#empty biscuit tins

[yourcoffeeguru]

Vintage FOREVER FRIENDS Large Empty Biscuit Metal Tin

#empty metal tins #empty biscuit tins #teddy bear tins #vintage metal tins #vintage biscuit tins #decor #swtradepost

[mylunajewel]

Scottish Terrier 3D Empty Biscuit Metal Tin // swtradepost

#empty metal tin #metal tins #scottish terrier #dogs #biscuit tin #collectable tins #collectable biscuit tin

[shepherds-of-haven]

reporting in to send the ask for what each of the shepherds carry in their packs 🫡 blade gets tapped for a what’s in my purse vlog and the video is just a knife. and a knife. and a knife. and a knife—

Thank you for your service 🫡

Out in the field, if you were to grab a pack and rummage through it, only to find it wasn't yours, you'd find the following (excludes the standard field kit for Shepherd officers, which includes a bedroll, a tent/tarp, blanket, canteen, soap, toiletries, various changes of clothes, equipment to care for horses/ahfuri, mess kit with eating utensils and tin plates and etc., and the obvious standards like money and etc.):

Blade: a sturdy, rigorously-organized, plain and utilitarian pack containing: fire-starting tools (flint, steel, and tinder). utility/hunting knife (for things like cutting rope, skinning deer and fish, etc). dagger (for emergencies. in case the ones he keeps on his person are taken away from him). small portable writing set (comes with a flat, collapsible tablet that serves as a writing desk, ink, parchment, and pen) for composing letters/orders/messages to send home. emergency first aid (minimalist: basically consists of a bottle of alcohol for sterilization, needle and medical thread for stitches, and some clean bandages). dried meat or jerky, hardtack biscuits (emergency rations). small cooking pot. whetstone (for sharpening his weapons). fishing hook and twine. hawking whistle. maps. rope. various small utility tools.

Trouble: a battered, worn and stained rucksack containing: fire-starting tools. charch and matches. various snacks and extra rations (trail mix, etc.). cubes of fat and bullion or various seasonings for meals. small cooking pot. extra ammunition (a lot of it). tools to maintain and clean his firearms. utility/hunting knife. rain-proof cover (can be used for himself or his rifle). extra gloves and socks. whatever novel he's currently reading. explosives (😳), various tools to create distractions (smoke grenades, etc.). signaling mirror. compass. timepiece. dice. playing cards. insect repellent salve. maybe fishing hook and twine if he expects to be "roughing" it for a long time! spyglass.

Tallys: a clean, well-maintained leather bag with Elvish adornments containing: large kit containing several different vials of various elixirs, tinctures, oils, and extracts (serve different purposes like reviving the unconscious, numbing pain, putting someone to sleep, etc.) as well as various different powders and dried herbs (some are poisonous, as Chase had the misfortune of discovering when he snooped too much); teabags; map; Elvish animal whistle (used for various purposes: as an animal or bird lure, for communicating while hunting or in camouflage, as a distraction); tifin (small Elvish flute) if she thinks she's going to be away for a really long time; Elvish hunting knife; kit of wax, resin, twine, and whittling knife to maintain her bow and arrows; first aid kit; woven Elvish mat (often used for meditation and dawn prayer rites, but can be used just for sitting more comfortably on things, as a lap blanket, or even as a scarf/shawl for extra warmth); small empty containers for foraging and protecting things like berries, mushrooms, leaves, etc.; Elvish field guide describing the various uses of flora and local plant matter; Elvish calendar and daily book of proverbs to keep track of the days (also doubles as a brief journal); pen; fire-starting kit.

Shery: Shery doesn't actually embark on missions into the field and actually has never left Haven (unless you're reading her latest short story on Patreon, lol), so the contents of her pack are at the moment hypothetical! Because of her inexperience, I'd guess that she'd both err on extreme overcaution and overpacking and also make some impractical choices, like bringing too many books, outfits for all kinds of weather, a parasol, a sewing kit, a little stuffed animal for good luck, a teapot, a nail file, an extra blanket and a fluffy pillow, and things like that! But she'd also have sensible choices, too, just way too many of them!

Riel: when he goes on business trips he typically has a whole trunk of things with him LOL but if forced to come along on a field mission, my guess would be that he'd mostly bring different changes of clothes, his hygiene and toiletries kit (complete with hair pomade, cologne, and fresh handkerchiefs), and then would just assume/rely on gold getting him whatever else he needed 😂😂 Actually he'd also certainly pack a valise with whatever current documents or contracts he's been working on, plenty of stationary and ink, a notepad for taking notes, a foldable writing desk, books, and whatever proof he'd need of being (at that time) Master of Merchants Guild, like his official stamps and wax seals and whatnot. Basically whatever he'd need for doing work on the road! 😂 Oh, he'd also pack a gun. Just in case!

Chase: a deceptively-slim, innocuous rucksack that is surprisingly hard to open if you're not familiar with it, containing: several lockpick sets. a bottle of alcohol to bribe informants with (or light a fire, sanitize a wound, what have you). rope. file. utility knife. whetstone. extra ammunition. fire-starting kit. tools to maintain his firearms. charch. playing cards. whatever book he's currently struggling through as homework. various shiny trinkets that can be traded, bargained, bribed, or used as a distraction. devices used as distractions (flashbags, smoke grenades, low-level explosives). grooming kit with comb, pomade, cologne, mirror, etc. scarf (can be used as a fashion accessory, mask to obscure lower half of face, or, in a pinch, as a method of strangling someone 🙂). wire (don't ask). mysterious vials (could be poison, could be acid to burn through locks). different accessories, clothes, and wig for different disguises. special gripped shoes for climbing and capering. small grappling hook. net/bolas (typically used to trip opponents up or rig traps). recently-acquired reed harp (harmonica) that he uses to amuse/torture teammates with.

Red: a slim, casually-packed, strangely collegiate bag (he generally travels light because he cheats and conjures most of what he needs as he needs it), containing: whatever book he's currently reading. field journal and writing implements. foldable writing desk. scroll container to protect any precious documents or papers he might come across. various Mage-y implements like chalk, lyme, certain compounds that help with arcane magic and drawing runes. measuring ruler. various charged lodestones and keystones. maps. compass. grooming kit for his endless hair needs 😳 (pomade, comb, mirror, etc.). multi-use mini game board (you can play various games on it like Elements, checkers, sui, etc.). small containers for collecting specimens. travel lantern (for exploring ruins without having to deal with a guttering torch flame). insect repellant salve. salve for burns and aches. magnifying glass. small flat cushion for sitting/laying on if the ground is extremely lumpy.

Ayla: a carelessly battered, fraying rucksack with small carved totems dangling from it, containing: backup canteens of water (emergency only). collapsible trowel to dig holes (generally to dig up roots, tubers, or to find water). maps. compass. sundial. lots and lots of rations (the majority of her pack will contain non-perishable food). sewing kit (doubles both as first aid and for emergency repairs to clothes). colored twine (primarily used to mark trails so you don't get lost, demarcate certain things you'll need to find again later, and also doubles as a Jalis hand-game to play with another person when bored). playing cards. dice. rope. hunting/utility knife. lockpick set. sun lotion (to protect the skin). extra tarp (to erect emergency lean-to/rain shelter/shade; doubles as emergency extra blanket). file. hairties for her braid. jade stone from her parents. slingshot/leather thong to hurl rocks with (this is a deadly weapon in her hands). signaling mirror. survival whistle. small torch. fire-starting kit. whittling knife for when she's bored and wants to carve things into her staff or just out of hunks of wood. field guide telling her what's safe to eat and what's not. jalis rattle (sort of like maracas: it's a small wooden cylinder filled with dry rice) in case she's in the mood to provide a rhythm to someone else's music.

Briony: a fat, cheerful pack with many charms and souvenirs dangling from every strap, containing: a field journal/sketchbook full of sketches, drawing/writing implements. a hairbrush. haphazard grooming case (eyelash curler, a bit of blush, no mirror). fingerless gloves. her latest book. extra hair ties/hair ribbons. oils and rags to maintain her armor. whetstone. fire-starter kit. maps and compass. some snacks, but typically she forgets about them. fishing hook and twine. headscarf to conceal her hair if need be. field encyclopedia/traveler's guide (more about various landmarks and places of interest she might see than survivalist tips). first-aid kit (used more than most to deal with small scrapes and wounds). hunting/utility knife. spare dagger. stargazing map. spyglass. pouch full of pretty rocks or dried flowers she picks up along the way. spellbook full of spells she's learning/practicing along the way.

Lavinet: an expensive but practical and well-made leather saddlebag containing: compact maquillage and grooming case (hairbrush, lipstick, mirror, perfume, hair conditioner, etc.). extra riding gloves. extra handkerchiefs. whetstone, tools to maintain her lance and sword. tools to maintain her saddlery. horse treats. fur throw that doubles as small extra blanket, extra warmth as a shawl, or as a cushion to sit on. extra pair of riding boots in case one set fails. Naveen signet ring and official accoutrements. writing set, desk, and seal. current book. hat to shade her head from the sun. sewing kit and patches of fabric to repair clothes. first aid manual. wax (has various uses, but she primarily uses it to plug her ears if she absolutely needs to). fire-starting kit. chainmail that can be concealed under the clothes. stiletto knife. corset (you never know, darling!)

Halek: an ordinary, standard pack containing: tools for weapons maintenance (for his spear). small compact bow and quiver. hunting/utility knife. exorcist dagger. recipe book and culinary guide regarding exotic ingredients or places of interest. various ingredients he picks up in towns or foraging in the wild. cooking oil, seasonings and spices, emergency salt, cubes of fat and bullion and stock, dried herbs, dried meat and cheese, flour. water-proof, heavy cloak for winter travel (also doubles as an extra blanket, as the standard-issue one might be too short for him). collar to suppress his blood-rage if need be. fire-starting kit. elk treats. small bell to tie to his elk in case he needs to. twine. grappling hook and rope. maps and compass. herbal teas. fishing hook. animal bait and snares. bear repellant. cooking pot and small frying pan. sand (used to scrub pots and pans when water is scarce or frozen). signal whistle. special snow boots if traveling through snow.

#phew! that was a lot! #Shepherds of Haven #all characters #pack #packs #travel #equipment #long #long post

[riieks]

Imagine: You're Lokis best friend.

High-pitched laughter filled your ears as you watched the new king of Asgard sitting and joking with his closest friends. A smile spread across your face, considering Thor's rather childish behavior. He was overjoyed and gleamed in his limelight full of glee. He gave you a quick wave and made an inviting gesture for you to join them. But you were perfectly content in the slightly darker corner of the huge hall. The cup in your right hand was almost empty, which is why you wanted to get another helping.

Exactly at that moment you noticed the person standing only a few meters away from you. He was also in the shadows and looked grimly at what was happening before his eyes. With a sigh you plucked up courage and approached the man.

It was none other than Thor's little brother. Who preferred solitude and didn't like to admit it, but was clearly jealous of the new ruler. It had always been like this. While the blonde was taking all the credit, Loki would do anything to get even a little recognition.

However, there was someone he didn't have to make an effort to be liked by. Someone who accepted him. In every way the younger one was. And you were that someone. When Loki noticed your presence at his side, he looked down briefly. Only to scrutinize your form intently and give you his full attention.

"Y/N, have a nice evening. Don't you think so?" He tried to force a smile. However, you knew better and you knew him far too well. That's why your eyebrow jumped up and a slight sarcastic sound escaped your lips.

"Your entire posture just screams that you're not enjoying the evening at all." You answered simply, blinking at him with a grin, which he returned. "So obvious?" he asked and you nodded. The black-haired man was an open book for you.

"How many times have I told you not to let all those people bring you down?" you asked in return, receiving a terse shrug. There was a stifling silence in your conversation for a fraction of a second before you spoke again.

"Remember when we were kids, when you stole a whole tin of biscuits from the royal kitchen and we munched them under one of those tables?" a wide grimace on his face. Loki chuckled and shook his head.

"Thanks, Y/N," he spoke. Now with a softer voice and an undertone you couldn't read.

"For what?"

"For everything. You're a true friend," he explained, unconsciously embarrassing you. A little overwhelmed with the situation, you made it clear to him that there was no reason to say thank you. You never took pleasure in the dangerous adventures of the elder son of Odin, so you were usually found in the library with the magician, discussing a new book or he telling you about his fascinating magic.

Not a while later, the gods of celebration got louder and festive music rang out from all the walls of the huge hall.

"May I ask for this dance, my lady?" came suddenly from your cherished friend and it literally made your heart race. Because you hadn't expected that. He had politely reached out a hand, which you shyly accepted and could almost smell the stares of the others present.

But after a while the queasy feeling disappeared in no time and you just savored the beautiful moment with your soul mate.

#loki odinson #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki fluff #avengers imagine #the avengers x reader #tom hiddelston loki #tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston x reader #loki imagines

[formulaes5]

love notes in the kitchen (say it all)

To my lovely thief, please stop eating my secret chocolate. Don’t even try to deny it, I know it’s you sweetheart. - xo Mark Five notes that Mark leaves for Sebastian, and one that Sebastian leaves for Mark.

☆ 3.2k, T, ao3 ☆

1.

Seb woke slowly to the cold morning. He reached out in front of him instinctively, in search of Mark and the heat that his body usually provided, grumbling when he came up empty handed. He cracked open an eye, incredibly disappointed to find a disturbing lack of Mark in their bed. He rolled over to face the other side of the room on the off chance that he might find Mark over there. No such luck. As far as Seb was concerned, It was far too early in the morning for him to be leading a Markless existence. This wouldn’t do at all. 

He rolled back over, just snuggling back into the duvet when he caught sight of a bright splash of colour on his bedside table. He reached out from the warmth of his duvet cocoon and grabbed the blue post-it note, wondering where it had come from.

