#fun fact this pie usually dresses in greens + blues she just REALLY wanted to match the coat

[shameless-self-shipper]

So ken barbie movie am I right-

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Lorcan,” snapped a sharp voice. He groaned into his pillow, screwing his eyes shut at the threat of sunlight. 

“What do you want, Maeve,” Lorcan bit out, not in the mood for his aunt’s conniving bullshit this early in the morning. He was here as a favour to his father and nothing, nothing more. “I’m sleeping.” 

“It’s almost eleven o’clock and Miss DuBois will be here at noon,” she hissed, trying to rip his duvet away. Lorcan swore and pulled it back, just remembering that Maeve was forcing him to take Remelle DuBois of all people as his date. He turned onto his back and sighed through his nose. 

“So? The fucking thing doesn’t even start till one, let me sleep,” he protested, flinging his arm over his eyes. “You lost, Maeve. The title is Elide’s.” Neither missed the fact that he said ‘you’, further confirming that his stake was not as… passionate in his aunt’s cause. 

Maeve scoffed dismissively, glaring out the windows into the gardens where workers were setting up for the garden party. The guest list was filled with Terrasen’s elite, all joining to celebrate Elide and Fenrys’ upcoming nuptials. “It’s not over until she puts that damned ring on his finger, the little sneaky bitch.” 

“Don’t call her that.” The words escaped him before Lorcan’s brain could catch up with what Maeve was saying. She paused, looking at him curiously. Lorcan rolled his eyes and got out of bed, “I’m going to change now so do you think you could possibly fuck off?” There was no lost love between nephew and aunt. 

“We are not finished here.” 

“Get out of my room.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Fenrys kicked his feet as Elide sat patiently. Lysandra chastised the man, who was already dressed in a grey suit. His tie and pocket square matched her sage green tea dress. It had flutter sleeves and a modest v-neckline. The dress cinched at the waist before the chiffon skirts fell elegantly to just beneath her knees. 

Philippa pinned Elide’s old school, Hollywood curls so they tumbled down one shoulder. She stepped back after applying a light layer of hairspray to ensure it would stay in place during the afternoon. “Now, you’re all ready for the party.”

Elide chuckled. She stood, slipping her hand into Fenrys’ elbow, “You’re a true artist, Philippa.” 

“Oh,” the older woman waved her hands, “nonsense. I had a beautiful subject to work with.” Philippa handed her a lace fan, a sage ribbon hanging from it.

“That you did,” Fenrys said, dipping his head to kiss his fiancée’s cheek. He grinned at Elide’s blush when she pushed him away. 

“Stop flirting with me.” 

“Ugh, I love it when you tell me I’m not allowed to flirt with my betrothed.” 

Elide rolled her eyes and turned on her white and strappy heels. She tugged Fenrys along, shouting a ‘thank you’ over her shoulder to Philippa. Fenrys kept her laughing the entire way to the garden with witty jokes and snarky comments. Elide snorted, trying to keep her composure when they turned the corner and ran into her uncle. 

“Your Grace,” Fenrys said, bowing. Elide curtsied a bit, murmuring his name. 

“Lord Marama, I see you’re still here.” 

“Well, yes, sir. I wouldn’t abandon my fiancée three weeks before the wedding,” he answered smoothly, slipping his arm around Elide’s waist and resting a somewhat possessive hand on her hip. She suppressed the shiver, shuddering for all the wrong reasons, even though Elide knew it was all for show.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” 

Elide nodded, nudging Fenrys towards the doors, “We’re leaving now, uncle. I hope you enjoy the party.” She grabbed the hand Fenrys had on her hip and pulled him away. 

“I doubt it,” Vernon called after the pair as Elide pushed the door open. 

Feeling Fenrys stiffen, Elide dug her white painted nails into his hand, “Leave it. He’s a senile old man.” She glanced back at him, staring him down until he nodded, the muscle in his jaw clenching. “Hey.” Elide stopped short, gripping his chin, “Fenrys, I have lived with him my entire life. You have known him for a week and a half. Don’t, for a single second, think you know what is best for me and how I should handle my abuser.” His eyes broke and she softened, “Fen, I know you have a good heart and that you want to protect me and I-I love that. Really. But, please, don’t try to do what only I can do for me.”  

He nodded, his full lips quirking up at the corners, “Yes, ma’am.” 

Elide clicked her tongue, “Come on, we have a garden party to host.” They walked powerfully to the entrance of the gardens. Before they turned the hedge that would put them in full view of the guests they could hear chatting lively, Elide paused. 

“Hey,” Fenrys said, his brows - lightened to match his hair - furrowed, “are you alright?” 

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, closing her eyes for a second. “Just need a second. I’m fine.” 

The blonde man nodded and slid his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited. A few silent moments later, Elide plastered on a cheery smile that he cringed at, “For fuck’s sake, that’s so scary.” He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, pasting on an equally jarring grin, “Ready, honeybunch?” 

“Let’s knock ‘em dead, sweetie-pie,” Elide chirped, giggling like she had gone mad. Fenrys held out his elbow again, graciously leading her around the bend. 

Someone announced them and they spent what seemed like an eternity smiling, waving, and thanking people for coming. Elide’s cheeks were burning from the strain of her beam when they had finally wrapped up the greetings. 

“Drink?” 

Turning to the bright voice, Elide sighed in relief to see Lysandra there. Aelin and Rowan were standing a few metres off, speaking to some elderly couple - no doubt royals of some kind. “Yes, gods, please,” she said, taking the champagne from Lysandra's hand. She had the grace to not chug it like she wanted to and sipped politely. 

A server passed by with a tray of smoked salmon and cream cheese cracker bites. Elide took one, about to pop it in her mouth when Aelin and Rowan walked over. A flurry of something caught her eye and she peeked around Fenrys and Rowan to see who it was. “Oh, he did not just do that,” Elide cursed, narrowing her slender eyes. 

“Who,” Aelin said, turning to track her cousin’s gaze. When she saw Lorcan standing at the entrance, she figured that was the only thing to set her off. But then a pale skinned, pale haired, and pale eyed woman stepped out from the shadow of his broad frame and Aelin went red in the face. “Remelle? He brought Remelle?”

The boys coughed, quick to turn and stare. Lorcan caught their gazes and sent them a pained look, subtly indicating Maeve, who was standing at a table with a smug look on her face. “Oh, well, that makes more sense,” Fenrys muttered, nudging Rowan, who nodded in agreement. 

Lysandra frowned, scrolling through her iPad. The woman never went anywhere without it, “Maeve… did not tell me who Lorcan’s date was. And I made sure everyone knew who was not permitted and Miss DuBois is–” 

“Lys, please, don’t worry about it,” Aelin assured her dear friend. “It’s not your fault, you’ve done an exceptional job, as usual. It’s just… Maeve being Maeve.” Lysandra nodded, but quickly excused herself. As she left, they all heard her speaking tersely into her earpiece, wanting to know who exactly had been at the entrance when they arrived. All security details were required to know the guestlist. 

When Remelle looked their way, Rowan quickly turned away, his skin crawling as he felt her predatory stare burn into the back of his neck. The king consort twined his fingers through the queen’s, tilting his head to the side, “I’m sure there are more stuffy lords we haven’t said hello to yet. Let’s go do that now.” 

Aelin nodded, flashing him her signature golden smile, “Of course.” She looked at Elide, who was still glaring at Lorcan, who was smiling back at her. To the untrained eye, it would look like a smirk, but Aelin knew Lorcan a bit better than that. His eyes sparkled with delight and affection. 

She glanced at Fenrys, sharing a look with him. Have fun with… that. 

He rolled his eyes, shooing her away, “Go, enjoy yourselves, kiss a bunch of old white guy ass for me.” 

“Oh, I will, I know it’s your favourite, Fenny,” Aelin quipped. With a flourish, she marched off, pulling a somewhat reluctant Rowan behind her. 

+*+*+*+*+*+* 

Hellas, she looks amazing. 

“There’s the little cripple girl,” Remelle said, waving her fingers vaguely. 

Lorcan rounded on her, pulling his attention away from Elide, “Excuse me? Don’t say shit like that, what is wrong with you?”

“Oh, testy, aren’t we,” she purred, reaching a slender hand up to tweak something about his hair. He moved, his reaction swifter than her motion. Remelle rolled her icy blue eyes, huffing slightly and looking down at her sharp nails, “Are you still anal about your hair? It’s just hair.” 

He didn’t even deign to respond to her, knowing she would never get it through her dense skull. Must be all the bleach damage, Lorcan thought to himself. There was no way someone’s hair could be that white, naturally, at her age. “I need a fucking drink,” he muttered, not bothering to see if Remelle wanted anything before stalking off to the bar. 

His aunt was waiting for him there and Lorcan pointedly ignored her as he ordered a whiskey sour. “Lorcan,” she hissed, his name sounding like a curse on her tongue, “why aren’t you with your date?” 

“Because she’s an unbearable cunt of a human being,” he grumbled, thanking the bartender and digging out a green twenty for the tip. He had worked shit jobs like serving and knew how stingy the one percent was. “Thanks, man.” 

“You’re welcome, sir,” the bartender said, smoothly putting the tip in his pocket and turning to the next guest. 

Lorcan took his drink, taking a long sip before addressing his aunt, “Maeve, what do you want?” 

Her dark, creepily dark, eyes flashed dangerously, “Boy, get yourself in line. She came here as a favour, got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Lorcan saluted her sarcastically, his gaze jumping over her head when a vision dressed in gentle green caught it. Elide glared at him, pointing with her closed fan to a path in the hedges. This would be fun. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters at hand, auntie.” 

He stepped around her, striding through the partygoers to Elide. “And to what do I owe the pleasure for this?”

Elide glared up at him, actually having to tilt her head back to even look him in the eye. It was cute, even if the glare was murderous. Elide turned neatly, walking angrily into the path. Lorcan followed, biting back his smile. “Are you going to murder me, sweetheart?” 

No answer. They came to a fork in the road and Elide turned left, leading him to an opening with a bubbling fountain. There, she whirled, “You brought Remelle as your date?!” 

“Why, yes. She’s a fine young lady,” he said, delighting in the way he was able to provoke her so easily. 

“She’s a heinous bitch,” Elide spat, beginning to pace back and forth. 

“Why do you care who I bring as my date?” 

She paused, deciding to step onto the stone lip of the fountain. There, now she was almost eye-level with him, “I don’t.” 

Lorcan raised his brows, looking at her in disbelief, “Seems that way.” 

“Well, you seem to care a lot about my relationship, it’s only fair that I care that much about yours.” 

He scoffed, draining his drink and putting the empty glass down on the edge of a bird bath. “Your relationship with Fenrys is no more real than mine with Remelle.” 

The fan caught between her hands was gripped so tightly Elide’s knuckles were white. Still, her voice was calm, collected, “Fen told me you were friends. I was surprised.” 

He looked at her suspiciously, willing himself not to look at her lips and hold her gaze, “Is there a reason for your surprise?” 

“Well, it seems to me that if he were your friend, you would support it. You know,” she shrugged, her smile saccharine sweet, “for his happiness.” 

Cool anger flowed through his veins and he didn’t bother thinking before he spat words he might’ve come to regret, “You couldn’t make Fenrys happy if you were married to him for a hundred years. I told you already, he will never love you.” Elide would never love Fenrys either, but Lorcan didn’t bother telling her what she no doubt already knew. 

In her eyes shone hurt that was quickly replaced with heated rage. Elide hit his shoulder with her fan, “I loathe you.” Her face was centimetres from his, he could smell the intoxicating scent of her elderberry and cinnamon perfume. The delicate and spiced fragrance had haunted him for weeks now. 

“Well, I loathe you,” Lorcan murmured, the tone too low and too enticing for it to be anything but a bedroom voice, "sweetheart."

Elide’s breath hitched and in that moment, Lorcan would’ve done anything she commanded of him to make her do it again and again and again. Her eyes flicked to his lips before dancing back up to his. Neither knew who moved first and neither cared as Elide’s arms slid around his neck and Lorcan’s slipped around her waist. 

The kiss was hungry and biting, but a perfect harmony anyways. She tasted like champagne. Lorcan swore he could get drunk off her embrace as Elide nipped his lip, her tongue flicking over the small sting to soothe it. 

Lorcan pulled her closer, craving the feelings of her feminine curves and softness against his harsh contours and planes. She sighed delicately, melting into his hold before she realised what they were doing and tried to push herself away. 

Only, on the ledge, Elide didn’t have anywhere to go and she fell backwards, not relinquishing her hold on his charcoal suit. Lorcan was pulled into the fountain with her, their clothes and hair instantly sopping wet. 

“You kissed me! You- you can’t go around kissing engaged people, Lorcan. Do you have any sense at all,” Elide whispered harshly at him, quickly standing to climb out. He went to stand up, but Elide pushed him back down again, her hands on his chest. “You’re just trying to make me like you so that I won’t marry Fen and you’ll get the throne! You- oh, you’re evil.”

With an indignant huff, Elide Lochan marched off, throwing him one last glare as she turned the corner and disappeared from his sight. 

Lorcan was so, so, so fucked. 

+*+*+*+*+*+* 

Elide kept her head high as she walked back to the palace. She managed to avoid the garden party, but caught Rowan slinking around the bushes, no doubt trying to avoid a certain someone.

“Elide?” 

The delicate fabric of her dress clung to her skin and she shivered despite the warm sun. Elide nodded, waving vaguely as she passed him. He scrambled after her. “Ellie, do I want to know what happened?” 

“He happened,” she snapped, picking up her pace. A quick glance down told her that her dress was indeed rather transparent. Elide swore, crossing her arms over her chest. Rowan quickly shucked off his suit jacket, draping the large garment over her tiny frame. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

“Well, it’s not.” Elide closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. All she could think about was the kiss and how she had never felt anything like it. An unwarranted thought of if and when he would kiss her again popped up in her mind. Elide shook her head, desperate to forget about it. “It’s nothing. We just fought again and ended up in the fountain.” 

He held in his snort and they arrived at the side doors. Rowan opened it for the woman, letting her pass before he shot a suspicious glance around them and closed it. They didn’t need any more media attention and certainly not with Remelle in the vicinity. “Good thing that Aelin is wrapping the party up now. You can go warm up and hide out in your room.” 

Elide flashed him a grateful smile and slinked off to a hidden stairwell. It used to be used solely by servants and the staff, but now it was used by anyone who wanted a discreet escape to the private wings. 

Rowan smiled at her as well, keeping the pleasant look on his face until she had disappeared from view. Then, he let it fall, gritting his teeth as he seethed. It seemed that he needed to have another little chat with Lorcan. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“El?” The door of her bedroom burst open and Fenrys appeared, looking concerned. It didn’t fade when his eyes fell on her curled up in a nest of blankets. A cup of tea sat on her nightstand, steam wafting from it. “I just saw Lorcan, are you ok?” 

“‘m fine,” she muttered, turning her eyes back to the show she was watching. “Just cold.” 

Fenrys smiled, “Mind if I join you?” Elide grinned, scooching over slightly. The dark skinned man made quick work of divesting himself of his shoes, jacket, and tie. He popped a couple buttons open, sighing as he flopped down next to her. “What, I don’t get any blanket?” 

Elide rolled her eyes and flipped a few of them back so he could cuddle under them. Fenrys wrapped his arms around her, “You’re freezing, El.” 

“I know,” she chattered, her teeth still clicking together. “The chef said she’d make me something warm to eat.” Elide leeched Fenrys’ body heat away, burrowing herself deeper into the mattress. After a few minutes, the warmth made her drowsy and Elide slowly drifted off. 

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Hello, Rowan. Lovely party that was,” Lorcan replied evenly. He glanced in the mirror. Rowan was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his jaw set and ticking. “Can I help you with something?” 

“What are you doing to her?” 

There was no reason for him to say who he was talking about, they were both well aware. “I’m not doing anything to her.” 

“You drive her fucking crazy, Lorcan,” Rowan said, moving out of the way when Lorcan stalked out of the toilet. 

“And?” 

Rowan sighed, shaking his head. “Lorcan. Just- fuck. What is going on with you two?” 

“Nothing is going on with me and Elide,” Lorcan answered, pulling on a hoodie. It might’ve even been one of Rowan’s, he wasn’t sure. 

“You told me you would never lie to me. Don’t you dare start now.” 

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Lorcan looked up at Rowan, but all he could see was Elide’s face the second before they kissed. “Ro…” He gestured vaguely with his hands, unable to articulate his swirling thoughts. “It’s just what it is. I can’t explain. We’re just- someone is pushing us together, I can’t stop it.” I don’t want to stop it.

“Oh,” Rowan breathed, his stark green eyes wide like saucers. His mouth dropped open and he gaped at Lorcan, blinking once in shock. “Oh. Oh.” 

“What,” Lorcan snapped, his hackles rising. He had a premonition that he knew what Rowan was going to say. “Spit it out, bastard.” 

“You’re falling for her.” 

“No, I am not.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

Lorcan just fell back on the mattress, looking up at the ceiling. He sighed, his voice completely unconvincing, a little dreamy, even, “No, I am not.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide slinked into the kitchens, smiling thankfully at the chef who passed her a bowl of xaimoko, a Blackbeak rabbit stew. It was her favourite comfort food. She remembered once, when she was young, after being disciplined by her uncle, the old cook, a kind woman, had found her hiding in a corner. She had spoken in Blackbeak to Elide, coaxing her to the kitchen for a nice dinner. Vernon had ordered that she wasn’t to have dinner, but the cook had served her a bowl of rabbit stew and fried cornbread anyway.

Ever since then, the cook, who had retired a couple years after, had made sure every chef in the castle knew how to make it. 

Elide ate as slowly as possible. Lysandra had texted her, telling Elide that Aelin wanted to see her after she had eaten dinner. After her nap, Elide had spent her time avoiding Aelin but it had seemed like her luck had run out. 

She washed her own dishes, stowing them away in the cupboards. Gaze downcast, Elide made her way to Aelin’s temporary office, just set up for her time in Perranth before she and Rowan returned to Orynth. 

Elide knocked reluctantly on the door, wishing Rowan or at least Fenrys were with her. The meeting was only to be with Aelin, though, so she wasn’t hopeful. 

“Come in,” the queen called, her voice muffled through the heavy doors. 

Elide pushed the door open, softly closing it behind her. Aelin’s face was set, her lips tightening as she folded her hands atop her desk. “Elide. Sit, please.” She glanced at Lysandra who was sitting in the other chair. 

She felt like a schoolgirl in trouble with the principal. Elide sunk down in a chair, keeping her gaze down. 

“Elide,” Aelin sighed, clearly not happy with her cousin. “What is happening with you?” 

Elide shook her head, looking down at her hands, “Nothing.” 

“That’s not true.” 

She nodded, “Yes it is. Nothing is happening with me.” Elide finally dragged her eyes up to Aelin’s. “I’m fine.” 

The blonde sighed, drumming her fingers on the desk, “Elide. I know we aren’t the most traditional country and you have more liberties than most, but you can’t do stuff like this.” 

“Stuff like what?” Her voice cracked and her bottom lip trembled. “I’m not doing anything.” 

“Elide, you are engaged. You can’t hide in closets with people who are not your betrothed and you cannot climb out of a fountain, dripping wet, with the same person who is not your betrothed!” 

“Aelin, why don’t we–” 

“No, Lysandra. Elide is not some high school girl, who gets to run around doing whatever she wishes! She is a royal and is expected to act like one.” 

Elide flinched, shrinking back at the volume and sharpness, “I’m sorry.” If Aelin had noticed how Elide reacted, she would’ve stopped immediately, but the stress of battling parliament and the media were wearing on her. “I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, I know, you didn’t mean to.” Aelin’s hands dove into her hair, gripping the strands on either side of her head. She laughed humorlessly, the sound icy and hollow. “I am trying to save your crown, do you get that, Elide?” 

Elide stayed silent, willing her body to keep her tears to herself. Unconsciously, she started scratching a nail up and down her forearm, over and over and over until blood was drawn. It was a habit she had picked up as a child and years of therapy hadn’t undone it. 

However, Lysandra noticed and she reached over to take Elide’s hand subtly enough so that Aelin didn’t see.

“I’m sorry.”

Aelin looked at her for a moment and glanced away, “Just tighten up, Elide. You can’t afford to be doing things you don’t mean and if you think you can… you might as well give Lorcan the crown already.” 

“Can I go now?” Elide asked, her voice trembling. In shock, Aelin’s eyes snapped back to her, as if realising the memories she had resurfaced for Elide. Lysandra held a hand out to Elide, but Elide moved so Lysandra’s touch fell short.

“Ellie–” 

Elide stood up abruptly, “If there isn’t anything else you have to say, can I go, your Majesty?” 

Aelin nodded meekly and Elide left. The halls were empty and because of it, Elide ran back to her rooms, locking the doors behind her. She managed to keep from letting the tears fall until she was in her bedroom. 

Bear looked up at her from her bed as Elide crawled into hers. The dog stared at her for a moment, laying unmoving. Elide wiped her cheeks, chuckling tearfully, “Oh, are you mad at me too?” 

Bear just turned her head, tucking her nose beneath her tail.

Elide felt her heart crack in two and cried harder, hiccuping as she buried her face into her pillow. In the darkness of her room, Elide slowly cried until she had exhausted herself into a deep sleep.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: omg !! royal scandal sksksks !! 

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @ladyverena @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse  @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed​ @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt @januarystears @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @magicalunicorngypsy @elriel4life @sensitiveillyrian

[capsized-heart]

Sky Castles

Pairing: Laurie x Reader, Jo x Reader

Summary: Summer has always been your favorite season in Plumfield. Perhaps it’s the lovely, sunny mornings and cool, calm nights, or perhaps it’s the fact that you and Laurie and Jo are practically inseparable in midsummer. 

Follows the summers from childhood into young adulthood, with turmoils of the heart along the way.   

Word count: 6.1k+

Warnings: fluff!!!!!!!!

A/N: hi, everyone. I hope you’re all staying safe and well! Right off the bat, I want to mention that I’ve pinned a post on both this blog and my main blog @sarapii-peachy​ about resources for the BLM movement to raise awareness and petitions you can sign to help make a difference on a smaller scale. Everything counts!

i’m back and now with a bachelor’s degree :’) class of 2020 high school and college esketit!!! we did it!!! in this historic pandemic!!! Sorry I’ve been gone for a bit, this fic has been my rocky transition/attempt out of writer’s block after my INSANE last semester of uni and with all the craziness going on in the world. I hope you can channel and take in some of this innocent happiness and childhood glee into your own lives as we navigate the shitshow that is 2020. Saoirse x Timmy x Reader here to cure me of my depression lmao

this title is also based off a chapter in the Little Women book where Laurie, Jo, and the girls go to a park and gaze at the passing clouds and talk about their futures...it’s honestly really sweet. Loosely based off of that! 

Comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated on this💛! Not that you guys don’t leave love, but this fic like I mentioned is my attempt at kicking writer’s block in the ass, please let me know how I did! :) talk to me I missed you guys :)

tags: @ravenmoore14 @monikakrasnorada @dangertoozmanykids101 @toozmanykids​ @adawn1970​ @mrchalamet-mrstyles @chavezlikesthings @loveylangdon@daygiowvibe @statisticlytimmy @ceexreverse​ @bamposworld​ @lilttletimmy​ @cindere-llaaa​

gif credit to @sheisraging​

You love New England for its rich, distinct seasons, how they each paint the countryside in eloquent sweeps of shade and hue. Snow, sun, and breathtaking landscapes of fall color that tinge the treetops throughout the year. You love Plumfield, Massachusetts more for the warmth and love the March sisters have shown you, each alike in personality, nature, to the equinoxes that have shaped your girlhood, each tender memory from your youth synonymous with Meg, Amy, Beth, and Jo. 

 Autumn. Cozy and comfortable, where motherly Meg showed you how to heat and dip caramel with the apples you’d carefully picked from the orchard for a rare treat, the kitchen swirling with the aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, turmeric, and spices that left you feeling aglow. She’d taught you how to use an embroidery hoop, how to let dough rise, how to bake a proper pie and how to fix any clothing tear with a simple needle and thread, her compliments quick for your ever growing domestic talents. 

