biscuit trays

OctoberFicFest Day 2: Barefoot (inktober prompt)

The cabin is (when she thinks back on it, in the tumult of later) one of her favorite places on the roster of hideaways they used during those years on the run.  

It was late September when they reached Montana, wending their way through the mountains.  Mulder’s network of true believers were nothing if not prepared, and their generosity surprised her consistently.  On the second day of October, she woke up to a world traced with frost.  She slipped out of bed, leaving a pocket of warmth under the down comforter.  Mulder murmured in his sleep and she laid her hand on his back to soothe him.  She had kicked off her socks in the middle of the night, heated through by the furnace of Mulder’s body, and she shivered as her bare feet touched the floor.  The pine boards had been sanded to satiny softness.  She glided across them on the way to her slippers.  They had indulged themselves at the outdoor outfitters.  Her long underwear was a breath of heat against her skin, thin and silky.  She crossed her arms under her breasts and went to turn on the coffee maker.  

There was a woodstove in the corner, although the gas stove worked just fine.  Semper paratus, she thought.  The wind whistled in the flue of the fireplace, wafting heat from last night’s embers into the room. She wrapped herself in a wool blanket and considered the juxtaposition: big-bellied woodstove, handwoven blanket, buckskin slippers lined with fleece, handmade chair, all rubbing elbows with a sleek television, a coffee maker with six modes and a frother, and a security system that made the Hoover Building look like a playhouse.  

The air in the house smelled like frost.  They had kept the heating off thus far; only the nights were really chilly, and then they shared each other’s heat.  She spent the day in lined jeans and big sweaters, taking comfort in her lack of artifice.  In the wild, they needed to be no one but themselves.  She felt some days like she was forgetting even her name.  The two of them didn’t need names.  They had passed that point years ago.  She knew who he was in relation to him, and she could feel himself recalibrating himself as she shifted position.  She had been a physicist, a doctor, a special agent, a partner, a mother: now she was just herself, in the woods, stepping from a hot shower into the steam of Mulder’s arms or hiking on faint trails until she could feel every sinew.  

She opened the fridge.  The cold inside it smelled different than the chill of the house.  She took out a stick of butter, cut it into a bowl of flour, baking powder, buttermilk, and salt, and preheated the oven as she dropped biscuits onto a tray.  She had learned this from her mother, for those special occasions when her father was home from the sea.  She hadn’t done it by herself before this; Will had been too young, and she and Mulder had never had the opportunity.  Her father had liked the precision of rolled biscuits, but she didn’t have the patience when it was only the two of them, and the crags of the drop biscuits held more jam.  While they baked, she set thick bacon sizzling in a pan and then cracked eggs into the fat.  Mulder padded up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling through her loose hair to the nape of her neck as she flipped the eggs.

“Did you ever imagine this?” he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

“No,” she said, “but I like it.”  She shifted the eggs to the plate with the bacon and pushed the pan out of the way before she turned to face him.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she said.  “You missed the sunrise.”

“I don’t think I did,” he said softly, gazing at her.

Time for tea.

Author’s Note: Okay, I don’t know how I do this but I always end up having plenty of stories to be written and no time to do it. Anyway, I couldn’t resist to do it because the gif was KILLING ME. Okay. I’m fine. So I hope you all like this Tony Stark x Reader.

(Gif used by @itsallavengers in this post. Sorry for using this! I hope you don’t get angry but I didn’t find it and then I couldn’t post it with the “Posted by…”) 

Warnings: Sex. Unprotected sex (USE A CONDOM!), Language, Spanking, Swearing, Oral sex (Female Receiving), Fingering.

Words: 2,031.

You sighed as you sat inside the bathtub, hot scented water surrounding you. You aching muscles started to relax as time passed. Bach’s Cello Suite N 1 in G was playing through the speakers. You dove and the water covered your face, cleaning all the tiredness and filthiness. You rose and took a deep breath, the drops rolling down your cheeks.

You stretched and went out when you had cleaned yourself. The bath robes were hanging there, prepared. Tony’s was a tone of burgundy while yours was a soft lilac. You loved them. They were fluffy and smooth. You took Tony’s and put it on, leaving the bathroom.

“FRIDAY, where’s Tony?”

“He is in his lab, Miss Y/L/N”

“How long has he been working?” You asked the device as you headed for the kitchen, starting to prepare a tea. Knowing him, probably he hadn’t eaten anything for hours.

“Mr. Stark do not allow me to give you that information, Miss”

“Of course” You muttered rolling your eyes as you placed the tea and some biscuits on a small tray and took it. You walked to the lift and pressed the button. 

You had been dating Tony for a year and a half now. Since Fury recruited you to join the team, he had been teasing and flirting with you. You’d just roll your eyes and laugh. It was months later when you knew the real Tony. The one who cared and worried. 

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anonymous asked:

The lazy bones, walking into the kitchen in the middle of the night to see their S/O singing along to bubbly music or musicals and baking. When questioned, after a long pause they tell the skelebro they couldn't sleep. How do they react? -K

[ By “the lazy bones”, I’m going to assume you mean UT! Sans, US! Paps, UF! Sans and SF! Paps xD Anddd apparently DT! Sans xD Alrighty then, here we go :3 ] 

UT! Sans: After a while of having your warmth near him as he’s fallen asleep, he’s not that surprised to have woken up at midnight without you by his side, though he definitely wants to go back to sleep - which he would’ve tried to do if it wasn’t for hearing light singing from downstairs. He blinks a few times, before crawling his way out of bed slowly and padding down the stairs, eyes lowered as he’s clearly half asleep, and making his way to the brightly lit up kitchen, squinting from the sudden brightness. “Babe, what are you doing…?” he asks, surprising you halfway through taking out your lemon meringue pie, stopping in your song as you whip around to look at him. “O-Oh, um… I… I couldn’t sleep,” you decide to say, not really feeling up for lying right now as you slide the pie into the bench. “…Would you like some pie?” Sans stares ahead in tired disbelief, before letting out a sigh, smiling sadly. “Well… wouldn’t want to let it go to waste, but… you know if you couldn’t sleep, you could’ve just told me? It’s alright, you know. I get too much sleep for my own good, anyways,” Sans says, sounding a little more awake then before, at least. He makes his way forward and helps you to cut up the pie, and for another twenty minutes or so you stay up lightly chatting and eating. Honestly, he wouldn’t have ever turned up anything you make, and for so early in the morning, it’s pretty good. After you’re done, he forces you back up to bed and does whatever he can to get you to sleep – whether it means humming or stroking your hair and won’t stop until you drift off calmly to sleep. He’ll probably sleep in for a bit longer this morning though, but chances are you’ll probably do the same unless you’re an early riser. He’s most likely going to try and keep you in bed, however.

