#and i thought the big thing everyone was warning me about was sprig falling out the window and calamity anne

[weedplantar]

Video from August 11 2021, immediately after I watched true colors for the first time.... I somehow completely avoided spoilers and went in blind with genuinely no idea what was about to happen....

cc: *amphibia closing theme playing consistently throughout the video*

.....what the fuck?..... what the fuck was- she just-.... but marcy just fucking.....

[joonkorre]

(love) is a heartache

@drarrymicrofic prompt: hope is a heartache - léon

let it be known that harry goes through life purely on vibes. half of his reasons why for every decision at his big age are “idk imma just hope for the best”

ao3

People’s hearts twinge sometimes. For Draco, he can barely remember the last time he doesn’t have these twinges. It’s pretty normal at this point.

“No, it’s not,” Pansy says. She’s a Healer, so she’s probably right. But Draco prefers to ignore that.

“Leave it be,” Draco murmurs, lips against her scalp, “I’m fine. Say, are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah. You want to go somewhere?”

“Mm. Sleep.”

They go out the next morning, Pansy in thick makeup and Draco practically drunk under nine layers of Charms. The air is a bit humid, which seems to get worse when the bustling street intensifies in volume into a roaring din. Pansy pulls him under an awning, yanking at his sleeve a bit to try out her disgusting sugary coffee. She always does this whenever she wants to take his attention away from something, which means he just has to look at exactly where she’s doesn’t want him to. As his lips wrap around her lipstick-stained straw, he glances up.

Across the street, a couple strolls through a gushing crowd. Fiery red hair, airy laughter, a pale arm wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. Curls of black, sleek spectacles, a protective palm on his fiancee’s shoulder. They make the perfect picture, a vibrant oil painting. Their existence is formed from bold strokes of sunlight and starburst kisses, with the focal point being a shock of phthalo green and cadmium lemon, two minute specks that make all the difference. As all good paintings do, they pin the viewer on the spot, as if the viewer himself is a thing to behold. Then they shift away.

The exhibit moves forward and out of sight. It’s closing time, the viewer has overstayed his welcome.

Something leaps in Draco’s chest and splatters on the floor of his stomach. Placing her hand over his heart, Pansy frowns at him. She doesn’t ask why Potter stared at someone who looked like a stranger to him. Only tells him to start finding answers.

Months later, on the most awaited day in recent Wizarding history, there’s a knock on Draco’s door.

He throws on a sweater, and a throw, too, for good measure. Ambling to the door, he checks the mail slot before peeking through the peephole. Nobody but a package is outside. Draco hums and unlocks his door, crouching down the moment it opens. What feels like soft satin brushes against his cheek, cool and smooth. With a flash, a pair of shiny dress shoes appear before him.

“Draco.”

Draco peers up as he rises, hands around the package. Potter has his maddening Invisibility Cloak slung over his arm, his roguish charm heightened by a perfectly fitted three-piece suit. A tiny posy is pinned on his left lapel, muted green hellebores with a few sprigs of privet berries. He’s dressed like a man in love.

Draco feels something he hasn’t felt in months at the sight. He’s trained himself to suppress it the moment it showed itself and has been relatively successful until now. The sting, without warning, bursts from within his chest, calling forth a slight wince. Potter’s brows furrow.

"How do you know where I live?"

“How long has this been going on?”

Draco frowns. “Pardon?”

“That,” Potter gestures at Draco’s chest. “The heartache.”

He rears back. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? At Potter’s unchanging expression, Draco shoves his hair out of his face with a quiet huff and puts a hand on the doorknob.

“It’s none of your business. Please leave.”

“It is, actually,” Potter stops the closing door with one arm.

“Excuse me? We haven't had a proper conversation in more than a decade and suddenly you want to act like we're friends? Leave, now.”

“Listen to me. How can it not be my business when I feel it, too?”

“Check with a Healer, then. If you can put past grudges aside, I can hand you Pansy Parkinson’s business card,” Draco grits through his teeth, pushing against the door with his entire body, his throw slipping to the ground.

“Draco, stop, I already know, stop.”

“Know what? No, I don't care. Leave at once, else I’d alert the Aurors.”

A rough slam sends Draco staggering back. Potter pants, hard lines on his face. His chest heaves under his crisp white shirt, its top two buttons unclasped, and he steps over the threshold, closing the door.

“You think they’d believe you?”

The pain shoots from his chest to the rest of his body, and for several seconds, his lungs wouldn’t work. He whips his head away from Potter, who groans and sags against the wall.

“I told you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, that was a shitty thing to say,” Potter says immediately, sweat dotting his temples.

After an uncomfortable pause, clearing his throat, he picks up the near-forgotten package from the carpet. His hand feels around the outline of the object within, rectangular and heavy. Glancing at Draco, he says hoarsely. “I know why you bought this book.”

“Know this, know that, you know nothing,” Draco lunges forward, only for Potter to twist out of the way and raise the package out of his reach.

“The Life-long Burden of Dark Curses: A Caution by Elise Arrowlane, limited edition,” he says, unbothered by Draco’s slackened jaw. “You ordered it from the new bookstore on Diagon months ago. You were small and old and grey, but I recognized you. I always could.”

“Okay,” Draco sneers, “so you’re a stalker. Old news. Anything else?”

“There’s no need to order one. I would’ve borrowed it from Hermione if you had only asked,” Potter says. “Instead, I got curious and read it for myself. That’s how I connected the dots about the heartache, how I realized we’ve both had it since that day years ago.”

“Oh, the day you slashed me into ribbons and almost cut through my heart?” Draco clenches his jaw.

Being able to shout this ugly kind of truth into the perpetrator’s face feels oddly liberating. That is, if liberation also comes with a specific kind of agony that makes Draco want to fall to his knees.

“Dark Magic leaves a mark on both the wizard and their victim, doesn’t it? No need for a book to tell us that,” Potter says, the harsh afternoon glow of him gentled by the soft lamplight in Draco’s hallway. “In certain cases, it even leaves a link. A connection.”

Draco bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. The only consequence from that horrid night was his fucked up heart and nothing else, nothing at all. Whatever Potter is insinuating, he hates it. He hates this. He hates him.

“How are you so sure there’s a connection.”

“I wasn’t,” Potter says. “The Healers said it’s a health thing I developed after the War and I just needed to avoid strenuous activity. I didn’t think much of it, but then I read the book and realized that it usually flared up whenever you watched me.”

Scoffing, Draco turns and stalks into the kitchen. Walking past the boiling kettle, he throws a cabinet door open and grabs a mug, his hand trembling.

“Interesting how my health suffers when I see the bastard who quite literally carved me open.”

“I was eating dinner when I thought I was going to die of a heart attack at 23,” Potter continues. Draco pulls the drawers out, unable to find a single bag of tea for several excruciating moments. “The next day, I was reading about your mother’s death on the Daily Prophet. That was the first sign.”

Grabbing a rag and wetting it, Draco wipes the countertop even as he’s just done so last night.

“When Ginny saw you on the street during our date and extended her hand toward you, you shook it. But your heart ached.

“I saw you looking at the picture of Ginny and I kissing on the front page of Witch Weekly. Your hair was brown and your back was curved, but I saw you. Your heart ached.

“When I announced my engagement to her on the Battle of Hogwarts’s 10th Anniversary, you were clapping along with everyone else. But your heart ached.”

Draco throws the rag on the counter. The kettle whistles, a piercing sound. “What’s your point? Are you here purely to flaunt your relationship and imply that I’m in love with Ginevra Weasley? If so, I got it. Thank you so very much, it’s been enlightening. Now get out.”

“The point is,” Potter says, lifting the kettle off the burner to pour it into Draco’s mug, placing his tea bag in, “unless the article about you being gay was wrong, Ginny isn’t the one you’re in love with.”

“What arti—” Draco stops. “That was years ago.”

His sexuality was leaked to some irrelevant gossip rag, not even making the front page. Nobody noticed, nothing changed, and it hasn’t entered his mind in what feels like forever until Potter reminds him.

“I remember.”

“You—” Draco frowns. His eyes strain on the cup of tea until they hurt. He squeezes them shut, sighing. “It doesn’t prove anything. Perhaps I’m jealous of my childhood nemesis having a better life than me, ever thought of that?”

“Yeah,” Potter says, “I’ve thought about this a lot. Which is why I’m here. To make sure.”

Draco takes it in, then, unable to help himself, curls his lips at Potter and his attire. At his artfully gelled hair, his hanging bow tie, the elegant boutonniere on the lapel of his dark blue suit. His empty ring finger.

“Couldn’t you have chosen a better date to make sure? Preferably before your wedding day?”

Potter steps closer. A respectable distance away, but closer.

“I could’ve, but I spent most of those days in denial. Then the dots connected and I couldn’t deny it anymore, so I decided to just go through with the wedding regardless, be with the woman I loved. Hoped that maybe the odd emotions I had would go away,” he shrugs, raising his eyes to meet Draco’s. “Saw Ginny at the end of the aisle and, well, I couldn’t stop thinking that it should’ve been someone else. All this time, I’ve thought that she didn’t feel… right in my arms, but I pushed it down. And there she was in that white dress.

“Seeing that today was the last straw. I had to leave.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat. Swallowing it down, he grabs his mug, scooping out the tea bag just to have something to do. He takes a sip without blowing, ignoring its scalding heat.

“That was stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Draco can feel a headache building. “That was a horrible decision. I never imagined you—you!—out of all people, could be this irresponsible. What the fuck.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Merlin, that poor fucking woman. If your purpose here is to make me feel bad for Ginevra and all 300 of her relatives for once in my life, you’ve succeeded, congratulations.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that to me, say that to—oh, you’d do what you want no matter what I say, wouldn’t you?”

“Depends on the situation.”

“‘Depends on the situation,’ he says,” Draco mocks, getting a carton of milk from the fridge to save his bitter, bitter tea. Potter doesn’t reply. Stirring the milk in, Draco lets out a heavy sigh.

“What do you want me to do about this?” He says. “I didn’t make you run out of your own wedding. If you expect me to take the blame for your inane decisions, the first person I Floo wouldn’t be the Aurors, but Ginevra Weasley herself.”

A small smile graces Potter’s lips. “I don’t expect anything from you but honesty.”

Draco squints.

“And how will you know if what I say is a lie? Will you reject my genuine answer if it’s not what you want to hear?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Potter says. “I trust your heart will speak the truth for us both.”

There’s a pang in Draco’s chest, and judging from the twitch of Potter’s brow, he can feel it too. Not another word is said, the two men merely facing each other from across a tiny kitchen, considering. Draco can feel the warmth of sunlight beaming through the little window and coating his nape as he leans against the sink, earl grey on his tongue. Lovely citric notes of bergamot drift up his nose. He closes his eyes. What to do, what to do.

Weightless oxfords clack against the yellowed tiles, clear and bright in Draco’s ears. Fabric rustles as Potter slips a hand into his pocket only to retrieve it a second later. Draco lets himself be cornered, barely glancing at the wool-clad arms caging either side of his waist. A clink catches his attention, however, and he tilts his head to the left.

Millimeters beside Draco’s hand on the counter, glinting in the sun, is a wedding band. Draco knows Potter and Ginevra’s in and out, has examined the picture on that day’s issue of the Daily Prophet more times than he should have. He knows the marquise droplets of Ginevra’s gems and the chevron curve of her ring, the blankness of Potter’s own band a dream and a question in his mind.

The band that’s resting on the counter is different. Rustic gold and a fissure in the middle, the fertile earth splitting open to reveal a stream of diamonds, a sparkling river. Draco sets his mug to the side and holds the ring up close, his finger smoothing over the grooves of its texture.

“Did you make a stop at a jewelry store before breaking into my home?” He asks.

“No,” Harry murmurs. Draco looks at him in surprise. “I’ve had this with me for months.”

A pause.

“I thought you said you were in denial.”

“I was, but I knew, somewhat, that I wanted someone else,” Harry’s head lowers, slow and careful, until his forehead rests against Draco’s shoulder. “I told myself that I just liked the way it looked, had to get it in case I didn’t want the other ring anymore. But I got it a size smaller. Been carrying it in my pocket ever since.”

Draco’s heart throbs and throbs. Large hands circle his waist, bunching up the back of his sweater and pressing him close, chest to chest. A blanket of pure heat envelops his body as he breathes in the timeless saffron and neroli of cologne, half-lidded eyes pinned on the band he’s given. Oh, dear, he thinks, and again when it settles at the base of his ring finger with ease, as if it belongs there and never left. Oh, dear.

[nalgenewhore]

without a doubt

rowan x lorcan, modern au, yulemas au, word count: 2098

“Darling, please,” his boyfriend laughs, “stop pouting.” 

Rowan frowns and tucks his chin into the collar of his hoodie. Lorcan’s hoodie, actually. “I am not pouting. I’m upset.” 

Through the screen of the laptop, Lorcan’s image is grainy. His smile dims slightly, “I know. I’m sorry, Ro. I was really sure that we would be done by now.” He flicks his eyes to the side and the muscles in his sharp jaw feather. His dark brows lower and he mutters, “I never would’ve taken it if I knew I’d be gone this long.” 

“I know, my love,” Rowan whispers, subtly wiping away the silver that lines his eyes. “But this is your dream. It’s always been your dream, L. I can’t be the reason you give that all up, you know?” 

Lorcan nods, that frown still on his fiercely beautiful face. He looks down and picks at his bedspread, “Yeah, I know.” Quickly, he snaps his head up, his eyes ablaze, “I would though. I’d give it all up for you, if you asked.” 

The words rest on the tip of his tongue. Rowan almost blurts them out, but he doesn’t. Instead he smiles softly to hide the aching, yearning feeling that never quite dulls. “But I’m not asking you. So you’re stuck there.” 

Lorcan laughs humorlessly and his eyes sparkle, “Yeah, I know.” It falls kind of flat. If they were together, Rowan would kiss him and they would forget all about it all. “Oh, I got you your Yulemas gift today. Putting it in the mail tomorrow.” 

“Oh, really? Will I like it?” Rowan shifts to lie on his stomach and props his chin up on a ring-laden fist.

“Rowan Whitethorn!” Lorcan gives him an offended look, “When have I ever gotten you something you haven’t liked?” 

Rowan laughs and concedes, “You’re right, you’re right. You truly are the gift master.” 

“I know,” Lorcan replies smugly. He stretches his bare arms above his head and tucks his hands behind him, his head cradled by his inked biceps. “You’re a very… appreciative receiver.” With his cocky grin, there’s no way to ignore the implication. 

An outraged gasp escapes Rowan, “Are you calling me a whore?” 

Lorcan laughs, “No, I am not calling you a whore. You can have the qualities of a label and not be the label.” 

“You are calling me a whore! Oh my gods, I hate you,” Rowan complains, his green eyes narrowed in warning. “Maybe it’s a good thing you aren’t here ‘cause I could kill you right now.” 

“Oh, I love it when you sweet talk me, baby. Reminds me of how you stole my heart.” 

Rowan snorts and grabs a pillow to cushion his chin, “I love you. And I wish I could say it in person.” 

His boyfriend’s face softens. Lorcan says back, “I love you too and I wish you could hear it for real.” 

They smile at each other, eyes filled with longing and reverent adoration. Until hours later, when they both fall asleep without bothering to hang up, they talk about everything and nothing at all. It mends their incomplete souls, even if just for a moment. 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

“Happy Yulemas Eve!” 

Rowan smiles and accepts the hug Aelin pulls him into, “Happy Yulemas Eve, Fireheart. Is everyone here already?” He looks over his friend’s head down the front hall of her apartment. 

They step back and Aelin nods, “Yeah, they’re all here. Well, almost.” 

He nods and steps in, “Yeah… he- he tried, you know, but there wasn’t any way.” Rowan shrugs his coat off and hangs it up. “It’s fine. He promised to call and say ‘hey’ later, during presents.” 

The golden-haired woman grins and takes his bag of gifts, “That’ll be nice - we all miss him. Now,” she tucks her hand into his elbow and tugs him in, “come along, there’s lots to do!” 

In the open-concept living room, their friends are already there, at varying levels of sobriety. They call out their cheerful greetings as Aelin puts Rowan’s presents beneath the tree. Fenrys surges to his feet, “Rowan!” 

Rowan laughs at the sight of his drunken friend, “Hey, bud. How are you doing?” 

“I’m very, very, very good,” Fenrys slurs. “Ress is here, did you see?” He casts an adoring look at his boyfriend, who blushes like always. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“I know, Fen,” Rowan says, his bright grin not quite reaching his eyes. 

“Oh! Oh no, I’ve upset you,” Fenrys exclaims, his face twisted in wasted anguish. He throws his arms around Rowan and pats the top of his head, “Oh, it’s ok, it’s ok. Lor’s a miserable misan—” 

“Ok, Fenrys, why don’t we go somewhere else, hmm?” Lysandra interjects, pulling Fenrys away. She kisses Rowan’s cheek, pushing him to the kitchen like a perfect hostess should. “There’s food and drinks in the kitchen and dinner will be ready in half an hour - help yourself, ‘kay?” 

Rowan nods and walks to the kitchen, quietly filling a plate. A petite woman slips up to him, a drink in hand for him, “Hello, Rowan. How are you?” 

He smiles as he pops an olive into his mouth, “Hey, El.” Rowan shrugs, “I’m… fine. I’m fine. Really, it’s…” 

“Fine?” Elide suggests, a cheeky grin on her heart-shaped face. 

“Yeah,” Rowan sighs. 

She leans against him, rubbing his back soothingly, “Ok, well, c’mon to the living room and sit with me. Borte and Aelin are going at it again.” Elide pulls him to the couch without waiting for his response. 

For a while, Rowan forgets about being alone. Around him, his family talks animatedly, egging the two most chaotic members on as they battle over the finale to some show they’re both obsessed with. The others watch with rapt attention, laughing outrageously at the things Borte and Aelin say. 

In a lull of silence, Rowan stands up, “I’m going to step out for a bit. Too warm.” He walks to the balcony as the conversation resumes, albeit much quieter. Everyone turns to their respective partners, whispering soft nothings and laughing at stupid jokes. His breath hitches and Rowan looks to the kitchen just in time to see Lysandra hold a sprig of mistletoe over Aelin’s head and the couple kisses, smiling as they press their lips together. 

