#their names baker right? I’m not lookin it up

[royaltea000]

No one:

Ethan in the Baker house:

[partyinthemysterymachine]

Bro tell me more abt Snow on Mt. Silver it sounds cool and yes ik I can go read it myself and all but I think it'd be more fun coming from you

TURNS HEAD AROUND LIKE OWL

oh. oh u sure. u sure wanna open That Box then LEMME JUST

TAKES A DEEP BREATH

OK SO

the way the creepypasta goes (from my memory) is generally how it always do: Haunted Cartridge, sorta. Hacked. 

a girl and her little brother love pokemon games, they also dig the hacked shit. brother was playing a hacked version (or smth, gameshark’d) of Gold when he suddenly flipped out, had to be admitted to the hospital For Sudden Onset Of Crazies, and was blaming the game. girl’s like Huh and boots up the alleged Crazy-Baker 9000 Simulator (Pokemon Edition) and finds what’s now known as Easter Egg Snow On Mt Silver

oh yeah that’s like. the official title. its full title is Easter Egg - Snow on Mt. Silver.

protag character trainer Gold - named Blake in this save file - is on Mt Silver, a snowy mountaintop where Trainer Red (the same from Pokemon Red) absconded to to train his pokemon in isolation after becoming champion. 

Red’s been AFK for years at this point, talking to exactly no one, just fucked right off. i haven’t played Gold so idk if this is post-game content (i think it is) but you can go to Mt Silver and battle Red normally.

however, with this hacked game, you open up to being on Mt Silver and the screen is just swathed in static snow. (haha get it?) it’s hard to see anything in there, but you have a full team of pokemon, starting with a Typhlosion (fire). if you try to turn back into the cave entrance behind you, Blake will make comments like “it’s too late now” “i can’t go back” “it’s too late to go back”, and so you can’t leave.

you have a Pidgeot and try to use Fly, but you can’t fly out of that weather. only one way to go, and it’s up. so you guide Blake up the mountain but damn it’s slow moving; and i mean, you’re in snow, so.. it makes sense, right? and it gets slower and slower to move him, but as you’re climbing, Blake stops, and you get a notification that: “I’m cold.”

then you keep walking. then a notification that Meganium has died. what the fuck??? open up the party, and sure enough— him ded. it’s got a red X on it even the sprite’s all fucked up ten ways to sunday, even the cry’s all distorted!! well shit. might as well check on Blake's sprite too huh in his trainer ID?? .. hm well. looks kinda pale but. sorta ok i guess. normal.

as you advance, you get another notification. Pidgeot has died. Lucia has died. all one after the other until it’s just Typhlosion left and you’ve gone into the next cave at the top. it’s a long hallway, no snow, but it leads you to a platform. now from what I understand, that’s where you generally meet Red to battle him in the normal game, but here, there’s a pokeball. go and touch it :)

oh no it’s Celebi! —fucked up Celebi!! mfer’s gotten George Foreman grilled on one side, man it looks rough. but it doesn’t even let you battle, it doles out Perish Song (a Move that faints both the user and opposing pokemon in 3 turns) and there’s a horrific AOL dial-up bastard child noise singing the perish eardrums song of her people. Blake faints but doesn’t get a lfit off the mountain, instead he reappears in a dark dark room in a dark dark hall (haha see what i did there) and checking his trainer ID card..

.. dude lookin fukt the fukt UUUUPPPPP. he’s missing one leg, missing an arm (on the other side), missing an eye, black tears, the whole of him either ghost white or tinted blue. our mans Jack Dawson back in pokeblack (wrong this is gold. pokemon black is a different pokepasta before actual pokemon black. long story) (but also depending on the fan version of the game your lil sprite on screen will also be missing a leg and arm so u can just watch his cute little fat self hobble up the hall it’s great)

as you guide him up he’ll pause and say “It’s so cold” “Mother…..” “It feels so cold” “I can’t go on” every now and then and get slower and slower and slower, the hall darker and darker, then there’s an exit at the top (again, depending on fan game, it’s either pure white or flashing)

DAYUM IT’S WHITE AF OUT HEERREEE you’re in the Void. just walk it’s fine. oh look it’s Red. as per usual Red greets you with an exuberant monologue (“…”) and a battle starts.

every single one of Red’s party is one of the same sort of fucked up looking dead sprites you see in YOUR party. you only have Typhlosion left and he’s got 6 health. every single one of Red’s pokemon uses struggle, which does 1 damage to you, and murderized the user (“Venusaur has died!”) all Red has to say about it is “………..” like a true fuckin salt-lickin’ champ, vagueing Blake to the very end here i salute you big guy, and basically you just go through his entire team until….

FREAKACHUUUU BABBAAEEEYYYYY

so freakachu uses Pain Split which well. evenly splits the damage dealt, which ultimately kills Typhlosion as well as Freakachu and ends the battle. when Red comes back onto the screen, he too has lost an arm, leg, his whole-ass jaw, and got some gut removal surgery going as well. 

it goes back to your two sprites. Red finally pipes up and says, “It’s over.” and then the screen says “ USED DESTINY BOND!” and once again we are treated to aaaaaAAAÁAEEUUAAÄAGZZZĖEEEEEAAAEAEEEEAZZAAEEEEEæaAÃEEEEGGeeeęeeeeEEÉÈË to take home wiht us and the screen goes black.

c’est fini. the girl takes the game and the gameshark and just pitches the mfer. checks the gameboy to make sure it’s not all just fucked up, relieved when pikachu is still a lil preppy mfer in a different game she has, happy-trauma-cries about it.

that winter, however, the snow fell thick.

aannndd THAT’S the gist of Easter Egg - Snow on Mt. Silver!! you can ofc read the entire thing and there are fan games out there (links n stuff at end) but now about fnf lullaby. FNF = Friday Night Funkin’, which is a rhythm game; a lullaby comes from the pokepasta Hypno’s Lullaby, a rhyme based off the official pokedex entry for Hypno that’s uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

well the pokemon company had fun with it at least and released an actual shirt about it

now i’m not going to get into fnf lullaby (and fnf lullaby v2) other than say that fnf lullaby is a whole mod for fnf based off of pokepastas. there was a song in the first version of the mod called Monochrome (that people just LOVE playing because the mechanics are SO fun and easy :) ) that was based off ANOTHER pokepasta for Gold (trainer name Ethan), that got a Snow on Mt Silver mod for a minute there.

but then lullaby v2 had a full ass song for mt silver called Frostbite.

but. god i’m so good at staying on track lmao. idk. there’s something special about snow on mt silver. i have my own ideas about it, but this has gotten wildly long as it is, so perhaps later LOL but until then, here are some links <3

ORIGINAL POKEPASTA

fangame 1 (ORIGINAL) (SEIZURE + VOLUME WARNING)

fangame 2 (recent) (SEIZURE + VOLUME WARNING)

fnf lullaby Frostbite

fnf lullaby Frostbite fanmade animation + song (SEIZURE WARNING)

fnf lullaby Monochrome, Mt Silver Edition

THX FOR UR INTEREST AND QUESTION AND I HOPE U ENJOYED THAT AND ALL THIS CHEERS ILUUUU XOXOXOXO

[marvelandimagine]

I Caught Fire

Pairing: (Alfie Solomons x baker!OC Annie Murphy)

Word count: 3,500

Summary: Alfie never expects things to go smoothly. He doesn’t expect his date with Annie to go so incredibly well, and he definitely doesn’t anticipate her wanting to go back to his place. But he’ll take it just the same.

Warnings: 18+! Dirty talk, oral (f receiving), fingering, slight praise kink, piv (unprotected), cum marking

A/N: Um this took forever but I'm pretty dang happy with the end result! *self five* Title from the song of the same name by The Used. “We could take our heads off, stay in bed and just make love, that's all ... And I’m melting in your eyes, like my first time that I caught fire. Just stay with me, lay with me. Let’s sleep ‘till the sun burns out.”

---

Alfie always had a back-up plan. Usually, at least 3. To succeed in his line of work, you had to not only accept that things would go awry, you needed to know how to pivot seamlessly when they did.

The downside to this constant state of vigilance was that it bled over into his life outside of the criminal underworld, forever waiting for the other shoe to drop when things felt too quiet. Too good.

So, it was only natural that as he knocked on the door of Annie's flat to pick her up for their date, bouncing the sunflowers he brought against his thigh, he was steeling himself for one of the following worst-case scenarios.

A) There's no response at her door. Plan: Pick the lock, go in, and see if she’s with another man. If so, tell him that if he hurts her, the Wandering Jew will cut his balls off and have him watch as he feeds them to stray dogs. Exit immediately. Go shoot something or someone. If Annie isn’t home and there are signs of a struggle, burn Camden to the ground until he finds her.

B) She answers the door BUT says she changed her mind. Plan: Say he understands, leave, and go shoot something or someone. Drink copious amounts of the rum he "never" touches. Cry?

C) She answers the door and has not changed her mind. Plan: Try to not have a goddamn nervous breakdown in front of her because holy fuck, when was the last time he went on a date, and would Annie actually have a good time, and did the blue vest Edna told him to get actually look ok or did he look like a cunt, and -

And then she opens the door, and he stops worrying about his head going to shit, because his whole body promptly stops working. Was this what people meant by lovesick? Dizzy and feverish and incapable of rational thought, incapable of focusing on anything other than her luminescence. There she is, beaming at him in a sparkling black and gold short-sleeved dress with matching bracelets and heels. It’s the first time he's seen her with her hair untied, and all he wants to do is run his hands through those dark, silky waves.

By some miracle, he manages to pull himself together, breathing out the first words that come to mind:

“You are fuckin’ radiant, love.” He presses the flowers into her hands, and she inhales happily.

“You’re sweet.” She steps closer until she’s practically against him, her green eyes scanning, drinking him in. She smiles, running a hand down his chest, and Alfie feels like his veins are tangled up with power wires.

“And you clean up very, very well yourself, Mr. Solomons.” She kisses him and Alfie kisses her back, the tiniest part of him nudging, pleading to, for once, trust that things can stay this good. To trust her.

She puts the flowers in a vase and as she takes his hand in hers and leads him out the door, he finally feels like he can exhale. And he tells his doubt to politely fuck right off, if only temporarily.

Remarkably, it works. At dinner, he just gets lost in her, in how easily their conversation flows, in their game of imagining backstories for other patrons.

“That couple at the bar there lookin’ like they’re ‘bout to fuckin’ poison each others’ drinks, yeah, you have got to ask yourself, An: did he sleep with her sister or her best friend?”

“Nah, their maid. His wife fired her when she found out, is now without a cook and won’t do it herself, so he brought her here in a feeble attempt at reconciliation — and so he wouldn’t starve.”

“…. You are a fuckin’ genius, An.”

“Cheers, love.”

She’s as effervescent as her champagne, bubbling and brimming with life and laughter that fills up the dark and hollow spaces in his chest. And that buoyancy sustains him, nourishes him even more so than their lavish dinner.

Buckwheat blinis just like his mom used to make, vessels for the salty, sinful caviar that Alfie justifies to a thoroughly amused Annie: “If ya squint in this light, yeah, it's just like scales on a little fish. Proper kosher, then, innit?” Succulent lamb with crisp potatoes and a vinegary cucumber salad, delicate lemon sole alongside fresh asparagus with creamy hollandaise. And, of course, the fabled toffee pudding Annie is dying to investigate. “There’s fuckin’ whiskey in it, no wonder my drunken Irish brethren all fancy it!”

Alfie can't remember the last time he felt so at ease, this peaceful. When they finally get up to leave, a quick look at his watch reveals that three hours have flown by, and he smiles. The King of Camden and his beloved queen, together in their own little realm. And he's desperate for it to continue, to stay in this paradise just for a second, a minute longer with her. His wish is granted as she tugs his hand, guiding him through the warm August air to walk alongside the winding Thames, where the glow of the street lamps reflect like golden sparks. They fall into a comfortable silence, lulled by the current, by the magnetic pull that keeps their hands, their bodies, close together. And it's a good thing he's got one arm slung around her shoulders, because her heel catches on a crack in the stony path. He steadies her as she yelps and tilts toward the dark waters, shaking his head.

“Easy there, love. It’d be my fuckin’ luck, wouldn’t it, takin’ you out and you catchin’ your death in the bloody Thames."

“Dunno why you’re worried, I’m incredibly graceful.” Her lofty tone doesn't mask the grin in her voice.

“Pet, I watched you walk right into a fuckin' door last week.”

"Only because you distracted me!”

"And I am not the least bit sorry, yeah, because it was one of the funniest fuckin' things I have ever seen in my miserable life.” He kisses the top of her head as she huffs. “Kinda cute too, seein' ya lose focus over me."

Annie rolls her eyes, lightly checking him with her hip. “Shut it.”

"Why dontcha make me,” he replies, brushing his lips against her ear.

And she does, stopping abruptly and pulling at the front of his vest as she kisses him, deep and warm and intoxicating. She is the taste of toffee and champagne and home, and Alfie clings to her, letting her flood his senses.

Annie breaks the kiss and her eyes are embers.

“I don’t want to stop.”

“So … don’t,” Alfie replies, his brow furrowing slightly with confusion.

She shakes her head, framing Alfie’s face with her hand. “Let me be more clear.” Her voice is quiet yet confident, every syllable dripping with honey and molten fire. “I want you. All of you. Yeah?”

Alfie’s eyes widen slightly, and Annie smirks, sending his hair on end as she traces his jawline lightly with her nails. He catches her hand in his and squeezes firmly.

“First order of business, love. I am categorically fuckin’ keen on the idea, make no mistake.” He exhales deeply. “But the tiny part of my soul not yet utterly consumed by complete fuckin’ darkness feels compelled to emphasize that there is absolutely no expectation of you rushin’ into anythin' with me. That said, I am properly thrilled to devote myself wholeheartedly to studyin’ the noble fuckin’ art and science of bringin’ you pleasure.” His tone softens, brushing her hair behind her ear. “But there is no pressure, yeah?”

“I know. But I’m sure. Just like I’m sure how I feel about you.” She tilts her head slightly. “But categorically fuckin’ keen, huh?” A sly grin spreads across her face, and she punctuates her next sentences with slow, searing kisses that cause Alfie’s head to spin.

“So, you can't tell me you haven’t thought about it. About me. In bed. With you.”

“I could but I’d be a fuckin’ liar, then, wouldn’t I?,” he replies, his breath hitching slightly. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “Annie, you are absolutely sure-"

She cuts him off, rolling her eyes. “C’mon. Your place is closer.”

"Right.”

He grins and grabs her hand once more, but this time, instead of a slow stroll, they hustle across the busy cobblestone streets together.

--

Alfie unlocks his door and is immediately met by Cyril, who quickly pushes his owner aside to greet Annie.

“Cyril! I missed you, my sweet boy.” Annie’s laugh echoes throughout the house as the massive dog jumps on her, pinning her against the wall with a barrage of slobbery kisses.

With great effort, Alfie heaves Cyril off Annie, grumbling.

“Come off it, you daft dog.” He gets down at eye level with the bull mastiff, who is unmistakably pouting. “Sorry, mate, my woman, not yours.” Cyril continues to stare and Alfie sighs, reaching into a massive bin in the corner to pull out a well-chewed bone, and Cyril decides that all is forgiven. “There ya go, that's a good lad, getcha treat and trot on.”

Once Cyril lumbers away, Alfie stands up and strides over to Annie. “C’mere, you.” He picks her up easily and she locks her arms and legs around him, dipping down for an off-kilter kiss.

He carries her down the hall to his bedroom, his heart thrumming in his ears as she untangles herself from him and slides onto his bed. He plops down right next to her, bracelets clinking as he cups her face with his hands.

“Fuck, you are beautiful,” he murmurs, placing his forehead on hers. He kisses her deeply and their bodies connect, his hands sliding down to hold her waist as her tongue meets his own. He's so alive and so in love, so completely dumbfounded as to why God decided to offer a man like him a woman, a goddess, really, like her.

He starts tugging the bottom of Annie’s dress up and she shifts to her knees, helping him guide it off and over her head. Alfie's breath catches at the sight of her, swathed in scraps of dark silk and lace. His eyes dance across her, transfixed.

“Fuckin’ hell," he exhales. “You really are a vision, An.”

His rough hands trace across her arms, smattered with burn marks and taut from the labor of kneading and carrying, from transmuting stress and grief to the boxing bag in her basement. But the rest of her is so, so soft, and his hands linger on the curves of her breasts, her hips, her ass. Every part of her he's privileged to caress sends blazing heat straight to his gut, his cock. He is reverent in this new religion he’s discovered, worshipping at the altar of her sacred form.

His awe-struck reverie is suddenly broken when, her eyes smoldering into his, Annie unfastens both clasps of her garter belt. It's a simple, subtle motion, and Alfie can't explain why it sets something off in him, but he doesn’t care. Because now he’s tackling her flat against the mattress, and she's crashing back into him, and the fire tethering them to each other is the only thing in the world that matters.

It's frantic and slow all at once as his brain tries to keep up with all the separate sensations. His tongue dancing with hers and her teeth sinking into his neck, his hands ripping the delicate lace off her chest, watching her nipples harden as he grabs at her breasts, sucks hungry kisses along their curves.

All the while, Annie's fingers fly through undoing the buttons on his clothes, tearing them off him. And when she glides her hand across the tip of his cock, gathering his precum before she starts pumping him, he can't stop the groan and obscenities that fall off his tongue, utterly powerless under her touch. Fuck, does this woman, his woman, know what she's doing.

“I can’t wait to feel you in me,” she says beneath him, using her free hand to massage his balls. It takes all his concentration to just not cum right there on her pretty tits, knowing full well he’s nowhere near being finished with her.

“I want a taste of you first." He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband of her panties, and she lifts her hips, letting him strip her bare.

"Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, sliding his ring-laden fingers through Annie’s pooling arousal, relishing the elated gasps she gives when he draws circles on her clit, pushes two fingers into her and pulses.

"This all for me, love?”

“Uh huh.” She nods fervently, biting the corner of her lip.

He stares hungrily at her as he fucks her with his hand, adding a third finger and feeling his cock grow even harder at the way Annie’s walls clench around his digits. He’s entranced by how desire physically transforms her. The color rising to her cheeks, her half-parted lips, the little moans and mewls she gives as she grinds against him. Fluttering emerald irises that give way to a greater expanse of black as her pupils blossom with lust and pressing need. For him.

He suddenly stops and he chuckles at her groan of frustration. He sucks his fingers clean and trails a line of kisses down her inner thigh, wrapping his well-muscled arms around her legs to hold her in place as he begins devouring her. She whines with pleasure as his tongue deftly licks and swirls through her folds, and she grips his hair in her fist.

She isn’t shy and Alfie loves it, her hips bucking against his mouth: “Fuck, Alfie, yes, oh my God, right there.” It just turns him on more. He’s got her spread apart with his fingers, sucking directly on her clit, when she abruptly tugs his head up, her tone alight with wildfire.

“Get in me. Now.”

For once, Alfie doesn't have a smart reply. He just works his lips back up her body, watching the goosebumps rise on her flesh.

"You want this, love?" he murmurs in her ear, drawing the head of his throbbing dick through the wetness between her thighs, lining himself up at her entrance.

“God, yes, I want you.”

Lust and love burn through him as he enters Annie slowly, eyes rolling back with a groan as he sinks deeper and deeper into her, her nails clawing into his biceps when he bottoms out. He stays still for a moment, giving her a second to adjust to his length and giving himself time to savor the unparalleled feeling of her enveloping every last inch of his hardness. It’s indescribable how good she feels and being able to be fully one with her.

He blinks open and there she is, her gaze burning right through him, and he pulls back and starts thrusting into her steadily. Their hips and moans and praise come together in a delicious rhythm, a sinful cacophony that Alfie wants on full-blast repeat until the end of his days.

“Alfie, fuck, you're amazing.”

“You are perfect,” he pants, fucking Annie’s tight, soaked core with increasing ferocity. “Fuckin’ made for me.”

He stays on top, drilling her intro the mattress, until she murmurs beneath him, pleading.

“Let me be on top.”

He acquiesces immediately, shifting her into his lap, and they both moan in pleasure as she starts riding him.

“You feel so good. So good to me."

“That’s right, love. Look how fuckin’ gorgeous you are, takin' my cock like that."

“Please keep talking.” She is unashamedly begging, and fuck, is it hot. He smirks, lowers his husky tone and starts playing with her nipples, absorbed in watching her come undone.

“You just love bein’ filled up with my big cock, don’t ya, An? Stretchin’ out that perfect, wet lil' cunt of yours. Now, be a good girl and tell me who you belong to.”

"You, Alfie. ‘M yours.”

"Fuckin' right you are," he growls back, hands smacking against her ass, causing her to gasp with pleasure as she continues gliding up and down his cock. Her nails dig into his shoulders, back arching as he shifts one hand to her clit, and Alfie grunts as he feels her tight walls clench around him further.