US! Paps: He’s up the moment you’re awake and crawling out of the bed, and although he’s tired, he waits for a bit to see if maybe you’re just heading to the bathroom, but after it’s been a while he can’t help but pull back the blanket and make his way downstairs to see what’s going on. He’s not that surprised, really – some nights Carrot has trouble getting to sleep too so at least he understands. He doesn’t know why, but as he makes his way up to you, he doesn’t ask. “What’s that you’re making?” he asks, lightly startling you as you turn around, before letting out a breath. “Oh, um… got a little bit restless, so thought I could pass the time with brownies, heh,” you reply, knowing all too well your boyfriend knows what’s up. It’s obvious. You stare ahead in silence for a bit, before turning to him and speaking up. “Sorry if I woke you up…” Carrot blinks, before shaking his head with a smile. “No worries, honey. It’s fine,” he says, “though I think we better work on getting back to bed, eh? If ya still can’t sleep, ya just need to ask, okay? I’m here to help after all.” You lower your eyes, but nod your head slowly. “Yeah, okay…” you reply, before reaching out for one of the brownies and holding it out to Carrot. “But first…” Carrot chuckles, shaking his head a bit, but nonetheless leans forward and takes a bite with his hands still resting comfortably by his side. “Mmm, tastes good honey,” he compliments and you blush a little, before taking the entire plate and holding it out. “Would you… like some more?” Carrot can’t help but laugh, and, well, let’s just say it takes a fair bit longer than he expected to get back to bed

UF! Sans: He was rather worriedly woken from his sleep when he finds out that you’re not next to him, and doesn’t take long to quickly scramble out of bed and race down the stairs, kind of stumbling a bit but none the less, he makes it down safely and- …what? What is all this??? What?? He stares ahead for a bit as you stare back at him somewhat blankly, before he lowers his eyelids disapprovingly. “Alright, what ya up now for?” he asks, placing a hand on his hip. You lower your eyes to the ground as you slide off the oven mitts you’d just used to take out the tray of biscuits. “Just… couldn’t get to sleep, so…” And now Red looks a little bad. He looks a bit relieved for a bit, before letting out a breath and dragging a hand over his skull as if dragging it through the hair he doesn’t have. “Yeah… yeah, I get the feeling,” he says, making his way over and holding you from behind as he looks over at the treats. “Hey, those look pretty good…” he compliments, kind of just staring at him, and you blink and let out a small giggle. “Do you want some?” Red jumps lightly, blushing as he looks up to you. “I didn’t- …I mean, yeah… yeah, sure,” he mumbles slightly, and the two of you make your way over chatting and eating until eventually both of you feel tired and head off to bed at like three in the morning. At least ya had fine. Probably won’t be rising early this morning, though.

SF! Paps: Definitely the most anxious out of all of the skeletons, he’s up and awake the moment he reaches over and can’t feel you in the bed next to him. He quickly pushes off the sheets and races downstairs only to- oh, thank god. He’s relieved at first as you turn to look at him, before coming to the realisation. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I worry you? I’m fine, just… couldn’t really get to sleep.” Oh, well, that was a reason, he supposed… “Hey, it’s okay. I worry a little too much, ain’t you fault…” he says, hands on his hips as he makes his way up behind you. “Oh, well, I know your world used to be… not so good, so I should’ve known… it’s not your fault either,” you say, looking over to the oven as the timer lightly rang off, and with a small smile you bend down to pull out the tray of muffins. “Heh, what a way to pass the time,” Slim says, looking towards the clock. “Think you can get back to sleep now, or-“ Silence fell, except for the sound of your stomach lightly grumbling, and he lets out a chuckle, and you smile nervously. “Heheh, well, probably was a little hungry…” Slim smiles in return, reaching a hand over to the top of your head as he strokes it once. “Alright, muffins at two in the morning it is.” At some point you end up falling asleep on the table from exhaustion and he ends up carrying you back to bed. Neither of you got up very early in the morning that day.

DT! Sans: After being woken half way through a very good dream if you catch his drift, he rolls over to reach out for you, and feeling the bed empty, he’s already wide awake. “Uh… (s/o)?” he questions, crawling out of the bed in an exaggerated movement as he slides off onto the floor, before making his way out and hearing the slight sound of singing from downstairs. He smirks a little and lightly rolls his eyes, and slowly makes his way down, keeping his steps light (which is fairly easy for him being a dancer), before slowly sliding in next to you as you focus on icing the batch of cupcakes, with a grin on his face as you haven’t noticed him yet. “Watcha doing, babe?” he says fairly quickly, and you can’t help but jump, turning to face him and squirting a bunch of icing out of the piping bag straight into his face. DT! Sans blinks, before letting out a laugh and wiping some of the icing off his face. “Mm, chocolate. Tastes good,” he says, before tilting his head a bit to the side. “Seriously though, it’s like, one in the morning. Watcha up to?” As you reach out and hand him a cloth in silence, you turn back to the cupcakes. “Couldn’t get to sleep…” You admit, staring ahead as you continue to focus on icing the goods. “That’s a shame,” DT! Sans says as he leans on the bench. “Sucks, eh?” he adds, and you look at him with a bit of surprise, before slowly nodding your head. “Honestly don’t know why you didn’t just say something, but hey, I get it. Burning the midnight oil is whatever it is they say,” he says, looking to you. “That’s, um, working late in the night… I wouldn’t really call this work, just… I don’t know…” DT! Sans shrugs lightly with a smile. “Well, hey, if you wanna get back ta sleep, ya just say so okay? Though, don’t try and keep yourself up too late if you’ve got anything on tomorrow,” he says, before looking towards the cupcakes. “…You’re perfectly welcome to eat those, however,” he adds with a cheeky grin, and you roll your eyes a little. “Yeah, okay… cupcakes first,” you say, lifting the tray over to the table as he follows behind you. Probably won’t help you get to sleep, but… well, it’s not often you get the chance to have midnight snacks, let alone cupcakes.

you’re like the thing that makes the universe explode

“Kid, the only people who don’t know that you like Suvi are people who haven’t met you and Suvi.” 

Sara Ryder hasn’t slept in a while. It makes for strange, albeit honest, conversations. ~1200 words, heavily featuring Drack.

“Scott has this theory,” Sara says, “about doorways.”

Drack looks at her sideways, a little like she’s lost her mind. Maybe she has - she’s been awake since yesterday, possibly the day before. She’s forgotten. It all blends together in a haze of code, coffee, and pie anyway.

“Yeah?” he says, poking at the tray of biscuits he’s just pulled out of the oven. Seemingly unsatisfied with the poke, he slides the tray back in, grumbling about shoddy Initiative tech.

Sara brings her legs up onto the bench and crosses her ankles. “You know, between me and Gil, we could fix the temperature control on that.”

“Then I wouldn’t get to complain,” he says, setting the timer for another five minutes.  

She shrugs - she can’t fault him for that logic - and takes a slow sip of her coffee. She’s probably long hit maximum saturation of caffeine in her bloodstream, but decaf tastes funny. “Open offer.”

He turns around and leans back against the counter. “So. Doorways.”

