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esthermitchell-author · 2 months

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The Additions (or Why I'm Not Done, Yet)

So, for those of you wondering why it's taking me so bloody long to get done adding a few spicy scenes to my GO fanfic book... Weeellll... It turned into a little more than that. In making a couple of alterations necessary for one or two of the sexy scenes, I stumbled over a few places were scenes important to the overall story or character arcs got skipped. Things I didn't mean to or want to leave out or leave to an offhand mention later on (the offhand mentions were actually supposed to remind me to go back and fill in the scenes... then I got ahead of myself and in my excitement to share with y'all, I sort of forgot to write those scenes 🤦‍♀️🙄).

So, please bear with me. I really am trying to make this the best version it can be (and I will be re-uploading the non-explicit version with the important additional scenes that aren't sex-oriented, once I'm done with the additions). If you're wondering what I mean, here's an important scene that ended up missing from the original release... This is supposed to happen right after the lectern sculpture scene, but at first writing, I was busy weaving scenes from other stories into the overall book, and so I left myself "note" in the following chapter (the Christmas scene) to come back and fill in -- and then never did. It (and it's follow-up scene about the crepes mentioned later) will be in the update of BOTH versions of the book. But, for now, you can enjoy this part, right now... (Scene Under Cut)

Crowley leaned against the open doorway into the kitchen -- Aziraphale miracled it into being back during the pandemic out of boredom and a desire for something to nibble on -- watching his angel putter about making himself a cup of tea. Aziraphale swore there was a whole process to making a proper cup of tea. Personally, Crowley never touched the stuff, but he was relieved Aziraphale was starting to enjoy his little Earthly rituals and pleasures.

"You know it's okay to eat, yeah?" He rested his head on the door frame, letting his gaze drift over the angel's still sparse -- compared to before, anyway -- form.

Aziraphale tensed for a fraction of a second, but it was enough Crowley caught it, before the angel half-turned his way with a vaguely exasperated smile. "Why do you keep trying to get me to eat?"

Crowley blinked in surprise, sucking in a small breath against the instant clench of pain at the sorrow and fear he could see buried deep in his angel's eyes. "Because food makes you happy. You're not happy, angel, and I don't know how else to fix it."

Aziraphale startled. "Of course I'm happy! You're all I need to be happy, Anthony--"

"Not that kind of happy, angel." Crowley sighed heavily. "Happy with yourself, I mean."

Aziraphale lifted one eyebrow. "And you think I need food to be happy with myself?"

"I dunno." Crowley straightened from where he slouched, tension crackling through him. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. First time I ever saw you enjoy any-blessed-thing was that night in Job's cellar. Every time you eat, it's like you're back there, again, enjoying yourself for the first time. You have no idea how much I love seeing that."

Aziraphale turned back to what he was doing, leaving Crowley at a loss for how to get through to him. Except, maybe... Crowley slipped his mobile phone from his blazer pocket and sent a quick text to Maggie.

He glanced up as he heard the clink of metal against ceramic, before Aziraphale turned from the counter where the kettle was, cup and saucer in hand and a soft smile on his face. "I really do appreciate you looking out for me, love, but it's entirely unnecessary for me to eat, and I'm perfectly fine."

As if that wasn't, as the Americans liked to say, the biggest crock of shit he'd ever heard. Still, Crowley bit back his argument. He was already forming a plan. He knew he was right, and he wasn't giving up on this.

As Aziraphale headed back toward the sitting area with his tea -- all the proof Crowley needed that his angel wanted his creature comforts, but was denying them for some reason -- Crowley's phone pinged in his hand, and he glanced down at the message on his screen.

MAGGIE: You want Justine's number? Why?

Crowley rolled his eyes and typed, It's a surprise. For Aziraphale.

MAGGIE: Oh, that's brilliant! How about I just give her your mobile number, and she can contact you when she's not busy?

Fine.

Tucking his phone away, Crowley was just turning to head out to snuggle up with his angel when something caught his eye he'd never noticed before. What he'd always assumed was just another desk or table covered in books, wasn't anything of the sort. He should have recognized the shape on sight -- he blamed the piles of books masking its appearance -- since he'd spent close to a decade after the Great War playing one in speakeasies and cathouses of the American South, trying to stir up all sorts of Hellish mischief during Prohibition.

"Hey, angel?"

There was a moment of silence, before the clink of teacup against saucer, and then, "What is it?"

"Do you actually have a Steinway upright piano tucked back here? When did you get it?"

"Oh." The quiet rustle of movement reached him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Aziraphale pause in the open doorway from the sitting area.

"I acquired that shortly after the Great War. The quiet around here was... unsettling. Music helped chase away the memories, so I had the idea I might learn to play the piano. I thought it would help." A flush stole up the angel's face, even as he shrugged. "I'm afraid I never did quite master it. I have the ear, but kept tripping over my own fingers. I keep it tuned and maintained the way the purveyor said I should, but I'm afraid it mostly just sits there, like... well, like that."

The desire to feel the ivory keys beneath his fingers again, and to provide his angel some kind of comfort, settled in Crowley. "Mind if I give it a go?"

Aziraphale blinked at him, confusion clear in his cerulean eyes. "You play?"

"Haven't done since the '20s, but I can't be that rusty, yeah?"

A small smile flickered at the angel's lips, before he waved a hand and the books covering the piano disappeared. "By all means."

As Aziraphale headed back to the sitting area, Crowley slid out the bench, flipped open the lid over the keys, and flexed his fingers as he tried to remember if he ever learned any soothing melodies. He didn't have much of a refined playing style, since the only places he'd ever played before didn't have anywhere near the level of musical sophistication his angel did.

Here goes nothing.

Settling onto the bench, he placed his fingers over the keys, drew a breath, and began gently setting his fingers down over the keys. For being over a hundred years old, the piano's notes played true and clear. Not that he was surprised. His angel was meticulous at keeping things in tip-top shape. Crowley closed his eyes and let the sweet notes he drew from the old piano flow through him, his love of the music, and of the angel for whom he played, inspiring the placement of his fingers.

After a time, Crowley allowed the notes to fall off gently, until silence filled the room again as he hung his head, uncertain if he felt more exhausted or elated by the emotions he'd poured out in that melody.

"That was beautiful."

The sound of his angel's voice drew his attention, and he turned his head to look at Aziraphale -- now seated at the table watching him, so much gentle, healing love on his face, all Crowley could do was turn on the piano bench and open his arms. Aziraphale came to him without even a flicker of hesitance, and a grateful sigh shuddered from Crowley as he wrapped his arms around his angel's waist and leaned into what remained of the soft cushion of his angel's body. He felt Aziraphale's arms on his shoulders, and the stroke of one hand through his hair, even as the angel pressed gentle kisses to his forehead and temples. He loved this angel, whatever corporation he took, but his throat tightened around pained tears as he wished fervently to have his angel back -- the angel who thrived surrounded by books, who sighed happily at a cup of cocoa or tea, whose eyes lit at the sight of good food and who could never say no to sweets. The angel who got pleasure from comfortable, well-worn clothes, a glass of good wine, and a stirring symphony.

