#he has a butter knife because they are fighting pie
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Some dastardly rat men scribbles from a game my friends are making 💕
#Ratthew#Polers#Algernon#he has a butter knife because they are fighting pie#that’s all I know#it’s silly and nonsensical but it brings me joy
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deltarune megapost
I wanted to make a Deltarune post about the lore and the things that aren’t obvious. And once I do that I wanna focus on why Mettaton is incredibly important to this setting
And also why he poses a problem
Why did Toriel and Asgore get divorced?
Without the setting of Undertale, Asgore and Toriel’s marriage still broke up after they had Asriel. There needs to be a reason though. In UT it was Asgore’s ‘worst of both worlds’ decision regarding killing anybody that fell from the human world, including children. We saw how close they were before this happened. Only something deep and serious caused that rift. In Deltarune, what on earth did Asgore do?
What happened to Dess?
Mentioned a handful of times by Noelle, Dess was her older sister and is mentioned In Undertale.... in that Xbox exclusing casino thing. The way Noelle talks about her, the conspicuous way Noelle gets locked out of her big house - it implies Dess is gone or deceased. Berdly recalls a spelling bee when he and Noelle were younger where she, despite being smarter than him, misspelled ‘December’, allowing him to win.
In the two-player spelling puzzle, it also spells out ‘December’ as Noelle recalls the past and her silhouette regresses to a child while she does so. Being distracted by her sister’s disappearance, rather than pure shyness, could account for her misspelling her name on stage, and it clearly left a big psychological mark for her to have this visual regression in the Dark World.
However, there’s a graveyard in Hometown with no Dess. I heard another theory that she has been missing for years, because where each character’s personal room is made by Queen to reflect their tastes via their search results, Noelle has a calendar where every day is December 25th. This could imply that Noelle continually searches the internet for ‘December Holiday’, her sister’s name, to see if there are clues to her disappearance, but of course the only result you would get is the date of Christmas.
Who is the Knight?
It’s now implied to be Kris, who has been forcibly removing the player’s influence to act on their own. By all accounts the Knight is the game’s main antagonist. Spade King and Queen both mention the Knight as someone who influenced their position - they brought Spade King to absolute power, and showed Queen that creation of new worlds was possible.
We’re led to believe that Kris was doing this, because they’ve been acting outside of the player’s control. Eating the entire pie between chapter 1 and 2 might have been a red herring to cover that they also went to the library and used that knife to slash open a dark fountain there.
However. This has issues. How would they even manage to shuffle slowly all the way to the library and get in the computer lab? The Knight is also the one creating the hidden bosses. They talked to Jevil until he realised he was in a game and he lost his mind; they ruined Spamton’s life by elevating him to success and then crushing him. Whatever the Knight is doing seems to be deliberately planned with key players in mind.
Kris opening the fountain at home at the end of ch.2 can be explained in that you just figured out in Cyber World that anyone determined enough can do this, and so, Kris decided to. So a better question might even be...
What does Kris want?
We have no idea. They are capable of removing the SOUL, ‘us’, temporarily, and putting things in motion we cannot influence. But they also keep putting us back in control afterward. This is hinted at right when ch.2 starts, where if you inspect the cage in Kris’s bedroom they threw us into, the description says it’s inescapable. Meaning Kris came back and took us out, willingly.
They allow us to pilot them through the game. Why? Because they cannot live without the SOUL for long for some reason? Because they’re bad at bullet hell? Why did they slash Toriel’s tyres before opening the fountain, making sure nobody could drive away?? Why did they specifically open the door?
You can find out details about Kris through the creepy way you interact with the townsfolk, who think you are Kris. They play the piano at the hospital waiting room - better than you. They used to go to church just to get the special church juice. It’s all normal, relatable things, not like someone who’s trying to plunge the world into darkness. Judging by their search history portrayed in their Queen’s castle room, they really want to see their brother again. However the castle has a room based on Asriel’s search history too, and Kris (not you) closes their eyes and won’t look at it.
What is Ralsei?
His name is an anagram of Asriel. Is he an extension of Asriel? The slightly flirtier dialogue in ch.2 would point to no. Is he an extension of Kris themselves, given the link between Kris’s childhood habit of wearing a headband with red horns on it, to pretend to be a monster like their family?
Ralsei knows exactly where the Dark World in the school is located, and unlike regular Darkners, knows the world is folded up inside the ‘real world’. There’s a certain whiplash to Ralsei telling you to hop out of his reality into yours and go down the hallway to retrieve all the board game items.
How does he jump from one Dark World to another, without assistance? How does he not get petrified like Lancer and Rouxls? Is this a power level thing because he’s a prince or something else? We definitely do not know enough about Ralsei.
He also says this incredibly suspicious thing after you spare Spamton NEO. Susie was also curious but accepts that maybe it ‘didn’t mean anything’, which is a sure tell that these optional bosses do mean something.
Someone is orchestrating what’s happening, opening fountains, manipulating the rulers, and influencing NPCs to become the optional bosses. Why? I suspect Ralsei for both knowing too much, and pretending something doesn’t matter when it clearly does. Until Asriel actually comes home from college I’m going to suspect he’s involved in this too.
How much does Seam know?
Seam on the other hand knows a lot about what’s going on but is openly withholding information while helping you. He’s nihilistic. He says things like:
One day soon... You too, will begin to realize the futility of your actions. Ha ha ha... At that time, feel free to come back here. I'll make you tea... And we can toast... to the end of the world!
Either this ‘end of the world’ is a reference to The Roaring, where opening too many dark fountains dooms the Dark World and the real one... or, I can’t get out of my head the idea that Deltarune takes place in a fake, or weird reconstruction of Undertale where things don’t match up, and eventually it will have to disappear. After all, powers of determination and creating and manipulating universes are Undertale’s basic bread and butter. How can we look at an Alternate Universe containing the characters we already know and not suspect that? Seam also uses Gaster’s key words, ‘darker, yet darker’, seemingly to clue us in that he’s not off track here.
Why haven’t we seen Papyrus?
This is a bright neon flashing ‘something’s not right’ sign. It’s not like Papyrus’s voice actor was too busy or anything. His absence is noticable and for a reason. Nice of Sans to promise we could meet him despite being aware we’re piloting a child’s body around, though, even if he didn’t follow through.
What locations in town could be used for dark fountains in the next 4 chapters?
If the sequence continues, we have chapter 1 in the school games room, chapter 2 in a computer lab, and chapter 3 in front of Kris’s television, where the aesthetic of each setting influences the world, characters, and enemies in the Dark World created there. Future possibilities include the church, the hospital, sans’s grocery store, Noelle’s house, and the closed bunker.
What the hell’s in the closed bunker
This one’s too obvious, honestly. I think it’ll open for no reason in chapter 7 and a little white dog will bounce out and steal one of your key items and nothing else happens.
Why does Asgore have these
Unlike the bunker feeling like a joke teaser, I gotta believe this is foreshadowing something weird. For example, what does opening a dark fountain in here with the seven flowers do? Does it just take you into Undertale?
Each chapter will have a hidden boss with a ‘soul mode’ from Undertale
Chapter 1 let you stay red, but I think each subsequent chapter is going to change your soul mode to one of the seven colours and design the encounter around that. Purple, yellow, green and blue were used in Undertale, leaving the light blue and orange modes yet to be revealed.
How does Spamton emulate Mettaton Neo’s name, body, and incorporate his battle theme, and the ‘Dummy!’ theme, with no actual connection between them ingame?
This is a really fun one that’s explained over in this post here. Swatch is the Dark World creation from the paint program on the library computers, so he’s able to explain that a Lightner made the robot body decaying in the castle basement that way.
Mettaton went to the library and drew his ideal form, Mettaton NEO, in MS Paint, and the Dark World formed that into a puppet body which Spamton was able to hijack temporarily. So by doing that Spamton was able to channel Mettaton’s appearance, attacks, music, and SOUL mode for the fight.
This might mean that the future hidden bosses, each with their own SOUL mode, might be based on the associated character for that mode (Muffet, Undyne, and Sans or Papyrus), and the boss will take on some aspect of them from their world to leech their fight mechanics.
The Problem With Mettaton
We don’t exactly know what Deltarune is about. It’s an alternate universe where the characters from Undertale already live on the surface, have completely normal lives, but diverge from the storyline of Undertale and, crucially, have not lived through the changes Frisk brought to their lives.
Remember how Undertale had a dozen different ending routes depending on who you befriended? The constant reinforcement in Undertale was that your choices mattered. Through Frisk, you chose to bring Alphys closure about her mistakes, you chose to befriend papyrus instead of attacking him, you chose to help Alphys and Undyne realise their feelings for each other and it’s only doing that that leads to the golden ending and escape to the surface.
Deltarune is the opposite, your choices do not matter. The only thing you can do to force the route of the game to change is to force Noelle into a No Mercy run, which is indirect, and also, a total desperation to mess with an otherwise set course. This version of the characters have not been helped by Frisk - Undyne and Alphys are not together, Papyrus has no friends, Asgore cannot get over himself, and they’re clearly the worse for it, but potentially, you COULD still do these things. In fact it’s hinted that you already are.
But there’s Mettaton.
He’s still a ghost and does not leave his house. In Frisk’s world, Gaster deleted himself, promoting Alphys to royal scientist by bluffing with Mettaton, and she then build him his ideal body. In Kris’s world... Alphys is a school teacher. There’s no barrier to break, no reason to experiment on souls, no Flowey mistake, and no body for Mettaton.
It was sad in Ch.1, but now with the Spamton NEO fight in ch.2, it’s unmissable. Mettaton wants that body and he cannot get it. Alphys in this universe is not going to leave her teaching job and suddenly be able to build a robot. Mettaton is just... screwed out of his happy ending and cannot get it.
So what resolution could this have? If it wasn’t for Mettaton I might believe in the vaildity of Deltarune and Hometown. But. How can you doom this character? If Undertale was the only way Mettaton could be befriended, then Undertale is Primary Universe A and Seam is right - the world of Deltarune is doomed as some kind of aberration. It all relies on how this gets explained in the future, but the core mystery of Deltarune is how exactly this universe intersects with Undertale and whether one is an offshoot of the other. How the Dark World links into that is another complication. But even as we get more fun characters and neat stuff in the Dark Worlds, let’s not forget we have absolutely no idea why Undertale’s characters are living here with no mention of underground or why there are no other humans beside Kris.
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The Pie
[AO3]
TK just wants to make Carlos a nice meal, but he ends up having a much needed heart to heart instead (about the happenings of 2x08).
“I’m okay,” T.K. assures Carlos when he’s been asked if he is okay for the ninth time, and it’s not a lie. He is okay when you think of okay as being a middle ground between awful and good. He’s getting through the day, and he’s learned that, sometimes, that has to be enough, but it’s not enough for Carlos, who has been on edge since the whole thing. T.K.’s learned the words “I’m okay,” are better than “It wasn’t a big deal,” because to Carlos, it was a big deal. It still is. T.K. learned to be careful how he phrased things when he made one too many ill-timed jokes about being through worse.
Carlos isn’t quick to anger, but like anyone, anxiety puts him on edge, and T.K. focuses on dancing around Carlos’ mood because he doesn’t want to think about what happens. He’d rather put all his attention on the man he loves because service always makes T.K. feel like he’s got everything under control. He’s not forced to think about himself.
“What’s all this?” Carlos asks when he sees the meal on the table. He looks tense, and T.K. wants to tell him that the dinner may not be gourmet, but it’s nothing to look grim about.
“I made you dinner.” He’d worked damn hard on it too. “I can cook, you know.”
“I’m just surprised.” Carlos has kept his difference. He hasn’t even stepped into the kitchen to give T.K. a hello kiss. The air conditioning kicks off, so the air between them becomes still and stale.
“You look mad,” T.K. finally says.
“I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.
“All I have is a concussion and not even the worst one I’ve had.” He speaks before he can think better of it, “It wasn’t even a near-death situation.”
“Being held hostage is automatically a near-death situation.” Carlos shakes his head. “And you’ve experienced gun violence twice in less than a year.”
“I was only hit by the gun the second time around.”
“You’re not dealing with it, T.K.,” Carlos says, dropping into the barstool.
T.K. eases onto the other stool. He leans over to give Carlo a kiss. “Just because I’m dealing with it well doesn’t mean I’m not dealing with it.”
“We haven’t really talked about it.”
“There’s not much left to say.” Carlos’ face falls. “Unless you have something you need to get off your chest. I know a lot happened to you that day as well.” T.K. puts some of the tuna casserole on his plate, and he pushes the dish towards Carlos. “Help yourself. It’s good. My mom used to make this for me.”
Carlos dumps a of couple spoonfuls onto his plate. “You’re bottling things up.”
“I’m not, really,” T.K. says between bites of food. “Do you like it?”
“You can’t go wrong with a casserole.” Carlos doesn’t look that invested in the meal, though. “Don’t try to change the subject.”
“I can go very wrong with a casserole.”
“T.K.,” Carlos admonished.
“What, Carlos?” T.K. raises his voice. “I keep telling you that I’m dealing with it, but you won’t let it go. I don’t know what you want me to say. If you need to talk about your feelings, I’m here to listen, but I have none of my own to talk about.”
“You’re lying to me. That’s a feeling I have.”
“Not telling you everything I feel is different than lying.”
“You say you’re okay, but you’re obviously not.”
“I’m acting normally,” T.K. insists.
“Yeah, acting, but I know that you’re not sleeping.”
“If you know that, you must not be sleeping either.”
“Mostly because I can feel you tossing and turning.”
“You should have told me I was keeping you up.” The last thing T.K. had wanted was to bother Carlos, but he also hadn’t wanted to spend his nights alone either. Insomnia was better with company.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but my point is that keeping whatever you’re feeling to yourself is not good for anyone. Being in a relationship means that when one of us isn’t okay, we’re not okay together.”
“I’m tired of feeling bad, so I’ve decided that I’m not going to give into those feelings anymore. We were doing so well, and then that shit happened and brought up stuff that gets in the way of that blissful feeling we had.”
“You’ll feel worse if you don’t get all of this off your chest.”
“Feelings always go away eventually.”
“Not when you don’t deal with them.”
“I don’t know if—”
“Babe, do you smell something burning?”
“Fuck,” T.K. said, flying off his chair to the oven. “My pie.” He scrambles to pull oven mitts over his hands. He pulls out a pie that’s a little too brown on the top. “I was trying to make a pie for you” He slams the plate on the counter and his fist on the counter. “And now it’s ruined.”
“Woah, there’s no need to get so worked up. The middle will still taste good,” Carlos promises him. “It’s not that bad.”
“That’s not the point.” T.K. hits the counter again, harder than the last time.
Carlos reaches over the counter and takes T.K.’s smarting hand in his. He keeps his hold as he gets up from his chair and walks around the counter to stand in front of T.K. “Don’t hurt yourself like that.” Carlos always gets a panicked look in his eyes when T.K.’s self-destructive side shines through. The pain doesn’t feel good, but it feels grounding, and it helps T.K. pull his head from the floaty land of thoughts that always leads to trouble.
“At least it will distract me from the concussion,” T.K. says, voice like a ceramic knife going through butter.
Carlos kisses T.K.’s hand and tugs him closer. “It’s just a pie. It’s nothing to cry over.” All T.K. wanted was to create a good evening for his boyfriend, but he’d forgotten to set the timer, and ruined his hard work.
“Yeah, well, why is it that nothing ever goes right? Every time I try to do something, it spirals into disaster territory.” He wonders why his endeavors always turn to hell. It seems like some cosmic force is working against him, showing him that for every victory, there will be multiple disasters.
“It’ll get better.”
“That’s the problem!”
“What do you mean?” Carlos asks, and T.K. feels stupid for opening his mouth because he doesn’t know how to make what he’s thinking make sense, which is exactly why he’d been dodging thinking about it all together.
“The good times all always end, and then they revert to being shitty times. Just when you start to get comfortable, life says, ‘Fuck you.’”
“Yeah, I guess it feels that way sometimes.”
“But?”
“But what?”
“You always have a but and then a positive, feel-good spin to add on.” That’s one of the things that T.K. likes so much about Carlos. He has unshakable optimism. He’s not naïve in his optimism, but he always believes there’s still good in the world. For all the bad he has seen, he still wants to trust that people are good, and he wants to help as many people as he can.
“You’ve changed a lot since I met you.”
“And that’s your positive spin.”
“Before it used to be your instinct to shut down or get angry when things got too real. Instead of talking about how you were feeling, you lashed out. You ran away. You got into fights.”
“I still do those things.” He’s still got a volatile edge that he can’t shake, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to shake it. He’s mellow most of the time, but when anxiety kicks in and his childhood traumas are tickled, he loses control.
“Sometimes, but you’ve also learned to do other things instead. Life is always going to have lows, but you know how to survive those lows.”
“I was scared I was going to die,” T.K. admits. “And there were times when I wouldn’t have cared. But this time, I did care because I finally knew what it meant to live without a weight on my chest, but now the weight is back. It’s there when I try to sleep. It’s there at work. It’s there when we have dinner or watch movies. No matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about how I actually have things to lose now. I have friends, a family, and a boyfriend who somehow loves me with his whole heart.” T.K. takes a breath. “And it’s not just about losing all the good people I now have in my life. I also look in the mirror and I realize that I don’t want to lose myself when I’ve only just started to be a person I don’t hate.”
Carlos nods in understanding. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about this a lot.”
T.K. gives a small smile, “How’s that for talking about my feelings?”
“It’s a start.”
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Dean goes on a terrible Tinder date. Cas is the waiter and sees the whole thing. “I can do way better than that.”
also on ao3
Cas notices it about two minutes after they’ve sat down. Actually, he notices it before, when the guy pulls Dean’s chair for him, and Dean looks a bit dumbfounded and clears his throat like he does when he’s uncomfortable. Cas is immediately on high alert.
Dean’s been a client here for a while – bringing dates, friends, or even sometimes dining alone. He’s friendly, a generous tipper, and his warm laughter makes Castiel weak in the knees. Also, he’s ridiculously attractive.
Which is why Castiel doesn’t understand what he’s doing, week after week, with a different and insufferable date. He understands why Dean always end up taking a cab alone at the end of the night, though. Cas knows this because he’s usually on his break, hanging out on his phone in the back alley, when Dean leaves, and Dean stops to chat with him if he’s managed to escape alone. It’s how Cas learned his name and the very few other details he knows about him – like the intricate pattern of freckles scattered on his cheek, and the fact that he’s a mechanic and owns his own body shop. It’s how he knows that there’s nothing in the world Dean loves more than his little brother, even though his car comes pretty close second.
It’s also how he knows that one of those dates deserve him, but the mystery remains of why he’s dating them in the first place. Dean shouldn’t be trolling for dates on a stupid hookup app – people should be lining up in the street for a chance to be with him.