“Doorways,” she says. “Scott has a theory that our brains have evolved to subconsciously associate doorways with change. So if you’re stuck on something, just leave the room. Tech, email, crappy mood, whatever. Your brain automatically switches gears when you leave the room.”

“Huh,” Drack grunts. “That also why you guys walk into places and ask everyone else why you showed up?”

“Probably.” She takes another sip. “Anyway. He read an article when we were kids, and never shut up about it. I’d be banging my head against a problem, and he’d just ‘leave the room, Sara,’” she lilts her voice upward in a mockery of his deep baritone. “Never fucking worked.”

Drack crosses his arms. “And doorways are what’s keeping you up?”

“Oh,” Sara says, “no.” She glances at the door: still shut. “I have a crush on Suvi,” she says, as evenly and plainly as if she were mentioning the rain on Havarl. Because she does. A big one. And that, far more than fixing her twitchy assault turret, is what’s kept her awake since yesterday, possibly the day before.

He snorts. “No kidding.”

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Am I Supposed To Say ‘Yes’

Read the counter-part where Alfred and Jim walk in on the Reader and Bruce

Request: Can you do a sequel to promises from readers perspective of what happened before they walked in

Warnings: Mentions of riots and mayhem

Author’s Note: This is for you @ineedhelpimamess  , and @ithasntbeenprovin, I hope you enjoy! <3 This is a little short, so I’m sorry for that! As well as it probably could’ve had a little better dialogue but I think it’s well. It’s just right. P.S. notice how I used the gif from the first one? ;) heh? HEH?

Originally posted by gothamfox

“Thank you for coming over Y/N, I know it was last minute, but I thought you’d be safer here with all the riots going on.” Bruce commented hoping that his nervousness didn’t show as he brought a tray of biscuits and tea into the room and set it on the coffee table.

“You’re going to apologize for trying to keep me safe?” Y/N laughs a little as she runs her hand along the edge of the desk at the end of the study, noticing how smooth it was. “If anything, I should be thanking you, Bruce” Y/N smiles to herself at how sweet he always was to her. Bruce could be very intimidating, pushy and rather blunt to the people he considered either a threat, or simply to his distaste and seen as a waste of time. However, with you, he seemed an opposite man. Of course, that is until he got angry, which was rarely, but still happened occasionally.

“No need to, your safety is of the utmost importance. Anything for that, anything for you” he almost whispered the last part, but considering the room was completely silent except for the crackle of the fire behind him, you’d hear it.

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Words: 1048

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Request:  Not sure if requests are open but could you perhaps do one with thranduil x reader where the reader was trying to surprise thranduil with baking sweets but ultimately failing and he catches her during the time where she had a rage quit and become mortified to see him at her embarrassing state? that would be great :D

Wiping a hand over your forehead, you looked down to the book in front of you, trying to decipher the words of the recipe you were trying to follow. Turning back to the workspace, and the overabundance of flour covering everything, you sighed.

You had only a handful of hours left before Thranduil retired to his chambers for the evening, and you wanted to be able to surprise him with a spread of treats. It was his birthday after all, and he deserved the best you could find, even if it meant baking them yourself.

Although, ‘sweets’ was a farfetched description for the utter mess making up the kitchen. You had managed to create a rather delectable looking tray of biscuits, decorated with the finest chocolate drizzle your kin imported, as well as a plate of herb and fruit tarts, topped with berries from the gardens. You had even managed to make Dorwinion infused breads - a recipe your mother had taught you years prior - and, lastly, you had attempted to make a cake.

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Part 1

(Pietro Maximoff x Reader)

A famous avenger that writes fanfiction on tumblr? What could go wrong? 

Words: 1372  Warnings: Fluff, little shit Pietro, couple of swears,

Requests  Masterlist 

An: Writing a lot of angst lately so wanted something fluffy for a change. :p There’s at least four parts if anyone likes it! :)  God I love these gifs, cut offs from my fave gifset, he so knows how hot he is! 

Translations:  Dulceaţă/sweetness, Îmi plac toate frumoasele doamne/I love all you beautiful ladies,  La naiba/f**king hell

Tags: @lexbugz, @goal-mine, @sevenhelens, @iamtheonewhocares

(Let me know if you want to be added/removed to Pietro fics or anything else!)

Requests  Masterlist

You blended in with the multitude of other marvel blogs, you got a few notes and messages but didn’t think much of it, it was just a bit of fun, a way to wind down after long missions. That was until you were attending comic con with Pietro, Clint and Wanda and the interviewer got onto the subject of fans.

The pretty blonde leaned closer with the mic, “Do you have any idea of how big your fan base is?”

“Tony gets truckloads of hate mail, does that count?” Clint smirked and the interviewer giggled.

“Pietro you’re especially popular on tumblr,” the interviewer carried on and Pietro gave her a smug grin and shifted about in his chair to lean closer to her, his chest puffing up a little more.

“Really?” he was obviously trying to sound coy but you and Wanda rolled your eyes at each other.

“There’s quite a lot of fan fiction about you, it can get pretty…graphic…”

“You got me interested now." 

"What is this tumblr?”

Clint groans,“It’s the one Tony has the secret blog on, he’s probably read all that fan fiction.”

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these feelings. [erwin smith x reader]

sequel to “not your fault.

Read first part here: not your fault. 

          The Commander could not stop thinking about you. Not at all. Ever since you comforted him, he saw you in a new light. Whenever he saw you walking down the hallway, he would acknowledge you with a small smile and few words. You in return, saluted and smiled back, replied to his few words. But there were times where he would see you with your best friend. You and that Kirschstein boy.

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A Sherlolly Halloween part 2

Pt 1 here:

Pt 1.2 here:

This Halloween takes place in Season four after TST and before TLD. Ahhhh I can’t wait until these two get their lives together and get a nice Halloween

Halloween 1 year ago

Molly adjusted her wig. Damn thing was so itchy. She had decided to take Rosie over to see Mrs. Hudson and have some photos taken of the two of them dressed up. She hoped she would not run into Sherlock while she was there; he was in no state fit to be around a child. He had turned into a goddamned smackhead idiot since Mary had passed.  Molly had begged him to stop, had cried and cried, but of course all he said was “’It’s for a case,” and walked away from her.

You can’t help a person who doesn’t want to be helped, Molly thought, bouncing Rosie from one hip to the other. Molly spent most of her time these days at Bart’s, and John’s flat these days. While she had certainly meant the vows she had taken as a godmother, she hadn’t anticipated needing to fulfill them so intensely.  She had come to love Rosie with her whole heart. She knew she could never fill the void of Mary, but she knew she would always be there for the little girl, no matter what.

She exited the tube, feeling slightly ridiculous in her costume. However, many women stopped to tell her how cute she and her daughter looked in their coordinating costumes. Molly corrected the first couple of people of people, “Oh, thank you, she’s my Goddaughter” but quickly gave up and just accepted the compliments, while sending a silent prayer up to Mary to forgive her.  

She found her way to Baker Street and knocked on the black door. Mrs. Hudson answered.