So far, Crowley had seen only glimpses of his angel, since Aziraphale came back. And he was desperate to break through whatever was holding the angel back.

"Please," Crowley rasped brokenly, nuzzling his face against his angel's body. "Please eat, angel. I'm begging, here."

Aziraphale sighed softly, and Crowley felt the press of the angel's kiss against the top of his head. "I'm sorry, love. I can't. I just... I can't."

"Please." Crowley tightened his grip, his fingers digging into warm flesh covered in soft cloth. "Please, just give me a chance to remind you."

He felt the angel's fingers in his hair, then another small sigh, and a kiss to his forehead, before Aziraphale murmured, "All right. Only for you, my love."

#See what I mean? Important scenes missing #born of starlight #good omens #good omens fandom #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #azicrow #ineffable spouses #fanfic #good omens fanfiction #gomens #gomens fanfic #go fanfic #good omens fan fiction #good omens fic

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momolady · 2 years

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Rafael the Centaur

It's been a while since my last centaur, but I promise the wait hasn't been in vain. This new centaur has quite a different spin to him, he works in an office building!

Female Main Character x Male Monster (both cis) //////////////////////////

Recent bad press had led me to make a series of decisions I never thought I would make. But that’s been life until this point, a bunch of unexpected things I could never plan for. I should know by now not to count on being comfortable or settling, because so far that’s only caused me anxiety.

I never expected my small baking channel to garner any sort of popularity online. I never expected to be offered a chance to do a television show. I always hoped, but never dreamed, I would have my own series of cookbooks. But there I was, in the thick of it.

“Ms. O'Mooney? He’s coming down from his meeting, you can wait for him in his office now.” The voice of the young secretary pulled me from my anxiety riddled thoughts and back into reality. I stood, picking up my bag which now held all my hopes and dreams. What had once been a beautiful crock-pot of simmering expectations was now a free tote from the local bookstore.

“Thank you!” I said quietly to the smiling secretary before stepping in through the doors. I had been warned this agent was a real tough sell, so my usual anxiety would have been a dream vacation compared to now.

I was surprised by the large office, it could have held several cubicles from the looks of it. My footsteps echoed as I walked through the cavernous office, setting my things upon a large chair. There wasn’t a desk, but something more like a counter at a bar. The shining glass top reflected the bright light coming in through the windows.

I stepped towards the window to take in the scenery, watching in awe as tall buildings rose before me and blocked the horizon. I stepped back, nearly walking into one of the many great collections of plants and greenery that covered the office like a jungle. I grabbed the plant, keeping it upright as the ceramic pot wobbled.

The door opened just then as it looked like I was strangeling the poor plant. “I’ll make note of that, Will, for now I’m going to-” The scary publisher saw me man-handling his plant and he shut the door behind him.

“What on earth are you doing?”

I let go and held my hands up as if he was holding me at gunpoint. “Accident-” My voice cracked unceremoniously.

He sighed, shaking his head and removing his glasses. Tons of them lived in the country area where I grew up, but I had never seen a centaur in the city before. His long dark hair was braided and hung over his shoulder, which he tossed back as he walked in.

“Mr. Graves, right?” My pits were creating soggy embarrassments under my arms. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He walked behind the high countertop, setting down a tablet and coffee cup. “Lilian O’Mooney, I’ve seen a lot of you.”

My whole mouth and throat went dry. “Okay.”

His dark brown eyes flicked over to me, and I have never been so intimidated in my life. I have had countless meetings like this, the only difference was that I was the wanted party, now I was on the other side, having to beg for the representation of this intimidating centaur with the incredibly thick legs.

“Such a shame what happened.” His eyes slowly fell back upon the countertop. He had my cookbooks stacked upon his desk and he placed his hand over them. “It surprised me when I saw you contact me in the beginning.”

“I know I’m not the household name I once was, Mr. Graves-” If my voice could stop cracking and my tongue stop sticking to the roof of my mouth, that would have been nice.

He looked back at me. “What makes you say that?”

Mr. Graves was a big, intimidating man, but it was the gaze of his eyes that sent shivers through me. “The scandal. Surely you know.”

“But the scandal wasn’t caused by you. You left when the news broke about the lawsuit.”

I nodded and ducked my head. “I could have paid better attention.”

Mr. Graves sighed heavily. “Why did you reach out to me then?”

“I don’t care about television or anything like that anymore. I can always go back to my channel and do something. I just want to continue publishing.”

He patted the stack of books on the counter. “You already have three cookbooks out, Ms. O’Mooney.”

“That’s barely half of what I have planned.” I reached into my tote and brought out the first binder. “I have so many more ideas! And I’ve only been adding on.”

Mr. Graves took the binder, opening it to find my handwritten notes as well as typed out recipes. “Why not a blog?”

“My old one was run by my previous agency, so I took it down and I am working on reformatting and uploading a new one. If that’s what I have to do, I’ll do it.”

Mr. Graves nodded as he flipped through the binder, eventually closing it and pushing it forward. “Did you really want to walk away from all of it? Or did you cave to the mounting pressure of what people were saying?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t want to work for abusers. I didn’t care what I lost. I never cared about fame. I just like to bake.”

Mr. Graves smirked and he chuckled. It sounded so insulting. “And that’s all you want to do?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “I mean-”

“Mighty brave.” He laid his huge hand over my binder, nearly covering it. “I don’t see why we couldn’t take you into our agency.”

My heart leapt up in my chest where it thrummed until it almost stopped. “Really?” I looked up at him, seeing a handsome man rather than an intimidating stallion. “I thought for sure by your line of questioning, you were trying to scare me!”

Mr. Graves chuckled. “I kind of was, Ms. O’Mooney. It’s my way of vetting prospective clients.” His smile remained, appearing much gentler than before. “I like brave people, and what you did showed you’re not afraid to stand up for yourself and others. You know what you believe in, and you know what matters. I’ll help you continue to bake, Ms. O’Mooney.” Mr. Graves’ words almost had me in tears, but he saw me strangle a plant, I didn’t want him to see me cry either.

“Thank you,” my voice warbled. “This means so much to me, you have no idea! Thank you!”

Mr. Graves slipped back on his glasses. “We’ll get you set back up with proper management and someone to run your webpage. If you decide to restart your online channel we’ll begin working on the production of that as well.” He then lifted up the binder. “But for now, I suggest you hone this new cookbook of yours into something special. If you want to keep publishing, you’re going to have to make something that will outsell your previous ones.”

“You think that’s possible?” I murmured as I took the binder back from him. I held it tight in my arms, hugging what was left of my dreams as I felt them pulse back to life.

Those dark eyes focused upon me and I shivered all over again. “I’ll make it possible, Ms. O’Mooney. I can promise you that. As long as we work together, I’m sure we can find a way to do what's best and do it in a way people will trust again.”