“Oh my fuck, Alfie, you’re gonna make me cum,” she whimpers.

"That’s right, that's my fuckin' girl, show us how much you need us, An." His fingers grip her hips as she rides him desperately. "Let me feel you cum all over my cock, love."

"Oh, oh, Alfie, fuck, Alfie!" She cries out and she all but collapses into him as her orgasm rip through her entire body, spasming around his dick in release.

She slowly pulls back to face him with a lazy smirk, cheeks pink and her voice breathless with satisfaction, but still managing to purr.

“Your turn.”

He's already lasted way longer than he thought would be possible, and now, all Alfie wants is to take his woman like a fucking animal. So, that's what he does.

He shoves Annie down onto the mattress, pistoning in and out of her with an absolutely brutal pace. It's a completely obscene soundtrack, his balls slapping against her, the sucking sound of her dripping cunt taking every last inch of his thick, rock-hard length, frenzied grunts and moans and profanities.

He hikes her legs around his waist and she instinctively locks her ankles on his lower back, letting him use the angle to drive down even deeper, harder, faster into her. His fingers seek out her own as he pounds into her core, and he knows this duality between carnal and tender, of being utterly consumed in every last hidden corner of each other, is going to send him over the edge.

That, and Annie’s crooning voice in his ear, her nails marking up the muscles of his broad back.

“Take what’s yours, Alfie. I love your cock inside me, you make me so fuckin' wet, I love you so fuckin’ much-“

“FuckinhellchristfuckAn!”

Amid his stream of tangled curses and Annie’s name, Alfie pulls out just in time to finish on her stomach, chest heaving as he watches the warm, milky rivulets trail down her body.

Still catching his breath, he grabs Annie’s face with both hands and kisses her, pulling back with a grin.

“Fuckin’ hell, you are incredible, woman.”

“Likewise. I’m very, very much lookin’ forward to doing that again.”

“I do like the sound of that.”

He rolls off the bed with a slight groan, haphazardly pulling drawers open to find a clean handkerchief. He lays down next to Annie and gently cleans her off, tossing the soiled scrap of fabric to the side.

He brings her into his arms and as she nestles into his chest, he chuckles softly.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Nothin'. Just properly fuckin’ delighted, ain’t I, by the fact that my sweet little Annie, Camden’s beloved baker, is also a filthy, dazzlin’ little minx.”

She grins, lifting herself up slightly to plant a kiss against his jaw before snuggling back into him. “What can I say? I’m versatile.”

He hums and kisses the top of her head, fingers tracing lightly across her back. He just lays there intertwined with her, the room in complete stillness save for the rise and fall of their breath. And it’s sweet and serene and safe, the complete opposite of what Alfie Solomons has come to expect out of the wicked world, out of himself.

“What’re you thinking? I can practically hear the gears turning ‘round in your head.”

He’s surprised that she doesn’t even need to look at him to sense something’s up, but decides it’s just part of the dual blessing and curse of being known so intimately.

He replies slowly, continuing to draw patterns against her skin.

“Honestly, An, I still cannot fuckin’ believe you are here with me, in my arms, in my bed, because you are a fuckin’ angel that I categorically do not deserve to be in the presence of. Let alone inside of.” His dry laugh morphs into a sigh, speaking more to himself than her. “Gotta be some kinda dream, innit?”

Suddenly, he feels a pinch on his arm, and he looks down to see Annie looking back at him expectantly.

“Anythin’ change?”

The corner of his mouth twitches and he shakes his head.

“Well, that’s settled., then. Not dreaming.” Her gaze is both soft and piercing, seeing straight through all of him, the light and dark. And yet, she stays.

Alfie feels himself melting, falling even further than he thought was possible. She taps the center of his hair-covered chest softly, then taps her fingers against her own. “Trust this, trust us, yeah?”

This time, his sigh is contented.

“I love you, Annie.”

“I love you too.”

They both fall back into the quiet, limbs tangling, and Alfie feels himself starting to drift into sleep, soothed by the warmth of Annie’s body against his. A warmth that transfers straight to his heart.

He shuts his eyes and finds his mind wandering back to just a few nights ago when he lay in this exact bed, unsure and alone, wondering what he’d feel like if Annie was next to him. Now, he has his answer.

He feels whole.

[twistedbloodstain]

captain price x reader : november flush | “how you two met” headcanons : civilian edition

plot: the one where off duty!captain price goes to a newly opened bakery in town, owned by baker!reader and plot ensues.

tags: blushing, slight pining if you squint, pet names, food :)

masterlist

you two met at a bakery. your bakery to be precise.

you’re a baker. you finished culinary school a couple of years ago and you have always dreamed of having your own bakery.

and it was a dream come true.

several months ago, you returned to the town you grew up in, visiting your parents then the idea of running the bakery there conjured in your mind then had it.

after serving a mother and her child at the counter, the sight of a man greets you.

an unfamiliar one.

a handsome unfamiliar one.

after a few months of serving the local residents, you’ve encountered almost all of the people in here.

you glance at his stature and damn he’s tall af.

his green shirt perfectly hugs his broad shoulders and slightly robust arms.

this is a fine fine man.

you quickly return your stare to his face before he notices you ogling at his form.

maybe he already did…

or not

you clear your throat before you enthusiastically greet him with a “good afternoon!” smiling before you asked how you could help him today.

he replies with a hum, looks up at the menu attached on the wall.

you guessed he was unfamiliar with the menu here.

so you suggest him a honey glazed donut which was one your specials.

he murmurs that he’ll get one of those then asks for a cup of earl gray tea.

you ask if he wants anything else, he shakes his head.

you then tell him his order total.

he brings out his wallet and reaches his left arm toward you.

you stretch your right arm, softly brushing against his rough hand while getting a grip of the notes.

he then gives you a small smile then states that you keep the change.

you softly utter that you’ll serve it to his table.

he gives a you a quick “okay” before heading to an empty table.

damn.

you quickly put together his order, opening the glass case, grabbing the honey glazed donut but not before grabbing a tong.

afterwards, you look up and see one of your employees, sat on a chair on your right, a teasing smirk painted on her face.

“what are you lookin’ at?” you pipe up.

“i saw that.”

“saw what?”

“you and that man.” she adds, the smirk still evident on her face. “he’s quite attractive don’t you think?”

“you’re not wrong.” you curtly respond, pouring the scalding hot tea into a pristine white teacup.

“who knows, maybe he’ll ask you out.” she remarks.

“and whatever gives you that impression?” you murmur.

“please, he’s been gawking at you ever since he got here,” scoffing in her seat. “look at him.”

you shift your head towards the direction of where he was sitting.

and she was right.

he was staring at you.

you feel a rush of blood on your cheeks, looking away and squinting your eyes while shooing away your employee.

you felt like a middle school girl that just saw her crush pass down the hall.

you glance up at your employee, an amused chuckle escaping her lips from seeing the sight of her flushed boss.

“you should go serve that boss.” smirking at the tray then at you.

you waited for the redness to depart from your face, before grabbing the tray and going up to the man.

you greet him with a smile, his blue eyes never leaving your form.

“here’s your order.” you blurt, placing down the tray on the small wooden round table.

“thank you, doll.” he thanks, another smile forming across his lips.

you felt your cheeks flush from the pet name, “will that be all, sir?” you nervously utter out, hands sweating.

“that’ll be all. but i suppose it won’t be too much if i ask for your name, sweetheart”he politely asks.

toying with a quartz ring on your ring finger with your thumb, you shyly reply with your name.

he softly says your name, testing how it would sound like rolling off his tongue, “nice to meet you, i’m john.” he introduces.

reclining his hand, initiating a hand shake “john price.” he adds, a smile gracing his lips.

you slowly lift your hand and shake his hand.

a shy smile appears on your face.

what a charmer, you thought.

a.n: what do you guys think? i’m a sucker for domestic price, i think i’m gonna post a fic in his point of view. feel free to put on a cod x reader request. :>

[soulmate-game]

Not related to the other two Bio!mom Harley AUs that I did. Just... similar. I wrote this instead of sleeping, as per the usual.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I need your help.”

No accent, no threats of violence, no beating around the bush (figurative or otherwise). No fighting or unconscious bodies.

Just Harley Quinn with her hair down, no makeup, and completely serious, in the center of the Bat Cave. Even though her usual exaggerated Brooklynn accent (circa 1950s) had become a pretty inseparable part of her personality over the years, every now and then she forcibly stuffed it down and used her mostly unaccented voice. The one reminiscent of days with less colors on her face, a high bun, and a pristine white lab coat.

Every single one of the Bats and Birds present, fresh from an interrupted patrol thanks to her, could count the number of times they had seen Harley like this on one hand. Bruce would have the most recollections, but everyone else would have plenty of fingers left on said hand. So they all knew, especially when Bruce willingly pulled down his cowl so he could look Harley in the eye, that this was the start of something they were not likely to forget. And maybe their chances of survival were slim too.

“Harley,” Bruce’s voice was still gruff, seeing as he was still mostly Batman at the moment, but his eyes were soft. “Maybe you should tell us what you need help with first. And sit down. You look exhausted.”

Sure enough, there were dark circles under Harley’s eyes. She let Bruce-man lead her over to one of their debriefing tables and sit her down. She let out a huge sigh, her fingers tangling in her loose blond locks.

“I have a confession, and it isn’t gonna leave this cave, capiche?” The slight return of her accent relieved a little of the tension, but not much. Taking this as their cue, the rest of the bats spread out into their usual seats at the table. Bruce stayed near Harley, keeping a hand on her shoulder in silent support. Harley didn’t continue talking until he gave her a solemn nod in agreement. She gulped— an action that immediately returned the tension.

“... fifteen years ago, back when I was still with Joker, I disappeared off the Gotham scene for a few months. I’m sure a few of you remember,” she looked up, and a couple of the older vigilantes nodded. Really, Jason has still been Robin back then. But the memory stuck out in his head now that he was thinking about it.

“Yeah, you were breaking away from him a little bit, which was weird at the time,” Red Hood mused aloud, arms crossed. “I think you helped us out a couple times and did some of your first team ups with Ivy before you vanished. Then a few months go by and you were back in action with Joker, so we mostly ignored it as you just being you.”

Harley nodded. “Ah, my Ivy’s a lifesaver, even back then. She helped cover up the timeline by keeping me in action for longer than I should’a been without putting me at too much risk.”

“Timeline…” Red Robin spoke up, eyes huge even behind his mask. “You don’t mean—“

“Harley,” Bruce breathed, having also caught on. “You were pregnant?”

The air went still. Harley sniffed, eyes watering even as she smiled.

“Oh yeah. Shouldn’t have been possible, ya know? Me ‘n Joker being dumped in that damn acid should have made us both more sterile than an operatin’ room. But I knew I couldn’t raise a kid, so after she was born—“

“You kept her?” Damian interrupted, earning a gentle cuff over the head from Dick. Harley just snorted.

“Yeah. Not gonna lie, I thought about abortion. But the baby didn’t do nothin’ wrong, and I was still in love with Joker back then so I was ecstatic that I was able to make something new with part ‘a him in it. Still, I knew a baby didn’t deserve to be raised in Gotham. Especially not my baby, not with my enemies and history. Not with who her father was. I knew he’d never want her, never let me keep her. So I spent the last five months of my pregnancy lookin’ around for the best possible family to take her in. And I found them in Paris, France. A sweet couple, both of them bakers. Sabine, she’s both adorably sweet and super kickass. Comes from a Chinese family that is crazy about teachin’ their women martial arts. But nothing shady about it, I triple checked. Just bonding through kicking people in the face. Which is perfect, I wanted my baby to know how to defend herself. I knew she’d need those skills eventually. And Tom, that’s Sabine’s wife, he’s a gentle giant. Same size as Bane, but as harmless as a puppy and makes the best croissants ever. Seriously, the best.”

“Harley,” Bruce gently prodded, but there was a tiny grin on his face. Seeing her behaving so… so normally, so proud and reminiscent, was a rare treat. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of how far the woman had come. How she had freed herself and become a better person, mostly on her own.

“Right, right. The point,” Harley took a breath, rubbing her forehead. “I came clean to Tom and Sabine, but apparently they knew who I was the whole time. They just didn’t care— did I mention they are perfect? Anyway, once I explained everything, they agreed immediately to adopting my baby. They’d been wanting kids, but it would’a been too risky for Sabine’s health. That’s how I found them anyway, they were in the market to adopt. We named her Marinette. She took Tom and Sabine’s last names, hyphenated. We decided Quinn would be her middle name. And after that, I came back to Gotham and told myself that she was in good hands and I needed to forget about her. Cuz I was no good for her. I knew that. I went back to my old tricks. And then…” Harley chuckled, but it was self-depreciating.

“Then a few years passed, and I started breaking away from Joker for real. Then we broke up, I blew up Ace Chemicals while you guys were outta town doing Justice League and Young Justice shit. I started dating Ivy. And—“ she smiled softly at the table, clearly seeing something the rest of them couldn’t. “Then Ivy convinced me to go see her. Visit my baby, see how she’s been. And I did. Marinette was seven years old, but damn it to hell she was gorgeous. And say whatever you want about me and Joker— most of it will even be true— but neither of us are stupid. And she inherited all of our intelligence. All of it. She got my blue eyes. But she got his hair, which meant Sabine teased me relentlessly about ‘are you sure she isn’t that Wayne’s kid?’ And don’t make that face Bruce, you’d be lucky to have a kid half as beautiful as my Mari-pie. No offense, Damian. Anyway. Anyway, this is the important part. Or part of it.

“She sat there and listened to everything I had to say. Everything. A little seven year old, who could barely understand English at the time, and she listened without interrupting once. She never threw a fit, she wasn’t angry or confused. I told her about the things I’d done in the past— well, G rated versions— and she didn’t care. She called me Momma Harley right away, said she wanted to meet Aunt Ivy sometime soon, and started telling me everything about her that I’d missed. From that day on, she became my sunshine. The light of my life, and I still call her at least once a week every week. When I disappear for a few days out of the city? I’m visiting her—“

“You’re banned from international travel, Harley,” Dick scolded, but he sounded way too amused for it to work. He knew she had her ways, anyway. Nobody could actually stop Harley damn Quinn from doing whatever she wanted.

“—Ugh, she tells me the same thing every time! Disappointed glare and everything. I don’t know how I gave birth to such a goodie goodie, but somehow I did. Not important though! The important thing is, I’m always the first to hear when something new happens in her life. And we had decided that she wouldn’t visit me in Gotham until she was at least eighteen, but apparently she disobeyed me— which I should have expected honestly— and entered you guys’ WE international scholastic competition.”

“Oh no,” Bruce pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng? The contest winner?” He finally pulled out a chair and sat down. “The winner gets an all-expense paid trip to Gotham for them and their whole class.”

“Exactly!” Harley threw up her hands. “Mari told me last week, and I’ve been trying to talk her out of coming ever since. But she’s inherited both of our stubbornness too, and she isn’t budgin’ a bit. ‘Momma Harley, I wanna see you and Auntie Ivy though!’ And ‘Momma, Gotham’s nothing I can’t handle,’ or my favorite, ‘Maybe you’ll finally get to see me dropkick someone three times my size then, and I’ll prove it.’”

“So that’s what you meant by you need our help,” Tim said as he leaned forward over the table. “Joker just broke out of Arkham yesterday. You want us to protect her.”

“I’d prefer if one of you was with her outside of the mask too, as often as possible,” Harley confirmed. “I can’t stop her from coming here anymore, but I also don’t trust Joker for a second. As soon as he sees her, I’m afraid he’ll make the connection.”

“She looks like him?” Damian asked, scrunching up his nose at the ugly mental image of Joker as a teenage girl. Harley shook her head, solemn.

“She looks like a dark-haired mini-me,” she corrected. “She even keeps her hair in pigtails as her way of showing support for me. And I know Marinette can kick ass, Sabine’s trained her well. But Marinette inherited more than I’d like from me,” Harley ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t notice it until she was thirteen. She got a crush on a classmate, and it was almost like watching videos of me back during the early days of— well, of Harley Quinn. Just without the crime and insanity. She didn’t even realize that she was almost stalking the poor kid until I pointed it out, and luckily I was able to put my doctorate to good use and we nipped that right in the bud ASAP. She never meant it that way, anyway. As soon as I explained things to her, she was horrified and immediately asked me to help her learn how to have a healthy relationship. That was a fun discussion,” Harley grimaced. “But she still gets attached to people really, really easily. Once she grew out of her crush on that boy, she adopted him as her unofficial brother. She already calls Selina “Auntie,” even though I’ve barely mentioned her to Marinette. She gets attached fast, and deeply. And I’m afraid that even after all the warning I’ve done, all the stories I’ve told her—“

“You’re afraid she’ll get attached to Joker just like you did,” Bruce finished for her, closing his eyes. “Because she knows he’s her father.”

“Yes,” Tears were slowly dripping down her face already, her hands curled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were paper white. “You know how he is. If he finds out she’s his biological daughter, he’ll immediately try to take advantage of that. And he’s far too good with his words for people like me and Mari. I’m worried outta my mind. Please. Help keep my baby safe from him.”

“We will,” Jason no longer had his helmet on, or the domino mask that he usually wore underneath it. All of them knew masks were merely formality with Harley nowadays. And he needed to look her directly in the eye so she could see how serious he was. “I can sign up as a bodyguard for the class. It won’t be weird, seeing as they’re tourists and this is Gotham. They also have several rich kids in their group if I remember right.”

Bruce nodded, agreeing with Jason. “That’s a good idea. I can lead the class on their tours of WE personally. That’ll serve the purpose of keeping an eye on her and shutting up the investors that keep begging me to make more public appearances for the sake of the company. Marinette’s name is already released to the news as the winner of the contest, so we can’t keep her out of the spotlight long. Tim, you’ll have to keep an eye on any and all pictures of the class. Try to erase or doctor the images with her in it well enough that connections between her and Harley can’t be easily made. Dick, you and Damian will be in charge of keeping an eye out for any activity from Joker. The slightest hint, and you notify all of us. We’ll decide on a case-by-case basis who is necessary to stick with the class and who goes after the clown.”

“She’s gonna sneak out of her hotel to stay with me and Ivy,” Harley admitted, bringing the (now slightly judgemental) attention back to her. She raised her hands up in surrender. “She didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t approve or suggest it! I just know my baby too well to not realize that that’s her plan. Could ya provide an escort?”

Bruce sighed. “This is gonna be an eventful month.”

[buck-nialled]

Butcher's Daughter - A. Russell Imagine

NOTE: a lil' imagine about arvin crushing on the local butcher's daughter. idk how to feel about this one, and it's also barely proofread but I hope some of you still like it. I've never written for arvin before but if you're interested in more please let me know!

TAGLIST: @niallberry​ @swiftmendeshoran​ @theshyspy @clarabsevero @golden-hoax @dudethisiswhyyoudonthavefriends @organicpurplepants @wowitsel @sunwardsss @lovely-blackinnon @tomsirishgirl @tomsirishgirlx @whoeveniskendall @multihoee @haterpenny @highontomholland @nxtty-m

Next to his mattress, Arvin’s favorite spot in town to visit was the local butcher. Any opportunity to drop by the small store, the boy exploited. Maybe a little too much. He recalls his uncle Earskell giving him an earful on how he spent nearly all his monthly allowance on a chicken breast. An unnecessary one at that, as Emma had concluded the family’s grocery trip a day prior.

The Russell boy did not know how you carried such a charm with you that urged him to drop in that day and purchase the cold, naked bird on impulse. One could take a guess that your daddy had brought you up well in business talk. But all you had exchanged with Arvin was greetings before he sputtered out his order and slapped a bill down onto the counter. Even with sweat collecting on your forehead from the afternoon light beaming into the shop, and the strands of hair that were never obedient enough to be kept in your up-do, Arvin still found you as gorgeous as the sunset offering your profile a heavenly glow.

After hearing word of the new preacher in town and Emma’s invitation to visit the butcher, Arvin was the first to stand up from his seat at the dinner table as a volunteer.

“Not at this hour, boy. Sit down.” Earskell shook his head.

Lenora leaned up from her chair a tad, closer to Earskell, and mumbled like it was a secret. “He just wants to go and see Y/N.” Her voice carried to everybody present though, including Emma who had a knack for meddling.

“Ooh, who’s Y/N?”

“She a friend of yours, son?” Earskell inquired. The boy’s eyes narrowed at Lenora, who held a satisfied smile.

“Barely.” She interjects.

“Nora.” Arvin hisses, cheeks growing red beneath the dim light hanging above the oak table. The girl only continues chatting, knowing from experience that facing Arvin’s wrath would be little to nothing of a whine or complaint of her blabbermouth.

“She’s a classmate of ours that Arvin never stops staring at. I wonder how she hasn’t noticed.” The red-cheeked boy emits a groan, placing his bent arms on the table and burrowing his face into his hands.

