#<- taught reason is probably just symbolism. shrug

[solargeist]

grian and his watcher studies

[incaensio]

cressida's words are mere confirmation of what katniss already suspected, but she closes her eyes. "of course. they need us." all her life, she had been taught that the capitol was the link that united the districts, that kept the nation in peace, happy. but it's not the districts that need the control, but the capitol; she recalls her prep team commenting about missing items from rioting districts, by the time of her victory tour. it's probably much worse now. "that can't happen." twelve couldn't have been erased for nothing but, more than that, she wonders what would happen if this rebellion failed. they'd be paraded to the capitol, murdered on a live feed, and then the hunger games would begin again, plucking more children every year for their carnage. she understood the passion for the rebellion in that sense, if no other. 

she opens her eyes, lips curling in a soundless snarl as she shakes her head. her strengths. she has once thought that people believed she has some sort of spirit, but she has kept herself and her loved ones alive out of necessity, as much as spite. her ridiculous resilience did not outweigh all that others — including people in the rebellion, who sure are beginning to think they have chosen their symbol wrong — think as flaws, things that make her more of an issue than anything else. still, she shrugs her shoulders. "i don't like the underground." it's as good a reason as she can give cressida for her willingness to participate in the actual action. "would you rather keep hidden here, for however many more decades this place could survive?" if cressida has joined the rebellion, katniss would believe that she wouldn't say yes, but the woman has just talked about different strengths. maybe there could be something in there, if she wasn't so repulsed by the fact thirteen simply stood by through seventy-five years of the hunger games, despite their own role in the war.

katniss finds the silence easy at the small exchange of roles, as cressida tells her story. they have talked before about the filmmaker working for the games, but katniss hadn't given it — or the woman — much thought; she certainly hadn't thought of her surname, nor could she wrap her head around how the capitol worked in regards to all that family name (the closest thing they had to that sort of thing were the undersee, whose first born has been the mayor for who knows how long; madge was the heiress to all of that, but her friend hadn't been interested in discussing about how she wouldn't be able to change twelve whenever she took on her father's position at city hall). the victor still doesn't make a sound at the revelation of the other's bloody heritage. "the line of thought makes sense." she finally says. "you choosin' to change it don't." it's blunt, but it's the truth. even people who worked at the games, who saw how horrible it was, didn't seem keen on changing things, ending the mistreatment. that a few of them have chosen to do it, actually joining a rebellion, it's a surprise. "a sort of bravery." she adds. "or stupidity." if they lose, certainly. would cressida's parents plea for their daughter's imprisonment, but not execution, if that was to happen? "it's a very big change."

Cressida really doesn't want to tell Katniss that much. It's not that she doesn't want her to know. To be honest she thinks everyone here deserves to know what is going on. The Capitol kept things so hidden, on purpose, and Cressida didn't want District 13's leaders to be doing that too. But, Cressida also didn't want to make things worse for Katniss. She had already lost District 12. Cress knew though, that if she was quiet, Katniss would get her answer anyway. "They are." She wondered if they would stop if the rebellion stopped so actively rescuing people. But they couldn't take that risk. "I imagine they want to establish dominance over the Districts again." To take control back.

Cressida just shrugged at the others words, but there was a small on her lips. She had to agree with what the girl was saying. But she was a firm believer that not everyone was meant to be in front of the camera. "Everyone having different strengths is valuable." They wouldn't be nearly as successful if everyone had the same strengths. "We just need to get your strengths visible" Cressida knew Katniss was useful, they just hadn't managed to get it on camera yet. The brunette just smiled at Katniss. "That is very brave. I imagine a lot of people, if in your place, would happily hide away here." She didn't know if she would be so willing to risk getting hurt if their roles were reversed. "I'll ask." It was all she could do. She couldn't promise anything to Katniss, but she would try.

Not many people had asked her why she was here or why she was in the rebellion. Most had just steered clear of her. She didn't blame them. She was from the Capitol after all. Cress was just hoping the wider population might eventually trust her. "I grew up with an insane amount of privilege. I attended the top schools, got everywhere I wanted simply because of my surname....." She trailed off with a sigh, shaking her head. She still couldn't believe that was where she had even started. "It was only when I started working on the games that I truly began to see how ugly they were. It started to change my opinion. It was a bitter pill to swallow because I got everything in my life because of the games. My parents were famous film makers. It's how my family got their wealth." She felt like that was needed to make the story make more sense. "I'm going this because we, the Capitol.... we don't deserve all the privilege, all the luxuries, not when it comes at the exploitation of others, when it comes because of the death of innocents." She bit her lip. "I don't even know if that makes sense..... but yeah.... I just want to help make things change. It's the least I can do...."

[highsviolets]

please tell me analyst does up the buttons of javi’s shirt in the morning while he watches her fondly 🥺

pairing: javier peña x f!reader (waterfall inquiry-verse) 

word count: 808

warnings: this is so domestic. ye have been warned. no beta. 

a/n: part of my hc + drabble ask event! send me an ask or request about any of my fics and i’ll write a little something. masterlist I UPDATED taglist form 

“which one do you think, baby?” javier’s voice comes muffled and still slightly sleepy from the bedroom, and it makes your lips twitch up fondly as you finish applying lipstick. it’s a soft shade, barely noticeable in your view, but javi’s told you before that he likes the way it compliments your eyes. so you keep a tube of the stuff on his vanity beside the chipped cup that holds his toothbrush. it’s almost — almost — a fragment of domesticity. something to say it all (you & him) exists.

he meets you halfway down the corridor, you bumping into his still-bare chest with a barely discernible thud.

despite himself, he smiles. it glosses over his features, pulling at his cheeks and lifting the heavy weight from his sodden brow (heavy and laden even now, in the morning, before the day has really begun).

“which one?” javier repeats again, clasping his hand around yours and dragging you into the bedroom in a mirror of last night.

this time, though, he doesn’t make for the bed. instead he deposits you beside the small closet, where he extracts two shirts for consideration: a freshly pressed white button-down, or a white button-down with the faintest of grey stripes.

“cariño,” you say, eyes glancing back and forth between the nearly-identical items, “these are…the same one you always wear.” a laugh bubbles up and you clasp a hand over your freshly-painted lips. “did you buy white ones just because they match each of your suits?”

javi’s jaw shifts slightly and his sleep-worn eyes dart to the side, the same way he looks when he’s put on the spot at a meeting. you would feel bad if it wasn’t so funny.

shaking your head, you deftly start unbuttoning the striped number and swish it away from the hanger, circling to his back to ease him into the starched fabric. shoulder muscles pull with the movement. their definition is easy to spot through the thin fabric, the divots and ridges softened by a layer of fat, a protective cloak to shroud him from the bullets both proverbial and real.

he shrugs them once, twice, trying to get it settle on his sturdy body. it’s like he’s trying shake off what it symbolizes, the reason he’s swapped white shirts and suits and ties for the rainbow shades and tight fitting jeans tucked away in the back of his closet. you’re partial to the teal one, he knows, often ‘borrowing’ it for a few days at a time. if he ever gets around to taking you on a proper date, javi thinks, one that’s not in his kitchen, he’ll probably wear the pale blue one with a few buttons undone. you’ll like that, he considers absentmindedly, relishing the warm press of your palm against his lower back as you move to face him once more.

biting your lip in tender concentration, you start to button the shirt slowly. fingers thread each button through the next, pushing the plastic through each slot before pulling slightly to make sure it’s secure.

something in you is at once sad and hopeful as you work your way through the routine action. bronze swathes of skin are slowly closed to you with each button, closing up your access to him, turning him into mr. peña and not javi, or baby, or cariño.

and yet you know, somehow, that he’s never had someone do this to him before, not since he was a child. you doubt that he would have let anyone but you do it anyway, and that familiar swell of affection interspersed with humility trickles outward from its centrifuge in your heart.

javi is quiet, only marking time with easy, even breaths as he looks down on your lowered gaze and ever-moving fingers. a thumb comes to rest on your cheek, rubbing back and forth in a delicate, comfortable thoughtfulness. a smile blossoms once more; his brooding gaze (already thinking of the files, the phone calls, the longing for you waiting for him at work) softens into rays of chocolate-covered light.

he swallows your soft murmur upon finishing the task with a kiss, the hand on your cheek falling to tilt your chin up so he can meet your lips with his own. it’s sweet, soft, sure, steady, a sibilant stream of mutually effused affection passing between the two of you.

“sorry i can’t do your tie,” you mumble, pulling away. he had taught you to unknot a tie but not the reverse skill. you’d never wanted to learn before, never thought you’d need to learn. but now you do; now you want to have any excuse to care for him, to let your hands linger in his vicinity a little while longer.

javi kisses your cheek. “don’t worry about it,” he says with a wink, as if reading your thoughts. “i can teach you tonight.”

***

tags for mi marido de DEA: @frannyzooey @clan-djarin  @catsnkooks @teaofpeach @goldafterglow @softdin @dindja @the-purity-pen @justrunamok @mitchi-c @huliabitch @yespolkadotkitty @justanotherblonde23 @wille-zarr  @blancatobarxoxo @chogisss @keeper0fthestars @mcu-padawan @anakin-danvers @artsymaddie @princessxkenobi @beskar-tano @thirstworldproblemss @lv7867 @thewayofthemandalorian  @cri-me-a-river @javier-pena @jedi-mando @agirllovespancakes @meshlamando @linkpk88  @alexmarie29   @toomanystoriessolittletime @javisjeanjacket @lunarthoughts @wyofabdoms @mufflerfluffler @over300books @djarinsruni @littlemissthistle @mistermiraclee @pedrosgirlx @flyingovertheandes @leonieb @astroboots @aasimarr @forever-rogue @freeshavocadoooo @darthadeline @nobie @ennuiandthebourgeoisie @cannedsoupsucks @spvce-cowboy​ @phoenixhalliwell @salome-c @sleep-tight1 @lazybeeches

[anika-ann]

My Timid Hello, My Clumsy Goodbye (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, canon semi-compliant?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader    Word count: 8900 (...sorry)

Summary: You’re spending the evening and the night before your wedding with the two most important men of your life.

When the sun rises again, you’ll say your ‘I do’ in a close circle of friends and family. It’s not a goodbye to your old life and it’s not a hello to some enormous change; but you will no longer be a Barton. You will be a Rogers. Why not reminisce a bit? 

Warnings: mention of an abandoned baby, blood and injuries, alcohol, implied possibly rougher sex (nothing graphic) ...mature?, language, so much sappiness... let me know if I missed any

A/N: For what-is-your-backupplan-today 10th anniversary of CA:TFA challenge. Prompts in bold. Thank you for coming up with this wonderful theme and hosting this challenge! Long live CA:TFA!

A/N: Throughout the fic, you’ll find snippets of lyrics from SYML’s "Everything All At Once”. Honestly, the song has a completely different meaning to me, but tearing it out of context works for this story just fine :) When you’re done reading, I recommend the music video. It friggin’ broke me in the worst and best ways. Enjoy!

This is my hello This is my clumsy goodbye I'm putting my glass down I wanna remember tonight

Tony rented an island for you. Clint nearly passed out learning about it and grumbled for days about having a hard time to top that, which, no arguing, was understandable.

It was an incredibly extravagant thing to do, throwing around money that could have been used for a much more honourable cause, but you couldn’t complain. One should not look a gifted horse into mouth – and so you didn’t.

Because Tony Stark renting an island was his premature wedding gift. The fact that your brother bitched about not being able to top that, well, that was his problem. You were certain that deep down, he knew you didn’t need any fancy gifts like that.

Then again, Tony’s gift might have been epically overpriced, but not exactly unthoughtful; along with a private island came a private jet and you being literally flied under radar so no single paparazzi knew where you and America’s golden boy Steve Rogers would seal the deal with your ‘I do.’ So, you were everything but ungrateful to your friend that he succeeded at pulling off such covert operation; and frankly, this place was nothing short of wonderful.

The golden sand was pleasantly warm under your toes as you as you and Clint walked towards the two single beach chairs facing the ocean. Wearing bikini under the baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, sunglasses on top of your head, because why would you deprive yourself the gorgeous view of the sun beginning to set down, you followed your brother – not in blood but in every other sense – to the seats, allured by the view, the serenity and the cold sixpack in his hand.

You had already had a traditional bachelorette party with your girls – with the team, with your family. Natasha, Wanda, Pepper, Sharon and Maria. The night had been the perfect blend of what was considered typically feminine, dress up, fanciness and wine and gossip, and a fun night out with shots, dancing, karaoke and pool. That particular night sadly was interrupted shortly by an annoying photographer, but he soon understood it was not very clever to annoy three and a half Avengers or the CEO of Stark Industries for that matter.

Clint however… Clint deserved a special evening with you. With the rest of the team in various state of chilling out, scattered around the luxurious small houses and gorgeous beaches, you two were left the privacy such moment required.

Even if the special moment consisted of simple talking and drinking beer while watching the sun set, a symbolic end of one phase of your life – a phase that was undeniably tied to the famous and yet barely known archer, one of the seven defenders who rushed into the Battle of New York to save the Earth.

One of the seven had been your brother, having previously been controlled by the monster who brought an army from outer space; there was no questioning whether you would join the fight or not, no matter how you preferred the latter part of your field medic job title to the former.

Another of these brave people, as it turned out, was your future husband. A man you had met for the first time that day, but whom you didn’t hesitate to push back down when he got hit by a freaking alien weapon and stood up, wanting to shake it off as if it was nothing. Your medical training told you not to let him; and your stubbornness had been just a touch stronger than his that day.

Apparently, Steve found you always standing your ground to be one of your most endearing qualities.

What a fancy way to express it instead of simply calling you a stubborn pain in his ass.

“You’re lost in your head, Twinkie,” Clint hummed, playfully nudging your ribs with an elbow, bringing you back to the present.

Your nose automatically scrunched at the childhood nickname.

“You gotta stop calling me that, Bobo,” you retorted, a grin spreading on your face as it was his turn to grimace.

You knew it was nothing but an act and that he in fact loved that nickname, because it held so much sentiment, so many memories… as did his endearment for you.

Bobo had been your first word or so Clint always claimed. Obviously, you wouldn’t remember.

You wouldn’t remember your parents, having been only two days old when your mother left you with a damn circus which was in your hometown at the time. You couldn’t recall how you wouldn’t stop crying until you heard a seven-year-old Clint humming a lullaby for you, with silly replacements of lyrics that always made you laugh later on when you could understand them.

How he started calling you Twinkie, because he was a sugar addict and apparently, you were sweet and small and he liked you; so much that he soon appointed himself to be your brother, your bro, your Bobo.

Once you were older and learned that your involuntary nickname for him also meant ‘crazy’ in Spanish, you were sold to that Bobo endearment forever.

Including the night before your wedding.

“You keep zoning out on me, Kid. Getting cold feet?” Clint hummed, casually handing you a can of beer, opening it up for you.

You automatically reached out and took a sip, eyes fixed on the warm colour on the horizon. What a ridiculous question… but kind and caring, with a hidden promise of getting you out of here if you just asked. Your amazing, protective, crazy brother.

You couldn’t but smile widely, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“You offering to kidnap the bride, Clint? I’d like to see you try. You were always better at trapeze than at being an escape artist.”

Clint scoffed. “Please. These are amateurs. I bet I could pull it off.”  

That drew a laugh from you.

“Are you calling the Avengers amateurs? Better yet, are you calling your wife an amateur?” you teased him, watching his face lose colour when he realized that he did exactly that. You leaned over and patted his thigh. “Don’t worry, Bobo. I won’t tell Nat.”

Clint visibly relaxed, but a shadow of worry twisting his expression.

“Seriously though. Where’s your head at, Kid?”

You just shrugged, smile resting on your lips as you wondered if you ever felt so relaxed. It went along well with the reminiscing of the past and despite the fact that tomorrow was a big day and you should probably be nervous, you weren’t. Not in the slightest, more like the opposite. You were giddy even; it dawned to you that nothing in your life had ever felt so right.

No moment in your life offered you such serenity to your heart, your shoulders free of any weight, body light as air.

“Just taking a trip down the memory lane. Thinking about how lucky I was to be dropped at your circus of all circuses of the world,” you grinned at Clint, your tone remaining completely serious.

Because you were being serious – words couldn’t express how grateful for everything that led to this moment you were. How grateful you were to your brother for watching over you, making sure you would always see the light of a new day, guiding you when you found yourself in a dark.

Clint didn’t react beside his fingers twitching and you knew he was giving you the chance to say what you needed to say.

“About how you taught me pretty much everything I know. About how while I might not be the best person in the world, my brother, who is the best brother ever, made me into a decent person and I owe him everything I am. And how I should probably feel guilty for tying myself to another guy who just swept in and whisked away your little sister.”

Clint stared at you, gulping as his eyes gradually filled with tears. You found yourself in a very cheesy moment, bordering on absurd and it was almost too much to handle – but Clint took a deep breath, cleared his throat and swallowed his tears.

“Well, that bastard did steal my greatest life achievement with way too little effort,” he remarked, voice cracking slightly, the image of him causing your eyes to burn as well even if his words made you both tear up and burst out laughing.

“Dammit, Clint, stop making me laugh and cry at the same time…”

“You started it!” he pointed his index finger at you accusingly, taking a large sip of his beer to drown his sentiment. “But for the record, you should not feel guilty. It’s not like you’re leaving me.”

“I know, but-“

“And if you were, you’d be leaving me in good hands.”

“That’s true, Natasha does have a grip on you and might keep you outta trouble-“

“She’s the one who gets me into trouble half of the time!” Clint cried out in protest and you would have argued if it wasn’t the truth.

But before he had met her, Clint was able to make up his own trouble just fine – he was more than half of a reason why while doing a bit of trapeze yourself, you also grew interested in medical care. Because who else than the little sister should treat her big brother’s wounds when he got too crazy?

“In all seriousness, I’m proud of you, Twinkie,” he said sincerely, one corner of his lips raised in a lopsided smile. “You’re entirely entitled to have your own life and if there’s one guy in this whole damn world I’m willing to trust to have you… well, I guess it’s that big blond dumbass.”

“He can be a bit dumb of ass occasionally, can’t he?” you mused lovingly. “I guess it’s right what they say… we do pick our partners similar to our parents, maybe not only in looks. I didn’t really have a dad, I had you, so…”

Clint sighed, smile widening, before it slipped from his face as he caught up on the not-so-hidden insult.

“Hey!”

You couldn’t but laugh at his shocked expression, accidently spilling a splosh of beer on the sand.

“Just… maybe make sure that even married, you still find time to hang out with your big dumb of ass brother every once in a while?” Clint suggested, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

Your whole demander softened, a little pang of guilt stinging in your heart as he took your words too seriously – and at his worry.

“Clint… I will always find time for my amazing brother.”

“Well, you’re marrying a pretty amazing guy too, so, you know, I understand the dilemma…”

You snorted when he seemed to genuinely fawn over your future husband, shaking your head before downing the rest of your drink.

“As amazing as Steve might be – and gosh, he is, don’t get me started – you still own a pretty big chunk of my heart.”

“Good. You are a Barton at heart,” Clint hummed, pretending that a few tears didn’t roll down his cheeks, leaning towards you as his expression once again grew serious.

Your chest tightened. Oh no. He was gonna say something to make you cry too – as if you already weren’t at verge of crying, emotions bubbling under the surface.

“Clint-“ you warned him silently, but he spoke up anyway and you gulped, bracing yourself.

“Just… whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect housewife, but a good woman.”

That was not what you were prepared for, as touching as the sentiment was.

You burst out laughing, head thrown back, hands clutching at your stomach as it actually hurt with the sudden clench. Tears did spring from your eyes, a perfect blend of touched and infinitely amused at your brother’s words.

“Har, har, that’s what I get from trying to speak from heart…” Clint muttered grumpily and you willed yourself to calm your hitching breaths as you looked at him, the pout of his mouth causing you to cackle again.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… I am moved, I really am. Thank you. But me? A perfect housewife? And you realize I’m marrying Steve Rogers, right? The epitome of a good man? He would probably threaten to sock me in a jaw if I tried to change into something I’m not just for his sake and actually sock me in my jaw if I turned into a bad woman.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped, a smirk appearing on his face. “That’s a lot of punching.”  

“My thoughts exactly,” you agreed, reaching for another can, pausing when a thought occurred to you. “Just so we’re clear, I might turn into a bit of a housewife when we have kids, alright? And I want to be a good wife, a good partner to Steve, which is what I’m trying to do even now.”

“I mean, yeah, sure, wouldn’t expect anything less. But… just promise me you’ll stay you and that you’ll keep giving him a run for his money, keep him on his toes a bit,” Clint shrugged with a grin, drawing another chuckle from you.

You saw his point – and you fully intended to keep Steve on his toes. You had a good reason to believe that your future husband enjoyed when you did.

“Oh Clinton… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He nodded contentedly, picking up another beer and raising it for a toast, his can clinking with yours.

“Cheers to that!”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you then, a quiet joy wrapped in one moment; the sun ending its quest, the warm breeze in your hair, the waves whispering of a journey you were about to take off to. And all that with a wordless comforting presence of your family, ready to offer you a shelter if a storm rocked your boat and the wind caused you to lose course.

As your mind wandered, you had to laugh at yourself – it was almost as if you were raised by pirates and not circus performers. Perhaps it was the little bit of free cheeky spirit these life journeys had in common what brought the metaphor to your mind. It was a bit like working with the Avengers too, always on a road, adrenaline in your veins even as you mostly stayed on the jet, ready to assist them… yet here you were pondering that maybe, you were yearning for settling down a bit more.

“Cap wouldn’t punch you anyway, right?” Clint remarked, breaking the silence and you blinked yourself back into reality, taking a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

Oh. Right. Steve punching you if you changed yourself significantly for his benefit.

You smiled softly, heart swelling in affection when the answer to that question appeared obvious.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Good. He’d try once and I’d put an arrow straight between his eyes,” Clint promised darkly, almost causing you to choke at the sudden violent note. He quickly fixed it with a ramble, lightening the atmosphere yet again. “Minus training of course. He’s allowed to try in order to improve your hand-to-hand. Not that he would ever land a hand on you anyway. Always so soft on you…” he grinned, seemingly alright with that attitude if not slightly calling the big strong supersoldier out.

Oh you could be cheeky too alright if that was what your brother wanted.

“That you know of.”

A confused huh was the only reaction you got – that and a puzzled look.

“He’s always soft on me,” you repeated Clint’s words, turning to him, lips slowly spreading in a wicked smirk. “That you know of.”

Clint’s brows furrowed for a short moment and then his features twisted in a disgusted grimace, face growing a tint crimson.

