#'three cups then go home' is EXCELLENT advice that i never follow

[cuisinecravings]

How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough :Complete Guide

Are you searching for how to make chocolate chip cookie dough? Chocolate chip cookie dough is dear to the hearts of many bakers. An enticing delight is created by the soft, chewy texture and sweet, rich flavor. For home bakers, however, it might be challenging to make excellent cookie dough.

How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Even if you've never made chocolate chip cookie dough before, I'm here to teach you how. Use my advice to combine sugar and butter to achieve the ideal texture, choose the best chocolate chips, and assemble the dough to create delicious cookies that can be eaten raw or baked into warm, gooey treats.

How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough: A Complete Guide

Ingredients

Let's begin by gathering the necessary components that give the dish its timeless, alluring flavour and texture. - All-purpose flour, 2 1/4 to 2 1/2 cups - Granulated white sugar, 1 cup - Baking soda: 1 teaspoon - Chocolate chips: 2 cups (or more!) of mini semisweet or bittersweet chips Wet Ingredients - 2 large eggs - Butter: 1 cup of unsalted butter, room temperature - Vanilla extract: 1-2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract While the liquid ingredients make the cookies moist and tasty, the dry ingredients give them structure and texture. These essential ingredients join together to create the delicious dough that is flecked with the melt-in-your-mouth chocolate chunks that we all love. For chocolate chip cookie success, make sure you follow this list of requirements, which includes everything from the flour base to delicious chocolate chunks!

Equipment Needed for How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough?

The proper kitchen tools are necessary when making a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough at home. Let's go over the tools required and their respective roles in creating the ideal cookies. Mixing Bowls To fully incorporate the dry and wet components, you'll need at least one large mixing bowl that can hold three to four quarts of ingredients. Select a mixing bowl of robust stainless steel or heat-resistant glass that can withstand being scraped with a spatula.

chocolate chip cookie dough Brushes and wooden spoons Stock up on large silicone spatulas and wooden spoons to help you fold cookie dough and scrape down the edges of the mixing dish with ease. These essential whisks and folders aid in combining the components into a smooth dough. Measurement Tools For cookies to turn out well, measuring ingredients precisely is essential. To precisely portion out the dry ingredients, use graded dry measuring cups and liquid measuring cups for the wet ingredients. Remember to include the measuring spoons for the teaspoon and tablespoon measurements as well. Sheets for baking Raised edges on standard aluminium baking sheets work well for distributing heat evenly when baking cookies. To prevent the cookies from sticking, line them with silicone baking mats or parchment paper. For optimal browning, dark cookie sheets are also a good choice. I covered the essential baking tools in a conversational style, emphasizing how each one helps you make delicious chocolate chip cookies. If you would like me to change or add to this area, kindly let me know.

How to Bake Cookies and How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough

When baking up a batch of chocolate chip cookies, having an efficient technique for mixing up the dough is crucial. Let's go over each stage of the recipe, from creaming butter to dividing the dough into balls and placing them on baking pans. Use this tried-and-true recipe to make picture-perfect chocolate chip cookie dough. Mix the dry ingredients. First, to make the base for our chocolate chip cookie dough, combine and stir together the dry ingredients. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together: - all-purpose flour - baking soda - salt These ingredients are blended to create a blank canvas that we can then add the remaining elements to. The added protein to the all-purpose flour provides the baked cookies with structure and chewiness. The distinctive nooks and cracks are made possible by the baking soda, which also helps the cookies rise. Additionally, the salt counteracts the sweetness. How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? Verify that the basin is free of any remaining salt or baking soda lumps. For uniformly flavored dough, we want to include everything completely at this point. To include the chunky and wet mix-ins, set aside the dry mixture. Cream together the sugar and butter. The enjoyable part is almost here: creaming the butter and sugar together! One cup of room-temperature unsalted butter should be beaten for one minute on medium speed in the bowl of a stand mixer with the paddle attachment until it becomes smooth and creamy. Add 1 cup of granulated white sugar gradually while mixing on medium-high speed for almost three complete minutes. Here, we want to add air to the mixture to give it a lighter texture. When the mixture is frothy and pale in colour, the butter and sugar have been adequately creamed. Even mixing is ensured by periodically scraping down the sides. Beat in Eggs and Vanilla To prevent splashing, add the wet ingredients to the mixer on low speed. - Eggs at room temperature - Butter softened - pure vanilla extract Let these ingredients mix thoroughly, stopping occasionally to scrape down the edges as necessary. How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? The vanilla adds a sweet, fragrant flavour, and the eggs serve as the glue that holds everything together. Add the chocolate chips and stir. The chocolate, the finest part, is about to arrive! Switch off the mixer before incorporating it. Two cups of chocolate chips, semi-sweet Using a spatula, stir gently until just blended. Here, you don't want to overmix because that could melt the chips and combine them into a single, thick mass. As the cookies bake, those little bits of chocolate will melt into mouthwatering puddles of deliciousness. Combine Wet and Dry Mixtures It's time to put everything together now! Finally, the moist and dry ingredients come together. After each addition, stir just until incorporated. Avoid overmixing for optimal results, as this will activate too much gluten and result in thicker cookies. A tiny bit of optional milk gives a little extra moisture and richness. The finished dough should be dense, tacky, and covered in tiny chocolate chips. Cool and Scoop Dough for Cookies Roll the dough into a disc, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least half an hour (or up to three days). This facilitates the hydration of the flour and the blending of the components. After the dough has completely chilled, split it out into golf ball-sized rounds and place them on baking sheets lined with parchment paper using a small ice cream scoop. How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? To allow for spreading, space the sections apart by 2 inches. After that, bake it for 10 to 12 minutes at 375°F until the sides just begin to brown. Enjoy these freshly baked chocolate chip cookies once they cool! Related Articles : Can You Make Cookie Dough in a Food Processor? Why Is My Cookie Dough Crumbly? How to Make it Perfect? Can You Bake Edible Cookie Dough? Can You Freeze Cookie Dough? How to Freeze Properly? Why Sugar Cookie Dough Too Sticky? Fix It Now? How To Fix Over Mixed Cookie Dough – Easy Tips

Advice on How to Make the Greatest Cookie Dough How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough?

Make use of high-quality ingredients. How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? Expert bakers stress that the key to making better baked products and cookie dough is to start with high-quality ingredients. Use fresh eggs at room temperature, choose genuine vanilla extract, and splurge on real butter instead of imitations. Higher-protein bread flour adds more structure and chew, while all-purpose flour provides a sufficient foundation. For chocolate, choose Guittard or Ghirardelli chips with a high cacao content for a robust flavour. Measure Precisely Precise measurements guarantee consistently delicious cookies. Professionals use a kitchen scale to weigh dry commodities like flour instead of cups, which compress contents unevenly. For the chocolate chips, stick to the recipe's directions as well; adding too much will upset the carefully calculated proportions. For a precise, level fill, don't forget to level off dry measuring cups. Avoid Overmixing Chefs advise avoiding overworking the gluten in the cookie dough, which produces a dense, rigid texture. Avoid combining the dry and wet ingredients into a single, homogenous mass by stirring only until they are combined. During the chilling process, the apparent flour streaks in the dough become evenly distributed. Make sure the dough is sufficiently chilled so that it solidifies and holds its shape while baking. Evenly scoop To ensure that your cookies bake to the same thickness and size, shape the dough into parts of consistent size. This is made very easy with a little spring-loaded ice cream scoop. As the cookies spread during baking, place the mounds that were scooped a few inches apart on the baking sheet. How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? This encourages even browning as well. Make a stencil out of parchment paper to help guide the size for more assurance. Avoid Overbaking The biggest mistake made by amateur bakers is overbaking cookies, turning them into crispy, dry hockey pucks. As you follow the timing instructions, err on the side of pulling them out while they're still tender in the middle, by one or two minutes. Remove the hot baking sheet from the oven and continue to cook the cookies. Allow to cool for a few minutes, then move to a rack. Keep Safely Cookies are best eaten fresh out of the oven on the day they are cooked for the finest just-baked flavour. However, allow the cookies to cool completely before putting them in an airtight container to store them later. Placing warm cookies inside a container retains moisture, which causes them to stain prematurely. To keep cookies from sticking, layer them between parchment paper sheets. Unbaked cookie dough keeps well for months when wrapped, so you can freeze it for later use.

Typical Errors to Steer Clear of: Things Not to Do!

When preparing chocolate chip cookie dough, even seasoned bakers sometimes encounter difficulties. However, staying away from these typical problems will help guarantee that your cookies always turn out flawlessly. Let's go over some common pitfalls to avoid when preparing that sugary dough. Using inappropriate butter It is imperative that unsalted butter be used. The excess salt in salted butter has the potential to disrupt the recipe's precisely measured level of saltiness. You can regulate the precise quantity of salt supplied while using unsalted. Spreads like margarine or butter have to be steered clear of as well because they contain more water and will not combine well with the sugar. Use premium unsalted butter with an 80% fat percentage for optimal results. Solution: Choose unsalted butter that has a high fat content at all times. Sugar makes it creamier. Neglecting to Refrigerate the Dough A lot of bakers become impatient and throw dough into the oven without giving it enough time to chill. However, it is essential to leave the dough in the refrigerator for the components to combine and the flour to hydrate. If this step is skipped, the cookies will spread too much and won't have the distinctive chewy tollhouse texture. Give that dough 30 minutes or so to set, and you'll notice a huge change. Solution: Give the dough enough time to chill, at least 30 minutes, before baking. Packing the baking sheets tight Make sure to give each round of dough ample room when you scoop it up; two inches is the optimal amount. This gives the cookies space to spread out without colliding and creating a single, oversized, distorted cookie cluster. Not amorphous blobs, but perfectly round, evenly baked cookies are what you want. Avoid packing the baking sheets too full. For optimal results each and every time, adhere to the recipe spacing instructions. One solution is to space the cookie dough balls on the sheets 2 inches apart. Therefore, be aware of these typical cookie dough mistakes, such as using the incorrect butter or rushing the chilling process. Making chocolate chip cookies worthy of a bake-off is made possible by avoiding these easy blunders! How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? For the best cookie experience, let the dough fully rest and stretch out before baking.

FAQs: How to Make Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough

What ingredients are in chocolate chip cookie dough? Typically, components for chocolate chip cookie dough include flour, eggs, butter, brown sugar, white sugar, vanilla, baking soda, and salt. The dough is then combined with chocolate bits to create chocolate chip cookie dough. What ingredients are in the chocolate chip cookie mix? Dry components, including flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt, are included in chocolate chip cookie mixes, along with occasionally added additions like chocolate chips or oats. Simply add wet ingredients, such as butter, eggs, milk, or water, to make cookies. What is the composition of the cookie dough? Ingredients in cookie dough include flour, sugar, butter, and eggs. These ingredients hold together when combined, but they also spread out and bake correctly. Cookie dough has a sweet taste and texture that is best enjoyed unbaked due to its high fat and sugar content. Before baking, how is cookie dough made? Cream butter and sugar together, then whisk in eggs and vanilla to make cookie dough. Combine the flour, baking soda, and salt in a different bowl. Till a thick dough develops, gradually mix the dry components into the liquid ones. Add other mix-ins, like chocolate chips, and stir. Read the full article

[semperintrepida]

Before I’m accused of making Kassandra a lightweight in my fic, the four-cups-or-five-cups? standard of drunkenness came from this:

I mix three kraters only for those who are wise. One is for good health, which they drink first. The second is for love and pleasure. The third is for sleep, and when they have drunk it those who are wise wander homewards. The fourth is no longer ours, but belongs to arrogance. The fifth leads to shouting. The sixth to a drunken revel. The seventh to black eyes. The eighth to a summons.1 The ninth to bile. The tenth to madness, in that it makes people throw things.

Source: "Semele or Dionysus" (c. 375 BC) by the poet Euboulos

Even better, the translation is from a paper published in a medical journal: Cook, C. C., Tarbet, H., & Ball, D. (2007). Classically intoxicated: correlations between quantity of alcohol consumed and alcohol related problems in a classical Greek text. BMJ (Clinical research ed.), 335(7633), 1302–1304. doi:10.1136/bmj.39420.333565.BE

1 From the police, yo.

#kass was on her sixth cup #'three cups then go home' is EXCELLENT advice that i never follow #kassandra #ac odyssey #elegiad #behind the scenes #these are the rabbit holes i fall into when i write

[watchmegetobsessed]

SAFE AND SOUND

a/n: this one took a little longer to write, but im so happy its finally finished! its not what i originally planned, i started a whole different plot but hated it so started again, but i might go back to the first story, so maybe more bodyguard!harry content is gonna come! anyway, hope you’ll enjoy this one!

pairing: Bodyguard!Harry X Reader

warning: use of weapon (no one dies), mentioning of cancer (no one is sick), sexual content

word count: 9.1k

masterlist

“This is not up for discussion, Y/N. What you are doing and what you are about to achieve soon might upset a lot of people that hold great power. We can’t just assume you’ll be fine, walking around like anyone else in the world.”

Your boss, Julian explains it to you, leaning onto his desk, trying his best to keep his cool about your protest to get you a guard to watch out for you and keep you safe. It’s been an ongoing struggle and fight you two have been having these past weeks and it became a burning situation since you’ve made some major progress in your project.

“I’m not some kind of royalty to have security with me all the time,” you grumble rolling your eyes.

“Not just royalties have guards, Y/N. Just accept it, that you’re valuable, your work is very important not just to our company but to the whole world. Do you not realize how big it is? You are close to having the cure to cancer, Y/N! You can easily get a Nobel-prize for that!”

“I know that it’s important, but no one knows me, no one will see me on the street and know who I am or what I do!”

“It’s not about the people on the street. The world is a dark place, darker than you could imagine. Please, just… I want to know that you’re safe.”

Staring back at him with your arms folded on your chest you contemplate his words. You can see the rationality in his words, it’s just that you don’t want to break your routine, you don’t want people around you all the time, you don’t want to end your privacy like that. But Julian is right, your work is important and there have already been a few attempts to steal your researches, but they miserably failed. However that doesn’t mean they will be stopped the next time as well.

“One guard,” you speak up. “Just one. I’m not gonna have a whole fucking team,” you tell him raising your eyebrows. He lets out a relieved sigh, a tiny smile tugging on his lips.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Reaching out to the phone he presses the buzzer that signals to his assistant, Monica outside and a few moments later she walks in, accompanied with a tall, suited man, his green eyes immediately falling to you upon entering the room.

“Y/N, I took the courage to pick him out for you myself. This is Harry Styles, the best you can find in the city if not in the country,” Julian introduces him as he pushes himself away from his giant mahogany desk, walking closer to the man as they shake hands firmly. You stand up from the armchair you’ve been sinking into these past ten minutes and unsurely hold out your hand to the man.

“Harry Styles, pleasure to meet you,” he introduces himself, a thick British accent lacing through his voice and the way his green irises stare back at you, you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest. Mr. Styles is undeniably the most charming and handsome man you’ve ever met, with his perfectly carved cheekbones and chiseled jawline, pink lips and those enchanting green eyes framed by his thick lashes. There’s something in his appearance, something feminine, but still, he holds so much masculinity at the same time, it’s hard not to be enamored by him.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you mumble your name, shaking his hand slightly before letting go of it.

“Details about your cooperation have already been discussed with the security agency and us, but of course, your word is what counts, so we’ll walk over the whole plan with you as well,” Julian explains to you and you nod shortly.

The three of you move to the conference room and the next hour goes by with working those so called details out, some of them are ridiculous, some of them you can get used to, at the end you are left with a somewhat bearable plan, but one thing is for sure. Harry Styles will be a big part of your life from now on.

THREE MONTHS LATER

The tiny pack of sugar tears open in your hands, but you put too much effort into it so the countertop is now covered with the content of the pack instead of ending up in your paper cup.

“Fuck,” you growl, dumping the empty pack into the trash before grabbing another one, hoping it won’t end up the same way.

“Let me help you,” a smooth, male voice speaks up next to you and Harry grabs the pack from your hands as he places his own coffee to the counter. You let him tear the pack open easily, pouring the sugar into your drink without problem before he puts the lid back to your cup.

“Thank you,” you mumble, closing your tired eyes for a split second. You’ve been overworking way too much these past weeks, it’s starting to shut your system down, but you don’t want to rest, not when you’re so close to finishing your project.

The past two weeks have been major, you finally made the progress you’ve been working towards for months now, letting you step into the last phase of your work finally. But it’s been a quite stressful time as you’ve been eager to finish as soon as possible, but that meant little to no time spent outside of your lab.

Harry shoots you a reassuring smile before you both grab your drinks and head out of the café in the direction of your workplace.

The past three months were one hell of a ride when it comes to Harry. You didn’t hide your dislike towards his continuous presence in your life, standing by your side wherever you went. It frustrated you, made you feel like you didn’t have your freedom any longer even though he never did anything to make you hate him. He was considerate, respectful and only wanted to do his job, yet you still gave him a hard time at the beginning, right until the need for his work was proved.

Two months ago someone broke into your apartment while you were out, they searched through the whole place, looking for something. Well, not just something, they were clearly interested in anything connected to your research, but luckily, you’re not dumb enough to just let these stuff lay around your home.

Even though you didn’t encounter the person responsible for it, the incident still shook your up. Knowing that someone could get into your personal space so easily, that they could have come at a time when you were home and vulnerable, it scared you. Harry was the person that eased the worry and fear in you, he took care of everything in an instant and upon his best advice, you moved to a new apartment with a higher security level. He even moved to the place next to yours so he could be as close to you as possible at all times. There was a much needed shift in your relationship after that and you didn’t see him as an intruder any longer in your life, but more as a hero.

“So would you like Italian or Mexican tonight for dinner?” Harry asks as the two of you enter the building, using your IDs you go through the massive security gates, the guards in post nodding in your way.

“Isn’t it your night to choose?” you smile at him sideways as you wait for the elevator.

“Okay, then Thai,” he smirks, making you laugh. “Hope you are not planning on eating it here again,” he gives you a warning look and you purse your lips.

“I have a lot to do, and—“

“Y/N, you need to rest sometimes,” he scolds you as if you were just a child.

“I do rest. Sometimes,” you answer with an innocent look as the elevator’s door slides open and you walk in with Harry following you right behind.

“Like once a week? Do you even sleep when you’re at home?”

“I do! Don’t make me look like I’m some kind of crazy workaholic!”

“I’m just worried about you, is all,” he sighs, giving you a hard look.

“Oh, Mr. Styles. If I didn’t know you better I would think you might have a soft spot for me,” you smirk at him teasingly before the elevator arrives to your floor and you walk out without a word. Harry just stares after you with a small smile tugging on his lips as he thinks about your words. It’s funny, especially because you both know something more than just a professional relationship has been going on between the two of you, only dancing around it as the situation is a little too complicated to address now.

It’s not like any rules are tying you down, but you would rather not mix up work with your private life. You might have feelings for Harry, but you refuse to act up on them until he is out of his duty as your personal guard.

Your days are usually the same. While you lock yourself up in your lab, working with no end, Harry stay either with you in there or he hovers around the door, keeping an eye on everyone and everything. Just the thought of his presence never fails to bring you a sense of comfort, knowing that you don’t have to worry about your safety until he is near. It might seem nerdy, but you can easily get lost in your work. It doesn’t feel like a job, growing up with parents who were excellent doctors and pharmacists themselves, you were doomed to be a science enthusiast yourself from the beginning. Learning has never been a task for you but a gift, as you liked to look at it.

Working overtime happens often because you lose touch with time easily once you get down to work. Nothing exists outside of your lab and you hardly realize how late it is until Harry usually warns you.

“I didn’t joke when I said I didn’t want to have dinner in here,” he steps into your sanctuary while you’re in the middle of running tests for the millionth time today. Pushing your glasses up to the top of your head while the machines are buzzing and whirling, you look up at him with a tired smile.

“Let me just… finish this one last test and then I promise we’ll head out.”

“Alright, but I’m watching you. No more tests,” he warns, sitting on one of the stools while you finish what you started.

Harry never really asked you about your work, for a while you weren’t even sure if he knows what you’re doing and why it’s so important. It was never discussed at the beginning and he never brought it up later either. But judging from the time he spends near you at the lab he must have picked up a few things about it surely.

The machines stop working and the tiny beeping sound signals that the results are out. You grab the long printed paper and start scanning the data, chewing on your bottom lip as you hope to find what you’ve been looking for all day. The numbers are coming in great, but it’s been like this for a while, it’s the end that never matches up with your expectations. So when you get there and see the graphs showing the result that you’ve been dreaming of since the start of the whole project years ago, your mouth falls open in disbelief even though it’s what you’ve been working for all this time.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

“What?” Harry’s head snaps up in alert, jumping off the stool.

“I… I did it,” you breathe out, glancing up from the paper. “It’s my first time succeeding, Harry!” you start laughing, the shock taking over your whole body that you really did it this time.

“And what does that mean?”

“Come on, let me show you,” you tell him in excitement, pulling him over to the computer where you pull up all the data you’ve been working on. A virtual version of a cell comes up on the screen as you start typing, modelling what you want to show him. “This is a completely healthy cell, it’s what you are made of too, mostly,” you ass with a chuckle before another cell comes up on the screen. “And this is what cells that are affected by cancer look like.”

The difference is a lot more complicated than what you can explain to him in such a short time, but he can see it with his own eyes. The color, the shape, everything is different from the first one. Harry examines the screen and nods shortly, letting you know that he is following.

“I’ve been working on a substance that is able to not just detect the cancerous cells but it can also kill it effectively without hurting the healthy ones.”

You bring up the virtualized version of the substance you’ve been working on, a short animation showing how it can tell the two cells apart and only attack the cancerous one.

“I haven’t been able to get the numbers above 60% when it comes to succeeding in the process of selection so my whole project was about finding a solution to that. I’ve been trying to find the right substance to mix with our already existing one to solve the problem, but I haven’t been successful in it.”

“I assume until now,” Harry hum and you nod smirking.

“Yeah. The last test results came back very good, quite promising. It’s still not the end of the process, but it’s a huge step.”

���That’s great,” he smiles at you and though you know he probably understands just a fracture of the whole process, he can still figure out how important it is. “Congrats, Y/N.” “Thanks,” you breathe out, pride filling your chest as you shut the computer off. “I guess this is my cue to end the day,” you smile at him before packing up everything, getting ready to finally leave.

It’s not the first time Harry is spending the evening at your place. You often have dinner together, or watch a movie whenever you get home early enough to do that. Through the time you’ve spent together because of his job you’ve grown to be friends above everything. Good ones, in fact, which is a big deal for you since making friends has never been an easy task for you.

You bought takeout on the way home and as Harry set the table you poured yourself a glass of wine, knowing well Harry would never drink when he is on duty and he is basically working all the time he is with you, so you’re drinking alone. You both sit to the dining table, starting dinner together in a comfortable silence. It’s another thing you appreciate about Harry. He doesn’t try to talk when it’s not necessary, you hate small talk, you’d rather sit in silence than talk about something nonsense and Harry is a partner in that.

“When do you need to leave work tomorrow to get to the party on time?” he asks breaking the silence and you freeze. His eyes fall on you, examining your features for a moment before he smirks. “You forgot about it?”

“I just… thought it’s going to be next week,” you truthfully admit.

“We talked about it last week,” he smirks at you playfully. “And I told you it would be next week which is… this week.”

“I know how the days work, Harry,” you give him a look of ‘give me a break’ before you turn back to your food. “I just…”

“You just forgot it,” Harry finishes for you, and you just roll your eyes at him.

Glancing at him over the table you wonder if he’ll wear something different than is usual attire he always wears. Black suit with a white shirt underneath, the top two buttons left undone, giving you a tiny peek at the tattoos on his chest. You know those are not the only ones, you’ve seen him with the suit jacket off before, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his whole left arm is covered in ink and you wish you’ve had the chance to take a better look at them.

Harry is such an intriguing person in a lot of different ways. He definitely likes to keep things to himself, not one to ask for attention and it’s not just because of his work, it’s his personality. However he is good with people, interacting with them, being social. A skill you haven’t really mastered yourself yet and you probably never will. He always seems to know what to say, you’ve never seen him even the slightest bit anxious or nervous before, the confidence he holds is unmatched and it makes it hard to not think about him in ways you shouldn’t be.

After dinner he helps you clean up, just like he always does before heading out, but before he could leave he stops and turns back to face you.

“Oh, a friend of mine is visiting from the UK on Sunday. I already mentioned it to you before, but I was hoping I could get the afternoon off,” he wonders and you nod right away.

“Of course! I’ll be just fine at home,” you smile at him.

“Thank you,” he smiles back before walking out of your place at last.

Because of the party in the evening you are forced to stop working early the next day. It’s weird to leave the office in broad daylight, but you know today can’t be one of those days when you end up seeing the new day in the lab.

Harry was right yesterday, you completely forgot the whole party thing, meaning you didn’t plan anything ahead and you had nothing to wear, so through the day you called your sister, Mara to help you out. She was more than happy to lend you anything you needed. She meets you at the office, beaming to spend some time with you finally. It’s not that you don’t like her company, but you are quite different, is all. Your sister didn’t get sucked into the world of science, though she definitely has the bright mind to take up on any field she would want to explore. But she was more into the world of art, having written her first fantasy novel at the ripe age of twenty, she is now a bestseller author at only twenty-nine with a bubbly personality and basically every trait you never owned yourself.

“Harry! So nice to see you again!” Mara beams at the man as the three of you meet up at the lobby.

“Hi, Mara,” Harry smiles with a tiny nod.

“Alright, I have everything you could need so let’s head to yours!” your sister cheers before you make your way out to your cars.

Arriving to your home Harry splits from the two of you, letting you to get ready in peace and also to get ready himself. Mara didn’t joke when she said she has everything you need, the trunk of her car is basically filled with clothes and shoes, there’s no chance you won’t find something to wear tonight.

She orders you to take a quick shower as she unpacks everything she brought and when you emit from a cloud of steam with a towel wrapped around your body and one on your head, Mara gets down to work.

“So do you have a date for today?” she curiously asks while she does your makeup.

“Huh, yeah, sure,” you huff ironically. “It’s just gonna be Harry and me.”

“So Harry is your date?” her ears perk up, but you’re quick to protest.

“Of course not! He comes with me everywhere,” you mumble with your eyes closed as she is doing something on your eyelids.

“But it could be a date,” she offers and you huff in disagreement.

“You know that’s not how it works, Mara.”

“You are making it more complicated than it is! No one would blame you if you just… went for it! Harry is obviously an attractive guy.”

“Then maybe you should date him,” you bite back bitterly. Growing up you weren’t the boys’ favorite, they always paid all the attention to your sister. It’s not that you blame her or them, she always had a more capturing and lively personality that attracted people naturally. But it made you wonder if there was something wrong with you, spending all your time with your nose buried in a book or doing researches for fun while Mara was out with her friends, living her best life. Even her published books were inspired by her personal life experiences.

“Y/N,” she sighs, her hands leaving your face so you open your eyes to look at her disapproving expression. “You obviously like him so I would never do that and besides that, he for sure likes you too.”

“What’s not true,” you deny right away, but then you look at her curiously. “But why would you think that?”

Mara smirks at you tilting her head to the side, seeing right through your act that you’re not interested in Harry. Of course you are, but you choose to keep it at bay for the sake of his job.

“Y/N, I see how that man watches every move you make. It’s written all over his handsome face.”

“Of course he watches my every move, that’s his job!”

“No, it’s different. You’ll see it sooner or later,” she smiles before ordering you to close your eyes again so she can finish your makeup.

Mara does wonders to your looks, the makeup look she does on you already makes a huge difference since you don’t bother to do anything on your every days. But she didn’t stop there, she made your hair look like you just stepped off of the pages of a magazine and the dress the two of you chose was the cherry on the top. The emerald green dress was tight around your curves, showing just enough of your body to be still considered modest, but also have some spice. And though there are a lot of advantages of the dress, your first and most important thought (to you at least) was how well it goes with the color of Harry’s eyes.

“I’m a genius,” Mara sighs satisfied with her work as you slip on the pair of nude heels and put your necessities into the little clutch you’re taking with you. Just when you’re gone with everything, the doorbell rings and your heart jumps in your chest, knowing that Harry is standing on the other side of the door.

“I’ll get it for you,” Mara smiles rushing to the door as you walk into the hallway, standing a few feet behind her so as she opens the front door and Harry comes into view, over Mara’s shoulder his eyes easily find your figure standing there, feeling a little awkward and self-conscious, like you are about to go to prom with your crush. Difference is that you are not a teenager anymore and you aren’t going anywhere together together. Tonight is just work for him.

But as his bright green eyes fall on your frame and you see his lips slightly part, you can’t help but allow yourself to think for a moment that it’s more than just work. That he feels the same way about it as you do. Though you don’t voice your hopes and just smile at him faintly, hoping you don’t look completely ridiculous in your outfit.

“Harry, come on in!” Mara invites him into the apartment and he walks in, wearing his usual black suit with the difference of having a tie on around his neck, his white shirt is appearing neat and crispy and his sometimes unruly curls are now gently combed back a little so his curls are not falling into his forehead.

“Hi,” you smile at him nervously fumbling with your clutch as he takes a few steps closer to you.

“Hi. You look… beautiful,” he smiles back at you a little breathlessly as he takes a respectful look down your body before his green irises meet your gaze again.

“Thank you. You look great too,” you chuckle softly. “Should we… head out?”

“Yeah, sure!” he nods, offering you his arm and you link your arm with his instantly, hoping you won’t trip in your heels. “Lock the door when you leave, Mara, alright?” you call out to your sister who is watching you smiling.

“Sure! Have fun!”

You wave at her one last time before walking out and shutting the door closed behind you.

This party is held every year at Pharma-Z, mostly this is the time when the brain meets the money. Investors and funders like to meet the people behind the million dollars researches from time to time and this is the occasion where both sides show up. Julian always asks you to be social and try to mingle, but the whole thing feels forced and painful for you. You’d rather just be left alone with your researches and projects without having to schmooze to the people who give you the money for your hard work.

It’s held at one of said investors’ luxurious penthouse, that doesn’t even look like someone’s home with the huge outdoors infinity pool, the spacious and modern interiors and the expensive looking decoration that was put up just for the occasion.

“Y/N! I’m so happy you are here!” Julian approaches you with a drink in his hands and you’re happy to see a familiar face in the crowd. You don’t really know others from work, only your little team you directly work with and of course, your boss, Julian.

“It’s not like I had a choice,” you chuckle giving him a short, friendly hug. Julian is far from a nightmare of a boss some people have to face at their job. He is an actually nice and very smart and intellectual person. The pharmaceutical industry can be harsh and dark, the competition between the businesses is way more intent than people think. This is why you need the protection. Some companies profit off of the fact that cancer has no cure yet. They make money from all the treatments that doesn’t even guarantee full recovery. A lot of big fish don’t want the cure, because that would make them lose a good chunk of their income and some of those would even go to the depth of hurting you for being so close to ruining their business with your invention. Pharma-Z is luckily a genuine company that wants to help sick people and that’s why you’re working there.

“You know how important it is for the company,” Julian sighs, but he understands how uncomfortable these events make you feel, though he can do nothing to help you. “Harry, nice to see you again,” he smiles at the man by your side.

“Julian, nice to see you too,” he nods, shaking hands with your boss.

“Mingle a little so people can see and meet you, alright?” Julian requests and you just nod silently before he moves on to the next group of people.

You get yourself a drink to ease your nerves a little as people start approaching you. Some of them you’ve met last year, but there are a lot of new faces. Your project has brought in quite a few new sponsors and investors and now they want to meet you and talk about the research their money is going into.

You try your best to keep a smile plastered across your face as you tell the people the same thing over and over again, receiving praise and compliments on your work before moving onto the next conversation just to start over again.

