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hazbincalifornia · 2 years

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Year in Writing

My end-of-year writing reflection! And by reflection, I mean 'thing that's the equivalent of those 'post an art piece for every month' memes'.

Essentially, this is just a collection of writing snippets, one picked from each month. (Some of the ao3 links may have a different post time, that's because they were posted on tumblr initially during that month. Some are also NSFW, so be warned, but those will have a little note next to them.)

Here's to another year!

Jan- link

“So you’re the one who wanted the private show, huh?”

“Guilty as charged. I came to see your circus a bit ago, and I must admit, you captivated me. Such a perfect little specimen… I wanted to see you up close.” There’s adoration and delight tied up with a bow of something darker, dripping repression and obsession.

All four eyes are glowing, white pupils pinpricks as they focus on Blitzo. Electricity thrums up his spine as he’s seen, seen in a way that burrows down to his core, tail idly winding in the air before snapping like a whip and making the owl blink. His strained grin twitches, half-melting into something cockier.

Feb- link (nsfw)

“Hmm.” He crawled closer, cupping Blitzo’s face in both hands, and Blitzo’s mind swirled further as the heat bubbled the blood around his brain, deep purrs rumbling through his chest as everything wobbled the way the air always did on too-hot days when the tar melted underneath your feet. Magic thrummed throughout his body, but all he could tell was that it was making Stolas touch him, and anything that made Stolas touch him was good. “It seems that having little Stellaluna had some physiological effects.”

Mar- link (nsfw)

“Okay. Get on your knees.”

That was… unexpected. Kit blinked, and Clove twirled the watch again, sending a glow from his fingers into the case. It caught the light, the magic inside reflecting a prism on the wall for a brief moment before Kit decided to drop down, black jeans hitting the carpet. Clove ran his hands through his hair, murmuring soothing words about how he was such a good boy that pulled a purr out of Kit. He could live in this moment forever, looking up at the speckled quilt of skin and the pointed teeth and the mesmerizing way that Clove’s hair bounced with every little motion of his head, not quite feathers but not quite hair either.

“You want to be a good boy, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kit replied automatically, and Clove stroked up one of his antenna before his grin widened and he spread his legs.

April- link

Daddy meant two things, to Stolas. When warbled or excitedly chirped out of the beak of his young chick, it was love and admiration and the knowledge of protection and security, that nothing could hurt her as long as Daddy was here. Daddy was a warm lap to rest on and a comforting presence that he was happy to provide for his stunning little starlight, his sweet blossom who peeped out the title with wide, innocent eyes and chubby, flushed cheeks.

When it was teased out from under the lips and between the teeth of his little circus imp, though, Daddy dripped with bloodied honey, slick and dangerous and powerful in an entirely different way. So often, Blitzo used it to remind him of the difference in their ages in addition to a jab at how the baby in his belly got there, even though when it came to prowess in sexual matters, the imp was the one with more practical experience. Daddy was the tip of a crop sliding along the skin before it struck, the fire burning in his stomach when cooed out like a prayer, the thrill of how wrong and yet right all of this was. Even when he was the one letting it slip from his beak, it was all a play, a dance to keep them both on their toes as they figured out together what this thing that they shared was.

May- link (nsfw)

Satan’s sweet pussy, he knew they’d said something about heats being worse if you don’t let one in now and then, but he’d soaked through his turtleneck and coat in mere minutes and already felt like throwing himself into a shallow grave just to fuck whatever worms happened to be crawling in and out. His hips gyrated in the air, and Loona’s nose twitched again before she pinched it shut, voice stuffy as she spoke.

June- link

He waits. He wants to justify himself, but what can he even say? She knows what’s been done- what’s been done by him to her lovely, brilliant spitfire of a child. She has his flame, he can see it in her eyes and how she holds her hands, but there are decades of bricks built up to keep it from being blown out.

“I know how it works.” She’s chopping some orange fruit into pieces. The knife is razor-sharp, and she spins it in her hand expertly before turning her head to face him with steely eyes. The words are well-planned as they spill out like a spool of barbed wire, and he realizes suddenly why this is the woman who named her children the way that she did. “You think that you’ll care, but you get the choice to run. He doesn’t. He grows attached so easy and he already loves the baby you put in him. I’ve spent eighteen years trying to keep them from cracking and sinking into the worst aspects of themselves like so many around here do, and I don’t want to watch my baby boy break because of you.” She impaled the point of the knife in the cutting board, and even though Stolas knows he could turn her to stone with a glance, he finds himself gulping. “If you’re going to love him, love him, and treat him like a prince. If you aren’t…” She trailed off, and Stolas can see his own distorted reflection interrupted by rivulets of juice running down it. “Don’t waste our time.”

July- link

His hand fell flat, and a nervous laugh bubbled from his chest as delight echoed in his blood. He could feel an echo of his own movement, curled up and curious as they prodded back out with their baby hand. They were safe. They were happy. They were tired. But when he draped his tail over his stomach, pure bubbly love of the kind he hadn’t felt since he was a kid curled around his brain like marshmallow fluff, sinking in and soothing away the self-doubt for just a moment.

They were excited enough to see the world that they were still spilling all over, but the flood of joy at simply living, at being himself, was overwhelming. (Had he ever really, truly loved himself this much?)

Aug- link

Fear and anger and boiling ancient magic bubbled inside her until they burst, swelling inside of her belly before riding up her throat. Stella coughed up a single feather as deep red as the back of a blasted skull. A moment later, droplets of her own navy blood splashed on top of it. Then… the flood.

Feathers choked out of her, smothering as they poured out fast enough to bury her form entirely with red and black and red and red and red as she clawed at the floor. Sticky and searing, her head split in two and also into a dozen pieces while they melted to her skin, sinking through her clothes even as something erupted from her back. It burned as it tore through the bone and muscle with a scream that not even the endless feathers could muffle. Her breath twisted inside her lungs as the growths on her head and back unfurled, fresh flesh still sore enough that it hurt to twitch. She could see everything cracked and shattered and from different angles as she slowly, shakily rose, fingers twitching as her claws extended at a thought even as they bled from the base.

Sep- link

Wisps of that same contentment as before trailed up his nerves, along with a tiny and muffled warbling coo. It wasn’t nearly as strong this time, but it had started the exact moment he’d started rubbing his stomach, so it had to be the kid saying ‘hi’ in the only way that she could short of bruising the inside of his skin by going for the boxing championship. It was a cheaper high than coke, at least, and a soft smile spread across his face at both the sound and their shared sense of serenity.

Oct- link

Blitzo’s eyes were blown wide, tail curling around his legs as he watched Stolas’s expression shift from confident to flustered. This was just like Kat and the Envy imp, he knew how this should end, but his racing heart at the thought of being captive was only equaled by the flames pooling between his legs at the thought of being wanted that much. “Shit, could have fooled me, but let’s put a pin in that one, alright?”

Nov- link

It had been sleeping when he left.

It was fine.

He was going to get out of here.

He was going to get out, and it would be fine, and Barbie would drag him to a nearby bar and scrub him clean of the sweat and dirt and cum and then she’d cake him in makeup to cover the bags under his eyes and things would go back to normal, and it would be fine, and someday they would be able to laugh about this like the time in Lust they’d had to-

It was fine.

Dec- link

“Incorrectomundo.” He pointed the tip of the marker at her. “I have changed my mind exactly once. I thought Stolas was taking the kid, then I felt like shit about the thought I’d have to do it, and now I don’t because I want her. Any other existential crises that happened between those points are none of your legal business, missy and mister.”

“Crises?” Moxxie raised an eyebrow, and Blitzo mimed a zipped lip.

“Like I said. None of your beezlewax. I’m keeping the kid and I will find a way to not have her fuck with business. My personal life is my problem.”

#shadow writes stuff #technically

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valoisfulcanellideux · 10 months

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About AToTD and These Stones Remember - updates

[Cross-posted to Dreamwidth]

I've spent part of the evening beginning to work on language and grammar rules for the next story I'll be writing, once These Stones Remember is finished. For now, I'm only referring to this new story by the title's initials - AToTD - since I will probably be writing this in full before I start posting it on AO3.

I've done something for AToTD that I've never done before, and that is commission an artist for the story's cover (which I will also use as an updates banner when posting notifications on Tumblr & Dreamwidth that a new chapter has gone live). The artwork is getting closer to completion, and I'm incredibly excited to see it, based on the initial draft I've been sent. I won't spoil who the artist is right now (and I won't confirm or deny any speculation that may occur in the comments!) but once it's ready and I'm deeper into writing the story, I'll start teasing it ;)

The new story will be another Copper King one, so Pixlriffs peeps you'll have a new fic from me next year to get your teeth into. But be aware that it's probably going to be a bit darker than These Stones Remember, and I very much doubt that it'll be as long as that, either. It'll be as descriptive as my work usually is, but rest assured that I won't be veering into anything too graphic (at least, I hope not; I tend to infer things like that and leave any 'graphicness' to the reader's imagination).

The above is one reason why I want to write the story in full before I start posting. As yet, I'm not sure how dark it's going to go, so whether it needs to be tagged as T (Teen and up) or M (Mature) based on that is a decision I don't want to make at the start of the story.

What does this mean for written content from me between posting the end of These Stones Remember, and the start of AToTD? Well, you'll still get one-shots and shorts from me as the inspiration strikes. I have ideas for short follow-ups both for I Stand Amid the Roar and Hoard - or How Curiosity (Almost) Killed the Goblin, and I fully plan to begin work on These Stones Remember II, which will be a series of standalone things, from worldbuilding notes to tranches de vie to AU and deleted scenes, so those who loved Paix, Mhenheli, Nehle-aalh, N'dachVeip, Hadita, Xsia-Minai'Te, et al will still have plenty to read.

As to These Stones Remember, tomorrow (Friday 14th Dec) is the day when the final story chapter (actually Epilogue I) will post, sometime between 8pm and 9pm GMT, so look out for that.

Lastly, I plan to create a free, downloadable PDF version of These Stones Remember sometime early next year, so that you can keep a copy of it. I'm also 90% decided toward commissioning more artwork (same artist) for the cover of that PDF, but since I want to format the whole thing properly, as well as tweak a few tiny bits in earlier chapters and include the two remaining epilogues, please don't expect that to arrive anytime soon! When it does, though, I'll include a link to it in the author's notes at the end of Chapter 80. (I have my own website, so don't worry that I'll be using Mediafire or any site that may take it down for some weird reason.)

#atotd #these stones remember #writing updates

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up-in-flames-writing · 2 years

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I posted 1,073 times in 2022

That's 738 more posts than 2021!

37 posts created (3%)

1,036 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@writting-in-blood

@bookerbluedragon

@treasures-and-beauty

@peashooter85

@insomniac-dot-ink

I tagged 1,072 of my posts in 2022

#reblog - 1,023 posts

#weapons - 324 posts

#swords - 209 posts

#about writing - 121 posts

#daggers - 106 posts

#writing advice - 82 posts

#writing memes - 80 posts

#writing inspiration - 78 posts

#writing meme - 63 posts

#poetry - 58 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#completely ignoring the fact hes a mentally disabled man whos struggling to make ends meet & atruggling to live with himself & all hes done

My Top Posts in 2022:

Pride commissions

Happy Pride month, folks!

In lieu of the gayest month of the year, I'm opening up Pride commissions, cause I'm a broke queer who needs to pay for his pet rabbit! Yeah, ya heard me right! I'm opening up event commissions before my actual commissions! Isn't that great?

So, this is how this'll look:

If anyone wants a short story or fanfic with a theme of queerness (anything gay, bi, ace, trans, even polyam, literally anything queer) hit me up. All of them are a flat rate of £5 (not DOLLARS, pounds, do the math, don't skimp out) & all of them will be between 1k & 2k words.

If you want a short story, this is how it will work: Send me a private message through tumblr, with a screenshot proving you've tipped me 5 bucks through tumblr (I am not comfortable sharing my paypal account at this moment in time), as well as a synopsis of what you want me to write about. You can ask me for a number of fandoms, & I will let you know if it's something I can write for. And if you want a story featuring your characters, please link me to a few posts talking about said characters so that I can get a feel for their voice & how they act. You can also commission me for multiple stories, although be realistic please, I still have my own life to lead.

Here's also the link to my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpInFlamesWriting

At the end of June, I will post all of the fanfic commissions at once. If you asked for an original piece, I will send that to you when it's done.

And if anyone wants to request a poetry commission (Pride-themed or otherwise), my rate is £1 per line, with a minimum of 5 lines & a maximum of 20. I will let you know how long the poem is for you to tip me, & then I will send it over.

I also do flower poetry:

This is a piece I made for a friend. For poetry of this style, I will be taking a flat rate of £15, & you can choose the type of flower you want the poem to be about, & I will expect pre-payment as with the fics. If you want a different font, do let me know & I will adjust it accordingly, but for more complex fonts I will be taking an additional £10 for a £25 total. (For transparency's sake, the flower drawing is a tracing of a picture, I didn't draw it. I traced over a digital real life picture of a flower, but I do know how to draw flowers in real life)

With that said, happy Pride everyone! Stay safe, keep fighting for your rights, & never stop being proud of who you are.

22 notes - Posted June 2, 2022

Slava Ukraini

I am Booker Feniks. I am a Polish writer & poet. I stand with Ukraine, & send my best wishes to everyone fighting the good fight. May the old gods watch over you all.

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29 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

Yo! I have a Ko-fi now! If you peeps like the work I do, please consider tipping me a coffee! Can’t say I’ll drink it, I’m more of a tea guy, but I’ll still really appreciate it!

https://ko-fi.com/upinflameswriting

40 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

Trans day of Visibility 2021-2022

Happy Trans Day of Visibility! I am a trans writer, & I am making myself visible with these two poems for this special day!

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48 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

To preface this: I am yet to watch Our Flag Means Death, but I have read the original Good Omens novel.

And, quite frankly: I am pissed at people who are comparing the two (for good reason) & then saying that OFMD is better than Good Omens because it isn't 'queerbaiting'. That because it has explicit gay rep, it is somehow better (but, quite frankly, I've only seen that being said on twitter, luckily.)

&, sure, you can be happy about explicit gay rep & funny pirates, I'm happy about it too! But to tear down Good Omens just to uplift OFMD is a horrid, acephobic thing to do.

Yes, you've heard that right, calling Good Omens queerbaiting is ace & arophobic. Because Good Omens isn't a tale of two gay men in gay love. It is a tale of two genderless & sexless beings being in love. It is a tale that is FULL of love, without the sex or the kissing. It is a tale that I, & many others who are ace &/or aro can recognise! It is love without the romance, love without the sex, but still so explicitly LOVE, even without the markers of what the heteronormative society deems as love.

All you allos are entitled pissy brats if you think Good Omens is queerbaiting. You are so stuck up each other's asses that you can't fathom a love story not have sex or even fucking kissing! Isn't this what we used to fucking fight for? To desexualise gay sex so that stuck up, self-righteous Christian bigots stopped seeing our love as something inherently sexual? & now you dare turn around & dishonour a queer love story because it is not 'explicit' enough for you. You are all pathetic, hypocritical assholes, & I am not afraid to say it. The community doesn't stop at gays & lesbians, & the A is there for a damn good reason. Do better, or shut the fuck up.

109 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Whew what a year

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juniperallura · 7 years

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Woman King: Chapter Fifteen (Final Chapter)

ao3 / header art / playlist

“This is why you need your own chambermaid.”

Keith pursed his lips as Lance’s face popped up from his chest. “I’ll get right on that, Your Highness. Perhaps I could borrow Miri, when you haven’t the need for her?”

A smile curled over Lance’s lips as he reached out to finger the tassels that hung from Keith’s shoulders. “Awful sarcastic tonight, aren’t we? All because the prince had to fix your buttons?”

“You know I am unused to this sort of thing.” Keith scowled, fussing with the hem of his formal jacket. “This attire, this ball…” His eyes dropped from Lance’s, surveying the prince’s quarters rather than meeting his bright gaze.

“Keith, love,” Lance’s hand tapped against his chest, “This is nothing to be anxious about. You’ve seen battle— this is dancing, drinking, feasting. We can finally let everything…melt away, yes?”

Keith glanced up. Lance’s eyes were soft, his smile hopeful. Keith frowned. “Well,” he sighed, folding his hand over Lance’s, “Not everything.”

Lance’s face fell. “Keith-”

“-I know.” Keith squeezed Lance’s hand, trying to swallow the lump that threatened to rise in his throat. “But, especially after everything that happened with your engagement…having to spend all night watching you dance with girls in the court— it is not a great prospect.”

Lance reached out to cup the side of Keith’s face. “I know,” he murmured, “Believe me, I wish things were different. What I would give to tell those girls to go harass Shiro instead, because all of my dances are claimed-” Keith chuckled, leaning into the warmth of Lance’s hand. “-But we will be together for the rest of the night. That is better than nothing at all, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Keith said, studying the crystalline eyes that glinted at him. He leaned forward to press a slow kiss to Lance’s lips. Nowadays every kiss, every touch, felt like reaffirmation. Lance was his, and he was Lance’s. Keith whispered, “Will you dance with me now, then?”

Lance kissed him again, smiling against his lips. “Of course.”

Keith slid his hand down to Lance’s waist as the prince entwined their fingers and laid his head against Keith’s shoulder. Keith rested his chin on the crown of Lance’s head and started humming, an old Gaian love song he remembered his father singing to his mother. It was barely a dance, the two of them swaying gently in a small circle, but it was enough. Just to hold Lance in his arms was enough for Keith.

“Lord Prince, Master Keith! You’ve been summoned!”

Miri’s voice came muffled through the door, ending their moment when it had only just begun. They pulled away with a sigh, Lance pressing his lips softly to Keith’s forehead.

“Alright then,” Keith said with a bracing smile, giving Lance’s hand one last squeeze, “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Attention!”

Silence fell over the crowd, all heads turning toward the grand staircase at the head of the room.

“Presenting Her Majesty, Queen Allura!”

Several gasps came from the bodies that pressed close to Shiro in the crowd, but he was silent. His mouth had gone dry, his jaw slack. All his bodily energy seemed to have gone into trying not to drop his glass.

She appeared in the candlelight like some idyllic vision, floating down to the ballroom with an elegance unparalleled. Her hair was pinned in curls like sculpted moonlight, exposing the gentle slope of her shoulders. Her dark skin was glowing softly and as she reached the bottom step the crowd parted to make a wide clearing, as if sensing they were not worthy to encroach on her ethereal sphere.

Allura glided first over to Coran, who clasped her outstretched hand with a deep bow. She leaned in and pecked a kiss against the older man’s cheek, whispering something in his ear that made him smile fondly. He replied, too low to hear, and patted her hand.

Next she moved to Lance, standing further down along the perimeter of the dance floor. He met her likewise with a bow, pressing his lips to her knuckles when she offered her hand. The prince opened his mouth as if to speak but Allura pulled him into a tight, albeit brief, hug. Smiles and whispers traveled through the ring of subjects, all perhaps wondering where the famously icy exterior of their Queen had gone.

Allura left Lance and began slowly floating down the line, meeting the greetings of the court with nods and smiles. With every rustle of her trailing skirts and flicker of her gaze a wave of fidgeting seemed to wash over the crowd, among the young men in particular. With the familial greetings completed, the ball’s attention turned to the question which had preoccupied Castle gossip since the announcement of the victory ball— whom would Queen Allura choose for her first dance partner? As she made her way further along the ring, intermingling expressions of disappointment and relief broke out among the rejected eligible.

Shiro watched the proceedings with amusement, trying to ignore the jealousy that crept into his heart at the sight of the knights adjusting their posture, their hair, their cloaks, in the hopes of catching the eye of the beautiful Queen. He reminded himself that it was only one dance he would have to watch, nothing more than a formality. She would choose the son of some Lord, perhaps one who had given the most resources to the war effort. It was only political.

But then, she paused before him.

For a moment Shiro forgot even to bow, so lost was he in her luminous curls and glowing skin and infinite eyes. She held out a gloved hand with an almost coy smile. Keith, standing beside him, elbowed his side. Shiro clamped his hanging jaw shut and bent low at the waist, delicately bringing her fingers to his lips. “Your Highness,” he murmured.

“Shirogane-” Allura spoke in a loud, clear voice for all to hear, meeting his gaze without trepidation. “-Warrior of Gaia, Valued Adviser, Bearer of the Blessing of Altea. Might you join me in beginning this night of victorious celebration?”

A tide of whispers rose from the crowd, but Allura only tilted her head at him, expression unchanged. Shiro pressed his lips together to hide a smile. He gave her another sweeping bow. “It would be my great honor, Your Majesty.”

Hand in hand, they walked to the center of the grand ballroom. From the far end of the room strings began to swell and she met his bow with a curtsy. The dance began, a traditional Altean waltz that had been popular during Shiro’s time as a Gaian officer. Their hands met and kept them anchored to one another as they slid apart, stepping in a circle at arm’s length. Even so close she was like a dream, glowing softly under the light of the chandelier. The crown that rested atop her head picked up the colors of her hair and eyes, its jewels glittering like a halo. Powder blue silk sloped off her shoulders, trailing sleeves draping against the folds of her skirt that erupted from her waist. Small flowers, embroidered in pink and orange, crawled up the hem of her dress and wrapped around her bodice, transforming her into some goddess of spring as she moved. Shiro was as stricken by her beauty then as he had been the first moment they met, when she had sat armored on her throne and stared down at him wrathfully.

“Yes, Shiro?” Allura hummed, catching his eye with a smile.

He blinked, her voice pulling him from his reverie. “I was only thinking that you look especially beautiful tonight, Queen Allura,” he said in a low voice.

A satisfied flush colored her cheeks. At a cue from the music they stepped close to each other, Shiro reaching for her waist as she rested one hand atop his shoulder and the other against his residual limb. “Well, you certainly look dashing yourself,” she murmured, “I like you in your military jacket, you know. You look sharp in black.”

A crooked grin pulled over Shiro’s face. “The music may disguise our conversation, but if you continue like that the redness of my face will surely expose us.”

Allura smiled softly as her gaze swept over the room that swirled around them. “Actually, that has been on my mind of late, Shiro,” she said, looking back at him and squeezing his arm. Her eyes became serious, searching his. “All those weeks when I was laid up in the hospital…well, there were times I wasn’t sure if I were alive of dead. But in those moments between my feverish dreams, when I had a glimpse of lucidity, my only thoughts were of you. When I awoke, and you were holding my hand- I never wanted to let go.”

