#there is romance in biscuits and tea there is romance in food and drink sorry you don’t know the love that comes with someone knowing by

[steelycunt]

ohhh you think cannibalism’s more romantic than biscuits? should we throw a party? should we invite timothee chalamet

#no romance in biscuits okay well why don’t we all just throw the fucking towel in then. everyone voting cannibalism on ren’s poll GROW UP #other than lana lana is allowed to like cannibalism. everyone else grow up #there is romance in biscuits and tea there is romance in food and drink sorry you don’t know the love that comes with someone knowing by #heart how you take your tea but that’s not my fault….there is a reason frank o hara wrote having a coke with you instead of having a big toe #with you. all im saying

[i-am-baechu]

Title: The People’s Princess | Chapter three

Paring: Kim Seokjin x reader, Min Yoongi x reader 

Genre: Fantasy au, Angst, Romance, and Fluff 

Summary: “I, Y/N L/N, take thee Seokjin, to my wedded husband. To have and hold. From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, to cherish and to...to obey. Till death do us part...”    

She looked at the man she barely knew for a month with an emotionless look. She turned towards her family to be met with sorrowful looks. This day was supposed to be the most beautiful day, a moment in a woman's life that signified a new chapter. A chapter that she no longer wants if he was part of the story.  

Masterlist

↜ Pervious chapter ♔ Next chapter ↝

July 22nd

“Anything from your prince, Y/N?” 

She turned towards her sister with a wide grin on her face, “Oh, Cecilia. I wish you were there. He was as handsome as I remember but with red tulips in hand this time. We discussed our future together but he wants to wait. He thinks it's rude to announce a marriage proposal when my sister is holding a ball for her accomplishment and I do agree. ” 

“Oh Y/N, I’m so happy for you and Yoongi. I’m sorry that my ball has to come and abrupt your announcement.” 

She gave her sister a dreamy look as she glanced outside to look at the gardens, “No need to apologize my dear sister. They do say the best things come when you wait. He’s everything I want in a man. A man that can keep up with me and be twice as witty, he must be in a want for a wife. I’m delighted that I, Princess Y/N L/N, can be his wife until my very last breath.”  

“You're being dramatic again, sister. It’s not a good look, shocking that your soon to be husband isn’t sick of you already.”

She grabbed one of the biscuits off of the table and tossed it towards Benjamin’s head, “Y/N! What did I say about throwing food?” 

“Sorry mother...” 

Her father gave her a wide grin and cut through his steak with an amused look, “My dear, Y/N. Getting married already and you can’t even throw a biscuit right. How unworldly.” 

“Papa...” 

“Papa, why does Y/N have to get married first? Isn’t she still...dull?” 

Y/N mouth dropped as her youngest sibling stared at her big innocent eyes as her father started laughing at the reaction. “Now, now Marianne. We shouldn’t say those types of things. Even though it did cause a chuckle, it's ill to say things like that.” 

“Yes papa. Y/N can you pass me the strawberries?” 

“I’m not sure you deserve them, you prat.” 

“Fine then, I’ll just ask my favorite sister, Cecilia to pass them.” 

She rolled her eyes as she watched her oldest sister do just that with a small grin on her face. She looked back at her mother with the same smile she had talking about Yoongi, “Mama, you’ve been quiet about this. Are you delighted by the news? Please tell me the truth.” 

Her mother gave her a gentle smile as she put her fork down, “Of course I’m happy. I didn’t think I needed to express it through yelling rather with an expression.” 

“A yelp would’ve been appreciated though, mama. Yoongi asked me to have tea with him and I accepted. There’s a lot to discuss between us. Goodbye, don’t wait for me.”

The family said their goodbyes and Y/N was off to meet her beloved. She grabbed her coat with the hood to hide her face from the public and from the many guards of the palace. She already told Jimin not to follow her because she wanted alone time with him, something so rare. She pulled the hood tighter to her face and was off into the busy streets of Audaqira. The cafe he wanted to meet at was more in the countryside, a secluded area. 

She opened the door and the owner looked at the new customer with a smile but his eyes widened when he realized who it was. He pointed up towards the second floor and she gave him a small nod. She walked up the stairs and she saw him sitting there drinking his god awful black coffee. 

“How can you drink that?”

“How can you drink coffee that looks like chocolate milk?” 

“Only when one is in the mood but tea is the answer to most things.”

She pulled the hood down and sat in the chair as he gently grabbed her hand from across the table, “Did your family like the news?” 

“They heard it from you first. My father dropped the letter in excitement and as for my mother let out a weep that was heard all through the house or that's how I want to recall it.” 

He let out a chuckle as he put his cup down and rubbed her knuckles gently, “Always for the drama, love.” 

“Did your father let a smile crack?”

“He let two coughs out.” 

“Oh, two. How kind of him for giving me his blessings.” 

“That’s more than I ever got growing up, have to admit I’m jealous of you.” 

She rolled her eyes and brought her sweet coffee to her lips as her lipstick stained the cup, “If someone has to be jealous it should be me.” 

“Why?”

“You can drink that god awful black coffee and still have a smile on your face.”

“Oh, shut up.” 

She let out a laugh and said her small thank yous to the worker as she put a piece of cake in front of her, “Ah, strawberry cake. My favorite. You know me so well.” 

He let out a scoff and crossed his arms at her, “I would hope so. Being together for three years and engaged now. I would hope I paid enough attention to know your likes and dislikes.” 

“A man listening to his partner so well, it's shocking to others but not to me. It makes me blush.” 

“Any man can be a good one but to be a great one is a task that many are scared to take. With you, any task at hand is easy. Being a good partner comes easy when you're there staring at me.”

“I guess my father was right, I am a witch.”

“A beautiful witch.” 

She took a bite of her cake as she let her face flush, making him give her a gentle smile, “Did you hear that Margan accepted the invitation?” 

“Don’t remind me. The only ones I can handle are the two younger brothers. The mother is always watching others while the father doesn’t talk to anyone, he doesn’t do anything. Don’t get me started on the crowned prince ” 

“Speaking of the prince. Did you hear the rumor regarding him?” 

He scoffed and opened his mouth as she fed him a piece of cake, “Which one?” 

“One of my maids heard that the prince is planning on getting married this year, to whom no one knows.” 

“That’s a shocker.” 

“Why? He's close to his thirties and it makes sense for him.”

“That is true but there's always more to the story. There was one person he ever loved and even though I disliked him during school, I knew he loved this person. He didn’t hide it from anyone nor did he try. He went after her during college and the rest is history but the last I heard no one approved of her because of her past actions. Not to mention, she's getting married next month and it’s not him. ”

“Does this woman have a name?” 

“Sylvia Park.” 

A year ago, June 1st

“I like this book.” 

“Is that your way of asking me to buy it for you?”

“Yoongi, you don’t need to buy everything for me.” 

She closed the book and headed towards the cashier as he grabbed her wrist, “Should a princess really be buying something so openly in public?” 

“Should the crown prince of Oshia grab a woman's wrist so openly in public?” 

He let out a chuckle and rolled his eyes as he let go, “The question still lies though, Y/N.”

“I’m not the crowned princess so I have different rules. Rules that I wrote for myself and my father approved of.” 

“Did your mother approve of it?”

“Don’t ask questions when you know the answer to.” 

She bowed at the cashier as she paid for the book as he stared at her with wide eyes. A commoner seeing the princess in his store, no one would believe him. She grabbed the book gently as Yoongi opened the door for her and they were off. They walked towards the forest to have their alone time with one and another. Moments like these were hard to come by, so she took them whenever she could. 

They sat down near a river as he stared at her, making her tilt her head in confusion, “Is there something on my face?” 

“No, I just love that I have the pleasure to look at you so close.” 

She let out a deep chuckle and rolled her eyes, “So charming. I’m glad I can look at you so closely so I can tell you that you have a piece of hair on your face.” 

He brought his hand to his checks to wipe what was there but saw that there was nothing. She opened her book and let out a chuckle, “I was only joking. How gullible can one be?” 

“I take back what I said. You don’t deserve any compliments.” 

“I would spend a lifetime waiting to hear your compliments again then.” 

“What a good save.” 

The couple walked into the forest to sit in their spot by the river before her curfew came and whisk her away. They sat in the grass as the flowers around them made the scenery feel even more relaxed (ignoring the constant flies). She laid down next to him as her head lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat; a soothing melody. 

“What did you mean by he’s close to his thirties so it makes sense?” 

She looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, “That was an hour ago, why bring it up now?”

“Because it came to mind.” 

“He’s getting older, so it makes sense why they want to push him into marrying, especially when he's almost out of his prime.” 

“He’s only a year older than me, Y/N,” 

“Yes and you're old too but the difference is, you have a partner. A great partner.” 

He gently shook her and leaned down to kiss her forehead as she closed her eyes with a smile, “You are indeed a great partner and I can’t wait for our children to see you.” 

“Mr. Min, you're already speaking about children before you put an engagement ring on my finger. How very forward thinking for you.” 

“I always think of you and our future. Having a child with you would make me the happiest man on this earth.” 

“How chessy.” 

They both let out a laugh as he moved her body to be on top of his, hugging her waist as if she was going to get taken away from him. She cuddled further into his chest as she let a frown escape, “I have a bad feeling about Margan coming to the ball.” 

“I do too but it’s already been decided. They’ll probably stick to their corner or even better, in the garden away from everyone. The only ones we would see are the younger brothers.” 

“That sounds better then all of them together. Prince Seokjin is the last person I would want to see or even hear speak, he doesn’t deserve my attention.” 

Masterlist

↜ Pervious chapter ♔ Next chapter ↝

#seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts seokjin #bts yoongi #bts namjoon #bts jimin #bts taehyung #bts jungkook #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts hoseok

[aelin-world-walker]

Some headcanons I have post-ACOSF

(don’t ask where this comes from i’m just aching because i finished rereading acosf and thinking headcanons is my coping mechanism)

(i wrote “some” in the title but they are like a million????)

(like now this is a master list of headcanons i have...)

BE AWARE OF ACOSF SPOILERS!!!

*Probably I’ll edit it pretty often because headcanons come whenever they like.

*i’ll probably add feysand headcanons in the future but not now because there’re A LOT out here but know I have some like feysand beign parents is too cute to ignore.

*sorry if there are some spelling errors, English is not my first language.

The cabin headcanons

(yes the cabin has its own subtitle)

Cassian takes Nesta to the cabin after their mating bond ceremony and then happens chapter 55 but Nesta adapted. There’s no soup but a biscuit.

When Nyx is a little older he starts participating in the snowball fight. Rhys, Cassian and Az let him win.

In one of her visits, Feyre paints her sisters and Nyx’s eyes beside the IC ones, because they are now part of the Court of Dreams (this one made me cry a little honestly)

Whenever one of the IC’s couples wants to take a break they go to the cabin. Sometimes Az goes too to play chaperone. Spoiler: it doesn’t work (especially NOT with Nessian) (this one made me laugh)

Nesta likes the cabin’s vibes to read, so she goes often. Sometimes Cassian joins her but he bores to death so he wouldn’t let her read (if you get what i mean)

I can imagine the IC visiting it, long nights bonding in front of a fire and playing board games. Rhys, Nesta and Azriel are so competitive that stay awake til one of them wins. (actually Rhys and Azriel competitive spirit over board games is canon) (i just imagine Nesta playing the courtier to win) (then she loses and is cranky for a day). Meanwhile, Mor and Cassian drink themselves silly, and Feyre and Elain play with Nyx. Amren just purrs sitting in Varian’s lap. (Amren as the house cat)

The girls decide to do their own snowball fight honestly i don’t know why this is not canon yet. One year they decide to do girls vs. boys. The girls win and the boys don’t want to play against them again.

