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storiumemporium · 3 years ago

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Sweetest Disguise (I/III)

Bucky/Fem!Reader

| Word Count - 7.0k | Fluff | Masquerade, General Wallflower Behavior |

This is story one of three! Featuring: Bucky! The next two should be out a little sooner. I'll admit, posting this makes me nervous. I know it's not what y'all usually get 😔

"That," he gestures nowhere in particular with a theatrical hand, his pace unbothered by time constraints and uninterested in allowing you to properly introduce yourself to the stranger. "Is a precautionary measure, Madame. Nothing to stress yourself with. Every man and woman of high standing knows who he is, and therefore know better than to make any attempts with me."

The Marquis says this dismissively... and then continues to explain nevertheless. "I hope he doesn't terribly frighten you, he's not even a whole man- but he's an animal with a blade."

From your youngest age, your Mama had a saying that she so firmly burnt into your mind: 'Life is woven by the Sisters of Fate, little bun. Even the roads you pick today could decide whether you're peasant or Princess.'

It's a simple enough sentiment, you find. Some girl works as a tailor and the owners wife's sister happens to know the Viscount, the Viscount sends his daughter to get her dress adjusted and she just so happens to flatter the daughter just so, and now she's being invited to work in his manor in the hillside- little coincidences, gargantuan conclusions.

It is also a line of thinking you take with a grain of salt, fun to play around with but never something to give much thought to- after all, the knowing doesn't help you control where the path is going.

But perhaps you should have paid a touch more attention.

It starts as simple as; you work in a bakery.

Kneading dough until your arms are sore, sneezing through flour more times than you can count, cursing the Gods over too-sticky dough that stubbornly clings to the parts of your hands you didn't powder enough.

And then, Valdefelle Wheat burns down and you're the only bakery as close with even half their reputation-

You have an order that will completely wipe the entire shop, more pastries and breads and sweets than you could possibly make on time, some you'd never even tried to make before, but your father is a man of great pride and he takes the job anyway.

Against all odds, you manage it.

And suddenly, somehow, some way, you're going to Duskset Castle- you're going to the masquerade? The fabled masquerade?

All because you work in the right shop, at the right time, and earned the gratitude of the right head cook?

Your father is practically bleating the entire time, nothing but pride and haughty showmanship, he tells every single patron of your humble little establishment about how he saved the masquerade, and how his own daughter will be attending it as if she were royalty.

You unsubtly swipe more flour across your face- feigning an itch- in the hopes that the powdery white will hide your mortification.

But that was then, and this is now, no time to ponder the circumstances of your situation.

The castle is colossal, a dauntless spear of maroon masonry peaked with centuries-old gargoyles that snarl against the delicate snow on their immortal faces, windows of stained glass are set into dramatic, arching windows and glitter like jewels against the sunset. Decorating high rails and battlements are silk draperies so delicate it seems as if snow alone would permanently ruin them, and following all the way from the bridge are massive candelabras, clearly set that same eve to light the way for carriages of gentry.

You are settled into the back of one of the 'guest' carriages, a service offered to the families of those that work for the castle. They're all fine people, eagerly making conversation amongst themselves and readily inviting you along when you are brave enough to voice yourself, tossing delicate opinions and quiet wit that they seemed happy to partake in, never even questioning your presence among them.

"Are you ready, Lass? You'll be meetin' all the finest of Zeivengarda tonight."

"What do you mean?" Your gaze hasn't left the window of the carriage, even as it slowly comes to a crawl you take this moment of relative privacy to study those that escape their, much finer, vehicles and immediately begin the game of mingling. You knew the tales of this masquerade- but the way the man speaks brings something of a nervous tic to your eye, fortunately concealed by the mask you wear.

The dresses of the women outside make you feel like you're wearing rags even as the gentleman who addressed you helps you down with a gentle but firm hand. Their masks sparkle in the brief that you see them, and you wonder how much they cost- if they were molded specifically so that they'd fit only their exact faces, as frozen in this moment in time.

"Well you see, Lass. The rumor is that Princess Oseira will be announcing her betrothed to the court at midnight. 'Tis what every Lord in country attends for."

It's true, you recognize the heraldry decorating almost every single carriage in the courtyard, all from far off regions of the country- all with an exuberant amount of power and wealth. They're hoping to be the next royal in line.

"Well, I'm glad I'm not a noble then," you mutter to him nervously, offering your best smile as you smooth sweaty palms down your eggshell and mint gown. "It seems dreadful to attend such a beautiful event and waste the whole night away worrying about the matrimonial inclinations of a single girl."

"Indeed," he aims a warm and fatherly smile in your direction as you begin to file in amongst the rest of the guests. "I find that a simple life is a happy one, you must be of a certain character to enjoy the game as they do."

Conversation lulls as you take your first steps through the thirty foot doors, you are in awe.

Where the exterior is dark and macabre, the interior of the castle truly befits a celebration called the Everfrost Jubilee. The floor is of sheer white, polished so thoroughly that you can see every person who walks across it, mirrored as if they stood atop a perfectly still lake. The bannisters are shimmering gold and hung with extravagant banners, each post holds a round, crystal lantern with fragranced candles burning gently inside.

The chandeliers are... nearly frightening. They're of a matching gold and molded in the form of dozens of angels, their hands outstretched bear the over-large blue and white candles that have been lit for this celebration, their wings all stretch back, framing the chains that holds the chandeliers up.

If they fell, you think grimly, you don't even think the floor itself would survive.

There are massive trees, pine, set up at intervals around the ballroom. They've been decorated with thousands of little crystalline sculptures of animals and children and snowflakes that make them glisten as if wet or frozen. Settled on their tops are stars, about the size of your torso, that look as delicate as porcelain, glittering rainbow from the candlelight.

As you let the currents of bodies gently push you about, you take note of the shapes that dart in and out of crowds of frilly skirts and nearly-too-long coattails. It's the staff, dressed in white, blue and gold and dancing around with pleasant precision, a well oiled machine with polite smiles and perfect hair, they all wear identical masks, a stunning azure color with white embellished in the shape of ivory.

The man you walked in with departs from you abruptly, and you watch as he practically charges through the crowd to greet one such member of the staff, a young man of bright orange hair and boundless freckles whom you note looks strikingly similar- likely, then, to be his son. It's a sweet affair, with the man cupping his sons face and joyfully exclaiming, hugging him tight before the other apologetically pulls away, a hand lingering as long as possible before dashing off to see to his duties for the evening.

You find yourself abruptly, crushingly alone.

It should have occurred to you, really, you don't belong here- you have no friends or family within the castle, so naturally there would be no one to mingle with, just a drifting outcast in a gilded hall.

It's fine you think, refusing to let the sudden circumstances sour your mood. This was the very first, and perhaps very last time you'd ever touch the inside of these fabled halls- a place where the fate of every one of your countrymen is decided. You intended to soak up every facet of it's glory- or at least it's history, before you were inevitably sequestered to the outside, never to touch the silver spoon again.

Clusters of people have made their homes along the major staircases of the ball room, clinging to lavish rails and silk clad arms as they gossip about all the far corners of this land- stories that you find you actually yearn to hear, having never left the confines of home. You dance around them somewhat awkwardly, having never been trained to have the flittering grace of blue blooded etiquette- and offer brusque apologies as you step on gowns and toes alike.

It's odd, even as you escape the suffocating presence of bodies, what little you've learned already; like clockwork, one person says something and the others laugh- too throaty, too loud, blatantly false laughs. They can't possibly believe they're actually that funny, no? So it is a game, then.

The game, as that gentleman had said.

The halls of Duskset somehow manage to be both imposing and intimate, towering so far above you that you have to strain to look at it's meticulously embellished vaulted ceilings- and yet it is given to a quietness that makes the murmurs of conversation feel far more private here than it is in the ballroom.

It's due to this that you find yourself pushing deeper and deeper, until you grow uncomfortable that you might be in a place you do not belong. Not a single soul is to be found in the far recesses of the castle, and for the relief of no longer being perceived, you wonder if perhaps there was a rule you somehow had not been privy to, and that you would be banished from the castle for disobeying it.

What a tragedy that would be, to never even get to enjoy the full scope of the evening before being forced home.

Here, no candles have been lit yet, and the only light that guides your timid steps is that which yawns in from the massive windows.

The view is in itself an experience that you think might change you forever.

Duskset was borne as a fortress against invading forces half a millennia ago, settled atop a cliff to dominate the seas. Standing in front of crystal glass said ocean opens its arms to you, stretching out nigh infinitely into the horizon. From here you spot deceitfully gentle waves washing against rocks, and seafaring birds whose songs you wish you could hear, watching them dance around each other with the effortlessness of freedom the Gods deemed only them worthy of.

"Enjoying the view?"

You practically jump from your skin, and it takes everything to not let out an unflattering squawk of alarm at the sudden breach of your silent reverie.

"It's quite impolite to sneak up on a lady, you know?"

The man who stands across from you is unfamiliar, though charming and well groomed as would be expected of the attendance of the royal family, a fair skinned man whose hair or lack thereof has been secreted away underneath an extravagant blue mantel, bound to it is a large and entirely golden mask decorated with a landscape of elk and swans, the punctures for his eyes- icy gray- are surrounded by dozens of little diamonds meticulously placed.

"My apologies, my dear Madame, I did not mean to frighten... I must admit that I saw you the moment you stepped foot within Duskset. Such a startlingly refreshing face in these otherwise drab and tedious affairs!" he approaches you slowly, and you take note of the very strong smell of alcohol and perfume that wafts off of him.

Already so much, and so early?

"When I saw you leave the party, I simply could not pass the opportunity to invite you to be among my entourage for the evening, if only to behold what enigmas may lie behind that mask of yours." It's said as a compliment, and yet pings your conscious, making you hyperaware of how ill fitting your humble ensemble is compared to the rest- especially those of his creed.

Your dress, green and blue, is the only truly formal dress you've ever owned- hand made by your mother for you maiden day, and one of the last gifts you have from her. The mask was decidedly less sentimental, it's a simple piece of aspen wood you paid decent coin to have whittled into a mask- the woodworker, a kind fellow, embellished it with a snowflake on one of it's corners, free of charge.

But it's nothing compared to the gold and porcelain and jewels of this Jubilee, truly they must think you unkempt.

It insights a feeling of bitterness, wondering if the man is inviting you because he truly is intrigued by you and what you might think, or if he simply wants a tale of mingling with the low folk to make himself look better in the eyes of his fellow oblivious gents.

Nevertheless, "I would gladly. The views here are rather stunning, but I find myself feeling disappointed- the celebration of a lifetime and no one to talk to."

You offer him your best attempt at a smile when he grants you his soft hand, well maintained and without a hint of roughness. You were one of the lucky women, your work did not invite labor that was too aggressive on the hands- perhaps the forearms and shoulders- but your hands remained delicate enough that you did not blanch at the possibility of direct contact. And with your silent acquiescence, he begins to guide you back toward the jovial intonations of violins and lutes.

Almost immediately however, you are offered the second scare of the evening.

This time presents you with less of a fright, despite being more alarming. You rounded the corner with the man- Marquis Francis Voumonte as you learned from his tipsy conversation- and a shadow simply appears behind the two of you. You must have jolted despite your lesser surprise at the sudden third presence, because the Marquis squeezes your hand and laughs that plastic way that seems utterly patronizing in the moment.

"I apologize again my dear! We barely know each other and already I have given you a fright more than I've made you laugh!"

You offer him a bashful, near uncomfortable smile as your eyes dark to the man who now follows behind you two, silent and uninclined to explain himself.

The Marquis says this dismissively... and then continues to explain nevertheless. "I hope he doesn't terribly frighten you, he's not even a whole man- but he's an animal with a blade."

The Marquis makes a show of dramatically chomping the air before laughing to himself. He's drunk enough that you feel no shame in looking over your shoulder at the man he'd so brazenly insulted.

The jab becomes clear once you really look at him.

He's dressed unlike anyone else in the entirety of the Castle, his outfit is a stark black mass of leather and metal, rough, visibly damaged, and unpolished- lacking all embellishment that would be customary for the evening. The only thing that matches- mostly likely under threat of being barred from entry- is a plain matte silver mask on his face. It's actually quite pretty, you think, shaped very simply like the face of some bird, perhaps a hawk.

But, he was missing an arm.

His outfit is crafted tastefully around it, extra armor braces against where you know the stump would be, and it fits quite well to his form. Unfortunately, it also highlights the absence.

He's looking at you.

You meet his eye, and it takes some effort to not look away. What you can see of his face is as rugged as the armor adorning him, but not... unpleasant.

Unkempt stubble graces his jaw, framed by a curtain of chin length brown hair. He seems unfazed by the way it gets into his face. Perhaps, you think, he enjoys the little privacy it grants him from the prying eyes of people who seem to think he is 'an animal with a blade.'

His eyes, you decide, are his finest feature. They're almost as blue as the massive curtains, but... lighter, they're the sky, but frozen over. That beautiful, immortal northern ice you've heard tales of from sailors.

His gaze doesn't waver, and yours doesn't either-

"Ah! We are here!" The Marquis is practically grating in your ear, dragging you from the curiosity that lingers around the man who acts as guard for him. You find yourself at a crowded alcove, so many men and women are here that they sit atop each other or lay out on lavish rugs and pillows thrown on the floor. No sooner is the Marquis letting you go than he is being dragged by giggling women in to the center of the mass.

This is the closest the mysterious man has gotten to you, passing by silently to take his place next to the Marquis- it makes sense of course, he's here for the Marquis and nothing else, but still you cannot refrain from the sharp pang of sympathy that runs through you. Here in this cramped corner the sheer size of the man is highlighted, a good few inches taller than his charge and twice as wide- not to mention the dainty women who giggle and squeal as he takes his place.

You can't tell if he's uncomfortable with this, but he certainly doesn't look happy.

"My dear! Why do you stand over there looking as if you are a servant and not one of the fine ladies of the evening? Come, come!"

"But Francis!" One of the girls exclaims with a fake level of joviality. "There's nowhere for her to sit! Would you have her drape out on top of us?"

The Marquis looks downright lascivious at the prospect. "Oh, certainly I would!"

You don't get any chance to object, or even to really soak in what was just said about you in front of you- hands immediately grab at you, paired with loud laughter and whistles as the women yank you into the alcove, you fumbling and apologizing as you nearly step on any number of body parts. Eventually, you're shoved aggressively-

You land directly in someone's lap.

The mortification is immediate- and grows a thousand times worse when you realize you recognize whose lap you're in.

The mysterious man.

His hand remains firmly at his side, and to his credit he looks as if he's trying very hard to be unfazed by this abrupt series of events, but he's staring directly at you and he looks as if you've grown two heads.

"I-I am so sorry—" you go to stand, but your attempts to flee from your humiliation are brutally interrupted.

"Do not apologize, dear! Likely the first woman he's touched in years," the man snorts. "A fine Lady such as yourself is a blessing upon him."

He's very good at hiding his reactions, but from so close you can hear his jaw click with agitation.

You're left with no options, to leave would be massively rude, but there is no place free for you to sit, so you awkwardly attempt to make yourself as comfortable as possible from as far off him as you can manage.

You shoot him a guilty glance, and when he stares back, he seems resigned.

"Tell us, Marquis! How did you manage to best the largest boar in Liselle forest with only a dagger and a branch?"

"Oh, I am so very glad you've asked..."

The Marquis seems to have forgotten you the second you're settled into place, rambling on about his great exploits as a hunter and gentleman.

You shoot glances back at the mysterious man every once in awhile, attempting to gauge he reactions to some of the things the Marquis says- you desperately want to believe you're not the only one here that thinks he may be embellishing slightly.

"And so there the foul man was! A blade in each hand and the fine lady trapped in the room behind him, I had no choice... I had to best him with-" the Marquis whips his hand out in front of him, practically lunging from his spot. "The leg of a chair!"

The nobles around him all jeer and clap, and one of the rather drunken fellows beside you jostles aggressively, the action nearly knocking you from your perch atop the mysterious mans knee. As you nearly slip, a large hand grabs you firmly, holding you in place.

You would be lying if you said every inch of where his hand laid wasn't on fire.

Large enough to encompass most of the small of your back, his grip was no more aggressive than need be, slackening until it simply rested there to ensure your stability- he was very warm.

Perhaps it's that he's done nothing to make you uncomfortable, perhaps it's the anonymity of the mask upon your face- perhaps you're simply getting high off the lavender and dream fumes that permeate this little alcove, curling coyly out from pipes in decorated hands, but you're struck with the bravery to fully turn and address the man whom has been so kind enough as to lend you his legs for the eve.

"Thank you..." you pause a moment, waiting for his gaze to flicker to you with a brief glint of surprise. "I- ...I never got your name, Sir?"

There's a long pause of silence, and you begin to regret asking- wondering if you've done something wrong, or perhaps-

"James." His voice is sand and water, a soft grit that washes across your skin with the puff of air that escapes his mouth and makes you feel somehow chilled and warm. He swallows thickly, and you wonder how often he actually gets the chance to speak, seemingly sequestered to dog that follows.

You offer your name quietly, hands fiddling shyly within your lap as you attempt perhaps a little desperately to strike conversation with the only person who doesn't seem like a drunkard in this entire castle.

"I'm sorry, again... For this and- the things the Marquis has been saying." Your voice is a whisper, though you know he can hear you, as his gaze doesn't leave yours the entire time. You think he's perhaps the first person since stepping through the castle doors that has actually seen you. "Seems terribly cruel treatment for the man he has entrusted with his life."

The man- James, you watch how his face morphs from neutral surprise to something sardonic, bitterness written gently across the pretty curl of his lips. You can feel the ire long before he musters the energy to respond, his chest expanding as he sucks in air. "There is no danger here."

He must note the confusion upon your face. "The Marquis isn't important enough. Hardly a soul here knows him as anything more than a leper and peddler of vices. I'm just here to inflate his ego- and status."

You smother an amused noise as he rolls his eyes. He's bold, to say these things mere feet from the Marquis, but you also note that everyone is practically roaring around you in conversation, emboldened by their consumption. You decide to join him, hoping to perhaps make both your evenings more pleasant.

"He has quite the penchant for exaggeration too, I take it?" You've leaned in a little closer, and nod your head as subtly as you can toward the Marquis. "A boar the size of a man, taken by a dagger and stick? "

That smile does not leave James' face, "perhaps by stick he means the tree he was hiding in while one of his entourage dealt with it?"

Amusement swirls in your stomach, and you look conspiratorially at him, draped out in some woman's arms as he goes on with his dozenth tale. "I don't know that the Marquis knows what a boar is."

"Perhaps he meant bear?"

"Mm. No, far too generous... Perhaps hare?"

James snorts, and you feel a little proud that you managed to squeeze a reaction out of the quiet man. "That, I could believe."

You sigh, staring out what little of the windows aren't obstructed by extravagant hairdos. "It's a shame, really. I was hoping for... more."

His head tilts slightly, intrigue caught, and you watch the pretty way the light winks off his simple, silver mask.

"I've spent my whole life in... a bakery in this city, not much happens. I just- I suppose I saw the opportunity to talk to people from places I've only dreamed of, and I am disappointed to find they're more concerned with the games they play and the alcohol they consume than the places they've been."

He hums quietly, and shifts. You catch it there as he looks away for a second, he's pondering something.

"So ask me."

"Excuse me?"

A smile returns to him, but it's not the malicious curl of moments ago- it's a soft slope, and there's nothing but politeness to be found there. "I've been to my fair share of places..."

The invitation is unexpectedly sweet.

"Okay... Um..." you shrug a little a, helpless laugh on your breath. "Your favorite place you've ever been?"

"Vesta's Crescent." For a moment, you fear he won't continue. "I was there protecting a Priest from more... Legitimate threats. We stayed at a between-ways beside an oasis. The whole world looked like it was on fire during the sunset.

Plus..." He nods plainly to the space where his arm would once have been. "The heat is more agreeable."

"Oh..." Your hand stretches a little on reflex, and you know that James catches sight of it. "The weather hurts, then? My Pa- it's not the same, I don't mean offense, but he injured his leg a long time ago, and always seems to know when a storm is coming because of it."

James seems unbothered by the comparison, listening intently to your familial little ramble, there's a glint of something in his eye like amusement. "I can't say I can predict the weather like your father," he begins, "but yes, the cold aches, the heat is far more bearable."

"My dears!" The Marquis exclaims loudly, jarring both you and James from your intimate little reverie in the corner. "I shall return soon! I bring more company."

They all cheer and you and James look at each other with mild panic- more? More people?

You begin to shift off of James, hoping to stand to let him follow the noble around as he drunkenly drags more partygoers into his net.

"No, no! Stay in your place, Madame! I will be only the briefest of moments!"

With that he charges off, his exuberant and off tune singing quickly fading as the others make idle chatter, dying down without the presence of their main attraction.

You turn back to James, a mischievous glint in your eye. "We're leaving, right?"

His reaction catches you off guard, he seems... surprised.

"I- you want to..?"

You lean in to whisper. "I don't know about you, but I'm quite confident we can carry on conversation without- ah- company."

You suddenly realize how wrong that sounds.

You don't miss the strangled cough that escapes James, his nod seeming a little jerky as he helps you up off of him. Unlike the nearly dizzying way the crowd had dragged you into the depths, James' hand in yours is gentle, and he helps you patiently as you step around and over people until you've both been freed of the confines of that too-tight alcove.

His hand is nothing like the Marquis'. Rough and calloused, the hand of a man who knew the meaning of hard labor, the kind of hands you were accustomed to, it was equal parts comforting and a touch exhilarating.

There's a moment of deliberation between the two of you, suddenly alone together and presented with nothing but options. You're about to suggest returning to the windows with the beautiful view, when your stomach decides to make it's presence known.

You'd be embarrassed, but he just shoots you a little smile and begins to guide you away, down to the banquet where hundreds of people swarm about, plucking food to nibble on as they guffaw about which maid stained which royals dress what color by accident.

It's more food than you've honestly ever seen, a massive table with a simple cloth draped over top displays hundreds of platters, stews and skewers, fish and poultry, several types of pork, beef, fruits and salads and desserts— you recognize your own pastries dancing around the larger dishes and feel a swell of pride.

There's a strange smell emanating from a pot of very viscous fluid that appears to have bits of perhaps cured meats, and you catch James frantically shaking his head at you when you look up. It makes you smile.

He's situated on the opposite side of the table directly across from you, having beelined straight for the things he knew he'd enjoy- you snort at the amount of meats. Typical.

There's a degree of impressiveness watching him work, he lacks a second hand to help him with his precision, and yet still he carves out clean slivers of juicy flesh and thin slices of what appears to be pigeon with some manner of sauce, placing them quickly on the plate he set on the table. He's even faster than you are, entirely unimpeded.

Feeling perhaps a touch attention seeking, you circle around the table to him, and he turns his head in your direction in acknowledgement when you broach his personal space, delicately snatching up pastries that you remember working into the early hours of the morning on. Laughing with your father as you cut little leaflets and twisted dough into precise shapes.

They're placed on James' plate with flittering lightness, picking out the ones you knew you liked most and hoped he would as well.

You wink at him when he gives you a confused smile, and off you both go, further down the table to look for more things to gorge yourself on until sick. You both spot the boar on the table at almost the same time, and when you spare a glance at each other- you're both already grinning.

Awkward laughter, and then you're pulling away to find some space- aware that the other guests are growing increasingly agitated by your lingering in front of the food.

"Sweet tooth?" It's the first thing he says when you both arrive at your destination, clambering up onto the deep set window sill to look out at the ocean- darker now- and enjoy your food in complete privacy.

You flush and duck your head, attempting an odd smile with your mouth full of food. It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to struggle through it- and James laughs not unkindly at your plight.

"Not quite..! I- ah-" bashful now that you must admit it. "My father and I made all of those pastries. We didn't even sleep there were so many to make. I guess I was just a little eager to show off."

He stares down at the five little treats you'd eagerly snuck in aside his main meal, a new interest having come over him. They're in a rainbow of pastels, pink, blue, yellow, green, and lavender, each with different flowers. You watch him as he tries each one, eager and wide eyed, and can't help the giggles that come over you each and every time. You can tell he wants to please you, and with each one he tries he gives awkward affirmations of how good they are.

Until he tries the green one.

For a second he chews normally, and then freezes- and even with the mask upon his face you can see the way he twists up as the taste settles in. It takes him a long time to swallow it down, and when he smiles he looks as if he's suffering horribly.

"You find it repulsive."

"N-No! It's- it's good. Really."

There's a moment you're staring blankly at him, and then erupt into peals of laughter.

Color immediately dusts his face, but he's laughing too, and when you straight up he's staring quite intently at your face. "It's okay if you find it horrible." You wipe away tears, "you liked the others and that's enough for me."

"I don't- often eat pastries and that..." he shutters, "I don't know what that was."

"Ginger."

"Oh." It's said with the inflection of finding out a neighbor of yours has a contagious infection.

You snort again, and this time James is more than willing to join you in your smaller fit of giggles.

High above, a sharp chime settles over the castle, beautiful twinkling bells that have you staring up at the massive ceiling.

"The dance is starting," James' voice is plain, dull in a way that sounds borderline forced. "Everyone will be attending."

For a minute you just sit there, allowing the quiet to wash between the two of you as you build up the courage for something you never thought you'd ask- let alone a strange masked man who has become your near silent companion for the evening.

"Would you like to dance..?"

A certain degree of shame washes over James as he looks at his lone hand, mortified by the thought of being seen out there. "I don't think I can."

"Ah..." you ponder, "well. I don't know how, so I supposed we'll both just do it wrong together, hm?"

He looks at you, once again surprised by how unfazed you are by him, his presence.

"If you're uncomfortable... We don't have to go to the dance floor." You're looking away from him, boring a hole into one of the walls with shyness. "Just need to be close enough to hear it."

You don't get a response, and are prepared to shoulder the rejection when he slides off the ledge and offers you his lone hand, the little of his face you can see is pinched up nervously, but he offers you a smile anyways when you take his hand.

It's the same hall you first saw him in, ringing softly with the intonations of grandiose ballroom music. He steps up to you, awkward and with a severity of a soldier practicing drills, it makes you smile as you situate as best you know how, remembering what little your mother had gotten to teach you before her passing.

It's... not good. You step on his feet a lot, and he moves as if he has frostbite- the whole thing is jarring and out of sync, and it seems as if it's destined to be a disaster.

He hangs his head, and softly, "I'm no good at this."

You sigh, sagging with a little smile. "Me either."

From there the pieces between begin to fall together. He releases your hand to take your hip, pulling you a little closer, and you slide both of your arms up so that they rest on his shoulders. It would be indecent to be caught so close, so intimate, but his face is finally beginning to relax, and that softness is returning to his pretty blue eyes. You both just sway together, with no particular dance in mind, and for all that it isn't a Princely fairytale, you still feel as if everything is magic.

"May I..." you start, and he hums when you trail off, losing your nerve.

"May I... ask..?" You look to his arm. "I- I mean, I've met men and women alike missing bits and pieces in the past but, never..."

"Hm," he seems unagitated by the question, that curtain of hair serving to hide him a little more as he looks away from you and to the stump of what used to be. "It- it was an injury, and then it wasn't...

...I was a soldier before a mercenary, in service of Alligan during the Night War. It was the battle of Endless Edge, if you know your history you know that his arrogance meant that we were played for fools, they had us with our backs to the cliff. One of my men, Dougan, he- nearly fell off the edge, my only thought was to get in the way.

I don't remember hitting the ground, it tore my arm off above the elbow, but I know that Alligan's men weren't the ones that found me. They took more, and more, in the hopes of getting knowledge from me. They would have... but I was lucky, my men disobeyed Alligan, attacked the fortress in which I was held. It was their surprise that saved me. But it was far too late for my arm."