You can feel your social batteries running out, not sure you can put up with another conversation with a wealthy investor who wants you to know you have a job because they gave money for your project in hopes of you bringing more money to them.

Harry has stayed by your side the whole evening, and you didn’t notice but he kept examining you every few minutes to make sure you were holding up and he noticed how tired you’ve grown from socializing for so long.

“Y/N,” he softly calls out, his palm finding the small of your back. “Why don’t we get some fresh air?” he kindly offers and you immediately understand that he is trying to get you away from the guests and the overwhelming conversations you’ve been dealing with. Nodding you let him usher you outside, finding a spot where the two of you can be a little alone.

“I fucking… hate small talks and being nice to everyone,” you let out a long and heavy sigh, as you lean against the railing, paying just one short glance at the city’s bright lights under your feet. Harry chuckles shortly.

“I figured. You’ve been chewing your lips so hard I was afraid you’d start bleeding.”

Now that he has brought your attention to it, you realize you are doing it again, so you let go of your bottom lip from between your teeth and it brings out another chuckle from Harry.

“I’m just… not good with these… social stuff.”

“I disagree with that,” he hums, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh please, if you haven’t realized it, my number of zero friends is a tell, I think.”

“Come on, it’s not zero. You’re friends with Mara.”

“But family doesn’t count, she is kind of forced to be my friend,” you shrug, making him laugh.

“Okay, but I’m your friend too, aren’t I?” You furrow your eyebrows at him.

“You spend time with me because it’s your job.”

His eyes soften on you as he leans against the railing next to you, looking so effortlessly handsome and charming, you almost need to take a deep breath at the sight of him. And the cheeky smile on his pink lips is definitely not helping your case.

“I know you didn’t mean that. You’re a smart woman, Y/N.” Reaching out he tugs a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he inches closer a tiny bit. “I think we stepped over the line of just work.”

“So… you consider me your friend?” you ask shyly.

“If you have to ask maybe I’ve been doing something wrong,” he chuckles softly, making you smile too. Folding your arms a shiver runs down your spine from the cold evening breeze. “Are you cold?” Harry asks, but before you could even say a word, he shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders.

“Oh, thank you,” you breathe out shyly.

“Do you want another drink?”

“Yeah, I think I might need another one,” you chuckle and nodding he tells you to just stay there until he gets you a new one.

Turning towards the view, you enjoy the lonely moments for a little, not too keen on going back inside and keep up the façade of interest any longer. You’d rather just head home, maybe have another drink with Harry on your couch while you watch a rerun of whatever show is on TV and then fall asleep after a hot shower. You’ve been working way too much lately and it’s just now crashing down on you. Next week you definitely should cut back on your hours at the lab, the project is already going amazing, it won’t hurt if you actually had some rest before you lose your mind.

You hear footsteps approaching you and you think it’s Harry returning, but as you turn around you are faced with a stranger, a man who is staring down at you with bloodshot eyes and… a gun pointed at you.

Your breath hitches, your blood freezing in your veins at the sight and your legs almost give up underneath you.

“What… who are you?” Your voice comes out as a whisper, tears already flooding your eyes as you melt against the railing as if you had anywhere to go, but you have no chance against him.

One glance at the gun allows you to see that it has a silencer on, with the music coming from inside and no one around, if he shoots you, he’ll be able to get away before anyone realizes what happened.

The man doesn’t answer, just holds up the gun, aiming right at your chest and you close your eyes, thinking that this is it. This is how your life ends, in the middle of a posh party with no one around to help you. Your lips are trembling and hands are shaking as you hold onto the railing, waiting for the inevitable to come, keeping your eyes shut, not wanting to see your killer as the last thing you see before you go.

And then you hear the muffled gunshot, making you scream in fear, your knees turning into jelly, but the pain never comes. Instead, you hear grunting and growling as a body falls to the ground in front of you.

Your eyes snap open and you see Harry straddling the man, the gun lying near your attacker’s hand and he is trying to reach it, but before he could, you kick it away as Harry throws a punch at his face that stops him from trying too hard to free himself.

The next few moments are so busy and blurry at the same time. Your legs give up underneath you, making you fall to the ground, your whole body shaking in waves. In the meantime Harry gets the man into a position where he can be easily controlled and people start flooding out at the scene, helping Harry while security working at the party take the man, the police already on its way.

When Harry can finally step back from the attacker, his eyes fall on your figure and he rushes over to you, kneeling down next to your trembling body, cradling you into his arms upon seeing how shaken up you are.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s over, you’re alright,” he murmurs, holding you tight as your fists grab onto his shirt, your breathing is uneven, the oxygen barely makes its way into your lungs as you’re panting and gasping from the shock. “Come on, let’s get you inside, Y/N,” he gently tells you, helping you up from the floor even though your body feels like a pile of brick.

You can feel everyone staring at you, whispering behind your back as you try to hide in Harry’s arms while he walks you back inside, away from the man that tried to take your life. He walks you into one of the bathrooms and closing the lid he sits you down to the toilet while he grabs a towel and wetting it he kneels in front of you, tapping the cloth to your cheeks gently. You haven’t even realized that you’ve been sweating from the shock and the coldness feels amazing against your burning skin.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, but not even you are sure why.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Y/N,” he gently murmurs, giving your hand a squeeze as you shut your eyes closed. He grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and fills it with water handing it over to you.

“Thank you,” you mumble, bringing it to your trembling lips, but before you could drink it, your eyes snap up to meet his gaze. “And thank you for… what you did.” Your voice dies down at the end, the picture of the man pointing the gun at you still living so vividly in your mind.

“No need, it’s my job after all, right?” he chuckles softly, making your lips twitch the slightest bit before you start sipping on the water.

The police show up soon and they arrest the man who refuses to talk. They also request you to give your statement about what happened, but Harry manages to let you just give them the brief story and go in sometime soon to give them your full statement so you don’t have to spend any more time there. They are quite sure the man was hired by someone who doesn’t want you to finish your project, and it’s scary how far some people are willing to go just for the money, just to keep sick people in suffering for their own benefit.

Heading home you stay silent as Harry drives, staring out the window you let the nightlights of the city pass by you while you still see the same face, the face of the man that held a gun at you tonight. The gunshot is still ringing through your ears, it was so close, so real… of course it was real! All of it was real and your life was on the line. If it weren’t for Harry, you wouldn’t be here right now.

Arriving to your home Harry helps you out of the car and you cling onto his hand as you head up to the apartment. He keys the two of you into your home, flicking the lights on and looking around before you go further inside, just to be sure.

“It’s all clear, don’t worry,” he murmurs as you nod and make your way into the bedroom. Kicking your heels off your feet you sit on the edge of the bed, letting out a long breath, feeling your limbs loosening up a bit for the first time in the past hour.

Harry moves around the place doing whatever before he joins you in the room, kneeling in front of you his hands find your bare knees and your eyes meet his worry-filled green irises.

“Do you want to take a shower?” he softly asks and you nod your head. “Come on, I’ll start the water for you.”

He helps you up from the bed and walks you into the bathroom. You stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do as he starts running the water in the walk in shower before he steps back to you.

“Would you…?” you ask, turning around, needing help with the zipper of your dress. Harry clears his throat as his fingers work on it and a moment later the fabric loosens around your frame as you hold it to your chest with your arms. Turning back around you peek up at Harry and you notice the slight blush on his cheeks.

“I’ll be outside at the door, okay?” He whispers, his fingers delicately touching your cheek as you nod before you watch him walk out and close the door behind him.

The hot water feels freshening, like it could burn away the memories even though it’s still so vivid in your mind. You stand under the running water longer than you intended, but it feels nice and needed. Once you’re done, you wrap yourself into a fluffy towel and walk out of the steamy bathroom only to find Harry sitting at the edge of your bed, waiting like a loyal puppy. When he sees you, he stands from his spot and you don’t miss the way his eyes scan over your body that’s barely covered.

“Alright, I’ll go now, but if you—“ “Don’t!” you gasp, panic taking over you at the thought of being left alone. One of your hands grasps his arm to stop him from moving and he freezes in his spot, staring back at your fearful eyes. “Please, stay here,” you plead, voice barely over than just a whisper.

There’s a heartbeat of a pause in him as he is watching you intently and for a moment you think he’ll say no, but then his hand finds yours on his arm and he gives it a gentle squeeze as he nods.

“Okay.”

You let out a long, relieved breath as you ease into comfort. He’s staying, he’ll be with you all night, protecting you from everything and everyone.

“Can I take a shower too?” he asks softly and you nod, stepping to your wardrobe to get him a clean towel. “Thank you. I’ll be back shortly,” he tells you before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door closed behind him.

You hear the water running again and you find yourself standing at the same spot as you listen to the noises coming from the bathroom. Harry is in there, soaking under the water naked and you can’t take your mind off of how badly you want to be there with him.

It’s not just because of what happened tonight, though it made you realize that you don’t have much time to waste. Nothing can assure that you’ll live another day and you don’t want to deny happiness from yourself. You want to be with Harry and as far as you can make it out, he feels the same way.

Upon a sudden decision, you pad your way over to the bathroom door and open it carefully, the warmth immediately hitting your face as you step inside and close it behind you. The glass of the shower is steamed up, you can only make out the blurry frame of Harry in there and you wonder if he heard you come in, but it doesn’t seem like that. His clothes from the night are lying on the floor in a pile, his watch that he always wears is carefully placed next to the sink.

Your hands grab onto the edge of the towel around your body and you unwrap yourself, hanging it up on the wall before stepping to the shower. Hoping you won’t scare him, you open the door, the steam immediately hugging your naked body warmly and you see him standing there with his back facing you as you step into the spacious walk-in shower.

He notices your presence, you see him freeze mid-movement before he peeks over his shoulder, his eyes falling on you as he slowly turns, facing you completely. Standing in front of him completely bare, you feel more vulnerable than ever in your life. You’re scared that he is going to send you away, that he won’t let you get closer to him and if that happens, you’ll feel humiliated, but he just stands there in his naked glory and doesn’t say anything, so you take it as a chance to shoot your shot.

Reaching up your hands slide to his hard chest, up to the base of his neck as you push your front against his, skin to skin with the hot water running down your bodies. His hands find your waist and you could cry from the feeling of his touch on you. Pushing yourself up to your tiptoes your nose nudges against his as your eyes fall closed.

“Y/N,” he breathes out, stopping you right when your lips could meet. Opening your eyes you see the hesitation in his green irises that appear so much darker than they usually do.

“Do you not want it? You don’t want me?” you whisper.

“I do. It’s not that,” he sighs shaking his head slightly. “But you went through a lot today. I don’t want you to make decisions you might regret in the morning.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs on your lips at how considerate and protective he is over you, thinking that this might be just something that crashed over you in the heat of the moment, but it’s been in the making from the first day you met him. Despite all your protesting against him, you knew you needed him and not just as your guard. He is what’s been missing from your life all along, you just never realized it.

“There’s nothing I could regret when it comes to you, Harry. I needed tonight to open my eyes. Our days are counted, I’m done running from my own happiness.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath as his hands hold tighter onto your waist while your hands run up his neck until your fingers tangle into his wet locks.

“I need you. And not just because of tonight. I’ve always needed you.”

“I’m here, Y/N. I’m all yours,” he breathes out before his lips smash against yours all wet and hard, but it’s the most heavenly feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You become a mess, tangled in each other, lips melting together as your hands explore naked limbs and torsos, bodies pressing tightly against each other shamelessly. Harry walks you backwards until your back hits the cold tile and you let out a whimper as you arch your back at the sudden feeling, just as his head dips down, lips attacking your neck, kissing and nibbling on the soft skin. Your light leg lifts as his hands wander down your thigh, your hips pressing together and you feel how hard he is, his cock pushed against your other thigh, making you moan at the feeling. Reaching down you blindly wrap a hand around the base, giving him a few slow pumps, earning a guttural growl from him before his lips return to yours, kissing you hard and filled with passion. His hands are all over you, on your thighs, ass, back and chest, as if he was mapping your whole body wanting to remember how every inch feels under his touch.

Without tearing his lips away from yours, he blindly reaches behind him, shutting the water off before urging you to jump into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you out of the shower, placing you to the counter next to the sink as he stands between your legs, his hands once again finding your breasts as they knead them, making you whimper and shake under his touch. It’s euphoric and addictive, you already know you won’t be able to go a day without feeling him against you like this.

“Bed?” he breathes out against your mouth and you nod eagerly. Reaching to the side he grabs a towel, wrapping it around you, tapping and squeezing you to dry you off, throwing fits of giggles when you grab it and wrap it around his body as well.

The towel falls to the floor abandoned and forgotten as he lifts you off the counter and brings you to the bed, laying you down and holding himself up above you with one arm. His other hand cups your cheek and turning your head you kiss his palm gently, eyes glued to his as he settles between your legs.

“Are you sure about this?” he breathes out, his lips dancing against your cheek and the corner of your mouth.

“Yes! Harry, please!” you beg with a whimper, your whole body aching to feel him inside you.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, love,” he kisses you as his hand leaves your heated face, runs down your naked body until his fingers reach your throbbing clit.

He slides two digits through your already wet folds, but just to work you up even more he starts drawing circles on your bud, turning you into a whimpering mess underneath him. Your fingers dig into the lean muscles on his back, feeling them twitch from his movements and one hand sliding down to his ass, grabbing a handful of him while pushing him closer to you, his erection pressing against your core.

“Harry, I need you!” you moan, not able to contain yourself any longer. You need to feel him, you need him as close as possible.

Reaching over to your nightstand you grab a condom from the drawer, ripping the package open with your teeth before you carefully grab his erection and roll the condom down his length, ready to finally feel him inside you.

He flicks his fingers on your clit one last time before his hand wraps around the base of his cock, giving it a few pumps while his soft lips kiss down your jawline and throat, his face hiding in the crook of his neck. Your arms circle around his shoulders, your chest heaving from the sensation as he positions himself just right, the tip teasing your hole. Harry lifts his head up, his bright eyes finding your gaze just as he sinks into you, filling you up perfectly.

“H-Harry! Fuck—“ you gasp at the feeling, your walls stretching around his thick cock as he stays still for a few moments, letting you adjust to his size.

You draw your legs up, giving you more space to go deeper as he starts thrusting, sliding in and out of you oh so perfectly, inching you closer to your relief with each movement. You cup his face in your hands, staring into his eyes as if you could see his soul in them and for a split second, you feel like you actually do. His lips are parted and the cross pendant is grazing your chest while he fucks into you, never falling out of his rhythm.

You want to beg to him not to stop, to keep moving and moving, but no words can leave your mouth as your back arches, your orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. You start grinding your hips in sync with his, allowing him to reach deeper into you, making your toes curl from pleasure.

“Harry, I’m gonna—I-I’m gonna—Ah!” You can’t make up one coherent sentence as your legs start shaking, feeling your orgasm taking over your body.

“I know, baby. Let it go. Let me make you feel good,” he pants, his lips kissing you everywhere he can reach, your lips smashing against each other in a messy kiss, your tongue meeting his in the middle just when you reach your high.

You moan and cry out his name, fingers digging into his flesh as you chase your release. Seeing you fall apart underneath him is enough to throw him over the edge, spilling himself into the condom as his mouth hangs agape, your name falling off his tongue as if it was the holiest glorification. Combing your fingers through his hair you hold him to your chest as he collapses on top of you, his head lying on your naked chest as you both try to catch your breath in the sudden silence that came over you without the sounds of your passion.

Rolling off of your body he slips out of you, an empty feeling taking over you right away, but he is quick to cradle you into his arms to keep the intimacy. You lay your head to his chest, a thin layer of sweat covering the both of you, but you couldn’t care less. You listen to his steady heartbeat as you draw one of the swallows on his chest with your finger, running it over the lines of the ink. You want to soak in the moment and stay in it for as long as possible, but you can barely keep your eyes open. As Harry’s fingers are gently running up and down your bare back you let your eyes close and the last thing you remember is hearing his soft whisper.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll keep you safe.”

You wake up without an alarm in the morning and it’s the first time for that in a long-long time. You stir and groan before you open your eyes, your hands reaching out next to you, looking for the man that was next to you when you fell asleep, but there’s nothing and no one beside you now.

Panic rises in your chest as your eyes pop open and you frantically look around in the room, hoping to see him somewhere near, but you’re alone.

“Harry?” you call you as you sit up, holding the sheets to your chest since you’re still naked. No answer comes and you can feel your heart rate rising instantly.

Getting out of bed you grab the nearest clothing item you find which is an old hoodie, and you put on a pair of clean panties before you carefully walk out of the bedroom, afraid of what you might find outside, but it’s completely silent and still, no one is around. Harry has left.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling the lump in your throat growing as tears are forming in your eyes.

Where did he go? Why did he leave? Is he coming back? Is he gone forever?

You can’t stop yourself from going into depth you shouldn’t, just because you don’t find him first thing in the morning, but you still haven’t entirely recovered from last night’s events and before you could stop yourself, you are thinking about the worst possibilities there could be.

And then you hear the lock turning in the front door.

Blood rushes out of your head as you freeze, afraid it’s another attacker and this time you won’t be as lucky as you were last night. But as the door opens Harry walks in with a paper bag in his arm and you can’t help, but start sobbing at the sight of him.

“Harry!” you cry out, launching at him and he barely have time to put the bag down before he catches you, locking you in his strong arms.

“Hey! No need to worry, it’s just me!” he soothes softly, his hands running up and down your back and head. “I’m sorry I scared you, just wanted to get you something to eat, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as you try your best to hold back your sobs.

“I just woke up alone and I thought…”

“I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have left while you were sleeping. But I’m back and I’m alright.”

You just nod, hugging him a little longer before you loosen your hold around him to lean back and look him in the eyes.

“So… you’re staying? With me?”

“If you want me to, yes,” he nods with a soft smile as he cups your tear-soaked face in his hands. “I’ll keep you safe and sound and I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

“Just be yourself and… be with me,” you shyly ask him and he nods, his smile growing into a wide grin before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet, intoxicating kiss.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #bodyguard!harry

[chudleycanonficfest]

Four Little Sips

Day 28, Post #2

Title: Four Little Sips

Author: JohnMcHacker

Pairings: Harry/Bill/Charlie (platonic), Harry/Ginny (romantic), Gryffindor Quidditch Team (platonic), Fred/George/Ron (platonic), Ron/Hermione (romantic)

Prompt: In Vino Veritas

Rating: PG

Trigger Warnings: Alcoholism, Referenced death, Language

Note to admin: Thanks for organising, this is my first time submitting, sorry if I'm late or if it doesn't meet requirements. I have also posted to the AO3 collection.

* * *

You see, Harry had never really had anyone just a few years older to look up to. Alright, there was Hermione, but they were classmates and best friends and at roughly the same place in life, it wasn’t the same.

That summer of 1998, in the wake of all that pain and death and sorrow, the Weasleys pulled together and pulled him in with them. On a few occasions, this meant having a few drinks with Bill and Charlie, in various nondescript Muggle pubs in the vicinity of Ottery St Catchpole.

“Just because Kingsley cut you some slack doesn’t mean you have to take the offer,” said Charlie. “You’ve spent your whole life fighting Voldemort, one way or anoher. You deserve to take a break. Live a little. Or else, what have you been fighting for?”

Harry thought of several memorable sunlit days, and found he couldn’t really disagree.

“Or at the very least, know why you’re putting your life on the line, once again,” said Bill. “Well, alright, you were the Chosen One, you had your job to do then. But now that that’s over, you ought to think twice why you’re risking your neck on your own account.”

“Well, I think I’d be good at it,” said Harry. “And someone has to do it. The Aurors are short-handed and too many of Voldemort’s thugs are still out there.”

Bill shook his head, munching a handful of chips. “That’s not good enough. Merlin knows I’d love a crack at the bastards myself. But your neck’s not just your own now, Harry. Ginny has a say too. That’s part of what being together means.”

“Muggle birds ain’t bad,” said Charlie, nodding at a trio of pretty college-age girls gathered round a table across the pub. They caught him watching, giggled, and winked in reply. “Don’t limit yourself to witches. But if you do, don’t mess ‘em around, play fair, and come clean as soon as you can.”

“The most important part of my relationship with Fleur is trust,” said Bill. “We don’t have secrets, and she trusts that I won’t suddenly run off hunting Death Eaters or dragons or Hor... whatever. And I trust her not to do the same.”

“Family’s what it comes down to,” said Charlie, draining his glass.

“Family,” nodded Bill. “Your first responsibility.”

“My shout,” said Harry, because that was something else they had taught him was right, to stand his round, and he went to the bar to get the drinks. When he returned, they had moved on to other important matters.

“Free advice, Potter, take it or leave it,” said Charlie, tapping the side of his nose, “women; you’ll never go wrong if you please ‘em first, know what I mean?”

“Oi! That’s our sister you’re talking about!” snapped Bill, trying not to laugh.

“So what? She’s got fi... four of you looking out for her. Maybe I just want to see fair play.” Charlie winked at Harry. “Let me tell you about what I call ‘wandless magic’, and trust me, it is magic.”

“That’s it, you’re done, Perce is my new number two, it’s you that Mum and Dad should disown...”

“There’s more where that came from, Harry. You want to know how to beat Ron at chess? He can’t play gambits worth a damn. Stick with me, I’ll show you something called a Smith-Morra, aye?”

Advice, experience, honour, laughter. Maybe this was what it was like to have older brothers, thought Harry. It filled a hole in him he never even knew he had.

* * *

Oliver would never have allowed it, but Angelina Johnson was a more fun-loving kind of Quidditch Captain. She passed the word around quietly, and so the five Gryffindor players above the age of sixteen met in the changing rooms fifteen minutes before Potter and the younger Weasley were due to arrive. Of course it was the Twins who’d acquired the goods, however they managed it. Fred produced the bottle of Ogden’s from somewhere under his robes with a flourish, and George grinned toothily as he conjured shot glasses from thin air.

“Alright, I know it was my idea, but just the one, got it?” warned Angelina, pouring the drinks herself.

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Fred. George sketched a sloppy salute her way.

Katie Bell was practically trembling with excitement and nerves. “Oooh, this’ll be my first drink ever,” she said, holding up the glass of amber liquid to catch the light. “Are you sure we won’t get caught?” she asked, looking around as if expecting McGonagall to burst out of a locker at any time.

“Course we can’t be sure,” said Alicia Spinnet. “That’s part of the fun!”

Angelina looked round at each of them, and shouted “For the Cup!”

“FOR THE CUP!” they chorused, and knocked back the Firewhiskey.

Two years later, the three Chasers were standing at the bar of the Hog’s Head, but they had Oliver back now, and Angelina knew somehow that that was important, they were going to go to Hogwarts and find Fred and George and Harry and reunite the whole Team, and it meant she had to do this. She leaned over the counter, rummaged through the grimy bottles and found what she was looking for.

“You’re mad!” said Oliver incredulously.

“Probably,” said Alicia cheerfully, “but we did this every match and still won the Cup, didn’t we? Sixth-years and above only, of course, we had standards,” she said, catching Oliver’s outraged look.

“Don’t tell me you’re going into a real battle and don’t want a drink, Oliver,” said Angelina calmly as she poured, and that was that.

Alicia and Katie and Oliver looked at her expectantly. Angelina searched for the words, and found there was really only one thing suited to the occasion. “Fuck Voldemort.”

“FUCK VOLDEMORT!”

And they did.

But oh God, the price they paid.

  * * *

The Leaky was too well-known so they usually frequented a tiny hole-in-the-wall further down the street. The clientele was younger and the enchanted jukebox played muggle hits as well as the Weird Sisters, Mega Maggots, and the Bent Banshees, and that was perfect for the Twins. Perhaps half the entire current range of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes had first been dreamed up in this pub.

“Alright, alright, what about this, George? Prank greeting cards.”

“You’re crazy, Fred.”

“Cards that won’t stop singing. Howler cards. Exploding confetti cards. Exploding firework cards!”

George finished his beer and signalled to the barman for another. The barman hesitated, then poured as George slapped a handful of Sickles on the counter. “Confetti yes, fireworks, I dunno,” said George. “Cheers, Fred.”

“It’s brilliant I tell you. Mud in your eye,” said his twin brother, and they drank. Then, quietly, Fred asked: “How’s the family?”

“Same old. They’re doing well. You should see the sprogs, it’s a hoot,” snickered George. “Ron and Gin and Harry and good ol’ Hermione, sneaking around trying not to get caught shagging like rabbits. God, the sights I’ve walked in on...”

Fred chortled along with George, and he finished the pint. The bell over the door jingled and new customers came in, but the twins barely glanced that way.

“Speaking of which. About her... you should do something about it, George,” said Fred kindly. “I see all the signs and I know you do too. She’s waiting on you. Go be a gentleman, Georgey-boy, go on.”

George sighed. “Not you too. Look, I get enough of this crap from Bill and Charlie, alright?”

“You two need each other. Besides, it’s too quiet around the flat.”

All at once, George’s face crumpled. “You don’t get to say that. Not you. Not you! YOU don’t say that!”

Fred said nothing, he only smiled, and walked away. George turned his head quickly to follow him, but as always, Fred slid out the corner of his eye and was g...

And then it was another Weasley brother standing in front of him.

This time, it was Ron they’d sent. Good old Ron, lanky and solid and biting his lip in sympathy as he came to find his older brother sitting alone at the bar hunched over a half-empty glass. On the counter beside him was one untouched full pint, the frothy head long since evaporated.

“Come on, George,” said Ron gently. “There, I’ve got you. Let’s get you home.”

* * *

She was a girl made of facts and reason.

That was just the way she was wired.

“Dutch courage,” she said to herself, eyeing the glass of probably cheap plonk as if it was poison. Which technically it was.

“What’s that?” asked Ginny.

“Dutch courage,” she repeated. “It’s a muggle term, meaning the confidence gained from drinking alcohol, according to the Cambridge English Dictionary. Although,” she amended, “it’s derogatory to Dutch people and we probably shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I meet anyone from Orange Tulip Land,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes. “You certainly don’t need that sort of thing, Hermione, you’re one of the bravest people I know!”

Probably just hyperbole, thought Hermione, as that would be quite something, given that Ginny hung around with Aurors and Quidditch players and her boyfriend Harry Potter, or ‘His Excellency Most Spiffing Chosen Boy Who Lived To Kick Voldemort’s Arse’ as George called him. She picked up the glass, sipped it carefully, decided she quite liked the taste of Chateau Diagon Alley or whatever this was, and had a bigger swig.

Here’s a fun fact: it takes 6 minutes for the brain to react to alcohol.

Six minutes later, she didn’t think she felt any different. Warmer perhaps, but the New Year party was in full swing and Hermione thought maybe it was just the ambient temperature rising from all the people circulating, moving, dancing, talking, laughing.

Fun fact: drinking is ‘fun’ because alcohol lessens tension, eases social interaction, and reduces inhibitions.

Hermione sat in her corner and nursed her glass and knew she wasn’t really a social drinker, or any kind of drinker, or even at all ‘sociable’ to begin with. She envied how effortlessly Ginny and Bill and Parvati and everyone else were visibly enjoying themselves; Hermione would honestly prefer a nice book, a pot of peppermint tea, and perhaps with the company of...

Breathless from joking with Aurors and Obliviators and Patrolwizards and friends, Ron flung himself down beside her and threw an arm around her, and Hermione’s stomach fluttered pleasantly. “Alright there, Hermione?” He followed her gaze towards the wineglass. “Not poisoned, is it? Cause that’s no fun, believe me.”

Fact: I want to say I...

“That’s not funny, Ron, you could’ve died,” chided Hermione, although she couldn’t help giggling. “No, I just... it’s Dutch courage.”

“What’s that?” Hermione told him about English soldiers and gin and bravery, and the way he looked at her as he listened made her feel warm all over. “Nice. You know everything, Hermione,” Ron said admiringly.

“Not everything,” said Hermione wistfully. “I don’t know how to have fun at parties. Well, maybe that’s one more thing I do know now,” she joked lamely.

Fact: I...

Ron laughed at her probably atrocious attempt at humour, and said “Rubbish party anyway. Too many plonkers just wanting to be seen with heroes like Harry and Neville” (characteristically, Ron excluded himself from that category, Hermione observed) “and they’re only here because Kingsley said they absolutely had to be. I’d much rather have a quiet night in at home with you, Crookshanks, a nice fire, maybe a...”

No, I don’t know everything, thought Hermione. But I know this fact. “I love you, Ron Weasley.” And she grabbed him and snogged the hell out of him, ignoring the catcalls and cheers that rose all around.

Was it really the Dutch stuff, or was it all her own self, after all?

To be continued...

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest platonic #canon fest romantic #submission #tw: alcoholism #tw: referenced death #tw: language

[haikyuuhopes]

Lose The Paperwork - Sugawara X Reader

Author’s Note: As a warning, some people might consider this workplace angst (?) with a fluffy ending. If I've miscategorized, please let me know. I may continue this idea of a coworker turned lover because our favorite animated teacher needs love.

"You know, if you glare at him any harder, the room will freeze," your friend and coworker pushed your shoulder harshly to stop you from glaring at Sugawara.

Huffing in frustration,  Y/N tried to listen to her advice and focus on the last faculty meeting at hand, but that too perfect gray-haired goblin wouldn't leave your mind. 

Mr. Refreshing was the utter bane of your professional existence. 

"L/N, your third graders have had excellent scores on all tests. You should be very proud of yourself having done so well in your first year," my boss affirmed Y/N with a small smile as he sat at his desk with his hands clasped. 

"Thank you, Principal Yamashita. It's an honor to be recognized," you replied, flustered with a bow. "I was won..." You were cut off by the principal's secretary opening the door with a small apology. 

"Sugawara-sensei is ready to meet you, Principal Yamashita," she interjected, with a slight bow. 

With a gigantic smile that you'd never before seen on his face in a year you'd worked for him, Principal Yamashita stood from the desk and quickly greeted a stunning young man with gray hair and bright, intelligent eyes who looked bashfully between Principal Yamashita and yourself. The young man's poise was entrancing as his features, including what appeared to be a beauty mark, made him glow like a cover model. 

"I'm sorry to intrude on your conversation, but I was told you wished to see me," the stranger replied almost bashfully. 

Principal Yamashita returned to his desk with a booming laugh and turned his gaze to this Sugawara and yourself. 

"Right, L/N, this is Sugawara Koushi, our new hire for the school year. I had him come as he'll be a new third-grade teacher."

"Welcome, Sugawara," I smiled brightly, happier by the moment to have a dashing teammate who returned my smile with more brightness. "We're lucky to have you on the team."

Sugawara smiled and was about to speak before being cut off by Principal Yamashita.

"Sugawara will be replacing you on the third-grade team. You'll be moving to fourth grade. You did well. Please share your materials with him as this is his first year, and we want to ensure his success," my principal interjected casually as if he didn't shatter your heart into a million tiny pieces. 

You had spent countless nights planning units precisely for every subject. Contrary to popular belief, you were not a naturally gifted student that many people expected teachers to be. Instead, you tirelessly spent hours modifying the schools' curriculum to meet the needs of class 1. You were ecstatic to be teaching students, like you, who had fallen behind early on in their educational paths in hopes to help them catch up. In fact, helping kids who struggled like you did was the whole reason you became an educator in the first place.  

You would have to start at square one...

Forcing a smile that was more of a grimace, you nodded at the man but couldn't look at him for fear that you may burst into tears. The term was starting again in less than three weeks, and you would have to start all over again. It wasn't his fault though...

"Excellent - I will send him to you once we're finished. You will be teaching class 5, an honor, so be sure to check in with your team leader," Principal Yamashita stated, turning his attention back to Sugawara; his smile brightened, "You can leave us now, L/N, I need to catch up with my former student. It's been a long time since I taught you at Nagamushi."

You felt your blood run cold at the blatant favoritism but managed a small bow before stiffly leaving the office in a fury, refusing to take a look at the man who took your position. 

