#''Out for delivery'' you SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES

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Me:pakige :D!

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[anonymousfiction211]

Earning cookies

Summary: She needs to sneak around the palace to protect her cookies from Loki. He finally cathes her.

Word count: 2.390 words

Warning: Smut

It was the middle of the night. The palace floor felt cold against her feet as she sneaked around. She didn’t care about that, because tonight was finally her chance. It took her three months to get to know her way around the palace. She had to live here after she married one of the princes. She had walked this route a hundred times, trying to remember it. After that she started to write down the guard shifts. Trying to establish the pattern. It took some time, but she finally got it. Then she had to wait for a night that her husband was occupied elsewhere. Him being forced to spend the night drinking with his brother and the Warriors Three, was the perfect opportunity. It would distract him long enough, that was if he wouldn’t figure out what she was up to. It was crucial that she didn’t get caught, for she could lose everything. She knew that he instructed the guards to tell him if she went down to the kitchen.

When she walked outside of her shared bedroom and down the hall, her shoes made too much noise. She had taken them off and left them in the hall. She would grab them on her way back, she thought. She took a left and then a right. After two more lefts, she had to walk down the stairs. It led her too a small but long hallway. The second door on the left was the one she had to enter. She slowly turned the doorhandle and pushed the door open, peeking inside. Just as she planned, nobody was around. Looking at the clock she realised she had to be fast. It would only take about 45 minutes, before her husband had found a way out of his personal hell. She didn’t feel bad for putting him through it, not after what happened the last three times she did this.

She started to work like her life depended on it. After about 40 minutes, she was finally done. She cleaned up after her and put her creation in a bag. Just as she closed the bag, she heard a familiar voice ‘tsk.. tsk.. Darling, did you really think that I wouldn’t find out?’. She turned around with the back behind her bag, hoping he wouldn’t notice. ‘How did you find out?’ she asked with her most innocent voice. He gave her a smirk and holds up the shoes she had left in the hallway. She mentally slapped herself, she should not have put her shoes somewhere he would walk by. Of course, he would know what she was doing, this was the only thing she kept from him.

Loki was slowly entering the kitchen, making his way towards her. She was still clenching the bag behind her back and started to walk in the opposite direction of him. Her eyes focused on his, never lose eye contact she thought. She had learned that lesson the hard way. ‘So, what were you doing here?’ her husband asked sweetly. ‘Oh.. you know, getting a glass of water. My throat was dry’ she lied to him. From his expression she knew he didn’t buy it. There was no lying to the God of Lies. They both walked towards each other, until they were standing close together in the centre of the kitchen. She knew that if she played this right, she could me a break for it through the door. Her husband brushed with the back of his hands her cheek. ‘I missed you tonight’ he said. ‘I missed you too’ she said, which wasn’t a lie. She had missed him, but it was necessary to keep him away for as long as she could. He chuckled ‘Funny, how I became occupied on the same night as the Midgardian chocolate delivery’. She hummed ‘Hmm, that is funny’. His other hand rested on her hip and he pulled her closer. She felt his hand sneak around her hip to her back. ‘What do you have behind your back dear?’ he asked. She suddenly stood on her toes to reach his lips and kissed him passionately. The God had to grab her shoulders so she wouldn’t fall. She knew he would never let her fall. When she broke the kiss, she pushed him backwards. Then she made a run for it out the door. She heard her husband laugh ‘You can’t hide from me, darling!’.

She ran fast and long. The bag was now tightly clenched in her hands against her chest. She could hear her heart beating and stopped for a moment to catch her breath. When she looked around she saw that she had ran to the library. That was a stupid move, she thought. This would be the first place Loki would be looking for her. Her head was racing, she had to think of a hiding place, and fast! She walked through the shelves towards the back entrance. When she opened it, she also heard the doors on the other side of the room open. He was here faster than she anticipated. She heard his dark chuckle ‘Darling, it will be so much easier to give me what I crave’. ‘Are you craving me or what I’m holding?’ she teased back. She heard a low growl, closer than she thought. He was walking towards her she realized. ‘Maybe both’ he said in a husky voice. She quickly closed the door and began to run again.  

The idea came to her suddenly. She ran until she was standing in front of a large door. She hesitated for a bit, she didn’t know the guard schedule for this side of the palace and if she was caught here, she certainly had some explaining to do. She slowly pushed the door open and it creaked loudly. She hoped her husband didn’t hear it. When she entered the room, she looked around. It was really dark, and she couldn’t see a thing. Suddenly there was a light shining through the doors opening from the other side. She hid behind a pilar. Two guards were marching through the room. Luckily, they hadn’t noticed her and walked past. After they left she made her way through the throne. She walked very slowly trying to remember the place, since she couldn’t see. When she reached the throne, she heard a door open and close again quickly. That couldn’t be another guard shift, she thought. Her thought was immediately confirmed when she heard the low voice of her husband ‘The throne room is indeed the last room I would have looked for you. So, I decided to start with it’. He really knew her too well.

She stood frozen in front of the throne, tyring to see where he was. It was pitch black, she couldn’t even see the bag she was holding. Suddenly a pair of strong arms grabbed her around her waist, pulling her back close against his chest. She felt his lips on her neck softly kissing her skin. She heard a moan escape her lips and the bag fell to the ground. He chuckled against her skin. He turned her around and kissed her lips. The kiss left her breathless. He didn’t stop kissing her. The kissing became more passionately, and his hands found their way to her ass. He squeezed it, making her gasp in his mouth. She saw a bright green shimmer which enlightened her husband’s hands. She could catch a glimpse of his face and immediately knew the look on his face. He was hungry, indeed. She felt herself become colder and wasn’t surprised that when she touched him his clothes were gone, hers were as well.

The green light vanished, and she couldn’t see a thing anymore. Both his hands were back on her ass and his lips were now trailing down on her neck. He bit her neck, leaving marks. He loved to leave marks, letting everyone know she was his. She never told him, but secretly loved it as well. He took one of her breasts in his mouth, circling his tongue around her nipple. It became harder. One of his hands had left her ass and was now teasing her thighs. He knew she would get very wet from his teasing, she did every time. She started to pant heavily, totally entranced by his touch. ‘If they find us here, we are in serious trouble’ she said. He laughed at that and put his lips right near her ear ‘Best not get caught then’ he whispered to her. He took her hands and stepped backwards, pulling her forwards. He sat down on the throne, she was still standing before him bending down a bit. He took her hand and laid them on his thighs ‘You know what to do in the throne room, do you?’.

She heard the smirk in his voice. She knew all too well what he wanted. She slowly knelt before him, keeping her hands on his thighs. She started to caress his thighs. She put her lips on his chest, kissing him, slowly making her way down. His breathing sped up, she could feel it. When she put her lips on the top of his hardened cock he let out a slight whimper. Her tongue was tracing slow circles, he tasted delicious. She suddenly took his whole cock in her mouth, making his hips buck towards her. She put her hands on his hips, pulling them back down and holding them in place. She put pressure on her lips, moving up and down on his entire cock. Occasionally she would circle the tip of his cock with her tongue, keeping him on edge. Teasing him a bit, which earned her low growls and groans from the God. His hands were in her hair and he started to moan louder. The fact that he was sitting on the throne with his wife’s lips wrapped around his cock was a fantasy come true. But he knew that the guards would come back soon and he wasn’t nearly done with her.

He grabbed he hair and yanked her upwards. He pulled her towards him, to keep her from falling she quickly straddled his lap. She put her hands on his chest and kissed him. His hands were stroking her thighs again and he could feel her starting to ride herself across his lap slightly. She needed more friction, and he was all but eager to give her what she wanted. He suddenly pushed two fingers inside her and pressed his thumb on her clit. She fell forward to his chest while she gasped for air. He grabbed her neck with his other hand to hold her in place. He slowly started to circle her clit and curl his fingers inside of her. She began to pant and moan louder. He was nibbling on her ear, knowing he only had a minute. That was just enough time. She began to ride his hand, chasing her high. He put his lips against her ear ‘Is it my cock you’re imagining inside of you?’. She panted ‘Yes’. He hummed in amusement. ‘When the guards enter in about 10 seconds you keep riding my hand. Try not to be too loud darling, even my silver tongue can’t get us out of this situation. If we we to get caught’. She saw his white teeth slightly in the dark, he had a wicked grinn.

He felt her tens up when the door opened. He knew it was too dark for the guards to see them. She rode his hand, and he felt her walls started to clench. He put more pressure on her clit, knowing it would send her over the edge. She bit in his shoulder to keep herself from screaming his name. He had to supress a chuckle, seeing his wife try so hard to stay quiet. She slowly rode his hand trough her orgasm and he heard the guards leave the throne room. He purred ‘Good girl’. He pulled his hand out of her and she whimpered. Without warning he grabbed her hips and put her on his cock. Her hands moved to his hair and started to tug at it a little. This spurred him on, and he started to pump in and out of her as fast as he could. She knew her husband was close to his orgasm, feeling his cock starting to twitch inside of her. ‘The throne sooths you well, my king’ she whispered to him. This sends him over the edge, and she felt his cum filling her up. He pumped a few more times and pulled out of her. He then captured her in a slow kiss.

She stood up, still not being able to see. She was searching for the bag she dropped earlier. Suddenly she felt herself clean and clothed. She was picked up by Loki and the bag was on her stomach, while he was carrying her bridal style. He carried her while walking back to their bedroom. ‘That really was amazing darling’ he said while he kissed her temple. She sighed ‘It really was’. She opened the bag and grabbed a cookie from it. She put it in front of his mouth, and he opened it. After he ate the cookie he looked surprised at her ‘I didn’t think you would share your cookies again, after I ate all of them the last three times’. Midgardian chocolate was in short supply on Asgard, so she was pretty pissed when she discovered her husband had eaten all her cookies. ‘You are an insufferable God with a sweet tooth, but this time you have earned your cookie’ she laughed at him. ‘If I knew that was all it takes for a cookie, I would have done that much sooner’ he laughed back. He then started to kiss her neck again. She began to moan at the feeling  ‘Honey, what are you doing’. He opened their bedroom door. ‘How many cookies do you have darling?’ he asked in a husky voice. He closed the bedroom with his foot, he was still carrying her toward the bed. She opened the bag and counted the cookies ‘Ehm.. I have nine left, why?’ She shrieked as he suddenly threw her on the bed and took the bag from her. He put the bag on the nightstand. He was on top of her in less than a second, smiling mischievously at her. ‘Because I’m going to earn my nine cookies tonight’ he smirked.

[myths-n-legends]

Bloody Mary.

We need some classic legends at this point, coz I have been writing about random legends and myths... (°u°;) anyways enjoy now.

The woman behind the infamous Bloody Mary story and childhood game is more sad than she is scary.

We used to summon her by standing in a dark bathroom, lid by a single candle, you simply look into the mirror and chant the name Bloody Mary three times . A ghost is then said to appear, sometimes holding a dead baby, other times trying to attack you as you look at her. It is recommend to close your eyes while summoning her or she will kill you or pull your eyes out for the lest, it is also said that she too grants wishes.

While the folklore may be fabricated, the woman behind the mirror and the story of Bloody Mary was as real as can be, and a royal figure at that.

The origin of the Bloody Mary story lies with Queen Mary I, the first queen regnant of England.

The legendary monarch now known as Bloody Mary was born on the 18 of February in 1516 in Greenwich, England at the Palace of Placentia. The only child of King Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon, Mary’s lifetime of shame over her own femininity began at the young age of 17 when her father annulled his marriage to her mother, frustrated by the lack of a male heir to the throne. This left the young Mary totally separated from her mother and forbidden from ever visiting her again.

The king went on to marry his now ex-wife’s maid of honor, Anne Boleyn, who disappointed him with yet another daughter, Elizabeth I. Worried that Mary may interfere with Elizabeth’s succession, Boleyn pressed Parliament to declare Mary illegitimate, and succeeded.

Of course, Boleyn was later beheaded by her husband for treason, but by this time the damage to Mary’s name had been done.

Anyhow the origin of the bloody Mary legend started since her teen years, Mary had been plagued with terrible menstrual pains and irregularity in her cycles, which would be attributed to her eventual physical and psychological stress later in life.

She was also known to be struck with deep and frequent periods of melancholia, depressive spells which would stay with her throughout her relatively short life.

Despite all the odds and afflictions stacked against her, Mary did eventually take the throne in 1553 at the age of 37 and promptly married Philip of Spain in the hopes of conceiving an heir. It’s here where the origin of the Bloody Mary legend begins to take shape.

Starved for love and forever seeking the approval of her father, Mary would replay this codependent pattern with her new husband, whom she was "ready to lavish all her frustrated emotions on"

Ten years her junior and in no way as excited to reciprocate her amorous feelings, Philip fulfilled the negotiated duties expected of a royal marriage, and two months later Mary’s greatest wish came true, as she was with child. (a/n: if you didn't understand the phrase 'she was with child' it basically means she was pregnant)

Despite displaying the usual symptoms of pregnancy, including a swelling of the breasts and an ever-growing abdomen, the public remained suspicious of the queen’s recent good fortune, and it didn’t take long for  rumors of a false pregnancy to start spreading.

In a time without pregnancy tests and in which doctors could not examine a sitting monarch, only time would tell if these rumors bore any truth. Until then, the people of England and Spain kept tabs on Mary with a watchful eye.

And so they waited. In customary fashion, Mary went into a private chamber where she was confined for six weeks before her expected due date of May 9.

Although the big day arrived, the baby didn’t, and both she and the servants around her proposed that perhaps a miscalculation of delivery dates was to blame, now settling on a new one in June, a month later.

False reports almost immediately spread across the country, however, with some claiming their Queen had delivered a boy, and others stating she had simply died in childbirth, or that her swollen midsection were symptomatic of a tumor, rather than a pregnancy.

June and July came and went as her doctors extended the birth date even further. By August, Mary finally left the confines of her chamber, childless and alone like never before.

She believed that God was punishing her for failing in a mission she set out to achieve just months earlier.

Despite the world of gossip growing around her, one thing could be confirmed Around late May, Mary’s belly began to shrink.

Unable to explain or understand what was happening to her body, she continued to wait as those around her slowly lost hope.

At the time of Mary’s pregnancy, the people of England were divided between Protestants and Catholics. Mary, determined to unite her people under “the true religion” of the land, took action by signing an act shortly before Christmas in 1554 that would result in the Marian Persecutions, in which an estimated 240 men and 60 women were sentenced as Protestants and burned at the stake, earning her the name “Bloody Mary” forevermore.

To this day, the tale of Bloody Mary, Queen of England, remains one of the most infamous cases of supposed pseudocyesis, or “phantom pregnancy.”

A rare and mysterious condition, pseudocyesis occurs, to put it simply, when a person so determined to become pregnant actually “tricks” their own body into believing that it is, hence the appearance of physical symptoms, and even a discontinuation of the menstrual cycle.

Another possibility in Mary’s case could be endometrial hyperplasia, often a precursor to uterine cancer, which can be backed by reports of Mary’s low appetite and a lifelong history of menstrual irregularity.

Years later, Mary announced herself pregnant again, although this time even her own husband remained unconvinced. Assured by the sure signs of pregnancy, she was later confirmed to have entered menopause, and yet again did not deliver a baby.

She died the next year at the age of 42, presumably of uterine or ovarian cancer. Her name can still be heard today, chanted by children in dark bathroom mirrors the world over, all hoping for a terrifying glimpse of the ghost with no understanding of the real story of Bloody Mary.

Claims have also been made saying the spirit of Mary still to this day looks for her baby, rumors has it that while summoning bloody Mary if you say 'I have your baby' in the end of the chanting, it is said that Mary will come to you to get back her child and if you manage to escape the first time she will promise you to come after you till she gets her baby back.

Here are a few pictures of Queen Mary the first.

A/n: Disclaimer !! I don't own these pictures I got it off of google, so if the owners of these pictures want me to take the pictures off please just tell me.

Anyways thats it for today hope you enjoyed the story of bloody mary, her story is rather sad but I couldn't cover the whole story today, * honestly I wrote this at like 10:45 11:00 in the night because I lost track of time reading a whole blog page in like 4 hours ;p

Well then take care and and see ya'll on Saturday Byeee!!

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, everchanginginks

For @everchanginginks. I hope you enjoy this gift!

Read On AO3

*****

Just down the hall from the quiet studying of history students in Room 17-B lies classroom 17-A which, contrasting its quieter neighbor, is filled with sugar-fueled enthusiasm as adolescent students gleefully tear into their candy atom diagrams. Only after getting the go ahead from their awesome chemistry teacher wearing a colorful periodic table tie over a blue dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, of course.

Said awesome teacher places the end of a blue raspberry sour punch straw in the corner of his mouth and chews with an unabashed grin. As he’s halfway through the straw the bell rings and he breaks into his parting spiel for his students, the straw sticking from the corner of his mouth like a cowboy.

“Okay class, please make sure to turn your worksheets into the tray on your way out and please take your candy diagrams with you. You’re not gonna break my heart if you don’t eat them, I just don’t want next period to deal with this period’s mess. Tonight’s homework is on the board and on the syllabus, and don’t forget to submit your vote for Teacher of the Year during lunch if you have not already. Have a good rest of your day everyone, and as always come to me with any questions...and that means any ."

Scattered responses of “Okay” and “Thanks Mr. Stilinski” and “Bye” fill the room as the students start to file out the classroom.

“You’re about as subtle as a brick to the teeth.” Says a mildly amused female voice from over his shoulder.

Stiles finishes the candy and turns around to look exasperatedly at the strawberry blonde speaker sitting behind his desk, "And you’re underestimating how important this is. My reclaiming of the throne is in danger!"

"Uh huh..." MIT grad and certified genius Lydia Martin nods in mock understanding as she sips from her floral patterned ceramic travel coffee cup.

"Thanks again for agreeing to come in and lecture for my AP Chem students on such short notice by the way.” Stiles scratches at the tousled mess on his head and offers the open package of sour punch straws from his desk, “You are a literal God send."

She grimaces and waves the proffered sugary confection away, "For someone in the sciences, your improper use of the word 'literal' is rather concerning. Perhaps your throne is in more danger than previously thought."

“Don’t say that, you’re gonna jinx it!” He reaches over and raps his knuckles against his wooden desk three times while speaking a mile a minute, “I need to win, I can’t have mister ‘look at me bringing my history and polisci students on the coolest field trips in the history of this school because I can somehow pull strings to make these trips a reality despite there being like no funding--seriously how does he do it--and my students adore me even though I constantly look like I probably lure people into the woods with my beautiful eyes and murder them in my free time’ beat me at my own game, again !”

He huffs at the end of his tirade and looks to Lydia for understanding, but she avoids his gaze and poorly suppresses snickers under her breath.

“C’mon it’s not that funny. I know he can ‘smolder’ his way into the heart of even the most introverted student,” Stiles gesticulates with each emphasis, “but I have charm , I’m approachable , I understand these students. I love my job and I do everything in my ability to give these students every opportunity they deserve . If that’s not ‘Teacher of the Year’ material, then I don’t know what is.”

Stiles stops, taps his chin thoughtfully and sighs, “Though I totally understand that the title is purely for bragging rights, and it ultimately comes down to just continuing to be the best teacher I can be. Derek is a great teacher that also deserves the title and I can respect that, but gosh darn does he get my competitive side riled up.”

“Uh huh…” Lydia hums and taps her fingers against her cup as she pointedly looks past Stiles, “Mr. Stilinski, I do believe there’s someone that needs your help?”

“Oh!” Stiles quickly straightens himself and his tie, and turns around with a wide grin, “What can I do for--YOU!” Stiles quickly twists his expression into a frown and throws a finger up accusingly after registering who was darkening his doorway.

Standing in the doorway with a glare that could send a lesser man running for the hills is the previously mentioned competitor and last year’s winner for ‘Teacher of the Year’, mister ‘coolest history teacher’ Derek Hale in all his annoyingly gorgeous, stubbly, glory. He side-eyes Stiles’ organized chaos in the chemistry lab from behind thick framed hipster looking glasses and grimaces, “Am I interrupting something?”

Stiles grits his teeth, he can practically feel the judgement over his classroom’s state radiating off of the (not even tenured!) history teacher and no amount of soft looking cable knit sweaters could lessen that blow. “As a matter of fact--”

“No, you’re not interrupting anything at all Derek.” Lydia places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder as she walks past him, “I was just about to go say hi to Kira.”

Derek moves aside to let Lydia pass, she turns to smile at Stiles from the doorway, “I’ll come back by 6th period for your second AP Chem class. I think I’ll also grab some lunch from Whole Foods.”

“Uh...Bye?” Stiles weakly waves at Lydia’s parting back. He refocuses his attention on the offending history teacher and crosses his arms across his chest petulantly, “Alrighty, what d’ya need Mr. Hale?”

With a roll of his eyes, Derek holds up a handful of papers, steps forward, and emphatically places them in Stiles' inbox, “Your mail. I know your TA usually grabs it for you, but he’s out sick today. And I was already in the mailroom.”

“Whoa, wait wait, how do you know that my TA is out sick today, have you been stalking my classes? Are you trying to find a way to one up me? Steal some of my stellar teaching techniques because you know that you’ll lose otherwise?” Stiles narrows his eyes as his lowers voice into a conspiratorial tone while  leaning forward to scrutinize Derek’s expression, “What’s your game here Mr. Hale ?”

Derek hazel eyes widen incredulously as he scoffs, “I don't need to stalk your classes, Liam's one of my students too. And please remind me, what did I do to make you so hostile again?”

“Playing dumb isn’t cute. You know full well what you did.” Stiles pokes at Derek’s chest and--oh that’s a soft sweater--puffs his own out, “But no matter what, I’m going to take what’s rightfully mine .”

His competitor’s face reddens in anger and Stiles feels a thrum of excitement at his ability to break Derek’s usual expression of ‘sourpuss lumberjack murderer’. A sly grin works its way across Stiles’ face as he shrugs coyly, “What can I say, I’m a man who knows what he wants.”

Stiles’ wrist is suddenly grabbed by a warm, slightly calloused palm--there may be something to that murderer in the woods theory--and wrenched away from the soft sweater. “And what would that be, Stiles?” Derek growls--who the hell growls --while leaning in way too close for comfort.

“What would that be? Um...I want to win? Obviously?” Stiles splutters as his face reddens, offended that Derek would suggest that there would be anything else . “I’m gonna own you, Derek. I’m gonna own you so hard, you won’t know what hit you.”

“How about you take me to dinner first, before you ‘own’ me?” Derek says matter-of-factly.

“Uh no, how about you take me to dinner to celebrate my overwhelming victory over your grumpy ass? Doesn’t that make a little more sense than going to dinner before either of us win?” Stiles rolls his eyes, laughing at Derek’s lack of logic. But his laughter sputters out and he stills once his brain processes what just happened. “Wait… wait wait… was that some sort of sad attempt at asking me out in the most backwards, reverse engineered manner possible?”

Stiles looks Derek in the eyes, who nods patiently, as if Stiles was one of their students that needs tutoring.

“Oh my God. Oh my GOD !” Stiles backs away and into his desk, voice rising in panic, “What even? What’s happening here? Are you trying to throw me off my game? Cause that’s a dirty tactic, even for you. Because there’s no way someone like you would legitimately ask out someone like me . That just doesn’t make sense. You’re like a sexy lumberjack murderer historian, and I’m like a young Bill Nye. I'm in the sciences , and you're in the humanities .  And you don’t even like me. You haven’t liked me since your first day!”

“Hold on.” Derek holds his palms up defensively, “What are you talking about? You were the one glaring at me like there was no tomorrow.”

Stiles inspects Derek’s expression for any sign of deception, seeing none he sighs. “Fine, I guess it was just so unimportant to mister bigshot Hale to remember measly Mr. Stilinski. Do you remember moving into your classroom?”

He nods, urging Stiles to continue.

“So I didn’t know that the new teacher was moving in that day , so when I saw a big package outside of your soon to be classroom, I assumed that it was my delivery of graduated cylinders that was dropped off to the wrong room since it was early in the morning and people make mistakes sometimes, y’know?” Stiles gives Derek no opportunity to say anything and continues at full speed. “I went over and got ready to take the package, only to have you open the door and give me the scariest look in my entire life . Do you remember what you said to me, Derek?”

“You said,” Stiles changes his voice to imitate Derek’s, “‘That is my private property. If you value your time at this school, you will leave it alone. If I see this behavior again I will bring it up with Principal Yukimura’. So, yeah! Something about that kinda exchange can make a guy think you hate them!”

Derek groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Oh my God...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, so you do remember? Or did you conveniently forget threatening me?” Stiles grabs another sour punch straw and chews it angrily, “Because I sure as hell didn’t!”

“Stiles…” Derek laughs breathily, “I thought you were a student . I wasn’t wearing my glasses and it was dark . Oh my god . I thought the first time we met was in the teachers' lounge, and by that point I already unknowingly made a terrible first impression on you. No wonder you looked at me with such hatred. Oh my goodness.”

“...oh.”

“Yeah, oh…”

Stiles chews the straw thoughtfully and rocks on the balls of his feet. “So… about that backwards dinner invitation…”

“Yeah?” Derek perks up slightly, looking almost adorable , though Stiles would never say that outloud.

“How about whoever wins ‘Teacher of the Year’ gets treated to dinner, hm?” Stiles holds out a hand for a handshake.

With a goofy grin revealing adorable (there’s that word again!) bunny teeth that brighten up Derek’s entire face, much better than the usual murderous look, he enthusiastically takes Stiles hand and shakes it.

“Deal.”

Epilogue

“I still can’t believe it!”

“I know.” Derek hums as he reaches over to refill Stiles’ glass.

“Honestly, who saw this coming?”

“Certainly not me,” Derek swirls some pasta around his fork and fondly watches Stiles throw back the wine as if it was jungle juice rather than a nice glass of Chardonnay.

Stiles’ honey-brown eyes glimmer with the same kind of mischievous enthusiasm that Derek remembered seeing for the first time at the first assembly of the school year. He gave some sort of spiel about the importance of working together and not being afraid to ask for help, which ended with a demonstration of elephant toothpaste. Derek is embarrassed to say how much he grew to admire the gawky chemistry teacher after that assembly.

“I absolutely kicked your ass dude.” Stiles leans across the table to grab the dessert menu. “Since it’s your treat, I think I’ll indulge in some dessert.” He worries his bottom lip, which makes Derek have to cough and turn his attention away.