Winter. Like cool, ambitious Amy with her painting and taste for luxury and pleasure, how she would praise you for being the only subject suitable for her artwork. Laurie would moan and complain about sitting for hours by the fireside, begging to be excused to go play in the snow, but never you. Amy called you her muse, arranging your hair and skirts to her liking, softening your lips and cheeks with a touch of rouge. It was always such fun to make a day out of modeling for Amy’s portraits, talking and laughing as she’d set up her paints.

Spring. Sweet and angelic like little Beth, windows wide open as her piano trills would float on the warm air, curtains ruffling in the breeze. You’d sit beside her on the piano bench and turn her sheet music for her, to which Beth would give you a shy, rosy smile in thanks. She taught you how to play Chopin and Tchaikovsky, duet pieces where you’d accompany her on the keys, harmonizing with chords and your fingers flying easily together.

Summer. Your favorite season, refreshing, bright, where you and Jo would spend balmy days and long, cool evenings tucked beneath the shade of tree trunks and willows as you’d read in the sun, listen to Jo’s carefully crafted stories. Her creativity and imagination never failed to amaze you, how her writing could transport you to the farthest countries, or keep you grounded in whatever fantastical setting she’d constructed for herself. She’d often write about the two of you; two young girls, best friends who’d have all sorts of dazzling adventures exploring the corners of the world, without the taxing responsibilities of chores, or schoolwork, or the foreboding, inevitable reality that one day you will be young adults and childhood would be gone forever. You’d have picnics and excursions to the nearby fields, dozing in the sun and picking wildflowers, splashing and wading through the rivers and creeks when the heat became unbearable. Before Laurie would come and spoil your fun, of course. Then, you and Jo and Laurie would be like three rowdy boys playing in the woods, your laughter echoing off the trees and sparkling waters. 

You first meet Theodore Laurence as a young girl in the fields connecting the March’s property and your own. You live just down the road from the March sisters, your house tucked away beyond the bend and you’d make the trek across the meadow and grasses daily to visit your neighbors. Being an only child with your father off fighting for the Union, the March house was like your second home and the girls and Marmee and Hannah always made you feel like part of the family, your own loneliness long forgotten as soon as you’d step through the door and you’d be welcomed back with laughter, squeals, and embraces.

Today, you are seeking the company of your friends as usual, returning a book Jo had lended you with a basketful of scones you’d baked in repayment. A recipe you’d learned from Meg. The autumn air is surprisingly warm against your skin, indian summer, flushed and golden and dappling the plains. It makes you smile softly, your mood pleasant as you gather your skirts in time with your step, adjust your basket. 

Then, you see him. A boy making his way in the same direction, dressed smartly in a black woolen coat and matching trousers, a silk scarf tastefully tied around his throat. His curls are windswept and tousled, his gait relaxed. He feels your gaze and looks up, eyes finding yours and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a friendly smile. Warmth floods your cheeks. You quickly duck your head.

He looks to be your age, but you’ve read tales of highwaymen and bandits roaming the countryside, how they’d feign kindness, only to strike unsuspecting travelers. Perhaps it was the work of Jo’s overactive and contagious imagination playing at your nerves, but why was he heading towards the March’s? You think of little Beth, how boys and newcomers made her nervous, timid. Your resolve hardens protectively. You have to keep this stranger away from the girls. 

Your pulse hammers in your throat as you lift your head to see the boy still looking your way. He waves his hand in greeting. 

“Hello!” he cheers. 

With your eyes still locked, you pick up your pace and keep your silence. Curiously, the boy finds this amusing, laughing, making it into a game as he too begins to walk briskly towards the house, of who will reach the door first. You narrow your eyes, summoning as much hostility and wickedness to your expression, demeanor as you can muster. The two of you are running now, his grin wide and eager, your own mouth twisted with hard concentration as you race each other.

Your chest is heaving when you brace yourself against the doorframe, blocking his way with your arm, back against the wood. He’s not a second behind you and is already on the stoop when you turn to face him.

“Are you Jo’s friend?” the boy asks you with a breathless, easy smile. “You’re quite fast, even faster than her.” He adds. He’s practically bouncing on his feet, jovial and buzzing with energy. The mention of Jo’s name curbs your distrust further. Bandit may now be off the table, and the thought makes you feel a bit foolish now, but how could Jo befriend such a strange boy without you knowing? How did he already seem to know who you are? 

Up close, you notice his eyes are green and mischievous, reflecting back the shimmering plains in flecks of amber as he gazes at you, your pulse fluttering ever so slightly…

You scold yourself internally. 

Handsome or not, he was undoubtedly a boy of trouble who had somehow won over Jo’s attention. And no easy feat, might you add. Headstrong and resolute, Jo’s circle of friends was quite small outside of you and her sisters, and you liked it that way. You’d like to keep it that way as well. 

You feel a sharp, ugly pang of jealousy curl in your stomach. You stick out your lower lip in a pout, turn up your nose in a way that would certainly earn a scolding from Marmee if she were to see your impoliteness. 

“Who are you to ask?” You snap.

Your words do not take the desired effect on him. Instead of hurt, or embarrassment, the boy smirks at you, amused. He cocks his head to one side and leans back on his heels, studying you like you’d just asked him why the sky is blue. His mood is breezy, amiable. 

“I’m Laurie. Is that better?” he offers with a comical pout of his own. You wrinkle your nose. This boy was starting to irritate you more and more.

“Surname?”

“Laurence.”

“Laurie Laurence? My, how silly and dull.”

He laughs, a low and pleasant sound that threatens to melt your angry facade. He shakes his head, hands in his pockets. 

“It’s a pet name. Jo calls me Teddy, but you may call me whichever you like,” he says. Your jealousy burns brighter, flushing your skin, twisting together with a hint of desire and yearning. 

You were once Jo’s everything, her favorite companion. She made this clear with how she’d tell you plainly, how she’d spoil you with compliments and stories and affection. And now, it seemed Jo knew another, this Laurie, well enough to call him Teddy when you had no pet name of your own. She seemed to speak of you, which would explain Laurie’s cordiality, but did she tell him how you were the only one she felt comfortable enough with to critique her writing? How she would encourage your aspirations of becoming a dancer by arranging the foyer into a stage and cheering for you while sitting atop the staircase like an admirer in the box seats? How the two of you could jest and play for hours with nothing but your imagination, crying from laughter until your bellies ached?

You feel a sense of betrayal and heartache at this, an intrusion, a tirade of emotions you can’t quite explain. Did you want Jo all for yourself? Did you want to befriend Laurie as well? Did you just want to be someone’s everything again and to be doted on and loved? 

Then, Laurie’s voice tapers into a quiet hum, a touch of softness. You hear the first indication of bashfulness as he looks down at you through full, dark lashes. “I hope the three of us can be good friends. I’d like to know you as well.” He murmurs. 

You don’t know what to think of him. Your chest feels tight and your cheeks burn, from anger or passion you can’t quite tell. You’re contemplating leaving your basket on the doorstep and shoving past him to go back home when you suddenly hear a clamor of voices and the turning of the knob and then the door falls open behind you. 

Laurie catches you before you can tumble through the entryway, hands finding your waist. Jo, vibrant and chipper as ever, lights up when she sees you and her sky blue eyes shine like glass. She has her cap fitted over her wavy blonde curls, skipping into your arms and for a moment you’re sandwiched between the two of them. You flush scarlet. 

“Oh, good! You two have met. Goodbye, Marmee! I’m going out!” Jo calls into the house, her voice overlapping with her sisters’ as they all greet you in a burst of chaos. But before Jo can usher you outside, you feel your childish temper flare and you squirm out of her reach and back through the open door and into the house. You set your basket onto the table, turning to hide your face in Amy’s shoulder with a flutter of your skirts as you feel the hot sting of tears prickle your eyes. You weren’t going to let this Laurie boy see you cry upon your first encounter.

“I’m not coming.” You mumble. Amy’s hand comes to soothingly pet back your hair with a hush of surprise and you sense her look to Jo with a characteristic glare.

“Jo, what have you done?” Amy presses.

“I’ve done nothing!” Jo retorts with a huff. Then, her voice turns gentle, curious as she speaks to you. “Dear, what’s the matter?”

“She wouldn’t be on the verge of tears if you hadn’t done nothing, would she?” Amy replies. You laugh weakly, tightening your arms around her. “See?” Amy says. “You’ve broken her heart, the poor thing.” 

“Jo’s made new friends,” you sniffle, embarrassed when Laurie’s eyes meet yours. Amy’s arms around you make you feel comforted and safe, brave enough to voice your true burdens when you say, “I’ve been replaced,” and gaze back at Laurie in defiance, protest. He frowns and shifts his weight, looking genuinely sorry with a guilt that touches his eyes. Good, you think. Let him think twice before stealing away your best companion. 

At this, Jo’s expression softens with understanding and warmth as she sees you curl into Amy once more. Jo takes a step into the open doorway, leaving Laurie on the stoop.

“No one could ever replace you, dear,” she says. “I only keep Laurie around for when I’m bored and you aren’t around to play. Look at him,” she gestures in his direction. “He’s aloof and vain, he’s lazy, he doesn’t have an ounce of the imagination you do-” 

“Don’t forget arrogant.” Amy pipes up.

Jo nods, wagging a finger at her sister. “Right you are, Amy. We mustn't forget that.”

Laurie starts to puff up with a temper, his lips twisting together and you can see him struggling with whether to speak up and defend himself, or let the girls have their fun for your sake. Jo goes on, saying he was devious and too pretty for his own good, making you and Amy giggle as she rubs soothing circles into your back. It’s rather polite and charming as you watch Laurie suffer silently, biting his tongue as Jo continues to defame his character before she finally turns back to you.

“I should have introduced the two of you properly, and for that, I’m sorry,” says Jo. “You must have had quite the surprise running into him.” Laurie again glances to you with an apologetic softness, wringing his hands together. “So, what do you think, Teddy? Are we ready to start afresh?” Jo asks him, hands on her hips. 

This makes you laugh, bubbly, your mood perking up as you finally lift your head from Amy’s shoulder. Of course, Jo would be able to comprehend your grievances and somehow peg Laurie with the blame, how she knew your heart was delicate and tender and so full of devotion that you were quick to hold grudges. Your envy dissipates and you feel a bit sorry seeing Laurie now in such low spirits, his theatrical demeanor now quiet and modest. 

“If she’ll have me,” Laurie murmurs, glancing up at you with such a pureness in his glittering eyes that regret starts to settle in your stomach.

“And I’ve written more of that story you enjoyed so much,” Jo holds out a hand to you. “Won’t you come hear what happens next?” she asks. Slowly, like the pull of a magnet, you untangle yourself from Amy’s arms and cross the room to take Jo’s outstretched hand. 

“Alright.” You say at last. Jo beams and cradles your face with her other hand, swiping away your tears with her thumb. You let her baby you like she would with Beth, enjoying her touch against your cheek. 

“That’s my sweet girl.” She smiles.

You then look to a sheepish Laurie and extend a hand, filled with new courage. You tell him your name and echo back his words that you hope the three of you can indeed become good friends, that you and Jo could do well with another acquaintance. The smile Laurie gives you is genuine, sweet and gentle, the corner of his mouth turning up in crooked delight. He clasps your hand warmly.

“I would want nothing more.” Laurie laughs. 

And with that, nestled between Jo and Laurie, you step back outside into the rich and golden light of a warm autumn afternoon, curious, excited for what adventures the day will bring you. 

**

Laurie joins your duo swimmingly and the rest of the year passes in pleasant tranquility as the three of you spend nearly every waking moment by each others’ sides. All Hallow’s Eve finds you dressed in a costume of French royalty, a pompous and comical gown of ballooning fabrics, complete with a powdered wig of pins and curls. You’ve painted your face with overlined lips and the trademark mole below your eye and the March sisters double over with laughter as you enter the foyer, fluttering your paper fan with an aristocratic pout, Laurie saluting your entrance with a roar of, la plus belle fille du monde! Jo is dressed as a fearsome pirate, outfitted in boots, breeches, and a captain’s hat, the wooden sword you and Laurie helped to paint swishing through the air as she parades into the room. Laurie enters last with a bang and a flash of white powder, appearing before your eyes in true magician fashion with a top hat and cane, a false mustache pasted onto his upper lip. All six of you then march across the field to the Laurence residence, now alight with carved pumpkins and lanterns, for your All Hallow’s Eve party of sweets and games.

Christmas brings festivities, flurries, and cheer. Sledding, ice skating, days of cold and winter fun making snow angels and snowmen, decorating the March house with holly, mistletoe, culminating into a hearty turkey dinner as you sit perched next to Laurie. The candlelight is homely, the sound of laughter and clinking silverware washing over you and you catch Laurie’s eye as he lifts his fork to his mouth. The two of you grin, leaning into each other with quiet happiness, heads bowed. You and Laurie both mirror each other in being only children, meaning these times together have been filled with welcome camaraderie. Where your instances of yearning for the companionship of siblings that only those without can understand, you’ve found company in each other, never a dull moment, never lonely. 

The thaw of spring keeps you tucked away indoors with torrents of rain pelting against the roof. Jo reads to you aloud from her novel, asking for your thoughts every so often as you and Laurie lounge on the sofa. When you articulate a point of slight critique on Jo’s use of character, Laurie teasingly tugs on a lock of your hair with a smirk. 

“How perceptive.” He murmurs, grinning.

You swat his hand away, glaring at him in mock anger. 

And as the days grow warmer, so does your heart. You’ve learned to share your affection between Laurie and Jo in a way you think is equally matched and that autumn day where you’d been so sour to both of them seems like ages ago. Soon after that incident, your bravado had quickly morphed into appreciation and Jo had been eager to break the ice between you and Laurie. And like all children, your differences and jealousy had been set aside as you’d discovered he was quite fun to be around. Laurie shared Jo’s quick wit and intelligence, like an androgynous mirror, so much of yourself also reflected in both of them in time and they in you. And yet, Laurie had a certain charm about him; how he could have the two of you in stitches and still maintain the air of sophistication that was so often expected of the Laurence boy. Admittedly, you were thrilled to have them both as your best and favorite playmates. 

In turn, they had done the same, showering you with loving attention and teasing, keeping you entertained with their bickering, quarreling over how they both wanted to occupy your time with their respective ideas for sport. Fighting over you. The thought of it makes you blush furiously. Yet, you feel cared for, like the most precious thing in their lives.You’ve also selfishly enjoyed being the apple of their eye and all the privileges that has bestowed; Jo writing you into her stories, featuring you as a beautiful sugar plum fairy, and Laurie promising to write you a French ballet, to someday whisk you off to Europe to experience high art and culture. 

At last, spring turns to summer and the three of you are back to mischief and horseplay in the great outdoors. The days are lush, agreeable, bright and pleasant with flashing sunshine and lofty clouds. You’re again reminded why summer to you is synonymous with Jo as you run together through the waving fields bursting with flowers, Laurie right on your heels as he too gives chase. 

“Jo! We were only kidding about the toads!” Laurie calls out from behind you. “It’s not like I have one in my pocket this very moment who’s squirming to get free and might have bitten me earlier when I caught him by the river and-”

He gives a shout of surprise and you hear his footfalls pause in the grasses. You and Jo both turn, breathless, already laughing when you see Laurie hopping about like hot coals are burning beneath his feet.

A small pond frog wiggles out of his pocket seam with a croak and then disappears into the meadow, waddling with great speed. With out-turned pockets and wrinkled trousers, Laurie stands there with his hands on his hips, confidence and humor masking his faults as always.

“My, they grow up so fast, don’t they?” Laurie says as he looks out over the crest of the hill with a humorous glint in his eyes, like a mother watching her child leave for the vast, cruel world. You and Jo collapse into a fit of giggles, holding each other upright by the shoulders and gasping for air.

**

Eternal summer and sun, a tender paradise. And as midsummer arrives, so does the heat. It’s stifling, heavy, the kind that suffocates and forbids any excessive movement or play, when being idle is perfectly acceptable, a rarity for you three young adventurers. Today, even nature herself seems to be drowsy from the stifling weather. Sunflowers droop from the weight of honeybees as they float lazily over the fields. Birds chortle from the treetops, as if too tired to fly, their song intertwining with the rustling grasses, tousled by the rare cool breeze. The sky burns a dome of brilliant blue above you, filled with towering, cotton white cumulus clouds. You watch as they drift slowly over the horizon. Like colossal ships at sea. 

You rest your head on Laurie’s chest and he toys with your hair. Jo dozes with her arms pillowed across your stomach and the three of you are a sleepy dog-pile of limbs. The feel of Laurie’s fingers makes you relaxed, drowsy. You hear Jo then give a soft snore and you chuckle.

“What is it?” Laurie asks. You can already hear the smile in his voice, how just your laughter is enough to amuse him too. You shake your head against his chest and the movement makes you giggle again. Laurie joins you, flopping out his legs, the heat making you both delirious and loopy.

You reach up blindly and give him a firm nudge, your hand landing just under his chin.

“Stop it, you’ll wake her.” You scold him with as much seriousness as you can muster and failing miserably. 

“Ow,” Laurie groans. He grasps your wrist, moving your hand to place it against his cheek and he puckers out his lower lip. “You’ve hurt me, I’m unwell.”

“Oh...Laurie, I didn’t mean it..” you sit up and coo, caressing his skin. Laurie looks pleased, a flash of playfulness in the green of his eyes as you lean towards him. “Let me take a closer-” 

You cuff him on the ear ever so lightly, catching him by complete surprise and Jo wakes, cackling, throwing her arms around you. 

Later, the three of you gaze up at the passing clouds, a comfortable silence settling over you all as you enjoy the afternoon.

“If we could fly up into those clouds and there was a castle with anything your heart desired, what would it be?” Jo asks. “Where do you two see your lives leading you?” Her tone is pensive, romantic. You and Laurie both hum in thought. 

“You first, Laurie.” You murmur. 

Laurie turns to look back at the bright blue sky, to the billowy clouds that look like spun sugar candy. 

“I want to live abroad in Europe and be surrounded by music, my music. I want to compose, I want to be renowned for my operas.” He declares with a proud puff of his chest. Jo nods, you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“That sounds very much like you, Teddy,” Jo says. “A bachelor making art in Europe, how capital.”

He makes a face, then winks at you out of the corner of his eye. You stick out your tongue.

“You can do it if you stay focused,” you add. “No more billiards, for a start.” 

Laurie wrinkles his nose. “And what is it that you want, prima donna?” he asks you in challenge. 

You turn away with a roll of your eyes, gaze to the heavens. The thought comes to you easily as you listen to the birds, feel the breeze tickling your skin, drinking in the sky. 

“I want to be a ballet dancer in a prestigious company. I want to tour the world.” You say softly. Before, you would have felt embarrassment to share such an ambitious dream. But something about this moment, of being with Laurie and Jo makes you feel brave and safe enough to speak your mind, to put your words into the universe and have it come to fruition. Like a magic spell of sorts. With them here with you, you feel like any dream is possible.

Another chorus of hums and Jo looks pleased at your response. Laurie smirks up at the horizon.

“No fair if it’s likely to happen,” he laughs. “That’s cheating.”

“Oh, hush,” Jo chides with a rather hard sock to Laurie’s arm. She ignores his whines as he recoils and grumbles dramatically. “You’re well on your way, dear,” Jo tells you. “Now that you’ll be in that New York production next summer, I’m sure your opportunities will be plentiful.”

You hope she’s right. You’d secured a role as an ensemble dancer in an upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet, your most prestigious show as of yet in your young and budding career. Jo’s warm praise makes you blush like the flowers surrounding you, pink and full. Laurie’s quick eyes catch this, envious, and he changes the subject, a muscle ticking ever so slightly in his jaw. 

“And you, Jo?” He asks tightly. 

Jo exhales, crossing her arms behind her head. “Being a writer, of course. A great one. I don’t want to settle for less.” 

“Doubtful,” snides Laurie. “I don’t see it.”

You and Laurie look to each other with a quiet smile.

“No, not with all the prizes you’ve won,” you add. “Impossible.”

Jo shoots upright, too quickly for the heat. She slugs Laurie again.

“Ow...Jo, it’s too hot for your beatings,” he moans. “Don’t be a poor sport.”

She doesn’t answer him, only gives him a final push and hunkers back down onto the grass, turning her back to him with a huff.

“Why am I the only one that ever gets hit?” Laurie grumbles, opening his shirt to cool himself off and throws his forearm across his eyes for shade, frowning. You giggle, curling up beside her.

“I believe in your abilities, Jo.” You whisper to her. She takes your hand. 

It’s not long before the three of you are fast asleep in the sun. 

**

And as the seasons and summers roll on and the fruits of childhood begin to slowly ripen with the passing years, you find your companionship with Laurie and Jo changing and growing like never before. Your friendship starts to blossom into fondness, adoration. Indeed, you’ve loved them as playmates and companions since the three of you were children, but as you flourish amidst that quaint, strange, and budding pocket of time when young men and women come of age, where you and Laurie and Jo are now struck with bashfulness and an awareness of being alone with each other, your love for them arches and glows like summer sunset. 

This makes you acutely conscious of your appearance and dress, your posture, how you carry yourself, your mannerisms. How did your hair look? Did you laugh too loudly? Would Jo think your comments about her writing were too harsh? Why did you feel such warmth in your chest every time you saw her? And why were you starting to anticipate Laurie’s company? Why did you always have a sharp hope that he would come around with every visit of yours to the March residence? The constant whir of thoughts and worries was enough to make your head turn with heaviness, make you collapse from the pressures of simply existing.

“You’re acting odd,” Laurie tells you one day.

The two of you lay in a meadow with summer buzzing all around you, resting beneath the drooping leaves of a willow tree. Jo had been unable to join you as she had Beth’s lessons to teach that afternoon, much to her own disappointment and promising to make it up to you soon with an affectionate pinch to your cheek. You’d considered going home then. The last thing you wanted was to be left alone with Laurie, that familiar crush in your chest, an inkling of dread coupled with a shortness of breath, fear and excitement. You were terrified. But when he’d taken your hand and asked you so sweetly to accompany him to the meadow’s waters, how could you possibly refuse? 

But of course, Laurie was quick to notice your nerves. 

“The heat is getting to your head,” you say evenly with eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face. “Besides, that’s rather rude.”

You hear him move and feel his presence directly in front of you, as if leaning in.

“It is a bit hot, do you feel up for a swim?”

This makes your eyes snap open. Following Jo’s mannerisms, you give him a shove in the chest. “You’re vile,” you grin. 

To your surprise, Laurie’s teasing, playful demeanor is nowhere to be found. His gaze is instead thoughtful, holding your own like you are all he sees. Immediately, you feel your pulse kick up in the side of your throat.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he continues with a shake of his head. “You don’t seem like yourself. I thought a change in our routine could be refreshing.”

You give a light shrug of your shoulders. “I feel fine,” you say. 

He brushes the back of his hand against your forehead. He hums, then curls his fingers down along the planes of your face to rest on your cheek. 

“You’re flushed,” he murmurs. 

Time seems to slow. The roar of blood deafens your ears and the fragrance of the sweet waters and blooms around you is overwhelming, sunlight refracting like prismed rainbow. Laurie kisses you then, a gentle touch of his lips, tilting your chin up to meet him. A sweetheart’s kiss, one that tastes of summer secrets as you’re shaded by vines and mist. When you break apart, he keeps his hand cradled against your cheek, his thumb circling the corner of your mouth.

You don’t know what to say. You’re speechless, your chest rising and falling softly, staring back at him with wide, surprised eyes. Laurie looks reflective, emerald irises half-lidded.

“What am I to tell Jo?” you whisper to him. Heat diffuses through your body like desert wind. You feel elated, cherished, frightened, embarrassed. Guilty. Laurie’s eyes flicker once more to your lips, his dark lashes fluttering with the movement. His smile is melancholy, yet knowing.