Nyx and his cousins learning to fly in a summer vacation there. (yeah because nessian’s children are happening in the future and they are in some of my headcanons sorry)

Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie go there sometimes (not so often because they prefer staying with the House please never forget they are all friends) and go hiking.

When Nyx and Nessian’s children are older and misbehave their parents send them to the cabin. Then whoever of them didn’t got to be grounded slips alcohol to the ones inside. (Actually i can see them doing this??? Rhys and Mor did the same. Also I can see Nyx and his cousins having a relationship similar to Rhys and Mor’s and Aelin and Aedion’s)

Inner Circle couples and the sauna. Not gonna say anything else, but just know it’s hella weird there’re no scenes in there...

The House of Wind headcanons

(big house deserved its own headcanons)

Nesta installs a dance studio in there and whenever she can she goes and dance for hours.

Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie and the House start a monthly sleep-over in the private library. The House always conjures the miniature pegasus without being asked.

Can we talk about the fact that in the future the House of Wind will have a nursery???? because i have to talk about it. don’t know if i’ll be able to do so without crying but just- nessian’s babies nation

When Nessian’s children are born the House would conjure anything just to please them and will protect them at all costs. The House as a babysitter and mother-hen.

The House starts talking to Cassian and recommends him smut books. He reads them and find them pretty interesting. He also recommends the House books but as they are of warfare the House finds them boring.

When Cassian and Nesta fight the House would be angry with Cassian for some days and would serve his food cold.

The House of Wind is Nyx’s favorite place in the city. Cassian and Nesta even give him a room when he is older. He loves it for the same reason Rhys did: flying. He also likes asking the House ridiculous things -the House loves his petitions-

Azriel keeps his room of course, but playing the chaperone is useless now (it always was)

Mor befriends the house and together they plan jokes to Cassian.

Feyre loves going to the House because it reminds her that her sister is happy and will never be alone.

Nessian headcanons

(of course there are nessian’s headcanons)

While sleeping, Cassian is very restless while Nesta sleeps in a ball, but they make it work. Also, Cassian takes all the blankets so Nesta ends up beside him and his wings.

The two of them loves sleeping in. Cassian would never admit it because he would never hear the end of it from the ic. (i know he said in acomaf that daylight is precious but now that he has found his mate he has change a liiitle his opinion about that. like now wake up beside his love is more precious than anything!!!!!)

I think it’s not fair we didn’t got a smut scene in the bathtub.

And in Windhaven.

Aaaaand in the cabin.

When Nesta has a nightmare, Cassian would hug her and comfort her while remind her it was a dream, and now she got out, and is loved and cherished by a lot of people.

Nesta loves that Cassian strokes her head, more when her hair is down. (i really like that nesta prefers updo hairstyles tho)

Nesta sitting on Cassian’s lap. That’s all I need for a next book. (i also need more domestic scenes between them like the one in Winter Solstice when Nesta hangs their coats) (also i need to read nessian from another pov i want to know how they look like from outside their pov)

Nessian dancing into the darkest hours, losing themselves into the music and their embrace. (i need a slow dancing fanfic thx)

Nesta is still a little uncomfortable to venture into Velaris so she asks Cassian to fly her over the city whenever she needs to go out and doesnt want to tangle in the multitude.

Cassian reading an Illyrian report while Nesta reads a romance book. Domestic mates part one hundred.

Nesta loves flying (WHY THIS IS NOT CANON SARAH) (like i would have been awesome to read nesta liking flying after that scene with rhys in acowar)

I love that is canon they like chocolate cake idk just wanted to say that.

Nesta headcanons

(my daughter deserves them)

Every Starfall, Nesta would take the stairs down and up just to remind herself the way up is long but by the end she would find happiness.

She is really protective over the House. She wouldn’t let anyone spill anything or mess around.

She starts taking dancing lessons again, even though she doesn’t need them. It’s her favorite part of the week. I can imagine Gwyn joining her. Emerie prefers watching them and smirk while drinking tea.

She visits her father’s tomb more than her sisters, and tells him every aspect of her life because she didn’t do it when he was alive.

She doesn’t like the Court of Nightmares, but the Winter Solstice ball in there is one of her favorites events of the year.

She goes back to being a courtier/emmisary for the Night Court and loves tormenting the people she has to deal with. (just imagine Nesta in Vallahan, they would sign the treaty in a second)

She continues working in the Library because she is still healing and the Library is such a big part of that. She continues fighting with Merrill too (gwyn is please of that)

Also she starts practicing with Amren to use her powers, even if there is not a lot to master (tho i think she is still very powerful but let’s wait for the next book to confirm this)

ALSO Nesta as a mother: she gives her children a lot of love because she remembers how it is to have a cold mother and doesn’t want to repeat the story.

Nessian’s children headcanon

(tho i imagine they have at least a daughter so she is gonna appear a lot in my hc sorry)

I can imagine them having an unexpected pregnancy idk why they would be very happy tho (like chaolene’s) (not so soon after acosf, they would enjoy some free-of-babies-years)

Now I want a fanfic about nessian finding out they are pregnant please writers do it

Tho I can imagine its during training.

Nessian’s baby would sleep between them. Cassian loves that and even though Nesta says the contrary, privately she loves it too.

Nesta teaching their daughter to dance, while Cassian teaches her to fly. Together, they teach her to fight. Their daughter wants to be a Valkyrie like her mom and aunts.

Also Nesta reading her daughter to bed and then getting asleep. Cassian would find the two of them sleeping and would cover them with a quilt.

Their daughter loves to hear the stories about Nessian’s Blood Rites, and would ask everyone about them.

Their daughter is their number 1 fan im crying in softness

She also wants to hear the stories of her uncles and aunts even though some are sad, because she knows they are happy and together now.

I can see Nessian wanting another baby tbh but let’s stop in one until Sarah shows us the contrary.

But just imagine Nessian’s children + Nyx playing hide-and-seek on the House of the Wind and the House helping them hide.

Nessian’s daugther loves hearing Gwyn sing, and is particularly obsessed with Emerie because she sees herself in Emerie (like they are both Illyrians i’m crying nessian’s daughter doesnt understand why her aunt can’t fly).

She has spring allergies too.

#thinking headcanons is my coping mechanism #in case you didnt notice i sink with nessian #i sink with nesta too #azriel didnt even try to be a chaperone #a court of silver flames #nesta archeron #cassian #headcanon #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #feyre archeron #rhysand #inner circle #night court #nessian #feysand #the house of wind #velaris #azriel #acosf spoilers

[the-bees-knives]

Hi yes hello. I saw that you rebloged the oc ask thingy and I'll be ordering for the whole table. Can I get a 2, 3 ,5, 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 32, 34, 37, 41, 45, 48, 50, 51, 55, 60, 65, 68, 69, 70, 73, 78, 83, 87, 89, 93, 96, 98, and 99? All for Biscuit. (IM REALLY REALLY SORRY I JUST WANNA KNOW MORE ABOUT THEM 😭)

This got real long... answers under the cut!

2. What are their favourite possessions? Why? (sentimentality, history, price, etc.)

His favourite possession... is you! ✋👁👁

Jokes aside, Biscuit isn't too materialistic. However, he does like the hairband he uses for his braid; it was a gift from his mother! The bow he wears around his neck is also a remnant of a modification of his uniform from his previous place of work. Biscuit used to work both as a mascot and a cook (it would switch depending on the situation) at his family's diner (restaurant? i don't know the term), and he added it because he thought it looked cute (also he couldn't do anything too feminine :( so this was the best he could do).

I will note that the cutlery embedded into him is not a part of his favourite possessions, despite his unwillingness to part with them. They're more like a part of his body, I guess?

3. Do They get jealous easily? If so, what usually causes it?

If Biscuit formed an attachment to someone and then saw them with someone else, he'd be wary of the new person, if not jealous. They'd have to become acquainted with Biscuit to ease him, though that might not always work. He'd still probably try to drag his companion away. Basically, he's pretty protective (possessive?) over those he likes.

5. What's their reputation like? Does this reputation contrast what they're really like?

I'm not sure how others would see him. Either it's "eccentric cosplayer (who's really in character)" or "weird dude". Probably the first one, as normal people couldn't survive with knives in their body for that long. Mostly Biscuit's just a weird dude though.

7. What's their "type"? What romantically attracts them to another person?

Biscuit doesn't really have a preference on appearance, it's more based on personality. Either it's someone who can care for him or someone who's just as feral/zero-braincell'd as him. He normally takes care of his victims, but he doesn't see that as attraction; it's more like caring for cattle before you eat it. If someone cared for him though, he'd be into it. As for the other one, it's just a feral power couple; both can be absolutely insane together (Run).

9. If they could change one part of their appearance, what would it be?

Spine that can turn 180 degrees. Reasoning: he has to sleep on his stomach because of the knives, but then his feet are bent uncomfy while on his stomach. Rotate spine for comfy feets. Plus, it'd be a cool party trick.

10. What's a simple thing that brings them joy?

Pets/physical affection. (Unfortunately, by unintentional design, this man is Unpettable.)

12. What's their position in their friend group? (leader, mom friend, chaos goblin, etc.)

The chill goblin: you can sit with him and have a nice hat, but if anything gets the interest of his one (1) braincell, he will go absolutely feral.

13. How forgiving are they? What do they consider unforgivable?

I think he's pretty forgiving, considering. If you attacked him, he'd probably consider it as play-fighting or something. He won't like it if you mess with his personal belongings, but he'll forgive you if it's for a good reason (for him) or if you give it back.

As for the things he'd find unforgivable, touching the two knives sticking out of his head is an absolute no-no. (The ones in his shoulders are sort of meh; he won't like it if you touch them, but he won't try to kill you for it.) The knives in his head are really sensitive, so he'll become agitated quick and snap if you try to move or remove them.

16. What food do they absolutely hate?

fish yucky >:(

17. Do they show a lot of affection, or are they pretty reserved?

If Biscuit had an s/o or a good friend (you know, people he's not interested in for food), he'd be pretty affectionate; he likes them and wants to show it! He might get a little close though, so make sure to set (and remind him of) personal boundaries.

19. What's their unusual quirk?

I don't know why, but I imagine that Biscuit can bleed infinitely. If you were to remove any of the knives embedded into him, the wound will just keep bleeding until they're inserted back in. I don't really have an explanation for this, but he is a human, so??? I just think it's neat.

20. Are they easy to wake up in the morning, or grouchy and sleepy?

While Biscuit does get up early, he's particularly lazy and groggy. It's kind of like those moods where you want to go back to sleep, but you can't because your body's awake.

21. What's their ideal date like?

Anywhere really, so long as his s/o is giving him attention.

32. What are they like at parties? Party animal, or awkwardly sitting in the corner drinking punch and reading?

Party animal, except everyone else is sitting in the corner trying to avoid him. He doesn’t really think before speaking, so he says whatever without any filter. (Plus, the knives don’t help. No, he won’t remove them.)