He speaks of it plainly, no hurt nor anguish to be found, but still you find yourself twisting up in knots for this poor man. To be called such wretched names, and for what? For being honorable enough to suffer for your friends?

You shyly trace your hand over the armored plates that once would have held his arm, the sleeve long since removed.

"You're a very brave man, James." You stare up at him and something strange has come into his eyes, sharp and deep like lightning over the ocean. "Very few would have the heart to sacrifice themselves, and the will to survive the inimitable cruelty of men that have decided you're not human.

Not to mention... The cruelty of pigs like Francis who think to call you names for it."

His lips part, your name a whisper on his breath- but the music is swelling, coming to it's conclusion, and James instead takes this opportunity.

He dances you around, hand pressed more confidently to the small of your back so that your chests are nearly touching, and you giggle as you stumble slightly, pulled along by the sheer strength of the man who has some new fire in his eyes. Right as the music crescendo's for the final time, he dips you low, the entirety of your weight borne on his single arm, and yet he does not seem to strain.

Here you are so close to him your masks nearly touch. The pleasant scent of leather and sweat and cold air are all that come from him, a welcome and blessed reprieve from the assault of perfumes and fragrances everyone else has worn.

His eyes do not leave yours. "You are an incredibly special woman, little baker."

You blink, dumbfounded, and then you're being straightened back out, the final dance finished. His hand remains at your side, his face soft behind the silver bird.

"It's close to midnight," he says, voice a murmur. "It's customary that the second time the bells chime, we remove our masks."

That brings a degree of nerves.

"Very well..." you clear your throat shyly. "Would you like to head for the main ballroom, then? To join the others."

He nods, though you're not sure if he actually cares in the least at that moment.

The walk back is silent, and surprisingly the ballroom itself has gentled considerably, the food cleared and the guests now content to talk more quietly, the laughter more genuine- you suspect that these are the true friends now, instead of the large systems of contacts and acquaintances attempting to seal deals and grow power.

James leads you down to the main floor, and you can't help but note with amusement how different you both look compared to the rest. Your outfits stand out like beacons against the sea of blues and whites and golds, but it feels somehow reassuring. Both of you, isolated together.

"Will I see you again?"

You don't know why, but the thought that after this, this strange man who kept you of all people company the entire night, could just disappear into the ether like a spectre... It was terrifying.

He's staring at you again, and you can see thoughts rolling around in his eyes. "I would like to, if I can. If you'd like."

"I would."

The chimes begin to sound, and your heart leaps into your throat, this whole night and you'd finally be seeing the entirety of each others faces- it felt debauched after growing so adjusted to the anonymity.

You both reach up slowly, hesitantly, and before you allow yourself to grow too nervous, you pry your mask away.

You remove it form your vision in time to see James's entire face.

He is devastating.

His face was softer than you'd expected, not exactly boyish, but with a sweetness and openness that made his already piercing eyes feel absolutely devouring.

His smile makes his eyes crinkle, and you hate your face being exposed immediately, you can feel every bit of heat flood directly to your face.

"Hi."

"Hello."

There's another awkward second, and James laughs, biting his lip in a way that makes you feel something uncouth.

"May I ask something in return now..?" He steps a little closer to you, staring at the mask that sits now in his hands instead of upon his handsome face.

"Of course."

"What bakery is it that you work at..? I would quite like that opportunity to see you again- in less grandiose terms."

"Essel's Treats... I think less grandiose sounds excellent, James." His name wavers slightly as it escapes you, and it makes his eyes spark again.

And then he's taking your hand and pressing his lips gently to the top, pulling away only to look at you through his lashes.

"I look forward to our next meeting with bated breath."

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #mcu #my fic #Bucky Fic #Bucky Fluff #Fluff Fic

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klarastjarnljus · 4 years ago

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Fettisdagen (fat tuesday), in Sweden, is also called Semmeldagen (semla day) because we eat semla pastries. My mom and grandmother used to bake the buns but it's been decades since I baked a batch of semlebullar myself.

Basically, it's a wheat bun baked with cardamom and brushed with egg. When it's cool, you cut the top off horizontally, pinch out some bread from the bottom part and mix with as much almond paste as you can possibly fit (it's like marcipan but coarser) and a teaspoon of milk or cream to make stuffing. Fill the bun with the stuffing, top the stuffing with whipped cream and put the top part of the bun on top of it all like a little hat. Dust it with powder sugar.

We had ours on monday, but I didn't take a pic of it so I painted one.

Back in the day, it wasn't stuffed with almond paste, but with pork, since, you know, like, eat all of the fat before lent! Almond paste wasn't used until the 19th century or so, and the piped pile of whipped cream not until the 20th century. Whipped cream was used mixed in with the filling long before, though, as well as butter and other kinds of fat.

In 1771, the Swedish king Adolf Fredrik famously died after a rich shrove tuesday dinner finished with 14 servings of "hetvägg", semla served in a dish of warm milk. He was 60 years old and not in the best of health for a period of time before that, and the cause of death was a stroke, but the enormous dinner most likely was the trigger.

The word "semla" is, etymologically, referring to the wheat bun, and in Finland and Austria only means (not sweet) bread roll. In southern Sweden and Swedish Finland, Norway and Denmark, the pastry is called Fastlagsbulle/Fastelovnsbolle (fasta=lent). In Finland, it is called Laskiaispulla, which is basically the same word. It's also common in Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and parts of Germany, from what I understand. In different regional versions, it can also be filled with custard or jam.

This year, my sister baked a whole braided loaf, cut it in half horizontally and made it into a magnificent semla loaf for her family, and I've got her permission to share a pic with you

That's all for me, over to @graveyarddirt

#hagging out #hagging out february 2021 #lent #shrove tuesday #semla #swedish traditions #history

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angelguk · 5 years ago

Text

→ on my mind — jeongguk scenario pt.1

Jeon Jeongguk - BTS

word count: 8.3k

genre: domestic!au + established relationship + fluff + smut

warnings: slow build / oral sex (fem receiving) / fingering / toys / multiple orgasms / over-stimulation / breeding kink / mild choking / creampie

soundtracks: eyedi, luv highway + olivia nelson, smother me

special thanks to @gukkheaven for beta reading this. you’re an absolute gem!

Jeongguk has no idea how Namjoon is going to clean up this mess. Confetti scatters the dark wooden floorboards like leaves burying the sidewalks during autumn. Silver streamers accompany the coloured flakes of paper and he swears that there’s a glob of ice-cream somewhere on the ground because the bottom of his slipper is suspiciously wet. He instinctively wants to put everything in order, make sense of the chaos surrounding him, but it’s a futile effort that’ll only be thwarted by the hordes of children occupying his friend’s house. So he settles for the garden instead, lounging by the towering lemon tree Namjoon planted a few years ago, where he has a scenic view of Taehyung almost burning the burger patties on the grill.

“Taehyung!” Seokjin comes storming out of the glass doors, slippers slapping the ground ferociously. “What are you doing? Those look like bits of coal. Do you want the kids to lose their teeth?”

“They barely have any and I was trying to help!” Taehyung retorts defensively. Jeongguk can hear the sincerity in his voice, the conversation nearly being drowned out by Baby Shark blaring in the background. He’d quickly gotten tired of the song after the tenth time he’d heard it, but, at the children’s behest, the song had stayed on the speakers for a majority of the party. Even if it drove everyone person over the age of ten closer to the brink of insanity.

“Jeongguk!” Seokjin’s glaring at him now, seemly forgiving Taehyung’s efforts at cooking. “Are you on holiday over there?” Jeongguk can’t even get a word out of his mouth before he continues. “No? Well then get your butt here, we’ve got hungry children to feed and I won’t hesitate to offer you as the first course.”

Jeongguk moves like lightning across the lawn, reluctantly taking the spatula Seokjin shoves in his hand. The burgers are burnt but still salvageable so he gets to work before they become truly inedible and Seokjin makes true of his words.

Meanwhile, Seokjin grabs Taehyung by his collar and drags him inside, muttering under his breath. Taehyung’s bewildered face draws a chuckle out of his chest. But then they’re gone and Jeongguk is alone, manning the grill under the pleasant gaze of the late afternoon sun. He loses himself for a moment, blocking out all sounds as he flips patty after patty and then dumps them on the whole wheat buns Namjoon insisted on.

The sound of the doors sliding open once more briefly catches his attention, his eyes flickering towards the figure emerging. He suspects its Seokjin coming to berate him once more and then his eyes fall on you and Jeongguk nearly falls face first into the grill.

There’s a sea of children desperately clutching to the hem of your yellow sundress. As you step out you drag them into the garden, carefully trying not to step on their little feet. Your features look worn, yet there’s still a soft smile gracing your face and the sunlight that lingers in your eyes lights up your whole face. But his eyes aren’t drawn to that, the thing that makes his heart flip in his chest is the baby in your arms.

“Alright guys, you can play here for a bit, right?” He can hear the strain in your lilted voice but your tone is still cheery. It hurts to look away from you but if he doesn’t he’ll char the burgers. Yet, from his peripheral vision, he can tell the kids are reluctant to let you go – especially Soomi, Jimin’s oldest.

“Unni, you’ll play too?” She grasped the concept of speech faster than the rest of the kids. She’d also learned how to manipulate people’s emotions pretty fast too thanks to her good old dad and it’s evident she’s whining more than she needs to. He can hear the pout in her voice. She’s exactly like Jimin in the best and worst way.

“Hmm,” You shuffle away, gently shaking their grubby hands off your dress. “I need to get Yeseul-ie to sleep first, is that okay?”

Soomi isn’t happy, but she can’t protest against that so she nods her head then flits off with the other kids. He’s already envisioning the grass and dirt stains but then you slide up beside him, Yeseul drifting away in your arms, and shove your elbow into his rib cage.

“Aw! What the f-”

“Language,” You berate, lightly bouncing Yeseul in your arms.

He wants to snap back but he can’t. Instead, his gaze involuntarily softens and his heart slightly melts. You’ve got baby drool stains down the front of your dress and Yeseul incredibly small head is resting against your chest. He’d never realised just how much Yeseul resembled Namjoon but he can see it now, the sunshine basking upon her small features. Her eyes are exactly like his and even with her falling half asleep, it’s evident that her mouth and nose are exact copies of Namjoon’s too. But there’s something about how serene she looks in your arms, the dark tufts of hair on her head shifting with the cool breeze and the small little sighs she makes as she shifts deeper into sleep, make his heart ache with emotions he didn’t know existed until this moment.

He glances up, having abandoned cooking because his brain can’t focus on anything else but this right now, to find you gazing at Yeseul too. There’s clear adoration in your eyes and when you sway your dress flits around your figure. The sight makes him pause, eyes flickering between the two of you; paired with the distinct smell of baby floating in his nose, the ecstatic screams of children in the background and the child in your hands, his brain goes blank. And then, suddenly, it clicks.

Family.

“She’s adorable, isn’t she,” You say, cutting off the rush of images playing in his head. Because as soon as the word clicks in his head he sees everything – the little hands, the first steps, the gurgles, and small smiles, the way your tummy would swell from the bump. It’s maddening. He’d never truly thought that far – well of course he had, children would come one day, but this was an overwhelming crushing rush of emotion that was blossoming in his chest and threatening to suffocate his heart.

“Jeongguk?”

“Huh – what? Yeah, she’s cute. Looks a lot like Namjoon too.” He briefly wonders who his kids would take after. He hopes it’s you – your face is probably his favourite thing in the world to look at.

“Literally a carbon copy.” Yeseul’s sighing in your arms and Jeongguk is blatantly not looking at you anymore. “Guess I better take her back inside. Don’t burn the food, Seokjin will have your head on a stake.”

“Yeah, yeah I know, fully aware of the threats, baby.” He doesn’t want you to leave, or to take Yeseul away, but he doesn’t know how to say that without exposing the new feelings that are currently wreaking havoc in his mind.

“Hmm, okay. If the kids are still out when you’re done, bring them in.”

He hums and when you turn away his eyes trail after your retreating figure. He can’t take his eyes off you for the rest of the evening either, even when Soomi digs her fingers into Yeseul’s cake and playfully wipes vanilla cream on your face (retribution for not playing with her earlier). You grin despite the mess and he can see it already, what type of mother you’d be. It doesn’t help that literally everyone keeps shoving a child into your arms. Seokjin’s wife, Seoyeon practically dumps ten-month-old Chansook in your arms while she runs after the twins. The kids cause chaos but he’s suddenly not bothered by it anymore, not when you have that faint smile on your face (there’s a smidge of cream on your cheek) and a content sleepy baby in your arms.

For a split second, he wishes that that baby belonged to the both of you.

→

Jeongguk never realised there were so many small families roaming Seoul. He was fully aware that his best friends didn’t know what the term ‘pulling out’ meant which is why they had so many damn kids, but he’s surprised to find that more and more couples were having kids. Case in point, the quaint little cafe he was currently sitting in. He’d chosen a table relatively close to the entrance so he wouldn’t miss you but by doing that, he's also surrounded himself by parents and their kids looking for a little relief from the warm sun outside. Across from him sat a young mother who had a little baby bouncing in her arms. Jeongguk couldn’t discern the child’s face but it looked soft and squishy. Yeseul immediately came to his mind, dragging back the memory of you holding her that he had successfully repressed for one whole month. It was making his heart do funny swoops, so he grabbed his iced Americano, stuffing the straw in his mouth and tried his best to ignore her cooing.

��Is that for me?” Your voice clouds over the thoughts consuming his head. When he glances up, you’re sliding into the seat before him, conveniently blocking the other woman from his view.

“Of course it’s not, go buy your own coffee.”

You scoff, drawing the cup to your lips. “Cute. Thanks for buying this though, really needed it today.”

“Seungmin’s being a dick again isn’t he?” Jeongguk replies, eyes taking in the cotton pink dress that loosely caresses your frame. “When did you change?” He remembers you leaving this morning, black slacks and white blouse - a stark contrast to the burst of pink sitting before him.

“When is Seungmin not being a dick?” Your fingers drum against the cup. “I think it’s because I took a half day off. The thought of me relaxing physically hurts him,” You pause once more, eyes narrowed at the table below you before your brain registers what Jeongguk asked. “The dress? Carried it to work. Yoona insisted on half of us wearing pink and the other half blue. Do I look bad?”

There’s a small smile on his face when he shakes his head. “You look amazing. Leave Seungmin, his heart is bitter for no reason.”

“I don’t know. I feel kind of bad. There’s a lot going on in the office right now and a few extra hands would help everyone.”

“You feel bad for taking time off so you can go for a baby shower? Which is for your childhood friend?” Incredulity clouds his eyes. “What did Seungmin say to you?”

“Nothing,” You murmur, eyes downcast. Your fingertips are now drumming against the table. as you slowly lose yourself in your head. His warm hand that is now wrapped around your own, stops the drumming and pulls you right back to reality.

“Hey,” Jeongguk is closer than before, the side of the table pressing against his ribs. His thumb grazes against the back of your palm, eliciting a river of calm through your body. You keep your gaze trained on his, feeling awfully seen by his wide doe eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with taking this day off. It’s important to you isn’t it?” You nod because it is. Yoona was your longest friend and this was her first pregnancy, you wanted to be a part of this milestone. “So, you have every right to go,” He continues. “Seungmin is just a bitter old fuck who wants to work you to death. Forget about him. Alright?”

“Alright.”

The urge to kiss him rushes through your chest, but Jeongguk leans forward before you can even think about doing so. It’s a chaste peck but he still leaves a warm imprint of coffee and sugar on your lips. Part of you wants to pull him closer, deepening the kiss, leave his lips tinged red. But you’re in public so you shove the thought away for later. Maybe for tonight.

But you’re still smiling when he leans away, cheeks hot. How he managed to make you feel like a loopy lovesick teenage was lost on you.

“Have you bought a present?” He asks, still holding onto your hand.

“Nope. Was gonna buy it now actually. There’s a store for babies around here.”

“Cool. Wanna go? We might get stuck in traffic on the way there.”

“Yeah. I think it’s a ten-minute walk.”

Jeongguk helps you up, slipping his fingers between yours. His eyes catch a glimpse of the woman who was sitting behind you. Her child is deep asleep within her arms but she’s smiling softly at the two of you, gaze focused on your intertwined hands.

He can’t stop thinking about it during the short walk to the store. Inside, his mind slightly deteriorates because there are baby things everywhere. Its piles and piles of miniature items of clothing in every pastel colour available. There are little shirts that say silly phrases like ‘momma’s boy’ and ‘daddy’s girl’ in the front section that catches his eyes but before he can suggest you anything, you make a beeline for the onesie section, leaving him stranded and overwhelmed in the centre of the store.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you need any assistance?” The clerk who’s staring at him has a trained welcoming face but her surprise is apparent in her eyes. “Shopping for your wife?”

“Uh, no. My girlfriend-”

“Oh, your girlfriend! What exactly are you looking for? Is she here?”

“Yeah, we walked in but I just lost her. We’re looking for something for a new born? Do you can carry clothes in that size?”

“We do, follow me. We’ll find her along the way, I'm sure. Pregnant women can be fast on their feet sometimes!”

It takes him a moment for him to piece together her last sentence. “No - uh - we’re not, I am mean, she’s not p-”

“Jeongguk!” You come spinning around the corner, conveniently right before him and the clerk, a white onesie in your hands. “Come here, I found the cutest thing ever.”

The clerk’s eyes are trained on your very not pregnant belly. She looks beyond confused and the only thing Jeongguk can do is blush very hard. His head feels like it’s going to explode.

“Um,” The clerk says, carefully mulling over her words. “Some people tend to show quite late.”

“Show what?” You’re ambling towards them, the bright smile on your face fading as you take in the red tinge on your boyfriend’s ears. “What are we being shown?”

“Sorry, ma’am, I meant-”

“We’re looking for a present!” Jeongguk blurts out, ignoring the look of disdain the clerk gives him and the still confused expression sitting on your face. “For a baby shower. It should be gender neutral. Could you show us something like that?”

The clerk smooths her features, pointedly not looking at Jeongguk. She gestures to the onesie in your hands. “That’s a good choice. It’s soft and fluffy. Perfect for all genders and any new born. May I suggest getting a stuffed toy as well?”

You nod, falling in step with the clerk while Jeongguk tries to calm the heart slamming against his chest. He doesn’t know why he was so nervous, why the thought of someone assuming you were pregnant was making his palm sweat and his mind cloudy. But as he trails after your retreating figures, he’s reminded of Yeseul once more. And how beautiful you looked holding her. It’s getting harder and harder to push the thought of you, holding a child that was both his and yours, in your arms out of his mind.

“How’s this?” You shove a miniature giraffe in his arms. “You think a baby would like a giraffe?”

“Babies don’t know what animals are. I doubt they care too.” He knows he sounds like Yoongi but he really wants to leave this store. Like now.

The displeased frown you give him makes him sigh. “Fine, it’s cute. Any baby would like it.”

“Giraffe it is.”

You’re at the counter, idly chatting with another store clerk when his eyes land on them. They’re small, so very tiny, that his mind can’t comprehend how any human being could have feet that small. Fascination drives his legs towards them. In his hands, they look like a speck of dust. But they’re so soft, impossibly so, and he can already see the tiny feet that would go inside them. Those small ten little toes and those short stubby chubby legs that all babies have. And those squishy cheeks and gummy smiles.

His heart is doing weird things in his chest and he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“That’s cute.”

Jeongguk twists around to find you clutching a white gift bag, you’re eyes locked on him and curiosity sitting on your face. His heart leaps in his chest and he holds onto the booties like they’re his only lifeline.

“Yeah,” His ears are burning red and he knows it. “They are cute. Should we get them?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure, why not. Peach is pretty.”

He’s tight-lipped when you return to the counter. When you move to pay for the booties, Jeongguk gently pushes you aside and offers his card, a blank expression on his face but his eyes are oddly wistful. You choose not to comment, silently lacing your fingers together as you amble back to the street. You make a point to thank the clerk that assisted you on your way out, she’s staring at Jeongguk in a manner that makes you almost suspicious. But you brush it aside - it’s not like he’ll be visiting a shop like this anytime soon.

“Do you want to pass by a store and get her a card?” He says softly. The walk back to the car had been serene. Jeongguk had stayed silent, gently swinging your intertwined hands between the two of you as you ambled through the bustling city streets. The contemplative look in his eyes was a clear indicator that something was bothering him. You want to probe, figure out the problem on his mind so that you can smooth away the furrow in his eyebrows. But you know how Jeongguk is. He’ll say eventually, and it’s better to let him say it rather than forcing it out of him.

You shake your head, pulling the seat belt over your chest. “Nope. Got her one yesterday. You know the location, right?”

The car hums beneath you as he pulls out from the parking space. “Yeah, I’m good.” His wrist is draped over the steering wheel, the silver chain bracelet you gave him for your three year anniversary tapping against it. The date engraved on the silver plate at the centre of the chains stares back at you. It’s the date you first met and just the thought of it brings a smile to your face. His face is set, he’s still lost in his thoughts, but you lean over the gear stick and press a soft kiss against his cheek.

“What was that for?” There’s a discernible lift in his tone and the smile that greets you makes your heart feel too big for your chest.

“Nothing.”

He huffs. “I would kiss you back but I would like to get to our destination alive.”

“You could pull over.”

“Tempting,” He muses but his foot doesn’t ease on the gas. “Unfortunately if we do that I might not let you go to the baby shower after all.”

“Well then, I’ll cash in on that kissing offer later. Maybe tonight.”

“Whatever you want m’lady.”

The tense atmosphere that was hanging over him lifts after that, and you both fall into a steady conversation. It’s been a while since you just talked, and with the driver being nearly two hours, there’s ample opportunity for Jeongguk to tell you about all the drama wreaking havoc over his department. But, for some reason, the drive feels shorter than it actually is. When you pull up to the botanical gardens Yoona booked for her baby shower, you’re almost reluctant to get out the car.

“You have arrived at your destination,” He says in a clipped, GPS navigator voice. The engine cuts and Jeongguk twists around to the backseat to retrieve your presents. He hands them to you gently, giving you a small peck on your lips as he does so. “Looks like you can’t cash in on that offer anymore.”

“You’re stupid, never kiss me again.” But you don’t get out of the car. The stupid grin on his face keeps you planted to your seat.

“Call me when you’re done,” He states, oblivious to your hesitation. “But an hour before, so I pick you on time.”

“Don’t stress, I’ll just call an Uber. Sorry for bothering you on your day off.”

“It’s no biggie. I don’t mind being your personal chauffeur, what else is a boyfriend good for.” Jeongguk’s eyes are staring at the spectacle behind you. Yoona went all out for her first baby shower but she’s always been overly extravagant so you’re not surprised. He clearly is though. “That’s quite a baby shower.” You’re about to reply but then his eyes narrow in a manner that makes you alarmed. “Everyone…. Is everyone there pregnant?”

You turn, eyes landing on Miyeon and Gyeong who were starting to show, their bellies pushing against the loose fabric of their dress. Although they don’t compare to Yoona’s stomach. She has a bright smile on her face and the evident pregnancy glow about her. The music playing mingles with the laughter and endless chatter coming from your friends. The sound flows like a stream to your ears, propelling your hand to unlock the door.

“Yeah. Miyeon and Gyeong are in the first trimester. Or they just finished, I’m not sure. Kind of cool how they got pregnant at the same time though.”

“Yeah,” He mumbles.

You reach over, the hand not clutching onto your gifts squishing his cheeks. “See you later, baby. Drive safe okay.”

“Yeah, see you. Love you.”

Jeongguk watches you walk towards your friends, acutely aware of the fact that you looking like the only one without a child on your hip or in your womb. On the drive back, he kept mulling it over. You’d never said you wanted kids, like outright. Of course, you’d talked about starting a family, potential names, and all the stuff infatuated couples muse over. But you’d never suggested that you wanted a family. You both had boxes of condoms stored in the house and they were put to use more often than not. But you were growing old and kids had to come at some point. Right? Right.

At least that’s what he tells himself.

→

The click at the door tells him you’re home.

Jeongguk has a blanket draped over his legs, a bowl of grapes tucked against his thigh and his laptop perched on his lap. He wants to get up and hug you but the spot he’d been cemented to for hours was far more comfortable than the prospect of standing up. But he pauses his current episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and watches you shuffle into the living room. Your lipstick smudged and your eyes are kind of red. You keys are tossed onto the coffee table as you approach, sinking into the couch beside him.

“Are you drunk?” He asks. He doesn’t expect the reproachful look you give him.

“Who serves alcohol at a baby shower? And hello to you too.”

“No - I didn’t mean it like that. Your eyes are really red and your face looks blotchy, babe.”

“Blotchy?” You laugh. “Thanks for the compliment babe. I look like this because I was crying.”

He’s upright and holding you in an instant. “What? Why? What happened? Are you okay? Babe look at me.”

His thumb caresses your cheek and the wide fearful look of concern in his eyes makes you feel warm.

“No, not like that,” You smile but you can tell Jeongguk isn’t buying it.”Just – just Yoona. We talked a lot today and she reminded me of all the silly promises we made to each other when we were kids. They were good tears, I swear.”

“Oh.” He leans back but his fingers don’t leave your skin. “But you’re okay.”

“Very fine. Great actually. The baby shower was really nice. Still can’t believe my best friend is having a kid.” You get up from the couch, you’re face suddenly feeling very sticky from the copious amounts of makeup on your skin. “I’m gonna go shower and I can’t believe you’re watching season five without me.”

“Sorry, we can rewatch the episodes you missed now if you want.”

You shake your head. “Tomorrow maybe. I’m feeling drained.”

Jeongguk finds you burrowed in the sheets thirty minutes later. Your eyes are closed but the subtle shifting beneath the blankets is a dead give-away that you haven’t fallen asleep yet. While he’s undressing, Jeongguk can’t shake off the events of today. They run through his mind so fast that he feels dizzy. First the lady at the cafe, then the clerk at the store and of course him finding out that practically everyone but you was pregnant at the baby shower. It’s an exaggeration - only like three people were visibly pregnant - but still, it was starting to feel like everyone in the world but you were knocked up.

He slides into bed with a weight on his chest, the concept of you carrying his child sitting in his mind. You’re body slots against his and Jeongguk absentmindedly snakes his hand to your waist, resting his palm against your stomach. He’s staring hard at the dark wall, the words he wants to stay heavy on his tongue.

You beat him to it.

“Are you okay?” You can feel him ruminating behind you.

He’s silent, but you can hear the rush intake of breath and his heartbeat is wild against your back. You stay quiet too, hoping he’ll fill the empty air with his word eventually.

“I,” There’s a pause and you can tell he’s apprehensive to share what he’s feeling. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Would you have kids with me?”

The question throws you so off guard that it takes you a moment to think of a reply.

“Yeah, of course – uh – where is this coming from?”

The pad of his thumb trails against your tepid skin, tracing patterns that leave a pit in your stomach. His bare back is pressed against yours and there’s already a small warmth ebbing from your core. You’re suddenly awake and you twist around to face him. His eyes glimmer in the dark. You try to decipher the wistful look in his gaze but the wisps of his hair obscure your eyes from his.

“It’s nothing. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Us? I don’t know – I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. I just-”

“You just what?”

The blush spilling on his cheeks tinges his ears. “I don’t know - maybe - I just want to start a family.”

You blank at the thought, mind reeling from the confession that has just slipped from his lips. He senses the uncertainty that descends upon you and wishes he could take his words back.

“Now?” Your voice sounds small even too you.

“I would like too. But we can wait, or whatever you want. I’m okay with waiting. Completely fine with waiting.” The words rush out of his mouth so fast he trips over them.

