#does any of this even ring a bell for other americans. please tell me it does

[etoile-gracieuse]

i had a Ruff Day so i am going to think abt my self indulgent 'american women's soccer player is jamie's half sister from a one night stand no wants to think about. chaos ensues' au

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 11

Cult Girl goes on a little solo excursion while Hannibal works.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: (fake) blood, mentions of death overseas, anti-choice harassment, discussion of abortion

Archie and Max leaving the picture was a problem you couldn't bring yourself to deal with when you awoke the next day. You anticipated a massive downward spiral if you didn't do something for yourself and fast. You'd spent so much time worrying about your schoolwork and your baby that it was long past due.

You made a couple of phone calls and found a GameStop a little out of the way with a used copy of Pokémon Alpha Sapphire for sale. About twenty minutes drive. Hannibal had back-to-back appointments clogging up his day, so it gave you an excuse to go on a little excursion.

You climbed into your car, picked an extensive playlist of your favorite songs and set off. You plugged the directions into your phone and let the map guide you. The roads narrowed as you watched your surroundings grow less and less familiar.

Soon enough, you pulled into a parking lot. Nestled between a Planned Parenthood and a used bookstore, the GameStop beckoned you. At the end of your tunnel vision was that game and nothing could stop you from getting it.

Certainly not from lack of trying.

"Stop right there!" A voice said. It chuckled, trying to make the rude interruption seem friendly.

An obstacle appeared in your line of sight: a plain-looking middle-aged white woman with dyed blonde hair. Just your garden variety Karen.

"Can I help you?" You said, giving your voice a distinct, annoyed bite.

She smiled, though not without discomfort. "Are you going, y'know, in there?"

She gestured to the building behind you. Uncertain of what she wanted or why she was making a trip to the GameStop so weird, you answered in the affirmative.

"Yeah, why?"

She wrapped her hand around your arm, as if to restrain you. Her touch made your skin crawl.

"I really don't think you should go in there."

You finally put the pieces together. This lady was just some anti-choice maniac, waiting outside a Planned Parenthood for any random pregnant woman to approach.

"Yeah, I totally carried this baby for five months just to get rid of it within a week of the legal termination threshold." You rolled your eyes. "I just want it to feel the maximum possible amount of pain when I destroy it."

The woman's face turned into one of abject horror and you smiled, feeling proud of yourself. You yanked your arm from her hand with full intent to walk away. That should have been the end of it.

"Wait!" She shouted, snatching you by the shoulder. "Please, reconsider. God gave you that little one because he wants you to be a mommy!"

"For the love of fuck, woman." You snarled. "Can you seriously not pick up on sarcasm? I'm not even going to the clinic. I'm going to the GameStop."

She wasn't convinced. "See, I think you're lying to me. I think you're telling me one thing and then you're gonna do another thing."

"What the hell is it any of your business, Karen?" You scowled at her. "Leave me alone!"

"Just pray about it, please!" She pleaded. "What if your baby grows up to be a soldier? Protecting your freedom?"

"Oh, then I should definitely kill it now." You snarked. "Would save him the trouble of getting blown up by other Americans in a senseless war like my dad."

Adda girl, [F/N]! You thought to yourself. Nothing gets nosy strangers to go away quite like revealing even more personal information!

She put both her hands on your protruding belly. "Don't worry, angel. Mommy isn't going to kill you! Aunt Laurie won't allow it!"

You vaguely remembered your obstetrician saying something about how twenty-week fetuses could hear the outside world. You weren't planning on subjecting the kid to violence this early on, but desperate times call for desperation.

You grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her down. She screamed, getting the attention of a few onlookers.

"Help!" She wailed, lying on the ground as if she couldn't get up. "I'm being attacked!"

You dashed as quickly as your legs could carry you into the GameStop. The lone cashier, a purple-haired girl with a nose ring, pretended that she hadn't been watching the altercation and looked back down at her sandwich.

"Welcome to GameStop." She said, hesitantly. "Are you... [F/N]?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm here for that copy of Alpha Sapphire."

"Tubular." She rummaged in a drawer beside her for the envelope.

A rather massive eevee plush displayed behind the counter caught your eye. "How much for her?"

The cashier placed the game on the counter and looked back at the massive eevee. "Fourty-four ninety-five."

"I'll take her too." You said.

The cashier pulled the eevee down from the shelf and scanned its tag.

"Aight, your total is sixty-nine eighty." She said.

"Nice." You snickered, reaching for your credit card.

The cashier smirked as you inserted the chip. "Hey, was that crazy lady accosting you outside?"

"I take it she does that a lot?" You asked.

She heaved a sigh. "You have no idea."

You looked behind at the large windows and saw the woman standing outside the door, waiting for you. You felt like a caged animal. Your eyes scanned the room and landed on a couple ketchup packets. A sick idea formed in your head.

"Are you gonna use those?" You asked, pointing to them.

The cashier glanced at the woman and raised her eyebrow. "Not if you have a better use for them."

The bell jangled as you walked out of the store with a shopping bag around your wrist and a ketchup packet in each hand. Just as suspected, the woman grabbed your arm.

"Oh, honey!" She exclaimed. "Before you leave, god put it on my mind to say a little prayer for the unborn soldier he's gifted you in your womb."

"I'd rather you not." You said, trying to yank your arm out of her surprisingly strong grip.

"You're brave, but foolish, girl." She barked, positioning herself in front of you. You fidgeted with the ketchup packets behind your back, opening them just enough.

The woman put both her hands on your belly. The second you felt her touch, you threw yourself backwards. You landed, not without pain, squarely on your ass.

"Oh my?" The woman covered her mouth with her fingertips. "Are you--"

You leaned forward and moaned in pain, clutching your baby bump with one hand while drenching your shorts in ketchup with the other. You pretended to cave around the pain, then threw yourself back, revealing a bloody stain leaking from between your legs. The woman shrieked.

"Oh my fucking god!" The cashier from the store said, rushing to your side. She put her hand on your shoulder and glared at the woman. "What did you do?!?"

"She pushed me and I think it hurt my baby!" You wailed.

"Holy shit, why would you hurt her baby?!" The cashier shouted, allowing you to slink your arm around her shoulder for support. She then snatched your shopping bag from the ground.

"I didn't mean to, honest!" She said, on the verge of tears. "I was just trying to spread god's love and joy-"

"By assaulting a pregnant woman?!" The cashier yelled. You were clutching your stomach in fake pain. She helped you to your feet. "Come on, let's get you to the clinic."

You conjured up some fake tears. "You killed my baby!"

"You wicked woman!" She cried out. Her voice faded out as you approached the clinic. "You don’t deserve a baby!"

You kept up the crying and wailing until you arrived at the Planned Parenthood. More interested in covering her own ass than begging for forgiveness, the crazy woman made herself scarce. Entering the clinic with an incriminating bloodstain on your pants was awkward, for a moment. But it was easy enough to explain and even earned a laugh or two from the doctors on staff.

Once you were completely certain the crazy lady had left, you scooped up your shopping bag, said goodbye to the cashier and climbed into the car.

Before you put the key in the ignition, you took a moment. You took a moment to do something you knew you shouldn't have.

You placed your hand on your belly and stroked it. "We make a pretty good team, huh?"

You didn't know why you paused. It wasn't like the fetus was going to answer.