34. What’s their favourite drink? (Coffee, tea, juice, hot chocolate, soda, etc.)

Biscuit is a milkshake lad. His favourite is strawberry-banana!

37. Are they a hopeless romantic, or is that stuff just not for them?

Biscuit has a “love-at-first-interaction” mentality, like if someone shows genuine interest in him, then he wants to be with them and chases that feeling (and them).

41. What would they dress up as for Halloween?

Bold of you to assume that he’d even need a Halloween costume.

All jokes aside though, Biscuit has No Patience to put a costume together (or even look for one), so he’d probably just go with his normal wear. People have already mistaken the knives as cosplay/props anyway, so it’s just less work, instant results.

(He does have the old mascot suit, but he can’t wear it anymore without it hitting the knives.)

45. Are they always late, on time, or early?

None of the above, he forgot that event was today.

48. How dramatic are they?

Biscuit’s not the type to start drama, nor is he extremely emphatic (is that the word?) with his speech. He’s just kind of vibing.

50. Why would they be a good partner for a road trip?

Fun(?) to do activities with; will probably suggest random stuff to do if there’s no set itinerary (will probably suggest it anyway). If you’re looking for a spontaneous road trip, he’s your guy.

51. Why would they be a BAD partner for a road trip?

Will Never Sit Still; must be kept under watch constantly, otherwise he’ll run off to who knows where. (Just keep him on a leash or something)

55. Choose a vine you think perfectly encapsulates their character.

This video has pretty strong vibes of brainrot, so I think it's appropriate.

60. What sappy thing will they cry at? (romance movies, cute cat videos, etc.) Would they deny crying about it later on?

Biscuit loves all types of animals, especially furry ones (so dogs, cats, bats, rats… bean toes are a plus). So he’d absolutely cry if shown cute pet videos and gush about how precious and baby each one is. No denial either, if you confront him about it, he’d just justify it by gushing about them more. (He doesn’t have any pets of his own though. I wouldn’t trust him with a pet.)

As a side note, if he found out his victim was a beastkin or could turn into an animal or something, he’d be really conflicted on whether to harm them or not, but would ultimately decide against it.

65. Do they give people a lot of nicknames?

Biscuit isn’t creative enough to make genuine nicknames. However, if he forgot your name (and he probably would), he’d just name something off of your appearance (“pink jacket”, “shark guy”, things like that).

68. Are they easy to fluster? What would you have to do to truly fluster them?

Biscuit can only really be flustered by people he likes or people that he thinks are close to him. He’ll melt and nuzzle you if you surprise him with something nice, physical or otherwise :)

69. What’s their dream vacation like?

Go to the countryside and run around and be feral. Then chill in the evening and take a bath, because he needs to make sure his knives are clean.

70. Are they a good liar?

Biscuit doesn’t even try to lie. He’s really impulsive, and he doesn’t see what’s wrong with what he does. If he tried to lie, it’d be stupid/simple and obvious that it’s a lie, but he’d stick to his guns and insist that it’s true. Though, his voice/expression wouldn’t fluctuate, so you’d have to believe either in common sense or him.

73. Are they more book smarts, or street smarts?

Street smarts; this man’s head is empty (except for the two knives in there but).

78. What’s something they’re really bad at?

Almost anything that involves careful planning and concentration to complete. Things like puzzles or sewing; if it doesn’t give immediate satisfaction, then what’s the point?

The only things that Biscuit does pay attention to are cooking and, by extent, caring for his victim (as they’re a part of the cooking process).

83. What are they like as an s/o?

Loyal and (possibly) clingy. Will want to accompany you for days, then vanish out of thin air due to impulsiveness (will absolutely forget to feed his victim during this time, if he has one). Forgets about physical boundaries, but means well (trying to show affection).

Biscuit’s love languages are, in no particular order: physical touch, acts of service, and quality time. Personal hug-buddy that can cook :)

87. Do they like spicy food?

Yes he does! I like to imagine that he incorporates spice from time to time into his dishes. I don’t know what his tolerance would be though due to lack of experience (I will perish).

89. What would they get into a petty argument over?

Which animal is the best? Answer: it’s all of them. (Though he does have a preference towards furry animals, he tries to be unbiased in this argument.)

93. What type of movies do they like to watch?

Both gorey horror movies and feel-good movies (especially if they have animal protagonists). They’re just fun to watch.

96. What’s their sense of humour like? (Dad jokes, morbid humour, basic knock-knock jokes, stand-up comedy, etc.)

Physical humour, stand-up, and maybe surreal humour. Anything else might be too complex for him.

98. How competitive are they?

He’s not very competitive on his own, though if someone challenges him to a contest, he’s still going to try to beat them for the satisfaction of it. Don’t challenge him to a contest if you want to have chill times with him.

99. What would they wear to a formal event? Describe their outfit!

Biscuit has No Standards when it comes to social events, so he’s going as normal. If he had to dress fancy though (and if he had access to it), he’d probably just wear a simple pink dress shirt and dress pants + suspenders. Slick his hair back too. The knives stay.

(I don’t even think he can enter most shops with the knives, fake or not. I don’t know; I’ve never entered an establishment with visible knives before.)

This was a long post, so let me know if I missed anything;;

#i spent Too Much Time thinking about these answers #also sorry for the late reply; i kept getting distracted;; #is this man just a dog? maybe #biscuit oc #my oc #emi-bunni #ask #oc questions meme

[ineffably-good]

Faeted (Good Omens AU)

Summary:  Ezra fell is an English professor at a prestigious academy for boys. Crowley is the lord of the Unseelie court in the lands without sunrise or moonfall. Somehow fate will bring them together.

Excerpt:  “That’s the only part that concerns you?” Ezra exclaimed. “My heart’s desire is apparently a large reptile and you’re just concerned about the laws of magic?”

Read it on AO3!

Chapter One

Ezra Fell laid down his chalk and turned to face the twelve teenage boys in his care. Twelve bodies ensconced in navy blazers jittered in barely concealed anticipation; twelve pairs of eyes jumped between him and the clock on the wall, ticking loudly as the last minutes of Friday lecture faded away.

There was no competing with the weekend, even at a school as prestigious as St. Aloysius Academy.

“Yes, yes, all right,” he sighed. “I expect you all to read the next section of the Faerie Queen for Monday, and to complete your permission slips for next week’s field trip.”

The bell clanged and the room was suddenly awash with the screeching sounds of chairs being pushed back and students exploding into motion.

“Class dismissed,” he called futilely, over the chaos.

Ezra sighed and wiped the chalk dust from his hands as he returned to his desk and began to straighten up his papers. There was a knock at the door and he smiled to see Miss Device, his friend and the resident art teacher, standing in the doorway. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a braid and there were tiny bits of paint speckled on her glasses and her cheek. She still wore the smock she’d placed over her dress to protect it from her students’ creative endeavors.

“Survived another week, did you?” she asked with a grin.

“Indeed I did, my dear,” Ezra replied. “And you? Still employed I assume?”

“So it seems,” she said. “So that’s a score of two for us, zero for the urchins. We just might get through this term yet. Supper at the pub at seven?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it.”

Anathema sketched a little wave and disappeared around the corner towards her own room.

Read it on AO3!

--

Ezra gathered his things into his leather satchel and made his way outside. It was a beautiful fall day, and the air was crisp and bracing. He stretched in the angled sunlight for a moment and then headed off towards his home.

He passed through the school gates and enjoyed the walk for another twelve minutes before he found himself arriving at his own doorstep – a small, tidy, whitewashed cottage, just the right size for one. Many of the instructors at the academy lived on campus with the students, but Ezra valued his privacy and his quiet reading time too much for that; he’d felt lucky to find and purchase his own modest little home so close to the school when he’d been hired on five years ago.

He stopped to collect his post and examine the flowers in his front window box, and then let himself in with a contented sigh and immediately set about putting a kettle on to boil. Time for tea.

The clock over the mantel showed that he had a little over two hours before he needed to meet Anathema. With a happy wriggle, he carried his tea over to his favorite arm chair in front of the fire, sat down, and picked up the copy of The Mabinogion he’d been reading. It took him just a moment to find his place, and then the world disappeared as he was lost in tales of pre-Arthurian Britain.

--

Anathema was waiting for him when he parked his bicycle outside the pub later that evening. She waved to him from their usual table in the front window and he noted she had two pints ready for them.

“So, what were you reading that made you late this time?” Anathema asked.

“Oh, doing some background research on old Celtic and British legends,” Ezra answered. “Faeries and mounds and elfshot and fairy stroke and what have you. Fascinating stuff! I’m taking the boys out to visit a few sites on Monday afternoon and want to give them context.”

Anathema nodded. “Faeries,” she said solemnly, “are not generally the nice little creatures that people like to imagine. They are dangerous and unpredictable and not to be taken lightly.”

Ezra examined her closely. “In literature, you mean,” he said pointedly.

“Whatever makes you happy,” she said with an ambiguous smile.

“I know you believe in magic, of course, but are you telling me you believe in the fair folk too?”

Anathema shrugged and took a long drink from her pint. It left a bit of foam on her lip that she licked off before answering. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Ezra tutted at her fussily. “Now, now, using Shakespeare to win an argument with an English professor is completely unfair.”

“Who ever said I play fair?”

“Indeed,” Ezra said with a fond smile. “I keep forgetting that.”

They turned their attention to food, then to sharing the latest gossip from their respective departments as the munched on their fish and chips.

“What is your coven up to tonight, then?” Ezra asked pleasantly.

“Oh, you know. Preparing for the larger gathering next week. Scrying.”

“What are you scrying for?”

She shrugged. “It varies from person to person. Glimpses of the future. The face of your one true love. The essay question that will appear on next week’s exam.”

He laughed. “And you find that this works?”

“Well maybe not for essay questions,” she said with a wink. “Although if the will is strong, anything is possible.”

She stopped and looked at him more closely.

“Oh now, don’t start, my dear,” he protested, knowing what was coming.

“You should come join us,” she said. It was an old refrain and quite possibly the hundredth time she’d brought this up.

“My dear, covens are for women,” Ezra said primly.

“No, they aren’t,” she said. “We are an equal opportunity coven. And you’d fit right in.”

“Perhaps some other time,” he said, signaling for another round of pints.

“Really, Ezra. We’ve got a few men who work with us regularly. And with your powers of concentration and imagination, you’d be a natural.” She peered at him. “What’s the harm in giving it a chance?”

Ezra had to think about that one. Born into a conservative and very rich family, he’d long since abandoned his family’s religious beliefs and instead devoted himself to a life of the mind and the senses. He considered himself an open minded man, and didn’t mind at all that his closest friend considered herself a practicing witch. But to try it himself?

Anathema leaned forward and prepared to break out the big guns. “Really Ezra,” she said. “Where’s your academic curiosity?”

She sat back and tried not to grin while she watched that comment land.

He huffed in mock disgust. “You,” he said, shaking a finger, “are a menace. You are an American menace, come to Great Britain to corrupt the souls of our young.”

She continued to grin smugly at him, one eyebrow coolly raised.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he said. “I’m not coming to your coven. But perhaps you can show me something about how scrying works, after dinner. I do admit to some curiosity about the process.”

