#tucking her good night and giving her biscuits

[cerenemuxse]

Rebecca: *exists*

Me:

[vivwritesfics]

Mrs Baker, Ma'am

Landoscar's girlfriend loved to bake and all of the grid love when she brings her baked goods to the paddock

Y/N loved the Monaco Grand Prix for just a few reasons. One, it was the race set where she lived, meaning she was familiar with the surroundings and she could sleep in her own bed the night before the race. Two, she could watch the practices from her balcony with her cat on her lap and coffee in her hands. Three, she got to rock up to the paddock with a basket full of baked goods.

Maybe that was why Lando and Oscar fell in love with her. Because Y/N always had some sort of baked good ready for them. While Lando was gaming, she’d be teaching Oscar to bake and presenting the results to Lando. Fans loved when it happened while Lando was streaming. They loved nothing more than watching a blushing Oscar walking into the room with a tray full of cookies. His cheeks would be red while Lando took a cookie from the tray and moaned while he ate it.

The rest of the paddock had also expressed their love for Y/N’s baking. Carlos had been the first to try her baking when he and Lando were teammates. When he moved to Ferrari, Carlos found himself wanting some of Y/N’s baked goods and telling Charles all about them.

Y/N found herself strolling towards the Ferrari garage the next day, a container full of biscuits, muffins and cookies tucked under her arms. It was kind of funny, actually. The Ferrari boys had been talking about it in a press conference and Y/N had seen it and gone out to get ingredients that day. She’d spent her night baking, thankful that she and Lando were staying in an apartment, not a hotel, in Australia.

And then when Daniel had become Lando’s teammate, Y/N had brought him something baked almost every grand prix. From there the news of her baking had spread around the paddock, since Daniel was friends with everybody.

Y/N began bringing her baked goods whenever the grand prix was in Monaco. If she happened to make too much, she’d take some over to Charles or Max in their apartments.

This time, Y/N had two baskets of baked goods on her arms. She strode through the paddock in her best trousers and a cute vest top. She couldn’t stop from smiling as she walked into the McLaren garage.

Zac Brown was the first to spot her. Her, and the basket of baked goods. “Hi, Y/N,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as he walked her further into the garage.

“Hey, Zac,” she said, holding out one of the baskets.

After Zac picked out a cupcake, Y/N put the basket down. She greeted more of the McLaren staff and directed them towards the basket of baked goods. She had everything, croissants, pain au chocolats, cupcakes, doughnuts, muffins, cookies, and biscuits. At the bottom of the basket was some fudge she had made, just in case there weren’t enough baked goods for everybody.

Once those working in the McLaren garage were working through her basket of baked goods, Y/N made her way out of the McLaren garage and headed off to Red Bull.

There were just twenty pastries in this basket. On Monaco weekends, Y/N gave out what she could and brought more the next day, giving pastries to as many people in as many teams as possible. Drivers got her pastries on a Saturday and everybody else got them on the Sunday. Everybody else included wags and whoever else got to her first. There was one time where Martin Brundle got completely sidetracked when he went to talk to Lando and ended up with one of Y/N’s pastries.

Max was nowhere to be seen, so Y/N went over to Sergio Perez, who was talking to his engineers. She waited for him to finish up before offering him a cookie. And then she went off to Max’s driver room, after asking Christian where he was.

She knocked on the door and waited for confirmation before walking in. Max’s eyes lit up when he saw her. “If I didn’t have a wonderful girlfriend, I’d be jealous of Lando and Oscar,” he said and gratefully accepted a chocolate chip muffin.

Y/N moved on, walking towards the Ferrari garage. Carlos seemed to have a sixth sense for Y/N and her baked goods, and spun on his heel and marched over to her, a wide grin on his face. “pequeño pollo,” he said and wrapped his arms around her. Carlos pressed a kiss to the side of her head, wearing heart eyes as he picked out the pastry he wanted.

She offered Charles a pastry and moved onto Mercedes. Y/N went from garage to garage, greeting the drivers her boyfriends called their friends and offering them a cookie or a cake or something. Each and every driver was grateful.

And last, after giving Fernando and Lance two of the last pastries, Y/N made her way back to McLaren. She strode into the garage, the mechanics, engineers and strategists giving her compliments on her baking skills.

Y/N grinned and thanked them, making her way to where her boyfriends were talking to their boss. When Zac saw her, he trailed off and the boys turned around.

Oscar was the first to spot her. He walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the pastries. “Have you been making your rounds?” He asked her.

Nodding her head, Y/N kissed his cheek. “I’ve got two left for you and Lan,” she said.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Oscar walked Y/N over to Lando and Zac. She smiled at the CEO, who immediately began complimenting her on the cupcake. “And the fudge? Oh my god, it was next level,” Zac said. He then left them to it, walking back over to the basket to look for more fudge.

YN looked at her boyfriends and held the basket up in front of her. The boys reached inside, Lando pulling out a chocolate filled croissant and Oscar pulling out a cookie. “Thank you, baby,” Lando said and reached forward to kiss her. Oscar did the same and broke off a piece of cookie to share with her.

Y/N spent the rest of the Monaco grand prix with her boyfriends either tucked into Lando’s side or holding Oscar’s hand. After the qualifying, Y/N took her boyfriends home and rewarded them with another round of baked goods. On race day she brought enough for the WAGS and other team principles. She made another batch of fudge for Zac Brown and Zac Brown only.

All of the paddock were slightly jealous of Lando and Oscar, and their girlfriend who loved to bake. If she was bringing her baked goods to the grand prix, they could keep their jealousy at bay.

[ambi-kiko]

here are some tma food hcs bc AAAA

i think that jon gets hungry for real food, too. but its more of a deep hunger? he actually needs food less and less and eventually just doesn't need to eat, but he still can and he still gets hungry, when he lets himself be relaxed enough to realize what his body needs

hes a great cook and at the safe house, cooks amazing meals and bakes warm loafs and all of martins favorite meals

jon sometimes gets hungry and doesnt let himself eat bc he doesnt feel human enough and feels like he doesnt deserve it

martin notices that last one and tries his best to make something jon likes

i think that martin is the best at making tea, really excellent at making classic chocolate chip cookies, and just awful at anything else in the kitchen. he still tries his best, and jon eats everything he makes

lonely!martin loses a lot of weight bc he leaves the office less and less and doesnt care for himself as much

jon is the only one who notices this and starts putting out a little tray of homemade biscuits near the tea in hopes that martin grabs some

when theyre in the safe house, jons #1 priority is to figure out martins favorite meals as subtly as he can to get martin to stop starving himself accidentally out of habit (he actually wasnt subtle at all, but martin found it endearing so he played along)

Melanie wanted to be a baker when she was younger and got really good at making treats. Her first youtube channel was for baking

Georgie cooks and Melanie bakes and they always call eachother the better chef

georgie is pretty good at cooking but she isnt exceptional by any means. melanie is excellent at baking, but she considers it pretty useless because "you cant live off fancy cakes and meringues"

daisy says that she knows how to cook and for a pretty long time basira believes her bc you cant be that buff if you dont eat

one night she comes over and finds that all that daisy has been eating is frozen meals

basira is fine at cooking (enough to live off of), but she cooked the best meal she could in hopes to inpress daisy

daisy had so little actual ingredients that basira rly struggled but it was amazing. daisy didnt notice bc she was too tired. she crashed on the couch and basira left after tucking her in. daisy was pissed at herself for not appreciating basira

after that, she stops eating frozen meals and tries learning to cook. shes really bad at it at first and almost gives up multiple times, but wants to be able to cook for herself (its really for basira but she wont admit it)

tim is the cook and sasha cleans up after

he feels bad making her clean but she insists bc "cooking is so much more useful and time consuming" and that he should "let her be useful"

tim always helps out in the end and they often end up dancing together in the kitchen

tim gets this weird feeling of loneliness when certain songs come up when hes cleaning the kitchen alone after not!sasha

peter leaves homecooked meals at elias' desk when he has his back turned (he starts with warm foods, but realized that they always turn cold and that isnt very pleasent, so he starts bringing salads and poke bowls)

if i missed anyone, lmk! i could continue w these for a while but im blanking on other characters and i dont want to go on too long in 1 post so see ya later!

[jomiddlemarch]

By Yonder Shining Star

He had not expected to begin with a reprimand.

“I don’t bite, you can stop lurking in the doorway,” Dr. Blythe said, not glancing up from the chart she was writing in. Foyle suspected she would have sounded much the same if he’d come upon her while she finished closing an incision after a long surgery, the same wry tone that had a hint of impatience in it. There were few enough female surgeons in England, even fewer egalitarian ex-pat Canadians, so it didn’t take much to infer she must be brilliant and driven, used to those around her finding her an anomaly. An Original, they would have said once in London society and been more accurate perhaps, but not a remark he’d offer if he wanted to get anything helpful from her. That’s why he was here, he reminded himself. It had been a long while since he’d needed reminding about his work.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. “I’m—”

“You did mean to interrupt and you’re Detective Superintendent Christopher Foyle of Hastings,” she said as she laid the pen down. He’d heard her described as “attractive enough” and had wondered enough for whom before he met her. Now, he found himself pinned by her grass green eyes, startled into silence like a green lad, feeling a fool as he hadn’t for years.

Decades really. Sam would burble in wonder to see him struck dumb while Milner would only give a brief and comradely nod of recognition.

“You’re well-informed, Dr. Blythe,” he said.

“You expected that,” she said. “That’s why you’ve come, to pick my brain, to winkle out some piece of information, some cipher that will break the code you can’t. To solve your case. It is a Godawful mess, I’ll give you that. The pathologist’s report was quite detailed. Almost literary.”

“I’ve come to ask for your help,” he said simply. Because he thought she’d prefer it and because it couldn’t think of what else he might have said.

“You might as well sit down. You’ll have to forgive me—I can’t offer you a cup of tea or even a biscuit,” she said. “I haven’t an assistant who sees me fed and watered.”

Something about the way she’d said it was an alert.

“The other surgeons do. Any of the nurses are glad to fix them a cuppa,” Foyle offered.

“I don’t know about glad, exactly, but it’s in that general way. I’m meant to fend for myself. It’s my own fault I’m not much good at fending. I was spoiled, growing up, with our housekeeper Susan. There was never an evening without a little snack prepared and her solution to any problem was the teakettle on the stove and a slice of fresh pie,” she said. She had a square jaw and her auburn hair was sprinkled with grey and tucked back in a practical snood, but there was a certain whimsical nostalgia in her expression. “She was a splendid bustler, our Susan, and that you may tie to, Mr. Foyle. And now I’ve run on and run and you want my help or whatever help you think I can give you, so you may as well begin winkling.”