“Oh Molly! Rosie! So good to see my girls!” She yelled, pulling them in to the flat. “Now I’m so sorry dear, but I have no idea quite exactly what you two are supposed to be.”

“Well,” Molly began excitedly, “I’m Elsa” she gestured to her long white braided wig like it was supposed to be a dead give-away, “and little miss Rosie is Anna.”

“And who are those people? You both look adorable. But I have no idea what that means.”’ Mrs. Hudson replied, taking Rosie from Molly’s arms.

“It’s from a Disney movie. Super popular right now.” Molly smiled. Sitting down her tote bag, full of diapers, milk, and toys.

Molly heard shouting from up above. “No…” she groaned. She thought to herself, but apparently the words had left her mouth without her noticing.

“Oh yes. He’s on about something again. Hasn’t eaten for days. I think he might be on those drugs again. I keep telling him, chasing Mary, God rest her soul, to the grave isn’t going to bring her back.” Mrs. Hudson instinctively tightened her hold on Rosie, who was now trying to play with Mrs. Hudson’s necklace. “No no my darling, here let’s find a nice stuffy for you to play with.” Mrs. Hudson moved towards a basket she kept filled with toys.

Molly worried her lip. She was so over Sherlock and his stupid bullshit. But she was his friend and she still worried about him. Especially since him and John were still on the outs. She sighed.

“I’m going to go up and check on him. Milk and diapers are in the bag.” Molly said.

“Oh thank you. I’d really appreciate that Molly, you know he is so fond of you. Even if he doesn’t show it. I can tell. Here, take this tray of biscuits and see if you can trick him into eating some.” She handed Molly a tray that had been sitting on the kitchen table. “Me and miss Rosie here will just be reading this nice book”

Molly took the tray and headed up the stairs. Her mind wandered back to Halloween last year. She had gotten dumped, and Sherlock had been making out with some poor girl that he was using to get to a psychopath. He really was an asshole. And here she was, one year later, once again in a costume, getting ready to have her dignity torn to shreds. She just knew it. He was in such a bad place mentally and physically right now. She braced herself for a verbal assault, and knocked on the door.

“I have told you twenty four times now Mrs. Hudson to leave me alone! My mind does not require nourishment. I am at a critical juncture in my planning and I require nothing from you.” A deep baritone voice responded.

“It’s not Mrs. Hudson” was all that she could think to say.

She was shocked when he opened the door.

“Molly.” His stormy blue-green eyes, swept over her. “And in a costume?” his eyebrow raised

“It’s Halloween Sherlock” Molly said, her voice sounding much more tired than she felt.

“Ah. Yes. I suppose it is.” He responded, opening the door wider. He looked like shit. She had seen him look worse. She was shocked he was speaking in coherent sentences.

“Sherlock. Are you..” she began

“Molly, a good rule when it comes to asking questions and making inferences is to not ask a question you don’t want the answer to.” He cut her off.

 “Are you high right now?” Molly continued.

He opened the door to his flat wider. “At this exact moment I am minimally under the influence. Please. Come in.”

Molly walked into his flat. Books were strewn everywhere. Photos and maps tacked to the wall. He was clearly in the middle of a case. Always with the damn cases. Always ruining himself and ruining other people. FOR THE DAMN CASES. She found herself growing angry.

She realized then that she was still holding the tray she had been sent in with.

“Biscuits?” she asked through he gritted teeth.

“Oh just save us the trouble and thrown them.”

“Excuse me?” Molly replied.

“You’re angry with me. The last time I was using you slapped me. Three times to be precise. So get it out of your system so we can move forward.” He countered, calmly.

“Why. Is. Everything. A goddamned game with you!?” Molly responded, her voice starting to rise.

“Oh I assure you that this is a matter of like and death.”

“Yes. Sherlock. Yours! If you keep on like this you will die!” Molly was yelling now, and felt the tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She slammed the tray down on the nearest table. “Don’t you care about that?”

“I do not believe this will kill me Molly. I am very careful with the amounts I take. This is for a case. A life will be saved.” Sherlock had walked towards her as he was speaking, now arm’s reach away. “Please. Just trust me.”

“Do you know how many bodies I have to cut into every week because somebody thought they knew they could handle it? People who OD? People who drive drunk? No one ever think it can happen to them.  But since you’re Sherlock fucking Holmes you won’t believe anyone other than yourself!” Molly was full blown screaming now. “And if you die from being a total idiot, because THAT is what you are acting like right now, what about John?”

“John hates me right now.” Sherlock cut her off, his voice becoming shaky.

“What about Mrs. Hudson?  And Me? And what about Rosie? Hmmm? Your Goddaughter is downstairs while you are up here in your glorified crackhouse. You took an oath Sherlock. I know you don’t believe in God, but I can’t believe that the oath you took that day doesn’t mean something to you. Do not let that little girl lose another person Sherlock!” Molly had closed the distance between them now and was shaking with anger as she looked up at Sherlock. His façade was cracking.

“Stop it!” he yelped “Please just stop it. He pressed his fingers to his temples, and breathed deeply, trying to keep the tears back. “Molly. Just believe me when I say this. Trust me. What I am doing is for John. It is for Rosie. It is for.” His voice caught in his throat and cracked “Mary.”

Molly found herself chest to chest with Sherlock. He was crying. Sherlock Holmes cried?

He continued. “Just please,” he pulled Molly close, “please keep looking after Rosie and Mrs. Hudson. I know I’ve been rubbish since Mary died. So has John. You’ve kept everyone together. Please. Just a little longer. Things can be like they used to be.”

Molly felt his hot, tears making the top of her head damp. She wrapped her arms around him. She had no idea what he was talking about. Seeing him like this scared her.

Molly stood there, rubbing his back awkwardly. She had imagined moments like this, but never envisioned them happening like this.  She wished she could tell him everything would be ok but she knew better. Things never just went ok for Sherlock Holmes.  Murderers followed him around, people killed their friends, and sociopaths even tried to get her involved in their schemes. Molly sighed.

“Can you at least tell me what’s going on? Please? Maybe I can help? I’ve helped before.” Molly offered.

“I don’t want to involve you. You have Rosie to look after.” He responded quietly.

“Me, Mrs. Hudson, and Harry all take turns. And I hate seeing you like this. Please. Let me help you.” Molly’s anger was starting to wane, replaced by a deep sadness for her friend who didn’t feel like he could share his burdens with anyone.

“I need you to meet me with an ambulance at a house in Brixton next week. John will be there. There won’t be anything dangerous. Just show up ready to do doctor things.”

“Sherlock? I’m a pathologist. John’s a doctor. Why would I need to be the one examining>”

“John will still be angry and he won’t trust anyone else. Not for what you will need to do.” Sherlock responded.

“What will I need to do?” Molly responded, peeling herself away from Sherlock, using every bit of self-restraint she possessed.

Sherlock refused to make eye contact with her.

“Sherlock?” Molly asked again, skepticism filling her voice.