Anathema made a fist pumping gesture, which Ezra primly ignored.

--

“Do you have some ink?” Anathema asked as they entered the cottage.

Ezra gave her a stern look and gestured around him at the overflow of books, papers, notebooks, and pens lying on every possible surface. “What do you think?” he asked. “Of course I have ink!”

“Grab it,” she said, “and a pitcher of fresh water, and a silver spoon if you have one, and meet me in the back garden.”

“No niceties? No sitting down for a biscuit first?” he teased.

“I’ve got a coven to get to in an hour,” she said, pushing her glasses back up on her nose. “If you want a little tutorial, we’ve got to do it now.”

Ezra set about gathering the items she’d asked for, placing them carefully on a wooden tray, and then stopped and added a few biscuits on a plate too, just in case someone got peckish.

When he emerged in the backyard, he found Anathema had upended the brackish water and leaves out of his old, stone birdbath and wiped it as clean as she could with just her hands, and then had pushed and pulled it out of its usual corner beneath the plum tree into a spot where it was open to the sky above.

“It’s actually a beautiful night for scrying,” she said. “Nice bright moon, no wind…”

“Oh lovely,” Ezra said, a tad sarcastically.

She punched him lightly in the arm. “You asked for a lesson in scrying. Don’t be a bastard.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, smoothing his face into a more agreeable expression. “What do we do?”

“First pour the water into the bowl,” she said, indicating the birdbath. “And then add a few drops of ink to make it darken. Then stir it with the silver spoon, three times clockwise.””

He did so.

“Now,” she said firmly, “it’s mostly about your intention at this point.”

“My intention?”

“What do you want to see?” she asked. “You don’t have to tell me, but think of a question in your mind, as clearly as you can, and focus on it while you take deep breaths and calm yourself.”

Ezra sat back and thought. What did he want to know? He thought about asking it to show him his family and what they were doing, but he wasn’t really interested in that, to be honest. His parents were undoubtedly at some fancy fund raiser, as that was how they spent most of their weekends, and his older brother was undoubtedly preparing for tomorrow’s sermon at his swanky parish. None of them were thinking about him and seeing them would just point out how hopelessly different their lives were from his.

Did he want to know about the possibility of love or romance? To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure. He’d never had a strong feeling that love and romance were for him. He hadn’t ever really met anyone who evinced a strong interest in him, other than the occasional school crush on an older boy or two. These interests were passing and short, and he’d found himself mostly content with his life alone. He had his books, and his students, and a few good friends. It wasn’t out of the question that cupid could encounter him someday, but it hadn’t happened yet.

“I don’t know what to ask for,” he finally admitted.

Anathema studied him quietly. “Why don’t you ask it to show you what you most need to see?”

He straightened up and smiled. “Why, my dear, that’s a perfect solution. Nice and open, difficult to misinterpret. I do like to be precise.” He closed his eyes and took a series of long, slow breaths. He concentrated on that statement, repeating it over and over. Show me what I most need to see. Show me what I most need to see. Show me what I most need to see.

After a few minutes, he felt calm and centered, and he opened his eyes to look at Anathema, who was watching him closely.

“Lean forward,” she said, “and look into the water. Keep breathing and try to relax, and just wait.”

“That’s it?” he asked doubtfully.

“That’s all it takes,” she said.

He placed a hand on either side of the cold stone basin and leaned forward to stare at the reflection of the moon in the dark, inky water. Nothing happened for several minutes. There was only his face, watery and distorted, and the reflection of the moon, wobbling a little as gentle ripples made their way out from the center of the pool. He realized he was holding the edges of the basin with a death grip and tried to loosen his hands a little, letting the tension flow out of him.

He took a deep steadying breath and leaned in a little further, still repeating the words in his head, and suddenly the image in the water shifted, into a pair of golden, snake-like eyes that blinked at him in surprise and then darkened in alarm. He had a brief impression of hair like flames and a sense of agitation as the eyes leaned closer towards the surface and then — disappeared.

Ezra leapt back as if the bird bath had bitten him.

“What did you see?” Anathema asked, taking in his breathless surprise.

“I — I’m not sure!” he stammered. “Eyes. Reptilian eyes. Possibly a snake? I think it saw me, too.”

“That’s impossible,” the witch said. “Scrying is one direction only; no one can see back across the connection.”

“That’s the only part that concerns you?” Ezra exclaimed. “My heart’s desire is apparently a large reptile and you’re just concerned about the laws of magic?”

Anathema started to make a smart comment and then noted his pallor and how rapidly he was breathing. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get a finger or two of scotch into you.” She took him by the elbow and led him into the house.

The encounter left Ezra off balance and out of sorts for the rest of the evening. He saw Anathema off after more tea and a bit of whiskey, then set about trying to settle down and focus on lesson planning, but found himself distracted by thoughts of those golden, reptilian eyes widening in surprise and alarm. Who on earth was that supposed to be? His soulmate? He might not know a lot about the larger world outside of the academy, but he was fairly certain that nobody human had eyes like that.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens au #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #fey #fey AU #human AU #crowley is unseelie #this is gonna be a bumpy ride

[thedistantstorm]

A Steelponcho Dawning - Part 6

A Dawning romance featuring the Commander and the Clan Steward, their feelings for each other coming to a head during the first Dawning celebration following the Red War, featuring Lord Saladin, city food, eventual smut, and a whole lot of pining. Continues from: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5.

Zavala is acting rather strangely today, she thinks. All she said was, “I had a weird dream last night,” and suddenly he’s ignoring her.

But, she did have a weird dream, honest.

How often do people dream about their family - she means Devrim - befriending an enemy - aka a Fallen Dreg - and treating it to a meal like they’re allies and not mortal enemies? She doesn’t even get to explain the part where Devrim thought she was the crazy one for not wanting to sit down with them for tea and biscuits before he’s all engrossed in his tablet and ignoring her.

She has half a mind to make some pouty face to get his attention but it seems to close to something Cayde would do and she therefore removes it from her list of options. Instead she leans down into his face, over his desk. “What���s gotten into you? You’re never weird like this.”

“Nothing, Hawthorne.”

“Huh,” She says flatly, withdrawing. “Fine, Commander.” She turns around and stalks back to the worktable in his office, where she’s been pouring over the Farm’s new budget and corresponding expense reports like she has some clue what she’s doing - maybe she does, she’s not sure yet (still?) - and throws herself down into her usual chair to get back to it. She’s silent for an eerily long time, posture stiff and still.

It’s a testament to how distracted he is that he does not notice, because nearly an hour later, she’s glancing over at him, biting her lip nervously. She’s gotten absolutely nothing accomplished since she sat down.

“I’m sorry.”

It takes him a second to look up at her, he’s reading the last few lines of a report from the Owl Sector. “What?”

“I’m sorry. Whatever I did. I didn’t mean to make you angry.” She pauses, tapping her index finger on the top of the worktable in a tiny anxious motion. “I didn’t… do something stupid at dinner, did I? I swear I didn't mean to drink so much. Did I make you look bad? Er… Saladin doesn’t hate me or something, does he?”

“Wait, wait.” His brows furrow and he shakes his head like he’s got something flying around his ear. “I was reading this.” He sets the report down. “What are you talking about? I’m not angry with you.”

“You called me Hawthorne.”

He does not appear concerned. “That is your name.”

“You haven’t called me Hawthorne outside of a Consensus meeting in… I don’t know, at least a month or two? It sounds so cold and formal.”

He sighs. “So that means I am angry with you?”

“You’re acting really distant,” She confesses, looking upset. “I don’t want to stress you out. I should - maybe I should just go.” She starts packing up her things. Her head is down, and her eyes are focused on the table, and not the Titan Vanguard who is blinking at her rather confusedly.

All this over a name? If he’s honest with himself, he wasn’t really paying attention when he called her by surname, he didn’t mean anything at all by it and was only trying to keep her from finding out about his rather vivid dream the night before. It still lingers in the forefront of his mind. She caught him off guard by trying to talk of her own. His behavior has clearly put her off, though, so he tries to remedy the situation. “Is it that important that I call you by your given name?”

She blinks at him, as if he’s asked a question with an obvious answer. “Call me what you will,” She mumbles, stubborn and put off by his reaction. She wills her cheeks to stay their natural color and not flush with embarrassment.

He’s not a stupid man. “Suraya…” She’s easy to read, what with the bite of her lip and her wide, deep brown eyes. Or maybe, she’s just not nearly as guarded in his presence as she used to be. That’s also a possibility. “Talk to me.”

A sigh. “I just… It’s dumb, really. Forget I said anything. You’re not mad, I’m not mad, everything is fine.” She’s ready to ramble her way to the door, but he’s blocking her way. “I need to take a-”

Wide eyes look up just slightly to meet his thundering blue ones. One elegant arch of an eyebrow has her taking a step back.

“You’d prefer it if I called you Suraya all the time, yes?” She looks sheepish. He lowers his chin, as if trying to seem less threatening about it. Part of him is driven by curiosity, but it’s not just a search for the truth now. He’s fishing for information on her feelings for him. He presses on, aware it’s going to backfire anyway, ignoring the warning signs. Foolish, his rational brain chastises as his lips move, asking, “Why?”

“That’s my name, isn’t it?” It is, but he’s not convinced. The other brow rises to match its twin. She scoffs and alarm bells go off in his head. “Fine. You started calling me Suraya more after we took back the City and I... like it, okay? It’s… nice, being close with someone for once and I don’t want it to change back to how it was!”

It seems she’s hit her emotional peak for the day, because she sidesteps him immediately afterward and all but runs out of his office. He feels like a real jerk. Even if he hadn’t meant anything by what he’d said to upset her in the first place, he shouldn’t have pushed her. He knew what he was doing. It was selfish and unlike him. That dream really messed him up. Perhaps some time alone - meditating, Ikora encouraged him to do so more often - would be helpful in recentering his feelings.

Besides, he knows for fact that he can’t give chase to her now. She’ll come back when she’s ready, when she’s stopped feeling like she’s going to keel over from embarrassment that she shouldn’t have. There’s nothing wrong with them being close, he’s certain he’s told her that before. He just needs to keep himself in check and let her come to him. And then… not ruin his chances?

No. She values his friendship. It’s not her fault he has feelings for her. He needs to get a grip.

-/

Suraya knows she's always been a master at hiding in the open. It's chilly and snowy atop the Tower, and the smell of the log fires and torches beside the solar-light lit gong(she thinks that it might have been one at some time, it's certainly shaped like one), make the cold crisp air smell like campfire and wilds instead of jet fuel and smog.

It smells amazing.

Like a moth to a flame, she's drawn out of the Courtyard and toward Lord Saladin's designated area. The air is colder leading up to his area, the wind fierce, but the fires take the bite out of the air.

The eyes of the Iron Lord slide over her after she'd found a place to perch herself near his post. She knew it was him when felt the pointed, stoic gaze like icy water down her back as she gazed out at the darkening sky to the east, the sun setting behind her. Stars began to glimmer against pale blue that faded into lavender and then an inky blue violet.

It's a while before he approaches her. She's silent and still for once, gazing out at the sweep of snow-capped mountains while her mind replays her earlier conversation, that of the night before, at dinner, and she finds herself more confused than ever. What did she do? Why was he acting like this?