“Gross!” he complained, more blood rushing to his cheeks. “You know what, I changed my mind. We’re leaving. You’re not marrying him. I’m kidnapping the bride and never returning her, locking her somewhere far far away-“

You snorted at his indignation, your grin undoubtedly battling the one of the Cheshire cat.

“No will do, Bobo. I’m marrying Steve and you can’t stop me.”

This time, Clint didn’t even protest, eyes misted over, nose still scrunched at the mental image, lamenting as the night slowly settled over the paradise-like island.

“Oh god, please help, I can’t unsee it, can’t unhear it--- ew-”

Your laughter was carried away by the breeze as Clint seemed to be unable to look at you.

You swung your beer around, thinking that yes – nothing quite ever felt so right as being here in this moment. Relaxing with your brother, teasing him relentlessly and counting down hours to when you’d say ‘I do’ to the only man who in your eyes ever battled the mantle of the best man in the universe.

In one unending moment You fall within my reach I'm close enough to whisper Hold on to me Hold on to me

You weren’t sure what time it was when you snuck into the beach house, one of few, which had been wisely chosen to be occupied by you and Steve only. You attempted to be quiet and liked to think you succeeded, in your even barely tipsy state, but your effort turned out to be in vain as you found Steve perched against headboard of your bed; reading a book, thin white t-shirt and sleep shorts on display as the soft sheet had been kicked away, scrunched up by his feet.

He was gorgeous – he was gorgeous and yours, a momentary picture perfect of peace, appearing to feel just as light as you did and somehow the dullness of the moment, just him relaxing in bed with a good read as you came home… it was more alluring than one would think.

Steve looked up from the book when you wavered in the doorway, soft lopsided smile spreading on his face.

God, that smile. It might be over two years since you saw it for the first time, but it could still make you weak in your knees.

And somehow, it was now even more charming now than the day you met, more tender than just before you kissed for the first time, sweeter than when he proposed.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted you, appreciative gaze roaming your figure and the little too much skin on display – something you regretted when the warm sunrays had bid you goodbye, raising goosebumps. And Steve, the attentive man he was, noticed, his smile earning a teasing edge. “You look a bit cold in there.”

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out.

“And you look pretty cosy in there. Thought you’d be either asleep or with Bucky.”

Steve shrugged, not letting go of his unfinished chapter just yet, knowing you had a routine to go through before joining him.

“Maybe I missed you. Maybe Bucky is an old man and needs his sleep.”

You chuckled, not rising to the bait – you knew what would follow if you dared to say Steve was just as old. Not that you would complain about Steve trying to convince you about the opposite. You could never.

“Well, I bet he still made you a promise of breaking a bone of mine or two if I ever hurt you. He’ll find energy for that, centenarian or not,” you hummed nonchalantly as you bounced off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom and leaving Steve puzzled by your remark.

“How did you know?” he called out after you, endearingly confused.

“That’s what big brothers do, love!”

Short silence was your answer as you reached for your toothbrush and begun your nighty ritual.

Steve must have figure out what did it mean for him, considering you had a protective brother of your own, because a moment later, his half-amused “noted!” reached your ears.

You chuckled and shook your head, smile spread on your face which you didn’t think could be erased as long as you were in this paradise – free of worry, full of joy. And why wouldn’t you be? You were about to marry one of the smartest, kindest, sassiest and most beautiful men that ever walked the Earth. What was not to love?

You couldn’t but let your mind wander again; if you had only known the day you met, right from that moment, that you’d end up here…. well. It felt a little surreal, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you’d be Steve’s wife; then again, Steve’s life story was surreal enough on its own.

Who would have thought that the stubborn handsome man in the ridiculous suit and you, equally stubborn about you at least checking on the wound upon half-dragging him to a quiet corner in a middle of a battlefield, would grow so close?

It hadn’t been simple. Steve wasn’t the most open guy and while friendly enough, he wasn’t exactly offering his heart on his sleeve, not to strangers. But it hadn’t been too hard, once you were meeting on regular basis. Piece by piece he revealed his true colours and soon after he did… you started falling; hard and fast.

Not necessarily swooning, not on the outside at least; you were a professional, after all. The safety and the well-being of the team was your priority.

It was just too bad – or the best thing, you supposed – that Steve had the same goal as you with one significant difference; as far as he was concerned, the responsibility to look after his team sometimes excluded him.

Oh, was he wrong about that.

And boy, did you let him know you thought so. You still kept proving him wrong to this day and was planning on nurturing his own acknowledgement of his self-worth till your last breath…

“Get your ass in here, Steve!” you called out after him, slowly losing patience as you had tried asking politely the previous two times with no result but being dismissed.

The change of tone and language made his head snap to you from where he was talking to Sam, an offended scowl on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Captain. Don’t be a stubborn jerk and get your ass in here so I can clean your cuts.”

A few months ago, you wouldn’t have been able to talk to him like that; to the great legend, Captain America. At least you certainly wouldn’t have called him his first name and maybe, just maybe, you’d be a little less crass. But now? He might be Captain America still, a hero who deserved all the good things for the sacrifices he made for the world’s safety, but first and foremost, he was just Steve to you.

A colleague, a teammate, a friend. You might not be a part of the team per se, not the way Clint, Natasha or Steve were, but you still belonged. And you were all friends.

Friends irritated each other sometimes and frankly, Steve was often battling with Tony for the mantle of the most infuriating one.

Friends also needed to call each other out on their bullshit by any means necessary when the time was right and now the time was as good as any.

Usually, Steve slipped through your fingers, because he was a supersoldier and the others weren’t, so their injuries took precedence; today, it was only Natasha, Sam and Steve, and the captain was the only one whom you hadn’t checked yet. And you knew there were things to check, the trickle of blood from his eyebrow probably the least of your concerns.

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Steve. She can be pretty stubborn. Clint wouldn’t stop complaining about it,” Natasha supported you from the pilot seat and you fought yourself so you wouldn’t grin at her in victory – it would only irritated Steve further. “She’s almost as bull-headed as you are.”

At that, your smile would have slipped. But honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve grunted, sparing Sam another glance and when the Falcon himself beckoned to you as well, wordlessly asking Steve to get himself checked up.

The captain sighed irately, but made his way back to the separate and well-lit space of your examination room.

He didn’t try to hide his annoyance – in fact, he squared his shoulders and his steps sounded a bit loud for anyone to believe it was a coincidence. Also, the scowl of exasperation never left his otherwise handsome face.

“This is completely unnecessary. A stupid waste of time,” he hissed as he walked past you and you took a deep calming breath, exchanging an eyeroll with Sam before you disappeared from sight.

“Captain. I respect you and your position, but you say one more time that my job here is unnecessary and stupid, you’ll be looking for a new medic,” you retorted as he stripped the upper part of his uniform angrily, revealing his white-tank-top-clad torso.

Well, at least the fabric used to be white – now a blood stain the size of both of your palms was seeping into the material at Steve’s right side, gushing from what definitely appeared to be a knife wound.

You were gonna murder him one of those days... unless he got killed himself first.

“Seriously?!”

“It’s just a graze-” he started to argue but you cut him off when you tore the fabric away. He winced as some of the dried blood had acted as a glue, having stuck the cloth into the wound, and now was violently ripped off.

“Tr to insinuate again that I’m incompetent at recognizing what’s just a graze, Steve. I dare you. This is a cut wide and deep enough for stitches! Haven’t you had the serum, you could have been bleeding out to death on this table!”

“But I do have it-“

“Or for fuck’s SAKE, stop being a baby and let me treat the bloody gash in your right mesogastric area! The serum accelerates your healing, but it doesn’t make you invincible OR immortal as far as I know--- Jesus fucking Christ-!”

He bristled, taking a deep breath to fight back, but he never got the chance, because you started working and the words died in his throat. Surprisingly, inspecting the damage, poking around a knife wound that might have already begin to seal itself thanks to Erskine’s formula but had not been just a graze hurt and coincidentally, it pulled the rug from under his feet.

To his credit, Steve barely even hissed at the pain.

“Just so you know, I’ll be using the disinfection that stings worse,” you noted, voice dripping venom, because you were genuinely done with Steve’s bullshit.

You lied through your teeth though. You wouldn’t. No matter how infuriating Steve was and how difficult he made your life – causing you to fall for his stupid martyr ass and pine after him among other things – you would never purposely hurt him.

And he must have sensed that, because your remark didn’t earn you a murderous glare or a retort – much to your surprise.

In fact, Steve fell entirely quiet, watching you work without protest, not even objecting when you applied enough local anaesthetic to knock out an elephant and sewed the tissue together so it healed easier. He let you inspect the rest of his torso and bandage his ribs, vigorously shaking his head when you asked him if he was injured anywhere below the waist.

He observed you as you kept an eye on his face for any minute sign of pain he’d be hiding, but all you could see were his irises, startlingly bright blue, pools of honesty and something you had trouble decoding. He seemed… humbled almost. It silenced the anger inside you, the flames of rage – and fear for his well-being, if you were being honest with yourself – turning into a barely smouldering pile of ash.

When you moved on to his head, gently pushing away the strands which obscured the gash on his eyebrow, his eyelids slid shut. You knew how unpleasant facial injuries were, especially around one’s eyes and so you took care to be extra careful as you cleaned the wound and the area surrounding it, most definitely not using the stingy disinfectant.

Not that Steve could get an infection as far as you knew. It was more force of a habit than anything else… and it made you feel better. He had this idiotic mask of an invincible hero he put up sometimes and it drove you insane, because you knew he was only human, a beautiful kind soul, but god, could he be an ass.

“Almost done,” you whispered soothingly when you noticed his jaw tightening as you had to apply a bit more pressure to get a tiny piece of gravel from the cut. You certainly didn’t want that to stay under the newly healing skin.

The moment you retreated with the bloody gauze, Steve’s eyes were back on you, wide and regretful.

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, a genuine apology that sounded almost absurd after you two were hissing at each other like damn hellcats. “I didn’t mean to--- I’m sorry for being rude and ungrateful. Thank you for taking care of my injuries.”

One glance into those deep irises and benign hesitant smile and you were done for. How could you stay mad at him? Well, you were still mad at him for the absolute disregard of his own health, but… well. You also understood he felt like he needed to stay strong for the team and put them first and how he actually was in pain.

Pretty much everyone was a pain in the ass when in pain.

You sighed as you searched for few band-aid strips to cover the cut.  

“It’s alright, Steve. I’m used to old men being grumpy and not meaning things they say when they are,” you offered lightly and he hung his head with a chuckle, clearly not taking the old man remark personally – and understanding you were referring to your brother.

His smile was wider when he looked up again. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

You shrugged, carefully slipping two fingers under his chin to angle his face so you could stick the strips over the wound.

“Well, I deserve it sometimes. I don’t mean to… to be overbearing and make you feel like you’re incompetent or something,” you added hesitantly, worrying your teeth over your lower lip as the tone you’d been handling him with caught up with you. Perhaps you could have been nicer.

You smoothened the stripes of band-aid, gulping as you felt Steve’s gaze boring into your face while you continued.

“I know you’re not incompetent. You’re very capable, you’re the best. It’s just… I still--- worry- for all of you. For the full-time Earth’s mightiest heroes. Silly, huh?” you muttered self-depreciatingly and when your eyes met, you were startled by the intensity he watched you with as you laid your fears bare in front of him, leaving you vulnerable. You swiftly looked away and dropped your hands. “Here, almost as good as new.”

A lump grew in your throat as you stripped your gloves, tossing them into the bin. Did you reveal too much? Didn’t it sound silly indeed as you said it out loud? Yes, you were all friendly with each other, but you were supposed to be a professional, focused on your task, not getting distracted by-

-by Steve gently grasping your wrist, causing your heart to skip a startled beat. Definitely not getting weak in the knees when you shot him a surprised glance and he just… brought your hand to his face, lips briefly skimming over your knuckles.

Jesus Christ, Lord have mercy with me.

“Don’t you ever apologize for caring. Don’t stop caring. Silly is the last thing I’d call it.”

Your cheeks felt like set on fire, stomach fluttering as well as your heart. You could feel the ghost of Steve’s lips on your skin, sending your heartrate sky-high, causing your head to spin a bit, your body hot all over.

Did he really—did he just-? And did it mean that… did it mean anything at all?

He let go of your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles, but held your gaze adamantly as he gave you a sad smile and rose to his feet, clearly ready to leave.

You, on the hand, stood there frozen, mind racing.

Why had he done that? Was he really just trying to express gratitude and say sorry for his previous behaviour? Because that was not the way it was supposed to be done, because such tenderness left you entirely bewildered. Was he trying to tell you he was somehow interested in something more than friendship? Was he just high from the anaesthetic, mind you, local one that was not supposed to mess with his brain? Was there any sign of a head injury you missed?

“Thank you, again,” he whispered softly, moving to sidestep you and your hand instinctively shot out, latching onto his forearm… gently.

You gulped, heart stuttering when he glanced at you, puzzled.

One part of you wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment at your unwitting reaction. Another part of you observed him so closely that you would swear that there was another emotion in his eyes and it was neither apology nor gratitude. You wistfully hoped for longing, the same longing you felt when you were near him, sometimes distant and barely there, other times so acute it hurt.

With your stomach somersaulting in doubt, you willed yourself to raise your free hand slowly, purposely giving him a chance – Lord, please, don’t let him take it – to stop you before your palm settled on his cheek.

You were certain you experienced a small cardiac arrest when Steve not only didn’t avoid the touch, but actually leaned into it, gaze fixed on your face, eyes brighter and softer than you ever remembered seeing. Your gaze flickered to his mouth deliberately, throat turning dry. Too daring? He kissed you knuckles, surely you could reciprocate some affection?

Swallowing against your dry throat, you leaned in before you could change your mind and dropped the briefest peck to his lips, causing his eyelids to flutter shut.

Oh no. Oh no no no no, you totally crossed a line-

You went to retreat your hands from him, but the second you moved, his eyes were snapping open, hand covering yours on his face to keep it there, the other cradling your face and then there was a warm and soft sensation on your own lips as he seized them with his.

Your mind went completely blank save two single thoughts: Steve is kissing me. I really like that.

A small sound escaped you, a blend of surprise and contentment, breaking you from your trance and turning you into an actual participant of the pleasant and entirely unexpected activity.

You drew in a small breath, head spinning from the scent of Steve’s shampoo, disinfectant, sweat and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on and not caring.

He tasted faintly of blood, but otherwise was nothing but sweet as his lips caressed yours, gently tugging at your lower lip and then the upper, the lightest graze of teeth and tease of tongue, finger pressing into your jaw to pull you closer, thumb stroking your cheek.

You whimpered involuntarily when his lips parted from yours, soothing as they returned for a short peck, to drop a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, to brush your cheek.

Your name was a breathy whisper between the two of you, barely audible as all you could hear was your heartbeat pulsing frantically in your ears, growing aware of your fingers clutching at Steve’s still unzipped armour and nearly sinking in his hair, his hot breath tickling your skin.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes – what if you dreamed it up? What if you looked at him and saw regret – it didn’t feel like he would be regretting it, but… still. Insecurity tugged at your mind as it slowly cleared from the literally breath-taking kiss.

Steve repeated your name with urgency that was unheard of, the single word sounding almost as a plea.

“Please say something.”

Oh.

You blinked your eyes open, surprised to be met with his searching gaze, a minute furrow of his brows. It seemed you weren’t the only one whose mind was being the worst of one’s enemies.

Perhaps your brain was being stupid. Perhaps you both wanted this. Perhaps you felt exactly the same.

As you forced yourself to move, fingers actually slipping into his hair to caress his nape, Steve inhaled shakily, shoulders slumping. The tinniest of smiles tugged at his mouth, tempting red and minutely swollen from the kiss; you had to resist the urge to just taste it again.

Instead, you licked your lips only, savouring the previous sensations, smiling unwittingly.

“That’s… uhm, that’s a really creative new way of driving me crazy.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose along with one corner of his mouth, relief written all over his face.

“Oh? There are other ways in which I’m driving you crazy? Because I couldn’t tell...”

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t think he bought you unconvincing act of being irritated with him at such remark.

“Don’t push it, Captain,” you warned him, but your treacherous mouth kept curling up in a smile, your body still buzzing with aftershocks of the kiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh… s-sure,” you stuttered briefly as his thumb caressed your cheek, bright smiling eyes watching only inches from your face – and yet it felt like he was too far.

“You’re driving me crazy too, you know,” he noted in a breathy voice, causing you to gulp as his gaze flickered to your mouth, clearly implying how you do so… among other ways… like your stubbornness practically matching his.

“Oh really? I do? I couldn’t tell…”

He chuckled, his hand slipping to your nape, soft tickle of his fingers making you squirm.

“I’m gonna kiss you again now if that’s okay,” he whispered, not waiting for your permission and erasing the distance between your lips again.

Still, you whispered your approval to his mouth.

“So okay…”

Long moments later when Sam called out to warn you that you’d be landing soon, you said yes to the grumpy old man’s request to let him treat you dinner.

Oh if you only knew by then how far you’d come…

Lost in thought, goofy smile on your face, you exited the bathroom, ready to snuggle your future husband… and to fully take the opportunity to make love, last night before you officially became his and he became yours.

You had a brief second to register that the bed was empty, your heart skipping a started and disappointed beat. The second you stepped out though, you were literally swept off your feet.

A yelp erupted from your throat as you found yourself with no ground under your feet and high in the air, one of Steve’s arms under your knees, the other under your back. Your hands frantically gripped at the nearest firm point, Steve’s shoulder and arm as you finally realized what the hell happened and was met with a cheeky grin and sparkling blue of his eyes.

That traitor was waiting just by the door to ambush you! Why?

You slapped his very much bare shoulder playfully, hissing a curse, not unaware of the heat radiating of him and seeping into your skin.

“You jerk! You almost gave me a heart attack!” you complained, but he didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

Steve grinned wider, shrugging and pulling you closer to his torso, nuzzling your temple and dropping a placatory kiss there.

“Still looking a little cold.”

“No, I look like this because you scared me,” you emphasized, vainly trying to resist the seduction; a mixture of playfulness, sweetness and blatant display of strength as he still held you with ease. It was hard not to be temped. “And you look like you’re awfully warm, parading here without a shirt.”

“Well, I’d call us even since you’re parading around in these absolutely sinful shorts. Makes me hot. I can warm you up,” he mumbled to your skin, lips moving to your ear, causing you to shudder.

How was it so easy for him to make you all hot and bothered? You guessed that at least, as he said, it made you even... it wasn’t difficult to get him riled up either.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Driving you crazy?” Steve offered, sounding awfully delighted at the idea and you only melted into him further at the reminiscence of your first kiss and what followed.

“Always,” you confirmed, deadly serious, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips or the mewl that escaped you when his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

“But you love it.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I can live with that with that then,” he said, stalking to the bed determinately. “Now let me drive you so crazy you can barely speak and the only sound you’re making is whimpering my name.”

He all but tossed you on the bed, a yelp of his name in fact erupting from your throat, followed by a fit of giggles that only died when his mouth seized yours, his lips only leaving when heading south to indeed drive you crazy.

And yes; you loved it.

And you loved him too.

In one unending moment I fall within your reach My song a sweet surrender Hold on to me Hold on to me

Before the girls could steal you from him, Steve decided – with your enthusiastic agreement – that you should once again try how it felt to make some morning lovin��� outside marriage. With the ceremony planned for the late afternoon, you had plenty of time; and needless to say, it was bliss. Then again, you believed that marital sex with Steve would be just as delightfully pleasant, thank you very much.

Then, it was a whirlwind – make up, hair, dress, a tear or two spilled when you saw the result in the mirror.

More tears spilled when you glanced out of the window and saw the tastefully and modestly decorated arch, the path created by few scattered rose petals, the male part of your almost family sans Clint in the suits, effectively hiding Steve from you; and you from his just in case, because no one wanted any bad luck.

Your staring was interrupted when your brother went to pick you up to lead you down the aisle.

Upon entering the room and setting his gaze on you, he promptly looked away with a sniffle. It both warmed your heart and made you laugh as did his remark.

“Nope, not giving you to him. In fact, I’m never giving you to anyone. No one will ever be worthy, so I’m keeping you.”

“Hush, Clinton, you’ll still have me,” Natasha winked at him as he took a deep calming breath before carefully eyeing you again.

Clearly, it hadn’t done the job, because few tears still found their way down his cheeks.

“You’re a knock-out, sis,” he sputtered hastily, but no less honestly – clearly moved to tears.

And yet… you snorted at his choice of words and he rolled his eyes, quick to compliment your beauty instead.

You wouldn’t have it any other way though, even appreciating his first remark more for it came from the bottom of his heart rather than from what convention required.

Embracing you carefully in fear he would mess up the work of art his wife and other girls created, he held you in his arms for a moment, as you retuned the hug, clutching at his suit with a little too force. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the bridesmaids clearing the room.

“It’s not like I’m leaving you, Bobo,” you hummed with a smile, throwing his own words from last night at him.

And you weren’t leaving him; your heart swelled with love for your brother, your father figure, your long-life friend.

With sniffle, he let go of you and looked you up and down, proud smile spreading on his lips.

“It’s okay. If you are, I have the best spy in the world for a wife, we’ll drag your ass back home.”

You just slapped his chest playfully and took a deep breath – it was time. Clint grasped your hand firmly then, elbows interlocking, and went to step out just a moment after the bridesmaids left to join the groomsmen.

Well-aware everyone was going to stare and that Steve awaited you at the end of the aisle to marry you, your legs were shaking minutely as the magnitude of the event finally dawned to you.

“Getting second thoughts now?” Clint teased you, eliciting a chuckle from you and shake of your head.

What a question.

“No. Just… please don’t let me fall,” you muttered to him, entirely serious and grateful for your choice of footwear – simple flats hidden by the long flowing skirt of your dress. Better chance of not spraining your ankle on your wedding day.

“Never.”

Clint squeezed your hand under his warm palm and you took a deep breath, stepping into the doorway. Soft melody welcomed you, your very own wedding march Bruce was playing on a mouth organ – something you had previously had no idea he was capable of.  

Looking up from your skirt, you feasted your eyes on the company and the beautiful scenery for only a regretfully short moment, grateful for Sam’s Redwing programmed to record and take photos.

Your gaze instinctively searched the small crowd instead, until it fell under the arch where three men stood.

One of them was Sam himself, having obtained a licence so he could be your wedding registrar; he looked positively dashing. So did Bucky, who patted his best friend dressed in his old-fashioned green captain uniform on the shoulder, his smirk visible even from tens feet away as he stepped back.

Naturally, your gaze lingered on Steve, your feet acting of their own accord and following your brother’s lead.