“I will be very…altered. You will need to do my bloodwork.”

“Jesus Christ Sherlock. We just talked about this!” Molly felt the anger and the tears starting up again.

“I will be doing this with or without your help Molly.” Sherlock said, his voice slowly regaining the smooth composure it normally had.

Molly looked away. “Fine. But you should come down and see Rosie while you’re in your right mind. And Mrs. Hudson too. She’s worried to death about you.”

“Molly I..”he started to protest.

Molly held her hand up to silence him “No. You don’t get to keep making one sided deals with me. I’ve been your secret keeper before and I’ve never asked you for anything. You are going to march down there, you are going to apologize to Mrs. Hudson, you are going to play with Rosie and see how adorable she is dressed up for Halloween, and you are going to take our picture together because I want a damn picture of me and my Goddaughter and you will not complain about any of it.”

Sherlock stood there, realizing he had nothing to argue with. She was right. She had been a supportive friend and ally to him all these years. A constant source of stability and friendship.

“Right. Let’s go. By the way, what exactly are you supposed to be? That wig is damn itchy.”

Molly gave a small smile, it was all she could muster given the solemnity of their discussion.

“It’s from a Disney movie.” Molly responded quietly.

“I have no idea what that means.”

They went downstairs and had tea with Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock let her fuss over him like he hadn’t since Mary died. Sherlock played peekaboo with Rosie and snapped some photos of Molly and Rosie as Anna and Elsa. Mrs. Hudson insisted on taking one of the three of them. In the photo, Molly is holding Rosie, Sherlock has his arm around Molly. Sherlock covertly sent a copy to himself from Mrs. Hudson’s phone and looks at it all the time. He knows in two weeks, everything will change again. What he doesn’t know is: an east wind is coming.#

Opinions welcomed

So, we had a breakfast pot luck this morning and I signed up to bring biscuits. I made biscuits but they were not good, like, at all. Well, they tasted good but the consistency was way off. And they just crumbled apart if you tried to put butter on them, so I scrapped bringing them and I had no time or money to bring anything else.

When I got to work I noticed that someone had made a large crockpot full of sausage gravy to go with the biscuits that I was supposed to bring. *insert embarrassment* I sent a group email apologizing for the missing biscuits.

Later we start the pot luck and low and behold, there is a tray of biscuits. I felt so relieved that someone else had made some too!!

Then I find out, after receiving my email a co-worker called one of local restaurants and they made them and she went and got them. I thanked her profusely and offered to pay for them but she said not to worry about it.

I really want to give her some money. Everyone said not to worry about it because she didn’t bring anything else and to let those be her contribution. I still feel like I should give her something. Thoughts?

30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 22

Day 22: In battle, side by side

Summary: You and Sherlock take care of a teething Rosie together
Author: Maddy (@laterthantherabbit)
Words: 1750
Characters/Relationships: Sherlock x reader, Rosie x aunty!reader
Warning: None

Author’s Notes: After writing with Rosie yesterday I really got into the aunty!reader and sort of parenting trope I did for it. I hope you guys like it!


The wailing had been going on for almost an hour now. Mrs. Hudson was out of the city with Mrs. Turner doing who knows what and Sherlock had a case at the moment and was probably out chasing some madman through the streets of London. John had gone to begrudgingly visit Harry after she rang, asking him to help her move. He wasn’t to be expected back for at least another two days and you volunteered to stay and look after the little Watson, your beautiful niece Rosie. Your beautiful, screaming, red-faced, teething and inconsolable niece. “Rosie dear, look! It’s bee! You want bee?” Rosie threw her arms up above her head and let out an ear-piercing cry. Your calm demeanour from before the crying had slowly been degrading into a near breakdown, your hair frazzled from constant pulling and your cheeks aching from forced smiles to calm Rosie, which were apparently useless.

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Prompt from @stlgeekgirl for a creative Sherlolly pregnancy announcement!

               “Are you sure?” Sherlock asked.

               “One hundred percent,” Molly smiled.

               “I’m going to be a father,” he marveled.

               “You’re going to be a wonderful father,” she told him, wrapping her arms around him.

               “What are they looking at?” Sherlock inquired. He was walking beside Molly at the market while they picked up a few things.

               “Probably us,” Molly answered, browsing the pregnancy announcement cards. “Sherlock Holmes being domestic? It’s not a sight they see every day.”

               “Well, we are married, Molly. Are you sure it has nothing to do with the cards we’re looking at?” he asked.

               “That too,” Molly laughed. “Oh, this one’s great! What do you think?”

               “John’s going to love it,” Sherlock smiled.

               A knock at the door sounded and Molly called out for them to come in. She was baking ginger nuts while Sherlock composed on his violin. Rosie Watson excitedly ran over to her uncle with John chuckling from behind her.

               “Smells delicious, Molly,” John told her.

               “Thanks,” she replied, pulling the tray of biscuits from the oven and scooping them onto the cooling rack. Sherlock set his violin in his chair and lifted Rosie in his arms, exaggerating how big she’s been getting. Molly joined them in the sitting room, handing John a cup of tea.

               “Thank you, Molly,” he told her, sitting down in his old chair.

               “Aunt Mowwy!” Rosie exclaimed, reaching out for her. Sherlock handed her over to Molly’s waiting arms.

               “Hello sweetheart,” Molly smiled. “Are you being a good girl for your father?”

               “Mhmm!” she answered. Rosie looked so much like Mary, it was uncanny. The same blonde curls and bright blue eyes, full of knowledge.

               “We have something for you, John,” Sherlock smirked, handing him the envelope.

               “Forget when my birthday was?” he joked. Molly set Rosie down to join her father.

               “Seriously?” John asked, a smile spreading on his face as he looked down at the card. The front of it showed a silhouette of a pregnant woman with a thought bubble coming from a heart over the belly bump. The thought cloud read, ‘will you be my godfather?’ The inside of the card was signed as being from Molly, Sherlock and Baby Holmes.

               “I’m pregnant!” Molly exclaimed.

               “Will you accept?” Sherlock questioned.

               “Accept? Of course, Sherlock. Molly,” John said in awe. “You two are having a baby; this is amazing news! Congratulations!”

               “Aunt Mowwy has a baby? Where?” Rosie asked, looking around.

               “Growing in her tummy, Rosie,” John chuckled. She went over to her aunt and gently rubbed the slight swell of Molly’s belly.

               “Pwetty baby,” she cooed. “I wuv you.”

               “Are you crying?” Sherlock asked his best friend.

               “Hm? No, I just have allergies,” John sniffed. They all knew the truth though. It was a day of joy and happiness for the little family. Somewhere, Mary was smiling down at them, knowing everything would be okay for all of them and proud of what they’ve all accomplished together. Sherlock had Molly, John had Rosie and they all had each other. | ao3

The Card

frankchurchillsaysrelax  asked:

What are your thoughts on the 1999 Mansfield Park? It's been years since I saw it and all I remember is that Jonny Lee Miller made me like Edmund and be okay with him and Fanny getting together. Just wondering if it's worth a second watch.