“Elbows off the table, Arv.” Scolds Emma, who swats at his plaid-covered arms with her napkin.

“Well, maybe she has noticed. She might be waitin’ for you to say somethin’ son.” Suggests his uncle.

“Yeah right. The girl hardly knows my name. She probably only knows me as the freak who bought a whole chicken breast.” He stares down at his half-empty plate, fork picking at the white meat as he glances back on that day.

“Well, the offer’s still open if you’d like to join me tomorrow,” Emma says. And as embarrassed as he was, Arvin knew he could not pass up the chance to see her face again, instead of just the back of it in class after class.

The next morning, his heart was lurching from his chest as he parked the car and went around to the passenger side to collect Emma. He was blanched, palms sweaty and constantly removing his baseball cap to run fingers through his greasy tendrils.

“Arvin, honey, calm down. Just go in and be yourself, the girl ain’t gonna kill you for saying she’s pretty.” Emma encourages with a small pat against the boy’s shoulder.

Whiffing the stench of meat descending from the other side of the door, he tries gulping down the feeling of his stomach tying itself into knots and nods his head. Time to grow a pair, the Russell boy thinks to himself.

He holds the door open for Emma and follows in behind her, observing the small shop he practically memorized the layout of by now. He could name each of the select meats they offered from the top of his head. He turns his head and recognized another classmate of his, Jared Y/L/N, otherwise known as your brother.

“Hey, welcome.” He nods his head towards Emma, who perused the options. “Fine mornin’ we’re havin’.” He turns his head and spots Arvin.

“What you got planned after school today, Arv.” Due to the countless times the brunette dropped in to ‘say hello’, all small talk went out the window between himself and your family by his fifth trip.

“Cliff Baker says he can get me on the crew laying blacktop on the Greenbrier stretch off Route 60. I’m probably just gonna do that. You?” Jared’s answer fades and turns muffled to Arvin, as his eyes catch you descending from the freezer, donning an apron.

“Mornin’ Emma.” You spare a smile towards the woman. “Lookin’ for a dish for the sermon, too?” You lift an eyebrow. Arvin gazed as the two of you made casual conversation on what would be best to serve within budget.

“You know, I think Arvin had something he wanted to ask you about a school assignment.” Emma implies with a smirk towards you. Upon hearing this, Arvin’s eyes grow impossibly big as he spins in each direction, yearning for a hiding place to magically appear.

“Hey, you.” You fold your arms over one another on the store’s counter with an angelic smile.

“Y/N...h-hey.”

“Here to buy another chicken breast?” You giggle, cueing something in the boy’s insides to flutter uncontrollably.

“Not today, unfortunately. Just dropping in to…” he takes a few brave steps closer towards you.

“Say hi? You do that a lot here. I don’t see you goin’ anywhere else in town but here to do that.” Arvin digs his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket, sharing a quick shrug of his shoulders.

“Guess I just got a soft spot for the girl behind the counter.” He bends his head down to meet your eyes and quickly heating cheeks. The two of you shared proximity so minimal a conversation could be shared in whispers. The kitchen doors slamming open pulled the two of you away, however. Arvin cleared his throat as he eyed the owner of the establishment—your father—saunter over to the two of you.

“Why, hello there. Can I help you boy?” The bearded man spoke in a gruff voice. Unlike Y/N and Jared who worked the store regularly, Mr. Y/L/N manned the truck and kept his priorities on picking up the meats and delivering them. Therefore, neither had been introduced to one another up until now.

“Uh, daddy this is Arvin. Arvin, this is my father. He and I go to school together.” She informs the brooding figure.

“Nice to meet you, Arvin.” The man sticks an arm out over the counter to reveal a large cleaver in his clutch. The boy, ready to shake the older man’s hand flinched at the sight.

“Ah, my apologies.” He tries his other hand, which was thankfully bare of any potential weapons. Arvin feels clammy by the action, wondering if the flaunting of the utensil was truly an accident on your father’s part. “So, you two have school together, eh?” His eyes flick back and forth between you and Arvin.

“Daddy-“ you begin.

“Ah, no worries sweet pea. Why don’t you give us a few moments alone. I want to talk to the boy.” Rolling your eyes, you meet Arvin’s brown ones, which are now swimming with fear. Before you trade places with your dad to go speak some more with Emma, you manage to mouth a small apology to him for the interrogation he was no doubt about to face.

“Now, look boy. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s no secret you like makin’ googly eyes at my daughter...and you probably think you’re real sly about it too.” Arvin’s cheeks become painted scarlett yet again underneath your father’s hard eyes. “Am I right?” His crows feet become more defined with his hardening glare.

“Y-yes sir, but—“

“Ah, ah, let me finish. Emma raised you, and I’ve seen you helpin’ your sister around the church and such...you seem like a good kid. So if you’d like to go steady with my daughter, you have my permission.” The boy lets a large breath of relief out and feels his heart begin reaching its normal pace again.

“But...if you so much as hurt or disrespect her, I will not hesitate to put your hand through the meat slicer. You understand me, boy?” Again, his heartbeat reaches his ear with every thump, clouding the man’s hearty chuckles as Arvin vigorously nods.

“Good.”

[my-simp-land]

Orange Blossom Kisses

more domestic fluff because that's all I dream about. Bucky x reader. 1747 words. again, i didn't do any profreading so...happy reading!

Fridays are reserved for baking. Ever since I moved into the compound, I’ve trashed my(Stark’s) kitchen making delicious cakes, pies, pastries, you name it. Each week I try to make something for someone, but I don't tell them it’s for them. Kinda like gift giving. This week, I’ve been pestering Steve about things Bucky may like. I think he knows I’m trying to get recipe ideas out of him, so he’s made it quite difficult.

“Cakes? From the old days? Oooooh, I don’t know. It’s been so long ago. You said yourself I’m an old geezer. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”

“What’d ya say? I can’t hear ya. These ears aren’t as good as they used to be.”

“Oh I don’t remember any pie recipes. I was but a wee lad and didn’t pay attention to the kitchen.”

Thankfully, I got Sam to work as my spy in exchange for an apple pie. Steve had told him about the orange blossom cookies Bucky’s mother would make. Usually Steve and Bucky were joined at the hip, but on orange blossom days, Bucky and Becca would stick to their mother’s side. Steve would usually hang around and enjoy the fresh orange smell. I used a couple favors to track down an old fashioned orange blossom cookie recipe. I changed it up to fit Bucky’s description of a good cookie (don’t worry; he can be pretty critical.)

“Damn hothead. The whole building smells like an orange. What are you making?” Tony asked. He funded my Friday

baking extravaganza as long as he got his ‘blueberry stuff.’

“I’m making orange blossom cookies, Tony. Orange. Blossom. The kitchen is sticky, so I couldn't come any closer.”

“The kitchen? The whole thing? How did you manage to get orange juice everywhere?”

“I’m the one baking. What did you expe- oh hey guys. Y’all are back early. What are you doing here so early?”

Steve, Sam, and Bucky shuffled their soaking wet bodies onto the dining room rug. “Rain. Apparently, the weather station is as bad as it was in the 40s.”

Tony switches his concern from the sticky kitchen to the soaked rug, but Bucky steps into the kitchen.

“Whatcha makin, doll?”

“Uh, just some cookies. Go get dried off and you can help me if you want.”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.” Bucky hurries down the hall. His heavy steps down the hall gives Steve enough cover to slip into the kitchen behind me.

“Bucky loves orange blossom cookies. It was one of the only things that could separate us. I know you’re good at guessing, but how did you end up hitting the nail on the head?”

I could only smile. Steve was a smart guy, but he could get pretty boy syndrome sometimes.

“A little red bird happened to mention something to me. A few favors later and I was presented with the finest orange blossom cookie recipe in the Northeast.”

“I see. I guess I should’ve known the master baker could get whatever they want with the promise of a home baked pie or honey butter croissants. I’ll keep that in mind next time you need something. I’ll see you two around.”

With Steve’s departure, Bucky slides right next to me, hip to hip. He’s only wearing some classic grey sweatpants and the tee shirt I embroidered a chibi Bucky onto. His hair is pulled back into a bun, still dripping water onto the nape of his neck. At this distance, I can admire Bucky’s baby blue eyes and his 5 o’clock shadow. Once Bucky got back from Wakanda, he cut his hair short and shaved his beard, but recently, he’s been working towards the white wolf look.

“Alright, doll. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Oh okay. Uh, I’ve got all the ingredients prepared for baking. Let me check the recipe.” I go to grab the sheet of notebook paper that I scribbled the recipe down on, but Bucky gets to it before I do. He studies the paper hard. His brows scrunch together and his lip between his teeth. His metal arm falls around me and brings us shoulder to shoulder. At this proximity I can tell Bucky spritzed a little cologne on. The refreshing smell of pine and eucalyptus cuts through the overwhelming smell of oranges.

“This recipe is shit. What if I told you I know a better one?”

“Oh um well then I’d say take the lead. I hope I’ve got everything you need.”

“You’re everything I need sugar, but this stuff should be good.”

I can feel the heat rush to my cheeks. “Let's start by making the wet mix and then we’ll slowly add the dry ingredients in.”

Baking with Bucky is a dangerous game. We work well in the kitchen, but Bucky’s hands tend to wander. Resting on my lower back, brushing my thigh, standing close enough that I could feel his warm breath on my neck. By this point, my face is flush enough to cook these cookies, but the cookies are already in the oven. Maybe next time.

“Lookin’ beautiful, dollface. The cookies are looking pretty good too. They gotta rest a bit. We can work on the glaze now.”

Oh god. Things got saucy with the glaze. Not only did Bucky wiggle his eyebrows and point to the glaze in an inappropriate manner, but he was very handsy. We basically recreated that one dirty dancing scene with the kitchenaid. It didn’t help that Tony walked into the kitchen halfway through our romantic mixing. He had quite a lot to say: tinman and hothead, the cold and the hot, opposites attracting. You get the bit.

“Doll, I think this is the best glaze I’ve ever seen. We make quite the pair.”

“I’d have to agree with you there. I wonder what else we could get into.”

I realize what I said too late. His eyes grow wide and his smirk stretches from cheek to cheek. “Is that so, doll? I would love to work with you some more. Cooking dinner, dodgeball, go karts. Maybe some f-”

“Aren’t you supposed to be best friends with Steve? Like two peas in a pod? I wouldn’t want to upset Steve. That just doesn’t seem right. A disrespect to America. America’s ass, you know? A disrespect.”

That shuts him up.

“You look at Steve’s ass?”

“Well, yes. I mean no! I don’t look. I mean it’s a nice butt, you have to agree, but I wouldn’t know since I don’t look. I do not look at Steve’s ass.”

“Oooooo. You look at Steve’s ass. No wonder you zone out during meetings so much. All that cake bouncing around. Is that why you bake? Trying to recreate that dump truck? Do you look at other people’s ass? Do you look at my ass?”

“Bucky! I- I just know a good ass when I see one okay?”

“Well, what about my ass? Whose is better: mine or Sam’s? I know you’ve looked.”

Christ on a cracker this man is gonna kill me. “Bucky, y’all both have nice asses okay. Steve has the ass. You have the thighs. Sam has the pecs. It's as simple as that, okay? Why don’t we invite everyone down to try these cookies”

“Whatever you say, angel.”

Once everyone made it to the kitchen, we fixed everything up nice and served them to the rest of the family. They were an overall hit. Tony loved them because he’s a hardass, but Rhodes would’ve liked them just a bit softer. Thor enjoyed them with milk. Natasha made quite a few comments about how silky smooth the glaze was and how it complimented the cookie perfectly.

Once everyone was served and sent on their way, Bucky and I sat down to try our creation. I set our plates and meet Bucky in the common room. We cuddled up hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder in the common room to enjoy our cookies and begin a movie.

“You know, my mother used to make orange blossom cookies when I was young.” I looked up to Bucky’s face. I could see all the emotions. Pain. Happiness. Nostalgia. “My sister and I would always help her cook them. It was damn near impossible to come by an orange back in the day so sometimes we’d use other citruses. Orange was always the best. There was one time Becca had gotten some flowers from a sailor visiting from down south. The flowers were damn near dead when she brought them home. My pa told her that they would eat the flowers on their journey, so she did what she could to stick the flowers in the glaze and make pretty cookies. I wish I could remember what the flowers were.”

“I’m sorry Buck. I wish I could help.”

“No, no. I should say thank you. Coming in and smelling the orange and you telling me what you were making awoken something in me. At first, I was upset because I never got to make those cookies with my mom and sister again, but I’m glad I go the opportunity to make such sweet memories with you.” My breath was caught in my throat. I could feel the tears in my eyes and could just see the reflection of some in his. “She would’ve loved you. So strong, don’t take any shit, but so soft and gentle. You could keep me straight and make me bake cookies with you. Becca would’ve picked at you a bit to see if you’d hold, but she would’ve made you her sister quicker than I could’ve married you.”

“You want to marry me?”

“Well, doll, I love you. I’d love to spend a future together with you, but I think I should ask you to be my girl first. But I don't want you to feel pressured. Or you might like Steve or Sam or someone else. I don’t know. I don’t want to assume. You-”

I don’t you what came over me, but his lips were so sweet. They were sugary sweet from the cookie glaze, but the tartness of the orange made it refreshing. His lips felt so soft against mine; I never wanted this kiss to end.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I’ll be your girl. Only if you’ll have me.”

His smile took over his face. His lips were stretched thin and wrinkles fell beside his eyes.

“My girl. My best girl.”

[douxspider]

— 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐲 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐧.

‘ARVIN RUSSELL x READER INSERT’

( potential spoilers for “the devil all the time” ) —  Reader is new to town, working at a bakery ran by a kind old lady. Getting used to the ropes of the city, a man in blue arrives unsettled, holding a bloody rag against his knuckles and shivering just slightly. (occurs after arvin approaches the three bullies.) 

warnings: blood, mentioned alcohol abuse, bullying. word count: 2,330 published: 9/17/20 ao3 link — part 2, 3

— — • — —

You didn’t ask for much in life. You didn’t want much. Your entire life you let the sea take you where it wanted to take you, and if it brought you to a flourishing island with the most beautiful sunsets and the softest sand, you let it. If it wanted to take you to the dangerous, icy hurricanes where waves clashed and thrown against each other and you drowned in the salty depth, you let it.

You don’t have a will, the town would mock you.

You were new to Ohio, originally coming from New York, and they liked to call you city girl. Your accent was more urban compared to the rural dialect around you. You stuck out like a sore thumb. The community grew together, knew everyone’s names, and when a random strange girl with only a plastic bag of clothes arrived at the nearest motel, it was all the rage.

Luckily, you managed to find a sweet baker lady to take you in. She had a plump figure, rosy cheeks, and graying auburn hair that spoke of pies and sunshine. Her name was Marilyn McCann, she was in her late 50s, and she had lost her two dear sons in the Vietnam war, her husband previously passing from health complications. Marilyn opened the baker, naming it McCann Boys in honor of them.

You were seated behind the counter on a stool, picking at a lemon and poppyseed muffin, placing chunks of the bread in your mouth and eating slowly. It was a quiet day, rain splattering against the window, most people wanted to bake indoors.

While you fidgeted with the book in your lap, idly reading it, you heard the bell ring. You glanced up, and instead of the man moving to the counter, he only took a seat by the window, a rag covering his knuckles as his hat hid his face. He refused to return your eye contact, which was used as a silent method of do you want me to come to you?

You were running the shop alone. You couldn’t ask Marilyn who this strange fellow was. You had to take the initiative.

Getting up from your seat, the stool groaned against the hardwood beneath you, and you made your way towards him. He was bouncing his jean-clad leg excessively, winding the rag around his tightened fist. There were dark stains on it, but you paid it no mind.

“Sir?”

The man twitched his head in your direction, his cap revealing only an inch more of his face before moving back down to the table. “Yeah?” His voice was low, a bit hoarse.

You leaned to the side a bit, crossing your arms, crooking a brow upwards. “You good?”

“Yeah, ah,” he spoke, moving his chin upwards to look at you, and he stopped. You did as well, a silent, complex tension thick between the two of you, before he continued, “Just uh… needed to sit down, s’all. Do I…” he cleared his throat after a voice crack, “do I need to buy somethin’?”

Shaking your head, you gave a quiet, slow, “No.”

Taking a better look at his hands, you noticed it was blood on the rag. So, he was getting that post-fight clarity. You moved to the back and grabbed some pure alcohol you and Marilyn liked to keep, pouring only a bit on a clean washing rag, before heading back to the mysterious man’s location. Taking his hands, he gave a quiet noise of surprise as you tore open his fingers from the old rag and placed it to the side.

“Lady, what are you— ow! Shit...”

Lightly sponging the rag against his knuckles, you then placed the new cloth in his hands, taking a seat in front of him.

The man in front of you seemed somewhat offended, clutching onto the rag and padding it over his knuckles, but also giving you a scowl. “The hell you do that for…? ‘Didn’t need that, I can take care of myself.”

“So, what’d the man do? Pissing contest taken too far?”

He removed the cloth from his hand and wrung his knuckles together, and you stared at the scabs. “Maybe you should keep your nose where it belongs, darlin’.”

You hummed, leaning over the table and resting your bare arms against the surface, looking out the stormy window. “Y’seem like a sweet girl,” the man spoke up, catching your attention, “but that kinda behavior here… askin’ too many questions, it can get ‘ya hurt.”

Eyeing him up and down, you tilted your head so it nearly rested on your shoulder. “Well… y’gonna hurt me, stranger?”

Brown eyes fogging over with clear distant memories, you watched his expression dampen, no longer seeming agitated but only conflicted. “No… no, I wouldn’t hurt ‘ya.” His voice was only a low grumble. “I was taught better than to hurt girls.”

Giving a hum as a response, you tapped your painted fingers against each other. “I’m not trying to be nosy,” you then confessed, “...just curious. Don’t hear much from this town regarding fist fights.”

“You’re the city girl?” With a wince, you nodded. “Ah.”

“That a bad thing, mister?” You asked, trying to analyze his expression. He seemed distant, staring off, before his eyes turned as round as saucers glancing at you.

“No, no, miss, I ain’t imply that. Lotta people know about you ‘round here, it’s rare for a cityfolk to come to this dot on the map,” he explained, “Just curious.”

Clearly that was an insinuation for you to indulge him on his question. Though, feeling smug, and honestly in your right, you told, “You tell me why you’re bleeding from your hands, I’ll tell you my harrowing tale of ending up in Ohio. How about that?”

Surprisingly, the stranger let out a quiet laugh. It was breathy, and for some odd reason you could tell he doesn’t do that often by the way it seemed foreign coming from him, the product from his lips being stopped with his mouth closing. “Fair. You’re good at this game, little lady.” He let his knuckles out into the open air before crossing his arms together, leaning back in the booth.

“My old man,” he started with a distant voice, grimacing at the latter, and you assumed there was a dark history there, “he taught me t’protect myself. To protect others. Now, he was no layabout, he was straight outta the war,” the stranger chuckled, “if anyone tried anythin’, he wouldn’t let ‘em. He taught me that with physical expression.” The jean jacket around his arms got tightened with his whitening grip. “Now, y’see, lotta folk in this town ain’t kind. They ain’t acceptin’, they don’t like new things. They don’t like concepts.”

You listened quietly, feeling your heart slow its pace within your chest, trying to silence itself to take in every word. “I got a sister. Step-sister. She’s sweet, but she ain’t like the others. They don’t like that.”

His jaw tightened as he looked out the window, his blue cap shading his eyes. “...Had t’put an end to it.”

An understanding finally settled in your head. You fiddled with the apron draped around your legs, chin tilted downwards as you took in the information. You looked back at him. “...That’s a good thing.”

“What?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Protecting your sister. That’s a good thing.” You could tell he felt guilty only slightly, perhaps he was scared of himself, scared of what he did. “I never had a sibling growing up,” you told, “having someone there to protect me would’ve done me wonders.” The stranger moved his hand up to his mouth, rubbing the side of his index finger against his chin. You gave a weak smile. “People aren’t too kind here to me, so I don’t need to fantasize your sister’s reality. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be outcasted from your own town like that. Your sister must be a kind soul, being thrown to the wolves like sheep like that.” You shook your head. “It’s not right. I think you did what you had to do. Sometimes that’s the best you can do.”

He was staring at you, and you couldn’t help but to wonder if you said too much. If you were prying too much. You had never met this man before, he could’ve just killed someone for all you know for no rhyme or reason, he could be a sociopath, luring his next victim, but you trusted your gut on saying that this man was right in what he did.

The corner of his lips quirked upwards and he gave a quiet exhale through his nose, nodding his head before glancing at you, head tilted downwards. “Now, your story. Fair trade, little lady.”

