#please keep fingers and toes crossed that there is at least 1 EV in this hatch

[kedreeva]

Ked, I am so curious. Where are the babies going to go? Is Bug moving outside with them? Are you going to have Baby Bugs in your house too?

Ah haha maybe for a few days, but then they will come outside with her! She had previously been living almost entirely outside in Pen 3, and it's likely she will go back there once she's off the nest, providing Earl is not aggressive about it. He's never seen babies as an adult, so I don't know how he'll take her returning with them. We do visit daily for stretches and running around, and so far he's been okay with her, if a bit concerned about her behavior. Depending on what I think of the situation at the time, if he can't handle it I will either move him to the quarantine pen, or move Bug there since that was her old pen.

[alwayschoosechocolate]

“It’s not a big deal” (myg)

Genre: fluff, slice of everyday married life

Paring: reader x nonidol!Yoongi

Word count: 1900

Last minute Christmas shopping is never a pleasure in an overcrowded mall, but somehow your husband manages to take care of both you and all your last minute shopping without you even realizing it.

Taglist: @spookidema @jessicarhb @ambrietalksanddraws

A/N: After the last few episodes of Bon Voyage, Yoongi as husband material is something all of us have had to bow down to! I for one must admit, that Hubby!Yoongi makes me reconsider my disinclination towards marriage 🥺 Enjoy this small slice of married life with Yoongi!

The last drabble will be up on tuesday! The previous drabbles can be found in the master post for the drabbles. My other stories and drabbles can be found in my masterlist

Walking through the revolving doors with Yoongis hand clamped in yours, you were met with the moist and heavy air resulting from the thousands of damp winter coats currently being carried around in the shopping mall. From the speakers near the ceiling came the blaring tones of Christmas tunes, interrupted by announcements of special offers, missing children and forgotten credit cards, mingling with the constant murmur of people shouting, speaking, laughing, whispering and arguing.

Turning around to confirm the plan with your husband, you could already see Yoongis eyebrows furrowing and his eyes clouding. He hated big crowds and definitely preferred being at home, in the comfort zone of his own house and not being shoved around by strangers in the height of the Christmas stress.

But despite all your planning and organizing, you still had some last-minute shopping to do, and yes; the 22nd of December was definitely counting as last minute.

“Look, I know you hate this,” you quickly spoke, eager to get to the gift choosing part of the trip. “Let’s just go through the plan so we can get it done, yeah?”

Still taking in the pushing crowd around you, he gave you definitive nod, letting his eyes ghost over your features as if checking if you were alright.

“Okay, so you go buy me a gift, while I go buy gifts for the girls,” you reminded him, referring to his friends’ girlfriends. “We meet back here again in 1½ hour, we go buy gifts for the guys, and then we go grocery shopping for the Christmas Eve dinner before the supermarket closes at 7, yes?”

Yoongi nodded diligently, although he seemed like he wasn’t listening.

“Did you have lunch today?”

Slightly taken aback by his random question, you suddenly realized that you actually hadn’t had anything to eat since your breakfast, but if you admitted that he would insist on getting you some food before the shopping and you really didn’t have time for that.

“Yeah, I had some kimchi and rice, while you were in the shower,” you lied, suddenly very interested in checking the time on your phone. “Alright, so we meet back here in 1½ hour, yeah?”

Another diligent nod from him, although his still seemed aloof, eyes seemingly already searching the store fronts.

Raising yourself on your toes, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, before running off to find the gifts for the girls.

Browsing through Jungkooks girlfriends favorite clothing store, you tried pinpointing what would be the absolute best gift for her. Pulling out a dress from the rack, you held it up to the light, trying to figure out if it would suit her.

You had already crossed off gifts for everyone else, but Jungkooks girlfriend was rather new to the group and you still didn’t feel like you had a complete understanding of what she would like.

Letting out a deep sigh and hanging the dress back on the rack, you pulled out your phone and dialed Jungkooks number. Might as well go straight to the source.

As you explained your predicament to him over the phone, you strolled through the store, listening to his advice and ideas, nodding politely at the salesclerk who had been dying to help you earlier and was now straightening the clothes on the table a few feet away from you.

Suddenly jumping back when a paper bag appeared right in front of your eyes, you were surprised to see your husband standing next to you, holding the bag towards you with an unbothered look to his features.

As Jungkook kept talking through the phone, you cocked your head in confusion at Yoongi as you tried to keep listening to the younger.

“I know, you didn’t eat lunch,” he simply stated, reaching the bag closer to you and practically pushing into your free hand. “I passed by a samgak-gimbap stand and bought you two. See you in 45 min.”

And with that he was gone again, leaving you slightly confused although you should have gotten used to his protective side by now. He always saw right through you, zeroing in on what you needed without you even having to voice it or sometimes even being aware of it.

Absentmindedly answering Jungkook and thanking him for his help, you hung up the phone and opened the bag Yoongi had handed you, curiously peeking into it.

The smell of salmon reached your nose, instantly making your mouth water and your stomach growl. Of course, he had managed to find you your favorite.

Silently sending him a grateful thought, you took the first bite and continued browsing the store with Jungkooks words in mind and happily munching on the gimbap.

Shopping bags in hand, you hurried back to the meeting point. You were a few minutes late, but you had managed to find the perfect gifts to all the girls, and you felt confident in getting the last Christmas presents crossed off with at least as high a success rate.

Spotting Yoongi leaning on an empty shopping cart, a relieved smile tugged at your lips at the sight of his relaxed shoulders, as you wound your way through the crowd.

Walking the last few meters to him, you deposited your bags in the cart and turned to place a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you for the gimbap, honey. I really needed it,” you smiled, getting a pleased nod in return as he bent forward to organize the bags in the cart. “So now we just need to figure out what to get the guys. I have a few ideas,” you spoke, reaching into your bag for your notebook, where you kept a meticulous list of the Christmas presents you had to give.

“I already took care of it,” Yoongi informed you, as he straightened up with a water bottle in hand. Uncapping and handing you the bottle, he gestured for you to take a sip.

Accepting the water in pure confusion, you opened your mouth to question his statement, only to have him reach up to tilt the water bottle towards your lips. Instinctively pressing it your lips and taking a few gulps, you suddenly became aware of how thirsty you actually were. Throat burning for more, you tipped the bottle and finished it in a handful of large gulps.

