#(well one was written out of spite because the commenter wanted a certain pairing i do not fucking ship)

[stickers-on-a-laptop]

if you're gonna leave comments about fics you wish i'd write, i suggest you just write it yourself because if i don't have prompts open then it means i'm not writing prompts!!!!

[reconstructwriter]

Twenty Fanfic Writer Questions

Thank you @charmwasjess for tagging me, I feel so loved - spreading the love @panther-os, @s-c-g-s-c-g, @ankahikoibaat

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 

Twenty four. Huh. I need to import more of my stuff from fanfiction.net

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 

How do I find this out… ohh statistics sounds handy. 265k

3. What fandoms do you write for? 

Currently Star Wars, I've also written for Order of the Stick, Percy Jackson, Final Fantasy 7 and Danny Phantom

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Underestimated, Standing Above the Blood, May the Force be Taxed, A Supreme Chancellor to Kill, A Phantom Christmas Carol.

5. Do you respond to comments? 

ohh yes, responding to comments is a reward, one I let myself have once I've gotten the next chapter of the story ready. This motivates me to get a chapter ready for posting faster!

but I usually write out my thoughts first in anticipation of getting to post them

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? 

So far: ‘Yet Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves’. A suicide fic starring a Sith Apprentice who has a Dooku-inspired Sith Master so its toxic relationships: the Fic. I went with non-romantic flower disease in this for extra toxicity plot and while the ending isn’t totally tragic because its implied (1) person lives that’s it.

However ‘Will the Wolf Survive’ may well outstrip it if I go with my knife-twister!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? 

Probably Palpatine’s Jedi Holiday. It starts and ends with a holiday and Palpatine is exposed as a Sith in one of the more humiliating ways possible.

8. Do you get hate on fics? 

Yes, the Anakin/Consequences fics I’ve written involving the Tusken Massacre have gotten a certain subset of fans whining about Anakin being characterized as a whiny asshole and/or defending his genocide of an entire tribe down to the babes in arms and their Space-puppies.

I’m salty about it but I’ve managed to hammer out a few chapters running purely on spite.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? 

Eh, I’m ace/aro and on the indifferent/repulsed side of the spectrum so in the rare case when I’m writing romance that leads to sexytimes I tend to dance around the actual physical acts, generally going for M rated instead of E rated.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? 

I’ve read them more than written them but I love crossovers. My craziest published one is over on fanfiction.net: Dresden Files x Predator Series featuring the titular protagonist facing off against a Predator out to hunt down the mythical ‘human wizard’.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

Nope, though that’s a Writer Goal ™

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

Nope, though I might not mind later on.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? 

This is cruel making me pick just one. I tend to go for vibes on a ship more than specific pairings – foe-yay + hurt/comfort – so if the pairing fits the vibes I’m fine with just about any if at least one is a blorbo. Hypothetically Jaster Mereel/Ferus Olin pairing with those vibes would probably be my greatest wish. Rex/A’Sharad Hett and Jaster/Feemor are very close runners up.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? 

My strength is finishing posted WIPs. I’ve yet to post anything and later abandoning it (yet). However on the flip-side my hard drive is stuffed with WIPs from many a fandom where my interest has waned. They will likely never see the light of day.

16. What are your writing strengths? 

Sheer determination. I can consistently word vomit thousands of words/a dozen pages of work every day (don't tell corporate) and usually have at least a finished rough draft of a story before I post. If not, come hell or high water I will finish my posted WIPs.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Focus. Often those thousands of words are on an unrelated project or ten. Also sometimes what I mean in writing is perfectly obvious to me but not to the reader, resulting in occasional misunderstandings.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? 

I'm also gonna go with: does sign language count? I find it interesting and I read this post about this one show with lots of characters who sign and how their signing shows their characterization – I grabbed ahold of that idea and ran with it!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Justice League, Back in the olden days when the animated series was out and my biggest obsession and I hadn’t found fanfiction.net or ao3. Was ao3 around?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? 

of all time…that’s hard but narrowly May the Force be Taxed! I actually got to do the thing where I use my real-world work knowledge and experience for a realistic fanfic. I based the Galactic Republic Tax Law on US Tax Law, Palpatine’s move to change tax law in the middle of tax season is based on President Biden doing the same thing (though of course Palpatine’s decision was considerably more assholish for all parties involved), etc.

It was such fun to write and so relieving – since I wrote this during tax season I got to take out a lot of stress from irl clientele, co-workers and stupid politicians/bankers who really should know better and insert it in this fic. Qui Gon being a terrible record-keeper, Darth Sidious having not nearly enough clues about how taxes worked and the IRS auditors were definitely not my co-workers…

Plus I got to give Palpatine and the Sith in general a fitting fate in the form of a tax bill with nigh-unending zeros that they and anyone else in any way affiliated with the Sith is charged with. The Sith Order Dies because no one is willing to get near the Galaxy’s largest tax bill!

[seacottons]

—ateez as boyfriends [ domestic au ]

notes: swearing. suggestive dialogue. fluff. i blame a certain someone for this, not gonna say who. @kireiwoo

— hongjoong

very caring and attentive towards you

so much so, that even his friends have complained how it isn't fair he doesn't scold you like the way he does to them

he enjoys many activities with you, such as

helping him dye his hair an ungodly color every other month

he'll insist you try experimenting with your own tresses

but you only have the courage to dye the very ends of your strands

"i don't think i can pull off that color as well as you do," you'd say.

"that's a load of bull. you'll suit every hair color."

you'll just roll your eyes playfully at his biased behavior.

other activities include getting tiny matching tattoos together.

the tiny flower and butterfly on your wrists was most likely your favorite due to its simplicity in design and the meaning behind it as well.

spontaneous dates are his favorite.

behind closed doors, he loves to constantly shower you with pecks and smooches.

often gets teased by his friends from how whipped he is for you.

randomly books vacations for you two to relax and unwind every so often.

although he enjoys it, he is a big, tired baby when it comes to traveling

always wanting to lean his head against your shoulder

or cuddling you close for warmth due to the airport's air conditioners blasting frigid air.

has written many songs about you

and when he's finally ready, he'll not only ask you to listen to them, but to also spend the rest of your life with him and share his last name as well.

— seonghwa

constant pet names

"darling."

"the sun to my stars."

"the moon to my sun."

"love of my life."

you like to call him mars, mostly.

but he revels when you call him 'twinkle eyes' for some reason.

has a habit of pulling you into his lap.

you'll subconsciously play with the strands of his hair as he does so, him being too distracted bickering with his friends to realize sometimes.

will always give you pleading looks whenever wooyoung or san tease him.

sometimes, you walk in to find wooyoung settling onto your boyfriend's back while he greedily devours the bowl of popcorn entirely by himself.

or other times when both wooyoung and san constrict his limbs with their arms whenever you're near.

"y/n can't save you now, so cut the whining."

you'll only sigh and shake your head in amusement.

"what are you guys doing to my poor boyfriend?"

"he changed the movie we were watching without our permission!"

"because i have no damn clue what's going on, and harry potter is too confusing!"

coffee dates.

loves to sleep with you tucked against his chest.

always has an arm draped around your frame.

butterfly kisses on your neck.

soft touches against the small of your back and waist.

his favorite pastime with you would be stargazing.

"baby, look. it's me, mars-io," he'd say whilst pointing up to the large, bright star in the night sky.

when it's too cloudy outside, or when the weather isn't forgiving, he'll turn on the indoor star projector he bought so the two of you can stargaze in the comfort of your own bed.

— yunho

is the epitome of romantic.

is constantly smothering you in love and affection.

always has heart eyes and admiration in his eyes at whatever small task you do or say.

rant about an ancient dynasty?

heart eyes.

bombard him with useless information about a certain abandoned island.

heart eyes.

gush about the new cute bakery that recently opened up?

heart eyes.

if you had a money jar for every time he says 'i love you', you'd have enough money to buy a plane ticket or two.

always willing to drop everything to help you with whatever it is you need.

will wake up in the middle of the night when you text him to ask if he's awake or not.

willingly stays up to keep you company.

but sometimes, when he's too tired, he'll knock out accidentally and profusely apologize to you in the morning.

very supportive of your life choices.

hates seeing you cry because it makes him want to bawl his eyes out as well.

his hugs are bone-crushing.

but he is a gentle giant nonetheless.

likes to attempt to bake pastries with you.

half of the time, the goods either turn out undercooked or burnt.

"they have love in them, that's all that matters."

will always insist that you can rant to him about anything and everything.

you've never felt so valued in your life before meeting him.

is the most understanding human being you've ever gotten the pleasure of knowing.

"i wish we were vampires," he says one day.

you give him an amused look, lips outstretched into a smile, "why, silly?"

"so we can spend an eternity together."

— yeosang

his heart flutters when you notice the smallest things he does.

it makes him feel appreciated and acknowledged.

like when he changes up his hairstyle or earrings.

or when he wears a new sweater.

a big, big softie when it comes to you.

can and will want to spend all day in your arms on his days off.

quick witted and has a knack for noticing the tiniest detail.

very shy and awkward at first.

but when he gets more comfortable as time passes on, you won't be safe from his snarky little comments anymore.

will constantly bring up the thing you said or did months ago to prove a point.

"oh, you like this flavor? three months ago you told me it tasted like vomit."

"remember that time you woke up in a rush to get to work thinking you were late, only for me to drag you back inside because it was three in the fucking morning?"

you stop mid-chew and peer up from your plate of rice.

"your point, yeosang?"

"oh, nothing this time. i just wanted to tease you."

is the type to have a mid-life crisis when you can't decide on a restaurant.

"but i don't want to eat at the chicken place again," you'll whine.

"it's been thirty minutes, and you still haven't decided what you want!"

"you're rushing me!"

"y/n! just pick!"

loves to cuddle with you, especially in the colder months.

wraps a blanket around your frame and tugs you in closer against his chest.

pretends not to understand your jokes just to spite and tease you.

loves when you cling onto him.

his favorite pastime with you would be just walking around together at night and trying out different types of street food.

or even visiting any of the local beaches for a relaxing walk together.

— san

persistently keen about whenever you feel upset or down.

he reads you better than any open book.

sometimes, it scares you, but you appreciate how he's always so eagle-eyed about your behavior.

loves to hug your head.

you allow wooyoung to crash some of your dates with san sometimes.

other times, san will whine and tell him to go find his own date.

"if y/n accepted you as a boyfriend, then you should've disclosed that i'm part of the deal as well. buy one get one free."

"as what exactly?"

"the hot, clingy best friend."

will take numerous duck-faced selfies of himself because you think they're cute.

often times, he'll ask you to mirror his expression, only for him to press his lips against yours a second before his phone snaps the picture.

likes when you kiss his dimple.

"y/n! it looks like a crater from the amount of times you've kissed it."

he likes to tease you.

a lot.

touchy.

very touchy.

always has an arm around you.

rests his chin against your shoulders.

playfully smacks your rear when you're sassy with him.

or leans in to hold your jaw whilst whispering teasing words into your ear that has you becoming docile and bothered in mere seconds.

has you wrapped around his finger as much as you have him wrapped around your own.

likes to have weekly picnics with you at the park and admires all the dogs running about.

"i should bring byeol next week. maybe she'll like to play fetch too."

"i don't think that's a good idea.."

you often find him fast asleep holding onto a plushie for dear life whenever you're away.

you'll pull it away from his arms, causing him to stir awake groggily.

he'll stare in confusion as you throw the plushie aside, before pulling you in tighter as you wriggle into his arms.

"you're softer than shiber," he'll mumble sleepily against the crown of your head.

— mingi

mingi is sometimes self-conscious around the public eye and others, but when it comes to you, those layers of fear and insecurity get stripped away instantly.

doesn't mind being vulnerable with you.

he craves affection, adores it even, but is insecure about not being able to return it well enough for his liking.

likes when you give him attention.

easily gets jealous when someone else grabs your interest.

reassuring him 24/7.

"yes, mingi. you're the love of my life."

kissing his pouting lips for good measure.

the smallest of gestures has him a blushing mess.

even holding hands in public.

when he's not being a sentimental sap, he'll like teasing you lovingly.

"wow, you have this many photos of me in your phone?"

you'll scrutinize him in confusion.

"are you that obsessed with me, y/n?"

"mingi! you told me to take half of those photos of you!"

"oh, right. i forgot."

a silence weighs down onto the two of you.

"but would you have taken them if i never asked you to?"

constantly laughs about the things you say, although you don't think you're that funny.

always seeks your approval subconsciously.

will always shield you from the rain, playfully yelling at the droplets sometimes.

"you can't make y/n wet! only i can!"

"mingi! we are in public!"

wanted to go strawberry picking because he saw a celebrity try it out on instagram live.

accidentally steps on many berries though.

"it's okay, they'll just make another plant. i did them a favor."

brags about you like no tomorrow.

even for the tiniest, minuscule thing.

"oh, i've already tried the brand of ice cream. y/n always buys that for me."

"i don't need to pay all this money for a measly slice of cake. y/n's cakes are much better."

"no, wooyoung. i'm not jealous of your new shoes." he'll lightly pinch the boy's side, "y/n and i have already bought ourselves matching pairs."

"you two are so fucking cheesy, it hurts."

when he's not bragging about you, he's boasting about himself.

but if that's what helps him raise his confidence levels up, you'll gladly sit down hours on end listening to how he has more 'swag' and 'charisma' than all of his older friends combined.

— wooyoung

teases you like his life depends on it.

says you can't get enough of him, when in reality it's the other way around.

but you let him believe whatever he wants.

but deep down he just really gets satisfied with himself if he raises your mood and makes you smile.

especially when you're not having a great day.

uses way too many emojis when texting you.

"wooyoung, why am i saved as as 'clingy bug' on your contacts?"

he'll squawk indignantly and laugh awkwardly for a second.

"who told you this lie!?"

"seonghwa?"

always wants to show off your love in front of his friends.

"no, i don't want my early birthday gift now. wait until the others show up, and do it front of them."

"but why?"

"so everyone can see how much you love me. can you also cry for good measure?"

"absolutely not."

he enjoys the dates you have in his apartment the most.

the ones where he cooks for you and asks for your help, only for him to pester you about over-seasoning or undersalting something.

"okay, fine! we'll just order take out if it tastes that bad," you pout, flinging a small piece of onion on his face.

his head instantly snaps back to eye you judgingly, fist gripping the poor spatula.

"over my dead body."

"so, y/n. how does my plating look?"

"it's beautiful, wooyoung. you've outdone y-"

"what else is beautiful?" he demands, face leaning over the table to give you a knowing grin.

you shove a piece of meat and rice into his mouth, shrugging nonchalantly.

"me."

he deflates at your answer, spluttering pieces of rice onto your face.

"jung wooyoung, you slob!"

— jongho

is the type of boyfriend to stop you in the middle of the road to tie your shoe for you.

very charming and goofy in his own way.

takes pride in himself and his abilities to cater to your every whim and need.

even when you don't ask for his help.

aggressively opens jars for you when you struggle to pry them open.

"no one messes with my y/n."

"you're fussing at a jar of pickled radish, baby."

the type to cling close to you in public in fear of any of the bicyclists or pedestrians bumping into you and harming you in any way.

sometimes acts like you're made of glass.

while it's endearing occasionally, it is a bit suffocating at other times.

doesn't believe you when you say you're tough and don't need protection.

very selfless and willing to help you with anything you need.

never one to shy away from social gatherings with his friends, always pulling you along with him despite you being shy and clingy most of the night.

also a big tease.

when you help him hold down his legs for sit ups, he asks for a smooch.

pulls away from you when you try to kiss him.

and will laugh at your pouting face as he urges you to try once more.

"stop moving, i just want to kiss you!"

after numerous tries, he finally allows you ( you truly think you over-powered him though ) to kiss his cheeks or lips.

he then proceeds to squawk loudly in retaliation and playful disgust.

although he loves teasing you, when the game is flipped the other way, he'll be a shy mess of embarrassment.

"i don't mumble your name in my sleep."

"you always do, silly."

tucked underneath his macho exterior, you know he's prone to criticism and takes it to heart much more than he likes to show and admit.

so, whenever you get the chance, you always fulfill his need to be appreciated, loved, and taken care of.

is utterly and extremely protective of you.

"who just whistled at you?" he grumbles, "i'll break their jaw like an apple, you know i will."

[pale-silver-comb]

So I know absolutely nothing about Leverage except what I've been seeing you post lately and I have to admit you're making it look tempting to watch! Can I ask what are some of your favorite things about the show/reasons you would suggest people watch it? And is there really a poly relationship that is canon?

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I am going to do my best not to just “asdfghkjl” at you and answer coherently.

In a nutshell, Leverage is about 5 people. 4 are criminals (Parker, Hardison, Eliot and Sophie) with different and unique skill-sets and 1 is an ex-insurance investigator (Nate) who, at one point or another in his career, has tracked down (or at least attempted to) the other 4. The whole show is essentially: man reluctantly reforms 4 criminals to use their criminal powers for good and 4 criminals move into man’s life and stubbornly refuse to leave because, goddammit, now they have morals. 

I’ve got a lot of favourite things about the show but the main ones are as follows:

1. Found family. And I’m not talking about loners who come together to fight crime and happen to co-exist to the point where they realise they happen to have found themselves a family. I mean, Nate and Sophie are the Drunk Uncle and Wine Aunt who somehow become Mom and Dad to 3 beautiful criminal children. Mom and Dad love their criminal babies and the kids love them (as well as each other, but we’ll come to that in a moment). You get amazing family moments such as: Mom and Dad packing the kids lunch before sending them out to kick corporate greed’s ass; Mom and Dad giving the kids ridiculously expensive and personal Christmas presents causing their most Grumpy Kid to go very very quiet and soft as he runs off to gleefully play with his new murder toy; the kids interrupting Mom and Dad’s big Movie Style Kiss to ask if they can please keep their new underground layer and huffing and puffing when Dad tells them no.

2. Found family: the OT3 edition. To answer your question, the OT3 is indeed canon, confirmed by the creator. Now, usually, “confirmed by the creator” infuriates me because most of the time it’s a way for a creator to be seen as “progressive” without doing anything to actually be progressive. That isn’t the case here. The OT3 are built up carefully and while it is obvious the creators didn’t originally intend for all 3 of them to become a relationship in the romantic sense, by mid-season 5 we are given a very clear picture of where Parker, Hardison and Eliot are heading in their relationship. There aren’t any kisses at the end to signal this but there are solid marriage vows in not only one but two episodes. (And by marriage vows I mean literal equivalents of marriage vows: “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part”. I’m not even exaggerating). The OT3 also doesn’t need explicit romantic narratives to convey how much they love each other. Their love is laced through the whole show, from the way they teach each other things to the way they respond to each other and work as a unit. The way they fiercely protect and admire each other. Like someone once said, if you need characters to kiss or say I love you to let the audience know they love each other, you are writing them wrong. 

Aside from that, each of the parings in the OT3 are just. Gah. They are so well done, with friendship being the solid basis for them all. The creators never expect the audience to assume anything about them or fill in the gaps. They give us their relationships on screen and reference many things off-screen to show us how these relationships continue to build in between episodes.

Hardison and Parker are a canon couple and date in the show: it’s approached slowly and they are so goddamned sweet. They are basically every fluffy slow-burn trope with a healthy dash of mutual pining in the mix. They are basically that quote “love is patient, love is kind”. (I would like to add their romance never becomes the focus of the show or overrides the importance of any other relationship they have with the other characters, especially Eliot.)

Hardison and Eliot are the Old Married Couple and from day one are already bickering and looking at each other/making comments that are found in every UST fic ever (not to mention Hardison has a very good knack for making Eliot grin like a little kid, when usually he’s basically an Angry Little Chef Man). They argue, they play, and love each other plain as day. 

Parker and Eliot are more subtle but every bit as wonderful. They have an unspoken connection and understand each other on a level no-one else can. Parker and Eliot are not good with giving themselves over to affection for different reasons (and Hardison plays a central role in helping them realise it’s okay to want it and have it- that boy has endless patience) but there is something so beautiful in the way the two of them come together on their own and develop their own special bond that works for them. Parker and Eliot are that trope where the characters don’t need to speak to understand each other perfectly. They just do. Their love language is a lot of the time non-verbal but speaks volumes. (Parker also likes to annoy the hell out of Eliot and Eliot....just.....lets...her. Because he’s soft. The softest, grumpiest boy.) 

I could go into so much depth for each pairing and their dynamics as a 3 but that's for another post.

3. Subverting stereotypes. There is the occasional hiccup in the show regarding stereotypes but ultimately, Leverage gets an A+ when it comes to writing characters and making them 3 dimensional people who are not defined by certain characteristics or events. Nate could so easily fall into the White Man Pain trope where he uses the trauma of losing his kid as a reason as to why he is entitled to act like a dick. Nate is a dick but he doesn’t use his pain to excuse it and I appreciate that. Hardison is a black man who is soft and nurturing. Easily the most empathetic and patient of the group. He’s nerdy, an actual genius, and has the biggest heart of all the characters. Nate is maybe the glue but Hardison is definitely the heart. Media’s usual aggressive, amongst other, racist stereotypes can fuck right off. Parker is canonically autistic (I am sure this was confirmed by one of the creators) and she is not defined by it. It’s not written as some kind of singular personality trait. It’s part of what makes up Parker but it’s only one facet of who she is and not once is her actions, thoughts or feelings treated like a joke. Sometimes people don’t understand why she does and says the things she does but it’s met with patience and fondness over the course of the show. Equally, it’s not met with over-caution. Parker is just Parker. No-one tries to change her. The other nice thing is Hardison, who always makes sure Parker knows she’s amazing because of who she is and not in spite of it. Finally, Sophie is in her 40s. She’s not treated like she’s past her prime. Ever. She’s sexy, smart and never is she pitted against or compared to Parker (who is younger) for anything. Sophie is amazing and there’s never even a conversation of “I may be older but I am still *insert adjective typically associated with younger women here*”. Sophie is possibly the first female character I’ve ever seen who isn’t just unapologetic about her age but has never had to apologise for her age. It’s a non-issue and that’s that. The women on the show are written so well, right down to secondary characters and it’s beyond refreshing.  

4.) It’s just fun. The show has a “monster of the week” type format. Except instead of a ghoul or a ghost, the monster is some corrupt wealthy and powerful individual or organisation. The show draws on real-life individuals to do this and therefore closely parallels real-life people and events. It addresses important political, economical, social and environmental issues while at the same time remaining fun and light-hearted. The characters constantly get the chance to play dress up and by GOD do they have fun with it. You get to watch Eliot beat up bad guys in the most delightful of ways, usually after a witty non-sequitur and with a weapon you’d never think could be a weapon. The dialogue and back and forth between the characters is everything. And finally - my favourite thing- the team can never resist striking a dramatic pose after they’ve taken down the bad guy, making sure the bad guy sees them. I mean, they COULD just walk away, satisfied they’ve taken the person down, but nope. They gotta be dramatic bitches 24/7 and pose like they are models for every single month of this year’s Criminal Calendar.  

5.) Competence Porn. So. Much. Competence Porn.  

Honestly, I could list a thousand reasons for why Leverage is amazing but to list them would to be spoiling so many amazing moments you’d get to discover for the first time on your own if you do choose to watch it. It’s the kind of show you can watch with an eagle-eye and sink your teeth into. But it’s also the kind of show if, you would prefer, put on in the background for something entertaining while you do something else. Each episode is about the job at hand but it’s made up of so many moments between the characters that show how much the creators and writers care about them. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll do whatever it is you do when something Soft and Wonderful happens that makes your heart melt. I am so beyond grateful for Leverage. It’s everything I always wanted in a show. Nearly every show I’ve watched in the past 10 years has disappointed me in some way, usually either because the writers run out of steam or characters who I love are treated poorly or given some kind of unnecessary “shock value” arc. Leverage doesn’t do that. Leverage is what it says on the bottle. Fandom isn’t something I joined because I needed canon fix-its. Fandom only enhances and celebrates an already excellent canon. 

[writesowhatnext]

how many branches does an olive tree have? // draco malfoy

Summary: Hufflepuff!reader might be the only person that’s shown Draco some actual human kindness… maybe that’s why he’s so fond. Or maybe it’s the desserts.

Request: do u mind writing a draco malfoy or one of the weasley twins hanging out with (and eventually dating) hufflepuff reader and they always return to their common rooms with baked goods/little notes?

A/N: I thought I’d have a bit of fun with this one bc I’ve never written Draco before and I thrive off of slytherinxhufflepuff so I really hope the draco isn’t too ooc and that this isn’t too long also I diverged a little but I hope you like still ++++ this is less proofread than I would’ve liked

Reader: unspecified Hufflepuff

Warnings: mean draco??