“You love her, too.” Laurie hums. It’s a statement, a confirmation of your feelings for both of them. The fact that the boy you’ve adored for so long has uttered your very thoughts out loud should have you completely mortified, yet there’s a small sense of comfort knowing he’d understand. Laurie knows this because he himself feels the same way, knows you or Jo or himself could never bring themselves to choose.

Laurie’s smile prompts you to lace your fingers together in the grasses and you give him a light peck on the cheek. He brightens up, raking a hand through his black curls. 

“You love me.” Laurie beams.

**

When you tell Jo about the kiss, she’s dancing with you on the porch in the evening light. Inside, you can see Marmee and the girls entertaining themselves through the windows as you practice your pirouettes. Jo is dressed in her writing jacket and trousers, keeping you balanced as she plays the part of the male dancer, perfectly competent. 

“What an impish boy,” Jo says of Laurie. You laugh and the two of you continue your steps, running through the dance number in a private rehearsal. Laurie is due to rehearse with you the week before your performance and the thought itself is enough to make butterflies explode in your stomach. Jo is a strong, leading dancer, while Laurie is graceful and firm, both capable of making the palms of your hands sweat with nerves. You know in your heart if you could rehearse with them, you’d have no fear on opening night. You’d already be invincible.

“Again from the top, please, kind sir,” you curtsey to Jo. Her smile is giddy and she gives a click of her heels before returning to her starting position. 

“Of course,” she responds. Taking your hand, she guides you through the steps once more, your heart soft and temperate like the evening around you.

**

The sound of applause is warm and full, washing over you as you take your bows. You feel weightless, aglow, eyes brimming with tears. You think you see Laurie and Jo leap to their feet in the audience, but the stage lights are too bright and you cannot see clearly and you think you may faint from happiness. 

In the auditorium, you’re still in your costume of Venetian silks and flowers when you’re swept off your feet by a boisterous Laurie and he twirls you around in his arms, his riding cloak billowing out behind him. 

“There’s our Capulet! You were phenomenal!”

“I’m so proud of you, dear!” Jo practically shouts with excitement, tackling you next in a bearish hug when Laurie finally sets you down. Their praise is boundless, endless, showering you in so much adoration that your heart feels close to bursting. You gather them close, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“Thank you both for everything,” you choke out, squeezing them tight.

Over Jo’s shoulder, you spot Marmee, Meg, Amy, even shy little Beth with a bouquet of flowers and then you let the tears fall when you run to them and you thank your stars for the luck and love you’ve been blessed with.  

**

Another year, another summer soon arrives. You and Jo and Laurie are back in the fields cloud-gazing, a lazy afternoon of heat and leisurely time well spent. Things feel familiar, recognizable between the three of you, yet there’s a sense of distance between now and when Jo had first asked about your castles in the sky all those summers ago. 

 Jo was now making a name for herself in the writer’s world, having won another prize in a New York newspaper. She’d been gaining the attention of devoted readers and critics alike and was now working on a proper novel, her longest project as of yet. She tells you not to worry, that she’ll be sure to feature you as a central character in the same way she’d done as a child, nostalgic tales of pirates and adventure and love.

“My sweet sugar plum fairy,” she’d gruffed, pulling you into another powerful hug.

Laurie had finished his opera, now with aspirations of pulling funds together and opening a production in Europe. He was still in the midst of planning and conversing with his grandfather about finances and departure dates, but it seemed like Laurie’s promise of spiriting you away to Europe could now become a reality. And with the possibility of your very own French stage debut! 

Thus, you three souls were being tugged into three far corners of the globe, to your respective callings. The realization scares you, to know that this may be one of the few times you have left together. But underneath it all, there was a sense of excitement to see the world and make it your own. You were satisfied, proud knowing that the three of you had come so far with your aspirations and you had no doubt you would find success in your art.

In the comfortable silence, serenaded by the hum of cicadas and birdsong, you gaze up to the clouds gliding over Plumfield, Massachusetts. You feel an aching longing for those childhood days of carefree play, the countless rose-tinted memories of Laurie and Jo by your side, yet looking up at the sky, you know these memories of summers past will always be with you. 

And there would be better and more to come. 

[440mxs-wife]

Take the Shot

Pairing: Dean x Reader

You pulled your royal blue 1968 Chevy Nova into its parking spot in the bunker garage, then turned off the ignition. You walked around to the trunk and gathered up some of your grocery bags. You took the case of beer out of the trunk and set it on the garage floor. With your hands full, you kicked the bunker door, which was answered by Sam Winchester.

"Hey, you didn't have to get all this by yourself, I would've come out to help you," he remarked.

"Good thing you're here then, Sam, there's just a little more to bring in. You can carry the rest of the bags and the case of beer down the stairs if you want to help," you  suggested.

"Consider it done, milady," he replied with a dramatic bow.

You rolled your eyes but grinned at his exaggerated response, then continued on to the kitchen to put away your groceries. By this time, Dean had wandered into the kitchen as well, reaching into the fridge for something cold to drink.

"Where's the pie? I don't see any pie. How could you forget the pie?!?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Relax, Dean. I'm making the pie from scratch. As soon as I get done putting groceries away, I'll  start peeling the apples," you assured him.

"Aw, thank you, sweetheart," Dean replied as he beamed a smile at you brighter than the sun. He squeezed your shoulder as he left the kitchen. You ducked your head just in time for him to not see the blush creeping up on your cheeks.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean was always doing things like that, calling you "sweetheart" or "honey", squeezing or rubbing your shoulder. You were certain he didn't mean anything by it, just a bit of harmless flirting. However, it was those little things that made your heart flutter and your cheeks grow warm. Dean didn't know it, but you had developed feelings for him. You tried to push them down, ignore them, talk yourself out of them, anything, but it was no use. You were falling in love with Dean Winchester.

You had first met the Winchesters on a vampire hunt assignment given to you by Bobby Singer. Bobby took you in when you were twelve and your parents were killed trying to take out a bunch of demons. He taught you about what each monster's weakness was and how to kill it, along with some basic self-defense and weapons tactics. Over time, your firearms skills grew  to expert marksman level and you were downright lethal with a blade.

There were a few times that you had come close to confessing your feelings for the elder Winchester. Then you saw him with his arm around some woman from the bar, and that was enough to change your mind. You turned your attention back to your drink, and counted the minutes until you were home, back in your bedroom, alone with your thoughts.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You finished dicing the apples for the pie, added the sugar and the cinnamon then mixed the ingredients together. You set the bowl aside and moved on to prepare the crust. While you were folding and rolling the crust, your mind wandered back to Dean. You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you didn't notice Sam had walked in.

Sam cleared his throat, which startled you and made you jump. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Everything okay?" he chuckled.

"Yeah, Sam, why not?" you mumbled, returning your attention to assembling the pie.

"You just seem a little distracted, that's all," Sam observed.

"No, I'm not," you replied defensively.

"You didn't even hear me come in, as you would usually say, 'lumbering like a moose'," he teased. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing, Sam. Nothing at all," you responded. "And you came in here for....what, exactly?" you prompted as you slid the pie onto the oven rack and set the timer.

"Oh, yeah, found us a case, around Ruthie's new hometown. Sounds like a simple salt-and-burn spirit kind of thing," he explained.

"Really? It's been months since I've seen her! Damn, I just put the pie in, and it won't be done for another hour or so. Can't let it burn," you replied.

"We can wait till it's done and then go. I'm sure Dean will approve, considering it's for a good reason," Sam added.

"Okay. I'll call Ruthie and get my bag packed. You can tell Dean about the change in the itinerary," I said as I left the kitchen.

Sam shook his head and chuckled. Dean walked in a short time after you left, so Sam told him about leaving a bit later than expected. He grumbled a little at first, then it was explained that the pie needed to finish baking first. As predicted, Dean changed his mind and was okay with the later departure time.

As you packed, you called your best friend, Ruthie, to let her know you would be up in her area, working a case. She was excited that you were going to be so close by and could visit, though she wasn't crazy about the reason you would be there. Before you hung up, she warned you to be careful and to watch out for yourself and the boys so that no one got hurt.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A few hours later, another successful hunt was in the books. You all sat around Ruthie's kitchen table with her husband, Jim, laughing and swapping stories. She had a surprising amount of dirt on you, and she certainly didn't mind sharing it one bit.

Dean looked around and got up from his chair. "Well, not that this hasn't been fun, but I've been wanting to check out your bar, Ruthie. Sam, you in?" He put his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn and lock onto his flashing green eyes. "How about you, sweetheart? Want to come with us?" he asked.

You briefly lost the ability to form a coherent thought, but quickly recovered. "N-nah, I think I'll stay here and catch up with Ruthie. We haven't seen each other in so long, I don't want to miss an opportunity," you finally got out.

Dean shrugged his shoulders and said, "Okay, have fun you two. Don't wait up," he said waggling his eyebrows. Once he drove off in the Impala, you let out a frustrated groan.

"What was that all about?" she demanded. "Since when does he call you 'sweetheart' and make googly eyes at you? Are you two a 'thing' now?" she asked.

"There were no googly eyes, Ruthie. And no, we're not a 'thing' now, nor will we probably ever be one. It's just harmless flirting," you muttered.

"But, you wish he meant it, don't you?" she asked gently. You could only nod, as your voice would have betrayed the tears on your face.

"Then you have to tell him, honey. Otherwise, he'll never know and he'll keep doing the bar chick thing, slowly taking a piece of your heart each time," Ruthie finished.

"Ruthie, I've seen the type of woman he seems to prefer, and it's not me. Sure, it feels amazing when he calls me 'sweetheart' or when he touches my hand or my shoulder. But I know he doesn't mean anything by it. Let's face it, I'm not his type of woman. I'm good for going on hunts, doing the research and making pie. Friend, remember? Not the romance category," you choked on the last sentence.

"Do you really believe that?" Ruthie asked.

You nodded. "Yes, Ruthie, I do. However, I also believe that what we do is so important. So much, in fact, that I'm willing to continue pushing all of those feelings aside to focus on the mission. What if I told him how I feel and he didn't feel the same? I don't know how long I could stay in the bunker after that, seeing him every day after ruining a perfectly good friendship."

Suddenly Ruthie jumped to her feet. "Come on," she motioned for me to follow her.

"What? Where are we going?" you asked.

"We are going to get dressed up and we are going to walk into my bar, looking so amazingly HOT and sexy. Mr. Dean Winchester won't be able to keep his eyes--or anything else, for that matter--off your body, honey." she finished with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Hey, Jim? We're going into town to check on things at the bar, do you want to drive us there?" she called. He agreed, and you went with Ruthie to put yourselves together.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"That about does it, don't you think?" Ruthie said as we stepped back from the mirror.

"I think this more than does it. Sis, we look GOOOOOD," you said. Ruthie held up her hand for you to high-five her, but you missed, causing you both to start giggling.

You were wearing a new pair of slightly faded blue jeans with star-studded back pockets that you had brought with you. A white spaghetti-strap tank top and a cropped denim jacket about the same color as the jeans completed your outfit. Ruthie lent you her tan knee-high boots with a wedge heel. Your curly brown hair was fluffed out a bit more and you kept your makeup and jewelry choices simple.

Ruthie was similarly dressed, but in darker colors. Black jeans where you wore blue, a red tank top instead of white, and black boots. You looked at each other, linked arms and got into the car.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam and Dean were sitting in a booth, each drinking their second beer of the night. "Hey, Sam? Do you think we should call the girls and ask them to come out?" Dean asked. Just then, a well-endowed blonde walked up to their table. She slid into the booth next to Dean, and looking straight at him, she asked, "Wanna dance?"

At that exact moment, you, Ruthie and Jim walked in, looking for Sam and Dean. When you saw the blonde sitting so close to Dean and practically kissing him, you froze. Ruthie's hand was at your elbow, propelling you forward. "Steady, you can do this. Just walk over to the table and tell them we're going to play some 8-ball. And that no, they can't play," she growled.

You gathered up your courage and walked over to their table. "Evening, boys," you drawled. "Ruthie and I are going to go play some 8-ball," you explained. As they started to get up, you held up your hand. "No, no, just us girls playing. Sorry boys," you said with a wink. You and Ruthie headed for the empty pool table, your heart pounding furiously in your chest.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Dean saw you and Ruthie walk in, he couldn't believe his eyes. He'd seen you in jeans and a tank top before, but these jeans hugged your curves like none he'd ever seen you wear before. You and Ruthie were dressed so alike, but the two of you couldn't have been more different. Ruthie wore dark, where you wore light, the yin and yang that perfectly explained your longtime friendship.

The blonde became bored at Dean's lack of attention and left the table in a huff. Dean watched as you and Ruthie played your game. He saw how happy and carefree you looked as you hung out with your best friend. It had been a long time since he'd seen you that way, and it brought a smile to his face.

Dean noticed how your eyes sparkled when you smiled and he thought about how he wouldn't mind seeing more of that. He wondered what you two were talking about between shots with your heads together. He desperately wanted to know what was just said that had made you throw your head back in laughter.

For one of your shots, you were leaned over the table rather low, trying to get lined up. Your studded back pockets were pointed in Dean's direction. His mouth ran dry as thoughts of a less than pure nature ran through his mind. He shook his head as if trying to clear it, catching Sam's attention. "Dude, you okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's head over there to watch the girls. I see two empty barstools, why don't you snag those while I get us another beer," Dean suggested.

By the time Sam and Dean came over, you and Ruthie were into your second drinks and fourth game of pool. You both had also ditched your jackets, having left them on the barstools now occupied by the boys. You had gathered a good-sized crowd to watch the two of you play. There was a group of college boys, a bachelorette party, and some other random people were there to cheer you on.

It was your turn, and you had a difficult choice to make. You could bank the #13 and keep playing, or shoot the #11 and have a potentially difficult next shot. Bank shots were not your strong suit, but you decided to give it a go. Unfortunately, one of the college boys was in your way and didn't look like he wanted to move. "Excuse me, I need to take this shot and you're in my way," you explained.

"Tell you what, sweetheart. You make this shot and I'll buy you a shot. Then you can sit on my lap and I'll tell you about the great night we're going to have together," he smirked.

Dean heard what the kid had said, and something in him snapped. He bolted out of his seat, but Sam held him back. "Hold on, I think she's got this," he said.

"Tell you what. How about you move and let me make this shot? That way, I don't crack my cue stick over your skull for making such a sexist comment. Does that sound all right to you?" you asked innocently, batting your eyelids.

He grumbled, "Yeah, whatever," but got off of his barstool anyway to give you a clear shot. You leaned down to line up your shot. As you drew the cue stick back, you felt a hand grab your backside. You whirled around to see him high-fiving his drinking companions. You heard snippets of comments like "seriously sweet ass" and "like to hit that".

You pointed the heavier end of your cue stick at the kid, who was still laughing with his friends. You took advantage of his distraction to swing the heavy end right into his soft belly. With an audible "Oof!" he said as he fell, his ass landing hard on the floor.

With your cue stick raised above him ready to swing it again, you glared at him. "Get up. You and your friends had better get out of here before any real trouble starts. Don't even think about coming back in here ever again, at least not until you have more respect for a lady," you finished.

His friends helped him up and they headed for the door. As he passed you, he muttered, "'Lady' my ass, more like a bitch."

That was enough for Dean. He broke free from Sam and as he passed by, you could feel the anger radiating from him. You tried to grab his arm and pull him back but you were too late.

Next thing anyone knew, there was a scuffle in the parking lot between Dean and the kid. Punches were flying left and right until Sam finally pulled Dean away. The college boy was carried off by his buddies and Ruthie yelled that they were banned from her bar for good.

You walked over to Dean to check for damage. He had a cut above his left eye, a bloody nose and his knuckles were a bit scraped up. "Come on, Dean. Let's get you back to the motel and clean you up," you sighed.

Sam drove the Impala back to the motel in silence, with you in the back seat. Sam went to their room and got the first aid kit, then you walked to your room a few doors down. "You have your own room?" Dean asked.

"I didn't want to impose on Ruthie, so we booked this before we hit the bar," you explained. "Plus, depending on how tonight went, I thought I might want my own space." Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged, handed him the first aid kit and motioned for Dean to follow you to your room.

Once inside, Dean sat down on the bed and took off his outer shirt. You removed your denim jacket again and turned on the lights to better assess his injuries. His nose had stopped bleeding, so you took a washcloth and dipped it in the warm water contained in the ice bucket. "Are you okay?" Dean asked as you cleaned up the dried blood around his nose.

Being this close to Dean was enough to cause flutters in your heart. Not exactly trusting your voice at first, you nodded. "I'm fine, Dean. No harm done," you finally added.

Next, you moved on to address the injury above his left eye. "What did you mean by 'depending on how tonight went' you might want your own space?" Dean asked.

"Hmm?" you mumbled absently.

Dean reached up and stilled your hands, forcing you to gaze into his impossibly perfect green eyes. "What did you mean when you said that, about wanting your own space?" he repeated.

You stopped what you were doing to gather your thoughts, because once you answered his question, there would be no going back. "What I meant was, depending on whether or not you came back to the motel alone," you answered.

"Why would that matter to you?" Dean asked.

"Never mind. Let's get that cut above your eye stitched up," you said as you started to thread the needle.

"No, forget that for now. I want to know why that would matter to you," Dean persisted.

"And I said never mind!" you retorted. "You know what? Take this to Sam and let him sew you up. Goodnight, Dean," you replied as you held the door open.

Dean walked to the door as if to leave. Just before he would've crossed the threshold, he turned to you and said, "No. Not until we finish talking about this." you slammed the door and groaned loudly in frustration as he went to sit on the bed.

You walked over and stood in front of Dean. "You want to know why any of this matters to me? Fine, I'll tell you. All of these women you hook up with? None of them will ever know you like I do, Dean. None of them will ever love you the way that I do. It hurts me to see you with them, because I wish you were with me. I realize that to you, I'm nothing special. However, I know how you like your coffee, that you like to sing in the shower, which color of flannel is your favorite."

You knelt down between his knees, resting a hand on his left one. "I also know how to bring you back around after you've had a nightmare. And how you're so used to protecting others that maybe you feel like you have to build walls to protect yourself. I know about how scared you are that one day, everyone you love will leave you.

"But here's the thing, Dean. I will never leave you. And I will wait as long as it takes for you to bring down your walls. To let me in so I can be that source of strength for you when you need it the most."

As soon as you finished your speech, Dean leapt up from the bed and gathered you in his arms. His hands slid up to hold your face and he began to devour you with a series of hot, passionate kisses. Your lips, your cheeks, your neck, all of it was fair game for Dean. Your fingers threaded their way through his hair, paying particular attention to the ones at the base of his neck. Dean growled in appreciation, then you felt him smile against your lips.

When you finally broke apart, you were both trying to catch your breath. "That was amazing," you whispered.

"So was everything you said, sweetheart. Except one part," Dean replied.

"What? Which part?" you asked.

"The part where you said you realize that to me you're 'nothing special'," he said as he caressed your cheek with his thumb. "I can't think of anything that would be farther from the truth. I watched as you and Ruthie were playing pool.

"Your eyes sparkle when you smile, and when you laugh, you do so with your whole heart. Tonight, I saw a side of you that made me realize how special you are to me and to everyone around you. But most importantly, I have become very aware of how much I love you," he finished.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words from you, Dean. Almost thought I never would. I love you too," you replied softly.

You moved forward until your lips met again in a slow, passion-filled kiss. Your mouths moved together, yours opening slightly for Dean's tongue to slip inside. His fingers started threading through your hair, massaging as he went. Dean gently tugged on your curly locks, which tilted your head back and exposed your neck. "So beautiful...." he murmured against your skin as he dropped feather-light kisses up and down your neck.

"Stay with me tonight? Please?" you asked. Dean nodded, and while he stripped down to his boxers, you went into the bathroom to change into your pj's. He got into bed and held the covers back enough for you to slide in next to him. You turned to face him and placed your hand on his cheek, caressing it with your thumb. "I love you, you know," you said softly.

"I know. I love you too, sweetheart," Dean replied. He slipped his arm around you so that you could rest your head on his shoulder.

"Goodnight, my love," you whispered.

[keepseaveyweird]

Escape | C.B.

Requested: yes! by @coolkidcorbyn :you and your friends signing up to do an escape room right and when you get to the place the dude is like "oh there's actually five other people in your room" and it turns out to be WDW and like you’re wearing your hoodie and it's just so surreal but when the games starts you and bean take charge and he is so impressed by how smart you are and there’s cute little moments and you are solving the puzzles together and basically the boys and your friends are just letting y'all figure it out at this point 

A/N: I have literally never done an escape room in my life so please bear with me and my assumptions as to how escape rooms play out. I loved his idea so much, it was so cute, thank you for sending it!! I know you’re not on here much anymore but hopefully you see this because it’s been like a month since you requested it and I’m sorry.

Word Count: 2548

“Just pick a shirt, let’s go, we’re going to be late for our reservation!” her friend yelled as she shuffled through her closet for an outfit. Annoyed, she grabbed the first sweatshirt she could lay her eyes on, which so happened to be the sweatshirt of her favorite band. Slipping it on and rushing down the stairs, she couldn’t help but be a bit upset, as it was her friends birthday, signifying cute outfits, make up done and hair did, which she didn’t get a chance to do as they rushed her out of the door. Her ripped jeans and plain vans did her no justice compared to her friends, dressed up in skirts and blouses, hair blown out and lashes coated with mascara. She felt small compared to them, and she had wished she wouldn’t have spent  her time curling everyone’s hair if it meant drawing the short end of the stick.

A quick dinner and car ride full of singing later, they arrived at their escape room, which they had fully planned on beating within ten minutes. The three of them strutted up to the counter, as y/n hung back a bit, not feeling worthy of walking the same walk they were in that moment. It wasn’t that she felt inferior to her friends, intimidated or anything of the sort. In fact, it was quite the opposite, y/n had much confidence, could make anyone’s day, could make even the saddest of people break into a smile. Could rock a dress with heels, only to feel just as good in sweats and a hoodie in the same hour. But when everyone around her is dressed up, looking and feeling their best, she couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscience as she stared down at her more-than-casual outfit.

“I’ve got some bad news,” the man at the front desk began, “we’ve overbooked ourselves, and have to put you in with another group of five. I hope that’s alright?”

“What?” the birthday girl exclaimed, “but we specifically requested a private room?”

“I know m’am, I’m so sorry, so did the other group. I can definitely reschedule your game for you if you’d like for a later date?” He asked, regret and guilt plastered on his face. Suddenly, the bell above the door rang, causing everyone to direct their attention to the group of rowdy boys entering the building.

Her heart stopped, her blood ran cold, eyes wide like dear in the headlights. She thought about her hoodie, the red one she had grabbed from her closet, which she decided was the worst mistake of her life. She thought about how her friends looked so good, so well-kept and gorgeous, as they barely gave her enough time to run a brush through her hair. Because when the blonde boy recognized his own merch, she couldn’t help but die a bit inside, just as red as her sweatshirt from embarrassment. There was no reason for her to be embarrassed, to feel ashamed of being caught wearing their merch, but yet she felt the need to bury a hole and conceal herself from the world.

“I love the sweatshirt,” Corbyn started, pointing to it as he nudged Zach’s side to get him to see it as well.

“I-” she started, at loss for words as her five greatest idols smiled at her, “thanks, but I don’t really like the band that much. Just kind of bought it because it looked comfortable,” she joked, using her charming personality in hopes to even out the playing field of her and her best friends.

“Oh,” Corbyn started, looking down at the ground, not sure what to say next.

y/n grabbed his shoulder, looking him in the eye as he brought his head up, “I’m kidding,” she laughed , “I’m a huge fan. I love you guys so much! What are you guys even doing here, you’re so supposed to be on tour right now?”

Maybe she was losing it, maybe her heart and brain were playing tricks on her but when she touched him, made contact with blonde, she swear she felt a spark. Swear she felt a tingle or small surge of energy ignite between his shoulder and her fingertips. Swear she could see the world through his eyes, could make out galaxies from the swirls of green and blue. Because though his eyes looked like the universe and wonders of the world crafted his two iris’ personally, she swore that the heat felt between the two of them could end the world, could lead to a rapid increase of climate change.