“Allura,” Shiro murmured, resisting the urge to caress her cheek.

“Shiro, having you and Lance in my life is perhaps the only good thing to come out of this war-” Allura smiled, dazzling and full of hope- “And I do not intend to have either taken away from me. I have a surprise for you, later, that I believe will make things a little easier for us, and I think- well, perhaps the time for discretion is over. I am tired of hiding and sneaking. The war is over. Doesn’t it feel like a new chapter is beginning?”

The waltz drew to a close, strings settling into a joyous final chord. They had stopped moving, but Shiro was sure the room was still spinning. He met her shining eyes with a wide smile. “Yes,” he said, “It does.”

He stepped back, giving his partner a deep bow. The crowd clapped politely. Then, as Shiro straightened to lead Allura off the dance floor, he felt a hand gently catch the side of his face. He only had a second to register that her other hand had folded itself into his, and that her sweet perfume was wafting toward him from only an inch away, and that her lips were curled into delighted smile.

“I love you, Shiro,” she whispered.

She kissed him.

It was soft and chaste, like a phantom against his lips, but still, she kissed him before the whole room.

The applause ceased.

“I love you, too.” It came out like a breath, but he felt as if it were echoing through the silence, carrying up to the vaults of the ceiling. His chest erupted with a lightness he had never felt before, like he was suddenly floating an inch from the ground.

A whoop from somewhere in the crowd- certainly Lance’s doing- broke the silence, and another smattering of applause broke out. Allura, utterly unfazed, gave the room a sweeping gesture and called, “My victorious subjects- let the celebration begin!”

The music struck up again and the scandalized murmurs soon became lost in the hubbub of young courtiers scrambling to secure their first dance. Allura turned to him, her face still flushed with excitement. “I apologize if I took you by surprise, Shiro,” she said as she threaded an arm through his, “But I confess I feel as if an anvil has been lifted off my chest.”

“I could not have said it better,” he said in her ear. “And as always, your courage is the stuff of legends.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of twinkling candlelight, swirling dances, and bubbling drinks. Allura twirled across the dance floor, attending first to Lance and Coran and (a little to Shiro’s surprise) Keith, before giving the eager lords and knights their turn; she returned to snatch Shiro up as often as she could, although not as often as he would have liked. In the meantime, Shiro approached Lady Holt with a sweeping bow and led her to the floor while Matt and Katie- sweetly unembarrassed to be dancing with her brother- waltzed beside them.

Some time later Shiro found himself falling into a seat at the edge of the room next to Keith and Lance. Matt had shooed him away, having discovered that standing beside the man Queen Allura had publicly claimed as her own was efficient dance partner repellent.

“Having a good evening?” Keith smirked, taking a sip of champagne.

“And an eventful one, certainly,” Shiro chuckled. His smile dropped a bit when his eyes came to rest on the two younger men, whose only physical contact were the closeness of their knees. He lowered his voice, “I am sorry, really, that the two of you could not have such a moment tonight-”

“-Please, Shiro, do not apologize,” Lance cut in, raising his hand. “After all you’ve been through, you and Allura deserve your own night. And- we have our own moments.” He looked at Keith with a smile so full of fondness that it brought a surge of warmth to Shiro’s chest, and his own eyes flickered to where Allura was sailing across the dance floor.

“And besides,” Keith said, “With everything Queen Allura’s planning, change may well be on the horizo-”

Suddenly Lance shifted, and Shiro didn’t miss his elbow digging into Keith’s side. Keith went wide-eyed, bursting into a coughing fit and taking a long draw from his glass when he met Shiro’s raised brow. Both seemed oddly relieved when Coran approached and interrupted Keith’s attempt to speak again.

“Lord Prince, Young Masters,” Coran gave them a short bow, “Am I interrupting?”

“Absolutely not, my good sir,” Lance flashed a wide smile, gesturing for him to join them, “Are you enjoying the festivities? You most among us have earned a little celebrating.”

“Immensely, Prince Lance. I have not seen Altea this joyous in many years.” Coran bowed again, his mustache bristling with satisfaction. “But, if you’ll pardon the intrusion, I have business with Shiro— would you join me somewhere a little quieter, perhaps?”

Shiro drained his glass, throwing one last look at Keith and Lance, who seemed to be deflating in their seats, as he followed Coran into the hall. “Is something the matter?” he asked once they were away from the din of the party, “Has there been another development, with the Galra?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort-” Coran shook his head, a gloved hand reaching up to smooth his facial hair. His sharp eyes seemed to be scanning Shiro’s face rather seriously, but before Shiro could speak he started pacing a short length of the hallway and said, “Shiro, I have had the pleasure of serving the Kingdom of Altea for many, many years. First under King Alfor, and now under Queen Allura. I like to think I know her well. I was there when she was born, and her mother passed away- I had a bit of a hand in raising her, actually. I was there when her father passed, and I was there when she was coronated.”

Shiro swallowed. Memories of a talk which had begun very similarly came back to him, from when he was a only boy, caught flirting with the baker’s daughter when his mother sent him for their daily loaves. But that was long ago, and Coran was no village baker.

Coran, seemingly unaware of Shiro’s discomfort, continued, “She is the very heart and soul of our people. The joy that is so palpable tonight has her at its core.” He stopped abruptly, turning to look at Shiro. “But I did not realize until tonight, with her, ah, display, how closely you are tied to that joy. The way she looks at you- I have not seen such spark in her eyes for a long time. And as I told you before, Shiro, if the Queen trusts you, that is good enough for me.”

Shiro frowned, his gaze locked with Coran’s as he tried to discern exactly the meaning of the older man’s words. “Thank you, sir,” he said, slowly, “But I-”

Again, he was cut off with a hand. “As I said, I have become rather close to the royal family in my years, and as such I became custodian of a certain heirloom upon the King’s passing…” Coran reached into his jacket lining and Shiro’s heart skipped a beat.

Held delicately between Coran’s gloved fingers, glinting in the candlelight, was a ring. The delicate gold band was carved with floral motifs, all twisting toward a cluster of diamonds that shone brightly in the center.

“It was her mother’s.” Coran gazed at the ring with a wistful smile. “I was to hold onto it- in case she ever wished to marry.”

Shiro felt as if the bubbles from all the night’s champagne had gone to his head. With a pounding heart he reached out, hesitantly taking the bejeweled ring in his calloused, scarred hand. “Coran— I, I cannot thank you properly-” The words came out haltingly, caught in the growing rawness of his throat.

Coran only smiled, holding out his hand. Shiro tucked the ring safely away and then grasped it warmly— and to his surprise, Coran pulled him into a tight hug and clapped him on the back. “No thanks are needed, my boy.”

Some days later, Shiro was nursing a headache after a rough night’s sleep when a sharp rapping sounded at his bedchamber door. In the hall he found a young page, who bowed sharply to him and announced, “Master Shirogane, your presence is urgently requested by Her Majesty the Queen!” The page’s eyes flickered over him with an uncertain expression before he bowed again and called in a high voice, “You are also requested to be received by Her Majesty in formal garb, Master Shirogane!”

Shiro blinked, the pain in his head receding at the sudden declaration. “Urgently?” He grip tightened on the door handle, “Is something the matter? Is the Queen alright?”

The boy bit his inner lip, fidgeting with the edge of his tunic. “The Queen is alright, Master Shirogane, but beyond that I am not at liberty to say-”

“What do you mean, boy? What is going on?” Shiro’s brows knit, irritation beginning to replace his anxiety.

“Her Majesty forbade me from telling any more than I have, Master Shi-”

“-Very well, very well,” Shiro waved away the boy’s words, “Queen Allura has her way, doesn’t she? Wait here, I’ll only be a moment...”

A short while later found Shiro approaching the doors of the great hall, where he had first been led so long ago (for it couldn’t possibly be less than a year, with so much having changed since then.) Two guards stood between the doors and a group of young soldiers. Shiro vaguely recognized a few of them from his training, and as he came closer a familiar face elbowed to the front.

“Keith-” Shiro clasped his friend’s hand- “What is the meaning of all this? Were you dragged from your chambers as well?”

“Not quite,” Keith said, a smile on his face that Shiro didn’t understand. The swordsman threw a glance toward the doors of the hall. “All will be clear in a moment, now that you’ve arrived-”

As if on cue, the towering oak doors swung open, sending a gust through the hall. All murmuring ceased and the soldiers arranged themselves in pairs, with Keith and Shiro at the front. Suddenly a trumpet sounded and Coran appeared before the double lines, gesturing for them to follow as he turned solemnly on his heel and marched into the hall. Members of the court lined a central aisle and banners bearing the royal emblem lined the walls. At the head of the room, standing before her throne with a gleaming sword in hand, was Allura.

Shiro blinked, following Keith’s lead with uncertain steps. He caught the eyes of the Queen and the Prince, who stood behind her, but neither offered any explanation in their expressions. Finally, Coran approached the throne with a sweeping bow and called, “Queen Allura, I present the candidates for knighthood, distinguished by their valor in the Galran War.”

Allura was smiling at him. She spoke, something about honor and courage, but Shiro hadn’t been able to hear past word knighthood. Memories flashed before his eyes and started his blood pounding. He saw his badge, marking him as a Gaian officer, ripped from his chest and crushed under the foot of a Galra soldier. He saw his sword clattering to the ground as he cursed his left hand, useless and trembling from strain. He had found himself kneeling, battered and scarred, on a cold floor many times before, but now- now was so much different.

His heart soared as he felt the cold metal of the blade press against each of his shoulders in succession. A familiar voice said, “Rise, Knight of Altea.”

Shiro drew himself up, hardly able to keep the smile from his lips as he met Allura’s eyes, sparkling and proud.

He could see Lance beaming in the background as she did the same to Keith. One by one the soldiers that knelt on either side of him stood, each barely able to contain their happiness. The trumpets sounded again and Shiro turned to Keith, waiting for the crowd’s applause to signal the end of the ceremony; but his friendly only nodded toward Allura with a knowing smile.

She wasn’t looking at him, but a broad smile came over her face as she held up her hands to end the murmuring. “It is now my great pleasure to bestow additional honors on two deserving individuals, whose acts of bravery and loyalty to crown and country touched the hearts of all who bore witness—” She paused, fixing her gaze on Shiro with a fond smile as she approached with slow steps. When she came to a halt before him and Keith, a pageboy scurried to her side with velvet pillow displaying two Altean crests. “Sir Keith and Sir Takashi- I, Queen Allura, hereby offer the title of Lord to he who wishes to accept it. Take this as a display of my gratitude and good will, on behalf of the Kingdom of Altea.”

He and Keith answered in unison: “I accept.”

Shiro could not tear his eyes from Allura’s, shining like fire and ice, as she pinned the crest to his chest. Her hand lingered over his heart for a moment, before she turned to confer the same honor upon Keith.

He still felt blood rushing to his head when the ceremony was concluded and the crowd descended on them in their rush to the reception feast, but he managed to grab Allura’s hand in the crush of the hall and pull her out onto a balcony.

Shiro shut the door behind them with a slow sigh, happy to find a moment of peace after the unexpected excitement of the morning. The sun was at high noon, soaking Allura in its light and illuminating the young, early-summer greens that lay in the valley below the Castle.

Allura leaned with her back against the balustrade, surveying him with a smile. “So, did you enjoy my surprise, Lord Shirogane?”

Shiro could not answer, only crossing the balcony with a quick stride to cradle Allura’s face in his hand and draw her full lips to his. He felt her smile against his kiss as her hands settled around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. In that moment he didn’t care about all the titles and honors in the world; his only thought was of savoring her sweet perfume, her warmth, the touch of her skin against his, for another moment. “I love you, Allura,” he breathed against her lips.

Her hands slid down to caress the sides of his face. “And I love you, Shiro,” she mumbled, still brushing slow kisses against his mouth, “I meant what I said, that I would not let you be taken from me.”

He leaned in again, kissing her until they were both breathless and then wrapping his arm suddenly around her waist. He held her tight and spun her in a wild circle, free laughter bubbling up from his chest; she clung to him, squealing giddily like a school girl. “Lord Shirogane,” he said, setting Allura down with a grin, “I could have never imagined it, only a month ago— but I believe I could get used to the sound.”

“Good, it suits you.” Allura mirrored his bright smile, her eyes dancing as she caught her breath. “-And I hope this might give Lance and Keith a fighting chance.”

Shiro nodded, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “Now, shall we return to the festivities, Your Majesty?” He offered his elbow with a raised brow.

“If you insist-” She took his arm with a sly curl to her lip- “My Lordship.”

Hand in hand they returned, unable to keep the smiles from their faces as they dove back into the crowd; and so ended one chapter of their lives, and began another.

Epilogue:

The morning was almost unseasonably cool, one of those which seems to foretell the coming of fall, until the sun reaches its peak and warms the land again. But the sun had yet to graze the treetops, and it shed only pale pastel light on the two figures which circled each other in the center of the training pitch.

Shiro and Allura watched each other with faint smiles. The stillness of the morning, broken only by the crunch of gravel underfoot, was refreshing. Lately their training had become like spectacles for the members of the court, but alone at dawn they could conjure up old memories of clandestine sparring matches, fought in the bitter cold and near darkness.

Allura beckoned Shiro forward with a wave of the hand. They had decided to forego weapons that day, opting for skin on skin. “I haven’t got all day, Shiro,” she goaded, “Lance and Keith depart at noon, you’ll have to make your move before then.”

“The Queen of Altea, afraid to strike first? Must be losing your edge.” Shiro tried to keep match her reserve; but, as always, he couldn’t resist the jaunty smile that accompanied her taunts and lunged.

She anticipated him, of course, and lithely dodged his swing. With neither swords nor staffs their fighting felt tighter, faster, their bodies weaving together and pulling apart with every hit and feint. Every time one thought they were gaining ground, landing a few kicks or punches, they would lose it the next minute. Allura was all flashes of dark skin and silver hair; Shiro glints of feverishly focused eyes.

The sky had become colored gold with the sunlight that stretched beyond the treetops by the time their mingling cries ceased. Shiro hit the ground at the edge of the ring with a heavy grunt. Allura, triumphant, sat on his stomach with her forearm pressed to his throat. “Victory,” she declared through gasping breaths.

Shiro gazed up at her with a dazed smile. Her eyes were blue as the summer sky and piercing as the day he met her. Threads of her hair fell loose from her braid to stick to her tanned forehead, glistening with sweat. Her arm pressed mercilessly against his throat but somehow the words slipped out as though he were in a trance: “Will you marry me?”

Allura blinked. Her smile dropped as she pulled her arm away from him. “Shiro- are you-”

Shiro sat up and wrapped his arm around her waist, suddenly snapping out of his reverie. He looked into her eyes with a growing smile. “That was sudden, I know. But- I couldn’t help myself. I remembered our first match, when I thought you would have my head, and- and now here you are with your arm on my neck like a madwoman—” He let out a clear laugh as her expression only grew more confused. “And it just made me think of how much everything has changed. You came into my life and everything changed.” He shook his head in wonder, his hand reaching up to smooth back her hair. “Before I met you, I thought fate was cruel- like it only existed to bring me more pain, more misery. But then I realize that all of it, everything that ever happened to me, led me here, to you.”

“Shiro-” Allura whispered, her eyes glinting with moisture.

“Neither of our lives have been easy, but it comforts me to know that we can understand even a piece of each other,” he said, his voice softening. He reached into his tunic and drew out a ribbon that tied around his neck- at the end dangled a gold ring with a cluster of glinting diamonds. He quickly broke the ribbon with his teeth. “Coran gave this to me, on the day of the Victory Ball. Your mother’s.” Allura nodded, her lip caught between her teeth and hands fluttering unsure over Shiro’s chest. “Allura, I know this is not a simple thing to ask, nor an easy one to decide. But I promise that I will fight for you and with you until my last breath, and will help shoulder your burdens as best I can.” He sucked in a breath. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, Shiro!” She hardly let him slip the ring onto her finger before she flung her weight onto him, pressing passionate kisses to his lips. Both tasted salt in their kiss, but instead of ragged breaths came breathless laughter. “It was always easy with you, Shiro, always,” she whispered, pulling back so she could search his eyes.

The joy that burst in his chest left him speechless. He pulled Allura closer, peppering kisses down her neck and along her jaw. She ran a hand through his hair, smiling as she leaned to press her lips to the crown of his head. Eventually she tilted his chin up with a gentle hand, giving him one last tender kiss and savoring the feeling of metal against her finger as she cupped his cheek.

“I hate to say it, but we should get ready to see the boys off,” she sighed.

Shiro chased her lips for another touch. “Would they really begrudge a small delay?”

Allura rose to her feet, offering a hand with a smirk. “I fear Lance will already resent us ruining his grand farewell with our engagement- I’m not sure he would forgive tardiness as well.”

“He already had his day- we threw a feast for his appointment as governor of the new territories, and yet another for Keith’s adjoining military promotion. Or does he forget?”

“Now, now,” Allura slipped her hand into his, pecking him on the cheek, “It is my duty to speak that way of my cousin, not yours.”

Shiro squeezed her hand, chuckling good-naturedly. “Of course, Queen Allura.”

“Ah! The thought just occurred to me-” She turned to him with a bright smile- “You will have another change in title to grow accustomed to, King Shiro.”

#i finally finished it?!?!? a miracle #shallura #klance #shiro #allura #keith #lance #also peep the ao3 link for notes at the end!#woman king #writing #shallura fic #klance fic #shiro fic #allura fic #keith fic #lance fic #voltron fic #medieval au #voltron medieval au

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jostepherjoestar · 3 years

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Rodeo Gyro

notsfw !! // gn reader // taking care of Gyro and thigh riding

notes/warnings: thigh riding, mild biting, gyro teasing reader

I really wanted to write an nsfw Gyro fic since that cowboy makes my brain mushy. So here it is 🥰 yeehaw besties 💖✨

link to AO3

–NSFW BELOW THE CUT– MINORS DNI –

“On your left!” You grunted out with a heave as you tossed the hay bale towards Gyro. Droplets of sweat trickled down your skin, forehead already soaked from the heat and the beads running down your back not making it easier not to flinch as they settled at the base of your spine. It’s another scorching summer and the stables are worse off than the outside. You were never one to hate a good nap in the hay come wintertime, but during summers like these you wished to step out of your skin itself for some relief.

The blond easily caught your throw, letting out a small sound on impact he’d rather you didn’t hear. Can’t have you thinking he’s handling this heat any worse than you, now can he? Although, his shirt has been long gone. He proudly announced that Italians know how to handle heat, boasting that his grandfather worked in 45 degree weather and never as much as peeped about it.

You had rolled your eyes at his statement but the annoyance at his antics soon faded when he had revealed his torso.

His skin was a beautiful olive hue, no tan lines, indicating he had probably spent his spare time just as shirtless as now. The muscled lines surging over him seemed sculpted by God themself, a dewy shine having already settled on his godly abs and pecs.

And his arms, oh his arms. Those hay bales had kept him fighting-fit and soon your eyes trailed the expanse of his chest where short curly planes of hair rested, only further emphasising his muscular pecs.

Like you were being guided by the valleys and streams of a gorgeous landscape, you arrived right at the river mouth: a trail of more short curly hairs barely visible by their champagne colour leading you down a path of despair you’d happily embark on. It led all the way from his belly button down to where his jeans started, his signature belt buckle making you realise just how dry your throat had gotten.

And all this in a mere second, or two. Or at least five, who are you kidding? You had cleared your throat and resumed throwing Gyro the hay bales one by one, trying your hardest to focus on the task at hand. It had been going well too, a steady pace made time fly by quickly. Just a couple more to go and you’d be able to gulp down a liter of water and a glass of iced tea to top it off.

If only that glimmer of a bead of sweat making its way down Gyro’s sculpted back hadn’t distracted you. As Gyro slowly turned, time almost seeming to have slowed, you threw the bale right at his middle, much lower than anticipated and landing it straight into his ribs. You gasped and rushed over quickly to your helping hand who was bent over and breathing out painful wheezes.

“Watch where you throw those! Christ…almost knocked me back to Napoli”

But he regained his unaffected self after a few deep breaths, while you knew how heavy these stupid bales were. He swatted you off as soon as you tried to check the place of impact.

“Sorry Gyro…I got distracted! Uh, if you want I can finish up alone!”

You felt bad for letting him get caught in the crossfire of your longing stares, cursing this damn heat once again. He only brushed you off with another quip and urged you to throw the last couple ones faster so you’d both be done quicker. You could clearly see the hit bothered him but he remained ever prideful and kept on working till the last bale was stacked.

“Hey I’m sorry, man. I’ll watch out better next time. I think I have a salve that’s really good at soothing pain. I can go-“

Before you could even finish Gyro tutted, waving his hands a little too close to your face and scrunching his nose.

“That’s enough, I’m a grown man, I’ll live”

And with that he grumbled off, back to the main house where Johnny had been resting on the porch, trying just as hard to beat the heat.

—

Ointment in hand and as stubborn as the Italian you were bringing it to, you knocked on Gyro’s bedroom door. He had his own private guest room at Johnny’s place, they’ve basically moved in together but neither is admitting to it for some god-knows silly reason. But as much as they’re best friends, you’ve also got a neat spot on Johnny’s moderate ranch he acquired after the race. A bed to sleep in and a roof over your head for when you’re helping out at the stables like today.

Your knock was curtly answered, the door being swung open in one swift move, sending your hair flying in the startling wind of his antics.

A bit taken aback by his brashness you cautiously stepped inside. You were used to Gyro’s behaviour by now and had a feeling he was feeling a little grumpy, since he always gets like this when he’s hurt but too prideful to admit it.

“So I got you the ointment…” you leaned on the heels of your boots tentatively, trying not to stare at him.

Gyro had moved back into the chaise longue that rested at the end of his bed, obviously miffed, clenching his jaw while crossing his legs. Obviously the idiot was in pain with every move, and badly trying to hide it too.

“Gyro, stop being such a baby. Here-“ you slid over and joined him, the little glass jar already opened by the time your behind fully met the soft cushioned seating.

“ ‘M not being a baby. Just- do your stupid ointment thing please” He huffed under his breath, uncrossing his legs again.