It didn’t surprise anyone, least of all you, how much Draco Malfoy disliked you at first. He had a bit of a reputation and whilst you didn’t wish to speak ill of anybody, everybody you knew considered Draco Malfoy to be spoilt, snot-nosed, selfish, haughty and spiteful. But what you noticed whenever he would provoke Harry Potter, or walk through the corridors alone, or sit studying in the library until the early hours, was how sad he looked sometimes. And so, despite the awful things you’d heard about him, you always felt rather soft when you thought of him. Even when he was being a raging arsehole.

“Hi,” you said, smiling from your seat. You were oddly optimisitc about your first lesson with the Slytherins. “I’m Y/N.”

Draco looked at you as if shocked you were even daring to speak to him, his icy blonde eyebrows drawn down and his eyes stormy. “And?”

You leant back when he turned away, clearing your throat and shuffling the parchment around on the table. You decided it wouldn’t be helpful to remind him he wasn’t your first choice of partner in Muggle Studies, either.

“So, your task is to research ten muggle inventions-“ Professor Burbage began, only to be interrupted by Draco.

“Can’t imagine why they want us to do that,” he snorted, his friends sitting behind you hanging off his every word. “Muggles have never invented anything worthwhile.”

His friends guffawed, shocking the professor. You just frowned, watching how Draco thrived off of the attention with a strange sadness.

You didn’t see him again until around a week later when you retreated to the library for a few hours before curfew. You weren’t looking for him, but it was hard not to spot his platinum hair at a table, alone in the back. Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you debated just going to an empty table and leaving well enough alone, but then you remembered his sad eyes and your feet carried you over to him before you could stop them.

“Hey,” you said, biting your lip as you stood by one of the empty chairs, holding your books tightly. “Would it be alright if I sat here?”

He looked up at you sharply, the same half-confused, half-outraged expression in his eyes. His gaze was steady on your face for a moment before he huffed, returning to his work.

“If you must.”

You sat with him for hours in complete silence, both of you just doing your work. It wasn’t until the table began to shake with the movement of his elbow that you even looked at him. His face was scrunched up into a scowl as tried to scratch the rest of the ink from his empty pot. The sound of the quill hitting against the glass was loud and you knew Madam Pince would be over sometime soon to scold him. You figured that he’d never ask to use your inkpot, far too proud to ask for help, and so you just slid it over gently so it settled in the centre of the table, your intention obvious. His eyes on you were heavy, even as you tried to work out exactly why you would add Valerian Root to Draught of the Living Dead. The clinking of his quill stopped as he stared at you and despite yourself, you glanced up at him and offered a polite smile before turning back to your parchment.

Draco had no idea what to make of it. As he watched you scribbling on some parchment, confusion settled on his brow. Why, he thought, would a Hufflepuff he barely knew offer to help him? Part of him wanted to shove the inkpot back, too stubborn to accept help from someone like you, but the other part of himself, a part he didn’t get along with all too well, told him to shut up and take it.

And as you looked up, shooting him a brief smile that only served to deepen the crease on his forehead, he gave in and dipped his quill into the inkpot without another word. He tried not to look at you after that, sure you would enjoy seeing Draco Malfoy so weak. He could practically feel the ashamed flush on his cheeks and he hated it. But you could tell, despite his gruff façade, that he was grateful because when he stood up to leave, he stared at you for slightly too long as he placed the inkpot nearer to you and all but ran from the library without a single snarky comment or dirty glance.

Thanks only to your determination, that happened a few more times. Sure, Draco made absolutely certain to bring his own inkpot, but he looked less murderous each time you asked to sit down. One cold night with a bitter wind and a Transfiguration test you’d completely forgotten hounding at your heels, you rushed to the library. You were stopped only once on the way directly outside your common room by one of your favourite house-elves, who shoved a mini-basket of cookies into your hands, insisting that you stay warm in the cold temperatures. Whilst you were still panicking about the test, you couldn’t help but feel warm inside at the gift, a smile lifting your cheeks at how sweet it was. You rushed to your usual table, throwing the basket and your bag onto the desk and meandering through the shelves to find any books you could on the history of Transfiguration. Happy with the eight you’d found, and perhaps a little concerned you’d gone overboard, you retreated back to the table, pleasantly surprised to see a familiar mop of platinum blond.

“Hello, Draco,” you said, smiling as you set the books down. He didn’t look at you, only nodding, his focus on a textbook in front of him. You grinned anyway, enjoying the little routine you’d formed with him. It must’ve been only twenty minutes later when you crunched down on one of the biscuits you’d been given, surprised to meet a pair of grey eyes when you looked back up. He frowned at the cookie in your hand as you smiled bashfully, not intending to be caught.

“Oh,” you said, scolding yourself for being rude. “Would you like one?”

His head shot up at your question, that permanent frown still in place. He didn’t answer at first and you were afraid for a moment that you’d broken one of the unspoken rules of your acquaintanceship; the ones that only Draco seemed to know. To say you were shocked when he nodded very subtly was an understatement, but anyone with half a brain could tell how glad you were as you offered him the basket.

He looked down at the cookie in his long, pale hand as if it would bite him back. Before he ate it, though, he settled his wrists on the edge of the table and stared at you with a curiosity you’d never seen on him before.

“It’s Y/N, right?” he asked, wetting his lips.

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly, stunned that he’d remembered. You watched him think for a moment; you could almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he broke off a piece of the biscuit and brought it to his lips. It was obvious that he was deciding something but you didn’t understand what until he met your eyes again.

“Did you make these?”

His voice was stiff and unsure and you could tell how out of his depth he felt, whether it was saying more than two words to you or attempting small talk that was so unfamiliar you couldn’t say.

“No, one of the house-elves gave them to me.”

“House-elves?” he said, voice full of disgust. You frowned.

“The little creatures that work in the kitchens.”

“I know what they are,” he hissed, scowling. He swallowed harshly when he saw your face fall and for a second, he regretted his venom. “So, you’re- you’re what? Friends with them?”

As abhorrent as the idea clearly seemed to him, you appreciated how conflicted he looked, vindicated slightly at the sight of Draco Malfoy actually considering someone else’s feelings.

“Yep, they’re lovely,” you beamed, stirring something inside him. “And ever so kind.”

He just nodded, biting into the biscuit you’d given him and mulling over what you’d told him. Him saying nothing, you decided, was certainly leagues better than saying something horrible.

When he left that day, you made sure to force him to take a few more cookies, well aware that you couldn’t eat them all on your own and hoping more than anything that he’d accept it as an offering of friendship.

“Take more, please, go on.”

“I don’t…“ he trailed off, looking at you with a guarded expression.

“Please?” you begged, lifting the basket towards him. “For me?”

His eyes darted to yours as he inspected your pouting features and wide eyes, a strange fondness pulling at his chest. The way his mouth curled up ever so slightly before it was replaced with his signature grimace didn’t escape you and you grinned as he grabbed a few more, filling his pockets. He took a couple steps away before stopping short and spinning on his heel to face you.

“Thank you,” he nodded, looking very out of place, his words rushed and foreign. You didn’t mind, though, as he walked away. You just sat there, head in your books and a growing smile on your lips. You’d have to bring more desserts, you thought.

No one had confused Draco Malfoy quite like you. Not even Potter had the same irritating effect on him. And unfortunately, despite his efforts, people were starting to notice.

“Draco, what are you staring at?” Pansy asked him during breakfast, drawing his eyes away from your laughing face, your bright yellow tie.

“Nothing,” he huffed. “What are you looking at?”

Annoyance sparked in him as they laughed at his poor attempt to deflect the question.

“Is it that Hufflepuff you’re always eyeing?” Pansy pressed, an undercurrent of jealousy behind her wary curiosity.

“What?” his eyes flicked back to see you smile at him and once again, a strange feeling flooded his system.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said with much less bite than he usually would’ve. “What would I want with a Hufflepuff?”

As they laughed, moving on to another topic, he asked himself the same thing.

The next few times you saw Draco properly were in the library; he would only talk to you there, lest someone saw you and his precious reputation be ruined. You didn’t care about someone seeing you spending time together, but you let it be given how important it was to him. It was hard to say that it didn’t bother you at all, though, especially with how well you and he seemed to get along, particularly when you brought him treats. First, it was just whatever the house-elves would be kind enough to give you; biscuits here, a slice or two of cake there. When you noticed that Draco seemed to have a taste for chocolate, you started making specific requests, always making sure to give the elves clothes and some company in return. Seeing Draco walk out of the library with full pockets and a barely suppressed smile was the highlight of your day and it had, surprisingly, become an everyday occurrence. You would even go as far as to call you and Draco friends.

“Y/N,” Draco said, frowning as he wrote his Astronomy essay. You hummed, looking up to see his eyes on you. Your heart warmed at how comfortable and relaxed he looked, a far cry from how tense he’d been to start with.

“Do you know which constellation that old bat Sinistra told us to include?”

You rolled your eyes at his name-calling, shaking your head. “Nope, sorry, I’m absolutely hopeless at Astronomy. Haven’t even started the essay.”

He grimaced for a moment before pausing and brushing at the feathers of his quill nervously with his thumb.

“I could help you,” he said, gauging your reaction. “My Father says Astronomy is a subject so useless that even muggles can do it-“ he stopped himself then. He wasn’t quite sure why he cared what you thought of him, but he knew you well enough to know that you wouldn’t appreciate him talking badly about muggles and so, even though everything he’d ever said was just a regurgitation of his Father’s words, he clamped his mouth shut.

“I’m quite good at it,” he said, softer this time. “I’d be happy to teach you a thing or two.”

In all fairness to you, whilst you knew that Draco had the capacity for kindness, you didn’t quite expect him to extend it to you and certainly not enough to answer his offer with anything but a series of blinks. He was growing nervous at your lack of reply, already thinking about how foolish he’d been to even offer. Why was he even hanging around with a Hufflepuff anyways? If his father found out, he would be furious-

“I’d love that,” you said gently, interrupting his downward spiral. He visibly perked up at your response and even his face looked younger as you drew your first full smile from him. You couldn’t help but think that he looked rather more handsome when he smiled.  

“Alright,” he said, nodding. “Meet you at the Astronomy Tower tonight?”

He noticed your reluctance, frowning immediately.

“What if we get caught?”

You expected his cocky grin even less than you expected his offer in the first place.

“It’ll be fine.” he said, before his face softened. “Trust me.”

The rest of the day, you tried to convince yourself that you were nervous at breaking curfew and not at the prospect of seeing Draco outside your usual library hours. As you crept towards the Tower, flinching and ducking away from every sound that echoed through the castle corridors, you pulled at your jumper, stretching it over your hands with nervous fingers. You were barely halfway through the doorway when something behind you made a loud thudding noise and you turned, not paying enough attention as you slammed into someone. A squeak left your mouth at the impact but before you could make more of a racket, a hand covered your lips and you were left staring up at Draco Malfoy, shocked that you hadn’t noticed quite how tall he was before.

He looked at you with dark eyes and you realised that even without his hand covering your mouth, you wouldn’t have been able to breathe anyway, not with him looming over you like that. As if it didn’t faze him at all, he pulled his hand away from your mouth to his lips, shushing you gently. You nodded, not trusting your voice. Beckoning you to follow him up the stairs, you shadowed him quietly, distracting yourself with the view. When you reached the top, you lunged towards one of the windows, gasping as you looked at the whole of Hogwarts beneath you.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, leaning over the stone windowsill, your face against the wind. Draco didn’t say anything for a moment.

“You look different without your robes.”

You turned to him, surprised to see him watching you so intently. Not knowing what to say, you just smiled. He cleared his throat.

“Let’s get started.”

You started off well-intentioned, listening to him dutifully explain the difference between Ursa Major and Minor, the story of Andromeda and what not, but you couldn’t help but get distracted by the view, the stars spread out around you.

“Are you even listening?” he asked, eyebrows raised. You smiled bashfully at getting caught, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Of course, I am,” you insisted, placing your palm on his bicep, a touch that didn’t go unnoticed. “Carry on.”

He stared at you for a moment, shaking his head. A fond smile pulled at his lips as he stood up, offering you his hand. You hesitated before taking it, letting him haul you to your feet. With your hands still intertwined, he dragged you over to the edge of the tower, pulling you so you leant on your elbows next to him, your arms touching. It seemed as if you were both avoiding ignoring the feeling fo your palms pressed together.

“That,” he said, pointing up to a series of stars with his free hand. “Is Draco.”

You looked at him as he stared up at his namesake, watching his expression flood with a pride.

“The dragon,” you whispered, eyes widening as his head swung around, leaving the both of you closer together than anticipated. He let himself examine your face, taking in every detail, from your brow to your cheeks to your lips; ever so slowly, memorising every curve.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said, his eyes soft. You bit the inside of your cheek, smiling slightly.

“No one else brings you cakes? That’s a tragedy.”

He huffed a laugh, the corners of his lips curling up.

“I’m inclined to agree.”

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator​

@decadentwastelandtrash

@loveisblindness​

@xinyourdreamsx​

@brainlesspasta​

@hariosborn​

@staringmoony​

@rexorangecouny​

@alittletoomanyobsessions​

@peachesandpinks​

[chocolate-parfait]

Hiii! I saw that your requests are open, and I want to ask for a Mozart scenario 👉👈. MC/Reader (whichever you prefer) has gone back to her time for a long time (even tho she wasn’t planning for long) but when she comes back she also has Mozart’s kid in her arms (but everyone knows before him coz he is obviously at his piano lmao). So the residents plan to surprise him? If it’s too specific feel free to ignore this. Make sure you sleep sufficiently and drink some water😗😗 thank u in advance :)

Sorry it took me so long! I barely had the time to sleep this past month😳 I hope it was worth the wait-

A gift from Fate - Ikemen Vampire (Mozart)

“I don’t think we should listen in on them...” The cherry haired man whispered.

“Shh Ai-chan. Mozie-kun might hear us!”

“Tofu lover here is right, old Newt. And how could we pass up a chance of seeing that cold-hearted wolf shed a tear or two? It’s a once in a lifetime occasion!” Added the writer, resting his left hand on the scientist’s shoulder.

“Ugh, why did I even ask you two, of all people... Sebastian, tell them something already!” Isaac lamented once more.

“Unfortunately, Master Isaac, I’m afraid to say I’m quite curious myself to see Master Mozart’s reaction. It’s for scientific purpose, after all.”

“For what?” Nine pairs of eyes flew to the butler’s figure.

“Oh, nevermind that.”

"Leonardo, would you mind throwing your cigar away? They'll catch the smell of it" Comte’s placid tone filled the small space.

"What, you curious too, "Comte"? Heh, as his majesty desires" Leonardo complied, putting out his cigarillo against the ground with a dramatic gesture, gaining a displeased glance from the nobleman.

"...thank you. Oh, I believe he's almost there. Everybody, please be quiet."

As their sire spoke these words, all the vampires got closer to the small opening of the door. Some could barely see anything, but the wooden surface was thin enough to let any and all sounds reach the hidden listeners’ attentive ears.

The person that had them all hidden in a small storage room adjacent to the parlor was none other than Mozart. The love of his life had just returned from the future with a surprise of a companion glued to her side, but the man was yet to show his face. He had been, as always ever since her departure a couple of years before, focused on composing his tunes, now devoid of their old brightness and tempo, just like the composer himself.

It was as clear as day that, although his external composure remained unchanged, his heart had decided to freeze himself, a thick layer of frozen indifference to hide a pain akin to that of being torn in half, cruelly and mercilessly. Whenever he let his guards down even the slightest bit, he found himself on a battlefield over which time had no influence whatsoever, and where the ice and snow perfectly preserved the destruction and desolation born from his loss. The blood from a still fresh and open wound laid on the ground, as strong winds hit him with the warm whispers of a long-lost sun, nowhere to be seen.

That was the devastated state in which his being was left in, unaware of the sympathetic smile Fate was now offering him.

That day, a mysterious note found its way between the pianist’s hands, the words “Meet me at 18.00 in the parlor. It’s a matter of utmost importance” written in an impeccable cursive of other times, clearly belonging to one of the many inhabitants of the mansion. When it came to such intimate business, they usually preferred keeping a certain distance from unfolding events, but seeing the hesitation and fear of rejection on the woman’s face, they had all agreed to lend her a hand and give a little pull on the red string that connected the two lovers.

As punctual as ever, when the clock’s hands moved to the predetermined time, Mozart knocked stiffly on the door, finally making his entrance in the scene.

Barely two steps in the room and he found himself stuck in place, incredulous eyes fixed on the feminine figure in front of him. His violet eyes immediately found her face, and his body moved towards hers, attracted by an invisible force that had kept them tied to each other in spite of time and space. She was still as beautiful as he remembered, though his feverish dreams and hazy memories couldn’t hold a candle to the real her.

As impatience shook his body with a strong wave of trembles, with a quick movement he trapped her in a soul-crushing embrace that overflowed with all his longing and love; as his arms tightly caged her to his torso, he nuzzled her neck, finding her warm skin with the cold tip of his nose.

One deep inhale, then another. And another one.

She smelled divine.

Oh, how he had missed that dazzlingly sweet scent, those soft locks tickling his pale cheeks now flush with various emotions, that small pair of arms circling his body and squeezing him tightly. Was this a dream? Had he finally reached the afterlife for a second time? If so then he didn’t want to go back. If living in an illusion meant being with her then he was ready to throw away the real world with no second thoughts. But this, this was real. His mind had already acknowledged it, leaving the heart behind to process its own feelings.

“Meine Geliebte-” (my beloved)

“Mozart-”

They said in unison, voices mixing with harmony in a euphonious melody.

As he pulled back a little to look her in the eyes, a small voice came from behind her body. “Mama...” When Mozart lowered his eyes to meet the small figure’s, he was met with a small child, around 4 or 5 years of age. Before his thoughts could even reach the idea of betrayal, he couldn’t help but notice how every single feature, although still not fully developed, was a mixture of one of his and his lover’s own. The similarity was painfully clear, but once more the brain outrun the heart, and Mozart felt his heartbeat fall to his stomach.

“This is...” The woman started with a wavering voice, maybe from the emotion or perhaps because of insecurity. “This is our son, Charles.”

“Our... son...?” The pianist slowly repeated, trying to give more time to his now nearly-exploding heart.

Bending down to meet those violet orbs so similar to his own, he smiled fondly, reaching a hand out to slowly caress the boy’s head. As he did so, a myriad of realizations hit Mozart like a carriage running at full speed. He could not believe he had missed his son’s birth, his first steps, his first words. The fruit of their love, a life born out of their union. No amount of apologies and care could give him back all that, and the thought brought tears to his eyes.

“Papa! No leave Mama anymore!” The boy suddenly pleaded as he threw himself between his father’s arms. Oh, but of course he wouldn't. How could he? Not anymore. He wasn’t so stupid as to let that damned door separate them again, and not even God could part them anymore. But would the boy understand? He was but a stranger to him, and he did commit the terrible mistake of letting the only person he truly cared for slip away from his grasp once, so how could he blame him for having such thoughts?

“No, I won't. I promise you.” Placing a warm hand on his son's back, maybe as a way to seal his vow, he brought the small, trembling body closer to his chest, trying with all his might to instill in him the sense of security that only a father's embrace can give.

After silently witnessing the whole scene in solemn silence and stillness, smiles and some tears bloomed on the woman and the secret onlookers' faces. As the child shakily whimpered in his finally-found paternal figure's neck, his mother kneeled by his side, where Mozart's arm took her in as he pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. Their passionate reunion could wait for later that night, now all that mattered was being together, aware of each other's presence, warmth and smell. That was more than enough. “Thank you for coming back. Thank you for giving me another chance.”

Unfortunately for them though, an interruption soon came to disturb their peace. Low whispers came from behind the door, and the pianist's trained ear caught them with no effort.

"Woohoo, that was a good one, Wolfie!"

"Shouldn't we just go already? If he were to catch us he'd go on a rampage"

"Still, I wish I could give him a round of applause! It was really moving~"

Mozart turned his violet eyes, now chilly with cold annoyance, towards the source of the hushed voices, silencing them immediately. Though he would have to thank them for the note, he knew they wouldn't have let him hear the end of it with their teasing comments and jokes. Before his thoughts could take the highway to a possible massacre, Charles' brought his attention back to where it belonged.

"Papa... can you show me your piano?"

Such a simple request brought spring into his heart, once plunged into a state of eternal winter. Feeling his every cell overflowing with love and gratitude he simply nodded, adding: "Sure, shall we go?"

Well, his revenge could wait for later. Now he had a lot of catching up to do, both with his love and son, and making them wait longer was definitely unacceptable.

Perhaps Fate had truly decided to be a little kinder to him in his second life.

[barnesandco]

AYESHA!! Can I request, "their entire body freezing for a second when their love kisses them?" For any character you feel inspired to write for!

The Pay Off

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: brief mention of therapy and allusions to Bucky’s recovery after Hydra.

A/N: This.. got wildly out of hand.... and really, really wordy. I love these prompts and I want to write all of them while my WIPs stare at me feeling betrayed.

Like sunshine honey, the woman who has been sitting two seats down from Bucky at the library for the past four months, with a smile the ambience of New York dawn aimed unguarded at the book in your lap. He’s spoken a grand total of 37 sentences to you in that time, each one laden with the weight of this new existence he is carving out for himself, softly, a breakfast knife through butter. Every interaction with you -- every stolen glimpse up from his own space magazine -- leaves his throat parched but prickling with that sensitive heat that makes him want to thirst more. Like the tingle of salt after ocean water. 

Wetting his lips, he tries to refocus on the page in front of him. It details the scientific contributions of the Hubble Space Telescope, with a colorful side-box about the Nancy Grace Roman, who pioneered the notions of sending telescopes into space to unearth its secrets. The magazine is one from a neat stack to his right, a treasure of information he gathered to go through when he arrived today, but he isn’t making the amount of progress to finish reading by closing time.

Every Avenger has made a comment on getting a library card, to no avail. Sam’s information, Steve’s offer to do it in Bucky’s stead, Natasha’s suggestions of giving a fake name, and Wanda’s kind offer to come with him if he doesn’t want to do it alone, along with Tony’s centenarian-themed jokes and Shuri’s gift of a Kindle containing every book she could buy, have all been politely refused and tolerated in turn. Initially, it was because he likes it at the library. It’s the quietest place he has, and is coming to claim as another safe space. An escape. Now, however, there is a new variable he does not want to introduce to the team.

The woman who sits two seats down from him. You come her every afternoon, a book bag in one hand and a gigantic tote full of Lord-knows-what in the other, both dumped on the table before you go to find a book. He’s close enough to smell watermelons and strawberries, pink, sweet-summer things, reminders of a blueberry sky and sugary lemonade, memories he doesn’t remember having but can taste in the heavy air between them. It had taken him two weeks to discover that the scents were coming from the markers that he saw peeking out from the tote, stationary behaving the same way certain books do, enabling him to live a life he has never had.

Your life is a mystery to him, but he guesses at it, reading you. A rainbow of stray marker lines litters your hands almost perpetually, coming alive when they move rapidly as you check books, sometimes chuckling softly at a particular sentence. Once, he caught a Cheese Whiz stain on your cable-knit cuff, and at another occasion, saw you. Bucky is often overcome by the feeling of sonder at the realization that the clues he is gluing together make for a complex life, a marvel of an individual. There is guilt too, for his curiosity. But your eyes, even looking down, are captivating, and he is too far gone to stop. 

The idea of asking you out, of engaging in conversation beyond the moments of stranger familiarity, scares him still. Last time you spoke was when you laughed aloud at the set of examples one particular student had given for an assignment on sensory details. Zachary, age 11, had written that cow poop was a smell he did not like, sending his library companion into brilliant, bubbling laughs that you cut off too soon when you remembered where you were. At that point, you had looked around to see if anyone noticed, and spotting him, offered an apology he had rejected, on the condition that you share the joke. And you did.

But initiating the moment takes something more than what he has right now. His hands, mismatched and cold from the table, empty and longing, shut the magazine.

-----

The courage arrives on a Thursday. An ordinary day, by all accounts, only Bucky is on his fourth week of actual therapy, and got to the library through the subway, instead of Steve’s motorbike. Small victories fill his chest.

Only, you aren’t there when he gets in, and he panics. Fear and disappointment wrestle for a spot in his belly, claiming a tie in knots and weights, as he paces through the aisles of shelves in what he hopes is an unsuspicious speed. Giving up hope, he’s returning to his seat, head bowed, dismayed, when something collides against his side.

It’s you. A hurricane of movement with a slushie in one hand, your eyes also on the floor, and you crash against him with a shriek too late to save either of you. The slushie, cold and blue, spills out and lands on both of you, as you tumble, hands on Bucky’s elbows while his are on yours as he pulls you down, and you land in a heap of ice-water and sticky saccharine snow, a warm weight on top of him.

The library goes silent, for a breath, and then, when the shock lifts, two librarians come rushing from around some hidden corners, by which time you and Bucky have composed yourselves enough to stand and start to apologize profusely in cut-off sentences and shaky stutters. The slush is sinking through his clothes but there is a flush in his cheeks, and somehow, looking at your beautiful face, he has never been warmer.

