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cotncandyboifics · 4 years ago

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A Lovely Night: Chapter 2

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~2k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating,(will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: kissing, swearing, subtle s-xual innuendo, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: this is the starring role chapter! If that makes sense... after this I'm kind of making up the plot stream-of-consciousness style. I'm pretty excited to get CH 5 out.

...

Virgil knew this whole thing was a mistake.

Roman had practically begged him to break out his skirt, fishnet, and heels. He'd only just bought them, and Roman was entirely too enticed by the idea of his boyfriend wearing them. He was very nervous - he'd never worn heels before, and never a skirt out in public - but he just couldn't bring himself to say no to his love.

And so, here he stood, leaning on the railing over a valley as the sun began reaching to kiss the horizon. He'd worn his favorite ripped crop top and leather jacket, fishnets reaching across his exposed navel, down beneath his plaid purple skirt and all the way into the black high heels he wore. He'd done his makeup a little nicer than usual, winging his eyeliner and getting a bit of purple sparkles in with his eyeshadow. his hair curled and twined haphazardly over his forehead and eyes as he watched lights of houses in the valley flicker on.

This was meant to be a special date, just Janus, Roman and Virgil. Roman had planned it, and kept the events a complete secret to both his boyfriends, simply telling them when and where to meet him. Virgil checked his phone; it was two minutes to seven, the agreed upon time. Virgil tended to arrive early to most things, since he was usually anxious that he'd be late even when getting a 30 minute head start. He passed his phone between his hands, the screen flickering on when his thumb accidentally tapped it, and a picture of Roman kissing a smirking Janus on the cheek greeted him. He felt his cheeks heat up, and slid his phone back into his pocket.

A clicking noise sounded from a little ways away, and Virgil turned to seek its source.

Janus was walking up, the heels of his black and white dress shoes clicking on the pavement. He wore a black wool suit with golden accents, a red dress shirt with subtle frills and a black bowtie. On his head rested his favorite bowler hat, concealing the majority of his golden curls - some of which escaped anyway, tucked neatly against his forehead and over his ears. He smirked and bowed as he approached Virgil, dipping his head and holding one golden gloved hand fisted tight against the small of his own back. Virgil scoffed and shoved his shoulder, and Janus stumbled a bit, snickering back.

Janus joined Virgil at the railing, looking out at the valley and the setting sun. They stood in a comfortable silence for a while, Virgil needing to consistently will himself not to rest his head on Janus' shoulder that was painfully close but felt so far.

After long enough, Janus cleared his throat. "Where might our dear prince be?" He ran his fingers down the underside of one of his lapels, not yet tearing his gaze from the pink clouds surrounding the sunset. Virgil opted to check his phone.

"Uh..." He couldn't form the words, so he simply presented his phone to Janus. A single text had come through.

Romano<3 Hey babe, I'm running kinda late. Why don't you and Jannie entertain each other until I get there? Sorry. Love you <3<3<3

Janus hummed, eyebrows raised. "Well it appears we're stuck with each other for the time being." He smirked slightly, and Virgil scoffed, bumping shoulders with him.

"What a waste," Virgil mused under his breath after a few more minutes of them staring out at the sunset together.

"Ah..." Janus glanced at Virgil briefly. "Such a shame. What a lovely view. It's practically hand drawn for a couple." He sighed, a little too dramatically, and Virgil furrowed his brow at him. "If only Roman were here. Unfortunately, you're not really my type, darling."

"Really." Virgil spat, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

"Alas it's only you and I," Janus continued, leaning slightly closer to Virgil, "and frankly, we've got no chemistry whatsoever."

"Ah, okay snakey." Virgil bit back, not daring to look at the smirk he was sure was playing on Janus' face. "I think I can make that call, huh? Just because you look all pretty in that polyester suit doesn't-"

"It's wool," Janus interjected in annoyance. Although after a moment he gasped slightly, turning to Virgil fully. "Wait a moment! Did you just call me pretty, Charlie Frown?" He leaned a little too close, and Virgil scrunched his nose, leaning away slightly.

"Stealing Ro's nicknames for me doesn't make you creative," Virgil deflected, smirking right back at Janus.

"Mmm, perhaps not," Janus leaned away, seemingly examining his fingernails through his gloves.

"And for the record, I'm also feeling no chemistry."

"Is that so?" Janus' attention was back on Virgil, and their eyes locked in an intense and silent battle. Virgil wouldn't back down, just as he never had before, but this time he wasn't sure what he was trying to prove. He straightened his posture, making his chest puff out slightly. Even if Janus was taller than him, he wouldn't shy away from a confidence contest. No, not even if his crush was literally looming over him, not even if he could swear he just saw Janus' eyes flick to his lips for an imperceptible millisecond.

"Yeah. It is." He leaned his head forward, almost bumping his forehead on Janus'. Had he ever seen Janus' face so red?

"So you agree, then," Janus spoke, voice ever so slightly unsteady, but he didn't dare back down. Even if he was nose to nose with a boy he was in love with.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Virgil scrunched his nose again. This time, when Janus' eyes flicked to his lips, it wasn't deniable. He watched it happen, clear as day.

And so, he took a chance.

He took one step forward, not moving his head at all but nearly pushing his body against Janus'. Janus responded in kind, taking a step forward as well, and they were chest to chest. Virgil reached up and gripped Janus' lapels. They were impressively soft, and Virgil realized Janus hadn't just been bragging; it was in fact a wool suit. Janus' hands came to Virgil's hips. Virgil pressed their foreheads together, and didn't dare look away from Janus' eyes. They both breathed on each other, caught up in the heat of the moment without even needing to move with each other.

They'd both been waiting for this for so long.

Slowly, Janus' arms wrapped around Virgil's waist, and Virgil tilted his jaw up slightly. Janus met him halfway, immediately initiating a passionate, openmouthed kiss. Virgil's arms wrapped around Janus' neck, and Janus held him as close against himself as he physically could.

Virgil's mind was exploding, and so was Janus'. Neither of them could believe that this was really real. But they were both too afraid to break the kiss to make sure that it was, so they just kept kissing.

Hands wandered as they did, and Virgil had his arms wrapped beneath Janus' and around his back, both of them pulling each other against themselves as snugly as they could. Neither could get enough of this feeling they'd been chasing for so many years, and the fact that it had all culminated into this moment felt intoxicating in a way neither could describe.

Eventually things slowed down, and they went from lovingly tongue battling to trading gentle slow pecks, both of them smiling stupidly as they rested their foreheads together once more.

Janus opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted. "I genuinely thought you two weren't going to stop kissing for a minute there. Jeez."

Janus gasped and Virgil yelped, both of them jumping about a foot in the air and a foot away from each other. Roman, who was sitting on the bench next to them, broke out in laughter.

"Ro you can't sneak up on us like that, man!" Virgil wheezed out though labored breaths, as he tried to calm himself. Janus just stood straight as a pencil with his hands pressed into his face.

After long enough, Roman caught his breath, but he was still smiling so big at his boyfriends. They both looked between Roman and each other, trying desperately to probe the situation without moving a muscle.

Roman brought his hands to his face, fingers curled into happy fists. "Do you know how happy it makes me that you two finally realized?" Roman practically squealed, and if it were even possible, Virgil's face went even redder. Janus collected himself, and cleared his throat.

"Well hello, Roman." He opened his mouth to say more, but the words wouldn't come. He kept glancing to Virgil, who had taken to staring at the floor.

Roman looked between the two of them for a moment. "Oh you big buffoons. Talking always has been hard for the two of you, huh? Come here, my loves." He patted the bench on either side of him, and his boyfriends came at his call, settling in with their thighs against Roman's. "Now hmm, how should we start... I suppose you can fill me in on what I missed?" he looked between them. "Surely you didn't simply see each other in your lovely-" Roman made a point to look Virgil up and down slowly, "-outfits," And Janus as well, "And just decide to attach at the lips immediately? That sounds like something I'd do, more so than either of you." Janus chuckled, and kissed Roman's cheek.

"Well, snakey here decided to make a deal about how pretty the sunset was. And how it was so romantic and all that. And how it was a waste that-" Virgil's snarky explanation was cut off.

"Excuse me, I started it? No no no Virgie," Janus smirked as Virgil's eyes widened at the nickname, "You were the first to make a sly comment about the waste of a romantic view."

"You tell Ro then, if you think you know so much better." Virgil crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his tongue out at Janus, who hummed a laugh.

"Alright. Well," His smirk was lost then, and he took to adjusting his gloves. "I then made a comment about the lack of chemistry between us, and... And I think Virgie said something about me being pretty," His smirk was no longer lost, and Virgil rolled his eyes to try and distract himself from his heart racing in his chest. "And... I'm not sure. We got... lost in the moment." Janus smiled then. A genuine smile. It was such a rare sight (as Roman and Virgil often commented to each other) that Roman nudged Virgil's shoulder so he'd look up to see it too. They both gaped at Janus happily for a few moments, before Janus cleared his throat. "So I suppose then that in the end, I was correct that you find me pretty, Virgil?"

Virgil choked on air for a moment. "Sure, yeah, whatever," He spoke under his breath, "but you were also wrong about the chemistry thing. So suck it." Virgil gave him a challenging grin.

"Ayo!" Roman snickered at the innuendo, and Virgil and Janus both rolled their eyes at him.

"But darling," Janus ignored Roman for a moment, and Virgil swore his chest would explode if Janus kept using pet names for him, "You so strongly agreed that there was no chemistry to be found between us, and yet." He held his hands out, gesturing to their circumstances and smirking yet again.

"Oh shut up pretty boy," Virgil growled in annoyance, reaching across Roman's lap and pulling Janus by the cheeks into another kiss.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #ts virgil #ts roman #ts janus #janus sanders #roman sanders #anxceit #anaroceit #roceit #prinxiety #a lovely night #romantic no?

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coffeesuperhero · 4 years ago

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leverage fic recs

So, I needed a better organizational system than my AO3 bookmarks (boy do I miss delicious!), so I’m just going to start a post for myself here and reblog it occasionally as I add to it. Most (all?) of these are OT3 fics, because I am who I am and I read what I read. If you want non-OT3 fic recs, I am not your person. Probably you have read these, but if you haven’t, what are you waiting for!

Gen:

01. The Fake Geek Boy Job, by shinealightonme. It’s casefic at a fan convention and Eliot has to cosplay. In spandex. Go read it and enjoy yourself, already.

Beautiful shippy fic (everyone is together/small moments/slice of life):

01. The Three Rings Job, by HugeAlienPie. Sophie POV. The OT3 at Nate and Sophie’s wedding, where Nate and Sophie are not aware that there is now an OT3. It’s soft. And so sweet you could serve it as dessert. And it has the best boat name for a Nate and Sophie boat in the world.

02. hacker/hitter/thief/home, by AtlantisRises. A collection of short OT3 fics that hit you just right in the feels, in the best way.

03. Nothing’s Exactly What We Need, by BabylonsFall. The OT3, on vacation.

Everybody is together and also there’s a con:

01. Covenants, Conditions, & Restrictions, by page_runner. We love a good long fic where the OT3 help an old lady and con an HOA, because HOA’s are the worst. This fic also gives me deeply hurt feelings about the team having to leave Portland, which I know in my heart is probably the Way of Things, but which I will never write myself because heartbreak. But this deals with that reality so beautifully, and it’s a good con, too.

Getting together OT3: 01. just want you close, by biblionerd07. Eliot-POV, post-rundown, man am I a sucker for Eliot-POV stories where Parker and Hardison just...love the hell out of him, and this is just a lovely, careful, sweet version of that.

02. international small arms traffic blues, by ftmsteverogers. Eliot POV, character study + get together fic. Makes you very sad for Eliot, and then happier for Eliot. And I’m a sucker for anytime someone has to call Sophie for advice.

03. So Come On, Avalanche, by elysiumwaits. It is Eliot POV snowed-in at a cabin OT3 getting together fic, so idk what more you need to know to read it.

04. Rings a Bell, by venilia. Eliot wakes up with amnesia and thinks he’s married to Hardison and also has a Parker, it’s silly and sweet.

05. The Thunderous Roll of a Tropical Sea (the moonlit memory I can’t seem to lose), by phnelt. **content notes: canon-typical violence + Mature! grown and sexy content ahoy!** I have classified this as a “getting together” story, because ultimately that is what happens, but it’s probably more like “eliot getting his shit together, and now they’re all together,” which is my favorite flavor of OT3 getting together fic, anyway. It starts out a little sad, because gasp! They were together but they split up!! But it has a happy ending. It also has fake marrieds, my favorite trope of all time. Eliot feeding Hardison strawberries and playing with his fake husband on a beach while Parker watches? Please.

06. Happy Meal, by @leiascully Listen, I admit that I am biased, because my wife wrote this for me, but it is this really hilarious flirting-over-the-comms-pre-OT3-sort-of-getting-together story, and I laughed, and it was great, so you should enjoy it, too.

07. Oklahoma’s Next Top Model, by Hedgehog-O-Brien (Roshwen). Hardison POV. This fic has the greatest tag of all time, which is: “Title not entirely accurate bc Eliot's clearly a bottom but who cares“ and I knew I was in good hands solely on that basis before I read a word of the fic. Tbh I put this in this “getting together” category because I feel like it’s heavily implied at the end that there’s a getting together situation happening, but like, that’s not why you read this fic. You read this fic for the ridiculously over the top OT3 photoshoot of your wildest dreams. You will laugh. You will be entertained. Enjoy!

08. Fifty Fake Dates, by calico_fiction. WIP, Hardison POV. nb: This hasn’t been updated in a minute but a) I too have WIPs that take a long-ass time between updates, if this updated in ten years I would still be excited to read it and b) the chapter that’s up is such a delight to me that I really think it’s worth a read even if this is all of this story the author wants to post. It’s a great Hardison POV with some delicious pining and fake Hardison/Eliot dating, which is my jam.

09. For Real, by BurningTea. It’s hard to do an accidental marriage in this canon, but this fic did that! Hardison’s technical expertise goes a bit awry and everybody has to have....a talk. About feelings.

Hurt/comfort:

01. Dig Deep, by BurningTea. Eliot has to dig his own grave and climb into it. It hurts a lot!!!! And then it’s comforting. So, exactly what it says on the tin. Good character observations and nicely written, hurts exactly right and comforts exactly right, too.

Hot (nsfw, 18+, Mature, grown and sexy content for grown and sexy adults):

01. Don’t Come Late, by @leiascully. It’s just...the OT3, having really hot sex. That’s it, that’s the review. (The writing is delightful and there’s like, funny stuff in with the sexy stuff, which is real life and always nice to see, you know?)

02. Take the Leap, by Penknife. Hardison POV, first time OT3 threesome/verbal domination. The characterization in this is just **chef’s kiss** perfection. Funny, and hot. My favorite combo.

03. The Post-Rundown Job, by DelektorskiChick. Eliot POV, demi-Parker, mostly Eliot/Hardison but Parker’s participating in her own way. I’m a sucker for some good sexy post-injury care and this is right after Rundown, so it checks that box big time.

04. In Sync, by monsoon_moon. Eliot POV, first time OT3some.

Character studies:

01. Dawning, by @darkfinch. Eliot POV, mind all the warnings. This (read with its sequel, a WIP linked below) is probably one of my favorite Leverage pieces in existence? It is just the most beautiful, dark, horrible look at Eliot-works-for-Moreau you could hope for, except that also there’s a sequel called Reverberate, and that is also perfect and intense and really digs into what’s happening in Eliot’s mind and life during s3 after Nate drops the “we’re going after Moreau” bombshell. Both of these stories are painfully perfect and believable and real and I love them with my whole heart. The story structure and writing on both of those pieces is just excellent and the characterization is pitch perfect, and along with the stress and trauma you really get some just fantastic character moments. Idky you’re reading my review instead of the story tbh go read that, thanks!

02. Ten Prides in Portland, by @leiascully. I put this as a character study because it is one? It’s about queer shit, and learning to be part of a community of queer people, and learning that you can be a mentor and a role model for other queer people even if you don’t have your own stuff figured out. I am extremely biased because this is my wife and I got to watch this story grow into existence every day, but I think it’s a really beautiful look at the queer community broadly, all the people who fit under the umbrella, and belonging. It’s sweet and funny and beautiful, and I really needed to feel like I was at Pride this year, and this helped.

03. Different, by @leiascully. Hardison POV. Honestly this just made me want to go find baby Hardison and hug him for a really long time.

04. The Twine and the Things We Bind, by @darkfinch. WIP, H/C, big on the H. Parker and Hardison taking care of an extremely fractious, extremely injured Eliot Spencer is my jam.com forever and this is all of that with beautiful characterization and writing. Also some of the best action scenes I’ve read in a while. I do not write action At All and this does it SO WELL.

05. A Kiss for Luck, by AlannaOfRoses. Parker POV. A good look into Parker’s thoughts on luck during the Rundown Job/feelsy flashbacks.

OC/Outsider POV:

01. Let’s Go Steal a Protege, by @innytoes. WIP. Gosh I adore this. It’s found family shenanigans from an outside-the-OT3 perspective. Jamie, the main POV OC (nonbinary rep!!), is a fucking delight of a human and their interactions with the super!married OT3 are all incredible. It is sweet and funny and sometimes sad but almost always in a happy tears kind of way, because it’s about finding a family. And there are so many genuine laugh-out-loud moments in this fic that I reread it a lot lately or think of it when I need something to lift my spirits. (There is a bit in chapter six with some thrift store purchases that I just absolutely lose my shit at every time.) I very badly want this story to just be canon tbh. Petition for that.

AU’s

01. The Out of This World Job (Or, Per Furtum Ad Astra), by pathera. It’s a job, but it’s IN SPACE. Parker, Hardison, & Eliot find a spaceship; shenanigans ensue. Beautifully in character, some poignant character moments, awesome writing, and just a really vivid world.

02. Plastic Pearls, by BabylonsFall. Kidfic! Various POV. Parker and Hardison move in across the hall from single-dad Eliot. I adore this, it is sweet and soft and everything you could hope for in a story where Eliot is raising a smol Molly.

#leverage #Team Leverage OT3 #fic rec #really gotta tag my shit better #RIP del.icio.us you were the best bookmark system

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catalystcrisis · 4 years ago

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Pride and Paintings

Commissioned by @giggles-piratically! This is the lovely redditor who also wrote the fic based on Merrill’s Regency portrait! Thank you so, so much for the gift fic - it’s so sweet, and lovely! It’s the first time I’ve received a fic inspired by one of my artworks, ever! I have it posted under the cut in case anyone else would like to read this wonderful fic :) Again, thank you thank you thank you!

Author: /u/tmande2nd aka @giggles-piratically Rating: General Pairing: referenced Garrett x Merrill as ancestors, main characters are Alain Hawke (great-grandson) & Mia Hawke (great-great-granddaughter). Summary: Alain passes down tales of their ancestor Merrill to Mia after unearthing her portrait from the dusty recesses of the estate attic. Much wholesome, many cutes <3 Status: Complete

Pride and Paintings.

In the dusty reaches of an attic between chests of forgotten goods and crates of disregarded furniture an old man precariously perched himself atop a rickety old chair as a young girl nervously did her best to hold it steady against the weathered shelves the old man was rummaging through.

“Grandfather, please if you fall again mother wont let us spend any time together alone! Nanny Velinna doesn't let you tell any jokes or stories! I don't want to read the Chant again!” the girl implored him doing her best to not come off as pleading.