“I called ahead and pre-ordered them," he shrugged as an answer to your unvoiced question, as he swapped the bottle for a Starbucks cup, leaving you dumbfounded and confused.

"What do you mean you called ahead? I haven't even decided what to get them yet?", you asked, taking a sip of the drink now in your hand, sweet caramel frappuccino reaching your taste buds. "And when did you have time to get me this? You were supposed to find me a gift?"

"To answer your first question, I looked at the list of possible gifts in your notebook and ordered the things I've heard them talk about the last few months," he told you, as he started pushing the shopping cart towards the store leaving you to follow behind still slightly confused but more at ease with your coffee in hand and Yoongi in charge. "And I already got your gift weeks ago, so I spent the time buying the ingredients for the Christmas Eve dinner and then I picked up your coffee on the way back to you."

Trailing slightly behind him, you let his words sink in as you went through your checklist in your mind, checking off all the things he had mentioned. For each mark you felt your shoulders relax a bit and your mind clear up mark by mark as the pending stress melted away. Seeing your evening freeing up and mentally feeling the space it gave you, made your breathing deeper and more relaxed.

Eyes snapping up and locking at your husbands slightly hunched frame a few feet ahead of you, you felt your heart softened at his actions. He never failed to take care of you. So attuned to your needs and habits he always knew exactly what you needed.

He knew you had been stressed with work taking up your evenings and thus pushing your Christmas shopping to now - last minute. He knew you didn’t enjoy this anymore than he did and yet he had done double work so you wouldn’t have to.

Feeling a sudden need to hold his hand, you skipped the few meters to his side with a euphoric giggle and snuck your left arm under his right. Placing your hand next to his on the handle of the carts, you rested your pinky and ring finger over his index and middle finger as you leaned your head on his shoulders slightly.

“You did all of that for me?”, you mused happily, feeling your heart clench at his consideration.

“It’s not a big deal,” he stated in an indifferent tone, but you felt his index finger move to encase your ring finger under his, causing a warm grin to spread on your face as you felt your wedding ring move under his ministrations.

“But you knew it would stress me, so you organized it so it wouldn’t,” you persisted, determined to make him admit his act of good will.

“Yes.”

“But you know I love organizing and buying the gifts,” you pouted, slightly bummed that you wouldn’t get to choose the gifts for the guys this year.

“Yes, but I love you more than you love buying gifts, and when you’re stressed it can be hard to love you,” he drawled, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Gasping at his boldness, you smacked his hand on the handle, causing him to break out in a gummy smile and you to giggle lightheartedly.

“Always so careful not to seem caring,” you hummed, as you took another sip of your coffee and let him lead you down another corridor of the mall.

“You know me. I don’t do anything if I can’t gain anything,” he chuckled lowly as you entered a store to pick up the gifts.

“And what exactly do you gain from this? Other than me not getting stressed?”, you laughed, letting him steer you towards the back end of the store.

“I get to go home and take a long nap with you, instead of running around in this oven of a shopping center,” he dead panned, as he parked you and the cart next to a display of gaming headsets. “Now wait here, while I get the last gifts, so we can go home and sleep,” he instructed you, but before he could remove his hands from the handle you lazed your fingers with his and pulled him towards you to place a quick peck to his lips, leaving him flustered and slightly blushing.

“Thank you, honey baby,” you sang, intentionally using the most sickening nickname for him you could think off as you gave him a shameless smile, only making him more flustered.

“Yes. Alright,” he nodded, clearing his throat and giving your hand a quick squeeze before letting go of it and turning towards the door leading to the backroom of the store.

As he turned, you could have sworn you saw a gummy smile light up his face, making you giggle happily as you reminded yourself how lucky you were to have married him.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘You Remind Me of Home’ Chapter 1: In My Heart is a Christmas Tree Farm

Based off Taylor Swift's 'Christmas Tree Farm.' Post TFP. Sherlock and Molly have been inseparable since the phone call--the best of friends. Both are afraid to cross the fragile line that separates friends from lovers. Sherlock whisks Molly away on a surprise trip where romance ensues.

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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               Molly Hooper loved Christmas, but she hated spending it alone every single year. It was why she made sure to be working Christmas Eve night through Christmas morning every year if at all possible. The dead kept her company although they weren’t much of an audience. Whatever family she had left, she was estranged from them. She grew up in a cosy tudor-style cottage on a Christmas Tree Farm. Her parents had a shared love of growing these magnificent trees. When the nights turned cold, the many strings of lights were put up, all aglow when people came from all over to find the perfect tree.

               Children bundled up so snugly would dance around beneath the lights, their eyes growing wide when they saw the biggest trees. Her parents always had complementary warm cider prepared for everyone who came ‘round. Molly loved her cider with whipped cream, a sprinkle of ground cloves and a cinnamon stick peeking out of the cup. Those were the best Christmastime memories she had. Molly became the sole owner of the farm and cottage when her parents passed on. She’s had several caretakers over the past few years, who kept the trees growing, but nobody resided in it currently, and financially, she was having trouble keeping up with it along with her flat. She sold it months ago to an anonymous buyer, and though it broke her heart to give it up, Molly knew she could never have kept it.

               Earlier in the year, not long before Mary died, she had droned on and on to Sherlock about the situation; not that he was listening, but it felt good to just get it out. Three months ago, things were such a mess what with the Sherrinford incident. The entire year had been a tragic with the exception of Rosie’s arrival in the world. Eventually, they all began healing. Sherlock had been so convinced he had lost her friendship over what his sister did to them, but instead, it brought them closer. They were the best of friends and absolutely inseparable. And both had the knowledge of what was true in their hearts. Yes, they loved each other—they were in love and aware of it—but neither one had the courage to cross that line whilst they were still so fragile.

               Work was getting to be a daunting task lately. Sherlock had tried to convince her to take a holiday already, but Molly worked right through the healing process. What surprised her, however, was that Sherlock had taken a hiatus from solving crimes. She was glad he gave himself the time to process things. He wasn’t fully back in the game yet, only solving a couple mellow cases a week, but he was making progress.