"Sorry you had to see that." You said. "Or, I guess, hear that. I wish I could tell you that people aren't really like that in real life, but I can't. Either that or I'm just a magnet for insane people. Hope that it's not genetic."

It just occurred to you that, if your obstetrician was right, the fetus heard everything that you said about killing it. Logically speaking, you knew it wasn't developed enough to comprehend what you were saying, but you still felt like you owed it an apology.

"Hey, scamp." You said, appropriating a nickname your grandfather gave you. "I'm sorry that I talked all that shit back there. About killing you and whatnot. I don't want to kill you. I actually want you to live an amazing life."

Just then, you felt a kick. The doctor war right: there was no mistaking it. The baby kicked.

Your mouth hung dumbly open, delight and fear chasing each other around in your mind. "Holy crap!"

You drove home as fast as legally possible. You needed to get home. As you pulled into the driveway, you noticed that Hannibal's car wasn't there.

He'll be home any minute, you thought. Might as well stay out here to catch him when he arrives.

That was an hour ago. Not that you'd noticed. You would have sat in that car, talking to your baby for an eternity. It wasn't until you heard a tapping on the window did you exit your trance.

Hannibal examined the scene. The ketchup, the massive eevee and his suddenly very chatty fiancée shooting the breeze with her fetus. He smirked.

"Did we have a fun afternoon?"

[milkacchan]

Request for anon: Can I have Present mic, Aizawa, and all might where they learn their young student is fatherless? Like... their father walked out/went to prison when they were young. I'm sorry if this is time consuming, but I can't stop sobbing over my father.

I'm the situation baby but remember it wasn't your fault

I changed it up a little bit with Mics- I hope you don't mind

Present Mic:

• from the getgo something was wrong

• The moment you walked into class he could tell

• You looked like shit

• Dark bags under your eyes, hair messily brushed, just to get it out if your face, and your eyes were a light red.

• You didn't look particularly happy to be there either

• something turns in his stomach, a gut feeling that something really had went down

• And he hated seeing his students upset

• but he was relatively close to you to begin with, his felt different

• He felt like he had to do something

• Everyone settled into their seats as the bull rung but his eyes remained on you

• You honestly didn't pay attention during the lesson

• He could tell as much

• class finishes and the bell rings but you sit still, and it's not until most of the students have trickled out of the room do you start packing up

• He walks over and kneels in front of the desk "You okay there? You don't look so good," he looks concerned and his heart drops when he sees your lip start to quiver

• It takes you 0.27 seconds to break and you're frantically wiping your eyes as sobs wrack your body

• He's got his arms wrapped around you in seconds and you're leaning into his shoulder.

• He isn't sure exactly how long you're crying for but eventually you calm down enough to get out a coherent sentence

• "My-My dad was arrested Friday night. He won't tell me why- he won't let anyone else tell me why and I don't know what else to do," you cry, "I miss him so much and its only been a few days- I don't- I don't have anyone else, Mr. Hazashi,"

• And you're crying again.

• He has you take the rest of the day off, in fact he takes the day with you

• He calls in a sub (you don't know what strings he had to pull for that but you don't ask, at this point you don't care) and you two dip

• He takes you to get food, real food, that'll make you feel better

• He knows that'll help a little

• and after that he takes you to get something sweet- that tends to help mood and blood pressure and anxiety

• So he does his best with you

• He nutures you the best way he knows how

• if you need anything and I mean ANYTHING this man has you covered

• He does his best to step up in any way he can

• first off he extends his assignment deadlines and cancels two tests. Who needs them anyway.

• And you eat lunch in his classroom because he can well tell you don't want to talk to anyone else right now

• He closes it off (seemingly) so in reality its just you and him

• He'll probably tell Aizawa too but on the downlow (just so he knows)

• When holidays roll around, the dorms close.

• In this case- he let's you stay with him. He has an extra bedroom. He doesn't want you to stay in an empty house.

• You also get his phone number (which you gladly use) for anything really

• Bored? He'll deliver some shitty puns.

• Confused about homework? Text him.

• having a mental breakdown? He's got you covered.

• You got memes? Please for the love of God send them to him.

• The dynamic eventually shifts to a VERY father daughter relationship.

• He knows he'll never replace your dad. He understands that wholeheartedly, but he wants you to have someone

• He actually gets a letter from your dad, thanking him for taking care of you

• but he really doesn't mind

Aizawa:

• He had a feeling that there was something going on at home. Or rather, a lack of something.

• He's dealt with it in the oast- with himself and with past students and current ones

• Shinsou

• I mean, aside from that fact whenever parents were mentioned, you'd either stiffen up or wrinkle your nose

• You didn't really like the subject of parents

• There was an essay prompt about parents (nothing too personal) nd you ended up writing it on the extinction of dinosaurs and why God fucked up instead

"It'd be absolutely stellar to see huge lizards roaming the earth and occasionally stepping on people, you know? Jurassic park was onto something."

• Man's couldn't even fail you on it because it was written v well

• Anyway, he doesn't pry too much. He just silently figures it out by process if elimination and pattern.

• He doesn't really care too much

• In the sense if it doesn't define you and he doesn't help you because he pities you

• he helps you because he seems potential

• He takes you under his wing with shinsou

• Yall spend a whole summer training

• And that's when it all came out

• It was an accident really.

• Shinsou was tired, exhausted really

• and when people get tired- that tired- sometimes they spout random shot they wouldn't usually say

• and thats what he did

• he went on about his home life

• and if he could, you could too right?? You could trust them.

• "My dad walked out when I was a kid. Little, like 3. I have a few pictures of him holding me, but I guess it wasn't enough. I don't have any desire to meet him. Not anymore. But it left me feeling like I did something wrong? I guess? Which I suppose is why I train. Because then I feel strong. Which is a good difference from how it usually feels."

• He knew it.

• He called it.

• He was right again.

• He reassures you that you are good enough, strong enough, and his decision to leave had nothing to do with you

• and when he saw you give him a soft smile, he warmed.

• I mean really, it only goes up from there

• he'll deny it, or grumble under his breath, but he seems you two as his own

• Like these aren't my kids but they are my kids

• When dorms close on holiday yall get to stay because that's where he lives too

• Like if you chose too

• he's not gonna force you to stay but if you don't want to go home, you don't have too

• He has that power

• He will buy you food

• all you gotta do is ask

• and he'll roll his eyes and grumble something he doesn't really mean, just secretly happy that you feel comfortable enough around him to ask for something

• lmao family group chat

S: 'Hey Mr. Aizawa I found this cat. Hold on lemme send a pic'

A: 'Dont need a pic. Bring him home'

Y: 'What if he's ugly??'

A: 'gremlin. Bring him home.'

Or

Y: 'Hey I saw this tweet that said 'kids be like watch this and do a half roundhouse spin kick clap and waste my fucking time' and it make me think of you.'

S: @ mr. Aizawa when he has to watch deku do sumn

Y: Lmaoooo like when he threw the baseball

S: LMAOO

A: Me watching you too try to figure out how to beat me in training

Y: Yikes bro

S: That was a rough one

• Does he regret giving you and shinsou his number??