Another sharp nudge, but this time to your gut, broke your reverie as you hadn't realized you had stared at the man in question, who in turn beamed at you with a large smile and timid wave. 

With a firm nod to acknowledge him not wanting to be rude or friendly, you turned back to the principal, who concluded his end of the year meeting with a firm nod and dismissed you all for a short vacation. 

You should have been relieved, but instead, not just the year but the decision you were making weighed heavily on your heart. On your desk was a transfer form to teach at another elementary school within the Miyagi prefecture. 

You were considering leaving for a new job. 

You were doing your best, and kids and their caregivers were kindly responding to the lessons and community you'd built in your classroom, which should have filled you with pride.

You let out a deep sigh.

"That's an awfully deep sigh, L/N. Is there anything I can do to help you," a soft but distinctly masculine voice came over your shoulder, freezing you in your seat. Of course, it'd be him. You turned at your desk to see the beautiful man wrapped in a scarf smiling down at you gently, eyes furrowed with concern.

You breathed out an icy, "No, thank you, Sugawara." You moved to put the form in your bag to pack up and consider it at home, but you were stopped by a gentle and warm hand on your shoulder. 

Looking up at Sugawara, he looked visibly distraught, "You can't leave, L/N."

Staring at his hand until he removed it, you sighed again before continuing to pack your belongings and moving to stand in front of him. 

"I didn't mean to see over your shoulder, L/N, but you can't transfer to another school," Sugawara continued, raising his voice a little with an unexpected passion that would have surprised your coworkers if they hadn't ran out the door as soon as they could. 

'Why should he care?' Y/N internally mused, 'we've had less than three conversations all year - I'd personally seen to it.'

Schooling your features and trying to remain neutral, you nodded curtly, "Thank you for your opinion, Sugawara. I hadn't realized you'd care one way or the other."

Sugawara flushed as you moved to walk away from him but quickly followed you to the door of the teachers' offices before going around you and holding his hand on the doorknob. 

Preparing to ask him to move in as polite a way as you could muster, though your patience was more fragile than ice in Spring, your train of thought was cut off by his surprising words. 

"Just a moment, L/N," he paused, staring at you intently with a flush on his face. "I've been trying to get to know you all year, so of course I'd care. Please have some tea with me. I want to know your reasons for leaving, please."

You may have looked like a fish gaping at Sugawara, who'd removed his hand from the door and stared down at you earnestly awaiting a  response. 

"You what?" you questioned, losing the cool and professional attitude you'd taken to speaking to him in all year, making him grin slightly.

"Please have tea with me," he replied warmly, a slight flush on his cheeks.

For some odd reason, you blinked twice before nodding in agreement and earning a radiant smile that nearly melted the frosty misgivings you'd had for him. 

Perhaps the frost wasn't completely melted, as you and Sugawara were currently in the tea shop's most awkward stare down, daring the other to speak first now that you both held cups in your respected hands. 

With your mind reeling at why the man who you'd pointedly never spoken to was taking the time to sit down with you, someone he's barely acquainted with, you were too confused to remain aloof. 

Perhaps sensing the atmosphere had still changed and wanting to seize the moment while it'd last, Sugawara broke through your thoughts, "L/N, you're an incredible teacher and person. I am in awe of the dedication you put into teaching your students. The plans you shared with me have helped me reach so many more students than I thought possible." He paused before licking his lips and continuing, "It's almost as if you've never let me close enough until now to thank you, but I truly am indebted to you. I feel the successes of my students would not have been possible without you and the blueprint you set out."

Shocked, you didn't know what to say, but he continued, "When I toured our school with Principal Yamashita, your classroom was the one that made me want to work here. I'd never seen someone so captivating," he paused, flushing slightly, "to children - of course - to children. Especially in a remedial class. Kids hung on your every word. I was captivated and told Principal Yamashita on the spot that I needed to teach here. I thought I'd be partnering with you, especially after you smiled so brightly at me in his office. I had no idea you'd be moving to another grade."

Finally moving his gaze to direct it towards the steaming tea in his cup, his voice lowered, "I think Principal Yamashita thought I was charmed by third grade instead of you." Pausing to take a sip of tea, it was as if he stared into your soul directly, "You're an amazing teacher and colleague. I'd be sad to see the reason I came to this school leave."

A wave of deep shame rocked through you; Sugawara was not the entitled person who stole your job but rather was someone doing their best for the kids you cared about the most. His kind and flustering words were almost too much to bear, making you bow slightly with the weight of guilt before apologizing for your petulant jealousy and underserved resentment of the sweet man before you. As if talking to a counselor, your confession was quickly heard and graciously forgiven. 

With the tea gone and the shadows growing longer from the change in hour, a silence fell over you both again, but this time, and the first time since your initial meeting, you both were entirely comfortable in each other's company. 

"I don't know what to say, Sugawara," you mumbled, almost in tears at the gentle smile and forgiveness directed towards you. 

"Say you'll lose your transfer paperwork," Sugawara suddenly grinned cheekily before leaning in closer, "and say you'll let me treat you again this weekend, but to dinner next time."

Who were you to decline?

#sugawara x y/n #sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara fanfiction #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #sfw #my fics

[forgedroyalseal]

3 times Will panicked and 1 time he didn’t (part 1)

Happy FanFiction Friday (or Saturday depending on where you are)

I know that I said that FanFiction Friday would always be one shots but tbh I ran out of time to finish this because I’m a terrible person. So part 2 will be posted for next weeks FanFiction Friday.

“Something is going on with Alyss!” Will said in lieu of a greeting when Halt opened his door.

Halt ushered Will in to his home and sat at the table. “What makes you says that?” Halt asks as he pours Will a mug of freshly brewed coffee.

“She has been sick for over a week. Every morning she throws up and she won’t let me bring her to the physician. She just brushes me off saying that it’s just a bug, she said something about a courier that she works with being sick, but I asked around and no one that she works with has felt so much as nauseous in the past few weeks. And she’s been sending letters back and forth to Evelyn. Whenever I ask her about them she just says it’s “personal”. We are married Halt! What could she possibly be saying that she doesn’t want me to know! And another thing-“

“Whoa, slow down Will. Take a breath.” Halt interrupts Will’s panicked rambling. He knows that Will would talk himself into the ground if Halt let him.

“Now, let’s take this one thing at a time,” Halt began, “Alyss is a responsible young woman, so if she thought something was truly wrong, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that she wouldn’t seek out help from a physician. Are you sure that she hasn’t seen one?”

“Well, I suppose she could have at some point, but why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“Perhaps it’s nothing and she didn’t feel like she needed too. Or perhaps it wasn’t something she was ready to share. There is no point in pondering over something we can’t know. And in regards to the letters, I am sure that two women as independent as Alyss and Cassandra have plenty to discuss that you don’t need to be privy to.”

“I guess.” Will mumbled into his mug.

“The best thing to do is to just let Alyss come to you. Give her some time and space and, if it’s anything of importance, she will tell you when she is ready.”

“You are right Halt. I should trust her enough to not keep anything from me that I should know about.”

“Exactly. Now, I didn’t just ask you here for coffee and a chat. Crowley sent over some documents for us to look over.”

Will couldn’t wait to see Alyss. When Crowley first gave him the assignment, he was anxious about leaving Alyss. Will was following Halt’s advice, giving her space, not pressuring her to tell him what’s wrong, but leaving Redmont for two weeks seemed reckless. If something was wrong then he should be here. When he voiced these concerns to Alyss however, she practically pushed him out the door.

“You can’t hover around me every time I’m a little under the weather. Go do your job and come back in one piece!”

So he did. And was able to carry out the assignment in ten days rather than the expected fourteen. Despite the urge to run into the cabin to check up on Alyss, Will made sure to take care of Tug. He rubbed the little horse down and gave him an extra apple.

“I know that was a long run. Thanks for getting me here so quickly old friend.” He said softly.

In response, Tug shook his mane and grunted, Go check on your wife and let me eat my apple in peace.

Will took his horse’s advice and went up to the cabin. Before he could open the door however, Alyss opened it for him.

“Will! Your home early!” Alyss through her arms around her husband and held him tightly.

“It’s good to be back.” He smiled.

“I have something I need to talk about with you. And I don’t want you to panic.” She stepped back from him and took a seat on the top step.

Will sat next to her, his heart in his throat. In his experience, anytime someone says “don’t panic” it is almost always followed by a reason to panic.

“Alright, I’m ready.”

Alyss smiled and took his hands in hers. “I’m sure that you’ve noticed that I haven’t exactly been myself recently.”

“I have, as a matter of fact.”

“There reason is,” she took a deep breath, “well, it’s because I’m pregnant.”

Will’s heart stopped beating. He’s sure of it. Honestly he’s shocked that it was ever able to start again. Pregnant. How could she be- well obviously he knew how, he just never truly expected this. They’d been married for over two years. At this point they just assumed that wasn’t a path they’d be able to travel. Until now. Now they apparently have made a sharp turn onto that path.

“Will? Are you alright?” Alyss was staring intently at him and Will realized that he had been silent for too long.

“Yes, no, I don’t know. Are you sure?” He ran his hands through his hair.

“Yes. I saw a physician when I first suspected, and Cassandra has been telling me about how she knew. Apparently I’m almost three months along.”

Three months. That meant that in only six they’d have a child.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?” He asked quietly.

Alyss cupped a hand against his cheek, “I wanted to be sure. And then you got an assignment and I didn’t want you to be distracted. Are you sure you are okay? You are a white as a sheet.”

“I- I don’t-I can’t be father.” Will stuttered out.

“What do you mean? Will you are going to be a wonderful father.”

“No, I won’t be. I don’t know how to be. I never had one growing up. What if I’m terrible at it? What if I ruin this innocent child?”

“Will, you won’t be terrible. You won’t ruin this baby. I have known you for practically my whole life and there is not a doubt in my heart that you will be anything but an amazing father.”

“But-“

Alyss cut him off, “I never really knew my mother, does that mean you think I can’t be a good mother?”

“Of course I don’t think that! You are going to be the perfect mother. But it’s different with mothers, you’re more bonded.”

“Fine, what about Horace then? It he destined to be a terrible father to his little girl?”

“Horace is a great father. But it’s different for me.”

“No Will, it isn’t. You are kind and patient and generous and loyal. You work so hard to protect this kingdom and the people you love. Those are all pretty great qualities to have in a father if you ask me.”

When Will didn’t respond, Alyss said “And anyway, I don’t think it’s fair to say that you haven’t seen an excellent father in action.”

Will’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Alyss sighed, sometimes Will can be so thick. “Halt. I’m talking about Halt. He’s been a father to you since you were fifteen. And he did a decent job of you ask me.” She grins and bumps her shoulder to his.

Will thought about it for a moment. Halt has been like a father to him. “Maybe you are right...”

“Of course I’m right, I’m your wife. We have plenty of time to prepare for this baby Will. And when it arrives, we are going to be awesome parents.”

Will laughs. “Yeah, I think we will be.”

#ranger's apprentice #rangers apprentice #will treaty #halt o'carrick #alyss mainwaring #fanfiction friday #please write more ra fanfiction #ranger’s apprentice fanfiction

[artificialqueens]

Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 6/10 (Taywhora) - Juno

Chapter summary: For alternative ingredients week, the bakers are challenged by a vegan signature, a gluten-free technical, and a dairy-free showstopper which will threaten to derail them. Meanwhile, Aurora is confused by Tayce’s seemingly opposing actions. Bimini’s motives are a mystery to everyone in the tent. And Lawrence’s strange avoidance of Ellie may send her to breaking point.

WEEK 6: ALTERNATIVE INGREDIENTS WEEK

All of Aurora’s side had moved up one space following Asttina’s unexpected elimination last week. Now Lawrence was at the front of their row, with Ellie behind her and Aurora behind Ellie. On the other side there was Bimini at the front, followed by Tia, then Veronica, and Tayce at the back, still on her own as Aurora’s side dwindled each week.

It was the halfway point in the series, and Aurora wasn’t nervous any more.

Screw that. I’m Star Baker. None of them had better mess with me.

Five more episodes to go, and only four more eliminations. It almost felt like the home stretch.

Aurora was a little taller this week, letting her gaze drift around the much-emptier tent, wondering who the three finalists would be.

Me and Tayce for definite. But who else?

Bimini and Ellie had a badge each, while Tia, Veronica and Lawrence were yet to win one. But Asttina had won the first week and gone home.

Besides, they all had strengths and weaknesses. Ellie couldn’t get consistent in Technicals, but always made up for it with her Showstoppers, a seemingly boundless imagination in that head. And Bimini had been fair, not bad but not great; but they’d won Bread Week. Anyone who watched more than one season of this show knew that winning bread week was basically a Willy Wonka golden ticket to the finale.

Then again, Veronica was a great baker, and she had yet to have a disastrous round, even though she hadn’t exactly done anything groundbreaking either. And Lawrence was consistently in the top half of the pack, and Aurora thought she could have won Bread Week too - if Bimini hadn’t pipped her to the post.

That just left Tia. Tia, who could bake an amazing, light-as-air cake; whose rainbow-iced biscuits were just the right ginger flavour; and whose bread was delicious - but whose bakes always looked like she’d sat on them before presenting them. Great taste, but appalling presentation.

If she starts nailing the looks of her bakes, she’s gonna win a badge.

Still, badges didn’t guarantee you a place in the final. Asttina had already gone home; someone else with a badge might do the same this week.

What if it’s the Star Baker curse? Coming back to take us badge-winners out one by one? Maybe it will be badge-less finale?

But Aurora pushed that thought away.

There isn’t a Star Baker curse. That was just some previous seasons. You don’t win Star Baker and get eliminated the next week any more.

Bimini was grinning from ear to ear, and Aurora realised why - it was alternative ingredients week, and there was definitely something vegan in the pipeline for Bimini to excel at.

——

Signature: 6 vegan mini quiches.

“Prue and Paul would like you to make six vegan mini-quiches this week. Now, these are not quiches made out of vegans, but quiches made with no animal products at all - no dairy or eggs.”

“And of course the filling must also be vegan - so no meat or cheese for the flavourings.”

Aurora grimaced. Here we go.

This was the week Aurora had been dreading. She’d tried to make vegan cakes and gluten-free treats for her work with the shelter, but they’d almost always failed. She’d sworn off making anything for her best friend Blake, who was celiac, telling him to go find a professional baker.

“But that’s you!” He’d protested, nudging her as she declined to make him a birthday cake last month.

She’d sighed. “I’m not that good, mate. I don’t really want to kill you.”

He’d tilted his head. “Bit rich to think you could get rid of me that easily. If you kill me with a bake, I’ll just come haunt you. Rattle some chains at you like I’m fucking - Marley or whatever his name is.”

Aurora sighed at the memory. Trust Bookworm Blake to bring up a Dickens reference.

Once Matt and Noel had announced that it was time to start baking, Aurora grabbed the ingredients she needed and ran her pencil back down her recipe again. The dough for the pastry cases was straightforward enough - she had to replace the milk, but there were plenty of replacements, and Aurora had opted for oat milk, which she’d read was best for vegan baking.

The real challenge, and she thought everyone was thinking the same thing, came to the filling. She had her pastry cases ready to go in no time, but making the filling eggy but also egg-less would be the biggest issue.

God. What do vegans do about eggs?

“You alright, babes?”

Aurora met Bimini’s hazel eyes as they stood, leaning on their elbows at Aurora’s workbench.

“What - what are you wearing this week?” Aurora said finally. Bimini’s outfit this week was a red and silver jumpsuit under the plain beige apron, causing an absurd clash of colours. “You look like a can of Coke.”

“Oh, this old thing? I found it in the back of my wardrobe earlier this week. Nah,” Bimini waved their hand, “it’s a replica of an outfit Noel wore when he was in The Mighty Boosh. You know, that comedy show he did? You never seen it?”

“And he wore that?” Aurora nodded. “Okay. Well, I guess it looks as if it will repel food if you spill it on yourself.”

“You alright, anyway?” Bimini switched straight back to concern, a concern that Aurora was unsure was real.

We’re at mid-point. Is this some kind of game plan that Bim has?

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because baking something vegan is normally weird enough for people when they don’t have any vegans in their lives, but like, when it has to be egg-less, people tend to lose their minds a bit.”

“Well -“

Aurora faltered for a second too long; and that was enough of a cue for Bimini to round the corner of the workbench and sift through Aurora’s ingredients.

“Hang on. What are you replacing the egg with?”

“Uhm,” Aurora held it up. “Silken tofu. I thought I’d blend it and use that for the filling.”

Bimini gave a low whistle, nodding and evidently impressed. “Good choice! You just have to make sure you blend it so there’s no lumps. Whizz it up really fast. Give it a splash of oat milk too, you don’t want lumpy quiches. Oh, and if you have nutritional yeast, it will give it a really good flavour.”

Before Aurora could say another word, Bimini had skipped away to Veronica on the other side of the room. “You alright, babes?” She heard them say to her.

“What’s Bim doing?” Aurora asked Ellie as they went to the tea tent together.

Ellie shrugged. “Don’t know. They came over to me earlier and gave me some tips on the egg mixture.”

“They did the same thing to me! Did it help you at all? Are they - d’you think they’re playing the game?”

“Weird game to play,” Ellie shook her head. “And my egg mixture seems to be alright. What I’m wondering is when are they gonna make their own quiches? They’ve spent twenty minutes coming and looking at all ours instead.”

But when Ellie and Aurora went back to the tent, Bimini had put their pastry cases in the oven and was doing some sort of rap and dance with Noel, the cameras trained on them both.

This day is just getting strange.

While her own pastry cases were baking, Aurora watched the judges approach Tayce, who was a little behind the rest of them, still moulding her pastries into the cases and preparing the beads at the bottom of them to keep their shape whilst baking.

“Morning Tayce!”

Tayce blinked, for a second in a dream, before putting on her winning smile. “Bore da, judges! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Tell us a bit about your bakes.”

“Well,” Tayce leant over the workbench, surveying them through her eyebrows. “I’m making some mini quiches flavoured with onions, tomato, and broccoli.”

“What’s inspired that then?”

Aurora’s heart stopped beating for a moment as Tayce paused for a couple of seconds, and then chuckled, a strangely sad sound, her head suddenly dropping to hang.

She straightened back up, putting the winning smile back from where it had slipped.

“Makes me think of my Pops. Out in the allotment, digging around for onions and potatoes and all that stuff, he liked to bring me along and gave me a little trowel and let me dig for worms. He’d say, Oh, they’re good, worms, good for the earth.” Tayce paused, tentative, before her next words. “Would have been his birthday today.”

“That - all sounds very nice,” Prue said gently. “Best of luck! Can’t wait to taste them, Tayce.”

And they were gone, going out the tent to grab themselves a cup of tea for their own break. Tayce stared straight ahead for a few seconds, before biting her lip, turning her gaze down to the onions she was about to start cutting.

Aurora realised her own hand was on her chest, at the base of her throat.

——

In spite of the ingredients being a little unorthodox, not what she was used to at all, Bimini’s tip for blending the tofu worked surprisingly well, and when Paul and Prue had both praised her tomato, spinach and olive mini quiches - not Aurora’s idea, one her nan had told her to do to be ‘more posh’ - Aurora realised with a rush that almost everyone had had some good critiques this week, mostly on the quality of their egg replacements.

And they’d all been based on Bimini’s good advice.

Handshakes were being dished out like Oprah’s cars. Lawrence got a handshake, then Veronica got a handshake, then - Aurora gasped - Tayce got a handshake, looking flustered for the first time since Aurora had known her, with a high-pitched giggle that Aurora was unfamiliar with, and a gasp of “Who, me? Like this?”

“Contest seems to be heating up,” Aurora said, as they sat in Carr Hall’s common room during the break. “And we thought you were trying to sabotage us, Bim!” She said as Bimini approached them, grinning from cheek to cheek, a pile of mini quiches on their plate.

“I’m just happy I get to try everyone’s this week,” they replied, picking up one which Aurora recognised as her own, and biting into it. “God. It’s so harsh seeing loads of cakes and stuff each week and only being able to try your own.”

“I’ve tried vegan baking before, it just always goes tits up,” Tayce piped up, coming to sit down. “Like me on a Friday night. It goes flat, or it goes wonky donkey, or it falls over.”

“Is that the cake, or you on a Friday night?” Bimini nudged Tayce with their foot; Tayce responding by slapping their arm.

“Hey! Cheeky bitch. Bet I’m not the only one.”

Tayce was laughing and joking as usual, while Aurora couldn’t help chewing her lip. It was a little uncomfortable, Aurora found, being around Tayce right now.

Last week had been the strangest week yet. She’d found herself floating through it in a mixture of fun at flirting playfully with Tayce, a little bit of pride at being the centre of attention for once, and trying to let herself enjoy the baking in the same way she did when she baked for her friends - filling it with love and good thoughts and positivity.

And it had worked. A bright badge in the shape of a dessert sat on her chest.

But the day of the Showstopper, things felt distorted again.

She’d known this whole flirting thing was meant to be a play for the cameras. That was what Tayce had implied only two weeks ago, that their romance was mainly for on-screen. But last weekend, Tayce in her bed, warm and secure and silent, was heavenly; both of them comfort for each other during this time, and Aurora dared to hope that Tayce might be starting to feel the same way as she did …

… until she’d woken up the next morning to find an empty bed, a cold spot where Tayce should have been.

And then again in the evening, just the two of them. Tayce hadn’t even responded to her kiss, instead opting to leave straight after, as if she didn’t want to be around her at all.

Aurora didn’t understand, all her thoughts about what was going on and what this blur from fake flirting into actual closeness was … tangling into one big worrisome knot that occupied most of her mind.

Does she have any feelings for me at all, or … is this fake-flirting thing a really elaborate scheme to distract me and get me sent home?

——

Technical: 12 Gluten-free pitta breads

“Any tips for the bakers this week, Paul?”

“Yes.” Paul straightened up. “The ingredients are there to be used.”

At the relative silence throughout the tent, Matt shrugged. “Alright then. That’s nice and clear. They have to leave the tent now, so goodbye judges!”

Once the judges had gone, and the Technical had been announced, Aurora shut her eyes, her fingers drumming on the workbench again. Gluten-free pitta bread? This week was going to be even more hell.

She focused on making notes on her instructions, and once she’d got her ingredients into the KitchenAid, she was starting to feel a little calmer, as she did once things were starting to move. She was running her pencil down her notes when her thoughts were interrupted by a voice in front of her.

“You alright, babes?”

She looked up to see Bimini leaning over her workbench, chin in their hands. Aurora tried to hide the frown. Again?

“Hi. No - no. I can never get gluten-free baking right. My best friend is celiac, and I haven’t managed to make anything he can eat that doesn’t look like a mess.”

“More xantham gum than you think,” Bimini muttered with a wink. “That’ll make it less crumbly. Oh, and if you rest it, it will help the bake.”

When Bimini skipped away again, over to Tayce to most likely give her the same tip, Aurora stared dumbstruck after them for a good ten seconds before shaking her head in wonder and adding another teaspoon of xantham gum to the dish.

“Did he say they wanted six pitta breads?” This time it was Ellie’s voice that made Aurora look up.

“No - twelve.”

“Ah - alright.”

Aurora concentrated on kneading the dough, trying to give it as much air as possible, when she was interrupted again, this time by a gentle but familiar hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at Tayce, who held a cup of tea in her other.

“Thanks.”

The cameras were absent, pointed at Bimini and Noel doing some dance at Bimini’s workbench, rapping along to something.

“You looked like you could do with some tea. Giving that dough some welly, aren’t you?”

Tayce’s voice was strangely subdued, her fingers twisting in front of her. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes to savour it. “I love the smell of dough. Makes me think about my nana’s house. She was always baking stuff. Her whole kitchen smelled like a bakery.”

She was stopped in her reminiscing by Ellie knocking her baking tray to the floor with a crash. Pushing her hair behind her ears, Tayce nodded to Aurora.

“Right. Well. Better get back to it.”

And Aurora stared at her retreating back, wondering what had come over Tayce today. She wasn’t really as flirty, more … caring, even bringing over tea for her. This whole arrangement was just getting more confusing. It was supposed to be fake, but now lots of threads of what seemed like care were starting to entwine themselves into the knot her mind was in.

I just can’t think about Tayce right now. It’s too confusing. Focus on pitta bread.

By the time Aurora was laying out her pittas on the baking tray, Ellie spun round to her again, hands clutching at her hair.

“Is it six pitta breads?”

Why am I bloody Wikipedia all of a sudden today? And didn’t she just ask me this a minute ago?

“Eleanor,” Aurora said sternly, while Ellie grimaced, seeming to shrink slightly.

“I know, I know -“

“It’s on the top of the instructions as well - look - twelve pitta breads! I think you need a break or something, Els,” Aurora pointed outside. “Why don’t you take two minutes or something?”

But Ellie’s hands, still in her hair, balled into tight fists as she spoke, sounding a little hysterical. “I can’t - it’ll spoil - I don’t -“

“Ellie, go outside! Go on! You’re panicking!”

As Ellie marched past her outside, Aurora watched Tia, her breads already in the oven, rushing out after her. But Lawrence, in front of Aurora, simply glanced to the clear partition of the tent briefly, before turning back to putting her bread on the baking tray.

“Lozza?” That was Tayce, who had noticed the same thing. But Lawrence didn’t seem to hear her, even though everyone else in the tent did.

“Lawrence -“

“I’ll go get her in a tick, alright?”

Aurora swallowed, watching Lawrence as she arranged her breads, putting them in the oven, and she had no choice but to do the same; time was running out for them all.

It wasn’t long before Tia led Ellie back into the tent, arms linked, as Tia dropped Ellie off at her bench and stopped for a second to talk to her. “It’s just a bake, alright? Sometimes bakes go wrong for whatever reason, and that’s okay! Remember, you can only get better from making mistakes, alright?”

And Ellie nodded, grabbing her dough to shape into the pitta breads. Tia gave her one last squeeze on her forearm before heading back to her own bench to carry on her pittas, which were starting to look a bit flat.

Hopefully that will be the kick Ellie needs to turn this bake out.

When it came to judging, she sat with Tayce, who nudged her in the ribs with an oddly saccharine smile. Ellie still looked subdued on her other side, so she took her hand, rubbing it with her thumb, but to no reaction.

“In seventh place, we have this one, whose is this?” Paul motioned to Ellie’s plate, and Ellie defeatedly raised her hand no higher than her chin.

“Ellie - far too much baking powder in these, it burns the tongue - and a little bit over-baked, we expect them to still be soft in the middle.” Paul nodded to her, but Ellie just blinked in response, pursing her lips.

“And in sixth place -“

“Oh, that’s me,” Tia replied, raising her hand.

“Tia, these are burnt. I know you tried to scrape them a little so it looks a little bit better, but they cracked when we tried to bend them.”

“Okay,” Tia nodded, the earnest smile still on her face. “Next time.”

Aurora still cringed to herself whenever Tia said next time in response to her disasters. When in the name of Dawn French would she ever have to make gluten-free pitta breads again?

Maybe she has a bestie who’s celiac that she really wants to make some bakes for. Like Blake is.

The realisation stung Aurora harder than she thought it would. After all, she’d been wondering if she could make these for Blake one time. She leaned forward and saw Tia, no tears, no self-pity, graciously smiling at Veronica as Veronica tried to comfort her.

She never makes excuses. She’s never sorry for herself. She just … tries again.

Maybe that was it. This competition was about self-improvement, wasn’t it? Aurora pictured how happy Blake would be if she told him when she got back that she’d made something gluten-free and that she could now bake more things the same way.

How much she’d grown as a baker only in these six weeks.

“Whose is this one?”

Tayce was nudging her, and Aurora saw that Paul was behind her photograph. She raised her hand.

“Aurora - really good bake, well done. It just came down to the colour on this one. Which means the winner is … this one!”

Second in Technical! That’s gonna help at this point.

She joined the polite applause given to Veronica for her top placement, Veronica’s mouth agape in apparent shock. But as they all trudged out to the tent for their interviews, she watched Veronica spin in elation, her balled fists in the air to celebrate her placement, as if she’d expected it all along.

How much of any of this is real?

——

“Are they annoyed at us?” Veronica murmured, watching Tia and Ellie on their own on the opposite side of the room. They’d both opted to sit alone together, chatting quietly at first, both pallid and shaky, but now they sat silently, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned.

“I don’t think so -“ Aurora began, but Lawrence was chewing her finger again, and Veronica’s jaw twisted as she watched them. “I mean - you got top and third in Technical, you’re doing good - and they’re happy for you -“

“They don’t look fucking happy,” Lawrence muttered.

“They are, honest to God,” Aurora said, trying to calm Lawrence’s evident nerves, “but like … it’s hard, isn’t it, seeing people do better than you at this stage in the competition? We’re all here to win, at the end of the day.”

“We are all here to win, but …” Veronica trailed off with a sigh. “Me and Tia … we’ve really bonded.”

“You’ll still be friends afterwards! Or - y’know, whatever you two are.”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Veronica snapped.

“It’s pretty obvious to anyone with eyes, Veronica,” Lawrence added, “I don’t think you can really try to downplay that one.”

“Oh, right?” Veronica’s face grew redder with every second. “What about you then, Lawrence, if we’re bringing that up? You’ve been trying to avoid Ellie since Tayce said she saw the two of you canoodling after Asttina’s elimination last week!”

Lawrence’s jaw dropped open, and she frowned. “Canoodling? Did you really just say canoodling in a sentence?”

“I’m gonna go outside if you two are going to just argue,” Aurora muttered, shaking her head, standing to walk away from them both.

Her feet led her outside into the warm evening glow, watching the first of the stars come out into the deepening blue of the sky. The trees around the grounds caught the last orange light, a ring of fire, still a hot pressure cooker of a contest.

Aurora knew where Tayce would be. Through the grounds by the trees was a lake they’d found only last week, that Bimini had told her about, having found it on their morning run. And sure enough, she found Tayce on the bench, leaning on one elbow and kicking dirt with her shoe.

In spite of the confusion in her mind, Tayce still drew her in like a magnet.

When Aurora came to the bench, she startled Tayce momentarily, before Tayce’s easy smile came back, and Aurora sat with her, pulling her close into a one-armed hug.

“Hey.” Tayce gently disentangled herself, still not sounding herself. “Coming to see me?”

“I can’t stand being around those lot any more,” Aurora huffed. “I don’t know what’s going on with any of them, but it feels like you can cut the air in the room with a butter knife, for God’s sake.”

“They’re just annoyed because one of them is getting eliminated tomorrow.”

Aurora blinked at her strangely sharp words. Tayce scuffed the dirt with her shoe, turning to meet Aurora’s stare and to give her a reassuring smile, but it didn’t stretch to her eyes, and she looked as if she almost didn’t seem to believe it herself.

“You got a bit emotional earlier as well, when you were talking about your quiches.”

Tayce shrugged. “Yeah, yeah I did a bit.” She turned back away to scuff her shoe again, a little rougher than before.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shrugged. “Not much more to tell, really, just me and my Pops going to get veggies from the allotment. He had tomatoes in his greenhouse. And broccoli. He had loads of veggies.”

“Did he bake with you too?”

“Yeah. Actually, he liked making a quiche or two. Normally with ham, but he used to let me put the beads in the pastry tins to keep the crust from moving. Or he’d make a pie and let me do all the crimping on the edges.”

Tayce’s smile was fading as she spoke, leaning her head back to look at the sky.

“I miss him.”

Three words that hit Aurora right in the middle of her chest.

Her own eyes welling up, she rubbed Tayce’s back, until Tayce shuffled nearer and let herself drop her head to Aurora’s shoulder, let Aurora pull her in tightly, sitting silently to count the stars as they came out of their hibernation.

“It’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Aurora asked.

“I dunno, just - it’s weird the things that remind you of people.”

“That doesn’t sound weird to me.”