“You have a way with words,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me. I’m by far the least eloquent person in my family. It’s no accident I’m a trauma surgeon,” she said.

“It was an observation,” he replied. “And it’s because of your family I’ve come to speak with you.”

“It’s Walter,” she said, any dry humor entirely gone from her voice, from those arresting green eyes. Saying the name of her brother dead these twenty odd years aged her; Foyle saw the lines her face fell into when she despaired, the nights of grief that never entirely abated. 

“Yes. Because of what he wrote, Dr. Blythe,” he said, wondering if the clarification would bring her any relief. Wondering at himself for thinking of that first. Rosalind, who’d ever been generous, would not begrudge him an interest, a possibility, but he worried what it meant for his duty to the dead men, whose murders he was charged to solve, no matter that other men were dying across the Channel, that he risked making Diana Blythe’s hand unsteady when she held a scalpel or a needle trailing suture. 

“A poem,” she guessed. Hoped? The alternative was most likely one of his letters, perhaps one he’d written to her, one she wouldn’t want to surrender or corrupt by handing it over to be part of a criminal investigation.

“Yes. The poem, the famous one,” Foyle said.

“The Piper,” she said, her color back. “He’d have hated it, positively loathed what happened with that. All the breathless sentiment, the rallying and the women who memorized it, that sickly sweet melody Tremaine wrote for it—I swear it would be tattooed over half of Canada and all of PEI if people thought it was within the bounds of polite society. It’s not even close to his best work, I want you to know—”

“I know. I met him. In the trenches,” Foyle said.

“Fuck,” she said softly. And then, “I beg your pardon, I shouldn’t speak so—”

“Plainly? You can’t imagine I’d take any offense,” Foyle said. “I met your brother only a few days before he died.”

“Before Courcelette.”

“Yes. I was very young and he wasn’t much older, but he’d been fighting for several months longer than I had, maybe a year. I didn’t think anyone could live that long in that hell and still find something worth living for. Could still remember anything beautiful,” Foyle said.

“It was that bad?”

“It was worse,” Foyle said. Something in her face told him she would not challenge this, nor would she make him explain. Rosalind hadn’t done either, which was why he hadn’t cracked up entirely before Andrew was born. “Whatever he wrote to you, it was worse.”

“He didn’t tell us anything. Not even me,” she said. 

“You were close,” he said.

“I thought so. The night before he died, he wrote a letter. To our younger sister Rilla and a friend, Una. She was in love with him, Una, we all knew that, but he didn’t love her that way. I thought we were close, closest to each other over everyone, but he didn’t write to me,” Diana said.

“Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps he knew you would be able to tell if he held something back. If he lied to try and protect you,” he said.

“Perhaps. Is that what you did, Detective Superintendent Foyle? Did you lie and keep secrets?” she asked. No one had ever dared before, not Rosalind, who’d admitted once she did not want to know everything about him.

“Christopher. My name is Christopher,” he said. “A long time ago, I was Kit. That was when I knew your brother.”

“I’m Diana. How does Walter’s poem have something to do with a triple murder?”

“There have been five murders thus far,” Foyle said. “It’s complicated, will take some time to explain. There’s a Lyons round the corner, quiet enough this time of night. We might have that cuppa—”

“If there have been five murders and somehow my brother’s poem is crucial to finding the killer, I’ll need something stronger. Bitter will do. I’d offer to stand you a pint, but I imagine that’s not considered ethical,” she said.

“No, nor gentlemanly,” he said, surprising himself.

“We’ll go Dutch,” she said, getting up from her desk and walking around to take down her coat and cram her barely fashionable hat upon her head. The coat flapped around her legs, obscured in a pair of drab tweed trousers, an unremarkable pair of brogues on her feet. She was beautiful.

“We haven’t much time,” she said, passing him at the door.

“I know it’s late. You must have an early surgery tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes, but that’s not what I meant. I ship out in a few weeks,” she said.

“France?”

“France,” she said. “I never wanted to go before. And now I can hardly wait.”

“I won’t waste your time,” he said.

“No, I don’t think you will,” she replied.

[mommalosthermind]

So this happened:

Me: “I feel like I wrote Lisa kinda snotty in this passage, d’you think she could pull off snotty?”

Him: “Not really? If you want bitchy then you need Yae Miko, Lisa’s kinda normal unless you’re late with a book.”

Me: “…Lisa’s vaguely condescending though.”

Him: “Yeah, I can see that. Miko can be straight up mean but Lisa would be like, ‘Careful cutie, keep that up and I might forget your safeword,”

Which I can fucking hear, and it is thus completely not my fault that this immediately popped into my head:

(Lisa/Jean/Kaeya under the cut)

Teatime is meant to be sacred, you know. It’s a darling little ritual to break up the day. Peaceful, harmonious. If, lately, it’s also come with a delightful side of spending time with Jean, and occasionally Kaeya, well, that’s just two more reasons for teatime to be important, don’t you think?

Sometimes, though, not even the fear of Lisa’s wrath can keep Jean’s underlings from interrupting.

Lisa’s fingertips rub circles into her temples. In all honesty, she tuned out whatever crisis this is ages ago. Her tea’s lone gone. The other two cups, so carefully brewed, are cold. No one’s touched the assortment of sliced fruits, nor the biscuits.

It might be selfish of her, to be sad over such a silly thing, but really, is it? Jean works so hard. Lisa all but bullied her into routinely meeting up like this, and Kaeya’s no better. Yes, she’s sad about the loss of their quiet rest, the lack of time together, but at the heart of it, Lisa’s upset at how the rest of the world is intent on working them both into an early grave.

Varka’s in for an earful when he returns.

Half an hour. That’s all she’s trying to give them. Half an hour to breathe.

Instead, Kaeya paces the length of the rug, voice rising and falling in its most persuasive tones. Jean stands behind her chair, one hand curled over the back. Bruises are beginning to darken under her eyes. How much more lovely would she look, if she was simply allowed a full night’s sleep? How broad would those shoulders really be, if they weren’t coiled so tight with tension? For that matter, Lisa’s willing to bet Kaeya’s lip would swell so much sweeter if the teeth sinking into it weren’t so rife with worry.

Irritation spikes in Jean’s voice, calling Lisa back to the present. She purrs, “Careful cutie, keep that up and I might forget your safeword.”

They freeze. They always do. It’s adorable, really, how easy it is to trip them up like this.

Jean’s flush is a thing of beauty, much darker than Lisa can usually pull out with a single line.

Lisa tilts her head, and blinks.

Neither of them have moved. They’re simply… staring at one another.

Her brows bunch together. Hmm. Perhaps she’s overstepped.

All at once, Kaeya animates, a too-loud laugh filling the space between them all. He waves an extravagant hand in the air, ambling back to Jean’s side. “Be careful yourself,” he says, glancing from Jean’s red face to Lisa. “Lines that like are liable to lose you the soft domme reputation you’ve so pointedly cultivated.”

Lisa smiles, making sure to allow it to bloom slowly. She watches a lovely shiver work its way up Jean’s spine.

“What I’m hearing is you think I’d make a good domme,” she says, and allows her smile to curl into sultry as the edge of Kaeya’s lip tucks between his teeth.

Jean’s inhale is sharp.

Like the blustery thing he is, he opens his mouth as soon as he catches her looking. “Is that so? Do good dommes often ‘forget’ safewords?”

“Only with permission, darling. After all, it would be my job to take care of you, wouldn’t it? That includes giving you the punishments you want.”

Kaeya’s eye is blown wide enough to lose its star shape.

“Although, I do find myself far more interested in giving out praise over punishments. And I wouldn’t need to punish the two of you, now would I?”

“I feel,” Jean squeaks, stopping to clear her throat. “Oh my goodness,” her hands come up to pat at her still-burning cheeks.

Kaeya attempts what Lisa assumes is meant to be a laugh, but it comes out more like a rough breath.

“This is maybe not a work appropriate conversation,” Jean says, still squeaky, still red, still staring at Lisa like she’s never seen her before.

Lisa stands, and watches how they swallow in unison.

And then the door bangs open, Amber rushing in with another fistful of papers.

“You will not believe the amount of nonsense,” Amber exclaims, only to stop dead and stare at the three of them. “Um. Is everything okay here? Is this a bad time?”

Jean shakes herself, once, twice, and when she pulls her gorgeous eyes off Lisa for the first time in ages, Lisa finds that she’s had quite enough of that, thank you very much.

“It is, yes,” she says before Jean can dive right back into whatever inane thing needs her attention now. “Go ahead and drop that anywhere, and we’ll get back to you later, okay?”

Amber’s already nodding, her eyebrows pressed tightly together. “Yeah, yeah, okay, and I’ll tell Wyatt not to let anyone else in for now.”

The girl’s gone in the same rush she arrived, door thunking closed behind her. As an added precaution, Lisa activates her personal wards, watching both doors glow a faint purple.

“Did I know you could do that?” Kaeya asks mildly.

Jean’s already moving to collect the papers Amber left behind.

Lisa tuts. “Jeanie, sit.”

Jean sits.

Jean sits, and then an absolutely baffled expression takes over her pretty face. That flush is back in full force.

“Good girl,” Lisa says, leaning one hip on the table across from her.

Oh.

That flush goes so dark Lisa’s a little worried the poor thing’s gone dizzy.

Goodness, if this keeps up, Lisa is going to be the dizzy one.

“And I believe that’s my cue,” Kaeya chirps, easing around where Jean’s still gaping up at Lisa. “Mind undoing the door long enough to let me out?”

“I’m afraid I do mind. Your turn, sweetie. Sit down for me.”

“Aha,” Kaeya says, but his feet stop moving.

“Jeanie baby?”

Jean slings one arm out, tugging Kaeya in until he sits across her lap, held in place with her arms around his hips.

That one blue eye slides from Jean to Lisa and back again, as though he can’t decide where he should be looking.

“So good for me,” Lisa says again, delighting in the way the two of them melt into each other. “Aren’t you two just the prettiest little kittens I’ve ever seen.”

She sits back down, leaves them to press into each other, lets them keep their eyes on her as she starts preparing them all new cups of tea. When she looks up, Kaeya’s slouched down to cuddle into Jean’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around her middle. All three of those gorgeous eyes are fixed on her, exactly where she likes them best.

“Now then. I think we have some new things to discuss, and you two darlings have some safewords to pick out.” She winks, and relishes the way two sets of teeth sink into lower lips. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget them unless you want me to.”

[confessions-of-a-monster-freak]

Dogs really are man’s best Wingman - Minho TMR

Prompt: Out walking their dog who chases your dog. WC: 3640

Synopsis: You work from home at a service desk that does data entry and take night classes from the local college for your chosen degree. You go on regular walks with your dog Lark, and just so happen to run into a certain someone.

