#but I got all my Austria feelings into fic form with 'the best days'

[doueverwonder]

HI HELLO OKAY I'M SORRY TO HIJACK YOUR POST BUT I WANT TO DUMP SO BADLY CAUSE I'M WRITING A FIC ON THIS RN

Aestii had three sons, Tolys, Vakaris (Prussia), and Raivis. And for all exstensive purposes? This woman made sure her sons had a decent childhood something barely any nation gets. Despite a few bumps everything was good, everything was as good as it could be and they were happy.

Then the Northern Crusades happened, and for the first time Austėja (Aestii) had to acknowledge she couldn't keep them safe from everything, but gosh she was still going to try. They were moving, a lot. It hurt her to leave her people behind and bounce from town to town but she refused to let anyone touch her children.

Then it happened... she had his hand. She was so sure she was holding his hand but between carrying Raivis and making sure Tolys was right behind her, she must have let go, she must have not noticed in the chaos.

She searched for days. It took her months to accept it, he was dead. It broke her, Tolys had to take over, taking care of his mother and his little brother. I've said it in something else I wrote but Tolys never got to mourn his brother, not properly and it left some damage.

Meanwhile, a few hundred miles away Vakaris is sitting in a camp, surrounded by people he doesn't know, he's hungry, he's cold, he's angry and he's terrified. But, he decides despite it he's going to be heard, and they are going to let him go. So he starts throwing fits, yelling at the people around him that he wants to go home, that they have to let him go. One of the knights gets fed up with it and knocks him over the head hard.

Three weeks later a boy with no name--he doesn't remember it--is running around the same camp, he runs errands for the knights, knowing its the best way to stay away from another beating, and make sure he gets at least some food that night. He's learning German, and fast out of necessity.

Times goes on and the grandmaster informs him they are going to keep moving, but he is being left with someone else. At first he panics, he thinks he's being kicked to the curb to fend for himself, he doesn't say anything. You don't say anything, it gets you in trouble. He just nods and leaves the tent trying not to go back and beg to not be left, it's been two months at most, and he's always scared when he's here. But with the Knights is all he remembers; he doesn't want to leave.

They stop in a city, the grandmaster goes to speak with someone. The boy with no name is left in a courtyard to wait, he meets two other boys while he's there, they seemed surprised at his presence. One speaks to him stating simply 'you're like us'. He's confused at first, but he's right, there is something different about the two standing in front of them. They're introduced as Aldrich and Roderick they ask his name, and where he is. He doesn't have name, and isn't sure what they mean by 'where are you?'.

Years, decades, centuries even go by. Gilbert as the boy is now called still doesn't remember any of his early childhood, but doesn't quiet mind anymore. He made plenty of new memories with Aldrich, Roderick, Emma, Eitel, and his new big sister Adelheid (HRE).

(Theres a lot of stuff in between here and the end but this thing is already too long so we're skipping)

ANYWAY I hc Gilbert died after ww2 I'm sorry I just can't work him into my modern day storylines and how I was Ludwigs personality to be it kinda requires Gilbert going away.

So anyway, Gilbert is on his deathbed. His only child had a tearful goodbye with his dad, but just couldn't stand to be in the room any longer yknow the 'I don't want my last memory of him to be like this' even though Ludwig would always feel so guilty about it as time went on.

Someone else comes in the room, it's not anyone he would expect not in a million years. Not to mention by this point Gil is barely coherent he can barely process anything much less for a sentence of his own; but he sees Tolys.

Now, Tolys isn't even completely sure why he's there. Gilbert isn't his brother, he doesn't remember their childhood so it's almost as if it didn't happen. But he also thinks their mother would be upset to know Tolys didn't go to say goodbye. So he's there, at his brothers side; Tolys opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out, and he unintentionally breaks into tears.

"I'm sorry" he says it as if everything is his fault, "I'm sorry I ran off, I'm sorry we let the knights take you, I'm sorry they stole your memories, I'm sorry you didn't get to tell mama goodbye"

Tolys isn't speaking German, but he isn't speaking Lithuanian either. It's an old language that's been gone for generations but something in it sparks the tiniest bit of remembrance. Fuzzy memories just out of reach.

Tolys notices his little brother who had just been staring ahead the whole time is now looking at him. Tolys freaks out and unsure what else to say spits out "do you want to know who you were?"

Gilbert doesn't know what else do to, so he nods.

And Tolys tells him who he was; "You're my little brother, and your Raivis' older. You were very possibly our mothers favorite. You were loud and annoying from the moment you were born, and I suppose amnesia didn't change that. You liked finding sticks and 'sword fighting' with other children, you liked walking on the beach but you hated swimming. You always teased me saying you liked Raivis more, yet you always followed me around. Now everyone calls you Gilbert, but our mother named you Vakaris"

and with that something clicked, if you could talk to Gilbert in the afterlife he would say it was the 'life flashes before your eyes' moment, but he saw it all. His missing childhood flashing before his eyes, it was happy and it made him sad that he only now remembered it. But the end wasn't happy, he remembered being terrified the Teutonic Knights, the northern crusades, it's what had ended it all.

He's Germanic sure. That's all he knew, that's what he was made into.

But those Baltic roots can't be ignored can they?

“aph prussia is germanic” “no he’s baltic”

guys guys. isn’t it far more traumatic and historically accurate for him to be both? for him to have been born baltic prussia, taken over by the teutonic knights, and believe himself to be germanic only because the harsh reality of murdering his former people and brother tribes was too much to cope with? i mean, we’ve seen how important his sibling is to him.

killing siblings over conversion would have been…breaking. 

[shwazzberryswriting]

Fire Starter

Pairing: Haechan x F Reader | [Y/N]

Genre: One Shot, AU - Non-Idol, Angst, Smut, Dark Fic

Summary: Haechan's gift was in reigniting the darkness that screamed to burn the world down

Word count: 5+k

Rating: Mature/Explicit for Dark Themes, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Depictions/Mentions of Violence

Warnings: Not Beta Read, *Dead Dove: Do Not Eat* Dark Themes, References Physical Child Abuse, Scattered Memories of Child Abuse, Blood, Pyromania, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Explicit Sexual Content: Portions of Dubious Consent, Penetrative Sex, **SPOILER WARNING: Strong Implications of (Hinting At) Incest**

Minors DNI! 18+ ONLY*Pls take Dead Dove tag seriously*

A/N: Hi readers. So...this was my inspiration, and I don't really know how to go into how this fic came to be, but all I really had originally was an idea/image of fire and smoke as Haechan and his lover have sex amongst the blazes. The story that formed around it felt like it was the only way to tell this story.

Part of my short Kinktober List

Apologies in advance for any mistakes! I try my best but I'm not perfect and filled with my own shortcomings, y'all! 💚

Please let me know of any technical errors or if you have feedback/questions

    His eyes were hidden under a mop of entangled threads, poking out from under his hoodie. Her chest hurt, eyes fixed on his slow, measured steps toward her.

    Even after three years - three blissful years away on her own - all it took was a glance from Haechan for the black lump to churn in her guts. Turning her stomach hot, chest aching, throat filled with bile. Weighing down on her so heavily, she was frozen still.

    “You look great.” Her whole body flared with goosebumps as he wrapped her up into a warm embrace. Hand on the back of her head soothing. Sending bile up her throat at how comforting his touch was. “Want to get out of here?”

    “I thought you’d never ask.” She grinned, face hot, when he released her. She scanned him from head to toe when he released her. Taller, feeling firmer, and no trace of bitterness on his face. “You look happy, Haechan. Good.”

    “It’s because you’re back home.”

    “Please.” She chuckled, fist pushing his arm gently. “Tell me everything about Jakarta! And then I’ll tell you all about Vienna!”

    “Let’s go to Bloomed Tea.” His arm over her shoulders, they walked away from the neatly trimmed grass, gleaming white picket fence. Backs to the picturesque two-story house that had tulips and giant bushes of sweetshrub lined along the front porch. “Stay away from here for as long as possible.”

    “Let’s buy some firecrackers and relive our last days here at Shaw Park’s parking lot?” Her chest was swelling, hand pulling out a small red rectangular box from her jacket pocket. Matchboxes rattling against the cardboard as she shook it. “Got this at a restaurant near the airport.”

    “Sweet.” He let her go, eyes narrowed, when she pulled the box of matches behind her back, away from his reach. “Come on, I won’t light anything up until we have a batch of spinning Jumping Jacks, promise. Nice ride.”

    They stood before the iridescent mailbox, red flap swung upwards to indicate post that needed to be picked up. She patted the top of the car, hand gliding down the smooth finishing of the paint.

    “I can afford renting a car, can you believe it? I can take us anywhere while we’re back home.”

    “Christ, how much damage do you think we can do in a week?”

    A dry guffaw came out as she rested her back against the shiny grey Toyota Camry, arms crossing over her chest.

    “I don’t want to disturb the peace. My life in Austria is nice, actually.”

    “We can burn up everything here and never come back. Pretend this place never existed.” His elbow nudged her arm. A soft smile that twisted the lump in her gut. She looked away, trying to push away the heat warming the black lump deep inside. “I still dream about our plans.”

    She stood up straight, turning away from him. Standing beside the mailbox, she swung the red flag down and up a couple times. Her heart was beating fast, mind spiraling with dark intrusive thoughts that she’d forgotten the moment she was away from Haechan.

    She loved him, but she knew the darkness that binded them together was dangerous. Nerves tingling from the warm breeze hitting her back, she inhaled deeply.

    “We don’t have to burn anything up to pretend this place never existed.” She turned around, gentle grin at the corner of her mouth. “Why don’t we look up plane tickets to Jakarta? We’ll leave after the wedding. Like, two minutes after the wedding party starts? You can show me your home.”

    His mouth closed, lips thinning. Eyes focused on her. She crossed her arms over her chest again, black lump in her stomach turning hot. Heat in her stomach moving south. She wanted to retch.

    Please, don’t ignite the fury.

    “OK.” His voice was light, soft. Deep inhale before a loud exhale. “I saw a fireworks pop-up near that fancy Target you like.”

    Her chest loosened. Mind easing with relief.

    “I still have my suitcase in the trunk.”

    Without a word, Haechan picked up her red plastic case out of her rental. She smiled. Joyous laugh coming out as she followed him on the paved grey path. Stepping into the large house she’d have to stay at for the next week.

    “Jakarta’s weather makes me forget about the rest of the world. You’ll love it too.” He set the suitcase down at the foot of the staircase. “Damn, this place has not changed.”

    Expensive artwork lined up neatly along the walls. Professional portraits of a happy middle aged couple posed with stiff smiles everywhere. Same antique porcelain lamp seated behind the suitcase. Floral paintings over the baby blue stain.

    “Is anyone home?” She remained still, ears searching for sounds from upstairs or from the kitchen.

    “Is anyone ever home?”

    The black lump turned hot. Haechan had turned to look up the stairs.

    “I-I should freshen up before we go out.”

    She didn’t wait for his response, turning around immediately. Rushing down the narrow hallway and entering the bathroom at the end of the hallway on the left. Slamming the door shut, she turned on the cold water in the sink.

    Drive. Drive Haechan to the fancy Target. Light up fireworks at Shaw Park.

    Easy. This would be easy.

    If he tried to bring up their childhood plans again, she would have to tell him to give up that dream. They’d escaped. There was no need to destroy anything.

    She’d found peace in Vienna. Getting lost in her studies. Meeting her friends to discuss art. Make up stories about Egon Schiele walking the same streets they did on drunken pub crawls.

    Cold water soothing her cheeks, she turned the faucet off. Patted her face dry with the hand towel hanging on the silver loop beside her. Tucked her baby hairs behind her ears before putting on lip balm.

    Placing the cherry flavored Chapstix back into her jacket pocket, she froze. The box of matches was missing. She’d left it on the hood of her car.

    “Haechan?”

    She bolted out of the bathroom, listening for sounds of his footsteps. Tired sighs. Anything to indicate Haechan was still home.

    Nothing. The front door was wide open. Her car remained parked in front of the house.

    Her ears were burning. Roots at her scalp itching. Feet on the concrete, she ran. Mind focused on the putrid cottage lost deep inside the forest.

    Behind the town, along the river. No one ever took the back path behind the town. It was quiet - outside of the crickets endlessly chirping. The angry crashes of the water broke up the repetitive pangs in her chest.

    Her knee bent, foot sinking into the earth. She caught her fall with a hand on the wooden slate of the gate. Mouth tasting the biting, cold air. The splinters and chipped paint digging into the pads of her fingers distracted her at last, forcing her to stop running. Stepping past the open gate, rusty hooks screeching loudly as it swung out behind her, she tried to listen for any signs of Haechan.

    “Haechan!”

    Her echoes darkened the forest. The pine tree branches raised up high - green leaves from the oak tree engorged with shadows as the sunlight dimmed. Brushing off the cold shiver, she followed the brick layered path that encircled the abandoned, cobbed cottage.

    A broken shingle at the edge of the low hanging roof looked wet, and she stepped off the path - afraid of the black shingle falling over her head.

    The last time she’d come to the old cottage, Haechan had been with her. He didn’t have matches with him then.

    “Haechan!”

    Her steps slowed as she saw the lone figure standing before the steps that led to the basement.

    Back to her, his shoulders were hunched, hair remaining covered by his black hoodie. He made no motion that he knew of her presence. The long shadow cast behind him went on forever, as if there was no end to Haechan once darkness came. A soft rattle hit her ears.

    Haechan held up a small red rectangular matchbox, shaking it between the hold of his thumb and index finger. Head bowed, he poured gasoline from a metal red container. The clear liquid splashed out of the silver spout into large pools, staining the wooden steps beneath them.

    The sweet putrid fumes were intoxicating. Visions of bright orange cigarette butts pressing into her thighs blinded her.

    She sobbed, shaking her head as she retched, the gasoline fumes overcoming her senses. Blinking furiously, wiping away her tears, she focused on Haechan - feet moving forward.

    “Haechan, stop.”

    She pulled on the arm sleeve of his hoodie with both hands, forcing him to drop the canister. It clattered against a couple steps before making a hard thud against the dirt floor.

    She knocked the matchbox out of his hand before dropping to her knees to grab it. Frantically, her eyes focused on the patch of grass surrounding the tiny red box, fingers shaking as she grasped onto it. A single chuckle from him iced her spine.

    “I got something better.”

    She heard the sharp flick of metal on metal as he gave a loud, beleaguered sigh. Eyes fixed on his hand, she saw the silver gas lighter. The giant orange blaze wavered in his palm, igniting a cruel shadow over his serene smile.

    Frozen, she watched as he threw the lighter down the flight of stairs. Gripping her arm, he forced her to her feet as he pulled her up.

    Humid air hit the back of her legs as she heard a low whoosh behind her, sweet smoke and the gasoline’s bitter odor infiltrating her sinuses. A scent so familiar she feared hearing the low grumbling laughs that accompanied her skin burnings.

    “You said you wouldn’t do it!” she shrieked. Arms flailing. Sharp slaps landing on his arms. Chest. Neck. Tears breaking out, she threw her head into his chest. She gasped in the hot smoky air. “Not yet.”

    “We did it.”  He pulled her face up to look at him, hand grasping onto her chin. His teeth were gritted together, jaws clamped tight. Eyes narrowed. “You and me. We did it. We did it.”

    “No!” She pushed against his chest, but his hands clawed down on her arms, keeping her pressed against him. “Y-you did it! I tried to stop-”

    “Get a grip! WE DID IT! It’s always been us!” He shook her. His voice was loud enough to ring into the air, shortly swallowed by the engulfing flames. “You and me! Everything is about us!  It’s always been you and me. Me and you…us.”