“No, it’s not that. I wouldn’t mind starting a family, you’ve just never really said you wanted kids. So I’m surprised – that’s all.” You’d been together nearly five years now and he’d never explicitly stated he wanted kids. You’d just assumed they’d come later, naturally. Jeon Jeongguk asking if he can start a family with you right this instant was not something you’d ever expected.

“Guess I’ve changed my mind on that.” The nervousness from before melts away from his voice and you can hear the smile on his lips. You cuddle further into him, a weird warmth ebbing from your heart. Jeongguk holds you tighter, pressing his mouth against your forehead, a kiss that tugs a grin on your lips.

“When would you like to start trying?” You ask, revelling in his touch.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“And if I’m ready now?” You press a kiss against his collar bone, aware of how his gaze instantly changed. He’s staring at you in a way that makes you want to squirm. The blanket suddenly feels like a furnace.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” You lean forward, brushes his nose against yours. “But you’re going to have to do all the work. I’m kind of tired.”

Jeongguk smiles so hard that your heart feels like it’s going to combust. “I’m fine with that.” And then he leans in.

It’s a soft kiss, a gentle one where you’re both pliant and willing, moulding and sighing into each other because the day has been tiresome and neither of you have the energy to push back or nip at each other’s lips. You unravel in his arms, exhausted from having to deal with infuriating people and their opinions. But Jeongguk holds you together, keeping you safe in his arms, his chest plastered against yours. His hands' journey down your waist, landing on your hips were he gently tugs your forward, rocking his hips against yours. When you come up, you’re dizzy, slightly intoxicated from how Jeongguk always managed to make you feel things that you couldn’t put into words with his lips only.

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips.

“I love you too.”

He rolls onto his back, dragging you onto his lap. Your hips meet instantly because you’re wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and your underwear. You don’t miss the way he twitches beneath you or the way he squeezes your hips when you lean back down for another kiss. When you pull apart, Jeongguk looks at you like you’re the only star in the universe.

You can’t help but slip your fingers through his dishevelled russet locks. He reacts instantly, pushing his head into your palm, little sighs falling from his pink lips with every scrap of your nails against his scalp. His eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing against his rose-tinged cheeks. He’s got bags under his eyes from overexerting himself at work and you wish you could kiss them away but the only thing you really can do is hold him like this. Jeongguk is putty in your hands, his own gripping at your hips like they’re his only lifeline. The way his arching, hips bucking into your own, makes him expose the expanse of his neck. You trail a finger across the veins there and his physically jolts, shifting so he can press his body further against yours. He’s half hard but you don’t roll into it, despite the faint ache building up in your core. Instead, you keep dragging your hands through across his burning skin, watching him slowly fall apart in your hands.

When you press a chaste kiss against the span of his neck, Jeongguk surges forward and moulds your crotch against his own, bucking gently against you. You can feel him hardening beneath the taut fabric of his boxers, cock brushing against your own clothed cunt, searching for some form of release.

Jeongguk’s body is hot and hard beneath your fingertips and you marvel at every dip and curve of the muscles in his chest and arms. He trails after your touch, mouth red and bruised from all the kisses you’ve given him. His lips kept pulling you in, catching the bottom of your lip between yours and slipping his tongue into your own mouth. It’s hard not to fall in love with him all over again when he’s watching you drag your fingers across his body with complete adoration in his lidded dark eyes. The gaze alone sends a jolt of desire through your core, slick slipping from your wet pussy. You keep kissing him and touching him until there’s blood rushing in your ears and you’re blatantly fucking each over your clothes. His hands roam over your own body too, searing you with each dig of his fingertips into your skin.

“As much as I love the way you look right now,” He says between pants and stolen kisses. “I kind of want to eat you out.”

You’re flipped onto your back without further ado. Jeongguk’s crowding over you, his hair swaying before his eyes as his knees force your own legs apart, making room for himself. You reach out, brushing back his hair a small smile on your face. He grins back, leaning down to press his lips against your own as his hips roll against your cunt. His boner nudges against your clit, sending fireworks shooting through every nerve in your body. Your legs fall further apart, hips canting upwards to meet his own movements. You’re panting in the dark, small sighs slipping from your lips that Jeongguk devours in harsh kisses.

He groans against your ear when you wrap your legs around his hip and grind upwards, the way his dick rubs up against your panties has a heat rising in your core. You can feel him twitching and there’s a damp stain on his boxers that matches the wetness on your own underwear.

“Fuck, babe. Stop - let me - let me go down on you.” His thrusts forward, shifting the pillows beneath your head. “Don’t make me come in my pants - please.”

You drop your legs, watching in awe as he moves down your body. Your top is tugged off so fast, the night air caressing your bare skin. Your thighs are wet with slick, sheening in the glow of the moonlight slipping through your curtains. For some reason, the idea of Jeongguk, the love of your life, fucking a baby into you was making you incredibly wet. And judging from the way his dick was straining against his boxers, it was affecting him too.

His eyes were dark as he took you in, your thighs held apart from his large hands. You can feel his fingers embedding themselves there and the thought of the marks you’ll find tomorrow was making you drip. You expected him to dive right in, the anticipation of his tongue on your cunt making you warm all over. But when you glanced down, Jeongguk was staring up at you, a different look in his eyes that you can’t decipher.

Then he moves up again, his lips landing on your neck.

“Fuck,” You moan, eyes fluttering.

His mouth was doing wonders on your skin, biting and dragging his tongue against the sensitive nerves there with finesse. He hadn’t returned his hips to yours so you were left bucking into the air, your walls clenching around nothing, a desperate need to be filled burning in your core.

He moves slow, savouring the way your whine and whimper with every drag of his tongue against your skin. He’s so hard it hurts but he can’t stop looking at the way your chest shudders as he dips further down the expanse of your skin, journeying towards the place you need him most.

Then he’s pressing a kiss to your clothed cunt and you swear you see stars. You arch into it, the curve of your stomach dipping when he tugs your underwear off. The first lick has his name falling from your mouth. It’s a kitten lick, carefully flicking against your clit. You try and squirm, attempting to direct his mouth further down but he pins you to the bed. You don’t try to use your hands to shove his head down - he’s not in the mood to follow your orders and you can tell. So you slip your hands into his hair and hope Jeongguk doesn’t make you black out from pleasure.

He opens you up slowly, tongue teasingly toying with your folds until it dips into your cunt. He gathers you onto his tongue, lips coated with your slick as he places another kiss on your cunt. You’re moaning shamelessly now, back curving when Jeongguk swirls his wet tongue around your clit. He eats you out like your life depends on it, fucking you open with his mouth until you’re fisting his hair, your toes curled and your heels digging into the mattress.

It’s maddening, how his swift quick movements have a wave of please steadily rising in your guts. You can’t think, can’t formulate any words, apart from his name that floats from your lips like a saccharine melody.

His hums against you, a smile on his wet lips. “Such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine. Want you to come on my tongue, can you do that for me, baby?” You’re about to answer when his tongue slips back inside you and the only thing you can do is whine helplessly. He has your legs hitched over his shoulders now, lifting you up slightly so he can devour you from a better angle. And it’s working because his tongue is deep inside you, but you want him deeper - need him deeper.

It’s almost as if he can hear your thoughts because two fingers slide into your cunt just as he pulls his mouth away. You clench around them, hard, not missing the soft “fuck” that drifts from Jeongguk’s lips. The sound itself hits your core, sending another wave of pleasure through your system, more slick slipping from your wet cunt and coating his fingers.

He doesn’t neglect your clit when his fingers pound into you. It feels good. The edge is there, and you can see into behind your half-closed eyes, a hot white heat that promises to leave you boneless. But you need more.

“Another, add another finger - fuck! Jeongguk!”

“Anything you want princess.”

The stretch burns but you relish in it, hips racketing off the bed. Jeongguk’s sucking hard on your clit, his fingers pounding into your cunt. It’s good and the heat building in your core feels like it’s going to tip over any moment now. Then his fingers slam into that spot and oh – oh.

You’re coming so hard that you swear your vision vanishes for a second. Jeongguk is still licking your clit, fingers twisting inside you as your seize up, walls tight around his fingers. It's too much, too fucking much but you still can’t say anything, your mouth feeling foreign and heavy in your mouth. Your throat is hoarse, and it only dawns on you, when his pulls his fingers out from your pussy, licks them clean and rises up to give you a kiss, that you realize it was because you were screaming his name.

“God, you’re so perfect.” Another kiss. “So beautiful. Love you, love you so much.” His palm is grazing against your thigh and you shiver, suddenly aware that Jeongguk is still wearing his boxers. They’re damp and his boner is pressed against your thigh, throbbing with need. You want him in your mouth now, want to make him come as hard as he just made you.

“Love you too babe. Let me suck you off.”

He shakes his head, his hand coming down on your throat. “Not tonight. Want to see you come again.”

You groan, twitching when Jeongguk rubs his clothed cock against your still very sensitive clit. “You’re going to fuck me brainless.”

He grins. “That’s the goal babe.”

Then he’s rising from the bed, moving to your drawers. He returns with a small pink vibrator in his hands, a tame item from the collection of sex toys you’d both curated over the years. But your thighs are still shuddering from the orgasm he just coaxed out of you and you’re not sure if you can take another one just yet.

“Kiss me,” You say and Jeongguk does. It’s hot and heavy, sparking a flame in your core that you were sure had been doused out. You tug on his lip, the groan that emits from his mouth vibrating through your chest which currently feels too small for the love it’s supposed to hold. If Jeongguk wants to see you come again, you’ll give it to him. Because you’re stupidly in love with him and you can tell he’s stupidly in love with you too.

When he grazes the vibrator against your clit, you jolt, already moving to get it off because it’s too much for your fucked out brain to comprehend. But he holds you down gently, easing you into it with tender kisses to your inner thighs that leave you breathless.

Your orgasm builds up faster than the first one, the heat in your core sparking through your veins. It doesn’t help that Jeongguk tongue is lapping up your slick, coating your folds with your essence while your clit is brutally assaulted by the vibrator. He’s playing with it, pressing it directly on your sensitive bud then moving it around so that the vibrations hit you in different intensities. It’s driving you over the edge again, a wave of desire threatening to rip through you. When he holds it at an angle, the vibrations hitting your core hard, it does.

“Shit - Jeongguk, oh, oh fuck. I’m going to come. Babe, fuck!”

“Do it, princess, come for me.”

And you do, clenching around nothing because he hadn’t dipped his fingers in. You feel so empty despite the euphoria radiating through your body and you hate it. Your legs tremble around Jeongguk and you swear hard when his tongue darts forward, playing with your wet empty hole. It takes a moment for you to gather your breath but when you do you're pulling him up to you and slamming his mouth into yours. He tastes like you and you love that he does. But you would love it even more if he was deep inside you instead. Your last orgasm was great but you wanted to feel full.

“Thought you were meant to be fucking a baby into me,” You murmur, eyes infatuated with the way his lips were bruised and wet. His breath hitches at that and you know you’ve got him because his eyes darken and his boxers come off in a flash.

He’s hard, painfully so and the tip is red, dripping cum down his cock. You wish he’d let you blow him but the only thing on your agenda right now is getting fucked.

“From the back,” You ask.

“Nope, like this. Could you just bend your leg a little?” You do so, slinging your leg over his shoulder so that he has you spread open beneath. His hand grips on the leg still on the bed, holding you in place as his naked body descends upon you. It doesn’t hurt now but you can tell the position will hurt sooner than later. But judging from the harsh swear that leaves his lips when his cock grazes against your cunt, you doubt either of you will last long tonight.

You’ve gone raw before, your bare walls weren’t foreign to him, although most nights he’d slipped a condom on before fucking you. But this was different. Different because Jeongguk intended to put a baby inside you tonight - his baby. He wanted you to bear his children, wanted to make them with you. Your skin was buzzing at the thought, body a livewire that only responded to his touch. And suddenly it made sense to you, why all your friends were having kids. It hadn’t occurred to you before, but seeing a little human that both you and Jeongguk made together, living breathing evidence of your infinite love for one another, was something that you really really wanted. And the look in his eyes tells you he wants it just as much as you do.

When he slides in, your brain stops working. The stretch is familiar and welcomed, making your toes curl with ecstasy. The way he’s holding you give him room to go deeper, slipping in until you can feel him in your gut and his thighs are pressed against your own sticky ones. He’s panting in your ear, muscles tense because your pussy is warm and wet and you swallow him right up with no resistance. He can’t believe it, that you’re all for him and you’re allowing him to do this. His dick is beyond hard and when you flutter around him, a sigh escaping your mouth, he nearly comes right then. But he grits his teeth, swells down the desire that has his stomach caving in and slowly pulls out.

When he slams back into you, you scream.

It’s fast and hard. Jeongguk is fucking you like he wants to stay between your legs forever, make room for himself there, as he did in your heart. The next thrust has you swearing and whining into the heavy sex scented air. Your hands claw against his back, pulling a deep groan from Jeongguk, one that makes you squeeze around his dick. The snap against your pelvis stutters.

“Fuck!” He muffles against your sweaty skin “Baby,” His voice is hoarse and rough against your ear. “You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that.”

“Thought that was the point,” You say, giving another sharp pulse of your walls around him. You can feel him twitching against you and the whine that slips from his throat goes directly to the blazing heat in your gut.

“Not,” He sighs, “Not yet. Want to see you come again for me.”

“Again? Jeongguk-” But then you keening, slamming your hips down hard on his because he’s slipped a hand between your bodies, the pads of his thumb is cruelly circling your clit.

His mouth is against your ear and he doesn’t slow down, hips pistoning against your own as you desperately search for the release that you can taste on your tongue and see behind your eyelids.

“My beautiful baby, look at you. So fucking,” He hits at a spot that has you shuddering down on him and Jeongguk loses his breath for a moment. “So fucking perfect. Perfect for me. Want me to come inside you, fill you up?”

You nod, shaking slightly because it’s all too much and your eyes feel damp. “Please - fuck, please. Want you. Want all of you.”

He moans, his stomach quivering and his hips picking up momentum until he’s pounding you into the mattress. Your leg shouldn’t be able to take this angle yet it does because every nerve in your body is focused on the rapid bursts of pleasure hitting your system. Jeongguk can sense you’re tipping over the edge because he leans back, releasing the hold on your leg so that it falls back to the mattress. Your wrap your legs around his waist, hips canting upwards wildly because you’re almost there.

Jeongguk wraps his hand around your throat, fingers digging into the side of your neck just as they were digging into the back of your thigh as he held you up. Your brain feels fuzzy, the air from your lungs diminishing but it’s good - so good. You’re whining and gasping into the air, a surprised ah falling from your lips when his cock repeatedly slams into that spot and holy shit -

“Jeongguk!” His name leaves your mouth like a desperate prayer. You come around his dick so hard you see stars, your bones feel like they’re melting and you know you’re crying because your cheeks feel wet. It’s like he unravelled you into pieces and then moulded you right back together. Your heart swells, euphoria and love swimming through your system.

“There we go baby,” He leans in, hips still brutally pounding into you but they’re erratic now. “My baby, my princess. God, I love you.” You can tell he’s close, so you hold him, planting a kiss on his lips. His hips stutter widely, a deep groan filling your mouth and he spills himself inside. You can faintly feel it, a hot warmth that coats your walls. He holds himself there, faltering against you as his warmth breath pans your mouth.

It takes a while for you to pull yourselves apart. Jeongguk seems reluctant to leave your pussy but you gently shove him off. Your vagina feels broken and your knees are mush.

He’s beaming, pressing a steady stream of kisses to your forehead while you ruminate on whether you have the strength to take another shower. Your legs felt incredibly sticky, Jeongguk’s come and your slick staining your thighs.

“Carry me to the bathroom and clean me up?”

“Who said we were done?” His eyebrow is raised and you kind of want to smack him.

“You just screwed my brains out, let me recover.”

He’s pouting but he’s up from the bed, returning quickly with a warm cloth that he swipes across your skin until you feel like you’re somewhat clean.

“How long do you think it will take?” He asks, crawling back into bed. He tugs your body close, slinging his leg over your own and tucking your head into his chest. The palm of his hand settles against your stomach.

You sigh, feeling blissfully content. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to check my ovulating days.”

“When should try again really soon though, shouldn't we?”

“What’s your goal? To get me pregnant by the end of the week?”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” He says, dragging the pad of his thumb against your skin. “Kind of want you pregnant now if I’m being honest. I was thinking about it – when I was fucking you. You’d look really pretty pregnant. So pretty.”

You shove him in the gut, trying to hide the way your cheeks warm and your thighs twitch at the thought despite Jeongguk having screwed you senseless a mere moments ago.

“There’s tomorrow. And the next day. There’s no rush.”

“If you give me twenty minutes I can try again right now,” He offers, the smile in his voice clear in the night.

“Sleep, you caveman.”

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #btssmutclub #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart (3/10) - Juno

Chapter summary: Bread week will sort the wheat from the chaff, with a fruity signature, a fiddly technical, and a showstopper that will push the bakers to their limits. Meanwhile, Asttina wants to try something vegan, and Cherry’s gossip about Tia and Veronica sparks an idea for Tayce. But what will Aurora think of it?

A/N: I really appreciate all the support on this fic, thank you!! Here is the third chapter, I hope you enjoy. One CW for mild references to alcohol.

WEEK 3: BREAD WEEK

On the platform at Reading Station, waiting for the next train down to Newbury, Tayce’s phone vibrated. Her notifications told her that Aurora added Tayce on Instagram, as well as the twitter they were contractually required to have set up. The others had all followed each other on twitter, but no one else had sought her out on Instagram.

Her chest swelled as she tapped the notification.

Tayce’s own Instagram was filled with pictures of her and her friends on nights out around the UK, trying never to post the same outfit twice, a battle to look the most sexy among the seven or eight women in the group.

Aurora’s was filled with pictures of cakes she’d baked.

She’d held back gasps at the different things Aurora had put her name to. Cupcakes with lettering spelling out messages. Christening cakes with baby blocks and tiny fondant figurines. Mirror glaze cakes, drip effect cakes, minimalistic cakes - Aurora had them all, illuminated with a ring light and resting on a patchwork quilt of a tablecloth, normally with some backdrop of flowers that did not detract from the beautiful cake creations in the foreground.

But best of all, Aurora was tagged in a million other posts from other people.

Pictures of her with her arms around beaming elderly people blowing out candles on the cakes she’d made. Pictures of her having her knees hugged by toddlers and holding babies with a Christening cake in the background. Pictures from a local homeless shelter, tagging her in plainer but still stunning cakes and breads and writing long posts of thanks for her contributions.

She’s so … loved.

A lump formed in Tayce’s throat, her eyes stinging with sudden tears as she read the posts she’d been tagged in, a seemingly endless stream of affection and adoration for the woman who shook with fear behind the workbench every week.

She’s already a Star Baker. She doesn’t need a badge or a title.

——

As they waited for everyone to arrive that Saturday morning at Norton Hall, Tayce made a beeline for Aurora, who stood alone at the tea machine, filling her mug.

“I looked at all your cakes on the train on the way down here,” Tayce said to her, holding her phone to Aurora. “They’re stunning! How can you bake like that?”

“Oh,” Aurora giggled, averting her gaze to the ground. “They’re just things people like to see from me, so I bake them for them!”

“You’re amazing,” Tayce reached a tentative hand to her shoulder. “You really are.”

She tried to put as much sincerity into her voice as she could, but Aurora just smiled, sliding from her hand, leaving Tayce alone with her mug and her thoughts.

They hadn’t really talked much last week - mostly because every time Tayce had glanced her way, she was with someone else, normally Ellie; and Tayce had held back, hesitant, in case she was interrupting something. And admittedly, it had left Tayce with a slight twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach when Aurora had taken Ellie’s hand at the judging for Showstopper last week.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything when she held mine. Maybe she just does it to everyone.

Part of Tayce had resigned herself to that. Even though cake week had seen her excited to come back to bake, bread week had seen her wake up this morning, her stomach bubbling with anticipation, at the thought of seeing Auroraagain. Tayce had told herself she’d make more of an effort to bond with Aurora, still a little ashamed at blanking her at the end of last weekend. There was a fascinating person under all the nerves, and Tayce wanted to dig deeper.

But trying to compliment her bakes had resulted in this strange, modest reaction, and Tayce was still puzzled by it as they all made their way across the grounds to the tent.

Out in the tent, the space seemed to be expanding, but maybe it was because after Joe’s departure Tayce had been moved one step closer to the front, to Cherry’s old workbench. It must have been a real bugger moving all the colourful KitchenAids up with each departure, but it was happening every time they weren’t there.

“Bread week!” Cherry said as they all waited, rubbing her hands together. “Who’s good at bread?”

Bimini nodded. “Bread is my thing. Love bread. All types. Focaccia, ciabatta - “

“Bless you,” Cherry chuckled.

“My favourite ones are my Belgian buns - always nice on a Friday night - but I brought some into my office, and someone called them brexit buns by mistake, and the name has stuck,” Bimini said dryly, showing the group of them the Instagram page for the newspaper they wrote for, picture after picture of the same iced buns, with Bimini’s Instagram handle tagged in them all.

“Why brexit buns?” Tia said with an ironic laugh.

“That was all we were writing articles about at the time.” Bimini shook their head.

“How do you make your brexit buns then?” Tia asked.

“Oh, just 52% bollocks, and 48% bullshit.” Bimini snorted. “Not a joke, just a fact.”

Tia nodded. “Yep. Yeah, just a fact.”

“Anyone worried about bread week? Ginny asked, while Tayce chewed her tongue, wondering if anyone would admit to having a weak spot in a baking contest.

“No one? Well, I’m a bit worried. I haven’t made too much bread, I don’t really eat lots of bread.”

“Don’t you like any bread?” Ellie asked.

“Not really. And I noticed there wasn’t too much bread on your Instagram either, Ellie. Don’t you like to bake bread?”

“Yeah, I do,” Ellie nodded, her voice had dimmed a little. “I’ve baked some bread, it’s just not my favourite things to do.”

“Well I was just a bit curious,” Ginny continued, but Lawrence’s voice piped up.

“I didn’t see any lemons on your page either, Gin, but that’s all you seem to be offering at the moment, so maybe you shouldn’t be judging people on their Instagram pages, and think about how you’re gonna fit lemons into your bread.”

Ginny didn’t seem perturbed by Lawrence’s sarcasm, simply raising their eyebrows. “Maybe you’re about to be surprised then, bab, because I can fit lemons just about anywhere.”

——

Signature: 12 Teacakes

“The fuck’s the thing with calling them teacakes?” Lawrence asked as the whisk was whirring, looking round at the rest of the room. “Teacake, that’s a choccie biscuit thing with marshmallow in it, right? Right?”

Ellie was nodding, but everyone else was staring at her.

“No, it’s definitely bread, Lawrence,” Cherry said, her brow furrowed. “If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be in bread week, would it?”

Lawrence waved her hand dismissively and went back to her dough, while Tayce twisted her lips to stop everyone from seeing her chuckle.

The teacakes had to be filled with a fruit of their choice. Tayce had already measured out the dried cherries and coconut, hoping to try something a bit different flavour-wise, having taken into account the judges’ critiques the last two weeks. Good presentation, but a bit bland.

It was almost a Bake Off running joke.

Aurora was being told the exact opposite. Good taste, but the presentation could use some work, and Aurora had twisted her jaw at their words.

Mash us together and make one master baker.

Kneading the dough for the teacakes was taking a little while - the dough was enriched, everyone kept saying, and enriched dough needed a longer knead and a more precise proving time. It was delightfully calming though, and Tayce took the opportunity to look around the tent.

And there was plenty to see.

Firstly, Tia and Veronica. When had Veronica joined Tia at her workbench, and were they both making kneading motions next to each other? They were about a foot apart at first, but within five minutes Tayce could not see a gap of light between them at all. When Tayce was putting her own dough into the drawer for its first prove, Tia and Veronica had already done theirs, Tia’s grateful hug to Veronica lingering a couple of seconds longer than Tayce would have expected.

On the other side of the rows of benches, Asttina was right at the end of hers, turning to chat to Bimini and compare their dough balls. Behind Ginny, Lawrence had moved to the other side of the workbench, so she could turn slightly over her shoulder and chat to Ellie while they kneaded. When Tayce looked again, Lawrence had actually moved her dough to Ellie’s workbench too, both of them at opposite ends, talking quietly and occasionally flicking flour at each other.

Everyone was starting to fall into pairs, helping each other in this cramped environment.

Opposite Tayce, Aurora was growling frustratedly, scuffling in her drawers for the proving bowl, but she couldn’t seem to see it.

“Rory -“ but Aurora took no notice, putting her hands to her temples.

“Calm down! It’s here!” Tayce crossed over from her kneading, pulling it from the bottom drawer that Aurora had already opened and put her hands into, but hadn’t brought it out.

She was breathing heavily as Tayce met her frantic eyes, holding out her hands for the bowl, muttering half to herself. “Sorry, don’t know how I missed that -“

“Don’t stress! Don’t worry, be happy! Come on, girl, you can’t be defeated by twelve teacakes!”

“Yeah,” Aurora nodded, pushing strands of hair out of her eyes. “Thanks, Tayce.” She gave Tayce’s hand a squeeze in thanks, a little bit of the usual sparkle back in her eyes, and Tayce found herself wondering if she had noticed everyone pairing off too.

Proving was the boring process. There wasn’t really much to do while the dough was in the drawer until they had to come out and be shaped into the rolls. The cameras weren’t failing to notice the little things everyone was doing though, and they’d been trained on Tia and Veronica this morning, much to Veronica’s chagrin.

“I’m trying to bake,” she muttered through gritted teeth as she stood at the tea machine with Tayce, “and they just keep following me around, like I have something on my face!”

“Weren’t you showing Tia how to knead earlier?” Tayce teased. “Maybe they thought something else was coming!”

She meant to joke, but Veronica’s head whipped up in sudden fright, her eyes widening.

“They don’t know, do they?”

“Know what?”

“Don’t - oh.” Veronica seemed to regain her composure. “Maybe not then. Ignore me. Anyway, no - I wasn’t showing her how to knead, she knows how to knead. She was helping me out.”

“With a bake?” Tayce put a hand to her chest and gasped. “I thought you knew all there was to know about baking!”

“No - not with the bake itself,” Veronica waved a hand. “Just with - with me. And my - well, never mind.” She looked down at the mug and blew the steam away. “Anyway. I should go and see how the dough is getting on.”

As they went back into the tent, Veronica grimaced, speed-walking to Tia, calling “No, no, put them in the proving drawer, not the oven yet!”

——

“They’ve definitely kissed, at least.”

“They what?” Tayce leaned closer to Cherry, whose eyes sparkled with the fresh gossip she had.

“Aye, I didn’t believe it either, but Lawrence said she saw it!”

“When?”

“Well,” Cherry lowered her voice a little more, leaning even closer to Tayce and Aurora, “Lawrence was last coming out of the tent last week, right? And Veronica was a bit upset that Ellie had won Star Baker last week, right? So Lawrence said she saw that Veronica was like, almost in tears - and Tia was holding her, and all of a sudden -“ Cherry raised her eyebrows and gave a knowing smile.

“That’s good! Maybe Veronica will lighten up then!” Tayce nodded, but Aurora looked a little flushed next to her.

“Maybe Veronica will give Tia tips. Maybe they’ll cheat.”

“How’s it cheating? Everyone helps each other out, don’t they?” Cherry shrugged. “And if anything, it’s just helped out Veronica, hasn’t it? She got the Hollywood handshake this week.”

It was true. Back in Norton Hall, everyone was solely focused on Veronica today; circling her and making her look even more nervous than she had all contest, even with the rare smile on her face.

