#best newspaper for tender notice ad

[newspaper-advertisement]

Book a newspaper tender advertisement and get the best bids!

[chinolondoner]

Author looking for readers

I'm not sure of the best way of getting people interested in the work of an unknown writer...

Plopped down in the middle of a tropical, Latin American setting, Lullaby for Bishop is set to be a hard-boiled detective series with four main characters: a veteran private investigator in the twilight of his career; a muscle-bound professional wrestler fulfilling one of his pivotal, childhood ambitions of solving strange and wild mysterious; as well as a pair of rumbunctious, teenage, high school girls constantly causing a scene and tagging along for the thrills.

You can preview the first half of chapter one further down below and catch up on the remainder, along with the totality of chapters two and three, all completely for free if you visit my Patreon. It's going to be a little while before this first book in the series is actually finished and officially published, but I feel the smarter move would be to try and elevate as much of a buzz for the featured world and characters before then as possible. I also plan to put out additional pre-release chapters in the near future (likely three at a time). If I have somehow managed not to bore you and you're still eagerly reading, then I do hope you enjoy the launching meta in this tender work in progress and stick around for future updates. Thank you for your interest!

---

Chapter One

Nervously, Donny Boy had begun rubbing his fingers on the back of his neck, seated patiently a narrow foot away from the front of the desk while waiting for our bastard detective to stumble back into his office, suddenly realizing that the price tag had not yet been plucked away or removed from the fanciful hat he was wearing and was still dangling off the rounded edge of the brim.

Looking around the room for a trash bin he could use, Donny Boy's eyes gradually panned across the office, taking note of a few of the usual mosquitoes left splattered on the frosted, scarlet-lettered glass on the door. Dizzying groves of zigzagged patterns tying in the décor on the wallpaper, he spotted an old, unused desk tucked-away in the far, opposite corner of the room, heavy with dust and weighed down by sprawling stacks of postcards and unrecycled newspapers.

His wandering eyes glancing up the rearing rays of shattered sunlight filling in through the narrow, broken blinds on the window, Donny Boy had noticed the row of fancy kettlebells neatly arranged across a flat and sturdy, iron bench scooted against the wall, a dirty, rolled-up yoga mat, along with this stationary, exercise bike for the purposes of one's daily, cardio workout.

Looking up at the rougher dust build up over the years along the edges of the blades on the ceiling fan, Donny Boy was suddenly lured back from his current distractions after Detective Howl Bishop slid back into his office, tossing a used washrag onto his desk after wiping his face and smelling of minty, nicotine gum and aftershave.

“So, what do I call you, kid?” Howl had asked while taking a seat in his chair behind his desk.

“Don should be perfect. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to call me Donny Boy.”

“Donny Boy, huh?” Howl fought against his urges to fidget with a stack of papers in his drawer. “Sounds good to me, kid. So… are you some sort of circus performer or something?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean…”

“Your arms… They're freaking huge!”

“Oh… Yeah… I do struggle at times finding clothes that can fit me properly. Also, I wasn't really sure whether or not I should've worn a suit jacket.”

“Yes…” Howl would peek over the top of his desk and study Donny Boy up and down, a salient tone of fascination in his voice. “You really are quite the physical specimen, aren't you?”

“I suppose I do enjoy a good workout,” Donny Boy replied, a little bit bashful.

“You do have a basic understanding of the type of job you're here applying for today, don't you?” Howl asked.

“I believe so… The ads in the newspaper said Experienced private investigator in search of young and capable partner…”

“That's right. And being a private eye, it's important to have a plethora of tools at your modest disposal. One of those tools being the ability to effortlessly mesh into your surroundings. It's important not to stand out too much when in a public crowd or when casually photographing somebody's license plate from across the road. At the moment, I'm having some doubts on that possibly being a strong suit of yours given your current… how should I say… physique.”

“Oh… Well, to be completely honest with you, Mr. Bishop, I haven't even paused to consider that as a possibility.”

“Yeah, well, thinking a few steps ahead is also an invaluable tool to have.”

With more than a quarter of a century of busy detective work under his belt, his hair having grown white as Winter's ashes and the once buoyant Spring in his footsteps having lost some of its feather throughout the years, Howl Bishop was originally from the lands of sunny, Southern California, born on a weekday in a rushed and overcrowded hospital in the blighted city of Los Angeles.

Brought up in a bohemian household, Howl's anxious mother was a failed, Hollywood actress turned “new-age” healer and father was a meddling screenwriter that had spent more of his time obsessing over the quality of the ink in his typewriter than ever inundating his children with any orderly grants of wisdom.

Standing at six-foot even in height, a strong, conquering jaw and with an even tan across his arms and facial features, Howl was one of the many foreign expats sailing over from the States in purge of more permanent roots in Pan de Leones. Old, brown, leather belt holding up his wide, beige-colored slacks, Howl always wore floral, Hawaiian shirts when in settled eye of the public, mixtures of white and pink and with a couple of loose buttons up toward the collar.

With his sharp, Anglo features and light attire, it was entirely common to mistake Howl Bishop for a possible tourist visiting Latin America for the first time, sightseeing across the country and falling for obvious scams at the nearby market. That is, of course, until one caught an initial glimpse of Howl's encyclopedic knowledge of the city's urban layout and sprawling geography, along with his ease of verbal fluency when communicating in Spanish, often conversating with local barkeeps and store merchants on objects ranging from the wise and esoteric to the lurched, mind-numbing, and trivial.

“I would like to procure a general gauge on how comfortable you might be interacting with the more unsavory avenues of human society,” Howl would lean back into his seat and ask, clamping his hands together and placing his palms over his stomach.

“Could you be more specific?”

“In such line of work, one all too often will find themselves having to calmly intermingle with unrested eyes of broken glass and scoundrels. Do you possess any real-world experience dealing with scum and the morally compromised?”

“Uhm…” Donny Boy appeared curtailed by Howl's question, unsure of how to respond. “I once dated a girl that refused to pay off her parking tickets,” he said.

Without managing to reply, Howl simply stared in confusion from his seat across the desk, reevaluating his initial impressions on the kid. Then, squinting his eyelids a little, he felt inclined to change the current subject and asked, “I don't mean to suddenly swerve off topic, but… have we met before?”

“What?”

“Well, I'm looking at your face, right now, and… I can't help but get the feeling that this isn't the first time that we've been in the same room. Do we know each other?”

“I do not believe we have ever met, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy was quick to point out in response, laughing out loud a little to himself while nervously shuffling around in his seat. “I've always done alright remembering faces and my mother had always told me it was rude to forget someone's name.”

“Hmm… I guess in my advanced age, my average perception of things has grown a bit muddy. I suppose I simply must be confusing you for somebody else.”

Wide, rugged shoulders, preposterous arms, and with a large, outward, and muscular chest, Donny Boy was young and handsome and had shaded, bronze-colored skin. His lightly brushed hair was a wild, sunflower-blonde of which he maintained in perfect tinge and kept the darker shadows of his roots regularly dyed. Along with the fancy, finely tailored fedora resting on his head, the crumpled price tag of which he had just recently stuffed into his pocket, Donny Boy wore a normal pair of rectangular, blue-framed eyeglasses, granting him a bit of a barbarous librarian kind of a look.

Dark eyebrows and with the small patch of facial hair on his chin routinely trimmed, Donny Boy had entered the office wearing a short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, the generous, overfed muscles of his upper body appearing to want to tear through the clothing and with a clean pair of ruby-red suspenders attached to the waistline of his denim-blue slacks, tugged and strapped-up over his mountainous shoulders. He also had on a dorky, red bowtie for the occasion.

“How old are you, Donny Boy?”

“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Bishop.”

“And what's your sleep schedule like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your sleep schedule. Have you developed the habit of going to bed around the same time, every night?”

“I believe so. I've never been one to indulge in any late-night festivities. Why do you ask?”

“Well, when living the demented life of a private eye, it's not uncommon to have to commit to some later hours on the unplanned occasion: car stakeouts after midnight; navigating the craze of urban nightlife on foot; purchasing some nefarious lawyer a hundred shots of overpriced vodka at the stripclub just for a few layers of common information. Do you drink coffee?”

“I've never been much of a coffee drinker, no.”

“Well, you definitely should be. Sugar highs and caffeine are going to be your most reliable friends on those late nights when you most need them. Either that or… well… you know…” Bringing his hand up to his face, Howl used his finger to tap the side of his nose.

“Oh, no way, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy immediately replied. “I wouldn't even think of touching that stuff. I've always had a firm stance against any illegal drug use.”

“That's good,” Howl said. “I've noted my fair share of innocent souls throughout my time wasting away from drug addiction. A found sense of longed-for excitement is what initially lures them in. And then, after enough restless days turn to night, enough sleepless nights turn to chaos, suddenly they look up and… the neon lights on the street don't seem as vibrant as they once used to…”

Donny Boy would look at Howl with a sort of strange sense of wonderment, our detective's eyes having slowly migrated across the room toward the window, perceiving what, to him, had appeared to be an expression of profound fatigue captured on his face.

The sound of the vehicle screeching to a halt could suddenly be heard outside on the street, trashcans tumbling over and followed by the angry voice of a young woman shouting profanities.

“Oh no…” Donny Boy muttered underneath his breath, his eyes suddenly wandering over toward the window.

“What about your relationships?” Howl asked. “Do you have a wife or girlfriend? One of the more unfortunate aspects of being a private investigator is the difficulty you might experience maintaining a healthy inner circle. This is often a critical detail that turns the most people away.”

Donny Boy was completely distracted and had failed to pick up a single word, a growing look of nervousness on his face.

“Donny Boy, are you listening?”

The frantic sound of sudden footsteps quickly marching up a flight of stairs could be heard just outside the door to the office, followed by the reactions from Howl's trusted secretary demanding an unknown grouping's identification and honest proof of appointment.

“Move aside, lady! You don't want to have to get injured!” a young woman's voice hollered in response.

“How have they managed to find me?” Donny Boy wondered out loud to himself.

“We have you outnumbered and we're very upset!”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Howl began to react.

Suddenly, managing not to completely fly off its hinges, the door to the office was viciously kicked open, creating a sudden gust of wind that would travel across the room, knocking over a slanted stack of printed papers off the corner edge of the desk.

Standing in the open doorway, visible tension throughout her arms as her hands were forged into concrete fists, a young, teenage girl had a rancid look of anger on her face. A dark, navy-blue blazer over a knitted, bright, yellow skirt, the young woman was dressed in a traditional, school-girl's uniform and had her hair cut down short, visible scrapes and bruises on her knees giving out impressions that the girl was perhaps a bit of a rowdy tomboy.

“Nayaiko! I found him! He's in here!” the young girl shouted back over her shoulder.

She would then come into the office, and shortly afterward, her thin silhouette appearing in the doorway, an additional and secondary, young woman showed her face and seemed equally upset at the current moment. Dressed in an identical uniform as the first, this second girl had her hair much greater in length and stood with long and beautifully braided pigtails poking out the sides of her head.

The second girl entered the office and shut the door.

Standing over Donny Boy who seemed to be trembling in his seat a little, the first girl snarled out of her nostrils and said, “This is the second time this week you tried to ditch us…”

“This honestly isn't the best time, girls,” Donny Boy said, his voice a bit shaky.

“You know, we were standing outside the changing booth for thirty-five minutes before we realized you weren't there,” the second girl would report. “You told us you were trying on some hats!”

“I did! Look!” Donny Boy then lifted the hat up off his head to showcase. “I ended up purchasing this really awesome fedora for myself. It's really cool, isn't it?”

Neither girl seemed to want to take the time to respond. They simply crossed their arms in defiance and stood with a pair of inconsolable scowls on their faces.

Continue...

[getmeupsocial]

We are a leading Newspaper Ad Agency to book Tender Notice Ad in Newspaper. We offer a wide range of newspaper advertisement solutions pan India. We book Tender Notice Ads in all leading newspapers of India at best possible price. Call us for booking at 9810974532 or email us at info@getmeup.in

Tenders ads in newspapers are official letters that organizations must prepare when they invite bids for an upcoming project, business proposal or when seeking to buy materials or goods in bulk. By Book Tender Notice Ad in Newspaper, one is able to reach and attract a proportionally large number of bidders for a business proposal or an upcoming project. In order to attract as many bidders as possible, it becomes important to utilize a channel that helps in reaching out to a large audience. With Get Me Up Newspaper Ad Agency, you can Book Tender Notice Ad in Newspaper at the lowest ad rates. 

[rumblelibrary]

Hello! I'm watching The Alienist- Angel of Darkness, and I keep thinking of a fic where laszlo's wife!reader just gave birth and this case worries the poor man more than usual, because their baby is in danger and he can't get into the assassin's mind. Perhaps the reader could offer to breastfeed laszlo, and they have an in-depth conversation about the workings of the killer's mind and why the reader herself enjoys nurturing her husband. Perhaps it would even become a habit after the case was solved and every time Doctor Kreizler wanted some milk, he would let her know with a touch just below her breast that would go unnoticed in public as a gesture of affection? I think I thought about it too much, what do you think about writing about it?

The Marriage of Happiness [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Wife!Reader]

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: erotic lactation, breastfeeding kink, mention of other kinks and of murder

A/N: What do I think about writing it? I think THANKY YOU because I could write Laszlo having a boobie obsession for the rest of my life. I do think about it daily and it is just THE kink for him (as poor @cazzyimagines knows how obsessed I am). The case of studies mentioned are taken from psychology books of the time. I don''t know what point you're with Angel of Darkness so I am not giving out too much.

The night was dark and tensed, not a soul on the streets of the residential area you lived in with your husband, the only light up the one in your bedroom.

You became mother three months before welcoming the first little Kreizler of her generation. It was hard but worth every second, every moment of the pregnancy and the delivery your husband was with you. You were lucky, you felt lucky to be with a man like Laszlo: open minded, modern, charming and righteous.

You smiled walking around the room as you lulled your baby humming a soft lullaby, the baby observing you with dazzling eyes, you could see she was tired and the melody kept her attentive but also lulled her to a place of comfort.

You swayed slowly in a gentle waltzer, your arms embracing the tiny body wrapped up into the finest white clothing. You yourself wore your white nightdress with a dark green cover up that Laszlo gifted you, it was slightly bigger in size so you’d use it though the whole pregnancy, your hair loosely braided.

The baby opened her mouth making a soft sound, she was calm and relaxed, to see her like this brought you an immense joy.

You heard steps approaching to the door, the house was empty since Stevie was with Laszlo and the cook you hired was in her quarters, you wouldn’t be worried if your husband wasn’t working on a case of abducted babies, but then you followed Laszlo’s common sense and listened instead of letting your mind worry. You listened to the steps coming one after the other, the weight of them, the pace.

You smiled to yourself as you guessed right, your husband appeared on the door frame and the shadow over his face disappeared for a moment meeting your standing figure with the baby. Since the case begun he refused to have any new staff in the house, he brought the bed of the baby in your bedroom, which wasn’t common back then, and every night sent Stevie to roam around the streets before going to bed to see if there was any obscure presence.

