of Divorce, Pregnancy, Fainting, Hospitals, Mentions of Llightly Unhealthy Weight Loss, Soft! Mycroft)

•—•

Sherlock was sat in Bart's hospital sitting room, his hands interlaced and his chin resting upon them as he waited and waited. Each second that past felt like hours, each minute felt like days. The ticking of the clock at the corner of the room was slowly driving the man crazy.

It had only been a month and a half since you've moved into Baker Street with Sherlock and John. Every day seemed to be weighing down on you more and more. There was no more waking up to morning kisses that, Mycroft so loved to greet you with, or the smell of freshly brewed coffee. No more late-night cuddles and silent reading as you laid in his arms, smiling.

With every memory came the ghost of his touch, and with that came the guilt. You should've cherished those moments you had with him, to thank Mycroft for always ensuring your safety. Now, you couldn't even do that. The simple thought of him made you want to cry.

Yet, you were unable to think about anybody at the moment. Not while you lied, unconscious in a hospital bed while doctors and nurses tried to determine what was wrong before finally, they did.

However, Sherlock was still waiting, and he was still slowly going insane with impatience. He let only a second pass him before he cams his older brother, his blue eyes shut as he listened to the ringing of the phone.

On the other side of London, in an office, sat Mycroft Holmes, a government official who was just scribbling down a note on a piece of paper. The moon was shining in through the window, having just crept past a cloud that obscured some of its light. The auburn-haired man let out a little grunt into the glass of scotch he had just raised to his lips. A phone call was the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Nonetheless, he grabbed the device, seeing if he recognized the number before feeling a sudden sense of shock and worry as he saw his brother's name. In a quick motion, Mycroft had placed down the scotch glass while throwing on his coat as he brought the phone up to his ear.

"Sherlock?" he said through the phone, moving around his desk to gather some things. If it wasn't an emergency then at least he'd be packed and have an excuse to head home.

Sherlock let out a small sigh as he heard his brother's voice, a sound he wasn't sure that relieved him or annoyed him. "Mycroft, come down to Bart's, Y/N's in the hospital," he stated, getting straight to the point and not wanting to waste time.

Mycroft was surprised for a moment, not because Y/N was in hospital but because he was being informed that she was. "Why am I being told this? And why am I being asked to visit her?" Mycroft asked, his tone airy and yet, somehow it sounded almost cold.

"Because this was your wife Mycroft! Because the person you once loved is now lying unconscious in a hospital room, and even I don't know what's wrong! That's why Mycroft, because if Y/N had even cracked a bit of that facade you've created, then you'd care enough to see her. God forbid she took her last breath in an hour and you weren't here to say goodbye or sorry, wouldn't you want to see her one last time?!"

Mycroft was shocked by his brother's outburst. He'd been yelled at plenty of times before by Sherlock, however, never for such a severe reason. A moment passed before he said, "I'll be there in ten minutes," and hung up the phone.

True to his word, Mycroft arrived at the hospital ten minutes later, walking towards the waiting room where Sherlock no longer sat. The government official walked up to the front desk, asking what room you were in.

"294," the nurse said before Mycroft said a quick thank you and made his way down the hall, his umbrella gripped tightly in his hand. He held it at the center, his leather shoes loud against the tiled floor.

He reached the room after a bit of walking, peaking through the window to spot his brother sitting at a chair beside the bed. Mycroft didn't bother looking around to see you, knocking on the door and waiting for someone to answer it. When the door was answered, Mycroft's blue eyes caught the ones of his brother who simply nodded and let him pass.

"Is she alright?" Mycroft asked, taking a step into the room and looking over at you. He placed the umbrella off to the side of the room and took a seat once he was finished.

He hadn't seen you properly since the ordeal that took place months ago. His heart ached at the sight of your s/c skin being much paler than what it usually is. Your body was a bit skinnier than he remembered and for a moment he feared the worst.

"Has she been eating properly?" Mycroft asked his brother who remained by the door.

Sherlock shook his head slightly. "She seems to be skipping breakfast every morning," he starts. "However, thankfully she eats her other meals."