“Your tea cakes kind of fell flat, didn’t they Tayce?” Cherry’s voice brought her back to reality, as Cherry clicked her tongue. “They didn’t like the burnt fruits on the outside, did they? I know they pulled you up on those.”

“They didn’t really have anything good to say about yours, either, did they?” Tayce flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll make up for it in Technical. Anything you can do, I can do better and all that.”

“If you say so,” Cherry’s jaw set as she spoke, and with that she walked away from them, over to the table, where the tea cakes were all sat waiting to be eaten.

“Do you think that’s true?” Aurora murmured.

Tayce spluttered, nudging her in the arm. “Yes! I’m definitely going to do better than Cherry at Technical, what do you mean?”

“No, not that …” Aurora muttered, inclining her head to Veronica at Tayce’s confused expression.

“What, that they kissed? Maybe. Who cares? It’s not like baking skills can be caught through kissing. Even if Tia wishes they could be.” Tayce shrugged. “But if it is true, and it gets caught on camera, this season of Bake Off is gonna have the best ratings ever.”

Hang on a minute.

Tayce blinked, glanced at Aurora, who was watching Veronica.

It had been on her mind, but Aurora’s attraction to women was all but confirmed from the lesbian flag pin she wore on her bag. And Tayce couldn’t deny that she was being drawn to her, even after only these three weekends.

Tayce licked her lips as she pondered the embryonic idea that had taken root in her mind.

… would she want to?

——

Technical: 12 Pretzels

Tayce wondered about her idea all through the Technical challenge. Making pretzels probably required more concentration than Tayce was affording it, and maybe she under-proved the dough in the process, but she wasn’t bothered. The idea turned over and over in her head so much that baking became mechanical.

Even if she doesn’t feel the same way about me, if Aurora wants to … maybe pretend to date, for the show …

There were definitely feelings there, Tayce recognised them in herself. Out of everyone there, Tayce wanted to know Aurora most. Wanted to know what lurked beneath that sweet, modest veneer, to know her hopes and her cares and her plans, to know her. And maybe, just made, for her to know Tayce too.

It wasn’t normal for Tayce to find someone on her mind this fast, but this was an unusual environment for all of them, sparking emotions much faster and deeper than normal. They already knew they had baking in common, at least. Maybe there was plenty more, too.

The question was, could Aurora feel the same way?

The thought of it took up all of Tayce’s mind, until she realised, taking her tray of pretzels to the front, that she’d baked two less than everyone else.

The only stool left at judging was right on the end, so she sat there, with Lawrence on her left, while the judges came in and went down the line.

“I’ve fucked this up,” Tayce muttered to Lawrence as the judges came in.

Lawrence turned, frowning. “Not necessarily, Tayce. Yeah, you can’t count, but who says that’s gonna stop you from making a good bake? Unless you can’t count numbers on the scales, then yeah it could be a problem.”

Lawrence chewed all her nails as the judges went through the pretzels, passing her own, and getting to Tayce’s third from last. Only Cherry’s and Asttina’s were to be judged after hers, both of them getting much better critiques than hers did.

“In tenth place,” Paul announced after the deliberation with Prue, “we have this one here, whose is this?”

Tayce’s stomach dropped through her body to the stool as she realised the judges were behind her own photo. She raised her hand.

“Tayce - you’ve got two missing, they were under-proved, over-baked, and the flavour was all gone. Did you swap the salt with sugar by accident?”

“Yeah,” Tayce murmured.

“I don’t think you were the only one,” Paul mused, while down the line, Ginny squeezed their eyes tightly shut.

Lawrence still chewed her nail. Tayce gave her a pat on the knee.

“Oh, don’t worry Lozza, it’s not the end of the world!” She whispered. “Look at it this way. I’m bottom of the pack this week, so you can’t get any further down than me!”

Bread week was there to sort the wheat from the chaff - literally - and that it did. Ginny, who had been in the middle the last two weeks, had her first low placement at ninth; and Cherry came eighth. Ellie had dropped from third to seventh, Asttina was a surprise down at sixth, and Tia had redeemed herself at fifth. Aurora was fourth, and Veronica’s tight-lipped smile settled for third.

Lawrence’s jaw dropped further and further with every name being called, until hers was finally listed at second, leaving Bimini, who everyone knew was itching for a win, to hold their hands high in triumph as they were picked as the winner, to no one’s surprise - their pretzels looked incredible even from this distance.

When the polite applause had dimmed, Tayce rubbed Lawrence’s knee again, and Lawrence returned the motion with a weak smile and surprisingly damp eyes.

——

“I’m just so nervous about bread,” Lawrence confided, as they all rested back in Norton Hall, “and I don’t know why, I love baking bread!”

“Maybe that’s why, then, if you’re really good at bread - you’re just wanting to get it right. That’s normal! It means you care!”

Lawrence sighed. “Fucks sake, I wish I didn’t care then, it’s just making me all nervous. It’s a lot of pressure to do well when … I don’t know, when everyone you know expects you to do well.”

“Look -“ Tayce motioned across the room, “you’re here on Bake Off, with nine other people, so you’re one of the best bakers in the whole of Scotland, and you’re representing Glasgow - they’re gonna love you, you know - and you can do bread, alright?”

“I know I can do bread, I just don’t know how not to be nervous! How are you so relaxed all the fucking time, Tayce, you seem like you just don’t care if something goes wrong.”

“I do care!” Tayce protested, but Lawrence shook her head.

“No. When you were called last in Technical, you were just trying to comfort me, and I came second; that - that’s the wrong way around.”

Tayce smirked. “Well, we can’t all be on top.”

Lawrence, shaking her head, gave Tayce a playful shove. “Gobshite.”

Tayce didn’t know what Lawrence was worried about. From the rose biscuits to the pretzel that they were now sharing together, she’d barely put a foot wrong. She just hadn’t achieved a badge for her efforts. Yet.

“Lozza, you’ve just got to do your best. You’re already gonna be liked by everyone, you know? You don’t need to push it! Just put your best bake forward.”

When Tayce went to the bench with all the day’s bakes, she found she couldn’t stomach much more in the way of pretzels, even though she wanted to try everyone’s; so she went for the fruity teacakes instead. She settled for Aurora’s, Lawrence’s, Veronica’s, and a one with a vegan label that she found was Bimini’s.

“Bim!” Tayce went to sit with them, on the two-person sofa that already held Bimini with Asttina and Cherry, squeezing in by Asttina’s side. “I didn’t realise you were vegan!”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Bimini nodded. “Yeah, three years now. I can’t wait for vegan week, if I’m still here. I mean, I bake lots of things for my non-vegan friends, but I’ll make it vegan. I can’t always do that here, and I don’t really like using all the eggs and butter and all that.”

“It must be tough,” Asttina nodded in sympathy.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to reconcile my own thoughts on baking with animal products for a tv show. But I want to be here,” Bimini continued, “I do, ‘cause people can see that you can do it without them too. That’s why I was so happy when they announced we were doing a vegan week again.”

“Is it just the Technicals where you have to use animal products?” Cherry asked.

“Yeah, most of the Signatures and Showstoppers I’ve been able to make mostly vegan at least.”

“I can’t wait to try them all,” Asttina said warmly. “I never really realised how much of baking involves things that aren’t great for vegans.”

“You should give vegan baking a try,” Bimini said earnestly, as Asttina’s hand lingered on their forearm. “If you have any vegans you know, they will thank you for it.”

Asttina seemed keen to talk more about Bimini’s vegan bakes, but Tayce was distracted by Aurora, walking away from the table with a plate, heading out towards the stairs up to the rooms.

She stood up and followed after her, catching her halfway up the stairs. “Rory! Aurora!”

“What?” She spun round, eyes wide, but she waved when she saw her. “Hi Tayce.”

“Are you going to your room?”

Aurora nodded, running a hand over her forehead. “Got a bit of a headache. Don’t think I can deal with loads of people tonight. I think I’m just gonna have an early one, maybe put some telly on.”

“You - you’ve got a telly in your room?”

“No - sorry -“ Aurora smiled. “I’ve brought my tablet with me, I was just gonna put on Netflix or something.”

“Oh, okay.”

Tayce nodded as Aurora started to turn back to the stairs; but then she paused, her brow gently furrowing, chewing her bottom lip, before turning back to Tayce.

“D’you - want to join me for a bit?”

“Yeah. Why not?” Tayce shrugged, hoping her face appeared nonchalant still, and she jogged up the stairs to join Aurora, following her back to her room.

The next five minutes were calm and quiet, sat on Aurora’s bed as Aurora set up Netflix and Tayce halved each bun to eat. Bimini’s were good - better than Tayce had expected, if she was honest with herself - and Aurora recognised her own as they had been a little burnt, the colour deeper brown than the others.

“I made a mess this week,” she muttered, “but bread isn’t my strong point.”

“Why does everyone stress so much about bread week?” Tayce chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. “All you do it prove it, bung it in the oven, Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt, bing bang bong and there you go - bread.”

“Are you worried at all?” Aurora asked, her voice suddenly hushed and serious. “You were last in Technical. It must have been a bit nerve-wracking.”

Dread sat in the pit of Tayce’s stomach, dormant mostly, but at Aurora’s words, it started to sprout and grow like ivy.

But Tayce shook her head, determined to quell it straight away. “It’s done! I misread the instructions, it happens. I’m gonna concentrate on the Showstopper and bake something that will make sure I stay.”

“I hope so.”

The words were quiet, but there they were. Tayce glanced at Aurora, but she seemed to realise they had escaped her mouth too, a thought that maybe she’d wanted to keep hidden for now. She smiled and blinked, averting her eyes to the tablet as she popped more teacake into her mouth.

A fleeting moment of tenderness hung in the air between them like a silk thread, so delicate that the slightest movement might disturb it.

Then came the icy fingertips of uncertainty as they crept into Tayce’s chest, wrapping around her heart. She must have hesitated a moment too long; Aurora’s warm fingers found hers, slipping around her hand and clenching, and the cold dread started to shrink away again.

“Yeah,” Tayce sighed, goosebumps spreading up her arm from Aurora’s touch. “Yeah, me too.”

——

Showstopper: Bread sculpture, to include at least three naturally-occurring flavours of breads

Tayce would never have admitted to anyone, but she hadn’t really slept.

She’d gone back to her room, tossed and turned, and finally given up at six, in time to hear Asttina and Bimini heading downstairs, and going to her window, she saw them on a jog out the front door of Norton Hall and round through the grounds.

She was first down to breakfast, for her beans on toast - never failed to perk her up - and to catch Bimini and Asttina coming back in, beaming at each other and comparing timings for their run. She’d smiled at them both, but they hadn’t even noticed she was in the room, engrossed in each other.

They’re crazy. Going for a run before Showstopper? Could never be me.

By the time they were due to start filming for the Showstopper, Tayce was still feeling jittery, but some breakfast and the bakers around her was starting to dissipate those thoughts.

Everyone else looked nervous. Aurora’s hands were drumming on the workbench again, and Ellie was bouncing on the balls of her feet. But Tayce tried not to absorb the nerves, letting them pass over her instead, to keep her head for the bread sculpture.

“We’re looking for some original sculpture designs, and some great flavours,” Prue said at the start, her usual sweet smile lighting up her features, “so don’t be afraid to be creative with your bakes and your flavouring. Remember, it’s got to be worth the calories!”

Once they’d started baking, the warmth of the tent, and the smell of bread around Tayce brought on such a wave of nostalgia that she started to daydream. Losing herself in memories of her nana’s house, warm and fragrant with baking breads, until halfway through she leaned against the workbench, her head down, eyes closed, holding on because letting go would send her floating.

She didn’t remember what she said to the judges when they came round - probably a quick bore da and some spiel about how incredible her octopus and treasure chest bread sculptures were going to be - ignoring the words ambitiousand time consuming from the judges and focusing on just getting it as good as she could.

She heard a few words from the other contestants as well - something about Ginny putting lemon in their bread for some reason, Bimini saying they’d be basing it on fruits in a fruit basket, and both Cherry and Ellie talking about Coraline and realising they were doing similar things.

But Tayce floated, dissolving into the warm hazy air.

Hopefully I can just survive this week.

“You alright, Tayce?”

Aurora’s accent was becoming familiar, something she audibly heard in her head when she thought of her. Her face swam before Tayce’s eyes, concern etched into the lines of her face.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You don’t look good.”

“Just a bit tired. And it’s warm today.” Tayce couldn’t help but smile as Aurora’s fingers ghosted along her shoulder and arm, gently bringing her back to the room. “I’m fine, honest. Don’t worry!”

“As long as you’re sure,” Aurora mumbled. “If you need anything, tell me, okay?”

But Tayce could only nod, Aurora’s care stripping Tayce of a sincere verbal response. By the time she’d opened her mouth to speak, Aurora was on her way back over, the ten feet or so separating them looking closer every single bake.

When Cherry accidentally launched her proving bowl along the workbench, everyone else started to crumble and the warm, dreamy sense in the room started to wane. Ellie’s kneading technique almost saw her dough being thrown to the ground, and Ginny was using her arms to knead, knocking her baking tray over with a crash. Even Asttina dropped a plate.

Tayce just tried to focus on her bake. She knew what she was doing, she knew how to do it, she’d done it ten times before so it seemed; but the lack of sleep combined with the heat permeating through the day and the harried nerves of the other bakers was getting almost unbearable.

The warm tent was fizzling with electric nerves, sparking fear through all of them. Cherry’s high-pitched sound of frustration left a chill in Tayce’s spine every time she heard it. In front of Cherry, Veronica froze in place now and then, her hands shaking for a few seconds, only seeming to break free when Tia - somehow telepathically knowing - turned to talk to her and bring her back to the room.

Tayce needed to get away from her side, where the static hummed in the air. Wringing her hands, she went over to see Aurora, whose face was red and tongue was chasing her lips as she tried to focus on her kneading.

“What’s your sculpture going to be, then?” Tayce asked her.

“Ice creams. Neapolitan. Cones. Yeah.” Aurora replied, her speech punctuated by a knead each time, not even glancing at Tayce, fully immersed in her own bake.

She didn’t even ask Tayce what her own bake was going to be, so Tayce went back to her own kneading, trying to channel the nerves out of her as she did.

Watching the bakers on the other side of the room once again, Lawrence and Ellie were back on one workbench, kneading together, while Asttina’s bench was empty, and Tayce spotted that she’d left to join Bimini on theirs.

Four and a half hours passed in the blink of an eye when you were having fun, or when you were struggling with bread.

Tayce found herself chewing a nail, a habit she’d sworn she wouldn’t take up again. She took her fingers away from her mouth and surveyed her sculpture. The treasure chest looked a little less golden brown than she would have liked, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

——

“Tayce, we’ll start with you this week. Would you bring your bake to the front please?”

Tayce swallowed back the sharp edges in her throat and tried to stop her hands quivering as she picked up her sculpture and brought it to the front.

“It’s a pirate treasure scene. The octopus is made from squid ink, the treasure chest is flavoured with turmeric, and the coins that make up the treasure are coloured with paprika and have a bit of chilli in the flavour.”

She tried to focus on keeping her breathing steady, although her feet were leaving the floor. It had been three weeks of this now, and the silence was still too loud as the judges sliced into the bakes, pondering it as they ate, far better poker faces than Tayce could ever hope to achieve.

“It’s very … impressive.”

“I agree,” Prue continued, “you’ve managed to get a lot in on the design, and the flavours are just impeccable. I like the slight hint of chilli you’ve got into the treasure. It’s not too much.”

“Not enough for me,” Paul murmured with a grin.

“It really is an impressive Showstopper. It looks great, it tastes incredible - what a redemption. Well done, Tayce.”

When Tayce gathered up her bake to bring it back, the applause in the tent was a tidal wave of relief, genuine for the first time that day. Asttina’s eyes twinkled as she smiled; Lawrence’s grin was soft and friendly; and Ginny nodded at her, muttering something Tayce didn’t catch.

“Nice one,” she heard Aurora say, that single dimple emerging once again, and Tayce had to stop herself detouring to her workbench to give her a hug.

The fizzing in the air evaporated as the nerves felt by everyone vanished. The judges were imposing, but even their criticisms were kind, and their praise was always a warming balm, like honey on their skin. And that left indents on the bakers - the more kindness filled the tent, the more they all supported each other.

Tayce found that all her thoughts towards all the bakers in the room, all nine of them, were nothing but warmth and camaraderie.

It’s weird. There’s so much pressure, but so much love at the same time.

Everyone wanted to do well in bread week, that was a personal achievement for them all, but no one wanted to win more than Bimini. But their bread didn’t have as good critiques on the aesthetic as Lawrence’s had. Lawrence had done a really intricate scene from some horror film that Tayce didn’t recognise, but Bimini’s was apparently the better tasting bake.

They all knew one of the two of them would win, but the person to go home seemed a tricky decision. Tayce knew her bake was likely to save her, but she didn’t know who would go in her place. Aurora’s bread had had mediocre feedback, and while Cherry and Ellie had both done poorly in Technical, Ellie had redeemed herself in the Showstopper yet again, her Coraline design getting better feedback than Cherry’s.

“It’s so annoying,” Cherry muttered, passing the cigarette to Tayce as they sat outside Norton Hall, “because I knowwhat I’m capable of, but as soon as I get into the tent …” she sighed out the smoke, the fight seeming to leave her body with it. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know why I can’t just - chill.”

Ellie held her hand out for the cigarette.

“Aren’t you a bit young to smoke?” Tayce teased, passing it to her.

Ellie said nothing, giving Tayce a middle finger.

“I’m going.” Cherry shook her head, closing her eyes tightly. “I’m definitely going.”

And Tayce didn’t want to patronise Cherry. So she stayed silent, noticing Ellie did the same.

But back in the tent, they were all in for a surprise after Bimini had been nominated as Star Baker, accepting the baguette-shaped badge and pinning it to their chest. Tayce glanced at Lawrence, who was smiling, but whose knuckles were white at Ellie’s hand.

“I have the horrible job,” Noel began, “of announcing who is going home this week. This person should really be proud of themselves for all they’ve done, and how far they’ve come, but the person leaving us today is …”

Tayce could hear Cherry’s shuddering breathing, could see Lawrence stroking Ellie’s knuckles, could feel Aurora’s arm shiver next to her.

“… it’s me, isn’t it?”

But when Ginny’s voice piped up, everyone turned to them in wonder.

“It’s definitely me, you don’t need to say it, Noel, love, I know it’s me. I’m too - lemon-y to carry on. When life gives you lemons, make lemon bread.”

Noel blinked. “What?”

“I know, babs, I know - it’s my time. The lemon is leaving the building. Well, goodbye folks!”

And with that strange speech, Ginny stood from their stool, smiling serenely, and without another word, rose and left the tent, turning to give them all a wave and a cackle as they went.

——

“I just don’t get why they did it,” Bimini kept muttering under their breath. “We don’t know if the judges wanted them gone. Now we’ll never know. Maybe it was them, but what if it wasn’t?”

“Weird,” Asttina nodded. “Bit rude, too. I bet the audience would love them, and they’re not giving the audience the chance to root for them.”

“Yeah that too,” Bimini nodded solemnly, holding up their drink. “Well folks … cheers to Ginny … and to a win for NORWICH!” Bimini shouted the city name unexpectedly. “Let’s be havin’ you!”

“Yeah!” Asttina waved her hands along with Bimini, echoing their enthusiasm.

Tayce shook her head at them both.

After an hour of their evening after the Showstopper, Bimini was a bit drunk. They weren’t the only one, Cherry was definitely getting there too; but they were definitely feeling it more than anyone else.

Ginny’s departure had surprised them all. The judges had been commenting on their lemon flavourings since the end of last week, but no one had known if Ginny was really about to go. They were all feeling the strain of their actual leaving, Bimini more so than anyone.

Asttina had taken a bit of time to open up to the group, but this was the first week she was letting them see her. The confident smile she normally wore had disappeared, leaving a much more natural grin that lit up her eyes.

Now Asttina was someone who looped her arm through Tia’s in the Technical to stroke her hand comfortingly; someone who had echoed Ginny’s battle cry of FANCY A SLOOIICE when she’d presented her bread to the judges. And with a little persuasion from alcohol, someone who had found Bimini’s vegan whipped cream in their bag, and was squirting it into their open mouth, before turning the can round to squirt some into her own.

“I’ve never tried vegan whipped cream,” Asttina said to Bimini, as they both sat giggling. “It’s alright!”

Bimini grabbed the can back from her. “Here, have some more!” And they squirted a bit onto her chin, Asttina shrieking with laughter, before Bimini leant towards her to slurp it off.

By now everyone was watching them both excitedly, and Tayce felt Aurora pressing into her right side on the opposite sofa, watching gleefully as Asttina grabbed Bimini’s hand to stop them putting more cream on her …

No one was sure who initiated it, but the rest of them were collectively whooping when their lips met, crowd and whipped cream forgotten, Asttina’s long hair falling around them like drapes, obscuring them.

Aurora’s hand suddenly found Tayce’s forearm and gripped tightly.

Neither of them came up for air; as the noise died down, they still didn’t draw away.

“Maybe we should give them some privacy.” That was Tia’s cautious voice, and they all dispersed in a rush, leaving them to it. “Maybe they should do a new show. GBBO, the After Hours.”

But Tayce wasn’t paying attention. Aurora’s face was a little red once again, and she still clutched Tayce’s arm. When Tayce met her eyes, she could have sworn she’d seen something stir behind them.

Something almost … longing.

——

NINE BAKERS REMAIN

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #down with the recipe #taywhora #tayce #a'whora #asttina mandella #bimini bon boulash #cherry valentine #ginny lemon #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #tia kofi #veronica green #fluff #lesbian au #gbbo au #juno

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serararku · 4 years ago

Text

Memories and Reveries Pt 2: Bulwark of Leleni Leni

"Vigilance! Diligence! Violence! These are the three pillars that make up the foundation of our order! Of our creed!" Guard Captain Totopeko shouted with a commanding bellow that carried through the great stone keep. The old Lalafell turned on his heel with his gauntlet clutching his ivory and crimson cloak, and he began pacing in the opposite direction until he reached the end of the knights. "When you came to us… you were nothing! No one! Bastards and thieves! Bandits and pirates! Criminals and craven alike! With sharpened steel and hardened resolve you are here today. Lives reshaped for the glory of the Gilded Court!"

Zoronado was not a bastard, but he didn’t know his parents. He was not a thief nor a bandit, such petty monetary gain was beneath him. Nor a pirate, the worst scum Hydaelyn had to offer; he has committed no crimes and has never shown cowardice -- not once in all his years. Yet he stood tall and proud beside his brothers-in-arms all the same, eagerly awaiting the good news. Sweat glistened on his brow under the hot sunlight streaking through the painted glass ceiling, with beads rolling down his temples. He had been in uniform since before sunrise, carrying his bulky shield all day; but after a decade and a half of grueling practice and perseverance, his hard work was about to pay off.

"You were all called here for a reason!" Shouted the Guard Captain. “Five of the Bulwark’s finest! Let your deeds from this day forth bear testament to the strength of the Lalafell! Brothers in arms! Brothers in death!”

“AAAOOO! AAAOOO! AAAOOO!” They all shouted in unison, slamming their shields against the floor to fill the keep with their thunderous rhythm. Even Totopeko joined in, smashing his fist against his breastplate. It didn’t take long for their excitement to reach a fever pitch, increasing their tempo with vigorous fervor. They grew so loud and rowdy that they didn’t notice the main entrance swing wide open for the daughter of their sole benefactor. Leleni Leni blinked at how rowdy her men were behaving, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her father, however, would be less than pleased if he heard about this.

“MAIDEN ON DECK!” Totopeko barked at the top of his lungs! Immediately he and the five knights dropped to kneel like they all were kicked in the back of the knee at the same time, and after the echo of their plated knees striking the stone floor made its final bounce against the walls, the keep was as silent as a grave. Leleni nervously cleared her throat as she began to walk, her handmaidens briskly keeping pace while keeping the ends of her gown off the dusty ground. She was suddenly uncomfortable with their presence, despite gazing down at each and every one of them and picking them herself; none of them were wearing their helmets, but at least they were disciplined enough to keep their eyes closed and their heads bowed. It made speaking to them far easier.

“Noble knights…” She started, walking up the steps as slowly and as carefully as she could. “I have chosen each of you to become my fiercest guards. The next generation of defenders who will protect me until your services are no longer needed, like the ones who came before you who protected my mother.” She glanced over at Totopeko and smiled warmly, knowing after they’ve settled in, he would be able to retire, own land, and marry. “You will be my shadow. My shield. My sword. I will not eat, sleep, or travel without you at my side. You will enter every room before me. Taste every dish before me. Drink from every cup before me. And stand between me and every stranger. Every order will be followed without question, for you are now an extension of myself. My mistakes, my misjudgments, my insecurities… you will project them all. Do you understand?”

“Yes milady!” They all answered in unison, harmonizing remarkably well.

“You will defend my honor with your lives. You will protect me from all manner of harm. No matter the threat to your own safeties. My life is paramount. Do you understand?” She asked, standing before them.

“Yes milady!” They repeated.

“This responsibility is a great and terrible burden. You will be in service far longer than your brothers. I will not force this task upon you if you do not wish it. Any or all of you may leave now and return to your posts if you so choose. I will not hold it against you.” This part made Leleni nervous; she’s heard stories of all five chosen knights rising to their feet and leaving. If that happened to her, she would never live that shame down. “Do you understand?”

“Yes milady!” None of the knights moved an inch, putting one of her worst fears to rest; already she felt far more relaxed and comfortable around them. More than that… she felt safe. She approached Guard Captain Totopeko and he lifted his sword in response. Her tiny hand wrapped around the glimmering silver hilt, and with a gentle pull, she freed the blade from its sheath.

Leleni approached the first knight, tapping him on either shoulder. “I name you the Bulwark of Leleni Leni.” The knight grimaced as he trembled, with a tear rolling down his cheek. She smiled before taking a gentle step to the right to stand before the next one. “I name you the Bulwark of Leleni Leni.” His face was still, but his faint smile betrayed his joy. She nodded at him before stepping to the right again. “I name you the Bulwark of Leleni Leni.” This knight almost fell over, his hand quickly shooting up to rub the snot away from his sniffling nose; he was a wreck, starting life as a good-for-nothing thief, now achieving the highest honor he could ever imagine. Leleni beamed at him, with each tap of his shoulder almost dropping him. Then she stepped in front of Zoronado. He opened his eyes to see her pearl-tipped heels poking out from beneath her gold and ebony dress. “I name you the Bulwark of Leleni Leni.” He felt the tip of the blade tap his shoulderguards one by one. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could to will away the temptation, but he couldn’t resist. Zoronado opened his eyes and glanced upward so he may bear witness to her beauty.

Her hair was the color of honey, flowing locks of a dazzling blonde that draped over her shoulders and cascaded down her body. Her skin was fair -- the fairest he had ever seen; with reddening cheeks as soft and round as a baker’s dozen of freshly made wheat buns. He found himself staring deep into her soft green eyes, his jaw wide open like a dead fish, his breath and heart both stopped. Zoronado did the unthinkable; he peeked under his Lady’s hood and saw upon her fair maiden face before her betrothed did. Such an act would put most men in the black cells… but not him. Not this time. Leleni stood there in silence, unsure of what to do or what to say. So they both stared at each other, until Zoronado managed to close his dry mouth and drop his unblinking gaze back to her tiny feet.

The following night was their first mission, but nothing short of the greatest celebration any of them had ever seen. The entire island was out here in force, spilling out of the grand cathedral with camps and tents stretching out as far as the eyes could see. Zoronado stopped counting after two thousand, his focus redoubled to protecting his lady. Clad in thick blue steel and armed with heavy shields and sharpened blades, the Bulwark of Leleni Leni guided the Maiden through the gathering crowds of the common folk to her wedding. Her carriage was showered with flowers and confetti; a blinding cloud to be sure, at least it would have been without their helmets. Slowly they marched, two in front, three behind, until the carriage stopped at the bottom of the cathedral steps.