    “Stop.” The tears in her eyes blurred her vision. She winced, Haechan’s fingers digging in deeper. His nails were pressing the thin fabric strands into her skin. “Haechan!”

    He tilted forward, as if to kiss her. Lump in her gut churning painfully, heat between her legs igniting faster than the fire Haechan just created.

    Heel of her sneakers stomping his foot, she pushed away from Haechan’s hold when his grip loosened.

    She ran right into the wooden gate, eyes scanning around, looking for an escape. Shaky breaths, eyes burning from the smoke and heat, she knew that she couldn’t escape.

    Escape had never been an option. Not even when they were little - escaping the very cottage burning before them.

    One hand wrapped around her neck from behind. Haechan’s body pressed her front against the gate, free hand reaching up to grope her right breast.

    “No-don’t,” she sputtered, back arching, hips bucking. All the heat around her rushed to her head. Her throat tightened. Head heavy. The heat that rushed to her groin made her stomach flip. “Haechan, don’t. Please.”

    “Don’t fucking run away.” His lips were beside her ear, hand slipping away from her breast. “We burned this fucking hellhole like we said we would.”

    Orange and yellow blazes crawled up neatly along one corner of the house, melting the water drain lining up the edge of the roof.

    A sharp surge of heat burst into her clit as a hot wave unfurled out from the open back window, the heat hitting her chest and neck. Puffs of black smoke curled as burning wood and melting plastics moaned and hissed in the chaos, begging for the relief of a calming moistness that neither of them would give.

    Her body felt calm. Chest warm. Mind clear. All the tension at her temples felt tender.

    In the years that she spoke with Haechan in hushed voices about exactly how they would destroy the world, burning the cottage had taken up the most space. The dreams made to reality left her mind settled.

    Content.

    Down came the cottage. Her prison. Her torment.

    Her fears.

    Her shame.

    “Move back.”

    Haechan had both hands on her arms. She grunted as she felt him push her front against the gate, her tits squished against the flat wooden slate. Crusts of chipped paint snagged onto her shirt. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

    “It’s so much better than I've ever dreamed.” His hand glided down her stomach, back of his knuckles pressing against the lining of her denim jeans. He groped the inside of her thigh. Heat bubbled deep into her stomach and pussy walls. “Have you ever seen anything so massive? So chaotic? So...stunning.”

    His other hand snaked under her shirt, palming her tit. Back arching, she watched the sharp, angry flames shoot straight up into the air, violent scorches threatening to catch onto the leaves of the oak tree branches nearby.

    The smoky billowing burns at the ground level curled and hissed, belching more fiery ruptures and hot waves through widening holes and broken windows of the collapsing cottage. Eyes shut for a moment, the heat wave washing over her covered her body up in goosebumps.

    To have one’s darkest, deepest dreams become reality…what happens next?

    She looked down to see wisps of ashes land onto Haechan’s golden skin. The dark round scars on the inside of his wrist smooth against the pad of her finger.

    “We’ll be covered in ashes,” she said softly, brushing the grey soot off his arm. Her nipples hardened at the feel of his rapidly beating heart thrumming against her back. “Nothing left but dust.”

    “We’ll have to burn everything down first.”

    She yelped, surprised at his hands grabbing the front collar of her shirt. The back of her neck smarted at the pressure against her skin. A rip slashed across the ever growing ruptures of the ruined cottage.

    Chest flaring with goosebumps, she took in a deep breath as she lost her balance, feeling Haechan pull her arms behind her.

    “Stop!” She cried as she turned around to shove him away, uncrossing her arms quickly. He’d ripped her top off of her, skin on her back flaring from the sweltering heat. Arms over her chest, she tilted her chin up as their eyes locked, daring him to do more.

    His calloused palms pulled her face to his, pressing them together. Hands slapping against his chest, she tried jerking her head out of his hold, mewling against his lips.

    Mind spinning - stomach churning - right hand pushed against his chest as her left tugged his arm toward her. Feeling the wetness of his tongue inside her mouth, she clamped her jaws shut, teeth gnashing down on his squishy organ.

    Her back slammed against the gate as the heat of his body left her. He coughed and she bit down on the gasp that almost escaped, the air from her lungs punched out of her.

    Wiping her mouth with her hands, her eyes blurred. Wet red blood dampened her fingers. Blinking her vision clear, she looked up to see Haechan spitting before wiping his own mouth with the back of his palm.

    Eyes darting from the growing bedlam behind her, and then lingering at her resting against the gate. Haechan slowly began to disrobe, right hand occasionally stroking down on his growing erection.

    She was mesmerized by the flames - bending and curling shadows across his face - the bright anger dancing in his eyes. Chest swelling, she stared at his mouth hanging open, as if in awe of the sight before them. His eyes, bright - like the night they’d escaped -

    Lump in her guts ablaze, she inhaled through her mouth. Body ignited with ash and ruin.

    She whimpered - fingers pushing down on her cunt - over her panties but under her denim jeans. The disarrayed, bumpy skin streaking along the left side of Haechan’s body shone against the fire when he’d pulled his shirt off.

    Boiling blood surged down her chest, making her nipples and clitoris ache. Her body shook with the angry, waving flames. Constant hissing and crackling embers interrupted each other erratically.

    Haechan moaned, high pitch and low groan swallowed up amongst the rumbling heat surrounding them.

    His jeans were down at his ankles, distracting her eyes away from his lovely, damaged skin.

    His eyes were on her. Licking his lips, he nodded, eyes fighting to remain open. Her eyes flickered down to his cock, his hand wrapped around the thick shaft, before recapturing his gaze. She gave one firm nod before pulling her jeans off, kicking them aside.

    “Look at the fire.” She yelped when he grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging her to look over at the burning cottage.

    Biting her bottom lip - hands rested at the top of the gate - she faced the flames. Grip on the top slate firm, she focused on the fiery bursts that continually danced in and out of the back window - where the kitchen stood. Golden sparks popped violently as hot air washed over her.

    “You’re so tight.”

    His grunt against the nape of her neck warmed her belly. Wet tip writhing against her entrance. She shook - mind buzzing with protests, to stop doing what they were about to do…intertwining with demands of thrusting against Haechan so she could feel him inside of her.

    She widened her legs, feeling the pressure of Haechan’s cock push deep into her. They groaned together as she bucked her hips back and he thrust forward.

    Bliss.

    Sweet - hot - bliss.

    Tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes, right thigh burning up in the memory of neon orange cigarette butts pressed there.

    Eyes focused on the fiery destruction before them, her insides were scorched like the back door that was falling down to the ground - embers scattering across the brick path.

    The fat tears slipped down her cheeks as she grunted, mind focusing on Haechan connected to her. Better than she’d ever dreamed. Her knees shook as she felt his balls slap her ass.

    “Do you like that?” His voice was smooth - gentle - right against her ear. She whined, high pitch catching at the back of her throat. Her hand shot back to grip onto his hold at her hip. He tortured her as he thrust fast shallow pushes against her - balls continually slapping her ass.

    “Stop!” Her chest hurt as she chortled, toes curling as her pussy throbbed. His cock - deep inside - was burning her up. He hissed before pressing his lips to the back of her head, humming gently into her. “You’re the one who made a joke out of it.”

    A short, high pitched whine escaped his lips when she squeezed her walls down on his cock in retaliation. Arms wrapped around her waist, he released a gravelly grunt as he bucked up into her.

    Red blinded her - eyes shut tight. Flames hit her face, her lungs filling with smoke as her whole body felt weighed down on. Pressure torturously sharp and heavy at her core.

    “Haechan!”

    “Shut up.”

    His breath was ragged, grip at her waist steadfast. His rhythm was building, hitting her deep. Every time his tip hit her cervix her vision turned redder than the demonic glow of the burning cottage. Their environment darkened, and her voice was lost as she gasped for air.

    “Haechan.”

    “Shut up.”

    His thick sooted fingers were over her lips, pads from his middle and ring finger digging into her mouth. Her saliva dribbled out, coating his fingers and her chin. A sharp dulling bitterness - salty smoke - filled her mouth as she gagged on his fingers.

    Aside from her muffled whines and his weighted grunts, they were silent as he fucked her. Every thrust sent a lightning sharp heat straight into her guts, interrupting any stream of thoughts.

    She was melting, her head feeling heavy and hazy.

    “So fucking beautiful.”

    His mouth was beside her ear, heavy breaths beating her eardrums. Her spine tingled as his fingers caressed the small dark spots at the top of her right thigh. The burn marks scattered in a zigzag pattern. She mewled when one finger slipped away from the mark at the inside of thigh - up against her clit.

    “Beautiful.”

    The roof caved in, shingles shattering to the ground. The eruption of heat created a grey mushroom-domed cloud of smoke, her body tingling from the heat as it washed over them.

    Bucking up harshly into her, he sputtered incoherently into the air. Her ass hurt as he pounded it against his hips.

    Her grip on the gate tightened with every thrust, knuckles so tight they felt ready to snap off her body. Her pussy walls were shaking, writhing, her stomach muscles tangling up like knotted tree branches.

    “I’m cumming.” Her voice was shaky, chest throbbing. She hiccuped. Against her will, she brought her knees together as his cock’s tip surged fiery heat against her cervix nonstop. Her walls were shaking, nerves up her spine on the verge of melting - brain puddled and ready to turn into hot air. “Haechan.”

    She whimpered, voice raspy. Her lungs felt full, each inhaled breath ragged.

    Her eyes stung as smoke curled around her. His pupils turned yellow like the glare of the sun, hair rusted orange like the bike chain at their feet.

    Red.

    He was so red, it was all she saw on his face. Red skin, golden glare of his pupils contorting crimson - the embers around them so vast the glowing red tinted the whites of his eyes a dull pink. Hell on earth with the devilish red enticing her to stay.

    Their lips met, the layer of soot drying his lips over hers. The metallic bitter taste was all consuming. His lips, tongue - teeth - even his chin.

    Especially his neck.

    She inhaled his acrid dry musk. Her legs shook as she tried to remain standing. Knees bucking, her mind dissolved into dust as his come ruptured all over her insides.

    Seated on her knees, she breathed in the dense, smoky air. Fingers clung onto the gate, she continued to stare at the fire.

    Golden flames burst out as thick black clouds puffed up into the air - not a shingle left hanging at the roof. The popping and crackling of the fire’s energy was consuming her, settling her nerves. The heat that came to her in heavy waves calmed her muscles, making her mind hazy, eyelids drooping.

    “We have to go.” Haechan’s hand touched her shoulder. “Come on.”

    They dressed, Haechan giving his hoodie to her as he carried her torn top in his left hand. Her whole body shook, body wanting to feel the vibrations of the flames’ roars all night long. The way Haechan’s grip refused to release her wrist told her they had to head back home, however.

    The red glow began to dissipate, the smoke’s thickness clearing, more shrubbery and branches coming easily into sight. Cool air widened her lungs as she inhaled deeply.

    Goosebumps traveled up her skin as the chilly air seeped under Haechan’s loose fitted hoodie. Tugging on her arm, he led her back onto a clear dirt path, winding around a cluster of thick oak trees.

    Reaching the edge of the forest - tall street lamp coming into better view with every step closer to the paved road.

    The brightness from above glared down on her, forcing her to look back down.

    Haechan was scoping their surroundings, mouth hanging open. He looked left and then right before licking his lips, eyes meeting hers.

    They’d fucked.

    They’d burned down the cottage.

    They had to go home.

    They’d fucked.

    “What happened?” He was calm, eyes bore into hers. Hand on her cheek, warmth soothing away the air’s biting frost. “What’s going on?”

    “We’ve been messing around Shaw Park. Got caught up with fire drums we set up for the homeless.”

    “When was the last time I took you to grandma’s cottage?”

    They’d burned down the cottage.

    Chest heavy with burnt shingles, mouth wet, cheek turning cold.

    A sob escaped as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

    He tugged on her arm right as they reached the empty road, the street lamp on the other side of the black pavement.

    “Don’t fucking cry. When was the last time I took you to grandma’s cottage?”

    “When we were teenagers, years ago. I don’t even know which park it’s located in.”

    “Good.”

    She wiped her tears with the sleeve of the smoky hoodie as they continued on their walk.     His plan had never been about attending the wedding.

    It had always been about opportunity.

    When they were both home.

    When no one else would be around.

    When a fire could burn for hours before anyone would notice.

    They followed the dirt path that led down the side of the hill. It forked away from the town’s street market.

    Hidden behind the apartment complexes that were lined up along the river that came from the mountaintops - their walk home was uninterrupted. Waves crashing calmed her mind, forcing her not to think.

    As much as she didn’t want to cry, she felt the sob that wanted to come out at the tip of her tongue, threatening to tickle her nose’s tip.

    Sniffling loudly, she swallowed her cry. Eyes on the back of Haechan’s grey-sooted head. She never thought about the day actually coming to pass.

    Her chest throbbed anxiously as she took in the way Haechan’s arm shook in sporadic jerks - making her arm sway against her side. The tuneful hum at the back of his throat. The gentle way his free hand would stroke the half hard cock he was failing to hide from her. The smallest trace of a grin appeared before he bit down on his bottom lip, morphing it into a scowl.

    “If we get away with this, we can burn this place down next.”

    He pulled her into the picturesque home with the pretty tulips and impressive sweetshrubs. The house was dark.

    She felt Haechan’s front press against her with the door shut behind her. His lips were on her neck. The sulfurous smoke filled her nose, tongue coating in bitter soot. She whimpered, hands pushing against his chest.

    “Don’t wake anyone up.” His eyes widened as he pressed a finger to his lips. “Quiet. We’re good at being quiet, right?”

    He tugged her up the stairs, pulling her to her bedroom. Door directly across the top of the staircase.

    His breath was ragged - wet against her ear - pushing his body up against hers. Their lips met in the dark as his hands were at the waistband of her jeans.

    “Hello?” She heard her name being called in a stage whisper. There was a soft knock on the door. Her heart beat throbbed against her throat. “Did Haechan come home with you?”

    The nerves in her spine shook as his teeth grazed over the front of her throat. Her fingers curled into his thick, dusty hair as her eyes saw the shadow of two legs cut across the hallway light that cracked through at the bottom of the door. The legs remained still near the right end of the door. Haechan sucking on her neck reminded her to give an answer, heat surging to her nipples.

    “Yes, but I think he’s showering.” He planted kisses up along her shoulder, his feet kicking her jeans and panties aside. Her pussy was wet, throbbing at the memory of his cock inside of her. Wanting it.

    “Did you hear about grandma’s cottage?”

    “No, what about it?” His hand was between her legs, fingers gliding against her folds. Red blinded her vision and she bit her lip to steady her breathing. Fuck, Haechan. “I barely remember the place.”

    “It went up in flames.”

    “Oh, no.” Haechan aggressively pulled his hoodie off her shoulders. She didn’t see him but she heard him unzipping his jeans. Chest swelling as her thighs pressed together. Pussy weeping out desire. “Did you want to tell Haechan yourself? Or should I?”

    “I never know how to talk to him. But I suppose something this big needs to come from me.”

    “Did we wake you? You sound tired.” Haechan’s teeth tugged on her nipples. His tongue flicked against it as she threw her hand up to her mouth. “I’ll tell him about the cottage when he’s done showering. I think he’ll prefer to hear it from me. Thank you for checking in like this.”

    “I’m here for you both, you know that, right?”

    “Yes, Mom.” Haechan’s fingers glided along her slit, thumb pressing against the sensitive nerves of her clit. She leaned away from the door, body writhing against him. “Good night.”

    All she could think about was how deep his cock had gone into her. And how thrilling it was. How it ignited explosions of fire all along her pussy.