His chest squeezes painfully tight. Tears burn his eyes and Rowan rushes outside. It’s bitterly cold and the sharp winter wind nips at his face. He sniffles, blowing out a long breath to keep his tears at bay. It’s stupid. 

In the pocket of his oversized corduroys, Rowan feels his phone buzz. He hastily pulls it out with clumsy, half-frozen fingers. He expects to see Lorcan’s contact flashing over the screen with a waiting call, but all he sees is a text message. 

lover boy <3: srry ro smthng came up

lover boy <3: can’t call tn 

lover boy <3: luv u 

All his air escapes him in a pathetic, teary exhale. Rowan shakes his head in disbelief and types back quickly. 

pretty boy: are you sure? i really miss you 

lover boy <3: i’ll call tmrw

lover boy <3: promise

Rowan sighs and replies resignedly. 

pretty boy: ok love 

pretty boy: i love you too 

Rowan shuts his phone off and wipes his eyes, cursing himself for his tears. 

Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Asks a hissing voice. His ears burn in shame. He’s finally doing what he’s always wanted to - why aren’t you happy for him? He would be happy for you.

Rowan shakes his head to dispel the thoughts and puts his phone in his pocket. He pushes his silver-blond curls off and braces his hands against the railing. After a few minutes, the glass door slides open and someone steps out, “Ro? Is everything alright? We’re going to open gifts now.” 

“Y-yeah, everything’s fine. Something came up and Lor can’t call tonight.” He turns, shrugging his shoulder up. “It’s fine.” Rowan drags his red and silver lined eyes up to Aelin’s. “I’m fine.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” She steps out and takes his hand, “Come on, we’ve got presents.” 

He smiles and lets her pull him inside. He’s ushered to a seat and handed a mug of mulled wine. 

Aelin peruses the available gifts and picks a slim box up, “And this one is for Rowan, from his very own lover boy.” She passes it to Rowan who takes it. He traces the tip of his finger over the label, smiling at his boyfriend’s looping handwriting. 

Rowan doesn’t bother to be patient and tears into it, not noticing the tittering giggles and scurrying feet behind him. He tosses the wrapping paper to the side and eases the top of the box off. 

Whatever’s inside is covered in tissue paper. Rowan carefully opens it, puzzled as he sees a folded slip of paper. He takes it out and glances into the box, but there’s nothing more. “Oh.” He unfolds it and reads it quickly.

turn around - L 

Rowan frowns and puts the box down. “What is this?” He looks up and their faces are pink with barely controlled glee. “Guys, what did you do?” 

From behind him, he hears a dry, dark chuckle. “Won’t you turn around, my darling?” 

A half sob escapes Rowan and he stands up, the note fluttering to the floor as he turns. In the hall, Lorcan stands. He smiles a tired, weary smile, but it’s lazy and easy and golden and Lorcan. “Lor?” Rowan runs towards him, crashing into his boyfriend. He clutches at the back of Lorcan’s jacket, his smile blinding. 

Lorcan laughs quietly and pulls Rowan close, his big arms around the green-eyed man’s waist, “Hey, Ro.” 

“Hi,” Rowan whispers, tears caught in his lashes. “Are you really here?” He lifts his head, eyes searching Lorcan’s face. 

Instead of answering, Lorcan closes the distance between them and kisses Rowan deeply. Rowan melts into the embrace and softly sighs his boyfriend’s name, slim fingers sliding into dark hair. 

“Good gods, get a room already,” Aelin heckles cheerily. 

Lorcan bites Rowan’s lower lip and flips Aelin off as he slides his tongue over Rowan’s. Rowan hums sweetly and pulls away, his lip tucked between his teeth, “What are you doing here? What about work?” 

“I quit,” Lorcan says proudly, his eyes bright.

Rowan gapes at him and pushes his boyfriend backwards, “You what? Lorcan!” He smacks his boyfriend’s shoulder, “You love that job. Oh my gods, you did this for me, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” 

Lorcan grins widely, tugging Rowan back into his arms, “I’m sorry, pretty boy, but I did. No matter how much I liked it, I couldn’t be without you for that long.” 

“But,” Rowan makes a helpless gesture, not entirely sure why he’s fighting this, “you love that job.” 

“Yeah,” Lorcan bumps the tip of his cold nose into Rowan’s and pecks his lips, “but I love you more. I couldn’t enjoy it ‘cause I was missing you all the time.” 

Rowan can’t articulate everything he wants to say, so he hopes his kiss does it for him, “I love you so much. So much, love.” He lazily cradles the back of Lorcan’s head. 

“Hellas below, you have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear that for real,” Lorcan murmurs. “I love love love you.” 

Behind them, their friends start to catcall and whistle in appreciation. They break apart, cheeks burning and lips love-bitten. Reluctantly, the couple walks into the living room. Rowan sits down in the oversized armchair and picks up his drink. As Lorcan goes around, saying hello to everyone, Aelin perches herself on the arm of Rowan’s seat and toys with his light curls, “So, how do you like your gift?” 

“You- this was you? You did this for me?” 

“Oh,” she laughs merrily, “I wish I could take credit for it, but I only helped with the getting him here. This idea was all your mans.” Aelin tilts her head to the side, “Best Yulemas ever?” 

Rowan looks up to find Lorcan already looking his way. The dark-haired man walks over to him and bumps Aelin out of the way with an expert hip check, “What are you two talking about?” Lorcan sits down beside Rowan and slides his hand into the hair at the back of Rowan’s head. 

Rowan rests his chin on Lorcan’s shoulder and kisses the skin beneath his jaw, “This being the best Yulemas ever.” 

“Really? That good, hmm?” 

“Mmm,” Rowan smiles and kisses him softly, “without a doubt.” He nuzzles his nose against Lorcan’s, “Best Yulemas ever.”

 ☽ ☼ ☾

an: this is the first of a few fun lil holiday ficlets i’ve got planned & i hope u enjoy 😊

@mythicaitt​ @ladyverena​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @ladywitchling​ @darklesmylove​ @shyvioletcat​ @the-regal-warrior​ @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @thewayshedreamed​ @sassyhobbits @tswaney17

[popculturebuffet]

Jake Reviewcaps Stuff: Amphibia: Truck Stop Polly/A Caravan Named Desire

A day two days late but no dollars short, we reach the middle of the Plantar family vacation. Polly super runs away from home after feeling negelcted and gets a neat trucker hat while Hop Pop is forced to choose between his love of theater and aiding and abetting, Sprig tries to fit in with the cool kids and Anne tries to just finish her damn Koala puzzle already. The show must go on under the cut

Okay first why this was late... I had a LOTTT of cleaning to do for a vistor coming to the house, so while I did get the episode watched I didn’t have time to write about it till today.. ironically hours before my sister from another mister is having her wedding,  a small one in her backyard with all the food pre-packaged, but still it’s obviously a lot .. and yes this has been going through my head. 

Point is life’s been busy, this isn’t the first thing to get delayed, but I do want to try to get these out on saturday at least.  Second.. these eps faced an uphill battle.. see like the Lost Harp of Mirvana during my ducktales coverage earlier this year, this is what seems like an average ep from the summaries given out by disney.. right before a stream of far more important and intresting ones.  For this one it’s two fairly standard eps.. right before another fairly standard one.. that then leads into finding out both what Sasha’s doing and presumibly, why she’s still on the bad guy side like the intro suggests or if the intro is just lying. We won’t know till next week. And to make matters worse after that we have Kermit the frog’s episode.. as in kermit doing voice work not whoever his voice actor is now just doing a diffrent voice. And i’m so glad disney is continuing this beautifully insane idea that started when Fozzy voiced a character on Big City Greens. See this is good quality use of your muppets. Hopefully muppets now will keep this up later this week. Anyways paired with Kermit is the long awaited gravity falls homage “Wax Museum” with Alex Hirsch himself doing both stan stand in, a stan-in if you will, teh curator and frog soos. Which is the greatest name in Disney history since Sharkbomb. Oh and THEN, we finally get to newtopia and finally meet marcie.. and if that weren’t enough, the newt king is voiced by keith motherfucking david, disney royalty as voice of Goliath in Gargoyles (Which I really need to get off my ass and watch already, I have no excuse for taking this long. At least with Darkwing Duck the absolutley baffling airing order that isn’t disney plus’ fault for once but they scould still fix is a mild one.. if not enough of one) and Dr. Facilier in “The Princess and the Frog”, in which he sang one of the best villian songs in the disney canon. Never fails to kill me. He also should’ve been sexist man alive by now but fuck if I know why he hasn’t been.. even at 64 he’s still in the running and I will not back away from that sentence. That man can get it and his wife is a very lucky woman. SO yeah, Sasha, Kermit, Frog Soos, and then a one two punch of Marcy and keith fucking david, followed by i’m assuming a good helping of world building in newtopia and i’m not assuming thanks to the episode summaries including guest voices even MORE Keith David. So yeah like Mervana proceding Fenton and Boyd and then Daisy! an episode i’d been waiting for since last year’s comiccon, and was not disapointed by, this episode is before a giant pile of stuff i’ve been waiting for plus a thing I had no idea was coming with Keith David. And this show isn’t alone: next week’s owl house is another king episode about him making a big style wish that goes wacky.. right before we get Willow and Amity’s backstory, then the episode where hopefully the gays will win. This isn’t a new thing and will doubtfully occur again but like with Mirvana I gave these eps a fair shake. How did they shake out with the added pressure? let’s find out.

Truck Stop Polly

We start in the Wagon, or Fwagon as the family calls it but i’m not because no. Just no. Plus there isn’t a catchy song for caulking your Fwagon sung by the talented, and recently engaged congradulations Joey and Lauren now that was the kind of news I needed this week, Joey Richter. 

But no Bessie isn’t being caulked down for glue, Sprig and Anne are driving the wagon, Hop Pop is asleep, as he probably hasn’t slept and Polly.. isn’t doing so good. She’s clearly missing home seeing Miss Croaker.. onlyt o find a rock.. and then because this is Amphibia some kind of nightmare that reminds me of a baby xenomorph. Anyways the reason Polly ain’t doing so good is well she’s like.. 5, on a scary trail with no one to comfort her, and none of the old comforts of home to help her forget her very likely death before she’s even big enough to rip a man’s heart out with her bear hands. I mean that’s been in her 7th birthday plans for like, forever. She TRIES to replicate old things, first trying for story time.. which fails because while Hop Pop tries, he can’t stay awake because he apparently, as the episode will prove out, hasin’t heard of caffine, while trying to get her older siblings to read to her just gets them and her in trouble when she gets bessie ran into something and Polly’s attempt at bath time afterword just floods everyone out. Thankfully while the episode does go with the “Character tries things multiple times and is destined to fail” thing, something i’ve seen a lottt in animation and as i’ve made clear in my handful of loud hosue reviews i’m not a big fan of it... but it works well here. It takes up only a portion of the episode and is used well. Nuff said. But it’s with the aftermath where things really start to shine and we really get why this episode works: Polly messed up bad yes.. but she’s also , again 5. Her family just sorta forgot that 5 year olds need a lot of attention because this is one who probably has ripped a man’s heart out... the bear hands thing is more just because it’s cooler that way. But Polly isn’t really thinking about anyone else but herself and this episode reveals a problem polly has: She puts up such a tough front she has trouble  opening up.. which makes sense. Polly wants to be taken seriously, as seen with the inn episode last season, and likely feels acting her age will just get them to stop doing that.. but as we saw there while she’s utterly capable in a crisis.. she’s still a small child, it’s still scary and she needs what all little kids need as much as she needs a freshly ripped out heart with breakfast. But what really makes the scene is, as Polly hides, Hop Pop loudly and crushingly for the poor tadpole, outright wonders if they should’ve just left her with Ms. Croaker. And yeah this is a .. hard thing to hear.  That her only parental figure regrets bringing her and feels he woudl’ve been better leaving her away from her family for what’s at the very least a month and will defintely be longer.. and not just because of future episode synopisis. And if they succeed with anne.. one of them wouldn’t be coming back. She’d miss telling her big sister good bye and that’s a LOT to take away from her and probably explains,besides Polly being badass, why they still took her: She may never see Anne again. And if Anne can’t get home, she wouldn’t of b een there for her. Polly tears up and it’s a ROUGH scene. But what really makes this scene already amazing work.. is the immdite followup. Sprig and Anne are both shocked by this and Anne , in typical “the character only heard the bad part” fashion, and as Della has proven even full grown adults aren’t immune to this so don’t feel too bad polly, asks if he really meant that. And he didn’t. It’s what makes the scene work so hopping good: it’s realistic. We’ve all had moments where a parent, a friend,  or even ourselves has just said something, something hurtful, or yelled or screamed or what have you at osmeone without meaning it.. and sometimes you can’t take that back. But we’ve all been pushed to the limit, stressed or tired or upset and just.. snapped and said something terrible. And it’s this realness that really makes it worse. Hop Pop explains he’s just exausted.. which makes sense. He has trouble deligating, being utterly terrified of Anne and Sprig taking up watch duty, and has probably been driving without sleep for a week at the LEAST given the trip’s been said to have gone on longer than planned. So he’s not in any good shape, and Anne and Sprig do consider she had her reasons. Anne does give Hop Pop coffee for the first time, which perks him right up. Polly however is still hurting and decides to use 5 year old logic and leave a fake, a convient purple ball she find sthat she dresses up with a sleep mask and her bow, and figures once they find out she’s not there, they’ll feel bad and come back. it’s a short sighted plan but we’ve all probably thought of something like this at her age. I once ran away from home carrying among things i’ve forgotten by cyclops helpmet from the x-men.. must’ve been from the 80′s as by the 90′s he let his hair out. Wish I still had that thing or at least a cyclops visor. Love that guy. This naturally backfires as while Sprig and Anne try talking to polly, Sprig thinks she’s alseep and warns anne never to wake her.. never... how.. how many stabbings did she give you before that sunk in man? Are you okay sprig? Polly naturally freaks the fuck out upon thinking her family abandoned her, but vows to start a new life.. with flapjacks and more story times. She dosen’t know anybody.. cue swampy joe from last season. A welcome return, horay! Anyways Swampy naturally not leaving a child to die because this is amphibia and not an average night in Monkey D Luffy’s childhood, and also gets her a sweet trucker hat off screen. I assume she put it on exactly like this. Polly gripes about the situation.. but in a refreshing and suprising, to both me and polly, change of pace we don’t get them agreeing or her getting a new life: The Truckers point out the main issue: She’s homesick, and she’s trying desperatley to seek comfort in old rituals without adapting to the fact that some simply don’t work as well in their new situation or taking the fact her family is busy and this is stressful for them too into account. It’s also a nice moral for thes quarantine times; sometimes you can’t get normal back easily, and have to adapt and you have to consider others feelings as hard as it might be. They also peg her being so hardned on the outsdie she dosen’t let things in and again while this is new.. it does track. We’ve rarely seen polly upset, or vunerable or any of that.. so this simply makes it a character trait.. that part of why she rarely acts like the 5 year old she is is she’s scared of letting people in and loosing what ground she’s gained with Hop Pop. As for why their so wise it’s because when your alone driving for miles on the open road you have nothing but self improvment.. and in a great bit the lone female trucker among them got her PhD, and celebrates with her friend with a high tounge. Of course bigger problems arrive. Turns out taking some random object you found without checking for a zany scheme isn’t wise as a man comes in wondering where his roc’s egg went.. roc’s bein ga type of bird.. a giant bird. That kills the first frog it sees upon hatching, like imprinting only more horrifying.. so like the twilight version of imprinting then. And yes i’m aware i’m bashing twilight still, and while I largely don’t care, having an 18 year old man romantically imprint on a baby, rapid aging or no, is fucking creepy and not a good ending for the character. And yes that actually happened. Polly gets Soggy Joe, now speedy joe complete with hat and yes you need to call him that Polly finds out, to give her a lift back home. Meanwhile back home, Anne decides to read to polly anyway. I mean she just watched her sorta girlfriend sacrifice herself and then get carted off by the scary asshole who wanted to presumibly put her grandpa’s head on a spike outside his tower as a warning. Polly stabbing her a few times dosen’t really stack up. But she discovers she’s not there and gives out a code purple.. which ges the rest of the family right on time. Polly and Joe catch up with them and find the roc emerging out of the caravan and everyone fighting. Thankfully polly static clings on Joe’s fringe seats, which Joe grumbles about, and builds up the static before having him fast ball special her into the bird, which beats it. Polly takes credit for about five seconds.. before Hop Pop uses her full name as he’s pissed.. not about the giant death bird, a giant bird trying to murder you seconds after birth is just an average tuesday on this hell planet.. though i’d still trade it for our hell planet if they could get streaming down. No like any good parent he’s upset she ran away.. and devistated when Polly tears up and reveals she heard his whole thing earlier, with Hop Pop gently apologizing and explaning he took just how grown up she is for granted, with the Anne and Sprig naturally agreeing and the four hug. I do wish Polly apologized.. but it still works anyway as she’s still 5, she does feel bad about it, and she did just save their lives. The episode would’ve been slightly better with it but works fine. Soggy Joe offers to tow them, because he’s a class act, and Hop Pop decides to have storytime with everyone.. Anne points out she’s 13 but eh why not. Also I did like getting conformation how old she is as before it was just conjecture by me that she was 13 or 14. For the record as you can tell I peg polly as five, Sprig as 9 or 10, and Hop Pop as me shrugging. Also Polly’s normal story is a gritty noir story about a man trying to murder his wife’s killer.. which is funny enough and explains a lot about polly enough.. until we get a POP UP BOOK POP UP OF A HAND HOLDING A KNIFE. Just.. (Chef’s kiss) my god. Of course Anne loves it. 

Final Thoughts for this Episode:  A really good one, that has  a lot of intresting dynamics and remembered Polly’s age without overwriting her character.. it still felt in character and was a nice reminder she’s still a young child, just one that can Volt Tackle large birds and who likes noir revenge quests as her bed time story. It added some more depth to Polly and it was something she really needed, giving her a vunerable side again and expanding on that. The first third does drag a bit.. but once the episode gets going it gets really fucking excellent.. while “child feels neglected and runs away” isn’t a new story, it works here both due to it’s realism, giant muder bird, or birderer if you will, non-withstanding, and due to being rooted in the Plantar’s characters.  It’s damn good and like Mirvana was a nice suprise of an episode. 

A Caravan Named Desire Suprisie a wedding is exausting and not only did I have to abandon finishing this review to get ready for it, but was too tired to actually finish this when I got home.  Aw well. Let’s keep it going. 