"Shields up!" Zoronado shouted over the chorus of cheers, and the Bulwark shuffled into a testudo formation at the carriage door. None were allowed to gaze upon her veil until she was at the altar. Leleni Leni stepped down from her cushioned seat, her polished shoes tapped against the cold stone step. She reached out and slipped her fingers into Zoronado's grasp before being gently pulled into her personal guard. A Bulwark moved to close the gap as soon as she was inside, and the bubble of raised shields slowly moved up, protecting her from every angle and blocking her from sight.

Her uncle was waiting in the lobby. Kukutowi Yamatowi was on the verge of tears when the testudo formation broke like an egg and his niece appeared from behind the lowering shields. "Uncle Towi?" She started, more confused than anything. "What are you doing…? Where is father?"

"He is attending a meeting, my beautiful niece." Kukutowi answered, bowing gracefully. "But he sent me to walk you down the aisle myself." His sweet smile faltered when his gaze shot to her entourage. "Make sure no one enters. This day needs to be perfect!"

"Yes sir!" Zoronado turned to his four companions. "You two at the entrance, you two patrolling the hallways. I'll keep watch from the balc-"

"No." Leleni smiled at him through her veil; by most accounts she appeared happy, but her twinkling eyes told a different story. "You will walk me down the aisle instead."

"Yes milady!"

The color drained from Kukutowi’s face. "What?! Preposterous! Your father-!"

"-isn't here when I need his support the most." She watched his pale face turn bright red with anger, from the bottom of his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Now see here…!” Her uncle only made it one step forward before her knights turned to face him, with all five gripping the hilts of their swords; one more step closer and he would risk his own life. Kukutowi gulped dryly as he stared at the armored guards, helpless to protest this insult. He was almost tempted to call her bluff, but he wasn’t a gambling man. They were sworn to Leleni -- not him; her word overrides all others, and with a single command and a passing thought her bulwark wouldn’t hesitate to spill his blood on her wedding day.

"Go take your seat." She glanced over at one of her other knights. “See to it that he doesn’t get lost.” Her uncle glared daggers at Zoronado when he removed his helmet and offered the bride his arm. Leleni didn't even bother acknowledging his continued presence when a knight opened a side door and pushed the mumbling man through. Once he was out of sight and mind Zoronado began the long walk escorting her to her imminent husband. They both closed their eyes when the music swelled. They focused on putting one foot before the other, slowly walking past the audience that lacked both the manners and tact to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Leleni heard their whispers regarding Zoronado. “Who was this person? Where is Lord Diditusho? Why is this lowborn escorting Lady Leleni? Did something happen? Where is her father? Why is one of her knights guiding her?” Furtively the bride glanced over to see if they were affecting him, but his face was as still as stone, and his eyes remained forward and focused. A gentle smile danced along her lips before her gaze returned to the other end of the aisle. The groom, Nonobira Halabira, neither noticed nor cared who was escorting his wife; his beady brown eyes were fixed on the fairest Lalafell he had ever seen. Once they were close enough to touch, Leleni released her soft grip on Zoronado’s arm, and took the last three steps alone to stand by his side. Just as the he was commanded, Zoronado knelt alongside the front row of the ceremony, still standing somewhat in the aisle; he remained close, heavily armed, and ready to move in and protect his lady at a moment’s notice. Watching this stranger slowly lift her veil to reveal her face made him feel things he wasn’t prepared for. He was overjoyed, but not content, with pinging spikes of longing and yearning when he listened to her speak her vows.

And when he kissed her and sealed their oaths, and the audience rose to their feet with a roaring cheer and a deafening applause, all Zoronado felt was guilt. Guilt… and envy.

It was all he could think about during the reception. He stood in silent vigil at her side while it felt like every Lalafell in existence approached her dining table to shower her with gifts and praise. He was lucky to have his helmet -- the last thing he wanted to do was spoil her big day with the scowl plastered across his face. He’s been to receptions just like this one his entire life; this place was filled to the brim with mutton-munching mooks masquerading as money-making masterminds, but even at his seventeenth summer, he knew better. These ‘aristocrats’ were as real as their compliments. Every single one of them would throw Leleni to the wolves or toss her body into the sea if it benefited them. The Bulwark kept a close eye on each and every one that approached her, and she never opened any of these gifts herself.

It was morning by the time he was able to get some sleep. Even with the sum of his training and discipline, he couldn’t sit still and keep guard over their chambers as they consummated their marriage; every noise he heard whispering through the thin wooden door was enough to drive him insane, so he instead traded places with a knight-kin and spent the night walking through the cathedral until four or five bells later, once he was certain the deed was done and over. Zoronado returned to his post and leaned up against the wall, locked his knees, and did his best to catch at least a few bells of sleep before the sun stirred the newlyweds. He closed his eyes for what felt like the longest blink of his life, before the door gently opened and jerked him awake.

“Zoro…” Leleni whispered, her voice dry and scratchy. “... water.”

“Yes milady.” He answered in a hushed tone, hoping he didn’t wake up her husband. He turned on his heel and briskly walked down the hallway, making a beeline straight to the kitchens of the keep. He found a pitcher of ice water, drank a cupful to ensure it wasn't poisoned, and was halfway through pouring a second glass when he heard the soft patter of bare feet approaching behind him. Zoronado turned to see his lady staggering towards him, her beautiful blonde hair lazily tied into a ponytail, and her pajamas all twisted and poorly worn. Seeing her out of her normal attire was a definite shock -- he almost didn't recognize normal attire was definitely a shock -- he almost didn’t recognize the woman if it weren’t for her green eyes. She still remained far and above the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“I have something to ask of you.” Leleni mumbled, shambling toward the pitcher like a zombie. “You heard me right… I said ask of you. And I want you to speak plainly. We can drop the formalities when it’s just us talking.”

“Yes milady.” Zoronado handed her the cup of water and stood by to patiently watch her chug it down; she really was thirsty.

“I want to go to Eorzea. I want to see the sights. I want to know what it’s like on that continent of giants.” She pushed the cup back into his grasp so he could refill it for her. “... but I can’t.”

“One day, milady.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Why not ask your father to let you go?”

She eyed Zoronado up and down before leaning against the counter. “Uncle told him what happened. Father is furious that I insulted our family by making you walk me down that aisle. He wants you stripped of your rank and thrown into the underbelly cells.”

“I will gladly accept any punishment your father sees fit.” He was quick to speak, causing her to pause mid-gulp. “If imprisonment is the price for my loyalty… so be it.”

“I don’t want that.” Leleni shrugged, chewing on an ice cube. “What I want is for you to go to Eorzea in my stead. Experience everything the mainland has to offer. Keep me informed of anything interesting. Enjoy the freedom and I’ll live vicariously through your exploits.”

“Yes milady.” Zoronado answered without hesitation.

“Really?” The woman raised a brow at him. “No thoughts? No questions? No concerns at all?”

“It’s a quest, milady.” He snapped to attention and delivered a crisp salute. “I will not fail you. Pictures, new recipes, strange animals… I’ll do everything I can to help you see the world, even if it’s not through your own eyes.”

A bright smile flashed across her face, electrifying him with an overwhelming surge of joy and pride. “Thank you Zoronado Tatanado. Thank you for being my champion.”

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hanadoesstuffbadly · 4 years ago

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‘Online’ ch I - RS&t7D University AU

Hello, I was looking for Red Shoes fanfiction when I discovered that there are little to no Modern AUs being written. So i figured, screw it, I’ll do it myself because I love modern AUs.

This is the first chapter and it is very long, so if you don’t feel like reading it, fair enough. I’m planning to write the whole thing anyway because I also love writing and it’s good practise.

Small warning if you do want to read this: Merlin is British. I am British. British people are very sarcastic and very moody all of the time. This entire first chapter is from Merlin’s perspective so there are a lot of British phrases and idioms used. If you are fortunate enough to not be an eternally grumpy Brit, don’t worry, the next chapter will be a very bad written impersonation of an American!!

Also, this is my first ever fanfiction so please don’t judge me too harshly, I am but a young peasant girl.

Sooooooooo.... Summary.

Merlin is a twenty year old student at Southend University. To combat his detrimental narcissism, his counsellor suggests online gaming. Merlin tries to cheat by using an ancient game called Fairytale Island, which designs your avatar to match a photograph. This plan falls apart when his laptop explodes, turning his avatar tiny and green. He ploughs on regardless, sure that he will encounter nobody. Little does he know, that a newly moved student from the States is coming online the very same night. :)

(It’s kinda switched so Merlin is the last of the F7 to get his attitude set right.)

With that done... I hope you don’t hate it!

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Merlin couldn’t stand mornings, especially Friday mornings. Because for the duration of his first year of Uni, Friday’s lessons had always begun at the reasonable hour of 2 o’clock in the afternoon. This left Merlin a good half hour to be awake, out of the door and on his bike, zipping past the crowded Southend beaches. In short, Merlin hated Friday mornings because he had not seen one in fifteen months. Needless to say, it was not a welcome reunion.

Approximately twelve minutes prior to commencing with today’s zipping -at the unlawful hour of nine in the morning- Merlin had been idly stirring shredded wheat into a depressing gruel (much to the disgust of the ever-vigilant, ever-attentive, red-haired cook,) basking in his own tardiness.

Had he asked for counselling? No.

Did he need counselling? None of their business.

Did he want to be dragged out of bed at half-eight by six overbearing housemates who apparently believed it was "necessary" or "overdue"; to be packed off to the Resource Centre so that they could “Evaluate any and all emotional or psychological issues which may have arisen for you, as a student whom we have identified as being at risk, before the beginning of this new academic term”? No, he did not!

Contrary to a promising forecast, the sky was a sapphire pool overhead. Thus, the fantasy of motorbiking down empty seafront roads, the brassy drumming of thunder and the gurgle of saltwater smothering his roaring engine (Hans called him a madcap but personally, Merlin preferred the term Raptor-trainer) was squashed. And given that a motorbike charging down the road in the wee hours of the morning was frowned upon, Merlin was forced to content himself with walking at a purposefully counter-productive pace to the bus stop down the hill. Stubbornly, he insisted on himself that he wore a cobalt-blue, long-sleeved shirt with grey trousers; dressing not for the weather he had, but the weather he wanted. This was a stupid idea and the sleeves were rolled up before he reached sea-level. He had to restrain himself from missing a bus entirely. It wasn’t crowded, because of course it wasn’t. Everyone else in Southend had better things to be doing.

Like sleeping.

The bus didn’t even go all the way to the college, stopping at least a dozen yards from the entrance like a noncommittal shrug. It took everything in Merlin to not keep his butt planted securely in his seat; let the busyness of British public transport whisk him away to the Leigh on Sea station; catch a train to Fenchurch street; disappear into Central London; never be seen or heard from again, especially by Dr- as a student whom we have identified as being at risk- LeFey; then inevitably die from water pollution at a ripe old age of thirty-five. It took everything in him, but he walked down to the building, through glass-doors ornamented by a million sweaty fingerprints, and into a waiting room that smelt of Sellotape.

Unsurprisingly, the stately woman at the desk gave him barely a passing glance, handing him a form to fill in with the enthusiasm of an automatic door sliding open. Also unsurprisingly, the assistant behind her paused in rearranging a filing cabinet to brush a couple of sandy hairs behind her ear and chew the end of a pen like it was made of liquorice. She even wandered aimlessly away from her task altogether, sidling up to the front desk most inconspicuously.

Merlin's mood brightened. While he leant down to scribble his name and address on the paper, he winked discreetly in her direction. In spite of definitely not looking at him, her cheeks turned beetroot crimson and what might have been a giggle or the beginnings of a small heart attack escaped her lips.

Against all of the shoddiness of his day so far, Merlin grinned inwardly, sizing her up with half of his attention. Tall, slender, twenty-one, twenty-two most likely. Stray blonde curls framed a thickly tanned face, the rest piled atop her head in a bun. In all, not a bad picture, although her wardrobe did leave something to be desired: Bell-bottomed jeans and a T-shirt reading "Darth Vader was framed", betraying that

A. She still thought that bell-bottomed anything was a good look, and

B. That she had never paid more than six quid for a shirt.

However, her figure and the hang of her hair more than made up for those discrepancies. Perhaps he could get something out of this counselling after all. With this in mind, he cleared his throat loudly,

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss," he waved the form vaguely in front of his face, "but I have a small problem."

Perhaps knowing exactly what he was doing and being used to it by this point, the woman, Ms Marion- who had decided that underneath a lace cardigan was the place for a name tag- ignored him completely, leaving miss bell-bottoms to round the edge of the counter and come to stand by his side over the offending form.

"What's the matter?" She asked, sincerely.

"Y'see," Merlin began, fixing her with a smile that even Jack admitted made anyone weak at the knees, "right here it's asking me for something that I just don't really get." He pointed accordingly, and bell-bottoms leant in closer. To get a really good look at the text, of course.

"We need your mobile number."

"Oh, I see, now here's the thing." Wearing a look of utter helplessness, he faced bell-bottoms completely. She appeared confused, her face becoming redder by the second. "I don't have one of those."

"What?"

"A mobile number." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't mind terribly giving me yours, would you?"

If he squinted, Merlin was fairly certain he would see her bell-bottomed soul leaving her body and fluttering out of the window. He took her lack of reaction as an invitation,

"Lin Pendragon." He extended one hand, still cloaked in a fingerless glove the colour of wet bark. Despite his housemates deciding otherwise, Merlin was in fact not his actual name, and he would sooner be caught dead than introducing himself with it to an attractive young woman such as this. "Part time Ancient Historian, full time Romantic."

Bell-bottoms took the hand and shook it with unexpected firmness,

"Gowlle Delocks. Part time assistant, full time, um..." She seemed a little lost, floundering like a GCSE English paper "Full time-"

"Doctor Morgan LeFey. Part time tolerator of tardiness. This is not one of those times Mister Pendragon."

Spinning on his heel and effectively knocking the form onto the floor, Merlin faced the speaker, who stood in the doorway of a side-office like a disgruntled flamingo.

One thing came to mind when Merlin looked at the counsellor and that was the smell created when someone burns popcorn in a microwave. Forehead too small; nose too large, a hairy wart taking up most of it; everything that should end in a curve ending in an acute, needle-like point. She looked like a bad imitation of a Picasso painting come to life. Yellow hair that might have been blonde hung from her scalp, which he could almost see for how thin the stuff was; and her olive skin was definitely closer to a pale, sickly green from where Merlin was standing. The murky, sky-blue gown that would have looked excessive in the nineteenth century certainly didn't help. Summed up, she looked like a creature one would throw something at if it approached them on a dark night. Merlin felt his nose wrinkle in disgust.

So, he had been forced into counselling by a literal witch. Today was just going swimmingly wasn't it.

Dr Lefey's "office" was exactly what Merlin expected. Save of course for a cauldron, broomstick and small children in display cases. Indigo curtains rather than blinds hung at each side of a wide picture window that looked out on a garden peppered by horrendous little gnomes. Their China faces were stained green by years of mildew build-up. Her wooden floor she had covered with gaudy, knitted rugs, and the sides of her desk had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to them. On the off-white walls hung various, tasteless frames of all sorts and colours, each depicting a photograph taken by somebody who was evidently not a professional photographer. One such picture especially caught his eye.

"This you, Miss… Lefty?" The question was stupid, of course it was her, every other human being on the planet had at least managed to look like one. The photo showed the woman sitting in a cluster of children underneath a cobbled-together shack, a paper tiara on her head and a wand made out of several plastic straws. "The fairy princess in the mauve cardigan?"

"First," She answered, pushing the door shut behind her with her pointy hip, "It's Doctor Lefey, but you will call me Morgan in these sessions." Merlin couldn't help but smirk internally when she assumed there would be more than one of these nightmares. "Second, yes, that is me in the photograph, November, four years ago, Uganda, a recycling activity. And third," The slam of a hefty file being dropped unceremoniously on to a desk made Merlin jump. "I was the fairy Queen."

"Well, your majesty," he ducked his head in a mock bow, "you've aged..." At first, he searched for an adverb but then realised, he didn't particularly need one.

Morgan gave Merlin that pinched smile that he'd seen Arthur's girlfriend, Gwen, give customers at The Golden Goose Cafe when they told her she had no idea who she was dealing with. Also called the 'booting-you-into-next-Thursday-would-cost-twenty-pounds-an-hour-but-i-am-legitimately-considering-it' face. Merlin ignored her easily. He'd had years of practise doing so.

He plopped himself down onto a teal green sofa with a ketchup stain running up one arm. It wasn't a comfortable seat, but the garish pixie cushion did help somewhat. Morgan paid him no attention, leafing through the thick file which she had retrieved moments before. She paid him no attention for a little too long.

As aforementioned, Merlin was fine with ignoring people. Even enjoyed it sometimes. Unattractive waitresses, bin-collectors, overweight people at the gym, pedestrians. Being ignored, however, was a far less comfortable experience. Probably because it was such a rare one. He coughed into the pasty silence.

"Those your medical records?" The room was quiet enough to facilitate a pin drop sounding like a bowling ball being dropped. A long, controlled intake of breath was easily made out. “Cosmetic surgery?”

"No." She said shortly, continuing with her browsing, "but they are yours." Merlin quickly stopped ignoring her. "And your birth records and your parents birth records and every other detail of your stimulating life story, Merlin." He short-circuited momentarily.

"That's not my-"

"No, it isn't your given name, but it's what your roommates call you and according to them, the one you prefer going by." Alright, those googly snitches were going to pay later. He recovered from his surprise gracefully as always, but that left him no less indignant.

"I- I wasn't aware that you'd have access to that information."

"Several reliable sources have identified you as being at risk, Merlin, everything in this folder is strictly need-to-know." A smile that could have been genuine spread across her features, and it may have been nice if it weren't so nauseating to look at. He crossed his arms and sunk lower into the sofa, muttering to himself,

"You hardly 'need-to-know' about the name though."

"Obviously, anything said in this session doesn't leave this room and the values and standards of Southend University are to be observed at all times." With quick strides on legs like skipping ropes, Morgan left her desk and placed herself gracelessly on a trademark shrink chair.

The ‘So, Merlin.’ Was audible on her spindly lips before they left them.

"So, Merlin. First, I'd like you to relax," Difficult, I'm sitting across from a gorgon, I'm a man moments from death, "and tell me about your background, where you're from, your family." He gave her a blank look.

"You just told me that you have a massive file telling you that stuff."

"Yes, but I'd like to know that you also know that stuff. Reviewing your case will prove very difficult if we aren't on the same page. Now, if you please." With an exasperated puff of air into his cheeks, Merlin leant forward so that his elbows braced against his knees and his hands clasped together.

"Fine. I was born in Seoul, South Korea; my parents died in a car accident when I was three. I was brought to England to live with an aunt in Ipswich."

"And you were comfortable with this change?" The interruption caused Merlin to blank for a second.

"Wha- I was three. I was comfortable sitting in a tumble dryer with knickers on my head!" This retort was not appreciated, judging by the tapping of Morgan's pencil against a green clipboard that had seemingly materialised out of thin air.

"These are regulation questions, try not to overthink your answers." With this she returned to drawing writing utensils from the ether apparently, a silent signal for him to continue. Already, Merlin's mind was going through fantasies of sprinting down the hill, across the high street and off the end of Southend pier.

"Alright then, the aunt was arrested when I was six-"

"Why was she arrested?"

"Are shrinks meant to interrupt their patients?"

"I'm not a shrink, I'm a University counsellor, why was your aunt arrested?" Nothing about this experience was relaxing. Getting a Frostino with Miss Delocks, the part-time-assistant would have been relaxing.

"Possession of illegal firearms. Just a taser. Five years in prison under the law of the United Kingdom. Happy?"

"Yes, this is very helpful. So, your guardian was arrested and…"

"I went into care, obviously. Seven foster homes over six years. Adopted after my eleventh birthday by Igraine Pendragon and her husband. I moved into their home in York, Summered in Cumbria; went to school with their son. Igraine died when I was fifteen, Uther when I was seventeen. Arthur and I moved out to one of the cottages we own in Leigh two years ago. It was all perfectly fine and now here I am at Southend University in a counselling session I didn't ask for with a counsellor that I'm certain nobody has ever asked for." Okay, the last bit slipped out half unwarranted, but he might as well be honest.

Long, mole-flecked fingers curled and tightened around the edges of her clipboard, leaving dents in the malleable green cork like it was plasticine.

"Right." Came a snarled response from between smiling teeth. "Now, on to some more current information: Who do you live with during your time at the University?"

"Igraine’s son, Arthur, and the five student tenants who rent out rooms." That felt weird to say. For some reason, whenever Merlin thought about the six other occupants of Stanrocc cottage, it was hard to remember that they weren’t all related in one way or another.

“Right, and are you comfortable with these living arrangements?”

“I’m a University student who gets to live in a fully catered house free of charge, what do you think?” The pinched ‘threaten-to-speak-to-my-manager-again-and-I-will-hit-you-with-a-shoe’ smile returned.

“Okay then.” A rustling of paper signalled that the background questions were mercifully coming to a close, as, Merlin hoped, was this entire experience. Unfortunately, the next words out of the witches’ mouth weren’t, ‘thank you for your time, Mister Pendragon, I hope you and Miss Delocks have a splendid afternoon.’ Instead she intertwined her grotesque fingers and looked him in the eye. The fact that he didn’t turn to stone was a shock.

“Now, Merlin, I’d like to know what features you look for when meeting new people.” Alright, not what he’d wanted or expected to hear.

“Is this a personal interview-”

“Just-” Morgan closed her eyes and pressed her lips together until they completely disappeared into her face. “Answer the question, Merlin.”

“I look for the same things anyone looks for. Do they look approachable? Would I want to be seen with them out and about? Those kinds of things.” He darted his eyes from Morgan’s varicose ankles to her sloping forehead.

“So, you base the value of other people’s company solely upon their outward appearance and draw any and all judgements from those assets?” There were too many words in that sentence, was all Merlin could think in response. When he did finally puzzle out what the question actually was, he gave the woman a jovial nod. Finally, they were on the same wavelength.

“Of course I do, how a person looks tells you a lot about who they are, doesn’t it?”

Morgan must have been writing something down, but it still felt as though her eyes had not left Merlin for a second. An intake of breath through her wide nostrils filled the room.

“To some extent, maybe.” She shifted on her chair and the look in her eye of a person who had gotten exactly what they wanted was unnerving. “Merlin, do you think you feel this way about other people because these mentalities could have been forced on you in the past?” Her nasal voice had become one of understanding and professionalism, the Northern accent thinning considerably. Merlin didn’t like it at all. “Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look?”

Throughout this entire, stupid session, Merlin had been wanting to avoid answering questions. Now all he wanted to do was say something so devastating yet so on point that it would shut this witch up for the rest of her career. And yet his tongue remained still, rooted to the floor of his mouth.

“I see.” The counsellor stood and shook out her skirts with the smug air of a woman victorious. Merlin wanted to throw something at her. Like a shoe. She went around to the back of her desk and retrieved a post-it-note shaped like a unicorn. “I’m giving until the beginning of the new term to combat this problem that we seem to have here." In one motion she ripped away the post it note and was making her way back towards him, brandishing it like a literal curse rather than simply the figurative one that it clearly was. She handed it to him unforgivingly.

"I'd like you to try a social activity that is purely audio based. Interactions with others that don't allow them to see your appearance." The urge to crumple the note into a ball was strong. “I’ll schedule another session three weeks from now.”

"And what if I'm perfectly happy with the way things are? I don't need to change anything." Merlin shot back, and control of the situation brushed his fingertips before Morgan's condescending smile dragged it out of reach again.

"Tell me, Merlin, how many reports do you think I received from your professors and peers of this self-important, judgemental behaviour?" Merlin was already standing as he milled the question over for a full couple of seconds.

"One or two, I'd imagine." He finally mumbled. The witch drummed her pencil against her crossed arms and shook her head. "Well," Merlin started, "it can't have been-"

"Twenty-four." She didn't look victorious now, just a little sorry. That was so much worse. "Twenty-four different people, who you have known for only a year or so. Still think you don't need to change anything?"

Merlin didn't want to look around at her ridiculous face again. He didn't think he even knew twenty-four people well enough for them to report him. Her voice carried on no matter how much he wanted it not to.

"If I don’t see improvement three weeks from now, regardless of how you feel about it, I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely."

The facts stung like poisonous, green smoke in Merlin's head. He pulled at the ornamented door handle, dismissing himself. Then a question came into his mind and forced itself to be asked.

"What activities would you suggest, then?"

"Start an interactive podcast; volunteer for a University chat-line; Online gaming." Merlin's humourless scoff punctuated her list.

"Yeah, no. I'm not an ‘over the phone’ kind of guy." He stepped out into the hallway and noticed Miss Delocks' head spin in his direction. The last ten minutes had dampened any mood he might have been in for going out, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least try to cheer himself up. He heard one last reply from the witch before he strode off in the assistant’s direction,

"Keep that attitude up and you won't be a "Part-time Ancient Historian" either."

In case the presence of a pale pink fiesta with mermaid stickers running along the doors wasn’t indicative enough, the loud guffaws and scattered shouts told Merlin that his housemates had company. This was before he even reached the top of the hill. Night was creeping across the sky already. Merlin would have liked to stay out longer, but the witches’ words had stuck a little too keenly to him, and a college bar surrounded by five beautiful young ladies was not, it seemed, the best place to process things.

Stanrocc cottage was one of a kind really. It was called a cottage because it managed to be too small to be a villa but also too pretty to be a house. The walls were brick, covered in an artsy kind of cement stuff with shells mixed into it, then painted white. Kingfisher blue window frames peeked out from beneath an overgrowth of marble-like gladioli and ballet-slipper foxgloves. The diminutive front garden was mostly taken up by the wild-cherry tree that had looked hurricanes and landfalls in the face, released a string of angry expletives and stayed precisely where it was with zero intention of ever going away. Around its ankles sprung up Snowdrops every Winter, but right now, in the twilight of August, the space was taken up by a hoard of decaying daffodil corpses.

Through one of the windows, a blonde head was just visible. It stood up haphazardly and came to the door when Merlin knocked. Jack appeared in the doorway, but he’d barely laid eyes on Merlin before he was leaning back inside and shouting into the noisy fray, his accent thick, probably from laughing,

“Ee’s back!” With that he left the door hanging open. Merlin entered, a little disgruntled at the lack of welcome, until he got inside and found out why. Seated on the various beanbags, chairs, and sofas, were their usual six occupants, but with them were four less usual ones. Alright, not that unusual, three of them Merlin knew he recognised.

First was Arthur’s fiancée, Gwen. She was a common recurring visitor. Whenever Arthur wasn’t following her around the café, she was following him around the cottage. The other two present were less clearly defined by engagement rings or Facebook relationship status’.

Upon sitting back down on his very expensive armchair, Jack had one-hundred-and-fifty centimetres of pink-leggings wearing, ashen skinned vegetarian seating herself comfortably on his lap. That one was Viviane… Or Niniane. Merlin never actually paid attention when Jack gushed about her, but he was almost sure her name was one of those. She was Jack’s “study partner'', both of them being up and coming chemists. Funny, because to Merlin’s knowledge, studying didn’t usually involve reclining on each other’s laps; playing with each other’s hair (or her playing with his, at least) and going out on spa trips together. If they weren’t together, Merlin couldn’t blame Jack. All spread-out, round eyes and large lips, she did look a little like a fish with legs.