Gosh, your future husband was the most handsome and absolutely hottest specimen to ever walk the Earth. Hair combed neatly to one side and in his old army uniform, he truly looked like the gentleman from another era he was and yet, he undeniably belonged exactly where he was. His eyes were bright and blue just like the sky, lips slightly parting before curling up into a brilliant smile which somehow still carried the tenderness he treated you with when he felt particularly affectionate.

He must have uttered something under his breath, because Bucky pressed his lips together as if he was holding back laugh. The absolutely best best man, ladies and gentleman.

Your found yourself smiling just as widely, a stray tear tickling the corner of your eye and you had to fight the sudden urge to ditch Clint in order to gather your skirts and run the rest of the way just to jump into Steve’s arms.

But in reality, there was no rush – here, on the damn island Tony rented, there was so much time that one short walk meant nothing in comparison.

“Alright, maybe I’ll give you to him,” Clint whispered, making you bite the inside of your cheek so you would cackle.

Leave it to your brother he would find Steve Rogers so fine he’d be willing to give you out just to have him become a part of your family.

One corner of Steve’s lips twitched in amusement – supersoldier hearing didn’t miss the remark then. Good. Then Bucky heard it too and you had a witness just in case Clint would change his mind. Again.

Finally, with your heart almost in your throat, you reached the end of the aisle, Clint gently putting your hand into Steve’s… without letting go.

“You be nice to her, Cap. And I mean really nice, you hear? Or else-“

“Hush,” you hissed good-naturedly in your brother’s direction, winking at him before you returned your gaze to Steve. “Hey there, handsome.”

Steve chuckled under his breath when Clint stepped back. He returned the greeting with soft ‘hey there, beautiful’ and then proceeded to lift your joined hands, brushing your knuckles with his lips – just like the day you shared your first kiss.

Well now you truly found yourself on the verge of crying. And Lord, you wanted to kiss him so much-

Sam cleared his throat loudly, casting you both a meaningful look as if he could read your mind and wanted to remind you that there were a few things to go through before that could happen.

Ugh. Formalities. Just let me kiss him…

Steve licked his lips – the audacity! – and turned, lightly tugging at your hand so you both faced your friend who held a little leather book open, beckoning towards the guests: Bucky and Natasha, the best man and the best woman, Clint, Bruce, Tony, Vision, Wanda, Sharon, Pepper. Just your closest friends and family.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Alright. We all know why we gathered here today. To get these two amazing people married, so they could officially become a special team within our team.”

You grinned, peripherally noticing Steve eyeing you as well. Team indeed.

“This is the part where I would ask all of you, bride and groom included, to speak up now if you’re aware of anything standing in the way of this wedlock or to remain silent forever. But frankly, if you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself. Just let these lovebirds get married…”

Muffled laughter and giggles erupted from your group. Honestly, you wouldn’t say it better. You noticed Clint shifting and Natasha forcefully holding his hand down; you bit down on your lip so you wouldn’t laugh and sent her a grateful smile instead. The best maid of honour ever.

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear, folks. We have the rings, correct? Great. Just so you know, these two saps asked me to read one vow which they are making to each other, because they didn’t trust themselves to say theirs individually without bursting into tears. So now it’s left to me to cry instead. Thanks for that.”

Your cheeks were honestly starting to hurt from smiling so wide, but tears prickled in your eyes acutely just at the thought of the vow you agreed on. You spent countless hours thinking about what you wanted to say and realized that your vow would be too long and that you would in fact start crying and that you could never name all the things you loved Steve for. It had been a relief to find out that Steve shared the sentiment and the deal was made.

Natasha and Bucky dutifully laid the rings on the pillow Wanda’s powers held levitating by your and Steve’s side – not without Bucky finding a split second to compliment your appearance and earning a brief smirk from Steve.

“I know,” Steve uttered and you wondered if there was a dare going around as to who would make you burst out laughing first.

This was your wedding dammit. You could be at least a bit a lady and remain collected.

Hardly.

“With this ring,” Sam started, breathing in and out and you knew you already lost, first tear rolling down your cheek as you gazed into Steve’s inviting eyes, “I give myself to you without giving up myself. With this ring, I surrender to you for I have faith you understand the value of wielding such power and for I deem you worthy of it. With this ring, I promise to love you, to respect you and to support you to be your best self as I trust you to do the same for me, for us.”

You blinked away the waterfalls, reaching almost blindly for Steve’s ring and with fingers trembling – with giddiness, not nerves – you somehow succeeded at slipping it on his left ring finger.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice cracking even in such simple sentence and the watery smile Steve graced you with made your ribcage feel too small for your swelling heart.

Fingers equally clumsy, he slipped a ring on you as well, shoulders squaring as if in pride.

“I do,” he said firmly, the damp path down his left cheek only adding severity to his vow.

“You may-- uhm, okay, you may kiss the bride, your wife--- I mean, Mrs. Rogers. You may kiss the groom, your husband…” Sam mumbled under his breath until he didn’t, because Steve pulled you in for a kiss the same moment Sam said the first ‘may’ and incidentally, the same moment you practically threw yourself at Steve.

Laughter and whistles erupted from the group of your friends as Steve bend you back dramatically, the determined press of his lips to yours not at all disrupted by the change of angle, claiming your mouth in ways that made you shudder and stirred flames in your belly.

Years and years later, you’d recall that kiss and realized an amazing thing; how it felt just like your first kiss, your last one, and every single one in between.

With you still practically horizontal, Steve’s crinkling eyes met yours, delighted smile on his kiss-swollen lips.

“I love you, Mrs. Rogers,” he hummed, adding a cheeky grin. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“The horror,” you muttered back teasingly, pulling at his nape, demanding another kiss, your own declaration whispered to his mouth. “I love you too, Mr. Rogers.”

And you did. Gosh, you did.

S.R. masterlist

(divider by firefly-graphics)

Well. This turned out SO DIFFERENTLY than I anticipated and SO MUCH LONGER. If you feel like leaving feedback, I’ll be grateful. If not, well. *shurgs*

Excuse me while I go and continue dreaming of ONE fictional man. Ugh. Anyway.

Thank you for reading!

And once again, thanks to WIYBUPT for hosting and for just being awesome in general :)

[writer-akihiko]

Chapter 8 - Pasts [STARISH]

This chapter is tagged [#spoilers for days] due to some content containing spoilers from the Utapri games.

Chapter 9 →

Otoya Ittoki

He had brought you to a special place as a symbol of your first date. The building looked like some sort of kindergarten, with the many children playing outside.

"Otoyan!" A little girl called. The children looked at your boyfriend, all having wide eyes of joy.

"Hey guys!" Otoya did a childish pose for them. He brought your hand in his, introducing you to the children.

"This is my darling YN! Everyone, please be nice with her!" He said, hugging you.

"Otoyan was supposed to marry me!" A girl with pigtails said.

Another little boy took her hand. "You can marry me instead!"

"Alright!"

You giggled at the cuteness.

Once the children dispersed, Otoya told you about the place, "This orphanage was where I grew up in. It's a special place to me..."

"Otoya..."

"And now, you're the special one in my life."

Masato Hijirikawa

You carried your duffel bag on your shoulder, walking to Masato's room. The crack in door shone the light in, but Masato's voice from the room was not comforting.

He was speaking in a low tone, sounding almost fierce. You've heard stern in games, but this was deathly fierce.

"YN?" Masato put his phone down, seeing you at the crack of his door. "Did... Did you overhear me?"

You walked in, setting your bag down. "I didn't pay attention... You were kinda fierce..."

He held his head down. "It's..."

You motioned him to sit on his bed next to you. You held him, letting his head lean on your shoulders. "Now you can tell me."

"It's my father," He said. "He pressures me. I wasn't supposed to be an idol. He laid out my life for me as a businessman. We made a deal... I would stay here for a year and then take over his business..."

You jolted up, forcing Masato's body to fall into your lap. "You... You're kidding right?"

"What?" He got up in confusion.

You hugged Masato, laughing. "Who knew we'd be in the same situation?!"

"Wait... so youー"

"Mama always wanted me to take charge of her bridal company," You explained. "My Papa didn't care; he taught me basketball. I made a deal that if I win the nationals, then I could stay in the Academy."

He brushed your hair with his fingers, bringing you in closer. "Looks like we're in this together..." He smiled, his eyes poignant in thought. "Has your mother ever gone to one of your games?"

"Nope. Your dad?"

"Never."

Natsuki Shinomiya

After an eventful baking 'class' ー which consisted of throwing flour at each other ー you cleaned up the bowls and spatulas. You set the timer on the oven, hanging your favourite apron up.

As you were wiping the counter, you noticed that Natsuki's glasses were on the counter. Did he leave them when he was washing his face? You did throw a handful of flour on his face...

You wanted to go check up on Natsuki just in case he needed his glasses.

Eh?

Why was the door locked?

"Natsuki?"

BAM!

"H-Hey... What's going on?"

The door swung open. There Natsuki stood, looking truly pissed.

"Natsuー"

"Stop calling me that! The name's Satsuki. And you..." He panted. "Have to break up with Natsuki."

"What?!"

"Oh honey... He didn't tell you?" He cooed, stepping closer to you. "I'm the beast living inside of him. You thought he was all innocent and sweet. Oh no darling... there's two sides of a coin."

"Why should that matter?!" You said in outrage.

"What?"

You repeated yourself. "Why does having another side of him make any difference? I still love him the way that he is!"

He scoffed, cornering you. In general Natsuki was soft with you but now 'Satsuki' was intimidating you.

"You're just after his talent. A gold digger, aren't you? Dating an idol sure makes youー Hmph!"

You killed him full on the face, wrapping your arms around his neck. You brought him in deeper, bringing your face closer. You sneakily slipped his glasses on at the sly movement of your wrist.

Natsuki now pulled away.

"YN... you taste sweet..."

You turned red. "Natsuki! Stop!"

"Didn't YN-chan kiss me first?" He smiled.

You shook off the embarrassment and asked Natsuki. "Natsuki... Can you explain what Satsuki meant by 'just after his talent'?"

His expression fell. He hugged you tightly to his chest. "I liked my former teacher so much that I made a song her. Then she became famous because of that song. Satsuki just thinks you're trying use me... but... I love you YN... Don't break up with me..."

"You know what he says?"

He nods. "Ever since I dated you, we could hear each other at times... YN, did I scare you?"

You kissed his cheek tenderly. "I could never and will never."

Ren Jinguji

He had invited you over to your next date at his house, since he claimed he 'wanted to show you his charismatic side'. When you entered the house, the main butler had told you that Ren was not back from his modelling appointment.

You decided to explore Ren's home by yourself. You walked around silently until you came across a family portrait of the Jinguji family. In the centre was a supposed younger Ren on his mother's lap as his two brothers stood by his mother, one on each side. His father stood proudly, holding the shoulder of his wife.

"It looks like my fairy decided to magically appear in my humble abode," Ren whispered into your ear.

"Ren!" You pushed his body away only for him to trap you in his arms.

He smiled and let you go. He then turned to the painting of the wall and his expression stiffened. "YN... Who took you here?"

"I wandered on my own," You replied curtly, uneasy about how forward he was. Sure, you are often frank but for Ren to do so is a little strange.

"Let's go to the gardens," Ren took you by the hand. "It was rude of me to leave you alone and to come late to our date as well."

You shrugged it off. "I did not mind... I was examining the regal decor of your home."

He tighten his hand slightly. "Were you intrigued by the family portrait?"

"Yes."

"I'll tell you of it in the garden."

~○~

You and Ren had tea together at the gazebo in the gardens. You gave time for Ren to muster up his courage, not pressing on the matter.

"You must be wondering where the lady of the house is," He said. You nodded, your eyes sparkling in curiosity.

"Well she's sitting across from me with such magical eyes..." He winked. You simply gave him a hard stare at his comment.

He chuckled, then took your hand in his. "The lady of the house ー my mother ー passed away. As well as my father," He explained. "When my mother passed away, my father got rid of anything related to her... My brother finally put up the one family portrait we had after his passing."

"Your mother is incredibly beautiful... I wish I had met mine..." You earnestly told him. "My birth mother passed away after I was born."

He took your hand and kissed it. "She would be proud to have a daughter like you."

Cecil Aijima

The two had nothing much behind your pasts that would shock the other in all honesty. It didn't surprise you that he was a prince, especially with the way he acts.

The main reason was Cecil being so honest with you. You had mentioned one thing to Cecil which you think he didn't understand. It was the fact your family was a yakuza group.

You were inspired to pursue theatre by your cousin, who currently is doing acting in Mankai Theatre.

Cecil unfortunately found out when bodyguards tailing you two nabbed him and interrogated him. Much less to say, there was nothing tragic in the past to harm your relationship. Well... with the exception of your cousin.

Syo Kurusu

He confessed his past in an... unexpected way. Your family called him to confess his past ー with several spears at his neck ー which he complied with.

"I have a twin brother, mother and father. My mother is an orchestra conductor and my father is a stylist. I was born with a heart condition andー" He panicked as the blade reached closer. "I will give YN no harm; please let me go." He pleaded.

"Grandpa, please let him go. He does no harm..." You said, on your knees. "Syo even swore to wait for me."

"Release him."

After comforting Syo, he swore to never break his promise. "I won't let them kill you," You told him.

Tokiya Ichinose

You had asked Tokiya to assist you in cleaning your room since you were moving dorms. As you cleaned through your closet, Tokiya took off the photos that hung on your wall. One particular photo was of you sitting in the middle of many men.

"Are these your relatives?" He asked.

"My brothers..." You said. "There's 10 of them."

He seemed surprised. "I hope I meet them someday... How did your mother manage that?"

You shook your head. "They're my foster brothers. Actually, we're all adopted. My dads adopted all of us from the streets separately."

"I'm sorry to say..." He said. "Please stop me if I'm getting too deep. Did you know your parents?"

You shook your head again. "I'm a dumpster baby. I was probably the product of some one-night stand gone wrong."

Seeing you solemn, he expressed his own thoughts. "I know how it feels to not be wanted to say the least. My parents divorced and they never supported my idol career."

You were shocked. "You're pretty good though at the whole idol thing." You remembered those times watching Tokiya practice.

"You're a pretty good mangaka yourself," He said. "I hope I meet the respectful men who raised you."

You smiled. "Alright! These boxes won't move themselves!"

Chapter 9 →

[princessofgayskull]

our secret moments in your crowded room // pt. 2

a catradora drabble (companion piece to this) featuring Melog

summary: Catra doesn’t want to go back to sleeping alone, and her new room in the Bright Moon Castle is too big not to be lonely

The first night Catra sleeps alone, she doesn’t sleep at all.

She doesn’t understand how anyone expects her to, either. The night that followed Horde Prime’s defeat, the first time the moons rise on a planet that finally peace, is total and complete chaos. It’s the feel of magic settling in the air, it’s clones who don’t know who they are or what to do expect stand around everywhere, it’s the victory cry of Etherians echoing across the horizon, Catra’s voice joining them for the first time. 

It was also too unfeasible to go all the way back to Bright Moon and make it there in time for anyone to get any actual sleep. Not that anyone gets much rest back at camp either, but at least those shelters were already made. The night was equal parts celebration and retribution. For the first time in years, Catra falls asleep on Adora’s shoulder with Melog sprawled over both their laps. For the first time in years, Catra wakes to find Adora still there with.

But going to Bright Moon is unavoidable. It’s unavoidable because it’s Etheria’s center, it’s where the diplomacy flows out and into the rest of the system, it’s where the new beginning actually begins and Glimmer has this idea in her head that Catra should be there and should be a part of it. What, like she’s gonna go back to the Fright Zone? There was nothing left for her there. 

Everything important in Catra’s life is heading towards Bright Moon for the next phase, and they want Catra to come with them. Adora wants Catra to come with them. And when Adora tells her that when they’re breaking down camp, her hands on Catra’s shoulders and that soft look in her eyes, that instinctual urge to run away disintegrates into nothing.

She just doesn’t expect her first night in Bright Moon to be spent staring up at a ceiling so far up in a room enveloped in the night’s darkness and the paralyzing sound of her own loneliness. Melog sleeps across her chest, a white noise machine of warmth, keeping her grounded in this reality of this room that has its own gravity. Catra can’t find it in her to close her eyes as she lays across what’s more of a pillow plush than an actual bed.

The only reason Catra’s in here is because Glimmer gifted her the room out of legitimate kindness. As it turns out, Adora got one of her own when she left Catra- sorry, defected from the Horde- because people here were actually treated like people and regardless of what Catra had done in the past, she fell into that category now. She was one of them now. It didn’t make her a princess or queen by the longest shot, but around here that counted for something.

“Pretty sweet accommodations, huh?” Glimmer had thrown her words from Horde’s Prime back at her, holding back no amusement when she had shown Catra around the room, teleporting in a craze from one piece of fancy furniture to the next.

All of the moments that Catra had spent overwhelmed and so, so out of her depth since walking into Glimmer’s palace were coming crashing down on her now and she could barely breathe under the weight of it all. Figuring all her snarky commentary about the way Royals lived was enough, Catra didn’t bother voicing her discomfort. Deep down, she hoped that the way Melog wrapped themselves between her legs and curled their tail up her thigh clued Adora- or anyone really- into how much she wanted to be whisked away from this.  

Why hadn’t Adora just asked Catra to stay in her room? Catra would’ve been more than okay with that. 

Running her claws down her face, Catra groaned. It had been stupid to think that those sleepovers Glimmer gushed about when it was just the two of them on Horde Prime’s ship would last forever now that she was a part of the gang. Not as stupid as thinking Adora would be up for some sort of cohabitating, shared sleeping arrangements with her when they’d been sworn enemies less than a month ago.

“I need to give Adora space. She’s her own person, she can make her own decisions.” Catra tells herself, trying to take a deep breath like Perfuma had taught her. “And I’ll fall asleep eventually. I don’t need her around to do that.”

This statement prompts Melog to lift their head, ethereal blue eyes wide and shining with packed judgement.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Catra hisses at her animal/alien companion. The dissonant purr of Melog’s reply fills the empty space around them.

“You didn’t ask Adora if she wanted to sleep alone. You can ask her if she wants to sleep together, and if she says she wants space, then you know,” Melog’s purr ends and Catra rolls her eyes before throwing her head back on her pillow.

“How does that help me now? Adora’s probably asleep already. Last thing I wanna do is wake her up and get punched in the nose. Again.”

Melog, keeping their eyes on Catra, withholds their reply. Not backing down form the staring contest the alien cat has incited, she glares at her companion. Which is useless knowing how she’s practically see through to this creature- wait, she stops herself, blinking. See through.

Catra has the beginnings of an idea. A creepy idea, so she doesn’t bother trying to think it through, rather pushes Melog of her legs and trips off the giant pink pillow puff that’s her bed so she can act before she uses her bravery. 

A purr makes Catra’s ear perk up, “Really? Are you sure this is a good idea?

“Hey!” Catra sent a flat look in Melog’s direction. They’re shielding her legs and making her think twice. “Laying next to that cot Adora has cloaked isn’t great but it’s better than being in here alone!” Alone with the images that haunt her, the images she’s sees when she lets her eyes close: Shadow Weaver taking her mask off before ceasing to exist, the violent green waters of Prime’s baptismal font, Adora unconscious in her arms as the world ends around them. With shaking hands she asks, “Are you gonna help me or not?”

Melog runs through her legs, rubbing her calf with their phasing mane. Catra’s companion heads for the door.

 _

Sneaking past the Queen’s Guard is child’s play. Melog has her back, keeping the both of them cloaked, as Catra sneaks around in her Horde issued bra and sleeping shorts. Maybe one day she and Adora will get around to finding clothing that can withstand the strain of battle that doesn’t carry the Horde’s symbol, but Catra doubts a shopping list is high on anyone’s priority list right now.

It’s not like any of the guards that stand at fourteen feet intervals- Catra notices- are on high alert, or would rat her out for being out past curfew. Because there’s no curfew here and that’s not their job. But Catra breathes a little easier knowing she can’t be seen. Maybe it’s because they can’t ask questions if they can’t see her, can’t make her rethink her strange stalker like actions. Maybe it’s because wearing their clothes, Catra hasn’t exactly shaken off the rust of growing up in the Fright Zone.

Melog keeps her out of sight as they walk past Bow’s room, sending her a look when they hear his snores seeping out from under the door frame. Catra shrugs. 

With no guards around, Melog starts up again, “Why did they put Adora’s room so far from yours?” which Catra knows is probably code for, “how much longer do I have to keep this up?”

“You big baby,” Catra runs her hand over Melog’s tail, “And I dunno, how I am supposed to know the inner workings of Sparkles’ mind? I’m like, the first person new here that hasn’t been a prisoner.”

Her claws trail the wall and she keeps up with Melog’s steps. 

The fact that the room Glimmer put her in was where they’d been “keeping” Scorpia didn’t go over Catra’s head. Yeah, she and Scorpia are on better terms these days, but remembering how Scorpia left her for the Rebellion still brings a sting to Catra’s throat. Remembering that it was her own fault is like the punch in the gut she didn’t ask for, but probably deserv- WHACK!

“Ow!” Beyond the pain resonating in Catra’s forehead, she can hear Adora cry out. 

“Adora?!” Melog’s cloaking falls and Catra is standing in front of her, well, sort of girlfriend, wincing and holding her forehead there in her gray tank top and shorts.

“Catra?!” Adora yells with the same tone when she realizes what the invisible force she butted heads with actually is. “What are you doing out of bed?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” replies Catra.

Adora takes a guarded stance and Melog looks between the two of them before her shoulders fall, “I- I couldn’t sleep. I thought, um, that I could come see you? I mean, I did think you were going to be asleep and I thought I could just stay there with you-” as she speaks, a sort of softness overcomes Catra. How had she managed to survive on the other edge of Adora’s sword? No wonder her destiny as a Force Captain was doomed from the start, that her anger sputtered and left her burned out. Catra had so much love for this woman. It was always going to win out at the end of the day. “-is that creepy? I know, it’s creepy but I just really wanted to see you-”

Catra grabs Adora’s hand and looks her in the eye. “Do you wanna come lay down? With- with me?” 

“Mmhmm,” nods Adora. She intertwines their fingers together, and when Catra starts to pull her back up the hallway, she follows without hesitation.

Since they’re going back the way they came, past Bow and Glimmer’s rooms, Catra’s hand finds Melog’s forehead and the cloaking flows through their bodies. Catra and Adora don’t make any noise, don’t make any stops, beyond the looks Catra throws her over her shoulder. Right before they reach the door to Catra’s room, Adora squeezes Catra’s hand. 

“Hey,” her voice is barely above a whisper, “why were you out of bed?”

“No reason.” Catra turn her face away, hoping that the cover of the dark will hide her growing blush. She curls her tail around her waist and keeps it there to keep it from betraying her.

