For @bridglarweek Day 1: “When I was on Old England Shore”
The Sweetest Thing ~ A Bridglar Great British Bake Off AU
Not in a million years had Henry ever expected to make it onto the show.
The whole thing had started off mostly as a joke, just a way to appease his mum and put a damper on her insistence that he was as brilliant a baker as the ones they saw onscreen each week. “Oh, just look at them Swiss Rolls,” she scoffed, as they sat side-by-side on the sofa. “Can’t hold a candle to your vanilla hazelnut.” But a few weeks after he sent in his video application, he got a call from a producer. It must have gone well, because there was another a week later from a casting director, asking if he could do a screen test, and after three days of auditions, a call came from an even more senior producer with the unbelievable news that he had made the final cut.
During filming, he tried not to put too much pressure on himself to win any of the challenges—or even end up as one of the judges’ favorites. He wanted to impress them, of course (especially Mary), but mostly he was just there to enjoy himself and get to know some of the other contestants.
Besides being super talented bakers, they were all funny and kind—with the possible exception of Cornelius, who spent the most of the time in between takes secretly slagging on the producers—and Henry couldn’t get enough of watching them in their element. A few, like Silna and Dundy, were straight-up geniuses, with a level of passion and creativity that kept pushing Henry to up his game.
And then there was John.
John Bridgens, a librarian from Maidstone, mostly kept to himself during the first few weekends of filming. During one episode, though, he ended up at the workstation just behind Henry, and polite banter turned into chatting while they both worked. It turned out that they had a lot in common besides baking: they both loved books and old movies and, Henry was happy to learn, John was also single.
After that, Henry couldn’t wait for each new filming weekend, in the off chance that he and John would be assigned to adjacent workstations. They got to know each other even better after one of the filming weekends ended, when John offered to give him a lift back south, rather than Henry having to deal with the overcrowded coach. They talked the whole ride down, John’s dark eyes crinkling with warmth every time he cracked a grin, and Henry secretly hoped the drive would last forever.
As the filming continued, Henry found himself working harder and harder for each challenge: his meringues had never been lighter, his palmiers more delicate. It was enough that even the other contestants took notice. But it wasn’t because he wanted to win the competition, he realized. It was because he didn’t want to leave.
He was falling for John Bridgens—and if John felt the same way, it was hard to imagine any better prize than that.
The moment Tuunbaq drew its last breath, Silna felt a loneliness she had not felt since her father passed, like a piece of herself slipping through a crack in the ice. She reached within her hood, her fingers finding the curves of the amulet she’d carved in its likeness. Tuunbaq was dead, and yet it was not. A thing made of muscles and spells never truly died. Its spirit would wander the ice, as it always had done, and it would become whole again.
Edward Little & Thomas Jopson | A God’s Own Country AU
There was something about their new man—the one his da had brought on to help with the spring lambing—that Eddie just didn’t like.
Tommy was so quiet, always hovering there in the background, always watching and listening, a witness to all of Eddie’s cock ups—and when he did say something, he sounded soft, like a poncy southern git. How he had ended up here in the arsehole end of Yorkshire, Eddie had no idea. It also didn’t help that Tommy was fit as hell, far better-looking than he would ever be, even if Eddie bothered to shave or get a decent haircut that didn’t make him look like fucking Oasis.
Eddie didn’t understand why they needed to bring someone on at all.
He could have done the work himself, he figured, even with his da being laid up on account of his heart trouble—not that his da gave him much credit for the work he did, all those small thankless things he did to keep the place running. No, all his da wanted to do was slag on him, as if it was a crime to enjoy a few pints after a long day on your feet. If only his da knew what else he did to take the edge off—hot breath and fumbling with zips in the dark corners of car parks or an empty stall in the men’s toilets—he would have much more to say, Eddie was sure of it.
Once the lambing was over, there would be no real reason for Tommy to stay, and then everything could just go back to how it had been before.
As if he knew just how much it would get under Eddie’s skin, his da told him to take Tommy up to the top of the moorland. The ewes were already starting, he said, and the two of them would need to overnight with them. Eddie didn’t fancy being stuck up on the fell for days with just Tommy for company, and based on the way he barely held onto Eddie on the back of the bike as they rode up, Tommy felt the same.