That man should be loved and cherished every single day, and if Cas had a chance with someone like that… But he chases those ridiculous thoughts away as he makes eye contact with Dean from across the room. He can see already that this is going to be another bad one, just from the way Dean glances around with a contrite look on his face as his date keeps talking about his very scientific workout and diet in details.
Cas can only see the back of the other man – broad shoulders in an expensive suit, a haircut worth at least 200$, and too many rings on his large fingers. Their eyes connect again, Dean’s widen in a please help me way Cas knows too well.
“Are you ready to order?”
“Yes, finally, we’ve been here for at least an hour,” Dean’s date complains when Cas steps up to their table.
Dean frowns and opens his mouth, probably to apologize, but Cas shoots him a reassuring smile. That guy isn’t the first client to be a dick, and Cas is used to it – at least he’s not the one who has to sit there and listen to him all night long. He orders a chicken salad but asks for a vegan dressing, which makes no sense but Cas notes it down anyway. Dean looks at him the whole time, sympathy and apology in his stunningly green eyes. Warmth, too. His eyes are warm like the sunshine through the leaves on Cas’ favourite plant and they make him melt from the inside out.
He’s worked in this restaurant for years, has been a waiter for even longer – yet he almost forgets to note down Dean’s order because he’s too busy getting lost in the delicate pattern of freckles on his cheeks. In the admiration of his pink, plush mouth, in the way it moves as he speaks. Cas blinks quickly when he realizes Dean’s not talking anymore, and that both him and his date are watching him expectantly. His hands are shaking as he picks up their menus and his heart beats loud against his ribs all the way back to the kitchen.
Dean is leaning over with his head in his hand when Cas walks towards him, balancing two plates on one arm and a water carafe in the other. He only looks up when Cas puts his steak in front of him and then gives him a weary smile, along with the usual thank you, which so many costumers don’t even bother with.
“Is your date gone?” Cas asks, slowly refilling the water glasses just to give himself reason to stay.
“No, uh, just the bathroom, I think. Shit, I’m sorry, he’s been such an asshole to you.”
“It’s fine,” Cas chuckles. Dean’s hair is sticking out from running his hands through it. “What does he have on you?”
“What?”
“Why are you still here? You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
Dean huffs, the hint of a beautiful smile spreading on his lips.
“Nothing, just… my brother’s been on my ass to settle down since his wedding. I guess I want that too, y’know. Figured I gotta give people a chance.”
“People, yes. Him? I think you should run.”
Dean laughs fully at that, and Cas heart flutters happily. He made Dean laugh. He did that.
“I would, believe me, I would… But he works with my brother, and I don’t wanna make things awkward between them, y’know. Straight up leaving wouldn’t be subtle.”
“I could tell him you have an emergency.”
Dean doesn’t have time to reply that the guy gets out of the bathroom. Cas could swear his hair is even more shiny and wet-looking than it was before, as if he’s dropped a second bucket of hair gel on it while he was gone. He’s not bad looking, with a professional stubble on his large jaw and piercing blue eyes, but comparing him to Dean would be like comparing a rock to the actual sun. Cas gives Dean an apologetic look and makes his exit before the guy can comment on how long it took for the food to arrive.
“How is everything? Are you enjoying your meal?”
“Chicken is cold,” the guy says, and Cas doesn’t miss the way Dean looks at the ceiling in a silent prayer.
“I’m so sorry, do you want me to take it back?” Cas politely offers, resisting the urge to tell him that of course the chicken is fucking cold, that’s why it’s called a cold chicken salad.
“I don’t know, are you sure there’s no eggs in that dressing? I feel like I can–” the guy ticks his tongue against his palate in what is possibly the most annoying noise Cas has ever heard, “–I feel like I can taste it, it’s eggy, it’s–”
“No, there are no eggs, sir. It’s a cashew nut dressing. Will that be all?”
The guy shoots him a glare at the interruption, like Cas is the most offending person he’s ever met.
“No, we’re fine.”
At that moment the man’s phone – that’s been laying next to his glass the entire meal, Cas saw him check it almost obsessively whenever Dean managed to slip a word in – lights up and starts ringing. He takes it with a rude “excuse me” directed at Dean and steps away from the table.
“Help me,” Dean immediately whispers. His green eyes are pleading, his hand reaches forward as if to touch Cas and then falls back on the table, grasping at his utensils. “I’m fucking dying here. He keeps talking about the benefits of egg white and about how dumb his assistant is and how much his fucking suits cost and I’m about to stab this fork into my fucking brain.”
He still manages a smile when Cas laughs. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The easier way would be to tell Dean that he has a phone call, but thanks to modern technology, no one calls restaurants to talk to costumers anymore. He’s seen Dean use the emergency phone call trick a few times, but on his last date the girl definitely saw through it and started yelling at him in front of the whole restaurant. Dean ended up having to comfort her and his eyes stared at Castiel in complete panic as she sobbed against his chest.
Cas isn’t entirely sure of what he’s about to do when walks back to the table. He has a bottle of the wine the guy’s ordered in his hands, ready for a refill, and he mulls over his options. The thought of just grabbing Dean and kissing him crosses his mind – he could maybe pretend to be his jealous ex, make a scene – but that would basically be assault. It’s tempting, though. And could possibly work, but…
This is his brothers’ restaurant, and Cas is their best waiter, so he can get away with a lot without getting fired – but he suspects that assaulting a client in front of his date would be crossing the line.
He still has no clue when he steps up to the table. The man is currently explaining something to Dean and Dean is looking down, his cheeks a little red. Cas frowns, and then he hears it – “Look, I’m not saying you’re fat, but you could use to eat a little less pie, if you know what I mean–”
Cas’ ears are ringing and he doesn’t even question it – he pours half the bottle of wine directly into the man’s cold chicken salad. There’s a moment when everything is still, except for the dark red liquid pouring and sloshing and dripping all over the white tablecloth… and then the guy shoves his chair back and scrambles to his feet.
“What the fuck, idiot?” He yells, his face as red as the wine, as Cas calmly straightens the bottle back up. “This is a ten thousand dollar suit you incompetent fucking moron!”
There’s barely a drip on his pant leg but he’s wrapped his hands around it as if Cas had stabbed it with a butter knife.
“I’m gonna fucking break your–”
“Alright, alright,” Dean says and Cas finally looks at him – he looks strangely calm, as if he’s fighting hard to keep a straight face. He quickly stands up and places himself between his date and Cas, almost like a shield. The whole restaurant has fallen silent, all the eyes are on them, but Cas only sees Dean – standing tall and protective in front of him. He smells like a field of wildflowers under the sun, he smells like cool wind and an autumn walk…
“There’s a dry cleaner two blocks from here, if you run you can make it before it closes. I’ll deal with him,” Dean turns towards Cas as his date frantically tries to wipe his pants with a handkerchief. His eyes lock with Cas and there’s a spark in them, almost teasing. “I’ll make sure the ‘idiot’ gets fired.”
The guy barely lets him finish that he’s storming out of the restaurant, phone against his ears, saying something along the lines of “I know you’re it’s after-hours you dipshit this is a fucking emergency”.
Dean stares at Cas like he’s just fallen from Heaven and crashed right into the restaurant. Wine drips along the leg of the table.
“Holy fuck, Cas,” Dean finally says. “I could fucking kiss you right now.”
“That would probably be inappropriate since I’m on the clock,” Cas answers without thinking. He’s too lost in the way Dean is looking at him, soft and adoring. “But my break starts in five minutes.”
He hears the words come out of his mouth but doesn’t fully register them until Dean’s eyes widen and his lips part. And suddenly Cas isn’t standing in front of him anymore, but instead he’s slamming shut the door of the walk-in and leaning back against it, sighing in relief as the cold metal presses against his back.
Crap.
Oh god. Oh god, Cas has made a complete ass of himself. He just poured wine all over a table, caused a scene, and then somehow managed to expose his feelings for Dean in the most pathetic way possible.
He takes a few minutes to breathe and let the crips cold bring him back to his senses. He still needs to clear his head, though, so he grabs Anna in passing and asks her to take care of his tables for a few minutes. He hears Gabriel call for him – “who the fuck just poured wine in the middle of my dining room?” – but manages to escape through the back door. He’s barely made two steps that he collides with a warm, insanely good smelling chest and would’ve fallen back on his ass hadn’t it been for Dean grabbing him.
“Hey,” Dean chuckles, his breath warm on Cas’ face.
For a moment Cas is too shocked to answer. Dean’s face is breathtaking form up close, and Cas resists the urge to grab him and kiss him senseless.“Dean, I’m so–”
“Did you mean it?”
Cas stares at him, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest and he’s pretty sure Dean can feel it. Their noses are inches apart. Dean’s never looked quite as beautiful, the hard lines of his face softened by the yellow glow of the street lamps.
His eyes dart down to Cas’ lips, then back up again. His grips softens around Cas’ waist but his hands remain there, warmth seeping through Cas’ clothes and onto his skin.
“Yes,” he breathes out. He feels like he’s under a spell. Dean’s eyes flick down to his mouth again and he licks his own lips. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first time you walked into the restaurant.”
“Damn it, Cas. You should’ve said something earlier.”
Before Cas can reply, a smooth, warm mouth presses against his lips. His eyes flutter close, his fingers grasp at Dean’s shirt to bring him closer. The kiss is gentle, soft and tentative at first, but Cas can’t resist deepening it. Dean groans his approval and his arm curls around Cas’ waist, slamming him against his chest, his other hand sneaking into Cas’ hair and pulling. Cas pants, heaves, grasps at Dean’s strong shoulder as if he could possibly hold him closer. This is so much better than anything he’s dreamed about, Dean’s lips are plump and soft and fucking sinful to bite into, his tongue is playful and warm and Cas feels shivers running under his skin and deep into his bones.
“Really should’ve done that a lot sooner,” Dean mumbles when they finally part. He still keeps them close, resting his forehead against Cas’.
His cheeks are deliciously pink and Cas can’t quite believe he’s real.
“Maybe I should give you my phone number so you can call me and save me next time I’m on a shitty date,” Dean murmurs, letting his lips run along Cas’ jaw, then down his neck.
Cas freezes. Again, the words leave his mouth before he can even think about them.
“Or maybe I should give you my phone number so you never have to go on another shitty date again.”
Dean smiles wide and bright, and his neck kiss leaves Cas dizzy and barely able to stand on his wobbly legs.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think you should do that.”
#deancasfanficnet#profoundbond#spncreatorsdaily#writersofdestiel#destiel fic#deancas fic#destiel fanfiction#deancas fanfiction#au fic#first kiss#m writing#thank you for the prompt!!!!!!!#i had so much fun writing it
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Starved Lion of the Imperial Arena
A short fic about my character Do’saav and her sentence in the imperial arena and her rocky relationship with the thieves’ guild
cw: hunger, blood, brief reference to drugs
Blood.
Blood was all that she could feel.
Blood pumping through every single one of her veins, blood of her opponent splattering against her fur, wetting her claws. Anything else was numbness, survival instincts of a lesser beast.
As she ripped her hands from the elf she saw their last words stifled by the red icor of life she had become so well acquainted with. Do’Saav had won once again.
Anyone with her track record would be thought to be one of the voluntary competitors, a snobby son of a nobleman testing out a sword meant for twice the armsman, an accomplished mage testing their latest staff of fireballs on a miserable gaggle of prisoners. Anyone with her track record was normally free to go.
She was there because someone finally decided to size up the red fury of the west who had the coin purse to put enough men between her and them. She worked with the thieves’ guild, known for being quiet. Her line of work was not so quiet. She extorted people, scared them into minding their own business and letting things lie. She had seldom taken protection money, that’s not how the guild did things in Cyrodiil, but if they refused to show what little kindness they had in their heart and a broken bone wouldn’t do, she’d yank a prized amulet from their neck, maybe grab a candlestick or two on the way out or smash a vase.
This time she had picked the wrong method. A merchant from Vvardenfell had just enough handshakes and second-cousins in the royal court for someone to actually give a shit when he was left with a couple cracked limbs and a bruised shoulder. She was slapped in irons the next day, and she knew as soon as she saw the look on the warden’s face that her stay would be a little longer than usual.
She skulked back to the bloodworks, wiping the paint of her sins off her nose. No matter if it was spilt a second or a year ago the smell made her face curl up into a snarl. It made what social dynamic that was available to her even more of a chore to deal with. The bloodworks would make an awful guildhall. Anyone with more experience than you would spit in your face and call you a worm and anyone with less experience than you would spend their time figuring out your weaknesses.
“Great fight out there Khajiit, a couple more like that and you’ll be walking free in no time!” Said a redguard, former highwayman whose only remaining possession was a rusty axe.
Do’Saav’s nostrils flared as she sighed, healing her wounds in the putrid, oversized basin at the bottom of the steps, “That’s what the last one said.”
The auburn gladiator didn’t speak much, but tried her best to remain sociable at an arm’s length. After a while she understood that anyone here who wasn’t the grey prince was bound to be dead in a week or two. It almost gave rise to a snicker from her, what great lengths necromancers went to speak with the dead when you could do it right here in the heart of the empire.
“So why don’t you ever fight with weapons? Wouldn’t that be easier than going in bare-handed like that?” A peppy Breton asked while stretching between her exercises. It was always much harder for Do’Saav to look past the inevitable death of someone with such youth.
“Khajiit martial art. It is called Claw-Dancing in the common tongue.” She lied.
The Breton was starry-eyed, too innocent to last two more fights, when she’d be matched against a gaggle of sickly prisoners shipped there from Morrowind. They’d tear her apart like malnourished wolves, and then walk the streets they’d be dying on within the same span of time.
“This one thinks you should leave. Really. Join the fighter’s guild, they are always looking for work.”
The Breton put her hands on her hips, it began to disgust Do’Saav how she wore that rainment with pride.
“Not until I prove myself to my father! If I end up anything like you, he’ll just have to give me his heirloom sword when he passes!”
The Khajiit narrowed her eyes and spoke with as much malice as she could muster for such an energetic young woman.
“Your father is a goblin-fucking pig bastard and that sword’s blade has probably been worn to the edge of a butter knife from all the bones of children half your age it has cut through.”
The Breton was at a loss for words, she simply stood there in shock, starting and stopping the first syllable of her retort, before she simply left.
She stood there, barely on one foot leaning against the cleanest patch of bricks she could find. Her empty stomach continues to bother her, keeping her there stirring, unable to doze off. At one point she considered ripping into opponents with her teeth, swallowing what she bit into. Such thoughts were too vile for her, and she knew such discovery would surely have her put to the axe with both her hands bound that time. Her head began to hurt as she saw a stocky Nord in tattered leathers approach her like a wild animal, her lips couldn’t help but form a grin seeing one of the great children of the sky shaking in his boots at a starving prisoner.
“A-are you Doe-Sawf?” The Nord stammered, reaching to his side but his hand past the hilt of the dagger he had sheathed.
She nodded, “This one is. What do you seek of her, meat?” her words had a bite to them.
The dirty blonde pauper swallowed as a drop of sweat formed at his brow, “I-I-I am with the- the thieves’ guild…” the stout man began to choke on the second half of his sentence.
Do’Saav couldn’t help but laugh. It was hoarse, scratchy, disturbing. Her ears perked up in maniacal sarcasm, “Are you- are you here to have Do’Saav pay the blood price…?” She began to descend back into laughter at her terrible and grim joke about the countless slaughters committed by her hands. She wiped a tear from her eye.
As the man returned from his flinch he slowly handed a burlap sack, quickly pulling away as Do’Saav took it. He finally found the courage to finish speaking. “The grey fox… understands you’re being treated unfairly here, because of your association with the guild. He says that he will do whatever it takes to get you out of here without risking your life or freedom at a later date, that he owes it to you…”
The Khajiit was suddenly overcome with a feeling typically found in the eyes of a skooma addict or a pie thief, she looked inside the bag and found a bit of bread and cheese, and nearly bit her hand shoving a morsel into her mouth before remembering she had a visitor. She chewed, swallowed and cleared her throat.
“This one will believe it when she talks to the grey fox face to face about it. That at least is owed in addition to a ticket out.” She shoved the rest of her meal into her maw, grinding and gulping as fast as her body could allow.
The initiate nodded, looking at the floor a moment, seeing the drops of blood that made it down from the ceiling.
“I’m sorry they do not feed you here enough.” This time he was beginning to collect himself.
“Likewise, northman.”
“I overheard what they say about you after I asked and got nothing, besides a few harsh words about the guild…”
The khajiit wondered why the meat was still speaking.
“They talked about how in the past the arena had a pack of lions they would make competitors fight, how they would… starve them so that they’d be desperate to kill and eat whoever they fought.”
She didn’t know whether to be angry or to see this coming, or maybe lie about how she felt, make it seem like a sick game. She was caught off guard enough to be stricken curious.
The Nord spoke softly, as if someone was interested enough to eavesdrop “Do you know what they were calling you…?”
“A lion…?”
He nodded slowly, the fat of his chin squishing against his neck as he did.
“They didn’t even speak as if you were a person.”
The two of them sat there in silence, Do’Saav casually looking through the sack for crumbs.
“I put the cheese in there, hope you… hope you enjoyed it.”
“That was Do’Saav’s favorite part. Thank you northman.”
He nodded again, this time with a bit more urgency, before quickly leaving the bloodworks.
The cat held a crumb between two fingers, holding it up to the light as a weight began to lift itself off her mind.
“Heh. Lion of the Imperial Arena, quite a title for this one.” She dropped the meager speck onto her rough tongue before swallowing it.
“She likes it.”
#oblivion#hero of kvatch#khajiit#TES OC#elder scrolls oc#oblivion fanfiction#elder scrolls fanfiction#tes fanfiction#fic#do’saav
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American Horror Story Sentence Starters (Seasons 1-4)
SOME NSFW
{{ Send one for your muse to say to mine OR send “Reverse” + a sentence to have my muse say to yours. Adapt pronouns as necessary! }}
MURDER HOUSE
“I used to think you were like me. You were attracted to the darkness. But, ______ you are the darkness.”
“It’s been insane here. First the cops were outside and some freak started banging on the door screaming about money.”
“You got a dog. I needed you, and you got a DOG.”
“There’s so much pain, you know? There’s so much.”
“I don’t want to be here anymore! I’m frightened! I miss my mother!”
“You’re gonna regret it.”
“We wanted to have a baby. We were gonna have this great life…”
“I don’t want to bother you, but I’m hurt and needing some help.”
“I like it when you don’t run. Makes it a whole lot easier to keep up.”
“Hi, I’m _____. I’m dead. Wanna hook up?”
“What dream are you chasing? Or should I say, what dream is chasing you?”
“I’ll wait. Forever if I have to.”
“Drink this. That’s it. It’ll make you forget.”
“You might as well just Krazy Glue a stick of butter to your ass.”