Morning Sweetheart, Went for an early run while the weather’s still good. Please don’t be mad. Look, there’s coffee! - xo Mark 

Well that wasn’t playing fair at all, Sebastian thought grumpily as he sipped at his coffee. He had sat up fully intending to sulk at being abandoned to the tender mercies of the cold morning, but Mark had managed to throw that completely out of sorts by being so effortlessly lovely. How was Seb meant to be mad at his boyfriend when he had left him a good morning note and a coffee in his favourite mug on his bedside table? Maybe he could take points off for the coffee being slightly lukewarm, that would show him.

Seb picked up the note again. Black ink scrawled lovingly over blue paper. He traced his finger over the sloping lines of Mark’s handwriting, stopping at xo Mark to move his fingers over the letters with extra care, feeling far more soppy than anyone should be at seven in the morning. How was Seb even meant to try and be mad at Mark when he left hugs and kisses on a fucking post-it note for him. How was he meant to play out the charade of grumpiness at his lovely, thoughtful boyfriend who knew which mug was his favourite and left him messages on sticky notes that he bought specifically in Seb’s favourite colour? Seb felt warm in his chest and he knew it had nothing to do with the way he had the duvet wrapped around him to shield himself from the biting cold.

Once it hit ten o’clock then Seb would accept that it was probably time to get up and go for a run – inside, on the treadmill, like any sane person would do in the freezing cold – but until then, maybe he could harass Mark into climbing back into bed with him for a bit when he got back. Then they could take a shower together and cuddle up on the couch to watch a documentary under one of the many blankets that could be found at Mark’s house, which was really Seb’s house as well in all but name. 

Seb settled back in to wait for his boyfriend, deciding maybe he could forgive him just this once. The coffee wasn’t even that cold anyway. 

2. 

Seb cast a furtive glance back in the direction of the living room where he had left Mark laid out on the couch with the dogs, quiet on his feet as he crept into the kitchen. He was a man on a mission, and he was determined to succeed. 

He reached the pantry, managing to avoid raising the alarm by neatly sidestepping the squeaky floorboard where the wood met the tiles of the kitchen. He looked around for a minute, trying to find the red tin that had once been filled with biscuits, but now held something far more enticing. A prize worthy of the search.

Aha! Seb thought victoriously, spotting it tucked out of the way behind the rice and next to the vegemite. A rookie error on Mark’s part, clearly. He went to all the effort of hiding the damn thing, only to “hide it” directly next to his preferred toast spread. A lucky day for Seb. Last time he had spent an entire five minutes searching for it before he spotted it under the olive oil, which had been a much better hiding spot, or at least much better than this pathetic attempt. It was like he wasn’t even trying anymore. 

He cracked open the tin, only to come face to face with another one of Mark’s special blue post-its stuck to the inside of the lid of the tin – the ones that he used exclusively to communicate with Seb – damn it, he’d been rumbled. Caught in the act. How Embarrassing. 

To my lovely thief, please stop eating my secret chocolate. Don’t even try to deny it, I know it’s you sweetheart. - xo Mark

Seb snorted loudly, breaking off a piece of chocolate in defiance of Mark’s not at all threatening note. He whirled around at the sound of a throat clearing; Mark stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed, with what was clearly an attempt at a stern look plastered across his face. The effectiveness of the look was reduced somewhat by the spark of mischief in his eyes, and the smile threatening to break though his attempted scowl. 

“Caught you,” Mark sing-songed smugly, “I knew it was you, little thief.”

Seb shoved the tin behind his back in a rush. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about liebling,” he said sweetly, batting his eyelashes innocently at Mark, who wasn’t even fooled for a hundredth of a second, but was no doubt amused by his antics.

“Sure you don’t Sebi, sure you don’t.”

“I am the pinnacle of innocence, I will have you know. I have never done anything wrong in my entire life, and that includes The Incident.”

He doesn’t say Multi 2-1, but they both know it’s what he means. Once upon a time a statement like that would have made Mark seethe with rage, but now it just makes him laugh and pounce at Seb, grabbing him in a bear hug and lifting him off the ground with a playful growl.

“Ah! Mark!” Seb shrieks, “Mark! No, put me down! I’m innocent!”

He shakes Seb around playfully, ignoring the clang of the tin as it hits the ground and peppering his face with kisses, “Stop.” kiss “Eating.” kiss “My.” kiss “Chocolate.” kiss. 

Seb is giggling like a maniac, pretending to try and escape from Mark’s embrace as his feet finally touch back down to earth. 

“Nope,” Mark crowed gleefully, arms still wrapped tightly around Seb’s waist, “I’ve kidnapped you as punishment for your crimes.”

He tilted his head, “My crimes?”

“Yep, grand theft cacao, that is,” Mark said sagely, “you know what the fine is for that, right Sebi?”

“... What?”

“One kiss, then I s’pose I can let you out on parole.”

“That’s a pretty steep charge Mark, but I think I can probably afford it.” Seb wrapped his arms back around Mark, one hand reaching up to cup the back of Mark’s head and pulling him down to meet in the middle in a soft kiss, sweet and slow. 

Mark leaned into the kiss with a hum of appreciation, carding his fingers through Seb’s hair as he dipped his tongue into his mouth. His lips were soft and they tasted like stolen chocolate, and Mark found that he didn’t really mind at all.

3. 

Seb was having a quiet day at home. Mark had left in the morning to spend the day at the Porsche factory in Stuttgart, saying goodbye to a rather adorably drowsy Seb with a kiss on the forehead and an “I’ll see you tonight then sweetheart.” before shouldering his day pack and leaving the house for the airport, leaving Sebastian and the dogs to their own devices.

There wasn’t really anything interesting on the TV, just more early morning reruns of D-list sitcoms and morning talk shows that nobody really paid attention to anyway. Seb certainly wasn’t paying them any attention as he scrolled idly through his phone, looking over a recent text from Lewis about grabbing lunch with him and a cute picture of Roscoe wearing a hat. He looked over from where he was sat on the couch to the two dogs sat on their beds, raising his phone to snap a picture for Lewis, “No hats for Shadow and Simba :(”, he replied.

Seb checked his watch, realising with a start, that since Mark had left early that they probably hadn’t had breakfast yet, poor things.

He called them over and reached out to stroke their heads apologetically as they arrived, tails wagging, “Oh I’m very sorry boys, let's get you fed.”

Seb got up from the couch and walked over to the bin where they stored the dog food, encouraged by the big baleful eyes being shot at him by the two dogs. He stopped short of actually taking the lid off the bin when he saw the sticky note.

Sweetheart, do not let them trick you. I have fed the dogs. - xo Mark

“Nice try boys,” Seb said with a snort, “maybe next time.”

4. 

Seb slumped down in his driver's room at the track. Mark was never going to be able to attend the race in support of Seb, considering that the WEC season opener was on the same day as the formula one Chinese grand prix, leaving Seb to go on without him. It was only his third race wearing red yet, and even coming fresh off his win in Malaysia, Seb couldn’t deny that having Mark there with him would have been a great help. He wasn’t really upset with him, that would be ridiculous. He was just upset with the circumstances that had left him alone. He couldn’t be mad at Mark, not for doing his job; they were both adults with their own jobs, no matter how unconventional their jobs happened to be, and sometimes these things just happened. Right now he was just taking advantage of the relative privacy of his driver's room to have a good old fashioned sulk, mindful of Kimi on the other side of the thin wall separating their rooms. He could just sulk quietly.

He reached into his backpack with a dejected sigh, pulling his water bottle free and taking a drink in what he hoped was a generally pissy manner, not that anybody was around to see, but it made him feel better, and that was what counted.

Seb ran over the itinerary that the ever-helpful Britta had left for him on the table, really just the standard stuff. Media, media, something about actually driving the car, and then, shock of shocks, more media.

He reached into his bag, rummaging through his stuff in search of his phone. He pulled out Mark’s Porsche hoodie – happily lent to him by his boyfriend after the very minimum of eyelash batting. Mark was really just so easy in that regard, Seb thought happily – and put it on, reaching into the pocket to find his phone to send a text to Britta regarding scheduling. 

There was something else in his pocket, he realised belatedly. He pulled his hand from the pocket, coming back with… A little blue paper heart? He didn’t remember leaving that there, maybe it was Marks? Hang on, he knew that blue! He unfolded the heart carefully, mindful not to tear what he was relatively sure was a note from Mark.

The note unfolded to reveal Mark’s trademark slanting scrawl.

Sebi, sorry I can’t be there to tell you this in person, but good luck out there this weekend sweetheart. Knock it out of the park for me. All my love. - xo Mark 

Seb felt himself choke up a bit, the clear affection in the note compounding on Seb’s lack of sleep and his already emotional state to make him even more emotional. Mark was so effortlessly sweet, and it was just so unfair that he was all the way back home in England getting ready for the six hours of Silverstone and not here in China holding Seb in his arms, he thought to himself as he took a deep calming breath. 

Stupid, thoughtful, lovely Mark and his stupid handsome face and little handwritten notes that still made Seb’s heart beat out of his chest like a schoolboy with a crush. Seb was going to kiss his face off when he got home, he decided resolutely. That’d show him. For now he had a race to focus on.

5. 

Mark woke with his alarm, shooting a hand out to his nightstand to silence it immediately, not really thinking that it would actually wake Seb – who could sleep through just about anything – but thinking it was better to be safe than sorry. Seb was snuggled up against him in an old, oversized Red Bull hoodie that theoretically belonged to Mark. He had his cheek pressed into Mark’s bare chest and an arm flung loosely over his waist, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. Mark resisted the urge to tuck a strand of hair behind Seb’s ear. He gently eased his way out from under Sebastian’s head, replacing his chest with his own pillow, trying his best not to wake him as he moved Seb’s head.

He went through the motions of getting ready, getting dressed and brushing his teeth before finally sitting down at the kitchen counter for a relaxed breakfast. He casually checked his phone, and nearly choked on his toast upon seeing an email from the airline he was flying with, informing him that his flight had been pushed forward by an hour. Mark cursed, mentally calculating that he would need to leave in about five minutes if he wanted to make his flight on time. So much for a relaxed breakfast. He started shoving toast into his mouth in an entirely undignified manner that would have had his mother slapping him upside the head if he tried it at her dining table. 

He had been meant to wake Seb to say goodbye in around half an hour, but now knew that his plans would have to change dramatically. He dropped his plate into the dishwasher and did a quick double check of the contents of his bag before sprinting up the stairs and into his office, rummaging through his drawer until he found his special blue sticky notes and a pen. Walking at a more sedate pace into the bedroom, he stopped and thought for a moment as he leaned over the nightstand, uncapping his pen and watching the gentle rise and fall of Seb’s back. He took in the slight part between Seb’s pink lips and the fluttering of his eyelashes as he cuddled into Decoy Pillow Mark. He knew just what to write.

Hey there Sleeping Beauty, my flight got moved up an hour. I know I promised to wake you before I left, but you looked so gorgeous curled up in my hoodie I just couldn’t. I’ll call you when I get into the hotel. Sleep well. - xo Mark

Seb would probably be a bit salty when he woke to find Mark gone without even so much as a goodbye kiss, but sometimes he was just too cute for his own good.

+1

It had been a big couple of weeks, Seb’s retirement finally having sunk in for the both of them. No more races for Seb, a minimum of public appearances, just Seb and Mark and their quiet little life in the English countryside, less than an hour down the road from Silverstone. Of course Mark would still make semi-regular appearances at races in his capacity as a pundit, but now it would be Seb accompanying him to races rather than the other way around, which felt a little surreal to Mark.

They were both home for the day, with no plans to do anything in particular. Seb was off somewhere in the garden, trying to encourage his tomatoes to grow, and Mark was wandering into the kitchen in search of a snack. He opened the pantry door and tried to make a decision. His eyes wandered over some oat bars and nuts, as well as assorted other relatively healthy snacks, before turning around and deciding to grab an apple from the bowl on the counter.

There was a tin on the counter that wasn’t normally there. His secret red tin that was about as secret as the Sun, which is to say not at all. He picked up the tin suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the weight, or lack thereof. He never even had more than two squares a week, so there was no good reason for the tin to be empty, other than Seb striking again.

There was something small in the tin, clunking against the sides – probably another one of Seb’s IOU’s, he thought to himself bemusedly – whatever it was, he was still mentally preparing himself to come face to face with the disappointing reality of a tin devoid of his favourite chocolate. This time Seb was really going to get it. 

He opened the tin, seeing no chocolate, only a square of blue paper folded neatly around whatever had made the noise. He grabbed the paper, recognising it as one of his own sticky notes that he used to leave Seb notes. It had a little bit of a weight to it, whatever it was.

Mark moved to unfold the note, prepared for a token or maybe even a small pebble that Seb had picked up on a walk and liked the look of. What he wasn’t expecting was a thin gold ring, which immediately bounced out of his hand and fell to the ground with what felt to Mark like a deafening series of chimes against the tiles of the kitchen floor.

He finished unfolding the note with shaky hands.

Hi Mark, I’m sorry for eating your not really that secret chocolate again, but you really need to find a better hiding spot for it. Marry me? - xoxoxoxo your Sebi

Mark bent down to pick up the ring. What the fuck?, he thought, what the actual entire fuck? He turned the ring over in his hands, noting a small engraving on the inside of the ring: Love You Forever. Mark might actually be going into shock. No fucking way had Sebastian just proposed to him through the romantic medium of eating all his goddamn chocolate (again) and leaving an engagement ring as an IOU.

Where the hell was Seb?

Seb, as it turned out, was stood nervously in the doorway, and was entirely unprepared for Mark to walk quickly towards him and lift him by the waist onto the kitchen counter, letting out a surprised little squeak as Mark muscled his way between Seb’s legs, cupping his cheek and kissing him passionately as he tangled a hand in his hair, still holding onto the ring. His ring. His engagement ring. His engagement ring from Seb. Seb who wanted to marry him.

They had discussed marriage briefly in the past, both agreeing that they would like to get married at some point, but not putting any kind of timeline in place. It seemed that Seb had decided that his retirement would be as good a time as any.