When the slushie has been cleaned up with rags -- his hand is starting to shiver -- he stands with more sorry on his tongue, but you say, with a grin, “I guess you really fell for me, huh?”

The quip is surprising, but he laughs. Looks between your now-blue blouse and his inky t-shirt, and makes the leap. “Maybe I can get you another drink to make up for it.” And the pleased shock on your mouth, lips parted slightly and breath still recovering, is worth every step and fall it took to get to that one line.

-----

It goes well. He won’t call it a date, in spite of everyone else’s juvenile cooing and teasing when he leaves the Compound on a Saturday evening in his car. It’s a 70s Mustang, body the color of his old Commandos coat, and the interior a shiny black lined with golden stitching and accents. Royal and his very own. Turning towards the neighborhood you live in, he recalls the months it took to restore the damn thing, the last weeks of which were spent practically living in the garage, breathing on the anticipation of this monstrous achievement.

Queens is neon lights and family-owned delis, the scent of tacos mingling with that of curries, and there’s a different language in each window front. You said you lived in an apartment a couple of stories above a Vietnamese bar. 

You’re exiting just as he gets out of the car, and it takes a moment to catch his breath. In jeans and a silk shirt, you are the sun, and he cannot wait to get to revel in your warmth for at least one evening. 

-----

It goes well. With the exception of nerves he can’t rid himself of but rather ignores, everything is perfect. You had enjoyed his handmade picnic in Central Park, and his disgruntled commentary on how things used to be when you got stuck in traffic on the way back. His imitations of Steve and Tony had you in stitches, after which you had fed him Doritos from a packet he did not know was in the glove-box. 

Smooth sailing, soft as cream and just as gentle, the night, until you get back. It is late, and the lights are starting to flicker out of shop windows, and you go a little bit quiet, discontinuing the steady stream of chatter you have been maintaining with him. 

Something is in the air. Something sparking with promise. It hushes your voices and tightens his throat and has his hand trembling when he opens his door and then yours to let you own. You stand in the pale glow of the corner streetlamp, and his hands are in his pockets like he’s sixteen again, wanting to kiss a girl but unsure how to go about it.

Fortunately for him, you’re not a girl. You’re a woman. Made from electric fire and whatever strength that holds the cotton clouds in the sky, luminous and wondrous. 

“I know that was a bit more than a drink, so thank you for agreeing to this,” he says, meeting your eyes.

Your finger is tracing the face of your watch absently as you smile at him. “I had a great time.”

“Really?” Bucky blurts out, and then hurries to suspend the disbelief.

The answer you give him has his heart doing somersaults. “Yeah. I’d actually love to do this again if you feel the same.”

“Of course. Yes, obviously.” He puts a brake on his train of speech, explains as he walks a little closer to you, close enough to count your eyelashes. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been on a date in 80 years, and I’m a little rusty, but--”

Like the event that started it all, your first kiss is a crash. You lean up slowly and he has time to stop you but he doesn’t. He lets you kiss him and freezes, from head to toe, upon the feeling of your soft lips. Stopping within seconds, you lean back, sheepish, ready to back away and run, he’s certain. His head clears, he thinks a little straighter. 

“Sorry, will you let me try that again?” He asks, clearing his throat, and you lift your hand to hold his. 

The warmth of your hold envelopes the back of his human hand, and twists your grip so your fingers are intertwined, so much more surface area to gain heat and the motivation to seek further touch from. “If you stop saying sorry, sure.”

He closes his eyes before you do, and this time, the meeting of your lips is soft. A kiss, not a crash, an elegant collision of mouths and shared wants. In a few breaths of movement, as your other hand rises to his hair and his holds your waist, you come closer, and Bucky grows breathless. The kiss lasts for what feels like minutes too long and hours too short at the same exact time, as you break away with a gasp for air that has pride blooming under his sternum. 

Eyes shining, he hopes he’ll get to do that again. As you kiss his cheek and turn to your door, he looks forward to sitting two seats closer to you on Monday.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

You were having a fucking panic attack. Why did you agree to this? You were entirely too nice. Or Roman was just horrible. Either way you had the most foreboding feeling. You already were in the car and on your way so it was a bit late to turn back now.

Peering out the window, you tried to decide where you were heading. You’d originally assumed the White Tower, but you’d long ago passed that turn off. You also had left the residential areas, so it appeared this would be a public meeting.

You had figured with what time it was, he’d be taking you to Roman at the White Tower, or his home if he thought he’d make a scene. He wasn’t a fan of public conflict even though he had no problem making a scene. Maybe he was going to be mature about this. Somehow that seemed unlikely.

You figured the best way to get information was to just ask. The driver had the partition up, so you attempted to lower it. After pressing the button several ways, it became clear it was broken or disengaged. Not allowing the fact a brand new limo having broken buttons was very unlikely sink in, you scooted down the long leather bench. Now you were right behind the driver, and you knocked on the partition and waited a couple beats.

“Hello? Excuse me sir? My button is broken.” You called out. Knocking a few more times and still getting no response, you told yourself you were fine and you weren’t going to overreact. Roman probably had some rule about no contact with his whores. Not that you were a whore, but in the mind of his driver, you all probably blurred into one.

Maybe your outfit selection had been a bit hasty. In an effort to show Roman you were not going to be ordered around, you decided to wear your Hello Kitty pajamas. The red booty shorts with the famous cats face all over them, and the form fitting tank top, paired with your shiny white Uggs could possibly give the wrong impression.

You had been going for playful adult woman that didn’t take herself too seriously, but maybe an older gentleman wearing a suit would think otherwise. Add to that, you had a full face of make up, and had done your hair because you refused to look anything less than perfect in front of your ex... oh well.

As the car came to a halt in front of the nicest restaurant in town, famous for their exclusive invite only brunch they held on occasion, you couldn’t help but laugh at your current situation. With the restaurant having an open indoor/outdoor seating arrangement, everyone would be seeing you exit the limo in your pajamas.

Even though everyone dining here was well off, very few people took limousines anywhere, and just in case they were curious who’s limo this was, the big golden G on the window made it pretty clear.

Steeling yourself for the looks and hushed comments you were sure you deserved, you put on your brightest smile and thanked the driver politely when he opened your door. Holding your head high, you followed him into the restaurant, back towards the private rooms. Focusing on the mans jacket, you ignored the snickers and buzzing spreading through the patrons as you passed by. Finally coming to a stop in front of a set of gorgeously carved doors, he opened them to reveal a generously sized private room with Roman seated looking like he was shooting a photo spread for Vogue. Crisp gray suit tailored to fit him perfectly and the subdued lighting made his stunning good looks and inhuman beauty all the more severe. It wasn’t fair that some people were so gorgeous, and you felt cheated he was prettier than you were and he was male. In spite of all that, you couldn’t help but feel flattered at how his face lit up when he saw you.

“You are such a fucking brat. The one time I try to treat you like an adult you show up in Hello Kitty.” Roman chuckled, shaking his head at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh too. You felt pretty ridiculous, but you’d be damned if you’d admit it. Plopping down gracelessly, you stated sarcastically, “well thanks for trying to be an adult. And thanks for finally bringing me to the place I’ve been begging to go to for our entire doomed relationship. Glad to see you care. Now where’s the server, I’m going to need some vodka for my orange juice.”

Romans face fell into a frown and he glared at you for a moment before pressing something under the table. Not a moment later, a server arrived to take their orders, and hurried off.

Silence settled over the table and you sat staring at a large landscape piece, refusing to make conversation or attempt to make him comfortable. You didn’t want to be here, and he wasn’t making much of an effort. You don’t know what you expected, but maybe him getting up and trying to hug you or shake your hand. Something!

You refused to cry. You would not allow it. You would not give him the satisfaction. You-

“I’m sorry.”

You turned to look at Roman, shock written across your features. Taking that as encouraging, he continued on.

“I love you and it scares me. When you went back to the room, they all started to give me shit about you owning me, and I reacted...” he knit his brows together and seemed to be searching for the right words, “wrong. Like an asshole. I wanted to prove I could do whatever I wanted. When I returned to the room and you were gone, I lost my mind. I searched everywhere and then Bianca found me and took me to her room.”

Your heart shattered. And here it had started out so perfectly. You’d been elated to find out he’d searched for you, and his apology nearly made you fall from your chair, but it all crashed down with the last part.

You nodded your head and looked away as the server dropped off your items, and you tried to keep it together. It’d always be like this. There’d always be a Bianca. The thought was devastating.

“Can you say something or at least look at me?” He snapped. His famous temper was surfacing, and you really didn’t think you could handle a tantrum.

“There’s always going to be a Bianca, or an Ashley or a Susan,” you said sadly.

“I don’t even know a Susan.” He stated incredulously. “What does that have to do with me being sorry? Who is this Susan? Where did you meet her?”

“Roman!” You snapped at him, pinning him with your fiercest glare. “There’s no Susan!”

“But you just said-“

Slamming your hand on the table, you were pleased to see he jumped. “Do not interrupt me Roman. You will listen since you forced me to come.”

He let out a long sigh and lit a cigarette, cocking an eyebrow at you as you took your time, eating some of the delicious dishes and sipping your cocktail. When he lit the second cigarette, you decided to begin.

“Roman I love you but so does every other woman that meets you. I don’t trust you and I don’t trust any of them. I’m constantly a wreck and worried someone will steal you, when you really should just belong to someone greater than I am. I’m not putting myself down, I’m just not so full of myself to believe I am better than everyone else, and you deserve an unbearable gorgeous Bianca that puts herself above all others, and doesn’t even consider your flaws to be flaws. You’re not a very nice person, and it’s exhausting constantly apologizing, and I need someone that loves me and feels I’m the best thing that happened to them. The competition is simply too stiff with you.” You finished and were surprised to see that Roman was not only listening but seemed to be considering your words.

“Any thoughts?” You asked after he put out his cigarette and continued to stare thoughtfully at you.

His lip quirked up into a smirk, and you pushed down the urge to touch him. He was still gorgeous, and as mad as you were with him, you had missed him. You wondered if it would be counterproductive to have one more romp, but you swiftly shut that idea down. You weren’t sure that you could have the self-control to just have one more time, and that would just lead to you being another one of those girls for him. Another good time and as appealing as that sounded... your heart couldn’t bear it.

Plus you really were tired. Curling up in your warm bed seemed like the most exciting prospect, and you wondered if he’d be terribly mad if you left right now. As your eyelids dropped and grew too heavy to keep open, you barely heard his reply;

“I knew you’d be difficult and I love you too much to let you ruin it.”

You could now feel his breath at your temple, as he pressed a kiss there and pulled you into his lap. Your body was just not responding and you were certain you’d been drugged. You tried to fight against the darkness closing in on you, but it was no use.

You were completely at his mercy and you felt a chill run up your spine before all went black.

There will be a continue for this if enough want this to go on...

[hanawrites404]

Twice My Age

Show : Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Jojo No Kimou Na Bouken

Pairing : Noriko (female Noriaki)/Jotaro Kujo

Warnings : Age-gap romance and sex along with swearing.

Characters : Jotaro Kujo, Noriko (female Noriaki), Jolyne Cujoh

Timeline : Pre-Stone Ocean

This story is based on this song :

This story is also based on the author's headcanon when she had finished reading Stone Ocean and was recovering her brain cells.

Third Person POV

It was a normal afternoon at Florida. Today was Friday, which meant the last day of the working week. Students at the school were frustratingly tapping the heels of their feet on the floor waiting for the school bell to ring and mark the end of the tiring session.

The teacher obviously minded his own business and lectured the pupils without averting his gaze from the blackboard. He kept ignoring the sounds of whispers and paper-tearing and snickers of the children, until for once he recognised one of the students who was continuously talking in his class, and decided to take some action.

"Ms. Cujoh" the teacher called out harshly as he teared his gaze from the blackboard and stared at the student.

The talkative student looked at the teacher and went silent. She had a piece of folded paper in her hand, her arm stretched out to the student for whom it was meant for. She retrieved her hand back and answered the teacher who was glaring lasers at her through his glasses.

"Yes Mr. Anderson??". "First, please stand up while you speak to a teacher" Mr. Anderson pushed his glasses up. The student sighed and stood up, putting away the paper she had in her pocket.

"Would you please answer the question which is on the board??". Ms. Cujoh read the question. She then rolled her eyes and read the question the teacher had written in white.

Prove that Cos2x = Cos^2x - Sin^2x

"What the??" The teenager reacted.

Mr. Anderson's gaze never left Ms. Cujoh. He was observing every move of her of how she was looking around the classroom, silently asking for help and her friends were giving her a shrug or a thumbs-down.

"Ms. Cujoh. We don't have all day"

After that, she knew that she would have to answer the question by herself.

"I-It's simple Mr. Anderson. Multiply both the sides by zero, and there you go. LHS = RHS".

The students roared with laughter at the teenager's statement. Mr. Anderson was actually expecting such kind of an answer from the rowdy teenager.

"Silence everyone" the teacher stomped his ruler on the table and the room became quiet. But it didn't last for long as the bell finally rung, meaning that it was time for dispersal.

The students quickly packed their bags by shoving their books and stationery inside and exited the classroom, scrambling on their feet. The whole classroom became empty, leaving the astute teenager and the stoic teacher alone.

The silence in the room grew kind of tense. So the girl started to pack her bag and leave the class. Until.......

"Jolyne". The teenager looked at the teacher. She really wanted to leave the vacated classroom and go home. Also she had successfully survived today's class. Now what was the problem??

"Your behaviour is getting worse day by day. And I'm afraid that you might need some extra tutelage for your discipline and your academics yet again".

The teenager rolled her eyes once again. She then placed one of her hands on her hip and looked at the teacher with disinterest.

"Give me a break Mr. Anderson. My answer was correct". "You can argue with the ones who will correct your answer sheet Ms. Cujoh. I'm definitely not the right person to go against with your illogical statement".

Jolyne held her fist tightly. She really wants to punch her teacher square in the face and make sure to get the glass shards of his glasses cut his eyes. But she decided to bottle her anger for now.

"Your discipline is very concerning. Also you are not taking your studies seriously. Even the previous teachers whom I had appointed to improve your etiquettes returned home with a broken nose and teeth" he said to himself.

Jolyne smirked to herself with pride.

"So I have decided to change my plans" he spoke.

"Ha!! So you finally understand, Mr. Anderson" she then crosses her arms and sits on the table while putting her leg on the other. "You will never be able to transform me into nerds like you want to. I'm what I want to be and I don't give a fuck to anyone who wants me to change".

"We will see about that" he then pushes his glasses. "Huh??" Jolyne raises her eyebrow at him. What was this thick-skulled teacher really planning to do to her??

"If it's another teacher, then do keep some extra bandages for the injuries, because I'll not go easy on them" she then cracks her knuckles.

"Now that's where I stop you Ms. Cujoh".

Jolyne then glared at the teacher.

"I'm not going to appoint a teacher to straighten you up. This time, it's a student of your age. Your own classmate".

Jolyne was slightly taken aback. A student?? Of her age?? And the student of her own classroom?? But she barely knew anyone who was good at both discipline and studies. The only persons she was aware of were mostly the divas, the jocks and the bullies.

"W-Who is this student you are talking about??" Jolyne asked. "You will meet her outside the school premises. She is actually one of my best students and has been topping her class for the past 3 years" Jolyne witnessed a sense of pride in Mr. Anderson's tone.

Jolyne became a bit nervous. Who was this nerd whom she hadn't even notice that she was in her school and her class?? And also, a girl??!!

"You might be wondering--'why a girl??' It's because I really want you to get along with her and learn whatever she teaches, and her being the same gender as you would be a good boost".

Jolyne then sniggered and got up from the table. "Just because she is a girl and is of my age, doesn't mean that I can't afford a bruise or two on her".

"I had already warned her about your..........tendency and she is perfectly fine with it. So do whatever you want to do to her, she will be alright with it as she was the one who chose to take the risk and tutor you".

What a daring one for a nerd......Jolyne thought.

Mr. Anderson then looked at his wrist watch. He then spoke "It's getting late. You may leave now".

"Oh thank you, Mr. Anderson" she said in a very sarcastic manner and she even bowed to add to her mockery as she left the class.

"And another thing Ms. Cujoh". Jolyne then looked behind at her teacher lethargically. Can the teacher just leave her already before she actually punches him??

"If you hadn't been the daughter of Dr. Kujo, I would have already expelled you. But I'm still giving you a chance because I'm sure that you too can be as disciplinary as your father".

"Alright first of all, Dad was a delinquent when he was my age. And second of all, he would have already punched your face and shove your stupid glasses into your mouth just to make you shut up if he was at my place" and she then goes away without saying anything else or looking back.

Mr. Anderson sighed as he stacked the sheets and registers he had to take home and correct. After he was done, he looked at the empty classroom once more, especially at the seat where the spiteful teenager sat.

"Hopefully you know what you are doing, Noriko.........."

*One minute time skip, brought to you by Binod*

"Stupid Anderson, he just doesn't know how to mind his own fucking business!!!!" Jolyne angrily stomped out of the premises. She then turned around to look at the clock which was installed on the school building.

It's 5 already. I need to return home fast. Dad is coming home earlier than his usual time so I better reach home before him..........

"Umm....Jolyne Cujoh??".

"What?!!" She turned to the voice. Jolyne relaxed her eyes a bit when she saw who was the owner of the voice.

It was a girl wearing the same uniform as her. The only difference was that she was comparatively shorter than Jolyne and was fairer than her.

She had her red hair down which was a bit longer than shoulder length and purple eyes, one red wavy bang was framing her pretty face and her lips were a glossy, cherry red.

"Do I know you??" Jolyne raised her eyebrow at the unknown girl.

"Not yet, but you will. My name is Noriko. I'm the one who is supposed to mentor you" she then goes closer to her and offers her hand to shake. "It would be a pleasure to get to know you better".

Jolyne observed the girl's hand. She had her nails perfectly trimmed but there was no polish on them. Jolyne then looked at her face and asked.

"Japanese??" She asked. "Yeah" Noriko replied. Jolyne then smirks and shakes her hand firmly.

"Then we will get along pretty well" she said. Noriko then smiles and brushes her bang behind her ear with the other hand. "I'm glad you think so" she replied.

Both of the girls let go of their hands and then they walk home beside each other.

"By the way, why did you say that we will get along well, judging by my nationality??" Noriko asked the taller girl.

"You see, I'm a Japanese myself".

"You are??" Noriko asked, a bit surprised.

"Yeah. I know. I may not look like that but yes, Japanese is one of my nationality" Jolyne replied.

Noriko then snickered and asked "Just how many nationalities do you have??". "Well, my mother is from Florida and my father is Japanese, Italian and British" Jolyne calculated.

"Wow, so many citizenships" she commented. "Haha, it's not that cool as it sounds like. Trust me" Jolyne joked. Noriko chuckled and slapped the taller girl's shoulder lightly which made Jolyne chuckle.

"So Noriko??". "Yes??". "Why did you choose to mentor me?? You do know that I have a certain.........reputation at school".

"I am aware of everything you do in school. Mr. Anderson has updated me everything on you".

"*Ugh* That fucker. What is he, a spy?? Did he only find me to spy on?? And not the ones who actually harass girls or bully lowerclassmen behind the school??"

"Actually, I should be the one at whom you should be angry at". "Huh??" Jolyne looked at her.

"Wait, don't tell me--". "Yes. I was the one who told him to note everything you do".

"*Ugh* Noriko~!! I didn't expect this from you~" Jolyne whined. "Sorry, but this was the only way to plan on how to get you into discipline just like how Mr. Anderson want it". "Fuck that teacher!!!" She then kicks a stray rock on the road which goes very far.

"You seem to be very strong". "Heh, thanks. It's not much, but I can surely lift a heavy table pretty easily". "I'll take a note of that. It might come handy to me when I need to move a table" she chuckled. Jolyne then laughs and Noriko too joins her.

After their laughter died, Noriko spoke.

"You are really fun to be with". "Thanks. I had assumed that you were going to be just like Anderson but you are one lively person" Jolyne said.

"Oh really?? Thank you. Actually, no one has said that to me before" she then brushed another strand of her hair behind her ear.

"What do you mean??" Jolyne asked. "I don't really have friends. Only a few classmates talk to me but only when they need my assistance".

"Huh?? How is that even possible?? You are such an amazing person. Also, you are very pretty. You should have at least a boyfriend with you".

"I don't have a boyfriend". "Oh......a girlfriend perhaps??". "No.....". "Oh, you love a trans??". "What?? No. I'm not interested in anyone for now". "Ahhh....I see".

"Say, do you have a boyfriend??". "My status is also as same as you. Even I'm not really interested in getting into relationships. It will just..........get in my way, that's why". "I understand. Love is.......a very new subject for me" Noriko said.

"Yeah.....me too.....Hell, I don't even know why Dad fell for Mom in the first place just to leave her after that" Jolyne stated. "Huh?? What do you mean??" Noriko looked at Jolyne.

"My parents got a divorce after I was born. And according to the laws, both of my parents have the rights on me. So I visit one of them after every alternate month. This month I'm staying with my father" Jolyne explained.

"I see. Your father is Dr. Jotaro Kujo right??". "Yes, the famous marine biologist. The one who wrote thesis on starfish and other marine creatures. How interesting" Jolyne said, adding a dramatic sarcasm to it.

"Honestly, I'm a big fan of him" Noriko added, a light blush on her cheeks. "What?? Seriously??" Jolyne gaped.

"Yes. I have read every report and thesis he has ever written. The way how he observes and analyses the creatures is just wonderful. I bet that he is going to be the one who will discover a new species of marine life which humanity has never seen before" she spoke with amazement.

"Ha!!! You are flattering him now. My Dad is nothing like how you think of him" Jolyne argued. "Oh really??" Noriko raised her eyebrow.

"Yes. I know he is smart and all but he is not Einstein-level" Jolyne answered. "I never compared him with Einstein, Jolyne. It's just that I really think of him very fondly, and I admire him a lot" Noriko said.

"Yeah yeah, but don't fall in love with him. He might break your heart" she joked. Noriko blushed pink. It's good that Jolyne didn't notice it, otherwise it would have been very awkward.

"Well, here we are. My Dad's house" Jolyne stopped and showed Noriko her house.

"Wow, it looks very big" Noriko looked all over the lavish bungalow.

"Heh, these are the perks of being a Joestar" she said. "Joestar?? What do you mean??" Noriko asked. "You first come inside and then I'll tell you" and so Jolyne and Noriko entered the luxurious house. Both of them removed their shoes and Noriko looked around the house with an agape mouth and wide eyes.

"Wow......this looks so much better from the inside. Just how rich are you people??" Noriko commented and asked Jolyne.

"Well, there was a guy named Robert Speedwagon who was friends with my great-great-grandfather. He then became rich after finding many oil ores out of nowhere. After he died, all of his luxuries went to my great-grandfather and that's how all of our expenses are taken care of" Jolyne explained.

"That's amazing. You guys are literally royals" Noriko commented. "Yeah. And also my great-great-grandfather was a noble in England, so he was rich even before the Speedwagon guy came" she added.

"I see" Noriko then sat on one of the loveseats. "Being a Joestar must be very lucky right??" Noriko asked. "If you think like that, you are gravely mistaken" Jolyne told her.

"What?? Really?? I can't believe this. But you guys have everything!!!.............I guess everything has it's pros and cons" Noriko told herself.

Jolyne was about to speak more, but then the bell of the house rang.

"That must be Dad. You stay here Noriko. I'll be right back" and then she goes to check the door. Since Noriko had nothing to do for now, she looks at her skirt and straightens it up a bit.

Jolyne on the other hand opens the door and sees her father standing outside, just as she expected.

"Hello Dad" Jolyne greeted. "Hello Jolyne, how was school??" Dr. Kujo entered the house and Jolyne stepped away to give him some space.

"Meh, it was fine. Mr. Anderson barked at me as usual" Jolyne told him. Mr. Kujo sniggered a bit.

"He doesn't seem to stop critisizing you, does he??". "Of course not. I bet he won't even shut up even after he is an old man and cannot even lift his hand to push his oversized glasses up" she mocked.

Dr. Kujo smiled a fraction as he removed his shoes and his coat. While he was putting his shoes on the rack, he noticed another pair of school shoes which were similar to that of Jolyne's.

"Jolyne, have you brought a classmate here?" Dr. Kujo asked.

"Uhh yeah. She is actually my mentor who is supposed to tutor me, starting from today. I hope you don't mind if she stays here".

"No, not at all" The professor replied. He then hung his coat up and headed to the living room, her daughter following her.

As soon as Mr. Kujo entered the room, he spotted the red-haired girl. She looked awfully familiar to him which made the professor stop on his tracks.

"Dad, what's wrong??" Jolyne spoke from behind her father.