“My love” he said with a smile as he walked his way toward you undoing his jacket as you offered him a look of the falling asleep baby. His left hand gently caressing the little chest to feel the breathe of life in it. The baby blinked at him and smiled. Your baby girl was an early smiler, she smiled in her first month which just ripped off her father soul, tucked it in her little pocket and sold him forever. He was already ecstatic to be a father, only the announcement of your pregnancy got him wild, a mix of worry and tenderness always over him. The constant fear to be losing it. To lose what you brought to his life, not only his daughter but that happiness, the home feeling, the meaning to have something to come back to at night.

He loved you like a flower loves the water, he loved you more than metaphors can explain. He closed his eyes pressing his forehead against your temple, you rocked the baby gently in your arms as she relaxed, the sleep over her even if the presence of her father stirred her a bit.

“I am so worried for her” he murmured, he couldn’t cope with it anymore. The pressure to be following that case.

Sara told him to drop it, but he couldn’t. He owed it to Martha Napp, he owed him to his own child. To be in the case put his darling baby into the spotlight, but the best chance to solve it and avoid the menace of losing the apple of his eyes was to fight the crime from the inside.

And yet, he couldn’t. He couldn’t get inside it.

He looked up and noticed your eyes on him, you detected the twist into his mind, the fear, the tremble of his intentions.

You kissed his cheek as his head was bowed slightly before slowly moving away to lean the baby into her cradle.

“Get comfortable” you urged him softly as he nodded to you undoing his jacket and his waist coat shrugging them off his shoulders as you adjusted the baby into her usual sleeping position, you pulled the covers over her caressing her head full of dark blonde hair like her father had as a child. You brushed them gently as she stirred and relaxed again, a soft sound coming from her mouth. She was well dressed, well fed and happy, you knew your child had all the possibilities in life to be the most charming and smartest woman of her times.

You moved the little veils on top of the crib to shield her from the dim lights of the room before pacing your way back to your husband.

Laszlo was sat on your shared bed. His eyes focused in the nothing in front of him. His waistcoat and jacket abandoned as he wore only his candid white shirt and dark pants.

You picked the hooked needle as you slowly bowed to your knees, he blinked surprised for a moment as you begun to undo his boots silently. You knew him, you gave him time to express himself. He was elaborating still, collecting ideas after a day spent talking back and forth with Sara.

“I saw the body” he said as you looked up.

“The body of Martha Napp’s baby” he added and you frowned, the poor woman, you couldn’t imagine yourself in her position. You’d probably be accused of murder too because you’d probably become feral if somebody touched your baby.

“Are you sure it is her baby?”

You knew he was sure, but the hope still fazed you.

“The child was poisoned, the deadly pallor was evident but Martha mentioned her child had an identifying contusion” he took a pause, he licked his lips as you could almost see him relieve the scene in his mind “A benign hemangioma under her left axilla”

He looked at you, to see the corpse of a baby, a baby that could be his, to find out a baby girl was abducted and this time in a well known residential area. The anxiety took over him. He was pestered by dark worries, images that saw you in a state of loss and disruption like the poor Señora Linares.

His eyes rested onto you, your calm firmness made him shake at times. His strong and aggressive demeanour might show him as the rock of the couple, but you are. You’re the one that can overcome things, that can see clearly when his mind is clouded.

“Might that child soul rest now with her mother, if you allow me I will take care of organising the burial along with the mother’s corpse as soon as the Isaacson’s have concluded their inspections on it”

He looked at you, a soft smile crept on him. Your thoughtful self always finding the cure to the pain. He saw the failure and you found the ultimate resolution. You could not join them in life, let it be in death.

You gave him a warm smile before finishing with both his boots and pulling them out, your hands slowly tracing his calves and ankles resting your chin on his knee to interject his eyes.

“Darling”

He blinked, he zoned out again and your voice called him back.

“I apologise” he only said

You stood up, his eyes lingering over your body for a moment. You healed like a true champion after the delivery, in few weeks you were back on your feet like nothing, in a month you were able to attend events. Your energy and vitality made you seem immortal to his eyes, which triggered his fears of loss even more.

Something so special, so strong like you, the idea to see you broken in any shape or form poisoned his soul and tortured his heart.

“Laszlo” once again, you called him back to reality as you sat beside him “you’re not thinking clearly”

He huffed softly, you were right.

“I can’t focus” he admitted finally taking your hand in his “I even upset the señora with my questions, enraged Sara, I feel like an headless chicken rushing around to find answers I can’t deal with. The scientific community protecting a butcher, John doing all he can at the newspaper and yet I am providing nothing to this investigation but background noise” he frowned deeply.

You could tell he was doing it for Martha and for you. He wanted to protect you and he tried to keep you far from all that darkness.

“Come” you said as you moved to your spot on the bed relaxing your legs as you adjusted some pillows behind your back “come on”

You hushed him and he obeyed quietly crawling on the bed, his frown still present. You hated to see him like that. Usually he was able to keep cases of study and worries outside of the bedroom, but this case was too personal.

You smiled at him as you undid the silly bow on your neck that kept the upper part of your night gown up. It was a maternity gown so to undo that little knot exposed the sensual curve of your breasts in a second. His eyes indulged over that little silky cloth twisted around your finger and the stars of little moles on your chest, he knew each of them by memory, he knew the scent of your perfume and the oils you use after bathing.

He looked up at you with a questioning look, he mindlessly run the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip when you exposed your juicy breasts. He always had a thing for them, he was always enchanted by the feminine chest as the highest form of femininity, big or small, that sensual shape was the epitome of life, of the charms of Eve in the Garden of Eden, the Mother Earth personified into the sacred body of his wife.

His eyes darted up back at you, a silent question on him as you didn’t let his confusion overwhelm you, you fought it with calmness and temperance.

“I know only one way to calm a restless Kreizler”

Your words would have made him smile as your open arms weren’t such a charming offer. He run his tongue again over his upper lip this time, using his left arm as support he slowly slipped closer to you.

His face leaned to yours as you didn’t seem to have changed your mind.

Somebody else would have maybe found it repulsive, a man of simple and good heart like John would have felt that kind of attention misplaced.

But not him.

He lowered himself over your chest adjusting into a nice position as you used few extra pillows you had there to ensure him a comfortable stay. His nose gently brushed over the inside of your chest, his hot breath hitting over your skin as he looked up at you once more and once more a welcoming smile followed his gaze.

He leaned down once again, lips parted to gently capture your nipple among them. Your mouth gaping lightly as he sucked a bit too much at the beginning sending shivers down your spine but just like any child his sucking revealed his anxiety to be fed, his fear and his need of protection.

You wrapped one arm around him as with the other you brushed his hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp to relax him, fingers combing his always well kept hair.

You watched his eyes flutter closed as you resumed your usual humming. It wasn’t a real lullaby, it was some of a rhythm you got stuck in your head.

“You’re here and I am here, our baby is safe from the world outside and nothing bad can happen” you narrated softly to him “you’re the most amazing man I have ever met, I know that the clarity of your thinking will come back. Just stop the world for a moment, it will all be back when the time comes right”

He hummed softly as you fell silent gently caressing him as you observed him lovingly, the fingers of his weak right hand toying with your braid. His beard hitching a bit in the beginning but you got soon used to it, you didn’t speak up anymore, you felt him relax more and more and you also did. This new kind of bond felt pleasurable and sweet, you felt to have reached a new kind of intimacy which is all you could hope for your marriage.

The time passed in silence, not a sound disturbing you until Laszlo’s relaxed body stretched lightly, the common knowledge telling you that the baby is fed.

He pulled back slowly before resting a kiss over your chest in a silent thank you.

He rested his head over your lap observing you like some Madonna staring at him with you gentle tenderness, not even Michelangelo could have grasped the beauty of your act or the absolute unfiltered love of your gaze.

“Was it pleasurable for you?”

He asked as you smiled gently caressing his cheek and his beard

“It was, you are really gentle” you answered. Another thing that you loved about your marriage was the unfiltered expression of feelings. You both looked for clarity through the eyes of your partner.

“Does it makes me your child?”

You smiled understandingly. This is your Laszlo, inquiring, curious, witty.

“No, no I don’t have a feeling that resemblance to breastfeed a child, it is more deep, more bound into my mind as an act of” you stopped thinking about it.

“Communion?”

He dared and you nodded as that was the right word.

“There’s a 1903 study, a German alienist suggested practicing erotic lactation as a way to deepen the relationship between husband and wife in a book called Die Offenbarung im Weibe, quite of a title I’d say, but he advised it as a good way to family plan, to give both the partners pleasure and he focused most of his studies over the idea of women’s sexual satisfaction being vital to the creation of an happy marriage.”

“It pleases me, I won’t deny it and it is a way that makes me feel you closer to me but in a more primal way, closer to the way sex works but with a different meaning”

He nodded as he toyed still with your brain slowly, a little fetish he just noticed in himself still doomed by the charm of unfiltered pure femininity.

Long hair, breasts, welcoming hips, all details that attracted him and drawn him toward you.

“There’s a study case, a man, a very wealthy one, he was obsessed with female hair. The smell, the composition, the touching” he paused as he toyed with yours among his fingers “He wouldn’t be able to suppress his desire, he confessed me his deepest fantasy was to have an orgasm while kissing the female hair and burying his head through them. It was peculiar but not harmful until he got himself a pocket knife, one of those not even good for a little pickpocketing but just as good to be able to cut some ladies’s hair in a crowd”

You kept caressing his hair yourself, probably moved also by the story, observing it and enjoying the texture.

“Do you think the killer of children needs to posses his fetish then?”

He nodded as you’re so smart.

“The possession is part of the final abdication of a person to their fetish, to be up to crime to own the desired being just proves the final commitment to the satisfaction of one’s desires” he explained to you and he paused now almost asking to himself “why would somebody steal a child then?”

You turned around looking at the crib where your baby girl rested.

“Because my crib is empty” you said and his eyes widened lightly.

“Tell me more, try to imagine it”

You frowned lightly as you moved your hands away from him, making distance, imagining the loneliness of empty arms, the excruciating pain of having a child and then not having it anymore.

“I need to give my love to my child” you said then taking a pause, your eyes staring to some unknown spot of the room “and if my child is not there, I will make sure that there will be”

Laszlo sat up as he stared at you.

“But that child won’t resemble you, your child was special and peculiar in its own way, this child grows up, changes, blabbers words while yours didn’t”

He pushed this image in you as you came to the only reasonable deduction you’d do if you were in such a state

“Then that is not my child” you said only “my child is somewhere else and this one is an impostor”

Laszlo nodded “So you get rid of it as soon as the reality outgrows the fantasy”

He concluded.

You looked at him as he stared back at you, a woman, the killer must be a woman that lost a child or got it taken away from her. She finds surrogates and dismisses them, she probably never saw her baby grow so they can’t grow.

“What would I do without you?”

You smiled at his words “you’d be completely lost, we both know about it” you said kissing his lips having a taste of your own medicine “now get into your night clothing, you’ll see Sara tomorrow to give her this new perspective.”

He smiled, not even a trace of the worried and confused Laszlo that stepped I the room before. He was back to his senses, his mind active, he could see with clarity.

- - - - - - -

The case unveiled itself, proof after proof, run after run, document after document he came to the solution.

He was proud, you and the baby were safe and now he could go back to the everyday.

“I don’t see the point Laszlo, you have proved yourself enough against him” John said as he stared up at his annoyed features s you served him some more tea.

John looked at you like why are you not stopping him but you just smiled it off relaxing in the loveseat beside your husband as John shook his shoulders like an annoyed bird.

“A man like Dr Markoe after all he did holding a public lecture with the anguishing title of Murder, Madness and Motherhood?” Laszlo snapped back at John “please, the least I can do is to humiliate him in front of the whole academic arena”

Laszlo leaned back smiling at his friend like he was just a poor fool.

“He will again fight on you, you know he always picks up on you for treating mostly children and being part of the investigation, you get heated with him and you lose your control”

John seemed only to know reasons to get Laszlo to desist, you understood him from your part, your husband was a fiery character and he hardly forgive people with quick and poor judgements. You also noticed he became way more aggressive toward Markoe since before the case, he always depicted pregnant women as prone to lose control, foolish and behaving like animals that had to be kept on a tight leash, it all in particular when you were expecting.

John’s tsunami of words couldn’t be stopped he had a reason not to do anything but your attention was quickly taken away by the soft touch of Laszlo’s hand on your side, just above the hem of your corset, his thumb tracing the side of your boob giving you a shiver as you already knew perfectly what he was demanding.

You could now tell that John actually made him feel unsure or at least unsettled him, he needed comfort and energies to face his enemy now.

Sara groaned making herself heard for the first time, she noticed his gesture and found it actually cute as she could never wish Laszlo with somebody more perfected than you. Your calmness matched his fiery nature, you talked when he needed to think, you smiled when he couldn’t. You allowed him to be more himself than he had ever been.

“Let’s go John, you’re being so obnoxious, at what time we will see the butchery of the doctor?”

You quickly answered to her giving her a gentle smile as she put John to silence.

She asked as she stood up and John groaned following her “See you there” John said still saying how useless it was to still go after that man.

Laszlo stood up escorting them to the exit and then coming back to the living room. You sat there like he left you, he would close the door behind his back locking it before crossing the room with long steps and close the curtains letting the darkness wrap around you. Your fingers slowly undoing your shirt as his shape takes again form in front of you as he turns on one lamp in the corner of the room before moving closer to you again, eyes shining even in the obscurity as his fingers finally meet with your skin once you undid the first knots on your corset.

“Give me life” he would plead to you before lacing his lips your nipple once more.

You knew from the first suck on your nipple how Markoe held no chance on today’s debate.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams@charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme  @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling @everythingbeginsineternity-blog

[elliestormfound]

Witcher Secret Santa

Dear @linx1457

this is your secret Santa! I wish you merry christmas and hope you enjoy your gift!

@thewitchersecretsanta

Geralt/Jaskier modern au, roommates, mutual pining, 1854 words

CW: none, just fluff and pinging with a happy end

read on ao3

--------- “I told you not to go in my room and I told you not to touch my stuff,” Geralt said, looking at his new roommate.

Geralt worked as a tour guide for the local national park. During the colder months less tourists visited and his wage hardly covered his rent. His brother Lambert had suggested he take on a roommate and posted an ad for him in the local newspaper. 

But most of the people that had answered the ad had been weird or downright creepy and he had lost all hope till a musician called. Jaskier - that was his name - was new in town and wanted to gain a foothold in the big city. He needed to stay somewhere cheap for a couple of months till he could afford his own apartment. 

Geralt had invited him over and even though he had not been sure if someone so outgoing would clash with his more reserved nature, he had somehow been convinced that it would work out.

But now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Who even has real steel swords?” Jaskier asked, “I thought they were cheap imitations from the ren faire…” They were standing in Geralt’s room where his two heavy swords had crashed down from where they were supposed to hang on the wall.

“They are from an actual blacksmith,” Geralt said through gritted teeth, and more quietly, “from the ren faire.”

Jaskier laughed, “so I was right!”

“That is not the point!” Geralt growled and bent down to pick them up.

---------

It had been the 18th ad he had called for a room and when the man with the gravelly voice answered, Jaskier had been instantly smitten. And when the man with the deep voice turned out to be illegally handsome and accepted him as a roommate the musician was in heaven.