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek weakly responds.

“Ooh, this one is topped with bourbon vanilla bean chantilly cream, which is basically bougie whipped cream. How do you feel about bread pudding by the way?” Stiles looks up from the menu through his eyelashes--and there is no way he doesn’t know how he looks--and flutters them exaggeratedly. “Or are you too sour over losing to wittle ol’ me?”

Derek snorts and reaches over to clasp Stiles’ free hand, “On the contrary, I’d be happy to lose to you again.”

Stiles returns the gesture and leans forward, eyes glimmering, his face mere inches away from Derek’s, “Promise?”

Derek is suddenly very glad that they are sitting because he can feel himself go weak in the knees. He nods thoughtfully, “Yeah, I promise.” And leans forward to close the gap.

Their first kiss tastes like garlic bread, which is a little unconventional, but Derek wouldn’t have it any other way.

[starglossie]

UNEXPECTED DELIVERY 

summary: in which kaoru writes a letter addressed to no one in particular and kojiro happens to pick it up.

read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30101880

read under here

Kojiro found Kaoru sitting at his desk, hunched over in what looked to be in incredible concentration. He cocked an eyebrow, lips curling at the end in amusement as he sauntered over to Kaoru.

“Screws for brains, whatcha working on so intently over there?” he leaned forward in anticipation. Kaoru was probably scribbling up some new technological invention. Kojiro expected to see numbers and equations and scratches and eraser marks all over a sheet of paper. A language that made no sense to him quite frankly but Kaoru could speak with ease.

Kaoru shot up like a rocket. Kojiro blinked, seeing Kaoru’s face so red and his eyes so wide was… weird. He glanced down to take a look at the sheet but Kaoru’s hands immediately smacked down onto the table. Covering the sheet of paper with his palms. 

Okay… weird. 

“Now you know there’s no secrets between us,” Kojiro joked, inching closer to get a better look at what was on the paper. Call him curiosity and kill him for it later. 

“You’re annoying, quit it!” Kaoru ripped the paper away but Kojiro was able to see at least one, crucial phrase that made all the dots connect at once.

Dear, 

Kojiro’s grin sharpened at the edges, “No way? A love letter?” he laughed despite the furious red that was coloring Kaoru’s face. And the imminent beating he knew was coming once Kaoru stopped being flustered enough to turn that energy into annoyance. “To who? Who are you crushing on?”

“It’s none of your business, seaweed head.” Kaoru got up from his desk and grabbed his bag in a huff, storming towards the door with the paper crumpled up in his hand. On his way to the door, he kicked Kojiro in the back of his leg. Deserved , but painful. He slammed it into the trashcan before he left. His tirades and curses echoing in resonance down the hallway.

“Fuck, that hurts. Kaoru that was unnecessary ,” Kojiro rubbed at his aching leg, stumbling slightly to the door. 

He should have kept walking.

Followed after Kaoru. If he jogged he’d catch up to him because his legs were longer and a Kaoru walking on rage tired out quickly in about 10 minutes. 

He should have left the letter alone.

But his eyes dropped to the letter in the trash can. It rested on top of the other sheets of paper like they were its throne and it was their sovereign. It stared at Kojiro. Kojiro stared back. 

Take me , it whispered. Seductively and sweetly into Kojiro’s ear. 

And Kojiro, well, he was always a sucker for some sweet seduction.

Despite his better judgment, he reached for the letter and slipped it into his pocket. 

“Kojiro, where are you? We’re gonna be late!” Kaoru’s voice carried through the halls.

Kojiro jogged out of the classroom and found Kaoru standing at the top of the steps. Bag over his shoulder and board tucked under his arm. 

“Sorry! Had to wait for the pain of your kick to leave because that hurt like a bitch ,” Kojiro lied.

Kaoru rolled his eyes and descended down the steps two at a time, “It builds character. You're welcome.”

“Character,” Kojiro barked, “yeah okay.” he followed Kaoru down the steps. The letter burning in his pocket the entire time. 

  -

  Kojiro sat at his desk, staring at the letter. 

Now that he had the letter, he’s not quite sure why he took it. It was a clear invasion of privacy. And if-or really, when, because knowing Kojiro’s luck it was only a matter of time before Kaoru realized or found out-Kaoru discovered he had the letter, he’d beat Kojiro within an inch of his life for taking it. 

But, he pressed his index finger along the corner of the folded up letter addressed to no one at all, he was curious. 

Kaoru told him everything. They bickered and bantered and fought more times than they conversed, but Kaoru was his best friend. Period. Kojiro told Kaoru everything. 

So why hadn’t Kaoru told him about this? 

“Who could he be in love with?” Kojiro muttered. 

There’s a twinge of something green and ugly that festered underneath his skin. That took root and shape and pointed poison apple seeds in the garden of his mind. 

He had to know. Or well, he wanted to know. But adding a sense of urgency to the desire made it seem all the more valid and all the less a horrible idea. 

He opened the letter. Pressed it flat so the crinkles would come out, and read the letter. 

His first thought when reading the letter is that Kaoru had really neat handwriting. 

His second thought was jeez, Kaoru had it bad for whoever the letter was for. 

The letter talked about rushes and adrenaline-the quickening of heartbeats. The realization that the sun was gonna rise and he’d get to be with them again. And what that meant. And how realizing what that meant, how putting the variables into the equation and coming to the answer at the other end of the equal sign (Kojiro snorted at that. Kaoru was such a nerd) made it clear as day that what he felt was more than just affection. Deeper than admiration. Bigger than friendship. 

More akin to love, but not really there just yet. But the chemical reaction (Kaoru’s words, not Kojiro’s) was there and brewing. Only a matter of time for the catalyst to cause the reaction to completely overflow into something entirely new. Maybe dangerous. But nevertheless exciting. 

He read the letter three times. He could close his eyes and recite the letter word for word. And every time he read it he thought: who was Kaoru thinking of when he scrawled poetry onto paper? 

Kojiro leaned back in his chair, the paper left on the desk. His cheeks felt hot. He rubbed at them in circles, frowning. “Kojiro you are a lot of things… but reading personal love notes?” he sighed. He grabbed the pencil he was supposed to be using for homework and rested it on top of his lips, pursing it so it could wobble and stay there while he considered this startling new development. 

Kaoru was in love with someone. Or falling in love with them, anyways. 

And then he thought, ridiculously by the way. It was a ridiculous thought to consider. A thought that made heat rise on the back of his neck. A thought that got his pulse quickening. Again, remember, it’s a ridiculous thought. 

It was simple. It was innocuous. 

He considered it so briefly because to give it any more light of day would be damning. 

But what… if the letter was for him?

What if Kaoru was writing to him?

“Nanjo Kojiro… you stupid bastard,” he muttered. He got out of his chair and paced around the room. He shot a quick glance at his bed where his phone laid plugged up to a charger. He almost wanted to call Kaoru and ask. Ask him who the letter was for. Ask him why he didn’t address it to anyone specifically. Ask him if he intended to give the letter to the person he wrote it for. 

But then he’d die. So self preservation won out. 

He dropped back into his chair, his entire body feeling heavy. His textbooks stared at him, opened but untouched. Not a single assignment had been even remotely attempted since he got home. 

The letter he had read and memorized stared back at him almost mockingly. As if it were saying, “You’re a fool. To care so much about something that has nothing to do with you.”

For a split second, he thought about setting it on fire. 

“Just throw it out, Kojiro.” this was the fifteenth time he said that. He had not gotten up to throw it out fifteen times now. 

He tapped his pencil against the desk several times. His foot tapping in tempo. Then, he reached for his notebook and ripped out a page. He clicked his pencil several times and laid out Kaoru’s crumpled up letter beside it.

He decided that, instead of setting the paper on fire. He’d simply set on fire these weird mixture of emotions welling up in his chest. And the best way to do that was, in his mind, writing out a response to Kaoru’s letter.

If Kaoru didn’t have a recipient, he’d become the recipient. 

He started and stopped writing three times until he finally got into the groove. 

Dear Kaoru, 

I probably shouldn't have read your letter. But I did. My bad. It's weird. I’ve seen your handwriting a thousand times but this is the first time i've ever thought of it as beautiful. 

Maybe it's because you're conveying love, and not taking down notes for math class. I also realized, I've never seen you in love before. not that i thought you weren't capable. It's just. 

I know you love math. You love putting in numbers and seeing the equation come out the way you knew it would over and over.

You love robots. Probably because you are one.You love physics. You love calculating velocity and speed (which I’m pretty sure are the same thing even if you say otherwise). 

But most of all, you love skating. 

I've never seen you more alive, more in love, then when you're on a board.

When you nail a trick and you get all giddy. Your voice gets louder and you have this excitement in your eyes. You keep doing the move over and over because you're so hyped you got it right.  And when you turn to look at me, and say "You saw that?" I can't help but think, maybe. Maybe, you get so excited because you wanna show me. That the look of excitement in your eyes isn't just because you got the trick right. But because you got the trick right and I was there to see it.

Also you’re really cheesy and soft, did you know that? Shakespeare would even cringe. Comparing this person to the feeling of the wind through your hair and the rush of adrenaline you get from doing a kickflip?  Really? 

Kaoru you got it bad.

Also, sorry to make this about me but. Why didn’t you tell me you’re crushing on someone?

I thought we told each other everything? Are you embarrassed? Ashamed? Afraid I’d judge you? Because I’d never do that. I’ve always liked you for all that you are. Everything you are.

Haha, is it me? 

Is that why you got scared when you saw me coming? Because then you’d have to confess to me or something shoujo like that? Haha no no. Couldn’t be. 

That’s just... my foolish hope. 

I guess.

Kojiro’s pen hovered in the air as if it were stopped by some iron wall that kept it from proceeding further. His entire face was warm. His palms were sweating. God, that was… how did Kaoru manage to write that without combusting in place? That was so… self reflective. And very intimate. Kojiro was normally a very self-attuned person but that level of awareness was… weird. To look at. To examine. To allow himself to let go and feel on the page. 

He almost felt a little silly. Responding to Kaoru’s letter like that. For what purpose? To pass the time? Just because?

He scratched at his chest. It ached a bit. He’s not too sure why, though. 

He never finished the letter because by that time Makoto, his oldest youngest brother, came up asking Kojiro when he’d start making dinner. 

“Sorry! I’m coming,” he got up from his desk and pushed the letter far into the back of his mind. 

“You’re doing homework?” Makoto side eyed him. “I’ve never seen you work so hard…”

“Punk,” Kojiro clucked his tongue, ruffling Makoto’s hair as he passed. “I’m the hardest working biggest brother ever .”

“Yeah okay,” Makoto didn’t seem convinced as they headed downstairs to start dinner. 

The letter was left behind on his table right beside Kaoru’s as he worked on dinner and helped his brothers with their homework. 

Forgotten, really, as the days went by. 

Until Kaoru found it. 

  -

  Kojiro honestly forgot he had the letter on his desk.

When he came back with two drinks for him and Kaoru, he found Kaoru standing at his desk holding onto two sheets of paper.

He spilled the drinks. 

“Oh shit,” he went to pick up his spilled glasses. He could feel Kaoru looking at him with heated golden eyes, with the letters in his hands. 

Kojiro fumbled to pick up the glasses. To wipe up his spill. Kaoru hadn’t said anything. And that just made the awkwardness and nervousness even heavier. Kojiro could feel his pulse beating loudly in his ears. His whole body on alert, ready for the other shoe to drop, until-

“Why do you have this?”

Kaoru’s quiet, low voice cut sharply. Made Kojiro flinch. 

Now that was a brilliant question. Why does he have the letter? Why hadn’t he thrown it away? Why hadn’t he done a better job at keeping it hidden?

Those were all questions he really couldn’t come up with an answer for. 

���Are you mad?” Kojiro asked instead. Still on the floor, dabbing his carpet with the paper towels he smartly brought with him on the tray with his glasses. 

He looked up at Kaoru. 

Suddenly, Kaoru was in his space. Gripping him up by his tie. Dragging him up to stand. His fingers trembled. 

Kojiro flinched. Breaching himself for the hit that never came.

When he opened his eyes, wincing, he found Kaoru’s face devoured by a blush. 

“You weren’t supposed to see this. Ever.” Kaoru whispered fiercely. 

Kojiro froze. He wasn’t really sure… how to take that. What that even meant. 

“I’m… sorry?” because his mind was filling in all the blanks. Creating every deadly inference those words could imply. “You can, uh throw them out. It was-I was stupid.”

“You are,” a pause. “But I won’t.”

“What?”

Kaoru tugged on his tie again. And Kojiro braced himself for a punch. 

But it never came. 

Not in the way he expected, at least. Instead he felt cold metal on his lips. A hesitant and bold touch of lips upon him. His eyes snapped open. And he’s shocked to find Kaoru kissing him instead of delivering a punch to his gut.

But maybe, this was the punch. 

He’s so shocked he didn’t respond in time. Kaoru pulled back. His face covered fully in a bright, red blush that reached all the way to the tip of his ears. He stepped back. And the distance between them was loud. He gripped the letters and moved to leave.

“I’m going-”

Kojiro’s body worked faster than his brain, thankfully.

He gripped Kaoru’s wrist, pulling him back. And then kissed him the way he should have the first time. No longer frozen, but melting. No longer hesitant, but with purpose. 

And Kaoru, stunned at first, didn’t stay that way for too long. Kissing Kojiro back with the same intensity. The same nervous, yet excited kisses. 

“Was the letter for me?” Kojiro asked, panting. He kissed Kaoru again shortly afterwards. Because he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. 

Kaoru fixed Kojiro with a glare after they parted. “I wouldn’t be kissing you if they weren’t. God, this is embarrassing. Why are you the nosiest person in the world?” Kaoru solidified his question with a swift kick to Kojiro’s kneecap. 

“Ow!” pain shot up Kojiro’s leg, but he laughed nevertheless. There was a rush that shot up his entire body. That electrified his veins. And even though his leg throbbed, he didn’t care as he brought Kaoru back for a kiss. Wrapping his arms around his waist as he did. Pulling him flush against his body. 

“Did you write others?” Kojiro asked.

Kaoru sputtered, his eyes widened. Kojiro’s grin curled to a devious angle. 

“Let me read the others?” Kojiro was shameless now.

Kaoru rolled his eyes and pushed Kojiro’s smirking face away from him, “Not on your life. I’m burning them all tonight.” 

“No don’t!” Kojiro laughed. “I wanna read them!”

“Fat chance!”

Kojiro, once he found them of course, had plans to read them all anyways.

[dhwty-writes]

Zutara Week Day 1 - Reunion

It’s Zutara Week again babeyyyy! I am so excited for this, prepare to see nothing else of me for the next week. Thanks so much @zutaraweek for this year’s prompts, they are amazing! I haven’t got everything written yet and I hope that I manage to get through it this year instead of chickening out like last year. Anyways, those of you who have already read my 2k18 Zutara Week and my 2k19 attempt will know that I always connect the prompts to one coherent story. And wouldn’t you believe it, this year they’re even in the right order!

But now enough of that, here’s what you’re all here for:

Read on AO3

There was a revolution going on and it wasn't Zuko's fault.

It had started about three months ago on one of the outer islands where the scars still ran deep and the power of the Fire Lord was weak. Zuko could understand it. At least he thought he could because peace was hard earned and harder kept and setbacks were frustrating. There were a lot of setbacks.

When they had won the war one decade ago, they had been full of childish naivete. Because at one point they had truly believed that defeating Azula and Ozai would mean an end to all hostilities. At one point they had truly believed that these two battles would end the war. It had been childish. It had been naive. They had been children.

Ten years, however, were a very long time. A very long time for children to grow up. A very long time for trauma to subside. A very long time to be sitting in an opulent war room again arguing with the same people about the same questions because it was always the same people. Time changed but war didn't.

The problem was that the island was small and close to the Earth Kingdom and there hadn't been much to do besides build factories and build weapons. So, many people had lost their jobs when the war ended. More people had lost everything when the Earth Kingdom had come in demanding reparations taking everything in sight. Most people had lost all hope when the Fire Lord sat idly by because there wasn't much he could do. And now there was hunger and sickness and poverty and Zuko couldn't do anything because his whole country was hungry and sick and poor.

The problem was, that he couldn't be everywhere at once. He had a palace and a throne in Caldera and honestly one island was a lot of responsibility for one person, not to speak of several dozen. That was the reason he had governors on every island. The problem was, some of them weren't very good. This one, Governor Yozin, wasn't very good at all. He was old and grey and fidgeting with the seam of his robes whenever Zuko so much as glanced in his direction. He was no leader. Zuko knew he had to replace him as soon as possible.

He had wanted to as soon as he arrived but he'd been heavily advised against doing so. Ten years ago, he'd done it anyways. Now he had grown a lot and learned even more so he knew that would be a bad move. He'd just wait a few months, shower him with honours and then offer him to retire on Ember Island of something. That always worked.

But right now, he had to deal with him and the cacophony of missteps that had led to the uprising in the first place. After the war the people who had returned had mostly been soldiers and child- and partnerless colonisers with only a little fight left in them - the war had wrung the Fire Nation dry, too. Those who had stayed in the colonies had been allowed to do so on grounds of happy marriages that resulted in children. And no child should be forced to leave their home for the wrongs of their ancestors - the Avatar and his global political leader and war hero friends had been quite adamant on that point.

Now however, the fighting spirit had returned fuelled by nearly a decade of deprivation and hopelessness. And it had returned with violence.

So, he was sat in the war room with the fool of a governor and his two oldest children who weren't very pleased of his arrival - no-one liked it when the Fire Lord showed up to take local politics into his own hand. There were other people, too, his own advisers who didn't like him much more than the governor sitting across from him.

And the worst part was the insufferable silence. He had attempted small talk at least, trying to remember what Sokka had drilled into his head about it, but Agni help him he hated those jokes, too, so he hadn't been too surprised by the icy silence the officials spared him.

"So," he cleared his throat awkwardly. "What exactly are we waiting for?" He knew the Avatar wasn't coming. He had tried to convince Aang - he really had - and he had promised to come but there was some spirit-related crisis somewhere on the other side of the world so that could take some time. He did, however, say that he would send someone from the old Team Avatar as form of authority. He really hoped for Suki. Or Sokka. Katara and Toph weren't exactly known for their diplomacy when their perception of justice was concerned.

"The rebels' leader," Yozin answered. "She agreed to come talk to us."

He nodded with a stony face resisting the urge to chew his advisers out. The rebels' leader? No-one had told him about that! But for the moment a displeased look with eyes that spit fire had to suffice - and it surely was enough to have his advisers sweating. "She's taking her time," he noted.

"She will come. We promised to hear her out."

Zuko repressed a sigh and went back to waiting.

He didn't know how long he had waited exactly when the doors opened and a woman stepped inside. No-one rose to greet her but that was really only because Zuko didn't recognise her for an embarrassingly long time.

The woman standing in front of him was tall and slender, her long curls tumbling freely down her back. She was wearing blue because of course she was, a short-sleeved tunic rimmed with fur and a long skirt with slits up to her hips over tight pants and boots. He counted four waterskins strapped to her broad belt and he gulped. The expression on her face was familiar and strange at the same time. It belonged to another time. A time of war that had ended ten years ago he never hoped to see again.

And yet, there it was and there she was of all people. "Katara!" he blurted out completely undignified before he could stop himself.

She turned to him slowly and there was only the tiniest gleam in her eyes as proof that she recognised him as anything other than the Fire Lord. "Hello, Zuko," she said with a voice that made the blood freeze in his veins, "nice of you to show up."

His expression froze on his face, mirroring her own. "Out," he ordered curtly. "Everyone." He heard the displeased grumbling of his advisers behind him shuffling uncomfortably where they knelt. "I won't repeat myself." That finally got them moving. "Not you!" He barked at the governor. This was his mess. He would solve it, too.

When the door shut behind them Zuko took a deep breath. For want of better ideas a deep breath was always a sound choice. Then he turned to Katara, his enemy, his friend, his saviour whom he hadn't seen for four years. "So, you are the leader of the rebellion," he stated calmly.

"I am their spokesperson. No more and no less."

He nodded grimly. "Your demands, Master Katara."

"Your majesty," the governor piped up, "I am not sure this is the right way to go about this situation."

"You agreed to her presence, now you will listen to her point of view. Please, Master Katara."

Without missing a beat, she started speaking: "We demand the immediate delivery of food, drinking water and medicine to end the prevalent crisis that threatens the livelihood of law-abiding Fire Nation citizens. We also demand a plan to be set up in order to solve the humanitarian crisis and rid the island of its economic emergency. Furthermore, we demand an end to the institutional violence executed by the brutal regime that is the Fire Nation legal code. And lastly, the removal of Governor Yozin from any position of power for incapacity. Permanently."

Zuko suppressed a sigh. That was just common sense. Still it was probably more than he could allow.

The governor's indignant gasp was proof enough for that. "This is unacceptable! I will never agree to such conditions."

"That is no longer your choice alone. Your incompetence to solve this crisis in a reasonable time frame proved this." He fixed him with a glare. "Your position, governor."

"There will be no allowances at all until the violence stops. The rebels were the first aggressors." He pointed at Katara. "She was the first aggressor! A rebel and a foreigner at that!"

"I will be the judge of that once I have heard several reports. Carry on. I want to get this over with."

"Once the violence stops and the rebels are brought to justice, I will gladly provide an economic plan. The rest of the demands lies outside of my power."

"Luckily, they are not outside of mine. I will have to think about them. You may leave now," Zuko told the governor who scurried to his feet in order to escape the tense situation. Once the door shut behind him the tension left Zuko's body and he sighed. "What in the name of all spirits, Katara?"

She chewed on her lip, still very silent. It was disturbing, really. The expression on her face didn't waver for even a moment.

He shook his head. She'd always been stubborn. "Can I at least tempt you for dinner? You look awful." She looked as if she wanted to retort something incredible clever so he quickly interrupted her: "I brought my own supplies. They're getting distributed as we speak."

She took a deep breath, then she fixed her eyes on his. "It would be my pleasure."

[jlalafics]

“Santa Baby”-a Christmas Everlark Fic

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I know this took long, but it’s like 32 pages...

Anyway, enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Summary:

“I’m giving you till Christmas Eve to get this all out of your system,” his father told him. “Come Christmas, you will marry the South Pole Princess.”

Not if he could help it.

Christmas Eve, he repeated resolutely.

He had till Christmas Eve to find his true love.

Fluffing it up for the Holiday season. Everlark AU.

 Santa Baby

December 1st

“Peeta…” There was knock at the door. “Are you awake?”

He groaned at the familiar call of Haymitch, Head Elf and his steward, and pulled his fur comforter over his head.

It didn’t deter the man from entering the room, tray in hands. “I know you’re not sleeping, Peeta.” Haymitch placed the tray on the side table before going to the velvet curtains and pulling the cord to let the light into the room. “Now, get up before I get one of the guys in Delivery to drag you out.”

Peeta shot up in his bed, grimacing as the stark white light hit his vision.

“There is no way they could do it.” He reached for the mug of hot chocolate on the tray and took a long sip, sighing in relief at the taste of freshly brewed cocoa. “They don’t have the manpower.”

“But they have the reindeer,” Haymitch pointed out as he reached into the silver armoire to take out a red robe, trimmed with white. He walked over to Peeta, as the young man stood, and helped him into it before moving the slippers by his bedside next to his feet. “You know they have nothing to do before Christmas and love nothing but a good game of ‘Chase the North Pole Prince’.”

“Tell me why I keep you around.” Peeta reached for the tray of Christmas cookies, picking out his favorite shape—the star—and taking a bite. “We barely tolerate each other.”

“Because Santa—or as he’s better known as your Dad—assigned me this grand job,” Haymitch replied wryly. He went to Peeta, placing a hand on each shoulder. “And because, believe it or not, I want the best for you.”

Peeta nodded, his smile affectionate, as he held out the plate of cookies to Haymitch.

“Why don’t you have a cookie while we go over my schedule for today?”

Haymitch reached over, mussing Peeta’s golden head affectionately.

“That’s my boy.”

++++++

Dressed in a grey cable knit sweater and snow-white pants, Peeta walked down the grand staircase of the North Pole Palace. Effie, his mother’s assistant and Haymitch’s better half, beamed at him from the bottom of the steps.

“Hello Peeta!” she chirped at him. “Today is a big, big, big day!”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. Effie was like a second mother to him and always snuck him snacks whenever his Dad tried to put his foot down.

“Isn’t it always a big, big, big day whenever December comes around?”

“No, Peeta! Don’t you remember? Tonight is the Winter Ceremony!” Effie gushed. “

Peeta stopped in his tracks as the ball of dread fell to his stomach; he hated ceremonies. “Oh…that.”

“I had your suit pressed and your crown polished...” Effie fidgeted with his sweater distractedly, brushing a bit of lint off before going to his hair and trying to fix the cowlick. “…should we add a cape? I always thought capes look so dashing and I think Clove will really like it.”

“Clove?”

“The South Pole Princess, of course!” Effie raised a brow at him. “Honestly, Peeta! You’re twenty-two years old—the prime age for marrying! Tonight, you will meet your bride! Surely, you’ve known about this arrangement.”

“Where are my mother and father?” he demanded.

“Having breakfast, of course,” Effie informed him. “But—”

Peeta marched off towards the dining hall, not even waiting for the doormen to let him enter.

“Mom! Dad!”

His parents turned to him, bright smiles on their faces.

“Peeta!” His mother stood, her bright red dress swaying with her. She gave him a kiss on his cheek. “Are you joining us for breakfast?”

“No, but I would like to know why no one mentioned this whole bride issue!” he burst out.

“Peeta.” He turned to his father. “Have a seat.”

While Father Christmas was known to be a cheerful and jolly sort of man to outsiders, Peeta knew him as a more stoic kind of character. Santa Claus, Ruler of the North Pole, was a fair and just King, but Peeta knew better than to mess with him.

His mother led him to the seat next to hers and took his hand.

“We’ve had this treaty since your grandfather was in power,” his father explained. “It was promised that, in order to maintain peace between the North and South Poles, we would unite the kingdom if a male and female heir were born. In my case, Coriolanus was born around the same time that I was, and no other heirs came.”

“So now it falls on me and this girl—”

“Clove,” his mother interrupted.

“So, it falls on me and Clove to marry?” he said incredulously. “Why did you never mention this before?”

His parents eyed one another, communicating silently, before turning back to him.