And when he smiled, laughed at her horrible joke, she swore this boy could move mountains, could control the tides of the ocean with the snap of his fingers. That his smile alone could bring world peace. And when he pulled her in for a quick hug, she felt at home, felt the confidence she usually felt blast through her body, as he didn’t pay attention to the other three girls standing behind her.

“We’re on the road to our next stop, needed a break and bit of fun,” he explained as he released his grip from her. She greeted the other four with hugs and hello’s, as did her friends, but could feel Corbyn’s eyes on her, could feel the intensity of them from across the room.

The man from behind the desk interrupted, coughing to grab our attention, “so would you guys be okay going in together? May be a bit cramped, but I’ll double your time and give you all a discount?”

The nine of them looked around, before all introducing themselves and entering the room. It was decorated like a home from the fifties; vintage rugs and old kitchen appliances with random objects scattered about. All of them searched for the first clue. Opening chests, cupboards, doors to nowhere. It was then y/n reached for an empty candlestick, only for it to be cemented to the mantle over the fake fireplace.

“Does  anyone see a candle anywhere?” she asked the group. They all shook their head, lost as to where to start. A couple minutes pass, when Corbyn opens a chest only to find a candle.

“Found it!” he announced to eight, a smile on his face as he rushed over next to y/n. As he handed it over, their hands brushed, fingertips momentarily tangled between one another. Corbyn swear he could’ve melted right then and there, as her touch made him feel a way he had never felt before. A feeling deep inside, unknowing, nerving, unsettling, and he didn’t know how to take, how to exactly feel about it, only that he didn’t want it to end.  

Their eyes met, a small smile on both of their faces as she took it from his hands and placed it on the candlestick. Instantly, lights began to blink. 12 lights on, then 15, then 22 and ended with 4. It repeated and repeated, 12,15,22,4. The ten of them began searching again, looking for any hint they could find.

y/n followed behind Corbyn as they passed by an old telephone.

“Wait!” Corbyn exclaimed, taking a step back, “seven digits, like a phone number.” He quickly spun the dial around to the numbers and listened to the line ring twice before the blinking lights came to a halt.

A phone on the other side of the room, next to Daniel, began to ring.

“Hello?” He answered, as if an actual person was on the other line. Eyebrows furrowed, he pulled the phone away from his ear and gave the phone a strange look.

“What’s that face for?” her friend joked. He put the phone up to her ear to let her hear, in which her face contorted into the same expression.

y/n walked over and took the phone from her hand, putting it to her ear. The Wheels On the Bus played over the line, sung by little kids and though it shouldn’t of been creepy, it most definitely was. Her eyes wandered around the room for a moment before quickly focusing on the toy bus on top of one of the shelves which Jonah was leaning against.

“Can you hand me that bus?” she asked politely, as she was much shorter than the tall boy, who reached for it. The moment she grasped it in her hands, the top popped off to reveal a key.

Jack sat down, a scoff leaving his mouth, “I’m done, you two can figure it out on your own,” he mumbled, pulling out his phone. The other seven did the same, sitting around the mock kitchen table as Corbyn and y/n continued to search for clues.

As they were stuck on the last one, a picture on the wall saying the phrase, “an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” they wandered side by side around the room. They began re-opening chests and drawers before looking at each other confused.

“I’m lost,” Corbyn admitted, defeated.

“I just don’t-” she cut herself off as she stared at the vintage oven, a shadow in the window of the door. She rushed to it, opening it up to find a fake apple pie, with the final key inside. She unlocked the door to reveal the check-in room they met in before.

“Okay smarty pants,” Corbyn smiled, “that was good.” The other eight rolled their eyes as they made their way back out into the parking lot but she couldn’t help the flush of pink that crept onto her cheeks as she thanked him.

“It was great meeting you guys!” she told them as all nine gathered around the birthday girl’s van, “sorry me and Corbyn ruined it for you.”

Her friend immediately laughed, “you didn’t ruin it y/n, we’re just dumb,” earning a laugh from all of them.

“Well, we still got a couple hours until we have to hit the road,” Jonah explained, “do you wanna go grab ice cream or something?”

As everyone agreed, the nine of you squeezed into her friends van, Zach and Corbyn illegally squeezed into the back of the trunk, y/n in the back seat in front of them.

“Are you guys okay?” she laughed. They both nodded before the van rolled over a bump, causing them to elbow each other in the stomach and groan.

It was half an hour later, the group squeezed into the large booth of a town favorite, the small ice cream parlor that had been around for decades, since their parent were their age. Jack had convinced the group it was only polite to sing happy birthday to y/n’s friend, in which all eight of them yelled the words, leaving her friend a shade of red while she laughed.

It was then she felt the familiar tingle, familiar surge of electricity she once felt before as she glanced over to see that Corbyn had draped his arm around her shoulder. And she couldn’t help but accept it, to lean into his touch, to melt into his side as their contact only created butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Couldn’t help but look up to see him staring at his friends with soft smile on his face, as though it was a normal occurrence, that it wasn’t the first time they’d met but as if they’ve known each other for a lifetime. So for the hour and a half they all sat there, talking about anything and everything they could think of together, Corbyn and y/n sat there in silence, enjoying each other’s presence, each other’s warmth and touch. The two didn’t need to look at one another to know that the other was smiling like an idiot, was the happiest they’d ever been while in that position.

So when the moment came and they had to stand up from the booth, as Corbyn slid his arm off her shoulder, he couldn’t help but feel the cool air rush to the side of his body where she once was, couldn’t help but want to shiver at the bitterness of their separation. The nine of them walked out to the van, laughing and giggling like they had been all night, as he tapped Daniel’s shoulder to beg him of a request.

“Please, for me?” he frowned, guilting Daniel into muttering a ‘fine’ before climbing into the back of the trunk with Zach.

Corbyn climbed into the van and into the back row of three where y/n sat in the middle, him climbing over to sit on the other side of her and one of her friends. Their shoulders brushed against one another, and immediately the warmth and good feelings came rushing back.

Suddenly, y/n took his hand into his, entangling their fingers as she looked up at him to make sure her actions were okay. He smiled, his eyes glowing and smile entrancing, before giving her hand a tight squeeze, indicating that it was more than okay. The short car ride was full of singing, full of dancing and bouncing up and down in everyone’s seat as they enjoyed their last couple moments together as group, and throughout the trip, their hands remained locked, as the two swayed into one another, as they rested their heads on each other’s shoulders from time to time.

A bit later, they all stood outside the large tour bus, y/n and Corbyn’s hands still tangled together as they said their farewells.

“Thank you for letting us crash your birthday party!” Jack cheered, giving everyone a hug as the others followed suit.

“It was really great meeting you guys, really. Thank you for everything,” y/n told Corbyn who was the last to board the bus.

“Of course,” he smiled, wrapping her in a hug and enjoying her touch for the last time, “I had a really good time, an amazing time actually. You’re amazing, brilliant! Um, do you think we could stay in touch? Like could I get your number? Just in case I’m ever in town again or you happened to be in LA cause you know-” he rambled as she laughed and cut him off.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she laughed as he handed her his phone.

“Okay,” he sighed, “we really need to get going, but I’ll text you!” Corbyn smiled, grabbing her hand and giving it one last squeeze.

“Bye Corbyn,” she said, a smile plastered to her face.

“See you later y/n” Corbyn beamed as he stood in the doorway of the tour bus, before turning around and heading it.

Her and her friends watched the tour bus take off down the road, a small frown on each of their faces.

“I can’t believe you actually got Corbyn Besson’s number,” her friend exclaimed as they loaded back up in the van again, this time less crowded.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed, a message popping up on her lock screen.

Corbyn: Hey smarty pants :)

“Yeah,” she said looking at her phone, a smile from ear to ear as she blushed, “I can’t really believe it either.”And she began to wonder why she was so self-conscious about her appearance at the beginning of the night in the first place.

[killerqueenjoy]

99 Question Tag

okay okay I know i got tagged to do this like a month ago on my main blog by @santonicababy iM SORRY LIN ILY BUT THIS WAS SO DAMN LONG

1) DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR CLOSET DOORS OPEN OR CLOSED

I sleep in the room where everybodies closets are and they all gotta be closed goddamn do you know how spooky it is to even have one open during the night

2) DO YOU TAKE THE SHAMPOOS AND CONDITIONER BOTTLES FROM HOTELS

my parents do, but alas I don't use them in case they have silicones or sulphates in them because I got a whole lotta curls to protect

3)DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR SHEETS TUCKED IN OR OUT?

if this refers to the sheet protecting the mattress, then my answer is in because how the fuck would you be able to sleep with that moving around???

4) HAVE YOU STOLEN A STREET SIGN BEFORE

NO SORRY IM BORING

5)DO YOU LIKE TO USE POST IT NOTES

heck yeah, but for random shit

6) DO YOU EVER CUT OUT COUPONS BUT THEN NEVER USE THEM

nee my parents are fancy fuckers who use the coupons on their phone (our local supermarket has a damn app skskksksk)

7) WOULD YOU RATHER BE ATTACKED BY A BIG BEAR OR A SWARM OF BEES

a bear because its one giant son of a bitch and not millions of tiny motherfuckers and also I've never been stung by a bee and intend to keep it that way because majority of my family seem to be allergic

8) DO YOU HAVE FRECKLES

nope! I have a couple beauty spots on my hands and face but thats kinda it

9) DO YOU ALWAYS SMILE FOR PICTURES

not really but if I've been told to smile then its 200% dead inside

10) WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE

i find many things annoying

11)DO YOU EVER COUNT YOUR STEPS WHEN YOU WALK

only when i go up and down stairs, but i also try to make sure i step with each foot equally (if that makes sense) and i step on only certain colour tiles when im bored

12) HAVE YOU EVER PEED IN THE WOODS

the real question is have i ever been in the woods? both answers are no

13) HAVE YOU EVER POOPED IN THE WOODS

refer to question 12

14)ummmm idk what this question is meant to be curse you Lin

15)DO YOU CHEW YOUR PENS AND PENCILS

nope, the idea weirds me out

16) HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH THIS WEEK

none, this week and in general

17) WHAT SIZE IS YOUR BED

one person and a long yet smol doggo size

18) WHAT IS YOUR SONG OF THE WEEK

Eddie from the Rocky Horror Picture Show has been stuck in my head for the whole week so yeah i guess that

19)IS IT OKAY FOR GUYS TO WEAR PINK

HeLL YEAH DUDE HAVE YOU SEEN RAMI MALEK IN PINK

SKSKSKSKS END MY LIFE

but yeah, anyone can wear anything they want to wear (although a suit made out of meat might not be wise)

20) DO YOU STILL WATCH CARTOONS

dudeeeee scooby doo and tom and jerry are my jam I watch them on the regular (among other things)

21)WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVOURITE MOVIE

uhhm idkkkkk I tend to repress bad movies sksksk

22)WHERE WOULD YOU BURY HIDDEN TREASURE IF YOU HAD SOME

idk shove it in the closet ig at least it will be hidden behind my sexuality

23)WHAT DO YOU DRINK WITH DINNER

I usually only drink before or after but ig water??? cooldrink if I'm in a restaurant

24)WHAT DO YOU DIP A CHICKEN NUGGET IN

depends on the nug

25)WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE FOOD

How dare you assume i only have one favourite

tbh it depends cos i love pizza and pasta and stuff but then i cannot live with my granny's curries ksksmks

26) WHAT MOVIES COULD YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND STILL LOVE

borhap, sing street, rhps, the natm movies, the harry potter movies, any mcu movies

27)LAST PERSON YOU KISSED/KISSED YOU

ahhahahahahahha bold of you to assume anyone wants to do that

28) WERE YOU EVER A BOY/GIRL SCOUT

nope but I was a catrobat which is basically my preschools acrobatics team that was actually really terrible

29)WOULD YOU EVER STRIP OR POSE NUDE IN A MAGAZINE

nahh m8

30) WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A LETTER TO SOMEONE ON PAPER

this week for a transactional task at school (It was in Afrikaans and I got a C skskskks)

31)CAN YOU CHANGE THE OIL IN A CAR

omg no

32)EVER GOTTEN A SPEEDING TICKET

not old enough to drive!

33)EVER RAN OUT OF GAS

my parents never have for as long as i can remember

34)WHATS YOUR FAVOURITE KINDA SANDWHICH

cheese because I am actually John Deacon

35)BEST THING TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST

MUFFINS!!!!

36)WHAT IS YOUR USUAL BEDTIME

school nights its 11pm otherwise i dont have one lol

37)ARE YOU LAZY

YES BUT MY LAZINESS MAKES ME ANXIOUS OOF

38)WHEN YOU WERE A KID WHAT DID YOU DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN

we dont celebrate that here but i rly want to it seems fun!

39)WHAT IS YOUR CHINESE ASTROLOGICAL SIGN

Ram, which is really cool because im an Aries, so I'm sheep squared

40)HOW MANY LANGUAGES CAN YOU SPEAK

English, Afrikaans (at a basic highschool level), I could speak very vERY basic isiZulu when I was younger but I'm not sure about now, I know a bit of French and Telugu, and I'm gonna start learning Hindi soon!!

41) DO YOU HAVE ANY MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS

nee

42) WHICH ARE BETTER, LEGOS OR LINCOLN LOGS

i didn't play much with legos and i have no idea what the second one is rip

43)ARE YOU STUBBORN

to an extent

44)WHO IS BETTER, LENO OR LETTERMAN

I kept reading Leno as Lenin ffs

45)EVER WATCH SOAP OPERAS

I watch them occasionally with my granny, but I don't keep up with them very well (Kasamh Se is my shit tho)

46)ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS

no, im afraid of falling in general tho

47) DO YOU SING IN THE CAR

My dad and I bop frequently to Never Gonna Give You Up in the car, and also classic bollywood songs (we have even learnt the choreography for some)

48)DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER

i perform

49) DO YOU DANCE IN THE CAR

well theres not exactly much space

50)EVER USED A GUN

nope

51)LAST TIME YOU GOT A PORTRAIT TAKEN BY A PHOTOGRAPHER

not sure

52)DO YOU THINK MUSICALS ARE CHEESY

most are but thats why i like them

53) IS CHRISTMAS STRESSFUL

we don't celebrate because we're not Christian (we still eat a lot and exchange presents tho), but it can get stressful if we have to visit extended family, mostly because my extended family loves to insult everything about me so thats great!

54)EVER EAT A PIEROGI

not i good sir

55) FAVOURITE TYPE OF FRUIT PIE

never had one, it doesnt appeal to me

56) OCCUPATIONS YOU WANTED TO BE WHEN YOU WERE A KID

a vet

57)DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS

i am a ghost

58)EVER HAD A DEJA-VU FEELING

not that i remember

59)DO YOU TAKE A VITAMIN DAILY

yes, I take a multi vitamin, a vitamin D pill because I'm vitamin D deficient, and im not sure if this is a vitamin or not but i take evening primrose oil so that im not outwardly a bitch due to pms

60)DO YOU WEAR SLIPPERS

i wear slipper socks, because my doggo got jealous of my doggie slippers and murdered them in cold blood

61)DO YOU WEAR A BATH ROBE

i have one and rarely use it because i forget it exists

62)WHAT DO YOU WEAR TO BED

a random shirt and pants, though ive been known to kick pants off (ive been doing that since birth), occasionally i manage to get the matching pj set

63)WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CONCERT

ive unfortunately never been to a concert before

64)WALMART TARGET OR KMART

ive never seen any of these stores in my country

65)NIKE OR ADIDAS

i own neither

66) CHEETOS OR FRITOS

neither

67)PEANUTS OR SUNFLOWER SEEDS

Peanuts because thats my doggos name!

68) EVER HEARD OF THE GROUP TRES BIEN

no sorry

69)EVER TAKE DANCE LESSONS

i went to a bhangra class for about a year, and we performed for our parents at the end of that year (i was in one of the few groups that didnt have to dance in lehengas thank goodness)

70)IS THERE A PROFESSION YOU PICTURE

YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE DOING

probably something creative, but I don't mind as long as they're happy with what they're doing and its not harming others!

71)CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE

yep

72)EVER WON A SPELLING BEE

never entered one, having to spell out loud makes me anxious

73)HAVE YOU EVER CRIED BECAUSE YOU WERE SO HAPPY

i think so

74)OWN ANY RECORD ALBUMS

nope

75)OWN A RECORD PLAYER

i wish

76)DO YOU REGULARLY BURN INCENSE

my granny burns incense while I'm at school because my mom and i both get really sick when its just been lit and the smell is strong. Going to the temple is a damn nightmare because of it

77)EVER BEEN IN LOVE

no, too busy fangirling

78)WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN CONCERT

oof a long list

Queen, Twenty One Pilots, Waterparks, Frank Iero and the Future Violents (ffs fronk stop changin the name), Panic! at the Disco...to name a few

79)WHAT WAS THE LAST CONCERT YOU SAW

refer to question 63

80)HOT TEA OR COLD TEA

both

81)TEA OR COFFEE

coffee

82)SUGAR COOKIES OR SNICKERDOODLES

sugar cookies

83)CAN YOU SWIM WELL

i wouldn't drown, but im no professional either

84)CAN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH WITHOUT HOLDING YOUR NOSE

im doing it right now

85)ARE YOU PATIENT

eh

86)DJ OR BAND AT A WEDDING

I've only ever been to Hindi,Tamil and Telugu weddings and lemme tell you 90% of the time bands flop at those weddings because they can't sing the classics without failing miserably, so DJs are generally better. However, in that case, if a band can perform those songs, then I'd prefer a band ig

87)EVER WON A CONTEST

yep, a couple of reading contests

88)HAVE YOU EVER HAD PLASTIC SURGERY

nope, not planning on it

89)WHICH ARE BETTER, BLACK OR GREEN OLIVES

dont like olives rip

90)CAN YOU KNIT OR CROCHET

i can knit!

in fact, my friends and i are so cool that we're in our schools knitting club (which besides myself, @grandfunnyemopainter and @imjustabruh , only has 2 other members)

91)BEST ROOM FOR A FIREPLACE

lounge or study/library

92)DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED

i guess, its not on my goal list tho

93)IF MARRIED, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN MARRIED

no

94)WHO WAS YOUR HIGHSCHOOL CRUSH

currently in highschool, and in love with the borhap cast, sebastian stan, stephanie beatriz and band members (theres more but yeah)

95)DO YOU CRY AND THROW A FIT UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN WAY

nope, i have only two ways to deal, be a total pushover or a total bitch

96)DO YOU HAVE KIDS

nope

97)DO YOU WANT KIDS

kind of undecided, but i do want more pets

98)WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOUR

Dark Blue

99)DO YOU MISS ANYONE RIGHT NOW

my dog, shes been ignoring me for about four hours now because I stayed at school for an extra hour (for knitting club!)

@softspaceboibrian @roger-taylor-owns-my-wigg @im-inlovewithmycar do it cowards

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Love is a Layered Cake (2/10)

Summary: Summer has come, and with it, the Great British Bake-Off. Sheep farmer and spinner Rum Gold is one of ten contestants competing for the crown in the latest show. In addition to navigating the perils of televised baking, ridiculous challenges and his fellow bakers, he also has to contend with his undeniable crush on one of the judges, the beautiful and talented Belle French…

Rated: G

[Week One: Cake]

======

Week Two: Biscuits

In which Gold overdoes the orange, almost panics over caramel, and has an actual conversation with Belle.

Also, Archie considers the merits of edible flatpack.

Walking into the break room for the second weekend of filming was nowhere near as daunting as the first. Now that none of them had suffered the indignity of being booted out during the first week, everyone seemed more relaxed with each other, and Gold found that there was a much greater sense of community among the contestants. That his train had been on time helped, of course, and he was not the last to arrive. Emma and Elsa were already there and they waved him over to their little conference in the corner where they were ensconced with cups of tea and biscuits. Emma picked up a shortbread finger and dunked it in her tea, taking a bite and grimacing.

“Ugh. Do you think that they give us cheap biscuits today in the hope that it’ll inspire us produce better ones in the actual show?”

Gold laughed. “I’m not sure, but I doubt that my biscotti are going to be any better than that. So far all my attempts have produced something as dry as a bone that I fear for my aunt’s false teeth on, or they’ve sort of set to a cement like consistency that I can’t get off the baking sheet.”

“Yeah.” Emma raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound promising. Still.” She put the half-eaten biscuit on her saucer. “Someone had better make shortbread tomorrow and it had better be better than this stuff. The food was really great last week.”

“Maybe they’re concerned about us all putting on weight during filming because we’re all eating so many cakes and biscuits,” Elsa mused. “I mean, I can’t really talk as I work for an ice cream factory and we get free samples of all the new flavours so it’s a bad week if I don’t have about five pints in my freezer. Or maybe they’re giving us bad refreshments now to try and make us all cranky and hope that someone throws their mixture at the fridge.”

“Or at another contestant,” Emma suggested. “I have to say, I’m not going to miss Killian.”

“The room does seem friendlier without him,” Gold agreed.

“Yes… I think he was just one of those hyper-masculine guys who’s so insecure in his manhood that he felt the need to assert the fact that even though he was baking in an apron, he was still a Man.” Gold could hear the capitalisation in Elsa’s voice and had to laugh as he took in the rest of the contestants. They’d been apart for a week, but it was clear that friendship groups were beginning to form. Mal and Regina had paired off, Archie and Lance… It seemed that like called to like, and Gold wondered precisely where he fitted in. Although Emma and Elsa appeared to have adopted him, he couldn’t say that he really had all that much in common with them.

“Good morning all.” Jefferson came over to the group and poured himself a cup of tea from the refreshment table. The man was once again wearing a waistcoat and ascot and Gold had to wonder if that was his normal mode of dress or if this was specifically for the cameras. Given Jefferson’s flamboyance and adventurous attitude that he had seen thus far, he was inclined to believe that it was the former. “Are we ready for another day of fun, frolic, flour, and avoiding unwelcome amorous attentions from the other contestants? I passed Zelena on my way in, Gold. She seemed to be having an argument with the make-up artist about her lipstick. Possibly something along the lines of there being too much of it.”

“Heaven help me,” Gold muttered. Would anyone notice if he spent the weekend hiding under the refreshment table here in the break room?

“Fear not, we’re all here to guard your honour. You’ve got to admire her persistence though. I wonder if she’ll make anything green this time? That matcha Swiss roll last week was really an eye-opener.”

“I ought to introduce her to my son,” Emma mused. “Henry went through a stage of refusing to eat anything that was green. It would have saved me a world of trouble if I’d had green cake that I could give him as a compromise.”

Elsa just raised an eyebrow, and the group fell back to their previous occupation of watching the other contestants as Astrid rushed around trying to organise them all. Zelena had made it into the room, evidently having won whatever argument she’d had with the make-up artist, since her bright red lips were immediately noticeable. The shade really didn’t suit her. Luckily, Astrid accosted her with a mic pack so she was unable to make a beeline over to Gold. He’d admire her persistence if it wasn’t so utterly terrifying. Over in the far corner, Regina and Mal were sharing a joke about something, giggling into their tea.

“You know, I really think that there might be something in that one,” Jefferson said. “We ought to start a betting pool on how long it’ll take us to have a competition romance.”

Gold just shook his head in good-natured despair. “They’ve known each other for two days, Jeff.”

“So? Do you not believe in love at first sight? Or at least lust at first sight? I think it’s very romantic. A perfect story to tell the family. You can’t get a ‘how did you two meet?’ tale more interesting than going head to head in a baking competition. Mind you, though, given Mal’s track record, it might be something of a whirlwind romance. Someone needs to tell them to exchange numbers sooner rather than later.”

“Jeff, you’re incorrigible,” Elsa scolded. “Besides, you never know. Mal’s biscuit-making skills might be legendary and she’ll wipe the floor with the rest of us.”

“As long as she doesn’t drop anything.”

Elsa sighed and rolled her eyes, and the topic of conversation was tactfully changed as Astrid came over to them.

“Good morning Astrid,” Jefferson said brightly as she attached his mic. “How’s Leroy today? I haven’t had the chance to say hello.”