Chuckling to himself the old man steadied himself and looked back giving her the same smile he had given people for the last seventy years. The infamous Hawke “I truly know what I am doing trust me” smile that had gotten generations of Hawke into and out of trouble in equal measure.

“Don’t worry little one, I once balanced atop a giant bucking nug while fleeing from Qunari, I can handle an old chair,” he said confidently.

Turning back to the task at hand he pretended to not notice his granddaughter’s snort of disbelief as his hands carefully unwrapped another painting.

“Damn it another Mabari” he thought to himself as he moved onto the next. Somewhere in the distant past the Hawke estate had enough Mabari paintings to even revolt a Fereldan so up they went to storage. His grandmother had truly loved breeding Mabari, painting Mabari, and talking about Mabari it seems. Granted she had introduced the breed to the Free Marches but even he admitted to himself she took it perhaps to far.

“Grandfather, it’s okay if you can’t find her painting, I don't want to see you get hurt again,” his granddaughter said almost pleadingly. “They won’t throw them out, mother always says she will throw things out if I don’t pick them up but she never does! You just have to cry a little and look said and she always moves it to another day...” she added.

“No little one, this....this is something I don't want to risk,” he replied.

He promised to show her what her great great grandmother looked like and Maker’s breath he was going to show her. Painting after painting was went through and after almost another half an hour he had nearly given up hope. That was until he unwrapped another painting and he saw the frame that had kept that painting ever since he was a little boy. He should have never let his daughter put this one away, to make space for that garish painting about the breach. Everyone had a painting about the breach, but no one had a painting that meant quite as much as this one did.

Carefully unwrapping it and gently taking away the thin layer of dust with his breath, Alain Hawke stepped off the ladder and took the painting towards the window to show his granddaughter.

“Well Mia, this is your great-great-grandmother when she was only thirty and had just married your great-great-grandfather,” Alain said as he made space for his granddaughter to get a better view.

Gasping in shock Mia looked at the painting her grandfather was holding in the sunbeam with wonder in her eyes for a few moments before she started babbling in sheer excitement.

“IT IS TRUE! I do have her green eyes, and she has daisy flowers in her hair just like the book! She is just so pretty no wonder Great Great Grandpa fell in love! Momma looks so much like her and Uncle Carver is a mage just like her! What did she say when you met her! Did she still look like that when she held you! PLEASE! I want to know please please? ....Please?” Mia managed to say in one breath.

Laughing quietly Alain gently hugged her and said, “Oh no she had some grey in her hair when she first held me and some lines around her eyes...but yes she did look like that.”

Smiling in excitement Mia tried to take in every feature of the painting she could and for a few minutes was enraptured to see such a part of her family in front of her.

“Were all the stories true from the book? Did she really fight the Qunari with Garrett Hawke? Did he really carry her all the way up a mountain? Did they really get married by Divine Victoria? OH! Did she-” Mia started to babble again before Alain hushed her.

“Yes, yes all of it was true especially the parts that aren't in the books like when she and Garrett rescued the King of the Halla from Tevinter Slavers,” Alain said as he got up and lifted both painting and granddaughter before heading back to a less dusty part of the manor.

So it was that Alain and Mia departed the attic and placed the painting back with the rest of the family paintings. Some of his ...other relatives may shudder at having an elven woman in the family tree but as for himself Alain would never consider excising the smiling lady who held him as a child and told him stories about elves, and gods, and the occasional ball of twine.

Smiling as he looked at the painting Alain headed for the kitchen carrying his granddaughter with him.

“...goodbye Grandma Merrill...” Mia whispered over his shoulder as she waved at the door.

“Now once we get some actual food I will tell you all about the Halla king,” Alain started as the two went down the hall way.

“You see it all started when another ancestor named Gamlen lost a card game against a Halla criminal...”

#dragon age #pride and paintings #giggles-piratically #crit's art

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wordynerdygurl · 5 years ago

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All Wrapped Up

Author’s Note: Happy Holidays everyone! I decided to do a sexy little story for Christmas. I know that’s not everyone’s holiday tradition, but aside from the idea of giving gifts, it’s fairly secular! I’d also like to say Happy Birthday to my friend Samantha! She’s a true champion of my “art” on here, and this is a belated, but loving gift for her! Happy Birthday, Lady! Enjoy! As always, I’m an attention whore, so comments, notes and love are always accepted! Summary: What do you get a God for Christmas? How do you keep him from finding out about it? Keeping it under wraps is really all you can do! Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Fluffy, holiday SMUT! Honestly, just good old fashioned sexy times!

Tony had been promising a holiday party like no other and he was delivering in a major way this Christmas Eve. Too much food, piles of sweets, and oh the liquor! By the time Clint started singing karaoke, “Hit Me with Your Best Shot”, you had already downed three eggnog martinis with no plans on stopping.

Feeling loose as a goose, you half listened to the chatter around you, nodding along with the shouting singer. Swinging your hand in time with the music, your cocktail glass swirling, you and Wanda were sitting with Natasha. She was talking about her gift to Bucky, silky rope and a knife, and it was those words caught your undivided attention.

"He's gonna look so cute all tied up!" She gushed to her girlfriends, “And he’s going to beg me to cut him loose! I can’t wait!”

"Oh, Nat! Really?" Wanda snorted a laugh before turning to you, “So, what did you get Loki?” “Urm… well…” Biting your lip, you debated how best to respond to your friends interest. There was a gift, a bow, all the trimmings. But how to describe it? Looking away, which Wanda read as guilt, had her frantic. “You did get him something, right?” Natasha, shaming you, “It’s Christmas! You have to give him a gift!” “Shh! Yes! Of course… that is, I do have something special for Loki.” Your eyes darted around the room, making sure your Mischief Maker wasn’t lurking close enough to hear. So far you had been able to keep your private plans from reaching him and now that you were so close to giving him his prize, you didn’t want to spoil it. Leaning tighter to the girls, confirming that Loki was too far away to hear your chat, you whispered your plan. Loki was watching you. How could he not? You were adorably tipsy, laughing in that sexy sweet way that make him swallow hard. You couldn’t stop talking with your hands, barely keeping your cocktail in its glass with every gesture, almost splashing the creamy concoction onto Natasha more than once. Loki found it all endlessly charming. When you clustered closer to the girls in a conspiratorial way he just knew that you were talking about him. Curiosity wasn’t a strong enough word for his interest in your conversation. All of your whispering and sneaking around was adding another layer of intrigue to this whole holiday season. One that Loki's trickster persona found particularly challenging.

Usually the one scheming, Loki was more than impressed by your secret squirrel skills, but he really hated not knowing what you were planning. There were so many mysteries this time of year and you were particularly good at keeping gifts, hiding places, and recipients to yourself. It was maddening! Pushing aside the itchy need to learn what was so important that you needed to keep it from him, Loki found himself drawing closer to you, navigating the Avenger filled crowd. Ignoring his brother's bellow, he kept you in his sights. Each step bringing him near enough to learn what you might be hiding.

Struck by your face in profile, Loki saw that in the glow of twinkling lights, you were luminous. Lit from within by the love of everyone around you and the vodka in your martinis, you were gorgeous. When he was close enough Loki gently brushed a warm hand over your arm drawing your attention where it belonged… on him. “Darling…” Turning your wide eyes his way, “Loki! Hello!” Your murmur is quiet, soft, playful. Loki is decidedly less soft. Not with the way you’re looking at him, as if he is the only thing in the room that you need, the only thing you want. Wanda and Natasha chirp mockingly, “Loki! Hello!”, teasing you. You wave them off as you rise, just a bit wobbly, reaching for Loki to steady you. Laughing, “Ignore them… please. They're drunk!" "Gah! We are not!" Natasha slurred.

Wanda, hiccuping, "Maybe a little!"

Smiling down at your friends he acknowledged their presence but Loki only had eyes for you. His arm wrapped around your middle, hugging you to him gently, letting you lean into his solid strength. Rising on your toes, giving him a little peck in passing, you whisper, “I’m ready when you are…” “Shall we say goodnight then?” Nodding yes, you turn toward your girls. “Alright ladies! Merry Christmas! I hope Santa is good to you guys!” There are hugs. So many hugs. And as Natasha grips you in a final, painfully tight one, “I hope Loki LOVES his gift!” You giggle, “Me too!” --- “Tonight was nice, little dove.” Loki has you snuggled into him as you head toward the street, the tower elevator slipping smoothly downward. “I think so too… Tony went all out!”

"Hmm… you were chatting with Natasha and Wanda for a while… anything you'd care to share?"

Giggling, "I know what Bucky's getting tomorrow… and… he won't be able to return it!"

Laughing with you, lifting a quizzical eyebrow, "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not! But I'm sure one of them will talk about it too loudly next time we're all together!"

Realization hit Loki like a ton of bricks. Groaning, "Oh god… we have to do this again next week. New Year's Eve?"

"Why, Loki… it's almost as if you don't like associating with other people!" You couldn’t help teasing him a little. He was too easy to mess with at times like this.

"Christmas is one thing, my dear. That's a large holiday. I understand that but we are always with the team. It's a never ending cycle of birthdays, events, parties and…"

Lifting a hand to his mouth, you silence him, "Yup… it's why I always enjoy our time together. When it's just the two of us, those moments are… extra special."

Loki, taking your slender hand in his with a resigned sigh, kisses each fingertip. It's one of his old fashioned, high court, moves that makes you melt. "Yes, dove. I love spending time with you. Just you." Smooshing closer to him, your head tucked under his chin, “Speaking of that… I was hoping that we could exchange our gifts tonight. Would that… would you be alright with that?”

Before Loki could answer, the elevator dinged its arrival at ground level. Stepping into the lobby, Loki grabs your hand, twining it with his. "But tomorrow is Christmas, shouldn't we wait until then?"

Shaking your head, "Well, we always opened up one gift on Christmas Eve as kids. And, if I give it to you now…" You push against the revolving door before looking back at Loki, "you'll have more time to enjoy it." ---

Shagging out of your jacket, you hang it quickly, spinning around to Loki with a wide smile. Excitement is an understatement. You’re bouncing on your heels, already a little Christmas Crazy, wondering whether Loki will truly like his present or not.

"So, I want to give you your gift but I have to… set it up first. Can you keep yourself busy… and out of the bedroom for say… fifteen minutes?"

Slightly dazed by the request but beyond intrigued, Loki agrees, "Yes… fine. Should I open a bottle?"

You pause at the bedroom door. "Yes! There's Prosecco in the fridge!"

Once you've shut the door behind you, and, on second thought, locked it, preparations start in earnest. From your drawer you grab the over sized Christmas tag that reads: To Loki with all my Love! Next comes the ribbon.

How Loki spent his fifteen minutes is a mystery to you. Mostly, he sat and drank wine. His mind ran through as many different scenarios as he could think of, starting with a train set and ending with a telescope. What else could require so much groundwork?

He could hear some shuffling around, heard you bang into something… the wall maybe? But he knew better than to rush in while you were working so hard. Hard. There was a word that didn't do his current condition justice.

Tonight you had some special energy that Loki couldn't shake off. It was as if you were walking on clouds, graceful but giddy. You were sparkling, like the bubbles rising in his glass, and Loki was intoxicated by it. He adjusted himself through his trousers, growing frustratingly firm and missing you.

"Ahem… Merry Christmas, Loki…"

Whatever Loki had been expecting, the sight of you surpassed it at warp speed. You were his gift. A black satin bow wrapped over your naked, heavy breasts. It's long tails dangling to your hips, a thin strap over your shoulder ran between your legs, keeping the shiny fabric in place. You were a completely wrapped package, hiding all the good bits, although Loki couldn’t help noticing that your ribbon barely covered your dampened core.

Heels, ebony and higher than anything you'd ever attempt in real life, gave you an extra four inches of height. You'd fluffed your short hair, exaggerated your eyeliner, glossed over your crimson lipstick. The only other thing you wore was a pair of silver chain earrings, thin, shiny and light.

Standing swiftly with a gut punch groan, Loki's knees almost gave out with the force of his body's reaction. You watched him wobble before catching himself, his wine glass almost missing the table, that disinterested facade faded. For the smallest of seconds, he had to look away, afraid to trust what his eyes were seeing as real. Loki used that moment to regain his slipping composure before raising his desire filled stare to yours.

Silent seconds ticked by. You fidgeted, suddenly nervous, your fingers lifting to fluff your bow. "Don't." Something dark in Loki's tone froze you solid. "Don't move."

You watched his Adam's Apple drop with a hard swallow. He licked his lips slowly. Adjusting his tie with those long fingers, Loki exhaled quietly, his shoulders dropping just a fraction.

"Can you walk in that… outfit?" Loki's voice was a wrecked whisper of wanting. Running a shaky hand through his dark locks, he was coming undone, all because of you.

"Uh huh… a little."

With a raised eyebrow, Loki husked, "Gifts belong under the tree, do they not?"

You nod. "That's true." Stepping boldly out of your boudoir, swinging your hips, you stride past Loki staying just out of his grasp. In front of your Christmas tree, white lights shining, you lowered yourself onto the plush carpet.

On your knees, exposing your nearly nude backside to Loki, you stretched. It was showing off, but hey, this was his gift and you wanted him to enjoy every minute of it. Mission Accomplished, you thought when you heard him exhale loudly. Rolling to your left hip, left arm bearing your weight, you bit your bottom lip and risked a glance at Loki.

His eyes were as dark as his voice, sinful and smoky, but also playful. "Shall I open my present now? Or must I wait until Christmas morning?"

"Have you been a good boy?" It tumbled out of you making you sound like a vintage vixen.

"Oh yes… but I have to tell you darling, I don't plan on remaining a good boy. In fact, I think I'm going to be naughty. Very, very naughty."

It was your turn to swallow dryly. The hot, hungry, look Loki was sporting made your breath catch. Excitement made your body flush, heat rising, and there was no way to hide any of it from Loki.

Making his way to your side, moving in that slow, slinking way of his, Loki knelt next to you. Leaning past you to look at gift tags, ignoring your for the moment, "Now, let's see… which one should I open first?"

Brushing his arm across your back as he snatches a small parcel, shaking it gently, humming, "A tie…?" before returning it to the pile.

Snaking a hand over your thighs, the faintest wisp of a touch, he picked up a box testing its weight. "Sweater… definitely a sweater."

"This one says 'To mom'... not for me… but what is this?"

As a gag you had pinned the large gift tag to the band of your bow. Lifting it gently Loki read aloud, "To Loki, with all my love… Well… this one does have my name on it."

Tipping your head back with a frustrated sigh, eager to feel him release you, you couldn't help the small sound. Part of you wanted him to rip the ribbon to shreds, tear into you, take you fiercely and fast. But another side was loving the slow paced game Loki was playing. Even if it drove you half mad.

When his broad hand slid along your calf you jumped. Not out of fear, but electricity. The reaction wasn't lost on Loki, "Hmm… what could be in this package? It seems very sensitive."

A sugary sigh slipped out as his knuckles grazed your exposed hip. Loki's fingertips fluttered along the underside of your breasts, skirting the satin that bound you, making you moan with need. He was so close to you now but still not touching you where you craved him most.

Loki wrapped his arms around your open back, toying with the strap there, pulling it up firmly. Sliding it between your bottom cheeks and your tender lower lips. He was near enough to kiss, yet his focus was on the rise and fall of your clothed chest, your nipples straining against the silky material. You leaned into the strength of his right arm as his left hand stroked your full bow.

Tracing the tails downward, over the rise of your mound, Loki snapped his gaze your way. "Open your eyes."

You watched as Loki pressed the pretty ribbon tighter to your soaked skin. The satin, rubbing over your bundled nerves, made you shiver. Loki, still only touching the fabric, traced over your parted center. Urging a finger inside of you made the bow string grind along your backside deliciously, what little slack there was now saturated with your own slick. The texture of the smooth material gliding into your opening blocked the warmth of Loki's finger but made you shudder just the same.

"Is this also part of my gift? Because you are so wet, darling..." It was a statement of fact. All of this was meant to be for Loki, but damn, you were really enjoying yourself.

"Yes…"

"Tell me, dove, do you enjoy being all wrapped up for me?"

"I do… but…"

His hand slipped under the thin band, resting on your belly, warm and waiting. "But?" Pausing his gentle attentions made you whimper with want.

Searching his sensual stare you answered swiftly, "But I want you to open me up, Loki."

That's when his mouth found yours. Driven to a frenzied passion, Loki's tongue swept into you, taking your breath. Slowly lowering you down, lying you out on the rug, Loki toyed with your shiny wrapper.

Skimming up your sides, his hands are rough compared to the silky satin, but your skin craves the friction. Arching into his touch your body begs for more. Soon your words follow, "Loki… please…"

"Oh, kitten…" Loki husks at you, pressing hot kisses along your jaw, his fingers tickling along the ribbon between your legs. You cross them, hoping to ease the increasing exquisite ache at your core, squeezing your thighs tightly together. A sight that makes Loki salivate.

Without being told, you had kept your hands off of Loki, and to yourself. As a gift to be unwrapped, you assumed a role of inanimate play thing, Loki's to do with as he saw fit. But when his shirt and tie were removed in a magical golden haze your frisky fingers danced across the definition of his chest unbidden.

Gripping your wrist, Loki stalled your southward progression, "Touch yourself, little one." Setting your hand down along the shiny fabric, watching you caress the edges, those places where your smooth skin met the black film covering made Loki harder than before.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me, dearest."

Lightning quick, he stood to drop his trousers and toss them into a chair. A wanton wail at the sight of Loki, long and lean, painfully hard in his own hand, echoed in the stillness of your shared space. Stroking himself, standing over you, Loki wore an expression of elation.

You purred at his obvious pleasure. "Do you like your gift, then?"

Smirking now, "Dunno. Haven't open the thing yet!"

Crouching at your side, Loki took the trailing ties in each hand and slowly, so slowly, dragged them apart. Your breath caught in your throat. Pulse beating wildly, it felt as though Loki would be seeing you for the first time, as if you were a precious and rare gift for him to enjoy.

With one hard yank your bow was fully untied, baring your tightened nipples to Loki's hungry gaze, spreading goosebumps down your limbs. His warm mouth licked across one peak lavishly as his fingers flicked and twisted the other. Burying your hands in his black tresses, you cradle him to your chest, suddenly starved for his affection.

On every inch of freshly exposed skin Loki left a love token. A sweet kiss, a blissful bite, a naughty nibble. From your collarbone to your waist, Loki samples you in nips and sips, stopping only to hover over your fluid folds. Without hesitation he licks your straining bud roughly, curling his lips around it, sucking it into his mouth.

"God! Loki!" It's a shriek torn from you in unbridled pleasure. Reaching for him, wanting more, you both groaned when two of Loki's long digits entered you. He was bathed in your overflowing ardor, your elixir pooling for him, welcoming his invasion.

The slippery stroking of your velveteen walls had you panting in moments. Internally, your body wanted nothing more than Loki's fingers locked inside of you, nudging you closer to your release. "Loki… I'm so close, babe!"

Whipping his face towards yours, grinning foolishly, "I know, darling! You’ve given me all of yourself. Give me your pleasure too."

With a driving thrust his fingertips scraped along that secret spot only he could find, sending you skyward. Loki trapped your mouth in a thrashing kiss, tangling your tongues, taking your satisfied sob as his own. You clung to Loki as your body was reduced to sensuous spasms.

Loki hadn't stopped kissing your spicy skin. Cinnamon, that was it, your flavor. Tangy and almost heated, the aroma filled his senses, making him hungry for more of your delectable body.