• Maybe

• Not really

• Lmao super secret lunch movie days

• Every week on wendesday yall watch a movie. Usually it takes 2 or 3 days to watch the movie since lunch is only 70 minutes

• @ you accidently calling him dad one day and shinsou snickering but it stuck

• dadzawa lmaoo

Allmight:

• Man's has 2 underlings.

• You and Deku.

• Picked you up when he started teaching at UA

• Ion know let's say one day you popped off bc he said some dumb shit and you were like no sir that's clearly wrong

• schooled him in his own damn subject

• the other kids were like 😳

• what the fuck

• Anyway

• He see's you have potential

• And though he's not the best teacher, you seem to respond better to the way HE was taught

• So tbh its easier to teach you

• 'okay, now I want you to beat the shot out if that wall,'

'Okay lmao bet'

• Midoriya is like, hey mayhaps we should analyze the situation

• N ur like noe

• You just don't give a fuck

• about anything really

• other than moving up the ranks

• But even then- its not a super super big deal, you're just gonna do your best but you aren't gonna stress

• However he noticed a pattern w you (even before Midoryia brought it up to him)

• You don't let anyone in

• Midoryia knows a bit more than the other students but that's really only because he's always with you

• a good majority of the week he's w you

• but its not really a deep connection

• you don't rely on either of them

• You do your best to do things on your own.

• He knows midoryias life story

• he knows why he acts the way he does

• but he doesn't know why you do

• he has a gut feeling it could be the same as midoryia

• I mean he already had one kid who's dad dipped

• he'll surely be able to figure out you too??

• So he makes himself a promise that he'll figure it out and he'll become someone you trust

• And he does just that

• When you tell him about your nightmare of a family history he's like mm, makes sense

• but he's happy that you trust him!!!

• He's a BIG suckered for movie nights

• he's got popcorn, snacks, candy, chocolate, soda- he's prepared

• list of movies lined out all ready

• I lowkey feel like he'd be into lord of the rings or fast n furious

• fast n furious at LEAST

• He's really into American action movies

• and he has no problem sharing those movies with you

• he doesn't have a whole ton of money, like he's not rich, but if you or midoryia need something he's definitely there to get it for you

• even if ur like fam no you don't need too

• he'll buy yell food a lot

• a l o t

• and cards

• when you and midoryia get him a father's day card he thinks he's gonna cry

• You guys also have a group chat

• 'da faemilee'

• Y: "Hey dad do you have milk?"

A: "???? Do I have milk????"

Y: "ya I'm looking in your fridge n ion see any???"

A: "How'd you even get in????"

Y: "Izuku."

I: "lmaoo"

Or

Y: Izuku you dumb bitch I left for ONE day

Y: And you got into a fight with Bakugou

I: He wanted to throw hands. I just did what you would do.

A: He's got you there

Or

A: What do you guys want for dinner

I: Sushi

Y: Chicfila

Y: Izu square up

I: K

Or

Y: Izu is fighting kacchow again

A: Beat his ass young midoriya

Y: Lmaoooooo

[fizzycherrycola]

PrUK / FrUK Historical Fluff [PART 4]

As a gift from France, England receives a pair of tickets to a spectacular exhibition in Paris. He decides to bring Canada along to the event and they explore the wonderous inventions amidst the backdrop of the Industrial Revolution.

Click Here to Read from the Beginning

Industry and Grandeur - Chapter 4

Ludwig?

The name rings a bell, despite being rather common among German folk. England squints as he searches the recesses of his memory for a clue. He vaguely recalls reading the name someplace many months back, but unfortunately any details elude him.

Meanwhile, Canada is smiling from ear to ear. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Ludwig!” he says. “You’re not here all by yourself, are you?”

Little Ludwig shakes his head. “No, I am with my older brother. He is always nearby.”  

A raucous voice calls out from the crowd of attendees waltzing past the group: “Ludwig! Wo bist du?”  

Ludwig turns to the sound. “Gilbert! Ich bin hier!” he responds.

And then, England stops himself from smacking his palm to his forehead. Now, he remembers the letter that he had regarded with mild curiosity before it was set aside and forgotten. It contained the entire story of a tiny blonde boy wandering the Bavarian countryside and the unruly fellow who found him.  

From the sea of dresses and waistcoats, a silvery-haired man emerges. Pinned to his jacket are a small collection of military medallions and emblems. When he catches sight of England, he pauses for a short second and a glint of surprise reflects in his crimson eyes. Then he strides over to the trio, his medals clinking with each step. He heartily claps England on the shoulder without a smidge of hesitation and offers a toothy grin.

“Guten tag, Herr Eyebrows!” Prussia barks. “How’ve you been?” 

England scowls at the unfortunate nickname and calmly removes Prussia’s hand. “Please don’t go around calling me that,” he mutters. Prussia snickers and the familiar sound whistles through his teeth like steam through a kettle spout.  

“I’ve missed your grumpy expression,” he says, still grinning. “Things have been a little dull for the past few years! Well, that was at least until I met Ludwig here.” He gestures to the young lad. “I take it you’ve already been introduced?”

“Yes, we have,” England curtly replies. Frowning, he glances between the two Germans and his mind swirls with a litany of questions.

Canada graciously speaks up. “Ludwig was just telling us about these incredible pictures on display.”

Prussia chuckles. “So that’s what he was up to! You both must have realised that he absolutely loves science. He spends half of his free time with his nose buried in engineering textbooks and the other half lecturing on the topic! It’s amazing how quickly he learns something new.” Ludwig awkwardly shuffles his feet at the endorsement, but Prussia seems to either not notice or not mind. He looks to Canada and continues: “By the way, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Recalling basic courtesy, England clears his throat. “Right,” he says. “Gilbert, this is Matthew. He’s from the Canadian colonies.”

Whichever nation came up with the idea of having ‘normal’ aliases deserves heaping praise. Even though the practice is mostly for appearances, using their human names certainly makes being around commonfolk far simpler. It can occasionally make introductions confusing, but fortunately today, that does not seem to be the case.

“So, you’re the other North American kid!” Prussia exclaims. He extends his hand immediately with a knowing spark in his eyes. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Canada responds evenly and shakes Prussia’s hand. “Thank you, the honour is all mine. Um, your medals are very impressive.”

Prussia lets out a whistle. “Giving me compliments right away? You’re either very polite or very honest!” He releases another obnoxious laugh.

England huffs. “Would you mind explaining what you are doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Prussia comments. “You don’t usually take an interest in anything Francis does, unless he’s starting to gather an army.”

“Hmph. For that matter, neither do you.”

“Ah, that may be so! This time, however, I had a special reason!” His face beaming with fondness, Prussia rests a hand on Ludwig’s tiny shoulder and the pair share a glance. “This little man wanted to see all the modern inventions at this exposition. And even though it was a long journey from Brandenburg, I couldn’t bring myself to say no to him.” Moving his hand to the youngster’s head, Prussia gently ruffles Ludwig’s pristine hair.

Ludwig blushes and grumbles quietly. “Bruder....”

England gawks at the sight before him. It would be a heart-warming scene, if it were not so unusual. Here is a man who has only ever known happiness from battlefield victory. Witnessing Prussia without fiery ambition behind his eyes and without any teeth in his smile is quite bizarre.

The lull in conversation becomes acute and Prussia looks up; he catches England’s staring. Quickly, England averts his gaze, but it is too late. He bites his lip, searching for a way to change the subject. A solution is just about to pass his throat before Prussia kneels and whispers something to Ludwig in German. The little boy nods his head.