I nodded, uncertain but brimming with hope again. “I have one request...suggestion,” I cleared my throat. “I would like some of the proceeds to go towards victims of sexual assault.”

“Smart idea,” he replied. “It’ll help sales and get people talking. Once this stone gets rolling, we’ll see what we can do.”

“Good, I’m glad.” It was a relief to walk out of there with a small victory in my grasp, but it was going to be hard work from there on out.

I was used to grinding and burning the candle at both ends. This wasn’t new to me, getting the ball rolling on all these new deals and projects felt much easier now. It was strange, I thought switching to a new agency would bring about new rules and drama before I got established again, but Mr. Graves had made the transition very smooth.

Mr Graves was intimidating, but only because he knew what he had to do and how he wanted things. I enjoyed working with him much more than my old agency, even when things were good there, by a longshot.

“We can get you a set made up in town,” he grumbled as we were doing a test run on my channel reboot.

“But I like my kitchen, and I had it set up for this sort of thing anyways.” I was setting aside the ingredients I would need while he held this look of disdain on his face.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

He huffed and his tail swished. “Don’t you get bored out here with nothing to do?”

“I usually just bake,” I said.

Mr. Graves scoffed and shook his head. “The nearest place to get food is twenty minutes away.”

I still wasn’t catching his drift. “My kitchen?”

Mr. Graves’ tail swished harder and he stomped one of his huge hooves. “No, I mean, to go out! Away from home. You don’t even have a bar around here.”

“It’s a dry county,” I was finally starting to catch his meaning. “I’m a country girl, Mr. Graves. I like it out here, the city freaks me out. That’s why I moved back home as soon as I left the show. I hated it there.”

“Well, I’m a city boy. And coming down here to film is like nails on a chalkboard to me.” he crossed his arms tight against his barrel chest. “But your show is important.”

“I still can’t help but feel like that’s an insult, Mr. Graves.” I checked my ingredients again. “I guess you won’t be wanting any of the apple pie I’ll be making today.”

His ears flicked and his body jerked. “How did you get that out of what I said?”

“You don’t like the country, so you must not like country apples,” I smiled teasingly at him. “Right?”

Mr. Graves’ frowned at me. “Do I look like I’d turn down any sort of pie, Ms. O’Mooney?”

I smirked as he went back to check the cameras and the lighting. I was starting to feel friendly with Mr. Graves.

I loved my channel more than I ever did the cooking show. Mr. Graves’ suggestions of it really helped me plan and get excited every time we filmed. In a year's time, I was doing what I loved again and enjoying it more than I ever had.

“Are you sure there’s not more you want to be doing?” Mr. Graves asked me one day.

I was washing dishes at the sink, which could have been done by any of the assistants, but I enjoyed the moment of calm it gave me. “I’m happy right now, what more could I ask for?”

He sighed and stepped in closer to the sink. He took one of the dishes, and began drying it for me. His presence was warm, not the intimidating shadow I had first gotten to know. I thought of him more as a guardian these days, and I appreciated all his efforts. I owed him so much, but I wasn’t sure how to breach the topic.

As I handed him another dish to wash, his large fingers brushed against mine and my smile became awkward and unsure. “You really don’t have to help with this, Mr. Graves. I’ve got it.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered. He dried the pan and set it aside. “You don’t have to keep calling me that. We’ve known each other long enough, you can call me Rafael.”

I bit my bottom lip at the surprise. “I thought you said-”

“I know I said to keep it professional, but I’d like to hear you call me by my name.” His hand stalled as he took the next pan. “If that’s alright. Lilian.”

Rafael’s eyes were more warm than dark, like fresh baked brownies from the oven. I smiled at him, reassuring him since he looked uncharacteristically nervous. “Sure, Rafael. I don’t mind.”

“Good,” he sounded breathless, “good.” he continued drying.

It was silent for a long spell after that, and the two of us continued washing dishes together.

“I may have to take a break,” he murmured.

“Are your hands getting pruney?” I asked.

Rafael swallowed. “No. I mean from the agency.”

I stopped what I was doing and turned to face him. “Okay-” I dragged out the word in my uncertainty. “Is everything alright?”

His expression was blank, but there was something in those brown eyes. “I had a doctor’s appointment the other day-”

My gut dropped. In that brief moment, my eyes began to well up with tears and I imagined what he could possibly say to me. I reached out for him, trying to take his hand but he stepped back from me.

“Is it...is it bad?” My voice choked up.

“I suppose,” he grumbled. “My doctor said I would possibly need knee surgery.” He motioned down to his front legs, patting closer to the right. “I have to get some other tests done and see a specialist who is in a whole other state to be sure. But she told me it was a pretty definite thing.”

That huge weight lifted off me and I swatted his arm for scaring me so badly. “You lead with that! I was so scared! I had every sort of worst case scenario running through my head in that split second.” I swatted him again and this time he caught my hand. I yanked it back and rubbed at my eyes which had welled up.

Rafael turned away. “Sorry to make it sound so grim, I just can’t stand the thought of it.” he tossed his head and huffed. “I’ve never been a fan of doctors, but the idea of having to get surgery is really bothersome.”

“The idea you’re sick and dying was really bothersome!” I snapped at him. “Knee surgery happens every dang day! If you need it, it's going to help you. Not nearly giving your friend a panic attack!” I sniffled and looked back up at him. “What else did your doctor say to you?”

The way the speckled brown of his face went from pale to nearly red was like watching a sunrise. Rafael grumbled under his breath, patting his side and squeezing. “She said I should start losing a few pounds. But that’s her advice for everything.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” I murmured. “Maybe I could try and make a few recipes for that,” I started thinking to myself, then Rafael snapped his fingers to bring me back.

Rafael instantly shook his head in disapproval. “You’re not a healthy eating expert, you're a comfort expert, stick to your wheelhouse,” Rafael crossed his arms again and his tail shook. “Doing your gluten free and vegan versions is healthy enough.”

“Well, maybe you and I can start walking between filming?” I suggested. “Oh no, it’s your knee, that might not be good.”

Rafael rolled his eyes. “My doctor told me if I do have to have surgery, I’ll be laid up for weeks maybe.” he shivered from his ears down to his tail. “It makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. I figured I could work from home, but that apartment is barely liveable as is.”

I thought for a moment then gasped as the idea dawned on me. “Why not come stay with me?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

I broke into a huge smile. “This house here. I have the room and space for it! It’d be a lot better to heal here than in your cramped apartment.”

A blush began to grow over his brown, speckled face. “I know your house, Lilian. I’m standing in it. Why offer that?”

I approached him with a smile. “I know you’re not a fan of the countryside, but if you stay with me, I’ll be around to help take care of you, and we can work on the next cookbook together if you get bored. I know how you hate not working.”

He grimaced as he thought. “It would be easier to move around your place than my apartment. But it’s still in the country.”

“I know, I know,” I huffed. “Think about it. Once you know what’s going to happen, just consider it.”