And at the same time he knew that it was a bad idea to pine after someone you lived with. He had experience with that. Bad experience.

So he tried his best to keep his yearning under control. But on some days it was particularly hard. Like today with the swords. 

Jaskier knew he shouldn’t go into Geralt’s room, but he had lost the charger of his phone. So he snuck in when Geralt was at work. His eyes had been caught by the reflection on the blades of the swords on Geralt’s wall. 

When he had first saw them after he moved in he had been a bit concerned - who the fuck had swords??? But Geralt had told him that he used to work as a stunt choreographer for sword fighting.

Jaskier had walked over and brushed along the blade with his index finger. And the fucking swords had fallen to the ground with a loud crash. In the exact moment Geralt had returned from work.

After Geralt chided him, Jaskier grabbed one of the swords to occupy his shaking hands and the adonis that was his roommate had the audacity to stand very close behind him and take his hand in the most tender way and fucking breathe on his neck. 

He knew that he couldn’t have stopped himself from kissing the bastard and pushing him on the bed if he had stayed a moment longer, so he made some shady excuse and practically ran into his room to play some music to calm down. 

----------

Over the last few weeks Geralt got used to living with Jaskier. He would never admit it out loud but it was actually very nice that someone was there when he came home from work. He especially loved the days when Jaskier cooked. Opening the door to their apartment and being greeted by the delicious smell of lasagna was something he could get used to.

“I’m home,” he called down the hallway and suppressed a smile when Jaskier answered, “then get in the kitchen, darling, dinner is almost ready.”

After he had put away his jacket and boots he walked over and stopped in the doorframe to take in the kitchen. Jaskier was a great cook - his food always tasted fucking amazing. But the utter chaos he left in his wake was honestly impressive. Dirty pots and pans were stacked in the sink, little red spots of (hopefully) tomato sauce decorated the tiles behind the stove and at least five different packages of spices stood open on the counter. 

Geralt sighed quietly but knew that the lasagna would be worth the clean up later.

---------

Jaskier’s mother had told him that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. So he occasionally cooked for Geralt. 

Of course he didn’t cook FOR Geralt. He cooked for himself and made too much so Geralt could eat with him. At least that is what he told his roommate. Today it was lasagna. 

He smiled when he heard the key turn in the lock and Geralt calling out that he was home. He yelled, “then get in the kitchen, darling.” It had been funny to watch Geralt’s reactions to his frequent use of pet names. Jaskier had reassured him that he did that with every one of his friends, but to be honest, at least to himself - darling was reserved only for Geralt. 

“How was your day?” he asked, as his roommate stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Jaskier had just put the parmesan on the lasagna and made sure to angle his ass in the perfect line of sight for Geralt as he bent forward to put the lasagna in the oven. 

He smirked as he stood back up and turned around to find Geralt blushing. He cleared his throat before he said, “good, not many tourists in the park today. I gave a tour to a family and cleaned some garbage that campers had left behind.”

Jaskier smiled and said, “and then you come home to this?” He turned around and looked at the mess he had created.

“At least I get dinner here,” Geralt replied and walked over to the cupboard to get out plates. He set the table and sat down to watch Jaskier pour two glasses of red wine. 

Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed from the cooking and his brown hair was tousled. On the apron he was wearing ‘KISS THE COOK’ stood in bold letters. Geralt had to shake his head because his roommate looked very kissable right now. 

---------

“Fuck,” Geralt said as he hit the TV. There was only a static noise and a corresponding image that was not unlike the view of the snowstorm outside. No matter to which channel he switched, the results were the same. 

“What are you ranting about, darling?” Jaskier asked as he walked into their living room. He was wearing one of Geralt’s hoodies and his own ridiculous pyjama bottoms. At least he had told Geralt they were pyjama bottoms, but they actually were illegally tight fitting booty shorts that had “flower twink” written on the ass.

“There will be no movie night today,” Geralt said, hitting the offending electrical device for one more time, “the fucking snowstorm has cut off the tv.”

Jaskier moaned sadly and pouted expertly. It was not only pursed lips. It was a full body pout with furrowed brows, round puppy eyes first looking down and then slowly up through his lashes, shoulders hunched forward, arms hanging limply down by his sides and one foot drawing circles with his toes in the soft carpet. 

Geralt believed that his roommate secretly practised this and he had to admit in the privacy of his own mind that it worked every damn time on him. But sadly this time he couldn’t do anything about it. 

But then Jaskier’s face lit up with a smile and he said, “Geralt, I have an idea -” Geralt groaned quietly because Jaskier’s ‘ideas’ rarely ended well, but his roommate ignored his nonverbal protests, “- do you remember when I went to the flea market the other day? I bought an old VHS recorder and a video cassette.”

“Why the fuck did you buy that?” Geralt asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Be thankful, Geralt, it will save movie night!” Jaskier called as he turned on his heel in search of the old recorder.

-----

It did not save movie night. The video recorder did in fact work, which wasn’t short of a miracle for that old thing, but the video cassette Jaskier had bought with it was not a movie. 

“How could I have known that ‘fireplace romance’ is not a movie?” Jaskier said, eyeing the case.

“You could have read the description,” Geralt grumbled as he looked at the tv screen that showed a fireplace with a delightfully burning fire and nothing more. For four hours. 

Jaskier sat down on the couch that was facing the tv and patted the space next to him.

“Come on, it’s better than nothing!”

Before putting the tape in the recorder they had set up everything for movie night: popcorn, hot chocolates with the tiny marshmallows swimming in them and a bowl of gummy bears. 

-----------

They had sat like this for a while, talking about work and Jaskier’s next gig in a coffee shop around the corner. Somehow, without Geralt noticing him moving, Jaskier had come closer to him and was now pressed to his side. It felt good.

Jaskier took a sip of his hot chocolate and turned to his roommate.

“Geralt, what do you think about…” but he stopped as he saw Geralt smirking and looking at his lips.

“What?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

Geralt cocked his head and said quietly in his deep voice, “you have something on your lip.”

Jaskier frowned and asked, “where?”

Geralt gestured for his own lip and Jaskier tried to imitate him, but he missed the spot of chocolate. 

“Can you help me?” he asked, leaning a bit closer to him.

Geralt’s mouth was suddenly dry and he swallowed. Jaskier’s face was so close to his now that he could see all the tiny freckles that had faded during winter, but were still visible up close. He blinked and finally reached over. 

Gently he placed his palm on Jaskier’s hot cheek and felt him leaning slightly into the touch. Slowly he stroked his thumb over Jaskier’s lower lip to remove the chocolate that clung to it.

He could feel Jaskier breathing in deeper right before he opened his mouth just a bit and Geralt could feel his warm breath on his thumb. 

A heartbeat later Geralt threw all restraint and explanations why he shouldn’t do it overboard, and said in a hoarse whisper, “I really...i really want to kiss you right now.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened before a soft smile played over his lips.

Jaskier leaned forward to close the gap between them and kissed him. In that moment Geralt couldn’t remember why he had been convinced that kissing Jaskier was a bad idea because it was the best thing he had ever felt.

The kiss started slow and soft, almost chaste but when Geralt wanted to lean back he felt Jaskier’s hand in his hair, pulling him back into the kiss.

[cardinalnuggets]

Not Letting Go

Pairing: Ayna x f!mc Word Count: 1951 Rating: T Summary: Adrenaline is really great at numbing the pain. Set just after the end of FA. Prompts: "bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go" Tagging: @robintora @brycesgirl @heygmicheelle @saratustra4 (if anyone else wants to be added let me know!)

Of all the kisses they had shared, Kennedy was sure this one was the best. It was far more chaste than those they had shared earlier in the night, but the meaning behind this one was everything. This kiss was freedom from secrets, and from hiding. This was them being open and basking in the truth of how they felt for one another. They no longer cared what anyone else thought; only each other.

A giant weight was lifting from Kennedy’s mind with each brush of Ayna’s lips against hers, but there was an anxiety in the pit of her stomach growing and growing. There was no doubt in her mind that this was the right decision for them, but the level of scrutiny they would now face would be staggering. The invasion of her privacy since the “scandal” was bad enough, but now that they had a face and a name, Kennedy doubted they would know peace for quite a long time.

And of course, the second their lips parted, there was an explosion of noise from the press before them.

“Kennedy! Who’re you kissing?”

“Is this the woman from the scandal? It wasn’t Evelyn was it?”

“Are you two together?”

The noise was overwhelming, most of the questions nearly indecipherable. Ayna’s hand clasped tightly in hers was the only thing grounding her, the only thing stopping her from running.

“You can do this,” Ayna mouthed to her, squeezing her hand quickly in hers.

With a deep breath, Kennedy nodded and turned to the press. She raised her free hand in the air, asking for quiet. Several long moments passed before the uproar faded into background noise, each and every reporter champing at the bit to hear what ever scraps she was going to give them.

“I have a short statement to make,” Kennedy began, in a voice more confident than she felt, but she was used to running on adrenaline and faking until she made it at this point, “and time for a couple of questions.”

Every single reporter leant forward, eager to not miss a single word. It would have been an amusing sight if they weren’t all waiting to splash her private life all over their newspapers. The silence now was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional sound of a camera shutter.

“This is Ayna,” Kennedy gestured towards her with the hand not wrapped around hers and watched as Ayna gave a cautious wave, “she’s my girlfriend.” God, Kennedy thought, that feels so good to say out loud.

Momentarily, they were blinded by the flashes of cameras as each paparazzo clamoured to get the perfect shot of this “historic” moment.

“We’ve been seeing each other for some time and have decided it’s now time to let the people of Rutherland know. Although we are excited to share this happy news with you all, we would ask for privacy and understanding. We are, after all, only human. Thank you.”

The silence broke then, replaced with chaos and uproar as everyone screamed their questions at the couple standing before them. Kennedy tugged Ayna closer so they could each draw strength from the other.

Raising her hand again for silence had little effect, so instead Kennedy shouted, “If I can’t hear the questions, I can’t answer them.” That soon calmed them, and she couldn’t help the little grin of triumph that slid onto her face in place of her usual polite mask.

“You in the red skirt, you may ask your question.”

“Is she the same woman you were photographed with in the lake a few weeks ago?” She didn’t miss a beat.

“Yes.” It was Ayna that answered, in a voice so calm that Kennedy would have thought she’d done this a hundred times before.

Shooting her a soft smile, Kennedy raised her arm again before the pandemonium could restart.

“And you with the blue suit, you can have the final question.”

“Thank you. Can I just start by saying congratulations?” His voice was smarmy and Kennedy instantly regretted letting him speak. Not wanting to seem impolite, though, she threw him her signature fake-grateful smile. “Why now?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why wait until now to go public? Why not when the scandal hit? Or when it was clear that it couldn’t be easily brushed under the carpet?”

There were a hundred answers to this question, all starting and ending with Kennedy not wanting Ayna’s name to be dragged through the mud. She knew that as soon as the press figured out that Ayna was her TA, she could kiss her career goodbye. Nobody deserved that, especially not someone as kind and caring as her girlfriend.

“That was down to me, I’m afraid.” Once again Ayna spoke up before Kennedy had the chance. She turned to Ayna with wide eyes, questioning with her gaze if she was sure about this. She nodded subtly, squeezing Kennedy’s hand gently. “I wasn’t prepared for a life in the public eye yet. I asked Kennedy to give me time to adjust, which she has done. I’m in awe of her for the way she has handled this alone and respect her so much for all she has done to keep me sheltered.”

Kennedy melted hearing Ayna talk about her with such tenderness. Wrapping an arm around her waist, she couldn’t help but stare at her in wonder. As much as she was glad to be out in the open now, she was done sharing Ayna with the world for tonight.

“That’s all we have time for I’m afraid,” she announced, barely sparing them a glance as she led her girlfriend towards the embassy. The chaos as they turned their backs was unparalleled, but neither of them seemed to notice, focussed as they were on getting back inside.

“You were amazing out there,” Kennedy whispered, grinning stupidly at Ayna.

Letting out a long breath, she turned to Kennedy with a strained smile. “I think that was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No. Absolutely not.” As if to reinforce her claim, she reached behind her back to squeeze the hand resting on her back. A wince scrunched her face up as she did so and she immediately pulled back, holding her hand in front of her face. “Whoops,” was all she murmured, wincing again.

“What?” Kennedy asked, gently taking her hand between her own. She didn’t even need to bring it any closer to see how raised and raw Ayna’s knuckles looked. How had she not noticed this before? It looked so painful.

“I must have hurt it fighting Winston off you. The adrenaline must have numbed the pain.”

“Ayna!” Kennedy all but scolded. She stared at her girlfriend wide-eyed before letting go of her hand. “Go and wait in the room we were in earlier and I’ll go and find some ice or something. The swelling is only gonna get worse the longer you leave it.”

Ten minutes later Kennedy pushed her way into the room, her arms laden with an ice bucket, cloth napkins and a first aid kit. Ayna was sitting on the ottoman in front of the bed, her expression a mixture between pain and sheepishness. Kennedy hated seeing it, hated knowing that it was because of her that she was in pain. If she’d just learned self-defence from Tatum or been smart enough to see Winston for what he truly was before he could best her, then Ayna would be fine.

Shaking it off because she needed to focus on helping Ayna get better, she sank to the floor by her girlfriend’s feet, depositing her things next to her.

“Hey,” she said softly, “how’s the hand?”

“Sore,” she replied with a rueful smile, “I’m sorry.”

Kennedy looked up at her in alarm, her hands absently stuffing ice into a napkin. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

Ayna shrugged, then lifted her injured hand a little. “This.”

“You got injured protecting me. You don’t have to be sorry. You probably saved my life tonight!”

The soft smile on Ayna’s face only faltered as Kennedy gently cradled her hurt hand with one of hers and pressed the ice to the raw flesh. She hissed, gritting her teeth through the sting.

“Sorry.” It was Kennedy’s turn to apologise this time. She hatedseeing her in pain. “It’ll get better I promise.”

“I’d do it again, you know.”

“Do what again?”

“Fight someone to save your life.” Her voice was serious, and Kennedy knew she was being serious, but still there was mischief dancing in those dark eyes. Kennedy revelled in both. It was thrilling knowing that someone cared about her so much that they wouldn’t even think twice about getting hurt so she wouldn’t. But she also loved that Ayna would turn it into a joke to clear the tension from the air. She truly was spectacular.

Leaning up, Kennedy met Ayna’s lips in a lingering kiss, feeling the strain dissipate from them both. “As long as you know I’d do the same for you,” Kennedy murmured as she leant her forehead against Ayna’s

“Deal.” She smiled warmly as Kennedy readjusted herself to check on the swelling under the ice. “It might be better to make sure your bodyguard is always with you, though.”

Kennedy laughed as she reached for the bandages and began wrapping them tightly around Ayna’s knuckles. “I think you’re just as capable as Tatum is when it comes down to it,” she joked, sending her a cheeky grin, “but you’re right, I just didn’t think I would need protection around Winston. He pulled me so far away from everyone before I’d even realised he’d done it.”