“I got your flowers. They smelled of the gas station where you bought them. Red roses? Could you be more of a pathetic, cheap cliche?”
“That girl/boy is a monster. I love her/him and I’m a good Christian, but Jesus H. Christ..”
“I’m not some silly schoolgirl/boy. I’m a woman/man. And I matter!”
“Something has changed in you. Towards me. You’re distant, cold.”
“Close your eyes and remember everything is gonna be okay. I love you.”
ASYLUM
“Me? I’m a beacon of compassion.”
“All monsters are human. You’re a monster”
“There is no God. Not a God who would create the things I saw.”
“You have no idea what it means to have lost you.”
“Come on, _____. Bend me over a bread rack and pound me into shape.”
“You touch me again, you will die.”
“That’s how it works for us freaks. We get blamed for everything.”
“Rest up, dear. You’re going under the knife in the morning, you’ll need your strength.”
“Put that wine down. You look like a streetwalker.”
“You know you got me in here just so you can undress me with your eyes.”
“I’m goddamn plucky, remember?”
“One day, I’ll bury you.”
“I am tough. But I’m no cookie.”
“And you were so drunk, you couldn’t find your way home.”
“Mental illness is the fashionable explanation for sin.”
“The times may have changed, _____, but the nature of evil has not.”
“It’s the ultimate cosmic joke. You got me pregnant.”
“God always answers our prayers, _____. It’s just rarely the answer we’re looking for.”
“If you look in the face of evil, evil’s gonna look right back at you.”
“I broke a beer bottle. I stabbed them. They will live, but they will never forget.”
“Hell, I’m the Queen/King of Candyland.”
“I know everything. I’m the devil.”
COVEN
“You wanna be my slave tonight?”
“I give you my soul, and what do you give me in return?”
“You’re weak-willed, boring, and your fashion faux pas give me nightmares.”
“Perhaps my talent is in the boudoir.”
“Follow my voice. We’re all here waiting for you.”
“You could offer me a unicorn that shit hundred dollar bills and I’d still never give you nothing more than a headache.”
“Do me a favor. Die before Thanksgiving, so none of us have to suffer through that mess of raisins and Styrofoam you call stuffing.”
“Players only love you when they’re playin’.”
“Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.”
“Are you seriously ignoring me for dessert?”
“Oh, what have we here, a romantic bubble bath?”
“I’m not scared of dying. I’m scared of living like this. The constant pain and the ugliness.”
“If he’s/she’s dead, it’s probably because he/she got wasted and offered the Grim Reaper a handjob or something.”
“You can’t drink or fight. You’re a little bitch.”
“It’s you that will end in flames. I swear it!”
“You’ve got a bulls-eye on your back, kiddo, and our biggest enemy is locked, loaded, and looking at you.”
“Jesus, go change your clothes. Wear something… black.”
“It’s too hot, my frickin’ vagina’s sweating.”
“In this whole wide wicked world the only thing you have to be afraid of is me.”
FREAK SHOW
“My talent has been known to render men/women speechless, but you’ll have to get over it if we are going to work together.”
“You know my motto: always leave them wanting more.”
“Has anyone tasted your cherry pie?”
“Oh, shut your disgusting mouth, you slut!”
“I tell you, sometimes I can’t take it. They way they they look at us. They way they treat us.”
“You’re a miracle worker. You’re my salvation. I never dreamed I would have been able to do this with a real woman/man.”
“You are a tattered waste of oxygen who bolsters his/herself with contempt for others.”
“I’m gonna sit here and watch you eat that entire bowl.”
“I think I have a bottle of schnapps. Perhaps you’d like to come inside?”
“You are young and full of life. You should not be surrounded by death and disease.”
“Let me take your pain away. Replace it with love.”
“You’re stuck on the rosy notion that the world operates on goodness, decency. Truth is - all goodness guarantees you is an early grave.”
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
“I was an idiot to think I had a chance with a girl/boy like you.”
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American Horror Story Sentence Starters (Seasons 1-4)
SOME NSFW
{{ Send one for your muse to say to mine OR send “Reverse” + a sentence to have my muse say to yours. Adapt pronouns as necessary! }}
MURDER HOUSE
“I used to think you were like me. You were attracted to the darkness. But, ______ you are the darkness.”
“It’s been insane here. First the cops were outside and some freak started banging on the door screaming about money.”
“You got a dog. I needed you, and you got a DOG.”
“There’s so much pain, you know? There’s so much.”
“I don’t want to be here anymore! I’m frightened! I miss my mother!”
“You’re gonna regret it.”
“We wanted to have a baby. We were gonna have this great life…”
“I don’t want to bother you, but I’m hurt and needing some help.”
“I like it when you don’t run. Makes it a whole lot easier to keep up.”
“Hi, I’m _____. I’m dead. Wanna hook up?”
“What dream are you chasing? Or should I say, what dream is chasing you?”
“I’ll wait. Forever if I have to.”
“Drink this. That’s it. It’ll make you forget.”
“You might as well just Krazy Glue a stick of butter to your ass.”
“I got your flowers. They smelled of the gas station where you bought them. Red roses? Could you be more of a pathetic, cheap cliche?”
“That girl/boy is a monster. I love her/him and I’m a good Christian, but Jesus H. Christ..”
“I’m not some silly schoolgirl/boy. I’m a woman/man. And I matter!”
“Something has changed in you. Towards me. You’re distant, cold.”
“Close your eyes and remember everything is gonna be okay. I love you.”
ASYLUM
“Me? I’m a beacon of compassion.”
“All monsters are human. You’re a monster”
“There is no God. Not a God who would create the things I saw.”
“You have no idea what it means to have lost you.”
“Come on, _____. Bend me over a bread rack and pound me into shape.”
“You touch me again, you will die.”
“That’s how it works for us freaks. We get blamed for everything.”
“Rest up, dear. You're going under the knife in the morning, you'll need your strength.”
“Put that wine down. You look like a streetwalker.”
“You know you got me in here just so you can undress me with your eyes.”
“I’m goddamn plucky, remember?”
“One day, I’ll bury you.”
“I am tough. But I’m no cookie.”
“And you were so drunk, you couldn't find your way home.”
“Mental illness is the fashionable explanation for sin.”
“The times may have changed, _____, but the nature of evil has not.”
“It’s the ultimate cosmic joke. You got me pregnant.”
"God always answers our prayers, _____. It's just rarely the answer we're looking for."
“If you look in the face of evil, evil's gonna look right back at you.”
“I broke a beer bottle. I stabbed them. They will live, but they will never forget.”
“Hell, I’m the Queen/King of Candyland.”
“I know everything. I’m the devil.”
COVEN
“You wanna be my slave tonight?”
“I give you my soul, and what do you give me in return?”
“You're weak-willed, boring, and your fashion faux pas give me nightmares.”
“Perhaps my talent is in the boudoir.”
“Follow my voice. We’re all here waiting for you.”
“You could offer me a unicorn that shit hundred dollar bills and I'd still never give you nothing more than a headache.”
“Do me a favor. Die before Thanksgiving, so none of us have to suffer through that mess of raisins and Styrofoam you call stuffing.”
“Players only love you when they're playin'.”
“Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.”
“Are you seriously ignoring me for dessert?”
“Oh, what have we here, a romantic bubble bath?”
“I'm not scared of dying. I'm scared of living like this. The constant pain and the ugliness.”
“If he’s/she's dead, it's probably because he/she got wasted and offered the Grim Reaper a handjob or something.”
“You can’t drink or fight. You’re a little bitch.”
“It's you that will end in flames. I swear it!”
“You’ve got a bulls-eye on your back, kiddo, and our biggest enemy is locked, loaded, and looking at you.”
“Jesus, go change your clothes. Wear something... black.”
“It's too hot, my frickin' vagina's sweating.”
“In this whole wide wicked world the only thing you have to be afraid of is me.”
FREAK SHOW
“My talent has been known to render men/women speechless, but you'll have to get over it if we are going to work together.”
“You know my motto: always leave them wanting more.”
“Has anyone tasted your cherry pie?”
“Oh, shut your disgusting mouth, you slut!”
“I tell you, sometimes I can’t take it. They way they they look at us. They way they treat us.”
“You’re a miracle worker. You’re my salvation. I never dreamed I would have been able to do this with a real woman/man.”
“You are a tattered waste of oxygen who bolsters his/herself with contempt for others.”
“I’m gonna sit here and watch you eat that entire bowl.”
“I think I have a bottle of schnapps. Perhaps you’d like to come inside?”
“You are young and full of life. You should not be surrounded by death and disease.”
“Let me take your pain away. Replace it with love.”
“You're stuck on the rosy notion that the world operates on goodness, decency. Truth is - all goodness guarantees you is an early grave.”
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
“I was an idiot to think I had a chance with a girl/boy like you.”
Seasons 5-8
#ask meme#ask starter#starter meme#sentence meme#rp meme#my memes#american horror story#american horror story meme#ahs#ahs meme
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How to Carve a Turkey (Not Yourself)
I finally finished my sequel to How to Carve a Pumpkin!!! if you haven’t read it yet and are interested here’s the AO3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565039 This one has plenty of fluff and feels, but also some of my finest smut if I do say so myself. (Hey, I’m new at this, I need some shameless self promotion.) And here’s the link to this fic on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/16704463 Enjoy!
tagging a few of my friends who showed me some love @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @laschatzi @xemmaloveskillianx @winterbaby89 @hookedonapirate @bestshipcaptainswan @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @vvbooklady1256
Emma stood from her seat and bent over to reach for the potatoes. He watched as she dipped her finger in the buttery side dish and licked it off salaciously, moaning in satisfaction. The dip in the collar of her blouse revealed her lace covered breasts and Killian had to suppress a moan of his own. Emma sucked her finger into her mouth and that’s when he felt the sharp pain between his thumb and forefinger.
Rated: M Words: 6K
Killian had been out of sorts all morning. He and Emma had decided to prepare all of their dishes for Thanksgiving dinner at her house the morning of. The reason Killian was so flustered was currently bent over, searching for a pie tin. Emma had yet to change out of her sleepwear which consisted of a black tank top and tight green shorts with the words “Kiss me, I’m Irish” written across her hind quarters. He had read it out loud the first moment he had noticed and Emma had spun around to give him a mind blowing kiss that still had his head spinning.
Killian had spent nearly all his free time with Emma and Henry, having taken Emma out every chance he since Halloween, but they had yet to take that next step in their relationship. Responsibilities and lack of time seemed to keep getting in the way. There was also the matter of Henry. Emma didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of making love for the first time with Henry in the house. He had to agree with her on that one.
The reason for his reverie righted herself, turning to him in triumph, pan in hand. She handed it to him. “Thank you, love.” He took it to his side of the counter where his dough was waiting to be placed inside. He was baking a cinnamon apple pie, an homage to his Swan’s delicious scent. As he was dumping his apple mixture, Emma came up to him from behind, wrapping her arms around his chest and placing soft kisses along his neck. Her mouth on him was not helping him in his current predicament. A groan escaped his throat when she nipped at his pulse point. Seconds later they heard loud footfalls as Henry made his way downstairs. Killian turned quickly, spinning Emma in his arms so she stood in front of him, hiding the evidence of his prominent erection. He heard Emma gasp as his cock pressed against her backside.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Henry crooned excitedly.
“Happy Turkey Day to you as well, lad,” Killian greeted.
“Mom, are you okay? You look like I do when I have a fever.”
Killian snorted into her hair, knowing exactly what was wrong with her.
“Yeah, kid,” she started, elbowing Killian playfully as she spoke, eliciting an ‘oomph’ out of him. “I am just a little flushed from all the… anticipation. You know me I love a good feast.” Killian couldn’t help but breath her in in that moment, his arousal only building with each passing second.
“Whatever, I’m gonna go play some xbox. You should probably take some medicine though, just in case you’re getting sick.” He scampered off just as Emma spun back around, the effect he had on her evident from the tips of her ears all the way to the swell of her breasts. The lust he saw in her eyes had him fully hard.
“I’d very much like to feast on you, Swan,” he said as he pressed his lips to hers, pulling a moan from her at the contact.
“You fight dirty, Jones,” she mumbled against his mouth.
“You have no idea, love,” he said as he lifted her up and placed her on the island where his unfinished pie sat.
“Killian, we can’t, Henry is in the other room,” she protested weakly.
“I’m not going to try any funny business, love. I’m simply giving my girlfriend her medicine.” Emma wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. They continued to make out until the buzzer on the oven brought them back to reality. The pie, right, that was why he was in her kitchen, greedily devouring her mouth and neck. Killian reluctantly pulled away and released his hold on her hips. They both resumed their preparations. One of these days he was going to get her alone and ravish that gorgeous body.
__________
Emma stepped out of the shower a couple hours later, having finished preparing her yams. She was so excited to get to share Killian’s first Thanksgiving with him and the heat from the shower was not the only cause of her flushed skin. Henry had asked her last night if he could spend tonight at David and Mary Margaret’s house because Leo had gotten a new game for his xbox. After confirming with David that Henry was welcome to stay the night, Emma enthusiastically gave her permission. Probably too enthusiastically judging by his raised eyebrow, a gesture he had been practicing since he saw Killian do it. She loved that Henry was supportive of their relationship. He was actually more like a cheerleader, practically pushing her out the door every time Killian came to pick her up for a night out. Killian was great with him on nights they decided to stay in. They’d play on the xbox and Emma would laugh uproariously when they’d play racing games which always came with trash talk. She was pretty sure she was already in love with him. Killian had no idea that they would have the house to themselves tonight. She couldn’t help teasing him this morning by wearing skimpier sleepwear then she normally would. Not to mention she had pretended to be looking for the pie tin much longer than was necessary. She wanted him so wound up that by the time the dam broke, he was ravenous for her.
As she dressed she could hear her boys from the living room excitedly talking about the floats in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. In the five years Killian had been living in the states he never observed Thanksgiving so he had never bothered to watch the annual celebration. Emma thought about how lonely he must have been since his brother died. Over the last three weeks she had learned that his first home in the states had been in Boston. He liked it well enough and had kept himself busy with volunteer work and sailing, it just hadn’t felt like home. After bouncing around the New England coast he finally found what he was looking for; an old, dusty bookstore and a new friend. He often said that moving to Storybrooke was the best decision he had ever made. She had to agree with him on that.
Emma found the blouse she purposely picked out for dinner. It was blue silk that looked appropriate when standing or sitting upright, but if she bent over, her black lace bra and cleavage were fully exposed to any set of eyes on her. She smiled devilishly into the mirror. She paired the blouse with a knee length black skirt and tights.
She found Killian and Henry sitting on their knees in front of the t.v. pointing out their favorite balloons and floats. She beamed at the site.
“Did I miss anything good?” she asked as their heads whipped around, both with wide smiles.
“Swan, they had a pirate ship!” “Mom, they had a pirate ship!” they both shouted unanimously. Emma chuckled at their shared enthusiasm.
__________
Killian leapt to his feet to his feet to embrace his beautiful girlfriend. She giggled into his neck, sending pleasant vibrations through him. He couldn’t wait to tell her how much he adored her, desired her, loved her.
“Alright, after Santa’s float, we’ll head to David and Mary Margaret’s house,” she announced. Killian pulled her to the couch where they cuddled and watched the rest of the parade.
*
David placed the big, juicy bird at the head of the table. It looked absolutely delicious. Killian had never celebrated such a holiday.
“Gather around the table everyone!” Dave called from the formal dining room. Then he directed Killian to stand beside him. “Seeing as this is Killian’s first Thanksgiving, I think it’s only appropriate that he have the great honor of carving the turkey.”
Killian’s elation suddenly turned to panic. “Mate, I’ve never carved a turkey before, I’ve no idea how.”
David reassuringly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s a skill that comes naturally to all the men in this family.” Dave winked at him and his heart swelled at being considered a member of the family.
“And women,” Mary Margaret asserted.
“And women, of course, we don’t discriminate on holidays,” Dave placated. He then handed Killian a large, serrated knife and carving fork. “The knife will cut through the bird like butter. The only tricky part is separating the legs. You’ll have to get your hands dirty for that part.”
Killian stuck the fork into the breast of the turkey and began slicing, finding that Dave was right, he was a natural.
After all the white and dark meat had been placed onto a separate serving dish Killian set down the fork and grasped the meaty leg, holding firmly while working through the tough joint. He successfully cut through and held it up proudly to show Emma who was seated a few chairs down from him. She beamed at him as he started on the second. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Mary Margaret had placed the mashed potatoes directly in front of the turkey. The second joint was a little tougher to get through so he lowered his hand a bit more to hold it in place. Just then, Emma stood from her seat and bent over to reach for the potatoes. He watched as she dipped her finger in the buttery side dish and licked it off salaciously, moaning in satisfaction. The dip in the collar of her blouse revealed her lace covered breasts and Killian had to suppress a moan of his own. Emma sucked her finger into her mouth and that’s when he felt the sharp pain between his thumb and forefinger. He let out a yelp that made Emma jump.
__________
Emma was horrified that she was the reason she had to wrap a cloth napkin around Killian’s hand and rush him to the bathroom to give him first aid. She knew how sharp carving knives were and she knew he had his hand in the path of said knife. She had let her lust cloud her judgement and now they may have to postpone Thanksgiving dinner to drive Killian to urgent care. She was in the middle of an internal panic attack when Killian placed his good hand on her cheek and instantly calmed her.
“Swan, it’s alright, love. It’s not as bad as you think.” He pulled the napkin away and she could see that, although he was still bleeding, the cut was not deep enough to need stitches. Being a mother of a rambunctious ten year old boy had taught her to recognize when stitches were needed.
“I’m so sorry, Killian. This is all my fault,” she admitted while she searched for the first aid kit. “I shouldn’t have distracted you like that. I don’t know what got into me?” Killian’s smirk at her words told her she had unintentionally given him material for an innuendo laden quip, but she put a stop to that by placing her fingers on his lips as they started to move. “I know what you were going to say, Jones, and I’ll have none of it. We have to focus on getting you patched up,” she asserted with a barely contained smile.
“Aye, love, patch away,” he said, his eyes dancing with amusement.
She was almost finished wrapping his hand when the irony of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. She couldn’t help the giggles that escaped her, much to Killian’s amusement.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, chuckling at her.
“Do you realize how ironic it is that three weeks ago, you were wrapping my hand for the same exact reason that I am wrapping yours now?” Her giggles had evolved into full on laugher.
“I had no idea you cut yourself because you were distracted by my sexy physique.”
After the laughter died down, Emma finished with his hand, making sure the self adhesive bandage was secure.
“It was your eyes.” Killian arched his eyebrow in curiosity. “I was distracted by your eyes. They were so mesmerizing, I didn’t want to take my eyes off them.” She looked into those very same eyes now, all amusement gone from them, replaced by something like determination.