We open as our heroes are about to enter the thirsty swamp, another desert region, but this time more deserty. Anne scoffs at needing hydration.. before a cut to her utterly dehydrated and pouring the canteen on herself.. which she pulled up including sprig who gives out a whee. As adorable as it is chuckle worthy. Hop Pop is worried because as his faviorite plays says the area is full of terrible monsters and bandits.. and the kids groan because he’s clealry talked about this play a lot. As it turned out Hop Pop always wanted to be an actor, but gave it up.. and this is where I feel the episode missed some good character stuff: We never find out a lot about Hop Pop at that age: why he wanted to buck tradiition when why by present day he’s nothing but tradition, or why he gave up after one failed audition.. it’s not a bad episode, but I feel we missed out on an opprutnity to learn more about Hop Pop’s past, an area the show really hasn’t dug into apart from “He and sylvia were into each other once and he has a rvial and now he’s dating Sylvia for real this time so yay”. And speaking of which it is weird he hasn’t brought her up.. I mean he dosen’t have to miss his girlfriend every 5 minutes, that’d get fucking annoying , and the silver age fantastic four comics where Johnny storm would constantly pine for a girl he met for all of 5 minutes, carried over to the 90′s cartoon but toned down, are proof that’d be annoying. But it’s still just.. weird it hasn’t come up once so far.. we have a full season for it too, but it just feels like the show abrubtly left most of it’s supporting cast behind without asking how any of htem felt about Anne and the plantars leaving after spending a full season having them go from mildly tolerated to beloved by the town, especially Anne.  Anyways before Hop Pop can bring up his one time as Tony in the wartwood production of west side story, they have worm sign and soon a sandworm is chasing them because of course Amphibia has sand worms. Their thankfully saved by a mysterious woman and her caravan, Renee Frodgers, the writer of the play Hop Pop won’t shut up about and no one else cares about.. kind of like me with.. everything. Pretty much everything. But with auditions going on Hop Pop gladly follows Renee back into her office, while a nearbye actor kid offers to take the Plantar kids to the kids car. Sprig and Polly are entirely on board, but Anne’s answer?

Turns out when Anne was widdle, somewhere from 4 to 6, she was in a school play about dental hyginee as a tooth tripped.. and everything caught fire. “4 out of 5 detinsts say I was traumatized.”, a great line. So Anne’s noping out of this one and decides to instead work on her Kola’s of Passion jigsaw puzzle.. which if that’s for an animatied ripoff of titanic but with Kolas I will give all my money to see that.. well no I need that but I do have an unopened can of pringles on my desk and a penguins of madagascar dvd I got for free at a garage sale. Will that work? Please? So we have our two main plots and running gag: Sprig trying to fit in with the kids, hop pop living out his dreams and anne trying to finish a puzzle. And since the plots really don’t intersect till the last moment apart from one scene with Anne, i’ll be covering both seperatley.  Sprig’s plot is very simple: He wants the theater kids to like him, the lead actor treats him like crap, Polly gets accepted but is just sorta there htis episode outside of one great gag that we’ll get to in a moment, and eventually sprig just gets fed up and tells the guy off. It’s not all that enjoyable as I relate a bit too much to desperatley wanting to be liked in high school by people who were utter dicks.. and breifly in college online, so it brings back too many bad memories but hte punchline of sprig jumping back into frame in cosutme the minute he gets acceptance for telling the pissant off is priceless.  Now with that out of the way, back a few minutes ago Hop Pop tries auditioning but tries to hard and fails, and dosen’t get the part, in part because he has no experince but later storms back in and tells Renee off.. and that honest passion gets him the lead. And .. turns out Hop Pop is a master actor getting love from the masses and living out his dream. Again it’s where I wish we got more drive, more of his past. I don’t know why other than “I want to act” why Hop Pop wants this so bad or why it means so much. I know what he wants, paul, but not WHY he wants it. I do get time constraints.. but if that was the case.. why keep the sprig subplot? He could just be an extra or stage crew or making a puzzle with anne or some other shenanigan that required less screentime. I do REALLY like spirg, this season if nothing else has made me realize how good the character is, I just feel for this episode the other minutes could’ve gone better to set up Hop Pop’s love of acting and past better and give us more of how Hopidah went from a wannabe actor ready to leave tradition behind to someone who clings to it like something clingy. This episode isn’t bad but there’s more it could’ve done.  Anyways the good times, and the tour and if your curious the wagon is being stored somewhere on the caravan since they can’t safetly travel alone, end when Hop Pop walks in on Renee planning a heist. Now granted instead of the obvious of “oh their just theives’ the troop are legit actors, directors etc... the heists are because, much like on earth, no one supports the arts and they need money to keep going and keep putting on shows, hence Renee and her two goons rob the towns they visit during the more powerful moments of Hop Pop’s performance. And this is something like. While “Character wants to do something and ends up getting recruited by shady people for a scheme to do it” isn’t at all new, here it’s intresting because instead of being bad at it or the scheme being related to the heist or the normal twists.. Hop Pop is legit good, we even see a bit of his performance later and loved, instead of just being so bad it’s useful, and the theives aren’t just after money but keeping their art alive.  So Hop Pop is conflicted and turns to Anne.. and ruins her puzzle because of course he does, but while Anne tells him the obvious: Stealing is bad even to support our badly unfunded arts, otherwise modern artists would be pulling daring heists all the time.. seriously that should be a show, Hop Pop decides he’s such a godo actor he can convince himself nothing’s going on. Sprig comes in for his subplot and annoys anne further and also dosen’t listen to her and Polly.. just tells Anne she loves her with Anne screaming it back. It’s a great punchline to the scene and also really sweet. Aww.  So Hop Pop tries to get used to aiding and abetting but realizes during his big scene he just.. can’t turn his concsen off, outs renee then gets into a chase with her, with renee making hte mistake of detaching the front car to escape.. only to end up Worm food. She’ll make good spice at least.. I guess? I don’t know how Dune works. She’s arrested, and Hop Pop and family book it after the kids accidently spill he knew about the crime ahead of time and did nothing. The end. 

[royallyprincesslilly]

KinkToberFest Fic Collection #3🔥🔥🔥

Title: Your Body is My Wonderland 🔥🔥🔥

M’Baku x Reader {One-Shot}

Warning: SMUT, NSFW, Body Worship & Sploshing (Edible Body Paint)

Word Count: 3.8K

Note: The second man I am apprehensive to write about, or even dare to post about. M’Baku wives, please forgive me if this does not fit your king, I did try my best. As always, thank you for reading!!!! {I got a little carried away, oops.} FOLLOW THE RATING UP TOP.

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long winter. A winter that had many, many problems. Problems that began with the fishing quantities and went on to a lack of resources in the harvest to divide adequately among the tribe. It was a winter for the books, and your husband, the chief of the Jabari was the one everyone looked to not only to solve the problems but calm everyone’s worries. It was a big job for one man, a job that often required long hours, sleepless nights and countless trips away with his men. So, what did that mean for everything and everyone else? Loneliness.

  It was now April; the snow and ice had melted, and the days were longer with more and more sunshine. Though the days were warmer, your nights were still chilly, even more so because your husband, the Chief, spent many of them working. It seemed there had been no time to rest. After the complex winter months, the grueling spring ones were upon you now. Crops needed tending; each family within the tribe needed their own attention from the Chief and Chieftess, diplomacy needed to be handled delicately, especially now when the big city and those of the Jabari were forging a new path—a united one.

M’Baku was gone every morning before you woke and in well past when you went to sleep, no matter how hard you tried to remain awake for him, it never worked out in your favor. You even tried to steal moments with him throughout the day in between each of your engagements. All that equated out to be were slight hand grazes, longing gazes, and near kisses. Every time you glanced at him you could see a storm brewing behind his deep soulful eyes. You didn’t know if it were from all the stress he was under, or perhaps he’d grown tired of you.

  You’d been married for barely a year now. You’d expected the embers of love and desire to still be burning brightly, but it was not, and you didn’t know why. Before you married, you’d heard quite the rumors of your chief’s appetite for all things amorous. Many of the unwed women whispered among each other of the tales they’d heard of his stamina, his technique, and even his preferences. From those rumors you’d gathered he was a passionate man who enjoyed pleasure thoroughly. When you married, you worried you wouldn’t be able to satisfy him because of your inexperience and shyness, but he was kind to you, took his time and taught you many things. You’d begun to think it was you. Perhaps he’d grown tired of teaching you and wished for a woman—a wife who could please him properly. Those thoughts worried you.

  Sighing, you walked into your Chieftess quarters and closed the heavy sliding wooden doors behind you. You pressed your back to the door, closed your eyes and tried to center yourself. It had been an exceptionally long day, and it wasn’t even over; it was barely close to sundown. You shouldn’t have been hiding out, but you were. This was the first free moment you had to yourself all day. Just as you felt yourself relaxing there was a knock. “Hanuman!”

  The knock came again, and you opened the door to see your most trusted friend on your detail, En’eyea. “I am sorry for the interruption, Chieftess; I have a message for you.”

  “A message? From whom?” She held out the folded paper. On the outside of it was the seal of your husband. It was such a formal way for him to send a message to you. Usually, he would send any messages that were not private through word of mouth through one of your maids, or even a simple note. This was not simple. You took the paper.

  “Thank you, En’eyea.” She nodded and bowed her head to you before she backed away and walked down the hall. Staring at the paper for far too long, you rolled your eyes, broke the seal that held the image of the great gorilla god, with the intricate and elaborately crafted letters “M” and “J.” it was his seal no doubt, even it demanded respect and asserted power. As you opened the note you recognized M’Baku’s handwriting.

  Sithandwa,

 I wish to see you this evening. When the sun disappears behind the great mountain, come to the Waterhouse.

 -M’Baku

  It was direct, not an ounce of affection in it besides his nickname for you. You stood there reading and re-reading the note allowing your thoughts to run away from you. Before you knew it you were more than fifteen minutes late for your next obligation.

  As you hurried there, you tried to focus on the task at hand; this was your pet project. You’d worked hard to bring together all the female members of the tribe. You wanted each and every one of them to know they served a higher purpose than cooking, cleaning and taking care of their men. You’d established opportunities for them to learn more than others thought they should. You’d fought long and hard with your husband to do it. Now every woman of the Jabari could learn and practice anything they wished. You sat with the women and listened to them all, and it was enough to take your mind off of what your husband could possibly want to see you about.

  When the last of the group left the room, you saw the sun had just about disappeared and created a dewy glow across the sky. It was like one of his paintings that hung in your martial chambers. Excusing yourself, you dressed in your furs. While it was April, once the sun disappeared there was a slight chill in the air, and the path to the Waterhouse was higher in the mountains which meant the breeze was stronger. Once you walked outside of the palace you followed the torch-lit path through the village. As you passed tribe members they all graciously nodded their heads to you and even saluted you showing their respect. Before you were the Chieftess, they all knew you and your family; they’d seen you grow from a child to a woman. You were not a stranger to the tribe.

  Once you made it to the great mountain and you began your twelve-minute walk to the Waterhouse and enjoyed the beautiful views of Wakanda at the same time. It was perfect, and you could not imagine being anywhere else on Earth. As you neared the mountain you saw a trail of flowers begin, and your feet stopped looking around you. Not seeing anyone around, you continued wondering what was going on. When the gate to the Waterhouse was in sight the trail of flowers turned yellow and red, the colors of the flowers from your wedding day to M’Baku. You bent down and took up a few petals and examined them. They were, in fact, the same flowers. Your heart began to beat rapidly. Once you stopped at the gate you took a few calming breathes and walked through it.

  The courtyard of the Waterhouse was a favorite of yours. It always reminded you of a serene garden no matter the time of year. In the winter, it was snow-covered with crystal-like icicles and winter flowers of blues and gold. In the spring it had sprigs of green grass growing from underneath the cold earth, and green leaves beginning to sprout from branches with red and yellow flowers as far as the eye could see. In summer it came alive with an abundance of colors, smells and sounds, and fall was when the air carried the fragrant smells of purple flowers across the mountains down to the tribal lands.

  The red and yellow flower trail continued to the door of the house, and before you pushed it open you noticed the slight tremble of your hand. Once you did, you stepped inside and looked around the familiar surroundings. This was a place that was meant for the Chief and Chieftess, but M’Baku opened it up for all of the tribe. The therapeutic waters and transcending views worked miracles on the body and the mind. You slowly walked through the house along the flower trail to the door when it stopped. Opening the door, you saw your Herculean built husband standing before a stone tub with nothing on but his tribal wrap around his waist. It sat just at his hips, giving you the mouthwatering sight of just how much muscle he’d added over the winter.

Where some men added extra pounds during winter to keep warm, your husband added muscle.

“Intaka encinci entle.” You smiled at the term of endearment. M’Baku held out his hand to you, and without hesitation you crossed the wooden floors to him. Once before him, you placed your hand in his. M’Baku lifted it to his lips and grazed a soft kiss across your knuckles. You unfolded your hand and caressed the soft skin of his cheek.

 “Othandekayo,” you whispered.

  “I am sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?”

  “It has been many months since I have been a husband to you. It has been far too long since I have shown you just how precious you are to me sithandwa,” M’Baku spoke with his forehead pressed to yours. Your heart soared hearing his words especially since your day was spent worrying he felt the opposite for you. A tear slid down your face. M’Baku pulled you back and watched it drip from your jaw.

“Uyakhala. Yintoni sithandwa?” His thumb brushed across your cheek, drying the salty substance.

“I am sorry, my love.”

“Tell me what I have done.” You crashed your body to his and pressed your cheek onto his bare chest. The sound of his heart pounding was just what you needed.

“Y/N, ndiyacela.”

“It is nothing, my love. I just feared you had tired of me, feared you no longer loved me.”

You heard his heart slow before he pulled you back to stare deeply into your eyes.

“I could never. Hanuman as my witness, my love for you shall never fade, and my desire for you is relentless. It has killed me not to be able to have not even one day to show you. I am endlessly sorry. Intliziyo yam iyakulangazelela.”

You could see the passion and heat behind his eyes, and it made your skin prickle with goosebumps. M’Baku’s lips dropped to yours and softly kissed you with an increasing intensity that sucked the very air from your lungs. When he pulled back you gasped for the lost air as his lips connected to your neck and peppered kisses down to your shoulder. M’Baku’s fingers deftly unlaced and unfastened the garments on your body. One by one each layer fell to the wood floor until you were naked before him. His gaze slowly traveled across every inch of exposed flesh then you heard him suck in a breath.

“Ukumkanikazi wam omuhle.” He dropped to one knee before you.

“My king, what are you doing?”

“Bowing to my queen—my only.”

You smiled and dipped down to claim his lips in another heated kiss. As M’Baku rose to his feet, he lifted you in his strong arms and held you against his heated body. Before you knew it he was allowing you to slide down into warmed water.

“Allow me to make amends, my wife.” He dropped to his knees beside the tub and gathered the fabric along with the bar of soap and began making a lather. When the cloth swiped along your arm up to your shoulder it left a fragrant path of luscious suds in its wake.

Slowly he bathed you taking care to wash every area of your uniquely, curvaceous body. As his hands slowly traveled across your skin you noticed his eyes never left the path of the cloth he held. With every passing minute you could tell what he was feeling. You knew what he wanted. When his eyes met yours you nearly came undone right there.

“Stand for me, my chieftess.” You stood in the water, and the soapy trail slid down your body. M’Baku watched each bubble on its race to rejoin the water around your shins. His tongue snaked out and across his bottom lip. Gathering both hands filled with water he stretched onto his knees and released the cascade onto your body.

“You are so beautiful. Every inch of you, I have longed for this view for more nights than I can ever explain. His hands slowly descended your body, beginning at your neck then across to your breasts. He then gently cupped them and kneaded your flesh.

“I worship at your feet, my love. Every inch of you. Your skin is like spun honey and sugar with the grace of the purest silk.” His hands dipped across your stomach then over the full swell of your hips. M’Baku pulled you to him, and he bit onto the flesh of your belly. You hissed at the sudden slight pain. It was only momentary pain though, M’Baku’s lips were there to soothe it instantaneously. Your hands connected at the back of his head and then you felt his lips trail to your pubis. Your head fell back when you felt his lips kiss the most intimate part of you.

“M’Baku,” you whispered. It was his encouragement, an encouragement he willingly obeyed and delved his tongue between your folds. Your moans were the only sound in the great room.

Just when you were getting weak in the knees, M’Baku quickly stood claimed your lips and scooped you out of the tub before he was walking again. When you pulled away to see where he’d taken you, you saw you were in another room with a large white mat across the center. You looked to M’Baku for any clue as to what you were doing here and what he had in store. All he did was smile.

“Uyandithemba sithandwa sam?” You studied his eyes and nodded your head.

“With all that I am othandekayo,” you responded.

He smiled, kissed your nose, and walked you to the mat then lowered you onto it. Once you touched it, you recognized it didn’t feel like a regular carpet or mat. It felt textured, similar to his canvases. “What is this, M’Baku?” When you looked to him he was walking away to the opposite side of the room. You took the time to admire his frame. Your husband was the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on. When he turned to look at you, you could tell he knew it. A cocky smirk decorated his lips as he walked back to you with a trey in his hands. Once he was again by your side he placed it down and stared at you. Your belly flipped, and you smiled, feeling a little embarrassed under the intense heat of his eyes.

“Lie back for my Y/N.” You did as he requested and lied onto your back and waited for him to make a move. For almost a minute, he did not; he just scanned your body. Then he opened the lids off the nine jars that were on the tray then took up a brush to dip it into one of the pots. When he lifted it the tip of the brush was coated with a white substance that looked like paint.

“You are my muse and my subject, you are my canvas, and your body will be my art, my love. I plan on worshiping every single inch of you with my love.”

M’Baku trailed the tip of the brush across your skin in swirls. The coldness of the paint, coupled with the whispy strokes of the brush made you wriggle under his expert wrist strokes. When he lifted the brush the center of your body had a beautiful swirl.

“Try not to move, my queen.” He slid his tongue across the painted swirl he just made along the entire trail of it, ending just at your collar. Once he was finished you were already a panting mess. You moaned and looked to him, his mischievous smile made your spine heat.