“Why would you think you needed protection? You’ve known him your whole life.” Ayna’s free hand raised to cup her cheek, thumb stroking against the skin. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Kennedy. He was the only one in the wrong.”

Kennedy nodded slowly as she finished wrapping Ayna’s bandage and tied the ends together to stop it unravelling. She knew Ayna was right, really she did, but she couldn’t help but feel stupid that she’d let someone get the best of her like that. In hindsight, she could see all the signs pointing to Winston’s odd behaviour which she hadn’t thought twice about at the time. She really should have known.

“Thank you,” Ayna whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Kennedy’s hair.

“It was the least I could do,” Kennedy murmured back, cradling the newly wrapped hand in between both of hers.

She lost herself in thought then, of everything that had happened tonight, of everything that had happened since she had arrived at Vancross. So much had happened – lots good, and more bad. But sitting here quietly with her girlfriend, she knew she would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant she could feel the hope and the happiness she felt while in Ayna’s presence. That was worth everything.

“Shall we?” Ayna asked after they’d sat in silence for several minutes, Kennedy steadfastly refusing to let go of her injured hand.

“It’s been an emotional night, I wish I could just stay up here with you. Alone.” She let out a deep sigh before heaving herself to her feet. “But we should go back. People will notice if we don’t come back.”

“At least we don’t have to be apart even once now that everyone knows,” Ayna reminded her with a smile, offering her good hand.

“Hmm that’s definitely the highlight of the night.”

Hand in hand, they walked back down to the ballroom to re-join the party, not once straying from the other the whole night.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Okay I’m currently moving and going through old trinkets and stuff to see what to get rid of and I just now really would love a Ben Hargreeves x reader fic super fluffy going through old things of yours or his and just generally being super cute 😭 ily!

A/N: So this is a Ben didn’t die AU because that was the only way I could think of for “cute” not “sad.” Also, as someone who just moved herself, good luck on your move darling, may it be as smooth and frustration free as possible. I hope you enjoy it! :) Word Count: 1702 Content Warnings: Major cheese-factor? But other than that nothing

“I’m glad we decided to get a place together,” you said, leaning against Ben’s shoulder, looking around your empty apartment.

Yours, the two of you. When you had started discussing moving in with one another, maybe a year into your relationship, you considered just adding him onto your lease, which still had several months left on it (he did not consider asking you to move in with him, because he’d been living with Vanya, and Klaus when he showed up and couldn’t wait to get out). But eventually, you two had settled on starting fresh, somewhere you had picked out together, a place for both of you to build your lives together. It had been a challenge at first, but in the end, you knew it would be worth the effort to create a home together instead of merely adopting one of you into the other’s preexistent reality.

“Me too,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple and smiling. “And I’ll be even more glad once we get some stuff in here.”

~

“Y/N, what about these?” Ben called to you, pulling out a battered black shoebox from the back of your closet. “You didn’t put this pair with the rest of your shoes?”

Confused what he was talking about, you set aside the plates you had been wrapping in newspaper and made your way to the bedroom.

“What are you talking ab—oh…” your eyes fell on the box in question and you felt a hot blush creep across your face and down your neck. “That’s um…”

Ben’s confusion at your discomfort only grew when the box rattled slightly, producing sounds of rustling paper rather than shoes.

“You can just ignore that. It’s just some old…I don’t even know why I kept…” you sighed in defeat as his curiosity got the better of him and he opened the box.

The box, which had laid buried in your closet for long that you’d nearly forgotten about it, was full of old newspaper and magazine clippings about the Umbrella Academy in their hay-day.

“I, uh, I can explain that?”

Ben laughed, grin wide and surprisingly nonjudgmental as he picked up the faded pages in gentle fingers, particularly when he came across one of a teen magazine quiz which said your soulmate was Diego and you had drawn frowning faces around it and marked it ‘WRONG’ in blue sharpie.

“Aw, babe, I had no idea you were such a fan,” he teased. “My brother will be so sad I stole his soulmate.”

“Yeah, I mean I guess I was into the whole Umbrella Academy thing as a kid…lots of people were…” you shrugged, hoping that your nonchalance would keep him from pressing further. “It’s nothing to make a big deal of.”

“Aw, hey, Y/N, I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he said, setting the box aside to come over and rest his hands on your shoulders. “I think it’s cute.”

You shoved his chest lightly, hearing the laughter in his voice. “Shut up.”

~

All of your things finally packed, you and Ben made your way to the apartment he shared with his siblings, which they had cleared out of for the day so you could have more space to work.

“Hey Ben,” you said, gesturing to an old-fashioned hatbox on one of his shelves. “I didn’t know you were a hat guy?”

You wished you could reach the box yourself so you could take him down and tease him properly for the contents the way he had had for your shoebox. Instead, you had to wait for him to come and be tall for you.

“Oh that. I took the box from the Academy. Although I think the hat was as likely to have been Pogo’s as it was Dad’s,” he explained.

“So if it’s not a hat, what’s in there?” you asked, practically vibrating with curiosity.

The box tucked under one arm, he pulled you closer with the other into a hug and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek, before moving to sit in on the corner of his bed (piled high with the books which had been hiding this mystery box and which you were supposed to be packing at the moment), motioning for you to join him. Eagerly, you bounced across the small room to flop next to him on the floor, making him laugh as you nearly collapsed into his lap and he had to quickly lift the box above his head to keep you from crushing it.

“Well, it’s not quite the same as yours, but it turns out we were both hanging onto some things,” he explained almost shyly, carefully wiggling off the snug lid of the box.

“Oh really?” you couldn’t help the smirk that crept across your face.

The first thing he pulled out was a photobooth filmstrip. In the four little boxes were your smiling faces, your silly faces, and one where you had leaned over and kissed him, his eyes wide with shock, all in sepia, perfect moments frozen in time.

“That was our first date,” you said with surprise. “Our first official one anyway, unless you count you refusing to let go of my hand until you had escorted me safely out of the building when those lunatics decided a coffee shop was the best place to hold up for quick cash.”

“Well I couldn’t let them catch wind of priceless treasure that slipped through their fingers, and my siblings had everything under control.”

You rolled your eyes at his corniness, leaning your chin on his knee to see what else was in the box. It was full to the brim, practically overflowing with little bits of memorabilia from your time together: a newspaper clipping about the day you met, ticket stubs for concerts and movies, pictures you had taken together or of each other with his polaroid camera, love letters you’d sent each other and notes you’d left when one of you had to leave before the other woke or had something important coming up that you might need a little extra encouragement for. It was like your whole lives together so far were in that hat box and you felt your eyes welling up at the thought. It was so much better than your embarrassing childhood crush.

“You know, I thought you had only agreed to go to that carnival with me because you felt like you owed me for saving you or something,” he added softly as he leafed through.

You rolled your head to one side, cheek against his leg, so you could look up at him, sensing the insecurity in his voice.

“Ben, baby…” you sighed.

Even now, after all of this time, he still seemed to think that part of you was only there out of pity, seemed to expect you to flinch away in horror at his abilities. You knew that it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the way he and his siblings were raised and exploited by Reginald Hargreeves, but still your heart ached every time you sensed him withdrawing into those dark places.

“I know, Y/N, you don’t have to say it,” he said, guessing at how your sentence was going to finish based on your repeated past conversations about it.

“I don’t think you do,” you lifted your head up, sitting back to better look him in the eye. “I was stunned that you even noticed me let alone asked me out, because you are incredible. And I don’t just mean the superhero thing, although that is pretty sweet,” you face scrunched up and you grinned at him before sobering. “If I was only in it for pity or for fame or because I owed you, I would have bailed a long time ago, not be getting an apartment with you. You’re stuck with me. Because I love you Ben Hargreeves.”

He set the box in his hands aside, pulling you close so that he could kiss you, tender and sweet and so rawly, desperately full of love that it threatened to overwhelm you. You folded your arms over his shoulders drawing him in even more. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, gently carding your fingers through his hair as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

“We should really get back to packing,” you said after sitting like that for a moment, more than a little regretful that you had to break the moment and return you both to reality.

“Wait, there’s one more thing I wanted to show you from the box,” he said sheepishly, pulling out a generic looking crumpled piece of lined paper.

“What’s this?” you asked, reaching for it.

Nervously, he handed it to you and you began to read. Almost immediately, your hand came up to cover your mouth as tears welled up in them. This wasn’t a letter, so much as the draft of a speech with words and lines and entire paragraphs crossed out, some scribbled over completely and others with a single mark through them and new words squeezed into the cramped space above them. Finally, at the bottom, circled in blue ink: Y/N, you’re incredible. Will you go out with me?

“Oh Ben,” you murmured, clutching the paper carefully to your chest, trying your hardest not to cry.

“I was so nervous to ask you out,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “And Diego kept giving me shit about how you were way out of my league, which definitely didn’t help. But for some reason you said yes, and I thought I might die, I was so happy.”

~

“So I was thinking…” you said one night, wrapping your arms around Ben as he stood in the doorway of your new living room.

“Uh-oh,” he laughed, mirroring your hold.

“We have that big open wall-space over the sofa, right?”

He nodded, looking at you, eyebrows knit together in curiosity and confusion.

“We also have two boxes of stuff that would make a really nice collage…we could maybe put them there? Sort of a wall of memories?”

His eyes sparkled as he turned to you fully. “I love it.”

[lilacmoon83]

Clarity

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 14: Sparks Fly, Pt 1

David winced, as Snow helped him gently put his shirt on and then began buttoning it. He smiled at her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She looked up at him and their lips met in a passionate kiss. Snow mewled into his kiss, as she slipped her arms around his neck. He cradled her head and moved his lips over hers, deepening their kiss and she felt her knees almost give out. He usually had that effect on her, but always held her up and kept her from falling. Their bliss was interrupted by someone clearing their throat and she was almost lightheaded, in a good way, as their lips parted.

"I have your discharge papers," Whale said sourly.

"Thanks," David said, not even hiding his smugness, as Snow cuddled against him.

"You'll want to keep the bandage on the wound for a few days. You can bathe, but be careful not to get it too wet for a while. The stitches are dissolvable, so you won't need to come back unless you notice any swelling or the pain doesn't subside within a week or so," he advised, as he scribbled on David's chart.

"Did you change his emergency contact information?" Snow asked, as he looked up.

"Yes...the nurse took care of that," he replied, as he watched him kiss her hair.

"Anything else?" David asked.

"No...you're free to go, but I hope you know that you need to refrain from any vigorous activity for a while until that wound heals a bit," Whale replied. David smirked.

"Yeah...you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said, as they walked out of the room, arms around each other, and headed for the elevator.

"He doesn't look happy about you possibly disobeying his orders," she mentioned, as they got into the elevator.

"Yeah...that's not why he's pissed," David said.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, as the elevator door closed.

"He's pissed because you're with me and not him," he replied. But she shook her head, as she hooked her hand on his elbow.

"I doubt that...Whale has a reputation. I was just another notch on his bedpost," she said sourly.

"I'm sure that's what he tells people, which infuriates me, but I don't think so," he replied. She cocked her head to the side.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I know what it's like to be with you. It's not something you forget and it's not something you want to lose...ever," he replied simply, which made her blush.

"Charming…" she murmured, as she leaned her head against his arm. He could still give her butterflies in her stomach. He smiled and kissed her tenderly, as the elevator door opened into the first floor lobby of the hospital. People gawked at them, as they walked toward the exit, arms around each other, but neither noticed.

"Let's go home…" he whispered to her. She smiled.

"Let's...but you know we really can't do anything yet," she whispered back. He smirked.

"I've had worse than this and we managed," he reminded her. She grinned.

"We did...didn't we?" she realized, as they hurried to her car.

~*~

Neal rolled over in bed and found Tamara's side empty. She wasn't far though, as she came back into the room with coffee and donuts.

"Morning…I went to that little bakery down the street. The bagels didn't look at all like New York bagels though, so I opted for the donuts," she replied. He smirked.

"Yeah...you're not going to find good bagels here," he said, as he took a sip of the coffee and checked his phone. He smiled, as he saw texts from Henry.

"So...when do I get to meet your son?" she asked.

"Uh...well, he's in school right now, but maybe we can meet him after. His adoptive mom is doing her best to keep him away from us, but Dad says he's going to file an emergency injunction this morning," Neal replied.

"For what exactly?" she asked.

"Well...the custody battle might take months and will get ugly. He thinks it's unfair that Emma and I don't even have visitation in the interim, so he's going to argue before the judge today," he replied.

"That's great...you better get cleaned up and I hope you'll let me go with you," she said.

"Sure…" he replied, as he saw her reading the paper.

"If you're looking for Pulitzer type journalism in that paper...you're going to be disappointed," he warned with a snort.

"Yeah, most of it is pretty bland, but there is one story here that is fascinating. By August W. Booth," she said. He paused on his way to the bathroom at that and took the paper from her.

"What? Do you know him?" she asked, as he skimmed the story.

"Uh no...just sounds like a new guy," he lied.

"Do you really think the Mayor and this other woman lied and forged a marriage certificate for a comatose patient to keep him away from this other woman...Mary Margaret? It sounds like daytime soap opera stuff," she scoffed.

"It does...but Mary Margaret was Henry's teacher, until Regina got her fired. Henry loves her and she and David are really good people. Regina on the other hand...the woman we're going to be fighting in court, is as vengeful as they come," Neal replied.

"I wonder what Mary Margaret did to piss Regina off so much," Tamara asked curiously.

"I don't know...but I guarantee it was nothing that warrants anything she's done," he said, as he went into the bathroom to clean up. Tamara smirked and kept reading. She dialed a number.

"There's an event coming up...it's called Miner's Day. It looks like a big deal and most of the town will be gathered in one place," she reported, before hanging up and she went back to waiting on Neal.

~*~

Regina stormed into the courthouse and into Albert Spencer's office. She slapped the court papers down on his desk and looked at him.

"Care to tell me how the hell you're allowing this to happen?" she hissed, as he looked at the order.

"Contrary to popular belief and much to my own dismay, I don't control everything that goes on in the judicial system in this town," he said.

"Mr. Gold filed the correct paperwork and now a Judge will hear the case," he added.

"Then you had better be good at what you do and convince the Judge to rule in my favor," she hissed.

"I will do my best, but that's only part of your problem," Spencer replied.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"I was about to send the courier over with the order, but since you're here, I'll serve you myself," he replied, as he handed another order to her.

"What is this?" she asked, as she looked through it.

"Mr. Gold has filed an emergency injunction on behalf of your son's biological parents," he explained. Her eyes widened.

"On custody?" she asked. He nodded.

"He's arguing that they should be granted some sort of visitation in the interim before the custody proceedings begin," he replied.

"This is unacceptable! He is my son!" she shouted.

"He is theirs too, unfortunately and the father didn't know about him. I don't think I have to tell you that biological parents carry a lot of weight in the courts," he said.

"Then you had better fix this! Talk to the Judge and make sure he knows what is in it for him if he does the right thing and rules in my favor," she replied.

"Don't you think I tried that already?" he asked irritably.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"He won't even take my call. His assistant said that he had taken Mr. Gold's suggestion and sequestered himself until the hearing this afternoon. Looks like he is more afraid of Gold than of us," he replied. She clenched her teeth.