Mark parted from him with a gasp, not quite believing what was happening, “Yes, you bloody idiot, I’ll marry you. But only if you replace my goddamn chocolate.”

Seb just laughed. He laughed a bright and clear laugh, interrupted only when Mark leaned in and kissed him again. Just for good measure.

#sebmark #martian #f1 rpf #ao3 #my fics #rpf #fic: love notes in the kitchen (say it all)

[aristocratic-otter]

It's been far too long since I had the time and energy to post, so I'm determined to do it tonight (even as I just found out my son has COVID...again. And I just spent all of yesterday evening with him. Fuck.)

Thank you to all of you who never gave up on me even when I disappear. The people who've tagged me since last I surfaced: @fatalfangirl, @cosmicalart, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, @cutestkilla, @prettygoododds, @wellbelesbian, @ileadacharmedlife, @larkral, @whatevertheweather, @j-nipper-95, @artsyunderstudy, @facewithoutheart. @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @iamamythologicalcreature, @hushed-chorus

From Westward Son (penultimate chapter up tomorrow or the next day!):

For several heartbeats, I hear only the frantic rustle of clothing. Then something touches my thigh. Baz’s palm, cold as ice. I hiss at the sensation. “Fuck, Baz,” I complain, “You’re a friggin’ icicle.” 

Then he presses his cold front side to my back.  I yelp and he chuckles softly. “Warm me up, hmm?” he murmurs into my ear. 

From Saving Simon Snow:

Physically shaking himself like a dog, he turns to me with a strained smile. “Home sweet home, right?” he says, though his voice is a little wobbly. 

“Right,” I say softly, watching him carefully. His eyes dart away from my gaze, and he’s suddenly a flurry of movement. He pops open the passenger side door, swings himself out of the car and hurries around to the trunk to retrieve our luggage (Bunce kept hold of hers). I let him get away with the deflection, but at some point I’ll probably have to convince him to talk about his feelings. This won’t be much of a (fake) marriage, if we both spend all our time smiling stiffly at one another and lying through our teeth. 

A little Simon and Baz mischief from my Age of Sail AU (need to come up with a title for that!

On the third beach over, we find a waterlogged chest. We open it to empty out the water and make it easier to carry and find tins of biscuits and candy, along with soggy clothing and a wooden chess set. Baz and I exchange glances and I know we’re both thinking the same thing. 

Twenty minutes later, we set off to continue exploring, carrying the chest between us. It’s lightened by the removal of two tins. The evidence of our theft resides in our bellies and the empty tins are buried in a sand dune. 

From Snow Fox (first chapter will be posted next week!):

How far would I be willing to go to save a child’s life?

A nascent plan swirling in my brain, I stand up and stroll over to Tarleton’s side. He’s insisted on doing the whipping himself, and right now, he’s hefting the leather weapon in his hand and testing his grip. 

“Are you well practiced with a whip?” I murmur, trying to make my voice light, but suggestive. 

It works. His grip on the stock of the whip tightens for a moment, and he stands up straighter.

And enjoy Baz and Simon having a light moment before things get real in To Heal A Broken Mind:

When I pull into a parking spot at the Pret, he looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Starting at midnight, you won’t be allowed to eat for nearly twenty-four hours,” I remind him. 

“Yeah, so?”

“So, assuming you’ve got no big plans today…” I trail off to allow him to answer, and to my great pleasure, he shakes his head. “Then you are going to eat your way through Pret’s entire sandwich menu, my treat. You’ll be so stuffed you won’t even want to eat tomorrow.” 

What's that, you say? Only four WIPs? No...not actually. I have a secret project I've been writing, and I just started on my CORB (no words yet, just outlining)...so I've got six again. Sigh.

Tagging everyone because who knows when I'll post again? Tag backsies for everyone above, plus @frjsti, @angelsfalling16, @alexalexinii, @bazzybelle, @bloodiedpixie, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @confused-bi-queer, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @krisrix, @letraspal, @messofthejess, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @nightimedreamersghost, @onepintobean, @prettylightsbigcity, @rimeswithpurple, @rainbow-0bsidian, @raenestee, @subparselkie, @shrekgogurt, @sillyunicorn, @technetiumai, @tea-brigade, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @theearlgreymage, @theimpossibledemon, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @yellobb-old,

Whew, that was a lot. Happy Wednesday, y'all!

#co/ws/awtwb #wip wednesday #simon snow series #snowbaz #cotta 2021 #carry on through the ages #cotta 2023 #age of sail au #House AU #Forced Marriage AU #Canon Divergence #Oregon Trail AU #American Revolution AU

[yoursalwaysadrora]

WhenItComesToYou

An idea that has absolutely refused to leave my brain. Trying to decide if I should post the full wip, but for now just some hopefully suspencefull tid-bits. Feedback is greatly appriciated as it will help me decide if i should persue this as a serious project.

Description: Tommy gets well acquainted with the strange wounded bird that his brother smuggles into the house on a cold night in January. Her eyes are awfully empty for a woman of only twenty-four but she smiles like it's the first time she's seen the sun.

There’s a woman in his kitchen.

A bloody woman with tears tracks along her cheeks and torn clothing. She hums to herself, something with a strange warble, tracing the woodgrain of the table. Unaware of the danger that lurks just beyond the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” he grunts. She startles violently, rising from her chair and setting her feet to align with her shoulders.

“A man brought me here,” her voice shakes and her eyes bounce across his features. “But you’re a different man.” She whispers almost like he isn’t supposed to hear. He steps further into the kitchen and she scatters to compensate for the lost distance, pressing herself into a corner.

He raises his hands, making a show of pulling his gun from its holster and placing it on the counter. She watches him with rapt attention, waiting for him to launch himself at her. He does no such thing.

Though it is troubling to find an uninvited and disheveled woman in his home at this hour, her admission of an accomplice tells him it’s likely his brother that’s to blame for her intrusion. He sighs as he rolls up his sleeves and readies a kettle. She watches him prepare tea and retrieve a tin of biscuits from a creme colored cupboard. 

He takes his own seat at the small table, setting the tin down on the surface before tucking into his cigarette case. He peeks over the flame of a match at her, uses two fingers to push the tin in her direction once his cigarette is lit. She doesn’t move, hardly even breathes, as he takes slow draws. His impatience steadily grows and by the fourth hit he plants his foot on the edge of the chair across from him; gives it a measured kick and it scoots backwards. She catches it by the back, eyes burning into his own. She takes a steadying breath and seems to understand that -unlike his brother- he has a low threshold for aid. She pushes the chair back to the table, taking a seat and folding her hands in her lap. 

His eyes flicker to the biscuit tin and it successfully draws her attention. She rips her eyes away from the temptation -unsure, questioning- but when she meets his gaze he simply nods. It’s all she needs, tearing the tin open and stuffing three into her mouth before chewing. She closes her eyes, heaving a sigh as she leans into the back of her chair. She takes another before she’s even finished swallowing. He has half a mind to slow her down, but she holds the tin close to her chest and hunches over it protectively like an animal.

—

When Polly brings her back downstairs, Tommy almost wishes she hadn’t cleaned the girl up. It seemed that a good amount of the blood had come from her own veins. Her left cheekbone was swollen and bright muscle shone from the cut. She had a long gash that started just above her left eyebrow and cut across her nose. There were silver scars on her lips and an old burn that stretched from her jaw and just barely touched her right cheekbone -the molten flesh almost too much to bear. 

He turns away, nearly struck by the sight, never having seen a woman in such a state.

—

“I used to play,” her lips tilt upwards as she says it.  Then she turns her eyes away, setting them on the fire, turning them to glass. “But I don't do that anymore.”

His gaze involuntarily flickers to her sunken knuckles and slightly crooked fingers. He can’t ever imagine her being able to play but, then again, he’s sure there had been a time when she couldn’t have imagined it any other way.

—

“Who is that man?” she whispers, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“What man?” he matches her tone, never taking his eyes off of her. She raises a shaking hand and points to the armchair in the corner.

“That man.” He swallows thickly, glancing at the empty seat.

“What is he doing?” Perhaps he shouldn’t perpetuate this but he wants to understand what’s made her so afraid. 

“He’s smoking,” she says, “ and he won’t stop looking at me.” Her breath catches and his chest lurches. He moves in front of her, blocking her from the chair, and offers his hand. She takes it immediately, clutching so tightly that her knuckles turn white. 

“Dolly, there’s no one in that chair.”

“Oh, God,” she chokes.

—

He stops in front of her door and takes a deep breath before knocking. Something tumbles to the floor and he can hear fabric rustling. Just as he’s about to knock again he hears her clatter into her shoes. The door swings open and she’s still fitting it over her heel. She rights herself, smoothing her hands down her green dress and smiling brightly. His lips involuntarily twitch into a smile. 

“C’mon, now,” he says sternly, “ we’re going to be late.” His tone does nothing to damper her smile and she hooks her arm around his own.

They meet his brothers at the door and the four take off into the night. The wind is biting and it howls incessantly but Gwendolyn still skips and laughs at John’s jokes. Though her spirits are high, Tom can tell that she’s relieved when they step into the Garrison, the shifting temperature rapidly tinting her cheeks. They stop by the bar, John grabbing a bottle and Arthur accepting four glasses from Grace. She gives them a saccharine smile, sparkling eyes lingering on Thomas’ frame. Gwendolyn stiffens beside him when Graces’ eyes glance over her, tucking herself into his side as they enter the snug, 

She stares at the blonde barmaid until he closes the door. She doesn’t move, standing firmly next to the exit as he settles at his desk. John is already popping the cap off of the bottle as Aurthur throws himself into a seat. They drank and laughed, all but one falling victim to the contagious merriment clouding the snug that night. Gwendolyn held her position, back straight and shoulders set. Aruthur had offered her a drink, tugged at the side of her skirt  until she batted his hands away. John roared laughter, yelling about what an ‘absolute downer’ she was being. Thomas had even arched his brow at her, silently pushing an empty glass to the edge of his desk but she shook her head. 

“I don’t like her.”

She says it hours later, breath coming out in soft tufted clouds. He takes the time to look at her from under his cap and finds her cheeks nipped pink by the wind. Her heels click against the pavement, her limp exacerbated into stuttering steps under the weight of John (or, perhaps, her admission.) 

“Why’s that?”

He doesn’t need her to elaborate as so whom. He’d been getting better at that; noticing and understanding her idiosyncrasies. She made a lot of funny faces that never seemed to correspond with the emotions they represented. But he had watched it run over her all at once when she’d seen Grace.

“Makes me feel bad,” she huffs. 

He glances at her again. She’s focused on John’s stumbling feet, brows furrowed and she worries a bit of the flesh from her bottom lip between her teeth. Plenty of things made her feel bad, but he supposes it’s the way she’d said it; as if he were stupid for not already knowing and sharing her sentiment. Arthur huffs something and he readjusts his brother without taking his eyes off of her.

“What’d you see?” 

She makes eye contact with him for the first time since they’d left the snug. The look she gives him -eyes wide, pupils small- like a rabbit that’s just escaped a wolf, sends something inside him into a strange twisting motion. Her face changes, eyes narrowing and lips parting - a particularly dumb look for her. 

“You feel it too.”

He doesn’t have time to ponder on how exactly she knew. John suddenly lurches forward and she scrambles to right him, heel scraping noisily against the pavement. He pitches forward to help but it only makes Arthur’s weight more apparent. She effectively steadies herself, cursing all the while, and pulls John’s arm more firmly across her shoulders. John rolls his chin against his collar bone, nuzzling his forehead into her temple.

“Gwen,” he hums, slinging his right arm around her front to find purchase at her waist. He gives her an awkward hug, pouring muddled whispers into her hair. She laughs and plants her hand on his forehead, pushing him away. He playfully nips at her wrist and she pulls back with a shriek. He uses it to his advantage, pressing his face into her neck.

She turns to check in on her counterparts and Thomas turns away. Convincing both her and himself that he hadn’t been watching.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #john shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc

[lostonehero]

My first fic for this Fandom I know I just finished season 3 but I hope you guys like it

JonMartian romance obviously

Web avatar Martin

:)

A voice if you could call it that sounded as if metal was grinding on metal combined with nails on a chalkboard. It wasn't loud, more so quiet, barely a whisper for one listener. "Gifts for you."

Martin yawns as he puts his book down, leaving a bookmark to mark his page. He rubs his eyes. "I keep telling them to leave, but they never stop." He stretches. "I'm not starting a cult in your name."

The voice makes what seems to be a noise of agreement.

"Do you want to share?" Martin hums, looking to a dark corner that seems to grow darker, and he knew that meant yes. "Alright, hopefully they brought tea and biscuits, and maybe enough I can share with my coworkers."

The voice lingers in the air. "Jon?"

Martin stiffens as he closes the front door. "No, I haven't asked yet. Things are not exactly good since everything. I also have to keep things distance due to Peter."

"Martin." The voice hisses louder.

"Right, sorry, rambling." Martin knew that isn't what he meant, but it was a reflex from his childhood.

"Tea?" The voice sounded lighter as if it was trying to comfort Martin.

"Oh yes, I think they brought over some fruit ones. Oh, they brought your favorite peach. Uh want... no, I know you don't like sweets." Martin frowns. "Do you mind if I close the blinds? My back is getting itchy, and my eyes are watering."

"Remeber your shirt." The voice hums, and the tea Martin holds vanishing and the sound of his kettle turning on filled the soft quiet.

"Oh right, thanks. I don't want to ruin this one." Martin removes his shirt and folds it neatly on the back of a chair. Soft creaks of bones stretching as he seems to grow taller as spider legs erupt from his back. His eyes multiply as he has eight on his face. His mouth stretches, and a pair of mandible grows and drips a green liquid. His hands closed, and a scale like armor is on his hands and in random splotches of his body. He returns to his human feet and sighs. "Forgot my socks, but they are easy to remake. Oh, thank you." He quietly walks back over to the table where a hot cup of tea rests at his spot on the table.