"Noriaki........" He whispered.

"Noriaki?? No Dad, her name is Noriko"

Jolyne corrected.

Even her name is similar to his...........

Mr. Kujo continued to stare at the red head who was scribbling something in the notepad on her lap with a pencil.

That red hair, those amethyst eyes, and how she was concentrating on her work, everything Mr. Kujo had seen already a long time before. It all felt like Deja Vu to him. And he clearly remembers the person whom this girl reminds him of. He was his highschool lover after all.

"Noriko-chan" Jolyne calls her. Noriko looks up from her notepad to her friend.

"Here is my father, who is also your 'sole idol'. And Dad, this is Noriko, my friend" Jolyne introduced them to one another.

(Part 2)

[emeraldembers]

Fic: A Thief of Fate (Block/Longin, PG13)

Title: A Thief of Fate

Fandom: Мор. Утопия / Pathologic

Pairing: Block/Longin

Summary: There isn't enough time for them to fall in love, but Longin falls anyway.

Author’s Notes: Originally written for the prompt “The other day I discovered that Longin’s nickname is Patroclus. That, coupled with the many comparisons Block gets to Alexander the Great, (aka Achilles’ greatest fanboy) makes this ship write itself. So give me anything you have with these two, please (the big no is dub/non-con)” over on the Pathologic kink meme.

Warnings: Non-consensual drug use, references to future hanging

Comments loved and encouraged!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075645

* * *

It was a known fact that everyone under Alexander Block's command loved him. A variety of jokes had been made about men crawling through fire for the General of Ashes, and Longin had laughed at the same jokes himself until he was assigned to Block's unit.

He would be the exception to the rule, he had decided, if only out of spite. No man was perfect regardless of his talents, and Longin had yet to meet an idol who didn't deserve to be knocked from their pedestal.

He was determined to be polite but scrutinising, to find the flaws Block's men had refused to see, and when it was time to greet the General, he met his eyes without fear.

Something else gladly took fear's place. He'd never seen eyes so blue, before. Not in real life, outside of a painting.

In an instant, he knew he'd love Block as thoroughly as the rest of Block's men. Just for a different reason.

Longin had known Block was young, barely a few years older than himself, but the reality of seeing it had hit him like cold water. Wrinkles had only just begun to settle in place around his eyes, between his brows, and at the corners of his lips, while stress had threaded grey strands through his dark hair, but as for the rest of him? He was clearly young, and Longin could see more of himself in Block than he had in any of the other top brass.

Longin's captaincy meant having the General's confidence, and even though Block chose his words carefully, avoiding anything that could be spun as insubordination or accusations of conspiracy, Longin knew how to read his posture.

They were being shipped out to the middle of the Steppe by train, to some squalid little town and not to where they were most needed. Block said the order had come directly from The Powers That Be, a detour from the Southern Front to bring an outbreak of plague under control.

Block didn't speak out against the order, and didn't need to. The detour was bullshit, and Longin knew it as clearly as Block did.

Men began to fall ill within hours of reaching the town, even those in head to foot flamethrower gear, and Longin could feel the sword of Damocles hanging over Block's head as surely as if it were over his own. Diverting men to set up the town hall as their headquarters was busy work, an excuse to keep as many of them off the infested streets as possible, and Longin felt a twist of guilt for those still on the streets as he sat alone in an office with the General, sharing a drink while the men moved tables and set up banners outside. The room was far from sound proof, but the clatter of tables and keeping their voices pitched low afforded them something close to privacy.

"The Powers That Be Want Me Dead," Block said, and even though Longin knew it was true, had known something was wrong from the moment they were diverted from the Southern Front, it was sobering to hear the admission from Block's lips. "They wouldn't have sent Aglaya Lilich here otherwise."

"Because she wants you dead?"

"Because they want her dead, too," Block said. It made sense - no one with ideals made it far in the Capital for long. The Powers That Be were comfortable at the top of the chain of command, and didn't like the idea of others disrupting their comfort. "I don't know which of us will be allowed to survive. I fear only God has any say in who'll leave this town."

Longin raised an eyebrow. "You didn't strike me as the religious type, sir."

"I'd like to believe," Block said, sounding tired. That was unsurprising; few people slept well on trains, and the dark circles under his eyes were bruise-purple. "I need to. Someone will have to look after the men when I am gone. I'd rather God took care of the matter than The Powers That Be."

Longin folded his hands in his lap, frowned at them. After watching the uncle who had raised him die from a wasting sickness, and after seeing a close friend's intestines spill out at the end of a bayonet, he was fairly certain that if God did exist, then He knew little about justice or love. "You'll have us to the end, General. Whatever happens. Powers That Be be damned."

"None of you should be here," Block said, and Longin bit his tongue before looking up from his hands at the General's face. Block's eyes were calm, despite his words; he had already accepted his fate.

"But we are. For what it's worth sir, we know what we signed up for. To follow you into Hell, if necessary."

Block chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before he finally said, "Would you lock the door please, Captain?"

Longin carried out the order, breath catching when he turned to find Block standing, the line of his shoulders tight.

"I wish we had more time," Block said, and Longin prayed he wasn't misreading anything when he took a step towards his commander.

"I wish the same."

Block covered the remaining steps between them in a rush, and Longin barely managed to brace himself as he was drawn into Block's arms and kissed.

Longin hadn't misread him. They were young, war and death had their ways of firing up the blood, and Block's mouth drank up his own like a man starved of water.

Longin wished he could hold him tight enough to risk wrinkling his uniform, wished he could tell Block that his eyes were the most beautiful thing he had seen in all his days as a soldier and all his days before that too. The war had stolen so much from them, even the chance to know one another properly, and Longin wanted to steal it all back.

Block pulled away for a moment, Longin readying himself for rejection or dismissal, but instead found Block's hands coming up to frame his jaw, thumbs tracing the curve of it, feeling out and pressing down on the dip of his chin. The look on Block's face was something pained, and Longin wondered if he would ever be able to take that pain away.

"You deserve more than faith and blind luck," Block said, and Longin shook his head fiercely, smoothing his hands down Block's back.

"You've seen men through Hell before," Longin said, closing his eyes and letting his lips find Block's again, brushing against them as he spoke, "I'd trust no one else to navigate it."

Block had kissed him first. It only seemed right to take his turn now.

After their first meeting, Longin had known he'd obey any order Block ever gave him.

The moment Block relaxed in his arms, Longin knew he'd die for the General even without orders.

They were dying faster than reinforcements would ever arrive. No enemy force had proven as inventive, as invasive, or as cruel as the sand pest.

They needed to leave, but Longin had read the orders; if Block left without seeing his mission through, he would be court-martialed, accused of undermining his superiors and jeopardising the nation's safety. Even if The Powers That Be couldn't make an accusation of treason stick, the penalty for insubordination remained death.

Someone would have to bear that penalty one way or another.

Drugging Block's vodka was a simple enough business, and Longin's stomach churned as he watched Block grow drowsy, then concerned, then betrayed, fear constricting his pupils to pinpricks of black.

"What did you do?" Block asked, his words slurring together like a drunk's, legs collapsing beneath him when he tried to stand.

Longin wished he could give him the reassurance of safety, but couldn't - Block had to believe the betrayal was complete.

"We're leaving," Longin said, allowing himself that much honesty as he stood from his own chair and took the town hall's keys from Block's desk.

"Don't," Block said as Longin turned his back. "Don't make me die alone."

Longin held his tongue, knowing the other conspirators were outside, that they would want to know he had succeeded. There was no clatter of furniture to give them privacy now.

You won't die, Longin let himself think. That's the point.

"You'll hang for this," Block said, and Longin took a moment to picture that future - a noose around his neck, a public execution to make an example of the mutineers - and accept it.

His own death would turn Block into a nearly-martyred hero. It would be armour for him in the world of politics for years to come.

But Block would watch, and think Longin hated him.

"I will," Longin promised, and left.

[angstymarshmallow]

part four: “nothing left for us here.” (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: I still haven’t come up with a name for my series. But I’m playing around with one or two names. In any case, I’ve mentioned before that this part is pretty long - but it’s after two in the morning and I want to post it before I give it another second thought. If you read it - than you! If you leave a comment, bless you! ]

[words counted: 11191] Yup 11.1k, I haven’t written this much for a series chapteer in foreverrrr.

[summary: when trouble brews on the horizon for Cal and Wren (MC) as a werewolf alpha threatens their pack’s safety - Cal must make a decision to protect them. Because after all, the pack must always come first].

[part one, part two, part three]

His biological clock ticks down the hours, minutes and seconds before his eyes fly open. He can never sleep past it. Not since adulthood came knocking at his door. The blood of the wolf thrums inside his vein. It demands him to rouse awake – always close to the highest peak of dawn.

Today is of course no different.

The beast inside him stirs with a keen sense of awareness. His nerves can’t sit still. Move. Move. He’s too wired up from last night and his urge to burn the lingering stress, outweighs his desire to stay in bed.

Still, Cal forces himself to take a second. He appreciates being home again – he appreciates the sense of security and stability that comes a long with it. And the comfort of coming home to someone.

He breathes deeply, letting his lungs fill with the allure of clean sheets and the slight musky scent from the clothes they discarded in a hurry last night. Rolling over, he nearly collides into the warm body nestled beside him but halts his free arm just in time. He keeps the rest of himself steady - barely a hair length away.

When she doesn’t stir, Cal utters a small sigh of relief.

The last thing he wants is to devoid her of anymore sleep than necessary. Sometimes, she hardly gets any – her job keeps her up more often than is. But more than that, his reasons are purely selfish for keeping her bed. It’s in moments like these – when everything is still, that makes waking up first worth it.

Cal props himself up on one elbow to study her.

His lover. His best friend. His mate.

Wren exemplifies all of these qualities and more. It’s exhilarating, terrifying and wonderful all at once to find someone he wants to spend more than a few precious moments with. Ever since they’ve met – it’s been one moment leading into another. Now that he’s had a taste of this, he doesn’t think he can go back to being alone again.

Cal’s brow creases at the thought.

He isn’t afraid. He should be, but he isn’t. For one, she isn’t the most reliable person. There’s been a few close calls of her coming home – battered and bruised. But it’s the nature of her job. For another, hey haven’t known each other for very long and as his mate there are certain responsibilities that comes along with the newfound territory. Not to mention they argue almost as much as they make-up, but in spite of all this – in spite of all the reasons he can think of – he’s still not afraid.

None of these reasons, plausible or not change how he feels. Deep within him, there’s a sense of peace and a surge of unadultered joy in knowing it’s her.

Before Cal is able to stop himself, his fingers stretch the rest of the distance between them and he weaves them through the softness of her hair. Lightly, his forefingers rub between its finer strands of earthy brown.

She stirs slightly from the motion; nuzzling further into her pillow with a half-hearted smile flitting across her face.

Something in his chest flutters.

He never gets tired of the view. He tucks a few of them behind her ear.

Taking another few seconds to admire her asleep, he drops a kiss to her brow and then slips out of bed. He rubs his eyes before they are drawn to the window, where the telltale signs of a new day have already begun. Sunlight seeps through their curtains, casting a dazzling gleam across his pillow as he swings his legs out of the way.

Cal stretches a second time, his muscles bunching as he rolls his shoulders back to release tension. Standing, he hunts for a pair of fresh clothes.

But clothes don’t matter, they never do for mornings like this – because mornings like this are made for running with the sun beating down his back. They are made to chase away the cold air from the night before and run until sweat beads across every inch of his skin. They are made for feeling the earth beneath his feet and for his paws to dig into the soil as he basks in its sunny disposition.

Twisting his chestnut hair into a loose bun, Cal fishes for a pair of shorts before he ventures downstairs and then out the door. His mind acts on memory as a roadmap for the best place to burn off his pent-up energy surfaces.

Within seconds, he takes off. A light jog is more than adequate for now. He deeply inhales the finer smells in the air, the taste of sunshine on his skin. His eyes linger on different sections of his neighborhood, searching for anything remotely off. Anything unfamiliar. After last night, he can’t be too careful. He can never be too careful again so long as another alpha threatens his territory.

By the time he steps off the main path leading into the woods, less than a half an hour has passed. He rolls his shoulders back again, does a few last-minute stretches before checking for his usual spots.

He ducks his head low after ignoring the first bush. It isn’t until he’s able to find a rosebush large enough to obscure most of his body that he stops inside his tracks. Thorns prick his skin as he makes quick work of shedding his clothes and abandoning his shoes. He doesn’t care; those bruises always heal fast– at least, far faster than the ones from last night anyway. He’s still feeling some of the pain, despite most of his body already undergoing his extensive healing process; with only jarred edges of scars to mark the only shred of evidence left behind.

But there’s still an ache in his body that reminds him he’s gone through hell.

Carefully, he stashes his clothes away.

The last thing he has to take care of is double-checking the area before he’s ready to shift. But wolf in him is impatient, it yearns to be free. His eyes and body work together to search the parameter. He can’t afford to have anyone else in town freaking out about their wolf population.

When Cal is satisfied with the knowledge of nearly complete solitude, he heads back in the bush’s direction.

Hunching over, he closes his eyes – and starts the change.

His bones break first. They always do to redefine what it means to be man and wolf. Then slowly, they begin to remake themselves – a sickening crunch here and there signifies the worst parts of it; where his limbs bend at an awkward angle and his legs buckle to keep him upright. Cal flinches but he doesn’t make a sound. He is accustomed to the pain and a sense of exhilaration comes along with feeling every crack, every bone that transcends into the animal as the beast inside him stirs awake. Familiar tingles travel up his spine; it’s his sensory perceptions overriding the more rational part of himself with the fundamental knowledge that it is almost over – and none of it is completely unpleasant anymore. Gradually, fur replaces skin and his large - often coarse hands shift into paws with claws sharp enough to tear through even the sturdiest of metals. With a howl, Cal sheds the remainder of his human form – as the final layers which prevented him from embracing his truest nature dissipates into nothing.

Everything is much clearer, crisper when he’s like this. When his heart races faster and excitement propel all 800 pounds of him forward. His better senses take control, he is no longer just Cal – he is so much more.

He pauses to sniff the air.

His ears perk at the sound of footsteps that leads further into the forest. Is that rabbit? No! He inhales deeply, and a slight shudder ripples his fur. It’s definitely antelope. He can almost picture the creature in his head – scrambling through the forest as though abruptly aware of his presence.

Then Cal sets off again – crouching low and digging his paws to feel the soil beneath him. He makes a beeline for the trees, howling over the wind and his russet fur ruffles by the motion. He leaps from tree to tree; its colour makes it easy to for him to blend in with most of the bark in his immediate area, and even if didn’t – he isn’t worried. Right now, he isn’t worried about anything.

He lets go of all those human novelties – of regret, fear and second-guessing his own past judgements. All that’s left is the wolf – and whatever the wolf demands, he simply gives.

-

An hour later, Cal has gathered his pants and changes with quick fluidity. Thankfully, no one has spotted him despite how embarrassingly loud he’d been during his hunt in the woods. He allows his hair to be free with a shake of his head and takes off into another jog to travel home.

The moment Cal approaches the front door, his stomach grumbles at the smell of something freshly made. To a regular human being the smell would have barely found its way outside, but to him – even the very whiff of it is intoxicating. He sniffs the air in excitement, trying to discern the flavors in the atmosphere – is that bacon? He sniffs again – and pancakes?

He boards the rest of their porch with barely contained eagerness, slamming the door a little too hard behind him before he empties his feet free of boots by their welcome home mat.

“There better still be a door, Cal!” Comes a loud yell from down the hall.

Cal winces guiltily and then double-checks its safety. So far so good. He hasn’t pried off any of their doors yet. Well – not in a long time anyway.

He quickly pads against the wooden floorboards of their home, finding Donny already sitting across the couch watching a familiar-looking show at first glance, with an ample amount of bacon and pancakes in his lap. “Morning,” He greets warmly, flashing his brother a smile.

Donny’s answer is lost within a grunt as he stuffs another mouthful of food into his mouth. His eyes haven’t even left the screen.

“Well good morning to you too.” Cal raises an eyebrow, waiting expectantly for some sort of response.

Donny visibly swallows. “Mornin’,” he mutters finally, almost appearing unwilful as he glances towards him. He tilts his chin, then directs his attention back to his screen.

Shaking his head, Cal reaches over to ruffle his brother’s head, earning a scowl from him before he slaps his hands away.

“Don’t.” Donny’s nostrils flares until he turns completely still, abruptly seeming uneasy as they made eye contact with each other. “Just…don’t.”

It takes a moment for Cal to realize the emotions flickering across his youthful features aren’t anger – they’re worry. Regret. Fear. Guilt.

“I’m sorry.” Donny blurts the words out, his cheeks suddenly going flush under the weight of Cal’s penetrating stare. His eyes fall to his feet. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be, you could have gotten yourself killed.”

His brother flinches at the sound of anger in his voice.  “I know.”

“You could have gotten Wren killed.”

A pause. “I know.”

“Donny,” Cal takes a ragged breath, letting his harsh exhale override his urge to snap at his brother. He isn’t mad at him, not really. He had been last night but not anymore. Anger isn’t going to solve any of their problems. It’s just a knee jerk reaction that causes the wolf in him to rise to its feet to snarl and snap at anyone he has a problem with. But Cal doesn’t have a problem with his brother. And he has to work tirelessly to temper that anger, to practice restraint and remain in control.

Donny is all he has left in this world. He wouldn’t trade him for anything.

After their dad’s death – Cal has always felt like it’s up to him to keep them alive – to keep them safe. “You scared me last night.” He confesses slowly, dragging his fingers through his hair. “When I came in and saw what was going on – fuck, I feared the worst.” He cuts off his sentence, suddenly grabbing his brother by the arm. He nearly knocks his plate aside, in his rush to pull him to his feet and hug him. To make sure he’s alright, that there’s nothing broken.

For a split second, Donny doesn’t react. Cal could feel his brother tensing as his arms remain loosely at his sides. Then another second passes and it’s almost as if he jolts out of it. Suddenly, Donny is embracing him back, and taking deep breaths to keep his pulse steady.

“You gotta stop doing this.” Cal mutters, releasing him. “You’re not just a kid anymore Donny. You’re seventeen. You’re growing up. You can’t keep making the same mistakes and not expect bad things to happen.”

Donny lowers his gaze to the floor.

Something in Cal’s chest squeezes. “You’ve –” his tone grows softer, “you’ve gotta stop giving me a heart attack Donny. At this rate – I don’t think I’ll make it to forty.”

Despite his half-serious tone, Donny glances back up and snorts. He’s never been good at explaining how he feels, and Cal wonders if it’s his fault for always wanting to shelter him. “I think you’ll be fine. You’ve dealt with a lot worse.”

“Nothing could be worse than losing you.” He says emphatically, holding his stare. “Nothing.”

The smugness in Donny’s expression falters. He’s suddenly blinking and glancing away again – as if he’s afraid of looking at him. “Even if it meant you wouldn’t have to deal with my shit anymore?”

“Even then,” Cal lips soften into a timid smile. He reaches between them to squeeze his shoulder. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Donny ducks his head as his cheeks flush against his olive skin. He mumbles under his breath, “thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.” Recognizing his brother’s tells that the discussion is uncomfortable, Cal drops the subject and gives his shoulder another squeeze before reaching for the remote. He rewinds the last several minutes and offers the remote to him.

“Thanks,” Donny mutters.

Inclining his head, Cal pushes past the door to wade into their kitchen. He sniffs he air again, stomach growling at the very thought of eating. His keen senses help him to determine and approve of the types of spices she uses to change its typical flavor. A slight pinch of ginger. A dash of salt. Some cloves. And is that…garlic power? He can almost taste how good it will be melting on his tongue. It’s his favourite kind of bacon after all, underneath all that sauce – and his mouth is practically salivating with the urge to suddenly dive in and eat.

It’s the sight of Wren bent and leaning over their counter that causes a different reaction. Something that goes further than his hunger. The wolf in him stirs, and yearns to touch her. Want. Need. Sometimes, the line blurs between the two.

Leaning against the door frame, Cal smiles. “What did I do to deserve such a view?” he teases.

“Knowing you Cal – probably something really good in your past life.” She answers without hesitation. “You just have kinda that look about you.”

He laughs.

“But you can always come closer and find out,” Wren tosses a wink over her shoulder. “I know a dozen ways to remind you why you deserve this, why you deserve me.”

“Oh, just a dozen?” He steps close enough for her cheeks to grow lightly flushed under his smoldering stare. But she doesn’t look away, not his Wren. She meets his gaze head on, tilts her chin back as he leans forward between them to nip her chin.

It may have been the heat from the stove, but he likes to think he’s always able to cause that kind of reaction from her. He relishes in her slight shiver. The proximity between them is close enough to place his hands at either side of her. Still, Cal eaves enough room for her to close the distance if she wants to.

Instead of stepping closer, Wren loops her arms around his neck and tugs him towards her – erasing the rest of the gap. “We’ll start with a dozen.”

Before Cal can respond, across the hall his ears perk at the sound of Donny making gagging noises. Gagging noises that are painfully obvious as lacking any sort of authenticity. He makes a point of ignoring him.

He buries his lips to her neck, drawing a deep breath – comforted by her scent. The faintest hint of her bodywash still lingers on her skin. Mmm. Vanilla.

“Is Donny okay?”

“He’s faking it.” Cal snorts, then releases her and glances down in surprise. “You actually sound worried.”

She smacks his shoulder playfully with the dish rag from the counter. “I am worried. A little.”

“It seems like things between you two are getting better.” Cal can’t keep the smile out of his voice as he says it. His smile grows wider when she shrugs and mumbles under her breath. He knows Donny’s adjustment to someone new in his life hasn’t been easy. It’s never been easy for either of them.

“Finally, last night was a lot.” Wren pauses, and a small smile pokes out from the corner of her lips when she meets his stare. “And Donny’s not a bad kid.”

“No, he isn’t.” Suddenly remembering last night, Cal winces and twists to lean against the counter behind them. “Although, sometimes I wish he’d think before he does something he knows I won’t approve of.” The words may sound harsh to someone who didn’t know them – who didn’t know the Donny he’s had to bail out of trouble countless of times. But Cal says it without malice, he has always been genuinely concerned for his brother’s safety. Just thinking what their dad would’ve done if it had been him doing those things would have gotten him killed a long time ago.

“You remember what it was like being his age, right?” Wren responds, bumping his hip and interrupting the flow of his thoughts. “Everything felt important, like something you just had to do. There was no waiting around for anything or anyone else – and,” she says the rest slowly, nodding her head as though lost in thought, “sometimes that means doing some really dumb shit.”

“It’s just a part of growing up,” Cal agrees whole-heartedly. How couldn’t he, when he’s done his fair share of dumb things as a teenager? But he can’t think of a familiar instance comparable to last night. That bar fight shouldn’t have happened. “I can’t think of anything as bad as last night.”

“Oh, come on.” Wren gives him a look. “I don’t believe that for one second, Cal. You’re as handsome as sin.”

He holds up his hands, “I swear to you. Never that bad.”

“Uh huh,” she arches an eyebrow and places a hand by her hip. “But you did all that other stuff right? Sneaking out, staying out late. Spent some time experimenting with drugs. Drink before you were actually legal– that’s the really exciting part about drinking, the thrill of doing something bad – that kinda stuff?”

“You’re painting such a colourful childhood.”

Uncharacteristically, she sticks her tongue out at him. “What I mean to say is – it’s not easy being a kid. At least, I don’t remember it being easy.”

His brow furrows at the last jab. “We all do some things we regret, whether or not we’re seventeen or in our twenties. I think our bars for stupid hasn’t changed much.”

Wren laughs, her lips quirking into a know-it-all smirk. “Yup totally. I think I was the poster child for stupid shit and for breaking all the rules.”

“It must kinda come with the territory.” He means it as a light and gentle kind of prodding, keeping his voice tentatively low while he gauges her for her reaction. They never spend a lot of time talking about her past. And he senses the change in the air, even before her expression slightly changes.

“Group homes aren’t the most stable environments.” Although, she says the words dismissively – her eyes are wary, calculated – like she’s weighing how much to tell him. “I ran away a lot, got in trouble a lot for it. There wasn’t any place for me to really call home.”

Cal tries to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat as he tries to picture her out on the street – surviving on her own. It breaks his heart a little to wonder what a younger version of her was like, living the way she did. But she’s here now, and he’d do anything to make sure she’d never go through that again.

She bumps her nose with his, and her eyes suddenly bright with resolve. “At least until now.”

He places a tender kiss across her nose.

Her shoulders relax. “But I bet it’s definitely nothing like growing up here in NOLA.” Wren changes the subject smoothly.

“Not when you’ve had a pack to contend with all your life – no.”

Her nose wrinkles. “All your life huh? It’s be all our end all with you guys.”