               “Ah, Molly!” he exclaimed, sweeping in through the doors ever so gracefully. He looked well—much healthier than Molly had ever seen him. Over the last few months, he had gone cold turkey on smoking and drugs. He had been attending every meeting at the rehabilitation center, and had been seeing a therapist regularly. Yes, Sherlock Holmes had never looked better. “You’re coming with me,” he told her in a playful manner, attempting to drag her away from the paperwork left on her desk.

               “I’m not going anywhere until this paperwork is finished,” Molly replied, ignoring how he gently tugged on her hand.

               “Leave it,” he told her, “someone else is coming in to finish it.” Now, he knew he caught her attention.

               “What are you talking about?” she asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

               Sherlock grinned like the Cheshire cat, mischief written on his face. “We are going on holiday, my dear Molly! I’ve already packed your things—yes, I have your favourite pairs of jeans ready to go.”

               “What about my—?“

               “Favourite pairs of knickers? Packed.”

               If Molly had been drinking her bottle of water, a spit take would have definitely occurred. “How’d you figure that out?”

               Sherlock smiled cheekily. “Not telling.” He grabbed her hand. “Now, come on, we’ve got a train to catch, Molly! Don’t worry; I worked it all out with Stamford who agrees you need a holiday, by the way.”

               She had no idea what had gotten into him. Not that she didn’t enjoy this playful side—she loved it—but it was so unexpected. It was almost as if he was Scrooge at the end of A Christmas Carol. “Say, Sherlock,” Molly began as they made their way out the hospital, “did three spirits happen to visit you overnight?”

               He laughed in amusement. “Possibly,” he quipped, leaving her wondering what in the hell got into him. Whatever it was, Molly knew she was going to enjoy the adventure that lie ahead.

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               Molly watched the scenery outside the window of the train. Sherlock sat across from her, reading one of Molly’s books. She turned to him, noticing that he was quite engrossed in the story. Molly hadn’t a clue about where they were going. It had only been half an hour since they boarded, but the anticipation was killing her.

               “Okay, you’ve got to tell me where we’re going,” she told him, interrupting his reading. “Please?” She batted her lashes for full effect.

               A hint of a smile appeared on his face when he looked at her. “I don’t think so.”

               “Sherlock.” Her face was serious now.

               “What?” he replied, clearly enjoying the situation.

                 She knew he wouldn’t budge, so she turned back to the window with a sigh. Another half an hour passed, and their surroundings were beginning to feel familiar, though Molly couldn’t place it. She felt parched, in need of a drink.

               The trolley was coming by, and Sherlock set the book aside. “Thirsty?” It was as if he read her mind.

               “I would kill for a cup of tea,” she joked.

               When the man pushing the trolley approached their seats, he inquired if they wanted anything.

               “Yes, a hot cup of that tea, there,” Sherlock replied. “She’s threatened to kill for it.”

               As Molly took the steaming cup in her hands, she questioned Sherlock. “Can you at least tell me how much longer we have?”

               “Oh alright,” Sherlock sighed. “About another half an hour.”

               “Have I been here before?” she asked.

               “I answered one question already, that’s enough,” he teased her. “You’ll ruin the surprise.”

               Molly took that as a yes. So, she’d been here before—their surroundings feeling familiar, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. She shrugged, awaiting the end of their journey. She was too curious for her own good.

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               The remaining time passed quickly, and by the time they stepped off the train, Molly couldn’t believe it. She was home.

“We’re in Wellingborough?” Molly asked in disbelief as they moved their bags into their rental car, her voice small as she took in the familiar surroundings of where she grew up.

               “Yes,” Sherlock replied. “I thought we could stay in the cottage on the Christmas tree farm your parents left you.”

               Molly’s face fell. “Oh, Sherlock,” she cried. “That was such a lovely thought, but I’ve sold the property. I couldn’t keep up with it without any tenants.”

               After placing the last bag in the boot, Sherlock wrapped her up in his arms. “Molly, don’t be upset—there’s a part of the surprise you don’t know.” He grinned at her then, a pair of keys dangling from a key ring—the keys to her parents’ cottage.

               “What—how?” she asked, clearly confused.

               “I was the anonymous buyer,” Sherlock confessed. “You thought I wasn’t listening to you, but over the months since I’ve bought it, I’ve had the property well taken care of.”

               Molly looked at him in bewilderment. “I know I didn’t send the keys to Baker Street. Who exactly did I send the keys to?”

               “My parents,” he told her. “I let them know ahead of time of my plans.”

               Her face lit up as she laughed, not quite believing what she heard. “Sherlock Holmes, I could kiss you!” Her heart felt so alight, and in that moment, before either of them knew what was happening, she stood up on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

               He was shocked to say the least. Never did he experience receiving such gentle affection. His mouth was slightly agape, and from the way he was looking at her, he was clearly befuddled by her actions. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Yes, well…we should be going. We still have a bit of a drive to the countryside.”

               Molly noticed his discomfort—or perhaps it was just shock. She hadn’t meant to allow her impulses to overcome her, but it felt good. Besides, he had kissed her twice on the cheek before…why couldn’t she return his friendly affections? It was only a kiss between friends…right?

[tsaomengde]

What Is Owed (3)

(Part 1) (Part 2)

           After a night on the stone floor of the guest quarters given her by the King, Alia is awakened by the appearance of a serving woman. The woman takes one look at her and says, “Is there an issue with the bed of which I need be made aware, milady?”

           With a low growl, Alia sits up.  Her head hurts, her mouth is dry, and everything is too bright and too loud.  This is not atypical of her mornings, but she is still in no mood for visitors.  “No.”

           “Milady, then why –”

           Alia climbs stiffly to her feet, turns, and sits down on the edge of the bed.

           There are low, ominous creaking noises, followed by sounds of splintering.  She keeps eye contact with the serving woman, watching the horror and understanding blossom on her face, wondering if she will demand Alia stand up before the frame cracks completely through or if decorum will win out and keep her silent.

           “Milady, please!  I do beg your pardon.  Spare the bed my foolishness.  I was told you were consecrated of Yeda, but I thought not what it might bode.”

           Alia pushes off the balls of her feet, impressed. The bed holds, and assuming its next inhabitant weighs less than she does, she doubts there will be an issue. “So, my good maid.  Are you here to insist I bathe and change my clothes once more, or simply to ensure that I am awake for our departure?”