"Molting, you need vacation." The voice seems less harsh as the sound of sipping is heard.

"I have to ask Mr. Lucas for that, but I don't know if he'll approve it. I don't know if he figured out what I am. Things have been uh tense at work." Martin hums opening a tin of biscuit.

The voice pauses as another phantom sip is heard. "The beholder thinks you are a human. Not that it matters. They should be happy to have you on their side."

Martin blushes a grey against his pale skin. "Thank you, mom. I know you're neutral in this, but I'm glad you're with me."

The voice chitters happily. "Tell the archivist your story."

Martin huffs. "Mom, we've been over this." He relaxes and taps his legs against the floor. An empty mug appears in front of Marvin. "Oh, do you want another?"

The voice is quiet. Marvin knows this means his father has gone back.

........

It's been a while since Martin knew normalcy. He was 8 when he met the being, the god, the spider. He was a lonely child he liked spiders, and his mom seemed to always be sick, and he didn't know his father. He was curious he followed a thread to a place that seemed like it shouldn't exist, but he was a curious thing.

"Wow!" Martin was full of awe and curiosity. "You're very pretty."

There was a creature a spider like being. They were just going to eat their newest prey caught in their web, but they've never heard anything like that. A human willingly touched them. Small for a human as well.

The first meeting went well in Martin's mind he tried to tell other kids about his new friend, but that didn't go well. Bullys picked him, outed him out of everyone.

Martin led food to his better mother figure, but that was never their relationship. They never wanted to say that he didn't want a follower. He grew close to this human and gave him a gift. The boy grew into his gift.

Martin grew up, and he had to leave schooling for his mother. He didn't mind that, but they knew he did. When he got the job he was so excited and they applauded him for it was a highly regarded place to them.

The incident with the living hive, they were worried. If their little favorite being was killed, and then they weren't going to be neutral after that. They used their minions to find him, not the worms were an issue, but they took care of it to get in. The archivist did destroy his minon, but they couldn't fault him. He wasn't his Martin.

Martin was alive he came back. They understood why the beholder was enamored with stories as they listened to Martin rattle on about his adventures. There deaths seemed to concern their Martin, but they were able to soothe him.

Jon he was the new archivist, the new eye. They didn't have strong feelings about that, but they knew Martin was what mortals called love or a crush they didn't exactly know the correct term. However, they knew Martin just needed a push, so they tried to convince him to tell his story and reveal himself. If it meant they would have to take a side, so be it. They didn't like to see Martin struggle with his emotions it made them think about how his mother drained him.

Things were on edge, and they had been trying to convince Martin to push him to reveal himself to protect the object of his love. The beholder doesn't exactly protect as well as they do, so extra help would be for the best. Martin still isn't convinced, but to be fair, they haven't explained. Maybe they are being selfish keeping their Martin safe like a mother protecting its young. They didn't know when they became so protective but they don't think they want it to change.

.....

"Don't look at me like that. I tried! I don't like lying, you know that." Martin frowns, scratching at his arm. There's banging on the front door. "Oh.... I don't want to entertain..."

The door opens, well it's kicked open by two young adults dressed in pure black and has spider webs all over their bodies.

Martin sighs. "I told you guys to stop breaking my door down."

The two young adults bow in respect.

A voice creaks out. "Fix my Martin's door."

Martin frowns. "Don't scare them. Come on, I'll make some tea."

The two young adults are frozen in fear until Martin taps them.

"Come on. I'll get some water boiling. You two must be new, but I don't want a cult following me around, neither does... er Spider. However you two have to fix my door. I don't exactly have sick days I can use at work to stay and fix it myself. Oh, right, as I tell the others, I can make you each a sweater with silk and spider like peach things like flavored things that are peach. However, I like chocolate or coconut or like little sweets. I don't expect anything though, just relax." He turns on his kettle.

"Avatar Web." One speaks up.

"My name is Martin, I don't go by my title." Martin smiles. "I just want you guys to do nice things like charity or public services. However, sweets and teas are also nice, and please tell the higher-ups in your group, er cult, to stop sending you guys over here like this. I didn't mean to frighten you guys."

The two stare up in awe.

"Thank you for your mercy." The two say as they head to fix the door.

Martin groans. "No, I'm not.... do you want tea too?"

The corners grow dark as a yes.

"Ok." Martin smiles and picks up the boiling kettle. "Oh shoot, almost forgot I need to get new towels molting is annoying. You promised to remind me."

"Forgot list." The voice echos like rusted metal.

"Ah, I guess you're right. I could just make new ones, but they are never rough enough. Oh, right, I should ask what kind of tea they like as well." Martin hums but stops his door is fixed, and the two are gone. "It's a shame they never stay. I always offer."

The voice sighs like grinding metal and shattering glass.

"Oh well, I think I still have some preserved peaches for you." Martin hums going through the cabinets.

.......

His body felt wrong. He knew he shouldn't be here, and he knew well enough whatever brought him back... no, that thing that wretched thing grabbed him from his peace. He knew how he died it was that explosion. Did they win? Probably not since he's been dragged back. Was he still him?

The sound of the door opening pulled the man out of his thoughts, and he opened his eyes, and the bright sunlight burned his eyes. He didn't even look at himself till he heard a voice, a kind voice he knew all too well.

"I'm back." The cheery male voice seemed to echo in the quiet home. "The cult left some gifts but don't know how they know what today is, but I assume you have something to do with it. Granted, it's been decades now, so I really should be used to it."

He could hear the shuffling of feet until the voice he knew attached to the body came into view. He didn't know if he could talk, but he could move. He didn't have a chance to test his voice.

".... Tim?" The cheery voice seems to faulter.

A voice rough and screeching. "Happy birthday, Martin."

Martin groans and covers his face. "We talked about this. Tim, I'm so sorry." He sighs and smiles. "I uh I have a lot to explain. I should get your clothes first."

"Mar...tin?" Tim stopped his voice was the same he felt normal his body looked normal except for the tattoos the designs looked forgein and familiar at the same time.

Martin rushed out up the stairs.

"Martin, wait!" Tim got up his legs shaky and full of pins and needles like he sat on them too long. He stumbles forward but easily composes himself. He jumps back as Martin is suddenly back in front of him. "How?"

"It's a long story." Martin gives a nervous smile. "But uh, this will be complicated. It's been six months, give or take, Jon's been in a coma, but he's fine now, and uh, your funeral was nice."

"How? Are you one of them?" Tim cautiously takes the clothes they were big on his frame the belt helped.

"Well, I mean, I am an avatar. Uh, avatar of the spider or the web, but they prefer spider over web even though web is the term people cling to. I uh was 8 when I found them, and I guess we both got attached. It's not exactly important, but uh, my so-called god is neutral like really neutral so they don't enjoy a cult even if one exists and they prefer to enjoy peach things and uh watching over me I guess. I don't mean to be self-centered, but I guess they got attached when I was a child." Martin shifts and can hear the kettle being turned on. "Uh, well, you're not human anymore, uh The End owes the spider a lot never understood how or why, but uh, they have done this before for my birthday after my mother finally passed." He shakes his head. "Not important again, are you ok?"

"I was brought back from the dead, and you're not human. How do you think I feel?" Tim hugs his chest. "What now do I have to eat bugs and serve her?"

"N-no!" Martin motions to the table where three hot glasses of tea now sits. "Well, I mean you can eat live and do whatever you want. Fire will permanently destroy you if you want that. It is nice to see you again, but I won't force you to stay. I do have a spare room, and I maybe could get you some new papers if you want to leave that way."

Tim sits at the table, staring at the cup.

"It's not poisoned, but that wouldn't hurt you now anyway." Martin sits down as well. "I never wanted to tell any of you guys about this. Elias never looked into me beyond the surface level, so I don't actually know if he knows, but he's in jail now. I wanted to tell Jon since he's becoming an avatar of the eye, but he's been in a coma, and then things happened. He also doesn't like spiders. We have a new overseer since Elisa is in jail, but you probably don't care." He frowns. "I apologize. I'm rambling."

Tim shakes his head. "I don't know what I will do." He pauses, taking a sip of tea. The fruity drink was soothing his confused nerves. "Do you think I could go back to the archives? I don't think I could work any normal job again. It's not like I would be killed again."

"Fire would kill you." Martin pauses. "I can ask. I might as well reveal myself. Oh, the new director is Peter Lucas he's not so bad." He seems to wince at the last comment.

"Bring me in with you." Tim was smiling at Martin's surprise expression.

"W-what?" Martin could hear eerie laughter like nails on a chalkboard.

"I want to make a grand entrance on my accord. I would like to see a look of shock on Elias's face, but he's in jail. I will accept the shock on everyone else, however." Tim smiles. "Besides, think of it as payback from you being too happy."

Martin huffs.

.......

A loud scream, well Tim wouldn't call it a scream that wouldn't be a proper word for it, but he did yell in shock and slight fear. "What did... who... i"

The spider creature humanoid seemed to step back. He seemed hurt by his reaction. "Tim...." That voice.

Tim swallows. "Martin?"

"I uh forgot you were here..." Martin hugs his chest. "I uh well uh... I told you I wasn't exactly human anymore." The spider legs seem to suck back in slowly, and the inhuman features melted from his features till he looked normal. "I have blackout curtains for a reason. I uh sorry I didn't mean to scare you."

Tim rubs the back of his neck he had a feeling of guilt in his chest bloom from embassment. "Well, I should apologize. I didn't mean to shout. I should have expected something like this, is uh will Jon be different?"

Martin shrugs. "I don't know. I haven't been with a full avatar of the eye, and Spider won't tell me." He sighs. "I uh, can I go back to that form? I'm uh molting, and it gets itchy until the skin flakes off."

"It's your home, and I am a guest. Go ahead." Tim shrugs. "I do have a question."

"Oh?" Martin stretches back out and rubs his now eight eyes. "I don't like lying."

Tim snickers. "That hasn't changed. Uh, right, does it hurt?"

"At first, but I was really young when I was given this. I didn't really know what was normal in my body or around me. My mother didn't help she was sick and didn't like that she could see my father in my face. I knew she resented me even if I cared for her until she checked herself into a home. Spider was kind to me even if I didn't understand that they shouldn't exist or that I should be scared. I loved spiders I still do. The molting doesn't hurt it just itches, and when I do go to this for long periods, my eyes get watery, and I get very itchy. I can't really explain it since it happens once a month, and explaining that I'm not Trans is kind of more frustrating than anything." Martin looks away. "Sorry, I tend to ramble."

Tim shakes his head, seemingly feeling more comfortable in his situation. It's only been a week, and he hasn't reintroduced himself, and this spider was unnerving but means no harm. Martin hasn't changed, or he has, but he feels normal like he has always been him. "I also have to ask why you get things delivered to your home so often."

"I don't actually order things. Spider has a cult even if they don't want one. I know I don't want it, but it's better than dead things, and spiders likes peach anything." Martin chuckles. "Don't mind them they are kind. It's the newbies that are the trouble." He sighs, looking at the growing pile. "You can take whatever you like they always give too much. Only can donate so much."

Tim frowns. "You don't encourage it?"

Martin shakes his head. "They started when I was 9. I was too frightened to say anything. I wasn't a brave child, and my mother didn't exactly help or know." He clicks his tongue. "No, that's enough of that. I'm sure you need rest or more time. I'll be in the bath helps with the molt."

Tim nods, realizing Martin always spoke more than he needed as if he was testing the person he was talking to. He didn't understand why, but he wanted to comfort him.

......

"Do they know?" Tim asks one day the question eating at his mind as he tries to grow more confident to send a letter to his parents.

Martin sighs. "The web is made for secrets unlike the beholder they have connections everywhere hidden and tucked away. Nobody notices the small spider in the corner." A mask seems to lift on his face. "Elias never figured it out he clung to my thoughts about my mother and underestimated me. Peter also doesn't realize he is trying to make me like him, but you can not change an avatar to another god. Like Jon, I do have other abilities that aren't just physical. Spider calls them commands, I don't use them. You've noticed how I have never told others what to do for the most part. Jon still hasn't entirely accepted his status yet, which is good for me because he doesn't know."

Tim swallows and looks away. "Are you keeping me here?"

The mask back on Martin looked offended and panicked. "No, never! I like you as a roommate. You're much more talkative than Spider, but I just thought you wanted to do this on your own time." He sighs.

Tim snickers. "I'm just fucking with you." He hums. "I'll come back on my own time, as you said. You're still pretending with Peter, so I think I'll rejoin after that. Or I will come back when I think it's the funniest."

Martin huffs. "Tim, be serious."

"I'm dead serious." Tim smirks

Martin groans. "I'm leaving."

......

"Martin!" It Jon, the smaller man, managed to corner him, it seems.

Martin looks down at the smaller man. "J-Jon I uh I told you not to find me." He swears he could hear his mom laugh in his head and see spiderwebs attached to himself to Jon. He knew she was getting annoyed with his slow behavior and complaints about Peter. However, the ability to affect the eye well their avatar to this extant, did she make a deal with the beholder?

"Martin, what..." Jon stops himself. Martin, of course, knew why.

"I'm Peter's assistant. I can't talk tight now." Martin stops he glances over to the corner. A spider sits in a fresh web in the shape of an eye. That confirms his suspicions, the Web and the Beholder have formed a bond or an alliance. He isn't surprised the Web is secrets and the Beholder wants all the knowledge like the hidden stuff. He didn't exactly know what it meant for the two of them. "I uh well tea!" He stutters out. "Tomorrow?"

Jon looks back surprised. "Tea... of course, yes, tomorrow."

"After work, Cafe by my home." Martin says too quickly as he rushes out.

.......

"Martin." There is static in the air as Peter comes up from behind.