“Fine,” Rafael sighed. “I’ll consider it.” He turned back to the dishes to start putting them away, but he stalled again. “Actually, do you mind coming with me to my appointment?”

“Really?” I blurted it out then cleared my throat. “You want me to?”

He sighed and kept his eyes down. “It’s on a filming day though. So I don’t expect you to come. I just wanted to ask.”

I closed the gap between us and stood beside him. “I can have Keisha edit together a bloopers video, and I can film the sponsorship spot on my own. If you want me to go with you, I’ll go. I’m surprised you would ask me of all people.”

Rafael looked down upon me with a soft, sweet expression on his face I had never seen before. ��It’s rare I make a friend in this business. I mean-” he hesitated. “Or consider someone a friend.”

I broke into a big smile. “I am your friend, I’d be happy to take you to your doctor’s appointment.”

Rafael smiled unsurely. “That means a lot to me, Lilian.”

I returned his smile and my heart pitter pattered away inside my chest. “You sort of saved me, I owe you.”

“No,” Rafael scoffed. “You did all that on your own.”

///////////

The surgery went well, and a day later I was able to bring him home. He’s mostly been resting since then, staying to himself in the room I set up for him. But partly, I think he’s doing that because of something he said on the way home while he was still a little dopey on painkillers.

I didn’t think too much of it, while it had been shocking at the time, I figured the painkillers had caused the outburst so I put it behind me. It has been awkward, and while he’s been able to move around the house on his cart, I’ve not seen much of him; almost like he’s avoiding me.

“I’ve got dinner ready,” I said after knocking on his door.

“I’m not that hungry just yet. Leave me a plate in the fridge, alright? I’m finishing up some of these edits on your next book.”

I frowned at the door. “Well, alright. I’ll be out here if you want any company.”

“Thank you, Lilian,” he murmured from inside.

This wasn’t like him at all, he was such a people person, unlike me. He was always his best around people.

I cleaned up the kitchen and made Rafael a plate I put in the fridge. Afterwards, I made myself coffee and sat at the table with a bit of apple crumble while I scrolled through my phone. It was raining outside, so I left the doors open to hear the patter of it upon the tin roof. The atmosphere was tranquil, cool, and time was still.

There came the squeaking of wheels from down the hallway, and a moment later, Rafael appeared. His front legs rested on the special cart he’d been given after his surgery. He looked disheveled, unshaven and wrapped in a gray hoodie. He didn’t see me at the table as he opened up the fridge. Once he turned, he flinched like he had seen a ghost.

“Oh-” Rafael closed the fridge while his eyes darted around, looking for something to focus on. “I didn’t think you’d still be in here.”

“I was dicking around on my phone with coffee.” I watched him curiously. “Are you alright?”

“I had surgery,” he grumbled as he removed the cellophane from his dinner plate, and it stuck to his hand.

“Yeah, I know. But your doctor said you’d be fine to move around by now. Is something bothering you?” My heart then leapt up into my throat. How could I be so stupid and not consider this before? “Are you abusing your painkillers?”

“No!” He snapped at me, still trying to shake the cellophane off. “My painkillers are nothing but glorified ibuprofen. You know that!” He grabbed the plastic wrap with one hand and slammed it down to get rid of it.

“Right-” I muttered weakly “Uhmm...then what’s been up with you? You’ve kept yourself holed up in your room almost all this time.”

Rafael scoffed and he picked at his food with his fingers. “It’s nothing to worry about, Lilian.”

I raised my brows at him.

“Don’t give me that look!” He tried to move but that same sheet of cellophane got caught in the wheel of his cart. “What the fuck is this?”

I stood up and went to him, kneeling down to remove the plastic wrap from his wheel. “I know something is up with you. Out with it or I wrap your bed in plastic wrap.”

Rafael pouted and looked away from me. “I told you not to worry about it.”

“Okay, wrapping your bed up in plastic,” I grumbled as I stood up.

Rafael grabbed my hand, stopping me from going any further, but also freezing me in my tracks with how sharp but gentle his touch was. I looked back up at him, seeing the pained look in his eyes.

“Oh,” I jerked at my realization. “Is this about what you said when you were high?”

His grip around my wrist tightened and he pressed his mouth into a firm line.

“It’s okay. I once tried swimming in an empty pool the first time I tried pot. I mean, I broke my arm, but it was because I was high and sixteen.”

“I wasn’t high and sixteen though.” Rafael let go of me and he smoothed his hand over the front of his hoodie then fidgeted with the pull strings. “I was mildly drugged and thirty-eight.”

I placed my hand upon his arm. “It’s really okay. People say all sorts of things when they’re mildly drugged after surgery. There’s a whole genre of that online.”

Those dark brown eyes fell onto my hand and his lips puckered slightly. “As a professional though, it’s embarrassing.”

I squeezed his arm. “As my friend, I can let it slide.”

A heavy breath left through his nostrils and he looked into my eyes. There was a beat where I felt the air change and something different was about to happen. I kept a hold of his arm and I looked away.

“It’s not like you meant it anyways,” I tried to laugh. “Right?”

Rafael remained silent.

I wasn’t sure what to do, I didn’t even move my hand off his arm. I just stood there. I bit my lip as I tried to think, tried to plan, tried to plot. This was Rafael, he didn’t fool around or tease like this. Everything he said, he meant. Even if he was doped on painkillers, every word from his mouth would be earnest. But I had chosen to believe otherwise until now.

“Lilian,” he said sternly. “You can let me go now.”

I didn’t. In fact, I squeezed harder onto his arm. I looked up into his eyes, and while I wanted to remain cool for his sake, tears still welled up in my eyes and my throat began to choke up in the back of my throat. I swallowed, but nothing helped soothe this sudden rush of emotions bubbling up.

I opened my mouth to speak and Rafael put his hand over my mouth.

“It’s true,” he murmured. “What I said then, even if I was out of my mind, I meant it. And I can’t look you in the eyes just yet.”

I sniffled and my chest began to shudder. Rafael moved his hand, smoothing that huge palm over my cheek, while his strong fingers brushed away the tears I squeezed from my eyes as I closed them.

“Don’t cry,” he sighed.

“I can’t help it. No one has ever told me they loved me before,” I whined pitifully. “I can’t believe you’re the one who said it!”

Rafael’s hand stilled on my cheek. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

I whimpered and hiccuped, rubbing my eyes so I could look at him without such a ridiculous face, but I couldn’t stop. I continued to cry, and Rafael put his hands upon my shoulders and let me weep against his hoodie. I clung onto it, making myself calm down enough so I could speak again.

“If this is going to cause a problem, I can have Will deal with everything until I can get over this. I promise, this isn’t going to affect anything. I’ll keep working for you just as-”

I tugged hard on his hoodie. “Hush!” I swallowed and caught my breath again. “Since I started working with you, I haven’t enjoyed baking this much since my granny was still alive.” I hiccuped again. “You’ve made working like this a joy, you’ve made my cookbooks something really special.” I looked up into his confused eyes. “You’re my friend.”