    “So wet for me.” His lips were at her ear before his tongue flicked her earlobe. “Or are you still high from that fire?”

    She remained quiet, hands pulling Haechan to sit on her bed with her. Their lips met, her body craving for the insatiable heat to return. Her mind was clouded and her nose tickled with soot and smoke.

    Bliss.

    Wet tip collecting her juices as he thrust up against her. Hand pushing his hot stick into her folds.

    Her legs squeezed his hips as he thrust his burning cock into her.

    Sweet - hot - bliss.

    His body was over hers, hips thrusting up, cock buried deep. Fire singed into her guts as she kissed him, mouth and nose filled with his smoky musk.

    He pinned her arms over her head, eyes traveling down her body. He pulled up to stare down at her. With the moonlight illuminating from the window outside, his eyes scanned down her body and back up, a devilishly red smirk appearing.

    “Let’s burn the whole fucking world down.”

---

Thank you for reading!

Love, CC 💚

[lazypeachsoul]

I wouldn't want to spend a minute lovin' anybody else.

Warnings: this fic has some sad moments and mentions of the blip. also kind of AU because I'm completely ignoring Natasha's canon end.

Word count: 4,2k (i got very carried away with this fic)

Summary: · Meeting the right person at the wrong time can be life changing when it doesn’t work out the way we desire. But if it's meant to be it will always happen, right?

A/N: This is my fic for the "Women of Marvel xReader Exchange" created by @marvelxreaderfanfictionfest . It was created for @im-holding-ontoyou and I hope you like it! gif by @natasharomanovgifs 🌼 ALSO; i haven't watched Black Widow yet so I'm sorry if something in this fic doesn't fit the new info we got about natasha.

Masterlist.

To be added to my taglist use this forms or write me an ask!

New York, 2015.

When you received the call from one of your bosses that you had a new case you would have never imagined how big that case would turn out to be.

You had been working for one of the most important law firms in New York for a year now, and you were getting kind of used to reading cases that would be narrated in the papers for months. Rich and entitled men, big divorces were they fight over who gets the yacht, one or two murder cases... if it revolved around the powerful people of New York city, your firm would get it.

When you got to the debriefing and were told that Tony Stark, one of the firm's most important clients, asked your team for assistance in the creation of some legislation with the newly created “Advanced Threat Containment Unit” you were more than surprised.

The events that the Avengers had caused (or saved us from, there were different opinions going around) in the small country of Sokovia were known all around the and it was only time before the most powerful officials asked for the regulation of ‘superhero activity’.

You weren’t important enough to actually attend the meetings that took place with the government, seeing as you had only passed your bar exam a little over a year prior, but you were deemed cheerful and nice enough to act as a nexus between the firm and the client.

For months you spent your days talking to Tony Stark and other members of The Avengers trying to explain what was being talked about. The first few meetings were a disaster, seeing as the mood was somber for the lives lost and nobody really understood your legal jargon. But slowly you started to transform your language and really tried to make the meetings as easy as possible for everyone present.

But who were you kidding, they really didn’t care about the meetings or the silly attorney being sent to explain something that was way above their paycheck. Well, at least Stark was gracious enough to set a coffee station with some pastries for the meeting. You were pouring the hot liquid into your to-go cup when your hand jerked and the hot liquid splashed your hand.

You could feel the sting of the burn but avoided further sudden movements trying not to make it worse. Before you could reach for a napkin to clean up the mess you made, a more dexterous and manicured hand reached for them and exchanged the hot cup in your hand for the bunch of papers.

“Careful, Stark always serves boiling coffee. I think it’s to mask that it’s not the best quality.”

You lifted your gaze from your hand and found a pair of deep green eyes gazing back. You would have thought that spending numerous meetings in the company of superheroes would make you less susceptible to their powerful auras, but being this close to Natasha Romanoff made your heart beat a bit faster.

“Yeah, I found out the hard way.” You joked, lifting your hand a bit. “You would guess one of the richest people in the world would actually serve good coffee...”

Seeing her crack a smile made you feel less tense. Sometimes you forget they are still normal people. Normal people who could kill you with their bare hands and had superhuman powers. She placed your cup on the food table, apparently not bothered by how hot it must have been, and pushed her hand in your direction.

“I’m Natasha Romanoff.” You wrapped your hand around hers and shook it, biting your tongue trying not to tell her of course you knew her name. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself in earlier meetings, we were all trying to come to terms with what had happened.”

“No worries, I can only imagine how hard it must have been for all of you.” You nodded and tried to show her sympathy, trying to avoid thinking about all the lives affected by the fight. “Oh sorry, I’m-”

Natasha quickly cut you off, speaking your name before you could even say it. You could feel your cheeks get warmer at the idea that they actually knew who you were, and she probably could sense your mood change because she quickly explained.

“I know who you are, you send us at least two emails a week about these meetings and FRIDAY always announces you before you arrive.”

“Who announces me?” You asked curiously at the mention of a name you recognized.

“FRIDAY. It’s the name of Stark’s AI technology. It works all around the tower and it’s there to make life easier for everyone.” She explained pointing around at the speakers strategically placed around the room.

“Oh, I get emails from Friday sometimes. Most of them are asking me to translate or explain something about the debriefing because Mr.Stark is not interested in legal terms.” Both you and Natasha laughed at the thought.

But she quickly recomposed and tried to look serious again when she heard her teammates coming in to get ready for the meeting.

“I wanted to ask you about that. Do you think we could schedule a meeting so that you could explain some things about the legislation of the A.T.C.U.?” She spoke lower than she had when the two of you were alone and you wondered why she didn’t want her colleagues to know about the meeting.

“Ye-Yeah, of course I can.” You were confused but thought it would be in your best interest, and the firm’s, to say yes to the proposal. And a meeting with a very attractive and definitely interesting woman was not something that happened constantly for you.

“Great, thank you.” She smiled warmly and squeezed your hand that you hadn’t even realized was still wrapped around hers from the introduction. “I can promise you better coffee.”

You could only hum in response, still trying to piece together what she might want from the meeting. But your thoughts were quickly cut off when Stark entered the room and you moved to start the reunion.

During the entire meeting you could feel the dull pain in your hand from the scorching coffee and the feeling of a pair of green eyes watching your every move.

Vienna, 2016.

The situation had only gone downhill from the Battle of Sokovia. The public’s opinion on the Avengers was at an all-time-low and that made terrorist groups bold. They knew that if they struck and caused enough chaos, the blame would fall on the good guys that tried to stop them.

The only thing that seemed to be a stable thing in your life was Natasha. Well, as stable as dating a superhero might be. She was busy a lot, but you understood the importance of her job and you were quite busy too gaining importance within the law firm.

And even if sometimes terrorists and criminals got in the way you still found a moment to spend together, wrapped around each other without having to think about how messed up life was.

You thought Lagos was the blow that would make everything tumble, the Sokovia accords were unveiled and it broke the Avengers, and your girlfriend. You could feel how torn she was at her decision of some of her friends to oppose the signing and go on the run, and her own decision to subordinate to the United Nations mandate. But you realized how small that had been when king T’Chaka was killed at the UN.

You had been at the UN as part of the USA legal team that participated in the writing and monitoring of the accords. Your participation in the negotiations almost broke your relationship but you were able to recover once you explained your position and Natasha actually came to an understanding of it.

Natasha was also in Vienna when everything went down, you hadn’t managed to properly see her because she was one of the signers and they sat at the assembly while other guests sat at the amphitheater watching the retransmission.

You hadn’t been able to properly see her all day, seeing as she took a detour before flying to Austria. You were only able to communicate through texts where you tried to make the situation more comfortable for her and she promised a peaceful european trip to celebrate the signing.

When the bomb went off and all hell broke loose the first thing you tried to do was look for her, she was at the epicenter of the explosion and you just wanted to see if she was okay. You saw her from afar when you were being pushed to the outside of the building while they swiped the perimeter.

She sat with T’Challa before he jumped from the bench and stomped away. Natasha looked around and your gazes crossed, immediately melting away some of the worry. You tried to push your way through the crowd to get to her, but police and security didn’t budge.

You never took your eyes off of her, scared that if you did she would disappear. But she did move her gaze to her phone and the look that crossed her face when she heard the voice at the other side told you it was a very important call.

Once the call was over and she looked at you again you knew that would probably be the last time you would see her in some time. You hadn’t known Natasha as long as some of her colleagues had, but you could proudly say you could understand what she wanted to say with just a look. And the look on her face in that moment read close to a goodbye.

New York, 2018.

It had been two years since the fall of Helmut Zemo and part of the Avengers was still on the run. And it maybe wouldn’t have had that big of an impact on you if it wasn’t because Natasha had also been on the run for that long.

You had heard about what happened at the Leipzig airport and how Natasha had changed alliances to join Captain America’s fight. You had been heartbroken at the news knowing that any resemblance of normality that you still hope for was destroyed.

You had spent months wondering what had made her change her mind. Had she thought about your conversations about the accords? Had she even remembered you, waiting for her back in New York, when she decided to go on the run?

A part of you tried to convince you of how selfish thinking about that was, why would she think about you when the future of her team and friends was at stake? But also you were her girlfriend, she should have thought about the implications that might have had for you.

In those years you had mourned your relationship and after the grieving period you tried to rebuild your life. New friends, a new position and new chances to take. And it went okay...at least until someone opened their mouth to talk about superheroes or The Avengers. Years down the line and it was still on people’s minds.

On special occasions you would receive anonymous gifts at your office or your apartment. The first birthday after the war you sobbed for fifteen minutes when you saw the bunch of flowers. There was no name or indicative of who might have sent them, that was until you looked better at the card and saw the small red hourglass painted in the corner.

The gifts continued. Every case you won, promotion, birthday or holiday a bunch of flowers would be delivered to you with the same note.

In a way it gave you a sense of peace knowing she was okay and still thought of you. But the more you thought about it the angrier you got at how she had left you.

You didn’t expect a message from your boss to run to the Avengers compound and assess some situation between Coronel Rhodes and Thaddeus Ross. Although the team had crumbled, your company was still hired to legally represent the remaining members and moderate situations that might arise with the government.

You entered the compound expecting another bureaucratic complaint about their activity but you found a trickier situation. The meeting room was filled with people you thought you would never see again.

Captain Rogers was sitting on one of the chairs sporting a new look that made you almost not recognize him and a tense demeanor. Next to him was Sam Wilson, looking around at the smallest of movements and trying to assess the situation. Wanda Maximoff was standing on the furthest corner of the room playing with her rings, meanwhile Vision was apparently being checked out for a wound. What kind of wounds a synthezoid could get was beyond your understanding.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, I might have angered Secretary Ross during a meeting.” Rhodey came up to you with a nervous smile.

You had gotten closer to him thanks to your job seeing as he was the one doing the dirty superhero work.

“Yeah, I got that much from the text. Nothing new then.” You tried to joke to diffuse the tension in the room. “It would have been nice to know you had guests though.”

“We are not guests. Last time I checked this was our home too.”

That voice made your blood freeze. You should have expected her there, all her friends had returned and the chance of her being back too was almost 100%. But hearing her voice again after two years was not something you expected.

You bit your tongue before you could talk about how it���s not a home if you abandon it, but decided against it. This was a fight between them, not Natasha and you.

“I need you to work with the government to avoid this situation becoming a disaster.” Rhodey explained and you scoffed.

“Rhodey, I’m a lawyer not a politician. I have as much power in this as you might have.” You tried to lay your point across but it was difficult with all eyes on the interaction. “Hell, I have even less power than you do.”

“Then I need you to distract them enough to get them off our shoulders.” He pressed. “Something big is coming and we need all the strength we can get.”

You thought about it for a moment. If it was true that something big was coming, the Avengers were the best option to fight it.

“I’m in.” You scoffed at his smile and sat down in one of the chairs of the meeting room. “I’m not ready for the world to end yet.”

The meeting went on for a while. You called bosses, government officials and everyone that would listen to your distractions. You sent emails that would flood their inboxes for days so that they couldn’t read any news that might reach them about what the superheroes had in mind.

It was late at night when a cup of steaming liquid was placed next to you. You looked at it and saw that it was some kind of herbal tea, probably made to relax the drinker. You followed the hand that was still holding the mug until you reached Natasha’s face.

You had done your best to ignore her looming presence in the room but now there was no distraction. Looking at her you could see tiredness in her face. She was platinum blonde now, a look that weirdly suited her, but her face still looked as welcoming to you as it always did.

You tried to stop the flashbacks to the last time you saw it in person in Vienna, but they kept replaying in your head until her voice broke you out of the loop.

“I thought you might need it, I remember how nervous calls used to make you.”

She was smiling but you could tell it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I got over it since I got my promotion. Now I spend a long portion of my day making calls.”

She hummed and sat down next two you, but leaving a chair in between you as a safe space.

“I read about it in an article, I sent you flowers to celebrate.”

“I got them. And the Christmas ones. On my birthday too.” You enumerated the times you had gotten the plants in the past two years. “You must have spent an awful amount of money buying me so many flowers.”

“You deserved it, you still do.” She shrugged and that’s when you noticed she had her own mug of warm tea in her other hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to celebrate with you.”

You laughed into your mug sarcastically. Out of everything you expected her to say this wasn’t one of them.

“Did you really? Because you didn’t seem to consider me much when you went on the run for two years.”

Natasha paled when she heard your tone. She probably wasn’t used to situations like these but you weren’t going to let her go without an apology at least.

“I was trying to do the best for-”

“-for the world. I get it, Natasha, I do.” You tried to contain your emotions but it was getting harder with every word. “Relationships are supposed to be teamwork. I know you are always too busy playing heroes and I never judged you for that, I just wish you would have trusted me enough to tell me before you disappeared.”

She was silent and knowing Natasha it’s because she was probably overwhelmed with the display of feelings. But she needed to hear how bad you had felt.

After minutes of waiting for an answer from her and getting nothing but sighs you shook your head and looked back at the computer screen.

“I guess it was a case of the right person, wrong time.” You shrugged trying to find distraction in the flurry of letters in your email inbox. “Or at least it was for me.”

She got up from her seat without a word and you grew exasperated. Why had she even approached you if then she wasn’t willing to have an adult, two sided conversation? She was almost at the door when you heard her voice again.

“Please never doubt how much I love you. I made some bad choices but dating you was not one of them.”

New York, 2024.

Time apparently flies by when you are erased from the face of the earth. One day you are in your office working late and the next you appear five years in the future with no recollection of what might have happened.

You were taken by authorities to impromptu camps and one by one examined to check your identities. The entire thing seemed to be something out of one of the dystopian novels you used to read as a teenager.

When it was your turn you gave them all the information you had on what had happened. You had given them your name and personal information and apparently had been a very searched person because the computer started beeping as soon as your name was introduced in the database.

You were moved to a secluded part of the camp and kept in an isolated room for god knows how long. Your stomach was in knots during the entire situation and you could feel the cold sweat on you. That mixed with the metallic taste on your tongue you knew this time your anxiety was justified. You were almost dizzy because of how hard you were thinking about the entire situation and trying to make sense of it.

When you heard the door of the room open you jumped up, discarding on the floor a makeshift blanket that had been placed on your shoulders when you got there. Your legs almost gave out at the movement and your heart felt like it was going to burst out.

The door opened enough for you to see who had been searching for you. Natasha stepped through the door still dressed in her tactic gear and with tiredness written all over her face. But that feeling seemed to almost disappear when she finally saw you.

With quick movements she stepped into the room and wrapped her arms around you tightly. For some reason that action was the trigger that you needed to let all your emotions consume you.

You started sobbing uncontrollably at the unknown. You didn’t understand what happened or how you are here, but feeling her embrace helped you feel safe in a way. It had been years since you last hugged her but it still felt as good as back in 2015.