Another prompt fill, I am quite happy with this one, even though it is rather short. This is a Non-Apocalypse Minho from The Maze Runner. If you have any questions on how I see the Gladers in today's society, put them in my ask box! I will answer the best I can.

Notes, Reblogs, and comments are appreciated! (I'd love to hear feedback or even silly little comments from you!)

Warnings: Swearing? (I don't know if the words I used count as swearing.)

I was finally on my lunch break, my legs were starting to cramp from the lack of movement, but it was better than constantly moving around a warehouse or otherwise. That meant it was time for a walk with Lark. Who had been patiently waiting on the couch for me this entire time. I stood up and walked to the door to grab her leash. When she heard the jingle of her leash she jumped off the couch and happily pranced over to me. She was happily prancing around and partially on my feet when I had a good hold on her harness. Her long tail thumped into my legs as I straddled her to get her harness on.

“C’mon Lark, just stand still a bit longer yeah?” I grumbled softly, having a struggle to try and get her harness on. She was normally very compliant when I had to put her harness on. Today it seemed she just wanted to get out. I couldn’t blame her, I’d been so busy I couldn’t even toss the tennis ball around for her during calls. I felt bad about it, but I knew I could make up for it when we got back and I got back to work, and when my classes started. I could play tug of war whilst listening to the lectures, or even give her a busy bowl for some enrichment.

Once her harness was attached properly, I toed on my shoes. Thank goodness for running slip-ons. I grabbed my keys, and my doggy bag, and slid on my headphones. It was time for some music and a change of scenery. Maybe even to stop at the cafe a few blocks down. At that thought I decided to duck back and grab my wallet. Tucking it into the doggy bag for safekeeping. I hooked her leash and opened the door. She knew better than to tug, but there were times that she had gone AWOL. I was doing my best to correct it when it happened, such as when she went AWOL after a squirrel. But just to be safe, I gave her the harness.

I turned on my headphones as we got into the elevator, scrolling through a playlist before deciding to shuffle it and hope I got some good songs. The elevator dinged and we left. Setting off from the building at a brisk pace. Lark stayed in front of me and kept an easy pace. Her tail wagged happily as we walked, starting to almost prance again as I picked up my walking speed. If I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t be able to handle two dogs I’d get another one to keep her company. She’s old enough that I’m not concerned about littermate syndrome.

My lunch break was typically an hour to hour and a half long so we had time. I remember when people told me not to get a Dalmatian because I lived in an apartment. All these worries about it being aggressive, barking excessively, or even not getting enough exercise. Here I was proving them wrong, getting Lark was the best decision I could have made. She kept me just as entertained as I kept her, as well as active. Now that I had her, I had a reason to get up and get out of bed in the morning, and go for walks. Hike even. Not that I had very many opportunities to do so.

I made up my mind to stop at the cafe so I could eat on the way back. I could even get a biscuit for her too. I was lucky that it was a pet-friendly cafe, and that they made stuff for dogs there too. As we continued our walk we passed some other dog walkers, most of which I knew were for people who had jobs that took them out of the house for work. I smiled as I passed, and continued along. Lark even stopped a few times to say hi to the dogs. I was proud of the work that I’d put into her, she still had a long way to go and was still young so we had time. I wanted to work on off-leash recall. That way when I did go hiking or camping I could call her back if needed.

I could finally see the cafe, we had a bit to go still, but at least it was in sight. It also didn’t look too crowded, which meant I didn't have to hold onto Lark’s harness to make sure that she stayed where she was supposed to. Even with her having a fairly good heel down, she still had issues in crowded places with other dogs. Especially since she just wanted to play with all of them.

With some more pep in my step, I continued along, Lark was wagging her tail as we got closer. She could probably smell the other dogs that had been there and wanted to sniff around when we got there. I took this small gap of time to look down at my phone and check the time. That and to skip the song I was listening to, it didn’t quite fit my mood at the moment.

In the split second from skipping the song to the next. I heard a name being called. I turned to see where it was coming from only to have something rocket into my legs. I stumbled, pulling Lark back as I did before looking down and spotting this bright red dog wagging at my feet and greeting Lark. There was a leash attached to a black harness on the dog, but that didn’t seem to be attached to a human.

“Well hello you…” I said, pulling off my headphones and crouching down to greet the dog. “You got away from your human didn’t you?” I cooed softly, letting the dog sniff my hand before petting its head. It was very soft, softer than most dogs that had this long of fur. I reached around for a collar or tags and managed to find one. Printed on a simple tag was the name Cinder.

“Cinder! Goddamnit” I turned and saw a man jogging across the street to me and the dog. He was well built and also seemed pretty athletic from the clothes he was wearing. He crossed the street and then whistled, Cinder looked between me and the man before running back to him and sitting at a heel at his side.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention and she yanked the leash out of my hands” He apologized, reaching down to pick up her leash as she stared at him. Once he had the leash in his hands he wrapped it around his wrist a bit more firmly. “That's a nice Dalmatian,” He said looking at Lark, before looking at me.

“She’s friendly, you’ve got a pretty dog yourself” I answered, as he crouched down to greet Lark, who seemed more than content to let him pet her so long as she could get closer to Cinder. She tugged a bit before I corrected her and she rounded back to me. Not in a heel, but closer to my legs to where she wouldn’t be tugging at her leash.

“She seems really well trained” I pointed out, since she hadn’t broken her heel even with Lark trying to play with her. I was curious if he’d teach me how to do that with Lark, or even point me in the direction of the person who taught his dog that.

“Thank you, she is. She has to be for the amount of hikes we go on. I guess she just couldn’t contain herself this time” He shrugged, looking down at her before patting her head. Making her tail start to thump on the concrete behind him.

“I’m Minho,” He said, sticking out his hand for me to shake. I took it and introduced myself. Before looking down at Lark who was wagging her tail enthusiastically whilst looking at Cinder, she didn’t tug to try and get closer and play.

“Well Minho, do you think you can teach me how to get that good of a heel?” I asked, “I’ll buy if you’d like to stop at the cafe” I offered, deciding maybe the promise of food or a drink might help ease any tension.

“Sounds good to me” He agreed, clicking his tongue and Cinder stood up and watched her owner very dutifully. “It took me some time to get her this good, but I think I can get…” He trailed off, having not been told my own dog’s name.

“Lark” I answered, starting to walk, this time slower as Lark drifted over to the side Cinder was on to walk next to her. I was hoping this could turn into a good friendship, even if it was just based on him helping me with training my dog.

“Lark. I think I can get her close” He said with a grin, leading me to smile as well. Minho seemed very charming and personable. Someone I could get along with. Which I did as we continued to talk whilst walking to the cafe. I was keeping a rather dutiful eye on the time since it was a fifteen-minute walk back to my apartment from the Cafe.

“So what do you do?” I asked, looking over at the man who was keeping an even pace with me. I would assume he was some sort of fitness coach with how he looked. He wasn’t buff per se, just well-built and in shape. Maybe he was an athlete at the nearby college. I wasn’t quite sure.

“Work at a sports store” He answered, “Not ideal, but it gets me discounts on the stuff that she wrecked as a puppy” He added, looking down at Cinder who was staring right back up at him. Unaware that he was talking negatively about her she started wagging her tail furiously.

“I’m also in school to get my bachelor's, last year and then I can get that cartography degree,” He said with a huff, “I’m glad it's almost over, I’m getting tired of the traffic on campus” He tacked on at the end. Figuring my question could be interpreted both ways.

“Sounds annoying, the last time I was over in that area I was stuck at a traffic light for like fifteen minutes” I agreed, it's been ages since I was over at the college. Normally Rush Week would be the busiest time, but apparently this year they had a surge of freshmen compared to previous years.

“I can’t wait to graduate and be able to camp for like two weeks and then go do my job” He sighed wistfully, I wasn’t sure how cartography worked but I assumed it could be a pretty lonely job. Maybe that’s why he got Cinder, to keep him company whilst he worked.

Once we got to the cafe and had our stuff ordered and bought for. Minho insisted on sitting outside so that way there’d be fewer distractions for Lark whilst training. Which was smart, I didn’t think about the fact it might not be the dogs in the cafe causing the issue. It could be the noise in the Cafe.

“To keep her focus on you” He started, having taken Lark’s leash from me whilst I held onto Cinder’s for him. “You need to have something she wants, that way she learns it positively,” He said, digging into his own pouch and pulling out a dog biscuit. Lark’s eyes suddenly locked onto his hand. Her tail started to wag and she almost looked ready to jump him for it.

I laughed softly at her reaction. “I barely give her treats for training, mostly I give her kibble so she eats her food” I explained. Having felt that would be better since she had alternating food schedules. She got raw food three times a week, and kibble four times a week.

Minho hummed and nodded. Before he continued to explain how to get her to heel like how Cinder had. Whilst he talked I pet Cinder, who’d laid her head in my lap. Growing tired over her owner talking.

It was weird seeing Lark be so receptive to a new person. She wasn’t stranger aggressive, but she was wary of strangers. Seeing her being so comfortable as to jump on him to try and get the treat was a new thing. That and she rarely jumped because she was strong enough to knock me over. Cinder was different, she seemed so open to everyone and everything. Including me, since she was half asleep in my lap whilst Minho walked and talked me through the heel process.

Eventually, we swapped places, with me taking Lark’s leash and going through the process a few times to hopefully get it down. Once that was done, we sat down to eat, talking more in the process. Minho seemed like a pretty good guy. One with a lot of ambition and some crazy friends it seemed. “I told him not to get in the car, 'cause it was Dingus driving” He continued, Dingus was Thomas. Or at least what Minho called him frequently. “But he got in the car, and I watched them spin on the ice as soon as he left the parking lot. I seriously question how some of them even got into their majors” He finished, grinning as he watched me laugh at the horrible story.

“That is ridiculous.” I shook my head, his friends sounded interesting. I was bad with names, so I’d probably have to be reminded. But I didn’t think I would forget Thomas any time soon and his horrible driving skills. “How many tickets has he gotten?” I asked, reaching down to pet Lark as she was pawing at my leg for attention.

“None so far, stupidly lucky bastard” He answered, shaking his head. “I keep telling him that he’s going to get ticketed one of these days. But apparently, the cops don’t even try” He huffed, crossing his arms. “He’s going twenty over and doesn’t get pulled over. I go five over, and I get pulled over” He pouted, apparently still sour over the whole ordeal.

I couldn’t help but laugh, seeing someone like him pout was oddly adorable and funny at the same time. When I started to laugh his pout went away and turned into a smile. For how we met, we turned out to be pretty compatible. That and our dogs were compatible which was a rare scenario for me.

