#I made his biscuits like. 2 months ago and they are still good

[immortal-he]

maybe the undertaker was on to something,,,,

[afro-hispwriter]

My Dornish Love(3)

Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader

Summary- you and aemond discover you have some common interests 

Warnings- mentions of poisoning, some sexual thoughts? 

ferronniere- a headband that circles that forehead and will usually have a gem of sorts in the middle(or plain depending on where)

wc- 2.3k

1 2

-

Aemond waited patiently in the Library. A plate of food and a cup was next to him and a book opened. Another plate was across from him as well as a cup. 

The doors pushed open and you came rushing in, starting one of the other maesters. You wore a vibrant violet dress that made Aemonds own violet eye widen. You looked absolutely gorgeous. And the ferronniere really tied it all together.

“Good morrow my prince, I’m sorry I’m late.” You say and pull a chair out and sit down.

“It's alright, and no need for formalities. You called me by my name all yesterday.” Aemond gave you a tiny smirk.

“Yes, but we were around people who don’t particularly care, here in the Keep it is best to keep up appearances.” You lifted your hands onto the table. “Can we eat? I'm hungry.” 

“No need to ask, my lady.” You didn’t have to get told twice as you grabbed the biscuit and took a bite. Aemond caught a glimpse of your hand and forearm and he shut the book. “What happened to you?” He pointed at your arms and you looked up at him.

“Oh, I'm alright, it's just me and Thea discovered how much cats don’t enjoy baths.” You laughed nervously.

“Your handmaiden could have done that for you.” He says bluntly. 

“It’s alright, I like getting my hands dirty.” 

“Hmm. I should get the maester to check them.” He pushes his chair back and you grab his wrist. 

“Nonsense, eat first.” He yanked his wrist out of your grip and you drew your hand back. 

“It can wait.” He walks past the table.

“No, it can��t, the first meal of the day is very important. Especially for a prince and swordsman such as yourself.” Aemond stopped in his tracks and his jaw tensed.

“They could get infected.” 

“I’ve been poisoned before, this is nothing.” Aemond turned around with a shocked look on his face. 

“Poisoned?” He sounded intrigued now.

“I can tell you about it if you sit back down and eat with me.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him and he sighed. Aemond made his way back around the table and sat down. He grabbed the grapes and popped two in his mouth. His actions satisfied you and you cut the sausages in pieces. “So when me and Deziel were younger, we snuck into the storage where they keep the poisons because we just wanted to see them, but Deziel being Deziel. He grabs manticore venom and the twat drops it on me. I scream and end up getting cut which lets the venom go into my body.” 

“How did your parents react?” You laughed and Aemond dipped his spoon into his oatmeal. 

“There was a panic, my body had already weakened by the time they retrieved the antidote. Deziel didn’t see the outside of his room for almost two months, my mother was so angry.” You hunched over in a laugh and Aemond let his face relax and smile. You had such a pretty laugh but then you stopped. Aemond’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion until he remembered.

“I'm sorry.” He says.

“It was a long time ago.” 

“And still fresh on your mind.” You huffed and leaned back.

“No need for all this sadness, this is about you so how is your morning so far?” Aemond took a sip of the contents of his cup.

“I trained with Ser Criston and visited Vhagar.”

“I’ve heard stories of how big she is.” Aemond watched a glint in your eye of interest.

“Would you like to see her?” You drew back and your eyes widened. 

“I don’t think that's wise.” He finished his last grapes and grabbed his spoon again. 

“And why's that, princess? Are you scared?” He looked at you mischievously and you frowned.

“Of course I'm scared, I've never seen a dragon, and what if she knows?” You pouted.

“Knows what?” You sighed.

“That I'm Dornish.” There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Then you heard it. A tiny little giggle and Aemond’s shoulder moved up and down. You frowned and scoffed. “It's not funny.” Your face burnt in embarrassment.

“What do you think Vhagar would do if she sensed you were Dornish? Eat you?” He asks and you shrug.

“Maybe! Dragons are smart, she fought in two wars against Dorne! My people had killed her own sister in arms.” Aemond kept an amusing look. “You’re mean.” You flicked a blueberry at him, hitting him in the cheek. 

“How unladylike of you.” You rolled your eyes. “But at least you know your history.” 

“Did you think I was stupid?” You cock your head. 

“Not at all, but not many ladies pride themselves on learning these things.” 

“Well, there's not much to do on Dorne rather than watch people fight to the death, drink, fuck, and eat. So I have picked up a book and I did pay attention in my classes.” You swirled the contents in your cup and swung a leg over the other.  

“Mmm. You should join me for a ride on Vhagar.” Your eyes widened in fear. 

“M-Maybe another time.” 

“Suit yourself, but I will still send you the proper attire.”

“The riding I know of requires no attire.” You cross your arms and pretend to be annoyed. Aemond let out an airy chuckle.

“In due time princess.” 

“Cute. Eat your food Prince Aemond.”

-

Breakfast was long finished. In the time after, Aemond asked you about Dorne. He wanted to know about it from a native's perspective. He also found joy in hearing you talk. 

“As you know it's always hot but here?” You laughed. “I actually had to cover up pretty decently last night but the sheets were quite scratchy, I thought there was a manticore crawling on me.” 

“You weren’t scared?” 

“I know how to extract their venom so they’re really nothing.” 

“Is it true you coat your weapons in venom?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“How do you do that?”

“To collect the venom we use vials and to hold the creature we would hold them with a large set of tweezers and a small set for the actual venom. For a manticore, the small tweezer would hold the stinger of the tail and you would just squeeze. Then we kill whatever it is and eat it.” 

Aemond grimaced at that. 

“What? They’re good, you should try one.” He chuckles at that.

“I am sure I will be alright without it.” You put your elbow on the table and pointed a finger at him.

“You’re going to try one.” He gave you a mischievous smile.

“I'm not easily persuaded.”

“We will see about that. Is there anything else you would like to know about, my prince?” You ask and the tips of your shows push against his boots. 

“No, I'm sure I have enough information to start a book of my own.” He says with amusement and you scoff.

“Hey! You could have asked me to stop at any time.” 

“A simple tease, I enjoy hearing your voice.” 

“Fancy me already?” 

“Is that a crime?” You shook your head and smiled. The edges of Aemond’s mouth curved up and he looked down. 

“How do you feel about the night sky?” You leaned forward. 

“I think it’s beautiful, when I ride Vhagar at night I try to get as close as possible to the stars.” There was a glint in his eye the second he mentioned Vhagar. 

“I have a book about it in my room, come with me?” You asked and stood up. You held a hand out to him and he pushed his chair back. He walked around the table and he grabbed your hand. 

-

The walk was short and no words were said between you too, but it was not awkward at all. Comforting even. 

You opened your chamber door and you let Aemonds hand go. He checked the hallways and when nobody passed he stepped through the door.  

You were already bending over to dig into a drawer. Aemond froze and his eye was trained on your ass. He was thankful he wasn’t like Aegon. 

“Here it is.” You hold up the brown book and show it to him. 

The Mysteries of the Sky by Maestor Elkin 

“He has traveled all over the world, he has even gone to The Wall and he reported on these bright lights in the sky.”  You say when you open the book to one of your saved pages.

“Fascinating.” Aemond stepped next to you, with hands behind his back, and skimmed over the page you were at.

“He doesn’t know exactly what causes them but he does believe it's the work of the gods. Can you believe if the gods do create what's in the sky, that they share their beautiful creations with us?” You wouldn’t see the smile on Aemond’s face as he solely looked at you.

“I do and they might be too generous at times.” 

“Hmm, I think they give us what we need.” You looked up at him by tilting your head back slightly with a smile. Aemonds heart started racing and his cheeks dusted pink.

“We should continue this back in the library.” Aemond starts walking towards your door when a white fluff walks in front of him. She passed along his boots and slid down onto her side. He crouched down and gave the cat some scratches making her purr.

“Or your room.” The cat hissed at you, still very mad about the events of earlier. Aemond looked over his shoulder and his eyes were met with the diamond that was pierced into your belly button. What he would do to just run his tongue along it.

Fuck that stupid (beautiful) dress

He stood up to his full height so he could tower over you.

“If someone catches us-.” 

“We are a very anticipated betrothal amongst many. I’m sure they will be more happy that we are getting along than mad that we were alone together.” Aemond couldn’t help but agree. 

“Follow me.” 

-

Aemond pushed the door open to his room and he stepped out of the way for you. You walked in and looked at all his furniture and all the paintings. 

“It's like everything I imagined. Dark but beautiful.”

“Hmm.” Aemond grabbed a book off his table and sat down in a chair and kicked his feet up on the small table. “Join me?” You gladly sat in the long chair next to his. 

“There is more Targaryen heraldry in your room than the rest of the keep.” The painting of a dragon setting ablaze to what seemed like Harrenhall caught your attention.

“That is what happens when the king grows ill and two devout members of the seven take over.” He cracked open his book. 

“How is the king? I have not seen him.” 

“Dying, slowly.” Aemond really should have said ‘too slowly’. 

“I can’t imagine wh-.”

“Not everyone has a relationship with their father as you do.” He cuts you off quickly. “A good one at least.” 

You decided not to push forward. 

“What are you reading?” 

“Political philosophy.” 

“Interesting.” You opened your book and kicked your flats off to lay down on the couch. A silence fell over, it was comfortable to an extent. There was a slight tension but you slowly forgot about it as you got deep into the book and your eyes slowly started to droop.

-

The book clattering on your chest made Aemond direct his attention to you. Book pages were folded on your chest. One hand on your chest and the other dangling. Your head was turned to the side and eyes shut. Aemond chuckled and stood up to a chest that held blankets. He grabbed the softest one and grabbed the book from your chest. It closed on the material of the dress and when he pulled it, the bottom of your breasts exposed themselves. 

“Fuck.” He turned away and his cock made a sudden throbbing sensation. Gods, he was acting like a boy again, the mere sight of a woman's body making him hard. He closed his eye and tried to think of anything else. 

He tossed the book on the table turned around and quickly splayed the blanket over your body. Aemond sat back in his chair and the material around his crotch down. Reading should make it go down.

-

You slept until the sun was almost gone. Aemond had finished a couple of chapters and did whatever else he needed to do. 

You sat up straight and rubbed your eyes. Aemond shifting caught your attention and you looked back. 

“Sorry.” You mumbled and swung your legs so your feet touched the floor. 

“Don’t apologize, you’re still tired from your trip. I should be the one apologizing for taking you out so quickly.” 

You yawned and stretched, a breeze hitting your nipples suddenly made you very aware that they had slipped out and Aemond had not taken his eyes off them. 

“If you wanted to see them, all you had to do was ask.” You teased tiredly and Aemond looked down at his now closed book. “I should get back, me and my brothers are going to see a play in the cities.” 

“Then I will see you later, princess.” You stood up and did a curtsy. Aemond frowned at your action but relaxed when you giggled. He even let himself laugh. He did this cute thing where when he laughed his head would shake slightly.

“I hope we continue these meetings, I think something good can come of this.” You say walking toward the door and Aemond stands up to open the door for you.

“I agree, I hope you enjoy the play.” He opens the door and you reach up to kiss his cheek. His face turned pink with affection. 

“See you tomorrow Aemond.”

You did not

-

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated. I love hearing people’s thoughts🥰

[cressidagrey]

Recipe for Love - Peach Cobbler

Summary:

Azriel finds a bakery and creates his very own reward system.

Warnings:

Kinda Rhys Bashing, but when don't I do that?

A/N:

thanks to @k-godling for listening to me rambling on about this and finding the perfect name for that Bakery! This will eventually be a series consisting out of One-Shots, so if you have an idea, shoot it my way! (Also, if anybody actually tries out that recipe, let me know lol)

Peach Cobbler Filling 2 ½ cups sliced canned peaches ¾ cup canned peach syrup ¼ cup brown sugar (packed) 1 ½ tablespoons cornstarch Few grains salt Dough 1 tablespoon granulated sugar ⅛ teaspoon baking soda 1 cup prepared biscuit mix (or your own biscuit recipe) ⅓ cup cultured sour cream 2 to 3 tablespoons milk (if needed)  Sweet or sour cream for topping

Place peaches in bottom of casserole. Mix peach syrup, brown sugar, cornstarch and salt. Pour over peaches. Set casserole in hot oven, while mixing dough. Stir sugar and soda into biscuit mix. Add cream and milk to make soft dough; mix lightly. Place by spoonfuls on top of hot peaches. Bake 30 to 35 minutes until well browned. Serve warm with sweet or sour cream. 

The Spymaster of the Night Court was contemplating killing his High Lord. 

Or maybe it was Azriel contemplating killing his brother. 

Maybe it was both. 

Whatever it was, Azriel was definitely mentally planning Rhys’ tragic demise as he trudged his way through Velaris. 

It wasn’t the first time he had done it. Wouldn’t be the last time either. 

He would never actually go through with it. 

(Probably.)

Regardless of how annoying Rhys was… regardless of how the words of last Winter Solstice were still echoing in his head. 

Alone the thought of a pleasure hall made him want to throw up these days, after all.  

He didn’t. Azriel knew better than that. 

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. 

It was his own fault for allowing himself to fall in love with a mated female. It was his own fault for thinking that maybe he had a chance…for thinking that maybe…

He had never had a chance. Pretending otherwise wasn’t going to help him. 

Rhys had made himself clear months ago and then had done the same again today…today when Lucien had asked Elain to dinner and she had agreed. 

Of course, she had agreed. Azriel had taken himself out of the running months ago. 

Azriel had followed his High Lord’s order to the letter. 

Azriel had done everything that was asked of him, even when it had broken his fucking heart and left him…desolate. 

And as a thank you, he got Rhys’ crooning in his mind that See, Az? They worked things out. 

They had. Good for them. 

The food had tasted like ash in his mouth and he hadn’t managed to get down more than half a plate. Not more before he had excused himself, citing unrest in Spring…and had walked out of the River House without even properly seeing where he was going. 

Away. Far, far away. 

He had half a mind to let the shadows take him away. Maybe somewhere deep in the Illyrian Steppes, where there was no being anywhere near him. Where he could throw his magic at a mountain and destroy some rocks with the fury that embered deep within him…

You should get a treat! The shadows told him brightly at that moment, nearly making him stumble. 

What?

Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him. 

The more forlorn he got, the more depressed…the more optimistic they became. The more they tried to get him to smile…the more they fed him with petty gossip included in their intelligence gathering… the more they did everything to make his life easier for him. 

They were trying. 

It was sweet.

I am not a dog, he grumbled back to them. He wasn’t. 

And besides…he didn’t deserve a treat anyway. For what? Doing his job? Surviving another week? Not killing Rhys during lunch that day? Not wringing Lucien’s neck for politely asking Elain to dinner? Not scratching out somebody’s eyes like a rabid…

Of course not, Master, the shadows agreed easily. You should still get a treat. Something nice, just for yourself. 

Something nice, just for yourself, he turned these words around in his head. 

He did have a lack of that in his life, but then he always had. He had never really had started to amass anything…collect anything…no little things to litter his rooms with…not even as much as a hobby, unless one called insomnia and stabbing the practice puppets in the House of Wind until they were reduced to rubble that. 

All of it was just…his job was his life and that was it. 

And it wasn’t like he deserved it anyway. 

Just like he didn’t deserve a mate, didn’t deserve Mor and didn’t deserve Elain…He didn’t deserve a fucking treat either. 

He clearly didn’t deserve anything that made his life easier. 

There’s this little bakery, the shadows proposed quietly. You could buy yourself a slice of cake! 

A slice of cake. A slice of cake before flying back to the House of Wind, barricading himself into his room and writing another report. 

A slice of cake before he would let the loneliness take over completely…before he would never even allow himself to look at any female ever again because he was not going to go through this pain again. 

Being a little bit overdramatic, Master? the shadows asked him with a sigh and he wanted to growl. 

No. No, actually, not really. 

Why shouldn’t he be overdramatic? 

At least in his own damn mind. It wasn’t like he was throwing that into anybody’s faces. Even when he had wanted to. He had wanted to scratch that smug little smile off Rhys’ face with his bare hand and…

You don’t, Master, the shadows sighed. You didn’t even want us to steal his favourite jacket. 

They had offered. They had offered to make Rhys’ life filled with annoying inconveniences. Azriel had said no after that Winter Solstice. Now he was reconsidering it. 

The problem was just that it wasn’t going to make him happy. 

The shades would be petty and that would be it, but he wouldn’t…it wouldn’t make him feel better. 

He would still feel unfairly treated…he would still feel always pushed to the edges of his family…the one whose emotions didn’t really matter…who’s happiness wasn’t a priority, not even a footnote, set firmly behind whatever was good for the court and that was that. 

He was the one send to do the dirty work, the one expected to deal with it, because clearly it didn’t bother him… which was a lie. Of course, it bothered him. But his skillset made him the obvious choice so…

Mor and whatever these 5 centuries had been…Mor who could have outright turned him down when he had yearned for her and had never bothered to do so. He was still waiting for her to do it. Even now. 

His hands clenched slowly, the scars feeling tighter. Autumn was coming…as soon as the leaves began to turn, the joints started to hurt him. 

They have double chocolate chip cookies, the shadows whispered like it was a state secret. He couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. 

Sugar was his one weakness. 

The shadows knew that. 

It would just be a few copper coins…maybe a silver one or two…his steps faltered.

One slice of cake? As a treat? Just a few minutes sat in one quiet corner of a bakery…alone. With just his shadows…that did sound…nice. 

As a treat for not killing Rhys, Azriel proposed. and for not doing anything, saying anything…for keeping his temper in check. 

He could work with that, right? 

It could be his very own reward system. One slice of cake for…for surviving another week. For not faltering. For not scratching anybody’s eyes out…for not loosing his temper and go into the illyrian Steppes and destroy a small mountain in a fit of rage. 

Huh. 

Maybe the shadows were onto something.

One shadows wrapped himself around his wrist and started tugging him along and Azriel followed. 

Down the bustling streets of Velaris, towards the outskirts of the Rainbow. 

There, Beehive Bakery took up the ground floor of a brownstone Townhouse…a yellow and white striped awning stretching over the length of it. It’s name was screamed from it’s sign above the door that was pushed open, quiet but lively conversation reaching his ears from within. There were three tables outside, filled with people, but as he walked into the shop, careful to tuck his wings into his body…there were still one or two tables left. Even one right there in one corner. 

It smelled heavenly in there…like vanilla and almond, wafting out of the oven thet must be in the backroom…a young High Fae was manning the till. She looked young. More a teen than anything, dark curly hair covering her head…Her limbs hadn’t yet lost all their coltish length. 

“Welcome to Beehive Bakery, what can I get you?” she asked him with more enthusiasm than  he had seen in a long, long time. 

For a moment, he came up short, eyes roving over the baked goods laid out behind the glass of the counter…and then finally snagging on the first cake in front of him…Peach Cobbler. It looked…great with a golden brown crust…there was one slice missing so he could see the perfect orange of carefully sliced peaches peeking out. 

“One Slice of Peach Cobbler, please,” he requested. 

“Coming right up,” she chirped brightly. “Some tea as well?” 

Azriel answered in the affirmative, quietly charmed by her sheer enthusiasm…A few moments later he exchanged a couple of silver coins for a plate holding a slice of peach cobbler, topped with a dollop of cream and a delicate teacup. 

He took both to the table he had sussed from the beginning. Clearly the worst place in the whole shop…but for his usage, it was perfect.

 The darkest corner, right in the back…covered in shadows…nobody would be able to peek at anything if he did choose to read some reports…and nobody could surprise him from the back. 

It was perfect. 

Perfect was also the only word he could imagine for that Peach Cobbler. Quite frankly it was best thing he had ever eaten. Tart but Sweet…and the topping crumbling and the peaches ooey gooey…it was so good it was startling. He could just get a teeny tiny bit of cinnamon in there…

Alone that Peach Cobbler had been worth every single coin. 

By the first forkful, he felt likes osmehting in his chest was easing. By the time he was left with only a third of it he was already dreading to finish the whole piece, because then it would be gone. 

And that just didn’t seem fair. 

He watched the people entering and then leaving again, some just coming for a single loaf of bread, some of them buying pastries or slices of cake to go…some sat down with a friend and conversed with them…The Beehive Bakery seemd to be a quietly buzzing hub of Velaris. 

The young girl behind the counter was busy fulfilling orders and smiling at every customer, some that called her by her name, Juniper. 

Halfway through the afternoon, a new female joined her behind the yonder. This one older, much tinier, her body filled out with lush curves���Blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, held back by a handkerchief. 

“Done for the day?” she asked Juniper, and Azriel watched silently how she nearly absentmindedly fluttered around the space, replacing empty displays and generally making sure everything was in order. 

“I can stay if you need me, B,” Juniper said quickly but the blonde female waved her off, handing her a envelope from one of the pockets in her frilly pink apron. It had strawberries all over it, Azriel realised with some amusement. Juniper took the envelope, opened it to sneak a peek and then stared at her again. 

“That’s too much,” Juniper complained, clearly longsufferingly but B just laughed. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s just enough,” she promised and Juniper hugged her in thanks. 

“Thanks, B,” Juniper mumbled, before hanging up her apron and disappearing. Leaving B or whatever her name actually was, clearly in charge. 

In the meantime, Azriel had the shadows find him some of the reports he needed to read that were enchanted for secret keeping, only been able to be read by his eyes and his eyes only. 

B knew seemingly everybody that came into the bakery, knew the names of every customer, knew their order…and so Azriel settled in at that table and spend the rest of the afternoon, reading his report and draining his tea until only dark dregs remained. 

He listened to the cadence of her voice as she talked and relaxed in that little corner, where nobody paid him any mind. Nobody flinched away from him. 

Nobody cared. 

It wouldn’t stay his only visit. It would become a weekly tradition, a habit that he shouldn’t have but still had. 

Because he wanted to go to the Beehive Bakery. 

It was the one thing he wanted. 

What Azriel wanted had never mattered. 

Not really. 

Unless it was right here. Unless it was him buying himself Peach Cobbler and cream.

Unless it was him sitting in the darkest corner and just watching. 