Mycroft nodded, taking you over once more. "Did the doctors tell you what was wrong?" he inquired, his eyes never leaving your body.

Sherlock made a small hum. He knew that this should be something told to his brother, as well as yourself, by a doctor, but he knew it'd eat his brother alive if he didn't tell him. "She's pregnant Mycroft," he paused for a moment, expecting to see a reaction from Mycroft. When he didn't he continued, "they said she had fainted due to stress. They suspect she doesn't know she's with child yet."

All Mycroft could give in response was a weak nod before he asked his brother to leave for a moment. Sherlock obeyed Mycroft's wishes, taking a step out and moving back towards the waiting room before leaving altogether. He knew it was best to leave them both for some time.

Mycroft had leaned back against his seat, his mind seeming to bark questions at him, some that he didn't know the answers to. He looked back at you for a moment, taking in your h/c hair and familiar features. His hand was trembling as he brought it up to brush the strands of hair that cling to your face behind your ear.

Mycroft felt guilty at that moment. Guilty for leaving you when he could have been taking care of you, holding you close and protecting you. He was angry at himself that this entire situation was caused simply because he wanted to keep you safe, and yet, of course, he was the one harming you. It was always like that.

He'd never felt such a strong urge to hold you in his life. To whisper to you softly, letting you know that he couldn't wait to be a father and that you'd make an amazing mother. Yet, you were no longer his. He'd asked for the divorce.

The sudden feeling of warm, soft skin brushing against his arm caused his blue eyes to snap up towards you, his hand moving to clutch at your instinctively. "Y/N," he breathed out softly.

You felt emotional seeing Mycroft beside you, but you did not cry. All you did was smile back before facing the heart rate monitor. "Mycroft, what's wrong? W-why are you here?" you asked, scared and confused.

Mycroft tried his best to give you a reassuring smile. It was clearly forced and strained. He was about to answer you when a doctor entered the room, both heads turning to look at them.

"Ah, Mrs. Holmes-" you'd both tensed at that, but you couldn't blame the doctor. The divorce had yet to be finalized. "I'm glad to see you're awake. We've run some tests and nothing looks to be too worrisome. As a matter of fact, the cause of your fainting, although partially due to stress, is caused by pregnancy symptoms. Congratulations," the doctor explained.

Your eyes widened as you looked at Mycroft, fear written all over your face. How would this work now that you weren't with Mycroft?

Mycroft caught onto the fear quickly and gently ran a thumb over your knuckles, trying to assure you it'd be alright. Once the doctor left the room, Mycroft turned to look into your e/c eyes.

"Mycroft, wh-what are we going to do?" you asked, your hands trembling just as much as his are.

He took in a sharp breath for a moment, looking at you. "Y/N, I-I'd happily call off the divorce if you're willing to do the same. I... I'm not sure if I've truly ever wanted it. Ever since I've said it all I've felt was misery," he stated, his voice shaky. Mycroft's never had to say something like this. He's rarely ever let his emotions be spoken so freely.

You'd brought your hand up to his cheek when a single tear slipped from his eye. It wasn't a tear full of sadness, it was one of anger and guilt... and of the loneliness he tried so hard to get rid of only to welcome it back with open arms. Now, all he wanted to do was take you into his arms.

"I'd want nothing more than that, My," you whispered, and hearing the nickname- the one that used to bring him so much warmth -nearly caused Mycroft to cry more. He didn't, instead, moving to sit on the edge of your bed before taking you into his arms and adjusting himself so that he wouldn't hurt you.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of your body against his cool skin causing him to feel safe and at home. "I've missed you," he whispered, placing a kiss against your shoulder.

"I've missed you too My," you whispered back, carefully running your fingers through his hair. "You'll make a great father," and just the thought of it caused you to smile because you knew it'd be true.

Mycroft lifted his head a bit to look into your eyes, a soft smile on his face. "And you'll be the best mother anyone could ever have, my dear," he replied, leaning down to give you a sweet, but passionate kiss against your lips. He'd only broken apart to murmur a soft, 'I love you,' before kissing you again.