“Well this was wonderful, and I will put all of that into practice. But I have to get back so I don’t miss my check-in for work” I said eventually, holding onto my to-go cup of the drink I typically got wherever I went.  “But maybe we should meet up again, since both of them dragged us together,” I added, smiling at him. He looked down at Cinder who did nothing but wag her tail at him. She then looked at Lark and me and continued wagging her tail.

“I think that’s a good idea, how does tomorrow evening sound at the dog park?” He asked, looking back up at me with a smile. I assumed it was due to him working, but it worked out perfectly since I didn’t have a lecture that evening.

“Sounds good to me.” I agreed, before pulling out my phone and offering it to him to input his number. “That way if either of us needs to cancel” I added, watching as he took my phone and inputted his number. Before sending himself a text with my phone and handing it back.

“See you tomorrow evening” He called, watching me walk back down the street with Lark.

I echoed his parting words, waving at him before turning around and picking my speed up again to get home in time for the clock-in. He seemed nice, and so did Cinder. Maybe regular Pup-play dates would be in order. I’d have to ask about that tomorrow, but for now, I had to get home and find a proper meal to eat in between calls.

I had decided to drive to the dog park, that way when Lark had exhausted herself I didn’t have to do much with her except load her into the car. I pulled up and unloaded her, locking my car before heading into the park. Lark was prancing about as we did, she always loved getting so much open space to run around. I didn’t like to bring her in the afternoons, as that’s when I found most of the Puppies that needed “Socializing” were out.

That led to some disasters that I’ve had to break up before. I didn’t understand how people could be ignorant about what socializing was. In fact, they were just traumatizing their poor dog by putting them in a park with other dogs. Not to mention the new wave of people not vaccinating their dogs for simple things.

I heard another car pull up and turned to see Minho getting out of his car with Cinder. Who pranced over to the gate and pawed at it. I laughed at her behavior, Minho didn’t seem concerned with her running off. I opened it for her and let her run around with Lark once they entered. I figured they wouldn’t need much, so I brought a few tennis balls just in case. I even had that old frisbee in my trunk still. But with the way they were sprinting around the park, it didn’t seem like they needed any additional toys.

“I don’t think they need the toys I brought” He laughed, joining me in the park. He was now in jeans and a plain polo shirt. He didn’t look like he’d just gotten off of work, so I assumed his shift was earlier in the morning. “I do not believe so” I agreed, “I think they are gonna tire each other out” I added, walking over to one of the benches and sitting down. Lark quickly sped past me with Cinder chasing her. 

“How is the heel going?” He asked, joining me on the bench. Looking over at me. I had texted him at some point yesterday because Lark was struggling again and he offered some pointers.

“Okay ish” I laughed, “It's kinda difficult to practice in my apartment with it. But I made some progress in” I admitted, which was true. She mostly wanted to play instead of practice, and I couldn’t blame her. I was trying to practice whilst listening to my lecture. Which made my focus off, as well as hers.

“So long as you keep consistency you should be fine” He assured, looking over at me before looking at Lark. “So if you live in an apartment, why’d you get her?” He asked, “Now don’t think I’m one of those, “Don’t get a dog if you live in an apartment” People, I live in an apartment with her.” He corrected quickly, gesturing to Cinder who was belly up and roughhousing with Lark.

“I got lonely, and while I do like cats, I needed to get out more” I explained, “I work a customer support and data entry job from home. Plus I take online night classes. So I truly never leave home much” I watched Lark as she jumped over Cinder and then off they went chasing each other. It brought a smile to my face seeing her this happy.

“We should make this a regular thing” I offered up, “Gets both of us out, and gives them freedom to run around” I grinned as Lark came running up to me and slammed into my legs before whirling around and taking off again. I laughed off the pain in my shins from her impact and watched them sprinting around the totally empty park. Barely anyone went to this park in the evening. Making it perfect for training and for Lark to get her energy out completely.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Minho agreed. Before he turned to look at me. “How would you like to go camping?” He offered and I turned to look at him, my mouth opening slightly before I smiled. That was forward and out of the blue, but not totally unwelcome. We got along really well, and so did our dogs. It was only reasonable to ask something like that. 

“Are you asking me on a date?” I inquired, watching him grin back at me. He started to chuckle a bit before glancing at the dogs to make sure they were doing fine and not getting into any major trouble.

“Absolutely” He replied and I laughed. Nodding my head agreeing. Minho was charming, and I definitely wanted to get to know him better than I already knew now. So I assumed he wanted the same with me. We’d have to figure out our schedules for camping, but I’m sure it’d be fun.

“So long as you can keep Lark in check, then yes” I answered, turning to look at the dogs, who knew that it would be dogs that are man’s best wingman. Lark came running back to me and was panting, slobbering all over the ground. “Are you having fun darling?” I cooed, grabbing her face and squishing it playfully as she mouthed at me. I laughed and played with her until Cinder came and stole her away again.

“I think I can handle her, it’s you I’m worried about” Minho teased lightly, making me shove him with my shoulder pouting playfully until we both just started laughing. Maybe this date would be a good thing for both of us.

Well hello! You've made it to the end of this fic. I've got a question for you if you'd like to share your answer. What's your favorite dog breed? I personally love Beaucerons. *Cinder is an Irish Setter, and yes, I went down a dog breed rabbit hole to find a dog that Minho would get along with.

[tedskhakis]

just an excuse to write about kissing ted <3 warnings/content: kissing, making out, getting together, cute stuff n fluff :)) ted lasso x gender neutral reader [i did write it with a male reader in mind but it can be read as gn too!!] word count: 2.6k also on ao3

messy hair

It was lunchtime at Richmond and you found yourself in front of your boss’ office, staring at the wooden door with a growing pit in your stomach. It’d been an odd day, one that you couldn’t wait to get over with, and being requested in your boss’ office for no apparent reason was not making it any better. You finally gathered up the courage to knock on the door and a voice drifted through the door, inviting you in.

“Oh, there you are,” Rebecca smiled from the couch as you opened the door and popped your head around the corner. Keeley sat beside her and she sent you a sweet smile before drinking from a small cup that clattered against the plate it was paired with. “Do come in, close the door behind you. Come, sit. There we go.”

You perched yourself on the edge of the couch, leaving some space between the three of you. “Am I in trouble or something?”

Rebecca gave you a confused smile as she leaned forward to place an empty plate on the table before raising her hands in defence and letting them drop back into her lap. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t really get invited up here a lot. Not like Ted does. Can’t help but be a little worried.”

“Ted usually invites himself, really. Barges on up here like he owns the place.” 

Keeley took a bite from a biscuit as she nodded, “God, these are so good. And yeah, he does do that.”

“He really does,” Rebecca sighed before giving you another smile. “No. You’re not in trouble, don’t worry. Just wanted to see how you are, really.”

“You… want to see how I am?”

“Yes. How are you doing today?”

You knitted your eyebrows together as you looked between them. Rebecca smiled patiently at you as Keeley stuffed another biscuit into her mouth. “I’m good. How are you doing?”

“You’re doing good? Are you sure?”

“Yes?”

Keeley shook her head, “You don’t seem so sure.”

“Am I missing something here?” You asked. “I’m confused.”

“You’ve just been out of it, is all,” Rebecca clarified. “We’ve been watching you on the pitch from here the past hour and you just seem different today. More reserved. Did something happen?” 

“No,” you lied. “Nothing happened, I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to bottle things up, Coach Y/L/N. I’ve noticed you have a tendency to do that.”

They were right, you knew it. But even if you wanted to tell them what happened, you couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair, for you or for Ted. You couldn’t just tell your boss that your co-worker (correction: best friend, the one that made you laugh no matter what, the man you were madly in love with and wished to be with every second of every day) tried to kiss you the night before and you totally freaked out and ruined the whole thing, leaving both of you distant and confused. No, you couldn’t tell her that.

“I’m fine, promise.”

Rebecca opened her mouth to reply but the door swung open and in walked Ted, a grin on his face and a little pink box in his hand. Keeley jumped up in joy at the sight of him, grabbing the box from his hand before he even had time to speak. “Told you,” Rebecca whispered to you with a smile. “He invites himself.” You tried to smile back but it turned into a grimace and she glanced between the two of you with a tilt of her head. “Ted,” she said, louder this time. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Just wanted to see the boss and her little friend here. Didn’t know Coach was gon’ be here too, though. What a pleasant surprise,” he said with a grin, but the usual shine in his eyes had been erased and his happiness felt forced. It’d been like that the whole day, the two of you remaining civil yet not talking about what happened. “Anyways, I was lookin’ through my backpack and found an extra box of biscuits all tucked neatly away as if I’d forgotten to give them to you this mornin’. Scared me for a moment or two but then I realised I’d stress-baked last night and made… well, I won’t give you that number. Best to keep that mess a secret. But these ones were packed and ready to be eaten, so here you are.” He glanced at Keeley who had already eaten one and was reaching for another without any shame. “Glad someone’s enjoying them.”

Keeley offered you the box, “Do you want one, Y/N?”

“Nah,” you replied with a shake of your head. “Not hungry.”

“Have you ever tried one of Coach Lasso’s wonderful biscuits?” Rebecca asked and you shook your head. “Oh, please do try one. They’re incredible, you’re really missing out.” 

Keeley offered you the box again and this time you gently took one out, aware that Ted was watching you like a hawk. You avoided his eye and took a bite, fighting back the urge to make an embarrassing noise at the taste. They were good. Like, really good. The best you’d ever eaten, you realised as you took another bite.

“So,” Ted said, “you like it? Ain’t too much on your lil taste buds there?”

“It’s perfect,” you replied, giving him a weak smile. “Tastes really good.”

Ted’s face dropped slightly and he looked around the room before gesturing toward the door, an awkward smile sliding onto his face. “Hey, uh, Coach. Can I talk to you for a quick mo’?” 

You nodded, rubbing your hands together nervously as you stood. “Yeah, ‘course.” He began to walk to the door and you smiled politely at the girls as you followed. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Thanks for checking in on me and all.”

“You better come straight back, you hear me?” Keeley smiled. “We have so much to talk about.”

“Do we?” 

Rebecca smiled, glancing between you and Ted with a curious look in her eye. “We do.”

You nodded and gave them a wave as you left, closing the door behind you and giving Ted a tight smile. He looked anxious, bless him, and you wanted to comfort him but you felt just as anxious and confused. “So…” You started, trailing off and letting the word hang in the air.

“This isn’t private enough,” Ted said before walking down the stairs, down the long stretch of hallway, around a corner, around another, and into the public men’s bathroom. You followed him every step of the way, a pit settling deep in your stomach. “Here we go.”

“You wanna talk to me… in the men’s bathroom?”

Ted scrunched his face up, leaning against one of the sinks closest to the door. “I admit it’s not the most sanitary place I coulda found but I figured it was the best bet.”