While it’s not without its issues, I would say that as adaptations of Mansfield Park go, it’s the best adaptation of Mansfield Park we have available. I admire the bold choices Patricia Rozema made in her script and direction, which show what a director and writer can do in bringing a story to life on-screen with concrete ideas of the story they want to tell, rather than simply Putting On The Show of the novel. For this reason, it is, for me, a stand-out adaptation compared to many Austen films and miniseries(…es?).

With Fanny and Edmund, for me, there’s still that moment of “oh my God they are cousins” but much like the weird Wife Husbandry dynamic between Emma and Mr. Knightley, it’s a thing which wasn’t considered As Weird in Austen’s day and it’s just one of those things which will never age well as society begins to take a harsher view on these things with a better understanding of power-structures and the vulnerabilities of women and also how inbreeding works. (I know, I know, genetically first cousins are as likely to produce a child with congenital abnormalities as any woman bearing a child past her mid-thirties, but in the particular case of Fanny and Edmund it’s more of the social taboo of it, with them having been raised so closely. We all have those childhood friends who are no blood relation but it would be Too Weird to think of them romantically or sexually. (This doesn’t always happen, but it IS a thing.) Maybe it’s because all my cousins in my extended family I consider as alternative siblings who I just see slightly less often than my actual siblings.)

Anyway, the Kissing Cousins weirdness is just inescapable thanks to how Austen set up that particular plot so I can’t fault the film for being unable to change it.

JLM’s Edmund is sweet and manages to be as artlessly stupid and earnest enough to make him…forgivable? Almost? Like, I keep thinking of that one shot in the film where Mrs. Norris is offering ‘round the tray of biscuits or whatever to the whole assembled Bertram family, only to whisk it out of reach when Fanny is the only one who displays any interest in taking one. Edmund is right there, but happens to be absorbed in looking at the book in his hands, and so I guess he doesn’t see that particular slight…but he cannot seriously be that unaware, all the time. After Henry Crawford’s proposal, even Sir Thomas who is literally always in his study or else abroad says he knows there’s been noticeable neglect of Fanny in comparison to how the Bertram children are treated at Mansfield Park. Given just how willingly blind Edmund would have to be to let the mean treatment of Fanny slide isn’t exactly addressed in the short space of a feature film, but I still feel like in the stretches of time we are not shown but in which we can presume his ignorant behaviour continues, Edmund is still a dick by default. He ends up contrite and romantically fulfilling Fanny’s dreams and he does stand up for her sometimes and he’s so very much framed as the Hero that it is easy to forget what we don’t even see happening, but the more I dwell on it the more disgruntled I am, as always, about Edmund Bertram, in general.

I’ve yelled at length before about how narratives are adapted between media forms and how necessary it is (particularly with older texts which pre-date cinema and could not have been written with any such notion of such an audio-visual art-form in mind,) to know how to use film effectively to tell a story, and how to integrate what is important in the narrative you want to tell, and how to leave behind what is unimportant or unusable in the media format to which you’re bound. Rozema did this very well, I believe; and of course it is not so text-accurate an adaptation as other Mansfield Parks, but this, I think, its its greatest strength. A great novel does not necessarily mean its story, unaltered, will make a great film. Rozema is one of the few writers and directors who is courageous enough to actually adapt in her adaptation, to play to a story’s strengths and spirit, rather than letting a film get bogged down into something inferior simply in order to attempt to reconcile her narrative and characters with a source material which was never meant for film, in the first place.

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Ficlet: Of Biscuits and Snowflakes

1.1k words, G rated

It’s Christmas Eve and the Potter household is in chaos. Harry’s grand plan for dealing with the kids is to hide in the kitchen and make Christmas biscuits. Ginny isn’t best pleased.

Merry Christmas to @abradystrix. Thanks for betaing, and chatting, and generally being awesome over the last month or so. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. <3

Beta’d by @autumn-of-ilvermorny.

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*mental image moment*

So this popped into my head while in the shower this morning (what?), and don’t you know it wouldn’t leave me alone? It demanded I write it down on paper, er… tumblr and it ended up becoming a ficlet that consumed pretty much my entire day (good thing I’m a nurse and was off). There is a short second part that will follow, but I wanted to get this posted to share.

A bit nervous about posting this, but I hope you enjoy it. :)

Warning: contains speculation/spoilers for Episode 3 of Series 3

Returning Home, Part 1

Timothy Turner frantically rubbed at his notebook, with a force so strong, the eraser wore a hole into the thin paper. With a sigh of frustration, he threw the pencil down and slumped in his seat, a look of defeat on his face as he glared at his arithmetic exercises. His eyes glanced upward across the table to the vacant chair opposite him, the one usually occupied by Shelagh, who would keep him company while he completed his homework.

Ever since she and his father had wed, upon his arrival home from school each day, Timothy was met with a hug and ruffle of his hair from Shelagh before she would retreat to the kitchen and return with a tray of tea and biscuits for the center of the table. It was their little ritual, a quiet time for just the two of them - to share tea and companionship. Timothy would start on his easiest assignments, so he could tell her about his day before tackling the more challenging subjects, and Shelagh would listen in earnest to his chatter before beginning preparations for dinner.

Timothy’s mouth screwed into a frown as he thought of Shelagh, who was currently resting upstairs. It seemed all she wanted to do now was stay in bed, ever since his father brought her home from the hospital two days ago. His father had provided a vague explanation, something about a baby and an operation (It’s not growing in the right place, he’d said), but had silenced any further questions, instructing Timothy to not bother Shelagh, as it would upset her and she needed rest to heal. Timothy kept silent, but noticed Shelagh growing ever more sullen and withdrawn. Her eyes that usually shined bright with cheer and joy were now streaked red and held blank stares. Her giggles at his silly antics and playful teasing toward his father had vanished, replaced by bouts of crying and silence, as if she was oblivious to their presence at all.

When Shelagh had first married his dad, Timothy felt a lightness in his home for the first time since his mother died; the house was bursting with the laughter and delight, comfort and togetherness, contentment and love that he had ached for the past two years. It was as if Shelagh had packed happiness along with the clothes in her suitcase when she moved into the Turner home. Now, Timothy feared that the joy which had just begun to permeate their home once again had been left back at the hospital, a treasured possession that was never packed for the trip home, forgotten and lost forever at The London.

Timothy let out a sigh and kicked his feet back and forth in the space beneath the table. Suddenly overcome with sense of determination, Timothy planted his feet on the ground, pushed his chair back, and walked to the kitchen to set about filling the kettle.