“Oh my gosh, Catra- were you coming to see me?” Adora throws her hands onto Catra’s shoulders, a playful instinct that Catra can’t fight the subconscious need to return.

Melog’s cloaking falls.

Grabbing Adora’s fingers, Catra pulls her sort of girlfriend to her front before grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the wall. Their noses touching, Catra lets herself smile, “Okay, maybe I was. You’re not the only person who doesn’t want to sleep alone.”

“Is it also cause you like me?” teases Adora. 

Even in the dark Adora’s the most beautiful thing Catra’s ever seen; blonde hair unrestrained and kissing her defined shoulder, standing up against the wall in her pajamas, she’s all Catra’s ever wanted.  

“You idiot,” Catra kisses her lips, “it’s actually because I love you.”

_

Catra wakes to a warmth against her back. A chest rising and falling, a hand lain across the crook of her elbow. Opening her eyes, she sees that it’s not only light out, but that the dawn has come and gone, turned in midmorning without their permission. There’s no way she and Adora haven’t slept in way past the time the promised to be up and ready to take on the challenges that awaited them in peacetime.

“Adora,” she mutters, rolling over and buries her face in the space between Adora’s shoulder and head, “you’re hogging the blanket.”

Adora doesn’t open her eyes as her grip on Catra’s waist tightens, “‘S’not fair. You have Melog.”

Running her hand down the side of her animal companion, Catra lets out of a breath. She’s sandwiched in between Melog and Adora’s warmth, the little spoon wrapped in Adora’s calm embrace. There’s nothing Catra would change about this. This is the way she’d keep things forever if it were up to her.

“We have to get up soon,” Catra tries, yawning and stretching her arms out.

Her girlfriend’s hands come down over hers, “Don’t want to.”

“Adora-”

“I want to stay with you, Catra,” her sleepy voice reverberates over Catra’s ears and they flatten under her chin. Tail winding around Adora’s waist, she pulls her closer and sighs.

“What if Rainbow and Sparkles come looking for us?” 

Adora, eyes still closed, lets out a happy sigh. “Let them.”

It goes without saying that Catra never has to sleep alone again.

reblogs > likes!

[gtpgrima]

Have you ever wondered about 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

"How the Brothers will react if they accidentally deleted an important file from their computer...?"

👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻 because this catastrophic event happened to me a about a week ago(?) (with my original blog of the same name. I will forever thank everyone who responded to my request. I love you all so much! 💖) and I pulled a Jesus Christ maneuver: I died and rose up from the dead on the 3rd day; I started asking people to follow me baaack! 🤞🏻😂✨

Yeah, this is a collection of my actual reactions with the untimely demise of my original blog represented by the Obey Me characters! Lmao.

Levi is the goat in this one! 💪🏻✨

Warnings? Nah, probably funny? Technology illiteracy, maybe.

Lucifer

Lucifer won't make this mistake UNLESS he's on the brink of death, which is when he's sleep-deprived the 6th night that week; and it happens often, this is that night too.

He can't see anything clearly anymore. Okay, he can still "see" what seems of the letters, numbers and symbols now mimicking the waves of the darkest seas, or simply the rejected stroke of calligraphy; really, he could be between seeing a spot or a smudge of print and he'll still insist they're readable.

His pride won't let him admit the fact that he can no longer differentiate the icons of "save", "undo" and "delete" so when he pressed that click button, it took him a few moments of dizzying silence to realize his mistake.

He roars like a beast in boiling rage. He nearly decapitated Mammon who unfortunately slipped by his door at the time, and making Leviathan hesitate to respond to his calls.

Mammon

With Mammon, this happens often. He's naturally clumsy and often would recklessly abuse the abilities of his devices, computer included.

So when he realized his mistake he's cool with it. He probably haven't been on the second paragraph, honestly; he can start again or just plagiarize 90% of the internet.

He'll probably just shrug it off and lay down to nap or leave to resume his money-grubbing schemes, and ask Leviathan's assistance if it's so important and worth risking his eyeballs out later; the third-born wouldn't be happy helping him out at all, after all.

Or he'd just figure out it himself, he's the Great Mammon for a reason, right? Nah, he downloaded a deadly virus and made the problem worse.

Leviathan

This ain't a problem to him at all. It's not even worth blinking twice at. He'll just click his tongue in irritation at the minor inconvenience.

Okay, rare instances it causes him panic, he'll recall all the codes and tricks he memorized or written down so he can recover the file successfully.

He's always successful, and literally became the "lost file rescuer" of the House of Lamentation because of this.

He doesn't mind. However, if he's dealing with Lucifer or Mammon's computer problems, it gets chaotic to the point he's triggered to summon Lotan riding a tidal wave.

Satan

Considering his being the Avatar of Wrath, he's SURPRISINGLY calm when it comes to mistakes like this.

Well, it's because Leviathan taught him the basics; to which escalated quickly to at least 50 texts of differently phrased "threat" of strangling the life out of him if he destroys his computer instead of sending it to him for inspection.

Satan wouldn't like to admit he's scared of his brother's murderous passion over electronics so he tries to be careful all the time.

He's the least to make this mistake. In fact, he's too careful with his computer (D.D.D. and everything else) otherwise he'll unleash Leviathan's wrath which might actually strip him off from his title.

Asmodeus

He's mostly using his D.D.D., so such an occurrence is pleasantly rare with him.

However, if it actually happens, he'd quick to try and recover it on his own; and he's got 50-50 chances.

If he needs Leviathan's assistance he's always the one to offer something in return. If he refuses his dazzling self as payment (because he'll gladly offer himself above everything else of course), he'll probably give him an expensive facemasks or lotion.

It's always nice to help him out, he asks nicely and tries to learn while at it.

Beelzebub

Beelzebub is more than capable of handling this problem. He might actually be proficient with computer science but not on Leviathan's level.

[I picture him to be capable of more than one skill, not just eating, lol.] He'll not break a sweat recovering lost files at all. With enough motivation, he'll probably be able to retrieve the ones from years ago.

He'll help anyone if he's asked to but since Leviathan's already there and greatly more helpful, he's mostly overlooked.

In fact, files are not at risk of disappearance with him at all. There was once he accidentally ate a piece of the printer instead (because the ink smelled nice, he reasoned) and Leviathan saw the stars as he internally struggled so hard not to kick him to the next universe.

Belphegor

He'll just sleep through the pain. HAHAHAHA- (insert evil laugh here)

Okay, he'll be the most nonchalant about it. It's just a lost file. He can do it again, right?

He'll just ask Leviathan or Beelzebub's help. He won't really make a fuss out of it too. He'd straight up say he lost a file and can't retrieve it on his own, so help.

If he can restore it on his own, he will. It's such a hassle getting up from his comfortable zone called the bed, you know.

I will now start working on the asks... 😳💞

[hockeylvr59]

Secret Love Part 25 (Finale) || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: This series has been the most fun thing to write ever and I’m so grateful to everyone that has joined me on this journey. I really really really hope you like how I decided to wrap this chapter of their lives and I hope you’ll join me in the sequel to explore more adventures. I love you all and can’t wait to hear the screams that I’m certain are soon to follow this post. 