“You uh, you’re gonna need to take off your shirt for that. Do you need help?”

Your question might have been earnest, filled with care for your close friend and his well being, but a small part of you was chomping at the bit to see his beautiful torso again. This time, even closer.

“Fine. Try not to stare as much though, darling. That’s what got me stuck with this pain in the first place” his remark was quick, finally turning to face you, his big golden grin shining back at you. Like his grills were rubbing salt in the gaping wound you didn’t know he knew about.

“Oh-“ you paused, trying to control the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Well. Shut up before I poke your bruise!” you scooped up a small dollop of the cooling ointment, hand hovering just above the already purple spot forming on his ribs. You really did a number on him with that hay bale.

Gyro clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, friendly bickering between you two was never far off. But his cheeky annoyance quickly washed away as the cooling gel met his warm skin. Your touch was gentle, rubbing circles on the sore area while your other hand rested on his waist. You looked so focused, your brow scrunched up and lips pressed tightly together in concentration. He’d always thought it was cute how lost you could get in your tasks. And he was beyond pleased he was your task for the moment. So pleased in fact, that he found no use in holding back his wiles anymore. Perhaps the lack of sweet and caring touches got to him- not that his pride would let him admit that fact.

“Say, why’re you holding on to me so tightly, sweetheart? I won’t run” Gyro teased, his tone dropping down to a sultry smooth grit that made your cheeks heat up once more. His comment made you snap out of your focus, realising that he’d been right. His comment only making you want the earth to swallow you whole.

“Just trying to be thorough, Gyro. A-and you were squirming! Now let me finish-“ you defended yourself. Not that you seemed all too sure of your case, the way Gyro smirked at you made your resolve falter more and more with each second passing.

“I wasn’t squirming” his eyes had all but cast over with a deeper hue of alluring emerald. His calloused hand now gently holding your wrist. You could only helplessly stare up at him, the shift in mood not having gone unnoticed. A familiar heat already earning footing between your thighs. Somewhere deep inside you were scolding yourself, angry at Gyro’s effect on you. Letting yourself get distracted and now turning to putty when he’s only holding on to your wrist. Angry that you wanted nothing more than for him to continue whatever scheme he was up to.

With your wrist still in hand, Gyro closed the small glass jar of ointment and slid it further along the chaise longue.

“Well I must thank you for taking care of me, even if it was your fault I got hurt-“ The fires blazing in your eyes and the sour look you shot at his remark only made him chuckle.

“Yes, Gyro. I was there.” Through gritted teeth and nothing short of annoyed you tried to tug your wrist out of his hold. It only made him tighten it around you.

“I wasn’t done talking, darling.” He tutted.

“Let me return the favour. I’m feeling charitable today”

“Gyro, what?” You rolled your eyes, what was this idiot getting at? First, he gets all sensual and now he’s straight up teasing you. Not that it wasn’t just as titillating, his pet names for you only made your head swim and thighs clamp together.

His answer was clear, setting you down on his lap in a quick move that caught you by surprise. And there you were, the spot you’ve only fantasised of being. His natural musk having become the very air you breathed to survive. Stunned and still slightly confused you let him put your arms around his neck. Your legs however, were strategically placed on either side of one of his thighs.

“You in for the ride? I won’t hold it against you if you want us to stop” His tone was sincere, gaze softened just enough to let you know it was alright.

“Y-yes. Yes. I- yes Gyro” you sputtered. God, this was embarrassing but you were glad you didn’t sound as desperate as you really were to be this close to him. At least you thought so.

And with that, the blond cowboy was satisfied, letting out a little “nyoho” that somehow remained sultry.

You suddenly became all too aware why he’d placed you like this, over his thigh. But there wasn’t much time to think, not when Gyro moved into your neck, placing soft kisses along your jawline. His lips were softer than you’d expected. His breaths so nice and warm whenever he moved further down your sensitive skin.

“I’ve seen you ride,” he murmured into your skin just below your left ear. “Now show me how it’s done, cowboy” goosebumps rose all over your skin, letting out a shuddering moan as he bit into you. Not quite hard enough to make you yelp out in pain, but just enough for you to rock your hips straight into his tensed thigh.

He continued his assault on your neck, bites and kisses alternated on each side as you rocked your needy heat on him. With a particularly hard bite, your arm snapped to right next to Gyro, exactly where his hat had been laying on the chair. Even in the heat of the moment you grabbed it and plopped it down onto his champagne locks.

“Keep it on please” your breath shuddered as you continued. He had moved his lips to your shoulders now, moving away your top to reach every spot he wished to worship.

Every swish of your hips drove you further and further, lost in the pleasure as your head felt like it might just explode. Tingles had already started making their way up your abdomen when Gyro released himself from your skin.

“Tell me what you want,” He asked roughly. He was having a hard time keeping it together, it seemed.

“Y-you, Gyro” you whimpered, slowing yourself and burying your face inside the crook of his neck. Too embarrassed to face his stare just yet.

“I know that, sweetheart. But tell me what is you want exactly”

“Gyro…” you whined, burying yourself even deeper.

“Yes?” He quipped, pulling himself back and taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, that stupid grin antagonising you.

Cheeks heated and puffy you had no choice but to give in. “I want you to fuck me Gyro. Are you happy now?”

“Nyoho, very happy! I knew that” he laughed.

“Oh fuck you!” You grimaced, still trying to chase that fleeting peak that you were so close to.

“I like hearing you beg for it, darling” his lips had finally met yours, melting away any and all of his teasing, just like that. God, he made it so easy to give into him. He was just as playful now though, swirling his tongue and clashing his lips with yours like he was taming you.

As he continued his sloppy passionate kiss back down your jaw, you sped up your riding. Never one to finish last.

One last peck and one last tug of your skin between his golden clad teeth and you could feel fireworks rising all the way up to the top of your head. Gyro grinned widely as he admired you, using him like he’d asked you to. One less thing he needs to fantasise about, he’s living it. And eating up every single second of it, the throbbing in his pants nearly took care of itself. He stared in awe, your face contorting in pleasure as you tried your best to contain your desperate moans. Your breath was ragged as you came down from your high, letting your full weight rest on his thigh even though you were beyond sensitive at this point.

“You’ve never looked better riding like that, beautiful” a single soft peck touched the tip of your nose, the gesture was surprisingly gentle.

You had regained your senses enough to start up your own round of teasing. Sporting the same grin he had just a minute ago, you started pushing him down the chaise longue, landing him on his back.

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow. The pain in his ribs all but forgotten thanks to your treatment.

“I ain’t done riding just yet. Better hold on to that hat cowboy” slick as ever you dove down to return a forceful kiss that nearly knocked the breath out of Gyro. Not before letting out a “nyoho” in his surprise.

Oh, he was going to like this even more than your last rodeo.

#gyro x reader #jjba x reader #gyro zeppeli x reader #notsfw #minors dni #gn reader #gender neutral reader #thigh riding #jjba x y/n #gyro imagine

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giggly-squiggily · 3 years

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Hi! My name’s Squiggily, and welcome to my blog! I love writing fluffy fanfics and dabbles (With the occasional angst) of various fandoms and characters I enjoy!

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-I will write for the fandoms mentioned below. (I have more fandoms! Check the fandom page link for those! :3)

- I DO write Non-tickle focused content! Feel free to request some if desired! :D

-I am willing to write for all ships as long as they’re legal. (Will Not write incest, adult x minor, etc.) I also write both platonic and romantic pairings. (Some ships might be strictly platonic. Check 'Will Not Write For' List for those!)

- I do write for character x reader! All reader characters are gender neutral for inclusivity!

- I have the right to decline requests and prompts at any given time. I try not to do so but if I do end up turning a prompt down I’ll try to let you know.

Topics and Genres

- I do and will write for a variety of genres and topics! Here are my wills and wont’s:

WILL Write for: Tickling, Fluff, Angst, AUs*, Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety and Panic Attacks, Grief, Body insecurity and various other topics similar to those. Feel free to ask and I’ll let you know what I can and can’t do.

WILL NOT Write for: Heavy triggering topics (Murder, Rape, Abuse of any form, Suicide, Self-Harm, etc.). That’s the big one but feel free to send in a ask about a topic; I’ll tell you if I’m able to write it.

*AUs: I am willing to try my hand at them, but if it’s a topic I’m not familiar with or the idea is too vague, I won’t be able to do it.

Free Request:

Free requests are like they are here on my blog! I write for fics, dabbles, head canons, and sentence starters/headcanons to dabbles when they are OPEN! Please check the pinned post before sending in a request!

Headcanon Requests:

I am more than willing to write headcanons for various characters in the fandoms I write for when they are OPEN. These include tickles, non tickles, ships, platonic bonds, etc. etc.

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps)***

I have a taglist for anyone interested! There's no limit to how many times you can take it- feel free to fill it out again if you wish to update your preferences/fandoms/etc. etc. I try to check it every now and again, so please have patience with me as I schedule things out. Thank you!

Also! If you ever decide you don’t want to be on the taglist or you wish to remove yourself from any tagged fandoms, I created a form for you to fill out!

Fandoms I Write For: (I do have more fandoms on my fandom page!)

Itallics: Been a hot minute since I've watched/played; still willing to write for it though!

Crossed Out: Need to rewatch/not that interested in at the moment

-Big Windup

-Black Clover

- Blue Lock (Anime)

- Bungo Stray Dogs

- Buddy Daddies

-Cafe Enchante

-Code Realize

-Collar x Malice

-Chainsaw Man (Anime + Around Chapter 72 I think?)

-Cupid Parasite

-Danganronpa THH, SDR2 , V3

-Dr. Stone

-Death Note

-Demon Slayer

-Fire Force

-Free! Iwatobi Swim Club

-Fruits Basket

-Given

-Haikyuu!!

-Heartstopper

-Hell’s Paradise

-Hunter x Hunter (Up To Greed Island Arc)

-Jojo’s Bizzare Adventure Parts 2-6 (Anime only)

-Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime + Movie Only!)

- Komi Can’t Communicate

-Mob Psycho 100

-Moriarty The Patriot

-My Hero Academia

-Piofiore: Fated Memories

-Pokemon (Limited Requests: Legend Arceus, Gens 1-7, 9) **No longer taking requests for Sword and Shield**

-SK8 the infinity

-Spy x Family

-Rain Code Master Detectives

-Toliet Bound Hanako-Kun

-Tokyo Revengers

-Vinland Saga (Mainly Season 2)

-Wind Breaker (Anime)

-Yu Yu Hakushou

Test Run Fandoms (Series I’m considering adding to my writing list but need to write more of them before I commit.)

-Chronicles Of Vladmir Tod (Tagged as V.T)

-Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney (First game)

-Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney

Characters I will NOT write for:

**/Italics: Might change my mind in the future

-Mineta (My Hero Academia)

-Overhaul (My Hero Academia)

-Junko (Danganronpa)

-Monokuma (Danganronpa)

- Gou (Pokemon) (This one’s more for a lacking of knowledge regarding the character)

-Akito (Fruits Basket)

- Most Pokemon Villain leaders (Exceptions being Hardenshipping and their respective teams, Guzma and his respective team, Volo)**

- Hisoka (Hunter x Hunter)

- Illumi (Hunter x Hunter)

-Ketta Kisaki (Tokyo Revengers)

- Muzan (Demon Slayer)

- Most Lower Moons (Exceptions being Rui, Enmu, and Kyogai) (Don’t really know much of any of them so...yeah.) (Demon Slayer)

-Arrow Demon/Temari Demon (Literally can't think of a scenario for them- sorry!) (Demon Slayer)

- Rein and their Tao forms (Hell’s Paradise)

- Adam (Sk8) (No hate- I just don’t know how to put him in a tickle scenario)

- Dio + Most of his minions (Jjba P.3) **Debatable depending on the stand user**

- Kira Yoshikage (JJBA)

- Tamami Kobayashi (JJBA)

- Diavolo (JJBA)

- Father Pucchi (JJBA)

- Solid Silva (Black Clover)

- Nebra Silva (Black Clover)

-Yomi Hellsmile (Rain:Code)

-Martina Electro (Rain:Code)

Strictly Platonic Ships List

Whether I can't see them romantically, I'm uncomfortable with anything beyond platonic, or I just really prefer them as friends. (No hate to any of these ships or to those who like them romantically! These are just personal preferences!) If I think of anymore, I'll add them to the list!

-L and Light (Death Note)

- L and Misa (Death Note)

-Yuno and Asta (Black Clover)

-Kageyama and Hinata (Haikyuu!!)

-Sae and Isagi (Blue Lock)

-Anya and Damien (Spy x Family) (Listen- they are cute! Hints of crushes are fine but I just don't feel comfy writing full blown romantic fics with characters this young)

-Draken and Mikey (Tokyo Revengers)

-Mista and Giorno (JJBA)

-Abe and Mihashi (Big Windup)

-Bakugou and Deku (My Hero Academia)

I think that’s about it! Thanks for reading!

Hey! Hey..*psst psst* Down here!

I got an art blog now 👀 @squiggilydrawsthings where I make doodles in the off-chance I decide to draw! Your girl's too shy to announce it lols

#squiggily speaks #Requests #Thank you!#welcome to my blog!

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thee-morrigan · 3 years

Text

bromothymol is blue - violets are violet

*ahem* so uh, that supposed-to-be-short valentines-themed fic that was also supposed-to-be-posted-Monday (y'know, actually on valentine's day)?

yeah, she got absolutely out of control (peep that word count lmaoooo), but she is also finally done (!). It has been A Week and I have fully lost any sense of whether this is any good or needs ample editing or reads like a nyquil-induced fever dream so if you see anything especially wonky, no you don't <3 pairing: nate sewell x holland townsend (f!detective) rating: T wc: 6.8k (...how. h o w.) summary: "I don't celebrate Valentine's Day," and other outright lies Holland has told. [read on ao3]

It had taken some serious flexing of her puppy-eye muscles, but she’d managed to convince him to keep Valentine’s Day lowkey.

“Not nothing,” she’d couched, “just…quiet and intimate. We can avoid the crowds, the overpriced red blend…” Holland stepped closer to Nate, linking her fingers through his and smiling up at him hopefully. Guileless, sweet, earnest.

“Who said anything about red blend?” He laughed softly, arching a brow.

“Well, no one will call it that when they charge you eighty bucks a bottle without batting an eye. Doesn’t mean they didn’t get it from the nearest bodega.”

“Does Wayhaven even have bodegas?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, undeterred. “I promise we’ll still have fun,” she continued, smile widening with a flash of teeth, eyes still on his.

Nate sighed and shook his head slightly, but he was still smiling when he leaned down to kiss her, lifting their joined hands between them to pull her a hairs-breadth closer, bridging the scant distance between them.

“You,” he said as he pulled back but not away, still grinning at her. “Are so…”

“Winsome?” She grinned back. “Charming? Adorable?”

“Incorrigible,” he countered, brushing her lips with his again before kissing each corner of her mouth. “Persistent. Taking advantage.”

“Taking advantage? Excuse you, sir, I will not have such accusations leveled against me in my own apartment,” she exclaimed, though the force of her mock sternness was somewhat diluted by her barely contained giggling.

She moved as if to pull her hands from his, but he pulled her to him again, disentangling their fingers only to dance his across her ribs with just enough pressure to tickle her, tightening his grip when she gave a squeal of protest and squirmed against him.

“Shameless advantage-taking,” he said against her skin, his face pressed to her neck, and she shivered at the scratch of stubble on sensitive skin, the rumble of his voice against her throat, laughing so hard the only sounds that escaped her were sharp, gasping little hiccups of choked laughter.

When she had caught her breath enough to get any words out, she wrinkled her nose at him, still half-laughing as she said, “I’m pretty sure you are the one taking shameless advantage right now,” wrapping her arms around his waist, chin resting against his sternum as she looked up at him.

He gave a hum of amusement. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it was the only power I had with which to retaliate since I continue to find myself incapable of saying ‘no’ to you.”

In the end, she’d agreed to let him cook her dinner if they could otherwise keep things more relaxed, and that had been that.

So to say Nathaniel Sewell was pleasantly intrigued to find a small envelope tucked beneath his pillow when he awoke that morning, addressed to him in Holland’s looping script, would have been an understatement. He was no longer especially surprised to wake and find her gone — despite his heightened senses, when he slept, he slept deeply. Holland, conversely, tended to wake before dawn most mornings and seemed physically incapable of staying in bed once her body had decided it was officially waking hours.

But she didn’t usually leave envelopes beneath his pillow. Notes, sometimes, particularly if he stayed over at hers and she’d gone on an early coffee run or needed to go to the office for something. But those were almost always on post-it notes, the backs of old receipts, or scrawled along the envelopes of unopened junk mail. Brief and informal little missives stuck to mirrors or door frames, folded scraps of notepaper tucked into his pockets. Though never so brief that they failed to bring a soft smile to his lips, a little warm fullness to his chest at the casual sign-offs bearing misshapen doodled hearts and some variation of ‘xo, H’.

But very rarely anything like this. He sat up and ran one hand through his sleep-tousled hair as he turned the small envelope over in the other. Inside was a blue card designed to look like a candy heart. Instead of the usual dubiously grammatical slogan often found on the candies, though, the text printed on the paper heart formed a question. No, not a question: a joke.

What did the stamp say to the envelope on Valentine’s Day?

Mouth curving into a soft smile, he opened the card to reveal the punchline:

I’m stuck on you.

His smile widened as he read the note Holland had written underneath.

I know I’ll see you tonight but - I might have a little something for you that I think you’ll want before our date. In honor of the Truly Terrible joke on this card, an office-themed clue: stop by the place where I get all my stamps and some of my envelopes for a pre-dinner surprise.

PS - Would you believe me if I said this was by far the least terrible joke/card I found? Who keeps telling card-writers they’re good at jokes??

It hadn’t taken Nate long to figure out that she meant the station. Partially because she hadn’t been particularly cryptic in the first place, and partially because he’d witnessed more than one argument with Adam on whether it was unforgivably unethical to use office supplies for personal reasons. (And, given the degree of stubbornness between them, he suspected the argument would eventually make another appearance. He also suspected that Felix and Mason were continuing to make a sport of the argument through a series of increasingly ridiculous wagers.)

And yet, apparently, he hadn’t been quite quick enough; when he arrived at the station, Holland was nowhere to be found.

“Oh, shoot, you just missed her actually,” Tina Poname drawled, crossing her ankles as she leaned against one of the desks near the entrance to the precinct, mouth twisted in a little moue of hot pink sympathy.

“Apparently a full-fledged detective is required to confirm the only one poisoning Mrs. Lanneham’s dog is, in fact, Mrs. Lanneham, assuming she has once again left chocolates on her coffee table.” She shook her head ruefully. “Every year.”

She shrugged, then straightened a bit, as if she’d only just that second remembered something. She snapped her fingers with a flash of nails seeming to be the exact same shade of fuchsia as her lipstick. “Oh, but actually, though, hang on a second --”

She turned to shift a handful of papers on the desk behind her, spinning back with a pale purple envelope wedged between two fingers.

She beamed up at Nate and extended the envelope with a flick of her wrist. “Almost forgot. She did ask me to give you this if you came by. I’d say sorry it’s coming from me instead of her, but honestly, I’m kind of sorry it’s not actually from me,” she winked, though her smile was purely friendly.

Nate returned the smile and thanked her for passing along the note. As he eyed the envelope, he said, “I suppose it would be fruitless to ask if you happen to know anything about this.”

“This? I mean, I’d just thought, you know, it’s gotta be a Valentine’s Day card, right? What else would it be?” She tilted her head to one side with a little furrow of her brow, although she couldn’t keep her polite smile from turning a shade mischievous.

“What else could it be,” he agreed. “Well, thank you again for this,” he said, tucking the envelope inside his jacket and turning to leave. One hand on the door, he turned back briefly to Tina. “Oh, and I hope Mrs. Lanneham’s dog is all right.”

“Hm?” Tina blinked, though she recovered remarkably quickly. “Oh, yes, mmhm, she’ll be fine.”

Nate only gave her a small, gameful smile before pushing the door open and ducking through it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” She called to his retreating back, earning what sounded like a huff of laughter as the door swung shut behind him.

Tina waited until he was out of eyesight through the large windows lining the front of the building. Then another five minutes (or as close to it as she could stand to make herself, which turned out to be approximately four minutes and 42 seconds).

Then — finally — she bounced to the back of the station and the door that led into the stairwell. With perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary, she slapped her palm against the crash bar. As the door swung open, she shouted down the stairs, “You can come out now!”, which earned a censorious look from an officer at one of the desks nearest her.

A fractured sentence carried Holland’s voice up the stairs from the lab. “— so many favors!”

Tina grinned, but her reply was interrupted by the muffled voice of Verda, whose tone seemed to indicate that shouting up the stairs when he was holding delicate instruments was perhaps not the way he wanted to liven up his weekdays.

Tina laughed, though her grin immediately turned sour at the loud, heavy sigh from Officer Grumpus next to her.

“Not a morning person?” She smiled sweetly at him.

“Just a working person,” the man responded, brows lifted as he stared pointedly at the folder open on his desk.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Tina said, as if that should both explain and excuse anything she might do today.

“It’s a workplace.” His voice was an affronted stage whisper.

“Oh, it’s not a library, Dean,” Tina scoffed, moving back to her own desk. “Go grab a chocolate truffle outta the break room or something.”

“Just tell him to check his phone, please.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” Holland sighed into the phone, the verbal eye-roll only a little affected. She really hadn’t wanted to involve Rebecca, but she was an unfortunately convenient messenger for sending Nate on a scavenger hunt. Even if that meant Holland had been required to voluntarily call her mother.

“I just said I’d drop by the warehouse later with something he left at my apartment, but it looks like I’m gonna be working late, so he’ll either have to come here or potentially wait until tomorrow to get his book back. Well, technically my book that he’s borrowing,” she paused for half a breath, as if distracted by her own rambling.

Normally, she would’ve been inclined to say less rather than let herself babble; even the actual truth tended to sound flimsy when it was tangled up in unnecessary elaborations. Now, though, Holland was banking on her mother taking the scatter-brained chatter as an opportunity to offer her help and thereby chip away at whatever maternal neglect penance she thought she owed the universe or whatever.