“I love you, Emma,” he said as he reached up and brushed his thumb across her cheek. She sat down beside him on the edge of the tub and pulled him in for a kiss, tears threatening to fall. The kiss was sweet and unrushed and then she suddenly became aware of where they were and this time she giggled against his mouth, unable to contain it. Killian broke the kiss, letting his face fall to the crook of her neck on a groan.
“Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, love.”
“I know, I’m sorry, but you just told me you loved me for the first time in a bathroom and I couldn’t help myself.” He lifted his head at her explanation, but seemed to relax when he saw the wide grin across her face. “And that’s okay because I love you too.” Unlike their previous kiss, Killian slammed his lips into Emma’s so furiously she would have toppled into the tub if he hadn’t wrapped his arms around her. The lust that she had felt all day suddenly rushed through her once again and all she could think about was how much she wanted Killian to take her right now against the bathroom door. How was she going to survive dinner and digesting and desert? Maybe if they pretended Killian needed stitches they could sneak back to her place and have a quickie, but she knew a quickie wouldn’t be enough to stave her desire for this man. No, she needed to calm her libido and wait for tonight. She pulled away from his puffy red lips reluctantly. “Easy, Tiger, our hosts and kid are down the hall.” The change in his demeanor when she said “our” and “kid” in the same sentence made her heart melt. He looked hopeful and nervous like he feared she was going to take it back. She cupped his face reassuringly, gazes locked. “Hey, you heard what David said, you’re a part of this family.” A tear slipped down his cheek, wetting her hand.
“I love you so much, Emma. And I love Henry, as if he were my own flesh and blood.”
“Good.”
__________
By the time Killian and Emma exited the bathroom, Elsa, her sister Anna and her fiance Kristoff had arrived for dinner. Killian was so relieved to discover that none of his blood had tainted the turkey.
“I’d like to make a toast,” David announced. Everyone ceased their chatter and gave him their full attention. “First of all, I’d like to say that I am thankful for my family. It doesn’t matter if we share DNA,” he raised his glass to Leo, Leo raising his cider in return with a huge grin plastered on his face, “or if we’re bonded through marriage,” raising his glass to his wife, “or adoption,” tipping his glass toward Emma and Henry, “or friendship, both old,” he looked to Elsa, Anna and Kristoff, “and new.” David gave Killian a significant nod and Killian raised his glass.
“To family,” Killian choked out.
“To family,” everyone chimed in raising their glasses in unison.
Emma rested her forehead against Killian’s, and he knew in that instant that he wanted to marry her. If he was being honest he was pretty sure she was the one by the end of their first date.
*
Dinner had been a complete success. They continued to much on the delicious dishes that everyone had provided throughout the day while David and Kristoff explained American football to him.
“But why is it called football if you can use your hands?” he asked.
“Uh…er...because,” David stuttered. Kristoff just opened and closed his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. “They do use their feet… occasionally.”
Killian barked out a laugh and Dave and Kristoff joined in. Emma poked her head in to see what the commotion was all about.
__________
It was wonderful to see the boys bonding over the American tradition. She flashed a smile to her boyfriend which he eagerly returned before heading to the kitchen with the girls.
“So he really has no idea about tonight?” Mary Margaret inquired.
“What’s happening tonight?” Anna asked excitedly. Elsa also gave her a curious look, raising one eyebrow and folding her arms. Emma, on her part, gaped at them, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.
“Thanks a lot, Mary Margaret.” The brunette apologetically shrugged, but Emma knew there would be no deflecting. The sisters would never let that slide. “Henry is staying here tonight.” She didn’t need to elaborate after Anna squealed at the news. “And no, he doesn’t have a clue.”
“I bet you can’t wait to get out of here,” Elsa added with a huge grin.
“Yes and no. I’m dying to try Killian’s apple pie.”
“I bet he’s dying to try yours too,” Anna quipped and Emma was genuinely shocked that something that dirty could come from the lips of the epitome of innocence. Mary Margaret and Elsa burst into laughter. At that moment Killian entered the kitchen and she knew she was bright red.
“Hello, love,” he greeted with a kiss to her cheek. “It sounds like you’re having fun in here.”
“Oh, it’s a riot,” she replied sarcastically.
“Well, I just wanted a bit more of Elsa’s delicious dressing. Who knew crusty bread could taste so good.” Emma smiled at his enthusiasm. He was getting to try a lot of firsts today. First Thanksgiving, first turkey carving, first taste of dressing, and of course, first taste of her. “Do people really stuff it up the turkey’s…”
“Yep.” He made a face at that and proceeded to dish up a healthy second portion.
“Don’t fill up too much on that, Killian. There’s still a lot more to come,” Elsa said on a giggle. Killian looked at her, then to Emma then back to the giggling girls, his brows scrunched in suspicion, but shrugged it off and returned to the living room.
“Elsa!” Emma chastised.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”
__________
Emma sat beside him as desert was being dished out. Everyone made sounds of appreciation as they tasted his pie, but his eyes and ears were trained solely on her as she moaned obscenely.
“Oh, god, Killian, that is amazing.”
Images of Emma crying that out as she writhed under his mouth or rode his cock flooded his mind. It was so sexy that he briefly entertained the idea of dragging her back to that bathroom and having his wicked way with her. Shaking his head to clear the lusty fog, he took a bite of his own slice.
He loathed the moment the night came to an end and he would have to say goodbye to Emma and Henry and return to his loney home above the bookstore. Unfortunately, that time was drawing nearer as everyone cleared their plates.
Elsa, Anna and Kristoff bid farewell about an hour later, giving hugs and the girls once again sharing a laugh over some secret. For some reason, Kristoff and Dave didn’t look the least bit confused, although Dave did look a little apprehensive. Emma strode up to him after waving her friends off.
“I think it’s about time we head out as well, don’t you think?”
“Aye, love,” he sighed.
“Hey kid,” she called to Henry as Killian helped her shrug into her jacket. “Be good for your aunt and uncle.”
Killian whipped his head between Emma, Henry and the smiling couple opening the door for them then back to Emma who was smirking fiercely at him. Realization set in as Henry promised to be good and ran off with Leo calling out a goodbye to both of them.
“Have a good night!” Mary Margaret called as the two of them practically sprinted out the door after offering their gratitude. “You’re welcome!”
Killian was buzzing with anticipation during the short drive back to Emma’s.
_________
“Why didn’t you say anything, love?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said with a giggle.
“So that’s what you ladies were laughing about when I walked into the kitchen.”
“Yeah, Anna made this really dirty joke, it’s not important,” she assured with a blush.
“Oh, no Swan, I think it is very important that I be let in on this joke that apparently involves me.” Her breath hitched as he leaned over and nipped at her neck and ear. She felt overheated even in the cold car desire coiled in her belly causing her to rub her thighs together for some relief.
“She said,” Emma barely breathed out, “that you can’t wait to taste… my apple pie.” Emma nearly lost control of the car when he growled in response.
“I intend to taste every inch of your delectable body, Swan.”
Her panties were soaked by the time she pulled into her driveway. Killian was out the door and rounding the car to open hers before she even engaged the parking brake. As soon as she freed herself from the seatbelt he pulled her out of her seat and into the hard planes of his body. He captured her lips in a breath stealing kiss, desperate to begin tasting her. Their tongues tangled as their hands explored each other. He pressed her into the car and she could feel just how much he wanted her. She whimpered when he broke contact, but found herself being lead at breakneck speed to her front door. She fumbled with the keys as Killian pressed himself to her back, nuzzling and licking the spot right behind her ear that drove her crazy. Finally the door flew open and they stumbled through, Killian kicking it closed behind him. He pulled her back into his arms, assaulting her mouth, face and neck with his lips and tongue.
“This needs to come off, darling,” he muttered against her pulse point while fumbling with with the buttons of her blouse.
“Just rip it off,” she demanded. “I know how to sew.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice. Buttons flew as he tore them from the silky material. The blouse fell to the floor of her entryway as they frantically made their way through the house with clothes flying. She divested him of his sweater in the living room, her skirt falling to the floor at the base of the stairs. The sound of heavy breathing and occasional laughter of their shared impatience filled the house. They nearly tripped several times as they stumbled up the stairs, refusing to separate.
Emma moaned at the sensation of having Killian’s hands on her bare stomach and legs. She raked her hands through his exposed chest hair, loving the tickle of the course hairs. She still needed to rid him of his pesky jeans. How they managed to reach the top of the stairs without injury was beyond her. She popped the button on his pants and ripped them down his legs, not needing to ask him to step out. Suddenly she felt herself being swept off her feet, Killian carrying her bridal style to her bedroom. She smiled at his determined face, giggling as he tossed her on the bed.
__________
Killian gazed at his adorable and sexy girlfriend. He still had a hard time believing that this was his life. That Emma loved him, that her family cared for him, that Henry liked spending time with him. He had resigned himself to a life of loneliness after Liam’s death until Dave approached him outside the store asking if he needed help hanging the refurbished sign baring the shops name. He’ll be eternally indebted to his friends for bringing Emma into his life.
“Killian?” Her concerned voice brought him out of his reverie.
“Sorry, love, I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my life.”
She raised an eyebrow and licked her lips salaciously. “I know of another way you could get lucky.”
Killian groweld and threw himself onto her, careful not cause her any harm. Oh, he was going to get lucky several times before the night was over. She pulled him to her lips, moaning as she rolled her her hips into his throbbing cock.
“I need you,” she pleaded, biting his lower lip.
“There is something I have to do first.”
“You don’t need a condom. I’m clean and covered and I trust you,” she reasoned. Killian looked lovingly at the angel beneath him.
“While that is incredibly good to hear, that is not what I was talking about, my love” he said giving her what he hoped was a sexy smirk. She looked adorably confused as he proceeded to kiss down her delectable neck. “I simply,” he kissed the swell of her breasts, “cannot wait,” another kiss above her navel, “to taste,” a third kiss to the inside of her thigh, earning him a moan, “your apple pie,” a final kiss to her clothed center. He hooked his fingers in the band of her black lace panties and dragged them down her slender legs, reveling in the sound of her ragged breaths. He nudged her knees, encouraging her to open for him and she complied, giving him a delicious view of her glistening folds. “Already so wet for me, darling.”
“Oh, god,” she stuttered out.
“Indeed,” he said huskily before diving in. Her scent alone had him salivating, but the taste of her sweet arousal almost had him coming. He traced a circle around her clit before taking it into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue. He focused his efforts on finding her sensitive nub and used the tip of his tongue to work her up to a writhing mess.
“Yes, Killian, yes… so good!” she screamed as she grabbed ahold of his hair. He removed his right hand from her thigh to bring his fingers to her slick entrance, coating the tips in her essence before pushing two inside of her.
__________
Emma gasped at the welcome intrusion of his fingers. His tongue was so fucking talented and the dual sensations of being licked and fucked had her seeing stars. No man had ever put in enough effort to make her come this way, but she was well on her way. She tugged on his hair which elicited a groan from him and the vibrations had her quivering.
“Oh, fuck, I’m so close, please don’t stop!” Her words gave him reason to double his efforts, plunging his fingers into her so fast that she momentarily forgot how to breath. With the slightest brush of his teeth she was there, calling out his name in ecstasy as ripples of pleasure spread through her entire body. He brought her down gently, pulling his fingers from her and lapping up any extra juices.
“The best damn pie I have ever eaten,” he declared as he climbed up her heaving body.
“You bet your ass, it is and it wants you inside of it right now.” He dropped his head to her still covered breasts.
“Now this simply won't do,” he said against the valley between them, biting at the fabric.
“Then I guess we better do something it, shouldn’t we? Roll over.” He cocked his eyebrow and complied as she rolled with him to sit in his lap. She reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, slowly pulling the straps down one at a time, unable to resist teasing him. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip once she had thrown the offending material across the room. “I know you want to taste them too,” she started in her most seductive voice, “but you don’t get to until you’ve made me come again.”
“Challenge accepted, love. Don’t you think we ought to do something about these?” he asked nodding down his body to his boxers.
“Leave that to me,” she said as she slithered down his body, removing the last barrier between them. “Fuck,” she breathed at the sight of his thick length. She licked her lips and decided that her orgasm could wait a while longer. She had to taste his weeping cock. She leaned down and licked a stripe along the engorged vein ripping a guttural groan from his throat. Using her right hand to hold him up, she took him into her mouth, moaning at the taste of him.
“Bloody fuck!” he cried, gathering her hair in his fist. She hallowed her cheeks and slid her mouth up to the tip, using her tongue to lathe at the his most sensitive spot before taking him in again.
__________
Watching his dick disappear into Emma’s magical mouth over and over again as she worked him up, loving the feel of her tongue lapping at the underside of his tip, he was teetering on the edge of bliss much more quickly than he wanted to. He didn’t want her to stop. He wanted to shoot his seed down her throat, but the desire to make love to her was much stronger. He wanted to take her and there would be plenty of time for foreplay in their future because he intended to always be by her side. And he also really wanted to taste her perfect, pink nipples.
“Emma,” he rasped. She looked up at him, his cock still between her luscious lips, “let me make love to you, darling.” She released him with a wet pop and licked her lips. He gently flipped them over, settling in the cradle of her thighs.
“Killian?” She gazed at him with pure love, the picture of innocence. “After you make love to me and we’ve had a moment to recover, will you fuck me senseless?” It was his turn to gasp in surprise.
“My love, when I’m finished with you tonight it will be a fucking miracle if you can walk tomorrow,” he ground out. She spread her legs even wider to give him better access and guided his tip to her entrance. He sank easily into her warm, wet depths, groaning as her tight walls gripped him. He allowed her a moment to adjust to his girth, and to give him time to wrangle in his primal instinct to take her hard and fast. He was saving that for next time.
“Make love to me, Killian,” she urged. He pulled out almost all the way then plunged back in, a little quicker but still in control. “Oh, my god, you feel amazing.”
“The feeling is mutual, love.” He set a languid pace, making sure to slide in to the hilt with every thrust. He reached for her hands, entwining their fingers and gazed into her dark green, love and lust filled eyes. He picked up his pace as her moans and whimpers increased in volume.
“I love you, god, I love you so much,” she cried out. By now his hips were snapping into hers, making her gorgeous breasts bounce up towards her flushed neck.
“I love you too, Emma, more than anything in this world.” He could feel her walls begin to flutter, she was close, but not close enough. He was going to explode any second now so he let his control slip a bit more with a quicker pace and harder thrusts. He snaked his hand to where they were joined and flicked her clit with desperate speed and within seconds she cried out as her tight quim clenched around him, triggering his own explosive orgasm. He let his head fall into the crook of Emma’s neck, whispering her name on a prayer.
__________
Emma cuddled up to the man she loved as they both came down from their high. She placed her hand on his chest and drew nonsensical patterns into his damp chest hair. A thought occurred to her in the blissful aftermath of their lovemaking, but she was nervous to voice it.
“I can hear your mind reeling,” Killian said, kissing the top of her head. “Spit it out, Swan, you know you can tell me anything.” She knew it was useless to deny her inner thoughts to him, he could read her like an open book.
“I was just thinking… that your bed is really small and… well the whole apartment is really small and…”
“And…?” he inquired.
“And perhaps it wouldn’t be a terrible idea if you…” she met his hopeful gaze as she looked up and all pensivity melted away, “moved in with me, with us, that is if Henry is okay with it, which I’m sure he will be, he absolutely adores…” he cut her off with a life altering kiss and it really was because they were taking a huge leap in their still young relationship.
“I would love nothing more than to live with you and your boy… our boy,” he said on a choked sob, resting his forehead against hers. He captured her lips once more, this time morphing into a passionate, hot, wet kiss.
“I think now is as good as any to see how good you are at fucking, Mr. Jones,” she breathed out huskily, eyeing his erection. He eyed her like a predator would eye its prey.
“Get on your knees, love.” She eagerly flew to her hands and knees, presenting herself like a mate in heat. He rose to his knees as well, placing his hands on her hips and nudging his length against the crease of her ass. She dropped to her elbows and arched her back ready for the stretch she knew was coming. He positioned himself at her entrance and thrust in with no preamble. Hard and fast, just as she had craved. He didn’t wait as long this time for her to adjust before he was slamming into her at a punishing pace. “Gods above, Emma, your tight sheath just might be the end of me.”
“That would be, ah, a shame, oh god!” He was hitting her g-spot with every hard, desperate thrust. “I do believe I’m a… a… a… addicted to you, Killian… Jones.” He was fucking her so hard that speaking in fully formed sentences had become nearly impossible. “Yes, fucking hell, YES!” she screamed as he pulled her upright, her back against his chest, him still fucking her with abandon. She knew she was a goner when his finger found her clit and rubbed furiously in fast, tight circles. She came with a silent scream, all oxygen needed to be reserved for her barely functioning brain. He let her fall back to the bed as he continued to ravage her, his thrusts becoming erratic. By now she was practically laying on her stomach, her boneless body unable to hold itself up, and it felt amazing.
“One more, Emma. Come one more time for me, love,” he begged. She could feel her orgasm coming as he placed his hands on either side of her head and pummeled into her, his front slapping against her ass. Just the sound alone was enough to tear an earth shattering orgasm from her. She was far from quiet this time.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fucking, FUCK!” he roared into her shoulder as he shot his hot seed into her womb. His chest heaved against her back as they both attempted to calm their breathing. He eventually managed to flop to her side.
“You’re a bloody marvel, Emma Swan,” he managed to breath out. She scooted herself into his willing arms.
“I could say the same thing about you, Killian Jones.”
She fell into a restful sleep in his arms, dreaming of their future. A wedding, a baby, a bigger house, Killian officially adopting Henry all flitted through her mind and when she woke still encased in his loving embrace she smiled at the fact that their future was now.
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The One True King
Generally, it is assumed that the worst people are villains. This is false. The worst people are always heroes. Or rather, people who think they are heroes. At least with villains, you know where you stand, you expect villainy and diabolical plots. What you can’t predict on the other hand, is when someone will decide to be a hero, and heroes as a rule, are invariably stupid. The real ones almost never consider themselves heroic, they lean towards self-doubt and emotional confusion, which keeps conceit to an acceptable minimum and enables rational thought.
There were three things Artemisia truly hated in this world: mosquitos, her name and heroes. The problem with heroes, was they were always getting in the way and making life more difficult for everyone else. They were a plague, with an uncanny talent for showing up at precisely the wrong moment, with their shiny swords and their even shinier optimism. They were always getting killed as well. Come to think of it, that was probably why there was so many of them – they always needed replacing.
Art was not a hero. There was nothing remotely heroic about her. She grew up on the streets, clawing her way through life in one long, desperate fight for survival. By the time she was eight, she had acquired two very important things, a healthy suspicion of every person she ever met and a reputation for fighting dirty. When you’re a moderately small girl with nobody to protect you, you either learn that kind of thing very quickly, or you end up dead in a gutter.