Ludwig approaches Canada carefully. “Matthew, sir?” he inquires. “Would you like me to explain the inner workings of a Koechlin locomotive?” He points to a large, green steam engine just a bit further down the hall.

Canada blinks. “Oh, right now?” he asks. His eyes dart from Ludwig, to the engine, to England.

England and Prussia exchange a look.

Then, England waves Canada on. “Go ahead, Matthew.”

“Alright then,” Canada mumbles. He turns to Ludwig and perks up. “Let’s go!”

The two of them walk over to view the peculiar machine, while their elders hang back. Once they are well out of earshot, England sighs.

“Why did you just have me send my ward away?” he grumbles.

“You were glaring at me,” Prussia snickers. “That usually means you’ve got something you want to ask. Isn’t that right?”

“I wasn’t glaring...” England fumbles.

Prussia shrugs. “If you want to ask about Ludwig, I don’t mind. I could talk about him all day!” In the face of such veracity, it takes a moment for England to find the right words. “Very well, then,” he eventually says. “What are your plans for the boy?”

“Hah! I haven’t made any plans at all!”

“You’re a rather competent strategist, so I find that somewhat unusual.”

“This is different from a campaign. I’m raising a young man!”

“I believe that still requires an amount of preparedness.”

Prussia scratches the back of his neck absent-mindedly. “I suppose... I’m striving to let him grow up - to keep him happy and healthy.”

“Gilbert, he calls you his brother.”

“Roderich does the same, ja? And you have brothers of your own.”

“Yes, but that’s not exactly what I’m getting at.”

Prussia crosses his arms. “Then what is it?”

Leaning close, England lowers his voice to a near whisper. “If you’re on such familiar terms already, you must be convinced he’s like us. Is that the case?”

Prussia’s eyes nearly pop out of his head before he erupts into laughter. The boisterous noise draws the attention of a few onlookers and England furtively tries to hush him.  

“Of course, it is!” Prussia boasts. “What else could it be?”

England groans. It is odd enough that Prussia found another one of them here, in the middle of Europe, but on top of this, the child has no land nor people to his name. At least, not so far as England is aware of. Unsurprisingly, Prussia’s brazen confidence outweighs logical thought. What is surprising, however, is that he has placed this confidence in a youngster and not in, say, a rifle.

“How do you know for sure?” England presses, desperately trying to glean some understanding.

“I don’t,” Prussia states. “I just believe it.” With his hands on his hips and his chest puffed, Prussia appears to hold, in this, the same spirited certainty that he does in his military operations. Even his grin is as solid as a fortress. Finally, England deflates and Prussia eyes him quizzically. “What has you so agitated?” he asks.

England scratches the hem of his sleeve. “Nothing, it’s just that... This is all rather unlike you.”  

“You think so?” Prussia wonders. A brief quietude settles among them, stirring up little figments of yesteryear. England averts his eyes and offers a weak shrug. Prussia murmurs, “I guess this is a change for me.”

He turns to gaze at Ludwig in the distance. The boy is standing near Canada, gesturing at various parts of the emerald locomotive and babbling away at a relentless pace. Canada appears to be listening close – he nods along, wide-eyed and mouth ajar. As Prussia watches them, that same rare and gentle expression washes over his face. “They look as though they are quickly becoming good friends.”

“Yes,” England admits. “It would appear so.”

“Say, do you ever miss the ‘good old times?’”

It takes a second before England blinks. “The what?” he asks.

Prussia pokes England’s arm. “Oh, you know what I mean. We made a fantastic team against that Napoleon idiot.”

England shoos the finger away and kneads at the new spot of warmth it left behind. “Those can hardly be considered ‘old times,’” he murmurs.

“But they were certainly good times!” Prussia asserts. He avidly gestures to Canada and Ludwig. “Look at those two over there! See how well they are already getting along? If we formed another alliance, they could learn from each other and grow stronger together, just as we did.” He steps closer and his ruby irises light up with crackling embers. Their zeal is both stirring and deeply familiar. “Perhaps you should consider another collaboration with my awesome self.”

“And once again deal with your impressive ego, I suppose.”

“Think it over, Arthur.” Prussia’s tone is low and forthright; his words are not a command, but a request. Maybe even a dear one. The din of the exposition fades - muffled beneath thundering horse hooves, the brouhaha of army pubs, and an exhausted cry of victory on a damp field only decades ago. Suddenly, England’s throat is rather dry and as he opens his mouth to give an answer, no words make it past his lips. He swallows and tries again.

“I’ll have to leave that decision to Parliament,” he quietly replies. And Prussia smiles soon after.

In a short time, Canada and Ludwig return to their elders in high spirits. Canada recants a few of the things he learned about steam engines and says he hopes to apply the knowledge in the construction of his own railroad someday. He thanks Ludwig for the impromptu lesson and the boy grants him a timid bow. Then, as Ludwig takes Prussia’s hand, the companions say their goodbyes.

“It was nice meeting you!” Canada says as he waves.

“Likewise!” calls Prussia. “I’m sure we will see each other again!” He gives England a final spirited glimpse before departing with his head high, always high. Now though, his courage flows down his capable shoulders to the end of his arm, where he gently holds the hand of a child. One who calls him ‘brother’, who trails close, and remains perfectly at ease beside a warrior.

“So, Gilbert is Prussian?” Canada whispers.

“Hm?” England starts. “Oh, yes. That’s correct.”

“And where is Ludwig from?”

“For the moment, I’m not sure.”

“Oh,” Canada murmurs. Sensibly, he does not press the topic further; not in public. However, a lingering curiosity twinkles behind his brass spectacles. “Um. A penny for your thoughts?” “It’s just a bit surprising,” England says. He nods at Prussia’s retreating form. “I never expected him to become the sort of man that would raise a younger brother.” “Do you think something changed him?”

“Hm. Perhaps so.”  