           Her intruder actually cracks a small smile.  “I heard tell of your grand entrance yesternight, milady.  May I remark that none amongst us are over-fond of Nadia.”

           Alia puts on a shocked look.  “It surpasses me to envisage why.”

           “To make an answer to your question, milady, the good ship Astes does depart in two hours. It was thought you might desire to make acquaintance with His Highness Prince Andral aforetime.”

           Considering the proposition of sleeping for another hour, Alia is sorely tempted to just tell this woman to go away.  But she decides that if she is going to be stuck on a skyship for two weeks with this boy and his retinue, she should make the attempt to ensure the voyage is not too unpleasant.  That probably involves talking to him at least once.

           This, she decides, can be the once, if once it indeed is.

           “I must refresh and make myself ready,” she says. “You may wait for me outside. Then I will go with you to the Prince.”

           That interaction temporarily concluded, Alia goes and carefully uses the indoor toilet.  It is not a thing she is used to, but the maid has done somewhat to soften Alia’s feelings toward the Palace staff after her encounter with Nadia, and consequently she feels little desire to make their lives difficult.  Across from the indoor toilet there is a basin, and some device of smooth, curved marble which brings forth cold, clear water into it.  A recent invention, she knows; the last time she was in this Palace, some twenty years ago, none of the guest quarters had anything like it.  She does not know what they are called or how they work.

           Alia splashes some of the water onto her face, and drinks some until she feels refreshed.  The water is somewhat brackish, but it is serviceable.

           Feeling slightly more human, she allows the serving woman to lead her up through winding staircases and steeply sloped halls to the Palace aerodrome.  It is an ambitious space that also did not exist twenty years ago; Stryga has added much to the Palace since his coronation, it seems.  The top of the tower has essentially been sliced off, and a steel floor the size of a city block has been laid flat atop it.  Tall, arched pillars of black stone rise out of the floor high into the air, supporting a glass dome lined with airsteel struts.  The structure is truly massive, capable of engulfing even the largest skyships.

           Alia knows this construction is not just for its own sake; though she is mostly uninformed about the mechanics of skyship flight, she does know the conventional wisdom that it is easier to climb than descend. Most aerodromes are constructed as high up as possible, and this one is no exception.

           The aerodrome could accommodate several vessels the size of Astes, which is the kingdom’s largest civilian skyship, but it is currently the only one docked.  Alia quietly wonders at the wisdom of not sending the Prince aboard a military craft, but then considers the prospect of Oallans breaking the surface of the waves to look up at a vast floating fortress bearing down on them.  Friendly hands behind the guns or no, Alia knows firsthand the experience of looking up into the sky and seeing the black mouth of a hellcannon gaping down back at her.

           The Astes is like a silvery dart, chopped in half along its horizontal length so it is flat-topped, and then magnified to several times the size of a red whale.  At a glance, Alia estimates it can hold seventy people, including the crew, and several tons of cargo.  More people could take the place of cargo in its hold, but she has been aboard enough skyships to know that they would not be comfortable. She notes the cunning concealment of its heat vents in the craft’s smooth lines, its broad windows, the lack of any visible armament.  Like most civilian skyships, it has no top deck, containing the crew and passengers entirely within its hull.

           Ramps extend from the ship’s belly, its bow, and its stern.  Men in grey and brown uniforms are loading cargo through the belly ramp, while occasional knots of colorfully-clad civilian passengers – noblepersons, merchants, and artisans, Alia guesses – embark through the stern ramp.  The bow ramp seems reserved for the ship’s crew, and is unused, at least for the moment.

           Prince Andral and his retainers are standing at the base of the bow ramp, apparently having a discussion with the Astes’s captain, an older woman in sharp blue trousers and doublet.  Andral is only slightly taller than Alia, sharp-featured, imperially slim.  His skin is a shade lighter than his father’s, though still rich and coppery; his charcoal hair is long, braided, and gathered in a knot at the base of his skull to hang between his shoulder blades.  He wears a smart beard, neatly trimmed.  Instead of the traditional doublet and trousers, he favors a long, white overcoat, a green waistcoat and breeches, black hose, and thick-soled, practical boots.

           The serving woman bids Alia goodbye and scurries off. Alia watches her go, wondering at the seeming suddenness of her departure, then shrugs it off and heads for the Prince.

           As she draws closer, Alia can hear what he is saying to the captain.  His voice is controlled and precise.  “I desire no special regard aboard ship, Captain.  I require only that we come to Oalla as soon as may be.”

           The captain shifts her weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable.  “Your Highness, by this do you mean we must make course for Oalla first, letting our other destinations fall by the wayside until such time as we have discharged our duty to you?”

           Andral crosses one arm over his belly, rests the elbow of the other atop the first, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  “How much time might be gained if you should do this thing?”

           “Perhaps five days, Your Highness.”

           “I sense reluctance.  Wherefore?”

           The captain looks down at her feet.  “Spoilage of certain goods we have taken aboard ship, Your Highness.  The rancor of certain travelers whose passage we secured with promises of swift deliverance to journey’s terminus.”

           “Gold may serve to assuage such rancor and soothe the sting of goods lost.”  Andral snaps his fingers, and one of his retinue, a middle-aged woman wearing the flowing robes of a scribe and numerologist, steps forward.  In one hand she holds a sheaf of paper, in the other a bloodquill.  “You may relate your potential losses to Ora, here.  My father will make recompense to you upon your return.”

           Alia sighs.  She was so hoping this might not be painful.

           Clearing her throat, she speaks up.  “Your Highness,” she says.  “I think that an ill turn.”

           Expression clouding, Andral whirls and scans her from head to toe in one glance.  “Who are you that should assume to dictate thus to me?”

           “Alia the Steelblooded,” she replies, not liking to use her full title but knowing she needs moral authority here and hoping that martial authority will do instead.  “His August Majesty King Stryga has charged me with your protection on this voyage.  To that end, I must caution you against this.  You risk the displeasure of the crew and your fellow passengers.  The captain cannot say these things to you, but I may.”

           Andral narrows his eyes, which for the first time Alia realizes are an unusually light shade of hazel.  “You presume much upon your relationship with my father, it seems.”