[evolnoomym]

The Night We Met🌠/Pt.2

Dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Pt. 1 🌌 | Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Summary: You return to Texas after being gone for 5 months.

Rating: 18+ content mdni!!!!(there’s nothing explicit, still I want the minors to stay away.)

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: no use of y/n, pregnancy, female reader, reader has no name only a nickname, size difference, loss of a loved one, grief, food and eating are mentioned, age gap,

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Authors note: The part 2 some of you wanted, hopefully you’ll like it 🫶🏻

Shoutout to @thecutestgrotto and @cafekitsune for the dividers 💙

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that(and me being high). I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 🌠🫶🏻

+Bonus at the end 🥰

Song’s I listened to while writing:

To Build A Home - The Cinematic Orchestra, Patrick Watson

Twins - Gem Club

Space Song - Beach House

Silver Soul - Beach House

Santa Monica Dream - Angus & Julia Stone

Sunset Lover - Petit Biscuit

Big Jet Plane - Angus & Julia Stone

you. - Oscar Lang

Home - Catie Turner

I would - Torri Weidinger

Hearing - Sleeping At Last

My Love Mine All Mine - Mitski

I miss you, I’m sorry - Gracie Abrams

Everywhere - Fleetwood Mac

* 5 months later *

You haven’t been in this place ever since leaving all those months ago. So much has changed for you. The sickening feeling you used to get when entering didn’t seem to return once you stepped onto the property. Now as you sit across from him, it does not feel as if you’re being torn apart by each second you spend here, perhaps it’s also because you have a little helper to make this less painful. 

His grave looks just like you remember and once you sat down you noticed that somebody must’ve taken care of it in your absence. Your favorite flowers are placed on top- blue chrysanthemums. 

It’s a beautiful warm spring day, birds chirping in the distance, sunshine warming up your skin, fresh breeze blowing through your hair and finally more color being added to the scenery. 

You smile softly because it’s a good day and you’re happy to see him. 

And as some sort of Déjà vu, a father comes walking down the dirt path with his daughter and the little girl is cheerfully giggling while taking in all the beautiful flowers adorning the graves. 

When the girl reaches the blue chrysanthemums she lets out a stunned gasp, it seems like she might have never seen those flowers in her life before. 

When her dad spots you he immediately starts apologizing profusely for his daughter’s behavior but you let him know that it’s more than welcome and you think to yourself how the little girl reminds you of the past. 

When they are out of sight you start laughing and then say “You Funny old men, sending me a sign aren’t you? Thank you Papa.” He’s still here, always with you and he was even when you were so far away. 

(Flashback beginning )

The first few weeks were rough for you, so incredibly far away from what was supposed to be home and with Joel’s distraught face burned into your memory. 

Luckily Sunny was there to catch you in the darkest moments, if it wasn’t for her you wouldn’t have made it. 

When you called her out of sheer desperation and told her you’d need to be somewhere far away, Sweet Sunny, without thinking about it, offered to take you in. 

The flight over there was incredibly stressful for you but seeing Sunny’s face once she picked you up from the airport made it all worth it. 

She had to treat you like a wounded animal, cooking your favorite meals, taking you for walks around the pastures, massages when the back pain flared up again and when nothing helped just sitting with you through the agony. 

Sunny is your childhood Bestfriend, you were born on the same day just 4 years apart, you have the same interests and the same dislikes. Your dad always called you Sunny and Moon. Two Inseparable forces. 

The time with Sunny and the change of scenery was healing. You went to yoga with her, took trips to Costco, she took you to the local aquarium, the butterfly garden and to the beach.  

When the time came to fly back home you were sad but Sunny promised to visit once it’s time. 

(Flashback over)

It was a week ago that your plane touched down in Texas, it felt so strange being back in the town you so hastily left. 

Once you landed Joel was all you could think about, is he okay, does he look different, did he move, did he find someone new or is he still waiting for you?

You’ve seen the countless messages he sent you over the months, yet you couldn’t find the courage to answer him you would’ve felt like a liar. You felt terrible for not holding up your end of the bargain.

After sleeping in the motel for a week you finally, especially after talking to your Dad, feel empowered enough to go see Joel again. 

You had stopped once on the drive towards Joel’s house, due to raging nausea, you are incredibly nervous sitting in the parked car in front of his home. 

It still looks exactly the same as when you disappeared, nothing changed about it. 

It takes a few more minutes before you get out of the car. You have to take a couple deep breaths and wipe your shaking sweaty palms off on your long black stretchy skirt that you decided to wear combined a black ribbed tank top. 

The outfit looks good and is the most comfortable for you in this state.

Your knees are weak on the steps up to the house, the fluttering in your belly gets continuously worse the closer you get to the front door and when you knock on the door you’re close to passing out. 

The seconds you have to wait feel like hours. In reality it’s only seconds and when the door opens time seems to stand still, there he is Joel Miller in all his glory. 

His eyes scan your face in frantic disbelief and his mouth makes him look like a fish fresh outta water. 

You try to take control of the situation “H…hi Joel.” It’s simple but you’re just as stunned. 

You can see his eyes turn glassy “No Joel, no tears come on, you gonna make me cry too.” You try to say it in a cheerful way but the words end in a quiet whisper. 

“Y…you- you’re back? Am I….dreamin?” He stammers clearly unconvinced. You nod gently and reach with your hand for his face, when your warm soft palm touches his scruffy cheek his eyes fall shut and the tears start rolling down his cheeks. 

His lips are trembling, as if your touch hurts him. “Joel, I…I’m so sorry.” At that he opens his eyes again and to your surprise he does not look mad, though he’d have all right to be. 

With his eyes still locked onto your face he asks “How…how long have ya been back?”

You turn away slightly and gesture behind you towards the car parked in front of the driveway. “I've been back for about a week, sleeping in that ranch motel and I was just at Dad’s grave when I thought about coming here.” When you turn back to face him his eyes are no longer on your face, but instead somewhere else. 

Joel’s eyes are stuck on your midsection. 

Oh yeah, the bump, from the front it’s not that noticeable but as soon as you turn boom there it is the unmistakable swell. 

That’s what scared you the most, how would he react to the pregnancy. 

“Y…you- you’re pregnant? How…I mean ya didn’t say anythin bout that back then?” He questions in almost trance.

“Maybe we should go inside to talk, hmm? My feet kinda hurt.” You laugh which pulls him out of his frozen state.

“Jeez of course, come in let’s sit down Moon.” He gestures to come into the house you used to share and once you cross the threshold the familiar smell engulfs you, a mix of vanilla and sandalwood.

Everything mostly still looks the same, once you reach the living room you immediately note that all the pictures are still exactly where they always hung on the wall. And when you look at the dining table, the one you sat at that night it’s still the same but what’s placed on top makes your breath hitch. 

Blue Chrysanthemums, the same as on his grave. 

When you turn you realize Joel’s been watching you “Did you put the flowers on his grave?” 

“Yeah, that was me” while he nervously scratches his neck “I hope ya liked them.”

You huff “Joel I loved them they are my favorite you know that. So you've been going to his grave?”

He hesitates for a moment but then responds “Every week since ya left Moon. Just spend a bit talkin to the ol’ men. Ya know he was my Bestfriend.” 

You nod “I’m sorry you couldn’t grieve cuz you had to take care of me. I know you were close and Joel-“ you reach for his face again, gently patting his cheek “- you meant soooo much to him, you know how I told you he’d basically chew my ear off telling me all about his super cool boss every night.” You smile sweetly at him trying to soothe the pain he must’ve felt at losing your father, his Bestfriend and then ultimately you as well.

The two of you sit down on the couch, which is now possible unlike 5 months ago when just looking at it made you sick, Joel sits down with a respectable distance from you. 

“So….you must have a million questions, shot?” You encourage him. “How far along, are ya?” 

“25 weeks to be specific, so only three more weeks and I’m officially 7 months.” You answer with a smile. 

A moment later “So ya were pregnant when you left, did ya know or..?” He questions.

“No, I didn’t know when I left. I didn’t think it would take at the first try. I chalked the whole throwing up thing up to the grief, you know?” 

He nods “Yeah, I get what ya mean…and how did you figure it out?”

“I didn’t. Sunny did, she thought something was off and had to drag me to the doctor. Did some tests and well I was 8 weeks already.” 

(Flashback beginning )

Sunny plopped down beside you on the couch 

“Ok we need to talk this is not normal anymore Moon.” 

You stared at her in question “ Why what’s wrong?” 

“Seriously.?? Let’s look at the facts: your periods have been missing for almost 3 months, you puke allllll the time, you eat the weirdest food combinations I’ve ever seen and….no offense but your tits have blown up, look at them.” As she points at your chest.

“Ok fuck you Sunny if you like looking at my tits you could’ve just told me and whats with my eating habits??”

“Baby you literally dipped pickles in Orange Sorbet for breakfast…you don’t see anything wrong with that, huh?” She laughs 

“Well I…I just really craved that”

“No baby, the little Miller fetus inside you craved that.” 

“Okkkkk then let’s go to the doctors office to see if you are correct or just imagining things.” As you flip her off while laughing. 

When the little white blob showed up on the screen, Sunny started yelling, of course she had to be right.

(Flashback over)

“Ya did all of it alone? I’m sorry Moon Girl.”

“Oh no, Sunny was there for each visit and she documented the whole process so you could have a chance at sorta having those memories too. You’re gonna be a Daddy Joel Miller” 

Tears well up in his eyes again “C…can I, ya know..?” While his eyes go to your belly.

You understand what he wants “Of course Joel, though you might not feel a whole lot…I think she’s asleep, which I can’t blame her for after the stressful ride over here.” You laugh gently. 

Joel’s gasp makes you look up 

“Y-y-yo…you said “she” it’s a girl, we’re having a little babygirl?” The tears slip down his cheeks again but this time he’s beaming with happiness as it happens. 

You take his outstretched shaking hand and place it on the top of your stomach. 

“Yeah a little Moon Babygirl, now imagine how Sunny freaked out when we got told, some of her cheerful screaming is probably caught in the video she took.” 

Joel’s crying intensifies so you motion for him to get closer and when his thigh presses against yours you pull him in for a side hug. His unoccupied arm slides around your lower back, hand resting on your hip, while his face slots right into your neck. 

“Sorry Baby I…I’m a mess.” He mumbles against the side of your neck.

“Shhh Joel, it’s ok, I got you. I got you Joel.” while stroking the back of his head. You give him the time to let it all out. 

Suddenly he perks up and pulls out your arms. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask 

“I…I think she kicked me, our baby kicked me..” he whispers. 

“Guess she knows it’s her Daddy needing some comfort, she’s done it for me too.” 

“How.?” 

“Whenever I couldn’t bare it anymore, she started kicking me as a distraction.” You continue “I believe she’s a gift from him, that sounds weird..” Joel just shakes his head no… “a purpose, something to keep going for you know?” 

“I know what ya mean Baby.” 

“Not that you were not enough but I..I - I just..” 

“It’s alrigh darlin, I understand you.” 

He gets up out of nowhere “I got something for ya, jus wait a minute sweetheart.”

As he heads up the stairs. 

When he comes back down he orders “Close ya eyes Moon.” 

“What, why?”

“Come on jus do it, trust me.”

You can feel him somewhere in front of you but you don’t know where exactly. 

“Open up.”

And there he is on his knees holding a small box up to you in it a beautiful engagement ring but instead of a normal shaped diamond it’s a moon shaped one. As if he had it made specifically for you.

You are completely stunned by the way he just wiped it out. 

J…j- Joel I..I don’t know what to say.” 

He jus shakes his head and looks at you softly “Moon ya don’t have to say anythin, I jus wanted you to have it.” 

You’re in sheer disbelief and only shake your head frantically. 

“m’ sorry that was too much I..I-“ but you cut him off

“Shut up I just needed a minute to process, yes Joel, yes I do.” You smile 

“W..what’d ya mean?” 

“Yes I want to Marry you Joel, not immediately but someday, ok? Put it on me.” You say as you hold out your hand 

Now Joel’s the one stunned but after collecting  himself he does just as you told him, he slides it on your left Ringfinger.

Once he’s done it you get up to admire the ring in the sunlight, you walk out onto the porch and hold your hand up to the Sun. 

You can hear his heavy steps coming up to you from behind, then you feel his muscular arms slide around your middle, his hands come to rest on the bump and his chin on your shoulder. 

You turn in his hold and place your palms on his broad chest. “I have to explain so much about why I left you and..and-“ 

This time he cut you off “I don’t care bout that right now, m’ jus happy to have ya back Moon. Can I kiss ya?” 

“Of course you can kiss me Joel.” That’s all the encouragement he needs before pressing his lips against yours and then again and again.

Suddenly he ask’s you something you did not expect “Ya got a name for Her in mind?” 

You pretend to think about the answer but then reply with confidence “I really like the name Matilda. What do you think of that?” 

Joel smiles amused “That’s a real pretty name for our Moon baby, darlin.“

You feel more content than ever before and you can feel him watching from above being happy as well to see you back in Joel’s arms. 

It’s them 🌌🌠:

Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI, thank you 🙏🏻

Npt: @joelmillerisapunk @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @studioghibelli @joelslegalwhre @thundermartini @almostfoxglove @sizzlingcloudmentality @vivian-pascal @strang3lov3 @xdaddysprincessxx @mountainsandmayhem @mrsmando @joelsgreys @janaispunk @iamasaddie @the-mandawhor1an @joelalorian @ace-turned-confused @clawdee @penvisions @rivnedell (honestly I’m pretty randomly tagging sorry) 🌠

[kindred-spirit-93]

jazzy!! & apollo

hello yall im back on my bs (biscuit soliloquy) with my wonderful oc jazzy and a modern au i came up with when i opened my eyes this morning lol. u can find a little lore on ma blog under the #jazzy tag :3

--

aight so for context a few months ago while deep in the trenches of my greek mythology obsession i made a minor underworld diety oc who goes by kore or jazzy. shes my favourite muffin and i love her.

and after reading one too many apollo fics here lmao i really wanted to explore his domains (which i find endlessly fascinating bc its all my favourite things in one: medicine art literature) and learn more about him as a god via a character study of sorts.

(ive yet to write anything for them lol but when i do it will be great :P)

--

anyway back to the story they are teachers!! bc im currently rethinking my life choices and having fun imagining what my life could have been like things went differently (11/10 recommend. great for the blorbos). babys first midlife crisis at the ripe old age of 21 lol

so without any further ado, them <3

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY BABIES

*slaps hands* aight so context and premise:

cant be bothered to come up with alternative names and clever refernces for everyone so theyre keeping their greek names lol.

not everyone in the pantheon will make an appearance, this aint keeping up with the olympians (until it is)

the setting is vaguely british lol bc its where i grew up and am more familiar with the system and the norms. ish

they teach both primary and secondary school students (this afaik doesnt exist in the uk but it does here so yeah. will elaborate later)

greek mythology adjacent at best i regrettably know very little of the mythos and my one and only reference is theoi. i will do better i promise. as soon as i graduate

in the mean time pls feel free to tell me all about ur fave myths and works and recommend stuff :D!!

--

art stuff, character design, notes

apollo has heterochromia :3 dunno if u can see it but his eyes are olive green (right) and a teal (left). representing the suns reach over land and sea. ALSO FRECKLES >:D

my girl jazzy has the most boring brown eyes ever. no pools of honey or flecks of gold. just good ol dirt brown. *foreshadowing*

short curly hair somewhere between brown and black for her, and floofy kraft singles waves for him XD

jazzy is a knitwear gremlin (like urs truly lol), 24/7 turtlenecks cardigans jumpers scarfs all of it. her hands (and extremeties) are always cold bc bad circulation and probably dehydration. shush

palettes are warm and earthy for jazzy (wow im so subtle) and cool celestial for apollo (and artemis hehe)

so thats mostly greens esp olive, brown and beige and a healthy sprinkle of rose. le aesthetic is forest/ gremlincore for my girl

and lots of blues esp navy and shiny silver and gold for chaotic academia sunshine boi (TIL astroacademia is a thing and like wow)

arts and moodboards and quotes in this century trust

jazzy is of average height (which to me is 160cm hhhhh and apollo is taller at 180cm. do ur own math we use metric in this household)

--

finally concept idea, plot if u will, notes and backgorund info too:

the first thing i thought of when i opened my eyes was literally apollo and his nine daughters the muses. let me finish

i wish i was joking lol it instantly gripped me but alas i had to go to uni and so it stayed on hold and i havent studied more that 3 pages bc im thinking about them

and by thinking i mean going over the same scene in my head and not doing somethinguseful like say expanding lore. as one does.

anyway yes we have apollo the girl dad of all time who has 9 wondeful daughters of varying ages from fist year of uni to toddler

still mapping out details like if from same mother or several relationships. idk what im doing pls respect my privacy at this time

apollo has 2 degrees bc its cool af to me (my dad has two masters and its been on my bucket list since. i dont know why i am the way that i am either) one in nursing and another in english literature (and a masters in translation bc i can)

he teaches english and history tho and the art afterschool clubs. yes clubs plural. i am insane and so is he.

jazzy is a biomed graduate and is currently pursuing a masters in forensic toxicology (sucks that i hade organic chem this would be fun to write) so she teaches bio. probably part time idk.

i will get to the details of lore and what theyre like and their work ethics etc but i is tired and id really like to finish some work before bed lol so goodnight for now and enjoy and feel free to ask stuff ig :3

[it-snotam]

waiting on him - wonwoo (svt)

Waking up beside Wonwoo was one of the best feelings in the world, his warm body next to mine and his arm around my waist, keeping me close to him, as if it were possible for me to try and scape his side. I liked the feeling of thinking I was his, even if it was only for the night. It didn’t last though, it never did. He woke up quickly, and soon he started to curse as he stood up from the bed.  

I opened my eyes a bit, I missed the feeling of having him next to me, he continued to move around the room as he got dressed to head out. “Morning” I whispered, but he didn’t bother in answering, he never did, and I was used to it.

“Get up, you need to leave before they find you in here” He said before walking out the room putting his glasses on.

I stood up from the warm bed, and I pick up my clothes getting dressed before walking outside as he was now on his phone probably checking his schedule, a neatly packed bag was beside him, he mentioned something about leaving for Japan in the morning, but he never put many details in.

“See you around” I say softly grabbing my keys and my purse.

He muttered something and I gave him a small smile as I walked out his apartment, going to the elevator and heading to my floor.

----

I can still remember the first night I saw Wonwoo, I was freshly new in the country, and I was exploring the neighborhood, I found out a nice convenience store and picked out a couple things, so I was carrying many bags and decided to use the elevator.

The first thing that caught my attention about him was his height, he was so much taller than myself, but he seemed to be a nice person, his facial expressions were relaxed, and he seemed confident but not overconfident. I still was too shy to talk to him, so I just stared at him until we both got into the elevator.

“What floor are you going?” He asked and I jumped a little not expecting him to notice me.

“4th” I replied, and he nodded while pressing the button to my floor.

----

Weeks passed by, I would usually see him around, and he would greet me with a smile and I would do the same. I couldn’t help it but feel nervous every time we would share the elevator.

“Are you new here?” He asked and who would have thought that this question would have started to change everything between us.

“Yeah, I moved here 2 months ago” I said, and he nodded, with a soft smile on his lips.

“See you around then” He said and walked out the elevator.

---

We continued to meet up in the elevator, we usually came back from work at the same time, and we liked to exchange nonsense talk and that’s how I found out that his name was Wonwoo, and that he lived on his own, he was nice, and I was very attracted to him, and I hoped he was to me.

I was constantly thinking about him, I was even dreaming of him. He was on a business trip or something like that, I hadn’t seen him in days, and I was surprised when I found him in the elevator, he smiled at me, and I wanted to jump into his arms.

“You’re back!” I said with a smile on my face.

He smiled with my reaction and nodded “How have you been?” I smiled and we both get into the elevator, it was our routine, talk while we were in the elevator and like if we were close friends, I told him about my work how the kids were doing in class, and he told me what a good time he had with his friends while on the business trip.

“Wanna come up for a coffee?” he asked me, and I was more than surprised, we have never crossed the line of going to the other’s apartment.

I didn’t have to think about it twice “yes!” I said and he smiled walking out the elevator and asking me to follow him. I didn’t feel weird once I was inside his apartment, it felt nice and cozy, just like Wonwoo made me feel.

I can’t recall how things ended the way they did last night, we drank the coffee he promised, and eat some biscuits he had. But then I don’t exactly know how his lips ended up on mine, how his hands moved from my cheek and onto my waist.

I don’t remember how everything changed so quickly, one moment we were kissing and the next I was following him into his room, the clothes that were on our bodies were soon discarded on the floor and I almost jumped when I felt his warm skin against mine, the kiss turned hungrier and deeper. His warm touch turning me on even more if possible. “Can I?” He asked before undoing my bra, the last piece of clothing on my body, and I would never say no.

I felt the mattress against my back and his body hovering mine, my hands tracing his muscles as he leaned to kiss me again while he aligned himself in my entrance, I would kill someone to feel him for the first time again, feel his length filling me up just nice. The way in which he started to move and I moved with him, both of us looking for our climax, and soon we were there, I felt him explode inside me just after I did it myself. In that moment, in that very same moment I knew I was totally falling for him, and that I would do anything to be by his side.

But dreams aren’t long in this world, and he woke me up right away from my daydream. He stood up still breathing heavily, and started to get dressed while I looked at him and soon I started to mimic his actions, he looked over at me and gave me a soft smile, “See you in the elevator” I said and he nodded, while I walked out his room, and his apartment going over to mine.

I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

---

It’s been almost a year since that first night that changed it all, at the beginning we would still meet up in the elevator until he invited me over to his apartment, once we exchanged number, he would call up or text me and I would go over, we would spend some time together, but we would always end up in his bed.

I was constantly waiting on him, waiting for him to like me, to love me the same way I loved him.

---

hope you like it xo :)

[thepenultimateword]

Love Thy Enemy Part 2

I wrote part one a while ago, but this seemed like a perfect post to add to the fantasci community! Also, the characters now have names. General is now Vorrin and Empress is now Callista.

Part One

Vorrin awoke with a start. He didn't know at what point he drifted into real sleep, but the early morning sun now bathed the room in dull, dove-gray light. But not his room. He abruptly rolled over onto his other side. The space beside him was now empty.