Then, England turns and continues his tour with Canada. Albeit, now with a few matters to silently ponder in his heart.

~~~

Author’s Notes

I always found it interesting that Germany (Ludwig) and Prussia call each other “brothers” despite looking very different and being vastly different ages. So, I wanted to explore their relationship a little bit here.

Brandenburg was a province of Prussia from 1815 – 1947. Currently, it is a state in north-eastern Germany.

A Koechin locomotive is a steam train. Koechlin is the name of the brand that featured their steam engines at the expo.

Prussia is describing his alliance with England during the Hundred Days War, which saw the final end of Napoleon in 1815. Truthfully, England was not his only ally in that war, not by a long shot. However, in the Waterloo Campaign, British and Prussian forces worked closely to achieve their combined success.

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[blush-and-books]

Juke 48 fluff please...

Prompt #48: “I told you to take care of yourself.”

Ksjahdsf High School AU inspired by the fact that my generation has been so crushed by the pressures of our education system that we would always show up to school with colds and strep and literally anything because we refused to miss school. Double inspired by the morning I threw up at 3AM and had a cold but literally went downstairs and monologued to my mom that I had to go to school bc I had two quizzes that would have been hell to make up and I would have had major anxiety if I missed anything. And she let me go. Triple inspired by the fact that pre-COVID I would get sick routinely 4 times across Oct, Nov and Dec because my peers would also show up sick. So, yeah. Here’s to the american education system 

Luke knows that something is off with his best friend when she finally approaches her locker that Wednesday morning, where he had been anxiously bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for her.

Where she is usually like sunshine to him, glowing brighter than the California sunrise -- a lyric in the song he was planning to show her, but would never admit was inspired by her as well -- she arrives with the pale glow of the moon instead. Julie’s eyes are half-open, and her usually bouncy curls have been pulled back and up unto a messy bun. 

He hasn’t seen her like this since-

“Jules,” he mumbles, half to himself and half to her when she finally looks up and notices him. Instantaneously, he takes an energetic step towards her, letting his hands rest on her upper arms. “Are you sick? Again?”

As if she doesn’t want to hear it, not again, her bottom lip juts out in a pout that is only seen on a miserable Julie Molina before she brushes past him to her locker. Deeply concerned, Luke trails after her. 

“Julie, hey,” he attempts, but she won’t look up at him. There’s a shame in her face while she gets her calculus textbook from her locker, and it’s then that Luke notices the thermos she’s clutching in her left hand. “Let me take this stuff. Drink your tea. Don’t try and talk, I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

She shakes her head, it’s not his fault, she’s the idiot showing up to school sick, but she couldn’t miss today. She just couldn’t. 

Without putting up a fight, she lets him take her backpack and textbook from her possession while she unscrews the lid of her thermos and chugs two big gulps of tea. Temporary relief is brought to her throat, but it doesn’t last long. 

“I-” She attempts, but Luke shoots her a glare and wags a finger at her. Ignoring him, she powers on. “I have a calc test and a history quiz and an English debate.”

“You can make those up.” “But do I want to? Do I want to miss a whole day of notes and work and assignments because I have a runny nose?”

(And a sore throat, obviously. And a headache. She also woke up right before her alarm to throw up, but she hasn’t felt the urge to do that again since. You get the picture though.)

“Jules, I mean this in the best way possible, but you look like there’s a lot more than a runny nose happening here. A runny nose was two weeks ago. This looks like your whole body aches.”

(Fair assessment. It does.)

She lifts her thermos to her lips once again to soothe the throbbing that resulted from her excuses, feeling her stomach twirl in a way that she can’t tell is another bout of nausea or just Luke making her painfully fall more in love with him. 

He, on the other hand, is one step away from hauling her over his shoulder and driving her home himself. He doesn’t know what to do. Julie’s stressed, and the stress has made her vulnerable to colds for the past couple of months, and this is the third time he’s seen her sick. No matter what, she shows up to school -- freshman year, she stayed home sick with the stomach flu, and had a panic attack in the bathroom on the day that she came back. 

He knows because he was in her music class that year. Her best friend, Flynn, had rushed into the music room to explain to their teacher, and he’ll never forget it. 

Coincidentally, it was two months ago, with Julie’s first ceremonious cold of the year, that Luke officially realized that he was in love with her. It was the feeling of seeing her uncomfortable, powering through because she felt like she had to -- he was so proud, yet so worried, and wanted to bring her home so they could watch Tangled and he could make her the matzo ball soup recipe that Alex taught him when they were kids. 

“I know,” she croaks at him, face crumbling. “It does. I feel like shit. But I just have to get through today, and I’ll be fine.”

(After spending six hours at school, another two on homework, pedaling through five bottles of Gatorade and getting four hours of sleep because her throat and sinuses prevent her from any adequate rest. Yeah. She’ll be fine.) ((She’ll still come to school tomorrow.))

Luke knows all of this. In his head, he’s drafting the text to his parents that he’ll type out in his lap during first period to tell them that he’s going to be at the Molina’s for the next couple of days, taking care of Julie. They do have a band to worry about, after all, and their lead singer needs to be in top shape. 

Just looking at her tired face makes his chest hurt. She looks like she hasn’t smiled in a long time. Wanting to comfort her, somehow, he reaches his hands up to cradle her cheeks -- but she swats him away. 

“Luke, no. I’m not getting you sick.”

Fighting her flailing hands, he manages to slip his own to her cheeks, making sure that the fingers that are wandering into her hair rub her scalp. That’s always a calming, relieving feeling. 

“Impossible, mariposa. My immune system is Herculean.”

She looks up at him, fully, for the first time that morning. He can’t help but grin at getting to see her face, no matter how tired she thinks she looks, and even though she thinks he is full of shit she can’t help but mirror his expression. 

“There’s my girl,” he whispers unconsciously. Her skin warms underneath his hands. “Are you alright? Do you have a fever? You’re getting a little toasty.”

Her skin temperature rises from her blush even higher as his hands slip from her hair and to her forehead, pathetically testing for a fever. 

“I’m good,” she shakes her head, trying to brush it off. His eyes refocus on her, and he sighs; the air staying silent between them as she tries to decipher what he’s thinking. 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he insists. “I told you to take care of yourself. Can’t have my frontwoman blowing her nose in between each song at a gig.”

“I’m your frontwoman now? Fuck Julie and the Phantoms, I guess.”

Luke smirks, and for a heavenly moment forgets that the precious girl in front of him isn’t in pain, but she stiffles a cough after her joke. Frowning, he drops his hands to grab hers so that he can hold them up between their chests. 

“You’re my everything, silly. Frontwoman, best friend, study partner, favorite person-”

“-Walking petri dish.”

“Yes. My walking petri dish.”

The joke lightens Julie up. Maybe today, if her and Luke can keep making jokes, she will get through. She can’t think of anything else to say as his lips press against her forehead in a gesture so caring that she would grab his face and move those lips down a few inches if she weren’t, you know, a walking petri dish. 

Before either of them can say anything else, the school bell rings. It’s time for her miserable day to start. Just the idea of sitting still in her math class makes her shiver, and she wraps her arms around herself. 

“Are you cold?” Luke jumps to ask, moving closer to her as the halls start moving with crowds of other students. 