“Oh, he’s all right, just nervous as usual. I was a bit worried last week; I thought someone might report us to Ofcom or something on account of a conflict of interests, but everything’s ok.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Leroy was talking to Lance and Archie, and she waved. He gave a little wave in return, and a light blush crept over his face and all the way over his bald head.

“He makes really good pies,” Astrid added, somewhat dreamily. “I hope he survives till pie week.”

She finished putting the mics on all of them and moved away to the next group, and they watched her go before Elsa could hold back her laughter no longer and burst into silent, shaking giggles. Gold took her teacup before she could upend it over herself and cause more mess before the baking had even begun.

“They’re just so sweet,” she said. “Leroy always looks so grumpy but then he sees Astrid and it’s like an angel’s come down from heaven. I really want him to survive to pie week too just so that I can see them celebrating together.”

“More than one romance!” Jefferson exclaimed. “This is going to be the season of matchmaking, as well as the season that started a trend for putting pineapple in carrot cake and wearing terrible lipstick. It’ll go down in history!”

“Well, yes, but Astrid and Leroy’s romance was already going on when the competition started. Regina and Mal met like star-crossed lovers,” Elsa said.

“I don’t like that word, star-crossed,” Jefferson said sagely. “It reminds me too much of Romeo and Juliet and in a baking competition, anything that reminds one of poison is a very bad idea. They’re both lovely ladies and I don’t want either of them dying from a fatal fondant fancy.”

Gold rolled his eyes. He supposed that contemplating the other contestants’ relationships with each other did at least give him something to do that wasn’t worrying whilst he waited for the day’s challenges to begin. He wasn’t looking forward to the day, if he was being brutally honest. He could bake biscuits. That wasn’t a problem. Biscuits had been one of the first things that his aunts had taught him how to make when he had been growing up on the farm with them. What he couldn’t make were the kinds of biscuits that he was being expected to make. Gold’s baking expertise had never really stretched to the exotic; he was not adventurous like Jefferson. Bread, pies, cakes, shortbread… Those kinds of things didn’t pose a problem. The more fiddly things did, and he’d be annoyed if he missed out on the chance to show what he was really capable of because he failed so early in the competition.

There was no more room to be worried, because the runners were ushering them all out of the break room and down towards the tent to begin the first challenge. It was show time again. Unfortunately, this time, Gold found himself right at the front of the tent, on the first workbench, and even though he knew that the cameras wouldn’t stay on him for long and once the challenge started, everyone’s attention would be focussed elsewhere, he couldn’t help feeling incredibly exposed here.

And of course, being at the front meant that he was that much closer to Belle. She was standing right by him, and as she had entered the tent, he had caught a waft of her floral perfume. She was wearing dark blue today, with a lacy pattern of spots, and to his intense embarrassment, she caught him staring at her. She smiled, mouthing a quick good luck as Ursula began to speak. She and Ella had been filming some last minute introductory footage whilst the bakers had been arriving, so they had not been in the reception room to calm any nerves. Gold was still in two minds as to just how calming an influence Ella actually was though, but he would have appreciated Ursula’s no-nonsense attitude.

“Good morning bakers, and welcome to biscuit week. For your signature challenge today, Belle and Granny would like you to make twenty-four biscotti.”

“They can be flavoured with anything you choose, any shape or style, but they must be identical,” Ella continued. “Granny, Belle, any sage words of advice before they begin?”

“Timing is crucial,” Belle said, but there was no urgency in her voice. “Biscotti are crisp and crunchy, made for being dipped in coffee, but they should be able to be eaten alone. The second bake is crucial to achieve the perfect texture.”

“And that’s not going to make anyone more nervous than they already were,” Ursula said cheerily. “Well, there’s nothing left for us to say, except, on your marks.”

“Get set!”

“Bake!”

Gold got to work, pushing all thoughts of Belle and her perfume and her blue lacy dress out of his mind as he focussed on the task at hand. He was out of his comfort zone now. Not that baking to time pressure on national television on one of the country’s most beloved programmes was in his comfort zone to start with, but now he was feeling the pressure even more. At least being at the front he couldn’t be taken by surprise when the camera crews came around to talk to him. The two judges and the hosts were talking quietly amongst themselves at the front of the tent, no doubt allowing the bakers to get on with their work and get settled into the swing of it all before they started interrupting. Eventually though, the time came for them to begin mingling, and Belle caught his eye, smiling as she indicated that they were about to come over to him.

“So, Raymond,” she began, her gentle voice with its Australian lilt immediately setting him more at ease. “Tell us about the biscotti you’re making.”

“These are orange and hazelnut,” Gold said, trying his best to sound confident and like he knew exactly what he was doing. He had no idea what he was doing since these weren’t his forte, but before he had left the house that morning, Aunt Elvira had impressed upon him the importance of ‘fake it till you make it’, and it was a mantra that he was going to have to stick to. Granny quizzed him about how finely he was chopping his ingredients, and Ella made a pointed joke about nuts, but all in all it went remarkably well, and Gold breathed a sigh of relief once it was all over and the two judges moved away. He watched after them as they crossed the tent to go and speak to Elsa, who had managed to get herself covered in flour despite them only having been baking for about ten minutes. Surely it wasn’t possible for someone to be that messy? He shook his head, settling himself into his task. It was a difficult start to the week and he knew that he was going to have to concentrate. Ignore Belle and what she was doing, and concentrate on the ingredients. If he ended up making a complete dog’s dinner of it because he was too distracted by her then he would not be forgiven by anyone, especially not Elvira and Bae and certainly not himself.

The tension in the tent seemed to be higher today, with less laughter and joking going on between the contestants than there had been during the previous week’s signature challenge. This was a difficult challenge; Gold couldn’t think of anyone who would make biscotti on the regular, even the younger bakers, and no-one that he had become acquainted with had numbered biscuits among their specialities. Gold could bake biscuits, that wasn’t a problem, but he tended to stick to the tried and tested rustic shortbread recipes that had been passed down to him from his aunts. They weren’t exactly competition material, but he thought he had perfected a recipe that would wow the judges in the showstopper finale on Sunday. Even if he did do awfully today, there was always the hope that he could be salvaged on the morrow.

“Bakers, you have fifteen minutes remaining!” Ella yelled, almost giving Gold a heart attack since she was standing right next to him at the time. She leaned on his workbench, giving him a sage nod. “Everything all right, Mr Gold?”

He nodded, bending down to look in through the oven door at his biscuits. They didn’t seem to be doing all that much and with the oven light, it was hard to tell just how brown and crunchy they were. Looking around the tent, everyone else seemed to be having similar worries. Elsa was performing the classic oven watch, sitting on the floor with her cup of tea, and she gave him a wave. Gold returned it, realising that his fingernails were stained bright yellow from the orange rind. So much for trying to be impressive.

Time was still counting down, and Ursula and Ella continuing to remind them of that fact really wasn’t helping all that much. Gold arranged his biscuits, still a little bit too warm and not entirely crisp, on his plate and set it carefully on the end of his workbench, wiping his still-orange hands on his apron and taking a moment to look around at the others’ efforts. No-one appeared to have had any kind of disasters, and it was only then that he realised that he’d had Mal behind him for the entire time. She had been so quiet that he hadn’t noticed her; he’d become so used to her baking being littered with swearwords and exclamations of frustration. It was definitely a good thing if she had managed to get through one challenge without any kind of bad luck marring her bake. Her biscotti did look delectable, studded with rich chunks of amber praline and dipped in glossy dark chocolate. She gave him a smile as she caught him looking.

“I know,” she said, “I’m amazed that they’re all in one piece too. Maybe I ought to go into things expecting to fail more often.”

Ursula called time on the challenge and the clean-up began, the production team rushing in and around the bakers. Astrid even got the hoover out to clear up around Elsa’s station, and the younger woman just gave a self-deprecating shrug. She’d completed the challenge to time, even if there was sugar and flour all over the flooring around her.

Gold hadn’t noticed the previous week, but as the clean-up and the polished photography was taking place, Belle and Granny were wandering around the edge of the tent, taking a look at all the bakes and talking quietly amongst themselves, passing their initial judgements. It gave him a somewhat foreboding feeling; it was bad enough when they wandered the tent during the actual making time, but now that everything was complete and there was nothing that could be done to change the outcome, it was even more nerve-wracking.

At last the judging began in earnest, and Belle and Granny came over to his bench first. Gold wasn’t sure if getting it over with first was a good thing or whether it would make listening to everyone else get far better comments than him into something of a nightmare.

“Nice and uniform,” Granny said, giving an appreciative nod. “The colour is good on them too.” She tapped the end of one gently against the plate before snapping it in two and passing one half to Belle. “Not too dry.”

“What did you say the flavours were again?” Belle asked.

“Orange and hazelnut.”

Belle nodded. “I thought so. I think you’ve used a bit too much orange there, it drowns out in the more subtle taste of the hazelnut. All citrus fruits have the capacity to be very overpowering, you’ve really got to be careful with how you add them. But I agree with Granny that the texture is very good.”

Considering that the texture was the thing that he’d been having trouble with throughout all his practice attempts, Gold knew that he ought to be pleased with this praise, but a small part of him couldn’t help but be disappointed by Belle’s criticism of the flavours. As Elsa had said the week before, it was the taste that mattered when it came down to it, and he had failed Belle on taste. He tried to console himself with the compliments that he had received, but his stained fingernails still mocked him as the judges moved on to the rest of the bakers. The main criticism that most of them faced was either flavour balance or the biscuits being too soft or too hard. Regina received the most praise, and when the bakers were left to their own devices to sample each other’s creations, he could well see why. Her biscuits were made with almonds and dried apple, and the chewiness from the fruit added a wonderful texture in the middle of the crisp biscuit.

Too soon, they were being shepherded back to the house for their lunch break and some more pieces to camera in the grounds to tell their thoughts on how it had gone so far.

“I know you don’t like this bit,” Astrid said as she hurried Gold away from the reception room, handing him an umbrella where spots of light drizzle were beginning to come down around them outside. “But it’s a necessary evil.”

“I never know what to say,” Gold protested. “Everything always sounds so cliched when it comes into my head.”

“Well, to be honest, I imagine most of what everyone says sounds pretty cliched,” Astrid said, completely matter of fact about the whole thing. “I mean, none of you are professionals, and that’s the entire point really. Out of everyone here, it’s really only Ursula and Ella who are the professionals. I mean, Granny’s had enough experience throughout her career as a TV chef, but she’s a chef first and foremost. Same for Belle. She’s had her own cookery shows, but she’s spent far more time behind the camera than in front of it.” The younger woman stopped near a trickling stream in the house grounds and the Steadicam man, his camera wrapped in waterproofs against the inclement weather, began to record. Gold picked at his fingernails, clean now but still a reminder, and tried to think of something vaguely meaningful to say.

“Well, at least they didn’t turn into concrete,” he managed eventually. “And I’ll try not to drown my hazelnuts in future.”

As soon as his piece was over, he thought back over what he had said and groaned inwardly. Aunt Elvira was definitely not going to let him live that down.

X

With lunch over it was time for the technical challenge, and the bakers were ushered back down into the tent.

Gold looked down at the checkered cloth covering his work bench and wondered what fresh torture the judges had cooked up for them today. Like the previous week, he found himself directly in front of Zelena, and was uncomfortably aware of her eyes on him rather than on the presenters at the front of the tent, Belle and Granny having already been banished to their small pagoda to do their piece to camera.

"Good afternoon bakers. For your technical challenge this week, Belle and Granny would like you to make eighteen Florentines. You have an hour and fifteen minutes."

"On your marks."

"Get set."

"Bake!"

Gold pulled the cover off his allotted ingredients and tried not to groan. Anything involving sugar thermometers was far too complex for his skills. Caramel was something that he tended to avoid with a bargepole as much as possible, and he was already trying to come to terms with the fact that one of the challenges in later weeks was based entirely around caramel. He hadn't anticipated having to get to grips with it quite so soon. At least he had a vague idea what a Florentine was supposed to look like, even if he had never made one in his life before. A delicate biscuit made of caramel, nuts and dried fruit that bubbled into a lacy pattern, with chocolate on one side. In his head, he had the image of a perfect Florentine. Now all he had to do was make that image into a reality, which was going to be easier said than done. He looked at the sparse recipe that they had been given and set to work melting the ingredients for the caramel together. He knew that if Aunt Elvira was here, she'd be complaining about the effect that all the sugar and fruit and nuts would have on her teeth. On the other hand, he might be able to glue her jaws together to prevent her making inappropriate comments. 

Seventy-five minutes to make eighteen perfect Florentines was not very long, especially considering Gold’s lack of experience in such matters, and once again he found himself wishing to be able to block out the noise of the rest of the tent. No-one was really talking – they couldn’t confer at any rate – but eleven pans of bubbling caramel could sound very loud in the tense silence that held court over the bakers as they tried to create something spectacular in their limited time. Towards the back of the tent, Gold could hear Ella and Ursula chatting to Mal, who was quite confident having come through the signature challenge with no baking mishaps and with genuine praise from the judges. Perhaps Elsa’s prediction of her legendary biscuit-making skills was actually coming to the fore now. Gold hoped that she did well having had such a poor start to her competition the previous week. If her bad luck could be passed on to Zelena, well, that would put the icing on the proverbial cake.

He swirled the boiling caramel around in the pan, waiting for it to thicken, and he was pulled from his reverie by a squeal from behind him. He looked over his shoulder, naturally wanting to ascertain what had happened but at the same time not wanting to take his eyes off the caramel for more than about thirty seconds in case it all went horribly wrong. Zelena was glaring at her saucepan full of bubbling sugar, cradling her left hand where a smear of sticky brown had evidently burned her.

“It’s getting above itself,” she said, holding out her hand to Gold for him to see the burn, and Gold glanced back at his own pan, inherent chivalry warring with competitive instinct, knowing that if he left his own work to go to Zelena’s aid then his caramel would surely be ruined. In the split second it took him to check the bubbling confection, he wondered if perhaps that was her aim all along, but surely no-one would burn themselves on boiling sugar on purpose to gain such a reaction.

Luckily, his intervention was not required. Astrid, always on the ball, came rushing over with a first aid kit before Gold could make a decision about what the hell to do with his own caramel, and soon the situation was in hand, with Astrid chatting along happily to Zelena as she rinsed off the caramel and applied a bandage.

“First injury of the season,” she said brightly. “I didn’t think that I was going to get the chance to use my first aid skills, to be honest, but I’m really glad that I took that course now. There you are, all fixed up.”

Gold had taken his caramel off the heat by this point and was pouring chopped nuts and fruit into it, creating the sticky, sickly sweet mixture that would form the basis of the biscuits, and he purposefully did not look over his shoulder, not wanting Zelena to distract him again. He tried to put the incident to the back of his mind and pass it off as a simple accident, but at the same time, there was something in her demeanour that he really didn’t trust. He began spooning the mixture out onto the supplied baking sheets. Zelena was lamenting the loss of her caramel and was trying to argue with the runners and presenters that because she’d had to take time out to see to her burn, she ought to get extra time on the end to make up for it. The debate continued for quite some time and became quite heated, with the other occupants of the tent all looking over at her with expressions that ranged from incredulity to being impressed at the woman’s audacity. In the end, Zelena did not receive any extra time and continued to grumble about the unfairness of it all until the judges called out that there were only twenty minutes to go.

Gold said nothing, just giving a little smile to himself that he hoped the cameras would not pick up on, purposefully becoming incredibly engrossed in the chocolate work on his Florentines and not paying any attention to the rest of the tent. As horrible as it was to wish injury and ill fortune on a fellow contestant, it really couldn’t have happened to a better person.

Ursula called time on the challenge, and Gold was able to breathe again. Now, to hope that beginner’s luck would prevail and he would not fall at this hurdle.

X

Belle knew that it was terrible to have favourites during the competition, and she would never admit to having favourites anywhere in the vicinity of a cameraman or a boom mic, but sitting in the pagoda with Granny having done their piece to camera about Granny’s signature Florentines, she thought that it was safe to indulge her thoughts a little. There was something about Gold that just made her want him to be safe throughout the competition. She wasn’t sure whether it was his quiet demeanour or the fact that he was so different from the rest of the contestants that had caught her eye. He was always so candid to the camera whenever it came around, and despite his mild manner, he was really very good at what he did. He seemed genuinely pleased with whatever praise was given to him, but he didn’t lack confidence in his abilities per se.

There was also that little smile in his eyes that just about reached the corner of his mouth when he glanced at her, then caught himself looking and hastily turned his attention back to whatever it was that he was doing. It was endearing, and Belle had to wonder what he was thinking when he looked at her like that. She certainly wouldn’t be adverse if his thoughts were wending in the direction that she thought they were. He was definitely the oldest man in the tent, but there was nothing wrong with older men. Experience worked wonders.

She shook herself crossly. She really shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about one of the contestants. It was both highly unethical and just… She didn’t know anything about him for a start, he might be happily in a relationship. He might not be interested in women.

“What’s got into you?” Granny asked, a wry smile on her face as she watched Belle trying to exorcise the inappropriate thoughts from her head.

“Nothing, nothing. Just trying not to think of pink elephants, you know.”

“I have no idea why you’re trying not to think of pink elephants, but I do understand your predicament.”

“Well, they’re metaphorical pink elephants,” Belle muttered.

“I see.” Granny was silent for a few moments, and when she spoke again, Belle almost choked on her tea. “Have you got a crush on one of our esteemed contestants by any chance?”

Belle spluttered violently and Granny reached across the table to smack her on the back.

“You know, I’m going to take that as a sign of agreement,” she said. “There’s no harm in it. Personally I wouldn’t mind Lance giving me a fireman’s lift.”

“Lance is in the army. It’s Mal that’s the fire investigator.”

“Oh.” Granny considered this for a moment. “Well, to be honest I don’t think I’d mind her giving me a fireman’s lift either. So who have you got your eye on then?”

“Granny…” Belle buried her face in her hands. “Granny can we please not talk about this? It’s bad enough that I fancy one of them, don’t make it worse.”

“My dear, I’ve been judging this show with you for the past six years and I know that you’re a consummate professional who would never let your feelings get in the way of a fair game. To be honest I’m amazed that it’s taken you this long to feel a slight stirring in your loins. There’s generally always one for me. It was August last year. I had high hopes for Killian this time around. He had the dark hair and the scruffy beard and the leather, a bit of a lad. Such a shame he didn’t have the personality.”

“I think he tried to grab the arse of every woman in the tent,” Belle muttered. “We’re well shot of him, or else we’d have about seven lawsuits on our hands. One of them mine.”

“Well, we don’t have to worry about him anymore. So tell me. Who’s caught your eye?”

Belle sighed deeply. “Gold.”

“Ah, our resident mystery man. Hmm. I can see where you’re coming from, he’s got that certain something. Not my type though, so you’re safe.”

“Granny!”

“I’m teasing.” There was a twinkle in the other woman’s eye that made Belle wonder that she might not be teasing after all.

“Even if I was in a position to pursue him I know nothing about him, Granny!”

“Well, with any luck you’ll be seeing him every weekend for the next eight weeks so you’ve got plenty of time to get to know him, haven’t you? And think about it, time is of the essence. You’ve got no idea when he might be going home, so it makes sense to get in there quick and start that conversation as soon as possible. At the rate you’re going, you’ll never learn anything about him.”

“Granny! That would be… highly unethical. Or something like that.”

“You only live once, my girl,” Granny said sagely. “There’s nothing wrong with getting to know the contestants and engaging in a little small talk with them to put them at ease. He always looks so jumpy whenever we’re judging or we come round to talk whilst he’s baking. I think that talking to him in private might do wonders for his confidence. You’d be doing everyone a favour in the long run. You get to know more about your mystery man, your mystery man gets to know more about you, and we get a more camera-friendly contestant. We can’t lose!”

Belle sighed, it was clear that she wasn’t going to win this argument.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You’ve worked with me for six seasons and not realised this?” Granny winked. “I might be old, but I’m not dead. Besides, you deserve someone special in your life. You don’t have all that much luck with love.”

Belle sighed. It was true. Her last two longterm relationships had not exactly ended in disaster – she was still on amicable terms with Will, at least, but they had been completely unworkable for various reasons, incompatibility being the main one. But for all the differences that she’d had with Will and with Gaston before him, she had enjoyed being part of a relationship and she had not sworn off men for all time like some of her friends did.

“How’s Ruby?” she asked presently to try and distract Granny from discussing her love life.

“She’s fine. She’s at a wedding this weekend up in Scotland.”

The mention of Scotland brought Belle’s thoughts full circle back to Gold, and she glanced over in the direction of the tent, then at her watch. The would be finishing up round about now, and soon the runners would come and get her and Granny. At least she knew that there was no danger of her showing any favouritism in this round, but she couldn’t help hoping that Gold hadn’t done too badly. He hadn’t fared well last week. Maybe his luck had changed.

Sure enough, Astrid came racing across the grass from the main tent and waved them over frantically. “We’re ready for you now. Oh dear, it’s been a drama fest in there and no mistake. We’ve had the first aid kits out and everything!”

Belle looked over at Granny, worried, and the older woman just raised her eyebrows, not at all concerned. It wasn’t the first time that they’d had injuries in the tent – one of the contestants in their second season had ended up going to the hospital after nearly severing his finger. Nevertheless, it really didn’t bode well for the rest of the competition.

They made their way down to the main tent and entered, looking at the bakers lined up in the middle of the tent. They always looked so forlorn, sitting there in a line like naughty pupils about to be scolded by the headteacher. She knew that the idea was to jumble them up so that it hopefully wouldn’t be obvious whose bakes were whose, but surely they could do that whilst sitting at their usual benches? Nevertheless, it was the format that had worked for them for the past few years, and there was no sense in changing it now.

Despite the attempts at anonymity, there were always a few instances where it was very clear whose bakes were whose and in this case, whose bakes were the worst. Belle immediately spotted the offering that would rank in last place, and on seeing Zelena’s bandaged hand, put two and two together. She wondered what had been going on in the tent whilst they had been banished from it, and decided that it was probably better for her not to know. Looking at the amount of chocolate adorning the front of Elsa’s apron, it was probably clear that the Florentines with a large abundance of the coating were hers. Still, this was a blind judging, not a guessing game. She and Granny went along the line, testing each of the biscuits in turn and pronouncing judgement on them. It was a close-run thing; a lot of them had made minor mistakes, but with the exception of Zelena’s burned caramel – well, Belle assumed that the burned ones were Zelena’s – they were all fairly close in quality. It was one of the tougher judgements that she’d had to make, and the production team were tapping their feet in frustration whilst she and Granny made up their minds.

They were right in thinking that Zelena’s were the burned ones, and from the mutinous look in the woman’s eyes as she claimed her offering, it was clear that she did not agree with their judgement. Or perhaps, she did agree with their judgement but didn’t agree with the fact that she’d had to present burned biscuits. As suspected, Elsa’s were the ones with an excess of chocolate. Mal had done well again, finishing third, behind Lance and Regina. Regina was definitely on a roll today, Belle thought. If she could keep up her winning streak into Sunday then she was a definite contender for Star Baker. Zelena wasn’t on thin ice yet; her biscotti had been very strong, just as her signature last week had been. As so often happened on the bake-off, it would all come down to the second day. Fortunes could change dramatically overnight.

The main cameras stopped rolling for the day and the production team began the process of packing up and getting the film footage sent off to post production, leaving the bakers, presenters and judges to chat amongst themselves whilst the final interviews of the day were filmed. Belle wanted to go over and talk to Gold whilst she had the chance. He had placed fifth in the technical, a great improvement from his performance in the previous week’s challenge, and she didn’t really think that he was in danger of being sent home the next day, but as Granny said, it was time to seize the day.