Again he dipped the brush into one of the jars and came away with a bright yellow paint this time. M’Baku circled each of your breasts, then dipped into another pot and painted smaller red circles around your nipples. He then inched back and admired his work before he smiled and continued his painting. Every dip into a jar produced a different colored paint that he used to decorate every inch of your skin with intricate symbols of the Jabari. As he painted across your skin he whispered what each symbol meant. “Love.” “Passion.” “Desire.” “Obsession.” “Life.” “Beauty.” “Intelligence.” “Skill.” “Power.” “Joy.” He was truly worshiping every inch of your body, not only with the attention of the brush but that of his lips and hands. No part of him left any part of you.

By the time he stood to examine his work, every inch of your skin was covered. “You are more beautiful than the rising and setting sun my love.” You were so on edge you needed more of him than ever before. As if he could read your mind he smiled “Roll for me intaka encinci.”

You rolled across the canvas slowly. Every roll you made the painted symbols imprinted into the canvas. His smile widened the further you went. You lost track of how many rolls your body did. Once you stopped he was standing above you again holding four of the jars. Without a word he poured them onto your body. Your eyes never left his. You dropped your hands to your body and rubbed the paint across your skin, up your belly around your breasts to your neck and jaw. A splash of the pain landed on your mouth, and you tipped your tongue out surprised when it tasted like berries, coconut, lemon, and other fruits that corresponded with the color. Somehow he’d made edible paint. Your realization made him smile widely. A wave of love washed through you. “Roll.”

Again you rolled across the canvas slithering your body across it. M’Baku slowly followed you until you stopped. He was now standing between your spread legs. You lifted your legs and hooked your toes into the waist of the tribal wrap he wore, and you pulled it until the fabric fell, finally revealing him to your hungry eyes. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip.

“Is it my turn, my Chief?” M’Baku dripped to his knees between your legs and pressed his heavy frame to your body. You moaned and claimed his lips as yours. His moans echoed in the room feeding the fire of your desire. His lips dropped to your neck and lapped at the flavored paint that was smeared across your skin. His movements were not slow, which said he’d pushed himself to the edge of his need. When his lips sucked, licked, and lapped at your breast you hugged his head to your body and relished the feel of his mouth on you.

M’Baku dropped his mouth lower to your nether lips and hungrily savored your taste. Slow was not in his vocabulary right now; he licked and teased your flesh as expertly as ever. His tongue quickly flicked against your swollen need, and before you knew it you’d came right on his mouth. He lapped at your juices but didn’t look as if he had any intention of stopping.

You had other plans. With all your strength, you pushed at him and rolled onto him. You were surprised you were able to overpower him, and by the look on his face he was also surprised. M’Baku smiled. “Feeling powerful, my queen?”

“You are about to see how powerful I feel, my king.”

You reached for the jars and retuned the favor pouring their contents across his chestnut skin. It was a sin for any man to possess such beauty, you thought as the colorful paints combined and swirled across his skin. Lifting the paintbrush you swirled it around the pool of paint and absentmindedly began making your masterpiece. You didn’t paint anything in particular you just had to fake it long enough to drive him crazy.

He knew just what you were doing, and he didn’t allow it for long. After a few minutes, he grabbed your wrist, and the brush fell. He pressed you to his chest and kissed you hungrily. He the slickness of the pain against your bodies made this feel incredibly erotic. You tore your lips from his and traveled across his chest down to the delicious snack that awaited you. Dropping your mouth over his swollen length he grunted and bucked his hips. The mixture of flavors in your mouth made you moan on him which made his length violently pulsate. 

After only a few minutes, M’Baku rolled onto you and settled between your thighs then thrust forward, fully sheathing himself within your heat. From the first touch of bliss, neither of you could wait any longer, and soon you were going at it like his namesake animal. Neither of you held in the sounds of your pleasure or passion for the other. Your name from his lips bounced off the walls, and his name was muffled into the canvas once he flipped you onto your stomach.

As he pounded into you, he proved to you just why he was Chief of the Jabari, just why so many in the tribe lusted after him, why he demanded attention, respect, and authority with every move he made. This man was born to be a king; this man was your king, your one and only.

You screamed loudly when your felt yet another orgasm rip through you. “Y/N!” You felt M’Baku’s strokes speed and become sloppier as he chased the release he’d denied himself for weeks. The way he hammered into you made you weak, and you knew you’d be sore for the next several days. You didn’t care, it had been way too long, and you needed every inch of him.

“More!”

Without words, he obeyed your demand and delivered one bruising thrust after another into your leaking cavern of love. “M’Baku!”

“Shower me with your love, Y/N. Let my seed take bloom!” You felt the eruption within you as he filled you. The force made you clench around him, which made him push you to the canvas again with his hand harshly gripping the back of your neck as he delivered the final two, three, four thrusts. On the last the both of your shouted in unison and allowed your pleasure to dance through you.

Your bodies shook together, and neither of you could move. Before he crushed you, M’Baku rolled off of you hooking his arm around your abdomen to keep himself buried deep inside of you. You now laid on your sides with him behind you kisses your shoulders.

“Your body is my wonderland intaka encinci entle. I will worship at its alters until my last breath.”

You smiled and settled into his protective arms and found the first satisfying sleep you’d had in months.

Glossary:

 - Uyakhala. Yintoni sithandwa = You cry. What is it dear one?

- Intaka encinci entle = Beautiful little bird.

- Othandekayo = Beloved

- Intliziyo yam iyakulangazelela = My heart yearns for you.

- Ndiyacela = Please

- Ukumkanikazi wam omuhle = My beautiful queen.

- Uyandithemba sithandwa sam? = Do you trust me, my dear?

-Sithandwa = My Dear/Dear One

**Translations Courtesy of Google.com

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***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

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TagList:

@bugngiz @dadinhas-heat @azarmanii @chaneajoyyy @muse-of-mbaku @missmohnique @bellaamor88 @frantastique @yourwonderbelle @allhailqueennel @alyxkbrl  @thelovelyliterary   @ queengodiva619   @tinypalm​ @ ventingunknown

[firefly-in-darkness]

GOTG: Christmas Vol.1

Characters: Star-Lord, Gamora, Drax, Rocket and Groot (Platonic).

Prompt: Secret Santa

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Nothing really, a bit of fluffiness..

A/N: This is for @holy-captain‘s challenge for reaching a follower milestone - congratulations! It’s the first time I have written for the Guardians of the Galaxy, hope you enjoy it!

Firefly’s Library & Masterlist

The Milano had started to look festive; tinsel was draped around the spaceship’s panels, baubles were tentatively hooked over bolts and a sprig of mistletoe hung above one of the doors. 

Y/N hummed along to Step into Christmas as she decorated stockings with glitter glue until she was distracted by the scene unfolding beside her. She watched Peter approach Gamora, his cockiness oozed into the atmosphere from the way he stretched and leant against the wall, his arm braced above the assassin’s head.

Thwack! Peter held his cheek with one hand and pointed above them with the other, “It’s mistletoe, you big turd blossom!”

 After the catastrophe of mistletoe, the Guardians were given a rundown on different traditions including the nativity, advent calendars and gift giving. Rocket’s ears pricked up at the idea of gifts and Y/N suggested they all participate in Secret Santa.

“But what if I like the gift I get for someone else more than they will?” Rocket questioned.

“Well, you’re supposed to give it to your recipient. Not keep it for yourself.” Y/N smiled as his thoughts flickered across his face.

“But what if I want it more?” Rocket held out his hand as an ultimatum. 

“Then I would keep it and get them something different.” Y/N patted Rocket on the head and returned her focus back to the decorations.

Peter was not impressed about ugly christmas jumpers, the offence was evident on his face as Y/N handed him a jumper, not too dissimilar from the one he wore as a kid. 

“Ha!” Rocket barked and shook his head.

“You must be so embarrassed!” Drax pointed at Quill, his body rocked with his laughter.

Groot huffed, rolled his eyes and continued to play the gameboy without any further response.

Y/N couldn’t help the happy tears that dropped as her hand held out the hat with each of the Guardians’ names on folded paper. “Enough guys, you need to pick someone!” 

  They all separated to various parts of the spaceship, thinking about what the recipient would like from their Secret Santa. Over the course of several days, the Guardians visited various planets to make sure they were prepared for Christmas day.

Y/N had picked Gamora and immediately knew a leather cuff would be a perfect addition to her outfit. At different times, the presents were left under the decorated arm that Groot had donated. 

 *

 Today was the day that the Guardian’s of the Galaxy would receive their gifts from their Secret Santa. Y/N and Rocket ate breakfast together in their matching reindeer antler headbands and were soon joined by Gamora wearing an elf hat. Y/N flicked on the music and the Jackson 5’s I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus filled the room.

“Drax, why aren’t you ready for Secret Santa?” Y/N was puzzled, she had left a christmas themed outfit for everyone and had picked Drax to be Santa. 

Drax’s unblinkingly responded, “You said I am Santa, so if I wear it, it won’t be a secret anymore.”

Rocket put his head in his hand, “Urgh, this is like the time you thought you were invisible because you were standing still.”

“Drax, just put the hat on.” Gamora sighed and handed over the red hat with the white fluffy trim and bobble.

With one look at Y/N’s face and her crossed arms, he had learnt it was best to try and make her smile so Drax pulled it onto his head, “Ho ho ho! Is that right?”

She giggled and relaxed her arms before she called out to Groot, “Time to put the game down.”

With a huff, Groot put it away and adjusted the handmade star on his head. The unenthusiastic action did not go unmissed but Y/N chose to ignore it.

“Cmon, it's supposed to be fun and a family thing.” Y/N tried to jeer him into the festive spirit before she turned to place the presents on the table.

“I am Groot.” Mumbled the teenager.

“At least you don't have to wear these stupid antlers.” Rocket whispered to Groot.

“This hat is itchy.” Complained Drax as he pulled it around his head.

Y/N could hear the conversation behind her and tears pricked in her eyes. Before they could fall, she rushed past Peter and down into the sleeping quarters.

  “What did you do?” Peter glared and questioned the other guardians.

Rocket raised his arms in defense, “Why are you looking at me?” 

“Because upsetting Y/N is something a trash panda would do!”

Groot shrugged and continued to play his game whilst Drax ate his Zarg-nuts.

“You're all a bunch of idiots.” Gamora sighed, “Y/N wanted a special day and you've ruined it.”

Rocket scratched at the back of his neck, Drax hung his head in shame and Groot kicked at the ground. The three of them uncertain what to say or do.

  **

“Alright, Guardians, don’t forget this is for Y/N. Let’s put on our happy faces!”

Y/N could hear Quill’s pep talk and stifled a giggle behind the closed panel to the sleeping quarters, what were they up to?! She pulled the panel to see her friends dressed up in their christmas outfits holding various shaped presents.

Quill rubbed the back of his neck, “We realised you deserved better so you don’t have a Secret Santa, you have us crazy bunch of jerks.”

Y/N’s chest swelled with pride at the thought they had put into this, her smile didn’t falter as they walked to the table and chairs. “Thank you. Now let’s open these gifts!”

The Guardians took to their assigned seats with their stockings draped over the chairs and crackers set down on the table. Peter flicked on the sound system, Bruce Springsteen echoed through the speakers; You better watch out, you better not cry…

They all revealed their presents at once. Rocket was given a box of scrap metal and Groot had a new watering can. Gamora placed the cuff on her wrist with a twinkle in her eye, Drax had nearly munched his way through the pack of different flavoured Zarg-nuts as Peter placed his new troll doll at the front of the spaceship.

  Y/N looked at her gifts, Groot hadn’t wrapped his present but that did not make it any less perfect. Y/N placed the woven twigs and flowers on her head and kissed his cheek. She was uncertain which one to open next when Rocket nudged his closer and she snorted as he winked at her. The paper was ripped away to a metal box with a clasp at the front as she opened it, music filtered into the room. A soft melody played and tears welled in her eyes. She grabbed Rocket into a big hug and refused to let go as he squirmed.

“Thank you Rocket,” Y/N eventually let him go and placed a kiss to the top of his head. 

He blushed and turned to the side, “You’re welcome.”

  Gamora stood beside Y/N and handed her gift over. It was neatly wrapped and a bow had been placed at the top. She pulled at the string and unravelled the paper to reveal a jewelled dagger. Similar to Gamora’s one, yet, the red stones were dotted with Y/N’s favourite colour gems. Y/N clutched it to her chest in happiness and silently thanked Gamora with a huge smile then leant against the assassin’s hip.

Gamora stroked her hair, “You needed something more, you when we fight for the galaxy.”

  Drax walked around from the other side of his table and leant on the back of Y/N’s chair and held out the present he had wrapped with his other hand. She took it from him, it was oddly shaped and squishy. It made her hesitate to open it and she peeled away the paper slowly at first but as soon as she saw the purple of the fruit from a village they had visited recently visited, she tore the paper apart. Even though the present was the equivalent of an orange on Earth, it was the best fruit in the galaxy she had ever tried. 

Y/N squeezed Drax’s hand, “This is really thoughtful. Thank you.”

Drax grinned then patted her head as he left to go back to his seat. Quill shuffled in his seat to face Y/N and placed a surprisingly neatly wrapped present on the table in front of her.

She raised her eyebrow, “Did you wrap this?!”

He scoffed and shrugged his shoulders but did not give her an answer.

With pursed lips, Y/N loosened the taped corners to reveal a worn copy of Mary Poppins. The pages were dog-eared and stained in places, yet, the smell of the pages filled Y/N’s senses and it felt like home.

  Y/N thought of how different her life could have been if she had been brought up on Earth, not in space. Or if she didn’t spend all of her time with a bunch of criminals. Yet, here she was, with the best family she could have wished for.

  The Guardians noticed the way Y/N’s smile returned and she began to glow once more. 

She was the star of their Christmas family tree.

[buckeverlasting]

The Made Up Meet-Cute

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

A/N: The year is 2020. The place is Manhattan. Tony has rebuilt Stark Tower and apologized to Bucky for the events of Civil War, and everyone lives happily together... This fulfills a request from someone I’ll just call Parsons Anon. I’m sure you know who you are.

Summary: Bucky bumps into his dream girl in passing. He decides to track her down.

Warnings: fluff, just a whole bunch of fluff

Word count: 3.3k 

Bucky loved early morning jogs through Manhattan. He loved watching everyone rushing to work with their coffee and thinking how lucky he was not to have a desk job. Tony hired him on as a consultant, as he did all the Avengers, so they could have something to put on their tax forms. Morning runs were a way to get away from everyone, to get lost in the sea of commuters. He loved everyone he lived with in the tower, but he loved being alone. Though the sidewalks were crowded with people, he was very much by himself, free to be with his thoughts. 

Despite how different they looked, Manhattan reminded him of living in Wakanda, where he could watch the sunrise in relative peace, his only visitors being some kids or Shuri coming to check in on him. It took work to put the events of all the wars he’d faced behind him, a constant vigilance against memories that left him feeling battered and bereft. Jogging early in the morning cleared his head of everything, even the constant war he was waging with his past. For an hour or so, there was a ceasefire. He was just James “Bucky” Barnes, not the Winter Soldier, not the White Wolf, just a guy in sweats. Well, that’s what morning runs used to be like for Bucky until the morning he ran into you. The scent of your perfume and the memory of your red lips would rob him of peace and even sleep for weeks.

You were running late for your first morning lecture, so you were hurrying with your coffee to class. As you turned a corner, you bumped into a burly man in gray sweats. Your paper cup of coffee was crushed between you.

“Ouch!” You shook the hot coffee from your hands and wiped them on our coat. You glance up to see that the front of the man’s sweatshirt was dripping with your latte. “Oh no! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Bucky looked down at himself. “It’s just a sweatshirt.” He smiled at you, and you gave him a quick half smile in return.

“Alright, then,” you said and continued down the sidewalk, head down against the wind. You were now going to be even later.

All Bucky should have been smelling was the coffee on his sweatshirt, but the wind carried the scent of roses to him. You smelled like roses. And he couldn’t shake the image of your crimson smile that crept up with just a suggestion of a smirk. Your lips were full, and the word that kept coming to his mind when he thought of them was “kissable.” In that vast ocean of anonymous city dwellers, he was falling for one he desperately wished he knew.

Back at the tower, Bucky poured himself a glass of water and just held it, staring out the window.

“Morning, Buck,” Steve said.

Bucky turned around with a start. “Oh, hey, Steve.” He turned back to the window.

“Have a good run this morning?” Steve opened the fridge and took out the orange juice. He took a glass from the cabinet and poured himself some juice. “Hello? Buck?”

“You ever think about how many people live on this tiny island?” Bucky asked. “Like, how many stories we just don’t know?”

“You sound awfully philosophical this morning,” Steve said. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Don’t laugh,” Buck said, “but I bumped into this girl.”

“Let me guess. You can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I can’t! She spilled coffee on me and then just sort of darted off.”

“So, you didn’t catch her name.”

“No, she seemed like she was in a pretty big hurry.” Bucky wanted to tell Steve how she smelled like roses and how her lips were just as red, but he didn’t want Steve to tease him.

“Why don’t you find her?” Steve took a sip of his orange juice.

“Even if I could find her, I think I’m a little old for her,” Bucky said.

“We’re too old for everybody. Plus age won’t matter to her if she’s the kind of person you want to be with. You wouldn’t want to date the kind of person who would hold the fact that you were forced to be cryogenically frozen against you.”

“That’s a fair point.” Bucky snatched the jug of orange juice off the counter.

Steve reached into the cabinet. “For crying out loud, use a glass, Buck.”

—-

The next morning Bucky made a point to take the same route as he did the day before, hoping to run into you again. He was pretty sure that it was somewhere along Fifth Avenue, perhaps near 14th Street. It was somewhat near Union Square. He knew there was a Starbucks at Union Square. Perhaps you had gotten your coffee there. Bucky thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek in the window. He looked in, and there was no beautiful girl with those full red lips. He wouldn’t let himself get disappointed, though. This was a huge city with millions of coffee shops. He wracked his brain to try to remember a label or some marking on her coffee cup. He remembered now it was actually just plain white with a black lid. It must be a small coffee shop, possibly not even part of a chain of shops. It had to be someplace unique. It had to be because you had chosen it.

That afternoon, with FRIDAY’s help, Bucky compiled a list of coffee shops near Union Square. It was possible that you had arrived at the Union Square station with coffee you had brought from Brooklyn, for example, but Bucky just had a feeling by how hot it was that it was close by. On his morning jogs, Bucky methodically visited some of the coffee shops on his list, hoping that he’d be lucky enough to bump into you again. After he had visited each one on his list, a week or so had past, and he was beginning to lose hope. Yet the image of your crimson lips was still bright in his memory. The scent of roses was still fresh in his nose.