Centering himself between your spread legs, Loki lifted your parted knees, your already aroused slit sopping. Pressing his lips along your calf, across the thickness of your thigh, he spread your yielding body wider. Coaxing your hips off the rug, raising them so that your pelvis rested on his lap, Loki took half a second to squeeze your bottom. His fingers brushed against your tight hole sparking a fresh wave of vulgar thoughts to burst through your sex drunk mind.

"Another time, love. Right now I want to delight in this gracious gift of yours." Hands roamed all over your body, "After opening your… packaging, I want to play with my lovely toy. Make all the other children jealous. Think you can keep up?"

Managing a nod, your head tips back in happiness when Loki palms both of your breasts roughly. Loki's solid steel length bumped pleasantly against your pearl. He did it on purpose, just to see your body buzz with bliss, hopeful that you'd come undone again.

Taking himself in hand, Loki focused on your engaging entrance, piercing you deliberately. Slowly. "Gods! You are snug!" It was his surprised whisper that made you giggle.

"Is that funny? How your tight body is surrounding mine? Ah!" He had met the resistance of your cervix, crowding your canal with all of his unwavering manliness, making you stutter.

"No… not funny! Just cute…"

Narrowing his brooding stare, "Cute? Oh, now you're in trouble."

Accelerating his attention, Loki bore down on you with each punishing plunge, urgently seeking your climax. Naturally your legs locked around Loki's hips. You lost a stiletto when he snapped into you suddenly, the shoe dropping with a thump beside you, Loki never breaking his stride.

Around his intrusion your body flooded. The delectable friction Loki created had you humming and too soon the telltale signs of your delight were coiling inside of you. "Loki… Ah… Hmm… Loki…"

"You. Want. To. Cum. Again? Already?" Each word was punctuated with a piston like punch pulsing through your overly aroused person.

"Yes! God, yes!"

"Go on then. Cum for me." And his words pushed you into a pulsating pleasure filled paradise.

Your body, grappling with the gorgeous God grinding into you hard, and the aftershocks of your grand euphoria, was in flux. Barely recovered from the last, you could tell another release was nearing, so could Loki.

He was relentless, pursuing his own passion now, caging you between his muscled arms. Dipping low for a fervent kiss, "Wait for me, darling…"

Biting your lip with a bob of your head, you steel yourself, fighting your body's organic impulses. It's just that Loki fills you so completely. He is the center of your world, the person you love most, and he loves you right back.

You grab for him then, gripping his shoulders, twisting his long hair in your fists. He drops lower, his chest on yours as he rocks into your trembling tunnel, "Angel… please!"

You know exactly what he's asking for and your body, past the point of stopping, obliges. Loki comes apart inside of you just as you reach your own pinnacle. The world shatters into twinkle lights and shag rugs, kaleidoscoping colors and sounds, but in the end there's Loki. Grounding you, guiding you, holding onto you. Losing yourself in his hot flood, muscles melding him to you, your form unwilling and unable to be parted from his.

Stroking through his mussed mop of raven hair absently, breathing hard, Loki's cheek is pillowed on your breast. His eyes flutter closed, just for a beat, as post coital drowsiness wraps around him. A small tremor from your overworked sex squeezes him. It's enough to rouse him and he rises to his forearms.

Nosing along your jawline, "I like my present very much. I don't think I'll need to return it."

A hoarse laugh leaves you, "Good, because I lost the receipt!"

Caressing your bottom lip with his thumb, Loki catches your eye and holds it. "This is the best gift I have ever received. Ever, little one. And… I find myself more in love with you than I was before."

"I love you, too."

This kiss is sugar cookie soft, sweet and simple. Loki, pressing his forehead to yours with a smile, "Merry Christmas, dove." ---

"So?"

"So?" Your innocent act isn't fooling Natasha or Wanda. Since Tony's holiday party no one had seen or heard from you or Loki.

Rolling her eyes, Nat grumbled, "Did Loki like his present or what?"

"Umm…" You stirred your gin and tonic, a smirk tugging at your lips.

"Of course he did, Nat. She's the only person here with a high collar and long sleeves on. I bet there's bite marks and hickeys all over her!"

A laugh did bubble out of you then, "Well… let's just say that Loki had a good Christmas. Can we leave it at that?"

In unison, "NO!"

Sliding to your side, Loki intervened, "Ladies, perhaps I can help here. I was given the most exquisite, precious and perhaps thoughtful gift a man could receive." Loki paused here to bring your hand to his lips in a chivalrous kiss.

"And as anyone would do after getting such a present, I have hardly put it down since. It is a constant source of delight… and yes, Wanda, she's marked as mine from her collarbone to her core. Now, kitten, let's ring in this New Year!"

With a shrug to the girls and a smile, you let Loki drag you towards the crowd already starting the midnight countdown. Another year with your God of Mischief all wrapped up, a new one starting now... What could be better than that?

Tags for love: @archy3001 @iamverity @jamielea81 @jessiejunebug @brokenthelovely @nonsensicalobsessions @thefallenbibliophilequote @mizfit2 @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore

#loki x you #loki smut #loki x reader #loki christmas #loki holiday #loki fanfic #marvel smut #marvel christmas #marvel fanfiction

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justanotherwannabeclassic · 6 years ago

Text

Ready, Set, Please Don’t Go

Killian Jones walks in on his daughter in a compromising position, leading to the realization that his little girl really is growing up.

Author’s Note: Here's another snippet set in the Finding Neverland universe. It's absolutely unnecessary to read Finding Neverland to understand this story, though readers of the original my remember a "library incident" mentioned in a chapter of this story. hat being said, this turned out way different than I expected it to go, which is the best/worst part of writing fic. I hope you all enjoy! Also, this story is dedicated to the wonderful @distant-rose, who is amazing and wonderful and a fantastic friend.

Rating: M (strong language and sexual situations)

[AO3]

XXXXXX

It starts with an admission of a high school tryst.

They’re back in Storybrooke, making the most of a long weekend away from work and research. There’s a festival going on, because somewhere over the near thirty years of the town’s existence, they’ve embraced celebrating. Juliet’s grandmother says it’s because everyone learned all too well how easy it is to lose everything. Whatever the reason, Juliet is fond of the fact that she gets to wander around various booths with his fingers twined around her boyfriend’s and enjoying the familiarity of coming home.

Juliet likes to think she’s come a long way since she was the girl who left Storybrooke for New York City four years ago. She has a degree and a license that actually says she’s twenty-one, but it’s more than that. She likes to think she’s matured, and though she has no inclinations of returning back to her hometown anytime soon, she now embraces the coziness of it all. And, well, the girl of four years ago never would have imagined holding hands with Gideon Gold as they traipsed down Main Street, happy and deliriously in love.

They’d only been in the same school for a year, her a freshman and he a senior, but he Juliet Jones of Storybrooke High hadn’t been particularly kind to Gideon. She’d been a little too conscious of their respective places in the high school caste system. Even as a freshman, she’d been fawned over by her classmates as a member of the Charming family, The Savior’s daughter, and Henry’s sister. The son of the Dark One didn’t warrant the same favor. It was only once they were both in New York, she starting at Columbia and him finishing up his degree at NYU, that they’d begun to forge a closer relationship, and later, a romantic one.

She supposes his loner nature and her role as the school’s ��princess” only furthers the cliche nature of their relationship. When they had made it public they were dating, Neal had monologued the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet. (“Two families both alike in dignity, in fair Storybrooke we build our scene…” “I hope you realize this means you die too, asshole.”) They might as well add the damn John Hughes movie to the list.

But it doesn’t matter. They’re happy, in love, and openly together in Storybrooke.

They’re in line for cotton candy, Gideon whispering into her ear about the unhealthiness of eating pure sugar, when they bump into old friend hers from high school, Viola. It’s not unexpected. Most people don’t leave Storybrooke or choose to come back to Storybrooke, after all, and they exchange pleasantries.

“How are you liking the big city? I don’t think I could deal with that many people. The traffic alone…”

“That’s what the MTA is for,” Juliet replies with a laugh. To be honest, her friendship with Viola had been one that drifted after she left for Columbia. It was one that Juliet now realizes was born out of proximity and not very many common interests. “But, seriously, it’s great. We’re really happy.” She flashes a grin up Gideon.

He returns her grin with one of his own. God, she loves his smile. “I dunno, I’m pretty damn miserable.”

“A miserable liar, maybe.” Juliet turns her attention back to Viola, who is watching them with an incredulous expression. Maybe this isn’t what Viola expected of the Juliet of four years ago. Maybe it’s not what she would have expected either. Knowing the conversation will only grow more stitled from there, Juliet focuses on what Viola clearly wants her to notice. With exaggerated excitement she doesn’t feel, she asks, “Holy shit! Is that a ring?”

Viola waves her left hand, where a diamond sits. “Yes, Aidan proposed! You’ll have to come back up for the wedding. We’re thinking next April.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” To be honest, Juliet hadn’t known Viola was even dating Aidan. Oh well. Thankfully, they’re saved from more conversation by the cotton candy. They bid their farewells, and go their separate ways.

“Are we seriously going to go her wedding?” Gideon asks once they’re far enough out of earshot. He steals a bite of her cotton candy -- the hypocritical bastard -- before saying, “I wouldn’t really mind, but I only have the vaguest idea of who she is.”

“God, no,” Juliet replies, instantly regretting how mean she sounds. But, she has a reason. “Honestly, even if we had said more than ten sentences to each since graduation, it would be a little awkward. The last time I saw Aidan, he’d just finished fingering me in sci-fi section of the library. It’s weird to go to the wedding of guys you hit third base with, right?” She shudders at the memory.

Gideon stops abruptly. “Wait, what?” He looks surprised, and honestly, a little annoyed.

“Oh, God, please don’t turn this into a thing.” Gideon unfortunately has a slight jealous streak when it comes to her. It’s not overbearing, thankfully, but it’s present enough to annoy her every now and then. She attributes it mostly to his low self-esteem brought by half the town assuming he’s turn evil as an adult coupled with the way she’d dated every guy but him the year leading up to them finally getting together. She understands where he is coming from, really, but she doesn’t have to like it.

“I’m not turning this into a thing. That’s not it, not entirely,” he amends. “But, seriously, the library?”

“Oh, this is about defiling books .”

He laughs, almost hysterically. “Not quite, no.”

“Then what is it?” She takes a bite of the cotton candy, and delights in the way his eyes track the movement of tongue as she traces her lips for any errant sugar.

He begins to lead her away from the crowd, and his voice lowers. “Remember that time we listed our fantasies?”

She hums in reply. She remembers it well, and still benefits from it too.

“Let’s just say teenage Gideon would have killed to be fingering a pretty girl in the library.” His cheeks are an enjoyable shade of red. He’s always a little embarrassed when talking publicly about sex. Back when they were ‘just friends’, his exploits were something that rarely ever came up, even though she’d been less discreet about hers.

“And what about adult Gideon?”

“What about adult Gideon?”

“It’s after six. The library is closed, and you have a pretty girl who is just about to finish her cotton candy and will soon be wondering just what she can be getting up to later.” She quirks her brow for emphasis. “So what would adult Gideon say we do?”

She’s always been a bit reckless. She enjoys the rush of adrenaline, and sees caution as a suggestion. Gideon’s her opposite in that regard, which is why she can’t contain her gleeful laugh as he more or less drags her to the library at a half-jog. She knows she could magic them there, but this gets her heart pounding in a way that magic does not.

In no time at all, they’re in the library — she bites back a laugh at his attempts to unlock the door — and her back is against the wall as Gideon’s mouth fuses to hers. It’s times like these where she wishes she had gotten over herself enough for them to come together sooner. As much as Gideon had been quiet about his sexploits, he’d picked up some skill. And where he lacked, he certainly made up by being a quick study. “You’re amazing,” he tells her. He lifts his hand, and brushes he strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into his palm.”Do I tell you that enough?”

“You do.” She runs her hands over the front of his shirt, and begins to toy with the buttons. With a teasing smirk, she adds, “Though, to be fair, you mostly tell me when I’m in a state of undress...or about to be.”

“I’ll be sure to rectify that...later.” She squeals when he pulls away from her, only to lift her into his arms. He quickly maneuvers them to the collections desk, and drops her on top of it. Goosebumps form over her skin as his hands span up her bare thighs, and she relishes in the way his warm breath fans across the skin of her face. “This okay?”

“It’s totally okay.” Any other quips she might think to say are lost when he lips close over the most sensitive spot on her neck, sendling shocks of pleasure down her spine. She gasps, her hands carding through his hair as she tilts her neck for easier access. His hands skate over her shorts and work their way under her shirt. Her skin burns hot as his palms burn over the smooth expanse, and she sighs.

They break apart long enough for both of them to remove their shirts. She thinks he breaks a button in his eagerness to remove his top, but she doesn’t mind in the slightest, enjoying the sight of shirtless male in front of her. He’s not incredibly muscular, but he’s toned enough -- and god, his collarbones. She pays particular attention to that part of his body first, eagerly nipping. As she leans forward, his hand slip over her ass, pulling her closer and squeezing as he goes. They move together, their pants dulling the sensation and doing nothing to hide his ardor for her.

She loves the power that comes with sex, the thrill of slowly making her partner come undone -- and that is what drives her next course of action. After all, she knows of know better way to make a man come undone. He groans when she pulls away, the brokeness bringing a smile to her face. She places a finger against his lips as she dismounts from the desk. He nips at the pad of her index finger as she reverses their positions. “What are you planning?”

“Something that will blow teenage Gideon’s mind.”

Juliet drops to her knees.

-/-

There are sacrifices one makes for their children.

Some are small, like the last piece of pie. Others are larger sacrifices, such as dedicating everything you can in you to ensuring your child has the best life. Killian Jones, of course, makes these sacrifices willingly, and most of the time, happily. Ever since the day that the doctor placed a squawking infant -- his daughter -- into his arms, Killian Jones knew that he’d do everything in his power to make her smile. Decades later, he likes to think he’s done a decent enough job. Juliet is happy and healthy, and has the confidence to leave the comfort of Storybrooke and chart a course of her own. And, despite her being an adult, he’ll continue doing what he’s able to ensure her happiness.

However, there are some sacrifices that try his patience -- such as being friendly with the Crocodile.

Over the course of two decades, he and the Dark One have kept their distances. They’ll be cordial at functions that they’re both in attendance, and he’ll never disparage the man around Belle. He values his friendship with her too much for that. Truthfully speaking, over the years, no one has ever truly required them to go out of their way to be in the same place.

Ah, but then his daughter fell in love with the Dark One’s son, and expectations had been formed.

“I know you all have bad blood, but can you at least try? For me?” Juliet had asked him. He can’t blame her for doing such a thing. He’d shield her from much of his history with the Crocodile. She knows enough -- he remembers with stunning clarity the afternoon he’d explained to her, just five and infinitely curious, why the name ‘Milah’ was tattooed on his wrist -- but both he and Emma had intentionally agreed to leave out the gorier details of his life. Her basic knowledge cannot compared to the memories of living in the thick of it all.

Which is why, shortly after Juliet had made that request of him, he had mused to Emma in the comfort of their own bed, “Perhaps they’ll break up.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. This one’s different,” Emma had replied, and that much they knew to be true. Killian had seen that boys that had captured Juliet’s interest over the years -- all of them unworthy of her, in his opinion -- and it’s true that this one felt different. “Besides, if things do go south, you don’t want that heartbreak for her.”

“No, you’re right,” he’d replied. He remembers pulling Emma closer to him, and whispering in her hair, “I’m beginning to understand your father’s perspective a bit more when you began courting me.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

And it is because he doesn’t want to make life harder for his daughter -- he knows well enough the benefits of a smooth relationship with the in-laws -- Killian puts on his best smile and acts even friendlier with the Crocodile. Though they’ve never explicitly discussed the matter, Killian suspects that Gideon had made the same request of his own father, as the Crocodile has not made one snide comment or appeared surprised at whatever warming relationships they might have.

Belle, at the very least, seems happy about the turn of events. And he can’t deny that Gideon is a good young man, a far cry from the tortured soul who had attempted to kill Emma decades ago. (Killian still has nightmares of their wedding night, of watching the sword drive into Emma’s gut.) But he can’t hold that against Belle’s son. He’d be hypocritical at best, especially considering the respectable person he’s since grown into. Besides, there’s no denying that Gideon looks at Juliet like she’s the moon and stars, and his daughter is quite happy with him.

Which, unfortunately, means he’s on a quest with the Crocodile to retrieve a box of books from the library for a booth at the festival. They library had been going through the process of culling its selection, weeding out extra copies of no longer popular tomes so there would be space for current interests. Belle had concocted a plan to set up a booth to give away the books, and had asked Killian and her husband to fetch a couple of boxes she’d left behind.

He honestly thinks this is a plan of Belle’s to get the two of them to talk more, to further bury the hatchet at the request of their children. The Dark One certainly has the power to poof the boxes. (He has made an effort to use magic less over the years, something Killian will not complain about.) She might have also asked Emma for help, but he’s pretty sure his wife is also in on the scheme.

In the effort of trying , he and the Dark One -- Gold -- exchange in small talk, but it is stilted and awkward. Which is possibly why the conversation dovetails into talking about their children, an easy topic for any proud parent.

“Gideon tells me that Juliet graduated cum laude? I’ll have to extend my congratulations to all of her hard work.”

“Aye. She did excellently. Emma and I are quite proud.” He already has a picture from her graduation day of the three of them sitting on the mantle -- Juliet clad in her regalia, smiling broadly while flanked by her parents. Gideon had been the one to take the picture. “I imagine you are too, with Gideon studying to be a doctor.”

“We are.” The Crocodile’s expression morphs into one that Killian knows all too well -- the sort of look one gets when they can’t quite believe they had a part in raising someone good. “It’s astounding to think that he’ll be completing medical school next year. It seems like yesterday he was just learning to walk.”

“I know the feeling all too well.” He hates how much he relates to Gold at the moment. Emma has occasionally commented how fatherhood has mellowed them both over the years, but Killian doesn’t want to bond over it. The things we do for our children.

But, at the same time, he cannot deny that Gold is wrong. Killian Jones has lived hundreds of years, but none have passed by as quickly as those since Juliet’s birth. In what feels like the blink of an eyes, she’s gone from being a wee babe to a child to a teenager and now an adult. Hadn’t it been just yesterday that she had been stumbling over her consonants as he taught her how to read?

“Those nights when she would keep Emma and I up all night, I remember wishing that time would pass quickly. Now I find myself wishing I could turn back the time and go back.”

“After what happened with my sorry excuse of a mother, I learned not to take any time with Gideon for granted,” Gold replies darkly.

Killian’s first reaction is to consider it a slight, an implication that he somehow has taken his daughter’s childhood for granted, but his cooler head prevails. He recalls how scarred Belle had been during the mess with the Black Fairy, and how even after Gideon back she had barely left him out of her sight. If the same thing had happened to Juliet…

It’s a thought that kept him awake many nights during Emma’s pregnancy. Storybrooke and normal pregnancies or childbirth rarely went hand-in-hand back in those days, and certainly not for their family. He’d be plagued by nightmares full of villains from his past -- men he’d crossed or wronged -- sneaking into his home and doing harm to his child with him unable to save her.

They’d been lucky, with Juliet. She’d been safe and sound. There had been villains since then, but she’d been mostly safe. Nothing like what Gold and Belle had gone through with Gideon, or David and Snow with Emma. For once, Killian Jones had been the blessed one. He tries not to let himself forget it.