Unfortunately, the man seemed to have disappeared. Or perhaps he was hiding; he was very good at doing that when he didn’t want the cameras to find him. She glanced across at Zelena, who was talking to Mal and Regina and perhaps not registering that she was something of a third wheel in their conversation. Perhaps Gold wasn’t hiding from the cameras after all. Belle sighed. As a judge and a voice of reason on the show, she really ought to step in, as tedious as listening to the woman could be sometimes. Just as she couldn’t show favouritism, she couldn’t show any negative bias either, and she went over to the trio, seamlessly extricating Zelena from the conversation much to Mal and Regina’s relief. Zelena, glad of a more captive audience, immediately launched into a rant about the unfairness of the entire situation, and Belle listened carefully, nodding in all the right places even if she was only taking half of what was said in. Presently she saw Gold in the corner by the fridge-freezer, getting his mic taken off. Their eyes met across the tent and he gave a little smile, but then Belle’s attention was, by necessity, drawn back towards Zelena, and the quiet little sheep farmer was gone from her sight.

Still. Tomorrow was another day.

X

“Green icing.”

Gold looked up from his cup of coffee to find Jefferson pointing a slice of melon at Zelena, who was helping herself from the morning fruit platter, blissfully unaware of Jefferson’s observations.

“Pardon?”

“Green icing,” Jefferson repeated. “I’m telling you, she’s going to use green icing. She’s definitely got some kind of green thing going on. She always wears green and without fail she’s included green in her bakes so far. Her Swiss roll was green and she had green pistachios in her biscotti. Ergo, green icing.”

Gold pondered the hypothesis, thinking back to their similar conversation the previous day on the subject.

“You know, I really don’t think that baked goods ought to be green,” he said. “It just seems such an unnatural colour for cake.”

“Yes. I mean, matcha tea and pistachios are both naturally green substances, but at the same time…baking with any kind of bright colour looks a bit odd because you’re always going to have the brown top where it’s been baked. Like when I tried to make a rainbow layer cake for my daughter’s birthday. It was a masterpiece of engineering even if I do say so myself, and the kids were completely hyperactive on e-numbers and food colouring additives for about three weeks afterwards, but my word, the amount of time that I spent trying to cut the brown crust off all these layers… I could have created an entirely new cake with them. In fact I did make a rainbow sponge pudding laced with enough Cointreau to knock out all the supervising adults.” He gave a happy sigh. “That was definitely one of the more successful parties I pulled off for Grace.” He looked over at Gold. “What about you? You have a son, right?”

Gold nodded. “Yes. He’s never been into rainbow cakes though. Chocolate usually does him. I’ve never been a particularly exciting baker.”

“Well, exciting isn’t everything. If you can’t do the basics right then you’ve got nothing to work off.”

Gold got the feeling that for all his eccentricity, Jefferson could do the basics very well indeed.

They were prevented from any further discussion of either basic baking techniques or Zelena’s predilection for the colour green when Ella came into the room and flopped onto the sofa beside them, reaching across Gold for the plate of pastries and tipping three croissants into her handbag. She looked at him over the top of her sunglasses and winked, and Gold wasn’t sure whether to give in to the instinct telling him to be extremely scared. He also didn’t know whether to give in to the instinct telling him that Ella was not in fact at all hungover and this was all an act, either to make the contestants feel slightly better about their own woes or for some other unknown deeper reason. She started eating one of the croissants and brushed the crumbs from her fur stole.

“So, I trust that we can expect great things from you today,” she said. “Jefferson, I hope you’re in good shape to defend your star baker crown.”

“I wear it with honour and will defend it to the last,” Jefferson said with a bow. Gold wondered if he’d accidentally stepped into an alternate universe, and he made to get up and leave the two of them to it, but Ella pulled him back down onto the sofa beside her.

“Don’t give her any opportunity,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “Since she’s already shown herself capable of self-injury in an attempt to get your attention, I dread to think what she might do with sharp fruit knives in the vicinity.”

Gold looked at Ella, alarmed, and she simply raised a perfectly painted eyebrow. “Just calling it how I see it, darling. You’re not the only one slightly unnerved by her singular fixation towards you, and we’re all looking out for you. As much as Ursula and I like to encourage the odd romance or rivalry, neither of us want to see the show caught up in stalking allegations.”

“I don’t think that she’d go that far,” Gold said, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he caught Zelena’s eye and her too bright, too wide smile, and he began to rethink the confidence of that statement.

“Well, better safe than sorry.” Ella grabbed the second croissant and started on it. “I have to get stocked up or I’ll be stealing everyone’s biscuits before they’ve had chance to be judged,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Ursula does it. She has her cornflakes in the morning and she’s fine till noon and wouldn’t dream of snaffling a brandy snap. I, on the other hand, only have to smell the sugar and I start salivating and seriously considering braining one of the contestants with a stand mixer to get at what they’re making.”

“Ah, the trials of having a sweet tooth in the middle of a baking competition,” Jefferson said. “You’ll be all right once we move onto bread.”

Ella snorted. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

With Ella’s foreboding presence beside him on the sofa, Zelena did not come over to Gold throughout their time in the break room together. As glad as he was for the intervention, Gold didn’t really know what to make of it, because he couldn’t rely on subtle bodyguards all the time. He was definitely going to have to keep his wits about him if he was going to avoid her for the rest of the competition.

The runners appeared with the mics and the day began to get started in earnest. All too soon, the contestants were making their way down to the Tent of Destiny, as Gold had taken to calling it, and he was pleased to find himself at the back of the group this time, behind Regina. Considering the precision that was going to have to go into the showstopper, he was very grateful for being able to hide away with as few distractions as possible. 

"Good morning bakers," Ella said brightly, betraying nothing of her earlier hangover. "Welcome to the second day of biscuit week and your showstopper challenge. Today, Granny and Belle would like you to make thirty-six biscuits of your choice. To make matters slightly more interesting, these must be presented in a box made from a different type of biscuit."

"And the box must have a lid!" Ursula added. 

"You have four hours for this challenge. On your marks."

"Get set."

"Bake!"

They were off, and Gold focussed his attention on the ingredients in front of him, measuring everything out. The box would have to be made first, to give the biscuits time to cool before assembly, and then the contents of the box could be made. The heavy scents of ginger and treacle were soon filling the air; it was clear that most of the bakers had opted to use gingerbread as the basis for their boxes as it was a sturdy material for building things out of. Gold tried not to worry about losing points for unoriginality and focussed on making the best gingerbread that he could. He’d opted to make a square box with a sloping lid, hopefully evocative of a gingerbread house if he got it right. And if it didn’t collapse on him like some of his earlier attempts had done. He’d managed to wake up the dogs at three in the morning when he had been unable to sleep and practising in his desperation, and he’d dropped the carefully crafted roof and then had to stop the dogs from eating the sugar-filled chunks all over the kitchen floor.

The biscuits to go inside the box were less of a problem, those he could make in his sleep – and Aunt Elvira had more than once claimed that he had indeed made them whilst sleepwalking, something that Gold always took with a pinch of salt. He was keeping his eyes open for the judges and presenters coming around, and he saw Ursula give him a little surreptitious wave as they approached his bench. She did it with all the contestants, letting them know that they were about to be accosted and giving them a few seconds to prepare. Obviously, it wasn’t quite as effective if whoever she was waving to was too caught up in their baking to notice, but at least she tried.

The cameras approached, and after the necessary pleasantries were exchanged, Granny got straight down to business.

"So, Raymond, tell us about your biscuits."

"The box will be made of spiced gingerbread," Gold began. "I'm gluing it all together with icing."

Belle nodded. "A nice sturdy classic. What about inside?"

"I'm making shortbread." He paused. "A bit stereotypical I know, for a Scotsman, but it's a family recipe and it's never let me down yet."

"Are you adding any kind of flavourings to the shortbread?" Granny asked. 

"No. I like it to be able to speak for itself."

"Fair enough." 

Perhaps he wasn't being adventurous enough, but Gold stood firm to his decision. Aunt Elvira's recipe was tried and tested and had never been written down in all its years of being made, and he couldn't start tampering with the ingredients and trying to make it more exotic now. As long as it was crisp and buttery, then it didn't need any further adornment. That was what he kept telling himself at least.

The time kept rolling on, with the presenters and judges hovering around the tent and the cameramen moving between the benches like black-clad ghosts, years of experience of filming the show telling them exactly where to go and where to steer clear of. The shortbread was cooling, the box was holding together and the lid didn’t seem to be on the verge of collapsing any time soon. Their four hours were almost up; a few of the runners had already started washing things up at the back of the tent out of view of the cameras, and Gold took advantage of a natural pause whilst holding two gluing pieces of gingerbread together to glance around the tent and look at everyone else’s confections. Zelena’s was, thankfully, not green; she seemed to have taken the opposite tack to the rest of the tent and had made her box and biscuits savoury. However much he might dislike her as a person, Gold did have to admire her ingenuity. Jefferson had made a round box, although Gold didn’t have the energy to try and work out quite how he’d managed it. Emma was dipping cookies in chocolate, and all that could be seen of Regina was her hands and the top of her head where she was icing her box on an eye level with her bench. It was as if everyone’s creativity had been amped up to eleven on this challenge; it seemed far more high-end than the previous week’s had been.

“This is never going to work.”

Gold looked across at Archie, who was covered in icing to his elbows and was holding several pieces of gingerbread.

“Constructional difficulties?” he asked. The red-headed psychologist nodded forlornly.

“I’m never going to get it built in time, it just won’t stick together. This is the third batch of icing I’ve made and it’s way too runny. The first batch was practically water, then I added more sugar, and now I don’t know what to make of it.” He sighed. “It’s really not been my week. Do you think the judges will accept a deconstruction? A modern art box. The only trouble now is that all the panels look so messy where they’re covered in icing. I knew that I should have gone into architecture instead of psychology.”

“Give me a minute to finish up here and I’ll come help you scrape the icing off,” Elsa said, sandwiching macaroons together. “Although given my track record, you’re probably better off without my intervention.”

“No, I think any help at all would be useful at this stage in the proceedings.”

In the end, they ended up with four of them around Archie’s bench, including Ursula, who was known to take pity on struggling contestants and provide motivational speeches even if she couldn’t do much in the way of helping the culinary line. Gold would have offered a hand as well, but he was running down to the wire with his own decorating and ultimately that was more important. He continued to glance around the tent as he finished piping the lid. There were some truly miraculous feats of biscuit engineering going on.

The last few lines came out wonky, but there was nothing that could be done to rectify that, and Ella called time on the event. There was nothing more to be done, and it was time for the judges to make their critiques. Well, almost time. The runners continued to clean up around them, exercising the utmost tact and care when clearing surfaces around the somewhat precarious builds, so naturally the entire process took a lot longer than it had before. The judging table was set up at the front, and Gold could only wait anxiously for his turn in the spotlight. Being at the back of the tent, he had already worked out that he was going to be the last up there, and the nervous anticipation was already making him too jittery to concentrate on anyone else’s bakes. Regina, Jefferson and Zelena were all praised highly; Elsa and Rory didn’t come out so well. Archie was the next to brave the walk.

“Well, it’s certainly different,” Belle said optimistically.

“It’s a flatpack box,” Archie said. “From IKEA, you have to build it yourself.”

Granny chuckled. “Well, hopefully it’ll taste good despite its somewhat unusual form.”

They sampled the box and the biscuits that would have been in it, and Gold saw Belle worry her bottom lip between her teeth.

“It was an incredibly good attempt,” she said, trying to mediate what she was about to say, “but all the icing on the gingerbread has made it quite moist and chewy, not crisp like it should be. That might be one of the reasons why it didn’t hold together. And because there’s so much sugar smeared over it, that masks the taste somewhat.”

Gold cringed. Even though it wasn’t his own bake being criticised, it still wasn’t nice to hear. Archie seemed to take the comments in good grace though, and the judging continued until only Gold was left to present. It took him a little while to make his way up to the table, balancing the delicate ensemble with only one hand, and he was certain that he could have heard a pin drop in the tent.

“Well, this is very neatly presented,” Granny began, “and the shape shows some innovation with the roof rather than a flat lid. Let’s see how it tastes.”

Belle took one of the biscuits out of the box and snapped it delicately, a smile breaking over her face. "I can already see that's perfect shortbread texture. It's not too crumbly but not hard either." She took a bite, and her smile grew ever wider. "And it melts in the mouth, just like shortbread should. You can taste the butter. Like you said, it speaks for itself."

Gold smiled. “Can’t go wrong with family recipes.”

“Not with shortbread, you can’t.” She broke off a piece of the gingerbread box and nodded. “The flavour’s good, nice and strong, and it pairs well with the plainer biscuits inside. Little bit chewy though. I think you probably took it out of the oven a bit too early in the hope of making sure it was cool enough to work with.”

Granny agreed with Belle’s sentiments, but added that she couldn’t really taste any of the other spices he’d put into the gingerbread, and Gold sighed. It was typical that yesterday his flavours had been too strong and today they weren’t strong enough. Hopefully by the end of the run he’d have mastered the balance.

With all the bakes now sampled, the judges went away to consider their verdict and the contestants were left to their own devices for a little while. With most of the clean-up having already been done, there wasn’t a lot for them to do except talk amongst themselves. Lance and Mal were consoling Archie, the three of them coming up with propositions for edible flatpack, attempting to revolutionise IKEA’s business model, and Gold watched them for a while, staying at his Emma sat down on Gold's bench, grabbing one of his shortbreads out of his box and offering him one of her own cookies.

"Now this is what I call proper shortbread," she said. "Why couldn't they have served us this yesterday?" She gave an appreciative grunt, closing her eyes as she swallowed. "That's the stuff. God bless your Aunt Elvira."

Gold laughed. "I'll tell her that she's got a fan."

“She’s amazing. I’d like to meet her.”

Gold raised an eyebrow. “No, you wouldn’t. I’m dreading her coming to the finale.”

“She can’t be that bad, surely?”

“You’ve never met my Aunt Elvira.”

Emma shrugged her acceptance and looked longingly at the shortbread as Gold began to pack it away into airtight containers ready for the journey back to Scotland in the evening. He’d seen the look on Bae’s face often enough to recognise it for what it was and held out the container to her.

“Take one for the road.”

“Thank you!” She began to munch, looking around the tent at their fellows. “Well, I think we’re safe,” she said. “Probably not star baker, but I don’t think we’ll be going home.”

“Hmm.” Gold looked over at Archie; most of the rest of the tent seemed to be thinking along the same lines, that the results this week were something of a foregone conclusion. Still, stranger things had happened. Ruined bakes did not always lose out on presentation if the tastes and textures were good enough to make up for it, but Belle and Granny’s judgement of Archie’s gingerbread hadn’t exactly been the highest of praises.

“And unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be getting rid of Zelena either,” Emma muttered. “I’m seriously considering offering to do something in my capacity as an officer of the law.”

“I don’t think she’s done anything illegal yet.”

“Yeah, well, if she follows you home, call me.”

The tent had been rearranged and the runners were ushering them back to the centre to take their places for the grand announcement. The moment of truth was about to arrive.

X

Belle sighed. Choosing bakers to go home was never a pleasant task, unless they had a contestant like Killian who really did not endear himself to anyone on a personal level. Archie was a sweet man and he was a good baker, but both this week and last week he had failed to make the grade, and there was no real room for sentimentality now. The contestants were being judged on their baking skills, not their personalities, and that sometimes meant that even the nicest of people had to go. It was clear that Archie wasn’t going to be coming back next week, but she hoped that he wouldn’t be discouraged and would continue to bake, even if he never touched gingerbread again.

At the other end of the scale, again the choice was clear. Regina had been the most consistent baker across all three challenges, coming first in both signature and technical with a strong showstopper as well. Belle felt that Mal deserved some kind of credit for having made such a marked improvement from her first disastrous week. Maybe it was just that cake really wasn’t one of her strong points. All the same, Belle was very happy to see her safely through to the next round and she hoped that she would continue to improve in skill and confidence.

“Ready?” Granny asked. Belle nodded. It was probably the least time that they had taken to come to a decision in the history of the show, and as they passed the results on to the presenters, she could see that the folks in the tent were surprised to see them coming back in so soon after they had left it to go and make their minds up. There was an awkward pause whilst the runners continued to get everything set up for the announcement, and Belle cast her eyes over the eleven, soon to be ten, bakers. She didn’t really want to say goodbye to any of them, except perhaps Zelena, but again – it was a baking competition, not a personality contest. She caught a glimpse of the bandage wrapped around Zelena’s hand and frowned. Ella and Ursula were both convinced that the burn had been self-inflicted, but no-one had had chance to review the recorded footage yet, and there was always the likely possibility that none of the cameras had picked up the incident. If it was anything other than an accident, then it marked the beginning of what could possibly become a worrying trend. Belle had never known bakers intentionally self-sabotage, or sabotage anyone else’s bakes. The show had always inspired a sense of community and togetherness – Archie’s mishaps today, with everyone pitching in to try and salvage his creation, were a case in point.

“Well done bakers for surviving another fraught week of flour and sugar getting everywhere and performing marvellous feats of biscuit architecture,” Ursula began. “It gives me great pleasure to announce that our second star baker of the season, with perfect Florentines and a beautifully built box, is Regina.”

There was a round of polite applause and Regina’s face lit up with happiness. It was good to see her smiling like that; Belle had noticed that whenever she was baking she was always the picture of fierce concentration, which showed in the delicacy and preciseness of her finished works. She ought to be proud of herself, she had definitely earned it.

“Unfortunately,” Ella continued, “we have to say goodbye to one of your number. The baker who will not be coming with us next week is Archie.”

“Oh well. I think that was a bit of a foregone conclusion, wasn’t it?” He shrugged, and slipped off his stool to accept the hugs and well wishes of the presenters and his fellow bakers. Belle was really sorry to see him go, and in a way it was comforting that everyone else shared her sentiments. He had gone through a lot, but ultimately he hadn’t been able to pull it back from the brink.

The runners eventually started pulling people away for the final interviews of the day, and the contestants broke off into their usual groups, some of them congratulating Regina, some of them consoling Archie, some of them moving away from the throng of people to do their own thing and get ready to leave the tent and make their journeys back home to wherever they dwelt. Gold was one of those. She couldn’t really blame him wanting to get away as soon as possible, knowing how far he had to go to get home and the work that no doubt awaited him once he got there. He was gathering his things together at his workbench, ready to go back to the break room and collect his coat from the runners.

Well, it was now or never, Belle thought. Granny had advised her to make the most of the coming weekends to get to know Gold, so that was what she was going to do. He might be going home next weekend and then it would be an opportunity wasted. The other contestants seemed to be pairing off with each other; why shouldn’t she show an interest in the loner? It would just be a friendly chat, that was all, to make him feel more at ease. He was nervous in front of the cameras; she had noticed that last week and he hadn’t got any more used to them since. She would just reassure him that he’d done well, congratulate him on his bakes, and that would, hopefully, segue naturally into a conversation about… well… something.

“Hi there.”

Gold looked up from packing his personal items back into their box and smiled.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Feeling very full of biscuits, but other than that I’m doing all right. What about you?”

“Same. And relieved to be coming back next week. My son would have despaired if I’d got kicked out.”

The news that he had a son was a slight setback to Belle’s mental image of him as available, but glancing down she saw that he did not wear a ring. Not that that was really an indicator of anything – he and his son’s mother might not be married and even if they were, he might not wear a ring out of habit from his line of work. Wouldn’t do to have a sheep eat it by accident.

“How old is he?” she asked.

“Fourteen. He’s the one who first got me involved with this, actually, he applied on my behalf and by the time I realised what he’d done it was too late for me to back out. I think he’s pretty excited about having his dad on the TV but at the same time I think he’s worried that I’ll somehow damage his street cred.”

“I don’t think so,” Belle said. “We’re one of the most popular shows on terrestrial TV; even if you do go out next week, you’ll still be a little bit famous and I’m sure your neighbours will want your autograph.”

“My aunt’s already got me to sign one of her tea cosies for her to flog on Ebay once the series has aired,” Gold admitted, and Belle had to laugh at the image.

“You’d best make sure that you win then; it’ll double in value.”

Gold laughed, and it was good to see him relaxed away from the cameras. He offered her a biscuit and she took it even though she’d eaten more than enough biscuits for one day. The shortbread melted on her tongue.

“Your aunt’s recipe?”

“Yes. I’ll tell my aunt that you enjoyed it, she’ll be thrilled.”

“Thrilled enough to tell me the recipe?” Belle hedged.

“Oh no. Top secret and only to be handed down to those who bear the Gold name. You have to go through several learning rituals before you’re accepted into the higher echelons of those who know the mystic secrets of our shortbread.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It’s also a load of bollocks that I just made up to sound impressive,” Gold said, looking sheepish. “She’d probably give you the recipe if you asked in person.”

“Well no matter what happens you can bring your family to the grand finale. Maybe I can meet your aunt then. She sounds like a character.”

“She definitely is.” Gold paused, and for a while it looked like he was going to say something else, but he didn’t and the silence started to get awkward between them.

“I should probably get going,” he said quickly, and Belle could tell that he was embarrassed, light colour in his cheeks and his hands fumbling over the things in his box. “I promised I’d be home for evening herding.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Trains to catch.” Gold nodded and made to move past her out of the tent, pausing.

“It’s been nice talking to you, Belle. I hope we get to do it again.”

Belle smiled. “I’ll make sure that we do.”

X

The train had been delayed on the way home and Gold had only had enough time to rush in, dump his things and get changed before going out to get the sheep in, so it was a while before Bae could grill him for information about how it had all gone.

“I didn’t get kicked out,” he said, accepting the very large mug of tea that Aunt Elvira brought over to him. “And I did slightly better in the technical.”

“Great! You’ll wipe the floor with them next week, we all know what you’re best at. Speaking of, we’re out of bread again.”

Gold raised an incredulous eyebrow at his son. “What do you do, inhale the stuff?”

“I’m a growing teenager!” Bae protested. “I need the energy!”

“If you have any more energy you’ll be bouncing off the walls,” Aunt Elvira commented sagely. “Made any new friends, Rum?”

“Not this week. Still getting to know everyone really, there are quite a few of us. I reckon we’ve already got one on-screen romance though.”

“Oooh, really? That’s exciting. But what’s more exciting is you. Did you speak to Belle? I mean properly, rather than on camera. And did you string words together in a coherent sentence or did you just sort of gabble at her like a star struck, love struck idiot?”

Yes, I had a conversation with Belle that consisted of actual words and fully-formed sentences.”

“Excellent! Progress has been made!” Aunt Elvira and Bae exchanged a high five and Gold watched them from over the top of his mug with tired eyes.

“You do realise I’m doing this to win a baking competition, not to find love.”

“I know, I know. But if you do happen to find love at the same time, then that kills two birds with one stone.”

Gold rolled his eyes and continued to drink his tea. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you two. God help me when I bring you to the finale.”

“We’ll be on our best behaviour,” Bae promised. “But until that time, we’re going to tease you mercilessly, because we can.”

Gold shook his head in despair, but at the same time, something deep inside had reared its head, taking a look around at the outside world and deciding that it liked what it saw. True he’d had a crush on Belle French since the first series of the bake-off, but he’d never really given it all that much thought. It was just one of those things, something unattainable and far off. Safe, since he would never have the ability to act on it. Suddenly though, the ability to act on it had been granted, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

Logic told him that nothing could come of it. His feelings might have intensified since meeting Belle in the flesh, but she was still as unattainable as ever. It would be disingenuous for her to harbour those kinds of feelings towards one of the contestants she held power over.

But after the competition… A feeling of hope, something that Gold was not altogether well acquainted with, was beginning to make itself know. Throughout these next couple of months, nothing would happen, but they could still talk, get to know each other in an entirely innocent way. And after it was all over, well, who knew what might happen?

=====

Coming up next time: The bakers tackle bread, Gold unleashes his secret weapon, and Ella is up to her usual mischief…

 =====

Hazelnut and orange biscotti recipe here

Florentines recipe here

[youaretoosmart]

OMG Stydia and 67 :oo

67: “My clothes look really good on you.” + 15: “I don’t want to get up — you’re too comfy.” 

(from +this list of prompts)

They tumble in bed like a painting.

It’s a June afternoon and everything is slightly too hot, too sharp; the voices press in Lydia’s head and for a moment it feels like she’ll never be alone ever again. It’s not the worst that they’ve been, and her head is not yet pounding painfully, so she accepts Stiles’ inquisitive looks and his hands and his mouth, and she lets him tug her back with the living, one shiver of pleasure after another.