“Luke, I’m fine-”

“My locker is right by your math class. I have a flannel in there. You’re wearing it today.”

“Luke-”

“No arguments. I was walking you to class anyways. I’m walking you to every class, actually. Your backpack weighs more than you do and that’s the last thing you need to feel right now.”

(Not to be creepy, but Julie Molina would marry Luke right now if he asked. Sometimes she wonders if her other best friend, Flynn, is right when she makes jokes about her and Luke being a married couple. If this is marriage, sign her up.)

“Thank you,” she says lightly, trying not to strain her throat. Luke responds with tugging on her left hand, beginning to pull her towards the staircase at the end of the hall. 

“We’ll get you better, Molina. Mark my words.”

Tagging @willexx because you got all impatient on me. love you babe and love you too anon!!

[blazenekofox]

big English Amity update

“Boscha what are we doing here?” 14 year old Amity looked up at her pink dyed “friend” as Boscha practically dragging a not so pleased Amity into the gym.

“we're here to see who will be cheering for me” giving Amity the biggest smug humanly possible

with a sigh Amity shakes her head, and pulling her hand out of Boscha grip “I could be studying, or reading a good book” looking annoyed at the smug prick.

Boscha looks at her in disbelief, “I can't believe a jock like you” Amity just stares at her darkly “....anyway you can't see cute cheerleaders in cute outfits doing flips in you're geeky books” not wanting to look into those cold golden eyes, Boscha watches the cheerleaders.

“you're such a perv, I be worried what you would be doing if I wasn't here”  Boscha head shoots back bright red seeing Amity with a smirks as Amity watches the cheerleaders, Boscha's about to reply but Amity quickly points at something “isn't that one of your team mates”

with a brake neck seed, Boscha looks “what!” leaning forwards “what's Skara doing down there” with a hint of a grow in her vice.

Amity smirks gets bigger, “seems she's gotten sick of you bossing the teem around”

Boscha shoves Amity "fuck you" Amity catches herself and grins at seeing Boscha little outburst.

the two stop there bicker when they hear "you think that's an impressive trick" both look and Amity hears her heart beet faster as she sees a beautiful tan skin girl "check out this" and lifts her eye lids, Amity she giggles at this, Amity smacks her hands onto her mouth, a Bright never giggles, yet here she was wondering why she giggled at something so odd and gross.

“yea she's a total loser" with a devilish smirk.

“y-yea” Amity can feel the blood go up to her face

“god I hope that weirdo doesn't get in” Boscha gives the oddball a devilish smirk.

Amity looks at her with such hate and says darkly “don't worry, no one will be cheering a pervert on” Amity wonders why she got so angry at Boscha comment.

Boscha being so smug with herself doesn't notice the anger coming her way “yea you're right” Boscha gives it a sec then sceams “I am not a perv!”

this startles the cheerleaders and they look up, Boscha goes bright red as they stare that the two, and laughs nervously.

Amity storms off bright red from being seen like that and mad at her pink headed “friend”so mad that she slams the door.

Latter Amity smiles as she finds the living oddball having trouble closing her locker Amity makes her jump when forcing the the stupid thing close, “thanks” when the girl looks at her, Amity can see the her lovely chocolate eyes “oh it's you from the gym” giving the cutest smile Amity has ever seen.

Amity scratches the back of her head nervously with a grin that says why did she have to see that “yea me”

The girl then looks at her oddly, “aren't you friends with Boscha” her face looking not so happy.

Amity is taken back by this Boscha what did you do “I guess you could call her my friend, but she's  a toltal twat”

This makes the girl starts giggle Amity just smiles nervously, that was way too cute the girl then looks up losing her smile, it's clear that this girl feels like she did something wrong “sorry, it's just your accent is so cute”

Amity feels woozy as her face goes red did she just say I sound cute.

“I've never met an Australian before” grinning at Amity.

Amity looks away all red “emm, I'm not Australian, I'm English”

the girls smile fell and blushes at her mistake putting her hand other her mouth, “oh god I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry” the way she said it made it seem like she ran over the golden eyed girl's cat.

“n-no it's okay”  Amity says in a rush “it happens all the time”

Luz smiles making Amity smile back, as her brain begs herself to say something.

“I'm Luz by the way” Luz smiles holding out her hand.

“Amity Blight” blushing as she talks Luz's hand,  Amity wonders why her hand is so sweaty.

Luz then looks Amity up and down making the one with gold eyes go even redder, “are you on the football teem?, err I mean rugby” Luz smiles sweetly.

why does she have to be so cute “emm no, I used to play Rugby, but they don't have any teems here” Amity looking a little down at this, Luz is about to say something, but Amity cuts in “also American football isn't like rugby” then giving a grin “for one thing we don't hold back in our tackles” buffing out her chest a little, and quickly gets embarrassed at her stupidity.

lucky for her, Luz misses the fact the other girl was trying to impress her, and just looks at her in disbelief  “but what if you got hurt”

Amity just smiles “you get up and get back in the game, also we trained to know how to tackle don't want to hurt someone too badly”  

the two keep talking till the bell rings both looking a bit down “right well err we better be off”

Luz smiles and rushes off as she waves, Amity waves back slowly, spines and goes to class with the biggest smiles anyone has ever seen.

Amity finds out that Boscha had been picking on Luz again, so she goes too the football pitch to find her “oi Boscha!” Boscha looks up and bang, Amity tackles Boscha, shoves Amity off “what the hell Ams, and that was too hard” "what's the point in the armour if you can't take a tackle?" Boscha looks at her miffed "there is no way you tackle that hard in rugby"  Amity smirks “you're right, we hit harder” Boscha just looks at her not believing her shakes her head “can't you see I'm busy” and goes back to what she's doing

Amity is standing outside Luz's house passing in front of the door, saying “so she invited me to watch Azura with her, this doesn't change anything, it doesn't mean that she fancies me” the door creeps open making Amity jump, “Amtiy!” Luz tackles her into a hug “h-hay Luz” Luz leading her in “I'm so sorry, I over slept and forgot to get you some tea”Amity giggles at this, “it's okay, any way I'm not a big tea drinker” smiling at how sweet Luz is being at trying her best, Luz knows that Amity misses England, Amity always finds it so cute when British things for her but doing something wrong or not understanding it hits her heart is in the right place every time, like the time Amity explained that the thing Luz is holding is called a cookie in England not a biscuit, when Amity was eating a chocolate hobnob, which is a biscuit and not a cookie, the face Luz pulled was so cute, in the end Amity explained that cookies are a type of biscuit, this is not too say doesn't get her Amity own back, as doing the same to Luz, sometimes by accident sometimes purpose, it's clear that they love to tease each other.

It's Valentine's day Luz walks too her friend Amity and sees that her locker is fall of cards and candy, and Amity is sorting them out, Luz looks down a bit sad, and says "someones popular" making Amity jump, turning and smiles, "yea happenes every year, must accent" Luz smiles back "it is a cute accent" Amity going red and goes back to sorting them, as they talk, "I wish I got Valentine's day card", "I'm sure you got at least one" Amity says looking a bit red, Luz is about to say something but Boscha pushes past Luz saying get out the way, Luz looking cross, and Amity doesn't say anything, which is odd, she normally says something, Boscha then starts to brage "hay Ams look I got 10 cards, how many did you get 3" "Boscha can't you see that I'm busy" Amity moves showing Boscha that she has at least 30, "why do I always get so meny" Amity says grining at Boscha, Luz does a little giggle at seeing Boscha face going off saying she was just lucky, Amity grabs her books and says "come on Luz lets go" Luz can see that she's a little as they walked she says "didn't get a card off you sercet crush?" Amity not look at Luz "seems it" "I'm sure he's just being shy" then teases "you do have a cute accent" Amity goes red and does a nervous laugh and says "you mean she right" Luz stares "you're gay" Amity giving a nervous laugh again hoping that she didn't give her self away "yea" "why didn't you tell me" "we never talked about sexuality" Luz humms at that this, "I'm bi by the way" Luz says with a grin, "the way you look at Ed and Em when you met them, I be shocked if you said you where ace" Amity sounding annoyed, Luz smiles "they are cute, but a bit too into pranks" Amity smiles at this "who trys to find there sister's diary to show the school" Amity smiles at that, when Luz gets too her locker she finds a card and squeals, "I got one I got one" Luz looks at it, and it has no name, opening it, Luz stares then asks "Amity can you read this the cursive writing hard to read", Amity jumps at this and goes red as a tomato, "shouldn't you get your mum too read it" going very shy and has a nervous smile "pleases I need to know what it says" Amity sighs, and reads the letter, leaving out who sent it, as it was hard sending this letter, saying she sent it, was going to far for Amity