Nevermind that he’d had a key to her apartment for months, which he presumably would’ve used this morning since she left before he did, so even if he had left something at her apartment, he could get it himself whether she was there or not. It wasn’t like she jumped at the chance to give Rebecca even more information about her life and who was or was not included in it and to what extent. The whole situation was already so goddamn weird without adding any unnecessary heart-to-hearts with her mother.

“Whatever, listen, doesn’t matter — I was just wondering if you could pass along the message if you see him.”

If Rebecca felt any tremor of surprise — pleased or otherwise — from the sheer volume of information her daughter had just shared with her — as if it were nothing — as if it hadn’t been more words than she’d probably said in a row to her mother in the past month — she kept them from reaching her face.

Carefully. She had to approach this unexpected openness carefully. She couldn’t let herself read too much into this, take it as an indication of progress towards an actual relationship, some half-step forward from the strange, almost-truce they’d established as a byproduct of suddenly, abruptly, seeing so much of each other.

So she said, “Oh. Ah, yes, of course. I’ll let him know. Or, actually,” she paused as if the thought had only just occurred to her, “If you want, I had some errands to run in town this afternoon; I could stop by your office and deliver the book for you if it would be helpful.”

Holland’s mouth twitched: a slight, tentative upward curve that she let filter into her voice. “Oh, really? You don’t have to do that.”

Rebecca tried not to sound too eager. “Really, it’s no trouble. It sounds like you have a lot going on today. I insist: I can be at your office within the hour if that’s all right with your schedule.”

“Thanks again,” Holland said a little while later as she handed the “borrowed” book to her mother. She offered a wry half-grin. “You can tell him my carrier pigeon took PTO this week.”

Rebecca gave a soft laugh, as much out of surprise at the comment as amusement.

“I’m surprised you’re working late tonight,” she said, apparently taking Holland’s joke as an invitation for further conversation.

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you wait until the last minute to file things.” Holland shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“Oh. Well, I just meant since it’s Valentine’s Day. I assumed you’d be…well, that you and Nate had plans.”

Was she prying? Did she seem like she was prying? Maybe she was. Why did she always seem to falter through even the most straightforward conversations with her daughter when she so easily navigated much more treacherous interactions with ease?

Holland’s almost smile faded. “I don’t really do Valentine’s Day. And, anyway, the city council definitely doesn’t. I’ve got half a dozen cases with filing deadlines on the fifteenth. So, you know. Mass-marketed declarations of love don’t really take priority.”

“Ah, right, of course. I can certainly understand.” Rebecca kept her sympathetic hum brief: the kind of noise that offered only polite acknowledgment of a circumstance, rather than the kind that might indicate, for instance, that the speaker was extremely curious to learn whether opposition to “mass-marketed declarations of love” implied that other sorts of such declarations had been made.

It took an annoying amount of willpower for Holland to bite back the instinctive retort. To remind her mother that she was very aware that Rebecca would understand better than most how often work could take priority over petty obligations like loved ones. Instead, she smiled, tight and polite, thanked her mother again for being kind enough to stop by and deliver the book, and excused herself, saying she supposed she should get back to work.

Well. At least that was over with and had gone arguably better than expected — they’d even managed something approaching amicable small talk. Twice, in fact, if you considered the pleasantly neutral phone call earlier. Moreover, she’d even managed to extricate herself from the conversation without her mother taking a moment to register exactly what book she was so eager to lend. Not that she didn’t have half a dozen reasonably plausible explanations ready if pressed; but the less she needed to justify lending Nate what was technically a chemistry textbook, the better.

Holland tried not to dwell on the fact that even in her own head these justifications sounded pathetically flimsy. She was pretty sure emotionally manipulating her mother (even if her mother sucked at being her mother) into essentially running an errand for her was not something a good person would do. Okay, maybe very sure. But she didn’t have time to calculate exactly how much today might have contributed to her quarterly ‘asshole daughter’ quota.

After all, she had a fictitious pile of paperwork to get back to.

As it happened, Rebecca did not actually deliver the book to Nate, but instead to Adam, who was the only one of her team she found when she stopped at the warehouse that afternoon. This was probably for the best: if Rebecca had been mildly surprised at Holland’s apparently immediate need to pass along a borrowed book (on PH indicators, of all things) today rather than at a later time, she would have been positively taken aback by Nate’s reaction to finding it on one of the end tables in the living room, his face awash in what looked for all the world like relief as he scanned the cover.

Adam might also have found the incongruous expression on his friend’s face somewhat puzzling, though it was hard to tell what specific emotion the sharp quirk of his brow was meant to convey, exactly. While he wasn’t remotely surprised to see Nate taken with a book in general, this one looked particularly unremarkable to him.

In fact, the only really noteworthy thing as far as Adam could see was that it did not look like the kind of book about which Nate would get especially excited; when he’d glanced at the title earlier, he’d wondered briefly why something called a handbook of acid-base indicators would be of any interest at all.

Or what, specifically, it might contain that caused Nate’s expression to shift from relief to outright amusement as he read the inside cover.

“It looked like there was a note with it as well,” he said, gesturing with a jerk of his chin toward the book now clasped in Nate’s hands. Indeed, a white letter envelope was half-tucked between the pages towards the back of the book.

“Which I’m forced to assume was misappropriated from the police department’s supply cabinet,” he continued, eyeing the patch of blue on the corner sticking out of the book.

“Very probably,” Nate said, sounding distracted, eyes still on the book as he flipped another page.

“Well, I’ll let you get on with…whatever this is,” he said. “Misuse of office supplies aside, I’m not even going to ask why you seem so interested in, ah --” He glanced at the book cover again. “A book on ‘acid-base indicators’.”

“I don’t know that I have enough information yet to explain it to you even if you wanted to know,” Nate looked up then, smiling at his old friend. “Thank you for passing the book along though.”

Adam made a noise of acknowledgment, face still somewhat dubious as he turned to exit the living room. The second Adam left, Nate pulled open the envelope. This one bore only a simple notecard, upon which was printed:

some roses are red,

bromothymol is blue

congrats: you’ve reached your final clue.

Handwritten beneath the poem, Holland had added:

(and congrats on the knowledge that you won’t have to read any more of these incredibly cheesy cards today - that’s the real win if you ask me.)

Just as in a lab, your next stop has a dress code (though this one’s intended to impress more than protect). See you soon!

Love, your highest-heels-wearing girlfriend (who is somehow still probably half a foot shorter than you)

Nate smiled to himself as he read, although it became more bemused than fond as it registered that there wasn’t actually a clue contained within the note, despite the rhyme’s claim.

He re-read the poem, then the lines written beneath it. Other than hints as to attire — which, from the very limited information contained in the note, didn’t seem to suggest he dress differently from how he’d originally planned — there wasn’t much beyond the “see you soon!”.

Maybe on the back? He flipped the card over. Four lines at the bottom of the card. Maybe —

PS - You totally thought I was going to make you break into a high school science lab with that last clue, didn’t you? I’m a law-abiding community member. And I don’t have time to waste getting you out of it if you got caught - I’ve got more important plans for this evening (as do you).

He couldn’t help exhaling a laugh as he read the additional note scrawled there, even if it offered no further hints as to what these “important plans” might be. He sighed, still smiling, and ran a hand over his hair. Then he looked down at his watch. Well. He still had time to make their original dinner plans.

He turned to retrieve the book from where he’d placed it on the arm of a nearby chair, a half-formed thought scratching at his brain. He flipped the cover open and looked at the stamped label on the first page there, re-reading the imprint that had amused him when he first read it.

That. That was the clue.

Still smiling, he shut the book again with a muted snap and headed out of the room.

Back at her apartment, Holland was pacing. Well, not pacing, exactly: she supposed what she was doing could more accurately be considered wandering, moving in aimless loops from room to room of her small apartment. The wooden floors were smooth and cool beneath her bare feet, though it did little to quell the burning knots of anxiety snaking in intricate loops behind her ribs.

Stupid. This was such an absurdly stupid idea. Ridiculous — and cheesy — and dumb. Why did she think concocting an elaborate goose chase through Wayhaven’s oddest pockets of her own idiosyncrasies for an entire day would be fun for anyone? And, oh Jesus, her clues had been terrible, hadn’t they? They probably hadn’t meant anything to anyone aside from herself. Meaning Nate had probably not figured them out and had either:

1. Given up and was currently wondering why she wasn’t home for the very specific date she’d agreed to. Meaning she was not only weirdly inflexible about a stupid excuse for a holiday that she could have just agreed to go out for because it didn’t actually matter, but she was also accidentally standing him up for a date at her own damned apartment; or,

2. was still attempting to figure out what possible meaning her cryptic notes held because he was clearly far kinder to her than she was to him (because if the situation had been reversed, she would have immediately assumed her notes were nothing more than an indication that her girlfriend was actually the Zodiac Killer)

The idea of either of these (incredibly, in her opinion) probable outcomes made her feel like she was having either acute indigestion or perhaps a mild heart attack.

She smoothed her hands against her sides, resisting the urge to tug at her dress, suddenly very aware of all the places where the fabric hugged her body.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she breathed, spinning to survey her reflection for the absolute last time in the heavy wrought iron mirror propped on the wall next to her front door. Aside from her face, which was currently set in a glower that she suspected looked more pouty six-year-old than threateningly unimpressed, she looked completely fine.

Actually, if she was being honest, she looked better than fine.

The dress was a muted grey-blue, shifting into occasional glints of dulled silver when folds of the loose fabric caught the light, reminding her of a winter river. The washed silk of the fabric contributed to this perception, the fall of it a gentle weight against her skin, the hem rippling smooth and cool against her shins when she moved.

As it had throughout her relentless pacing back and forth across her apartment this evening.

Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. And this was just a dinner, for Christ’s sake. They’d had so many dinners. If this one happened to have included some amount of advanced planning and scheming on her part, then so be it. A dinner that required surreptitious machinations was nonetheless still fundamentally just a dinner.

She made a face at her reflection, then started at the knock on her door, the noise sparking a bubble of startled adrenaline that dissipated into a hiccup of laughter that was as much from a kind of relief as it was from surprise. Her eyes shifted to the clock on the coffee maker across the way on her kitchen counter. Right on time, as he always was.

Which either meant her clues had not been as completely asinine as she’d thought, or that he knew her well enough to make sense of her bread crumb trail. Either possibility was mildly gratifying (and she was under no obligation to consider whether one possibility perhaps pleased her more than the other).

Though her laugh had faded as abruptly as it had escaped her, her grin remained as she reached for the doorknob, gaze skimming upwards to meet that of the man waiting on the other side of her front door.

“Hi,” she said, stretching up onto her tiptoes for a kiss, palms pressed flat against Nate’s chest for balance. He readily leaned down to oblige her, one hand lifting to cup her face, the other coming to rest against the small of her back.

“Hi,” he replied when she rolled back onto the balls of her feet, returning her smile. She smoothed her hands down the front of his shirt before she moved to step back, then paused with a puzzled half-laugh as she realized belatedly that the hand resting against her spine was not, in fact, empty.

Nate pulled his arm back between them, holding a book out to her. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Holland’s grin widened as she took the proffered paperback. “I love that you bring me books instead of flowers,” she quipped, stepping back to let him in and setting the book on the small wooden bench next to her door.

“I don’t know that giving you your own books back to you counts,” he remarked, following her as she padded further into her living room.

“Besides,” he added, “You don’t like flowers.” His smile turned teasing as his gaze skated down the veritable garden inked onto her arms before returning to her face. “Somehow.”

“I love flowers,” she said sweetly, perching on an arm of the sofa and leaning forward a bit, tips of her fingers pressing into the fabric on either side of her hips. “That’s why I want them to live long lives where they’re planted instead of spending two days dying on my kitchen table. Books last longer.”

“Not with you they don’t.”

“Please, you read way faster than I do,” she scoffed, then held up a hand as he opened his mouth to respond. “I know, I know: you’ve had more time to practice. I’m just saying, it is achingly unfair that you get to be both the pretty one and the smart one in this relationship.”

Nate laughed aloud then, stepping closer to her and reaching to tip her face up with one warm brown hand, long fingers tangling in the hair at her nape. He rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip, a gentle tug at the half-formed pout. Still laughing softly, he bent to kiss her. Any lingering purse of dissatisfaction on her mouth softened as she opened for him, leaning into the warm, gentle caress of his lips against hers. She felt that delicious warmth spread as the kiss deepened, her hands lifting from the couch to snake beneath his suit jacket and around his waist as his free hand ghosted slowly up her thigh before coming to rest against her hip.

“The absolute injustice,” Holland murmured into the scant space between them when she finally pulled back, bumping her nose against his with a breath of a laugh.

“My love, we might have to agree to disagree on both counts,” Nate replied, thumbing gentle circles across her hip bone, the warmth of his hand seeping through the silk of her dress, which suddenly felt like a barrier both impossibly flimsy and yet impassable beneath that warm weight. “Particularly if we’re taking today into account. Bromothymol? Really?”

She didn’t need to see his face to know precisely which shade of teasing smile he was giving her, so she didn’t, choosing instead to press further against him, nestling her face against the column of his throat. He hadn’t worn a tie, choosing instead to leave the topmost buttons of his immaculate white shirt undone, and it seemed like an unacceptable waste not to take advantage of the tanned expanse of skin begging to be kissed.

“Bromothymol is blue,” she said into the hollow of his collarbone, lips curving into a satisfied smile at the noise he made in response, the way the hand on her hip tightened. “Violets are, overwhelmingly, violet.”

He made a breathy sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh, slowly tilting his head back down to look at her like it was simultaneously the hardest and easiest thing in the world: to pull any distance away from her — to look into her face.

“If I am meant to have an epithet in this relationship, I would argue I’m the lucky one,” he murmured, fingers stroking along the side of her neck.

“Sweet talker,” she chided gently, one corner of her mouth crooking upward in a fond grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

She raised one hand to cover the one he still had resting against her neck. “Except apparently out of my apartment.” She squeezed his hand gently then released it, rising from her sofa arm perch and moving to sidle past him. “And if we keep doing this I’m going to find it harder to remember we’ve got places to be.”

She turned to move further into the apartment, tossing a smile over one shoulder as she started down the hallway towards her bedroom. “As soon as I put on shoes.”

He followed her down the hall, leaning against her door frame as she disappeared behind the open door of her closet, hands sliding into his pockets. “What kinds of places have we got to be?”

“You’ll see,” she called from inside the closet.

“No more secret messages or clues, then?” Oh, he would probably be forever teasing her about today, even if he did sound intrigued by the apparent endpoint of this adventure.

“Nope,” she said with a little popping finality on the word, her voice light.

“I lied, by the way,” she said as she emerged from her closet, a jacket draped over her bare shoulders, balancing on one stilettoed foot while she wiggled her other foot into the remaining boot. “These aren’t my highest heels. Those would be impractical.”

“Impractical for what, exactly?” Nate asked, looking equal parts bemused and intrigued as he followed her back out into the hallway and out of her apartment.

“Impractical for how many flights of stairs I’m willing to climb in them,” she said with a half-smile.

He raised his brows in silent question as if to ask: Stairs to where?

But Holland only arched one back at him and said again, “You’ll see,” reaching to twine her fingers through his.

Nate followed Holland up four flights of stairs, the last of which was behind a smaller metal door on the uppermost landing, separated from the rest of the walk-up’s old stone staircases. At the top of this separate, narrower staircase lay another metal door, which Holland pushed open with the gentle scraping sound of resistance as if the door hadn’t been opened much recently. Hand still linked with his, she pulled them both out onto a garden terrace on the roof of the building.

Though Holland privately suspected the so-called green roof was more greenwashed marketing than anything — and a fine excuse to increase her rent — she couldn’t say she didn’t enjoy the space. Especially on evenings like this, when the air smelled like the promise of spring, and the chill of a February night had lost much of its bite in the wake of the mild weather they’d been having lately. There was a gentle breeze, but it was only just strong enough to send the perfume of the garden’s flowering wintersweet and viburnum rippling past every so often from where the blooms spilled out of the neat rows of wide-planked wooden planter boxes lining the outside walls of the rooftop’s main attraction.

At the roof’s center, occupying the lion’s share of space, stood a greenhouse, all glazed glass panes and dark metalwork framing. Though the entirety of the terrace was well-lit by the combined efforts of evenly spaced pathway lights, moonlight, and the surrounding trickle of the town’s light pollution, these paled in comparison to the twinkling spectacle of the glass building in their midst.

Although inside it would undoubtedly be diffuse and gentle as firelight, the soft white light of the hanging lamps inside the greenhouse shone in striking contrast to the surrounding night sky. Where the dark lines of the building’s frame formed arches and trellises, vining plants were interspersed with winding strands of fairy lights, glimmering and winking where their light caught the streaks of condensation along the glazed glass walls and roof.

Whatever outside chill might be present, whatever breeze might be amplified by the height of the roof, would be nonexistent within the warmth that beckoned inside that greenhouse, where Holland knew the air would be warm and sweet, redolent with the fragrant plants within.

And with the undoubtedly mouthwatering aromas from the menu she had barely had to ask Haley to help coordinate for this evening. Between her and Tina, she had some really, really good friends, she thought with a swell of gratitude before turning her mind back to the present moment.

She breathed in the sharp wintry air and twisted to watch Nate as he took in the scene. When he finally turned to look at her, dark eyes warm and bright, she grinned. “Tell me again how much I don’t like flowers?”

Nate laughed then, a rumble of sheer, rich delight that was a song in her veins as he pulled her to him and swept her up in a kiss before the laughter had fully died from his lips.

When he finally released her, he was no longer laughing, though his smile remained. “I’ll tell you how much I love you,” he offered, hands cradling her face as he studied the features, the person, that had become so impossibly precious to him. Marveled as he watched her face, cheeks already pink from the chill night air, flush with pleasure, the scant smattering of pale freckles that dusted her nose vanishing beneath the rosy glow, at the knowledge that he could so easily draw such reactions from her — that she could so affect him, too, perhaps more easily than she knew.

Nate often wondered if she really understood the true extent of her hold on him — if she registered the power she wielded with the slightest quirk of her brow or her mouth (her delightful, wicked mouth and the things she said with it, the things she did with it), curving into the wry grin that had come to seem so quintessentially Holland and, thus, so necessary to him.

That teasing smile curled at the corner of her mouth now as she looked up at him, green eyes gleaming in the low light. “A little off-topic, but nonetheless acceptable response,” she said, grin widening. “Now, c’mon. I believe I agreed to dinner as an acceptable Valentine’s compromise.” She covered his hands with her own, sliding them down from her face, then tilted her head towards the greenhouse.

“I don’t remember the dinner you agreed to remotely resembling this,” Nate remarked as they crossed the terrace.

Her heels clicked along the flagstone pavers lining the paths between rows of flowerbeds and the smattering of fruit trees the building’s owner had planted years ago. “Hey, I think this very much qualifies as ‘quiet and intimate’,” she pointed out. “I mean, I guess you could get more intimate, but you might lose out on some of the quiet then, so,” she gave a light laugh.

“Holland.” He tugged gently at her wrist as they entered the sweet-scented warmth of the greenhouse, struck once more at the obvious care and planning that she’d put into tonight, into celebrating a holiday towards which she had always seemed overwhelmingly ambivalent.

Because he cared about it.

Because what she cared about was him.

For him. All of this, for him. Even though he’d been absolutely fine with the idea of lowkey. Even if he would’ve been absolutely fine if they hadn’t done anything at all. Even though she knew he would have been perfectly willing to scrap the idea of Valentine’s Day, this year or in general, if she really thought it was a waste of time.

Because it wasn’t that significant to him. He liked it, sure, and he liked romantic gestures and the intentionality of dates that were meant to feel special, luxuries that carved out pockets of the extraordinary from the otherwise ordinary moments that made up a life with another person. But those moments could be pulled from any of the million tiny motions of ordinary love. It didn’t actually matter if they happened in observation of a particular holiday or not.

But because he did still like it — the celebrating, the romance, the little rituals of it — even if it wasn’t necessarily important, she treated it as if it was important.

Because what was important to her was him.

She paused and turned to look at him, head tilted in silent question.

“I —” he stopped, surprised to feel at a loss for words. He swallowed, then started again, settling on, “Thank you,” even though it didn’t feel completely adequate.

“No one has ever done anything like this for me,” Nate continued, voice soft. “Ever.” He felt the thrumming little jump in her pulse where his fingers still encircled her wrist, even as she immediately moved to dismiss it.

“I’m very confident this is not even in the top ten nicest dinners you’ve ever attended,” she said, though her smile felt a little stiffer than she’d intended. “Especially considering how many dinners might be in your sense of ‘ever’.”

He tightened his grip on her wrist, a gentle emphatic squeeze. “This is not just a dinner. And even if it were,” he pressed, as she opened her mouth to respond, “it would still be — by far — the best gift I have ever received.”

A lie. Or at least not the entire truth, he thought. The greatest gift wasn’t the dinner, or the planning, or the trail of offbeat bread crumbs that had led him right back to her door as if he’d needed that guidance. She — this willful, irreverent, unfailingly kind woman — was the real gift.

“A scavenger hunt that included an abandoned building and my mother is the best gift you’ve ever gotten? If you say so.” Another sharp cock of one brow, the curl of a smile meant to be teasing, but… her eyes were a little too bright and serious to carry the play at nonchalance with any conviction.

She wondered if it were possibly, improbably true — not that it hadn’t taken effort on her part, and more than a bit of planning, but still. It was meant to be a nice surprise, the kind of silly, romantic gesture that would mean something to him, something more than it might otherwise have to her, but…it wasn’t really that big a deal, was it?

And if it was, then…

When, in his long, immortal life, had he last felt cherished? And how much time had he spent ensuring that those he cared about did?

“I do say so,” he smiled at her. “So, thank you.”

And because she wasn’t sure what to do with the tightness in her chest (which could, after all, merely be the heart attack or indigestion she had suspected earlier in the evening), she said only, “Well…you’re welcome,” without any of her usual catalog of teasing or dismissive commentary.

Later, over the remains of a dessert so obscenely luscious that Holland had briefly considered asking Nate if he would be extremely bothered by her proposing to Haley if only so she could have it whenever she wanted (i.e., every day for the rest of forever), Nate asked, “So, should I be expecting any additional surprises or mysterious hints this evening?”