Liam had found her when she was thirteen. It had taken her a year to trust him, and another year to teach him how use a knife properly. Liam was almost a hero. He even looked the part, over six feet of lean muscle, with a head of golden hair and a maiden’s dream of a face. He fought like he was dancing, all long-limbed elegance. Art fought like an alley cat with one eye.
Charlie was the third member of their association, and the only other man Art trusted. He was a thief by profession. It would have been comical how ineffective he was at thievery, if it hadn’t been so dangerous. A bad thief is a dead thief, and such would have been Charlie’s fate if they hadn’t rescued him from a poorly guarded cell in a town so small it didn’t have a name. Now, he was a mostly reformed thief and a more than passable sword-for-hire.
The sword was patient. It waited for the one true king to stretch out their hand and bring it forth from its stony prison. Men had come: the curious, the hopeful and the desperate. The strongest, the bravest and the wisest had tried, but in turn each had failed and returned home empty-handed.
He stood out from the crowd immediately, this handsome, golden-haired man who carried himself like a warrior. He stepped forwards and the clouds seemed to part above him. A beam of sunlight spilled forth to bathe him in its amber glow. A hush fell over the crowd and the silence had a heavy air to it, hung chill with anticipation. The man stretched out his hand, wrapped his fingers around the hilt, and pulled.
Nothing happened.
The crowd groaned. A small boy began to cry. The sword waited.
The man didn’t look disappointed as he stepped away with a chuckle. Perhaps, people in the crowd thought, he was not quite so handsome as he first appeared, and his hair was only really yellow, not golden at all.
‘You have to do it, Art,’ Charlie insisted.
Art snorted, ‘what’s the point,’ she said, gesturing to the golden god. ‘If Liam can’t pry the thing loose, what chance do I have? Let’s just go. I’ll buy you a pie.’
Charlie’s resolve was not to be shaken, even by the promise of baked goods. ‘You are missing the point entirely,’ he said, ‘it isn’t actually about pulling the sword out, nobody will. If it was possible, some prince would have pulled it out by now. No, it’s about the experience, being part of a living legend. Besides, we’re holding up the line and I’m not leaving until you try it.’
One of Charlie’s chief faults, in Art’s eyes anyway, was his unshakably romantic nature.
‘Liiiiaaaaaam,’ she said, ‘tell Charlie to leave me alone.’
Liam raised his hands in a don’t-look-at-me-gesture, ‘I’m flattered you think Charlie would actually listen to a word I said, but I’m afraid you’re on your own with this one Art.’
Art glared at them both. It had been a long day. A long week really. Her left knee throbbed dully. An escaping bandit had managed to trip her during their last job, and it was still troubling her a week later. Right now, there was nothing she wanted more than to collapse into a warm bed with a hot meal in her belly, and stay there until their money ran out and they had to sign onto another wagon train. But, she could also see that Charlie had no intention of letting it go. Once he fixed his mind on something, it was difficult to sway him. She thought about hitting him on the back of the head and dragging him away by the ankles, but then Liam would give her that disapproving look of his. She decided it would be less painful for everyone involved if she just let him have his way. Again.
‘Fine, I’ll give the damned thing a tug. Then, we leave,’ she sighed, rolling her eyes. Charlie grinned. ‘Should have left you in prison,’ Art muttered. She didn’t mean it.
The sword didn’t look particularly spectacular close up. It was just an ordinary sword, well-made by the looks of it, but not special. The only remarkable thing was the fact it was embedded in an enormous chunk of granite.
Art closed her fingers around the hilt and gave a half-hearted pull.
With a schlick, the sword slid smoothly upwards out of the craggy mound in which it had waited for centuries. Waiting, as it turned out, for Art.
Art looked at it stupidly, not entirely sure what had just happened. She could feel something strange, thrumming deep within her bones, coursing through her body like a rolling wave.
She dropped the sword as if it were on fire. It clattered against the flagstones and lay still, gleaming in the noonday sun.
‘Hells bells Art,’ Charlie blurted out, ‘how did you do that?’
The crowd was silent again, but the silence was disbelieving and incredulous rather than awestruck. ‘Look here,’ a red-faced man said at last, ‘you can’t just do that.’
‘Yeah,’ another man piped in, ‘the big fellow must have loosened it up for you.’
‘That isn’t true,’ Liam said dryly, ‘it was stuck and stuck properly. Even if Art didn’t really pull it out on her own, she had no help from me.’
‘Women can’t just go around pulling things out of stones,’ another man said, ‘it might give them ideas.’
Charlie laid a warning hand on her shoulder, ‘Art…’ he said.
Art wasn’t listening.
‘Fine,’ she said sweetly. Charlie took a hasty step backwards, removing himself from the potential line of fire. ‘Fine, if that’s what you think happened, why don’t you come up here and have a go for yourself.’ She picked up the sword and ignoring the gasps of horror, stabbed it straight back into the rock.
‘Go on then,’ she said, ‘show me how a man does it.’
The red-faced man was the first to try, pushing his way past the others in his eagerness. He grabbed the hilt and pulled with all his might. The sword did not budge. He pulled harder, growing even redder in the face. The crowd grew impatient and he was shoved brusquely aside by a wave of hopefuls. What followed was nearly an hour of grunting and swearing, as man after man tried and immediately failed to remove the sword. Art watched it all, arms crossed, stony-faced. Waiting.
Eventually, every man had tried their hand to no avail.
‘Now,’ Art said calmly, ‘has everyone had a turn? Good.’
Unceremoniously, not even stopping to consider if it was going to work or not, she walked up to the sword and pulled it right out of the stone with one hand, as easily if it were embedded in butter rather than a really big stone. ‘Oh my,’ she said, ‘what a big sword, whatever will I do with it.’
It was at this point that the other mob showed up, primarily consisting of all the people who had better things to do than stand around looking at an old sword stuck in an even older rock. There had been a few women in the crowd, mainly selling over-priced food to the crowd of would-be heroes, and they had scattered when it happened, spreading the word. They told their mothers and sisters, who told their friends, who had told their husbands and sons and brothers. And now they descended, a horde of them, hands coated in flour, still holding tools.
They saw Art, they saw the sword and then the crowd exploded with noise. They pressed forwards, shoving men aside, hands outstretched. She was hoisted up onto shoulders and swept away, a piece of flotsam on a rolling wave.
‘Long live the King,’ they were chanting. Fingers reached out to grasp at her as she passed, as if she were some kind of good-luck charm. Art gave one last desperate look back at Liam and Charlie, ‘help me,’ she mouthed. Liam shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘what can I do,’ Art had no choice but to let it happen.
The failed heroes looked at each other in shock, shared commiserating looks and for the most part, dispersed. Despite the evidence of their own eyes and hands, most of them would go to their graves claiming the whole thing had been a sham, and that if only one of them had had a real chance, a decent chance, a proper chance then maybe, just maybe, the Real King would have taken up his rightful place. In their minds, the Real King was always themselves. But, they were a minority, and no-one every paid much attention to them, mainly because the kind of people who go around claiming they are heroes are generally insufferable. The real heroes never think they are heroes and therefore avoid the unpleasant reputation for conceited self-importance.
Art lost sight of Liam and Charlie in the throng. She clung to the sword, trying to avoid stabbing an innocent bystander, as she was more or less tossed from hand to hand. Despite the rough treatment, she felt fantastic. Better than she had felt in years actually. All the aches and pains seemed to have disappeared and she felt gloriously alive, unstoppable, like she could fight the river and win. This made Art deeply suspicious. It all smacked of the mystical and Art held no truck with magical happenings, they got in the way and they caused trouble. Had there not been a crowd of men trying to tell her what to do, she would have stuck the sword back in the stone and left it there.
If there was one thing Art knew for certain, it was that she did not want to be a king and she was nobody’s hero.
The king was at table when the messenger arrived. He burst into the room, all aglow with sweat. He stumbled over the threshold, righting himself just before disaster and fell to his knees before the king, panting with exertion.
‘What is it?’ the king demanded, throwing down his half-eaten chicken leg. ‘How many times do I have to tell people not to interrupt me while I am eating! It’s bad for the digestion.’
The messenger looked at him nervously. The king was known, depending on his temper, to have staff executed on whim. He claimed it kept them all on their toes.
‘Spit it out man,’ the king snapped, slamming his bejewelled hand down hard on the table.
The messenger winced, ‘Your Grace,’ he stuttered out, ‘t-there’s a disturbance in the city.’
‘Well, tell the Captain of the Guard, and have him send some men out to root out the rabble-rousers,’ the king said irritably, ‘and have it spread about that the next person to trouble me with such trivial matters will lose their tongue.’
‘Someone has gone and pulled the bloody sword out of the bleedin stone,’ the messenger said, with perhaps a stray note of triumph in his voice. ‘Pulled it right out, and there’s a parade and all. They’re headed this way, proclaiming the sword-bearer the One True King.’
The king threw down his goblet and swore with the verbal dexterity of a dock-hand. ‘Where is the man,’ he roared, ‘I’ll see him hung on a gibbet before I see my throne usurped.’
Despite the danger to his continued survival, the man grinned ‘it isn’t a man. It’s a girl.’
The king’s expression turned calculating. ‘Well, well,’ he said, this I can work with.’
Art was already annoyed well before the king’s guards swooped in and snatched her. As they marched her towards the castle, not touching her, but surrounding her like a human cage. She sized them up; they had too much armour and she suspected they were better at looking intimidating than they were at actual fighting. Usually, she would have broken a few noses, kicked someone in the privates, shattered a knee-cap or two and booked it. But, with so many people around, she was worried it would turn into a full-blown riot, so like the crowd, she just went with them.
They never tried to take the sword from her. Art considered this to be their biggest mistake. If they were going to let armed strangers into their castles, they might as well hang a big banner on the wall saying ‘please come and kill us all.’ Anyone who really knew what they were doing would have taken one look at Art and pegged her for a fighter and an experienced one at that and immediately disarmed her.
They escorted her down a hall so long it seemed to stretch forever. Art had never been inside a place this big, and it made her skin crawl. The ceiling was so high above it might as well have been the sky. She didn’t see the point of what was essentially a house being this large, there were too many nooks and crannies for people to hide in. People stared at her as she walked past. She thought it was a good thing Charlie wasn’t here, with all the jewels practically dripping off these people, he probably wouldn’t have been able to help himself.
Eventually they came to a halt in front of a door which was still large by any estimation, but smaller than the rest of its surroundings. One of the guards knocked three times, Rap-tap-tap. ‘Enter,’ a voice called out. It sounded slick and oily, like an eel, or Charlie’s hair before they got sick of it and stuck his head in the river.
The guard opened the door and pushed Art in, he followed, shutting the door behind him.
Art didn’t think the king made a very impressive figure. He was on the short side, with a sallow complexion and a very small goatee. The sword hanging at his side had more jewels on it than a merchant ship. She looked at it with a critical eye: unbalanced, too much gold and oh dear, not an inlaid handle. If you tried to wield the jolly thing, all those pointy bits and jewels would cut your hand to ribbons before your opponent had time to stop laughing at you for having such a stupid sword.
‘Ahhhhh,’ he said, smiling gruesomely. His mouth was like two little greyish worms. ‘So kind of you to join me, Lady….’
‘It’s Art,’ Art said, ‘and I didn’t join you, you had me brought here, by a lot of men with swords.’
‘Speaking of swords,’ he said, apparently delighted to have been given such a convenient introduction to the subject at hand, ‘I see you have one of your own.’ He pointed at the sword Art was still gripping. ‘I’m afraid that it, and you, have caused me rather a lot of trouble. You see, that particular sword has a charming little legend attached to it. He, ahem, I do apologise, he or she, who pulls sword from stone, King shall be.’
The king walked over to a low table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He didn’t offer any to Art. ‘But you see, there is already a king. Me.’ He took a sip and stared at her calculatingly. ‘Whatever am I to do about this little dilemma?’
‘I’m not planning on sticking around, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ Art said, ‘so you could just let me walk out of that door.’
‘I don’t think so,’ the king said, ‘I have a much better idea. You will marry me, and I will, of course, hold the sword on your behalf. It will pass down to our first born son, and there will be no question that through my line runs the blood of the One True King. It’s a pity you’re so scrawny and uncomely, but I suppose that can hardly be helped. ’ He gave her that thin-lipped smirk again, ‘don’t worry my dear, you will be quite comfortable. You shall have plenty of lovely things to amuse yourself with. New gowns of course,’ he thought for a minute, ‘and a little dog I think.’
‘I’m not marrying you,’ Art said bluntly, ‘I’m not marrying anyone. I don’t want your kingdom, or your throne. I’ll just take my sword and my friends and go, and you can go on being king for as long as you like.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,’ the king said, steepling his fingers together, ‘the common man is typically a dull animal, but incited by this kind of low superstition, he becomes unpleasantly single-minded.’
‘Fine,’ Art said, ‘keep the sword then.’
The king signed, ‘silly girl, were it that simple. You see, it isn’t enough to possess the sword. It’s the pulling it out of the stone part which matters.’
‘I’ve had just about enough of men calling me girl for one day,’ Art said, a dangerous note had entered into her voice. At this point, Liam would have been getting ready to drag her bodily away and Charlie would have been waiting until she was finished to check what was left for valuables if Liam wasn’t fast enough. The king was not as perceptive.
‘I did wonder if you might be difficult,’ he said, ‘the common-folk so often are. So I took the liberty of acquiring a, shall we say… incentive, for your cooperation.’ He snapped his fingers and the guard walked over to the door. Liam and Charlie were shoved in.
‘Art,’ Liam said, on the surface looked perfectly unconcerned, but Art could see he was internally cataloguing the number of men, the availability of weapons and the number of possible escape routes.’
‘I only got one guard,’ Art said, ‘how come you got five.’
‘Three of them are for Liam and two for me,’ Charlie said, ‘they seemed to think we might put up a fight. Good thing I never do any kind of violence for free.’
‘Well, it just isn’t fair,’ Art said, ‘I’m the one who pulled the magic sword out of the magic stone, I think I deserve at least as many guards as you, Charlie.’ She waved the sword, ‘and they didn’t event take my magic sword.’
Charlie shook his head, ‘slack,’ he said, ‘irresponsible. Simply tragic. Can’t even take people prisoner right these days, what is the world coming to.’
‘Silence,’ the king roared, ‘you will do exactly as I say, or I will have bits chopped of your friends until you do as you are commanded.’ His voice softened, ‘now,’ he said, holding out his hands, ‘be a good girl and give me the sword.’
Charlie sucked in a breath and muttered in a voice which was both horrified and filled with glee, ‘ohnohe’sgoingtogetitnow’. Liam shook his head, ‘oh dear,’ he said.
Art smiled widely, showing all her teeth. She stepped forward and placed the sword very carefully in his outstretched hands. His eyes lit up with triumph. As he took it, Art pulled something from her sleeve.
Later on, a lot of people, mainly the would-be-heroes, agreed it wasn’t a very heroic thing to do. Heroes were supposed to challenge kings to a fight for their crown in the public square where everyone could see, they didn’t wait until the king’s hands were full and then slip a dagger up under their ribs in a secluded council chamber.
Art returned her knife to the arm-sheath and bent down to pick up the crown. ‘I’m guessing,’ she said the room in general, ‘that the king probably had quite a few enemies,’ the guards looked at each other in confusion, unsure of what to do. Art continued, ‘probably, there are people right here at court who would just love to get their hands on this crown,’ she paused to make sure it had all sunk in, ‘and I’d be willing to wager that those people would probably give the person who brought them the crown a substantial financial reward. They might even be so happy, they’ll overlook the fact that not a single person in this roomed bothered to check me for obvious weapons.’ She pulled her arm back and tossed the crown towards the other side of the room. It bounced off the wall and hit the ground with a thunk. The guards looked at her, looked at each other, and then as one rushed for the crown.
On the way out Charlie stole the still gurgling king’s sword. He just couldn’t help himself.
‘I hope you’re not planning on actually using that,’ Art said.
‘Probably worth quite a bit,’ Liam said, ‘maybe even a king’s ransom.’
‘Shut up,’ Art said, but she was smiling properly this time.
Art kept the sword, and it served her well, but she never went back. In fact, for the rest of her life she made a point of avoiding the entire district. If there were four things Art hated in this world, they were mosquitos, her full name, heroes and the idea that people might try to make her rule them.
Despite her best efforts to sink into anonymity, the legends continued long after her death. They even erected a disgustingly ostentatious statute of her pulling the sword out of the stone in the middle of the town. She was the chosen one, they said, the child of prophecy. She was beautiful and gracious, and of noble blood of course. She had freed them from the rule of a tyrannical king (never mind that the next one had been just as bad). And one day, at the hour of greatest need, Artemisia the One True King would return, sword raised high, a battle cry on her lips, to save them all.
But, Art was nobody’s hero.
#original ficiton#King Arthur#king arthur retelling#fantasy#female main character#my writing#writeblr#writing#fiction#short story#stuff i wrote
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Nougat and Pie
Characters: Dean, Sam, Jack, Reader
Pairing: No pairing
Warnings: maybe crappy title, fight, possible spoilers if you hadn’t started season 13 yet
Words: 1858
A/N: I’m really enjoying season 13 and I felt like writing something with Jack. Hope you guys like it!
Nougat and Pie
Jack's arrival was life-changing. Sam and you started to grow fond of the kid, and how couldn’t you? His mother was dead, his father was Lucifer and Castiel, who he considered his father, was dead, too. You could totally understand he was scared about the world, how it wasn’t his intention to hurt people, he just didn’t know how to handle his powers and that freaked him out. But the one who was difficult to convince Jack didn’t seem to be bad, is Dean.
Dean is totally sure Jack is evil, and maybe he isn’t now, but he will switch in any moment and will kill us all. Although, you could understand Dean too. It’s worrying that nothing can hurt Jack, and the fact he is the son of an archangel. He had lost his mom again, by Mary getting trapped in an alternate version of the world we know, an apocalyptic universe, with no one but Lucifer himself, because of a breach Jack opened. He had lost his best friend right in front of our eyes, without any chance to put up a fight. Even Crowley, who was a little bit annoying sometimes and this wouldn’t have happened if he had put Lucifer back in the cage like it was the original plan, but anyway, he was helpful and he sacrificed himself to help us.
At this moment, Jack was alone sitting in the library, concentrated on going through the pages of a book, looking at the pictures in it. You were looking at him, leaning against the frame of the hallway door. You could hear Sam and Dean’s muffled arguing from where you were standing. You rolled your eyes and with a sigh, turned around and went to check on the two fighting baboons.
“I’m telling you, Sam,” Dean growled, “I don’t like any of this.”
Sam had his bitch face on.
“What’s wrong?” you asked getting into the room.
“This whole situation about that monster,” Dean pointed.
“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, “You said that like a thousand times since he was born. And he is not a monster.” you corrected.