He and the Crocodile don’t talk much after that, not until after they’ve worked their way through the crowd and arrive at the library.

“Where did Belle say she left the boxes?”

“By the circulation desk.” Gold pulls the keys to the library out of his pocket before he suddenly stops. Killian glances over the other man’s shoulder to see why, before noticing the slightly ajar doors. By Killian’s estimation, it seems as someone had simply let the door close behind them, not realizing that they hadn’t shut completely. “I know I locked this earlier.”

“It’s not the first time someone has broken into the library. Probably some horny or drunk youths looking for a quiet space and a good time.” How many times had he or Emma busted people sneaking into the library for a good time over the years? It’s turned into almost a rite of passage amongst the teens. Though he understands the thrill of breaking-and-entering, Killian doesn’t quite understand why the library is the chosen location. He’s crossed Belle enough times to know that is a spectacularly bad idea. “They probably thought the festival would be a good distraction.”

“And now they’re about to find themselves caught by the Dark One and Captain Hook. I almost pity them.”

Killian highly doubts that this is what any of the women is his life hoped for when it came to bonding with Gold. This certainly isn’t what he envisioned, but he’ll take it. Terrible as it might be, he takes certain enjoyment in knowing just how terrified whomever is in there will be when they realize just who they’ve been caught by. Quietly, Gold pushes open the library door and they creep inside the building. Once inside, they can clearly hear low moans and the slick sound of--

“Oh fuck---ohmygod!”

-/-

Juliet is hiding. She’s admittedly doing a poor job of it, because her hiding place is the back porch swing of her childhood home. In her defense, no one had been home when she’d come back. Now, however, the lights are one and she can hear the obscured voices of her parents. (She can barely make out the words “shower” and “tired”, if she strains.) Thankfully, they haven’t come to look for her. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at her father in the eyes again. She’s already formulating a plan for sneaking out before breakfast -- or maybe pretending to sleep until after he leaves for work.

Until she is sure her parents have convalesced themselves upstairs, she’ll continue hiding outside on the back on the back porch swing -- how many summer nights did she spend out here growing up? She had attempted to distract herself from her complete and utter mortification by attempting to read, but the exploits of Natasha Rostova weren’t enough to ebb away her embarrassment. Now, she just sits and stews, swaying back and forth on the swing.

She wishes Gideon were here. After a minor freakout --

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Worse than that time you got stabbed in Agrabah?”

“Yes! I got healed from being stabbed! My dad caught be going down on my boyfriend. How do you come back from this?”

-- she and Gideon had decided to go their separate ways for the rest of the night. The mood had effectively been killed, and they had already agreed to spend the night at their respective childhood homes . She now wishes he were here, however, if only to give her a hug and share the mortification together. The text messages from him, of which there are many, are hardly sufficient. Besides, she hardly even wants to look at her phone anymore, not since she made a mistake of telling Neal, who has sent her three texts that consist of “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” written over ad nauseum . Jerk.

Beyond embarrassment, she’s also incredibly disappointed in herself. The Juliet of four years ago had never been caught involved in illicit acts. Had she been caught vomiting into a bush after a night of underage drinking? Sure, but at least she’d been clothed and not hooking up with anyone. Has she fallen so far? Has living in New York eroded her sense in Storybrooke? The Juliet of four years ago would have insisted to sneak deeper into the library to fool around.

One thing’s for sure: I am never doing this in Storybrooke again.

She picks up her book again, and thumbs to the dog-eared page. Her adamant refusal to use a bookmark drives Gideon up the walls -- “Books are sacred, J.” The thought of him, and his exasperation, warms her heart and she makes a note to call him once she’s sure her parents are asleep. Slinking further into the swing, she attempts to read a bit more. It’s a mostly futile effort, and she’s about to give up when she is startled by the creak of the back door porch opening. She winces when she sees her father slide through.

“Hi.”

“Hullo, Cygnet.”

Juliet readjusts herself in the swing, swinging her legs to the ground so that he could sit beside her. She doesn’t meet his eyes when he sits down. She takes a deep breath, bracing for whatever lecture is bound to come, wishing he had somehow gotten the memo that this was something that they weren’t going to talk about. She had hoped that she and Gideon had gotten off the proverbial hook in that regard when her father and Mr. Gold had disappeared immediately after catching them, but apparently not.

“I’m guessing you’re not coming out here because you wanted to see the stars?”

“It’s a touch too overcast for that tonight, darling,” he replies, and there’s humor in his voice, but it is strained. God, this is the worst. “I wished for us to have a chat, not matter how awkward it might be.”

“Or we could pretend it never happened. I prefer that option.”

“When you were a toddler, you preferred to not wear clothes, so you stripped yourself in the middle of Granny’s, waving your dirty diaper as a victory flag. And yet your mother and I still dressed you,” her father replies, and he has the audacity to wink at her.

“Okay, that is so not fair.” It’s a story she’s heard maybe a hundred times by this point, but it makes her cringe every time. Why was she such an awkward child?

“I’ve learned from experience that life, unfortunately, isn’t fair.”

“Now you’re getting angsty,” she says. She’s being difficult. Juliet knows this, but she really doesn’t want to talk about whatever if on her father’s mind. She already feels terrible enough. “Dad, seriously, can we just forget today ever happened?”

“Trust me when I say I do, and after you and I have a chat, we can.”

“Dad, I’m an adult. We were just being dumb, okay?” Juliet feels like a teenager again, getting caught after staying out past curfew. But, to be fair, this is perfectly in character for her father. Years ago after a party, he’d caught her stumbling around clearly drunk. The next day he’d given her a lecture about the importance of staying safe while inebriated. “We’ll be more responsible from now on. Trust me when I say that no one involved wants a repeat of that. Ever.”

“That’s good. That’s good.” He runs his hand through his hair. “That’s not what I want to discuss.”

“Oh.” They sit like that for a moment, listening the sound of summer bugs and the creak of the swing swaying back and forth. When their respective awkward silence feels unbearable, Juliet asks, “So what did you want to talk about then?”

“As you’ve mentioned you’re an adult, and I have no bearing on telling you what you can and cannot do.” He takes a deep breath and looks up. “But now that you’re an adult, you are making adult choices and are finding yourself in adult situations.”

“Mom already gave me the sex talk in high school.” Her mother had been incredibly thorough with the sex talk, no doubt influenced by her own harrowing experience with teenage pregnancy. While she had done an excellent job discussing the different forms of birth control, Juliet had walked away so scarred by everything else that she’d done everything but penetrative sex until she had started college for fear of getting pregnant before her finishing her high school degree. “I know how to be safe. We’ve been tested. I have an IUD.”

Juliet winces at her explanation. Even though she’s veering into TMI territory -- her father knowing her current form of birth control does not top the ‘need to know’ list -- she wants to express to him that the earlier encounter had been a bit of fun and that she’s actually a responsible adult when it comes to these things.

“I’m glad you are aware of those things.” He runs his hand through his hair again. It’s also something Juliet does when she’s stressed. Both her mother and Gideon have commented on it. Unsure if it is a nature or nurture thing, she chalks it up to simply being Killian Jones’ daughter. “I just also want you to be aware that just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you have to if you. If you ever feel uncomfortable doing something, you can say no. You don’t need to...you don’t need to consent to an action simply because your partner--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Gideon didn’t force me into doing anything. Holyshit, he’s not that kind of guy. I’m the one-- it was my idea, okay? He’s not some creep who would force me into that. This is not the time for that PSA.” Juliet pushes herself from the swing, turning to face her father. She’s angry and hurt and how could he even imply…? “Is it because of what we were doing? Newsflash, Dad, women can like giving head. Women can like sex. And I know this might be hard to hear, but I like sex. What you walked in on? That was me doing what I enjoy doing with my partner.”

To call her furious would be an understatement. She wonders how her father could even think that about Gideon. Gideon, who is the nicest person she knows. Gideon, who is so afraid of everything thinking he’s just another villain because of his last name. The implication that he would be the one forcing her, or that she would be so easily coerced boils her blood. And for it to come from her father?

She turns to leave -- to where, she doesn’t know -- but her father is up in an instant and following her. He gently takes hold of her arm, stopping her at the door. “Juliet, sweetheart, wait.”

“What, so you can imply my boyfriend is some asshole who forces me into sex?”

“No, so I can better explain what I was trying to say,” he tells her. Juliet doesn’t move at first, but he gradually leads her back to the swing. “It was not my intention to imply at Gideon was that sort of man. I honestly don’t think he is. I was talking about relationships the in general and not him specifically.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m doing a train on the hockey team.” Her father winces. She thinks it serves him right. “I’m kind of a big believer in monogamy.”

“That’s...that’s something. But even with the people we love, it’s easy for us to feel like we should do things that we normally wouldn’t want to do. And I don’t mean this situation specifically, but in relationships as a whole. I want you to know that it’s okay to say no,” he says gently. “You don’t ever have to do something you don’t want.”

“Again, I wanted to.”

“So you said.” He bites his lip and looks down. “I also want you to know that if you want to do something that your partner doesn’t, you should respect their decision, as well.”

“I know.”

“It’s easy to say when you’re not in the situation. And if you think your desires outweigh their own. And I’m not simply talking about what one might get into in their bedchambers, or libraries as it were. It extends to hospitals, how you raise your children, end of life care…” He trails off, before shaking his head. He turns so he can fully face her. “Juliet, darling, you’re growing up and making so many decisions, and now you’re making them now with a partner. I love you, more than anything you can comprehend, which is why I’m telling you these things. Adulthood isn’t simple, and strong emotions makes it even more difficult. What I’m trying, rather poorly it seems, is to say that it’s okay to communicate your desires, just as it is for he to communicate his, but both of you can say no and the other needs to respect it, aye?”

She’s unprepared to deal with the intensity of his speech. She’s been unprepared for a lot that has happened today, and she wants to deal with none of it. So she nods her head. “Yeah. Okay. Communicate. Have adult conversations. Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.” He looks taken aback at her response. She regrets her, but he’s already up and walking to the door. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

And then he’s gone, and Juliet feels like the worst person ever.

“You aren’t the worst person ever,” Gideon tells her later that night, after she creeps into the house and back to her childhood bedroom. “Maybe a bit short. As much as I appreciate you defending my honor, based on what he said I don’t think he was meaning it that way. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part.”

“I don’t know, I think he was trying to do the ‘Dad’ thing and make it like a sitcom feel-good moment.” In the immediate aftermath, once she had cooled off and really registered what her father had been saying, she had realized that maybe he hadn’t been implying what she thought he had. “And I yelled at him and then blew him off. I mean, he was being a bit weird about it with the sex stuff, but...I don’t know.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you think I should do about it?”

“That’s not my call, babe,” he says gently. She hears a rustle over the line as he shifts in the bed. She wishes she were there with him, if only so she could feel the comfort of his warmth around her. “You know your dad. Do what you think is best.”

She just has to figure out what that means.

-/-

Emma is waiting for him in bed when he clambers into their bedchamber. Her hair, now wet, is pulled into a braid and she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, but she still looks stunning. She closes the book she had been reading, and gives him a sympathetic look. “I heard yelling.”

“You heard correctly.” He strips off his clothes and brace, for once not bothering to fold them neatly into the hamper. Deciding not to wear his pajama pants, he crawls into bed and takes his spot besides his wife. “I’m not sure how well that conversation went.”

“I told you wait until morning.” Emma pokes him in the chest. “She’s mortified now. Nothing you said was going to register.”

“I didn’t want the moment to pass.” He interlocks his fingers with hers, and kisses her knuckles. “I’m afraid if I had waited until the morning, she would have snuck out. I’m not convinced she still won’t.”

“That does sound like our daughter.” They re-adjust themselves under the blankets so that Emma is laying on his chest. Killian feels his heart rate, previously pounding, slow as he succumbs to the comfort of her presence. “Even if it didn’t go well, I’m proud of you. You pushed past any awkwardness to have a real conversation with your kid.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to say that. She accused me of implying her boyfriend was an abuser.”

“She also apparently likes sex,” Emma adds, humor evident in her tone.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You kinda of walked into that last one, buddy.” He feels Emma traces nonsense into his chest. It tickles, but he allows her to continue. She grounds him, that wife of his, keeping him afloat in the wild storm of his emotions.

“I walked into a lot of things today.” Things he would very much like to forget, regardless of what he told Juliet. He wonders if he might be able to convince Gold to whip them up a memory potion. He thinks the Dark One might agree.

“Yeah, I don’t envy you.”

“You are taking far too much joy in this situation.”

“What can I say, babe? It was a long time coming. Remember when mom walked in on us?”

“Which time?”

“Exactly.”

He laughs, but he doesn’t quite find the humor in the situation. He’s too caught up thinking about all the things he did wrong while talking to Juliet than right tonight. It had been easier when she was younger, far less prone to lash out. Back then, of course, the lessons hadn’t felt some complicated or embarrassing. Perhaps he misses that too, her willingness to listen and the faith that the advice he was imparting was done with her best interest at heart.

But that’s not how it works anymore, is it? She’s her own person. One who apparently likes sex and fools around with her partner in public spaces. And he doesn’t mind, not really, but today had been a stark reminder that she’s not his little girl anymore. He hadn’t been prepared for this part of fatherhood.

“Killian?” Emma says after a lifetime of silence. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. And you want to know how I know it is?” Emma moves that her chin is now resting on his chest. He catches a glint in her green eyes. “Because we’ve been down this road before, and everything turned out fine. Our daughter still comes home.”

“Why does it feel different than before?” he asks. Emma is correct, this isn’t the first time either of them have had a less than ideal encounter with their daughter. He still cringes when he thinks of the slammed doors and eye rolls from her teenage years.

“Because I think this is the first time it’s really sunk in for you that our baby isn’t a baby anymore.” Her words are a heavy weight on his chest as he considers them. Objectively, he recognizes that Juliet is an adult. She’s done well for herself living away from home and completing her studies. She hasn’t starved. But, Emma isn’t necessarily wrong either, and the incident earlier is a reminder of just how much she’s grown.

“You know, earlier I was telling the Crocodile I wished I could turn back time to when she was small. She used to be no longer than my forearm, do you remember that?” He’d been so delicate with her, so afraid of damaging something so small and precious to him.

“Of course I remember that.” Emma smiles fondly, the corner of her eyes crinkling. “Remember those bows my mom got her? The ones with flowers bigger than her face?”

“She would scream every time one of us tried to put it on.”

“You singing sea shanties was one of the only ways to get her to sleep.”

“Aye.” Tired as he had been, Killian cherished those moments he had with his infant daughter. She would be curled up on his chest as he rocked in a chair and hummed her his favorite songs. He felt special, being one of the only people who could calm her down. “I miss it.”

“I know, babe, but we’ve got a lot of new memories ahead of us.” Emma stretches up, leaving him feeling bereft, as she reaches to shut off the lamp. As his eyes attempt to adjust to the light, he feels her settle more firmly into her side of the bed. Unwilling to let her go quite yet, he turns to his side and wraps his arm around her waist.

“You were right about one thing, though.”

“Just one?”

“Hush,” he teases. “This one is different. Gideon, I mean.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Emma is goading him, but he doesn’t care. “You should have seen the fire in her eyes when she thought I was accusing him of being untoward. I’ve never seen her so defensive of anything or anyone in her life.”

“She’s in love.”

“Aye, she’s in love.”

Killian allows that sentiment to close out the night, and lets the evenness of Emma’s breaths slowly lull him to sleep. In the morning, he awakens to the sounds of someone rattling around the kitchen and the smell of pancakes wafting upstairs. He dresses quickly, pulling on the previously ignored pajama pants and a t-shirt before padding down the stairs. He expects to find Emma at the oven, but instead she is sitting at the table, drinking a mug of coffee. She casts him a knowing look and tilts her head to where their daughter is pouring batter into a sizzling skillet.

“Smells amazing, Cygnet.”

“Thanks, I made ‘em from scratch.” As the pancakes cook, she points with a spatula to a plate waiting for him. “You should get them while they’re hot.”

“As the lady insists.” He exchanges glances with Emma as he takes a plate of pancakes and settles into a chair. Rarely is Juliet ever awake this early on her own volition, let alone the one to making breakfast. After taking a few bites, he says, “These are excellent.”

“Thanks. I’ve been trying to learn how to cook, and ta-da.” Juliet flashes a wide smile -- Emma’s smile -- before turning back to her pancakes. Killian holds off on eating the rest, waiting until Juliet settles at the table with a plate of her own food and a glass of orange juice, extra pulp .

Emma excuses herself under the guise of needing to put on makeup, an obvious lie if he ever heard one. However, he can’t fault his wife for engineering an excuse for him and Juliet to be alone. His anxiety from the night before has slowly begun to ebb away knowing that his daughter did, in fact, not sneak out or intentionally sleep in to avoid him. She’s here and having breakfast. It’s the best he can ask for.

“What else are you learning how to cook?” he inquires, because he genuinely wants to know. This is a part of Juliet’s life he hadn’t initially been privy to with her living in New York. He’s eager to learn more.

“This and that. I make a mean pumpkin pasta sauce. If I’m up in the fall, maybe I can make it for you and Mom?”

“There’s nothing we would like more.” The hardest part of her growing older has been her absence. He’s proud that she has the confidence to leave home and forge a path of her own, but he misses her terribly. David had lucked out with both of his children living nearby. Killian has to settle for the occasional visit, mirror chats, or phone calls. The fact that she’s talking about visiting in a few months is a godsend.

She tells him more about the recipes she is learning how to cook -- caramel pie, enchiladas, various stews. He’s impressed, and he tells her as much.

“A girl’s gotta eat,” Juliet answers with a shrug. She pushes around some of the remaining pancakes on her plate. “Hey, Dad? About last night…”

He opens his mouth to apologize. Not for what he said, but instead for not yet coming to terms with her adulthood. Juliet, however, doesn’t allow him to finish. “Thanks for caring about me and everything.”

“You never need to thank me for that. I’m your father.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” she replies. He cheeks flush, and she pushes a few stray strands of hair behind her ears. “And, I didn’t say it last night, but I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Cygnet.”

Killian chooses not to press for any conversation surrounding last night anymore. He recognizes an olive branch when he sees one, and Emma’s advice about waiting is stilling lingering at the back of his mind. Instead, he asks his daughter her plans about the rest of weekend, and suggests that if they have time, her and Gideon should join he and Emma on the Jolly for a sunset cruise -- an olive branch of your own to say that he doesn’t actually hate her boyfriend.

“I’ll have to check, but that sounds fun,” she tells him.

Later, when they’re at station, Killian tells Emma all of this. He watches as her smile grows wider with each addition to the story, culminating on the tentative sailing excursion.

“I told you she would cool off.”

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised she did so quickly.” Since Juliet has inherited his temper, he had feared she would inherit his ability to hold a grudge. She certainly did when she was younger. As a teenager, she had perfected the silent treatment in a way that’s almost impressive. (For those not on the receiving end.”)

Emma simply gives him another one of her smiles and peck on the lips. “Well, yeah, our baby is growing up.”

He mutters something that sounds like agreement before giving his wife a kiss and returning to his work. He’s still not fond of his daughter being an adult, an absurd thought for something so inevitable and expected. But she’s happy. That’s what matters in the end.

#ouat ff #cs ff #captain swan #s writes fic #s writes finding neverland

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todaydreambelieversfic · 7 years ago

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Author Spotlight: ItsNotEasyBeingQueen Day 4

Day 4: Recs!