With an amused smile, you shrugged. “Came from New York, had no ties. Father ditched when I was still learning my ABCs, mama abused alcohol, that’s what wound her up in the grave. Took that as my sign to go.” You recalled the dirty poor Manhattan streets you grew up on. “Manhattan… it’s a busy city. Too busy. No one knows ‘ya, but they assume they do.” You pointed at him to exaggerate, closing an eye, “If you’re in the wrong neighborhood, that’s what you are now. Wrong. I was a wrong, poor girl with no faith.”

“No faith?” The stranger asked.

“Faith didn’t keep me alive there. Only money.”

He nodded slowly. “Surprised to see someone here not lookin’ to God.”

You clasped your hands together and shrugged. “Well, when he brings me something nice, I’ll go to church.” Glimpsing up at him, you asked, “Do you have faith?”

“Only for my grandmama and sister. I ain’t got no interest listenin’ to a man for hours.”

“You seem like a family man, mister.” You smiled, leaning back. “Are they the only reason you’re here?”

A moment of hesitance resulted from him. “Yeah.”

You decided not to press further.

Taking in the quiet rain, you tapped your hands on the table beneath you three times and stood up, placing your hands on your hips. “Well, mister, do you drink coffee?”

He seemed so small in the booth, huddled up with his arms crossed, brown eyes that were no longer iced over with memories, but instead focused on you with a round childish charm to them. “Ah… yeah, I do.”

Smiling with a nod, you headed and started up the yellow coffee machine. You looked back at him, saw him staring out the window, and you finished up the mug of coffee and gave it to him, hot. Sitting in front of him with your muffin, you both indulged in your delicacies in a peaceful silence.

When his coffee was just about gone, he asked, “Mind if I smoke in ‘ere?” He wondered, and you gave him permission.

“Sure. The only thing I’m concerned about is the gross taste coffee and tobacco must have together,” Wrinkling your nose at the thought, the man laughed, amused as he placed a cigarette in his mouth and used a lighter.

He puffed in the smoke and then removed the cigarette from his mouth, pulling over an ashtray that rested on the table. Blowing through the thin slit between his lips, he murmured, “Arvin.”

“Hm?” You asked, wiping off your hands on your apron from crumbs.

“My name is Arvin Russell.”

Blinking at him, you smiled, testing out his name carefully. “Hi, Arvin. I’m Y/N L/N.”

Arvin seemed a little shy, his cap hiding most of his face before he moved his head up just slightly, catching your eye, pointing out, “‘Like that name. Suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

A little flustered, you pinched your bare lips together before giving out a breathy chuckle. He moved his cigarette to his lips, watching you closely, inhaling the smoke. “You’re sweet.”

Arvin smiled, the paper-wrapped cancer stick between his lips, he pulled it out with a quick huff and said, “You’re the sweet girl talkin’ to bloody strangers sulking in the corner of your shop and givin’ em free coffee, Y/N.” He was staring at the window when he said this, but his head turned towards you, relaxed against the seat behind him, tapping the ashes into the ashtray. “Y’deserve better than this place.”

Feeling overwhelmed with all the positive comments— you didn’t receive many— you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Well, Arvin, I think you deserve good things, too.”

Arvin gazed at you, a soft expression on his face before checking his watch. “Have to head home.” You both stood and you began to clean up. Arvin went up to the counter and gave a few dollars, and you stared at the money, gawking before giving a nervous smile and shaking your head.

“You don’t need to do that, Mr. Russell—”

“Arvin was doin’ just fine, sweet girl,” Arvin said with a smile. “Y’helped me out today. Thank you. Genuinely. I wanna pay back however I can.”

You took the money cautiously, feeling shy.

“Take that money for yourself. Buy yourself another pretty dress,” he said, eyeing the one you wore and tipping his hat. He was about to leave before he turned, hand flat against the glass, the other tucking his old rag into his coat pocket and gazing at you. “...We’ll be seein’ each other again, Y/N.”

Feeling overrun with flustered emotions, you smiled and said, “I would sure hope so, Arvin. I liked having you around.”

Arvin looked to the side, murmuring, “Likewise.”

You were left in the silence of the bakery, the rain turning into a light mist outside. Pressing your lips together, you changed your weight from foot to foot, turning to lean your back against the counter and giving a sigh.

Each encounter with him from then on would slowly grow into something more.

[geezerwench]

Sharon's Pie

Angie StaffordMarie Callender’s Sharon Pie Roasting Posting Angie Stafford · YiS2pesterda5y cat7 n8:3m1 PlMe6d ·

Sharon’s Pie set to “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” Also known as: “I Have Too Much Time on My Hands” The devil went down to Georgia, he was lookin’ for a name to steal He was in a bind ‘cause it was Thanksgiving time and he was lookin’ to make a deal When he came across a woman bakin’ a pie and makin’ it hot, The devil sat down in her kitchen and said, “Lady, let me tell ya what: “I guess you didn’t know this, but I’m a pie-baker, too. And if you’d care to take a dare, I’ll make a bet with you. Now you bake a pretty black pie, girl, but give the devil his due: I’ll bet a charcoal pie against your name to say mine’s worse than you.” The lady said, “My name’s Sharon, and it might be a sin, But I’ll take your bet, you’re gonna regret, ‘cause Marie Callender’s the worst there’s ever been!” Now Sharon turn your oven on and turn the heat up high! ‘Cause hell’s broke loose in Georgia and the devil scorches pie And if you win you get memes and instant world-wide fame, But if you lose, the devil gets your name! The devil cranked the oven up and said, “I’ll start this show!” And fire flew from the oven as he placed his pie in slow. Then he doused it in some gasoline, and the flames reached to the sky Then black smoke started pouring out, enough to make you cry! When the devil finished, Sharon said, “Well, you’re pretty good, old son! But sit down in that chair right there and let me show you how it’s done.” Fire’s in the oven, run boys run Sharon bakes pies on the face of the sun That pie ain’t got no golden glow Marie Callender, is it your fault? No, child, no The devil bowed his head because he knew that he’d been beat And he laid his blackened pie down on the ground at Sharon’s feet. Sharon said, “Devil, you just come on back if you ever wanna try again. I done told you once, you son of a gun, Marie Callender’s the WORST there’s ever been!!” Fire’s in the oven, run boys run Sharon bakes pies on the face of the sun That pie ain’t got no golden glow Marie Callender, is it your fault? No, child, NO!!!

[mybrothershands]

MBH/Dumpling Crossover

featuring @diddlesanddoodles lovely characters and edited by @thundering-sussurus

"No," Cairo said blatantly before Ka had a chance.

Farris eyed Cairo with a deadpan expression.

“Luckily, we ain’t so desperate a condition as to be needin’ yer services,” Farris replied, but there was a single vein along his temple that pulsed in repressed irritation. His eyes moved back up to Ka and he asked, “Ye always let that one talk fer ye?”

The man clamped his hand over Cairo's mouth. A lump had formed in Ka's throat, and he swallowed. "Ah... I, that is." He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Something about the man made him anxious, and he could not help but shuffle in place a bit. "No, I thank you very much for... for letting me work."

He glanced over at the men working the enormous pumpkins. It was so odd to see so many halfling giants in one place. They were a far cry from being human, and yet their weathered hands seemed small and delicate as they worked. Somehow they had cultivated larger foodstuffs, and Ka found himself a bit jealous. They did not look as lumbering or stupid as he must. There were so few foods that were to-scale for his kind, and yet these people seemed to have every luxury and more, even if some of the animals were a bit... unorthodox.

He quickly looked away, realizing he must have been staring. Ka's eyes moved to Nenani, still sitting comfortably in Farris's arm. It was then he realized this must be the man who watched her while she was sick. The giant cocked his head ever so slightly. Maybe there was more to this man.

Ka picked his head up, meeting the little giant's eyes for the first time. They were a piercing pale green, and he felt as if they might bore right through him. He cleared his throat, trying not to look away. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime? Anything at all. Decorations hung, moving tables..." he cringed before offering the next suggestion, thinking of what he might be asked to do to those poor birds, "...unloading the wagon?"

Farris did not miss the heavy reluctance in his voice.

“I know a tenderfoot when I see one. So stop lookin’ like a panicked scullery maid,” Farris admonished.

Scullery maid? Still, Ka nodded at the instructions, more than happy to listen in silence. "Yessir, thank you," he said when Farris was done, then eyed Avery. He was not sure how he felt about being called a beanpole, but, in any case, he seemed to have gotten over his shock well enough. Past that, he did not seem as hard as Farris. None of them did.

Cairo, however, was getting testy at constantly having his mouth shut by giant fingers. "You're gonna suffocate me," the human grumbled when he was finally free. His companion ignored him and listened for instructions.

“Avery and Bart will handle the birds. Yer with Saen on pumpkin duty. They need broken down, cut up, and fried so my bakers can get them into the pies and into the ovens for luncheon service.” He turned around to call out towards the black-haired cook sitting among the piles of pumpkins. “Avery. Come and start in on these birds. I want the first batches roastin’ within the hour.”

Avery stood, looking utterly relieved to be taken off pumpkin duty, and marched towards them. His step faltered, however, as he got his first real look at Ka. But he squared his shoulders and continued towards the cart, trying to play off his momentary hesitation.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, glancing him up and down as he fished two of the birds from the back of the cart. He held one under each of his burly arms. “Who’s the bean pole?”

“Ka’s helpin’ out today,” Farris replied dismissively. “Now shut yer gob and get to it. The spice mixture is in the green jar on the counter. Should be enough fer all of ‘em, so don’t be too heavy handed.” He turned towards Ka and jerked his head in a clear indication for him to follow. “We move fast down here, understand? Ye have a question? Ask it. And I ain’t no babysitter either. Only child down here is the lil’un.”

Farris led him over to the fire pit. A table had been placed nearby, and on it sat a few knives, a long handled wooden spoon, and two large crocks: one of butter and the other of honey. Farris eyed the knives and then said, “I’ll get a more size appropriate knife fer ye. In the meantime, sit down and Yale will be back with yer breakfast.”

"Thank you," Ka said as he approached the pit. He nodded politely to the one called Saen and noticed how the little giant's hair stuck up in the front. At first glance, he looked a bit puckish, though that was yet to be determined. Ka found and palmed the pumpkin Avery had left behind. There was a patch of the orange skin the skin already shaved off, he noted. Taking a moment to study it, Ka sat down near the table and took one of the small knives, despite Farris's offer.

After a few attempts to work with the little knife that felt like a kid's toy in his hand, he seemed to remember something. "Oh, I actually have... my own." He pulled on the strap of his satchel, then flipped the top open, producing a six-foot blade that was definitely not a kitchen knife. It was blunted and had several nicks in it, however, apparently unloved. He reached out, arm easily closing the distance, and held it into the flames for a moment to burn off any filth.

"I am Ka, by the way," he said, eyeing the man who looked about his age. "He told me your name, but... I'm afraid I've already forgotten."

Putting down his own knife, Saen extended a welcoming hand to Ka.

“I’m Saen,” replied the cook with a wide friendly smile. Ka at first reached out with his left hand to shake, but then realized his error and switched the pumpkin to his other hand and shook with his right. It did not feel too small, as he thought it might have. It was more like shaking a boy's hand, though calloused and firm.

"Saen," he repeated.

“And don’t mind Avery none," Sean continued. "He’s got all the tact of a mule and as much sense as a rusted penny.”

“I heard that!” Avery called as he came back up the steps from having delivered the first two birds to Bart.

“Maybe ye were meant to!” Saen retorted with a cheeky grin. Avery threw up a rude gesture as he went to the cart to collect two more birds. Saen just laughed and said, “Ye should be grateful this one came to rescue from prep work. Yer right shit at peeling.”

Yale appeared then at the top of the steps with the two meat pies, bundled up in a clean tea towel. He stopped to talk to Farris for a moment before continuing on towards Ka and Saen.

Nenani pulled at the kitchen master’s shirt to ask a question. “Fine. Just keep outta the way now and don’t be a pest, eh?” Farris warned before crouching down and releasing Nenani onto the ground.

“I won’t,” she promised and scampered along after Yale. Farris eyed the courtyard and the workers within before turning and taking the steps down into the kitchen.

Careful not to touch the still-hot blade, Ka made quick work of the gourd, peeling the skin away in long, thin ribbons. Both Yale and Saen watched with no small amount of awe at how Ka made such fast work of the gourd. With a wide grin, Saen turned to Yale. “Can we keep him?”

The pumpkin fit like a large potato in his hand, so the task really was not that difficult for him. Still, he bit back a smile and pretended to be too focused on his work to notice. Then two sets of feet approached, one big and one small, and he picked up his head. "Hello again," he greeted Yale. Finding Nenani on the ground, he thought it might be safe to release Cairo and set the pumpkin on the table. He double-tapped his chest as a warning before fishing the man out of his pocket.

Cairo grumbled a bit, but stretched as soon as his feet were on the grass. "Stiff as a board," he groaned, then reached his hand in his britches and scratched his rear.

Meanwhile, Nenani walked up to Cairo but stopped a few feet short. She bounced on her heels, a little bashful and said, “Hello.”

The man frowned, eyeing her with a squint. He looked the girl up and down, then squinted further. He turned his head and spit on the ground. "Can I help you?" he growled.

There weren’t many humans in the castle, and Nenani had wanted to ask the man questions about his life with Ka. But any questions she had died on her tongue as she stared down at the floor where Cairo had spit. She made a face and, looking back up, met his gaze with a disapproving frown. “That’s gross.”

He raised a brow. "So it is," Cairo said, a bit bored. He jerked his thumb back towards the kitchen where Farris had disappeared. "That one there, little man, he take care of you?"

She nodded. “Yeah. Everyone in the kitchen kind of does, but Farris is my actual guardian. See?” She reached into the top of her dress to pull out her marker. It was nothing but a simple leather strap with a struck metal medallion, and she held it up to him, showing off the side with Farris’s seal.

Cairo furrowed his brow and gave a simple grunt. "Collared you, then," he said. Still, it was rare he met one who did not fear the giants. Even Ka she had been kind to. Crossing his arms, he studied the piece, but did not move to touch. "Why?"

“It’s not a collar,” Nenani insisted with a mild glare. “It’s supposed to let everyone know I’m allowed to be here and to leave me alone. Because if you don’t have a marker, you might be trespassing. And not everyone here likes humans and might try to hurt you.”

The man regarded her for a moment. That did not bode well for him; then again, he had not planned to leave Ka's side, either. He thought for a moment longer, then spoke slowly. "We don't have anything like that," Cairo began, "but Ka does have a pocket that lets the regular folk know he's safe."

He had detested the idea of the marker at first, but on second thought, it might be quite nice to silently say that one was protected by a giant. A bit of a trophy in his mind. He then looked back and realized something else. "With protection comes..." He paused, trying to think of the correct word, and then realized what a stupid thought he had had. "I don't think it would be proper for me to wear one. It's my job to keep him safe, not the other way around."

She regarded him with confusion at first, looking back towards Ka and all his towering height and substantial bulk and then back at the much smaller Cairo. She smiled knowingly. “That’s what Jae says about Barnaby and Maevis. That Barnaby is more Maevis’s guardian than he is his.” She tucked her marker back inside her dress. “But don’t be worried about not having a marker of your own. Farris’s permission is good enough. No one will bother you while you’re here in the kitchens. I’ve only had one giant try and hurt me since I came here. I threw a pepperseed in his eye.”

Cairo raised his brow. "Good girl," he lauded. "And what did little man do when he found out?"

“Bart told Keral first,” she replied.

“What’s this about Keral?” Yale asked, having heard only the tail end of their conversation. He had moved to the fire pit and the large flat pan that had been placed atop a thin metal rack of sorts to hold it above the fire.

“I was telling him about Thrist trying to eat me that one time,” Nenani answered matter of factly.

Yale growled darkly at that. “Yeah, that swine-faced fucker ain’t gonna be tryin’ that again. He’s lucky Farris wasn’t around or he’d have had his arse fer curtains, and Keral would be down a scout.”

Cairo made an awkward snort before wiping his nose on his shirt. Eat her? What kind of hellish nightmare was this place?

"Do I put the pieces in there?" Ka asked, indicating the pan. He had finished skinning the pumpkin and rolled up his sleeves before uncorking the gourd. In truth, he had heard the conversation as well, but he was already squeamish at the idea and did not think he wanted to hear the rest of the tale.

"Down a scout?" Cairo asked, oblivious to Ka's discomfort. "You mean he ain't dead?"

“Aye, but first slice ‘em thin-like. They’ll cook faster that way,” Saen told Ka. He looked to Yale. “Lil’ man has a point though. Never did figure out how Keral managed to keep Thrist’s neck out of a noose.”

Yale shrugged, lips pinched into a frown. “I suppose bein’ the king’s favorite has it’s perks. So long he keeps him far away from the lass, I’m content with whatever hell trek Keral sent him on.”

Saen turned to Cairo. “Ye see, Thrist is a blue coat ranger. Ye might ‘a spotted one or two of ‘em here and abouts, but mostly they’re out in the provinces and the wilds, keepin’ an eye on things and reportin’ back to Keral who then reports to the King. He’s the captain of the Blue Rangers. Back when the Blood King was still alive, they were a bunch of murdering thugs. But since Keral took over, he’s been tryin’ to bring the order back to its original purpose.”

“He’s also Farris’s brother,” Nenani added.

"Brother," Ka muttered under his breath. There was a wafer-thin sneer on his face that faded as he shook his head. He hollowed out the pumpkin with a finger, holding the orange guts in his palm for a moment before holding them out. "You keep the seeds?" he spoke up in a kinder tone.

"And Farris would have wrent him limb from limb," Cairo said slowly, watching Yale's face as he said it.

“I’m sure he has his reasons, but I can’t say I wouldn’t have paid good coin to see that,” Yale replied. He sighed in resignation. “But Keral isn’t a bad sort, even if his men are pieces of walking rubbish. Probably the most cheerful man in the whole castle. Until ye make him mad and then he looks a lot more like Farris.”

“And his whiskey is top shelf. Got a bottle of it fer my nameday a few years back. But careful," Saen added. He gave Cairo a wink. "It’s got one hell of a kick.”

Ka adjusted his seat, still unsure what to do with the pumpkin guts in his hand. Finding no better place to put them, he tossed the glob into the fire and went to slicing up the pumpkin on the table.

Meanwhile, Cairo put a hand to his heart. "What! You take me for a drunkard? No, no, no no no," he waved both hands before himself. "Lost my uncle to the devil juice," he declared.

“Apologies,” Saen replied, shamefaced, and he raised his hands to placate the human. “Meant no offense. Sorry fer yer loss there, lad.”

Ka promptly knocked the man over with a knuckle. "Dirty liar."

"Hey!" he spat, brushing the dirt from his person as he got up.

The giant turned to meet Sean's eyes. "He likes mead. Had to carry him home half the time-- hey! Don't kick me! Old fart."

"You didn't let me finish," the human growled, glaring up at him. "I had him right where I wanted, too."

"Saen is nice, you shouldn't do that to him," Ka said plainly. This earned him another kick in the shin.

Saen recovered from his surprise quickly, looking to Yale with a haughty grin. “Ye hear that, Yale? I’m nice.”

Yale had grabbed up some of the sliced pumpkins and tossed them onto the pan with a knob of butter, and they began to sizzle. He waved the wooden spoon at his fellow and retorted, “Only ‘cause he’s never seen ye lose at the pebble toss. Or yer tantrum afterwards.”

“Ah, I don’t lose that often,” Saen replied, suddenly defensive.

“Well, the three shillings I won off ye last month say otherwise,” Yale replied as he turned his attention back to the frying pumpkin. He abruptly turned back to Saen as a memory suddenly resurfaced. “And then there was the time ye bit Kol.

“Oi. He stole my sausage,” Saen replied with a frown. “Fair punishment fer the crime.”

“Well, I think you’re nice,” Nenani said and Saen turned to smile at her.

“Why thank you,” he said.

“Even if you bite people,” she added with a grin.

Saen’s smile drooped and he held his arms out in exasperation. “It was one time, and I was drunk off my arse!”

Had Ka been wrong? Maybe his first impression had been right. They were not being rude, at least not to him, but it reminded him how little he knew. He was just an outsider, after all, so decided to keep his mouth shut for a little while. Since Yale had deemed his sliced pumpkin worthy of the frying pan, he regarded the small pile of gourds and wondered just how many pies they planned on making. He shrugged, taking another pumpkin and tossed end over end a up a couple times before setting to peeling again.

Cairo, however, had no such convictions. "You," he said, hammering a finger at Saen, "I like you." He crossed the lawn towards him, much to Ka's dismay. "So what's this about the king's whiskey," he paused, recollecting, "and what the ripe devil is a nameday, for that matter?"

Saen began slicing up more pumpkins but paused at Cairo’s question, regarding the human with a look of horror.

“Ye mean ye don’t have namedays where yer from?” Saen asked. “To celebrate ye bein’ a year older?”