Well into the second week of his search for your coffee shop, he stopped in the middle of his jog when he smelled roses. He followed the scent to a small flower shop. He peered in the window. It was also a coffee shop! FRIDAY probably didn’t put it on his list because it was listed as a flower shop first and foremost. Inside were two counters. One had a little glass case with pastries and chrome-bright coffee machines behind it, and at the other counter, a woman in a green apron was wrapping a bouquet of daisies in tissue paper. He had a feeling this was the place. He looked up at the sign. It read, Bread and Flowers. It made sense that a girl who wears rose perfume frequents a place like this.

Heart beating in his ears, he entered, and the door jingled a little bell. He walked up to the barista who greeted him with a smile.

“Morning! What can I get for you?” she asked.

Bucky focused on the menu on the wall behind her. “A black coffee, please.”

“For here or to go?”

“For here.” He figured he’d sit around for a bit and see if you showed up.

As he got his coffee and was sitting down at a table by the window, it occurred to him that he had no idea what to say to you. Even worse, he had no idea how to explain to you how he had found your coffee shop. He wasn’t about to tell you about his research with FRIDAY and his daily stakeouts of coffee shops around Union Square. So, he left without touching his coffee.

—-

“Why aren’t you out for a run this morning?” Sam asked. “Don’t you always go running?”

Bucky just grunted into his cereal.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Sam said.

“Sorry,” Bucky said.

“Is this about the girl you’ve been spending weeks trying to find?” Sam asked.

There was no point in lying. “How did you know?” Bucky asked.

“Steve told me, and you always come home smelling like coffee after your runs.”

“I just don’t know what I’m going to say to her when I meet her again. Won’t it be weird if I suddenly show up in her coffee shop?”

“Just say hello and tell her your name. You don’t need to explain the fact that you stalked her for weeks. Just make it seem like a coincidence.”

—-

The next day Bucky screwed up the courage to run straight to the flower shop/coffee shop. He opened the door, and there you were, sitting in a corner with a a cup the size of a soup bowl in front of you, reading what looked like a textbook. You were absentmindedly chewing on the highlighter you held, and Bucky was so distracted by the deep red of your lips that he didn’t notice he walked up to the flower shop counter instead of the coffee bar.

The lady in the green apron smiled at him. “How can I help you?”

“Um, roses,” Bucky said. “I’d like some roses, please.”

“Okay, which color?” she asked.

Bucky wanted to get you red roses to match your lips but thought maybe that was too romantic. Plus, he didn’t know your favorite color rose. “I guess I’ll take one of each color.”

He occasionally glanced over his shoulder at you reading while he waited for the florist to work her magic, strategically sticking in sprigs of other green things he didn’t know the name of.

Bucky paid and accepted the lovely bouquet wrapped in white tissue paper. He walked over to you in the corner. His heart leapt into his throat. He didn’t know if he’d be able to speak.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said.

You looked up and blinked at him, cocking your head slightly. You furrowed your brow, trying to place him. “You’re the guy I spilled coffee on,” you said.

“That’s me.” Bucky grinned and scratched the back of his head. “I felt bad for wasting your coffee, so I thought maybe I could buy you another cup some time. Also, this is for you.” He handed you the little bouquet of multicolored roses.

You breathed in the roses. “These are beautiful! Thank you. They’re my favorite.” You pulled out the chair next to you. “I’m actually just about to run out of coffee now, if you want to buy me a refill.” You smiled at Bucky.

“I’d love you. I mean, I’d love you. I mean, I’d love to.” Bucky turned redder than your lips. “What are you drinking?”

“A latte with almond milk.” You smiled to put him at ease. Clearly, this man was very rusty. You watched him walk to the counter to make the order. You had to admit you were immediately taken in by his ocean blue eyes, and you found the stubble on his square jaw alluring.

“They said they’ll bring it out when it’s ready.” He sat down in the chair you had pulled out. “I’m Bucky, by the way.” He put out his hand.

“I’m y/n.” You shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

“What are you reading there?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m just studying for my art history midterm,” you said.

“So, you’re a student.”

“Yeah, I go to Parsons.” You motioned vaguely in the direction of your school. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Well, I’m kind of a consultant.”

“Who consults with you?”

“Um, Tony Stark.” Bucky looked down at the table.

“I thought I recognized you! You must be Bucky BARNES. Aren’t you an Avenger?”

“A bit, I guess so.”

“Well, you are or you aren’t.”

“Well, then I am.” Bucky smiled. “Where are you from?”

And so you chatted for a while, just getting to know each other. After two hours, you realized you hadn’t done any studying for your midterm. Bucky said that he’d let you study but that he’d like to take you out on a proper date sometime soon. You exchanged numbers, and Bucky left the flower shop/coffee shop in very high spirits.

—-

“So, she’s a student,” Natasha said. “Isn’t she a bit young for you?”

“Everyone is too young for me,” Bucky said.

“I suppose that’s true,” she said. “What are you going to wear?”

“This. Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

“You and Steve! You can really tell you two haven’t dated in a long time.” She shook her head. “I’ll go through your closet and help you find something.”

“Okay, fine.”

—-

Your first date with Bucky, you took him to try Thai food. He had never tried it before. He seemed to like pad Thai, which he described as “spaghetti with peanut butter.” The next date was a visit to the Met and a stroll around Central Park after. Your third date was to a movie that neither one of you will ever remember because it was the first time you held hands, and that’s all either one of you could focus on. Bucky took you back to your place, and on the train ride, you rested your head on his shoulder. He rested his cheek on your hair and interlaced his fingers with yours.

One chilly fall afternoon, you were both reading in your favorite coffee shop, when Bucky put his book down, leaned across the table, and kissed you on the lips.

“I’ve been dying to do that since I first bumped into you,” he said.

You smiled at him with soft eyes. “What took you so damn long?”

“Call me old fashioned.”

“So, are we going steady? Am I your best gal?”

“I would hope we’re going steady, and of course, you’re my best girl.” He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it, looking up at you with those deep ocean blue eyes.

—-

“When do we get to meet this girl, Buck?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, I’m dying to meet her,” Natasha said.

“In time,” Bucky said.

“Not good enough,” Tony said. “That’s it. I’m throwing a party tomorrow, and I’m inviting her. What’s her name?”

—-

You arrived at Stark Tower fashionably late, as it took you twice as long to get dressed than usual. You felt like you had nothing to wear to a Tony Stark party. You called Bucky in a panic, and he told you wearing jeans would be perfectly acceptable. You at least slipped on your cutest shoes, which happened to be red to match your lips.

The front doors slid open for you, and you saw Bucky sitting in the lobby waiting for you.

“I was getting nervous that you weren’t going to show up.” He stood and walked up to you.

“I definitely wouldn’t miss this.” You got up on the tips of your toes to kiss him on the cheek.

“Good. I’m glad you’re here.” He offered you his arm, and you looped yours in his. “Shall we?”

You let him lead you to the elevator. He pressed the button for the 31st floor. “Ready?”

“I don’t know,” you said. 
“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admitted.

Bucky stooped to kiss the top of your head. “It’ll be fine. Everyone will love you.”

The elevator doors slid open before you have a chance to ask him what made him so sure. You didn’t know what you were expecting exactly, but you definitely weren’t expecting to see the Avengers casually reclining on a large sectional sofa with bottles of beer in hand. Steve Rogers jumped up and bounded over to you and Bucky.

“You must be y/n.” He held out an enormous hand. “I’m Steve. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

You took his hand. “I know who you are. I know who you all are.” You looked from face to face. You recognized fiery red-haired Natasha Romanoff, bashful Bruce Banner, snarky Tony Stark, boyish Clint Barton, winsome Sam Wilson, and…

“Is Thor here?” you asked.

“Oh, what? We’re not good enough for you?” Tony came over and offered his hand, too. “I’m Tony. Nice to finally meet you. We’ve heard so much. All good things, though. Don’t worry.”

“Do my ears deceive me, or did I hear my name?” Thor appeared from around the corner, offering you and Bucky each a bottle of beer.

“I’m such a big fan.” You could feel the heat coming off your cheeks, and you could definitely feel Bucky giving you a look.

“What about me?” He held his hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.”

“Oh, you’ll survive.” You gave him a little shove before extending your hand to Thor. “It’s such an honor to meet you!”

“The honor is mine,” he said, almost crushing your hand as he shook it vigorously.

You clench and unclench your fist and gently massage your fingers back to life, as Natasha approached you.

“I won’t shake your hand, but I will give you a hug.” She threw her arms around you like you were old friends.

In shock, you just patted her shoulder blade.

They ushered you over to the couch and sat you down. The barrage of questions began pretty much immediately. They wanted to know everything from where you grew up to what you were studying at school to what you thought the future held for you. You told them you’d tell them everything they wanted to know if someone would share an embarrassing story about Bucky first.

“Did he ever tell you how he met you?” Sam asked.

“I know how we met. We bumped into each other on the street,” you said.

“We’re talking about the second time you met,” Steve said.

“He stalked you, basically,” Tony said.

“It was kind of sweet,” Natasha said.

You turned to Bucky. “What’s this about stalking?”

“I may have used technology to aid in bumping into you again.” He averted his eyes and picked at the label on his beer bottle.

“I’m speechless,” you said. “I am so flattered! A one hundred and three year old man braved the world of technology to find me?”

“Thanks, guys.” Bucky got up and headed to the elevator.

You followed after him. “Hey, where are you going?”

“To get some air,” he said. “Want to come along?”

“Sure.” You grabbed his hand.

The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped inside.

“You have to see the roof,” he said.

“I think I’m a little underdressed. My coat is…”

Bucky pulled his burgundy sweater over his head and handed it to you. “This should keep you warm.”

“But you’re wearing just a t-shirt!”

“I run warm. I’ll be fine.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing the New York City skyline, lit up against the night sky.

You gasped and scrambled into Bucky’s sweater, as the wind whipped your hair.

“I know,” Bucky said. “It’s definitely the best thing about living here.”

“It’s beautiful. It’s like seeing the City for the first time.”

“They love you, by the way. I knew they would.”

“I meant to ask you before,” you said. “What made you so sure they would love me?”

“Because I love you.” Bucky took both your hands. “I love you, y/n.”

You dropped his hands and crashed into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you said. “I’m so glad you did whatever you did to make us meet again.”

“Me too.” He stroked your hair, and you held him tighter.

Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to hear your feedback!! If you’d like to be tagged in future fics, please just send me an ask.

Tag list: @reniescarlett @captain-winny @delicatelyherdreams @sapphirestark @gottalovekidding @trashpanda-barnes @buckychrist @itsbuckysworld @marvelous-avengers @sgtbucketbarnes @loki-superwholockin @mywinterwolf @petersshirts @the-canary @whiskey-cokenfanfic @coffeeandpies @buckyofthemyscira @jamesbuckybarnes13 @tina8009 @queenofkings121 @heartssick @xxloki81xx @jewelofwinter @darcia22

[hphm-etched-engraved-everlasting]

13. Clara

Author’s Note/Table of Contents

It's hard to let go of the worry that my sister would become a target for 'R'. Even with all this company around her, the fact that she's still volunteering to help me even with all those serious measures in place puts my mind more at unease than before. The more I thought about the promise I made my parents, the more I felt like I was betraying their trust. If something happened to all their children, they would never find it in their hearts to forgive the one who started it all.

All I could hope was that Jacob was still out there, still alive and as alright as he could be. He took the fall when things at Hogwarts became dire. Now he took full responsibility to end 'R' and their ploys once and for all. I could only imagine the beating he'd get when he got home--a lecture from our parents that might have an unexpected outcome, though it was hard to tell from the way things were going. He was no perfect child, but people have been looking to me like I was a model student--I hope I didn't disappoint anyone with my risky adventures.

If the prefect side of me found me walking into the Forbidden Forest with a basket of assorted goods, accompanying a Centaur into a place where most humans have never stepped foot in, I'd have stopped myself immediately and given myself a steep deficit in House Points. However, these goods were what made up the offerings I wanted to give the Centaur herd in the Forbidden Forest--a few sprigs of lavender harvested from the Herbology greenhouses tied tightly with twine, a batch of Hagrid's rock cakes, and a large star chart that Badeea found in the Artefact Room a long while back. I chose those gifts carefully with the help of my friends and my sister, and Torvus praised me for selecting these as offerings for his herd. One could only hope, however, that I wouldn't end up in trouble for doing what hardly any other human had ever done.

"We're here," Torvus finally said, jolting me out of my thoughts. He pushed aside the giant blanket that obscured the camp, and went in. I quickly followed suit before the prefect side of me told me to run.

The camp was huge for a young teenager like me--at least, bigger than any kind of campsite that any Muggle might have seen. It was big enough to house the entire herd, and that was definitely saying something considering that all the Centaurs were of different sizes and builds, each of them staying in giant tents made of sticks and thick earthen-coloured tarps. A huge bonfire burned brightly in the middle of the campgrounds, illuminating the vicinity with a warm glow amidst the night that shrouded us in the late hours of the day. My eyes darted from one thing to another, mystified at this secret place that definitely looked and felt like home.

"Wow," I murmured in awe. "I can't believe I'm in the Centaur Camp."

Torvus grinned at me as he saw me look around. "You are quite fortunate, Clara. Few humans are granted the privilege to visit--but I would not celebrate just yet. You still need to present your offerings to the Centaur chosen to be your judge. He will decide whether you'll be welcomed as an honoured guest and seek our help deciphering your prophecy, or forbidden from returning. "

Ah, yes. Torvus' word on the offerings I brought would not be enough to confirm that I was a welcome guest in his camp. I glanced down at the basket again, at the items that everyone had taken so much care and time to give me. Professor Sprout and Talbott were kind enough to offer the lavender we harvested together. Hagrid and little Em spent so much time making the rock cakes with me. And Badeea wouldn't relinquish the historic antique star chart for anything else but this--the hope that I could get my prophecy decoded in time.

"For Hogwarts' sake and mine, I hope it's the former," I said, swallowing past the dryness in my throat. "Decoding this prophecy would help me find the last Cursed Vault and break its curse before Rakepick gets her hands on it. We cannot let her claim what's inside before us."

Torvus nodded solemnly, gesturing me to put the basket down on the barrels beside him. "So what do you think of our camp? I am curious to hear what an outsider thinks."

"It's...safe," I ventured, nodding and smiling. "It's surprising since we're surrounded by a forest full of deadly creatures."

And it's Torvus' home, after all. Here, they could thrive amidst all the other things going about them. I could only imagine how relieved Torvus must have been to finally return home after being in exile for years.

It seemed that he read my mind just then, because he nodded and chuckled. "I certainly missed its warmth while I was exiled."

Just then, another taller Centaur trotted over to us--a Centaur who looked like the head of the herd, or at least one of the more respected of the herd, from the way he held his head high and approached us. I quickly walked over to him and bowed out of respect.

"Rise, Clara Lin. I am Firenze of the Forbidden Forest Centaur herd," the tall Centaur introduced himself. "I will be determining if you are worthy to remain as a guest in our Camp."

I rose, looking up at him in the eye. He didn't seem like the stern type, though he did have an aura of ferocity about him like most other beasts did in the Forest. Under typical circumstances, I would probably be cowering, but if Torvus trusted him, I should too.

I quickly gestured to my offerings and presented them, one by one. Firenze seemed absolutely fascinated by the star chart, and he nodded at the sight of Hagrid's rock cakes, acknowledging the fact that I was Hagrid's friend, and Hagrid's a friend to the Forest after all. When he saw the lavender, he smiled in glee--I could imagine it was a hard find here in the Forest, and they'd appreciate the relief from flies.

Rowan had to take some of that credit. I remembered how she brought a sprig of lavender to school to avoid encountering the scent of some of our house mates' stinky socks.

"Now that I have seen your offerings, I am ready to make my decision," Firenze finally announced. "It is my decree that you shall be welcomed into our camp as our honoured guest."

I could tell from the way he was smiling and grinning at each of my offerings that it was bound to go well. After all, I did think up most of what I offered them, after all. They were suitable coming from someone genuinely interested in learning another's culture.

"Thank you Firenze," I intoned with another bow. "And you too, Torvus!"

Torvus laughed at my silly bows and shook his head. "You should thank the fates for giving you such a fair judge, Clara. Firenze has always been one of the few in our herd who is sympathetic to humans."

"I simply believe we all have more to gain by working together than apart," Firenze simply said, looking between me and Torvus.

Ouch. Instantly, those words drove a spear straight into my chest, and I almost fell over. Working together? If only my brother could hear him say those words.

"Don't let the rest of the herd hear that kind of talk, or you'll end up exiled too," Torvus warned.

Firenze's frown deepened, the crease in his eyebrows becoming more defined. "I must do whatever I think is right, be it helping humans or otherwise," he told Torvus. "And for now, that includes helping Clara Lin understand her prophecy."

"So you'll help me uncover the true meaning behind Trelawney's prophecy?" I asked him, mostly for clarification, but mostly because I was worried that if even he wasn't up for the job, we'd end up wasting more time, and we didn't have a lot of time to begin with. Time was ticking down, and the more time we spent on square one, the farther we'd be from the end goal.

"Yes. Torvus told me all about your situation with the prophecy, the Cursed Vaults, and the petrification curse," Firenze responded with a nod. "If your school is truly in danger and decoding this prophecy may help keep the young ones safe, then I am happy to lend my talents."

"And what talents they are!" Torvus remarked with a grin. "Firenze is truly gifted at divination."

Hearing this made me feel a little better, and I nodded, tension fading somewhat from my limbs.

"Thank you. It sounds like I'm in good hands," I said.

"Now, share this prophecy with me. We'll see if that reputation truly precedes me," Firenze instructed me.

And so I did. It got tiring to repeat the same words over and over again--once to the Weasleys and my sister and her friend, once to Torvus, and now once more to Firenze. The more I mulled over those words, the more confusing they got. Murky waters, ultimate prices to pay...what did I still owe? What decisions did I still have yet to make? The more of the situation I explained to Firenze, the more he scratched his chin, a pensive look settling over his features. Ultimately it just all came down to  what's envisioned to happen and what eventually does come to pass...and if Trelawney was right, then I really had to tread carefully.