“Best bet for what?”

“To talk about what happened last night.”

You sighed, dropping your gaze to the dirty tile beside his left foot. “Ted–”

“I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid, reckless, and I don’t know what came over me.” He took a deep breath, his hand running over the white porcelain on the sink nervously. “It was a silly mistake on my part and I’m really sorry. I hope I didn’t mess up the friendship we’ve managed to build up too much.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you managed to catch his eye. “A mistake?” 

“...Yeah. A mistake.”

“Oh.”

Ted’s face changed and he looked guilty. His body jerked forward as if he were taking a step toward you but he fought against it. “Did you…” he started, voice quiet and drifting off on its own accord. He cleared his throat. “Did you not think it was a mistake?”

“No,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “It was just weird timing.”

“Weird timing?” He asked, tilting his head. Realisation dawned on him and he gaped at you. “Does that mean you, you wanted me to… to kiss you?”

You nodded, eyes stuck once again on the tile beside his foot. He took a step toward you, and then another one, and your eyes flickered over the tiles until you were looking back into his eyes. He was inches away, head tilted down to look at you in a way that made you feel smaller than you were. It wasn’t particularly a bad feeling but it did make your skin prickle and your face flush. 

“Can I kiss you again? Or is this weird timing, too?” 

His voice was low, hushed. 

You gave him a small anxious smile, falling even harder for him as he stared down at you with wide nervous eyes. “It’s more of a weird environment than anything.”

“Is that a… I can’t figure out your answer from that.”

“It’s a yes, Ted.”

His lips were on yours immediately, a gentle hand reaching up to cup your cheek as his other slid over your lower back. You gasped into his mouth but wasted no time in grabbing him by his hips and tugging him closer, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. Your tongue slid easily against his and Ted tightened his grip, shifting around so that both of his hands were holding your face as if you might break and he was pressing you against the wall.

“Holy smokes,” Ted whispered against your lips when he pulled back. “That was…”

“Much better than yesterday,” you finished for him with a laugh.

“Yeah, much better than yesterday,” he sighed, pressing another kiss against your lips, this one more gentle. He then pressed another kiss against your lips. And another. And then another. It got more desperate as he went and soon enough you couldn’t pull away from each other again. 

“Ted,” you mumbled against his lips, “we’re in a public bathroom.”

He hummed against your lips. “That we are.”

“Anyone could walk in.”

“That they could.” Before you could say anything else, Ted pulled away from you and took your hand in his, leading you into the closest cubicle and locking the door behind you. He smiled at you as his hands dropped to your waist, pulling you close and dropping a kiss on your cheek. “Now no one will see us.” He pressed another kiss to your cheek, this time lower, and then one to your jaw. Then one below your jaw, before nipping at your neck with a cheeky smirk. “Better?”

You let out a laugh of disbelief as your hand slid up over his back and tangled into his hair. “Ted, we’re at work.”

“So? What we do on our breaks isn’t anyone's business, ya see?” As if to prove his point, he lightly bit down on the sensitive part of your neck. “No one will know.”

His lips dropped lower down, a hand coming up to shift away the collar of your shirt so that he could explore uncharted territory. You let out a half-grunt half-moan as he bit down over your collarbone, harder than the last. Ted’s smirk grew into a grin and you couldn’t help but laugh, giving him a gentle tap across his shoulder as you pushed him away.

“Don’t get all cocky about this now,” you scolded, even when you tugged him back toward you by the dishevelled collar of his shirt to kiss him with the power of a thousand suns. 

“Can’t help it,” he mumbled between kisses. “Can’t believe this is really happening.”

“Is this how you wanted yesterday to go?” You asked, becoming serious for a moment as you locked eyes with him. He nodded and you pouted slightly. “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.”

“It’s okay, truly. I’m just glad we got this now.”

“Me too.”

He released your face momentarily to check his watch and he groaned. “Six minutes until breaks over.”

“Takes me about a minute to get to the office from here, so we actually got five minutes left.”

“Four minutes if you take off the time needed to clean ourselves up.”

“Right,” you nodded, pressing your lips against his again before pulling back abruptly. “Shit, I still gotta go back to talk to the Boss. That needs about a minute or two.”

“So two minutes left,” Ted replied.

“About a minute and a half now,” you corrected.

He nodded against you seriously, as if this was life or death, before capturing your lips again and kissing you as if it were the last time he ever could. The next minute and a half was the best minute and a half you’d ever had. Ted’s hands were all over you: teasing at your waist, sliding over your back, burying themselves into your already-mused hair, lightly holding you by the neck. You couldn’t keep your hands off him either, alternating between resting your palms against his sturdy chest and tangling them into his soft brown locks.

Pulling back with a gasp, you grabbed Ted’s arm and checked his watch, cursing at the time. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Huh?” Ted asked, breathless. He moved his arm so he could see the watch himself and his eyes turned comically wide. “Shoot. You don’t wanna ditch Rebecca, she won’t like that. You gotta go now. I’ll stay here for another mo, make it look less suspicious.”

You reached around him to unlock the door as you pressed another kiss to his lips, this one softer and more intimate. It felt less like you were trying to keep the new-found romance a secret and more like you were allowing yourself this moment of peace before you were thrown back into work. He smiled against you, his moustache tickling your nose, and you smiled back before pulling away and closing the cubicle door behind you.

You only had a moment to glance at yourself in the mirror and you wished you hadn’t. The image was burned into your brain as you rushed up to Rebecca’s office–your hair was all over the place, messier than usual and definitely noticeable, and your lips were bright red, bruised, and looked in dire need of some chapstick. You smiled at people as they walked by, confused double-takes following you as you walked, before stopping in front of Rebecca’s office. You couldn’t stay long, not if you wanted to get back onto the pitch as soon as possible, but you knew she’d appreciate the effort of you stopping by,

Clearing your throat and straightening your back, you opened the door with a calm smile. Rebecca and Keeley were still sitting on the couch, both holding empty plates in their hands, and at the sight of you their jaws dropped. You couldn’t help but laugh at their expressions, knowing full well what it must look like, and you closed the door behind you.

“You– Wh– Ted–” Keeley started, eyes wide. “Wait… Ted?!”

You shrugged, a cocky grin sliding onto your face. “Ted.”

Rebecca choked on nothing. “That wasn’t on my bingo card for this year.”

Keeley turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “You have a bingo card for the year?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“No, but I do now. And this would have definitely been on it if it was made exactly 30 seconds before now.”

You laughed along before looking down at the pitch, seeing the boys were already filing onto the pitch. Ted trailed behind them and you could see his hair stuck up at every angle–clearly, he hadn’t made an attempt to tidy himself up and instead embraced it. You smiled at the girls again, the two of them giving you cheeky knowing smiles, before asking: “I’m assuming one of you has a hairbrush I can borrow?”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Winter's Bite (Twilight Princess ficlet)

HAHA YOU THOUGHT I WAS INCAPABLE OF WRITING SOMETHING >:) (I'm sure literally no one thought this except me, it's fine, this is a joke)

@nancyheart11 this was far too long to be sent in an ask and I said what the heck I'll make it a ficlet, so enjoy :)

Summary: Link usually shows up at Rusl's house every day. When no one has seen or heard from him in the middle of a sleet storm, Rusl goes out in search for him.

(AO3 link)

It was a dreary day. The blissful break in winter from yesterday, filled with sunshine and gentle breezes and warmer temperatures, had been harshly shoved aside for a return of ice and bitterly cold rain. Rusl found himself wanting to lay in bed - Hana was getting better at sleeping through the night, but there were still interruptions, and between his broken up rest from the last few months and the abysmal lighting he was set to sleep all morning.

Rusl rolled onto his side, his arm reaching out for his wife, when he felt just the mattress beside him. Frowning, he opened his eyes a bit more and saw that Uli had already gotten up somehow, despite the entire world indicating that it was a good day to sleep in. Sighing, he decided he should get up too.

With a mighty yawn and a lazy stretch, the Ordonian swordsman finally rose out of bed, stumbled a little as his world spun, and then made his way to his daughter's crib. Hana was fast asleep, her little chubby face relaxed, and Rusl smiled at the sight of it. He went to his son's room next to check on Colin, who was out cold. Pulling the blanket up a little to better tuck him in, Rusl left quietly so his son could enjoy a sleepy morning.

The smell of breakfast filled his nostrils, perking him up a bit more. Uli was boiling some eggs and making biscuits - Rusl couldn't imagine a more perfect start to the day.

"Good morning," he said softly, wrapping his arms around her from behind and planting a kiss on her neck.

Uli giggled a little, leaning her head back into his chest. "Mornin'."

The couple spent the rest of the time in silence, Rusl helping with making tea while Uli finished cooking. When Hana awoke, Rusl took over in the kitchen so Uli could feed her, and Colin eventually dragged his feet into the main room of the house just in time for breakfast.

The day progressed pleasantly and lazily. Rusl worked on making some farming tools for the villagers while Colin stayed indoors and took care of Hana, giving Uli time to rest and make some clothes. Rusl gazed outside occasionally, wondering if Link would stop by - it had been a couple weeks since everything that had happened, and though Link was fully recovered and had settled back in his own little home, Rusl still worried.

Particularly since he hadn't seen him today. Usually he'd catch sight of Link on his way to the ranch in the morning, or the boy would stop by for lunch or dinner.

Lunch had passed by now, so Rusl assumed he would see his boy in the evening.

He didn't.

Worry started to settle heavily in his gut. The last time Link had disappeared for a while...

Well... actually, now that he thought about it, Rusl had never questioned why his ward had been lounging around as a wolf in front of his home all those nights ago rather than gone inside to sleep.

It still made him uneasy. It had been too recent, everything that had transpired that night. He felt anxious thinking that he hadn't seen Link at least once today.

Rusl hardly touched his dinner, and Uli picked up on his anxiety as well. When Colin took Hana to her crib, his wife used the opportunity to walk over to him and ask softly, "Have you seen Link?"

"No," he answered. "But I'm going to go look for him."

Uli nodded, glancing away worriedly. "I was outside gathering some ingredients and I overheard Fado mentioning that he hadn't seen Link today."

"What?" Rusl nearly yelped. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Honey, it was right before dinner; Colin was there by the time I got back," Uli argued quietly. "You and I both know he'd go running off into the woods with nothing but a wooden sword to find him. Besides, I wasn't sure if you'd seen him."

Uli blew out a shaky breath, staring at the floor guiltily. "I didn't--he has to be okay, right?"

"I'll make sure of it," Rusl stated firmly, grabbing his sword. Uli gave him a quick concerned be careful as he headed out, hood pulled tightly over his head as the freezing rain continued to pour forth from the sky, pelting his skin with tiny scratches of winter's claws.