"For now…" she fumed. If she ended up having to share custody of Henry with Emma and Neal...then she would have to take drastic measures.

~*~

The curtain was pulled around the bed and the blinds were closed to squelch the daylight, as they made good use of their alone time. Despite his tender wound, they had indeed managed to satisfy their need for intimacy. Clothes were scattered around the bedroom and they were bare, entwined together. She was straddled across him, as he was gently propped up on the pillows, joined as one, moving gently together. Lips met again and again, with moans and mewls escaping now and then, as a vocal declaration of their pleasure. She collapsed gently beside him and rested her head against his chest, as they came down and caught their breath.

"Told you we'd manage," he murmured to her, before pressing a kiss to her hair. She smiled up at him.

"You did...and I think that was a little more than managing," she said, in a dreamy tone, as they cuddled.

"Then I was on my game," he said, with a chuckle.

"You're never not on your game, my love...but now I'm starving," she replied.

"Me too...I'm on the pancakes," he said, as he got up and slipped into a pair of sleep pants.

"You're supposed to be resting," she said, as she sat up and pulled the sheet over her unclothed body.

"I can handle making us some pancakes," he said, as he pecked her on the lips. She smiled and watched him go into the kitchen, before she fished his shirt from the floor and her underwear. She went to the door and picked up the rolled newspaper that was there and brought it inside, before setting it on the table. She started some coffee and then sat down at the table, while he mixed the batter.

"Oh my God…" she said, as he looked up at her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"This story...someone wrote a story about us," she replied. He rolled his eyes.

"Great...more lies about our torrid "affair"," he complained.

"No, it's not that...someone wrote a story about how Regina and Kathryn came up with a phony marriage certificate to keep us apart, because of Regina's hatred of me," she replied.

"That sounds pretty close to the truth...so what's it doing in that newspaper?" he asked, as he read the byline.

"August W. Booth?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I have no idea who that is...or who he was back in our land. But I think we need to meet him," she replied. He nodded.

"Agreed. Just another adventure for us," he said, as he kissed her cheek. She smiled and went to pour the coffee, while he made the pancakes.

~*~

Kathryn didn't at all like the stares she was receiving that morning, as she walked into the diner. She tried to ignore the whispers and looks, as she approached the counter. Was Regina right? Had Mary Margaret helped facilitate this story to get the attention and hatred off her? It had certainly seemed to work by the cold look Granny was giving her.

"Can...can I get a cappuccino to go?" she asked.

"Coming right up," Granny replied. So she was still serving her, which hopefully meant she wasn't sure whether to believe the story or not.

"Thanks," Kathryn said, as she placed the cup in front of her.

"Don't thank me...I'm still serving you, because I know how intimidating the Mayor is, but you didn't have to go along with it," Granny replied.

"I...I didn't. That article is a lie. David was my husband," Kathryn argued.

"That reporter says the marriage license was forged. He says he had it authenticated and it came back as a forgery," Granny said, citing the article.

"Well...he's lying! Mary Margaret is a tramp and she stole my husband," Kathryn replied, as she grabbed her cup and stormed out of the diner. Regina was right...and she was going to confront the little homewrecker herself...

[vmheadquarters]

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter Fourteen of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @Lorie03. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.15 from @starlightafterastorm​ ​ -tag, you’re it!

—————————————————————————————————— CHAPTER FOURTEEN by @Lorie03

“What do you mean, ‘that’s not even the worst’?” Gia asked with a shrill voice. “What could possibly be worse than being stuck on an island with someone trying to kill all of us?”

“Being stuck with you,” Veronica muttered loud enough so only Logan could hear. A slight laugh came out of his mouth, and they shared a knowing smile before turning to Wallace. Seeing his dark look, she quickly regained her focus. Without a word, Wallace pulled a newspaper clipping from his back pocket and gave it to her. Unfolding it, Veronica studied the piece of paper and shivered. “This is dated three days from now and… it’s about us.” She read it out loud:

A dead silence fell on the room as everyone tried to process what they’d just heard. Veronica turned to face Logan, his concerned look reflecting hers. What the hell? was written all over his face. Unable to find a proper answer to the billion questions floating in her mind, she raised her head and checked the others. Anxiety was on every face, even Dick seemed to have lost his fast quips. 

Then, without warning, Gia threw herself on Luke and started punching his chest. “This is all your fault!” she screamed, her voice thick with panic. “Come on baby, it will be fun,” she mimicked him. “I swear, if I die, I will haunt you for the rest of your life!” With a final punch to his solar plexus, she turned in what was supposed to be a graceful move, but looked more like a petulant child having a tantrum.

“Can’t someone silence her?” Susan mumbled, with an infuriated look.

“I know the best way to shut a woman up,” Dick bragged, adding a lascivious wink toward Gia, who looked disgusted.

“Dick!” Veronica snapped.

“Dude, I didn’t know your chick could read people’s minds!” Dick was nearly bouncing with joy. “Why didn’t you tell me you were banging Wonder Woman?” He shook his head. “Not cool, bro, not cool.”

With a disapproving look on his face, Logan muttered, “I’m not ‘banging' Wonder Woman, Dick.” But his attempt to seem displeased miserably failed when Veronica noticed his amused smile.

At least, we have lightened the atmosphere. Veronica thought. 

Luke threw an angry glare toward Dick. Noticing the expression, Cole said with a scornful, angry tone, “Do you have a problem, loser?” A few laughs were heard but then an awkward silence fell on the room. 

Unable to face this silence, Veronica decided to take charge of the situation. Understanding her decision, Logan tightened his hand, his way of letting her lead while showing his love and support. A tender smile on her face, Veronica took a step forward, still holding her loved one’s hand. Dear Psychology Magazine, how can you lessen mental and physical stress in a bunch of people who just learned someone is planning their deaths? Drugs? Yoga? 

“Everybody just listen to me. Let’s try to relax, alright? I know this article may be a little stressful, but we still have two days until Sunday. Whoever lured us here, we’ll foil their plan. So, for now, we’re going to eat something, and then we’re going to explore this island to find any clue about the situation.”

“Logan must love her in bed, all bossy like that,” whispered Casey, exchanging a high-five with Dick. Their mocking expressions disappeared as soon as they noticed Logan’s angry one. 

Susan, who until now had stayed silent, cleared her throat before speaking. “That’s a really great plan, Veronica.” She crossed her arms. “But am I the only one who remembers there’s a dead body in the freezer?”

“Of course I remember Susan, but let’s deal with one issue at a time.” Veronica said with a patronizing tone. OK, Veronica, so you did forget, but no one has to know, right? “There’s no need for everyone to go, so why don’t you all stay here while I go look?”

“So what, all we have to do is wait for Miss Super Sleuth to do her show downstairs?” Cole asked in a dismissive tone.

If he doesn’t stop, there’s gonna be a new dead body very, very soon.

“Well, if you wanna identify a dead body, please be my guest!” When he didn’t answer, Veronica said, “That’s what I thought. Anyone else have any comments?” Everyone remained silent. “Perfect. Logan, you come with me, and you too Kimmy; everyone else, just stay here.” 

Moving toward Wallace, she barely had time to open her mouth before he was speaking. “Don’t worry, supafly,” he said quietly, so only Veronica and Logan could hear. “I’m gonna watch everybody- you can count on me.” He squeezed her shoulder.

With one final glare at the pampered 09ers, she gestured for Kimmy to lead the way.

“You know you’re hot when you’re bossy?” Logan whispered in Veronica’s ear, sending an enjoyable shiver through her body.

“Be nice and maybe I will be again,” she teased him with a wink, walking away with a slight sway of her hips. He moaned, and she struggled to contain her laughter. Veronica 1 – Logan 0 !

When they reached the freezer, Kimmy stopped short, leaving Veronica to open the door. Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the stainless-steel door. It was just as Kimmy described, a sheet covering a body with only the toes sticking out. Even for someone as unfashionable as me, I must say this color is pretty hideous.

Putting her hands on her hips, Kimmy said with a dismissive tone, “I’m sure she’s just a cook, or a housekeeper. Someone with class would know better than to wear such a disgusting shade of nail polish.”

Deciding that ignoring her was the best thing to do, Veronica slowly lifted the sheet so they could see the body. With a surprised gasp, she removed the entire sheet. Lying on the table, with strangulation marks on her neck, and her face forever frozen in a scream of terror, was Madison Sinclair dressed in a maid’s uniform.

“I heard the Sinclairs had lost their money, but Madison would never have agreed to be a maid, even if it was pretend,” cried Kimmy, shocked. 

She’s right. What’s Madison doing here? Dressed like this? None of this makes any sense. 

“We’d better go back upstairs,” said Logan, putting his arm around Veronica’s shoulders. Nodding in agreement, the three of them walked upstairs and rejoined the others.

They were assailed with questions. Unable to hear a thing, Veronica opened her mouth to ask for silence; then she noticed Logan moving toward Dick and leading him away from the group. She looked away when she saw Dick start to cry.

“The body was Madison Sinclair,” Kimmy said, before Veronica could explain.

“Are you sure it was really her?” Gia asked, in her usual childish tone.

Alexis frowned, snuggling closer to Casey. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe she was wearing a mask?” Faced with their skeptical looks, Gia added with a tight voice. “Hello, Tom Cruise, Mission Impossible?”

Shaking her head, Veronica moved near the window facing the frozen lake and contemplated the scene outside. Everything was covered by so much snow she couldn’t distinguish the lake from the land, but visibility was excellent, and it took her only a few seconds to realize what was wrong in the pristine white landscape. “Guys, Leo’s body is missing!” 

[newspaper-advertisement]

Book tender notice ads and get the best contractors for your business projects!

releaseMyAd is here to help you book your tender notice classified in any Indian newspaper of your choice with hassle free service.

[ask-de-writer]

FRIEND AND THE IMPERIAL EGGS : Part 3 of 7 : MLP Fan Fiction

Return to the Master Story Index 

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

FRIEND AND THE IMPERIAL EGGS

A Daring Do tale

Part 3 of 7

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)  

8927 words

© 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck Writing begun 05/13/16

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

This is a Fan Fiction based on My Little Pony.  Canterlot, Princess Luna and the name Daring Do are owned by Hasboro Inc.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.  

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Moreegg entered the Baron’s study in the morning.  There were many signs of the Baron having worked on the collection.  As he began to tidy up, he found the Baron’s cold tea only half drunk.  It was sitting out on a recent newspaper, opened to the celebripony gossip.

The teacup was weighing down a note:

Moreegg:   Take good care of the Barony in my absence. I have had a brilliant idea that can expand the collection with some of the rarest eggs ever. I must do this alone, Yoksonu, Baron.

As the mystified Moreegg was straightening the side table, he noticed an item in the Celebripony Gossip.

“The Gryphon Empire takes great pride in announcing that an Imperial Clutch is soon to be expected.  In spite of the difficulties caused by the recent civil war, a trustworthy clutch-tender has been found to care for the Imperial Eggs.”

Moreegg gazed sadly at the empty Gryphon egg case and said softly, “Please, dear Celestia, not that.”

////////////

The firing range that had been set up in the Hospital Aerie’s lowest level reverberated to the rapid roar of Daring Do’s beloved Spiderly 13 mm!  The powerful buck of the gun in hoof with each round and the smell of powder added to the delightful experience!

“Three bullseyes, the other two within three mm!” exclaimed nurse Grayyk.  “It is wonderful how you can maintain such accuracy with recoil like that!”  She held the retrieved target up for Daring Do to examine.

Eyes sparkling, Daring Do pointed to another target.  The holes in it were not as tightly clustered.  “For a so called novice shooter, you are doing really well!  That little 8 mm is just perfect for your claws!”

Nurse Grayyk was writing the tallies and times into Daring Do’s chart.  She looked up, clipping the pen back to the chart.  Her crest set to show how pleased she was, she answered, “If a student does well, it is a reflection on the quality of the teacher.  I have the best!

“Now to the pool.  I was told by Friend not to let you try laps yet. It may help you to know that the Hellbore poison did a lot of damage to your connective tissues at the joints.  You need gentle, low resistance exercise for best recovery.  She is very concerned that you recover the best, rather than fastest.”

Daring Do nodded, faking glumness.  Actually, as the warm waters closed about her, she relaxed, and began the enjoyable slow exercises that Friend wanted her to do.

////////////

Baron Yoksonu leaned back in the working chair.  “You understand how I want this done?”

“Yes, Sir.  Our field may be small but we are well known for the quality of our makeups and prosthesis.  You want a quality makeup that will be durable for up to a week.  Over it, you want a second, basically a mask of your present self.  One that will be easily penetrated.”

Shaking her head, the orange mare began applying careful layers of latex like material.  “It must be an elaborate practical joke that you are pulling.”

The Baron, considerately trying not to move, agreed, “It is indeed.  It should be quite the jest when it is done.”

Hidden within his wallet lay a simple seeming card.  It had been MUCH harder to obtain and far more expensive than the make up work, and that was not cheap.  The card was an Equestrian Railroad Security Inspector’s card.  

The picture on the card was what was being applied to him now, as the quality makeup basic disguise.

////////////

Friend was happily playing with the Eaglets, preening them and cuddling.  She was feeding them dangled strips of meat now.  They were developing exactly as her Eagle nymphs should.

She was surrounded by that delicate glow of magic that guided and protected her precious eggs and the nymphs that hatched from them.  None of these, Eagle or Gryphon, would ever become a changeling, so, she reflected, they were nymphs.

She also considered, far down in a mind more clever and devious than any who knew her but perhaps Matunen, all that she had learned of Gryphon and Pony politics and schemes as she had consumed her prey.  Those evil, plotting Gryphons had their share to contribute to her thoughts.

Found in both Grata’s mind and that of Matunen, was the detestable Baron Yoksonu and his collection.  Several of the eggs in his collection had been gathered from creatures of intelligence and wisdom.  Because of that, even Doctor Do, her Matunen, detested the Baron.  Matunen did recognize the scientific value of the collection and that had to be respected.

While serenely preening and feeding the next sweet little Eaglet, she smiled to herself.  Grata had gone along with announcing the new Imperial Clutch in Celebripony News.

Just this morning, a far flying Eagle had returned her the news.  The Baron, barely home a day, had disappeared.  All was proceeding as it should.

////////////

Grata was sharing a nest with her Empress and the Right Wing of the Throne. Their chosen consort had done his part a week ago and it was time. Soon they would produce the Imperial Eggs.  

The Empress raised her crest in frankness, “Grata, I cannot help but be worried about announcing our clutch in the Celebripony News.  This should be a State Secret.  Why is it not?”

Grata replied, “Friend, who will be tending our eggs for us, asked me to do it.  She said that it might help to uncover any remaining First Creationists and other undesirable sorts.”

Hisst, the Right Wing of the Imperial Throne, raised her crest in question, “What she is doing won’t put our eggs at risk, will it?  I mean, her magic seems so, so gossamer thin.”

Grata, crest rippling with amusement, replied, “Our eggs will be perfectly safe. Remember what happened to the traitor Arrokk, who tried to fly through it?  The staff only needed broom and mop to clean him up.  There was no shred of him big enough to pick up by claw.  The other seven that Friend gathered up and dumped at the foot of the Throne at that same time? None could resist that gossamer.