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 2,199 [Series total: ~74.8k]

~~~~~~~~

A Look-back at how we started:

“Sara’s pregnant.”

No sentence had ever made you feel anger, fear, disbelief, sadness and a whole bevy of other emotions quite as quickly as that one did. You wanted to scream and you wanted to cry. Instead, you put a mask over your expressions and just took the glass of wine Laura was offering as she filled hers to the brim.

“What?” You whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

“Cale called me today…he was so obviously nervous and before I could even ask what was wrong he was rambling on about how she was pregnant and he didn’t know what to do…” You could see the disappointment on Laura’s face and you attempted to send her a reassuring smile, though you were sure she noticed how forced it seemed. Swirling your wine in your glass, you thought about all of the reasons this news bothered you, making you almost sick to your stomach.

Now onto the finale: 

“Y/N’s pregnant.” 

Leaning against the doorway to your shared bedroom, you felt a smile spread across your face as your boyfriend spilled the news out of frustration, a response to his mother’s unnecessary concern. 

“What?” Laura whispered, her voice cracking. The expression on her face was one of shock and awe as she just stared at Cale. Shivering as a chill ran up your spine, you turned to adjust the thermostat, cranking up the heat to ward off the mid-November chill. 

++

Cale’s parents had arrived in Denver yesterday afternoon and though you’d had dinner with them, neither you nor Cale were sure whether or how to share everything that had changed since you’d seen them last. You’d mentioned that the two of you were thinking about buying a house here which had been met with some confusion but otherwise you kept things fairly light conversation wise. A part of you had expected Laura to question you not drinking, but when she hadn’t said anything you assumed she hadn’t picked up on it at all. 

When you’d crawled into bed last night, you and Cale had still been undecided on whether to share the news yet but when you woke up this morning, it seemed like hiding probably wasn’t going to be an option. Of course, though you rarely experienced morning sickness, today of all days it had to hit you like a truck. Cale had been the doting father-to-be that he always was, holding your hair back and massaging your lower back gently. When the nausea didn’t begin to ebb like it normally did, he’d called your coworker to move all of your appointments for the day before settling you back into bed with some tea, crackers, and a wastebasket. Only with your insistence that you would be fine did he head off to practice, leaving you to doze off again. 

You’d woken up a couple hours later to Cale perched on the side of the bed, his fingers dragging lightly over your stomach. 

“You feeling any better?” He’d questioned, concern flickering across his face. “Think maybe you could use something to eat?” 

Stretching, you sat up just a little, testing out how your stomach would react to the movement. It didn’t twist or turn like it had earlier and you let out a breath of relief, reaching out to pull Cale into a quick kiss. 

“Heat me up some of the leftover soup from the freezer?” You requested. You knew Laura and Gary were coming over to spend the afternoon with the two of you, but you were fairly certain that your stomach would be unable to handle whatever lunch they brought. 

“Course sweetheart.” Cale agreed, leaving you to slowly make your way up and out of bed. 

The minute she’d walked through the door, you heard Laura question Cale about why he was cooking when he knew that they were bringing lunch. 

“Because Y/N wants soup.” Cale replied, pulling the defrosted soup from the microwave so that he could dump it into a pot to finish warming. 

Laura had expressed her confusion stating that you and Cale had both known that they were bringing one of your favorites. 

“Mom...she wasn’t feeling well this morning okay.” He sighed. “Soup is easy on the stomach, that is not.” 

“Is she sick? Cale why didn’t you tell us? If she’s not feeling well we can go find something else to do.” Laura had pressed. 

“She’s fine now.” Cale replied, his voice gaining a little bit of an edge that signaled his annoyance. 

“Seriously Cale, if Y/N isn’t feeling well she should be resting, not having to worry about entertaining us.” Laura continued. 

“Mom. Relax.” Cale declared. Immediately Laura started speaking again and the next words out of his mouth were the ones you’d been hiding. 

++

With the silence starting to become uncomfortable in the kitchen, you made your way out from your spot in the doorway, nestling up to Cale’s side as he stared at his mom. Your sudden presence seemed to startle Laura and Gary and they ran their eyes back and forth between you and their son. 

“You’re pregnant?” Laura questioned, tears welling in her eyes. Nodding, you took a step back to pull the ultrasound photos out from the magnet on the side of the fridge. Setting them down in front of her, you pecked Cale’s cheek, before turning to adjust the temperature on your soup so that it didn’t burn. 

“How do you feel about being a grandma?” You questioned after a moment, laughing as she launched herself around the kitchen island, pulling you into a hug. 

“You’re pregnant. You’re really pregnant.” She choked out in disbelief. 

“Yeah mom. I’m pregnant.” You stated. 

“Oh my lord.” Laura breathed and when she pulled away you could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. “This wasn’t planned was it?” She questioned, her slight confusion returning. 

“No, it wasn’t planned.” Cale voiced from behind you. 

“But you’re happy?” She confirmed, looking past you to her son. 

“We’re so happy.” Cale assured her. “Best surprise ever.” 

The way he looked at you sent you back to the night he was referring to a month ago. 

++

Cale had been away on one of the first roadtrips of the season when you’d found out the news. 

With moving and then trying to get settled in in your new home, you’d forgotten you were due for your birth control shot. Finding a local clinic, you made an appointment to go down and get it taken care of. You’d submitted to the requested urine test not thinking anything of it. It wasn’t until a nurse came into your room informing you that they couldn’t give you the shot that anything at all seemed out of place. 

“Wait...what do you mean? Why can’t you give me the shot?” You remembered asking. 

When she’d explained that she couldn’t give you the shot because you were pregnant, your jaw had dropped, your hand drifting down to your stomach. And though you didn’t think they had lied, you took the paperwork the nurse offered you before rushing to the nearest pharmacy where you’d purchased three different pregnancy tests. 

An hour later you were sitting on the bathroom floor staring at various phrases or symbols all signalling that you were definitely expecting - ‘3+ weeks’ one test in particular read. 

You knew you couldn’t be much further along than that, you’d gotten your period shortly after arriving in Denver. You were certain of that because you’d forgotten to pack anything and Cale had had to run to the store on his way home from camp. 

Though your initial reaction beyond disbelief was joy, you were worried about how Cale would take the news. You’d only been together for 5 months and while he’d expressed that he’d be open to having kids if the situation was right...you just didn’t know. 

It had taken you almost 24 hours to come to the conclusion that you just had to trust that Cale would be as happy as you were. This baby was part of both of you and it wasn’t like things between you were anything but good. Knowing that Cale would be home the following night, you set to work on figuring out how to tell him. Heading out to the store you found a retro looking Avalanche sleeper. You’d stopped into a second hand book store while you were out, looking more for something for you to read than anything else but you’d stumbled upon the children’s book ‘goodnight hockey’ and it seemed like the perfect addition to the little package you were putting together. 

Wrapping up the sleeper and book with one of the pregnancy tests, you sat down trying to think about what you wanted to say to Cale with the card. It had come to you as you were going to bed and after writing it down, you tucked the card back into the envelope writing Cale’s name on the front. 

The next day was the longest wait of your life but you were determined to tell Cale when he got home, the secret you’d been hiding for two days already eating at you. It was late...really late and you’d moved from the couch to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of hot chocolate when you heard Cale’s key in the door. 

As he stumbled into the kitchen he seemed surprised that you were still awake, but he’d leaned in to kiss you quickly. Only then did he notice the package on the counter, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of it. 

“What’s that?” He questioned, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over the back of the barstool. 

“A present. For you.” You murmured softly, sending him a sneaky smile as you poured boiling water into your mug on the counter. 

“My birthday isn’t for two weeks sweetheart...can’t it wait?” He asked, leaning against the counter. 

“No, it can’t.” You insisted. “Open it now.” Cale eyed you for a minute before immediately reaching for the wrapping paper, causing you to glare at him in disbelief. 

“Who taught you how to open presents?” You exclaimed. “Open the card first…” Cale rolled his eyes playfully before grabbing the card off the front of the box, slipping the little note card out of the envelope. 

Daddy hopes I get mommy’s giggles, 

Mommy hopes I get daddy’s rosy cheeks, 

No matter what I’m going to be perfect, 

You’ll see for yourself in about 36 weeks. 

You watched as his eyes glazed over, his brain struggling to process given the late hour. Setting the card aside, he tore into the paper on the box frantically, pulling the lid off to reveal all of the goodies tucked inside. You watched, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, as Cale bypassed the pregnancy test instead pulling the sleeper from the box. Just as quickly though, he reached back inside, his jaw dropping as the stick with the word ‘pregnant’ stared back at him. 

“We’re having a baby?” The words spilled from his lips as tears rolled down his cheeks. “You’re serious?”

“I’m pregnant Cale.” You confirmed. “You’re gonna be a dad.” Closing the few steps between you, Cale wrapped his arms around you, spinning you once before burying his head into your neck. 

“I can’t…” He mumbled into your skin. “You’re sure?” 

“I’m sure.” You insisted. “3 home pregnancy tests and a clinic test all confirm.” Although Cale seemed happy, his lack of an official reaction was starting to worry you slightly. When he kissed you though, you took that as a good sign, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Please tell me you’re okay with this…” You whispered, shifting your fingers to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “...because I know this wasn’t planned and it happened sooner than I think we were expecting…” 

“We’re having a baby.” Cale repeated, his tone awestruck. “Fuck sweetheart...of course I’m okay with this.” He breathed, shaking his head as if to pull him out of the daze he was in. “You’re having my baby.” He stated, his grin growing. “I’m shocked but...good shocked.” Kissing you again gently, Cale pulled back and immediately dropped to his knees, his hands sliding across your lower stomach. 

This was the kind of reaction you’d hoped for, better than you’d hoped for even, and you felt your own tears fall as Cale nuzzled against your stomach, kissing gently over the skin there through your shirt. 

“Baby says happy early birthday daddy.” You whispered, staring down at him. 

++ 

You’d spent the rest of that night talking about your surprise blessing, Cale’s palm never leaving your stomach. It had been perfect, just perfect. 

“Oh this is so wonderful.” Laura exclaimed. “How far along are you?” She pressed, her eyes drifting down to your where your baby bump would soon be growing. 

“8 weeks.” You replied. “So still very early but the doctor says everything looks good. We’re due mid-june.” You explained, laughing as Laura expressed her happiness by bouncing up and down. 

She hugged you again before moving to wrap Cale in her arms, the two of them whispering to each other, smiles on their faces. With his wife having expressed her excitement, Gary slid around the counter and pulled you into a hug as well. 

“Congratulations. Can’t wait to meet my grandbaby.” He expressed, squeezing you a second time before moving to pat Cale on the back. You knew Cale needed this moment with his parents, so you turned your attention to the pot of soup bubbling away on the stovetop. 

This year has been full of so many secrets: the disaster around Cale’s pregnancy scare with Sara, your exchanged feelings in March, dating for two months without anyone knowing, moving to Denver, and now the fact that your little family is growing. 

And though the baby was going to remain a secret to some people for a little while longer, one thing was absolutely not a secret: you were in love with your best friend and he was in love with you. Your journey together was only just beginning. 

Cale’s early birthday present: 

[darkredehmption]

Class Is In

#SL #ClassIsIn

Written by @DamagedBrother and @OfFeatherNFang 

****

Mal: 

I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t even the first time, but thank fuck, none of my new ‘students’ seemed to notice. As each of the Brothers filed in, taking various seats at the front of the room, I resisted the urge to up and fucking leave. Instead I clenched the black dry erase marker, my eyes straying to Zsadist, who watched me with a small, reassuring smile. My free hand absently brushed over the new scar beneath my shirt, reminding me of what I was doing, and why. 

My most recent hospital stay had ended only a few days earlier, and while I’d been approved to teach a classroom full of muscle clad, would-kick-the-shit-out-of-satan killers, I was still black listed from actually leaving the manse to go on rotation. So I had to take what I could get I guess.

As silence crept in with everyone settling the fuck down, I felt the even more uncomfortable weight of eyes on me, waiting for how I was going to wow them. I mean, this wasn’t a class on explosives, firearms, or the 52 ways you could kill a guy with your thumb. This was on the supernatural. Or, I guess, everything ELSE that was supernatural other than… well, us.

“Right, shit, well… here we go. Never been a public speaker, so bear the fuck with me while I figure this shit out,” I mutter, tapping the marker against my free hand. Rhage, helpfully, grinned and said ‘here, here’. 

“Well, let’s start by cutting straight to the why’s of being here,” I say firmly, looking to Zsadist and giving a small nod. “Z had a demon hitch a ride. He was possessed,” I say flatly. “And demons gossip around the lava water cooler worse than chicks in a high school. If we don’t start taking precautions now, we could be seeing more of them. Or more of what happened…”

I managed to keep myself from brushing the scar this time, but nothing could quell the furious fire burning in me to ensure Zsadist would never, ever have to go through that shit again. 

Zsadist:

I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked onto my male. I mean let’s face it, I always wanted my eyes on him. But even more lately with what had gone down recently. I could have lost him. Lost the most important person in life at the hands of myself. Well technically not myself, but still, this meeting was important. It was important for the Brotherhood to learn some knowledge on a new threat we had.

Demons.

Shaking the thought from my head as I give my male an encouraging smile. He looked nervous as hell to be in front of the Brotherhood right now, about to teach them a thing or two of his enemies. Though I wanted to believe that my Brothers would behave and give them his full attention. 

I couldn’t help but notice Mal’s hand as it crept closer to the new scar that I helped make on his body. Yes, this wasn’t my doing completely, but my hand was the one wielding the dagger. I had to stop letting myself believe this was all my fault, because it wasn’t. 

The demons were another enemy that we needed to take down. So I made sure everyone was paying attention before my eyes landed on Mal once again. 

Mal:

“I can honestly say I’ve never dealt with a demon possessing a vampire before, but then again, I don’t think the regular vampires they’re used to quite cut it…”

I frowned at that thought, but shrugged and kept going. 

“Anyway, we’ll deal with the other breeds of vampires in another lesson,” I say absently, shaking my head. “And ghouls… werewolves… wendigos… poltergeists… well, you get the idea.” I waved my hand as if it would dismiss all the other breeds of supernatural beasties I’d just thrown out there. “Demons are our most pressing issue. How to identify one…”

Turning to the white board, I popped the top on my marker and started to write as I spoke. 

“Flickering lights. While also a sign of a malevolent spirit, it can be an indicator that a strong demon is nearby. In their raw form, they look like dark black smoke. That smoke will seek access to your body through your nose and mouth,” I instruct, turning to look back at the Brothers. 

All of whom were staring at me, wide eyed and… damn, I wasn’t sure. Angry? Disbelieving? Incredulous? I couldn’t pin it. But this shit was definitely not what they were used to dealing with, and I was going to need to give them a minute to absorb.

“Uh… ask questions, if you want. If it… makes it easier.”

Zsadist:

Whoa okay. That was a lot of knowledge my male just spilled. I was just accepting the fact that demons had entered our world, but all those other things? Hell no. 

As I looked around the room I couldn’t help but notice my Brothers with the same blank look on their faces. Vishous was the first one to recover. I watched carefully as he lit a blunt then leaned across his desk. 

“Well shit. Always figured there was more to life than just us and the humans.” Vishous said with a shrug. 

Rhage’s brows drew in as he raised his hand. I couldn’t help but laugh as he played the role as a student. Once called on, by the very sexy teacher, he drops his hand and unwraps a lollipop.

“So...like all those things you are saying is bad? But how can that be true? I mean...Hadrian is a shifter and he isn’t bad. Used for bad things, sure, but that isn’t his fault. I guess what I’m saying is, what is trying to come for us currently? Do the demons work with the other parties that were mentioned?”

Ah yes, Hadrian.

Even though we were connected, I had a weird feeling that Rhage was tight with the male as well. Rhage once told me that he can relate to Hadrian in some way and hopes that they would get the chance to spend more time together. 

Speaking of, I needed to check in with the shifter and make sure he was doing alright. We did manage to be on rotation together every now and then, but rarely did we have the time to chit chat. Maybe next time Mal was out fighting and I was at home I could see if Hadrian wanted to grab a beer. Couldn’t hurt.

Mal:

“Not all shifters are bad the way not all vampires are bad,” I conceded, nodding my head. “Hadrian is a special example too. Even in his world, being able to shift into more than one creature is rare. Most shifters, like werewolves, are bound to one animal.”

Pausing, I took in a breath, trying not to let myself be distracted by thoughts of Hadrian. The shifter being metaphysically bound to my mate was still a raw point for me, but I was working through it. Y’know. Slowly.

“But back to demons…” Lifting a hand to my shirt, I tugged down the collar just enough to reveal the pentacle tattoo across my chest. I also tried to ignore the quick way Z’s golden eyes narrowed at my potentially showing skin to his Brothers, but in this instance he was definitely going to have to breathe. “There are ways of ensuring a demon can’t possess you,” I explain. “This symbol is a protective one that repels demons. They can’t possess me. You can also wear the symbol, or other various amulets and protective talismans, to prevent it.”

Letting go of the shirt, I start a list.

“So, symbols. Talismans. Holy water,” I add, my tone rueful as I figured some of them were, undoubtedly, rolling their eyes. After all, holy water was also a mythical vampire repellent. “If a demon has already possessed a body, you can sometimes provoke them into revealing themselves by saying the name of God in latin.” I glance back at all of them. “Their eyes will turn a complete and glossy black with no iris at all. If they turn any other colour… well. Run like hell while screaming my name,” I say dryly. 

Zsadist:

My eyes narrowed dangerously low when I watched Mal reveal his chest to my Brothers. Sure, they’ve seen his bare torso, but that doesn’t mean I wanted them sneaking a peek. 

Quickly my head snaps in Vishous’s direction when he starts sketching in the notebook he brought to Mal’s class. Leaning over my desk to look over his shoulder only to reveal a drawing of the tattoo my male wore on his chest. Vishous continued to underline the shape as I leaned back into my seat. He probably had a plan of making some amulets for us to wear while out on rotation.

Everything Mal described sounded...insane. But I knew first hand that this was serious, and everything that he was saying was true.

“I can’t believe we are going to turn into demon hunters!”  Rhage chimes in with a goofy smile.

I hold back a snort, turning my attention towards Tohrment as he clears his throat. All heads turn towards his direction.

“So...do these demons have a main purpose? Or do they just run around trying to find people to possess. Like we know what the lessers want...I was just wondering if these demons had an end goal.” Tohr murmurs as he crosses his arms. 

Mal:

“Woah, hold your horses dragon boy,” I snort, shaking my head. “I don’t want to turn the Brotherhood into hunters. Believe it or not, there are hunters out there ready to track down demons and the like when they pop up and send them back to Hell. The ‘only’ reason I am teaching ‘anything’ right now is because… well, me being here could bring more of the nasties into our radar, and I want everyone at least prepared to handle it.”

Yeah. Fuck. I ‘so’ did not need to lead these leather clad killers into metaphysical battles. They were all about the bang bang motherfuckers, and you couldn’t waste a ghost or half the things I’d fought with just lead and blades alone.

“Case in point,” I continue, arching a brow. “Half the shit I deal with can’t be snuffed out with a few bullets or a well placed knife to the heart cavity, yeah? Banishing demons requires the seal of solomon and exorcism chants and a whole whack of shit. In the case of possession? Prevention is so much better than cure, so I just want everyone able to avoid it. Depending on who excels at these classes, I may go further to teach exorcisms.”

My eyes flicked to Zsadist, then to Vishous, the two I’d already pegged as most likely to be taught an exorcism. If Vishous didn’t go ahead and research the latin for it without me I’d be shocked.

“As far as a demon’s purpose…” I trailed off, sighed then shrugged. “Really, they want mayhem. They want souls. They don’t want to be in hell. So, all of the above and then some. The better their vessel, the more situated they are to get other demons up and included. So, a breed of rich, powerful vampires with all manner of weapons at their disposal would be ‘very’ appealing,” I add dryly. “So, to reiterate… demons flinch at the latin name of God, burn at the touch of holy water, have dark eyes and look like dark clouds of smoke when they come at you in raw form. Any questions?”

Zsadist:

 Everyone kinda stayed quiet, some shook their heads as Mal asked if anyone had questions. Which honestly I was a little relieved at. That means that my Brothers were taking this seriously. Then again after they discovered Hadrian, and learned about shifters, they must believe that anything is possible at this point. 

“Think this is a good starting point. We need to continue on and train to be able to handle the demons. Mal is right in a sense where we don’t need to go out and look for demons to destroy, but more so be equipped to handle them if they get in the way from our main goal.” 

I couldn’t help but chuckle slightly as Rhage’s face fell. Maybe one day Rhage could go on a mission if any of Mal’s hunter friends ever needs a hand. Then again Hollywood actually might cause more damage.

Snorting at the thought as I look up to watch them file out slowly. Vishous stops in front of my mate to show him some things he wrote down then bumps his shoulder before following out after Butch. Figures V would be all about this. I’m sure he would be up all night doing research. 

I lean back in my desk, keeping my eyes on my mate as a private smile slowly forms on my face. Something that my Brothers wouldn’t get to see. Slowly I move to get up, the wooden chair creaking beneath me as I shift my weight off of it. 

“Well, that went...well.” I rumbled as I made my way over to the very handsome teacher. “What do you think?” My arms cross over my broad chest. 

Mal:

With everyone getting the basics down and with no further questions, class seemed to be dismissed. As Vishous stopped to show me his mockup of the tattoo on my chest, I nodded, agreeing with his ideas of necklaces and arm bands bearing the symbol to protect the Brothers. They needed things that were easy to put on or keep close that wouldn’t get in the way of the fight. 

Waiting for Z to come up, I felt myself relaxing the closer he got, until he was right there and I was leaning over to steal a kiss.

“You think it went well?” I murmur, grateful to hear it. “Could you tell I was nervous? Teaching classes is not really my schtick, but everyone seemed to… take it well.”

Sighing, I leant against the desk at the front and gestured backward at the board and the notes I’d made. 

“I know this is new to everyone, but… I appreciate the enthusiasm.” Pausing, I looked my male over and felt a familiar and welcome rush of affection. “You okay?”

Zsadist:

The kiss was soft and I welcomed it by sliding my arms around Mal’s waist. Holding my mate against me as my hand lifted to graze his cheek.

“Yeah, now that everything's okay and you are healed.” I murmur as I avoid his gaze for a moment. Trying not to picture the moment I stabbed my own mate in the chest. 

Clears my throat. “This is good. We needed this done in case we came in contact with another demon. It seems like everyone took it serious for the most part.” I snort thinking of Rhage then shrugs. “Do you feel good about continuing the lessons? I want to make sure every Brother is well equipped to take care of a demon if we come across one. Scribe, don’t need anyone else getting possessed and stabbing people in the manse.”

Mal could have died. So we needed to take this seriously and make sure everyone in the mansion was safe at all times. To think that we let a threat in, that I let a threat in, was unsettling.

Mal:

Nodding, I rubbed a hand down my mate’s arm reassuringly, looking at the empty classroom. I’d already started to take precautions of my own. The second I’d been released from the med wing I’d sought out, of all people, Fritz, asking for a layout of the grounds and every entrance. From there, I’d gone to each one and set up holy seals - wards to keep out demons and trap any that tried to enter. 

“I’ve spoken with Vishous,” I murmur, still thinking about the wards. “I let him know about the wards I put near the entrances - asked him to figure out more permanent solutions to my chalk and salt displays. I think Fritz almost had a coronary when I drew on everything, threw salt everywhere, and told him he couldn’t clean it,” I add ruefully, flashing Z a smile. “But at least that’s a start. I should’ve thought of that when I moved in…”

The admission tasted sour on my tongue, and I looked away from the intensity of that golden gaze to better process my guilt. If I’d had devil’s traps set when I moved in, Zsadist and the demon hitching a ride wouldn’t have got past the door. He’d have been trapped, but performing an exorcism at that point would’ve been a lot fucking easier. But instead I’d been naive, thinking the demons and all the beasties I’d hunted would never find me in Caldwell. And Z had almost paid the price.

“I’m good with continuing lessons, not just on demons,” I said finally, letting out a breath. “And while I was honest when I said I don’t want the Brothers going hunting if I can help it, there is a perk to knowing I have back up if something goes down in our backyard.”

Zsadist:

“Don’t beat yourself up about that. Hell, I’m surprised this is the first time we have come in contact with them. With all the shit we dabble in you would have thought we would have seen them before” I shrug before reaching for my male. My hand cups his nape, forcing his gaze back to mine. 

“Hey. You can’t beat yourself up over this, just like you told me that I can’t even though I do.” I snorted. “It’s done and you are safe in my arms.” My voice cracks slightly at that, holding him a little tighter in my arms. 

“Everything is going well, and I’m grateful to have you teach us how to handle these demons.” I nod before slowly pulling away. 

“Now...come on, let’s head back upstairs…” 

My scarred lips turn up into a playful smirk as I start down the hallway. I couldn’t wait to have my male in our bed and to know that he was safe with me. 

#EndSL #ClassIsIn

[ganymedesclock]

I absolutely love your Hollow Knight headcanons, and I have a question because I'm curious what your thoughts on this are: do you have any headcanons about Lemm? What's his deal, where did he come from? Furthermore, how do you think the interaction would go if he ended up meeting Quirrel at some point?

Hollow Knight is one of those exciting SpIn franchises for me where if I don’t have headcanons about a particular character I’ll string ‘em together pretty quickly because I just like the world that much.

Lemm, incidentally, I have thought about! So I’ll just toss out a sorta randomized tasting platter here under the cut.

Lemm offhandedly mentions other relic seekers but rather than a scholarly order he suggests they’d be jealous of him or compete with him, so he clearly has peers. He also tells Ghost that if they want to move into the City of Tears he’d prefer they pick an empty building AWAY from the one he’s taken over.

He’s shown to be finicky, obstinate, and argumentative- possibly other relic seekers are closer to each other than they are to him- but even when he really, really wants something from Ghost, he’s fair with them, and he is honest with them about how much each is worth. (He doesn’t try to con you on the arcane eggs, and is sincere about how much it means to him.) He also seems to actually enjoy Ghost as an audience, and like talking about it. The description for the Void Idol suggests that Ghost potentially hangs around Lemm and learns from him more than we necessarily ‘see’ in canon.

I interpret Lemm as a wholly mundane sort of bug, no magical aptitude, but as someone who is quite brawny and physically powerful. I just like the idea that in some kind of modern supernatural AU he’d be the ostensible normal everyman keeping up, frustratedly, with all of this mystical stuff happens but then they get ambushed by a zombie and Lemm just lays it out. Overall this guy’s about as much of a desk jockey as Indiana Jones- he mentions doing long treks through the city avoiding husks.

So, to spin what I imagine might be a probable backstory; he seems less like someone who’s accustomed to loneliness or isolation, but rather someone who seeks it out. Possibly grew up in a big family with a lot of siblings, or otherwise a very rowdy environment where he felt like not much room was made for his interests and passions and him having things the way he wants them. Isolation alone doesn’t make him happy, though he seems the type to insist he is (not after neighbors, and all)- really, more than anything, he wants to be listened to and feel like someone is paying attention to him, I think.

He seems to be highly educated and may be something of an elitist snob about it at first glance, but, again, feeding into a kind of defensiveness.

Possibly his interest in history is a kind of compassion? He seems obsessed with the Hollow Knight and the identity of the Five Great Knights, so his own fear of being forgotten (?) / resentment at being overlooked may be something he tries to extend to others. He seeks those who were obscured by history. He’s more cynical about the Pale King than he is about the knights, but even then, he talks about the King’s Idols like he wonders who that person was, as well.

So, yeah, I like this mental image- young Lemm coming from an aristocratic family (his character colors match those of the aristocrat husks) but an overlooked ‘middle child’ too far from the inheritance to feel like he mattered much and entering some kind of major academia institution to prove himself and seek acclaim, only to become irritated and disillusioned with that / in part make enemies for his argumentative personality- and then putting everything he had on his back and heading to Hallownest because he’s out of patience with it all.

Which leads me to... Quirrel.

Quirrel is a living relic and he is an overlooked witness to an erased chapter of Hallownest’s history- the fate of the three Dreamers, and, through them, the Hollow Knight. He’s a key witness to the exact subject of Lemm’s obsession and a record who was not really purged, even if the pieces are in disarray, and wander in and out of his recollection.

Unfortunately rather than a tablet or archive Lemm can pour over and delve into with all of his skills, Quirrel is a person with feelings and opinions, and some of them are that, as an academic, Quirrel has a very different stance to Lemm. 

Quite simply, Quirrel’s perspective seems far more transformative than curatorial. He emphasizes seeing things with new eyes and open awe. He’s happy that he forgot much of himself, even for a time, that he could experience it all new again. The past should serve the future. This seems to be a mentality he shared with Monomon, who when she herself is ‘the past’, is actively motivated and seeks to disable her protections and help Ghost end her life in order to ensure a future- the very reason she became a Dreamer in the first place.

Quirrel’s entire story is about letting go. I don’t personally read his conclusion as an act of suicide, but rather, the symbolic death of Quirrel the Archivist- the last tie he had to his former life. So he plants his nail on the shores of the lake, and leaves to be a new person- to see what comes next with new eyes. He cared about Monomon too much to not carry her with him, to not come back to see her off, but with that done, what he did as part of this ancient magical kingdom really doesn’t matter to him anymore. The people he cared about are gone. He’s going to look forwards and move on.

Assuming he encounters Lemm specifically after this point, this would scientifically speaking drive Lemm up the fucking wall.

Quirrel doesn’t tell and Lemm usually doesn’t ask but that idiosyncratic habit of just spouting off knowledge of ancient worlds and people and shrugging it off, like, well, that’s an interesting anecdote isn’t it! and Lemm is just, no, come back here you bastard don’t depart on a tangent about wrought iron infrastructure this is my lifework we’re talking about.

It’d be a certain amount of comedy but in another sense they have great potential to learn from each other. Quirrel very much surrenders unto the flow in many ways- which is powerful in that it’s probably protected him from the plague for a long time, his ability to let go rather than being tempted down dangerous paths by stray dreams- but, also, it’s clear from his voice and body language that losing Monomon cost him more than he wants to examine; his willingness to move on might be him being a bit dismissive about his own grief.

Lemm, meanwhile, has maybe spent his entire life up to this point doubling down so hard that he’s broken friendships, estranged family, and pissed off colleagues. This stuff has to matter. Someone has to listen to him. He has to know who these people are that disappeared off into the world because it isn’t just as good as they weren’t there! They knew things! They changed things! They did SOMETHING and if no one else wrote it down, he guesses that’s his job! It’s the only way he knows how to care about things.

So Quirrel lets go a little too much, including things he’s not actually over, and Lemm clings to things to such a degree that it seems to have driven him to isolation, even when he’s happier with someone to talk to about his work.

Also one of them’s a samurai and the other’s a self-taught pugilist who isn’t above cracking some skulls and shells with weighty antiques so if you happen to end up on the wrong end of both of them at the same time, heaven help you. 

Possibly, at some point, Quirrel concedes the Madam probably wouldn’t have wanted her archive to rot when the living could make use of it and starts a transcribing project and Lemm goes absolutely fucking ape.

[crispyjenkins]

I dare you to write an Ani5 fix-it fic. I will not be taking criticism and will die on the hill that this is the most powerful ship and could’ve saved the entire clone wars. Bonus points if it features the ship Mace Windu/headaches (bc anakin is a walking mess of shatterpoints and lives to annoy Mace). Codywan to help knock some sense into anakin would also be top tier. I LOVE YOU ZEPH’BUIR

(of course i can’t do a whole fix-it in a quick prompt answer, but i think i’ve set it up for a far happier ending than in canon! support communication and education in relationships (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) and also adhd clones.

fives might be the most i’ve ever struggled with a character (‘cept maybe ahsoka....) so it took a little while to figure out how to write this scene in a way i liked. also, had to go and watch fives clips to try and get my autism brain working, and BOY HOWDY do i actually hate dbb’s take on the clones, especially the accent but everything else too. their character designs make me want to cry. so i’m begging, for me, to imagine this fives like this especially because then we get Tol Anakin and a Smol Clone BF and i think that is a seriously underutilised dynamic.

thank you for the prompt, ad, and for cursing me with this ship in the first place. someday i’ll get around to actually writing them as the battle husbands they are 🧡)

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  Echo's always been good with programming, but Fives is better with the actual building. He's not any good with inventing, maybe, but putting things together? Opening them up and knowing immediately what's wrong? Fives would even say he enjoys it — and being able to talk shop with Skywalker like they're nobody mechanics from the Outer Rim instead of General and Soldier makes the long hyperjumps between missions actually bearable. 

  How that led to him sitting in a rarely used hallway on the Resolute with Skywalker ("Anakin," he keeps insisting with a smile), both leant over a mouse droid in pieces on a drop cloth, Fives isn't really sure. It probably had something to do with Skywalker's excited bounce when he'd come to ask if Fives wanted to help him, the sparkle in his eye reminding Fives just how young the both of them are. How, technically, he's older than Anakin.

  Because, yeah, he is Anakin, not Skywalker, when they're like this. With his growing knight cut a curly untamed cloud around his ears, grease smeared on the underside of his jaw, with Fives stripped down to his blacks from the waist up, with even his blasters set on the floor next to them. 

  With it quickly becoming clear that Anakin doesn't actually need help to rewire the mouse droid, but had asked for Fives to join him anyways.

  They've been at it for a few hours now, their jokes winding down to companionable quiet as they both work on separate parts of the droid. It honestly might have been easier to start from a scrap droid than try to rewire this one correctly, but it's easy work Fives could do blindfolded, and sharing the mutually-focused silence is actually quite nice.

  Anakin is elbow-deep in the outer casing when he finally asks, "Do the clones feel love?"

  And Fives almost gets up and walks away. He knows not every battalion ended up with a good Jedi, that the 212th and the 501st had been so kriffing lucky to end up with "The Team", but sometimes he forgets. Maybe that's the worst part of it: slow, personal moments like this, Fives forgets he's not natborn and bearer of a face shared with millions. Being around his general makes him forget, and maybe he had taken that for granted until now.

  Or maybe it's for that reason that he hesitates from storming off, because Anakin had been the one to name Alpha, to insist on giving them proper leave, to defend them from anyone who talks down at them even if they're a planetary leader. And Rex had said something, once, about Anakin’s brain working in either/ors, being hardwired in some way to only see in black and white and believing that if you're one thing, you can't be another. That what Anakin says isn't always what he means.

  So instead, he asks, "What kind of love are we talkin'?"

  Anakin refuses to raise his head, and Fives can almost see him stressing about how to phrase this.  "Y'know, grand romance and stuff. One-and-onlys and holodrama romcom propaganda and imagining growing old together."

  "'Not quite sure what you're asking, sir." He takes a deep breath. "The short answer is yes, we can and do feel that, but the long answer is I can't speak for every brother, and I would not want to. Some of us don't feel that." Shrugging, he passes Anakin a socket wrench before he can ask for it. "But it's not because we can't, not because of the longnecks. We're bred to be obedient, sir, not emotionless."

  Quiet settles over them again while Anakin processes this, his mouth twisted rather horribly. Fives starts to think he would do a whole awful lot to turn that frown back into a haughty smile. 

  "What do you really want to ask, General?"

  "I'm married to Senator Amidala."

  Now, everyone with eyes knows that. Maybe Torrent knows even better, when they've been covering for their general for over a year now, and clearly the Jedi just aren't doing anything about it — but Fives also knows Anakin has never actually told anyone about this, not even General Kenobi. Rex says Anakin still thinks they've been discreet.

  "If I may be blunt, sir, this is not news."

  And Anakin actually laughs at that, shaking his head as he tosses down his tools to stare at the opposite wall instead. Fives watches his gaze go distant, somewhere far away from the Resolute lost in the middle of space. “I’ve loved her since I was nine years old, Fives. I loved her through not seeing her for a decade, through her assassination attempts and the First Battle of Geonosis and becoming a knight, and I...”

  Fives sighs once. “No one said you had to stay in love, sir.”

  “But that’s just it,” he groans. “I’ve never known how to do anything else, how to be anything else. I don’t... know who I am without it.”

  He has to look away from Anakin, then, because he’s seen brothers go stupid for people they meet on campaigns, or for their Jedi, and Fives isn’t nearly as young as some of the shinies out there, but he knows what it looks like, when they leap in without thinking. He lets out a long, slow breath, his eyes falling on the ‘saber at Anakin’s hip. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  Anakin blinks at him, and nods.

  “That’s too young to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.” Fives raises a brow at his general’s startled expression, which is maybe more amusing (endearing) than it has any business being. “General, you’re barely an adult, just the same as the vode. If my mental timeline is right, you weren’t even twenty standard when you married Amidala, which, frankly, was reckless and unfair on her part.”

  “Padmé would never–”

  “I don’t mean intentionally, sir. The fact of the matter is, no wonder you don’t know who you are without her, because you’ve always had her.” That decade of no contact notwithstanding, considering Anakin didn’t not have her, either. “Senator Amidala knew who and what she was before you, and she’ll know who and what she is without you.”

  “That’s not quite fair,” Anakin grumbles, but his throat is flushed in what Fives hopes is entirely appropriate guilt, or at the very least embarrassment. “It was my idea to get married after Geonosis.”

  Fives snorts. “The idea of a child thrown into war, afraid to lose anything.”

  “You’re being uncharacteristically candid, Fives.”

  “Respectfully, sir, the last thing you need is to be coddled.” His general laughs again, this time good and bright in a way he hasn’t heard before; and then Fives can’t help what he admits next. “We weren’t allowed toys, or anything.”

  Laughter cutting off abruptly, Anakin’s eyes grow haunted instead. There might not be anyone else in the galaxy with quite the same experience as the clones, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t those that understand.

  “Hevy made me and Echo– Well, he said they were mythosaurs like Kal taught us about, but they looked more like sad loth cats. He cut up his own bedsheet to make ‘em, and couldn’t tell the longnecks what he’d done with it, so he just slept on the bare mattress.”

  “Fives...”

  But it’s clear Anakin doesn’t actually know what to say, so Fives pushes on. “Some of Fett’s instructors tried to teach us Mando’a, you know? I think Spar is the only brother that ever got fluent, the rest of us have been making up words and combining them with Basic and Kaminoan and whatever else the Cuy’val Dar spoke that sometimes we don’t even remember what language they are anymore.”

  “I didn’t learn Basic until I was five.” Anakin thunks his head onto the wall behind him with a sigh, the mouse droid forgotten at his feet. “Other padawans always told me I was lucky Master Obi-Wan knew Huttese.” Ahh, kark, his general had been a Hutt salve; at least the spice runners made sure their slaves could communicate with their customers. “I couldn’t read a word of Aurebesh when I first came to the Temple, though to be fair, I couldn’t read anything else, either.”

  “You grow up around other kids?”

  “Yeah, my mom and I lived in the biggest slave slum on Tatooine.”

  Fives doesn’t need to tell him how lucky he was just to have had their own quarters. “I think, sir, that the vode know better than you think, what it’s like always standing on the edge of losing everything.”

  Squeezing his eyes closed, Anakin inhales sharply and clenches his fists over his knees. “What happened? To your mythosaur toys?”

  “One of the longnecks found them while we were in training, ‘threw them out before we got back. I think Hevy was even more upset than we were.”

  The leather glove over his prosthesis creaks as he tightens his grip on his own palms. “Was it easy? To just... forget about them?”

  “Of course not,” Fives snorts and crosses his arms, “we were the equivalent of eight standard at the time, but we honestly didn’t have a choice. As we got a little older, we stopped trying to put meaning in things, because we weren’t allowed things. Our names are our only real possession, even our armor can be taken from us, but we will not, cannot, let anyone take our names.”

  Groaning, Anakin scrubs his hands over his face before pushing himself up to finally look at Fives properly. He still doesn’t speak for a moment, just watching him, then teases flatly, “You’ve been spending too much time with Cody and Obi-Wan, you’re starting to speak in riddles.”

  “They are riddles only to you, sir.” He offers a small smile, and is only slightly disappointed when Anakin doesn’t return it.

  Instead, he lets out a winded breath. “So. You’re saying that it’s not easy to let go of even small things, but we must. And then there are things that we shouldn’t let go of?”

  “Some things aren’t ours to keep.”

  Anakin swallows. “Like Padmé,”

  “Like any person, no matter what sort of love we have for them.”

  Groaning, Anakin pulls his knees back up close and drops his face into his arms. “But I still love her.”

  Knowing that this is not a new problem, that General Kenobi has been trying to teach his general this for as long as they’ve known each other, Fives takes a moment to consider. “You don’t really have to stop loving her.”

  “But you said–”

  “You think I stop loving my brothers when they die?”

  Whether or not it’s healthy to hold onto affections for someone after a romantic relationship is a conversation for another time, Fives decides, and leans over to pick up where Anakin had left off with the droid.

  “General, it sounds to me like you already know all this,” he says, twisting a wire into the grip of his glove to yank it from the motor. “And  that you’re digging your feet in — which is the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”

  “You sound like Obi-Wan,” he groans, but doesn’t deny it.

  “Hmm, well, at least we’re still just kids.”

  Anakin very slowly looks up from his arms, just enough for Fives to see his wide eyes. “What do you...?”

  “Well, we’ve still got time to learn, don’t we?” Fives raises his eyebrow as he fits the new wire into the motor and starts to close all the panels back up. “I still think about Hevy and Droidbait and Cutup, and honestly, I still think about Echo’s and my mythosaurs. That’s not a bad thing, I don’t think, not even the Jedi would think that’s bad. I’m still angry when my vode don’t get funerals and I honestly hold that against the Chancellor and the Jedi both. But I don’t get to go back to Kamino and take my anger out on the longneck that took our toys, and I’m... working on it, not being so angry with the generals. I’m still angry. But I know the Jedi have about as much say in all of this as we do, and I know burying my brothers won’t bring them back. So I’m working on it.”

  “I... don’t have to be good at it all at once.”

  “Great Maker, General, just because you’re the Chosen One doesn’t mean you have to actually be good at absolutely everything from the start. You just have to try, and you still have time to.”

  He looks up and finds Anakin already smiling back. “Fives, I could kiss you.”

  “Considering it sounds like Senator Amidala just divorced you, I think that’s a very bad idea, sir.”

  “Bah, you’re no fun.”

  Fives feigns offense, “This mouse droid we’ve rigged to follow Captain Rex around and scream says differently.”

-

  The night the 501st returns to the Resolute after finally (kriffing finally) leaving Umbara, Fives finds a hand-sewn stuffed mythosaur on his bunk, with a string collar and a dogtag etched with CT-782.

-

Mando’a: Cuy’val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones vod/e —  ���brother/s, comrade/s, sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s” (*in this context, fives is using brothers as gender neutral as well, because you won’t take trans and nb clones even from my cold dead hands*)

[1littleshippergirl1]

Little info about this: it's like Canon, Harry defeated Voldemort but he and Tom Riddle are separate people. Tom and Harry are married, they dated during their Hogwarts years. Teddy has lived with them since Andie became too old to care for him. Technically Harry is supposed to be his dad, having adopted him but Teddy will still just think of him as his godfather

Also features soft!Tom b/c I can

----

The day had given way to dark; the snow was still steadily falling down, covering everything out there thickly. Teddy pressed his nose against the chilly glass, looking over at the illuminating Christmas lights that the people that lived across the street still hadn't taken down. The red and green lights twinkled, giving off their respective colored shadows.

It was about to be an exciting evening; it was Tom's birthday and Harry had planned a small party for him. Mrs. Weasley had initially wanted them all to have the party at the Burrow but Harry gently declined. Teddy knew why; Tom wasn't fond of being around a lot of people. He was alright with the Weasleys (he and Percy talked the most) but their home was small and it allow them to spread out like he would have liked.

Another thing Tom didn't like was a fuss being made out of his birthday. He insisted nothing needed to be done this year. He'd never liked celebrating it, never had a reason to particularly care about it. Harry was determined to change that, which he had apparently been doing since they'd met before they were friends, while they were just friends and as they got together.

Harry told him the plan a week ago: they were to act like it was an ordinary day so Tom was none the wiser. Then at about ten at night, they would start putting together the dining room while Tom was off probably in the library or elsewhere. Teddy wryly told his godfather not to go overboard. He had a tendency to do, attempting to make up for the lack of real childhood he and Tom didn't get to have.

What they were both unaware was that Teddy had been planning something special for a while now. He'd asked Percy for help a few months ago and now everything was ready. His stomach fluttered and he felt quite jittery. He couldn't wait until Tom saw his gift!

"When's he coming?" Teddy was, admittedly, slightly impatient to get started.

"Soon," Harry grinned. "I'll have to go get him." That was likely true. Tom could get lost in whatever he found interesting, not noticing how the hours would pass until someone pulled him away.

"Get him for what?" Came a deep voice from behind. Tom paused, staring at the decorations and food that was placed on the table.

"Surprise!" Teddy said excitedly. "Happy birthday, Tom!"

It wasn't easy to make Tom speechless, downright impossible it seemed. But today they'd done it. They'd rendered him unable to say a thing.

"I thought you forgot?" Tom blinked. He looked to Harry for an explanation. Teddy had never seen him look so innocent before. Like a child that was seeing gifts under the Christmas tree.

Harry cupped Tom's cheek, caressing it with his thumb. Teddy pretended he didn't see a red flush come over Tom's face. The older man was embarrassed (and as a result--angry) whenever someone caught him like that. "Surely you didn't think so? I'd never forget, love. Neither would Teddy."

Harry pressed a kiss on Tom's lips, pulling back with a bright beam on his face. "Now that you're here, you can put on your birthday hat!"

"Birthday-no," Tom was shaking his head. "Absolutely not. I refuse to wear such a silly thing."

"You mean after all the time I took to make it?" Harry was being deliberately quiet, as if he were hurt. Teddy knew he wasn't. He was merely exploiting the emotions Tom insisted he didn't have. For a good cause.

Tom groaned. He actually groaned. "Very well. Give it to me."

Immediately, Harry beamed again. "Fantastic! Here you are!"

Teddy barely refrained from snickering.

His godfather said often Tom pranced around like he was royalty or something, so it was only fitting that he wear a handmade crown with the words Dark Lord Wannabe on it.

He had no idea what that was about but evidently they did. Harry looked like he was on the verge of laughter and Tom's eye twitched.

"There, don't you look adorable and non threatening," Harry laughed out loud.

Tom was disgruntled. "I despise you, Potter."

"Watch it," Harry wagged a finger, "you're a Potter now. Don't go self hating on my watch."

It was a curious thing. People would have expected Harry to take Tom's name, not the other way around. But Tom wasn't one to play by the rules. He wanted to rid himself of his surname as soon as possible, proclaiming that it meant nothing to him. During their vows, Tom quietly said that Potter served as a symbolic reminder of what Harry had given him: a family, friends, hope, love.

Tom rolled his eyes, motioning towards the table. "Shall we get on with this?"

"Would it kill you to be enthusiastic?" Harry remarked as his husband sat down in one of the chairs.

"Quite. It would be tragic to pass away on my birthday."

"I dunno, maybe it's some sort of luck to ring in the new year?" Harry said teasingly.

A sparkle of mischievousness came into Tom's eyes and he swatted at Harry's bum. Teddy grimaced and hoped they could keep themselves in tact until they were in the privacy of their bedroom.

"You're being awfully naughty , Tom."

"In that case, I give you full permission to punish me until my behavior is sufficient," Tom smirked.

Teddy wanted to gag. "You guys are gross."

They ignored him.

"Alright, birthday boy," Harry swooped down to kiss his forehead. "What are we doing first? You pick."

"I suppose gifts," Tom shrugged like he was indifferent to the whole thing but Teddy wasn't fooled. He knew the older man was dying to know what he was bought.

"Alright," Harry nodded. He started to reach for the nearest box which do happened to be Teddy's.

"Wait!" He said quickly, causing the two men to swivel their heads in his direction. "Er, do mine last."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "Okay... Open mine then, love." He handed Tom a small package.

It turned out to be a framed photograph of the first photo that was taken of them. Tom stroked it with a single finger. Teddy took a peek at it. They must have been no more than thirteen. Harry was laughing, ducking his head down as Tom threw a handful of snow on top his hair. At the last minute before the photo looped, they turned to smile at whomever was taking it. They were somewhat bashful , which was a funny look for them, especially Tom.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked, looking unsure. "I wasn't sure what to get you and Hermione suggested something sentimental and-"

Tom cut him off by pressing his lips against Harry's. When he was finished, he rested their foreheads together. "Thank you," He whispered.

"You really like it?" Harry had to clarify.

"I love it because it was from you."

Definitely not something most would think Tom Ri--Tom Potter would be caught saying.

They got through a few more gifts. Teddy observed how several emotions crossed Tom's face, though he would probably deny it. His heart began to thump the closer they were getting to when he would open Teddy's. He didn't know how the older man was going to react. Hopefully well.

"Alright, Teddy, your turn," Harry said cheerfully.

Teddy nervously presented Tom with the gift. The former Slytherin quirked an eyebrow. "You have to open it from the front," he explained, "so it's in order."

"Very well," Tom opened the box to revel folded up parchments. Teddy had been careful to keep it loose so nothing would wrinkle. "Every since I could remember, you've been around," Tom read aloud.

"You've taught me many things."

"You've given me confidence."

"You showed me how to negotiate better than anyone I know."

Harry snorted.

"But most of all, you've given me your love."

Tom wore an unreadable expression as he unrolled the last one, inhaling sharply. His eyes darted towards Teddy, who smiled hesitantly at him.

It took several moments for Tom to speak. "Are...are you sure, Teddy?"

"What?" Harry was curious and went to look. His eyes widened.

"I'm sure," Teddy said quietly. He stood in front of Tom and cleared his throat. "Tom Marvolo Potter, would you do me the honor of becoming my other dad?"

___

Tom Marvolo Potter, formerly Riddle, never cried.

Not since he was a small child and his in the comfort of his assigned bedroom to escape the torment of the other children in the orphanage.

But here he was, nearly thirty years of age and his eyes had grown misty and a lump formed in his throat. At one point when he was a child, this was all he ever wanted until the dream seemed like it was never to be and faded away.

And now he had it.

The last part of his gift that he unrolled had been adoption papers. They all seemed to be in order. Only his signature was needed in a couple of spots.

"Come here," Tom croaked out.

Teddy practically leaped into his arms, burying his face in the crook of Tom's neck. One hand was on the back of the boy's head. Tom squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting those tears to fall. He heard Harry from behind him and felt him grip his shoulder.

"You know," Tom said when he properly regained his emotions in check, "you can't take this back. No matter how angry you get at me."

It was meant as a feeble joke but his voice was thick, unable to push those... feelings back like he would preferred.

Teddy pulled back, his eyes glistening with tears. He nodded. "I know."

"Teddy..." this came from Harry, utterly in disbelief. "How did you...when did you-"

"Percy," Teddy said with a smile. "He helped me with everything." He looked at Tom shyly. "So it's a yes, yeah?"

"A million times yes," Tom did a rare thing and kisses him on the forehead. He wasn't as physically affectionate as Harry but he hoped Teddy knew he cared. "Thank you, Teddy. This is the best gift I've ever been given."

"I think I've been upstaged," Harry laughed lightly. "No way I can top that."

For the rest of the evening, the rest of what was left of the year, they ate cake and drank pumpkin juice and enjoyed each other's presence. Tom was the lightest he'd been in years; he watched as Harry and Teddy laughed over something that was said with a look of fondness on his face.

Never did he imagine having all this. Back at the orphanage where he sat on his lumpy cot, knees pulled up to his chest, he thought he was doomed to a life of misery. No one ever came to see him and even at Hogwarts kids had avoided him.

And then he met Harry, who brightened up his entire world and gave him possibilities he didn't know existed.

And now he had a family. All of his own.

The clock struck midnight. Tom reached over to squeeze Harry's hand.

"What's that for?" Harry whispered.

"Just a thank you."

Harry was bemused. "For what?"

Lips caressed his temple. "Everything."

[hlizr50]

Revelations Chapter 2: The Rise

Hawke tells Kieran that plans have changed. To what? Well, he still has to figure that out. But an attack on the Rise bring even more realizations to light about the Maiden, and Hawke isn't sure whether he should be astounded by her bravery or appalled by her recklessness.

Read on AO3

Hawke eyed the amber liquid in the short crystal glass as he turned it in his fingers. Two candles flickered on the mantle, casting the slightest glow into the shadows of the room. But the dimness mattered not: he could see every woodgrain and knot in the walls as well as if it were midday. He didn’t look up when the door opened, mind spinning with his new revelations and shoulders heavy with the burdens of leadership he had to bear.

How the fuck was he going to figure this out?

“Godsdammit, Hawke. Not that look again.”

He knew if he looked up his amber gaze would be met with ice blue, hallmark of the wolven. He imagined Kieran was running a large palm down his face, exasperated with his prince’s ever-evolving scheme. So he kept his eyes fixed on the stiff drink in his hands, but couldn’t help but tip up a corner of his mouth.

“And what look is that, Kieran?”

“That broody one. Where you purse your lips and narrow your eyes and think loud enough for all of Solis to hear the damned gears working,” Kieran growled, stalking over to join Hawke at the small table. The Atlantian only then looked up through a loose mess of dark waves, finding his brother spinning the chair to sit with the backrest to his front and resting his forearms lazily across the top. “So tell me what your idiotic new plan is so I can then tell you how idiotic it is, and then you can proceed to not listen at all and insist that it is not idiotic and that it is, in fact, the only reasonable course of action.”

Silence permeated the space, blanketing the room in tension – the same room in the Red Pearl where he had first met the Maiden. Penellaphe.

Poppy.

Poppy, who carried that dagger of bloodstone and wolven bone and had managed to stab Jericho during his ill-fated kidnapping attempt. Poppy, who was quick-witted and kind and beautiful.

Poppy, who was beaten on what seemed like a regular basis. Poppy, who had said that the Duke had touched her. Poppy, whose punishment seemed to warrant the presence of the lord whose reputation was so vile that it was common knowledge around the castle that one did not want to catch his attention, good or bad.

He was staring at his glass again. A harsh laugh escaped his lips as he realized the absolute madness of the words that rose to his tongue.

“We can’t give Poppy back to the Ascended.”

Hawke could feel his brother bristle at that, and he couldn’t really blame his bonded wolven for the reaction. It was absolute, utter insanity.

“Poppy. Poppy? We’re on a nickname basis now, Hawke?” Kieran spat his own nickname at him before pushing himself out of the chair. Hawke’s eyes followed his pacing, gaze trained on his dark features, made darker by the night’s shadows and his own frustration. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can already assure you it’s a bad idea. She’s not like the other ladies. You can’t just seduce the Maiden for a particularly impressive notch on your bedpost –“

“That is not what I am doing.” Red rage sang through his blood at the implication, knowing the suffering that Poppy had experienced. But Hawke reminded himself that Kieran didn’t know – had no way of knowing that the Maiden may have been as much a prisoner as he had been. He felt eyes on him and turned his head to meet that ice-blue stare. Kieran’s gaze was shrewd, questioning. He could likely feel the ire billowing off of the prince, thick black smoke from a fire stoked with malice.

“Then what is it, Cas?”

Hawke’s shoulders slumped at the use of his name, his true name. The two of them rarely used it, the need for his absolute dedication to the role of royal guard Hawke Flynn overriding all else. But the name and the quiet desperation in his brother’s voice… he felt the resolution solidify in his chest. He didn’t know what they would do, but the Maiden was leaving this place and she would not come back. Freedom from her current torment was paramount, but the implications were far-reaching. What about Malik? How could they barter for his freedom? And how could he guarantee her safety, in Solis or Atlantia? If she were found in Solis she would be immediately returned into the abusive custody of the Ascended, but if she were found in Atlantia…

She would be killed, without question, and probably not quickly and painlessly.

He hadn’t realized that his stare had grown distant and cloudy until the warm brown of Kieran’s skin entered his periphery. Blinking, he refocused and saw that there were hands – his brother’s battle-worn hands pressing into the ashy wood to his left. Amber eyes traced up his arms and met that pleading gaze. Kieran knew – he always knew – that he was unsettled. Hawke just hoped that he would understand and accept why things had to change.

“Today I had to deliver the Maiden to a summons from Duke Teerman.” He gestured for Kieran to return to his chair, not wanting to explain this whole mess with the wolven hovering menacingly. “When I approached her and her lady’s maid to fetch her, they both seemed to be seized with distress. I could see that her maid was alarmed, but of course I could not see the Maiden’s face.

“I dismissed it as we walked. She didn’t say anything and, looking back, that should have been the second indication that something was wrong. But when we got to the door she stopped and just… she seemed to stare at it, as if she were frozen. She waved me off when I asked about it and then she went inside.”

Hawke pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose, leaning back. He caught Kieran’s eyes flickering with impatience. “I know, I know, I’m getting to the point.”

“I didn’t say anything,” the wolven shrugged with a grimace, winning a dramatic eye-roll.

“Anyway. I stayed outside the door and when I listened it seemed like an ordinary lecture, and over ridiculous things. I assumed the Duke just liked to listen to himself talk and flex his authority. But then…” Hawke sucked in a breath. Heat coiled inside of him, a burning weight of anger and disbelief. And the pressure looming over him – the promise to free his brother, to raise Atlantia from the ashes – grew ever heavier, more confounding. But still he knew he could not abandon her to this fate, no matter what Kieran or the rest of his men or his country might argue. “He beat her, Kieran. And not a violence born of frustration in the moment. This was calculated and sadistic. With a cane. And he has been doing it for years.” Eyes trained on the fluttering candlelight, Hawke took two calming breaths. His companion had not moved or spoken – barely reacted at all.

“All I could think about was Carsadonia.” That got Kieran’s attention.

Kieran: friend, bonded wolven, brother. Hawke had suffered greatly during his time in captivity, but the wolven had also lived five decades of sickness and uncertainty. Those piercing light blue eyes flared and a muscle in his jaw twitched, and the Atlantian knew that his brother hadn’t expected this.

And then Kieran surprised him.

“So what do we need to do?”