Holland lifted one shoulder, then glanced down at her bare forearms, having discarded her jacket earlier in the warmth of the heated greenhouse. “I think I’d need sleeves to have any further tricks stashed away.” Her smile would have been believably charming if not for the arch glint in her eyes, a shimmer of playful challenge that he’s not sure he could help answering, even if he wanted to.

“Something tells me you would be perfectly fine with or without sleeves,” he said, and though his voice was mild, the midnight-dark promise that sparked in his own eyes was decidedly, wonderfully not.

Holland arched a brow, reaching her fork across to spear a lone raspberry off his plate and pop it into her mouth, then said, her smile a wicked flash of teeth, “You’ll see.”

#did i mention i was Back On My Bullshit?#bc i am very back on it. pure clownery.#the way i really did give myself permission to go full self-indulgence here #love that for me #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #katie writes things #oc: holland townsend #ship: your entire heart

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chelleztjs18 · 3 years

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Hello peeps!

Okay, this note will be a little long but please read until the end. I really appreciate it.

So I have been posting this Lost in Assistance series in tmblr as well. Today someone message me there asking my permission to translate this book and post it in wattpad put my name for the credit and they will send me the link. And being the stupid newbie I am in this whole online fanfiction writing world, I stupidly replied and agree. I asked them if it's gonna be in Portuguese because the profile said they are from Brazil.

They replied back and said yes it will be in Portuguese but they are thinking to name the Y/N character but they are not sure yet. So I replied back why have to rename y/n. But the message didn't go through. I replied 3 times and still didn't go through.

By the time I tried to screenshot the conversation, the profile is already gone. I don't know what is actually going on, I'm trying not jump into any conclusion and think negative about others but for the profile to be gone after that is totally suspicious and fishy, I'm thinking they might steal my story from Wattpad or tmblr, which is sucks. I still try to think they might still tag me though. I also posted in AO3 Archive of Our Own.

So I just need your help, if I don't get anything back from them, please keep your eyes on if you find any similar stories in any platform either with Lost in Assistance or any of my one shots with different character name in ANY language you understand and I really appreciate for you to inform me. Please let me know if you find anything similar in AO3. Let's use the power of internet, find this unbelievable human being. lol.

I was mad at first, pissed off actually because I took so many hours and effort writing these series/one shot but then I was thinking, "Oh well, shit happens. If they got famous, good for them! I don't want to be famous any way. lol" :D But I still want them to get reported at least.

I write this also to alert any newbie writers so they'll know and it won't happen to them.

I will update if there is any update about this matter (which I skeptically think I won't hear anything back from them). I don't know what's going on or what to do.

All I know, I write these fics and one shot to give me comfort and safe me from my darkest moment and make friends with lovely and awesome people like all of you and I know I write just not for my comfort but also for all the readers who find comforts in my story and that's what's make me feel better right now about this whole matter.

Not gonna lie, it kinda make me lost my motivation to write at this moment. 😔 Hopefully, I will feel better tomorrow and I can continue to write. I really don't want to stop writing specially when I know that there people that find comforts in my writing.

Thank you so much for your time to write this note again. As always, I really appreciate all of you.

Cheerio!

Chellez TjS.

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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Thunderfam Appreciation Post

I’m giving this a new post to prevent scroll city, but the original and several reblogs can be found by clicking the above link. Also, it’s an excuse to post a piccy of Virg cos any excuse, really :D

Many thanks to @willow-salix for writing this question list :D

Before I start, I just want to say that I value every member of this fandom. I’m often hopeless at communicating in group settings so I don’t speak to many peeps, but that is my failing, not anyone else’s. You are an amazing group and you have supported me and each other just brilliantly over the last nearly three years that I have been hanging with you guys. Thank you ever so much for all your wonderful support and encouragement. I’ve had so much fun and created so much stuff…you guys are amazing. Thunderfam rock!

Please note that my memory is pathetic and I will fail to mention everyone. Please do not take any offence if you aren’t listed below. That does not mean I don’t value you, I do, it just means I have swiss cheese between my ears.

-o-o-o-

Your favourite writer of your favourite boy.

@i-am-chidorixblossom You are a whumper and comforter after my soul. You speak the Virg :D @vegetacide I adore your turn of phrase and your description is to die for.

The person who's stories you will always read.

I try to read most fics that come across my dash, but there are a few that have me jumping up and down. @i-am-chidorixblossom , @vegetacide , @tsarinatorment , @scribbles97 , @the-lady-razorsharp , @janetm74 Of course, I regularly fail at this as some of you write a huge amount of fic and I am often playing catch up, but fic!

Who wrote the first fic you read in this fandom.

I landed on FF.net back in May 2018. I immediately ran into @the-lady-razorsharp who I knew from another fandom ten years prior and she was absolutely wonderful, drawing me in and introducing me around. I gobbled up several of her fics in the process.

Person you can talk to for the longest without a break.

I am hard to get started, persistence is required, but once started, it is usually hard to shut me up. @scribbles97 @vegetacide and @tsarinatorment have all discovered that. Dangle a Virg, a plotline and stand back.

Person you can't be trusted to be left alone with.

Um, @vegetacide and I have plotted out the entirety of Warm Rain together…poor Virg. Add @the-lady-razorsharp into the equation and Virgil ends up with a beard, dressed in leather and riding a Harley – that was a hilarious evening. Between @tsarinatorment and @janetm74 Virgil gets grey hairs and has to go rescue Scott – because Scott inevitably ends up in the story :D @scribbles97 gets the blame for Gentle Rain – expand your horizons she said ::headdesk:: But then there was the time I left one random line about Eos visiting Virgil in the shower and went to bed. I woke up to hilarity and chaos as Thunderfam took the idea and ran with it! Love you guys :D

Person whose fic made you cry the most.

I know there were at least two fics that made me cry, but for the life of me I can’t identify them. I did cry writing my own fic – Flannel – and don’t tend to reread it for that reason. Purupuss traumatised me with A Quiet Day to the point I had to put it down and walk away for a bit ::wails::

Person whose fic made you laugh the most.

I have no idea. I know there are fic out there and I know I’ve read it, but without a complete list of everything I’ve read, I don’t have a clue.

Person whose fic made you think the most.

Aaaargh, I don’t have a master list so can’t remember everything. Staring at my paltry favourites list on FF.net (which was mostly gathered three years ago and never maintained), Purupuss’ ‘Brothers in Arms’ and her whole Quiet series has me wanting to write a Scott-Virgil telepathic fic (and she has given me permission to run with the idea, I just haven’t actioned it yet). Counterpoint by Swallow and Amazon is amazing and likely contributed to Sotto Voce.

Person you have laughed with the most.

I’m really not liking this ultimate one person idea. I’ve laughed with a lot of people in this fandom. I’ve candy cannoned a bunch of you as well :P There has been mad plot cackling, evil conspiring, fic written to stir pots and delight on purpose. Hell, I’ve even written fic that was purposefully a giant virtual hug because I’m so far away that even if half the world wasn’t in isolation, I couldn’t hug most of you. Sure, I talk with some of you more than others, and there is laughter in those chats…oh, god, so much cackling, poor, poor Tracy boys. But then there are also so many smiles both vocalised and not. Thunderfam is one of my happy places. Bring on the belly laughs :D

Your comfort fic that you'll go back and read again on a bad day.

I will often resort to my own fic when I’m really down simply because it helps me get to sleep :D and it is kinda tailored to me ::grins:: (and my memory is that bad I often forget what I wrote anyway – yes, it is that bad) But there are also a few on my FF.net favourites list. Mostly hurt/comfort in a Virg flavour. Cheesycheese, nhsweetcherry, A Small Rescue by Nalina, Breathe Easy and Under the Weather by @loopstagirl – several of hers, in fact – the Virg ones :D Pretty much anything that has Virg fainting and being looked after apparently :D Chiddi and Veggie fic, of course.

Favourite piece of fan art.

I have never been so honoured by artists before. This fandom has some amazing skills and I have been gifted some beautiful works. You guys are amazing (I keep saying it like a broken record, but you are).

Again, I’m stuck on having to list one and I can’t. I think Fanart Appreciation Month in January pretty much summed up my opinion.

Who have you known the longest in the fandom.

@the-lady-razorsharp followed by @vegetacide both wonderful peeps. I can’t miss out on @weirdburketeer either for her amazing support almost from day one.

Favourite OC.

I have to say that I really enjoy reading about Ray from @i-am-chidorixblossom ‘s fics :D He is so gentle and kind and just ::sigh:: Virg likes him lots :D Selene by @willow-salix is, of course, a major presence in the fandom and amazingly written. @hedwigstalons ‘ Claire is lovely.

Person who supports your work the most.

The Thunderfam? There have been some wonderful people who support all the time. @hedwigstalons @cg29 @janetm74 @weirdburketeer in particular have been amazing support liking and commenting on just about everything I write. I honestly don’t know how they do it. Plus several peeps over on FF.net and Ao3 who support me over there.

And then there are the poor souls who put up with me in chat and listen to my wibblies and whining and character checks and field random chunks of writing that get thrown their way. @scribbles97 @vegetacide @the-lady-razorsharp @tsarinatorment @i-am-chidorixblossom @onereyofstarlight @godsliltippy @willow-salix @janetm74 all have had random passages thrown at them at all times of the day and night by a crazy me begging for feedback. Does this work? Is this in character? Am I insane? What the hell is Scott doing? Is this John??? I give up, tell me what to do? Virgil is driving me insane! So, um, yeah

Person who's progress you are the most proud of.

I love those peeps who appear in fandom who start off poking around commenting and generally being lovely and then all of a sudden get out their own pens and start writing and they are frickin’ amazing! Both @janetm74 and @hedwigstalons come to mind in this department. Like holy cow – ‘here is my first fic and I’m not sure’ ::reads it:: Omigod! Where did you come from? That was amazing. Sit down here now, keep doing that writing thing, bloody hell! I think being brave enough to pick up a pen and join in is a major thing :D

Person who's story you think is underrated and should be read by more people.

If I find fic I like, I reblog it and shout about it. What I like is definitely skewed in a Virgil direction and this dictates often what I’m going to read first. I can’t reblog what I haven’t read. So, this equation will always be skewed by ‘reasons I haven’t read a fic’ which mostly involves either Virgil or the fact I’m juggling RL. So, my answer to this is if I think a fic needs to be shouted about, I shout about it.

Something you think people would say about you.

She’s nutty.

Silliest 'thing' you do with someone.

I’ve been known to write fic on the fly directly into chat windows to try and distract peeps going through shitty times.

Favourite pairing you now Stan because of someone's fic.

Virgil/Kayo because of @vegetacide for reasons I have blamed her for multiple times. @the-lady-razorsharp and @weirdburketeer were accessories to the fact.

Favourite headcanon from someone's fic.

Um, Virgil and coffee? I got that from somewhere and it has infiltrated my fic…a lot.

Ultimately, though, I feel most people I interact with contribute to my fic and how I’m feeling. This has been a wonderful experience. I try to return the support as much as I can, but sometimes it is a juggle between writing more, my stupid fluctuating mood, the demands of RL and my own creative drive. I hope I’ve helped a few peeps, because you guys have certainly helped me ::major group hug::

And yes, I hug a lot, because to be honest, I have no other descriptor to communicate how I feel, so you get buckets of hugs :D

Tagging the Thunderfam. Feel free to grab these questions and run with them. You’re all part of the gang whether you write, read, art, gif, screenshot, chat, babble, stare at Virgil all day...I know I do a lot of staring.

Nutty

(Thunderfam rocks!)

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderfam #thunderfam rock

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hermionetickledthedragon · 4 years

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Fanfiction Recommendations

So we decided to do Fic recs cuz, why not?

THIS IS THE FIRST TWO CATEGORIES FROM THE 10 WE ARE GONNA DO. IF YOU NEED LINKS JUST DM.

HERE YA GO PEEPS

Starter's Fanfic Rec

•Classic and amazingly written fanfics without any crazy plot

~Isolation by Bexchan ~Mature ~Summary: Post HBP. Ron and Harry are Horcrux hunting and Hermione has been left at Hogwarts to help the Order make it safe for the other students. Draco is forced by Snape to stay in Hogwarts for his own protection, but he can't leave the room he is given; Granger's room. Hermione is the only student trusted with this information, so her and Malfoy share the small space, and Draco tries to avoid insanity as he becomes increasingly isolated with only the Mudblood for company. Something's going to give... ~Site and words: Fanfiction.net, Ao3, 49 Chapters, 248k words ~Note/tw: A must read, smutty, gore and angst

~Little, Fragile Toys by Bexchan ~Mature ~Summary: "That incident, their first kiss, always reminded her of a car crash; people often described how they could recall every moment before and every moment after, but the impact itself was lost or hazy, like when you find a new bruise and can't remember where it came from. And Hermione could genuinely remember every detail that followed the impact. Every detail." ~Site and words: Fanfiction.net, Ao3, 1 chapter, 12k words ~Note/tw: Smut, ptsd

~Bathwater by xXBeckyFoo ~Teenage ~Summary: It's their 7th year,the Dark Lord's dead and the Death Eaters are all rounded up. Nothing could go wrong, right? There's a sense of peace in the air, but how long can it possibly last when the Ministry's throwing people together for all eternity? Curse the new Marriage Law. ~Site and words: Fanfiction.net, 31 chapters, 132k words

~Remain Nameless by HeyJude19 ~Mature ~Summary: How did it feel? It felt like he was barely holding it together. She, of all people, should shun him. Or yell at him. Curse him. Spit at him. Take out her wand and blast him off the face of the earth. It was crushing guilt and relief and confusion all at once when he looked at Hermione Granger. ~Site and Words: AO3, Fanfiction.net, 32 Chapters, and 200,969 words ~Note/tw: WIP, regular updates, PTSD, smut.

~Traditions by raven_maiden ~Mature ~Summary: She straddled him slowly, still biting her lip, her hands on his shoulders. He held her hips tightly as he stared up at her. “So beautiful,” he whispered, and she flushed prettily, like she always did from his compliments. “You never need to hide from me." Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fell in love during the war. One year later, they're heading home for the holidays so he can finally meet her parents. There's just one teeny little problem: her parents think they're both Muggles. ~Site and Words: AO3/ 14 Chapters, and 68,721 words. ~Note/tw: flashback mid-war, Complete, Light angst, Minor character death, perfectly written.

~The Wedding Rings by Masha19 ~Mature ~Summary: He was the sweetest drug and she refused to give it up even at the expense of losing herself. ~Site and Words: Fanfictionnet/ 10 Chapters, and 31,661 ~Note/tw: Post-Hogwarts, Complete, angst, infidelity.

Multi Chapter Fanfics

•Ranging topics for the novel length fanfic readers

~Breath Mints and Battle Scars by Onyx and Elm ~Mature ~Summary: For a moment, she's almost giddy. Because Draco Malfoy's been ruined by this war and he's as out of place as she is and — yes, he has scars too. He's got an even bigger one. She wonders whether one day they'll compare sizes. ~Site and words: Fanfictionnet, Ao3 48 Chapters, and 141,675 words ~Note/tw: PTSD, emotional and psychological abuse, trauma, self-harm, post-war, WIP, beautifully written.

~Ordinary People by inadaze22 ~Mature ~Summary: "Let me be clear about something tonight, Granger. You're the only woman I've ever wanted. It's always been you." Draco steps in the fireplace, drops the Floo powder, and disappears in a burst of green flames. ~Site and Words: Fanfictionnet/ 18 Chapters, and 133,759 Words ~Note/tw: Post-war, Pro-Pansy, Pregnant Hermione, fluff, angst, Complete.

~99 days by Ruthy4vrSmoaked ~Mature ~Summary: Hermione needed some time away from loving couples and her lonely reality. Draco was stuck with a non-refundable pre-honeymoon cruise and decided not to let it go to waste. 99 days on board of the ship Arcadia. Peace, sun, and sea. That was the plan. ~Site and Words: Fanfictionnet, AO3/ 55 Chapter, and 180,811 Words ~Note/tw: post-war, complete, adventure, romance, fluff, angst, smut.

~The Sapphire Princess by starkidsftw ~Mature ~Summary: He was marked when he was sixteen. She was marked when she was twenty. His is a snake, hers is a willow. One was a choice, one is an obligation. Neither is truly understood, and both will change everything. "You shall collect the Princess, Draco Malfoy, and you will bring her back where she belongs." Hermione Pureblood story, Dramione War AU, Blood Magic ~Site and words: Fanfiction.net, 36 chapters, 122k+ words ~Note/tw: WIP, angst, romance, plot twists

~The Dragon's Bride by Rizzle ~Mature ~Summary: 7th year. Draco & Hermione awaken in a Muggle hotel room, naked, hung-over and tattooed. They also happen to be married. Thus begin a desperate search for a solution to their sticky situation. ~Site and words: fanfiction.net, 61 Chapters, 225k words ~Note/tw: inebriated, angst, sweet ending tho, NON CON SCENES

~Eros & Psyche by RZZMG ~Mature ~Summary: Draco challenges Harry and friends to play EROS & PSYCHE, a scandalous card game with a dark, mysterious history. It's Slyth vs. Gryff, male vs. female, pride vs. desire in the ultimate game of hearts and amour! Pairings: Draco/Hermione,Blaise/Ginny,Ron/Pansy,Seamus/Lavender,Theo/Daphne,Harry/Tracey. AU 7th yr. Secrets, romance, angst, and sex await the turning of the first card... ~Site and words: Fanfiction.net, 67 Chapters, 433k+ words ~Note/tw: Not that long. Each round has 6 chapters for each pairing. Simply skip the rest of the 5 chaps to only read dramione.

The next two categories are going to be posted real soon.

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water-fan-art · 4 years

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My Jasper fanfics (click title for links)

Find Something Better To Do With Your Life- Set directly after she was shattered. I wasn’t particularly happy with the canon ending, so this fic explores the time between her last two appearances in a way to make me feel better and give a healthier context to her final appearance. It includes some heavy mental health themes, and an unlikely companionship between her and Connie which leads to her connecting with some uncorrupted Quartzes. This fic is complete! There’s a total of 9 chapters.

The sequel named “Finding Life” hasn’t been updated since June. It most likely won’t be updated again for a while- as I focus on my art and other fics- but I do plan on working on it more at some point.

Healed And Coerced AU- This AU is based around the idea of Jasper being healed after Mindful Education. Having being healed by just Steven, she has issues with her physical form that makes her gem no longer self sufficient, and results in a lot of problems for her. This fic also includes heavy themes, and can get graphic at times. I have the most fun when writing in canon events! This fic has 3 arcs so far- which is a total of 16 chapters. It is NOT completed, but is currently on hiatus.

Crystal Gem AU- It is currently set during the gem war- Jasper joins the rebellion after she is in the palanquin and witnesses Rose shape shift into PD. While set during the war in the beginning, I am planning for Jasper to survive the Diamond Blast and live on Earth with the CGs. This means Amethyst will come along, eventually so will Greg... and Steven. This is my newest fic- there is only one chapter so far.

Notes:

These fics won’t have nsfw content.

While it can be nice content to consume, I don’t plan on making any of these into ship-fics (I just feel like I don’t see much Jasper content on AO3 that isn’t ship related).

The first two fics (FSBTDWYL and H&C-AU) are a lot heavier or ‘angsty’ than my third one (CG-AU) is planned to be- however my third fic won’t exactly be rainbows and sunshine. Jasper will just have less ✨issues✨ than in canon & my other fics.

The aims of my fics are to show sides to Jasper we wouldn’t normally see, but to also give her a happier ending. It does get low at times, but I don’t plan on ever keeping her at a low.

I try not to be biased when writing other characters, especially ones I’m not as fond of. I also try to keep these peeps in character! Even if they’re in non-canon situations.

I only started writing fics this year- and it had been a fair few years since my writing days, so the writing may not be perfect! I’m just doing this for fun.

If you choose to read any of these- I hope you enjoy!

#jasper fanfic #steven universe #steven universe fanfic #jasper su #steven universe au #su fanfic #jasper fic #su au #jasper #update

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jowritesthingss · 4 years

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Excuse Me Sir This Is My Emotional Support Eldritch Being

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing(s): n/a

Rating: Teen (for swearing)

Content Warning(s): rabbits, food/drink, mild(ish) swearing, not!Sasha, eldritch beings, spoilers through early s3-ish

Length: 2,190 words

Brief Summary: The archival team adopts a rabbit. (Part one of the Emotional Support Eldritch AU!)

AO3 link in reblogs bc Tumblr is a biatch!

“What is it?”

Jon levels a suspicious glare down at the fluffy blob comfortably stretched out in the middle of the overstuffed break room couch.

Tim blinks owlishly at him from behind his mug of tea. “A...rabbit?”

“Yes, but are you sure it’s a rabbit?” Jon asks insistently. “Not a—a spirit, or...an animated doll, or a clown in disguise or something?”

Sighing, Tim sets his tea down on the counter. “Look, I get the whole ‘suspicious of us being murderers’ thing—no I don’t, actually, but that’s beside the point—it. is. a rabbit.” For a good measure, he walks over to sit on one side of the rabbit, reaching a hand out to the little guy’s fluffy head. If a rabbit could smile, he suspects this one would be doing so as it leans up into his hand.

“No fleas or ticks...or worms, so it’s not some Jane Prentiss Pet Sematary crossover, I promise—” Tim rolls his eyes, “—the veterinarian confirmed as much when I brought the poor thing in. Out of the mud and the rain of the gutter,” he adds, not even attempting to hide the guilt-trip. He wishes Martin were here, with his ridiculously effective puppy-dog eyes.

Tim knows this is Jon he’s talking to, but surely even he can’t be that cold-hearted. He rather thinks that Jon will enjoy not being alone anymore down here during all his late nights. If he’d let himself, surely Jon would enjoy having company in the form of a teeny tiny creature that can’t and won’t harm him—which, uh, certainly is not why he’s lying about his current flat not permitting pets, no siree.

“...Fine. Whatever.” Jon points an accusing finger at him. “But we’re not keeping it,” he stresses. “The moment you find it a different home, it goes. The moment.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Tim chirps, although as he begins a staring contest with the rabbit’s curious red eyes, he has no intention of actually doing as Jon says.

Martin chooses this moment to walk through the door. His eyes light up. “Aw, is that a rabbit?”

“No, this does not mean you’re allowed to bring in more strays,” Jon snaps.

The light in Martin’s eyes fades. “Okay,” he says mournfully as he crouches to pet the rabbit, sulking.