“Luz I get that you love Azura, I do too, but this isn't good idea” both of them are in the woods, Luz looking for snakes, “come on Amity, what better way to show off Gildersnake then a real snake” Amity shacks her head, “what comes to mind, a toy snake, hell a hose would be better then a real snake” “how would a hose be better” “oh I don't know, maybe hoses aren't venomous, people aren't scared of them, also you aren't taking them from there home” Luz stops looking, and looks at Amity a little sad, “maybe your right” Luz putting a snake she just found down, Amity sighs, “hay it isn't all bad, we could go find a rubber snake and look up YouTube on how to make it look more like Gildersnake” this makes Luz smiles at this,excitedly “yes yes, lets go!” grabbing Amity's and pulling her

Amity walks too Luz's home and knocks on the door, and older looking Luz answer it “oh Amity sorry but Luz isn't here, she's gone out too the movies” “hi, sorry I needed to ask you something” the older woman look her, seeing Amity is nervous “and that be?” Amity sighs “I-I don't know anyone that can cook and I” Amity going bright red making the older woman smile, “that is would you help me cook” Amity won't even look at her face “is this for Luz” “well, err yes I say it is” the older woman smiles “I love to help” Amity smiles at this “th-thank you Camila”.

Boscha tricks Luz into drinking some alcohol at school, Amity finds Luz drunk and is very worried, she knows Luz isn't the type to drink, for one they are only 14, as Amity is taking Luz too the infirmity

Luz runs up to a poster, and points to it over and over “look look look” each look gets said faster.

When Amity looks, it's one of them learning posters where the acronym does not work, the words making an animal “hmm oh it's a zebra”

Luz spins on one leg and starts giggling as she rushes right up too Amity's face coming close to nocking the other girl over, Amity catches herself as stumbles from how close Luz was, and Luz gives her a stupid but cute grin.

“W-what?” Amity looking away from Luz, embarrassed and worrying that Luz can hear her breathing as the two start walking.

"Zed-bra zed-bra ZED-BRA!" Luz sung badly, then starts to giggle, she then walks in front of Amity, turning so that she's walking backwards so that she can look into those honey like eyes, she smiles making Amity starts to think that Luz is trying to kill her by how much blood is going to her face"oh oh say zoom say zoom" grinning like a kid in a candy store.

With a sigh Amity shakes her head then gives Luz a knowing smiles Luz smiles back, and Amity says "zoom"

Luz looks upset at this, “noooo do it in your cute British speak, zed-oom”

Amity looks away like someone called her as she feels her face heat up, she feels like a 6 year old is telling her off, and somehow Luz making it cute, "s-sorry Luz but we say zoom as well" Luz looks gives a face like she failed a maths test again as Amity looks back when it's safe, "well you don't say zee-oom do you"  

Luz puts her hand to her mouth as she giggles "nope" then Luz starts saying zee-oom other and other, then suddenly stops and stares at Amity like she just worked something out.

Amity stops stops coming close to walking into her “err what is it”

"you know what you are" Luz is getting very excited.

Amity smiles thinking it's never a dull moment with Luz, “err no”

Luz giggles as she grabs Amity into a bone crushing hug "no, you're my best zed-friend" then she kisses Amity on the cheek.

Amity nearly falls from all the blood rushing to her face, she goes so red that a tomato would be envious.

[artificialqueens]

Taste of a Poison Paradise, Chapter 4 (Multi) - Joley

Chapter Summary: Brooke Lynn and Kameron finally meet, Denali starts spending more time at the diner, Jaida starts her OnlyFans, and Gigi realizes she can’t avoid her feelings for Crystal forever.

ao3 link

Vanessa has never been the best at focusing all of her attention on one task. Often, when she was dancing on stage, her mind was in three other places. It was a little more obvious when giving a lap dance, but most men didn’t seem to mind or even notice. Except for this time when she called attention to it by stopping mid-gyration and exclaiming, “holy shit!”

The man wasn’t annoyed, instead, he curiously looked behind him. “What? What happened?”

“Some dude’s getting hauled out of here, dumb fucker’s trynna put up a fight. Fly ain’t undone so he must’ve been getting too handsy,” she observed, though her eyes were honed in on Kameron, who took the offender down and dragged him out of the club. “God damn, she’s good,” she murmured, fanning herself.

“Wouldn’t it be more effective to have a man–”

Vanessa decided she was no longer interested in what the client had to say, and was already walking towards the front of the club, getting a better view as Kameron unceremoniously tossed the man out of the club. “What’s his damage, huh?”

Kameron shrugged. “Jan flagged me down, dickwad kept trying to play grab-ass and started throwing a temper tantrum when she cut his dance short,” she explained, then looked over at the bar. “Looks like Nicky’s taking care of her now, though.”

“I’m tryna take care of you, though,” she winked. “You know, take you into the VIP room and…”

“I’m still on the clock, Vanjie,” Kameron gently reminded her, but looped her arms around her waist. “But once our shifts end, we can go in the back and play grab-ass instead, okay?” she offered, punctuating her point by moving her hands down and squeezing Vanessa’s ass.

Vanessa huffed and pouted, but nodded nonetheless. “Fine, but you know how impatient I get.”

Kameron chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Don’t I always make it worth the wait?”

She couldn’t argue with that, so she went back and did her next set, alternating between being on the stage, among the clientele, or waiting in the back. It was the late shift, at least, meaning she and Kameron would be able to clock out at the same time.

There were still about ten minutes left before closing, but Vanessa had considered herself done for the night. She tied her robe around her waist and sat beside Kameron until the last customer left the club. “Fuckin’ finally,” she murmured.

Kameron snorted. “You’re such a fucking brat,” she teased.

Vanessa smirked, getting up and pulling Kameron with her. “You knew what you signed up for, boo. Bratty as hell, but you know I make it worth your while.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic,” she chuckled and allowed Vanessa to drag her across the club, back to the VIP room. Then, she scooped the smaller woman up in her arms and carried her to the couch, gently dropping her on it before crawling on top of her. “I bet you’re expecting me to take care of you now, huh?” she purred, kissing at her neck.

“We ain’t here to talk politics,” Vanessa retorted, already trying to tug off Kameron’s shirt and grinning when the taller woman acquiesced.

Meanwhile, Brooke Lynn had done a lap through the club, stopping at the bar with a perplexed expression. “Pri, is Vanjie still here? I told her I’d come to pick her up.”

Priyanka shrugged as she loaded up a tray of glasses to take into the back. “She’s probably still getting pounded out by Kameron in the VIP room,” she told her before taking the tray into the kitchen.

At first, Brooke figured Priyanka was joking, trying to get a reaction out of her. But as she sat and thought for a moment, she realized that there was no reason she would lie about that. She thought she would feel some semblance of jealousy or anger, but they were noticeably absent. Instead, her curiosity – and perhaps arousal – was piqued. She got up from the bar and made her way into the VIP room, quietly opening the door and slipping inside.