The human squinted up at him. "It's a birth-day, you fool. Because it was the day you were...?" He shrugged. "Unless you hatched from an egg. I suppose you do look a bit like a lizard, then."

Saen slid his knife through the flesh of the pumpkin and paused, staring off into space as he realized the silly mistake he had made. “Oh. Birthdays...huh. Yeah, those.”

Off to the side, Nenani laughed. Saen sent a brief glare her way, but it left soon as it came and he moved on. “As fer the whiskey, it’s ain’t the king’s. Keral’s a bit famous fer his whiskey round here. He doles it out to those he deems worthy of it every once in a while. Farris may still have a bottle. Ask ‘im nice like and he may give ye a nip.”

“Best wait till end of day though,” Yale advised in good humor. “We ain’t bluffin’ about it havin’ a right kick. And we don’t need ya wanderin’ ‘round only fer ye to lose yer footin’ and fall arse end into the fire.”

Saen snickered. “Yeah, just ask Jae."

"Mmh," Cairo grumbled, waving his hand. "Never been one to ask nicely myself." He knocked twice on Saen's shin.

At the motion, Ka watched the man with round eyes and slowly shook his head back and forth. Still, Cairo did not seem to care, and repeated the motion.

Saen looked down curiously and titled his head. “May I be of assistance?”

By now, Ka was visibly shaking his head, openly nervous. The human either did not notice or simply ignored him. "Up, I said," Cairo laughed. He eyed the orange stains on his hand. "Wipe your grubby hands off first, mind you. I don't want to smell like rotten fruit in an hour."

“Oh. Alright then,” said the cook, pleasantly surprised. He sat his knife down and roughly wiped his hands onto his apron before bending down. There was a moment’s hesitation as Saen tried to think of the best way of picking the man up. Unlike Nenani, Cairo was an adult and therefore taller and with considerably more heft to him. In the end, he used the same technique he employed with the little girl, which was to shove his hands under the human’s arms and lift him up. Perhaps it was simply that he was more accustomed to the weight of a small human child, but Saen was a little taken aback by just how much heavier Cairo was. Though really he shouldn’t have been. He did his best to not let it show on his face as he lifted the man onto a clean spot on the table.

Cairo winced a bit as the giant pinched the old wound in his ribs. Once set down, he let out a puff of air and brushed himself off. "Boy you got little girly hands, don't you?"

"Cairo..." Ka warned, though this time did not bother to look up. His stomach rumbled again, and it was then he remembered the pies Yale had brought. He hurried to finish skinning the pumpkin.

Saen tucked his hands under his armpits and pouted. “...don’t have girly hands...”

From the fire pit, Yale started to laugh.

The human took a bow. "My apologies, Princess. Would you like me to kiss your ring?"

With a sudden devilish smirk, Saen grabbed a piece of sliced pumpkin and pushed his ring finger through it and then shoved it in Cairo’s face. “Go on then.”

Yale turned to Ka. “Sorry about that one. I’d say he’s normally not like this...but I’d be lying.”

The big man shrugged. "Don't apologise to me yet. Mine may do worse," he said as he chopped up the pumpkin on the table. Just as he said it, Cairo pricked up as though offended.

"What!" he growled, scrunching up his face at the slimy vegetable.

The human's mood seemed to change then, and he put on a mask of haughtiness. "Your grace, I was only jesting! I wouldn't dare touch thine ring. Tis too great an honor for a lowlife such as myself... but if you insist--" He then took not the ring finger, but Saen's middle finger, and bowed before it. Cairo then proceeded to stick his tongue out and lick the knuckle.

“Oi now!” Saen snapped loudly, pulling back his hand in disgust, but the force of the movement caused his pumpkin ring to fly off of his hand and up into the air. And when it came back down again, it landed on top of Ka’s head.

The little man roared with laughter, while his giant friend was left with a sticky bit of pumpkin in his hair. Ka sat there a moment, eyes distant and unmoving. At last he drew a deep breath, let it out slow, and deadpanned, "Your highness, I think you have lost your ring."

Nenani covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a giggle, looking back and forth between them. Saen drew a breath to make a retort when a bellow sounded from the archway.

“I’M HEARIN’ A LOT ‘A TALKIN’ AND NOT A LOT ‘A WORKIN!”

Both Saen and Yale, more than accustomed to Farris’s hollering, turned their focus to their work. Nenani, still growing use to the sheer volume her guardian voice could achieve, was startled badly and jumped.

Ka gasped and hunched his shoulders at the sound. "Sorry!" he squeaked, though he knew the man could not hear him. He took the pumpkin from his head and pitched it into the fire. It had been a fairly solid piece, but his hair was still sticky in places from the stuff. Cairo, he noticed, had not budged other than to turn in the direction of the voice and square his shoulders as if to fight.

The giant then caught sight of Nenani still pulling herself together. "Are you okay, little one?" Ka murmured.

She blinked up at him and then nodded with a small sheepish smile. “Yeah. I’m still getting used to how loud Farris gets sometimes.”

“Bit of a wonder we ain’t all deaf,” Yale murmured to Ka with a suppressed grin.

“Do you ever yell like that?” Nenani asked Ka. The question came more from a curiosity about Ka’s height. Farris was one of the taller giants she had met and Ka towered over him. If Ka were to get as angry, she wondered if he was that loud.

Ka glanced from Nenani to Yale and then back again. He shook his head as he reached for one of the pies. He hesitated, remembering Farris's call, and chose to grab another pumpkin instead. "I haven't raised my voice since I was a boy," he admitted. "People get nervous when I use my normal voice, so I try to be quiet."

"Y'ain't that bad," Cairo growled.

Yale gave Ka a strange look. “Nervous? Why would they be nervous? I agree with yer brother. That’s plain stupid. What’s other people’s business if yer voice is a tad loud?” Yale gave Ka an appraising look. “Fer as tall as ye are, ye don’t seem to care fer the attention.”

“I always thought it would be really inconvenient to be really tall,” Nenani mused. She had found a small rock on the ground and had picked it up and was idly passing it between her hands.

Saen laughed and replied, “We could say the same fer ya small folk being so short. Ye get winded just climbin’ the damn stairs.”

Ka shrugged at Yale's question, but found the words strengthened him a bit. Even if the man was a giant in his own respect, it felt good to hear some encouragement on the subject. "You are... much more confident than I," he decided.

The giant shook his head as he peeled. His voice got quiet and apprehensive. "I've scared people before. Humans, mostly. I don't like it." He forced a laugh. "Maybe I worry too much."

Cairo picked his teeth. Upon finding something, he pulled it out on his fingernail, then stuck it back in his mouth. "Sure do," he grumbled. He turned to Sean and curled his lip. "I don't have to climb your stairs, midgey boy."

Saen grinned and poked the human’s middle. “Maybe ye should start,” he quipped.

Near the pit, Yale was considering Ka with a little more of a critical eye. He took the sight of him in and his words and pieced more of the puzzle together. He understood easily the apprehension that came with interacting with humans, though he and the rest of the staff and Farris all made jokes and snarky remarks about popping them into stews and pies. It was all a balm against the festering wounds left behind by the war. It was easy to joke to and make light of it all. It was their morbid way to reconcile with the very real evils they had done. That Farris had done for them. To save them. But Yale held himself just as responsible as Farris. No matter what the kitchen master told him. He too remembered those faces...

He looked to Nenani then, who was watching them with an open curiosity. Innocent. She knew only bits and pieces, and even then, he wasn’t sure she knew anything of the whole truth. If she did, she never let on.

He took the slices of cooked pumpkin and dropped them into a shallow earthenware dish. Staring at the other slices still sizzling along the hot metal pan, he spoke to Ka.

“Didn’t use to be. Confident I mean,” Yale admitted to him. “When I was younger. Durin’ the war and all. Scared a lot of humans in my life. And I'm talkin' real terror. Wasn’t my choice to do it, but I did.”

Ka was silent for a moment, trying to think over Cairo's angry exchange with Saen. The humans here had been foolish enough to wage war with the giants? Behind that, what had they done to deserve their wrath? He shook his head and decided to ignore it. "I... haven't had to kill anyone, fortunately. There was that one, erm, accident with a dragon rider, but..." Ka shrugged as he rolled the pumpkin over in his palm, unsure how to finish his sentence.

He then glanced over to where Nenani stood and recalled how protective Yale had been of her. If so much had happened to him, how had he recovered so well? He himself had been a mess the time he had hurt Cairo. Then again... "I suppose there are bad humans just as there are bad giants," he finished.

Yale nodded with grim understanding at Ka’s words. There was no need for him to say anything else as his meaning was plain as well as his regret. It only served to confirm in Yale’s mind the kind of man he was and it brought forth a feeling of smug contentment. He wasn’t always as good a judge of character as Farris, but he wasn’t bad either. He felt pride in knowing his initial assessment of Ka had been right.

[janeyseymour]

Few And Far Between

It's been a strange day for Jane and Jenna... First they work together, and then they meet two people they never thought they would.

WC: 2350

It had been quite a day for the queen and baker. For once, Jenna Hunterson, proud owner, baker, and waitress, had taken a day off. Nothing special was happening that day, the woman just decided she should take a much needed break, knowing her staff could easily manage without her. Still, she told Cal that if it got to be too much not to hesitate to call her in.

Jane Seymour had settled into the cafe Anne worked at. It was few and far between that she made visits there anymore (mostly she found herself at Lulu’s to visit her friend), but when she did Anne always made sure the corner spot she had first met Jenna in was open for her. Seeing that she didn’t have to worry about picking Lulu up from school, she figured she might as well keep her friend with space buns occupied.

“Mind if I join you?” A familiar voice teased. Jane couldn’t help but roll her eyes in good nature.

“Mmm,” she drew out. “I suppose.”

“Oh please,” the brunette took her seat across from Jane. “As if you have any other friends who would willingly join you here.”

“Excuse me, I have five other people who live in my house who would happily join me, and your daughter would join me too!” the blonde playfully bit back.

“Well, I guess you got me there.”

The two had been chatting for quite some time when the baker’s phone began to ring.

“Oh good god. It’s Cal. I gotta take this.” The brunette stood and stepped outside before returning a few moments later to gather her things.

“Get called into work?” Jane didn’t even have to look up from her book to know she was correct.

“Yeah. Apparently it’s busier than usual, and you know how some of the staff can get when they’re under pressure. You’re more than welcome to join me, although I don't know if I can promise you a seat.”

“I can come; just gotta let Annie know I’m leaving.” The third queen made her way over to her predecessor and informed her of her new plan.

“Just bring me home a slice of pie, yeah?” With a nod, the two made their way out of the cafe and into the streets.

When Cal had called and told Jenna the diner was busy, he wasn’t kidding. On a Wednesday afternoon, the place looked as though it was a Saturday morning. And of course, they were understaffed.

After spending a decent amount of time hanging around the diner, the silver queen had picked up on how to address customers. Seeing that no one was available to help the customers that had just walked in, Jane stepped up.

“Hi, welcome to Lulu’s pie diner. If you give me one second, I can bus a table for you and have you seated!” The blonde shot them a smile before grabbing the bussing bin and making her way over to the table that had just been deserted.

“Jenna, there’s a new duo at table 7,” Jane alerted the baker as she made her way back to her seat behind the counter.

“There can’t be? It’s not-”

“I cleaned and set it. I just figured you could use some help. Oh god, did I overstep?” A hand flew to cover her mouth in panic.

“No, no,” Jenna quickly rushed out. “Thank you so much, but you don’t have to work hun.”

“I don’t mind.” Jane let a small sigh of relief out after that brief moment of weakness.

“Well in that case-” the owner of the diner reached under the counter before holding out an apron for the blonde to put on. “-better get to work Miss Seymour. Don’t make me regret hiring you.” The brunette winked.

As it turns out, waitressing came easily to the third queen. It made sense in reality- having to clean up hurricane Anne’s messes made bussing and setting tables a breeze. If no one else was available, she was able to seat more customers and inform her friend of the turnovers. She was able to print checks and run them (with some help from Jenna at first). To say the owner of the diner was grateful was an understatement. She truly wasn’t sure how she would’ve made it through this day without an angry customer if it wasn’t for her friend with a heart of... silver? Then, a thought occurred to the waitress. She wasn’t available to pick Lulu up from school anymore, and it’s not like she could ask Jim to- he was on call.

“What’s got you ‘lookin like shit’, as Becky would say?” Jane whispered to her friend as they passed- Jane on her way back to the counter to run a card and Jenna with two slices of “In the Dark, Dark Chocolate” pie for table 8.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna get Lu home from-”

“I can grab her,” Jane offered, already taking off the apron she had been given earlier in the morning.

“As much as I appreciate that, I kind of need you here to help out.”

“I can see if one of the other queens can pick her up? I think Anne gets done a bit before her school lets out. If not, I think Cathy could pry herself away from her work for 20 minutes to pick her up and bring her here.”

“You and your family are a lifesaver sometimes.”

“Let me just shoot them a text.” The blonde pulled her phone out from her pocket and opened her messages.

[ the queens] Jane: Hi, is anyone free to do me (and Jenna) a HUGE favor?

       Catalina: What’s up?

       Anne: ?

       Cathy: Would love to help, but have to finish an editorial that’s due tomorrow

       Kat: drownin’ in classwork n then i gotta run to work, sry j

       Anna: What up Seymour

       Jane: The diner is crazy busy right now, so I’m helping out. Unfortunately, that leaves no one to pick up Lu (Jim is on call). Would one of you be able to run down to her school and pick her up?

“Tell them I’ll bake their favorite pie for them,” Jenna laughed.

       Jane: Jenna says pie is on the table as a reward.

       Anne: what time does her skool get out? might be able to grab her on my way home from work

       Jane: 3:15.

       Anne: might be a few minutes late, but I can grab her. Do I bring her to our place, the diner, Jenna’s?

       Jane: Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver. Wherever is fine. Thank you so much.

“Annie said she can.”

“Thank god for that. I’ll call the school to let them know she’s picking Lu up. Think you can hold the fort down for a few minutes?”

“Annie?” Lulu looked puzzled as to why one of her girls was picking her up from school that day. Didn’t Mama have off today?

“Hey little Lu!” Anne held out her hand for the small child to take. “Mama got called into your diner today, and apparently it is so super busy, so Janey is helping her out too.”

“Oh, okay! Can we go to my diner?” The little girl asked as the two began walking the streets of New York.

“That sounds perfect.”

“Thank you so much Anne. You’re literally a godsend,” Jenna thanked the second queen profusely as she placed a hefty slice of pie in front of her.

“Not a problem really. You know I’m more than happy to help out,” the green queen got out before diving into her pie with an eagerness neither of the women had seen before.

“Did you not eat today Annie?” Jane asked while passing the table that held two of her favorite girls on her way to another table with more coffee.

“Didn’t have a chance to grab something before I left work. Had to be on time to pick up the little munchkin.”

“You know, if I’m ever this busy again, I might be callin’ you back in for a shift,” the baker laughed as she handed her friend a wad of cash. Now that the hustle and bustle of the diner was starting to slow down, the two could take a break to chat.

“What’s this?” Jane looked at the money that was shoved into her hand. “I don’t need this.”

“Your share of tips for the day.”

“I’m not taking your money Hunterson,” Jane refused, handing the money back.

“Come on. You worked almost a full shift without any notice. Just-”

“I did it to help a friend out.”

“You worked almost a full shift.”

“I volunteered.”

“Just take the damn money,” Jenna sighed as she stuffed the money into one of the pockets of the apron that Jane was still sporting.

“Use it for something that needs to be fixed in the diner.” Jane pulled the money out and did exactly what the owner of the diner had done to her.

“Jesus Christ Jane, just take it.” She threw the money at her in good nature.

“I’ll just put it in here.” Jane, ever the stubborn one, deposited the money in the tip jar.

“You know who the tips go to right?” The brunette bit back a laugh.

“Yes. The waitresses and the kitchen staff.”

“You were a waitress today,” the baker laughed as she pulled the money out of the tip jar and handed it back to the blonde. “You’re not winning this one Seymour, so just take it.”

“Alright fine. I’m going to run to the restroom real quick. Keep an eye on Anne for me, and do not give her another slice of pie. Last thing I need is for her to spoil dinner and be up half the night rambling about god knows what.”

A few minutes later, Jenna heard the bell ring. Counting the cash in the register, she didn’t look up immediately, but started on with her spiel for when it wasn’t too busy, “Hi, welcome to Lulu’s diner. Take a-” she looked up and saw the woman standing in front of her. “Jane, stop playing.”

“I’m sorry?” The blonde in front of her looked confused, the slightest crinkle of her nose evident.

“How did you? I thought you went to the bathroom?”

“Pardon?”

The baker refused to give in to her friend’s games. “How did you change and get outside so quick Jane?”

“Who is Jane?”

“Uh, Jenna?” Anne spoke up from the booth her and Lulu occupied.

“Anne, did you help her with this prank?”

“Mama, I don’t know who that is, but it’s not Janey.” Lulu had already eyed the customer up and down as soon as she entered through the front door.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know who Jane is,” the blonde sounded genuine. “My name is Abby.”

“What the fuck?” Jenna muttered under her breath. “I’m so sorry- you just look exactly like a friend of mine. Take a seat wherever there’s a booth open, and I’ll be around to take your order in a few.” The brunette, silently freaking out over meeting one of her best friend’s actual doppelgangers, mustered as genuine of a smile as she could.

“I’m supposed to be meeting my sister here, but she’s running a bit late. Is it alright if I hold off on ordering until she gets here?”

“That’s not a problem hun. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Jane?” Jenna pounded on the bathroom door where her friend was supposed to be . She still wasn’t quite convinced that this wasn’t some elaborate prank.

“Can’t a woman go to the bathroom in private?” the blonde joked as she opened the door.

“What the- no fucking way,” the baker whispered with eyes blown wide.

“What?” Jane asked.

“No fucking way. You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Jenna mumbled as she grabbed Jane’s hand and escorted her out to the front. “This woman, she looks exactly like you.” She pointed over to the table the blonde woman had settled into. “I thought you, Anne and Lu were pranking me.”

“There’s no way.” The blonde glanced over at the table before doing a double take. Had she not been the Jane Seymour, she would’ve thought it was her too.

“I literally told her to stop playing.”

“Well, I can go take her order so she understands why you said that. Maybe, if she sees me, she’ll realize it was a mistake.”

“She said she’s waiting for her sister to get here, but then yes. You take her order and explain the misunderstanding.”

Surely enough, a few minutes later, a brunette stepped into the diner. Jane had been at the counter while Jenna was busying herself organizing the spice rack.

“Hi, welcome to-” Jane looked the brunette up and down.

“Abby?” The woman looked at the queen curiously.

“I’m not-”

“Jessie!” the blonde from before walked over.

“What the-” the new woman, apparently named Jessie, gasped as she looked between the two. Abby too had begun to stare at Jane, completely dumbfounded at how much they resembled each other.

Jane was stunned. Had they found not just her doppelganger, but Jenna’s too? “Jenna! Get out here right now!” the queen yelled into the back.

A few seconds later, the baker emerged from the kitchen.

“What the hell are you yelling about? I almost dropped a bag of-” Jenna glanced at the two women in front of her. They were spitting images of herself and her queenly friend. “-What the-”

“So you must be Jane?” Abby bit back a laugh, remembering the odd encounter she had with the baker a few minutes earlier. “I understand now why your friend thought you were pulling a prank on her.”

They say there are seven people in the whole world who look like you, but it is highly unlikely you’ll never meet them. So maybe Jenna wasn’t one of the seven people that Jane Seymour looked like, but Abby Mueller definitely was. And perhaps Jane wasn’t one of the seven people that Jenna Hunterson looked like, but Jessie Mueller was for sure.

[artificialqueens]

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

Chapter Summary: The three finalists are just three challenges away from the end of the Bake Off, and the reunion with their fellow competitors, families, and friends at the finale garden party. The Signature and Technicals will be the hardest yet, and the Showstopper will ensure the three finalists bare a slice of their hearts to the country. But who will take the winning cake stand?

A/N: I have been utterly blown away by the support and comments I’ve had for this fic on tumblr and AO3! Huge big thank you to everyone who has cheered me on with this. For ease, the finale and epilogue are in one here (but are split on AO3). I hope to be back soon with some short stuff for rare pair challenge! xo Juno

WEEK 10: GRAND FINALE

Aurora felt like she didn’t sleep all week back in Worksop, and now, the night before she had to take the train down south to film the grand finale, the very idea seemed virtually impossible. Her body and her mind tossed and turned, every time she closed her eyes she saw cakes and breads and pastries and all sorts of things she was sure she’d never have any desire to eat again.

She had no time to think about Tayce, but Tayce had found her way in through the cracks in her mind while she had practised. Gone from the tent, but not gone from her life. And her last act in the tent had been to give Aurora five words that had rung like a melody in her head ever since.

You can win this, bitch.