There was no telling what would come of this statue curse, let alone the war between me and 'R'.

"I have a few initial impressions, but to get a clearer answer, I will need to study the heavens," Firenze eventually told me, scratching his chin in thought. "Unfortunately, accurately monitoring the movements of the planets and stars is no easy task and will take time--however, you have my word that I will not cease until I can provide you answers."

"And when Firenze gives his word, he always keeps it," Torvus reassured me.

At least that put my mind at ease. It didn't exactly put my mind at ease, but to get the best answers, one shouldn't take any shortcuts. Still, I knew that with that matter in the midst of being dealt with, I could now focus on other things.

"Thank you, Firenze," I eventually said with a smile. "Even just knowing you're working on it makes me feel better."

Firenze nodded and patted my shoulder. "I will seek you out when the heavens have made the truth behind your prophecy clear to me. Until then, I urge you to stay safe and keep your friends close--because while I cannot pin down the specifics of the prophecy yet, I can safely say that danger and strife are in your future."

Danger and strife were already in my present. Beatrice and Penny were at odds. Ben and Merula have become completely reckless. Charlie has become less of himself--at least, according to Percy. And then there was my sister and her willingness to put herself at risk for her family--our family.

How could I keep anyone close when they're all seeking to fall apart?

[ephemeral-writings]

Everything I Need // 03

oh sehun x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 3.3k

Everything I Need // oh sehun teaches you a thing or two about life. but falling for the boy who lived across from you was not what you had anticipated.  

Part 01 / Part 02 / Part 03 / Part 04 / Part 05

//////

Thankfully, there wasn’t another letter from your father found in your mailbox. Weeks passed before the anxiety in you finally let up, and you were back to your old self, a sleep deprived student with a sack of stress, but nevertheless, relieved that the non-existent communication with your father ceased. It was like the letter never existed.

However, the idea that he could possibly find you once--if-- he gets out on parole chips little pieces of sanity you still have within you.

“Let’s meet when I get out, okay? Appa will try his best to get out early so we can start over again.”

But you didn’t want to start over. You had to restart your life the minute you walked out of that house, and you will continue as so. Alone. You had managed three years without him, and if he had any thoughts on leaning on you for help, he was better off staying in prison.

It was Saturday night, and though you’d usually avoid all social events that forces you to interact with people, you had agreed to go to Jongdae’s birthday party since he did personally stopped you after class on Wednesday just to invite you. The least you could do was show up and wish him a happy birthday. Also, the better part of you decided that for your sanity, you needed to be somewhere that wasn’t your apartment.

You warned Jongdae beforehand that you’d be late since you were working, but he waved it aside, assuring you that the party wasn’t going to end at 11pm, the time you told him you’d finish work. So you rushed home after your shift, managed to squeeze in a quick four minute shower and apply the bare minimum of makeup just to look somewhat like you’ve made an effort. Your hair styled itself once you released it from the bun you had on for work, natural waves falling just below your elbows.

Jongdae had texted you the address earlier that week, but you didn’t think about checking it out first. Looking at the outside of the club now, you physically felt inclined to hop back in the cab you took and go home. The music was loud even from outside, you couldn’t imagine how wrecked your ears would be by the end of the night.

Here goes nothing.

There was a short line to get in, and you didn’t even wait five minutes before it was your turn to flash your ID and the bouncer finds your name on the clipboard he’s holding, and allows you through. Inside, it was loud, to say the least, but bearable. There are minimal tables floating around the circumference of the dance floor where small groups stood around, conversing with their drinks on the small round tables. Booths were elevated on a platform that wrapped around the whole club, some filled to the brim, others deserted as patrons found entertainment on the dance floor. The only thing that separate the dance floor from the tables were gold metal bars with red velvet detailings to match the floors. Somehow, even through the music, you heard your name being called out by someone. That someone being the birthday boy himself. He extricated himself from the large group of people, some of them peering at who Jongdae was running over to.

“You made it!” Jongdae gave you a one-arm hug, his other hand homing a cup with clear liquid.

“Yeah, I did,” you chuckle lightly and wish him a happy birthday to which he smiles gratefully.

“You look amazing. Was your hair always this long? How was work? Can I get you something to drink?” You could see that he was already tipsy from how warm his body was, and his hyperactive nature seemed tenfold as he fired questions at you before you could even open your mouth to answer.

“It’s alright, Jongdae. Why don’t you rejoin your friends? They’re looking for you, hmm?” You spoke to him as if you were speaking to a child. He gives you another hug before doing so, reminding you to have a good time. You weren’t too sure how to do that, but nodded in response.

You made your way to the bar which was on the opposite side of the club. A whole right wall made up the bar with a long mahogany island that separated the club go-ers and the bartenders. You found an empty seat easily, settling on it and trying to make yourself more comfortable in the unfamiliar setting. One look around and you noticed that everyone was around your age, some you even recognize from class. You guessed that Jongdae might’ve booked the whole club for his big day, and invited everyone he knew. You weren’t necessarily close to Jongdae, but he was the nicest person you’ve ever met and somehow made you feel like you were old friends. It was just too bad you don’t know anyone else at the party.

“Can I get you something, miss?”

The voice came directly from over your shoulder where your back was facing the island. You spun around to see a familiar face.

“Sehun?”

“Y/N?” Your neighbor looked surprise but not as much as you. A club was the last place you’d think you’d meet Sehun at, especially with the man standing behind the bar, asking to get you a drink. Speaking of which, you took a moment to appreciate his get-up. A striped button down with a small logo of the club embroidered on the right tip of the collar hugged his frame a little too perfectly. Around his neck was a velvet red necktie that matched the club’s red interior. Over his shirt was a neat, plaid vest also stitched with the club logo on the left breast. He cleaned up considerably well.

“Y/N,” Sehun called, snapping you back to reality. The tiny smirk on his face tells you he had caught you staring, and you flushed. “So, something to drink? It’s all on the house.”

“Um, I- I don’t know.” You really didn’t since it was your first time. All you knew about alcohol was beer and soju, the standard. “Surprise me, I guess.”

Sehun took a few seconds to think. As he leans on the granite top from behind the counter, you tried hard not to be distracted by the way his forearms taut and literally put out on display for you to drool over. His fingers tapped on the counter while he thinks, enticing you to follow the rhythm of it. Finally, after what felt like hours being under his spell, he moved to start making you a drink.

You watched, slightly amazed at the fluidity of his movements as he maneuvers behind the counter, walking to and fro and grabbing ingredients without even checking twice. He measures each component at a speed that wasn’t rushed nor lagged, just at a pace that showed off his expertise. It showed how comfortable he was, how confident he is in his work. He didn’t say a word as he worked, and it made you slightly self-conscious that maybe he wasn’t keen on talking to the girl who lived across the hall, nevermind serving her. Sehun finished off with some garnish, a thinly sliced orange and sprig of mint, and slid you the highball glass filled with a pink-orange gradient mixture.

You’re left staring at the piece of work in amazement before Sehun motion you to try it. You hesitate to mix the liquid, not knowing if you were suppose to drink it as is or blend the two colors. Sehun, noting the look of uncertainty on you, instructed, “Mix it, so that the flavors combine.”

You did as told, and took your first sip. It was a burst of flavors in your mouth, mostly citrus, and you barely tasted the alcohol you had seen him put in.

“It’s delicious,” you complimented, taking a few more sips before asking, “What is this?”

Sehun, though still ever expressionless, eyed you with mirth swimming in his eyes as he answered, “Sex on the Beach.”

You choked mid-swallow. “Excuse me?”

Sehun looked down, feigning wiping down his near-spotless station, as he attempted to conceal his grin. “That’s the name of the drink, Y/N.”

You flushed even deeper now that you’ve had something in your system. Mildly blaming the alcohol, you shut your mouth and continue nursing the drink. Sehun excused himself while he tended to two girls who appeared at the other side of the island. It was dim, you couldn’t make out the faces of the girls, but their body language said everything. If you could tell they were hitting on Sehun, you knew for sure he had an inkling as well. You could only see his back from where you sat, and you saw his shoulders bobbing up and down from something the girl in an all-black ensemble said. Maybe a pick-up line. And from the girl’s giggle, you figured she got the reaction she wanted.

The wonders of intoxication, you thought as the tension in your body begins to expel. You’re finding it easy to forget your worries and stray towards thoughts concerning your neighbor. Granted you’ve never seen a girl around his place, you couldn’t rule out the fact that he may have a girlfriend.

You’re far from drunk, tipsy maybe, at midpoint, so when Sehun came back after accepting something the girl slid on the counter, you request another drink. “Can I just get a shot, please, if I may?” Your words were beginning to blend, so you prayed Sehun understood you over the music and everything.

“So, you’re friends with Jongdae?” Sehun asked as he bends down to grab a bottle of Hennessy. He pulled a shot glass towards him as well, but he doesn’t pour the liquor in. Sehun wordlessly motioned you to finish your drink which you had a few sips worth left.

You play with the orange slice in your cup, stabbing it with the straw to release it’s natural juice compared to the cartoned juice you saw Sehun poured in earlier. “We’re classmates, yes, but I wouldn’t necessarily call us friends.” Your lips fell into a natural pout as you think about how nonexistent your social life was. “Jongdae is just really, really nice. He’s friends with everyone, so I guess that’s a yes to answer your question. Do you know him?” You asked, cocking your head sideways as you looked at your neighbor slash bartender.  

“Sorta,” he grunted, assessing how talkative you were in your intoxicated state. “He’s my boss’s cousin. Comes by too often, if you ask me.” You made a sound of acknowledgement followed by a loud slurp that indicated the end of your cocktail. Sehun quirked a smile when you shyly peeked over the rim of your now empty glass, silently asking him for another fill.

“You here alone?” Sehun questioned as he pour you a shot of the brown liquor. He traded you it for the empty glass when he was done. You made a face that Sehun couldn’t read, and downed the shot, morphing your expression from one of dejection to disgust.

“I didn’t choose to, y’know?” Your abrupt statement only made him more confused, but he continued listening, silently, intently.

“Jongdae, like I said, is really nice. He’s friends with practically everyone on campus. He talks to me in class even though I sit all the way in the back, and he sits in the front with his friends. But does that mean I’m not? Am I secretly a bitch?” You whispered the last bit, burning holes in the mahogany wood. You’ve lost Sehun, you think, but to your surprise the shot glass in front of you disappeared and you redirect your gaze back to your neighbor. Sehun poured you another shot, though significantly less than the first.

He placed it back on your coaster, making sure you’re looking at him and listening when he tells you, “You’re far from one, Y/N. You might be...a little difficult to approach but you don’t bite.” He shrugged, “At least not the first time we met.”

“Oh, yeah,” you agreed animatedly, assuming he was talking about the day you had locked yourself out. “I was really tired and stressed that day.”

“As you are every day, it seems,” Sehun mumbled with his arms crossed. “But that’s not the day I was talking about.”

You plopped your arms on the counter, too quickly for your reflexes that weren’t top-notch functional at the moment, and you end up hitting your funny bone. You pouted while cradling your elbow. “Then what day are you talking about? We’ve never talked before then.”

Sehun prepared to explain when another tender, one of equal build and dressed identical to him, appeared behind him, tapping him on the shoulder to gain his attention.

“Thanks for covering my station, man. You wanna go on your break now?” The guy offered to take over Sehun’s station as well. You noticed the hesitation in Sehun when he glances at you, so you quickly spoke up.

“Go! Don’t mind me! I have to look for Jongdae, anyways,” you urged. You slid down your stool without falling on your face, downing your third shot as you go, before shooting Sehun a thumbs up in thanks for the service. You didn’t hear when the other bartender asked Sehun who you were, and Sehun replied with, “My interesting neighbor.”  

You were more than buzzed, you weren’t dumb enough to not know that much. Though you were the one who told Sehun to leave you, you were regretting it already. You had to admit that talking to him came easy, or maybe it was liquid courage that made you spout all those sentences the way you weren’t used to. Not long after departing the bar, a man, evidently drunk, attempted a move on you. You don’t recognize him, even when you sobered up for a second when his hand went for your waist. The guy was eventually pulled away by his group of friends when he came a little too close to your face, invading your personal bubble. They apologized on his behalf, but you ignored them, walking the opposite direction to avoid further contact with them.

You spent fifteen minutes looking for Jongdae but to no avail and gave up. It was nearing 2:30am. You texted Jongdae, letting him know that you tried searching for him to say goodbye and thanking him for inviting you. You doubted he’d respond but at least he would know you’d left on the off chance that he goes searching for you later.

You were surprised that the party was still going strong. The dance crowd had simmered down, and instead of the loud head-banging kind of music that you had walked in on, the DJ had turned it to a more chill, house-party kind of vibe. Meanwhile, your feet ached from all the walking around you had done at work and just wished to be home, sleeping. In your haze, you stumbled out the wrong door. Instead of the main entrance, you had opened the door next to it. It led to an alleyway, one that separated the club’s building from the next one over. There was a metal fence cage that blocked loiterers on the streets from coming up on the property, but the other side of the fence was where you needed to be.

And boy, did you wished you could revert back in time and chosen the right door.

“I’m so sorry, excuse me,” you stammered, and you hated that you did.

The same girl that Sehun conversed with earlier sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes at the intruder, ruby red acrylics detaching from the man’s pecs when she steps back from Sehun’s frame.You were so sure she could claw your eyes out with her manicure. You ducked your head, refusing to look at Sehun or the girl directly in the eye to save yourself from embarrassment.

“Yah, Y/N?”

You stood paralyzed in dread when you heard the voice. Unwillingly, you looked at the girl standing in front of Sehun. You remembered her eyes being cold, black coals, but when your eyes met, you saw a piercing blue that made your blood run cold.

“It really is you,” she scoffed in disbelief. Jung Liah was your ex-roommate, the girl who made your first year of university a living hell. She’s changed her look. Before, her style didn’t matched her attitude, you suppose it took time to figure out her true colors. Her black on black matched perfectly well with her black coal of a heart.

You remembered dreading going back to the dorm because you knew all it held was her wrath, unwarranted and unrelenting, and the malicious remarks she made would torture you day and night. You never figured out why she hated you so much, but you had your assumptions.

“I see you haven’t changed one bit,” she sneered. “Always the nosy little mouse, you are.”

You knew exactly what she was referring to. One day, without any ill-intentions, you had decided to tidy up the room. It was a shared space, but Liah never thought twice about leaving her stuff strewn about, taking up your space as well. You had just bent down to gather the scattered pieces of paper when she came in after one of her lectures. Peeking through her belongings, she claimed, invading her privacy, she preached. You had muttered barely two words to defend yourself before she had kicked you out for the night.

After she blew up on you, it was never the same. She began to nick and prod at every “flaw” she found in you. If you didn’t shut your alarm after the first ring, she called you deaf. If you didn’t answer to her belittling, you were a mute and a coward. If you didn’t have weekend plans to party, she labeled you a loser.

Presently, you rolled your eyes. You noted a clear shock in her expression because no matter how many times she had put you down, you had never fought back. For her information, you had changed.

“Good seeing you, too, Liah,” you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. You turned to Sehun, barely, and nod your head once, before turning back to where you came from.

“Fuck. Shit,” you cursed under your breath. Your hands clenched at your sides, willing the tingles of alcohol to wash away in your blood.

A brief thought crossed your mind, hoping you hadn’t ruin the moment for Sehun, he was so nice to you, he doesn’t deserve to not get laid tonight because of you. But you suddenly remember the hell that Liah put you through, and you’re glad to have interrupted. More profanities left your lips. Your mind went haywire with thoughts that shouldn’t be in your head but are, like how Sehun looked so disarmingly handsome, and how unfair that girl who was so nasty to you is to be able to have someone of Sehun’s caliber.

You were so busy with your internal turmoil you hadn’t notice the grip on your shoulder until you were turned around, faced with the man plaguing your mind with unwanted thoughts.

“Are you leaving?” He asked, face expressionless with the slightest wash of anger.

You took two steps away from him. “Yes. Look, I’m really sorry, about interrupting. It was a mistake, honest.” You look side to side, up and down, everywhere to avoid staring at him smack dab in front of you. “I’ll see you around, Sehun. Thanks, for the drinks.” It took way more effort than necessary to look at him and smile like you meant it. Before he could stop you a second time, you bolted. You ignored the burning gaze behind you, ignored the buzzing alcohol in your system, and skittering of your breath.

So much for suppressing your worries. You might’ve unlocked a new case full of troubles.

[nationalsupersagency]

Teenagers In Love (AKA; When Marge Decides to Write a Viony Valentines Day Fic at the Last Minute)

The two hadn't been dating for too long when their first Valentines Day happened. Neither of them tried to kiss the other. It wasn't because they weren't interested or anything. Violets mom warned her that they would be miserable if they rushed their relationship. Real couples were not like Snow White and her Prince. They had to spend time together before deciding if they were good for one another.

Tony and Violet mutually agreed to keep things low-key. There was no date planned. They had school that day anyway. She figured he'd get her flowers since boys were always buying those for girls.

"What kind of flowers do you like?" she asked him.

Violet never expected Tony's face to light up the way it did when she asked. Coming from a household where gender roles were reversed sometimes, she learned that if men could cook and clean, they could appreciate the same things as women, including flowers.

"Sunflowers."

Behind her back on the day was a single sunflower she picked out from a florist. She was proud she was able to spot out this particular flower. While the rest of the customers were men purchasing dozens of roses, Violet stood there proudly with her big sunflower. Tony would love it. Those men must have thought it was strange this young girl was buying her good friend a flower, but maybe they'd appreciate flowers from their wives.

She wore a skirt that day. It was unusual for Violet to dress like, well, a girl, since she didn't like to risk boys looking up her legs. But she wanted to look pretty for him. She thought he'd like it.

Treading over to Tony's locker, she noticed his obnoxious friend, Jerry, yammering about his touchdown at practice. Tony was too scrawny to play football but he found love in baseball in the fall and swimming in the spring. Regardless, he was an athlete, something Violet could brag about if she needed to brag.

After clearing her throat, Tony turned around. His face beamed upon seeing her. Jerry gave them that stupid single-jock smirk.

"Oh hey, Violet. Is that present behind your back for me?" he giggled.

Tony side-eyed him. "Don't you have that thing to do with that teacher?" He asked calmly.

"Right." Jerry nodded. "I guess I'll catch you later if you two aren't making out somewhere."