The crunch of boots behind her isn't unexpected.

“What brings you up here?” He asks quietly, never needing to speak loudly to be heard. “Certainly you didn't enjoy my company so much the other night that you're waiting for me.”

She cracks a little smile before her lips thin again. “Needed a place to think,” She says, before casting her eyes back to the twilight sky. “Smell of the fire reminds me of out there.”

The woman doesn't gesture but he knows what she means. She is a woman of the wilds, he knows, and the wilds are a part of her. “I can imagine this can be a bit… oppressive.” He too does not gesture as he steps around her and braces his forearms on the railing. “Something on your mind?”

Yes, there is, she thinks. But he is not the one to discuss it with. He's looking at her expectantly. She's certain he's not budging until he gets an answer.

Eventually, she shrugs. “Nothing crazy.” A sigh tells him otherwise. Something has upset her.

“Ah.” He is not close enough to her to pry. “Nothing worth standing in the cold all night, then.” When she looks at him, one corner of his lips pull up. Not a smile, but something amused. “I see why Zavala likes you. You're two of a kind.”

She hopes she hasn't given away the subject of her concern with a quirk of her brow or a quicker breath. She's sure he would know in an instant.

He does. He sees her tense up when he refers to his student. She corrects quickly enough that the average person wouldn't have noticed. Lord Saladin is not the average person, though. He suspects her curiosity will win out over whatever is troubling her.

“What makes you say that?”

A large fist comes to cover his mouth as he grins. He was right, he thinks with a rumbling chuckle. “You think things through. You are both passionate and compassionate. You do not let your power go to your head.”

Clearly she does not take praise well, either. “Oh, uh, thanks.” She rubs the back of her head through her hood and gives him a nervous smile. He still sees her unease.

“He does not typically keep people so close. Care for them, yes. Abundantly, without concern for his own well-being. He bears his duty with honor, and sometimes forgets that there is more to life than his duty.” Saladin's smirks. “Or, more aptly, that it is possible to fulfill one's duty and live fully at the same time.” The rise of his eyebrows insinuates something that makes her flush.

“Why are you telling me this?” Her heart is racing like she’s done something wrong, but maybe this man is seeing right through her. For all she knows, he can. Guardians have some pretty ridiculous innate abilities, she thinks as she pushes the question out before she’s too afraid to ask. This is making her almost as uncomfortable as Zavala's uncharacteristic pushing earlier.

This time, he doesn't hide his grin. “Sometimes Zavala needs a person to meddle in his best interest. I know a good match when I see one.”

“I don't think so, Saladin,” She grounds out, keeping her voice low. “There's no way.” But, in her head, the cogs that have been turning continue to do so just a little bit faster. She's come to terms with her feelings. And, the whys and hows that make them impossible to realize. It doesn't change her feelings, but it does make her try to damper them, when she can. It’s something she failed at earlier, clearly.

Saladin looks out at the sky, “Perhaps not. But, maybe there is. Think on it. You’re good for each other.”

Think on it. Bah. She’s thought it through many a time. She will not make herself an important person in his life, like a romantic partner for instance, only to go off dying two blinks later in his timeline. How terrible of a person would she be to do that to someone who feels every loss of life in battle as if it were a member of his own family?

Zavala might be used to loss, but she does not want to hurt him. Not like that. Not ever. Not even if he loves her back, not that she dares to think that for even a second. Friends. They are friends, she drills into her head.

She really must be transparent, though, because Saladin sighs and says, “Better to love and lose than not love at all. I would know.”

Her brows furrow in surprise and she looks at him, expression unguarded. “You loved a mortal? You?”

“No,” He says, and his tone is curt and rough, like shards of broken glass. “But just because we have our Light does not mean we Guardians live forever. We can be killed all the same.” He claps her on the shoulder. “At the very least, promise me you’ll think about it.”

“What makes you think I have feelings for him?” She blinks in an attempt to be coy. “We’re friends.”

He shakes his head and smirks at her antics, eyes narrowing. It's clear he doesn't believe her. “I’m sure you are. Call it a hunch.”

On her walk back to her apartment, she sees the remnants of a full moon and can’t help but shake her head. Not that she’s incredibly superstitious, but it would help explain why everyone is so damn crazy today. It’s enough to make her switch off her handheld and go to bed early, beyond ready for a fresh start. She resolves not to tell anyone about her dreams tomorrow if she has any, as she lays awake and overthinks.

#destiny fanfiction #steelponcho #zavala x hawthorne #suraya hawthorne #commander zavala #lord saladin #the dawning #mutual pining #flangst #destiny dawning #steelponcho dawning fic #my writing #destiny

[voyages-extraordinaires]

CR: ~VE~ Chapter 22

I’m not done yet.

I throw open the door to my room and begin my pursuit. I look around for any sign of Nemo, but he’s already disappeared from view.

I curse under my breath and begin to run in one direction, dashing down the spiral staircase two at a time.

“Woah, Polly-chan--?” Barbicane sidesteps so that I don’t crash into him. “What’s going on?”

“Where is he?” I grab the engineer by the collar and pull him down to my height. “Where did Nemo go?!”

Barbicane shakes his head. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen him! Polly-chan, what happened? How are you feeling?”

“Forget me! Nemo’s not making any sense!”

Barbicane looks at me with a confused expression. “Like... usual, or...?”

The words aren’t coming, it’s like I’m trying to work around a wall of fog that’s stopping any rationality from reaching my voice.

“Damnit...!” I clench my fists in frustration.

“Hold on,” says Barbicane. He takes a step back and holds my shoulders so we’re eye-to-eye. “Slow down, talk to the handsome genius engineer, okay?”

“I can’t slow down,” I shake my head, fighting his warmth. “Not when I’m so worried about him...”

Nemo... what is he thinking? Did I go too deep? Did my love hurt him? I know he told me that he was being honest with me, but... there are too many different sides, too many different faces, and I’m confused. Would he be better if I really did leave? Have I been selfishly pushing my wants on him this whole time...?

I cover my face with my hands. Barbicane doesn’t need to see me like this, nobody does.

“You know what I think you need?” asks Barbicane. “I think you need a nice hot drink and a biscuit. Nemo’s not going anywhere, I can promise you that.”

I slowly look up at him from my hands. He won’t stop smiling at me. He’s so... calming, like a big family dog.

I take a deep breath, trying not to be sucked in by his infectious smile and bright eyes. “How can you be so sure after what he did yesterday?”

"Well... we talked a lot,” says Barbicane. “... and I trust him. He’s actually a pretty honest guy, in his own weird way.”

Then a frown stretches over his face. “He messed up badly when he drugged you, though, and there’s no way in hell I’m excusing him for it.”

He crosses his arms as he lets out a resigned sigh, “But... I really think he was scared. He doesn’t have a good track record with other people, you know? He was muttering something about how he’s too great to be understood... and I think you might be one of the few people who’s actually tried to understand him. Finding someone who will listen to your problems and be there for you... I mean, I think it’s great! But, for someone like Nemo... yeah, that’s scary stuff.”

I look at Barbicane’s confident features. He’s not lying, I can tell from his expression. Barbicane is always honest and up front, pretty much the opposite of Nemo. Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with him, instead?

Finally, I relent: “I guess it’s my turn to have tea time, isn’t it?”

He ruffles my hair, grinning. “Nah, this is just a drink between friends. Come on in.”

-----

Barbicane’s room is just as comfortable as he is. It’s warm, with wrenches and bolts and all kinds of fun little gadgets strewn about on the tables and chairs. This is a place of creativity.

When I came in, Barbicane immediately cleared off a chair and made me sit before wrapping me up in a blanket. It really wasn’t needed, but he insisted: “The cutest girls are the coziest girls!”

It isn’t long before Barbicane pushes open the door to his room and carries in a tray with two cups and a plate of cookies.

“Just finished icing these babies up when we ran into each other,” he says with a grin. “Nemo was having a major freakout earlier about lavender. Didn’t get much out of him, but he did say it was for you. So, I thought I’d make you some lavender shortbread for when you wake up.”

He sets the tray down on the one empty space of his writing desk.

“Wanted to make lavender icing, too, but Nemo ran off with the stuff before I could stop him... so I made rose water icing instead. That sound good?”

I just stare at him, my brain having a hard time wrapping around all the words that he said. Finally, I smile and happily take a cookie off of the tray.

“Thank you, Barbicane... this was hardly necessary, but it was very kind of you. I do love lavender...” I say, my face flushing.

“I would always wear the oil because it helps calm me down,” I continue. “I mentioned it to Nemo once, and I’m afraid he ran off with the concept!”

Remembering it makes me so happy. I felt so warm when I’d hug him and surround myself with that scent.

Oh, Nemo, what I wouldn’t give to go back to our more innocent times. Just to forget about everything that’s happened on this island. To just... be with you, without worry and without question.

Barbicane pulls out a chair from among a pile of metal and sits backwards on it, leaning his head and arms on the back.

“So he CAN be romantic, huh?” he says with a grin.

I try the cookie, its aromatic flavor tickling my palette. There’s a bite of mint to it, which makes sense as the plants are related. Science and baking really do go hand in hand.

“Do you know what he did with the lavender he took?” I smile. “He put it by my bed because he wanted me to have sweet dreams.”

“Woah, now, that’s a pretty impressive move! Maybe he should have declared me a rival in romance instead of science....” he thinks about it, then wrinkles his nose. “Actually, scratch that. Yeah, I never said that. Don’t you dare tell him I said that, Polly-chan!”

I hold a hand over my mouth to hide my crumb-filled laughter, and I quickly down a cup of tea.

“What, Barbicane, doesn’t Cardia have a favorite flower?” I ask.

Barbicane scratches his cheek nervously. “Y-You know, she actually... she actually likes all kinds of flowers. She’s so happy she can finally touch them. It’s really, really cute! I’m much better at expressing my feelings through food, though.”

I have a feeling that everything ‘his angel’ does is really, really cute in his eyes... but it’s sweet.

“You know, talking about Cardia-chan like this...” Barbicane trails off. “Nemo’s actually the one who gave me some pretty good advice about telling her how I feel. Of course, I haven’t done it yet, it just doesn’t feel like the right time... b-but yeah, I mean, it sounds like he knows what he’s talking about!”

I begin to take another cookie, then stop and take a sip of my tea instead, trying to think of how to voice my worries.

“Barbicane... did you know about him?”

“Hrm?” Barbicane looks at me with a mouthful of cookie.

“About Nemo, I mean,” I say.

“You’ve gotta be more specific when it comes to Nemo,” says Barbicane. “Did I know about... what? His weird fashion sense? That he sometimes naps with cucumbers over his eyes?”

I stare at Barbicane for a second. “Wait.... really? N-No, that’s not what I meant! I meant the ‘real’ Nemo!”

“The ‘real’ Nemo, huh...?” Barbicane looks down at his teacup. “You know, I feel like that might be where some of these problems are coming from.”

I look up at him with wide eyes.

“It’s not that there’s more than one Nemo or... or one is more ‘real’ than the other,” says Barbicane. “I mean, that might’ve been the case once, I don’t know, I’m not an expert on the guy or anything... man, this is confusing. But the Nemo that he shows us every day is the same as that quiet guy at tea time.”

I look down into my teacup and stir it. “So, you aren’t worried about the fact that he’s hiding things from us?” I ask.