She reached for her phone in the darkness, and it said it was half past one in the morning. She’d have to get up in three hours to get ready, before she headed out for the train. Lawrence would already be on the sleeper train, and Veronica was probably getting up at around the same time. But as she opened their own three-way chat, she found both Lawrence and Veronica were also messaging at silly time in the morning.

They weren’t sleeping either. Aurora understood why now.

Sure, she’d see Tayce again this weekend at the grand finale garden party. But her departure still replayed in her head.

Why did I end up this reliant on her anyway? I can bake without her. I’ve done it for years!

But this wasn’t just baking. It wasBake Off. It was surreal, intangible. It defied gravity. How many times had Aurora had to anchor herself to Tayce to keep herself from floating away?

Her phone came up with a notification from Lawrence.

Lawrence:why tf ru awake

The irony of Lawrence’s message was not lost on Aurora.

Aurora:your meant to be on the sleeper train Aurora: sleeper Aurora: clue is in the name Lawrence: yh but its stopped Lawrence: we’re in carlisle  Aurora: what’s it like in Carlisle x Lawrence: dark

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but it tickled her far more than it should, and she found herself laughing far too hard at the message.

Aurora: how much ru lookin forward to this bein over now x Lawrence: oh loads babes Lawrence: cant wait to bring that cake stand to Glasgow x Veronica:keep dreaming Lawrence  Aurora: unlikely lol x

On second thoughts, the teasing and the laughter were a balm for her worried mind right now, and Aurora found she was laughing more than she had all week at their conversation.

Sleep is overrated anyway.

——

The tent looked huge and imposing, but Aurora was still not at the front to her relief. If Lawrence had gone home last week - not that Aurora had ever expected her to - Aurora thought she would have squirmed at the front under the gaze of the judges. Especially now, with just the three of them left, their voices echoing like a vast cave, all of their heartbeats just sounding amplified as they hammered against their ribs.

It’s the finale. I made it.

Aurora glanced at the two badges she’d won. The same amount as Lawrence, with Veronica having one to her name. But as they’d seen from previous series, the amount of times someone had won Star Baker was not an indicator as to who would win the whole thing. But it certainly gave both her and Lawrence a minor edge, and both of them a swell in their chests.

Everything felt new and fresh. Lawrence had re-dyed her hair, blue this time, the vibrant colour almost a distraction in itself. Veronica had new black nails which she tapped on the workbench, and her roots had been redone. Aurora hadn’t thought to do any of that, so she was pleased to still be at the back.

Her turquoise KitchenAid still glistened like new, the workbench sparkled with the glassy varnish, and the cupboards and shelves around in their pastel colours made the summer air feel all the more fresh and clean. She glanced over at Veronica, her own green KitchenAid in the same state, and Lawrence’s Cadbury purple one too.

I wonder if I can pinch the KitchenAid after filming without the crew noticing.

——

Signature: 12 iced doughnuts - 6 ring, 6 filled

If there was one thing Aurora hated doing, it was piping filling into something as fiddly as a doughnut. They’d have to cool down, be hollowed, and then filled, a really fiddly process.

It was the hardest day in the tent by far. The morning was rainy, light rain that almost felt like it wasn’t there, and the air was sticky and humid, pushing the temperature in the tent up, especially with the deep fat fryers they’d been provided for the doughnuts.

Aurora chewed her lip so hard that it bled, piping mixture, watching them all closely in the deep fat fryer, filling up her jam piping bag and spinning it so tightly that it threatened to burst and cover her in sticky apricot jam.

In front of her, Lawrence groaned a few times as she battled against the heat and the doughnuts as they spat in the fryer, while Veronica was wringing her hands at the dough as it came out of her own fryer.

“Too soft,” she muttered, followed by “God, too hard,” at the next batch.

By the time judging came, with Prue back from her illness this week, Aurora had almost forgotten what she’d flavoured them with, but she wasn’t alone. Across from her, Veronica stuttered as she spoke about her doughnuts, while Lawrence just pushed her hair back at the question.

“Don’t know,” she’d mused to the judges, some of the old humour returning to her voice. “Started making them, had a breakdown, and here they are. Enjoy!”

The judges all laughed, but Aurora caught a glint in Lawrence’s eye, and the same thought passed between them both.

It’s not a lie!

All of them had similar critiques. Unanimously told they had good flavours, good bakes, and good designs, it was becoming virtually impossible to differentiate between them. How were they going to decide a winner?

“How are they going to do this?” Veronica said aloud to the room, as they sat in Norton Hall (not Carr Hall, Aurora said to herself) waiting for the Technical challenge to begin.

“Not a fucking clue.” Lawrence sighed.

“Are any of you thinking about today though?” Aurora asked. “Are you just thinking about the Showstopper tomorrow too?”

Lawrence and Veronica both nodded slowly, none of them looking at each other.

“Are you all … doing the same thing as I am?”

Lawrence and Veronica just continued nodding.

None of them even needed to say a word. They all knew.

——

Technical: Victoria Sponge (no recipe)

Technical sounded daunting at first glance, but Aurora tried to reason with her worried mind. Baking a Vicky sponge from scratch with no instructions? Please. Aurora baked a Vicky sponge twice a month for the local shelter. She could probably have done it in her sleep.

But the pressure cooker of the tent just made everything go up in smoke in her brain.

Her nan’s voice rang in her head for the proportions that she used to use. Two, two, two, and two eggs. But two what? Two cake tins? Two bowls? Two competitors? No, two pounds. When would her nan come into the new millennium and learn that no one talked about measurements in pounds and ounces any more?

“Lawrence?” She leaned forward.

“Alright, babes?”

“How much is two pounds in grams again?”

Lawrence was frowning. “What?”

“Please - just tell me. I know it’s a competition and all -“

“I’m not trying to stitch you up hen, I genuinely don’t know, I don’t use pounds and ounces because I entered the twenty-first century a while back.” Lawrence shook her head, holding her hands up in surrender. “What do you need it for anyway?”

“Recipe,” Aurora said, her already-hammering heart feeling like it could break her ribs.

“What’s up, love?” That was Veronica’s voice. Aurora closed her eyes, wracking her brain, but Lawrence’s voice pierced the gloom.

“How much is a pound in grams, d’you know?”

“Yeah,” came Veronica’s in response, “a pound is about four hundred and fifty grams. Y’know, you can also go the other way. A kilo is two point two pounds. What do you need that for, yours is already whisking?”

“No, Rory’s having a meltdown, and not with the butter.”

Jesus Dawn French Christ, Lawrence.

A hand met her shoulder, and Aurora was astonished to see Veronica at her side.

“You alright, love?”

She held her gaze for a long time, unflinching, but her eyes were softer than ever, and her hand was surprisingly warm and calming as she rubbed Aurora’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Just - this,” Aurora waved her hands, encompassing the whole tent. Maybe that was absurd to an outside observer, but Veronica knew. Veronica understood.

“I looked at your instagram,” Veronica said quietly, “and I know you bake cakes loads, so I know you can knock this one right out of the park, alright? And you know that too. I mean, I can’t remember a thing about making jam now! And I’m probably going overboard with my sugar. But hey, it’s the finale! I can’t be sent home now!”

Veronica shrugged, her face split in a grin that bordered on maniacal, and Aurora had to admit that she had a point. She took a shaky inhale, then let it out.

“Look, I know you miss Tayce,” Veronica dropped her voice even lower, her hand squeezing her shoulder now, “because I’ve missed Tia since alt week. And we know Lawrence is missing Ellie, even though she’d probably rather move to London and take up Morris dancing than admit that.”

“You say that, but I can do that accent, I’ve watched Eastenders,” Lawrence called over her shoulder. “And I won’t be any worse than Dick Van Dyke.”

“We’re all missing everyone,” Veronica said, and Aurora knew she didn’t mean everyone, “but you don’t need Tayce to be able to bake. You can do it on your own. You’ve done it loads before this show, and you’ll do it again!”

“I can’t,” Aurora heard her fear contradict her in a whisper.

“You can,” Veronica said firmly, her gaze now stern. “You can do this.”

Aurora took a deep breath, held for four, and let it out for five.

“I can.”

“That’s it, love,” Veronica said, nodding and starting to walk away.

——

“Here’s to the last time we’re here as a three,” Aurora said, raising her glass along with Lawrence and Veronica. One of the producers had brought in a bottle of champagne, and even though Aurora didn’t really like the bubbles very much - they tickled her nose - she accepted the glass that was poured for her.

“How much does everyone remember about today?” Veronica asked, her arms and legs crossed on the sofa. “Because I can’t remember a bloody thing. I can’t even remember what the judges said about that piece of crap that my Vicky sponge turned out to be. Did I come last?”

“Yeah,” Aurora nodded. “Was nothing in it, though. We were all shit.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Lawrence muttered, a hint of her old mischievous glint back in her eye.

“And tomorrow we’re recording the finale,” Aurora sighed, swirling the champagne. “Five hours in a tent, followed by half an hour break, followed by presenting the Showstoppers, followed by the garden party, followed by our speeches. And then filming three endings. Where one of us wins each time.”

“It’s gonna be worth it by the end, though,” Veronica said brightly.

“Who’s gonna come from your family, Lawrence?” Aurora asked.

“My parents, my cousin Chloe, and my best pal Stinky Pete.” Lawrence grinned. “Can’t wait to see them. And who have you two got?”

“Uhm,” Aurora frowned. “I know Blake’s coming, and my nan, but I thought you could only invite two people?”

“Mine said four,” Lawrence replied. “God, you really can’t count, can you?”

“What about you?” Aurora asked, motioning to Veronica with her glass.

“My mum’s coming and my brother.” She twitched her shoulders. “None of my friends could get time off. Shame, really.”

Aurora nodded, sipping her champagne, trying to hold off on sneezing through the bubbles. “And the others.”

“Can’t wait,” Veronica smiled her usual pinched, nervous smile, her leg jogging. “I’ve missed them all. Tia especially, but I’ve missed them all. I wonder who they all think will win?”

“And Ellie still owes me a tenner for that Puff the Magic Dragon shit that she thought Tayce’s biccies were,” Lawrence mused.

Aurora pursed her lips at Tayce’s name, but pushed it to the back of her mind. What mattered now was not Tayce, but the fact that her eyes were drooping after not having slept the previous night, and the champagne making her head throb.

“Early one?” Veronica’s sigh must have read been a telepathic projection, because they all stood in unison and trailed each other up the stairs to their respective rooms, ready to pass out and begin everything again in the morning.

——

Showstopper: A picnic for a fellow contestant - to include one celebration cake, 12 savoury pastries, and 12 patisserie.

When the three of them had seen the Showstopper for the weekend, right after Tayce’s elimination, they’d all nodded knowingly to each other.

This one has been just …made for us all.

It was obvious. It was blatantly obvious that everything that had happened had been noticed by the producers, and the staff, and everyone with eyes and without them too, that all three of the finalists were missing someone.

Veronica was setting her alarms up, all five of them as usual, before dragging her ingredients from the bag she kept. On her workbench, she’d gently placed a photo Tia had taken of some landscape or other. Lawrence had laid all her ingredients out on a baby pink tablecloth that complimented the purple of her own KitchenAid.

Aurora only had one thing to remind her of Tayce. She’d gone into a charity shop in the week with Blake, looking for something he’d seen in the window, and had found something that Blake had gasped at.

“It’s a Welsh love spoon!” He’d thrust the small wooden spoon into Aurora’s hand, and she’d turned it over and over silently in her fingers, marvelling at the twisting pattern on the handle, curling into a heart shape at the top.

“That’s fate, that is,” Blake had nodded. “You’ve got to get that.”

Aurora set the spoon now on the counter top, resting against her own KitchenAid for now, as she ran back through the timings again in her head, and what she was planning.

The twelve savoury pastries were easy. Puff pastry sausage rolls with added baked beans and cheese. Even if Prue didn’t like baked beans, that was all Tayce seemed to be eating every breakfast time.

Screw what Prue likes. This isn’t for her.

The cake? It had taken some thought. Black Forest gateau with a mirror glaze to top it off, not something she knew if Tayce liked, but something that felt sophisticated and stylish. And the deep purple of the blackberries was a colour that Tayce loved.

The patisserie was the hardest one, but she’d settled on millefeuille, similar to some that she made before for her nan’s seventy-fifth birthday, delicate and decorative, fragile-looking but built to stand tall. Not to mention they tasted so good that the world ceased to exist when someone bit into one.

“It’s like they’re all back here, isn’t it?”

Veronica’s voice was quiet, but happy. Lawrence’s intake of breath was shaky, but she didn’t turn to face her, focusing on her bake.

“You’ve got a tin of baked beans on your workbench, Aurora, it’s so surreal! And Lawrence, you’ve got so much pink on your workbench today.” Veronica motioned to the pink fondant she’d made, pink icing, pink glaze, pink cake filling. Pink and white marshmallows, pink jam … every shade of pink imaginable. Lawrence just gave a snort and shook her head.

It was meant to be the hardest challenge yet, but it definitely didn’t feel that way. The tent heated up with the warm sunshine outside and the combination of ovens and bakers and inside, but as soon as nerves started manifesting, the three of them were all there to diffuse them all for each other.

When Lawrence started dropping her utensils, both Aurora and Veronica were at her side in an instant to grab her hands and calm her down before she started panicking. When Veronica clung to the edge of her workbench, motionless, Lawrence and Aurora were both there beside her to talk her down.

But when the last ten minutes were called …

Shit.

Aurora felt cold fear creep back up her chest. She still had the millefeuille to assemble. She’d done three, but nine remained. And the puff pastry had to come out of the oven. And the glaze needed to be poured over the cake for it to set into a mirror in time -

“Aurora?” That was Lawrence, with Veronica on her heels. “You’re making a squeaky whiny noise like a balloon letting out air. What d’you need?”

“But - ten minutes - your own bakes -“

As Aurora flapped, the other two simply ran round her side and started doing it without needing her to tell them. Soon all her pastries were on the tray, and the cake was out the fridge, the glaze ready to go.

“You pipe, I’ll load,” Veronica muttered, and she did just that, while Lawrence put the cake onto the metal tray, jogging back from her own workbench where she’d had to finish off one of her own patisseries, and as Aurora finished piping the last millefeuille …

“Bakers! You have five minutes on your final Showstopper!”

They were all pulling out the stops, dashing between all three of their benches. Veronica was throwing gold leaf around like it was confetti. Lawrence was covered in icing sugar, the sweet scent filling the air. Aurora poured the deep purple onto the cake, praying to the Monster gods that it would set into a mirror glaze in time …

“Time is up! The final Showstopper has finished! Congratulations, bakers!”

The whole world seemed to crumble at Noel’s words.

Aurora looked at the mountain of food she’d produced, everything that reminded her of Tayce, and she knew then that serving this would mean serving a slice of her heart to the nation. And that was the plan all along.

Everything in her body ached, her bones were hollow, her breathing felt too loud alongside the deafening roar of blood in her ears. But as she leaned on the workbench, surveying the amount of work she’d done, she felt a tickle at the back of her throat, and suddenly she was laughing, so hard that she felt like she’d never stop. And then so was Veronica. Then Lawrence began too.

They were all cackling, all three of them, delirious with delight. Noel and Matt came to congratulate them, clapping as they did so, and then Veronica came out from her bench to hug Lawrence, and Aurora ran to join in, and the three of them were suddenly hugging, laughing, sobbing, cheering into each others’ ears.

Until they were all too weak to speak.

——

Aurora, first alphabetically, was going to be the first out of the tent with her final Showstopper, to make her way to the garden party that was always put on for friends and family for the grand finale.

All her bakes were on an enormous tray and she carried it, with Noel on her left and Matt on her right, all three of them bearing the load. Aurora was flabbergasted that nothing was moving, nothing was falling, but everything was still and settled.

As soon as she stepped outside the tent for the first time, she was met by a blast of noise like heat from a furnace.

Clapping, cheers, whoops, laughter. The crowd at the garden party was friends, family, co-workers, film crew, all the staff of Norton Hall, and of course Blu and Cheryl. She caught sight and sound of her nan - her nan! - her accent and her distinctive nasal voice above the rest of the crowd, bless. And Blake, waving his hands in the air and cupping them to his mouth to howl at the sky.

And the rest of the contestants, waiting with the biggest smiles, with applause, with cheers and shouts that drowned out everything else that was happening.

Tayce was in the centre. And Aurora had never seen her look so happy.

She rested the tray at the table outside the tent behind her name, and stopped, stunned, blinking so many times at the noise and her senses overloading. How green the grass was, how vibrant the gingham pattern on the table, how blue the sky was above her head, how bright and hot the sun felt on her bare arms.

“Go on, Aurora,” Matt muttered, pointing to the crowd. “You can go and see them!”

Aurora walked slowly, the dream she was in making her legs shake. Her feet were resting on air, two inches above the ground, just above the blades of grass. But she somehow made the walk, the whole twenty-foot walk, away from the tent towards them all, dazed by their overflowing love, their cheers and their applause.

Tayce was beaten in the first hug by Hurricane Ellie, swamping Aurora in her arms; and by the time she’d disentangled herself, Bimini was there, leaping forward and rubbing her arms and beaming at her; followed by a grinning Pip, followed by Joe, still cackling. In fact, everyone seemed to get a turn before Aurora was left with just Tayce, waiting patiently, the grin she wore showing all her teeth, her eyes crinkling in happiness.

“Told you you could do it, bitch!”

——

“I made this spread for Tayce,” Aurora began, still cursing that her name was first alphabetically and she was first up on the podium.

Part of the Showstopper this year was a little speech to the crowd at the garden party. It was meant to be a tear-jerker, obviously, for the viewers to have an emotional finale, but it had just served to make all the bakers pull their hair out while writing a speech about which contestant they were baking for, and why.

“I made it for her because Tayce has been my rock throughout the competition. We were on the back row together, we got through all the first challenges together … she corrected me on the name of the hall for God’s sake, I was calling it Carr Hall for ages!”

The polite laughter tinkled around the grounds.

“Tayce has been an inspiration in so many ways. She’s taught me that … that I can channel my worries into the energy that I use to make a cake or a bread or whatever - and that can be fuel for me, to push me forwards. Tayce showed me that they were just a source of power like anything else. She always told me to relax. Well, chillax. And when I did, I rediscovered that I loved baking.”

Aurora couldn’t look at Tayce, even from this distance. Couldn’t see her eyes. If she did she might burst.

Lawrence and Veronica sat on the chairs next to the tent, next to the judges, waiting their turns, while everyone else sat or stood on the grass; but Aurora’s position on the podium, towering over them all, kept eyes trained on her as she gave her speech about her Showstopper, before everyone would come and eat.

“Me and Tayce,” Aurora’s voice cracked. “Well, we didn’t always get along. It’s a competition, and we all have our eyes on the prize, and that pressure of wanting to be the best got on top of us both at times.”

The silence was only broken by birdsong.

“But Tayce taught me that I do my best when I’m relaxed. When I’m loving what I’m doing. She taught me that my thoughts can be my own worst enemy, especially when I’m thinking about other people.” She paused, glancing back at her cue card, the words jumbling before her eyes. “And most of all she taught me that - that I ama great baker. That …”

The lump in her throat was back, the fear creeping up her windpipe to strangle her words. She shook her head defiantly.

“That I am more than capable, that I’m skilled, and that I’m … loveable. She held up a mirror for me. So I made one for her too. Thanks, Tayce.”

More polite laughter, followed by applause, as she indicated the mirror glaze cake.

Finally, she met Tayce’s eyes, and as soon as she did, her own burned with unshed tears, emotion swelling in her like a tidal wave.

But Tayce too, her lip quivered, not even noticing the others around her or their applause. She opened her mouth, and her lips moved, but only for Aurora.

“Love you, bitch.”

Aurora managed to mouth back to her while applause rang in the air.

“Love you, too.”

——

“Ellie’s gonna hate me for this,” Lawrence muttered into the microphone, and Aurora looked over at the crowd, Ellie already shaking with silent laughter with her hands over her mouth. “I made a spread for her. She probably wasn’t expecting it, it rains too much to ever have a picnic outside in Dundee, poor bitch has probably never seen the sun -“

“Lawrence,” Matt Lucas piped up, “just a reminder that this will air before the 9pm watershed.”

“So I can’t say bitch? Fuck’s sake!” Lawrence put her hands on her hips.

Aurora put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from making too much noise, but laughing this much was making tears stream down her face; and Veronica, sat next to her, leaned into her arm, also shaking, stuffing her fist into her mouth to silence herself.

“Anyway, I made all this pink stuff for Ellie. And not just because Team Scotland has to stick together,” she added, as Ellie whooped in the crowd, “but because she really has been the best friend I could have made here.”

Veronica let out a cough that sounded a great deal like ‘sexual tension’ and she and Aurora spluttered with laughter.