“Peeta, you know that we love you,” his father started. “However, you haven’t been the most responsible person.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You’ve never bothered to learn about the family business.” His father looked to him warily. “You’ve quit almost everything you’ve started.”

“You said almost everything,” Peeta pointed out. “So, I have committed to at least one thing.”

“You can’t run a kingdom on baking alone,” his father responded. “And, when you take over as the reigning Santa, you’ll be eating the cookies, not making them.” The man patted his stomach heartily. “The love for baking will fade because you will have more responsibility—and you will need someone by your side to help you take care of our kingdom and the children of the world. We are all counting on you.”

Peeta settled back in his chair; the weight of his father’s words resting on his shoulders.

“Give Clove a chance, my dear,” his mother said soothingly. “You never know. Love might come.”

Peeta nodded before standing from his seat. “I’ll be ready for this evening.”

He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Did you have to be so hard on him, Nick?”

“Jess, you know that he has to grow up sooner or later.”

They adored their son, but he had grown up with tinsel-covered eyes.

“But marriage?” Jessica countered. “He is too young.”

“I was the same age when I met you,” Nick said, his gaze going to the flaxen-haired woman with her luminous blue eyes. They met at an ice cream parlor in Connecticut; he had come in for a business meeting with a local toymaker and stopped in for a tin roof sundae.

When their eyes met over the cherry top sundae, that had been it.

He was goner.

There was a cough and they turned to see Effie at the doorway.

“Ma’am, Mother Nature has arrived for your meeting,” she informed Jessica.

“Oh yes, Patina had some concerns over the recent fires going on.” Jessica stood from her seat and pressed a kissed just above her husband’s beard. “Peeta is smarter and stronger than we think. Give him a chance. He may surprise you.”

“I am a lucky man to have you,” Nick said tenderly.

Jessica chuckled. “I’m just lucky that I made one hell of a sundae.”

++++++

From the balcony of his bedroom, Peeta looked out upon his kingdom, the Christmas lights illuminating every house in the North Pole. He loved this time of year; the way the snow covered the rooftops and glistened when the moon hit them just right.

Pride swelled at the kingdom before him. This was his legacy—to rule over this small piece of land and eventually reign over it as King and Santa Claus when the time came. He welcomed it, contrary to whatever his parents thought. What he didn’t enjoy was having every choice made for him.

Especially the choice of who he would be spending his life with.

“Peeta?” Haymitch approached. “You all set?”

He straightened and turned to the man.

Stopping in front of him, Haymitch looked Peeta over. He had obediently put on the white cutaway tailcoat, turndown collar shirt, and white pants. The red sash crossed diagonally across his suit was customary for formal occasions such as these.

“You look good, son,” his steward said proudly. “However, there is just one more thing.”

They walked back into the bedroom where there, on his dresser, sat his crown. It was a sight to behold and every time Peeta saw it, it took his breath away. Made of white gold, the circlet had seven peaks, for each continent, and was decorated with pearls, amethysts, topaz, and alexandrite. The front was adorned with a large blue tourmaline—representing his family’s trademark eye color.

“Allow me,” Haymitch said and Peeta walked to the mirror resting in the corner. Carefully, the man placed it atop his head and stepped back to let Peeta look at his reflection. “You look like a King.”

“Thank you,” he responded hollowly. “You’re a true friend, Haymitch.”

The man noted his downcast countenance. "‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown’."

“Somehow, Shakespeare saw into the future and wrote about me,” Peeta retorted with a thin laugh. “I am not, by any means, ready.”

“But you will do what’s necessary for your kingdom,” Haymitch told him. “I know you.”

Peeta sighed heavily. “You know me too well.” He straightened himself in the mirror, resoluteness in his reflection. “Let’s do this.”

++++++

“His royal highness, King Coriolanus, and her royal highness, Princess Clove, of the South Pole,” the announcer called out.

Peeta steeled himself as he stood right of his father’s throne. Behind him, Haymitch remained as his royal steward. His mother stood to his father’s left, dressed elegantly in a red gown and matching mantle lined with white fur with Effie behind her. His father, sitting front and center, was dressed in a red military-esque suit, his own mantle draped on his shoulders.

He looked at the girl walking towards him, her hand resting on her father’s arm. Clove was dark-haired, the color of her locks similar to the black of raven feathers and her eyes were cool blue. She was beyond pale and her expression was tight, her red lips paling from the tautness of her mouth.

King Coriolanus shared his daughter’s cool eyes and expression, his dark suit made his pale skin and white hair stand out.

Stopping in front of the dais, the father bowed while the daughter curtsied gracefully.

“Welcome.” His father stood up and walked to the duo. “My wife, Jessica.” His mother joined them and curtsied elegantly, her smile lighting up her face. “And, my son, Peeta.”

Peeta walked forward, bowing and as he rose, he looked to Clove. She offered a nod before looking to her father in approval.

His father coughed, pulling out of his stupor.

“Oh—” Peeta looked to Clove, holding out his hand to her. “May I have this dance?”

She didn’t answer, only nodding once more, and taking his hand.

They made their way to the center of the room as the music began and Peeta wrapped an arm around her waist as he began to lead her in a customary waltz.

“So…” he began. “What do you like to do?”

“What do you like to do?” Clove responded, her lips rising in a smile. However, it didn’t quite reach her eyes and the blank expression in her eyes made his insides go cold.

“I like to bake and draw.”

Besides baking, Peeta could spend hours at his canvas. It was the one thing that calmed him when royal life got too much.

“Then I will like that too,” she said simply.

He tried again. “And, what about your favorite color? Mine is orange, actually more like a sunset orange.”

“Then that’s my favorite, too.”

This was going to be a long night.

++++++

Later that night, Peeta stood in the palace’s study, spinning the globe that his father often used. It automatically added new cities and boroughs whenever they were established. When he was young, he would spin it and close his eyes, pressing his finger to stop it and look to see which destination his finger landed on.

Bordeaux…Peru…Manila…Seattle…

All places that his little fingers had pointed to.

All the places he would never go as Peeta—but one day as Santa Claus.

“Do you remember that game that you used to play?”

Peeta looked up at his father’s voice and the man smiled gently at him.

“I was just thinking about that right now,” he replied. “All the places that I had found…that I won’t be able to see unless it’s in working capacity.”

“Maybe not,” Nick said.

Peeta met his eyes. “What?”

“I’ve had a talk with your mother, and she thinks that you might need a break,” his father continued. “And I…agreed.”

He straightened up at his words. “I don’t understand.”

“I love you, Peeta.” Nick put an arm around him. “And, I just want you to be happy.” His father spun the globe. “Close your eyes and point.”

Eagerly Peeta followed his instruction, closing his eyes before stopping the globe.

“Interesting choice,” his father replied as Peeta opened his eyes to look at his pick. “No snow, but full of Christmas spirit.”

Peeta looked at him in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“Obviously, you have some wanderlust, Peeta. I’m giving you till Christmas Eve to get this all out of your system,” Nick told him. “However, come Christmas, you will marry the South Pole Princess.”

Not if he could help it.

Peeta beamed at the man. “Thanks Dad.”

Christmas Eve, he repeated resolutely.

He had till Christmas Eve to find his true love.

But could he find it—Peeta looked at his choice once more—in Panem?

++++++

December 7th

“Here we are!” Peeta eagerly reached into the pocket of his navy peacoat to pull out the set of keys that his mother had placed into his hand before bidding him goodbye. “My first apartment!”

“Our first apartment,” Haymitch grumbled as he dragged his bag with him. He looked around the beige hallway full of wooden doors. “No offense, but this is kind of a shithole.”

Peeta turned to him aghast. “Haymitch, you cursed!”

“Yes, I cursed,” the man replied simply. “Your father caps it in the North Pole, but the cap was lifted once we left so get all the shits, fucks, and damns out while you can.”

“Will do,” he said cheerily.

Turning the lock and opening the door, Peeta stepped into the apartment, placing his bag on the ground as he looked around. It was, like the hallway, beige with a few stains on the far wall and on the hardwood floor. In the sitting area sat a well-loved couch and coffee table. The kitchen was to his left and he went to the fridge, a seafoam green number, and opened it.

“There’s no food in here!”

“Well, you wanted the real-world experience so like any real person, you’re going to have to get a real job,” Haymitch explained. “Your father will take care of the rent for this dump, but food and other necessities will be up to you.” He looked around disdainfully. “Man, I miss the palace—and I miss my wife.” Reaching into his jean pocket, Haymitch took out his phone. “Glad I got this little thing with me—”

“You got a phone?” Peeta grabbed out of the man’s grasp, his eyes widening as he read the message that Effie had sent. “Whoa—do you really talk to each other like that?”

“It’s called sexting, Peeta—and please respect our privacy.” Haymitch responded to the message quickly. “I’ll take this room.” He headed to the opposite side of the kitchen. “It’s next to the bathroom and I’m going to need a lot of cold showers. Good night Peeta!”

“Night Haymitch!”

After the door closed, Peeta went to the windows across and looked out at the street below him. It was empty, saved for the few cars that whizzed by and the person walking their dog across the street.

They were on the third floor of an apartment building in decent part of the city. Panem was a thriving metropolis on the West Coast of the United States; its population like San Francisco or Seattle.

In a city like this, he was sure that his girl was out there.

He just had to figure how to find her.

His stomach suddenly growled.

Better yet, Peeta had to find a job

++++++

December 9th

“More coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Haymitch said to the woman as he cut into his pancake. “This is delicious, Mags.”

Mags’ Diner was two doors down from their apartment building. Peeta’s father had provided Haymitch with some cash to keep them going until Peeta found work. After complaining about stomach pains, Haymitch suggested they look for food before they came across the diner.

“Thank you, darlin’!” The woman beamed and then looked to Peeta. “And, how’s your breakfast, love?”

“It’s delicious!” Peeta speared his waffle, enjoying the crispness of it and the soak of maple syrup. “But, how did you come up with the concept of chicken and waffles?”

“I didn’t come up with it,” Mags told him with a laugh.

“Then who did?”

“You’re going to have Google it or something,” the woman told him.

Peeta looked to her in confusion. “Google?”

“Mags, where he’s from, there’s limited amount of technology,” Haymitch explained. “So, you’ll have to go a little slow with this one.”

The bell of the door jingled as someone came in.

“MAGS! COFFEE PLEASE!”

Peeta turned to see a dark-haired woman in a bright green dress and candy cane style stockings stomp to the table next to them. Atop her dark wavy hair was a bright green pointy hat with a bell on the end of it. The only thing out of place about her outfit were the clunky boots on her feet.

Haymitch looked the girl over and snorted. “That is so not what we wear.”

“That’s supposed to be an elf outfit?” Peeta asked incredulously.

“That’s how these outsiders see us,” Haymitch growled into his coffee.

Elves usually wore whatever they wanted, unless you were a servant at the palace and then they were attired in more business casual clothing. Haymitch usually wore a white button down and black slacks while Effie had free reign as long as her clothing was workplace appropriate. Also, unlike what outsiders believe, elves were the same height as regular humans, the only distinguishing trait being the pointed ears.

His father had changed Haymitch’s to regular lobes before they departed.

“Another day at the shop, Katniss?” Mags asked as she placed a mug on the woman’s table.

“Yes, except Gale quit!” She took a sip and moaned loudly. “Oh, that’s the good shit…”

Her exclamation sent a shot of excitement through Peeta’s body.

Not to mention, it twitched and stiffened at her moan.

Mags tutted. “So, you’re one elf short?”

“Yes,” Katniss said. “Annie and Finnick usually do the evening shift so we’re okay there, but we need an assistant to help Santa with the kids during the day. Prim won’t be on break from school until a week before Christmas and Mom is manning the registers.”

She let out a groan of frustration.

“This is why I hate Christmas.”

Peeta and Haymitch simultaneously gasped.

Katniss’ eyes shot up, meeting his immediately, and Peeta felt his jaw drop at the sight of her.

The woman was beautiful.

Her hair was ebony with waves that tumbled down against her shoulders and framed her delicate heart-shaped face. She was olive-skinned with rose lips that tightened at the sight of him.

Oh, but it was her eyes that captured him.

Smoky and almond-shaped, they were framed by thick lashes and as she glared at him, he could see the fire in them.

Peeta was a goner.

It was as if the heavens opened up and snowed down every shimmer of light that it could afford around her. Music filled his ears and it seemed like all his favorite Christmas carols combined into a symphony. If they had been outside, Peeta was sure that she would have been surrounded by woodland creatures.

“What the fuck are you staring at?”

Haymitch leaned over. “I think she’s talking to you.”

Peeta broke from his reverie and beamed at her.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to stare,” he began. “I’m sorry you’re having bad day.”

Katniss softened at his words. “Thanks.” She took a sip of her coffee. “What’s your name?”

“Peeta…Mellark.” He stopped himself from saying Kringle, instead giving her the last name that, according to his father, belonged to their ancestors.

“Peeta…” Peeta shifted because it stiffened at the sound of his name on her lips. “…that’s a weird one.” She finally gave him a smile—which was brilliantly white and lit up her beautiful face. “Katniss Everdeen.”

“That’s also a weird one,” Haymitch remarked.

“Your name is beautiful,” Peeta assured her with a smile.

She nodded at the man next to him. “Is that your Dad?”

“No, this is my ste…roommate, Haymitch.” Haymitch nodded at her before going back to his breakfast. “We live in the apartment building, two doors down from here.”

“Did you guys meet on Craigslist or something?” Katniss raised a brow at the pair. “He looks way old to be your roommate. I’d lock my door at night if I were you.”

“Hey girlie!” Haymitch barked. “I’m not the one wearing a cheap polyester joke of an elf costume!”

Peeta placed a hand on the man’s shoulder to calm him; his steward immediately retreated.

“What Haymitch means to say is that elves probably don’t wear that kind of outfit.”

Katniss shrugged. “Well, the kids love it and that’s what is important.”

Peeta was already halfway in love with her.

She looked down at her phone resting on the table. “Shit—I’m late!” Standing, Katniss reached into a pocket hidden in her skirt and threw a few bills down on the table surface. “Gotta go, Mags!” Her eyes went to Peeta and she smiled. “My family owns a toy store a few blocks down. It’s called Everdeen Toys. Come check us out if you want.”

“We will,” he promised.

With that, Katniss left with a flounce of her skirt that revealed her stockings were thigh-highs, and—that her underwear matched her outfit.

Haymitch smirked knowingly. “Do you need a cold shower?”

“I found her, Haymitch.” He grinned at the man. “She is the girl I’m going to marry!”

++++++

“Are you insane?” Haymitch yelled as they entered their apartment. “Is this the whole reason why you’ve come here? To find another wife?”

“Yes!” Peeta retorted. “I can’t marry Clove. She isn’t my true love. I felt it in my bones.”

“Your father will never allow it,” Haymitch intoned.

Peeta stood before Haymitch. “Would you have settled for anyone less than Effie?”

His steward stiffened at his words and shook his head vehemently. “Never.”

“Because she’s your true love,” Peeta told him. “And I won’t settle for anyone less than Katniss.”

They went silent at his declaration, their breaths harsh after their argument.

“Fuck tradition then.”

Peeta looked up the man’s words and Haymitch smirked.

“Yeah! Fu…fuck tradition!” Peeta grimaced. “That was a lot harder to say than I thought.” He quickly embraced the man. “Will you help me with her? I don’t know anything about courting rituals of the outside world.”

“I don’t know anything about them, either,” Haymitch replied. “I mean, courting Effie meant presenting her father with the nicest handwoven gift basket. I had splinters for days after—but it was worth it.” He patted Peeta’s shoulder. “How about we check out her store tomorrow?”

“Great idea!” Peeta jumped in excitement.

“Also—” Haymitch looked around. “We should probably go shopping for some furniture today. I don’t fancy sleeping on the couch next to you again. This morning, I woke up with you drooling on my shoulder!” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Your Dad gave me this thing—” He presented Peeta with a small plastic rectangle. “He called it a credit card. I’m guessing he wants me to use it for furniture. Also, your mother made me a list of things that we should get.”

Magically, he pulled a long list from his other pocket.

Peeta picked the bit of the list that had fallen to the ground to look it over. “What’s a laptop?”

“I have no idea, but today we’ll have to find a place called…Ikea.”

++++++

Everdeen Toys turned out to be five blocks down from their apartment building. However, after a good night’s sleep in their new beds (they had practically bought out Ikea) and a hearty breakfast at Mags’, the walk was quite refreshing.

Peeta practically skipped towards the place. He could not wait to see Katniss again.

“I read up on courting in the outsider world on our laptop. They call it dating,” Haymitch told him.

“Dating?”

“Well, it’s a sort of meeting where you get to know one another,” the man explained. “You do different activities, like going to a restaurant or the movies. Sometimes, one person will have a date suggestion and sometimes the other person will have one. It’s a way to gauge whether or not you’re compatible.”

“So, I should ask Katniss on a date,” Peeta mused. “I’m sure it will be fine. You’ll be there to make sure that I mess up—”

“Peeta, you go on the date alone,” Haymitch informed him. “Just you and Katniss. There are no chaperones. Didn’t your parents ever explain any of this to you?”

“No. They’re both busy people, you know that,” Peeta responded.

“You never got a talk? About what happens between a man and a woman?”

Peeta shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

Thank goodness for Peeta’s optimism; Haymitch could only hope that when it came to intimate matters, Katniss would be a good teacher.

“We’re here!”

The Everdeen store was a brick and mortar building with a large display window. It was obviously very popular as children crowded the outside of the store looking over the Lego display depicting the North Pole. Inside, the place was packed full of people as they looked over the various toy displays.

“Not a bad display,” Haymitch said. The children turned to him curiously. “However, our bakery is actually closer to the ice-skating rink. Also, there’s no hot chocolate stand…and where’s the palace?”

“There’s a palace?” A little girl with a bright pink jacket asked.

“Of course, there’s a palace!” Haymitch looked down at the girl in disbelief. “I work there!”

The girl stepped back just as her mother placed an arm around her shoulders to lead her away.

“Stay away from strangers, Katie!” the woman said as they rushed away.

“You try to be nice to people,” Haymitch muttered.

“Let’s go in,” Peeta told him. “We can check out the new merchandise and let Effie know how everything is selling.”

Together, they stepped into the crowded store. The shelves were fully stocked though messy because of the high volume of customers. A golden-haired woman manned the single cash register, placing several toys into a shopping bag.

“Welcome to Everdeen Toys.” A young girl was suddenly standing in front of Peeta and Haymitch, giving them a bright smile. “My name is Rue. Can I help you find anything?”

“I was wondering where your newer toys were,” Haymitch started. “And he—” He placed a hand on Peeta’s shoulder. “—is looking for Katniss Everdeen.”

“New merchandise is in the first aisle,” Rue informed them before offering a bright smile to Peeta. “And, Katniss is helping out Santa—you wouldn’t happen to be Peeta, would you?”

Peeta almost burst in happiness. “Did she mention me?”

Rue giggled as she led him over to where Katniss was. “She was telling Prim, her sister, about the cute boy with the weird name while we were switching shifts.” They stopped at a line and Rue waved her hand out. “There she is.”

“Thanks Rue,” Peeta said. “I’ll put in a good word for you with Santa.”

“Right…” Rue chuckled. “Let him know I need a raise.”

“That or that keyboard that you’ve been eyeing at the music store near your house,” he replied.

The girl’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“I told you I know Santa.”

++++++

“Peeta!” He whipped around to find Katniss in front of him. “You came!”

“You invited me.” His eyes remained on hers. “You look pretty.”

“I look like crap,” she replied. “I didn’t shower and my hair’s a mess…”

Peeta reached for the tip of the braid she wore. “I like your hair—anyway you wear it.”

Katniss blushed at his words. “So, this is our store. How do you like it?”

“It’s great.” He looked around at the families. “And, it looks like you’re really popular.”

“Christmas is our best time,” she informed him. “We’re fighting against the chain stores but, because of Dad playing Santa, we’ve become very popular. The line is always out the door…and unfortunately like you heard, our other elf quit on us. So I’m up to my knees in kids, not that I mind though.”

The idea suddenly came to him. “Hire me.”

“What?”

“I’ve been looking for a temporary job,” he explained. “And, we could really use some money for food and other necessities.”

“It doesn’t pay much,” Katniss told him. “Much lower than what another store might give a seasonal employee.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Peeta met her eyes. “What does matter is that I get to hang out with you…and maybe we can go get food tonight?”

“You’re a weirdo.” However, her mouth widened in a brilliant pretty grin. “But in a good way. I’ll talk to my Dad about the job and we can go celebrate later. I’m off at seven.”

“Hey Peeta!” He turned to find Haymitch heading towards him. “We have to go. I have a phone meeting with Effie—about the new merchandise.”

“Okay.” Peeta looked to Katniss. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“Looking forward to it.” She suddenly reached forward and gave him a hug, her face flaming when she pulled away. “See you later, Peeta.”

Katniss disappeared into the crowd before he could react.

Haymitch looked between him and the direction that Katniss had run off to.

“What the hell did I miss?”

++++++

Deciding on a black knit sweater and jeans that, according to the saleswoman, ‘made his ass look like you could bounce quarters off it’, Peeta stepped into the living room.

“How do I look?”

Haymitch closed the laptop and looked him over before nodding in approval.

“It’s a far cry from your usual garb, but I like it,” he told Peeta. “Don’t forget to bring a coat and scarf. It’s nippy out there. Also, just in case Katniss gets cold, you’ll have something to drape over her shoulders.”

“This is my first date.” Peeta sat next to the man anxiously. “Should I let her pick the place to eat? Where do I put my hands when we’re walking together? How do I know that I’m not boring her?”

“Both of you decide on where to eat,” Haymitch told him. “Keep your hands to yourself unless she reaches over. You’ll know by the look in her eyes. Boredom can’t be hidden.” He coughed awkwardly. “There are a few things that I would like to talk to you about before you leave.”

“Sure.”

“Other than hand-holding, there’s also the possibility of other physical gestures happening,” Haymitch started, his face going scarlet. “First, if it all goes well, there could be kissing.”

“I know what a kiss is,” Peeta replied easily. “I see my parents kiss all the time.”

“Yeah…” Haymitch yanked at the collar of his shirt. “But those kisses are usually on the cheek or closed-mouthed—”

Peeta leaned towards the man in interest. “There are open-mouthed kisses?”

“Yes and uh…most of the time, your tongue is involved,” his steward said. “Also, sometimes things will progress during a date and then you could end up having…sex.”

“Sex.” Peeta thought back of some of the books that he had read on animal mating. However, most of the mating that he had heard about was purely for procreation purposes. “And, you do this as an expression of affection and not procreation?”

Haymitch wondered if it was the right thing to have kept Peeta so sheltered at the North Pole. His social skills were lacking since elves and his parents were about the only people that he had ever communicated with.

“Sometimes. Most of the time, it’s to feel pleasure.”

Peeta cocked a brow. “I don’t understand.”

“A lot of the times, outsiders have sex with people that they don’t have feelings for,” Haymitch said. “A lot of the time, they do have feelings and a lot of times, it is in order to have children.” Opening a drawer, he pulled a box with the profile of a helmeted man. “Sometimes, you don’t want to have children, but want to have sex and so you use one of these—”

He took the box and looked it over. “And, these…Trojan condoms will help?”

“Among other things. Anyway, I’d like you to read the instructions and remember to have one with you,” the man said. “But most importantly, never assume that sex will happen and both you and the other person have to want to do it. If either of you say no, then the other person must respect that.”

Peeta nodded. “I think we won’t be doing any of that tonight…sex sounds very complicated.”

“It often is.” Haymitch gave him a smile. “Now that I have freaked you out, you better get going.”

Getting to his feet, Peeta put on some brown boots and then his navy peacoat from the coatrack next to the door. He then took the red scarf that was also hanging and wrapped it around his neck.

“I’ll see you later,” Peeta called out. “Thanks for the talk.”

After the boy left, Haymitch let out a breath.

He really needed a drink.

++++++

“So, where are you from?” Katniss asked as they began to eat their respective entrees.

They had decided on a small Italian restaurant about a block up from Everdeen Toys. Actually, it was more like Katniss suggested and he agreed. He had never had Italian food as back home they usually served whatever was local—mostly fish and the occasional deer meat which would only be if his father or mother made a trip down to another region.

“Up north,” Peeta replied as he looked at the plate of spaghetti and meat sauce. “It’s pretty remote.” Picking up the fork, he attempted to scoop some spaghetti, but it kept on slipping off. “There’s not really anything but my family’s home…and factory.”

Katniss watched him struggle. “Have you never had pasta?” Shamefully, he shook his head. “Allow me.” Taking her spoon in one hand and her fork in the other, she showed him how to gather the pasta before bringing the tip of the fork to the spoon so that she could wind the pasta around the fork. “Voila! You can now eat your spaghetti.”

“You’re amazing,” he told her, gazing into her dark eyes under the candlelight.

“It’s just spaghetti.”

“No, it’s you.” Katniss colored at his assurance. “I know I don’t know a lot of things.” Peeta internally followed her instructions on getting pasta around his fork. “I’ve spent most of my life learning about my family’s business and I never bothered to learn about anything else.”

“Like Italian food and from what it seems…social media?” Katniss bowed her head in embarrassment. “I tried to Google you and got nothing. No Facebook…or Twitter…or LinkedIn. Are you a ghost or something?”

Peeta laughed. He loved that she could make him laugh. He loved her sarcastic humor and her patience with him.

“I’m real,” he promised. “We just live a different life up there. Things are simpler.”

“I like that,” Katniss replied. “Sometimes I feel like we’re all disconnected from one another as new technology comes along. I mean it’s convenient when you need to order takeout or make sure someone isn’t a serial killer. Other times, it can make you feel isolated even in a room full of people.”

“Do you think that you could live somewhere simpler?” He took a sip of his water. “Like…up north?”

Katniss snorted. “Are you asking me to come live with you?”

“Not yet,” he retorted.

“Very smooth, Peeta,” she replied with a small smile. “Though you know nothing about me—so you could just as easily take you offer back.”

“Well, you don’t know me much either.” He easily wove the spaghetti around the fork. “Once I see what I want, I make it my mission to get it.”

Katniss’ rich skin bloomed with color. “I look forward to seeing that.”

They went quiet, lost in their own thoughts, savoring the electricity between them.

“Katniss?”

She looked up. “Yes?”