“Yeah, Dean,” Sam agreed, “I think he is good. He’s just… scared.”
“About what?” Dean asked.
“About a lot of things, Dean,” Sam began, “The night we met him you tried to shoot him.”
“And he defended himself,” you added.
“Yeah, and the next time, angels tried to kill him, and they blocked his brain with the radio angel.”
“He is Lucifer’s son, guys,” Dean reiterated, “We don’t know what he is capable of.”
“No, we don’t,” you shook your head, “But Cas believed in Jack for a reason. Maybe we just… Maybe we could trust in him, at least a little,” you shrugged.
“He probably washed Cas’s brain,” Dean retorted.
“Dean…” Sam sighed.
“You know what?” you sneered, “I don’t want to fight over this. I really do think you should give him a chance. Look, Dean, I totally understand you, I agree we should be a little cautious about the whole Nephilim situation, but we should try to do our best and show him he could trust us, he has to see it is good and learn from the good instead of the bad. That way he’ll have a say when it comes to the side to choose where he lies…” you shook your head sighing, “I hope what I said made more sense than I think it did.”
You left the room and walked down the hallway. When you got into the library you found Jack in the same position he was before. You sighed and walked and took a seat next to him.
“Hey Jack,” you greeted.
He lifted his gaze and looked at you.
“Hello, Y/N.”
“What are you reading?”
“It’s about myths about South America,” he answered, looking back at the book.
“Those are really interesting,” you tried to make a conversation, without success because he didn’t answer.
You made a pout and looked around you, looking for something to talk about. Nothing came, so you got up and went to the kitchen. You opened the fridge and noticed you had no milk. And that’s when the light bulb turned on. You jogged back to the library.
“Hey, Jack, want to go to the grocery store with me?” you asked cheerfully.
He looked at you again.
“What are we getting?” he asked.
“Well, we are out of milk and other stuff, so we could go and get some supplies.”
He nodded.
“So, want to go with me?” you smiled.
“Are Sam and Dean coming too?”
“No, just you and me.”
“Oh, okay,” he smiled and got up.
“Wait here, I’ll let the boys know we’re leaving,” you explained.
You went to check their rooms to let them know you were going to the grocery store with Jack. Dean was laying on his bed with closed eyes, apparently sleeping so you didn’t bother him. You went to Sam’s room and same thing. You grabbed your phone and text him to let him know you were leaving with Jack. You grabbed your car keys and went to get Jack to leave.
“You’re kinda not supposed to leave the bunker, but a little air won’t hurt,” you told him.
“Because of the angels that are trying to kill me,” he nodded.
“Uh, yeah,” you let out an uncomfortable chuckle.
The rest of the way was quiet. You turned the radio on and left it a station that played classic rock, and Jack seemed to like it. You parked the car at the lot and both of you walked to get a cart. You walked down the aisles to get all the stuff you needed, cleaning supplies, milk, coffee, some pasta, vegetables, meat, lots of toilet paper, napkins, couple six-packs of beer, soda, orange juice, cheese, jam, peanut butter, and last but not least, ingredients to bake pie, otherwise Dean would get mad. ‘Holy crap, we had nothing at home’ you thought, looking at everything.
“I think we got the basics,” you smiled at Jack, “Do you want to get something?”
He thought about it for a little, “Nougat,” he smirked.
“Nougat?” you asked raising your eyebrows.
He nodded.
“Okay, let’s go get some candy,” you told him, strolling down to the candy aisle.
You picked some gummy bears, popcorn, and chocolate and threw it in the cart. Jack came and threw lots of nougat bars to the cart.
“So, you really like nougat don’t you?” you smiled at him.
“I really like it,” he smiled back at you, making you giggle.
“Would you like to make some home-made nougat?”
“We can do it at home?” he asked, his eyes shining with curiosity.
“Yep, I can look for the recipe online now and we can get the ingredients, and I was going to bake some pie, so,” you shrugged.
“I’d love to,” he nodded.
“Let’s go,” you motioned with your hand.
You checked on your phone for the ingredients and grabbed everything you needed. You paid and grabbed the bags and walked to the car when you closed the trunk a strong gust of wind hit you both.
“It’s going to rain,” Jack pointed out, looking at the sky.
“Yes, I can smell it,” you smirked.
“You can smell rain?” Jack asked, “Is that some sort of power?”
You snorted. “No, I mean, I grew up here in the south in a very dry area, and every time it was going to rain before it happened the wind burst, and with it came a particular smell of wet dirt. So, when I feel it, I know it’s going to rain.”
He looked at you in awe.
“Wow,” he said.
“Maybe to you it sounds silly but-”
“No,” he shook his head, “it’s interesting, I kinda feel it too.”
“It’s wonderful isn’t it?” you smiled, “I love rain, but let’s get in the car and get to the bunker before it pours down on us.”
You arrived at the bunker and parked the car, took the cars out and Jack helped you to carry the bags. You put everything away and let the ingredients for the pie and the nougat out.
“‘Kay, Jack, let’s make some nougat, shall we?”
He nodded smiling. You checked the recipe and both of you started to prepare everything. Both of you were in comfortable silence, just talking about what to do next. Making the syrup, toasting the almonds, making the egg whites. Mixing altogether. Put it on a baking tray and let it sit and cool down. In the mid time you decided to bake an apple pie for Dean, he helped you to do it too.
“Where did you learn to cook?” he asked.
“By myself,” you told him, “My mom wasn’t a fan of cooking, so when I ended up alone I learned by trying recipes from cooking books and recipes that I find online. I experiment and I suppose I’m lucky enough they turn out well.”
He nodded.
“Once the nougat is ready, and we eat dinner you can tell me what you think about my cooking,” you nudged him.
Sam and Dean got up and they followed the smell of something sweet directly to the kitchen.
“Y/N/N, are you baking pie?” Dean asked with a smile.
“Yep,” you smiled turning around, “Apple pie.”
“Awesome,” he clapped and rubbed his hands together.
“What’s this?” Sam asked pointing at the tray.
“We made nougat,” Jack answered him smiling.
“Can we try it?” Sam pleaded.
You shrugged and checked if it was hard enough to cut it.
“I think so, let’s cut it,” you said, searching for a knife.
You cut it and distributed a piece to the boys in the room and then grabbed one for you. You were a little bit scared about it now being tasty enough, and that the boys wouldn’t like it, or Jack would hate it. You were looking intensely at them, Sam was chewing and frowning, Jack too, and when you looked at Dean he moaned.
“This… Is… Good, oh my God, is awesome,” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, it’s really good,” Sam agreed, smiling.
You looked at Jack, waiting for his verdict.
“Your nougat is the best I’ve ever had,” he said.
“Thank you, guys,” you laughed, “And it’s our nougat Jack, we made it together.”
He smiled at you and kept eating his piece.
“I’ll make dinner, sweetheart,” Dean offered, “You made nougat, pie…”
“Jack helped me do both,” you pointed out.
“Well, Jack, I hope the pie is as tasty as the nougat.”
You smiled. You don’t expect Dean to accept Jack right away. He’ll gain Dean’s trust the moment he considered that Jack deserved it. But for now, you were enjoying the small moments of peace you were having with your little family.
Feedback is very appreciated!
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#dean winchester#sam winchester#jack#jack kline#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x y/n#dean x you#dean x y/n#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester one shot#dean winchester smut#dean winchester fluff#dean one shot#dean fluff#dean smut#dean fanfiction#dean fanfic#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchester x y/n#sam winchester one shot#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester smut#sam x reader#sam x you#sam x y/n#sam fluff
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Food Wars in Wrigglesbrook
First they took our longhauls. Then they came for the short hops. But even in the slapped backside that has been 2020, they will never take our inalienable right to go somewhere, eat something and smugly share the ‘gram.
So while Vietnam in May and Galway in July are memories we are yet to make, booking a 19th century Romany caravan on the Welsh borders in September became the one we did.
In a normal year we wouldn’t have noticed you could stay in a Romany caravan near Wales or anywhere else for that matter, but once you start googling you can find all sorts of ways to spend your refunds from BA: sleep with horses in Yorkshire - £250 a night for an aluminium frame bunk bed, the smell of manure and night terrors from Red Rum licking your face; or a yurt in Somerset - I’ve seen too many disgruntled Four in a Bed contestants to think this is a good idea. But the idea of cosying up in an olde worlde caravan next to an open fire and a babbling brook? You have my attention.
The open fire and cooking pot were especially attractive as we weren’t expecting to have any memorable dining out experiences. For one thing, you never knew when the next lockdown was coming, so that Rule of Six could very quickly become a takeaway pasty on the A414; and on the other, we had yet to have a pub grub meal anywhere in the UK that gave us that irresistible string of emoji drools. We expected ‘ok’ but not OMG - so we started planning a trip for the local farm shop once we arrived and felt more Chevy Chase than the opening of National Lampoon’s vacation.
Then we did arrive, ravenous, and resumed our Trip Advisor habit with a vengeance.
At this point I should mention that this is a true story but names have been changed to protect the innocent.
We knew that there was a pub within walking distance, but here’s the thing about Trip Advisor: you have to read between the lines. Too many effusive yet vague 5 stars and you start to suspect critical faculties are low; people complaining about a mardy waiter but grudgingly acknowledging the silky gnocchi may be worth closer inspection. Measured against these criteria we were intrigued by the reviews for our local. It seemed like the food really was delicious (the degree of description, particularly of the game pie, was forensic), but that we may have a Basil and Sybil Fawlty on our hands. People talked of fights breaking out - between Basil and Sybil, Basil and customers, Sybil and customers - just name your combination. 2 star reviews were routinely met with a response that could cut you off at the knees with its sarcasm. Our dinner was decided.
It felt easy at first. Seated away from other punters and not so near the open door as to catch a cold rather than Covid, and were served our drinks on the double. And then things got ‘interesting’. 20 or so minutes in I politely enquired if we could order. Sybil, hair bun askew, frostily told us she was run off her feet and would deal with us when ready. We looked around - there were three covers in the restaurant and a further 3 outside. Still, we were on holiday so we took a deep breath and carried on drinking.
Shortly after Basil himself bowled up, pad and pen in hand. ‘ Do you have the game pie tonight?’ Adam asked. With a face that said ‘thanks for reminding me (sarcastic version)’ Basil launched into the sorry tale of his put-upon weekend, churning out over 100 of them. ‘ Not enough pigeons so I had to have words with our supplier, but that’s Brexit for you (eye roll).’
We ordered game pie and when it arrived it was sensational. I had rarely eaten a pie with such depth of flavour and warm, autumnal embrace. When Basil came to take our plates, I asked him what was in it to give it such complexity. “ A secret!’ he snapped. “Just one ingredient then’ I coaxed. I tried to pull off a boozy conspiratorial smile, but just looked like I was having a stroke. He drew a deep breath: “ Teal, pigeon, venison, partridge, wild boar. That’s all I’ll say”. I took a mental note.
A few minutes later he slammed a glass of something in front of me. I jumped as he said: ’ Tell me what that is then. Go on! I’ll tell you something - it’s’ not cooking sherry!”
I took a sip. “ Madeira?”
His mood changed slightly. “Exactly so. No one else round here uses madeira, just cheap supermarket alcohol. And now..” he said with a grand sweep of his hand as Sybil approached muleishly to take our dessert order: ‘ My darling wife will tell you what we have for afters’.
“ What’s the dessert of the day?.”
“ I’d have to check” said Sybil. The frost wasn’t thawing.
“ Why don’t you know? ‘ Basil demanded . ‘ There’s going to be words about this tomorrow”
‘Who says I’ll come in tomorrow?’ she snarled.
‘I don’t care if you come in tomorrow!’
‘I’ll have the rhubarb crumble!’ I interjected quickly.
Sybil was an inch away from ‘You know where you can stick your rhubarb crumble!’ so I felt I was doing my bit for the war effort. That and I did really want some rhubarb crumble and sod dessert of the day. But Sybil was aggressively set on checking it out and turned on her heel with consummate dramatic timing. She returned. It was sticky toffee pudding. “No thanks” from Adam at this stage would have been churlish.
With no knife left on our table with which to cut a slice of atmosphere, but satisfied that I now had most of the ingredients for Basil’s secret game pie, we tucked into our puddings. They were both molten and packed with flavour. Maybe what we had witnessed was not a slanging match but their creative process.
The next morning our host at the Caravan B&B served up the best English breakfast, with a demeanour more Biden than the Trumps of the previous evening. Homemade toasted bread, local black pudding and slabs of bacon with crispy fat - he and his wife clearly knew about food.
We decided to take one of his recommendations and try the next nearest pub that evening - a short drive away with equally complimentary reviews about the food but no apparent turf war between the owners. Here we dined on roast pork belly with crispy pig cheeks, a steak and ale pie (flaky delicious pastry, but without the sucker punch hit of Basil’s Game), and wondered why this part of the country had such a concentration of good pub food. And then we dined out at a third pub on our last night and our run of good luck came to an end. Partly my fault for ordering a curry because I have never yet had a good curry in a pub, but not my fault that the apple crumble had no sugar in it whatsoever.
Anyway, here we are back at home, it’s December, the cold has set in and the first vaccines are coming over the horizon. So you might like to try my take on Basil’s Game Pie for the ultimate winter warmer, followed by my Torta di Ricotta flavoured with the sweetest Miyagawa tangerines of the season - Dessert of the Day in my fantasy restaurant. Start your dinner with the quickest and yummiest dressed Burrata (not so much a recipe as an assembly, learnt from Jock Zonfrillo on this year’s Australian Masterchef) and I promise you will find no reason to argue with anyone.
Just don’t mention the war.
Game and Marsala Pie with Potato Pastry
I have used a mix of venison, partridge and pheasant here, but take your pick from whatever is in season - proportion one animal to two birds (so wild boar could supplement venison for example). I found that Marsala gives that same depth of flavour as madeira and is cheaper. You can make either normal shortcrust, or my delicious (if super short and un-photogenic) potato pastry. Serves 4-6.
Ingredients
For the game filling:
3 tbsps extra virgin olive oil
250g piece of pancetta, diced
1 large onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, grated
1 large carrot, chopped
500g venison, cubed
250 ml game stock (made with pheasant carcass) or beef stock
Meat from 2 x pheasants, cubed
6 partridge breasts, cubed
250 ml marsala
250g chopped chestnut mushrooms
Tablespoon redcurrant jelly
Handful of fresh rosemary, chopped
Handful of chopped fresh thyme
1 tsp salt
6 juniper berries
For the potato pastry:
175g self-raising flour
125g unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
175g cold mashed potato
1 egg, beaten.
How to Make
Heat 2 tbsp. of the olive oil in a casserole add the pancetta and fry until golden brown. Add the chopped onions, and stir to coat in the oil and pancetta fat. Continue for a couple of minutes until the onions soften, then add the garlic and the chopped carrot and continue to stir. Add the venison and continue to saute until brown, then add the game stock, marsala, herbs and juniper berries, along with the salt and a grind of black pepper. Cover and simmer for 45 minutes.
While the venison is simmering, add the remaining tbsp olive oil to a frying pan. When hot, add the diced pheasant and partridge followed by the mushrooms. Saute for about 5 minutes until the edges of the game are brown and slightly caramelised.
After 45 minutes, add the game birds and mushrooms to the venison, and stir in the redcurrant jelly. Cover again and continue to cook for a further 15 minutes. Take off the heat and cool.
To make the pastry, rub the cold, cubed butter into the flour in a large bowl until it resembles breadcrumbs, then add the mashed potato to bind it all together. Roll into a ball then flatten slightly, wrap in clingfilm and chill for 30 minutes.
Heat the oven to 200C. Put the game filling into a large, deep pie dish. Roll out the pastry carefully between two sheets of greasproof paper (this pastry is very crumbly and won’t behave as well as shortcrust). Lift carefully and place on top of the pie dish to form a crust, and patch ad pinch where the pastry tears. Trim any overhang and pinch the edges to seal (you can make leaves and roses from the spare pastry to decorate the top of the pie). Brush the whole surface with the beaten egg, then bake in the oven for 20 -25 minutes. Serve warm with some buttered cabbage.
Miyagawa Torta di Ricotta
I make many different versions of this light and velvety italian version of cheesecake-in-a tart, but this one has a delicious citrus hit. Serves 6-8.
Ingredients
For the filling:
250g ricotta cheese
100g caster sugar
2 large eggs, beaten
100ml double cream
Zest and juice of 2 miyagawas (or you can use clementines)
1 tsp. Vanilla paste
For the pastry (this makes twice as much as you need, so use half and freeze the rest)
500g plain flour
250g unsalted butter, chilled ad cut into small cubes
175g icing sugar
2 eggs
For the syrup:
Juice of 2 miyagawas
100g caster sugar\½ tsp. Ground cardamom
50 ml water
How to make
First make the pastry. Put the flour and butter into a food processor and blitz until the consistency of breadcrumbs. Add the icing sugar and pulse for a minute, then, with the motor running, add the two beaten eggs and pulse until it just comes together (don’t overwork).
Turn out onto a floured surface, divide in two, pat one half into a flatish circle, wrap in clingfilm and chill for an hour. Cut one third of the second ball and put to one side. Wrap the rest in clingfilm and freeze).
Heat the oven to 180C. Roll out the pastry to fit a 23 cm tart tin. Trim the edges (save these for later) , prick the base all over with a fork then line with baking parchment and bake blind (using baking beans or any dried beans) for 20 minutes. Remove the baking parchment and beans, brush the base of the pastry with beaten egg, then return to the oven for a further 15 mins. Remove from the oven and cool while you make the filling.
To make the filling: mix all the ingredients together until smooth. Pour into the cooled tart shell.
Working with your remaining pastry, roll out again and cut strips, then lattice these strips across the top of the tart.
Bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes or until the filling is firm but still a bit wobbly. Remove from the oven and cool.
Make the syrup: Put all the ingredients into a small saucepan and heat gently until the sugar is dissolved. Bring to the boil and then boil for 5 minutes until thickened slightly. Turn off the heat and cool - as it cools, the syrup will thicken more. When cool, brush the syrup over the surface of the tart. Leave for an hour and then serve. This tart will keep well under a cover for another couple of days.
Dressed Burrata
So luscious with an unexpected hit of chilli. From first thought to table in 2 minutes.
Serves 2.
Take one burrata, at room temperature, and pop it into a small bowl. Snip a generous cross in the top of the cheese with scissors, enough to let it ooze. Drizzle on some top quality extra virgin olive oil, two turns of a black pepper mill, a generous pinch of sea salt, a chopped red thai chilli and a squeeze of lemon juice.
Eat straight away with slices of toasted sourdough or, as in this picture, some of my toasted beer and buttermilk soda bread.
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Chara
-Verses-
Void/file travel: Chara randomly appears in timelines/au’s other then her own to mess with them.