Rafael nods solemnly. “You’re mine too, which is why-”

“I love you.”

Rafael stopped everything. He cut off mid sentence, holding his mouth in the same pose. He wasn’t breathing, I don’t think anything inside him was working. “I want to-” He took a breath. “Remain-” He looked into my eyes.

I nodded and stood on my tiptoes. “I love you,” I repeated in case he didn’t hear it. “Is that o-'' Rafael picked me up off the ground, pulling me into a tight embrace and laying his face against my hair.

“When?” he whispered.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him as tightly as he held me. “What do you mean?”

“I remember the moment I realized it. It was that first day of shooting and you were so excited over one of the tech guys fixing your grandmother’s mixer. I saw you smiling and thought ‘I want to work all my life for this person, just to see that smile everyday’. I was so fucking terrified of that thought I tried burying it. But I could never forget it, no matter what I tried.”

“Rafael-” my voice tremored.

“I just want to know if you had a similar moment?”

“I’m not sure,” I murmured against his cheek. “I just know everyday it’s been growing, the more I see you, the happier I get. Whenever you say my name, I can hardly stand myself,” I laughed. “Your hair is really tangled. Let me brush it.”

“Not now,” he whispered. He pulled back and I lost my breath. My heart was pounding so wildly I couldn’t stop a moment to process what was happening. His lips touched my cheek and neck, then they pressed against my mouth and I was swooning.

When Rafael pulled away, I figured a few days had gone by at least, but the rain hitting the tin roof was still going strong.

“We should hit pause on this, for now.” Rafael cleared his throat and placed me back down on my feet. “We should talk about this a little more in depth. Don’t you think?”

I just made a noise as I didn't have a thought in my head besides kisses and big hands. I glanced back up into his eyes and nodded.

“I’m glad you think so.” He cleared his throat. “There is a lot here we need to discuss.”

“We do?” I was finally able to speak.

Rafael got a cross look that softened just as soon as it appeared. “Of course we do! We work together, we’re starting a production company together soon. We can't just fling ourselves into some romance if we’re not going to be taking this seriously! And if we are friends then we deserve to make sure we’re going to take care of that.”

“Yes, of course. Of course.” I clear my throat. “Maybe I should put on some coffee for us. We can talk here.”

“That’s fine,” Rafael murmured.

I fumbled with the coffee pot, forgetting how having a body worked for a short spell. I glanced up from the sink, seeing him standing over the table as he lifted the newspaper.

“I remember,” I gasped.

Rafael looked back at me. “Remember what?”

“The moment!” I smiled shyly at him. “It was a couple of days after we started filming. You’d gone out of your way to get me the right kind of apples I had wanted, because the crew wasn’t sure. You drove to that fancy grocery store an hour away. You didn’t tell anyone why you’d left so everyone was kind of panicked. And when you got back and I saw you walking up my steps-” I stopped and broke into a big smile. “It was like Prince Charming coming to give Cinderella her shoe back.”

Rafael walked around the counter to stand before me. “I’m no Prince Charming, I’m barely even charming.” He placed his big hand upon my cheek. “But I would think of you as my princess.”

I cupped my hands over my face. “Stop! That’s too much for me!”

He kissed the top of my head with a chuckle. “Let me see that smile at least.”

I lowered my hands, beaming up at him with tears in my eyes. He kissed me, sitting me upon the counter just so he could kiss me more.

A few days later I took Rafael walking around the house. He’d just gotten a good report from his checkup, and his doctor asked him to try walking short distances every day.

“How does it feel?” I asked.

“It’s fine. Weird feeling but fine,” he huffed.

I pointed to the big red barn. “My grandparents got married there, which is why we never tore it down, even when we couldn’t keep up with the farm anymore.”

“Are you suggesting something?” Rafael chuckled.

I jumped out of my skin. “No! No! I was just saying-”

“Show me.” He tugged on my hand, having me lead him up into the barn.

Inside it was dusty, filled with what remained of my grandfather’s old farm equipment and Christmas decorations. Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the walls, while dust floated amongst them.

“It’s really nice here.” Rafael murmured.

“I’ve often thought about doing something with it. Maybe fix it up so people can have weddings here.” Rafael then picked me up, setting me on top of the wall so I was above him. He smirked at me and I had to glance away.

“I’m not mentioning weddings a lot for any reason, I swear!”

Rafael kissed my neck and I lost my breath. He moaned against my skin and a shiver went down my body.

“This feels different,” I muttered, leaning back until I touched a beam.

“You look so beautiful right now,” he whispered in my ear. Rafael pulled back a bit and looked into my eyes. “I’m feeling pretty good today too.” His eyes went down my body and my heartbeat spiked.

“Whoa, whoa,whoa-” I caught my breath. “Just how good are you feeling?”

Rafael licked his lips. “If it’s alright with you, I’ll show you.” He unbuttoned my overalls and slowly tugged them down until they hung off of one foot. He stepped in close, kissing my shoulders and collarbone.

My legs felt slightly cold, so I wrapped them around him. “That tickles,” I whimpered.

Those hands I loved so much pushed up my shirt and he kissed between my breasts. “Does this?”

“A little,” I whimpered.

Rafael’s hands traveled down my waist to my hips, gently kneading his fingers into my soft skin. He looked up at me, kissing me softly as his fingers traced the lace on my panties.

I gasped against his lips as I felt his fingers find purchase on something much more sensitive. I gripped onto his arm and a soft chuckle rumbled in his throat.

“Right here,” he whispered into my ear. “Is that the spot?”

I whimpered as his fingers sunk deeper into the fabric, his touch becoming more direct. I tightened my hands around his arms.

“It’s alright, isn’t it?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I panted.

Rafael kissed my cheek and neck. “Does it feel good?”

I nodded wordlessly.

“Good,” he moaned. “All I want to do is make you happy and smile.”

His fingers rubbed up and down the crotch of my panties, finding them grow wetter with each stroke. He groaned into my ear and my whole body shivered.

“Do you mind if I touch a little more closely?” He whispered.

I nodded again with a whimper.

“It’s alright, my love.” He kissed my lips. “Just going to push this little bit of fabric aside and-” he hissed and I cried out as his bare fingers touched my vulva. He rubbed me up and down very slowly, moaning into my ear as he did.

“Is that alright?” He breathed.

“You’re so warm,” I whimpered.

He chuckled, kissing my cheek and lips. “You have no idea how good you feel.” His fingers gently sunk inside. He then sputtered with a laugh.

“What?”

He shook his head, a big grin on his face. “Just thinking something stupid.”

I gulped as his thumb rubbed to my clit. “Tell me.”

Rafael kissed me as his finger slipped inside. “Just thinking that...I love every pie you’ve ever made.”

I started laughing but was choked by how good his fingers worked below.

Rafael removed his hand, licking his fingers with a smile upon his face. He looked into my eyes, kissing me before pressing more down my body. His torso knelt down and he placed his head between my thighs.