“What is Google?” he asked. “It’s like the second time I’ve heard that word.”

Katniss burst into laughter. “I have so much to teach you.”

He gazed at her lovely face, lit up in the candlelight.

“I can’t wait.”

++++++

December 15th

“Peeta, are you ready?” There was a knock at the door. “I’m coming in, so you better not be naked!”

“I don’t think Katniss would mind though,” came the higher pitched voice of Prim, Katniss’ sister.

Katniss carefully opened the door and stepped in as he turned around.

“Do I look okay?” he asked anxiously. “This is my first real job and I want to make sure that I don’t muck it up.”

Seth, Katniss’ father, was more than happy to give him the seasonal job as Santa’s elf. He handed Peeta the uniform, telling him that it had been dry cleaned before sending him into the back room to dress.

The candy pants were a little tight, but the bright green top with red accents was loose and hit just above the knee.

However, the shoes were just plain silly. It was a known fact that elves wore steel-toe boots because of the weather and job hazards. His father was a stickler for safety.

Katniss stepped back to look him over from head—she lingered in the middle—to toe.

“Uh…” Her cheeks were pink. “You look perfect, but don’t forget the hat.” She went to the nearby table, retrieving a green hat with the bell at its end. Going to Peeta, Katniss placed it on his head, adjusting it to fit. “There. You are now probably attired to assist Santa.”

“Your Dad is a very nice man,” Peeta told her.

“I like him.” Katniss smoothed the shoulders of his top. “Are you close to your father?”

“We get along,” Peeta said. “He thinks that I have no follow through in the things that he considers important for our business.”

She furrowed her brow as she adjusted his hat. “What do you really want to do?”

“I like to bake,” he admitted. “Though maybe I enjoy it so much that I can’t really make it a job.”

“They don’t have bakeries up north?”

“They do, but my family would never have it—me becoming a baker, I mean.” Peeta watched as she distractedly fussed over him. He stopped her by lifting her chin to meet his eyes. “And you—what is it that you want?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I guess I just want time to be able to figure it out.”

“Something tells me that whatever you do—” Peeta felt the heat rise between them. “—you will succeed. It’s not in you to fail.”

“Thank you for having faith in me.”

Their first dinner they did not kiss; it seemed that neither of them felt ready to take it there.

But now, in this small back room of Everdeen Toys, the need to press his mouth to hers was undeniable.

Then, Katniss leaned into him and it was inevitable.

Their mouths brushed gently but he felt that stone hot heat rush through his body. He wanted more…needed more.

“Again?” Katniss questioned breathlessly, she pressed herself closer against him.

“Yes,” he told her.

Pulling her close, Peeta leaned down—

There was a knock on the door.

“Are you guys ready?” Prim called out.

“Shit!” Katniss hissed at the interruption. She looked towards the door. “We’re coming out!”

Prim giggled but they heard her walk away.

Katniss turned to him. “Sorry. I know you don’t curse.”

“No, that was exactly what I wanted to say,” Peeta told her and she laughed. “Let’s go.”

++++++

Mr. Everdeen was perfect as Santa Claus. He was a tall, broad man with what he proudly called his very own stomach padding. The children gravitated towards him, revealing their wishes to the jolly man without worry. The line was constant, and it was obvious that Everdeen Toys was the place for Christmas shopping.

Peeta’s job was to keep the line of children organized while Katniss manned the camera. He enjoyed watching the excitement of the children and it made him think of the role that he would someday have. Would he be a Santa like Mr. Everdeen or proud and stoic like his father?

“Excuse me.”

Peeta looked down to find a young girl staring up at him—in a wheelchair. It was crowded and loud, so he leaned down.

“Hello. What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Natasha,” she told him. Her bright blue eyes were the same shade as his mother’s and underneath the headscarf, he could see a bit of gold peeking out.

“What can I help you with, sweetheart?”

“How long do you think it will take to see Santa?” she asked politely.

The woman guiding the chair touched his arm, getting his attention.

“I’m her nurse,” she explained. “She’s recovering from a round of chemotherapy but really wanted to see Santa. I didn’t realize it would be so crowded here and I have to get her back home soon.”

Peeta looked down at the girl, realizing how pale she looked and how she had no eyebrows—but despite all of this, her eyes were still beautifully bright.

The world of the outsiders seems so cruel to bring such a sickness to someone so young.

“Do you think I could carry her over?” he asked her nurse.

The woman looked anxious, but her eyes went to Natasha and she nodded decisively.

“Just be careful.” The nurse locked the chair and put a wrap around the girl’s shoulders. She instructed Peeta on how to pick her up, showing him how to scoop her up from underarms and knees.

“Stay close to me,” Peeta said as they made their way to the front of the line. “What are you going to ask Santa for?”

“A day off for Mommy and Daddy, books for my big brother Peter,” Natasha told him.

“Nothing for yourself?”

“I have enough because they all made sure I did,” she replied simply.

He felt his throat thicken as they stopped in front of Santa.

Mr. Everdeen looked to them, his eyes softening seeing the little girl in Peeta’s arms.

“And, who is this lovely girl?” he asked.

“Santa, this is Natasha. She was a very good girl this year,” Peeta informed him as he carefully sat Natasha in Mr. Everdeen’s lap. “I’ll be here when you’re done, Natasha.”

Peeta stepped back to give them privacy and watched as the little girl’s face lit up at the sight of Santa.

Watching this made him realize the impact that his father’s role had on the children of the world—a role that would eventually be his. Santa gave children hope in a world where day by day magic and whimsy disappeared; he knew from recent reports that most people did not believe in Santa. Year by year, the age of disbelieving grew lower.

He hoped that when his time came that he could change this.

As Peeta carried Natasha back, his gaze went to Katniss and he found her looking back at him—something warm and molted in her stare.

He didn’t know what it meant, but the flutter in his stomach made him want to find out.

++++++

“You did good today, Peeta,” Seth told him, later that evening. He had already clocked out for the day and Mr. Everdeen was on his break. “Natasha was really sweet. She didn’t even ask for anything for herself.”

“I know,” he replied. “Books for her brother and a day off for her parents. Her nurse told me that she just left the hospital and her parents work to keep up with the bills.”

“Wish we could do something for them,” Mr. Everdeen mused.

“Maybe you could send some books to her brother? Or, some presents to her and for any other kids in the hospital?” Something inside ached to think that there were more children like Natasha that were in the hospital; who knew how long they would be there. “It can’t be great to be in the hospital during the holidays.”

“You’re quite the philanthropist, Peeta.” Seth stood up. “I’ll have Mrs. Everdeen contact the hospital and see what they might need or want. Also, I think she may have called a taxi for Natasha and her nurse, so she might remember their address.” He patted Peeta on the back. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Peeta nodded. “Good night, sir.”

The man smiled at him. “I thought I told you to call me Seth.”

“Sorry si…Seth,” Peeta replied. “Have a good rest of the night.”

Peeta closed the door behind him and he reached for his coat on the nearby rack. Haymitch had gone grocery shopping during the day and he hoped that when he got home there would be something edible.

There was another knock at the door and Peeta turned as Katniss stepped inside the room.

Peeta gave her a smile. “Hi.”

Katniss didn’t reply, instead she crossed the room towards him.

Reaching, her hands went to his cheeks and she pressed her mouth to his.

This kiss was different from the first one. During that first kiss, he wanted more—but he was not quite sure what that was.

This kiss was more.

It was encompassing—his world turning—and he walked blindly into it, not afraid because she guided him with her hands and her tongue. He tasted sweetness as her tongue swept into his mouth and her teeth nipped his bottom lip.

Peeta groaned and at first didn’t recognize that the low growl came out of him. That sound of hunger…and need…and want was born from this kiss—from her. He pulled her closer to him, one hand in her hair and the other on the small of her back.

Katniss responded eagerly, pressing her front to his so he could feel the curve of her.

And, Peeta suddenly understood how complex it was to be an outsider; how sex could be complicated because it was so intermingled with other feelings.

However, for him, it was simple.

Yes, he wanted Katniss…fuck…he wanted her.

But, Peeta loved her more—and that overrode any other feeling, mentally and physically.

They pulled apart, gasping and mussed, their foreheads pressed together.

“What are you thinking?” she asked shakily.

I’m in love with you…I want to spend the rest of my life with you…I want to kiss you every day just like this…

This torrent of words were at the edge of his lips.

“I was thinking…that was my first real kiss,” he told her breathlessly.

Katniss looked into his eyes. “It was mine, too.”

He smiled softly, his hand reaching to her cheek as his thumb brushed over lips.

“I’m sure that many boys have wanted to kiss you.”

She trembled at his touch.

“Yes. There were boys that kissed me…but they never made me feel this…like every kiss before this one was a lie…like there is nothing left after it.”

“That’s a lot of pressure from a kiss,” he replied.

Katniss laughed, her arms weaving around his neck. “I thrive under pressure.”

++++++

“You look like you’re floating,” Haymitch said as he stepped into the living room.

Peeta joined the man on the couch. “She kissed me.”

His steward smiled at him. “And, from what I can tell, it was a good one.” The smile fell from Haymitch’s lips. “You know that this is not going to work. You’re supposed to marry someone else in a few weeks.”

“No,” Peeta said simply. “That’s just not going to happen. I want to rule one day, and I want to be Santa—but I know I won’t be the kind of King that our people need or the Santa that children need without her.”

“Are you willing to give it all up for her?” Haymitch questioned. “Everything that you’ve ever known?”

“I thought you were on my side.”

“I am but I also know that you’re an adult and part of being an adult is confronting hard decisions.” Haymitch looked to him worriedly. “I don’t want you to regret your choices—whatever those might be.”

“I also know that becoming a grown-up means making sacrifices,” Peeta said. “And I am willing to make them, except when it comes to Katniss. She is one thing that I won’t sacrifice.” He stood abruptly. “I’m going to bed. I have to work tomorrow. Good night.”

Peeta walked through the door of his bedroom, closing it soundlessly behind him.

Haymitch looked to the open laptop, moving his finger along the trackpad, to reveal Effie at the screen.

“You heard all of that?”

Effie nodded. “Oh dear…you know that we’ll have to tell his father.”

“Do we really need to, Eff?” Haymitch ran a hand through his hair. “The boy is going to have to make some difficult choices soon enough.” He met his wife’s eyes. “How ironclad is this treaty?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” she said, biting her lip. “Beside keeping peace between the North and South, I know a lot of it has to do with contracts with our international toy companies and our suppliers. The South Pole are the ones who export to those companies. I haven’t had a thorough read of it, but I know the Queen would know more.”

“Find out what you can,” he pleaded. “Let him have this for now, Effie.”

“Why is this so important to you?” Effie asked.

“Because seeing him so happy and confident makes me see the kind of ruler that he’s going to be,” Haymitch told her. “He is going to be the King that the North Pole for the foreseeable future. The world is changing and if Santa is not changing with it, then there’s no reason for children to believe in him.” He took a deep breath. “And, because I love the boy like he’s my own.”

Effie swallowed back her tears.

“I understand. We were both there the day he was born. We’ve witnessed all his firsts. Hard not to think of him in that light.”

Haymitch nodded, suddenly overcome. “I’m turning in. I love you, Effie.”

“I love you, too,” she replied softly. “Hey—do you think that she’s good for him?”

He thought for a moment before giving her an almost imperceptible nod.

“I know Peeta will be a good king, but with her by his side, he will be a great king. One for the books.”

“Okay,” she said. “I will try to get a copy of the treaty and look for any loopholes. Sleep well.”

Haymitch closed the laptop, standing up to go to bed.

He knew, however, that sleep would not come.

++++++

December 19th

“What do you want to do?” Peeta asked as he and Katniss lay in a field of the local park, staring up at the cloud-peppered sky. “Besides working as an elf?”

Katniss turned to him, a gentle smile on her face.

“No one has ever really asked me that,” she said. “Something that helps people. I really liked bringing those toys to the kids in the hospital. I like seeing them smile.”

The Everdeens had gone all out, tracking down Natasha and providing her brother, who was 12, with a basketful of books and giving her parents a gift card for a meal delivery service. They both couldn’t leave the children, and compromised with a date night in. They then went to the children’s ward of Panem Hospital, bringing toys and a visit from Santa.

“You have a giving heart.” Pushing himself up on his elbows, Peeta leaned towards her to place a kiss on her lips to which she hummed in contentment. “I knew it the day we met. You told me and Haymitch that you didn’t care how stupid you looked in your costume because what mattered was that the kids loved it.”

“I know it’s silly to play a fictional being, but the excitement on their faces…we only get that excitement for a moment in time,” Katniss told him. “And if I can make that moment last a little bit longer, then I’m going to. There’s too much bad shit in the world and we all need a little belief in magic.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” he replied.

Her hand reached to his face. “Once this job is over, what’s next for the Great Peeta Mellark?”

Katniss spoke lightly, but Peeta could see the worry in her eyes.

A wave of guilt hit him. For days, the thought of telling her who he really was plagued his thoughts. In-between that, Peeta found himself falling deeper in love with her. He hoped that she felt the same. They had never said the words, but at times it felt like the words weren’t necessary.

He could feel it in her touch and in the lithe of her voice when she said his name.

There was also the thought that he was getting closer to his return date—and he had no solution for when it came to telling his parents about Katniss.

Sitting up, Peeta nervously cleared his throat. “Katniss…I have to tell you something.”

She shot up immediately, sensing the seriousness in his tone. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“I’m…I’m the son of—”

“Excuse me?” They turned to find a little girl next to them. Her gaze went to Peeta. “I’ve been very good this year.”

He smiled at her. “I know you have.”

“If it’s not too late to ask, I would like a new crib for my dolly,” she asked politely.

Peeta winked at her. “I’ll be sure to bring it up to the proper people.”

The girl hopped excitedly. “Thank you!” She rushed off, joining her parents on the sidewalk of the park.

“Kids just gravitate towards you,” Katniss remarked with an amused grin. “Even at the hospital, you had just as many kids as Santa coming around you.”

Peeta wondered how he could get her to understand that the pull of the Santa gene was what caused children to come to him; it became stronger the closer it got to Christmas.

He shrugged. “I’m an empath of sorts, I guess.”

Katniss laughed, giving him a small push before leaning against him, her head going to his shoulder.

“Okay, empath. Tell me what I’m feeling.”

“You’re thinking that you’re in love with me,” he started. “That you want to spend the rest of your life with me…that you’ve known since the moment that we met that I was it for you.” Peeta looked to her, letting out an awkward cough. “Did I get it right?”

She went quiet for a moment before responding in what was almost a whisper, “Something like that.”

“Good.” His arm went around her shoulders and Peeta kissed the top of her hair. “Me, too.”

Katniss sighed, pressing closer. “I meant all of that.”

“Do you want to have dinner at my place tomorrow?” he suddenly asked. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

“Sounds serious,” she remarked. “I’ll come by after work and you can dazzle me with your cooking skills. If they’re anything like your kissing skills, then I’m in for a treat.”

“You think I’m a good kisser?” he teased.

“I didn’t say that.” Katniss suddenly pushed him down, pinning him with her chest. “So, convince me.”

His hand reached to the nape of her neck to join their lips, ready to prove himself.

++++++

December 20th

 “Katniss…when I told you I was from up north…I meant the North Pole—no!” Peeta climbed the flight of stairs leading to his apartment, his arms stacked with grocery bags as he attempted to find the right words. “Katniss…my family’s business is actually a workshop…Santa’s workshop…oh fuck…”

He was treading a fine line; she would either think he was insane, or he was a liar.

Neither was a good thing.

Shuffling with his keys, Peeta opened the front door, placing one bag down before entering with the rest.

“Peeta!”

He looked up, his mouth going dry. “Mom?”

His mother rushed towards him, embracing him happily. He wrapped his arms around her as he met his father’s penetrating gaze. Next to him stood Effie, who was looking down at her feet and an equally shamefaced Haymitch.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“We’ve come to take you home,” his father said.

Peeta gently pulled away from his mother. “I’m not ready to leave. It’s too soon.”

“I know, but that was until I found Effie reading through this—” His father held up a scroll. “Care to explain why she was looking at our treaty with the South Pole?”

Haymitch looked to him. “I’m sorry, Peeta. We tried.”

Peeta nodded before meeting his father square in the eyes. “It was my fault. I asked them to.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” his mother asked.

“Because…I can’t—I won’t marry Clove.” Peeta straightened up. “I’ve met someone else.” He looked between his parents. “And, she is everything and more to me—”

“That wasn’t the agreement, Peeta,” his father thundered. “You are here to get whatever it is out of your system and then you are supposed to marry Clove.”

“I know, but things change! I changed!” he burst out. “I left unsure of myself…unsure about everything. However, here—and with Katniss—I am myself. Here, I am more than just your son and more than just a prince.”

“And, did you tell her?” his father countered.

“No.” Peeta took a breath, steeling his anger. “I was going to tell her tonight.”

“Tell me what?”

He whipped around as Katniss walked into the living room, wearing a beautiful dress in her favorite color—dark green. She approached them all carefully, giving Peeta a small smile in greeting before looking to the new additions in the apartment.

Peeta took her hand, leading her to his side.

“Katniss, next to Haymitch is Effie, his wife,” he began. The woman looked up, greeting Katniss with a smile and nod. “And, these are my parents, Nicholas and Jessica, King and Queen of the North Pole.”

Peeta said the last statement in a rush. However, Katniss caught his words immediately.

“But there are no monarchies in the North Pole. It’s unhabitable,” she reasoned.

“Maybe to the unseen eye, my dear,” Jessica told Katniss with a gentle smile.

Katniss turned to Peeta, her eyes wide. “Well, if your parents are King and Queen, then that makes you…”

“Prince.” He walked over to her. “Also, my last name isn’t Mellark, it’s Kringle.”

“As in—” She put a hand to her mouth.

“As in Kris Kringle, who was my great grandfather,” he finished. “I wanted to tell you—”

“You lied to me.” Katniss looked to him, hurt in her eyes. “And now, you’re telling me that…” She looked at the people behind him, her stare lingering just a little longer on his father’s white beard and red velvet suit.

When she met Peeta’s eyes once more, her own were filled.

He reached for her. “Katniss—”

“Stop.” Her mouth trembled. “If you wanted to stop seeing me, you didn’t have to create this elaborate ruse—”

“It isn’t one—”

“I have to go.” Katniss’ said, her voice breaking.

She rushed out before he could get a word in.

“Leave her,” his father intoned.

“No.” Peeta turned back to him. “In the North Pole, you might be king, but here you are just my father. As your son and as an adult, I’m going to find her and beg her to take me back. Here, your ruling does not apply.”

At that, Peeta walked out.

++++++

Peeta immediately rushed in the direction of Everdeen Toys. The streets were a little more crowded this week as the shopping days for Christmas were winding down. He jumped in his spot trying to look for her amongst the people walking along.

He spotted her two blocks down. “Katniss!”

She turned around and shook her head before walking away.

Peeta ran, dodging people to get to her. He finally caught up to her, reaching for her hand.

“Stay away, Peeta!” Katniss whipped around, her face stained with tears. “You lied to me! You created this fantastical story and brought your roommate…and your parents into it—”

“I’m not lying to you!” He placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Why do you think that children gravitate towards me? I have the Santa gene inside me, and it heightens before Christmas.”

Her jaw dropped. “The Santa gene? You’re telling me that besides being the so-called Prince of the North Pole, that you are Santa—”

“I’m not Santa…not yet,” he said. “I’m sure you saw my father. He is the reigning Santa.”

“And, Haymitch?” Katniss scoffed bitterly. “Is he your bodyguard?”

“No, he’s my steward and Head Elf,” Peeta told her. “But that’s not the point. I was going to tell you tonight. And then my parents showed up, and now everything is a mess. Please…say something.”

“Where do I fit into all of this?” she asked in a thick voice.

“You fit right here.” Peeta took her hand placing it to his chest. “I am in love with you, Katniss Everdeen. I have been since the first moment I saw you—in that ridiculous costume and black boots. Since then, my heart has been yours. I want to be with you…always.”

“You’re a prince.” Katniss blinked, tears trailing down her cheeks. “It would never work…and I’m not part of that world. I don’t belong there.”

“Do you want me to abdicate?” Peeta looked around, raising his hands. “I renounce my throne—”

“No!” Katniss yanked his arms down. She closed her eyes for a moment. “I can’t…”

“Don’t give up on us, Katniss.” He felt the wetness of his tears on his own face as he took her hands, pressing kisses to her knuckles. “Without you, the throne and becoming Santa mean nothing if you’re not by my side.”

“But it means so much to the children of the world and I am just one person who happened to fall in love with the future Santa Claus. I would never ask you to choose between us,” Katniss whispered brokenly. Shakily, she raised his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

Pulling back, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

++++++

His steps felt heavy as he climbed the stairway leading to his apartment.

As Peeta walked in, he found his parents along with Haymitch and Effie on the couch; cups of coffee on the table. When they saw him, they all jumped to their feet.

“Where is Katniss?” his mother asked, worry in her gaze.

Every part of him felt hollow, the tears having long dried during his walk back after wandering the city. He was drained, every bit of him aching for Katniss.

“I’m going to pack.” His voice sounded hoarse. “Then we can go.”

Peeta turned to go to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

As the door clicked shut, Jessica turned to her husband. “Why does this treaty need to be followed?”

“It’s tradition,” Nick argued. “I can’t very well change years of history and custom for one woman.”

“Even if she is the right woman?” Haymitch questioned Nick as he stood. “I apologize, your majesty, but I do question a treaty that causes such unhappiness to your son.”

“Remember where your loyalties lie, Haymitch,” Nick warned.

“My loyalty is always and will be to your son,” Haymitch replied. “Since the day he was born, I vowed to protect him, even at the cost of my life—and even my job.”

“You will not be going anywhere, Haymitch,” Jessica told him. “That is my final word.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” Haymitch bowed to the queen. “I will pack my things.”

“I’ll help,” Effie said, rushing to her husband’s side, and closing the door behind her.

“Treaties can be revoked, Nick,” Jessica said.

“How?” Nick asked, his expression somber as the look on Peeta’s face flashed in his mind—so empty.

His wife crossed her arms, raising her nose at him.

“You are Santa, aren’t you?”

++++++

December 22nd

Haymitch stepped into Peeta’s bedroom, panic setting in finding his bed empty. However, it dissipated seeing the door to the balcony opened. Walking over, he found his charge out on the balcony looking up at the sky in front of him, shoulders hunched and without seeing his face, Haymitch knew that Peeta had cried.

He knew a broken man when he saw one.

Joining Peeta, he looked out for a moment before turning to look at him. He hadn’t sleep; there were dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked sallow, nor had he shaved as there was the beginning of a beard along his jaw.

“Nice night,” Haymitch said, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Peeta responded, his voice rough.

“Your father left for an errand—to the South Pole,” he informed him.

“Probably making more plans for my wedding.” Peeta laughed bitterly. “This horrible sham of a wedding. Don’t worry, I will be there. I have no choice.”

“I do worry, Peeta,” Haymich suddenly said. “I have never seen you this…”

“Broken? Resigned?” Peeta responded. “I lost Katniss and in two days, she will be out of my life forever.” He took in a sharp breath. “Except for one day, when I am Santa and I find myself going into a home where I see her picture—and her new family. Where I will see photos of her wedding and will be surrounded in the life that she and some man have created. A life that could’ve been mine.”

“Oh Peeta…I wish there was something I could do to stop the hurt.” Haymitch put an arm around him, and he felt the quaking of Peeta’s sobs against his chest. “I wish I could say that life is fair—but it isn’t.”

“When does this pain go away?” Peeta asked and Haymitch remembered when he was just a little boy and would get into scrapes. He could easily seal the wound with just a bandage—but what could he do now when the cut was internal? “I feel like I don’t belong anywhere anymore. Not here, not in Panem. The only place I felt like I belonged was with her.”

“You don’t have to go through with the wedding—”

“She left because she didn’t want me to have to choose her over the children of the world—the select few who still believe, anyway,” Peeta explained. “It’s not in Katniss to choose us over the greater good. I love her even more for that. Even if it’s killing me to not be with her, I can respect her for caring for these children.”

There was nothing left for Haymitch to say.

Well, maybe just one thing.

“She would have made a remarkable queen.”

They went back to looking up at the starry sky.

++++++

December 23rd

Peeta couldn’t sleep.

He wandered the halls of the palace, listening to the quietness and wishing that he could silence his mind. However, when he tried to sleep, Katniss’ face would be behind his closed eyes. It made him ached to think that she was out there, just a ride away.

There was still time for him to run, but he knew himself enough to know that for the sake of his kingdom, he would go through with this wedding. His mother had informed him that Clove and Snow had arrived just this evening; he had been too ‘indisposed’ to greet them.

It wasn’t Clove’s fault that he couldn’t love her, that he had found love in a beautiful, dark-haired girl with a bright laugh and sarcasm running through her veins. He would try his hardest to respect Clove and if children came, he would love them to the fullest.

However, there would always be a small part, buried deep within his heart, that would belong to Katniss.

He found himself in the castle’s study, going to the globe that had first brought him to Panem.

Peeta spun the globe, closing his eyes, and picked his destination.

“What did you get?”

He opened his eyes to find his father in front of him.

Peeta looked at the globe. “Syracuse.”

“I usually decide on my beginning destination through the globe,” Nick said. “But you’ve gone and done the job for me.”

Peeta nodded, attempting a smile but failing miserably.

“I have been speaking to Haymitch and he was telling me about your time in Panem.” His father went to the set of chairs in front of the roaring fireplace. Peeta followed as they took their seats in the chairs across from one another. “He told me how you retained a job, learned how to manage your money and your apartment.”

“It was a wonderful part of my life that I’ll always remember,” Peeta replied softly.

“You’ve shown so much growth,” his father told him. “I’m proud of you.”

He looked up in surprise. “You are?”

“Haymitch told me about the young girl at your job; how you helped her and her family as well as the other children in Panem Hospital.” His father smiled. “You have a gift for giving—the trait that makes Santa. You’ve made me remember how it was when I first started. I was so ready to take on the world and make it better.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid a lot has changed since then.”

“The world is changing, Dad,” Peeta said as he remembered what Haymitch once said to him. “Santa has to change with it. Children have a lot more serious things happening to them, things that sometimes toys can’t fix—like sickness or starvation. We have to help them, not just on Christmas, but when they really need a miracle.”

His father sat back in contemplation.