“I mean …” Tayce began, but she stopped, twisting to get comfortable. “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

Tayce was an elastic band, pulling away before snapping her back with a modicum of tenderness, and letting Aurora back in to see through some of the cracks in her armour. Just enough to keep Aurora hanging on, so it felt.

It was exhausting.

——

Showstopper: A dairy-free, vegetable-based novelty cake.

The Showstopper seemed straightforward enough. Everyone liked carrot cake, right? At least, Aurora enjoyed a slice of the orange stuff, although when she’d mentioned it to Ellie this morning she’d wrinkled her nose in an adorably disgusted manner.

“What’s yours going to be, then?” She’d asked.

“Beetroot.”

“Beetroot?”

“Yeah,” Ellie had nodded earnestly, “like, I know it sounds a bit weird, but trust me, when you mix it with chocolate it tastes like heaven.”

Aurora hadn’t pushed the matter any further, but a bigger part of her than she anticipated was hoping Ellie could pull it off. After all, she and Tia were practically tied for worst at the moment, and as much as Aurora was growing to like Tia, she and Ellie had bonded far more.

On Aurora’s left, she watched Tia chopping sweet potatoes that would form the basis of her own cake, ready to cook and then go into the mixture. Veronica, in front of her, was also making sweet potato cake, but Aurora wasn’t worried about Veronica.

When she and Tayce had spoken about who she thought would excel at this week, they’d both said Bimini above everyone, but Veronica had been the shock frontrunner, the dark horse, as she had been all this contest. Veronica tended to keep to herself, grinding her teeth and locking her jaw, a cool stare keeping everyone away.

How someone as uptight as Veronica had thawed to someone as lackadaisical as Tia was anyone’s guess.

“Yeah, I guess she’s a bit stiff,” Tia had shrugged when asked about Veronica, “and yeah, don’t mention anything about the two of us to her, she’s a bit nervous about it being public yet. But we actually have loads in common. She’s really arty. She painted one of the scenes I photographed and showed it to me this weekend, and that meant a lot.”

“She - she paints?”

Tia had shown them all Veronica’s instagram, where Veronica had painted breathtaking scenes and posted them there. Watercolours mostly, with the odd acrylic, some experimental but mostly true life, leaping from the screen and into their minds.

Veronica might not be quite making the same art as usual now, but her bakes definitely showed some artistic flair when she presented them. They always had to be just so. And her colour palettes were always a theme in the judges’ comments.

“Well,” she’d grinned nervously this morning at breakfast when asked, “I’m left-handed. So I’m a bit arty farty, yeah.”

Aurora stole glances around the room as always, seeing Bimini with Tia a lot more today, leaning over her workbench and giving her guidance. Ellie looked a little less nervous, but she and Lawrence still weren’t really communicating.

Maybe Lawrence really is trying to avoid her. Or maybe they’re avoiding each other.

But Ellie had changed the subject this morning when Aurora had tried to bring it up. Turning the conversation back to her and Tayce.

And that was complicated enough.

This morning was the second weekend in a row she’d found herself falling asleep with Tayce in her bed, and the second weekend in a row she’d woken up in the morning to find an empty space there again.

It was a strange, numbing place, and Aurora wasn’t even sure what they were at the moment. Sure, they’d agreed to put on a bit of a show for the cameras. And Aurora could deal with that, with the playful nicknames, the kisses, the touch that didn’t feel tender enough to be more than method acting.

But Tayce spending the night in her bed had been an odd addition. Aurora had held her hand as she’d drawn her back from the pond, and they’d both ended up back in her room again, Netflix on, curled up into one another under the duvet.

All it had taken last night was half an episode of Glow before their hands and arms had intertwined, drawing them nearer still, into slow breathing in tandem with each other. Tayce purring at Aurora’s fingers as she played with her hair, until her breathing had relaxed even more and Aurora had looked down to see Tayce asleep at her chest, too serene to disturb by shifting her.

Nothing about it felt like an act. In fact, it was practically the opposite - bare bones, honesty, sincerity.

A far cry from the motions in the tent.

“Hey, babe. How’s the carrots?”

Speak of the devil.

Before Aurora had the chance to look up, she felt Tayce’s fingers at her waist, her chin resting on her shoulder.

Tayce seemed to be feeling a little better this morning. Her relaxed smile was back, her eyes glinting with the same mischief, and Aurora’s stomach was turning somersaults at the contact.

“Carrots are good. Just grated far more than I’ll need, just in case. What are you making with yours?”

“I’m making carrot cake too!” Tayce chuckled in her ear, sending a shiver down Aurora’s neck. “What a coincidence. It’s almost like we’re really in tune with each other. I hope you haven’t read my mind on what my flavours will be as well?”

But as Aurora looked, two cameramen were following them over to Tayce’s bench, as Tayce’s hand hovered at her back. “Carrot and cream cheese replacement, and I’m gonna shape it into a cow’s head, because … you know, no dairy?” Tayce chuckled. “I’m a comedy genius!”

“So we’re a bit different then,” Aurora nodded, as Tayce rested her head at her shoulder. “I’m adding diced pecans to mine.”

“So different then,” Tayce interrupted her, smirking, a hideously fake giggle bubbling at her throat. “That’s good. We’re just doing carrots at the same time! Imagine if we’d had the same recipe and the same idea. That would be strange, wouldn’t it!”

She’s trying a bit too hard now.

Tayce’s fingers were looped round her waist, her head on her shoulder; but she didn’t seem to be listening, just talking at the cameras pointed at them both. Aurora disentangled herself from Tayce’s touch and smiling as widely as she could, backed away.

“You going back to your bake?”

“Yeah - lots to do, Tayce,” Aurora muttered through gritted teeth.

“Alright. Cwtch you later.” Tayce cocked an eyebrow as she smirked, but Aurora’s stomach twisted at how sinister her words seemed to sound on her tongue.

——

“Veronica, would you bring your cake up to the front please?”

Veronica was last this week - the judging had been in alphabetical order - but Aurora had also barely been concentrating. Tayce’s actions this afternoon had confused her yet again, and she’d tried to avoid speaking much to Tayce for the whole rest of the day, but that hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. Tayce had come over regularly, and cameras had followed them both around.

“It’s - it’s a sweet potato cake flavoured with almonds, and the icing is dairy-free buttercream with a vanilla flavour.”

Veronica was giggling nervously, while the rest of the people in the tent smiled at her. But Aurora’s mind span in a whirlwind of thoughts.

What if Tayce really is trying to distract me? To throw me off?

The thought struck her over the head, a sudden bolt of lightning that left her numb with the shocking gravity of it.

No. Tayce is trying to keep attention on us. She’s trying to help us.

… or at least help herself.

But Aurora hastily pushed that notion away. After all, everyone else in the tent was also fighting for that attention, whether they meant to or not.

Take Bimini, and their absurd dancing and rapping with Noel, what they insisted was called a crimp, whatever that meant. Was that genuine, or was that the result of them all being on the show? Maybe Bimini was a bit of an exhibitionist, but maybe they weren’t - maybe it was a front.

Was that really all that different to Tayce wanting to play up their relationship to the cameras?

How do I know that she feels anything for me at all?

“Beautiful. Beautiful flavours, you don’t get anything apart from a rich, sweet cake, and the design is ingenious. Really great week for you, Veronica.” Prue was smiling her sweet smile, and Veronica hunched shyly into her shoulders as she took the cake back.

The fog of dread was descending on them all as they walked back to Carr Hall. The bakes were always put on a table for them to try, before being given to the crew at the end of the day; but no one really felt like eating anything as they went in, the fog following them all.

“We don’t want anyone to go home at this stage,” Veronica said grimly.

They all knew what she really meant, Bimini more than anyone, as they nodded and stretched their legs out. “It’s shit. I feel like a jinx. Get too near to me, and you’re gone. Happened to Ginny, then Asttina.”

Aurora thought back to the judging for Bimini’s Showstopper, which hadn’t gone as well as any of them had thought.

“I thought this week was yours for the taking, Bim,” Aurora said quietly, cautious. “It’s all vegan stuff, and alternative ingredients. No one would have thought you’d be getting those sorts of critiques.”

Everyone murmured in agreement. The judges has been kind as always, but it was clear that Bimini had landed themselves in trouble at the expense of helping out everyone else in the tent, helping them all with their recipes.

“Well, I did.”

They all turned to stare at Bimini’s dark words.

“Bim?”

“It’s my own fault. Well, not even really a fault. But somewhere between Asttina going home and me coming back here this weekend, I decided it’s probably not important.”

“What isn’t?”

“A cake stand.” Bimini laughed bitterly. “That’s what it is! A cake stand. And I can get one of those from M&S. I could get Joe to come with me. No, I knew this was gonna be an okay week for me, so …” they shrugged, “I wanted to help you all out too. So it looks like I didn’t really … try.”

But Bimini was smiling still.

“I mean, it’s not all bad, is it? You can now all bake vegan quiches. You can make stuff for your intolerant mates, or your vegan mates, when you get back. That’s more important to me than winning this week - getting you all to be able to make more stuff vegan for your friends. Anything you can bake, I can bake vegan, and I feel like spreading awareness is gonna be better in the long run than me winning a badge!” They waved a fist in the air.

“Don’t you … want to win?” Aurora asked.

Bimini paused for half a second too long before nodding.

“I do want to win, course I do - but this show is a platform as well, know what I mean?”

——

When the producer came in to call them back to the tent for the elimination, Aurora watched as Ellie jogged to Tia to hug her around the waist, both of them holding back to let the others go, Tia wiping tears from her cheeks as they stood there.

As Aurora left them to it, she walked into Lawrence, at the doorway, watching the entrance intently.

“Lozza?” Tayce called to her from the grounds, but Lawrence waved them on.

“I’m coming - see you inside.”

Lawrence and Ellie were last in the tent, the rest of them on their stools while they waited, no one quite sure what they were doing outside. But when Aurora finally watched Lawrence come in with Ellie, both of them had red eyes and Lawrence’s eyeliner was running as they sat down.

Veronica put a hand to her mouth at being called for Star Baker. Aurora clapped her politely, while Tia smiled widely and rested her head on her shoulder, pulling her into a one-armed hug.

But Tia was biting her lip, waiting for the call for the next person to leave the tent. They all knew it was between her and Ellie, and Aurora could hear Lawrence whispering to Ellie, who was staring straight ahead as usual, but she couldn’t make any words out …

“Tia. I’m so sorry, Tia.”

Veronica’s hand, lingering at her mouth, shook as she gasped.

But Tia, her face deadpan as ever, tilted her head. “Are you sure? Positive? I mean, I don’t have any other plans, so …”

Aurora managed a laugh at Tia’s attempt at humour at the situation, but she appeared to be the only one. Bimini’s eyes were downcast as they got up to hug Tia, and Tayce was rubbing Veronica’s back to comfort her. Lawrence had her arms linked around Ellie’s waist while Ellie dabbed her eyes.

“Come on, Els - it’s fine, I knew it would be me -“ Tia wrapped an arm around them both, unable to disentangle Lawrence from her, drifting over to Aurora next, and then Tayce.

Veronica, both hands in hers, stared up at her with eyes pooling with tears, as Tia bent to whisper something in her ear, causing Veronica to snort with laughter and double over, before tugging Tia towards her, wrapping her arms around her waist, Tia dropping kisses on her forehead before they both left the tent for their winning and exit interviews.

“What did Tia say to you?” Aurora asked Veronica later on, when Veronica came back to Carr Hall, her face red and eyes bloodshot.

“Oh,” Veronica snorted again. “It’s nothing, just silly stuff -“

“It must have been good, if it made you perk up?”

“Alright,” Veronica said, sniffing. “She said - she said If I had a badge, I’d be leaving it to you in my will. That was it. I don’t even know why I found it funny, but it was at the time.”

Tayce threw back her head in a laugh. “Only way you’re getting another badge, Vee!”

Veronica blinked before smiling, more like a grimace; but Aurora’s blood had frozen at Tayce’s comment. The languid smile on her face, the flash in her eyes, just made Aurora question Tayce’s intentions even more than she already was.

Tayce had changed.

The woman who had helped her cut and load her brownies only two weeks ago, now tossing verbal barbs at any opportunity. Yesterday about Tia and Ellie. And now to Veronica. And as much as she was madly attracted to Tayce, there was no denying that doubt crept around the edge of Aurora’s mind at this new development, unsure what Tayce was truly thinking.

What would she be saying about me if I’d gone?

——

SIX BAKERS REMAIN

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

[lalainajanes]

The Kindness of Strangers

It takes a good half hour for Caroline to realize that she’s been ditched.

In her defense, she’s not exactly at her best.

She can’t stop coughing, her chest hurts. She’s freezing, still wearing her coat and scarf even though she’s been indoors, waiting for her turn to see a doctor, for three hours. Caroline will admit that she’s never been an ideal patient. She hates every single part of being sick – gross fluids leaking from her body, disruptions to her carefully plotted schedule. She loathes weakness, isn’t used to having to count on other people. She’s lived in Chicago for just under a year, doesn’t have many people to rely on.

She’d been self medicating for days, guzzling DayQuil and NyQuil in turn, googling home remedies and forcing down cup after cup of chamomile tea with honey.

The medicine hadn’t helped, nor had the tea and the best medical advice Pinterest had to offer.

Hence why she’s sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, in a packed waiting room, braving screaming children, bloody wounds, and even more airborne germs.

She’s staring dumbly down at her phone, at the picture that’s just popped up on her Instagram feed. Posted just a few seconds ago it features her boyfriend at the gym, his face strained as he lifts a kettlebell. She hadn’t bothered to read the caption, knows it’s some nonsense about reps or mile times that she’s only ever feigned interest in for the sake of politeness.

He’d been yammering on about his workout plans since he’d picked her up. Caroline had been humming in acknowledgement at regular intervals but she’d figured it didn’t need to be explicitly stated that leaving her in a hospital waiting room was so not cool.

Apparently she’d been mistaken.

“Please tell me he’s some sort of useless relation. A cousin you’re only nice to because your mum insists.”

Caroline’s head swivels to the speaker, a touch surprised by the accent. The guy next to her is looking down at her phone, his expression disbelieving.  She’d nodded tiredly at him when she’d sat down, some part of her brain cataloguing a general impression of an attractive man in her age range. She hadn’t been in the mood for conversation and he hadn’t attempted one either. She’d felt him shifting next to her, restless, and probably in pain judging by the impressive rainbow of purple-black bruises covering his bare left foot.

She should probably snap at him, demand he mind his own business but, if her own freaking boyfriend can’t be bothered to skip a workout when she’s in the emergency room, it’s probably a good idea to expand her social circle.

“My mom has even less time for useless relations than I do.”

“She sounds like a smart woman. Does she like your boyfriend?”

Her mother had yet to be introduced. Caroline had planned a trip to Mystic Falls for a long weekend but Stefan’s brother had called last minute with one of his bimonthly crisis’s so Caroline had made the trip solo. In hindsight, maybe she should have read more into the lack of effort. “Very smart. And handy with all manner of firearms.”

A warning, just in case he happens to be a serial killer.

His brows rise, a hint of amusement beginning to curl his lips. Caroline’s forced turn away and bury her face in the crook of her elbow as she’s wracked with coughs. She slumps back when she’s done, needs a moment to catch her breath.

When she peels her eye open her neighbor’s expression has softened with concern. “I’m Klaus,” he offers.

“Caroline.”

His arm nudges hers on the armrest between their chairs, a weird approximation of a handshake that Caroline returns. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

She’s naturally nosy, and he’s given her an opening, “What happened to your foot?”

“Stupid accident. I was helping my brother move, he got distracted. A rather heavy sofa came down on my foot.”

Caroline winces in sympathy, leans forward to peer around Klaus. She hadn’t noticed him talking to another guy but, as she hadn’t really noticed Stefan taking his leave while in her fog of misery, that doesn’t mean much. “Is he here?”

Klaus makes a low noise of denial, “God, no. Kol can only sit still as long as the average five year old. I’ll be storing this incident away for later, when I need a bigger favor than a ride to the hospital.”

Caroline doesn’t know much about healthy sibling relationships but she can admire a strategic mind.

“How long have you been waiting for?”

“I got here about an hour before you did.”

“Ugh,” Caroline grumbles, crossing her arms and yanking her sleeves down over her hands, “maybe I should have just made another pharmacy run and gone back to bed.”

Klaus leans forward, pulls a jacket and a scarf out from under his seat. He shakes them out, offering them to her. “Here. I find it quite warm in here but you’re obviously suffering.”

She shakes her head, “No, I wouldn’t want to infect you with whatever I have.”

“Did you just fall ill?”

“It’s been a few days.”

Kat, her boss, had bullied her out of the office when Caroline had nearly passed out after standing up after a meeting. Caroline had tried to protest but Katherine Pierce was excellent at getting her own way. Caroline had been in the back of a town car, under a blanket, with a driver who’d had strict instructions to only stop at a restaurant for the giant takeaway container of chicken noodle soup Kat had ordered.

She’d texted Stefan when she’d gotten home, had gotten sympathy followed by an apology. He’d told her to rest, that he hoped she’d feel better soon, but he’d claimed that he couldn’t rick catching anything, not when he’s training for a marathon.

Alone on her couch, trying to muster the energy to get herself to her bedroom so she could change out of her pencil skirt and blouse, Caroline had told herself that she shouldn’t be resentful. That ambition was sexy, goals were admirable, and she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

That it wasn’t at all annoying that, just a month ago, she’d spent a whole weekend refilling a hot water bottle for Stefan every half hour after he’d pulled a muscle. He hadn’t asked her, she’d offered, and relationships shouldn’t have scorecards.

Maybe they had different love languages. That didn’t mean they were incompatible.

Reciting the bullet points from Cosmo relationship articles hadn’t stopped Caroline from feeling resentful.

Klaus shakes his jacket gently, drawing her attention back to him, “I doubt you’re contagious at this point.”

The jacket looks to be wool, heavy and lined and probably super cozy. She only hesitates for another second before taking it, draping it over herself like a blanket and looping the scarf around her neck.

She manages to avoid obviously tucking her nose into the fabric, to better appreciate the light touch of the very nice cologne Klaus must use.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “You can tell your significant other that you’ve earned a pile of gentleman points.”

It’s not the most subtle fishing Caroline’s ever done but she’ll just have to blame that on the large doses of over the counter meds still swimming through her system.

Klaus doesn’t seem to mind, his smile widening as he leans back in his seat. He rests his head back against the wall and sprawls a bit, closer to her than he’d been before. “There’s no significant other.”

She probably shouldn’t consider that good news but she totally does.

“And you?” Klaus asks, “how long have you and the… fitness afficianado been an item?”

Caroline suspects the moniker he’s settled on is far more polite than he’d like to be.

“About six months. But we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“Let me guess, you were high school sweethearts who reunited years later.”

His distaste is obvious and Caroline laughs softly. “Um, no. Not even close. I had a ginormous crush on him but he was really into my best friend.”

Who’d waffled between being into Stefan right back and being into Stefan’s older brother.

Klaus sighs, “So he’s got an appalling lack of taste in addition to his other less than stellar qualities.”

It’s instinct to jump to Stefan’s defense. “He’s really a great guy.”

“I’m sure.”

“He’s training for a marathon. It’s a lot of work.”

“Is this marathon tomorrow?” Klaus asks pointedly. “Because otherwise I don’t understand why he couldn’t take a day off when you’re so ill you can barely walk.”

Caroline deflates, presses her lips together as she swallows the argument she’d been about to make. She’s had plenty of practice lately. When she’d first moved, and Stefan had shot her a message offering to take her out for a drink to celebrate her new job, it had been easy to fall back in with her old friends. He’d been familiar, Elena and Damon too, and she’d been busy with her new job and settling into a new apartment. It had been easier to relearn how to be around them than to meet new people.

She’s a people person though, has started getting closer to a few coworkers, and Enzo, Rebekah and Kat all have certain opinions about Stefan that Klaus is mirroring.

“Perhaps this is none of my business,” Klaus says, after her silence has stretched on. He’s watching her carefully, like he’s wondering if he’s pushed too far.

“It’s really not.”

“Lost those gentleman points, did I?” he jokes.

Caroline laughs, willing to roll with his attempt to lighten the mood. “Maybe not all of them.” Because she is warmer now, with his layers piled on top of hers. “Where are you from, anyway?”

He’d given her the perfect opening to pry and Caroline’s not going to waste the opportunity.

All in the interest of broadening her social circle of course.

A month later, after a breakup, rearranging her entire apartment (three times), she’s decided to make more of an effort to turn her coworkers into real friends.

Rebekah’s throwing herself a birthday party. There’s even a dress code. Enzo informs Caroline that all of Rebekah’s brothers are ridiculously hot, so clearly she needs a great new dress. And heels. And some lingerie and a new lipstick because, why not?

She sees Klaus before he sees her. He’s planted on a loveseat in the living room, his casted foot resting on an ottoman. He’s flitted through her thoughts more than once since they’d met and Caroline had regretted not getting his contact info. Or at least a last name.

Klaus might be a unique name but her attempts at social media stalking had all failed.

Caroline grabs a flute of champagne (seriously, Rebekah knew how to throw a party) and hugs the perimeter of the room. She approaches Klaus from behind, sitting down on the arm next to him and chirping, “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

His eyes snap up, widening when he recognizes her. “Caroline,” he says, something like wonder coloring the tone.

It’s enough to confirm that she’d not the only one who’s spent way too much time thinking about those few hours they’d spent together.

“Glad you remember me,” she teases. “How do you know Rebekah?”

“She’s my sister.” He shifts over, threading his finger through hers to pull her down next to him. Caroline has no objections, not even when he’s pressed along her side, leaving enough room for another person beside him. “And you?”

“We work together.”

“Small world,” Klaus murmurs, very pleased about it.

Caroline can relate.

She nods down to his foot, “What was the verdict?”

He groans, “At least six weeks in the cast. I’m right sick of it. I’ve barely left my place since it happened because I can’t drive and the simplest things are infinitely more annoying.”

“I’m glad you made it out tonight.”

He’s still got her hand clasped in his but his free arm comes up, resting loosely around her shoulders. He speaks more softly and Caroline leans closer to make sure she can hear. “Likewise, love. I’ll never complain about Rebekah being a shameless nag again.”

Somehow, Caroline doubts that.

She spends the duration of the party at Klaus’ side but she meets a whole pile of new people. There’s Kol, the brother whose couch had maimed Klaus’ foot, Elijah, who is a little scary, with his appraising eyes and aggressively perfect manners. She gets some tips about thrifting vintage clothes from Gia, a classical violinist, and when she chats with Marcel he says he hopes he sees her around, promises that he knows plenty of embarrassing stories about Klaus.

She’s kind of kicking herself for falling back into old habits when she’d first moved to Chicago. Clearly, she’s pretty kickass at making friends.

She leaves with Klaus’ number in her phone and plans for dinner the next night.

Sunday brunch plans follow, with Rebekah, where there are bottomless mimosas and vague threats.

It’s easily the best weekend she’s had since moving.

Though not for long.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #i probably should have saved this for auweek #but like all writer's i am needy yo #inspired by an aita post #where the answer is usually YES YOU ARE THE ASSHOLE

[lemonadegarden]

Love your writing! For a prompt, how about BatCat and #20: “Let’s get out of here.”? :)

here’s some flufffff:

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

When Selina walked into his study, she immediately knew Bruce was in a bad mood. A bad mood to rule all bad moods.  

He was sitting at the study, his shoulders tight with tension, frowning at his laptop, and muttering tersely to himself every once in a while. She watched for a while, leaning against the door of the study, amused.

“What,” he said finally, not looking up. Of course he'd have known she was standing there. No one could sneak up on Batman. Except perhaps Cassandra.  

“Dropped in to say hi,” she said, “I'm back from Antigua.”

“I can tell,” Bruce said, taking a sip from his coffee cup. He was even sipping angrily, if that was possible. And he still hadn't looked up.  

Selina smiled, slowly. This was going to be fun.  “Alright then,” she said, flippant. “Well, I said hi. I've been gone for almost a month. If you won't bother to say hi back, I suppose I'll just leave.”

She was halfway out the door before she heard his laptop click shut. “Selina,” he called out.  

She smiled again. Her back was turned to him though, so she rearranged her face carefully, before looking back at him. “Can I help you?” She said, smoothly.  

Bruce rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, his voice clipped. He still sounded annoyed.  

Selina hummed, coming round his wide desk, and to his chair. She bent down a little, her arms coming round his wide shoulders. Pressed her cheek against the back of his head. Breathed in the smell of his neck. His shoulders were still tight, but after a second, Bruce sighed and tipped his head back, just a little.

“Hi,” She murmured, against his neck.

“Hi,” Bruce said back, quietly. “I missed you,” he said, turning to kiss her.

“Long day?” she asked, her hand stroking his hair.

“Long week,” Bruce grunted, turning back to his laptop. He opened it. “Meteorite almost hit the watchtower. Shields around it went down. Clark and I had to work almost 72 hours straight to get them back up. And I got shot.”

Selina's head, which had been resting on the crook of Bruce's neck, shot up. “What?” she said.

“Got shot,” Bruce muttered. He pushed back his swivel chair a little, so Selina could see his leg. He was wearing a brace. “Some runner on a street corner, last Monday. Didn't see him during patrol. This is the third time. On that leg.” he sighed, leaning back against her. “I'm getting old, Cat.”

“You should be keeping it up. In bed.”

Bruce just gave her a look. He went back to typing something down on the laptop.  

Selina sighed, pushing herself up onto his desk, nearly spilling his coffee in the process. Bruce glared at her.  

“Oh, shut up, Bruce,” Selina said. Bruce just shook his head, his eyes back on the screen.  

She sat in silence for a moment, watching him as he worked. After a while, she cleared her throat. He went on ignoring her.  

“Antigua was wonderful, thank you for asking,” she said, “I saw a lot of beautiful things, and I managed to steal several of them.”

Bruce sighed. He was still staring at his screen. “Great,” he said. “Now the auxiliary solar panels are covered in debris,” he said, getting up. “Selina, can you tell Alfred I won't be back home until tomorrow morning? It'll probably take the whole night. Oh, and Damian has a school project due the day after tomorrow. I was supposed to help him. It's about the water cycle,” he paused, looking at her, “you know what the water cycle is, don't you?”

She stared at him, incredulous.

“What?” Bruce said.

“Yes,” she snapped, “I know what the goddamn water cycle is. I dropped out of high school, not the fifth grade, Bruce. But I am not helping Damian with his project.”

Bruce looked genuinely confused. God, she wanted to strangle him sometimes. “Why not?” he said, “you said a lot of stuff about wanting to be a part of their lives and–”

“Don't,” she hissed, poking at his chest with her index finger, “make this about that. This is not the same thing. You handing off your responsibility to me doesn't make me a bigger part of their lives so much as making you a little shit.”

Bruce stared down at her finger. “I'm sensing that you're angry,” he said.  

“I've been back for half an hour, after being gone for a month, and you want to leave already? And your leg is injured. Your superhero friends can take care of your precious watchtower. You are going to take care of your leg. And your son's project. And me. You're going to pour me a glass of wine and then we're going to finally get around to watching the second half of Rear Window and then we're going to make out on the couch for a long time. Is that clear?”

Bruce blinked at her.  

“And I don't care if you're in a bad mood,” Selina said, her eyes narrow, “because mine is way worse.”

“Okay,” Bruce said. He blinked again.

“Good,” Selina said, “Enough working. Let's get out of here.”

*

Damian watched curiously, as Selina pasted cut outs of water droplets onto the cardboard panel.

“You're using too much glue,” he said, biting into a cookie. Alfred had made a batch of these chocolate orange ones, that were about as good as crack cocaine.

She gave him a look. “Do you want me to help you or not?” she said.

Damian sighed, shaking his head. “Father never uses that much glue.” He reached his tiny hand into the glass bowl on the middle of the floor, and ate another cookie.

“Father,” Bruce said, sticking a water droplet to the panel, “likes to maintain a good ratio of glued to unglued paper. It should remain glued firmly, but stay dry and relatively non-messy.”

Selina pulled on one of the water droplets Bruce had pasted on. It came off the panel with relative ease. “Shut up, both of you,” she said, giving them both a pointed look.

Damian went back to drawing water evaporating into vapour, looking a little sheepish. Bruce didn't even have the good grace to do that. He just shrugged. He seemed to be getting a real kick out of this, of sitting on the floor of Damian’s room, eating cookies, sticking cut-outs and getting unsolicited advice from his son on how to correctly colour clouds.  

(“You can't just leave them white,” Damian had said bossily, “they're storm clouds. They need to have a little gray near the edges.”)

Bruce was currently trying and failing to colour those clouds. He really was an abominable artist. He frowned at the paper, his brow furrowed. God, Selina wanted to kiss him.

Damian sighed loudly, reaching over and taking the sheet from him. “I'll do it,” he said, “you just stick to gluing.”

“Sorry,” Bruce said.  

“It's all right,” Damian allowed, sagely. “You can cut out the clouds once I'm done, Father.”

“Damn,” Selina said, “but I wanted to cut out the clouds.”

“There's always next time, Kyle,” Damian said, kindly.  “Have a cookie.”

She looked edgeways at Bruce. His mouth had twitched up very slightly. She smiled, taking a cookie.

“Thanks, Damian,” she said, biting in.

*

Bruce's leg was propped up on a footstool. The credits of Rear Window were rolling down the screen. There were two empty bottles of wine and two wine glasses on the coffee table.

“Shit, Bruce,” Selina said, “we missed the second half again.”

“Mmm,” Bruce said, into her neck. “We can rewind.”

Selina turned her head to kiss him again. “We did that last time,” she said, “And we missed it all over again. Remember?”

Bruce was clearly not focusing. His mouth was making a detour from her jaw to lower realms. She pulled away a little, “Remember?” she said again.

He followed her mouth, pulling her back against him. “This would work a lot better if you were on top,” he said, “I'm an injured man.”

“We,” Selina said, “were talking about Rear Window,” she said. He had started to work on getting her blouse off, except that the buttons were posing a bit of a challenge for him. Neither of them were at their peak, hand-eye coordination wise. They had drunk copious amounts of wine.

“It's an excellent movie,” Bruce said. One of his hands was under her shirt, slowly but surely sliding up to her bra. “A pinnacle of filmmaking.”

“How would you know,” Selina said, helping him with her blouse, “We've never made it past the forty minute mark,” there was a long pause, “Okay, I'm just going to get on top.”

“Hallelujah,” Bruce muttered, gripping her waist as she slung a leg over his thighs. She was working on getting his shirt off, when–

“Father?” came a sleepy voice.

Both of them froze. And then Bruce pushed her off him, in a rather brusque fashion.

“Yes?” Bruce said, clearing his throat, “what is it, Damian?”

Damian squinted at them, his hair stuck up in odd angles. He was wearing pajama pants with little rockets on them. “Why are the two of you just sitting in the dark?” he pointed to the TV, which was now blank, “the movie's over.”

“We were,” Bruce paused, “talking.” Selina rolled her eyes.

Damian frowned, rubbing at his eyes, “In the dark?”

Bruce cleared his throat again. There was another long pause. “Yes,” he said, finally.  

“Jesus Christ,” Selina muttered. “Sweetheart,” she said in a louder voice, “can I help you?”

Damian looked fidgety. “Can I switch on a light?” he said.

Selina looked at Bruce. Bruce shook his head, massaging his temples.

“Sure,” Selina said, hastily doing up her buttons. Thankfully they'd only been able to undo three. Collectively. They really were getting old.  

Damian flicked on a light, “I threw up,” he said, his voice small, “twice.”

Bruce frowned. Or maybe he was squinting in the light. “Damian. I told you not to eat all those cookies at once.”

Damian fidgeted some more. “Sorry,” he mumbled. A pause. “My stomach really hurts.”

Bruce sighed. “Come here,” he said patting the space on the couch between him and Selina. Damian ran over, clambering up onto the couch, until he was plastered against Bruce's side. Selina watched, amused. It was strange to see Damian behave like a normal twelve year old.