Martin can feel his body move without his control. Shifting and contorting as he towers over Peter. He honestly never liked this form it's too big, and he feels bad about towering over everyone, but the best he can describe it as a spider centaur. He still has the extra eyes clawed hands and webs that flow like a cape behind him he tries his best to use as a shirt when he is like this. The extra arms aren't bad, persay he just thinks it's odd. He turns and faces Peter. "I think our game is over." His voice was not his own.

Peter steps back, startled and surprised. "You're the web?"

"We never liked the name. It's always a bit on the nose. Isolation, the money never liked your kind, but we mean no harm to you, unlike you to us." Not Martin hums. "I would tell you to stop, but unlike you, we like to keep to our shadows listening and collecting. We never needed anything like yours. We overindulge already in this world the way it is. However, I will keep this short. We've come to an understanding with the Beholder." They laugh like they knew a joke nobody else knew. "Leave our Martin alone they aren't your pawn."

Peter nods and vanishes. The Web and the Beholder formed an alliance he needed to figure this out. Did Elias even know that would happen?

.....

Martin groans and rubs his legs. The pins and needles are always a thing every time he fully transforms. He was tapping against the table in his home and nearly jumps when he hears someone behind him.

"Martin, we've been living together for three months at this point. Haven't you gotten used to the dead lingering." Tim snickers at his own joke.

Martin sighs. "Sorry, Tim. I did some er avatar things today, and uh, I think I asked Jon on a date."

"Did you kill someone?" Tim's voice now lacks the humor.

"No, Spider doesn't enjoy death. It doesn't get anything out of it unless it's a secret or other stuff. We aren't the end." Martin sighs. "They didn't like me working with Peter he's one of the lonely and well they stepped in. I'm sure Peter already told Elias."

"Ok, that makes me less concerned." Tim has his smirk back. "So a date with Jon? Fucking finally."

Martin huffs. "Oh shut it. I panicked, and I don't know it just happened." He frowns. "I should probably ask if Jon's ok with that. If he's ok in general."

"Alright." Tim pauses. "Could I ask something about this Web?"

"If you want, again, I don't like lying." Martin rubs the back of his neck.

"Do they get along with... uh, why the cult?" Tim switches his question quickly, and Martin knows, but he doesn't understand why.

"We don't actually need the cult, but they told me it always happens. The web has weved throughout the world. Secrets are easy to consume when you are everywhere and nobody notices. There's other stuff, but again, I really don't like commanding others." Martin sighs.

"Show me." Tim crossed his arms. "Show me what you can do. What do you even mean by commands?"

"I can show you my spider powers." Martin tries his best to derail Tim, but he knows it doesn't land. "Ok, fine. Tim, go to the kitchen and get me a jar of jam." He watches Tim's eyes glaze over as he heads to the kitchen and returns with a jar of jam.

"I..." Tim swallows. "I see."

Martin frowns. "Sorry. I don't like doing it when it isn't needed. I try not to do it at all."

"I get it." Tim pulls out a chair next to Martin. "So this date."

Martin gives a heavy sigh. "It's just tea. I mean, actually, do you mind if I tell you something regarding the beings?"

"I mean, I do plan on going back to the archives, so I might as well know." Tim raised his brow. "Does it have to do with the eyes in the webs around your home?"

"Eh?" Martin looks around at the cobwebs. "Y-yeah uh the beholder the one Jon is becoming an avatar for... I should check on him. I don't think he's ready for the body changes. The wait date we have a date. Uh, right off track. The Beholder has agreed to the Web, and they seemed to have an alliance, but I don't think that's the right term. Uh, maybe partnership that's closer, but I don't know. A pact of protection? I don't know, but we have come out of hiding. I don't know what that means for the future, but uh, yeah."

"So they want you to get freaky with Jon?" Tim wiggles his brows.

Martin groans. "No! I mean, I don't know. I hope not. I don't want our relationship built on er false pretenses."

"I can understand that, but would you consider soulmates like that?" Tim hums.

"I... I don't know." Martin has a puzzled look on his face.

.......

Georgie paused, staring at her ex blankly. "If you wanted to see the admiral, you could ask not just show up with... why is Melanie here?"

"The man has a date." Melanie chuckles. "The man has a date, and he panicked because he has no social skills."

A laugh rushed out of Georgie's mouth as she ushered the two inside. "So you came here."

"I know..." Jon covers his face. "I just I don't know I look awful and I know you're good at makeup and I don't want to frighten him off. I'm already not exactly entirely human anymore."

"Don't sell yourself short, Jon. Our time wasn't the worst." Georgie smiles, brushing his long hair back and frowns. "Did you develop a new allergy because of this watcher?"

"I don't think... I don't think so. Why?" Jon covers his mouth with an apologetic gaze.

"You have blisters on your neck and shoulders." Georgie walks around and pulls down his sweater. "There on your back, too."

"They don't look like an allergy. It kind of reminds me of burns but also like a bug bite." Melanie pauses. "Does it hurt?"

"No?" Jon frowns. "I mean, maybe, but I just thought it was from lack of sleep, I think. I haven't been eating great either, so I guess it's normal to ache and have pain."

"Ok, you need major help." Georgie sighs. "Makeup will help, but you seriously need a vacation."

"I don't know if that's possible." Jon jumps when Melanie grabs his shoulders.

"Ew, they feel gross. But I'm sure with enough concealer you can hide anything." Melanie wasn't confident, but she wanted to help him.

......

Martin raised his brow, staring at Tim. He got off early since Peter told him to. He knows they ruined whatever the lonely was planning to use him for. "Why are you here?"

"Undead support." Tim hums. "Also, I work here part time. Your patron helped me get paperwork, and I got bored of sitting around."

"Oh right... I didn't think I was keeping you." Martin pauses. "I uh sorry."

"Martin, you weren't, and neither was that. I told you I got bored and I don't exactly think going back suddenly would be good." Tim shrugs. "What are you looking to get?"

"I think I'll wait for Jon." Martin smiles softly. "Thank you, Tim."

"Don't, you've done for me then I could ever repay." Tim hums. "I'll be behind the counter."

Martin nods and smiles.

......

Jon walks in, pulling up his turtleneck. Even with the extra rest, he felt awful. The so-called blisters have started to hurt and felt like pressure was building, and he wanted to take a knife to his skin. He also had a new hunger. He knows he doesn't eat enough, but he never felt hunger like this he's craving meat. He's craving more statements. He wanted to ignore it he wanted to pretend it didn't bother him. He knew it had to do with the thing that owned him now. He knows it's turning him into a monster. He couldn't stop it, and it scared him. Makeup barely covered anything he probably looked awful.

"Oh Jon!" Martin waves from his seat.

Jon is pulled from his thoughts like a life preserver was thrown to him. "Martin, it's nice to see you."

"Come sit, they do lovely fruit teas here if you want to try one. You uh you look nice. I like your hair tied up." Martin rubs the back of his neck as a red blush goes across his features seemingly to highlight his freckles.

Jon shares his blush, and even if he felt awful, Martin was a glimmer of the safety of something happy. He pulls a chair out across from Martin and smiles. "I uh thank you for asking me on a date. I missed you."

Martin's smiles fade as he stares at Jon. He knows what is happening, and he knows Gertrude never did get this far in her own transformation even if she was considered by Elias as better suited. "Jon, are you alright?" He knew he would lie.

"I'm fine Martin, just a long day in the office." Jon smiles again, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Martin remembers that when it happened to him, it took years his bones twisting and breaking to reform. Growing new organs was the worst. It started only a month after he met them bonded to them. He was the perfect fit, he guessed. The previous avatar tried to kill him as they were torn away from their purpose. They didn't like that. He frowns. "Jon, please don't..." He bites his tongue. "Jon, you have to sleep now."

Jon felt something, something pulled at his mind as if it flicked a switch. He couldn't fight it as the world went black.

......

"Why did you think this was a good idea?" A voice Jon knew was impossible to hear unless he was finally dead.

"He's changing, and we- I know he isn't taking care of himself enough to survive it. He's so thin, and I don't think uh." The voice Jon knew was Martin was speaking. "I covered him. They need to form, and it's a bit of a sensory overload having them all open at the same time."

"I was going to ask how you knew, but then again, that's a dead brained question."

"Tim, please." Martin sighs.

"....Tim?" Jon croaked out.

"Didn't you uh do your command thing?" Tim paused.

"Tim, it doesn't last forever it lasts as long as he needs to be asleep." Martin takes a breath. "Jon, don't take off the towels on your face."

Jon freezes his arms now stuck at his side. "Martin, what.... are you still Martin?"

"Of course I am." Martin groans. "I accidently commanded you. I'm sorry. I uh do the thing I can feed you, er you don't really understand that yet uhhhhh ask me for my statement." He winced another command.

"Martin, tell me what happened. What are you?" Jon spoke before he knew what he was saying what he was doing.

......

"I was 8, my father just left at the news of my mother getting sick. I, of course, didn't know at the time I don't really recall him either. I was a small kid who always looked Ober or bullied when noticed. My mother, well, she never helped or cared truly. So nobody noticed when I wandered off to somewhere that shouldn't exist."

"It was a room, I think, to a home covered in webs. A woman welcomed me as if I were a sacrificial lamb. I was elated. I always loved spiders, and they were everywhere, and I know I made it known. She listened to me she listened to me a kid who just loved spiders, and for some reason, she let me go. I know why now, the Web, as you know, it took a liking to me. They made me an avatar. Like you're becoming. It was so painful, but I was young, and I didn't know any different. Nobody helped me. My mother didn't care, and the Web was like a new better mother who listened and cared they even helped feed me when mom tried to hurt me by not feeding me. I don't know why they care for me or why it's me, but it is. I was never scared, and that's probably why they were curious and eventually grew attached."

"Now I actually have three forms: human, obviously, the spider legs and eyes, and fully. I'm kind of like a spider centaur with extra eyes and arms. You'll have another form, too, but you're in that weird teenage phase kind of where your body is just getting used to change. I'll be here to help. The Beholder and the Web have formed a kin bond thing I don't know, but I'm here for you and again sorry about the commands. It's like how you ask questions, kind of, I guess."

......

Jon swallows. He feels full. He doesn't understand why he didn't eat, and he still feels hungry for actual food, but his mind feels calmer. "You're not human."

"Not anymore." Martin sighs. "Haven't been for a long time, but I'm still me."

Jon pauses. "Will I still be me?"

"You are you." Martin hums. "Extra bits and powers don't really mean much unless you reject it. That would kill you outright. However you did accept it, you came out of the coma. Can't stop it now." He pauses. "I uh can answer more questions, but I should make you something filling first, and no, I don't eat bugs. I'm actually allergic to crickets kind of weird considering. Anyway, you need statements old or new to sustain yourself and then actual food for your body, especially now with the changing. Don't worry. Your voice won't crack."

Jon actually smiles. He felt more at ease. Martin seemed to do that to him. "Can request something warm?"

"I will happily make that." Martin smiles, and somehow Jon knew he was smiling.

"Can I say something now?" Tim interrupts.

"You're dead." Jon swallows as a fear claws at him.

"Dead tired from work." Tim chuckles. "No, actually, this web patron pulls some web strings and brought me back. All joking aside, it's been three months since I came back. I'm free to do whatever I please with this second chance, but I'm aimless. I'm glad we won, and I'm glad I'm back, but I don't exactly have a plan yet."

"He keeps claiming he'll come back to the archive when it's the funniest." Martin sighs, and Jon can hear him walk off.

"And I will." Tim huffs.

Jon felt his fear drain, with a new one taking its place. How powerful is the Web? "...right."

"Glad to see you're still a downer, former boss man." Tim sighs. "Seriously, get some rest. You look like shit."

"I can't see that." Jon mumbles.

......

There was a soft knock followed by a rougher one. Martin got up and headed over. "Oh, hello, Daisy, Batista, and Melanie. Well, I guess you're coming in. Welcome."

"What did you do?" Batista scowls and spots Jon, who was nursing a cup of tea and had a blanket on.

"I didn't do anything." Martin frowns.

Jon sighs. "He's helping me with some changes."

Daisy grimaced. "You look awful."

Melanie frowns. "The blisters aren't blisters are they."

"I suppose not." Jon huffs, putting his cup aside.

"It's gross if you ask me." Tim sips his drink from his mug.

The three stare st the walking deadman.

Martin pinches his brow. "I can explain."

.......

The tension in the room is thick. Jon stared into his cup of tea as if it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

Martin clears his throat. "I mean, that's about it, I guess. I would rather not speak of my childhood before the Web."

Melanie speaks up first. "So Tim's back because your god wanted to wish you happy birthday?"

"I mean, they did it before with my mother." Martin looks away. "The End owes them many favors. Never asked why, nor do I want to know why."

"To be fair, Martin did give me a way out he explained how I would be gone for good with fire. I don't want to, but the choice is there." Tim shrugs. "Anyway, I have a shift at the cafe, and I really don't want to deal with any more well this."

Now, there were five left in the apartment. Martin hugged his chest. "Look, I'm just trying to stop Jon from dying through this. If he does, then another will take his place."

"What about the one before you?" Baisa glared at him.

"The Web took care of her." Martin frowns. "I really would not like to discuss what that did and what I had to do."

Melanie sighs. "Look, are you still that Martin? Are you still you?"

"I mean, I think I am." Martin shrugs. "I've been like this for so long I don't know different."

"Right." Daisy sighs. "Ok, I believe you, but you better hold your promise to keep that man alive."

Martin nods. "Of course I will."

Jon swallows. "Do I get a say?"

A glare answers that question.

#the magnus archives #tma #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #tim stoker

[yourcoffeeguru]

Jacobsens Royal Castle Empty Butter Cookies Tin Painted by Karel Kopic 26 x 12cm - autradingpost - shop

#empty biscuit tins #metal tins #collectible tin

[mylunajewel]

Empty Metal 3D Embossed Biscuit Tin || autradingpost || eBay

#empty biscuit tin #metal tin #christmas empty tins #collectible metal tins #autradingpost

[exhaustedcatte]

Padfoot

Remus looked out the window of the apartment, the sun was high up in the sky, shining yellow over the unassuming muggles.