After a moment, he looked to Peeta.

“Maybe we can sit down one day and talk about some non-Christmas work that we can do,” His father suggested. “A new project of sorts. I know a few elves have asked about taking on more and your mother is always on the look out for ways to help.”

“That sounds good,” Peeta replied.

It was the first time in a long time that he and his father had really talked and it felt…nice.

“Also—” Nick cleared his throat. “I was thinking that tomorrow night, you might want to come with me…on my ride.”

Peeta tried to hide his shock. “You want me to help with delivering?”

“Yes. You’re more than ready to learn how it goes,” his father told him.

“Thanks Dad.” He smiled at the thought of being part of something so magnanimous. “I would love to assist you.”

“So…did you really wear an elf costume?”

Peeta laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days.

“Yes. It was silly, but it made the children happy to see it.”

“Tell me more about this costume and what you had to do,” his father asked.

Jessica smiled from her spot behind the door of the study as she watched them talk, her son finally looking better than he had in days.

Tonight, she decided, to let Nick back into their bedroom.

++++++

The Great Hall had been transformed into a winter wonderland, iridescent sugar snowflakes falling from the high ceiling where a frosted chandelier watched over, grand and proud. Flowers of white bedecked the room, blooming before the eyes of the amazed guests.

At the front of the room sat the King and Queen on crystal thrones; the King in a suit of white and his crown atop his head while the queen wore crystal blue, her own delicate crown resting along gold waves. As always, Effie stood at her queen’s side, wearing a silver gown with a matching silver hairpiece.

Haymitch took his place, next to Peeta, who waited at the end of the aisle for Clove to arrive.

Dressed in a white tuxedo, with the customary red sash across, and his crown atop his head, many found the Prince of the North Pole a handsome groom.

If only he would smile.

The orchestra started playing what was Clove’s favorite Christmas song, Oh Come All Ye Faithful, a surprise to Peeta as she told him that she had no favorite songs during their one dance.

He stared straight ahead, feeling his whole body going rigid at the thought that he would be married to someone in just a few moments—someone who was not Katniss.

“She’s almost here,” Haymitch told him. “You’ll have to help her step up and pull her veil over.”

Peeta nodded just as her hand appeared before him; he took it, leading her up the step to where their high priest stood to begin the ceremony.

He turned to her, the layered veil covering her face and reached to pull the veil back.

Peeta almost fell in shock at the sight before him.

For standing in front of him was Katniss.

“What is going on?” he asked.

His father stepped forward, resting a hand on his arm.

“I negotiated with the South Pole King. We were to lose a majority of our main toy making companies if this wedding didn’t take place. However, I negotiated for them to take only half, giving them the more profitable demographic of children to make toys for to increase their profit and aid them in giving more of their people jobs. In turn, the King agreed to break the treaty. They came to show their support in maintaining peace between the North and South Poles.”

His father nodded over to the front row of chairs where Coriolanus and Clove were. The King bowed his head and Clove nodded with a smile before looking to a tall blond man to her other side.

“Not to mention, Clove had her own views on a forced marriage,” Nick said. His father looked to Katniss, giving her a gentle smile. “And after speaking to Katniss and her family, I found myself quite charmed and happy to have her as my daughter-in-law.”

The King returned to his throne, taking his wife’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Is this real?” Peeta asked the woman before him.

“It better be,” Katniss responded, her rose colored lips widening into a grin. “Because this dress was a bitch to get on!”

He stepped back to take her in.

The off-the-shoulder ballgown was icy white with snowflake designed beading along the skirt and lace at its sweetheart bodice. The long sleeves were tulle with the same snowflake beading sewn along the arms. Her hair was pulled back in a full high bun where the long sweeping veil had been pinned, along with one of his mother’s tiaras.

“I can understand how uncomfortable it could be,” he replied. “The train alone is probably about five pounds.” Peeta took her hands. “Do you really want this? You’ll be giving up a lot for me.”

“What are you talking about? I am gaining a chance to do something great; to help the children of the world as your wife,” Katniss said. “And my family understands. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.” She looked to where her parents and Prim stood, smiling at them. “Plus, if it means that I spend the rest of my life with you, what could be greater?”

Peeta cleared his throat. “Then I should probably do this.” He got down on one knee. “Katniss Everdeen, I love you. Will you take me, the man who you know as Peeta Mellark, to be your husband and stand beside me as my queen?”

Katniss nodded, tears falling onto her cheeks. “Yes.” He stood and pulled her into his embrace. “I love you—Peeta Mellark…Peeta Kringle…Santa Claus—all of you.”

Their lips met as wild applause broke in the hall.

Effie joined her husband as she wiped her eyes. “I’m so happy for Peeta.”

Haymitch looked to the couple, fully deep in their kiss, and wondered how long it would be before there was an announcement about an impending heir.

His guess was spring.

He leaned towards his wife.

“I’m really glad I gave him that sex talk.”

++++++

“Where’s your first stop?” Katniss asked as she zipped up his jacket.

“Syracuse,” Peeta replied. “My pick.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I really hate to leave you on our first night as man and wife.”

“It’s just one night—” Katniss assured him. “—albeit an important one. But once you get home, we can have an important night of our own.”

“Looking forward to it.” Their lips met in a full kiss, not caring that around them a team of elves prepped Santa’s cart with his bag of toys. They pulled apart, foreheads resting together. “Thank you for marrying me, Mrs. Kringle.”

Katniss grinned. “I’m going to have to get used to that.” She cupped his cheek. “Go get ‘em, Santa.”

With one more kiss, Peeta joined his father in the sleigh and the man gave him a jolly smile.

“You ready, Peeta?”

He turned back once more to where Katniss stood along with his mother. Behind them, Haymitch and Effie had arrived with the rest of the team to watch their departure.

Peeta was more than ready, because he had someone to come home to.

He looked to his father. “Let’s go.”

 FIN.

 Thank you for reading. As always, questions are welcome—especially since I don’t have notes.

From my family to yours, Happy Holidays.

-JLaLa

[hookedonapirate]

The Princess and Her Sultan

Thank you @itsfabianadocarmo for the beautiful graphic!

Summary: Crown princess Emma of Misthaven is second in line to the throne, her brother Leopold ll being the first, but her parents see her with a future as a great ruler. King Rumpelstiltskin of neighboring land, strikes a deal with King David, promising to uphold the peace between the kingdoms if Emma marries Prince Baelfire. With the promise of his daughter becoming future queen of the Dark Kingdom, David accepts reluctantly.

Before her wedding day, the princess is kidnapped and taken overseas. She is sold as a slave to a palace where Crown Prince Killian of Neverland ascends his father’s throne and is sworn in as Sultan. Meanwhile, Killian’s mother pressures him to sire a prince and presents him with gifts for his birthday, one of them including a blonde princess from Misthaven. Dazzled by Emma’s charm, intelligence and beauty, he summons her to his bedchamber every night and eventually finds himself casting aside his harem and centuries of tradition. 

A/N: We're back. Finally! I had to work out a bunch of things for this story and ended up changing some things thanks to @onceuponaprincessworld​ (and her historical knowledge) when she pointed out something I hadn’t considered before. Be prepared for the loss of some minor characters (not by death) over the next couple of chapters or so, and a possible gain of some new ones. 

Thank you @gingerchangeling​ for your wonderful suggestions and ideas for this story, and also @ilovemesomekillianjones​ for gifting me with your wonderful editing skills. I also want to give a shout out to @onceuponaprincessworld​ for being my sounding board, constant cheerleader and good friend, thank you, darling! This story wouldn’t be the same without these lovely ladies!

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​ for looking this chapter over!

Thank you, everyone, for sticking with this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter. And be aware, this story has taken a fluffy turn! ;)  

EDIT: Just to clarify, the last two scenes are at least 6 weeks later. In case I didn't make it clear in the chapter, Emma is ready, I promise you.

Rated: Explicit

AO3 l FF.N I Prologue l Ch 1 l Ch 2 l Ch 3 l Ch 4 l Ch 5 l  Ch 6 l  Ch 7 l Ch 8 l Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Ch 13 l Ch 14 l BTS

Chapter 15

Emma is lulled to sleep with only the blithe thoughts of giving birth to the Sultan’s son. Their son. Holding him in her arms, gazing upon him in wonderment, softly caressing his cheek with her thumb. Her heart is full, and she couldn’t possibly be happier. Well, she could if her parents and brother were here to meet Prince Liam. But she is confident she will reunite with them someday. She will make it happen. 

  Waking that afternoon, she forgets briefly of giving birth that morning. But when her hand migrates to her belly, which is much flatter than it was only yesterday, a sudden feeling of loss rushes through her upon realizing her baby is no longer in her womb. Nor is her baby in her arms. Panic bubbles up inside her when she realizes Liam's not in her arms, and her eyes flip open as she searches the room with heavy-lidded eyes. The warm, radiant sun almost blinds her as it pours into her apartment, a vast contrast to the stormy weather that had cast over Neverland early that morning. 

  Relief instantly swarms her heart once she spots the cradle next to her bed, and her little prince sleeping soundly, his tiny hands curled into fists on either side of his head. Emma manages a drowsy smile as she watches him sleep. It still amazes her how handsome he is, not that it should. He has the genes of a Neverland Sultan. Emma had seen paintings of the former Sultans. Killian’s father, grandfather, great grandfather, great-great-grandfather and so forth. He comes from a long line of handsome, masculine men, tall with dark hair and those drowning, sea-blue eyes. Those were the signature traits passed down through the generations of Neverland Sultans. And now to her son.

  Emma watches Liam sleeping from where she lies on the bed, not wishing to disturb him. He's had much excitement this morning with visitors skittering in and out of her chamber to swoon over him and congratulate Emma on the safe delivery of her child, bearing gifts and food and beautiful flowers in jewel-studded pots. 

  After a few blissful moments of staring at her son in silence, hot tears stinging her eyes—joyful tears—Liam stirs in his cradle and cries. Maternal instincts overcome her, and she wants to push herself up and hurry to her baby, but her body is sore and she’s still feeling cramps, which her midwife has informed her is normal after delivery.

  “Don’t even think about moving, my love.”

  Killian’s voice startles her, and she whirls her head around to see her Sultan getting up from the divan, his hair disheveled, eyes glazed over with sleep. He'd stayed in her chamber while she and Liam had slept. 

  He hurries over and carefully picks up his son, cradling him against his chest with a hand splayed on his newborn's little back and dropping a kiss on his head. Liam’s wails grow in volume and intensity, breaking Emma’s heart in two as she watches his features crinkle in distress.

  A low chuckle escapes Killian’s throat as he strides over to Emma’s bedside, rocking Liam gently in his arms. “I believe Prince Liam is hungry.” He strokes his son’s hair, whispering, “No worries, little lad, your mum is right here,” before transferring Liam to Emma’s arms. He sits on the bed next to her and reclines back, careful not to disturb his son as Liam eagerly awaits his meal. 

  When she places him at her breast, he easily latches on. During his first feeding fresh from the womb, he did this instinctively, something she and Killian had joked about as she fumbled to hold him. 

  Emma laughs as she watches her son in wonderment. “You were right, he was hungry.” 

  Killian wraps an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple. “And you, my love, were right about our baby being a boy.”

  Emma nods. “It matters not though. He is perfectly healthy, and that's all I care about.”

  “Me too, love,” he beams, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Me too.”

  When Emma lifts her gaze, her heart flutters as she sees the enchanting look in Killian’s eyes from watching his wife feed their son. They exchange doe-eyed looks and warm smiles as they listen to their baby suckling happily. 

  There’s a knock on the door, and Emma permits the visitor into the chamber. It’s Elsa, appearing apologetic when she sees Killian with her.

  “My apologies, my lady, I didn't mean to interrupt. I could hear the prince crying and wanted to ensure you were awake.”

  “Thank you, Elsa,” Emma says, lifting her head to look at her. “I woke just before he did.”

  She beams. “Must be a Mother's intuition that woke you.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Emma chuckles lightly. 

  “May I get you anything?” 

  Emma shakes her head. “No, I am fine.”

  She looks at Killian, asking him the same.

  Killian dons a big smile as he gazes at his wife and son. “No, I have everything I need right here with me.”

  Elsa smiles and blushes. “Of course, Your Majesty.” With that, she bows and backs out of the chamber, closing the doors behind her.

  After Elsa takes her leave, Emma slides her attention to Liam. “It will never cease to amaze me how beautiful he is.” Her eyes are trained on her son, but she can sense her husband's big, toothy grin; she can hear it when he speaks. 

  “Ah, so you can understand how I feel whenever I look at you, my love.”

  Emma's heart flutters at his words, blush painting her cheeks. “You flatter me, Killian,” she laughs.

  The twinkle in his eyes is unapologetic. “It’s true, Emma.” He leans in, gently taking her chin in his hand and capturing her delicate lips. Warmth clouds her heart and she surrenders to him, letting him kiss her tenderly and softly as they share a few brief moments of savoring each other’s lips, each other's taste. Emma’s sure her breath is horrid, but he didn't seem to mind in the least.

  After Liam’s feeding, she lays him against her shoulder with a cloth laid between them and gently pats his back to coax a burp from him. 

  The Sultan smiles tenderly as he watches them. He has that look in his bright blue eyes, that look which tells her he could watch his Kadin and son forever without ever growing bored. “I have brought you some gifts, my love,” he says after she’s finished burping their son, wiping some spit-up from his mouth. 

  Emma offers a tired smile as he pulls out a leather box, proffering it to her. Taking it in her free hand, he scoops their son in his arms and drops a kiss to his head, holding him as she opens her gift. Liam is much happier now that he's been fed and burped, and he wraps his tiny hand around his Papa’s finger, a perfectly content look on his face. 

  She raises the lid and gasps. Nestled in the velvet is a gold ring with a large emerald stone. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, sliding the ring on her finger. 

  “It matches your lovely eyes,” he says with a grin. “I made it myself… and also something else.” He hands her a thin gold chain with a round medallion half worked in a delicate filigree of open, criss-cross gold. The other half is intricately carved gold in the shape of a quarter moon. 

  Fingering it gently, she hears the tiny bells attached to the openwork tinkle. “You honor me, My Sultan. The medallion and ring are even more precious to me because it was your own hands that crafted them.”

  “There are more gifts to come, my love, but they can wait until you’re more rested.”

  Arching a brow, Emma scans his face incredulously. “There’s more?”

  He nods. “Of course. You are the mother of my heir, Emma. You’re my wife, my Queen. If I could, I’d make it official. I’d marry you today, in front of all the folk of Neverland. I only want to do you honor, from now until I take my last breath.” 

  Emma’s eyes glisten with tears. She would marry him in a heartbeat, but she knows it’s not possible. No woman has ever married a Sultan. It's strictly forbidden. 

  With the hand not holding their precious son, Killian strokes her cheek as a single tear slides down her face, and he brushes it away with his thumb. “I love you, Emma. I adore you and cherish you.”

  “I love you, too, Killian.” Her voice cracks as she leans in and kisses his lips. Her heart blooms as she feels her son nestled between them. 

  She wishes they lived somewhere else, somewhere they could marry and raise their children as normal couples do. But here, they’d have to abide by the traditions of the empire. Emma wonders what it would take to break such traditions and what struggles they’d have to endure. She imagines she’d have to first convert to Killian’s religion because if she did that, she couldn’t be a woman of his harem, she would have to be officially freed from servitude. No woman who practices the sacred law of Neverland can be a slave, and according to this law, a woman shan't lay with a man outside of wedlock unless she is a bondswoman whose soul has not found the true path. If she were to stay with the Sultan after converting, the only solution would be to get married. But how would the people of the empire react? They certainly wouldn’t take too kindly of their Sultan getting married and banishing his harem, would they? Emma puts those thoughts aside for the time being and relishes in the quiet moments with her two boys.

  ~*~

  After wrapping a long, silk fabric around Emma’s eyes, he takes Liam from her, holding him securely, the infant’s head laying on his father’s warm chest. Killian’s heart bursts whenever he holds the adorable boy he created with his beautiful swan. 

  He takes her hand, threading his fingers through hers as he leads her through the palace. As a blushing mother, she’s as elegant as ever before. Though she’s young, she took on her maternal duties with great pride; she’s a keen learner of everything motherhood entails. His mother became her confidant for matters regarding child-rearing, and he loves that they get along now. 

  Kira had welcomed Emma to motherhood with open arms and often invites his Bas-Kadin to her apartment for sherberts and cakes. This development has caused tension between Kira and her daughter, for Regina hates that her mother puts Emma before her own flesh and blood, but Killian knows she won’t try to pull any antics. Regina’s time here in the palace is hanging by a short string. He’s delayed marrying her off, but only for the time being while he’s focused on being a father and preparing to go to war. If Emma and Liam weren’t going with him, he would’ve banished her from the palace already because he doesn't trust leaving his beloved Bas-Kadin and son with his sister.

  “Where are we going?” she asks him with an apprehensive smile.

  “I told you, love, I have more gifts to present you with.”

  The Sultan’s personal quarters—the selamlik—are separated from the Harem by a single door. It leads from his bedroom onto a cloister and then a maze of courts and dormitories that had once belonged to the pages and eunuchs of his retinue. Now it leads directly to Emma’s apartments where she and their son will be closer to his quarters. He wants to be close by at all times whenever he’s not with them.

  After motioning to the guards, they fling the doors open and, still holding onto Emma’s hand, Killian leads her inside the reception room of her new suite and removes the blindfold from her eyes.

  “Welcome, my love, to your new abode.” 

  Her eyes widen in delight as she takes in her new surroundings. Directly facing them is a small fountain, and each wall of the room holds a door. 

  “The eunuchs guarding you are quartered there,” he says pointing to the left. “Your female attendants will be here.”

  A set of double doors opens to a charming salon adorned with copper lamps, rainbow silks and velvets of the cushions and draperies, and colorful rugs spread over the floor. In the center of the room is a chessboard made of ebony and mother-of-pearl inlaid squares, its pieces carved from black onyx and white coral. Emma beams as she admires the beautiful work of art that lay on a table between two chairs. She claps her hands and spins around to look at him, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Can we play this evening?”

  Killian chuckles. “Yes, my love, it’s been far too long since you’ve defeated me at our favorite game.”

  Emma laughs whimsically and they continue through the salon, a fire blazing merrily in a round fireplace, warming the room and casting a reflection off a glass door which leads to a colonial porch and garden that hangs over the sea. 

  Recognition flickers in her eyes as they walk along one of the many paths weaving through the garden—the garden which resembles her mother’s. 

  The path leads them to a pool with a small waterfall, and she’s visibly stunned. “How did you…” A tear spills down her cheek. “How did you know...” She’s suddenly at a loss for words, her mouth hanging open, her emerald green irises glinting with nostalgia. The garden is meant to resemble Misthaven. He’d planted the flowers himself and designed every detail of the garden. 

  He’d been a busy man for the final two months of Emma's pregnancy. He had to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied ever since he discovered his Grand Vizier—his best friend—had betrayed him. It's still difficult to swallow, but he tries not to ponder it too much, for he doesn’t wish to darken his Swan’s mood by burdening her with his pain. He wants Emma to enjoy this time as a new mother, though he knows she holds some resentment for her uncle and worries deeply for her family in Misthaven. She hadn’t heard from her father since he left, so she took the liberty to pen him a letter, announcing the birth of the prince they’ve named after Killian’s brother. She’d expressed her concern for them and Leo and wished them the best before handing off the letter to the messenger.

  “Remember when we met, my darling?” He surely will never forget the first time he laid his eyes upon her face and her naked form as she bathed. She was exquisite. She still is. “Remember how you told me the garden by the pool reminded you of your mother’s?”

  Emma manages a nod, still bewildered as she admires her new garden. “How could I not remember?”

  “Well, while I led your father to my ship, I asked him to describe it to me, and he did with impressive detail.” Killian also asked David for his daughter’s hand in marriage, and he said yes, as long as he, her mother and Leo were present at the wedding. Killian eagerly agreed. Now he waits until Emma's ready and willing to accept her fate as Queen of Neverland and the duties which accompany that unique role. She'd mentioned her earlier plans to rule the empire, but that was before she knew him, when she had a different agenda. Now her love for him is pure and true, and in his heart, he already sees her as his wife, his partner, his everything, not a slave; so whether he makes it official makes no difference to him. He will love her just as deeply. And he doesn’t wish to influence Emma or coerce her into converting to a different religion. He wants her to make that choice on her own. He hopes he’d planted the idea of marriage, though, when he mentioned an official wedding, but she hadn’t spoken of it since, so neither had he. 

  “If it’s too painful for you, I can change it,” he offers.

  “No, please don’t,” she replies breathlessly, turning around to face him. “It’s perfect.” Her eyes glisten with tears, a gleeful smile spreading across her face as she throws her arms around him, Liam snuggled between them. “Thank you,” she whispers in his ear, holding him and Liam tight.

  “You’re welcome, my love.” He strokes her cheek with his free hand when she presses her forehead to his. “I only wish to make you happy,” he murmurs huskily, gazing into the emerald depths of her eyes. If you’re not, then what is my purpose in life? I’d rather die than see you or Liam unhappy.”

  “How did I get so lucky to have a man like you?”

  A solemn expression clouds his face. “I wouldn’t say the road you took to get here was very lucky.”

  “I’d take that road a thousand times over as long as it means I get you and Liam. You’re both my family, Killian. I would never change that.”

  Killian’s heart flutters as he offers a weak smile and kisses her lips. “I love you, Emma.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Come, let me show you to your bedroom.” He takes her hand again and leads her back through the salon to her bed-chamber. There's an enormous canopy bed on an elevated gilded dais and Liam’s cradle sits next to the bed. 

  Killian leads her to the attached room, where Liam’s nursery is. A crib sits in the middle of the room, the polished wooden bars adorned with blue silk, and there’s a nursery chair next to the crib for Emma to feed her infant or croon to him. 

  She spins around, her eyes twinkling at the lengths Killian went to ensure she and their son are safe and comfortable in their new quarters.

  “You have no idea how many gifts you’ve just given me,” she beams, smothering his cheek with kisses. He knows she's not simply speaking of the tactile gifts. He'd given her a home, another family, and endless love that will last forever, even beyond his death.

  Killian’s heart swells as he gazes deeply into her gleaming green eyes. He wants to offer her more. So much more. “I have one more gift for you, Swan.” He smirks and tilts his head. “Well, actually two.” He calls for Nemo, who appears a few seconds later, holding a tray.

  Emma's on the verge of bursting into happy sobs when her eyes fall upon a beautifully carved leather saddle. “Killian? You didn’t?”

  He grins and leads her outside to a terrace where a eunuch is holding the bridle of a white mare with a beautiful, sleek coat.

  Emma’s eyes marvel over the horse. “She’s lovely! Is she mine?”

  Killian nods. He’d wanted to present the horse to her sooner, but he didn’t wish to torture her with the prospect of riding again while she was pregnant and unable to ride. “She is, my love. Her name is Luna. I hope you will join me for a stride through the woods when you’re up to it.”

  Pure, utter joy creases every beautiful feature of her face as she approaches the horse and extends her hand. Luna moves her head in to sniff her hand, while Emma fondly pets the horse’s nose with her other hand. “Hi, Luna.” 

  Killian chuckles at how adorable she is; he doesn't know the last time he’d seen a woman look so close to fainting with joy. “See how easy it is for your mum to make friends?” he whispers to his son, gently kissing his forehead. “You are one lucky prince to have a mother as incredible as she is.” He reverts his gaze to Emma and watches in admiration as she and Luna interact like they’re reuniting after being apart for so long. 

  Luna touches Emma’s face with her nose, and Emma giggles and speaks to her in a soothing tone, running her palm over her soft coat. “Good girl.” After a minute, she turns to face her husband again and wraps her arms around him and Liam, pulling them into an enormous hug and whispering in her Sultan’s ear. “Thank you, Killian. You do not understand how much this means to me.”

  Oh, but he does. He understands completely; he knows his lovely swan deep down to her bones.

  ~*~

  Emma enjoys her new quarters; she enjoys her space and spending time in her beautiful garden. Her garden, which reminds the Bas-Kadin of her mother. It makes Emma miss her family more deeply, and she’s eager to hear from them. It’s made her lying-in period even more difficult to cope with.

  She’s also grown anxious for other things. Being cooped up in her apartment isn’t so bad when she has the company of her little prince, but she aches for Killian. He spends time with them whenever he can but she needs him. She needs his firm hands all over her, needs him plunging into her, making her come undone until they’re both breathless, drenched in sweat and thoroughly sated. It’s been far too long since they’ve made love. And now she is ready, more than she ever has been before. 

  “Nemo, I would like to see the Sultan, please,” Emma demands after calling for him into her suite. Elsa is sitting on a divan holding Liam in her arms, taking care of him for while his parents have some alone time.

  Nemo offers her a warm smile, his hands linked behind his back. “I’m sorry, my lady, but he is bathing.”

  He says it like it’s supposed to appease her, or perhaps make her retract her request, but it has quite the opposite effect. Images of Killian’s perfectly sculpted body all wet and naked, his muscles glistening with massage oils makes her throb underneath her robe. 

  Oh god, she needs to be with him, lest she go mad. “I need to speak with him about matters regarding our son,” she says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest, her tone not to be trifled with.

  He flashes a knowing smirk; he knows very well why she wants to see Killian. He knows she’s wearing nothing under her robe. “Of course. Allow me to escort you,” he says compliantly, unwilling to deny her request. Then he whispers, “And don't worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  Emma feigns confusion, her brows wrinkling. "Why must the discussion of some very important matters regarding the prince be a secret?" She walks over to kiss her sweet boy, telling him she'll be back soon, even though he can't understand what she's saying. He gives her a sad look, and she hates being apart from him, but Elsa threatened to drag her out kicking and screaming if she let her son sway her from leaving. And Elsa is much stronger than she looks, so Emma doesn't wish to find out whether or not she would follow through with her threat.

  “Enjoy your time with the Sultan,” Elsa blurts out with a smirk.

  Nemo smiles and shakes his head. “Uh-huh, just as I suspected,” he teases as Emma heads for the door.

  Her cheeks flush, a slight smile curving her lips as she calls out to Elsa, “Oh, I intend to,” before waltzing out the door with Nemo in tow. 

  When they reach the doors of Killian's bath area, she thanks Nemo for escorting her and for keeping her secret.

  He smiles and blushes, bowing reverently before leaving her outside the double doors. 