Lastly there was Briar. Nobody actually knew what Briar was. Was she Hans’ friend? His girlfriend? A kind of omnivorous goat? It was a mystery. Altogether they knew seven things about her: Like Hans, she was German; she took fencing lessons; her wardrobe consisted entirely of ankle-length, floaty skirts and a special talent of hers was tripping over literal air. She slept with a baseball bat, wore purple contacts in her eyes and, while you wouldn’t imagine so from her physique, she had the appetite of a full grown horse. They didn’t even know what she was doing at the Uni. With her legs folded in front of her, she leant on her maybe-boyfriend-maybe-friend’s signature bean bag chair, one hand holding a row of scrabble pieces. The other was surreptitiously burrowing through Hans’ homemade bag of steak flavoured crisps, which famously tasted like dog food to everyone but those two. The curly-headed bag-holder didn’t seem to mind at all.

There was one other girl with them, seated on a folding chair between Briar’s feet and Arthur’s elbow. Merlin gave her barely a passing glance however, taking in a round figure, cherry-pink shorts, and shoulder-length brown hair before he lost interest.

Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look.

The counsellor’s stupid voice drove through his thoughts unbidden like an off-rail train. He shook his head and shoved them back down into his subconscious where they belonged, ready to be forgotten.

The ringing of the words, however, was replaced by his stomach gurgling irritably. A muffin and a salted-caramel hot chocolate were not enough to go on for a whole afternoon. His eyes fell on the Chinese food containers strewn about the coffee table and surrounding floor. A takeaway was a rare occasion in Stanrocc cottage. In the entire county of Essex, there were exactly four fast-food establishments that Hans trusted and respected, and thus, would allow them to purchase from. Two of these were fish-and-chip shops; one- Merlin’s particular favourite- did flame-grilled kebabs; and the last one was the Jade Dragon Restaurant. Very expensive- meaning Jack was probably to thank for it- and very, very good Chinese food. It dawned on Merlin a little late that this uncharacteristic treat might have been meant to make him feel better, judging by the sizeable stack of barbecue kebab boxes that could be seen just inside the kitchen door. Nobody else liked barbecue kebabs.

But he was too tired and too hungry to feel bad for not coming back. He’d been busy.

The energetic game of scrabble had come to a standstill when his arrival was announced. Now ten pairs of eyes were on him and six of them were concerned. Merlin made for the kitchen, the multitude of expectant faces making his chest knot.

“Don’t worry about me,” he insisted, half-heartedly when he noticed both Arthur and Hans shifting as if to get up. “I’m going to bed.”

Noki, the second of the triplets, swept up a container filled with Prawn crackers and extended them in Merlin’s direction. He waved them away dismissively.

“Really, it’s fine, I’ll grab something from the fridge.” And with that he left the room.

Much to his dismay, the fridge was a sorry sight, being mostly bare save for half a watermelon and an empty milk carton. It was a Friday, he soon remembered, which meant Hans would be grocery shopping tomorrow. Also, Briar was there.

Footsteps came thudding along the short passage between the living room and the kitchen. Merlin didn’t have to look up to know that an orange vest with arms was blocking the door.

“What do you want, Arthur?” Even in the fridge, Merlin could feel the glare in the back of his head. Crossed arms also wouldn’t be a surprise.

“I want to know where you’ve been, and why you didn’t feel the need to tell us you weren’t coming back?” Merlin finally selected a yogurt cowering at the very back with a best-before date of yesterday. He shut the fridge door with his foot, searching for a clean spoon on the draining board.

“You know you aren’t actually my dad, right?” He plunged the end of the spoon through the paper covering and started ripping the excess away. “I can go where I want.”

“No.” Arthur had now moved completely into the room. “But you’re still one of us, mate, and we were all worried. The triplets almost got in the truck to come pull you out of whatever ditch you’d fallen into.” Merlin actually looked him in the face this time. He was scratching his ghost of a goatee the way he always did when he felt in deep water. “You didn’t exactly leave in great spirits this morning.”

“Lurrk, uum fyrn.” Merlin said through a mouthful of yogurt. The stuff was absolutely repulsive, but it was the best conversation avoidance technique he had without a book to hand. He manoeuvred around Arthur, trying desperately to keep from openly weeping at the foul stuff. The best-before date ought to have been the may-not-kill-you-before date.

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed behind him. “I can see that. But you’re-“ Merlin dashed up the stairs, discarding the yogurt discreetly in the kitchen bin as he passed it.

Arthur had changed since meeting Gwen. It was like something had been plucked out of him. The thing that had made Merlin feel close to him while everything was happening: The adoption, losing both their parents. It was like Arthur had grown up, changed somehow. And had left Merlin behind.

And from what he had seen in the other room, Arthur wasn't the only one.

Merlin emptied the yogurt out of his mouth and gargled mouthwash to get rid of the lingering flavour of overripe strawberries. A knock at his bedroom door interrupted him.

“What did the counsellor say?” It was Arthur again. Merlin had honestly had enough of today. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him be? He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He poked his head out, startling his friend who still had his fist raised to knock again.

“She suggested I take up gaming.”

-*-

Hours later, Merlin turned over his pillow again, trying his absolute hardest to fall asleep. He’d tried relaying a movie in his head, but thinking about the ending just made him sad. He’d tried reading his new book, but Neil Gaiman wasn't particularly relaxing. At last he had just shut his eyes and told himself to sleep, with real authority and gumption. That just made him more awake because his brain hated him.

Eventually he sat up and tugged the string on his lamp. The clock on his desk told him it was 2:26. Merlin’s bones told him that he was actually in a void in which time was a construct of society, and he felt much more inclined to believe the latter. Seeing as somebody, probably Hans, had left a plate of reheated kebabs in front of his door, Merlin hadn’t starved, so he couldn’t explain the hollow discomfort that was plaguing him now.

Actually, he could, he just didn’t want to.

Twenty-four people thought he was a self-important, narcissistic idiot.

Walking around his room to clear his head quickly turned into walking downstairs and into the kitchen to get some shreddies. There were still a few chocolate ones left, them mercifully being the one cereal that Briar didn’t love more than life itself.

As he dejectedly spooned the stuff into his mouth, green smoke came unfiltered through his head again, spelling out: I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely. Merlin groaned and pulled at his bark coloured hair.

Ancient and Medieval History, while not a popular course, was still difficult to get into. Only twelve or so universities in the country even offered it. And even then, Southend alone offered the module on folklore and mythologies. So many essays, so many projects, so much time spent reading about the sordid love-lives of ancient deities. For nothing apparently. All because some people he didn’t know thought he was self-obsessed.

Nothing added up.

And gaming? Really. Podcasts and chat-lines were an instant nope, but gaming. In his entire twenty years, Merlin had played one game and one game alone. And well, that one was…

Next thing he knew, Merlin had left the congealed cereal lonely on the sink and was fighting his way through a wall of cobwebs into the storage room. The lights hadn’t worked in there for years, so Merlin clasped a battery powered torch from Colchester castle like a lifeline.

With his finger and thumb he gingerly shifted bicycles, boxes of DVDs and even a taxidermy rabbit that had gone to holes, until he saw it. The shiny, green corner of a laptop-games-console-hybrid emerged from the darkness. And then was immediately plunged back into it when the torch exploded in Merlin’s hand, the light flickering away with a puff of smoke. Merlin had expected this, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the game and high-tailing it out of the storage room before the shadows could grab his ankles and eat him. Safe in his own bedroom again, Merlin intrepidly opened the game.

Fairytale Island was created by Avalon Games nine years ago. In its entire run, localised in Southern England, it sold about three-hundred consoles. These consoles were box-like laptops, but a more accurate comparison would be an oversized Nintendo DS. The keyboard-space was taken up by the controls, while the screen was above. Graphics-wise, it was surprisingly ahead of its time. What you did was you uploaded a full body photograph of yourself, lined up the limbs and head, and voila, you had your avatar!

This particular console had been bought by an incredible woman named Igraine, for the eleven year old boy whom she had fearlessly rescued. Merlin ran a finger gently over the sticker, feeling the scratchy remnants of its glitter-glue border. On it was a simple little message, rounded off with a clumsy smiley face and the letter I, in wide swirling print.

For the most handsome Prince on Fairytale Island!!!

Obviously his avatar had to change, lest he wanted to continue with the slenderman-esque creature created by his imaginative twelve-year-old self.

Merlin had to stand on his bed to get himself into the frame of his plug-in webcam. Not really knowing what to do with his arms, he did the only rational thing and T-posed. In his pyjamas. In front of a game for preteens. At twenty past two in the morning.

If one of his housemates came in now he would kill them and dissolve the body in acid.

The screen counted down, readying the camera.

Three… Two… O-ghlowhfsajfhlsdkhlhdsjfh…………….Error………...rebooting, thank you for your patience.

Well. That seemed fair.

Hopping down as quietly as possible, Merlin watched the static clear from the screen like ghost lightning. He should have expected it. Motorcyclists had long said that ‘Love is when you like someone as much as your motorbike.” Merlin was inclined to disagree, because his bike was the one piece of mechanical equipment that didn’t figure it should explode whenever he dared breathe nearby. No bond would ever be able to trump that kind of loyalty.

Reservedly, he fiddled with a Rubix cube until the screen returned to normal. Nothing seemed that wrong with it.

Until his avatar loaded again.

A brief visit to the bathroom mirror was made so that Merlin could examine both his eyes, but when he came back they found the same sight.

Where there should have been a tall, thin, carrot-shaped, Merlinish mage character, there now resided a tiny, stout- if still Merlinish- one. And it was green. Not even a nice green, like fern or emerald or sage. This was a green that reminded a person of snot and nothing else… Except maybe a dehydrated basil plant.

Merlin bashed his head against the edge of his desk. What had that witch done to him? Why was he concerned about this?

Giving up on answering that question, he looked up to face the diminutive monster that bobbed in place like an excitable pea with legs. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he tried to reason. If he didn’t focus, it almost looked like an obese, unwell Gollum. But hey, maybe the other players will like that kind of thing?

Without realising it, Merlin scoffed out loud at himself.

Other players? This game had a range of a thousand kilometres squared and was being handled by a technopollyon (a word that was not a word until Merlin discovered there was no term for a person who inadvertently breaks technology, but there were a multitude of Greek words that he could misuse in its place.)

The chances of another pathetic Englishman within his third of Essex being in possession of and online on Fairytale Island at two-thirty that night, were not worth thinking about. Because they were nonexistant.

With that in mind, Merlin took one last bitter look at his avatar, and continued resolutely on to game.

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Wow! Thanks for reading that!!! I hope you enjoyed it!

(Btw, Gwen, Viviane and Briar are my headcannons for the end credit characters and Morgan LeFey is the fairy princess)

Again, thanks so much. I’m putting the next chapter up at some point, this one from Snow’s perspective.

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mcrmadness · 3 years ago

Note

color asks: yellow, blue, violet

Ask game: 20 colour asks.

Thanks!!! ^^ And also sorry for taking this long with this ask. It's been half-ready in my drafts for some time now but I just kept forgetting about it whenever I had time, and then remembered about it when I had no energy :D

yellow - what’s your happy place? real or fictional?

I think my happy place is home. Especially when I have been away for a while and finally get to go back home. Like, I live for that shit! I was the happiest I have ever been when I was studying in a vocational school several years ago, and the school is in another city which was about a 3h car drive for me to do 1-2 times a month. I usually spent one week at school, and the best moment was always when it was finally Friday and I got to go back home!

But I also really liked being there, because I always got an enormous energy boost from being on the road and somewhere else for a while. I always hated the moment of leaving to school, but still I always enjoyed being there, it was a nice change for what I normally did at work. So those 2 years were awesome time because when I was at home and work, it felt like a vacation from school (as I was so attached to those horses and habits at work!), and then being at school felt like a vacation from home and work as it was a bit more chill and not as hectic as what it sometimes got at work :D

I'm a "home mouse" as we say here in Finland, but still every single time I have been to somewhere else and come back home, it's insane how it just keeps me going for weeks or months to come. Like, really waking up from the grey everyday life and experiencing and seeing things you either have never seen before or at least not that recently.

---

The rest under the cut:

blue - which is your favourite mode of long distance transport? have you ever been on a plane? - if so, where?

I really love trains, man. Maybe it's in my genes because my paternal grandparents both worked for the Finnish railway company, and my dad often traveled by train as they didn't have a car, and he always kept saying how he loves traveling by trains. Or did when the seats still had more leg space.

I've also spent my childhood mainly traveling by trains because we used to get so severe motion sickness on busses, and it was hell before my mom found out about pills for motion sickness. But I've never had motion sickness in a train! There is a train station near where I live, and I can often hear the sound of the train and that always fills me with warmth and the biggest urge ever to travel to somewhere by train. I just associate it with the excitement of getting to somewhere else for a while, as well as with the tired but happy mood after coming back home from somewhere by train. I really want to go interrailing in Europe one day. It sounds so cool. From Finland, you can only get to Russia by train but not without a Visa.

My another fave long distance transport is my car. Just the freedom to do whatever I want and whenever I want, and to go to wherever I just want without having to be dependent on timetables or other people. It's undescribable.

And yes, I have been on a plane - thanks to die ärzte :DDD I just had to see them in Poland (in 2019) so a plane it was... as you can't really get anywhere from Finland without either taking a plane, cruiser (that costs hundreds of euros and takes up to 3 days depending on where you're going to) or a ferry.

I did not exactly enjoy it, in fact I thought I was gonna die either from a plane crash or from the shock, my heart did not calm down until I was safely back on the ground and I literally thought I'm gonna die from it. I was so afraid of passing out and closed my eyes, and then I felt motion sickness and was afraid of throwing up. Nice. Neither did happen in the end, but I seriously can't understand how people can sit on a plane and feel content for hours when just 1,5h flight (x4) was already way too long time for me. Just the realization that you don't have ground under your feet anymore is so freaking scary! At least I know now that my element is definitely ground, even if brown is not my fave color.

---

violet - what’s your favourite cake flavour? are you any good at baking?

Banana bundt cake. Which leads us to the second question as it's my late grandma's old recipe that I have modified a bit to fit my needs - mainly just replaced the wheat flour with oat and buckwheat flours as it doesn't change the taste of it at all.

So yes: I am good at baking. It's just stupid because it has never been my passion, nor do I really like it, yet of course I'm a natural talent at it somehow. I don't really know what I'm doing, yet they almost always turn out well. Maybe it's yet another thing in my genes since both of my grandmas were good at baking, especially my paternal grandma was constantly baking something, mostly Finnish type of buns (there are several different types, but my grandma made this long bun loaf thingy that is made from three dough rolls braided together). So maybe my baking "talent" comes from there...

#useless-blog-of-a-moth #ask games

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ren1327 · 4 years ago

Text

Taken Everything Ch.1

-November 2020-

The table was set with white plates and crystal glasses filled halfway with rose wine. It was the sweet kind with hints of watermelon he liked so much.

The plate had still steaming crab cake, asparagus and a leafy salad with the dressing to the side. A favorite meal of his.

“Do you like it?’ The man across the table asked him. “I know you don’t care for the regular Thanksgiving feast.”

“I love it.” He said softly. “It smells amazing.”

He cut a piece of the crab cake and hummed as he let it melt on his tongue, chewing slowly before swallowing. The man across from him smiled, pleased.

“What have you been up to today? Do you want more books? More journals? More paint?” He asked.

Ben looked at his lap.

“No. I’m good.” He said, smiling softly at the man. “And I just drew some dogs I saw on tv. I can show you if you want.”

The man smile widened. “My sweet Ben. Have you finally stopped fighting me?”

He knew better than to say no.

He never hurt Ben. Never laid a hand on him. Never lost his temper in front of him. But he would stop talking to him, leaving Ben alone for long periods of time in his room; the bathroom door gone, the shower curtain and rod gone, the mirror removed and timers on the automatic sink and tub drain.

The camera lights from their high corners would blink their little red lights to show they were watching him. And they always blinked when the man was away. He would bring him food, but never speak to him. Giving him no stimulation. No entertainment beside the mattress and windowless white walls, the lights never dimming.

And Ben would beg to be let out after only two days. He would do whatever was asked of him. Happily.

Ben looked down at his ankle where a thick metal cuff hung as not to irritate his skin.

“I won’t take that off.” The man said. “Not for a bit. It’s for your safety, My Ben.”

“It’s fine.” Ben said hollowly. “I understand.”

“…finish your food for me?” He asked. “I don’t want you to get malnourished. I can’t bear to see you in pain.”

“Yes, Kenji.” Ben said and raised his fork again.

-November 2019-

Ben watched as they lowered his mother into her grave. Sammy held him close to her as Darius placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Ben.” He said. “If you need—”

“Thank you. Darius.” Ben grit out, trying to hold back his tears. “I think I need some time to process this…”

“Ben…” Sammy said as Ben walked away from the grave.

He wiped at his eyes and took out a paper, seeing how much he stilled owed for his mother’s hospital bills and now the funeral. He knew he could cover most of it if he used his savings.

His mother deserved to be put to rest.

He sat on a stone bench and checked his phone, seeing a message from his boyfriend Jeremy.

“Meet you at home.” He read out loud and sniffed softly. “My mom died. Why couldn’t you come?”

He got to his feet and walked to the bus stop.

The ride was silent. He ignored people and they largely ignored him. He was invisible.

When he reached his crappy one bedroom apartment he shared with Jeremy, he felt exhausted just unlocking the door and seeing his boyfriend lounging on the sofa, drinking a beer.

“How did it go?” He asked.

“Fine.” Ben said.

“Did you get anything?”

“We used everything on her treatment.” Ben said. “All the money was used to pay off the—”

Jeremy threw the bottle, Ben ducking out of the way and covering his head when the bottle shattered on the door. He stayed on his knees as Jeremy stalked past him, slamming the door as he went off to who knew where.

Ben let out a sob and covered his face. He cried for hours, and when he woke up, among glass and stale beer, Jeremy hadn’t come back.

-November 2020-

Ben accepted the fingers that combed through his freshly washed hair.

“There we go. Better?” Kenji asked as he placed a comb down.

“Yes, thank you.” Ben said softly and smiled at Kenji.

“Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”

“…” Ben looked at his lap.

“I get it. You’re not ready yet. But I promise I won’t touch you. Not like that. Not yet.” Kenji said, kissing his forehead with soft, dry lips.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course!” He said, delighted at Ben’s answer. “I swore to you. I would never hurt you.”

“…Can we watch another movie together?” He asked, knowing it would calm Kenji.

“Of course. What would you like?” He asked.

“Something with animals? A documentary?” He asked, feeling a bit better when Kenji’s shoulder relaxed.

Kenji leaned down and Ben closed his eyes, giving him silent permission to kiss him. He felt his lips again and pushed slightly into him, making him believe he was accepting of the affection despite the numbness he felt.

He lifted his arms and Kenji picked him up like a bride, Ben leaning his head on Kenji’s shoulder as he walked him to the living room, his bound ankles swaying slightly.

Kenji sat him on the sofa and Ben waited patiently as he untied his ankles and stood. He looked at him a moment before walking to the next room to get blankets. Ben shivered in his clothing.

He was given soft loungewear, short sleeved shirts and shorts, and slippers. Not allowed anything more or less, as Kenji always feared Ben could hurt himself. Blankets use to be only allowed when Kenji was home and could get to him. Now, he had gained enough trust to have them and a few more luxuries.

At this point, Ben knew better than to run. He wasn’t strong or fast or smart enough to escape.

So he tucked his feet up under him and leaned on the sofa arm.

When Kenji returned and saw him relaxed and waiting, he tilted his head with a smile.

“Hold me, Ben?” He asked.

Ben opened his arms and Kenji hugged him, nuzzling into his chest. Ben hugged back and closed his eyes.

He was warm, he was loved, but still so empty and scared.

-November 2019-

Ben sat alone at the diner, in a corner where no one would bother him.

Jeremy had come home. Angry.

Angry about not having enough money. Angry at his job. Angry at life. Angry at—

Ben winced as he touched the skin swelling around his eye.

He wanted to take the bus to Sammy and Yaz. To Darius or even his old teacher’s apartment.

Somewhere to hide away until Jeremy calmed down.

But they would ask questions. They would demand to know. They would hate Jeremy. They would say Ben had to leave him when Jeremy had done so much for him.

Jeremy had paid attention to him. Had been there when his mom’s chemo failed. Had taken his mind off the sadness. Had held him throughout.

But once his mother had taken her last breath, he changed.

He wanted to know where the insurance was. What had she left him? Did his family leave or send him anything?

And Ben had been open and honest.

His mother had no family and he never knew his father. He was just alone trying to get as much money as he could for college working at a flower shop.

And Jeremy…

Ben looked at his glass of water with a frown.

He loved his boyfriend, right?

A plate was placed before him and he gasped when he saw it was a veggie burger and sweet potato fries.

“Um, I didn’t…” His stomach growled and the waitress placed a glass of sweet tea next to the plate.

“Another customer asked us to send you a meal. Said you looked so alone and sad, that a hot meal might help.” She said, an older woman who often waved at Ben when he would visit. She looked at his eye and made a face, then smiled.

“He was real handsome. No ring and some fancy clothes.” She said with a wink.

Ben looked around.

“Sorry, Sugar. He bought your meal right before he left.”

Ben smiled and looked at the plate. The sweet potatoes had salt and extra pepper. The veggie burger most likely was dressed with mustard and had no tomatoes. The bun was the cheap honey wheat they offered but he loved so much. And even the tea had two lemon slices and only half ice like he preferred.

“I’m surprised he knew all the details of your order.” She said and walked off.

Ben froze and stared at his food. She was joking, right?

Right?

Ben walked back to his apartment to find Jeremy asleep on their bed.

He took a duffle bag and filled it with as much of his things as he could. There was a room for rent right across from his shop and he would beg the owner if he had to.

He had to get away.

-November 2020-

Ben moved closer into Kenji’s body, sleepily seeking out his warmth.

Kenji had been stroking his back, lulling him into a daze as lion cubs played on screen.

“Are you tired, my Ben?” He asked.

Ben nodded into his collar bone, feeling the other shiver as he exhaled on the warm tanned skin.

Kenji cupped the back of his neck and Ben could feel the larger man’s heart thudding through his ribcage. Ben had never felt that from another person before.

His nerves died down, and he took advantage of this lull in his anxiety to kiss Kenji’s chin. He felt the heart speed and he moved to kiss Kenji’s neck.

Kenji gasped and clutched Ben’s hips. He surged forward, kissing Ben, who welcomed it this time. He pinned Ben on the sofa and started kissing the right side of his face, Ben moaning sleepily.

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you!” He chanted as he kiss Ben’s neck, cheeks, lips, nose.

“Kenji.” Ben moaned softly. “I changed my mind.”

Kenji wasted no time lifting him and taking him to his bedroom.

Kenji’s bedroom had a tv, a plush sofa, an empty desk with a flat bolted down lamp, two shelves full of Ben’s favorite books and even newer additions to certain collections, the bathroom had no door still, but a rainfall shower with thick plexiglass and a large tub that could fit four people. The bed was what was most impressive. A four poster with a high luxury mattress and piles of fleece blankets and plush pillows.

Kenji laid Ben in bed, leaving only to lock the door and the windows that overlooked the sea.

Ben still couldn’t believe he was still here.

The mansion was a beautiful creation of dark wood and white brick. It sat right beside a cliff where a grove of trees had flourished along with long feather grass. The cliff had a wooden deck and wall keeping people from falling to their deaths, but from Ben could tell, no one had ever fallen.

Kenji’s father had jumped.

Kenji forbade Ben from going to the back yard or deck. And when Ben looked at the greyish blue water, Kenji would sweep him away or call the house phone to suggest Ben do something away from the sea that took his parents.

Not that Ben could. As he was always bound by the chain and cuff around his ankle when Kenji was at work or busy in his office.

Trapped by a man living off his parent’s wealth and not having to do anything but go into a fancy building and sign papers. His fortune was enough for several lifetimes, perhaps even enough to fund, care for and pay for college for at least three generations.

But he hadn’t want anything.

Until he saw Ben, he had said.

Ben remembered that night. In snippets and flashes. Screaming and limbs pulled taunt. Yelling and—

He broke out of his thoughts when Kenji’s door locked.

Ben laid on his side, watching his captor.

Kenji never initiated sex. Even when Ben tried to use it to gain favor and escape, he denied it.

“You’re not ready yet.” He’d coo and kiss his cheek.

But he always pulled Ben close, spooned him, kissed him, touched his body. But never under clothes or more than light rutting before Kenji excused himself to the bathroom. And Ben would will his body not to react to Kenji’s moans and groans and his name being called softly.

He felt Kenji lay next to him, pulling him close into his bare chest. Ben pressed a sallow pale cheek to Kenji’s skin.

“I love you, Ben.” Kenji whispered a final time as Ben fell asleep, fighting between the feelings of being secure and knowing he wasn’t yet safe.

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

Here’s the first chapter of Taken Everything.

I’m sorry, I’m a little tired, so please enjoy while I nap.

#jw taken everything #jw benji #jw fanfic #jw te #kenji x ben #kenji and ben #kenji kon #ben pincus #camp cretaceous taken everything #camp cretaceous IRAWYF #camp cretaceous fanfic #camp cretaceous sweater weather #camp cretaceous

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farleydiana · 5 years ago

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red queen hogwarts au :)

so i’ve finally decided to bring this idea to life..... shoutout to the @redqueenetwork discord for coming up with cool headcanons and help with character sorting!!

this is also my first fic ever DONT be mean. plot is basically mare goes to hogwarts forthe first time and makes friends its very happy. this was super fun to write so hope y’all enjoy.

arrival

Mare had always wondered what lied on the other side of the wall.

Every year, since she was six years old, she’d seen her brothers run straight into it and fade into another dimension, to a secret platform and the train that would take them to Hogwarts. She’d heard insane stories about the place, stuff that belonged in fever dreams or myths. Staircases that moved, forests home to deadly creatures, a gigantic squid on a lake, ghosts that roamed the halls, portraits that could talk… it didn’t sound real. It couldn’t be. But when her letter appeared in their small mailbox one friday in August, she realized maybe her brothers weren’t toying with her after all… that this magical castle hidden in the highlands did exist, and that it housed all those things that came from your wildest dreams and nightmares. And now, she was going to be a part of it all. That didn’t feel real.

She was finally going to cross the wall.

Her mother, Ruth, hugged each of her sons tight, one final goodbye before they left for school. They all hugged Gisa too, Tramy even lifted her up. He was getting stronger, playing that quidditch sport. And off they went. Bree first, pushing into the wall with force. He disappeared. Then, it was Tramy’s turn. Then Shade’s.

Mare’s heart raced, this was really it. Her time had come. She said a quick goodbye to Mom, Dad, and Gisa, and grabbed her cart, which contained a trunk filled with books and a broom, and, with all her strength, pushed straight for the wall.

Out of instinct, she expected a collision that would make her trip into her cart or maybe fall headfirst into the floor, but instead, she emerged in a bustling platform. Her brothers were waiting for her, and they cheered when she came out, high-fiving her. This whole thing was starting to feel like an adventure.

They moved along, making space for new people who entered. Platform 9 ¾ was at its full capacity, with countless families saying goodbye to their children. They were all strangely dressed, in robes or very colorful dress suits. Mare found herself almost clinging to Shade, as Bree and Tramy went to meet their friends. They both stood awkwardly in the middle of the platform looking like lost children, searching the train’s entrance. Mare took this chance to look around. Her eyes landed on a woman, with blond hair elaborately tied in a low bun and a long blue coat (in summer!) whispering to a boy who was undoubtedly a first year like her. The woman stood up, and Mare could notice those around her standing a little straighter. Her icy eyes found Mare’s, and she too tensed. She must be a really powerful witch, Mare thought, she certainly looks like it.