You could hear Natasha’s soothing shushes in between your sobs and you moved to hold her tighter.

“You are here. I can’t believe I found you again.” She spoke softly and you didn’t know if she was speaking to you or herself. “It’s okay darling. I’m here and I’m not letting you go again. I promise.”

And with that promise a ray of hope made way between all the fear you felt.

Missouri, 2025.

Soft music could be heard all around the ground floor of the house. The soft beat was upbeat enough to get the morning started but not enough to be overwhelming if you had just woken up. You were sitting on the kitchen island looking at the news on your phone and having breakfast.

Mornings were usually very calm around the homestead and you couldn’ be more thankful for that. It allowed you to silently prepare your breakfast and coffee and get a headstart on Natasha’s breakfast too.

Since she had retired, Natasha had discovered a newfound love for sleeping in and you didn’t dare to take that away from her. She deserved it from all the work she had done in her life.

You, meanwhile, tried to get up early to scroll through the cases that you got in your new and smaller job and schedule meetings or emails.

It was a Saturday so work wasn’t a thing and you could actually enjoy your toast and coffee in peace. Or at least until a pair of arms wrapped themselves around your middle and pulled you back against Natasha.

“Good morning baby, how did you sleep?”

“Like a baby.” You could feel her smile when she kissed your cheek from behind. “You weren’t there when I woke up though.”

You shrugged before moving to get a bite out of your toast. Natasha tried to do the same but you quickly moved it away from her with a smile. She tried again and you moved as fast as your reflexes allowed you.

“C’mon baby, give me a bite” “No, it’s my toast. You can make your own.” “But it tastes better when you make it.” “No it doesn’t, don’t be lazy.”

The playful fight continued for a few moments until she got close enough to get a small bit but you moved it again.

“Don’t make me bite you, darling.”

You chuckled at her threat and plopped the remaining toast on the plate in front of you. Breakfast didn’t matter much anymore. You threw yourself into her arms and pressed your lips against hers. It wasn’t a slow and sensual kiss, it was closer to how small kids smooch their parents. But you knew it would convey your love more deeply.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Nat.” You spoke against her lips and squaked when you felt her playfully nip at your bottom lip.

“Is now a good time?”

That question had become recurring in your household, a nod to the phrase you said when you found eachother again after being separated the first time.

“I couldn’t think of a more perfect time.”

And you couldn’t. The rest of your life spent in a homestead with your girlfriend and whatever life might bring? It sounded absolutely delightful.

Taglist: @tagehaya @flyforeverfree @rooskaya-yelena @evalynanne @insanitybyanothername @princessayveke @yelenabelovasgf @kyli314

[klarolinelibrary]

Hi KC Readers,

We have reached the end of the week which means we have new weekly releases for you! The stories below were updated during the week of May 1st - May 7th.

Happy Reading!

FFN

Gods on High

Author: slstmaraudersjple

Rating: K+

Length: 1,257

Summary: "In ancient times, they called her Hera. But when she was born, she was named Caroline." Greek mythology AU featuring Klaus and Caroline as Zeus and Hera.

Date of update: May 1 2021

Klaus POV - The Trouble with Spells (Chapter 23)

Author: ilovetf

Rating: M

Length: 91,722

Summary: The Trouble with Spells as seen through Klaus's eyes and his POV. Over the years, people kept liking this story and some even asked for Klaus POV, so I decided to give it a try. 

Date of update: May 2 2021

Cinderella's Beast (Chapter 15)

Author: Sci-fi Christian

Rating: T

Length: 59,065

Summary: He was a beast. An arrogant beast who carried his comments a little too far one day. Now, he may just discover that she is not what she seems. She's a Cinderella in disguise and his heart is the glass slipper she may leave behind. 

Date of update: May 2 2021

Fortitude (Chapter 8)

Author: G.M.Portraepic

Rating: M

Length: 15,256

Summary: Post TO 5x13: Even in his death, the key to Klaus Mikaelson having everything he has ever wanted, all at once, lies buried somewhere in the world. Can Caroline Forbes find it?

Date of update: May 5 2021

AO3

Without Pause Without Doubt

Author: ThrowMeAStory

Rating: M

Length: 3,679

Summary: 4x16, au. Part 9. Klaroline vs Damon.

Date of update: May 1 2021

Between Reality and Madness

Author: Eliliyah

Rating: G

Length: 8,395

Summary: When Caroline Forbes, Hogwart's resident Potions Mistress, is bitten by a werewolf, her father, the Minister of Magic, immediately orders she be taken away and imprisoned in a so-called "Rehabilitation Facility," mysterious camps from which no wolf has ever returned. Dodging curses, she runs for her life. Her only chance is to find the one person who seems to know a thing or two about wolves: Headmaster Klaus Mikaelson.

Date of update: May 1 2021

Our Time Now (Chapter 2)

Author: perfectpro

Rating: M

Length: 23,970

Summary: Caroline is going to spend her senior year getting into the law school of her choice, leading the cheerleading squad to a nationals title, and passing her sorority presidency to someone who will continue a legacy of excellence. She doesn't have time to take a bubble bath, much less to figure out what's happening with her relationship with Klaus. Not that it's much of a relationship to begin with.

Date of update: May 1 2021

no goodbyes (Chapter 11)

Author: deadofwrite (dead_of_write)

Rating: E

Length: 78,975

Summary: “Last night shouldn’t have happened,” Caroline whispered. Guilt. Shame. Regret. It was all the emotions he feared. And it was written all over her face. aka. a college/cheating au

Date of update: May 1 2021

All You Never Say (Chapter 6)

Author: misssophiachase

Rating: T

Length: 18,967

Summary: One wedding involving a best man and maid of honour who've grown up together but don't know quite how to reconcile their unresolved feelings.

Date of update: May 2 2021

A smutty anniversary (Chapter 8)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: E

Length: 5,414

Summary: Caroline and Klaus celebrate 3 months together with a day full of smut.

Date of update: May 2 2021

Darkness Becomes Thee (Chapter 3)

Author: BelleMorte180

Rating: E

Length: 12,317

Summary: Austria 1300s When Klaus met a young girl on a riverbank, he knew that he would one day come back for her. When he looked into her bright blue eyes, he could see a reflection of his own soul, a darkness that lingered inside both of them. When the young girl turned into a beautiful woman with a thirst for blood, his fascination with her turns into obsession. He wants not only her loyalty but her eternity, a possessiveness that is equally returned.

Date of update: May 2 2021

One of a Kind, Two of a Kind, or the Three Musketeers (Chapter 11)

Author: Phandancee74

Rating: T

Length: 24,114

Summary: Caroline recognizes how hard it is for Elena to be a doppelgänger, her fate predestined as well as her face. It's pretty tough being the last of your kind too though, and Caroline is determined to protect them both, with some very helpful Bennetts on their side.

Date of update: May 2 2021

Klaus’ Thousand Year Plan to be Her Last (Chapter 2)

Author: anncatherine

Rating: T

Length: 2,867

Summary: So these are some missing Klaroline scenes from my Elena/Elijah soulmate fic that I couldn’t include because they either didn’t fit or needed to be form Klaus or Caroline’s pov. I think it would be helpful to read at least the first couple chapters of that for background, but basically at twelve people’s soulmate’s birthday shows up on their wrist.

Date of update: May 2 2021

Cloud 9: A Collection of Klaroline Fusions and Crossovers (Chapter 11)

Author: klarolineagainnaturally

Rating: G

Length: 5,597

Summary: Various fusions and crossovers with Klaus and Caroline including Much Ado About Nothing, Ready or Not, and Tangled!

Date of update: May 2 2021

The Big Bad Wolf (Chapter 8)

Author: MorningStarGirl666

Rating: T

Length: 58,507

Summary: He was the Big, Bad Wolf of this story, there was no doubt about that. But Caroline? She was the light to his darkness, the moon that shone brighter than even the stars in a sky of endless void. Like every wolf, he fell in love with the moon, and every month, he was destined to cry for a love he would never touch.

Date of update: May 2 2021

Destination Wedding (Chapter 5)

Author: PumpkinDoodles

Rating: T

Length: 10,294

Summary: The first rule of going to your ex's wedding is 'make sure you look good,' but Caroline's seriously worried that this British Guy is going to make her late. And she cannot be late to Rebekah Mikaelson and Matt Donovan's wedding at a Virginia winery.

Date of update: May 3 2021

We are young (Chapter 14)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: 16,153

Summary:  Basically, Klaroline flirt in front of their kids who they are barely older than, and Landon is appropriately confused.

Date of update: May 3 2021

Road to Ruin

Author: Cupcakemolotov

Rating: ?

Length: 2,122

Summary: Caroline comes home for Elena's funeral two years after she made out of Mystic Falls to NYU, and meets Klaus Mikaelson, one of the enigmatic brother's who claimed Elena as their own.

Date of update: May 3 2021

Time Heals All Wounds (Chapter 2)

Author: khaleesiofthewolves

Rating: ?

Length: 4,393

Summary: Does time really heals all wounds? Deeply scarred by his past, he would beg to differ. Klaus never thought the midnight shift at the hospital would change his life and yet it did. When a certain blonde is brought in with severe injuries, Klaus will learn that sometimes doctors need healing as well. Will their inner wounds and scars help them grow together or just tear them apart?

Date of update: May 3 2021

Caroline in Wonderland

Author: BelleMorte180

Rating: E

Length: 25,491

Summary: London, 1903 On the day of her wedding, a young boy collides into Caroline's legs, all but knocking her to the ground. Seeing that she is dreading walking down the aisle, any moment stalling her from heading to the church is welcome. However, when she follows the young boy down a London street, something impossible happens and Caroline finds herself in a magical world that she had been told about as a young child- Wonderland. She embarks on a journey through Wonderland to find out who she really is, where she belongs and towards a man who she had thought was nothing more than an imaginary friend.

Date of update: May 4 2021

A Bee A Tulip and a Meddlesome Sister

Author: KatherineBee1814

Rating: M

Length: 15,107

Summary: Newly arrived in London from Kent Lady Rebekah Mikaelson quickly catches the eye of infamous Rake and rouge Lord Anthony Bridgerton but Andromeda will be damned before she lets him marry her favourite sibling.

Date of update: May 4 2021

Soulmate visions (Chapter 6)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: 11,445

Summary: On your soulmate's eighteenth birthday, you see through their eyes for an hour, but they don’t know. And if your soulmate turns eighteen before you are even born, you never get a vision. Klaus gets his soulmate vision right after he orders Tyler to bite Caroline on her birthday….

Date of update: May 4 2021

White Winds Blow (Chapter 2)

Author: perfectpro

Rating: T

Length: 17,704

Summary: Caroline Forbes waits anxiously in the Riverlands to hear of the return of her betrothed, Elijah Mikaelson, from the uprising against the mad King Silas. Instead, a letter arrives from his younger brother, Lord Niklaus, telling her of Elijah's death and offering to uphold the joining of their houses himself. She will become the Lady of Winterfell, but Lord Niklaus, waiting at the heart tree, is a stranger.

Date of update: May 4 2021

later on, we'll conspire (Chapter 3)

Author: PumpkinDoodles

Rating: M

Length: 7,292

Summary: Caroline asks Klaus to choose her over revenge at the Winter Wonderland Party.

Date of update: May 5 2021

KC Drabbles 2021

Author: CandyCane1287

Rating: T

Length: 8,303

Summary: C1: Hybrid Klaus meets human Caroline earlier and they fall in love. But there’s more. Ps, Katherine didn’t turn Caroline and she’s still human. He used Elena for the sacrifice but Elijah revived her. He got Tyler to bite Caroline but Klaus healed her. Tyler and Caroline broke up cause he cheated on her and they weren’t that in love. A bit of talk of Damon, but doesn’t go into too much detail. I suck at summaries btw.

Date of update: May 5 2021

Revenge of the Fifth - TVD Edition

Author: kcatdino

Rating: M

Length: 4,057

Summary: A star wars AU for vampire dairies for May the Fourth Be with You! Caroline, Bonnie, and Elena are padawan learners at Luke Skywalker’s new Jedi training academy, desperate to prove themselves by taking down some of the new Sith Lords that have popped up. The problem is, those Sith Lords are the Mikaelsons, and each girl has a Mikaelson brother obsessed with them, unwilling to let them come to harm. Will that make it harder or easier for them to triumph over the Dark Side?

Date of update: May 6 2021

The Beach House (Chapter 2)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: M

Length: 3,812

Summary: When Rebekah blackmails Klaus into pretending to be her friend Caroline’s boyfriend for the weekend, he expects sand, sun, and horrible people who never left high school. And while Caroline’s friends may ‘suck’ (her term, not his), he increasingly enjoys the time he spends with the bubbly blonde. But nothing can happen, even while sharing a bed. Caroline might feel bad for dragging Klaus away from his infant daughter for the weekend, but the little intimacies and kisses for their performance build up and start to feel very real. And now she wants him bad. If only Rebekah hadn’t warned him off.

Date of update: May 5 2021

Author: VintageLilac

Rating: T

Length: 156,908

Summary: New York was home to the richest families in the in world. They were the elite and spent their days traveling the world, making money, and earning power. Although Manhattan wasn't just their home, it was their kingdom. Left with little parental supervision, no rules, and copious amounts of money, the infamous teenagers ran the city and as people say, long may they reign.

Date of update: May 6 2021

That Kind Of Power

Author: ThrowMeAStory

Rating: M

Length: 3,375

Summary: 4x16 au, Part 10. Caroline vs Elena.

Date of update: May 6 2021

Reasons Not to Date a Mikaelson (Chapter 5)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: 9,517

Summary: Bonnie and Caroline gain a new roommate for their freshman dorm when a vision leads them to tracking down a pregnant Hayley in the Rockies. Also, Bonnie may or may not have raised a certain dead Original instead of Jeremy and Klaus takes a job at Whitmore teaching, to be annoying. He’s very good at it.

Date of update: May 7 2021

LITTLE TENSE (Chapter 3)

Author: wincefish16

Rating: T

Length: 3,592

Summary: Klaroline's life together as they work in Mikaelson and co. Different snippets of their life.

Date of update: May 7 2021

FFN: The Exclusivity Clause (Chapter 3)

AO3: The Exclusivity Clause (Chapter 3)

Author: slstmaraudersjple

Rating: M

Length: 12,529

Summary: When Klaus receives a call that his soulmate has been found after searching for her for almost a century, he sets off to claim her before his enemies can harm her. But his soulmate is human this time around, innocent and irresistible, and his wolf wants nothing more than to mark her. Soulmates Reincarnation AU.

Date of update: May 1st

FFN: Louder Than Thunder (Chapter 39)

AO3: Louder Than Thunder (Chapter 17)

Author: khaleesiofthewolves

Rating: M

Length: 256,589

Summary: All Hell was about to break loose. After dying while protecting a grieving Klaus, Caroline finds herself sent back in time, and she's not who she once was. She's more. Back in Mystic Falls, something else is stirring. After the arrival of a mysterious figure from Klaus' past, it all comes to a head. It really is louder than thunder.

Date of update: May 3 2021

FFN: Caroline the Not So Teenage Witch

AO3: Caroline the Not So Teenage Witch (Chapter 15)

Author: klarolineagainnaturally

Rating: T

Length: 35,304

Summary: Continuing the drabble inspired by Sabrina the Teenage Witch, young witch Caroline Forbes must learn to live with her old flame turned cat. Antics ensue as they try to get along and fix what has been done.