But there were these moments, like—tiny blinks of a second when he could have sworn that Tommy was staring at him, his pale skin pinking as he glanced away. That night, huddled against the cold in their sleeping bags, Eddie could feel the warmth of the body beside him, and he wondered what might happen if he edged closer. What might that quiet little southern lad do if Eddie decided to unzip his bag and climb inside—what would he say? Maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all, Eddie thought, as his cock began to stir to life against his leg. He might not even be surprised, maybe he would have been expecting it, that pretty mouth being put to good use as it quickly traced a line down Eddie’s neck and the center of his chest, dipping lower until it found something to feast upon. Lost in the fantasy, Eddie groaned, the sound loud enough to pierce the night silence. Frozen stiff, not daring to move or even breathe, he prayed that Tommy hadn’t been awake to hear him make such a pervy-sounding noise, another brilliant cock up in his life’s list of brilliant cock ups.
And then, out of the darkness, his name, spoken in that soft southern lilt, and a hand, warm as it cupped his shoulder and smoothed along his arm, moving without a hint of hesitation.
Captain Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier died on a Friday.
He left behind no wife or children, and his ties to his remaining family in Ireland had been strained for many years, so it was up to Thomas — with the aid of a local solicitor — to make the necessary arrangements. He felt no burden by this final duty: in truth, he had served the captain for so long that it seemed only fitting to attend to him even after he was gone.
Thomas did not expect the service to be well-attended — few would wish to make the journey so far north this time of year, even stout-hearted Admiralty men, and the captain’s fame following the successful return of the Arctic expedition had faded considerably over the years. He was surprised, then, to catch sight of a few familiar faces among the somberly-dressed congregants: Sir James Clark Ross and his wife, in all their London finery, as well as Mr. Blanky, looking only a bit more gray around the temples. And there was one more, who caught Thomas’s eye as he entered late and lingered near the church door, self-consciously clutching his hat.
Lieutenant Little.
It had been many years since he had seen the lieutenant, and yet he appeared entirely unchanged, that handsome face — through some strange magic — unworn by time. In an instant, Thomas was transported back to Terror’s decks, breathing in the salt of the sea, falling asleep to the rock of the waves, reaching out with a gloved hand to serve the lieutenant at table and anticipating the moment that those dark eyes would finally glance up at him.
It ought to have offered him some solace to see Lieutenant Little here, diligent as always in paying his respects to the captain. And yet solace was not what Thomas felt coiling in his belly and burning shamefully in his cheeks, not by any stretch of the imagination.
That was the rate he offered the Hartnell kid when he stepped through Ned’s door, asking for help with finding his missing brother. From the look of him, the kid didn’t seem like he had two dimes to rub together, much less thirty dollars, but Ned took the case anyway. There hadn’t been much in the way of business since all that trouble with Fitzjames and the calendar on the wall reminded him that rent was still due on the first of the month. Better to take his chances and at least end up with something rather than a matching pair of empty pockets.
And the case sounded interesting. Young man with a loving family and a steady job just up and disappears? From what the Hartnell kid told him, it seemed like his brother was a straight-shooter, on the up and up, but you never knew. Everyone had secrets, especially the ones you least expected.
The first spot on his search was the last place Hartnell had been seen: the Last Watch, a jazz club where he’d found work as a bartender. It was well-known in local circles, a popular all-night joint that did its best to keep the music going and the drinks flowing, at least as long as the patrons kept their wallets open. Johnny Franklin ran it these days, taking over from the Rosses a few years back, which Ned had heard led to some bad blood between the two. Things had been quieter lately, but he made a note to ask around. Maybe the Rosses were up to their old tricks and Hartnell had somehow got himself mixed up in it.
It was still early when Ned walked through the door — the real fun wouldn’t start for at least a few more hours — but the place was already jumping. He took a seat at the bar, doing his best for the moment to blend into the crowd.
Up on stage, the band fired up a new song, something hot and fast by the feel of it. Ned turned to look over his shoulder, only to have his heart start marching to a double-time inside his chest — and it wasn’t because of the music.
Just behind the singer, a young man was dancing his hands across a set of piano keys, a stray lock of inky dark hair falling across his brow as he moved in time with the rhythm. He was grinning, two cherubic dimples set into his cheeks. But his eyes were something else, so pale and innocent, the kind of blue that reminded you of a summer day that never existed outside of a fairy tale. Ned shook his head. There was no doubt about it: the piano player was trouble on two legs, and Ned’s kind of trouble in particular.
As a rule, private dicks didn’t tend to smile much, but at the moment Ned was willing to make an exception. He already knew who he was planning to question first about this business with the missing bartender. And maybe, if he played his cards right, by the end of the evening he and that dark-haired piano player might be exchanging a whole lot more than just conversation.
For @theterrorbingo: “last watch”
(And for @arcticelves, just to make your day a little brighter!)
So I saw @oochilka’s absolutely delightful Joplittle quarantine art and then, you know, my hand must have just slipped... :)
Edward was knee-deep in spreadsheets and projected sales numbers when he caught the warm aroma of something wonderful emerging from the oven.