“Come on,” Shade said, grabbing her wrist and pulling them through the crowd. Maybe Shade noticed her staring at the woman.

“Who is she?” Mare asked. She figured she needed to know.

“Elara Merandus. Works for the Ministry-- wizard government. Not one of the good ones there.” Shade explained.

She wanted to know more, to know what the Ministry did, and why she wasn’t “one of the good ones”. But the crowd to the train was moving along.

They entered quickly, and the mumbling from the platform was instantly replaced by the sound of train engines and excited teens. Shade walked along the train, to check for carts they could sit at. Some were full, others had kids much older than them, and others had one or two kids with unfriendly looks on their faces who always answered “sorry, it’s taken” when asking if they could sit. Then, they came across a boy looking absentmindedly through the window.

“Excuse me,” Shade said, “are these seats taken?”

The boy jumped, not having expected a visitor. “What? Oh, no… it’s not taken,” he said. He had hair the color of wheat and very green eyes. Mare and Shade entered the cart, seating in the bench opposite to his. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, Mare turned her attention to her worn sneakers.

The train started moving. A bunch of kids screamed last goodbyes, and Mare kind of wanted to join them, but she had already left her parents behind. Instead, she gripped the edge of her seat a little tighter at the sudden movement.

“I’m Kilorn,” the boy said, “Kilorn Warren.”

Mare laughed a little on the inside. What kind of dumb name is Kilorn?

“I’m Shade,” her brother said, “and this is my sister, Mare Barrow”

Kilorn didn’t bother to hide his laugh. The same can be said about our names, she thought, a bit embarrassed.

“Are you first years too?” Kilorn asked.

“I’m on my second year, Mare’s a first year.” Shade replied before she could.

Kilorn turned all his attention to Mare. “This is all so crazy, isn’t it? The, you know… the train, the school… it’s magic,you know?” He was ecstatic, words spilling from his mouth, and Mare grinned at his enthusiasm. “I thought this was some prank when I got my letter, but… it’s not.”

Mare nodded, remembering when Bree first got his. A strange man with blue robes and close-cut white hair had appeared in their house one morning with a letter, and explained to her parents what this whole wizarding school ordeal was about. They were… shocked, to say the least, but would never refuse the opportunity of free education at a boarding school with all the amenities covered. So, the man had taken Bree to Diagon Alley to get his wizard things, and the Barrows sent him off on September 1st. Everyone after him had gotten just a letter. They were all surprised when Tramy got his, and convinced that everyone in the family was in some way magical when Shade got in too. Mare kind of felt she was, with the way her surroundings seemed to act weird whenever she felt angry, which was more often than she’d like. For that entire year Mare tensed, afraid of being the exception, of not getting her letter. Her parents already treated her like less than her sister, who was beautiful and ladylike… she would not stand the humiliation.

“I was so relieved when I got mine,” she said. “All my older brothers got one. It would be kind of embarrassing if i didn’t”

“Wait, so you’re not… Your parents aren’t wizards?” Kilorn asked, brows furrowing in confusion

“No..”

“Our parents are muggles.” Shade said.

“They were born… normal, but their kids are all magical,” Mare continued.

“You know what, I’m convinced at least one of them is a sorcerer in secret,” Shade said.

“If they were, they would’ve already thrown thousands of jinxes at us.” They both giggled. It was certainly strange, how all of them had magic inside them. Maybe magic just liked the family.

“Are your parents wizards?” Shade asked Kilorn.

A long pause followed. Mare felt the answer before he said it out loud.

“I don’t know who my parents are,” Kilorn said, his voice sorrowful.

Mare’s whole body sank. She didn’t know what to say to this… ‘i’m sorry’ felt like too little. She had never met an orphan, but she could clearly imagine how sad it must be to grow up alone.

A grim silence settled in. Mare watched as the lush green hills passed by, taking her back to when she was younger, running around the prairies of home with her siblings.

“Uh, hello,” a boy suddenly said. He was at the cabin threshold, half hidden. Mare recognized him as the boy the woman was talking to. He had the same deep blue eyes.

“Can I sit with you guys?” he asked.

The three children looked at one another. Mare furrowed her brows at Shade, who was thinking the same thing she was. Associating with this kid was probably not good. But, it would be mean to not let him in.

Kilorn, for his part, didn’t seem to notice their doubt, and said “sure! Come along.”

Reluctantly, the boy sat next to Kilorn, though a few inches apart. There was silence again, and Mare felt a bit… intimidated. But, why? The boy looked just as nervous as she was.

“Are you a first year too?” Kilorn asked.

“Yes,” the boy said. I was with my brother, who’s in his third year, but I didn’t like his friends very much. So I left.”

“Oh,” Mare said. “well, hello.” She tried to smile, but it was an awkward fake smile.

“Hey,” he said, “I’m Maven Calore.” Mare assessed him. He was wearing very nice robes, which made Mare feel kind of off in her old, overworn clothes. He was looking at her, too, though Mare couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.

“Calore…” Shade said, with an inquiring look. “You’re Cal’s brother?”

“Yes…” Maven said with a sigh. “Unfortunately.”

Kilorn giggled.

“Who’s Cal?” Mare asked Shade.

“He’s this Gryffindor guy…” he said, annoyed. “And all the girls in my year are obsessed with him and his fire-colored eyes.” He spoke in his mocking voice. Mare laughed.

“That’s my brother.” Maven said.

“And his name is… Cal Calore?” Mare couldn’t contain her chuckle this time. Why does everyone here have ridiculous names?

“No, it’s Tiberias.” Maven Answered. “Tiberias the seventh.”

Mare raised her brows at that. “The seventh!? What happened to Tiberias one through six?”

Maven laughed. “No, it’s this dumb family tradition. Our father is the sixth and his father is the fifth and so on.”

“Oh, so you’re like… the Royal Wizarding Family or something?”

That Maven wasn’t expecting. He blushed, taken aback, and for a second Mare wondered if that had been too mean.

“They kind of are. I mean-- they’re pretty famous.” Shade said. “They’re famous cursebreakers or something.”

Mare nodded a small ohh. Kilorn raised his brows at the word “cursebreakers.” Maven just shrugged.

“And what kind of curses do they break?” Mare asked.

“I don’t know, like…” Maven furrowed his brows, thinking of a way to explain. “There are like, laws, on how to use magic, and they work in enacting that. They’re not all cursebreakers. Some are aurors.”

“Magical police.” Shade clarified.

“They’re kind of annoying, if you ask me.” Maven said, “Everyone says i’m different to them. I’m not, like, super sporty and stuff. My dad says I should be more like my brother.”

“Oh, my mom’s the same,” Mare said. “She’s super proud of my sister because she can draw really well,and I’m not particularly good at anything”.

They fell into easy conversation, talking about sibling frustrations and family wishes. Kilorn and Shade, for their part, talked about the school, Shade explained the houses and house points and what Quidditch was. Kilorn decided he would like to play, it sounded fun. Mare eventually joined in, saying she’d like to play too (all her brothers did), beating balls while flying sounded fun. Shade also talked about the professors, who was nice and who wasn’t. He seemed to like Julian, the history of magic teacher, who was also head of the Ravenclaw house, which was, according to Shade, the best one. Part of Mare hoped she’d be sorted there just to be with her brother, but she felt she wasn’t brainy enough. There was also Anabel, the potions teacher, who wasn’t that nice to students that got on her ugly side.

“Basically you have to one, be smart, or two, be a slytherin, if you don’t want her to be hard on you,” Shade explained.

“Looks like she plays favorites.” Mare said.

“Yeah the slyths are quite literally snakes. Really. That’s their animal.”

Mare decided in that moment that she didn’t want to be in slytherin.

Shade kept going over the teachers. There was Carmadon, the funny herbology teacher, and Davidson, the Defense against the dark arts teacher. According to Shade, he was really strict in class but outside class he would talk with the students, and was very nice.

The rest of the ride passed quickly, and soon it was time to change into their uniforms. The castle came into view. It really was huge, with bridges and pointed towers. Dark, yet strangely welcoming.

All over the train, there were cheers and gasps of surprise as they got closer. Mare watched the school approach through the window with Kilorn and Maven, thinking woah, this really is real…

The descent from the train is hurried and messy. Shade leaves for his friends, a group of boys dressed in the same blue robes, and the trio of first years is left to be carried by the crowd. Maven gets lost, and Kilorn and Mare end up joining the cluster of other first years, who are indicated to follow a big man named Hagrid. He gives a brief tour of the castle grounds. They were at the Great Lake, where the huge squid resided. on the other side a little to the left was the forbidden forest, which Mare kind of wanted to enter, to find why it was forbidden. At second thought she decided it’d be a terrible idea. Then, very far on the other side, the quidditch pitch. The place was gigantic.

In small groups, the kids crossed the lake in carriages pulled by invisible horses. Mare and Kilorn boarded one with a boy named Thomas and a girl named Sonya, who didn’t seem to enjoy sitting with any of them.

Once they were on the other side, the thirty-something first years continued into the castle. Mare couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping as she walked through the oak double doors and into a torchlit entrance hall. There was a grand staircase in front of them, and she could hear muffled talk from somewhere. She didn’t have much time to take in her surroundings, as the party was quickly moved to a room at the right.. Before she entered, she glimpsed four hourglasses filled with glittering stones, one for each house, she guessed.

So this is the Great Hall. It was the biggest dining room Mare had seen in her life. Her eyes went straight to the ceiling, it was open… bewitched, Mare remembered, from one of Shade’s letters, to look like the night sky. It was just as beautiful as she’d imagined.

The great hall had four long tables, each occupied by students from different houses. Mare recognized them by color. The closest one was the green one, slytherin. Then blue, ravenclaw, where Shade was. Then came yellow, Hufflepuff, which was Tramy’s house. And the farthest one was Gryffindor, Bree’s house.

The kids hurried to the right wall, where another long table stood on its own platform, overlooking the other four. The professors’ table. Right in front of it, there was a small stool with a very old hat sitting on it.

Mare knew what came next, and it made her heart race. The sorting ceremony. The moment that would determine where you belonged in Hogwarts. Excitement flood the room, as hopeful students cheered for their houses, and the newcomers breathed heavily, a mix of nerves and adrenaline. Mare spotted Bree smiling at her from his table and couldn’t help but smile back. The students stood in front of the teachers’ platform and the headmaster, a wizard with a long, white beard called Dumbledore, welcomed them with a speech. He was weird, Mare concluded. Even by wizard standards.

Then it was time for the sorting. It opened with the hat singing a very off-key yet catchy song about the houses, how they were founded and what each house meant. Mare had no idea where she might end up. Maybe Gryffindor, people thought of her as brave-- but she definitely didn’t see herself as similar to Bree in any way. She had always been more like Shade… but she wouldn’t fit in Ravenclaw; she didn’t have a passion for knowledge and wouldn’t say she was creative. She wouldn’t deny she was smart, though… so it was a possibility. Hufflepuff was completely scratched, she was not hardworking nor kind. The only one left was slytherin… her brothers had joked she’d end up there, with her little revenge plans she pulled off whenever Bree or Tramy decided to get on her ugly side. Well, it was always her idea and Shade’s execution. But, from what she’d heard, a house of pretentious rich kids and mean teachers wasn’t that appealing to her. She ended up deciding to leave it to the hat.

The first kid to go up was Alice Zhang, hufflepuff. They were calling the kids in reverse alphabetical order, which meant she was going to be one of the last ones… great, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes. She wanted to get over it quickly but no, she’d have to wait.

Kilorn was next. He grinned wide when the hat announced “Hufflepuff!” He had been eyeing the house, hoping to end up there. And so, one by one, the students stepped forward and sat in the stool to have their houses chosen. Most of them were happy with their new school family. Some had expected it. Others hadn’t, and were pretty shocked from it. But also the students didn't care about most of the newcomers.

The attention was on two students: Maven and Sonya Iral from the carriage. Mare couldn’t help but listen at people’s muttering about them.

“... with a family like that I bet you five galleons she'll end up in Ravenclaw or Slytherin”

“That boy’s definitely a Slytherin��. “How are you so sure? Every Calore ever has been a Gryffindor.” “He just looks like one. I can see it in his face.”

“... with a mother like that…” “I’ve never met Elara, but I hear that she could defeat he-who-must-not-be-named with her stare only.”

Mare’s eyes were suddenly very open. Who was this he-who-must-not-be-named person and why didn’t Shade tell her about him? It was certainly important.

“Sonya Iral,” The professor, McGonagall, called.

The girl walked toward the stool. She looked like one of the mean girls who would call your shoes ugly in fourth grade, with long black hair straightened to perfection and deep tan skin, and moved with the grace of a ballerina.

“Slytherin!”

Mare startled at the loud cheers behind her. She would cheer too, she thought, if she had one of the richest people in the school in her house.

“All the posh kids are making it to slyth,” she heard, coming from a table to her left.

“It’s always the rich ones in slytherin… I don’t think I’ve seen a muggleborn in that house in years,” another student said.

“I mean, nowadays being a muggleborn in slytherin would suck…”

Mare swallowed hard. Maybe I could end up in gryffindor.

A few more students passed. Ravenclaw. Gryffindor. Gryffindor. Slytherin.

Then, “Maven Calore.”

Maven walked slowly to the stool, all eyes on him. People were still betting on his placement, which made Mare mentally sigh in annoyance. She glanced at the Gryffindor table, all of them on their toes. Her eyes focused on a guy who was maybe thirteen, and had eyes literally the color of fire. That must be Cal the seventh, Mare thought. He was staring hopefully at his brother, hands clasped in front of his mouth.

Maven, to his favor, looked calm.

“Slytherin!” the hat declared.

Gasps traveled through the whole hall. Jaws dropped to the floor and eyebrows shot to the ceiling as Maven walked to his house, which, to the shock of everyone who knew the Calores, was not Gryffindor. He was almost… proud? Or, looked like it, with his back straight and his strides long and confident. The green table roared, welcoming his new student, son of some… really powerful people. Mare was starting to think the Slytherin house wasn't a house of like-minded students, but an exclusive club of trust fund children. One she certainly could not belong to. Or could she?

She was about to find out.

Mare felt her blood run down her veins like sparks, suddenly feeling very anxious. Rachel Brown, Ravenclaw. She breathed in, breathed out. Felt her leg shake. Edward Bennett, Hufflepuff. She braced herself. This was it.

“Mare Molly Barrow.”

She hurried to the stool, hearing murmurs about her potential house. “Gryffindor, for sure.” “She looks a bit Ravenclaw to me.” “No, I know it. That’s a Slytherin face.” “She has the same look as Farley, definitely a Gryffindor.”

McGonagall put the hat on top of her unruly head. She cringed when she felt the hat speak inside her mind. It’s looking through my brain…

“I see quite a bit of nerve in there…” it said. “Oh. oh, yes, you are a courageous one, child.”

She smiled. Gryffindor, then? She couldn’t help it, bt a bit of disappointment fell on her shoulders at that.

“No… i see that, while brave, you are twice as cunning. Intelligence sharp as a viper’s” Her eyes sparked, quickly assessing the room, finding Maven’s by chance.

“It could not be more clear… SLYTHERIN!”

Mare grinned and walked toward her table, her house, while cheers surrounded her from all sides. A part of her sank when she realized the slytherin table was the one cheering the least.

Still, they welcomed her with smiles as she sat. “Hey!” Maven said, shocked as was the rest of the house, whispering among them and giving her looks that ranged from confusion to plain disgust. Some, like Maven, were actually happy she was there. A girl with silver hair and dark grey eyes was surveying her intently. Mare couldn’t figure out if it was curiosity or malice in her eyes. She wanted to feel welcomed, she really did, but from what she’d heard about her new house, she wondered if she ever would. Everyone looked so composed and elegant… and there she was, straight out of a muddy village. She felt small, and off, so she decided to distract herself from her thoughts and focus on the ceremony… which was ending.

“Hello! Welcome to Slytherin,” a voice said, taking her out of her gloom. A girl was standing over her, she had bright red hair which reminded her of Gisa’s, and wore a wide, welcoming smile. “I’m Mariella Haven. Prefect. If you need help with anything, you can come to me or any other Prefect.”

Mare smiled. She seemed… genuinely nice. “Hey, thank you,” she said. Mariella gave her and Maven a polite smile and walked back to her seat, which was near the edge of the table.

“I feel strange here,” Mare whispered to Maven, as the table suddenly got filled with all kinds of foods.

“Me too,” he whispered back. A small pressure released from Mare’s shoulders, knowing she wasn’t alone in her feelings of inadequacy.

Eagerly, students started filling theri plates, and she did the same, helping herself to Turkey and a very colorful salad. This must be the most appetizing food she’d seen in her life, and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

As the start-of-term feast went on, the six first years of Slytherin chatted eagerly about the train ride and what the hat had said and how happy they were to be placed in the best house. For some, it was a family tradition, almost. Sonya and Maven both said they felt kind of good for going out of their family’s norm. Mare didn’t speak much, but still she could feel a tight bond of loyalty forming between her and her housemates, no matter their differences. Maybe she’d make a place for herself here, after all. She had to.

#*writing #red queen #rq #mare barrow #maven calore #shade barrow #kilorn warren #hp #redqueenetwork #HERE YALL GO #i wrote 11yo mare barrow give me love :(#also this made me realize. i do not like third person

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spoiler1001 · 4 years ago

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The Pinelands was a country with a history that no one seemed to care to remember. It was once a proud land with many city-states, but pride overtook them and they betrayed each other, legging the skeletons of the buildings to rot. The society's fall gave way to people banding together under one country with a name. No one can remember the name, so they call it The Pinelands, just a network of communities. There were borders for the network, they weren't enforced, sure there were guards but creatures callosum through sometimes. It was extremely sandy and dry to the east and west, with mountains breaking the desert and leafing to a river in the south. The communities were settled on flatlands and forests.

Inns and bars made plenty of money, due to constant traveling between communes. That also led to beer and spirit related mischief.

Dawn made her way by each empty cell, she was one of fiendish blood. Her eyes were solid black, harsh against her red skin. She wore her black hair in a bun, with bangs. She was wearing a dress made from hides, with the front of the skirt cut away, exposing pants underneath, while mimicking a long coat closed around the chest. She finally stopped in front of a cell with someone in it.

"Hello there." She sighed. The man smiled. He was very tall for the cell, having to duck to not hit the ceiling. He had gray thick, curly hair. His eyes were bright, with white-gray irises. He wore dusty leather armor with brass trimming.

"What exactly are you here for?" Dawn whispered to him.

"He got busted for pickpocketing. Do keep your distance." A deep feminine voice rang out. Dawn turned to face a woman of similarly fiendish descent. Her horns grew close to her face, looping to form spirals over her cheeks. She wore thin chain mail armor, stopping above her knees. She had an obvious dagger stapled to her thigh, an axe strapped to her waist, along with a whip.

Her skin was a faded gray, almost blue or violet. Her eyes were solid gold. Her hair was a pixie cut. It was white, with no hints of curls. She had a friendly smile on her face. Fangs peeked over her bottom lip.

Dawn looked back over the tall leather-clad man and took a step away from him.

"Oh."

"So what brings you here?" The other woman asked.

"I was here to ask if the people doomed to the gallows have anything to confess. Maybe I can soothe their souls." Dawn whispered.

"No one is due for that today." The man in the cell whispered.

"But it is a nice thing to do. I'm Merias." She shook Dawn's hand.

Opening the cell, Merias gestured towards the tall guy.

"Andrea. Pleased to meet you." He bowed in greeting.

"I'm Dawn," The red tiefling nodded.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Dawn. Andy and I have oranges to eat as payment for a job well done." Merias grinned and walked away.

Andrea and Merias made their way to the inn where two yellow, not at all ripe oranges.

"Wonderful." Merias scoffed, grabbing one of the fruits."

"I mean I did get caught." Andrea sighed.

"But you grabbing the note from that guy's pocket stopped a poisoning." Merias pouted.

"Which is why I had to only spend a night there." Andrea shrugged.

A moment of silence passed between the two. They peeled the fruit, causing the smell to feel the air. Purple looked over at them, jealousy running cold in their veins. They took a bite of the fruit, a second passed, then two. Merias spit it out, groaning. Andrea frowned at the flavor but kept eating.

"My Jaw is hurting now." She complained, grabbing another slice. Andrea grabbed her hand.

"Don't put yourself through this. We can put it in our water." He sighed.

"You say that now, but as soon as we're halfway to the next community…" Merias sighed.

"That's it? You do a job and you're gone by the next day?" A voice rang out. The two of them liked over to see a half-elven guard. He had white hair and solid white eyes, showing off a Drow heritage, but so do alot of people in the Pinelands.

"That is how I can get paid. Do you have another job lined up for me?" She looked up at him.

"Not me, but my captain. We're short-staffed and creatures are… leaking through the southern river. They're attacking the fish and fishermen." The guard looked at Merias.

She just smirked and leaned forward. "And you want us to… what? Kill them?" She asked.

"These kinds of creatures are your specialty." The guard scoffed. "For some reason, these things seem to fall to you more easily."

"I got it. We'll take care of it." She nodded and the guard walked away.

"I couldn't get a read on him." Andrea sighed.

"He's bullshitting." Merias sighed. "I'll call our friend in the shadows."

"Think she'll have something on the guard?" Andre raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe she can help us deal with the monsters. Invite that girl from jail. Maybe she'll want in as well." Merias ran her fingers over her hair.

"Why me?"

"You're charming and she seems lost right now." Merias shrugged.

"I'll talk to Penny. You ask Dawn if she's interested in monster hunting." Andrea chuckled.

"Alright. Maybe she'll find me charming." Merias sighed.

"Sounds like a plan."

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

Dawn was at a bar, easing congealed wheat with spices in it. She was fiddling with a small metal object. It was engraved with a language of… somewhere. It was not of this region.

"So, I'm leaving for the southern river. There are some monsters. Maybe you want to help?" Merias asked, appearing next to her.

"What kind of monsters?" Dawn asked.

"Probably undead."

"That's one of the worst kinds." Dawn nodded. "Why me though?"

"Because you seem like you have nowhere to go and it's safer to be in a group while figuring that out." Merias shrugged.

"What do you get out of me joining your duo?"

Merias laughed. "It's gonna be a whole team. I get someone new to travel with. You'll be great."

"I could be a killer."

"Not a dealbreaker."

"And pay?" Dawn slipped her token back into her pocket.

"Split evenly between all of us." Merias smiled.

"One job to see how it works out, then we'll see." Dawn nodded.

"Great. Pack your bags." Merias smile and walked away.

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

Andrea made his way to a dark alleyway. He was out of sight. There was a smell of smoke and bile in the air, making every breath burned. He could see very well, but there was something about the area.

"Who do you want to laden about?" A low voice asked. It was rough, more rasp than voice.

"Penny." Andrea smiled and turned around.

Penny was thin with the skin tone of a cadaver. Her eyes were bright blue, seeming to glow against her skin tone.

"Merias and I are building a team for-"

"Ah… Hell beasts in the South." Penny smiled. It was a happy and excited smile. "I do want in."

"That makes it seem like you're already packed." Andrea straightened his armor.

"I am. I will see you when it's time to leave." Penny skipped back into the shadows.

"Oh. Alright then." Andrea nodded and went to pack.

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

Dawn looked down at her bag. She was ready to go. She played with her token. The wind blew despite no moving air. If she closed her eyes she could feel something run down her arm and wrap between her fingers. She opened her eyes and the air stilled. She took a deep breath and left the room.

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

Penny sat next to her bag, wrapping herself in furs. She felt off in the furs. They were warm, and that's what mattered. Maybe she'll try skins and leathers next.

She stood up and made her way to the meeting point, her ear to the chatter around her.

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

Andrea read over his old school books. He missed teaching in that village. It was fulfilling to teach children how to spell and read. When the plague hit…

He strapped his weapons to himself. He was this now. Bounty hunting is something new. Maybe he can retire and teach again.

He sighed… maybe this will be the last mission. He needed to retire anyway. He steadied himself for a moment, before leaving to meet the others to go.

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

Merias put her best armor on. It shone brightly. She looked over her dagger. There was an engraving on it. Overcoming. Merias smiled. The last thing her mother gave her. It was the last thing anyone gave her.

Merits sheathed her blade. It was time to go. She stood up, taking a deep breath. She made her way to the group. The new adventure began.

#dnd campaign #pinelands campaign #origional character #tw alcohol #tw war mention #tw war

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scribomaniac · 5 years ago

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Something Wicca This Way Comes Ch 5

@andiirivera @blackwidownat2814 @gryphbear @meredeph @jonesfandomfanatic @forget-me-not-s @groovyfoxpeace @superchocovian @therealstartraveller776 @stahlop @kmomof4 @teamhook

Tonight would be an amazing night. Killian was sure of it. First a bad guy would be kept off the streets, then he’d take Emma to Liam’s pub and make up for the disaster of a conversation they’d had at the police station. She didn’t seem too put off by his awkward questions, though, which gave him hope that he still had a chance.

“What time are we leaving again?” Will asked around a mouthful of apple. “We have to be there at five, right?”

“Aye,” Killian nodded and then looked at the clock over the kitchen sink. “If we leave at a quarter to we should be fine.”

A blinding white appeared out of the corner of Killian’s eye, making him wince. When the light dimmed, he found Tink standing by the kitchen table. “Hello boys!” Her green eyes surveyed the room, “Where’s Liam?”

Will swallowed audibly before answering her, “Upstairs getting ready. He should be down soon.”

“Ready?” Tink tilted her head to the side, “Ready for what?”

“We’re taking Detective Swan out for her birthday tonight.” Killian raised a brow, “Didn’t Liam tell you?”

A vacant look overcame Tink for a moment. If Killian had been looking anywhere else--if he had even blinked--he would have missed it. Her mouth dropped open just half an inch lower than normal, and a glassy look invaded her eyes. Killian wasn’t sure if the look meant she was in deep thought, trying to determine the answer to his question, or if the look was caused by something else.

With a little shake of her head, causing strands of her wheat blonde hair to escape from the bun atop her head, she said, “No he did, I just forgot. Speaking of forgetting--oh, hello dear,”her back straightened as Liam walked into the room. Pausing her speech, she met him halfway and sprung up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Hello beautiful,” Liam said quietly as he looped his arms around the white-lighter’s waist and pulled her close. Too bad it wasn’t quiet enough for either Killian or Will. The two younger Jones brothers caught each other's eyes and pretended to gag.

“You were saying, Tink?” Will said, his brows so high they almost reached his hairline. He kept his gaze steadfastly away from the romantic pair, staring straight ahead at nothing. “About the uh,” he cleared his throat, “something about forgetting?”

“Oh, right,” she gave Liam’s shoulder a harsh tap. “I spoke to the Elders about the Guardian you told me about.”

“Aye?” Liam frowned, “What about them?”

“Nothing major,!” Tink smiled sweetly, and brushed a small lock of hair behind Liam’s ear. Killian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wished the two would separate long enough for Tink to tell them what was going on. At this rate one would keep distracting the other until it was midnight.

Glancing back at the clock and seeing the time, Killian cut in, “Can we speed this thing up? We have somewhere to be after all.” The last thing Killian wanted to be was late. That’d be one hell of a follow up from their last encounter. First rude--or idiotic, he wasn’t sure which was worse--then late? He’d be lucky if Emma ever gave him the time of day again.

“Right! Sorry,” Tink grimaced at the younger brothers in apology. “Other witches have been running into Guardians in the area.” She stepped out of Liam’s arms and shrugged, “It seems like they’re being more active than in recent years.”

“So what does that mean?” Will asked while leaning back in his chair. “They’re reproducing or something?”

“Or someone’s summoning them,” Liam rubbed the back of his neck, still looking at Tink. “Is that what the Elders think?”