           “I hope not overmuch.”  Alia holds that bright gaze, not flinching.  She is as far from afraid of Andral as it is possible to be without being actively contemptuous.  He is, after all, just a boy, not even twenty years old yet.  She vaguely recalls people in the streets discussing the ceremony of his coming of age, some months ago, but that does not make a boy a man.

           With a slight sigh, Andral looks back at the captain. “Should I heed the words of Alia the Steelblooded, Captain?  Speak freely, with no fear of rebuke.”

           “Were I in your place, Your Highness,” the captain says, still looking at her feet, “I should be mindful of her most excellent advisement.”

           Andral looks back at Alia, holds her gaze a moment longer, then inclines his head.  “So shall it be, then.  I thank you for your wise counsel, Alia the Steelblooded.  Take sup with me this eve in my cabin.”

           Pursing her lips, Alia nods, deciding to ignore the peremptory tone.  He did thank her, after all, and she does not want to strain things any more.  “Until then, Your Highness.”

           He turns away with a sweep of his long coat and marches straight up the bow ramp, his attendants scurrying to keep up.

           “I must extend my sincerest gratitude, milady,” the captain murmurs quietly once Andral is aboard.

           Alia switches to the merchants’ jargon.  “Royalty are hippos.  Large mouths, large wakes, many attendant little birds.”

           That gets a chuckle out of the captain.  “And fierce tempers.  And no patience.  And a large number so dumb they shit where they eat.”

           “This one is a little smart.  He sees when he is being dumb, with help.”

           “Aye.  Gratitude again.  You are welcome on my boat.”  The captain gives her shoulder a squeeze Alia does not feel, and turns to go.

           Alia does not initially intend to stop her.  But she eyes the bow ramp, considering the prospect of dinner with Andral that evening.  “Captain,” she says, switching back to Fillorel.  “Before you away, there is a question I would ask.”

           “Yes, milady?”

           “In which part of your vessel do you keep the bar?”

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Family Feast - pt 1

Day 23 of 31 Days of Ficmas! @doctorroseprompts  With the holiday coming up, these are getting later and later lol.  This is actually going to be two three parts - pt 1 is all set up (no actual feast).  Though, feel free to feast on human!Ten in all his stuttering flustered glory!

@timepetalsprompts - bingo - awkward holiday moments, Tennant  - hair, neck,  ear, eyebrow.  Also this nonny prompt about faking a relationship.

Ficmas Masterlist 2017, Day 23

#1 in the Cosier With You Universe

AO3

---

“-fifty three’s your change, have a good holiday!” Rose said brightly, handing the coins to her favorite customer.  James accepted them automatically, staring at her and seeming deep in thought.  He’d been acting odd since he walked in; while usually his mouth was going a mile a minute, he’d hardly said two words to her today. When he didn’t move, she tried again.  “You’re all set, your drink will be down at the end when it’s done.”

Still he frowned at her, though he seemed to be looking just past her head while lost in his own.  The caring, people-person side of her wondered what he was thinking so intensely about; the proprietor-with-a-long-line-of-customers half wished he’d wake up before people gave up on waiting.

“James?”

Nothing, he stood frozen.  Come on mate, I can’t afford to lose any business, even for someone as gorgeous as you.

“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours?” she tried, verging on desperate, making Amy at the next register snort with laughter even as the customer behind James checked her watch impatiently.

“You wish,” her friend muttered, and Rose kicked out her, the toe of her boot barely grazing the redhead’s calf.  Thankfully, the childish moment was hidden from her customers.

“That’s nice,” he finally offered vaguely, finally, finally shuffling off slowly towards a table by the window, drink & snack (gingerbread hot chocolate, banana nut muffin) ignored at the pickup counter.

“Bye?”  Rose watched him go, only able to spare a second of worry before having to turn to the next customer.  He’d be back to pick it up, and even if he wasn’t, she’d just refund him next time he was in.  For customer-service reasons, of course, not that she’d been wanting an excuse for ages to buy him a drink…

Five minutes and three customers later she’d almost forgotten the exchange in the mid-afternoon rush when James reappeared in front of her, much more with it and wide eyed, looking vaguely like a deer in headlights, order in hand.

“What?!”

Rose and Amy burst into laughter, Rose smiling apologetically at the customer he’d butted in front of before rolling her eyes at James.  “I was trying to get your attention, you seemed lost in space,” Rose explained with a smile.

Amy, to her credit, kept the line going, though Rose had no doubts she was listening to every word.

“Yeah.”  He fidgeted with his takeaway cup before looking back up at her.  “Say, do you get a break?”

Rose’s heart leapt with excitement and anticipation- looks like I won’t have to make the first move after all!

“Yeah, course we do.  Go ahead, I can cover,” Amy interrupted, give Rose a meaningful glare.

Biting her lip Rose checked on the line, and felt better at seeing only a few people waiting now; she didn’t feel so bad at the idea of abandoning her employee to them, thanking her with a squeeze to the elbow as she passed.  Disappearing into the back for a moment, she hurried out of her apron, but took the time to fluff her hair and re-apply her lipstick.

Easing out from behind the counter she crossed the small sitting area to the table by the window where James sat nervously picking at his muffin; it said something to his state of mind that anything more than a few crumbs remained.  And, perhaps, more to how closely she’d been watching him since he started visiting her shop.

“Hi,” she giggled nervously, sliding into the seat and folding her hands on the tabletop.  She was breathless, hope and anticipation running rampant and making it hard to think straight.  After so long spent daydreaming about this moment, it’s presence was nerve-wracking.

“Hi,” he breathed back, eyes still wide.

They sat there for several long moments staring at each other with dumb smiles on their face, though the long they sat in silence, the more curious and expectant Rose’s expression became.

“Oh!” he finally exclaimed, eyes lighting up.  “I asked you here for a reason.  Not to just stare at you.  Not that I don’t like staring at you, but you’re clearly busy, and I-”

“Yes?” she cut him off, leaning forward eagerly, biting her lip.  She tried to keep her expression open and inviting, without coming across as desperate.

“Um, do you have plans on Christmas Eve?”

A promising, if unusual, start.  “Um, in the evening.  With Mum.  But I can cancel!” she hastily added, not wanting to blow the moment.  WHY did I mention my mother?  Why?