“Friend can be soft, gentle and loving.  Under that gentleness is toughness like I have never seen.  She thrives best, not by taking love, but by sharing it.  And love is the wrong word for it.  There just is not any other.  It is a subtle and very complex magic.

“Using that magic to guide the development of chicks in the egg is only one example of it in action.  The destruction of the traitor Arrokk while in flight is a different aspect of it. Doctor Do’s healing is another.  Our very existence as a species is yet another.  All of those things, together with her feelings, is what she means by loving the eggs.”

The Empress finally entered the conversation, crest raised in question, “I have been most carefully reading all of the reports on Doctor Do’s condition.  There are actually more reports on what the doctors have observed about Friend.

“They have never found her to be asleep as we understand the term.  Is that true?”

Grata, crest spread in honesty, replied, “That is true.  Friend does rest but she is always ready for instant action, if needed.”

The Empress nodded, holding her breath and pushing.  “There.  I do believe that is the last of our clutch.

“Let us take the eggs down to Friend.  I want to meet her up close and see her reaction.”

////////////

<==PREVIOUS   NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

[getmeupsocial]

Get Me Up Advertising- We are a leading as well as an authorised newspaper ad agency to book Tender Notice Ad in Newspaper. We book all types of Tender Notice ads in all newspapers, all languages and all cities in pan India at best possible rates. Call us for booking at 9810974532

Tenders ads in newspapers are official letters that organizations must prepare when they invite bids for an upcoming project, business proposal or when seeking to buy materials or goods in bulk. By Book Tender Notice Ad in Newspaper, one is able to reach and attract a proportionally large number of bidders for a business proposal or an upcoming project.

https://www.getmeup.in/tender-notice/

[alexia-exalias-ask]

Deadly Enemies

(With @gothic-nerd​ ‘s muses)

By an early evening that was beginning to darken, Two young women were outside to enjoy their reunion days as they often do.

She was walking hand in hand on the sidewalk of a few businesses that were starting to close.

"It was a beautiful day, right" asked Exalia

"Yes it is. Like all the previous outings, ”replied Henrietta, smiling.

"Glad to hear it, my dear ~" she said with a small smile of satisfaction and approaching her by tearing her hand away to place it on her forearm to hug her.

"...And thank you…"

“Huh? Why ?"

"For having made me spend wonderful days by your side far from what is happening behind me"

Exalia was touched for her words, she stood in front of her and left him a tender kiss on her pink lips, which was surprised by her gesture.

"Your words are nice to hear, my dear. I will always do my best to make your days enjoyable and make you forget these atrocities happening to you. But know that we will find a way to get you out of this situation. I promise~ ”

Henrietta looked at her with eyes wide at the time of the latter's confession as it sparkled with a halo under the weak daylight but what was more surprising, it was her eyes which was usually blue without brightness (even with the sun) which also shone brightly.

They took the road to bring Henrietta home, without suspecting that she had been watched for a while. They stopped in front of a store window to admire its beauty until a masked person caught Henrietta and placed a cloth soaked in chloroform on her face to keep her from screaming.

“HEY! LET GO OF HER IMMEDIATELY… ”But as soon as she said so, she was struck in the back of the skull before falling to the ground and falling into unconsciousness.

Everything became silent until hearing a thud that buzzed her ears and made her awake with a painful headache and neck. Exalia noticed that she was tied to a chair in some sort of warehouse. She tried to break away from it and scream for attention but to no avail until suddenly heard a voice echoing throughout the warehouse.

"Well, Well, Well ~ ... You end up waking up from your long sleep from what I see."

Exalia heard this voice which answered him but not knowing who he is or seeing him.

"Who are you?! What am I doing here tied up and locked up? !! ”

"Oh ~ ... You will be one day and you are here because you were kidnapped by a few henchmen whom I hired to take you."

“Puff! Is loose." And suddenly, she remembered that she was with Henrietta when she too got caught and when she suddenly got knocked out. “WHERE IS MY GIRLFRIEND !!!!? WHERE IS SHE !!!!!"

“There's no point in howling a wolf like that. She is in another room still asleep and she is not insulted. In any case, not yet… ”

"You better not doing anything wrong to her, I would rip your guts out if I see her even if it were scratched somewhere on her! Untie me & come fight like a man if you have the guts! ” responded with adrenaline soaring at his threats.

"Oh no, it won't be necessary ... but I have better to hurt you psychologically ..." he said, changing his authoritarian voice into a threatening voice which made his prisoner doubt.

"What? And how?"

* Let's go back to Henrietta a little further *

In another room, the one in which Henrietta was locked up, woke up with that awful taste of chloroform which remained anchored on her breath which she had breathed during the attack.

"*Cough* But what happened? Where am I?" she said in a panicked tone in this narrow room.

“We were kidnapped. Someone put you to sleep while someone else knocked Exalia out before we lost consciousness. " responds Evangeline.

"And it seems to me that this is a kind of warehouse where we are now." she added

"We have to get out of here."

Henrietta discovered a piece of paper hanging on a page of newspaper and approached to find out what it contained.

* Message on the piece of paper *

“Good reading ... and discovery”

She looks at the newspaper page.

“This page dates from last year. Oh ! it must be this paragraph to read… ”

* On the journal page *

After reading it, they felt cold sweats for such violence that happened to his two people on the newspaper.

“But it's horrible what happened! Why do such a thing? ”She says with fright

"This country is filled with mad and so dangerous madmen ... and wait there is something else hanging on the newspaper"

Behind the newspaper hangs a photo of the young dancer during a hiring night.

“It must be the dancer, who could take a picture like that…”

Evan looked at the photo until he noticed something familiar.

“Hey Henri! Look to the right of the photo. ”

Henrietta listened to him and saw this person wearing a hood on his head and had a flash when he saw her face ”

“But it's Exalia! But what was she doing there and dressing like that?

Was she friends with her? ”

“... Or rather maybe, in crush on it I think…”

Henri remained silent for a while until someone came to open the door to order him to follow him. Henrietta put this page on the ground and obeyed, trying not to make a mistake.

* Come back to Exalia *

"What? ...And how?" says Exalia

This person hidden somewhere, let out a little sneer at her response.

"I did some research on your subject and ... it didn't really look pretty messy what I saw. But ... I finally found something very interesting about you."

Exal was puzzled by his gibberish and was dying of patience to know what he found about him.

"Ah.! ... What a good farce! Guilt is not my weak point." she said provokingly. "I am sure that you only have descriptive bits from a few witnesses during my past debauchery. We live in a world that is not very rosy and I am the proof ..."

She was suddenly cut off.

"Oh no ~ ... I have something more ... Violent than simple nocturnal child's play. I'll give you a hint ... It's a video ..." he said, leaving suspense at his sentences.

Exalia remained mute, thinking about what he said until he saw a door open with two people passing by and approaching her.

"Exalia!" said Henri surprised to see his girlfriend tied up

"Chérie! Oh god ... you got nothing? Did they hurt you?" said Exalia, Cheerful and relieved but with a little concern.

Henrietta smiled to reassure her and saying that she was fine and related what happened on her side (not to mention Evangeline for not arousing suspicion in the aggressor).

"Exalia ... I have a question ... Do you know a young dancer called" Orlane Raptut? "

Exalia turned pale at this request with a few cold sweats running down her forehead. "Wh ... Why this question, my angel?" she said a little panicked but trying to hide it.

"Answer me, Exalia ... Do you know her?"

Exalia took a breath before responding. "Yes, I know her and we were friends before she disappeared." she replies, looking away from her.

"Woah ... I thought you would tell him sincerely but I see how you are a liar, and even in front of your girlfriend. How pathetic you are." added the voice which was very quiet during the reunion.

Exalia remained silent with the glance out of the field of vision of Henrietta which she looked at her with the shocked face and saw this one which did not answer and even without looking her in the face.

Exalia replied with lack of tact: "What concerns her ?! Why make her discover this one ?! It's not her business ?!

Her voice, which was calm at the start, became cold and hostile to this response, which made Henrietta frightened and hurt by her response.

"Oh lala ~ How long you take to relax! But think you understand what I told you about" This video "." he says

Exalia understood what he was going to do and became even whiter and no longer hid his panic.

"And if we were going to watch this one together as a kind of" Family "video.

"NO! YOU BETTER NOT TO DO ...."

A screen of light appeared on the wall and projected this video on it.

(On progress)

[thedeevirus]

CHUBBY OSWALD

Sorry, did I say ‘new ficlet’ up this weekend? I meant ‘new ficletS’ ;)

Enjoy this ficlet taking place after Gotham’s finale!

Added to Nygmobblepot Ficlets on AO3

**

‘Make yourself at home and we’ll see about something to eat’, Oswald said, hanging his jacket on a waiting hook, ‘And something to drink I think’.

Ed nodded as he finished securing the last of the multitudinous deadbolts on the safehouse door. BY Oswald’s standards, the safehouse was practically spartan; a single basement apartment in a run down neighbourhood but compared to his Arkham cell, it was a palace. He almost felt a lump in his throat forming at the sight of the bathroom and the door that guaranteed blissful privacy.

Oswald was busying himself at a drinks cabinet. He took out a bottle of scotch and two crystal tumblers.

‘Look at me, I’m actually shaking!’ Oswald said, rubbing his hands, ‘Prison’s made me soft’.His eyes flicked to a nearby wall mirror and conscientiously straightened his back.‘In more ways than one’, he sighed.

‘Penguins aren’t known for their trim figures’, Ed said, mentally kicking himself for his clumsy attempt at reassurance.

‘Thanks Ed’, Oswald deadpanned.

‘I just mean I think it suits you!’ Ed hastily added.

‘Yes, well, thanks’, Oswald said, smiling gratefully at Ed’s efforts, ‘You’re looking well, considering where you were’.

‘You haven’t seen all of me’.

‘Sorry?’ Oswald asked, pouring them both a drink, ‘What was that?’

‘I just let them see what they wanted to see’, Ed said, ‘Pretended to be crazy. Then again, I did just see a man-bat so maybe I wasn’t pretending as much as I thought’.

‘We both saw it so you’re in good company, don’t worry’, Oswald said.

He couldn’t help glancing at the small basement window in case the vigilante was somehow lurking outside. He supposed he should be grateful it hadn’t been a literal bat hybrid creature. Stranger things had happened in Gotham…

‘I wonder what happened to our certificates?’

Oswald took a folder from a desk drawer and handed it to Ed. Ed smiled fondly at the contents nestled in amongst the yellowed, crinkled copies of their certificates: photographs of he and Oswald when the latter had been mayor, newspaper clippings of Ed’s early Riddler career and other detritus dropped along Memory Lane.Oswald had always been surprisingly sentimental.

‘Things were simpler then’, Ed mused.

‘Remind me, had people started coming back from the dead at that point?’ Oswald asked.

‘Present company excluded?’ Ed asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Well I’ve lost some pieces along the way’, Oswald said, eyes drifting downwards, ‘And gained some unfortunately’.He downed his drink and forced himself to brighten.‘At least the padding will come in handy tonight’, he said, heading towards a comfy looking armchair.

‘You’re not taking the bed?’ Ed asked.

‘I’ve had the luxury of clean sheets for the last 10 years Ed’, Oswald said, ‘You haven’t’.

Ed hated how his desperate longing for a proper night’s sleep warred with his concern for Oswald’s leg. He also hated the regret he felt as his better nature won out.

‘What about your leg?’

‘What about it?’ Oswald asked with the barest trace of irritation.

Ed sighed fondly. Some things, like Oswald ignoring his leg, never changed.

‘If you get into that chair, you won’t be able to get up again without my help’, Ed said.

‘Thanks for your concern but I’ll be fine’, Oswald said, sitting down in an ironic show of defiance.

‘I just want to spare us both the indignity of me lifting you onto your feet because your leg won’t cooperate tomorrow morning. You know I’m right’.

‘Oh aren’t you always?’ Oswald chuckled, ‘But, I think someone’s a tad overconfident in their physical prowess if you think you can lift me. You used to struggle when I was literally ‘half the man’ I am now’.

‘You think?’ Ed asked, cracking his knuckles, ‘I had a lot of free time in Arkham’.

‘Alright then Mr Brains as well as Brawn. Show me’.

Ed took hold of Oswald’s offered hands and pulled. He felt his feet shift on the carpet as he strained. He frowned at Oswald’s knowing smile but when Oswald pulled him, his scowl vanished as his eyes widened.Ed landed on Oswald’s lap and automatically linked his hands behind Oswald’s neck to keep his balance. Oswald smirked up at him.

‘Where was that when that bat-man was tying us to the lamppost?!’ Ed asked with mock anger.

‘I just need the proper motivation’, Oswald shrugged.

‘Yeah I know; Proving me wrong!’

Both men laughed. As their laughter died away, they had simultaneous realizations.Oswald realised Ed’s rear end was positioned over a particular part of his anatomy that was slowly beginning to respond to the warmth and Ed realised that he had been sitting on Oswald’s lap and that one of his fingers was idly tracing the back of Oswald’s neck.Ed stretched in what he hoped was a relaxed fashion and patted the back of the armchair.

‘Anyway! This is definitely not good for your leg’, Ed said.

He clambered off Oswald who shifted in the chair in what he also hoped was a relaxed fashion.

‘C’mon now’, Ed said casually, ‘Upsy daisy!’

Oswald shifted forwards and tried to rise. He braced his good leg and rose slowly. He rotated the ankle of his bad leg and flinched as it popped. He began to lean to the left and Ed, reading the sudden panic in Oswald’s eyes, reached out and took hold of both of Oswald’s hands to steady him.

‘Okay, okay’, Oswald conceded, ‘Maybe you’re not entirely wrong. Ed? Ed?!’

‘What?!’ Ed asked, startled.

‘Sorry’, Oswald said gently, trying to ignore the warmth of Ed’s hands in his, ‘I thought you were disassociating. Are you okay?’

‘Yes, it’s just’, Ed said, gently squeezing Oswald’s hands as if worried they weren’t real, ‘Do you remember the last time you just…held someone’s hand?’

‘Your hand’, Oswald answered immediately, ‘Waiting to go into the courtroom’.

‘If anyone had noticed they would have strip searched us on the spot’, Ed chuckled.

Oswald tried to ignore the increasingly erotic images swimming to the surface of his brain and cleared his throat.

‘I thought it was worth the risk’, Oswald shrugged offhandedly and began to extricate his hands.

‘Oswald, it was worth everything to me!’ Ed exclaimed suddenly.

Oswald froze as if Ed had slapped him. He couldn’t look at Ed, convinced that he had misheard. That he had misunderstood the sentiment. Ed obviously meant he appreciated Oswald being a supportive friend at a difficult time. That was all. Oswald had made assumptions before about how Ed felt. He was not going to make that mistake again.

‘Wow it feels good to finally say that out loud!’ Ed said shakily.

They stared at each other. Oswald uncertain of how to proceed and conscious that he was staring into Ed’s dark eyes which held something akin to expectance in their depths, gestured to Ed’s untouched glass of scotch on the table.

‘Drink?’