The full moon had come and gone three days prior, but Remus could still feel the wolf in the ache in his limbs. He threw the blanket off of himself, sitting upright to assess the state of his bedroom.

It was as clean as he could have it. Nothing broken, nothing torn, which meant Moony must’ve been really exhausted. Few clothes on a rickety rocking chair that was a gift from. Anyway, he loved that chair too much to part with it.

He sighed.

He was definitely going to be kicked out, he couldn’t afford to pay rent in London without splitting with – yeah, he was going to move out before the owner could humiliate him into it. Damn it, he’d quite liked his neighbours here.

Remus brushed and cleaned up as best as he could after having passed out for close to a day post-transformation without treating his wounds. He pulled on the cleanest clothes he could find in the pile on the old rocking chair.

Then Remus carefully applied salve to the newer tears on his skin that the wolf had inflicted and then wrapped it in a few spare bandages that Pomfrey had given to him the last time he’d accidentally apparated onto school grounds after a mission. No more of those at least, he thought bitterly to himself.

Remus steadied himself and leaned against the mirror, shaved his face, washed his hair in the sink because it smelt too much like the iron rust of his shackles.

Finally feeling a bit hungry, he decided to take a stock of his pantry. A loaf of mouldy bread and a tin of soggy biscuits.

“Fucking – god.”

He took another look at the sky, it was really really bright. Surprising for London.

After counting his coins and the bills he had left from doing a bit of plumbing for the unit above his, Remus decided to go get himself some fresh lunch. He deserved that.

He stuck his hand into a drawer, pulled out a long leash, whistled and then – Remus remembered.

Mechanically, he put the long corded thing away, and stuck his arms into a jacket too small, too tight and too leathery for his taste.

When he closed the door behind himself, the echo of the empty house rung in his ears till he reached the little bodega two blocks down.

“Two san– one ham and cheese, please.”

“Right away!”

Remus stuffed the cling-wrap of his sandwich in the pocket of his jacket.

“What’s –”

In the right pocket was a paper that read:

wash moony’s socks

buy prongslet baby food

buy james new hole-less pants

get lily hair ties

order meeting at 6

Baby food. That paper must have been from when Harry was only a few months old. So back when they were absolutely smitten with each other. Why did he –

Remus felt his resolve crumble looking at the neat cursive print.

He ground his teeth. No. No. Remus didn’t ask for anything more than faith. But they’d all gone and jumped to conclusions and –

James?

Remus blinked.

No. He refocused. Just a muggle with unruly hair and soda glasses. Not James. Never James, never anymore, at least. He was gone. Like Lily and Peter and.

Remus inhaled sharply.

“C’mon,” he muttered to himself. “You can’t have a meltdown on the street.”

He walked past a sweet little park he used to visit regularly right after he’d moved to this part of town with.

“Oh, look! Remus, is that you?”

Remus looked up from where he was admiring the gray cobblestone with glassy eyes. “Emily,” he smiled in greeting. “And Walt. How are you?”

It had been a while since he’d last met the couple. They used to make frequent visits to their son and his family in the unit adjacent to his and.

The family had moved out, to stay with their old parents, so he hadn’t seen them in close to four months, especially since he’d stopped walking Padfoot down the road the Russets lived.

“Oh, we’re doing great. My granddaughter got admitted to Exeter, so we’ll be running a visit sometime soon,” Emily beamed proudly.

Remus cracked a real grin. “That’s great! Tell her my congratulations, she must’ve worked really hard.”

“I will!”

Walt, though, appeared to be looking around for something.

“All good, Mr Russet?” Remus asked peeping around for dark robes and wands on foolish wizards.

“Where’s Padfoot? Haven’t seen the big ol’ guy in ages,” Walt said. “Must admit, I kind of miss him.”

Remus’ throat closed up.

“I knew you liked being ambushed by the little fella!” Emily laughed.

“Not that little,” Remus reminded, trying to smile.

“Is he okay?” Emily asked, noticing Remus’ grin slip away. “Walt’s right, I haven’t seen you walk him in a while. I miss hearing about the noise complaints from Ms Burney too.”

The noise complaints only came when there was a scuffle about Remus leaving without any preamble. Which, well, they deserved that.

“Yeah, I do quite miss watching that wack old woman yell at that sweet pup,” Walt laughed, scratching his beard.

Ms Burney only screamed at Padfoot because he had taken to chewing up all her plants. Not because she was wack.

“I saw little Luis at the mart last week and it reminded me of how he’d sit on Padfoot and beg for rides. Gertrude said he’s in preschool now! How quickly time flies!”

How quickly indeed. It felt like only yesterday when he was walking the big black dog. Now he was left with a dog collar and leash that he had no use for.

But he couldn’t break their hearts like his own.

“Padfoot’s at my Mam’s, actually. I took him there a while back.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m planning on moving out.”

“Oh dear, how so?” Emily frowned. Walt tapped her arm reassuringly.

Remus felt the tears build up in his throat at that gesture.

“London’s a bit out of my budget at the moment, and my mam is getting too old for fieldwork.”

“You’re a good son,” Walt said kindly.

No, he thought, just a poor one.

“Thank you.”

“Do bring him if you ever do visit. Which you must!” Emily said. “Send pictures of dear old Padfoot in the meantime, and write me a letter about every silly thing you both indulge in, okay?”

Remus laughed weakly. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll bring Padfoot next time if I can.”

I don’t know if we’ll ever see him again.

#wolfstar angst #wolfstar au #wolfstar #remus x sirius #angst #sirius x remus #wolfstar oneshot #remus lupin #sirius black #remus john lupin #sirius orion black #marauders #wolfstar fanfic #coping with grief #angsty wolfstar oneshot #marauders au #remus loves sirius #sirius loves remus #remus being remus #sirius x lupin #padfoot #moony #moony x padfoot #james & peter & remus & sirius #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #harry potter #first war with voldemort #remus can’t even say sirius’ nameT_T #siriusxremus #dead gay wizards

[randomlyblue]

In the early hours of the morning, a 15 year old girl trudged out to the living room, pillow in hand, before light had even broken out over the horizon. It was 4:00 a.m. but the room was charged with a fervent sort of energy, a giddiness that finaly peaked when Birendra Krishna Bhadra's sonorous voice rang out with the first words- "আশ্বিনের শারদপ্রাতে". 

It was মহালয়া- the beginning of 'দেবীপক্ষ'. I do not think that any words, except the ones privately spoken by each Bengali to Ma, of his wishes and woes, hopes and sorrows in silent prayers between the chants during Ashtami's Anjali, can convey the feeling in his heart as one by one, all the houses are filled with 'আগমনীর গান' while the sun slowly creeps into sight like a sleepy child unable to stay away from the excitement of all his aunts, uncles and older cousins huddled outside infront of the radio with tumblers full of steaming, milky tea.

There is a certain quiet beauty in the knowledge that every year since 1931 when the show first aired, Bengalis within Kolkata and without have been dutifully waking up at 4 o'clock to welome our Maa home. A five year old girl rubs her drowsy eyes infront of the radio as she hears the voice she will learn to eagerly wait for throughout the year when she grows older, for the first time. Lying propped up on the cushions in her hospital bed, much to the protest of her nurses, her great grandmother ruefully smiles when she realises that it would be her last time, and for a glorious hour and a half, the pain of the cancer in her liver bows down to মহিষাসুরমর্দিনী. A large joint family gathers in front of the antique record player, with endless cups of tea and aluminium tins of biscuits under the arches of their ancestral home in North Calcutta, where only a few days later, they would welcome their very own Ma Durga. In the servants' quarters, the 'rannar thakur' sits on the front steps of his tin roofed home with his thin daughter and thinner wife, and his stomach's grumbles of hunger are drowned out by the music carrying from the record player. A Muslim boy, not daring to tell his orthodox father, cycles to his Hindu classmate's house before the sun rises to catch the first strains of Aagomoni. For মহালয়া does not merely mark the coming of Ma, it marks the advent of hope in the form of our ten-armed Goddess for every Bengali, irrespective of his age, social standing or religion. Even if it may be just an old recording playing from some houses on the streets, to me and to any Bengali, it seems more like on one magical day every year, all the clouds in the sky strike up a wonderful heavenly orchestra of voices, filling all the empty spaces in the sky, till Ma Durga herself comes to fill up the place waiting for her on the mandaps and in our hearts.

-Priya

#mahalaya #desiblr #durga pujo #durga puja #durga #radio #aesthetic #writing #quotes #original writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #dark academia #kolkata #calcutta #india #ma durga #bengali #bong #desi #desi tag #being desi #kolkata tag #indian #puja #festival #joy #happy #literature quotes #love

[rockingrobin69]

Slowly, slowly

It was a delicate dance, living together: oh, sorry, didn’t see you there—thought we had another tin of beans?—no, no, this is lovely, I just—oops! My bad, absolutely. Do lock the door next time. I’m sure you know how.

And the cupboards always filled: three kinds of raspberry jam (he’s never even told Malfoy he likes it) and infinite Jaffa cakes and those gingerbread biscuits from Aldi six months away from Christmas. And lemon-scented cleaning products (‘How can you even breathe in here’) and soft-soft towels always folded, always dried. Candles and candles and candles, in every drawer and on every flat surface. Malfoy might have been a bit of an arsonist. Or a secret romantic. Harry didn’t know which would be worse.

This was, actually. Having to sit there while Malfoy brought his suitors, squirming to the jarring sound of his fake laughter, flinching every time his hand slapped another thigh. Why did he have to choose them so—not Harry, so rough or so sweet or so good or so not. Harry wanted to punch every single one out of the flat, but all he ever did was cradle his beer closer. Breathe in lemon-scented irritation. Go to bed alone, dreaming of nothing.

Harry’s always been an awkward dancer. He’s bumbled his way here, mixing up the steps, fallen to the rhythm by total accident. One too many nights of hiding from their friends on the kitchen floor, emptying packet after packet of crisps (with Malfoy’s real laughter, hysterical, shouty and wonderful). One too many cleaning sprees, Malfoy’s sleeves rolled to his elbows and this pinched look on his face, determined, sending-man-onto-battle but with a rag. One too many ‘here, for you’ and ‘thought you might like’ and ‘don’t be a prat, it’s just bloody biscuits, Potter, honestly’. Leading Harry here, blindfolded onto the centre of the dance floor, and what was he doing about it?

Nothing. He was doing nothing. Malfoy was in the kitchen with Mark, or Pat, or Mandeep, whoever was this week’s victor (but not Victor, whom Harry very nearly did punch.) And here he was, sitting with his beer, fuming at the telly telling him about drought in southern England. Drought. Come to think of it, he’s parched. Harry put away the bottle (still full) and went to the kitchen for something… fresher.

And found Malfoy, strangely alone. (‘Michael? He left ages ago. What do you want?’) Prickly, on the edge of something, by the look on his face. Fight me, it said. Bite me. Harry was close to doing both.

‘Do I have to want anything? This is my house too.’

‘Welcome to the land of the kitchen. Normally we come here when we want something.’

‘What are you doing here, then?’

(What do you want?)

‘I—shut up, Potter.’

Harry came closer. Malfoy backed away, that pinched look on his face again, not with determination, something else.

‘Tell me. What are you doing?’

‘Did it ever occur to you,’ Malfoy snarled, one pointy finger digging into Harry’s chest, ‘did you ever stop to think, for one moment of your miserable existence, that perhaps—’

‘Yes.’

Malfoy’s sharp mouth shut in confusion. He smelled like lemon, like his candles, intense and baffling and warm. ‘What—what do you mean, yes?’

‘I mean, yes. I did stop to think. Once. Didn’t do me much good.’

The intake of breath, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. ‘Shut up. Gods, Potter, you’re so—’ but he never finished. Harry thought of dancing, of taking Malfoy by the arms and spinning him around the kitchen, watching the moonlight and the lamplight blend on his skin, golden-silver in the hollow of his throat. He thought of music, enchanting like the slant of Malfoy’s hips, the way his eyes squinted, questioning. ‘What… what are you doing?’

He wasn’t doing anything. Yet. Harry wasn’t a confident dancer, and this was all in his head, anyway. An elaborate routine he’s invented and drowned in. But he’d like to make something of it—if only he remembered how. An empty packet of crisps on the counter made his mind yet again.

His timing was rubbish, of course; just as he leaned down Malfoy came up, and the collision was loud (‘OW!’) and mortifying, and fast, almost too fast. Harry decided he didn’t care, used it as momentum. Took Malfoy by the shoulders and spun him round (‘what, what, Potter, what are—‘)

There was no music, just the sound of their rapid breathing, the crescendo of his heart in his mouth. Malfoy’s eyes opened so big, it could have been funny. Wasn’t. Sort of sweet, sort of sour, utterly bewitching.

‘Dance with me,’ Harry said, fifty thousand years later. Malfoy blinked like it was a compulsion. Blinked, and blinked, and blinked. Then put his arms around Harry’s shoulders, swallowed something very loud and very big.

‘You should let me lead,’ he said, although his voice was tiny. ‘You’re a shit dancer, Potter.’

‘Well,’ Harry said, dipping him (and very narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the counter). ‘I’m learning, aren’t I?’’

That was it. Dancing took courage, and precision, but mostly took practice. Being willing to try, willing to learn. To finally do something. It was a delicate business, but Malfoy, and his lemon-candle-laugh, his opened eyes and breathless nod, seemed to him the perfect partner.

#oh no they were roommates! #pining #drarry fic #900 words #living the roommate life #live laugh not punch someone in the face #rockingrobin69

[rjalker]

This is not what I was expecting from a story called Peoole Soup but I am not disappointed.

Is this part of a series, or just spontaneous absurdity?

Those are definitely their daemons, lol.