“It’s something we were born into,” Cal responds defensively. “And it’s all we’ve ever known.” There’s no sense of sugar-coating the words – not that he would ever want to. Cal loves being a werewolf – despite its ups and downs, it’s simply apart of who he is. “I wouldn’t want to change anything about it.” He adds earnestly.

Something passes quickly in her eyes as she slips out of his grip to grab a plate. “We should eat before it gets cold.”

-

Piled up unto the couch with their plates of bountiful food stationed in front of them, they’ve settled into their normal routine. Cal stretches out his long legs, bracing them loosely across the edge of their coffee table, after Wren’s able to successfully wrestle the remote from his brother and declares it her turn to choose a show.

Donny’s posture deflates a little as he mutters something about never having enough time to watch what he wants before Cal suggests something to watch on more neutral territory.

They both hesitate – Donny still shooting Wren a glare and in turn, she rolls her eyes until Cal steps in. He retrieves the remote out of her hands without a second thought and declares it’s what the alpha wants; making it a moot point to further argue anyway.

Donny, almost immediately recedes in defeat. He glances away and leans his wiry frame against the seat in sulky silence while Wren has more difficulty letting it go. She purses her lips before until Cal’s arm snakes around her waist and draws her snugly to his side.

“This way, everybody wins.”

“This way, you win.” She fires back, but surrenders control and she plants a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you back later.”

Her sudden smirk, incites a reaction inside of him. His eyes drift down to her lips and then lower. “Is that a promise?” Because he’d really like to make good on such a promise.

Before Wren is able to answer, the younger Lowell brother loudly clears his throat. “I’m still right here guys.” Donny makes a point of grabbing a pillow and tossing at them. “Can you not be gross in front of me?”

Cal’s cheeks flush with a look of apology as Wren catches the pillow at the very last second and laughs. “Sorry kid. You know I can’t help it – your brother is so damn sexy.” She whistles as if to drive her point home and then wriggles her eyebrows at Cal.

His wolfish grin causes her to lean in closer.

“Oh, look. The show is starting.” Donny changes the subject quickly, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume to drone out the rest of their banter.

“Spoilsport.” Wren declares.

But Donny ignores her public outcry and shushes them both the second they both laugh.

Half-way through the episode, the door rings and Cal is up in a flash to answer it. He heard footsteps rustling around earlier, but it’s only after Wren grabs the remote from the coffee table that he’s able to tell whose it is. Their footsteps are measured and precise – there are only few people that had that kind of strut.

Wren’s eyes shoot up in question until Cal jerks his chin. “It’s just Jayde.” He says reassuringly and instantly her entire body relaxes.

“Okay, we’ll just wait.”

“No need, I’ll catch up – keep going.” Cal doesn’t leave room to protest as he takes several long strides towards the hall. He catches the end of Donny’s sentence on his way out. “…you heard the man, keep going.”

His Beta stands outside with her hands tucked loosely inside her leather jacket as he opens the door. The piercing on her nose seem to gleam against the sun. Her evasive dark emeralds have always been sharp, but they are currently missing as he’s able to tell by the slight dull amber colour of her eyes that she’s recently shifted.

Her slightly pointed chin, lowers in reverence after meeting his stare. “Cal,” she says his name smoothly.

Her greeting is nothing short of what he expects when she’s serious.

He’s known Jayde for several years and their relationship hasn’t always been this solid. They met at their local high school’s football team after tryouts had them competing for the same spot. While she’s been a part of the pack nearly as long he has, they wouldn’t have gotten a long if they hadn’t spent a lot of time outside of school together. Their awkward fumble at prom when they’d try working out as something more than friends in his father’s old car is still a haunting and uncomfortable memory that pops up every now and then when he sees her. Thankfully, they’ve grown a lot closer as friends than they ever did as anything else. “Jayde, hey.” He greets warmly, flashing her a smile. “What can I do for you? Want come in? We’re watching –”

“I’m afraid this isn’t really a social call.” She interjects and hesitates when he arches a brow at her; as though she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “It’s about yesterday night.”

The wolf in him stirs. He grits his teeth at the sudden burst of protectiveness for his pack, swells in his chest. “You’ve heard something?”

She shakes her head. “No, not really but those wolves we took in are restless.” She punctuates the word. “They were in a hurry to leave this morning until one of our guys caught wind of it and notified me.”

“Where are they now?”

“Wolf’s Den. Pete is keeping them busy when I came to get you.”

“Good call.” Cal gives her a brief nod of encouragement before he turns on his heels to promptly find his jacket. “We should get going then.”

“No time like the present.” Jayde agrees. Then hesitates again, her sharp features softening a little as she gestures behind him. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s alright.” While he cherishes these moments of reprieve where he can stave away from the rest of the world; time slips by too quickly when he’s like this. When he can almost there’s more to life than just this, than just Wren.

“The pack’s safety comes first.” He says the words more to himself than to her, committing it again to memory. It’s more of a mantra at this point. It has too much meaning for there to be any kind of simplicity behind them.

It’s remarkable to him even after defeating Octavia all those months ago that he’s alpha. If only his dad was here to see it. But more than that – remarkable and responsibility are two sides of the same coin. Responsibility has always been Cal’s burden in some shape or form – whether it was taking care of their dad, Donny or the pack – there’s been countless of circumstances where he has to put everything else first.

“Donny,” He calls loudly, after finding his boots. “Change of plans buddy, we gotta go.” He turns his attention down the hall, waits expectantly for him to heed his call and follow.

Donny appears within seconds. From the look in his eyes, when he spots Jayde – whatever argument he’d make disappears with the knowledge that this is pack business and not just a simple social call. He ducks inside the closet to find his shoes and Cal’s attention has swerved to watch Wren when he feels her eyes on him.

Her confident gait stops a few feet away. She doesn’t greet Jayde; her eyes are solely on him – and for him only, when her eyebrows arch critically.

Cal knows what she’ll say even before she says it. She gets that same determined look in her eyes every time. Shit, it makes it hard to say no to her.

“I’m coming.” There’s no room in her voice for an argument.

From behind him, Jayde snorts.

This time Wren shifts her gaze. It’s only slightly but it’s enough to acknowledge his Beta’s presence.

There’s tension brewing, Cal feels it. He has to choose his words carefully, knowing that if he doesn’t – she’d fight him on this, given the chance. “It’s really not that simple.”

“How complicated can it be?” She counters.

“It’s…dangerous.”

She scoffs. “You say that like it’s supposed to stop me.” She strides past Donny to search for her boots.

Jayde raises an eyebrow, her lips drawing back into a frown. “It’s pack business.” Although, there’s no hostility behind her words – Cal does detect a hint of flatness that betrays her distrust of her.

“You say that like it’s going to stop me.”

“Look pup, this isn’t about you. We –”

Cal intervenes, physically putting himself between them before Jayde’s able to finish.

Jayde flinches and breaks off her sentence. Her eyes drift down to the floor while her jaw remains clenched.

There’s no sense in beating around the bush. Even with the months Cal has spent, integrating Wren into his pack – claiming her as his mate; the tension surrounding her in her complete disregard of committing herself as one of them has caused a shift in his power. An imbalance that he’s starting to wonder if anyone would fight him for. One that he’s keenly aware of in moments like this –when Jayde’s nostrils flare in hostility and Wren’s glare is enough to cut a lesser person down. He’ll have to think about that later, but right now – there are more important matters to deal with than this sudden pissing match.

“Wren is my mate.” Cal says the words with renewed purpose, his stare intense enough for Jayde to step back. “Despite how much I think it’s better for her to stay – she’s capable of making her own decisions.” He doesn’t miss the taunting smile Wren shoots back at Jayde. He gives her a look of reproach before the smile swiftly fades from view.

Nodding shrewdly, Jayde steps off their porch. “Then I’ll meet you at Wolf’s Den.” She says the words crisply, leaving no room for him to think she has anything more to add.

Donny stops her before she leaves. “Mind if I tag along with you?”

The tightness in Jayde expression softens a little as Donny walks in stride beside her. “It’d be my pleasure kid, let’s go.”

“I’ll meet you guys there!” The younger Lowell brother tosses behind him, eagerly keeping pace with Jayde as they approach her car.

Cal watches them go for a moment, sighing with relief that he’d avoided another fight. On some days, he isn’t always so lucky.

She lifts an eyebrow, “he’s never that interested getting in my truck.”

“Wren – are you jealous?” He tries to fight the smile off his face when she shoots him a glare, but eventually it wins out and he laughs.

“You’ve seen how long it took for him to even smile at me, let alone invite himself to hitch a ride.” She shakes her head. “Ridiculous.” She murmurs.

“Well, I’ll hitch a ride with you any day babe.” He drawls, throwin an arm around her shoulders.

“I think that goes without saying.” But her smile is bigger than her retort, and she reaches up on her toes to kiss him.

He kisses her back, immediately resting his arms by her waist. Her lips part. Cal’s tongue slides between the slight crack as he deepens the kiss. It only lasts seconds but Cal dejectedly let’s her go. He knows he has more pressing matters other than the boner his mate gives him with a searing kiss as she cups him through his pants.

Damn these fucking jeans.

He’s almost tempted to scoop her up and return back inside. The wolf in him is practically panting at the idea. He wants to ravish her – but she’s already tossing a teasing smirk over her shoulder as she gestures to her truck. “We’re taking my ride.”

Smiling in amusement, Cal follows the sashay of her hips until he finds the passenger seat and slips inside. He watches her profile view as the engine roars to life. All things considered; he knows he’ll have nothing to worry about so long as the most important people in his life are safe.

-

The Wolf’s Den is unusually quiet as Cal swaggers in with Wren in tow behind him. He walks with purpose as the air of authority clings to his every movement. He cannot appear anything less than an alpha – than in complete control despite feeling a little uncertain on the situation he’s walking in on.

Immediately all eyes in the room fall upon him.

The entire room is silent as he steps further inside the house.

Jayde is standing off to the side with Donny in tow, Wren is always more comfortable out of the spotlight and sticks to the shadows of the room. Every wolf has their head bowed as his long strides past them and it isn’t until Cal has uttered his first few words since walking inside, does the atmosphere in the room change.

“By now you’ve all heard about what happened at The Howlers last night.” He begins, gathering his thoughts. “We need to talk.” His eyes skim every member of his pack – every solemn and uneasy face until they’ve made a complete circle. “Because what I have to say could potentially threaten the safety of our pack.”

Murmurs break out uneasily between small groups of people. Jayde steps forward with a curt nod from Cal to bring the rest of their attention at three distinct people.

They’re young, probably somewhere between early adulthood. The tallest of the bunch looks the most reassured and the least nervous at being the center of attention. He doesn’t shrink away from it as the other two do, instead he remains in eye contact with Cal. His copper hair shines like sheen under the fluorescent light they’re standing under. The other two are almost indistinguishable from each other to be anything less than siblings. They don’t meet Cal’s stare.

The copper-haired pup doesn’t break eye contact with Cal as he opens his mouth to speak. “Look, we don’t want any trouble. We’ve been grateful to you since you’ve taken us in. So what the hell is this?”

“Someone from your old pack showed up to The Howlers last night. He threatened my brother, threatened my mate.” Cal punctuates the words, letting his entire pack know the enormity of the situation. Anyone doing that, shouldn’t be taken lightly. “If it was just about money, I wouldn’t have batted an eye but it’s about more than that.”

The trio of young wolves share glances between themselves.

“Isn’t that right – Nick, Theo and Saline?”

The tallest, Nick – goes almost and completely still, white Theo and Saline continue to cower slightly behind him – their grey eyes are wide and their skin pales in comparison to Nick’s at the question.

“I don’t want to worry you,” Cal forces his tone to be a little less firm and more neutral. “But your alpha’s beta had specific instructions to bring you back and when I told him no – he didn’t like that.” He takes a deep breath to calm the sudden quell of frustration inside him at the thought. The man tried to tear him into pieces and the wolf in him demanded his own penance in blood before Cal had nearly killed him. “I sent him my own message.” This time, his eyes don’t linger on just the trio of meek wolves in front of him – they look to everyone to attest and emphasize his own point. “I don’t abandon my family.”

Nick’s shoulders relax, Theo and Saline lets out sighs of relief as some of the tension begins to ooze out of the room. Even the rest of the pack seems a little less worried by the strong convictions in Cal’s voice. “But I do need to know why he’s come looking for you,” Cal continues, skirting his stare back in their direction. “Because if it affects you, it affects all of us. Because next time – we might not all be so lucky to have a simple bar fight.”

There’s another murmur of discontent, several wolves have looked worried again until Jayde roughly clears her throat. “Our alpha is talking! So shut the hell up and listen!”

Cal shoots Jayde a slight and grateful nod until he makes a point of standing in the center. “Why don’t you tell us why you left?”

Nick’s body has regained some of its hostility. His shoulders are too straight and his mouth forms a silent sneer. He jerks his chin defiantly. “We already did. He was getting violent and it wasn’t safe for us to be there anymore.”

And yet, by the slight tremble in his voice – and his aggressive posture, Cal doesn’t believe him. He narrows his eyes a little, straightens his shoulders back and peers down at him. The wolf in him snaps at the firm judgement call he’s willing to make. “You’re not telling me everything, and I’m not fond of liars Nick.”

The change in his posture makes Nick welp and he steps back as though Cal struck him. He might as well have.

“I –”

“He’s been selling us off!” Saline yells behind Nick.

Nearly everyone in the Wolf’s Den freezes at her public outcry. Even Nick looks surprised before he shoots a look of betrayal at her. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Telling the truth!” Saline fires back, her greys suddenly sparking with anger.

“Richard’ll kill us the moment he finds us!” Nick hisses back, suddenly grabbing the younger wolf by the collar.

Theo slaps Nick’s hand away as a growl leaves his throat. “Paws off my sister!” He steps protectively in front of her. “And Saline’s right, when we left – we swore off anything to do with that pack, we agreed that anything else was better than going back there.” He tears his gaze away from the taller boy to stare pleadingly at Cal. “You have to do something! We got out but not everyone’s been so lucky!”

“Woah, woah. Slow down.” Cal raises a hand as civil unrest continues the uneasy glances between the members of his pack. “You mean Richard Shaw?!” He blinks in disbelief.  The man had one of the biggest packs this side of the country.

Cal doesn’t Shaw well, they’ve only met a few seldom times but he didn’t strike Cal as a man capable of such things.

Saline nods vehemently, peeking out from behind her brother’s shoulder. “It used to be one at a time. At first, we didn’t even notice. Richard has a pretty big pack, one of the biggest in the world so we were really proud to be brought in the fold after all – we were a couple of orphans until he took us in.” As she speaks, Saline reaches for her brother’s hand and then Nick’s, squeezing them affectionately before continuing, “But recently more of us have been disappearing for us to notice.”

“It started with Bethany,” Nick continues slowly, dropping Saline’s hand. “She was my girlfriend and when I brought it up to Shaw, he decked me.” He rubs the side of his face, almost as though in memory of what happened.

“We couldn’t believe it – because we’ve never seen him look so angry before,” Saline steps away from her brother; eyes trained on her every movement as she keeps going. “Not for just asking a simple question, the whole thing was suspicious especially when Derek threatened to beat the shit out of us after.”

“So, we did a little bit of digging,” Nick muttered. “I was pretty good at computer science in school and I knew a couple professors personally, so I innocently asked my favourite professor to look into Shaw. At first, he didn’t find anything incriminating and told me if I was looking for something specific, I should go to the cops.”

“But we were too scared that he’d find out, so we didn’t.” Saline bites her lower lip, “But then he called Nick back a few days later mentioning Shaw has been hanging around with London Kavinsky lately and that drew a couple red flags for us.”

Cal’s eyes widen a fraction at the name. London Kavinsky is more than a casino mogul, he’s collector of antiques to the modern 21st century. He’s never cared about such things himself, but he remembers Kristof and Octavia talking about trading with him on more than one occasion.

Still, it doesn’t sound completely out of the ordinary for Shaw to have a contact such as himself – not if he’s been trading with him. Although what Shaw had to offer the multimillionaire, he hasn’t the faintest clue. “I don’t see why that detail is completely important.”

“The meetings Shaw and Mr. Kavinsky has go way back,” Saline insists, “we think –” she looks between her brother and Nick. “As far back since the first werewolf disappearance in our pack.” She stops short and corrects herself, “our old pack.”

For once, the entire room has gone silent.

Cal blinks a couple times in shock, before clearing his throat. If what they’re saying is remotely true… He can’t leave any room for doubt and interpretation; they have to be sure. “That’s a serious accusation.” Not to mention what it means – werewolf trafficking. The thought makes him ill.

“We wouldn’t be coming to you if we didn’t have some kind of proof of it ourselves.” Theo says. He’s been mostly quiet this entire time – silently assessing everything they’ve all said until now. “We followed Shaw. Once we could roughly put two and two together; he was due for another shipment to carry out for Kavinsky. He was meeting with Brady to go hunting alone. For a while, we thought he was grooming him since they’ve been getting along so well – but the thing is Brady has been there for only two years; and there’s plenty of other older and much mature wolves that were flying under the radar.” His eyes slam shut for a moment, before he opens them again to stare at Cal with a glint of determination. “So we followed them both after a long hunt one night – because we roughly figured when another shipment would take place and sure enough, Shaw and Derek had taken Brady out to eat. They called it a celebration until Kavinsky had showed up at the restaurant. We didn’t see where they went after that, but we do know that Brady never came back home.”

Cal’s brow furrows at the implication of Theo’s words. “That doesn’t mean anything happened to him,” he wants to believe them but there were still too many holes in their story. Were they even sure it was Brady? How much of a good look could they have without Shaw realizing someone’s been following him? “He could have simply left the pack.” Although the thought doesn’t sit well with him, and it doesn’t seem the likely scenario – it is a possibility they all have to consider.

Nick almost bares his teeth at him until a sharp look from Jayde deviates him into staring at the floor. Even Theo seems unsettled by his dismissal as he stuffs his hands inside his pants and stiffen. “We know Brady, he would never leave the pack. He’d pretty much bent over backwards to please Shaw. He wouldn’t just leave.”

“Not like you guys, right?” Someone from his pack mutters and Saline flinches at their choice of words.

“Why else would we risk everything and leave his pack if we didn’t think something fishy was going on?” Saline juts her chin out. Her looks is almost pleading when she gestures to Cal. “We’ve been keeping our heads down, doing everything we can for the pack. We would never try to risk anything to ruin our place here – unless, we really believed we had no other choice.”

Nick and Theo nod, stepping beside her to join in a unified front. “Richard Shaw is breaking pack laws by selling our own to Mr. Kavinsky.”

The room erupted into chaos. Everyone has started talking at once – some demanding justice, while others have condemned the three wolves in front of them for saying anything at all. The worst of it are his brothers and sisters that wanted to turn their back on them; declaring its none of their business to involve themselves in such a thing. All of it makes Cal’s stomach churn.

His mind is whirling with how to deal with the panic – the indifference and most of all the people that actually want to help, despite the potential doom it means for all of them, if they’re wrong. Or worse – if these proclamations are true – Shaw has to step down as pack leader of New York.

The arguments continue back and forth as members of his pack begin to shove at each other, baring teeth as if ready to fight until Cal’s thunderous voice engulfs the room. “Shut it!”

Immediately, the entire room falls impeccably quiet.

He jerks his chin at Jayde and she steps forward without hesitation. “Can you keep an eye on them?” He gestures to all three of them; still huddled together some paces in front – watching the room with apprentice caution as though expecting someone to jump out at them at any moment. But they wouldn’t – so long as Cal deems them family, no one would ever dare.

Still, his stomach seizes at the uncomfortable position they’ve placed him in. The tension in the air is almost palpable as Cal wets his lips and the room seems to hover uncertainty as he formulates his thoughts into words. “This isn’t an accusation none of us should take likely. If they’re right – what Shaw is doing must be stopped. It goes against everything we are to allow this atrocity to continue. But, if they’re wrong –” he focuses his attention solely on them.

As though a needle pricks his skin, Cal slightly flinches at sight of fear in their eyes. They want him to save them, to save everyone – but, how can he? He’s only one man, one alpha. And while his gut wants to trust them, to believe them – the reality is, he needs more. And he needs to put his pack first – above all else, their safety is paramount. “Then I can’t guarantee your safety, and Shaw’s demands will no longer go unanswered.”

They blink in shock, their mouths hanging slightly open and even the rest of his pack seems surprised and uneasy at his decision. “For right now, I think we should all be careful. Derek is still out there, and if the circumstances are to be believed – there’s more of them where that came from.” He nods once, letting his pack know that the discussion is over.

While the hostility in the air is still very much apparent, no one speaks up to challenge his decision. Feeling a little relieved, Cal gestures for Jayde to follow him towards the study upstairs. His gaze drops short of Wren, - who for all intense purposes looks furious but makes a show of keeping her mouth shut as he disappears from the hall.

When Cal and Jayde are alone, he allows himself a moment. Just a moment. His shoulders sag as he sits inside a chair and he runs his hands across his face with a resigned sigh.

“Holy shit Cal.” Jayde starts, bracing a hip across the long desk in front of them.

“I know.”

He leans back inside his seat and peeks a glance at her.

She seems speechless herself, which is rare for someone like her. Her eyes appear lost in thought before she rises off the table to pace the room. “If what they’re saying is true –”

“Then this is huge.” Cal finishes for her, rubbing his face. “How the fuck did this go unnoticed for so long?”

She shrugs, folding her arms. “Shaw’s been alpha far longer than you and Kristof combined. His influence probably goes so far higher than any of ours.” She stops to arch an eyebrow at him, “do you believe them then?”

“Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut.

“So, I take that as a yes.”

He opens his eyes to stare out of the office window. He watches as the afternoon sun barely touches the horizon. It’s so peaceful out there, and yet he’s stuck in here – dealing with problems, he has no idea of fixing. “It’s a – I-don’t-know-what-to-think.” He mutters finally, answering her with a response he hopes is adequate enough to show how screwed they really are. “How am I supposed to take the word of three kids over someone like Shaw?” He rubs his eyes and heaves another sigh. “You’re right that his influence stretches far and ours – well it’s nowhere even close.”

Jayde nods slowly, her brows pinching together. “Then what the hell do we do?”

Cal is starting to wonder than himself.

Shaw’s pack outnumbers his ten to one, and going up against someone like that requires proof. His thoughts turn to Kavinsky. He has to find some way to get to him – he may be more reasonable to at least talk to at this point. Besides, as long as he appears in the dark of the whole problem – what reason would the man have to suspect him of anything?

“First, we find proof.” Cal rises to feet, breaking the silence. “Proof can go a long way in crippling Shaw’s plans.”

“And how do you suppose we find proof?”

“I have to meet Kavinsky. In person.” He pauses and then adds, “on my own probably. I haven’t been alpha for very long and I know Kristof had deals with him in the past. It won’t really look suspicious if I’m coming to him for a favour.”

“Uh huh,” Jayde nods along. “I’m with you so far. Still….it’s risky,” she hesitates, glancing off to watch the window. “Going in alone.”

“It’s better this way. No one else gets pulled into this..mess. And all I’m doing is looking for clues – nothing else. Kavinsky is a major player not just for us – but for vampires, the fae witches - there’s a lot of other people that rely on him.” Cal shakes his head. “I can’t just try to stop him – compared to Shaw, the idea is fucking crazy at best.” He starts to pace the room as well; dragging his fingers through his hair as he contemplates his next move.

“So, we find proof that Shaw is a psychopath and then what?” He can almost see the wheels turning in her expression. “Look, his pack is much bigger than ours and even if we find anything –”

“That may not change anything else, I know. But I can’t just sit around and wait for another one of his wolves to do something again!” Cal gestures angrily in the air, turning on his heels to bang his knuckles against the window. “That puts us all at risk.”

“The easiest thing to do would be to send those kids packing.” She folds her arms defensively as he glances up, eyes flashing in anger. “and I know that’s not something you want to hear.”

He snorts derisively.

“And I know you Cal – you’re not going to do that anyway. You’re going to help, even if –” she falls short for a second and Cal is surprised at the sudden tremble in her voice. “Even if it ends up getting you killed.” A look passes in her eyes; something close to vulnerability before she glances away again.

Cal releases a breath. He’s under no false pretenses here. If he pursues this…there’s no telling what can happen. But he has to prepare himself, he has to prepare her and the rest of the pack for whatever the hell this all means. “There’s no way everyone’s coming out of this alive,” he tries to smile but it falls short. “But let’s hope it won’t come to that. Maybe it’s all just a misunderstanding.” Cal tries to smile but it falters and comes up short. He doesn’t believe his own lies.

Before Jayde can respond, the door bursts open and all five feet seven of Wren stands in at ready – with her hands clenched at her sides and her eyes a blaze of dark fury.

Shit.

The door rattles as it slams shut behind her. “What the hell was that?” As she takes a step towards them, Jayde’s posture shifts into one of almost fierce protectiveness. “Back off, Jayde.” She barks, waving an angry hand in her direction. She doesn’t tear her gaze from him.