It didn't take long to clear the village of any sign of Link, and his house was equally empty, making Rusl worry even more. He bent down to the ground, looking for any signs of either Hylian or wolf feet, and instead saw the heavy footprints of horseshoes.

Epona.

Perhaps Link was alright if he'd taken his horse with him? Rusl had to confirm, though. Heading into the forest, he followed the footprints, which were filled with ice, indicating it might have been a while since Epona had been there. He went across the bridge and into Faron Woods before he found Link's mare close to the mouth of the cave that led further into the forest, looking agitated.

"Epona," Rusl acknowledged as he reached out to the horse. She had taken shelter under a few trees, but it was very unlike Link to leave his steed out in the elements like this. He looked over her saddle and the single bag packed. Link hadn't planned on being gone for long based on how little was being carried. "Where's Link?"

Epona whinnied, her feet shifting nervously. Rusl pat her reassuringly, glancing around. The encampment where the lantern merchant usually stayed had been abandoned in lieu of the storm, which made searching for clues...

There. Smaller footprints, first those of a Hylian and then suddenly shifting into paw prints.

Rusl trotted ahead, growing steadily more nervous.

Only one beast popped out to cause trouble, a keese, and Rusl felled it quickly. The beast squealed in protest before gurgling into silence, its last gasp covered by the sound of icicles falling from the sky.

And then Rusl heard whimpering.

Sheathing his sword with a conscious effort and haste, he rushed ahead, finding his charge.

A black wolf was curled around himself, tail and paws tucked under him, ears peeled back, fur glittering in icicles that had long since frozen to him.

"Link," Rusl gasped, falling to his knees. The wolf whined when he placed his hand on his head. "Link, what happened?"

When the only response he got was another whine, he glanced over the young one once more. No sign of injury, no bleeding... though he couldn't see his paws with the way they were tucked in. Gently, Rusl coaxed them out from under the wolf, one leg at a time, and saw no wounds, though the wolf was clearly freezing.

"Link," Rusl tried again. "Come on, son, change back. Talk to me."

Link whined more loudly, tucking himself more tightly into a ball as if he were ashamed or scared. Rusl watched him, baffled and concerned.

"All right," he muttered before pulling off his cloak and wrapping it around the wolf. "We'll do it this way, then."

With a deep breath he pulled the bundle into his arms, Link giving a soft growl and twitch, twisting in his grip a little. Rusl looked at him discerningly, gazing into the intelligent blue eyes and markings as confirmation that he hadn't stumbled onto some other wolf, but no - this was definitely his boy. Why was he acting like this?

Well, whatever the reason, they could figure it out in the warmth of his home.

Rusl headed back towards the bridge leading to the village, and Epona practically ran to him when he reached the clearing. She poked Link with her face, and the wolf whined again, though his tail unfurled a little to wag before he yelped and it curled back in.

Rusl paused. "Link, are... are you in pain?"

Link whined again, his muzzle leaning against Rusl's shoulder.

That had to be what was wrong. But he wasn't injured...?

"Does... does it hurt?"

"Not like it used to. I'm okay, Pa."

The puzzle pieces slowly snapped into place, and Rusl silently made his way back to Ordon. Epona followed along, waiting patiently at Link's home as the swordsman continued to his own house. When he got there, Uli was waiting for him in the den, and she immediately grabbed as many pillows and blankets as she could find and laid them in front of the hearth. Rusl settled Link by the fire, and he stayed very still.

"What happened?" Uli asked.

"I'm... not sure," Rusl answered. "But I think he's in pain."

"Is he hurt?"

"No. I think it's..." Rusl mulled it over. "Storms like this always bother me, my old injuries, my joints."

Uli huffed a little as she knelt beside Link, running a hand over his fur. "Well I may not have scars, but my joints are starting to get a little grouchy with this weather."

Rusl grabbed some herbs that he usually ground up into a tea for pain relief and then paused. Could Link even drink this as a wolf? "I think that's what's wrong. Would transforming back hurt too much, Link?"

Link moved his head to hide his face under a blanket. Uli hummed worriedly, leaning over and kissing the blanket where he was hiding. "Oh, honey... Rusl, what can we give him?"

Rusl stared at the herbs helplessly. "I... we might just have to wait for the storm to be over."

Uli bit her lip thoughtfully. "No medicine, but we have other methods. I'll make some hot water bottles."

As his wife rose to do so, Rusl sat on the ground beside Link, slowly peeling the blanket off his face. His boy's blue eyes watched him sadly, almost seeming ashamed. His brushed his hand over his boy's head, settling for scratching gently behind his ears. Link's tail lazily swished back and forth in acknowledgement.

Sighing a little, Rusl adjusted himself to be more comfortable as he ran his hand along Link's back in a soothing motion. His boy was trembling less, pelt cool and damp rather than frozen solid. The gentle massage helped ease the wolf's tension as well, and eventually Link settled his head on Rusl's lap.

"Don't worry, Link," Rusl whispered as Uli returned with some more items to assist. "We'll take care of you."

[theawkwardterrier]

Bake On: A Jamie/Claire Wednesday100 story

Week 1: Cake

Jamie gets his signature - Mam's snow cake - into the oven before he takes a moment to truly size up the competition.

There's the usual crop of grannies and older gents and young mum types, a smarmy-looking middle-aged man Jamie instantly dislikes, a willowy girl he smiles at because she's trembling with nerves, a hulking, wildly bearded lad with an accent Jamie can't place (Welsh?), and then, down in the front corner, far from his back row...

He watches her for so long that he has to rely on the technical and showstopper to make up for his overdone cake.

Week 2: Biscuits

There were many things that Claire considered before entering the competition: that her self-taught skills wouldn't hold up, that she didn't have the sorts of stories and traditions needed for the signatures, that she wouldn't be able to balance it all with her usual work schedule.

She hadn't thought that she'd need to remind herself to focus each time her ears detected a Scottish accent at the back of the tent, or that, after her Kingston biscuits came first in the technical, she'd think about his grin and the light touch of his foot against hers the entire drive home.

Week 3: Bread

"The best simit I've had was off splintery carts pushed by old men who would have considered you mad for criticizing the sesame seeds' evenness."

Jamie looks up from messaging Jenny to find Claire beside him. He'd been trying to stop reexamining his near elimination today. Now he smiles without thought.

"Well, Sassenach, I'll be back next week. That's what matters."

"I suppose that's true." She smiles back, cheeks rosy and rounded, before adding, "You're taking the train, aren't you? I can drive you to the station."

It's an easy walk. The choice to ride with her is even easier.

Week 4: Pie

"Will London surgeon Claire's use of herbs finally win her the title of star baker?"

Her held breath becomes a laugh. She sets down the knife she had been using to carve her pastry top, looking over to him leaning on her bench.

"It might, especially if freelance translator Jamie doesn't get back and give her some competition."

He flashes a grin. "Canna have that. My case is done cooling besides."

She watches him walk away, then resumes, her hands steadier now. She wonders whether he could have possibly noticed her doubts from the back. No, she decides. A coincidence.

Week 5: Pastry

He doesn't notice how long they've been talking until Claire shivers in the midnight chill. It seemingly doesn't register with her - she simply crosses her arms and continues speaking about her patients - but he wants to tuck her against himself, offering his warmth.

Her expression is vivid, and he hates cutting her off (although he'd have hated interrupting her while discussing their fellow contestants, London versus Edinburgh, or today's lunchtime sandwiches). Still, he checks his watch, yawns, says, "Christ, it's that late? We'd better get in if we want to be awake for the showstopper," and sees her safely sheltered.

Week 6: Chocolate

It's meltingly hot in the tent, and everyone's rushing about. Claire's behind on her own bake, and so nearly doesn't notice the cheesecake sitting out at the edge of one of the vacant benches, matching the description Jamie gave of the one he was planning while they'd baked together over the phone this week. Her eyes narrow, and she looks around.

Frank looks back, then immediately glances away.

She places Jamie's cake back into the refrigerator. There isn't time for revenge now, but they can plan together later.

In the meantime, beating Frank will be sweet in its own way.

Week 7: Puddings

"Didna ken this would be the week where I'd remember them so much," Jamie says that night, knowing that she hears him despite his quiet words.

He supposes he should feel embarrassed, tearing up over a batch of clootie dumplings, but he remembers Mam helping him tie the cloth, remembers Da ruffling his hair and Willie saying with his mouth full, "They're good, Jamie!"

And Claire doesn't make him feel foolish, simply places her hand over his, saying, "I don't think there's a wrong time to remember the people you love," so he doesn't feel alone there in the dark.

Week 8: Tarts

She's smiling with satisfaction for the first bit of the drive, star baker title finally achieved and her place in the semi-final assured. It's only as she's shaking her head for her own foolishness at wanting to call Jamie to celebrate when she's barely left him (and knows that he had work to take care of on the train ride home besides) that she realizes what this means.

They've both shown their skill and she's confident in their chances of making it through next week. But even so, even if they get into the finale together, their weekends are numbered.

Week 9: Patisserie

The tension in Jamie's shoulders has nothing to do with two days fussing with choux pastry, or the pressure of next week's final, and everything to do with the countable hours he has left with Claire.

They stand talking in the car park long after the others have packed up and left, after he's missed his train, and he wonders if she might feel the same. Regardless, more time with her doesn't seem like a chance he can miss.

At the next pause, he breathes and asks, "Might ye—Will ye come have dinner with me, Claire?" and watches her smile.

Week 10: Final

The contestants carry their showstoppers to the waiting crowd of loved ones. In classic British fashion, the finale fete is chill and rainy; the camera catches Claire carefully keeping her hair out of her icing.

"Christ, I'd forgotten what the damp did to that curlywig o' yers."

Claire elbows him from her spot beneath his arm, although she is laughing along. "Hush and watch. We're about to lose in front of the entire country, after all."

"True enough. Still, I think we won more than that cake stand o' Glenna's," he says.

By the way she kisses him, she agrees.

[yoursalwaysadrora]

WhenItComesToYou

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

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

There’s a woman in his kitchen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

—

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, God,” she chokes.

—

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

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

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

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

“I don’t like her.”

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

“Why’s that?”

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

“Makes me feel bad,” she huffs. 

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

“What’d you see?” 

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

“You feel it too.”

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

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

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

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

“This time,” Gale purrs low in her ear, “I’ll take my time with you. No distractions.”

His hands slide down to her thighs, lifting her up easily into his arms. As he carries her to the cot, he’s placing kisses on every inch of her he can reach. Occasionally nipping at her soft, sweet skin. Breathing her in. Tasting. Knowing.

“And I intend to make full use of this silencing spell, lass.”

Gale lowers her down onto his bed, climbing on after her to cover her form with his. He slots his knee between her legs to make room for himself. Every touch is a gentle force of affection tempered by demand. Waves of need breaking upon the shore of her.