Past: Chara when she was younger, aka, during the goat family time with Asriel.
Possesing Frisk: Chara during her first genocide run. Will be written with both my muses.
Non-canon: Anything else you’d like to rp, such as post pacifist or random ships, I won’t say no but I won’t consider it canon for Chara’s story.
About
Full Name: HIDDEN
Nickname: Chara
> How’d they get it?: It was the first thing she thought of when she met Asriel.
Age: 14 (but if you count all the timelines she’s been through she’d be around 30 or so)
> Date of Birth: 25 may 1974
> Zodiac: Gemini
Species: Human
Gender: Trans Feminine (Aka, born male, identifies primarily but not completely as female.)
Pronouns: She/Her or They/Them
Sexual Orientation: No preference
> When did they realize this?:Their interests don’t lay in traditional sexual contact, so the gender or species of the opposing party simply don’t matter.
Current Residence: Post Genocide Undertale verse
Fight Abilities
Hand-to-Hand capability: Very quick reflexes and good at dodging, but having a teens body, her punches are virtually harmless.
> Who taught them: Reflexes came naturally but she learned how to deal with monster attacks through multiple playthroughs with various Frisks and Players.
Weapons: Chara will use whatever weapon is available to them and is light enough for them to swing effectively. She has an obvious preference for any weapon with a sharp edge and point, like knives, swords and spears. She usually picks a knife because it’s the lightest and easiest to maneuver.
> Who taught them: Self taught
Physical strength: very little
Speed: very fast
Planning: She knows all monsters from the original timeline so she can easily plan her attacks around this knowledge, but when she meets a new monster she tends to attack blindly until she’s figured them out.
Powers: Can possess anybody. A monsters’ weaker soul doesn’t stand a chance against hers, but the soul of a young determined human could probably expel hers. Gaining LOVE makes it easier for her to possess you.
Family
The only parents Chara truly remembers having at this point are Toriel and Asgore. Before she fell into the underground she actually had a pretty normal family life, but she didn’t get along with any of her family; she simply never fit in anywhere. She was always the odd duck out and not once felt any kind of understanding from anyone. She hates humans primarily because they’re ‘stupid’ and ‘useless’. This hatred only applies to adults as she’s generally willing to give children a chance.
Chara was always a bit closer with Toriel, she appreciated goat mom’s humor and felt accepted and loved by her in ways she never felt before. Unconditionally. She loves Asgore too, but simply has a slightly more distant relationship with him. Asgore was more aware of her somewhat twisted nature, which is probably why he kept her at a slight distance.
Of course she was closest with Asriel. The two shared literally everything together. Toriel had a difficult job just getting them to eat of different plates and sleep in different beds. But despite how close they were their relationship was less then healthy. Chara would manipulate and emotionally abuse Asriel to get what she wanted. Asriel was for the most part unaware of this, but occasionally it would dawn on him that she treated him more like a pet then a brother. He never complained though; he just wanted her to love and approve of him.
Relationships
Virgin?: In the classic sense, yes. However they have been involved in sexual acts of a different nature.
First crush?: You could argue that (genocide!)Sans was their first crush; but it would only be his strength they crushed on, not him as a person. They also have a certain obsession with their frisk and the same goes for Asriel; while they were never in love She considers him hers and used to get really possessive.
Any romantic relationship?: It would be difficult for any relationship with a person this twisted to evolve into a romance, but it’s not impossible. Chara could only be romanced by a personality more dominant then her own, and that person would have to accept her ‘demonic’ nature, and to a certain degree, understand it. Chara is an emotional masochist, she won’t like being hurt physically, but she likes it if her partner can give her the feels. The more it hurts her heart, the better.
Favorites
Favorite foods: French Snails in Garlic butter [Don’t put them in pie toriel!], Candied apples, Pure Chocolate
> Least favorite food: Pasta’s in general
Favorite colors: Red [BLOOD]
> Least favorite color: Gold
Music: Trance and the gentler styles of house music
Literature: Fairy Tales
Smell: Lemons
Feeling: Bittersweet
Season: Fall
Pets: Hamster
Place: Core
Favorite sport: Dancing
Possession this character values most: the Heart locket
> Why is it so important to them?:It contains a picture of her goat family and reminds her of the happiest time she had in her life.
Physical Characteristics
Height: 155 cm (5 feet 1 inch)
Weight: 45 kg (90 pounds)
Body build: Slender
Eye Color: Deep brown/ red
> Glasses or contact lenses?: No
Hair Color: Light Brown
> Type of hair: Frizzy straight
> Hairstyle: Chin length, styled outwards
Complexion and skin tone: Pale / Caucasian
> Any particular blemishes?: Her lips are always cracked.
Shape of Face: apple
Scent: Salty and Metallic
Voice: Medium high
Mannerisms: Giggly, seemingly carefree, DISTURBING
Health: Physically; she’s literally a walking, rotting corpse. It doesn’t really bother her much though and she can’t exactly get sick either. Her soul (Which isn’t in her body, she’s using Frisks’) is all cracked up and eternally bleeding.
Style: Simple and cute, a cross between childish and feminine. She likes sleeves that are too long.
Tics: Not exactly a nervous tic, but She cannot stand still when she hears music, ever. She will dance against her own will.
Preferred Clothing
Underwear: Solid colored slips
Shirts: stripped sweaters
Pants: comfy shorts, leggings
Skirts: short, multi-layer
Jackets: loose and comfortable
Shoes: anything without heels, Short boots
Accessories: She doesn’t go anywhere without her locket.
Formal wear: She’d purposely wear something old and torn up just to make a point.
Sleeping wear: shorts and shirt
Swimming wear: children’s bikini
Intellectual/Mental/Personality Attributes and Attitudes
Did they go to school?: She was home schooled both above and under ground. She’s good at exact subjects.
Native language: English
> Do they know any other languages?: No, but she carries a wing dings translation sheet around just in case. Multiverse travel taught her to.
Manner of Writing: Childish, doesn’t use difficult words and keeps her sentences short.
Any Mental Illnesses?: So many, but they are undiagnosed. In short, she’s thoroughly fucked in the head.
How does your Character see themselves?: “After everything I’ve done, It’s still just me. Nothing’s wrong.”
How does your Character believe they are perceived by others?: They think they’re seen as nothing but a demon who only exists to torture and kill everyone around them. This believe is often accurate.
How self-confident is your character?: If they don’t feel confident they will just pretend they are so it’s not noticeable. They’re a good actor.
> What makes their self-confidence waver?: Dying to minor monsters
What would embarrass your character the most?: If somebody felt sorry for them.
How does your character feel about love: She doesn’t see the point of it.
How does your character show affection/love?: Play around and threatening them longer before brutally murdering them. She may even make you a flower crown. Before forcing you to eat it. Probably.
How does your character handle grief?: In short, she doesn’t. She just pretends it’s not there at all.
> What are they like when they cry?: Quietly sobbing while hidden away OR grinning madly while tears stream down when their face with the FEELS.
> What can make them cry?: Being reminded of Asriel’s betrayal or in those rare moments when the fact everybody hates their existence actually gets to them.
How does your character handle physical pain?: She gets mad and makes sure to pay it back triple.
> Emotional pain?: She gets high on it.
Leader or follower?: Follower/ loner
‘big picture’ or ‘little details’?: Big picture
Energy level: She’s quite energetic.
Describe their sense of humor: Dry and dark. Very dark. She finds screams of agony especially funny.
Hobbies: Playing games and dancing.
Talents: Seeing through people, dancing.
> She dances a fast style of contemporary dance.
Extremely unskilled at: Socializing.
Emotional Characteristics
How does character relate to others?: She seem them primarily as tools or sources of entertainment.
How does the character deal with anger?: Fight.
> With sadness/ loss?: Smile
> With conflict?: Kill
> With change?: Curiosity
What does your character want out of life?: To be entertained
What would your character like to change in his/her life?: Generally they’d answer this question with ‘nothing’ or ‘what would be the point, this world will end regardless’. But occasionally they’ll long for the time they were happy with their family, and wish Asriel had used his powers to get the 6 souls and execute their plan.
What frightens your character?: Little white dogs
> Are they afraid of the Dark?: No, they embrace it.
> Death?: No, they’re technically already dead.
Is your character judgmental of others?: She’s quick to gather what to expect of the opposing party but her deductions are usually accurate so you can’t really call it being judgmental. She’s kind of judgmental of naive people though.
Is your character generous or stingy?: Neither, she doesn’t really deal with money.
Is your character generally polite or rude?: Rude.
Optimistic or Pessimistic?: Pessimistic.
Introvert or Extrovert?: Introvert/ behaves like extrovert.
Daredevil or Cautious?: Daredevil, no need to be cautious when you’re already dead.
Logical or Emotional?:��Both
Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?: Messy
Would they rather be working or relaxing?: They like to be active.
How do they feel about animals?: Pets are pretty cute, she secretly has a weakness for fluffy things.
They are most at ease when: Listening to music and dancing alone.
> Ill at ease when: having to behave for some reason in a crowded place; too many people judging her at once.
What is their best quality?: Good dancer.
What is their biggest flaw?: Everything else.
Some History
Chara didn’t go through any sort of trauma aside from those caused by her own abnormal personality even as a child. During her childhood she never expressed her inner demons the way she does now. She was actually a pretty sweet child before Frisk showed her it was ok for her to be evil, to be themselves, through doing a genocide run. Since then she has seen, and caused many more broken timelines.
Breaking and recreating the timeline over and over again has caused her soul to crack. Pieces have broken away over time, leaving her with less and less of her ‘good’ self. If she continues the way she has, eventually, she truly will be nothing but the demon called LOVE.
Blank Character profile by Jadeookami@Deviantart
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SE4SON: Chapter 13
[*Behind the closed doors of a domestic castle*]
A large man, in a large room, sat on his comfy throne, accompanied by his two royal guards. He was 220 pounds, hair was bleached blond, and his skin was pasty fair. This man wore a crown, and long drapes, decorated in expensive gems. The room was ornamented with fancy pottery, huge fantasy paintings, pelts made from wild animals, and a red carpet.
"Your greatness?"
The royal cook entered the room. She was pushing a cart, holding a silver serving dish, with a lid. The guards were a bit surprised by her sudden appearance, so they raised their spears a bit. The king then called off their weapons. As the dish was pushed right in front of the king, the cook removed the lid to reveal his supper.
"Today's menu, dear lord: Stuffed roasted peacock, butter poached parsnips, umble pie, and a selection of your kingdom's finest brandy. Bon appétit."
The king chuckled in delight, for he was vanished. He took the napkin and wrapped it around his neck. Just as he was about to dig his fork and knife into the fowl, a deep voice entered the room, much to the king's annoyance. It was the king's chancellor, Richard.
"What might be for you to waltz in here AND DISTURB ME DURING MY MEALTIME?!" Shouted the king.
"Uh, my apologies for the sudden disturbance, sire. Just thought I'd let you know... *Ahem* I thee bring a report to file!" Said Richard.
"Hmmm? A report, eh? Well, it better be worth letting my dinner get cold!!"
"You see, it appears a protest has broke out among the middle class citizens in the village!"
"A protest?!"
"Yes, indeed! They are demanding that we lower the estimates on certain needed essentials such as food, healthcare, and home mortgage, and they refuse to negotiate peace or silence until they get it!"
"Any clue who started the protest?"
"Yes, sire! It was a couple, in their early thirties, by the names Joseph and Sadie Philip!"
"Hmmmm...."
The king walked off his throne.
"Send in some of my most skilled, noble knights to break up the crowds! They sure as hell won't try to pull a stunt like that ever again! Not as long as they take my word for it!"
"And the Phillips, sire?"
"Gather as much citizens you can rally! We will be arranging a ceremony for their hanging!"
"I think that's a little far fetched. Can't we simply just, throw them into the dungeon? We never used-"
"I AM THE RULER OF THIS ESTABLISHMENT, AND WHAT I SAY, GOES! Okay? Unless you wanna arrange for a triple hanging!"
"No, no sire! That was just an opinion! An unpopular opinion! My opinion is not important, oh superior monarch!"
Suddenly, a collapse sound was heard. The king turned around, and saw that one of his royal guards had passed out over his food.
"What is the meaning of this tomfoolery?!" Barked the king.
"You see, your greatness, he had just fallen after a small bite from your meal. But, uh, he was just trying to taste test it in your honor! ...your greatness." Replied one of the guards.
Richard then decided to examine the unconscious body.
"He's dead, sire."
That one guard began to cry. That other guard was more than just a friend, but a brother. This could only mean one thing.
"Sooooooooooooooooooooooo... An attempt to poison the king!" Said the king.
"I don't know what you're talking about, your greatness! He just... Maybe he was just allergic to the herbs I seasoned the bird with!" The cook tried to defend herself.
"Looks like there will be a triple hanging after all. Take her away!"
The one guard carried the chef away, dragging her off her feet. She started kicking and screaming, trying to break free of the man's grip. She wanted to be the hero, and now she is facing the agony of defeat. All that work she planned to overthrow the king, gaining his trust, now left in vain. Having no reason to act anymore, she cursed at the king, criticizing him, and even called him a tyrant, which was the last thing he heard from her.
"No peasant tries to outsmart King Jason Tremp under his nose."
..............................
[*Back at the hut*]
Jimmy, Nick, and Rodent Girl had the time of their lives. They played tag, hide 'n seek, and are now currently rat racing. All of them are pretty much too old for such juvenile games, but it's the only fun available if you're stuck in a period without technology. They don't even have any board games. Nick felt so relaxed. Games, how he used to play them, were all competitive. In sports, if a man were to lose to his rival, they'd give the him a pat on a back and call it a good game. The sports Nick gets himself into are where roles are divided between the winner or the loser. If you lose a game, people make fun of you for it, and they want you to feel bad about your defeat.
Whereas RG's games, there are no winners or losers. It's all about having fun. The first time Nick lost a game, Jimmy or RG didn't mock or ridicule him. They just congratulated him for a good game. This is what playing for fun feels like? Even when you lose, you still feel like a winner. There's no pressure in the way to push you towards that main goal, and instead it's about enjoying yourself. This all seems so new to Nick. It's satisfying because he's just letting himself run free. If he were to make up his mind about crossing over to Jimmy's three amigops, he'd probably feel this happy everyday.
For the time being, they were racing rats, with tracks drawn in the dirt. Jimmy won five games in a row, RG won two, while Nick won none, but that's okay. He doesn't really care. He's not upset at all. With all the fun he's having, why cry over spilled milk? During the game, Jimmy asked Rodent Girl what he's been meaning to ask the Faithful Five for a long time.
"So... Pardon me for being a little, inquisitive, but I'm curious about why does Diana go out of her way to steal things? Isn't stealing... You know... ...lawfully wrong?" Asked Jimmy.
"And they say you're the smart one. For your information, fudgy hair, she only steals from bad guys, and the greedy, wealthy bastards who just about have enough money to make ends meet but never have enough heart to insist a starving man!" Replied Rodent Girl.
"I already know that, but I'm asking why she's doing it. Are there no open positions seeking for employment?"
"*Sigh* There are. We could have any job we wanted. The trouble is we don't have the privilege to get them."
"What do you mean by 'privilege?'"
"Oh, for Pete's sake, genius! In this village, where these four walls hold us, classes are arranged based on your image, religion, and background. In this system, majorities outweigh the minorities."
"Minorities?"
"Yeah. The ones that aren't conceived as 'perfect' by the king himself. The higher classes, dukes and duchess as we call them, are blessed with the easier jobs with good pay. The middle classes are stuck with the more laborious jobs for 8 shillings an hour, with no paid vacations or bonuses. Then there's us: The lower class. We get nothing, but our own pity. We are freaks to the likes of them. Diana can't get a job cuz she's not "lady-like," Benson can't get a job cuz he's been denied his manly rights, and me, you probably have the idea. Who I am is also the reason why I don't have any friends. Human friends. Di, Mitzi, and Benson don't count. They're more like my family. You can't be friends with your family. Mitzi's the quote-on-quote decent one out of all of us, which means she's the only one who has a career. Unfortunately, the pay is not enough to feed all of us together, and our economy is all up in inflation. Meat cost 5 shillings a pound. Doctors charge 4 pence a hour. Entertainment is worth gold."
"Is that why Diana resorts to stealing?"
"You keep asking so many questions, jeez! I thought smart people were meant to answer them!"
"I'm sorry. I just wanted to get as much answers out as possible. Like, we can probably help you overcome this financial struggle if we learn the basis of the premise. Then you wouldn't have to go out stealing anymore."
"I doubt you can be a big help. King Jason won't listen to anyone if it has nothing to do with his interests. Refuse to resist, and--"
Diana appeared over Rodent Girl's head, and interrupted.
"--You'll get hanged!"
"HeeeeeEEEYYYY! Why is it that YOU get to say it all the time?! It's not fair!"
"Sorry, Rodent. It's in my character arc!"
Jimmy and Nick noticed Diana was carrying a huge sack with her.
"What's..." Asked Jimmy.
"...that?" Asked Nick.
"Why, it's our dinner, of course!" Replied Diana.
The bulky woman opened the sack to reveal a big, fat, dead moose, which she killed herself. While Rodent Girl was bubbling in joy, Jimmy and Nick were dumbfounded. Moose is a least likely food any of them would think of eating. They think of them as just commonly woodland creatures. Are they ready to eat moose meat? Diana looked at the shunned Nick, and gave him a little poke. He didn't react at all.
"Looking rather squeamish there. Don't worry, I'll handle the butchering! Getting quenched in the blood of an animal is the closest thing I'll ever have to fighting in a gladiator war!"
...........................
That night, everyone feasted on moose. Nick prepared moose steaks, moose roast, moose kebabs, moose stew, cheesy minced moose pies, moose franks, deep fried moose entrails, and white rice, which he requested the other day. Despite Jimmy's disgust earlier, he found that the animal tasted good, to his surprise. Or maybe that's just Nick's culinary magic. Rodent Girl made a glutton of herself. Benson took time to savor his dinner. Mitzi ate hers in a simple, mild-manner, again not showing appreciation for Nick's hard work. Butterscotch, who was left with his oats, watched them in envy. While everyone ate, Diana told her stories at the table. Because of how much moose they had, there will practically be leftovers tomorrow, and the day after that.
After dinner was done, it was time to wash up and call it a night. Nick was so exhausted from all that cooking, he made Butterscotch carry him on his back as they headed to their barn suite. Nick is ready to pass out the second he lays down on that hay bed. The three entered the barn. As Nick began to climb off of Butterscotch, he sloppily fell due to how tired he was.
"Are you okay?" Asked Jimmy, helping his friend up.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Nick replied, dusting himself off.
The boys crawled under their blankets, and then rested their heads on their pillows. Before they were ready to go beddy-bye, they shared a short convo among each other.