“Wait-” I whimpered.

“Unless you want me to stop, I will.” he pushed my panties aside more. “But right now, I’m wanting to make you happy.”

His tongue lapped over me and I quivered. I cupped my hand over my mouth, even though no one was around for miles. Rafael moaned against me, sending shivers up my spine. His fingers slipped back inside, moving slowly as he licked and kissed my folds.

I took hold of his hair, tugging it gently. This only made his eyes flick up and look at me. Those eyes had affected me since the moment I met him, now, in their spell, something else powerful occured. Rafael’s touch and affections radiated through my whole body, pulling my limbs so they curled. My back arched and I pulled his hair a little too hard in my excitement. I dribbled down his chin, and he lapped up the corners of his mouth with that amazing tongue.

“I like seeing this as much as your smile.” Rafael laid down his hoodie and laid behind me so I could snuggle against him.

My legs were still shaking and I was trying to catch my breath. I looked up into the streams of light filtering through the wood of the barn. It sparkled brighter and more radiant before. I leaned back into Rafael more and his fingers combed through my hair.

“I really enjoyed that,” I giggled. “Even if you compared me to a pie.”

Rafael knelt down and kissed my cheek. “I love you, I just felt like...pampering you a little.”

I beamed up at him. “I love you too. I’ll have to pamper you next time.”

Rafael let out a laugh. “Maybe we can pamper each other together. Does that sound fun to you?”

#exophilia #monster romance #monster fudger #monsterxhuman #monsterxreader #monster love #centaur #centaur romance #momolady monsters #my writing

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froody · 1 year

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We need to start packaging foodstuffs in aluminum tins/glass or ceramic crocks again. Not just because it’s better for the environment and they’re reusable but because I need containers for my trinkets.

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the12thnightproject · 1 year

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True Companion

Y'all can just blame this little bit of crackfic on @lorei-writes and @ikemendood and @scorchieart

400 words, no content warnings (unless you have a low tolerance for puns)

“Ieyasu, lad, wait!”

Ieyasu hears Masamune’s voice behind him, is aware that he and Mitsunari want to stop and chat, but it only spurs him to pick up his pace.

Residents of Azuchi’s castle town have become used to his resolute stride, as he marches, gaze straight in front of him, fluffy hair whipped about by the breeze he himself is creating. Some of them wonder, ‘what is his hurry? Does he have a lover waiting for him in his manor? What kind of woman would be willing to put up with his prickly personality?’

Others, more used to having their curiosity slapped away and their questions met with a green-eyed glare, simply scurry out of the way.

Masamune gives up the chase – there are far more interesting ways to spend the afternoon than in the company of someone so determined to avoid humanity. Mitsunari would have continued to follow, but becomes distracted by the sight of the bookseller uncrating a new shipment of books.

Good. Ieyasu is in the clear now. Not much longer, not much further.

Finally, he reaches his manor and determinedly slides the door shut behind him. For good measure, he slides a heavy trunk in front of the door, aware though, that it won’t permanently stop anyone intent on gaining access. It should, at least, give him early warning of intrusion.

And then… and then… his pace quickens, and … is that... is that a smile that is gracing his face? He rushes to a cool darkened room, where his precious one awaits. Being away all morning increased his anxiety for its safety. What if he hadn’t given it enough food… or, Gods forbid, water.

With nervous hands lifts away the cloth covering the top of the ceramic bowl…

Unaware, and indeed, uncaring of such angst, the sourdough starter is cozily snoozing in its home, perfectly content.

After breathing a sigh of relief, Ieyasu embraces the bowl with both hands, rocking it slightly. A humming noise rumbles from his throat… and then, after an embarrassed look around the empty room, he gently croons…

Bubble, bubble, sour dough

How I love to see you grow.

In this crock you grow so high,

Like a blob, in wait you lie.

Bubble, bubble, sour dough

How I love to see you grow…

Deep down, he knows the starter can’t hear him, doesn’t care… but it’s the yeast he can do.

#ikemen sengoku #fanfic #crackfic #ieyasu #ikesen ieyasu #no puns were harmed in the creation of this fic #puns

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ovaruling · 4 months

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@radicalearthling my pleasure!!!!

ok so. my garlic & onion beans! 🫘

INGREDIENCE

- 32oz (or more or less—you can adjust accordingly) bag of any kind of dry beans (i like black beans or red beans the best, or black-eyed peas), soaked and cooked (im lazy and use an instant pot for this part so if that’s relevant to u, then what i do is fill with enough water to cover the beans and 30 minutes on high pressure, natural release for 20 min) (or you can use canned beans that equal 32oz drained!)

- 1 large yellow onion (im talking huge)

- 2 sticks of country crock brand vegan butter (that would be about 115g per stick, so about 230g of vegan butter) (you can use way way less of this btw, 4tbsp divided evenly between the onions and the pot ought to do)

- 5-8 cloves of garlic, minced (or more!)

- smoked paprika

- Badia southern style poultry seasoning (or any southern style poultry seasoning)

- salt & pepper

- 1 carton (32oz) of vegan no-chicken-broth (i use the Imagine brand, but any broth you have will work—you can also of course use vegan no-chicken bouillon or base)

- liquid smoke, if you have any (it’s vegan!)

INSTRUCTIONS

1. put your huge chopped onion and 1 stick (or 115g) of vegan butter in a skillet (chop it with a spatula as you go so that it distributes around the pan.) turn the heat to high or medium-high. salt and pepper generously. wait for the onions to brown and then nearly blacken. i use a ceramic greenpan on medium-high and it takes me about 10-15 minutes. this isn’t an exact science, i break the rules of caramelizing a lot. stir if you need to in order to prevent the onion from blackening beyond taste. (you can add garlic here too but i find it sometimes tends to burn but if you use the whole stick of butter it usually holds up. up to you how to add the garlic!)

2. once the onion is browned and fragrant, set the skillet aside.

3. put the plain cooked beans and the chicken broth in a large stockpot. put in 1 stick (or 115g) of vegan butter. set to medium-low heat.

4. put in 4-8 huge shakes of salt, pepper, smoked paprika, and poultry seasoning. this has no measurement—i eyeball it and taste it as i go. i usually end up needing to salt it a bit more.

5. add some dashes of liquid smoke, if using. again, i eyeball this—i usually dash it like 4-5 times.

6. add the cooked onion to the beans in the stockpot.

7. add your minced garlic if you didn’t use it for the onion browning.

8. stir, taste, and reseason as desired.

9. cover, and cook on medium high for about 10 minutes. let it come to a good boil.

10. lower the heat to Low, let it simmer until it reaches desired texture and thickness. add more water if needed.

11. i usually let it simmer on low for 1 hour minimum, up to 3 or 4 hours depending on my schedule. the longer it cooks down, the better it tastes imo.

12. keep tasting throughout to make sure you’re going in the right direction! i usually need to add way more smoked paprika to get the taste i want. i’m pretty extravagant w my smoked paprika….