“And ignore the peanut gallery over there,” Lawrence motioned to Veronica without even looking. “Because first and foremost, Ellie has been a great friend to me. She sat with me when I was upset when I did something wrong, and she was the first to celebrate anything I got right - even if it was at her expense.”

“Aww,” Veronica murmured next to Aurora.

“I take everything really seriously. I take baking to heart. If I’m not good at something, it freaks me out, because I’m usedto being good at everything I try. Gifted kid syndrome, if you know you know.” Lawrence thumped her chest. “But Ellie just has fun with it all. She taught me that you can have fun with something without necessarily needing to be perfect at it. There isn’t a yardstick of quality to having fun. And even if I’m not good at something, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth the time.”

Ellie was now quiet, as the others turned to watch her, but she was only looking at Lawrence, oblivious to everyone around her as the grin on her face quivered with emotion.

“Ellie is fun. And I wanted to make something that would be fun, and also her. That’s why there’s a lot more pink than I’m used to,” Lawrence continued, motioning to the huge pink cake and the pink icing on the choux buns she’d made.

“When I was unsure of myself, Ellie reminded me of what I could do. But she also reminded me that I should be having fun. That’s the reason I made this for her. Because baking should be fun, and should be something you don’t take too seriously. And once I got that, I loved it.”

As everyone applauded again, Lawrence gave the crowd a thumbs up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, looking as if she wanted to get off the podium as fast as possible.

——

“Come on Veronica,” Aurora muttered under her breath.

Veronica looked very short, smaller than usual, even on the podium, the microphone somewhere at her forehead before she adjusted it to her mouth. She licked her lips; her eyes darted to the crowd, to Aurora and Lawrence sat separate to them all, to the judges, and then down to her note paper again.

“Well,” Veronica said for what felt like the fortieth time, another giggle escaping her lips. “Hello, everyone.”

“She’s bombing,” Lawrence muttered.

“She’s just too nervous,” Aurora nodded.

“Right. So. I made this spread for Tia, you know this now, because there’s a sign saying Tea or Coffee on it, I thought that was a nice - erm, a nice touch.”

“God.” Lawrence put a hand to her chest.

Aurora watched as Veronica took a deep breath, held it for a second, and let it out slowly, the silence only interrupted by birdsong.

“I - I’m a perfectionist. If it’s not perfect, I don’t want it. If something is out, even by ten grams, even by a centimetre, I just want to throw it out and never look at it again.”

Veronica repeated the deep breath, clenching the podium, her knuckles white.

“Me and Tia just clicked. We’re quite similar, me and her. We have the same humour, we like the same police dramas and murder mystery documentaries, we both like art and drawing and stuff -”

“Since when does Veronica like drawing?”

“You need to check her instagram page,” Lawrence muttered back, “it’s all artwork.”

“- but the one thing me and Tia didn’t have in common was baking. Tia’s an amazing baker. But something about that tent - as soon as she was in it, she kept making a mess of everything, she won’t mind my saying that; and I know she got really frustrated, but she never wanted to quit. She just always wanted to get better.”

Veronica was tearing up, it was evident even from this distance, her white knuckles shaking. Tia, in the crowd, squirmed for her, clutching Pip’s hand as Veronica fought to get some more words out.

“Tia taught me that it’s fine to make mistakes.”

Another long pause.

“Not that - I don’t mean that Tia is always making mistakes! She does a lot of stuff really great! But she taught me that being perfect is basically impossible. And that I can trust myself if something goes wrong, that I can trust myself to be able to fix it, and not just give up.”

Tia dabbed her eyes with her free hand, shuffling nearer to Pip, who had a hand on her own chest in sympathy.

“Because she doesn’t give up. She just wants to do better. And I love that about her. I wish I’d put less pressure on myself when I first got in there, trying to be perfect at everything, instead of trying to be my best, and getting better by making mistakes.”

Veronica finally seemed to be settling, the rare smile appearing.

“She showed me that making mistakes is fine, and it doesn’t mean I’m a failure, it means I’m a person. And she - her bakes were amazing, and lovely, and she’s such a genuine person that everyone in the tent fell in love with her. Well,” she paused, looking up, “I did.”

Tia’s jaw dropped as she clutched at her chest, leaning into Pip at her side, tears falling freely down her face now as the rest of them clapped, while Veronica’s smile widened, her own tears falling too.

“That’s so …” Aurora murmured, not realising she was holding Lawrence’s hand.

“… cheesy,” Lawrence muttered, but her voice had a crack in it.

——

Aurora’s nan got the first hug when she went over to her family. Her best friend Blake had the second, patting her heavily on the back.

“So which one is the one you made all the cake for then?” Her nan motioned to the crowd of contestants, who had been mostly all mingling together, now breaking off to sit with the crew and each other.

“Tayce is - oh, she’s here.”

Tayce, appearing from somewhere, plonked herself on the grass by the picnic blanket and helped herself to a sausage roll. “Oi oi, saveloy! Oh, these look nice! You put baked beans in them?” Tayce grinned. “You know me like the back of your hand, Rory!”

“Beans on toast was your go-to breakfast, wasn’t it?”

“Oh god, yeah,” Tayce nodded. “Breakfast of kings! The only breakfast! If I could have beans on toast for the rest of my life, I’d die happy. A bit flatulent, but happy.”

She looped her arm through Aurora’s waist, planting a kiss on her lips, before picking up a pastry, leaving Aurora floating just a little from the contact.

“So are you two dating now?” Blake asked, his eyes wide as saucers, hoping for gossip as usual.

Aurora met Tayce’s gaze; they hadn’t really discussed anything official yet. Tayce’s smile was strangely shy, and her eyes earnest, a thousand questions behind them; but as they both nodded simultaneously, it felt like they could work out the details a little bit later.

“Yep!” They both exclaimed at the same time.

Tayce reached down and grasped Aurora’s hand. “And you’re the first to hear about it - not the tabloids, not Hello magazine!”

“You’re not just putting it on for the cameras, are you?” Aurora’s nan teased, wagging her finger at the pair of them.

Tayce turned to glance at Aurora, the same thought passing between them both.

“No way,” they both said at the same time, to a snort of laughter from Blake.

There had been a time, not too long ago, that Aurora might have taken the question as a cue to overthink, overanalyse - but that thought didn’t even exist any more. Instead of being like ducks, kicking to stay on the surface, they now just floated effortlessly.

Aurora just squeezed Tayce’s hand.

Everything was falling into place.

——

“Taking into account your final bakes, and your performances throughout the series, we’ve made our final decision.”

Aurora’s left hand was numb; Lawrence was cutting off the circulation to it.

They all stood before the judges, filming the first of the three endings to keep the actual winner a secret from everyone. This would be Aurora’s win; they’d then film Lawrence’s and finally Veronica’s. For now, they all stood in line; Aurora at Lawrence’s right and Veronica at her left.

Prue held the cake stand, the Bake Off emblem engraved in the glass, all of them in a line waiting for the decision, while the crowd stood impatient, ready to put on a show to congratulate them all.

“You’re all incredible bakers, the best in the UK,” Prue continued from Paul’s speech, “and this was the most difficult season by a long way to judge. You’re all so skilled, imaginative, and clever, and I know you’ll all go on to amazing things after this is over.”

Lawrence’s hand was shaking in Aurora’s; and she could hear Veronica’s breathing on her other side.

This is it.

“The winner of the Great British Bake Off is …”

Complete silence.

Even the birdsong had waned in the background.

A silence that seemed to last an eternity.

Aurora watched Prue’s mouth, wondering when she would open it again, put them all out of their misery, Veronica’s breath audible through the silence and Lawrence’s hand sweating in hers and Aurora’s heart must be the loudest thing in the whole country right now at the rate it hammered her ribs -

——

EPILOGUE

October 2021

Tayce had had to let Aurora go for Blu to wield the camera at the three finalists on the smallest of the neverending number of sofas in Pip’s sister’s house. Lawrence in the middle of the three, all squashed together on what was really a two-person sofa, but they’d all linked arms and interlocked their fingers, staring at the screen, watching themselves.

“I’m never gonna get used to being on screen,” Tia mused, shaking her head. “I swear I don’t sound like that.”

“You do, you definitely do.”

But Tia was only half paying attention to Tayce’s words, her attention on Veronica, who was ignoring her, staring enraptured at the screen. Lawrence, on the other hand, kept glancing over to see Ellie, both of them doing that strange thing they did in filming yet again, just able to know when the other was looking over at them to make sure they were alright.

Tayce tried to relax, hands in her lap, but her chest fluttered every time she met Aurora’s gaze.

The finale had been Tayce’s favourite episode to watch, simply because she hadn’t been in it. The element of surprise was there as she watched it, although it was there for all of them, because there the finalists were, on the screen, still waiting for the winner to be announced.

It must be between Aurora and Lawrence. Veronica only has one badge; it probably won’t be her.

“The winner of the Great British Bake Off is …”

The painful zoom of the camera on everyone’s faces. Aurora’s nervous smile, pure yet heartbreaking. Lawrence looking at the sky to stop herself from crying, both her hands occupied by another finalist. Veronica, her stare intent with anticipation, chewing her bottom lip.

“Aurora!”

The room erupted.

Cheryl was jumping up and down, the first at the sofa to hug Aurora as she sat still as a statue, hands at her mouth and eyes agape in shock, as Lawrence pulled her tightly to herself, planting a delighted kiss in her hair.

“It’s you!” Veronica shrieked, shaking her knee, “it’s you! You won! You won the whole thing!”

And then everyone else streamed in to hug her. Pip was first - Pip was always the first to lay a comforting hand - Tia was close on her heels - Ginny’s hands looped round her neck from behind and their eyes crinkled in joy - but Aurora still sat frozen, only her rapid blinking suggesting anyone was home at all.

Tayce felt time stop again, but this time in a moment of perfection and not defeat.

The contest environment evaporated, she couldn’t fathom feeling anything but pure elation for Aurora’s win, couldn’t fathom having felt any other way for this wonderful woman who she was lucky enough to now call her girlfriend, sat with her hands at her mouth and silent tears coursing down her face as Blu pointed a camera at it.

“Aurora! It’s you! It’s you!” Blu was patting her knee while the rest of them excitedly hugged and squeezed at her. “Do you have any words for us right now, or is it a bit overwhelming?”

“It’s - what - I can’t believe it!”

Aurora’s phone was buzzing on the dining room table, undoubtedly hundreds of friends and family calling and texting and tagging her in Instagram posts and tweets, congratulations spilling over from every direction, an outpouring of love and support and adoration.

The programme was still running, footage of Prue and Paul giving their final summaries of Aurora, and the other two finalists - other contestants giving sound bites - Aurora’s finalist speech as her face was red with tears - the where are they now segment starting to play for all the contestants.

Pip back at her day job, giving the camera a thumbs up, followed by a snap of her with Ginny at Blackpool Tower and a video of them both on the Big One. Joe reliving that Instagram video again, and clips of Cherry, Ellie and Asttina all trying to recreate it too. Cherry back at the dog-grooming business she worked for, and walking her own dog. Asttina back at the gym, followed by a photo of her and Bimini on a boat on the Thames. Bimini at their laptop, followed by pictures of them holding the childrens’ book they’d written since the show. Ellie’s move to Glasgow, a clip of her dyeing Lawrence’s hair back to the bright purple it was now. Tia and Veronica somewhere in the Lake District, windswept but with smiles a mile wide.

But Tayce didn’t see or hear any of it. Aurora was the only thing she could see.

And as she stumbled towards Tayce, draping herself into her arms and laughing in delight, Tayce held her as tightly as she could, crushing her eyes shut but not stopping her own tears, her heart bursting for Aurora as she was privileged to share this moment of exhilarated happiness with her …

She’s already a Star Baker. She doesn’t need a badge or a title.

But she’s got both now! And hopefully she can know that she’s a Star Baker as much as we all do!

——

THE END

[nochiquinn]

campaign 2 episode 108: permadicked

I have a new keyboard, nobody's allowed to make fun of any typos in this

oh NO that art by naomi lord is so CUTE

I just got here why is sam cosplaying as hootie from hootie and the blowfish

replacing troy baker is MATT'S job, sam, stop that

TALKS

"does brian remember how to talk?" "no, it's been weird at home"

"aimless slashing"

oh no I want it

laura bailey: she's done puzzles

caduceus: oh thank god, validation

mala: is...is that IC Marisha? me: write what you know

sam what the FUCK

moon mommy

I mean not THAT long

"could be interesting" is caduceus for "do it for the gram"

well that fanfic just happened

one ringy-dingy

that's a fucking copout answer

and she knows it, look at laura's face

exandria spontaneously develops a third moon

in a scripted show that would be MASSIVE foreshadowing for something terrible happening to all those people

caleb r u ok

when was the last time he got for-actual drunk? was the the drinking contest? in - was it fucking hupperdook?

beau got conned into having a job

why is everybody in this episode making me so NERVOUS

caleb

caleb whatcha doin

has this just been stewing on caleb's mind the whole time? like he wasn't gonna not help jester but was he always planning to just...turn around and raise hell?

I mean I support hellraising but do you have a PLAN mr widogast

reverse-heal

everybody talking about their FEELINGS and their EMOTIONAL CONFLICT

and attacking MY feelings, as a parent, as veth always has and will undoubtedly continue to do

"I want to be wherever you are" welp there we go, actual tears

you know that part in hamilton where jefferson's like "can we get back to politics" and madison's in the back crying like "PLEASE?!" that's what that segue felt like

"you're jester, I'll allow it" that's it, that's the campaign

"we're making more of a difference than we ever would have if we hadn't met up"

beau: I'm technically included in everyone, that counts as a confession right

fjord what the fuck is that analogy

AND I WALK AWAY

jester gets such mom energy sometimes

man it's gonna suck when they have to fight the traveler and they used all their spell slots on pyro

mala: his master plan

the traveler is just megamind

PRESENTATION

that's a baller name

"had to get the wiggles out"

beat them dicks

cockquistador

v e t h

artagan's gonna end up choking out two of liam's characters

I'm suprisingly into the concept of caleb and artagan beefing over who makes jester look cooler

"our own personal use"

there is now no prize, you got punked, fuck off

I don't trust like that

"do an insight check" "for what" "idk I just hate her"

v e T H

"9021VO" marisha

"it's a southern-ass thing" ahh, my people

"a blue tiefling" "so jester" "...yeah, it's jester"

"their dicks in their hands" a hur dur dur dur

I'm so NERVOUS there's no way this goes well but WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN

we lost marisha

"the golden phallus" his dark materials porn parody

fuck the what

"I'm the final dick!"

COCKBLOCKED

celia's the new big bad

new oneshot, search for celia

what's gonna HAPPEN the energy is so WEIRD

moonweaver: heard u bitches was lookin for me

oh. well shit.

well SHIT

what happens to jester if artagan gets put in gay baby jail???

okay I went and did dishes so I wouldn't have to do them after the episode and my current working theory is that jester becomes artagan's parole officer

depending if laura wants to keep jester on that route, idk, she might tell him to go fuck himself

jester :(

shades of garmelie in that muffled panic

jester's like 6-0 for charming incredibly powerful creatures, let's go for 7

"jester. that's all." cries

the one good thing he ever did

(I knew he actually loved her)

(vindication corner over here tonight)

moonweaver: don't forget to like comment and subscribe

cad: I got a lotta arm

stop making jester make decisions, let her Rest

jester you adorable goof, they fucking love you

y'all are gonna make me actually look up the moon theory and I don't Want To

"are you okay tho" "................yeah?"

beau: press x to doubt

everyone in this campaign: I'm incredibly powerful. I'm an enormous fuckup. I'm at the combination incredibly powerful and enormous fuckup.

veth was seriously going to throw tiny hands, I love her

artagan just tell her you love her back

I will teleport in there and throw hands

I can't help it, I just like him. I always have. I blame Matt. every time they want him to fuck off they just start doing monologues

I mean goldmember's taken

"I'm at your service" fuckin weh

fjord: are you fucking with me. you have to tell me if you're fucking with me or it's entrapment

jester set some boundaries challenge

this did not turn out to be much of a vacation, to be ENTIRELY fair

"sidequest, who's got sidequests"

cad's their designated driver, he doesn't go home until they're all home

BEAUREBAR

"can we warn yussa" "I plan to!" "we always plan to, let's please do it this time"

"someone prayed for a miracle and there you were" cad that's gay

mala: sounds like Taliesin's home plane

[honeypiehotchner]

Covered Memories -- part 1

TW for mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, paranoia(?), sadness. Stay safe lovelies.

Here is the Sherlock I promised. It has a couple parts, so I’m going to let this one settle before I give you the next (I’m also editing it as I reread it haha). This was inspired by Billie Eilish’s song “listen before i go” but you don’t need to listen to it while reading or anything. Enjoy! Love you guys xx.

I went to sleep watching Sherlock and woke up on a bus in London.

           It sounds crazier than it actually is, I promise.

           Just kidding, it’s absolutely insane. I’m on a fucking bus in London and I’m from Ohio. I’m from the United States of fucking America, and I somehow woke up on a bus in England.

           I didn’t realize where I was at first, to be completely honest. I didn’t recognize it. The first dead giveaway was that the bus was driving on the wrong side of the road – well, the correct side here, but the wrong side to me completely.

           I’m still in my pajamas, and I’m a little more than thankful that last night I fell asleep in a hoodie and leggings. At least I’m not half naked on a bus in downtown London.

           Things could be a lot worse than they are, that’s for sure.

           But the situation I’m in also isn’t exactly okay. I don’t have my purse, my phone, or any damn shoes on my feet. I don’t even have my damn glasses, so walking around is going to be a little more than challenging, which is partly why I’ve stayed on this bus for longer than I should.

           Eventually, though, I figure I’ve been on here for long enough, so I decide to step down and onto the sidewalk.

           Okay, bad idea. Foreign city, foreign person, and I have no earthly idea where I’m at or where I should go.

           One piece at a time. Okay, I have no money, so a cab ride is out of the park. And so is…basically everything else.

           Okay.

           When one wakes up in London, what does one do – especially if one has never been to London before?

           I have no earthly idea.

           The only knowledge I have of London is from the show I fell asleep watching – Sherlock – and even then, it’s a TV show. It’s fiction.

           My eyes widen at the idea that just came into my head.

           I know, logically, that Sherlock Holmes does not exist. He’s a fictional character, but in knowing that, I know that the show itself is pretty popular. I know a lot about said show. And I know that Baker Street is actually a real place. There’s a museum there now, or something.

           Well, if I’m going to be stuck here, I might as well take advantage. I’ve always wanted to come to the museum, and since I’m here basically for free, I’m going to go see it.

           Strange that I’m not freaking out right now, I know. I don’t know why I’m not freaking out either. I don’t think it has sunk in just yet. It always takes me a good week to really process things, actually, but who knows what that’s about.

           Okay, Baker Street. I need to find my way to Baker Street.

           Because I have no other option, I walk up to the least scary looking woman on the sidewalk with me, tapping her shoulder. Thankfully, she looks to be around my age, so she doesn’t seem too alarmed by me tapping her.

           “Hi, you wouldn’t happen to know where the Sherlock Holmes museum is, would you?”

           She smiles, sort of knowingly and nods. “You’re lookin’ for Sherlock Holmes?”

           “Yes…” I nod slowly, not sure if she’s messing with me and is about to tell me to get lost, but she doesn’t.

           “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

           If she wasn’t also a female and young, then I would not have followed her, but she looks like she means well, and knows where she’s going, which is evident when I vaguely see the awning to the museum in the distance.

           “So, what’s up with you?”

           I blink, letting out a weak laugh. “What?”

           “Why do you need to see Sherlock Holmes?” She clarifies. “What’s your case?”

           Okay, now I’m not sure if she’s the one who knows Sherlock Holmes doesn’t exist. I don’t even know how to respond to her.

           “Oh, I’m not supposed to be here right now,” I shrug. “Just wondering if maybe he could…help me out.”

           “Sounds interesting,” she nods seriously. “Well, it’s just up there. I’ve gotta get to work. Nice meeting you.”

           “Yeah, you too…” I furrow my eyebrows, watching her cross the street.

           I shake my head, rubbing my face with my hands. This no longer feels as concerning as it feels strange. Especially after that interaction.

           I continue walking, continue feeling the concrete underneath my bare feet as I walk. I come up on the awning of the museum only to find it’s…it’s not the museum. It’s Speedy’s Café.

           But Speedy’s isn’t here. Speedy’s isn’t supposed to be on this street – They don’t actually film the show at the exact 221B Baker Street. They film it on North Gower Street, everyone knows that.

           I look up at the brick building, and sure enough, she led me to Baker Street, where the museum should be, but it’s Speedy’s.

           I shake my head again, walking past the building to find someone else. I cast a quick glance at the door next to it, doing a doubletake when I see the golden 221B on the outside.

           “This day is just getting weirder and weirder,” I sigh.