“So what should we name him?” Tim asks Jon when the Head Archivist comes into the break room the next morning.

“Oh—my—” Jon startles where he stands by the counter, attempting to make himself some toast with the Archive’s horrible fifteen-year-old toaster—toast that now splatters across the floor. Somehow in his sleep-deprived stupor he must’ve missed Tim sitting on the couch with a white rabbit on his head. He never seems to really notice Tim, but at this point it’s fine enough; Tim has accepted that the guy has impossibly poor taste.

The rabbit clambers down from Tim’s shoulders, jumping off of the couch and padding over to investigate the new human(?) and the mess he made.

“How about Thumper?” Tim puzzles aloud, stretching leisurely and acting as if he doesn’t notice Jon frantically scrubbing up raspberry jam and trying to avoid the rabbit’s investigative snuffles all in one. “No, no...that’s too cliché.”

“I really don’t see the point in naming it when it shouldn’t be here more than a few weeks,” Jon comments, shooing the animal in question away before it can try to lick up any jam.

“Maybe Joe?” Tim continues loudly, as if he hadn’t heard the other. When the rabbit ambles back over to him, he scoops them up, pressing their noses together. “Ligma?” He shakes his head at the rabbit. “No, no. We need to have more sophistication as we go about this.”

“You could do with applying that sophistication to your work,” comes the grumbled retort.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jon abruptly turns to burn another piece of bread in the toaster.

“How about Marshmallow?”

“What on Earth—” Jon shrieks, jumping in his desk chair, and a sheaf of papers is sent flying around the office.

“The rabbit. Should we call him ‘Marshmallow’?” Tim smiles as innocently as he can manage, standing out in the hall with his head peeping into his boss’ office. “Marshie for short?”

“I am in the middle of a statement!” Jon sputters. “Get out!”

“Okay, okay....” Tim fluidly shrugs his shoulders. “What about ‘Bob’?”

“Out!”

But Tim continues to pop into Jon’s office unannounced throughout the day, tossing out name suggestions. He even manages to rope Martin into doing it too, and notes with savage delight that between the two of them and his work, Jon doesn’t get much more than a moment to wallow rest for the remainder of the day.

Between the two of them Tim and Martin manage to compile a surprisingly long list of names:

Snowball,

Posy (Martin is partial to this one because he thinks it’s cute),

Bungen Leitner,

John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt (“is that too American of a reference for a fanfic taking place in the UK?” “what?” “what?”),

the Bunholding,

Michael (Jon is especially averse to that one for some reason),

Cottonball,

Fluffy Bastard (Tim’s own favorite),

Bugs Bunny,

Eldritch Horror (Tim tosses that one in as a joke; no way the rabbit that eats his own shit is some kind of otherworldly being),

Big Bungus (“it’s a play off Big Chungus!” “d’you seriously think anyone else here even knows what memes are”), and

the Vampiric Count Sir Maximillianus-Who-Is-Also-A-Werebun

(Despite badgering Sasha multiple times in an attempt to get her thoughts on the matter, the only name she offers up is “Dinner”, which makes Martin cry, so that one is out.)

None of the names quite seem to fit the little white puffball that has now taken over the realm of their break room, however—so Tim and Martin find themselves going back to the drawing board. They reluctantly leave the Institute at the end of the day, still without having decided upon a name.

“JON JUNIOR!” Martin screeches excitedly the next morning as they’re congregating once more in the break room, zombie-like before their tea and mid-morning snack time (primary schools don’t get all the fun, okay).

Jon and Sasha startle, and for once even Tim himself jumps. The rabbit doesn’t seem to care much where he is, nibbling at some hay in his corner litter box.

“I—what?” Jon asks, flabbergasted, although he manages to not drop his toast this time. Character development.

“We should name him Jon Jr! After you!” Martin explains eagerly.

“Absolutely not,” Jon tries to say, but before he can finish, Tim is jumping in.

“I think that is an excellent idea,” he says, grinning broadly. “Thoughts, Sasha?”

“I’m not emotionally invested in this.” Sasha shrugs, uncaring. “I’m going back to my desk.” She takes her drink and walks out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind her.

“All right, since Sasha doesn’t care, I’ll decide her vote for her,” Tim says, carefully containing his glee. “So that’s three votes for and one against, then. Majority rules.”

“What? No!” John protests, but Tim is too busy looking at the rabbit for confirmation.

“What do you think, little guy?” He walks over, bends down, and lightly boops the rabbit’s nose. “Are you a Jon Jr?”

The rabbit twitches his nose in agreement and poops.

“Well then!” Tim stands, clapping his hands together. “That’s been decided upon.”

No, it hasn’t,” Jon insists, but Tim cares little for his boss’ objections. He’ll accept his fate as Jon Senior eventually.

To Tim’s utter surprise and fascination, it happens sooner than later.

Jon, Tim quickly realizes, is a lot like the one dad who says “no dog” and then ends up loving the dog more than he loves his own children.

Despite his initial objections, the daft fool ends up getting caught up in Jon Jr’s big, innocent, rabbit-y gaze (worse than even Martin’s puppy-dog eyes, they conclude gravely), and by the end of the day Friday Jon has announced that he supposes the rabbit can stay with him over weekends and holidays.

“We’re still not keeping him,” Jon reminds them all, even as the rabbit gathered in his arms, giving his nose kisses and knocking his glasses askew, says otherwise.

He gets caught trying to sneak the rabbit into his office on more than one occasion, but Martin raises a fuss about it.

(“He’s all of ours! Jon Jr is our department’s mascot now,” Martin protests defiantly. “You can’t take him away from the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Tim adds, mostly just to stir up drama—he doesn’t particularly care one way or another. “You can’t just swoop him up and file him away like one of your statements.”

“Just don’t let it get out and chew at my electronics,” Sasha says, distractedly typing something on her phone, probably to that weird new boyfriend.)

To stave off the imminent coup, Jon Jr becomes an officially-declared resident of the break room. He slowly amasses chub around his middle and a cardboard kingdom of bunny toys, houses, blankets, and treats. A rabbit could want for nothing more.

And perhaps—perhaps a human could want for nothing more, too, Tim thinks as he looks down at the figure curled up on the sofa, rabbit nestled against his chest.

He doesn’t love the man, not by a long, long shot—doesn’t even particularly like him half the time—but Tim can’t deny that the scene is adorable. And, regardless of his very vocal protests, Jon Jr may very well be what Jon Sr needs to finally process things and move the hell on with life.

Tim smiles grimly. It’s about damn time.

He quietly closes the door to the room and heads back towards the Archives. He’ll leave Jon to wake himself up.

(And to discover for himself that Jon Jr has peed on his pants leg.)

Of course, this is the Archive we’re talking about, so naturally the peace is abruptly shattered, and everything goes horribly, horribly wrong.

Tim isn’t entirely certain what happens or why, but all of a sudden Sasha isn’t really Sasha, and he and Jon have gotten backed up and cornered in the tunnels as this not-really-Sasha stalks towards them, predictably with the intent to kill, just like the rest of the spooks they are so lucky to deal with.

Tim and Jon Sr slowly back away until they hit a dead end. Meanwhile, Jon Jr licks at Tim’s arm—he’d been scooped up as they ran into the tunnels, Tim doesn’t entirely know why—and despite the fact that they are most probably about to, y’know, die, the little kisses almost feel strangely reassuring.

The thing-that-is-not-Sasha cackles, her—their?—its?—voice distorted and echoing throughout the tunnels. It stalks towards them.

All of a sudden, Jon Jr wriggles loose and leaps smoothly down onto the ground. He scampers in front of Tim and Jon, heading towards bitch-give-me-my-Sasha-back.

“No! Get back here!” Tim hisses at the rabbit, even though he knows it’s pointless. He hates to admit it, but he’s becoming rather fond of Jon Jr, even if Tim mostly brought him in to piss off and totally not help Jon. Jon—who, speaking of, seems to be equally fond now, judging by the deflating tire of a terrified squeak he makes, and the adorable immature grabby arms he makes at the little bugger.

“Junior,” Jon calls out, sounding like a toddler who’d just been told Santa wasn’t real (he is, they have the statements to prove it, he is). And Tim wants to laugh, albeit hysterically. The first time he sees his brick wall of a superior cry and it’s over a rabbit, and he’s not even going to have time to gloat over it because they’re about to die. “No! You’re going to—”

Jon Jr stops and sits in front of wholly-absolutely-totally-not-Sasha-what-the-fuck, who looks down at him, bemused through its murderous bloodlust.

The rabbit lifts a dainty paw up to his mouth, and suddenly—suddenly it’s twisting and huge, towering up to the ceiling of the tunnel, its skin hairless and tinted a sickly, glowing gray, with five, six, seven...a whole lot more limbs than a rabbit is supposed to have.

The not-rabbit unhinges its now meters-long jaw and snaps up the creature.

Tim and Jon stare at each other, wide-eyed.

There is a loud gulping sound, then a deafening crack, and suddenly there is a very normal white rabbit sitting in front of them again, carefully cleaning one paw with a very normal pink tongue.

“Wh—” Tim chokes on his own words.

The holy-shit-it-really-is-an-eldritch-horror-after-all stretches, yawns, and flops over in a dead sleep.

“...We’re keeping the rabbit,” Jon says faintly.

“I—yeah.” Tim nods, light-headed. “We’re keeping the rabbit.”

Jon Jr the rabbit-slash-eldritch-abomination gets a very hearty dinner of romaine lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber peels that night.

(Tune in next time* for the terrible, terrible realization—“Jon Jr is a girl?!” (Also why is there another dead body again, dammit, can’t we go one week))

Fin

First || Next

(There may or may not actually be a next time. It depends. )

Behold. What very well may be the stupidest thing I have ever written. Ahem. Did I say stupidest? I meant most brilliant. Clearly I meant it’s the most brilliant thing I have ever written. Obviously.

Let me know if you enjoyed this! I have a bunch of ideas to continue this ridiculously silly AU of sorts, but idk if I’m going to quite yet and am not certain that I’ll be continuing to write for TMA. atm I’m focused on a different fandom, and I’m only on s3, so the really big idea I had has to wait, anyway.

Want to chat or be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

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kmomof4 · 4 years

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State of Emergency: Code White

Here is the third and final part of my State of Emergency universe, originally inspired by the 1997 Tommy Lee Jones movie, Volcano. This picks up about six and a half months after State of Emergency: Future Glimpse, Part 2 of this series. All the love and thanks in the world to @profdanglaisstuff for her beta services, @thisonesatellite for sharing her earthquake knowledge with me, and @hollyethecurious for her listening ear and her assurance that this idea wasn't garbage. And last but certainly not least, @searchingwardrobes and @stahlop for their help in deciding on a title. I hope you enjoy this conclusion and let me know what you think! Read more link after the first scene, unless Tumblr ate it.

Tagging my peeps: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Ao3 link

Also muchos love and flails to @captainsjedi for her picset for this fic!!! It is so perfect, I can’t even!!!!

August 28, 2021

A squeal that was nearly loud enough to break the windows drew Emma’s attention away from where Killian was checking them into the Hotel Casa del Mar for Graham and Ruby’s wedding the next day. She turned just in time to hold out her arms before Ruby barrelled into her nearly nine months pregnant belly.

“Emma!” she exclaimed, “Look at you!” She grasped Emma’s shoulders and held her away from her, scrutinizing every part of her with an eye that only a best friend of many, many years could accomplish. Apparently satisfied with what she found, Ruby pulled her close and rubbed her tummy all while murmuring to her honorary niece or nephew.

“Hello there, my darling,” she cooed, “How is my little angel today? I hope you didn’t make the drive down too difficult for your mom. I can’t wait to meet you in just a few more weeks.” She ended her questioning monologue with a kiss to the top of her belly. If it had been anyone else, Emma would have introduced them to her fist long before now, but this was Ruby. Her best friend since junior high. Certain privileges came with that kind of longevity.

“I’m fine, too,” she laughed, “Thanks for asking, Ruby.” Ruby rose up laughing at her sarcasm and drawing her close again.

“Ohhh,” she breathed, “I’m so happy to see you! We cannot go three months without seeing each other ever again.”

Killian turned away from the counter with a wide grin before Ruby released Emma and greeted him with an enthusiastic hug as well. “You hear me, Jones?” she asked, pulling away, “Emma and I cannot go three months between seeing each other ever again.”

“Duly noted,” he replied. “Where’s Graham?”

Ruby turned away as her tall, sandy haired fianceé sauntered over to where the three of them still stood. The men greeted each other with a firm handshake before embracing.

“It’s good to see you, mate,” Killian greeted his best friend as Graham returned the sentiment. They moved away from the check in counter, toward the elevators finalizing plans for dinner in a couple of hours. Emma was happy to see everyone, but she was really looking forward to a nice long soak in the whirlpool tub in their room and maybe a nap beforehand. The ride down from Sacramento had been brutal. The whirlpool jets on the tight muscles in her lower back where the achiness had settled would feel like heaven. The normally about five and a half hour drive had taken them nearly nine, with her bladder demands every hour or so and needing to stretch her legs.

They all rode the elevator together, Ruby and Emma keeping their arms around each other the entire way. Finally making it to their rooms, the men had to nearly peel the ladies away from each other.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian cajoled, “that whirlpool tub is waiting.” He waggled his brows suggestively, earning him an eye roll.

“All right, fine,” she whined, releasing Ruby. Ruby immediately stepped into Graham's arms and they turned back toward their worn out friend.

“We’ll see you downstairs at 7:30,” she said. “That should give you enough time for a bath and rest for a little while. Have to make sure you’re taking care of my niece or nephew, ya know.”

Emma and Killian both grinned. “We’ll see you then.”

~*~*~

Emma entered the elevator and stretched her back with a grimace on her face and a soft exhale at the achiness there. Killian was by her side instantly, his hand rubbing circles into the small of her back.

“Are you alright, darling?” he asked. “Need another soak in the tub when we get back to the room tonight?”

Emma turned to him with a smile on her face at his concern. “Those jets felt wonderful. Another soak after dinner may be just what the doctor ordered. All those hours in the car, just…” she trailed away with another stretch and quiet groan. “I know you love that car, but we are NEVER traveling out of town in it again.”

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out to find Killian’s brother Liam and his girlfriend, Elsa already waiting. Liam was an Anglican priest and would be performing the ceremony the next day. Elsa, while not a bridesmaid, had been welcomed into the group when she and Liam had started dating last spring and so she was invited to enjoy all the festivities with the wedding party. They were still sharing hugs and greetings when Mary Margaret and David and then the bride and groom arrived.

They moved the party to one of the best seafood places in Santa Monica. Right on the water, it served steak and fresh out of the ocean seafood. It had been a favorite when she had lived here and she had informed Ruby that she was resigning as Matron of Honor if they didn’t eat there sometime over the weekend. She may not be able to eat any shellfish, but she could still have her filet mignon.

The evening was filled with good food, good drinks, laughter, and stories. Emma got to share the story about when she and Ruby had tried to fake-ID their way into a hot new club on the beach back when they were in high school. All Ruby’s idea, of course. But then, in retaliation, Ruby had to tell the story about the first time Emma got completely hammered, after their college graduation.

“Single mom, graduating summa cum laude,” she shrugged, with a smirk, “I was entitled.” Her smirk softened into a more genuine, grateful smile. “I couldn’t have done it without Ruby, David and M’s.”

“Damn right!” Ruby exclaimed, toasting Emma’s raised glass with her own. Laughter broke out from around the table and more toasts were raised to Emma’s success and to the happy couple. Finally, Graham stood.

“Who would have guessed that one of the greatest natural disasters that California has ever seen would lead me, lead us here.” He smiled down at Ruby, affectionately. “Killian and I have been friends for a decade. Ever since he hired me right out of college to work at the Geological Survey. When he was promoted, he brought me along with him to work as his assistant. And it was that position that led me to this beautiful, wonderful woman by my side this evening. The woman that I am so blessed to be marrying tomorrow.” He looked back down at his soon-to-be bride, as she fanned herself dramatically, trying to hide her blush. He leaned down and pulled Ruby’s chin up and captured her lips in a tender kiss as whoops and hollers from around the table were directed at the happy couple. He sat down and draped his arm around her shoulder as she snuggled into his side, red lips smiling widely.

Killian rose then. “I’ll keep this brief, since we still have the Dudes Day Lunch tomorrow,” he began, as loud guffaws broke out over the name. “Hey!” he exclaimed, “don’t laugh at me! It was old man Liam’s idea!” He pointed at his brother whose face flamed red at being outed for coming up with that ridiculous name. “Anyway, Graham fell for Ruby nearly as fast as I did for Emma. And I could not be happier for the both of you. But I have to say, mate, I made better use of my time.” More laughs came from the gathered friends as he waggled his eyebrows salaciously at his wife as he sat down.

“Well, you were on more of a time clock than I was, mate,” Graham reminded him. “Had to fit the wedding in once the Governor decided he wanted you in Sacramento.”

Killian nodded in agreement before drawing Emma into his side. He couldn’t help but rub his hand on her swollen belly before kissing her on the temple. Now that the speeches were over, the dinner party quickly wound down. They made their way back to the hotel and all went their separate ways, wishing each other a good night and reiterating the plans for the morning.

Emma came out of the bathroom over an hour later, hair and body scrubbed clean until it glowed in the low light of the lamps of the room.

“How’s your back, darling?” he asked, quietly, “Still aching?”

“Yes,” she yawned, climbing in the bed. “But I think that soak and more than an hour in this bed will go a long way to helping it feel better. I’m really looking forward to the massage in the morning. I’m sure I’ll be right as rain after that.” She snuggled as close as she could into his chest before looking up and drawing him into a kiss.

“Hmmmm,” he hummed against her lips. “I’m sure you will be too. Goodnight, Swan.”

She turned in his arms that tenderly cupped their unborn child. “Goodnight.”

~*~*~

Killian couldn’t stop the grin that spread his lips as he caught sight of the female portion of the bridal party exiting the elevators that brought them down from the spa on the top floor of the hotel. Emma was radiant, hair and makeup done to perfection and appearing to be even more relaxed than she had been when she left their room that morning. Apparently, a good night's sleep in a very comfortable bed plus a facial and pregnancy massage did wonders for his beloved wife’s countenance.

“Swan,” he called, approaching her as the party made their way toward the hotel restaurant. She turned toward him with the most beautiful smile on her face, she nearly took his breath away.

“Hi,” she replied, meeting him halfway and turning her face up to his for his kiss.

“How was the spa, darling?” he asked, rubbing circles into the small of her back. “How does your back feel?”

“Amazing,” she gushed, “Rose was my therapist and I nearly fell asleep under her fingers. I have had a couple of twinges since the massage, but nothing like yesterday on the way down.”

“Good,” he replied, “I’m glad to hear it. We’ll be at the oyster bar if you need me,” he said, pointing across the lobby. The smile she graced him with was full of happiness. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his own again. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

She hummed as he let her go. Emma couldn’t hide her appreciative smirk as she watched her husband saunter away before she caught up with the other ladies at the matré d’s podium. “Bridal luncheon for four under the name Jones,” she informed the man.

“Right this way, ladies.”

He led them across the gleaming marble floor toward a beautifully appointed table only a few feet in front of the floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the beach where Ruby and Graham would be exchanging their vows in about six hours. The ladies oooo-ed and ahhh-ed over the view and the richness of their surroundings. Settling themselves in their chairs, their server appeared pouring water in their glasses and taking their drink orders before disappearing again.

“Ruby,” breathed Mary Margaret, “this is absolutely beautiful!”

“I know!” their friend agreed. “Isn’t it? They had a picture of the restaurant on the website and when I saw it, I knew this is where I wanted everything to be.” Ruby sighed, happily. “I’ve always dreamt of a sunset wedding on the beach.” From where they sat, they could see the area where the wedding coordinator and her crew were already hard at work getting ready for the nuptials that evening.

“Don’t I know it.” Emma rolled her eyes, good naturedly. “I’ve been listening to it for years.” She drew her best friend into a side hug as the other ladies looked on, wide smiles on their faces. “And I couldn’t be happier for you both.”

Their server returned with their drinks and took their orders for lunch. Once he withdrew, Elsa raised her glass to the bride. “I know that I’m not as close with all you ladies as you are to each other, but I’d be remiss if I neglected to tell you all thank you first for including me in your festivities and second for welcoming me into your group with such open arms. I know that Liam is so thrilled and honored to be joining you and Graham in marriage this evening, Ruby, and we both wish you every happiness and blessing in your union.”

Tears glistened in Ruby’s eyes as she rose from her place at the table and came around to gather Elsa into a warm hug. “Thank you, Elsa,” she choked out. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally be marrying Graham. And having you here to celebrate with us makes it that much better. There are truly no words for how happy it makes me to see Liam so happy. How happy you’ve made him.” Elsa’s lovely face flushed at Ruby’s words. “When I met Killian, he, and then Liam, joined David as the brothers I’d never had. So it does my heart good that you’ve found each other.” Ruby let go and returned to her seat just as their lunches arrived.

~*~*~

“Hear, hear!” The four men raised their pints and toasted Graham’s happiness after Liam had spoken a few words that if the ladies had heard, would have earned them all eye rolls and playfully indignant slaps at the raunchiness of the teasing. Well, except maybe Graham. Ruby would have been just as likely to laugh and raise her glass with the rest of them.

After taking a sip, Killian rose from his seat. “As Best Man, and the reason that Graham met Ruby in the first place, I have a few words to say.” The laughter among the men died down as they all fixed their attention on him. “Graham, words cannot express how happy I am for you that this day has finally arrived. I knew the moment I entered the control center two and a half years ago that there was something different about you, and when you smiled at Ruby I could immediately see what it was.” Graham’s face broke into a soft smile as his eyes took on the dreamy quality of pleasant memories. “There’s nothing like a disaster of epic proportions to drive people together. You were smitten with Ruby that very first day. It has been a joy and privilege to watch you fall in love with the wonderful woman that you will make your wife in just a few hours from now.” He raised his glass high again in a toast. “To Graham and Ruby.”

“To Graham and Ruby,” the others echoed, raising their own glasses.

“May you find every happiness in life together, for you certainly deserve it.” Killian took his seat just as their server approached with their meals.