Shelagh Turner curled onto her left side, pulling her knees closer to her chest and squeezing her eyes tight as she felt a sudden cramp in her lower abdomen. The searing pain she initially felt following the operation had now waned to a dull ache in her belly, with only an occasional sharp twinge here and there. Releasing a shuddered breath, she stared at the blank wall next to her bed and felt wetness prick her eyes. She clenched her jaw tightly as she made a futile attempt to hold back her tears. She could not recall a time in her adult life when she had cried so violently, so often, for such long periods at a time. Even her darkest days of doubt in the Sanatorium paled in comparison to the torturous grief and hopelessness she felt now.

The one consolation, however, was that, while she had felt utterly alone in her suffering those long months at the Sanatorium, she now had her husband by her side to share her current affliction and anguish — her husband who had cried with her, who had kissed her eyelids, catching the tears as they slipped down her cheeks, and who had held her for countless hours in his loving arms after they had learned the news that pierced their hearts. Since returning home from the London two days prior, Patrick had not stopped doting on her, tirelessly fussing over every tiny thing and asking again and again if she needed anything, if she was in pain, if she was alright.

Truthfully, however, after the deluge of tests, procedures, statistics, and discussions with the physician and her husband, Shelagh had begun to feel suffocated. She had actually been grateful earlier that morning, when Patrick asked if she would be alright on her own if he returned to a full day of work. She felt smothered by information, by his attentions, and by her thoughts, and hoped, that if she were left alone, she could find the air to breathe. Her mind was racing with doubts and questions - why had her dreams been so cruelly snatched away from her, was God punishing her choosing a man over Him, how could she have been so foolish, sewing and knitting for a baby before she knew if it even existed? Shelagh knew she had been quietly withdrawing from her family, but the many conversations she and Patrick shared over the last few days had exhausted her, and the only company she desired at the moment was her own solitude. Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she closed her eyes and tried to quiet her mind.


Timothy arranged the teacups and a small plate of biscuits neatly on the tray and carried it toward the stairs. He glanced upward at the daunting staircase then down at his leg braces with a wry look. He carefully transferred the tray to one arm, and, grasping the railing tightly with his free hand, slowly made his way up the stairs, a mantra of please don’t drop, please don’t drop repeating in his head. Upon successfully reaching the landing, he smiled proudly and made his way down the hall. The door to the bedroom his father and Shelagh shared was left partly opened, and he stopped at the doorway to peer inside. His eyes landed on Shelagh, who was lying in bed, facing the wall with the bedsheets tucked up to her chin and her body curled up tightly - like a little kid, he thought.

He thought he heard a quiet sniffle and twisted his mouth up in hesitation as he recalled his father’s instructions to not disturb Shelagh. When he heard her take a trembling breath, he took a deep breath of his own and quietly padded into the bedroom.

“I brought you some tea.”

Shelagh lifted her head from the pillow at the sound and craned her neck toward the door, where Timothy stood nervously, a tea tray in his hands and uncertain look on his face. Pressing her hands firmly against the mattress, she gingerly moved herself into a slight sitting position and carefully leaned back into the pillows against the headboard. Tucking the sheets close around her middle and swallowing hard against the knot in her throat, she gave the boy a small, sad smile, emptiness still in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered shakily.

Timothy returned her smile with a bright one of his own and a look of relief, and quickly moved closer to the bed, delicately placing the tray on the bedside table. Timothy remained standing next to the bed, unsure of what he should do or say next.

Casting his eyes down at his feet, he quietly said, “I know you’re sad.” When Shelagh’s tearful gaze remained fixed on the tray, he looked toward her with his heart fluttering nervously in his chest and continued, “I wish I could make you happy again.”

Shelagh looked up at Timothy with absolute wonder in her eyes before her face crumbled and the tears began to fall. Reaching her arms out toward him, she pulled him to sit on the bed and her body frantically wrapped around him, cocooning him in her arms.

“Oh, Timothy… my dearest sweet boy,” she hiccuped through a flood of tears, clutching him with all her might. “You do make me happy, so very happy,” she choked, “Oh, my sweet darling boy.” She moved her right hand to cradle his head tightly to her chest, while the other rubbed gentle circles on his back. She softly leaned her chin down and wept into his hair, squeezing her eyes tight, as she sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for the child she had already been given. After a few moments, when her tears began to subside, she found the words she needed to speak: “I thank God every day that he blessed me with you, Timothy. I love you so very much,” her voice soft and tender and filled with love.

Shelagh slowly pulled back to look at Timothy, still keeping the boy in her warm embrace. When Timothy peered up to meet her gaze, he was met with a smile, a real one this time, one that reached all the way up to her watery eyes with love and pride. He beamed at her with one of his sunny smiles, the kind that always made her heart melt with joy and gratitude, and shyly said, “I love you, too, Shelagh.”

Still smiling, Shelagh gently patted the space next to her. “Come sit with me,” she implored, “and we can have our tea.”

Timothy clumsily clambered onto the bed and settled himself close to her side before carefully accepting the cup of tea she held out for him. Reaching over to retrieve her own cup and saucer, she turned back to him. “Now,” she said brightly, “Tell me about something you learned in school today…”

anarchycox  asked:

roxlin 41, 46

41.who’s more likely to protect the other?

Merlin is much more likely to protect Roxy.  But mostly from the mundane things.

Like turning off the oven before the dinner burns because of her being to engrossed in whatever story Eggsy is telling her about Harry. Or remembering to make sure that they only go to restaurants that don’t serve tree nuts because of her allergies. He tries to do it without her noticing.She likes to let him pretend she doesn’t.

46.who stays up at night brooding?

They booth spend many nights lying awake and contemplating about all the many catastrophic things they have seen.But more often than not it is Merlin who awakes and pads to his office flipping on the mainframe and looking for some sort of answers to whatever it is that is plaguing his mind. Roxy usually  wakes up not long after and heads downstairs to get him some tea, bringing it and some biscuits in on a tray. She places the mug at Merlin’s side, to which he merely grunts, before settling onto her couch in the corner. At least if she can’t have him in the bedroom with her, she can be comfortable in here with him. She wakes up a few hours later to a much less grumpy Scott carrying her back to bed.

Edmund x Reader: What’s the Occasion?

Edmund entered his private library, closing the door behind him. He saw two cups of hot tea on the table with a few biscuits.

     He couldn’t help himself but smile. After a long day of work and stress, he was able to drink tea and relax. Edmund smiled again once he figured who made this for him. It had to be (Y/n).

     As if on cue, (Y/n) entered the room, sat on the couch, and began to read. Edmund frowned when she didn’t acknowledge him. He found it ridiculous, and slightly irritating, that he always had to compete with books to win her attention. It was always the books that won.

     He sat down next to her, resting his arm on the top of the couch. He leaned towards her and whispered, “Did you make tea for us?”

     She cracked a smile. “Maybe,” came the short reply.

     Edmund nodded and took a sip of his tea. Of course, he thought. Peppermint tea. his favorite.

     He looked sideways at (Y/n). He realized they hadn’t relaxed and spent time alone for a few days. They knew they couldn’t do so everyday, but it was nice to do nothing once in awhile.

     He let out a strangled laugh. (Y/n) lifted her head and looked at him. “What?” She asked.