Date of update: May 3 2021

FFN: A Beautiful Symmetry (Chapter 155)

AO3: A Beautiful Symmetry (Chapter 155)

Author: Uppity Bitch

Rating: M

Length: 419,840

Summary: A collection of random AU one-shots featuring Klaroline. Chapter 155: Part 2 — Fright Wedding. This is a sequel to Chapter 141: Fright Wedding. The alliance with the Mikaelson kingdom failed when they declared war, but Caroline was certain Klaus would be an excellent ally. Or hostage. Or possibly something more?

Date of update: May 3 2021

FFN: Royals of New York (Chapter 28)

AO3: Royals of New York (Chapter 27)

Author: VintageLilac

Rating: T

Length: 162,215

Summary: New York's royals spend their days traveling the world, making money, and earning power. With little parental supervision, no rules, and copious amounts of money, their children have New York as their own personal kingdom. May their reign be long and prosperous.

Date of update: May 6 2021

[artificialqueens]

as the sun dies (trixie x violet) - chapter 1 - fannyatrollop

A/N: This is a mad piece of historical fiction. Poor Trixie is Marie Antoinette, doomed Queen of France. Violet is her sister-in-law. Katya has a role I made up out of whole cloth, achieved by reviving dead historical figures so they would be around at the time, and pretending an unhappy royal couple could have given birth to a daughter at the right time for her to exist. The story is about them doing their best to be princesses in the palace of Versailles, while time floats slowly on to the French Revolution. Vixie are the beating heart of this fic, but Trixya will also exist in some form.

I have spent a lot of my free time reading royal histories, and though I mess with things severely to bring you this fic, I still stress a little about accuracy. Because the Hanover dynasty of Britain is one of my favourites, I decided that Trixie would be a British princess. The king in charge of her life at the time had a moment of OOC behaviour to make this possible. Maria Theresa of Austria found steaming mad. At least in this universe, the real Marie Antoinette had a chance to end up somewhere nice.

Also really wanna mention that the actual irl Comtesse de Provence as a hot, stinking mess when she got to France. I expected Violet to somehow be born with elegance and the ability to quickly figure out how to be the most fashionable lady in court. Also, because princesses often underwent name changes when they married into foreign courts… I call her Violette.

Trixie’s wedding would have taken place on 16 May 1770. Violet would show up at some point in the next year, so I’ll give you all of their ages as of September 1771 for reference: Trixie, 19; Violet, 18; Katya, 24. I try to keep track of when a significant time jump happens in the narrative, and hope it’s not too confusing. I’ll blab about titles and such next chapter.

CHAPTER ONE: Royal Parcels

Princess Caroline Beatrice of Great Britain, aged eighteen, has barely recovered from seasickness when she enters her new home. She’s never liked admitting to weakness, so rather than explaining her nausea as a symptom of nerves, she prefers to think she’s still carrying the effects of that horrible voyage inside of her. If she has it her way, she will never again set foot on a ship, not even if her life depends on it.

She knows that when a princess leaves her home country, she’s unlikely to return unless she is an unfit wife. When she was informed of her upcoming nuptials, she had promised herself to succeed on that front come hell or high water. Her marriage will be a success, even if it kills her. If she ever does end up on a boat home, she will be a failure, and if it’s like that she might as well leap off and let the sea have her. She doubts she’d be sent to the stocks for returning home a spurned woman, but she doesn’t want that to be the outcome of her life. Something about her marriage feels like a grand, cosmic test, and it’s in her nature to want to do well.

Trixie has no mind for politics. She can ride a horse. She can grow her own flowers, and keep a small garden alive tolerably well. She is a gifted musician, which is something she takes immense pride in. From the day she was born, her entire world has been confined to the house she was raised in, and the occasional sojourn to another royal residence for holidays. She’s incredibly green, but even so she is aware that hers is an unusual match. Her marriage is meant to crown the end to a long war with France—wedding bells to ring in a deeper friendship between the two nations. She would have expected to be shipped off to one of the German states instead, somewhere nice and Protestant, where her bridegroom might turn out to be a close relative. Her sisters had been established through alliances where at least one of these things was true.

For Trixie, marriage has simply been one of the three possible outcomes for her future, the other two being a tragic, early death, or spinsterhood. It doesn't bother her to be marrying the Dauphin of France, and though it surprises her, there’s no point in questioning the situation. When a princess is told she is to be married, she seldom has room to object. She still feels rather queasy about the whole thing, but she’s tried very hard to quell that feeling with positive affirmations.  

One day, I will be the Queen of France. There are worse fates, and it was never my choice where I wound up in life.

This cheerful mantra led her through her seasickness, through her dressing and undressing only moments after stepping foot on dry land, through the awkwardness of meeting her husband for the first time, not to mention her meeting with the King, and the first meal she shared with her new family. It has been with her as she feels the weight of history settling on her shoulders, the responsibility of finding her place in a new court when she scarcely has previous experience at her native court, and her knowledge that she’s not quite ready.

Admittedly, Trixie is a touch too sensitive, though she has learned to conceal it. Perhaps her mind has perceived more hostility in the people she has encountered thus far than she should have. Much of her energy has been expended in the service of performing as best as she can, while her lingering seasickness and compulsion to worry conspires against her. What she does know is that judging from their brief encounter, the Dauphin was not at all charmed by her. He could hardly meet her eye, even as he kissed her hand.

He’ll have to put up with her, nonetheless.

She breathes deeply, through her nose for greater discretion, as soon as she can make out the looming splendor of Versailles. She remembers that she was born to leave home and never return, that her most beloved sister bore it well enough when it was her time, and that another young woman was plucked from her home no less than seven years ago, to be her brother’s queen. Princess Caroline Beatrice, affectionately known as Trixie, has ceased to be; the girl in the carriage, desperately denying her fears, is the Dauphine of France. She should start referring to herself as such in her mind, and cast aside her childhood nickname. She won’t, but she will tell herself she ought to.

There is plenty of light, and nothing particularly foreboding about Versailles by design. Still, she feels a deep chill as she passes through its doors for the first time.

She toys with the ring on her finger, a gift from her mother. She’s not meant to have it anymore, had to hide it behind her teeth as she was stripped and outfitted with the trappings of a French princess, but she’s trying to derive as much comfort as possible from her little keepsake. Inscribed on the inside of the ring are words she believes were intended as a charm, one which she hopes will work: Bring me happiness.

***

Caroline Beatrice was born on August 23, 1751, approximately five months after the death of her father.

Whatever his faults as a person, and he was definitely seen almost exclusively through that lens by his own royal parents, Frederick, Prince of Wales was a caring, attentive father. He brought a liveliness to his household that contrasted starkly with the confinement in which the princess was brought up. As unfortunate as it was that she never knew him, for they would have likely gotten along rather well, it’s a small mercy that she was not able to compare the relatively bleak world she grew to know with brighter times.

The most crucial result of her isolated childhood was that when it came time for her to marry, her experience of life at court was minimal. Versailles, with all its formalities, would prove overwhelming for a sheltered girl who saw more of her native land on her way out of it than she had in all her life. The princess’ eldest brother, known to history as George III, had misgivings about the French marriage. He thought his sister unprepared for the challenge, yet it proceeded with his approval. Had he placed more faith in his gut feeling, things may have turned out differently.

George, though, had made a very aggressive push to broker a peace for a war that was bringing victory after victory to his country, engaging in political maneuvers that he found distasteful to put an end to a conflict that he saw as little more than a bloody drain on his coffers. How would it look if he made a fuss about garnishing that peace with a marriage, when both nations had suitable candidates on hand? His sister was of age, it was not unreasonable to assume she ought to marry; though she could be settled better elsewhere, with talks of marriage already underway and a hard-won end to a wasteful conflict it did not seem wise to imply that there were better potential matches for her.

He could not, at the time, have foreseen what would come of this marriage. No one could.

As it was, Caroline Beatrice was born in good health on a late summer’s day. She was named in honour of her grandmother, and would be said to resemble her physically later in life. It is probable that her resemblance to Queen Caroline helped to convince Louis XV of her suitability as a marriage candidate for his grandson: in her day, Queen Caroline was said to have the finest bosom in Europe, and Louis XV was a bosom enthusiast. The young princess’ portrait, coupled with a careful choice of words from an interested party, would have been enough to sway him…

***

In her defense, Trixie can say that the Dauphin was no more eager to fulfill his duties as a husband on their wedding night than she was. Sure, she was too busy agonizing over her performance at the official wedding ceremony to be of any assistance, but it’s not entirely her fault that nothing happened.

Her wedding gown had been an opulent confection made with cloth of silver, and covered in diamonds. The panniers on the hips added a significant amount of horizontal width to her silhouette, enough that she imagined she could comfortably seat a child on each hip with plenty of room to spare. She had very little experience with moving about in this sort of gown, and she could not easily overcome the fact that she’d noticeably stumbled the second she entered the cathedral. She wishes there was a way to go back and prevent that display from being the first impression some members of her court would surely have of her.

Even if she’d moved like an angel floating on a cloud, it would not make up for the fact that the bodice had been made far too small. There was no helping this by the time it was discovered, and she had to make do with a dress that gave the world a cheeky peek at her undergarments in the back.

Trixie and her husband were a match made in heaven on the dance floor. Trixie was technically competent in the art of dance, but contending with a gown that somehow managed to swallow her whole even as it was unable to fasten onto her body fully, she gave off the appearance of a badly conducted marionette. The Dauphin fared no better, and the young couple provided the court with an unintentionally comic first dance. Their bumbling performance in their first dance as man and wife likely acted as foreshadowing to their handling of the marriage bed.

A Dauphine has only one way to fully cement her position, and that is by providing her husband with an heir. If she can produce two, all the better. By the morning after Trixie’s wedding, her ability to achieve this simple task is cast into doubt. Shortly after her marriage, her brother’s queen gives birth to his seventh child. She dutifully writes a letter to congratulate him, all the while telling herself that she has no reason to be angry about it. If she tells herself that she will soon receive a similar letter, perhaps the universe will listen and make it so.

Despite her hopes, the situation remains dire for so long that a marriage for the Dauphin’s younger brother, the Comte de Provence, becomes paramount. In accordance to a long tradition of intermarriage between the royal families of France and Savoy, a Savoyard princess is sent for to be the new Comtesse de Provence. And so, less than a year from the time of her own marriage, Trixie gains some competition in the form of a sister in law.

***

Every day, Trixie must suffer the ritual of getting dressed in front of the whole world. It’s one of many daily tasks the Dauphine of France must undertake with an audience. She doubts she’ll ever get used to it.

Without a soul to confide in at court, she writes the contents of her mind to one of her sisters. She vents to Louisa, settled in Denmark, about the nonsense she dealt with every day of her life, and how she would not be surprised if it was suddenly decreed that she was not permitted to take a shit without being gawked at. Why, it would become the highest of privileges to wipe her ass for her after!

“I am certain,” she writes. “That there is scarcely a lady in this palace that has not had the privilege of seeing me in my most natural state. I sincerely hope it pleases them.”

The handing over of the chemise is a jealously guarded privilege that belongs to the highest ranking lady at the Dauphine’s dressing ceremony. This lady is apparently not obligated to arrive in time so that she may be present from the start of the ceremony onwards. What sometimes happens, then, is that as the social makeup of the room changes, the ceremony must adapt. If a parade of ladies, each grander than the one before, choose to drag their feet on the way to Trixie’s rooms, even if she’s caught with her arms outstretched, mere seconds from receiving her chemise, she must let it be passed about until the correct lady is able to hand it to her. It’s utterly ridiculous.

Initially, she gives the Comtesse the benefit of the doubt. She’s freshly arrived, so perhaps she wouldn’t know when it was time to assemble for her dressing. It may have also been news to her that, with them being so closely related, she could easily outrank every lady present upon arrival. Trixie knows how difficult it is to adapt, so she is willing to forgive.

Until she gets a look at her face.

The Comtesse is beautiful, with small, delicate features. Her nose is pointed down a little, but that does little to detract from the pleasing whole of her face. She’s a dark kind of beauty, striking enough that Trixie almost gasps. As comely as she is, the way the Comtesse smirks and locks eyes with Trixie sends an unpleasant chill down her spine. She knows full well that Trixie is standing there, completely exposed, shivering in front of all the ladies present and God. Yet she removes her gloves at an agonizingly slow pace.

By the time she deigns to hand Trixie her chemise, the Comtesse has already soured her day. Later, Trixie’s blood boils when she hears about her going around claiming the gloves were just too tight for quick removal.

A likely story!

Because Trixie habitually prefers to resolve conflict by stewing in her bitter juices for time immemorial, she does nothing in retaliation. The worst part is that she had hoped they’d be friends.

***

Maria Viola Giuseppina of Savoy, rechristened Marie Violette upon becoming Comtesse de Provence, is quick and bright, with an unreasonable level of self-assurance. As a princess from a relatively minor house, shuffled off to marry the current spare to the French throne, there is no reason for her to act so grand. But, despite the fact that she hadn’t been raised to be this way, Violette makes her way through the world as if seas ought to part for her.

Her mother, the quintessence of Spanish piety, always disapproved. She was taught to expect that her future would be dictated to her, and she ought to submit with grace, but Violette is not submissive by nature. And she never cared to cultivate that trait. There’s always been a hunger in her, a hunger for more than what she has. She wants to be exalted among women. Hell, even men.

At the rate things are going, whatever her fate had originally prescribed for her, she just might become Queen of France.

Violette has no personal quarrel with the Dauphine. They’ve hardly spoken, after all. It didn’t take long, though, for her to realize that she’s so lacking, the King had to send for reinforcements. She may have wound up here in time, but in a way she owes her current position to the Dauphine, and if she is not able to prove herself competent she may even owe her a crown.

Nobody has to know that her husband, being so grotesquely obese that he can barely walk unaided, is no more helpful in bringing about this glorious destiny than the hapless Dauphin. Only the promise of future greatness bids her to attempt her wifely duties, and all in vain.

Though no more capable, her husband still sees fit to needle his brother with constant, inaccurate boasts about the amount of activity their marriage bed sees over the course of a single day. So, Violette thought it might be fun to lay a small prank of her own on the Dauphine. She has to admit the look of impotent rage on the other girl’s face as she used the court’s own etiquette to tease her made her smile.

An unexpected gift arrives in the wake of her little stunt, to put a damper on her fun. The King’s sister in law, a former grand duchess of Russia now known to the French court as Madame, has presented her with a gorgeously embroidered pair of gloves.

There’s a note accompanying them, written in neat cursive: “I hope you find these more comfortable.”

Though a widow, Madame has been permitted to maintain the rank she held while her husband lived. As she remains closer in proximity to the current king, she outranks Violette. It may be true that the Dauphine also outranks her, but she does not see any wisdom in snubbing Madame. She can’t refuse her gift, as much as it irritates her to receive it.

***

Trixie wakes up with dread at the thought of seeing her sister in law so early in the day again. In the aftershock of the small slight she suffered, she has written a plaintive letter to Louisa, and a more witty letter to another one of her sisters, Augusta, to help ease her growing loneliness. The isolation of being a known disappointment to her new family is a tough patch of darkness to escape, though, even with all the solace she can find in writing to her sisters. She sees no need to trouble George, because she can’t imagine him providing her with the kind of sympathy she craves.

When it’s time to attend her dressing, Trixie senses a change in the room. The cause of it is soon attributed to a relation she has yet to see at the ceremony making her first appearance.

Madame had been pointed out to her at her wedding as her husband’s favourite aunt, the King’s one and only sister in law, and the second lady at court after herself. Trixie’s arrival, she was told, had demoted Madame from being the first lady at court, a rank she had held after the Dauphin’s mother had passed away. Already mortified by her inability to excel instantly at being Dauphine, Trixie had almost been compelled to apologize to her for this. Even so, in all their brief meetings, Trixie has not encountered even the smallest hint of hostility from Madame.