13. let cool and voila :) this usually feeds me 1 full large bowl for 7-8 days of dinner (sometimes less bc i like to eat seconds…). i store it all in a large tupperware thang once it’s completely cooled. keeps very nicely!

#vegan recipes #since i should have a tag for this

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norabrice1701 · 9 months

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The Duke & The Witch - Ch. 6

Charles Brandon x Fem!OC, A The Tudors Slight-AU fic

Series Main List

Ch. 6 Warnings: Discussion of witchcraft; period-typical attitudes towards everything (women, religion, witchcraft, etc.); fantastical squinty science/alchemy

Avian sighs, satisfied as she pulls back to admire her handiwork. Cutting and sorting spear thistle plants into their respectively useful piles – leaves for drying, taproots for cooking, unflowered blooms for syrup – always takes longer than she remembers. The coarse texture of the stems irritates her skin, fingertips red and nearly raw from handling the prickly plant.

But it has to be done. The taproots are one of her better sources of food.

The knife drops to the tabletop with a dull clunk before she gathers the pile of taproots. While they store better dry and uncooked, the closed-up blooms need tending before they dry out. But not yet. The wild roses have waited long enough. Once they’re properly prepared, then she can return her attention to the thistle blooms.

As she shuffles the rest of the thistle remains to the side, she plucks a ceramic crock from the worktable against the back wall. The basket of wild roses sits untouched near the door and she reaches for it, dumping the collection of deep red blooms and green stems onto the cleared table surface.

The first stem breaks down easily. So much easier than the thistles. She shaves the thorns off with the knife, letting them fall to the table. Once the thorns fall free, then comes the twine for drying the flower petals-

“Avian!”

She startles on the call, focus broken as she glances up with wide eyes. That voice… his voice has only echoed in her memories these past months. But now?

Has the duke truly returned?

Her mouth goes dry at the thought. Does she dare respond? Or has he just come to arrest her after all this time? Her heart hammers, vulnerability creeping along her skin as she deliberates. She isn’t wearing an arm gauntlet and her dress sleeve isn’t wide enough to hide it even if she puts one on. With a deep breath, she rises from the table and tightens her grip on the large knife. Slowly pushing the cottage door open, she angles her body to keep the knife at her side hidden from view.

The duke stands proud by his horse with no evidence of a wagon or garrison soldiers accompanying him. He wears the fine appointments of his rank, his sleeveless black cloak trimmed in black fur and catching around his legs in the breeze. His face holds a carefully guarded expression before a small grin teases the corner of his mouth. His azure eyes meet hers and… has he always been so strikingly handsome?

She swallows the uneasy thought, sighing uneasily. “Your Grace?”

“Avian.” He greets again, tipping his head. “I’m glad to see that you are still here. I had heard that you might have fled the duchy.”

Her lips purse to a tight line of consideration before she steps fully into the doorway, letting him see the glint of the knife. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Am I under attack?” His past as a soldier betrays him, gaze focusing on the knife with rapt attention. “You are usually armed in subtler ways, which leads me to think I have caught you unaware.”

“I did not know what to expect when you called my name. As for the rest, I will leave that for you to decide.” She isn’t about to admit the truth of his words. It would be all too easy for him to knock the knife from her hand and hold her completely at his mercy. Her fingers tighten around the knife grip. “Is there something in particular you want? If you only journeyed here to confirm that I have not run away, then you have accomplished your task.”

His head tilts with indignant surprise. “You would dismiss me so readily?”

A stab of frustration rears its head. For all of his sins, her father had taught her a base level of manners, and dismissing a nobleman so blatantly always carried a high risk. Especially in her present position. She wets her top lip uneasily. “No, Your Grace.” She glances back towards the cottage. “But I have work that must continue, so if you wish to converse further, you will have to accommodate me.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns back towards the cottage and disappears into the interior. She doesn’t know if he’ll take her offer or not, but the open cottage door stands as proof of her words. Another nervous sigh leaves her as she struggles to calm the rapid rhythm of her heart. At least her present task with the roses still allows her to keep holding the knife without excuse.

His shadow darkens the doorway, and she watches him freeze with surprised disbelief.

***

An onslaught of powerful scents overwhelm him. They clog the air and he can barely tell them apart. Some are familiar – roses, lavender – and too many are unknown but spicy, earthen and sweet. He takes a breath, worried he might choke on the weight of the heavily perfumed air as he looks at the bunches of flora strung up and hanging from the lattice work against the far wall.

He looks over at her, disbelief coloring his face. “How have you not choked?”

Her brow furrows in mild confusion. “None of it is toxic.”

Crossing the cottage threshold, he walks over to the lattice for a closer look. Bunches of various leaves, flowers and berries hang upside down in differing shriveled states. Each has their own shape and texture - something that he takes for granted on the battlefield or during a hunt - but he has never before considered that so many could be useful. “What is all this?” He asks, turning to look at her working at the table. The rough surface is covered in all manner of bowls, mortar and pestles, crocks, metal instruments, liquids, powders, and pastes. It looks like a physician’s dream.

Her lips pull to a closed-mouth, almost coy grin. “What does it look like?”

“Plants, flowers… but the likes of which I have never seen before.” He turns back to study the latticework, taking a closer look at the varying bundles. They all hang by the stems with the blooms and leaves pointed towards the ground. Some look freshly picked and strung up while others appear dry and wrinkled.

“Have you never ventured into a kitchen before?” She casts him a questioning look that he doesn’t acknowledge before she shakes her head, the motion reproachful. “You betray your privileged upbringing.”

“I have never hidden it.” His voice holds no apology, only the mild sting of offense. Most commoners don’t separate privilege from nobility, but if she does, then the tales about him have spread far and wide, indeed. He arches a brow in consideration. “It’s revealing that you know about my lineage to make such a comment. If the people of my duchy spread such talk, then I would hear what other such talk they spread.” Glancing over at her, he wets his top lip curiously. “Do they even use my name? Do you even know my name?”

The knife blade falls against the heavy wooden table as she chops a rose thorn, followed by another. Her face pinches in concentration even as she shakes her head. “None of that hardly matters, Your Grace.”

“If you subsist on rumors, then I would know what rumors say of me.”

Her bright green eyes meet his for the space of a breath, and even in the dusty dimness of the cottage they captivate him. But before his stare lingers too long, she blinks away with a reluctant sigh. “The rumors are not unfavorable. Simply that you are a personal friend of the king, hence your noble title without the pedigree to support it.”

Even now, he still doesn’t understand why Henry saw fit to grant him letters patent, but he had been in no position to deny his king. Not that he had really wanted to - he positively preened under the mantle of his new station, even if the prospect had terrified him at first. But now? Now an incredulous grin lifts the corner of his mouth. How have the passing years seen him become an effective executor of his duchy only to find himself standing inside the cottage of a suspected witch?

And all while Henry sits on the throne with that whore Anne Boleyn at his side.