“You don’t talk to the alpha like that.” Jayde’s bares her teeth at her in an angry snarl.

It’s out of instinct more than anything else, Jayde doesn’t have any malice behind her words. Still, Cal knows it’s better to defuse the situation than to let it escalate any further. “What’re you talking about?”

Wren’s withering stare intensifies. “That.” She points to the door. “Downstairs. What you said to those kids –”

“– is more than fair considering what they’re asking of us.” Jayde interjects; her eyes narrowing at Wren’s disposition.

“I’m sorry,” She shifts her hostile onto his beta. “I failed to remember when I asked for your opinion.” She presses her lips into a firm line, “now if you could actually give Cal and I a second alone, and when I ask you for your thoughts – I’ll let you know.”

Jayde stiffens, her eyes illuminating amber specks as she takes a step forward towards his mate. Wren moves almost right after her, tilting her head as if to challenge the wolf herself.

Cal beats them both to it. He stands a little taller and straightens his shoulders to exert his will as alpha. “We should probably get going anyway, it’s getting late.” He makes a point of waiting for Jayde to return his gaze before he inclines his head and asks for a favour. “Do you mind taking Donny home for us? And giving those three a ride home?”

She nods once, jaw clenching and unclenching before she excuses herself from the room. Her shoulders brush past Wren a little harder than Cal thinks it should, and he bares his teeth into a snarl before Jayde glances back to mutter a stiff apology.

“What a bitch.” Wren mutters.

“She means well,” his protest is almost immediate until she narrows her eyes at him. “Are you really going to defend her right now? You know that’s  the last thing that’s gonna help you.”

Left alone with Wren, Cal closes the distance between them with a few quick and long strides. “I’m sorry.” He says the words softly but Wren doesn’t appear to be deterred by the sincerity of his apology.

“How could you?” She jerks her chin at him.

He swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. The look of anger that suddenly flits across her face, nearly stifles his lungs attempt to breathe. “It’s not that simple.” He protests weakly.

“It’s not that simple?!” She mimics him with a scoff, points a finger to his chest. “They’re kids Cal, orphans for fuck’s sake. The kind of treatment you’ve given them, they don’t deserve it!”

“What else was I supposed to do?! Take them by their word?” Cal blinks disbelievingly at her. “You have to realize how ridiculous that sounds – the allegations they’re tossing around are pretty fucked up. I’d be a fool to just listen to them without any proof, it’s their alpha we’re talking about.”

“Their old alpha.” She reminds him, lips thinning into a frown. “You’re their alpha now.” Her chin lifts defiantly, “and you’re doing a pretty shitty job at protecting them.”

The accusation more than hurts. It stings. They pierce a piece of himself that no one else has been able to reach. But for Wren, it’s always been easy, so easy for her to get past his defenses. Why doesn’t she get it? Why can’t she see why he’s doing this?

“I’m trying to protect everyone, not just three people that pissed off their old alpha. And if you haven’t noticed, there’s more than them out there – there’s goddamn thirty!” His voice escalates with every word he utters.

There’s less than a few measly inches between them and his taut body steps close enough to see the slight flicks of dark gold around the irises of her eyes as he gestures angrily between them. “Thirty people that have as much right to be protected than everyone else.” They need him – they all need him.

The way she makes it sounds – it’s as if she doesn’t get how hard this all is. How much stress and danger this puts on his pack, especially if a word of this gets out to anyone else.

And maybe she doesn’t, get it. She doesn’t get why it’s more complicated to protect those kids than it is to let them go. She’s doesn’t get why this could all get them slaughtered if he makes one wrong move. She’s never going to understand completely because she’s always had one foot in the door – meanwhile, he’s spent his entire life on the other side of it.

“They’re still just kids.” Her hands tremble as they grip the folds of his shirt. “They’ve been all alone and you were like – like a lifeline for them.” There’s a haunting look in her eyes that pushes far past their conversation. “Do you think it’s easy what they did? Standing up in front of all those people? They didn’t ask to be in this position!” Her grip tightens into tight fists as her eyes widen with a fierceness he’s never seen before.

“Yeah – well neither did I, fuck –” He lets out a string of curses. “And it’s not like I’m not trying to help. I’m sticking my own ass to meet with Kavinsky is the first place.”

He doesn’t want to put his hands on her, he’d never hurt her – but her fingers are wound so tightly into his shirt that Cal has to pry them off. The wolf inside him snaps when she fights his attempt to dissuade her. And the leash he often uses to keep the worst parts of himself at bay, rattles – because it yearns to be free. But he won’t give in, he can’t. This is Wren. This is the love of his life.

Wren flinches slightly at the roughness of his grip. Instead of dropping her hands, she places them on his chest and pushes. She pushes him with such abrupt force that he staggers back a fraction. “That’s not enough, don’t you get it Cal? This is something you need to fix now, and the Cal I know would never turn his back on someone – not when they needed him. Hell – you’ve never turned your back on me.”

“I’m alpha now.” He says the words defensively, but there’s no flash of recognition in her eyes – no hint that she gets the harsh predicament he’s in. It’s one thing when it’s been just himself, Donny and her – there was no one else to worry about then. They’ve been the center of his world for so long that he understands why she still believes that.

He used to have no responsibilities hanging over his head when he’d disappear for weeks at a time to be with her. But after challenging Octavia and winning – everything changed. Now he has too many people counting on him. Too many people that need protecting.

“Yeah? And? I’m your mate – since we’re throwing pointless titles around.” She lashes out, drawing upon her full height to stare up at him.

“That’s where you’re wrong Wren. It’s not just a title. It’s who I am. I fought tooth and nail for it because I believed I could do better than Octavia – I still do. And I’m not going to jeopardize that because you don’t believe in me.”

She fumbles to respond. “That’s not what I meant–”

“Isn’t it?” Cal shakes his head. “You’ve never believed in me Wren, let’s not pretend. You’ve wanted to, but you’ve never tried to make it work with my pack.”

She flinches.

“Every time I’ve brought it up – your answer has always been the same. You aren’t ready to be apart of my life – not the way I need you to be.”

“Cal, I’m your mate.”

He continues talking as if she hadn’t spoken. “Do you even know what that means? Mate? Do you know how much you’ve had to be willing to sacrifice to be my mate? To be apart of my pack?” He shakes his head again. “You’ve never been invested into that - not completely.” He forces himself to swallow, despite the sudden crack in his voice as he looks at her. “Into us. Into this pack. You’ve always had one foot in the door.”

Wren recoils in shock as though he’d struck her. Her hands drop loosely to her sides as she staggers away from him. “That isn’t –”

“True?” He goads, taking full reins of his temper. God, he should stop – he knows he should stop before he says something he can never take back. But the lines they’ve crossed over and over again, the lines they’ve blurred ten times over has always been something they’ve done together – except now, right now Cal feels completely alone.

“If isn’t true then tell me I’m wrong.” A sense of urgency threatens to overwhelm him as he closes the distance between them to grip her shoulders. “Tell me you love me right now. Tell me you’re willing to turn and complete the mating ritual to always belong to me. And only me.” His fingers dig into her flesh and he fights the temptation to shake her.

Her mouth slips open, before quickly snapping shut again.

The silence hangs between them.

And it hurts. The silence fucking hurts, it hurts even more to think he’s driven her speechless, driven her utterly dumbstruck by the one question he’s always been too afraid to pursue. He’s given her time; even when he struggles with his own patience – he’s given her more than enough to show how completely committed he’s always been to her.

Cal drops his hands, and blinks back the tears that suddenly prick at the corner of his eyes. He thought it could be enough. “You can’t say it, can you?”

But he thought wrong.

“That isn’t – that isn’t fair.” She’s shaking so much that she visibly has to reach for the wall behind herself to keep steady and her voice – it cracks, like there’s tiny pieces of herself breaking.

He doesn’t want to break her; he’s only ever wanted to love her.

“You know I care deeply about you Cal.” Her voice is suddenly desperate as she reaches for him, only to stop short when he steps away and create more space between them. “You’re the one person that I’ve ever cared about enough to stick around for – do you think I’d still be in NOLA if I didn’t have you? If I didn’t give a damn about you or Donny – or any of this?” She throws her hands up in the air, clearly frustrated as her eyes turn glassy. “The pack is yours – but you’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

But it’s not enough. It’s not enough for her to give a damn about him, to claim him like he’s a regular human being when he’s not. It isn’t enough for what Cal feels - because he’s fallen so far and si deeply for her that there’s no hope of seeing the surface again.

“Cal, say something please.” She begs. There’s a vulnerability in her eyes and it clings to her as her gaze turns pleading. Her hand stretches towards him – as if to touch and erase whatever stain her words have made on his soul, except at the last second – they fall back to her side and Cal shudders at the mark that’s still left on his heart.

“Say anything.”

The only thing he can say isn’t something he’s ready to admit out-loud. Not yet.

Saying it out-loud makes it real.

Instead, Cal tries to commit everything about her to memory. The way her long chestnut hair is scooped up into a messy ponytail that he’s spent countless of hours running his fingers through. The way those dark eyes of hers’ have often winked mischievously at him now seems on the brink of tearing up – the way he currently feels on the inside staring down at her. The way those lips of hers had often laughed or whispered lewd things to his ears and smiled at him indulgently – even when the entire world was looking. The way her skin looks – albeit pale but flushed against him after the moments they’ve stolen together over the course of a year.

Cal memorizes it all, even as his heart breaks at the thought – he tries to piece together every Wren moment in his life that’s lead him here. In front of her.

It is in this moment, staring at her that Cal realizes what he hasn’t been able to before. All the reasons why relationships never work out are suddenly at the forefront of his mind and months of dancing around the subject has left him feeling tired, and heartbroken. He used to think they were the exception but now the truth is undeniable as it leaves an angry mark across his heart.

He can’t be alpha and be the man she wants.

It’s as clear as day now that he’s said to himself.  Now that he isn’t pretending anymore. And there’s some relief and pain in knowing he’s done everything he can to salvage that. But he can’t keep this up – pretending everything will be okay and calling it love will break him. Break them.

As long as she can’t accept this is who he is, and his pack is who he is meant to lead – there’s no version of themselves that can be happy.

The air in his lungs evaporates within a heated frenzy as Cal finally breaks his vow of silence. The words are hallowed as they leave his lips, but they needed to be said. “I can’t be what you Wren, and you....can’t be what I want. There’s nothing left for us here.”

-

[radiosteve]

Need Your Loving Tonight Ch. 3

Summary: Being left alone with Roger, even for a few minutes, confirms him to be just as cocky as you thought he’d be. However, he also invokes something else within you that you never would have expected. The boys discuss what the band should be called. As the band grows in popularity, a certain feeling within your heart does as well.

Note: Sorry this part took a little longer, I barely had time to write because of the 4th of July. But, I hope you enjoy this chapter!! It goes a little more into the reader and Roger’s feelings but there is still much more to come. Freddie will actually get to talk in the next chapter, I just didn’t feel like there was a good place for him to come in. The photo is one that I found on google. I do not own any rights to it. If you want to be added to the taglist send me a message or an ask and I’ll add you!   

Warnings: Some language

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader, John Deacon x Reader

Words: 2.4k+

October 14, 1968

The two words echoed throughout your head immediately after they left Brian’s lips. Of course the drummer that is finally adequate enough to be apart of the band is the one that just so happened to walk in on you and Tim. It also didn’t help that Roger was extremely attractive, and from what you’ve witnessed, pretty cocky. You were snapped out of your thoughts by the ring of the landline on a desk in the corner of the theatre. Brian rushed to the phone, hastily answering it as you stood watching him from across the room. 

“Yeah, ok. I’ll be there in a second. Just hold on,” he said into the receiver before hanging up. You looked at Brian with raised eyebrows, silently asking him what the phone call was about. As if he read your mind, Brian walked towards you and his bandmates to explain. “The guy at the front desk said that his shift is up so we need to get the keys from him to lock up when we’re done. I’m going to go grab them,” he looked at you and then shifted his glance quickly over to Tim. “Tim, why don’t you come with me.”

Tim shrugged his shoulders and followed Brian to the door, knowing better than to put up a fight. Once the door was closed, you slumped back onto the couch that you practically lived on at this point. Roger came up and sat beside you, leaning back against the couch before crossing one leg over the other.

“So,” he spoke, turning his head towards you as you peered up at him. “You and Tim are quite the cute couple,” he chuckled and you narrowed your eyes at the drummer. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Tim and I aren’t dating. It’s just a mutually beneficial relationship that primarily consists of sexual acts,” you snapped while he just rose his eyebrows higher at every word you spoke.

“So, you’re just fucking then?” Your eyes widened at how blunt he was, but you nodded. “And you’re an American?” He asked, despite already knowing the answer. 

“Uh-huh. Grew up on the Jersey shore, not that that’s any of your business either,” You sat up as he laughed at your cheeky comment. 

“If you’re from New Jersey then why don’t you have a horrendous accent?” he leaned in closer to you, mesmerizing you with his beautiful blue eyes. They reminded you of the ocean water back home and you could practically hear the waves slamming against the sand.

“I don’t know. No one that lives near me has a thick Jersey accent. Guess you’d have to go a little farther north,” you practically whispered the end of your sentence, so enticed by everything about Roger. It wasn’t just his big, precious eyes that drew you in. It was his shoulder length hair that’s color fell somewhere between blonde and brown. It was his feminine face in combination with his rough hands and raspy voice. Everything about him seemed perfect and it almost made you feel dizzy. You were snapped out of your trance by the sound of Brian and Tim reentering the room. You and Roger pulled back from each other as Brian set the keys on the table closest to the couch. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized how creepy it must have been for you to have been staring so intently at Roger. Little did you know that Roger had been lost in a similar train of thought about you. 

Brian took a seat in between you and Roger on the couch as Tim pulled over the drum stool and sat opposite of the couch. Tim flashed you a wide smile and you tried your best to return the favor. A wave of exhaustion flooded over you, finally feeling the effects of many drum auditions and two bouts of embarrassment. You stretched up to lean your head on Brian’s shoulder and close your eyes for a few minutes. Brian shifted his head to make you more comfortable and began to speak quietly enough to not disturb you. 

“I know this is a little premature, but does anybody have any names in mind? For the band, I mean,” He tried to move his head to look at Roger but found it rather difficult to do so without waking you up. The boys softly debated for almost an hour, while you still slept soundly on Brian’s shoulder. 

“I think it’s a great name!” Tim whisper yelled as Brian and Roger rolled their eyes. “What’s so wrong with the band being called ‘Staffell & Sons’?”

“Number one, were not your sons. And number two, we’d sound like a bloody construction company,” Roger asserted, gesturing wildly to accentuate his point. Just as Tim was about to bite back with a snappy comment, you started moving around and mumbling in your sleep.

“The hell did she just say?” Tim looked at you with curiosity and confusion etched across his face as you stopped moving. Brian turned his head the best he could to catch a glimpse of your face, bringing a smile to his lips when he saw the corner of your mouth turned up in a grin. 

“Who knows, but it would probably still be a better band name than ‘Staffell & Sons’,” Roger mocked, not noticing Brian’s shift in focus. Brian’s eyes still traced over your sleepy smile when everything seemed to click into place. 

“Smile,” he spoke gently, lifting his head up to face his band mates. “We should call the band Smile.” He looked back down at your infectious smirk, recalling that it had been one of the reasons that he took an interest in you in the first place. After another moment of adoration, Brian fixed his eye line back to his bandmates in an attempt to gauge their response.

“That’s not bad actually,” Tim agreed and Roger nodded along. “What made you think of that?” 

“Well, uh, Roger said he was a dental student,” Brian spoke, a light sheen of panic spread across his face. He didn’t want them to know that the band name would be dedicated to his best friend. Brian liked having his own little secret. 

“Alright then, Smile it is.”

--------------------

It was nearly midnight when the boys had decided to depart, making their way back to their respective apartment or dorm room. Brian had woken you up right before they left, promising to walk you back to your dorm after he locked the building up. You stood outside, clutching your jacket tighter as the cold autumn air brushed through your hair. Roger and Tim stood beside you, waiting for Brian to finally lock the last door. 

“All done,” he shoved the keys back into his pockets and hopped towards you three. “I guess I’ll see you all tomorrow.” And with that you all said your goodbyes and headed in different directions. You and Brian began your long trek across campus in the cool, frigid air. 

“So you finally got the band all put together,” you bumped into Brian as you strolled, bringing a smile to his face.

“Yes, finally. If I had to sit through one more mediocre drum solo, I might have dropped out of school entirely,” Brian spoke, looking down at you as you giggled.

“Got a name in mind, Mr. Band Man?” 

“We decided on one while you were asleep. Speaking of which, how is it that you manage to fall asleep practically anywhere? First, during a riveting astronomy lecture and now an incredibly important band meeting. Do you need to see a sleep specialist? I know a guy,” Brian rambled on making you forget how cold it was as you erupted in laughter. 

“Some would call it a talent,” you offered as you tried to suppress the giggles that fled from your lips. “What name did you end up choosing?” you asked after you calmed down a little, a grin still masking your face. Brian looked down at you, knowing that he and his bandmates had made the right choice. 

“Smile.”

“I quite like that.”

“Good, because we’re not changing it,” Brian chuckled, turning to look at the sidewalk in front of him. “Now, tell me about the situation between you and Tim,” Brian blurted out, earning a groan from you.

“Oh god.”

February 27, 1969

Throughout the months following that first initial band meeting, the boys grew closer and closer. You found yourself immersed in music as you spent copious amounts of time around them. They had their first gig only a week or two after Roger joined the band and it went off without a hitch, besides when you had to give Brian a pep talk before he went on stage. They had written a few songs and even got a record deal from Mercury Records at the beginning of the year. To say you were proud was an understatement. You went to every gig and nearly every practice, showing support for your best friends and favorite band.

You and Tim continued to fool around in spite of Brian’s threat to quote ‘beat the shit out of Staffell if he hurts you’. And even though you were thoroughly satisfied by Tim’s touch, there was always a part of you that was drawn to Roger. You don’t know what it was but his soft lips and bright blue eyes always managed to make you weak in the knees. Unfortunately, you weren’t the only girl that seemed to share this sentiment. Even your roommate Sally begged you to introduce her to the handsome drummer. Your heart panged with unwanted jealousy every time you saw him take a new girl to his van after the show. But you just brushed it off and moved on, ignoring the ache that you felt in your chest. 

Everything with the band came together beautifully, bringing you to where you were now. Standing in a parking outside the Royal Albert Hall with a cigarette hanging from your lips and two coats covering your body.

“Hey Rog, can you light me up? I can’t feel my fucking fingers,” you shivered out as he nodded and reached over to light your cigarette. Your breath hitched for a second as his knuckle brushed against your lip. “Thanks mate,” you mumbled as you puffed on the cig.

“Look at our little American, calling people ‘mate’,” Roger teased, earning an unamused glare from you.

“You try living in a different country for two years and not pick up on some of the local slang,” you countered as a shiver raked through your body. 

“Here,” Roger handed you a flask filled with whisky. “It’ll help warm you up.”

“Not to sound like your mom or anything, but you really shouldn’t be drinking before you perform,” you took the cigarette from your lips only to replace it with the warm flow of whisky.

“Yeah, well it helps to calm my nerves before I go on stage. Not all of us have our best friend to calm us down like Brian does,” he mumbled, taking the flask back from you and taking a swig for himself. Just before you were able to speak again, you were interrupted by Brian and Tim. Behind Tim stood a man that appeared to be around your age with long, dark hair and an unusually large set of teeth. You flashed a bright smile at the three men before you, your eyes lingering on the stranger behind your two friends.

“Hello love,” Tim came over and wrapped an arm around you as you took another drag from your cigarette. Tim nodded at Roger and leaned over to whisper something in your ear. His hot breath against your neck made you squirm and giggle. Tim took the cigarette from your hand to take a drag before placing it back between your lips. Roger glanced at you snuggled up against Tim before taking another quick drink from the flask in his hands. 

“The place is packed,” Brian spoke, both excitement and nervousness laced within his tone. “This might be our biggest gig yet.”

“Oh my god, that’s wonderful!” you exclaimed, meeting the gaze of your best friend. “You guys are going to do so well, I just know it.” You looked back towards Roger who seemed to be lost in thought until he noticed your eyes on him. He gave you a tight lipped smile and wiggled his eyebrows before you looked back up at Tim. 

“Oh, by the way this is Freddie Bulsara. He goes to Ealing with me. He’s a friend and a big fan of our music. You don’t mind if he stands backstage with you while we’re on, do you?” Tim said as he gestured to the black haired man beside him.

“Oh not at all! The more the merrier!” you spoke leaning to get a better look at Freddie as he gave you a wide smile. 

“Great! We’re on in four minutes, so we should probably head back inside,” Tim peered at his watch before guiding you and the others through the door. You were too busy putting out your cigarette to notice Roger taking another long sip from the flask while he looked at the way Tim held your hand. 

Once inside you gave Brian a pat on the back as you reassured him of your confidence in his musical abilities. Just before the band was announced to go on stage Tim leaned down so his face was level with yours.

“Give me a kiss so I do well,” he pointed to his mouth and you giggled. You pressed your lips firmly against his, savoring the feeling that came with it. You pulled away and he grabbed his bass as the announcer introduced the band. Brian went on stage first with his guitar strung around his torso, followed quickly by Tim. Freddie stepped up beside you, trying to get a better view of the stage. As Roger went to step from behind the curtain, you remembered what he told you earlier about his nerves in the parking lot. You grabbed his shirt, pulling him backwards, and planted a soft kiss to his cheek before releasing his shirt from your grasp. He looked at you with wide eyes, red cheeks, and a slacked jaw as he slowly walked backwards to get to the stage. His eyes never left yours, even as he approached the curtain that blocked him from the audience’s view. 

“For good luck!” you shouted as he walked on stage with a smile plastered across his face. 

Taglist: @retromusicsalad @bohemiansweede

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Edinburgh to Boston - Chapter 9 - Snow Day

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3

Chapter4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Hello all, Sorry for the delay getting this chapter out there.  Real life some times gets in the way. This includes technology as my hard drive died. I didn’t lose much, most of what is really important was able to be salvaged.

I finally got around to including links to the other chapters, so anyone who has not read them all will be able to find them if they want. 

Has anyone noticed that Jamie has not called Claire Sassenach in eight chapters? Well, that will be rectified now. You don’t know how hard it was not to call her that all this time.

If there are any questions, comments, or thoughts please don’t hesitate to let me know. I can only learn from what you all say. Respectfully, please.

I do need to thank my beta @curlsgetdemgurls reading this and giving me the courage to post this. You are the best. Chapter 10 is underway.  I have no idea when it will be done, but there is a Chapter 10. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Without further delay, I give you:

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 9

Snow Day

Jamie and Claire sat at the table by the window, enjoying their breakfast. Jamie attacked his bowl of parritch, mixed berries, and honey with the ravenous appetite of a starving wolf who just happened across a carcass.

“Nuthin’ like a healthy bowl of parritch to start the day,” said Jamie, giving a withering look at Claire’s breakfast choices of fried eggs, bacon, and toast slathered with butter and jam.

“Well, Fraser, when in America, eat like one,” she said while waving a delectable piece of crunchy fried pork in the air. “It happens to be quite good. Even though they have got this bacon thing all wrong. Not like the rashers we have at home. Still, it is delicious.” Popping the tasty morsel into her mouth, she rolled her eyes and groaned ecstatically.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the remaining piece sitting on the plate, “Looks mostly like fat to me.” He reached over, snatching the ribbon of porkiness from her plate, considered it, and swiftly consumed it. “Hmm, fatty, salty, crispy, and smoky.  ‘Tis good, but I wouldna want to eat it every day.  Cannae be good for ye.”

Sighing and shaking her head,  Claire leveled a look of exasperation at him. “Live a little will you? We’re on vacation!”

He let out a laugh, “Yer right, but there is no need to be unhealthy.  As it is, I’ll no’ be going to the gym today. Hmm, mebbe I’ll just carry ye around instead,” he said smugly. Tilting his head to the side, he gave her body an appraising look, much like gazing upon the beauty of a perfect rose.

“What do ye weigh a leannan, about 8-9 stone? That’s no’ much. I’ll never get a decent workout just carrying ye around,” he smirked.

“Why thank you, I think. That is supposed to be a compliment, right? You don’t think I’m too thin do you?” Suddenly becoming self-conscious, she looked down at herself trying to figure out if she was too fat or too thin.

“Aye, it ‘tis and no yer not. I like ye just fine the way ye are.”

Jamie leaned back in his chair stretching out his long legs and taking a sip of his coffee.

“So, lass, what would ye like to do today?”

“Well, if you are worried about not getting your proper exercise, there are other forms of exercise that will raise your heart rate, you know,” Claire said as she cast a quick glance back toward the bed.