“Where does it hurt?” Bruce asked, rubbing his son's stomach, “Here?”

“Yes. It hurts everywhere,” Damian said, his voice sullen. “I'm never eating a cookie ever again.”

Bruce snorted. “We'll see about that,” he said. “Do you want a painkiller?”

Damian nodded.

“Alright,” Bruce said, and he left the room to fetch one, leaving Selina and Damian alone in the room.

Damian watched her, clutching his stomach. He looked thoughtful.  

“What?” Selina said.  

“I'm going to throw up again,” Damian said.

Selina sat up. “Oh,” she said, “um, here,” She handed him one of the empty wine glasses from the coffee table.

Damian made a face. Then he set the wine glass back on the table, “Never mind, “ he said, “it passed.”

“Well,” Selina said, “that's a relief. I don't think the wine glass would've worked.”

“Really,” Damian said, his voice dry. He sounded remarkably like his father. It was uncanny. She could almost picture a little version of Bruce running around, ordering caviar and earl gray for breakfast. It made her smile.

“Don't you have school tomorrow, kid?” she said.

Damian made a face. “I'm homeschooled,” He said, “but Father's making me go to a private school next year.”

“Good for you,” Selina said. She didn't know what private schools looked like, but a picture of boys in knee high socks and shorts and little blazers definitely came to mind. Also it was possible that they played polo.

“I hate other children,” Damian said, sulkily, “they're so stupid.”

“That they are,” Selina said, “but in school you get to do all kinds of things, like skip class and get in fights and do drugs behind the bleachers,” she paused, looking at the expression on Damian's face, “or you could just go to all your classes and get excellent grades. It's really up to you.”

“I don't understand how Father found someone like you,” Damian said, shaking his head.

Selina grinned. “I have a sneaking suspicion that that was a compliment,” she said. Damian smiled a little at that, despite himself.

Bruce entered the room with a blister pack and a glass full of water. “What did I miss?” he said.  

“Oh, nothing,” Selina said, “we were just talking shit about you.”

“Language,” both Bruce and Damian said, together.

Selina sighed. “Look what you've done, Bruce. You've brainwashed the poor kid.”

“I'm not brainwashed,” Damian said, indignant, “I'm–– going to throw up,” he said, suddenly.  

Bruce grabbed a wastepaper basket from the corner of the room and handed it to Damian. Selina felt a little stupid for not having thought of that. Oh, well. Whatever.  

She watched as Bruce stroked Damian's hair while he puked his tiny twelve year old guts out.  

“And to think,” she said, “of all the fun you'd have missed out on, if you were clearing space debris from the watchtower's auxiliary solar panels right now,” she said.  

He only looked up at her, the corner of his mouth twitching up. He was patting Damian's back.

“The very thought fills me with dread,” he said.  

Damian retched some more. Selina smiled.

#theartofdreaming1 #bruce wayne #batman #original #selina kyle #batcat #damian wayne #fluff #prompts

[artificialqueens]

Different People (Different Arguments), 1/14 (Branjie/Jankie) - Ortega

a/n: once upon a time there was an author named Ortega who wrote war and fucking peace of a the thick of it au called Just the Game We’re In. she finished it and was proud of it and everything was fine. then suddenly, it turned out one of the main characters was…well, we’ll park that. so Ortega then decided to rewrite it with different girls, a few different details, and a different title. and it’s called Different People (Different Arguments)! and chapter one is here now for u all to enjoy (i hope).

(ps. no i’ve not forgotten about strictly au)

fic summary: Brooke Lynn is a political advisor for a government department where she has to contend with an incompetent Minister, maintaining her stone-cold bitch image, working alongside a press team of slackers, and the Prime Minister’s ever-so-slightly terrifying enforcer breathing down her neck 24/7. So when a familiar face from her past arrives as her new boss, she’s not exactly thrilled to add another problem to her ever-growing pile.

And then she admits she’s got a crush on her coworker.

In this chapter: A standard working day is turned on its head when Brooke has to play a role in engineering Cabinet Minister Darienne Lake’s resignation.

***

High heels. The definitive sound of Brooke’s job. Day in, day out the click-clack, click-clack sound would echo through the offices, closely followed by the constantly ringing phones and the tap-tap-tap of keyboards. Often there was also shouting, the volume of which was never helped by the design of the building which allowed every whisper to be amplified by around a million decibels and broadcast into the lobby.

Brooke hated the new building. She’d hated the idea of moving into it, insisting it would reflect badly on their party and cost them in the polls.

“What kind of message is it going to send out?” she’d rolled her eyes, tearing her hands through her hair. “If we’re trying to tell the public we’re still in touch with them and understand their fears of another recession it doesn’t exactly help moving into what looks like Aquaman’s secret fucking lair.”

She had been ignored, of course, as the decision had already been made. Brooke often wondered what the point of being a political advisor was if nobody ever actually listened to your advice, especially since the person you were supposed to be giving advice to seemed to be blundering about the world of politics like a headless chicken. Darienne Lake had been head of the Department for Social Affairs and Citizenship (Dosac for short) for quite some time now. Too long, Brooke thought. It was harrowing working for a woman who was clearly in the wrong profession, watching her get slammed by the media almost daily as a result of the latest crackpot policy she’d dreamed up. Brooke could’ve left the department a long time ago, should’ve left a long time ago. But she didn’t.

Politics was all about climbing the ladder and making connections. It was a game of chess, and over the years Brooke had seen many people make the wrong move both in and out of the public eye and subsequently watched them get disposed of. She’d seen people cross to the other side, watched both her own party and the opposition divide and conquer. It was all extremely black and white. The party line was a tightrope you had to walk. If you stepped out of line, you fell off the tightrope. If you weren’t up to date on what the line was, the tightrope got cut.  

Brooke could appreciate it wouldn’t sound hugely appealing to someone who didn’t live, breathe, eat, sleep and shit politics. However, this was her world. It had been her world since she’d started watching the news when she was six years old and heard her family talk about the politicians on the screen, and her need to be within the political realm only intensified when she left school and went to uni to study politics and economics, her drive and determination ensuring she graduated with a first class degree. Something that never got old to Brooke were people’s reactions when they discovered she wasn’t some dyed blonde lobotomy job who’d slept her way up the ladder. She wanted to keep giving people that shock day after day, and if that meant staying and advising an under-qualified, over-privileged cabinet Minister, then she could grit her teeth and bear it.

The echoey click-clack of Brooke’s heels provided a soundtrack as she briskly made her way across the black tiles of the department building’s lobby and pressed one red acrylic nail to the button of the lift, the doors sliding open almost instantly. As she stepped inside, quickly checking her reflection in the mirror, there was the frenzied sound of heels on tiles and a panicked yelling.

“Hold the lift!”

Smiling to herself, Brooke held the doors open as a small, pint-sized blonde ball of energy hurtled through them. Catching her breath and smoothing down her white shift dress, she shot her friend a quick smile.

“Morning, girl!”

“Hey, Jan. Great timing,” Brooke smirked as her friend fixed her windswept hair in the mirror.

If you’d ever asked Brooke if she could’ve seen herself becoming best friends with a previous member of the opposition she would have laughed in your face, but Jan was an exception. She had crossed the floor three months ago, finding a job as one of Darienne’s junior policy advisors after she became disillusioned with the ruthless ideals of the opposition. From what Brooke had heard, the offices of Nicky Doll’s party had been a little cliquey and Jan had wanted to spread her wings. Understandably, Brooke had been suspicious of her at first but Jan had been persistently kind and sweet to her to the point where Brooke basically blinked and they were friends as well as colleagues.

“What’s on the Minister’s agenda today then?” Brooke laughed humourlessly, leaning against the lift’s cool metal wall. “Are we demanding the extension of all buses by 30 centimetres? Bringing back the ha’penny? Outlawing kids?”

Jan threw her head back and laughed. “No, although all very possible Darienne ideas. We’ve to sort the public transport data before 5pm. That’s the only real pressing thing we have to do today.”

Brooke felt uneasy. The prospect of 24 hours that didn’t seem like being strapped to a bullet train speeding through fire seemed too good to be true. Something was always going wrong at Dosac and the fact that the only important thing they had to do with their day was to type some figures into an excel spreadsheet was suspicious.

“How was your weekend anyway?” Jan asked, smiling kindly.

Brooke thought back to the previous two days which were spent holed up in her studio flat eating instant noodles and working her way through expenses forms which the Minister should have been doing herself.

“Oh, you know…just a quiet one,” she gave Jan a small smile, which she returned.

The elevator doors opened and Brooke and Jan made their way to their desks. They were stopped in their tracks by a tiny, olive-skinned woman with flowing dark locks of hair babbling away at them at about a mile a minute. Smirking, Brooke shared an affectionate glance with Jan.

“And good morning to you too, human megaphone,” Brooke smiled, lazily throwing her jacket over her desk as the girl rolled her eyes.

“Brooke Lynn! This is serious shit. It would help if you made it into fuckin’ work on time,” she snapped back, pacing back and forth in her heels with worry.

“Relax, Vanessa. We were only a minute off, Darienne’s not going to be in for another fifteen,” Jan smiled lazily, kicking her heels off as she lounged in the wheely chair behind her desk. “Anyway, what’s the panic? It’s a chill day.”

There was one second of almost-silence as the clicks of computer mouses and the whirr of monitors were the only sounds in the room. Then, Vanessa’s eyes widened in horror. Brooke’s stomach dropped as she met Jan’s eyes- she’d known the prospect of a quiet day had been a veritable pipe dream.

“A chill…shit, you guys didn’t get the briefing that Nina sent out? Oh Christ, what am I doin’ even asking that.”

“Are my ears burning?” came a sleepy voice from down the hall. A figure emerged bundled up in countless scarves and woollen cardigans, her blonde frizzy curls only just visible through the layers of clothing. Her manicured fingernails were curled around a Starbucks cup, which she was clinging to for dear life.

“Morning, Nina! Great timing!” Vanessa greeted her sarcastically.

“Ignore her, girl. She hasn’t had her morning shot of Sambuca yet,” Jan drawled, smiling at the human game of pass the parcel who was currently detangling herself from her mummification of knitted clothing. Nina was Dosac’s press secretary who was kind and easy-going but also did the bare minimum, as her determination started and ended at getting home to her wife Monét and the latest episode of EastEnders every day. The girls all both loved her and were vexed by her in equal measures as it was often near to impossible to get any information from her or through her. But Brooke had to admit she did make a good cup of tea.

“Nina. Is there a reason why these bitches haven’t been briefed on Darienne’s interview with Raja Gemini today?” asked Vanessa.

Brooke threw her head back and groaned. Oh, fuck. This was bad news. Raja was one of the fiercest bitches in the media, a BBC journalist who was almost impossible to influence with spin. Fixing Nina with a stony glare, she was irritated even more when she simply shrugged.

“Vanessa, that email was sent to me at four minutes past five yesterday evening and you know fine well that the moment it hits five o’clock my out of office is on and my work phone is off,” Nina raised her eyebrows, curling her Bluetooth headset round her ear as she logged into her computer.

“Christ. So the Minister has a Gemini interview and we’ve got no idea what it’s meant to be covering,” Brooke massaged her temples slowly.

“Well, I’ll tell you what it’s about. She’s runnin’ with the mobile phone policy,” Vanessa sighed, nodding fiercely as both Brooke and Jan cried out in disbelief.

“Absolutely not. I thought we’d convinced her that it was a non-starter?!” Jan exclaimed, her tone nothing short of outraged.

“Apparently she’s feelin’ the pressure of the opposition as a result of Nicky pushing to cut down on Co2 emissions, so she wants to bring out a policy that goes hand in hand with that so the government can look good.”

“That doesn’t even make any fucking sense! God, Nicky could sneeze and she’d be ‘feeling the pressure’. Sometimes it’s like this department’s being run by a startled cat,” Jan sighed, pushing her blow-dried waves of hair away from her face with her hand.

“Yeah, I always think watching her decision-making process is like watching an enormous baby trying to do calculus,” Brooke piped up, humour masking the genuine, real fear that this disastrous policy was about to go live. Its basic premise was to fine people who used their phones while they walked, to avoid collisions between pedestrians on the streets and therefore reduce waiting times at Accident and Emergency as there were less injuries. It was absolutely insane, but then this was a typical Darienne Lake policy. Vanessa had once told Brooke that she often genuinely wondered if someone was sneaking cocaine into Darienne’s pasta salads.

Obviously suffering from a rare pang of guilt, Vanessa sighed as she leant against Jan’s desk. “I don’t know. I think sometimes this party’s way too harsh on her. And the press.”

“Can you blame them?!” Brooke snorted derisively. “It sucks, but if you’re a woman in politics and you go out in dresses that look like someone put stick-on diamantes onto a burlap sack mid-seizure, of course Hello magazine are going to have a field day.”

“Come on, Brooke Lynn, you gotta admit that she’s a very nice woman,” Vanessa shook her head, laughing only slightly.

“Being a very nice woman doesn’t make you a good politician, though,” Jan chipped in with a grimace.

“So you’re going to follow her when she eventually goes then, Vanessa?” Nina piped up from behind her monitor, her eyebrows raised high into her blonde curls. Vanessa bit her lip.

“…well. I still want some form of career, let’s not take it too far.”

The three girls laughed as Vanessa blushed pink. Vanessa’s loyalty to Darienne didn’t stretch all that far. When Darienne had entered the job last year it had also meant she had arrived as Darienne’s senior advisor. It had quickly become clear to Brooke that Vanessa had got to where she was by telling people what they wanted to hear, smiling and nodding at every turn as Darienne drove the department into one dead end after another. Brooke admired Vanessa’s craftiness; her method of going along with whatever Darienne wanted meant that whenever the time came to blame someone Darienne never looked her way. Of course, Vanessa secretly hated basically every idea that Darienne had and quickly grew to trust Brooke (and eventually Jan when she joined the party) as somebody she could share her true feelings with. Over her time as part of Dosac the three girls had become great friends, forming a sort of secret alliance of common sense against Darienne’s crazy politics. She didn’t look in any way like a traditional government advisor, but Brooke still thought she was amazing.

At her job, that is.

“Face it, V,” Jan smiled sleepily, giving a stretch as Brooke shook herself out of her daydream. “Everyone’s running from Darienne like…ugh, I’m crap at one-liners at this time of the morning. Brooke, help me out?”

“Like she runs from Weight Watchers? Like obesity runs in her family? Like McDonald’s employees run whenever she steps foot in the building? Come on, Jan, that one was easy.”

“Guys, c’mon! That’s both way harsh an’ fatphobic as shit. Check yourself,” Vanessa chastised her friends, shaking her head. Jan pulled a guilty face and made a helpless gesture.

“All I’m saying is that Darienne Lake is sinking like the Titanic, if the Titanic was on fire and made entirely of burning shit, and we’re going to be playing the violins if we don’t start distancing ourselves from her as soon as we can,” she yawned.

“Does shit float or sink?” pondered Brooke as she chewed a pen.

“That’s not really the point here,” Jan rolled her eyes.

“Look, I don’ give a shit about burlap sacks, or burnin’ shit, or spitroasting or whatever the fuck you guys are talking ‘bout, I just think she’s gonna notice if we start lookin’ like we’re about to jump ship!” Vanessa cried, flustered.

Jan and Brooke shared a concerned look.

“I didn’t say anything about spitroasting. Do you even know what spitroasting is?” Brooke laughed uproariously. Jan and Nina giggled as Vanessa shot Brooke a displeased glare.

“No. It don’t sound very classy,” she sniffed, scrolling through her phone nonchalantly. As the laughter died down, Nina sighed from her desk.

“Even if she does notice, it won’t be an issue. I heard Bianca’s sorting her departure.”

The three girls gave Nina equally shocked glances, their jaws slack at this bomb of information coming from someone who was usually so little help.

“You…heard something? You have working ears? You have a working set of five senses?” Brooke teased her, gobsmacked but also a little excited at the prospect of getting someone competent in to run the department.

“Hey, I am actually of some use sometimes! Akeria over at Richmond Terrace told me at our last meeting.”

All at once, Brooke deflated in her seat. “Right, so what you really mean is…a senior press officer for the opposition told you that Bianca was planning to get rid of Darienne, knowing she’d eventually find out and making sure she’d become rattled so that Nicky would be able to capitalize on the fact that she’d be acting more like a bat on Ritalin than normal.”

Seeing Nina’s peeved expression, Jan piped up. “I’m sure there’s some element of truth in it, Brooke. I mean, Akeria’s not exactly party loyal, she’s just a civil servant.”

Brooke gave a little exhale. Jan was kind to the point of frustrating sometimes. “Well, if what Nina is saying is a fact-”

“Excuse me, I’m not Beedle the fucking Bard!” Nina cut in, resembling a meerkat as her head popped over the top of her monitor.

“- then maybe we should start distancing ourselves,” Brooke finished, shooting Nina an irked look, annoyed at having been interrupted. She noticed that Vanessa was giving her a confused sort of glance.

“How? How do we create distance when we’re advising the bitch?” she stammered, clearly becoming nervous at the prospect of a minor coup. Brooke laughed. These were the situations where Vanessa’s inexperience showed and, although it was sometimes tedious having to hold her hand through such conditions, it was also ever so slightly endearing.

“Don’t panic, ‘Ness, it’ll be fine. Bianca will have it taken care of,” she smiled, trying her best to reassure her friend.

Casting her eye to the clock, Jan narrowed her eyes. “V, you should probably head downstairs and meet the Minister. Her car’s going to be pulling up in, like, a minute.”

Cursing, Vanessa trotted towards the lifts as fast as her high heels could carry her. Brooke watched as she left, then exhaled loudly as she switched her computer on. Trying her best to relax, she cast her eye over the office. Apart from one glass-fronted room at the far end which belonged to Darienne, the majority of it was open plan. It was mostly filled with identical IKEA desks which were all the same shade of creamy grey and topped with piles and piles of work. Vanessa’s desk was messy with post-it notes plastered all round the screen of her monitor, encroaching on top of the piles of folders and ringbinders like some kind of horrific, neon disease. Brooke’s own was a sort of middle ground- most things were ordered but the nature of the job meant that sometimes a chaos of papers, files and briefing notes would sometimes hurricane itself across her desk. A stark contrast to the other two, Jan’s desk was like a beacon of order and tidiness in the hectic office. Everything had its place, her folders were all stored neatly and were colour-coded, and a packet of disinfectant wipes sat just beside the screen of her monitor. Their desks represented the three of them quite well.

Over to her left beside the lifts sat the cluster of desks which housed the communications team. Nina sat at its helm, situated near the desks of the advisors. To the right of Nina’s desk sat the two senior press officers, Scarlet and Yvie, and to Nina’s left were the two junior press officers, Jaida (who Brooke often thought to be far more competent than Nina and often prayed the two would somehow find themselves in some form of Freaky Friday body swap) and Adore, whose chair was empty. Brooke rolled her eyes hard- Adore had started as a civil service intern and Darienne had ended up keeping her on permanently. It had been another one of her diabolical decisions as Adore was ever so slightly scatterbrained, preferred scrolling her socials to tackling any of the pile of incomplete work the size of Kilimanjaro on her desk, and devoted around 90% of her day to making cups of tea. As a person she was great fun and brought a certain element of life to the office when everyone was down, but as someone Brooke had to work with she was a challenge. There had been many times where Brooke had fleetingly thought of pushing over the pile of folders on her desk one day and killing her, doing the department a great service.  

Before Brooke could even open her emails, Darienne was marching through the department with Vanessa following behind her holding two large, red briefcases.

“Morning, morning!” she sing-songed as she made her way into her office. “Meeting in ten, yes ladies?”

Brooke shrugged half-heartedly in response, scrolling through her emails with disinterest. As she watched Darienne swing her office door shut she let out a huge, bored sigh.

There was suddenly a flurry of activity as the sound of approaching footsteps thundered along the corridor. Soon enough, a small girl with wide eyes, cheeks flushed pink and blonde hair with black roots appeared and flung herself down into the empty desk beside Jaida. Getting herself comfy, she kicked her heeled boots off and fired up her computer. Adore had arrived.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, ain’t anyone able to get to work on time?!” Vanessa hissed, exasperated and trying desperately to mask the fact that Adore had only just arrived at the office. Sipping on the coffee that was no doubt in her porcelain keep cup, Adore shot her a slack-jawed smile as the other press officers looked up from their work.

“Hey, I was working, thank you very much! I was doing important party business before I got here.”

“What kind of important party business?” asked Yvie, her interest piqued at the thought of Adore voluntarily doing any work.

“Laila McQueen,” Adore beamed, taking another big, loud sip. Jan laughed as Brooke rolled her eyes so hard they threatened to fall out her sockets. “Hey, it just means we have The Independent on our side for the next couple of days!”

“Good work, girl. You’re like a broadsheet Julia Roberts. I didn’t know Bianca had started pimping people out,” Scarlet shot Adore a sarcastic grin and received a tight-lipped smile and one middle finger in response which made her snort a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, very good, Adore, real impressive. That’s your one minute of glory up. You think you could go and get us some tea? And maybe some pastries, Darienne’ll probably be hungry,” Vanessa ordered, Adore pouting and lazily rising from her desk.

“Probably? It’s not like there’s an element of doubt to it,” Brooke snorted a laugh. “Get her a cinnamon roll the size of a fucking Swiss cheese, that should do her fine.”

Five minutes later, Brooke found herself sipping a subpar cup of tea in Darienne’s office, craving the sweet embrace of death as she listened to her witter on about how Raja Gemini wasn’t that intimidating, and that contrary to popular belief she was able to hold her own against the big journalists. Jan was attempting to talk her down from the ledge of misplaced confidence she had seemed to have clambered up to, Vanessa was doing her best impersonation of a nodding dog, and Nina was sleepily casting her eyes between Darienne and Jan as they spoke, her notebook blank.

“Do you have a strong opening line?” Jan asked the Minister nervously, prodding at her lip with nerves. Darienne smiled smugly, leaning back and relaxing in her chair.

“Once we implement these fines, the waiting times at A&E will be shorter than the waiting times at McDonalds. Ambulances will practically start operating drive thrus!” she reeled off, grinning proudly at the line she’d clearly spent hours thinking up. Stifling laughter, Brooke watched the reactions of the other girls. Nina’s pen hovered above her notebook hesitantly as if she couldn’t quite believe she had to write the drivel down, and Vanessa and Jan were staring at each other, wide-eyed with incredulity.

“Jesus. I’ve seen stronger newborn children,” Brooke sighed as she leant forward and sat her cup of tea on Darienne’s desk, too disgusted to attempt to drink any more.  “That cup of tea was stronger than that opening line.”

“Hey! I spent all night thinking that up,” Darienne cried, offended. Jan furrowed her brow.

“Honestly Darienne, it does kind of sound like you pulled it out of your ass.”

“Speaking of assholes, Bianca’s in the building,” Nina spoke up, checking her phone. The mood in the room suddenly plummeted.

Everyone was afraid of Bianca. The only separating factor was just how afraid they were of Bianca. She was the prime Minister’s enforcer and spin doctor, the lady who made it clear to everyone in government that they had to know the line and toe the line, often spinning the party out of crises like a terrifying dreidel. She had no time for time wasters, bluffers, blue-sky thinkers, or people who weren’t one hundred percent capable of doing their job, and often unleashed hell on those that weren’t. Brooke was a big girl, she could handle herself, but there was still something about the authority that Bianca radiated and how intimidating she was that made her just that little bit nervous. She knew she had an easy-going side, but Brooke hadn’t seen it often.

“She looking for us?” Vanessa asked nervously.

“No, I’m sure she’s walking around the department trying to get her steps in for the day. What do you think?!” Nina hissed back, glaring momentarily at Vanessa then back to her phone. “Any second now…”

“Good morning, Bianca,” Jan greeted as a woman strode confidently into the office on six-inch Louboutins. Despite the fact her caramel waves of hair had a slight haze of frizz from the drizzle outside she was otherwise perfectly put-together, wearing a matching black suit jacket and pencil skirt combo. Her makeup was bright like the patterns on a poisonous frog and her lips were painted with bright red lipstick. Or perhaps that was just the blood of another poor cabinet Minister.

“Yes, good morning, and I’m hoping it’s going to be a good fucking morning, because this one-” she trained a single black fake nail on Darienne’s face “-is fully prepped for her Gemini interview at 12, correct?”

“Don’t worry Bianca. I was up all night,” Darienne gave her a saccharine sweet smile, which Bianca turned her nose up at.

“So you’re fully aware she thinks it’s an utterly fucking horrible idea?” Bianca tilted her head very slightly.

“She’s not the only one,” Jan muttered, just loud enough for Brooke to hear.

Darienne looked somewhat put out, her face falling. Sighing, Brooke looked to the ceiling. Vanessa was right- the Minister was a nice lady, but how in the hell could she think that policy was anything less than an utter car crash?! Brooke began to allow herself to daydream, which admittedly was always a risk in Bianca’s presence, but already this day was like a huge, massive wave towering over them all before a tsunami and she needed to disconnect. She was aware of Bianca’s voice tearing into Darienne in the background.

“What if she asks you how many police hours this will take up? What are you going to say then?”

“I would simply point her to the amount of money that this policy would generate, which would well make up for the drain on resources-”

“Jesus H Fuck, who did your media training? Myra Hindley? Don’t use the word ‘drain’! Don’t use any words with any negative connotations whatsoever! I don’t want a single word out of place in this interview; otherwise Gemini is going to start analysing it like Gillian McKeith analyses people’s shit.”

Darienne appeared to think things over for a moment. “So can I…I mean…can I use the word no?”

Brooke only just stopped herself from physically slapping her hand to her forehead. Bianca looked incredulously at the faces of the four other girls, each as long-suffering as the last.

“Have I suddenly imagined a storybook character into life? Did a child make a wish on a shooting star last night, is that why fucking Moon-Face is sitting at a desk in front of me? Are the other Faraway Tree friends about to walk in through the door and start running the country?”

Darienne cast her eyes to the floor, the message well and truly received.

“You mentioned the amount of money that this would generate. Is this going to be the saving grace of this policy? Is this going to be the diamond ring within the shit of the dog who accidentally ate it?”

“You’re very faecally focussed today, Bianca,” Jan piped up with a frown as Brooke stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, well. It’s hard not to be when you’re within a 5 mile radius of this department,” she scoffed.

“Well within the first month, we’re looking to generate around…um, Vanessa?” Darienne cast her eyes to the senior advisor, whose gaze shifted to Bianca nervously.  

“Unbelievable. She can’t even retain her own fucking figures. Come on then, Britain’s number fifteen Rihanna impersonator, give me some good fucking news.”

“Uh, we think…well, Darienne thinks…that within the first month of enforcement we could generate around £25,000 in £50 fines.”

Bianca’s face grew very gradually cold, Vanessa freezing to the spot as if she’d just been stared at by Medusa. Even Brooke shivered.

“You mean to tell me,” she began, her voice extremely measured and shaking only slightly. “That out of a population of 64 million people, who normally stumble around the streets with their heads in their phone screens like puppets with their strings cut, we’d be able to fine…500 a month?”

“Well, we deliberately predicted under target so that the actual figure would come as a pleasant surprise!” Darienne smiled back, completely nonplussed at Bianca’s rage.

“If I could interject, I don’t seem to remember there being any ‘we’ about it,” Nina spoke up dryly, before lowering her head back down into her notebook.

“I really love the logic of this department. Maybe you should all become teachers! 50 add 50 equals 25, and when you find out that the real answer is actually 100, well that’s just a fucking pleasant surprise, isn’t it?! The crime stats from the last quarter revealed that there had been 73 murders committed, except- what a nice surprise! There were actually 78, because we forgot to count your five fucking bodies after I ripped them to fucking shreds!”

Brooke had no idea why Darienne was so calm. It was like her brain had been replaced by a huge goldfish bowl. Vanessa, however, looked a little shell-shocked, and Brooke couldn’t help the pang her heart gave as her protective instincts took over.

Only for a moment, though.

“We’ve got time to accumulate some more accurate figures. They wouldn’t be bang on, but definitely a lot more impressive than £25,000, and they’d probably placate Gemini,” Brooke shrugged, sitting up a little straighter in her seat as she addressed Bianca. Casting her frown Brooke’s way, Bianca seemed to calm down very slightly.

“Finally someone in this room that isn’t a massive, walking, talking sac of amniotic fluid. Get it done, okay? I’ll see you all after the interview.”

As Bianca left the room, the other girls all visibly relaxed. Vanessa began rubbing at her shoulder, clearly tense after being momentarily in the firing line. Flustered, Darienne finally spoke.

“Right well, Brooke, if you could sort that out within the hour,” she smiled, as if she was in control in any way. “Jan and Nina, if you could stay with me so that we can smooth out the finer details of this interview, and Vanessa if you could get started on the transport data please.”

“Uh, that ain’t gonna be possible, Minister, ‘cause I got a lot of stuff left over from yesterday an’ I still need to send that email over to Nick at the treasury, an’ uh…” Vanessa suddenly blurted out, clearly still slightly rattled from Bianca’s visit. Brooke screwed her face up. What the fuck was she doing? Darienne looked equally perplexed as Vanessa stammered a correction. “I mean…no, yeah, of course. I’ll get it done as soon as I can.”

As Darienne dismissed them and Brooke and Vanessa marched out of the office, Brooke immediately grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her into the toilets.

“Brooke Lynn! What the hell?!” Vanessa protested, her eyes fiery.

“What the hell was that in the office there?!”

Vanessa knit her brows together. “You told us to start distancing ourselves from her! I was tryin’ my fuckin’ best!”

“Yeah, distancing yourself, not starting a revolution! Am I talking to someone who works in politics or a seventeen year old who just got a D in their Modern Studies A-level?!” Brooke sighed, exasperated. She regretted it immediately when she saw Vanessa’s shoulders slump forward as she did her best impression of a kicked puppy.

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa muttered, shaking her head slightly. “I just…Bianca kinda panicked me.”

Without thinking, Brooke rested her hand on Vanessa’s arm in an attempt to comfort her. “Look…I know it’s hard for you. I get that you entered politics  as Darienne’s aide and that if she goes, the road ahead is going to be kind of…non-existent. Well, not non-existent, just extremely winding and bumpy and parts of it might not have been built yet. But you’re party loyal, right?”

Vanessa nodded silently. “I’m not a fuckin’ hack. I came into this job so I could help change things for people, except sometimes I just feel like we’re not doing much good.”

“Yeah, well. That’s because the PM is too balls-deep in his secretary to run the country for more than five minutes, but anyway. The point is that you’ll be okay, we’ll all be okay! You, me, Jan. The dream team,” Brooke beamed at her, her heart soaring as Vanessa’s face lit up. “Just keep following whatever Darienne does, but keep your ears open. Any sign of a possible new option, glue yourself to them. Do your best leech impression.”

Vanessa’s face contorted as she took Brooke’s last comment literally, and both of them shared a laugh.

“But don’t panic. Like Jan said, Bianca’s going to sort it. You saw her in there, she’s at the end of her tether with that giant egg we’ve got running the department. We’ll be fine.”

As Vanessa giggled, Brooke found herself blushing very slightly. Stepping forward that little bit more, she wrapped her arms around Vanessa in a gentle hug. She smelt of a very sweet, sugary perfume, and momentarily Brooke found it hard to let go, her heart thudding in her ribcage.

“Thanks, Brooke. You’re a sweetheart,” Vanessa smiled bashfully as she pulled away, sweeping her hair behind her ears. Brooke cast her eyes to the floor, embarrassed by the compliment.

“Come on. We’ve got work to do. You should start doctoring those transport stats for fun.”

Pushing open the door, Vanessa laughed and raised her eyebrows. “I got a C in my Modern Studies A-level anyway, so I don’t appreciate the accusation, ma’am.”