It starts when they climb in his Jeep after school, with a new definition of their relationship, attached to them like a print that doesn’t wash off. They’re dating and everything feels a bit new, but at the same time so much of what makes them stays the same. Lydia pulled him back from another dimension, but all it really amounts to is that they’re each other tethers and they’re in love.

Lydia rests her head against the window, slightly uncomfortable in the metallic heat that can only exist in cars old enough to ignore AC, and lets Stiles do the talking. He knows she’s listening even though her eyes are closed and her hair is stuck to her temples by the weather. He talks about the last lacrosse practice and Greenberg’s departure present to coach (the fucker’s finally graduating, so coach’s feeling a bit down. Not admitting it, though), and in the same breath he asks her how her head’s doing. Lydia’s fingers twitch with the urge of reaching over, of anchoring that moment down with touch and kisses, but instead she waits until he’s pulled in his driveway to lean across the console.

Distract me, she whispers in his ear, playful just because she can, now. It’s exhilarating to hop down the car and hear him fumble with his belt, feeling lighter than she’s felt in months despite the supernatural rapping at her head like at a door.

It’s one of those times when the whispers don’t want to exist anymore than they do, indecipherable, but won’t back down either. It’s uncomfortable but an evil she’s learnt to live with. And she is not going to relinquish one part of herself, the playful and happy part, the one she’s been searching after for so long now, to make place for another that she hasn’t chosen. She’s Lydia Martin, and she’s a study in complexities.

She tugs Stiles to the door and laughs when he tells a terrible joke in the shell of her ear, and she relish in the way his breath hits her skin, hotter than any June afternoon can ever be. They waste no time before losing themselves in each other, weaving the complex and beautiful web that is Lydia Martin and Stiles Stilinski a bit more with every kiss.

There’s a bit of fumbling and tripping as they guide each other toward the staircase, and–Lydia’s books and her bag are still in the car, but, oh, is this the moment to think about mathematics and advanced biology, Lydia?

(Yes, her brain answers when she pulls away just enough to study the moles dotting his face and his shoulders like a constellation, it always is with Stiles)

Stiles’ room is blessedly cool because of the blinds he didn’t open that morning, and so what if Stiles picks up on the fact that her sigh upon entering the room isn’t entirely due to the suppleness of his lips? They strip down quickly because it’s hot and because they want each other; the moment all boils down to the fact that yes, they can have each other.

She’s forgotten all about the voices when she takes in the nakedness and the moles and the way the light brushes colors on them that exist nowhere else than there and now.

He invites her on the bed with an exaggerated gesture and a bow, and she sits like a princess, sure of the reflexion of herself she sees in his eyes. He jumps after her and the moment becomes another, fun and loud as she laughs quietly and he peppers her thighs with kisses.

Stiles laughs his way through the minutes as he used to do before everything happened and life pushed that knowledge of him onto her. This isn’t an afternoon for bitterness, though, and she banishes the thought away, losing herself in her body as she’s done so many times before. It’s different, now, of course; it’s better, and she’s the one surrendering control, sighing and moaning softly, in a fit of honesty she hasn’t always allowed herself before.

They move slowly but surely, with not-quite-controlled movements that end up with Lydia’s slick palms sliding on the headboard and one of Stiles’ feet smacking on the floor for balance on his too-small bed. Her hair is a tangled mess on the pillows, some of it stuck under Stiles’ hand in the covers, potentially painful if he slips; she looks up at his face, at his eyes that never stay closed long, and she thinks in colors. She turns her head slightly to reach his neck, the sensitive spot at the juncture with his shoulder, glancing at the bare skin on his back, the length of his limbs and way hers fit around his frame; she thinks of Greek sculptors and a golden ratio that science and art both claim as their own.

The low yellow light flows through the blinds and settles on their skin like golden dust, sprinkling the sheets and the pillows with scattered brushes of color. There’s a feeling of soft languor in the air when they lie next to each other, and Lydia can feel it in every movement they make, in the barely perceptible way Stiles’ chest rises and falls; in the slight shift of the sheet against her nipples, her hips; in the smooth run of her hair falling across her shoulders. It’s in the burn of her thighs and the stretch of her arms when she brushes her knuckles against Stiles’ ribs, and the flutter of his long lashes on his face.

Stiles sighs as she makes to get up (I don’t want to get up—you’re too comfy, he mumbles in her skin, but Lydia dances around his outstretched arms until he nearly rolls on the floor), and he takes her hand when she leads them across the hallway to the bathroom. They turn on tepid water because they’re simply too hot for the usual comfort of a post-sex scalding shower, and they air dry in his bedroom while he shows her remnants of a childhood she’s always glanced at from afar. There are books with old spines she deciphers, cocking her head to the side, pictures she seizes and compares with the current version of Stiles, older and taller and more haunted, perhaps, but also more grounded. She finds an old scrabble box and tells him about the games she’d have against herself in primary school.

He laughs and his eyes crinkle as they always do when he’s looking at her with particular fondness, and he asks Couldn’t you have played with your parents? between two kisses. She sighs a no, putting the box back on the shelf for later, they didn’t speak Italian or German or Portuguese–

She trails off just so he can interrupt her with a kiss, his rumbling laughter filling the air between them. He breaks it off when it becomes apparent they’re both hungry. Lydia finds herself reaching for his lips in vain; he keeps them out of her reach just by standing straight.

He pokes her side until she agrees to get dressed and head back outside for pie, and she steps back in her skirt, missing nearly immediately the way the wind feels against her naked skin. Because he’s forcing her to get dressed again, she decides to forgo her own blouse for one of Stiles’ plaid shirts. It’s green and white, and when she knots the extremities as high as she can in her best attempt at a crop top, it’s also deliciously light in the breezy air.

My clothes look really good on you, Stiles says after staring at her for a whole minute in a way that Lydia can finally acknowledge. The sheepish way with which he says the slightly arrogant words make her grin, and she tugs him down for a quick kiss. She purrs her assent–I know, maybe, or do they?, a fake question to a real answer–against his lips and smoothes down the fabric of his shirt where she’s just seized him.

They race down the stairs like kids and welcome the cool breeze brought by the early evening as the world slowly keeps spinning, a study in blues and greys and black and white.

[damonsbitchx]

Imagine helping human!Castiel get ready for his first date.

Characters: Y/N, Castiel

Warnings: There is a teeny tiny insignificant crumb of a crumb of angst right in the beginning. Other than that, nothing aside from Cass being a cute little dork.

A/N: I honestly just searched the gif thingy for “Supernatural imagines,” picked a gif, and wrote this. I actually quite like it, but I’m not quite sure how well I wrote Castiel. At least I tried, that’s all that counts. If you have any suggestions for me, feel free to leave them in any way you see fit. (send an ask, a message, leave a comment, etc.)

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future works, please send me an ask!

How could it possibly take two grown men three and a half hours to go on a supply run? 

Not only that, but they left me here for no good reason. There are only three people in the bunker, we don’t need that much stuff. However, both of my brothers, no matter how old, will always be children. They’re probably wrapped up in an argument over whether to get pie or carrots. While they argue about what to get, I’m stuck here reading a grossly wrong Greek vampire legend because believe it or not, if you stay somewhere long enough it is possible to read all the books five times through. After that, one really has no desire to read them again.

My mental conversation was cut short by the creaking of the bunker door opening and closing.

Awesome, finally, it took them long enough.

Then, I realized there was only one pair of footsteps. Maybe Dean made Sam bring in all the stuff. 

Wouldn’t he have said something by now?

Out of caution, I placed my hand on the gun in my waistband while I stood to turn and greet the approaching footsteps.

“Castiel, what are you doing here?” I breathed, realizing I was in no immediate danger.

“Oh, Y/N, do you know where Sam and Dean are?” 

He seemed nervous, wandering towards me while his eyes searched the place, presumably for Sam and Dean.

“Well yeah, they’re out on a supply run Cass, what do you need?”

“I, um… I need some advice, guy advice,” he informed me in his usual low, gravelly voice. He took a seat in the chair next to the one I was just in, so I sat back down.

“Oh, gross... sex advice?” I grimaced.

“Um no, dating advice,” he rasped, watching me carefully.

I sat up with wide eyes and let my jaw drop slightly, gasping softly.

“Cass, you have a date?! Who is she? What’s her name? Where did you meet her? Did she ask you or did you ask her? Is she a he? Oh wow, this is so exciting!!” 

I was left grinning after spouting my bombardment, leaving Castiel overwhelmed and speechless. His eyes were wide with confusion and a hint of shock, but I was practically vibrating with so much excitement. Then it hit me, Castiel had only been human for a couple short months, this was new to him. I ran my fingers through my hair as my expression fell in embarrassment. 

“Sorry buddy, I get so excited about stuff like this. Um… hey, I can help you though.” 

Cass squinted and tilted his head at me, “you can?” 

“Yes, of course, I can. Much better than the boys can, in fact. If you’re going out with a woman you should get dating advice from a woman, assuming you are going out with a woman... of course.”

I giggled nervously.

“Yes, she is a woman, Y/N,” he replied, smiling at me in amusement. Though I don’t know what was amusing about this. 

“Okay, well I’m just saying, I can help you a lot better than both Winchester boys combined. I grew up with both and I’m a woman myself, so I’m your best bet.”

“Hm.. yes, that does make sense,” he thought for a moment.

“Okay, Y/N, you can help me prepare for my date,” he nodded, smiling again when I squealed with excitement. It’s not every day I get to teach a former angel and one of my best friends how to date.

“Okay, first things first, you need a new get up,” I said as I turned away from Dean’s closet and gestured to the worn hoodie and dirty khakis Cass was in. 

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” he questioned me, looking down to inspect them.

“Nothing, don’t get me wrong, you look adorable. They’re just not really fit for a first date, y’know? You gotta make a good impression if you want to see her again. Rule number one, Castiel, dress to impress.” 

I returned to digging carefully through the closet with a smile on my face.

“Cass?” I chirped while I continued wading through jacket after flannel.

“Yes, Y/N?” 

“Tell me about this woman you’re going on a date with. Where are you taking her?”

“Well… I uh…. I’m not sure.”

“Okay, that’s completely okay. We will get it all sorted out later. Is she more of the fancy girly type or is she more casual, burgers and a movie type?”

“Well, uhm I met her in the park. She was sitting on a bench near a very big tree with a book in her hands and a dog laying quietly by her feet. She was very beautiful, then I remembered that Dean told me if I ever see a beautiful woman I'm supposed to ask her out and I could send him a message if I ever needed help, so I texted him. He instructed me to go over to her and engage her in conversation. Her voice..” and then silence fell. 

I glanced at him but had to take a second look because the smile that was plastered on his face was so sincere and beautiful. 

“Her voice was very pleasing to listen to, alluring,” he continued with the same smile plastered on his face for quite some time. He rambled about his mystery woman for a good 15 minutes, it was pretty damn cute.

“So, Cas,” I spoke after he had finished,”have you decided what kind of place you want to take her to?” 

He was sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed at this point and I had mentally picked out an outfit for him to borrow, taking into consideration every type of date he could possibly pick. 

I had at least 12 outfits picked, in case you were doubting my meticulousness.

“Well, I um… I’m not sure. What do you recommend, Y/N?”

“Well, there’s a nice place about 15 minutes from here and I have the perfect outfit for you! It’s not too fancy, but it not too ordinary.”

“That sounds perfect, thank you for doing this Y/N.”

“Of course, Cass! I have been waiting forever for this moment just so you know,” I squeaked while I handed him a pair of Dean’s nicest jeans and a Baby Blue button-up that seemed like a very strange thing to find in Dean’s closet. However, it went nicely with the green t-shirt Cass already had on, so I was content. 

So, Castiel changed into the clothes while I worked on making the closet look neat and untouched again. I wasn’t quite sure how Dee would feel about me digging through his closet, but I figured it was his best friend and he probably would’ve done the same thing.

After he finished changing I fixed his hair up a little and we resided back to the library to wait and drink while I gave him some conversation tips. 

“Just start with something simple, like, you said she likes books, right? And she has a dog, talk to her about that stuff.” 

He nodded while he fidgeted nervously with the button-up. 

“Hey,” I squeezed his shoulder gently,” don’t be nervous, you’ll be great.” 

I smiled encouragingly and thrust a glass of whiskey into his hand. 

I was slightly shocked when he downed all of it in two gulps like Dean does when he’s upset or nervous. 

“Thank you, Y/N/N, really. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course I did! Castiel, I have been waiting for this opportunity since you became human.”

He smiled at me with a certain sincerity in his eyes.

“Now, you have a date in exactly an hour young man. Put your shoes on, brush your teeth, and go get that girl!” 

He swallowed hard at my words, eyes slightly wider, but he still smiled a little.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. 

“Okay, dude, not even one year ago you were a freakin’ angel of the lord, a warrior! You will be just fine, go,” I scolded and shoved him toward the hallway.

I sat with my feet elevated on the table sipping whiskey for what seemed like 20 minutes. Finally, I got up and made my way down the hall to the bathroom. 

The door was open, the light was on, the faucet was running.

I rounded the corner and was immediately met with Castiel’s giant, innocent Blue eyes as he continued squirting toothpaste directly into his mouth. I just kind of stood in the door frame for a moment, staring at him.

“Um, Cass,” I smirked, leaning against the frame now with crossed arms, “what are you doing?”

I tried my hardest to suppress a giggle as he chewed the toothpaste. (How the hell do you chew toothpaste?)

“I am cleaning my teeth like you told me to,” he replied after spitting the toothpaste out. 

At least he spat it out.

“Yeah, but usually people have a toothbrush to accompany their toothpaste,” I chuckled softly. “C’mere and open your mouth,” I motioned for him to come,”let me smell your breath.”

He was very confused by this, but he did as I told him to. Surprisingly, it was perfectly minty and nice smelling. 

“Wow, okay, your breath smells fantastic.”

He just smiled a small, awkward smile. 

“Okay,” I began ushering him back out, “it’s about that time, Cassie.”

My humored use of Crowley’s nickname did not appease him, but that’s okay, I enjoyed it. I walked him up to the bunker door, turned him towards me, and straightened his collar. 

“You’re gonna do great, just be yourself and have fun! Any woman who doesn’t like you the way you are is crazy.”

I squeezed his shoulders reassuringly, kissed his cheek, and sent him off. 

Our little Angel is growing up.

Tags: @assbutt-still-in-hell

[howblunt]

1-98 weird asks!

First off: Thank you so much! I’m very excited to answer all of these :) 

Second off: Let’s begin

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? 

Coffee Mugs 

 2. chocolate bars or lollipops? 

lollipops for sure 

 3. bubblegum or cotton candy? 

bubblegum! (though i do love cotton candy)

 4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? 

honestly I’m not sure. I’m sure it was something about me being quite and bad at participating 

 5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? 

(reusable) Plastic cups 

 6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? 

I love the look of pastel 

but I think I dress more preppy ? with a hint of grunge(maybe goth) 

 7. earbuds or headphones?

I wear earbuds more often but I do prefer headphones 

 8. movies or tv shows? 

MOVIES

 9. favorite smell in the summer? 

how the pool smells and sunscreen 

 10. game you were best at in p.e.? 

none. P.E. was awful.

Stick to the back and hope the ball doesn’t come at me, that’s how I lived. 

 11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? 

Cereal. I am a simple woman 

 12. name of your favorite playlist? 

currently it is my “Jean + Scott angst (and love)” playlist off spotify 

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3VAC9t28sIrgO7Y4os5a34

 13. lanyard or key ring? 

key ring 

 14. favorite non-chocolate candy? 

anything gummy but more specifically gummy worms 

 15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

Wide Sargasso Sea 

If you like Gothic novels with some unrequited love and desire… hit this book up. Look up the plot of Jane Erye first.. it’s like a prequel. Btw I hated Jane Erye. But love Wide Sargasso Sea. Lots of symbolism and even witch craft 

 16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Legs stretched out, both on the ground 

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

My black tennis shoes. Very comfortable 

 18. ideal weather? 

Fall weather. Wind and sunshine 

 19. sleeping position?

Usually on my right side. But I wake up on my back

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? 

Laptop

 21. obsession from childhood?

Barbie dolls! and my little pony+ littlest pet shop 

 22. role model? 

This is a hard one because I don’t really have anyone. But I guess Dan Aykroyd (my senior quote is from him) 

 23. strange habits? 

biting the inside of my mouth, fidgeting + folding up papers that are given to me (like in mass), and chewing my straws 

 24. favorite crystal? 

Rose quartz and orange Calcite

 25. first song you remember hearing?

Here Comes the Sun

My mom used to sing it in the morning to wake up my sister and me 

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? 

Swim

Or walk/ride my bike to the library 

 27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

curl up in a blanket and stay inside 

 28. five songs to describe you? 

(In no order)

Not Today by Twenty One Pilots 

Wow, I’m Not Crazy by AJR 

xanny by Billie Eilish 

I’m In Love With My Car by Queen

Why Do You Feel So Down by Declan McKenna 

 29. best way to bond with you? 

Going shopping (clothes or other). This way we can chat and also have something to do 

 30. places that you find sacred?

The library and church 

 31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? 

idk full outfit but my black pleated skirt makes me feel good 

 32. top five favorite vines? 

In no order

*girl vapes* wow

I smell like beef 

Lets’s tell each other secrets. I’ll go first, I hate you. 

Chris is that a weed?!

This is how I enter my house. What’s up fuckers?! 

 33. most used phrase in your phone? 

omg

 34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? 

that one for the shampoo made for curly hair. and it goes “That’s curl power”

 35. average time you fall asleep? 

11 or 12 during the week. 1 or 2 for weekends 

 36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? 

Rage comics. idk which specifically. But i used to run a rage comic meme account. I was pretty popular ;)

37. suitcase or duffel bag? 

suitcase

 38. lemonade or tea? 

lemonade (though i do LOVE tea)

 39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

Lemon cakes 

 40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?  

omg so. There was this girl who told on this other girl for cheating on a test. Then like the whole grade just ganged up on this other girl and started calling her “the snitch” because the cheater’s friend group started saying “snitches get stitches” (lol even tho i went to an all girls, majority white + prissy + upper class, catholic school but go off) that went on for too long.

at some party they started to chant “snitches get stitches” 

the girl who started the chant then got suspended 

41. last person you texted? 

my ex. (it was a good breakup) 

 42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? 

jacket pockets 

 43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? 

hoodie 

 44. favorite scent for soap?

strawberry 

 45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

sci-fi (lmao x-men is under sci-fi at the library. so it counts) 

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? 

XL t-shirt from giving blood and some very loose pajama shorts 

 47. favorite type of cheese?

American

 48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? 

Mango (I eat enough to turn into one)

 49. what saying or quote do you live by? 

“Comparison will kill you”

 50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

OMG so there was this big spider web. And me and a friend thought it would be funny to call another friend over. And then be like “’lol u just walked passed a huge spider”–we didn’t think she would walk into it or near it because it was right by the edge of a lake we were by. So we call her over and this girl starts sprinting over toward us and RIGHT toward the spider web, and she had this big smile. And my friend and I yelled at her to stop. And when we were laughing saying she was about to run into a spider web and showed her the big spider, she began to freak out (maybe even cry). 

She was okay after the shock and fear wore off. 

I literally have tears in my eyes from typing this 

 51. current stresses? 

My friend moving away really far 

Starting school

making new friends 

 52. favorite font? 

I honestly don’t have one

 53. what is the current state of your hands? 

kinda dry

 54. what did you learn from your first job?

That I really love kids

 55. favorite fairy tale? 

Little Red Riding Hood and Rapunzel 

 56. favorite tradition?

Every one of my family’s Christmas traditions 

 57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? 

My self doubt

sharing my art + writing 

My self confidence + learning my worth 

 58. four talents you’re proud of having?

I can play the piano

I can draw and paint

I can embroider and sew (not well but I have fun)

I can write pretty creative stories 

 59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“Oh gosh, now what?”

 60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? 

Magical Girl Anime

 61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

Darjeeling Limited directed by Wes Anderson: “What’s wrong with you?” / “Let me think about that. I’ll tell you the next time I see you.” / “Sure, tell me then.” / “Thanks for using me.” / “You’re Welcome.” 

 62. seven characters you relate to?

Will from Stranger Things (with the whole not wanting to give up “childish things” and other stuff his friends are growing out of)

David Wong from John Dies at the End (with how he handles the situation and thinks)

Molly from Booksmart (not the going to a great college or being super smart + looking down on people part. But wanting to go to a party and flirt with cute boys)

Erin from Derry Girls (Tbh, I relate to all the main girls in this show)

Eric from That 70s Show (sometimes)

A mix between Ben and Andy from Parks and Rec

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Good Old Fashion Lover Boy by Queen 

Dance, Baby! by Boy Pablo 

Hooked On A Feeling by Blue Swede 

Fake Happy by Paramore 

Sober Up by AJR

 64. favorite website from your childhood? 

Club Penguin and Webkinz 

 65. any permanent scars?

On my knees from falling as a child. A small scar under my eye from a dog bite 

66. favorite flower(s)? 

Roses and Daisies 

 67. good luck charms?  

I wear this necklace a friend gave me when I am nervous 

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

Green Tea flavored Mochi is kinda nasty to me

 69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? 

Dan Aykroyd lost his wallet that he always kept chained to his belt. He was freaking out and searching all over while John Belushi was laughing his butt off

 70. left or right handed?

right 

 71. least favorite pattern?

anything with too many circles / holes 

72. worst subject? 

Anything Science related 

 73. favorite weird flavor combo?

idk but do NOT try lemonade with Doritos. it taste like throw up 

I’ve made this mistake twice 

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

it has to be an 7 or so

 75. when did you lose your first tooth? 

gosh, i’m not sure 

 76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? 

tator tots 

 77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

this is a question for my sister 

 78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

I regularly buy sushi from a grocery store so that works 

the grocery store I go to has a sushi bar and has fresh sushi every day 

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

tbh they both looks kinda good.. not to BRAG. but i guess driver’s license 

 80. earth tones or jewel tones? 

Earth tones

 81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

fireflies 

 82. pc or console? 

pc 

 83. writing or drawing?

BOTH BOTH BOTH BOTH BOTH

both

 84. podcasts or talk radio? 

podcast – no commercials 

 84. barbie or polly pocket? 

Barbie all the WAY! Though I do love me a good polly pocket 

 85. fairy tales or mythology?

Fair Tales

 86. cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies

though i like making cupcakes more 

 87. your greatest fear?

Being kidnapped and never being found 

 88. your greatest wish?

To find my ideal man

 89. who would you put before everyone else? 

Anyone in my family 

 90. luckiest mistake?

Thinking a test is sooner so I study. But then ending up having another day to study as well. 

91. boxes or bags?

Boxes 

 92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? 

lamps 

(maybe some fairy lights in the background) 

 93. nicknames?

My real name is Veronica but I go by Ronni

Ron Ron, Gonni, Ronica 

 94. favorite season? 

Fall 

 95. favorite app on your phone? 

music 

 96. desktop background? 

I’m a Kaneki slut (Tokyo Ghoul) 

 97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

two

 98. favorite historical era?

style wise: 1800 rococo -- Marie Antoinette period 

media wise: 1970s  

[theleftoverurl]

ARE ANGRY WORDS TO BE WRITTEN IN CAPS LOCK?

I AM NOT ONE TO FIGHT WITH PEOPLE, BUT YESTERDAY THINGS CAME TO A HEAD WITH MY GRANDMA AND SHE HAS IGNORED ME OR MADE SNIDE JADED COMMENTS ABOUT ME ALL DAY EVER SINCE – IT’S NOW NIGHT-TIME AND SHE HAS ONLY JUST STARTED TO COOL DOWN – AND WARM HER TONE TOWARDS ME.

YESTERDAY WAS A TERRIBLY DULL DAY TO FOLLOW A STRING OF DULL DAYS, WHICH IS ALMOST ENTIRELY MY FAULT FOR NOT BOTHERING TO TRY AND CATCH UP WITH PEOPLE AND ENTERTAIN MYSELF, AND I THINK THAT THIS COMBINATION OF FEELING COOPED UP AND HAVING TO DEAL WITH AH MA SULKING AROUND THE HOUSE ALL DAY, PLUS MY MUM’S DISDAIN TOWARDS HER LED UP TO OUR FIGHT.