“Right,” he said vaguely, combing his fingers through his hair before rubbing at the back of his neck.  “Here’s the thing – uh, I have a party to go to at my sister’s that afternoon, more of a lunch really.  And I was hoping you might go with me?”

“You want me to go to a Christmas luncheon at your sister’s?” she repeated.  While she wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea, it did seem a bit… sudden to already be meeting his family, at the holidays no less.  Does he think we need a chaperone or something?

“Yeah.”  He tugged at his ear, and she narrowed her eyes.  Despite most of their interactions being approximately three minutes long, they did occur nearly every day (sometimes twice), and one could learn a lot about another person in three-minute segments.  And to her knowledge, he was giving off every tell he had.

“Is there something more?”

“Um,” he kept fidgeting, looking anywhere but at her, still stabbing at his muffin with a fork.  “Here’s the thing.  My sister is… opinionated.  And, uh, brash.  We love each other desperately but she can be, well, overbearing.”

“Good to know,” she said slowly, trying to let him go at his own pace without blurting out all of her questions.

“And, well, she’s been wanting me to date for quite a while, and eventually, I, er, may have told her I was seeing someone?”

“And you want me to play the role?”  Rose’s heart dropped, and she hoped her disappointment wasn’t visible on her face; he was a customer, a good one, and she didn’t want to drive him away.  Deciding to wait out his explanation, she just raised an eyebrow in expectation.

“Uh huh.”

“Why me specifically?  You must have female friends she doesn’t know.”  She tried not to let her imagination run away without her, though she couldn’t help but be pleased that at least he saw her as fake-girlfriend potential, if not the real thing.

“I do,” he allowed, shifting in his seat.  “But, she, well, Donna, she won’t just accept ‘oh, I’m seeing someone’.  She needs details.  And I panicked, and it kind of got away from me, and now here we are.”

“Still don’t see why me,” she prompted.  In hindsight his reluctance would likely be cute, but in the in the moment, it was toying with her heart.

“Itoldheritwasyou.”

“What?”

“She wanted details!  And I somehow, kind of, mentioned you.”

Her eyebrows shot up, even as inside she danced at the knowledge that he thought of her when she wasn’t taking his coffee order.  “Mentioned me how?”  Leaning back in her seat, she wished she’d brought a cup of something with her to occupy her hands, and maybe obscure her mouth once in a while.

“Well, that you worked in the local coffee shop, and we got along, and one thing led to another.”

Be cool, Rose.  Like he said, it’s just a story.  “And how long have we been ‘dating’?”  Hurt feelings aside, it was starting to get amusing, the way he appeared to be so full of nervous energy he was thirty seconds away from vibrating off the chair, onto the floor, and out the door never to be seen again.

“Eight months.”

What?  “And how serious a relationship is this?”

He tugged his ear again, voice going squeaky.  “I may have implied I’d been ring shopping?”

She couldn’t help it; she burst into laughter.

“Stop laughing!” he protested weakly, and she had to put her head on the table as she shook.  “Rose!”

“Sorry,” she finally managed to gasp, lifting her head.  “It’s just – you see how absurd this is, yeah?”

His lower lip protruded sullenly, and she fought back the urge to kiss it.  “Of course I do,” he said miserably.  “But I’m too far in.  And if I try to say that we broke up, she might very well come down here and try to win you back for me herself.”

“Have you considered just telling her I’m working and couldn’t switch shifts?” she offered practically, and his head shot up.

“That’s brilliant!” he enthused.  “I’ll try that.  But, um, knowing Donna-”

“Then we’ll make it work.  At the very least, it’ll be an interesting story for my Mum.”  Rose grinned, and he smiled back.

“I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow,” he promised, extending one hand.

“Sounds good,” she bit her lip, shaking his hand seriously.

What has he gotten me into?  And heaven help me, I want to see it through.

-

The next morning found Rose and Amy once again manning the tills in the middle of a rush, and ill-tempered customers had already knocked Rose’s customer-service smile down from aggressively cheery to merely please don’t yell at me.  “Welcome to Bad Wolf Bakery, what can I get you?” Rose greeted the fuming redhead in front of her, trying to be as pleasant as possible to ease what promised to be a tense transaction.

“I’d like to talk to your manager,” the woman huffed, crossing her arms.  Already?  What could possibly have happened?

Rose’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Amy for help, who merely shrugged.  “I’m so sorry ma’am, is there something wrong?”

“Yes!” she snapped.  “What kind of slave labor turn of the century factory is this?”

“I don’t-”

“Listen, Rachel, I’m sure you’re lovely and that’s not the problem.  My brother’s girlfriend works here, and can’t get one afternoon off to attend a bleeding family get together!  Well, not if I’ve got anything to say about it!” the woman argued, and a knot tightened in Rose’s stomach as she understood.

“You’re Donna,” she breathed in wonder – James’ description hadn’t done the woman justice.

“Yes…  How’d you know that?”

“I’m Rose,” Rose greeted, extending her hand.  He’d said she was overbearing, and perhaps a bit, but she was charmed at how much she clearly cared for her brother, and the lengths she’d go to.

“Pleasure,” Donna bit out, shaking her hand before sighing.  “Sorry – this wasn’t how I wanted to introduce myself.  James called and said you couldn’t get off, and that’s not – you need to be there.”

Rose smiled politely, panicking inside on how she was going to sell this drama she was now trapped in without James’ input.  Trying to buy some time, she started, “Let me go talk to my manager-”

“Oh!”  Amy exclaimed from beside her, looking up from her phone.  “That was Rory, his shift just got changed so we can’t do the 24th.  I can cover for you?”

“Oh, would you really?”  Donna gushed, looking at her fellow ginger.  “That’s lovely!  We’ll see you then, Rose!  This is going to be brilliant!”

As quickly as the woman had blown in, she swept out again leaving unknown destruction in her wake.

“Thanks,” Rose said dryly to Amy as the next customer stepped up to the counter.

The other woman shrugged.  “What else could you do?”

Rose just stared out the door, wondering how she would explain this to her mother.

-

“So it’s all sorted,” James greeted her cheerfully that afternoon when he entered just as the rush was ending.  “Told Donna you’ve got work, so you’re off the hook!”