  Her heart is pounding mercilessly as she places her hand on the door handles. She’s been to his bed-chamber many times, but she’s never been to his bath. In any other circumstances, no one would think to disturb the Sultan while he’s bathing, but she is not just anyone to him. She’s his wife, the mother of his heir, his true love. A tiny part of her worried he might’ve reconsidered Neverland customs after his Bas-Kadin gave birth to their son, but she quickly vanquished those thoughts. She remembered the vows he’s made to her in the privacy of his chamber and his bed, how he told her she is the only woman for him and she always would be. The knowledge of this makes her heart flutter and gives her the courage to open the doors and step through the threshold. Inside, the steam sears her lungs, perspiration dapples her skin, and the sight before her steals her breath. 

  The Sultan naked and wet and bronzed and oh so glorious.

  Multiple maidens are bathing and massaging him, but there is not a shred of worry or jealousy in her heart. Not only because she trusts him and his devotion to her, but because two things change when she steps inside his bath area, her pattens clip-clopping against the marble. One, his eyes transform from a dull shade, showing no interest in the surrounding women, to that familiar, vivid blue, glinting with unadulterated love and admiration upon seeing her. Two, when she loosens the robe and lets it fall to the floor, revealing her fully naked figure, his penis goes from being completely flaccid to fully erect in a matter of seconds. Her blood runs hot, her core throbbing; she has to clench her thighs and steady her breathing to refrain from pouncing on him in front of the other maidens to witness. If she ever had doubts about his attraction to her, she now knows how completely foolish she was for having such thoughts. 

  The maidens gasp at the sight of Killian’s hard, throbbing manhood, and two of them try to touch him there, but he immediately catches their wrists in his hands to stop them. 

  Emma has never seen them before, so they must be new. Must be Kira’s doing, which Emma doesn’t blame her for. Being brought to Neverland at thirteen, Kira has been accustomed to the traditions here for a significant part of her life. It’s her duty as the mother of a Sultan to make sure her son is happy and content.

  As he locks his gaze with Emma, he has that look in his eyes, the one that says his cock belongs to one woman and one woman only. He shoos everyone else away. “Leave us.” His voice cracks as his eyes drink in Emma like a man starved, like he’s tormented by the large feast set before him. He licks his lips in anticipation, sending a rush of heat to her core, her skin flushed and tingling under his gaze.

  The maidens scurry out of the room, leaving the Sultan with his Bas-Kadin, the heat pulsating between them, even from across the room. 

  Emma saunters to him, her eyes full of desire and determination, still locked with his. He’s sitting at a bench and attempts to get up when she approaches, but she places her hand on his shoulder, telling him to sit and relax. When he complies, his muscles loosening under her touch, she goes behind him and gathers some oil in her palms. 

  “Where is our prince, my love?” he asks tenderly as she places her slick hands on his muscular shoulders, slowly massaging him. 

  “He’s safe with Elsa,” she assures before pressing lustful kisses up his neck. 

  He groans, his head lolling back against her shoulder as he sinks into her. His breath quickens when her swollen nipples pebble into his shoulder blades, coaxing a deep, guttural groan from his throat. Soon he's nothing but a pile of mush, purring as she touches him with her delicate fingers, rubbing out the tension in his shoulders and back. Feeling the thick, solid muscle beneath her palms, her fingers itch to grab onto another thick, solid muscle of his. 

  “Emma…” His voice is utterly wrecked as he reaches behind himself and strokes her thigh. 

  She moans in response; God, he’s not even touching her where she needs him and she’s already writhing and grinding her gleaming folds into his back, attempting to ease some of the pulsating tension between them, but to no avail. 

  Reaching in front of him, she glides her hands down his body, oiling his chest, running her hands over his nipples as they stiffen at her touch. She moves to his abs, enjoying how they ripple under her palms and the way his stomach tightens as she rubs him there. He’s groaning incessantly, his eyes closed as he relishes her touch. She can feel him restrain from pouncing on her. She feels that same tension coiling in her stomach, and she wants to sit on his lap and ride him into oblivion, but she doesn’t want this to end too soon. She wants to draw out these few precious moments with him as long as possible. But her body is waging a war against her logic, and the Sultan is growling as he jerks his hips, desperately yearning to be touched as her name pours from his lips, “Emma…” 

  She must obey. She wraps her hand around his cock and moans when it twitches in her hand. Her sanity and patience snap at the feeling of his velvety skin at her fingertips as his length slides through her fist like butter, arousal dripping down her thigh. She knows he’s feeling the same exquisite torture she’s experiencing when a rough growl tears through him from deep in his belly, when he turns around on the bench so he can see her, so he can touch her.

  They lock eyes, lustful green meets a breathtaking blue as she strokes him, her clit throbbing at the thought of feeling him inside her again after being deprived for so long. 

  He takes a breast in his hand, squeezing softly and kissing her supple curves, his other hand tracing down her stomach. His fingers slide into her slit, eliciting a growl. “Fuck, you're wet.”

  She moans, and her hand speeds up, wanting desperately to finish him off like this. Before she can, though, one of his hands is being curled in her hair, then she’s being pulled onto his lap and tugged into a hungry kiss. Releasing him so she can cup his cheeks in her hands, she can feel his thick length pulsating against her slick folds as she grinds into him. They both moan at the contact, and the kiss robs her of any willpower she’s somehow managed to sustain until this point. They simply devour each other, his tongue fiercely stroking hers, teeth nipping her bottom lip as she drags her folds along his cock, wanting so much more. She wants him inside her, filling her up. 

  He tugs her closer, until her breasts are flush against his slick chest, his hands roaming her back, and she’s unable to keep herself from arching into the kiss. 

  She whimpers into his mouth, growing wetter as his solid length easily glides through her folds; she needs him to drive into her, needs him to fuck her thoroughly. She needs him before she goes stark raving mad. “Killian...” Her hands clutch at his shoulders as she bucks her hips in offering. “F-fuck me... please.” She doesn’t care how desperate she sounds, only cares about having his cock ramming into her. 

  He flashes her a wicked grin and there's something primal in the look he gives her, making her burn even hotter. “Oh, I intend to.”

  The anticipation is maddening; she feels a thirst for her Sultan that hasn't been quenched in far too long. But he's about to change that. He grabs her hips and lifts her slightly, allowing her to guide him to her aching heat. He draws her downward, groaning as she slides onto him, his eyes never leaving hers. He rolls her hips in his powerful hands, groaning as he claims her walls.

  “Yes, oh yes,” she moans, her entire body thrumming with relief. 

  Finally. 

  Even though they had waited her full resting period before making love, Emma was afraid this would hurt, but oh God , he feels incredible inside her. 

  “Just as I suspected… you still feel exquisite around my cock.” His voice is husky and hot against her lips, the blue of his irises dark with desire, almost completely swallowed by his pupils. 

  She rides him slowly, her arms wrapped around his neck as he finds her lips, kissing her deeply. As many times as they’ve done this before, it’s as intense as ever. Maybe because it’s been so long since they’ve done this— far too long —or maybe because they now have a child together, both venturing into parenthood, making the bond between them stronger, more special, more exciting. Whatever the reason, being with him feels utterly incredible. 

  “Say my name, Emma,” he growls when she picks up the pace, riding him good and hard, worshipping her Sultan. “Let the entire palace know I'm still yours.”

  She cries out, her body writhing above him. She loves knowing he's still hers even after giving birth to his son. She loves that she will be the only one to satisfy the Sultan. It’s difficult to hold on, difficult to not let him bring her there, and when she feels his calloused fingers tighten around her hips to quicken their thrusts, she can’t hold back any longer. Stars burst in her eyes as her orgasm hits her powerfully, and with a sharp cry, she throws her head back as the Sultan fucks his wife through her climax. “Killian!”

  Without warning, he lifts her from his lap and spins them around, throwing her on the bench and pounding into her like a man possessed, their groans bouncing off the walls. He throws one of her legs over his shoulder, rutting into her erratically, completely ravaging her as he chases his own orgasm, his eyes completely black. It's been far too long since they've been together like this, and it's like all the desire he’d subdued had shot through him like a lightning bolt. And she loves it. She loves when he takes what he wants from her; she loves when he's panting, when he fucks her at a maddening pace, when he explodes so hard, his legs are shaking as her name tears from his throat in a broken whisper.

  He sinks into her on the bench, holding up his weight so he doesn’t crush her as he kisses her sweetly. His eyes soften, worry flashing across his face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  Emma manages a lazy smile and shakes her head. “Not at all,” she assures, placing her hands on his cheeks. “You felt so good,” she whispers.

  He groans. “You're incredible.” He kisses her lips before sinking his face into her neck, his chest rising and falling against her as he catches his breath. 

  ~*~

  When they're able to move again, he rises and helps her to her feet. Their activities should have cooled off some of his ardor, but it didn’t. He feels selfish for the way he fucked her. It was so quick and raw and animalistic, he’s nowhere close to being satiated. And neither is she. 

  Still holding her hand, he leads her to his bed where he properly worships his goddess, this time slowly and passionately, kissing and caressing every inch of soft, decadent skin, her swollen, blue-veined breasts, her beautiful stomach, his lips tracing her stretch marks from pregnancy, his tongue lapping up the sweet ambrosia from her lovely cunt. Motherhood has only increased her beauty, and he plans on showing her exactly how attracted and completely enamored he still is with her. He wants everyone in the palace to know. And judging by how loudly she moans—probably, loud enough for the entire palace to hear—and the way she explodes, her body shuddering every time she orgasms, he accomplishes what he’d set out to do when he brought her to his bed. 

  When she’s in his arms again, both of them breathless and sheathed in sweat, he kisses her temple and pulls her close, feeling her heart beating erratically against his. 

  Eventually, he rises, throwing on a robe and procuring some sherbets and small cakes. Elsa brings Liam to them when he’s fussing for his parents, and he and Emma spend the afternoon lounging in his bed, cuddling with their prince. Killian’s heart blooms as his baby boy sleeps contently on him, breathing softly against his chest as Emma lays her head on Killian’s shoulder, her hand resting on the prince’s little back. Killian strokes her disheveled hair and smiles contentedly as his angels nap. He loves moments like this when it’s just the three of them snuggled in their blissful little bubble. He never wants these moments to end, he wants to capture them and hold them in his heart forever. 

  He wants to secure their future together at all costs. He needs to make sure the lives of his son and wife are not constantly being threatened. His mother had sent him new maidens this morning, and he needs to stop it from happening again. He was far from tempted by them, but he doesn’t wish for these women to live in the harem hoping the Sultan will one day call one of them to his bed, or grow vengeful when he never does and try to hurt Emma or Liam. He will never call a woman to his bed other than his Swan. Which is why he will make some changes around the palace.

  Some big changes. 

@courtorderedcake @willow154 @teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @nikkiemms @followbatb @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @snowbellewells @artistic-writer @ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @lovepurplepumpkins @kiwistreetswan @therooksshiningknight @deathbycaptainswan @tiganasummertree @superchocovian @emeraldwitches

[gasp-iwrotesomething]

prompt idea, sort of going off a couple of the earlier ones you've done - xenia finds out she's carrying the heir instead of mc after they use gideon's potion and they have to figure out how it happened; maybe include a reference to xenia's dream of starting a family coming true after all, even if it's not the way she expected (if you'd like).

Wow, this is such a cool prompt idea, anon! I would love to write this for you! Also, when you said ‘she’s carrying the heir instead of mc’, I assume you mean that the child is the heir instead of MC--do correct me if I’m wrong though. Thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy! (Sorry this got out so late, had a moment where I lost motivation 😬)

Summary: Xenia and MC discover that the heir to the throne isn’t MC... but the baby flourishing in the Spymistress’ belly. The two of them must investigate the cause of the weird phenomena all while Xenia struggles to come to terms with the fact that she’s becoming mother.

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How could this be?

Xenia paces restlessly, her chin stroked with thought as the room seems to spin with her footsteps. How could the heir be... Her extra set of arms wrap around the swollen bump where her child rests--grows and listens to the world through her belly button. She wondered if the child could feel her heart thumping--if it could feel the stress wobbling her composure. Stress... A tip advised by Gideon flares in her mind about pregnancy and she stops, taking a deep breath to soothe herself. Stress wasn’t healthy for the baby; Xenia had to keep that in mind for the sake of her child. Of the rightful heir of Altadellys. Still, even after a few hours of sitting on the newfound scrap of news, Xenia could not believe it. MC wasn’t the heir--their baby was. The baby that had been conceived through one of Gideon’s magical potions after Xenia and MC had decided to become mothers together. Maybe it was inappropriate and selfish to think but Xenia found the second portion to be the most enthralling part--the one about her making the decision to become a mother. Just a span or so ago, Xenia was unable to perceive a reality where she bore children--where she was able to indulge in her dreams rather than leave them out of grief and acceptance. Now here she was: far enough along to stick out like a sore thumb among the nimble and slim nobles of Lysende.

MC enters the room then. Her arms are laden with various massaging oils, scented candles, and sweets that had been of Xenia’s request. “Special delivery for the gorgeous Mistress of Spies,” MC teases. Those elated, freckled features rise then fall at the sight of Xenia’s perplexed and utterly crestfallen face. “Xenia, is there something wrong? Is it your back again?” Quickly but carefully, MC sprawls the ingredients across the nearest surface and approaches her stricken wife, who sighs and absently rubs her belly. “No, it isn’t so much a problem with me as it is a problem-” Xenia’s eyes open again and her gaze is a white monument of anxiety and worry befalling MC “-a problem between the two of us.” MC blinks, even more confused, her brows dwindling down into a perch of concern. What was bothering Xenia? Was it... was it their baby? With that question in tow, MC is at Xenia’s side within moments with an arm cautiously wrapped around her waist. “I don’t understand. Is there something wrong with our baby? Did Gideon find a side effect to that potion-?!” The redhead’s intrinsic questions are snuffed out when Xenia tugs her into a tight hug, her protruding belly pressed against MC’s midsection. MC returns the embrace with all that she has since she knew that something had happened and that it had saddened--or at least perturbed--Xenia. Her wife was always composed and cool, never one to emit her true emotions unless she was comfortable with the person in question. Now, with how vulnerable she seemed to be, MC feared that something had gone terribly wrong. Was it the potion? The pregnancy? Her age? Gideon had said her age might affect her pregnancy but still... why not tell me? 

“It’s not physically affecting neither me nor our child,” Xenia prefaces in MC’s fiery red hair, “it’s something that I’m afraid trivializes our entire plan to place you on the throne.” That shocks MC. After a moment more, MC pulls away from Xenia and grasps her tenderly by the arms encircling her waist. In MC’s, the spymaster’s hands felt like an embrace continued; something MC could revel in for comfort. “What? Xenia, I’m not sure I understand still. It trivializes our plan?” She watches as Xenia’s delicate eyes fade into something grim--the gentle concern melting away into glum reality. The look made MC fear the worst. “Gideon summoned me to the tower for an intrinsic meeting this morning, claiming that there had been a new discovery born from his extensive research. He had said that the potion had little to no side effects when we retrieved the potion but he had assured that the side effects were minor--nothing to worry for, correct?” Xenia’s explanation lulls with a brief question and MC nods, wanting to hear more. Her dark lips thin as she continues, eyes suddenly a distance away. “Well, after months of more intensive studies, Gideon has contrived that there was one more significant side effect. One that could threaten the welfare of our effective plan to place the crown upon your head as rightful Queen of Lysende. How it works is still being thoroughly sleuthed but the effect is that... that the child is now the heir; not you, dear.”

Like a punch to the gut, MC’s breath is sucked away and her previously formed thoughts swim.

“I... I am no longer to be crowned Queen? Our baby is-?” Everything fails her, including words, which coalesce then dangle uselessly from her mouth. Xenia continues to observe her reaction as an arm strokes her back, coaxing the tumult inside her to thin. “No one knows that you are no longer heir,” Xenia assures softly, the illusion of professional equanimity falling over her, “other than Gideon and I. That is why I believe that we can still manage to continue with our original plot. But the problem arises with where the rightful heir is--it would seem frugal and improper to steal the crown from the child who had little to do with it all.” Suddenly, the atmosphere becomes much thicker and prone to splintering under pressure; a feeble but heavy air. MC ponders their options all while tracing the concerned lines of Xenia’s face. She lets go of Xenia’s hand to touch her swollen stomach, mind askew. The breath of life within doesn’t react to the touch, which in a twisted and slightly selfish sense made MC feel as though it was ignoring her. But that’s not true; it’s still early in the pregnancy, there’s little chance that our baby will kick now. Xenia overlaps their hands and they share a solemn silence, as if giving their condolences to the plan they had toiled over for so long. “I’m unsure of how to feel,” MC finally shatters the carefully sewn silence, “but I know of how to think. We must try to figure out why this has happened. It is only right--for not only our plan, but for our baby.”

The redhead’s voice softens as her emerald eyes gaze down at Xenia’s belly--the space where a child woven from their genetics was flourishing.

Though her words don’t wipe away the sad glint in Xenia’s eyes, they do cause a gentle smile to curve her thinned lips. She slants to her wife and presses a kiss to her temple. “I believe they agree with you, darling,” she grasps MC’s hand and relocates her palm to a lower position on her belly, “I felt it move when you said that. Our baby gives its blessing.” The Spymistress coos softly, her tonality one of motherly love along with melting affection. It was hard to remain disdained after that. MC laughs gently, cheeks coloring, as she rubs circles in the spot Xenia relegated her hand to. “Good. I don’t believe it would want it’s mother to wear herself rugged.” Though her hands frame the swoop of Xenia’s stomach, she feels little to no movement--just a gentle flutter that could go unnoticed if MC wasn’t so focused on feeling something. Xenia’s crackling laugh follows and a hand sifts through MC’s hair. “Perhaps. If it is your child truly then I believe compassion and empathy will be its birthright.” That makes MC blush but she doesn’t deny Xenia’s gentle acclaims--masked compliments disguised. To abate the flush in her cheeks, MC throws her head to the side to the range of ingredients laid out on the table. “I do believe you are due for some pampering, Mistress Xenia. If there is nothing to be done today, of course.” MC’s fiery brow cocks and she slinks her arm around Xenia’s waist; a suggestive touch. Xenia thinks for a moment, running over all of the plans congregating in her mind, before nodding with a faint smirk.

“I do believe I am free for the day. Do you think you could cure me of all of these hardships of bearing, dearest MC?” Xenia quips back, gently, like the brush of a thousand feathers.

MC is already scampering towards the items in question, a goofy grin on her lips.

“You won’t ever know what it feels like to be without a cure; promise!”

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Thanks again for the request! I hope this could live up to your expectations cause I loved writing this for you 😘

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

[too-lit-for-fanfic]

The Dead Don’t Die; A Review. (Spoilers - it was shit a disappointment)

Hey guys! It’s Roen, one of the owners of this account! I’ve just watched ‘The Dead Don’t Die’, directed by Jim Jarmusch and honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been more disappointed in a film for a long time, and that’s saying something. The star-studded cast was completely wasted, the talented likes of Adam Driver, Bill Murray and Steve Buscemi have some enjoyable scenes, though they were few and far between, and at the best of times barely raised a smile to my face.

Let’s start on a high note, the cops. Genuinely stole the show for me. Driver and Bill Murray? Yes please. They worked so well off each other and the chemistry was really good. The dynamics between their two characters was very refreshing as well, unlike the same bland emotionless voids everyone else (aside from Buscemi) appeared to be. Loved the little nod to Star Wars, the red car scene was probably the best in the movie, actually enjoyable to watch the two with their bits of banter, actually believable characters. Just get rid of the female cop, I’m all for diversity and inclusion, but again; she added nothing to any of the scenes she was in and had little to no chemistry with the other cast. You can’t have the entire set of characters acting nonchalant and then have one just fucking bawling their eyes out all the time. Got annoying real fast. The romance between the female cop and Ronnie (Driver) was not believable at all to me. I think they were aiming for a relationship like Tim and Dawn from the UK The Office but it fell so short. Not a fault of either actor, they did the best they could with the material given, however it just seemed like a pointless side piece left out to dry in the sun for too long.

Steve Buscemi, aka Farmer Miller was probably the best consistent character. I am a massive fan of a Buscemi so that probably has something to do why I liked his performance so much but i believe the little bit of *flavour* to his voice, the passion, the anger, just made the character stand out so much more from the rest. I would have loved to have seen more of his character, he only had like three scenes which was a massive injustice. I feel as if the framing/filming of the movie could have been done so much better than it was. It may just be the directors style but it felt as if there were so many pointless scenes, like the extended amount of silence in the car with the three fucking hippies that amounted to absolutely no character development that didn’t even fucking matter because they died practically the very next scene. It was just so infuriating how so much screen time was wasted on insignificant details (like any scene with the alien, the unneeded bonding between Bill nd the delivery man, the extra bit of the two diner workers just chit chatting, the hippy trio section) when it could have been spent on actually interesting characters like Miller. Also, that hat was comedy gold.

The homeless dude pissed me off to no end. What even was his purpose? He was like some bootleg token The Lorax, wandering about the woods high off of mushrooms commenting on the capitalist ideology of the townsfolk. Did he offer anything to the plot? No. Was he interesting in the least?!for the first five minutes. Could he be removed form the story by a disembodied Martin Freeman voice? Absolutely. I don’t know if this is just the directors style but what the fuck. The last bit on phones and technology and capitalism was such a slap in the face to the audience. Propaganda. Like okay, we’ve payed to sit here and wasted over an hour of our lives to watch one of the most disappointing movies recently released, with fucking Scottish aliens, even though it was marketed as a zombie movie, to be lectured on the usage of technology? Fuck off. Pick a genre and stick to it. So much valuable screen time wasted. I think the problem with this movie in particular was, there was such an abundant cast that the movie couldn’t really spend that much time on any of them, not allowing itself to develop their characters or for the audience to form an actual bond with them. If you are to do this with such a large cast some groups must eventually merge in order to provide a semi coherent story. A big downfall on the directors behalf.

I don’t really have much to say about Bill or Hank. They were okay, bu weren’t given enough screen time for me to actually care about them dying. Their characters needed some more spicing up. I’m not dissing the actors for this though, they matched the tone of the movie very well, some things are just irreparable. Could have been done better, could’ve been done worse. The beginning scene with the delivery man and Bill was unnecessary and devoured valuable screen time, so did the awkward as hell interaction between him and the Selena Gomez character.

I don’t even know who the three teen actors were. I’m not throwing shade, but for such a star studded cast i would of thought all man members would have some notoriety. Maybe they do, please correct me if I’m wrong, I just didn’t recognise them form anything I’d seen. Their acting was alright but the few scenes they had were just so pointless. They added nothing to the story and didn’t influence the plot in anyway; at least the Scottish alien lady inadvertently got the two main characters killed, that was something. Was this part of the political propaganda the film was trying to push? If so it went completely over my head unlike all the other in your face narration. Ate up valuable screen time that could of been spent developing far more interesting characters. What even happened to them anyway? The just sort of ran off screen and that was the last we saw of them. Maybe the director forgot about that side plot, I don’t blame him, they were just as forgettable to the audience.

Don’t even get me started on the fucking.. i don’t even know- Scottish Alien?? I thought this was a zombie movie but okay. She’s literally the token badass that just fucks off in a spaceship after ultimately leading the main characters (the cops) to their death by requesting they meet her there for no apparent reason than to flex she can be free and they can’t. Honestly, personally I think this was just an excuse to subvert expectations and throw a curve ball in there for the audience. I’m sorry but just because something’s shocking or doesn’t necessarily fit doesn’t mean it’s going to wow audiences, plot twists have to make sense. If they don’t it’s just bad writing and incoherent story telling. It was worse than the *subverdion* of Game of Thrones.

Overall it was such a waisted potential and an actual chore to get through. Would not recommend, at all. If you like this film I’m genuinely happy for you and glad you’ve found something else to enjoy. However, I feel that this is the long awaited final nail in the coffin for zombie movies (which is a shame because I love the likes of Shaun of the Dead). No matter how talented the cast, and by-god did they try to make the script work, if you have lousy material and a dead story there’s only so much they can do. As a Brit, however, I do feel it may be partially down to personal preference (although the shady plot and general inconsistencies are universal) particularly in relation to the comedy. Not to be insulting but I think I was expecting more witty/intelligent humour akin to Blacladder of Shaun of the dead, the contrast with the laconic style just really didn’t do it for me. Don’t think I laughed once apart from that red car scene. However if you enjoy that type of humour good on you, it’s just it something I connect with very well.

REVIEW ENDS HERE, BELOW IS MY INTERPRETATION OF EVENTS.

‘Oh it’s easy to throw criticism, I beg you couldn’t have done any better.’ Is an argument I am anticipating, so let me pitch to you my possible plot for the movie. First of all, get rid of the three juveniles in that delinquent-prison - seriously, what the fuck was their purpose in this film? Offered nothing to drive the plot forward, didn’t effect the story, had no even slightly funny scene - and replace their screen time with the buddy-cop-duo of Adam Driver/Ronnie and Bill Murray/Cliff. Just get rid of the female cop, the chemistry was better without her input. Bill and Hank? Had potential but I think they should’ve partnered up with Steve Buscemi’s character Miller to form an unlikely passive aggressive, comedy gold, getting by on the scrape of their teeth, trio. The homeless man, again, had potential. Instead of having him as some fucking narrator with a sociology degree I would have placed him along with the Billy-Hank-Miller trio. There could have been some great scenes filled with tension between Miller and him. Out of town hippy trio? Still a thing, but for two scenes max.

Now that the playing field has been set let’s get into my rendition of the story. We start off in the diner with Harry and Frank watching the news and having some not so friendly banter. Insults based on race, lifestyle and beliefs are thrown (the hat, which was hilarious, stays) to establish character dynamics. Scene ends with Frank/Buscemi leaving the diner as the theme tune begins to play. Cut to Ronnie and Cliff stood in a cell looking over the dead woman, Ronnie’s flippancy should remain whilst Cliff should behave like a much more real human, this adds a conflict of character that the movie only briefly explored. The two are in the midst of passive aggressively talking to one another over the body - Ronnie forgot to call the people to collect it - as a client steps into the station. Cliff engages in conversation with the client who is informing him of Miller/Buscemi and Homeless dude getting into a fight on Miller’s driveway. In the background, Ronnie, in an attempt to hide the dead body, drags it off into the background, horribly failing at subtlety.