Ed ignored the tumbler and took a hasty swig from the bottle.Ed’s hand remained in Oswald’s. Oswald could sense Ed’s pulse racing with his own. Something was going to happen. Both of them knew it, Both of them had known it as soon as Oswald had asked Ed to spend the night.

‘Ed’, Oswald said, licking his lips, ‘There’s something I need to say too. I-‘

Ed kissed him.Oswald tasted the scotch first but then it seemed to melt away. He felt his lips automatically open wider and Ed’s tongue gently probe its way inside. It was warm and tender and everything he had ever dreamt. When Ed pulled back, Oswald had no idea how long had passed.His first kiss. Ed had been his first kiss.

‘I’m sorry’, Ed said, adjusting his glasses, ‘You were saying?’

‘Why apologise?’

‘I think I kind of interrupted you’.

‘Aren’t you going to do it again?’

‘Interrupt you?’

Oswald laughed softly as he tenderly touched Ed’s face.

‘I was just going to say “I think we’ve both had enough of waiting”’, he said quietly.

‘You are correct’, Ed said, letting Oswald lead him.

He hung up his jacket as both men removed their shoes. Ed undid his tie slightly but left it on not wanting to make things too easy for Oswald.Finally, Oswald flicked the light off and both men settled on the bed.

‘This feels weird’, Ed said, rocking on his heels, luxuriating in the plush mattress.

‘I know, a mattress that actually compresses!’ Oswald laughed as he lay down.

‘I’m sure we’ll adapt to the softness somehow’, Ed said walking his fingers along Oswald’s stomach coquettishly.

Despite Oswald’s best efforts, Ed caught the rueful way Oswald glanced at his own stomach.

‘Look at me Oswald’, Ed said, unbuttoning his shirt, ‘I want to show you something’.

He exposed his chest and Oswald couldn’t suppress a gasp.Ed knew not all of the scars were from Arkham but their source was not important right now. What was important was helping Oswald see that both of them had changed. That they had come out stronger. That appearance did not matter. That appearances had never mattered.

‘We don’t have to go further if you don’t want to’, Ed said, ‘Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there’.

Oswald sat up. He undid Ed’s loosened tie and slid it from Ed’s neck. Ed shivered as he felt Oswald lower the shirt from his shoulders and his eyelids flickered as Oswald’s lips traced his neck. He tilted his head back as Oswald gave his silent answer, lips feather light as he kissed the scars bedecking Ed’s chest. Ed exhaled shakily at the tenderness of the gesture and the ticklish sensation of Oswald’s breath gracing each wound.As Oswald’s eyes drifted down, he noticed something dark on Ed’s hip. Worried it may be a bruise from their altercations earlier that night, he slid Ed’s waist band down.

‘Is that a…?’ Oswald asked even as he realised it was not a bruise. It was a crude, black tattoo of an umbrella’s outline.

‘I dunno’, Ed smirked, pointing at Oswald’s chest, ‘What’s that?’

Oswald smiled self consciously as he noticed a dark shape was visible through his white shirt. He reached up to his buttons but then reconsidered. He lowered his hands and tilted his head invitingly. Ed reached and unbuttoned Oswald’s shirt slowly, just in case Oswald changed his mind. Little by little, Oswald’s pale chest was exposed. Including a green inked question mark tattoo shining above Oswald’s heart.

Their eyes met and they finally abandoned any pretence at restraint.

This kiss was deeper. Fiercer. Their lips clashed and Oswald, nervousness forgotten, nipped at Ed’s lips, bruising them, marking them as his. Ed gripped Oswald’s face in both hands and locked him in place as Oswald groaned. Ed thrilled internally as he felt Oswald begin to subconsciously grind against him, a rhythmic, seductive courtship dance all the more intoxicating for the thought that Oswald was silently begging Ed for release.Oswald moaned as one of Ed’s hands clasped his ass, dragging him closer, the roughness of the gesture mingling wonderfully with the gentle movement of Ed’s fingers through his hair. He finally had all of Ed all to himself.

They broke away, breathless and flushed.

They realised they had drawn closer together and now lay flush, both erections tenting their trousers. As Ed stirred, he sighed as his erection brushed against Oswald’s. He hadn’t expected it to be so…big.

‘Ready?’ Oswald asked, hands resting on Ed’s belt.

‘You’re sure?’

Oswald nodded and unbuckled Ed’s belt. Ed did likewise and within seconds both men were fully naked. They spent a few moments just admiring. Experiencing. Wondering.

‘Oh my God, Ed, you’re so…’ Oswald breathed, tracing a spiral on Ed’s hip.

‘So are you, Ed whispered, cupping Oswald’s ass.

‘It-it’s my first time’, Oswald said, knees grinding together.

‘Mine too’, Ed said, restraining himself with difficulty at the sight of Oswald’s adorable bashfulness, ‘How would you like to do this?’

Oswald swallowed hard as he embraced Ed. Ed luxuriated in the warmth and safety even as he listened to Oswald’s choked sounding words.

‘Ed? I’m-I’m sorry but I-I don’t think I’m ready for…’

He trailed off and he sounded so helpless, so dejected that Ed couldn’t help but kiss him. Oswald shuddered, hands gripping Ed’s shoulders as if he would never let go. Ed could sense Oswald holding tears back and his heart ached.

‘It’s okay’, Ed said, stroking Oswald’s feather-soft hair, ‘Show me what you would like to do’.

‘I, uh, I don’t know’, Oswald admitted, eyes glistening, ‘I never thought we’d be here like this. You and me’.

Ed’s heart swelled at Oswald’s blatant giddiness as another more explicit body part pulsed, pushing Ed to make Oswald feel better.

‘May I try something?’ Ed asked.

Oswald nodded.Ed reached down slowly. His long fingers easily took hold of both of their cocks. He stopped as Oswald gave a start but Oswald’s hips slowly began to rock. Ed looked at Oswald and seeing the silent pleading in his eyes, began to stroke.

‘Oh-oh God…’

‘Do you want me to stop?’

Oswald placed his own hand on their cocks. This time it was Ed’s turn to toss his head back in pleasure as Oswald’s thumb swirled around their heads. For someone who claimed to be a virgin, he was a natural. Had Oswald touched himself like this in the past? Had Oswald touched himself like this when thinking about Ed?!

‘God, no. Don’t stop’, Oswald shivered, ‘Please, Riddler’.

‘Oh my God’, Ed moaned as he obeyed.

The way Oswald was now repeating his name was like music to his ears. Wonderful, hypnotic music.Both men rocked in unison as they kissed desperately and deeply. The fingers of Ed’s free hand tangled in Oswald’s hair and Oswald’s other hand clamped on Ed’s hip, pulling him closer to the delicious friction. Closer to the edge.

‘Good?’ Ed asked breathlessly.

Oswald nodded frantically in reply even as his head snapped back, lips parted at the alien sensations rocking him to his core.

‘Is this-ah!-as good as you imagined?’ Oswald breathed, somehow finding his voice even as his breath was stolen away again and again.

‘Oh…’ Ed sighed, throwing them both over the edge with a final few punctuated thrusts, ‘Better, so, so much better!’

The loneliness of the last ten years fell away as they came together in a wild, heady rush. The moment was all that mattered. They shuddered in each other’s arms, their flesh goose pimpled and eyes bright beneath their sweat drenched brows.

A few seconds later, both were clean and beneath the covers.

‘Worth the wait?’ Ed asked, stroking Oswald’s leg as he draped it over his own.

‘Worth the wait’, Oswald agreed, snuggling into the welcome crook of Ed’s arm.

[padfootagain]

The Lesson (I)

Part 1 : Punishment 

Ha, look at the fool that I am!! Look how a silly little one-shot has turned into a multi-chaptered fic!! Watch and learn. This is what having 0 self-control looks like…

Anyway, this is a very cute little fic that I'm writing here. Lots of fluff and silly idiots in love.

I hope you like it! Tell me what you think of it!!

Gif not mine

Word Count : 4825

Gabriel really doesn't have a clue what's going on right now.

A minute ago, he was in heaven, drinking tea with Michael, and laughing at some poor ridiculous angel, who had knocked a whole pile of their old files off and therefore had to spend their afternoon putting it all back the way it was before.

And then he was summoned. By God herself. Or well, the Metatron, to be precise, as no one really talks to Her directly. But talking to the Metatron is like talking to God after all, he is Her voice. And he is the one devoted to take care of all the tiny insignificant business that God Herself is too busy to take care of herself.

Gabriel is rather surprised by the summon, but he is an Archangel, after all. And more than that he is the Archangel Fucking Gabriel. He is something of importance, up there, in Heaven, and is quite proud of his influence and reputation throughout the angelic organization.

And yet, how fast has his world come to crumble…

"But, there must be a mistake, I mean… what would She want to punish me for?" Gabriel tries to argue.

He can't be sentenced to something. He just can't. Why… Where was that all coming from anyway?

"You have grown too much apart from the humans you are meant to help and protect," the Metatron replies in a calm, slow voice.

"That's… with all due respect, that's a misunderstanding."

"God knows best."

"Of course, She does. But I am…"

"You shall see the benefit of Her teaching in the end, even if for now, Her decision appears all but mysterious to you. You will grow to learn the lesson She means to teach you."

"What shall I do then?"

After all, Gabriel can't defy God. She for sure knows better than him. His ego is ready to accept only this limitation, but this one, it can't deny.

"You shall experience the world as a human."

"What?!"

"You will be sent to Earth under your mortal form, and shall remain there as long as you need to learn the lesson God has prepared for you."

"But… like… I could stay for several days?! I can't stay down there for days! What about that terrible air they breathe, and this disgusting food and… hang on… if I'm mortal, does that mean I have to eat?! I can't sully my ethereal body with this!"

"You shall leave like a mortal for as long as necessary for you to learn the people you are meant to help."

"This is…"

But he stops himself before he would let out the word. He can't say that it was all ridiculous. Blasphemy and all that. He reckons he is in enough trouble already.

"When am I leaving?"

The Metatron smiles.

"Now, of course."

And before Gabriel can protest, the world around him is of a blinding white, and he is gone.

 ----------------------------------------------------

 Crowley is so proud of his garden. He's always loved plants, he's always loved watching them grow (into perfection, using a little bit of his voice). And in the South Downs, near the limestone cliffs and chalky rocks, in the cottage he and Aziraphale have bought after the almost-end-of-the-world incident, he created a welcoming and rather furnished garden. Aziraphale is not one to complain about it, first because he can see how the garden makes the demon happy, and whatever makes Crowley happy instantly makes Aziraphale happy as well, but also because Crowley has turned the garden into the loveliest place to read a good book. Under the warm summer sun, sitting on the wooden bench Crowley has placed there for him (of course, the demon has never admitted that adding a bench to the garden was meant for the angel, but Aziraphale is not a fool, not anymore, at least), with the sweet perfume of blooming jasmine, lilac and hydrangea, it makes it perfect for the angel to get lost in a good book. And that is precisely what he is doing at that moment.

It is a rare copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray he is devouring now, that Oscar Wilde signed for him a long time ago - with a tender note that had made Crowley doubt the angel's purity for a while too, until Aziraphale denied it with a blush and used the obvious fact that there was already someone in his heart when he had met the author in question, to which Crowley had been the one to fiercely blush and hiss a little.

Aziraphale is not surprised at all when Crowley joins him on the bench, takes off his dark sunglasses, that he carefully places in the pocket of his black shirt, and lies down to rest his head on the angel's laps. Actually, Aziraphale has been waiting for Crowley to join him on the bench. It is almost a habit by now, really. A habit nor Aziraphale nor Crowley have managed to get quite used to, even now, that they have been free for several years from both Heaven and Hell.

They can be close now. As close as they have always wanted and fantasized and hoped for, and they are. It doesn't mean either of them has grown accustomed to how lucky they both are to have each other though.

Aziraphale adjusts his position on the bench a little to give Crowley more room to unfold his long legs, and lowers a hand from his precious book to Crowley's burning hair, eliciting a content sigh from the demon as he closes his eyes.

He must admit that this life is a rather good one. A quiet cottage near the sea, crowded with Aziraphale's old books and a large garden for Crowley to terrorize as many plants as he wants. And he's with Aziraphale now. They live together, and drink their tea in the morning while they read the newspaper, and they go out to eat ice-creams in the afternoon, and organize picnics by the sea, and dinners home in the trembling light of burning candles, and they go to bed together, and hold each other as they fall asleep…

… and they can kiss, and hold hands, and touch, run fingers through hair and peck smiles and all of this tastes a little bit too much like paradise for the demon's heart to handle.

He loves it anyway.

They've been free from Hell and Heaven for a decade now. Or well, it will soon be a decade, in one week, to be exact. It coincides with their anniversary too. One year after the almost-Armageddon. After a year of dates at the Ritz, and picnics in Saint James's Park, and holding hands along the Thames, and stealing kisses in the bookshop, and faking they didn't hear people mistaking them for husbands so they wouldn't have to correct them. After a year they decided to move away from the busy town together, and Aziraphale proposed to get the arrangement one step further. Maybe it would make things easier and more practical to get a house. Maybe it would spare them the bother of having people mistaken their relationship. And maybe he wanted to spend the rest of eternity by Crowley's side, and is it not what marriage is all about, after all? A promise to be there, whatever may happen?

Crowley agreed that it would make things clear for the new neighbours, and might drive a few conservative old ladies mad, and he's a demon still, so how could he miss the occasion to mess up with narrow-minded elders? And maybe he also wanted to spend all eternity with Aziraphale, and if he had made that promise to stay with him forever long before, maybe he would enjoy making the statement official now.

It was almost nine years ago that they took their vows, and the thought brings Crowley to gently stroke the silvery ring around his finger, where a pair of wings is engraved. He opens his eyes to glimpse at Azirphale's matching golden ring, wrapped around a finger that holds his book up to read.

They're lucky. Unbearably, cheesily, disgustingly lucky, and it makes Crowley so annoyingly happy.

He closes his eyes again, drinking in the sun that warms up his eyelids, enjoying the way the angel soothingly runs his fingers through his hair.

"Your lilac smells divine, dear," Aziraphale compliments him, and Crowley can't refrain a little smile.

Aziraphale is distracted from his book for good. After six thousand years of companionship (and secret longing), he knows the angel by heart. He might fake an innocent tone, but he merely wants to talk with Crowley. About nothing in particular, really, just talk, maybe hold hands at one point while the sun warms their two frames, and they'll probably share a few kisses on the way too. Crowley grins at the thought.

Temptation accomplished.

"I've made sure they would," he replied without bothering opening his eyes.

"Oh, dearest, really, you ought to stop terrifying these poor things!"

"May I remind you how many plants you managed to make grow with your 'all love and sweetness method' when you were a gardener for Warlock, huh?"

Aziraphale let out a revolted huff.

"Well, your jasmine didn't die when I complimented it yesterday, did it?" he whispers under his breath, just loudly enough for Crowley to catch his words.

In response, Crowley jolts upright.

"You did WHAT?!" he shouts through the quiet garden, but Aziraphale fakes innocence, the ghost of an amused smile tugging at his lips.

And Crowley notices it. Oh, of course he does. Aziraphale can be so horridly annoying sometimes…

"Me? Nothing."