Tink nodded, “They think there’s a demon in the area who’s been giving them out, sort of like a keeper.”

“We should go back to the club,” Liam said, looking back and forth between his brothers. “See if there are any clues we missed.”

“Not tonight,” Killian protested, standing straighter. “We promised Swan we’d meet her at the courthouse.” Before his older brother could say anything more, he added, “And if we hurry maybe we can question the killer about it. What’s his name--” he snapped his fingers, “Smith! We can ask him about the demon.”

Will snorted and asked, “And how are we supposed to get him alone?”

“I could freeze them, I guess,” Liam rocked his head side to side in thought. “Selective freezing, I’ve done that before.”

“Just focus on the Innocents!” Tink advised, taking a step closer to Liam again. She curled two fingers through his belt loops. “That should do the trick.”

“He’ll already know about magic,” Killian said, pushing the think train even further. “He didn’t get possessed by a demon without learning a thing or two about the Supernatural.”

“All right then,” Liam threw an arm around Tink’s shoulders and headed towards the back door. “Let’s get going.”

He reached for the car keys, but right as his fingers were about to grab them they disappeared in a ball of blurry white. Looking over at Will to find a wide and wicked smile on his face, Killian laughed as his brother called, “I’m driving!” As he ran out the door.

The Brothers Jones made it to the courthouse in practically no time at all, arriving ten minutes before the hour. They entered the courtroom just as the killer and previously possessed man, Emilio Smith, took his seat at the defendant’s table. The judge was still conversing quietly with his bailiff, so Killian quickly led their group over to where he spotted Emma sitting next to David.

“Hello, Swan,” Killian greeted as he slid into the seat next to her. Then came Will, then Liam, and finally Tink. “Happy birthday by the way.”

Peaking at him out of the corner of her eye, Emma gave him a small smile. “Thanks. You’re early.” She checked the time on her watch and then sighed, “Or we’re late. The last case ran long.”

“This will be over soon,” David assured her, then nodded to the Jones brothers in silent greeting. “Hopper has everything he needs to keep this guy behind bars until trial.”

“Except the weapon,” Emma looked at Killian, “what did you call it again? The knife--an etha-something?”

“Athame,” Will corrected helpfully from over Killian’ shoulder. A bit too helpfully, Killian thought as he noted the look of surprise on Emma’s face.

Jabbing his younger brother in the sternum with his elbow, Killian shrugged and tried to play off Will’s immediate knowledge of such a random weapon, “It’s used a lot on a favorite show of ours. About two brothers who hunt demons.”

“Oh, right. I think I know the one.” Emma turned back to her partner and said quietly, “You don’t have to be here David, really. I can testify for the both of us if we’re called.”

David shook his head, “No, that won’t fly with this judge. He’d take any excuse to let Smith out.” He grimaced and his foot began to tap incessantly against the floor. “He’s not called free Willy for nothing.”

“What was that?” Liam asked.

“Nothing,” David’s foot kept bouncing. “He just has the highest release record in the city is all.”

“All rise for the honorable Judge William Hamilton,” the bailiff announced, his voice deep and echoing in the near empty courtroom.

The judge was an older man with a receding hairline and old, circular glasses. He was probably the sort who liked to give people second, third, even fourth chances. Normally Killian could support a man with that mentality, but in this case, a second chance could mean an Innocent’s life.

Hamilton called for Hopper’s evidence in the case, which the red haired man presented, listing piece upon damning piece. First there were Smith’s prior records, then the witnesses who saw him leave the club around the same time as David, then Liam, Killian, and David’s testimony about the night’s events. Everything lined up. There was no way Smith would walk.

“Mr. Spencer,” the judge turned his head to Smith’s lawyer. “You may proceed.”

The tall defence lawyer stood and cleared his throat, “It seems to me, your honor,” he began and immediately his words made the hair on the back of Killian’s neck stand on edge. There was a harsh steel in his voice, one that was covered with silky honey. He knew immediately that whenever this man spoke, he might not be lying, but he was never telling the truth. “You can’t very well hold for a murder trial without a murder weapon.”

Hopper stood up, his lips pale and his glasses a bit crooked as he defended, “Your honor, the state has already stipulated that the alleged murder weapon is still outstanding. We have two eye witnesses who, who--”

“Saw what, exactly?” Spencer asked, his face passive and unimpressed. “My client bent over the detective?” He clicked his tongue, “That’s how they justified their attack? How do they know my client didn’t happen across the scene and try to revive the detective?”

David ran a hand across his mouth and Killian heard the faintest of muffled swears. Emma’s hands balled up into fists, but her face remained unchanged from her usual slightly scowling demeanor.

Killian looked back towards his brothers. Tink’s lips were pursed and her brows furrowed, while Liam looked concerned but not upset by where the proceedings were going. And Will’s eyes were honed in on Smith’s back.

“And why,” Spencer continued, “if they were so easily able to subdue my client, did they not find the murder weapon?” The lawyer looked between Hopper and Hamilton. Killian smothered a groan. That stupid weapon, he thought about how he’d flung it into the Guardian’s third eye. It had vanquished the monster, but it had destroyed the weapon as well. Why couldn’t it ever just be easy?

Spencer’s brows raised and he made a show of spreading his fingers wide as he said, “What, did it just magically disappear?”

“Objection!” Hopper called out, but Killian ignored that and looked to his brothers. Three pairs of eyes were on him. None of them needed to speak, but they all thought the same thing: he knows.

But how, and why? Killian’s brows furrowed deeper and deeper, surely becoming one thick line across his forehead. Was Spencer in on it? Was he the demon handing out Guardians like candy?

Emma turned to whisper something in David’s ear, her hair brushing against his shoulder from the force of her movement. Turning himself, he hissed at Liam, “Now!”

Liam nodded, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and with a flick of his fingers, froze the room. Beside him Emma’s hand was cupped around David’s ear, her green eyes alight with frustration. David’s cheeks were puffed out, no doubt from a held breath. His leg was stopped mid-tick and his eyes half lidded. Even Tink was frozen where she sat, her eyes expectantly looking towards Liam.

“It worked,” Will sighed, his mouth a bit open.

“Overruled,” the judge’s gavel hitting the wooden block sounded like a rock crashing through a glass window. Three pairs of blue eyes snapped to the bench.

“It’s the judge!” Liam sat up straighter, hardly believing his eyes.

“Your honor,” Spencer shook his head, “I move for this case to be dismissed.”

“And the lawyer,” Will cried. They looked around for anyone else it might have been and suddenly found themselves surrounded. Bailiffs, security guards, even the stenographer set eyes on the brothers with malice in their eyes and ravenous grins on their lips.

“It’s everybody,” Killian said unnecessarily. Pulling Will up by the cuff of his shirt, he yelled, “Run!”

“Kill them!” The judge’s voice yelled out.

A guard swung his baton at Will, who just barely managed to orb out of the way in time. Letting go of his brother’s shirt, Killian squared up against the law clerk in front of him. Fists raised, he feinted left, then right, then struck out and made contact squarely across the man’s jaw.

“One down,” Killian said as the other man’s eyes closed and he fell to the floor. He looked around at the rest of their enemies, “a dozen to go.”

Two on one this time, a bailiff and the stenographer. The stenographer was surprisingly good at hand to hand fighting, not falling for any of his feints and ducking around his punches. The bailiff got behind him and swung, his bat almost making contact with the back of Killian’s head when he heard Will shout, “Baton!”

The weapon orbed out of the bailiff’s hand and into Will’s. Killina’s younger brother immediately used the bat against its owner, swinging and striking the man across his back.

What Killian wouldn’t give for an active power like Will’s.

The stenographer took advantage of his distraction and attacked, her foot coming in contact with the bottom of his ribs and forcing him backwards. For a moment gravity disappeared for Killian. He let himself fall back, his head careening to the floor, and then his feet rose up and kept rising up until he found himself standing on the wooden railing of the juror’s box.

Releasing a deep breath, Killian reminded himself that levitation came in handy too.

Back to the task at hand, Killian made good use of his height above the woman, jumping onto her and slamming her into the ground. When he pulled himself off the floor, he looked around to find only the judge and his brothers standing.

“Freeze him!” Will yelled as the judge took a step away.

“I can’t,” Liam came running towards them from the other side of the room, giving Will’s arm a good smack when he was close enough. “It’s calle immunity for a reason. Once they have it, that’s it.”

“Then blow him up!” Will cried, bouncing on the balls of his feet and wanting to rush head first into danger.

Realizing Liam hadn’t used his more destructive powers all evening, he looked around at the unconscious bodies on the floor. “If they’re demons,” he looked up at Liam, “why didn’t they use their powers?”

The judge hissed, then scurried away through the door behind his bench, “To me!”

Shadows rose from the bodies around them like smoke. The human bodies didn’t move, didn’t even twitch, as the Guardians possessing them returned to their master.

Liam nodded, “He’s the one we’re after.”

Emma POV

Emma had felt the ripple of Liam’s freezing power over her skin just as she turned to David. She froze in place, betting that she’d be overlooked due to the fact that the room was full of demons. The Charmed Ones were surprisingly adept in non-magical forms of fighting. Both Liam and Killian relied on nothing more than their fists to save them from the frenzied hands of the possessed.

The fight was over quickly enough, which Emma was thankful for. She could have held her body like that, unmoving and unblinking, for much longer, but it would’ve been so boring.

The demon ran away like the coward he was. It wasn’t surprising though. Demons who sold powers and possessions were like traveling salesmen; always selling something defected and unnecessary, and disappearing at the first sight of trouble.

As soon as the brothers disappeared after the demon, Emma relaxed and sat back in her seat. Then, she shimmered after the demon herself.

He hadn’t gotten far, she realized as she materialized in front of him. The Charmed Ones would be here any second. She’d have to make this quick then. She couldn’t let the brothers see her, but she also needed to make sure this low life, demon scum didn’t get away. He’d caused her too much grief for that.

The demon stopped, his jaw dropping and his eyes widening in fear and confusion. “What the hell?”

Emma released a small breath of a laugh and said, “Thanks. I’ll take it from here,” Then, with the barest of effort, set him ablaze.

Through the red hot flames, she could see the door’s handle on the other side of the room twist. Before it could open, revealing the brothers, Emma shimmered away.

Killian’s POV

They walked in on a strange sight. The judge screamed before them, then disappeared into nothing as he was vanquished. “Okay,” Will said slowly, “how did that happen?”

“Good question,” Liam looked around the room, seeing if there were any clues. Killian looked at the floor. There were no scorch marks or broken glass. A witch with a potion didn’t do this. Liam’s head snapped back the way they came, “We’re not alone.”

Rushing back to the courtroom, they found nothing amiss. Everyone was still either unconscious or frozen. Something tight in his chest loosened a bit when he laid eyes on Emma’s still form.

“How are we gonna explain all this?” Will asked, nudging Killian in the side and jerking his chin towards Emma. “To her, I mean.”

Wincing, Killian took a deep breath and said, “I have an idea. Come on, help me move her and David.” Between the three of them, and Tink once Liam unfroze her, they were able to move Emma out of the row and into the aisle, and moved David towards the edge of the row. Grabbing a baton, Killian moved to stand behind Emma and raised his hand. “Sorry love,” he apologized right before landing a blow against her back, sending her straight to the ground.

At the same time Killian dropped the baton, Liam unfroze the room, waking Emma up to a hard floor and a bruised back. She groaned and pushed herself up, “What happened?”

Killian knelt down next to her, “Swan, Swan--you alright, love?” He shook her once, then again when she merely groaned again. David blinked and looked around, confusion obvious in his large round eyes.

“Yeah, I think so.” Emma rolled onto her back then leaned up into a half sitting position. “What happened?”

“Er--” Killian felt his tongue turn heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t thought of an explanation.

“Smith went crazy!” Will cut in, his voice a bit too loud to be natural. “He tried to escape and then all the court guards were, ah--on his side, and uh--” he paused, looking at both Liam and Killian for help.

“Thank god for Nolan here,” Killian said, gesturing vaguely at the still dazed David.

“Saved the day,” Liam added, his tone tight and his eyes strangely fixed onto Emma. Killian frowned at his older brother but then Emma winced and he realized she was trying to stand up.

Grabbing her by the elbow, Killian helped her to her feet. “What?” She asked, bringing a hand to her head and narrowing her eyes.

“Something good happened Swan,” Killian smiled, making sure to look her in the eye and convey all the sincerity that statement merited. Raising a brow, he challenged, “Can’t you just accept that?”

Bringing her hand down to her neck and kneading the flesh there, Emma raised her brows and laughed, “It’s not in my nature.”

“Nonsense,” Killian wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, then steered them towards the exit. “Now come on, Swan. Your celebratory drink awaits.”

#charmed #ouat #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #killian x emma #charmed au #something wicca this way comes #liam jones #liam ii jones #tinkerbell #unedited #hope you enjoyed!

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deng-yi-deng · 5 years ago

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Apropos of nothing, I was looking through old photos and just to make everyone (including me) nostalgic for the time when we could travel as well as hungry for delicious food...some old banquet pics from when my parents and I were in Hangzhou. Descriptions under the cut.

1) typical famous Hangzhou dishes including fish in sweet vinegar sauce, Tofu and crab, and some greens. ( Wei Zhuang Zhi Wei Guan Restaurant )

2) lobster tails in bean sauce (conference banquet)

3) crispy fried eel, mushrooms, scallops on the half shell in savory sauce (fatty pork something) grape wine possibly the 5th course? there were at least 8, possibly 12. i lost count

4) final of the conference banquet - in back: beggars chicken (wrapped in lotus leaves and baked in a clay shell), hotpot, some sort of dumplings, and the 'desert' of sweet and savory pastries. The ones on the right had meat in them :-( luckily I came with my personal tasters to protect me from extra meats. note the ones that look like little three petal flowers. i think these are Chu Wanning’s favorites?? the Luo Yunxi fanclub sent him a ton of them when they started filming Immortality.

5) House specialty fish head soup at Shan wai shan Restaurant. It was very good - the white balls are fish paste and eggwhites, very light. Pictured in the background: duck's tongue, spicy blood stew (which Dad tried and reported was spicy).

6) post-desert savory (YES! This is how you live!) at Shan wai shan - pickled veg you put in a whole wheat bao. I wanted to stuff these in my purse and run.

#personal #food #travel #Chinese cuisine #Hangzhou #i'm not a strict vegetarian and on the road try not to offend too often #so there was some fish eating but i skipped most jiaozi or bao since they're usually pork #if you announce you're a vegetarian then the host has to order like 10 more dishes special for you and i hate doing that #i wish i had brought back wine :( but this was before i got into it

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evitcani-writes · 5 years ago

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Don’t Believe the TV: Chapter 2 Draft

Okay, so as it happens, I found an ABSOLUTE jam, so I managed to get through chapter 2.

[Part 1]

Tentatively calling it, "Pretend Like Way Back When". Check out the last post for the playlist. ;p

Hope you enjoy it!

Taako glared at Kravitz’s reflection in the mirror. “You swear on your life this is temporary, right?”

“Yes,” Kravitz laughed and began brushing bright turquoise into Taako’s wet hair. “It’ll wash out when you take a shower tonight. I’ll wash it out for you if you want.”

“Mm,” Taako hummed, starting on his makeup while Kravitz worked. “Let's call it a date.”

Kravitz snorted and shook his head, smiling genuinely. “I took care of the social media side of things,” he said, finishing with the color. “You’re sick so we’re going to cuddle by the fire with orange juice as far as anyone is concerned.”

That sounds nice, Taako thought as he did his eyes. “Damn it,” he swore, missing the swipe.

“Here,” Kravitz said and took the pencil from him. He smudged at the misplaced swipe and did it perfectly on his first try.

Taako blinked at his reflection. “I thought you had a whole team to do your face. When did they teach you to do makeup?”

“They didn’t,” Kravitz said and did not extrapolate.

Rolling his eyes, Taako finished with his lipstick. He thought it was too heavy a look for a backyard wedding, but Kravitz had insisted it would be fine. Kravitz leaned in to do his own makeup. It was only then that he realized Kravitz’s hair had changed. “Hey, what’s—? Where’d you get long hair from?”

Kravitz huffed a laugh and tied it back in a messy bun. The sides were shaved. “This is my natural hair, Taako,” he told him and then started to unscrew his left hand. He set the prosthetic aside and took another one from his bag.

Taako prodded the one on the hotel vanity, strangely fascinated at how realistic it was. “I wondered this the last time, but you—Why don’t you wear this one all the time? It looks real.”

“It’s stiff,” Kravitz grunted and adjusted the robotic fingers of the prosthetic from his bag. “I only wear it for work.” Taako could hear the joints clicking as they moved, not as quiet as newer models were. He added an upgrade to his mental list of Candlenights presents.

After another flex of his fingers, Kravitz seemed satisfied with it. He stepped back and offered his hand to Taako. Taako took a moment to appreciate how different Kravitz was in beaten dark jeans, a black button up. His prosthetic hand glowed through the seams at the joints and the end of his hair was dyed to match. Even his duffel bag matched his phone case more than the person Taako had come to know.

This was going to be an entirely new experience.

Taako took Kravitz’s hand and slung his purse over his shoulder. He peeked out and made sure the hallway was clear before they made their escape. They hurried away to the elevators. Even with sunglasses and a style unlike the one he normally wore, Taako still feared recognition.

Once they were in the lobby, they easily disappeared to the taxis waiting outside. Kravitz gave the address and then turned to fuss with Taako’s hair as it dried. Taako sighed and let Kravitz do whatever he was doing. “How long’s the drive?” He asked.

“Maybe fifteen minutes,” Kravitz nodded, gesturing to the open fields. “Mama lives in the country. Not far, like I said.” He paused and presented Taako with a pair of fake glasses from his bag.

Taako donned them with a flourish and tilted his head this way and that at Kravitz. “How do I look?”

“Like a wannabe groupie for a boy band,” Kravitz laughed and sat back. “It’s not a bad style,” he added at Taako’s reproachful look. He smiled as he looked Taako over. “Kind of cute.”

At least he didn’t look like Taako, which was the important part. “Well,” he said, gesturing to himself. “Greg here has an image to maintain.”

“You’re going by Greg?” Kravitz scoffed and covered his mouth. Taako recognized this as something only Kravitz did, to bite back his laughter when something delighted him. Keats was not given to laughter.

“Gregory C. Toff,” he said primly, now with the goal of making Kravitz laugh again. He’d been so free with it today. “You gotta problem with my name, handsome?”

“No, no,” Kravitz grinned, mouth still hidden behind his palm. “What, pray tell, is your occupation, Mr. Toff?”

Taako thought for a moment, finger dancing in the air as if he was about to tell Kravitz off. “Chef,” he finally said, poking Kravitz in the chest. “A chef on local access television. ‘Oh, don’t you know who I am? Gregory, you know, from TV?’” Kravitz laughed despite himself and Taako felt satisfied. He wished things could be like this all the time; like it had been when they were kids. He missed everyone they could have been back then. “Hey,” he said, not really sure what he was doing. “Remember when I asked you what your name was? In Mr. Davenport’s class right before lunch?”

“I told you that you already knew it,” Kravitz said, his expression dimming, but only from laughter to something Taako wanted to pretend was affection. “I pretended to be offended you’d forgotten.”

“It was the first time I realized you and him weren’t the same person,” Taako laughed and took out his phone. “You do such a good job at it, pretending,” he said while flipping through old pictures. “Better than the other boys.” There it was, the old picture he’d made Mr. Merle and Mr. Davenport promise to tell no one about. The two old teachers stood in the background, incriminating themselves as much as the others. Lup, Barry, Lucretia, Magnus, Julia, and on either of Taako’s arms, Keats and Kravitz. Keats—cool and collected with his perfect princely smile—and Kravitz—his face half-hidden in laughter in Taako’s hair—both an almost-perfect imitation of the other.

He shoved his phone at Kravitz. “You know, I’ve always wondered—Did you have a name before I asked?” He zoomed in on the collection of albums behind them on Mr. Davenport’s shelf. ‘Greatest Hits of Lenny Kravitz’ stood out among them.

Kravitz tapped the photo so it showed the whole picture again, all of them together and happy. “Does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” Taako said and smiled down at all of those people they could have been. The screen dimmed to black and he looked up at Kravitz. “Doesn’t it matter to you?”

For one, tense moment, he thought Kravitz would pull away again, go cold and disappear under his mask. Instead, he lay his hand over Taako’s. “I’m Kravitz,” he said softly, “and you’re Greg, a chef, my plus-one. Are you a friend or—?” He met Taako’s eyes.

“Lover,” Taako laughed, letting go of the question Kravitz wasn’t ready to answer. “I don’t want anyone trying to play matchmaker with me tonight, my guy.”

“Got it,” Kravitz said and let go of Taako’s hand. His warmth lingered on Taako’s knuckles. “If anyone asks, I’m a musician.”

“You’re a, a what now?” Taako stared at him, too surprised to do more than laugh. “I’ve heard you sing, you’re—”

Terrible, awful, will crack all the champagne glasses, he thought to himself and wondered how Kravitz ever passed off that lie.

Kravitz grinned, putting one finger under Taako’s chin to close his mouth. “Just go with it,” he winked as the taxi rolled to a stop. He opened the door and pulled Taako through, his prosthetic hand cold and inviting. Once they were out, Kravitz turned to pay the driver. They stood at the end of a long, long dirt road on cracked pavement that hadn’t seen repair in at least a decade. He was glad, now, that Kravitz had insisted he wear sneakers and not heels.

Ahead of them was a little house in the middle of rolling fields of wildflowers in colors Taako had never seen. White balloons clung to the old, rusted mailbox and a thousand cars had parked in the field before the driveway. Clouds threatened to douse them all, but it was otherwise more breathtaking than he’d expected.

A little backyard wedding, Taako thought, watching the distant people milling around the front. He’d never been to something so quaint.

He was looking forward to Kravitz guiding him through it.

“Come on, we’ll be late if we don’t get moving,” Kravitz said and took his hand. “You’ll have to meet my uncle. He’d love to talk to you about magic.” Taako held out his hand and let the tips of wheat and flower brush the of his hand. He wondered how they knew not to grow where they wouldn’t hurt them. “Don’t drink the moonshine. It’ll knock you flat on your ass, T—Greg.” He looked up, watching a stray balloon escape into the only tree. It had a tire attached to its most sturdy branch. A tractor rusted against a broken shell of a barn. “Watch what you say around Angus. He’ll see straight through you. Too smart for his own good.”

Had this been where Kravitz went on vacations, on holiday? Was this what Kravitz meant when he said home?

Before he could get too distracted, a crowd of children ran at them, pulling Kravitz away in a cacophony of delighted shrieks. Taako followed along, refusing to help free Kravitz even when Kravitz cast a backwards glance of put-upon misery at him. He grinned the rest of the way down the drive. From there, he was introduced to who Taako thought might be the entire McDonald family and never caught one name.

He’s Kravitz McDonald, he thought to himself. He’d never known Kravitz’s last name.

He managed to find a spot to sit with a gaggle of aunts who asked all the questions that Taako had come to believe aunts would ask. Taako didn’t see Kravitz again until the music started. Mama Kravitz on a piano, under a tent and Kravitz with a violin beside her, playing with his left-hand.

He’s left-handed, he thought to himself.

His new friends in the aunts said, “He’s so talented, that Kravitz.”

“Luckiest man in the world,” Taako dared to say, “Like a dream.” He did not know why he said it except that it was all make-believe; like the proposal the day before.

All went quiet and their eyes turned to the backdoor of the house, to the ivy clinging to its brick and the screen door held aloft by a boy in a bowtie no older than ten.

Sloane McDonald was beautiful. She looked nothing like Kravitz and too much like him all the same. She lifted her dress as the promised rain began to pour. Under the white ruffles were tattered boots and she stepped fearlessly into the beginnings of mud. Her dress soaked the rain to blue, but the sun still shone above her in a halo. Her pin straight hair fell from its delicate bun and she laughed, shaking it and turning to two little girls trying to run under the eaves to hide from the rain. They ran out again and picked up her heavy dress, using it like an umbrella. Together, they bustled down the aisle to Sloane’s soon-to-be-wife.

Taako hadn’t caught the name of the other bride, but liked her just by the way she watched Sloane.

And all through the rain and ceremony, Kravitz and his mother played melodies so sweet that Taako’s heart ached. He remembered that Kravitz had almost missed this, almost missed playing a duet for his sister and all the people who did not need to wipe their eyes for the rain. He, too, had almost Kravitz and not needing to wipe his eyes for the rain.

When the vows had been exchanged, each guest picked up their chair and set it aside. Cousins, aunts, uncles all took out cheap plastic tables and helped rearrange the seating. The rain stopped and Taako took off his shoes like the other guests. Music was changed to a little speaker with a phone nearby.

Kravitz found him at his table of aunts.

“You should have brought him earlier,” they scolded Kravitz, “He could have helped with dinner!”

“If I would have brought him earlier, you all would have kept him busy answering your nosy questions instead of cooking,” he laughed and took Taako’s hand. Taako noticed he was barefoot, too. “I hope they weren’t too much for you to handle, love.”

“They are perfect ladies,” Taako grinned and let himself be taken to wine, to the dance floor. Both of them had been trained to dance, but they didn’t need to. Kravitz put one hand on his shoulder and Taako one arm around Kravitz. They swayed with their wine, watching the other guests. Kravitz told him from their vantage point who everyone was, pointing them out with subtle tips of his glass.

When they ran out of wine and the children had been put to bed in a big room of mattresses, they put their glasses aside and stopped letting everyone tease them about boring. Kravitz twirled him, both of them a little drunk. It started raining again and their feet were covered in mud and grass. He sang along with the song, a soft baritone Taako had never heard before, “We could pretend, like Romeo and Juliet.” His breath smelled like the wine, warm under his ear where his lips kissed Taako’s neck on each word. “We could make some noise, bother the neighbors with the headboard.”

And it was good, the best song Taako had ever heard.

Keats couldn’t sing, but Kravitz could.

It was sure doing some things to Taako he knew it shouldn’t have. “You could take my time, like I’ve been hopin’,” Taako sang, soft and unsure of himself, whispered just for Kravitz.

Kravitz led him off to the barn between knowing looks. He pressed Taako against the side and kissed him senseless, hands down the back of Taako’s jeans. It was no more than kissing, lips and mood buzzing pleasantly. Taako ran his hands through Kravitz’s soft, soft hair. “I’m not fuckin’ you in a barn,” he warned Kravitz with a laugh before going in for another greedy kiss.

“But you want to,” Kravitz said between little kisses.

“Mhm,” Taako said, no hint of shame. Singing wasn’t the only wonderful thing Kravitz could do with his tongue.

Somehow, they ended up in Kravitz’s old room. The taxis refused to come out so far, so late. They’d have to stay until morning. They were both too drunk and tired to do more than messily fit themselves into the single bed, muddy feet staining the sheets.

Taako woke up in the middle of the night, Kravitz’s hot breath against his collarbone and whispered, “Shit,” to the ceiling.

This Kravitz McDonald who could sing and still had a room in his mama’s house and a beautiful sister with a beautiful wife and a family who liked Taako because Kravitz did would be the death of him. He may have, just a little bit, have fallen in love with the heart he could feel in a steady rhythm against his side. Maybe, maybe a little, he’d always loved the arms wrapped around him. Possibly, probably, he was only just realizing he’d been waiting for Kravitz to fall in love with him first.

And he hadn’t.

Taako squeezed his eyes shut. “Idiot,” he told himself.

#taakitz #taako #kravitz #fake dating au #cyborg clone monarchy revolution au #taz #The Adventure Zone #the adventure zone: balance #taz balance #writing #my writing #don't believe what's on tv

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