Barbicane shakes his head. “Not really, we all hide things. It doesn’t mean that we’re being dishonest, or that we don’t care about the people we’re talking to. We might be hiding something because we don’t want to hurt, or maybe it’s something that scares us, or maybe it just has nothing to do with who we are now. But we’re still the same person inside, Polly-chan.”

He tilts his head and smiles. “You fell in love with him before you learned about his past, right? I could tell, as soon as you saw him you got really cute. Girls are the cutest when they’re in love!”

I want to protest, but I can’t. I was fascinated by him as soon as I heard him. Admiration stumbled into adoration before I was even fully aware of it.

“Yes... you’re right,” I admit.

“Hehehe, couldn’t hide your true feelings from Mr. Impey!” Impey points at himself with a triumphant grin.

“But he knows that,” I continue. “I told him that, plainly. I said I love the Nemo that I met, and I love the Nemo that I’m discovering...”

“Bingo!” Barbicane points at me like his finger is a gun and ‘fires’. “You’ve gotten so wrapped up in ‘discovery’ that you’ve forgotten that this is one man, not two hiding in a blotchy pink coat! He probably got nervous that you’ll try to dissect him or something. You just need to focus your love power on Nemo-- the one and only weirdo scientist. He might look or sound different, or hide something that hurts or act crazy but... he’s all one person.”

“Is that it?” I lean forward. “That’s the solution?”

“Well, I mean...” Impey takes another bite out of a cookie. “There’s going to be more than one solution for more than one problem. I mean, when it comes to romantic partners, you chose one heck of a doozy. I really think you just need to sit down and talk with him. Or, you know.... do other things.”

He pauses to wink.

I narrow my eyes. “What other things, Impey Barbicane?! Have you forgotten that you’re addressing a lady?”

Barbicane slides back in his chair. “Sorry, sorry! Please don’t say my full name like that, it’s terrifying!”

I sigh and lean back in my chair, idly tracing my fingers over my neck.

“I would love nothing more than to sit and talk with him,” I say. “But when we last spoke, he...”

I close my eyes.

“He told me to go back to Paris. He told me that I would regret staying with him, that I would never be able to go home again because I would be branded a criminal.”

“He said something similar to me when I confronted him in the Harper,” says Barbicane.

I sit up straight and look at Barbicane. “It was strange. He said that he would ‘be mine’ until it was time for the submarine to depart, and that after that I could abandon him and go back to my family. Why would I... why would anyone do something like that? Why would he think that I would be capable of something like that?”

Barbicane sighs.

“Geez, he really is going too far with this... I don’t think I can help you with that one, Polly-chan. He might laugh a lot, but he’s the most bitter man I’ve ever met. I think the only way that he’ll begin to believe that you’ll stick around is for you to do just that, no matter how stubborn he gets! Stick to him! Fight the odds, tell him you love him no matter how many times he denies it! Chain yourself to the Harper--”

“I... I’m not going to chain myself to any submersible vessel,” I say.

“Right, well, you get the idea, right? If you love Nemo, you’re going to have to fight for him. Not just Victoria-chan or the Royal Society or anything, but Nemo himself.”

Barbicane stands up and puts a hand on his hip, thumping his chest with his other fist. “And I’ll be right there with you, Polly-chan! So, believe in me! Believe in you! And believe in Nemo!”

“Barbicane...” I stand up and offer him my hand. “Thank you. For everything.” 

When he shakes it, I feel like my arm will be ripped from my socket. Damn these geniuses and their inability to give a normal handshake!

-----

The most likely place where I could find Nemo... Barbicane said that it was here.

But there are no lights on inside of the Harper, giving her the appearance of a mournful coffin. Is it in this darkness that Nemo has sunk into? Or will I merely be fumbling around an electric wonder with all the grace of a buffoon?

I shake my head and hoist my basket, containing the remaining shortbread that Barbicane had made, around my shoulder before climbing on top of the submarine.

At my prodding, the hatch opens with a hiss and I peer into the blackness. But that blackness is not a silent one: the echo of pipes filter into the sky.

Yes, a familiar melody from Johann Sebastian Bach reaches my ears, and I realize that I truly am about to invade Nemo’s personal sanctuary.

I just have to reassure myself that I’m entering as a friend and fellow scientist.

Right.

....

I take a deep breath before beginning to climb down the ladder.

[corrahdarling]

The Cure - Ch. 4 - Thomas H.

TITLE OF STORY: The Cure CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: Chapter 4 of ? AUTHOR: loveCorrah WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom and OFC Olivia GENRE:  Romance, Angst, Smut FIC SUMMARY: After Tom has to take his sick niece to the pediatrician, he strikes up a fancy for the beautiful Doctor. The more he finds out about Olivia, the more he wants to know. How will he react when secrets about her past come to light? RATING: Explicit WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: This chapter involves drinking alcohol, so if that is triggering, please proceed with caution! FEEDBACK/COMMENTS:  If you have yet to watch our Tom in Coriolanus, please do so! It really is spectacular! Check out the first half here.  Unfortunately, the link I have for the second half no longer works. :( Feedback is always wanted and valued!  <3C

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          Their glasses clinked together, before Olivia quickly brought hers to her lips, ridding the contents from the glass… and into her mouth. Tom did the same, only not nearly as quickly as Livi, and he coughed a bit from the harshness of the Ledaig whisky. She didn't seem bothered by it though.          He cleared his throat as he watched her pour each of them another glass. “So, where were you before you were sent to London?”          “Well, last I was in Tokyo… and then before that, Bunbury in Western Australia… and before that, Detroit.” She answered, as she took another gulp from her glass.          “Ah, I just filmed some work in Detroit. A movie…”          “Really?”          “Mmm…” He groaned as he took another sip of whisky. “I played a vampire… Adam.”           “A vampire? Were you covered in glitter?” She giggled.          He could tell that the whisky was already getting to her, and to be honest, he was feeling a slight buzz from it as well. “Uh… no. I wasn't that kind of vampire.”          “Oh, good.” She tilted her head back as she emptied her glass once again.          “You’re going to be sick, if you don’t eat something…” He cleared his throat as he handed her one of the hobnobs from the plate. “Eat this… at least one. Come on.”          “Fine…” She huffed as she reached out her hand to grab the biscuit, only she was beginning to see doubles from the alcohol, and missed the biscuit completely.          “See? That’s precisely why you should eat this. You’re already drunk.” His smug look wasn’t completely lost on her. He broke off a piece of the biscuit and held it up to her mouth. “Open.”          She did as he asked, but not before she rolled her eyes at him. She made sure that he knew that it was her decision to eat the biscuit, not because he wanted her to.          “There you are… that should help a little.”          “By the way, I’m not drunk. I’m at least three glasses away from being drunk.”          He laughed at her. “Okay… okay. I believe you!”          She topped up her glass, before moving to do his as well. He put his hand over the glass rim, stopping her. “I don’t think I need anymore, darling. I don’t need to perform tonight with a hangover.”          “Why do you call me darling when you hardly even know me? In America, you might get slapped for that. I mean, I wouldn’t slap you… but someone else might…” She asked as she took another tiny sip.          “Oh… well… I guess it’s just a thing I do. Are you bothered by it? I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a habit that I’ve picked up.”          “No, it doesn’t really bother me…” She blushed. “Just wondering is all…”          He nodded as he watched the red color flow to her cheeks. He didn’t know if it was the whisky, or him that had made her blush… whatever it was, it was perfect and beautiful.          She noticed him staring intently at her, and before she knew it, he had launched himself toward her and placed his lips squarely against hers. His large hands cupped her face, and their whisky flavored lips melted together. She let her tongue dart out to trace his thin lower lip, before his tongue joined hers. She tasted of hobnob, whisky, and black tea, and as he deepened the kiss, he felt a twinge of guilt and pulled away quickly. His forehead lightly rested against hers, as not to put pressure on his tender stitches. “I can’t… we can’t… you’ve drunk too much. It wouldn’t be right.”          She knew she wasn’t anywhere near drunk, she had just now gotten to that warm, buzzed feeling… she had a long way to go before she was drunk. She wanted to push things further with him, knowing that a physical release would help her feelings, at least for a little while, but she knew from experience that sex changes things a lot, and she didn’t want to get involved with anyone… that was a rule that she tried to live by. It was just got too messy when it was time for her to leave.          “I’ve got MarioKart…” She said, immediately wishing she could pick the words up, and shove them back into her mouth. Sometimes she embarrassed herself.          “I’ve never played MarioKart.” He whispered and smiled against her lips. “Will you teach me?” He resigned himself to the fact that nothing else could happen tonight. He didn’t want to rush her into anything, he barely knew her; plus she had been drinking… if they were going to be together, he wanted to be sure that she’d remember it tomorrow.          She cleared her throat to try and lessen the tension, as she slid off the couch and made her way to the small armoire at the end of her living room… all on wobbly legs. Maybe the alcohol was getting to her more than she thought. She opened the cabinet, revealing her television. “I may not have food… but I’ve got whisky and a Nintendo. Really, isn’t that what’s important?” She looked back at him to wink, but caught him with his hands on himself, mid-adjustment. When she realized why he was adjusting himself, her eyes grew wide. He laughed bashfully as she quickly looked away.        “Ah… I’m sorry. Can’t really control it.” He apologized quietly, as she turned to him and held a bright blue controller out.        “You can be Mario. I’ll be Princess Peach.” She smiled as he took the controller from her hands.         After a couple of hours, and a little more whisky on Livi’s part, she had taught him how to drift around the track’s curves in his Kart, and soon, he began beating her in the races. She blamed it on the fact that her vision was beginning to grow a little hazy, otherwise she’d be beating his ass.          “Well, that’s enough of that.” She stated, matter-of-factly, as she took the controller out of his hand in the middle of a race.         “Hey! I was enjoying that!” He laughed at her. “I was beating you!”         “I know. I don’t like losing.”         “I can see that.” He said, cocking his eyebrows. “Anyhow, I bet you’re tired after the night you had. Why don’t you come and sit beside me? I make a good pillow.” He held his long arms out in a gesture that looked so warm and inviting, but Olivia was unsure. “Well, come on. I don’t bite. Come, get some rest.”         She sighed, as she didn’t think he was going to give up until she did it. She plopped onto the couch beside him, as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to lay on his chest. ‘Mmm… he does make a good pillow,’ she thought as she closed her eyes and inhaled him. It had been far too long since she had laid on a man like this, and just smelled him, and Tom’s woodsy, fresh scent was entirely too enticing.          Before she knew it, she was waking up alone on her couch. A pillow had been placed under her head, and her thick, crocheted blanket had been pulled up around her. For a moment, she wondered if everything that had happened over the last couple of days had been real… maybe she had been dreaming? She noticed a note on her coffee table, and as she sat up, the room spun and her head ached. Well, the alcohol had at least been real. She immediately regretted all the whisky as a wave of nausea swept over her.          The note was on the back of a crumpled receipt, and she silently admonished herself for not having actual paper to write on in her flat. It was written in a messy handwriting, and she squinted as she tried to read it.