As the two girls made their way back to their desks, Brooke tried to clear her head. The conversation had dredged up a lot of feelings she’d been trying to repress. She didn’t have a crush on Vanessa. She wasn’t attracted to her like that at all. She was just protective of her, and she couldn’t help it if she was cute when she was flustered, or nervous, or happy, or irritated, or doing anything. That was just a fact. It didn’t mean she liked her as anything more than a friend.

Besides, the position of token workplace lesbian couple had already been filled by Scarlet and Yvie.

***

Brooke sighed, her disapproval hidden in the darkness of the news studio along with cameras, a teleprompter, and Vanessa. Why in the name of God was this interview live? It was barbaric to screen a brutal murder on lunchtime TV. Christ, there could be kids watching. Casting her eyes to the ceiling, she knew that Nina could have helped the situation. She could’ve pushed for it to be pre-recorded. But in her head she was already hearing the excuse about Raven at the BBC being “such a nice girl”, and that “she complimented my outfit once at Alyssa’s book launch”, so perhaps there was never any chance of it being anything but live.

As the Minister stammered and stuttered her way through her lines, Brooke wondered how Raja was able to keep such a stony, cold expression. She was essentially watching the complete breakdown of Darienne’s political credibility in front of her, that was surely worth some pity. Contemplating the situation, Brooke supposed that having pity wasn’t really going to do a journalist any favours. Raja had been out at Gaza, for fuck’s sake. She was hardly going to be sympathetic to this human pannacotta sat in front of her, Darienne’s voice wobbling and wavering over every line she spoke as Raja’s eyes bore into her.

Brooke looked briefly to Vanessa, who was just looking at Darienne sadly. Brooke had to feel sorry for her. Vanessa had placed her trust in the Minister to introduce her to the world of politics, a world she clearly wanted to be a part of for all the right reasons, and yet this was the thanks she got. Sitting having to watch her boss pedal horrific policy after horrific policy and watching as her and her colleagues got constantly ignored.

She deserved better.

Momentarily Brooke thought about making a joke, but reasoned that it would probably go down as well as a lead balloon. Instead, she texted Jan, safe from the debris of Darienne’s collapsing career at the office where she, Bianca and the communications team were all watching.    

B: Jesus. I’ve seen ISIS condemned for less than this.

There was a pause as Jan texted back. Brooke tuned back into the interview.

“…shorter than the, um, waiting times at McDonalds. Ambulances will practically start operating drive thrus!”

Brooke audibly groaned. Darienne had obviously inflated her life belt, pulling out her precious line as a last-ditch attempt to save the interview. Raja was less impressed.

“That sounds like an extremely serious comparison, Minister, you’re saying that this policy will simply rush patients through A&E as if they were…a burger? How thorough will doctors and nurses be?”

And there Darienne was again, back to flailing around the interview as if she was drowning.

J: I’ve never seen a human being reduced to actual liquid before. Hope you have a tub to transport her back to the office.

B: How’s Bianca holding up?

A pause.

J: I’ve seen mothers look less disgusted at their own afterbirth.

B: I really hope you haven’t.

***

The first thing Brooke, Darienne and Vanessa were greeted with on their arrival back at the office was Nina, a frown on her face.

“Well I’m glad that interview went so well. We’ve been fending off calls from several papers asking if this policy is, quote, the government’s dying whalesong, and The Sun are planning to run with the headline ‘Would you like dies with that’, in reference to the suggestion that the NHS is about to go down the drain.”

Brooke shook her head in contempt. “Imagine going to university for three years, getting a first in journalism, and then being paid to come up with that crap.”

“Absolutely. I think we should run with the line that these accusations are nonsensical,” Darienne bristled, annoyed that her pride and joy of a policy wasn’t making the impact it was supposed to. Brooke snapped her head round to face the Minister.

“I mean, I don’t think we can cover our backs that easily. You did that interview sounding as if you’d just survived a house fire, I mean why did you include that drive-thru line?!”

“It was an emergency! It was a last ditch attempt, I had to do something!” Darienne barked back, her face set in a frown.

Vanessa butted in. “An emergency line? A line to be used in an emergency? What the hell were the instructions? In case of emergency, break glass by throwin’ yourself through the top floor window of Broadcasting House?!”

The shouting match was stopped abruptly as Jan’s calm drawl trailed through the office. “Brooke, I just got a text from Bianca. She said she wants to see you in her office in five minutes, and if you’re late she’s going to make you stand in the Dosac lobby on a hot day and watch your face fry off.”

A horrified pause. “Her words, not mine.”

Exhaling noisily, Brooke grabbed her bag from where she’d just thrown it down on her desk. She tried to ignore Darienne’s smug smile as she made her way to the lift and a meeting with the most feared woman in politics.

***

Being able to see the inner workings of 10 Downing Street was like the part in The Wizard Of Oz when the curtain gets pulled back to reveal the Wizard as a sham. On the outside, it was the most perfect professional façade, a backdrop for thousands of press announcements, resignations and appointments. On the inside it resembled a prison riot at best, a hive of people running around trying to fix something, or spin something, or frantically complete some piece of unfinished work. It was slightly quieter today, Brooke had noticed, as she sat on a hard, wooden chair outside Bianca’s office.

She’d been there dead on time but Bianca was running ten minutes late so far. Lesser, more idiotic humans would call her out on it, but Brooke had a functioning brain and a desire to stay alive until at least the end of the day. She blew a strand of hair out of her face and curled her lip. She hadn’t a clue why Bianca had called her for a meeting and chose to pass up on the opportunity to berate Darienne about that car crash of an interview. If Bianca was looking for someone to blame, it couldn’t be Brooke. She had been under the impression that Bianca found her tolerable, but you could never really tell what her opinions on anything were. The woman’s poker face was so good she could’ve gone professional in Vegas.

The varnished, wooden door of Bianca’s office suddenly swung open, Bianca standing poised in front of Brooke like a bird of prey.

“You’re late,” she sniffed, as she held the door open for Brooke to come in. Mumbling an apology, Brooke slumped down into the leather-bound chair opposite Bianca’s desk and simply waited for whatever was about to come, looking casually around the room. It was a setting she knew all too well- the marble, white fireplace, the eerie green lamp giving off an abnormal white light on her desk. The nondescript paintings of some long-dead war heroes, the bookcases filled with files and files and files. The entire room screamed power and intimidation.

“Do you want a coffee, Brooke?” Bianca began casually as she sat down opposite her. Perplexed, Brooke shook her head.

“I’m okay…I’d kind of just like to find out why I’m here. I mean, aren’t you supposed to be after Darienne?”

Snorting a laugh, Bianca rose from her chair and moved to perch on the edge of her desk. She was slightly above Brooke’s level, but her tone and general aura were quite relaxed, bordering on informal.

“You were friends with Jaqueline Cox at university, correct?”

Ouch. The memories ripped through Brooke’s mind like a migraine. Jackie Cox, the know-it-all in every seminar. Jackie Cox, the try-hard in every presentation. Jackie Cox, with the smug smile and the glossy dark hair and the perfect matching stationary. She knew Jackie, and Brooke knew enough to know she wasn’t a fan.

“Friends is pushing it. She was on the same course as me and was about as irritating as thrush, and that’s all I really had to do with her,” she sniffed in her own non-committal way. Bianca flared her nostrils and made a face, indicating to Brooke that she’d given a wrong answer.

“Okay, maybe my phrasing was a little off. In case you haven’t noticed, you haven’t stumbled into some friendship bracelet craft class, this is Downing Street. So I’ll rephrase the question. Is she any good?”

Brooke felt momentarily like she was trapped in a lion enclosure. “Is she any good at…?”

“At juggling silicone breast implants and walking a tightrope over a lake of tepid piss. Is she any good at politics?!”

“God, I mean…I guess she’d be a good politician,” Brooke admitted begrudgingly. “She’s principled, she’s got strong morals and a backbone. She’s eloquent enough and nowhere near as big a car crash as that sheep’s placenta we’ve got as a Minister.”

Bianca smiled fleetingly, then stood and walked back to her chair, appeased.

“Perfect,” she said, her eyes boring into Brooke’s as she sat down. Looking momentarily behind her, Brooke shifted in her seat.

“So…why are you asking about Jackie?” she asked slowly, drawing each word out just that little bit too long to be necessary in her hesitation. Bianca smiled slowly in return.

“It came to my attention this afternoon that maybe there needs to be some…changes made around here. My party is being made to look like a laughing stock, and I don’t like it,” she growled, her eyes growing dark. “Darienne’s been palming off her expenses forms onto you, correct?”

Brooke nodded silently.

“Maybe it would be in your best interests…and the party’s best interests…to doctor them slightly. Then if they end up in the hands of the media…so be it. She’s left with no credibility, there’s no coming back from that. She’ll have to resign. Then really all that’s left to do is get a replacement in. Smooth as a bottle of Moët,” Bianca shrugged, leaning back in her chair calmly. Blinking twice, Brooke suddenly became apprehensive.

“Bianca, I can’t…I can’t just fake her expenses claims.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a note from your Mum? Have you got a cold and you can’t take part in this part of your actual job? You’re surprising me, Brooke,” Bianca sighed, clearly disappointed. “I honestly thought you had something different in you. A spine, a brain. Some form of drive, determination to succeed. You love this party, yes? You came into politics to make a difference, right?”

Brooke flinched slightly. Bianca was hitting her where it hurt, and she knew it was going to get a rise out of her. “Of course. I want us to succeed. I want us to change things.”

Bianca smiled, glad to have received a sufficient reaction.

“Then sometimes things have to be done by any means necessary,” she said gravely, running her tongue along her teeth. “If Jackie accepts the offer, she’ll be the new head of Dosac by tomorrow afternoon.”

Something about the whole appointment of Jackie Cox didn’t sit right with Brooke. She was just an annoying, opinionated, mouthy university girl, and there were ten a penny of those in London. Why her? Why not someone slightly more tolerable?

“Why does it have to be Jackie, why can’t it be someone else?” she voiced what she was thinking, annoyed. Bianca laughed, clearly amused.

“Okay, Miss Political Advisor. Advise me, since I’ve clearly not weighed up all the options.”

Stuck for a moment, Brooke’s brain began racing round at a hundred miles an hour. “Kelly Mantle. The back bencher from Education, she’s good.”

“No. She looks too much like a resident of Whoville to be put in the spotlight. Can you imagine when she inevitably fucks up, what the headlines will be? Who dunnit? Whose fault is it this time? Who, who, who, all over the front pages like owls with tourettes.”

Brooke sighed, then perked up with another idea. “What about Bianca Castro from Health?”

“Who, Jiggly?” Bianca asked, nonplussed.

“…Bianca Castro. She has a good track record, the public would love her-”

“Yeah, Jiggly.”

“Bianca, her name isn’t Jiggly.”

“The media damn well think it is after they got hold of those photos of her at the all-you-can-eat world buffet. Not exactly astounding publicity for a junior health Minister. She’s going nowhere.”

Brooke barely held in a grunt of frustration. “Ongina, that MP for-”

“Her name literally sounds like vagina. PR disaster. Next.”

“Jade Jolie.”

“She couldn’t run a bath, never mind a department.”

“Lashawn, then?!”

Bianca threw her head back and hooted a laugh. “You’re joking, right? Can you imagine her even trying to pronounce some of the names on the immigration database? She stays firmly on the back bench.”

Brooke pouted a little, frustration seeping out of every pore. Seeing her obvious displeasure, Bianca’s tone became placating, the woman’s softer side making a rare appearance.

“Look. Right now, we need strong leaders in this party. Jackie is about as strong as we’re going to get from what I’ve heard, and we need her to steer us out of this ditch that Darienne’s gradually lowered us into. You don’t need to worry about a thing, apart from those expenses forms. I’ll take care of it,” she smiled, reassuring Brooke as she stood and made to leave. Before she reached the door, a thought suddenly struck her like iced lightning, freezing her to the spot.

“Bianca…” Brooke began hesitantly. “Do you think Jackie will come with her own people? I mean, I’m not hugely up to date with her movements, so I don’t know how prepared she’ll be, and I’m fine, I can look after myself, you know? But like, Vanessa…and Jan, of course. Will she…will they get to keep their jobs?”

Bianca’s eyes were instantly on her, searching and wondering about the hidden agenda behind Brooke’s question. “I’ve worked with you for a while, Brooke Lynn. I must say, I’ve never seen you get attached to anyone in this game.”

“Well, you know,” Brooke shrugged, maintaining a cool exterior. “We work well together. We’re a good team. And she’s a valuable member of the department, that’s all.”

“Vanessa or Jan?” Bianca questioned.

“They both are! I just…I just want to make sure they’ll both be fine.”

Bianca moved to the doorway, gently showing her out. “Just doctor those expenses. Try not to pop a blood vein while doing so.”

Sighing, Brooke shook Bianca’s hand and click-clacked her way down the marble hallway towards the famous black door. Not too far along the corridor, she heard Bianca call after her.

“Brooke Lynn!”

She turned around sharply.

“Loyalty gets remembered in this party. Especially by me.”

***

Brooke hit send on her email to Bianca at 5.30pm on the dot. Darienne had claimed for Ubers from here to Downing Street, business lunches at nearby curry houses, and, just for laughs, a helicopter. Brooke had felt a little guilty fabricating it all, but it was impossible not to. If she had a complete lack of morals she’d be working for Nicky’s party, not Darienne’s. However, as Bianca had said, it was for the good of the party that she had to go.

She was still unsure about Jackie though. If everything went smoothly, by this time tomorrow she’d be sitting in Darienne’s office barking orders at her. It would be like every university group project all over again. Brooke had never actively disliked Jackie, she’d just found her grating. She was slightly unique, though. True, there were many girls of her type on her course, argumentative and challenging, but there were few that held their composure so well throughout a debate, maintaining class and superiority the entire time. Maybe that’s why she’d rubbed Brooke the wrong way so violently. Anyway, there had been a good eight years separating her time at uni and her time within the realm of politics. Perhaps Jackie was different now.  

Shutting down her computer, she swivelled her chair round to face the other girls. She’d communicated to everyone through hushed whispers that Bianca’s plan was being put into effect immediately, creating an excited buzz around the office for the last few hours of the day. Regrettably she’d noticed that Vanessa had become more subdued because of it, the girl clearly wondering where this left her career. Brooke wanted nothing more than to see her happy again. She just hadn’t had time to attempt to cheer her up in between the expenses and finishing the transport data.

It looked as if Adore had already left, her chair empty and her bag gone with her half-empty coffee cup on her desk. Nina had long since vanished, her desk clear and any evidence of her ever having been there completely gone. Jaida was clearly in for the long shift, still working steadily through her excel spreadsheet with an energy drink by her keyboard. Jan was pulling on her coat, fixing her hair rapidly, and Scarlet and Yvie looked ready to leave too. Vanessa suddenly appeared in front of her.

“Hey,” she smiled gently. “We’re goin’ for a drink, think we could all do with one after today. You coming?”

Brooke fleetingly thought of a night with the girls, of just having a laugh and being slightly less stressed than normal. The thought of a glass of wine was tempting, but then the immediate thought of work the next day and how chaotic it would be made her decision for her.

“Sorry, ‘Ness. I’m going to head back. Next time though, yeah?” Brooke gave a tight smile, sighing a little when Vanessa’s face grew slightly more disappointed than before. As she nodded understandingly and turned to leave, Brooke suddenly grabbed her hand without really knowing why. Checking the office to see if anyone was looking at them, Vanessa then gazed at Brooke, confused.

“Talk to me. You’re still worried about tomorrow, aren’t you?” Brooke murmured quietly, trying not to draw attention to them. Jan was chatting happily with Scarlet and Yvie was hugging Jaida goodbye, so they were safe for now.

Vanessa’s face was worried. “I just don’t like the uncertainty. I wouldn’t be as worried if it didn’t mean I could get split up from you and Jan. We’re so good together. I don’t wanna lose that.”

Brooke’s heart swelled a little in her chest. “Listen. Don’t make it common knowledge, but I might have had a hand in Bianca’s plan. She kind of hinted that I’d be repaid in some way. We’ll all stay, don’t worry. I trust her.”

Brooke almost breathed a sigh of relief as Vanessa’s shocked face grew into a bright, happy smile. “Fuck, Brooke Lynn, you serious?!”

“Yeah. I got one wish. I sold my soul to the devil. Sue me,” Brooke snorted sarcastically, making Vanessa laugh.

“Wait, what’d you have to do for her?” Vanessa whispered, her eyes excited.

“I had to sleep with her. It was horrendous. She eats pussy like I eat noodles. Slurp slurp slurp.”

Vanessa’s nose wrinkled up as she laughed uproariously, drawing the attention of the other girls to them to Brooke’s dismay. Vanessa looked beautiful when she laughed. Then again, she looked beautiful all the time. That was just a fact, of course.

“Hey, Brooke! You coming out with us or what? Silk and Akeria are joining, ” Yvie yelled over, smiling as she wrapped her arm around Scarlet’s slim waist. Brooke tried her best not to screw her face up- she had a hard time being polite to anyone from the opposition, even if they were only civil service comms officers.

“Nah, she’s being boring,” Vanessa teased, sticking her tongue out.

“Aw, come on, Brooke! You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, ‘specially tequila ones,” Scarlet piped up, giggling and throwing her other arm around Yvie. Brooke smiled at the affectionate couple.

“Yeah, well, like Vanessa said, I’m being boring tonight. You and Yvie take care of those two liver transplants waiting to happen, okay? I can’t quite believe I’m saying it but you need to be the responsible ones.”  

As Scarlet laughed, Yvie and Jan said their goodbyes to Brooke. Vanessa was still hovering at her desk, a small smile on her face as she bent down and hugged Brooke without warning.

“You’re the best member of this whole department, an’ the best damn work friend I could want,” she whispered, her words lighting up Brooke’s heart. Pulling back, she gave a quick glance to the girls who were waiting on the lift to arrive. “I owe you one, bitch. Have a good night. Eat dinner and sleep well, ‘kay?”

Brooke gazed fondly at Vanessa, her tiny frame retreating into the lift. Vanessa cared about her. She cared about everyone. It was part of the reasons why Brooke liked her so much.

In the most platonic way possible, obviously.

***    

Arriving at work the next day, it was clear that Bianca’s plan had worked. Thanks to a few emails to the big papers, Darienne’s false expenses claims were plastered over all the front pages, giving a pretty damning verdict.

“She’s good at leaking, isn’t she? Bianca, I mean,” Nina pondered casually from her desk, causing Brooke to look up from The Times.

“She’s brilliant. She’s like an 85 year old woman that never did pelvic floor exercises,” Scarlet muttered, ignoring the ringing phone.

“Nothing in The Independent about it though, I’ll give you that, Adore. Laila McQueen must’ve been one satisfied customer,” Jan laughed, holding up the front page which was jarringly dissonant with the other headlines, instead focussing on something to do with the polar icecaps melting.

“I’m good! I keep telling you all and you never listen,” Adore winked cheekily, as the phone continued to ring.

“Ain’t someone gonna answer that?!” Vanessa snapped, frustrated. Jaida reached for the receiver hesitantly, looking at Nina to gauge her reaction. Fixing her eagle eyes on her in disapproval, Jaida drew her hand back as if the phone was a hot stove.

“I’ve told them all we’re in a no comment situation,” Nina turned to Vanessa, shrugging. “There’s nothing else we need to say. If those bastards don’t get the meaning of that then quite frankly they shouldn’t be in journalism.”

Brooke stayed quiet throughout the whole exchange. She was worried, fretting about what Darienne would say when she arrived. She knew full well she was going to get the blame, hell, she was to blame. As much as Brooke could pretend to be completely ruthless, the guilt was beginning to seep in. At this point everyone in the department knew it was Brooke who had a hand in fixing the expenses forms and although everyone was being perfectly normal and friendly towards her, she was concerned about what they really thought and what they’d say when she left the room.

She hadn’t even seen Jan come and stand next to her.

“You’re awful quiet today, sweetie,” she drawled, leaning against a set of shelves that contained about twenty thousand government files. “Everything alright?”

Brooke nodded silently, brushing her fringe out of her face. That didn’t appear to satisfy Jan.

“Look, nobody thinks any less of you for what you did. It’s politics, it’s not kid’s TV. Sacrifices have to be made, people have to be disposed of. You did the department a favour, to be honest,” she continued, as if she could read Brooke’s mind. Brooke couldn’t help but smile. Jan had a certain telepathic quality, and often she could begin cheering you up before you even knew what reasons you had to be sad. She was a total ray of sunshine, and her happy-go-lucky personality was welcome in the department today.

“Thanks, girl,” Brooke sighed, stretching out in her chair and giving Jan a tight smile. “That means a lot. You’re a blessing to this department. I mean, God knows the mood in here today’s about as flat as…well. Maybe it’s my turn to not be good at one-liners today.”

Jan laughed softly, leaning back a little more against the files. “I try my best. But hey, I should thank you! Once Darienne goes, I might see about standing as an MP in the next by-election.”

Brooke raised her eyebrows a little. She had no idea that Jan had even had ambitions outside of performing at every available karaoke bar London had to offer. “Really?!”

“Yeah, I’ve kind of been thinking about it for a while.”

Brooke was secretly excited about the prospect of working with just Vanessa. Purely because things would be easier to organise between just two people, and things would just run more smoothly. It wasn’t because she had a crush on her or anything, that would be a ridiculous accusation. Brooke was a professional. There was no scope for things like that in this game.

“Well, I’m sure you’d be amazing. The public would love you,” she smiled at her friend sincerely. Flattered, Jan relaxed completely against the shelves, a giant file careering from the top shelf onto the ground.

“I’ll get it,” Brooke reassured Jan, whose face was apologetic.

“Right, I’m goin’ to fetch Darienne,” Vanessa announced, making her way to the lifts a little nervously. “Smiles an’ happiness when she arrives please, people, try not to make the office feel too much like a wake.”

Yvie tipped her head back over the back of her chair, looking at Vanessa upside-down. “Are we not supposed to be mourning the bitch’s career?”

With a long-suffering shake of her head, Vanessa disappeared into the lift.

Five minutes later, Brooke was picking up the dropped file from behind the shelf when two sets of footsteps thundered through the office and a voice cut through the click-clack, tapping keyboards and ringing phones.

“MEETING ROOM, NOW!”

Slowly, Brooke crept towards Darienne’s office, following a running Nina and Jan. Darienne was standing behind the desk, her face a thunderstorm. As soon as Brooke skulked in she narrowed her eyes.

“Can someone, maybe Brooke Lynn, tell me why my face is all over the papers like a disgraced fucking gym teacher?!” she barked, her voice reverberating off the glass door of her office.

“Okay, there must have been some form of mix-up with the forms because yours was completely clean when I submitted it,” Brooke immediately fired back. She’d had a bit of time to come up with her defence and, even though it was completely feeble, it was better than silence.

“That’s got to be the most shit excuse I’ve ever heard. How does something like that happen?!” Darienne yelled back. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes shifted to the doorframe of the office, where Bianca had arrived.

“Hey, big spender,” she greeted the Minister, the joke sitting out of place with the purpose of her arrival.

“Bianca, I didn’t claim for those things. I don’t know what’s going on, I gave my forms to Brooke to do, we need to tell the press that these claims are fake!” Darienne gibbered, panicking like Bianca was holding her hostage.

“Yeah, what are we running with, Bianca? We’ve been in a no comment situation all morning,” Jan asked.

“The phone’s been ringing off the hook. I’ve been ignoring it but we’ve got to give them something soon enough,” Nina shrugged, nodding in agreement. Bianca let out a harsh exhale, rubbing her neck tersely.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, could you all just get off my back for a hot second?! You’re like a pack of fucking fleas. Are you not supposed to be a team of advisors? Are you not supposed to be head of communications?!” Bianca cried, shooting Nina an icy glare. Completely unfazed, Nina clicked her pen.

“Yes, but I’m completely unable to do anything if I don’t know what we’re communicating!”

Bianca rolled her huge eyes up to the heavens, seemingly trying to cool her boiling blood. As Brooke scanned her eyes over the rest of the room, she caught Vanessa looking straight at her, her eyes a little fearful. Brooke shot her the most reassuring smile she could manage and almost gave an audible sigh of relief when Vanessa seemed to relax.

“So, you want to go out to the media and tell them that, hey! It’s not so bad, because the truth is that I’m too lazy to fill out my own fucking expenses forms, so I just gave them to one of my aides to fill out! I’m not actually keeping that close an eye on how much I’m claiming back! Do you realise how that’s going to look?” Bianca scowled, Darienne sighing and slumping into her chair.

“So what do we do?!” she asked, her voice somewhere between a whine and a plea. Brooke began to feel a bit less guilty as she rolled her eyes. She wished Darienne had a bit more backbone, a bit more of a spine. It would endear her to her a lot more. That sort of big-eyed deer act was only cute when Vanessa did it.

There was a momentary silence in which Nina clicked her pen repeatedly, looking from Darienne to Bianca, then back to Darienne.

“You have two options,” Bianca finally said, her voice much quieter than before. Turning to the other girls, she addressed them gravely. “Could you ladies give us a moment.”

Not a question, a demand. One by one, Brooke, Vanessa, Jan and Nina all filed out and wordlessly closed the door. After a heartbeat of silence, Nina sprinted over to the comms team.

“Is it happening?!” Scarlet asked, wide-eyes and open mouthed, like a child at Christmas.

“It’s happening now! It’s happening now. Two bullets in the back of the head, bang, bang!” Nina replied excitedly, her voice ringing through the offices as she mimed a brutal murder.

“Nina!” Vanessa hissed, motioning to the glass-fronted office where Bianca and Darienne were standing motionless, looking at Nina impassively. Horrified, she abruptly sat down in her seat.

“I can’t believe it’s actually going on right now. Fuck. She’s gonna hate me, ain’t she?” Vanessa worried, biting her nails. Jan slapped her hand away from her mouth.

“Stop that!” she reprimanded, Vanessa looking to the floor sheepishly. “She won’t hate you, and if she does, well, that’s politics. She’s a grown adult, she can handle it. She knew the profession she was entering into was ruthless.”

“Nobody could hate you,” Brooke added, brushing Vanessa’s cheek with her finger very slightly. “You’re like a fucking carebear. It’s impossible.”  

A pink blush crept over Vanessa’s face. “You two are too sweet to me, get outta here. Hey, have we heard about a replacement?”

Brooke sighed. “I don’t know if she’s accepted it or not yet, but Bianca told me Jackie Cox is in the running.”

Jan and Vanessa’s faces both screwed up. “Who the hell is that?”

“I went to Uni with her. I didn’t even know she was in the game until Bianca told me she’d scouted her out. I still think Jiggly would be better.”

“You mean Bianca Castro?” Jan raised one eyebrow.

“Fuck, yes. Now she’s got me doing it,” Brooke sighed, further confusing the two girls.

Suddenly, there was a creak from the office door. Darienne emerged, her posture perfect and her head held high as she walked towards the three girls. Her eyes were cold, so much so that Brooke found herself shivering a little.

“Right, well. Thank you, ladies, for your unwavering support. I wish you all very long and successful careers,” she said cooly, then her face darkened. “And I hope you all get heart failure.”

“Aw Darienne, c’mon!” Vanessa pleaded as the ex-Minister marched towards the lift, a storm cloud of rage. As Darienne stepped into the lift, Yvie began whistling Another One Bites The Dust under her breath and Scarlet started laughing so hard Brooke momentarily thought she was suffocating.

Brooke started laughing too. She had to, she couldn’t help it. This pathetic, et tu, Brute? act was wearing. Jan was right, these were the rules of the damn game. People in the department had come and gone as if Dosac was a massive revolving door and Darienne had never shed a tear for them. Brooke hated the hypocrisy that was so freely batted about in politics. Mourning a departure with a simple “it’s a shame, but they had to go” and then acting like the damn Godfather when your own time came. There was no dignity in it, no class.

“Ding dong, the useless fucking bitch is dead,” Bianca deadpanned, Vanessa relaxing and giggling a little at the slightly less high-intensity Bianca.

“What happens now, then?” Brooke asked her. “Did Jackie take the job?”

“Like a trout on a hook. Barely even had to sell it to the kid. Right, here’s the line!” Bianca suddenly yelled, loud enough that Darienne could probably hear it from the ground floor. “Darienne will be giving a statement outside Number 10 in fifteen minutes. After that, all I want to hear is praise. Praise, praise, praise, Psalm one hundred and fucking one. At 12pm, you guys will have a new Minister. Nina, it’s your job to break her in. Break her fucking spine if necessary.”

Nina nodded apprehensively, unsure of how serious Bianca was.

“I’ll see you all again at half 12. Oh, and Destiny’s Child?” Bianca said, turning suddenly to address Brooke, Vanessa and Jan as she hit the button of the lift. “It won’t be necessary to clear your desks if you don’t plan on leaving.”

As Bianca left Vanessa turned excitedly to Brooke and Jan, grinning madly as she gave them a huge hug, happy at being allowed to stay.

Brooke decided she’d probably have quite literally stabbed Darienne in the back in order to have that smile flashed at her again.

***

“Ladies, I’d like to introduce your new Minister for the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship…Jackie Cox!”

Everyone started clapping, but in equal measures scrutinising the tall girl in front of them, standing beside Nina nervously and waving hello. She hadn’t changed all that much since Brooke had last seen her. Her hair was still long, swept back into a neat pearl headband so that her dark waves fell down her back instead of over her shoulders. Her makeup was simple as it always had been: a few swipes of mascara, a dark brown eye pencil to bring out her equally dark eyes, a dusky rose shade on her lips. She was in a matching red suit jacket and tailored skirt, and had red heels on to match. Brooke’s feet were beginning to get sore in her own heels, tired from standing in line with Vanessa and Jan waiting to welcome Jackie. She didn’t have to wait much longer though as Jackie was already shaking Vanessa’s hand, smiling and gushing about how she was so honoured to take up the position and how she was so looking forward to working with her. Brooke stared at her, a little irritated with the dramatics. Jackie then moved on to Jan who was standing in the middle of the line. Brooke watched as they both looked at each other, Jan sort of open-mouthed and Jackie seemingly finding it hard to formulate words.

“You must be Janette. It’s so good to meet you,” she finally said as she shyly held out her hand. Jan took it, shaking it gently.

“It’s good to meet you too. And, uh, Jan’s fine. My friends call me Jan. Not that you’re my friend, of course, you’re my boss. But uh. You can still call me that,” Jan mumbled, her voice quiet and a little nervous and her eyes not once tearing away from Jackie’s.

“Right! Sure. I, um. I hope you’re staying on?” Jackie asked, her voice a little hopeful as she gave Jan a smile, her teeth white and dazzling.

“Absolutely. I can’t wait to start working with you! It’ll be, uh. Jan-tastic!” Jan raised her eyebrows a little as she made her joke, Jackie giving a polite laugh of her own. Brooke’s brow furrowed in confusion, the corners of her mouth turning down slightly. What the fuck was this?

“Well, I’m really excited to get started. It was so good meeting you, Jan,” Jackie smiled, giving Jan one last look as she finally tore her eyes away and faced Brooke. Her face immediately changed, taking on an awkward sort of expression as it was clear she had no idea what to say to Brooke. “Brooke Lynn! Hi! What a nice surprise! Gosh, it’s been a while!”

“Yeah, like, eight years. You look good,” Brooke replied curtly, not really instantly warming to Jackie despite her efforts.

“It’ll be nice working together. Just like at uni! I didn’t really believe it when Bianca said you were here!”

“Yeah, well. I’m just climbing the ladder. Where have you been these past few years, anyway?”    

“Just the stock exchange. It was always the economic side of our degree I was more interested in, but when Bianca phoned me I thought this was a pretty unmissable opportunity!” Jackie beamed at an unimpressed Brooke. Receiving no reply, she stepped back a little awkwardly. “Anyway, it’s nice that you’re here. I’d better start my briefing, so I’ll speak with you later?”