Once the client is gone the body is placed in the receptionists chair, to ‘make it look like they got around to hiring that new member of staff’ and the duo drive to the scuffle. In the car they briefly chat about the scientific events occurring with the theme playing in the background, develops the world they’re in and further establishes their dynamics and relationship. Once they arrive Miller and Homeless dude are close to throwing hands, Miller with one chicken in his arm and a shot gun in the other and homeless dude with a skinned animal in his. Ultimate cop duo extinguish the scene with jokes thrown in, homeless dude just fucking slaps Miller with the skinned rabbit, Miller nearly shoots him, that hat gets briefly confiscated by Cliff. Scene ends with the four parting ways, cops in the car, Miller up to his house in search of the rest of his chickens and homeless dude off into the wilderness.

Diner deaths happen, but the lady screaming with the mop is considerably shortened. The following scene with cops pretty much stays the same, except the female officer is no longer present. That tiny red car for the absolute tank that is Adam Driver? Absolute gold we are keeping that. Homeless dude, who had seen the dead the night before absolutely fucking recks the crime scene losing his shit trying the convince Cliff. Ronnies already on board but must maintain the law. Homeless bro gets detained by Ronnie but manages to run off with only one hand cuffed. Immediate cut to Hank talking with Billy about weapons and zombies yada yada yada except this time he’s actually a traumatised old man. As Billy goes on a tangent about zombies I imagine Hank to be like ‘Moose’ played by the old guy in Jumaji: the next level. Completely gormless but hanging off of every word.

Scene at motel happens, along with the amazing line ‘fuck farmer Miller’ delivered perfectly by Murray.

Skip to night time; cop buddy duo set out on the town with a load of guns and other assorted weapons they managed to scrounge up, their mission is to keep the poeple of the town safe, do they succeed? No. Cliff accidentally drives someone over believing them to be a zombie. At the same time Miller, absolutely fuming about his chickens, is off in the woods behind the store Billy and Hank are camping out in in order to catch the homeless dude in the act of skinning a chicken. Billy and Hank have completely boarded up the front door but unlike in the film, they realise there’s a back door because Miller comes bursting through searching for another shot gun, the undead right on his trial. The trio officially buddy up, gather weapons and set off into the woods, absolutely shit but sumultaneously amazing fight scene ensues as they make their way out of the town.

Our unfortunate trio stumble across homeless guy literally eating one of Millers chickens in the woods. Miller tries to shoot him but is stopped. Banter is tossed, a mini argument happens, everyone has some chicken (Miller begrudgingly). We cut bsck to the cops who now discover the hippy trio dead at the motel, that scene is the same. Cutting back; At the prospect of teaming up Miller throws his chicken away and stomps off into the woods, Billy and Hank following. Homeless dude chases them and attaches himself with the one free hand cuff to Miller. He now has to come.

At some point Cliff absolutely totals the car, I’m not against keeping the zombies in wheels scene. And the two cops are backed into the graveyard. The amazing four are already there struggling to survive. Miller and homeless man keep trying to run in different directions and falling over, Frank has no idea what to do with a pair of branch cutters, Billy is far too happy to be able to finally use his vintage sword that turns out to be pretty shit in the end. Fight scene ensues.

Miller and homeless dude are the first to go, they couldn’t get along if their lives depended on it, which it did. The group scramble and in the process the pair can’t make up their minds. They die arguing. Something along the lines of ‘thank god for that’ but funnier is said by someone idk who. The next to go is Billy. His flimsy sword actually brakes and he’s left weaponless. Hank goes next, he’s been bit and Murray has to shoot him. I picture the scene from Shaun of the Dead, with Ronnie telling Cliff he has to shoot him.

The final scene is when Cliff and Ronnie finally reach another town, beaten up and evidently bruised. The only problem is, the towns already been overrun. The two share one last exasperated look before they charge in to battle, the screen fading to black as the theme song plays. Akin to the ending of Balckadder season 4 But less emotional.

(I know it’s not perfect but by god it’s not any worse than the actual fucking film. If anyone else has any thoughts or ways they think the story should have progressed please message me! I’d love to hear what you guys think!)

[fullmetalgrigori]

run away with my heart

i was supposed to be working on something else and then GOT 8x04 happened and i wrote this at work instead oops (also idk when i became obsessed with these two but it’s starting to become a problem because since when do i write  game of thrones fanfic i mean seriously)

Also on AO3 here

He finds her in the stables, a destination he’d seen in her eyes when she’d left him by her makeshift practice range. He had hoped to be wrong, but when he hears the clanking of reins and the low scrape of leather, his gut and heart sink simultaneously, and he knows that he isn’t.

She doesn’t turn around when he enters, but he knows that she knows he is there. He’s silent for a small moment that seems to stretch for an eternity. He wishes he might have it stay this way forever, if only so he doesn’t have to watch her leave.

But that is not how time works, and so he clears his throat and says, “Before you go, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Has there?” Her voice is steady and cool in that strange way he’s still learning, but he’s beginning to find traces of that fiery girl he’d known so many years ago underneath it all.

“If you’ll let me, I’d like to correct it.” Because he will not burden her with this, not if she does not want it, even if keeping back the words will be harder than holding back a flood.

Her hands keep moving, adjusting the saddle and fastening down supplies, but her head is turned ever so slightly towards him, an unspoken signal for him to continue.

“I wasn’t asking for you to be my lady,” he says. “I was asking you to be milady.”

“There’s a difference?”

He shakes his head. “If you can’t tell that by now, then you clearly haven’t been paying attention.”

Her hands falter, settling on one of the saddlebags, her head tilted down. He wonders whether this would all be easier if she were facing him, if he had to say this straight to her face, instead of guessing at her expression or reaction. Then he decides that he likely wouldn’t be able to discern anything even if she was turned around, and plows on before he can talk himself out of what he’s about to say.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I do actually listen when you say things. I know you’re not a lady. I’ve known that since the day I met you.” He remembers it all so clearly, has played back the scene in his mind a thousand times, and then a thousand more. The dirty little slip of a boy lying on the ground, and then suddenly on his feet, sword held aloft and the fiercest expression he’d ever seen on his face. It’s an expression he knows well, one that had become so ingrained in his life that its absence left an ache that he’d long since given up on trying to heal.

“I didn’t ask you what I did,” -- he can’t say it again, can’t manage to force the words past his throat -- “because I was expecting you to sit around and embroider, or plan feasts, or run a household,” -- he swallows hard and tries to ignore the aching burn in his chest -- “or even have children.”

She’s turned to face him fully now, and though she’s trying hard to hide it, he can see the shock and surprise in those steel grey eyes. They’re blazing like they always are when she looks at him now, but he can’t stop, or he’ll never start again, so he presses on.

“I know my delivery may have gone a little sideways.” He shrugs. “I was a bit overwhelmed -- here I was thinking I knew my lot in life, then all of a sudden everything I never thought I could have was thrown right into my lap. And all I could think was that I wanted to share it with you. In whatever way you wanted it.”

She still hasn’t said anything, is still watching him, and he has to look away just for a second. “All I was asking for,” he says quietly, “was a chance to share my life with yours. In whatever way that looks like. In whatever way you want.”

When he looks back at her, he thinks her face has softened. “If you’re to be lord of Storm’s End,” she says, “you’ll need an heir.”

He shrugs. “So I’ll find one. If I don’t have any children, then I’ll find an heir who’s worthy. Blood isn’t everything -- at least, not to me.”

Both her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“I told you, Arya, I’m not asking for anything you don’t want to give. If you want to spend your mornings beating knights to a pulp in the training yard, your afternoons tearing across the countryside on horseback, your evenings finding each and every nook and cranny of Storm’s End, then I wouldn’t expect anything more or less.”

A heavy silence falls between them, and the longer it’s drawn out, the less he can stand it. Finally, he says, “That’s all I was trying to say, earlier. I know I might’ve done a piss-poor job of it, so I wanted to make it clearer, before you left.”

She regards him carefully, looks like she’s putting together a reply, and tendrils of ice cold fear wrap themselves around his heart. “You don’t have to say anything now,” he lies, disregarding the screaming in his head that says if he doesn’t find out what she’s thinking now, he never will. “Just, think about it on your way to King’s Landing, alright? And you can tell me when you get back.”

And then her face transforms into something he’s never seen before, something so incredibly difficult to read.

“Which means…” He steadfastly ignores the way his voice cracks. “Which means you have to come back. I know it’s hard to think about an after, with all that’s going on, but just know… my after is you. Always you, in whatever way you want it. So just… come back.”

He tries not to think too hard on what the shining in her eyes means as she steps forward. Rough hands cup his cheeks; she rests her forehead against his as they share a single breath between them. She presses the tenderest kiss he’s ever felt against his lips, and he tries to pour everything he can into it, tries to tell her everything he can’t manage to put into words.

All too soon, she’s stepping back, her lips pressed together as if she’s trying to hold onto the kiss for as long as she can. His exhale is ragged as he watches her finish her last adjustments and mount her horse. He drinks in every graceful, calculated motion, and tries to tell himself he’s not trying to memorize her, that he’s not treating this like a last goodbye.

Because he will not let it be.

Part of him wants to say something when she turns to look at him, but he will not call a farewell after her, because not all goodbyes are followed by hellos. So he only watches, his eyes seeking out her silhouette long after she’s disappeared over the distant hills.

He doesn’t see her turn back to look at him, just before she does.

Later, the Hound tells her that he’s not planning on coming back.

She tells him, neither is she.

For the first time, the words taste like a lie.

[twinfanfics]

The tale of the three head beast: the marching fishes (10/21)

Second part of the tale of the three head beast series, our extra large Digimon Game of thrones Au, you can read the first part The chosen children Here and here, or look for the tag  3t3hb  on this blog.

And you can read all past chapters of the marching fishes in the links below

ACT 1. ESCENE 1: THE RAIN

ACT 1. ESCENE 2: THE WILL  

ACT 1. ESCENE 3: THE TRIP

ACT 1. ESCENE 4:THE SON

ACT 2. SCENE 1: THE ARRIVAL

ACT 2. SCENE 2: BROTHERHOOD

ACT 2. SCENE 3: MOTHER | **warning suicide attempt**

ACT 2. SCENE 4: THE BATTLE OF THE IKKAKU ISLAND

ACT 3. SCENE 1: THE INTERROGATION

ACT 3. ESCENE 2:  DELIVERY 

His stomach hurt, god, he didn't remember the time of his last meal, it doesn´t matter; everything in his mouth taste like ashes, his hands sweat and his head feel like a ticking bomb, every light was to bright, every sound was to loud.

Joe had lost everything, his children, his wife, his son…

Taichi speak nonsenses since the throne, since Joe´s throne, funny how he continues to lost things: his Kingdom, his authority, his sanity

What time it was? what day? it´s feel so much like to the old days, those days he had lost everything too.

His brothers, his youth, his freedom

Each one of his brothers went to war and comes back in a black coffin; the old island war; the cold King again Genai the usurper; How many children of the island died in the old war?

The war would take his children too? he alloud himself to think about Davis,noble and carefree Davis, big mouth Davis, the kid with endless energy, the boy who eat every meal as if it would be his last, traitor Davis, hostage Davis.

“Can i speak with him?” he wish to sound less desperate, less concern

“I don't think that would be a good idea” Yamato speak as a friend, still Joe could see Davis blood over his knuckles

Yamato, the one that he had never lost, yet.

Sometimes, in the rainy days when Ken was still a boy and brood around the castle with his black cloak and heavy books Joe usually recall about Yamato; and treats him with the same patient and comfort that he would treat his old friend; in another life when Ken would become enough skill with the sword Joe would send him away to the capital; to train with his best friend, to learn for the masters and be the best swordsman of the land.

In the life that they had lost

“Your Sea Majesty, Jou, Jou!”  his response was slow and confuse “Jou, the king of all land ask you a question”

The King watch him with impatien; it has to be something about the heirs, they where so use to be instantly obey, that make them temperamental, a mistake that Joe made with his own son, and sadly with Iory.

No, he don't want to think about Iory

“Davis said that Iory Hida is prepare to surrender” but since when did he get what he want? “That somehow is his Master who refuse give up, do you know anything about  this master? we don't have to much information about him” Beside been next to him their voices sounds like an ecco

But Joe negate with head, he has no energy to think about Ryo Akiyama; Iory wants to surrender, a marvelous new, the prodigy son could still do the right thing. If they defeat Ryo the children would surrender, and then what?  He look at the blood in the hands of his friend one more time

“We cannot make the same mistake twice” Yamato speak with the hate in his voice answering a question that Joe was afraid to ask “Even if they surrender we cannot forgive them”

“They are children” They are my children

“ They were children, they are men now, men who betrayed you, they attack  the King!” his blue eyes doub for an instand “If we give them the oportunity they are gonna kill you Joe, i will not give them that oportuity”

The silent embrace the room, Joe knows that Yamato only has good intentions and the guilt hit him, he wish that he was willing to stop him, if Yamato where his knight a simple order will be enought. Why Yamato agree to serve Taichi was a mystery for him.

“Do you have any idea where the rebels are hiding?”  Taichi interrump what it feel like a private moment

Ideas? He has plenty of ideas, tousan of theories but just one that make sense “The swarm”

“The swarm!” Yamato recall “of course” and along with him jump over the map that hang out the wall; Taichi look at them in confusion “Is a group of small island in the south; they are many, at least a dozen, but the ground is rocky and infertile, access is dangerous if you do not know the place, but is the perfect hide”

Joe hate the way Yamato talk to the King, as if he was an ignorant child, a sweetness that was unusual in him

“That is the place to which we must move our troops” Taichi celebrated

Joe despise how the King look at his friend, as if he belonged to him, as if he was one of his properties.

“But we must be careful, they must have lookouts on the routes, those are dangerous waters”

The hand of the King travel to his knight shoulder “I'm sure you can manage it” fondly eyes and meaningful smiles, they move together in a synchrony that was ridiculous; again they remind him to his lost children: Ken and Davis use to move like that too.

A thought that make him feel like the most stupid man alive,  a sudden revelation that snap him back to reality, he knew Yamato, he knew his past and his hearth, be the lover of a upper class gentleman was no strange behavior for him, but this…  he cursed the ocean and the sea

He stand out as tall as he was “For how long?”

“Well i hope not to much” Taichi´s smile offended him “i mean.. we want to end this war as soon as possible right?”

But Yamato notice his change of attitude, and for Joe annoyance he put himself between he and the King.

Maybe the revelation wouldn´t hurt that much if it wasn´t for the lies, the hypocrisy, Taichi, the king of the light, the light who persecute and imprison impures...

“Joe what´s wrong?” Yamato try to approach to him but Joe shake and come far from them, he can´t even look at his friend anymore

“Sora knows?” he try to yell “did she?” memories of the dozen of letters he share with his dear friend flash before his eyes, her loneliness, the rumours about her health...

Taichi´s grin broke down “How do you know? i mean.. what are you talking about? “

The smartest thing would have been to keep quiet, keep his suspicions to himself, avoid claims to the most powerful man in the continent “You know very well what i´m talking about Taichi Yagami!” but he has lost his patient too “You are a fraud, you broke the votes you made to your so acclaim god”

Taichi stay stuned by Joe accusations

“You don't even denied, did any law mean anything to you?” Joe try to make sense in his mind, both of his hand rest over the table, “Do you think you own him? that…. that you can use people like him just because you have power over them!”

“He is not using me!” Yamato reacts “Its not like that, please stop!”

Joe turn to him, no longer avoiding his eyes “I expect more from you”

His words hit the Knight more than any sword did before, Yamato clench his teeth and contain the sorrows “Well… that was your mistake”

“who are you to judge him? you…” the king yell at him ” Everything you own has been earning by his hand, he fought for you! he Killed for you! he won for you! you are not alloud to… you  have no right…”

“You have no idea what are you talking about”

“You either,  you think you know him better than me? Do you know that he spent these years pleading  to come to your rescue? he was so sure all of this was too much for you "

Joe take a stept back, was than true? a look at Yamato and he knows  Taichi was right, but the rage has no disappear “You have a wife”

“You too! but if you ask me you see more concern about those ungrateful bastards that you call your children than for your actual family!”

If he could, he would hide behind the table, close the curtains of the windows and demand everyone to leave him alone, Taichi dealt a fatal blow to the little that remained of his emotional stability.

“They are the ones who need to be saved, you do not know mimi, she ... she is an extraordinary woman, I have no doubt that she has the strength to ... to protect our son and herself; and despite everything I trust that Iory will not allow them to hurt her "by saying it out loud, with Yamato and Tai judging him, he realized that he sounded even more foolish than when he repeated it to himself.

A nock of the door force them to calm down, or at least pretend to be

“Sir, I´m so sorry” Kouji enters the room with a small chest between his hands “A letter from the rebels and this” The three of them rush into the package, Taichi took the letter that was address to the Sea King

“They demand that we free the Ikkaku Island and thet we release Davis, a proof that we are serius… what they mean by that?”

Joe open the chest and his world collapse

He lost control, he lost hope, and dear god on the abyss Mimi lost an eye

“We are not gonna surrender, they are blaffing, this is a sig of desperation” Yamato try in vain to encourage him while Taichi make an efford to not trow up.

Ryo finally was showing his cards, this must be his work, Iory was burning the ships, who knows who else would drag him along.

“My son…” he barely speak  before  storm out of the room

“follow him” Taichi order “and Yamato…” he came closer  “make sure he doesn't make or said anything stupid”

.

.

.

Yamato found him on his room, crying and shaking

“I would found them “ Joe look at him, without worried for hiding his tears “I would keep my promise, i would save the queen and the Prince” he sit next to him “you know i will”

“Do i?” a bitter laught “I don't know who you are anymore”

“Or you do” Yamato lay down “ I don't need to tell you anything, you just know…”

“Still it would had been nice if you just told me” but he smile with an apologize between his libs, just as he use to do, and a tiny light of hope ignite inside of him; that was Yamato, his defender, his friend, maybe they could save his family, all of them “What about Iory and Ken?”

“Taichi doesn´t understand your fixation with those kids, Joe… to be honest me either…”

“And i don't understand your fixation with the King, He is... “

But all  hope crumbled as soon as it appeared, three words and Joe knew Yamato would never been in his side again

“I love him” and even worse “And.. i think he loves me”

Such a profound declaration, a much more horrified secret  

“Yamato… this is not right” such a waste of words, Yamato has done so much for others in the name of respect, honor, friendship, but love? he knew, sadly, that Yamato has never feel loved before.

Now there was nothing in the world that Yamato was not able to do for Taichi

He had lost his friend, just like he had lost everything else

“But I understand ” he lied “ I´ll not said anything, i just need to be alone for a while, please, i´m sure that you have a lot of things to get ready before the assault to the swarm”

With a smile Yamato leave him alone, and Joe waits impatien until the door close behind him and he hear his steps go far away for rush to his suitcase, he took his arrow and bow  and carefully, afraid and decided he sneak out of his own castle.

[sieben9]

“dreamy” impressions

Y'know, if you'd asked me this morning who I thought would get a main plot episode next week, I would probably have said "well, probably Mary Margaret and David" or "maybe Ruby; we haven't seen that much from her"

OK, actually I would have remembered @thatvermilionflycatcher's comment about Grumpy, which would have made the guessing game moot, but you get my point. This was not the next step I was expecting.

So, after seeing the title screen, I remembered that Grumpy is in this one and thought "hm, 'Dreamy' could be a dwarf name. Does that mean there was another one they lost?".

Well, Past Sieben, you were partially right. Also, thatvermilionflycatcher you were right. This one hurt.

 More under the cut.

This was… an odd one. I liked both modern day plots (and hey there, Sidney is back), but I’m not sure if putting them together was the best decision. It didn’t feel like they complemented each other very well.

And here you see the thing I remember most about this plot: Emma’s comically large coffee mug. Did I mention that I love this woman?

Don’t get me wrong, the almost-definitely-murder investigation (damnit, Regina…) was well done and had me grinding my teeth just about every time Sidney opened his mouth, because he sits on a throne of lies. And how come Emma’s superpower lets her know that David is telling the truth, but isn’t ringing the alarm whenever she talks to Sidney? Methinks someone didn’t think this through…

I have more things to say about the romance/candle plot, and the first of them is…

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, WOMAN?

OK, yes, I get it. The needs of the many, yadda yadda. But the dialogue, the delivery, the… everything in that scene with soon-not-to-be-Dreamy just screamed “I am secretly a villain!” at you. I can’t decide if someone in the writing room just completely botched this scene or if that was on purpose. Is that it? Is the blue fairy secretly a bad guy?

Oh, and speaking of possibly unintentional “sub”text…

So, dwarves hatch from eggs. OK, yes, right, it’s fairy tale fantasy. This seems perfectly reasonable. And they… spend their entire life working, can’t ever leave and can’t fall in love. Did they mean to make that sound as horrifying as it does? Because I am sure as hell horrified…

And you’re absolutely sure about those dresses, are you? Alright, far be it from me to judge. Out loud.

So, obviously I liked the romance. How could I not? It was so sweet that I probably should have brushed my teeth after watching. And frankly, after all the dramatic all-the-world-against-us, life-or-death romances, it was nice to see something... well, cute.

Look at these adorkable idiots.

And while watching Dreamy miss the, frankly, anvil sized hints that Nova was dropping, was second hand embarrassment hell, I can’t help but be grateful, too. Because it led to this scene...

It’s Belle! Belle’s back! *happy dance*

I have nothing else to say about it, except that I had to pause the episode for half a minute to flail around with joy. It’s Belle! And she’s not in a cell in a tower somewhere. Or in the hospital basement. (Goddamnit, Regina…)

Of course, the end of that plot broke my heart. What the hell, blue fairy? What the hell.

Yeah, I blame you for this.

And I now present the BFF duo of my dreams:

Watching them become friends was absurdly fun and hit all the right beats. We haven’t even seen that much of their friendship in the flashbacks, but I absolutely adored them.

And I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised by the resolution of the candles plot, because …well, because the moment he said he’d sell all the candles I went “oh, right, they’re not going to and then he’s gonna sell his boat to get the money and she’ll find out and—” and that didn’t happen. It was great!

There was also some solid comedy in that plot, which I always appreciate. It can’t be all drama, all the time. (I mean, it can, but who wants to watch that?)

Oh, and look who’s not in jail anymore:

“Why is this my life?”

All in all, Leroy and Astrid had a very atypical modern-day romance plot. They weren’t really separated through the curse; if anything, they got a second chance by getting to meet each other for the first time again. And be just as adorable as their non-cursed selves.

I also find it interesting that Astrid and Leroy had their “moment” (and from that maybe their Happy End?) completely without Emma’s intervention. In fact, Emma seems to be staying away from the focus plots for the last three episodes. Yes, it’s because she’s busy with what I assume will lead back to Operation Cobra, but it’s still interesting. And, of course, a good way to give the ensemble cast some decent screen time without needing Emma to barge in at every turn.

In completely unrelated things: did anyone else watch these things and imagine how incredibly awkward they would be once people got their memories back?

Case in point…

"And that is the story of how I arrested your granddad." -- Emma to Henry one day, probably.

So. The plot thickens? Maybe enough to be the focus plot next episode? Who knows! I don’t, and it’s exciting *g*

[aion-rsa]

Lucifer Season 5 Episode 16 Review: A Chance at a Happy Ending

https://ift.tt/3i8ysbD

This Lucifer review contains spoilers.

Lucifer Season 5 Episode 16

“Never loving anyone is far worse than loss.”

Heads up, humans, there’s a new God in town, and Lucifer fans couldn’t be happier. The near perfect season finale, “A Chance at a Happy Ending,” gives fans of the Netflix series some resolution regarding Lucifer and Chloe’s turbulent love story while at the same time setting up what might be the ultimate paradigm shift. Good triumphs over evil, the Devil sits on Heaven’s throne, and all’s right with the universe. 

There’s no real crime to solve this time, but the spectacular crash of the prison bus in the opening scene subtly reminds viewers of Lucifer’s desert experience in the season two finale, and in the end, provides a source for the reinforcements Team Lucifer requires in the later confrontation with Michael and his angel army. Of course, the celestial battle for Heaven’s throne occupies the main thrust of the episode, but the individual, personal battles with which each character struggles receive sufficient attention and in some cases, even satisfactorily resolve themselves.

Make no mistake, however, God leaves his children to decide who will replace him, and Michael’s fear based approach to acquiring power plays nicely against his twin’s method which is grounded in desire. The opening exchange between the brothers deftly lays the groundwork for Chloe’s later role in taking down Michael. The writers provide a nice twist after Michael makes Lucifer an offer we know the Devil will refuse when he tells his brother that “Chloe will be down there with you.” Wait! What? Okay, you’ve got my attention. And while we understand the Lucifer premise significantly deviates from the familiar biblical account, it’s the shift toward guilt as the primary offense leading to divine damnation that creates a fascinating alternative.

Read more

TV

Lucifer Season 5 Episode 15 Review: Is This Really How It’s Going to End?!

By Dave Vitagliano

TV

Lucifer Season 5 Episode 14 Review: Nothing Lasts Forever

By Dave Vitagliano

Season 5B plays heavily on the emotional component, and “A Chance at a Happy Ending” cranks things up several more notches beginning with the scene in Dan’s apartment. While all the characters weather more than their fair share of misery and suffering, it’s Mazikeen who engenders the most empathy as she continues to battle her fear of abandonment and low self-esteem. It’s positively heart wrenching to watch Lesley-Ann Brandt’s riveting performance as Maze sobs uncontrollably while she, Linda, and Amenadiel pack Dan’s things. It’s clearly far more than Dan’s death that troubles her, and to see her naked vulnerability so frequently this season beautifully sets up her eventual reunion with Eve.

On the other end of the spectrum, Linda’s obsession with little Charlie’s intellectual development temporarily takes viewers away from the intensity of the celestial conflict. Amenadiel makes a nice connection between his son’s propensity for falling down and the human inclination to learn through failure, but the scene’s humor lies in Linda’s refusal to hear a word he’s saying. We know she already knows what he’s saying is true, and that’s what makes it so endearing.