Tony rolled his eyes as Jerry made his leave.

"Don't mind him. He doesn't have a girlfriend, so he doesn't understand."

The thought of Jerry finding a girl made Violet snicker. Maybe her friend Jane could give him a chance. Luckily, Violet was in a good mood, so she'd let it slide.

"I got you something." She said, feeling like a bird about to show another bird a shiny rock they found. Even with a speech prepared though, Violet still wasn't good at talking without the mask. "Since it's Valentines Day and we have been dating and whatnot…" Violet was hoping he'd give her a queue to continue but Tony remained quiet. "Ok." Here goes nothing.

His girl withdrew from behind her back the big sunflower.

"Woah-wee, that's a big flower," Tony commented as he accepted it with gratitude. "I feel kinda bad now though."

Violet could feel her stomach drop. Why? Why did he feel bad? Was it something she did or said?

Her head remained still but her eyes followed his movements. From the top locker of his shelf, Tony withdrew a sprig of violets.

"I guess it was stupid to assume straight off the bat that you liked violets. I should have asked what kind of flowers you liked."

The mini-bouquet was bound together by a purple ribbon. It was tiny enough to fit in a pocket.

Violets were simple flowers. They weren't like tulips or roses or lilies or marigolds. But violets had their own unique beauty that a lot of people failed to see.

Like her.

Not everyone at school appreciated Violet's unique beauty the way Tony did. He'd look at those eyes for centuries if she'd let him.

"I love them." She gushed. "Thank you, Tony."

Violet scaled the halls with her eyes for any prying classmates or teachers. She and Tony already got in trouble once just for holding hands in the hallway, so what she was about to do would be scandalous.

She placed a hand on his shoulder for support and gave him a warm kiss on the cheek. Violet swore his face turned pink.

-

Yes, I plan to write parts for the rest of their high school years, but this is the most I can write in one night after deciding at the last minutes I wanted to write this. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.

[notgonnarememberthis]

A Dance With Death- Chapter 3

I am back from the void once again. I may or may not have slipped away while watching 10 seasons of Grey’s Anatomy,,,, But I am back just in time for them to announce when season 7 returns. I’ll see y’all there for the end! Until then I’ll be writing my little heart out.

When a brunette knocks on his door he half expected it to be Marcus and Kitty, come to chew him out for skipping out on Detective Cortez. However when he spies the gentle makeup and soft pastel colors he recognizes her as Kitty’s antithesis, Harper. Watson had warned him that she was inviting the young girl to his home as, not only was the girl her old assistant but she seemed to be the only person Watson implicitly trusts in the building. Overloaded with files Harper shuffles into the living room where Watson is seated, reading glasses perched on her nose as she reads through a list on her laptop.

“I grabbed everything I could on who you could’ve pissed off since I started and stopped working for you. Bad news, it’s a lot. Good news, I narrowed it down.” Her tone is light, joking almost. She’s likely dealing with the fact that she could’ve been in that office too. He’s long seen people in denial and he makes a mental note to tell Marcus to get her a recommended therapist. She, however, doesn’t seem to be exhibiting any signs of shock so he let’s her proceed.

While they come over the files he decides to make tea. Pulling a sprig of kale out of the fridge he marches over to Clyde’s terrarium gently placing his lunch in his bowl. He freezes mid-movement as he tunes into the conversation from the other room.

“So…” A gentle tone, likely the young brunette.

“So?” The echoing sentiment confirms that he’s identified the voices correctly. Against the voice echoing in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Marcus he halts his movements listening in. After all, he won’t get a better opportunity than this to learn about Watson. She’s the one person he’s not been able to read in so long. Microexpressions are controlled, if not they’re at least subdued. Truth be told, it’s remarkable and he finds himself aching to know more, to learn more about her. It’s an urge he hasn’t felt towards an individual in far too long.

“He’s cute.” A moment of silence screams with the image of a quiet stand-off.

“No.”

“But-”

“No.”

“All I’m saying is- Hear me out.” Shifting marks her leaning closer. “You haven’t been seeing anyone since Rick. It’s been a year and a half. He’s cute and he has tattoos. It doesn’t have to be a big thing just a little thing or it could be a big thing if you want it to be-”

“Stop.” From his vantage point he can see Watson’s shadow holding up a hand. “I haven’t seen anyone in a year and a half because I’ve been running the NFL story for a year. I’ve been busy.”

“You said the same thing until Rick came along.”

“Enough.” She barks, a tone he’s only heard her use in the office setting. “You forget why we’re here. Someone is trying to kill me, he’s finding who. That’s it.”

“Mhmm.” She sounds relatively unphased by the forcefulness behind the words.

“Rick cheated on me with his ex-wife. He was using me to get married before she could. Everything I thought we had was made up by you and his assistant. You said so yourself.” A huffed breath. “The only person it worked out for was you and him.”

“Not exactly.” Another standoff. “We went different paths.”

“Different paths.”

“We’re playing for the same team?”

“Do you ever speak out of metaphors?” Annoyance laces through Watson’s tone.

“I’m gay.” A shocked beat falls between them. “It ended well at least. We’re still like… chill? That’s beside the point. Look, I just want you to be happy and I know work makes you happy but I also saw you when you were with Rick. You were giggly and soft!”

“Rude.”

“I’m just saying! You liked him… Or the him we made up?” She shifts again. “Just give it some thought? I promise no shenanigans.”

The silence that settles over them is much less tense, he can almost picture the small smile on Watson’s face. “He is cute.”

He nearly jumps when the kettle whistles loudly reminding the women that they’re not alone in the house. He shuffles again making himself busy as he grabs mugs and flipping off the boiler. Seemingly satisfied that he’s not listening to them, the two continue on a different, much less interesting conversation.

Gathering the supplies he returns to the living room to continue their search.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Day fades to night and back again. Watson falls asleep in a spare bedroom after he deemed it was far too late and unsafe for her to go home. Marcus drops off a new set of clothes for Watson around seven but doesn’t stick around for long. She wakes and changes without ceremony as it should be.

Around nine Kitty leaves for the office of Colm McAllister with the consult of Marcus to meet her there. He and Watson are to analyze from home, much to his chagrin. Thanks to their hacker collective Everyone they’ve gained access to the cameras in the room of the interview. Should Colm be their man they’ll be able to know within the hour.

Thus he finds himself set up with Watson watching one of many monitors as Mr. McAllister fervently denies any claim that he is trying to set a hit on Ms. Watson’s life. The aforementioned sits in the chair beside him, legs crossed over another. She’d unbuttoned her suit jacket to get more comfortable as her eyes dart across the screen hanging on every word said.

“Mr. McAllister, were you aware of the fact that Ms. Watson was attacked in her office yesterday?”

“This is getting nowhere.” He huffs. He’d believed the night before that Colm McAllister was their man after some digging. When Watson uncovered that he was using bribery to pull potential athletes to his team he lost everything: his job, his wife, and reputation he spent his entire life to build was vanished and he was shunned in the world of sports. However, from viewing the clips it was all too clear that Mr. McAllister is a coward of a man.

“He’s lying.” His head snaps to Watson whose eyes haven’t moved from the screen. She watches with an intensity he rarely sees in Kitty. It’s interesting.

“Why’s that?” He could see the signs for himself but he finds himself compelled by her. By what she knows.

“His body is turned towards the door so he clearly wants them to leave, which would be normal except his arms are crossed. He’s also looked at the clock on his desk five times in the past two minutes.” She stands hands fixing the wrinkles in her clothes absentmindedly. “He knows something but he isn’t saying what.”

“He’s not your attempted killer.”

“God no.” She scoffs. “His hands are shaking, sign of early onset Parkinson’s if I had to guess. There’s no way he would’ve been able to fire that gun and hit my window accurately.”

“Remarkable.” He nods. These were signs and behaviors it took him months to get Kitty to pick up on and she just named them all off the top of her head. He looks to her with a deep sort of fascination. Her eyes catch his and he can see the shock register in her features. Briefly he wonders when the last time she received a compliment on her work. “You’re remarkable.” He emphasizes, despite his best judgement.

“You don’t need to do that.” His eyebrows furrow at her tone. She sounds almost annoyed by his comment. “Don’t flatter me.”

“I assure you Watson, I only state facts. I think you’re extraordinary.”

Her lips part, eyes darting across his features searching for any answer to the questions that lie beneath her throat. He’s more prepared this time, when she crosses the distance of the room to him. When two perfectly manicured hands take his face into their touch. When her lips crash against his sending every nerve in his body into hyperdrive.

Together they stumble across the room, hands excitedly exploring. He needs to know so much about her. He needs to know how her hair feels between his fingers, the sounds he can tempt from her throat, the feel of her skin against his. Her fingers tug at his shirt pulling it from the tuck as her back collides with the wall. Their feet jarr at the sudden stop but their movements do not cease. His fingers move from her back to her hips feeling the tantalizing flesh barely brushing his fingertips. In a desperate need for air his lips move to her jaw, huffing against her skin. High pitched sighs escape her throat, the interview long forgotten in the heat of passion.

He pulls from her suddenly, the gears in his mind turning all over again. Her fingers are undoing his buttons quickly. “I don’t want to stop.” He groans against her skin. She laughs, a seductive noise against the shell of his ear. “I don’t want to stop.” It’s a plea this time, begging her to be the sane one. God he needs her to stop him before he acts foolish. He knows she won’t when her teeth nip at the spot beneath his jaw, threatening to pull him into the abyss. Her skin is so soft, like velvet but her lips burn him. He catches her hands halting the movement. His eyes meet hers once again as he rests her forehead against his.

In the end it’s him who breaks the connection. Against every fiber of his being he steps away from her. “Are you serious?” She scoffs. He can’t face her now. Not with the rejection he saw in her eyes, the hurt of being denied again. He crossed a line and all he can think about is how he wishes to touch her again. Guilt laces around his throat and pulls tightly.

“I need to focus.” His words come out cold, detached.

“You’re right. We need to figure out what Mr. McAllister knows and-”

“We don’t need to do anything.” He snaps. “No offense Ms. Watson but right now I need peace and quiet, or did you forget that it’s your life that is at stake?” He pushes her away because he can’t risk getting too close. He can’t become attached. Not now. He needs to focus so that he can find her attempted killer.

“No. No I didn’t.” Her heels echo clearly off the Brownstone floor as she grabs her coat. The slam of the door pierces him to the core but he must remain unphased.

He takes a deep breath delving back into his work.

[icecubelotr44]

To Every Thing a Season (8/16)

Summary:   After witnessing the tragic murder of his brother Liam, Killian Jones is more determined than ever to discover the secrets of time travel. Fast-tracking his education at Storybrooke University, Killian is assigned a lab assistant, one Emma Swan. Together, they find a way to break through the veil of time so Killian can set things right. But what will be the price for changing the past, and is it one they’re willing to pay?

Rated:  T, for violence, some dark themes, angst, and whump

Art credit/link: The totally awesome @optomisticgirl made imagesets for all the chapters and @ab-normality made a video and a gifset for this fic.  You can find the imageset for this chapter above and here on @optomisticgirl‘s blog.  The video is linked here and on @ab-normality‘s blog here and the gifset is posted here!

Beta readers: The as-always wonderful @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, thanks so much for all of your help and cajoling and reassuring!  And a huge thank you to the spectacular @spartanguard who stepped in to help beta read as well!

A/N:  Written as part of the 2017 Captain Swan Big Bang Challenge.  You can catch up with all the other fics that are complete by following @captainswanbigbang and/or subscribing to the Group Collection on AO3 and/or the C2 on FFN. This is complete in 16 parts and will be posted every Thursday from now until its completion. And yes, there is a happy ending after all this… just so you know.

Word count:  ~ 5,400 (80K+ Total in 16 chapters)

From the beginning: ao3 | ffn  

Current Chapter: AO3 | FFN

Chapter 8: To Embrace and to Refrain from Embracing

Killian led Emma through campus and onto the shuttle, ushering her into a seat and pulling a thermos that had seen better days from his backpack.  She settled in, leaning against his chest when he wrapped an arm around her.

"What's this?" she asked, tugging off her mittens to get a grip on the lid.

"Just some hot chocolate to keep you warm, luv.  I know how you hate the cold."  He smiled and waited patiently, the corners of his mouth ticking up a shade further when she hummed appreciatively at the taste.  It was a good look on him, she thought.

A hint of fire filled her mouth and Emma grinned.  "You didn't forget the cinnamon!"

"Of course not!” he tried to sound affronted, but he was speaking through a grin.  “What do you take me for?"

Emma laughed and tucked her head under his chin.  They rode in silence into town, the bus's other occupants clearly engrossed in their own business.  His heart pounded more fervently as they approached the stop nearest Granny's, she could hear its pace quicken with every moment.

Emma wanted to tell him to relax, but his nerves had set off her own.  She’d been careful not to tell Killian that it was her birthday, didn’t want him to go to any trouble on a day that just reminded her that she had never been good enough for anyone - not even the people who had created her.  

All this day had ever been was a disappointment.  It was better just to move on and forget the day had any significance at all.

A strange feeling settled in Emma’s chest and she was hard pressed to name it.  She shouldn’t be upset - it was just another day and she was spending it with Killian.  Whether or not he knew the significance shouldn’t make a difference.  She’d just have to take the reprieve where she could get it.

Killian stood as the shuttle came to a stop in front of Granny’s diner.  Emma followed him down the steps into the chilly autumn air and hustled past him and the outdoor tables to the front door.

“Come on, Jones.  It’s freezing out here!”

He smiled indulgently and reached over her to hold the door.  “Always depriving me of the opportunity to be a gentleman, aren’t you, luv?”

Emma huffed and allowed him to usher her inside.  She expected the hand at the small of her back to guide her towards one of the booths, but he led them, instead, towards the back stairs.

“Killian?” she asked hesitantly.

His ears turned a little pink.  “Do you trust me, Emma?”

“Yes.”  Her reply was immediate.

A boyish grin lit his face, but then he bit his lip nervously.  “Follow me, then.”

Unsure of where they were going - but never of him, not any more - Emma climbed the stairs behind Killian and was confused when he reached into his backpack for a key.

And a blindfold, she realized a moment later when Killian turned to face her.

“Just for a moment, luv, I promise,” he whispered as the fabric fell over her eyes.  She felt the knot being secured behind her head, but she wasn’t afraid.

Confused, yes.  But she’d follow where he led.

Emma heard the door in front of her open and felt Killian’s fingers tangle with hers.

“A few steps forward, Emma.  Now turn.  Just there.  Wait a moment and you can take off the kerchief.”  His voice was quiet, hesitant.

The door snicked shut behind her and a quiet ‘click’ sounded in front of her.  The noise was familiar, but Emma couldn’t place it at the moment, straining as she was to hear where Killian was.

“Jones?”  It was half question and half warning.

“Now,” he commanded quietly.

Emma pulled off the blindfold and blinked in the soft darkness.  The only light came from two candles - a blue 1 and a red 9 - sticking out from the middle of a cake.

A birthday cake.

Emma stood, speechless, for a long moment.  Her eyes were glued to the flames in front of her, her mouth working but unable to find words.

“Bloody hell.”

His whisper and his hurried steps startled her out of the shock.  

“I… I shouldn’t have listened to Ruby.  I’m sorry, luv.  We can just… go, if you want.  I should have thought-”

“Thank you,” she forced out, still caught up in the emotion of the surprise.  She’d never felt this way before.  No one had ever done anything like this for her before.  “It’s perfect.”

Killian took her hand in his own, brushing a kiss over her knuckles before he moved to swipe away the lone tear that had escaped her usually well-controlled hold on her heart.

“Are you all right?  Truly?”  He sounded frightened, unsure, lost.

Emma just nodded, finally moving to blow out the candles as she made her wish.

Please let him love me as much as I love him.

She blinked and squinted as Killian finally flipped on the lights.  The room was a bit dated, but definitely one of the inn’s rooms for rent.  There were two covered plates and silverware on the little card table he must have sweet talked Granny into setting up for them.  Emma turned to find Killian, but a flash of something shiny caught her attention.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! was hung on one wall, the ‘H’ bent and a little bit torn.  The sign wasn’t quite straight, and the streamers that were taped up next to it were in danger of falling off the wall.

It was perfect.

Killian came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder.  “Ruby said you shouted at her last year when she suggested throwing a party, so we thought this would be better.  No surprise party, luv.  I promise.  Just us.”

Emma could feel the tremor in her smile as she turned in his embrace to face him.  “Thank you,” she whispered again.  

“It’s my pleasure, luv.  We should eat before Granny’s good cooking gets cold.”  Killian pulled out a chair for her and helped her sit before he lifted the cover in front of her with a flourish.

There was a grilled cheese and onion rings spread across the plate, a little sprig of something green garnishing the meal.

“I’ve almost forgotten…” he trailed off as he searched in his backpack.  It took him a minute to pull his treasure from the depths, but he finally emerged victorious with a battered pair of candleholders and two tapers.

The noise Emma hadn’t been able to place earlier was the lighter Killian used to light the birthday candles.  He set the pair on the table before he took his own seat and revealed a cheeseburger and fries.  They ate in companionable silence, the quiet only working to put Emma even more at ease.

The cake was clearly store-bought, but it was chocolate and it was the first birthday cake she could remember having that she hadn’t shoplifted for herself.  Emma savored each bite, ignoring the way Killian watched her eat.

“What?” she mumbled through a mouthful.

Killian ducked his head and scratched behind his ear.  “Nothing, Swan.  I’m just happy you like it.”

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know.”  She took another bite of cake.

He smiled ruefully back at her.  “I gathered that when Ruby was the one to tell me about your birthday and not you.  I wanted to.”

Emma didn’t have an answer for that.

When they were finished eating, Killian pulled out what was obviously not his laptop and set it up on the bed.  Emma curled into his side, biting back a grin when she saw the flowery desktop image.  “Mary Margaret’s computer?” she asked quietly.

She felt Killian nod against the top of her head.  “Everyone helped a little.  Those were David’s mother’s candlesticks, Ruby convinced her grandmother to let us have the room for the evening, everyone helped.”

Emma felt like she was going to cry again.  She’d never thought…

The DVD player started up and the title screen for The Princess Bride came up.

“Belle said you borrow this book from the library so often that it must be one of your favorites,” he said.  “But I have others if you’d like to watch something else.”

Emma tangled their fingers together and settled in.  “This one, please.”

The kiss he left to the top of her head was accompanied by a soft, “As you wish.”