          A gift? She looked on the table beside her, and on a napkin lay 2 ibuprofen next to a bottle of water. Thank God. She swallowed the pills, and lay back down thinking about how thoughtful it was of him to leave her medicine out like that. She reached over and grabbed her cell phone off the coffee table, quickly going to her contacts. Yup, there he was. He had entered his number underneath the name ‘Thomas H.’ Just by looking at the name, you’d think that it could be any old Thomas H. off the street… until you looked at the photo he’d added as his contact photo. He must have taken it right before he left, because he was all bundled up for the cold day. Geez, that smile probably leaves scores of women keeled over dead in the street. 

        “Ugh.” She groaned as she put her phone back onto the coffee table and closed her eyes once more. She hoped that the ibuprofen would work quickly, because her head felt like someone was beating it like a drum. Finally, she sunk a little further into the couch, and drifted back off to sleep. __________________________________         A loud knocking startled her awake a couple of hours later. She looked at her clock as she swung her legs around to place them flat on the floor. 2:24 P.M. Who is bothering her? When she looked out of the peephole, she noticed an older man standing there with several boxes on a moving dolly.         “Can I help you?” She asked through the door.         “I’m looking for Olivia Beckett. I’ve got a delivery.”         A delivery? What the hell could be in all those boxes? She opened the door for the man, with a questioning expression on her still sleepy face.         “Are you Ms. Beckett?”         “Yes… what’s all that?” She ran her hand over her hair, trying to make sure it wasn’t looking completely crazy.         “I’ve got a grocery delivery from Whole Foods.”          “A… grocery delivery?”          “That’s what I said.”          Livi wrinkled her nose at the rude quip from the man. She watched as he wheeled his moving dolly into her kitchen, depositing the boxes in the middle of the floor.          “There you are, Miss. Thank you.” He said quickly as he made a hasty exit.          She locked the door behind him, and walked into the kitchen surveying the stack of boxes. She stood on her tip-toes and peeked into the top box, seeing several bread items. ‘Oh man, that smells so good.’ She thought to herself as she pulled the box down and went through it. Freshly baked bagels, croissants, blueberry muffins, and chocolate chip cookies were housed in that box. She began to filter through the other boxes, and pulled from them different cheeses, fruits, meat, snacks, bottled water, teas and coffee for her Keurig. She certainly hadn’t ordered all this food, so she only knew of one person that would have. She immediately went to her phone and pressed the number beside the smiling ‘Thomas H.’          “Well, hello there.” He said, with the hint of a grin in his voice.          “Hi.”          “How do you feel? I would imagine that you’ve got a bit of a headache.”          She chuckled. “Yeah, I do… definitely not feeling so hot. The ibuprofen helped though, thank you.”           “You’re welcome.” She could hear metal clanging and voices reciting Shakespeare in the background, and knew he must have been at practice.           “So, I just received a huge delivery of groceries… I was wondering who the mystery person was that sent them to me.”           “Ah… yes, I don’t know who that could have been.” He joked.           “Tom, I really appreciate it… but you know that I can buy my own groceries.”           “I know you can… however, that doesn’t mean that you will. I know you stay busy at the clinic. Just consider it a kind gesture.”           “It was very kind. Thank you, again.”           “Save the chicken and pasta. I’m coming over tomorrow night and cooking you dinner.”           “You are?”           “Yes, if that’s alright.. I’m free tomorrow, and I like your company just a bit, Dr. Beckett. Now, go make yourself a sandwich, eat and lay down. I’ll give you a call later, alright?”            “Okay… and, thanks again, Tom.”            “You’re quite welcome, darling.”             After their goodbyes, Olivia stared at her phone for a moment. She didn’t know what was happening, and she didn’t know how to handle it. This was the point where she usually distanced herself from men. That moment when she starts to feel butterflies… the moment where she’s giddy at the thought of seeing someone… that was always her sign. She didn’t want to end it with Tom, though. She liked him a lot, even though it was still very new. He seemed to be warm and caring, not to mention ridiculously good-looking and down to earth… and she could get used to listening to the way he said “dah-ling” with that deep voice riddled with his strong accent. She decided to give it another day at least, before deciding what to do about him. After dinner tomorrow night, she’d know…

#tom hiddleston #hiddleston #tom #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fandom #tom hiddleston fan fiction #cozycorrah #lovecorrah #olivia #beckett #doctor #hiddlestoners #tom Hiddleston fan fiction

[dragonnan]

The Tiger and the Shark

Chapter 11 Story Excerpt

Spoilers for this excerpt - 

While the story, as a whole, is a far darker tale, this is one of the moments I was particularly proud of involving Sherlock and Molly.  Fair warning, it does reference the sexual abuse both of them had suffered (though is not remotely graphic and is merely a reference).  Also, while there is a strong Sherlolly component this is NOT a romance story.  The emotions expressed are genuine, but are also brought to the surface more from trauma than passion.  All that said, it leaves a door open for something that a possible future story may more fully address.

I hope you enjoy!

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       Sherlock pulled up his collar as he entered the morgue. He'd slept fourteen hours after returning to the flat and his subsequent conversation with John. He'd suspected a sedative of some sort; briefly. However, John had put to rest such a suggestion with adamant denial. As it was, a test of the previous night's tea confirmed the absence of any known medications. Enduring the storm of raging, that had followed, Sherlock had pointed out that John had threatened sedation on no less than sixteen separate occasions. He was, however, forced to admit that John could, in such instances, be a bit of a windbag.

John had then resorted to another, familiar, threat of physical violence.

All in all it had proven to be productive afternoon.

That evening, after an early dinner with John and Rosie (who, as of late, had begun insisting on sitting in her Godfather's lap during mealtimes with the express purpose of trying to share her food with him. He couldn't recall the moment he'd signed up for having sticky baby fingers shoved into his mouth), Sherlock bundled into his coat and left the flat. Never a long wait for a cab on Baker Street, he caught one just minutes after reaching the pavement.

Ten minutes later he arrived at Barts.

Paying the cabbie, he stepped out onto the curb and took a moment to pull his coat tight about himself. Though it was chilly there was also an, admitted, comfort in burying himself in the heavy wool. Eyes closing for only a moment, he breathed, and stepped towards the doors.

Molly was alone in the lab. She smiled when she saw him enter and Sherlock, counter to the instincts that had ruled him for most of his life, hesitated. Right now, she was content. Right now, she was a woman who had overcome horror and had taken control of her life. Of course there were scars but who was he to reopen them? He – who knew, with blistering clarity, the agony of reopened scars. It was unbearable to that he could be the death knell to her current peace of mind.

“Something I can get for you? God, I feel like a waitress. 'The kidneys are fresh off the slab; would you like chips with those?'”

Sherlock smirked. This was not a side to Molly that he'd seen before – her humor tending towards hesitant and clumsy at best. Her little quip had actually been... rather amusing. It also sapped some of the tension from his limbs – allowing him to step further into the morgue.

“Nothing, tonight.” He was uncertain where to proceed, after that. This was a dynamic foreign to him. Prior interactions with Molly had always taken a specific pattern of engagement. He went to her when he needed something from her – be it body parts for study or the safety of her flat during the two years he'd played dead. But then... the dynamic had changed. He could remember the exact moment; standing before her, much like this, and asking her if she wanted to solve crime with him. Yes, he had needed someone to impress – he would no longer deny that. Yes, he had been missing John's presence, terribly. That, too, he could acquiesce. But... he had also wanted, her, with him. And he had felt an undefinable and unpleasant emotion when he'd understood that it could not be more than that one time. Regret. It had taken quite a long time to grasp that feeling – brought much more fully into the light when Mary's blood had covered his hands – listening to John make those horrified and agonizing sounds...

Long, long before Eurus's vicious games he had known his friendship with Molly had become something different. In what manner, he was still uncertain. Her comfort, in his presence, was one he had not experienced in the early years of their acquaintance. More fascinating was his comfort in hers – something he had not known with any person before John. It was apparent, as well, that their similar traumas had also made headway in altering their dynamic. And it was that topic which he now found locked up within his throat.

“Sherlock? I asked if you were alright?” Molly was before him. He had not been aware of her movements – caught within his own mind.

He swallowed. “Molly I... I wanted to ask if you'd... like to come with me to dinner, tomorrow night? At Baker Street.” he added.

Molly's body straightened in that familiar posture of unease – lips drawing tight as she looked away. After a moment she dropped her chin. “Sherlock, I know you're dealing with a great deal but I'm just... I'm-I'm not certain this is an appropriate reaction...”

His brow lined at her nervous stumble – familiar, yes, but not the response he'd expected. Certainly it wouldn't be the first time she'd have partaken in dinner at his flat – a regular occurrence on the days she minded Rosie. Nor was it the first time he'd asked her out for a meal. Granted, the last time had been after the false Ripper case and... oh...

“Molly, you misunderstand. I have something I need to share with you and I believe a social setting, such as a restaurant, would be uncomfortable for the topic at hand.”

Molly lifted her head – confused for only a moment before her eyes widened. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her jumper and, for a moment, her eyes closed. “You...” She breathed; her eyes finding his, “you found him...”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”

◦

John and Rosie had eaten with them – the little girl giggling around bites of pasta that she charmed from every plate around the table with giant, pleading, eyes. Not even Sherlock was immune – though he did insist upon proper manners from the young Watson. “One does not slurp spaghetti and spatter tomato sauce across one's face and hair. You first twirl the noodles onto your fork and, should you prefer, you may use a spoon to assist.” He demonstrated while Rosie, as well as the rest of the table, watched without a sound. He didn't notice the wide grin on John's face nor the wistful smile on Molly's.

“There! Now, pop open your lips.” Rosie obeyed; mouth going wide as Sherlock held out the small twist of pasta. Leaning forward, she gobbled the bite; chewing as she rocked back and forth.

“What do we say, Rosie-Posey?” John smiled at his little girl.

Hopping on her heels, tottering slightly, Rosie grinned up at her benefactor. “Tay you, Pop Pop Shoo-Shoo!”

“You're welcome, Watson.”

Giggling, Rosie scampered back to Molly – arms high. “Up!”

Gathering the child, Molly held her for the rest of the meal.

Some time later, after John had taken Rosie upstairs for bed, Molly sat in his chair across from Sherlock.

“Your friend from University. Connie Doyle.”

Molly nodded – her eyes showing recognition at the forgotten name; though not enough familiarity to connect the pieces. Sherlock, in rare hesitation, rubbed his fingertips together – missing the firm rubber of his old squash ball. “Bradstreet was her fiance. He'd known you were going to be there, that night...” he waited, never lowering his gaze, knowing what this would do, “because she had told him so.”

Molly blinked; huffing a laugh, as was often her first instinct. She shook her head; though her smile was tight. “No. No, I don't believe that.” Her hands pushed against the arms of the chair, as though to stand, before she sank back down. “I don't believe that she... sh-she wouldn't... she...”

Sherlock said nothing more while her mind pulled the information together. Additional details would not be as powerful as her own memories – spotty though they were from the drugs that had been forced into her system. Her brows pushed down as she fell silent – replaying; squinting, at times, when the memories appeared difficult or impossible to retrieve. “I... met him. I remember – why hadn't I remembered?” Her eyes moved back and forth as her recall built in her mind. “He... would show up after classes were out for the day to take Connie home. He would always ask if I wanted to come along... come along for drinks, and...” she gasped; both hands covered her mouth as something sharp and quavering burst though her fingers.