He flopped onto his back with a heavy sigh. That was probably for the best. Falling asleep next to her had been hard enough, he hadn't exactly wanted to wake up next to her too. He already felt entirely too vulnerable.

"Good morning."

Vorrin yelped, shooting upright and whipping his head around the room until he landed on Empress Callista's long, slender figure lounging in one of the plush sitting chairs. She smirked and crooked one dark brow, but other than that made no comment on Vorrin's embarrassing display.

"Breakfast?"

"You're still here," Vorrin said.

"Indeed. I did say we'd be spending more time together, didn't I?" She lifted the delicate teacup from its saucer and took a long, silent sip. "You slept in a little longer than expected, but no matter. We still have about an hour."

"Before?"

"You're coming into the city with me. It's about time people saw us together publicly. Besides, the change of scenery may be good for you."

Vorrin hated how she could sound conniving in one breath and caring in the next. What was he? Her pet? Something to parade around and spoil? Did she really think that any of these luxuries or favors could change his feelings about what she'd done? Though he did not deny, that a part of him longed to leave these palace walls. It had been months since he'd been any further than the gardens.

He swung his legs over the mattress and gingerly rose to his feet. "Shouldn't I get back to my rooms? To get ready?"

"I've already requested your manservants to attend to you here. They'll bring your change of clothes and fix your hair.

"My...?" Vorrin glanced across the room into the great gold-framed looking glass overhanging the vanity and found his long, chocolate hair had decided to tangle itself into a bird’s nest on one side. The other side lay frazzled over his shoulder, like he'd taken to rubbing it between two whetstones. Probably all that tossing and turning last night.

Vorrin rapidly dragged his fingers through the mess. It didn't seem fair that Empress Callista's hair still remained tight and tidy in it's whippish tail.

"You still have a few minutes before they arrive. You should eat. Reports tell me you don't eat much, but this is your favorite breakfast."

Vorrin crept toward the spread. A kettle sat on a wooden hot plate, the scent of sweet mint escaping out it's long silver spout. Beside it sat a plate full of steaming biscuits, halved, buttered and slathered in strawberry jam.

His stomach growled traitorously.

Empress Callista waved to the open seat across from her.

Vorrin begrudgingly accepted. The bitterness only grew as the cushions sank beneath him, setting him a couple inches shorter than the empress. But he tried not to let the annoyance show on his face as he stacked three biscuits on top of each other and took a large bite. Letting her know he was upset would only give her more power.

His stomach squirmed a little as he swallowed. This really was his favorite breakfast. He wondered how much she knew about him already. He'd known all the servants in the palace were her people, but he hadn't realized that they'd been her eyes as well. How much did they report? How much of what he said, of what he did, had been repeated back to her?

"Even if you weren't from an enemy nation, I'd still have you watched," Empress Calista said. Vorrin shuddered a little at the way she seemed to read his mind. "You're my consort. It's my responsibility to ensure you are properly attended to. That means keeping you safe and meeting your creature comforts. Better if I understand what makes you happy."

"My freedom would make me happy."

Callista tapped her lips thoughtfully with the edge of her spoon before using it to scoop a couple cubes of sugar into her half-full cup. "I suppose I can arrange an armed escort every now and then if you're restless."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"And you know I can't let you go. So why don't we both stop pretending?"

A light rap on the door snapped the growing tension in two.

"Enter," the empress called in that gracious voice of royalty. Not too loud, not too aggressive, but commanding all the same.

The door creaked, and Pins poked his head through the door, a small leather bag slung over one shoulder. At the sight of the empress he immediately bent in half, folding his hands in front of him and gluing his eyes to the floor.

"We've come to prepare Royal Consort Vorrin for the day, your majesty."

"Right here, Pins," Vorrin said.

Pins's head rose a centimeter toward Vorrin's voice, then he raised up all at once with a large grin. "Good morning, Royal Consort. Your hair is exciting this morning. I've brought a brush and several accessories for you to choose from. Would you like to get started, or would you prefer to dress first?"

As if on cue, Switch slid into the room, breathing heavy and face flushed, a long red garb draped across his arms. He bowed hastily to Vorrin and then deeper to the Empress, speaking to the floor as he began profusely apologizing. "Forgive me, your majesty, Royal Consort Vorrin. The outfit selected for today had a tear. The royal tailor claims it will not be ready until this evening. I took the great liberty of selecting another outfit of a similiar style. Does it please your majesty?"

Empress Callista's sharp eyes scanned over the draping fabric in a couple seconds. "It will do."

Switch looked ready to melt with relief. He turned sharply on his heel toward Vorrin, eyes still wide, frantic, and slightly watery as if he had been, or barely held back from, crying.

"Then shall I, my lord?"

Vorrin felt all eyes on him, but most importantly he felt the gaze of Empress Callista. If her eyes seemed sharp overseeing his outfit, they were even more daggerish digging into his side profile. He gripped the neck of his nightclothes tightly, a humiliating squire's blush rising to his cheeks as he couldn't seem to make his hands take the action to undress.

After what felt like an eternal silence, she pushed smoothly to her feet. "I'll leave you to it. Remember, darling, one hour."

And with a swish of her braid and long cape, she was gone.

As soon as the door shut, Switch immediately collapsed.

"I thought I was going to be fired," he bawled, a few tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

"Empress Callista doesn't fire people for finding tears in clothes," Pins said.

Switch's head snapped up. "Don't act smart, you've only been here as long as I have. You didn't know what was going to happen either!"

For the first time, it occurred to Vorrin that the two servants may be as fresh to the royal scene as he was.

"How long have you been working in the palace?"

Switch hesitated a moment, always the suspicious one. Maybe he thought Vorrin wanted to berate him for the clothing mishap.

"A little under 6 months," he answered finally. "I applied for a position as soon as word came that the empress would be staying in Totholan. I traveled here with the rest of the serving caravan."

Vorrin had assumed after the kingdom's conquering that Empress Callista had sent for her regular palace staff. Those she most trusted. But it made sense that she would have left some to care for the homeland palace in her absence. Any person wishing to make it into the Empress's employ would seize the sudden surge of job availabilities. And all it took was a willingness to relocate.

"And you, Pins?"

"6 months and 10 days," he piped peevishly. "Switch was only mostly right when he said we've been here the same amount of time. I was hired on before we found out of the empress's success. So I've been in the palace just a teensy bit longer. Plus, my mum was a maid, so I was already used to palace walls."

"But the empress wasn't there when you started work," Switch said. "So it doesn't make you any more the expert."

"Why do you always need to be better at everything?" Pins said with a pout. "Why can't you just admit I have something on you?"

"Because you don't."

Before Pins could respond, Switch marched away, laying the clothes across the bed and stepping behind Vorrin to begin helping untie his white sleep clothes.

"I wouldn't have let her fire you," Vorrin said, sliding out of the sleeves and letting the soft linen fall into Switch's hands. "If that's of any comfort."

Switch paused, folding the nightclothes into a neat square before finally responding. "It is."

He retrieved the new outfit, blessedly allowing Vorrin to put the first part on himself. It was a little different from most of clothing he was given. Trousers for one. Impractical ones, but trousers nonetheless. Next was a long ruffled tunic that laced all the way up to his throat. Switch helped him with the long draping overcoat, a similar style to the wrapping robes, though this one had no waist tie and buttoned to the middle of his chest. For his bare feet was a pair of short soft boots, little thicker than slippers.

As soon as he was dressed, Pins got started brushing through his hair until it was silky.

"Which ones?" he asked, pulling a leather wrap from his bag and unfolding a display of hair ornaments. Ruby hairpins and golden chains, a net-like crown, encrusted with jewels, a gold circlet with red diamond teardrops dangling at the temples, twin clips designed to appear as sprigs of current berries, each ruby a berry on a silver branch. Vorrin chose the ruby pins. They still may have been worth more than he'd ever made in his entire career, but at least they were less gaudy than these others.

"Aw," Pins said. "I wanted to do the net and chains." Then suddenly remembering they were addressing a superior quickly added, "But the pins are lovely too!"

"You can add the chains," Vorrin sighed.

Pins perked up, plucking up the metal strings and beginning to braid them into strands of Vorrin's hair. He gathered half the hair into a bun, using the ruby pins to secure it and the gold-twined braids together.

A couple minutes later, Empress Callista pushed open the doors without a knock. She surveyed Vorrin swiftly before giving the manservants an approving nod that sent them grinning and offering her arm out to Vorrin.

"Shall we, my love?"

Vorrin gritted his teeth. Such falseness. Such lies. Such utter humiliating mockery.

He linked arms with her anyway.

If he knew one thing it was this: he couldn't win against Empress Callista with brute force. He would need another tactic. A passive one. Something that looked deceivingly like cooperation. Until the time was right to strike.

Part 3

Master Taglist: (I forgot to add it again!)

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees s @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi i @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner r @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer mer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee

[snifflesthemouse]

Charles is playing a mighty long con, isn’t he?

After the passing of Her Majesty the Queen, King Charles used his first-ever message as king to set the precedent of his reign. I am almost certain that his mother told him to do this much, so as to clear the air. I imagine one evening, mayhaps over some tea or biscuits, long before his mother was gone, that a conversation happened where his mother told her son the importance of boundaries, setting them, and most importantly sticking to them. I say this for what I say next.

It would seem that Harry and Meghan expected those precious HRHs to appear as automatically as those possessing them were delivered. It would also seem that every time they use the word “security” they mean “money”. Most of all, it seems they want back in and they aren’t getting what they want… exactly. It would seem some conditions were made. Why else is there this mad scramble to move mansions, edit Netflix and Spotify productions, push back money-making novels (THIS AUTHOR REFUSES to call Harry’s impending memoir as such; it is most certainly all an act of fiction), as well as parting ways with Sunshine Sachs?

When QEII died, with her went an entire legacy. Now, Charles is the King. And he had a vision of what he wanted his reign to look like that included Harry and his family. I’ve read most of the good bits of every fair and decent biography written about them – from Tom Bower, to Lady C to Tina Brown. I can tell you without a doubt that Charles had highest of hopes for Harry. Which has me concerned. I hate to play devil’s advocate here, but the proof is in the press. All their behaviors say they were given an ultimatum.

Why is it that, since leaving the UK, Harry and Meghan have rid themselves of Sunshine Sachs? I’ve seen blind items referring to the fact that Sunshine Sachs was bragging to other clients about charging the couple ten times the going rate. I’ve seen posts saying that Sunshine Sachs was always meant to be temporary, that the plan was always to “let them go” once settled. Still yet, there is a third explanation suggesting they ran out of money and haven’t paid their bills in quite some time. On top of dismissing Sunshine Sachs, however, there are even rumors of them selling their house in Montecito.

This author posted to you, my beloved reader, their mortgage specifics. The first ten years of their mortgage, they would be at a low interest rate of 2% or so. Right now, in America, the mortgage rates are rising. They are around 7% right now. This means that even if Meghan and/or Harry had amazing credit scores, they would still expect to pay astronomically more on a new mortgage than what they do now.

Let me give you an example. Say I bought a house for $14M. My interest rate is 2.49%. My monthly payment will be a little over $55,000 without the escrow, insurance(s), or property taxes. But buying a new house now means interest rates are much higher. With interest, a tenth of a percent can equate to millions over the long run. Half a hundred-thousand a month on a mortgage is expensive to people like you and me. Say now I want to move.

If I sold the old house… I would have to sell it for enough to pay off the old mortgage to break even. I’d have to sell it over the remaining amount to get a profit, and I would have to sell ice water in hades to make enough bank to pay off the old and buy outright bigger or better. But remember the interest rates are higher now. So, it costs more to buy the same amount of sqaure footage now than it did two years ago. A $14M mansion at 6.18% is going to cost the new buyer $85,000+. That means an even more expensive mansion will cost even more. That’s not counting everything else that goes with buying a house like realtors’ commissions, 4title/deed work, etc. Everything they are doing is costing them money. Why?

The only thing that suggests they need money is parting ways with Sunshine Sachs. Everything else is going to cost them money. Which means they are doing this for a long-run purpose in mind. You only spend money like this to make it up tenfold later on down the road. Messing with publishers, Spotify, and Netflix like this threatens their only potential revenue streams. Those BS job titles handed to Harry by those Silicon suckers probably came in the form of stock they cannot get money out of readily right now. If he’s getting paid legit money, it’s not more than $90,000 a month.

Now do you see why I fear this all? This all says to me a deal was potentially struck during the mourning period. It says Charles told them if they want their children to be titled and all that, you have to give me something, too. It says they are in the middle of negotiations. There is no way that it’s down to being broke. They would just start doing ten times the bombing via interviews and podcasts.

If they tone down the blame game rhetoric, especially if they start trying to extend “olive branches”, then we will know why. Then again, I kind of hope that I am wrong. I hope the shifting is her preparing for divorce from him. I hope that she saw he had nothing more to give, and without that drip of prestige and money… Harry is no longer worth his trouble. He just becomes an addicted abuser.

Addicts tend to travel in pairs because some dope is better than none. You increase your chances of getting high if two people are working together. Same thing with psychopath-sociopath narcissists. They are heavily co-dependent. Until the loathing overpowers the dependency. It always does, too. These relationships eat themselves from the inside out.

Charles is wise to keep them close. He should use their antics against them every time a serious faux pau pops up. I’d use the press to redirect every bad comment back at them if I were him. I could teach a masterclass on manipulation, though. So I assume most people don’t think like that.

My point is this. Harry and Meghan are making moves that wouldn’t make them money. It would cost them money. That means these moves are more valuable to them later on than those current deals are now. What could that possibly be, other than titles ore a way back home?

Hope I am wrong, but chances are I am not. I expect Charles to bring Harry and his family back to Frogmore before the year is up. But, in a private capacity as rent-paying private citizens. Then, a long, slow campaign to repair Harry’s image will begin. It will certainly not end well if it does. It will end in a big payday and NDAs. But it will be a mess.

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Six)

AN- Two chapters in one night... hope you like them! Soft Holmes Brothers scene at the end because, especially after the Eurus situation, the boys truly do love and care for each other! Not proof read either of these yet so apologies if there are mistakes!

Word Count- 4405

The younger brother's eyes had flicked over you both only momentarily, the tiniest flick up of his lips at the side of his mouth that disappeared so quickly it could have been misinterpreted for a twitch.

"Ever the delight, Sherlock." Mycroft spoke, standing straighter, his chin poking up a little higher. Sherlock glanced over his posture and rolled his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake don't start that Mycroft. Had I blamed you for everything I can assure you I wouldn't have bothered opening the door, don't make it so obvious that you care about my opinion of you- it's embarrassing for both of us." And with that he spun around and headed up the stairs to 221B, leaving the door to the flat wide open and disappearing into the bathroom.

"Well that was.."

"Easy? I told you that you shouldn't worry." You nudged Mycroft into the building before ascending the stairs.

"Sherlock Holmes, possibly the only man in the world to forgive somebody for nearly killing him in a heartbeat, but held a 6 month grudge when I took the last custard cream from the biscuit jar when I was 12.." Mycroft muttered, making his way into the flat and sitting beside you on the two seater sofa. John walked into the room from the kitchen shortly after, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand as he said his hellos.

"Figured I'd stick the kettle on when you said you were on your way.. Greg shouldn't be long now." He gave a smile, taking his place in his own armchair. "How have.." He glanced at Mycroft. "How have you been? He won't admit it, but Sherlock's been worried about you." Mycroft took a breath, sending a polite smile in the direction of the army doctor.

"Doctor Watson, I can assure you that I am fine and have been perfectly well looked after." His eyes flickered to you for a moment and then back to the doctor. "I presume the pair of you have held up well as I haven't heard any reports of gunfire towards the wall for a fair bit of time." John grinned, casting his eyes over to the smiley face on the wall that had thankfully been left alone.

"Good. Yeah, uh, things here have been.. good.. too." A blank stare matched with a more thoughtful raise of lips. ".. Very good, actually.."

"Catch." Sherlock came stalking into the room, a damp flannel thrown in Mycroft's general direction which he caught expertly, not allowing a single moist patch to appear on his clothing.

"And this is.."

"A flannel? Christ Mycroft has trauma affected your brain cells that much?" Sherlock quipped, flopping down into his armchair and lazily holding his hand out for his tea that was a mere few inches away from his fingers. John placed the mug in his hand without thought or argument, his fingers brushing over Sherlock's slightly before moving away. A biscuit soon followed, John holding out the digestive while Sherlock partly opened his lips, and shoving the food between them. It was your turn to raise your brow now, but you didn't say anything, instead just nudging Mycroft with your knee to make sure he had seen it too. Of course he had. "It's for your face, Y/N's lip balm is all round your mouth and it's making me feel a bit sick." John's eyes widened as he looked between the pair of you. You shrugged your shoulders and smiled, Mycroft simply sweeping away the slightly pink balm from underneath his lip and folding the wet cloth back up to place on the side. At least he hadn't picked up that you did it on purpose. Before anybody else could speak, the sound of someone bounding up the stairs filled the flat.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms Hudson let me in an- what did I miss?" Greg stood breathless at the door, satchel slung over his shoulder and a carrier bag in his other hand, staring at the apparent awkward glances shared between half the room. You stood from the sofa and headed over towards him, swiftly wrapping your arms around him and placing a small kiss on his cheek to say hello. He made his way into the room and perched on the arm of the sofa closest to Mycroft, casting another look at everybody when his question still hadn't been answered.

"Nothing of importance. Mycroft and Y/N have obviously decided to stop moping around each other like lovesick teenagers and finally admitted they've been infatuated with each other for years.. Now you're all caught up, can we get these papers sorted out so I can be more productive with my time?" Sherlock huffed.

"Nothing of importance? Don't be an arse Sherlock, that's excellent news." Greg clapped Mycroft on his shoulder and shot you a toothy grin. "Declaration in the park was it? Might be a good enough reason for me to not punch you for closing off St James'.." John's eyes widened more, if it were possible.

"You just.. closed off St James'? Can you even do-" The look Mycroft shot John made him cut his sentence short. "Right, yeah. British Government." He nodded, standing to go fetch Greg a coffee (yourself and Mycroft still held a shared judgement against Greg and his hatred for tea) and continuing to ask questions about your newly confirmed relationship. Mycroft sat awkwardly through the encounter- briefly talking about his emotions in front of you was one thing, a whole flat full of people was entirely different- so you gave his knee a quick squeeze and answered for him. "Who bit the bullet then?" John sat down. "Christ I know I mistook the pair of you being together when I met you, so surely these two have been waiting longer for you to get on with it." Greg grinned, nodding in agreement at John's assumption. Sherlock, on the other hand, stay lying on his chair completely unphased by the conversation going on around him.

"To cut a long story short, we were watching telly, I said Stephen Fry was a bit sexy, Mycroft informed me that he used to get told he had a slight resemblance to him, I realised I'd stuck my foot in it and had a ramble.. Went from there. Nothing too exciting, sorry." You left out the parts where the night before you had handled a broken Mycroft to the shower, how he had gripped onto you, how you held him as you slept. You also left out the way he had allowed himself to cry, how you held him while he wept- and, for that, Mycroft was incredibly thankful. Sherlock probably knew though, somehow, in his Sherlock way of knowing things- but he was either too kind to announce it to the room, or didn't care enough to waste his breath.. probably the latter.

"That's disappointing. You've mentioned about fancying Stephen Fry for years, this could have happened ages ago." John teased.

"Nothing compared to Hugh Laurie though. I'm pretty certain that I'm straight but I'd let him-"

"The papers!!" Sherlock's shout cut Greg's ramble off, making the silver haired man jump and grab his satchel, handing out the reports in a way that reminded you of a teacher with test papers.

"Right, yeah. Sorry. Basically the proper forms aren't ready for another week or so so these are just a few basic questions- nothing too in depth yet since I wanted to give you guys time to... yeah just basic for now." Mycroft chose to read through all the questions before answering them, whereas Sherlock  hastily scribbled his response to each question as he went along- the smaller details in the Holmes brothers' differences are always interesting to stumble upon. As he held the page in his hands, you carefully leant over to have a glance at the questions, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder and your cheek resting just against your fingers- blissfully unaware at the 2 sets of eyes openly staring at your movements, and the one set that watched from the side. Greg was right, in a way, the questions definitely weren't as overbearing as they could be- but that doesn't mean it was an easy task. The questions targeted Mycroft a lot more than it did John and Sherlock, asking things about scenarios and situations that had occured before they were taken, how long it had been since they had any contact with Eurus prior to that evening/ what they discussed, and a few basic questions about any incentives Eurus may have had, and anything that aided her into her plan. Of course the papers weren't labelled with the sister's name, they were generically printed and typically handed out to anybody involved in any kind of criminal behaviours, but that didn't make it seem any less like these were questions that targeted Mycroft in particular. Mycroft took a deep breath and laid the papers back onto the coffee table in front of him, pulling a pen out of his pocket and beginning to write. In this moment you had noticed the small bounce of his left leg, a movement only ever shown by him in times where he had a particularly stressful day at work, or a troubling encounter with his brother- it was a movement that let you know his brain was running a mile a minute and he felt a little more overwhelmed that usual. Without making a point of it, you move your right hand to rest on his mid thigh, allowing your thumb to rub small shapes into his leg to show your support.

Turning your gaze to the rest of the room, you noticed Greg's eyes on you, a grin on his face that practically stretched to his ears. You rolled your eyes at him, using your other hand to flip him off and smiled.

It had taken just under two hours in total for the boys to finish completely (well, an hour and twenty minutes for the Holmes siblings, an extra forty minutes for John whose brain simply didn't work as fast as theirs to convey the information on the paper). The time had passed fairly quickly, with yourself and Greg not wanting to disturb the silence and instead just drinking your hot drinks and stealing a couple of biscuits from the tray. You gave Mycroft's leg one last squeeze before sitting back against the sofa, stretching a little after finally getting out of that position.