People Soup By Alan Arkin (public domain)

Bonnie came home from school and found her brother in the kitchen, doing something important at the sink. She knew it was important because he was making a mess and talking to himself. The sink drain was loaded down with open soda bottles, a sack of flour, corn meal, dog biscuits, molasses, Bromo-Seltzer, a tin of sardines and a box of soap chips. The floor was covered with drippings and every cupboard in the kitchen was open. At the moment, Bonnie's brother was putting all his energy into shaking a plastic juicer that was half-filled with an ominous-looking, frothy mixture.

Bonnie waited for a moment, keeping well out of range, and then said, "Hi, Bob."

"Lo," he answered, without looking up.

"Where's Mom?"

"Shopping."

Bonnie inched a little closer. "What are you doing, Bob?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Can I watch?"

"No."

Bonnie took this as a cue to advance two cautious steps. She knew from experience how close she could approach her brother when he was being creative and still maintain a peaceful neutrality. Bob slopped a cupful of ketchup into the juicer, added a can of powdered mustard, a drop of milk, six aspirin and a piece of chewing gum, being careful to spill a part of each package used.

Bonnie moved in a bit closer. "Are you making another experiment?" she asked.

"Who wants to know?" Bob answered, in his mad-scientist voice, as he swaggered over to the refrigerator and took out an egg, some old bacon fat, a capsuled vitamin pill, yesterday's Jello and a bottle of clam juice.

"Me wants to know," said Bonnie, picking up an apple that had rolled out of the refrigerator and fallen on the floor.

"Why should I tell you?"

"I have a quarter."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Mom gave it to me."

"If you give it to me, I'll tell you what I'm doing."

"It's not worth it."

"I'll let you be my assistant, too."

"Still not worth it."

"For ten cents?"

"Okay, ten cents."

She counted out the money to her brother and put on an apron. "What should I do now, Bob?"

"Get the salt," Bob instructed.

He poured sardine oil from the can into the juicer, being very careful not to let the sardines fall in. When he had squeezed the last drop of oil out of the can, he ate all the sardines and tossed the can into the sink.

Bonnie went after the salt and, when she lifted out the box, she found a package containing two chocolate graham crackers.

"Mom has a new hiding place, Bob," she announced.

Bob looked up. "Where is it?"

"Behind the salt."

"What did you find there?"

"Two chocolate grahams."

Bobby held out his hand, accepted one of the crackers without thanks and proceeded to crumble the whole thing into his concoction, not even stopping to lick the chocolate off his hands.

Bonnie frowned in disbelief. She had never seen such self-sacrifice. The act made her aware, for the first time, of the immense significance of the experiment.

She dropped her quarrel completely and walked over to the sink to get a good look at what was being done. All she saw in the sink was a wadded, wet Corn Flake box, the empty sardine tin and spillings from the juicer, which by this time was beginning to take on a distinctive and unpleasant odor. Bob gave Bonnie the job of adding seven pinches of salt and some cocoa to the concoction.

"What's it going to be, Bob?" she asked, blending the cocoa on her hands into her yellow corduroy skirt.

"Stuff," Bob answered, unbending a little.

"Government stuff?"

"Nope."

"Spaceship stuff?"

"Nope."

"Medicine?"

"Nope."

"I give up."

"It's animal serum," Bob said, sliced his thumb on the sardine can, glanced unemotionally at the cut, ignored it.

"What's animal serum, Bob?"

"It's certain properties without which the universe in eternity regards for human beings."

"Oh," Bonnie said. She took off her apron and sat down at the other end of the kitchen. The smell from the juicer was beginning to reach her stomach.

Bobby combed the kitchen for something else to throw into his concoction and came up with some oregano and liquid garlic.

"I guess this is about it," he said.

He poured the garlic and oregano into his juicer, put the lid on, shook it furiously for a minute and then emptied the contents into a deep pot.

"What are you doing now, Bob?" Bonnie asked.

"You have to cook it for seven minutes."

Bobby lit the stove, put a cover on the pot, set the timer for ten minutes and left the room. Bonnie tagged after him and the two of them got involved in a rough game of basketball in the living room.

"BING!" said the timer.

Bob dropped the basketball on Bonnie's head and ran back into the kitchen.

"It's all done," he said, and took the cover off the pot. Only his dedication to his work kept him from showing the discomfort he felt with the smell that the pot gave forth.

"Fyew!" said Bonnie. "What do we do with it now? Throw it out?"

"No, stupid. We have to stir it till it cools and then drink it."

"Drink it?" Bonnie wrinkled her nose. "How come we have to drink it?"

Bobby said, "Because that's what you do with experiments, stupid."

"But, Bob, it smells like garbage."

"Medicine smells worse and it makes you healthy," Bob said, while stirring the pot with an old wooden spoon.

Bonnie held her nose, stood on tiptoe and looked in at the cooking solution. "Will this make us healthy?"

"Maybe." Bob kept stirring.

"What will it do?"

"You'll see." Bob took two clean dish towels, draped them around the pot and carried it over to the formica kitchen table. In the process, he managed to dip both towels in the mixture and burn his already sliced thumb. One plastic handle of the pot was still smoldering, from being too near the fire, but none of these things seemed to have the slightest effect on him. He put the pot down in the middle of the table and stared at it, chin in hand.

Bonnie plopped down opposite him, put her chin in her hands and asked, "We have to drink that stuff?"

"Yup."

"Who has to drink it first?" Bob made no sign of having heard. "I thought so," said Bonnie. Still no comment. "What if it kills me?"

Bobby spoke by raising his whole head and keeping his jaw stationary in his hands. "How can it hurt you? There's nothing but pure food in there."

Bonnie also sat and stared. "How much of that stuff do I have to drink?"

"Just a little bit. Stick one finger in it and lick it off."

Bonnie pointed a cautious finger at the tarry-looking brew and slowly immersed it, until it barely covered the nail. "Is that enough?"

"Plenty," said Bob in a judicious tone.

Bonnie took her finger out of the pot and stared at it for a moment. "What if I get sick?"

"You can't get sick. There's aspirin and vitamins in it, too."

Bonnie sighed and wrinkled her nose. "Well, here goes," she said. She licked off a little bit.

Bob watched her with his television version of a scientific look. "How do you feel?" he inquired.

Bonnie answered, "It's not so bad, once it goes down. You can taste the chocolate graham cracker." Bonnie was really enjoying the attention. "Hey," she said, "I'm starting to get a funny feeling in my—" and, before she could finish the sentence, there was a loud pop.

Bob's face registered extreme disappointment.

She sat quite still for a moment and then said, "What happened?"

"You've turned into a chicken."

The little bird lifted its wings and looked down at itself. "How come I'm a chicken, Bob?" it said, cocking its head to one side and staring at him with its left eye.

"Ah, nuts," he explained. "I expected you to be more of a pigeon thing." Bob mulled over the ingredients of his stew to see what went wrong.

The chicken hopped around the chair on one leg, flapped its wings experimentally and found itself on the kitchen table. It walked to the far corner and peered into a small mirror that hung on the side of the sink cabinet.

"I'm a pretty ugly chicken, boy," it said.

It inspected itself with its other eye and, finding no improvement, walked back to Bobby.

"I don't like to be a chicken, Bob," it said.

"Why not? What does it feel like?"

"It feels skinny and I can't see so good."

"How else does it feel?"

"That's all how it feels. Make me stop being it."

"First tell me better what it's like."

"I told you already. Make me stop being it."

"What are you afraid of? Why don't you see what it's like first, before you change back? This is a valuable experience."

The chicken tried to put its hands on its hips, but could find neither hips nor hands. "You better change me back, boy," it said, and gave Bob the left-eye glare.

"Will you stop being stupid and just see what it's like first?" Bob was finding it difficult to understand her lack of curiosity.

"Wait till Mom sees what an ugly mess I am, boy. Will you ever get it!" Bonnie was trying very hard to see Bob with both eyes at once, which was impossible.

"You're a sissy, Bonnie. You ruined the opportunity of a lifetime. I'm disgusted with you." Bob dipped his forefinger in the serum and held it toward the chicken. It pecked what it could from the finger and tilted its head back.

In an instant, the chicken was gone and Bonnie was back. She climbed down from the table, wiped her eyes and said, "It's a good thing you fixed me, boy. Would you ever have got it."

"Ah, you're nothing but a sissy," Bob said, and licked off a whole fingerful of his formula. "If I change into a horse, I won't let you ride me, and if I change into a leopard, I'll bite your head off." Once again, the loud pop was heard.

Bonnie stood up, wide-eyed. "Oh, Bob," she said, "you're beautiful!"

"What am I?" Bob asked.

"You're a bee-yoo-tee-full St. Bernard, Bob! Let's go show Melissa and Chuck."

"A St. Bernard?" The animal looked disgusted. "I don't want to be no dog. I want to be a leopard."

"But you're beautiful, Bob! Go look in the mirror."

"Naah." The dog paddled over to the table.

"What are you going to do, Bob?"

"I'm going to try it again."

The dog put its front paws on the table, knocked over the serum and lapped up some as it dripped on the floor. Pop went the serum, taking effect. Bobby remained on all fours and kept on lapping. Pop went the serum again.

"What am I now?" he asked.

"You're still a St. Bernard," said Bonnie.

"The devil with it then," said the dog. "Let's forget all about it."

The dog took one last lap of serum. Pop! Bobby got up from the floor and dejectedly started out the back door. Bonnie skipped after him.

"What'll we do now, Bob?" she asked.

"We'll go down to Thrifty's and get some ice cream."

They walked down the hill silently, Bobby brooding over not having been a leopard and Bonnie wishing he had stayed a St. Bernard. As they approached the main street of the small town, Bonnie turned to her brother.

"You want to make some more of that stuff tomorrow?"

"Not the same stuff," said Bob.

"What'll we make instead?"

"I ain't decided yet."

"You want to make an atomic bomb?"

"Maybe."

"Can we do it in the juicer?"

"Sure," Bob said, "only we'll have to get a couple of onions."

#short stories #scifi #scifantasy #people soup #shapeshifting #shapeshifting potions #alan arkin #public domain characters #public domain

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Syndicate

MASTERLIST

Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton, fluff & romance. S3 departure after the Amsterdam episode.