When they have the time to converse, it will be Madame who apologizes to her about not having attended to her sooner. She had been occupied in supporting her youngest step daughter as she made the choice to take the veil, and had retreated to another married step-daughter’s country home for a brief spell before returning to receive the Comtesse. By then, Trixie feels like there is nothing this woman needs to do to beg her forgiveness.

The Comtesse drags her feet on her way to her rooms once again, but it doesn’t matter. As long as Madame is there, the Comtesse’s arrival will not disturb the ceremony.

Madame smiles tenderly, and Trixie thinks she catches her winking as she hands over her chemise. Trixie feels like she is in the presence of an angel.

[iwillbeinmynest]

Too Young for This- Bucky x Reader(F) (Platonic)

Authors Notes: So, it feels like it’s been ages since I’ve written anything and I have had this request in my box for a while now. I re-read the request and inspiration hit me like a brick so, I sat down and did it. Hope it’s what you wanted, hun!

Request: @sireennotsiren  “hi!! i have a request for you! can i have a fic where the reader is a 14/15 year old kid and shes an avenger? and shes super op like shes invincible and strong and can teleport etc. but shes still this teenage kid? and shes on caps team in cacw and her n bucky just get along really well? nothing weird just good happy friends? and she gets him to open up and stuff? ik its a lot so no pressure, i just wanted to see it! thanks bb <3″

Word Count: almost 1.7K

Notes/Warnings: A little angst, awkward car rides, fluff, fighting, mentions of blood and injuries, scenes from Civil War, slightly altered scenes from Civil War but nothing that he avily changes the storyline.

  Steve leaned on the back of the bug beside Bucky. He followed Bucky’s gaze and took a deep breath. She was young, fourteen - no, fifteen, and already she fit right in with the team. She and Sam were running hand to hand combat drills in an empty field somewhere in Austria. Steve could tell Sam was trying hard to disguise how hard her hits were and he chuckled.

 Y/N had been on Tony’s radar for a while but Cap was able to convince her to help him out before Stark could get to her. She’d agreed eagerly, not having much to stay back for. She’d been living in an abandoned apartment in Kufstein trying her best to fight crime all over eastern Europe. She was making a difference but he could see the loneliness was taking its toll on her.

 “So,” Bucky sighed with a blank expression. “The kid.”

 “Yeah,” Steve replied in kind. “I think she’s a good fit.”

 “She’s young.” Buck stated the obvious. “Too young for this.”

 “Maybe. But she’s got a good heart, and she’s strong. She teleports, too.”

 “Teleports?” Bucky finally turned and faced the Captain. “Is that why I ran into her in Bucharest?”

 “Mhm.” He nodded, eyes forward.

 Bucky huffed a silent chuckle. “And here I thought we were the weirdest things out here.”

 “You haven’t met the rest of our help yet. You’ll love Wanda.” Steve offered a light grin. “Sam! Y/N!” He waved them over. “Breaks over, back in the car.”

 Y/N apparated right in front of Steve and he flinched slightly. “How much longer til Germany?” She almost whined.

 “A few more hours and no, you can’t just meet us there. It’s too long of a jump and I need you well rested. Come on, back seat again.” Steve opened the door and tilted his seat forward. Bucky crawled in first and Y/N shot Steve a look.

 “He hates me.” She whispered.

 “No he doesn’t.” He whispered back as he pushed her by the back of the head into the car.

 Six hours. They had all been crammed in that tiny bug for six hours.

 Sam and Steve had been discussing tactics and making phone calls to Clint and Wanda so, most of their time seemed to be well spent. But Bucky and Y/N well, they had a little less to discuss.

 “So…” Y/N avoided looking Bucky in the eyes even though his snapped to hers when she spoke. “Romania, huh?”

 “Yeah.” His voice scratchy and low.

 “Any particular reason?”

 “It was far away from DC.” He turned and looked out the window.

 Y/N nodded and resigned herself to the fact that small talk wasn’t in the cards.

 “Why were you in Kufstein?”

 His voice shocked her but she kept her composure. “I…don’t know.” Y/N chuckled lightly. “I guess I just wanted a fresh start.”

 Bucky sat on that answer with a heavy heart. He understood that.

 “My family,” Y/N volunteered more information than he’d asked for, for the sake of breaking the ice. “They had a hard time when they discovered what I could do.”

 Bucky caught her picking at her nails out of the corner of his eye. She was nervous. Why? Did he make her nervous or was it from talking about her family. He remained quiet as she went on.

 “My dad took it the hardest. He…well, he already had a temper and learning that his little girl wasn’t going to be the softball star he wanted didn’t go over well.”

 “Why can’t you play softball?” Bucky interrupted.

 “I can. He just didn’t think so. Said a freak can’t be a star player.” Y/N shook her head to rid herself of her fathers voice in her ears. “Anyways, they treated me differently after that. Everyone. I didn’t have anyone I could talk to so, I left. ‘Ported as many times as I could and then when I was too tired to jump again, I looked around and was in Austria. Figured that was far enough.”

 “How long did it take for you to learn the language?” Bucky asked, purposely not commenting on her family.

 “Umm, not long. Six months or so but that was just basic conversation. It took me even longer to read it and speak so that I didn’t sound like a tourist.”

 “How long have you been there?”

 “Three years.”

 “On your own? Aren’t you fourteen?” Bucky’s pitch was elevated slightly, his shock seeping its way into his voice.

 “Fifteen.”

 “Right.” Bucky took a deep breath. The car had fallen silent. Sam and Steve were obviously listening in. “Sorry.”

 “Its fine. I look young for my age.” Y/N voice was a little less ashamed, now, thanks to the change in subject.

 Bucky chuckled and Steve’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh.

 “What?” Y/N looked between them, confused.

 “You think you look young for your age?” Steve commented from the front seat.

 Then it dawned on her. If anyone looked young for their age it was the super-soldiers in the car. She grinned but stifled her laughter.

 “Look if it’s any consolation,” Sam piped in. “I think it’s pretty cool what you did for yourself. You pack a mean punch kid and I’ve taken hits from the grump next to you so, that’s saying something.”

 “No it’s not.” Bucky grumbled.

 “Knock it off.” Steve jumped in before Sam could defend himself with a rude comment about Bucky. “Starting to hit the city, the airport isn’t too far away.”

 Y/N straightened in her seat and Bucky noticed her tension. He waited until Sam and Steve had started up a new conversation before he asked her, “You okay?”

 “Yeah. Yeah I’m good.” She answered a little too quickly.

 “Look,” Bucky lowered his voice and spoke in Austrian. “I can’t say I know exactly what you went through but, I get it. I needed a new start too and Romania is where I landed. I’m sorry about your parents but know, that no matter what happens out there, I’ve got your back okay?”

 Y/N nodded lightly but firmly. Something in his tone, or maybe his eyes, told her he was being honest, which, according to Sam, was a rare thing. “And I’ve got yours.” Y/N paused and then looked Bucky in the eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

 “I guess so.” He replied skeptically.

 “When I ran into you in Bucharest, I was in a pretty tight spot. You could have kept walking but you didn’t. Why?

 Bucky swallowed and remembered that day. She had been in all black with a scarf tied over her nose and mouth. She had a pretty bad cut over her eye and the men she was fighting out numbered her, seven to one; even with her strength she was struggling.

 “Because,” He answered in Austrian again, he didn’t need Sam or Steve hearing this. “You were the type of person I wish I had been for the last eighty years. You were doing something good and even though you needed help you deserved to finish it on your own.”

 “So, you knocked out four men for me, a stranger.”

 “I suppose I was trying to do something right…to make up for the wrong.”

 “Did it help?”

 “Not as much as I needed it to.”

 Y/N nodded as Steve pulled into a parking space in the German airport garage.

 “Here we go.” She mumbled to herself.

 “Bucky!” Y/N shouted and teleported away from War Machine and as close to T’Challa as she could. She arrived in time to block a punch from the Black Panther, giving Bucky just enough time to get out of the way and ready for his next attack.

 T’Challa extended the claws on his suit and readied to strike at Bucky. Y/N ran and shoved Bucky out of the way taking the blow for him. When Bucky looked up form the ground where he’d landed, he saw Y/N bleeding from the four deep scratches on her face; one thankfully just missing her eye. Something snapped in Bucky and he went even harder at T’Challa causing him to double back to regroup.

 “Y/N!” He called as he scooped her up and took her behind a big storage crate. “You okay?” He asked panicked as he grabbed her face and checked her wounds to get the answer for himself.

 “Yeah, Bucky I’m-ow!” She winced as his finger brushed over the cut that went right by her eye.

 “You need to get out of here.” The urgency clear in his voice.

 “We need a diversion, something big.” Sam’s voice finally registered to the two and Steve hid behind a set of stairs across from them.

 “I’ve got something kinda big, but I can’t hold it very long.” Scott answered.

 “You need to get out first.” Y/N pushed out of his grasp and crouched on the ground beside Bucky.

 “Y/N-” Bucky needed her to be okay. She was just a kid and he wasn’t worth her getting hurt anymore.

 “Shut up, Barnes.” She snapped. He recognized the coldness in her voice. It wasn’t because she didn’t care it was because she did.

 “If I tear myself in half, don’t come back for me.” Scott finished.

 Bucky shook his head. “He’s gonna tear himself in half?” He asked Steve.

 “You sure about this, Scott?” Steve asked.

 Bucky turned to Y/N. “Whatever this signal is, you use it and teleport out of here, got it?”

 “You just worry about getting to that plane.” She nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

 Bucky inhaled to try and argue but the team heard Scott groan over the coms and they all stopped when a giant appeared before there eyes. Scott laughed in awe and held onto War Machine who now looked tiny in his grasp.

 “I guess that’s the signal.” Steve exhaled.

 “Go!” Y/N shouted. “Get to the plane!” She turned to fight but Bucky grabbed her arm.

 He looked at her hard.

 “Buck,” Steve said urgently his body twitching for the jet. “We gotta go.”

 “Now we’re even.” She smiled. “You deserve to finish this,” She quoted back to him. ”You’re just lucky enough that you don’t have to do it alone.” She glanced at Steve.

 “Buck.” Steve said louder.

 “Take care of yourself, kid.” Bucky let her go and took a few steps backwards towards Steve.

 “I always do.” She winked and in a flash, she was gone.

Forever Tags:

@heismyhunter @sgtbxckybxrnes @pickledmoon @whimsicalrebirth @marvel-lucy @thisisthelilith @james-bionic-barnes @thedreamingowl @poemwriter98@kimistry27 @annie-lujan @buckyandsebsinbin @lilasiannerd @gypsy-storm-15 @cassiopeiassky @earinafae @the-stuttering-kiwi @obsessedwithatwell @shortiiqt16 @shifutheshihtzu @elaacreditava @nikkitia7 @theonewithallthemilkshakes @gallifreyansass @storytellingwanderer @palaiasaurus64 @iamwarrenspeace @engineeringgirlcve @magnolia-wanders @carameldaemoncakes @canumoveyourseatup-no @melconnor2007 @movingonto-betterthings @spideytrxsh @fantasticmiraclehologram @kapolisradomthoughts @iamwarrenspeace @melconnor2007 @yesiamdeliciouslycaffeinated @mcu-avengerrs @archy3001@mmauricee @barnesvogue @feelmyroarrrr @beyondbarnes @marvelous-avengers @veronicalei @cornflax01 @kudosia @witchymarvelspacecase

[whoareurl]

Causing Chaos in Pyjamas - 00Q (1/9)

basically sen and galaxy enabled my attention whole ways so here is the beginning of my sick!Q fic which i’ll be crossposting from the forum from now on. but slowly so i don’t overwhelm ur dash omg.

-

Being Quartermaster to 007 was not an easy job at the best of times and this was certainly not the best of times. Today marked the first time Q had ever considered himself sick enough to stay home from work. With a fever above 102 degrees and a voice which begged for rest, Q had sent an encrypted email directly to M and had anxiously awaited the reply which came in the form of Moneypenny checking in to make sure he was, indeed, as ill as he had claimed to be. Satisfied with what she found, Moneypenny had left him to suffer.

Now, curled up in bed and swaddled in every blanket he owned, Q quietly wished for death to take him quickly. His temperature yoyo-ed between sweltering and shivering every few minutes and his sinuses ached with the pressure of his congestion. Honestly, though he prided himself on his vast vocabulary, there was only one word for how Q felt at that moment: shit.

Q’s least favourite thing about this wretched cold by far was the sneezing. He didn’t think he’d mind so much if they just behaved in the way sneezes normally do but these were horrendously stubborn and required a great deal of itchy impatience before they would expel themselves with a force which practically bent Q’s thin body in half (the way it was supposed to bend, of course - ie. forwards from the waist - as anything else would have been cause for concern). Though, he thought as his lungs hacked painfully in his chest, the coughing was probably second on the list of Q’s Least Favourite Cold Symptoms.

“Hhh...eHh…Oh for goodness sahhh…”

Grumbling quietly to himself, Q let out his breath and sniffled miserably, rubbing at his angry nose with his handkerchief. Q had always been partial to handkerchiefs. Though unsanitary, they reminded him of period dramas and Q, though he’d never admit it, was a sucker for period dramas.

Currently, he was watching - or trying to watch; curse this itch! - the 1995 BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice starring the ever beautiful Colin Firth. Oh, the things he would do to that man…

Q’s attention was drawn by a soft meow from beside him just in time to see his black and grey patched cat hop up onto the bed beside him. With a sigh, he reached out to run his hand over C-Sharp’s back, eliciting a small purr of pleasure. C-Sharp moved gracefully up his chest until she could rub the top of her head beneath Q’s chin. He smiled.

“Well,” he muttered hoarsely, running his hand over her back again and using his free hand to rub impatiently at his nose. “I’m glad at least one of us is functional.”

As if replying, C-Sharp gave another meow and hopped onto the pillow beside Q’s head, catching his nose with her tail as she did so. Now, Q certainly wasn’t allergic to cats but his poor nose was already unbearably sensitive and the soft touch was all he needed to tip him over the edge.

“Ehh! Hehtishhoo! Tish! Tsh! Tsshhu! Huh...hhtISHooo!”

Q gave his nose a rough blow into his handkerchief, collapsing back against the pillows, chest heaving with exhaustion. C-Sharp, unfazed by his fit, climbed back into his lap again. He sniffed thickly.

“Thanks,” he said, the congestion blatantly obvious in his voice now. He sighed, triggering a single cough with the threat of more burning in his chest. Today was definitely not a good day.

A sharp knock at the door startled Q from his hazy thoughts. Sleepily, he pushed C-Sharp off to the side and felt around for the remote, retrieving it from a disappearing into a pile of blanket folds, and put the television on pause before stumbling through the living room to the front door. It took his fumbling hands a moment to undo the latch and his brain was so muddled that he didn’t even think to glance at the security monitor on the table next to him before he opened it to reveal-

“Hello Q,” said Bond, flashing a winning smile before swanning into Q’s flat like he lived there.

It took the fevered Quartermaster a good few seconds to catch up. Regaining himself, he shut the door and turned to find Bond, hands in pockets with a smug smile on his face, eyebrows raised at the sight of Q’s red, kitten-covered pyjamas.

“007,” he said with all the dignity he could muster, well aware that his n’s sounded much more like d’s than usual. “What brings you here at-” he glanced at the clock. “Goodness, is it only 11am?”

Given that Q felt as though he’d been sick for at least a week now, he was quite disappointed to find out that he’d only been awake for six hours. Ignoring Q’s dismay, Bond cocked a half smile in his direction.

“I need your help,” he said and Q groaned internally.