Brooke nodded wordlessly as Jackie click-clacked away. Say ‘nice’ again, bitch, I dare you.

Vanessa tilted her head as she watched Jackie retreat, her glossy hair swaying.

“Well, I like her. I think she’s gonna be good,” she concluded, clasping her hands together. Brooke narrowed her eyes at Jan, whose gaze was still fixed on Jackie.

“Jan-tastic? What the hell was that?”

Jan gave her a funny look. “What?! You know I love a pun.”

“Not just that. What about your MP thing? You’re seriously going to pass that opportunity up?”

Jan leant back against the glass door of Darienne’s old office, gazing dreamily at nothing in particular. “Um…yeah. Yeah, I think I’ll stay on. I’m still young, I’ve got time for the whole MP endeavour in a few years’ time. No, I think I’ll stick around here for a bit longer. Things might get interesting.”

Still confused at Jan’s sudden change of heart, Brooke shook her head and shrugged. In her opinion Jan was out of her mind, but if that was her decision then that was that. As Vanessa and Jan chatted excitedly Brooke made her way back to her desk, her head kind of in a daze. A lot was happening and she didn’t really know what the next few months were going to be like. An economist in a political position wasn’t new, but she was still reserved about welcoming Jackie with open arms. Still, whatever would happen she was glad that she had Vanessa and Jan to stumble through it all with.

God, she was glad Vanessa was staying.

Looking over to the Comms team she saw that Yvie’s computer was displaying the BBC website, where a live stream of Darienne’s resignation speech was playing. Yvie was sat in her chair, Jaida crouching at her right and Scarlet at her left, Adore peering over Scarlet’s shoulder as Darienne set down her sheets of paper and walked away from the lectern set up outside Downing Street. Yvie threw her hands in the air as if she was praising God.

“The old Minister is dead,” she cried dramatically. “Long live the Minister!”

#rpdr fanfiction #ortega #different people different arguments #branjie #jankie #the thick of it crossover #government au #british au #lesbian au #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #jackie cox #jan sport #nina west #yvie oddly #scarlet envy #jaida essence hall #bianca del rio #adore delano #darienne lake

[katedoesfics]

Lacuna | Chapter 6

The following morning, Kahli took the completed device back to Dawa and Aadit at the tree farm.

“Will this actually work?” Dawa asked skeptically as he looked over the device.

“I’m afraid of using relics,” Aadit said warily. “The church told us to use as little of them as possible. Bad things happen when they’re used.”

“You’re afraid of everything,” Dawa said with a roll of his eyes. “We have no other choice.” He turned to Kahli with a nod. “Go ahead and try it.”

Kahli shrugged and turned on the device. A loud sound was emitted from the speaker and the panbats reacted just as Merlin said they would. Frightened by the loud noise, they took off screeching, leaving the tree farm and heading back into the safety of the swamp.

“They actually left!” Dawa cheered. “I can’t believe it! We owe ya one!”

“I’m surprised,” Aadit mused. “Maybe I’ll order a couple more of those from you in the future.”

“We can’t celebrate yet,” Dawa said. “Now that the panbat issue has been resolved, we need to move quickly to heal our trees. The panbats took a lot of water and nutrients. We need a fast way of restoring them. Up for the job?”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” Kahli said. “Got any idea what you may need?”

“Petra mentioned she knew something about an irrigation system before. Maybe you two can come up with something.”

Petra was either going to be her best friend by the end of this, or annoyed at the mere sight of her. Kahli hoped their relationship would lean more toward friendship, but she was sure time would tell.

She made her way to the research center once more and explained the situation to Petra.

“Something to revive the trees?” she said. “The ancients used many elaborate irrigation systems. I read quite a bit about them. You’ll need a small engine, though. You should be able to find some in the ruins.”

And to the ruins she went. She was used to the back and forth, now, especially as she started to take on more work. Go here, do that, build this, get that part. It kept her busy, at the very least, and though it left her arms sore the next day, she was sure Arlo would be impress with the new muscle soon enough.

Not that she cared to impress him. She didn’t care if she impressed anyone, really. Still, as she worked tirelessly, and alone, in the ruins, she couldn’t help her wandering mind. Whether it was Arlo, or Emily’s incessant teasing on whether she liked him or not, or his relationship with Nora, whatever that was. She thought about the life that the people of Portia already had here, feeling like an intruder. And when her thoughts turned negative like that, they usually turned to her father. Where was he now? What was he doing? How did he feel about everything? About her? And why did he reach out to her, anyway?

She tried to push these thoughts aside especially. They were thoughts that occupied her mind far too often, late at night, or when she was working away in the workshop. It was all the same thoughts, the same unanswered questions, and it only made her grow more and more frustrated.

When she got to that point, she often shifted focus to the animals at the ranch. She had passed them a few times already; the horses, the cows, the sheep and the chickens. She decided she wanted to save up some money, build a barn and a coop and get a couple of each. A horse, at the very least, could help her with some of her larger projects, carrying them from place to place.

She had always had a soft spot for animals, though she was never privileged to have any of her own. Due to her aunt’s allergies, she couldn’t even have a dog to offer her companionship. And she would be damned it she couldn’t at least have a dog to keep her company in the workshop.

Kahli eventually got her hands on a small engine in an abandoned room in the ruins, and she retired wearily to her home for the evening.

In the morning, she went into town as she often did, sitting at the bar at the Round Table as Django opened up for the day. She had come to enjoy her morning routine: a couple cups of coffee with breakfast, listening to Django and Sonia chat and laugh as they readied the restaurant. They seemed the perfect team, always with smiles on their faces, and their presence always put Kahli in a good mood. She had never been much of a morning person, but their cheerful attitudes helped her adapt to her new lifestyle.

“So, how’s life as a builder treating you?” Sonia said, taking the seat next to her with a cup of coffee in her hands. She sipped it and rolled her eyes when Django made a comment about his lazy help.

“I lost count how many times I smashed my thumb, but so far, the bridge hasn’t collapsed, so I guess I’m doing something right.”

Sonia laughed. “Higgins giving you any trouble?”

Kahli shrugged. “Not really. He made a great first impression, but I haven’t really seen him since.”

“Count yourself lucky,” Django said as he walked behid the counter. “He’s brutal when it comes to business. Doesn’t make anything easy for anyone else trying to make a living around here.”

“Well,” Kahli started. “In his defense, I kind of did come onto his turf.”

“Nonsense,” Django said. “You’re not the only one to come to Portia seeking something better. Plenty of people here from other parts of the world. Mayor Gale makes sure to see to it that everyone feels welcome here.”

“You know,” Sonia said. “It gets pretty lively here at nights. You should come hang out and keep me company. Antoine and Emily usually do, but we could use a forth gal.” She grinned. “And to be honest, I’m getting tired of Antoine talking about Dr. Xu all the time.”

Kahli yawned. “I’m just getting used to mornings. Now I need to have a social life after I’ve been working all day?”

Django laughed. “Sonia, let the poor girl sleep. She’s not used to all this hard work.”

Kahli narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

Django raised his hands up in defense. “I only mean to defend you. You were never a builder before now. It’s hard work that not everyone would understand. I don’t blame ya for hurrying home to bed every night. I’m trying to give you an out, yanno.” He winked at her.

“Nights are more my style,” Kahli said. “I don’t expect to be working too hard today. I’ll come by for a couple of drinks.”

Sonia grinned. “Excellent! It will be fun, promise!”

*****

The irrigation system took Kahli most of the day, but it wasn’t physically demanding work. She welded a few pieces together here, connected a few parts together there, and with the engine in place, the system was ready to be set up at the tree farm. All things considered, that would be the most difficult part, requiring Kahli to set up the water wheel at the lake, then connect the pipes back to the farm where it would hook up with the sprinklers she placed. It would take at least another day’s work, but it could wait until tomorrow.

It was the first time Kahli found herself in town after dark, and Sonia was right. It seemed most of the town was at the restaurant, sharing in meals and laughter after a hard day’s work. As soon as Kahli entered, she found Emily and Antoine at the bar, and Emily eagerly waved her over to them.

“Look who made it,” Emily said. She slid down a seat to make room for Kahli between them. “And here I thought you would ditch us to go to bed like an old lady.”

“Honestly, I was starting to wonder if I dreamt you coming here,” Antoine said. “I haven’t seen you since Preseley brought you around.”

“Yeah,” Kahli started. “I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing so no one catches on that I’m a joke.”

“So far, the bridge is still standing,” Emily said.

“That deserves a drink!” Sonia quickly came through the crowd and around the bar. “What’ll it be, girl?”

“Whatever they’re having.”

“Are you planning on getting drunk?” Sonia said with a grin.

“Yes.”

“Aye!” Antoine and Emily both cheered.

Sonia slid a drink over to her and quickly dismissed herself to tend to other patrons.

“To a bridge that’s still standing!” Antoine said, holding his glass up, and the three of them toasted to Kahli’s success.

“I thought I heard your voice!” Sam pushed herself between Emily and Kahli, leaning against the bar. “Guess you have a social life after all!”

“Is that what people talk about around here?” Kahli muttered.

“Not much else to talk about,” Emily said.

“Well,” Antoine started.

“We’re not talking about Dr. Xu!” Emily barked at him.

“But,” Antoine whined.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, rolling her eyes. “We all know he’s your eye candy. We need new gossip.”

“I’ve got one!” Emily motioned for them to move in closer, and Sam and Antoine leaned in, crowding Kahli.

“Kahli’s got someone she’s been eyeing,” Emily teased.

“Emily!” Kahli hissed, but Antoine and Sam both had their attention turned to her, oohing like teenage girls.

“Who?” Sam barked.

Kahli covered her face with her hands. “Why?” she moaned.

“Albert?” Antoine asked.

“Gust?” asked Sam.

“It’s not Dr. Xu, is it? Because I called dibs.”

Sam put her hand on her chin for a moment as she considered the other single men in Portia. “Who else is single?”

Emily giggled. “Someone you know pretty well.” She looked up as the door opened and a wide grin split her face. “Hey, Arlo.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Arlo?!”

Arlo stopped beside Sam. “What did I do this time?”

Sam spun around to meet Arlo’s gaze. “What? Oh! Uh…”

Arlo looked over her shoulder and offered a smile in greeting to Kahli, but when he saw her hands dragging down her face, he frowned. “What’s going on here?”

“We were discussing the huge crush I have on Dr. Xu,” Antoine said. “Got any advice?”

Arlo blinked at him. “Um. What?”

“Kahli was just telling me to just ask him out already.”

Arlo turned to Kahli who had a look of defeat on her face. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Antoine batted his eyelashes playfully at Arlo. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

“Okay then,” Arlo said slowly. “I’m going to go drink with Rem now.”

When he was gone, Kahli put her head down on the bar and sighed heavily. “Is this my life now?”

“Unfortunately,” Sonia said as she appeared behind the bar once more, a grin on her face. “You like Arlo?”

“I don’t like anyone,” Kahli muttered. “I said he was kinda cute one time!”

“She wants his babies,” Emily said as she drank.

Kahli brightened when she remembered she had her own drink, and she emptied it quickly. She pushed the empty glass to Sonia. “Keep ‘em coming.”

Sonia laughed. “Poor thing,” she said, and she refilled it quickly. “We get a little exceited around here.” She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her gaze on Antoine, Emily, and Sam. “Kahli is our friend. I expect you three to keep your traps shut.”

Emily sighed and put her chin in her hand, her elbow on the counter. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. She winked at Kahli. “I may tease, but I would never spill the beans. That’s so high school.”

“You mean we’re not in high school?” Antoine said. “Because I know how Sonia gossips.” He narrowed his own gaze on her.

“Do not!” Sonia said, her voice raising defensively.

“Are we gossiping or working?” Django commented as he, too, stepped around the bar.

Sonia flashed him a grin and batted her eyelashes at him. “Just refilling drinks. Kahli’s gonna need ‘em.”

“What kind of drunk are ya, anyway?” Sam asked.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Kahli muttered. She drank quickly and placed her empty glass on the counter.

“Okay, but I’m not cleaning up if she pukes,” Antoine said.

“One of us has to be the responsible one,” Emily said.

“Aw, come on, why’s it gotta be me?” Sam whined.

Kahli burped. “You gotta defend my honor, remember?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Fine. But just this once! Next time, I’m getting drunk, too!”

“Shouldn’t there at least be one Corps officer sober in town tonight?” Django said.

“Are you letting those assholes drink?” Sam barked. “We agreed Arlo would be the sober one tonight!”

“Oh, relax,” Sonia said, waving a hand at Sam. “When has Arlo ever been drunk?”

“Alright,” Sam cheered. “Arlo can carry all our drunk asses home!”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Sonia said as she carried a tray of drinks from around the bar.

“Maybe Kahli will jump his bones,” Emily said.

“Django,” Kahli groaned. “My glass is empty.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Django replied, saluting her. He filled her glass once more.

“And keep ‘em coming!”

#lacuna #lacuna6 #mtap #my time at portia #fic #fanfic

[marjorieevans92]

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Bacterial Vaginosis Keeps Returning Items

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#Bacterial Vaginosis And Miscarriage Wondrous Cool Ideas #Bacterial Vaginosis Home Remedies Coconut Oi

[loveurn]

 @principalles​ // i haven’t written this au in literal years but i want to now

taeyang had become greedy. maybe a little shamelessly, but with how he easily it shows on his face and how quietly he’s started to mumble it, he thinks he’s retained some of his dignity. not that there’s much to retain after baring himself in front of hyunshik in his apartment, and crying, and having a breakdown. all in less than five minutes? maybe four? a record honestly.

han had promptly laughed after hearing the tale to which taeyang promptly threatened to shove the stretch roller up his ass. that’s what he gets for having a best friend though.

the problem is. time has passed since the incident and taeyang had assumed that their general agreement was to not discuss it. not discuss how taeyang had clung to hyunshik’s body the next morning, refusing to move until the male had said the phrase three times. the second time was because taeyang was convinced he was asleep and the third was because apparently hyunshik got a kick out of the look on his face.

you’re beautiful.

just the thought of it and taeyang’s entire body gives him away.

traitor.

the real treachery came after a morning where taeyang was sure would be the last time they discussed the incident. with taeyang but a few inches with the male, craving post-breakdown affection with the unfortunate person who’d given him attention the night prior. it’s embarrassing to think about, how he’d asked if they could eat breakfast together and how he’d had to physically suppresses noises of distress when hyunshik hinted at leaving for work that day. but they had lives, jobs to attend to and obligations. and hyunshik’s obligation was not to make taeyang feel better about the parts of himself he couldn’t love.

even if that part was his job.

he would pick himself up after that as always. he would wash his face, stretch and show his face perfectly and pristine in the studio for rehearsals. after the injury healed his restriction was lifted and he was back to the early mornings and the strict regulations. he wasn’t given a moment to breathe and that was probably easier, it should’ve helped the parts of his mind that wanted to stay wrapped in hyunshik. in his words and the way his hands felt, secured and grounding. cupping his face as they whispered the words, holding his shoulders as he held him close when they slept on the couch.

taeyang would be doing an excellent job of this is hyunshik wasn’t determined on making his life a living hell. but see, maybe taeyang’s had him penned wrong. the man with many jobs, a working man, an honest man, he was cunning.

and he hasn’t stopped using all opportunities to bring back those same feelings as if that night was only a day ago.

x.

this includes but isn’t limited to: text messages, snide comments, support at showcases, unnecessary notes. yes hyunshik has found a way to insert something similar to that dreaded phrase each time he sees taeyang and they see each other quite a lot. not that taeyang was avoided him but if he was this would’ve been a hell of a lot harder. but the coffee shop is his favorite, the bar is the only one han will go to and when there’s those lovely galas he’s invited to, hyunshik must be a part of the company they hire to cater.

it’s a cruel joke. 

because he’s sending innocent messages like outgoing [ did you like the show! ] incoming [ yeah. you were gorgeous. ]

and getting off the wall responses like that.

it’s them spending days cooking, taeyang stressing over a new recipe that hyunshik’s showing him and hyunshik spending time either laughing at him or observing him. moments that are far too silent and when taeyang seeks to break them with a question of if they’re correct or he needs to change anything he’s met with the stare. a stare far too similar to that night. and the words that accompany them.

‘cute.’

or when taeyang gets bold and asks if there’s something on his face he gets a bold,

‘it’s gorgeous don’t worry.’

he’s occasionally walking in the cafe and trying to get his order in when his greeting is along the lines of, ‘what can i get you’ with handsome, gorgeous, beautiful tacked on the end. with little regard to how astonished his co-workers seem to be by the flirtations.

can they be considered flirtations though? they don’t have the same greasiness in the smiles. not the ones he’s used to. because taeyang’s heard these before, he’s dealt with them before. flirty baristas, playful bartenders, lingering hook-ups. he’s dealt with them all and this was not that. because hyunshik’s smile was less of a smirk and more genuine, more sure in the words. maybe it’s because hyunshik’s seen him at his worst, his most open that taeyang wants to believe the smile is genuine and not a joke.

maybe he’s believing that no one could see him like that and have the gall to joke about something so obviously wrong. because it hadn’t been beautiful, he hadn’t looked beautiful and as many times as the words play over in his head, it’s still hard to believe.

but there’s no implication, no raised eyebrows, no winks, no phone numbers scribbled, or hands snuck onto his back or laced drinks. there’s just hyunshik with his words and the same smile that he gives the next customers ( though it’s not as risen for them taeyang will claim that  thank you very much ). 

hyunshik being candid so smooth that it’s knocking taeyang off-guard every time.

x.

outgoing [ i almost think you’re doing this on purpose. ]

in the time it takes hyunshik to respond taeyang almost regrets the message. but he’s had a bit of wine, sue him.

incoming [ sorry, busy shift. doing what? ]

outgoing [ asjdhgajs you know what!!! ] incoming [ did you keyboard smash? ]

a moment of silence.

incoming [ did you drink...? ] incoming [ where are you? ]

another moment of silence to mourn taeyang’s inconspicuousness. and for how his stomach leaps at the message, and he groans with his head hitting the phone screen.

outgoing [ i had some wne. i’m home mom!!! ] outgoing [ and thstg not the opint! ] incoming [ cute. ] incoming [ okay then, i’ll humor you what’s the point? ]

a lot happens then. because taeyang is momentarily struck by the message. by the image of hyunshik smiling, actually smiling as he types because he is humored and this is all probably fun for him. and taeyang is probably more of a mess than the first time hyunshik had to deal with him drunk. or less, just with more emotions. he feels too much and that’s why the word cute blares on his screen the way it does. that’s why it takes a million takes to type what he really says.

unsent [ the fltying unsent [ the flrt unsent [ flrjng wieth merg unsent [ caalng mr sthings yeou dont measn 

thankfully, it takes a gradual amount of wine to get him to send a message that works - or to work up the courage to send it when he thinks it’s acceptable enough. 

outgoing [ calling me beautiful. ] incoming [ and if i am? ]

the good news, taeyang falls asleep before he can embarrass himself further and before he gets a chance to read the response. the bad news, the messages he thought were unsent were sent, completely and fully sent and ready to make his waking hours even more miserable than he’d intended. 

x.

han is cackling up a storm the when they see each other seeing as taeyang had mass messaged him the screenshots of his mess the following morning. han had thought it was fun to ask him ‘how are you and hyunshik’ the minute he’d entered the apartment knowing taeyang had resolved to do everything in his power to avoid the male.

the answer was easy, childish but easy.

'you’re scared of how he makes you feel.’

it was a little more than that. taeyang was scared of the rush, of how drunk he’d felt on those simple words. on how he might start to believe them and only believe them because it’s hyunshik and not because of anything else. he was scared on how easily swept up he was by them, how sugary they seemed as if their path would only rot him to the core. or even worse - that he had nothing there left to rot and didn’t deserve the touch. the sweet. it was a dilemma but han wasn’t his friend for his eloquence.

‘so the man tells you you’re gorgeous. not seeing how it’s a bad thing if you feel good tae. it would do you some good to listen to someone, especially in our line of work.’

a line of work where they’re taught their imperfections while being taught to be perfect. they’re set-up for failure, to never have the right image of themselves so that their arrogance doesn’t ever come across to the audience. so that they always remain a product of the eyes and the judgement that watch them. you are not beautiful because you believe yourself to be you are beautiful because you break yourself for others and you try to be, for them. and they might give you the credit, for trying and only trying and living the illusion. 

it was hard to believe it and taeyang had never had trouble before with the easy flirts and the quick comments about his figure or his performance, even his face.

but there’s hyunshik saying it in the dark of his room with taeyang’s face tear-stained, body sweat and spent, holding himself together by a broken illusion. there’s hyunshik whispering it so that it can fill in all the cracks that taeyang’s made himself.

and it’s scary. it’s scary how filled he’s feeling by one utterance.

“i don’t want him to feel obligated.” ‘i’m ninety percent sure that’s not the case.’ “i don’t want to fish for the compliments.” ‘fish for them! ask for them everyday who cares!’

han’s advice doesn’t sit in like it should. not for the first two weeks of taeyang’s resolve. to keep his distance as much as he can. he can blame it on rehearsals as always. it leaves messages unanswered, it leaves han picking up their coffee order to bring to the studio, it leaves him at new bars and with other, unfamiliar faces, greasy bartender and fed up baristas. he lets the break in his routine happen if only to break his mind from what might be a trap.

hyunshik must be busy too, because he doesn’t go out of his way to text, which shouldn’t bother taeyang as much as it does. it stings a bit though, as if the drift is only pulling at him.

x.

if it takes a toll on his mental it doesn’t show in his work, at least not that he can tell. han tells him everyday that he needs to stop and talk it out. their choreographer also tells him everyday that he’s messing up, that he’s not good enough for the showcase and taeyang subsequently forgets all the words hyunshik’s told him in favor of that. in favor of the cruelty of his job.

because pride in himself was forbidden, and he’s deserved it.

taeyang’s never had a bad performance, not by critic standards. rookie or amateur yes but nothing serious as a fall on stage of forgetting a routine. he’s got too much muscle memory for that really. 

the thing is, he can feel the disappointment coming halfway through the performance. he hasn’t spoken or seen hyunshik in a month, preparing for this opening night. a gala performance that was the introduction to their new musical. a teaser for the lovers of high culture and art, taeyang invited as the star to debut it with the corps.

he’s been eating adequately, been practicing normally but the pressure - maybe it’s the pressure. he tries to rationalize through his movements, through the music what the feeling is. that’s during practice and he can’t quite pinpoint them. the performance is in three hours and he doesn’t have time to figure it out, not with costuming and dress rehearsal, not with getting ready and mingling before. not with the face he has to steel press on the minute he walks into the venue. and he should know that there’s no point in trying to analyze himself and his emotions when it’s the day of performance but he’s doing it and he’s coming up blank.

and he wishes that’s the face he could keep on. but when his choreographer’s called him out on it, in those hours before the show, in the same way he’s been grilling them, breaking him into the new routine. it’s not new but it does wear and tear. as the pressure does, as the stress does, as taeyang lets his body take the hits as much as his soul does. soft despite the years of training and steel he’s supposed to have built up.

‘you’re not giving me your best tae.’ ‘i don’t know, we might have to give this to someone else.’ ‘this is a debut for our sponsor.’ ‘why are you breaking form!’

something feels wrong. and he’s suddenly aware that he was right that he didn’t deserve the compliments, that he didn’t deserve the words. and taeyang can’t remember his routine for clearing himself before a stage despite it all, can’t remember what he would do before hyunshik. because everything done after was so refreshing, healing.

as he tries to steel those thoughts away and smile for a councilwomen, he catches the movement out the corner of his eye. he doesn’t need to look further, doesn’t need to chase it or the voice he hears giving out orders for appetizers. he knows it’s hyunshik, his body knows the sound. and he wants to smile, he wants to run, he wants to do everything in once. but his choreographer’s smile is strong, his misplaced praise drowns out everything and the councilman’s hand on his waist feels tighter than usual. it’s a trap. taeyang’s trapped.

he’s reminded of the perfection he needs and the perfection he lacks.

he can’t see hyunshik anymore, can’t remember what he’s supposed to focus on other than the importance of this performance and the fact that he’s not ready. he’s not perfect, he can’t fake it today and his body won’t shut down enough to let him.

there isn’t enough time and han rubbing his hands before the performance doesn’t help. taeyang staring in the mirror as he finishes the last touches don’t help and the breath he takes before the music starts and the lights dim don’t help.

whatever it is, whatever it is that clogs and prevents him from surrendering to the strive for perfection. it holds him the entire performance. he’s suddenly aware of all the eyes, of all the eyes, of his director’s frown of the awe of the audience and of hyunshik’s eyes. even if he doesn’t quite see them, he knows. 

disappointment is an ache he swallows tight while they clap and cheer.

taeyang doesn’t have bad performances, there’s no fall there’s no mistake but he knows. he knows it enough. he knows it as the pictures are taken, as the hands are shaken and flowers and doubled in his arms. he knows because he could hear his breath as the music stopped and the spell was broken. the spell of the character he’s supposed to be for the audience.

he couldn’t create it. he failed. 

and his director doesn’t rip into him yet, his choreographer doesn’t, too busy soaking in the praises from the audience. but he knows. when they’ve pulled the corps backstage to recap everything and it’s him, his director and choreographer zoning in on him for fifteen minutes. 

‘you lost your character.’ ‘your form was terrible.’ ‘how could you do that?’ ‘you could do better.’

and when it’s over and he faces his own mirror backstage his makeup’s smeared with tears. he’s not exactly crying because he was chewed out by his directors or in front of the corps. no he’s more crying because of the loss of control, because of the sloppiness he’s allowed in something he so deeply cares about. he’s frustrated really, confused and so the tears come. 

taeyang hears han calling for him and he makes for the back exit with whatever strength managed to carry him through the performance and hold him up after it all.

x.

as luck would have it he’s heading out the back doors by the alleyways and hearing a voice that doesn’t sound like han’s.

it sounds like a memory. sounds too good to be true and almost like a nightmare in itself.

because taeyang’s whispering not now, why now. but he can’t stop time and he turns to see hyunshik slipping his phone into his pocket, standing by the back entrance of what is probably the kitchen quarters. because of course whatever he was doing ends as taeyang is running from everyone. regardless he’s stopped and more aware of the tear stains on his cheeks, the falling glitter that’s not streaming down his face, and how horrid he must look.

‘taeyang.’

and the fact that now he can’t pretend he didn’t see hyunshik.

“yeah?” taeyang wants to hide, and he does so with his head lowered as he answers, his body folded in and ready to bolt when he can. it’s the first time he’s been aware of his voice since the day started, and the affirmation the he’s not all hear, that he’s been crying, that he can’t quite bring himself together. but he doesn’t move like he wants, he waits.

‘your performance...’ comes first and taeyang feels his body stiffen. he feels his stomach churn and his chest tighten. it’s probably noticeable and his response is immediate, head up as he snaps the words back. there’s nothing sharp about it though, just that it comes desperate and rather rushed. because he doesn’t want to hear the rest, he can’t bear it. “it was bad i know.” if hyunshik means to say anything against that, taeyang is too quick to respond, too seated in his belief. he failed. he knows. but he’s smiling amongst it. “i wish i could’ve shown you better.” something that matched up to all hyunshik’s said to him.

he’s so seated in the belief that he doesn’t notice hyunshik getting closer, doesn’t notice the hand on his shoulder until he flinches. hyunshik is but a few inches from him, his hand inches from where taeyang’s stepped back, flinched away from it. 

‘tae, that’s not.’ “i’m sorry.” the rest of it, the ‘i have to go’ is only said when he’s turning to make his way out the alleyway as he intended and keep the pain that’s constricting his chest until he’s safe in his apartment. it tightens and it suffocates but it’s easier when it’s caught in his pillow. when it’s smothered and stuck in the walls of his apartment.

if his phone is ringing multiple times he doesn’t try to check why, or who it could be. instead he only answers his door when he hears han’s voice on the opposite side. lets his friend engulf him in a hug and hold him with plans of ice cream and nothing remotely related to dance or the performance. han doesn’t try to convince him of anything, that he didn’t bomb the performance ( though he makes  a few quips about their director ), he doesn’t mention seeing or not seeing hyunshik or that taeyang’s been crying and probably looks a mess. he just mentions that they should order more food since ice cream isn’t nearly enough.

and they do just that.

x.

taeyang is a wimp so he gets han to open the messages hyunshik sent him, just for the sake of getting rid of the notification. and han doesn’t complain, lets him be in his moods and his avoidance for as long as he needs. taeyang can’t face the messages, for a multitude of reasons but the top being he needs to get himself together before he tries to engage whatever hyunshik had said, whether it’s anger at leaving him without a word, ignoring him, or god forbid those sweet words that’d held him above the tide for so long.

so there’s practice again. there’s the bend and the break. the edge that he faces each day, trying to stay afloat it all, present and drowned in his work. it’s hard but he makes it, he always makes it.

he has to rewatch the performance but this time when he does it’s in the comfort of his room, with his pup curled in his lap. he analyzes and what he can’t quite steel away he lets fall on the pads of his finger and his screen.

maybe he’d been so uncomfortable because he’s used to sharing these moments alone. the deconstruction that he had to do to himself in order to be great. he was so used to doing it alone that doing it with hyunshik even once, had thrown him off balance. it’d felt good - so good but taeyang was scared of it feeling like the best and getting attached, addicted. to the point that if hyunshik disappeared he wouldn’t be able to return.

return to what though - as if this routine was any healthier.

it worked though, working himself to the bone.

it works. 

x.

he’s not banned from the official debut, he’s just expected to do better, to be perfect in every sense of the word. and slowly he gets his rhythm back, it’s not as smooth, feels a bit stretched and awkward but it’s a rhythm and it produces results. what bothers him is that it doesn’t feel smooth but it’s definitely the routine he was used to before all this. before the feelings and breaking himself over for the man with the calloused hands and the candid smile.

x.

when the time comes dress rehearsal has gone different. he’s in his head but he’s not as afraid. he can feel the muscle memory, can feel the haze of the music as it’s all but set and soaked in his brain. he doesn’t review much as he stretches backstages and just repeats affirmations, perfection, perfection, perfection.

‘ready to shine?’ han is meeting him backstage, no doubt after dropping his arm candy off in their auditorium seats. in his hand are a small bouquet of flowers that he places on the vanity.  “rude of you to give me flowers your date brought.” ‘asshole, they’re not from me to you. but they’re definitely for you.’ they’re a mixture of pink flowers, white ones and blues, all taeayng’s favorite colors. there’s a note inside, yellow with a silver pattern around the border. taeyang is used to getting flowers before big shows, though they usually come afterwards. intrigued that han is bringing a set personally, he reaches for the note.

and sputters when he reads it.

they’re being called though and he’s being ushered up and out to the stage.

x.

the performance is a bit of a blur. which is a good! that’s good, his muscle memory saved him and he was able to deliver as flawlessly as expected. does he have critiques for himself, yes. but nothing a few reviews couldn’t fix and not enough for his director to pull him aside. so he’s content. he usually feels an airy bliss when he’s come down from performing, the curtain lowering and the high subsequently falling, settling into the noise of his head and the noise of the audience. 

he’s breathing again but this time it’s because he’s running. past those asking for picture, past the corps and past everyone until he reaches the lobby. until he reaches hyunshik, the yellow note tight in his fist and his other fist reaching for the back of the male’s jacket.

his voice stops when hyunshik turns to meet him, and his hand starts to loosen on the hold. what had he run for, what was he even going to say. the note is crumpled and sweaty in his palm and hyunshik’s gaze is, surprised and then calm. patient.

what had he planned on saying?

“the note.”

beautiful as always. it read.