When her arms wind their way around him, at neck or waist, he shivers. She feels like redemption.

His hands are questing, warm and loving like worship across her skin. Every kiss upon her skin is adoration. Pleading. Desperation.

Need me.

Love me.

Want me.

Gale’s head dips to murmur in her ear even as he wrings sweet sighs and soft whimpers from her as his hips grind a languid, torturous pace against hers.

“So I hope you’ll sing your heart out for me, my lovely little siren.” His voice is rough and commanding, yet full of soft hope.

He needs this.

Needs her.

And he will spend all night devoted to her pleasure - to bringing her undone in every way he knows how. Show her what he is capable of. How good he is - can be, if given the chance.

Gale is in control. Of his body. Of his magic. Of her pleasure.

He will keep the coils of darkness writhing within him - blood and heart and mind - at bay.

And he will know her.

And when they wake in the morning, it will be curled tight together, skin to skin and basking in each other’s warmth. Gale’s face, for once, will look peaceful. Content in sleep - with her in his arms.

-G.D.

Doe wakes nestled on the tiny cot, sated and exhausted and pliant in Gale's arms. She doesn't want to move, deliciously sore and warm. He growls softly when she stirs.

'Gale. We'll be late for breakfast.'

She cat stretches, all but purring at the feeling of her muscles waking up. Glancing to the side, she smiles softly at the sight of the navigator with wild bedhead, his eyes barely cracked open, skin flooded with sunlight.

He mumbles something about breakfasting in the office, and she happily relents. They share tea, and more biscuits, touching in some way throughout- Gale's hand stroking her hair, hers on his knee, shoulders touching.

Committing each other to memory.

'I have to go,' she says. 'Before we have a repeat of the other day.' Her mouth tips up, and she goes on a quest to find all her clothes- her shirt flung over the map table, trousers puddled at the foot of the bed, her soft leather coat placed lovingly on Tara's perch for safekeeping. Her blades; the dagger tucked into the coat, the shortsword propped against the desk.

'Bye sweet girl,' says Doe as Tara flutters down, yawning and stretching. She bunts against Doe's thigh, purring as she is scooped up and snuggled, kissed on her nose. 'See you later.'

She looks back at Gale as she gets to the door. He cradles a second mug of tea, giving her a wink and a smug little smile. 'See you, sailor,' she says, feeling a wave of affection as he sends her on her way with a murmured:

'See you, little siren.'

The day has dawned bright and cold, sky the pearly blue of early morning. Doe sings to herself as she emerges onto deck, seeking nobody in particular.

'Felt a storm was in my skin but now its brought to light by touch and word to draw the might of lightning from within...'

She'd always be grateful to him for that, as long as she lived. His power a mirror to her own, to show her the wildness hiding in her blood all along.

She strokes the soft leather of her coat, her eyes scanning, alighting on Astarion at the wheel. Her breath catches, drinking in the sight of him; he has one hand steering the ship to catch the wind, his white curls blown wildly over his face, red eyes catching the sunlight. His other hand rests on the blade at his hip, and he looks like something out of a tale, a pirate prince, half siren. He looks focused, relaxed, in his element.

My beautiful boy.

Making a decision, she heads back below deck to her cabin. It still smells like him in here, fresh and cool and rich. She breathes deep, knowing Gale lingers on her skin. Moving to her desk, she retrieves a sketchbook and pencil, closing her eyes briefly to hold the vision of the captain in her mind. She begins to draw, the intricate details of his face, the sparkle in his eyes, the wildness of his curls. Carefully, she colours with ink, bringing him to life.

I love you, she thinks. I should tell you.

Then she draws Gale; she hadn't slept all night, careful not to wake him but able to watch his sleeping face, peaceful and beautiful in the half-light.

Then Tara, curled up on her perch.

Her heart full, she puts aside the sketchbook and thinks of the map table; they would be going ashore soon. She feels a little giddy at the thought of being in a town, living a normal life for a few hours.

Maybe I can find something nice, to decorate.

She's heard tales of what's to come on the route. Sirens, real ones, and dread pirates, and treasure, and death.

We'll be alright. I have the storm within.

She emerges back on deck sometime later, moving to the bow. The wind sends her dark hair streaming, she feels it fill her lungs. Bringing her hands together, she focuses on the energy she'd conjured the night before, the pearlescent sphere of crackling energy, dark and beautiful. She feels the air around her spark, goosebumps rising on her arms, tingling in her fingers. It forms slowly, swirling, and she holds it, concentrating hard.

I can do this.

[more-than-a-princess]

Continued from here with @scarlxtleaves!

As soon as Lupin took his seat, Sisi's head rose. Tucked in front of the fire, the dog now possessed a newfound interest in the gentleman thief: particularly, his proximity to the plate of shortbread biscuits. Meandering over, the corgi took a seat at Lupin's feet, giving the man the largest, saddest eyes he could seemingly muster, partnered with a pathetic whine. Sonia laughed, refilling her own teacup after Lupin had filled his.

"Don't believe him for a moment," She advised through giggles, adding a cube of sugar and splash of milk, just as she liked it. "He's already gotten two shortbreads out of me. He's simply acting like no one has deigned to bestow him with the treats he deserves."

The dog seemed to understand, shooting her a disappointed look as Sonia took a sip of her drink. At least her tea managed to stay in her mouth and not end up back in her cup, which was the fate of Lupin's beverage at her decision. She raised her eyebrows, surprised: had he expected something different? Certainly by now it was clear that divulging anything about a potential heist to Sonia, currently on holiday from being the Princess of Novoselic, would ensure she offered both her opinion and her participation in the scheme. Except in this case, she'd have to don the tiara again: quite literally, in fact.

"Novoselic has never been invaded and I certainly don't intend for that to commence now," She replied matter-of-factly, her belief in her nation stronger than any terrorist threat. "But consider this: the best possible distraction would be to comfort the attendees and staff in question. And there's no better method to do that than to use me, just as I am: I'll be a novelty, after disappearing for some months now. And while I'm capturing the attention of whomever you need me to, surely you can slip in as someone innocuous and do what needs to be done."

It wasn't as if her days were particularly full of responsibilities, either: at least not the ones she was used to. Topping up Sisi's kibble, helping decide what to prepare for meals, and choosing films to watch at night were hardly taxing for her, someone whose diary was chock full of meetings and appearances, tours and balls. Attending the Imperial Family's gala would be reminiscent of her old life, her true life: what she was living in, a Japanese mansion with five men and a dog engaging varying degrees of criminality, was more akin to a forced-upon holiday.

And like all holidays, it would eventually come to an end. Something Sonia had yet to reckon with as she straightened in her seat, setting down her cup and saucer. "The Comte may not approve, but it has the potential to take care of two capers in one evening, which is efficient and he seems to be a man who respects efficiency. Though if it is a gala, then we will need an appropriate vehicle for royal transport, and for weapons...I'm thinking that I should be equipped with a pistol and holster, a concealed knife, a straight razor blade, and a vial of poison. That should do it!"

She rattled them off the way most people would share a grocery list, beaming with satisfaction. Even before he'd suggested it, Sonia had put thought into such situations. Partly to avoid subsequent kidnappings, recent events aside, but partly due to her own overactive imagination and a perchance for serial killers, horror, and murder mysteries. In fact, it was effort on her part to request practical weapons and nothing too fantastical.

"What is the target, by the way?" She asked, petting Sisi's head in order to distract him from the biscuit plate. And to distract her from mentioning what, inexplicably, gave her discomfort: If both plots succeed, I'll be on my home to Novoselic for good.

[lilyswrittenworks]

MEDIEVIL || DÉPAYSEMENT:  CHAPTER SIX

|| Plexure ||

(noun.) the act or process of weaving together, or interweaving; that which is woven together.

•·················•·················•

There was a pleasant humming in the background that was accompanied by the sound of soft cutting and fabric being torn off. Laura had been busying herself by crafting a skirt for herself, using the spare tweed she had tucked away in a drawer and decided to make use of it.

The fabric she was weaving had a rustic feel to it with its brown, red, and yellow hues adorning the intricate piece in her grasp. Her fingers would trace absentmindedly at the fabric gently, admiring its beauty in all its glory, almost getting sidetracked for ogling at the tweed. This particular fabric is by far one of her favorite ones to work with particularly because of its small squares and vertical lines, mostly because she is obsessed with the style. It made her swoon at the thought of wearing the tweed as a walking skirt, alas, the thick material hindered her from wearing it during the summer.

Winter will come eventually…

She then began to hand stitch the seams of the walking skirt, threading the needle and yarn into the fabric with diligence. Being that her center of attention was on her hand stitching the seams that she hadn’t heard the soft footfalls approaching her. She was nearing the end of her threading when she felt someone gently tap the corner of her sewing machine table.

Her fingers paused in the midst of inserting the needle into the fabric and moved her focus to the person standing next to her. It was her friend Daniel. She hadn’t noticed the plate of assorted sweets he was holding until he settled it on the table in front of her.

“Thank you Daniel. Let me finish the last stitching real quick.” Laura did so with ease and used a thread clipper to cut off the remaining loose thread.

“You’ve been working on this since the wee hours of the night. Your muscles must be stiff from all those hand stitches.” He watches as she neatly ties off the thread and then clipping the excess off before stretching her stiff muscles with a satisfying ‘pop’.

“You're not wrong,” Laura faced him with a sheepish smile. “But I got to finish the walking skirt! I’ve been itching to use this lovely patterned tweed for months and I’m happy with the results. Now if only winter would show up…”

Daniel shook his head in amusement, moving away from the sewing table to look out the bedroom window. Laura had begun to munch on a biscuit almost hungrily after not eating for quite awhile, sweets aren’t a good meal for lunch but it was better than eating nothing. While eating the biscuit her eyes wandered towards Daniel, he was staring out the window with both his hands shoved inside the pockets of his dress pants.

It was hard to believe that Daniel has been living with her for almost two months. She didn’t think twice to help him when he told her that he had been homeless all this time. No matter how much he protested you were adamant on getting him back on his feet, offering him to stay in the spare guest room that was just down the hall to the left from her bedroom and even providing him with a much needed set of garments those of which she is in the process of making it for him.

She remembered going up to him and asking what his measurements were and he couldn’t give her an honest answer and the conversation would deviate into something mildly obscure. It wasn’t until she pulled out her measuring tape that Dan freaked out as she moved closer. Laura didn’t really understand why he was causing such a fuss and assured him that she was going to take his measurements without him needing to remove his clothing. This seemed to calm him down, if only a little, it was better than having him run around the room to avoid the measuring tape in her hand.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Laura blinked out of her haze to notice Daniel was facing her, a smile gracing her lips. “I see that you're using the dress pants I made for you, it suits you well.”