~*~*~

The ladies had enjoyed their lunch and were waiting for their Death by Chocolate desserts when Emma rose. Stretching her back with a grimace, Emma placed her hand on her back and waved away M’s concerned face. She looked down at her best friend and smiled gently.

“Ruby, you’ve been my best friend in the world since we were twelve years old and you moved into my school district. I’ll never forget the first time I saw you. You came into our 7th grade Theater class like a whirlwind.” Ruby chuckled at the memory. “You sat next to me and didn’t let my natural shyness and ‘prickly-ness,’” Emma placed quote signs around the word that Ruby had undoubtedly used many times in referring to her, “deter you. You were gonna be my friend if it killed you to do it. You were my closest friend in no time flat and I am so grateful. It’s been my joy and privilege to grow up with you, to travel the ups and downs of life with you up to this point, that I’ll now be handing off to your husband in just a few hours. And also to watch you fall in love with the love of your life. There are no words to express my happiness for you both.”

A gasp broke from Emma’s lips as a tightening in her back that radiated around her front caused her to hunch over and grab the table before her. The silverware and glassware rattled as the ladies exchanged nervous glances.

Emma laughed, breathlessly, “That really hurt,” she gasped, trying to sit down again. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

The tableware continued to rattle and Emma followed M’s and Elsa’s gaze upward to where the large chandelier hanging over their table was swinging back and forth.

“Earthquake!” M’s cried, “Everyone under the table!”

Emma got down on all fours and made her way under the table along with the others. Terror overtook her as the shaking continued. Thoughts of Killian on the other side of the lobby and Henry still in Sacramento raced through her mind as she prayed for their and her own and her baby’s safety. The shaking was beginning to subside when the table collapsed on the four of them, forcing Emma to flatten herself on the floor, her face buried in Ruby’s lap. The pain that ripped through her caused her to scream in agony before everything went black.

~*~*~

The shaking had finally subsided, but the scream and sudden silence from Emma terrified Mary Margaret more than the earthquake had. “Emma? Elsa? Ruby? Everyone okay?”

Ruby, her back facing M’s and bent over from the table on top of them was the first to answer. “I’m ok, but Emma’s unconscious. Her head is in my lap.”

“Okay, we have to get the table off of Emma. On the count of three everybody push as hard as you can. One, two, three!”

Groans from the others filled her ears, but she was barely aware of them as she pushed with all her might against the heavy surface of the table above her. Suddenly, the table gave way as it and the chandelier that had fallen on it flipped off of them. The sunlight nearly blinded her and it took a moment of furious blinking before M’s was able to scan over the others before she scrambled to a still unconscious Emma.

“Emma? Emma!” she cried, checking her pulse and respiration before noticing the wetness that was spreading out from under her sister-in-law. “Ok, I need everyone to surround Emma to help me turn her on her back. Very carefully. I think her water’s broken.”

A gasp broke from Ruby at M’s speculation. M’s eyes met Elsa’s pain filled ones as she realized that she was holding her left arm across her chest. The darkening bruise that took up most of her forearm clued her in that Elsa’s arm was badly broken and she wouldn’t be much help in moving Emma.

“We have to get Emma on her back so I can see exactly what is happening with the baby. As soon as I’m done with that, I’ll get your arm splinted.”

Elsa nodded. “Making sure that Emma and the baby are okay is more important. I can wait.”

“Okay,” she agreed, “Ruby, can you get Emma’s shoulders turned to the left? I’ll handle the torso.”

Ruby nodded and took her position. “On the count of three. One, two, three.” With a mighty heave they were able to get Emma on her back as she let out a low moan at the action.

The front of Emma’s dress was soaked. Mary Margaret wasted no time in shucking the maxi dress she wore up around her waist and removing her underwear. Ruby was gently shaking Emma’s shoulders and murmuring in her ear trying to get her to wake up as Mary Margaret checked to see how far along in labor she was.

“She’s six centimeters,” M’s announced, with obvious relief. “The baby’s coming. Ruby, I need you to get to the front of the hotel and find some paramedics. Hopefully there’s some nearby and you won’t have any trouble getting out there or getting them back here. If you see any employee’s on your way out, tell them we need water and towels here, ASAP.”

Emma was finally starting to come around as Ruby was maneuvering out from under her. “What happened,” she mumbled.

M’s moved to Emma’s head. She placed both hands on her cheeks and held her attention. “Emma, I need you to look at me. Do you know where you are? Do you know what’s happening today?”

“Uh, we’re at the hotel? And we just finished lunch? Ruby and Graham are getting married.” It was really more of a question than she would have liked, but at least there weren’t any memory gaps.

“Yes, that’s good!” M’s exclaimed, “Very good! There was an earthquake and we were trapped under the table. We’ve gotten the table off of us, but your water has broken. The baby is coming.” The calm that normally characterized her in an emergency situation descended on Mary Margaret. She may not have expected to deliver her niece or nephew, but she was far from inexperienced in matters such as these.

“The baby is coming?” Emma cried, “I’m not due for another five weeks! Will he be okay?”

Looking into Emma’s eyes, she could see that panic threatened to overtake her. She infused all the confidence she could muster from the less than ideal situation into her smile before she shared her expectations for the situation.

“At thirty-five weeks, the baby will almost definitely be fine. At this stage of pregnancy, the baby is mostly gaining weight and preparing for delivery. Our only concern is the setting. This is obviously far from ideal.” At that moment their server arrived with an armful of towels and two water pitchers.

“Thank you,” M’s said, taking the supplies from him. Turning back to Emma, she continued. “You are six centimeters dialated and I expect you’ll be ready to push here in about an hour.”

Emma nodded, trying her best to find some measure of comfort that M’s was with her and would do everything she could to ensure a safe delivery of her child. Wanting nothing more than for Killian to be at her side, she closed her eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. She could feel the tightening in her back again spreading around to the front that she had become familiar with since yesterday. She should have realized that the pain was early labor and not just uncomfortable seats in Killian’s beloved classic SS Chevelle. But there was nothing to do about that now. She could only pray that Killian was unhurt and making his way to her and their baby.

~*~*~

When the earthquake finally stopped, Killian and the other men came out from under the bar where they had taken cover when the shaking began. It was all he could do to breathe as terror filled him as he looked around the restaurant and out to the lobby beyond. It was obviously a major earthquake, but the damage he could see was relatively minor. He knew that it would take him some time to get to Emma, however. He looked over to his companions.

“Everyone alright?” he asked.

A chorus of “yesses” and “fine” met him. “I’ve got to get to Emma,” he blurted out, picking his way around the debris as he headed toward the lobby.

“Hold on, brother.” Liam approached and grabbed him by the arm.

“Don’t you try to stop me,” Killian yelled, jerking away from him. “I have to make sure she’s safe. She and the baby.” The terror rose again and tears filled his eyes as the possibilities played out in his mind.

“I’m not trying to stop you, Killian,” Liam agreed, “I’m simply telling you that we’re coming with you. We all want to make sure our ladies are safe.”

Killian deflated. “Of course, brother,” he replied, chagrined. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“They’re safe. They’re all safe. I have to believe that. Everybody, here? Okay, lets go,” Liam called.

~*~*~

BREAKING NEWS scrolled across the television screen, drawing Henry Jones’ attention away from the comic book he was looking at. He was hanging out in a gift shop at the airport terminal before his flight to LAX started boarding. He stared at the monitor in horror as the newscaster was reporting on the 6.7 earthquake that had just hit Los Angeles. Footage of the destruction took his breath away. He hadn’t seen anything like it since the volcano erupted in LA two and half years ago.

A helicopter above the carnage was relaying live pictures as the anchor scrambled trying to report on the disaster. He looked over at the screen where his three o’clock flight was listed. A red CANCELED already flashed next to it. He could feel the fear rising up within, threatening to choke him. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for his parents and friends. Especially his baby brother or sister.

Taking a deep breath, he could hear his dad’s voice in his head telling him to stay calm. He was a smart kid and to think about what he needed to do. Feeling at least a little less agitated, he pulled his phone out and texted his friend Thomas to come back and get him due to the cancellation. Thomas was his section leader in the trombone section of his high school band. They had a long rehearsal yesterday to learn the new halftime show for this Friday’s game that he couldn’t miss, not if he wanted to maintain his place in the show anyway. Arrangements had been made with Thomas’ family and for him to fly down on Sunday instead of driving down with his parents the day before. Once that text was sent, he texted his mom and dad. He’d lived in California all his life, so he knew with the level of destruction he was seeing that cell towers weren’t going to allow him to get through if he called.

Moments later, a text from his dad came through. Henry released the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding as he was assured that he and the other men were all safe but that his mom was at the bridesmaid’s luncheon when the quake hit and he was still trying to get to her. Henry could feel the panic rising in him again as he read through the rest of the text of his dad promising to contact him as soon as he got to her. He slipped his phone back in his pocket to wait. It was all he could do.

~*~*~

Killian put his phone back in his pocket after texting Henry the gist of the situation. The men were making progress out of the oyster bar, but they still had about a hundred yards to cover to get to the entrance of the restaurant that the ladies were at. Killian could only hope for the best when they got there. As they entered the lobby, Graham let out a cry so full of joy and relief that Killian immediately knew who Graham was calling for.

“Ruby!”

The tall brunette turned toward them, and even from that distance, they could see the way her face lit up. “Graham!”

“Where’s everyone? Is Emma okay?”

“The baby is coming,” she called. “We were trapped under the table. Emma lost consciousness for a few minutes, but was coming around when I left. M’s sent me to find paramedics and get them to her. Her water broke and M’s said she’s about six centimeters dilated.”

Killian could feel the blood drain out of his face at Ruby’s report. A strong hand grabbed his bicep, grounding him and his own hand covered it in thanks. “She’ll be alright, brother. We’ll get there in time.”

Killian nodded as he scanned the carnage in front of him, keeping him from his wife and child. Determination filled him as he pushed the panic back and looked at his brother. Nodding again and making sure that David had caught up with them, the men forged ahead into the ruin before them.

~*~*~

M’s mopped Emma’s head from the sweat that had gathered there as another contraction eased. Emma’s exhausted body rested up for the next contraction on the bottom of the upended table.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed.

“You can, Emma,” M’s cajoled, “You’re almost there. It’s almost time to push.”

Elsa murmured her own encouragement as well, her good hand firmly grasped in Emma’s. Once M’s had gotten Emma as comfortable as she could, she had turned her attention to Elsa’s arm. She had been able to break off one of the chair legs and fashioned a splint and sling out of it and one of the towels their server had brought.

“I want Killian!” Emma cried, head thrashing back and forth as another contraction started. “What if he’s hurt? What if he can’t get to me? To us? What if he’s dead?” The thought that she hadn’t let herself even think of to this point poured out of her in her excruciating pain and despair. She was dimly aware of movement around her when suddenly strong arms enveloped her pushing her up so that she was nearly upright and the voice that she longed to hear was in her ear, telling her to hold on. She melted into the embrace and wept with joy.

“Come on, Emma. You can do it. I’m here,” Killian whispered in her ear. He slipped behind her so that she could recline against him as he held her to him, assuring himself of her safety.

“Killian,” Emma sobbed.

“I’m here, Swan. You can do this.”

She shook her head, vehemently. “I can’t. I can’t. It’s too much. It hurts too MUUUUUUUUCH!” She ended on a scream as another contraction ripped through her.

“Ok, Emma,” M’s looked directly into Emma’s face as the contraction subsided. “It’s time. It’s time for you to push. Can you do that for me?”

Emma shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” Her chin trembled and her face shone with sweat and tears as she looked at her doctor, her friend, her sister-in-law. M’s just beamed at her.

“You can do this, Emma,” she stated, confidently. “You really don’t have much choice in the matter. Your child is depending on you.”

Killian whispered in her ear. “You can do this, my love. You are so strong and you have never been more beautiful. Our baby needs you. You can do it!”

Emma sobbed again as she nodded and pushed herself up on Killian. “Emma, when the next contraction comes, I want you to push with everything you have in you, okay?”

Emma nodded again as the next contraction hit. She could barely hear M’s counting to ten between the blood rushing in her ears, Killian’s harsh breathing, and her own screams creating a cacophony of sound that completely overtook all other senses.

“I can see the head, Emma,” M’s cried. “Our little prince or princess has a head full of dark hair! Just like their Daddy! You’re almost there! One more big push for me!”

Killian pressed his lips to Emma’s neck. “You’re almost there, my love. One more push and we can meet our child.”

Emma nodded once more, too worn out to speak, as she prepped herself for one more push. The pain rolled over her and with a mighty cry, Emma pushed through the burning and tearing pain that felt like it was ripping her in two. As she collapsed against Killian, a new sound broke the silence. The cry of a newborn baby.

“It’s a girl,” Mary Margaret announced. A cheer broke out around them as the small gathered crowd celebrated the safe delivery. Emma turned her face to meet her husband’s lips while M’s went about the business of cleaning up their daughter.

Releasing her lips, Killian pulled out his phone to text Henry that he had a new baby sister.

“Did I miss it?” Ruby’s voice shouted, indignantly. “What do you mean, Emma? Having this baby without me?”

Emma laughed weakly and a chuckle rumbled through Killian’s chest at Ruby’s pique. The rattle of a gurney reached their ears as the paramedics arrived. M’s rose to speak to them after placing their baby girl in Emma’s arms.

“She’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Isn’t she beautiful, Killian?” she asked, turning towards him.

“Aye, beautiful.” He placed a kiss to Emma’s temple and reached out to touch his daughter. She caught his pointer finger in her own tiny fist, filling him with an unspeakable joy. The tears began to fall as the realization that in the midst of destruction, injury, and even death, he had helped bring life into the world. Hope filled his heart as he held his wife and daughter tightly, thanking God that they were safe.

The paramedics loaded mother and child onto the gurney. “What do you want to name her, love?”

“After all this, what do you think of Hope? Hope Margaret?”

He couldn’t stop the grin that broke over his face at the similar thought he had just had. “I think that’s perfect, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her lips as the EMT’s started to make their way through the chaos around them.

Once they arrived at the ambulance in front of the hotel, he was informed that they only had room for Emma, Hope, and Elsa inside the ambulance. Elsa tried to hand off her place to the new father, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“I’m sure that M’s took good care of you, lass, but you need to get to the hospital before I do.” He smiled gently at Emma and Hope as they were loaded in the vehicle. “They’ll want to get you all checked out, and we won’t be far behind you. We’ll see you soon.”

Elsa finally agreed, and after a parting kiss with Liam, climbed in just before they shut the doors.

Killian turned to M’s and David before gathering M’s in his arms. “Thank you,” he whispered, choking back tears. “I owe you everything. They are everything to me.”

M’s hugged him back just as tightly. “I know. They’re fine. They’re both fine.” Letting go, she grasped him by the shoulders and leaned back so she could look him in the eye. “Let’s get to the hospital and see our family.”

Nodding, Killian turned to David with his hand outstretched. Ignoring it, David gathered him into a bone crushing hug of his own. Killian could no longer keep the tears at bay. As a father himself, David knew exactly what Killian needed. He held his friend tightly as he sobbed out all the fear, panic, and joy this day had brought. After several minutes, Killian’s tears abated. Releasing him, David patted him on the back, expressing all the love and support without a single word. Then it was Liam’s turn. The brothers embraced before Liam let go with a teasing twinkle in his eye.

“My little brother is a father,” he exclaimed. “What am I gonna do now?”

“Stop calling me ‘little brother’ for one,” Killian groused, “and second, get a move on yourself!” Everyone laughed as Liam’s face flamed in embarrassment.

Graham, his arm around Ruby with matching grins on their faces offered their congratulations next. “I can’t believe she had the baby without me. But I’m so glad she’s here and safe.” Ruby’s expression sobered. “This could have been bad.”

“It could have been,” Killian agreed, “but, it wasn’t. Thank God.”

“Amen to that. Now let’s get to that hospital. Make sure everyone’s okay.”

Picking their way through the torn up streets, it took nearly an hour before they finally made it the block and a half to Cedars. By the time they got inside, Emma had already been moved to the Maternity floor and Hope had already been cleaned up, checked out and given a clean bill of health as well.

Once everyone had been assured of Emma’s, Hope’s and Elsa’s well being, they all settled in to discuss what to do next. Emma and Killian were texting back and forth with Henry, sending pictures of his new baby sister.

Ruby sat down on Graham’s lap with a pout on her lips. “There’s no telling when we’re gonna be able to get married, now,” she very nearly whined. “It will take months to rebuild enough to rebook everything.”

Elsa threw a questioning look at Liam. “What’s stopping you from getting married here? Now?” she asked. “It’s not a sunset wedding on the beach, but isn’t ‘getting married’ the whole point? No matter where it is?”

Liam raised his eyebrow at the couple as they looked at each other, silently communicating their desires.

“We’re fine with it,” Graham said, never taking his eyes off Ruby.

“Well then,” Liam exclaimed, “Let’s have a wedding!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Emma exclaimed, “We need to Facetime Henry. He was planning on being here, too, after all.”

Everyone agreed and waited patiently while Emma connected to the hospital wi-fi and called Henry.

Graham had entrusted the rings to Killian before they had left their rooms for the Dude’s Day lunch. He may have forgotten about them in the excitement of the afternoon, but when he patted his pocket, he found the box safely containing both rings. He removed them and handed Graham’s ring to Emma.

With a beaming smile on his face, Liam began. “We are gathered here today, in the presence of God and in the aftermath of an earthquake and a birth, and with an assist by technology, to join together Graham Humbert and Ruby Lucas in Holy Matrimony.”

The joy on the faces of the bride and groom and all the people in the room could not be contained. Emma couldn’t hold back her tears anymore as Graham said his vows to Ruby, promising to love, cherish, protect, and honor, before placing a beautiful white and rose gold twisted vine ruby ring on his bride’s finger. Thinking back on all their years growing up, dreaming of this day and all the love and happiness that awaited her best friend, it was all Emma could do to keep from sobbing instead of just happy tears rolling down her face.

With as crowded as the room was, and Emma confined to the bed, Liam, Ruby, and Graham stood at the end of it. Emma handed the ring to Ruby, but she had eyes for no one but her groom as she spoke her own vows of love, fidelity, and honor, and placed the matching rose gold ring adorned with small rubies on his finger.

“It is with great pleasure that I now pronounce you, husband,” he looked at Graham with a smile, “and wife,” Liam intoned, beaming at the happy couple. “You may kiss the bride.”

Ruby let out a whoop and launched herself into her husband's arms. The cheers that rose around them startled Hope enough that she added her wails to the delight being expressed by everyone in the room.

Emma couldn’t help but laugh as the nearly inappropriate PDA continued between the newlyweds. “Let’s keep things PG in here please,” she called.

Henry joined in as well, covering his eyes. “Teenager in the room, guys! Young eyes don’t need to see that!”

“Old eyes don’t need to see it either,” Killian grumbled, drawing his wife and daughter into his arms. Ruby and Graham finally broke apart, both flushed and breathing heavy. “It’s time for you two to find a room.” Graham at least had the decency to blush as he drew Ruby into his side.

M’s came over to Emma and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “We’ll get out of here and let you rest. You’re definitely gonna need it.”

Emma cooed to their daughter as Killian wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gazed lovingly at the two loves of his life. He placed a tender kiss to his wife’s temple then the crown of his daughter’s head before rising to see everyone out of the room.

Smiles, hugs, and murmurs of congratulations and relief were exchanged as everyone bid them goodbye and left the room. Killian turned back toward the bed to see Emma sound asleep with Hope laid down in the crease between her legs. He smiled and came back to the bed, picking up his daughter and sitting down in the rocking chair next to Emma’s bed.

Staring down into his daughter’s grey blue eyes, he was overwhelmed with the blessings bestowed upon him. The love of his life had just given him a daughter in the middle of an earthquake. Yet another state of emergency. A profound sense of gratitude filled him as he raised a short prayer of thanksgiving that they were both safe. He laid his head back, shut his eyes, and began to slowly rock. It was no time at all before father and daughter were sound asleep.

The End

#cs ff #State of Emergency verse #State of Emergency #Code White #krystal writes #artwork by captainsjedi

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royallyanxious · 5 years

Text

Deep water

Summary: Roman used to have blue eyes.

Pairing: romantic roceit

Word count: <5k words

Trigger warnings: brief mentions of blood, injury mention, sea being cruel

Ao3 link here

The story was inspired by this post

Author’s note: Not gonna lie. This fic is for two amazing people @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 and @ellistruggle. Thank you for inspiration

The legend says that Roman used to have blue eyes.

Various versions of the story were passed around between ships of both mortal and immortal, of both holy and unholy ones… Every soul at the sea knew the melody of this song but nobody could sing it without a hitch. It was one of the tales that never made it to the books but lived in many hearts, for many years. For some, it was the proof of the highest price one must pay for living at the sea. For others it was a confirmation that gold is the only real treasure. Finally, there was a small group of people who didn’t believe the story - those led the loneliest of lives.

Because it was real. This legend. The tale of Roman and the love of his life. The love of his life gifted with the voice of an angel, the body of a monster, the soul of a devil and a quivering heart that ached for Roman only…

It was a tragic love-story between Roman and a merman.

***

“Logan… You’ve been sailing with Roman for so long…” sing-sang Patton, gently patting Logan’s forearms while Virgil subtly pushed the bottle with rum towards them.

“I will not ask for another free pass for you, Patton.” Logan stated sternly, suspiciously eyeing the bottle in front of him. Those young ones… so naive for thinking that something like that would make him talk.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare!” Patton innocently fluttered his eyes. Damn, his long eyelashes and soft lips. “It’s just that Virgil and I…” he stopped in favour of playing with the hem of his shirt, “It’s just that we…”

“Yes?” Logan arched his eyebrow. The rain outside intensified. Internally he thanked Roman for docking tonight, instead of setting off as they originally planned.

“Patton means to ask if you know what really happened to Roman’s eyes!” blurted Virgil, clenching his hands into fists. Logan couldn’t help but smile a little bit. In his opinion, Virgil was not a fit for a pirate. But he was undoubtedly loyal and loyalty was something highly treasured in the sea.

“Roman’s eyes?” Logan repeated, as if he didn’t know what they were talking about.

It was hard not to notice though. The flash of crimson at the centre, the dark shade of drying blood around the irises. The teasing sparkles that pulled out the most poisonous of scarlets. The brilliance of rusty reds and vivid corals paired with razor-sharp gaze that made people shiver and avert their eyes. Logan - quartermaster on Creativity - shuddered. It was hard to forget Roman’s blood red eyes.