Jamie ignored this.

“I ken what we can do! Why dinna ye take me to some of yer favorite places ye liked to go when ye lived here?”

“I don’t know if that is a wise idea. Boston winters are very cold and I don’t think that either of us has appropriate clothes to go wandering about. Besides, I don’t know how many places are open today. Most people will be digging out.”

Getting up, Jamie went to rummage through his suitcase. Sure enough, he found his favorite forest green cable knit pullover, his black jeans, a pair of duck boots, and his down jacket.

“Weel, I’ll be damned.  I dinna remember packing these. Check yer bag let’s see what you have in there.”

Claire opened her suitcase and found clothes suitable for outdoor activities. She found her favorite cashmere jumper in midnight blue and her woolen turtleneck sweater in deep rich wine. She also found her favorite black skinny jeans, a warm wooly hat and gloves, and her parka.

“I know I didn’t pack these. I’m sure of it.” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion as she considered how these clothes ended up in her bag.

“It doesna matter how they got there, yer clothes are here. Let’s get dressed. I shall leave the itinerary to ye.”

Claire’s breathing quickened. She began to nervously play with one her curls, twisting it around her finger, over and over.  Truth be told, there was a certain amount of anxiety about leaving the room. She worried about dredging up old memories that she safely tucked away after ending her marriage to Frank. Least of all was the prospect of visiting places that held unpleasant memories. Most certainly she did not want to visit these places with Jamie. Fearing the possibility of a chance meeting with Frank gave her shivers.  She concluded that the likelihood of a chance meeting would be remote as classes would be canceled. That would leave Frank free to shack up with some bimbo, er umm, a young woman all day.

“What’s amiss, lass? Ye look a bit peely-wally. Are ye alright?”

“Sorry?”

“Something is bothering ye. It’s written all over yer face. Ye ken ye can tell me anything.”

Jamie walked back to the chair by the window, pulling Claire along. He sat down and settled her on his lap.

“I dinna want ye to feel that ye need to tell me anything that ye canna, but I can see yer fair fashed over something. Mo nighean donn, tell me what’s bothering ye if ye can.” He raised his hand cupping her cheek and began to stroke his thumb over her cheekbone.  Melting into the warmth of his hand, she relaxed.

“I wasn’t honest with you when I told you I slept well.”

She cleared her throat nervously, eyes darting around the room searching for something to focus on while gathering her thoughts.

“I, ah, had a nightmare about, ...well, it was about Frank. It left me feeling rather unsettled, to say the least.”

Her body language and voice were contradictions, outwardly appearing composed while her voice quavered with emotion. Describing her dream, she related how Frank tried to plant seeds of doubt and used her insecurities against her. The Scottish Barbarian and The English Rose. Insinuating she had a need for someone to dominate her. Jamie observed Claire as she told her story. Her face contorted with frustration, anger, shame; her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I told…,” her voice cracked, “I told him that I love you and you love me. And, and that he should bugger off and not come back,” Claire said this with pride in her voice. “But he said he would come back when I called him. I don’t want to see him ever again, really I don’t. I’ll never call him back, never.” With that, Claire buried her face into Jamie’s shoulder crying shedding tears of outrage and irritation.

Jamie’s mouth drew together in a tight white line.  His eyes burned with anger. That Englishman, that filthy sassenach bastard! How could he have the audacity to come into his bed between him and his woman upsetting her, trying to sow the seeds of doubt. He had no care for insults or slurs directed at him. He heard them before. But, Claire! She is kindness and goodness personified. If I ever meet him...

Jamie’s arms came around her, pulling her close to him.  His strong hands rubbed her back in soothing circles. He spoke to her softly in the Gàidhlig, speaking words of comfort that had no meaning to Claire but spoke to her heart and soul.

Jamie cradled her close to his chest and gently stroked her hair, “I’ll let nay harm come to ye as long as I walk this earth. Dinna be afraid, a leannan, there is the two of us now.”

Claire nodded her head and sniffed.

Jamie’s hand reached under Claire’s chin, raising it up so that he could look onto her face. Her eyes were puffy, nose red and runny, and her cheeks were tear stained.

“Ye are so beautiful, mo chridhe,” Jamie said smiling. He took a serviette wiping Claire’s runny nose as he kissed away her tears.

She sniffed, “You must be blind. I’m really not sure you should be operating anymore. I’m sure I don’t look beautiful right now.”

“Yer beautiful to me always,” he said lovingly.

Jamie’s voice took on a more serious tone. “Claire, if ye dinna want to go out because yer worried that ye will run into Frank,” he growled saying the bastard’s name, “I dinna want you to do anything that will make ye uncomfortable. We could always find something else to do.” He waggled his eyebrows in an attempt at being suggestive.

“Ridiculous man,” she said with a smile in her voice, feeling so grateful to have found him.

Closing her eyes to aid her concentration, she considered Jamie’s suggestion carefully weighing each of the pros and cons.

How much longer will I give Frank power over me, to control me and my life? It’s been three years since we divorced and he still tries to make me insecure, belittle me. When will I remove myself from his grasp? It’s now or never. It’s time to choose.  Time to take back what’s mine.

“NO! No, I won’t run and hide.  Frank has run my life for far too long, and I’ll be damned if I let him continue. Let’s go see Boston, Jamie. We’ll make our own memories,” Claire said grinning.

“That’s my lass. Yer strong, brave, and fearless and I love ye for it.” Jamie gave her a resounding smack on the lips that left her breathless.

They quickly dressed and departed the room laughing, smiling with their fingers intertwined.

**************

Jamie and Claire stepped outside of the comfort of their hotel into the bitter cold and biting winds. In spite of being warmly dressed, the frigid temperature threatened to seep its way into the very marrow of their bones.

The sidewalks were barely passable despite the best efforts of man, machine, and salt. Icy patches dotted the landscape causing the lovers to slip and slide along the walkways. Jamie’s hand reached out taking Claire’s elbow to steady her. They climbed over mounds of grey city snow that sported an occasional yellow streak.

After walking for twenty minutes, they reached Boston Common, each sporting red runny noses and equally red cheeks.

“I’m beginning to think yer first suggestion to stay in bed all day was a good idea,” Jamie said with a smirk on his face, the steam of his breath escaping with each word.

“Do you want to turn back?” A look of concern written all over her face.

“Nah, I was concerned about ye, Sassenach.”

Claire stopped dead in her tracks.  “Sassenach?! I know that word and it isn’t very nice.  Isn’t that something derogatory to call me?” Her amber eyes narrowed glaring at him with unnerving thoroughness.

“In truth, it depends on who and how they are saying it. The word sassenach really means Englishman or English lady. At worst, it means outlander. I have always called ye Sassenach in my mind.  Ye see I have always thought of ye as my English Lady. A woman of grace and refinement, a true Lady.”

With that, Jamie smiled placed his hand over his heart and made a courtly bow, “My Lady, I am at yer service.”

Giggling at the sight she decided to return the gesture.  Bowing her head and spreading the skirt of her jacket, Claire curtsied, “My Lord.”

Jamie popped up like a jack-in-the-box.

“Who told ye?” he demanded.

Claire looked quizzically at Jamie, “Who told me wot?”

“That I am a Laird.”

“You’re a wot???” she gasped.

“I am Laird Broch Tuarach of Lallybroch Estate.  My home. ‘Tis only an honorary title now, but it has been handed down in my family since the 18th century. Lallybroch is a working farm in the Highlands, ye ken.  My sister Jenny and her husband Ian run it. Their five children live there too. But, technically it is mine as I retain the title and will pass it on to my son someday.”

“Hmm, do I have to curtsy every time I see you, my Laird?” Claire asked with a coy smile.

Laughing to herself, she wondered how the OR staff would react if they had to curtsy every time he came to do a case.

“Nay, I think we can dispense with the formalities if ye please,” Jamie said with a chuckle.

“Good. It’s awfully hard to curtsy in the bloody snow.”

“May I offer ye my arm my Lady as we stroll about on this fine cold day...for the sake of yer safety of course. I wouldna want ye to slip and fall injuring yerself.” His blue eyes, as blue as the cold clear sky, crinkled with mirth as he extended his arm for her to take.

Bobbing her head, and lowering her eyelashes demurely she said, “It would be my pleasure, my Laird,” and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. Claire suddenly wondered why this felt like such a familiar thing to do.

Jamie tucked her hand securely in place pulling his arm and her hand closer to his body. He began to speculate why it felt like he had done this more times than he could remember. It felt natural, more like an everyday occurrence for them to walk like this.

A strong wind blew up around them, coating Claire from head to foot in a sheath of powdery snow crystals. The hair that peaked out from under her cap glistened, lashes sparkled with the tiny flakes that clung to them, and her clothes were enrobed in glittering flakes. She took on an otherworldly aura.

His mouth opened as he watched the swirling dust of snow float around her.

She must be one of the faes. No, not just a fae, but Queen of the Fae. For only the Queen could be so beautiful.

He stood there envisioning her in the finery befitting a Queen. A circlet of silvery moonbeams would adorn her head accentuating her mass of curls. Her lithe form draped in a diaphanous gown made of diamond dust while her feet were encased in slippers made from starlight.

He wanted to fall on his knees in worship, beg her to take him to her Queendom. He would become her Knight of the Realm, her Champion. With dirk and sword, he would do battle shielding her from harm. He would slay dragons, protect her from evil sorcerers, and safeguard her from malevolent creatures. As darkness envelops the earth, he would sleep at her feet sheltering and guarding her against the dangers that lurk in the blackness of night. She had cast a spell on him and he was happy to be under her power.

He heard the tinkling of her laughter, much like a wind chime, light and gentle in the breeze. Her eyes crinkled with merriment as a small buffy-brown bird landed on her shoulder. It hopped along coming closer to her ear merrily chirping. Claire raised her hand and stroked the downy head of the little bird speaking softly to it. Her hand went to her pocket and returned with a bit of her toast from breakfast. She opened her hand and the warbler flew onto her hand seized the bread and took wing.

Jamie stood in awe of the scene unfolding before him. “Is a wild bird so tame for her?!” The scene repeated itself several more times with birds flitting along her arm, singing and trilling to her. Each was tenderly stroked, given a bit of bread, then flew off to join its fellows. Her hand went to her pocket pulling out the remainder of the toast wrapped in the serviette. She tore the bread into bits scattering it on the snow.  En masse a clan of the small birds gathered joyously chirping doing a demented dance around the bread, pecking at it.

Mary, Michael, and Bride, she is the Queen of the Fae!

Claire looked at him with a radiant smile.

For a split second, Jamie became irrationally afraid.

“How did ye do that, lass!? The birds, they seem so tame!”

“I don’t do anything, really. They just come. It’s been happening for a long time, ever since I was a little girl. It started not long after my parents died,” Claire said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Sassenach, do ye want to tell me about it if ye can?” Jamie asked cautiously knowing her parents' death is a painful and sensitive area for her.

There was a moment of hesitation, then taking a deep breath to steel herself for the memories.

“As I told you after my parents deaths my uncle Lamb became my guardian. He was writing a book on the meaning of birds in different cultures. While he sat writing in his study, I would play in the garden. One day, not long after my arrival, I was playing with my plushy dog when a bird, a sparrow, flew down next to me. Its head turned side-to-side watching me. Then it began to sing one of the sweetest songs I had ever heard. I held out my hand and it hopped on, chirping madly while wildly flapping its wings as if it were a leaf caught in a maelstrom.”

Claire’s eyes clouded and her lip quivered while struggling to maintain her composure as the childhood memories beset her.

“I began to pet the bird and it quieted under my touch. It began to sing again, but this time soft and low. For a moment, I thought I heard my mother’s voice singing the lullaby she sang to me at bedtime.”

She gave Jamie a sidelong glance to see if he thought she was deranged. He stood there calm, placid, face expressionless, giving no hint to his inner thoughts.

“I started to cry and the bird flew off. I got up and ran into to tell Lamb what happened. He picked me up, put me on his lap, and cuddled me to his chest. After he wiped my tears, he told me that ancient Egyptians believed that sparrows carried the souls of the dead to heaven. Perhaps this one came to tell me that my parents were in heaven with God and the angels and I shouldn’t worry.”

A single tear ran down her cheek.

“I was happy that Momma and Daddy were in heaven, but I really didn’t understand all of what he was talking about.  Later, as they continued to visit me, we talked about it again. Lamb told me that a Buddhist teacher he knew believed that a person in mourning is considered a very holy person. This holy state opens the mourner to experience things that are beyond the physical world and more receptive to the spiritual world. Lamb thought that was why I thought I heard my mother singing or my father’s laugh when the birds came. Grieving opened my heart to other possibilities.”

“Three months before you came,” she continued, “whenever I would walk Ginger in the park the birds would continue to visit. I began to hear another voice, a new one. It was deeper, rich, and very, very masculine. He would call my name, sometimes in passion and sometimes with love and laughter.” Giving him a quick sidelong look she finished her tale,  “I know now that it was your voice I heard.”

Jamie startled at this revelation. Was it truly his voice or could it be the other’s voice calling out to her from across the centuries? He wondered if she was ready to hear about the Fraser Legend. No, he thought not just yet. He disliked withholding something from her but now was definitely not the right time.

Beginning to fidget, she moved her foot in the snow gouging out a divot with the heel of her boot. She felt the heat rising up to color her cheeks. She was afraid to look at Jamie fearing that she would see he truly thought her insane.

Neither spoke for a time. The only sound around them was the wind soughing through the leafless branches.

“Claire, look at me.” Jamie placed his fingers under her chin forcing her head up to look at him. She kept her eyes closed not able to bear the disdain she would see in his eyes for her.

“Mo ghràdh, look at me, please. I believe you. I dinna understand it, but I believe you.”

“How can you believe me when it sounds crazy even to me? Really, Jamie! I have often wondered if this...” Claire waved her hand toward the birds eagerly consuming the bread, “was nothing more than the imaginings of a sad and lonely child who grew up to become a sad and lonely adult searching for her lost parents and her lost home. A woman who is so desperate that she convinces herself that some sparrows hold the souls of her dead parents. Christ, Jamie!”

He looked at her, her glass face giving away her sense of loss, loneliness, and pain. “Sassenach,” he spoke gently to her as if she were a frightened child, “I am an educated man but I am also a Highlander born and bred. I do ken there are many a thing that is beyond our understanding. There are many tales of the highlands that still canna be explained. Why not this?” His eyebrow lifted in an inquiry.

“Can ye explain what happened to Robert Gordon? The man was clinically dead after 30 minutes of resuscitation no heartbeat, no breathing. Then all of a sudden the man sits up and starts talking. He told us everything that happened in that room, everything we said and did. He said he saw his wife and bairns calling and greetin’ for him.  There was more for him to do he kent, so he decided to come back.”

“Yes, I remember.” Claire shuddered at the remembrance of the event. It still gave her chills to think about it.

“Can ye explain that? No, I dinna think so. There are things that are outside our ken. Why must ye explain yers? It just is. Dinna question it, especially when it makes ye happy to believe so.”

Her rational mind, the scientific part of her, rejected any possibility of this being true, but the little girl in her wanted, no needed to hold on to any chance that she might still have some connection to her family.

Claire’s eyes drifted down toward the snow.  The clan of sparrows left, all except three.  She sighed.  It was always the same, three of the warblers always remained, two males and one female.

The birds stood there cocking their heads from side-to-side regarding Claire and Jamie. The female and one of the males flew up alighting on Claire’s shoulder. The female came close rubbing her feathery head against Claire’s cheek, softly cheeping to her.  The male landed on her opposite shoulder gently pecked at her hair.

The more vocal male flew up landing on Jamie’s forearm giving him a level look. He began to chatter and chirp loudly hopping up his forearm with the determination of a sprinter moments away from the finish line.

His black birdy eye coldly glared while uttering piercing squawks of what seemed to be warning or admonition.  The feathery wings spread wide fluttering frantically. This was one very agitated bird.

“If we are going to believe these creatures possess the souls of my family, I think he is my father and these two are my mother and uncle,” Claire said with a small smile.

“Aye, I think yer right, Sassenach.”

Jamie reached up took hold of both of  Claire’s hands, linking them together.

“Sirs and Madam,” Jamie said with all solemnity, “I am James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, and I am deeply in love with yer daughter and niece. My intentions are honorable and I promise to see her safe, care for her and love her all the days of my life. I ask yer approval of our relationship.” He bowed his head in respect toward the feathery family.

In unison, their heads swiveled toward Claire questioning.

“I love him too. He fills my heart with love and joy. He takes away the emptiness. When I am with him it's as if the sun comes out on a cloudy day filling my life with light and warmth.”

The downy kinfolk flew around them coming to land on their joined hands singing sweet and mellow.

“I hope ye dinna mind, but I plan to kiss yer daughter.”

Their hands broke apart.  Jamie raised his hands up to cup Claire’s face, “Before yer family, I love ye, Claire Beauchamp across all time.”

“I love you too, always and forever,” she sighed into his mouth.

He leaned forward and tenderly pressed his lips to hers. A kiss filled with so much love, tenderness, and promise.

His eyes crinkled and a smile lit his mouth, “Aye, I must love ye Sassenach, ye have me talking to the birds too.”

The little bird family took flight soaring high above the lovers and disappeared into the sky knowing their daughter and niece was well loved.

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 10

Prompt:  (Anon) “Natural” by Imagine Dragons, Asgard, Loki’s helmet. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual (I think), angsting, pining, worrying due to illness, arguing, fluffing (Yes! You read that right: FLUFF.). A/N:  Please feel free to reblog if you liked it <3 Or comment! Thanks to all of those who’ve been waiting patiently through the last while of scheming, but hey...now I’ve got a few chapters lying ready. 

Patience

It’s annoyingly difficult to stalk with rage in each step when you’re still weak from having been poisoned. If you could have, however, then the footsteps would have been sharp against the stones on the way through the palace. As it is, you’re using every ounce of energy simply to keep up with the two royal men and the surrounding guards.

At least you pay attention to the route. Valhalla’s grand, filled with numerous chambers, halls, and stairs that would make it easy to get lost. You’ve got a method which always has helped you memorize a new place…just in case you’ll need to navigate through the building alone and possibly while being chased. Occupational hazard. Admittedly, if you had to run now, you probably wouldn’t move quickly at all.

Maybe Thor notices your physical discomfort. Maybe he’s simply as curious as the electric-blue eyes shimmering at you leads to think. Slowing his steps, he falls back to walk by your side and even offers an impressively muscular arm to lean on which you take after a brief hesitation. If he’d hurt me, then he’d already have done so.

With his support, you manage to descend several levels, leaving the light of day behind in favour of brazier-fueled shadows that jump and dance when people pass. Down past heavily locked and guarded doors to a room that seems a hybrid between a fancy gallery and old dungeons. Invisible walls shimmer with fragmented lines of gold, somehow containing the bright illumination as if the wall were solid concrete. Descending a number of steps brings the contents of the two first “rooms” in view. One on either side, and each with what must constitute for prisoners here in Asgard.

“Why’re we here?” you demand, unafraid of which etiquettes you’re breaking.

Not bothering to pause or look back, Odin leaves it up to his son to answer. “You recall the warning Loki was given? That the donation of his blood could cause him his life?”

“…yeeah?” Gods…no. Not that. Please don’t…

“He seemed to think it was a price worth paying as he otherwise would be at the mercy of Odin due to having entered the realm uninvited.” His eyes dance around, landing on the cells and the floor…anywhere but you before he points to a cell a few yards up ahead. “He will not escape the punishment for his transgressions.”

Shoving ahead of the group, you stumble to the raised area of the cell, catching yourself on the barrier as you stumble over the ledge. You’re faintly aware of mixed reactions behind you, but it doesn’t matter because all you see is a room where ice spreads from a single, blue figure lying on a bed. Loki. The effect of his natural form is raging unchecked and it should frighten you…perhaps. All it does is turn fear to joy. He’s alive.

“Loki!” Your yell only stirs a few snowflakes that are gliding through the air on the other side of the barrier. “Loki!”

A heavy but gentle hand latches on to your shoulder and isn’t shaken off. “Lady [Y/N], he cannot hear you. He’s beyond reach,” Odin explains gently.

“Then let me in there so he can hear me!”

“It is not due to any barrier of our world.” Turning you, an old eye scans your face. “He may be alive…but the procedure took its toll.”

The words click fast enough, but the king’s choice is beyond your grasp. “Then why’s here in there? Send him to a hospital!” How can he be so cruel?

“He is being treated by our healers, Midgardian. However, this is the safest place to keep him until his powers are under control once more.”

That…kinda makes sense. Looking over your shoulder, only a magical veil obstructs the view to the unconscious Loki. A blanket’s spread over him but it doesn’t quite cover the tall frame so blue shoulders are left exposed save for where a few tendrils of black hair reaches. You could look at him all day. Will him to wake up.

In this house of mine? Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost, tell me

…

It had been a surprise when the king wanted you to stay as long as was needed, even more so when he hadn’t objected when Thor recommended you were moved to another room. You didn’t care much even if it was a veritable suite with perfect view and lavish furniture, preferring instead to spend as much time as you could by the cell. The guards had gotten used to you, greeting you with smiles when you arrived and if there’d been any changes in Loki’s status then they’d undoubtedly let you know. There just wasn’t.

The last rays of sun are slipping past a layer of clouds, finally bringing some warmth into the room. If you would pay any attention, then you could marvel at the amber gleam of the wood, or the many shimmering hues of green woven into the drapes at either side of the wide windows and balcony doors. Instead you’re staring into one of the many books this room contains without actually seeing the page or what’s written on it. It’s the knocking on the door that brings you back to the present.

“Enter.”

It’s probably yet another servant. Of all the differences you’re getting accustomed to here on Asgard, it’s the staff that are making you feel the most out of place, especially because they all seem to find you more adorable than actually special. Sure, they’re perfectly polite. They just happen to talk to you as though you were a child.

“Lady [Y/N],” the deep rumble belongs to the only prince capable of walking the castle freely, “may I keep you company for a while?”

You can hardly refuse and soon Thor has dragged over another gigantic chair next to the one you sit in and set down a flask and two goblets. Watching bemused, you mentally note the difference of liquid he pours into the goblets but choose not to comment as he passes you the one with the least in. A careful sniff clears your sinuses instantaneously, but the honeyed scent is too good to resist for long, so you accept the quiet toast. Holy fuck! The alcohol burns sweet and strong, triggering all the right taste buds.

“You may want to drink with caution,” Thor warns as you down the remaining mouthful, “Midgardians are more…susceptible to our liquors.”

“Oh. Okay.” You’ve barely placed the goblet on the table before you feel the slight buzz which normally would require a lot more to drink.

Silence reigns. Oppressing. Loaded with unspoken thoughts, most of which (at least on your behalf) are related to Loki and his situation. So, he’s a stalker with a conscience…big deal. Still, there’s no way you can pretend the flutter in your stomach doesn’t appear each time you think of being near him (in a more conscious state), or the paralyzing dread by the idea that Loki might not survive. Even the thought of him being stuck in a prison cell while you’re free to live your life somehow seems unbearable. I don’t owe him! He chose to save…save me oh crap. Not only had he saved you, he’d even tried to warn you. And he’d confided in you.

“Why did Loki attack New York?”

Shifting in his seat, Thor thinks for a while before answering. “I shouldn’t tell anyone this…but I’m willing to do an exception in your case...” A sip from the goblet buys him more time. “The full tale is much longer…but there had been certain…event.” Grabbing the flask, both cups are given a generous refill. “My brother was distraught, acting out of despair and spite…sorrow…” A drink is shared, renewing the buzz in your head. “He left us and fell into the hands of a very evil being who…broke him…”

“A titan.” Your comment makes Thor eye you with surprise. “Loki told me a gruesome story full of torture and brainwashing…I guess I kinda hoped it’d been a lie.”

“You would rather see him commit those crime voluntarily?”

“Of course not! I just don’t want him to…to…”

“Trust you?” You shrug at the suggestion. “[Y/N]…I do not claim to understand the nature of the relationship between my brother and you. But I know he’s good at heart, and that circumstances beyond his control have forced him to build a façade, to keep people at an arms length.”  

…

There’s so much you want to know, but you don’t know how to and the liquor’s beginning to cloud your brain. It’s not until Thor’s about to leave and offhandedly remarks whom the room belonged to, that your mind jumps back into action.

“I used to sneak in here at night, as a little boy, if I couldn’t sleep,” the god smiles, “often Loki would be awake too and we’d play until we ended up being too noisy and the maid or mother would hear us.” A shimmer of bittersweet joy is visible in the rugged face, but it’s soon gone and Thor bids you goodnight.

Loki’s room. Leaning against the closed door, you take in the place, noticing the colour scheme and items reflecting the interests Loki still entertain on Earth. All the books (or at least those you’ve been able to decipher) cover a range of subjects and genres, forming a perfect foundation for someone who wishes to be well-spoken…even silver-tongued. I should’ve seen it. The entire room is a treasure trove of information on the one person you need to know everything about.

Rather be the hunter than the prey And you're standing on the edge, face up 'cause you're a…

…

Dividing your time more or less equally between your own basic needs, watching over Loki, and exploring his room meticulously, it takes a few days before there’s only a single chest left unopened…and still the god is unconscious.

“Lady [Y/N],” one of the usual guards greets you as you enter the dungeon, “I’m afraid there has been no change overnight.”

For the untrained eye, it could almost look as if he really is sorry, but there is a shadow of relief that not even the most rigorous training can smother.

“It’s oka– it’s fine.” Placate him. What you want to achieve requires all the pity you can make him feel. “I don’t expect he’ll recover…not before I have to leave, anyways.”

“You’re leaving?”

Gaze downcast, you shrug awkwardly. “I don’t belong here…even though everyone treats me kindly, there’s no…joy for me here. Just pain.”

“Is there anything we can do to ease your troubled heart?”

“I…it’s…what I want isn’t possible.” Sheer willpower (and a bit of bad memories) makes the vision of your shoes go blurry with tears and you can finally look up.

A split-second of shock and discomfort is all it takes before the guard’s mind has been made up. “Tell me what I can do.”

A beating heart of stone You gotta be so cold To make it in this world

…   Loki’s PoV   …

A fistful of bright heat has appeared in the midst of the soothing cool enveloping Loki’s body. A part of it wants to shake it away because it burns his skin where it touches…but mostly he wants the sweet pain the stay. To remind him of something…important. Nay…someone? It would fit with the soft hum of a gentle voice that has infused the dreamlike state Loki has revelled in since…

Memories rattle the calm, sets the god fighting against the paralyzing dream that has numbed his thoughts until now. I must wake up. He recalls everything up to the moment where darkness took him. Death, he had thought, but this cannot be death after all because the voice belongs to [Y/N] and she must have survived.

“…waiting……all very……why did…”

Bits and pieces of a one-sided conversation are recognizable by now, spurring Loki on. The heat he’s been feeling takes form of a hand, fingers entwined in his own and although he doesn’t dare move or open his eyes just yet, he knows how little it is in the blue of his own limb. Shivers run all the way to [Y/N]’s fingertips. She’s cold. Grasping for the magic within to shift into the warmer, gentler form of an Asgardian, Loki finds that he has nothing left to work with.

“…”

He can’t get the words out to get the Midgardian to leave, to find a warm place rather than linger in the cold he emanate. Finally wrenching his eyelids up, the white room nearly blinds him until he manages to find the darker shape that is the woman. Wrapped in a cloak, she huddles on something by the floor of his bed, probably preferring to sit there so she can hold his hand.

Testingly, Loki squeezes the slender fingers, and all sounds stills. Even her breathing. Once more, then.

“Loki?” A trill of hope’s laced into that single uttering.

As their eyes meet, [Y/N]’s begin to well up with tears of joy that fall on her cheeks to freeze into beads of glittery ice. It’s a sight he could admire all day, but he’s given very little time to do so before her face looms tauntingly over his, the smiling lips whispering his name before finding his. Cold and heat mingle beautifully, proving that this is no dream. The kisses taste of ocean and fruits, the crisp air smells like heaven, and a shy face beams down at Loki when it comes to a halt.

“Loki…”

“Mmmmm?” He can’t help the smile from stretching his lips.

“You. Are.” A delicate finger taps the tip of the blue nose. “A complete and bloody moron!”

The smile disappears, replaced by surprise and angrily furrowed brows. “What –?”

“Why the hell would y’ give up your freedom let alone risk your fucking life?! Fine!” Even the time it takes for [Y/N] to draw in air is too short to get a word in. “So you’ve claimed y’ care about me ‘n whatnot! What am I s’posed to do with that if you go ‘n sacrifice yourself like some some…uhh!”

Loki can fell how dry his throat is when he tries to talk again. “If this is your way of thanki–“

“Thanking?” Pretty eyebrows shoot upwards in protest. “Yes, thank you for saving my life.” She sounds as sarcastic as I can. “And for placing me in an impossible position where I’m in debt to a fucking god and his freaking family!”

“The debt owed was mine. We’re even now.”

“Oh really? Just like that?” [Y/N] wipes away tears from her hectically warm cheeks. “From where I stand the scales are out o’ balance.”

By Odin’s beard, she’s stubborn. “It’s of no concern right now, at least. Alright?” A shrug and then a nod makes it out for an answer. “Tell me instead…why are you here? Is the All-Father not letting you leave?”

“H’agreed to let me stay for a while…” [Y/E/C] doesn’t meet Loki’s but are trained on their hands that still are locked together. “They took me t’ see you when I woke up…y’re just lyin’ here...”

Loki knows better than to say anything as the woman explains the part of the events she has witnessed. The words themselves hold little value, it’s the tone and the facial expressions that captivates the Trickster because it tells much more than [Y/N] intends. Yes, she has been cared for. Yes, she feels indebted after her life has been saved. Yet none of that is the true concern harboured in her heart, and even if she realises what the cause really is, she still hasn’t got the words. Eventually, she quiets, eyes partially following the path of her thumb over Loki’s knuckles and back.

That’s how Odin and Thor finds them after a guard has hurried slowly to alert them of Loki’s consciousness.

…   Reader’s PoV   …

The castle is going to sleep, and you’re sitting on the soft rug, finally calmed down enough to use the improvised tools you’ve created to pick the lock on the chest. Alright, tools might still be too grand a term. It’s a couple of hair and shawl pins, a fork with bent prongs, and a thin dagger. Asgardian locks are slightly different from the standard Midgardian type, but it only takes a few attempts before you’ve managed to gain access and lift the lid.

“Oh.”

You’re not sure what you should have expected…but it wasn’t a deep green, velvet pillow in the bottom with one object resting upon it. Colden horns the length of your forearm are curving upwards from the headgear. Picking it up slowly, you turn the familiar crown-like item over and over in your hands, careful not to poke yourself in the face with the horns. Antlers.

A silly thought pops into your mind, prompting you to rush over to the tall mirror by the wardrobe and place the iconic accessory on you head. It’s a tad too big, wobbling when you move and needs to be stabilized to prevent it from sliding crooked. Still…I get it. This is power in an object.

“I see you understand the appeal,” a smooth voice announces from behind you.

A mix of fear and embarrassment freezes you in place rather than turn towards the door, but in the mirror, you see Loki being ushered into the room by a couple of guards and Thor before the door closes again. You hear the lock click, but that doesn’t matter because the green eyes are burning.

[lordjenjen-does-discourse]

That's cool too! (I feel like a mixed of all these things, along with each other sharing their interests/hobbies and providing support in their own ways, prevents couples from feeling same-y when written. Though people can have their smut. Just feel like it's a territory not often explored, y'know?)

This is why I'm such a hard core multi shipper. You can explore different avenues with one charater, or even one ship, but to me, you need to broaden your horizons a bit. Tweek and Craig's relationship would be completely different from Tweek and Stan. Sure you could write a Tweek and Craig story where maybe Stan would fit in between, because you justify anything with "they are 10, you never know how they will grow up." But your limiting yourself to a very narrow path.

Some people out there aren't going to like my reasoning on why you don't see nearly as many fics exploring just the relationship aspect of charaters anymore.

For me personally, it falls into 2 reasons. Motivation and Spite.

I'll start with spite. There is no lack of knowledge that there are some people out there that are trying to police fandoms in general. While I enjoy writing smut, it's not necessarily my go to, but these people drive me so up the wall with "You can't do bleh because it's problematic," and can't see why they themselves are the problem. I can be stupid spiteful sometimes and it leads to me writing shit just because I can, as a fuck you, which happens to be a lot of smut and just shit posts of fics.

Motivation is also a big reasoning though, and this is true for A LOT of authors and artists. Unless you are writing one particular pairing, and often unless you're writing them a certain way, you're not going to get any attention. And what attention you do get is just like "I read this!" There's no kudos, no comments, no sharing of your Tumblr post. It's like you're just throwing all of your work into the void in hopes two people will be like "nice" as it passes by them. It's demoralizing which in turn leads to less content.

There's also the harassment people get from the previously mentioned bit of fandoms. Not a lot of people can read the amount of hate being thrown at them and still be like "Ah yes! I should continue my 200k Crenny slow burn! That it appears only 10 people are reading."

Yes artists and writers do it as a hobby, but when no one appreciates your work, you kind of just call it quits. I totally love writing all aspects of relationships, there are so many WIPs sitting in my folder labeled South Park on Google Drive! But the motivation to finish them come in waves. And I know that's true for others. We get burnt out from the real world or different projects, we have a hard time feeling motivated to keep going, the hate is real, and the lack of response from anything not Creek is demoralizing. But when that one comment comes across, you get a pump of motivation to go again.

So there are three really good ways to show you'd like to see more of something.

First off, you can usually find the creator on a social media platform. Not a whole lot of them hide. You can drop them a message and be like "I really like the way you write blehblorb. If you're taking requests or anything, would you write them on like a date night?" Or whatever it is you'd like to see. Most authors will be nice as long as your nice and either tell you yes or no. Don't harass, just ask nicely. If they have something in the works already, they are more likely to continue it.

Second way, is to comment the fuck out of something you like. I know people say this all the time, but I can't tell you how motivated I get when I get spammed with a series of reblogs and comments. God I fucking love that shit and will dive back into a related project. I have like three long ones I'm working on.

Third way, and I know we say it a lot as well, is to create the content you want to see. Part of why writing for something not popular gets you down is because you look and you're the last 5 fics created and 2/3 the fics. If people see something is bopping, they'll feel the motivation through that as well. Even if you think you're fic isn't good or your writing sucks, you're adding content to something unpopular, it's already going to get love and affection. And if people do the second thing of actually showing that love and affection for this rare thing, then it creates a cycle and more people want to create.

I did not mean to turn this into a sermon, it just happens. But yeah, I love writing the romance and the getting together part of relationships and this ask just makes me more motivated to write on my Steek and coffee shop au you didn't ask for but are totally getting.

[littlemisssquiggles]

So I'm currently head-over-heels for The Dragon Prince and I don't think anything will pull me out of this obsession for a long time. While I'm crying over this show, what did you personally enjoy about the quality of the plot and the characters in general? I'd love to hear your opinion from your amazing writing while I (im)patiently wait for season 3.

Hey there Snowflake. Sorry for the late response. That’sactually a really good question. Admittedly, what first drew me into The Dragon Prince series was the fact that it was created by the one of the originalHead Writers for Avatar:The Last Airbender.

A:TLA will always remain a gem inmy all time favourite animated series list so knowing that one of the men responsiblefor shaping its story branched out and made his own thing immediately peaked myintrigue. It was basically the same sentiment Ihad when I first heard about RWBY being a fan of Monty since his fan made animations like Dead Fantasy.

It’s kind of hard for me to describeexactly what it is that appeals to me the most about the writing for The Dragon Prince. I guess if I’m being completely honest here, what I love mostabout this series are itscharacters. More importantly I love how theseries writes its characters and treats them.

This might be an odd question to ask but have you ever been invested in a series where you got the sense that atsome point the show-runners just forgot how to write for their own establishedcharacters? So instead we get moments where characters behave out of characterbased on what the series has established as their personality and you get thesense that they are only acting this way for the sake of pushing the plot regardless of whether or not the characters’ actions makes sensein the context of who they are as…well…a character?

I’ll give you an example soallow me to deviate here for a sec. Are you familiar with a series calledMiraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir? In case you don’t know, it is aFrench 3D animated series following the heroic conquests of Ladybug and ChatNoir---two teenage heroes tasked with protecting the city of Paris from thenefarious masked villain known as Hawkmoth who uses butterfly-type monstersknown as Akuma to infest unsuspecting citizens; feeding into their negativeemotions to transform them into supervillains who Hawkmoth then task to stealLadybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses which are the source of their power.

There’s also the titbit where Ladybugand Chat Noir are each other’s love interests, both in and out of costume. Ladybug isactually a young girl named MarinetteDupain-Cheng, who in her civilian form is in love witha boy in her class named Adrien Agreste. However unbeknownst to Marinette, hercrush Adrien is actually Chat Noir---her partner in crime-fighting and as Chat Noir, Adrien is inlove with Marinette as Ladybug.

The whole point of the series is that thesetwo knucklehead teen superheroes are in love with each other but as each other’s counterparts while being completely oblivious to the truth abouttheir respective identities. It’s a brilliant concept and if all of that sounds like something very interestingto you then it is.

Despite what I’m about to say, keep inmind that Miraculous is a really goodshow . In spite of my current misgivingsabout it as someone who has been with its since its first season, I would still recommend it to anyone curious about giving it a watch.

It’s a delightful cute show. I justhave some things to say about it but this is only myopinion . Even if you might appreciate mythoughts and views on certain things, my opinionis NOT law.  My opinion is only a representation of mythoughts and feelings toward a piece of medium I indulge in. It’s not a reflection of the overall quality of the medium. Those views are up to you. 

Forgive me if I sound like I’m ramblingnow but I genuinely feel it important to give that small disclaimer since wekind of live in an era of free speech where others use their opinions to lambastothers on why their opinions are right or wrong; based on their opinion.

I am not one of those people. You areallowed to like or dislike something regardless of whether or not you agreewith my opinion of it and vice versa. All I ask is for respect of my views and I shall give that of yours in return.

That being said, let’s talk Miraculous. Andin regards to how on earth this ties into TheDragon Prince, we’ll get to that surely.

At the start, Miraculous was one of my favourite animated series especially as a fan of 3D art and animation.I also couldn’t get enough of the whole Ladybug and Chat Noir love story especiallywith all the multiple pairings that branched out from this one couple---Ladynoir, Adrinette, Marichat and Ladrien. It was silly but adorable all the same and I ate up the fluff like the hopeless romantic I am. 

However; as the seasons went by, itultimately became rather difficult for me to remain truly invested in seeing these two characters achieve their goals since I couldn’t relate to them anymore. 

It’s glaringlybothersome to me now how everything is just always handed to Marinette/Ladybug, our so-calledbeloved protagonist; even when her actions of the day might prove that she doesn’t deserve it. And it certainly doesn’t help when this is done at time at the expense of Chat Noir/Adrien who is often kept in the dark when he’s supposed to be the deuteragonist who shares relevance to the plot as our main heroine.  

It’s hard for me to care aboutthe relationship between Adrien and Marinette/ Ladybug and Chat Noir anymorewhen the show constantly contradicts itself on wanting to show their relationshipmoving forward while also backpedaling in other episodes (for example: episodes such as Animaestro and Oblivio from the current third season).

This makes any progression the plotattempts to pull for their development feel pointless in the end and after three seasons of this tango, as a Miraculer, I’vesadly lost interest in wanting to see our two heroes get together.  This is sad because that’s technically the backbone ofthe show. Fans know that Ladybug and Chat Noir are going to get together because theplot has established that from the get-go and constantly reminds the audiencethat this is going to be a sure endgame. But where it ultimately fell short for me iskeeping me invested in the pairing. While I’ll admit that I was fully on board forthis ride when it first started, now after three seasons, I’m tired. The whole ‘Oooh! Will Ladybug and Chat Noir fall in love both as superheroes and civilians? Will they learn each other’s true identities’ song and dance has become stale for me and even the introduction of imposter love interests doesn’t help.

It only serves to kind of sour the pot for me. Why bother developing these fake relationships when you’ve done the equivalent of nothing to help progress Marinette and Adrien’s relationship both as themselves and as heroes. Season 2 started us off with something that could’ve been potentially great if furthered in its current season but so far, Season 3 hasn’t done much to service the development left behind from that last season.

All things considered, I still like Miraculous andI’m still going to keep tuning in for future episodes since thereare other aspects and characters within the show that I liked enough to keep medevoted.

I still like Adrien very much as one ofthe supposed main two characters (even when the show might make you thinkotherwise). But in regards to LB and CN’s whole song and dance with their so-calledlove story, it’s hard to cheer for a relationship between two characters whenthe show constantly flip flops on what their relationship is supposed to be.

One minute they are destined partners; made for each other because they are meant to be important to eachother. Therefore, their strong dynamic is meant to be proof of what makesthem work as both a team and potential lovers. Next minute Ladybug is a ‘strong, independent heroine who doesn’t needChat Noir’ and he’s painted as more of a liabilityto her than an asset---the loveable yet fumbling bumbling idiot sidekick whosesole purpose is to be a dude inthe distress for the sake of pumping up Ladybug’salready plot-inflated ego all the while gullibly kissing her ass even duringmoments when she treats him terribly.

I humbly apologize in advance if thereare any fellow miraculers reading this response post who might feel veryoffended by my comments toward Miraculous. I’ll admit. My words are indeed harsh. Sorry. But... I still wishto stand by them because they are a blunt representation of my current stancetoward the current state of writing within the show.

I used to reallylike how Miraculous portrayed itscharacters. Loved it even. For three years, Miraculous was my top favourite show and fandom. But following the end of itssecond season, I don’t know how to feel about it anymore. I still like it but its characters man---my interest in their growth is dwindling. 

I guess the biggest gripe for me with Miraculous atthe moment is that I don’t feel as if the characters have really grown at allsince the show first started. Even after two full seasons going into its thirdrun; despite the plot thrusting them into scenarios that one would assume would help them to change (for better or worse), these characters---at least our main ones feel thesame. I know the show has done things to show progression for its charactersespecially in terms of relationships. However it all feels meaningless in the end.

And the flip flopping doesn’t help thiscase. At times, I felt as if Miraculous was being written by two different typesof writers. One who wants to show these characters growing from the people theyused to be because they are meant to while another just wants to keep thesecharacters in the same tropes they started off with. I’m not sure if any other Miraculershares the same opinion but that’s how I feel.

That being said and getting back ontrack, it’s the complete opposite with TheDragon Prince. In this show, I can tell that theplot actually does affect the characters and they react to them in ways you might expecttheir character to react to it given their established personalities. I also lovehow the Dragon Prince has this nice balance to it.  It knows how to juggle its more and heart-wrenching serious moments with its comedy in a way that rarely feels jarring. At least to me.

In TDP, I get the stronger sense that thesecharacters shapes the story in the world around with their adventures and individual experiences being veyr important to the narrative as opposed to the contrary where the story is this and these characters are molded to fit whatever story the writers feel to thrust them into; if that makes sense. And this all boils back to just how much I lovethe characters of this show. I don’t think there is a single character in theTDP cast that I don’t like.

I even have a soft spot in my heart forthe supporting side characters who our Dragonic Trio occasionally interact with during their travels. This is why I was so relieved to see Grenfinally be freed in Book 2. It’s about time my beautiful strawberry man gotfreed.

The DragonPrince is so great that I even care about itsvillain characters as much as the heroes. Even though Lord Viren and hischildren: Claudia and Soren are painted as the antagonists to our Dragonic Trio, I like that there is so much more to them than just that. On the contrary, there are aspects ofthese three that makes me think they’re not villains. Particularly Lord Viren. The guy isn’t just the classic mustache twirling bad guy. He has layers. Depth. 

I understand that Lord Viren is supposedto the bad guy however; he’s not entirely bad. There is a good side to him and its evidence in his relationship with the royal family. You cantell that Viren genuinely cared for King Harrow and had great respect for Queen Sarai since she saved his life. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is thatthe characters of TDP feel real to me. They don’t feel like just characters in a story. They feel like peoplewith experiences that their audience can relate to. Connect with. The Dragon Writers know and understand their characters as people and know how to write for their characters and because of howwell they’ve portrayed them, it makes me as the viewer more interested in theirstories as the main plot carries on.

I pray that the Dragon Writers keepthis up going forward with the remaining books. Sometimes show-runners start to suffer from writer’s fatigue and/or forget how to write for the verycharacters they created the longer the plot is stretched to the point that the series comes to feel like it lost direction at some point (coughsVoltroncoughs). 

I hope this won’t be the case for the Dragon Writers.Two seasons in and these guys continue to keep me loving their world and Icannot wait to see these characters be fleshed out further in the upcoming book. The Dragon Prince Book 3 cannot come any quicker.

I can’t wait to see what Rayla and Callum’s adventures with Zym across Xadia will be like. I still can’t believe they separated the Dragonic Trio. Usually you have to wait like…what…three-four seasons to get the squad ripped apart but nah…The Dragon Prince did that in season two.

Still in shock over that. But as much as I’m going tomiss Ezran in the party, I’d by totally lying if my Rayllum shipping heart isn’t beyondecstatic to see what these two duo adventures together will belike. Particularly following Rayla’s near confession.

I’m curious to see how that will affectthe way Rayla interacts with Callum from now on. I’m mostly just excited to see blushingRayla awkward about her crush on Callum. As of Book2, I think it’s safe to say that Callummight be over his crush on Claudia. Or perhaps his resentment over hers and Soren’s betrayal currently outweighsany former romantic feelings he might still have for her. Feels bad m’dude. I don’t ship Callum with Claudia at all but that doesn’t mean I want Callum to hate her.I really like Claudia as a character and I want the best for her and Soren too.My children are going down a dark path and I don’t like it. Especially Claudia. I still stand with my theory where I don’t think Book 2 will be the last timeClaudia will use the extreme form of dark magic to aid with Soren’s paralysis.I still think Soren is still permanently paralyzed and that Claudia’s spell isonly a temporary fix meaning that Claudia may have to keep performing Viren levels ofdraining magic from other magical beings to keep her brother stable…which is going taint herso much. I just hope that in the end, Soren will be the one to save his sisterfrom her own damnation.

At the end of the day, Soren and Claudia love each other and will do anythingfor each other. If there is anyone I trust to save Claudia should she ever loseherself to dark magic (which let’s just face it, will tragically happen down the line); it’s Soren--- thevery person she’s doing this for. Damn! The Writing for these two is so good! Megaprops to the Dragon Writers for writing such an engaging, strong brother andsister dynamic and sibling love and loyalty to one another without making it borderline…well…incestuous.  

I don’t want to see Claudia fallto the dark side, guys. Despite being a firm user ofdark magic like her father, Claudia is actually the opposite of her chosen element. I feel as if Claudia was willing to theput in the effort to awakening her arcana as Callum did, she could possibilitybe another Sky Mage like Callum or perhaps an Ocean Mage. Or maybe an Earth Mage? Who knows. It’s all just theories and speculation of mine for now.

Speaking of which; next up is Ezran. I’m excited to see what his travels will be like. Ezran is so young yet he’s sodown to earth and possesses a level headed maturity and outlook on the world around him that one can appreciate.Ezran will make a great king some day and if Book3 is the kick-starter to that part ofhis arc towards that goal then bring it.

I am ready to follow Prince Ezran on his own separate journey back home with Smexy Dreadlock Man (I’m sorry his name escapes me at the moment but his handsomeness doesn’t).

This also makes me curious if Ezranwill ever get to meet the young queen---the daughter of the Two Queens who gavetheir lives along with Ezran’s mom. I’m actually really, really interested inseeing Prince Ezran meeting QueenAanya.

I kind of low-key ship Aanya and Ezran. Yes, I know they haven’t met at all and we have zero idea of howthese two would get along should they encounter each other. Nonetheless, theidea of Ezran and Aanya coming together intrigues me because of how perfect itwould be should it happen.

I love the idea of Ezran someday possibly marrying Aanya with thetwo joining their kingdoms. After all, theQueens of Duran sought out King Harrow during their crisis in the winter andKing Harrow was willing to open his kingdom to the People of Duran.

Sure Viren tried to fight against it atfirst but Harrow stuck to his guns. Both Ezran and Aanya are currently the very young heirs to their respective thrones expected to lead their people. Aanyahas already begun her ruling and now Ezran is on his way to reclaim his throne. Bothlost their mothers who sacrificed their lives for their people. If Ezran andAanya meet, I think they can hit it off and make great friends. While I doubt romance willbe a thing for them since they are still children, I still want these two tomeet and form a close long-lastingfriendship that could one day potentially lead toa union that unites two kingdoms like their parents did long ago. But that’sjust me with my theories.

I’m hoping that Ezran’s adventures withSmexy Dreadlock Man will lead to him possibly passing through Duran while alsoencountering BirdHarrow along the way. That’s a reunion I’malso looking forward to.

And yeah, that’s pretty much all I haveto say for now on The Dragon Prince and its upcoming season. 

Fair notSnowflake, you’re not the only one excited for Book 3. Maybe you should follow Tim Kamiski on Twitter. I believe he’s an Art Director at Wonderstorm working on TheDragon Prince Game. He released a poster art for Book 3 that looks hype.

It’s a shame we’ll possibly have towait till early next year for Book 3. But until such a time, I hope my response toyour question was a good enough one to help you ride the Wonderstorm till the next season, fam.

~LittleMissSquiggles(2019)