“Is that so?”  Rose smirked back at him, folding her arms in front of her.  She’d had a good few hours to come around on the idea and see the humor, and was looking forward to his expression.

“Yep!”  He popped the letter, looking so pleased with himself Rose was almost sorry to burst his bubble.

Almost.

“Cause she came in this morning demanding to speak to my manager, trying to get me off the schedule.  Amy jumped in and offered to cover, so I am free as a bird and she knows it.”  She raised an eyebrow at him, biting her lip to hide the smirk when his face fell.

“I should have known,” he sighed sadly.  “She accepted that way too easily.”

Rose nodded.  “Looks like there’s no getting out of it.”

“Are you willing?  I can still-”

“No, should be interesting.  I certainly liked her, at least.  Though, hang on, how does she know where I work?”

James ruffled his hair.  “I may have mentioned it.”

“Exactly how much have you mentioned me?”  Rose asked, eyebrow going higher when he blushed.

“Enough.  All true, though,” he assured her.

That, she doubted, pointing out, “Except for the fact that you’re considering asking me to marry you.”

His face turned a lovely shade of fuchsia at that, making him look adorable.  “Right, except that.”  He scratched his neck again.

“So…”

“Are you really willing to put up with this just for me?” he blurted.

“Are you sure you want me to tag along?” she shot back.

“Yes,” he said emphatically, blushing again as his desperation leaked through, melting her heart.

Something about it made Rose brave enough to ask, “And, maybe, if it goes well we can get coffee or something after the holiday?”

James’ eyes lit up, and he slowly smiled.  “Oh, a holiday lunch with my sister?  Definitely earns you dinner.”  Just as quickly as it appeared, the suave air vanished as he panicked.  “If, you know, you want.  Or just coffee would be fine.  I like coffee.  Obviously.  Though I don’t know where I’d take you – normally, this is my go-to place but who wants to go to work on a date?  Not that I’m assuming it’d be a date!  Though it could be, if you wanted?  But definitely no obligation!”  By the end his eyes were wide with fear as he audibly snapped his jaw shut.

“A dinner date sounds perfect,” Rose promised with a smile.

He wilted in relief.  “Good.”

“Yep.”

When he just stood there, she asked with a laugh, “Did you actually want to order something?”

-

“Explain this to me again?” Jackie asked as she watched Rose finish her makeup.

“Mum…”  She bit back a sigh; in the three days since she’d told her mother about the invitation, including the deception, she’d had to repeat the same store over and over, answering the same questions.  Knowing it came from a place of concern and love didn’t make it easier, though, and she’d long since started to wish she’d just lied.

“I mean, what do you actually know about this bloke?”

“I know… I really like him.  I know he’s sweet, and charming, and he obviously likes me.  I think… I think this might actually go somewhere, Mum.  More than Jimmy or Mickey.  Something real, you know?”  Ready to wait outside at this point to avoid more questions she grabbed her things and headed for the door, reaching it just as there was a knock.

Taking a deep breath she opened the door, greeting James with a shy “Hey.”

“Hi.”  He smiled nervously, thrusting a small bouquet of flowers at her.  “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” she laughed, accepting them carefully.  “Thank you, they’re beautiful.  And, uh, James, this is my mum.  Mum, this is James.”

“How do you do?” James offered his hand, only for it to be ignored, her mother crossing her arms instead with a suspicious gaze.

“No funny business, ya hear?  You won’t get away with it – I promise you that,” she told him fiercely, and he swallowed hard.

“None at all, ma’am.  Promise.  She’ll be perfectly safe.”

“We should go,” Rose cut in with a smile.  “Mum, I’ll be back later.”  Turning her back on James, she glared at her mother, handing off the flowers.  “Bye.”

Without waiting for a response she marched out the door, hoping she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

[agentdagonet]

Echoes, Ch. 33

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

          Harry could scarcely remember a time he had been more inclined to rip someone’s hands from their body, but Kelline was somehow a tier all to herself. She’d taken a while to approach Eggsy, had instead attempted to entice him into approaching her, but he’d made a show of being unimpressed- and somehow that had impressed her. He was in his old streetwear, winged shoes luckily Kingsman-made despite their common appearance, sans glasses. For all the world he looked like a local out for a night, and if not for the untested adhesive audio transmitters secured in his ears Eggsy would have been entirely on his own outside of Harry’s watchful eye.

           Unfortunately, the technology meant that Harry was privy to their entire conversation, which he attempted to ignore entirely- but a mention of himself had him tuning back in.

           ‘Do you see the gentleman at the end of the bar, Dean?’ Eggsy had chosen the name for himself, and Harry couldn’t understand why he would bring even the memory of that man into his work. But there were a great many things he did not understand about Eggsy, and that was half the charm. Always on his toes.

           ‘What ‘bout him, Kells?’ Harry was sure to wait a moment too long before he turned his head away from the sight of Eggsy with Grisham.

           ‘Kelline, please, Dean- I’ve spent long enough being called by derivatives to know I don’t desire it in bed.’

           ‘We ain’t in a bed, luv.’

           ‘Not yet.’ Eggsy made a show of looking her over, one eyebrow raised and lip caught between his teeth, inwardly groaning at the show he was being forced to put on. It was the job, and he loved the job, but this woman was frustrating as hell. ‘But back to the point- that man has had his eyes on you all night.’ Finally.

           ‘Has he?’ Eggsy smirked, brushed a hand across her shoulder to unnecessarily move some hair out of his way, ‘why do you care? I’m over here with you, ain’t I?’

           ‘What if I want him to watch us?’ She whispered it into the edge of his ear, briefly running her tongue along the lobe before biting softly.

           ‘Then I’m at your service, Kelline.’ Eggsy turned the two of them so she was pressed against the edge of the bar, one hand on the bartop and the other slowly running its way up her back. ‘Let’s give ‘im somethin’ to talk about, yeah?’