And it was even harder to stop having nightmares about them.

Patton scooted closer, pulling Logan out of the maze of his memory. Patton’s hands rested on Logan’s shoulder, curse him for that warm skin.

“You know…” Patton started lowly, “They say that they weren’t always red. His eyes.”

Logan licked his lips and glanced at Patton and Virgil. Their round faces, scattered with freckles, their earnest eyes, the hollows on Virgil’s cheeks, the scar running over Patton’s temple. They looked like a good kids...

Completely ignoring the rum, Logan sat on the table, pushing Patton’s hands away. He didn’t need those forms of encouragement to tell the story. Sighing heavily, Logan wiped his glasses, leaving wet smudges. If there was one thing he hated in living on the ship, it was the constant humidity.

“First of all, I want you to know that when I met Roman, his eyes have already been red,” Logan started carefully, watching for reactions. Virgil and Patton immediately moved, pushing the barrels they were sitting on closer to Logan. Their noisy curiosity was truly endearing.

Once they settled down, he nodded with content. He was almost sure that they wouldn’t tell anyone of what they would hear today, “So mind you that everything I will tell you tonight is a passed story.” Logan added nonetheless.

“Is that a warning?” Virgil laughed anxiously. Not a fit for a sailor at all.

“It’s a promise.” grinned Logan in response. “It’s a promise that you will hear this story again and again and again from people who know Roman from legends only. Every single time you hear the new version, you will start doubting which is the authentic one.”

“And who told you your version of the story, Logan?” peeped Patton. He was practically shaking from excitement.

“Mine?” Logan’s thin lips stretched into a wicked grin, reminding everyone just why he was the quartermaster, “Oh, I heard it from Roman himself. He's, perhaps, the least trustworthy source...”

***

Roman’s eyes used to be in the color of the horizon. The color of the future. That peculiar shade of teal which can be seen on the thin line dividing sky from the ocean. The resemblance was uncanny.

And they said: one evening, as a child, Roman looked into the mirror and saw the world opening itself right in front of him. He saw the treasures hidden deep on the bottom of the ocean, the diamonds waiting for him in the caves that weren't drawn on maps and the pearls shyly peaking through the parted lips of the green clams.

The very map of the most valued of values was hidden behind the thick veil of Roman’s eyelashes, at the teal bottom of his eyes. And he saw that every route and every track leading to those riches was drawn with azure line that pointed beyond the horizon.

But, Roman saw something more. Something that he promised to never share with anyone before he could grasp it with his own hands.

He saw gold. Shining in the sunlight, shimmering under the water. He was young, so young back then, and he thought that it must have been golden coins glimmering in the crystal clear water. Twinkling brightly under the surface just like the stars twinkle on the midnight sky.

It became a sole purpose for Roman. To touch, to grasp, to own this gold treasure.

The sea lured him, the ocean tempted him, the salt on his tongue mocked him. The deep waters and secrets hidden within them were what he was meant for - he realized and set off into the open seas of the unknown future.

***

“Did he find it?” Patton gasped, clenching his fingers around Logan’s wrist. The quartermaster didn’t bother to shake it off.

“Shush, don’t interrupt him, Patton,” tsked Virgil. His eyes were as big as saucers. Beneath a thick layer of interest, first sparks of longing were waking up to life. Logan smiled internally. This must have been what Roman meant when he said that Virgil had a potential that needed to be encouraged. Just like everyone who ended up in the sea, Virgil too longed for an adventure.

“I can’t stand the tension!” pouted Patton, looking impatiently at Logan. “So… did he find it? Did he find the gold? The treasures?”

The quartermaster’s lips broke into a smile but his eyes remained sad. Troubled even. He reached out and swiftly pulled the abandoned bottle. The room filled with the biting scent of rum. Logan watched the liquid in the bottle. In the candlelight the glass looked as if it was made out of jade, reminding of the treasures hidden in the seas.

“Yes,” Logan said finally, corked up the bottle and put it away. “At last Roman found the gold, he dreamt of.”

***

Sun after the storm - that’s how Roman referred to that day, that hour, that moment. There was also another expression he used to describe it. The other term that he uttered in secret, in complete silence when he was alone as if he was afraid that the demons may come after him and rip the words out of his throat.

“The fateful day that gold came to life.”

He was the only survivor from the storm that wrecked their ship. That much was clear. Roman watched all of his companions sink in the sea. He didn’t remember hearing the screams but he remembered the loud crash of waves above his head and that was enough. It was his first thought when he drifted back into consciousness.

His eyes - his teal eyes - were heavy and his lungs - warm with red blood lungs - were still full of the salty water. The soil beneath him smelt of algas and fish. And yet there was no saying, even then, that Roman woke up to live up to his dream.

The island appeared deserted. As deserted as he could tell by far. The sand was white and warm and the forest teased him insufferably with the possibility of finding something edible. But Roman was smarter than this. The most beautiful sceneries were hiding the darkest secrets.

So he walked down the shore, watching the familiar line of the horizon, enjoying the softness under his feet, breathing the air that he missed deeply when caged under the water.

The cove was small, too small for any ship to dock there. It was beautiful, yes, but if on a ship Roman would pay it no mind. But he had no ship and it was still a cove - probably the only place on this island that could possibly keep him alive. Sighing, Roman slipped down the rocks, hand clasped around long, sharpened stick.

His footsteps were perfectly silent. The way he walked, the way he sneaked, it was an art itself, it was a part of Roman that he kept buried deep inside. The delicate, fanciful side. The side that yearned for beauty.

He became a part of the scenery before he realized it - the only survivor with his hair tossed back, with his shirt stiff with the remaining salt and with teal eyes that mirrored the color of horizon.

The colors were spilling into the cove like an avalanche, brashly flashing with intensive hues against the shy whites of the sand. The greens as fresh as spring sprouts, the bronzes that tasted like chocolate, finally the azures and pale-blues bearing a peace and comfort. Beauty and grace was blossoming in the cove as one watched, leaving no space for wrongness.

Nothing, however could prepare Roman for the beauty he saw when he crouched on the big rock and looked into the crystal clear water.

The way it shone in his eyes, the way it shimmered, the way it teased his senses. It was a song itself. The gold was singing to him before Roman even heard voice. Before he even learnt that his gold - his beloved dream - had a voice.

His eyes raked over the long trace of golden scales - tiny but beautiful. His appreciation was growing with every inch covered with golden beads. He was taking in the view for as long as long the tail was - until it started melting into something softer, something wavering beneath the surface, something that made his breath hitch.

“Mermaid-” he gasped, instinctively backing away.

That sound itself was enough. It had to be because - what Roman didn’t know by then - he also had a voice that sounded beautifully in mermaid’s ears.

The surface rippled, the miniature waves hit the rocks and tiny bubbles of air rose to the surface. Roman blinked and suddenly there was a person - a man - leaning over the stone right in front of him. He was gazing curiously at Roman, his head tilted a little bit as if Roman was something to examine - not something to lure into deep water and drown. Drops of water were scattered across his cheeks, neck and shoulder like tiny freckles. They sparkled like a brilliant glitter.

“Don’t come any closer!” squeaked Roman and the man smiled in response.

“It may come as a surprise to you,” he replied, his voice mellow and relaxed, “But I can’t really step out of the water whenever I can.” his golden tail for a moment appeared over the surface, splashing the water at Roman.

And maybe it was the pirate’s soul in him or maybe it was the velvet-like tone in merman’s voice but Roman reached out, trying to grasp the gold that he had been searching for all his life. And soon there was hand in his hand and it was cold and slick but somehow it fitted perfectly and if earlier Roman had any doubts on the situation, now his fears were long gone. He chase for long but now the treasure was under his fingertips.

“I’m Roman,” his thumb ran over the barely visible scales on merman’s hands.

“I don’t have a name that you could use beyond the surface.” the merman shook his head. His eyes - golden eyes - were earnestly shining with hope and something akin to shame. “Every name I would tell you, would be a lie.”

“May I choose a name for you?” Roman leaned down, gazing at merman from above.

“You may choose your name for me. And I will wear it proudly.”

“Then, I choose a name ‘Deceit’. Since everything is a lie.”

The merman - Deceit - laughed loudly and it was like thousands of bells started ringing all at once. “Darling,” he purred, “Everything might be a lie, but I’m plenty real.” he smiled showing a row of sharp teeth. And Roman? Roman smiled because before his heart was long gone and his eyes and teals were now meant for one person only.

That was how their fate sealed before it even finished forming and the maps in Roman’s eyes were flooded with hot and crashing waves of passion.

They talked about this moment later, sitting almost side by side - Roman above the water and Deceit beneath it. They talked about it when they were almost touching - nothing more than the delicate weight of one hand on the other. They talked about this moment trying to figure out what brought them together and how they knew that they were meant for each other. Trying to figure out how was it possible that they responded to bonding song so quickly.

Like the tidal waves, they meant halfway and clashed into each other with a force so strong that it was enough to wake up the monsters sleeping in the oceans. And by the way water flowed around them and by the way the horizon darkened, they knew that their love had no chance against the power of the sea.

***

In the books that are no longer readable and in the memories of people who died a long time ago there are stories. Legends. Warnings.

If a man or a woman are married to the sea, they have no right to fall in love with the Child of Waves and Tears.

The sea is not a forgiving lover, not a merciful partner, once it closes the heavy lid over your head - it won’t let you out. And if you try to escape it will reach out for you, it will chase after you until it catches you, crading the soft body and warm skin close to its chest.

That’s how the sea loves its lovers.

That’s how it forbids them to meld with its children.

***

Roman wasn’t blind. He could see the dark clouds over their heads. Deceit wasn’t mute, he could hear the way sea roared for them. Both of them. Every day was pushing them straight into the arms of tragedy.

Therefore, their first kiss was chaste and filled with as much excitement as fear.

Deceit was so close and when Roman leaned down like he always did, it turned out that they were much closer than expected. The smell of salt and home. Their shared home - the sea.

When the skin brushed the skin and when the lips brushed against the lips, the sky above them opened, tearing the taste off their lips.

Roman guessed that Deceit tasted like salt and water but he couldn’t be sure. The sea didn’t let him find out. He could watch and he could touch but he couldn’t melt into Deceit as he used to melt into cold waves that lulled him into sleep for so many years. He longed.

Once the rain stopped, they read the signs on the sand. Deceit’s tail was reflecting the colorful shades of the rainbow above their heads.

“It appears clear to me that Mother doesn’t want for us to stay together,” whispered Deceit, his lips dangerously close to Roman’s ear.

“Mother?” echoed Roman.

Deceit looked at the horizon. Its color reminded him of Roman’s eyes. Deceit had always dreamt of crossing the line of horizon.

“The sea may be my mother but you pledged yourself to her and she likes you too much to let go off you. It’s obvious by the way she favours you. She was merciful enough to bring us together. Throwing me into the cove and throwing you at the shore. It’s her doing.” Deceit ran his fingers up Roman’s thigh. He wished he was strong enough to fully pull his body out of the water. “She felt our destiny but didn’t expect for it to fulfill the rest of our life.”

“So the sea…” Roman’s voice broke a little bit. The song in Deceit’s ears had never been sadder. “She wants us apart.”

***

“But Roman loves the sea!” Patton explained, barely holding back his tears. “He couldn’t just give up on that!”

“He couldn’t,” Logan agreed quietly. The waves shook the ship, trying to push the memories out of his head. “Neither could Deceit. The sea made both of them. Gave them purpose in life, gave them solace and home. And they offered their life in return.”

***

Love is like a double edged sword - it is a perfect weapon but it could easily be used against the warrior holding it.

The sea was smart - she knew that they would give up their life for each other so she had to take something much more precious from them. She had to steal something imprinted in their memory. Something as precious as their most hidden treasures. She had to break them apart with their own weapon.

The storm broke in the middle of the night when everything was as dark as spilled ink. They never slept close - Deceit needed water to restore his energy and Roman needed the tiniest amount of warmth that a shelter could provide.

Two screams intertwined in the sky in one, shared song. It was barely audible over the loud thunder and thick streams of rain.

Roman could feel the sharp cut of the wind and water on his legs, arms and face. It didn’t stop him though, he kept walking towards the water, step by step, inch by inch. He thought he could hear a broken sob in the air. It was wet, heart-wrecking sound and Roman knew that it was the sea crying for him and Deceit. She hated their suffering but she also hated the idea of them being together even more. One final blow of icy cold wind slapped Roman across his face, digging into his eyes, forcing tears out of them, making the maps and plans slip down his cheeks. He didn’t stop to gather them. He didn’t shove them into pockets. Instead he walked over them, crushing teal veils under his heels.

One thought - get to Deceit as fast as it was humanly possible. He didn’t even get that only last chance.

Roman passed away midway through the beach. Just a couple of meters away from his beloved.

***

Deceit pushed himself up the shore while his arms screamed in pain. He knew that he had to get away from water unless he wanted it to throw him into the darkest corners of the globe, for so long that he would lose his way back to Roman.

“Better now or never.” he hissed through clenched teeth, focusing on the skin under the golden scales on his tail. Some merfolk could transform their tail into legs but Deceit had never tried that before.

He expected the pain, he expected the turmoil. He didn’t expect the fire. Filled with cold blood and used to the icy water Deceit knew no warmth except of Roman’s. The fire ripping his scales of was unbearable. Every scale felt as if it was set on fire as if it was trying to burn out the remaining gold.

He tried moving further, dragging his barely-legs behind himself.

He passed away midway through the beach. Just a couple of meters from his beloved.

***

“And what happened next?” Patton inquired, practically leaning on Logan’s side. His stubby fingers were digging into quartermaster’s arm. Virgil with fevered eyes was peaking over his brother’s shoulder.

Logan shrugged, knowing well that his answer would disappoint the audience. It happened to the best of stories - it was tempting to colorize the ending. But Logan promised to himself that he would tell this story as it was told to him.

“That’s the end. Roman and Deceit never met again.” he sighed, hopping off the table, “Few days later Roman was found unconscious on the drifting boat. His pockets were full of golden coins. When he opened his eyes they have already been red.”

Patton’s face dropped, “So the color…”

Helplessly, to show just as little of comfort he had to offer, Logan opened his arms. What was he supposed to say? That Roman’s eyes lost the color when the sea hit him with the final blow? That the teal canvas slipped off and buried down in the white sand on some neglected island? Logan was a pirate, he had seen many strange things but even he sometimes had doubts for this part of the story.

“I told you at the beginning,” huffed Logan, pushing the table back under the wall, “Roman told me this story and you know that he has a tendency to… embellish some aspects.”

Virgil nodded thoughtfully. The adventurous sparks were still shining in his eyes. Maybe he was a fit for a pirate after all.

“What did Roman do with the gold though?” Patton poked Virgil’s cheek.

“Oh, that?” Logan asked and drained the bottle, “He spent all of this money to buy Creativity and hire the crew. And, among many others, I was lucky enough to be a part of that first crew.” he added with a very self-pleased smile. It was clear that he was very proud of that.

The storm outside shook the windows. More of the violent raindrops drummed against the glass, splashing the streams that were already running down them.

“Now that you know this story you can stop asking.” finished Logan, talking a step towards the door. “But don’t mention Roman that you heard it from me. Although I know that he wouldn’t be angry for telling you, he just… doesn’t like being reminded of Deceit.”

With these words Logan left the room, leaving Virgil and Patton alone with their thoughts and silent mourning after the tragic love.

***

The rainpour was getting bigger and bigger as Roman slipped into the mostly abandoned warehouse. The door closed behind him with a barely loud squeak. Tentatively, Roman looked around trying to see through the darkness surrounding him. Slowly, as his eyes got used to the darkness, the shadows started reminding more of shapes than a blurry nothingness. The barrels, empty caskets, piles of wood and finally - the skeleton of a ship that was never meant to be finished.

Feeling vaguely secure Roman stepped further into the warehouse. He could hear the water splashing against the sharp edges of the stones where the water met with the ground.

His heart was pounding inside his chest. He really hoped that his feeling wasn't wrong. But no, it couldn't be. He doubted he could ever mistake the song in his ears for something else. Every sound and every tune was perfectly audible for him, despite the rain trashing the harbor outside. The song was growing louder and cleared over the past few days, ever since he saw the dark clouds of the horizon.

Rain, yes rain. The stormy clouds - the twin sisters of the sea.

It was… Familiar. How could he possibly forget both the song in his ears and the sound of rain that aimed to drag him away from the singer.

Roman took another step forward. Wet stone crunched under his heel.

"Silence did not become one of your traits, I presume."

Roman froze. He thought that he was prepared. He wasn't.

"Dee…" He uttered, frantically looking for a familiar shadow under the water. The song in his ears stopped.

Melodic laugh vibrated through the air, shaking Roman's body to the core.

"Last time I checked you called me another name," replied still shapeless, bodiless, faceless Deceit.

With shaking hands Roman tried to light up the matches he was clenching. Only lonely spark jumped into the water, for a moment, brightening the darkness beneath the surface. There was nothing there.

Letting out a shaky exhale, Roman laughed nervously, "I thought that giving you a nickname would be a nice touch." He said, fumbling with another match.

And suddenly there were hands on his hand - cold and silky wet - and there was a weight on his back and if someone was leaning over him. And there was a breath on his earshell and it smelt like salt and home.

"It is a nice touch, I must admit." The whisper was much closer this time. It was the voice of the devil, the voice of the monster, the voice of Roman’s greatest love.

Roman watched the cold hand lay over his and press the match against the flint. Fire erupted in front of his eyes. He quickly lit up the fuse of his lantern and the room filled up with warmth that Roman felt in his heart. It was hard to turn around. Not yet. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. Even though he waited for so long. The thunder slashed the sky above the roof, sending sparks through his body.

“Well, I guess that Mother’s not happy for our meeting.” laughed Deceit bitterly, pressing his cheek against Roman’s shoulder.

Wet laugh rolled down Roman’s tongue. It turned out to be more of a sob than a laugh. There was a shift behind him and then there were lips pressing against his neck and a whisper against his earshell.

“I want to look into your eyes, Roman.”

And Roman had always been weak for that sweet voice, for that beautiful song. In a split of a second - as if someone finally pulled his strings - he turned around and it was like all the air fled from his lungs.

“Deceit.” he uttered and pressed his lips against the lips, for the first time tasting its salt. It was somewhat sweet of Roman’s tongue.

The kiss was returned within a second, of course it was. It was the first time they could actually kiss even if it was just for a moment, even if it was just for a minute.

The wind and rain had already been banging against the doors and windows when Roman stepped away, his hands still resting on Deceit’s arms. Only then did he realize that Deceit was standing, standing, in front of him without any help.

“I learnt how to turn my tail into legs,” explained Deceit, seeing Roman’s gaze. He sounded almost embarrassed and Roman’s heart flipped in his chest.

Soon enough however that shy expression melted under the pressure of something gloomier. Deceit’s hand moved to cup Roman’s cheek, thumb running over the skin beneath his eye.

“I see. That Mother wasn’t entirely merciful for you either.” He said, letting out a pained sigh, “Your eyes.” he added, sensing Roman’s confusion, “They used to be different color.”

“I cried the color out of them when I realized that we parted.” said Roman smiling slightly, brushing his fingers against the reddened scales covering a half of Deceit’s face.

“Ha, and here I thought that I was the bigger liar among the two of us,” Deceit chuckled, winking at Roman. “I know the sea's doing when I see it.” His legs wobbled a little bit and he had to brace himself against Roman’s arm. The other didn’t complain. “I’m sorry, it’s still hard for me to stand like that for too long…” he bit his cheek, “Would you mind if I...?” he gestured at the dark pool inside the warehouse.

Instead of answering Roman scooped him into his arms and - as if Deceit was lighter than a feather - carried him into the water. It was obnoxiously hard to let go off this weight. Roman imagined that he could easily carry Deceit around all day long. The small pleasant noise that Deceit let out was at least a little bit of a reward.

“It’s not golden anymore,” Roman noted pointing at the newly reformed tail, without a surprise.

Deceit shrugged. “I wear my punishment proudly,” he added, waving his crimson fin at Roman.

Another massive blow hit the warehouse. This time both of them glanced at the creaking, wooden roof.

“I’m afraid we should go soon. The storm will calm down once you leave the dock.” said Deceit after a couple of moments.

Roman’s heart lurched to the side. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. Shut the door, lay bricks in the windows. Just give him some more time.

“Will I see you again?” he asked instead. It came out weaker than he expected. He leaned down and gripped Deceit’s hand. It was so slippery in his own. He was afraid that it would slip out of his grasp any moment soon.

“Yes,” replied Deceit instantly.

“When? Where?”

“I don’t know when and I don’t know where.” Deceit shook his head, “You must look out for the dark clouds in the sky and red trail in the water. There I will be.” he added, trying to pull his hand out of the hold.

“Can you promise that?” Roman demanded, tightening his hold. His heart was hammering against his ribcage.

In a flash:

Lips against his lips. Salt that tastes sweeter than it should.

His hands left empty.

One echoed whisper. “I promise”

Roman was alone. The rain outside stopped raining.

***

They fell hard. As hard as the waves crash against the shore. As hard as the dead body falls into the cold water of the ocean.

Their love was hot and wild. As hot as blood pumping through their veins. As wild as the water under their fingers. Hot and wild like blood in Roman’s eyes and Deceit’s scales.

When they were apart they were singing lullabies for each other. The moonlight being the messenger. Their melodies danced on the peaceful surface of the sea.

When they were together, the tornado was shaking the world. The edges of their bodies were as hazy as the clouds in the sky.

One slash was enough to cut them apart, two slashes were enough to give them a reason to fight.

The sea.

The way it opens in front of them, cold and eager. Ah, so eager. Endless, deep, ruthless, selfish and demanding.

The sea.

The way it closes it shell, trying to keep the warmth inside, trying to keep its children away from each other. It doesn’t realize that it has already marked them as each other’s forever.

***

Roman opened his crimson eyes.

The waves were crashing against the sides of Creativity. The sky above him was darkening with beautiful navy color. He looked at the horizon. Where the sun was touching the sea, he could see the tiniest red glow.

“Change of the course, Logan.” called Roman sharply, “We’re sailing into the west.”

the end.

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