     "I love you, you know that?“

     (Y/n)’s lips curled into a smile, and her eyebrows were raised. "It’s not our anniversary, nor my birthday…” She chuckled. “What’s the special occasion?”

     Edmund scrunched his nose. “There’s no special occasion, (Y/n).” He moved his arm off the couch, slowly sliding it around her shoulder

     "But you never say that unless it’s important or something,“ she said, perplexed.

     He laughed. "That’s because I prefer my lips on yours…not talking.” He winked, leaning closer. “It means the same thing to me, but feels a bit different.”

     She rolled her eyes and glanced at his lips. “Oh yeah?” She breathed. “Keep talking.”

     Edmund brushed his nose against hers. “I’d rather not. But…” Letting his words trail off, he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips firmly against hers.

     When they pulled away Edmund softly tapped her nose. “You never said that you loved me back.”

       She shrugged. “Who says I do?”

     He frowned deeply. “Did you just miss my whole speech about love and kissing and–”

     "Edmund!“ She scolded through a laugh. "Of course, I love you too.” She pecked his cheek.

     He smiled before snatching a biscuit from the tray and eating it. He had a bite left and held it in front of her face. “Biscuit?”

     She slowly pushed his hand away and shook her head. “No, thanks.”

     "More for me.“ He shrugged. "Could you be a dear and make some more tea?”


     "What? You know how coffee makes me feel. If you would just make some more tea, I could–mphh!” Before he could finish his sentence, (Y/n) stuffed a biscuit in his mouth.

     He chewed quickly then swallowed. “I could have died!”

     She snorted. “Stop being melodramatic, Ed.”

     "You stuffed a whole biscuit in my mouth!“

     She smiled slyly. "And?”

     He grinned boyishly. “And you better start running, or I’ll tickle you to death.”

    “Edmund…Edmund, no! Stop!”

Drabble: Yuu’s Favorite
Characters: Hinata Shouyou/Nishinoya Yuu (Haikyuu!!)
–> Aprox. 4,000 words (it’s long!)

–> AU: Roaring Twenties (1920s)
   Paperboy Nishinoya hears someone play the piano, a redheaded and lively someone. Every day he sneaks by to catch a glimpse of his dream pianist. One day he’s invited to join.

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itsrachael  asked:

Hey, I love your when. Can you do a Merhartwin domestic fluff? Who doesn't love that? Thanks!

(Here you go hun!)

Grocery shopping in the Gray-Hart-Unwin household was an event unto its self. They had tried to send one person to collect the groceries, but that never seemed to work. Eggsy always wound up buying far too many vegetables (he claimed that Merlin and Harry needed to start eating healthier and that, no Merlin, crisps don’t count as a vegetable), Merlin tended to only pick up junk food—Eggsy had been quite surprised to learn about Merlin’s atrocious eating habits—and Harry, well the poor sod always forgot something. Sometimes half the grocery list.

So it was decided that all three would go. Eggsy to make sure there was a healthy balance of food. Merlin to make sure they didn’t forget anything. And Harry to make sure Merlin and Eggsy didn’t kill each other fighting over biscuits and kale.

They shopped at a small private grocer a few blocks from their flat. Eggsy loved it for all the fresh vegetables and fruits, Merlin was happy about the imported teas they brought in, and Harry appreciated the fine selection of steaks. It was one of the few things they had agreed on when it came down to groceries.

Eggsy grabbed the green cart when they entered and asked, “Okay, so wots on the list?”

Merlin slipped a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and exasperated, “Really? The first half of this list is nothing but vegetables—if you make me eat anymore kale I’m going to send you to Siberia.”

“Y’ know that threat loses its effect after the tenth time of saying it and y’ doing nufin,” Eggsy pointed out with a sly grin. Merlin raised one brow slowly, the unamused look on his face sending a small spark of fear through Eggsy’s gut. Eggsy whined, “’Arry, tell Merlin he can’t send me to Siberia.”

“Merlin, you can’t send Eggsy to Siberia,” Harry answered dryly, then added, “Unless he buys more kale.”

Eggsy threw his hands in the air with a huff. “Fine, no kale. But don’t come complaining to me when all those treats go straight to yer hearts.”

“Our diets aren’t that bad,” Harry said.

Eggsy started to collect some of the items on the list, bagging carrots, boy choy, spinach, radishes, turnips, and a nice bundle of asparagus he wanted to grill tonight. He placed the bags in the cart and migrated over to the fruits. Harry selected two nicely ripening mangos, while Eggsy and Merlin looked over the bananas, trying to find some that were still green.

Harry vanished to the meat department. Eggsy started to weave down the aisles, Merlin at his heels. The beauty of having Merlin and Harry with him was that he no longer had to stand on the bottom shelf to reach the top. Merlin retrieved the jar of capers and the olive oil, which was tucked slightly back on the highest shelf.

They’d wound their way to the cheese selection and were debating whether or not they were out of goat cheese, when Harry returned with brown wrapped packages of meat. He dropped them all in the cart.

“Did you remember the chicken?” Eggsy asked.

Harry paused, a confused look crossing his face, before his entire expression crumpled in annoyance. “Oh bugger.”

Eggsy laughed and tugged Harry down by the tie for a kiss. “Dope. Remember to get four breasts, mum is coming over tonight.”

Harry returned the kiss. He straightened and returned to the meat counter, where the butcher no doubt was expecting Harry’s arrival. This wasn’t the first time Harry hadn’t gotten everything they need.

Merlin wrapped an arm around Eggsy’s waist and said, “Hard to believe he’s the king sometimes. That man would not only be late, but probably forget, to be at his own funeral.”

Eggsy chuckled, grabbed the goat cheese, and headed for the snack aisle. Merlin insisted they were out of the good biscuits.

“And we can’t serve your mother the other ones, that would be completely dreadful of us,” Merlin stated matter-of-factly, and grabbed the black and gold tin.

“Wotever y’ say love,” Eggsy hummed.

Harry met them at the registers, the paper wrapped chicken breasts in hand. Eggsy and Merlin bagged the food in cloth bags they brought with them, while Harry paid, making light chitchat with the cashier.

Once they were home, unloaded, and dinner was prepped and cooking, all three collapsed onto the couch, Harry in the middle. Eggsy pushed off the couch, earning a curious look from Merlin and Harry. “Dinner shouldn’t be ready yet,” Merlin said.

Eggsy just smiled and went into the kitchen. He crouched down at the counter and opened the door, shifting some dishes around, until he found his secret stash of cookies. If Merlin knew about them, they’d be gone in a day. He put some out on a plate and then put the cookies away. He brought out the plate, earning a laugh from Harry and a wide grin from Merlin.

“Maybe Siberia is a tad too far way,” Merlin confessed, plucking a biscuit from the tray.

“Thought so,” Eggsy sniffed primly, setting the plate down and flopping down beside Harry. They remained there, nibbling on biscuits and enjoying the warmth of each other until Michelle arrived with Daisy.