~~~

Hawke scowled, leaning against the wall across from the heavy wood of the Maiden’s chamber doors.

Poppy. Poppy’s chambers.

She hadn’t left in two days. And even though she had warned him that it would likely take that kind of time to… recover… the time still ate away at him. The rage at such injustice ignited something in his chest that he wasn’t sure he understood. The fierce jolt of protectiveness was completely unexpected, and not something he truly needed right now. But he’d be damned if he was going to deny it.

At the very least Poppy was the Maiden – outwardly a symbol of the Ascended, their dominion, their twisted version of history and tradition. At the very least she was a girl who was put on a pedestal for the kingdom but was kept in a pretty gilded cage, forbidden to participate in life and forced to endure whatever torments and violations the royals deemed necessary to ‘ensure her dedication’. He had yet to discover the depths of those depravities, but he would. At the very least she was an innocent girl who only knew what she’d been taught and still had the courage to question it, even with the threat of harm ever-looming. Who she was, at the very least, would have earned his respect.

But she was more than that. Hawke knew. She was so much more, and he had known that since that first night. She was beautiful, with luscious red lips and soft supple curves. Her wit was quick, and those eyes and lips so expressive that he couldn’t help but try to frustrate her. She was just so… adorable when he had been able to push her buttons just so. And now… Gods, now? Now that he knew the stakes she was facing every time she even thought to move even her little toe out of line he couldn’t decide if he was in awe of her bravery or if he was frustrated by her recklessness. If he had wanted to save the Maiden, a girl who was only a victim of her upbringing, then his urge – his need – to rescue Poppy eclipsed that want. Tenfold.

All of his plans had exploded in his face and now lay in ashes.

And so Hawke stood there, on guard, staring at her door.

Two days. She hadn’t come out in two days. He should be thankful, as it gave him time to try to figure out a way to save both Poppy and his brother. He was working on that, but he found his mind coming back to the ‘lesson’ he had witnessed. The evil that had been thrust upon her. And while he’d gotten the answers about the Duke, about the cane, about how long it had been happening and how it had affected her, there was one looming problem that he had yet to completely understand.

Lord Brandole Mazeen.

There was a part of him that didn’t want to know his role in Poppy’s abuse, knowing the reputation that followed in his wake. Why had he been in the office with Duke Teerman? Hawke hadn’t heard anything other than the Duke’s drawling condescension and the sound of the cane cutting the air and striking flesh. But he had no idea what happened in that room – things that he wouldn’t be able to hear. Poppy had said that the Duke looked at her, touched her. Obviously, the Duke’s proclivities matched Mazeen’s sadistic streak. Maybe it was just a pastime they enjoyed sharing. Maybe it was a power dynamic they delighted in, knowing that Poppy would be unable to deny them their entertainment.

Fucking disgusting.