Oh, where to begin??? There are SO many wonderful fics out there that I cannot possibly reference them all. What’s funny is that every fic I’ve listed below is quite long – and I’m mostly a one-shot writer. I am not sure what that says about me!

Rec #1 – “Callaway Place” by @sunshineoptimismandangels https://archiveofourown.org/works/8791888?view_full_work=true https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12265808/1/Callaway-Place

Such an AMAZING piece of writing. Take out the names “Kurt” and “Blaine” and this fic stands as a work of completely original fiction, perfectly suitable to be published as a novel or to be made into a movie. Kurt and Blaine meet in a very unusual way as children, then find one another again as adults, becoming ensnared in a world of magic, mystery, and mortal danger. I can recall stopping whatever I was doing to read each chapter as soon as it was posted. This story is riveting from start to finish. I wish I was as talented and creative as this author. You needn’t look much further than the Prologue to get drawn in:

The numb feeling in his chest was morphing into something else, not the steady fear he’d been running on, but something strong, something driving – it was morphing into anger. He walked up the old creaky stairs to the third floor, breath coming a little faster.

Blaine stood in the middle of the large open room, his muscles tense and his body trembling from head to toe. He clenched his jaw and balled his fist staring resolutely at the tall full length mirror in front of him. The twining vines of its frame radiating with a burning light, the glass heaving inward and out like the lung of a living creature. The only mirror in the house not broken.

All Blaine had ever wanted was to be rid of this thing, to run as far away from it as he possibly could. Now, he was staring it down like an enemy he was about to meet on the battlefield. Every instinct he had was telling him to run, to flee, to leave this place behind him for good. Instead, he took a step closer. And another. And another.

There were a myriad of small golden lights floating on the other side of the glass, swirling and swarming around calling to him. It wasn’t necessary; he didn’t need an enchantment to know what he had to do. At this point he’d do anything. He reached out an unsteady hand towards the glass, pressing his fingers and then his whole palm against it. The glass was warm and pulsing, and it had a give to it in a way that glass really shouldn’t. Blaine shuddered and closed his eyes, drawing on all the courage he had. Then, he opened his eyes and pressed his hand harder against the glass; his hand started to sink in, like moving through thick mud.

Blaine wanted to scream, but he stuffed it down, pushing forward until the mirror had engulfed his arm up to the elbow. Blaine cleared his throat trying to sound steady, “I’m coming Kurt,” he promised and then took a step forward, the mirror pulling him through to the other side.

Rec #2 – “Heartstone” by @sunshineoptimismandangels

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124506?view_full_work=true

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11309971/1/Heartstone

Yes, I realize I’m dedicating two of my recs to the same author, but you asked for my favorite stories, and it just so happens that she penned two of them. (Don’t complain too much – I tried picking two others from memory and realized both were her stories, too. Apparently, I have a fanfic type. I’m choosing fics by two other authors, though, to spread the love.) Again, this fic has a supernatural element, and the author creates a completely unique world into which she deposits Kurt and Blaine. Under a curse meant to spare his life, Blaine endeavors for decades to recover that which would restore his humanity. Fate has, unbeknownst to either man, tied Kurt and Blaine together in a tale of mystery and fearful creatures that seek to destroy Blaine. Seriously – stop reading my drivel and go read this story.

I had a terrible time choosing an excerpt to post here. I think this gives you a good idea of the quality and tenor of the writing without giving away too much plot:

Blaine lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for his alarm to go off. He tilted his head, finding images in the fibers of the ceiling paint, a face, a castle…

A monster.

Blaine shut his eyes to rid his mind of the images of a fanged creature staring down at him; his alarm clock went off, and even though he'd been waiting for it, it made his heart rate spike as he sat straight up in bed and slammed his palm on the alarm to shut it up. He'd been having nightmares again, worse than usual, his mind dredging up the most evil of his memories, red eyes glaring at him in the dark and screams of pain.

Blaine got up from his bed, swallowing deeply, and walked over to the mirror that hung above his dresser. He moved it to the side to reveal the safe in the wall and worked the combination until it opened. Inside, was the source of his nightmares; they'd gotten worse since he traded Felix for this vial. He pulled it out and held it in his hand for a moment, the heat inside warming him a little, but still making him shiver. He put the vial down on his dresser top and went to get ready for the day.

He'd had the vial for a few weeks now but hadn't done anything with it. He told himself that it was because he didn't have everything he needed for the ritual yet, which was true. It was also true that Blaine hadn't been trying very hard to get what he needed. That changed today, though; he had an appointment late that afternoon to get the piece he needed in order to finally use the heartstone remains. He should be excited, elated even, but he couldn't muster it.

Mostly he felt… worried. Worried about what he would find out, worried about where the new information he gained would lead him. Away from New York? Towards facing the truths that have been chasing him most of his life? Away from Kurt? The thought of Kurt surprised him and he pinched the bridge of his nose trying to concentrate. He chided himself; he couldn't give up on what he'd been working towards almost his whole life just because of a pretty boy with a pretty smile that made Blaine feel… made Blaine feel for the first time in too long.

Blaine stared at the clothes hanging in his closet while wearing only the jeans he'd slipped on after his shower. He never thought much about what he wore, but today he wanted to look nice, at least as nice as he could; he was probably seeing Kurt this afternoon and he didn't know when he'd see him again after the ritual. Blaine sighed; all of his clothes were various shades of black and gray and when did he become so boring? He ended up picking out a sweater that could conceivably be considered navy, layered with a crisp gray button up underneath, and resigned himself to looking as put together as he could.

On his way out, he grabbed the vial and stuck it in his coat pocket. He wasn't foolish enough to leave it behind. He kept it in the safe at night and on his person at all other times. He may hate what it was and what it represented, but he knew he needed it. It felt heavy in his pocket, like it was dragging his whole body down. The more Blaine thought about it, the more he wasn't sure he should even meet up with Kurt today; wouldn't it be better just to fade from Kurt's life like he'd never been there? That thought made his chest unexpectedly tight.

Kurt was the first friend he'd allowed himself in some time, he wasn't sure why'd he'd made the exception for Kurt, but he had. He considered Kurt a friend and the thought of him warmed Blaine's cold world. If he'd been someone else maybe he'd let himself have more than friendship with Kurt. He was smart, and attractive and inconceivably patient with Blaine. Still, it was a moot point now, now that Blaine was going to perform this ritual life was going to change. It had to.

He'd have one last cup of cinnamon coffee with Kurt and then close that chapter of his life. He could do that. Blaine gulped as the cold wind picked-up outside. He could do that, right?

Rec #3: I Won’t Let You Down by Mrs Criss 2012

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10671690/1/I-Won-t-Let-You-Down

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259336?view_full_work=true

Another favorite author whose work I admire is Mrs Criss 2012. “I Won’t Let You Down” is a beautiful, emotional, often angsty romance between an older (age 27) Kurt and younger (age 16) Blaine. Before you get potentially turned off by the age difference, let me assure you, this is a fic about true love and compassion and finding out that the person you’re meant to be with might surprise you. The age difference is thoroughly discussed and is a logical part of the story. Blaine’s family moves in across the street from Burt Hummel. Kurt, who lives in New York, comes for a visit, but is a hardened version of the boy he used to be. However, the young, unhappy boy across the road is just the person to make Kurt become the best version of himself again. It takes a loooong time to get there, and Kurt’s horribly maddening sometimes, and Burt is quite the watchdog papa bear protector – of Blaine – but it’s all so very worth it.

This excerpt may be a spoiler (so sue me), but it’s one of the best first (well, technically, second, but you have to read it to understand that) kiss scenes ever.

"That was your first kiss?" Kurt asks, stricken.

Blaine doesn't speak but gives a small nod, looking down at his shoes as the rain runs from his hair.

"Oh Blaine," Kurt says sadly. "You...I...I'm..." He is fully intending to apologize, but when Blaine looks up, pain and anguish painted across his face, Kurt is overcome. Surging forward, he closes the gap between them and claims Blaine's mouth in a hungry kiss. The feel of Blaine's wet hair sliding through his fingers only makes him press their bodies closer together, and then suddenly Blaine is kissing back in spite of himself, his hands fisting the front of Kurt's sweater and tugging him unfathomably closer still. The feel of their lips together is better than either could have ever imagined, and every ounce of frustration, anger and desire manifests itself in a kiss which neither ever wants to end.

The initial passion gives way to deep longing, and the kiss becomes romantic and loving. Tentatively, Kurt dares to taste with his tongue and when Blaine moans softly in his throat and opens his mouth wider, Kurt feels himself growing hard immediately. They keep kissing, right there on the corner of Blaine's driveway in the pouring rain, with Kurt's hands framing Blaine's face tenderly until eventually they slow. Even then they are both reluctant to part, dropping sweet kisses to each other's lips as gradually Blaine allows an ear splitting grin to take over his face.

"You have no idea how desperately I've wanted to do that," Kurt whispers, his eyes still closed as he presses his forehead against Blaine's. "I just..." He goes back in for more and Blaine responds willingly, his hands on the small of Kurt's back this time, pushing their groins together. It becomes Kurt's turn to whimper, and his soft groan is immediately swallowed by Blaine who runs his tongue into Kurt's mouth once more. This time, when they break it is to fall into a deep, long hug, and yes, Blaine does fit as perfectly as Kurt hoped he would.

He holds him tight and allows himself to be held in return, noticing how although Blaine might be young, and relatively small, he is manly and firm against him, and just the feel of Blaine's arms around him make him feel safe and secure.

Rec #4 – Angel in a Red Vest by @dontbefanci

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143186?view_full_work=true

I just read this on a recommendation from another reader and I was blown away. Blaine is a firefighter who meets Kurt, a volunteer disaster responder. It’s masterfully written, romantic, and utterly heartbreaking at times – and I read the whole 100k+ fic in two days. (My eyes may never be the same, but it was totally worth it.) It’s all so good and hard to parse up, but here’s a little early scene to whet your appetite:

“Is, um…is there something else I can do for you?”

“Yes.” A blush crept up Blaine’s face as he smiled, his eyes darting away from Kurt’s gaze and back again. “Kurt, I actually came by for another reason.”

“Oh?” Kurt tilted his head in question unable to hide his grin. Not only had Chief remembered his name, but the way he said it, as though it curled in his mouth like a ribbon of candy. Kur…t.

“I was wondering…if you would like to join me for dinner one night this week.”

Their eyes locked and Kurt no longer had to worry about hiding the hitches in his breath. He completely forgot how to breathe. But, he found his voice, if not his ability to speak properly. “Sure. That would…yes. I’d…I’d like that.” Smooth, Hummel.

“Good. I’ll um…I need a way to contact you?”

“Oh. That might help.”

They exchanged numbers, through their phones and Blaine pocketed his as he stood pausing in the frame of Kurt’s office door, another blush sweeping over his cheeks. “So. I’ll call soon?”

“That would be great. And, come back by. I know Dot wants to meet you.”

Blaine’s stance stiffened, zippering back up into Chief mode and he smiled tightly. “Will do.” He nodded and winked and disappeared out the door as swiftly as he’d come in.

And Kurt? Well, Kurt let out a whoosh of air, breathing properly for the first time in about ten minutes. “Oh. Mygod.”

He stared at his desk, the papers on it, his to-do list over and over again, not able to start on anything, irritated with his school boy behavior. Really now. It’s a date. You have dates. You even have dates with handsome men. What IS your problem?

And he couldn’t answer even himself; his face remaining heated and flushed until he finally pulled himself out and it and focused on his volunteer email list to announce an upcoming training.

And then the door opened again.

It was Blaine, rushed and unable to make eye contact.

“Hello again.”

“Yeah. Hi. So. I wimped out just like I promised I wouldn’t.”

“Pardon?”

“Look. I’m not normally this ridiculous, but um…” He stepped in all the way and leaned against the door frame, nervous and wide-eyed. “You entrance me, Kurt Hummel. What are you doing for lunch today?”

Kurt laughed. Hot and adorable was an amazing combination on any man and here it was, standing right in front of him. “I was just going to grab something up the road. Would you like to join me?”

“Yes. Please.”

“So, is this in addition to or instead of…?”

Blaine started to answer and stopped, measuring his words. “In addition? I just didn’t want to put it off and talk myself out of it.”

“Is that a habit of yours? Talking to yourself?”

“No. Yes? Probably.” Blaine blushed and stopped talking, looking away. He started and stopped two more times, finally giving up.

“Well.” Kurt looked down at his desk, collecting his thoughts that had scattered all over the place. “Shall I pick you up at the station?”

“No. My invitation; my ride.”

Kurt nodded and smiled. He’s even adorably polite. I might die. “Noon is fine.”

“I’ll…I’ll see you then.” Blaine grabbed for the door handle, missed, tried again and succeeded. “And, I won’t bother you again until then. Promise.”

“You’re most definitely not a bother.”

#recs #author spotlight

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kpopfanfictrash · 7 years ago

Text

Addewid (X)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4,111

Genre: Fey!AU + Series

Summary: “You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

It’s as though I’ve awakened a sleeping part of him and Kai can’t quite control it. Neither can I, though – I’m ravenous. Pressing closer, wanting more. Needing him, gasping when his lips disappear, moaning when they reappear at the base of my throat. Kai sucks gently, making me shiver before his tongue flicks that same spot. A scrape of his teeth before pulling back to my lips, thumb stroking my bodice while his mouth finds mine once more.

I kiss back, savoring the moment when his motions slow against me. The kiss turning to something sweeter, something almost painful before Kai softly pulls away. His forehead falls to mine, eyes opening to stare back at me. “Y/N,” he says, waiting until I nod. “Please.” His voice cracks, only slightly. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” I breathe, surprised to find it’s the truth.

X - The Queen

It's funny how the same words said in different times, at different places can mean the distinct opposite of each other. Yesterday, I said I wouldn’t leave Kai because I couldn’t. Today, I won’t leave Kai because I won’t. Can’t, won’t – what's the difference? I know the difference, though. The difference lies in that now I’m choosing to stay. Now I know how much it would hurt to leave and I know remaining here is partly by choice.

I didn't promise Kai anything when I said that I’d stay. I didn't feel the shiver, that lock which means an Addewid has occurred. I still feel chained though, still know there are ties because this is what I want, being here. I want to exist here, want to be here with Kai. This fact kills me, because it wars with the nagging voice inside my mind which says that Kai won’t let me go.

He won’t break my first Addewid, and I don’t know what to make of that.

The next morning, Kai throws open my bedroom door. I don't react at first, simply cracking open one eye to look at him. “Why is this becoming a regular occurrence,” I grumble, rolling over.

Kai grins – the first I've seen on his face. It transforms him, making him look several years younger. “Get up, get dressed,” he declares. “Meet me outside in twenty minutes.” Kai throws something down on my bed, heavy enough for my mattress to sink from the weight.

I sit up, pushing myself on my elbows as I recognize the weapons belt. This, along with two metal knives thrust through its loops. I stare at this for a long moment before glancing at Kai.

He smiles, laughing before turning around. “Twenty minutes. Bring the knives.”

He closes my door and I sit there for one more minute, attempting to process the situation. But then, knowing Kai, he'll probably come barging through that door in exactly twenty minutes. Brandishing his sword or whatnot, so I scramble quickly out of my bed to change. I braid my hair away from my face, buckling the belt about my waist in the same maneuver Kai has done a hundred times. Despite my previous hesitancy, the main emotion I feel opening my door is excitement.

Kai gave me a weapon. Kai wants to teach me to use that weapon. When I exit my room, I find Kai leaning against the wall. He doesn't have a watch, though his eyebrows lift expectantly. “Ten minutes,” he announces. “If we were under attack, you'd be dead.”

“If we were under attack,” I counter, following him down the staircase. “I wouldn't have bothered to wash my face. There, that’s three minutes back.”

The corner of Kai’s mouth lifts. “Follow me,” he orders, ignoring my previous statement.

We step into cold sunshine, winter wind whipping my hair as we continue to walk. Kai passes rows of evergreens, turning left to enter a trail I've never seen before. It's quieter here, peaceful and the trees meet overhead to block out the wind. It feels warmer, though I'm glad I wore my heavier training clothes. At least, that's what I assume they are – I put on the clothes I found folded neatly at the bottom of my dresser. Leather vests, close-fit tunics and sturdy pants to adhere to my frame. I'm wearing these as I step out into the clearing, and Kai’s eyes widen in response.

His gaze trails my body, lingering in certain places and I shiver for reasons completely unrelated to the cold.

“Today is about training,” Kai announces, quietly redefining the look he just gave.

I offer my best attempt at an innocent smile. “Oh? Is that all?”

Kai’s gaze drops, finding my hips as my weight shifts. “Yes. That’s all,” he maintains, gaze moving upwards. “I want you – need you to be safe. And you won’t be, unless you learn to protect yourself.”

His sudden sincerity stifles whatever comeback I was going to say disappearing as I nod. “Alright,” I sigh. “What’s first?”

Kai’s brow lowers.

As I should have realized, the Unseelie Prince is a brutal teacher. Kai is patient, thorough – but he expects the highest quality, and is disappointed when he doesn’t receive it. The first day is technique. Explanation of various maneuvers and the different kinds of combat. In close quarters like this, I should use knives. In open combat – if my opponent has a sword, I should use a sword. Otherwise they’ll slice me apart before coming in reach of my weapon.

His lessons are accompanied by a series of drills, yelled at me over and over at me from the edge of the clearing. I’m exhausted by the time I’m trudging back to the manor, Kai having left several hours prior. Instructing me to stay and practice, not to come back until I’d mastered a particularly difficult fighting sequence. As I walk, I find myself weary both physically and mentally – the worst of it’s kind. I practically collapse on my bed, not moving or waking up until the morning.

And so this repeats. I dream during that time of little but Kai’s exercises. Over and over, drilled into me until they’re nothing more than muscle memory. Block, feint, strike. Under, over, over again.

Each morning passes this way. Hours of practice, Kai pushing me to the very brink of exhaustion with his merciless, stony expression. In the afternoons though, he teaches me other things. The history of Faery, the origins of magic. Not how to use magic, of course – but about its properties.

“You likely have some magic,” Kai informs me, ignoring my surprise. “Not a significant amount, not enough to use. Just a drop or so of fairy blood, which makes it possible for you to see us in the human realm.”

I never thought about this before. Never considered there might be an explanation for why my father and I can see the Fey. “Not enough to be useful?” I ask, disappointed. “Does this mean I can't use magic?”

Kai nearly smiles. “Be careful what you wish for,” he warns. “But no, likely you can’t use magic. You can give it your best shot, though.”

I nod, moving to stand before him. Attempting for ten solid minutes to control an element I can't feel, much less manipulate. All the while Kai tries – and spectacularly fails – to hide his laughter, over in the corner.

“You,” I grunt, sweat sliding down my brow. Gaze moving to where Kai leans against the wall. “If you laugh at me one more time at me, I’ll gut you.”

Smirking, Kai pushes himself from the stone. “First,” he maintains, walking closer. “Gutting me would mean you’ve mastered your weapons. Which you have not. Second – watch me,” he says, twisting a tendril of flame about his fingertips. “Magic itself is raw. It can be shaped, molded into something useful by its wielder. Each fairy has certain preferences, ways of manipulating magic they excel at.”

I watch, amazed as the flames coil and flicker against his skin. “Like Sehun,” I ask, following his fingertip with my gaze, “and persuasion?”