He bashfully averts his gaze, finding the window much more pleasing to look at all of the sudden. With the amount of effort she put into a piece of clothing it truly showed how good-natured she is despite the hassle she had to go through in taking his measurements.

“It isn’t too constricting isn’t it?”

Daniel sputtered, putting up his hands in front of him in defense. “N-o, no! It’s fine— no, perfect! It fits perfectly!”

She gives him a look for his odd outburst and then laughs to herself. “Ok as long as it fits I won’t be adjusting it anytime soon.” Laura stands up, taking the empty plate in her hands. “I’ll go ahead and prepare a proper lunch, do you want some extra for later, Daniel?”

“Later, yes. Thank you.” Laura takes her leave, unaware of Daniel’s gaze as she disappears around the corner.

His gaze lingered at the doorway before it drifted down at his gloved hand, aware of what he hid underneath the brown leather. Daniel wanted so badly to tell her the truth of what he really was and to hell with the constant lies he keeps telling her about himself about his supposed ‘deformity’. But the rational side of him held him back, and reminded him that revealing himself to her would only cause more harm than good. Scaring her off is a scenario that he wanted to avoid at all cost.

A sudden worry washes over him. How long will his facade last? It has to, right?

He pulled himself out of the intrusive thoughts and allowed his legs to carry him out of the bedroom and down the stairs to assist Laura in the kitchen.

(988 words in total)

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[qucintly]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ;;

what does your muse smell like?  freshly cut wood from a saw, a favorable dash of honey with a hint of old books.

what do your muse’s hands feel like? soft and warm to the touch in broad daylight. melanin skin absorbs the sun's rays like a warm hug in a desperate time.

what does your muse usually eat in a day? First ingestion of every day is a warmed cup of yerba mate tea with a drop of honey, flavored with the bud of a chamomile flower that becomes soaked in the dark brown liquid. Food ingested varies between biscuits, salads, and even ethnic tacos.

does your muse have a good singing voice? ms. harris does not sing, nor does she even think of doing so. perhaps it could be a surprise that she does have a good singing voice, or it would not be a surprise if she did not.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks? a.) staring into the eyes of the person she talks to. not to look into their memories, but to admire them. b.) overanalyzing a situation into the consistent thought of violence. she does not always give in to violence, but when she does, it is hidden away, almost nonexistent.

what does your muse usually look like / wear? Usually a her black turtleneck tucked in to a pair of black and grey striped pants, which is tucked in to continue the sequence into her chocolate brown boots. When outdoors, she covers her shoulders along with the rest of her back in a oversized coat, not bothering with wearing the sleeves due to childhood memories(of what she was told). Gold earrings pierce her ears whenever she's awake, with an  X and I shaped headbands that hold tight to one side of her hair. One bang over the eyebrow is enough.

is your muse affectionate? how much? how so? Romantic affection is not Ms. Harris' strong suit. However she does take the matters of "affectionate towards family members" very seriously. She does not know of any cousins or other relatives she has outside of her deceased parents. Yet one look in the eyes of Elias Hicks, her assumed brother in law, tells her that she must protect him at all cost. Joseph Hicks, her adoptive like father figure, who carried her away from the burning down childhood home, also recieves this protective like affection, despite Mr. Hicks desiring to continue his contribution in both return and favor. 

what position does your muse sleep in? Ms. Harris sleeps on her left side, facing the bookshelf. Sometimes she recites her favorite stories in her head, whether they'd be fiction or non-fiction, or a fiction based on non-fiction. These are her presumed bedtime stories, and would continue to do so for the remainder of her waking nights.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room? On the opposite side of soundproof glass within the interrogation room, her normal volume of a voice can be slightly heard. On the opposite side of a normal wall, or rather a normal window, you can hear her very well. She is boisterous, yet not haughty in her voice, unless she deems it necessary.

tagged by: @s-talking ( thanks!! this was oddly satisfying.. )

tagging: anyone who sees this who wants to do it! *holds up a gun*

[dacompanionreactions]

If you get a chance could you do DA2 companion reactions to receiving baked goods from Hawke please? I loved that post about Inquisition so much. Thank you for your time!

Varric is surprised at first, though he's quick to not to let it show. Hawke actually baked him something? Hawke who slayed an ogre, who kills people for a living, bakes? Any normal person would probably fall in love. "If I ever write a book about you, I'm definitely including this."

"Oh. Thank you, Hawke." Aveline is a little awkward. She has work to do, reports to file and patrols to oversee. She doesn't have time to stop and gawk at the plate of... baked goods? Ah. It won't do to just leave them there, uneaten. Perhaps she can snack while she writes those reports.

Anders isn't sure what he's done to deserve the biscuits in front of him, but he won't say no to them either. It's hard to find joy these days, but today he has found it in a plate of baked goods. Anders allows himself to smile. "Hawke, I really, really appreciate this." To make his point, he tucks right in.

Bethany accepts the plate of pasties with a small smile. Carver's favourite. For a moment, her joy is mingled with stabbing grief, a feeling she's all too familiar with now. But pasties are pasties, and they smell really, really good. Bethany gives her sibling a quick hug and wraps one up in a cloth for their mother. "Hawke... thank you." One day she'll be able to eat these without being reminded of the day her home fell apart.

Carver raises a brow at the pasties. They're just like the ones their father used to make. A peace offering, perhaps? It'll take a lot more than pasties to soothe his strained relationship with Hawke... but he appreciates them nonetheless. Carver takes the plate and says a simple, "Thank you," but a thousand more words are said in the look he gives. You remembered how to make our father's pasties. You even remembered how I like the filling. You care. I'm sorry. Thank you.

"Oh, Hawke, you shouldn't have!" Merrill is besides herself with happiness. She grins from ear to ear as she accepts the plate of baked bread rolls. She takes a moment to admire all the little details, like the leaf patterns cut into the dough, before tucking in. After all, it's not everyday she's presented with baked goods. Now all Merrill needs is a few table mats, some new plates and it'll be perfect.

"Now, isn't that just adorable!" Isabela is utterly endeared by the plate of cinnamon rolls in front of her. It's funny - she wouldn't think someone like Hawke, who's probably killed more people than those in Kirkwall combined, would take the time to bake something for her. She just needs a mug of ale and her evening will be complete.

Sebastian takes the Starkhaven fish pie and holds it up to the light. It's actually real. And made just the way he likes it! He offers a piece to Hawke and insists they eat with him. They should get to try their own handiwork, after all. "Maker, Hawke, you'll have to teach me how to make this as well as you." It tastes like home, and Sebastian retires for the night with thoughts of comfort and pie.

Fenris isn't sure he's heard Hawke correctly. They made baked goods... for him? He's never had anything gifted to him without the other person expecting nothing in return. "That's... very kind, Hawke. Thank you." He spends more time thinking about the fact that they just gifted him something. Perhaps this is what it means to have a friend.

[muffindaddystyles]

I don’t know if you’re accepting requests but if you could write something with a sick Harry x reader?! Maybe he wakes you up in the middle of the night cause he’s not feeling well but in the morning he says he’s fine to go to the studio with the lads but later in the day you get a call that he’s been throwing up and needs to be picked up? So you get him and take care of him and lots of fluff and cuddles I would simply pass away your writings are amazing!!

HII! THIS IS ME WRITING AFTER AGES I HOPE YOU LIKE IT :)

Two scoops of raspberry chocolate chip ice-cream, one spoon, one bubble green coloured blanket and two people snug into eachother’s warmth whilst a short Marilyn Monroe mystery death tapes documentary channels on the telly.

“Hu? what’s wrong sunny?” Y/N’s concern reflects in her does eyes, creamy pink melting down the spoon as it halts between the thin distance of Harry’s pillows lips that’s seems to be chapped and dry for some reason.

“Can’t throat’s sore..” He shakes his head with sadness of a puppy and Y/N coos putting the sherbet crystal bowl aside, giggling at the hiss he eliminates from being with her cold hands. She caress the soft ringlets sitting at the nape of his neck and snuggles a little kiss to his cheek, “How about we have chai? it’ll help soothe the ache away.” We. Just a tiny word or two syllables makes Harry weak in his stomach. If he’s not having an ice-cream she wouldn’t have it either. Moments like these makes him fall in love with her harder than ever before.

“You are me little heaven.” He all but fishes out a small smile for despite of how shitty he’s been feeling, his soul instinctively going to plant a glimmer of his love for his sweetheart against her temple.

So, Y/N made chai. Filled two mugs till the brim and tucked two packets of biscuits under her armpit. Having a laugh whenever his biscuit would fall and sink deep down into his chai, he has yet to master this sorcery.

.

The next day. Nothing was alright. Harry left to the sets of his upcoming with just a note sticked to Y/N’s daily morning smoothie and when she got a short text from his assistant that he’s unwell she literally fled to the place in all worry.

“Sunny..” Her high-pitched octave stutters into low embarrassment when she enters his cubby and finds his co-actors and even the director of film surrounding him in pure concern, Y/N’s eyes simmers with gloss seeing him all flushed and red cheeks and layered under blankets, “Just want my girlfriend, can ye’ please call her for me?” His voice husked and gruff when they ask if he needs anything. He winces, shutting his eyes tight and resting his head on the back or sofa.

“I’m right here, love.” Y/N walks past the crowd giving everyone a shy wave, they fawn over the couple with great admiration advising Harry to go home and rest.

“I need you. Don’t feel good..” Harry pouts coughing out a grown as he takes his arms out of the duvet to grab both of Y/N’s needily like his health depends on her.

“Shh. My poor baby, les get’ya home hmm?” Her fingers stretches down the expanse of his head giving a little message to relive some kind of pain, “You’re my strongest boy.” She keeps him hugged to her side while walking them to his car, and if it’d be possible to envelop him whole in her sweet hibernating warmth she’d.

He flashes a pique smile hiding under her hoodie she made him wear once they were engulfed into car’s heat when Y/N’s glares him for speaking, she just coils her arms around him and brings him into chest messaging his head with one hand while the other remains aware that he doesn’t detaches himself from her.

“No talking sunshine. Try taking a nap, yeah? I’ll be still here when you wake up.” She rocks him. A precious human being he’s for her. It reminds of her the times she fell sick and Harry would do the same. He’s always been her anchor, her pride, her sunshine in the darkest of times.

She beams down at him when he snores lightly against her neck, wiping a string of drool from the corner of his lips and bundles him tightly and securely - kiss upon kiss all over his face and to his curls not caring if he’s sick and cuddles him some more when he whines into his sleep.

“I’ll always protect you, sunny. Whatever, it’ll take me to.” She whispers pecking his shoulder with outmost affection and love.