           Harry meant to make himself less obvious, to be more the shy man uncomfortable with his desires than the lecherous voyeur, but that simply did not happen. His hand tightened on his near empty pint, and he could scarcely look away. Eggsy was barely taller than she was, but had made sure to bend at such an angle as to make himself seem more imposing, almost looming over her, as they kissed. Her eyes were mostly closed, the smallest sliver revealing that her gaze flickered between the two of them, mind not fully engaged with the physical side of the show. Harry tried desperately to tune out the sounds of their lips coming apart and together again, unable to stop himself from putting himself in her place. The taste of his lips, the feel of Eggsy’s strength atop his own.

           Grisham locked eyes with Harry and moved one hand to Eggsy’s hair, tugged a bit at the base and Eggsy let out what Harry could only assume was a genuine moan of pleasure before diving back into her mouth.

           Harry let his mouth fall open just enough to be noticable, pulling himself back to at least a semblance of professionalism while keeping her attention. Grisham pulled back from the kiss and scratched her nails across Eggsy’s scalp, grinning at the full-body shiver the action evoked.

           ‘He’s watching.’

           ‘Weren’t that the point?’ Eggsy grinned into her neck, the edges of his teeth visible to Harry from across the room, before biting down. Grisham moaned and pulled his head back up to force their lips back together. ‘D’you want him to join us?’ Eggsy whispered between kisses, checking Harry out briefly, ‘he ain’t bad lookin’.’ What was Eggsy doing now?

           ‘I’m more of a one man kind of woman, Dean- but we could invite him to see things a little closer, if you like.’ This was not part of the plan, and Harry was going to kill him. Slowly. But for now all he could do was turn away and pretend to be embarrassed.

           ‘The fuck are you doing, Eggsy? The point was to not have you two connected.’ Merlin grumbled into the mic and Harry hummed his head in silent agreement, hiding it in his now empty glass.

           ‘Think you like the idea of that, don’t you sweethear’?’ Eggsy breathed into Grisham’s ear, ‘Someone close ‘nough to hear you pantin’ for it who ain’t allowed to touch. You like ‘em rough an’ young and a bit forbidden. Like to tempt ev’ryone else like fuckin’ Eve an’ the apple.’ Eggsy ran a fingertip up the side of her ribs, casually glancing across the edge of her breast, before returning his hand to her waist. ‘I don’ mind bein’ used, but if we’re gonna do this,’ Eggsy pulled her off the bar and fully into himself, forcing her to look up into his eyes, ‘we’re gonna do it right, you get me?’

           On the one hand, Harry was impressed with his use of doublespeak to address Merlin’s concerns- on the other he was furious with being put into this position by the man. Grisham was obviously going for it, the heave of her chest and wide-eyed look she was giving Eggsy all he needed to know that they would be approaching him soon. He had approximately 2 minutes, but probably less than that, to come to a decision.

           Did he particularly want to see Eggsy and Grisham closer than he already had? Not at all; but being in closer proximity than he was currently in could only give more opportunities to obtain the information they needed, so for the sake of the mission he should. And that was the priority- the mission- so the decision had technically already been made.

           ‘Got a question for ya, mate.’ Eggsy had either made it to Harry’s end of the bar far quicker than he’d estimated it would take, or he’d been too focused on his non-choices to notice his approach. Either way, Harry blinked his way back into the present and looked up at Eggsy the same way he’d looked at Dean’s goons all that time ago.

           ‘What could you possibly have to ask of me?’

           ‘D’you want to come an’ watch us a bit closer? Can’t have that good a view from here, bruv.’ Eggsy smirked, and cocked one hip as he crossed his arms. Harry could see Kelline watching avidly from her spot on the far end of the bar, and frowned slightly as he met Eggsy’s gaze briefly, brows furrowed as he looked away again. Tell-tale flush to his ears, shoulders slumped- the image of a man caught out in an embarrassing but not dangerous circumstance. Someone who hadn’t meant to be obvious. Hadn’t meant to be caught.

           ‘Don’t hurt yourself, just give it a think an’ come by when you’re ready.’ That cheeky shit. If there had been any doubt that Eggsy couldn’t fall back into old habits, it was certainly gone now. But Harry refused to look up from the tabletop, and Eggsy hesitated for a breath before walking back toward his target. It wasn’t the plan, to be sure, but he knew how birds like her thought. She wanted to be the only thing anyone remembered about that evening, whether due to her knowledge of her actions she wanted to be memorable. She wanted to know she was remembered, and there was little as memorable as a voyeuristic escapade in a crowded bar; both for those directly involved and for those on the outskirts. If Harry came and joined them, in whatever way Kelline directed, every person in that bar would know what was happening.

           And that’s exactly the kind of audience that wouldn’t notice anything amiss- a captive one.

           So he swaggered his way back toward Grisham, shoulders back and grin wide, and greeted her with a kiss. ‘Asked if he wanted a better view.’

           ‘And?’ Her cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated as she searched his face for some hint of an answer. Eager to know the game they were going to play. He shrugged and pulled her closer, one hand draping itself just above her arse while the other sat respectfully on her waist- fingers squeezing just tight enough to remind her of their size without leaving any marks,

           ‘An’ we’ll have to wait an’ see- he weren’t expectin’ to be noticed. Seemed out of sorts- told ‘im to come by when he was ready.’

           ‘When?’

           ‘Men like ‘im don’ let opportunity pass ‘em when it comes to the shit they ain’t supposed to want.’

           ‘Then, Dean, let’s get back with the programme.’ Kelline looked up at him from between her lashes, blue eyes bright even in the dim lighting, and Eggsy couldn’t help but note that she was beautiful on the outside. Like a poisonous flower that didn’t know any other way to be. But Eggsy had grown among poisonous plants, had adapted to their toxic perfumes and blinding colours, and knew how far his resistance could take him.

           And this? This was nothing.

           So he smiled and leant forward, brought their lips together softly before demanding more, cornering her between the bar, the wall, and himself with one hand pulling her fully to him. He didn’t need Merlin’s warning that Harry was approaching- if there was one thing he was attuned to it was his presence, but he still maneuvered them back toward the bar. In plainer view of both the general customers and the man approaching them while desperately trying to seem as if that was not what he was doing.

           For everything Eggsy knew about Harry, seeing his acting in action was something else- he’d never have guessed that Harry was within the man sheepishly making his way down the bar. The other patrons leered as he went by, likely thinking their actions covert when glancing from the couple to the elder gentleman making his way. They’d get to have a laugh about it later.

           It was showtime.