Growling, Hawke pulled a dagger from his boot. He needed to figure this out. Currently his strategy was to push Poppy’s curious, intelligent mind as far as he could and simply hope that she realized that things weren’t the way she had been raised to believe. He’d probably never had a more ridiculous, faulty strategy in his life, but there was something in him that whispered that she might just be willing to leave. She might even be looking for a way out. That would make their exit from Masadonia much easier than he would have initially anticipated.

He scowled down at his dagger, using it to pick under his fingernails. Getting out of the city and to New Haven was the easy part. But what if she did agree? What if she understood the wrongs of the Ascended and chose to come with him. What would happen when she found out who he was? Surely she wouldn’t just accept that and move on. And what of Malik? He couldn’t give Poppy back to the Ascended, but that also meant his bargaining chip for his brother was no more. Years of planning – ruined. Was it worth it? Was Poppy worth it? Something nagged at his hardened heart, telling him that she was. But how could he be sure? He barely knew her, could hardly know enough to care –

Horns blared and he jerked his head up. He returned the dagger to his boot and pushed away from the wall. The air shifted and, if the horns hadn’t been indication, the tingle of awareness that crept down his spine told him all that he needed to know.

The Rise.

He was already running when the horns called a second time and he barely noticed the tremor that ran under his feet. The entrances to the castle would be sealed within minutes. Hawke’s pace slowed slightly as he wondered for a moment if his priority was supposed to be the Maiden or the Rise. But he kept moving toward the exit. Poppy hadn’t left her room for two days, and the horns would signal to her and her lady’s maid to stay put. He was of more use on the front lines, making sure the invasion never even made it to the castle gates.

Some of his men would question his actions, his choice to assist in the defense of the Rise. But none of the men on the battlements were Ascended – of course they never chose to trouble themselves with the effort it may take to defend their cities, even if their strength and speed could account for that of ten mortal men – and he would not leave the mortals and potential ‘Descenters’ to die in the wake of their leaders’ indifference. And so he drew his short sword as he emerged into the chill of the night, stepping into mist-filled air. So it was craven. The clanging of steel, screams of men, demented howls of the hollow creatures that used to be men – they filled the night, wafting like the mist into the star-flecked sky.

Dispatching the craven outside the Rise was relatively quick work, the mist allowing for him to be much more lax about keeping his strength and quickness in check. Adding that to the fact that many had tried to scale the wall, he found himself with few of the ravenous, soulless creatures left. They had to have been newly turned, lacking their usual hollowness. Hawke took a moment to breathe, offering a brief prayer to the gods for even more souls lost to the Ascended. Perhaps one day he would learn their names and carve them in the wall – the only monument to the lost since the fall of Atlantia. He carried those names with him, carved into his very soul. He had known too many of them, and too well. The loss of each was like a brand, burning inside him.

Hawke stalked back within the protection of the wall, scanning the battlements for wayward craven that had not been taken care of. He caught sight of a cloaked and hooded figure, launching bloodstone arrows into the night – into craven. With impressive accuracy. Narrowing his eyes he studied the archer, spying pale fingers and unprotected arms. Whoever it was, they weren’t wearing the armor of a guard. They weren’t wearing armor of any kind. Hawke swiftly made his way – sword still in hand – to the short ladder that led to the parapet and marveled at what he saw.

It was no guard.

The fingers and arms of alabaster had not prepared him for the well-muscled leg that stretched out from under the cloak, balancing the woman who had crouched to a knee for the benefit of stable aim. Hawke didn’t need his enhanced Atlantian eyesight to appreciate the sheer… perfection of what was before him, from the top of that delicious, milky thigh down to those lovely delicate…

Slippers?

“You must be the goddess Bele, or Lailah, given mortal form.” He was absolutely reverent, and absolutely confounded. The figure before him spun on her knee, arrow trained straight at his head. He couldn’t see inside her hood, but gods did he want to. The arrow aimed at his face was a small bit concerning, however. “You are,” he breathed, sheathing his sword. “You are absolutely magnificent. Beautiful.”

He grinned wolfishly when he saw her body twitch, as if she was not expecting to be worshipped. But how could he not? With that spectacular leg and that spectacular aim. “The last thing I expected was to find a hooded lady with a talent for archery manning one of the battlements.” Hawke extended his hand to the warrior goddess. “May I be of assistance?”

The woman didn’t speak, but she did lower her bow and shift it to one hand. A relief. She gave him a motion, signaling him to back up. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed, still curiously awed by this mystery goddess. She climbed down the ladder but never turned her back to him. He was impressed at her vigilance, knowing not to give her back to a potential foe. When she reached the bottom of the ladder she slung the bow over her back. She flinched, almost imperceptibly, at the contact.

Hawke narrowed his eyes. “You’re… aahh…”

Staring into the darkness under the hood he could make out the swell of red lips, the gleam of emerald eyes. And the peek of shimmering white under the cloak – combined with that tiny twinge when the bow hit her back – drew all the puzzle pieces together. He knew that nightdress. He had touched it. He’d had his mouth on it.

This warrior, mystery archer manning the battlements, was Poppy. What in the name of all the gods…

She moved to make a swift exit and he blocked her path.

“What are you doing up here?” he demanded, cursing himself. She hadn’t left her room in two days. Two days. And the horns signaling a craven attack had acted not as a warning as he had hoped, but as a fucking invitation. Poppy tried to brush past him, but he caught her arm. He still had the upper hand. She had no idea that he knew who she was. He was bristling at her recklessness, but he wasn’t so frustrated to deny himself the fun of seeing this situation play out. “I think-“

Poppy spun in his grasp, twisting under his arm. Then she kicked her leg out low and swept his legs out from under him. He had to let go of her to catch himself before hitting the stone face-first.

That was… unexpected.

Hawke bent and retrieved the dagger from his boot. The Maiden… warrior? Poppy was running on the inner ledge of the Rise. He gripped the blade of the dagger and let it fly, catching the corner of her cloak. He felt a smirk forming as she was jerked back, and he stepped purposefully toward her.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he scolded. His eyebrows rose as she wrenched the dagger out of the wall and then flipped it in her hand, cocking back to send it flying back at him. “Don’t.” He warned, but she would not be swayed. The dagger flew at him – at his face. He turned sharply and caught it by the handle, giving her a condescending ‘tsk’.  Spinning, she made her run toward the stairs, but Hawke was… not mortal. He jumped up to the narrow ledge at the top of the wall and used his stealth and quickness to sprint ahead of her, dropping down in her path. Poppy skidded to a stop, arms flailing, before landing on her hip with a painful-sounding thud. He inwardly winced, knowing that her back was still sore and that fall likely hadn’t done much to make it better. He would have to apologize for that later. And be more careful.

“Now that really wasn’t nice at all.” He grinned again, noticing how Poppy looked up to the ledge he’d toed and then back to him. Disbelief glowed in those eyes, shining under that hood. “I’m aware that my hair is in need of a trim, but your aim is off. You should really work on that since I’m quite partial to my face.”

Poppy kicked at him again, in his lower leg. She was quite the fighter, wasn’t she? She got to her feet, spinning to her right, but he blocked her, so she tried to sweep to the left. When she couldn’t get past him she kicked out again. He caught her ankle, getting another good, long, hard look up and down that delectable leg.

“Scandalous,” Hawke teased, but his voice was sensuous and dark. The warrior maiden growled and he couldn’t help but laugh. She was particularly enticing when she was frustrated. “And such dainty little slippers. Satin? And silk? They’re as finely tailored as your leg. The kind of slipper no guard of the Rise would wear. Unless they’re being outfitted differently than I am.”

He dropped her leg, but before she could react he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. She took a ragged breath against his chest. Gods he could feel her against him. “You know what I think?”

Only then did he feel the blade at his neck. How had she managed that? Still, he didn’t let go of her, and was rewarded with her pushing the tip further into his flesh and drawing blood.

“Correction.” His laugh was breathy, ragged, but amused. She was absolutely the most intriguing, distracting, brave, reckless woman he’d ever encountered. “You are an absolutely stunning, murderous little creature.” Hawke glanced down, peeking the weapon that had nicked his flesh. His grin turned feral, knowing that she had revealed her hand without realizing.

“Nice weapon. Bloodstone and wolven bone. Very interesting…” He returned his gaze to those shimmering orbs under that infernal hood. “Princess.”

Poppy’s hand jerked back, pulling the blade from his neck. Perfect. He caught that wrist in his free hand. “You and I have so much to talk about.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“She speaks!” Hawke widened his eyes, feigning shock. “I thought you liked to talk, Princess. Or is that only when you’re at the Red Pearl. You’re not going to pretend that you have no idea what I’m talking about, are you? That you’re not her?”

“Let me go,” Poppy commanded, tugging on her arms.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Hawke turned them and pushed the Maiden against the Rise, trying not to agitate her healing back, and pinning her wrists against the stone. “After all we shared? You throw a dagger at my face?”

“All we shared?” she scoffed. “It was a handful of minutes and a few kisses.” Oh, no, she was not going to brush it off like that. He could have written off that evening in that manner, but not her. Not the Maiden, who had snuck out and let him touch her, taste her… who had asked him to help her live.

He lowered his voice a register. “It was more than a few kisses. If you’ve forgotten I’m more than willing to remind you.”

“There was nothing worth remembering.” Her retort was scathing, and he had half a mind to rip that hood off and kiss her until she took it back.

“Now you insult me after throwing a dagger at my face. You’ve wounded my tender feelings.” But the Atlantian smirked. She may be quick-witted, but he had over a hundred years on her. He could banter and quip for hours on end, but he would enjoy watching her grow more and more infuriated. He loved the way her chest was growing rosy with heat in the peeks of skin he could see behind that stupid cloak.

“Tender feelings? Don’t be overdramatic.” But… she did play the game well.

“Hard not to be when you threw a dagger at my head and then cut my neck.”

“I knew you’d move out of the way,” Poppy argued, but there was a hint of sheepishness in her response. She had hoped he would move out of the way.

“Did you? Is that why you tried to slice open my throat?” he countered.

“I nicked your skin. Because you had ahold of me and wouldn’t let go. Obviously, you haven’t learned anything from it.” Poppy’s answer was matter-of-fact, and he wondered how she could be so obstinate. He wanted to take the time to appreciate her skill with a weapon, to admire her bravery, but she was so damn stubborn – trying to keep a secret that he had known since that night in the Red Pearl.

Trying to keep a secret that, if it got back to the Duke… Gods, he didn’t even want to imagine. If seven lashes with the cane was an appropriate punishment for not doing her embroidery and looking at him wrong, what would the punishment be for sneaking to a brothel and, furthermore, participating in pleasures of the flesh?

“I’ve actually learned a lot, Princess. That’s why your hands and your dagger aren’t getting anywhere near my neck.” Hawke slid a thumb over the velvety skin inside her wrist. “But, if you let go of the dagger, there’s a whole lot of me I’ll let your hands get close to.” She had already slipped once, and he was determined to make her slip again. He knew he could wield innuendo to get under her skin.

Poppy seemed to choke on air. “How generous of you.”

“Once you get to know me you’ll find that I can be quite benevolent,” he purred.

“I have no intention of getting to know you.”

Oh, he knew that wasn’t true.

“So you just make a habit of sneaking into the rooms of young men and seducing them before running off,” Hawke scoffed.

“What? Seducing men?” Poppy sputtered. That had taken her by surprise. He gave her a glance. This close he could definitely see that pale skin inside the hood and the feral gleam of her beautiful eyes.

“Isn’t that what you did to me, Princess?” His voice had softened as he stoked a thumb across the inside of her wrist again. How he wished the gloves weren’t between his fingers and her skin.

“You’re ridiculous.” Her arguments were sounding more and more desperate, and he felt a spark of desire burning deep within him. She had surely taken him by complete surprise.

“What I am,” Hawke breathed, “is intrigued.” Poppy pulled against his arms, groaning. Her strength was surprising, and had he not had the benefit of enhanced strength she might have been able to move him. Not enough to free herself, but perhaps enough to catch him off guard. He snickered at that. He liked that.

“Why do you insist on holding me like this?” the Maiden demanded.

“Well, besides what we went over already, which is the whole being partial to my face and neck thing,” the Atlantian paused, feigning a thought, “you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be. I’m doing my job by detaining and questioning you.”

Poppy huffed a bitter laugh. “Do you typically question those on the Rise who you don’t recognize like this? What an odd method of interrogation.”

“Only pretty ladies with shapely bare legs,” he teased. He would definitely bring up those legs as much as he could. He wanted to trace his fingers down the length of them, feel them wrapped around him, dip his tongue in between them. He leaned in against her, feeling the rise of her breaths against his chest. “What are you doing up here? During a craven attack?”

What are you doing up here, putting yourself in danger when you didn’t have the strength to leave your room for two days? Putting yourself in danger not just from the craven, but from the Duke’s wrath should you be caught?

“Enjoying a relaxing evening stroll,” she spat. He felt his lip curl up, a sardonic grin. Gods, she could be insufferable.

“What were you doing up here Princess?” Hawke demanded.

“What did it look like I was doing?”

“It looked like you were being incredibly foolish and reckless.” And that was the gods-honest truth, regardless of the little game that was currently playing out between them. She was being incredibly brash.

The flame of challenge in her eyes wasn’t necessarily unexpected, but he found himself surprised by the ire in her voice. “Excuse me? How reckless was I being when I killed craven and-“

“Am I unaware of a new recruitment policy where half-dressed ladies in cloaks are now needed on the rise? Are we that desperately in need of protection?” And it wasn’t that she hadn’t put on an incredible show. He had compared her to goddesses, after all. But she was also in a nightgown and slippers, and while seeing her in that nightgown – again – was also quite magnificent the protective instinct within him flared at how ludicrously unsafe it was.

“Desperate? Why would my presence on the Rise signal desperation when as you’ve seen I know how to use a bow? Oh, wait. Is it because I happen to have breasts?”

Oh. Oh, far from it.

“I’ve known women with far less beautiful breasts that could cut a man down without so much as blinking an eye. But none of those women are here in Masadonia,” Hawke’s voice seemed to grind out, and he knew his body was reacting to his thoughts. Those legs, the fighting, those lovely breasts. “And you are incredibly skilled, not just with an arrow. Who taught you to fight and use a dagger?”

Poppy didn’t answer, but knowing who she was and the company she kept he figured it could only be one person. She had only two royal guards, and he had certainly not been training her. Her aptitude came from years of practice, and only Vikter had been by her side that long. “I’m willing to bet it was the same person who gave you that blade.” He paused again. “Too bad whoever they are didn’t teach you how to evade capture. Well, too bad for you, that is.”

Vikter would not be happy to learn that she’d been caught. But he shuddered to think what would have happened if any one of the other dozens of guards had been able to corner her.

Smart and brave and unexpected and, apparently, without even the slightest sense of self-preservation.

And that stubborn girl brought her knee up, hoping to wound a very important and very sensitive part of him. He shifted his legs, blocking her with his thigh, and he had to fight hard not to let his grin grow wide enough to reveal his fangs.

“You’re so incredibly violent.” He murmured. “I think I like it.” Gods, he didn’t think. He knew.

“Let me go!” Poppy growled at him.

“And be kicked? Or stabbed?” He shifted his leg between hers, further pinning her and preventing her to take any more shots at the area where the leather of his breeches had grown significantly tighter. “We’ve already covered that, Princess. More than once.”

Poppy bucked her hips off the wall in an attempt to push the guard off of her and oh that did not go the way she expected. He smirked inwardly, feeling how her breath caught and the friction of his thigh between her legs, and he wondered if the top of her thigh had grazed the ever-hardening bulge in his pants – if she knew what she was doing to him. His body was tense, their chests colliding with their sawing, uneven breaths. Hawke let the silence drag, let her feel the intimacy of this moment while fixing amber eyes on that luscious pink mouth.

“I came back for you that night.” Her eyes closed at his confession and he could feel her shudder beneath him. “Just like I told you I would I came back for you, and you weren’t there. You promised me, Princess.”

“I… I couldn’t.” Could he hear a tinge of regret in her answer? Had she wanted to stay? He’d known she would probably run as soon as he left the room – was honestly glad that she had now that the Duke’s violent discipline was known. But still… he had wanted her.

“Couldn’t?” He lowered his voice, a whispered purr he rarely used outside of the bedroom… or wherever. “I have a feeling that if there’s something you want badly enough, nothing will stop you.” Like learning to fight, and using those skills to help protect the Rise. He would have to ask her why. Women in Solis were never trained to fight, were not valued for much more than their appearance and their progeny.

Hawke frowned at the bitter laugh that she spat out. “You know nothing.”

“Maybe.” He released one of her arms and reached inside the hood, finally giving in to the urge to touch her. He stroked his thumb along her cheek, earning a gasp. Poppy tried to draw back, but there was nowhere to go. He gazed into the hood, features dark but still clear for him to see – surprise and uncertainty and… fear? “Maybe I know more than you realize.”

Hawke bent his head down, his cheek grazing the soft leather of the hood, until his mouth was where he figured her ear would be. “You really think I had no idea who you are?” he murmured, and felt the Maiden grow impossibly more tense against him. “You have nothing to say to that?”

He lowered his voice to barely a whisper, finally putting an end to their game.

“Penellaphe.”

He had expected a reaction – perhaps something more subdued and anxiety-riddled. But her response was one of anger and frustration, and she tried to lash out with that sharp tongue. “Are you just now figuring that out? If so, I’m concerned about you being one of my personal guards.”

Hawke chuckled. Give her another century and he had not doubt that smart mouth might actually knock him off-kilter. “I knew the moment you removed the veil.”

“Why… why didn’t you say something then?” she asked softly, and it was like the fight had gone out of her in that moment. She had expected him to address this with some level with authority. Maybe she still expected that.

“To you? Or to the Duke?”

“Either.” He had to strain to hear it, her voice no louder than a breath. And where her fire had cooled, his reared and writhed to the surface.

“Gods, I’m fucking glad I didn’t tell the Duke after what happened the other day,” Hawke growled. Fuck, he couldn’t describe how relieved he was that nobody had found her out. “I wanted to see if you’d bring it up. Apparently you were just going to pretend that you’re not the same girl who frequents the Red Pearl.”

“I don’t frequent the Red Pearl,” Poppy retorted, that simmering annoyance boiling up to the survace once again. “But I hear you do.” Ah yes, he much preferred feisty Poppy to the demure maiden.

“Have you been asking about me? I’m flattered.” He shot her a winning grin.

“I haven’t.” She insisted. His lips tugged downward.

“I’m not sure if I can believe you. You tell a lot of lies, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I like it better than what I’m supposed to call you. Maiden,” Hawke scowled. He hated the title, the veil, all of it. “You have a name. It’s not that.”

“I didn’t ask for what you liked.” It was like she couldn’t let him get the last word, even though she was fighting a losing battle.

“But you did ask why I didn’t tell the Duke about your little explorations – and Gods, knowing what I know now I’m even more thankful that I didn’t. But I didn’t because I’m your guard. If I were to betray you, then you wouldn’t trust me, and that would definitely make my job of keeping you safe much harder.” And that was all true. But that didn’t account for the new situation – something that her other guards had never saw fit to address. “Although… it would seem that the Duke is also someone that I need to protect you from.”

“As you can see, I can keep myself safe,” Poppy sighed, the tautness easing from her muscles. “At least out here.” It was obvious, with her skill, she could take care of herself. But inside that castle using that skill was an impossibility.

“Yes, outside the castle walls, I see that you can.”

Hawke furrowed his brow, hearing the booted footsteps of someone approaching. He pulled away from the cloaked Maiden, one hand still keeping a firm grasp on her wrist, and the chill night against his chest made him ache for her.

“Hawke?” A voice called from below, although he couldn’t place his name. “Everything okay up there?” He peered into the hood, found those glimmering green eyes shining back at him, wondering what she was thinking he would do.

He looked over his shoulder and called, “Everything is fine.”

“You need to let me go. Someone is bound to come up here.” Poppy tugged on her arm, still caught in his hand. He raised a brow.

“And catch you? Force you to reveal your identity?” he asked wryly. “These are the things you should have thought about before you stepped a slippered foot outside your room tonight, Princess.”

She sucked in a breath, and he felt a twinge of guilt at the small shimmer of panic that flickered under the cloak. “You know what he would do. It… It would be worse than the last time.”

She didn’t have to tell him who he was.

“How can you be so reckless? Knowing what he does to you? Over nothing?!” Hawke hissed. “I never would have imagined I’d have to worry about you sneaking out to fight the craven, or to meet random men in places like the Red Pearl. And who knows what else you do when all believe you are safely ensconced in your chambers. Have you no sense of self-preservation?”

He was only met with the sound of her breathing, heavier with that hint of fear of what might happen if the Duke ever learned of this escapade. She was right. He had to let her go, to get back to her room before someone came calling for her. Although, he supposed, that someone would probably end up being him.

This conversation was definitely not over.

He looked down at her and then released her, taking another step back. “You better hurry back to your chambers, Princess. We’ll have to finish this conversation later.”

He watched the realization dawn over her features, that he wouldn’t keep her here or report her. His chest lurched a bit at the thought that she might think that he could do that to her – could send her to that monster for more torture. He had promised her that the Duke wouldn’t hurt her again, and he’d be damned if he went back on that.

Poppy turned and fled toward the stairs.

And Hawke stood and stared after her until long after she disappeared from his sight.

[centuriantalevevo]

EVERYONE HEaR ME OUT

Also featuring the headcanon thing I made with creating my own fox character FOR Scara's past-

ALSO: warning for mentions of suicide, forgot to add

Scaramouche's Story Quest:

Pupa Electricitatis

"I know you hate me, Traveler, and you have every right to. But please... help me save Tatarasuna..."

His entire story quest is based on ending the rain that's making everyone on Yashiori and Kannazuka sick and fully stabilizing the tatarigami energy.

"Why do you want to help Tatarasuna?! You of all people..." Paimon asks in disbelief.

"I have a... an attachment to that place.. as bad of memories I have of there, I also have fond memories I'd like to keep... of my youth..." "your youth???" "nn..."

"I'd be willing to tell you everything... but only if you help me. Deal?" "Deal"

After the traveller helps Scara with the Yashiori Kannazuka issue and the tatarigami energy, he tells them everything about his past.

"Y'know... I didn't anyone help Serai as well.. until I visited the island when I returned to Inazuma. I expected to see it still storming as always... I was pleasantly surprised to see it wasn't." He said, "I was there long before it started storming because of the Kanna Kapatcir. And then she was killed by Ei after the destruction of both Tsurumi and Serai Island.." He said, "After I found out you were the one who took down the manifestation her regret created, I hated you less." "Why?? And will you get to the point?! You said you'd tell us your story if we helped you!" Paimon pouted, "Serai is vital to this. I consider, and always will consider, Serai Island my home." Scaramouche said.