"How do you suppose we're gonna talk the king into getting our new friends jobs? ...and ending his own capitalism? This Jason guy sure sounds like a tough nut to crack. Look at all the consequences to list that will get us all..." Said Nick, and then imitated a victim getting hanged.
"Like some dumb king is gonna scare me. Judging from what I've heard so far from Diana, he may be all power, but he certainly doesn't sound so smart." Replied Jimmy.
"He may be really ugly, too."
"Simple-minded folks can be easily outwitted by the charm of psychology. A long chat with him could buy us the time to figure out what makes him tick, and when we have reached his standards, that's how we will be able to compromise with him. As the old saying goes, 'you can't catch some fish without a few good worms.'"
When Jimmy turned to face Nick, he found he was already deep asleep. The boy genius just shrugged, made himself more comfy, and then blew out the candle to his left. As the room was now left in darkness, Jimmy passed on a "Goodnight" to Nick.
Meanwhile, peeking from out the window, Mitzi stared at the barn across. Earlier, when she just arrived from work, she recalled Jimmy asking Rodent Girl some questions, followed by a "I just wanted to get as much answers out as possible." To her, that sounded like a big red flag there. What are these two trying to plan? Whatever they're planning, she's not gonna wait to find out what it is. She must put a stop to it, and protect the family before her. Mitzi then ran outside to the shed, where she then fetched herself a weapon.
..........................
During that hour, where the sun was beginning to rise, Nick shook Jimmy awake from his much needed slumber.
"Jimmy! Jimmy! There's something you ought to look at!"
"Nnnnick... Do you know what time it is?"
"Well, no, considering that I don't have a watch, but it's urgent, I swear! When I went outside to... ...pass some water... ...that's when I encountered it! C'mon!"
"I'd be more happier if you just told me. The real surprise can wait, once I'm fully recharged. And I don't need to know about your bodily functions."
"Dammit, our time machine is busted!"
"WHAT?!"
Jimmy's loud "WHAT" woke up every animal in the barn. The boy genius shot himself out of bed, and let Nick lead him to the disaster he's been trying to point out. There they found their time machine, now nothing but a pile of debris. But, how could this happen? The damage was too brutal to be caused by an accident. A wreck like this could only happen on purpose.
Suddenly, Diana and Rodent Girl just happened to step outside of the hut in their nightgowns. The animals weren't the only thing Jimmy's shouting woken up. Diana immediately gained back her energy when she saw the wreckage. Rodent Girl was still feeling drowsy.
"Holly Hannah! What happened?" Ask Diana.
"Time Machine broke." Jimmy replied immaturely.
"And what we know by far is that this was no accident!" Said Nick.
"Hmmmmmmmmmm."
Diana observed the debris further.
"Any strange weather occur?" Asked Diana.
"No."
"Spot any ferocious animals lately?"
"Just some rats, but I doubt little creatures could do damage that bad."
"Any... Any... Welp, I'm out of questions. Looks like one of us is... ....a suspect!"
"Don't worry, no you're not. I think I may know who did it."
"You do? Who? It isn't me, right? It can't be me, because I have morals, I'm sweet, I'm lovable, and... I've been a very good friend to you two! *sob* Where has that friendship gone?"
"Calm down. Of course it's not you."
"*Deep yawn* Then is it me? How dare you accuse me. Did what we had yesterday mean nothing to you?" Rodent Girl said in a tired, monotone voice.
"No. Not you either."
Jimmy turned to Nick besides him. It is easy to make sense of who's behind the wreckage. There's only one member of the Faithful Five who doesn't like Jimmy and Nick very much since they first met. Who else other than that deceptive Mitzi dame? The boys were so careless as to not look after her, even though they knew something like this would happen eventually. Nick won't tell Diana who did it, for obvious reasons; If she gets mad at Mitzi, then there goes their friendship. If she gets mad at Nick, she'll crush him flatter than a crepe. Maybe when Mitzi gets home, Nick oughta give her a cozy little chat.
"Who do you think did it?" Asked Diana?
"Sorry, I'm not one to give out spoilers." Replied Nick.
"Huh?"
Jimmy and Nick began to pick up the bits of debris, when Diana suddenly stopped them. And she was already dressed in her morning clothes.
"HOLD IT! You gentlemen have been very nice to us. Not just me, but to us. You two even kept us well fed. In return, I will assist you in repairing your wooden thing-a-ma-gigy that's suppose to take you back home!"
"No, we can't possibly have you--" Said Jimmy, before being cut off.
"But I insist! Friends must help each other in need! And I'm not doing this just because I don't want to be the branded suspect in this caper!"
"I'll lend a hand as well. Just let me go fetch my coffee." Said Rodent Girl, heading back inside the house.
"Hmmm, a little extra hands might finish the job more faster."
"I'll help too! As always." Said Nick.
"No, Nick. I think you should relax for a bit and save your strength. You've done so much."
"But I--"
"Please, you helped enough already. Take a break. You need to slow down on all these good deeds."
Nick figured, he wants to help Jimmy, but the boy genius sounds like he'd be happier if he just stopped for now. To avoid turning this conversation into an argument, Nick decided to follow the doctor's orders. The purpose why Nick is smothering his crush with so many good deeds is because he wants to prove he is worthy to be by his side. In the old times, Nick stayed out of Jimmy's way for too long, and let that Vortex girl get to him. Back then, Nick always had a chance, but he always ended up blowing it.
Rodent Girl reappeared, all dressed and fully energized.
"READY!"
Diana was thinking of waking up Benson and letting him join in on the party, but he can be in a naggy mood whenever he's awakened before his "wakey-wakey schedule." Mitzi was nowhere to be found. She must have already left for work. The bulky woman headed into the shed to fetch some tools. When she got there, she noticed that a sledgehammer was misplaced. How odd. After she organized the sledgehammer back in its proper position, she grabbed some tools, tacks, and a bucket of super paste. She refused to use anymore of her wooden planks. Diana then brought the supplies to Jimmy. Butterscotch arrived to the scene, holding a hammer in his mouth.
"Sorry, Butterscotch, but this line of work requires posable digits!"
.............................
Nick sat inside the barn, thinking. Jimmy told him that enough is enough, but it just makes the handsome boy feel guilty for not having to help the boy genius. Nick doesn't just shower Jimmy with these good deeds because he loves him so much, but he's also trying to make up for the times he wasn't there for him. He didn't offer him a helping hand even if it were an easy task. All he's ever done was watch the disastrous events occur before his eyes, not to mention stay out of any trouble Jimmy would get himself into. And, Nick wasn't there when the boy genius felt lonely at least.
Refusing to swallow his pride, Nick won't allow himself to let Jimmy down. He will do whatever he can to make that boy genius proud. He will continue to show his loyalty, and let Jimmy know he can always depend on him whenever the going gets tough. Nick looked over to Jimmy's sketch designs, which then gave the skateboard boy an idea.
He exited the barn and went over to Diana.
"Yo Di, could you step inside the hut with me for a moment? There's this ugly, big cockroach under the kitchen table!"
"A roach? IN MY HOME?!"
Diana stormed into the hut with her sword, only to find no roach under the table.
"You can run from me, you little nuisance, but there's nowhere on Earth you can hide!"
"Relax, there is no roach."
"Ther- What kind of game are you trying to play-"
"Shhh, shhhh shhhhh! Keep your voice down."
"Why are we talking softly? This really is a game, is it?"
"Listen, long story short; I want to help my friend, but my friend doesn't want me to. However, I deciding to do it anyways. This time I plan to surprise him, which means you can't mum a word of this to him, or anyone you can't trust secrets with."
"*Gasp* Disobeying a direct order, all for the sake of helping someone you care so much about?! I swear, you're like the son I could've had!"
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
"Sorry. I tend to get a little loud whenever I'm filled with joy. I just like to let myself out."
"Can we get back on the topic? I need to get into that mine."
"Getting in there isn't gonna be easy, my boy. Unless you're an authority of the king or carry any legal documents, you'll get hang-"
"Jimmy already told me, I know. That's why I turned to you, since you seem like an expert at getting away with breaking the law. The way you scared off those hooded men... I think I know how I'll be able to sneak into the mine without being suspected."
"You want me to distract the Keeper of the Mine?"
"No, I was wondering if you can make me a disguise of my own, along with a copy of one of those fabricated badges."
"I can do that! Luckily I still hold this old Halloween costume Rodent Girl used to wear when she was your age."
Diana pulled out a miniature suit of knight's armor from behind her back. Nick, without removing any of his clothes, slipped into the armor one piece at a time. The suit wasn't made from plastic, but legit, real, steel metal. It was fairly uncomfortable from the inside, and a horrible order pierced through his nostrils. He also had some trouble keeping balance in the suit. It took Nick at least two minutes to stand up straight again.
"As for the badges, I don't have enough time to make a copy, so you can borrow mine for now."
"Thanks."
"Oh!"
Diana left the hut for a moment. Nick tripped in his armor once more, before bringing himself back to his feet. When Diana returned, she had brought along Butterscotch.
"We don't exactly own a map of the outside world, so Butterscotch knows where the mine is located."
The white stallion happily nodded his head. Butterscotch wasn't the only thing Diana brought back, though. She began handing Nick a few things she thought he'd need.
"Here's a small box to hold your quartz in. Here's a tiny sack to hold the box where you'll be holding your quartz in. Here's an apple for energy. Here's a lantern, since it's gonna be dark in there. Here's a dagger for self-defense. It's pretty dull, but you can keep poking someone until they run away. Here's some extra fuel for the lantern. Here's a few carrots in case Butterscotch gets hungry. Here's a checkerboard set if Butterscotch ever gets bored. And here's a satchel to carry all your stuff in, since the suit doesn't include any pockets."
With all that gear he was holding, combined with the weight of the armor, Nick toppled backwards.
"Again; Thanks."
After Nick placed everything into the satchel, Diana helped him out by picking him up, and placing him on top of Butterscotch's back. Giving a salute to the young boy, who's about to journey off on his own for the first time, Diana then opened the hatch in the kitchen and let the two out. Nick saluted back, before Diana closed it again.
"Godspeed to you, Nick Dean."
#Jimmy Neutron#Boy Genius#Nick Dean#Cindy Vortex#Libby Folfax#Carl Wheezer#Sheen Estevez#Season 4#fanfic#romance#adventure#TVverse#TVEE
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The 5 nicest things that happened on this week's 'Game of Thrones.'
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Welcome to “A Tune of Pleasant and Fire” Upworthy’s weekly collection recapping one particular of the most brutal displays on Tv set. Considering that brutality is not really in our wheelhouse, Eric March has taken it upon himself to dig deep, twist and change, and squint really hard to see if he can locate the light of kindness in all the darkness. He could not normally triumph, but by gosh if he will not try out his greatest.
Here’s what he found on this week’s "Video game of Thrones."
If 7 years of bumping all over Westeros has taught me anything, it's that the activity giveth, and the activity taketh away. No a lot more so than for all those of us who recappeth the activity on the internet.
Inadequate snowy horsemen. Impression by Helen Sloan/HBO.
Very last week was comprehensive of human kindness. This week, not so a lot. So ... I am likely to do issues a very little in a different way.
I am likely to summarize the down and dirty of what occurred in each individual place. Then, I am likely to give the nicest individual in that place specific props. An award, of kinds. Named soon after the kindest, gentlest soul ever to take a look at there.
Let us give this a shot, shall we?
Dragonstone
The episode opens just a couple times (weeks? months? What timescale are we operating at below yet again, anyway?) into Daenerys' triumphant homecoming to Dragonstone, the place she and Varys are just not receiving alongside.
The spymaster tries to whisper sweet, manipulative nothings to the breaker of freaking chains to no avail since, of course, there's the little subject of Varys striving to have Dany killed way again in time one particular. Varys does manage to slip again into the dragon queen's superior (or, let's be sincere, medium) graces by enjoying the finish and overall honesty card and declaring his loyalty to the continent's smallfolk, a worry Daenerys purports to share, even however she will soon be raining dragonfire down on a reasonable proportion of them.
"So. Who observed Spider-Male?" Impression by Helen Sloan/HBO.
Later on, Melisandre displays up for some light exposition about gender neutral pronouns in high Valyrian, and Dany's 4/5 badass feminine war council hash out their fight plans for using again the 7 Kingdoms. Could Tyrion's encyclopedic understanding of the Casterly Rock sewer procedure finally be about to spend off?
Probably not if Daenerys heeds Olenna's information to "dismiss all adult men."
On the eve of fight, Missandei and Grey Worm choose they cannot disguise their terribly hidden thoughts from each individual other any more. What follows is about as tender a really like scene as we are probably to ever get on "Video game of Thrones," which signifies...
The Shireen Baratheon Award of Generosity goes to: Missandei and Grey Worm: She for educating a eunuch how to really like and he for seemingly getting the only gentleman on possibly continent who's read of cunnilingus. I signify, do the gals have to set it in a raven, guys? This is not rocket science.
Winterfell
In reaction to an invitation from Tyrion, Jon and Davos explore plans to satisfy up with Daenerys and her dragons — and Sansa is like, "You guys."
Then, Jon tells all the northern and Eyrie lords about his prepare to get down with a Targaryen restoration — anything none of them are particularly stoked about, supplied Dany's target on killing lords and masters and the human burning that occurred through the very last go-all over — to conserve the environment from the White Walkers and Sansa is like, "YOU Fellas."
Contrary to earlier iterations of the Stark-adult men-go-nobly-unto-their-certain-doom display, equally Jon and Sansa type of have a stage below. Sansa is darn certain correct that Jon is way way too trusting of some self-appointed queen whose dad killed their grandpa and uncle only, like, 15 years back. But Jon really has seen the White Walkers, and they really are scary, and they really do need the dragons to re-useless them. Anyway, the total issue finishes with Jon naming Sansa temporary Warden of the North in his absence, which is anything his dad/solution uncle never ever would have carried out.
Somewhere in there, Jon grabs Littlefinger by the neck in the crypt, since Stark adult men grabbing Littlefinger by the neck normally seems to conclusion nicely, and tells him to lay off Sansa, which will undoubtedly materialize since Littlefinger respects the needs of other people, particularly Stark adult men who seize him by the neck.
Your hilariously empty threats give me daily life. Impression by Helen Sloan/HBO.
Finally, Jon trots off towards his future and Sansa manages to give 'em a lil' wave goodbye.
But her eyes are still plainly screaming, "YOU Fellas!!!!"
And the Maester Luwin Medallion of Best Kindness goes to: If you consider about it, it was really great of the tombs of earlier generations of Starks to offer a hard surface area for Jon to strangle Littlefinger on. Even if it was shorter-lived and Jon will probably live to regret it before way too lengthy, boy did Littlefinger have it coming.
Oldtown
Deep in the stacks, Archmaester Ebrose and Sam argue above the title of Ebrose's Westerosi heritage thriller about all the wars we just observed materialize above the earlier 6 seasons — Ebrose thinks it really desires to pop, although Sam thinks it need to be a lot more "poetic." (If you were ever wanting to know if HBO and George R. R. Martin haggled above "Video game of Thrones" compared to "A Tune of Ice and Fireplace," for the collection title nicely ... now we probably know.)
Impression by Helen Sloan/HBO.
In the meantime Jorah is no longer zombie-managing Sam from the confines of his mobile — instead, he is sitting in a dank area getting a depressing prognosis and contemplating suicide-by-sword.
It truly is a reduction, then, when Sam ways him with a tray comprehensive of sharp metal implements, a jug of rum, and a prepare to heal him by straight-up carving the disorder off Jorah's system. It truly is a gross course of action, manufactured all the grosser by an conclusion-of-scene match slash between Jorah's gooey again knifings and a bowl of creamy soup hundreds of miles away. I signify ... GOSH.
And the Little Sam Prize for Pure Goodness goes to: Sam. Definitely. For practically scraping the leprosy off Jorah's again. Occur. On.
The Riverlands
New off a righteous all over-the-fire chill session with Ed Sheeran, Arya catches up with Warm Pie (Warm Pie!) who offers her a killer pie crust suggestion and fills her in on the goings-on with her remarkably alive siblings, which gets the little assassin sidetracked on her mission to eliminate Cersei and factors her north.
Impression by Helen Sloan/HBO.
Later on on, striving to heat herself with the world's most pitiful fire, Arya finds Nymeria! Her direwolf! And asks her to occur again to Winterfell with her! And since this is "Video game of Thrones," she does and they live fortunately ever soon after!
Just kidding. The direwolf unceremoniously trots in the reverse course. Because, as Arya realizes, "that's not her." (Not, as in practically not her, but as in that's not her design to occur alongside. Evidently, this was a reference to a line from time one particular? Gotta continue to be earlier the credits, I guess.)
And the Brienne of Tarth Honor of Heartwarmingness goes to: Warm Pie, for supplying Arya his solution pie recipe. First brown the butter, before slaughtering your enemies' loved ones members and baking their digits into the filling. Gonna stow that one particular away for Thanksgiving.
The high seas.
Underneath deck, all is clean sailing in the Iron Fleet on its way to obtain the Dornish army. The Sand Snakes lay in their hammocks fantasizing about the various Lannisters they are likely to whip/throwing star to demise although Yara and Ellaria get to know one particular a different a very little-to-a-good deal better.
Of course, then Uncle Euron ruins the second when he arrives flying in like the guide singer of Rhode Island's third greatest Iron Maiden tribute band and spoils almost everything, slaughtering various extras and the two Sand Snakes you probably did not care about, although using the one particular Sand Snake you also did not care about but at the very least undoubtedly acknowledged, Ellaria, and Yara hostage. Confronted by his father's brother holding his sister at ax-stage, Theon takes a deep breath, screws his bravery to the sticking spot, and ... bravely jumps into the sea.
Oh nicely. You can expect to get him next time, Theon.
And the Ser Davos Seaworth Herald of Compassion goes to: Random piece of shipwreck, for holding Theon afloat soon after he abandons ship. Probably he does not are entitled to it — he sexually harassed his sister, killed two harmless farm boys, and marketed out the overall North to a crazed serial killer — but hey, everybody warrants a 27th possibility. Right? Way to occur as a result of in the clutch, hunk of driftwood!
Random Acts of Niceness
It was great of all those wolves not to eat Arya's horse, who was undoubtedly like "screw this" all over that overall scene.
Varys is a "little-d" democrat? Could we be headed towards a revolution of the Westerosi political procedure? Five years from now, will we be arguing about Pentosi interference in the Targaryen-Lannister election?
Ser Davos appreciates how to examine! All all those lessons with Shireen finally compensated off. Thanks, Shireen! Speculate whatsoever occurred to that scamp.
That's all for now, folks! Be part of me next week when hopefully Daenerys and Jon bro out above their vinyl collections, the Evening King helps paint the Wall a lovely burnt umber, and Randall and Dickon Tarly's father-son highway trip again to Horn Hill finishes in a tearful activity of capture.
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