The look in the police officer’s eyes was a mix of compassion, wariness, and something else that Killian couldn’t quite put his finger on.  It was almost like regret mixed up with anger, but it didn’t really matter.  Nothing really mattered any more.

He looked up without raising his head when the man cleared his throat.  “What do you want?” he growled.  Liam would have clapped him upside the head for the disrespectful tone, but Killian had no control over it at the moment.

The officer’s brow rose incredulously, but then his face dropped and Killian thought he looked sad.

“We got a hold of your father, son.”

Killian glared at the moniker.

The man cleared his throat again.  “He said that your br… that you already had adequate transport home and that you could travel by yourself.”

Killian’s head shot up, the familiar feeling of disappointment at his father’s indifference towards him now made worse without Liam as a buffer.

“If you want, we can arrange for a social worker to travel with you as far as the ferry stop in Dublin.”

Somehow, that made the feeling even worse.  Killian shook his head ‘no’ and tried to huddle further into Liam’s jacket.  He’d have to get used to fending for himself soon enough.  No use delaying the inevitable.

“No, sir.  That’s fine.  But I will need a ride back to where we were staying to pick up my things.  I don’t have much money, but I can get a cab from there.”

“We’ll get you to the station at least.  You keep your money.” The officer sounded apologetic when he added under his breath, “It sounds like you’ll need it.”

Killian nodded reluctantly.  “And what about…” he trailed off, the words caught in his throat.

Thankfully, the officer seemed to understand.  “We’ll need to do an autopsy before we can release him.  It will be a few days.  Should give your family time to make arrangements.”

His family?

Killian wanted to rail, to yell that his only family was lying still and cold in a freezer somewhere, alone and half-forgotten already.

But Killian wouldn’t forget him.  No, he was going to save him.

So instead of yelling and letting loose the hold on his anger like he wanted to, Killian just shut down.  He followed the officer to the car and robotically packed his things.  He sat alone in the terminal, clutching his knapsack filled with some of Liam’s shirts and items he was afraid his father would get rid of otherwise.  He crossed the channel in a daze, sitting as alone as he could manage with his arms wrapped around his knees.

His father wasn’t waiting for Killian when he got off the train after the long ferry ride, so he took a cab back to their flat and let himself in.  The darkness and stark silence that greeted him made Killian shiver.  After he hid the knapsack in his closet, he curled up in Liam’s bed, wrapping himself in the warm blankets that still smelled like his brother.

Killian wasn’t sure how long he slept for, his eyes dry and puffy from letting his guard down before he fell asleep.  He had been awoken by the light from the hallway streaming across his face, his father leaning against the doorframe.  Even from across the room, Killian could smell the alcohol.

“It should have been you,” his father slurred before staggering away.

Killian’s eyes shot open, his cheeks surprisingly damp.  Emma was leaning over him, her long hair tickling his neck where the ends brushed back and forth.

“Hey,” she whispered.  “Are you all right?”

Was he?  It wasn’t like his father’s disappointment was anything new.  And it wasn’t like he’d had any reason to even think of the man lately, not with how the evening had gone.  But clearly, his subconscious had had other ideas in mind as he nodded off with Emma tucked into his side, the slide of her skin against his tiring them both out.

“Better now, luv,” he settled on for an answer, smiling a bit tremulously when she reached up to gently brush the tear from his cheek.  Her fingers ghosted over the scar his father had left there and his eyes fluttered shut at the touch.  Killian locked the memories that had disturbed their sleep securely away and-

-Emma’s lips brushed against his, the soft touch startling him a little bit.  Before he could look at her, she kissed each eyelid, then his cheeks, then moved back to slant her lips over his again.

Killian let everything fall away from him then, the memories and the disappointment and the scars that were his upbringing, and concentrated solely on her.  He moved with her, allowing himself to just feel under her gentle ministrations.  Bloody hell, did he love her.

He thought she had drifted back to sleep after they came down together, but her quiet words drifted up to him.

“I never thought it could be like this,” she whispered, her hands wrapping tightly around his forearms when he tugged her back to his chest.  “Before, with other… it was different.  It wasn’t… like this.”

Killian’s heart clenched at the sadness in her tone.  What little he knew of her last few years in the system made him appreciate the stability he’d had in Storybrooke’s accommodations for him.  He may have had to stay in the freshman dorms for most of his tenure there - only just managing to move into the sophomore dorms this semester with Will and his friend John - but at least he didn’t have to contend with irritable foster parents or crass ‘siblings’ who would seek to take advantage of someone like Emma.  Determined to erase those memories from the moment for her the way she had for him, he pulled her closer, burying his nose in the hair just behind her ear.

“If you’ll let me, I’ll make sure it’s always like this from now on,” he whispered back.

Emma turned her head so she could capture his lips with hers.

“Happy birthday, Swan.”

He fell asleep to the sound of her even breathing.

And was awoken hours later by the sound of harsh knocking on the door.  Granny’s voice filtered through the haze.  “Jones! I need this room clean and ready to go in an hour!  Up and at ‘em, boy!”

Emma’s muffled laughter came from his side and he turned to kiss her ‘good morning’.  “Come on, luv.  I’ll buy you breakfast.”

He rushed through getting dressed and cleaning up the room, the sound of the shower running in the background as he did.  It only took him a few minutes to pull down the sign Granny had found for him and to trash the streamers he’d dug out of Mary Margaret’s ‘just in case’ box in her room.  He had just finished packing everything in his knapsack when Emma sidled up behind him and draped herself over his back.

“Thank you again, Killian,” she murmured, the warmth of her skin against his back making him question why they’d gotten out of bed in the first place.  “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

He smiled and turned in her arms so that she was pressed against his chest when his arms came up to wrap around her shoulders.  “Well, I intend to do something like this for you every year from now on.”

“Why?” she asked hesitantly.

Killian smiled down at her, brushing a kiss over her forehead.  “Because I can and I want to.  After all, Swan, I'm just a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.”  The moment the words were out of his mouth, Killian froze.  His heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, his breath trapped in his lungs, a chill down his spine.  Too soon, Jones.  Too bloody soon.

Emma stared at him for a moment before she broke into a grin and pushed up on her toes to kiss him.  Pulling back, she asked, “Did you just quote Notting Hill to me? Who even watched that movie?”

The breath left his lungs in a ‘whoosh’, time speeding up as she stayed where she was.  “I…” he smiled.  “I might have done some research.”

Emma laughed then, a sweet and light sound that Killian wanted to bottle up and take everywhere.  “Into what?  Cheesy chick flicks 101?”

He smiled, but he could feel how it stretched across his face.  His tone was a little more serious than he intended when he replied.

“No, Emma.  Into how to do this.  I’ve never done this before.”

She pulled him in close and whispered in his ear, “You’re doing just fine on your own.”

“I just want to do right by you.”

Emma shuddered.  “Kil-”

“Now, Jones!”  Granny’s voice echoed through the room and both he and Emma jerked apart, searching around the space frantically.

When he was assured that the formidable woman was, indeed, still outside and not breathing down his neck, Killian took Emma by the hand and pulled her into one last hug.  “Come on, luv, let’s leave the charming widow Lucas to her work.”

When she nodded, he picked up his knapsack and guided her towards the door.  Emma kissed him chastely before she bent down to pick up her own bag.

“What is it?” she asked, and it must have seemed to her like he was looking at her as if he was afraid this was all a dream.

It certainly felt like a dream.

Killian smiled, recalling another of the movies he’d watched - huddled in the corner of the library for hours at a time with earbuds jammed in his ears and praying that no one saw what he was studying so intently.  “I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my life the way I feel when I’m with you.”

Emma smirked, but her smile turned soft and she squeezed his hand.

“I am, too,” she whispered before tugging open the door.

The rest of the semester flew by, classes and his application to the graduate program and Emma's constant support at his side making the days seem a little less long and a lot less lonely than his first three years had been.  The nights she wasn't wrapped in his arms were cold and the few hours of sleep he did manage were fraught with nightmares.  Killian hadn't relied on another human being as much as he did Emma since his brother had died, and it frightened him how much she meant to him now.

But it frightened him more to think of what might have happened if Archie hadn't paired them up.

The Thanksgiving break was fast approaching, and Killian was so busy trying to convince David that the engineering department would let him work on a Masters' candidate's project in his senior year that he didn't realize when the University shut down for the long weekend.  All he knew was that the lab door was locked and his research was inside.  Killian banged his forehead on the door and gripped the door handle until his knuckles went white.  He was getting more and more frustrated as the days went by - between the grants he'd been promised getting pulled and the lack of new funding being provided, Killian was starting to think that he'd been a fool to turn down Oxford for the promise of more distance from his father.

"If you stare at that door any harder, Jones, it's going to combust."  Emma's voice echoed down the hallway, but Killian didn't have the wherewithal to lift his head from the door.

He felt her hand fall between his shoulder blades, and the warmth eased some of the tension from him.

"I had a feeling you'd forget the lab would be locked this weekend," she said, her other hand coming up to jangle a jump drive in front of him.  "So I saved all your work to this last night before Dr. Hopper kicked me out."

Killian whipped his head around to stare at her incredulously.  "You... that's my..."

Emma nodded.  

“Take love, multiply it by infinity and take it to the depths of forever… and you still only have a glimpse of how I feel for you,” he quoted from Meet Joe Black, pulling an incredulous smile from her.

“How many movies did you watch?!”

Killian just shrugged, a small smile starting to pull at his mouth.

“Come on.  I have frozen chicken nuggets, instant potatoes, and the suite to ourselves for the next four days.  We're going to have Thanksgiving dinner and then you can try and concentrate on this”- she jiggled the drive again -“while I yell at whatever football team is playing horribly.”

He didn't touch the drive all weekend.

Monday morning, however, began with Emma waking him far too early with plans to spend their last hours alone lazing about in bed and working up a sweat.

Ruby had just stomped into the common room as Killian got out of the shower, Emma discreetly behind him, when he noticed the notification that he had an email from Archie on his phone still thrown haphazardly on the futon.  With his glasses still fogged up from the shower, he had to squint at the screen when he picked it up.

Mr. Jones, could you please stop in my office this afternoon at 1pm to discuss your ongoing project for the Physics department.  -Archie

“As much as I like the free show, Killian, I think Emma’s gonna get jealous if that towel slips,” Ruby snarked, startling him out rereading Archie’s words for the fifth time.

He automatically reached for where he’d cinched the towel, his cheeks burning at Ruby’s appreciative growl.  Before she could make another remark, Killian ducked into the bedroom, adopting a glare when he found Emma leaning against her desk with a look that he could only describe as saucy.

“Looking to add a little spice to-”

“Nope!” he interrupted, his whole face aflame now.

Emma swung her hips as she moved across the room to him, her hand coming up over his on the towel.  She stood on her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear.  “Good.”

They locked the door and missed their first class.

When they finally emerged, Ruby still sprawled out on the futon and grinning maniacally at them, Killian tugged Emma into his side and whispered, “I’ve got another one, if you’ll let me…”

“Oh, go ahead, Jones,” Emma laughed.

“I've come here with no expectations,” he began.  “Only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours.”

She looked impressed.  “Sense and Sensibility?  You really did do your homework.”

“Well, I am an A-student, Swan.  I like a challenge.”  He paused.  “Will you be at the lab after my meeting?”

“Of course.”

With a kiss for luck, Emma finally let him out of her suite and he rushed across campus to get to Archie’s office.  He was only a few minutes late - an inconvenient flock of Canadian geese had waylaid him by chasing him halfway back towards the dorms - but the look on his advisor’s face made it seem like he was hours behind.

“Ah, here he is, now,” Archie gestured wildly at Killian, a proud grin stretched across his face.

Killian’s brow wrinkled, wondering who Hopper was talking to.

And then, like a snake slithering out of its hidey hole, a man stood from where he was perched against the wall and limped into Killian’s line of sight.  He was slight, shorter than Killian was, and hunched with age.  There was something about the man’s eyes that made him seem cold, dark, and untrustworthy.

If Killian were more prone to dramatics, he’d have called the man evil.

Whatever the man wanted here, Killian was determined that he wouldn’t get it.  He entered the room warily, keeping one eye on the stranger as he took his seat on the opposite side of Archie’s desk.  His shoulders tensed when the man came to stand behind him, gnarled hands resting on Killian’s shoulders and keeping him in place.

“Mr. Jones,” Archie spoke as if Killian wasn’t being held against his will in the seat.  “I’d like you to meet Robert Gold of Gold-Pan Financial.”

Killian tried to rise under the guise of being gentlemanly, but the hands tightened imperceptibly and kept him seated.  

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” he forced out through gritted teeth.  “Professor, I can come back if you’re not through here.”

“Nonsense, dearie,” the man finally spoke and Killian forced himself not to shudder.  He wouldn’t give the man the pleasure of knowing how uncomfortable he was.  “I’m here for you, you see.  I’ve been looking for a worthwhile project to invest in for some time now.  My company gets in on the ground floor of endeavors like this, and I’d be happy to fund your entire project.”

Archie was grinning, but Killian frowned.  “And what do you get in return?” he asked warily.

Gold laughed, a high-pitched giggle that set all of Killian’s nerves on edge.  He needed to get out of here.  Soon.

“You’re right, of course, Dr. Hopper.  He is a very intelligent boy”- Killian snarled at being called ‘boy’ as if he were beneath this man -“I would leave all the science to you, my boy.  I know nothing of what you study.  But I would be the one to market your project down the line - for a cut of the profits.  And one more thing,” he trailed off.

Here it bloody comes, Killian thought angrily.

“I…” Gold choked up a bit.  “I lost my family years ago.  An unfortunate situation that my wife misconstrued.  It was all my fault; I see that now.  But she took my son from me and I’ve not been able to convince them to give me another chance.  My boy is half-grown by now, and I’ve lost them both.  Should your project be successful” - he squeezed Killian’s shoulder again - “all I would require from you is a chance to fix that.  To save my family from the heartbreak we’ve all experienced.”

Killian wanted to gag, but Archie was beaming like Gold had just delivered him the Nobel Prize.  How could he not see that Gold was playing them, playing him?

He was already shaking his head before Archie could speak.  “No, that’s not it.  Or at least, that’s not all of it.  There’s some kind of trick here and I’m not buying it.”

Archie’s face dropped.  “Killian, maybe you don’t understand what’s going on here.  You’ll still be in charge, Mr. Gold only wants to make a profit from your future success.  All this allows you to do is get the materials you need without having to deplete the department’s resources.”

He felt like a bobblehead doll as he continued to shake his head no.  “No deal.  Not with the likes of him,” - Killian stood abruptly and finally shook off Gold’s grip - “I don’t need his blood money.”

“Killian Jones!” Archie exploded angrily.  “I don’t know what your problem is-”

“My problem is that I’m not going to get into bed with a crocodile and expect not to get bitten!  I’ll find another way, without his help!”

“Mr. Jones,” the oily voice behind him cajoled, “this isn’t a lie or a trick.  We can be mutually beneficial to one another with the right deal.  Perhaps it’s just a matter of-”

“-of twisting your words into something that sounds like a red-letter choice.  No.  Thank you, but there won’t be a deal today.”

He stormed out of the room before Archie or Gold could register his absence.

The slamming of the door echoed down the empty hallway, but Killian’s head was too swamped with voices to even register it.  His father’s patent disapproval - I always knew you’d fail, you lunk.  Don’t come crawling back to me, now.  Archie’s confusion - This is everything you want, Mr. Jones, I don’t understand.  Emma’s tacit support - We’ll find another way, Killian, don’t worry.

His brother.

Liam’s voice was echoing above all the others, and Killian couldn’t figure out which was his response and which was Killian’s own jumbled thoughts.

I’m proud of you, little brother.  Stick to your principles and you’ll be just fine.

Why haven’t you saved me yet?

What are you doing with your life?  You have the world in your hands and it’s slipping through your fingers.

It’s okay to move on, Killian.  I’m happy for you.

Is Emma Swan really more important to you than I am?

Killian needed to find Emma and let her silence the cacophony in his head.  He needed her support now, more than ever.  She’d said she’d meet him at the lab.  That’s where he needed to go.  That’s where everything would make sense again.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Emma shouted, her voice echoing across the lab as he finished explaining what had happened.  “Archie told you already: there’s not enough money.  They’re pulling your grant entirely.  If you ever want to move this away from the theoretical science, Gold’s deal is the only option.”

Killian threw the pen he’d been fiddling with across the room.  It bounced off the wall and clattered on the tile floor.  “No.  No, there’s got to be another way that doesn’t involve getting into bed with that… that crocodile.  I won’t be beholden to him, Swan.”

Emma threw her hands up in the air.  “Why?  What possible reason could you have for not wanting to accept this man’s money?  He’s already told you he knows nothing about the science and only has an eye for potential and finished projects.  Gold has no intention of slowing you down.  He just wants to help you, Killian!”

“What? Out of the goodness of his heart?” he sneered.  “No, Swan.  No, there’s a catch.  There always is.”

“Of course there is.  He wants to go back and save his family.  Just like you do!  He wants the same thing as you.”

Killian shook his head, surprised that she couldn’t see the man for what he was.  He lowered his tone, almost to a whisper.  “No, he doesn’t.  My brother was torn from me for no reason.  He was mur-murdered.  Gold lost his family fair and square.  Whatever happened, and I have no doubt that he’s lying about it, that man wants to manipulate something.  And I won’t make a deal with him to get what I want when there has to be another way!”

Emma shook her head and her shoulders slumped.  “I don’t understand you.  He just wants the love of his family back.  He just wants another chance to make things better for them.  If I had the chance to have a family, to have grown up knowing that kind of love…” she trailed off and Killian could see the tear as it tracked down her cheek.

He felt horrible.  The last thing he wanted to do was to make her cry.  He knew what she thought family should be.  He knew the hurts that she carried deep inside her weren’t easily healed.  He knew he couldn’t understand what it was like to grow up an orphan.

But she didn’t understand either.  “Just because you have a family, Emma, it doesn’t mean that you know love.  Not every father is capable of loving his wife or his child.”

Killian left it at that, slinking out through the door and leaving behind the regret and, possibly, his entire project.

Tagging: @gusenitsaa, @katie-dub, @kiwistreetswan, @lenfazreads, @xhookswenchx, @killian-whump, @eala-captian, @kmomof4, @onceuponaprincessworld, @couldnthandleit