Prompt: All of AFC Richmond is shipping Ted & Rebecca ... before there’s even anything to ship yet.

~~~~~~~~~

April 2022

It's a habit by now. Every Friday, Will comes around and collects the subs, and Leslie maintains the book. It's been a while since anything new was added apart from people moving their dates. The book has claimed many wishful thinkers, many die-hard romantics, and even Roy. Once a week, Leslie sits with the book and checks for missed dates or special bets, which are certain not to happen, and he draws a neat pencil line through them. For over two years, he's kept this book going. It's looking pretty battered and bruised. The glitter Keeley had added has faded and mostly been rubbed off. The tin (more of a small safe now) sits and grows fatter and fatter, its winnings unclaimed. Everyone has had to review their timings at least once, even Beard. Some have added new dates three or four times. The lure of super weird, obscure, or just obscene bets has passed. Only a few of those remain. Leslie is pleased to be getting out the book this week - he gets to add Nate back into the fold. 

January 2020

Leslie Higgins watched another morning biscuit delivery arrive and braced for impact. Rebecca hated this biscuits with the Boss situation. She hated Ted Lasso, Leslie could see it in her eyes. He knew it well, she hated him with the same intensity. She was ferocious and venomous, but with one bite of those buttery biscuits each morning, she was a new woman. It was a week or so before the Gala, roughly a month into Ted's tenure, that Leslie first took note that Rebecca’s demeanour was beginning to… change (he absolutely daren’t say soften). He popped down to the stationary cupboard and got out a new A4 lined notebook. Innocent enough. He stole back up his office and opened up the fresh, crisp book. The Syndicate he wrote in the top centre of the first page. He got out a ruler and carefully drew a sharp pencil line all the way down the page on the left-hand side, leaving enough space for names. He added another two lines down the page. Then, he added the headers: name, date, description, and amount. He wrote his own name on the first line, along with the date. Under description, he wrote January 2021, and then in the amount column, he put £5.00. Then he put the book in his bottom desk drawer, under a stack of financial papers and a crisp £5 note in an old empty metal tin, and then he tried to forget about both items.  

Keeley wasn't quite sure what prompted it initially, but around the Gala and bonding with Rebecca, something started changing. She noticed Leslie watching Rebecca rather intently, and that makes her watch Leslie more intently. At first, she thinks the worst. Has Leslie truly got a crush on Rebecca? Impossible! Then, when she meets Julie, she's convinced that she got the wrong end of the stick. With 5 kids and a 30-year marriage, the Higgins' couldn't be more in love. He definitely doesn't have a crush. She leaves the odd thoughts to marinade in her mind, the Jamie situation weighing more heavily. When Rebecca offers her a job and a chance to deepen their friendship, Keeley grabs it with both hands.

"I saw Rupert in the pub the other day." Rebecca states over a cup of tea while they're sorting out Keeley’s contract.

"How did it go?" Leslie asks before Keeley can. 

"He challenged Ted to a darts game. Ted said that if he won, Rupert could choose the team for the next matches, but if he lost, he could never come to the owner's box again while I'm in charge." Leslie's cup practically vibrates off the saucer, Keeley frowns at the sound.

"And?"

"Ted won! It was wonderful!"

"Hmmm. Interesting." Leslie says into his teacup.

"Well, at least you won't have him creeping up on you for a bit!" Keeley says brightly. It's not until she and Leslie leave Rebecca to her afternoon meetings that Keeley has the chance to be alone with him. She follows him to his office, "Whatever you've got going on, I want in." She tells him, staring him down. Leslie lets out a strange choked sound. 

"I… I… don't know what you're talking about." He stutters. Keeley arches an eyebrow. 

"Alright, fine. There's a weekly Syndicate running on Rebecca and Ted. £5 a week for any date of your choosing plus specials if there's anything in particular you want to add." 

"Who else is in?"

"Coach Beard. Nate. Me. That's it for now."

"Beard? Interesting. Put me in, and I'll have a special as well, I'll go for…" She taps her finger to her lips, "March 2021. I give it a year. And my special is… he goes first, but she goes hard."

"Bold, I like it."

"What did the others go for?" She asks, looking over his shoulder as he digs the book out from its hiding place. 

"Beard has gone for the end of next season - May 2021. Nate has gone early  - this Christmas coming, December 2020."

"Big range of dates there. Any specials?"

"Nothing wild, Beard put in £200 that we'll all find out from a paparazzi shot rather than from them."

"Fair. Could happen, for sure."

"Nate's special is that it first happens in the boot room."

"Eww. Smelly."

"Quite."

"Bet I can get us some more interested parties…" Keeley muses. 

"As long as we keep it quiet."

"Quiet is… not my middle name, but I'll do my best!" 

The next time Leslie gets the book out, it's been Keeley-fied. His hands come away covered in glitter, and there are feathers stuck to the front of the book. He's got three names to add - Bumbercatch, Isaac, and Mae from the pub have all collared him. He's going to need help with collecting the subs each week at this rate. He adds the dates they've requested from where he'd scribbled them on a post-it note and puts their £15 total into the kitty. 

May 2020

In April, he quits and leaves the book with Keeley. When he returns over a month later, just about the whole team has been added to the book, and Will has been appointed Debt Collector. Over the course of the next 7 months, every member of the club staff and team are in. Except Ted and Rebecca. The specials list has grown a little wild, and Leslie is not quite sure how he'd pay those out should any of them come true. There's well in excess of £10k in the tin. He's had to upgrade to a small safe. Every Friday, Will arrives with the weekly subs. They're easily putting in £250 a week - across 50 people, not including special bets. He's amazed that none of it has reached Rebecca and Ted yet. It's shortly after the first Truthbomb that Rebecca first approaches Keeley.

"So now that we're all good again…" She begins hopefully,

"Uhuh?" Keeley looks up from her phone. She's been propping Roy up on the decisions regarding his future. 

"What's the Syndicate?" Rebecca whispered. Keeley drops the phone. 

"Umm, I don't know? What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure. I've heard lots of people talking about it for ages now. It's not a cult, is it? Or do we have another curse?" Keeley's eyes are like saucers. 

"Noooo! Of course we don't have another curse. And I'm fairly sure we're not home to a cult either." She sips her tea. "But I've no idea what the Syndicate is." She lies.

December 2020

Nate is the first to fall. His eager date passes with no results. Unperturbed, he re-adds his name to the bottom of the list with a new date: April 2021. Nate's date did hold a lot of promise though - seeing Ted and Rebecca turn up on Leslie's doorstep singing Christmas songs evoked a flurry of bets and an optimism which carried them all through till the spring.

2021

If Sassy was a spanner in the works, Sam is the fly in the ointment. Keeley was beside herself with the knowledge that Rebecca had been sleeping with him. He'd been putting into the Syndicate! He'd chosen a date of late summer 2021, with a special bet stating that it would happen when Ted returned from his summer break in Kansas! The ending of the relationship, the second Truthbomb, and the promotion back into the Premier League led to a new outpouring of bets, which by summer had fizzled out again, and poor Sam had his date crossed out. He went for December 2021 for his next turn. 

With Ted's return from his summer break, he paid his usual visit to Rebecca - with biscuits.

"Hey boss, what's a Syndicate?" Rebecca froze with a biscuit halfway to her mouth. 

"It's ummm…  well t's a… umm… Oh Ted, I'm not entirely sure. I mean, I think it's like a lottery? So the more people who put into it, the better chance there is of winning."

"So it's just a lottery? The guys downstairs  are all just playing the lottery? They're millionaires. That don't seem quite right, Betty White."

"Maybe it's the thrill of the gamble?"

"I ain't an expert, boss, but wouldn't they be better goin' for horses? Or poker?" Rebecca shrugged. 

"Oohh! Maybe it's a team specific thing? Maybe they're betting on how the club will do next season?" She tapped the newspaper, one of the many which had them estimated to finish the season last in the table. 

"Hmmm, nah. I just had to take them to the sewer to get them to believe in us."

"You don't think? How many we'll win? Or score?" She suggests. Ted leans forwards, elbows on knees to get closer,

"Y'know, I heard somethin' about specials?" He says quietly. Rebecca gasped.

"Maybe they mean hat tricks or Jamie's hair changes?" She muses. He points excitedly, 

"Yeah! Yeah, yeah, boss! You got it!"

"We should tell them we want in."

"We should tell them we want in."

"Cos we're going to win the whole thing, Ted."

"We're gonna win the whole fucking thing. We are. And we want in on that Syndicate."

"Yes we fucking do." Once Trent has been sent off down to the locker room and Rebecca and Ted are alone with Leslie, they tag team him. 

"Put us down Higgy, we want in." Ted said solemnly. 

"You… what?!"

"We know about the Syndicate, Leslie. We want in." Rebecca said.

"You know about the Syndicate?"

"Yes, how many games we'll win, how many goals-"

"Where we'll finish, how many hairbands Jamie will get through?"

"And we want in. What is it, a fiver?" Leslie nods, dumbfounded. Ted hands him a ten pound note. 

"The boss don't carry cash so I'll get this week for us both."

"Thanks Ted. I'll get you back next week."

And so began the regular pattern of Ted usually adding in an extra fiver to cover Rebecca on the weeks she didn't have any cash, and vice versa. 

"Uhh what date did you want?"

"Date? Oh, the date we'll win the league?" Rebecca questioned. "I think I'll go for the last game of the season, is that still available?" Leslie nodded, still unable to find his voice.

"I'll go for the day before. We play our game on the Sunday but if other results go our way then we could win the day before?" Rebecca points, copying Ted's move from earlier.

"Ooh that's a good shout, Ted. Between us, we've got this."

"We sure do Doctor Who, high five!" They clash palms excitedly. 

"Yep, I think you're pretty well covered between you." Leslie agrees.

2022

The book had just dragged on into another year when Leslie once again noticed the shift between Rebecca and Ted. They'd seemingly gotten into a holding pattern based purely on friendship until the Amsterdam trip. The return journey had come to life with song after song led from the back of the bus. The smile had lit up Ted's eyes when Rebecca apologised for missing his messages. It had ignited something in their friendship which had them teetering on the edge and thus had the team in a similar way. 

"I want £200 on next weekend." Isaac slammed the cash onto Leslie's desk. 

"Is that in addition to your existing date or did you want to bring that forward?"

"Addition, I'm keepin' my date as a backup. No one's takin' that from me." Isaac said adamantly. A couple of days later, Jamie put down £500 on Ted falling hard for Rebecca during Henry’s visit. When Beard showed up the morning after he'd been in the pub with Ted and Henry, he was buzzing with excitement. 

"It was poetry, it's a sign! She called him right as the busker sang 'remember to let her into your heart'. It's gonna happen soon, man. I know it." He slapped £250 into the safe. "My bet is that Rebecca is already there."

"Coach, how exactly do you expect me to pay out for that? I'm not a mind reader?!"

"We can ask her afterwards."

"Afterwards," Leslie tsked and shook his head, "we'll see."

"I've got a plan for Manchester, my friend."

"No influencing the result! I've already had to ban Roy from bullying Ted into telling her."

"Ted's not there yet, man. Rebecca is. Hang on," he put down another £50, "Rebecca goes first but Ted goes hard."

"That's funny, Keeley had it the other way round 2 years ago."

"Long time ago, they've both changed."

"They have indeed. OK Coach, I'll allow it." Leslie added the lines to the book. 

April 2022

In Manchester, Keeley joins Trent at the hotel bar before movie night. 

"I ship them so hard, Trent. I'm fully invested."

"They're so easy to ship together, it's so obvious. There's talk in the locker room that Rebecca’s already there - care to comment?"

"Not sure about that, but I do think she's closer than Ted. Plus his mum turning up might have fucked things for the people who'd bet on this weekend."

"I know, talk about a cock block."

"Trent Crimm, I'm guessing you put this weekend?! You're so right, she is! Anyway, I heard that Beard has chosen a romcom for tonight. I'll ply Rebecca with some wine, Ted can do the whole 'just stretching my arm' bullshit and before you know it, the hotel room is a-rockin! I'll get you your win, babe!" They clinked their glasses together. 

Rebecca passed by the stained glass panel unnoticed, hovering just the other side until the glasses clinked and Keeley's giggles ran out around the bar. She joined them a few minutes later in the small function room they'd converted into a cinema, smiling at Ted. She needed to speak to him quickly. She cried at the end of the movie, she always did. Ted had covered her hand with his and given it a gentle squeeze. Once everyone had dispersed, she crept along the hotel corridor to his room and knocked gently on the door. It had been just over 2 years to the day since he'd desperately hoped it was Rebecca at his hotel door in Liverpool. He sure as hell hadn't been expecting her in Manchester. Fresh from the shower, he looked stressed and tired. She smiled apologetically. 

"May I come in?" He held the door open and stood to one side. "I overheard something this evening."

"Was it Colin and Isaac? Cos I heard them too."

"No, Keeley and Trent. Why, what did you hear?" Ted hesitated, gesturing to the chair across from the end of the bed. 

"They were talkin' about ships, and bets? I wasn't really listenin' so I'm not really sure-"

"Keeley and Trent were on about the same thing."

"Huh. Weird."

"Weird. What do you think it means? What did they say?" She pushed for more information, suspecting that she had the upper hand in terms of knowledge gained. 

"Colin was excited that he might win this weekend? But I don't see how, we can't win the league tomorrow."

"Ted. I don't think it's about the league."

"Well, what the heck else are we paying for each week?" Rebecca blushed. 

"I think… I think they're betting on… us." She said weakly. 

"Us? What the-, I'll go and put them so right on this, boss. That just ain't fair on you. I'll put a stop to this right now," he reached for his phone to call Beard and rally the team. She put her hand over the screen, 

"Jesus christ, they were right." She whispered. 

"Who? About what?" She can't help but stare, his hair falling onto his forehead, "Rebecca?" He all but murmurs. It's the first time she's heard him say her name like that, so softly, intimately. It sends a shockwave of heat through her body. 

"I've gone first. How did I not notice?"

"You've gone where first? Forgive me, Rebecca but I'm lost here."

"Nevermind, Ted. We'll talk about it another time. You should get some rest before the match. Big day tomorrow." She can't resist pushing his hair back, her hand moves entirely of its own accord. "Goodnight, Ted." She leaves the room, leaves him lost to his own thoughts.

The 3 hour drive back from Manchester the next day is wild. There's booze from somewhere and they all seem to fall out of the bus and into the club where they party happily together. Ted excuses himself, and while Rebecca is desperate to follow, she knows he needs to confront his mother alone. They'd spent much of the journey home unpacking Ted's thoughts on her arrival and interference. It's not until his final 'fuck you' to his mother that he sits and re-evaluates his situation. While he does so, he receives a message from Rebecca. 

You are loved here Ted, so loved. I hope you know that. 💜 It helps him decide what he wants to do next. He's not really surprised to see her the following morning. It’s early, but he knows the date and assumes that she does too. 

"Sorry Ted, I don't have one for you." He can see that it's not the whole truth, she's looking slightly off eye contact - barely noticeable.

"That's OK, I've got one." He can see the tension in her shoulders, the anxious clench of her fists. "I'm gonna stay. If you'll have me, once the season is over." If the relieved breath she lets out didn't knock him over, the force of her hug nearly does. Her hands are tight around him, clinging to him and the shake of her shoulders is a dead giveaway that she's crying. 

"Oh thank god for that, Ted. Thank fuck for that."

"I mean, I need more time with Henry, I want him to come here more and I need to spend the summer working that out with Michelle. But I ain't ready to give this up either." His words in her ear send a shiver through her and she leans further into him, burying her nose into his neck. When she speaks, her lips brush against his skin. 

"Whatever you need, whatever I can do, Ted. I'll do it." And suddenly, there it is. Oh. He feels everything all at once, all night he hadn’t been able to put a finger on why he needed to stay. Yes, the team and yes, winning the whole fucking thing but nothing seemed quite enough. There was something missing and he hadn't worked out what until it was in his arms, clinging to him. Until she was in his arms. She's why he needs to stay. 

"You sure you ain't got nothin' for me, Rebecca?" He asks. She lets go of him enough to look at him, glancing at his mouth. 

"The Syndicate is about us. The whole club are betting on us. Not whether we'll get together - they're way past that, they're on about when, how. There's not a single person in this whole place that doesn't think that we'll end up together."

"Does that include you? You said the whole place?" She flusters slightly before nodding. "They're saying that I'm already there."

"That so? Any insights on what they're sayin' 'bout me?"

"That you're not ready yet?" Her voice drops to a nervous whisper.

"Don't you wanna be the one to ask that  question?"

"Are you there yet, Ted?"

"Yeah I am, you helped catch me up." He smiles broadly and leans in to capture her lips in all fierce kiss. His arms tight around her waist mean she barely notices when her knees buckle. 

"I won." A voice behind Ted mumbles. "I WON, I fucking won! I said today - I knew it would be today!" Will throws the training shirts into the air and runs past them through Roy's office door and into the corridor. "I WON!"

"How much you think we just helped him win?"

"An absolute fortune if it's been going on as long as I think it has. Maybe around 30 grand?"

"I'm sorry it took me so long."

"Well, I appreciate you didn't hurry, Ted. And so does Will."

~~~~~~~~~

#ted lasso #tedbecca #ted and rebecca #rebecca welton #ted lasso fanfiction #rebecca x ted #ted lasso s3 #ted lasso fic

[ladyatlas]

“ – I assume you’re going to tell me the biscuit tin has just been MAGICALLY emptied?” | @schildheld LIKED.

#schildheld #sᴛᴀʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴅᴇ; ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ᴏғ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ʟɪᴇs [parallel universe]