"Thanks again for getting this done today." Greg spoke, taking the papers in and putting them in a plastic folder. "I'd better be off anyway, get these filed in." He stood, heading for the front door and tripping over the carrier bag he had brought in with him earlier. "Shit, yeah I almost forgot." He picked up the bag and handed it to you. "Got your coat, and I may have accidentally read your mind if you had been talking about Stephen and Hugh.." You dug through the bag and grinned as you pulled out the box at the bottom.

"You, Gregory Lestrade, are a bloody legend. God I could kiss you!" Your boxset of 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' rested in your hands and you showed it to Mycroft, beaming at him. His lips raised at your reaction, showing a small glint in his eye, as you explained how now the pair of you would have to binge watch it since Mycroft had never got round to watching them before. Greg barked out a laugh.

"I wouldn't. I don't fancy being hunted by Mycroft's secret services." Mycroft let out a small laugh himself. And with that, Greg was gone and left the flat to the four of you once more.

***

You hadn't stayed at the flat long before you all made your way to Angelo's restaurant, even managing to convince Mycroft to just take a cab rather than bothering his chauffeur for a 5 minute journey.

"Ahhh Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson!" Angelo greeted, pulling the aforementioned men into an awkward half embrace, half headlock. "Back again so soon? I shall get your usual table set up, grab some candles. Anything for you!" The pair of men awkwardly shifted out of the hold and Sherlock offered a smile.

"Not today Angelo, we need a table for four if that suits your capacities here?" Sherlock peered round at the tables inside.

"Of course, a double date, very lovely to see! Come, come!" He led the four of you inside, you grinning at Mycroft at Angelo's casual mentionings of Sherlock and John's usual 'romantic' set up. You were all ushered inside of a small booth and handed menus, the benches were small but tolerable, your thigh just brushing against Mycroft's, him offering a shy smile at the close contact. "You stay here, I'll get to work on those candles. Just for you, Mr Holmes." Angelo spoke again, clapping Sherlock on his shoulder and disappearing into the back of the restaurant.

"He's.. uh.. a bit enthusiastic sometimes." John spoke, his cheeks burning a little at the memories of previous encounters here.

"Quite. Seems a pleasurable fellow." Came Mycroft's response, glancing over the menu. It had taken no time at all for the restaurant owner to appear back with a handful of small tealight candles in glass jars, and a single flower resting in a vase to lay on the table, taking everybody's orders and leaving once again. Then as the food turned up, Sherlock began to prod at the chips on his plate with his knife.

"What are you doing? Eat your bloody food, Sherlock." John quipped, elbowing the man to his side.

"Don't want it.. whoever decided that dessert was only customary after a meal? I'd much rather wait." John gave Sherlock a look and he spoke again. "Don't give me that look, this was your idea. Who even suggests 'late lunch' as a valid meal time? It's impractical. I didn't eat breakfast because we didn't get out of bed until well past the respected breakfast hour.." 'We'.. you didn't press. "So I had a sandwich at lunch which has ruined my appetite for this. Then I'll be hungry again later, but later than dinner time because of how late this lunch is." Sherlock childishly squashed his chip with his thumb. "It's just ridiculous.. they keep adding new names for new meals at new hours, I feel like we're becoming Bobbits."

"Hobbits, brother mine." Mycroft corrected, the faintest smile playing at the side of his mouth as Sherlock's words sounded alarmingly like the ones he had told you only this morning- it was nice when they just got along.

"That's what I said."

"No, you said Bobbits."

"Boys!" John warned, and you broke out into a small fit of giggles.

"We really can't take you anywhere, can we?" You chimed in. Sherlock just huffed, stabbing a chip and eating it as John gave him a stern look. It was quite sweet, actually, watching them be all domestic. By the time you'd finished your meals, yours and John's plates were clear, Sherlock's leaving only a few chips and a mouthful of burger as he found, after starting to eat the food, that he really enjoyed it and wanted more. Mycroft, on the other hand, had managed to leave little over half of his spaghetti bolognese, making comments about the pasta being far too rubbery, or the sauce being too thin, crossing the cutlery over in the centre and making a dismissive comment about making something to eat when he got home- you all knew he wouldn't.

Sherlock had practically jumped for joy when Angelo came out with a tray of chocolate fudge cake, offering slices around the table which you all, bar Mycroft, accepted happily.

"I shan't spoil my appetite for when I get home." Was his small excuse, raising a hand to prevent Angelo from spouting his claims that he had the best cake in London and that he must have a piece, and instead asking for a coffee. Without words being spoken, John cast his eyes over to you and you offered a small sad smile. Nobody had told John of Mycroft's past, but he was a doctor and always knew when signs were displayed. You had taken an extra fork from Angelo just in case and took a small bite with your own fork, unable to let out the (embarrassingly erotic) moan that had escaped you.

"Christ he wasn't lying, this is incredible." You praised, taking another small piece on the second fork. "Mycroft please give it a try." You offered your hand out towards him, the sliver of cake resting on the tip of the fork's prongs. He looked over at it, his mind telling him to give it a go, at the very least because it had been offered by you, but the image of himself in the mirror this morning came back to mind. He declined the offer and you sighed. Mycroft truly did love cake, and any sweet things, so it was heartbreaking for you to see him turning it away because of the thoughts that ran through his brain. Sherlock had already cleared his plate by this point and stood up abruptly, hoisting his coat back over his shoulders.

"I'm going to go out for a cigarette, care to join me Mycroft?" He had asked, walking past the table. Mycroft creased his eyebrows into a frown.

"Sherlock, the pact? I haven't smoked for three years."

"Neither have I, let's go." Sherlock spoke back quickly, hoisting his brother from the booth and taking the pair of them outside. You raised a brow at John who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I stopped questioning the pair of them and their motives a long time ago." He reasoned, the pair of you turning your heads to see the two Holmes boys outside resting against the restaurant's window.

"I try my best to.. they just still fascinate me." You spoke back, your eyes lingering on Mycroft a little longer before turning back to the table.

"So.. you and Mycroft. Going well?" John asked, his mouth raising in that side smile he often displayed when he was teasing somebody. "I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen Mycroft Holmes smile in a non-threatening way, and over half of those were from since you walked into the flat earlier. I think I can only just about count on two hands times where he's pulled an expression that isn't stoic and emotionless."

"Yeah.. I didn't expect it to happen, if I'm completely honest with you. We've spent so many years just avoiding the subject, but after.. Eurus.. I don't know. It flicked something in Myc that made him regret not doing something about it sooner." John nodded, understanding where you were coming from. "You also don't give him enough credit. Everybody just assumes he's this 'iceman' persona, but it's all a front.. I've watched him laugh so hard that tears fall from his eyes, he's one of those people who throws their heads back and lets out an absolute belter of an infectious laugh. I've seen him get angry at the telly if I came over and some stupid reality show came on the telly.. He shouted at Kim Kardashian once on there for some reason or another. I've stayed up all night with him after he had gruelling days at work, him offering to do the same for me if I had a bad case and couldn't sleep. And then, very recently, I watched him cry." You continued on. "Mycroft Holmes is one of the most emotional, caring people I've ever known, he is just incredibly particular at who gets to see it. You're a doctor, John. You know how experiences in life can shape one's emotional stability, how it alters their mental health. Had you grown up without very many people being kind to you, you'd be scared to let somebody else in too." You finished.

"Sorry.. I didn't mean it to come out in a bad way.. I just meant.. It's nice. Seeing Mycroft acting like that, it's.. nice." He apologised. You waved it off. You knew John didn't mean any harm.

"Mycroft and I are old news anyway.. What about you and Sherlock? When did that surface?" You asked, beaming at the deep red John's face had become as he choked on a sip of his drink. "Oh come on, don't act like that. We've all been waiting for this one to happen since you moved in."

"I.. I don't know what you-" Glaring at him, he stopped himself. "Yeah fine, okay. When we got back to the flat that night we went into the front room and Sherlock lost it. I'd never seen him anything like it before, he just.. he just sobbed into a heap on the floor." He explained, the nervous tapping of his fingers against his glass trying to distract him from his eyes watering. "I didn't know what else to do, so I scooped him up and put him in his bed. He begged me to stay with him and I did. Then he apologised to me, for dragging me in all of that mess, for almost getting me killed and he just wouldn't stop apologising.. So I stole the stereotypical movie move and kissed him. Just kind of went from there. I think that night made us realise that beating around the bush all these years wasn't helping either of us, and the thought that we could have lost the other only a few hours beforehand woke us up." He coughed, his voice breaking slightly.

"God look at us.. All the people in the world and we've landed with the Holmes'" You grabbed John's hand from across the table and laughed. "Makes you feel quite special though, doesn't it? That, equally, there were all the people in the world and they chose us?" John grinned, giving your hand a squeeze.

"Could never tell them that though, their egos would go through the bloody roof."

***

"They're talking about us." Sherlock mused, breathing in the London air.

"It seems people do little else." Mycroft returned, casting his glance to you smiling with John at the table.

"She really does like you. I've spent years deducing everything about her to make sure she wasn't a secret Russian spy sent with the motive to kill you." The younger spoke playfully. "You could have eaten the cake."

"Hmm?"

"The cake. I know you wanted it, but you're going back to how you used to be. Now that you're together, you're nervous." Sherlock's voice was nonchalant, simple observations, which didn't ease his older brother at all. "It's pointless. She's entirely infatuated. I thought the childish doe eyes disappeared after being attracted to somebody for a few weeks, but she still looks at you like I look at a triple homicide."

"Resulting to similes now?"

"You need to stop that too. Dismissing it whenever somebody is trying to be... kind... to you. That's just annoying and not a good defence mechanism for insecurities, like a mask made of clingfilm, it's too obvious." Mycroft didn't speak in turn and Sherlock huffed. "She worries for you, she seeks for you to be comfortable in trialling situations, her eyes do that little light up thing every time you open your bloody mouth. Since standing here she's looked over 3 times and smiled to herself seeing you stand here with me without us arguing. I caught her 4 times on the way to the cab from the flat looking at your arse and your legs in that damned suit. You don't have to worry about anything with her- the way she looks at you is so lovesick it makes me queasy."

"And you know this how, Sherlock? Or is this another one of your cruel schemes to embarrass me?"

"Because, Mycroft, it's the same way you've looked at her for as long as I can remember you knowing her. Jesus, Mycroft, I haven't seen you smile this much since we were children.. before we did everything that led us to believe we were any better than anybody else, that we deserved more than sentiment. And it's the same way I.. the same way I look at him." Sherlock's eyes now locked onto John.

"Always did say there would be a happy announcement between the pair of you. Good to see I'm correct once again." Mycroft mused. He remained stoic, but his brother's words were whirring in his brain, leaving him in a state of shock at the curly haired man even displaying this form of kindness towards him.

"You told me once that caring isn't an advantage. But these last few days, no matter how short it has been, have already led me to believe that caring is perhaps the greatest advantage of them all. And I strongly believe you feel the same way, no matter what bull you make up to argue against it." The pair of them watched through the window once more, the image of you and John laughing at whatever joke had been shared between you. "We both have wasted many years fighting against this, and I don't want you to screw yours up. Y/N will remain by your side and feel the same way towards you, whether you wear a bin bag, lose your job, put on weight- she's in it for the long haul. She's spent so many years pining after you that she deserves the best from you and to be happy. And you, brother mine, have been through enough with not good people; you deserve the happiness too." Sherlock trailed the last sentence. It's incredibly rare for them to show it, but Sherlock and Mycroft would always have a particularly close bond, they've been through too much together not to- and so times like this were precious to them. Mycroft simply let out a small cough, reaching his arm over to rest on his younger brother's shoulder to give it a quick squeeze, before patting it twice and letting his arm rest back by his side.

"Sentiment appears to be dwelling well on you." Mycroft spoke, heading back to the door of the restaurant to head inside, holding it open for his brother.

"As it is on you, brother. As it is on you."

[solipsistful]

Fuckit, you know what seems like a good and productive use of time? Applying DSM-5 criteria for schizotypal personality disorder to best boy Control:

(Using examples from Authority, because I think him losing his goddamn mind in Acceptance is pretty understandable, even if he does so in very Control ways.)

ideas of reference: Control literally just people-watching going ‘I wonder if they’re playing out actions for me specifically 🤔’: “Which made Control wonder if he had become a wraith or if they were enacting a ritual, meant for an audience of one. Which implied a deeper significance to it all, even though Control knew that might be a false thought, and a dangerous one.”

odd beliefs or magical thinking: Arguably, his inner guides, right? Or there’s other moments where he acts directly based on his dreams and “subconscious.”

unusual perceptual experiences: His dissociative episodes! “Sometimes this happens while he is awake, as if he hasn’t been paying enough attention, and then he silently recites his own name until the real world returns to him.”  And yes, dissociation counts -- is in fact a common example given in descriptions of schizotypal. :’)

odd thinking and speech: ““Seven hundred and fifty-three isn’t a mistake,” he said. “Seven hundred and twenty-two isn’t a mistake, either.” Her eyes narrowed. “Something is wrong with you.””

suspiciousness or paranoid ideation: ... Do I really need an example. One fun one: “There was a squashed mosquito on the inside of his windshield, and Control had no idea how it had gotten there. He knew it hadn’t been there in the morning, and he had no memory of swatting one away. Paranoid thought: Carelessness on the part of someone searching his car... or did someone want him to know he was being watched?”

inappropriate or constricted affect: “John looked over at her, standing across from him while the waves blasted the rocks and despite the gray and despite the wet and the cold, despite the fact he might die sometime in the next few minutes, he started to laugh.”

behavior or appearance that is odd, eccentric, or peculiar: Please read the entire ant scene at the start of part 2 and tell me Control isn’t a goddamn weirdo throughout it. “”Hold still,” he told her as he set his coffee and biscuit atop the trunk of his car. “It’s harmless, and I’ll get it off you.” Because no one else seemed of any use. Most were ignoring her, while some, as they got into or out of their cars and SUVs, were laughing at her. But Control wasn’t laughing. He didn’t find it amusing. He didn’t know where Area X was on him, either, and all the questions in his head seemed in that moment as frenetic and useless as the woman’s questions.”

lack of close friends or confidants other than first-degree relatives: “There was only one message: from Mary Phillips, his girlfriend until they’d broken up about six months ago, checking in to make sure the move had gone okay.”

excessive social anxiety that does not diminish with familiarity and tends to be associated with paranoid fears rather than negative judgments about the self: Unclear, but one of the reason he gives for his relationships never working out is “his circumspection” (”There had been almost as many girlfriends as postings; they usually didn’t survive the moves, or his circumspection, or his odd hours, or maybe he just hadn’t found the right person.”)

And of course, this all being pretty Disordered™ for him, leading to 10 jobs in 15 years, a love life that he’s clearly dissatisfied with, etc.

- Serpent

[esther-dot]

rainy day for day 2 of @jonsaseasonalbash‘s event

The window rattles as cold air blows into the room, so Jon reaches behind him to the sideboard where Sansa allows things to collect throughout the day. He moves a ledger, sees what he’s looking for, tips his chair back until he can grab the deep blue shawl Sansa had knitted years ago as he’d read to her. The sound of his gruff voice had been punctuated with an occasional click of her needles. This morning it is Sansa’s occasional sniffle that interrupts the silence.  

“We need to have that draft seen to,” he says as he offers the garment she often wears in the morning, discards around midday, and invariably forgets where she’d left it by nightfall.

“I have added it to the list.” She absentmindedly pulls the wool around her shoulders. “Roof first.” She slips the flat, wooden button through its loop, flashes him a smile as she cocoons herself in its warmth.

Bran had been king in the South for years. Jon had been warden of the North and living at Winterfell again for nearly as long, and still, every time Sansa smiles at him he feels a deep, quiet ache lessen.  

He’d been looked at with suspicion, anger, betrayal his entire life; Sansa’s smile buries them, one by one, smoothed the surface. Soon, he thinks, there will be no pain at all.

Of course, he feels a slight twinge of betrayal himself when he looks into his tea. She has definitely added something to it. He sighs, “This looks…different.” Disgusting was the word that came to mind. It looks like she’s thrown a handful of grass into his beverage, but years living with Sansa had some effect, and he keeps that thought to himself.

“Yes, I asked the master for something for your cough.”

“I don’t have a cough” with the start of a laugh that quickly transforms into something else.  

She hums some indecipherable response, whatever words she might have said lost in his sudden coughing fit. Ever the gracious lady she says nothing, and he hides his rueful grin by picking up his tea and drinking it down.  

“It looks like rain today,” as she stirs something into a bowl of gruel and placed it before him.  

This was too much. “Sansa—” He eyed the biscuits forlornly. Before he completes his thought, he realizes he would rather eat glop this morning than force anything dry down his achy throat. Cinnamon, raisins, and he suspects some brandy make it look far more appetizing than it has a right too, and it slips down his throat pleasantly enough. Definitely brandy.

Sansa eats a biscuit with honey, drinks her tea without, her lips puckering to blow the steaming liquid. She’d made the same exaggerated gesture when kissing cook’s grandson yesterday. Blushed when she realized he’d paused when passing to watch her make cookies with the child. He’d smiled, continued on, humming a tune they’d learned from a singer who’d spent a month with them a year ago. The same tune she hums now, running her fingers across a napkin to dust off the crumbs.  

“We should have summoned another singer before the weather turned,” he says around his mouthful.

“If they came now, they’d be stuck all winter.”

“Next year. As soon as the king’s road is clear. I’ll ask Sam for a name.”

“I’d like that.”

He nods, smiles, wonders how he’d neglected to make it happen this year. Recalls the furious storms of the spring, as if the North itself still struggled to adjust to the change in seasons every few months, rather than every few years. There’d been so much damage they still haven’t repaired it all. Roofs, walls, flooded fields...the entire North had suffered. Then there came the fever that summer. Both had gotten sick, neither severely, and yet, he thought Sansa a trifle thinner ever since. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good.” That familiar tension lessening, “Good.” He tells himself to unclench his hand. Sansa smiles, and his anxiety melts away again.

She tilts her head to the side, as she so often does when assessing him, and it never fails to worry him, always uncertain what she would see. “Are you—you seem—is something the matter?”

“No!” He drinks the rest of his tea—attempted to, had forgotten he’d already finished it—shoves the rest of his gruel down his throat, burning his tongue in the process.  

A quizzical brow. “I go to Winter Town this afternoon,” pushing her chair away from the table.

“You’ve—didn’t you say it looked like rain?”

“Yes, it does, but I’ve bread and cookies we meant to take to the orphanage.”

“We should have brought them here to live.”

“Winter Town isn’t what it once was. There’s so much there now, my school too. It made sense for the children to be near it.”

“Alright. Risk another fever,” a smirk at Sansa’s pout.

“You gave up so quickly.”

“I’ve learned to choose my battles.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She beams at him.

“I’m retreating.”

Sansa throws an ill aimed raisin at him as he moves toward the door. “Come back and argue. I’m so good at winning!”

It’s a miserable day. Cold, threatening clouds, arguments over money and supplies. The roofs of several outbuildings are damaged, the keep’s too. Lumber, stone, they tallied and debated, the mason and seneschal, Jon nodding, mostly silent. It will be a great expense to repair them, but repair them they must. He catches a glimpse of red and forgets the men he was meant to be listening to as he sees Sansa walk to her carriage. Servants followed with baskets, he was sure Wolkan was urging her not to go, and he simply stares at her hair, bright, like a poppy in fields of sweet summer grass. He clears his throat, looks away, stares into the clouds above. Maybe he needs to go to Winter Town for an evening. He’s not himself.

The rain doesn’t come until later, the first wave a light shower that’s met with laughter before a sudden deluge. The laborers run to cover, the busy fields and courtyard suddenly emptied. Everyone quickly, safely shelters, except Sansa, who has yet to return. Jon waits, anxiously, cursing the rain, thinking to go out and retrieve her himself, knowing how well that would go over, wisely deciding against it.  

She does return, eventually, wet through, laughing, and that fear coiled within him releases, and he goes to the solar to wait for her, his usual calmness restored, a book resting on his knee.  

Soon, she joins him, hair loose down her back, much darker being wet, and she pulls it apart with her fingers, settling by the fire to dry it.  

He looks around for her shawl, knowing she must have discarded it sometime during the day, and he finds it, moves to hand it to her, but possessed by some strange urge, places it around her shoulders himself.  

She smiles up at him, her eyes wide. It would be best to move away, better if he done nothing, and yet, he can’t resist allowing his hands to rest on her shoulders momentarily giving in, permitting his thumb to brush against the wool. Something wavers on her face, uncertainty, her eyes drop to his hand, a delicate blush forming on her cheeks. Her thumb strokes his knuckles. “Thank you,” quietly, but with a soft light in her eyes. It’s his, that smile. He sees it often, every morning, every evening, something comes alive within her at those moments, moments when it is simply them. Something burns within him at that smile. He realizes, he’d seen that look often as a child, between her parents.

He and Sansa have been a sad imitation for so long, for years, and somehow, he hadn’t even noticed. But he’d noticed that smile, and the thought of her looking at someone else—another man that way—returns his anxiety in full force. That it might, should be, another man she makes tea for, another man she force feeds gruel to, another man that might worry over her, a different man that might receive that look.

“Jon?” “I think—I’m—I—goodnight.” He doesn’t take the time to register her surprised look—just bolts. Down the hall, out into the cool air, gasping allowing it to burn his throat—how could he not have known?

He doesn’t know how long he’s stood like a fool in the courtyard, letting the soft rain seep into his clothes.

“Jon?” She followed him, hesitates on the steps, leans out over the railing above the courtyard. “Are you alright?”

She shouldn’t be out here, not with how cool it is, but she followed him, because she was concerned, and he thinks of the ways they care. That she knows when –and how— to care.  

He can’t respond, every thought is strangled by the one. One maddening, urgent need, and he cannot, cannot think of anything else but the childish desire he’d fled from for so long: mine.  

But not Winterfell, not a seat, sigil, or name. Her.

“I saw the book you left on your chair. Did you get that for me?”

He swallows, forces himself to focus on her words, not her lips, the flush in her cheek, the—

“Jon?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You’ve never settled down to read a romance to yourself, and it isn’t one of ours.”

“No, it’s—I told Sam if he ever found one he particularly liked to send it North for you.”

“You plan to fill the North with stories and songs for me?”

He can’t quite respond to her teasing beyond a slight smile, a hand placed close to hers on the railing as he takes a step nearer.  