Kai inclines his head. “Sehun is talented with persuasion. A fairy’s talents depend largely on their mood, their temperament and situation.”

“Ah,” I sigh, watching the flame sputter and die. “What about you?” I ask, gaze moving to the silver-haired prince. “What is your talent, Kai?”

His answering smile is wicked. “Talents,” Kai corrects. “I have many. These days though, I prefer not to use magic at all.”

“Why?” I ask, confused why someone would ever willingly give up that kind of power. “Having magic seems like a wonderful thing.”

Kai takes a step forward, a tendril of wind tracing my jaw. “I prefer using my body to fight,” he informs, his voice dull. “My body is worn and used. I am a tool, a symbol of what I serve. My magic though,” Kai says softly, hesitating. “That is a part of me I can hide.”

His words weigh heavily, forcing me to remember something Muriel once said. Kai does not heal often. But how can he, I realize, when Kai himself is broken? Maybe that’s the truth of it, though. Perhaps we’re each broken in different ways and the whole pieces we do have lend themselves to another.

When I look back up, Kai is before me. The sight of him inspires such strange feelings, so unsettling in their intensity. The presence of his body so close to mine is painful. His gaze is stark, scanning my face and leaving me breathless.

I can't stop thinking about his kiss. How his mouth moved against mine and the sounds he breathed into my body. Kai’s hands twining in my hair, the small sigh he made when he pulled away. These sounds repeat themselves, over and over until they entwine with the rhythm of his training exercises.

He's still staring, his want obvious. It’s truly remarkable for Kai to display any sort of emotion at all. When I first met him, I found Kai a cold, unfeeling being. I called him as much, I thought him a monster. That wasn’t him, though. That was a mask, a front meant to protect Kai. To conceal him, though from what or from whom – I don’t know. Maybe from Maeve, maybe from himself.

“Kai,” I exhale. “What happened? How did Maeve learn your true name?”

Kai withdraws, his expression shuttering. “I don't want to discuss that.”

“You don’t.”

“No.” The pain which accompanies this is so very obvious, I quickly look down. Kai’s finger brushes my chin then, making me look at him. “I’m sorry. I know,” Kai starts to say, then stops. “I’ve been alone for a very long time. It’s hard for me… to open up.”

“It’s okay,” I nod. My hand raises to wrap around his wrist.

Wrapped around his flesh, around blood and bone – I let him feel my touch, let him know that I’m here. Here despite the darkness, despite his nightmare. Despite all that Kai must hide and maybe I’m stupid for feeling this way. Perhaps I’m out of my mind, but I can no longer ignore these feelings which bind me to him.

Kai continues to look, expression desperate while sliding his thumb against my skin. “Tell me one of your talents,” I say, as his expression lightens.

Kai smiles, glancing overhead. Slowly, soft flakes fall about my shoulders.

I look up, snow sticking to my lashes as I laugh. “This is it?” I smile, looking back down. “This is the fearsome power of the Unseelie Prince? What,” I joke, taking a step back. “Are you next going to challenge me to a tickle fight?”

Kai moves so fast he's a blur, hands suddenly cupping the sides of my face. Fingers splayed over the edge of my cheeks, tilting my head to his. “Snow,” he smiles, nodding. “And ice. The wrath of winter, the command of the elements. That is my talent.”

I barely understand what he's saying, so distracting is his touch. So cool are the tips of his fingers along my scalding skin. When he bends, touching his lips to mine – I melt. Arching upwards, heart soaring at the press of his mouth. At the sound of his heartbeat, nearly as loud as my own. When Kai withdraws to kiss the corner of my lips, the edge of my temple – it’s almost too much for me to bear.

I lean forward. Wrapping my arms and resting my head against his chest. “Kai,” I murmur, guilt twisting my insides.

My next words freeze on my tongue. I mean to ask him why he won’t let me go. Why he won’t release me from my promise. Why he kisses me, when I’m still his prisoner. If he cares for me at all – why keep me here? I mean to ask him, truly I do – but the door to the library flies open.

It bangs against the wall, sending us both apart. I recognize the shape of San, striding towards us and smile, though my stomach sinks when he doesn’t return the gesture.

“Master,” San skids to a stop. I watch his chest rise and fall, note the sweat on his brow and realize something has happened. Something large, to make San this wild-eyed.

Kai seems to have arrived at the same conclusion. “What’s wrong?” he asks, gaze scanning the hallway beyond. His head tilts and I know that he’s listening. “I hear nothing. What’s happened?”

San swallows, shaking his head. “It’s too late,” he whispers. “She knows, she knows about her and she’s sent people this way.”

Kai stills. Only his lips move – barely so – when he asks, “How long?”

“Twenty minutes,” San swallows. “Maybe less, once they’re within earshot.”

A word leaves Kai’s lips, one I don’t recognize. He stands frozen for a moment before coming to and nodding at San. “Go,” he demands, gaze flickering. “Take Muriel and get out of here. They can’t find you.”

San turns on his heel, pausing once to look back from the door. “We’ll help,” he says softly. “We’ll help, in any way that we can.”

Then he’s gone, door swinging shut and leaving us in absolute silence. Kai still doesn’t look my way.

“Kai,” I say, trying and failing to gain his attention. “Kai. Kai!”

Finally, his gaze shifts. “Yes?”

I grit my teeth, staring back at him. “What the hell is going on?”

Kai pushes his hands through his hair, seemingly at a loss. “Maeve,” he says simply. “Maeve has learned you are here and has sent an emissary this way.”

I feel as though I’ve been punched in the stomach, as though the world has somehow stopped turning. I search, grasping for something – anything – to get us out of this.

“Okay,” I breathe, touching Kai’s arms and turning him to face me. “We don’t know why she’s coming, do we?”

Kai shakes his head mutely.

“Then maybe it’s just curiosity,” I stare up at him. “Sehun said you don’t normally keep humans. If she knows I’m here, perhaps she wants to know why. Which – ironically enough, I’ve been wondering myself – but we’ll put that aside for now.”

Kai’s eyes flicker, something like humor in his gaze. “You’re right,” he admits, brow lowering. “It’s been awhile since I was a part of the Unseelie Court. Perhaps Maeve just wishes me to return.”

“We’ll play the part,” I remind softly. “That’s all.”

Kai’s hands close around my wrists, drawing attention upward. “I will keep you safe,” he says, his gaze intensifying. Then Kai exhales, shaking his head. “Y/N, I have so much to say. So much to tell you, but I can’t – I,” his teeth grit together, gaze moving sideways. “They’re already here.”

Though I can’t see, I can feel the change in the air. Perhaps it’s a part of Kai’s magic but when he becomes aware of their presence, the room darkens. Its temperature drops and very quietly, Kai steps away. His gaze remains on mine though, full of pain while the mask of the Unseelie Prince lowers in place. Gone is his joy from earlier, gone is his smile and wit. In his place stands a stranger. One whose hand rests upon the pommel of his sword, whose lip curls at the sight of me.

“Sit there,” he instructs, head jerking to the velvet ottoman. “Don’t move unless I say otherwise.”

I do as he commands. Walking over and sitting – touching nothing while staring blankly into space. Kai wanders towards his desk, sitting on the edge to pick up a book. He flips absentmindedly through the pages, stretching his neck – as though bored by the very idea of soldiers on his premises.

The first knock is loud, it echoes throughout the manor. Kai doesn’t move, continuing to read. A second knock sounds, this louder than the first but Kai barely looks up. I remain still as well, silent while staring ahead.

That’s when I hear the door kicked open.

Loud voices enter, guttural while echoing throughout the entryway. The door to the library slams open as I watch, wide-eyed, while five Fey nobles walk in. Unseelie, by the looks of them, though I note Sehun is not amongst them.

Kai looks up. “Gentlemen,” he drones, lowering his book to the table. “What gives me the pleasure of hosting today?” Despite his cordial tone, Kai’s lip curls. Practically a snarl as he meets their gazes.

It gives me no small satisfaction to see four of the five Fey take a step backwards. Not the fifth one, though. The fifth Unseelie looks at Kai with displeasure, glancing at me before saying, “Direct orders from Maeve, Prince. You are to return to court immediately. You are to bring the girl.”

It might be my imagination, but I think the collar around Kai’s neck gleams. The other Fey seem to notice this as well, eyes flicking to his body before pointedly looking away.

Kai hesitates for a moment before nodding, the gesture swift. “By all means,” he replies, voice silken. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen her Majesty. Tell me,” he intones, hopping lightly down from his table. “Kyungsoo, have you been the one in my absence to warm her bed?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t move, something unspeakable in his gaze as he looks beyond. His head tilts to one side and as he does so, the fabric of his shirt falls forward. It’s then that I see – an identical, silver collar to Kai’s.

Kyungsoo steps forward. “That’s neither here nor there,” he replies, tone stiff. “Her Majesty has requested you return, requested you bring the girl and requested I ensure both incidents occur. That is all.”

Kai stares for a long moment before nodding. “Understood. Little one,” he smiles, the gesture cold. “We are to go and meet the Queen. Aren’t you happy?”

Looking up, I nod. “Yes, Master.”

Kai waves a hand. I yelp, barely controlling myself when his magic lifts me to stand. Pulling me closer and surveying me, frowning at my appearance. “No. This won’t do,” Kai sighs, waving his hand once more. I grit my teeth, annoyed when my clothes transform. They extend, flowing down to a long, ebony gown. This, paired with a silver overcoat and pinned hairdo. “There,” Kai nods, stepping back.

“Thank you, Master,” I incline my head.

My heart pounds as I curtsey, because it’s then I feel what no one else sees. Twin knives, strapped to the top of my thighs. Their touch is silent, deadly – Kai has given weapons, armed me for the Unseelie court.

“Thank you, Master,” I say again, looking upwards.

Kai’s eyes glimmer before looking away. “Now we may go,” he intones, nodding at the entryway. “Lead the way, Lord Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo does not look once at me before leaving. Retracing his steps down the hall, exiting into the snow without looking back. “We’ll ride to the palace,” he nods, looking at Kai. “You’ll need to get your own horses, Prince.”

Kai grabs my wrist. “We’ll meet you here,” he drawls, pushing me towards the edge of his grounds. As we turn the corner, Kai pulls me close. Continuing to walk while his lips find the shell of my ear. “Do everything I say. Do not speak in the Unseelie court, for it is expected I speak for you. Do not trust anything anyone tells you. Do you understand?”

I nod, just once.

“Good.” Kai’s voice drops, even lower to add, “I meant what I said. I will get you out of here alive.”

I don’t trust myself to nod, so I just look up. Whatever Kai sees there softens his gaze and he reaches out, tracing one finger over the underside of my palm before pulling away. Clearly not trusting himself with more than that. When we turn the corner, I see the stables before us and Kai continues to walk right through them.

“This one,” Kai nods, back to his previous insolence. “Go on, hop up,” he says, pulling forth a horse of chestnut and gold, placing the reigns in my outstretched palm.

For himself Kai picks a steed of dappled silver, one which trots as I’m attempting to swing my leg over mine’s side.

“Onwards,” Kai points towards the door. “Follow me.”

We ride out to the courtyard, where Kyungsoo and the others are already waiting. Seeing us exit, Kyungsoo clicks his tongue. Turning to trot towards the edge of the forest, leaving the other Fey to circle behind. Now there’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to run – even if we once considered that an option.

Kai’s expression is stone, unfeeling as Kyungsoo’s horse breaks into a gallop, then a cantor. Our own horses follow and soon the forest steaks past in a blur of green and white. Every so often I catch glimpses of things in the undergrowth. Other monsters and beasts, attracted by our commotion – though none of them dare exit the safety of the woods

Our cohort seems notorious, terrifying enough for every monster in Faery to think better of showing their face. Magic must spur these horses, since we’re moving faster than even Kai can run. I don’t know how anyone sees where we’re going – it’s far too much for my human eyesight. At some point I decide to close them entirely, squeezing shut and gripping tightly to my saddle. Refusing to open them until I feel my horse slow beneath me.

When this happens, I open one eye. The other springs open as well, and I gasp at the sight of the gates. The entrance to the Unseelie court is a great, towering thing built of stone and ice. Or perhaps diamonds, I realize, passing underneath. Cold, hard diamonds which glint in the sun. The second the last of our party passes, the gates slam shut behind us. I stare over my shoulder, wondering if I’ll ever see the other side of them again. Kai said he’ll get me out, but I find this hard to believe given his situation.

If Maeve ordered Kai to hurt me, leave me, kill me – Kai would be forced to obey.

Which is why dread pools in my stomach entering the palace. Why my stomach churns, as Kyungsoo motions for us to stop. He dismounts, handing reigns over to help while Kai follows, motioning for me to do the same. When my feet find snow, I wrap my overcoat tighter. Hurrying forward to stand in Kai’s shadow as we walk through the doors.

He barely looks at me, maintaining that cool exterior of detachment. His face is indifferent, uncaring while mahogany doors swing open before us. Kyungsoo is the first to enter. Striding into the hall while paying little attention to the ornate splendor all around. Me, though – I can’t help but stare. Never in my lifetime – never in ten lifetimes – could I have imagined this.

The Unseelie palace is wondrous. Its walls smooth, white stone the color of freshly fallen snow. The floors are black, a polished form of onyx or obsidian. Above us is a chandelier of glass, or maybe diamonds again. Either way, it catches the light and sends prisms across the pristine white staircase.

I stare at ornately carved swirls and spirals, awed by the railings curving about one another. The immaculate detail of the steps, engraved with stories I’m too far away to see.

It’s while I’m staring she appears.

One moment I see nothing, a blank space in the middle of the room. And then she’s there – appeared from nowhere, as though born of the shadow itself. Maeve steps forward fluidly, arching a brow to look down at us all.

Her face is beautiful. Heartbreakingly so – it hurts just to look at. The unbound tresses down her back are midnight in color. Her dress white, invoking purity, innocence. Her eyes though, these are completely and utterly black. Black of starlight and velvet, but also death and destruction. Cold, unfeeling eyes which fix on mine taking her first step forward. I find myself trembling, tumbling and for a brief, terrifying moment I lose my mind. Lose myself in her power – because oh gods, her power.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt and it’s only a flicker of movement which breaks me from her gaze. Kai turns his head to look at me. I somehow see, from the corner of one eye and am reminded of where I am. What I am. I straighten, belatedly remembering to look down at the floor.

Maeve’s lip curls, looking at Kai. “So,” she murmurs, her voice deceptively soft. “We all meet at last.”

[Master List]

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vbuckgenerator260amazinggam-blog · 5 years ago

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Fortnite career stats what is ltm

Little ones On YouTube Keep Making Videos About Scamming Fortnite V

Fortnite refers to a videogame series, set in a post-apocalyptic, zombie-infested world. Though Fortnite might be extra recognized for its PvP Battle Royale mode , it really is basically just a single mode of a single game alongside the original PvE mode recognized as 'Save the Globe.' As such, the two modes share a game client, as nicely an in-game currency referred to as V-Bucks. Though V-Bucks can be bought for revenue, it can also be earned in PvE, top some PvP players to use this shared economy to their benefit, farming PvE games to earn V-Bucks to commit once again in PvP. And it really is causing some complications.

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randomactuallywrites-57 · 7 years ago

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Blessed

Title: Blessed Author: randomwriter57 Rating: G Word Count: 5,368 Event + Prompt: @sormikweek day three - Marlind: Knowledge/Nature Summary: Twas a meeting between a travelling scholar and a deity of knowledge which pushed their lives into motion. Notes: This one got super out of hand and turned out more like a beginning of a larger work than a oneshot. If there’s enough interest, I might continue it, if there’s enough interest, but regardless please enjoy!

Also on: AO3

Twas on a night of the waning moon when a traveller stepped into the Wontiga Inn to ask a question most peculiar.

After purchasing a room for the evening along with a hearty meal, he asked nonchalantly, “Might you point me in the direction of a waterfall?”

The innkeepers were a couple of the most ordinary variety. Sure, in their time of running this inn, passed between kin for generations, they had seen a great many sorts of people. They had seen those who begged for shelter and sustenance, and those who lorded their riches above them. Over time, they saw strange people with entirely covered faces and a complete lack of belongings. They soon learnt that it is an innkeeper’s job not to ask questions.

Yet, out of all the people they had encountered, none had ever asked for such odd directions.

“There are a great many waterfalls in Lakehaven Heights,” the innkeeper told the traveller. “It is only a day’s trip from here.”

“Ah, so I’ve heard,” said the traveller. “However, the waterfall I am seeking is a very particular one. I have heard tell it is a sacred waterfall, though I could not tell you its name.”

“I do not suppose you mean the Galahad Falls,” the innkeeper said, “for they are prohibited from public entry.”

The innkeeper’s wife, a woman of kind disposition, stepped over from the dining area of the inn. “Perhaps you are searching for the Great Morgan Falls?”

“Perhaps,” said the traveller. “If you could point me in that direction, that would be much appreciated.”

“I know someone who can draft you a map leading there,” the innkeeper said. “It will take but a few days.”

But the traveller shook his head. “I have a map. Just your directions will be aid enough.”

The traveller thanked them and retired to his room. Before dawn the next morning, the traveller packed his belongings and placed the brass key on the inn’s front desk, alongside a note of thanks and some spare gald. He left before the waning moon could disappear from the sky.

This particular traveller was not new to his vocation. For many years had he walked each corner of the Glenwood continent, from the far reaches of east to the desert of the west. In each destination he reached would he stay at least a week, learning the legends of the area, before at last departing for a new location. Marlind too had once been one of these locations, but on this occasion he could not afford to make pause.

This traveller, Sorey, had but one dream: to learn all he possibly could about the deities of legend.

In this world, humans believed there to be invisible beings of divine power who brought about blessings unto the world. These beings, revered by the people within dedicated shrines, were known as deities. To most humans, they served as hope for the future, a faith they could believe in in the darkest of ages.

Sorey knew better.

During his travels he met with several people of varying faith who knew far more than he could dream of about the deities. A few claimed even to have seen them with their own eyes - ethereal beings, human in appearance save for their beauty and divinity. One particularly well-versed traveller told him that only humans with an innate quality known as ‘resonance’ could see these beings.

Each deity gave a different kind of blessing, from agricultural prosperity to family health, even mere blessings of good luck.

The deity Sorey sought was one he could find nowhere else in Glenwood - a deity of knowledge. For it was knowledge which Sorey sought above all else. Even if he could not see the deity, praying to them and seeing their vessel would surely allow him to learn more about their kind.

For an entire day did Sorey travel through Falkewin Hillside into Lakehaven Heights, for the most part on foot. As he came close to the capital, Ladylake, he found a caravan travelling in the direction of the village of Kylfe, which lay closer to the mountains where waterfalls could be found. In this caravan did he spend the remainder of his journey.

It is true that Lakehaven Heights was a field of beauty, with rolling hills flanking the south as domineering mountains stretched across the north. From these mountains did the waterfalls spill, their bounties crashing down onto the rivers below. Truly it was a magnificent sight, even to an untrained eye.

With a little luck, Sorey had only to travel a mile or two from Kylfe when he found a tattered sign pointing him in the direction of the Great Morgan Falls. The waterfall stood even taller than those surrounding it, its current far more powerful. It was no wonder, Sorey thought, that this particular waterfall was an object of worship.

He approached the waterfall and, finding the hidden gap between the rushing water and the rock wall, slid into the cave lurking behind it, out of the sight of most passers-by.

This was the shrine he sought.