There had been a lot of these kinds of smells lately; now that he and Tom were staying home all day to work, Tom had taken to baking on an almost-daily basis, finding it to be a good outlet for his energy. Scouring the internet for recipes, over the past three weeks he had managed to churn out cinnamon rolls, scones, coffee cake, brownies, and lemon bars, along with a number of different kinds of bread. And best of all, he was willing to share.
Edward’s patience was soon rewarded: by the time he was putting the final touches on his presentation, Tom walked into their bedroom with a mug of herbal tea in one hand and a plate of gooey chocolate chip cookies in the other. He set them both down beside Edward and then climbed into bed next to him, resting his chin on Edward’s shoulder as he quickly ran his eyes over the contents of the laptop screen.
It didn’t take long before he got distracted.
“I still don’t know how I feel about this quarantine beard,” he said, as he ran his knuckles along the edge of Edward’s jaw. “It’s like I’m married to Jon Snow all of the sudden.”
Edward snorted. “I thought you liked Jon Snow.”
“Not in the seasons where he goes all scraggly.” He inched closer until he was curled up against Edward’s back, running his hand down the front of Edward’s t-shirt. “It’s good that you’re trying to keep it trimmed down, though. Makes you look a little less like you’re a captain lost at sea.”
“Uh, thanks,” Edward said, with a hint of affectionate sarcasm, and then turned his attention back to his laptop. As much as he appreciated Tom’s company — and the plate of absolutely delicious-looking cookies — he had a videoconferencing call in ten minutes and a presentation that needed to be finished before he could run through it with his boss and the rest of the sales team.
Tom, though, seemed to take Edward’s silence as an open invitation. Slipping his hand down to Edward’s waist, he began to press feather-light kisses along his neck, the deliberate pause between each one making it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.
Edward sighed and glanced back at his husband, devastatingly handsome even in his quarantine attire of an old shirt and sweatpants.
“Tom, please, I’m working.” It was tough: he didn’t want to hurt Tom’s feelings — or make Tom think that he wasn’t very, very interested in what he was proposing, just not at this exact moment. “Look,” he offered, “let me just finish this up and go to my meeting, and after that I’ll be all yours for the rest of the afternoon, I promise.”
“Promise?” Tom’s pale gaze narrowed provocatively.
“One hour.”
“Fine.” Tom flounced back onto the bed, but not before grabbing a cookie off the plate and stuffing it into his mouth.
For the next few minutes, Edward tried to rapidly look over his work, making sure there weren’t any glaringly obvious errors or spelling mistakes. After he felt fairly confident that it was presentable, he got up and began to rummage through his dresser, looking for a clean sweater that he was fairly certain he hadn’t been wearing during the last sales team call. His boss, Francis Crozier, was a stickler for maintaining what he referred to as “uninterrupted professionalism” while they were working from home, and demanded that they all present themselves exactly the way they would if they were in the office. It wasn’t just their clothing: last week, Crozier had nearly started screaming when George Hodgson’s Irish Setter had wandered into the background and started barking to be let outside. For today, though, Edward thought he could probably get by with just throwing a sweater on top of his shirt — no one would be seeing him from the waist down, after all.
He settled himself back in bed, finding a good spot of neutral wall to serve as his backdrop, and then took a sip of tea as he put in his headphones and joined the meeting. Half the team was already there, and within a minute or so Crozier appeared as well. He brought the meeting to order and then, after making a few brief announcements, seemed poised to pass it over to Edward.
“Okay, everyone,” he said, his words coming through with a faint electronic distortion, “we’re going to hear from Edward about about the previous quarter’s numbers and the projections for the spring.”
Edward nodded, ready to move his screen into full presentation mode so that everyone could follow along as he talked. But before he could click the button, a voice came through his headphones, but not one — as far as he could tell — from any of the participants in the meeting.
“Fraaaan-cis...”
The voice was deep and unmistakably male, but the tone was teasing, almost playful. But before Edward could even try to understand what he was hearing, the closed door behind Crozier suddenly opened to reveal a figure clad only in a silk floral robe, tied loosely enough that a wide span of bare chest was visible. Edward had only met Crozier’s husband once, at a holiday office party — and even then he had been wearing a very well-cut suit — but he recognized him almost immediately.
“Darling, isn’t it time for our afternoon delight?” he practically purred as he leaned against the door, his robe opening to reveal even more skin.
“For Christ’s sake, James!” Crozier cried, eyes wide with horror, and then his little box on the screen went completely black.
For a moment, everyone on the call sat in stunned silence, with no one having any clear idea what to make of what they had just seen.
“Right, okay then,” Edward said, realizing that it would be up to him to take the lead, “shall we reconvene in an hour?”