“Why did you run?”

He’s only one step below her, looking up into her eyes. “I was afraid.”

She places her hands on his shoulders, much as he had done to her earlier, but hers move to his face, cradling his cheeks, “I’m going to need a little more explanation than that. You haven’t been yourself all day.”

“I worried for you all day.”

“But nothing’s the matter with me.”

“No, but I like to worry for you. I like to--care for you.”

“And I enjoy caring for you.” Her thumbs brush his cheeks before she tries to move them away. But he catches them, pulls them to his chest. “I ran because I knew that it might not always be me who had that privilege, that another might worry about you being caught in the rain, that another might summon singers to Winterfell for you, that another might be the one you sit with in the evening.”

Her eyes are fixed on how his hands hold hers so tightly, his can’t resist the torchlight in her hair, so he rocks forward, presses his lips to the side of her head. “I don’t want there to be anyone else.”

“There isn’t,” quietly.

He taps his fingers on her hands, strokes them, “No, I know, I meant, I want to be the one. I want to be the one who does all of that with you.”

“You are.”

He can’t help the laugh, the shake of his head, “Sansa.”

“Jon,” her fingers dig into him, pressing into scarred flesh, thick and knotted over his heart.  

“Say it” and for a minute he does not know which of them spoke. If she was asking or he was commanding himself. He decides it doesn’t matter.

“I want to eat every meal with you, have the right to give my opinion even when you ignore it, to dry your hair when it is wet, to read stories to you in our bed, to—to not have leave you at night.”

She pulls him closer by a small fistful of shirt, “You don’t have to leave me, Jon.”

Her lips are so close to his, if he leaned forward her could—“Sam has lectured me twice now about how we might stop the spread of future illness.” He clears his throat awkwardly, blushes, forces the words out, “I would not make you sick.”

“I was sniffling this morning. I don’t think I’m the only one at risk.”

He can’t help his smile, the one that she alone can summon, and she brushes it softly with a finger. “This is my smile, you know. Every morning, every evening, when we argue, especially then.”

“It is, always has been.”

“See? You’re the one who isn’t safe from me.”

[footballxwrites]

Your best mate

You’d known each other for around two years, with you being his best friends little sister you saw him often, and around 5 months ago the two of you had become a bit closer, spending a lot more time together, just the two of you, then two months ago you became a lot more than just friends . After growing the balls to ask you, Ben took you out one night in Leicester after a win against Man City and made you his, his girlfriend. Ben had always been there for you, through both good and bad times like when yous would (Last-minute) decide to go clubbing midweek or have random movie nights like 3 nights in a row, when you split with your now ex-boyfriend and he just sat there, hugging and holding you close, explaining to you how you would meet that special someone one day, as you sobbed into his chest, he was truely, the only source of comfort you needed. With all the days yous spent together, just purely enjoying each other’s company, Ben realised he fell for you, he realised he was in love with you, and for a while, unknowing you felt the same way. So when the time came and he asked you to be his, it was the easiest decision you’ve had to make, not going to lie, it did come as a surprise a very happy one, but you were over the moon, however you dreaded telling your brother...

There was a one year age difference between you and James, him being the older sibling, and as much as he wanted you to get another boyfriend, literally just so you had someone else, other than him, to talk to and so you weren’t lonely, you didn’t think he meant shagging his best mate. You sat on your sofa, completely zoned out staring at your TV, waiting patiently for James to get home after his match against Man Utd, which ended in a draw. About an hour later he walked and you snapped out your day dream as he came and sat opposite you on the other sofa warming himself next to the radiator as he looked absolutely freezing. You got up and walked into the kitchen to make you both a cuppa as he sat there flicking through Netflix trying to find something decent to watch, you stood there, trying to delay telling him the news for as long as you could, like how do you say “Had a good day? Oh yeah, one quick thing, im going out with your best mate and have been for 2 month”, it just wasn’t going to be the easiest conversation.

“Wanna biscuit?” you shouted, over the noise of the kettle, “yes please” he replied “oh and can we have a chat about something in a min” you added. “Depends, it better not be about anything serious Young madders, i ain’t in the mood it’s been a long day” he jokingly said, laughing as you gulped, “Erm no no nothing bad” you relied with a shaky voice trying to seem normal but James could clearly sense from your tone, what you had to say was important. You came back into the room, plaicng the cups on the coffee table beside you and sitting down before taking a deep breath ready to speak. “Basically I-I have something to erm...tell you” you nervously spoke, “oh what’ve you done now” James said with a sigh, “you lost your job? You owe someone money?” God you’re not pregnant are you, you better not be mam will go off it with yo-“ he continued before you interrupted him, “No I’ve done nothing wrong!” you defended...”it’s just I-“. “You what? You have a fella?” James said, laughing as your head shot up to face him with a worried expression. “You do don’t you? Come one then who’s the lucky lad” he grinned, “it’s Ben” you whispered, “Who?” he replied as you turned away from him. “It’s Ben” you repeated, “well I know it’s ‘Ben’ but I need a bit more than just ‘Ben’, what’s his second name?” he said, still smirking, as you slowly turned to face him once again. “Ben, your best mate Ben, it’s Benjamin James Chilwell, the footballer who plays for Chelsea and England, the 24 year old that I Love” you blurted out, feeling your cheeks go bright red, not knowing what your brothers next words would be.

“I know” James said, leaning back on sofa grabbing his tea and taking a large sip before concentrating on the TV once again. “Sorry you what, you knew?” you said very confused, “Yeah, oh it was obvious, don’t think I didn’t notice the way you two look at each other, all lovey dovey when we’d be walking out the stadium, or when you would “go to the shops” like every other day and somehow always end up at Chilly’s place” he said casually. “Wha-what, if you knew it was him why’d make me tell you who it was” you questioned, folding your arms, staring right at your brother, the biggest wind up on the planet, “it was funny, can’t believe you were shitting youself about telling me that” he laughed. “Eh how aren’t you angry, I’m literally going out with your friend, your BEST friend?” you asked, still stunned by his reaction.

“I’m not angry because I know Ben and I know that he’ll treat you right, you deserve a lad that’s good to you and Chilly is the perfect guy for that” he said, smiling...”oh and if he does anything wrong to you, I’ll be having words with him” he spoke as you both laughed. Well that was unexpected, you could’ve bet he would go absolutely off it with you and at least be somewhat mad, but I guess not. You got your brother’s reaction...next it’s time for the parents opinion on the relationship....

[survey--s]

39.

1. How many cars have you ever owned?   Four in total. The first I sold as I wasn’t using it, the second I ran into the ground, the third got totalled in an accident and I still have the fourth one.

2. Can you do math in your head well?   I can do the basics but I often like to check using a calculator just to make sure.

3. What's your least favourite chore to do around the house?   Emptying the bins and washing the dishes.

4. What's your favorite flavor of potato chip?   Sea salt and rosemary, cheddar cheese, paprika and salt and vinegar.

5. Do you ever read the weather forecast?   Yeah, I work outdoors and often have to change my walks around depending on what the weather is doing.

6. Do amusement park rides make you sick?   Yeah - I loved them a kid/teen but we went to Blackpool a few years ago and it was utterly unpleasant, lol.

7. Who is your favorite Star Wars character?   I’ve never seen any of the films, but I do quite like Yoda.

8. What kind of cheese do you put on your sandwiches?   Mozarella.

9. What radio station do you listen to the most?   Radio One, but I normally just plug my phone in and use that instead.

10.Who was the last person to give you a gift?   Susie - she made me a beautiful scarf and she got Archie his own stocking and some dog biscuits too :)

11. How old were you when you got your driver's license?   I was twenty nine.

12. What was the first thing you ever learned how to cook?   Pasta with homemade tomato sauce. My dad taught me and I still use the exact same recipe today, 25 years later lol.

13. Did you ever collect beanie babies?   I did indeed, I had quite a few actually, including some of the rare ones, but I think I left them in Suffolk as I’ve not seen them since.

14. When was the last time you got a haircut?   About six months ago.

15. Have you ever been to a bachelor/bachelorette party?   No.

16. How many people can you say you TRULY love?   I mean, my parents, my husband, my close friends...

17. Where are you most ticklish on your body?   My feet. I HATE people touching my feet.

18. Do you like kids?   If they’re well-behaved, sure.

19. Have you ever cheated on a test?   Just in-class ones. I’d never cheat on anything important, lol.

20. Is your next birthday coming up soon?   No, my birthday was two weeks ago.

21. Have you ever bailed anyone out of jail?   No.

22. What's the last board game you played?   Monopoly, I suppose.

23. Have you ever given someone a fake phone number?   Yeah, as a teenager.

24. Do you actually eat 3 meals a day?   No, I tend to have several snacks rather than meals.

25. Do you have any bumper stickers on your car?   No.

26. Do you leave good tips when you eat out at restaurants?   No, tips aren’t really a thing here. 

27. What's your favorite thing to eat at bbqs?   I love steak done on the BBQ.

28. Do you still own any VHS tapes?   We never did as we never owned a VHS player.

29. How many of your friends have you known for at least 5 years?   A few of them, but I’m not especially close with any of them anymore.

30. Are you superstitious?   Not at all.

31. What was your favorite book as a child?   Alice in Wonderland, the Faraway Tree series, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, The Owl who was Afraid of the Dark.

32. Have you lied to anyone in the last 24 hours?   I don’t think so.

33. What's the most expensive restaurant you've ever eaten at?   L’Enclume. My dad paid but it cost nearly £700 for three people - not including alcohol.

34. How many jobs have you had?   Six in total.

35. Are you keeping a secret from anyone right now?   No.

36. What's the smallest town you've ever visited?   I honestly couldn’t tell you, but there are a few places in Australia that were proper one pub towns lol.

37. If there was a real Jurassic Park, would you visit it?   Definitely.

38. Have you ever gone golfing?   Nope, just mini golf.

39. What's your favorite kind of soup?   Butternut squash, but I’m not a huge fan of soup in general.

40. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike?   I was about four or five, I think.

41. Do you know any sign language?   Nope.

42. If you became famous for something, what would it be?   I wouldn’t want to become famous for anything.

43. How many friends do you have that are married?   Most of my friends are married or engaged to be married.

44. Do you ever read the newspaper?   No. I just read the news online these days.

45. When you're having a bad day, how do you make yourself feel better?   Have a nap, cuddle with my pets, watch my favourite TV shows or films, eat my favourite foods.

46. Do you still have your wisdom teeth?   I have two of them, the others have been removed

47. Did you have a swingset in your yard when you were a child?   No, I had a slide, a paddling pool and swingball set.

48. Have you ever played poker for money?   I don’t even know how to play poker to start with, lol.

49. You're making a fruit salad: what kinds of fruit do you put in it?   Pineapple, melon, grapes and strawberries.

50. What are the last 2 digits of your phone number?   93.

51. What's the scariest movie you've ever seen?   I don’t watch scary movies.

52. Do you eat your mac & cheese with a fork or a spoon?   With a fork.

53. Where did you have your first kiss?   On the primary school playing field.

54. When you were a kid, were you ever afraid of cooties?   No, they weren’t a thing here.

55. Do you ever go Christmas caroling in December? Nope. 

[alarawriting]

52 Project #26: Marc Snowfrolic and the Quest for Biscuits

Look at him. Isn’t he the most dumbass-looking wolf ever? I love him. He’s the perfect faceclaim for Marc Snowfrolic.

I published part of this about 3 years ago. Finally done!

***

Marc Snowfrolic wanted biscuits.

It was really odd for him to want biscuits at a time like this. Also, very inconvenient, because he was a wolf, and couldn’t bake his own biscuits like he could have if this had been last Thursday. Not that he actually knew how to bake biscuits, but on Thursday he could have read a recipe book, and used his bipedal stance to stand at a kitchen counter and opposable thumbs to use tools and pour ingredients and put cookware into the oven and take it out, with appropriate oven mitts on. Today, and for most of the rest of the month, he couldn’t do any of those things, because he was a wolf.

If anyone in the town of Rema had been able to bake biscuits right now, Marc could have gone to that person and made his desires clear. He could read the Bisquick logo even though he was a wolf. There wasn’t any in his own pantry, but he was sure someone in town had some, and had some guesses as to who. And if, say, Heather Digswell or old lady Janice Eyehowler had some Bisquick in their pantry, he could go to their houses, knock on the door, walk into their kitchen when they let him in, go grab the Bisquick out of the pantry with his teeth, bring it to them, and point to the picture of biscuits on the back, and they’d get the idea. They’d be happy to make him some biscuits. If only they weren’t wolves too, right now.

Normally, he didn’t want biscuits when he was a wolf. Bread products were not usually the favored cuisine of wolves. He liked steak, and venison, and chicken, and elk, and pork, and mutton, and swordfish, not that he got much swordfish because Rema wasn’t particularly near any oceans but when he and his pals pooled their money and special-ordered it with 2 day delivery so they’d get it while they were still human, it was still delicious a few days later when they were wolves. About the only kind of meat he didn’t like when he was a wolf were crustaceans, because it was just too damn hard for a wolf to get the good meat out of a crab, or peel a shrimp, and honestly if he wanted to eat bugs there were plenty in Rema just waiting to be hunted. But today, he was really jonesing for a biscuit.

He trotted over to Ken Mayor’s house. The wolves didn’t generally spend a lot of time indoors, but Ken was an exception. Inside, the older wolf had a large flat-screen television, and a gigantic keyboard that he was typing on. Marc could almost make out the words on the television, but trying made his head hurt. He could see well enough to tell that Ken was writing an email, though.

Originally, the town of Rema had been fully self-sufficient. Wolves didn’t need much in the way of shelter or clothing and were quite capable of finding their own food. What little they couldn’t supply for themselves, they traded for with the humans, offering meat and pelts in exchange for things like nails to make the houses they built for their human days sturdier. But once the humans invented the automobile, it had been only a matter of time before they brought a road to Rema. And with roads had come salesmen, and more exposure to the modern conveniences the humans loved, which the people of Rema found pleasant for themselves on human days as well. Freezers, for example. Freezers were great, but they needed electricity, and both the freezer itself and the electricity that ran it needed to be paid for. Then there was the government, demanding that everyone in Rema pay taxes. And so forth.

Pelts and meat weren’t going to pay for all of that. But the citizens of Rema could get to places in the mountains that the humans couldn’t, and never had been. They mined for gold in places the humans had never managed to mine out. Wolves could dig, and humans could put up structures that would keep wolves safe while they did it. Everyone in Rema did shifts at the gold mine, and of course, they supplemented their income with their sales of meat and pelts from their hunts. All of the funds that anyone in the town owned were pooled to make them easier to manage. Wolves were not good at math.

Ken Mayor was the mayor, and had been the mayor for twenty years, not because he was a big or powerful wolf – he was actually smallish, and rather quiet. But he had a remarkable talent. He could read, do math, and, on a sufficiently large keyboard, even type, in wolf form. Back in the old days he’d used a typewriter, carefully, and sent a lot of letters, but he’d taken to this new Internet thing like a duck to water. He managed the town’s funds, paid the electric bills and things like that, and kept in contact with government officials via email to make sure they left Rema alone, or that if they had to come here they only came on human days. He had a teletype phone, like deaf humans used, but he’d made some kind of arrangements with the company that provided the service to make it clear to them that he was mute rather than deaf, because the wolves could understand human speech just fine even though they couldn’t speak it. Lately he was all excited about some kind of new software that would give him a cartoon human avatar when he talked to humans on the phone that ran over his computer, with a voice program that actually sounded human when he typed sentences into it. Mostly.

In the language the people of Rema used when they were wolves, Marc whined at Ken. “I really want some biscuits. Can I have money to go to a bakery and buy biscuits?”

Ken looked at Marc disbelievingly. “First of all, town’s thirty miles away. It’ll take you over an hour to get there if you run all the way, longer if you walk. Secondly, you can’t walk into a bakery and ask them for biscuits. Thirdly, if you act too smart, humans might get suspicious.”

“But I really, really want biscuits. Come on, Mayor.”

Ken growled. “Snowfrolic, you’re being an idiot. Which isn’t unusual for you, but you usually manage to keep your idiocy within a reasonable range. This is a totally ridiculous request. You understand that, right?”

“Absolutely,” Marc assured him. “I am being a grade A idiot here. But you can’t imagine how badly I want those biscuits. I will get in a car and drive to town if I have to.”

“How?” Ken asked flatly.

Marc stood up on his hind legs. He was a large wolf, six and a half feet long, so on his hind legs he was easily taller than most humans. “Trust me, I can reach the pedals and still see over the dash. And if I put my paws through the holes in the steering wheel, it’s not hard to steer the thing.”

Ken facepawed. “You’ve tried it.”

“Why do you think I have a 4 by 4? The snow in the mountains sticks around a lot longer, but you can’t bring warm towels to dry off in and those little hand warmer things for your paws and a nice blanket for sleeping in if you just run up the mountain.” His wolf name might be Snowfrolic for good reason, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate human conveniences for warming up after a good long day of playing in the snow.

“How have you never been pulled over?”

Marc shrugged. “I drive at night and I follow the speed limits. Not a lot of human cops around here anyway.”

“And if I don’t give you the money to go to town and buy biscuits, which you can’t do because no one will sell anything to a wolf, how does the fact that you’re willing to drive your car to town change matters?”

Marc grinned triumphantly. “Because no one will ever suspect a wolf of taking a getaway vehicle! So I’ll just steal the biscuits, and then drive off.”

Ken face-pawed again. It was a very human gesture; most of the people of Rema wouldn’t use it in wolf form. There were always rumors that Ken’s father was actually human, not one of the men of Rema. Marc wasn’t sure he bought it; half-human children were supposed to be human most of the time and wolf only on the change-days. But Ken making human gestures when no one else in Rema did while in wolf form was kind of hard to explain otherwise. Also, there was that whole reading and typing and doing math thing.

“Have you considered asking Jeff Leclair or Mandy Gruenwald or someone like them to bake you some biscuits?”

Marc had rather forgotten that there were, in fact, humans in Rema; human spouses were problematic in the sense that they produced kids who were wolf when Remans were human and vice versa, but they were very important for teaching Reman children how to talk like humans. Remans didn’t start being wolves most of the time until they hit puberty.

He whined a bit and pawed the floor, head down with embarrassment. “I don’t want to ask them for favors. Bob Pigeonchaser isn’t in town this week and everyone else with thumbs is someone’s wife or husband, and, well, you know…”

Remans were notoriously territorial. This often translated to jealousy. Saying hi to someone’s human spouse or inviting them over for barbeque on human days was one thing, but asking them to bake you biscuits was entirely too intimate a favor to ask. And right now, the only half-human in town, Bob Pigeonchaser, was out of town, because he was in human form when it wasn’t a full moon and he could drive wherever he wanted and buy his own biscuits.

“So you’re insisting that you have to go buy some?” Ken sighed. Wolves were not supposed to sigh; a huff, a snort, those were wolf expressions, but not a sigh. Marc didn’t mention this; Ken was oversensitive about his overly human behaviors. “I am going to have to go with you to keep you out of trouble, aren’t I?”

Marc growled slightly. “I’m not sharing my biscuits, dog. You can buy your own.”

“I’m a wolf. I don’t eat biscuits. Maybe you’d do well to remember that you are also a wolf. Wolves don’t eat biscuits. Or drive cars.”

“I’m a wolf and I drive a car, so why can’t I be a wolf who wants a biscuit? I mean, it’s not every day. I’m just really jonesing for one right now. One of those soft chewy ones with a ton of butter inside. Or maybe crisp and flaky. Man, I’m torn. No point in wasting honey butter on a wolf tongue but oh, man, can you imagine what a biscuit would taste like with bacon inside?”

“This is ridiculous but your mother would kill me if I let you run off in a car, and steal biscuits, and get your fool self thrown in a pound or shot by Animal Control or some overzealous human with a gun. So I guess I’m going with you.”

“As long as you don’t eat my biscuits, we’re cool.”

***

The thought occurred to Marc later that maybe, what worked really well in the dead of night when he was driving up a mountain nowhere near human habitation, just possibly, could have been expected to not work nearly so well in broad daylight as he drove toward a town full of people.

“Goddammit, Snowfrolic, that’s a cop! You just blew past a cop at 85 miles an hour!”

“Lots of people go 85 miles an hour around here,” Marc pointed out.

“Yes, but none of them are wolves. And I thought you said you drive the speed limit!”

“I really want that biscuit.” Marc kept his eyes on the road, not glancing back at the blue and dark yellow lights strobing on the car behind him. (He knew perfectly well that the dark yellow light was actually red, because when he was human he could see the color red, but to his wolf eyes it just looked kind of brownish.) “Anyway, he probably didn’t even see I was a wolf. He just wanted to make quota.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gonna see you’re a wolf now.”

“He’s gotta catch me first!” Marc sped up. He’d never tried to push the SUV past 100 mph. Maybe today was the day to do that.

“What? No! What the fuck are you doing? You can’t outrun cops!”

“How much do you wanna bet?”

“I don’t want to bet! They’ll call for backup and they’ll be out here with guns!”

“They won’t have silver bullets, though, I bet.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t ruin your car and hurt like fuck!”

The cop was gaining on Marc. This was actually exciting. Like a hunt, although he was the one being hunted, which made it slightly less fun. It would be much more entertaining to be the one chasing the cop car.

Hmm. That was a thought.

“Marc, for gods’ sakes, slow the fuck down and pull over! We can both jump in the back seat and pretend the driver bailed on us.”

“Naah, I’ve got an idea that’s more fun.”

“I do not like the sound of that.”

Marc swerved around a rocky outcropping and brought the car to a screeching halt in the truck pull-off right on the other side. The cop car zoomed past, unable to stop or pull off in time.

“He’s gonna turn around and come back. You’ve pissed him off. Just watch.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m counting on it.”

Marc opened the car door, awkwardly – he always hated this part. Getting his paw under the lever to pull it and open the door was never fun; wolf forelegs just didn’t bend the right way. The door swung open and he half-tumbled out, rolled about in the dirt a bit, used his back legs to close the door, and then trotted around to the other side of the car, where he lay down in the dirt of the pull-off and watched from under the car.