“you hadn’t even seen the performance.” ‘doesn’t mean i didn’t think you’d be.’ “but - you couldn’t have known.”

you can’t have that kind of faith. is what he means, it’s what he doesn’t say. as if not giving him the chance to continue his thoughts hyunshik’s closed in, and his hands are lifting taeyang’s head from his chin. taeyang’s then aware that his eyes are watering again, that he feels powerless but in a different way.

‘you always are. tonight. before tonight. i’m sorry i didn’t get to tell you that at the last one.’

why is he apologizing. he doesn’t need to apologize. taeyang has so many, so many apologies lined up, ready. but he’s hiccuping and hyunshik is smiling so sweet, so sincere. 

‘it’s hard to get tickets for this one so i was working to afford it - then han went and invited me for free.’

it’s not right, he doesn’t deserve this. not the devotion. not hyunshik working extra for him. not hyunshik still smiling while tears roll down his cheek, while his hands shake and find purchase in his tuxedo jacket. 

“you don’t have to be nice.” ‘taeyang, i am anything but nice.’ taeyang’s heard those stories. of how strict hyunshik was viewed by other employees, by other customers. he’s heard him take orders before, handle rowdy guests and even dismiss people who were far less annoying than han. he knows nice isn’t exactly the right word, but mean isn’t either. ‘i’m just honest.’

more tears fall and they start to run over hyunshik’s thumb. taeyang’s a sniffling mess, his head is scrambling again but in a way that’s more how his stomach feels. an onslaught of emotions, rather than the thoughts, it’s all getting blanked, overrun. 

‘what i think is beautiful, is beautiful. whether he believes it yet or not. so i will say it because why not? why shouldn’t I?’

taeyang doesn’t have the heart to think how he doesn’t deserve it. the thoughts can’t penetrate right now. he’s filled with thoughts of this smile, of this touch. of hyunshik inches from him, of the cologne sprayed on his cuff links, of the cup of his hand on his cheek and every brush of tears that comes after. how can he thinks when he’s all static and it’s all screaming for the man in front of it again. how can he deny himself the indulgence when hyunshik has already made up his mind about it. 

how could he deny himself anything less.

“can you say it again...please.” he allows himself to be shameless. ‘you were beautiful tonight taeyang.’ so hyunshik says it and so taeyang lets himself believe it for the moment. for the kisses placed on his forehead and his cheeks, for the laughter so easily pulled from his lips and the kisses stolen from there as well. it’s cute and it’s light and taeyang feels like he’s soaring, letting hyunshik fit arms around his waist and shield him as they head to his apartment. 

he’s a giggling mess from all the kisses and the repeated whispers of the same phrase. he’s become a little greedy now, attacking hyunshik for more when they cross the threshold of the elder man’s home.

“i’m sorry for running away last time.” ‘mhm.’ “and i’m sorry for ignoring your messages.” ‘mhm.’ “and i’m sorry for avoiding you at the same time.” ‘hm.’

all said between kisses, distractions really.

“say it again?” the question is shy, tucked into the white undershirt of the tux and the spot he’s occupied with hyunshik’s chin atop his head and his arms fastened around the elder’s body. hyunshik says it again and again, long after he’s wiped away all the tears. long after the traces of makeup are just a few black streaks and lingering sparkles. long after taeyang’s found a pair of trousers and a hoodie to throw on and they’re in a bed not a couch. 

hyunshik whispers it so many times it sticks to the walls how it permeates and floats around in taeyang’s mind. floats and dances and holds him as he replays every move from the night, every attempt to criticize and berate himself stolen back with each kiss and each laugh that has him floating and falling. hyunshik kisses away the mistakes so tenderly taeyang almost forgets they exist, his body on fire in a way that dance doesn’t sum up to.

on fire in a way that’s probably not reserved for dance. but for the two of them. and in a way that makes him think it’s okay to be a little shameless, and a little greedy.

and even if they stop when hyunshik insists he get rest, something about the firm hold the male has on his body lets taeyang know he’s got more awaiting him tomorrow and long after that.

#taeshik #au: ballerino!tae #this started as one thing and ended as another

[dropsofletters]

the sun and his flowers

title: the sun and his flowers pairing: lee taemin/reader genre: dad!au summary: taemin is the sun to his twin daughters—bright and sweet, caring and loving, but his wife thinks he is just a bit too forgiving, and maybe obsessed with parenting books. type: fluff

Three whole weeks of waking up to the mess Taemin leaves on their bedside table. A place that was once covered by a pretty lamp and their phones, along with their charges, now meets the cover of a parenting book. It surprises her, really, that Lee Taemin decided to leave all fantasy books aside to pick one of those monstrosities that they sell at every given library, with Comic Sans in their titles with tips that were probably given by a wine-mom with three kids of her own. He says they’re interesting and more than once, she has had to try just to get his golden-hour brown eyes away from the letters that read about the magnificent beings that were kids. He normally brings a cup of milk with himself, opens the book after settling himself on the bed and for the most part, she thinks it is excellent that he does that—but there are nights in which she just wants to take the opportunity to make-out with the father of her daughters for a bit, even if it’s momentary or it actually leads up to something. However, she just lets him be for those three weeks, taking one sweet kiss or his attention a few nights but he always returns to his books.

She swears, as a mother that has now learned the skill of reading people, that Taemin got his newest idea from one of those books but god forbid her from ever picking up such atrocity, for she doesn’t want to go crazy like Taemin did. Either way, his mind has been constantly set to take the twins out on a trip along the countryside, simply to have them walking and disconnecting from society and social media (so he says, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I’ll take care of the twins”). Sure, the idea of pulling their daughters away from the screen of the TV that is placed in their living room sounded perfect, but she isn’t sure she really wants to get clammy, sweaty and tired under the sun just because Taemin wants to experience something with the kids.

Aren’t there other possibilities, like a mall trip or just a road-trip of sorts?

But Taemin is excited and there are two types of excitement that happen once you become a parent: real excitement, like when your child says their first word, or feigned excitement, for when your child talks about Peppa Pig for an hour to no end. It’s early in the morning when she is gone, far too early for the kids to be awake, but early enough for her to wake up thanks to her mental alarm. She doesn’t have to go to work today, but all she can think about is preparing herself a cup of coffee filled with lots of cream, and maybe leave some to Taemin—and thankfully he arrives home before she could start making the coffee, leaving him out for not being there.

His lips press momentarily to hers, one of his hands resting on the small of her back and the other settling a plastic bag down onto the counter. She pulls away to look at him, not ready for the usual day, he is not wearing clothes that fit him perfectly for the dance studio, he is cladded in what seems to be gym-clothes. “Are you going through a mid-life crisis before you reach your mid-life?” She hums, looking up and down at his body before starting the coffee machine.

Taemin shakes his head. “Ha-ha.” He laughs sarcastically before taking the contents out of the plastic bag. “These are just a few snacks for the trip today. Granola bars, water bottles…” When he trails his voice, she raises her eyebrows in question and it is a power, one that comes with years of being in a relationship. “And healthy stuff, of course.”

“Yeah, like what?” She asks, using her fingers to look through the bag only to see a lot of unhealthy snacks.

“Granola bars with chocolate and mint. That’s a plant. It’s healthy.”

It is no wonder that the twins love Taemin the most. Their daughters might look identical, but they are completely different and the only thing they seem to have in common is loving their father more than they love their precious mother. Jihee is the one born a bit earlier than her sister and she takes her ‘older-sister’ figure a bit too to heart for the age she has. A four years old that bosses her dad around, always telling him how to eat, how to stand, how to walk, but not only does she get to do what her mom could never do—she does it with the sweetest smile that has Taemin cooing in delight. Sometimes, they joke about the fact that she is made to be part of the army with how disciplined she is.

Jaehwa is not delicate as a flower, she is a train-wreck at its finest—she adores running, sweating and playing, and she never gets tired of it. Sometimes she thinks it’s Taemin’s dancing stamina that was passed down to her by genetics, but she is even more energetic than her own father. Both twins had thick lips like their father, eyes looking at the world as if it was dreamland and their innocence is enough to warm Taemin’s heart. All it takes to have her boyfriend turning into putty is a pout, a hug and a quick whine of ‘dad, please!’. It always works, the twins know it already.

“You’re insane.” Those words are filled with joking mannerisms, one she learned when she started her relationship with Taemin. They started out bashful but playful and as time passed, they remained the same. She pushes the bag away before sighing. “Taemin, I think this is a great idea and all…but the twins are in their most energetic age and it’s just…messy.”

“I am going to be okay.” Taemin says after taking a long gulp of water and then, he breathes out. “We, uh, we are going to be okay. Me and the girls.” Comfort is the best way to describe how Taemin has made her feel for the entirety of the relationship. The quick blinks, the laughed words, the memories that come and go of times where things weren’t looking up for them—but they made it work. He has that charm that she is still so deeply in love with, to the point she wonders if love is a spell to her, it changed her life completely. “I’m taking them on a road trip. We’re not staying there, but it’s a four-hour drive. I’ll be here before five in the afternoon, and if it gets too late, I’ll call you to tell you and I’ll probably stay there.”

She sighs, thinking that Taemin really wanted her to go, but after a while he had opted to let her stay at home. Taemin’s idea of relaxation is a really expensive visit to the spa and sure, a few hands taking the knots away from her back sounded wonderful, but spending time with her family and helping Taemin with the kids is also a great idea. “You know what?” She asks before sighing. “I’m going to go with you.”

“Uh…nope, you’re not.” Taemin answers before leaning forward and raising an eyebrow. “Because I am fully capable of taking care of a mini-soldier and a mini-train wreck.”

“They are two, Taem.” The mother of the twins says with two fingers raised up in the air. “Two girls with a lot of energy and you only have two hands. You’ll need at least four to stop them.” Taemin rolls his eyes, pretending not to listen to her as he starts the coffee machine. At least, she wouldn’t have to do that this morning. The smell of coffee beans fills the air, Taemin’s shoulders in display under his shirt as she continues to talk. “Pf, I don’t need a relaxing day. I’m totally okay with…hiking…uh…walking…that thing that you’re planning on doing.”

Taemin turns his head before shaking his head. “You’re not. You called me crazy because of reading parenting books.”

“Well, excuse me, I am just angry that there are people that are entitled enough to write books in parenting as if they were that perfect themselves—”

“…So you hate the idea.”

“I hate people when people give advice that they don’t follow, that’s another thing.”

“Good. You’re staying to take a while for yourself. That’s my advice.”

“You don’t follow that advice, either.”

The sound of the soft patter of steps over the floor catches the attention of the two parents. Having children heightened their ability of hearing. The first one to wake up is Jihee, an early riser and a bit obnoxious at that. Her hair was a mess, black strands sticking out everywhere from the ponytail she had on whenever she went to sleep. A big yawn leaves her lips, one that she muffles with her hand simply because it is polite. Her cheeks are bloated because of her sleep and her hands immediately collide with the back of her dad’s legs as she scolds him.

“Dad, don’t get so close to the coffee. It burns.” She says, making her mother proud as a smile spreads across her face. The first thing she does is pick Jihee up from the ground, placing a big kiss to her cheek only to earn a small smile. Even with her stern personality, Jihee loves to get attention from her family. Taemin does as Jihee says (because he always does the same thing) and with a wide grin, he gets close to Jihee and his girlfriend, resting his hand on Jihee’s head.

“Of course.” He ruffles her hair and then, he clears his throat. “Are you ready to have the best day of your life, Jihee?”

Jihee frowns and then, she widens her eyes at the reminder of what her father had talked about for the previous weeks. Sometimes she wonders if the twins get annoyed of their father. “Oh, oh! The Dora the Explorer adventure!”

That makes her gasp. “Dora—?”

“I had a hard time explaining to them what a road-trip was.” Taemin mumbles and she can’t help but laugh joyfully. There was something about Taemin—the way he always tries to goof around, or how he does it without even realizing, the way his twins suddenly became the center of his world for someone whom was once scared of commitment. Maybe, those two little girls were the change he needed. “But yes, Dora! So I need my two little explorers to get ready with the clothes we prepared last night. Can you do that?”

Jihee fumbles a bit around to get off her mother’s embrace, leading to her being released to the ground. “Dunno.” She says with certainty. “Jaehwa went to sleep at…I don’t know when. She did not go to sleep when you told us, Mom.”

She curses under her breath, or more-so silently, thinking that Jaehwa had always been a bit of a troublemaker and that she should really take her dolls away. “Really?” She asks in between gritted teeth before sighing. “Yeah, okay, just get her up and get dressed.”

“Brush your teeth, too. Two minutes, okay?” Taemin adds, complementing what his girlfriend says and Jihee nods her head.

“Yep.” Jihee confirms, her little body with her pudgy stomach moving away towards the stairs once again to get Jaehwa to wake up.

She turns on her heels, looking into Taemin’s eyes to see those brown eyes that had always captured her attention, the lost look in them that mixes with his adoration for his family. “Jaehwa is not following the rules. I think she should not be going to this road-trip.”

“Aw, come on.” Taemin whines, his shoulders shaking the slightest as he moves over to press his hands to her shoulders, caging her against his chest as he turns his head to the side. He knows the effect he has upon her, the way he makes her feel like she is the only woman in the world, the only person he will ever get to love. “Tell me you did not do that when you were a kid, at least once.”

“…That still doesn’t make it right.”

“I’m still taking her.”

“Do you even listen to me?”

“Sometimes. Depends. There are times when I just zone out.” His joking mannerism makes her land one of her hands against his arm, earning a joyful laugh that comes from within his chest and leaves his lips with glee. “You’re going to that spa. I’m going on that road-trip. We’re all having a great time.”

But the taste of bitter coffee accompanies her since early in the morning and that can only mean one thing—worry for the rest of the day. However, the more pictures go past her phone to show her smiling family somewhere in the countryside, the happier she feels.

#taemin scenarios #taemin #shinee scenarios #shinee #kpop scenarios #writing #shinee fluff #taemin fluff #dad!taemin #this is short and probably bad #bUT #i don't know #i needed to finish it #and taemin with twin daughters: a concept

[ctl-yuejie]

the grandmaster of demonic interior design or mound squatting & a smitten renovator

⇨ for @howdydowdy​ who wisely suggested a home renovation tv series au based on my crack gifset

Ia . IIa . IIIa . Ib . IIb . IIIb. Ic . IIc . IIIc . Id . IId . IIId . Ie . IIe ⭐︎ . IIIe ⭐︎⭐︎ . extra

IIId.

Lan Wangji does indeed look pristine when he wakes up.

However, that is only because he has gotten used to intensely dreaming about Wei Wuxian over the years and his body has learned to mask how much it affects him.

It is still dark when he steps into the shower, cold water harshly hitting his shoulders in penalisation of the liberties he took in his unconscious state.

Stepping in for his brother had been frightening in a way.  But realising that he had felt some amount of guilt for not following in the footsteps of his brother and how much liberty he had been given on account of him, this was at least a way to show his gratitude. Now, he was even less sure about everything.

Not a scheming person by nature it’d be unexpected, but meeting Wei Wuxian again after so many years could not possibly just have been a happy accident. Even trying to close off his emotions hadn’t prevented Lan Xichen from noticing his feelings for Wei Wuxian during his school days.  The well-meant advice to try and contact Wei Wuxian again, or at least travel with him to Yunmeng if the occasion ever presented itself, had been too much for him and over the years Lan Xichen had quieted down, only giving him emphasised glances when mentioning the Jiang sect in conversation.

His brother wouldn’t have disregarded his duty to the show in this way or deceived him about his intentions so thoroughly. Lan Wangji is sure of that. He is less sure about how to deal with this unexpected reunion.

It should be disconcerting how hard it is to control himself but Wei Wuxian is still very much worthy of causing such turmoil inside of him.

Wei Wuxian who is passionate and who’s sense of justice always brings him much more trouble than he can deal with, but who remains radiant in spite of it. Wei Wuxian who did silly pranks in the past and is still full of mischief, but now there’s also maturity in who he addresses it at. Wei Wuxian who has such an intuitive relationship with his cultivation, who always surprises him with the ingenuity of his inventions, back then and also now. Wei Wuxian to whom conversing with strangers comes easily, to whom conversing with Lan Wangji comes easily. Wei Wuxian, whose demonic cultivation he should feel offended by, but who casts a spell over him instead.

So Lan Wangji will let himself hope.  Tentatively hope that this time their bond won’t break.  That at least their friendship might endure.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

They smoothly pick up from yesterday’s shoot with individual interviews. He chooses his words carefully when asked about the style of cultivation, emphasizing the aspects of intent and self-control. The director doesn’t seem to be educated in cultivation techniques and Lan Wangji hopes that Wei Wuxian won’t suffer from any repercussions if some elder manages to read between the lines and deduces that demonic cultivation is at work at Burial Mounds.

Somewhat antsy since morning, Wei Wuxian is pre-occupied with refortifying the area with protective talismans and isn’t there to witness his account.

Instead Ah-Yuan somehow has taken a liking to him, following him around like an obedient shadow, one hand firmly grabbing onto his outer robes.

He never has to deal with the children outside of the Guqin classes he teaches at the cultivation heritage centre so he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with this small and muddy 5-year-old attached to his side.

But Ah-Yuan doesn’t seem to mind his silence, amusing himself with trying to reach for the sword in Lan Wangji’s hand instead.  Luckily his upbringing at Cloud Recesses has the advantage of resulting in some formidable arm-strength; he easily keeps the sword raised high without straining or regretting donning the full cultivator’s uniform.

He wonders what will happen once Ah-Yuan will be old enough to attend school. Burial Mound is a last resort for the evicted, not a place for a child to grow and prosper.

The wind changes and faintly there’s the scent of burning paper and resentful energy in the air.

Instinctively he pulls Ah-Yuan behind him, the other hand on the hilt of his sword.

Seconds later the line of newly painted talismans around them bursts into flames, the glowing ashes whirling into the form of tigers, roaring at the coming invaders.

The production crew is occupied with protecting their gear, obviously overwhelmed by what is happening, or more by what they don’t understand is happening.  

The squatters guide them in the direction of secret trails down the mound, arming themselves with Wei Wuxian’s talismans.

When the first group of intruders breaks through the forest line a flurry of yellow papers flies past him, leaving small explosions and smoke in their wake.

He quickly scoops Ah-Yuan up into his arms, covering him with his long sleeves, and makes a run for his grandmother at the other end of the clearing. Ah-Yuan is shocked silent, looking at him with wide eyes as he steadies all three of them on his sword and flies down the mountain.

He can make out a stream of red in passing and Wei Wuxian’s cackling as he proceeds to attack what must be the Wen clan’s goons.

At the foot of the mound he makes sure that Ah-Yuan and his grandmother find shelter in one of the film crew’s busses and then makes his way back up the mountain.

Wei Wuxian puts up an excellent fight with his talismans, many a low-level cultivator weighed down by ghosts of gluttony, flailing futilely on the floor.

Their eyes meet in understanding and they switch places, Wei Wuxian leading the remaining squatters down the mountain while Lan Wangji makes short work of the assailants.

He knows that he has to let them go eventually, they’re just hired muscle after all, but he makes sure to collect enough evidence to tie them back to the Wens before that.

Wei Wuxian returns to his side, just as the smoke clears, and he softly closes his hand around Wei Wuxian’s arm as they take in the damage.

The squatters have all escaped unscathed but most of their makeshift houses and fields are destroyed, once more extinguishing all life from Burial Mound.

Wei Wuxian turns to him, a wide smile on his lips. “Well, this was bound to happen. At least we know the talismans are working correctly. Did you see how Forth Uncle whooped that guys ass?”  Laughter pearls from his lips, but Lan Wangji can see the hurt in his eyes.

His grip tightens.

“Lan Zhan-ah, Lan Zhan-ah, why are you trying to squeeze me? The fight is over, I’m not the enemy, unless you think my cultivation is evil.” “Not evil.” Wei Wuxian laughs his fake laugh again and softly removes Lan Wangji’s fingers from his arm. “Wei Ying is not evil.” He says, feeling the silly need to convey his feelings as best as he can. “Ah, ah. I get it, I get it. If you think so –“ “I know it.” “– Lan Zhan! Come on, lets go! I really need a drink!”

They find a small pub downtown already open for business and Wei Wuxian doesn’t waste time and just drags him to a low table, well out of sight from the door. His banter with the waitress seems awfully forced and soon enough he downs one shot after the other without concern to his surroundings.

The next time his hand goes for his cup, Lan Wangji gently covers it with his and holds it down. “Lan Zhan! Whyyyyyy?!” Wei Wuxian is pouting at him disapprovingly but doesn’t protest then he picks up the cup and downs it in one.

The last thing he hears is Wei Wuxian’s joyous shout and he can feel his lips pull into a smile at the sound.

“At least I made him happy.” Is the last thing he thinks before passing out.

Ie

#the grandmaster of demonic interior design #ctlyuejie writes #the untamed #the untamed fanfic #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian #also: sorry for the bad planning but this will get longer by a bit so i have to redo the structure...

[thewarriorandtheking]

9. Erebor

Thorin left her quarters in the early morning to bathe and get a change of clothes. Once she was dressed Kaylea went down to the dining hall to see if she could find breakfast for Hector and herself. As Thorin had predicted there were still a large number of Dwarves sitting around the tables. Some were carrying on conversations, others were sound asleep in their seats. Kaylea moved down the main table, filling one plate with breakfast for herself, another with slabs of meat for Hector. Looking around she saw Elrohir sitting at one of the smaller tables his only companions a few sleeping Dwarves. She moved to join him, putting Hector’s plate on the floor next to her chair.

“Is that coffee?” Kaylea asked, nodding toward a large euer at the Elf’s elbow. Elrohir nodded.

“It is indeed,” he replied. He reached for a mug at the seat next to him and cleaned it off with a napkin, then poured her a cup of the strong brew. Kaylea sipped at it, surveying the room.

“Looks like I missed quite a party,” she said, starting on her breakfast.

Elrohir looked up at her through his eyelashes. “I was going to ask where you disappeared to last night, but it is all over you.” The Elf chuckled. “I should say the King Under the Mountain is all over you.”

Kaylea laughed. “That obvious, is it?”

“Oh, yes. I hope you did not hurt him.”

Kaylea shook her head. “No, but I am going to be sore for a few days,” she smiled at the Elf’s pained expression, leaning forward conspiratorially. “And he has the most amazing...”

Elrohir quickly held up a hand. “I am going to stop you right there. That is already far more than I ever wanted to know about Thorin Oakenshield.” He pushed his plate back and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Thank you so much for putting that in my brain. So, what are you up to today?”

“Thorin is going to show me his kingdom,” Kaylea replied. “I am quite looking forward to it. The only Dwarf city I have ever been in is Moria and that is a very dismal place now.”

Elrohir nodded. “I was here many years ago, when Thror ruled under the mountain.” He looked around the room. “In those days this place was a sight to behold.” Kaylea held up her cup and he refilled it. The Elf looked thoughtful.

“When you are touring the treasury make sure you admire something,” he said.

Kaylea frowned, sipping at her coffee. “Admire something? Like what?”

“Thorin will want to give you something,” Elrohir told her. “For saving his life and because he is in love with you. Dwarves love best that which they create with their own hands. Pick something out or you may get a necklace with enough precious stones to choke a warg.”

Kaylea shook her head. “I had not thought of that, but I’m sure you are right. There must be some nice swords down there.”

Now it was Elrohir’s turn to laugh. “That will never do! The king will want to give you something spectacular, it will have to be jewelry.”

It was Kaylea’s turn to make a pained face, she had no interest in jewelry and never had occasion to wear it. The two of them sat in silence for a time as Kaylea finished her meal. When Kaylea reached down to pick up his plate Hector stood, looking pointedly at her. She nodded to him and got up to follow him out, Elrohir also stood and they walked out into the Hall of Kings together. The big wolf trotted off toward the main gate, scattering the Dwarves who were working on repairs. He had enough of being indoors. As Kaylea and the Elf walked out into the hall they saw Thorin appear on the other side and start towards them. He was accompanied by Balin and Gloin.

“He is taller,” Elrohir said softly, looking sideways at Kaylea. She nodded.

“Hypersensitive to boosterspice is my guess, though I have never heard of it making you taller,” she said. “Just my luck.” Kaylea watched Thorin approach thinking they had not really talked about how they were going to play this. Her natural inclination was to keep their relationship quiet, but this was Thorin’s kingdom so she would follow his lead. Thorin smiled broadly as he reached her, he swept her into his arms, lifted her off her feet and kissed her.

Not keeping it a secret then, Kaylea thought as she kissed him back, enjoying the feel of his beard against her face. She glanced over at Elrohir who was watching with no little amusement. If you were sleeping with the woman every man desired why would you want to hide it?

“Are you ready to see the glories of Erebor, my love?” Thorin asked.

Kaylea smiled at him. “I thought I saw those last night, my king,” she replied. Balin and Gloin burst out laughing, smiling into their beards. Thorin laughed too, he pinched her through her tunic. “I mean my kingdom, of course.” He looked over at Elrohir. “You are welcome to accompany us, master Elf.”

The tall Elf inclined his head. “Thank you your majesty, but I believe I will take a walk in the fresh air and visit with my kinsmen from the Woodland Realm before they begin their journey home.” He bowed to the Dwarf king. Thorin nodded to him and turned back to Kaylea.

“Shall we begin?”

Erebor was vast, an underground city that could house many thousands. What Kaylea had seen so far was just the ceremonial halls and guardrooms, now Thorin led her into the city proper. Already there were many Dwarves about working to clear the rubble left by the dragon and make the city habitable again. Kaylea asked many questions, she was most interested in how the city functioned. How was water distributed? How did they manage waste? Where were the stores kept? Thorin loved the way she seemed fascinated with the engineering of it, and enjoyed explaining it at great length. Dwarves love to talk about their works and Thorin was no exception. Occasionally Kaylea would make an observation how something could be done differently, or more efficiently. Thorin wondered at her, but then remembered she commanded armies in her own land and had no doubt survived many sieges and done much rebuilding. He was hoping he could remember all her suggestions when he noticed Balin scribbling away in the little notebook he carried, he looked up at Thorin and smiled at him. As they moved through the city Thorin stayed at Kaylea’s side, holding her hand or guiding her with his arm around her waist. Every now and then he would sneak in a kiss. Thorin caught Gloin rolling his eyes but he did not care. He was happy, it had been a very long time since he felt so content.

They encountered many work parties as they traveled through the city. One was repairing the water wheels that powered the forges, another was cleaning out the vast storehouses. Dain’s people had brought many supplies with them, these were the first to go into the newly cleaned rooms.   

Kaylea was pointing out a couple of spots in the storehouses that needed to be sealed to keep out rats when she paused. “How many will you house over the winter?” She asked Balin. The old Dwarf shook his head.

“I am not sure,” he replied. “Some of Dain’s people wish to stay and many are already on the road from the Ered Luin, my lady.”

“You had better get some stores laid in quick,” Kaylea replied. “Get with Bard and have him negotiate the deal, he is sure to get you a better price. The treasure of Erebor is legendary.” Balin nodded his agreement, it was an excellent idea. He looked at Thorin who also nodded his agreement, this tour was making him more determined than ever to convince Kaylea to marry him.

It was shortly after this they came to the treasury itself. A vast, high-ceiling hall with bins as big as horse stalls filled with gold coins and gold objects of every description. Thorin could see the surprise on Kaylea’s face. He had spent so much time down here in the last months he had become used to the scale of it. Looking at it now he wondered how it had ever had such a strong hold on him, to the point he had gone back on his word and nearly thrown poor Bilbo off the front gate. Ever since he had recovered from his injuries he had been free of any desire for it, it was like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. All trace of his dragon sickness was gone, when he looked at the treasure hoard now all he saw was a tool to rebuild his kingdom.

“So, this is what you can do with one of the rings of power,” he heard Kaylea say softly. Thorin looked at her sharply, then smiled. “Is there anything you do not know about Middle Earth?”

She grinned at him. “I do not know much about Dwarves, but I am learning.” She reached over to stroke the side of his face, Thorin caught her hand and kissed it, smiling broadly back at her. He led the way down into the treasury.

“If you turn all this into bricks it will be much easier to store,” Kaylea said, as they were walking among the bins. She seemed to hesitate after she spoke, then turned to Thorin. “Well, the coins are more practical,” she said lightly. But Thorin had already made the connection. In fact, all three Dwarves were looking at each other, calculating the increase in value if it was no longer in marked coin.

“Start on this as soon as the forges are operating,” Thorin said. Balin was nodding, already working out the best weight for the bricks, writing busily in his notebook. Kaylea just shook her head, Erebor was about to get much richer.

Past the gold storehouse was a series of smaller rooms, each filled with bins and drawers and chests full of precious stones, jewelry and fine artifacts. There were spools of silver and gold chain, necklaces, tiaras, bracelets, all manner of ornament. Kaylea was mindful of Elrohir’s advice but she had honestly not seen a single thing she desired, except for a couple of swords back in the armory. In one room Thorin filled a small pouch with beads for her hair and handed it to her. “As I promised,” he said.

They went into yet another room, this one filled with long drawers. Thorin pulled open the first drawer and heard Kaylea gasp. There were two dozen stones in it, of various sizes. They sparkled blue but seemed to glow with a light of their own, the blue shifting to more white, like tiny Arkenstones.

“What are these?” She asked, turning one with her finger.

“Those are moon sapphires, my lady,” Gloin replied, looking into the drawer. “Those you see are all we have ever found.”

“This is all quite overwhelming,” Kaylea said as she closed the drawer, shaking her head. “I do not think I could look at another jewel. To my uneducated eye, they all look very much the same.”

Thorin smiled patiently at her. “You have not yet seen the rings, my lady,” he said, moving to the next cabinet. “Maybe you can find something for your left hand?”

He pulled open a long drawer filled with a variety of rings. There were many set with spectacular single stones, any of which he would be proud to see on her finger. On the right side of the drawer were a dozen rings in a different style, stylized animal motifs cunningly worked, with a bit of an Elvish feel to them. There was one with a wolf, holding a white stone in it’s mouth.

Kaylea tried to look away quickly, but Thorin was watching her closely. “Which one spoke to you, my love?” He asked softly. Kaylea put her finger on the wolf ring.

“This reminds me of a story from my childhood. At the end of the world a wolf swallows the moon.”

Balin was also following her gaze. “Ah, that is Nafi’s work,” he said. “Those are very old. It is said they were made for a prince of Numenor who never took delivery”

Thorin chuckled. “Do all Dorsai have such a close relationship with wolves? One fights beside you, you are named after them, they are part of your stories.”

Kaylea looked at him, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “I had not thought of it that way. I suppose we do, they have been our companions for much of our history.” She smiled remembering. “It was actually here in Middle Earth that people started calling me Wolf, because of my companion.”

Kaylea closed the drawer. “Where to next, my king?”

Thorin had thought the tour would be over after the treasury, but Kaylea wanted to see the mines. They trooped down to several shafts that had been active when Smaug came, Kaylea asked many questions about the works and impressed the Dwarves, not only with her familiarity with mining techniques but also that she never once lost her sense of direction underground. By the time the party returned to the Hall of Kings it was late in the afternoon.

Kaylea turned to Thorin and bowed. “With your permission, your majesty, I will take my leave to check on my horse. I will need to let him out to get some exercise.”

Thorin nodded, then moved closer so the other Dwarves could not hear. “And after that?”

Kaylea smiled at him. “Perhaps a private dinner? In my quarters?” She put her hand inside his coat, running it over the thin fabric of his shirt. Thorin felt his body stir at her touch.

“An excellent idea, my love,” he said. He kissed her, longer than he should have but she tasted so good. He watched Kaylea stride away across the Hall before turning to Balin.

“Who is our best jewelry maker here?” Balin thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up.

“Kral, one of Dain’s men. He is in the Houses of the Healing with a leg wound,” he said. “His work was much sought after by the Elves.”

Thorin nodded. “Perfect. Find out if he wants to work. I have a commission for him.”

#fanfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x oc #fan fiction #the hobbit #the hobbit movies #true love #falling in love #thorin