           I rub at my eyes, stepping closer to see if it’s my eyes just playing a trick on me, but it’s not. It really does say 221B on the outside. Complete with the knocker turned to the side like Sherlock keeps it.

           Okay, stop it. Sherlock Holmes is fictional. He keeps it that way in his fictional world. This is the real world, and yes, it’s short circuiting right now, it’s still reality.

           It’s short circuiting? Really? I just woke up on a bus halfway across the globe after going to sleep in my apartment, and the best answer my brain can come up with is that the world is short circuiting?

           Just for that, I’m going to ring the doorbell. Just once. If nothing happens, then I’ll go…find the police station, I don’t know.

           Without giving it a single second thought, I step up, and briefly press the doorbell.

           Nothing happens. Literally, nothing. Which gives me the impression that this is the flat they film in, and that it’s just made to look like it really is Baker Street, even though everyone knows it’s just North Gower.

           I scoff to myself, feeling silly for even entertaining the idea, turning around to walk the other way. It’s when I turn my back that I hear the sound of the door opening, followed by an all too familiar voice.

           “Ma’am, wait!”

           I freeze. Absolutely not. There’s no absolute way that could be him.

           I take a deep breath, slowly turning myself back around, coming face to face with the man I’ve only ever seen on my laptop or phone screen.

           John Watson.

           No…it’s not. It’s Martin Freeman, come on, John Watson doesn’t actually exist. He’s a fictional character.

           “Would you like to come in?” He asks, stepping back and gesturing inside.

           My legs move before I tell them to, walking me inside the flat. I wait until John closes the door, before I turn back around to look at him.

           I probably look more than startled because he returns the expression, furrowing his eyebrows.

           “Are you alright?”

           “…no.”

           “Alright, well, come upstairs. I’ll get Mrs. Hudson to make you a cuppa.”

           I let him guide me up the stairs, checking on me every few steps to make sure I haven’t fainted, I’m sure. I’m not feeling faint, but I know I must look white as a sheet.

           This is just wrong. And not real. I’m dreaming. Surely, this is just a dream.

           “Mrs. Hudson, would you make…”

           He looks to me for my name, so I answer him. “Liz.”

           “Liz here a cuppa, please?”

           Mrs. Hudson – yes, the Mrs. Hudson I’ve seen in the show, Una Stubbs – nods, frowning. “Of course, dear. Are you alright? You look a little spooked.”

           “Yeah…I’m…I’m spooked,” I let out a breathy chuckle.

I glance around the apartment – flat, they’re flats here – with wide eyes. Everything is the same. The yellow smiley face ridden with bullet holes is on the wall above the couch. The messy coffee table that Sherlock always steps over is in front of the couch. The wall itself has various pictures and things pinned up, but I can’t see them clearly enough to know if it’s anything I’d recognize.

“Here you go, dear,” Mrs. Hudson hands me a cup of steaming tea. “Drink that and it should make you feel better.”

“Thanks, Mrs. H.”

John freezes, staring at me with wide eyes. “Mrs. H?”

“I’m sorry, force of habit,” I grimace. I’m ruining this already.

“Habit? Do you know Mrs. Hudson?”

“No, I—” I sigh. “It’s not a long story, but it’s really complicated, and I’m still trying to process everything right now and— Oh my God.”

The grip on my tea loosens completely, the cup falling from my hands and shattering at my feet. Standing before me is the man I’ve watched on a screen for years. Sherlock Holmes.

He finishes buttoning his blazer, raising an eyebrow. “Client?”

John answers, whilst cleaning up the broken shards of the teacup. “Yeah, I think. She said it’s complicated.” He stands, tossing them into the trashcan that Mrs. Hudson brought over before taking the towel from her to soak up the tea.

“It always is,” Sherlock dismisses John’s answer, holding his hand out to you. “Sherlock Holmes.”

“I know,” I blurt, immediately smacking myself in the forehead. I take his hand, giving it a firm shake. “I mean, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Liz. Liz Singleton.”

“Singleton,” he repeats, narrowing his eyes. “I know that name.”

“You do?”

“Yes…I’m not sure from where. Well, it’ll come to me soon enough.” He walks around me, pulling the chair out from under the table and sitting it in the middle of the floor. “Have a seat, Miss Singleton and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“I want to stand, actually,” I say, the past moments’ events coming back to me. “I’m sorry about the cup, Mrs. H. I’m having delayed reactions to things.”

“It’s alright, dear, I’ve got plenty others. Sherlock has a bad habit of breaking them.”

I smile softly, turning back to Sherlock, only to find him staring me down. Deducing me, most likely, so I brace myself for the onslaught of accusations and truths I’m not aware of.

“Why do you speak to Mrs. Hudson with such familiarity?”

I pause, nodding slowly. “That’s part of my story.”

Sherlock sighs tiredly. “Go on, then.” He stays standing as well, continuing to look me over while John sits down in his chair.

“I’m not from here.”

“Yes, I gathered that from your alarming American accent.”

Ignoring the ‘alarming’ adjective, I continue. “I’m from Ohio. The state in the U.S. Thing is, I went to sleep there last night. But I woke up about an hour ago on a bus in downtown London.” My heart is pounding in my chest, the severity of what’s happening finally settling in now that I’ve said it aloud. “Any ideas, Mr. Holmes?”

“A few,” he mutters. “Those are clearly pajamas and judging by your lack of shoes, the sleeping bit does make sense.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “What were you doing last night?”

“That’s,” I pause to chuckle. “That’s the kicker, really, because I was watching you.”

His arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry?”

“There’s a show, on BBC, it’s called Sherlock. It’s about you and John and Mrs. Hudson,” I swallow thickly. “And Molly, and Lestrade, and Mary.”

“Mary? Who’s Mary?”

“No one,” I cover quickly, not entirely sure what I’ve done, but I know it isn’t good. It sounds ridiculous, but I must be in the world before he met Mary, so before…before the Reichenbach. “Just a random person. But my point is, it’s a TV show. I was watching it when I fell asleep last night, and I woke up on a bus here, in London. And now I’m talking to you. And you’re not supposed to exist – none of you are. You’re fictional characters. I thought when I first got here that it was a little weird, but I was coming here to see the museum. There’s supposed to be a Sherlock Holmes museum here, not this flat. This flat isn’t supposed to exist – none of it is.”

I turn in a circle, looking at everything I’ve seen over the years. I used to dream about visiting this flat – visiting the set and sitting down in John’s chair or grazing my fingers over the smiley face on the wall, but now I’m here and I don’t even want to be. Now I’m here, and this is the worst nightmare I could ever imagine.

I stop, pointing at John, my mind spinning. “You. Your name isn’t John Watson, it’s supposed to be Martin Freeman. And you,” I point at Sherlock. “Your name isn’t Sherlock Holmes, it’s supposed to be Benedict Cumberbatch.”

           John laughs loudly. “What kind of a name is that?”

           “You played Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit,” I tell John—Martin. He’s Martin. “And Ian McKelpie in Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. And you,” I turn back around to Benedict. “You played Khan in Star Trek. And Alan Turing in The Imitation Game. You guys are actors.” I cover my face with my hands. “This is one weird dream. I need to wake up.” I open my eyes, looking dead at Benedict. “Punch me.”

           “I’m sorry?”

           “Punch me. Right now. Knock me out in here, so it’ll wake me up back home.”

           “I’m not going to punch you, Miss Singleton.” He pauses. “Because I think I know what’s going on here.”

           John looks as surprised as I am. “You’re serious?”

           “Yes, John, I’m quite serious,” Sherlock tucks his hands behind him. “I’m at the height of my fame. You know that because we’ve been in the papers almost every day for the last month.”

           “No idea where you’re going with this, Sherlock.”

           “Oh, come on, open your eyes,” Sherlock cries. “Look at her outfit, look at her eyes. She’s an addict, clearly still high, and one of her delusions is that there’s a TV show starring the both of us. The TV show is incredibly popular, I’m assuming, which falls into the current pattern of my own popularity.” He turns to me. “I suggest you find your own way back home.”

           “What—”

           “Leave,” he points to the door. “I don’t have time to solve the delusions of an addict when there are more pressing issues on my mind.”

           I stare at him, thinking maybe he’s kidding with me, but it’s clear on his face that he’s not. I look to John and he doesn’t say anything. Why would he? They don’t know who I am here. I’m not supposed to be here.

           “Fine,” I mutter. “Sorry for bothering you.”

           I turn and exit the flat, stepping slowly down the stairs. I let myself focus on how the wood feels beneath my bare feet, something I was too dazed to feel when I first walked up. Now I’m feeling entirely too many emotions all at once and the stairs don’t feel magical beneath my feet, they just hurt. Like a million splinters being stabbed into my skin all at once. It’s not a dream like I wanted it to be. This is a literal nightmare.

           I stop at the bottom, letting my hand linger on the railing for just a moment longer. This is the first and last time I’ll ever be in 221B Baker Street and it couldn’t have gone any further from how I wanted.

           “Wait!”

           I ignore the voice – it’s John, but why does he care? – and pull open the front door, slamming it as I step out onto the sidewalk. I barely get past Speedy’s when I feel an arm on my shoulder, turning me around, making me face John Watson – stupid John Watson—

           “What do you want?”

           He removes his hand rather quickly, holding both up in surrender. “Hey, sorry.”

           I cross my arms over my chest. “What?”

           He hesitates, gathering his words. “Is what you said—Is it true? Is there a TV show about us?”

           I roll my eyes. “I’m not having this conversation right now.” I turn around, walking down the sidewalk, and much to my dissatisfaction, John follows beside me.

           “I just… I know what an addict looks like, and you’re not one. You looked too scared when I opened the door earlier and you walked around the flat like you’ve been there before—”

           “You know what?” I stop walking, turning to face him. “The show – You two idiots have gotten me through the roughest points of my life, alright? I’ve watched the show over and over until I could speak Sherlock’s dialogue in perfect timing, I’ve paused scenes to examine the background, I’ve even paused scenes to try to deduce things that Sherlock doesn’t to see what piece of the puzzle he doesn’t explain. So yes, I walked in there like I’d been there before, because I feel like I have. I used to want to live in this world more than my own, but that was a mistake because now that I am here – I don’t even want to be. I just want to go home. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go throw myself off a building and hope I wake up back in my bed. In my home. Because this doesn’t feel like home anymore. And I was so stupid to think it could’ve been.”

           John’s frown deepens the more that I speak, and part of me thinks I see tears in his eyes when I finish. But it doesn’t matter what I see because this isn’t real, and it never is going to be.

           “Good night, Dr. Watson,” I breathe, blinking and realizing the tears I see are actually in my own eyes. I sniffle, pressure rising in my chest as I try to hold back a sob. And I can’t cry about this in front of him, so I turn and leave, biting my sleeve to keep myself under control until I turn the corner, collapsing against the building in a fit of sobs that wrack my body.

           This is the biggest mess I’ve ever been in. If this is some trick the universe is trying to play on me to tell me that I had it good back home, despite the shit I went through, then that’s fine. I get it, Universe. Lesson learned. Take me back home now, please.

[chrysosims]

Lex Hodges and Ethel Monroe for @simventures69‘s bc!

Info about ‘em under the cut!

First off, we’ll introduce Lex- I believe she’d like to do the honors!

“Hey. I’m Lexian, but most people just call me Lex. I’m a transwoman, Male to Female, and I’m lookin’ for someone to just live with, ya know? My whole life I’ve traveled with the Vatican, and now at 27, I’m just looking to find the one.”

Some facts about her are:

She loves to cook but can’t actually make anything other than dinner

B I G hopeless romantic, totally one to go for snatching up a rose on the way to the Horvath’s house- one for each of the sisters ofc.

isn’t afraid to speak her mind

will 100% punch an asshole in the face

claims to be a fighter not a lover (but its exactly the opposite)

pro-choice

she got her scar from a werewolf but tells people she got it from falling down the steps

is blind in her right eye so rip

has a big ass german shepard at home and WILL show pictures- his name is Titan and he only has 3 legs

Next up is Ethel! She’s kind of shy, but here we go!

“Um... Hello there! I’m Ethel Beatrice Monroe, but most people call me Ethie! O-Or just Ethel! I’m 24, and I’m mostly just looking for company! We don’t have to be romantic! B-But... I wouldn’t mind. Um.. C-Cupcake? Anyone...?”

Some facts about her:

100% a sm0l bean

avid baker, will 400% show up with cupcakes or cake

loves animals and anything fuzzy

also an avid gardener (she grows her own food)

kinda shy but actually really kinky

refuses to dress in anything but pastel

is 5ft but has 6ft energy

opens up after you eat her sweets

really talkative- she babbles when she’s nervous

grew up in Windenburg

runs her own bakery; it’s called “Iridescent Icings” (she’s really proud of that name)

she’s a good witch but mostly uses the more common and defense spells

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

The American Initiative

Part Ten

Summary: Grace Cleveland and Eleanor Baker both thought their lives were over, until they became part of something much bigger – the Avengers. Pairing(s): Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC Word Count: 1897 Blanket Warnings: Death, mentioned a couple of different ways, but not detailed; canon divergence; more based on Marvel movies. In the infamous word of Steve Rogers, “Language.”

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Without Grace to keep her busy in her downtime, Ellie had more time to think – about a lot of things. She found out more about herself in the first couple of days that Grace was gone than she had in a while. Furthermore, she discovered that she wasn’t the kind of person to bottle up her feelings; she could be in control and not let on to them, but she wasn’t going to hide them from herself, either.

This realization prompted her to cautiously broach the subject of relationships with Steve.

“I don’t mean to make things awkward, for either of us,” Ellie assured, “I just — I’m trying to figure out how to handle it now, I suppose.”

Steve nodded. “That’s perfectly understandable, Elle. Even if you remembered things from before, being an Avenger is a whole new can of worms.”

Ellie smiled at his analogy. “Something like that.”

“I don’t know much about relationships overall, to be honest. Before the injections, I was a scrawny Brooklyn kid with asthma and zero allure. After the injections, there was Captain America — but there was also a woman. Her name was Peggy; she was part of the initiative, I suppose. Smart and tough and kind – not a lot unlike you, actually. She had faith in me when no one else did. I suppose there was something between us, but then I had to put that airplane in the ice and everything else happened …”

Steve trailed off, a nostalgic sheen glazing his eyes. Ellie bit her lip and looked away, giving him a moment of privacy with his memories.

“Did you ever think about finding her, you know, when you woke up?”

Returning from his trip down memory lane, Steve chuckled, albeit sadly. “I thought about it, sure, but life went on without me, Elle. Peggy would be an old woman by now.”

“Oh, right …”

The two of them had lingered in silence for a few moments after that, before Ellie showed him some mercy and changed the subject. The thought occurred to her that, old woman or not, Steve was still in love with this Peggy woman – perhaps he would always be. For that reason, though she had accepted her feelings, Ellie decided it was best to keep them to herself.

Grace shouldered the one bag she had with her, pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head, and walked down the streets of Boston towards the last place she had known Joel to live. Thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D intel, she knew he wasn’t there anymore, but she figured it looked less conspicuous if she didn’t go to a place Joel assumed she didn’t know about.

Taking a deep breath, Grace hurried up the steps of the apartment complex, heading straight for the place she had called home, for a while. Another deep breath before knocking, and then there was no turning back.

A familiar man opened the door. “Gracie?”

“Heya, Frank. I’m lookin’ for Joel.”

Frank smiled and hugged her tight. “I told the ole boy you’d be back before we knew it. Joel don’t stay here anymore, though.”

Grace frowned. “Where’d he go?”

“C’mon in here,” Frank said, pulling her out of the hallway. “I’ll call him. He’s in hiding, ya know.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

She sat on the couch – the one she and Joel had picked out together for the apartment – dropped her bag on the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest. Frank spoke in a hushed voice in the kitchen not far away, and Grace could hear every word. When he disconnected the call, he came back around.

“Gimme ten minutes, Gracie. I’ll take you to Joel.”

Grace nodded, focusing on the TV while Frank went in the other room to change and get ready to leave. Her heart was racing, and she was hypervigilant of her situation. Though she knew how secure S.H.I.E.L.D was, there was part of her that feared he knew what she had been up to the last few months.

“All right, let’s go.”

Frank hit the power button on the remote; the cessation of sound broke Grace’s train of thought. She shouldered her bag again and followed her old friend out the door.

Amidst her routine of getting up to date with intel, a regular training schedule, and otherwise occupying herself, Ellie did her best not to think about her feelings for Steve. His heart was taken, that was clear. Ellie could only hope that, in time, her feelings would wane and she could move on.

She was sitting in a conference room on her own when Natasha came to meet her. Ellie smiled a greeting at the other woman and put her hand on the brown file folder in front of her.

“Thanks for meeting me. I think I’m about ready to do this, but I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“What is that?” Natasha inquired.

Ellie took a deep breath. “My entire life, up to the point that Fury came to claim me at the hospital. I haven’t looked at it before, and I only know a few things from what I’ve been told about how I came to be part of The American Initiative. Something someone said to me recently – I’ve been thinking about life after we’re gone. I’ve been wondering how my family is getting on, and who all is left. I want to know the things I don’t remember.”

Natasha pursed her lips together and picked at her nails. She re-directed her focus to Ellie, but couldn’t make herself ask the question.

“You think this is a bad idea?”

Natasha shook her head.. “No. Not if it’s something you feel the conviction to do, Ella. I just – are you going to be able to handle all of the things in this folder? You don’t know what’s in there, and – you make the decision for yourself, I’m here if you decide to go ahead. Sometimes though, I think it’s best to remember that the things left in the past, are left there for good reason.”

Natasha’s advice was good advice. Ellie took it all into consideration, and finally decided to open the file. The first page was all about her.

“I was a teacher,” Ellie smiled. “US history, for a high school.”

Natasha smiled, too, and continued to do so as Ellie went through all the things in her background. She listened as Ellie talked about her parents and her sister, about family pets she didn’t remember she ever had.

As Ellie came to the end of the section on her family, her jaw dropped and her eyes filled with tears. She shoved the file away and stood, fleeing the room and eventually the building.

Natasha pulled the file in front of her, her jaw going just as slack as Ellie’s had as she took in the information in front of her.

“This is some shady shit, Frankie,” Grace muttered as they walked down a concrete staircase. “What the hell is going on?”

Frank glanced at her, but said nothing before turning forward again. A single light bulb dangled from a wired fixture at the bottom of the staircase. Grace watched it swing back and forth a couple of times before Frank got the heavy door unlocked and motioned for her to enter.

Her jaw went slack as she entered the makeshift laboratory; it wasn’t entirely unlike the S.H.I.E.L.D lab where she had been enhanced. This place, however, lacked the technology to be up to par with the agency’s facilities.

“Gracie?”

The voice broke through the silence, causing Grace to turn and face the man she knew so well. He was bigger now, taller and more muscular — she wondered what else had changed about him.

“Joel,” she said, letting his name out on a breath of feigned relief.

He opened his arms and Grace dropped her bag, running to him. The couple embraced, and Joel lifted her face to his, kissing her roughly.

“I missed you — how did you get out?”

Grace swallowed hard. “They cleared me, put me in witness protection. I got the drop on my guards.”

“Always a runner,” Joel smirked, pushing the hood away from her. “Your hair got longer.”

“Yeah … Joel, what is all of this?” Grace gestured to the machines and computers around them.

He stepped away from her, took a deep breath, and sighed. “After I was dropped from the enhancement program, I couldn’t let it go. I found someone within the agency to sneak me the serum — I have to take it via IV, which is apparently changing the way the serum works. It’s better in some ways, but taking time in others. But — it’s happening. I’m becoming the man I was always meant to be.”

Grace smiled as she stepped up to him again. “I always said you had great potential.”

Joel chuckled and kissed her again. “C’mon, I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

As soon as Natasha showed him the file, Steve took off in a full run to find Ellie. A mix of emotions swelled in his chest; pride that she had the courage to open the file was churning with heartache at what she had just discovered she left behind.

He found her near the archery range. She was standing but with her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Steve slowed and reached out a hand to her shoulder.

“Ellie …”

Her head lifted and she sniffled as she turned to look at him. Stepping right up to him, Ellie bit her lip as she took Steve’s face in her hands and pressed her lips to his.

He knew he shouldn’t respond, but he couldn’t stop himself from returning the gesture. The saltiness of her tears combined with her own sweet taste; the scent of her invaded his nose. Steve never wanted to let her go.

Ellie was the first to pull away, stepping back and out of his reach. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just done that out of the blue. But, Steve, don’t you think that if I had a — a husband, who died in the same wreck I was in, and a little girl left behind, I should have felt some sort of guilt in kissing another man? It should have sparked something about my former life. But it doesn’t! I read this file of this person who has my name and my face but I don’t know her. It’s like — it’s like I ruined everything!”

She dissolved into sobs again, but this time, not alone. Steve stepped towards her again, pulling her against his chest and promising her that everything was going to be all right.