"How many timessss do you have to tell you? No kindnesssss!" Crowley hisses in his anger.

But Aziraphale stares at him with such a tender glance now, as he puts his book down on his lap to cup Crowley's cheeks.

"Oh, you foul fiend…"

But in that soft and playful tone, Crowley knows that the words truly mean You're such a nice soul.

"I'm not niccce," he replies with a pout.

"Of course you are," Aziraphale replies, before pulling the demon to him and kissing him gently on the lips.

" 'm not."

"Yes, you are, dear."

"You bastard."

"I know that too."

They chuckle against each other's lips, and kiss again. And again. And again…

Until they hear a loud thudding noise coming from behind them, in the back of the garden. It comes from… yes, definitely around Crowley's red dahlias.

Crowley is on his feet before a second has the time to tick, and Aziraphale has turned on the bench as well, in the direction of the noise.

A groan rises from behind the tall flowers. Human, without a doubt. Male, judging by the sound of the voice.

Where the hell is he coming from?

"Oh dear… he must be hurt, he must have climbed over the wall," Aziraphale whispers, standing up as well and nervously twisting his clasped hands.

"And landed three meters away from the fence? What was he doing on top of the wall anyway? Diving into dahlias?"

"What should I know? But he must be hurt. We should… go and take a look."

Which, as Crowley perfectly knows, means 'you should go and take a look'.

He rolls his eyes.

"Should I call the police?" Aziraphale asks, following Crowley, a couple of steps behind.

"Nah, no need. I'll handle it, angel. Must be drunk or something."

Aziraphale comes a little closer to the demon, which can only make Crowley smile. As if he would get in a fight if there was to be one anyway… But now that he thinks about it, Crowley guesses that the angel might, if there were to be a real danger. The idiotic selfless being of love…

They walk through the patch of grass splayed before the dahlias, and Crowley notices the broken plants in the blink of an eye.

"My dahlias!" he exclaims with both anger and distress in his voice.

"Oh, my love," Aziraphale tries to soothe him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe a little miracle…"

"No! No! Angel, it took me years to have them so red!"

"I know, dearest, I'm sorry."

"My dahlias!"

"I know. But there's someone in the dahlias, honey, we should…"

"Aziraphale?"

Both the angel and the demon freeze. It's not difficult to recognize Gabriel's voice. He's been haunting their nightmares for years.

They exchange a surprised, then shocked, then scared look, before focusing on the dahlias again. Taking a few more steps towards the plants, they easily spot the archangel indeed, still lying head first in the earth.

Crowley moves to stand between Aziraphale and Gabriel, and the angel has no trouble recognizing the dangerous look in the demon's eyes, along with the little sparks coming out of the tip of his fingers.

"Crowley, no. He seems hurt," Aziraphale stops him, but Crowley turns to him with an astonished look on his features.

"He tried to kill you, angel. He wanted to kill you!"

"But he didn't, did he now?"

Crowley clenches his jaw, hellfire burning in his eyes with his devouring rage, and Aziraphale heaves a sigh.

Meanwhile, Gabriel has sat up in the dahlias, destroying a few more flowers in the process.

"Aziraphale! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Well, not ussss," Crowley spits back.

"Still with your best friend, I see."

Crowley glares at him, and Aziraphale takes a step closer, coming right beside Crowley.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were to leave us alone, now," he asks back, making an effort close to a miracle to keep a polite tone.

"Well, that's quite a long story."

"Get out of here."

Crowley's jaw and fists are clenched, and Aziraphale knows how close the demon is to miracle Gabriel in the depth of the Mariana Trench.

"Well, I… I'm afraid I can't," Gabriel shakes his head, a touch of panic twisting his features.

"You'd better miracle yourself out of this garden… no, actually, out of this town… no, no, out of this country before I have time to miracle it for you," the demon spits.

"Crowley…"

"He tried to kill you!"

Aziraphale heaves a sigh.

"Look… why have you come here? We weren't doing anything…" Aziraphale turns to Gabriel again.

"No, I mean. I didn't choose where I landed, I just… I was sent here."

"Sent here? By whom? For what?"

"God. She… is punishing me."

Both Crowley and Aziraphale stared at him as their eyebrows shot up to their hairline.

"Punishing you?"

Gabriel nods, on the verge of tears. His white suit is stained with dark dirt and the green dye of broken leaves, his hair a mess. He looks desperate.

"Apparently I've grown… too far from humans. I've… lost the point or…I don't really know why I was sent here as a mortal."

"A mortal?" the demon and the angel ask in an astonished unison.

"I'm stuck here in a mortal body for as long as I haven't changed."

"Changed for what?"

"I have no idea."

He looks up at them. Crowley the demon, and Aziraphale the angel. He hates both of them. They stopped the war that would end everything. They saved humanity, and for what? A garden? A cottage? A little bit of sun? It's ridiculous. They're a joke, an anomaly, and he wishes he and Beelzebub could have found a way to get rid of them both all those years ago.

But he's also alone, in a world he barely knows, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. And they are they only ones he can rely on, if they let him.

"Help me."

Crowley snorts.

"Yeah, of course, why not? Why not help the archangel who tried to burn him alive," Crowley mocks, pointing at Aziraphale, and as he goes on, at himself. "And handed enough holy water to dissolve me."

"We haven't always agreed on general politics..."

"That is a euphemism, Gabriel," Aziraphale replies in a harsh tone. "Crowley has a point, you did try to murder us."

"Yes, that's true. But I'm sent here in a human's body and I don't know what I'm even supposed to do and have nowhere to go…"

"Well, first, you can GET OUT OF MY GARDEN!" Crowley roars.

"But…"

"OUT!"

Aziraphale makes a movement towards the archangel, but Crowley stops him.

"He might be armed."

"I'm not. I'm human now!"

"Oh, and we should take your word for it then?"

"Crowley."

The demon stops to look at Aziraphale again. He seems hesitant, but determined too. Crowley knows this look. It's the look that gets them both in trouble everytime. It's the look that means I know it might be a bad idea, but it's the right thing to do, and thus I must do it. And he hates that look…

"Crowley and I will take you to the hotel. We'll give you some money too, so you can pay for the room for a few days," he decides, and Crowley wants to shout to the top of his lungs how annoying and wrong and stupid the angel is right now. Instead, he lets out a low groan.

He has never managed to make Aziraphale change his mind, not in six thousand years, he doesn't expect to win now.

"Thank you," is all Gabriel can manage to say.

He stands up, and Crowley watches as he reveals the broken plants.

And Gabriel is almost certain to see tears in the yellow, demonic eyes.

"My dahlias…" Crowley breathes, and Aziraphale pats his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, dear."

"It took my years…"

"I know. But they'll grow back. You'll make them grow back."

"My dahlias…"

Gabriel is more confused than ever…

They guide him through the house, that Gabriel quickly examines as they walk through but doesn't really care about lingering in. It feels warm and a little crowded, but in the most comforting way. As they walk through the kitchen, he notices the collection of herbs, the books about cooking and gardening, the many mugs of all colours and shapes, the many boxes of tea and cocoa, the light coming in from the large window. In the living room, the many shelves stacked with old books encircling the room, a large TV screen lost in the middle of them. A warm carpet, a comfortable sofa and two armchairs are set around a little glass table. He can't deny that the place feels loved, even if he's not an angel anymore, and can't feel it the way he used to. But he doesn't really want to linger around the two traitors, and he reckons that a hotel sounds like a good idea. He feels tired all of a sudden. And that's when it hits him. He is tired. Instinctively, he knows he needs to sleep. He also feels a constant but quiet pain in his stomach. Is it what hunger feels like?

The more he thinks about it, the more he is panicking. Crowley has already opened the front door and is ready to throw the (former) archangel out when Gabriel stops in his tracks, and leans against the large leathery sofa in an attempt to keep on standing.

"Oh dear Lord…" he breathes, his heart speeding up, and the thought of his beating heart makes a new wave of panic course through his veins. "What am I gonna do? How… I don't know how to do things like this…"

"What are you talking about?" Aziraphale inquires with a frown, and Crowley hates the fact that he sees pity into his blue eyes.

Really, pity for this murderer is the last thing they need.

"I'm… I think I… my body needs to sleep."

"Well, we're taking you to a hotel. You'll have a comfortable bed and everything you need to sleep."

"But HOW?! How do I sleep?"

"Oh…"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a glance, but they don't try to make the other understand the same message at all through this silent communication.

Crowley tries to say this is the worst idea in the whole history of the universe and I am not helping this prick.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale's blue eyes are begging for we can't leave him like this, he's just a human now, after all.

And Crowley, at this particular moment, hates both Aziraphale and himself. Himself because he knows that he loves Aziraphale too much to refuse anything he could possibly ask him. The bastard could ask for the stars, and Crowley would re-learn how to create them just for him. And he hates Aziraphale too because he knows perfectly well that he is looking at him with this particularly soft gaze because of which Crowley can't refuse him anything.

"Well, you… You just lie down in a bed. And close your eyes and try to think of something nice," Aziraphale explains, gently taking Gabriel by the elbow to guide him towards the door.

"Try to think of something nice?! That's all? What nice things do you think about?"

"Well… A good book, or some good food or…"

"Or burning you in hellfire," Crowley hisses behind his gritted teeth, making both Gabriel and Aziraphale glower at him.

"I don't even know what I did wrong," Gabriel went on, and despite Aziraphale's cold feelings towards the archangel, he can't help but feel sorry for him. "I don't know what I have to do to get back. What if I stay stuck here forever?"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a panicked glance. They can't allow that to happen…

"I'm sure you'll find something."

"What am I going to do? And I don't have money… they still use money down here, right?"

"Yes. We'll give you some to get by for a few days."

"But then?"

"Then… you'll have to find a job and pay for yourself, I suppose."

"I can't do it, Aziraphale. I can't…"

Gabriel is shaking from the tip of his white shoes to his perfect hair (or well, usually perfect hair, the landing in Crowley's dahlia has disturbed a couple of strands). Aziraphale makes him sit on the sofa while he turns to speak with Crowley, taking his arm and pulling him into the kitchen. By the window, they can see the garden still bathed in sunlight, in which two sparrows decide to settle to sing, but they spend a moment commenting on what could have caused the perfect garden to look so messy now with all these broken dahlias.

"We have to help him," the angel decides with urgency shaking his voice.

"What?! Of course not! He tried to kill you, angel! There wasn't even any form of trial."

"I know…"

"Have you forgotten how mean he was to you all these years?! All his remarks and cruel little comments?!"

"I haven't forgotten any of those, and you know it."

"Then how on Earth can you think for a second about helping him?!"

"Because… if we don't, he might never be sent back."

"Perhaps a lifetime on Earth will do him good," Crowley replies with darkness in his voice.

"We'll never get rid of him then," Aziraphale reasons his demon. "Besides, we're better than him. We have to be better than him. Better than all of them. Our side has to be better than theirs."

Crowley sighs, running a hand through his hair and making the ginger strands messy. He hates it when Aziraphale does that, when he chooses the perfect arguments to convince him.

"We can't leave him," Aziraphale adds in a shy voice.

"He wouldn't do the same for us. He would kill us both if he had the chance."

"But we're not him."

"He doesn't deserve your kindness, angel. Not after all he's done to you."

"No, maybe he doesn't. But he doesn't need to deserve it for me to grant it to him anyway."

Crowley sighs again, but he can't find words to reply. Deep down, he thinks about a day long gone, spent on the top of a wall encircling Eden, watching the first storm wet the world and a couple with a flaming sword disappear in the distance. He thinks about an angel offering him protection from the cold rain under his wing. He thinks about his smile. He thinks about all the times they met after that.

He doesn't think that he deserved Aziraphale's kindness then either, but the angel granted it to him anyway. He isn't even sure that even now, he fully deserves it. He's just lucky to own it.

He rolls his eyes and picks up his dark sunglasses from his pocket to put them on again.

"Fine," he answers moodily. "But I won't be nice with him. And only for a week. One week and he goes to that hotel, and I never want to see him again. Is that clear?"

Aziraphale nods, giving him a tender smile that Crowley knows means you're nicer than you pretend to be again. But Crowley is too preoccupied by the (former) archangel sitting on their sofa to correct the angel this time.

They walk back into the living room, and Aziraphale rests a soothing hand on Gabriel's shoulder. The man really looks distraught. Crowley almost feels sorry for him. But not quite.

"You… can stay here for a few days, if you want. Crowley and I will help you understand what's going on. And once you know what you have to do, you can accomplish your mission and go home."

Gabriel slowly nods.

"If you're tired, you should sleep. We have a spare bedroom upstairs. Come on."

Gabriel follows the angel upstairs, well aware of Crowley's glare as he walks up the stairs behind him, but he chooses to act as if he could ignore it. Instead, he follows Aziraphale into a little bedroom, that is clearly used as an office as well, judging by the many papers on the desk.

"Here, lie down on the bed, close your eyes, and try to calm down. It can take a little while to fall asleep, although, you truly look exhausted," Aziraphale guides the distraught (former) archangel to the bed.

He and Crowley exit the room as soon as Gabriel has closed his eyes, and the angel uses a miracle to lock the door.

"Can you tell me now what the hell you're playing at, angel?" Crowley hisses through gritted teeth as they walk back downstairs. "You can't be helping him just to be good, I know you well enough for that."

"Not so loud," Aziraphale admonishes, nervously glancing up the stairs.

"We shouldn't be helping him!"

"Because letting him wander off across town is a better idea, perhaps?" the angel snaps back.

"Yes!"

"No! We should keep an eye on him. Make sure of what he's up to. And what better way to do so than to keep him here?"

"He could be trying to kill us!"

"I know. Which is why we should make sure he doesn't get the chance to gather some help to do so. Better to keep one's enemies close, right?"

Crowley opens his mouth to reply, but smiles instead.

"Besides, it's the decent thing to do, really," Aziraphale goes on. "No matter what he has done in the past, we can't abandon him. We need to be better than that."

"You, bastard."

"Now, now… no need for that kind of language," Aziraphale fakes to admonish, when in reality, he's smiling and blushing a little. "We need to keep a close watch on him, and make sure no one else is sent down here."

"Or up here."

They exchange a wary glance.

"I'll write the runes on the front door, you take the back," Crowley orders, and they both move to the kitchen to get a chalk.

Before they part to protect their home, Aziraphale takes Crowley's hand in his and gives him a reassuring smile.

"We'll be just fine. As long as we're together, we'll be just fine."

Crowley answers with a tender smile, cupping the angel's face.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you too. Now, come on. Let's make sure no one can come in uninvited."

They kiss before parting, and half an hour later, the two doors of their cottage are protected by a series of runes written in white chalk.

In the distance, coming from the sea, dark clouds gather through the sky, slowly drifting towards the cottage, and the demon watches them roll through the firmament. Crowley wonders what the future might bring. With Gabriel back in their life, he guesses nothing good is to be expected in the coming days. He steps back inside the house and closes the door behind him, leaving the clouds behind to rest his eyes on his angel instead, who is preparing some tea for both of them.

If one thing is for certain, it is that he will make sure Aziraphale is safe, no matter the cost.

***********************************

Taglist : @imafangirlofeverything @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi