#I’ve seen awesome takes of his past through fics and they were all a pleasure to read

[anonwyvern]

I’ve seen posts from over the years lamenting on the fact that our favorite seven-foot-tall ghoul has very little backstory, but you know, it’s probably one of my favorite things about him.

Sure, I totally get why some want to have the whole nine yards of his past (particularly with his contract) but I think it’s super fun to instill your own thoughts and theories because there’s essentially nothing there. He has just enough to build on, and I think it’s fascinating to see everybody else’s takes on his past and the utter confusing contradictions of his whole brainwashed contract definitely-not-a-slave don’t look a gift ghoul in the mouth sort of aspect. I’m pretty sure there was a post floating around at one point where even his creator had said he kept it open and vague for somewhat of that reason, and I personally think that’s cool af.

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Snip Snip

This is a one shot/sequel to @pengychan​ ‘s Mind the Gap that I had brewing in my head for sometime. 100% Pengy approved, I hope you enjoy some silliness.

WARNING: Has some language, sexual descriptions and deals with a M/M/F relationship. Also you should really read Pengy’s fic before you read mine.

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“Señor De la Cruz? The doctor will see you in about five minutes.”

“Never mind. I’m leaving.”

“No—nngh! No! Sit-… down!”

With a none to gentle shove and with great effort Héctor managed to pull Ernesto back down into the waiting room seat. The crashing of a heavy body and screeching of the plastic chair led to a disgruntled brow raise from the receptionist, but she just sighed and returned to her computer work. Ernesto grumbled to himself and crossed his arms with a glare.

“This was your idea, amigo.” Héctor whispered, not wanting to agitate the lady behind the counter even more.

“Exactly, which is why I should be allowed to change my mind.” Ernesto said, pouting as he looked down at his groin. “You don’t understand. I’ve spent my- no wait, every man has spent their whole lives protecting their manhood with gentle care and affection. It is a sense of pride, of thing of power. Potency! It’s what makes a man a man. To get a vasectomy goes against everything I believe in. It’s not in my nature.”

“Aw, Ernesto…” Héctor gripped Ernesto’s arm and squeezed comfortingly. “We’ve talked about this. You’ll still be a man. Imelda and I won’t think any less of you. In fact we’re both extremely proud of you for doing this.”

“Oh shut up.”

“How about this. Once you have the operation, get all healed up and are ready for some action, then…” Pausing to check to see if the receptionist was watching them. “Then you get to go to town on Imelda. No more condoms, just skin to skin. You thrusting deep inside of her while she screams your name, coming together in one rush of pure ecstasy.”

If it weren’t for his nerves and the flight-or-fight struggle going on inside of him now Ernesto would have been fully erect by Héctor’s words alone. Not an ideal situation to be in when one was in a urologist’s office and about to be fully nude from the waist down. Still his cheeks gave a slight flush and he swallowed thickly. “And, uh… what will you be doing while I’m with her?”

“Me?” Héctor chuckled huskily. “Why I’ll be right behind you. Just how you like it.”

Ernesto gasped softly. An Ernesto sandwich, his favorite. A sandwich was something Imelda had come up with that always depended on who was in the middle of their combined lovemaking, a silly little thing hardly compared to how fucking awesome it really was. Penetration and getting penetrated, two forms of stimulation all at once that left one howling in pleasure to the heavens and beyond. Ernesto’s face went full red at that and could already feel the tingle of arousal pooling in his stomach and creeping down into his groin. This was bad. He couldn’t get hard now. He had to think of something to cool down. Something to stop the progression of his-

“Alright, Señor. The doctor will see you now.”

‘That’ll do it.’ Ernesto thought as all thoughts of sex had switched back to nauseating terror.

“Ay, puta madre.” Ernesto whispered and stood up with Héctor. He started to actually tremble when they went through the door, Héctor’s hand on his shoulder failing to stop it. “Shit, shit, shit…”

“Uy, you’re so tense.” Héctor said, now a little worried. “You took your Valium pill almost an hour ago. It didn’t calm you down even a little bit?”

“Do I look calm?!” Ernesto whispered harshly.

No, Héctor had to admit. In the last half hour in the waiting room Ernesto had done anything but relax. He had stood up and sat down multiple times, paced the room, gotten a cup of stale coffee, and had picked up every single magazine that they had, read exactly one page of each, and had thrown it back down onto the table. Héctor believed that if he hadn’t had any Valium in his system right now then there would have been an Ernesto shaped hole busted through the wall of the receptionist office.

“Well they’re gonna give you something stronger once we’re in the room.”

“It won’t work. I know it won’t work.”

“How?”

“Héctor you know me.” Ernesto said, the trembling now reaching his voice. “I have a very strong constitution. Alcohol barely phases me, I need an extraordinary amount of caffeine to really wake up. That valium might as well have been an aspirin. I’m telling you there is nothing in the world that’ll calm me down at this point!”

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

Apparently that nothing had been a Demerol shot to the ass by an elderly nurse.

Héctor cursed the person who had made up the stupid rule that no cell phones or cameras were to be allowed in the doctor’s office. For this was a golden moment that would soon exist only in his memories. And maybe even only his memories because Ernesto himself was just a touch out of it. There he was, laying on the reclined operating chair in a hospital gown with his bare waist covered by a thin paper sheet. Singing baby songs.

“Quince elefantes se balanceaban sobre la tela de una araaaañaaa…” Ernesto sang drowsily while he languidly twirled his finger in the air like a conductor’s baton.

He had slowly but surely diminished over the past half hour, starting with the sluggish shaking of his head as the drugs started to paint his brain with a slight fog. Then came the slow blinking and the monotone, droning humming. Then finally to this: awake sedation as the doctors called it. To Héctor though it was pure hilarity.

Suddenly Ernesto stopped singing and his brow furrowed in thought. “You know they say that a strand of a spider’s web can be tougher than steel.”

Héctor nodded. “I’m sure I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“I don’t think a spider web can hold fifteen elephants, though.”

“No.”

“Then why would they make a song about something that is physically impossible?”

Héctor laughed. “It’s just a song to teach babies how to count, Ernesto.”

“Well it’s doing a very poor job about teaching them physics.” Ernesto huffed. “When we make it big we should do some kiddy songs, sí? Public domain stuff. That’s free money right there. Quince elefantes se balanceaban-.”

“Ernesto.” Héctor clapped a hand across Ernesto’s mouth, stifling a grin when it seemed to take a few seconds before the drugged man realized his song had been silenced. When Ernesto glared up at him he continued. “You’ve said quince elefantes five times now. You aren’t adding anymore elephants.”

This seemed to be news to Ernesto, and when Héctor removed his hand he actually looked downright embarrassed and ashamed. “Oh… I’m sorry.”

Yes, drugged Ernesto was hilarious alright. Also endearing and adorable.

“It’s okay, I forgive you.” Héctor said with a smile, and then bent over to give him a kiss on the forehead.

Ernesto hummed in contentment, a faint red on his cheeks as he suddenly looked bashful. “Someone could have come in when you did that, you know.”

“But they didn’t.”

“The room could have a security camera.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Oh, okay… Then…” Ernesto pouted and pointed to his forehead on the same spot. “Uno mas.”

Héctor happily obliged, and no sooner had he leant back from the kiss when the door opened. It was enough to make Héctor’s heart seize a little bit before forcing himself to relax. He hadn’t seen, it was alright. Ernesto just smiled wobbly and waved at the doctor coming in.

“Well, Señor de la Cruz!” the doctor said cheerfully as he set down his clipboard and began to slip on his gloves. “It’s been a little while now. How are we feeling after the Demerol shot?”

“Philosophical.” Ernesto proclaimed grandly, nearly smacking Héctor in the face as he threw out his hand in a dramatic pose. “Young Héctor and I have been discussing the fallacies of nursery rhymes and how they are negatively impacting a child’s learning structure.”

The doctor blinked at that, before giving Ernesto an indulgent smile. “Ohh, so I see. Yep, the medicine is in full effect.” Looking over at Héctor his smile seemed to falter a bit. “You know I usually see wives, girlfriends and even mothers come in to offer support, but rarely male friends.”

Héctor chuckled. “Well I think if his mamá realized that he would be cutting off any chance of her having grandchildren she would explode into a flood of tears. And besides, my wife and I would like to have more kids in the future, but I also might one day want to have a vasectomy. What better time to weigh my options than with my best friend, you know? See what it all entails.”

“I understand.” With a snap of his glove and turning on the overhead light to illuminate Ernesto’s crotch, he moved his tray of surgical equipment towards him. “All right then. Shall we begin?”

With a slight whimper Ernesto held out his hand for Héctor to hold. “You won’t let go at all, right?”

Seeing Ernesto so vulnerable and adorable melted Héctor’s heart, and he wished that Imelda had been there with him to witness Ernesto being so cute. He clutched Ernesto’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “I won’t. Don’t worry amigo, this is a perfectly normal procedure. Nothing to worry about at all.”

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

With Coco laid down for her afternoon nap, all the dogs and Pepita fed and watered, and no shoe orders to work on at the moment Imelda was enjoying some private time to herself curled onto the sofa, watching TV and drinking a nice cup of coffee. She knew this momentary bit of peace wouldn’t last.

Soon Héctor and Ernesto would be back from the doctor’s office and Imelda would be ready for them. She already had stocked up on acetaminophen and had several cold packs in the freezer for when they would be needed. She had even stocked up on Ernesto’s favorite soda, or at least one he tolerated when he wasn’t able to drink beer or other liquors.

She was very proud of Ernesto for bringing up the idea of getting a vasectomy for himself, and even prouder when he had set up the appointment all by himself and left for it this morning with Héctor. She knew he was nervous, heck she was nervous about it too, but she also knew that Ernesto was a man who once he set his mind on something there was no turning back. It was one of the things that she loved about him, even though it sometimes aggravated her.

Loved.

It was so weird thinking that now, even though she knew it was true. Although she was still deeply in love with Héctor and he was in love with her, the end of their sexual arrangement with Ernesto did not make their feelings for him disappear like she thought it would. In fact it only strengthened them. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say.

And in the end the only thing it succeeded in doing was completely breaking Ernesto’s heart and left him wanting for almost a year. She was ashamed of herself but there was no way she could have foreseen what would come of the night she had slapped that strap-on in front of Ernesto. She had no idea that she would have two men holding a third of her heart while she held a third of theirs.

But it was fine now. For how long she didn’t know. But they would just take it one day at a time.

When she heard the door knock she blew out a sigh and set her coffee mug down. Dante and Ernesto’s four little chihuahuas immediately ran to the door in their room where they were currently shut up in, but thankfully for once they didn’t yip or bark. Just whined pitifully and slightly scratched the door. But they would have to wait until she got Ernesto set up on the couch and was safely protected from them.

Opening the door, she greeted them with a smile. “Well, how did it… go?...”

Ernesto was standing there, straight and tall as ever, an annoyed pout on his face while with one arm wrapped around him was Héctor. Trembling slightly and his face the color of putty, Héctor pointed a shaking finger to Imelda. “We… are stocking up on condoms. Either that or we’ll have a dozen kids. But I am never… going to get one of those… things ever! Never ever!”

Imelda was shocked. “Dios mio! What on Earth happened? Ernesto, did you get the vasectomy or not?”

Handing Imelda a pamphlet with his free hand, Ernesto nodded. “Yeah, I got it. Surgery was short and went without a hitch. Here’s the aftercare treatment plan he gave me. No, the real problem was Princess Héctor right here. Fainted like a dainty maid after the doctor held up my sperm tube for us to see. I know it has another name, but I forget and don’t care.”

“Fainted!” Imelda gasped. “Are you all right? Did you hit your head?”

“No, but he did throw up.” Ernesto smirked.

“Don’t remind me.” Héctor groaned, holding his stomach and struggling to support himself. “I’ve been nauseous the whole ride back. I need to see something cute. Something pure. I need to see my Coco. Coco, my love, Papá is coming!”

“Do not wake her up Héctor, I just put her down twenty minutes ago!” Imelda called out to Héctor’s retreating form. “And don’t let the dogs out of the other room either!”

“Ay, ay ay ay…”

At the sound of pain, Imelda’s attention turned to Ernesto. He was hunched slightly against the doorframe, his eyes closed tight and face pinched. “Oh, I’m so sorry Ernesto. Héctor distracted me. Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Just tender more than painful.” Ernesto grunted out. “Though it might hurt more after the anesthetic wears off. No, what really hurts is my hand. Héctor crushed the hell out of it during the whole surgery! I regret ever asking him to hold it in the first place! It’s not like my whole livelihood rests in the full use of my hands…”

“You’d still have your voice.” Imelda smiled. “And your so-called good looks.”

“Whatever… can you help me to the couch? I- nng!-… think I reached my limit helping Héctor.”

Ah, so he was in pain. Taking hold of Ernesto’s large arm she helped him slowly shuffle his way around the couch. “He was supposed to be helping you.” She chastised.

“Well he was pretty much useless afterwards.”

“You could have hurt yourself. You shouldn’t be lifting heavy objects.”

Ernesto smiled. “Well look on the bright side. If one of my cajones swells up like a grapefruit then he can pay for my medical bills.”

“Mmm hmm.” Imelda couldn’t help by snicker a little at that. “Okay, let’s sit you down. Okay, easy. Easy…”

Slowly Ernesto sat down on the couch, letting Imelda support him as he slowly eased his way down. With a pained grunt and then a sigh of relief he let his head fall back against the headrest and let his knees spread enough to the point where there was no pain, the sweatpants he was wearing lifting away from the sensitive area. He closed his eyes for a few moments, listening to Imelda bustling through the kitchen quietly, before a soft ahem made him open them again.

Imelda handed him a glass of water and two white pills, then placed a frozen ice pack next to him on the couch. Taking the pills without complaint and downing half the glass of water, he then took the ice pack and ever so gently molded it against his sore nether regions. Gasping softly at the cold at first he then sighed in relief as the coolness soothed the aches and pains, smiling gratefully up at Imelda. “Gracias.”

“De nada.” Imelda said before sitting down next to him, careful not to jostle him too much. “So, the vasectomy was a success?”

Ernesto nodded. “Yep, my cannon is now just a water gun: I may be shooting blanks, but I can still squirt you in the eye.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Oh am I?”

“Hmm…” Imelda leant against her arm that was resting on the back of the couch, relieved that the pain seemed to be slowly fading from Ernesto’s features. She smiled a little, watching him until he looked over her way with a question on his face. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Shifting a little uncomfortably, he gave her a smug look that used to infuriate her but now knew was just a mask to cover up his own insecurities. “You’re going to have to be more specific. I have done many things in my life you should be proud of.”

“Oh, of course.” Imelda tittered, then rested a hand on his arm. “No I’m proud that you did this. It would have been… hard to explain to others if I gave birth to a child that looked like you… I know you don’t necessarily like children and wouldn’t want one to begin with, but it was still a big decision to make. It couldn’t have been easy-”

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to stay with you two… Whatever it takes…”

This startled Imelda. Ernesto’s face had darkened considerably when he had said that, but his eyes displayed the same misery she had seen during the year where Ernesto had been separated from them. Because of her. She had been acting on her motherly instincts when she had found out that she was pregnant with Coco, surely a threesome between her parents and her godfather would end badly for her once it would be discovered. And it had only been about sex at the beginning and one-upping each other in terms of sexual prowess when it came to Héctor.

But love had grown first in Ernesto. And then in her and Héctor. All the separation had done was make them all miserable. It was no one else’s concern what they did behind closed doors, and they would raise Coco and their potential children to have open minds and kind hearts.

Ernesto’s eyes cleared and his face reddened in embarrassment as he quickly tried to back pedal. “Oh, uh… Forget I said that. I guess I’m still a little high from the drugs the nurse gave me. They always make me a bit chatty.”

Leaning forward, she wove her fingers into Ernesto’s wavy hair and smiled. “Well I wouldn’t worry. Like it or not you’re stuck with us for life.” And then she gave him a kiss on the forehead, not knowing it was in the exact same spot that Héctor had given him hours earlier. Ernesto touched where she had kissed him, face even redder, and smiled back.

Standing up from the couch, Imelda handed him the TV remote and brushed herself down in a way to calm her own nerves. “Well all right then. Don’t leave that ice pack on for too long. Just do it twenty minutes every hour. Would you like a soda?”

“I’d prefer a beer.”

“Not with medicine still in your system.”

“I also want to see my dogs.”

“I’m sorry, do you want four bony and dense cannonballs jumping directly onto your crotch?”

“…No…”

“Didn’t think so. I’ll get you some soda and chips before I have to rescue Coco from her father. Just holler if you need anything else.”

Watching her walk into the kitchen Ernesto settled further into the couch with a grin. The ache in his groin was lessening, he was now and forever barren, Imelda was pampering him, and he’d seen Héctor make a total fool out of himself today.

“This is nice.” Ernesto said to himself as he turned on the TV. “I should have gotten a vasectomy years ago!”

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“And this is from his concert last month in Guadalajara! Signed photographs! Isn’t he handsome? My precious boy! He told me that they were charging 1000 pesos for one foto and they were selling like crazy! But he sent me a stack so that I could share them with my friends. And so I was wondering if you would like one too, Maricarmen?”

Maricarmen stopped stacking a pyramid of oranges long enough to glance at the photograph in Señora Adela de la Cruz’s hands. Ernesto was handsome all right: Dressed in a fine royal blue mariachi suit with a wide brimmed sombrero, grinning with pure machismo and his name signed in gold ink. But the sight of him didn’t melt her insides like it would other girls who glanced at his rugged features. It never did, really. Now just looking at him made her… anxious.

“I think I’ll pass Adela, but gracias anyway.”

Adela’s smile faded and she had that pitying, patronizing look that so many other people gave her that made her so mad but unable to defend herself against. “Are you still upset because Ernesto left all those years ago?”

“…I’m not… upset, but-.”

“Because it was my fault really! Ernesto left because of what I and his father did to him, we betrayed his trust and hurt him deeply. But finally we’ve patched things up and everything is right as rain again. He even visits us again, my precious boy! I know that you and he were good friends-”

Friends…

“-but every time he visits you never come over. Are you upset with him? Are you upset that he’s…” Adela paused, looked around to see if anyone else was listening in on their conversation, and whispered none too quietly, “…gay?”

Shocked into a sputtering snort Maricarmen managed to knock down her carefully made orange pyramid all over her fruit stall and onto the ground. Rolling her eyes she bent down to pick up the fallen fruit, shaking her head. “No, I’m not upset about that.” She said, not at all wanting to explain to the older woman what bisexuality was.

“I know you had some feelings for him.”

“… No offense, Dona, but the only feelings I had for him were tolerance but mostly annoyance.”

“Then what is it?”

“Mamá!”

The uncomfortable conversation was finally over with when all of a sudden a piercing cry and quick steps caused both woman to turn at the sudden intruder. A cute little girl, no more than eleven years old, came running up to them with her pink backpack slung over one elbow and her other hand reaching out for Maricarmen. She practically collided with Maricarmen with enough force to garner an oof! from the thin woman and gave her a big hug. “I’m done with school Mamá! May I have some money?”

“And a cheery good afternoon to you too, Maricruz.” Maricarmen said drily.

Maricruz laughed sheepishly and let go, putting her backpack underneath the fruit stand for safekeeping. “Lo siento, Mamá. It’s just that Dolores and Primavera are going to the movies and they invited me. So can I have some money, por favooooor?!”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, mija, but you know things have been tight recently. I’m going to have to start doing some night shifts at the cantina so we can stay afloat and have enough spending money.”

Maricarmen stayed strong when her daughter’s face instantly dropped. She knew that Maricruz was used to not having enough money for things she wanted, but being alone at night while her mother worked was something she hated most. Maricarmen knew that, but it wasn’t like she had anybody else to help her with raising her daughter. Her parents had both died years ago, and she had no other relatives willing to help the poor little slut who had a bastard child.

Maybe I could ask… her father for help?

No. Out of the question. What a fine time to tell him he had a daughter after all these years. And after he had just made it big.

“Oh, okay…” Maricruz said dejectedly, before turning a wide winning smile to Adela. “Señora de la Cruz! How nice to see you. Could you spare a few pesos so I could go see a movie, por favor?”

“Maricruz!” her mother instantly scolded. “You do not just ask someone else for money immediately after I said-”

“Of course I can, niña!”

“ADELA!” Maricarmen cried. “I’m trying to show her she can’t always get what she wants!”

Adela waved her off as she reached for her wallet. “Oh, it’s just a little money and our movie theater isn’t expensive. Going to one movie isn’t going to spoil the girl, especially one as sweet as she is. Here you go, chiquita, here’s enough money for the movie and a few snacks as well.”

“Gracias Señora de la Cruz!” Maricruz said as she pocketed the money and gave the elderly woman a big hug. “You are the nicest woman in all of Santa Cecilia!”

“Oh ho ho, you charmer you.” Adela chortled and then handed her one of her signed photographs. “Here you go also. A signed photograph of my son Ernesto, soon to be the greatest singer in all of Mexico! I’m giving it to everyone for free.”

“Oh cool, gracias!” Maricruz said as she took it, clearly not as excited as she was when she got the money. “I think I’ll give this to my friend Paloma if you don’t mind. She’s a de la Cruzito for life, at least that’s what she told me.”

“Oh, and you’re not?” Adela asked confused.

Maricarmen shook her head and smirked. “No, she likes Héctor, don’t you mija?”

Maricruz sighed dramatically and clutched the photo to her chest. “Ahhh, he’s soooo dreamy!...”

“Really now!” Adela laughed in surprise. “I must admit I’m a little shocked. Don’t get me wrong Héctor is a fine boy and everything, but I guess I’m just used to everyone fawning over my Tito.”

Photograph still in hand, Maricruz just shrugged and smiled widely, her light brown eyes almost giving off a golden hue. “Sorry Señora. But Ernesto de la Cruz just isn’t my type!”

THE END

[starbuckie]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: 2,393(with song lyrics), 2,300(without song lyrics)

warnings: LaNgUaGe, a little baby bit of angst, fluff, and soft!bucky

summary: y/n tried to move in after the events of infinity war.

a/n: i bring you my first bucky oneshot! dear evan hansen is one of my favorite musicals in the entire world,  and “if i could tell her” is the sweetest song. i thought it would fit well with this plot i came up with and i really enjoyed writing this, so if y’all wanna read more musical inspired fics just let me know (even though i’ll probably still do it anyway). anywaaaaays, enjoy as always, and i hope you guys have a great day <3

main masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist

He thought you were awesome

He thought I was awesome? My brother?

Definitely!

You sat in the compound with Nat in silence. Grieving over Chinese food together had become a norm over the past five years. Ever since the snap, losing your teammates and half of the universe had taken a toll on your friendship. You two worked in tandem together still, but there was always that tension in the air, the elephant in the room. Neither of you addressed the “blip” unless you were on a call with the remaining heroes. Five years later, and you two still have trouble speaking about it. 

Quiet footsteps approached letting you know that Steve had arrived. You looked up, and there was your blue-eyed friend, leaning against the doorway, lips turned up in a small smile.

“Chinese food again?” He walked over and sat next to Natasha to grab a plate. “Everytime I come over here you two are sitting at the table eating Chinese takeout without speaking to each other. Natasha, get your feet off the table.” 

Both of you smiled at this. “Okay, dad.” She snarkily responded. Those were the first words she had said all day. Of course Steve could get her to talk. Whenever he came to visit, he was always the one to break the quiet. To get you to smile. Three of you sat and chatted a bit about your days, until there was nothing left to say. Silence heavy in the air, Natasha set her plate down on the table. “I’m going to my room to work on some stuff. I’ll be gone for a bit.” She put her hand on your shoulder and left.

“We’re both aware that that’s code for her going to track Barton down, right?” You sighed heavily and nodded. He knew that she was spending any free time she had trying to find her best friend, but whenever she did find him, she would look at what he’d done and decided to leave it. Clint was grieving too. Natasha had been very reserved, and though the two of you were still close, the distance between her and everyone else seemed farther than ever.

You respected Natasha’s privacy and solitude, but sometimes you really need to talk to her. Much like Natasha, the Avengers were the only family you had, and you had lost them. You had survived and they hadn’t. Feelings were always bubbling in the pit of your stomach, but you had no way to express them. Exhaustion had kept you from your tears, but now that Steve was here, you broke down.

“She needs to grieve.” You took a long breath. “And so do I, frankly. Because everyone’s gone now Steve. There’s nothing left to fucking do. We have no leads about where they may have gone, or what the hell happened! Nothing is in our control anymore. There’s nothing left for us.” After your small outburst, the two of you sat in silence, hot tears trailing down your face.

“He loved you too, you know.” You looked up, red rimmed eyes, staring at him imploringly. “Bucky.”

Bucky. The one person that you had felt strongly towards. God, you wished you had just told him when you had the chance. But you let him walk off into battle before you could say anything. 

You remembered the first time you saw the blue-eyed man. Clint had rushed you and Wanda out of the compound, exclaiming that Steve needed your help. Your friend had literally just thrown her boyfriend(?) through the ground, and everything about it seemed very illegal. Tony had told the two of you to stay inside the compound, but if Cap needed you, you went. After a fun journey to San Francisco to pick up Scott, the four of you found yourselves in a white van, traveling to an airport in Germany.

The first time you laid eyes on him, you could have sworn you were in heaven. Steve’s description of him did Bucky no justice. Long brown hair that fell right above his chin, and pink pouty lips. He had an angled jaw, that at the time you swore could get you pregnant it was so hot, and stubble that covered most of it. He had broad shoulders and you had to stop yourself from ogling his thighs. But what really caught your attention were his eyes. Bright and vibrant, yet tired and dull at the same time. In that moment, you had fallen in love. 

However, your time with him wasn’t very long, as you soon after had to go and fight your old team. Once Steve and Bucky had gotten into the quinjet, you thought that was the last time you would see the pretty, blue-eyed boy. Months later though, after Steve came back to free you, Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Scott, he offered to take you to Wakanda. He knew you were tired, not looking to fight anymore, and T’Challa had offered asylum. Eagerly you had agreed, and flew to Wakanda, where you truly fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes.

Though Bucky was brought out of his cryostasis chamber three months after you had gotten there, the two of you had bonded fairly quickly. It did take him a while to open up to you, considering you had only a brief interaction, but after that, the two of you were inseparable. You would spend mornings watching the beautiful sunrise outside his hut and playing with the goats, afternoons working in the fields, and nights wrapped around each other with blankets, talking about nothing and everything all at once. Over the months, you found yourself falling farther and farther in love with Bucky, but you didn’t know what the two of you were. He always called you “doll”, “honey”, and “sweetheart”, and gave you forehead kisses. He came to you at night when he had nightmares and let you hold him until he fell asleep. But was that love? Did he feel anything for you? You hoped he did. But you let him get away, and now there was nothing left to say.

How?

Well, he said

There's nothing like your smile

Sort of subtle and perfect and real

He said

You never knew how wonderful

That smile could make someone feel

Snapping out of your reverie, you focused back on Steve. “H-he loved me?” Steve chuckled softly and leaned over the table slightly, taking your hand in his. 

“More than anything.” Nodding at him to keep going, he continued. “He told me right before we went to fight. Horrible timing, but that’s how it always is, huh. So goddamn cliche.”

Steve thought back to the conversation he had had with his oldest friend, and recounted it for you.

“What’s going on with you and Y/N, pal?” Steve smiled brightly at his best friend, even though they weren’t in the best circumstances for a catch-up, he was dying to know what was going on between two of his closest friends. Bucky bashfully grinned and dipped his head down in hopes that his best friend wouldn’t see his blush, but to no avail. “Aw, you’re sweet on her, aren’t you?”

“Steve, I’m not sweet on her.” Steve’s smile fell, but Bucky’s only grew. “I think I love her. No, I know I love her.” He smiled fondly into the distance, watching where you were exchanging greetings with Sam and Natasha near Shuri’s lab tables. You were laughing, head thrown back and teeth sparkling in the light. You had a tactical suit on, hair tied up in a sleek ponytail, a rifle in hand, and Bucky thought you never had looked prettier.

Steve had never seen Bucky like this. Calm, peaceful, in love. Granted, they hadn’t exactly been spending lots of time together in the past seventy years, but it made him happy to know that Bucky was happy. “In love? What about her?”

Bucky chuckled and looked back to his friend. “Where do you want me to start?” Bucky sighed before beginning his speech. “She is the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. And from what I can remember, I knew a lot of girls back then. I know that waking up and getting to be around her everyday is a blessing, and makes me forget everything. She’s all sunshine and pure happiness, Steve.”

“What else, Buck?” 

“She has the sweetest laugh in the world, and God, her smile is enough to make my entire day. It’s so real, just perfect. I only want to see that for the rest of my life. And she’s always there for me. Y/N is the most open-hearted person I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. She’s strong, hot-headed, kind, beautiful, funny, patient, and just so goddamn beautiful, inside and out. I would spend every single day with her by my side if that were possible.” Bucky then sighed, and his heart ached. Because though she was this wonderful human, how could she want him? His old, broken, damaged, quiet self? She deserved much better.

Steve grinned, completely missing Bucky’s face filled with self-doubt. “I think you’ve got it bad, Bucky. You should tell her.” The brunette simply shook his head.

“Maybe someday.”

But he kept it all inside his head

What he saw he left unsaid

And though he wanted to

He couldn't talk to you

He couldn't find the way

But he would always say

Your eyes started spilling more tears with Steve’s words. Bucky loved you. Bucky loved you. That information should have made you happy, but it just filled you with more grief. Silent sobs were felt through your whole body. “Oh sweet girl, what’s wrong?” Steve immediately got up to hug you, pulling your form into his body.

“We could've had a chance.” You managed to croak out. “We loved each other. We could’ve been happy together. It's strange really. We missed our opportunity.” Steve looked down at you and prodded you to continue your thoughts. “Stevie, I had so many reasons listed out in my head as to why I shouldn’t have told him. Maybe he thought of me as a sister, or wasn’t ready for a relationship. But to find out that we could’ve been happy together… it hurts worse than any of those options. We never told each other, and kept it inside of our heads. And now he’s gone.”

Steve continued to hold you throughout your breakdown. Your tears soaked his tee shirt, but he didn’t mind. And it was on that day in March of 2023, that the two of you mourned James Buchanan Barnes.

But we're a million worlds apart

And I don't know how I would even start

If I could tell her

If I could tell her

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

If someone had told Bucky that he would pass out in one battle and wake up to yet another one five years in the future, he probably would’ve hurt them. However, the only people he thought of hurting right now were Thanos and his stupid goonies. Blasting another creature to the ground, he grunted and pulled a hair tie off his wrist. Thank God Shuri forced him to carry them with him all the time, because his hair really was unmanageable. Tying half of his hair up in a small bun at the back of his head, he wondered what the hell was happening. No one had told him anything before they came onto this destructive wasteland. T’Challa just gave him a hand to help him off the ground, and told him that Steve needed his help.

Suddenly, a flash of navy blue sailed past him and it was like he was seeing you for the first time again. He stared at you, dumbfounded. Though he had only been gone for a few hours(in his point of view), you looked older, more mature, and a lot more tired. Your hair had been cut shorter, but you were still as beautiful as ever. 

You brushed off some dust and looked around. The rest of your team had come back. Though you were in the middle of a battle, you couldn’t stop smiling. Tears were blocking your vision, but your emotions were on a rollercoaster right now, and you wanted all of it to be over. You saw Doctor Strange lifting up a storm along with many other wizards. Actually, were they wizards? You had no clue. Tony and Pepper fought side by side in the skies, and even Peter was holding the gauntlet as he rode on a pegasus’ back. But what caught most of your attention was the tall brunette, blue-eyed man staring right back at you. 

“Bucky?” Tears found a path down your face, but you really didn’t care anymore. You ran towards him, aliens be damned. They could wait. After all, you had to wait five years. 

Bucky saw you run towards him and he sprinted towards you with the same fervor, hot, salty tears falling from his eyes. His heart was filled with relief as he took you in.

And how do you say

I love you

I love you

I love you

I love you

Finally meeting each other in the middle, you grasped his face and brought your lips to his. He immediately gripped your waist and tugged you as close as he could to your body. This kiss was needy and heated, filled with hurry and passion. His tongue ran along your bottom lip, and you opened yourself up to him. When you finally pulled back for air, your heart was beating, fast.

“I love you, Bucky. So goddamn much.” Tears continued to flow down your cheeks, but you laughed, because after all these years, he was real, alive, and right in front of you.

“I love you too, Y/N. More than I can say.” He took his vibranium hand to wipe tears off your cheek, and pulled you back in for another kiss. This one, unlike the first one, was full of pure emotion, and the two of you put much more love into it. You smiled against his lips, and soon enough he did too. Because right now, in the middle of a battle, you found each other, and for now that was enough. No thoughts about the future, or the past. Just raw, pure, real love.

[justanotherblonde]

Hi! I love your A lifetime of moments fic! Im obsessed with explosives, specially with massive destruction bombs lol. Since Dei was in the military, what is his view on nuclear warfare? Oh and since I've seen a lot of hc that he's a lover of the sky and flying, wich i truly believe he is xD, does he likes bomber airplanes, jets and such??

hello! thanks for the Ask! it’s always super awesome to hear from my readers 😁🥰💞

so! the answer to your question is complicated. i think deidara in general would also be totally obsessed with bombs of all kind, and i completely agree that he loves birds, the sky, and flight. i love to write him in flight, living in the moment, totally free (watch this space - i’ve got sth for SasoDei week). but in the lifetime of moments AU (can i call it LoM?? ALoM?? i’ve never had an acronym for my work before, lol...) things are a little different because of what Dei’s been through.

first and foremost, Sas and Dei in ALoM are artists, not ninja serial killers (tho boy howdy is it fun to write them as ninja serial killers - again, watch this space for SasoDei week - i’ve got a really dark serial killer AU). the ALoM AU imagines what would happen if these two were allowed to grow up in a different environment: Sas gets put on psych meds instead of murdering people and turning them into puppets; Dei lives past 19. 

As a kid, Dei was a crazy little pyro. playing with fire turned into burning things, turned into destructive explosions. he came to see it as an art, and took great pleasure in destroying things that he felt had become stagnant or useless. in ALoM, his family is rich, entrenched in the upper classes of the country, but Dei just loathes all the stuffy, pointless, outdated traditions. at seventeen, he created a masterpiece to sum up his feelings: he blew up the carriage house of his grandfather’s mansion. 

his parents sent him to the army as punishment, hoping that this would discipline the rebellion out of him. it didn’t. but it did turn Dei off destruction that takes human life. he got deployed, he saw action. he saw people killing each other and was just... not impressed. you want to talk about something ephemeral? how about a human life? so while teenage Dei was totally obsessed with the fearsome power of nuclear bombs, twenty-something Dei has a different perspective. he leaves the army (yeah, he was ‘politely’ asked to leave for fucking around with the explosives - when he ended up taking his own eye that was the final straw) with what may seem like surprisingly anti-military views. you can see this a little in Art is a Blast, when he places his exploding statues on a war monument.

sometimes i worry about this coming across as OOC, but at the end of the day, ALoM is a story that i’m writing to explore some of my own views, and since it’s longer, the characters end up growing and changing based on the situations i put them through. i like to think of it as giving them a chance 😊 (a chance for what? not sure. it’s definitely not always happy happy...)

oh, but on the note of fighter jets?? for sure, when Dei first joined the army he had this dream of joining the air force. if he hadn’t fucked things up by losing his eye, maybe he would have ended up transferring and becoming a pilot. 

so to conclude, THANKS FOR YOUR QUESTION. i hope this is a satisfying answer!!! 💖💖💖✨✨✨

[kittinoir]

Flowers

You can read this fic on Ao3

Luck was on Marinette’s side. After literal months of pining, wishing, and pleading, she’d finally landed a group project with Adrien. No Chloe. No Lila. No problem.

Luck was not on her side. After literal months of pining, wishing, and pleading, she’d been assigned to perform a scene from Romeo and Juliet with Adrien. No Chloe. No Lila. Big problem.

She’d agonized over it with Alya during their next class. She and Adrien had agreed to meet at lunch to discuss their project, which meant she had exactly eighty six minutes to figure out how to play this. 

“If I suggest we do the scene where they meet, we have to kiss,” Marinette said as she pretended to write notes. “But if I suggest we do the scene where they die, we still have to kiss.”

“Girl, that sounds like the opposite of a problem,” Alya said, trying to contain her laughter.

“No!” Marinette said. She pushed so hard on her pencil the lead accidentally snapped. “I don’t want to be my first kiss with Adrien to be in front of everyone!”

“You’re supposed to rehearse before hand, you know,” Alya said with a knowing look. “So it wouldn’t technically be your first kiss.”

“Alya!” Marinette ground out. “Not! Helping!”

Alya just shook her head. “You’re ok, Marinette! Just suggest the balcony scene. Romeo and Juliet don’t even touch in that scene. If that’s what you’re worried about, go with that one.”

“Brilliant!” Marinette said as she scribbled the note in the margin of her tablet. “You’re brilliant. Thank you, Alya.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Alya giggled. 

But she did worry about it. Because the truth wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him in front of everyone. It was that she didn’t think she could take it if it wasn’t for real. 

Yet, as it turned out, it wasn’t even the kissing that was the problem, if it had ever even been the problem at all. It was Adrien. Not that he wasn’t an awesome scene parter. He was. Her crush knew how to perform, as if pretending to be someone else was second nature. 

But that, combined with the iambic pentameter, spelled disaster. She tripped over her words around him on a good day - and without Nino or Alya to buffer, it was not a good day. Adrien had been fine with the balcony scene, content to take her direction. It had even gone well at first, when all she had to do was talk to herself. But as soon as ‘Romeo and Juliet’ started talking to each other, she was done.

Adrien never said anything, but when the hour was up, he’d left, claiming other responsibilities. Marinette had just waved, having embarrassed herself enough in the past hour she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“It was a total disaster, Tikki,” Marinette said, hours later as she paced on her balcony. “I sounded like I was having a stroke. It was so lame!”

“Not complete disaster, Marinette,” Tikki said as she watched her owner. “The part at the beginning was good.”

“I can’t look at him without tripping over my words!” Marinette ran her fingers through her bangs, riffling them in frustrating for not the first time that hour. “It doesn’t even matter if they’re scripted, I just can’t - ”

“You can fight Hawkmoth almost every day but your can’t memorize a few lines?” Tikki said skeptically. “Come on, Marinette. If you just memorize your lines, it won’t matter who you’re looking at.”

“I don’t know,” Marinette said, finally collapsing onto her chaise. “Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just ask to switch partners. Alya and I could do a scene. Then again, I could get stuck with Chloe…or worse.”

“Talking to yourself?”

Marinette let out a little shriek as she reeled back, nearly falling off the chaise. “Chat Noir?”

“The one and only.” He was sitting on her railing, twirling the end of his belt lazily in one hand. Marinette’s heart pounded, but if he’d seen Tikki, he’d have been freaking out, right? Right??? “I was passing by and thought I heard a damsel in distress.”

“Ah, haha, uh, fake…distress,” Marinette said, resettling herself. “I was running lines. For school.”

Chat Noir cocked his head. “Lines?”

“Romeo and Juliet,” Marinette clarified, gesturing to the script on her little table in front of him. 

“Ah, yes,” he said, picking it up and flipping through the pages. “The balcony scene.” He dropped the script back on the table, springing abruptly to his feet. “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.”

“You know it?” Marinette couldn’t stop herself from asking. 

“We do live in the city of love,” he said with a wink. “Besides, who doesn’t know it?”

“Just me, I guess,” Marinette muttered with a glare at the pages. “I need to learn it for class but I keep tripping over the words.”

“It’s not the easiest thing to memorize,” Chat Noir said as he sat back on her railing. “But not impossible. I’ve got a few minutes, if you want to give it a shot.”

Marinette blinked. “You do?”

“Sure,” he said, tossing her the script. And then Marinette’s heart leapt into her throat as he simply stepped off her balcony into thin air.

“Chat Noir!” Marinette lunged for the railing.

“M’lady Capulet?” He was standing on the roof where it slanted out over the window in her room, merely a foot below her balcony. “I don’t believe that’s your line.”

Marinette clenched her jaw, but forced herself to relax, to lean on the railing where he’d been sitting and gaze out over the city, her chin in her palm. “Aye, me.” The words were ground out rather than sighed on a love-sick breath, but she figured that part would come naturally when she was practicing with Adrien. At least she’d memorized something. 

“She speaks!” Chat Noir declared. Marinette tried not to giggle as he spoke of her grace and beauty. It actually reminded her of the time he’d ended up on her balcony all those nights ago and she’d tried to keep him from finding out she was Ladybug by confessing her love.

“Oh, Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?” Did it count as learning the lines if they were some of the most famous ones in history? “Be but sworn, my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?” Though he was supposed to say it to himself, Chat Noir raised his brows and gestured, as though encouraging her to give more.

Well, ok then. “Tis but thy name that is my enemy!” Marinette declared, draping herself dramatically across the railing and fanning herself with a hand. “Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee, take all myself!”

Marinette nearly broke character as a rose appeared beneath her nose. “I take the at thy word!”  Chat said, offering her the flower he’d taken from her window box. “Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized; henceforth, I never will be Romeo.”

And so it went, back and forth, easier than Marinette thought it could be. The old writing suddenly seemed as clear as a children’s book, and working with Chat Noir felt more natural than she was comfortable admitting.

“You’re…really good,” Chat said when they finally finished. He sounded more surprised by that fact then she cared to think about.

“You’re not so bad,” Marinette said. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“All part of the job,” Chat Noir said, pulling out his baton. “But it was my pleasure. Now, I do have to finish my patrol, or Ladybug isn’t going to be too happy with me. Best of luck on your assignment!”

Then he was gone, bounding across the rooftops.

And if Marinette decided to pretend it was Chat Noir she was performing with instead of Adrien… well, who could really blame her. Especially when it worked. Besides, she very much doubted anyone noticed her stumble when Adrien produced a rose of his own, pink instead of red, the familiarity of the flower momentarily taking her out of the piece. 

But by the time they were done, Alya was gushing so much she didn’t even remember the hiccup.

She did keep the rose, though.

_______________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading! I am away from home this weekend and will upload this fic on Ao3 Sunday evening <3

[juliussneezerfics]

Solitude

Your wish is my command. I don’t really know exactly what you wanted here, but I hope I do it justice! I know this probably isn’t as funny as what you were asking for, but it was the only way I could think to write it in character!

Feel free to send in your fic requests! If you want to, specify if you want fluff, angst, anything!

Italy sat at his dining room table, idly sipping a cup of coffee. He hadn’t even gotten dressed for the day, gazing out the window as a cardinal flew past, relishing the wind. Italy drained the dregs of his coffee, standing and shuffling his feet across the cold tiled floor of his dining room, into the kitchen. He rinsed out his cup, idly singing a song under his breath and placing the cup in the dishwasher. He was just about to head upstairs to get dressed hen he heard his phone ring from the table. Italy paced over to the table, smiling as he read the caller I.D. onscreen.

“Good afternoon, Germany! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ah, Italy…” Germany’s tone, despite being made tinny by the speakers, was obviously unsure. “I’ve made us some cake and coffee… would you like to eat them together?”

“At your house?” Italy asked, pounding up the stairs. “Of course I would! I still have to get dressed for the day, but I’d love to come over! I’ll be there in about twenty minutes!” Italy entered his room, pulling open his sock drawer.

“Oh, I see!” Germany grunted slightly as someone snickered in the background. “Wait just a moment!”

Italy, distracted by hopping around the room while he pulled on a sock, didn’t quite hear Germany. “Okay, see you in a bit!” He hung up, tossing his phone on the bed.

On the other end, Germany sighed and hung up the phone.

“Did he hang up on you, West?” Prussia asked, pacing into the kitchen.

“He sounded distracted.” Germany said, gathering the dishes on the counter and putting them int eh sink of hot water.

Prussia slunk over to the counter, grinning. “Don’t blame him! Who wouldn’t be after hearing you made your apple cake! Can I have a slice?”

“No.” Germany snapped, scrubbing the pan. “We have to wait for Italy.”

“Why would we? We never-” A look of dawning realization came upon Prussia’s features. “Oh, I see.”

“See what?” Germany grunted, focusing far too much on his wooden spoon.

“You want everything to be just perfect. Usually, you wouldn’t care if I just took a tiny slice. You like Italy, don’t you?”

Germany furrowed his brow at the dishes, not turning around. Prussia’s voice had taken on a very strange tone. “Of course I do. We are friends.”

“You know very well what I mean.”

Germany paused his scrubbing. He licked his lips, trying to think of something to say. He went back to his washing. “You make sure the living room is clean. We have a guest coming over.”

“The living room is always clean.” Prussia grumbled, walking away. He shut the door to the living room, standing in place as he processed the rather one-sided conversation he had just been a part of. He sat on the couch, resting his elbows on his thighs. Now, this made things complicated.

So. It appeared both him and his brother had fallen for North Italy.

What now?

The selfish part of Prussia wanted to have Italy for himself. After all, he had sacrificed so much for Ludwig, didn’t he? Raising him, teaching him to be a nation, and look how he turned out. A wonderful man, thanks to his teachings.

A wonderful man…

Prussia sighed. Who was he kidding? There was no way he could outright steal Italy from his brother in clear conscience. There was no way. But he also couldn’t fall victim to heartbreak. After living as long as he has, heartbreak got old very quickly. First losing Elizabeta to Roderich, and now…

He had been selfless then, right? He had seen that the two had loved each other and he had stayed out of their way.

But Italy did not love Germany… did he?

Prussia stood and paced the room. Did Italy love Germany? He was very touchy with him, sure, but he was that way to everybody. Discerning the romantic attachments of an Italian was almost as difficult as distinguishing a British man’s good friend from his acquaintance.

But if Italy did not love Germany. Then… did Prussia have a chance? Prussia stopped. Approached the window and looked out at their front lawn. Down the driveway. Therein lived the key to solving their little problem, right? There it was, right in Prussia’s gloved fingertips.

If Italy did not love one brother or the other, then surely, he was fair game. He knew that Ludwig was no idiot. He knew that if Prussia were to begin competing with him for Italy, then Germany would know and do the same. The two of them competing for Italy’s affection. Surely, this was fine. More than fair.

Prussia swallowed the slight feeling of discomfort that rose in his chest, allowing himself to enjoy, just for a moment, the peace of finding a solution.

About ten minutes later, Italy finally arrived.

Prussia bolted down the stairs, his clothes ironed, his hair combed… he had put on a little dab of cologne against his better judgement. As far as he was concerned, he was as ready as he could be. He rushed past his brother in an attempt to get to the door. “’Scuse me!”

He wrenched open the door, the doorbell not even fading out before he saw the face of Italy.

Italy was dressed casually but refined. A button-up shirt French-tucked into a pair of skinny jeans, his hair combed. His cologne, sweet but masculine, reached through Prussia’s nose and clenched its fingers around his heart and squeezed.

“Italy!” Prussia greeted, ignoring the pang in his chest.

“Prussia!” Italy lurched forward, wrapping Prussia in a hug. “How are you doing?”

“Better now that you’re here, Italy!” Prussia allowed himself the indulgence of scanning Italy up and down once again. “You’re looking good!”

“You’re looking good too, Gilbert! Did you do something different with your hair?”

Prussia reached up and brushed the thin strands sheepishly. “Eh, not really.”

Italy peered over Prussia’s shoulder, his face lighting up as he saw Germany. “Germany! Thank you for inviting me over! How are you doing?”

Italy passed Prussia and reached up, pulling Germany down for a hug.

“I’m doing fine, how are you?” Germany peered over Italy’s shoulder, frowning at Prussia. A silent question.

Prussia looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. If Prussia had happened to glance over at Germany again, he would have seen the glinting realization of what was going on. A harsh glint of what could have been jealousy, grief, or a toxic mix of the two.

Italy pulled away, beaming up at Germany. “It was so nice of you to invite me over for cake! I do so love your cake, Germany. Your coffee, too! Though I admit, it’s not quite up to par with Italian coffee.”

“Best coffee in the world, right?” Prussia asked, walking over to the two. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“Have you never had it?” Italy asked, surprised.

“Can’t say I have!” Prussia answered. “Perhaps you could take me to a couple Italian coffee shops sometime and give me my overdue education!”

Italy clapped his hands together delighted. “Oh, that would be wonderful! We should set that up sometime!” He beamed. “Now. Where is this cake of yours?”

Germany waved Italy toward the dining room, furrowing his brow at Prussia. The gaze wasn’t antagonistic, or even heated. It was more… betrayed. Disappointed.

Prussia hardened himself against the gaze. No. He had raised Germany from the ground up. He had never felt the pleasure of love and being loved in return. The concept was well overdue. And if it just happened to be Italy who provided that experience then… well… there were plenty of fish in the sea. Ludwig was a handsome man, surely it would be no struggle. Prussia crossed into the kitchen, starting up a conversation with Italy.

The three sat at the table, the slices of cake long since eaten.

Germany pushed himself from the table. “I’ll just excuse myself for a moment.”

“Okay,” Italy said. “We’ll be waiting for you!”

Germany left the room, leaving the two of them behind.

Italy immediately turned to Prussia, his brow furrowed. “Is Germany acting strange to you?”

Prussia swallowed, raising his coffee cup to his lips. It was empty. It didn’t matter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh. I guess it’s just me, then.” Italy said, turning his head to look out the dining room window.

“You’re really kind.” Prussia said.

Italy turned his head to Prussia. “Hmm?”

“You’re very kind. Thoughtful. You put others before yourself.” Prussia leaned back in his chair. “That’s pretty awesome of you.”

Italy raised an eyebrow, resting his elbows against the table. “The awesome Prussia calling me awesome? I’m honored!”

“You should be.” Prussia said. His voice had… changed. Become softer. “You’re awesome.”

Italy’s gaze returned once again to the window. “You’re very sweet.”

Germany returned, three wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “I thought we could have a glass of wine.”

“Oh, that would be perfect!” Italy grinned. “Thank you, Germany!”

“Of course.” Germany rested the glasses on the table, pouring out an amount for the each of them. His own serving was noticeably smaller.

Italy took a sip, his gaze brightening. He lowered the glass. “What wine is this?”

Germany too lowered his glass. “Oh. Antinori.”

“No kidding!” Italy cried. “That’s my favorite wine!”

“Oh, really?” Germany asked, evidently surprised. “I’m glad you like it!”

Prussia studied Germany over the rim of his glass. Germany didn’t like wine. Hated red wine. Never drank it of his own accord. Even now as he sipped it, his disgust was only thinly-veiled. This was too strange to have been a coincidence. Germany had planned to have the bottle in his house when Italy came over. Prussia took a rather large swig out of his glass, hoping it would get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth. Hopefully it would take affect soon.

The three then walked in the yard, about the enter the back woods. They made their way into the forest, silent as they observed the sun peeking through the leaves and listened to the birds singing their songs.

Prussia happened to glance down at the ground, grinning as he spotted a pretty pink flower growing out of the ground. He plucked it, rushing forward to Italy’s side. “Hey, look what I found!”

“Oh, Prussia, that’s lovely!” Italy crooned.

Prussia pushed it behind Italy’s ear, brushing his soft hair with his fingers as he did. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet! Thank you, Prussia.” Italy grinned at Prussia, his long fingers brushing the petals of the flower.

“Of course! It’s the least I could do for the awesome Italy!” Prussia happened to catch a glimpse of his brother. He was looking away, apparently seeing something very interesting in the distance.

“Did you know that the tale of Hansel and Gretel was written by a German?” Germany asked, speaking very swiftly.

Italy turned to Germany, surprised. “Oh, really?”

Prussia furrowed his brow. Italy had been around for a very long time. He could recite his entire history in extreme detail, as well as the history of Japan and Germany. There was no way Italy didn’t know.

“Yes.” Germany said.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard it.” Italy looked at Germany pleadingly. “Could you please tell it to me?”

The corners of Germany’s mouth lifted. “Of course I can.”

Germany told the story, his words occasionally punctuated by the amazed murmurings of Italy. Prussia stared ahead into the forest. Ludwig may not have been an idiot, but neither was he.

That evening, he stood in the shower for longer than usual. He didn’t know how long it had been when he had finally turned off the water and stepped out. He wrapped a towel around his waist, rubbing his feet on the shower mat. He studied himself in the mirror, leaning against the sink. From the hot shower, his pale skin was unusually flushed.

Prussia scoffed at himself. Who was he kidding? Italy had made his choice ages ago. And what had come out of Prussia’s actions? All he had managed to do was betray his own brother. Ludwig had always felt for Italy. Always. He had been stupid not to see it. Prussia shook his head, disgusted with himself. How had he been so blind? Even earlier today, when he came to the decision to compete for Italy, he knew what he was doing. He had swallowed that disgust and it had settled like a stone in his heart.

He wanted it out.

“Some ‘awesome’ brother you are.” Prussia growled at his reflection. He tore his gaze away from the mirror, getting dressed. He furiously scrubbed the water out of his hair with a towel and left the steamy bathroom. As he crossed his bedroom, he was caught in a beam of light from the moon. He strode forward and ripped open the curtains. Gazed down at his front yard, and down the driveway.

Was this really it? Was Prussia destined to live a life of loneliness by himself? Locked in his own solitude? Was he really supposed to chase friendships to fill a void in his heart? He sighed, his breath fogging against the window. If he was truly destined to be alone as he feared, then he could take comfort in the fact that he was because he was doing it for his brother.

He pushed open Ludwig’s door. “Knock knock.”

Germany was sat at his desk. He looked over to Prussia, his gaze furrowing. He stood. “What the hell was that today?”

“I know.”

Germany stood in place, his expression unchanging. “You know?”

“Yes, I know. It was a real dick move, everything I did today. I look back on it and wonder what the hell I was even trying to do in the first place.”

Ludwig’s face was blank.

“I just…” Prussia sighed. “God, why is this so difficult?” He grunted frustratedly. “I’m tired of being alone. Being alone sucks ass. To never have someone love you back is awful, okay? And I let it get to me. I shouldn’t have, I’m just being so damn emotional and weird.”

“You’re… not.” Germany said awkwardly. “I understand.”

“You don’t understand one goddamn thing.” Prussia snapped. “You’ve only ever loved Italy, and you’ve got him.” All at once, Prussia lost the energy to be angry. All that was left was… sorrow. Apathy. The emotion was not foreign to him, but it never got less heartbreaking. “And I want you to have him. Really, I do.”

Germany sighed, glancing out the window.

Silently, Prussia mused that they really were more alike than what most people realized.

“I don’t want to be with him.” Germany finally answered, turning to Prussia. “Not if it makes you feel this way.”

“It won’t forever.” Prussia tried for a winning smile. “I’ll get over it.”

Germany looked levelly at Prussia. “I’m not good at this. Never have been, probably never will be. But if being with Italy makes you feel like this all the time, I couldn’t do it in good conscience. There’s someone out there for everybody, Gilbert, and there’s even someone for you.”

Prussia scoffed. “Even for me, huh?”

“Even for you.” Germany said. “Get some sleep.”

“I kind of don’t want to sleep.” Prussia protested. “I kind of want to… get drunk off my ass, y’know?”

Germany smiled slightly. “Me too.”

“Let’s go, then.” Prussia slapped the door frame lightly as he left the room. “Your awesome brother will get the first round.”

“Who will drive us home?” Germany asked, following his brother out.

“France, probably.” Prussia said. “He’s so nice, I could get him to do just about anything.”

 The world meeting came around half a year later. Italy had taken his place on Germany’s right side, Japan at the other end of the table next to America.

Prussia watched his brother and Italy, his brow furrowed. True to Germany’s word, he made no romantic moves on Italy. Italy, in return, appeared to have been keeping his feelings in check. Anybody could see that the two loved each other. Everyone except themselves. Prussia looked down at his hands, idly drawing a chicken on the corner of the meeting’s agenda. It took him four months to realize where he stood with Italy. He had some time to analyze his feelings and the way he even thought about himself.

It wasn’t that he was in love with Italy. It wasn’t that he even felt for him in any way beyond friendship. It was that Italy, lovely, affectionate Italy, gave Prussia attention he wasn’t quite used to. Attention that could be interpreted romantically. And, like a school girl, Prussia thought himself in love with him. Really, it appeared he was in love with the idea of loving and being loved back.

So here Prussia was, doomed to be alone. That’s what it felt like, at least. He was disturbed from his dramatic internal monologue when he heard the sound of the chair next to him scooting outward. Prussia didn’t look up from his work.“Hey, Greece.”

“Hmm?”

Prussia blinked. That definitely wasn’t Greece. Prussia turned his head, looking up. In Greece’s usual place was Canada, looking confused and slightly embarrassed. “Oh! Canada.”

“Sorry, is it okay if I take this seat? Greece wasn’t able to make it today, and…” his already quiet voice lowered to a whisper.

Prussia leaned in so as to hear it.

“I’d rather not sit next to Russia, if you know what I mean.”

Prussia waved to the empty seat, smirking. “Well, well, so Canada does people he doesn’t get along with!”

Canada only shrugged slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting up. “Only if you can keep it a secret.”

Prussia smiled down at his hands again. He knew of Canada of course, they have both been involved in group conversation. The two had never conversed directly, though. Never got around to it, he supposed. Prussia didn’t expect to get a humorous streak from him.

“Nice chicken.” Canada muttered, pointing to the drawing on Prussia’s papers.

“Thanks!” Prussia responded.

“I didn’t know you were an artist.”

Prussia smirked over to Canada. “Only if you can keep it a secret.”

Canada bit back a shy smile before turning back down to his papers as a distraction.

Prussia found himself flabbergasted. Come to think of it, he’d never seen Canada smile so genuinely. He always had his polite grin, of course, but that uninhibited smile… those eyes so blue they were almost purple…. Oh no. In Prussia’s periphery, he could see Germany watching the two. Germany was no idiot. He knew what was going on.

Prussia ignored the gaze, however, turning back to Canada. “I’d really like to get to know you sometime, Canada.”

Canada, his face flushed, looked back and smiled.

Maybe Prussia wasn’t doomed to be alone after all.

[celtics534]

Señorita

A cute little Muggle AU to calm down the vibe after Doom Days this week :)

Thanks @thedistantdusk from some awesome edits, @gryffindormischief for being so encouraging with this fic and @bluestwitch for the Spanish help :)

Inspired by Senorita by Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello, South of the Border by Ed Sheeran, and Nothing on You by Ed Sheeran. This may become a two-shot, I haven’t decided yet.

Read on: FF.net and AO3

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Harry slid himself into the small corner booth in the back of the cafe. He hadn’t wanted to leave his temporary flat, but coffee had become necessary. For the past two weeks, he’d been assigned to watch a potential sex trafficking ring leader. Harry’s team had discovered the man’s operations in London, but within the last month, word had spread that Norman Zello had gone to Spain for “business.” After gaining clearance from the CNP, Harry and his five-man squad had hopped on the next plane to Barcelona. 

  After two weeks straight of long nights and even longer days, Harry’s lieutenant had ordered him to take forty-eight hours without stepping foot in their base of operations. In other words, Harry now found himself a two day holiday in Spain. 

  He wasn’t much of a tourist; just the idea of going to those crowded spots gave him a headache. No, he’d rather act like the locals and pretend those prime locations didn’t exist-- which was why he’d picked this little hole in the wall cafe. 

  A waitress walked over with his croissant de almendra and café con leche. She gave him a flirtatious smile as she leaned over his table. Harry couldn’t help but look down her deep v neck, his face heating to near the temperature of the coffee. When she walked away, not without a wink and a helpful offer to get him anything else, Harry started researching places to visit. 

  When the little bell over the front door rang out, Harry looked up at the noise. Three beautiful women walked in. One was a tall blonde with blue eyes that reminded him of the ocean around the area. Another was dark haired with legs that seemed to go on for days. But Harry forgot all about them the minute his eyes connected with warm brown ones. 

  She was a petite redhead with freckles that covered every inch of visible skin. She clearly wasn’t from Spain. Her creamy white complexion gave that away. She had a mischievous smirk on her lips that told him he was already in trouble. His heart started to race as her eyes assessed him. Typically Harry wasn’t a vain man, but in that moment he wished he’d spent more time that morning trying to tame his unruly hair. 

 Harry had always had a thing for redheads, and she was already driving him crazy with her long hair and white shirt and blue jeans that skimmed her figure perfectly. When she winked at him, all Harry wanted out of life was to find out her name.

  It took all of Harry’s will power to turn his attention back to his phone. Staring at someone was not an ideal way to make a good first impression. 

  He was reading the tour times for Camp Nou Stadium when someone cleared their throat near him. He looked up and was hypnotized by those coffee-colored eyes again.

  The redhead was smiling down at him. “Hola.”

  Harry’s brain chose that moment to forget everything. Knowledge of how to breathe and speak officially became things of his past. “I - Uh - Hi. I mean.” Harry knew he must have turned the shade of a tomato. “Hola.”

  Her smile grew wider. “Oh good, you speak English. I thought I recognized a fellow kinsmen in you. Mind if I sit here until my order is ready?” She gestured to the empty booth across him.

  “No,” Harry said, a little overzealous. Fucking hell, Harry! Stop making yourself look like a dunce He cleared his throat, before trying again. “No, feel free.”

  “Thanks!” She slid in gracefully. “So, what are you doing in Spain?” 

  “I’m here for work.” He was semi-proud of himself for completing a sentence without stuttering. 

  She nodded. “Me too. My team and I are in the quarterfinals against Barcelona.”

  “Your team?”

  “Yeah. We play for England’s national team.”

  As if she wasn’t hot enough already, but now she’s a pro football player?! Was it appropriate to propose to someone after only saying ten words to them?

  Instead of maying a complete fool of himself, Harry used his brain before speaking. “Whoa, that’s amazing! What position do you play?”

  “Forward.” She gave him a cocky grin that turned him on way more than it should have. “One of the best too, if I do say so myself. But what about you?” She propped her elbow on the table and placed her chin in her open palm. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a detective for the MET.” 

  Her red brows scrunched together in an all-too-cute way. “For the MET. Then why are you in Spain?” 

  “My team and I are following a suspect. We’re hoping to uncover all his -- ill-advised -- activities.

  “Wow!” She looked impressed. “Makes my job feel invaluable, doesn’t it?”

  “No way.” He shook his head. “Being on the national team -- that’s fucking incredible.” 

  She smiled brightly, her brown eyes dancing with pleasure. “Thank you. It’s been a lot of hard work.”

  Harry was about to pluck up some real courage and ask if he could come and see her play, but before he could open his mouth the redhead’s friends called her over. They held all their takeway bags. 

  “I’m sorry.” She stood “I’ve got to go. We’ve got practice soon.” 

  Harry stood as she started to make her way back to her teammates. He wanted to call out, ask for her number, but his bravery seemed to leave with her. Fuck ! Why couldn’t he grow a pair when it came to talking with women?

  “Hey.” She had turned around halfway between him and her companions. “I was planning on heading to the beach this evening.” She cocked her head to the side. “If you’re free, maybe you’d like to meet up?”

  His mouth couldn’t open fast enough. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  She beamed at him and pulled out her phone. “What’s your number so I can text you when and where?” 

  Harry quickly relayed his number, watching her efficiently type in the digits. “Perfect.” She smiled at him. “I’ll see you later.” Before Harry realized what she was doing, her lips were on his cheek. 

  He could only watch as she turned back to her friends. It took a few moments for his brain to start running again. They were almost out the door when Harry yelled, “Wait, I don’t even know your name!” 

  She turned to look over her shoulder. The smirk she sent him made his whole body buzz. “It’s Ginny.” 

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  Ginny walked across the beach, her bare feet sinking into the sand with every step, warming her toes. Harry walked beside her his hand tucked neatly in hers. They had deserted the little fire Ginny’s team had crowded around in favor of a few minutes alone. When she glanced back, she’d been able to see flickering sparks rising into the air. 

  “I’ve always liked the way the moon reflects off the water,” Ginny said, her focus now on the crashing waves. “It’s like a picture out of a book. It’s beautiful.” She turned to look at him was blinded by his intense eyes. Fuck , she’d seen that emerald green across the cafe and had been instantly sucked in.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” 

  Ginny got the distinct impression he wasn’t talking about that moon. The idea made butterflies flutter through her stomach. She was used to men trying to chat her up (she was a professional football star, for fuck’s sake), but typically they didn’t do anything for her. Harry, however, wasn’t like the rest. He wasn’t using pick-up lines, asking for tickets to her games, or staring at her chest. No, he was following the flow of conversation, asking her about her interests, and only verging away from her face every so often.

  There was a real fire between them, and Ginny really liked it. 

  Before she could act on her feelings, a man and woman approached them. The couple stopped in front of them, talking in rapid Spanish. Ginny’s understanding of the language was extremely limited (ranging from hola to adios). Harry, however, nodded at the couple. 

  “Sí.” He pointed off towards the mainland. “ son unos veinte minutos por ese camino .” 

  The couple thanked Harry profusely (using another word in Ginny’s limited vocabulary) before heading off. 

  Ginny was impressed. “You speak Spanish?”

  Harry turned back to her, his hand jumping to the back of his neck. “I’m fluent in Spanish, French, and German.” 

  “Really?” Ginny hated how fucking sexy she found that. 

  “Yeah.” Harry’s sheepish smile almost made Ginny kiss him right there. He had no idea how adorable he was, and it just increased his appeal. 

  “Can you tell me something in Spanish?”

  “Uh… sure.” He paused for a moment. “Er. Estás arrestada . Pon las manos en tu cabeza.” 

Ginny blinked. “What did you just say?” 

  “You're under arrest. Put your hands on your head.”

  “Spanish makes that sound so much hotter. I’d be more than happy to be arrested if an officer talked to me like that.”

  Harry laughed.

  “What’s another thing you can say?” Ginny asked, not wanting the Spanish lessons to end.

  “Uh.” Harry looked around the beach, his gaze focusing on the water. “¿Te gusta nadar?”

  Ginny raised an eyebrow until he explained.

  Harry’s cheeks flushed, making his complexion darker in the minimal light. His hand jumped back to his neck. “Do you like swimming?”

  She beamed at him. “I love swimming.” She paused, considering the temperature, before reaching for the hem of her shirt. She tugged the white cotton over her head. “Care to join me?”

  Harry’s eyes drifted south, taking in her black bra that she was planning to use as a bikini top. She saw his tongue come out and run along his lower lip, seemingly unconsciously. 

  “ Sí, Señorita. ” If his husky tone and sexy Spanish weren’t enough, Ginny practically started drooling when Harry removed his shirt. Fuck , the MET kept their men fit. 

  Ginny undid her jeans and stepped out of them. At this point, she needed to get into the water to cool her fucking hormones down. If he said Señorita like that again… Ginny wouldn’t be at fault for what happened. 

  She ran to the crashing waves, Harry shouting to wait up as he ran in behind her. The chilly water hit her like the iceberg that hit the Titanic: Hard and sharp.

  Ginny, however, refused to be beaten by a liquid. She moved into the water up to her waist, her body trying to adjust from the temperature of warm sand. 

  When Harry’s arms finally wrapped around her from behind, the warmth of his body lessened the icy chill His lips were right next to her ear. “ Deberías haberme esperado, preciosa .” Gooseflesh rose across her body, and Ginny knew it had nothing to do with the cool temperature 

  She spun in his arms, their eyes locking. “You keep talking like that I won’t be able to control myself.”

  Harry grinned. “Haz lo que quieras. Soy tuyo. ” 

  “Okay.” Ginny gave him her most charming smile. “Just remember I warned you.” She pressed herself to him, placing her hands on his shoulders, turning so he was out deeper in the water.  Moving up to her tiptoes, she nuzzled her nose to his before using all her might to push him in. 

  Harry had not been expecting her attack -- or perhaps more accurately his defenses were down. His grip on her waist loosened and he fell easily, his body causing a dramatic splash. Ginny stood triumphantly, arms crossed. 

  When he surfaced, his hair was plastered to his face as he sputtered. Ginny smiled down at him. “That will teach you to mess with a Weasley. Only the bravest dare to try and handle us.” 

  Harry wiped the water away from his eyes and nose as he stood. His gaze never leaving hers. Ginny was surprised the water wasn’t boiling from the ardent look he was giving her. She sure as hell felt hot all over. 

  He moved in close, his hands sliding back over her hips and waist. His mouth hovered over hers, his breath warming her face. “Oh, trust me, I’m up for that dare.”

  Ginny’s body hummed with anticipation. She could already imagine how his lips would feel on hers. Then, instead of having her imagination satisfied, Harry changed course. He backed away just enough so his arms could wrap around the back of her legs and shoulders. Before Ginny knew it, she was in his fireman’s hold. 

  “Whoa!” Ginny’s arms went around his neck. “Now, Harry, let’s talk about this.” 

  Harry smirked down at her. “What do you have to offer, Señorita ?”

  Oh, Ginny really did love the way he said that . She leaned up and kissed him. She couldn’t have stopped it, even if she’d wanted to. It took Harry a second to realize what was happening, but he responded with enthusiasm. When his tongue ran across her lower lip, Ginny let out an embarrassing moan. She didn’t even realize he’d lowered her back into the water. 

  When oxygen became vital, Ginny pulled back. She remained on her tiptoes, not wanting to separate more than what was required to breathe. 

  “Harry.” She ran her hands into his soaked hair.

  “Yeah?” His voice was low and all too inviting.

  “How do you say wanna come back to my place in Spanish?”

  “¿Quieres volver a mi casa?”

  Ginny kissed him again. “ Sí, señor .”

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  Harry’s woke slowly, refusing to open his eyes. He was so warm and comfy, the idea of ever moving seemed impractical. Giving in to the desire to get closer to the source of the warmth, Harry pushed backward, his back snuggling into the heat. 

  “ Harry .” The sleepy voice made memories flood back to him. Taking Ginny back to his flat. Kissing up against the front door. Lifting her up so she was at the perfect height…

  He opened his eyes and turned in Ginny’s arms. Her mouth was twisted in a smile and he could see to the top of her breasts peeking out from under the sheet. He grinned. Last night had been… well, the best he’d ever had.  

  The urge to kiss her became overwhelming. He pressed his lips to hers lightly.

  Her smile grew as she smacked her lips  “Who do you think you are, prince charming?”  

  “If the shoe fits.”

  Ginny’s laughed, her eyes opening slowly, herr brown eyes luring him back in. “Quite sure of yourself, hmm?” 

  He leaned in and kissed her again. “Well, the way you were talking last night…”

  “Who says that was for you?” Ginny’s hands came up into his hair, spiking through it.

  “Well unless you changed your name to ‘ oh, Harry ,’ I’ll take it as a compliment.” He paused loving the feel of her hands massaging his scalp. His eyes closed on their own accord. Then a horrible seed of doubt spread throughout his mind. He looked back into her smiling chocolate brown eyes. “Ginny, what was this?”

  “I thought it was pretty self-explanatory.” Ginny’s lips curled in a smirk. “It’s called sex, Harry. Do I need to give a visual example?”

  “That’s not what -- Well ,” He mentally shook himself. Focus, Potter . “I mean, was this just a one-off or --” His voice broke, betraying his nerves. 

  Ginny blinked at him like that was the last thing she’d expected him to ask. Her hands tightened in his hair, and in the next instant, as she flipped them. She straddled his hips, her lips coming to hover just over his. “Boy, I never took you for a one night stand. So don't make plans for anything but me and a little romance.”

  When she kissed him, Harry couldn’t think of anything other than her. “ Sí, Señorita .” 

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Spanish Key:

Sí, son unos veinte minutos por ese camino - Yes. It's about twenty minutes that way

Estás arrestada. Pon las manos en tu cabeza -  You're under arrest. Put your hands on your head

¿Te gusta nadar? - Do you like swimming?

Deberías haberme esperado, preciosa - You should have waited for me, beautiful

Haz lo que quieras. Soy tuyo - Do whatever you want. I’m yours

[seperis]

Fic: All the King’s Men (SPN)

I don't say this is my offering of guilt to DtA readers, because hey, I love this story, but--it is a little, which is of benefit to all. When I'm frustrated with the bullshit that is my mental health, I remember I've never had this much fun with my fic, and that helps. Merry Insert Your Winter Holiday Here: I hope you're having a great time celebrating or loafing. Especially the loafing: that's what holidays are for.

Summary: This is Hell, and that’s how they survive.

Notes: In my defense, I wanted to do another outsider pov. This is not what I expected, but well, it happened. Set after In the Hall of the Mountain King and that scene in Book IV, Chapter 10.  Checked over by Kel_hath_no_fury because she's awesome. I think I fixed everything.

Warnings: well, it's set in Hell? Torture, violence, bloodplay, etc. About half is consensual, if that helps.  

The door opens at a touch, and from the back, she can see the hesitation before the others go inside.  Stupid: if he didn't want them to enter, the door wouldn't open; if they weren't allowed here, they would never be able to enter.  Alistair doesn't play games like that, doesn't need to; stupidity generally does all the work for him.

She hears someone's breath catch, everyone freezing, and without thinking, she drifts closer to the group and stops short at the sight of the bed.  Through thin, gauzy curtains, she sees Castiel stretched out on blood-stained sheets, Alistair hovering over him.  Lazily, Castiel slides a leg over Alistair's shoulder and arches, and the soft, hungry sounds are lost beneath a low, reverberating moan she can feel down to what passes as her feet these days.

So maybe she was wrong about that.

Sitting back on his heels, Alistair shoves the curtains back, licking blood-smeared lips and grinning at them.  She hears one of the others make a retching sound and glances over to see the rack just opposite the bed.  She can't tell who was on it, but it's easy to guess; Alistair apparently was taking further atonement from Castiel's past sins, and Castiel likes to watch.

Alistair follows their gaze and his grin widens.  "Gonna need more," he says pleasantly. "You volunteering?" It's addressed to them all, and she has to admit a reluctant respect when their leader steps forward.

"Master," she says.  "They're here." "Yeah, I know."  He turns his attention back to Castiel, hooking his fingers behind Castiel's knees and pulling him down the bed.  Sliding his hands down the length of his thighs from knee to hip, Castiel arches with a moan as bloody sigils come alight across his skin. "I'm the Pit, sweetheart; I know everything that happens here."

Maybe she's the only one that hears the implied warning; despite their power, Alistair's lieutenants have surprising blind spots. Castiel lazily pushes himself upright, and with the curtains pushed back, not much of the long, lithe body is hidden. Even with the implied invitation of drawn curtains, she knows she should look away (Alistair brooks no rivals, even those only imagined), but she can't quite.

In the Pit, they never see Castiel as anything but flawless, ineffable, beautiful, terrifying, inhuman: an angel remade in the Master's own image who uses the rack like Hell's never dreamed.  Even here, Alistair is an artist; she traces the elegant lines of the sigils carved over Castiel's shoulders and down his back with her eyes, the fingertip bruises dotting his hips and thighs, the bloody outline of teeth and scrape of fingernails and rope burns around his wrists, none of it yet unmade.  Tipping his head up, Castiel smiles slowly, focused on Alistair like they aren't even here, and for him, maybe they're not.  Right now, she's not sure they exist for Alistair at all beyond a momentary inconvenience.  And Alistair doesn't like inconvenience.

"Tell me you got a better reason than that to interrupt," Alistair continues, watching Castiel with a little smile.  "Kind of busy at the moment."

"They're looking for you."

"No other reason for angels to be in the Pit." In theory, she knows they go wherever they want; in fact, they rarely leave their compounds, near-impenetrable structures built at almost the beginning of time.

(Near-impenetrable: it surprised her to discover even angels have lapses.)

As far as she knows, before Alistair's Ascension, they hadn't toured the Pit itself in millennia.  She's not sure if it's simply distaste at the presence of so much (former) humanity or offense to their so-delicate angelic sensibilities.  Since then, however, it's a regular feature, and it's not like she can't guess the reason, and only half of it is Alistair himself.

Sitting back on his heels, Alistair pulls Castiel into his lap and tugs him down for a hungry kiss while reaching for his knife and making a cut across his shoulder.  Castiel leans down at the first well of blood, and Alistair's eyes close, breath catching audibly in the quiet room.

"There we go," he croons, mouthing a kiss just behind Castiel's ear. "Just like that."

"They'll expect you--" the leader starts. "They want me on my knees, they can summon me and make it happen themselves," he interrupts, tipping his head back.  "That it?"

No one answers, and she swallows; this is why she came.  Taking a deep breath, she pushes her way to the front.  "Master, they're looking for Castiel as well."

Alistair stiffens, hand freezing in Castiel's hair, and the full power of green eyes slam into her.  She sucks in a breath, rocked, but keeps her feet; it's not much, but it's more than she would have thought she could do.  For a moment, she gets an impression of--surprise? Satisfaction?--but it's gone in a breath.  "Where are they now?" Almost as if in answer, Castiel stiffens, visibly shuddering, and Alistair tightens his arm possessively, looking at the rack across the room. It exists everywhere, of course, but until now, she didn't realize that meant wherever they were could be seen; it's never showed her anywhere but where she was with it.  Barely breathing, she watches the angels survey the Pit and then the rack, their revulsion obvious, before they turn their attention to those on display: Castiel's latest works.  Faintly, she hears Alistair murmuring to Castiel, words indistinguishable but tone soothing as he watches as well.

"Master," someone behind her says, a mistake; you don't interrupt Alistair if you don't have to.  From the corner of her eye, she notes none of them are looking at the rack, don't even seem to notice, as if--as if they can't see what she can.  "If they can't find him--"

"They can't unless they actually see him," Alistair interrupts.  "They can't tell the difference between us anymore, not in the Pit." Stroking Castiel's hair back, he murmurs something and Castiel nods dreamily as Alistair guides him back to the cut, licking along the wound hungrily to catch all the escaped blood, and Alistair sucks in a sharp breath.  "They asking for him by name?"

"What, Whore of the Pit?" a voice mutters and something inside her snaps.  

Before she can think, she manifests her knife, turns, and buries it in their gut.  Grabbing a handful of hair, she jerks them close enough to breathe their last breath. "You don't call him that."

As their mouth falls opens, she spits in their face then twists the blade until it grates on bone and jerks downward in a long arc, gutting them before finishing a castration that finally makes them scream. Jerking her blade back out, she watches them fall, their agony washing through her in sensuous waves.  All this time, the grinding misery of helping to break souls was only that; this, though, this is pleasure.  She wants to do it again, now.

"I've been waiting forever for that," she breathes.  She's gonna spend millennia on a chain for touching one of Alistair's lieutenants, but she doesn't care; it was worth it.  Raising the blade to her lips, she licks it clean, enjoying their shock and rage while she can as she takes their power; it's not much, but it's more than she's gotten from anyone since she got off the rack.  "Anyone else?"

They're thinking about it; she hopes they try.  A hundred, a thousand millennia chained up, she'll take it and more laughing if it means this time, she doesn't have to hide, to wait, to pray, to hope; this time, they come for her, she can fight back; this time, she can protect herself; this time, she'll take them all with her.

"You--" their leader says, her knife drawn and advancing.  "You're nothing.  You're gonna be less than that when I’m done--"

"Fuck yourself," she breathes, feeling the taken power course over her like heat; it burns, but she likes it, wants more of that, too.  "You want me?  Come and get me."

"Stand the fuck down." She drops to her knees with the others, forehead scraping against the stone floor, and abruptly, the body vanishes; the screaming takes a little longer.  As the silence stretches, she warily looks up and sees a pile of dust in Alistair's upraised palm.  He closes his hand around it; when he opens it again, it's empty.  "Figure they need a tour of the Pit," he says, like he's talking to himself.  "Few thousand years, I'll check in, see what they learned."

She licks her lips and waits for her turn.

"Lucky Cas wasn't paying attention or they'd have to deal with disembodied laughter the whole time," he remarks to his silent audience, tipping his head back with a sigh before focusing on her again. "Might add that later.  Everyone up, I'm getting a crick in my neck. Well?" It takes her a moment to work out she's not dust in the Pit, but she doesn't forget he asked her a question. "Not yet, Master," she says, climbing clumsily to her feet.  "They--uh, they called him the 'Consort of the Master of the Pit'." "You're fucking with me." Nosing the dark hair above Castiel's ear, he breathes something and Castiel pulls back, eyebrows raised. "Consort of the Master of the Pit, what do you think?" Licking one last time, Castiel seals the cut with a brush of his lips before straightening.  "No one ever accused my Brothers of excessive imagination." The cold eyes flicker over their audience and then settle on her, and she finds herself bending again by reflex.  Castiel is the one who broke her, but she doesn't expect him to remember her; he broke thousands of souls on the rack during his apprenticeship and more since, and she was only one of many.

The room abruptly shudders around them, warping. She grabs for the doorway, hearing the others groaning, rolling onto the floor (ceiling), and tries to work out what's going on.

"What--" someone whimpers.

"Shut up," Alistair snaps.  "Cas?"

"They're partially occupying the same discrete area of space we're in," he answers distractedly.  "It's--odd.  It will pass."

"I'll take your word for it."  Slowly, nauseatingly, the shifting slows to a stop. "And they're gone.  What the fuck--" She glances up and sees Castiel frowning, blue eyes distant.  "Cas? What?"

"I'm not sure." The blue eyes focus on them, pausing on her for a shaking moment before focusing behind her.   "They concealed something outside the Pit; find out what and return within the hour." "Yes, Master," they breathe, and she fondly hopes they choke on having to say it. As they leave, she notices their leader is staring at the blue stones lining the walls  It takes her a moment too long to work out why; those aren't stones.

"Are those..." The leader's voice cuts off, and Alistair looks his interest. "Its eyes?" "Decorating idea," he says, looking at Castiel.  "Forgot to ask. You like it?" "I love it," Castiel breathes against his lips.  "You spoil me."

"So it has to watch," she murmurs, appreciating the thought, then freezes as Alistair focuses on her, wondering what the hell is wrong with her. "Forgive me, Master--" "I'll think about it," he says, which means 'no'.  "I almost forgot: did I order you to come here today?" "No, Master."

"That," Alistair says, raising a hand and looking bored, "was not worth what you're about to--"

"It was worth it," she blurts out. "I'd do it again, Master."

Alistair lowers his hand.  "Get out," he says to the others, focusing on her. "Let's talk, sweetheart."

She freezes in place, feeling the satisfaction radiating from the others as they leave and hears the doors close with the same finality the last restraint was attached when she was placed on the rack. She can feel his eyes on her, pushing inside her head, and fights not to flinch.

"Huh," he says, sliding off the bed, jeans and a t-shirt materializing as he paces to the rack, looking over the (multiple) remains; it was a three chain kind of evening.  "You were one of the last holdouts from that group.  I had to send Cas, and gotta tell you, who had you wasn't that bad."  His lips curve in faint approval.  "Pissed her off so much, it was great.  She was so sure she could do it." She nods shortly; that would be Alistair's favorite lieutenant, and yeah, she's still pissed about that, in case anyone was wondering.

"Wrong tool for the job, as it turns out, almost fucked up everything," he adds, waving a hand, and the remains vanish back to their chains to be forgotten (for a while).  "My bad, you just never know." She remembers when Castiel took over just like she remembers every second of those years, but those last five are branded into her like nothing else.  They used to (know each other?), but since she rose, everything before the rack is a gaping hole she feels every second of every goddamn day.  There are something like memories, flicking into and out of her mind in painful bursts (sunlight, a woman's bright laughter, warmth, rest) but they vanish before she can grasp them. They hurt, but they hurt even more to lose, even if she can't quite remember what it is she lost, even a name.

As she waits for Alistair's judgement, she finds herself looking at those blue ornaments.  It's gotta burn a little when the first angel ever broken on the rack of Hell realizes their current place in the universe.  The angels hate Castiel; it's a degradation, what he does with Alistair, and she's not even sure if they find the sex more offensive than the fact Castiel sits with Alistair on the throne of the Pit.  

Unlike Castiel, the angel Alistair broke fell apart, nothing left to even know how to fight. She stares at those blue jewels, unable to stop herself from smiling.  Alistair's work is always fascinating in its sheer brutal refinement (there's a reason he scares Hell itself), but as it turns out they still aren't afraid enough. She glances around, marking the locations, carefully set at regular intervals around the room, not just the bed. This wasn't the Master of the Pit exercising his expertise in designing the perfect eternal torture; that was just an accident (he can do something like this by accident).  Alistair spent a ridiculous amount of time, effort, and minions to reshape an angel of Hell on the rack into a toy to entertain Castiel when he's bored.

"Before we get down to business," Alistair says pleasantly, sitting on the bed, and it takes everything in her not to look at the rack (soon enough when she's on it again for Alistair's next round of foreplay), "want to tell me why you're here without a direct order?"

She swallows; he wouldn't believe the truth. She barely believes it herself. "Only way to move up is your favor, Master," she answers, which has the benefit of being true.  "I'm meat for half the Pit and get all the shit jobs, and I’m tired of it.  I saw an opportunity and I took it." "It's Hell," Alistair says as Castiel lazily stretches out, resting his head in Alistair's lap like an exotic, pampered pet.  "It's not actually supposed to be awesome." Castiel makes a dissenting sound, and Alistair looks down fondly, stroking through the dark hair. "Awesome for anyone but us," he corrects himself.  "I'd almost buy that--I mean, I'd pretend I didn't because then I'd miss your screaming, but I would--but it'd be a lot easier and less stupid to get in with my lieutenants and considering how they feel about you, that's saying something.  Though after today…."

Yeah, she kind of figured, thanks. "For future reference, you missed two nerve centers that would have made your extempore disembowelment and castration even more excruciating," Castiel tells her.  "I taught you better than that." "I didn't think--" She cuts herself off, wondering at the hot feeling in her face, like somehow, she can still flush. She can bleed--fuck, can she bleed, that never stops--and be dismembered and vivisected and hung in pieces, but somehow, it never occurred to her she can still fucking flush.  "I'm out of practice, Master.  The rack doesn't offer much challenge."  Overseeing the rack is grueling, miserable work, and more than once, she's envied her victims.  Their pain is always a surprise to them in endless variety (they certainly carry on like she's a master sadist beyond compare, which shows how limited their experiences really are); her pain is constant, mundane, and never, ever changes, not once since she rose and Castiel left her as meat for the Pit.

"That," Castiel answers, "is not an excuse." "Can she answer my question now?" Alistair asks, and Castiel rolls his eyes and nods.  "Thanks."

"Warning you about a danger to Castiel might elicit favorable treatment, Master," she says quickly. "It was worth the risk."

"I didn't think they could hate you more," Alistair muses. "I was wrong there. You get how very fucked you are when you leave the Tower, right?" He smiles at her, chilling her to the bone. "Not saying what they'll do to you is worse than what I can, but come on; at least I'd eventually get bored.  Until now, they left you intact enough to do your job." "They have a very flexible version of 'intact enough', Master." After today, assuming Alistair lets her go (a big if) she can say goodbye to ever being intact enough to do anything again. She knew the risk, prepared for it, but--yeah.

"Yeah, if right now is any example," he adds, looking her over critically, and she knows what state she's in, thanks. "You really do get all the shit jobs, don't you?  You don't get anything and they cost you in the bargain." Some part of her wants to observe he's a goddamn master of the obvious as well as the Pit, but she's not that suicidal (yet). "Yes, Master." "Did you tell them about the angels asking about Castiel?" "No," she answers.  "They already have your favor, so why should I give them this?"

Alistair's fingers skim down Castiel's cheek. "Lie to me one more time, and my curiosity is gonna lose to boredom.  Just cleaned the rack, too."

"I wasn't sure they'd believe me or tell you or think it was important enough," she says in a rush, giving up. "I couldn't risk--Master, they weren't here for you at all, that was just an excuse.  They were here for Castiel."

The room seems to drop a hundred degrees--or maybe rise, she's not sure--before Alistair says, "You think." "I know, Master," she answers. "I wouldn't take this risk for a guess."

"How do you know?" "I--I was--" She licks dry, cracked lips, tasting char.  "I watched them." "Today?" "Every time they come to the Pit. I followed them from the moment they passed the borders until I came here." Alistair stills.  "They never notice us, Master, but this time, they did. They were--looking at us.  Not at everyone, just--" "Cas's work."

"No--I mean, maybe that, too, but they..." She swallows again.  "Everyone Cas broke on the rack."  Belatedly, she hears what she just called Castiel: Cas.

"Son of a bitch--"  Alistair's eyes grow distant, and she sees Castiel has the same expression. "Got it. Cas?" "So that's what they were doing," Castiel says in interest. "I'm calling those idiots back; in this case, their incompetence isn't the reason for their failure." "Good thing we didn't send someone you broke," Alistair answers, and Castiel tips his head back to frown.  Alistair's eyes flicker to her and he smiles. "You just might want to brace yourself; it's gonna be rough. But fun." She drops to her knees, waiting for whatever happens next; she always knew this was how it would go.

What happens next is a stillness, then a sense of something on the very edge of her awareness, like seeing something from the corner of her eye.  Burying her head in her arms, she's just in time for the vertigo turns everything into nothing.  She can't see or hear or even think, a hot burn like bathing in acid and a cold rage so profound it dissolves everything it touches; then she can, and she must have opened her eyes, because she's staring down into forever and can't stop screaming.

She's not sure how long it lasts (forever) but then it's over, and shaking, she checks to see how much of her is still left and estimate how much it's going to take out of her to put herself together again.  There's a reason she's prey for half the fucking Pit; she's not strong enough to be anything else and can't--won't--buy it with the only thing she has to trade.  She gave her submission to Castiel when she rose from the rack and to Alistair before the entire Pit, and they're the only ones she ever will. There might not be much of her left--whatever she was, if she was anything at all (nothing)--but that much, she won't give up.

Warily, she pushes herself up and back onto her heels, startled that she's still (relatively) unscathed, or at least, as much as she was before.  Looking at the bed, she sees Alistair and Castiel watching her in amusement and just stops herself from asking what just happened.

Alistair grins at her. "I'll tell you anyway. They left something outside the Pit, and now I know why.  They were trying to use those Cas broke to find him. Contamination: you really can't get away from it." "They were using us?  How?"

Alistair raises his eyebrows. "You can tell who Cas broke?" "Yes, Master," she answers in surprise, wondering at Alistair's look of satisfaction.  "We all can."

"Like calls to like," he says cryptically. "Cas's Brothers marked all of you when they were here.  Outside the Pit, they got someone very stupid to act as trigger--and I'm gonna have some fun with them--and burn you all out at once." She stills.  "Burn us out?" "They can't find Cas."  She glances down to see Castiel lying very still beneath Alistair's hands, and after a second, she sees Alistair's knuckles are white.  "In the Pit, they can't tell the difference between us. But he loses all of you at once like that...." "I wouldn't have--" Castiel says softly. "Dude, you wouldn't be able to help yourself," he says roughly.  "Not if you wanted to remake them before--fuck.  And you'd be right out in the middle of the Pit and once they saw you...."

"What?" she whispers.

"I'm rather curious about that as well," Castiel says, tugging the hand Alistair has clamped around his hip and pulling it to his lips.  "Not enough to test it, of course, but we'll know more when you're done with Trigger. I want to watch." "I want to watch," she says without thinking.  The stillness eases, and Alistair looks at her curiously.  "Master, I--the information I brought you stopped this." "This is the favor you want?" Alistair asks blankly.  "Wait, I thought you wanted a better job or...." He sits back and grins. "That was the lie I couldn't find; good job, you hid that one really well." "Master, I--" "We'll come back to that," he says. "You just want to watch?" No: she wants to hurt them.  It's been years, but she remembers those first lessons before Castiel left, and she remembers everything Castiel did to her. If she can't reproduce it all yet, she'll take all the time she needs to learn on them.  She can almost hear their screaming; they'll forget how to even beg before she's done.

"There we go," Alistair murmurs. "Hold that thought.  Cas, I burned that shit Trigger did out of all of them: check 'em for me.  I miss anything?" "No," Castiel answers, the distant look back.  "I sent them into the inner Pit to recover.  If your lieutenants come near them before I release them, they'll make very admirable compost after a sufficient amount of time being digested by Fido and Spot." Alistair bursts into laughter, falling back on the bed, startling her almost as much as Castiel's words.

"The final act will be planting a garden," Castiel adds dreamily, and Alistair wheezes.  "Turnips and cabbage, perhaps." Sitting up, Alistair tugs Castiel into a kiss, and she forces herself to stare at the floor.  "How many acts?" "Ten," Castiel says in a different voice--oh, please don't let them forget she's here until it's too late. "Digestion alone will take two: Fido and Spot will each like starring in their own act." "You're fucking amazing," Alistair says, laughter in his voice. "I love it.  You can have Trigger when I'm done for the rough draft, how's that sound?" "I serve your pleasure alone, Master," Castiel says in a low voice, and she doesn't need to look up to know Alistair just forgot she (and pretty much anything not Castiel) exists.  Then, "You can look up now." It takes her a moment to realize he's talking to her.  Warily, she straightens. "In any case, the immediate threat is eliminated," Castiel continues.  "It will be relatively simple to assure they can't try that again." "Honestly, I'm surprised they even thought of it," Alistair says.  "When is the last time they had an idea--any idea--that didn't start with 'declare war' followed by 'stabbing anything in sight'?" "I doubt they did and I'd be very interested in finding out who gave them the idea," Castiel answers, cold blue eyes gazing into Alistair's.  "Trigger is doubtless not the only one my Brothers suborned.  It seems the Pit requires a reminder of the penalty of denying your will; I'll begin the purge at dawn."

Despite herself, she stills; maybe she should hope Alistair decides to punish her himself after all.

"Awesome," Alistair murmurs, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Any luck, it'll be a while before your Brothers' next visit.  Especially occupying the same space shit: how the hell they missed that…."

"They didn't," Castiel answers, leaning against Alistair's shoulder.  "They were focused on finding me, however, so they simply didn't care.  I must applaud such breathtaking lack of common sense; it would be a bother for them to realize that among the many things they missed here is the Tower."

That rocks her enough to blurt out, "How can they miss it?  It's in the middle of the Pit!"  Suddenly, she's the focus of two sets of amused eyes.  "Master."

"They can't see it," Alistair answers, fingertips skimming down Castiel's bare back. All the earlier marks are gone now; even the blood is undone, perfection restored. "Because they're angels?" She catches herself. "Master, forgive me--"

"It's fine.  And yeah, but that's not the only reason."  Alistair grins at her.  "No one can see it unless me or Cas let them."

That startles her more than the fact angels couldn't see it.  "But I…" she trails off under the focus of two sets of eyes.

"How long?" "Always."  Since she came off the rack, it stood in the distance, watchful; no matter where she is or where she goes, she can always feel it (waiting).  "After I rose--" (After Castiel left her alone.) "--it was just...there."

"Huh." Alistair glances at Castiel.  "What else?  Come on, not a trick question; if I wanted to discipline you, I got all I need for that.  Or for fun, so just say it." "I don't know, Master," she whispers. "Sometimes--I thought it was--it felt like I was supposed to come here." "Interesting." She wonders sickly what the penalty for that is.  "Sometimes?"

"More every day."

"Sounds about right," he says unexpectedly.  "When Cas had you, did he tell you that you were his first after his apprenticeship?"

She opens her mouth, but the answer won't clear her mouth, tangled up with the blackened remains of her tongue.

"I'll take that as a 'no'.  Something else you didn't know," Alistair says to her.  "Sometimes, souls don't break.  Actually, it's more 'can't'." She nods, trying to follow, but she can't stop thinking about that; she was Castiel's first.  It doesn't matter--it shouldn't matter--but it does.

"Alistair--the other one--thought it was funny," Alistair continues. "Before I broke, he showed them to me.  Had no idea what I was looking at; they screamed and cried, whatever, right?  He left me there for three weeks, didn't tell me what they were; when he got back, I begged to leave." That gets her attention. "Why?"

"That's all they did," he says.  "No matter what anyone did to them.  Even if no one was doing anything at all.  Three weeks of that shit really changes your perspective."

"They...why?" "Fucker wouldn't tell me," Alistair answers.  "You fight, you forget why you need to, then you get up; that's how it works.  The rack can't fail, and I mean that literally; that's how it was designed from the first.  Still with me?" She nods, then shakes her head. "But--"

"The rack can't fail," he repeats. "That doesn't mean it always succeeds; that's a totally different thing.   No one knew that, though, until they started putting humans on it." "Who--" "Angels," Castiel says, eyes half-open, but something his voice freezes her in place.  "It was purpose-created to discipline angels. You must understand; angels have no concept of 'choice'. When we were placed upon it, we did not fight and we did not leave, not until it was done and all it was ordered to take from us was gone.  Sometimes, that was everything."

She swallows, trying to imagine that.  Everything.  "It works differently on us." "That's one way to put it," Alistair says, and Castiel gives her a sleepy smile.  "A human soul can hold out forever, don't get me wrong; it's possible.  Benefits of free will: we can say 'no', and the rack can't take a fucking thing.  So we fight until we forget what we're fighting for, and when we give it what it wants, we can get up; that's how it works. Except sometimes--that happens. They're still there because they haven't given the rack what it wants; the problem is, there's nothing for it to take."

Her breath catches.  "Nothing there."

"Pretty much," Alistair answers.  "Alistair, he had no fucking clue what was going on, no surprise, but we figured it out eventually.  Some people don't just forget why they're fighting, sweetheart; they forget everything, including themselves.   Talk about creating your own Hell…."

She tries to imagine that, but sheer horror freezes her mind; she thinks she might be grateful. "Putting someone together after that…." He shakes his head.  "Like a needle in a haystack, except you don't know how many needles you're looking for and the haystacks are also needles."  Cas makes a vague affirmative sound.  "But way more boring." "You brought someone back from that, Master?" "One," Alistair answers, meeting her eyes.  "That's how we found what was going on. Had to do some serious reconstruction, and by the way, you're welcome." "Me."  That sense of nothingness before Castiel. She'd thought she imagined it. "I was…." She can't make herself say it.

"You're fine now ," Alistair assures her, looking down at Castiel fondly.  "I only put you together, though; that was the easy part.  Cas was the one who figured it out and who had to make sure you'd stay that way." "It's possible we could have easily reversed it before it became--complicated--but when she realized what happened to you, she neglected to inform us there was a problem."

"Yeah, and she paid for that," Alistair says soothingly, then he smiles at her.  "Probably thought you were fucking with her.  It was something you did.  You two gave the Pit the best show we've had in millennia, sweetheart.  Pissed her off so much; should have guessed something went wrong when she shut down the audience, but I figured she was tired of being humiliated."

Castiel tips his head back to smile up at Alistair.  "It was the best part of my day."

She nods blankly. "Thing is, she was the wrong tool," Alistair says.  "Cas formally requested permission to take over before the entire goddamn pit--there was supplication, a speech, all the bells and whistles, it was unreal. Made me sit through sixteen fucking days of that shit and as is turns out, he had enough material to keep me stuck there for a couple of centuries." "A formal supplication is a contract," Castiel recites, and to her shock, Alistair closes his eyes, looking pained. "A Master doesn't ever have to accept a request for supplilcation, but if they do, they are required to listen until the time limit negotiated before the formal supplication begins is reached; in the absence of a negotiated time limit, of course, the limit is subject to the supplication's discretion. I didn't realize you were unaware of that before we began or I would have explained." He pauses, smiling faintly.  "I did apologize with sufficient prostration, I think."

"Yeah, that part was awesome, definitely worth it," Alistair concedes, then shakes himself.  "Fine, I said no when you asked, that's on me.  I knew better than to expect to exercise my actual literal right to your obedience wouldn't bite me in the ass, my bad."  He turns his attention back to her.  "That's not why I said yes, though; he was right.  He was the right tool, and he was my apprentice; if anyone could do it, it was him."

"How could I fail?" Castiel murmurs, trailing his fingers down Alistair's face. "You made me."

Alistair smiles, catching Castiel's hand and brushing a kiss against the palm before looking at her again. "You hated each other, your first," he says, laughing at her expression.  "Trust me, you did.  Usually, that would be perfect, make it easy--and believe it or not, it was supposed to be easy.  Instead, hit the one in a million; you hated her more than anything and I mean anything.  Nothing she could do was going to get you to give up; just knowing she wanted it meant you wouldn't do it.  And twenty-one years of that, she hit something in you and you noped the fuck out. She thought it was spite at first," he adds.  "And I guess, yeah, it kind of was."

She nods numbly; thirty years of--nothing.  She really was nothing.

"It took Cas two years to get you back and five to finish," Alistair continues. "We had to be sure that what you had to leave on the rack would be all you lost; you'd keep the rest."

"I don't understand." "When you break, in the end, it's because you want to--and you didn't know how to want anything.  Someone had to make you want it, and Cas could do that. If you wouldn't break for yourself, you'd do it for him."

"A different tool." A faint not-memory drifting through her mind like ash, crumbling at a touch, but that's enough. She looks at Castiel.  "We--we were friends. Before--here." "Yes," he answers.  "We were."

She tries to think, but a strange emptiness seems to crowd out words. "The thing is," Alistair says, "we always hate the person that breaks us.  When Cas said he wanted to do it, I didn't want to let him, but--anyway. Figured we'd worry about that later, except today--I knew you were lying, but it didn't occur to me you would lie to yourself.  Why did you come here today?  Don't try the favor shit: we both know you don't give a good shit about getting my favor. So why?" This time, she doesn't stop and think. "I had to be sure you knew they were looking for him," she whispers. "So you could protect him. I didn't tell them because I couldn't be sure unless I did it myself.  I had to be sure, Master."

Alistair regards her thoughtfully, then motions. "Come here." Of their own accord, her legs unfold beneath her, pushing her up and her feet carry her to that huge, terrible bed. She wants to beg for mercy, but there's no mercy in Hell; there's just pain and anger and loss and fear and she's saturated with them all.  He raises a hand, and she shuts her eyes, waiting for the pain.

Instead, a feather light touch traces down her face, over charred skin and broken bone, pressing against burnt, tender muscles and raw nerves.  It doesn't hurt, and that scares her as much as anything else.

"Any reason you're not fixing yourself up a little more?" Alistair asks, pausing at the remains of her lips.  In Hell, you can take any shape you want, but you have to have power to do it.  Twenty years, and she still can't manage to do any better than the shape she left the rack wearing, the last of Castiel's work worn as her skin; keeping this much takes everything's she's got and she usually doesn't even get to this before she's out.  She's never minded as much as she should have, and now she knows why; they were friends. "They don't give you anything, do you?" She shakes her head, the ragged, charred remains of her hair scraping against her cheek.  "No.  I only keep enough for--for this much."

"It's always like this," he says in a different voice.  "At first, anyway.  That's how it works here for everyone.  The strongest use the weakest.  You're the only one who can decide if it's also always, and that takes time."

Warily, she opens her eyes.  "Master?"

"What you gave up, you can't get back," he says.  "So you gotta make yourself again.  Half the time, they never do.  Meat for the Pit: that's all they are and will ever be.  That's what you want?"

She shudders; she's seen them, and if there was ever motivation not to give up, they were it. Barely there, barely anything at all: Hell is a paradise entire compared to being that.  She may not be anything or anyone now, but she was, and somehow, she will be again.

Alistair laughs. "Yeah, that's what I thought.  So gotta know; why are you meat now?" "I don't have power, Master" she answers.  "They won't give me any--" "You take power, just like they do, and you have the other half the Pit to get it from."  She stills, and Alistair cocks his head.  "Now that's interesting.  Not meat: a lure." "Master--"

"Cas, help me out; I haven't been watching her like you have."

Startled, she looks between them.

"I thought you wanted to be surprised," he answers lazily, mouth quirking. "Six months after she rose, she realized your lieutenants hated her specifically and it gave her an idea."

She feels the skim of blue eyes like a touch.  

"Show me," Alistair says, and the green eyes unfocus. Then he starts to smile before he bursts into laughter.  "Fuck me, talk about history repeating: not bad.  A lure.  When you worked out how much they hated you, you used yourself as a distraction for others. Take their punishment yourself; fuck knows they were willing to oblige you.  What do you get out of it, though?  I get the loyalty--trust me, sweetheart, that part is not a surprise--but what did you have them do?  Not power--not that they had any--"

"They were her informants," Castiel answers, and she shivers as Alistair's thumb slides down her ruined cheek.  "She knows when angels enter the Pit, where I am--apparently almost as well as you do--and exactly when your lieutenants report, not to mention anything that might be of potential interest.  She probably knows as much about what happens in the Pit--at least outside the tower--as we do, if not more.  In return, she makes sure that if your lieutenants want a toy, it's her."

"And you still think its worth it." Alistair shakes his head, eyes distant. "Sweetheart, they're doing shit to you I have to be in a really bad mood to do, for fun, and you go to them willing?  I get why you made the deal, but you get we're in Hell, right? You could have made terms that weren't unconditional surrender."

"Those weren't their terms, Master," she answers.  "They were mine."

"Why?"

"To make a point," Castiel says softly, and she swallows hard.  "It took time, but they did eventually understand, didn't they?" Alistair tips his head, waiting. "I was broken by Castiel on the rack of Hell," she answers, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "Why should I need to make terms, Master?  There's nothing they can do to me that compares to him."

Alistair searches her face, then starts to smile.  "Yeah," he says, almost to himself, and abruptly, she can feel him in her mind, her existence here reviewed in a breath. "Okay, lets get this shit done.   Kneel." She drops immediately; she always knew this was going to happen.  She has just enough time to feel a single moment of overwhelming terror before Alistair's hand closes over her throat, choking off air (how why does she need it here?). "Time to level the fuck up."

Suddenly, agony courses through her; all those years on the rack and everything since, that was like a fucking picnic; she can't even scream.

"So, last to break, first to arrive," Alistair says.  "Thirty years you fucked off, but you came back and you were the first there, too.  If there were rules here, you'd have broken them all, so why not this one, too? Listen to me, sweetheart: this is a test, and you will not fail."

She tries to remain passive, obedient, he's her Master and he has the right and she has none at all, but she can't help grabbing for his wrist.

"You think you know pain, but it's been it's been almost a century of lessons and you still don't get it.  Gotta give you credit; that takes effort and you went above and beyond not to learn.  Twenty-one years with my best lieutenant didn't even scratch you; five with Cas did, but pain didn't break you; you did it for him," Alistair says.  "Fifty years of my lieutenants taking you apart aren't even touching you; sweetheart, I bet you could hold out forever if left to yourself.  I'm not them, though, and I'm tired of waiting.  This is the lesson you should have learned on the rack and over the last fifty years; since you didn't, you're gonna learn it now.

"Everything you ever felt before, those were practice; this is the real thing." Like that, it changes, and he's right; it's like she dreamed a vague dream of a toothache and woke to being burned alive and crushed for eternity.

"Pain's pain, always; you fight it until you give up, you live inside it and learn the first and only lesson; how to accept it," she hears Alistair say.  "You broke on the rack, but you're still fighting like the moment I first strapped you down.  That was then and this is now, but nothing's changed. Here's my question: why?" For a second, she pauses; why? Why what?

"Hell is pain, that's all it is; a human soul can't handle it, that's why we're sent here to suffer and rot," Alistair says.  "They put us on the rack and take us apart, and we can stop it, sure, but what we leave on the rack is ourselves and we lose it forever.  That's the deal, right?  Sounds shitty, but here's the thing; it's a lie.  We don't lose a fucking thing; we choose to leave it there.  What we take with us is only what we need.  They say there's no mercy in Hell; that's a lie, too, here's the truth.  The rack is mercy; it's what shows us exactly what we need to keep.  I broke an angel of Hell on the rack and they're still on it; they can't get up even now, they can't take it.  A human, though; we can take anything.

"Some don't get that," she hears over the roar in her ears.  "Sit around, mourning something they can't even remember. That's a choice, and they made the wrong one.  They're no one, they're nothing, they're fodder, they're food." She scrabbles at his hands, seeing her own begin to char, bare finger bones blackening as they turn into ash.  "It's just pain; you can't fight it and why would you want to?  Use it."

She shakes her head as agony courses through her.  

"This is Hell and Hell is pain and what we take with us when we leave the rack is this; we like it." She stills; for a second, there's--" "We love it," Alistair says "We want it.  We give it, we get it, it's all the same thing, but you don't know that because you're still stuck fighting it.  Today, you almost got it; how it felt to bury your knife in his gut and make him scream; you liked it.  You should love it."

The memory of the sensuous, hungry pleasure of it flashes through her; accept it.  

"Almost there," Alistair whispers.  "What you left on the rack you can't get back; you don't want it.  Everything you need here you brought with you, but you can't use it until you learn the first lesson; you don't fight your pain, you accept it."

Accept it; she stops struggling, trying to pull away, everything she'd done on the rack until fighting was all she knew, mindless, reflexive, endless.  She's still fighting a war she already lost, and she wonders now why.

She stops fighting.

Forever, there's nothing but her own agony, nothing--no, there's not nothing.  A bolt rips her apart, she can feel that, it's hers, and giving that up means there's nothing, she's nothing, no.  Desperately, she clings to it, grasping for more, as much as she can get; she's not nothing.  She imagines Alistair's lieutenants on the rack beneath her hand, how she'd teach them new ways to scream; she breathes their screams and tastes their blood and fear and loves it.  She wants it.

Dimly, like a dream: she remembers those last days (hours, years) on the rack beneath Castiel and the pleasure rippling through every agonized scream.

"There we go."

She comes to herself on the floor, gasping, shaking so hard she barely avoids knocking her head into the stone.  

"Beautiful," she hears and looks up to see Castiel watching her.  "I knew you could do it."

Shoving herself back on her knees, she starts to take stock--no idea how she'll fix this--when it occurs to her something's different.  She blinks slowly at the sight of her own thighs, whole and complete beneath ragged jeans and tears open the rents to see smooth, dark skin, untouched. Her hands--long, perfect fingers, nails perfect ovals, up to slim arms, all flawless.  Desperately, she feels over her chest through her worn t-shirt, the full, soft curve of her breasts, up to the smooth column of her throat, then--wary--over her face.

Her face.

"Much better," Alistair says approvingly.  "How you feeling?"

Not just fixed: remade.  And more than that; it takes her far too long to realize what she feels isn't new, just unfamiliar; she's not tired.  She'd forgotten there was anything but exhaustion.  She forgot how that felt.

"Good, Master," she answers blankly as long twists of locked hair falls around her face. Reaching up automatically, she starts to roll the twists together at the back of her head and pauses, staring at them filling her hands.  She used to do that (before).  "I don't remember what I looked like." "Don't worry, we did." Alistair extends his hand.  She takes it without hesitation, and once on her feet, he turns her to face a mirror. She stares at the reflection in bewilderment: rich, dark skin, wide brown eyes, full lips parted in surprise, hair in long, hip-length twists; that's her.  That's her. "Cas?" "Perfect." She shivers, warmth trickling over her skin at the low, gravelly appreciation rolling through the single word and desperately tries not to think about it.  In the mirror, she sees Castiel sitting up, watching her, and there's no way she can not think it.  

Alistair laughs.

"I never hated you," she says, meeting Castiel's surprised eyes in the mirror, then looks away.  "Not until--not until you left."

Alistair snorts, dropping on the bed by Castiel.

"I get it, that's how it works," she says to the mirror, and she does. "I just...you were gone." "That's how it works," Alistair agrees. "What we leave on the rack we can't get back.  It can't survive here, and with it, neither can we." She shuts her mouth.

"That's a lot of empty space, though," he adds.  "We're starting from scratch, and sometimes, it's easier just to miss what you lost than get to work filling it up.  Sure, I could have let Cas keep you, but that?  That's all you'd ever be: a pet, less than nothing at all. So yeah, that's how it works; no other way to make us start filling that fucking space, and even then, half never even fucking try."  He laughs suddenly.  "This is Hell and it's not like its easy, but you--given a choice, you picked the hardest way every time and that's before you even rose."

She nods.

"And you were just getting started, weren't you?" Alistair continues. "Half the Pit's fodder; half the rest probably should be, but you--you used it.  You spent fifty years training my lieutenants into giving you exactly what you wanted for the privilege of making you scream and beg and crawl anytime they wanted; they took the deal and only then found out you never said you would even pretend to care."  He sits back, grinning.  "You know why I picked them?" "They're loyal, Master," she says, because they are.  "And they're the most dangerous demons in the Pit."

"They're rabid dogs," Alistair says.  "The only difference between them and Spot and Fido is the number of legs."

"I like Spot and Fido," Castiel says lazily.  "They're very, very good dogs."

"And that," Alistair agrees, grinning at Castiel before looking at her.  "They're useful, but they have limits.  They made those all themselves, do you believe it? You, though…."

She turns around. "Master?"

"You haven't met a limit yet," he says thoughtfully.  "I'm not sure you even know what they are." He leans back an arm.  "You start your formal apprenticeship tomorrow at dawn."

She tries not to stiffen; she doesn't need to wonder how Alistair's lieutenants will react to her among them, much less whoever gets her.  "Yes, Master."

"Don't look so worried," Alistair says, looking amused by something.  "Cas has been planning this since I put you on the rack."

It takes her way too long to understand.  "To Castiel, Master?" Castiel is the general of Alistair's army, the instructor of every demon in the Pit, but that's not the same thing; an apprentice is personal.  Alistair himself took only one, Castiel himself, and Castiel none at all.  If she'd ever thought about it, she would have assumed even if Castiel wished to, Alistair would never, ever allow it.

Alistair drops back on the mattress, laughing, and Castiel shakes his head before the cold blue eyes bore into her.  "Alistair gave you to me before you ever saw the rack.  When your breaking was mishandled, it was for me that Alistair put you together anew.  To avoid the possibility of repetition, he permitted me to break you myself, and you rose unflawed. And then I was ordered to let you go. I was not pleased and questioned his motives."  His gaze flickers to Alistair, still lying on the bed and grinning. "He was, of course, right." "I never get tired of hearing you say that," Alistair says, sitting up.  "Gets better every time, actually."

"You rose unflawed," Castiel continues.  "Now, you're perfect, and like my Master, it would be beneath me to accept anything less."

She nods, though she's not sure she understands.  She also doesn't care.  "Yes, Master."

"Good girl," Alistair says as Castiel rests his chin on Alistair's shoulder, both looking at her as if-- "You can go."

If you want.  She doesn't even glance at the door.  "Or, Master?" "You can stay."  Her eyes flicker to the rack.  "Probably.  What else--only one way to find out.  Alea iacta est." The flush turns into a warm, sensuous heat as she imagines what he'll do to her--what they'll do to her.  "I'll stay, Master." They both smile at her.  "Come here," Alistair says.  One step, two, and his hand closes molten-hot over her wrist, jerking her into his lap before sliding around her waist, fingers trailing like drops of quicksilver; she wonders if she'll see his fingerprints later in her back, marked out in pure silver.  She hopes so.

"Almost forgot," Alistair says, a knife appearing between his fingers before the tip comes to rest at the hollow of her throat; she has to fight not to lean into the prick of pain.  It's not enough, not now; she wants to feel it buried inside her, slice her wide open, take her apart over and over again.  "All that and more, but not quite yet," he chides her.  "One more thing.  You tell her, Cas."

Cas tips her head up, thumb sliding slowly along her jaw.  "It is our will that you are returned that which is yours, now and forever," he says, meeting her eyes.  "Vera."

Vera freezes, something cracking open in her mind as her skin parts beneath the blade sliding down her body; that's her name.  "C-Cas?"

"It's been a very long time, Vera," Cas murmurs against her lips. "I've missed you."

[1kook]

wong yukhei x female reader 


Summary: You can’t even begin to describe the disappointment that blossoms in your chest when someone rattles the doorknob and Yukhei startles, successfully ending your heavy make-out. 


This shit is smut y'all!!!!!!! 5.6k words of it!!!!
Hey this my first fic for the nct folks so please excuse any oc things I’m a lil rusty when it comes to xreader fic lol whoops 

Unlike high school, college was absolutely kicking your ass. Between the near constant deadlines and the awkward sleeping schedules, university life was completely unlike the easy ride you’d experienced during high school. Though you’d come from a large public school and had the pleasure of graduating with over two hundred other students, your university’s population was tripled. 

The population made it increasingly difficult to maneuver from building to building, and was even more troublesome when you’d have to attend your large lectures every Wednesday afternoon. The hall was ginormous to say the least, with rows of benches that went up for what seemed like forever. Though you’d thus far been blessed with a seat near the front of the board, you figured sooner or later you’d have to take the stumble of shame towards the very back of the hall. 

Unfortunately for you, that time came sooner than you’d like. It was already towards the end of the second semester, your hectic life as a college freshman was coming to an end, and you yearned to finally be freed from the awkwardness of being, well, a freshman. You still had to endure the last few weeks of second semester, which would surely be another challenge in itself. Being a freshman meant that literally any upperclassmen had superiority over you, and for the most part, weren’t very concerned with noobs like you anyway. Which is how you found yourself climbing towards the very back of the lecture hall, five minutes late, and extremely flustered. 

You prided yourself in recognizing a good handful of your classmates, especially those who often saved you a seat, or would be willing to move their stuff for you to pass by if you asked. For some reason though, that wasn’t really coming in clutch for you today, and the further back you went, the more upperclassmen you encountered, none of which you knew well enough to scoot by. By the time you found an accessible seat, you were already at the very last row. There was hardly anyone towards the back of the hall, save for a few stragglers whose only concern was receiving their weekly attendance points. 

Among those was Yukhei, a handsome upperclassmen you’d often seen at many of the frat barbecues, laughing obnoxiously loud. He was there, idly swiping through his phone, dyed fringe flopping over his forehead. He was undoubtedly attractive, and you’d like to convince yourself he was some hoodlum wasting his parents’ money away at college, but the results posted outside the hall clearly showcased him as some genius, who nearly always ranked in the top ten percent. Yukhei was smart as hell, and he was only a year older than you. You’d seen him many times, but you doubted he knew or even heard of you. 

You uneasily set your stuff down, and though you were at the very edge of the bench, with easy access to the aisle, you felt suffocated by Yukhei’s strong presence. He was every bit the dapper young man, sharp edged yet soft. He was seemingly unaware of your presence, long fingers tapping a beat on the edge of the table. It wasn’t until you clicked your pen that his attention flickered towards you, big eyes giving your a brief once over, and you had to contain a full body shiver at that. 

Yukhei was by no means some notorious womanizer, and you’d rarely heard of him sleeping around (you doubted he was completely pure, though), yet the absolute machismo he radiated was unlike any you’d ever experienced before. 

He blinked at you, as if he was completely unaware of the effect he had on women. By the way his doe eyes twinkled, though, you started to believe maybe he was blind to the effects he had on people like you. 

“Hey,” he said after a beat of silence, lips pulling into a taut smirk. It was by no means cocky, as it felt rather friendly. 

You were so distracted by the pull of those pink lips, that his greeting didn’t immediately register in your mind. “Hi,” you belatedly responded, the lecture in front of you long forgotten, pen halfway towards your notebook.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he offhandedly mentioned, and you were mesmerized by the sight of his long fingers toying with his phone on the table. “I’m Yukhei,” he said, and someone in the row in front of you shushed him. 

The flush that formed on his cheeks was a complete surprise, as was the way his doe eyes rounded comically. You couldn’t stop the soft huff of laughter that left your lips, further startling him. You glanced at the row in front of you, before leaning in just the slightest bit and quietly saying, “I’m ____.” 

The whole time, he was staring at you as if you were revealing your deepest secret, lips quirked up in the cutest way. “Are you new?” He murmured, leaning in as well. 

You snorted, and quickly clapped a hand over your mouth, much to Yukhei’s amusement. “Why would I transfer with two weeks left?” You replied, and you couldn’t miss the twinkle in his eyes at your clever reply. He shrugged, and hummed a weird noise that sounded a lot like i don’t know. 

Your professor said something then, finally drawing your attention back to the lecture at hand. You shifted your attention back to the presentation, furiously jotting down the notes you’d missed, and after a while, Yukhei’s presence slipped to the back of your mind. 

It wasn’t until the end of class, when you’d began shoving your notebooks back into your bag that he’d caught your attention again. “Well it was nice meeting you, new girl,” he teased, sliding out of the bench after you. You laughed, quickly bidding goodbye, and though your stomach felt tingly from his presence, the whole encounter completely slipped from your mind by the time evening rolled around. 

-

The next time you see Yukhei is across the crowded cafeteria. You’re sitting with your friends between classes, contentedly chewing away at your lunch, when a loud ruckus catches half of the cafeteria’s attention, including yours. 

It was a group of young men fooling around near the Starbucks stand, obnoxiously joking around with each other as they awaited their drinks. You recognized most of them the way you usually did: from parties and other miscellaneous events. It was the usual crowd of handsome guys, and for a moment you wondered if Yukhei was acquainted with these fellows. 

Your question was quickly answered when you spotted light brown fringe peeking out of the white cap of a giant. He was clad in more comfortable clothes this time, a plain white tee with the front tucked into some Adidas pants. The stripes that ran down the sides of his legs made him seem almost unexplainably long, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from tracing down his figure. 

You were so engrossed in the act that you failed to notice how much closer him and his pack had wandered towards you. They were even louder now, with Yukhei’s laughter ringing above it all. He was attractive even then, you couldn’t help but think. 

It was probably that last thought that caused your slow reaction when he caught your eye. His eyes twinkled beneath the brim of his cap, and his raised one big hand up to wave at you, which you easily reciprocated. His lips quirked up into that cute smile again, so infectious you had to return it. 

His friend said something you couldn’t catch then, and the smile that consumed his face would’ve been quite the sight if he hadn’t shyly ducked his head down, the hand waving at you going to rub at the nape of his neck. 

Cute, you thought. 

-

The third time you see Yukhei is in class again. 

You’re on time this week, and manage to snag your usual seat at the front with your buddies, when he walks through the door. Your eyes instantly latch onto his figure, and, as if sensing it, he catches you. He graces you with one of those half smirk, half smiles again, and much to your surprise he saunters straight over towards you and your friends. 

“Hey,” he says, rapping his knuckles on the table top in front of you. 

“Hi,” you say, and his eyes flicker from you to your friends for a moment, before leaning onto the edge of the desk, pink tongue darting across his lips. He catches your gaze.

“My guys and I are having a party this weekend,” he mentions, and you lean forward, eyes tracing over his soft facial features. “You should come,” he says, and for a moment, he seems almost shy. Then as if remembering you’re not alone, he glances up towards your friends. “All of you, I mean.”

You roll your lips in, trying to repress the smile that so desperately wants to take over, and answer with a sure nod. 

Yukhei’s smile gets impossibly wider, and he knocks his knuckles against the table one more time, before slowly stalking backwards. “Cool, great, awesome,” he says, and you nearly snort when he adds, “snazzy.” 

-

The next time you see Yukhei is kind of planned, but not really. You have to admit, Yukhei’s house throws some of the best parties on campus, and the fact that his brothers are all respectable guys who actually take school seriously is just another plus. Like usual, the lot is packed when you and your friends arrive a little past ten thirty. There’s people spilling out onto the front porch, and some dilly-dalliers even strewn across the lawn. You maneuver your way into the house and are immediately bombarded by colorful lights and the strong stench of weed. Though you don’t mind it, the extremity of the scent is enough to give you a second-hand high that you didn’t really plan for. You’ve been cross-faded before, and truthfully, it’s a little too much for you. 

You settle on watching an intense match of beer bong in the main living room, leaning against the fire place and conversing with other girls also immersed in the game. The cheers for the game are loud and rambunctious, typical of a college party, and you soon find yourself absorbed in your role as a partygoer. There’s drinks being handed out, and you don’t hesitate to down multiple red cups right away. The pleasant feel of alcohol swimming through your veins like a soft persuasion to let loose. 

And you do. 

You’re next up for beer pong, excited in a way only parties make you feel, when a hand clasps around your wrist. You whirl around, and nearly crash into Yukhei, who’s all giggly and ditzy from partying. “Hey,” he yells over the music, and you can’t help the giggle that spills through your lips at his customary greeting. 

“Hi,” you shout back, lips brushing dangerously close to his neck, which smells of so much alcohol and sweat, you’d be disgusted if you didn’t smell the same. Someone yells at you to return for the game, but Yukhei waves them off, whisking you towards the staircase, where he pushes another drink into your hand. 

“I’m so glad you could come,” he shouts, and you see his lips move but you honestly don’t catch a single word that leaves his lips. You wanna blame the pounding bass for your sudden inability to hear him, but a voice in your head says you’d been to distracted just watching his cherried lips to pay attention.

You motion for him to repeat.

You’re not expecting for him to lean in close, lips pressed to the shell of your ear, “so glad you could make it, new girl,” he says, and you’re vaguely aware of the large hand pressed to the base of your spine. Your senses are slowly being pushed into maximum overdrive, so all you manage is a dumb nod. 

He leans away from you, but the feeling of Yukhei’s body leaning over you is already engraved into your mind, and you find yourself reaching a hand out to grasp at the front of his sleeveless shirt, pulling him closer. 

“You look hot,” you say, and he laughs hard against you, chest bumping yours. 

“Thanks,” he says, glances back towards the living room that seems to have become even more populated since you were there. “You look hot, too,” he returns, and you smirk. You unclasp your grip on his shirt, only to glide your palm over his neck, gently pressing your palm into the muscles there. 

Yukhei’s entire demeanor flickers then, and you catch him slipping, trying to remain as a composed gentlemen. He teeters dangerously on the edge between that and a rugged man whose only desire is to eat you up. His lip is caught between his teeth, and it takes him a hard gulp, but he eventually regains his composure, and flashes you a sweet smile. 

But the tiny flash you’d seen of his other persona is enough to catch your interest, and you can feel the heat forming in your core. The way his Adams apple had bobbed before you as he struggled to remain respectful replays in your head, over and over again. You give him a smile in return, and he seems sort of calm in your presence now. You almost feel bad for wanting to purposely rile him up. 

You lean forward, soothingly pressing your fingers into his neck. “Thanks for inviting me,” you murmur, and you’d be worried he didn’t hear you, but the way his eyes are laser focused on you assures you he did. Nonetheless, you take a challenging step closer, ghosting your lips over his ear in the same teasing way he’d done to you earlier. “Isn’t it hot in here?”

You feel him swallow beneath your fingertips, and that definitely sends another spark down south, feeling his muscles twitch. The little action is probably what seals the deal for you as you hear him stutter out a shaky agreement. You sigh a soft, “Yukhei.”

“Yes?” He breathes, and from the corner of your eye, you catch the way his hand hovers over your waist, fist clenching only to relax afterwards, his internal struggle still going on. 

“Where’s your room?” You ask, and press your chest to his. Your forwardness seems to be the deciding factor for him as well, and you feel his hand clasp onto your hip, fingers digging into your skin. 

“My roommate’s in there right now,” he huffs out, and you sigh in a teasing way, slowly peeling yourself away from him. His eyes are wide as you pull away, only fueling you further. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you la–” 

“We can go somewhere else,” he abruptly blurts out, eyes wide. You beam at him, your hand slowly drifting away from his neck and down his exposed biceps, lightly squeezing the muscle. 

“Show me.”

Yukhei wastes no time in tugging you up the stairs you’d been leaning against and down the subsequent upstairs hallway. There’s people littered all over the place, some couples languidly making out against the walls, while others spark up by the bathroom. He guides you towards the end of the hallway, where a tacky sign reading Jae’s Room adorns the wooden door. He glances behind you almost mischievously, like a little devil, and you wonder if he’ll look at you the same way. He tugs the door open, and ushers you inside, before shutting the door behind himself. 

The room is dark, and Yukhei wastes no time flicking on a lamp in the corner of the room, drowning the room in a soft golden hue. Yukhei looks even more handsome in the light, tan skin smooth like velvet. When his eyes meet yours, you feel inexplicably trapped by his gaze, and for the first time that night, your cheeks flush, forcing you to look away. 

Yukhei sees anyway, and saunters over, cheeky smile adorning his features. He wastes no time in catching your jaw between his fingers, slowly turning your face towards him. Your breath catches from his proximity, and you can’t help the small quiver that passes over you, brought on by the honeyed look in his eyes. He gently presses your lips together, too soft for some random college hook-up, that your knees almost buckle beneath you. 

His hands depart your face, and glide down your arms and across your waist, until the settle on the curve of your spine, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your skin. The music is more muted in the room, and you hear the quiet smack of your lips against his, and the soft noises you both make. 

Yukhei steps forward, and the backs of your knees meet the edge of the bed. He slowly eases you down, until you’re sitting and he’s leaning over you, one knee pressed between your thighs. Your hands are tracing across his broad shoulders, moving towards the nape of his neck, and tugging at his hair. He releases a quiet moan at the action, and you quietly lock that way for safe keeping. 

If you’re being honest, Yukhei is doing all the right things. His hands press over your waist and your spread thighs, long fingers sending shivers throughout your body. His tongue is working wonders on you, pressing into all your sensitive areas, making you squirm. He’s so attractive, both in his physical appearance and his personality, that the wetness that forms between your legs is embarrassing. 

You can’t even begin to describe the disappointment that blossoms in your chest when someone rattles the doorknob and Yukhei startles, successfully ending your heavy make-out. 

You begin to wave them off, hand tracing over Yukhei’s jaw to guide him back to you, when Yukhei becomes jittery, quickly tugging you to your feet.

Surprisingly, whoever is outside the door hasn’t let up their efforts, and you begin to wonder who it is, when Yukhei suddenly pulls the closet door open, peeking inside it with wide eyes. 

You tilt your head at him in confusion, and are immediately graced with his goofy smile, though now it’s a little more anxious than before. “Um,” he says, eyes flickering between you and the door. “Get in?”

You blink. 

“What?”

Yukhei swallows, and you nearly lose focus of the situation at hand.

“Technically, we’re not supposed to be in each other’s rooms during frat parties,” he explains, nervously jiggling the closet’s doorknob back and forth.

“And I think Jaehyun’s trying to get in.”

You glance at the bedroom door, which has gone suspiciously quiet. Suddenly, the soft clink of a key being inserted rings throughout the room, startling even you into jumping into the dark of the closet. Yukhei nudges the clothing aside, allowing you enough space to sit on the floor, before promptly following. The closet door clicks shut right as the bedroom door jangles open. 

Sure enough, you assume it’s this Jaehyun fellow who’s entered. Surprisingly, he’s by himself, though he’s talking loudly. You logically deduce he’s on the phone, if the pauses between his outbursts are any indication. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, because if you had to sit through another couple fucking while you listened like some voyeur, you’d feel repulsed with yourself. Still, you’re trapped in the closet with Yukhei, who was only a few minutes away from having sex with you. Your cheeks flame. The closet light is off, though, and you’re also facing away from Yukhei, so your embarrassment won’t show.

You’re nestled between his long legs on the floor, and you can feel his hot breath fanning down your neck. One of his hands is pressed against the wall, while the other loosely grasps your shoulder, as if to keep you from shuffling around too much. You’re lucky the closet floor is carpeted, otherwise your behind would’ve started hurting the moment you’d sat down. At most, the carpeted floor grants you another five minutes of comfiness. 

However, Yukhei’s imminent threat of being caught in his frat brother’s room is temporarily gone, and you feel him relax behind you. As if the situation hits him, he releases a soft puff of laughter, and you pinch his thigh to keep him from laughing any louder. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, and then, “for making you do this.”

The situation screams Yukhei, and you can’t really complain, because you’d signed up specifically for Yukhei, so you just give your own quiet huff of acknowledgment. Though you had been so ready to get down and frisky with Yukhei just moments ago, your current plight is also quite endearing in a way you feel only Yukhei could make it be. 

However comfortable you are with him, your ass isn’t with the floor, and you soon start to feel the bruising ache set into your behind. 

You shift a little, hoping to find another position that will let you sit for a few more minutes. Jaehyun is still on the phone outside, talking animatedly with whoever, and you hope the conversation is nearing an end. 

You eventually find a somewhat comfortable position when you move back a little, and are able to stretch your knees out a little. You sigh contentedly, your back bumping into Yukhei’s chest. You’re closer now, and he knows it too, if the way he sets his chin on your shoulder is any indication. 

This position is kinda cute, you think, if you were in another setting. Maybe a picnic in the park, or on the couch during a movie. It’s a little shocking that you’re thinking of such situations with someone you’ve met only a handful of times, but Yukhei’s sweet, and somewhere in your chest, you hope this end-of-the-school-year fuck won’t just be a one time thing. 

Your thoughts are cut short when you shift back, and feel something poke against your ass. Yukhei sucks in a sudden breath, and you’re instantly aware of what just happened. Between your Yukhei induced daydreams and your constant shifting around, Yukhei was still in the mood, and the close proximity only heightened his arousal, which so kindly poked you in the behind as friendly reminder. 

Jaehyn’s voice is still ringing clearly through the door, and by the sounds of it, he’s nowhere near ending his phone call. 

Poor Yukhei must be suffering behind you, so aroused yet so trapped. The idea of him being so turned on, even in such a situation sort of sparks something in you as well, though. It doesn’t take long for the warmth between your legs to start up again, and your mind soon becomes hazy in the sort of cloud only sex puts you in. 

You shift back again, and you hear Yukhei exhale against your ear, the hand that had been resting on your shoulder pressing down, as if to warn you. You gently place a hand on one of the legs that encages you, running your fingers up and down to test the waters, and quietly coax him into some fun. 

When Yukhei doesn’t push you away, the idea nestles itself into your mind and stays there permanently. You carefully nudge Yukhei’s legs open a bit further, and he easily complies, allowing you to situate yourself even closer to his throbbing manhood. His hand falls away from your shoulder, only to press into your hip, as you slowly press back into him, his soft gasps only encouraging you further.

“___,” he murmurs, the way his voice wobbles music to your ears. You reach for his hands, hastily winding them around your body, until your pressing his palms against your breasts, urging him to return the sensations. Yukhei easily complies, with another soft whine of your name.

Though you’d definitely pegged Yukhei as a dominant man, one who was one hundred percent in control, the way he moulds under your touch is equally as satisfying. He does what you want him to, and accepts everything you give him. It’s different from what you’ve usually experienced, but you aren’t complaining. 

Just as you wrap up those thoughts, you feel the wet sensation of lips pressing against the juncture of your neck, and the gentle nips of teeth against your skin. You fight to hold back a gasp, barely managing to clasp a palm over your mouth. The sound quickly dissolves behind your palm, and you slowly begin to relax, raising a hand up to card your fingers through Yukhei’s hair.

You’re thrown for a loop again when one of Yukhei’s hands, which had been so diligently palming over your breast, snakes its way down your stomach, until his fingers are tracing over the seam of your jeans, right over your throbbing lips. The soft glide of his fingertips makes you jump, losing control over your own body. “Yukhei,” you breathe, quickly reaching down to grab at his palm, when he counters you, snatching your wrist away.

His chuckles are soft against your neck, and you can feel the smirk pressed against your damp skin. “So cute,” he murmurs, fingertips not once letting up their teasing onslaught. You bite down on your lip to keep from crying out, but your hips shift back and forth, thighs clamping down on his hand involuntarily. “Shh,” he hums, releasing your wrist only to press his fingers against your mouth. “Jaehyun hyung will hear you,” he warns you, and you nod, though your legs still quiver and your lower lip still trembles. 

The uncomfortable dampness between your legs is unbearable, but the fingers pressing against your clothed pussy are even worse. Yukhei traces a long finger up and down the area where he knows your lips meet, leaving your brain a muddled mess. “Please,” you murmur, your head slowly rolling back until it’s rested against his shoulder, and Yukhei, the absolute devil, laughs.

“I dunno,” he whispers, pressing his lips up your neck, until he’s kissing at your jaw. His hand, the one not currently occupied, snakes itself up your shirt, until he’s tracing his fingers along the cups of your bra. “Is it worth me getting in trouble?”

You gasp when his fingers finally find their way into your bra, and he rolls a pebbled nipple between his fingers. “Y-yukhei,” you pant, and your muscles twitch from all the stimulation he’s giving you. Your legs go to close again, but this time he grasps onto your thigh, and holds them open again. “Pretty please,” you beg, voice as wobbly as his was earlier, when he’d been under your control. 

It had been so much easier then, when you only needed to guide Yukhei around, and you knew exactly what was coming next. This other side of Yukhei, teasing you and playing with your pleasure, was dangerously delicious, and the wetness of your panties would vouch for that. 

“Mmm” he hums against your neck, releasing your nipple, only to grasp onto your jaw. His fingers encourage you to look over at him, and even though your drenched in complete darkness, Yukhei’s eyes looked impossibly darker. “Pretty please,” he repeats, lips ghosting over yours, and his grip stops you from leaning forward to kiss him. “I like that,” he murmured, right before he leaned down to kiss you again, his mouth hot, making the closet feel more and more like a sauna with every passing second. 

His tongue is rough against yours, quickly repressing any ideas to take over you might’ve had with a quick flick. If Yukhei’s previous actions turned you on, the amount of excitement he sparks in you now is ten times more intense. His long fingers continue to stroke over your core, stopping every now and then to palm over it. 

You can’t help the soft moan that leaves your lips. Yukhei bites down hard on your bottom lip, as if giving you both a warning and a punishment for being loud when one of his brothers is right outside. You’re stuttering breaths eventually draw him away, and you find yourself chasing after him, the hand knotted in his hair tugging him closer. 

Yukhei smirks, nudging your nose with his, until you’re dazedly staring up at him. “Beg,” he whispers, right as you feel the button on your jeans pop open. 

“Huh,” you murmur, attention zeroed in on his lips. 

“Beg,” he repeats, fingers crawling into your underwear, causing your breath to hitch again. “Because I still don’t know if I wanna get in trouble,” he adds, eyes momentarily flicking towards the door. 

“Please,” you murmur, pulling at his hair again, remembering the soft noise he’d made before the two of you had abruptly jumped into the closet earlier. He reacts the same way he had earlier, temporarily losing his focus, before he’s back on you, pressing kiss after kiss onto your skin, though his hand refuses to crawl any deeper into your underwear. 

“C’mon, princess,” he teases, biting down on your neck. You flinch, and he uses your vulnerable state to press a finger against your clit. You have to bite down the whine that catches in your throat, nearly curling in on yourself. “Say it again,” he whispers, “that cute little thing you said.”

Your mind is on a completely different plane, and you struggle to piece together what he wants. What had you said again? The alcohol that still thrums in your system isn’t much of a help either, and you nearly forgot that he wanted you to say something until he nips at your neck again, and your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Please,” you exhale, pressing a hand over his, the one that’s over your breast. He quickly grabs onto it, tangling your fingers together, and you continue your quest to figure him out. “Please, Yukhei,” you whimper. 

You can feel his lips break away from your skin, and you feel them as they start to move again, when you suddenly add, “pretty please,” fingers tightening in his hold. 

“There you go,” he breathes, before his fingers finally begin to toy with you, flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden beneath your folds. You’re leaning against him even more now, head rolled onto his shoulder due to your inability to hold it up. “So cute,” he murmurs as he presses a soft kiss to the vein in your neck. 

His fingers are still hard at work, using the wetness you’d accumulated to spread all over you. “You’re so wet,” he chuckles, and you shiver at the sound, your body so sensitive to everything this boy does. “Don’t let Jaehyun hear you,” he murmurs, and you feel yourself nod. “Or else I’ll be mad,” he adds, and though he’s just teasing, the prospect of seeing him mad sends another jolt of adrenaline through your body. 

However, you’re still holding onto the hope that this isn’t a one time thing, and quietly file away the information for another time. 

“Yukhei,” you mewl, quiet and soft against his hair, your body giving another twitch when he presses a finger against your opening. “Make me come,” you sigh, calming yourself enough to spread your legs wider for him. “Pretty pretty please,” you tack on, fingers twitching from where they’re nestled inside his silky hair. 

“Of course, baby,” he responds, deep voice husky from all the whispering you’ve been doing. You feel a finger slowly submerging itself inside of you, pressing into you with a quiet squelching sound. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he promises, and you nearly mewl. 

His finger presses in and out a few more times, and just when you’re gonna beg for another one, he beats you to it. His long fingers work fast, scissoring inside of you. And you find yourself writhing at his touch. 

“Please,” you whine, tugging at his hair. “Kiss me, Yukhei,” you say when he finally looks at you. He complies with your request, pressing his soft mouth against yours again, tongue prodding around like usual. 

It’s all too much by now, the tedious teasing he’d done for what felt like forever, the hot press of his mouth, and the delicious way he’d worked his fingers inside of you. You’re not sure if you’re turned on from just how talented this guy is with his fingers, or the fact you could get caught any second now. You guess both, and your attention temporarily flickers over towards the door, where you hear the soft lull of Jaehyun’s voice. 

As if sensing your attention drifting away, Yukhei curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that perfect spot inside of you. You gasp into his mouth, pressing yourself even closer to him. You pull your mouth away, and you open it and close it multiple times, like some floundering fish, legs shaking even more than they were a moment prior. 

Yukhei seems to get your message, and curls his fingers again. “It’s okay, ____,” he murmurs, and you feel that ridiculous smile pressed against your cheek again. You’d hit him if he wasn’t about to deliver the most exciting orgasm you’ve had in a while. “I got you, baby,” he breathes, fingers going into maximum overdrive inside of you, pulling in and out, curling at the perfect spot with each dive in. 

When you finally orgasm, your whole body shakes, legs clamping shut to keep his hand from moving. You find yourself pressing your intertwined hands to your mouth, as if trying to cover up the already silent scream that wants to leave you. Gradually, your body begins to relax, despite the heavy way your chest rises and falls. 

Your floating on cloud nine when you vaguely register the sound of a door shutting, and suddenly, all you hear is Yukhei’s breath against your ear. You slowly peel yourself away from Yukhei, suddenly aware of your soaked panties, and soiled jeans. 

Yukhei’s hand reaches up for the knob, still not saying a word, and you carefully peek out the small crack he opens. When you conclude there’s no one in the room anymore, you push the door open all the way, stumbling out of the closet like some drunkard. Which, you technically are. 

“Well,” you say, stretching your legs out as your eyes scan across the room once again. “That was fun.” 

“____,” you hear Yukhei sigh, and when you turn around, you catch sight of his disheveled appearance, still submerged in the partial darkness of the closet. His eyes are dangerously hooded, eyes dark like chocolate as they stare you down. He looks absolutely delectable in that situation, and the tent in the front of his pants sends another chill down your spine. “Don’t be rude,” he teases, sinful tongue peeking out to lick across his smirk. 

And well, you can’t be rude, really. 

-

The next time you see Yukhei, he’s tucked beneath the blanket beside you, one arm lounging across the dip in your spine, as you cuddle closer to him. 

- [ original post 2018 ] : is this proofread?? hell nah!!!! should i start taking requests now or something??? idk sis u tell me!!!!!

[ july 2020 update ] ; i added a tag on mobile that fucked up the post layout lol but now its fixed !

[heyyyalexa]

A Time Of Change - Chapter One - The Arrival

Title: A Time Of Change

Chapter: One- The Arrival

Summery: Ava Bradford is a former Behavioural Analyst of the Miami Police Department. After the events of the past force her to journey to England and take up a job away from the family she had created, she tries to start anew. At Scotland Yard, she struggles to keep to herself and her life under control, as her nightmares from her past come to haunt her once again.

Author: Alexa @alex-awesome1023

Words: 1986

Characters/Relationships: OC x Sherlock

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Past Physical Abuse, Nightmares

Author’s Notes: Ok so this is my first ever Fanfic yay!!! Im super excited for you guys to read it. I’ve had long night and worked super hard with the help of Maddy and her wonderful patience and editing, she has been a super awesome teacher through his entire thing and a great new friend. Please let me know how you guys like it and what you think. There will be an update later on in the week of the next chapter. Love you guys!!!!! 

- Alexa 

Hey guys! This is Alexa’s very first fic and we are both super excited for you guys to see it!! Please let us know what you think about it by leaving us an ask in our inbox @sherlockxreader or even just reblogging it to another blog! We love hearing what you guys think of our fics so let us know!!!

- Maddy

Original Character Ava Bradford inspired by Zoey Deutch. Enjoy!❤

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All I could hear was the pads of my feet smacking on the pavement as I ran. I felt the rain drops hit my face like daggers against my skin, the cold evening air shocking my throat and lungs as I inhale deeper, faster, harder. Holding my side, I try to stop the blood coming from the throbbing gash I had. Feeling the warm blood seep out of the exposed wound, I press my hand closer against my side to stop the free flowing surge of sticky blood, but wasn’t helping anymore. I ignore the ache in my muscles, the fog in my brain and I tell myself to keep going. I knew he was right behind me. My heart beats frantically, all or nothing. Fail and my whole body will pay the price, run and the damage is limited mostly to my shins and knees. My lungs and heart were pumping, but the air didn't seem to be enough as I sprinted forward, panic trembling into my exhausted limbs. I can hear his heavy steps pounding against the asphalt. His groans of infuriation. He's right behind me. I feel his hand on my shoulder...

You jerk awake as the train stopped. Your heart was pounding, your mind empty, clear of distractions, as if a needle of adrenaline had been emptied into your chest. You unconsciously reach for your locket around your neck, rubbing it between your forefinger and thumb.

Telling yourself that it was just a dream, you feel your breathing and heart rate begin to steady. You looked out the window, realizing where you were. Westminster, London. Your decision to move here was sudden but you were looking for something and ended up here. You had a purpose to fulfil, or at least you were trying to find one. Moving here was your first step to finding what you had been looking for a long time, what you were missing. The plus side was that there was a job opening and you had family here. Your Aunt Martha moved here after her husband faced the death penalty and you hadn't seen her in a few years so you were excited to see her.

You gathered your things and headed towards the metallic doors of the train. You stepped out of Westminster Station, filling your lungs with the London air. It was a cold, muggy and damp kind of air but it was better than the hot humidity of Florida. Determination drew itself on your face and you straighten your back and your eyes, though set, were still soft in their emerald brightness.

You pulled out the small piece of paper where you had written the phone number and street address you had gotten from your Aunt when she mentioned that one of her friends was trying to rent a flat. Even getting a special deal out of it because she had talked her friend into giving it to you half price if you could pay the first couple weeks rent up front.

With your luggage filled with the essentials, which pretty much meant that you stuffed everything you owned into a duffel bag and a rolling suitcase, you walked aimlessly around London. With your earbuds still in from the train ride you decided to turn up the volume, taking in the sights a bit and dwelling in your own little day dream for a little while. You were in London, finally. You could check it off your bucket list of places to go.

It was colder than you had expected but you found yourself relishing in the new climate. As a kid you loved the idea of winter and snow but you always got cold easily and had to bundle up in many layers to keep the weather at bay. You still do in fact. You had on your white, scoop neck t-shirt, covered by an oversized white knit sweater and your dad’s old denim jacket, which never failed to give you warmth. Paired with your thickest leggings and you favorite converse with polka dot laces, you managed not to shiver in the cool air of the city. (Picture not mine)

You had walked for a quite some time, taking pictures of everything that stood out to you in the foreign land and, when you stopped for some food at a nearby cafe, you looked to your watch, seeing that your inner wanderlust traveler had caused you to lose track of time. You began to head in the direction of where you thought you had come from, not looking at where you were walking as you used your phone as a GPS, until you were knocked over by a man running in the opposite direction. You fell to the ground and dropped your phone onto the pavement with a harsh sounding clatter.

"Ow!" You felt pain radiate from your arse and your face was twisted with it.

"Oh gosh, are you alright? I'm terribly sorry!" You heard the man ask from above you, his accent evident in his voice.

"Oh no don't be, I was the one not paying attention." You said as you stood back up looking down at your phone, facedown on the pavement. Wincing at the sight, you went to bend over to pick it up, but he beat you to it.

"Oh here, let me." He leaned down and retrieved your phone with delicate looking hands. His short brown hair was slicked back and his suit was obviously tailored expertly, the expensive fabric clinging nicely to his body. Great, I just had to walk into someone important.

"Oh um... Thanks." Your eyes narrowed suspiciously at his politeness, not quite used to people being so nice, but this was London, not Florida where the beaches were littered with cranky, old people in retirement who complain about the young folk and their habits.

He stood and looked at your phone, his dark eyes flickering to yours briefly. A feeling you weren't quite sure of stirred in your gut however you pushed that aside, anxious about the state of your phone.   

"Is it bad?" You questioned, scrunching up your nose and bracing yourself for the fact that you might have to buy a new phone, or a least repair the one you had, with the little money you had on your person.

He twisted the phone in his hands a few times before looking at you with a coy smirk upon his face. He handed you the phone.

"Not even a scratch." The Irish accent think in his voice.

"Oh thank God." Relief flooded through your body as you looked over the device and grasped the phone to your chest.

"I hope your first day in London wasn't ruined." You raised an eyebrow in suspicion. Did he find me? Already? Your eyes shifted as you felt your heart skip with anxiety but mentally, you shake your head and the thought away.

You looked down at your shoes and with a light laugh, peeked up at him through your lashes, a coy smile on your face. "Is it that obvious?"

He gestured toward your luggage. I really was stupid and paranoid for no reason, there’s no way he would have found me. Not this fast anyway. With a slightly mysterious grin and glint in his eye, he answered. "Well... I just know how to look at people."  

"Clearly. And you must be someone important, judging by your Westwood suit and uppity demeanor." You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest. You could tell he thought your comment clever by the way he raised his brow and curled his lips into a cheeky smile.

"Oh someone who knows their stuff, I like you already."

Stretching out your hand you introduced yourself. "Ava. It’s a pleasure make your acquaintance… um…"

“Jim." Taking your hand in his, he kissed your knuckles, at which you grinned and raised a brow It was obviously meant to be charming yet you saw through his mask when the corner of his lip twitched ever so slightly. So slightly that anyone else would have missed it entirely however, you weren’t just anyone else. Shaking your head, you cleared your mind. You weren’t working yet.

"Oh a lady-killer as well, uh?" You playfully ask.

"You have no idea. Are you here on business or pleasure?" He let go of your hand and stood straight again, his head cocked in curiosity. Choosing to ignore his comment you answered.

"Oh um, both I guess." You had always wanted to live here and it just so happens that there was an opening in your choice of work, but he didn’t need to know that. You heard a distant voice in your head, repeating words of advice. Remember, become anonymous as much as possible. No loose ends. Remember why you're here.

You were brought out of your thoughts when this man’s, Jim’s, phone began to play Staying Alive. His face dropped as he retrieved it from his pocket and answered the call. Putting it on hold he looked at you with a forced smile. "Well I must get going. As an important person, I'm very busy. Welcome to London." He said as he waved goodbye.

"Thank you. Bye!" You replied as you waved back and turned to walk away, curiosity getting the best of you as you kept him in the corner of your eye. You walked casually towards a nearby statue and hid behind it, peeking around the corner to see him as he brought the phone to his ear. He listened to whatever the other person was speaking about before he spoke back. Your eyes widen as you see his mask fall into an expression you can't explain. The soft and mischievous look in his eyes he had moments before had vanished, and were instead replaced with a clenched jaw and eyes as hard as the pavement below his feet, a face you had seen before in the past. Sending you to the dark corners of your mind, back to a weak, little child in a cramped, dark room, crying for her Mommy.

You closed your eyes as the memory flashes across your vision, clenching your fists as you felt your eyes begin to heat up with tears and your heart beat harder and faster. As you try to slow your breath down, you reached for your mothers necklace hanging around your neck and repeated the words like a mantra to calm the nightmares. “Stop. It’s not real, you’re fine. It’s….. Not real, not…. Anymore.” You say with a small quivering voice, tears begin to drip down your wind-bitten cheeks. You weren't in that room anymore, you are stronger than this. You weren't that little girl anymore.

Looking at your feet and taking a deep breath you felt yourself start to calm down. You put your  earbuds back in and found a song, the song, to drown out your own thoughts. You found your mother's favorite, Blackbird by The Beatles. It had always calmed you as a kid whenever you got scared or sick. Sometimes she would use it as lullaby to put you to sleep. Turning the music up as loud as you could take it, you leaned on the statue and just listened, letting your heart synchronize with the beat of the music and calming you down.

You walked towards the main road when you could breathe steadily again and hailed a taxi. You took out an ear bud as you heard the driver ask about where you were heading. Looking at the piece of paper you said the street address of where your new life was waiting to begin "Westminster Baker Street. 220B Baker Street please."

You see his eyes light up in the mirror looking at me with excitement "Oh, that's the street where Sherlock Holmes lives!"

You raise an eyebrow in question. "Who?"

[onceabluemoonwrites]

How To Stay Together Outside the Mafia (Thanks, Mukuro)

Summary: There was nothing wrong with needing reassurance, but it had been blowing up lately with all his guardians, and Tsuna hadn’t been able to figure out why. Now, however, it was all crystal clear.

This was a Code Red situation. His angst babies were insecure and he would have to make sure their run-away-with-the-dark-thoughts-because-that’s-a-fun-road-to-go-down  brains would once again understand the situation as it was.

He might be dame, but he had learned. There was only ONE thing to do in a situation like this: Call your mom!

.

.

.

And the rest of his family, because he wasn’t that hopeless.

FF.net | AO3

You can find my fic master list here.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Katekyo Hitman Reborn

‘’BUT I DON’T WANT TO BE DECIMO!’’

Tsuna’s voice shook the very foundations of the house.

Mukuro sighed and pushed another cookie cutter into the dough.

When he moved in with the Sawada’s, he’d narrowed his eyes at Mama- as this woman insisted he call her- who’s flowery aura of… Surprisingly not death, though he had the idea that the woman that birthed Tsunayoshi must have the same strange dual qualities. He was certain it could turn murderous any moment, and yet still smell like fresh laundry and lavender.

…She seemed like the type that would scent her victims with her personal brand of perfume.

‘’What do you want for our boarding?’’

She’d blinked, tapped her lips and beamed. ‘’Well, if you insist, I’d love to have some help with baking! Making treats for the whole family is a lot of work! But don’t worry, I do it with love and I’m sure you will too!’’

Mukuro had flinched away from the disgustingly bright woman, but had accepted the apron she handed him. Frowning, he’d unfolded it. It was a frilly, purple garment. The upper part was shaped like the top-half of a heart, with the lower half having the likeliness of a ruffled skirt. It would have been adorable on Chrome, but this was apparently Mukuro’s apron, and he was going to rock it.

Sure, cute was a no-go, but that was Chrome’s area. Mukuro was the drop dead sexy half of the twin act. He would work Lolita like no man had worked it before!

Cackling to himself, he swung his narrow hips to let the ruffles bounce properly and set out to help his Mama.

…Calling her that was just practice for when he took over Tsunayoshi’s body. Yeah. That was it.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was devil spawn. Literally.

‘’Welcome to THE Sawada Household, Mukuro. Welcome to Hell.’’ He had murmured when he’d come home on Mukuro’s arrival day, before falling over the table in exhaustion.

Mukuro had not believed him. He’d even joked about it! “I’ve already been to hell six times. Not to this particular Hell, no.’’ Sarcasm, so lovely, applicable in every situation.

By now, however, reality had sunk in. The Sawada Household was the seventh Hell Mukuro had landed in, and he wasn’t all that eager to leave. This one taught the deadliest tricks, mind you. Sawada Nana was the greatest Satan he had ever seen.

Top techniques included: The Flowery Aura of Death, Set-the-Table, Mama’s Disappointment, the Guilttrip, Religion inducing Cooking, Yes-You-Must-Go-Bathe and the most deadly of all: Love Makes the World Go Round (Fly, you fools!).

So here he was, a few weeks into his stay at the Sawada household, making little cat-shaped cookies for Chrome, yoyo’s for Chikusa and paws for Ken. The only ones he owned up to making specifically for someone were the paws, of course. He couldn’t help but snigger as he pushed the mini-paw out of the cookie cutter with a fork. Comparing Ken to a dog in any way was guaranteed to get great reactions. Teasing him was just too much fun!

The door slid closed behind him, and an arm reached past him, snatching up part of the dough. Nobody touched the dough.

Mukuro’s fork missed the hand by a hair’s breadth.

‘’God fucking damn it, Rokudo! Let a man have his cookie dough!’’

Whirling around (ruffles rushing, to his eternal pleasure), Mukuro smiled at Gokudera. ‘’Well, well, well, Ha-ya-to~~ Have a little argument with the boss?’’

Gokudera shivered.

Popping a chocolate chip into his mouth, Mukuro smirked. Gokudera’s insecurities were just too easy to play into and those flowery aura of death lessons were paying off. Mama was awesome (No, not a personal meaning, it was a general opinion.

…

Okay, maybe not just a general opinion, but Sawada Nana’s food was Worthy of Worship and Mukuro was pretty sure she somehow managed to enslave him through it, the devilish woman!)

‘’He’s still refusing to talk about the future. Any attempt to talk to him about being Decimo, our future together… It just fails,’’ Gokudera stared morosely at his empty hand as if he were seeing the bottom of a whiskey glass (if Chrome asked, Mukuro had no idea how that might look) instead of a cookie dough-free hand. The way his eyes widened reminded Mukuro of a mutt.  This was probably what people meant when they talked about ‘’puppy dog eyes,’’.

Mukuro handed the white-haired adolescent more dough. A technique to keep him talking. Sympathy was for the weak.

…Tsunayoshi not becoming Decimo was a problem if Mukuro wanted to possess his body and destroy the mafia. Then again, Tsunayoshi being in a relationship with Tsunayoshi 2.0 (the red-headed one) and Cherry-blossom-chan (even just thinking about calling Hibari that made him cackle in glee) meant Cherry-blossom-chan had touched that body. Tsunayoshi was tainted now and possessing his body might result in cooties.

Letting Chrome join the Vongola might be an option after all. She deserved to be happy and being one of Sawada’s guardians certainly seemed to do the job!

Mukuro wanted to wash his mouth out with soap, the sugar was too much.

But, in the interest of Chrome’s future happiness, Mukuro couldn’t let Tsunayoshi go on about not becoming Decimo. Because if he wasn’t Decimo, then what use would he have for a tool like Muku- Chrome?

Chrome would be all alone again, without heating! No more cookies to bake for a house full of people, no more ruffled aprons to wear, no Fran to antagonize about his crush on Le Petit Prince (Squealing? Mukuro? No, that was Chrome! Honestly, you people!) and most of all: No one to love an asshole like- he meant cutie- Chrome.

Leaving the fork stuck in the counter and Gokudera with more cookie dough, Mukuro stalked out of the kitchen. Tying his apron strings tighter, Mukuro clenched his jaw. He was going to do something selfless for the first time in years.

Protect his adorable Chrome’s future and defend Gokudera’s hurt feelings so he could snigger about it later.

No self-interest at all! The things Mukuro did for his subordinates!

Now, on to make Sawada Tsunayoshi cease his attempts to abandon his post as heir!

‘’Sawada Tsunayoshi!’’

A disembodied voice resonated through the room. Mist drifted, engulfing the bed, kotatsu and desk with little effort. The door creaked, the curtains skid closed, the sound of metal against metal.

An eerie silence settled.

‘’If you’re just here to spy on me, get out or be more subtle.’’ Tsunayoshi looked up from his attempts to straighten his tie, completely ignoring the fact that only his upper half was completely covered.

‘’My, my, my, Tsunayoshi, so forward!’’

The brunette didn’t even bother to wave him away. ‘’I’m too used to you guys storming my room at all hours.’’ A tired sigh.

The room darkened. ‘’I heard your fight with Gokudera. As the Socially Inept Person in this household, I must say-‘’

‘’Isn’t Kyouya the Socially Inept Person?’’ Tsunayoshi continued to struggle with his tie. Honestly, the guy was a fashion disaster. How a respectable Madame Murder like Sawada Nana had birthed him… Mukuro had no idea.

Before he could answer, the brunette opened his mouth again. ‘’Oh, wait, Kyouya’s the Social-Skills-Nonexistent-Get-Tetsuya-To-Translate Person.’’

If even Tsunayoshi thought so, then how did their relationship even work? Did Kusakabe just… sit there all the time? Next to them?

…Then again, Tsunayoshi 2.0. doubtlessly had that woman (Adel, the one with the Murder Maniac tendencies) hovering over him, so maybe she and Kusakabe just did well in company.

Mukuro would have to look into that later- the greatest blackmail material ever.

‘’But what were you saying about Hayato?’’

Mukuro’s fist clenched. Tsunayoshi said it so casually, as if nothing had happened. And that was, as even he could admit, absolutely awful in the face of all Gokudera’s work. Mukuro hated do-gooders, but the bomber spent a lot of time with the Sawada’s, and there was no way the illusionist couldn’t notice all the effort the man put into becoming a better righthand man. And this reaction? It was utterly unfair to him.

Damn it. Mukuro had picked up a stray again. Just don’t feed them, and it will be alright, was the golden rule, but he kept breaking it, and the minute he fed them, he was gone! …Let’s just bury that underneath a mountain of denial, ne?

Curse the heavens for creating the Mist with a pinch of Sky flame-alignment! Mukuro pouted.

Appearing from thin air in front of Tsunayoshi’s nose, Mukuro jabbed a finger into his chest and hissed: ‘’Stop saying you don’t want to be Decimo. The fool is trying so hard to do better and you just keep throwing that back in his face every time. How do you think that makes him feel?’’

Tsuna sighed. ‘’You can’t force me into a career just because you want me to be, Mukuro.’’

‘’I said Gokudera wanted it,’’ Mukuro crossed his arms, ‘’He’s never had a safe family before- you can’t take that from him!’’

Tsuna’s mouth fell open. ‘’That is what this is all about?’’

‘’What else would it be about? The cookies? Because there’s sure a hell nothing wrong with those, I assure you!’’

‘’I know, I know, go put them in the oven- we’re going to need them in a bit.’’

‘’I wasn’t making any!’’ Mukuro yelled as Tsuna pushed him through the door opening. ‘’I wasn’t!’’

Slumping against the door, Tsuna rubbed his temples. God. Mukuro was insecure and had a Small and Breakable Heart (…and would probably slit your throat with the pieces left of it but that wasn’t the point in case). He was one of the most reassurance-needing guardians, and Tsuna’s storm was Gokudera.

There was nothing wrong with needing reassurance, but it had been blowing up lately with all his guardians, and Tsuna hadn’t been able to figure out why. Now, however, it was all crystal clear.

This was a Code Red situation. His angst babies were insecure and he would have to make sure their run-away-with-the-dark-thoughts-because-that’s-a-fun-road-to-go-down  brains would once again understand the situation as it was.

He might be dame, but he had learned. There was only ONE thing to do in a situation like this: Call your mom!

.

.

.

.

.

And the rest of his family, because he wasn’t that hopeless.

Sitting on a chair in the circle, Tsuna stapled his hands against each other. ‘’’We’re here today because it has come to my attention that we have a communication problem.’’

Gokudera almost choked on his drink. ‘’What?! How has this not come to my attention before?!’’

Yamamoto patted him on the back.

‘’It has come to your attention. We’ve been fighting about this since forever and I’m done.’’

‘’’Giving up is EXTREMELY not right, Sawada!’’ The rest of the room’s occupants began to talk too.

‘’You have to be Decimo, Juudaime!’’

‘’…Kufufufu, making my dear Chrome cry? She’s Murder Moe, Tsunayoshi, she knows where to find you!’’

‘’LAMBO WANTS TO STAY WITH MAMA!’’

Tsuna slammed his hand down on the table. ‘’This is exactly what I mean! If you would shut up for a second, I could tell you-‘’

‘’Shut up, dame-Tsuna.’’ Reborn jumped down from the ceiling fan, but before his mallet could connect with Tsuna’s skull, the brunet’s eyes flashed a deep orange and he threw Reborn aside. Landing on the table, Reborn opened his mouth, but Tsuna had enough.

"GOD FUCKING DAMMNIT, WOULD YOU ALL LISTEN TO WHAT I SAY WHEN I FUCKING SPEAK?! Not you Chrome, you’re a sweetheart.”

Taking off the ring, he threw it on the ground and stomped on it a couple times. It hurt his feet more than it did the ring harm, but god, that felt good. ‘’I’m NOT becoming Decimo, and if you all would just listen, you’d know this DOES NOT mean the end of us as a family.’’

Gokudera deflated like he was a balloon and Tsuna just stuck a pin in him. ‘’Oh.’’

‘’Yes, oh.’’ Tsuna sat back down. ‘’Though, to be honest, I could’ve handled this better too. I should’ve known this was the problem and just taken it out at the root. I’m sorry.’’

Ken scoffed. ‘’Pretty words, Sawada, but how do you wanna keep us together then? I sure as hell ain’t seeing results here!’’

Tsuna shrugged. ‘’No offence, but you guys were born into the mafia. You might want to destroy it, but it’s hard for you to think in terms of life outside of it. I thought we might be able to come up with something else together.’’

‘’Besides, this house will always be a home for all of you.’’ Nana smiled, hugging Lambo to her chest. The little boy melted into the embrace.

‘’Mama’s the best.’’

Nobody protested. Unanimous agreement there.

It was silent for a moment, the only sound to be heard was Kyouya munching on a tonfa cookie. …Tsuna was pretty sure Mukuro had put poison in there. He clearly was nowhere near Bianchi’s level, though, because Kyouya hadn’t kicked the bucket yet.

Then again, maybe he was trying to give him diabetes. Death by sugary goodness. Mukuro’s evil knew no bounds (according to the boy himself, that was. Though the corner of Kyouya’s mouth creeping up while he was happily munching on the cookies was definitely creeping Tsuna out).

‘’…So,’’ Bianchi murmured, ‘’Just because the mafia threw us together, it doesn’t mean we have to stay in it together. We can go be together somewhere else. That’s what you wanted to say, right? But what’s the next step?’’

Tsuna cleared his throat. ‘’I have a four-step plan and it’s guaranteed to work. This is how it’s going down…’’

‘’Sawada, that plan EXTREMELY sucks.’’

Yamamoto laughed, rubbing his neck. ‘’Sorry, Tsuna, but Ryohei’s right.’’

‘’Of course it sucks!’’ Haru rummaged through her bag and threw keys, pads and a crowbar onto the table, before she found the magazines she’d apparently been searching for. The glossy covers gleamed in the light. ‘’Us, opening up a food factory? Please, we’d sell poisoned goods and be back in the crime business before the day was over- and that is if we didn’t get bored and destroy the whole place! No, I have the perfect solution!’’ Kyoko did jazz hands behind Haru before the effect. Together, they struck a pose. ‘’A fashion house!’’

‘’…Wut?’’

‘’Oh, come on, Tsuna-kun! Don’t be like that!’’ Kyoko bounced up and down. ‘’We have the perfect skillset for it! Hana, we have a chart, right?’’

‘’I thought the chart was going to stay a secret,’’ Hana hissed into Kyoko’s ear, but she did pull an enormous chart out of her handbag.

‘’Mary Poppins,’’ I-Pin breathed, eyes big and starry, looking like Christmas had come early. Lambo squealed, making grabby hands at the older girl.

Hana stared at her for a moment. ‘’Okay, never doing that again. It attracts kids.’’

Lambo pouted, but Nana kept him quiet.

The rest of the room was staring at the charts. Putting on her glasses, Hana began using her laser pointer. ‘’As you can see here, we have thought about the finances. There are several people who would definitely invest in our ventures, especially with young, talented designers like Haru and Mukuro-san.’’

‘’Runway shows wouldn’t be a problem either,’’ Kyoko pointed out, ‘’I know you’ve done a couple of runway shows before, Hibari-san, and distinctive walks like Ken and Chikusa’s would do very well! They’d be able to establish a brand right away!’’

‘’Sasawaga -kun’s energy could also work,’’ Chrome said quietly, ‘’Plus, his athletic abilities give him options other models wouldn’t have. He could easily  maintain his boxing on the side.’’

‘’Ooooh! Good idea!’’ Haru fished a pen from underneath the pads and the crowbar and scribbled it down on the chart right away- ignoring Hana’s grimace at her neat work being messed up.

‘’Also, Reborn-san likes suits and Tsuna-san is the perfect watch model!’’ Haru elbowed Hana, ‘’I mean, have you seen his wrists?! Holy objects, I’m telling you!’’

Kyoko giggled. Tsuna gaped.

‘’Hmmm…’’ Mukuro tapped his lips, ‘’My dear Chrome, you would do VERY well with perfume spots, don’t you think?’’

Chrome hid a laugh behind her hand. ‘’Only if it’s called ‘Murder Moe’.’’

Bianchi cocked her head. ‘’Hmm… Bit of a silly name, but I could definitely cook something up for a fragrance with an atmosphere like that!’’

‘’Hey!’’ Ken shouted, ‘’No making fun of Mukuro-sama’s nicknames!’’

‘’Shut up, Ken!’’ Mukuro threw his trident at him like a mother hen curbing her ducklings by pecking at them until they stood in line. ‘’Anyway,’’ he flicked his hair out of his eyes, ‘’I would only agree to such proposal if I got my own shoe line.’’

Gokudera’s mouth dropped. ‘’Are you mad?! Wait- don’t answer that. Of course you’re getting your own shoe line. I mean, have you seen your shoes? If I knew where to buy boots like that spiky pair you wore yesterday, I’d have gone bankrupt already!’’ He bit his lip, ‘’Um. If we’re doing this, that is.’’

‘’Of course we’re doing it,’’ Bianchi rolled her eyes, ‘’I’m tired of you stealing my crop tops. If we have a fashion house, we might actually be able to satisfy your clothing addiction.’’

Gokudera narrowed his eyes. ‘’Pot calling the kettle black!’’

Nana laughed. ‘’That’s family to you!’’

‘’…Now we’re on the topic anyway, Yamamoto-san, would you be willing to model? We’d love some more eye-candy.’’

‘’Eye-candy, huh?’’ Yamamoto’s eyes narrowed.

Haru smiled like the cat got the canary. ‘’Why, yes, we need someone to dress up like a giant grape so Lambo will sit still during the onesie shoots!’’

Yamamoto’s jaw dropped.

Kyoko appeared behind Haru, tucking a lock behind her ear. ‘’That’s not what you said last night, sweetheart!’’

She winked at Yamamoto. ‘’Don’t worry, Takeshi-kun! Byakuran-san sure won’t be the only one who will enjoy all those shirtless photoshoots!’’

Never mind Flame Fashion™, who the hell let Byakuran talk to Kyoko-chan and how much time did they have left before the world imploded?!

In the end, it all came down to this: No matter what Mukuro said about Tsuna’s fashion sense, Vongola was the final boss, and they defeated it together.

Author’s Note

Xanxus became Decimo and buys Flame Fashion in bulk. Dino is eternally grateful to Mukuro for designing the sexiest heels in existence because Xanxus rocks them.

Interviewer: “Where did your brand name come from?”

Haru: “Funny story, actually! We kept saying our people were flaming!”

Kyoko: *beams and the world falls in love,” So we called it “Flame Fashion” because we’re on fire!’’

Tsuna: *looks at the camera with dead eyes* They set everything on fire. Everything. There is no escape.

I might write some more about the Flame Fashion house, so if anyone has suggestions, don’t hesitate to tell me! Maybe I’ll get inspired because I know you lot- you’re enablers! Also, a fun experiment: send some KHR fashion headcanons through my ask! I’m curious what you guys think what kind of high fashion the KHR characters would wear! For an example of what I’m talking about, I’ve got a post here.

Thanks a LOT to @i-w-p-chan for squealing with me! The line “GOD FUCKING DAMMNIT, WOULD YOU ALL LISTEN TO WHAT I SAY WHEN I FUCKING SPEAK?! Not you Chrome, you’re a sweetheart.” was her first reaction when I told her what I was writing and she gave me permission to use it! :D

Other than that, the moment between Bianchi and Gokudera was inspired by this post by @incorrectkhr ! 

The ‘’Mist with a pinch of sky’’ was inspired by @nightmare-aoife ’s Mukuro from the Cradle ‘verse! 

And also thanks to @operaeagleicelynlacelett for asking me about Mukuro doing chores and Tsuna one-upping Reborn which reminded me of this, and got me writing again!

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

The Misadventures of Prince Kim - chapter 57

Ta-da! Kim gets in a sword fight and also meets a crocodile. Neither of these are even remotely the weirdest thing to have happened in this fic. (Oh yeah and a season 2 character’s in this one so, uh, spoiler alert)

Also on AO3 as always

“How are things going?” Kim asked down the phone. “Your approval rating hasn’t gone down, has it?”

“Surprisingly, it’s actually increased slightly,” Max replied. “I’ve mostly been busy working on Markov so I haven’t spent much time looking at the news, but it seems that the citizens are happy to get to know their prince a little better. Quite honestly, it wasn’t even a surprise to most people.”

“That’s awesome!” Kim said, his worries vanishing. “Oh, I’m so relieved to hear that. And how’s Markov doing?”

There was a kind of excited spark to Max’s voice suddenly. “He’s coming along fantastically! I knew robotics was fun, but I had forgotten it was this fun. I really should have done this so much sooner! Markov speaks quite a lot now, there are still bugs to sort out, but hopefully I’ll be able to fix those soon, maybe even in time for the wedding if I work hard enough, so then you’ll get to meet him too, and…”

He continued gushing about his little robot friend for quite a while. Kim just sat there with a dopey smile on his face, content to listen. This all sounded so exciting – he couldn’t wait to meet Max’s robot! He’d never even met a robot before in his life. It was so weird, really, how could a metal electronic machine actually speak? Surely magic had to be involved somehow? But no, according to Max it was all just science. That was the coolest thing ever.

“And what about you?” Max said finally. “How have your holidays been so far? Is Queen Sol nice?”

“Queen Sol is freaking awesome!” Kim said. “It’s only been a week but I’ve already had so much fun. It’s like having a cool big sister. The other day she took me bowling, but not like normal bowling, it was massive bowling with giant skittles taller than a person, and you had to throw this massive inflatable ball at them, it was amazing!”

“That does sound fun!”

“Yeah! And she took me to the 3D cinema and I watched a movie in 3D, like with those glasses on, it was so cool. I did get a headache but still, totally worth it. And there’s been this duelling competition going on over the past few days and I got to the finals!”

“Congratulations!”

“Thanks! The final match is in like an hour, so I thought I’d call you first, because I haven’t seen you in a while and I miss you…”

“Aww, I miss you too. But I’ll see you soon, don’t worry. Good luck for your match – I’m sure you’ll do well!”

Kim just wanted to hug Max through the phone. “Thanks… I mean of course I’ll do well, I’m the best at duelling. I’m probably even better than Adrien at this point. No one else here is that good, so I’m sure I’ll win. And the prize is this super cool trophy, so I’m not letting a snake take it this time.”

Max was chuckling away on the other end. “I may be all the way over in another country, but pretend I’m cheering for you! And so is Markov!”

“Max, you’re so sweet. I love you so much.”

“Oh Kim…” He sounded rather flustered. It was adorable, but all it did was make Kim miss him even more, so he changed the subject.

“Also I’ll get to finally meet Princess Penny and Jagged Stone next week, it’s gonna be awesome.”

“And you’ll meet the crocodile too, I presume?”

Kim had very much been trying not to think about that. “Haha yeah… I guess…”

“Well I hope you have fun with them. I should probably get back to my work now, but it was so nice to chat with you. Please call again soon!”

“I will! Say hi to Markov for me!”

Even after hanging up, Kim couldn’t get his stupid grin off his face. It was strange how being away from Max was just causing him to fall further and further in love, when he had been worried the opposite might happen. Even Sol could probably tell, considering how much Kim kept going on about Max all the time. He couldn’t help it! Everything reminded him of Max in some way or another.

Anyway, for now he had to get his mind back to duelling. The final match hopefully wouldn’t be too difficult. It wasn’t like any of the others had been. Looking at the clock, he decided to head down to the tournament grounds already, so that he wouldn’t be late.

The weather was warm and sunny. Plenty of the servants had turned up to watch the match, as well as some palace guests who were here for the wedding early, just like Kim was. Queen Sol herself was sitting in the stands, a large parasol over her head and a fan in hand. She waved at Kim, who waved back with his sword. This was reminding him oddly of the lacrosse match back in the winter holidays, though hopefully this match wouldn’t turn out such a disaster!

The opponent walked onto the grounds right at the last minute. They were decked entirely in red, with a helmet that fully covered their head and didn’t even leave their eyes visible, like the medieval knights from paintings in history books. Kim had never met this person before – he wasn’t even sure of their name! But hopefully they wouldn’t even be able to see out of that helmet, and then he’d get an easy win. Perfect.

Queen Sol herself stood up to announce the start of the match with a megaphone once everything was ready and everyone was in place. “Let the final match of the tournament begin!”

With that, Kim lunged forwards straight into an attack. His tactics were usually to be aggressive enough to intimidate the opponent into a quick loss.

This time, however, it didn’t work.

This opponent was ruthless. They were quicker, smarter, and more aggressive than anyone else Kim had ever faced. Even Adrien had never been this good.

Gritting his teeth, Kim forced himself to focus properly now. No more being complacent. He had to win that trophy. He was the best, and he had to prove it.

The battle was long and tough, with the crowd gasping every few seconds whenever one of them made a particularly risky attack. Kim was pulling out all the stops, and yet the opponent still seemed to be ahead of him every step of the way – why weren’t they losing already?! This was the worst!

Eventually the unthinkable happened. The opponent got the upper hand. Kim was left sitting on the ground, stunned, his own sword knocked out of his hand and the enemy one pointed straight at his throat.

Considering how brutal that match had been, he half expected the opponent to just finish things off by skewering him and ending his life before any poisoned chocolates ever could.

Instead they sheathed their sword, removed their gloves, then took off their helmet–

“Finally, a worthy opponent,” said the striking young lady now standing before him. Her voice was raspy, her cheeks were covered in freckles, and her short hair was the same odd bluish-black colour that Marinette’s was.

Kim hadn’t been expecting his opponent to be quite that young – he had, truthfully, sort of been expecting some kind of immortal monstrous abomination, thinking that no human person could have enough strength to beat him. But no, it was just a regular human, and one who looked around the same age as him too.

She held out a hand to help him up. Still stunned, he took it and got to his feet. As if from a distance, he could hear the crowd cheering. But they weren’t cheering for him, and he wasn’t going to get that trophy. He had actually been beaten.

“You are Prince Kim, aren’t you?” she asked him now.

“Yeah,” he said, wondering how she knew. To be fair, he had been bragging all week to any servants who would listen about how he was definitely going to win the tournament, so it might have been that. Or the TV interview back in spring. But then again, this girl had skin pale enough to rival Juleka’s, unlike many of the citizens here, so it was possible that she was a guest just like Kim was.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, though her very slight smile seemed fake enough to prove the contrary. “I’m a fellow royal guest here for the wedding too. My name is Kagami.”

Kagami… Princess of a distant country to the far east that Kim could not recall the name of, off the top of his head. He was sure he had read her name somewhere while doing homework for his world studies lessons, though. It was so weird to actually be meeting her.

And so annoying to have lost a duel against her…

Well, no point being a sore loser. He was far past that. Instead he swallowed his pride and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. That was fun.”

Her smile seemed more genuine now as she shook his hand. “It was indeed. Perhaps we could duel each other again sometime.”

No way, he thought.

“Uh… sure.”

“Good. I look forward to it.”

She nodded her head at him, almost in a slight bow, before turning around and heading towards the cheering stands, where Queen Sol was waiting to award her the trophy. Kim watched and tried his hardest not to feel jealous. He really had done his absolute best, maybe not at the beginning but certainly later on, and it still wasn’t good enough. Kagami was just better at duelling. Fair enough.

Oh, but he so liked winning…

He barely paid any attention as Kagami was given the trophy, the crowd cheering for her wildly, then starting to leave as the match was over. He merely stood there with an odd feeling of humiliation descending on him. Losing was never fun, ever, even if he was better at dealing with it now. And losing a match he had been so sure of winning? In front of everyone he had showed off at? They probably all thought of him as a loser now, and in more than one sense of the word…

“Prince Kim?”

It was Kagami again, now with the trophy in her arms.

“You can just call me Kim,” he muttered.

“Right, Kim.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Is it true that you enjoy playing tennis?”

Tennis? Of course he did. Tennis was the Marinette sport for him. The sport that he and his old friend used to play together for hours and hours every single day when they were kids. It always lifted his spirits.

“Yep,” he replied.

“So do I. I hear you can be very competitive. Perhaps, if we have a tennis tournament, you might get to win that one instead. And then you’d get a trophy too.”

“I know you’re just trying to be nice,” he said, “but you really don’t need to take pity on me. It’s fine.”

“Apologies. It’s just…” She turned aside a little. “It’s the first time I’ve been away from home without my mother with me. I thought it would be a good opportunity to finally make some friends my age. I’m not very good at it.”

She wanted to be friends? Well why hadn’t she said so before?

“Of course I’ll be your friend!” Kim said. “Anyone who can beat me at a duelling tournament has gotta be cool.”

She looked a little taken aback by his sudden change in tone for a few seconds, but quickly recovered and smiled at him. “Thank you. Anyone who can give me such a tough fight must also be… cool. So, um, what do we do now?”

The stands were almost empty by now, most of the crowd having left. Kim hadn’t really planned to do anything in particular for the rest of the day, but he had an idea.

“We play tennis, of course!” He grabbed her arm and started pulling her along, to her surprise. “You wanted to, right new friend? Well then we should! And my other friends are gonna be here in August too so I’ll introduce you to them as well when they get here, they’re really cool! We’ll make sure you’ve got loads of friends to keep in touch with by the time you go back home…”

He turned back to see that her smile was much less restrained now. Good, so his friendliness was working! If there was one thing going to school had taught him, it was that sometimes other people were quiet, or shy, and wanted to be friends but weren’t sure how to go about it. Kim, on the other hand, was none of those things. So why not use his confidence to kickstart new friendships whenever he could?

And plus, it would be fun having another friend here. Queen Sol was cool and everything, but often very busy running her country and preparing for the wedding, and anyway she was so old that sometimes the generational gap showed itself. Having Kagami around would be nice.

Over in her own kingdom, Pharaoh Alix was lounging on her actual throne for once, never usually bothering to sit somewhere so uncomfortable but feeling extra royal today for some reason. Her pet snake, as usual, was curled up around her arm. Jalil was on babysitting duty like he often was, though he mostly was just ignoring her in favour of leaning against the wall and reading a book.

“This is so weird,” Alix said, snapping shut the newspaper she had been looking through and tossing it aside. “How the hell did Max’s approval rating go up? Like maybe I’ve been over in backwards Europe for too long, but I didn’t think people were that accepting!”

“He was just confirming something his country already knew,” Jalil said, not even bothering to look up from his book. “And they’re glad to see him opening up. Royals these days are kind of more like celebrities, you know, people like it when they’re not being so mysterious and old-fashioned anymore.”

Well that was lame. She hadn’t chosen to be a “celebrity”, she didn’t want the media snooping around in her life or having to tiptoe around everywhere to avoid ruining her reputation. But it seemed that that was what the citizens wanted. Alix knew that her approval rating, though very high for an actual ruling monarch, was nowhere near as high as it could be. No one really knew much about her. It was better that way – she wasn’t sure how her citizens would react if they knew their pharaoh was a reckless little delinquent.

“Speaking of celebrities,” she said, changing the subject, “are you coming along to Princess Penny’s wedding?”

“Yes, of course. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?!”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’ll break your arm again. Or get into a brawl with some foreign diplomat. Or use that ‘Flower Pharaoh’ reputation you told me about as an excuse to kidnap the hired flower girl and take her place. Or–”

“I get it,” she said, sinking into the throne and crossing her arms. “But for the record, you’re never there to ‘keep an eye on me’ at school, and I don’t get into trouble there.”

He finally looked up from the book, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh fine, maybe a little bit of trouble,” she said quickly. “But I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Good point! In that case maybe the betrothal plague will hit you too this time.”

She recoiled further into her seat. It was often considered good luck around these parts to get engaged to someone on the day of someone else’s wedding, so the nickname ‘betrothal plague’ was given to the phenomenon of young people always being hit on at wedding parties. Many people just used it as an excuse to easily find a sweetheart. Alix had only been about 11 at the last wedding she attended, but she very clearly remembered Jalil having to hide under a chair by the end of it in order to avoid swarms of zealous fangirls.

Or at least, that was how he had put it. Surely it couldn’t have been that bad.

“It’s not gonna happen,” she said. “I’m not old enough.”

He grinned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I’m only 17…”

Oh… 17. Almost 18, in fact.

In other words, old enough.

“See?” Jalil said, seeing the look of horror on her face.

“But I’m a monarch!” she said. “People will be too scared to talk to me… right? And I have a pet snake… a venomous one… so surely…”

“I wouldn’t count on that putting off everyone.”

“But then what will?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Though I suppose you could always try the Prince Max method. That might work.”

Prince Max method? What on earth was he talking about?

Wait… oh…

“I’m not coming out to everyone, no way,” she said.

“Well why not? It seemed to work fine for Max.”

“Yeah but like, I’d have to explain. No one knows what aromantic or asexual means, they’ll think I’m a plant or something. I had to go and read some obscure science journal to find out! And plus… no one will believe me…”

“How do you know?”

She hoped she didn’t sound too bitter. “Dad didn’t.”

“Oh… well then, I guess you’ll have to end up hiding under a chair the whole evening.”

She nodded glumly, expecting the worst. Of course she could intentionally try and scare people away, like she used to do by accident, but… no, her days of intimidation were over. Maybe she would end up just having to hide under a chair and hoping for a miracle.

Jagged Stone and Princess Penny returned from their Atlantican tour soon enough. It was so far away, across the vast western ocean like the kingdom of Césaire was, that they were quite tired and jet-lagged on their return, needing to rest before being introduced to anyone. In the meantime, while sightseeing in the nearby city, Kim and Kagami bought copies of Jagged Stone’s new bestselling autobiography in order to know him a little better – though Kim didn’t actually bother to read his.

They finally got to meet them on their third day back. Queen Sol had decided it would be nice if Jagged could get to have lunch with his “young royal fans” and had organized it especially for them. Kim had spent the entire previous day listening to every Jagged Stone cassette he could find in preparation, so that at least he would know some of the songs and not sound like a total out-of-the-loop moron. Kagami already seemed to know a lot of it – apparently her kingdom was just as techy and advanced as these ones.

First they were introduced to Princess Penny, who looked much like a younger version of her mother, but with shockingly bright hair that was cut so short that it didn’t even fall over her ears. She looked unlike any princess Kim had ever seen before.

“So nice to meet you both!” she said to them. “My fiancé is just on his way…”

From the corridor outside came the sound of a thunderous electric guitar chord. The next second Jagged Stone himself was sliding into the room on his knees across the slippery marble floor, guitar in hand, striking a pose.

Kim already knew what he looked like – he had seen the crazy purple hair and loud outfits on the covers of cassettes and on billboards and posters in cities. But it was still so bizarre to actually see the rock star himself right in front of his eyes, larger than life, somehow even crazier than he could have ever imagined.

“Hey kids!” Jagged leapt to his feet. “Are you ready to attend the most epic wedding of your lifetime?”

Before either of them could reply, the crocodile had pattered into the room after its owner. Jagged leaned down to give its scales a little rub, and it responded by giving him an affectionate lick.

Kim stepped backwards.

That was a crocodile. An actual, real one. He had never seen one in person before.

It was long, green, scaly, its gaping maw was filled to the brim with dozens and dozens of pointy teeth…

“Wanna stroke Fang?” Jagged offered in that iconic odd accent of his.

The crocodile looked up at them, opening its mouth in what might have been an attempt at a smile. All that served was to make it look even more dangerous.

“I would love to,” Kagami said, as polite and stoic as ever. She stepped forwards, leaned down, and very gently placed a hand on Fang’s scales.

It’s just a crocodile, Kim told himself. Crocodiles were nothing. They didn’t have venom. If Kim could get over his fear of a cobra enough to make friends with it, then surely this relatively harmless creature would be easy to deal with in comparison. And plus, Kagami had managed to stroke it. He wasn’t going to have her beating him at duels and then showing him up too. He was Prince Kim the fearless, afraid of nothing!

Taking a deep breath, he took a step closer to the monster. It looked up at him. Could it sense fear? Some animals could do that, couldn’t they?

Never mind. He took another cautious step, then very slowly crouched down until he was mere inches away from the mass of fangs that this crocodile was named after. Were the teeth the only thing dangerous about it? It had tiny little legs, surely it couldn’t get anywhere.

I could easily outrun this thing.

The thought entered Kim’s mind automatically, and he couldn’t help but smile. Of course he could outrun this creature. He was quick, and it was slow. Nothing to be afraid of.

Feeling way more smug now, he put his hand on the scales and gave them a gentle stroke. Huh, it felt a lot like leather. The crocodile now stuck out its tongue and was wagging its tail, almost like a little dog.

Why had he been scared of this creature again?

“Anyway, I’m starving,” Jagged said, standing up again and taking Fang’s leash. “Time for food! Come on, guys!” He and Fang went over to the table, and Kim and the others quickly followed.

Wow… Kim had stroked a crocodile today. An actual crocodile. He couldn’t wait to tell everyone about that. Max was going to be so proud of him.

[icecubelotr44]

To Every Thing a Season (8/16)

Summary:   After witnessing the tragic murder of his brother Liam, Killian Jones is more determined than ever to discover the secrets of time travel. Fast-tracking his education at Storybrooke University, Killian is assigned a lab assistant, one Emma Swan. Together, they find a way to break through the veil of time so Killian can set things right. But what will be the price for changing the past, and is it one they’re willing to pay?

Rated:  T, for violence, some dark themes, angst, and whump

Art credit/link: The totally awesome @optomisticgirl made imagesets for all the chapters and @ab-normality made a video and a gifset for this fic.  You can find the imageset for this chapter above and here on @optomisticgirl‘s blog.  The video is linked here and on @ab-normality‘s blog here and the gifset is posted here!

Beta readers: The as-always wonderful @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, thanks so much for all of your help and cajoling and reassuring!  And a huge thank you to the spectacular @spartanguard who stepped in to help beta read as well!

A/N:  Written as part of the 2017 Captain Swan Big Bang Challenge.  You can catch up with all the other fics that are complete by following @captainswanbigbang and/or subscribing to the Group Collection on AO3 and/or the C2 on FFN. This is complete in 16 parts and will be posted every Thursday from now until its completion. And yes, there is a happy ending after all this… just so you know.

Word count:  ~ 5,400 (80K+ Total in 16 chapters)

From the beginning: ao3 | ffn  

Current Chapter: AO3 | FFN

Chapter 8: To Embrace and to Refrain from Embracing

Killian led Emma through campus and onto the shuttle, ushering her into a seat and pulling a thermos that had seen better days from his backpack.  She settled in, leaning against his chest when he wrapped an arm around her.

"What's this?" she asked, tugging off her mittens to get a grip on the lid.

"Just some hot chocolate to keep you warm, luv.  I know how you hate the cold."  He smiled and waited patiently, the corners of his mouth ticking up a shade further when she hummed appreciatively at the taste.  It was a good look on him, she thought.

A hint of fire filled her mouth and Emma grinned.  "You didn't forget the cinnamon!"

"Of course not!” he tried to sound affronted, but he was speaking through a grin.  “What do you take me for?"

Emma laughed and tucked her head under his chin.  They rode in silence into town, the bus's other occupants clearly engrossed in their own business.  His heart pounded more fervently as they approached the stop nearest Granny's, she could hear its pace quicken with every moment.

Emma wanted to tell him to relax, but his nerves had set off her own.  She’d been careful not to tell Killian that it was her birthday, didn’t want him to go to any trouble on a day that just reminded her that she had never been good enough for anyone - not even the people who had created her.  

All this day had ever been was a disappointment.  It was better just to move on and forget the day had any significance at all.

A strange feeling settled in Emma’s chest and she was hard pressed to name it.  She shouldn’t be upset - it was just another day and she was spending it with Killian.  Whether or not he knew the significance shouldn’t make a difference.  She’d just have to take the reprieve where she could get it.

Killian stood as the shuttle came to a stop in front of Granny’s diner.  Emma followed him down the steps into the chilly autumn air and hustled past him and the outdoor tables to the front door.

“Come on, Jones.  It’s freezing out here!”

He smiled indulgently and reached over her to hold the door.  “Always depriving me of the opportunity to be a gentleman, aren’t you, luv?”

Emma huffed and allowed him to usher her inside.  She expected the hand at the small of her back to guide her towards one of the booths, but he led them, instead, towards the back stairs.

“Killian?” she asked hesitantly.

His ears turned a little pink.  “Do you trust me, Emma?”

“Yes.”  Her reply was immediate.

A boyish grin lit his face, but then he bit his lip nervously.  “Follow me, then.”

Unsure of where they were going - but never of him, not any more - Emma climbed the stairs behind Killian and was confused when he reached into his backpack for a key.

And a blindfold, she realized a moment later when Killian turned to face her.

“Just for a moment, luv, I promise,” he whispered as the fabric fell over her eyes.  She felt the knot being secured behind her head, but she wasn’t afraid.

Confused, yes.  But she’d follow where he led.

Emma heard the door in front of her open and felt Killian’s fingers tangle with hers.

“A few steps forward, Emma.  Now turn.  Just there.  Wait a moment and you can take off the kerchief.”  His voice was quiet, hesitant.

The door snicked shut behind her and a quiet ‘click’ sounded in front of her.  The noise was familiar, but Emma couldn’t place it at the moment, straining as she was to hear where Killian was.

“Jones?”  It was half question and half warning.

“Now,” he commanded quietly.

Emma pulled off the blindfold and blinked in the soft darkness.  The only light came from two candles - a blue 1 and a red 9 - sticking out from the middle of a cake.

A birthday cake.

Emma stood, speechless, for a long moment.  Her eyes were glued to the flames in front of her, her mouth working but unable to find words.

“Bloody hell.”

His whisper and his hurried steps startled her out of the shock.  

“I… I shouldn’t have listened to Ruby.  I’m sorry, luv.  We can just… go, if you want.  I should have thought-”

“Thank you,” she forced out, still caught up in the emotion of the surprise.  She’d never felt this way before.  No one had ever done anything like this for her before.  “It’s perfect.”

Killian took her hand in his own, brushing a kiss over her knuckles before he moved to swipe away the lone tear that had escaped her usually well-controlled hold on her heart.

“Are you all right?  Truly?”  He sounded frightened, unsure, lost.

Emma just nodded, finally moving to blow out the candles as she made her wish.

Please let him love me as much as I love him.

She blinked and squinted as Killian finally flipped on the lights.  The room was a bit dated, but definitely one of the inn’s rooms for rent.  There were two covered plates and silverware on the little card table he must have sweet talked Granny into setting up for them.  Emma turned to find Killian, but a flash of something shiny caught her attention.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! was hung on one wall, the ‘H’ bent and a little bit torn.  The sign wasn’t quite straight, and the streamers that were taped up next to it were in danger of falling off the wall.

It was perfect.

Killian came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder.  “Ruby said you shouted at her last year when she suggested throwing a party, so we thought this would be better.  No surprise party, luv.  I promise.  Just us.”

Emma could feel the tremor in her smile as she turned in his embrace to face him.  “Thank you,” she whispered again.  

“It’s my pleasure, luv.  We should eat before Granny’s good cooking gets cold.”  Killian pulled out a chair for her and helped her sit before he lifted the cover in front of her with a flourish.

There was a grilled cheese and onion rings spread across the plate, a little sprig of something green garnishing the meal.

“I’ve almost forgotten…” he trailed off as he searched in his backpack.  It took him a minute to pull his treasure from the depths, but he finally emerged victorious with a battered pair of candleholders and two tapers.

The noise Emma hadn’t been able to place earlier was the lighter Killian used to light the birthday candles.  He set the pair on the table before he took his own seat and revealed a cheeseburger and fries.  They ate in companionable silence, the quiet only working to put Emma even more at ease.

The cake was clearly store-bought, but it was chocolate and it was the first birthday cake she could remember having that she hadn’t shoplifted for herself.  Emma savored each bite, ignoring the way Killian watched her eat.

“What?” she mumbled through a mouthful.

Killian ducked his head and scratched behind his ear.  “Nothing, Swan.  I’m just happy you like it.”

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know.”  She took another bite of cake.

He smiled ruefully back at her.  “I gathered that when Ruby was the one to tell me about your birthday and not you.  I wanted to.”

Emma didn’t have an answer for that.

When they were finished eating, Killian pulled out what was obviously not his laptop and set it up on the bed.  Emma curled into his side, biting back a grin when she saw the flowery desktop image.  “Mary Margaret’s computer?” she asked quietly.

She felt Killian nod against the top of her head.  “Everyone helped a little.  Those were David’s mother’s candlesticks, Ruby convinced her grandmother to let us have the room for the evening, everyone helped.”

Emma felt like she was going to cry again.  She’d never thought…

The DVD player started up and the title screen for The Princess Bride came up.

“Belle said you borrow this book from the library so often that it must be one of your favorites,” he said.  “But I have others if you’d like to watch something else.”

Emma tangled their fingers together and settled in.  “This one, please.”

The kiss he left to the top of her head was accompanied by a soft, “As you wish.”

The look in the police officer’s eyes was a mix of compassion, wariness, and something else that Killian couldn’t quite put his finger on.  It was almost like regret mixed up with anger, but it didn’t really matter.  Nothing really mattered any more.

He looked up without raising his head when the man cleared his throat.  “What do you want?” he growled.  Liam would have clapped him upside the head for the disrespectful tone, but Killian had no control over it at the moment.

The officer’s brow rose incredulously, but then his face dropped and Killian thought he looked sad.

“We got a hold of your father, son.”

Killian glared at the moniker.

The man cleared his throat again.  “He said that your br… that you already had adequate transport home and that you could travel by yourself.”

Killian’s head shot up, the familiar feeling of disappointment at his father’s indifference towards him now made worse without Liam as a buffer.

“If you want, we can arrange for a social worker to travel with you as far as the ferry stop in Dublin.”

Somehow, that made the feeling even worse.  Killian shook his head ‘no’ and tried to huddle further into Liam’s jacket.  He’d have to get used to fending for himself soon enough.  No use delaying the inevitable.

“No, sir.  That’s fine.  But I will need a ride back to where we were staying to pick up my things.  I don’t have much money, but I can get a cab from there.”

“We’ll get you to the station at least.  You keep your money.” The officer sounded apologetic when he added under his breath, “It sounds like you’ll need it.”

Killian nodded reluctantly.  “And what about…” he trailed off, the words caught in his throat.

Thankfully, the officer seemed to understand.  “We’ll need to do an autopsy before we can release him.  It will be a few days.  Should give your family time to make arrangements.”

His family?

Killian wanted to rail, to yell that his only family was lying still and cold in a freezer somewhere, alone and half-forgotten already.

But Killian wouldn’t forget him.  No, he was going to save him.

So instead of yelling and letting loose the hold on his anger like he wanted to, Killian just shut down.  He followed the officer to the car and robotically packed his things.  He sat alone in the terminal, clutching his knapsack filled with some of Liam’s shirts and items he was afraid his father would get rid of otherwise.  He crossed the channel in a daze, sitting as alone as he could manage with his arms wrapped around his knees.

His father wasn’t waiting for Killian when he got off the train after the long ferry ride, so he took a cab back to their flat and let himself in.  The darkness and stark silence that greeted him made Killian shiver.  After he hid the knapsack in his closet, he curled up in Liam’s bed, wrapping himself in the warm blankets that still smelled like his brother.

Killian wasn’t sure how long he slept for, his eyes dry and puffy from letting his guard down before he fell asleep.  He had been awoken by the light from the hallway streaming across his face, his father leaning against the doorframe.  Even from across the room, Killian could smell the alcohol.

“It should have been you,” his father slurred before staggering away.

Killian’s eyes shot open, his cheeks surprisingly damp.  Emma was leaning over him, her long hair tickling his neck where the ends brushed back and forth.

“Hey,” she whispered.  “Are you all right?”

Was he?  It wasn’t like his father’s disappointment was anything new.  And it wasn’t like he’d had any reason to even think of the man lately, not with how the evening had gone.  But clearly, his subconscious had had other ideas in mind as he nodded off with Emma tucked into his side, the slide of her skin against his tiring them both out.

“Better now, luv,” he settled on for an answer, smiling a bit tremulously when she reached up to gently brush the tear from his cheek.  Her fingers ghosted over the scar his father had left there and his eyes fluttered shut at the touch.  Killian locked the memories that had disturbed their sleep securely away and-

-Emma’s lips brushed against his, the soft touch startling him a little bit.  Before he could look at her, she kissed each eyelid, then his cheeks, then moved back to slant her lips over his again.

Killian let everything fall away from him then, the memories and the disappointment and the scars that were his upbringing, and concentrated solely on her.  He moved with her, allowing himself to just feel under her gentle ministrations.  Bloody hell, did he love her.

He thought she had drifted back to sleep after they came down together, but her quiet words drifted up to him.

“I never thought it could be like this,” she whispered, her hands wrapping tightly around his forearms when he tugged her back to his chest.  “Before, with other… it was different.  It wasn’t… like this.”

Killian’s heart clenched at the sadness in her tone.  What little he knew of her last few years in the system made him appreciate the stability he’d had in Storybrooke’s accommodations for him.  He may have had to stay in the freshman dorms for most of his tenure there - only just managing to move into the sophomore dorms this semester with Will and his friend John - but at least he didn’t have to contend with irritable foster parents or crass ‘siblings’ who would seek to take advantage of someone like Emma.  Determined to erase those memories from the moment for her the way she had for him, he pulled her closer, burying his nose in the hair just behind her ear.

“If you’ll let me, I’ll make sure it’s always like this from now on,” he whispered back.

Emma turned her head so she could capture his lips with hers.

“Happy birthday, Swan.”

He fell asleep to the sound of her even breathing.

And was awoken hours later by the sound of harsh knocking on the door.  Granny’s voice filtered through the haze.  “Jones! I need this room clean and ready to go in an hour!  Up and at ‘em, boy!”

Emma’s muffled laughter came from his side and he turned to kiss her ‘good morning’.  “Come on, luv.  I’ll buy you breakfast.”

He rushed through getting dressed and cleaning up the room, the sound of the shower running in the background as he did.  It only took him a few minutes to pull down the sign Granny had found for him and to trash the streamers he’d dug out of Mary Margaret’s ‘just in case’ box in her room.  He had just finished packing everything in his knapsack when Emma sidled up behind him and draped herself over his back.

“Thank you again, Killian,” she murmured, the warmth of her skin against his back making him question why they’d gotten out of bed in the first place.  “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

He smiled and turned in her arms so that she was pressed against his chest when his arms came up to wrap around her shoulders.  “Well, I intend to do something like this for you every year from now on.”

“Why?” she asked hesitantly.

Killian smiled down at her, brushing a kiss over her forehead.  “Because I can and I want to.  After all, Swan, I'm just a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.”  The moment the words were out of his mouth, Killian froze.  His heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, his breath trapped in his lungs, a chill down his spine.  Too soon, Jones.  Too bloody soon.

Emma stared at him for a moment before she broke into a grin and pushed up on her toes to kiss him.  Pulling back, she asked, “Did you just quote Notting Hill to me? Who even watched that movie?”

The breath left his lungs in a ‘whoosh’, time speeding up as she stayed where she was.  “I…” he smiled.  “I might have done some research.”

Emma laughed then, a sweet and light sound that Killian wanted to bottle up and take everywhere.  “Into what?  Cheesy chick flicks 101?”

He smiled, but he could feel how it stretched across his face.  His tone was a little more serious than he intended when he replied.

“No, Emma.  Into how to do this.  I’ve never done this before.”

She pulled him in close and whispered in his ear, “You’re doing just fine on your own.”

“I just want to do right by you.”

Emma shuddered.  “Kil-”

“Now, Jones!”  Granny’s voice echoed through the room and both he and Emma jerked apart, searching around the space frantically.

When he was assured that the formidable woman was, indeed, still outside and not breathing down his neck, Killian took Emma by the hand and pulled her into one last hug.  “Come on, luv, let’s leave the charming widow Lucas to her work.”

When she nodded, he picked up his knapsack and guided her towards the door.  Emma kissed him chastely before she bent down to pick up her own bag.

“What is it?” she asked, and it must have seemed to her like he was looking at her as if he was afraid this was all a dream.

It certainly felt like a dream.

Killian smiled, recalling another of the movies he’d watched - huddled in the corner of the library for hours at a time with earbuds jammed in his ears and praying that no one saw what he was studying so intently.  “I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my life the way I feel when I’m with you.”

Emma smirked, but her smile turned soft and she squeezed his hand.

“I am, too,” she whispered before tugging open the door.

The rest of the semester flew by, classes and his application to the graduate program and Emma's constant support at his side making the days seem a little less long and a lot less lonely than his first three years had been.  The nights she wasn't wrapped in his arms were cold and the few hours of sleep he did manage were fraught with nightmares.  Killian hadn't relied on another human being as much as he did Emma since his brother had died, and it frightened him how much she meant to him now.

But it frightened him more to think of what might have happened if Archie hadn't paired them up.

The Thanksgiving break was fast approaching, and Killian was so busy trying to convince David that the engineering department would let him work on a Masters' candidate's project in his senior year that he didn't realize when the University shut down for the long weekend.  All he knew was that the lab door was locked and his research was inside.  Killian banged his forehead on the door and gripped the door handle until his knuckles went white.  He was getting more and more frustrated as the days went by - between the grants he'd been promised getting pulled and the lack of new funding being provided, Killian was starting to think that he'd been a fool to turn down Oxford for the promise of more distance from his father.

"If you stare at that door any harder, Jones, it's going to combust."  Emma's voice echoed down the hallway, but Killian didn't have the wherewithal to lift his head from the door.

He felt her hand fall between his shoulder blades, and the warmth eased some of the tension from him.

"I had a feeling you'd forget the lab would be locked this weekend," she said, her other hand coming up to jangle a jump drive in front of him.  "So I saved all your work to this last night before Dr. Hopper kicked me out."

Killian whipped his head around to stare at her incredulously.  "You... that's my..."

Emma nodded.  

“Take love, multiply it by infinity and take it to the depths of forever… and you still only have a glimpse of how I feel for you,” he quoted from Meet Joe Black, pulling an incredulous smile from her.

“How many movies did you watch?!”

Killian just shrugged, a small smile starting to pull at his mouth.

“Come on.  I have frozen chicken nuggets, instant potatoes, and the suite to ourselves for the next four days.  We're going to have Thanksgiving dinner and then you can try and concentrate on this”- she jiggled the drive again -“while I yell at whatever football team is playing horribly.”

He didn't touch the drive all weekend.

Monday morning, however, began with Emma waking him far too early with plans to spend their last hours alone lazing about in bed and working up a sweat.

Ruby had just stomped into the common room as Killian got out of the shower, Emma discreetly behind him, when he noticed the notification that he had an email from Archie on his phone still thrown haphazardly on the futon.  With his glasses still fogged up from the shower, he had to squint at the screen when he picked it up.

Mr. Jones, could you please stop in my office this afternoon at 1pm to discuss your ongoing project for the Physics department.  -Archie

“As much as I like the free show, Killian, I think Emma’s gonna get jealous if that towel slips,” Ruby snarked, startling him out rereading Archie’s words for the fifth time.

He automatically reached for where he’d cinched the towel, his cheeks burning at Ruby’s appreciative growl.  Before she could make another remark, Killian ducked into the bedroom, adopting a glare when he found Emma leaning against her desk with a look that he could only describe as saucy.

“Looking to add a little spice to-”

“Nope!” he interrupted, his whole face aflame now.

Emma swung her hips as she moved across the room to him, her hand coming up over his on the towel.  She stood on her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear.  “Good.”

They locked the door and missed their first class.

When they finally emerged, Ruby still sprawled out on the futon and grinning maniacally at them, Killian tugged Emma into his side and whispered, “I’ve got another one, if you’ll let me…”

“Oh, go ahead, Jones,” Emma laughed.

“I've come here with no expectations,” he began.  “Only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours.”

She looked impressed.  “Sense and Sensibility?  You really did do your homework.”

“Well, I am an A-student, Swan.  I like a challenge.”  He paused.  “Will you be at the lab after my meeting?”

“Of course.”

With a kiss for luck, Emma finally let him out of her suite and he rushed across campus to get to Archie’s office.  He was only a few minutes late - an inconvenient flock of Canadian geese had waylaid him by chasing him halfway back towards the dorms - but the look on his advisor’s face made it seem like he was hours behind.

“Ah, here he is, now,” Archie gestured wildly at Killian, a proud grin stretched across his face.

Killian’s brow wrinkled, wondering who Hopper was talking to.

And then, like a snake slithering out of its hidey hole, a man stood from where he was perched against the wall and limped into Killian’s line of sight.  He was slight, shorter than Killian was, and hunched with age.  There was something about the man’s eyes that made him seem cold, dark, and untrustworthy.

If Killian were more prone to dramatics, he’d have called the man evil.

Whatever the man wanted here, Killian was determined that he wouldn’t get it.  He entered the room warily, keeping one eye on the stranger as he took his seat on the opposite side of Archie’s desk.  His shoulders tensed when the man came to stand behind him, gnarled hands resting on Killian’s shoulders and keeping him in place.

“Mr. Jones,” Archie spoke as if Killian wasn’t being held against his will in the seat.  “I’d like you to meet Robert Gold of Gold-Pan Financial.”

Killian tried to rise under the guise of being gentlemanly, but the hands tightened imperceptibly and kept him seated.  

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” he forced out through gritted teeth.  “Professor, I can come back if you’re not through here.”

“Nonsense, dearie,” the man finally spoke and Killian forced himself not to shudder.  He wouldn’t give the man the pleasure of knowing how uncomfortable he was.  “I’m here for you, you see.  I’ve been looking for a worthwhile project to invest in for some time now.  My company gets in on the ground floor of endeavors like this, and I’d be happy to fund your entire project.”

Archie was grinning, but Killian frowned.  “And what do you get in return?” he asked warily.

Gold laughed, a high-pitched giggle that set all of Killian’s nerves on edge.  He needed to get out of here.  Soon.

“You’re right, of course, Dr. Hopper.  He is a very intelligent boy”- Killian snarled at being called ‘boy’ as if he were beneath this man -“I would leave all the science to you, my boy.  I know nothing of what you study.  But I would be the one to market your project down the line - for a cut of the profits.  And one more thing,” he trailed off.

Here it bloody comes, Killian thought angrily.

“I…” Gold choked up a bit.  “I lost my family years ago.  An unfortunate situation that my wife misconstrued.  It was all my fault; I see that now.  But she took my son from me and I’ve not been able to convince them to give me another chance.  My boy is half-grown by now, and I’ve lost them both.  Should your project be successful” - he squeezed Killian’s shoulder again - “all I would require from you is a chance to fix that.  To save my family from the heartbreak we’ve all experienced.”

Killian wanted to gag, but Archie was beaming like Gold had just delivered him the Nobel Prize.  How could he not see that Gold was playing them, playing him?

He was already shaking his head before Archie could speak.  “No, that’s not it.  Or at least, that’s not all of it.  There’s some kind of trick here and I’m not buying it.”

Archie’s face dropped.  “Killian, maybe you don’t understand what’s going on here.  You’ll still be in charge, Mr. Gold only wants to make a profit from your future success.  All this allows you to do is get the materials you need without having to deplete the department’s resources.”

He felt like a bobblehead doll as he continued to shake his head no.  “No deal.  Not with the likes of him,” - Killian stood abruptly and finally shook off Gold’s grip - “I don’t need his blood money.”

“Killian Jones!” Archie exploded angrily.  “I don’t know what your problem is-”

“My problem is that I’m not going to get into bed with a crocodile and expect not to get bitten!  I’ll find another way, without his help!”

“Mr. Jones,” the oily voice behind him cajoled, “this isn’t a lie or a trick.  We can be mutually beneficial to one another with the right deal.  Perhaps it’s just a matter of-”

“-of twisting your words into something that sounds like a red-letter choice.  No.  Thank you, but there won’t be a deal today.”

He stormed out of the room before Archie or Gold could register his absence.

The slamming of the door echoed down the empty hallway, but Killian’s head was too swamped with voices to even register it.  His father’s patent disapproval - I always knew you’d fail, you lunk.  Don’t come crawling back to me, now.  Archie’s confusion - This is everything you want, Mr. Jones, I don’t understand.  Emma’s tacit support - We’ll find another way, Killian, don’t worry.

His brother.

Liam’s voice was echoing above all the others, and Killian couldn’t figure out which was his response and which was Killian’s own jumbled thoughts.

I’m proud of you, little brother.  Stick to your principles and you’ll be just fine.

Why haven’t you saved me yet?

What are you doing with your life?  You have the world in your hands and it’s slipping through your fingers.

It’s okay to move on, Killian.  I’m happy for you.

Is Emma Swan really more important to you than I am?

Killian needed to find Emma and let her silence the cacophony in his head.  He needed her support now, more than ever.  She’d said she’d meet him at the lab.  That’s where he needed to go.  That’s where everything would make sense again.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Emma shouted, her voice echoing across the lab as he finished explaining what had happened.  “Archie told you already: there’s not enough money.  They’re pulling your grant entirely.  If you ever want to move this away from the theoretical science, Gold’s deal is the only option.”

Killian threw the pen he’d been fiddling with across the room.  It bounced off the wall and clattered on the tile floor.  “No.  No, there’s got to be another way that doesn’t involve getting into bed with that… that crocodile.  I won’t be beholden to him, Swan.”

Emma threw her hands up in the air.  “Why?  What possible reason could you have for not wanting to accept this man’s money?  He’s already told you he knows nothing about the science and only has an eye for potential and finished projects.  Gold has no intention of slowing you down.  He just wants to help you, Killian!”

“What? Out of the goodness of his heart?” he sneered.  “No, Swan.  No, there’s a catch.  There always is.”

“Of course there is.  He wants to go back and save his family.  Just like you do!  He wants the same thing as you.”

Killian shook his head, surprised that she couldn’t see the man for what he was.  He lowered his tone, almost to a whisper.  “No, he doesn’t.  My brother was torn from me for no reason.  He was mur-murdered.  Gold lost his family fair and square.  Whatever happened, and I have no doubt that he’s lying about it, that man wants to manipulate something.  And I won’t make a deal with him to get what I want when there has to be another way!”

Emma shook her head and her shoulders slumped.  “I don’t understand you.  He just wants the love of his family back.  He just wants another chance to make things better for them.  If I had the chance to have a family, to have grown up knowing that kind of love…” she trailed off and Killian could see the tear as it tracked down her cheek.

He felt horrible.  The last thing he wanted to do was to make her cry.  He knew what she thought family should be.  He knew the hurts that she carried deep inside her weren’t easily healed.  He knew he couldn’t understand what it was like to grow up an orphan.

But she didn’t understand either.  “Just because you have a family, Emma, it doesn’t mean that you know love.  Not every father is capable of loving his wife or his child.”

Killian left it at that, slinking out through the door and leaving behind the regret and, possibly, his entire project.

Tagging: @gusenitsaa, @katie-dub, @kiwistreetswan, @lenfazreads, @xhookswenchx, @killian-whump, @eala-captian, @kmomof4, @onceuponaprincessworld, @couldnthandleit

[underoossss]

Don't Stop the Music - Tom Holland

part two

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader  

Warnings: nada 

Words: 2099

A/N: Hello! I’m back with another imagine, this time is a series! The reader is one of the professional dancers in Dancing with The Stars and this season she’s paired with her celebrity crush. There’s no denying there’s something special about them both that soon blooms into something else. Basically friends to lovers and lots of dancing. 

The Dancing with the stars fic no one asked for but we all need.  I figured Tom would be amazing in DWTS so that’s how this fic was born. I’m so excited to share this with you, this will probably have at least 10 parts and I’ll try to update skipping a day or sooner if I get it done earlier. I hope you enjoy it, here’s part 1!

Here’s what excites me every time spring starts, the flowers start to show again and they are laced with conviction and effort. Spring has every dancer blooming with adrenaline and new ideas because it’s not only the season of colors, floral patterns and bright grass, it is also the season when we get to prove ourselves in Dancing with The Stars once more.

Everything is at stake when you’re the rookie, specially the youngest at 21 years old going for 22. Even if I have already been on the show for two seasons I need to prove myself that they didn’t add me to the team for nothing. I have to show them what I got and even if I haven’t won yet I know that I will, at the right time. Maybe it’s this season, maybe it isn’t but I’m here to give it my all. All those sleepless nights practicing to get admitted to dance academies will pay off, bleeding feet and aching legs will pay off. It’s a matter of time.

The public does seem to have developed affection towards me since I joined the pro dancers team, even when I haven’t made it to the finals week yet. That’s my goal: baby steps until it is my turn to cross the finish line. Now that spring started, we were called again for the show two weeks ago and today is the day we see who we were paired with.

 As always I was a human mix of nervous and excited, I still can’t get used to the rush of emotions that surge from competing again and the joy of seeing my friends and fellow dancers almost every day once more. So I was on the tip of my toes since the moment I woke up, actually, I have been like that since the phone call. I’ve kept in shape of course but for the past two weeks I’ve returned to the routine of hitting the gym and practicing everyday while also changing my diet a little bit. But today, oh dear, today was such a thrill-filling day that I don’t think I would have been able to work out this morning even if I tried.  

 I really had no idea who I was going to be paired with, part of the fun was that the production team never gave a single clue about who they casted for the season but I know that whoever it is, we will get along just fine. The pairs are made depending on personality, height and other aspects of both the dancer and the celebrity and so far, the casting teams have paired me with awesome people with whom I’ve gotten along just great. So I know this season will be no different.

 I also knew we would have to start choreographing today, for the opening with all the dancers and for the first dance with our pairs. I fetched my gym bag and packed jazz and lyrical shoes just in case, two towels, some tights and an extra t-shirt as well as the necessary supplies every dancer needs on their bag such as Band-Aids, cream for any sprains or cramps and head ties. I went ahead and changed into sweatpants, sports bra, a white t-shirt and sneakers before going to the kitchen and chopping an apple into cubes.

 Taking the plate with me, I moved towards the mirror by my bedroom door to brush my hair while I ate the apple.  I proceeded to fix my eyebrows a bit since there were going to be cameras and having nice eyebrows is, well… nice. Once that was done I had nothing else to do than fill my thermos with water, grab my keys and head out of my apartment.

 I put my bag on the back seat before starting the car and driving out of the garage and into the hellish L.A traffic. Making my way to the studios, I let myself wander who my partner would be this season, but coming up empty of any realistic options. I don’t think I’ll be assigned to someone very popular, since they are exclusive for dancers like Derek or Sasha not for rookies. I immediately shrugged that thought off, who says a rookie can’t handle herself? I’m here for a reason aren’t I? They chose me for a reason.

 I waved at the few photographers outside as I walked my way through the lot, it was weird actually, that there were a couple of them since for the sake of the surprise no one should know who the celebrities are.  I found Val and Derek talking once I made my way inside and greeted them with big hugs, they were also excited that the team was together again specially us three that have built a strong friendship. We agreed on meeting for dinner after we’re done for the day before we went our separate ways waiting for the big reveal. Walking down the hallway I waved at Peta who was talking to Mak, they waved back before we were all told to go to each of our dance studios so we can get ready and meet the stars that were appointed to us.

 Rounding the corner at the end of the hall, I opened the door to studio #4 which has been mine since I started working on the show. I set my bag on a chair by the mirror before going to the steps on the back of the room, sitting down and tapping my foot mouthing “I’m so excited!” to the cameramen opposite to me. I decided to get my phone out of my pocket and posted an Instagram story making an anxious/excited face captioning it with ‘Who will it be? Who will it be?’

 I put it back on my pocket and the cameramen gave me the cue to start talking for footage for the show. “Well,” I started, clasping my hands together, “As always I really have no idea of who I’m going to be paired with and I’m really excited to meet them. I have no doubt that whoever walks through that door will be amazing and we’ll be a great team. I just have a feeling that this season is the one, you know, I know I’m relatively new but this season feels different. In a great way of course.”

 There was a knock on the door and I stood up making an excited face to the camera again before turning back to the door and going down the steps. The door opened revealing more cameras and a member of the casting team, behind them there were brown curls that suddenly moved to the side to reveal that they were attached to Tom Holland.

 I was speechless for a second, only a smile of complete surprise on my face. I seriously wasn’t expecting this, I mean, to say that I was a fan was an understatement. I was a huge fan of him, mostly because I was young and have been very familiar with his movies. This is Spider-Man! Right in front of me, and he is smiling at me!

 Shaking myself out of my daze I stepped forward to say hi and so did he, opening his arms and giving me a warm hug which I returned not before internally screaming. I reminded myself to keep whatever celebrity crush I may have harbored completely out of this before extending my hand for him to shake.

 “Hi, I’m Y/N Y/LN.” I smiled.

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Tom.” He said smiling back.

 I shake my head, “The pleasure is mine, I’m a fan of your work.”

 Tom chuckled, seeming flustered before looking back at me, “Thank you, I’m sure I’ll be a fan of yours too.”

 “I hope so.” I shrugged, laughing softly.

 The casting team left shortly after that, saying they’d be back in a while before closing the door. I made my way to the center of the room, motioning him to follow me before I sat on the floor, Tom doing the same across from me.

 “So from what I hear, you have background experience in gymnastics and ballet.” I started and Tom nods before glancing towards the camera currently filming us.

 “I know it’s kinda weird to have them recording everything we do but they’ll leave in a few minutes. They’re not actually here at all times.” I explained and he nods giving me a smile.

 “Yeah, I know some ballet and gymnastics. I hope that makes it easier for you to teach me how to dance.”

 “How to dance? Tom, after your lip-sync battle I think you’ve made it very clear that you are a really good dancer”

 He covered his face with his hands before laughing, “You saw it?”

 I chuckled and nodded, “I’m sure half of the world has seen it by now.”

 “Well, I hope not to disappoint you then, love.”

 “Of course you won’t, we’re going to win.” I offered him a fist bump which he enthusiastically returned.

 We heard the door closing and see that the camera crew left, so I decided to explain Tom how everything works so he can be more comfortable during this week that will no doubt be hectic. There are costume fittings, the opening dance rehearsals and of course our own dance.

 “So yeah, in a little while the producers will come with a bowl which tragically doesn’t have any nachos but pieces of paper instead with different rhythms inside it for us to pick,” Tom laughed before I continued, “With that we choose a song, create the choreography and rehearse our butts off.” I explained and he nodded gathering all the information I’m giving him.

 “Great, what else should I know?”

 “They took your measurements already right?” I asked knowing the standard procedure of the producers.

 “Yeah, a week ago. They said it was for the costumes.” He rested his elbow on his knee, leaning on his palm as he spoke to me. Dreamy brown eyes staring back at mine almost making me forget what I was going to say.

 “Tomorrow there’s a photoshoot, they’ll give us costumes for that. And those are the pictures that will be posted online to announce the pairs.”

 “So we should expect more notifications than usual tomorrow then.” Tom smiled and I nodded.

 “Your phone’s gonna blow up.” I said solemnly making him chuckle. “Anyways, after the photoshoot we’ll start working on the opening dance with all the pairs. Basically tomorrow is when we meet everyone.”

 “That doesn’t make me feel nervous at all.” He chuckles running his fingers through his hair, glancing around the room before looking at me again.

 “You’ll be fine, Tom.” I gave him a reassuring smile.

 The door opened and the usual crew of cameramen, producer and casting member came back with the bowl.

 Tom leaned closer to me as we stood up, “You were right, no nachos.” He whispered and I laughed as we walked towards the crew waiting for us.

 “I see you’re getting along just fine.” Angela, who was part of the casting team smiled at us.

 “Yeah, she’s brilliant.” Tom said smiling, throwing an arm around my shoulders, “I have a great teacher.”

 I smiled back at him before turning to back to the crew, “Who’s picked already?” I asked curiously.

 “Val, Sasha and Sharna,” Angela said.

 “You’re the fourth ones to pick,” Michael one of the producers announced as he held the bowl up.

 I turned to Tom, “Pick a paper Spidey.”

 “Hey that should be our team name, darling!” Tom said eyes widening in excitement. He turned to the camera, “From now on we’ll be Team Spidey.”

 I chuckled nodding and trying not to blush at the endearments that seemed to come so easily for him, “And our first rhythm will be…” I glanced towards Tom again urging him to pick a paper.

 He took a deep dramatic breath, taking his arm away from my shoulder to step forward towards the bowl. He closed his eyes adorably before putting his hand inside the bowl and taking out a paper.

 He laughed at me when I gasped as I looked over his shoulder to read what the paper said. He then showed it to the camera, “Rock and Roll. Well that’s gonna be fun, isn’t it?”

 “Hell yeah, we’re gonna crush it!” I held my hand up to Tom who high-fived me back.

 “She’s right you know, you should probably warn the others,” Tom warned the crew before sending me a wink that just about murdered me and then looked to the camera again, “Tell them to be ready.”

Thank you so much for reading, this was part 1 and I’ve planned for this series to have at least 10. inbox me if you want to be tagged.

taglist: @tomllholland @tomhollandhollaatme @x-parker-holland-x 💞

[gryffvndors]

in the cal-zone [draco malfoy]

request: “45, 55, 119, 179 and 318 for Draco? Of course, you don't have to use all of them, but I think it would be awesome if you did any combination of them, because I feel like they work well together. I also wanted to let you know I loved your Draco fic- you're an amazing writer and you've got yourself a new follower! <3″ - @quills-and-quaffles

word count: ~1700

a/n: guess who’s back, back again - it me back w more draco malfoy, the slytherin asshole who i love and hate at the same time! thank u requester for ur lovely compliments!!! thank u for following a lame teen like yours truly (,: also sorry i only did 2 of them yeet i just felt like they went together really well! an additional sorry for changing “i love u, u arsehole” to “i luv u, u arsehole” even tho i’m not rlly sorry. (: i hate myself for this title even tho i laughed like a hyena when i came up with it now enjoy this - i’m hungry for calzones *ben wyatt look into camera*

55: “have i entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

119: “i love you, you asshole.” 

“Mr. Thomas,” you smile, lacing your fingers across the counter. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It’s a slow day. You love slow days. Fewer people are hurt, you don’t have to deal with heartbroken families and friends, you have idle time to read, sometimes you are able to take a long lunch and go out with your boyfriend. Then again, you also have a slew of people who have a sixth sense, really, about when these slow days occur, and then make it their life’s goal to ruin them for you. For example, the elderly man in bright yellow standing before you, glasses askew, mouth twisted into a scornful frown, wand in the front pocket of his dress robes.

Why is he wearing dress robes?

“Yes, hello, girl,” he frowns, squinting at your name badge. Noticing how his beady eyes narrow in disapproval, you glance down and straighten it. “What does that say again? My eyesight is sore.”

Plastering a (probably strained) smile on your face, you repeat your name for possibly the hundredth time in the year you’ve been working at St. Mungos as a Healer’s secretary. If your calculations are correct, that’s roughly twice a week that he enters and forgets your name. You mean, you’re no good with names, either, but come on. “...Right,” he says a few seconds later. “I’ve seen your face before, I think.”

“I have assisted you every single week this past year, Mr. Thomas,” you remind him cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

Mr. Thomas eyes you, scoffing, and shakes his head. “I need my potion. Why else would I be here?”

‘Here we go,’ you think as you take a deep breath and prepare yourself for the oncoming verbal onslaught you’re about to receive. “Mr. Thomas,” you begin hesitantly, “as I have said before, and have said every visit you pay us-” you register his deepening frown and try to lighten your sarcasm a bit, “we do not give out potion prescriptions. We may issue them, but you will either have to go to an apothecary to fill them, or brew them yourself. I might suggest Diagon Alley’s apothecary, as I am friendly with the Potions Master who works there. If you are closer to Hogsmeade, then I recommend that apothecary as well. There are also apothecaries littered throughout Muggle Great Britain if you know where to look.”

His scowl deepens. For a fleeting second, you think the ends of his mouth might go under his chin. “I do not want to go to Scotland or London or go looking for half-arsed apothecaries in between Muggle shops. I came here for a reason. I need my potion, you stupid girl, how do you have a job here? How are you not fired or terminated for being completely rubbish at what you do for a living? How-”

“Mr. Thomas,” a crisp, cool voice behind him utters. Your heart flips at the sound of it. Mr. Thomas’ expression turns to one of apprehension, and as he steps aside for the man behind him, you crane your neck to look at his face. Your boyfriend stands before you, clad in clean, ironed clothes that, knowing him, most likely cost a fortune. His platinum hair is groomed, but not slicked back - he doesn’t do that anymore, but rather lets it hang in front of his face and runs his hands through it to keep it at bay, like he does when he meets your gaze with his pretty slate eyes. For a millisecond, his sneer twitches into something of a smile, but then changes back once his eyes land on the man you were corresponding with. 

Ah, you forgot that Draco is his boss. A shock of pride shoots through you, making you straighten your posture and stand up taller. “I advise you,” Draco continues icily, “to not speak to my girlfriend in such a manner. Apparate to Diagon Alley, fill your prescription, and return either to work, or your residence. I do remember you Flooing in sick this morning, or am I mistaken?”

Mr. Thomas averts his gaze, huffing softly. “You are not mistaken, Mr. Malfoy. I apologize to you and your partner. Have a nice day.”

“And to you as well, Mr. Thomas, do feel better and I will see you in my office at nine am sharp tomorrow morning. That will be all.” The sneer is a smirk now, which means Draco will be insufferable for the rest of the day. ‘Wonderful,’ you think, your internal voice dripping with sarcasm. You and Draco watch Mr. Thomas storm off, turning the corner to the Apparition point just beyond your line of sight. Once he is out of earshot, you chuckle, leaning forward to rest your chin in your hands.

“Mr. Malfoy,” you muse, a smile playing at your lips, “you are such an arse. You use your powers for evil things.”

“Evil?” Draco raises a blond brow. “My powers? Number one, since when was saving your arse evil? And number two, what powers do I manifest? Do tell,” he mirrors you until your noses are touching and you can see the flecks of light and dark blue in his otherwise grey eyes.

“Well,” you whisper, “maybe not evil. Maybe… trickery. Pranks. Jokes.”

“Standing up for my girlfriend is a prank? A joke?” You continue with ease, “And your powers of intimidation, of course. Draco Malfoy, Intimidating Boyfriend Supreme. You really are a catch, aren’t you? And you’re all mine.”

Draco snorts. He lets a hand run through your hair, tugging it loose from the bun you’ve fashioned it in with a quill. Once it’s down, he pulls you closer by it and kisses you from across the counter. You inch forwards and wrap your arms around his neck, melting into his body and, well, the cold St. Mungos linoleum countertop, but that’s only a small price to pay when you get this much-

“Mr. Malfoy, I appreciate how happy you make my secretary. Really, I do,” wryly comments your boss, Melody, the head Healer in your branch of St. Mungos. You two fly apart, blushing like teenagers caught in the broom closet. “But I would appreciate it more if you save the snogging until after her shift is over or, at the very least, her lunch break begins.”

You sheepishly scratch the back of your neck and bite your lip. “Sorry, Mel…”

Melody balances three vials of what looks like Dreamless Sleep in one hand with the other holding her wand to levitate two chests behind her. She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “It’s fine. There isn’t anybody in here. Besides, I know my word alone cannot keep you two apart.”

Draco clears his throat. “I wanted to inquire-”

“Yes, fine. Go get it out of your system with a long lunch,” Melody waves you two away with her elbow, shaking the vials in the process. One nearly slips, but she gets it at the last moment before you can whip your wand out to catch it in midair. “But if I catch you two at it again this week, Draco will be banned from daytime visits. Banned! I mean it!” She pushes the door open to the actual St. Mungos with her arse and slides through it, letting it swing closed behind her.

You turn to Draco, laughing. “She doesn’t mean it.”

Draco murmurs, “Does she ever?” as he reaches over the side to grab your purse. He slings it over his shoulder and leads you out from behind the desk. You wave a hello to your co-worker, Haley, as she takes your place, chatting with another Healer, Ivan. Ivan and Haley bid you goodbye, only Haley having the politeness to nod to your boyfriend as well as you. Ivan only glances passively at him. You sigh, lacing your fingers with Draco on the way to the Apparition point. Before you can enter for a Side-by-Side, you take him by surprise and wrap your arms around his frame, burying your head in his chest. He hugs you back immediately. You breathe in for a moment, inhaling something that can only be described as “Draco”. It’s clean, pristine, like soap, mixed with his expensive cologne and the sun.

(He likes gardening. Gardening. You think back to your Hogwarts years and imagine angsty, teenage Draco gardening. You can’t, but something about this Draco seems incomplete without his gardening. It’s amazing.)

You mumble into his shirt, “You’re extraordinary.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “I really am.”

You pull away to give him a light slap on the chest. His face breaks out into a huge smile. Your heart warms at the sight of it, a rare, but awe-striking image nonetheless. “Am I in a different universe, or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

“You’re definitely in a different universe, because I do not smile in this one,” he replies, still beaming.

You roll your eyes, biting your lip to restrain yourself from grinning. “I love you, you arsehole. Now,” you say, linking arms with him, “where to for lunch?”

“I was thinking I should take you to that Italian restaurant you wanted to go to the other night,” Draco suggests. “The… Muggle one.”

You blink, surprised. He says the word ‘Muggle’ not like it leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth, but like something somebody would say when they’re trying to find a replacement for a swear word. Cautiously, warily. You freeze, looking up at him. “...What? Do you not want to go there? We could get something else-”

You snort at how quick he is to retract it. “No, no, I’d love to go there. I’m… proud of you, is all.”

At that, Draco starts chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m trying. For you.”

You stand on your toes so you can reach your boyfriend’s face. You press a kiss against his warm, soft lips. It leaves a comforting, familiar feeling in your body, your fingers tingling as you reach up to press them against the sides of his face. When you break away, Draco plants his hands on your waist and leans back down for one more kiss.

“That’s all I could ever ask,” you whisper against his mouth, smiling. After pecking it once more, you hook elbows again, pulling apart for good. “Well, Draco, what kind of thing are you looking to try? Calzones? Pasta? I heard from Tessa their baked ziti is to die for.”

“What is a… calzone?”

A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You’re in for a treat, Wizard Boy. Come on, I’m starving.”

[mewlicent]

The curtain falls.  LONG post.

…So.  I bet you’re wondering why I called you all here… heh.

I HAVE A PROBLEM.  AND I NEED TO FIX IT.

I’ll cut right to it, then, because I had other stuff going on all morning/day and have only just gotten settled in front of my computer, and now it’s a whole day after I’d originally planned to do this, and so I think the time has finally come to stop putting it off and just “say my thing.”

I’m here to announce that I will no longer be updating this blog, at least until further notice but obviously it could be longer.  I hope that makes sense… sheez… anyway.

This was not an easy decision to make, darlings.  I wanted to love this blog.  I wanted to love blogging in general.  And fandom.  And shipping.  I wanted to fill this blog with that crabby ginger tabby, Millicent, hence the name, and Kylux in particular, and all manner of Star Wars and Night Vale and Carry On and my favorite actors, and above all, I just wanted to have a good time.

Those very things have gotten me and my best friend in a rut, and we recognize that there is an issue.  Not so very long ago, she and I became deeply invested in one particular actor, who I will not name but you are all smart enough to figure it out… and, quite honestly, the whole thing got extremely out of hand.  She and I are in no danger of breaking our friendship; I simply mean that this actor has been seen living his life and making personal life choices that were in no way wrong but still left us feeling… well… left out.  I’ll explain in the next paragraph.  The main thing you must understand is this: We are taking a step back from having anything to do with this actor or his work, and that in itself may very well be temporary OR it may be permanent, the jury’s still out on that.  More to the point, the depth of our emotional investment has truly gotten bad enough that we can no longer feel comfortable staying on Tumblr where the issue is perpetuated and exacerbates our negative feelings.

Now… to be frank, this whole thing that I’m doing started as an act of solidarity and loyalty to her, it wasn’t originally my pain or my issue, but the more I thought about it, the more I understood what I was dealing with and putting myself through.  And I realized that in other ways, it WAS my pain and it WAS my issue, just not in the exact same way.

At this point, I’m not too prideful to admit I did something very irresponsible.  A few things, actually.  I can’t speak for her, but as I brought up to her the other night, I am starting to really blur the lines between fiction and reality.  I was real-people-shipping, seeing no other pairing and preferring no other pairing except for my best friend and this actor, and it was causing terrible pain for both of us even though this actor had done nothing to us directly.

That isn’t all.  I wasn’t much better in that regard.  I’m protecting my best friend’s privacy a bit by not mentioning the name of the actor that she and I fell for… but I will mention a name that connects to my own situation.

That name is Carrie.  When I started this blog, back in July of last year (hey, at least I made it past the first “birthday!”), I had only wanted to throw fandom stuff at it and see what looked good.  And then, that December, when Carrie Fisher had her heart attack and passed away, the entire mood of the blog shifted and changed and never really went back to the way it originally was.  I didn’t actually realize it had gotten that bad until many months into the vicious loop, when I only had to see a pic of Carrie or Leia to just feel so sad and heartbroken at her death all over again, even after I thought I had recovered.  Before I knew it, I started to only go on Tumblr whenever I was feeling sad or anxious, not for the purpose of cheering myself up, but to stay sad instead.  And that’s where I am now.  This obsession with mourning Carrie, on top of the anxiety of blurred lines and worrying about sad friends has led me to feel very suffocated, anxious, and depressed on an almost constant basis, and I really don’t think it started being this bad until I got back into Tumblr.  (This was my second account in over three years at the time I started it up.)  To clarify: I am not blaming Carrie Fisher or any bloggers for my spiral.  I’m saying I was starting to become as addicted to her as I was to this other actor.

I need to say something else that’s very important, and by not saying it sooner I hope I haven’t caused anyone to worry or feel bad.  My best friend and I are safe.  We are safe, our lives are not in danger, we are going to be okay.  It is nobody’s fault on here.  Nobody here did anything wrong.  We (as in she and I) tend to dislike the general atmosphere, but this particular hardship is not related to anything that anyone here did specifically.  By getting the heck out of here when we did, we prevented the problems we were both having from getting any worse.

I honestly think that does it for the main body. Onward now to the shout-outs and thank-yous.  If I’m forgetting anyone, I am truly sorry!  I love you ALL.

@skarsjoy: Oh, my dear friend.  You are one of my favorite people, and even though I honestly didn’t reblog that much Alex while I was here, I know you understand that I’ve always appreciated everything you’ve done for me and for the Alex fandom.  I’m on Twitter still, so we can still talk.  Thank you for being such a wonderful friend.  You’re so sweet, giving, and patient, and I love you dearly.  I truly admire your willingness to post my reviews back in the day, and I just want you to know they’ll always be my favorite posts you’ve ever done.  Keep on keepin’ on, and I’ll see you on the Twitt side.

@mixtapemasterjipc: Heyyyy, Jude. This is honestly one of the hardest parts of leaving this place.  I have so many other people to thank, but you’re way way WAY up here because I just have so much to thank you for.  In particular, what stands out to me is that time we watched Hungry Hearts together, and the time you came “running” to take care of me after that humongous sad post I wrote, and our first real life phone call together.  “Girls” is still my favorite, and I’m so grateful you sent me season 3 for my birthday last year.  I enjoy your wit, your big heart, and your knowledge.  Thank you for coming to find me, and thank you for letting me in.  I’m sorry for the tough stuff in the past.  Let’s keep trying.  Together.  I ain’t goin’ anywhere for real, dude, like, seriously.  Between Twitter and texting (and by the way, thank you for sending me your number!) you won’t exactly be able to get rid of me, so do. not. worry.  I Love You.

@dxmi-illustrates: Hey you, thank you for talking with me when I first started hanging around this place.  You’re a fantastic artist, and I hope that’ll continue to go well for you–I loved For Rent, especially.  Good luck with all that, doll.  Also, good luck with school!

@pidgy-draws: Sweetie, thank you for the chats.  I’m happy I got to know you.  You draw such cute art and I’m very proud of you! ^w^

@rebelwerewolf: I have a lot of respect for you.  As a blogger, you have paid such loving respect to the Star Wars and Kylux fandoms, and as much good as you’ve done for this community, I hope that something wonderful happens to you too someday.  Thank you.

@kyluxtrashbin: THANK YOU for my Christmas card!  You’re so sweet and smart, and I’m happy to have known you for the short time I was here.  I’ll write to you, sweetheart.  Thank you.

@thegoodlannister: You just have such a sweet personality and I’m happy we’ve had the chats we did.  You may not have ever known this but I started as a Stark and now I identify as a Lannister.  You’ll hear my roar on some other distant shore, dude, I promise.  Thank you.

@mintmintdoodles: You’re adorable and a darling, I love your freaking art, and I just really wanted to thank you for letting me use your Kylux + Millie chibi pic as my profile pic.

@elviscl: You’re incredibly awesome.  You are an insanely talented artist, and I’m so happy the Kylux fandom has you.  Keep on truckin, you.  Thank you so much for letting me use that Kylux + Millie pic as my banner.

@deluxekyluxtrashcan: You’re a very talented writer, mah dude.  Never give up.  I love you.  Thank you for the chats.

@flukeoffate: HEY LAYDEE. Thank you for the artwork you’ve done for me over the time I’ve been here.  I’ll talk to you on FB still!!!  Hope everything is going okay for ya.  Love love!

@helliskylux: Where do I even start with you, my love? You have such a good heart, and gods I just hope wonderful things happen to you. Thank you for your friendship, and for all the love.

@minzimpression: I just think you are so talented and funny. Hotline Bling is such an amazing story, one of my most favorites.  Thank you for your hard work and for talking to me.  I fucking love you.

@teatimeinspace: You’re lovely!  Thank you for your contributions to the Kylux fandom, and I wish you love and light and all good things.

@han-sulus: I really hope you’re doing okay.  Thank you for your friendship.  I love you so much.

@kylux-fic-hell: You’re awesome, and I love your fics!  Never let your light die. Thank you for your work.

@hux-you-up: Your blog is epic, and I enjoyed following you! ^_^ Thank you.

@kyleauxwren: UGH YOU ARE AMAZING.  I wish you all the best!  Thank you for your contributions to the fandom and the art world!!  My favorite thing was the Millie pins, but I’m absolutely floored by your other art! Congratulations on all your successes, and good luck with future ones!

@drxgonstone: It’s been a pleasure knowing you.  I’ll never forget that one of the first things we talked about was how beautiful your account is (back when it was ohkylorens).  And I honestly hate that I’m having to leave now, just when it’s all decked up in some of my new favorite things, Game of Thrones and JONAERYS.  Dearly love ya, friend.  Thank you.

@nightsofllyn!  Words can’t express the level of respect and gratitude I feel for you.  I absolutely adore Blue Milkshake, like you have no friggin idea, and I wish you all the best in continuing it.  To be fair, I wish you the best in everything. You deserve it. Thank you for putting up with the ridiculous level of my fangirling.  Love ya!

@wishfulfanficing and @missaliarman: First off, you’re so lovely to me, and I love that you’re a Leia fan.  Second, my dear, I’m going to send you the Carrie mall fanfic when I’m done with it.  Thank you so much for your email address; I look forward to keeping in contact off of this haunted hill.  I LOVE YOU dearly.

@lenina-phasma: You’ll be hearing from me very soon, friendly friend.  We did exchange emails.  I’m not going to disappear.  THANK YOU for your support.  I’ll help you with Come Blow Your Horn anytime you need a nudge.  I’m looking forward to The Sorceress and the Skeptic, too, cher.  Mucho love.

@pinkyhuxy: SO MUCH PINK.  Thank you for your contributions to the Kylux and Pink!Hux fandom. You’re a gem!

@chacharger: Like I don’t even know.  I feel like such a complete creep for walking away from this place after you gave me the Carry On confession blog.  I’m sorry for that, and I just wanted to say thank you again for giving me the opportunity to try to work on it.  I hope everything goes well for you. <3

@darthastris: You’ve been so good to me in my time on this site, as well as on Twitter. I’m sorry that everything happened so suddenly.  It’s going to take some time but I’m going to get back up on my feet eventually and move forward.  I’m so grateful for your presence in my life, and I’m glad that I’ll still be able to communicate with you once I take my leave of this little corner of the “world.”

@bpdhux and @endoglenic: I have no words for the gratitude I feel toward both of you, for sticking by me as I go through a lot of changes all at once.  I’m happy we get to continue talking over email; I think that makes this a lot easier.

@solohux: Little Lottie, darling, I’ve truly adored every interaction we have had since we became friends here.  I will deeply, utterly miss you.  We have had a lovely few months together, haven’t we?  I’ll email back and forth with you if you want, just check out my addy in the bottom of this post!  I will always think of you whenever I see foxes.  I love you, friend.  Hang in there.  You can do this.

@imperatrixxx: I want to let you know I have a GREAT deal of respect for your mission of helping kitties.  I’ll never forget our journey together to help rescue Millicent and get her adopted.  Thank you for reaching out after I had to let go of baby Asus back several months ago.  May your streets be paved with scratching posts and your home filled with as many kitties as your heart can handle.

@strawhat-giraffe: AAAAHHHH! Hey, so I know we didn’t get to know each other very long before I freaked and ditched this joint, but I wanted to say I LOVE that you’re a voice actor too, and if you’ll email me (bottom of the post) I’ll send you my voiceover work in an audio file!  OODLES of love and light to ya, friend! 

@fanbows: You’re truly my favorite Rainbow Rowell blogger!  Thank you for your contribution to the RR fanbase!  You deserve so much good in return for the good you do.  I think everyone deserves a pot of gold like you at the end of their rainbow. (I am a cheese, so what? Ha! Sorry not sorry ^^)

@yofriesenburg: Now, one of the reasons I joined Tumblr again was because of Snowbaz.  You, friend, are probably my favorite EVER Snowbaz artist.  I hope everyone everywhere gets to see your art, CO or otherwise!  Thank you.

@ottenebrare: I don’t know if I mentioned this to you on that night when I asked you about your name, but I truly admire you.  You have contributed so much to the Kylux fandom, and you have a beautiful soul on top of that, and I don’t know I just really love you.  I did get more sleep after I sent that message to you, and all I can tell you is I’m trying as hard as I can in life.

And lastly, @missmendelsohn.  I’m sorry.  I tried.  I tried but I just couldn’t fight anymore and I have to step back and just try to be brave through whatever this nastiness is.  Please.  Keep “it” safe, and please don’t tell anyone.  Thank you for your contribution to Tumblr and to the fam.  You’re a good girl.  You did nothing wrong.  I love you.

Special mentions to other deeply loved and respected favorites that I didn’t necessarily have a whole lot of contact with: @sigalawin @eglantineprice @reylooo @confessuponatime @dearmyblank @thelastmessagereceived @ryanreynoldssource @fuckyeahreynolds @arrivedmad and @ben-mendelsohn-trash.

My email, should any of you wish to remain in contact with me off of here, is tama2224@gmail.com.  Thank you all.  May the Force be with you.

R.I.P. Mewlicent’s Domain: July 29, 2016 - August 22, 2017.