The cop car, predictably, came back. Police shoes, attached to police uniform pants, approached the car. “Get out of the vehicle with your hands up!” the officer yelled.

This was Marc’s cue. He popped up on the other side of the hood and barked.

And then immediately ducked back under the car as the cop unloaded a weapon at him, human face dead white and smelling of terror. None of the bullets hit him, but a few hit the hood of the car. Dammit. Ken was right, as usual. The cop really had just fucked up Marc’s car by shooting at it.

This wasn’t fun anymore. Marc growled. He really liked this car.

Through the rolled down window, Ken barked at him. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

“Yeah, no, gotta take a hard pass on that,” Marc said, and leapt onto the hood. The cop screamed and backed up, trying to aim his gun, but in the time it took him to do that, Marc was already jumping onto him, knocking him to the ground and sending the gun flying. He shrieked.

Marc licked his face.

“No, no, get away from me, get – what the fuck?” The cop seemed to realize that this was not going the way he expected around the third slobbering lick. “What the – shit, are you licking me?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Marc said, but since it was in wolf language, he knew all the cop would hear was whining and a bit of a growl.

“Marc. Stop torturing the poor guy. Knock it off.”

“He ruined my car! Shot a hole through the engine block! You see all that steam? There’s no way I’m driving this home!” Marc growled at the cop, who was trying to push him off, and then licked him a few more times for good measure. He strongly considered pissing on the cop, but Ken would have his head. “I can’t even get it fixed for most of a month – the full moon’s, like, three weeks off or something. And it’s gonna rain, and the rain will get in the bullet holes, and the whole damn engine will rust.”

“This is why I told you not to provoke the cops,” Ken said unhelpfully.

He got out of the car, tongue lolling, and trotted over to the cop’s gun. “Good doggie,” the cop whimpered. “Good doggies. Good, good doggies. Stay. Stay.”

Ken did not stay. He picked up the gun with his mouth, trotted over to where there was a scenic overlook down the side of the mountain, and dropped the gun over the cliff.

“Fuck!” The cop pushed Marc off, with difficulty, and struggled to his feet. “Goddamn it, dog, did you just – you did. You dropped my gun off the side of the mountain.”

Ken barked at him.

“Okay! Okay! Good doggies! I’m just… gonna take down this plate number—”

Marc growled and crouched, as if to leap. The cop hastily dropped his pad. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m going. Someone trained you guys to hate the police. I’m just going to back away and get back in my car and call for backup and get Animal Control or something. A couple of officers with guns.”

Marc leapt and knocked him down again, growling and barking. The cop screamed. While Marc had him pinned, Ken trotted over to the cop car. “The things you make me do.” He pulled open the door to the cop car, which was unlocked, with his teeth, and climbed in. The cop struggled as Marc licked him some more.

Ken came back with a good portion of the cop’s radio in his teeth. He dropped it on the ground next to the officer. “Oh what the fuck,” the cop mumbled, head turned toward Ken, staring at the ruins of his radio. “Someone really went all out to train you guys.”

“We need to get out of here,” Ken said. “If he flags down another human who has a cell phone, he can still contact his backup. We’re gonna be doing the rest of this on paws.”

“Yeah. Shit. We only had like ten miles to go.”

“Well, if we run all out, we can get to town in about 20 minutes.” Wolves could run thirty miles an hour, and could keep it up for around 20 minutes, but Marc was impressed that Ken had been able to do the math to figure out that meant they could run the rest of the way to town. He couldn’t quite wrap his wolf head around the equations Ken must have done to calculate that.

“We’ll be wiped when we get there, though. Dammit. I loved that car.”

“This was why you shouldn’t have taunted the cop.”

“Yeah yeah. Rub it in, why don’t you.”

***

They were both panting hard by the time they reached town. Presumably it had been 20 minutes. Marc didn’t actually quite know what a minute was when he was a wolf. He knew it was a measure of time, but he couldn’t really keep track of how long it was.

“Damn, I’m tired. And my paws are killing me. I could use some water. Probably even more than the biscuit.”

Ken just whined, and folded his legs, flopping down on the side of the road. As rural mountain road turned into smalltown America, the road had acquired a sidewalk, but only on one side. Since humans tended to be intimidated by wolves, they were on the side that didn’t have one.

“Oh, come on, Mayor, you can’t be that wiped out.”

“I’m dead. Leave me. Save yourself,” Ken mumbled.

“Come on.” Marc nosed Ken in the ribs, and when that failed to produce a reaction, started licking him in the wrong direction, messing up his fur. “Let’s find some water. There’s a fountain in the middle of town.”

“Knock it off!” Ken growled, the discomfort of having his fur ruffled in the wrong direction finally seeming to overcome his exhaustion.

“I’ll stop when you get up.”

“I will bite you,” Ken said, demonstrating by snapping at Marc.

“No, you won’t. You’re Mr. Civilization and everything. Now let’s—”

“PUPPY!”

Marc and Ken both swiveled their heads to see what looked like a six year old girl running across the street toward them. This was a problem both because there was traffic on the road, and because appearing to be a dangerous animal anywhere near a human child was usually a bad idea. “Oh, crap,” Marc said.

He could hear a car vrooming toward the girl, around the bend. Marc leapt, grabbed the girl’s T-shirt with his teeth as she screamed, and pulled her over to the sidewalk where she’d come from just as the car zoomed past where they had just been.

Then he licked her, because that was what his wolf instincts told him to do with a child who’d had a scare.

“Oh – a car!” It seemed to be dawning on the girl that she could have been hit by that car. “Puppy! You saved me!” She threw her arms around Marc and hugged him.

“No problem, kid,” Marc mumbled, knowing she couldn’t understand him.

“Do you want to come home with me? Do you have people? Mom and Dad said that dogs who don’t have people are scary and I shouldn’t play with them but I don’t think so! You’re such a cute puppy and you saved me! I bet you’re nice!”

“I’m not a puppy,” Marc growled, hoping to intimidate the child into letting him go. It didn’t work.

“You’re so soft!”

Ken limped across the road, apparently having recovered from his temporary bout of death. “Snowfrolic, you need to lose that kid. If a human sees a six-year-old hugging a giant unleashed dog with no owner around – let alone if they recognize you as a wolf—”

“I know, I know! But I haven’t got thumbs, so how do I pry her loose?”

“Another puppy!” the girl yelled. “I wanna take you guys home with me! Do you have owners? Are you lost?”

Ken flopped down at the girl’s feet, behind her, and whined. “Oh, poor puppy!” The girl released Marc and knelt down to pet Ken, who looked absolutely miserable.

“Okay, Snowfrolic, I got her off you,” Ken said. “Let’s go.”

And then he exploded into motion, racing away from the girl, down the sidewalk. Marc followed.

“No! Puppies! Don’t run away! I want to play with you!”

The girl chased after them. The only reason they didn’t outdistance her instantly was that both of them had badly aching paws, both of them were in desperate need of water, and neither of them were city people. Rema was a small town, and very focused on integrating into nature; the few storefronts and public buildings that existed all had luxurious wild patches of green all around them, which the wolves kept trimmed with their teeth. This was a lot more like a small city, with sidewalk on this side of the road taking up all of what should have been green space, only occasional patches set aside to surround a random small tree. It was disorienting.

“We should cross the street again,” Ken panted. “There’s green over there, and trees we can lose her in.”

“Yeah, but that isn’t gonna be the direction of biscuits, now is it?” Marc replied, and put on a burst of speed, letting the cries of “Come back, puppies!” recede into the distance as he turned a corner and raced deeper into town.

“Slow down! I’m an old man, my heart’s gonna burst trying to keep up with you!”

“You’re not that old, and besides, you’re the one who said we had to lose the kid!”

“She’s six! We don’t have to run all the way to California to escape her!”

“Mayor, my biscuits aren’t gonna eat themselves! Gotta find a bakery!”

“Don’t you—” pant pant “—know where—” pant pant “—a bakery is?”

“No, why would I know that? I don’t live around here, I just come here to buy snow gear!”

“Did—” pant pant pant “—it—” pant pant pant “—not—” pant pant ‘’—occur to—” pant pant pant “—you—” pant pant pant pant  “--to check—” many pants “—a map—” so many pants Marc thought that was the end of the sentence “—before we—” a somewhat smaller amount of pants than the last time “—left?”

“No, why would I do that? I can’t read maps, I’m a wolf. I figured I’d just get into town and then walk around until I smell biscuits.”

“I can—” a lot of pants “—read a map—” many pants “—you idiot!”

“Then how come you don’t know where a bakery is?”

If Ken wanted to make a reply to this, he didn’t seem to be able to, with how hard he was panting.

It occurred to Marc that maybe he was pushing the old man a little hard. Werewolves had normal human life spans, so Ken, in his mid-forties, wasn’t all that old, and their regenerative powers made them all healthier and stronger than an equivalent human or wolf at the same stage of life. But Ken’s job as the Mayor made him very sedentary, spending most of his life writing emails and doing math and other not-very-wolflike things instead of healthy and fun stuff like running around town or snow sports or hunting his own food. Marc wasn’t actually sure Ken knew how to hunt. Biologically he was a wolf, but he was so human he might as well be a dog. So he was probably really out of shape in comparison to Marc.

Marc started to slow down, and then a random human man pointed at the two of them and yelled, “Jesus Christ, those are wolves! Someone call Animal Control!”

Ken put on a burst of speed that impressed Marc – he hadn’t known the old man had it in him—and raced past Marc, turning down an alley. Marc followed as Ken weaved through a network of tiny alleys and parking lots and small streets barely wide enough for a car, figuring the older wolf knew where he was going, until finally Ken stopped, less panting than gasping. There was a garbage can lid full of rainwater, but Marc didn’t get a chance to drink any of it because Ken picked it up with his paws and poured the whole thing down his throat rather than lapping it like a sensible wolf.

“Hey! I wanted some of that!”

“Find your own,” Ken panted.

Marc poked his head out of the alley. They were now well into the city proper. “I don’t see anywhere I can get any water,” he complained. “Where are we?”

“Yeah. Good question.” Ken trotted over to the edge of the alleyway and took a look.

“You mean… you don’t know?”

“Why would I know? I don’t live here either, and I didn’t have time to check a map before you dragged me on this quest.”

“Hey, you insisted on coming with me! And I thought you had someplace in mind, you seemed to be running somewhere. What’s with all the twists and turns if you didn’t know where you were going?”

Ken facepawed. “I was trying to lose the kid, you idiot. And then I was trying to lose the humans who wanted to call Animal Control.”

“Uh, they weren’t gonna follow some strange wolves into an alley, and it’s not like Animal Control can teleport. We’d have had time if we’d just strolled, we didn’t have to run like that.” Marc sniffed the air. “I don’t smell biscuits. Or water, either. Dammit.”

“If there’s rainwater in a garbage can lid, there’s probably rainwater in something else as well,” Ken said. He went back into the alley, down one of the ones they came from, and found another garbage lid full of rainwater, and also a random storage bin. “If you like your water with some flavor…”

Werewolves didn’t worry about getting sick. Marc drank the water eagerly despite the presence of mosquito larvae in it. Extra protein!

“I’m guessing we’re more likely to find bakeries downtown, in the touristy areas,” Ken said. “There’s likely to be some in out-of-the-way places near residential neighborhoods, as well, but we’ll never find those. Whereas downtown there might be some bakeries for the day trippers. Huh. Does Panera Bread make biscuits? I can’t remember.”

The last time Marc had been in a Panera Bread, he had not been obsessed with biscuits, and so he had not bothered to observe if they had biscuits or not. “Dunno, but you know where does? Fried chicken places. So it doesn’t even have to be a bakery. We could go to a fried chicken place.”

“Well, they’re more likely to be downtown, too.”

Down at the end of the block, Marc could see the kind of enclosure that usually signified a bus stop. “My paws are killing me. I’m gonna go take the bus downtown.”

“…what? You can’t do that! Animals don’t ride buses! And do you even know if that bus goes downtown?”

“Eh, I’m guessing it probably does.” Marc hadn’t looked at a map, specifically, but he’d seen enough maps of the area in his lifetime to know that the direction the traffic on this side of the street was going in was the direction of downtown. Unless the bus veered off and did something weird, it pretty much had to go through downtown.

There was one person at the bus stop, a young woman wearing headphones. She turned as Marc approached, and whistled. “Wow. You are a big doggie. Got an owner around here?”

Marc wagged his tail and panted in a way he knew from experience looked to humans as if he was smiling. “Aw. Such a cutie. I’d pet you, but I don’t know if you’re friendly if I get up close or not.”

Still wagging and panting, Marc walked closer to the woman, who watched him warily, and then lay down right near her feet. He wasn’t going to miss out on getting some pets.

“Snowfrolic, what the hell are you doing?” Ken called from the alley.

Marc didn’t answer. His language sounded to humans like barking, and barking could startle or upset humans. Instead, he looked up at the human woman, still panting and wagging, with his eyes open as wide as he could get them.

“You’re very tame. I wonder if you were a service animal at some point,” the woman said, and reached down to his head, slowly and carefully. “You wanna sniff my hand?” Marc didn’t really, he wanted pets, but he obligingly sniffed her hand while still panting and wagging. Having gotten that introductory formality out of the way, the woman scritched his head, including behind his ears. Ah, bliss.

“Snowfrolic! What are you… no, never mind. I was going to ask what you were thinking, but it’s obvious that you weren’t,” Ken snarked.

“Wow. Another one of you. You guys look a lot alike; are you related?”

“Does she expect us to be able to answer her?” Marc asked quietly, which sounded to human ears more like a whine than a bark.

“You’re the one who decided it was a good idea to get petted by a human.”

The bus arrived. The young woman stood up. “Well, doggos, my bus is here, so I have to leave you now,” she said. The bus stopped, the door slid open, and the woman mounted the steps.

Marc followed right behind her.

“You can’t have your dogs on the bus unless they’re service animals,” the bus driver said.

“Uh… that’s not my dog. He was just waiting at the bus stop with me. I have no idea why he’s trying to get on the bus.”

“Lady, you’re not allowed to have a dog on the bus!”

“He’s not my dog!”

Marc squeezed under the woman, making her yelp as he slid between her legs and up the stairs, where he jumped onto an empty seat and started wagging and panting.

“Lady, if you don’t get the dog off the bus—”

“How am I supposed to do that? He has no collar and he’s not my dog. Do you really think he’s gonna – oof!” This was said as Ken squeezed past her, getting onto the bus as well. He sat down near Marc, looking downright morose. “Oh, shit, there’s two of them.”

“Just let the woman on the bus!” a person in the back yelled.

“Yeah, the dogs aren’t hurting anyone!”

“She said they weren’t her dogs!”

“They’re service dogs! I can tell!”

“Maybe someone called their service dogs on the phone and asked them to ride the bus to where they are!”

“That’s ridiculous, a dog can’t do that!”

“Sure it can! Dogs are amazing!”

“Uh, people, I think those are wolves…”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the driver said. “All right. Fine. Pay your fare and get on. But if those dogs get off at the same stop as you, I’m having you banned from the bus system.”

“Whatever,” the woman said angrily, mounting the stairs. She ostentatiously went all the way to the back of the bus, head held high, not even looking at Marc and Ken. As she passed them, she muttered, “Stupid dogs.”

“Uh, I kinda think we just proved we’re really smart,” Marc whispered to Ken in a tiny, quiet whine.

“I think we just proved no such thing,” Ken responded, a little too loudly, and it came out as a bit of a bark.

“Oh, look at them! It’s like they’re talking to each other!” an old lady chortled.

Ken’s ears flattened back. Marc recognized the sign of a wolf who was scared that his secret identity as a werewolf might be endangered, and shut up.

The bus drove onward on its route. Sometimes, when the bus stopped, people who had to go past Marc and Ken to get to the door shrank away from them, being elaborately careful not to go too near the “dogs”. Some unwisely petted them or even scritched them, and one man rubbed Marc’s cheeks. Marc tolerated it. Snapping at any of these humans was a great way to turn all the humans against them and get thrown off the bus, or handed over to Animal Control.

As soon as the buildings around them looked tall enough, and the pedestrians thick enough, to be a downtown area, Marc pressed the button with his entire muzzle, when just his nose didn’t do the job. “Did you see that?” someone said. “He hit the stop button!”

“Wow, those dogs are well trained!”

“They’re wolves…” the man who’d originally pointed out that they were wolves sighed.

The bus stopped, the doors opened, and Marc trotted down the stairs and out onto the street, followed by Ken. “Do you have any idea where we are?” Ken asked.

“Gimme a moment,” Marc said, watching the bus. The young lady from the bus stop did not get off with them. Good. This wasn’t her stop, so she wasn’t going to be forbidden to ride the bus. As the bus drove off, he turned back to Ken. “No idea, but I bet there’s a bakery around here somewhere! Or at least a fried chicken place.”

He started strolling down the street, drawing numerous comments. “Marc. We need to hide in an alley. People on the street around here are figuring out that we’re wolves.”

“How’m I gonna sniff out biscuits if we spend all our time in alleys?”

“How’re we going to find your biscuits if we have to run from the cops?”

Marc loped forward, ignoring how humans all around him yelled with startlement, or shrank back against buildings, or stared. He was definitely smelling food. Not biscuits, but where there was the scent of food, there might be restaurants, and where there were restaurants, there might be biscuits. “I’ve got a scent. I’m gonna track it.”

“Oh shit,” Ken said. “I don’t think you’re gonna.”

Marc turned his head to where Ken was staring, and saw a large white cargo van stopping in the middle of the street, its hazards on. The side door slid open and the passenger door banged open, and two men in white with rifles in their hands jumped out.

“We need to run!”

“Why? You know getting shot won’t kill us. You think they’ve got silver bullets?”

“Snowfrolic! Just move!”

Ken ran for the alley. After a moment, Marc followed him – until a bright stinging pain exploded in his right rear haunch. “Motherfucker!” he howled. “They shot me!”

“I told you!” Ken glanced at the wound. “Shit, that’s a tranq. They’ve got tranq guns! Move it!”

“Do those work on us?” Marc asked uncertainly, feeling wobbly. His leg hurt, and it wasn’t regenerating, because the tranq dart wasn’t out of the leg yet, but he had to run after Ken or they’d shoot him again.

“If they hit us with enough of them, yeah.” Ken skidded around a corner. As soon as Marc followed, Ken yanked the dart out of him with his teeth. “They’re following us. Move it!”

This time Marc didn’t argue. He and Ken wove in and out of alleys, pursued by the men with tranq guns, until they finally came upon a dead end – an alley that ended in a tall wire fence with brown plastic slats inserted into it to prevent anyone from seeing through it.

“They’re cornered! Stay back, watch out for them to charge!”

Ken and Marc, whose leg had healed, looked at each other. They both nodded. And then they turned toward the fence and used their werewolf strength to leap over it… landing in a dumpster on the other side.

“Shit! They jumped the fence!”

“Do we climb it?”

“Too slow! Go around, go around! Cut them off!”

Something under him smelled good. Marc started to pull at one of the black garbage bags he was sprawled out on.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… Snowfrolic. Biscuits?”

Oh yeah! Marc had been so enticed by the smell of the garbage, he’d almost forgotten his mission for a moment. “Right! Let’s get out of here!”

They jumped out of the dumpster and ran straight out of the alley they were in – into one of the guys with the tranq guns. “Shit!” Ken spun around and ran the other way, Marc following. Two tranq darts sailed after them, but didn’t hit.

There was a parking lot full of small trucks, folding tables, and tents. The smell of a variety of produce, and also, some scented soaps and candles, struck Marc’s nose. “Is that a farmer’s market?” he howled at Ken, and didn’t wait for an answer – he split off and ran into the parking lot, heading straight for a couple of hipsters holding hands. They shrieked and let go of each other to let Marc go racing through.

“Okay, great! The Animal Control guys can’t shoot at us if they’re risking hitting humans!” Ken followed Marc. More screaming ensued. The piercing shrieks of children, the high-powered cries of women, the deep terrified howls of men filled the air. Also, barking. Quite a lot of barking. Apparently many people had brought their dogs to the farmer’s market.

One of the guys in white had a weighted net. Marc saw it, saw him coming around the side of a truck that sold hot food, and made a decision. He angled himself directly for one of the tables selling produce, ducked under it – and then came up, fast and hard, before he was out from under it. This tipped the entire table over in the direction of his pursuer. Zucchini and tomatoes and apples and he really didn’t have time to notice what else went rolling across the pavement of the parking lot.

Ken joined him as they broke out the other side of the farmer’s market. “That was clever, with the vegetable table. Maybe you’re not a complete idiot.”

“I know, right? Every movie where there’s a chase scene on foot, a fruit cart ends up getting knocked over!”

Ken huffed. “I take it back, you’re every bit as dumb as I think you are.”

They ran down the nearest street. Touristy shop. Touristy shop. Fancy sandwich shop that did not smell like biscuits. Movie theater. Bookstore – wait, movie theater?

Marc opened his mouth, but Ken beat him to it. “Into the movie theater! Quick!”

They went through the spinning door. The ticket taker called out to empty air. “Hey! Dogs aren’t allowed! You gotta get your… the fuck? There’s nobody there!”

Since he was looking at the spinning door and not at the two wolves, Ken and Marc were able to slip past him. Ken pulled open the first movie theater door with his teeth, and he and Marc slunk in, hiding in the darkness.

There was some kind of very loud action scene going on, with car chases and bullets. Ken whined directly in Marc’s ear. “We can’t talk at all unless the movie’s being loud, and we have to whisper. That usher’ll be able to put two and two together if someone tells him there are dogs barking in one of the theaters.”

“Okay,” Marc whisper-whined back.

Movies were not that interesting when you were a wolf. The sounds didn’t have the depth that real life did – wolves could hear in ranges humans couldn’t, and humans only bothered to replicate the sounds they could hear. Wolf vision wasn’t really very good. And there were no smells. It was about as engaging as a cartoon from the 70’s with a low frame rate and lousy acting. Marc quickly grew bored of sitting quietly at the end of one of the rows, and padded over to the trash can.