After hearing half a dozen awkward, clipped replies, he shut his laptop and set it down on the nightstand. Turning back towards Tom — who seemed happily entertained with whatever was happening on his phone — Edward suddenly began to laugh, an uncontrollable thing that widened his grin from ear to ear, tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes.
“What happened to your meeting?” Tom asked, his dark brows narrowing in confusion.
“My meeting was, uh... interrupted,” Edward replied, still trying to get his laughter under control. “Crozier was having technical difficulties.” Leaning closer, he slipped his hand along the waistband of Tom’s sweatpants and pressed a kiss to his lips, already half-parted in anticipation. “But now that I’m free,” he added, “why don’t the two of us pick up where we left off?”
When Thomas looks around the room on the first day of Professor Crozier’s notoriously demanding grad seminar on inorganic chemistry, he’s happy to see at least a few familiar faces. Maybe he’ll get lucky and end up with either Alex or George as a lab partner — he’s been in classes with them before and they’ve definitely been willing to pull their weight. But nothing’s ever that easy, of course — not when it comes to Crozier — and after a distracted glance at the list of students on his class roster, the professor begins to rattle off pairs of names in alphabetical order. Thomas finally hears his own, followed by one he doesn’t know at all: Edward Little. He quickly glances around, hoping that the person he’s supposed to be working with for the next three months doesn’t look like too much of a slacker or a weirdo, only to find a pair of soft and soulful brown eyes already looking right at him. The man they’re attached to is just as handsome, but in a quiet, almost shy way, as if afraid to draw too much attention to himself. Thomas nods to him in acknowledgement, offering a small, polite smile, and then turns his attention back to Crozier as the professor begins to walk them through the rapidly expanding list of course requirements. But as the class continues, Thomas finds his gaze wandering, occasionally drifting in the direction of his new research partner, towards those beautiful dark eyes that, he realizes with a sharp squeeze of his heart, seem to be drifting just as frequently towards him.
The doorbell had been ringing off and on for the past hour and a half, so Edward didn’t think much of it when he heard it again, anticipating nothing more than another group of trick-or-treaters dressed as witches or superheroes, hauling around pumpkin pails full of candy.
When he opened the door, however, he was met with something entirely unexpected.
A costume was involved, oddly enough — involving a wide-brimmed hat, a crisp blue and white checkered shirt and leather vest, and a pair of extremely well-fitting bootcut Wranglers. But rather than a small child, standing in front of him was a ridiculously attractive man, dark hair falling partially across his forehead, framing a pair of startlingly pale green eyes.
For a moment, they stood there, simply looking at each other, until Edward remembered the bowl of candy cradled in his arm.
“A little old to be doing this, don’t you think?” he murmured, as a teasing smile formed on his lips.
The cowboy’s eyes widened, first in confusion and then in realization.
“Oh, no, I’m not trick-or-treating, this is just...” He paused, glancing quickly down at his outfit. “I was on my way to a costume party, actually, until...” Those beautiful eyes swiveled up towards Edward, suddenly imploring. “My dog somehow managed to get out of the house and I’ve been up and down the neighborhood trying to find him. You haven’t seen him by any chance? A big, black terror? Answers to Neptune?”
Edward shook his head. “Sorry, no. He sounds pretty unmistakable.”
The cowboy softly nodded, broad shoulders dropping in clear disappointment. “Okay... well, thank you anyway. I apprecia—”
He grew quiet, his attention immediately diverted by a strange rustling of the hydrangea bushes on the other side of Edward’s driveway, from which suddenly emerged the head of a massive black dog.
“Neptune!” the cowboy cried out, and the beast bounded forward, not stopping until he was caught in his owner’s arms, barking in canine joy and licking slobbery kisses across his face. As he leaned down, Edward couldn’t help but notice how well those Wrangler jeans molded to each curve of his body. “You terrible boy!” he gently chastised the animal, even though relief was written all across his features. “You had me so worried!”
After a moment, he glanced back over at Edward, the world’s most dazzling smile now lighting up his face. If Edward had thought the cowboy had looked handsome before, he was absolutely breathtaking now. “Seriously, I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, warmth slowly pooling in the depths of those beautiful green eyes.
“Thank me? For what?” Edward answered, strangely tongue-tied. “I didn’t really do anything.”
“Still, I’d love to show my appreciation. Maybe... you know, I could take you out for a drink sometime. When I’m not dressed up like this.”
Edward laughed, feeling his cheeks growing warm with it.
“Sure, I’d like that.” He bit against his lip, just barely holding back a grin. “But don’t feel like you have to change on my account. I’m actually a very big fan of that particular outfit.”