“And here I was hoping you were here to wish me well.”

“It’s a cold, Q, you’re hardly dying,” Bond said with an air of exasperation about him. Q rolled his eyes - regretting it when it hurt - and thought about all the ways he could kill Bond to calm himself down. He could feel Bond’s eyes sliding up and down his body and might have flushed from the attention had he not been too exhausted to care about the blanket draped around his shoulders or the sodden handkerchief clutched tight in his other hand or his bare feet on the cold wooden floor.

He sighed. “What do you need?”

“Remember when you told me you could do more damage on your laptop sitting in your pyjamas before your first cup of Earl Grey than I could do in a year in the field?” Bond asked, picking up a pen from Q’s coffee table and examining it with interest. Q thought about telling him it exploded just for the fun of it.

“I recall.”

Bond smirked, looking Q up and down. “Were these the pyjamas you were talking about?”

Q shot him a withering look but he didn’t manage to hold the glare for very long because the ever-present tickle swelled in his nose and he brought up his handkerchief, holding it a few inches from his face while his breath hitched. His eyes watered, forcing themselves shut in response to his twitching nose. He took a deep breath. He almost had it…

“Bless you,” said Bond, just as the tension left Q’s body and the itch lessened until it was back to being just slightly too annoying to ignore.

Shooting a teary glare at Bond, Q sniffed and asked again, “What do you need?”

Bond grew serious, tucking he pen back into the holder - upside down! - and beginning to pace.

“There’s a drug cartel operating in northern Austria. They’ve been active for a while. I’ve tracked them down a few times but now we don’t have time for games.”

Q frowned. “Hostages?”

Bond nodded. “Refugees fleeing Syria following the crisis.”

Q closed his eyes. Hell. “How m-”

“200, probably more,” Bond cut in and something in his voice told Q he was much more disgusted than he let on. “Mostly women and children. Branded. Some already dead.”

Q swallowed thickly, the pressure building in his head again. Using refugees for free labour. It was times like this he was reminded why he got into the secret intelligence business and, as much as it would please him immensely to punch Bond hard in the face, he had to admit that his heart was in the right place. If Bond had a heart, of course. Q still had his money on Bond being an anomaly of science. Certainly, he’d survived several scrapes that should have killed him already - lacking a vital organ didn’t seem out of the question.

Feeling quite unable to stand anymore, Q lowered himself onto the sofa, leaving Bond to pace. Clearly, Bond had a plan or he’d never have come to Q in the first place. Though why on earth he hadn’t gone to M for assistance was a mystery to- oh.

“007,” Q asked weakly. “I’ve been absent for exactly six hours. Pray tell how you managed to get back onto M’s hitlist in that time.”

“Another story for another time, Q,” said Bond cockily and Q didn’t ask again. Truth be told, all this ‘being attentive’ nonsense was starting to make him a little dizzy.

Eyes closed and head resting against the back of the sofa, Q said wearily, “I’ll ask again. What do you need?”

Bond’s silence prompted Q to crack open one eye curiously and, for a moment, Bond looked at him with something like concern but it was gone before Q had a chance to analyse it.

“I need you to do some damage with that laptop,” he said and then smirked. “And look. You’re already in your pyjamas.”

Returning to his list of ways to murder Bond and hide the body, Q shakily stood, leaving his blanket behind, and went back to his bedroom to fetch his laptop. He had intended to bring it back to the living room but he turned to find Bond standing in his bedroom doorway, surveying the mess with barely disguised glee. Q could already tell he was never going to live this down. For someone so pedantic about the cleanliness of his office, he was currently living amid disorganised piles of books and papers.

Clearing his throat for Bond’s attention, he sat back down in his blanket structure (which could easily be classified a small fort) and fired up his laptop. Bond, somewhat awkwardly due to the obstacles, took to pacing Q’s small bedroom in a way which Q might have found infuriating had he had the energy.

After moments, Q turned the screen to show Bond the mugshot of a man with dark skin and a shaved head though his sideburns were still intact. He had a scar running past his nose, barely skimming the corner of his left eye. Q sniffed again, lifting the handkerchief to his nose as he spoke.

“The leader of the ring. I believe you’ve met?”

Bond frowned. “Indeed.”

“Couldn’t find his real name online. Whoever erased him from the internet certainly was thor-uhh’HEHchoo!” Q clamped his handkerchief over his nose, sighing in relief when the tickle eased somewhat. “Excuse me,” he said, just as Bond said, “Gesundheit.”

What had he been talking about? Goodness, this fever was making him slow. Oh. Of course.

“Known simply as B.D.” He finished, forcing the last two letters out before turning away to cough.

“Can you trace him?” Bond asked, earning a pointed look from Q which clearly said do you think I’m an idiot? Raising his arms in mock surrender, Bond turned away. “Just make it quick.”

Q sighed as he plugged the algorithm into his system, frowning when the screen went suddenly black. What? It was only when the red skull popped up in the middle of his screen that he realised he’d been hacked.

“Damn it!” He yelled, the strain tearing at his poor throat. With what little strength his anger brought him, he closed his laptop sharply and pitched forward, handkerchief forgotten.

“EhhtISHHoo! Ishh’hoo!”

“Q?” Bond’s voice demanded attention but Q couldn’t give it to him. He was too busy with-

“hhEHHISHOO!”

“Bless you,” Bond said but Q didn’t have his wits about him enough to appreciate that Bond had switched from his usual Gesundheit to a softer, gentler sound. When he glanced up, Bond was holding out a tissue which Q took gratefully and gave his nose a harsh blow, coughing slightly afterwards. He discarded the tissue in the wastepaper bin.

Bond cautiously crouched next to the bed, forcing Q to meet his eye. “What is it?”

“I- It’s my fault,” Q muttered eventually, feeling drained and defeated. “Someone hacked my system. I- I didn’t see it coming.”

Bond frowned. He looked for a moment like he wanted to say something - perhaps something comforting - but he didn’t. He just frowned and frowned until Q pushed himself shakily to his feet and stumbled back out into the living room. He righted the pen Bond had disturbed earlier and sighed, shivering in just his pyjamas.

“Did they get anything?”

Bond’s voice sounded far away but Q did his best to process it. Did who get anything? From where?

“Um, they- oh,” he began, which was really how he knew he was horribly ill. Q wasn’t one to muddle his words. “I can’t be sure.”

“Worst case scenario?” Bond asked, voice level.

Q sighed. “Locations.”

Bond swore quietly under his breath. “What are the chances?”

“I-” Q started, but stopped when his words caught in his throat.

“Tell me, Q!” Bond said impatiently. “What are the chances they got that information decrypted?”

Q closed his eyes, thinking. “Less than 1%,” he said, suddenly feeling very lightheaded. “If they have that information, they’ll have traced my address first. It’s part of the decryption. It’s tied to...hh...oh snf it’s t-tied to th-the GP-ehh-ehh’TSSHoo! the GPS.”

Q felt Bond’s hand on his arm, steadying him. He nodded his thanks and sat on the arm of the sofa.

“They have your address?” Bond said slowly.

“Possibly,” Q said, sounding much calmer than he felt. “We’ll know soon enough.”

Bond sprang into action then, pushing Q towards the door before he stopped, holding the very confused Quartermaster by the wrist.

“The rest of your equipment,” Bond said. “What have you got here?”

“Not much,” Q sniffled. “The computer systems will have been wiped when they detected the hack. Hard drive has backups.”

Bond was gone in an instant and Q found himself doubled over again, clutching his chest and coughing as he struggled to force air in and out of his lungs. He looked around blearily for his handkerchief but he honestly couldn’t remember when he’d last seen it. Was the room spinning or was he just dizzy? Forgetting completely about the possible impending danger, or perhaps just desperate to rest, Q started towards his bedroom only to be whirled around by Bond and dragged towards the door.

“Where-”

“Wait,” Bond interrupted, leaving Q shivering on the landing while he darted back inside, emerging with the blanket Q had brought to the door with him. Without wasting a moment - not even to explain - he wrapped it around Q’s shoulders and pushed him towards the staircase. “Come on,” he said briskly.

They had navigated only two flights when they heard a crash from above. Q stumbled over the last few steps and let Bond do the work as he was dragged towards the car, barely feeling the cold and damp of the ground outside in his hazy panic. The car revved into life, along with the pounding in Q’s head, and they were in the busy London traffic before Q could even coax out a particularly stubborn sneeze.

[cas-essence]

Rules: Always post the rules, answer the questions given to you, then write 10 questions of your own, and tag 10 other people.

Tagged by @gneisscastiel, @starsinursa and @magnificent-winged-beast Thank you so much for tagging me! This was fun! :)

(First I wanted to select three questions from each of you, but then I got into them and just decided to answer them all :D)

Questions by gneisscastiel:

1. What is your favorite rock or mineral?

Amethyst, because my mum wore it a lot when I was little

2. Have you ever seen the northern lights?

Yes, actually I have. When I flew back from the US to Germany, I had to change planes in Island at 4 am. I saw the northern lights from the plane window that night. Most beautiful flight I’ve ever experienced

3. Do you like cilantro?

I had to google what that means in German and no, I don’t. It’s one of the few herbs I don’t like

4. Favorite song that’s been used on Supernatural?

“Oh Death” by Jen Titus. Fun fact, I knew that song and that it was used in spn long before I started watching the show. It was ultimately what got me to watch.

5. What is one place you would like to visit before you die?

This is the hardest question of all of these. Traveling is my number 1 goal in live and there are so many places I’d like to visit. Picking “the one” is hard, but New Zealand is definitely up there.

6. Do you believe in a higher power?

I’m an agnostic, so … ultimately, I believe that good and evil originate in humanity and whether you justify one or the other by citing a higher power doesn’t make your actions less your own.

7. What are you afraid of?

Two things: The loss of the people that are most important to me and the loss of my ability to wholeheartedly enjoy live.

8. Favorite episode of Supernatural?

The Man who would be King (I already cried by the time Cas had finished his monologue before the titlecard.)

9. What color are Castiel’s wings?

What a great question!

I have about a thousand different headcanons concerning Cas’ wings, some of which actively contradict each other.

First, for anyone really into wings I’d recommend Northern Sparrow’s two-part fic “Forgotten” and “Flight” which feature some of the most well thought out wing headcanons I have ever seen. (Although by their hitcount I’m pretty sure the whole fandom must have read them by now and I don’t really need to rec them.)

I personally believe that if Castiel manifested his wings on earth, their color would be a seemingly plain, yet elegant mixture of greys, whites and blacks, because humans would not be able to perceive their true colors. Some animals, however, are able to see the different spectrums that are invisible to humans. (That’s why bees like Cas as much as he likes them ;) )

10. What was one of the meals you had today?

I had Pizza :D I wrote an exam today and after that I didn’t trust myself with cooking anything fancier than that.

Questions by Starsinursa:

1.What song would you choose as the theme-song for your life?

“Veitstanz” by Subway to Sally (I realize that most likely noboby knows either the band or the song ^^)

2. What’s an embarrassing story about you as a child?

Puh, I don’t remember much, even though I probably did a lot of embarrassing stuff. The only thing that comes to mind was when I was about eight years old and enthusiastically embraced a man in a shopping mall because I thought he was my father. He wasn’t.

3. What’s a hobby or skill that you want to learn?

I really want to learn how to play the harp.

4. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?

My mother once made roman snails for dinner and didn’t tell me until I ate them all. I must say, they didn’t taste half bad.

5. If you could pick your age, what age would you want to stay forever?

Gosh … none? Honestly, I wouldn’t want to stop ageing. Each age has it’s merits and drawbacks. Sure, right now I sometimes feel overwhelmed because I’m suddenly supposed to act like the adult I do not feel I am, but it’s not like being a child or teenager was always easy. So, I think I’ll stick to ageing.

6. What’s your least favorite household chore?

There is a reason none of my clothes are ever ironed …

7. Have you ever been told you look like someone famous, and if so, who?

Someone once told me I looked like Jennifer Lawrence :D

8. If you wrote an autobiography, what would the title be?

How to lead your life through trial and error – a comprehensive guide

9. What’s the meaning of your name?

Sophie –> wisdom

10. What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?

A few days ago, a relatively new friend told me that with me, they don’t feel that they have to pretend to be someone else. Since it took me so long to accept myself as who I am and not try to pretend to be someone I’m not to fit in, this means a lot to me.  

Questions by Magnificent-winged-beast:

1. Which are the most influential books over your lifetime?

Harry Potter – Those books were the first ones I read myself and to this day, I reread them at least once a year. Like so many others, they helped me through some very difficult times and when I didn’t know where to go, I could visit Hogwarts in my head. I don’t think there will ever be a fictional world that will influence me as much as these books have.

2. What your patronus will look like?

Well, on pottermore, I got the Marsh Harrier, which, according to Wikipedia, are “medium-sized raptors and the largest and broadest-winged harriers.” Before the test, I always hoped I’d have a bird as a patronus, so I’ll happily take this one.

3. Where do you think you will go when you die?

I honestly don’t presume to know that. I HOPE that we will be reborn when we die (Mostly due to the fact that I hope that, if we have souls, they will get more than one lifetime to learn and grow), but do I think that that is more likely than anything else? Not really.

4. How many times did you watch Supernatural entire series from the beginning to the last season?

Three times and since I only watched it for the first time a year ago, you can imagine how much time went into that over the last year. Also, I often rewatch random episodes when I feel like it.

5. Where is your Happy place?

In my mind? At Hogwarts

In real life? On a specific Mountain in Austria, where my grandparents and aunts and unlces build a cabin. There isn’t a more peaceful place in the world I can think of.

6. If it were possible, would you like for your consciousness be transfered in to an android after you die?

Um, no. Just no. As much as I love steam punk, I don’t think that would be a pleasant existence.

7. Do you believe in our Hot Over Lord Misha Collins?

I sacrifice a sock monkey each day at the altar I build for him out of old cereal boxes and plucked chicken feathers.

8. Do you prefer a Human!Cas or you wish Cas to keep his Grace and everything that makes him an angel when he comes back?

Tricky question. At the end of the day, I love Cas in every single form he takes and if they manage to write a believable arc for him I will accept both as his end-game. I also believe it is likely that when the show ends, Cas will choose to turn human or stay human, whichever it is by then. That being said, I don’t necessarily like that that is the case. I’ve never liked the shows narrative that Cas’ allegiance is somehow tied to what he is. He is obviously not happy with the angels (at least as a whole), but does that mean he is necessarily unhappy as an angel?

My problem is that current canon would suggest no, but sadly, I’m not too happy with that. Cas needs to accept himself and in my few, that means he should not have to sacrifice parts of himself, which his grace clearly is.  

9. Which song do you think could perfectly fit for the first kiss on screen of Dean and Cas?

Depends on the kind of kiss it turns out to be. If it’s Dean, about to rush into danger and thinking “To hell with it!” and kissing Cas sloppily on the mouth before running of, I’m voting for Highway to Hell. If it’s softer, if, for example, Cas and Dean are standing in the bunker kitchen and Dean is trying to convince Cas not to leave again and so he kisses him, gently and pleadingly, then I’d like it to be an acoustic guitar version of “You are my sunshine��.