“What are you—” The scene abruptly changed to a woman in a kitchen, much quieter than the explosions from the last scene, and Ken had to shut up. Marc stood on his hind legs. Jackpot! There was a large popcorn in there, one of those huge jobs movie theaters were famous for, barely eaten. He grabbed it with his teeth and carefully lifted it, stepping back, and lowering himself to the floor with a small enough jolt that most of the popcorn stayed in the tub.

He set it down at Ken’s feet. “Want some?” he whisper-whined.

Ken just glared at him, plainly not interested in popcorn. More for Marc, then. He shoved his face into the popcorn and gobbled as many of the buttery exploded kernels as he could fit in his mouth. They didn’t taste quite as good in wolf form as they would if he was human, but on the other hand, the smell was incredible and wonderful and mostly made up for it.

Now he was thirsty. The water fountain was unfortunately in the hallway outside the theater; there was no way a wolf could stand up and work the water fountain control lever and drink from a stream in midair without someone observing and realizing that went way beyond what a dog could be trained to do without supervision. He strolled back over to the garbage can and found what he was looking for – an almost full Pepsi, one of those super large ones.

Obviously he couldn’t drink from the straw. Wolf mouths wouldn’t do that. Just as obviously, he wasn’t going to be able to get it out of the garbage can with his teeth; it would spill everywhere, and then he wasn’t going to get to drink it. So he leaned into the trash can, carefully pried at the lid with teeth and tongue until he’d successfully pulled it off, and began lapping at the Pepsi.

The usher chose that moment to come back inside. Startled, Marc looked up at the man – more of a boy, really, a gangly teenager – as the light from the lobby of the theater shone through the door behind the usher, directly onto Marc. Who was a huge wolf on his back paws leaning on a trash can.

“AAAAAAAAAAH!” The boy turned around and ran for the door. “Fuck! Fuck! There’s a fucking wolf in Theater 3 getting into the trash can! Get Animal Control!”

This was not exactly quiet. Even over the sound of the movie’s action scene, theatergoers obviously heard it, because they all looked at each other, murmuring. “Did someone say—” “He said a wolf—” “Oh my god there it is!” This had to be them noticing Ken, as no one was positioned to see into the walkway from the theater door to the seating area, where the trashcan and therefore Marc was.

“They’re going to stampede! We need to get out of here!” Ken yelled.

“But I never got to drink my Pepsi!” Marc barked back.

“Take your Pepsi and shove it—” Ken described an activity that was technically possible for a wolf, but vastly easier for someone with opposable thumbs.

The barking set off the rest of the humans in the theater, filling the air with shrieks as they ran for the exits. Ken grabbed the scruff of Marc’s neck and dragged him toward the door out into the theater lobby.

“I knew there were goddamn dogs!” the ticket taker yelled as they ran out through the lobby.

The usher shouted back from somewhere, perhaps a back office, “They’re fucking wolves, Julio!”

Marc didn’t hear anything else, because he and Ken had just gotten themselves into the revolving door again.

Outside, they ran pell-mell down the street, trying to outrun any Animal Control officers that might be showing up. “I’m smelling biscuits!” Marc howled.

“Great, wonderful! I’ve got a plan, follow me!”

Oddly, Ken’s plan did not seem to be “follow the scent of biscuits”, but “follow a well-dressed middle-aged lady who was walking into a hotel.” Marc was willing to give Ken the benefit of the doubt, though; the mayor was a lot smarter than he was, so if Ken had a plan, it would be better than one of Marc’s plans… as long as it ended in biscuits.

The doorman glared at the woman. “Ma’am, this hotel doesn’t allow dogs.”

“Dogs?” The woman sounded completely puzzled. “What dogs?”

“The dogs behind you. The ones following you. Your dogs.”

She turned. Marc opened his eyes wide, panted in a way that looked like he was smiling, and wagged his tail.

“Those aren’t my dogs,” the woman said. “Are those even dogs? They’re huge, are you sure they’re not wolves?”

“I—I don’t—”

Ken barked at Marc. “Come on! We need to hide!”

Marc looked around the wide, open hotel lobby. “Where?”

“Follow me!”

So Marc did, his claws skittering and sliding uncomfortably on the polished floor. Ken shot past the elevators, drawing stares from various humans waiting for it, went around a pillar, and dove into a dim, partially enclosed area with a lot of tables covered with tablecloths. Ken went under a table, and Marc followed.

“So what’re we doing?” Marc whisper-whined. “This is a restaurant, right? Are there biscuits here?”

“There are no goddamn biscuits at a fancy hotel restaurant.”

“How do you know?”

Ken sighed a very human-sounding sigh. “Do I need to get you a goddamn menu to prove there are no biscuits?” he asked quietly.

“What, you can read a menu?”

“Yeah, if you get my glasses out of the pouch on my back.”

Marc stared. Somehow, this whole time, he had never noticed that Ken had a pouch strapped to his back. “…how did you get that thing on in the first place?”

“With difficulty.” Ken lay down. “Don’t break my glasses getting them out.”

Carefully Marc nosed the flap of the pouch up. When he had enough of it up that he could get the flap into his mouth, he pulled it open. It was Velcro, so it came easily. He managed, with difficulty, to get his paw into the pouch, where he managed to snag the glasses and pull them out. “How’re you gonna get these on your face?”

“Give me a moment.”

Ken stuck his head out from under the tablecloth, just a little bit. “You stay here,” he said, and then he bolted. A moment later, he was back, with a menu in his mouth. He dropped it on the floor under the table. “There’s not enough light under here, hold the tablecloth up with your nose.”

“Uh, okay, is that all right? Are we not worrying about getting caught anymore?”

“There is no one in this restaurant but the bartender and he’s not paying any attention.”

Marc obligingly held the tablecloth up, and thus had enough light to see Ken pick up his glasses off the floor like he had thumbs, using both his front paws. Ken set the glasses on his snout as Marc goggled at him, because wolves really could not do that, generally speaking. Then Ken peered down at the menu. “Okay. We have breakfast here. Waffles. Eggs. Sausage. Bacon.”

“Can we get some bacon? I’d love some bacon.”

“Focus, Snowfrolic. Fruit cup. On to lunch. Cold sandwiches: roast beef, BLT, club sandwich, reuben, turkey, ham, Italian cold cuts. Hot sandwiches: hamburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger with bacon, vegan patty, chicken patty. Entrees: not a biscuit, not a biscuit, this one’s not a biscuit either, can you just take my word for it there are no biscuits anywhere on this menu?”

“Then why are we here? You said you had a plan.”

“I do have a plan, I just needed people to stop yelling about the big dogs. The heat’s died down; I want you to walk, not run, behind me, calmly, and look as harmless and friendly as you can. Like we’re two dogs who are trained to run around and get stuff for our owner or something.”

“You’ve got a thing that looks like a harness with that pack on your back, but I don’t have one. I’m not gonna look like a service dog.”

“You’re not a service dog. You’re an emotional support dog.”

“I don’t need a harness for that?”

“Just stay calm. We’ll get you your biscuit.”

The two of them slunk out from under the table and started walking, calmly, down a hallway. “Mayor. Your glasses are still on!” Marc growled at Ken, low enough to make it hard for humans to hear.

“Shit. I don’t have time to take them off and put them away, and if I put them in my mouth I won’t be able to see through them,” Ken muttered. “All right, I’m just gonna brazen it out.”

They continued to walk calmly down the hallway. No one but a small child noticed the glasses. “Mommy, that dog is wearing glasses!”

Mommy, on her cell phone, said, “Oh really! Very interesting!” without looking at the wolves at all, and then continued her cell phone conversation.

Ken pulled a door open by the handle, with his teeth. “Good,” he said, his voice muffled by the handle in his mouth. “No people in here. C’mon.”

Marc followed him in. There was a computer on a table, next to a printer. “Block the door. We don’t want any humans coming in,” Ken said.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m writing you a note,” Ken said. He pulled the chair for the computer out, jumped into it, and sat in it wolf-style. With his right paw, he maneuvered a little thingy around – oh, right, they called that a mouse. Marc didn’t know why. It didn’t smell anything like a mouse.

“You’re what?”

“Writing. You. A. Note.” Ken started typing, supporting himself with his left paw while he delicately used the longest digit on his right paw to peck out a message on the keyboard. “Please. Give this dog. A bag. Of biscuits. In exchange for. This bill.”

“Is that what it says?”

“No, Marc, it says rubber baby buggy bumpers.”

“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.”

“What was your first clue?” Ken did something with the mouse again, and the printer whirred to life, a piece of paper slowly feeding out of it. “Now go back in my pack and get out my ten dollar bill.”

“You have money in there?”

“Just hurry up! While you’re away from the door getting the money out of my backpack, people could come in!”

Marc was pretty sure that if people shoved hard enough they could have gotten in even if he was leaning on the door; he was a big wolf, but a human had better leverage than he did. But there was no point in arguing with Ken about it. He stuck his paw in, felt around, and pulled a piece of paper out. “Is this your money?”

“Yeah. Okay, can you get the glasses back in?”

Marc considered the possibility of picking Ken’s glasses up with his mouth, and then tried to imagine how to get them into Ken’s backpack without breaking them, and came to the conclusion that it was not happening. “Nope.”

“Shit. Well, they’re readers, they’re cheap. I’ll get more from the drug store when I’m on two feet again.” Ken was for some reason sticking his tongue into a plastic dish full of little metal things, next to plastic dishes full of pens and plastic dishes full of rubber bands.

“What are you doing, Mayor?”

Ken glared at Marc, since with his tongue fully extended he could hardly talk. He withdrew his tongue. Oh, that was a paper clip! Marc recognized it now.

Using more dexterity in his paws than Marc could have imagined a wolf was capable of, Ken got the bill, the piece of paper that came out of the printer, and the paper clip together somehow, so that the bill and the paper were now clipped together. “Carry that in your mouth, but gently. Try not to slobber on it, we want humans to be able to read what it says.”

“I’m gonna have a hard time not getting slobber on something in my mouth, Mayor.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you have hands to carry it with, so you’ll have to make do.”

***

Outside, Marc picked up the trail of the biscuit smell again, and followed it down the street, Ken trotting behind him. They had to switch who was carrying the note, because all of that biscuit smell was making Marc salivate.

Marc traced the delicious smell to a glass window, which he pressed his face up against before realizing that he couldn’t actually go through the window that way. Ken pulled the door open with his teeth, which caused the note to fall down. Marc picked it up with his mouth, figuring that in the ten seconds it took him to get it to the counter, it couldn’t get too much slobber on it.

No one was at the counter. He dropped the note there. One of the bakers came out of the back, saw him do it, and stared. “Wow. You are a well-trained dog. Is that a ten dollar bill?”

Marc almost nodded, and then remembered not to do that because humans would freak out at the sight of a wolf nodding “yes” to their statement. Instead he made his eyes big, panted in a smile-like shape, and wagged his tail.

The baker picked up the note. “’Please give this dog a bag of biscuits in exchange for this bill.’ Oh, wow, someone trained you to go fetch them food! I wish my dog would do that.” She peeled the note away from the bill. “Ugh, dog slobber. Well, I guess there isn’t any other way for you to carry it, is there. But how about I give you a bag with handles, that way you don’t slobber on your owner’s biscuits.” She looked over at Ken. “Do you want some biscuits too?”

Ken whined and pawed at the door. “I guess not. You want me to let you out? How about I do that after I get your buddy the biscuits he came for?” She went into the back briefly, and came back with a tray of biscuits. “Fresh out of the ovens just fifteen minutes ago.” Marc had to resist the temptation to just grab one and run when she set it down on the counter and the smell wafted over to him. So close. So, so close to biscuit time.

The baker put several biscuits – more than Marc could count, but that didn’t prove much since he couldn’t count higher than five – into a plain white paper bag, and then put the bag into another bag, a shopping bag with handles that was made of a better, tougher quality of paper. Marc grabbed the handles with his teeth as the baker rang up the transaction, and put the change into a jar full of coins on the counter. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir!” she said, laughing. Ken shoved the door open, and he and Marc both trotted out of the bakery.

Within less than a minute, Marc was in the closest alleyway, hidden from casual human view. He dropped the biscuit bag on the ground, nosed into it, and pulled one of the crispy, flaky, buttery wonders out with his teeth. Biscuit time!

“Well?” Ken asked. “Was it worth all this?”

Marc chewed the biscuit thoughtfully, and then lowered his head, his ears going back a bit. “That’s disappointing. It doesn’t even taste very good.”

Ken’s ears flattened, he growled, and he crouched back in an obvious attack position, preparing to pounce. The body language was clear as day. Before Ken could jump him, Marc ran down the alley, leaving the rest of his not-very-good biscuits behind, as Ken chased him barking insults, curses and general imprecations the whole way.

[miy4bot]

peppermint

pairing: yaku x gn!reader;

genre: fluffy winter-ish fluff, safe for work, your child can read this;

warnings: kenma being a salty hoe, some swearing here and there, poor writing, 2 cool 2 beta test;

winter is cold, but a hot peppermint mocha can keep you warm 

a/n: idk what is this BUT n e ways mah boi mori needs more content 

15/01 

cherishing your friends is the most normal thing on earth, would think morisuke, twirling in his hands the lucky charm you gave him before the match with nohebi. after all, it’s a nice sign of support and faith that gave him a pretty big boost of confidence. an average reaction, yaku says with a nervous smile while looking away from kuroo. one thing tetsu knows about his friend for sure - he can’t lie to someone’s face. 

the evening started to fade out, replacing ruddy sunset with the haze of nightfall. all of nekoma’s members were already on their way home, minus one particular third-year libero, who was standing at the bus stop, checking his phone. tonight wasn’t such a big of a deal - after all, it’s been years since he started coming to your house and sleepovers were a casual event for you both.

ding 

[17:43] y/n: moriii

[17:44] y/n: where the f r u

[17:44] y/n: it’s cold

the moment he saw the display lighting up with your name on it, a warm feeling spread through his soul.

[17:44] mori: at the station 🙄

[17:45] mori: freezing my ass while waiting for you  

yaku, indeed, is quite a straightforward and a confident person - he never hesitates to give you his honest opinion on whatever the topic is. but since the day he caught himself thinking about you it was fairly difficult for him to express all the thoughts on his mind. and still, he’s sure you already caught up on that, right? you wouldn’t be so sweet and flirty with him otherwise. or are you just trying not to hurt his feelings? or… 

“morisuke!“ the cheerful expression on your face rapidly changes into a worried one. “why are you even standing? your ankle needs a rest, don’t you remember?“ 

gosh. yes, he does remember about the ankle. but he can’t control his hands reaching out for your bag, so you dodge him.  

“no, winner, you think i will let you do that?“ the nickname you gave him made his pale cheeks turn into a cherry-ish tone. Miyagi’s icy wind was doing its job.. yeah, the weather today was pretty chill. “i’ve got you the simpson biscuits.“ 

the sudden mention of that damn cookies makes a little giggle escape yaku’s mouth, following a burst of loud laughter. 

“thanks, i hate them.”

 29/01

something about mori’s presence never fails to make you feel safe and cozy. maybe those are the results of spending the past two years near him, maybe it’s just yaku himself, but god does it feel nice to curl your body into his while laying on a futon sofá. his steady heartbeat felt like a lullaby, mixing with background noises of “nightmare before christmas” and wind blowing outside. if someone saw this scene from the far without knowing you both, they would definitely think it’s a sappy couple’s pastime. thought, kai already thinks you’re a sappy couple. 

a starbucks cup of peppermint mocha with morisuke scribbled on it was cooling on the chabudai. 

your eyelids started to get heavy under the weight of accumulated fatigue and stress. the last thing you could sense was the light touch of the roughened fingertips on your thigh and soft kiss on the hairline. 

[1:23] ken: why did you leave the server 

[1:23] ken: dont tell me u r as lame as kuro and fell asleep

[1:27] mori: stfu you don’t even crop your memes fuck you 

[1:28] ken: stop babying ur boo and come back kei team is beating my ass 

[1:28] ken: im alone 

yaku audibly gasps at the “boo” and bite his lip, trying to calm down the urge to snap at kenma through voice messages. it’s not like he listens to them anyways.

[1:30] mori: they’re not my boo or wtv bleached loser

[1:30] ken: yaku idfc who they r just join already

his gaze glides over your body, stopping on the parted lips. datemate, huh? maybe it was something special going between you two. maybe not. you always left him with a bunch of unanswered questions and a blunted feeling of hope. yaku has no doubts about his libero skills, about his grades or how damn attractive he is, but social interactions weren’t exactly his strength, let alone romantic ones. the first and the last time mori overstepped his pride and asked for advice was two month ago in the discord group chat. let’s just say kuroo isn’t the best romantic advisor out of here.   

what will change if you actually start dating? 

ice crystals slowly began to melt in yaku’s hands as he formed a snowball. the clock showed it’s half past four of the evening, half an hour later than the time you both agreed to meet.

winter is mori’s favourite. the way his heated body collides against january cold, warm khaki parka his mom got him on his 16 birthday, snow angels and even KFC chicken he despises doesn’t taste so bad. you were supposed to go on a cute and cliché coffee-shop date, that nishinoya strongly recommended. it was still a mystery to morisuke how yuu found out about his little crush, but the idea of being able to sit down and look at you peacefully drinking hot drink while the snow covered the streets of tokyo seemed quite nice.

but yet, you are a sleepy head. 

and he knew it better than anyone else.

rubbing your eyes, you tried to focus your gaze on the phone’s display. it’s thursday. evening. the evening. your maybe date with yaku was supposed to happen like half an hour ago, if not more. and he’s probably waiting for you while freezing himself outside. abruptly getting up from the warmth of the bed and ignoring the darkness in eyes, you approach the window.

the moment you decided to get your head out and look up if he’s here, a sharp sensation of prickly frost burst your cheek. 

a fucking snowball?

staring blankly at your hand, you blink twice in disbelief. 

“good morning, y/n l/n, i hope you slept well” a loud voice cuts through the dead silence in your neighborhood. well, it definitely woke you up from your daydream, won’t lie.

briskly going down the stairs, meanwhile wrapping yourself in a warm and fluffy cardigan, you cursed yourself for being such a mess. oh gosh, how could you totally forget about such a thing? after getting so hyped about it and spending 3 hours choosing the clothes you would wear?

standing right in front of him feels awkward. as it should, you think, especially after making him wait for you for 30 minutes straight. trying to escape his curious look, probably because of your new pajamas, you sigh. 

“well, do you still wanna get something hot with me?” 

libero chuckles and the annoyance he was feeling not so long ago disappears. 

“bet.”

taglist: @oof-she-needs-therapy @ennoshitasimp​ 

[let-it-raines]

What a Wicked Game {13/15}

Killian met her in a pub on a rainy night in March. Going inside was only supposed to be a way for him to avoid the rain and fight off the demons in his head. It was a place for him to pass through, not stay. But then he was charmed by a blonde woman with a quick wit who had absolutely no interest in him or who he was.

That was a first. It was also the beginning of Emma Nolan helping to bring him back to life. It was the beginning of everything.

Five years later, with their worlds crumbling around them, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the end of the peace they have known now that his family knows about his relationship. It wouldn’t be a problem if his father wasn’t the King of England.

rating: mature

a/n: thanks to @captainswanbigbang​ for making this possible, to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for being the best cheerleader/proofreader, and to @captainsjedi​ for making me beautiful artwork and also being a wonderful cheerleader!

This is the last *official* chapter. The next two are epilogues to honor the original story and it’s epic crazy epilogue. 💕

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 

-/-

November 10th, 2018

Elsa gives birth to a girl.

It happens quickly, a quarter past five on the morning on November tenth, and the text wakes Killian from his slumber to find a picture of Elsa holding a small, red-faced child named Elizabeth.

Princess Elizabeth Amelia Zara Jones.

Lizzie.

“She’s beautiful,” Emma whispers over Alex’s head as his small limbs kick into Killian’s stomach like they’ve been doing since he was dropped off last night by frenzied parents.

“She looks demonic right now.”

“Stop,” Emma hisses with a roll of her eyes. “All babies are the most gorgeous creatures on the planet. You’re not supposed to point out that they can look demonic and be unattractive.”

“If it’s not my child and I’m not saying it to the parents, I can say whatever the hell I want.”

“And if it is your child?”

Killian reaches his hand over to tug on Emma’s waist, pulling her closer to him so that her freezing feet tuck between his calves and they won’t wake Alex with their whispering. “Now, Swan, we’ve talked about this. We’re just practicing with our naked sleepovers. No babies are going to be involved.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Not right now,” Emma huffs, but he can see her smile. “Can you believe Elsa and Liam have another baby?”

“Aye. Known it would be happening for awhile now. Elsa’s ever burgeoning stomach gave me a few clues.”

If she didn’t have a toddler between the two of them, he knows that she’d slap his shoulder over his cheekiness and maybe a little bit to get back at him for accidentally slapping her earlier. Instead she reaches across Alex and cups Killian’s cheek, thumb running across the bone.

“Do you remember the night you told me Elsa was pregnant again?”

He does. He remembers how distraught he was over thoughts of this child growing up in the same way he had. He’d shown up at the pub a complete mess and tried to get Emma into bed instead of talking through what was bothering him. But she’d known him so well, knows him so well, and made him talk about what was bothering him instead of drowning himself in her and in alcohol.

That was only six months ago, and his world has flipped on its head several times since. It’s so much that he barely knows what to do with any of it. Really, all he knows is that he’ll never have to worry about Liam treating Lizzie in a different way than how he treats Alex. Brennan will never understand or realize how awful he is and how backward his mindset can be, but that won’t truly matter. Not when Alex and Lizzie have incredible parents who aren’t going to fall into the trap that this family seems to keep falling for.

Not when they’re going to change everything about this family so that future generations will never go through what they’ve been through.

Emma. All of this is because of Emma.

She’s changed his world.

(And is changing a monarchy.)

“Yes,” Killian whispers back to her.

“So much has changed since then. Everything really. You and your family are an actual family, babe. A family with issues and that one awful relative that we’ll pretend doesn’t exist, but there’s also so much love. It’s amazing.”

“It’s all because of you, Emma.”

She laughs, so quiet so as not to disturb Alex in this hushed conversation, and he knows she’s going to brush it all off.

“I mean, I was at the root of some knock down drag out fights, so I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would.”