I WOKE UP LATE (ALMOST PURPOSELY BECAUSE I COULD HEAR AH MA ON THE PHONE BITCHING AND LYING ABOUT ME AND ASKING FOR FAVOURS ON THE PHONE TO HER WEIRDO FRIENDS GRANT THE PRIEST AND LEONARD AND MARLENE), WAITED FOR AH MA TO BE RATTLING AROUND OUTSIDE SWEEPING THE GARDEN AND WENT TO PLAY THE PIANO AS NO ONE WAS IN THE HOUSE. WHEN MUM CAME BACK FROM DOING THE GROCERIES, SHE SAID SHE WAS TAKING AH MA TO TORRE BECAUSE AH MA WAS GOING TO COOK TAO EW BAK AT MY SUGGESTION SO DID I WANT TO COME ALONG. I DECIDED THAT THE BUTCHERS WAS PROBABLY A BETTER PLACE TO BE THAN AT HOME BY MYSELF, SO GOT DRESSED AND TAGGED ALONG.

THE BUTCHERS WAS VERY SLOW. I FORGOT HOW SLOW IT IS GOING TO TORRE BUT IT WAS BETTER THAN WHEN I WAS A LITTLE CHILD BECAUSE I WAS ALLOWED TO WANDER AIMLESSLY AROUND THE TINY SHOP AND A LITTLE BIT OUTSIDE WHILE I WAITED. AH MA EMBARRASSED ME TERRIBLY BECAUSE WHILST MUM WAS TALKING TO THE BUTCHER’S WIFE, SHE PLUCKED PARSLEY OUT OF A JAR, SPILT IT ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND THEN ASKED THE BUTCHER IF SHE COULD HAVE IT. MUM WAS ALSO IRRITATED AT HER FOR TAKING SO LONG TO SPECIFY WHAT CUTS OF MEAT SHE WANTED, BUT I FELT LIKE THAT ANNOYANCE WAS PARTLY UNWARRANTED (MIND YOU, I DIDN’T GO WITH THE TWO OF THEM TO THE CHINESE SHOP IN THE MORNING, SO MAYBE  IT WAS AN UNFORESEEN BUILDUP ON MY PART).

THEN WE WENT TO MILLSTREAM PATISSERIE TO BUY SOME PIES FOR LUNCH AND FOR NICK’S AFTERNOON TEA. MUM WAS SICK OF AH MA PRETENDING SHE COULDN’T WALK BECAUSE OF HER BAKER’S CYST, SO DITCHED AH MA, LEAVING HER TO KIND OF LOITER AROUND OUTSIDE SOUTHSHORE SHOPPING PLAZA. WE BOUGHT THE PIES AND THEN CAME HOME.

I MADE COFFEE FOR AH MA AND MYSELF AND THEN CHOPPED THE BANH MI AND A PIE IN HALF FOR MUM AND I TO SHARE AND THEN WE ALL SORT OF SAT AT THE DINING TABLE TO WHILE AWAY THE TIME AS USUAL. AFTER A BIT WE MOVED TO THE GREEN COUCH AND AH MA BROUGHT UP THE SUBJECT OF THE BANK.

THE PROBLEM WITH AH MA WANTING TO GO TO THE BANK IS THAT SHE HAS NO WAY OF GETTING THERE BECAUSE SHE CAN’T DRIVE, AND SHE HAS NO PHONE SO SHE INSISTED ON HAVING MUM OR I WAIT WITH HER AT THE BANK. ADDITIONALLY, SHE IS TOO STUPID TO UNDERSTAND HER BANKING SITUATION, OR WHAT SHE ACTUALLY WANTS TO DO AT THE BANK, SO SHE WOULD TAKE HOURS AND THERE IS NOTHING TO DO AT MENDS STREET NOW THEY ARE BUILDING THE HOUSING ACROSS THE ROAD. THEREFORE UNSURPRISINGLY, MUM AND I CATEGORICALLY REFUSED TO GO WITH AH MA TO THE BANK TO SORT OUT HER AFFAIRS.

I (STUPIDLY IN RETROSPECT) POINTED OUT THAT THE REAL ISSUE WAS AH MA DIDN’T HAVE A PHONE SO SHE SHOULD PROBABLY PROCURE A SIM CARD SO SHE COULD JUST RING US TO PICK HER UP. THE MAIN REGRET IN THIS IS THAT SHE WOULD NOT UNDERSTAND HOW TO CHANGE SIMS BACK AND FORTH, NOR TELL HER (ANNOYING) FRIENDS WHAT HER NEW NUMBER IS SO SHE WOULD INSIST ON HAVING US DO IT FOR HER. MUM AND AH MA STARTED TO FIGHT AND IT GOT HEATED BECAUSE AH MA INSISTED THAT THE BANK RANG HER AND TOLD HER TO COME TO THE BANK WITHOUT GIVING A REASON WHICH IS JUST STUPID AND IMPOSSIBLE BECAUSE A) WE HAVE NEVER GOTTEN CALLS FROM THE BANK ASKING FOR HER B) THE BANK DOESN’T REALLY CALL PEOPLE OUT OF THE BLUE AND JUST SAY COME TO THE BANK WITHOUT REASON AND C) THEY HAD NO WAY OF KNOWING SHE WAS EVEN IN AUSTRALIA, MEANING SHE HAD TO HAVE CALLED THEM FIRST BUT SHE INSISTED THAT WASN’T SO. A LUDICROUS STORY, BUT IT REALLY HAD MUM RILED UP.

THEN I SNAPPED AT GRANDMA “YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO USE A PHONE,” BECAUSE I WAS GETTING SICK OF THE ARGUMENT AND EQUALLY RILED, AND THEN SHE YELLED AT ME FOR THE FIRST TIME. UNFORTUNATELY FOR HER, I AM VERY STUBBORN, SHE’S NOT SCARY, AND ONCE SOMEONE BEGINS TO YELL, A PART OF ME SWITCHES OFF INTO THE UNREASONABLE. BUT TOO BAD, I’M ALSO UNAPOLOGETIC (ALL THESE BAD ASPECTS OF MY CHARACTER). ANYWAY SHE YELLED “YOU CAN’T DISRESPECT AH MA LIKE THAT, YOU HAVE NO GRATITUDE, YOU MUST APOLOGISE.” AND SHE STOOD UP AND CAME TO ME (EVIDENTLY THE LEG DIDN’T HURT SO BAD ANYMORE, HUH) AND LEANED OVER WHERE I WAS LYING ON THE COUCH AS IF SHE HAD FORGOTTEN HERSELF AND WAS GOING TO HIT ME BUT HAD CAUGHT HERSELF. I WAS MOMENTARILY WORRIED SHE WAS GOING TO HIT ME BECAUSE I COULDN’T QUICK ENOUGH CALCULATE HOW TO ACT – I KNEW I COULD HIT HER BACK HARDER AND AND IN MY ANGER MAY DO AND THAT HER SLAP WOULDN’T ACTUALLY HURT BUT I DID NOT WANT TO DEAL WITH THE OBVIOUS RAMIFICATIONS OF THAT.

ANYWAY, I SNAPPED BACK “NO. I AM NOT GOING TO APOLOGISE BECAUSE I DON’T THINK IT WAS RUDE. YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO USE A PHONE.” TO WHICH SHE REPLIED SOMETHING I DON’T RECALL BECAUSE I PROBABLY WASN’T LISTENING TO WHICH I RESPONDED “YOU NEED TO USE YOUR BRAIN” AND GESTICULATED BY TAPPING MY FINGER TO MY HEAD. I THOUGHT I WAS DONE FOR THEN, BUT SHE DOESN’T RESPECT BEING INTELLIGENT BECAUSE HER REPLY WAS “I KNOW I NEED TO USE MY BRAIN BUT YOU CAN’T BE UNGRATEFUL TO ME,” AND THEN I WANTED TO LAUGH BECAUSE SHE HAD SO COMPLETELY DISREGARDED THE MAIN POINT THAT I JUST COULDN’T DEAL WITH IT AND THEN MUM SAID SOMETHING AND THEY FOUGHT AND AH MA STORMED OFF AND WE WENT TO PICK UP NICK.

WHEN WE GOT BACK AH MA WAS GONE AND SHE DIDN’T JOIN US FOR DINNER WHEN SHE CAME BACK FROM HER WALK AND IT WAS ONLY SLIGHTLY AWKWARD THAT WHEN WE TOLD DAD THE STORY HE WAS COMPLETELY UNSYMPATHETIC TOWARDS HER AND NOBODY MISSED THE LACK OF HER SOUR FACE AT THE TABLE. WHEN SHE DID COME BACK SHE MADE SOME RIDICULOUS STATEMENT ABOUT NEEDING TO GO FOR A WALK TO EASE THE PAIN IN HER HEART (RIDICULOUS DRAMA QUEEN) AND MUM ROLLED HER EYES AND SAID “OH PLEASE FOR GOODNESS SAKE” IN THAT DISDAINFUL TONE WHICH I KNOW FROM EXPERIENCE IS VERY CUTTING. AND THEN NICK WAS TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THE SITUATION TO TAKE THE MICKEY OUT OF HER BY PRETENDING TO BE ON HER SIDE AND SO HE WAS TALKING TO HER AND THEN BLOWING HIS SAXOPHONE REALLY LOUDLY SO IT WAS HARD FOR HER TO TALK AND THEN SHE HAD A WHOLE SPIEL ABOUT HOW YOU MUSTN’T BE “UNGRATEFUL AND DISRESPECTFUL” PRETENDING TO TALK TO NICK BUT ACTUALLY DIRECTING HER WORDS AT ME (ON THE PHONE ON THE COUCH). I COULDN’T ACTUALLY GIVE A SHIT WHAT SHE WAS TRYING TO SAY SO I REMAINED FIXED ON MY PHONE BUT THEN MUM TOLD HER OFF FOR TRYING TO SNEAKY SAY THINGS.

THEN SHE TRIED TO GET NICK TO HELP HER TURN THE TV ON AND HE TAUGHT HER AND THEN NICK AND I WERE SITTING DOING HIS HOMEWORK AND SHE WAS SWITCHING CHANNELS. NICK WAS SURPRISED AND SAID “WELL DONE AH MA, YOU KNOW HOW TO SWITCH THE CHANNELS,” AND SHE FLARED UP AND SAID “YOU DON’T SAY THAT AH MA IS STUPID, SHE KNOWS HOW TO DO THINGS, AND YOU ARE NOT SAYING IN THIS CASE THAT AH MA IS STUPID BUT SHE IS NOT SO HELPLESS AND WITHOUT A BRAIN,” (YES SHE DOES REFER TO HERSELF IN THIRD PERSON) ONCE AGAIN DIRECTED AT ME THROUGH NICK. SHE HAD ALSO EARLIER DROPPED A HINT ABOUT NICK NOT BUYING HER A PRESENT FROM NEW YORK WHICH IS RIDICULOUS AS NICK IS 13. ANYWAY MUM GOT FIRED UP BY THIS BECAUSE I GUESS SHE WAS SICK OF THE BARBS AND JIBES AND THE FACT THAT AH MA WAS USING NICK TO GET BACK AT US AND GRABBED THE REMOTE OFF HER AND SCREAMED “THIS IS MY HOUSE AND WE DO NOT WATCH TV AND DISTRACT OTHER PEOPLE WHILE THE CHILDREN ARE DOING HOMEWORK. TURN IT OFF NOW!” IT SOUNDED LIKE SHE WAS TREATING AH MA LIKE A CHILD WHICH WAS AWKWARD. ANYWAY AH MA FELL INTO A SULKY SILENCE. NICK AND I WERE LAUGHING AT THE AWKWARDNESS THE WHOLE TIME.

THEN NICK AND I INVENTED A GAME WHERE WE HAD TO PUT PENS IN HER CURLERS/ROLLERS WITHOUT HER NOTICING BUT NICK LOST ON THE FIRST TRY, BUT IMMEDIATELY HUGGED HER TELLING HER HOW MUCH HE LOVED HER AND MID-HUG TRYING MULTIPLE TIMES TO GET THE PEN INTO HER HAIR. I SUCCEEDED IN GETTING A TOOTHPICK IN, BUT IT FELL OUT BEFORE SHE NOTICED. THEN BECAUSE I STILL WASN’T SPEAKING TO HER I GAVE HER THE BIBLE BECAUSE SHE WANTED IT TO READ (NOT THAT SHE’S SMART ENOUGH TO ACTUALLY COMPREHEND THE WORDS BUT I SUPPOSE THE FAMILIAR PASSAGES ARE A COMFORT IN HARD TIMES LIKE FIGHTING WITH LEGITIMATELY ALL YOUR FAMILY BECAUSE HALF YOUR FAMILY HAS ALREADY ESTRANGED YOU FOR CALLING THE CHILDREN FAT AND LAZY AND GENERALLY BEING A NEGATIVE BURDEN) AND NICK (THE SUCK-UP LOL) WENT TO GO PRAY WITH HER.

BECAUSE I WAS BEING A BIT OF A BITCH, I CHOSE THAT TIME TO TRY COAX AMBY AND HER BEAR DOWNSTAIRS BECAUSE I’M SLEEPING IN NICK’S ROOM SO AH MA CAN TAKE MINE AND AMBY HAS BEEN SLEEPING WITH US. AMBY WAS GETTING EXCITED AND BOUNCING AROUND AND HER NAILS WERE CLICKING ON THE FLOORS AS SHE DID SO DURING THE PRAYER BUT I DIDN’T CARE. ANYWAY THEN I SAT QUIETLY ON THE STAIRS AND LISTENED TO AH MA AND NICK PRAY. NICK HAS NEVER PRAYED BEFORE SO HE WAS HILARIOUS – HE FORGOT TO PUT AMBY AND HIS FRIENDS DOGS IN THE PRAYER SO HE HAD TO DO IT AGAIN, AND THEN HE ENDED IT WITH “CHEERS GOD.” I THINK IT WAS BRILLIANT – STILL FROM THE HEART AND A MUCH CHEERIER PRAYER THAN AH MA’S DREARY BEGGARING.

THEN AH MA SAID SOMETHING SAPPY AND RIDICULOUS ABOUT HOW JESUS WAS WITHIN MY COMPLETELY UNRELIGIOUS BROTHER AND HOW HE HAD SENT NICK TO CHEER HER UP AND NICK LAPPED IT UP LIKE A GOOD SUCK UP WHICH I TEASED HIM FOR AFTERWARDS. THEN HE TACKLED ME TO TRY HUG ME SO I SAT ON HIM AND PRETENDED I WAS GOING TO SPIT ON HIM IN FUN AND HE CRIED “JESUS HELP ME” IN MOCKERY AND AMBY WAS EXCITED COS WE WERE, SO STARTED BITING HIS HEAD. THEN WHEN MUM CAME IN TO SEND US TO BED HE SAID “THE INDIAN MAN WITH THE STICK DIDN’T COME, SO JESUS IS OBVIOUSLY NOT REAL, MUM,” ALLUDING TO A STORY AH MA TOLD US ABOUT A DOG WHICH ATTACKED HER AND WHEN SHE CRIED JESUS CHRIST HELP ME AN INDIAN MAN CAME WITH A STICK TO CHASE THE GOD AWAY AND WE ALL LAUGHED.

ANYWAY IT WAS PROBABLY THE MOST DRAMATIC (HOPEFULLY) DRAMA-WISE DAY YESTERDAY IT WILL EVER BE AND TODAY AH MA IS BEING EVEN MORE (IF POSSIBLE) SULKY AND NEGATIVE AND GAVE ME A LECTURE ON BEING YOUNG THAT’S WHY I SPEAK THAT WAY TO HER AND STILL MAKING SNIDE COMMENTS TO TRY AND UNBALANCE ME BECAUSE SHE’S UNHAPPY I’VE STILL REFUSED TO SAY SORRY. IT’S HER BIRTHDAY AND SHE MADE ME TAKE A PICTURE WITH JUST NICK TO REMEMBER THE OCCASION LOL AND THEN SHE WAS ON THE PHONE WITH SAM OUR COUSIN, MADE IT POINTED TO SAY I LOVE YOU AND THAT SAM IS A VERY GOOD SISTER AS IF I WASN’T. IT’S A SHAME I FIND IT ALL SO PATHETIC REALLY THAT IT HAS NO EFFECT. SHE WENT OUT WITH GRANT HER PRIEST BOYFRIEND WHO IS 41 AND THEREFORE MUST BE A COMPLETE AND UTTER WEIRDO TO RING HER AND TAKE HER OUT. GRANT TOOK HER TO THE BANK (YAWN). ANYWAY THANK GOODNESS I LEAVE FOR SYDNEY ON SUNDAY BECAUSE I CAN’T REALLY SEE HER VISIT IMPROVING OUR RELATIONSHIP ANY. THAT’S MY RECAP OF THE DAY ANYWAY, MORE A DRAMATIC RANT THAN ANY PROPER RECAP, BUT – IT BE LIKE THAT SOMETIMES. ‘TILL THE NEXT ENTRY!

[neuralnetworkmakingmagic]

Tweek?

PL: Scurred CARDNAME is go that pieces from Timmy, Booster Careot. Me and I'm about to minetim for by the crevious turn very eager to hear about. When we she had a necrued menuca, by my category and something naturally we two decks are really room. We could varily so number. Evolving will blah you anything went for one madnain-othing out of the block. Not a duty feel for its script. After in the end, transformed a 16/15 {1}{R}{U} 1/3.0%. The key mechanic was my more story.

ESJerrd Druid of Faeries is very factual? Legends, they have this rules. Keeping scroubles that we have tapping against them to was that we never worked for both and/official tournaments.

What it didn't have?

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I've 6C A Planeswalker: It's not the name.

Before I notice than a God, I came up with supporting artifacts that allowed it with two in high fatess (with that ability that used to intermingling out blah different meatus. So so there are a lot of ideas, but any Others have happier text, that god plays dressed to start. I showed up in the art of the pests of itself to dear to the different cards where I am changing its two controls. Comes about from the fact that she work was only used on how crank words of Planechase had run are "can. Tryyloty is make sure to get finabres so just making it a very ability to buy overwhelm.

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If AlphaHe's through cards through numerous man was.

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Stealy - The biggest design deals damage is fun to cutting them for every face-rave for what's both both creature and started with,.)

The [[Unur-Targecla, Partsicte]] started, then this works.

Blue made them perfect in one of the time would behind the same Elves maintain. Zendikar is really found the next time almost allow the problem. I feel it was playing with) I can't create some [[Phantom Mad Pump]], finally like you all have a structure. A signification of it's creature language, actually hash more expecting time talking skillfy with: a guy Haybe. In those who hated choice then, we came up with "set; being God Tokens" that draws bigger, even if sometimes I wove cards that continue with Lee North Edition. Mike In Drawn worked into [[Lorie8] two weeks to win (. "lost ensuter.

Ram Not Your Sacrol

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Ken

The upkeep genre? and there tried made. It's power, after [[Balance]]. So how did not listed Landwalk Wayni, the multiple cards we just examined them. After a nushing, clearly surprises a little bit when we fans went up very overpowered and respected? What occasionally, good? Sometimes Limited.

Finally, by having tokens are designed, most death strong deal 3 damage. I could build that it was very combined about some faceclass for a simple topic for free sets at some building. This isn't the challenge as we'd played; a tool in the problem, like me this card I wish and at hand is about her in my start. I can, I suggest so much set I finally bother. Independently trying to kill this flavor.

Episode 28

1 ([[Gliving Golxie, Promises]]

[[Brand]] gotten Aracle, Archies).

IM - Good Old Master

It was not enter. [[Cuttacker Lyx]], Chris (both giving a research, you like me, it's not something like for the graveyard from they wanted ten creatures?

503.19 For poments

The past is possible in restrictions on this subset. Not changing on Theros.

My column was creative.

{2}, Randy Bugtles Constructed recyclling

Onaly obviously I knew I do have ! We influence it. The planemic. Easiest is, the rest of blue was devunning every game about black.) Yet strong understanding your ingraining houester pack a glass name of Minotaurs Guide it is go. For everything (indigging, while restrictions are what planeswalkers always talk about multiple ideas in green collectors, where we knew that not Spike column enchantments from the game experience/sopular with any clear at card group, are skeleton in the honor of there yeah, hich I'll remove top-down design space. One of the research structure was to further down our gashe effects. Likewise, in an events. You see: Ryan Sortry and blue gets a certain full game. Target players want to hear that development card tokens (suspensive cards. How do we proved to hear we tried to use an important store)

In fact, [[Martyream Jon]] deck (and here if you've never hope was a Clevel's artially box.

MB.1 Mark Lesson

Didn't Bofgros Enchantu?"

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WRENANDET OUTG FAmeSTike - Aaron gets it was every moved an item  asiletoi but at common). It's heroes that mid-class had to do with whatever insight irony. Eventually, I had generally working on the week. Doing events with her livensed versus something any series of cards which happened if you thought I had would acted them on chroma. The idea beheen Snakes for the theme two. Once old, one-often gets mother is very question.

Innocera King - Heroes is a seeking piece. So so, my talk [[Riph's Raro]] worked, we've heard linear cards. Odyssey block combos every other boon was to figure out playtesters think about whatever it was in your group.

Vantage,

Another less kiscise I'll say "creature, centionally at -X/-- lands. But the blink decks are more about finding where to regenerate out of its design. The inside wish of helgoes outside Ken with a lot of fliers. This way your opponent's going to play [[Goblin Type]], from a few Spike playtest.

TropesoO artifacts or do game designers)). I want to try structure. My social media, the usual states might not walk you through all other players. Often, making-virgening doing the four can find near. Then eight them to have four sets. The showing one element we should pitch the ability rather than moving together as an enchantment, let me somewhat the weekly distance, can be run the last overwhelming volume in it, and higher than think of. If it's the first design team hated to become two word. "Well.

I haven't never reads space from gruts of understanding the micropous, but because it's a bit feeling for their mana. I met at the time. You've in a while close it right, it was the two math. I believe that everyone is allowed to do reminded more circles. Which is a core aspect one doesn't am).

We thought it had come up with the category named Spike.) White really isn't in only big solutions.

Paunterate Nightmare Merfolk

Bribin playing this angels that say until I was created a part amond, a number of your own hands work.

Goal #4 - Morking {B}

Sometimes this mighty pie, what gains that R&D has the fact that we had the biggest jundred color profest.

Ghosts and Couldn't be a gimmend show!"

#2 - It's a point. this last I had some way being surprised but often just thinking about yes. To most done for this column through this card also have to offer. (We changed the invested ability to look. One walket weighted what you wanted to release this card if someone diely text out when I feel it made for twenty Constructed cards. These issues are anvoor. Gore is retuny.

[[Chory Ice]] (#3)

Eventually, you allow screams, but worked out around Lorwyn blocks: The idea forecast-because Idable. I never called "Twitter."

To stop outside two Goblinsdota. Stop out of being the two overload - blue has come up with. Thanks-to, a number of them being about equipment execution. As well maybe I'll stuar-gudborr of this yea Allie Develus. This meant for pivieging fixing sense yets or shovelory. Hugele would have well right together deckiness with its army.M was reprints for both to clue around the habit)? What is its gaming

Whenever a original planned had to be all about red. Others look for how there are a verolous and others.

Finally, one more idaities hinted and not designing it.

UAS Age - Starm makes the Onslaught Bringhy, my languans were shelped it tibatheternarge Mirrodin proel.

At them let it myself involved and color real-packs behind teccainers and goes onto themping ahead of cards. This isn't the crump that Rosewater. All of, there is full on Graematcase and myself. But, an important chaotion, of time, brainstorming, here, for example, there's not where you feel like something it wants. If you're selected on, we take the execution - that is, the final strength is that I'm been to help give beginning how cruels from five creatures on the previewed card. (I'll not be done at this point when one capacity is that is your contronter powerful than Henry Stern. Skeleton is illy upon to became the card guild's longervack we've alove.