"Why? Isn't Inazuma your home in general??" Paimon asked and Scaramouche shrugged. "Serai has a special place in my... 'heart'. I woke up there, years and years ago. I honestly lost track... I can't remember how many years it's been. I started not caring about the passage of time when I left. Honestly, I contemplated the point in my existence loads of times since I was thrown out.. after I regained memories that were once locked away..." He said, "the amount of times I thought of just dying... hard to believe I didn't just kick the bucket." He said in an almost humorous tone.

"Not meaning to sound rude but... why didn't you?" "One.. no.. two driving forces.. the Tatarigami situation and... someone who was there since I woke up... that I left behind without saying good bye. I thought about it everyday. The only thing left of me that she has is an artifact I had when I woke up, as a symbol of who created me. I dropped it when I went with the fatui in hopes she'd find it since they wouldn't allow me to say good bye or tell her where I was going. The guilt still eats me up-" "surprising that you feel guilt!" Paimon said, "ow!" She yelped went the traveler lightly hit her with a glare, "don't say that." The traveler muttered.

"No, I get what she means. I mean.. I do relatively not understand human emotions, hell I'm an emotional mess on my own. But I do feel guilt.. but only for that." The harbinger- or.. ex harbinger??? Said. "Why only for her?" "Because.. she was like a mom to me.. as best as she could be. She did what Ei could never do. She taught me everything ever since I woke up from a seemingly endless slumber. She taught me how to speak, how to actually walk without stumbling everywhere... she taught me how to defend myself and how to cook. She taught me everything I needed to know and more. She showed me all of Inazuma including Enkanomiya. We both hated Tsurumi because of the mist. She was the mom I never really had. She's also probably partly the reason as to why Yae Miko hasn't killed me yet. Because she knows how much I mean to the girl... I just wonder if she still remembers me..." He trailed off. "Wait, this girl knows Yae Miko?!" "Of course... they were on the same side during the cataclysm of Khaenri'ah. Just before I was created." "So you're basically centuries old??" "Precisely."

"Wait.. then.. why WERE you made?" Paimon asked in confusion. "Ei was the first electro archon. The archon BEFORE her was her twin sister, Raiden Makoto. Her and Ei kind of ran Inazuma together, Ei would appear before everyone but Makoto did most of the work. At least... from what I remember hearing.. during the cataclysm, Makoto was killed... I can't remember who killed her... for some reason I think it was the Kitsune Saiguu that killed her. One of her friends succumbed to darkness and the other turned on her from corruption. Either way, she was killed and the loss was something Ei couldn't handle. So she set on a mission using multiple forbidden techniques and technology in order to make a synthetic human to store the Electro Gnosis. She was afraid of erosion and death.. she still is." Scaramouche explained, "Wait wait- so.. YOU were meant to hold the gnosis originally?!" "Mhm.." He nodded "unfortunately, she deemed me- or... my previous self... too weak, too fragile as a human or tool. I wept in my sleep with the gnosis. But apparently she pitied me, so instead of killing me.. she put me into an eternal sleep, sealing away my power and memories. That's when she created the Raiden Shogun, the archon you see in a physical form. If Yae hasn't told you, her conscience in stored in the katana she uses for divine punishment. That's why the gnosis is- or.. was... kept in the Grand Narukami Shrine.. because her conscience already took up all the space in the puppet that was meant for the gnosis.. that's why I lack a heart.. and that's the thing I've been searching for..." He said with a small hum, looking up at the sky for a moment.

"I was in the Slumbering court.. and when I awoke, a fox greeted me. This fox is the same girl I was talking about. She actually took part in both the Archon War and the Cataclysm, fighting beside the electro archon. She's now known as the cursed fox of Inazuma, but her alternate title- before I left- was Amatsu Kitsune, meaning Celestial Fox." Scaramouche continued, "Why celestial fox?" Paimon asked, "she can do this cool thing where she can fly through the sky, looking like a shooting star. Kind of makes sense, in my opinion, since she uses pyro." He replied, "we had an Earth Kitsune, why not Celestial?" He added with a half joking tone.

"She knew of my origins, she was there when I was created- according to her, anyways. She'd followed Ei to the domain I was taken to. There, she sat and waited until she saw me. And after she'd saved me from some treasure hoarders, she stayed by my side. She rarely ever left me, she refused to..."

"Well... thanks for helping me fix the Tatarigami problem, hopefully those who lived on Yashiori and Kannazuka can return home one day."

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Epilogue

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Epilogue

“How is this the third store we’ve visited that’s out of cranberry sauce?”

“Because it’s eleven in the morning on Thanksgiving Day?” Maia threw Simon a look that clearly said ‘duh.’ “I’m honestly surprised we managed to snag those last two pie crusts.”

“I should never have let myself get distracted while I was doing my shopping on Monday.” He fixed Jace with a stern glare. “No more distracting me at the grocery store.”

“You were pretty into my distraction, if I recall correctly,” Jace said with a lazy grin.

“You’re laughing now, but you’ve never seen Bubbe Helen when she doesn’t get cranberries on Thanksgiving. You don’t even know.”

Jace wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist, pulling him close. “Hey, we’ll find Bubbe Helen her cranberries. We’ve still got a hundred miles left between here and New York. There’s bound to be a store along the way that still has cranberries.”

Simon relaxed in his arms with a sheepish smile. “You’re right. I’m being dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Jace corrected gently. “It’s tradition, and it’s important to people you love.”

“Wow, holidays make you really sappy,” Simon teased.

“You make me really sappy,” Jace corrected, reaching for Simon’s left hand. He brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on the knuckle right above his father’s ring. The same ring he’d used when he actually proposed two weeks ago, at the same table in Java Jones where they’d made their list of fake dating rules all those months ago. He’d hidden the ring under his muffin, knowing Simon would steal the last bite like he always did, and even though it wasn’t the kind of grand, romantic gesture his siblings had suggested when he asked for their help, it was theirs, and the look on Simon’s face when he said yes was really all that mattered.

“You make me pretty sappy, too,” Simon said, drawing him into a kiss.

“If you two start making out in the middle of the canned goods aisle, I’m stealing the van and going to New York without you.”

Jace pulled away from the kiss to give Maia an unimpressed look. “No one’s making you watch.”

“Yeah, but every minute I have to spend waiting for you is one I don’t get to spend with my girlfriend, who I live two-hundred miles away from and only get to see maybe once a month if I’m really lucky.”

“She does have a point,” Simon said. “Plus, Becky can be really vindictive when she wants to be, and she’s got easy access to the room we’re sleeping in tonight.”

“And the longer we stand around here, the longer other people have to buy all the cranberries at other stores,” Maia pointed out.

“Fine,” Jace relented, releasing Simon. “Let’s go find some cranberries.”

Simon took his hand, and Jace could feel the warm metal of his ring pressing into his skin.

~~~

“We have cranberries!” Maia announced as they entered the Lewis home.

“Oh, thank god,” Becky said. “Someone was starting to get a little agitated.” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head significantly toward the kitchen.

“So, you’re only happy to see me for my cranberries, huh?” Maia teased.

“I’ve got a whole list of reasons I’m happy to see you.” Becky gave her a quick kiss, then turned to poke Simon in the ribs. “But I’m only happy to see this fool for his cranberries.”

“Hey!” Simon protested, poking her right back.

“I guess I just don’t even rate, huh?” Jace asked.

Becky turned a wide, mischievous smile on him. “Oh, no. I’m happy to see you for an entirely different reason. I want to offer you a trade.”

“Don’t do it,” Simon said. “She’s sneaky, and she will rip you off.”

“I am sneaky,” Becky agreed, “but this is totally above board.” She turned back to Jace. “I hear that you and Maia are drinking buddies.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Maia commented.

“That’s probably a pretty accurate description of our relationship, sure,” Jace agreed.

“Which means you’ve seen Maia drunk,” Becky continued. “Which means you probably have embarrassing stories about my girlfriend. Stories that I’m more than willing to trade embarrassing stories of my brother to hear.”

“See?” Simon pointed at his sister. “Sneaky.”

“Yeah, babe, I’m not sure you’ve actually thought this through,” Maia said.

“No, I have,” Becky told her with a smirk. “I’ve also thought up all kinds of ways to convince you to forgive me.”

“Please don’t elaborate,” Simon said.

“Okay,” Maia said, “but I have an even better deal for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“How about we both tell embarrassing stories about Simon and Jace over dinner.” Maia leaned in and finished in a low voice. “And then you can show me how you were planning to get me to forgive you when we get back to your place tonight.”

“Oh,” Becky said. “Yeah, that’s a much better deal.” She turned to Jace. “Sorry, got a better offer. No hard feelings?”

Jace shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I mean, I can’t really blame you.”

“Is it too late to do Thanksgiving with your family?” Simon asked Jace. “Or we could just sit in the van and eat cranberries out of the can. That’s also an option that would be preferable to this.”

“Oh good, you found the cranberries.” Bubbe Helen emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She walked over and pulled Simon into a hug. “I knew my grandson would come through.”

Behind her, Becky shook her head emphatically, mouthing ‘lies.’

Simon kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without cranberries.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” She turned a critical eye on Jace. He was pretty sure she still held a bit of a grudge over him supposedly proposing to Simon in a storage closet. “And what are your thoughts on cranberries?”

“Oh, uh.” Jace was pretty sure he’d never thought much about cranberries before this morning’s frantic search across half of New England. “I’m definitely pro-cranberry.”

“Speaking of which,” Simon interrupted, “we should get these groceries to the kitchen and get started on the pies. You’re going to love Jace’s pecan pie, Bubbe Helen. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“Pecan, huh?” Bubbe Helen gave Jace a considering look.

Jace nodded. “With browned butter. It’s a family recipe.” Technically, it was Alec’s recipe, but Alec was family, so he figured it counted.

Bubbe Helen nodded. “You’ll do.” Then she turned with a wide smile to greet Maia, and Jace let out a relieved sigh.

As they made their way to the kitchen, Simon bumped Jace with his shoulder and spoke in a low voice. “It’s cute that my grandmother makes you nervous.”

“It’s not cute,” Jace muttered. “She’s terrifying.”

When they arrived in the kitchen, Simon’s mother was checking the turkey.

“Another half-hour, I think,” she told them as she closed the oven door. “If you work fast, you can put the pies in as soon as the turkey comes out. I cleared some counter space where you can work over there. Do not touch anything else.

“Hi, sweetie,” she added as an afterthought, giving Simon a quick hug.

Simon returned the hug. “Hi, Mom. Pie plates still in the same place?”

“Bottom cabinet to the left of the sink,” she confirmed. “Is there anything else you two need to get started on the pies?”

“Pie plates to the left of the sink, half an hour, don’t touch anything,” Jace repeated back to her. “I think we’re good.”

“Perfect. I’m going to go toss the linens in the dryer. You boys get started on those pies, and I’ll be back to check on the turkey in,” she checked her watch, “twenty-eight minutes.”

Jace watched long enough to make sure she was out of earshot before saying, “If we’re ever crazy enough to do joint holidays, she and Maryse cannot be allowed in the kitchen at the same time.”

Simon chuckled. “Mom can be a little intense about holidays being perfect, but I think it’s just because she wants us to enjoy them.”

“I get it.” Jace knelt down to retrieve the pie plates from the cabinet. “I mean, you saw what Maryse and Alec were like just over Christmas dinner. Military campaigns are less well-orchestrated than Thanksgiving at the Lightwood house.”

“Is it weird having Thanksgiving here instead of with your own family?” Simon asked as he rolled out a pie crust.

Jace set the pie plates down next to the pastry mat. “I am having Thanksgiving with my family. I’m having it with you.”

Simon smiled without looking up from the pastry mat. “If you keep saying romantic things, I’m going to kiss you, and then we’ll never get the pies ready to go in the oven on time.”

“I wasn’t being romantic,” Jace insisted. “It’s just, it took me a long time after the Lightwoods took me in to really start thinking of them as family, to accept that they thought of me as family. I’m not sure I ever would have if it wasn’t for Alec and Iz. They taught me that family can be people you choose, not just something you’re born with.” He shrugged. “And I chose you.”

Simon looked up from the now perfectly-rolled pie crust. “That was super romantic.”

“Maybe a little,” Jace conceded. He lifted the crust into one of the pie plates and began smoothing it into the corners.

“That’s actually part of why I wanted us to do Thanksgiving here this year,” Simon said as he began rolling out the second crust. “I know you haven’t always felt like you had a family, and even though I know you do now, I wanted to show you that you get to have my family now, too.”

Jace wound his arms around Simon’s waist. “Now who’s being romantic?”

The pies were not ready to go into the oven on time.

[waiting4inspiration]

Speak my Language II (Ivar x Reader)

Summary: You and Ivar find out why you seem so drawn to the Norse culture when you show him something you’ve had since you were a child. 

Warnings: strong language, religious conflicts, fluff, mentions of parents death, nothing else I can think of XD

Word Count: 2,260

Speak my Language Part 1 II Vikings Masterlist

“You smile,” Athelred mentions, causing your head to snap up as your thoughts about the Heathen King, Ivar are broken and you remember where you are. 

You sit with Alfred and his brothers, parchments from different lands in front of you that you are meant to be translating for your king. But you can’t stop thinking about your encounter with Ivar. Athelred and Alfred both stare at you, one with a smirk on his face and the other with a curious look. One is used to you smiling when you’re learning something new from a different culture, and the other isn’t sure why you bother with such things. 

Smirking to yourself when you think of why you’re smiling, you remember something Ivar said. Something different from what men have said to you in England. Ivar said that he wanted you. He said that nothing would stop him from wanting you. 

And you decide to see if the difference between his culture and the Saxon culture is still there. “Tell me, Athelred, had the circumstances been different between us and your...other relationships, would you marry me?” 

Your question makes Alfred chuckle and Athelred to frown at you in confusion. He looks at his younger brother who only shrugs his shoulders and nods to you. “Answer the question, brother,” he encourages, curious to see where you’re going with this.

Athelred sighs and looks back at you and you fold your hands on the desk in front of you, on top of the parchments. “No, I would not,” he replies. And yet, you don’t have a hurt expression on your face. 

“And why is that?” you question, bring your hands up under your chin and smiling at him when he gives a sigh. 

“Because you are too learned. A woman should have as much knowledge as you do,” he mentions, ignoring Alfred’s glaring that tries to tell him to be careful of his words so you don’t take offense. “You are too interested in other cultures, other religions. It is not natural for a Christian woman to be like that.”

And instead of being offended at that, you chuckle and lean back in your seat. “Some would argue that fact. Some people would find my knowledge attractive, in a way,” you mention with a proud smile on your face.

Athelred chuckles and looks at Alfred. “People such as?”

“Ivar the Boneless.” That makes Athelred laugh and you shoot a cold glare at him. “He’s fascinated by the fact that I am interested in his people and his culture. And in the fact that I speak more than one language. 

“He is a pagan. The only thing he’s probably interested in is how to get you into his bed.”

“Athelred, please,” Alfred stops him when he notices the way your smile drops and you harshly push yourself to your feet. 

You glare coldly at the prince, unafraid of what he could do to you, the daughter of a farmer who got lucky thanks to King Ecbert. You know Alfred wouldn’t let anything bad happen to his translator. And Athelred wouldn’t dare pick a fight with you. Especially when you learned how to defend yourself with a knife from one of the cultures you once studied. 

Turning away from looking at him, you storm to the door and slam it behind you as you walk out the room. 

When you said that you accepted his offer for him to teach you more about his culture, Ivar thought he’d see you again tonight. But you didn’t come to his chambers, he didn’t find you walking around the halls. And he couldn’t stop thinking about that smile you have when you watch someone living out their life, different from what you’re used to. Ivar actually wonders if there is anything that you are used to, what with you learning about different cultures all the time. 

With everything quiet, the Great Hall dark and asleep, he crawls around the hallways, trying to get his mind off you so he can have his own chance at sleep. 

But he comes across a sight he never expected to see. 

You’re sitting on the ground in front of that tapestry of Jörmungandr, staring up at it with your legs crossed under you. He didn’t realize he had come here until he saw you. And he suddenly wishes he had put on his leg braces and used his crutch instead of dragging himself around on the ground. 

And when you turn your head toward him, he wishes he could disappear back into the darkness. But you don’t realize it’s him, and you turn your head back to the tapestry. Then it hits you and you gasp as your head snaps back to him. “King Ivar, I didn’t realize that it was you,” you whisper, starting to push yourself off the ground. 

“Stay,” he grunts, making you freeze before sitting back down on the ground. 

You watch him closely and he crawls closer to you and then sits beside you to look up at the tapestry. You slowly move your gaze back to the tapestry and breathe out a sigh when your eyes begin to follow the lines again. “Ever since I heard the stories of Jörmungandr, I saw him every time I sailed on a boat,” you begin to say, breaking the silence between you and Ivar, making him slowly turn his head towards you. “For some reason, stories of your Gods stuck with me more than those of other religions. More than the stories of Jesus Christ and God the Father,” you mention, looking down at your hands. 

You bite your lower lip, making Ivar take in a deep breath as you lift your head back up to the tapestry. Gods, he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone so magnificent as you before. “How did you hear stories of my Gods?” he asks after a moment of staring at you, his voice pulls your gaze away from the figure on the tapestry and you look at him. 

“King Ecbert told me a watered-down version of some stories,” you explain, smiling slightly at the memory. “A Northern he was close with told him those stories, and he, in turn, told them to me when I came to the castle. And since then, I grew up destined to be Alfred’s translator. Basically,” you explain with a chuckle as you turn your head back to the tapestry. 

Your words make his frown and he shifts slightly closer to you. “You grew up in the castle? I thought you said you’re the daughter of a farmer,” he questions, tilting his head to the side as you bite your lip and drop your head. 

Taking a deep breath, you stare down at your hands for a moment knowing that Ivar’s waiting for you to explain yourself. “My father was a farmer, I remember that. But, that’s all I remember of him,” you say, slowly turning your gaze back to Ivar. “When I was a child, I was found by one of Ecbert’s men wandering around the woods with a head injury and I was taken to him. He was the one that insisted I be taught how to read and write, even if the church was against it,” you explain with a small smile on your face. “I couldn’t speak English that well, but when I was taught Frankish, Ecbert was surprised at how quickly I picked it up, so he had me learn more language as I grew and he paired me with the future King and his grandson, Alfred.”

Ivar’s mouth drops slightly as a thought comes to mind. But he’s not sure how he can prove if his thought is true. You said you don’t remember much of your family, of your father. How could you remember if your father was, in fact, a Norse man that went to live in the settlements Ragnar built in Wessex?

Your story explains how a farmer’s daughter came to have so much knowledge and be a King’s translator. But it still leaves questions about your previous life before Ecbert’s men found you. And it’s that story Ivar’s more interested in as opposed to the other knowledge you have. 

“Do you have something from before you were found?” he asks, trying not to seem suspicious about what he wants to find out. 

You stare at him for a second before glancing down at your hands and biting your lip, trying to remember. “Well…” You shake your head and wave your hands to push the thought aside. “No. I didn’t-”

“Tell me,” he pushes, making you look back at him with an almost sad look in your eyes. 

You stay silent for a moment before looking back at the tapestry again. “What I had on me the day I was found was burned and I was told that it was to leave everything I had before in the past, and move forward towards the light of God,” you state, shaking your head to yourself and you sigh and look at Ivar again. “But I remember keeping something hidden, keeping it from being destroyed. And I kept it a secret ever since.”

“What is it?” he asks, moving closer to you so his face comes close to yours. But not as close as it had been earlier that day. 

Shaking your head, your head flickers over his shoulder for a second before looking back at him. “It’s in my chambers.”

Ivar gives you a smile and nods his head. “Can you show me?” he question, making you smile in return and stand to your feet. He turns so he’s on his hands and he follows you towards your chambers.

If Athelred saw you leading Ivar to your chambers now, he’d tell you about how this is all wrong and go on about the Christian morals. But you imagine that Ivar might tell him to shut his mouth, something you wouldn’t stop him from doing, truthfully. 

You allow Ivar to sit on a chair as you rummage through your chests and trunks, looking for the item you know is hidden right at the bottom. It’s just the thing of finding the right trunk. 

When you see the leather strap, you smile and pull the pendant out, sigh in relief and stare at the three triangles linked together. Turning to Ivar, you rest the pendant in your hand and start to walk towards him. “Sometimes, when I feel like I’m lost, I look at this pendant,” you mention, kneeling beside him but still staring at the pendant. “It’s almost as if it shows me the next step I must take.”

With that, you hand the pendant to Ivar. 

A breath catches in his throat to see the symbol. And it answers the question on his mind. 

You see the way he stares at the symbol, how his thumb brushes over it and how a smile makes the corner of his lips pull up. “You know what this symbol is,” you state more than ask when you realize the look of familiarity on his face. 

He nods his head and looks down at you. “It’s a Norse symbol?” you question, your eyebrows knitting together as you wait for him to respond. 

“It is Odin’s knot,” he whispers, looking back at the pendant in his hands as his thumb follows the triangles linked together. “It is a symbol of the transition between life and death and is thought to symbolize the power of the god to bind and unbind,” he explains, knowing that you’d appreciate that you’re learning something new. But maybe you’re learning too much.

You take it from his again and sink down to sit on your heels. “Odin’s knot,” you whisper to yourself. Staring down at the pendant, you shake your head to yourself. “I was a Northerner. My father…” You trail off, breathless as you close your hand around the pendant.

And instead of doing what Ivar thought you would do and shed some tears, you laugh and shake your head as you look up at him with a bright smile on your face. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

Your laugh makes him smile and lift a curious eyebrow. “It does?” he asks, chuckling at your gleeful smile as you nod your head. “Like what?”

“Like how I don’t seem to agree with a lot of the Christian morals and how I haven’t since I was a child,” you start, looking away from the pendant and back up to him. “How I feel like I’m home the moment I walked through the city the first time. How everything feels familiar here in Kattegat. How I seem to find the Gods in everything,” you add, your eyes locking with his and he reaches for the pendant in your hands again. 

“Like Jörmungandr in the sea,” he states with a chuckle, making you nod and laugh. 

He slips the pendant over your head and makes it fall to your chest where his fingers end up tracing, making a breath catch in your throat. “Or Thor in every thunderstorm, beating his hammer,” you whisper, biting your lip as his hand rests at the base of your throat. “Or Freya in every kiss.”

Ivar smirks and raises his hand to cup your cheek. “Every kiss?” he questions, keeping your gaze on him as he slowly leans forward. 

You nod your head. “Like I said, I didn’t agree with a lot of the Christian morals,” you whisper, making him chuckle before he leads your lips to his. 

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