“Killian, if the relationship you have with Liam is better, that’s all you. You fought for what you deserved, no matter how hard it was, and I’d like to think that you’ve got a winning strategy.”

Except for with his father…

But no matter, this woman next to him with red pillow crease lines on her cheeks and tangles in his hair continues to change his life, and if it wasn’t for Alex between them and the day he knows he has ahead of him, Killian would get the engagement ring out of his shoe in the closet and ask her to marry him right now.

Having that ring made while they were broken up was the most idiotic idea, but he thinks much like Emma and her lightning bolt tattoo, a part of him knew that it would all be okay.

Best stupid decision he’s ever made.

“I love you. I think I might love you too much”

And it’s true. As sentimental and slightly vomit-inducing as it might be to some, he does love her so much that his chest pangs.

He loves her not simply because she is beautiful and a light in his life who makes him laugh even when he doesn’t know how anymore. He loves her for the way that she enjoys watching stand-up comedy even when it’s bad and stops her runs to dance along to the music playing through her speakers. He loves that she is kind to others and compassionate about those who she cares for, and he loves the energy she brings to her own life. He loves her not for what she does for him but for who she is. She’s Emma, a mess of good and bad qualities.

She’s brilliant in a multitude of ways.

And she’s here and not going anywhere. He’s not going anywhere either. It’s a constant reminder between the two of them, something they both need to hear, but Killian knows deep in his belly that they’re not going to go through another separation again.

Will they have other shit to deal with? Of course. But they’re doing it together.

“Not possible,” Emma murmurs before kissing his nose. “I love you, too. I’m glad you won’t call our babies ugly even if you think they are.”

Killian laughs loud enough this time that Alex stirs between them and groggily opens his blue eyes, looking between he and Emma. He stretches his arms above his head and kicks Killian’s stomach before turning into Emma and wrapping himself into Emma like the little traitor he is.

“Emmy,” he giggles, pressing wet kisses over Emma’s face. “Emmy is here.”

“Yeah, buddy, I am. How do you feel about going to take a bath? You and Killian need one before we go visit your new sister.”

“Noooo.”

“Yes,” Emma confirms, squeezing onto Alex and scrunching up her nose. “Especially Killian. He’s smelly.”

“Oi,” Killian scoffs. Every kind thought he had about this woman has disappeared in that exact moment, but he can’t wipe the smile off his face. It’s been a good morning. A good few weeks really. “I’ll have you know I bathe quite frequently thank you very much.”

“Then you’ll have no problem taking a bath right now.”

-/-

Emma is visibly nervous when they arrive at the hospital and are surrounded by people, fans and photographers alike. Her leg tapping up and down is shaking the entire car, but she doesn’t say anything in protest to getting out. When he asks if she wants to stay inside, she shakes her head and turns in the backseat to unbuckle Alex from his car seat before exiting the car to a loud clamor of voices.

The press have a field day seeing Alex walking into the hospital holding Emma’s hand, all of them calling out questions and trying to get Alex to pose or wave for the cameras. When Emma picks him up, resting him on her hip and telling him to wave, he happily complies as long as Emma waves with him.

Good. That’s a good start.

As they’re nearing the stairs a photographer yells out, “Emma, why is Prince Alexander walking with you and not Killian?”

Killian thinks Emma won’t answer. Her relationship with the press is abysmal as best. It was like that before the accident, but ever since, she’s hated them even more. He has too. All of the ones here today may be here to celebrate the birth of a new member of his family and may not mean any harm, but it’s easy to clump them all into one category.

They could have killed the woman he loves all over a picture, and Killian will never forgive anyone for that – not the press, not August Booth, no matter any of their motivations. If the three of them were able to go inside today in a different entrance, there would be no question as to how they would enter the hospital. At least no one is asking about the bloody breakup. That’s been a constant topic every time he’s stepped out into public lately.

Small wins and all.

“To tell you the truth,” Emma begins, shifting Alex on her hip. She’s talking to the people, the ones who aren’t holding professional cameras and microphones, and that makes a bit more sense to Killian. “Alexander here is always telling me that he loves his Emmy more than he loves his Uncle Killian because I know where we keep the good cookies…I mean, biscuits. Still getting used to the change in vernacular no matter how long I’ve lived here. That one will always throw me off.”

“Biscuits,” Alex joins in, raising his hands in the air and then rubbing his belly, causing the reporters and the crowd to roar in their laughter.

“Killian can’t give them to him because we hide the biscuits from him. He’s got a bit of a sweet tooth, you know.”

“Well, that’s why I love you, darling,” Killian teases. “Because you’re so sweet.”

“He’s also apparently got a thing for cheese,” she tells the crowd, throwing a wink at him. And he should have known that she would tease him when given the opportunity. Her heart has to be hammering in her discomfort, but she’s trying her best to be a part of his world.

There are parts of him that are still so fucking livid that he doesn’t know how to function seeing the flashes and hearing the clicks of the cameras, but he knows that he can’t do anything about it. At least not now. Right now all he has to worry about is making sure that Emma and Alex are safe.

Killian leans down to give her a quick peck, making Alex cover his eyes with his hands like he does nearly every time, and he can hear the laughter mixed in with the clicks of the shutters on the cameras. Some will be mad that Emma came with him to the hospital, but those without a stick up their ass will see the moment as a simple every day, family moment. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and if they have something to say, every press privilege for an official will be revoked in the snap of his fingers. He’s glad she’s here. Always.

After making a few more pleasantries and waving goodbye, the three of them are ushered inside by Graham, who is almost scarily professional while working. The man is an old friend and Ruby’s boyfriend, but no one would ever know that for the job he does.

Good.

They can be mates at dinner or when he’s off duty. For now, Killian wants the assured protection for his loved ones.

“My boy,” Liam greets once they’re in the maternity ward and away from most prying eyes. “I have missed you.”

“Papa,” Alex squeals, squirming out of Emma’s arms to run to his dad and be swooped up into his arms for a bracing hug. “Emmy gave me biscuit.”

“For breakfast? That’s nutritional.”

Emma huffs and crosses her arms over her chest even as Liam walks toward her and brushes his lips over her cheek. “He had oatmeal for breakfast. We just happened to be talking about biscuits outside. How’s Elsa?”

“Tired, happy, wonderful,” Liam laughs with genuine joy, eyes reddened from lack of sleep and tears of joy. “She just woke up from a nap to feed Lizzie, and I know she’s chuffed to see you all.” Liam turns his attention to Alex now. “Are you ready to meet your new sister?”

“She’s here?” Alex gasps. “Not in tummy?”

Killian chuckles and shakes his head. They went over this on the ride here and this morning, but the concept might be too big for a toddler to understand.

“She’s here, Alex, and I know that Mummy is ready to see you again. She’s missed you.”

Liam starts to walk away, Killian walking with him, but then he notices that Emma hasn’t moved from her spot, and Killian makes some half-assed excuse about letting Liam take Alex to see the lad first and that they’ll join them later.

“Hey,” he says to Emma, cocking his head to the side, “what are you doing? Don’t you want to go see Elsa and Lizzie?”

“I just...I need a moment.”

Killian arches a brow, but she doesn’t see it. Instead, she closes her eyes and leans back against the wall, her chest visibly heaving.

“Tomorrow or in a few hours or at some point in time,” Emma whispers, eyes still closed, “Elsa is going to walk out that door in heels and a pretty dress with a newborn in her arms and be photographed within an inch of her life. She’s still going to be wearing a damn diaper under a five-thousand-dollar dress, and I...I…shit. The people don’t scare me, but the press does. I flinch at the sounds of the cameras, am constantly worried that someone else is going to chase me or want something from me and I - ”

Emma opens her eyes, the green watery. He’s got no idea what’s happening, and he feels like he should.

He knew she was nervous when they were in the car, that it was a big deal for her to come with them today, but he foolishly thought she’d made it through the experience unscathed.

“I know that it’s an adjustment,” she continues, “and I’m only just learning, but I...if we have kids, I don’t want them on display like that. I don’t want myself on display. I don’t want to disrespect your customs and traditions, but I also want to respect myself and our kids. They shouldn’t have to be terrified of the click of a camera like I am right now.”

“Emma - ”

“I’m fine,” she sniffles, wiping her eyes. “I really am. That was just a lot outside, and I’m tired and I wanted to let you know how I’m feeling because that’s something we’re working on. I - ”

Killian steps forward and tucks her hair behind her ears, swiping his thumb across her cheeks to wipe away the little flecks of mascara. “It’s a process, my love, and if you think I’m not still fucking angry over what happened to you, you’re wrong. I’m livid. It’s not going to be something either of us get over in a blink of an eye or possibly ever, but I will do everything in my power to protect you and these hypothetical children and dogs or cats or even lizards.”

“Lizards?”

“They’ll get their own security guard too.” Emma laughs and leans forward into him until her face is buried in his shoulder. “I’d go to the end of the world for you. Every damn day.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“I try.” Killian rubs his hand over her back and kisses the side of her head. “Thank you for sharing what was going through that head of yours.”

“Thank you for not making me feel like I’m crazy.”

“I’ve given you a pass on that for today.” Emma huffs into his shoulder, and he kisses her hair again. “Are you ready to go into the hospital room now or do you need more time?”

“I think I can handle going to see that ugly baby you were talking about earlier.”

“Please don’t tell them I said that. I did not call Lizzie ugly.”

“It was implied.”

Emma gasps when Killian lightly taps her ass, but he doesn’t get to see the look on her face since he’s quickly walking ahead of her toward Elsa’s hospital room. She catches up, slapping his shoulder before hooking her arm around his and holding onto his elbow.

When they walk into the hospital room, Elsa is sitting in the bed wrapped up in a robe with her hair in a bun, and she’s holding both Lizzie and Alex while Liam sits at the edge and quietly talks to all of them. Killian feels like they’re intruding on a moment, like this isn’t meant for him and Emma.

His brother is a good but broken man, and Killian is happy for him. For all of them.

“They look so happy,” Emma whispers in his ear before placing her head on his shoulder.

“Aye,” he agrees. “I think they are.”

“Would either of you like to hold her?” Elsa asks them, waving them into the room even though Killian thinks they might need to slink away to give them privacy.

“Can I?” Emma asks, voice small as if she wasn’t just directly asked.

“Of course you can,” Elsa answers, motioning for Emma to come closer. She carefully hands Elizabeth over to Emma, the both of them cradling Lizzie’s head. “She’s wavering in and out of sleep.”

“Oh, she’s so beautiful, Elsa,” Emma compliments, running her finger over the covered swaddle of Elizabeth, before tacking on, “and Liam. I guess you possibly had something to do with this, though I think she’s likely to get all of her good looks from other members of the family.”

Liam laughs, actually laughs at Emma’s tease, white teeth flashing in an exuberant smile that Killian has rarely seen in his life.

Well, he’s seen it lately. A lot actually. But he’s not accustomed to any of this yet.

His brother is his friend and is capable of joking with Emma. It’s pretty much some kind of miracle even if he knows it’s through a hell of a lot of hard work and tough conversations.

If he looks back too quickly, Killian will get whiplash.

“I think that sounds about right,” Liam chuckles, moving over to stand next to Killian and throwing his arm over Killian’s shoulder. “You best hope your children get their looks from you and not this one here.”

Emma’s face flushes red, but she doesn’t say anything back, just shoots Killian a timid smile and mouths “he’s right” to Killian. She throws in a wink just for extra emphasis. Killian is hit with a sense of want – want to have children, want to have those children with Emma, and want for those children to look just like her – that he has to stifle, just winking right back in response.

They’re not ready. They can talk all about future plans and wants for that time, but they’re not ready. They’re still so young, and they have all of the time in the world to figure things out. They’ve just gotten back, and he doesn’t want to rush anything.

But it’s undeniable how incredibly, stupidly jealous he feels of Liam for getting all of this.

Is it possible to be genuinely thrilled for someone and jealous all the same?

Elizabeth starts fussing in Emma’s arm, a slow cry that’s only going to get bigger, and he watches Emma hand the baby back to Elsa and sit down on the bed to talk to Alex, who is absolutely enraptured with his sister. Killian wonders just how long that’s going to last before Alex is absolutely cross with all of the attention Lizzie will be getting.

“She’s doing so well,” Liam says suddenly, arm falling from Killian’s shoulder.

“Elsa? Yeah, she seems to be doing great, the tough lass she is. I’ve never quite understood how women are able to give birth.”

Liam just chuckles, shaking his head. “Brother, when a man loves a woman - ”

Killian gently slaps his brother’s shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do. I can’t quite understand it myself. I think they might be magical. And Elsa is incredible, bloody amazing really. I’m forever in awe of her. It’s just that I was talking about Emma. It takes a strong woman to stay with the two of us despite our lives, and we’ve found some of the good ones. I’m sorry for everything before. I can’t say that enough.”

Killian doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to deal with hearing everything he’s ever wanted to hear from his brother yet again, so he redirects the conversation. “So a little lass, huh?”

“I’m already out of my league.”

“You’ve been batting out of your league for your entire life, brother.”

Liam barks out another laugh. “Was that a baseball term? Have you ever seen a baseball game?”

“I’m dating an American whose father is obsessed with baseball, so I think you can fill in the blanks.”

Killian doesn’t want to intrude on Liam and Elsa, knowing just how exhausted Elsa has to be and how special this time is, but then Liam is asking if Killian and Emma would like to stay with her while he takes Alex home to be with his nanny and to keep his schedule from deviating too much. They insist that they can watch him for the day, but Liam and Elsa both would rather him be home and don’t want to burden the two of them.

It’s not a burden at all.

But that’s how Killian ends up holding Lizzie as she sleeps, little sputtering noises escaping her lips. She doesn’t at all look like a little red demon now, and he was wrong to have said that earlier. He thinks they’ll be rather good mates.

“I think she likes you,” Emma whispers, trying not to wake Lizzie or Elsa.

“Well, I’ve been told that the hair all over my body makes me comfortable to sleep on.”

“Whoever said that is brilliant.”

“Aye, I think so.”

“Do you think we should put her in the bassinet?”

“I’m scared that if I move it’ll disturb her.”

“It won’t,” Elsa mumbles, still mostly asleep.

He and Emma both quietly snicker, and carefully, Killian stands from the couch and walks to the small rolling bassinet, placing Lizzie down. She doesn’t startle or wake up, and he takes it as a win.

“I’m going to go get some tea or coffee, love. Do you want something?”

“Coffee. See if you can charm a nurse to get you the good stuff instead of the ones at those stations outside.”

Killian winks. “I’ll try.”

When he walks outside the hospital room door, he nods his head in acknowledgment to Elsa’s security and his own, telling Graham that he’s going in search for coffee, and Graham directs him to a small coffee and tea station around the corner. It’s exactly the bitter stuff he didn’t want, but since he doesn’t see any nurses or doctors to charm into letting him use the good pots in their lounges, this will likely have to do.

He got so little sleep last night that he’ll take anything with caffeine to bring a little life back into his eyes and his body.

Just as Emma’s disposable cup is filling with bitter coffee he knows she won’t drink without copious amounts of creamer, there’s the sound of doors opening and the loud clatter of footsteps moving down the hall.

It’s his parents and their security.

Shit.

He didn’t think they’d come for a few more hours.

“Killian,” Allison blushes, her smile growing in size as she scurries through the hallway to embrace him, her frame so small in his. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Aye, Emma and I brought Alexander to see his sister and mum a few hours ago and have been keeping Elsa company while Liam takes Alex home.”

“Well, that is a wonderful surprise. We knew Alex and Liam had gone home for a bit, but I didn’t know you were here. I can’t wait to see my new grandchild.”

Killian pats his mum’s back before pulling back and kissing her cheek. “She can’t wait to see you. Why don’t you go on to the room? I want to speak to Dad for a moment.” Allison raises her brows. “I’ll be fine. Go meet your new granddaughter.”

Allison nods and steps away from him, and Brennan begins to do the same until Killian places his hand on his chest and keeps him from walking down the hallway.

“Do you need something?”

Killian swallows and sets his shoulders back before directly looking in his father’s eyes, ones he’s never seen show kindness to him, ones he doesn’t expect to.

At this point, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t need that. He’s not looking for the approval of this man.

“I’m going to say this one last time,” Killian begins, clenching his jaw to keep himself as steady as possible, “and if you don’t listen, I will go through with every word  I’ve ever said about exposing you and ruining that pretty image you like to keep up.”

Brennan’s jaw clenches, but his age shows on his face instead of his anger. “You’re my son. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“There are hundreds of people out there, each of them with a camera on their phone. That doesn’t even take into account the news outlets. In less than two minutes, I can ruin you. Do you understand that?”

Brennan blinks and looks away before turning back to face Killian, no emotion on his face. It must be from years of practicing or possibly years of uncaring. “Go on then.”

“I’m marrying Emma. I don’t know when, but I am. When that time comes, you will sign every necessary piece of paper and approve every detail of the wedding. You will lie and say that you’re happy for me because it’s good for your image, and you will not fight with us behind the scenes. You don’t have to like me or Emma, but you will not continue to cut her down. I won’t let you, Liam won’t let you, and I can guarantee that Mum won’t have it anymore.”

“Anything else you’d like to command of me today or are you done asking for things I don’t have to grant you?”

Bastard.

His father is a bastard, but Killian is in this now. He’s not backing out now.

He’s not losing Emma again.

“Emma will get a full team of security protection under your personal pay until we’re married and she can legally have the same arrangements as the rest of us, you’ll agree to cut off any press from official events if they try to slander or attack her again, and you will release statements to have her protected so she doesn’t almost fucking die again. She could have died because people wanted a picture of her, and I will not stand for that again. These aren’t negotiations. These are demands. Any kind of protection Elsa has, Emma will have as well, whether we’re married or not.”

“How do you - ”

“No negotiations,” Killian repeats, refusing to back away from his father. “I’m happy to help set all of this in motion for you if you need me to. I’ve been working on a few things. I’ll send them to your office tomorrow.”

When Brennan doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move from his sport, Killian raises his brows and inches closer. “Do you understand? Stepping out of line will have repercussions for you, and threatening me will do you no good. I’m willing to step away from the cushions of this life. I’m not dependent on the coin purse and the good publicity. You are.”

“None of this is going to be pretty for you. The public will continue to despise her and think that everything she does is wrong. Every misstep will be magnified, and your popularity will plummet.”

Killian scoffs and shakes his head. This man is never going to get it. “The beauty of the whole thing is that I don’t fucking care about any of that. I am going to choose Emma every time. I’ve never loved this lifestyle or craved the approval of the press like you. I’ve never wanted any of this. I respect the history of our family, and I can guarantee that Emma and I will do our best to honor that. However, we’re forging our own path with our own family, and if I end up having to leave this family later for Emma’s well-being, there won’t be a second thought to it. Now go greet your new granddaughter. I hope she never has to know what a bastard you are.”

Brennan nods his head before quickly stepping away and storming down the hallway, the swinging doors quickly closing behind him with his security following after him. Killian needs a moment to breathe, to calm himself, because there’s a pretty good chance he could vomit right now.

That has to work.

That has to be the final time. That has to be the nail in the coffin and the thing that gets them moving forward. He can’t move backwards. He can’t.

They can’t.

Moving forward and moving on to something real and concrete is what he needs, what Emma needs too, and that has to work. Getting knocked down on his ass again isn’t an option.

Emma getting hurt again isn’t an option.

May his father have one modicum of decency. Or really, may he be so damn scared of losing public favor that he complies. That’s Killian’s ace up his sleeve, and God, he hopes it works.

(It’s going to.)

“You having trouble working the coffee machine?”

Killian huffs and turns his head to look down the hallway to see Emma walking toward him. “No, I think I’ve got it figured out, but I believe the coffee I made for you may be cold by now.”

“Guess you’ll have to make me a new one then.”

“Guess I will.” Killian opens his arms, and Emma walks right into them until she’s nuzzled into his chest and his chin is resting on her head. “Did you see my Father?”

“I did.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“There was a slight nod.”

“Of course,” Killian scoffs, rubbing his hands up and down her back as she does the same to him. “I just gave him an ultimatum, finally, and God, Emma, I hope that it works.”

“Me too. We’re going to be okay. I don’t know how, exactly...I just know, okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head, I know that too.”

They only linger in the hallways long enough to fix one new cup of coffee before a nurse rounds the corner and offers to take them to the lounge where they have the good coffee and tea. He didn’t even have to charm someone to get the stuff that wasn’t going to be acid in his stomach, and he’s thankful for small miracles.

He’s also thankful for Emma. She has every right to be angry or closed off or even nervous as hell when they go back to the hospital room where his parents are. She’s not making some herculean effort to make conversation with his dad, but she’s also not letting him push her into a corner where she can’t enjoy being around people she loves.

Killian’s been learning to do that his entire life. Emma has nearly perfected it in a few months.

Emma nudges his shoulder, and he looks down to see a napkin in his lap. God, he’s missed passing napkin scribblings back and forth with each other. He’s got a box full of them somewhere in his apartment.

Your mom has been looking over at us with “please fuck and give me grandchildren” eyes for the past ten minutes.

He snickers and leans in to whisper in Emma’s ear. “I’m sure there’s somewhere around her where we could get that done.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You’re the one who said my mum was thinking about us fucking.” Killian brushes his lips over the shell of Emma’s ear, flicking his tongue so that goosebumps rise over her skin. “Would you like to go home now?”

“I would.”

Killian tucks the napkin in his back pocket and stands from the couch, holding his hand out to Emma behind him. They say their goodbyes, both of them kissing Elsa’s cheeks and running their finger over Lizzie’s stomach, before telling his mum not to hog the baby for too long. It takes far longer than it should for them to take their leave, but eventually they’re walking back to the entrance of the hospital with Graham in front of them.

“Every time this door opens for the next two days, all of these people are going to think it’s Elsa stepping out. There’s going to be shouting and photographers. Can you handle that?”

“I know,” Emma tells him. “And I can.”

Emma threads her fingers between his, her palm as warm and soft as always, Killian sucks in a deep breath, and he hears Emma do the same. “You ready to go, my love?”

She squeezes his hand, the tightness lingering a second too long, and answers, “I’m ready.”

-/-

-/-

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