10. Tell me about a recurrent dream that makes you happy.

I honestly don’t have any reoccurring dreams. Sorry

My Questions:

1. Who is the most important person in your life?

2. What was your least favourite subject in school?

3. If you could trade places with anyone on earth for one day, who would it be?

4. How did you discover Supernatural and why did you decide to watch it?

5. Who was your role model growing up?

6. Are there any local legends or myths where you live and if so what are they about?

7. If you could abolish one thing that happened on Supernatural from it’s canon what would it be?

8. What do you do on weekends to relax after a particularly stressful week?

9. Is there a headcanon about Supernatural you have never shared on tumblr?

10. The Quote you want to be remembered by:

I’ll try not to tag people who were already tagged by the people who tagged me. If I missed someone I apologize. :)

@fangirlingtodeath513 @babybluecas @winchdean @destielonfire @aini-nufire @teachercastiel @huggy-bears @teamfrwill @saltrounds-and-hellhounds @lunaroceanic

[lithugraph]

I was tagged by gummyboots for another one of those writing things ;)

Fanfic Asks!

Why/how did you get into fanfiction?

Um, this is kind of a two part story -- and the first part is...kinda weird?

So, how did I get into fanfiction?  My mom.  I know.  I know.  She is a complete otaku, in the American sense of the word. She had/has a Livejournal (remember that ol’ thing?) account way before I did and would go on and on about fic writing and ideas and stuff -- and I had no idea what she was talking about.  It made me think fanfiction was a  thing only for manga/anime lovers...until a little movie called “District 9″ happened, which quickly became my favorite movie, hands down (and probably still ranks among top ten).  Okay, I was obsessed.  There was still so much story left to tell.  I was foaming at the mouth for a sequel.  Hell, I woulda written the darn thing -- I had so many stories I wanted to write about it.   I remembered my mom talking about Livejournal, and decided to see if it wasn’t just something for otakus, and found a whole community dedicated to D9!  I was in heaven!  Of course, I didn’t start writing anything, then.  This was before I developed my hard outer skin and I was very much intimidated by the idea something so personal, something I had written, would be so readily available for people to read and critique and (heaven forbid) hate!  But of course that eventually changed ;).   So.  Yeah.  That’s how I got into fanfiction -- my mom and a movie called “District 9.” Why did you get into writing? Pretty much for what I said above: there are just too many stories to tell. How long have you been writing? Fanfiction: 7 years

Everything else: since I was like 8 Do you think you’re a good writer? Compared to who or what?  Any type of artist -- writer, musician, designer, etc. -- has a tendency to look at their work with too critical a lens IMO. Do you think you’ve improved? Yes.  There’s a reason they call writing an exercise -- because it is!  You can’t expect to chop through a block of wood your first karate class or pull off a perfectly balanced Vriksasana yoga pose your first day.  These things take practice.  All form of exercise does -- including writing.  I can definitely tell when I haven’t written or read anything in awhile because my brain can’t words. Name one thing that helps you write Music.  And running.  And sometimes those two combined -- listening to music while running. Have you ever gotten hate related to fics? Surprisingly no.  I’ve been told I’m intimidating in real life (not sure if it’s the height thing, or guys can’t handle chicks who speak their mind or what), so I like to think my intimidation carries through to my fic as well, lol! Fanfiction or books? Depends on my mood.  If I feel like a quick read, then fanfiction.  But if I want to get utterly lost in a world and forget reality exists for five hours, then books. Do you want to professionally write? If not, what would you like to do/what do you do? I used to dream of being a professional writer when I was younger, and even still have a rough draft of the first few chapters of my space opera floating around on one of my thumb drives, as well as a Frankenstein-esque gothic story, and my one where robots become self-aware.

As of right now, however, I have a job title that sounds important and fancy and has absolutely nothing to do with what I really do, so....but I earn enough to be able to pay for my tuition, so there’s that. Have you ever been published professionally? I had a poem published in one of those coffee table book things that only the people who submitted the poems buys, does that count? What is your favorite story/ies you’ve written? ”In the Lion’s Den” and “You and Me and the Bottle Makes Three” will probably always be my favorites. Why is it/are they your favorite(s)? ”You and Me....” because of the atmosphere -- and for being one of my first ever fics, I think it was pretty damn good!

”In the Lion’s Den” because (and I’ve said this a hundred times, but it’s still true) it was an experiment with narration and a very stripped down tone -- no super flowery language, written very it. just. is. -- and I just feel it came together so well. What is your least favorite story/ies you’ve written? Ooooh, gosh...do I have to name them all?  Haha, just kidding.  But seriously...looking back at my earlier fic makes me want to cringe because it was super self-indulgent, but at the time, I think I needed it?  Why is/are they your least favorite(s)? *see above* What is something you expect from a fanfiction? Um, I really don’t expect anything?  But if a fic gives me new perception of a character I hadn’t thought much of, then bonus!  This one’s a good example: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8092521/1/What-Are-Little-Boys-Made-Of How do you feel about troll fics? ...I don’t even know what a troll is, so........ What is your favorite writing style? Several:

-Stream of consciousness (T.S. Eliot, FTW!)

-Second person narrative -- ever since I wrote “In the Lion’s Den” I’ve found it difficult to write anything else.

-that really atmospheric prose that is almost like poetry (I can’t write it and keep it up for a whole story -- I max out at, like, a paragraph -- but I deeply deeply admire it)

Do you write things for the sake of popularity? Hell’s to the no.  What’s the fun in that? Do you think fanfiction is a good way to get into writing? I think it’s good practice. What is something you like about the fanfiction world? Talking about characterization with other writers and finding out what made them write a particular story. What is something you dislike about the fanfiction world? How cliquey it can be. What is a pairing you’re currently shipping? America/Austria (pfft! there’s no shame in my game!) What is something canon you’ll never ship? Harry/Ginny.  Why?  Just...why?  You mean to tell me, after all those years after Hogwarts, he still had a thing for his best friend’s sister?  You mean to tell me he never tested the waters, so to speak?  It’s just one thing that’s always bothered me.  Like, Ginny went through this transformation her fourth year and suddenly becomes the coolest chick in Gryffindor tower and Harry starts to notice her -- Ginny, the cool chick, instead of the shy/awkward version we had in the first four books.  What is something fanon you’ll never ship? GerIta.  It’s cute, it’s adorable, it’s what got me into shipping in the first place, but I just...can’t.  I can’t ship it outright.  To me it’ll always be a one-sided, mixed emotions/signals type of thing.

Also PruCan.  What is this even? In conclusion: Any writing advice? Read all the rules then break ‘em.  The mechanics of writing (grammar, punctuation, etc)  can be helpful...but they can also put a block on your flow (wait...how many sentences do I need for a paragraph again?)  The best kind of writing happens when you’re not thinking about it and are just doing it.

I tag (and you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to): @niniel-kirkland

[inthenighthours]

This is for @comtessedebussy​

Written on a mobile keyboard and only slightly edited, as usual. A rough draft of a scene that may or may not make it into a fic. Feel free to read but you’re not getting any context. Ha.  

(Jack:) “Thomas! You haven’t spoken to me since you said you were going to break into the house, I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere. Holy shit, Thomas - ” he paused and looked over to James. “Thomas, are you alright? what's going on?”

“It’s alright, we’re getting breakfast,” Thomas answered. “But, you broke into his house?” he asked, confused. “Wait, did you spend the night? Thomas-” “Well, yes. It’s complicated,” Thomas answered. “When is it not with you? Of course, you two know each other,” Jack exclaimed. James raised an eyebrow. “Hey Jack, what’s going on.” Charles Vance appeared out of the restaurant, then focused on James and Thomas. “Oh. It’s you.” “Charles, I’m sure you know James McQueen and Thomas Harper. It appears they know each other,” Jack informed him. “Yes, I remember McQueen.” Charles stared at James. “Never got the chance to thank you for that Spanish gold find. You left so quickly.” They both paused, staring, and Thomas raised an eyebrow.   “Wait, Spanish gold? Are you two hunting Flint’s treasure together?” Jack interrupted, turning to Thomas. “Didn’t those guys get Captain Flint’s treasure? Isn’t that how the story goes?” “Apparently,” Charles responds. “There was more left even after that. Though who knows how many times that story was retold.” “So it could still be out there?” Jack asked. Charles shrugged in response. “Given all the inaccuracies in that children's tale, which is likely far from the truth of the matter,” James began, finally speaking, the anger in his voice evident. “There is no telling what the real story is, and whether John Silver ever knew where that treasure was buried. Besides, that treasure, wherever it may be now, has never brought anyone anything but pain.” “The madman here has a point, if all the stories about that cursed gold I've heard are at all true, it's best if we leave it alone,” Charles added. “What stories?” Jack asked. “Well, to start, no one does know what became of Flint, perhaps these two do but it’s not public knowledge. Some say he died there on the island with the gold and never told anyone where it was. His ghost roams the island and haunts anyone who even considers searching for the gold, driving them mad.” James shot him a look, but Charles continued anyway. “Then of course there's the curse. Again no one knows what truly happened or if the gold is just at the bottom of the ocean, the tales have been passed on from pirates to merchants and fishermen and onto their children, getting twisted in the process. Some say that anyone who touched or handled that gold was doomed to die a terrible death, or even a thousand deaths, while others say they'd never die. None of which makes sense, but the story is that there is a curse and that one pirate film was based on those stories.” “Really? A curse, Huh. I guess that explains these two,” Jack said. “Never thought you were one to believe in that stuff, Charles.” “Well, I know my treasure. Look at it this way, everyone who handled that gold at one point or another, directly or indirectly, died before their time. Charles Vane and calico Jack hung, Anne Bonny having to disappear into obscurity. Eleanor Guthrie dead and forgotten by history like Max, who Thomas here wrote of who we don't even had a full name for! Flint’s crew was killed almost in entirety, Flint himself disappeared completely and maybe he was the one who started the curse, he was rumoured to have been married to a witch-” “He had a boyfriend, if what little Thomas has told me about his research is true. Perhaps he was the reason for everything,” Jack interrupted. “Well perhaps he had both,” Thomas added. He smiled at James, but Thomas could tell this conversation wasn’t doing him any good.

“Does it matter? All those stories, retold many times, twisted and distorted to fit a narrative,” James said sternly. “Bedtime stories, meant to frighten children,” he added, trying to calm his tone.   “So then the gold is worth looking for?” Jack asked, his eyes lighting up. “Certainly not. That gold, if it does exist, should stay firmly in the ground and never be touched. Too much blood was spilled over it.” James replied.

“Well I imagine these two know more of the story than I do.”  Charles adds, trying to avoid James’ rage. “It might be an interested no thing to look into, perhaps either of you might want to—” Charles began then stopped at James gaze. It was clear that this topic would move no further, and Thomas was relieved. “Come on Charles, looks like he's claimed that treasure for himself, no way anyone's finding that island.” Jack walked further away but Charles stayed put.

“Thomas,” he began. “How would you feel about going out on a dig sometime? I could always use someone with your attention to detail on my team.”

“Oh, that would be interesting,” Thomas replied. “And I see you’ve read my book.” Thomas hadn’t pegged Charles Vance, treasure hunter, to be one for reading, yet he got through Thomas’ book in four days.

“Yes, Jack had it lying around, it was fascinating. I'll be in Austria excavating a Roman camp this fall. They say Marcus Aurelius wrote parts of his books there.” He started searching his jacket pocket, pulling out a small case. “Here, my card, give me a call if you'd like to join.” He handed it to Thomas. “You too, by the way.” He glanced over to James.

“Well, I’m flattered. I’ll have to make sure I’m not teaching a class.” Thomas put the card away. He tried not to seem to excited, but he’s always wanted to see some ruins, but never had the time or money to travel.  

“So tell me you really broke into his house? Twice?” Charles asked, motioning towards James. “I did.” Thomas responded, drawing his attention back to his concern for James. “I'm impressed, I've climb into tombs and some supposedly cursed ancient burial grounds and yet that's one place I'd stay away from.” He cast a sideways glance at James. “So tell me, what do you have over him, a writer and you're not in the slightest scared of James fucking McQueen.” “Well I am taller than him.” Thomas smiled. They both laugh, but Thomas looks over to James who was waiting patiently with a neutral expression across his face.

“I am curious, what was it that you two found? Must have been some adventure,” Thomas asked Charles. “Mostly an awful lot of fighting and running through rain and swamps to find some stolen gold. Then this guy here didn't even want to keep a penny of the gold for himself. Perhaps he thought it was cursed after all, you'll have to ask him about it.” Charles nods over to James. “Otherwise, I'm afraid there's some other details McQueen might not like me to share.” Thomas raised an eyebrow and looked back at James. He could see the anger start to show on his lover’s face.

“I did learn one important thing though, that there are in fact some things that James McQueen is afraid of,” Vane continued, a smug grin forming on his face.

“Fuck you Charles,” James walked forward to stand beside Thomas.

“Hey, you can, if you’d like. The offer still stands,” Vane teased.

Suddenly Thomas realized exactly what had happened between them. He considered for a moment that perhaps he was still asleep in his Savannah hotel room right now and this was all some sort of dream. Then again he didn’t think he could have dreamed up this exact combination of events.

“Am I right to assume-” Thomas stares at the two of them, finding himself at a loss for words, something that never happens. “You two? Really?” He switches his gaze between them, Charles grinning and James looking furious, already standing defensively, ready to fight.

“If I left not I don’t know if you two are gonna fuck or kill each other!” Thomas walked over to James, putting a hand on his shoulder. He felt James ease slightly at the touch, relaxing his posture just a bit.

“Hey, you’re welcomed to join, if you think we need supervision,” Charles responded.

“Enough,” was all James said.

“Well, I have breakfast plans of my own to get to,” Charles said, turning towards the cafe Jack had disappeared into earlier. “Do call me, Thomas.”

[lithugraph]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers (◠‿◠✿)

Oh my…I am both flattered and nervous!  Self-promotion is not my strong suit xD, but I’ll give it a shot.  Thanks, @niniel-kirkland, for tagging me!

1.) In the Lion’s Den :  This one is very special to me and will probably always be a perennial favorite.  Set during the Cold War in East Berlin, this was an experiment through and through, and I think I got it just right?  Yes, there are some things I wish I had done a bit differently, but I think we all look at our work with too critical of an eye sometimes.  I wrote this over a very intense three days.  It all started with me being bored one day at work and exploring Berlin on Google Earth.  I came across the infamous Stasi prison Hohenschoenhausen and photos tourists had posted of it, and the story began writing itself in my head.  I chose second person POV after coming across a book in a bookstore written the same way.  It seemed like an interesting idea – little did I know that in fandom, second person POVs are typically reader inserts.  This is not that.  It’s told form Gilbert’s perspective.  I wanted to focus on his experience and to limit how much the reader knew to further add to the feeling of helpless/hopelessness.

2.) You and Me and the Bottle Makes Three :  This was my first ever Pru/Aus fic!  And one of the first fics I ever wrote (that isn’t cringe-worthy!)  It’s not quite World War 2.  Austria is wondering if he’s not made a mistake and Prussia is already done with his brother’s new ideas.  Banned jazz music and flat beer, a game of pool and waltzing ‘til dawn.  This fic was translated to German by the lovely @katemarley

3.) Stille Nacht : Another fic set in World War 2.  What can I say, it’s my favorite historical time period.  In the Hetalia fandom, Ludwig is typically portrayed as a strict task-master.  I wanted to explore the idea of him being younger and naive, learning the hard lessons that always come with war.  Even though he isn’t on the battlefield, he still must face his own delusions. 

4.) Ostpolitik :  German bros fic set in the middle of the Cold War (again, another favorite time period of mine, in case you couldn’t tell ;)  ).  Ludwig/West Germany and Gilbert/East Germany have not spoken for a long time.  Deals with the signing of the Basic Treaty.  Also, Russia makes an appearance – and I just really like his characterization in this, okay?

5.) Lost Generation / Contrapasso :  Admittedly not my best writing by far, but an experiment in world-building – one I can’t seem to escape (not that I’m complaining.)  I have fun every time I visit this world, despite the feels.  Follows the characters through Weimar era Germany up to World War 2 and after.