He tries to blink the heavy torrent of thoughts away as he sighs. It brings him no peace, and instead he lets his gaze settle on the neatly tied rows of flora that hang upside down. Raising a gloved hand, he lightly trails a finger down a bunch of long-stemmed blooms with purple clusters. “This one I recognize,” he says softly. “From laundered bed linens.”

She lifts her head, looking around him to see. “Lavender. It aids with sleep.”

Under his touch, the stems swing on their twine string and knock into surrounding bunches. "Why are they tied up like this?” The question leaves him before he can think better of it. He doesn’t claim a vast interest in their purpose, but the easy conversation distracts from his stormy thoughts.

“It’s the best way to dry them out - to make them dry and brittle for grinding into pastes and powders. Once I’m finished with the thorns, the roses will join them.” Something in her tone shifts - to his ears, she sounds almost gracious. Calming. As if she can sense his preference in the distracting, idle conversation. Perhaps he shouldn’t have pressed her to divulge the rumors about him, after all.

He looks back over at her and the piles of roses. “And what purpose do the roses serve?”

“Several – in tea, rose aids in pain relief. In compresses, rose aids in healing wounds.”

Walking over to the table, he continues to watch her sever the thorns from the stems. “I’m beginning to think that you missed your calling by hiding yourself here,” he says, trying to force a light tone to his voice. “You could fetch a fair penny as a healer in any of the villages.”

“And be run out by the attending physicians? Or burned alive for heresy without due process?”

“That is still a distinct possibility even with due process.”

With the back of the knife, she scrapes the scattered thorns into a central pile. She reaches for a crock with her other hand before pushing the pile towards the table’s edge and off into the waiting crock. A collection of rose thorns already rest in the crock, some brown with age beneath the fresh green thorns. An intrigued grin curls his lips. “The thorns serve a purpose too, I’d wager?”

“Yes.” She meets his gaze with a surprising hint of cordial teasing. “You’re welcome to assist me if you’d like.”

He scoffs on instinct. “Commoner’s work.”

“Yes, that is indeed what I am,” she counters gently, unbothered by his tone. “But until you figure out why you linger here in my home, I wanted to extend the offer.”

The words burrow under his skin with more frustrating truth than he wants to acknowledge. With the completion of his objective to confirm that she still remained in his duchy, why does he linger? Is he truly so desperate for a reprieve from court life that he seeks it in the company of a rumored witch?

He wets his top lip. “Would you believe me if I said I was gathering evidence to support your inquiry?”

The line of her shoulders stiffens ever so subtly, brow wrinkling with concern even as her gaze stays fixed on the table. Her fingers flex on the knife grip as she speaks. “Yes, I would believe you. I have not forgotten our previous conversation. Or is… ” she pauses with a visible swallow. “Is that why you have come, but will not say? To take me back to your dungeon?”

Honestly, that’s exactly what he should do. The responsibility of his station demands that he consider the wellbeing of his duchy, and he can ill afford to let a suspected witch continue to roam free. Indeed, he should see her imprisoned with the braids in her hair undone and washed out, along with a thorough search of her person for any other tricks that might literally be up her sleeve. But would that really be in the best interest of his duchy?

At length, he sighs and hopes it doesn’t betray his conflict. “Not today.” He says with firm conviction. “But soon.”

“Soon?” Her eyes dart up to him, sharp in the hazy light under the fall of her braids and wild curls. “Why not today? Has the cat not toyed with the mouse enough?”

He can’t help the wicked curl of his lips. “If I were truly toying with you, you would know it.”

Her cheeks flush ever so faintly as her mouth tightens in contemplation. “Then, if it’s not…” She trails off, green eyes studying his for the truth. “Then you must want something from me.”

The memories of the powders in her arm gauntlet return, and he can’t deny the temptation. Perhaps she could prove useful - and if her healing powers have half the potency of those powders, then maybe he does want her for something. Perhaps even the king would care to employ her services for his own personal use. After all, the stories about her are far more centered on healing rather than destruction.

With exception of the lightning from her fingertips. But such temptation lurks there, too. Why should he share her knowledge and skills with the king when he could keep her as a well-guarded secret? Could he wield her as a weapon of retribution against the evil that has poisoned the king’s court? All too clearly, he can see Queen Anne’s burning hatred for him, recall all the times she’s brazenly wounded his pride in her attempt to drive a wedge between him and Henry. His friend has been too blinded by love to see her for the serpent she truly is, but maybe… maybe with Avian…

He forces a hard swallow. “Maybe not… but maybe,” his voice drops to a dark whisper. “You would help me destroy her.”

A weighted silence falls in the cottage as Avian stills. Her eyes narrow in immediate suspicion as his words hang in the air. He doesn’t know what rumors of Queen Anne have reached the commoners of his duchy, but as he watches the implications of his words play out on her face, he nods with silent understanding.

She nibbles her bottom lip as distrust dances in his eyes. “If you’re trying to bait me into speaking treason to justify my imprisonment, then you will be sorely disappointed.”

“This is no trap. No trick.” He wonders what circle of hell he condemns himself to as he speaks. “I ask you plainly again – could… would you help me destroy her?”

She shakes her head. “That is not how it should work.”

“But it can be done.”

Her lips pinch to a tight line, the weight of the unspoken answer heavy between them before she speaks. “Are you not concerned that I should turn you in for speaking treason?”

“And why should anyone believe you?” He counters. “I’ve sworn the oath. I served as high constable for her coronation. I’ve been the ever true, ever loyal servant. And you? You’re the witch who summons lightning strong enough to destroy. To kill, even.” His words cut deep, but he has a point to make. If this witch means to beat him at a power play, she’ll be sorely mistaken. He tips his head to send her a warning glare. “Best look after your own neck before threatening mine.”

Her grip on the knife tightens even as nothing else in her expression changes. A heavy silence falls between them as she turns her gaze away and chops off another thorn, the movement slow and deliberate. Reaching for another rose, she drops the knife to the tabletop with a dull thunk. Her eyes find his again, and she gently pushes the rose across the table towards him. “I already told you that was a mistake. If you’re looking to gain destructive powers, then you’d better find yourself someone else.”

He follows the motion of her hand to stare at the rose as it lays against the tabletop. The perfect beauty of the blood red bloom seems to mock him with its elegance helplessly trapped at this witch’s mercy. God help him, he must truly be losing his mind. Has he forgotten himself so completely in asking this woman to help him destroy the queen? He sighs, reaching a gloved hand out to take the tender stem, lifting it up to inhale its perfume.

So pleasant. So simple.

He drops it harshly to the table before turning away and walking out into the afternoon sunlight. Too many words stick in his throat and cloud his mind. His frustrated anger has already loosened his tongue enough for one day. Who knows what else he might say if he allows it to continue running unchecked?

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#charles brandon #duke of suffolk #the tudors #henry cavill #charles brandon x ofc #henry cavill x ofc #the tudors fanfic

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