Past the door engraved with ancient symbols did Sorey find a circular hall containing a small pool of water. Blue light gave the walls a glow which enlivened the ruin, making the room buzz with a calm energy. It felt almost holy, standing a place so pure and untouched.

People of a less patient disposition might have moved on quickly from the main hall, but Sorey remained, analysing the architecture of the room with a keen eye. Above him stood several long platforms, twining through each other to lead to opposite sides of the ruin. Even from this small main room, he could see the complexity of this ruin. His heart raced in his chest.

How exciting.

After a few moments of awe, Sorey ventured further into the ruin, passing through a corridor before entering a room in the shape of a T. Eyes glared on the walls to either side, waiting for him to take a single step. His heart sunk a little.

This ruin, it seemed, might have been more difficult to traverse than he had hoped.

In any case, he let himself be caught by the traps, testing the waters of their consequences. A bubble of water surrounded him upon his appearance in their sight, moving him seamlessly into the main hall once more, facing the pool of water.

This time, he was not alone.

Standing ankle-deep in the pool of water was a being he could only describe as ethereal. This person seemed to glow with a divine beauty, their lilac eyes widening slightly as they caught sight of him. Half of their hair fell graciously to the right of their face, swooping in a swirl of white-blue. The other half was pulled back, exposing a thin metal frame which continued under his fringe. On their right ear glittered a teardrop earring, connected by a thin silver chain to a cuff higher up on their ear.

Though their face was beautiful in and of itself, Sorey became only more entranced as his eyes gazed upon the rest of this being’s attire. Their clothes were of an intricate design, layers of pale blues mixing with accents of white. Parts of their skin were left unsheathed, revealing pale shoulders and hips. Over it all they wore a sheer stretch of fabric, attached to bands on their arms so it would drape over their body without the need to be clutched.

This being was the most beautiful person Sorey had ever seen.

“Who might you be?” he asked breathlessly.

After a moment’s hesitation, the being answered in a tenor filled with aristocracy. “I ought to be asking you the same question. What business do you have here?”

“My name is Sorey,” he said, standing so he could bow his head respectfully. “I am a travelling scholar. I came on the information that there might be a deity of knowledge residing within these ruins.”

“You have indeed come to the right place,” the person said. “I am that deity.”

Sorey’s head shot up. It was no wonder, now, that the person looked so beautiful. If he truly was a deity, then the implications were enough to boggle his mind entirely. “I-is that so? Then I am honoured to be in your presence, noble deity.” He bowed once again, this time at the waist.

“You may rise,” the deity said. “I am not one to care so much for formality.”

Following his request, Sorey said, “Might I ask your name, then?”

The deity pursed his lips for a moment in thought. “Mikleo.”

“Mikleo,” Sorey repeated in the same breathless tone as before. The name fit his appearance. “Do you not often see people within this ruin?”

“Not at all. I believe you are the first human I’ve seen for at least a decade.” Mikleo crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose your business here is related to my blessing?”

“Partially, yes. I was also curious about these ruins, though more so upon seeing them for myself.” He looked up once more, feeling the weight of his tiny size against the crushing enormity of the ruins above. “These ruins must date from at least the Era of the Gods, right?”

“I’m not sure,” Mikleo said. “Though I believe your guess is correct, it is possible that these could be an imitation.”

“Pardon any rudeness, but I’m not sure I agree.”

Mikleo raised a single eyebrow, though his eyes now held a light Sorey had not seen in them before. “Oh?”

“It’s unlikely that anyone would build a fake ruin of this scale, is it not?”

“Such an assumption is rooted in conventional beliefs.”

“These are beliefs I have studied over many years,” Sorey said, pulling out his most treasured tome from his bag. “Books such as this hold the key to the past for humans like myself. Though I would be interested in hearing the perspective of one who has not studied such tomes.”

“I for one would like to know how books written by humans, who have such short lifespans, might be more accurate than the history deities such as myself have seen firsthand.” Mikleo lowered himself into a cross-legged position in the pool of water.

Sorey did the same on the dry ground, laying his book in front of him but not so far as to get it wet. “Where shall we begin, then?”

For hours, the human and the deity debated the history of the world, theories bouncing back and forth between two who had not long ago been complete strangers. Sorey soon learned that Mikleo, for all his talk, had lived only just over a couple of decades, which was far less time than many other deities. Most of the history he knew, therefore, had been heard secondhand from other deities, before he had become the sole deity of the Lefay shrine.

“I am a disciple of Amenoch, the Goddess of Wisdom,” said Mikleo in defence of himself. “Does that not mean my knowledge is more trustworthy than those books?”

“Not when you take into account the bias of those who taught you,” Sorey countered.

In time, Mikleo fell in love with the books Sorey showed him. In that same amount of time, Sorey swore he fell in love with the deity. It was impossible, improbable, not to mention an awful idea considering their disparities. Still, he could not deny how his heart wrenched within his chest at the thought of leaving.

However, the time soon came that Sorey’s body could no longer cope without the burdens of humanity.

“May I return once I am rested?” Sorey asked as Mikleo pushed him toward the door, concern flashing in his eyes. “I would love to continue this discussion.”

“Allow two full days of rest to pass first,” Mikleo said. “By the time of your return, I will have read this book, and our discussion will be more fulfilling.”

Sorey beamed. “Thank you. I look forward to seeing you then.”

Leaving his most treasured tomes in the hands of the deity, he finally left the Lefay shrine, his mind racing with possibilities.

As promised, Sorey allowed two full days to pass before he returned to the ruin behind the waterfall. In that time he re-read one of the books he hadn’t lent to Mikleo, scrawling notes of things he wanted to discuss with the deity. In times of idleness, he found himself wondering what Mikleo might be doing. His curiosity was not strong enough to go against the deity’s request, however, and he kept himself to his word.

When he returned to the shrine, upon stepping into the main cavern, he called Mikleo’s name. Not a moment later, Mikleo appeared in a flash of blue light, sitting cross-legged in the pool as though he hadn’t moved since their last encounter.

“Hello,” he said, letting the corner of his lips turn upwards. “I see you kept your promise.”

“Of course I did!” Sorey fell comfortably into the same sitting position but on dry land. “There’s no telling what you might have done otherwise.”

Mikleo smirked. “Oh, I can only imagine the possibilities.”

“Hey!”

It didn’t take long for the pair to fall into the rhythm they’d created last time, picking up their debates without missing a beat. Once again they found themselves debating for hours on end, occasionally breaking so Sorey could tell Mikleo anecdotes about his travels.

“Have you never ventured outside of this shrine?” Sorey asked after one such story.

“The farthest I’ve been was to the village of the deities,” Mikleo said. “For the most part, I have been bound to my vessel and cannot leave.”

“Your vessel?”

Mikleo nodded his head towards the pool he sat in. “This pool of water is my vessel. It protects me from a miasma known as malevolence, which has severe effects on deities such as myself.”

Suddenly, the appearing in the pool made sense.

“Malevolence?” Sorey said, ever curious. “What is that?”

Mikleo explained it thusly: Malevolence is invisible to the eyes of humans, but it is produced through their negative emotions and wrongdoings. When a deity, who thrives on the prayers of the humans, is overcome by this substance, their soul may become corrupted.

Sorey took in this information with the utmost attention. His curious nature made him want to ask more questions about the nature of deities and malevolence, but before he could open his mouth to do so, Mikleo changed the subject to a new debate which distracted them both.

That evening, when Sorey left with the promise to return once more in two days’ time, he felt eyes watching him from the other side of the river. When he turned to look, he saw no one.

What Sorey could not see, and failed to see as he turned away to head back towards Kylfe, was the figure of a deity watching him, eyes narrowed in a glare.

Over time, Sorey continued to visit Mikleo every couple of days. They continued their discussions about historical theories as well as learning more about each other’s cultures and lives. It didn’t take long for Sorey to become sure of his emotions - with every moment spent at Mikleo’s side, he wanted more and more to stay with him for as long as he possibly could.

And perhaps it was his positive outlook skewing things, but sometimes he wondered if Mikleo might feel the same way towards him. After all, Mikleo was becoming far more open towards him now, often laughing and joking with him. He smiled at him when he arrived in the mornings, and looked saddened whenever the time came for Sorey to leave.

Speaking of, each time Sorey left the ruins, he felt those eyes watching him, though he could never place where the feeling came from. Once or twice he saw a traveller or a merchant standing nearby, usually checking a map or heading in the opposite direction. Still, he felt somewhat irked, not knowing what this feeling could be.

In any case, Sorey ignored it. As the seasons changed and the temperatures fell, he continued to step through the frosted fields towards the waterfall, which rushed into the river, undeterred by the ice forming on more stagnant bodies of water. On one particular occasion, the coldest day of the year so far, he arrived at the ruin to find Mikleo shivering slightly, his own pool frozen over from the cold.

“It happens every year,” Mikleo said, today sitting on the outside of the pool, closer to Sorey. He wrapped his almost bare arms around himself. “I usually am not so deterred by the cold, but this year…”

Sorey, not wanting to see him suffering, took off his warm white cloak and placed it gently around his shoulders. “Even if you are a deity, you might get sick if you get too cold. You should be careful.”

Mikleo looked up at him with wide eyes, then smiled gently, pulling the edges of the cloak around himself. “Thank you.”

Of course, Mikleo repeated the same sentiment towards him, reminding him that he should also be careful in the cold, considering that he was much more vulnerable as a human. At one point he suggested that Sorey make his visits less frequent, though he looked downward as he did, as though reluctant to suggest it. Naturally, Sorey refused. He continued to visit Mikleo on the same basis as before, and Mikleo did not suggest him coming less often again.

For a time, it felt like this would be their natural rhythm, from now on. Sorey felt at peace, spending his time visiting Mikleo and learning and talking with him. Though he occasionally felt the travel bug, he also didn’t want to leave.

That is, until he was forced to.

On a night in Kylfe, a sylphjay tapped upon his window, bearing a letter twice its own size. When Sorey opened the window, the bird fluttered inside, dropping the letter and perching on a bedpost.

It was natural for Sorey to be surprised at the appearance of a letter. After all, he was usually travelling, making it more difficult for people to get in touch with him. Then again, recently he hadn’t been travelling, which likely made it easier for people to reach him. In any case, without knowing who the sender might be, he opened the letter.

The letter did not bring good news. In fact, it bore the worst news Sorey could think of: his mother, whose body had been frail ever since his own birth, had been overcome by severe illness. The doctor caring for her did not know how long she might last, and the likelihood of her recovering was slim. He advised him to return to his home in Pendrago as soon as he could, so he could be at her side in her final hours.

Sorey had to go. He couldn’t leave his mother to suffer alone like this.

It tore him apart, though, to think of leaving Mikleo. He didn’t know how long he might be gone for - if his mother was truly as sick as the doctor said, it might be a while, counting travel time. But he knew Mikleo would understand.

He began packing that very evening.

The next morning, he left the inn before dawn, his belongings packed away in a bag, and a few thousand gald left on the counter. Rather than heading south, towards Ladylake, he instead headed north, towards the waterfall. The walk felt shorter than most other days, and he barely noticed the feeling of being watched as he slid through the entry and headed for the door.

“Mikleo?” he said when he entered the cavern.

The deity appeared as always, eyes wide. He still wore the cloak around his shoulders, and stood just outside of the frozen pool. “Sorey? It hasn’t already been two days, has it?”

Still, even as he asked this, Mikleo noticed the bag in Sorey’s hand and the travelling cloak around his shoulders.

“What happened?” Mikleo asked.

“I received a letter last night,” Sorey said. “My mother is ill, and the doctor isn’t sure how much longer…” He trailed off, not wanting to even think of the possibility. “I have to be with her.”

“I see.” Mikleo’s face crumpled. “That is an awful thing to happen. I wish I could do anything to help.”

“No, please don’t worry! Even just being by my side has helped me. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t leave here, but…”

“I understand.”

Sorey stepped forward, gently taking one of Mikleo’s hands in his own. “I promise I’ll return as soon as I possibly can.”

Mikleo met his eyes with a searching gaze. “Why?”

“Because you are important to me.” Sorey smiled at Mikleo. “I cannot be sure of your feelings, but I don’t want to be away from you for a long time. Just the thought is painful.”

“When must you leave?” Mikleo said after a moment’s pause.

“As soon as possible,” Sorey answered reluctantly.

Mikleo looked down at their linked hands, and said quietly, “I will give you a parting gift, then.”

Before Sorey could react, Mikleo took his hand out of Sorey’s and placed it, along with his other hand, on each of Sorey’s cheeks. His cloak fell away from his shoulders, but he made no move to retrieve it. Instead, he leaned onto the tips of his bare feet, moved ever closer, closed his eyes.

Before he knew it, Mikleo’s lips were on his.

The kiss felt impossible. His lips were warm and gentle, and a tingle of energy buzzed in Sorey’s mouth, moving down his throat and spreading through his body. All he could feel was that energy and the soft curve of Mikleo’s thumbs brushing against his cheekbones and the light press of Mikleo’s chest against his own. The sheer fabric on Mikleo’s arms tickled Sorey’s arms lightly. And yet, somehow with all these sensations rushing through him, his mind felt calm, at ease. He found himself closing his own eyes, relaxing into Mikleo’s touch.

Except then the warmth faded, and Mikleo moved away. Just as Sorey opened his eyes once more, he caught Mikleo’s final word to him - a whispered “farewell” before he disappeared into his vessel once more, leaving Sorey alone.

Now he could think properly, his mind felt filled with possibilities, buzzing with that familiar energy. He felt as though he could be asked any question and know the answer without thinking. He wondered for a moment if Mikleo might have given him his blessing, just now.

“Thank you,” Sorey said to the seemingly empty room. Then and only then did he leave Lefay and head towards Ladylake.

In a city such as Ladylake, it’s easy to hear the rumour mill turning. There are enough people there that information spreads quickly. This meant that, when Sorey arrived in Ladylake, he didn’t even reach the inn before he heard about the Griflet Bridge.

“I can’t believe it collapsed without warning,” one merchant was saying to a civilian. “The bridge was supposed to be so well made.”

“How are we supposed to get to Marlind now?” said another to his workmate, looking in disdain at their stock.

Indeed, that was a question which now plagued Sorey’s mind. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt that there was definitely another route into Rolance which didn’t require usage of the Griflet Bridge, but for now it felt like he had no options.

In any case, he continued his journey towards the Sanctuary, focusing first and foremost on his original goal before finding a new solution.

The Sanctuary in Ladylake was an age-old building which had served faith in Hyland for the longest time. Sorey had never visited before, but he had heard during his travels that there lived a deity within this Sanctuary who provided a blessing for family safety and security. Though he himself had already been blessed by Mikleo, and he felt that asking for another blessing might be selfish, in times such as these he also felt like he had no other options. Especially when he didn’t know if he’d be able to get to Pendrago in time to help his mother.

Sure enough, when he entered the Sanctuary, it didn’t take him long to notice the woman sitting atop the altar of the legendary Sacred Blade. Even were she not a deity she may have stood out due to the sheer length of her white hair, which flowed down to her feet, ending in a tip of red. Like Mikleo, she wore intricate clothing, though she wore a skirt which spread around her as she sat on the step, lifted a little to show her red shoes, high heels with green pendants dangling from the ankle straps. Her gaze was cast off to the middle distance, bright blue-green eyes focused on a world no one but her could see.

This had to be the deity Sorey sought.

“Excuse me,” he said in a quiet tone, once he reached the bottom of the altar.

The deity did not respond. He repeated his words, this time a little louder. This time, she looked towards him, her eyes widening when she realised he was speaking to her.

“You can see me?” the deity said in a melodic, yet questioning tone.

“I can,” he said. He bowed in greeting. “My name is Sorey. I apologise for my abruptness, but might I ask you a favour?”

“O-of course. What is it you require?”

“I heard that your blessing is one of family safety and security?”

“Yes, that is right.”

“Then I beseech you - please bestow your blessing upon my mother.” Sorey bowed once more. “She lives in Pendrago, and I am on my way to her side, but the Griflet Bridge has been destroyed. I am worried I might not make it in time.”

The deity paused before speaking. “I can do so, but before that - I feel a presence. You have already received the blessing of a powerful deity, have you not?”

Sorey straightened up again, cheeks colouring at the memory. “Er, yes. A deity who lives within the shrine of Lefay bestowed his blessing upon me.”

“Surely you speak not of Mikleo?” The deity looked almost as surprised by this as she had been by the revelation that he could see her. “You spoke with him?”

“He and I have been meeting regularly over the past few months,” he told her. “We are- er…” He paused. He couldn’t call Mikleo his friend, because surely their bond ran much more deeply than that. However, he wasn’t sure exactly how else to describe it.

In any case, the deity didn’t seem to mind. “That is surprising. But you seem to care a lot about him - he wouldn’t let you visit regularly if he didn’t feel the same way.”

“You know him?” Sorey asked.

“Yes, we have met a few times,” she said. “He truly is a kind boy. I’m glad he has found someone he trusts.”

Sorey smiled. “As am I.”

Smiling, the deity stood and moved down from the altar to stand before Sorey. She was almost as tall as him, even though the heels didn’t seem to put too much height on her. “I shall bestow this blessing both as a favour and as gratitude for your care towards Mikleo.”

“Thank you- er-”

“Lailah,” she said with an amused smile.

“Lailah,” Sorey repeated. “Thank you.”

“It is quite alright. Now close your eyes.”

Sorey did so. A moment later, he felt Lailah press her forehead against Sorey’s, and a gentle warmth enveloped him, like a candle, burning without causing destruction. When she stepped away, the warmth remained a few moments before fading, but he felt infinitely calmer, and his worries for his mother felt lesser.

“I wish you and your mother all the best,” she said. “But how do you plan on reaching her?”

“I think there may be another path to Rolance,” Sorey said. “I’ve heard of there being one before, though I’m not sure where it might be.”

Lailah looked slightly troubled, though she changed her expression to a smile before Sorey could question it. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. Good luck.”

Thanking her once more, Sorey took his leave from the Sanctuary.

That night, in a haze of dreams, Sorey saw the path. Before him stood a darkened, twisting forest, leading to a field filled with light and warmth. Mountains surrounded the area, but within them he could see a path, burning within age-old ruins. This, he knew, would be how he would reach Rolance.

Upon awakening, he could not recall the phantom pressure of a cold hand pressed against his forehead, crafting a vision for him to follow into the darkness.

And so, the next morning, he wasted no time in collecting his belongings, leaving some gald on the counter of the inn, and heading north once more - this time following the river towards the Forest of No Return.

The Forest of No Return was so-called due to the rumours of the many people who had entered the forest, only to never be seen again. Its official name lay hidden in the depths of history, and as much as Sorey may usually have loved researching it, he had more pressing matters at hand. Luckily, his map had the forest marked on it already. Ignoring the niggling feeling creeping inside his gut, he focused on the sight of the treetops thickening in the distance.

If going through this forest would be his only chance of helping his mother, he would be the first to make it out alive. This, he was determined of.

A mist grew thicker with each step he took toward the forest, masking the reality of the world around him. Through it, all colours were reduced to monochrome, but Sorey could not tell for the thickness of the fog. By the time he reached the forest’s mouth, he could barely see the trees directly in front of him. The hairs on his arms stood to attention, hackles raised at the feeling of being watched, of walking into something he was not strong enough to face.