Though there’s no lack of complexity among the characters, it’s difficult to ignore that Ella alone remains in the dark about the celestials’ true identities. During her moving conversation with God, she admits that “it’s extra dark right now,” and momentarily questions whether God is even listening to her prayers and pleas for guidance. Of course, the irony here is that her faith remains true despite the chaos in her life and the lives of those she loves. Perhaps in anticipation of the harrowing scenes to come, we hear Ella playfully tease the fact that she’s figured out the truth on her own, and we half expect her to reveal that the feather she’s placed under her microscope actually belonged to an angel. We’re fairly certain she hasn’t and won’t, and her assessment that Lucifer hit an emu with his car sits perfectly in the mix.

Nevertheless, it’s the angelic battle royale that drives the episode, and we know there are dark times ahead when Remiel turns up at the penthouse and collapses dead on the floor. The quest for control of the Flaming Sword continues when detective Decker notices the lack of burn marks on Remi’s fatal wound. They realize Michael’s bluffing about the sword, and we get a nice call back to an earlier episode and the necklace which comprises the final missing piece. 

I’m still not a fan of employing identical twins as a narrative device, but Lucifer’s confrontation with Michael and TJ gives Chloe and Lucifer a chance to show off their teamwork, hinting at a full reconciliation when this conflict ends. However, it’s Lucifer’s concern for Chloe’s safety in the upcoming fight that allows Amenadiel to utter a line that on its surface appears a bit cheesy. Whether it’s DB Woodside’s heartfelt delivery or the context of the moment, his insight reminds us of one of the season’s more important themes. “You have to risk falling if you want to fly,” he tells Lucifer as the tension mounts over the detective’s perceived vulnerability against Michael and the other siblings. Perfectly timed, Mazikeen appears and hands Chloe a blade. “You can have stabby.” It’s just a wonderful scene because we know how much pain Maze endures and finds it so difficult to come to terms with her place in Lucifer’s world on Earth, in Hell, and potentially in Heaven.

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There’s no better location than the Los Angeles Coliseum for the angelic throwdown, and the initial standoff between Michael’s formidable army and the three member Team Lucifer combines a sense of gladiatorial combat with a little West Side Story vibe thrown in for good measure. The plot twists keep on coming as Lucifer, Amenadiel, and Chloe stall for time, but it’s the electric entrance of Maze and Eve with their jump suited demon army that instantly alters the balance of power and gives hope that Maze might finally get the happy ending she craves and deserves. Melting down Maze’s demon blade to make angel killing bullets is simply classic.

Ordinarily, we’d be fairly certain that one of the show’s leads is not going to die with another full season still to be aired, but this is Lucifer, and the opportunity to shift the narrative to the afterlife inherently looms as a possibility. The well executed action sequence between Michael and the Flaming Sword and Lucifer and Zadkiel’s staff sets up the devastating conclusion to this brotherly squabble. Now broken in two pieces, the staff becomes a murder weapon, and it’s up to the dying Chloe to convince Lucifer he’s not responsible for her death. On the surface it seems she’s concerned that he won’t go to Heaven if he’s wracked with guilt over her death, but we know that he can’t go to Heaven as a result of the failed rebellion. Still, it sets up the first of several highly emotional scenes.

We know immediately that Chloe’s in Heaven with her father, and it’s a nice touch that they’re both approximately the same age, allowing a chance to connect on a fairly equal level. She’s clearly let go of any guilt she had regarding Dan’s death, but when Lucifer crashes to the ground and meets Lee, we’re momentarily thrown for a bit of a loop. Yes, that’s an awkward nod to Lee’s prior Hell loop. Lee’s sweater tips us off that this is not Hell which then begs the question – how does Lucifer successfully make it to Heaven? The twists keep coming yet feel natural and make perfect narrative sense. Lilith’s ring protects him but with a caveat – his time in Heaven is limited. Nevertheless, it’s Lee’s appearance that provides an opening for the happy ending we so desire for Lucifer and Chloe. Am I the only one surprised that there were no “happy ending” jokes in the episode?

It’s easy to feel empathy toward Lee each time he appears on Lucifer’s radar, but here, the small-time criminal not only helps the Devil find Chloe, but sends the message that even Lucifer can have a second chance at happiness. Is there something other than God’s banishment that keeps him out of Heaven? Is another hand calling the shots here, and if so, we know who that will likely turn out to be. Lucifer realizes the ring doesn’t have enough power to return both him and Chloe to Earth, and he makes his choice. “The world still needs you, Chloe Decker,” he tells her, making what he thinks is the ultimate sacrifice. We’ve waited a long time to hear Lucifer utter the words we’ve known he was capable of speaking and are not disappointed.

Back on Earth, the celestial war still rages, with one status change – Chloe’s alive and possesses physical powers she didn’t have before her brief stay in Heaven. It’s only fitting she beats the crap out of Michael, and just as it appears she’s willing to kill him, Lucifer flies to Earth to stop her. It’s a wonderful role reversal that allows Lucifer to put his stamp on how things will be moving forward. “Everyone deserves a second chance,” he tells his twin after severing his wings rather than his head. But what makes this magnificent scene even greater than the sum of its parts is Lucifer’s delayed reaction to what’s just transpired.

Arguably the series’ most poignant scene gradually unfolds as the enormity of the situation strikes Lucifer and the celestials. Even he doesn’t understand how it happened, but it seems pretty clear that the Devil has made a 360 and holds the Flaming Sword aloft as the others acknowledge his new standing by bending the knee before him. The highly emotional scene puts an exclamation point on an outcome that once appears all but impossible. 

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There’s no word yet regarding a return date for its sixth and final season, but Lucifer already exists as a television anomaly. Not many series get cancelled by one network only to be given a second chance, and the graphic novel based drama continues to defy the odds on so many levels. Looking back it’s clear that “A Chance at a Happy Ending” brilliantly closes one chapter of Lucifer’s journey while forging a path for unexplored narrative territory. The Devil becomes God. Now what?

Lucifer season 5 is available to stream on Netflix now.

The post Lucifer Season 5 Episode 16 Review: A Chance at a Happy Ending appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3fXN3DI

[serendipitykpop]

face masks

Pairing: nct dream x reader

Summary: “I feel like a new man because of the face mask.”

doing stuff with the dreamies masterpost

I hum along to the Dreamies’ new album, dancing and jumping around my living room. I’m the only one home for the night which gives me the opportunity to blast the boys’ songs without someone throwing something at me to shut up. I turn up the sound, nodding to the beat.

“The boys did so amazing this album, I’m so proud of them!” I squeal, walking off to the bathroom. I rummage through my cabinets, finding the face mask I wanted before putting it on and laughing at how I looked. I set up the timer and walk back downstairs.

“I wonder if the-” I was cut off by the sound of the doorbell going off. I grin and race to the door. “Pizza’s here-”

“Hi!”

My shoulders sag when I find it to be the Dreamies instead of my delicious pizza. I groan and run my hand down my face.

“What kind of greeting is that?” Haechan scoffs and I stick my tongue out at him.

“What do you boys want?”

“Why do you look like that?” Renjun asks as Chenle and Jisung turn away, giggling. I raise an eyebrow.

“What do you mean-oh, my face mask-”

“HEY, YOU SAID WE WOULD DO THAT TOGETHER WHEN WE WERE OVER,” Jaemin exclaims and pouts.

“Well no, that was you-”

“The betrayal,” Jeno sighs and crosses his arms.

“I didn’t really betray-”

“You’re no longer our best friend, we need to find another one,” Haechan says, nodding and crossing his arms.

“I mean if you want-”

“Let’s go, we need to set out to find another one before it gets dark,” Jisung says.

“If you insist,” I say, closing the door when they start to walk away. That was until they’re all yelling for me to open up as they rush back to keep it from closing. I sigh and open it, making them cheer in triumph.

“We’re coming in,” Renjun says as the Dreamies nod and follow after him. I gape at them before sighing and shutting the door behind me. They watch as I walk into the living room. I raise an eyebrow and they blink. “Well, why are you boys here at this hour?”

“You seem to misunderstand the concept of time,” Haechan says.

“It’s only seven,” Jeno says.

“You’re like an old person,” Jisung says, making Chenle laugh with him. I roll my eyes and cross my arms.

“We were bored,” Mark says.

“Again?”

“Again and that’s why we came to see our best friend,” Jaemin says.

“But it seems our dearest best friend didn’t want to see us,” Chenle says and sticks his tongue out.

“It was just a surprise to see you at the door.”

“Were you expecting to see someone else?” Haechan asks, wiggling his eyebrows. The boys smirk and cheer due to the fact I finally found someone. I shake my head and cross my arms.

“I was looking forward to my pizza when I received you instead which is a major bummer.”

“Hey!”

“We did tell you we’d come again soon,” Renjun says.

“It was too soon.”

“It seems like you were in the middle of something?” Mark observes, pointing to my face. I nod and put a finger on my covered cheek.

“Face mask.”

“Which you said we would do together,” Jaemin says.

“Again, I didn’t-”

“Where are the rest of them? They must be in the bathroom, right?” Renjun asks. They all nod, following after him to the same bathroom they went to last time. I groan and run after them, trying to stop them from ruining the place. I push them away and grab the face masks from the cabinet.

“I’ll do them for you, line up by age,” I say and they do just that.

“THIS FEELS COLD,” Jisung exclaims and giggles with Chenle. The boys touch their covered faces, pointing and teasing one another because of how they looked. I roll my eyes and grin at how easily entertained they can be by the simplest things.

“I’m exfoliating,” Mark grins and pats his face, making everyone laugh. I roll my eyes and smile. The doorbell goes off and the boys push past me, racing towards the door. I sigh and follow after them. I find the poor pizza boy standing there confused with them bothering him for the pizza.

“You ordered pizza and didn’t invite us?” Jeno asks, turning around and I shrug.

“You’re here now, aren’t you?” I scoff and push through them to pay. The delivery boy nods and walks off with the money, probably relieved he didn’t have to deal with the seven hyperactive boys. I shut the door and carry the pizza to the living room, placing it on the coffee table.

“I can’t believe you didn’t invite us for pizza,” Renjun says, shaking his head.

“I didn’t really need to when I knew you would invite yourselves over.”

“That’s not true,” Jisung trails off and I raise an eyebrow.

“Really? Because as I recall, you boys are always coming over to bother me whenever you’re bored.”

“You’re always free.”

“I have a life too, you know?” I pout and take a bite out of my slice.

“But you’re never doing anything when we come over,” Jeno says as they begin to stuff the pizza into their mouths.

“That’s because I just finished what I was doing.”

“Your excuses are very lame, you know?” Jaemin says and laughs. I stick my tongue out at him and he smiles.

“Be careful of your face masks,” I say.

“I can’t open my mouth, it’ll ruin the face mask,” Chenle says and I shake my head.

“Just eat, it’s pizza.”

“It’s so good,” Mark grins, finishing his slice and getting another one. Everyone nods, agreeing.

“You boys did really good on your new album.”

“I know, it’s fantastic,” Haechan grins proudly.

“For once, I can agree with you,” I say and fist bump him.

“Do you have a favorite?” Jeno asks.

“No, I love all of the songs too much to pick. In fact, I was blasting it earlier.”

“We know, we heard.” They giggle.

“Ah, right,” I say and blush. “But really, you boys truly are talented.”

“Aw, you’ve gone soft for us,” Chenle coos as they engulf me in a group hug. I sigh and continue eating while they’re screeching about how happy they are. I giggle, finding my boys to be adorable. We mess around and eat, waiting for our timers to go off.

“Is it done yet?” Chenle asks, sprawling his body on my floor. I hum and check the time, shaking my head.

“How much longer?” Jaemin whines, laying a few feet away from Chenle.

“When it’s done.”

“What an answer,” Renjun says and I shrug.

“It’s an answer, isn’t it?”

“Can we take these off now?” Haechan asks, poking his mask.

I let out a deep sigh. “I suppose if you boys really want to take it off, we can. It’s only a few-”

The boys dash out of where they were to the bathroom. As I reach it, the boys crowd around the mirror, shoving each other to see. I roll my eyes and they immediately line up. I look at them wide eyed.

“Chill.”

“I am ready to have perfect skin,” Jisung says.

“You boys have perfect looking skin anyway.”

I line them up, taking them off for them as they giggle throughout the whole thing. “Now, wash off your faces.”

“I FEEL REFRESHED,” Chenle exclaims and pats his cheeks.

“Smooth like a baby’s bottom,” Haechan says and grins, rubbing his cheeks.

“I feel like a new man,” Jisung says and grins at himself in the mirror.

“I exfoliated correctly and I feel great,” Mark grins.

“I feel more awake,” Jeno says.

“This is so fun, doing things with you!” Renjun says.

“Mark, am I dateable now?” Haechan asks, turning to the older boy. He stares at him before shaking his head.

“Stop.”

“We should have cucumbers next time to get the whole experience,” Jaemin says and I scoff.

“What, am I spa now?”

“Well, you seem to have everything,” Mark says.

“I don’t have an answer for that,” I sigh and rub my temple. “You boys cause me stress.”

“What do you mean? We’re angels who are very lovely to be around,” Haechan grins.

“Angels? Okay, tell that to my many strands of gray hair.”

“It must be the older members who stress you out, we could never do a thing,” Jaemin winks.

“No, it’s definitely you.”

“You sit on a throne of lies.”

[aresaphrodites]

the night’s on fire chapter one

Summary: 

"the scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls." -edgar allen poe

Lies. Betrayal. Star-crossed lovers. Hope. Dreams. Tragedy. Betty Cooper is tasked with taking down Jughead Jones and the throne he sits upon. Nothing is ever that simple though and Betty soon finds herself in the middle of his world as she learns that not everything is always black and white.

Here we go, guys! :)

A few things before we start. This is a mafia au so Jughead is going to have his dark moments. I want him to be pretty ruthless since that's kind of what his entire character is here. This means that he'll be involved in the occasional murder, torture, and illegal crime activity. That being said, he will NEVER be abusive towards Betty. I just want to clear that before anyone asks or assumes or anything. He's a mean man but there's only person he'll adore above all else and that's Betty. However, he is going to be pretty rude and uncaring towards her in the beginning because that's just his attitude. It'll change.

I've been doing a little research so here's some vocab for you guys! The Boss (FP): Head of the entire organization and has the power to order anything from anyone in the organization. Think CEO of a business. Most Bosses of the Mafia are Multi-Millionaires or Multi-Billionaires, and are incredibly powerful, influential, extremely dangerous, and universally feared. Underboss (Jughead): Second in command in the hierarchy of the Mafia crime family. Groomed to become the eventual Boss. Capo (Reggie): In charge of the soldiers, can order them to do anything like murder, assault, witness intimidation, picking up cash, deliveries, etc. He is ranked high up in the Mafia hierarchy and takes care of most of the money. Solider (Joaquin + OC's): Grunts of the organization who do the majority of the work such as murder, assault, picking up cash, deliveries, etc etc.

In this story there will be mentions of drugs, prostition, and other illegal crime activity. I'll put warnings in each chapter for whatever is happening in that specific chapter.

In this chapter: Drug mention.

Thank you to @itstenafterfour for looking this over. Can't wait to work on this new story with you!

The title is from Hurricane by Thirty Seconds to Mars which this fic is loosely based off of.

That being said, I hope you enjoy!

The man screams out. They always scream during their last moments. Jughead wonders if maybe they scream because they know, no matter what they say after this point, there’s no going back. He isn’t going to let them live, he’s not going to let them “call their family for one last goodbye”. He’s not going to let them do any of it.

“Shut up,” he says nonchalantly as he drags the blade of his favorite knife across the man’s chest. “You knew this would come,” he tells the man, Jonathan, with a disappointed look. “I just need to know, when you decided to doublecross me, what did you think was going to happen? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think I’d let it go because of all the times you ‘were there for me’?” Before he can answer, Jughead takes the knife and jams it into Jonathan's leg. He screams and Jughead smiles sinisterly at him. He’s always loved whenever they scream; it’s his favorite part of all of this.

He twists the knife around, smiling wider with every yell and cry the man lets out.

His father had told him once when he was younger that he would grow up to be soft and sensitive; weak. At the time it might have been true. There was a point in his life whenever he was weak, when he was soft. As a child, he didn’t understand his father’s job and he didn’t want to. That changed as he got older, as he learned the truth behind the family business. His love for the family grew just as his need to please his father did. Imagine his dad’s surprise when he learned his son harbored a bigger bloodlust than he ever did. FP Jones was respected and he was feared, but not like Jughead Jones was feared.

“I have to make a message out of you,” Jughead sighs. “Which is incredibly unfortunate. You were one of my best men. If only you weren’t such an idiot.” He stands up straight, no longer leaning over Jonathan and pulls his knife out of the man’s leg, causing him to breathe in harshly through his nose.

“Fuck you,” Jonathan spits at him. Jughead just clicks his tongue at him before turning over to Reggie Mantle, his second in command.

Reggie stands in the corner of the room like he always does; tall, detached, and ready to comply. He doesn’t move a muscle until Jughead tells him to.

“Kill him,” Jughead instructs. “And make it good.”

Only then does Reggie move; smirking at his instructions as he walks forward towards Jonathan. Reggie’s just as ruthless as Jughead is and it’s the reason the two work together so perfectly. Jughead would be nothing without his partner.

He walks out of the room. He doesn’t care to see this part. Reggie will torture him a little bit before one big finale, usually a bullet between the middle of this eyes, and then he’ll get rid of the body and that will be that. Jughead’s used to it. He used to enjoy doing the killing himself, but now he was over it. If he had someone who could do the dirty work for him, why did he need to bother at all?

He leaves the basement and walks up the stairs back to the parlor. Joaquin DeSantos is sitting in one of the red leather chairs, legs crossed and looking all too relaxed. Joaquin was a kid, only twenty years old, but Jughead’s dad had taken him in when he was about ten years old. His parent’s had been deadbeats and if it weren’t for FP, he’d probably be dead. Joaquin was loyal and he was fierce, Jughead thought of him as a brother, but he was also careless. Jughead would see the way his eyes would wander when they were out in public; how they’d linger a little too long on the people his age that were out having fun, going to college, working normal jobs. Joaquin was a good soldier, but his heart wasn’t in it; not like Jughead and Reggie’s were.

“Bored?” He asks, startling the younger boy. “Should have helped Reggie out downstairs.” In all honesty, it should have been Joaquin doing the killing and not Reggie, since Reggie was a capo but they both knew that he didn’t have the heart or strength to do it. Joaquin was good for deliveries, picking up cash, the occasional assault, but not murder.

“I’m not bored,” the blue eyed boy bit back. That was another thing; the kid had an attitude. If he hadn’t been brought up as Jughead’s younger brother; Jughead probably would have beat the shit out of him long ago. He didn’t respect anyone unless it was FP and Jughead was getting real tired of it. “I’m just sick of sitting here and playing watchdog. It’s not like anyone’s going to barge in and ask where that douchebag went.”

He has a point. Even if someone did care about where Jonathan Ruiz went, they weren’t ever going to find him. Jughead lived in a mansion that was so far from civilization, it was nearly off the grid. It wasn’t exactly convenient, but it was necessary. He couldn’t have anyone trying to trail him. His father had been the one to talk him out of buying a luxurious apartment on the Upper East Side of New York and Jughead was thankful for it. There’s no way he’d be able to get away with murder, or any of this, in an apartment.

“Fine, you want something to do?” Joaquin’s eyes light up at the question and now he looks at Jughead with excitement instead of disdain. “I need you to go to Toni’s and pick up this week’s logs.”

Joaquin nods eagerly and is out of the parlor before Jughead can say anything else.

Toni Topaz is one of their associates, but she’s a hell of a lot more than that to Jughead. She’s one of his closest friends, probably the closest. She’s been in his life ever since she had beat the shit out of some pudgy kid for stealing his pudding on the first day of kindergarten. True friendships are forged over violence, he thought jokingly.

Jughead’s dad hadn’t been happy that his son had cried in front of everyone and had to rely on a girl to help him out, but Toni hadn’t judged him at all; not even when FP had yelled at his son and hit him over the head for making him come to the school over something so childish. It was the last time Jughead ever made that mistake.

Toni stuck up for him after that and then, when they got older, Jughead stuck up for her. The two were thicker than thieves and got into more trouble than they could handle growing up. After his mother up and left, taking his younger sister with her, Jughead spent a lot of time experimenting with hard drugs and partying more than his body could take. It had been Toni that had saved him from his own death one night when he went too far and he owed her his entire life.

FP had taken a liking to the strong willed girl and Jughead knew that she was the daughter he wished he could have. After Jellybean left with his mom, she cut off all ties with Jughead and his father. It had hurt FP just as much as it had hurt him, probably more, and Jughead knew that his dad never really recovered from it.

All in all, Toni was like family to them. Which was why she had offered to help them out as much as she could once she found out just how the Jones’ made all their money. She owned an mechanic shop out in Queens and had let a few of Jughead’s guys use it as a cover for a job. Jughead and Reggie owned a huge nightclub in New York City so they were covered. As for the other guys, as long as they kept up with the logs at Toni’s, it seemed like they were making a living doing honest work and there was no reason to suspect them of anything; and if anyone caught wind of it, there was no evidence to back it up.

There’s the loud bang of a gun and then the sound of a body hitting the ground and then nothing. Jughead stands and waits until he hears the sound of Reggie’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

“That guy fucking bled everywhere,” Reggie says in disgust. “Look at me!” Jughead turns around and sure enough, Reggie is coated in blood. It’s all over his clothes and his face.

“You better not get that shit on my floor, man! Why are you even up here? Get back down there and get his body out of the basement before he stinks up the entire house.”

Reggie just rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t step onto Jughead’s carpet so at least there’s that.

“Where the fuck is Junior?” Junior is what Reggie refers to Joaquin as, deeming him the younger version of Jughead.

“Out to Toni’s, we need to make sure the logs are good to go for this month.”

“Then get Reid and Michael down here,” Reggie tells him, referring to the other soldiers. “I’m not cleaning up this shit.”

Jughead goes off  in search of the two kids. He’s not as surprised as he should be when he finds them hanging out by the bar in the living room. Reid’s mixing drinks while Michael cuts up lines of cocaine. Jughead doesn’t mess with drugs anymore, but he’s not going to stop them from doing them. He can’t help the way his fingers twitch at the sight of the substance, though.

“Go help Reggie get rid of Ruiz’s body,” he tells the two kids. They jump in surprise at his voice and are quick to scramble themselves together before running off towards the parlor. He’s used to his presence scaring people and while it used to make him sad, now he lives off of it.

He decides that he’s done for the day and heads up the huge spiral case in the foyer, to his bedroom. It’s been a long day and he deserves a shower. He has a bit of blood on his hands, literally, and it’s starting to gross him out a bit.

He strips himself of all his clothes before turning the showerhead to its hottest setting and stepping under the water. It feels good against his skin as it releases the tension that’s been building up in his body. He’s quick to shampoo his hair before he begins to run his black loofa over his body. He’d never used a loofa before but Reggie swore it was life changing so he’d finally given in. It sure made shit easier that’s for damn sure.

After he’s done with the shower, he dries off and slips into a pair of sweats with a plain black t-shirt. As much as he wishes he could just go to bed, he knows he can’t just yet. He needs to make sure the logs are in order with Toni and then he needs to call his dad and fill him in on everything that happened today. He doesn’t know how he’ll take it. Jughead might be in charge while his dad is out of town, but FP still ran everything for now. Jughead’s supposed to run stuff like this by him, but he acted impulsively on this one. He couldn’t help it, though. Jonathan had disrespected him and the family in the worst way possible. Jughead had to teach him a lesson. You didn’t screw around on the Jones’ family and live to tell about it, especially not while Jughead was running shit. He didn’t regret a single thing he did today, but he knew he probably should have checked in with the Boss first.

He walks downstairs and sees that Joaquin is already back. However, he looks panicked and Reggie is glaring down at him. Jughead already knows that whatever happened at Toni’s wasn’t good.

“What?” He asks as soon as he gets in front of them. “Tell me what happened.”

“Don’t freak out,” Joaquin says and Reggis snorts and mutters a ‘yeah right’ under his breath. “Toni couldn’t give me the logs.”

“Why the fuck not?” Jughead snaps, his patience growing thin.

Joaquin mumbles something under his breath and Jughead leans down.

“What was that?” He asks. “I didn’t hear that. Speak up.”

“Thecopshavethem.”

The words come out quickly and jumbled together, but Jughead’s still able to understand them. Although he wishes he didn’t. He clenches his fists, trying not to lash out at the kid.

“Excuse me?”

“Speak up, Junior,” Reggie says, although he’s smirking so Jughead knows that he’d known about this beforehand.

“The cops have them,” he says louder and Jughead has to refrain from hitting something.

“Why the fuck do the cops have the logs?”

“Toni said that they started sniffing around a while back but she didn’t think anything of it, because it’s not like they had anything to go off of. Seems like not everyone was logging in their work hours though and the cops started looking at work hours versus pay grade and said it didn’t match up. She thinks they’ve been looking at us for a while now, ever since the drug deal in Brooklyn.”

Fucking Brooklyn. Reggie and one of the new guys, Mario, were supposed to go pick up some drugs from the Andrews’ clan. The Jones’ hardly ever did work with the Andrews’, too much bad blood between the families, but this one was a dire need for them. Everything was going good until it turned out that one of Andrews’ men was really a fucking nark. Reggie had the kid dead before he could even reach for his phone to call the cops.

They had gotten rid of the body, but it didn’t help that the guy wore a fucking wire so he knew everything that was going on and so did whoever his superiors were. They hadn’t caught them in the act though, so they didn’t have a case. Apparently they had enough though.

“I thought you took care of that,” Jughead says with a pointed glare at Reggie.

“Don’t look at me! It’s not my fault that Andrews’ men had a fucking nark on their side. Guess we should have known, huh?”

Jughead runs his hands over his face in frustration. In all honesty, this isn’t really that big of a deal. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s had their eye on them, but it’s always a fucking hassle to deal with. It’s something that he shouldn’t have to deal with at all.

“Do we know which cop it was?”

“Keller.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. Kevin Keller has been a thorn in his side for as long as he can remember. Before him, it was his father that was always giving them trouble. Apple didn’t fall too far from the tree it seemed.

“I can take care of Keller,” Jughead says. He’s a soft cop. He wants to be on top, wants to prove to the world that he’s not as soft as he looks, but it’s a front. The kid isn’t a problem; he’s hardly a worry at all. “Anything else you wanna tell me?”

“That’s it.”

Jughead nods before walking off.

“Where you going?” Reggie calls out to his retreating back.

“To fucking sleep!”

His mood has diminished and he needs his bed. The world can wait.