Still at a distance, Sherlock lowered his eyes. “It was why she came to your home, afterwards, and told you she was sorry. It is also the reason you never saw her afterwards. He chose his victims; but it was Connie Doyle who prepared the drugs for his use.”

One hand still clamped over her face, Molly squeezed her eyes tight as tears dripped over her fingers. Choked off sorrow caught in her throat – composure racing away as long lost questions began to find answers.

Knowing well enough that there was nothing that could be done to make this better, Sherlock remained silent. There were wounds that went too deep – cut into vital parts of anatomy – left one bleeding internally for decades. What words could possibly heal such damage?

Relocating to the kitchen, Sherlock began to prepare tea. He remained there, while the kettle heated – selecting a blend free of caffeine, given the late hour. He passed on the biscuits – this was not a conversation that welcomed digestion.

Molly had drawn into herself by the time he returned – saying nothing as he set her cup on the small table beside her chair.

They held their teacups – each finding touch points within the room to hold their stares. For Sherlock it was the fireplace – the low flames a poor replacement for his mind palace but it had proven to be an acceptable option with his mind closed to him.

There were no more words until the cups in their hands emptied. Sherlock stood, taking the cup from Molly and returning them to the sink.

She followed him – her steps soft on the rug. She didn't speak while he washed the cups and set them on the rack to dry. How very like those quiet moments in her flat – in the days before his secret departure abroad. So... domestic. It had grated on him, then – the inactivity – the dull monotony grinding against the unacknowledged anxiety... fear. So many years later – carrying out actions that had long since become familiar with repetition. Odd... they did not trouble him, now. Odder still – he welcomed the quiet harmony of his actions.

“Thank you.” Her soft voice was hardly above a whisper. Sherlock dried his hands and turned. Molly had looped her fingers in the sleeve of her jumper – red and cream flowers in a heavy knit. “It doesn't....” She lifted her chin. Her eyes were red – the flesh below hollowed and damp. Fine hairs had pulled free from the loose twist arranged at the side of her neck. She brushed them back from her eyes with fingers half hidden in her cuff. “It doesn't change... anything. Knowing. Not really.” Her teeth tugged at her lower lip before she licked it – sniffing. “But I'm glad you told me.”

Sherlock nodded. “Of course.”

Her smile was an attempt that failed before it even formed – tugging into a sniff filled with tears.

“May I?”

She looked at him, only for a moment, before nodding.

His arms went around her shoulders and she rested her body in his embrace – letting herself cry while he held her.

He said nothing. She said nothing in return. Somehow, that was enough.

◦

It was quite late when Molly prepared to leave. While knowing she was fully capable of making the journey unaccompanied, Sherlock shared the cab back to her flat. She hadn't wanted to be alone and, truly, neither had he – even with John just a floor above.

“Will I need to make a statement?”

No need to clarify her question. Sherlock tipped down his chin. “Do you wish to make a statement?”

She shrugged. “No. I don't know...” She rubbed her hand between her brows before looking out the window. “Does it make me a coward if I don't want to...”

“No. Of course not.” She turned back to Sherlock and straightened up a bit – eyes losing some of the devastation that had lingered in them for most of the evening. The soft shush of tires passing through standing water and the dull hum of the motor filled in the spaces between their conversation. The heater had been turned up a few degrees too warm and Sherlock felt sweat collect beneath his hairline.

“Thank you.”

He glanced towards Molly – her attention had turned back towards him.

“You've already thanked me, once. And there is no need, Molly.”

Her hand slid to his – tentatively resting over his knuckles. He turned up his palm to hold her fingers.

“I mean, for not... not leaving me alone. For coming home with me...” She suddenly flushed bright – pulling her hand back to cover her face. “Oh God – that came out all wrong!”

Feeling none of the awkwardness that had overtaken his companion, Sherlock hesitated a moment, at her embarrassment, before holding his hand out to her. It was interesting to realize that it was not purely for her comfort, that he offered his touch. No. As her hand returned to his, her face still warmed with blush, it was her touch, in return, that he wanted to feel. Quite without intending, his thumb traced across her knuckles.

They spoke, nothing more, the rest of the journey.

Instructing the cabbie to wait for him while he slid out of the cab behind Molly, Sherlock pulled up his collar as the brusque wind flapped his coat about his legs. Molly hunched and shivered – hands diving into her pockets as she hurried to the door. At a less rushed pace, Sherlock followed behind – rubbing his fingers against the chill.

He stood with her in the alcove, the space blocked in either side by large hedges, while Molly pulled her keys from her oversized bag.

She hesitated, however, before opening the door. “Do... do you want to...” She closed her eyes and shook her head; teeth catching her bottom lip. “Sorry; stupid... stupid...” Her voice was almost lost to the rushing wind. Her hands, clutching the keys, balled into fists before her.

Sherlock couldn't understand his own hesitation – only knowing that he felt compelled to remain. While not always so; in the years of their acquaintance, Molly's presence had become very agreeable to him. He would go as far as to call it pleasing. While never fully losing her nervousness, certainly she had become more comfortable with him, as well. They could spend hours in the lab, together, with no need for conversation. And, when they did speak, he found a woman with quick intelligence and cleverness that was nearly a match to his own. She was not the same as John – no, and nobody could be. John was his own person and Sherlock's match in ways that were different – more lent to excitement and adventure. John was both safety and the guarantee of danger and those warring elements made him the ideal friend. He'd lived life without that, for 2 years. He could not fathom a repeat of that absence.

With Molly, though... he found something that even John could not provide. There were few memories he could draw on to inform on the emotion, though there were some. The most powerful involved a collage of images; a fireplace roaring around oak logs – a mug of honeyed tea – his mother's soft touch through his wild curls...

He felt a compulsion pushing against his chest. Sentiment. Since Eurus and Sherrinford he'd been able to understand the missing pieces of his own mind – locked away for the bulk of his life. Emotion had pushed to the surface with greater regularity yet he'd also felt more in control of those emotions – understanding, finally, where they originated. But...

But since his rape, those emotions had scattered like chaff in a hurricane. He could no longer grasp them – could no longer control them as they whipped through his mind at random. Anger – fear – even odd elation when there was no clear trigger to warrant any of those feelings.

And now... Now something new, again. Was this nostalgia? No – he was familiar with that unwelcome sensation – the more bothersome of emotions, certainly, and one that had plagued him with regularity while tearing through Moriarty's network. This... this... desire... was different.

“May I...?” His hands shook. His breath stuttered. His heart slammed like a heart attack beneath his sternum. All of the sensations he'd come to associate with an anxiety attack save one, baffling, symptom.

He didn't want it to stop.

Molly had her hands knotted together – twisting them. Sherlock carefully tugged at her fingers; easing them open – resting his palms beneath hers and feeling the tremble in them both. Molly sniffed – shivering through another hard gust of wind.

“You should go inside. You are not dressed properly for the temperature.”

“You may.” Molly replied – non-sequitur creasing his forehead. Until her thumbs rubbed against his hands and her face tilted towards him. “Whatever you need.” She swallowed, flushing pink. “You may.”

Their hands still together, he leaned – watching her eyes for alarm. Instead of fear, however, her mouth pressed tight – edging into a shaky smile. Close enough that her breaths felt warm against his jaw, he rested his lips against hers – the softest caress gliding across her mouth. Head tipping the other way, she pushed up into his heat – adding intensity that cracked open a door he'd thought he'd locked years ago. Ache. Want. Pain – always pain. Her arms left his hands to tighten around his back – her cheek dropping to his chest and her soft assurances bringing awareness to the tears slipping down his face. It made no sense. Emotions so rarely made sense; a leading motivation for avoiding them in excess. No more, however; his mind swamped with decades of repression. As though every feeling that he'd ever locked away, denied, or crushed had struck him en masse. He clutched at Molly – furious – terrified – grieving all at once as his face pressed into her shoulder.

He held her until the cold sank into his limbs – feeling her body shudder in the icy wind that billowed their clothing – sliding beneath their layers to freeze against the flesh.

Whatever happened with his waiting cab went unnoticed as she led him inside. Well used to her flat, his steps did not require his eyesight – compromised by the hands he pressed against his eyes. Would the sorrow never leave him? Eurus had been right about him. Emotion was a destructive force that would tear him apart. He was not equipped to fight its power.

I am never going to get better. I no longer know my own mind. I can no longer walk its hallways. Even now – when I attempt it... I find only... he shuddered; teeth clamping tight around the rest of it. That he could still, even now, find the same dungeon – the same chains – and Gruner. Moriarty had become a relief, now; wandering outside of the palace with all of the brash confidence Sherlock had once known.

She let him stand near the door while she moved to the kitchen – soft light snapping on. A touch against his legs sent a dart through his chest – though reaction was only a tilt of his head to take in the small tortoiseshell winding around his shins.

“Sorry – he's hungry.” Molly walked quickly back through the room to collect her cat; cuddling the creature as she carried it on towards the kitchen. What was its name? Thomas? Tiberius?

“That's a good boy, Toby. You ready for some din-dins?”

Ah, Toby. Of course. Popular pet name, it would seem.

Using his thumb to clear the lingering wet from his eyes, Sherlock slipped out of his coat and draped it across the back of a chair – dropping down at the dining room table and letting his face fall into his hands. Exhaustion dragged against his limbs and he may have slept for several minutes – perhaps longer – because the sound of a cup tapping against the table shuddered him to awareness.

“Sorry... I made tea...” Molly sat across from him – sipping at her cup.

Sherlock inhaled the mild brew – chamomile. He appreciated the mild flavor; for once welcoming anything that could quiet his mind.

Molly set down her cup – fingers playing with the handle. “You can stay here – tonight. I made up the bed – for you, I mean. I'll sleep on the couch.” Blushing, once more, as she stuttered through her words.

Sherlock frowned. “Nonsense. I will not take your bed from you. The couch will be sufficient.”

“I can't believe we're having this argument again.” At Sherlock's confusion, Molly shook her head – lips twitching into a smile. “You insisted on taking the couch the last time you'd stayed here, remember? It's too short for you but you said it would be fine. The next thing I know, I'm woken up by my lamp smashing on the floor because you'd kicked it in your sleep.” She laughed – then – and Sherlock managed a smirk.

“Well it had been a hideous lamp.”

Molly laughed harder and Sherlock chuckled as well.

Afterwards, they finished their tea and Molly, firmly, demanded that Sherlock take the bed. Utterly knackered, he gave in – silently pleased to drop down onto her mattress. Soft – but not overly so – with just the right amount of give. Her wardrobe may suffer but Molly had excellent taste when it came to beds.

It smelled of her.

He turned his face into the pillow – clean but still scented of her shampoo. He faced the door – listening to the hushed preparations just beyond the painted wood. Her steps to the loo – the sound of running water as she brushed her teeth – the flush of the toilet – and then the movements back to the sitting room. She spoke, her words indistinct, as she conversed at her feline. Shortly thereafter she fell silent – asleep.

The familiar sounds of the flat were soothing. Sherlock's breathing deepened – eyes rolling shut – lulled by the distant sound of wind shaking through tree branches. His mind wandered into a room filled with gentle laughter and soft hands – crackling fire and a cup of hot, sweet, tea.

He was out within minutes.

#Sherlock #fanfic #tw: rape #Sherlolly #no rape or noncon in this chapter