Yet, he continued walking, right into the forest’s depths. Sorey himself couldn’t explain why - going against his gut instincts was never something he felt to be a good idea, but perhaps his determination to save his mother clouded his vision more than the mist around him.

The Forest of No Return lived up to the suspense of its name. Each tree he past twisted with gnarled roots, the creases of the wood leering at him. Dark leaves hung over him, blocking out what little light there may once have been. Leaves and twigs snapped under his boots. In the distance, he heard a crack.

He gulped, and continued walking.

Time passed without him in the forest, passing him by much quicker than he could perceive until suddenly he was entirely blind. All he knew was the pain in his feet and his stomach, the silence surrounding him, the feeling he could not shake.

As much as he wanted to be out of this forest, he would need to wait until sunrise.

Carefully, he climbed into the bough of a tree, reassuring himself that this would at least be safer than allowing forest animals to attack him with his guards down. He dug through his bag, searching for nourishment, but the lack of light only made his search come up short.

Resigned to a night of hunger, Sorey tried to make himself comfortable, closing his eyes and allowing only thoughts of those he loved come to mind: his mother, fit and healthy, smiling at him in their warm family home; Mikleo, eyes bright with happiness upon his return, holding him close once more.

Somehow, he managed to fall asleep.

Somehow, he stayed asleep, even as the war drums of thunder beckoned forth the gods of lightning.

Somehow, Sorey did not awaken.

#sormikweek2017 #sormik #tales of zestiria #toz #tales of zestiria fanfiction #day three: in which i try too hard #after writing this i feel like i should stick to modern fiction lol #this is so purple what the heck #also the title is so unoriginal i am sorry #i just call it blessings au in my head so

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english-royal-history-1455-1603 · 7 years ago

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On this day July 25, 1554, Queen Mary Tudor married Philip of Spain, the son of Mary’s first cousin, Emperor Charles V. It was a marriage which would sadly lead to heartbreak and misery for Mary, but she embarked upon it with hope in her heart and stars in her eyes.

Mary had once been betrothed to Charles when she was a young girl. Her father, Henry VIII, had arranged the match, and her mother Catalina de Aragon, had strongly supported it, since Charles was the son of her sister, Joanna and it would strengthen the ties England had to Spain, and defend against their mutual enemy, the French.

Unfortunately, alliances shifted, and Charles married elsewhere. Henry VIII annuled his marriage to Mary’s mother, Catalina, and married Anne Boleyn, who supported the French.

Mary’s life was very difficult after that point. She refused to recognize her parents had never been legally married and that she was a bastard, ineligible to inherit the throne. Her father treated her with increasing cruelty in order to force her to accept it.

He wouldn’t allow Mary to marry out of fear a powerful husband could support an uprising in her name. The years of Mary’s youth slipped away, and undoubtedly, her father’s abuse left deep psychological scars. Her mother’s family on the Continent urged her to remain strong and refuse to surrender her claim to the throne.

But Mary finally broke down under the brutal treatment after her mother’s death and Anne Boleyn’s execution. She’d thought Anne Boleyn was the one forcing her father to treat her this way, but it only got worse after Anne was gone.

Mary signed the statements her father demanded, recognizing her illegitimacy and her father as head of the English church, but their emotional relationship was never restored. Mary was never again the pampered “pearl” of her father’s kingdom. The loving father she remembered from her youth was long gone. Later, Henry would restore Mary to the succession with an act of Parliament, but he never restored her legitimacy.

After Henry VIII’s death, Mary’s Protestant brother, Edward VI took the throne. While he was never cruel to his sister, there was tension between them because of their religious differences. Mary would not renounce her Catholic faith. Edward tried to leave his throne to Jane Grey, but the people supported Mary, the next rightful heir according to the Act of Succession.

As soon as she took the throne, Mary began to look for a husband, though she assured the people she would never choose a husband who would harm the nation and would rather remain unmarried than bring trouble to her beloved people. Her natural first choice was to turn to her own family on the Continent, the people who had always supported her during those horrible years of her father’s abuse. Charles VI suggested his son, Philip.

The English were somewhat alarmed by the possibility. Mary was the first queen regnant, and there was a lot of concern over what marriage would mean for her reign. As a woman, she would naturally have to obey her husband, and as a queen, that would mean England would be effectively under Philip’s rule. There was also concern over the religious aspects. Mary had brought England back into the Papal fold, and the English worried that Philip might bring the Spanish Inquisition when he came.

A marriage treaty was created that limited Philip’s power. Though he would be “king” of England, his reign would only last as long as Mary’s did. He would not be permitted to take his wife or children from the kingdom without the approval of Parliament. Most of the authority was reserved for Mary, though acts would be issued jointly in their names, and they would open Parliament together.

Philip appears to have been unhappy about these concessions, but he agreed to obey his father’s wishes and marry the woman he’d always called his “aunt.”

The Wyatt Rebellion was the first - but not the last - rebellion Mary would have to face in opposition to her marriage. Wyatt stated that he had “taken up arms solely for love of his country, not to harm the queen, but to hinder this marriage, lest Spaniards, who are arrogant and indeed wanton men, should reduce the English nation to a base slavery, from which they shrink far more than from death.”

Despite these challenges, Mary was very excited about the marriage. She seems to have been half in love with her husband before he even set foot in her realm. Perhaps she was in love with the idea of being married itself and the future she envisioned she was creating.

Mary thought her reign was setting things right again in England, restoring the kingdom to that golden age she remembered as a child, when her parents had been happy, and the realm had been united in the Catholic faith, before Anne Boleyn had come along and ruined everything. She anticipated personal happiness in her marriage, and hoped she would give the kingdom heirs, so that her Protestant sister would not come to the throne after her and undo all of the progress she had made.

She was thirty-seven years old, but her friends assured her she could still have children, even bringing to meet her a peasant woman over forty who’d recently had a child. Though she’d had irregularities in that regard all her life, the queen still menstruated and was thought to be fertile.

Philip wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about the union, but he was willing to do his duty and obey his father. He was only twenty-seven, ten years younger than his bride, and he didn’t speak her language. Mary had learned Spanish as a child from her mother, but it had been so many years since she heard it that she was uncertain about speaking it. The couple communicated in Latin, instead.

Philip was polite and courteous to Mary when they met, but his courtiers mocked the queen in their letters home, saying that Mary was “… not pretty, not at all, is low, flabby structure instead of fat … has no eyebrows, [and] she dresses very badly.”

Mary’s taste in clothing led to another minor incident that must have hurt her feelings. Soon after they met, Mary sent Philip a surcoat to wear for their wedding banquet. It was made of cloth-of-gold (thin gold wire twined around thread and woven into cloth) with designs of Spain’s symbol of pomegranates and England’s symbol of roses made from seed pearls and gold beads. It had eighteen diamond buttons. He did not wear it. Mary must have been very hurt, but she said nothing. Years later, it was included in an inventory of Philip’s clothing. He made a note in the margin beside it: “This was given to me by the queen for me to wear on our wedding day in the afternoon, but I do not think I wore it because it seemed to me ornate.”

Mary’s father had always conducted his weddings in private, but Mary intended her own wedding to be very visible. She chose to have it at Winchester Cathedral, and a special stage was built so that all of the attendees could see it.

There were some interesting examples of gender reversal in the wedding. Mary had a sword of state borne before her as she walked toward the chapel; Philip, though elevated just before the ceremony to King of Naples so his title would be equal to his wife’s, did not. Mary was seated on the right side, and Philip on the left, where the consort was usually seated. (During the ceremony, a sword of state was quickly procured for Philip so he would have one as they were led out of the church to their banquet.)

He tried to be kind to his wife, but this was not a love match for Philip. “The Queen is a lady of quality, but older than we thought, but his Highness is behaving so well and gives so many gifts that I’m sure both will be very pleased with each other, the king is trying to be as friendly as possible, he believes that his marriage was not made for flesh, but for the restoration of this area and preservation of those states.“

He was attentive to her and Mary was deliriously happy in those early days, though Philip made no secret of his desire to go back home to his own realm. Mary didn’t want him to go.

The marriage was not a popular decision, and her sister Elizabeth’s decision never to marry may have had a great deal to do with watching what happened after Mary’s marriage. Simply put, the kingdom started to fall apart. Rebellions and riots against foreigners increased and seemed to get worse once Mary made the decision to burn Protestants who refused to return to the Catholic fold. Then, a series of bad harvests led to famine and plague.

Mary had a false pregnancy about three months after the wedding. Today, scholars believe it was the first signs of the ovarian cancer that would end up killing her, but a the time, Mary gave all signs of being pregnant. Her belly swelled, and her breasts leaked milk. She thought she felt the child move within her. Mary was overjoyed, believing that God had blessed her reign.

Philip decided to stay during Mary’s pregnancy. If she died in childbirth - as most people quietly expected would be the outcome - her child would be the king or queen of England and Philip would want to make sure he had custody of the baby when that happened. He couldn’t take the baby from England, but he could ensure it was raised in a way that was favorable to his interests.

But the time for the birth came and went with no signs of her going into labor. Mary’s psalter still exists, and when the book is stood on its spine, it falls open to the page which contains prayers for women in labor. The page is stained with the tears Mary shed while praying for the safe delivery of her child.

The doctors kept pushing back the date for the birth, but then the swelling began to shrink, and Mary finally had to accept there was no baby on the way. She emerged from her confinement chamber, humiliated and heartbroken.

Philip left not long after that to return to his kingdom on the Continent, and Mary had a devil of a time convincing him to return to her side. Reportedly, she spent hours in darkened rooms, weeping for him, and the letters she sent to him pleading for him to come back to her were stained with tears. Philip kept putting her off with excuses. He needed to wait until after his father’s abdication for his coronation. Then he needed to visit his new realms, and make sure everything was settled.

Once Mary involved England in Philip’s foreign wars, her council grew fractious, and she could barely keep control of them. Worse, England’s involvement drained the treasury and cost England its last bit of territory on the continent, Calais.

When Philip did return, he brought with him a woman many thought was his mistress. Mary refused to house the woman in chambers near her own or the king’s and it was a minor scandal. Soon after his return, Mary believed she was pregnant again, but Philip doesn’t seem to have believed it. He decided to leave England for his own realm, leaving behind his anguished wife. Mary went into confinement, expecting the birth in February of 1558, but went through another long, sad wait when labor didn’t commence.

On March 30, Mary wrote her will. She insisted in it she believed herself to be pregnant, and left her throne to that child, directing that her beloved husband raise the baby and bequeathing him the love of her subjects, which she felt was the most important thing of all. She now had to face the fact that she’d never see him again, this man in whom she’d invested so many hopes and dreams only to see them all crumble to ashes.

By summer of 1558, Mary’s second pregnancy had quietly faded away. She amended her will in light of that, directing that her throne be passed down as the law dictated, unable at this last to write the name of her sister. She died that November, brokenhearted and alone as her courtiers deserted the palace to flock to the side of her sister, the heir Mary had hoped to disinherit with her own children.

After her death, Philip wrote he felt "reasonable regret” for her loss.

#onthisday #the tudors #marytudor #queen #queenmaryi

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satyr-syd · 8 years ago

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Title: roots that twine together Chapter: 7/7 blossom in the west Author/Authors: @satyr-syd Day/Prompt: 7/Graduation ~ Pranks (@bokuakaweek) Rating: G Warnings: None Side Pairings: None Summary: Akaashi Keiji knows the natural world better than anyone in his village. That is, until Bokuto Koutarou, a boy with mysterious powers over plants, makes him question everything he thought he knew.

Bokuto and Akaashi move on to new adventures.

Read on AO3

Akaashi was entirely unprepared when the flood struck. No one was prepared. Not Bokuto, not any of the villagers. When the tsunami came, and the ocean engulfed their village in a single swallow, everything, everyone, was lost. He didn't even gotten to say goodbye to the one thing he treasured.

Akaashi laughed to himself as he graduated on to the next life. To think, he had so many dreams for the future, all to be crushed out of him as suddenly as the oxygen left his lungs.

Just kidding! April Fools ;)

The whole village had gathered to watch Bokuto perform his final ritual.

He stands before the rice paddy, before the field of stalks ready to harvest. Four years ago, no one let Bokuto get near the crops. Now, they gave him complete control over them.

This is the last in a series of tests that have gone on for months. The series of tests that would determine whether he was fit to be let loose and help others with his abilities. From riding roots from blight, or demonstrating knowledge of different weeds, he’d passed through them with flying colors. He’d even demonstrated control over his emotions for two whole months, his control never wavering in the slightest. Akaashi knew that was the hardest task for Bokuto, but he had done it anyway. Akaashi wasn’t surprised; he’d known all along that he could. To Akaashi’s delight and anguish, his hard work had brought him to this final task.

This test was the only thing standing between Bokuto and his graduation. And graduation meant Bokuto's departure.

The small crowd suddenly becomes silent, and Akaashi watches as the task begins.

Alone against the vastness of nature, back facing the crowd, Bokuto kneels on the ground. He brings his arms down with him, fingers curling into fists as he bends at the waist, dropping his forehead against the dirt. Akaashi thinks he hears a sniffle coming from him, but it might just be the wind.

The deep green is sucked out of the crop’s leaves. They droop and droop the lower Bokuto goes, rice pockets hanging heavy and dry, weeping as Bokuto weeps for the destruction he’s causing. As his hands smack the ground, the plants keen over.

It strikes something in Akaashi, to see the fields collapse in a sickly yellow heap, nearly hidden under the shallow water. The village’s entire livelihood lay in that field, and if Bokuto fails now, their village is doomed, just like before.

Akaashi tells himself not to be afraid. Because now, they had a weapon on their side that they hadn’t before.

As soon as the plants die, they spring back to life. Bokuto leaps to his feet, shooting his arms up to the sky, palms up and fingers spread. Time reverses itself. The crops rise up in tandem, and green splatters through the field as the stalks become whole and ready to harvest once again.

Bokuto turns around and faces them, searching through the audience until he finds Akaashi, and beams at him.

The crowd cheers. The display of power, of control, of command over life and death, is astonishing. It goes against the natural world. But maybe that’s what they need to keep surviving - that kind of strength to fight back.

They celebrate with sake and dancing and a shower of petals, courtesy of Bokuto. The clumsy dancing and drunken kisses last late into the night; but no one tries to kiss Bokuto. Even though they had decided not to tell anyone about their relationship, the villagers seemed to know anyway.

That night, as he slept next to his lover, Akaashi drowned in a sea of thoughts.

Bokuto was leaving tomorrow. He would come back to visit, but things between them would never be the same. And he was so much happier as things were now.

Didn’t he always want to leave the village and explore the world? Didn’t he always want to learn about new kinds of plants and new farming techniques? He remembers that when he was younger, before Bokuto, before the heat wave, he’d wanted to be a merchant like his father, to be able to travel and explore new cities, meet new people. What was holding him here? His family? His father hadn’t been seen in months, and his mother left a long time ago. The closest thing he had to family was Bokuto, so if Bokuto was leaving, shouldn’t he leave too?

Ever since his mother died, Akaashi had never stepped foot outside the village. Maybe it was time for that to change.

It’s the morning of Bokuto’s departure. It’s early; the sky lightens in preparation for the sun’s appearance. Akaashi sits in the boughs of the cherry blossom tree, like he had when he met Bokuto for the very first time. Only this time, it’s reversed. Akaashi’s in the tree, Bokuto’s on the ground. This is a goodbye, not a hello.

It doesn’t take long for Bokuto to find him. He already has his gear with him, packed all together, ready to take to the road at a moment's notice.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Bokuto says. Bokuto walks closer and kneels on the ground in front of him, smiling up at him with that smile like the sun. Today, it’s dulled, hidden behind a morning haze, barely peeking over the horizon. “You know I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Akaashi smiles. Of course he knows that. Or else he wouldn’t have risked coming out here to the cherry blossom tree.

“I have something for you,” Akaashi says. He leaps down from the tree, kneels in front of Bokuto, and pulls his gift out from the depths of his kosode.

It’s a painted pot, about the size of his two hands. In it grows a baby cherry blossom tree.

When he hands it to Bokuto, his mouth drops open. He rotates the pot around. Painted on the side of the pot is a field of daffodils. Next to it, an egret, wrapped in a twisted vine. Green sprouts on a blackened field. A flower crown of forget-me-nots. A single red rose.

Tears glimmer in the corners of his eyes, making his golden eyes that much brighter. “Keiji...is this…”

“Inspired by moments we had together? Yes, Koutarou.”

“And the sapling...this is going to be a cherry blossom tree, isn’t it?”

Akaashi nods. “I grew it myself.” Bokuto looks at him, mouth open in disbelief, and Akaashi blushes. “I know you could grow this within seconds, but I wanted to do this for you with my own hands.”

“That’s amazing. You’re amazing.” Tears fall down Bokuto’s cheeks, and Akaashi feels them starting to well up in his own eyes.

“It was nothing.”

Bokuto grins. “Well, it was something to me. I love everything about it.”

Bokuto places the pot on the ground between them. Akaashi can feel their conversation begin to take a somber turn.

“Keiji, I have something to tell you,” Bokuto mutters.

“I have something to tell you as well,” Akaashi says. “Um. You go first.”

“Oh! Ah, okay…” Bokuto’s eyes flit nervously back and forth, but then he takes a deep breath and steels himself. He grabs Akaashi’s hands, and looks him in the eye. Hypnotized by the raw emotion bursting out of his golden gaze, AKaashi can’t look away. “I know it’s really late now, like I’m literally suppose to be on way away right now, but I couldn’t leave without first asking this. I’m not the easiest person to be around, I’ll still get bad sometimes and then I have to be by myself, and I don’t want to be a burden, and I understand if you wouldn’t want to because of that, and you’ve already done so much for me. So I get it, but. These past few months - they’ve meant so much to me. You mean so much to me. And I - I think I mean a lot to you too. And last night, I realized...I don’t want this to end. We’re happy together. I know you have a duty to the village, I know this is your home, and I know this is selfish of me. But this is the one thing I’m allowed to be selfish about. I guess what I’m trying to say is...will you come with me?”

A wave of joy, of relief, of excitement washes over him and Akaashi can’t help but smile, smile, smile. He launches forward and wraps Bokuto in a hug. “You sh-should have asked me s-sooner,” he mumbles in his ear.

“Akaashi, are you crying?”

“N-no.”

“You’re totally crying!”

Akaashi lets the tears flow out and soak Bokuto’s shoulder. He’s so happy, so relieved. A burden lifts from his shoulders and Akaashi suddenly feels like he can stand once again. No - that he could fly.

Suddenly Bokuto sits up. “Wait, what were you going to ask me?”

Akaashi giggles. “Exactly what you asked me.”

His eyes light up. “So you mean - ”

“Yes, Koutarou, I’d like to come with you, if you’ll have me.”

Bokuto looks at him for a moment in awe, his hands coming up to cup Akaashi’s face. “If? What do you mean if? I’ll have you today, tomorrow, every day for the rest of forever.”

He pulls him into a passionate kiss. Akaashi relished in the feeling, knowing that they’ll be able to enjoy this for a long time to come.

Later that day, once they’ve said their goodbyes, they set off for the mountains, hand in hand.

The first time, it was cherry blossoms. A hundred times after, it’s cherry blossoms again, and it’s roses, and forget-me-nots, and daffodils and silverthorn and every plant imaginable, until all the greenery in their vast garden of love twines together at the roots.

#BokuAkaWeek #bokuaka #bokuaka fic #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #hq #my writing #fic: rttt #i can't believe it's finally over and that i actually did it all???

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