Just as Priyanka had predicted, Kameron and Vanessa were in the midst of a passionate encounter. They were both naked and Kameron had one hand loosely wrapped around Vanessa’s throat, the other was steadily thrusting two fingers in and out of her while she showered her with a mix of praise and dirty talk.

Brooke’s eyes widened. She couldn’t have predicted how it would feel to watch her girlfriend having sex with another woman, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Still not announcing her presence, she moved to the loveseat perpendicular to the couch and let her legs spread. She hiked up her dress and dipped her hand into her panties, biting her lip as she touched herself to the sight.

“You just gonna sit there and enjoy the show?”

Vanessa’s words caused the other two to stop in their tracks. Kameron looked confused while Brooke froze in place. “You knew I was here?”

Vanessa scoffed in response. “You think I wouldn’t recognize my woman’s pumps click-clacking from a mile away?” She didn’t wait for a response before she continued, “you want in or not?” She nudged Kameron lightly, who nodded in agreement.

Brooke scrambled to her feet, shedding her dress as she moved over to the two of them. She finished stripping down before kneeling beside Vanessa and kissing her languidly. “You want me to sit on your face, baby?”

Vanessa nodded enthusiastically, helping Brooke position herself on top of her and grabbing onto her thighs for balance. Her nails dug in as she eased her tongue into her, trying to match the pace of Kameron’s fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby. Such a good girl,” Brooke praised, her head tilting back as she moaned out. But when she held her head upright, her eyes locked with Kameron’s and she didn’t think, she just kissed her heatedly, smirking a bit as she felt the other woman melt into the kiss.

Kameron balanced one hand on Brooke’s shoulder while she thrust her fingers steadily into Vanessa’s pussy, alternating now and then to rub her clit with her thumb. Although the brunette was stifled verbally, it was very obvious when she came. She sat back on the couch, getting herself off while she watched Brooke ride Vanessa’s face.

Brooke’s hips stuttered to a halt as she rode out her orgasm shortly after, then gracefully dismounted off of Vanessa, then sat on the couch. “You know,” she said to Kameron, “I’d been meaning to reach out and get to know you, but this method is a lot more fun.”

——

Denali leaned against the jukebox, humming along to ‘Those Magic Changes’ until she saw Rosé walk in, which prompted her to relocate to sitting at the counter. “I thought you said your shift started at ten.”

“Today’s Tuesday, babe. I start at ten on Wednesdays,” Rosé replied as she tied her apron around her waist. “But it’s cute that you waited for me,” she winked.

“I had to, muñeca,” Denali insisted with a pout. “No one else makes the coffee as good as you do.”

Rosé couldn’t help but laugh softly as she got a pot of coffee going. “It’s the same shit every time, Dee,” she pointed out. But still, she had to look away and focus on the coffee to hide the broad grin that spread across her face. She poured a mug, setting it down in front of Denali. “What’re you eating, today?”

“You, ideally,” she murmured under her breath before looking up at her and replying, “patty melt, extra crispy onions, please,” while batting her lashes. “And a side of fries.”

The waitress nodded, scribbling the order onto the notepad. “You got it, baby,” she hummed, ripping the page out and hanging it up in the window, then ringing the bell for someone in the kitchen to come grab it. “So, how’re you liking the club? I’ll tell you, Jackie is the only person around here I’d trust running a place like that.”

Denali smiled, adding two packets of sugar and a splash of milk into her coffee, stirring slowly before taking a sip, though her eyes never left Rosé. “I mean, of all the strip clubs in the city, I’m glad I managed to find the one run and entirely populated by lesbians. You can’t plan for that sort of luck.”

Rosé snorted softly. “Guess not. You live in the neighborhood?”

“Nah,” she shook her head, “moved to Flatbush from Chicago.”

“Chicago, huh? You get into any fights with anyone over pizza yet?”

Denali shook her head. “Can I tell you a secret?” she leaned in closer, speaking in a stage whisper, “I’ve always liked New York-style pizza better.”

Rosé leaned in closer when Denali did, their faces only inches apart, close enough for her to take in the scent of her perfume – something woody and spicy with a hint of something heady, something almost as intoxicating as she was. “Oh, she’s a culinary rebel, huh?”

She let out a soft breath of laughter, biting down on her lip. “It does sound kinda hot when you say it like that,” she mused. The distance between them seemed to lessen, albeit by the tiniest bit at a time. But then she became aware of the background noise. “You have an order in the window, I think.”

Sure enough, one of the cooks had been ringing the bell for several seconds in an attempt to get Rosé’s attention. “Oh shit,” she laughed, turning and grabbing the plate, setting it down in front of Denali. “Enjoy,” she winked.

“I sure will,” Denali grinned and batted her lashes, her eyes following Rosé as she went to wait on another table. She gazed at her from across the restaurant. She would make a move, she thought, as soon as the moment was right.

——

Jackie stepped out of her office and noticed Jaida on her laptop in the common area. “Whatcha working on, honey?” she asked, sitting down beside her.

“The next great American novel,” Jaida told her. “Nah, I’m finishing up my OnlyFans page. Denali gave me a crash course in how to get this shit done right. Turns out it’s more than just taking what I do on stage and doing it in my room for a camera.”

“I mean, you’re welcome to make whatever content you need to on the stage or whatever if it helps,” she offered with a slight smile. “Anything I can do to help, let me know, okay?”

Jaida smiled warmly. “You’re the best, Jackie,” she tilted her head in thought for a moment before continuing, “maybe you could review the content before I post it? I’ll know it’s ready for the public if it has your seal of approval.”

Jackie nodded, ignoring the warmth that rushed to her cheeks. She nodded quickly, enthusiastically. “Oh my god, yeah. I’m honored you trust my judgment like that.”

“Hey, you stocked this club with top-tier bitches, you’re clearly onto something,” she offered with a reassuring grin. “Check it out, though,” she turned her laptop towards Jackie, “she’s open for business.”

Jackie leaned closer to the laptop, committing Jaida’s username to memory. “Impressive, I’m sure this is going to go over well for you.” She got out, smoothing out her skirt. “I have to take care of some paperwork, you alright from here?”

Jaida nodded. “All good, do your thing,” she said and waved her off. After Jackie retreated into her office, she continued working on her page. She was sitting in silence, which was why she jumped when she realized she was no longer alone a few moments later. “Fuck, how did you do that?”

Gigi shrugged. “I’m not convinced I’m not a Victorian ghost that’s taken corporeal form.” She kicked off her heels and turned to sit cross-legged on the couch, facing Jaida. “Listen, babe, I can smell an ulterior motive from a mile away. You’re trying to show off for Jackie, aren’t you? What’s the tea?”

“Guess it does take one to know one,” she murmured, reclining into the couch and letting out a sigh. “Yeah, okay, maybe I am into Jackie,” she conceded, “but unlike you, I have a good reason for not acting on it – she hasn’t been out of the closet all that long, I’m not tryna bombard her with shit, you know? It’s a delicate situation.”

“My situation is delicate too,” Gigi insisted, only to sigh and quietly add, “okay, maybe not as much, but still. So you’re just gonna wait it out?”

Jaida shrugged. “I don’t wanna freak her out. You, on the other hand, are crushing on someone that popped out of the womb with Doc Martens on, so you have no excuse.”

Gigi flopped onto her back and let out a dramatic sigh. “I know, I know. I just wish there was a way to just… send out some feelers, you know?”

“I cannot fathom how someone can dance naked in a cage one minute and not be able to look a girl with a One Direction tattoo in the eye the next. Literally, all you gotta do is take that confidence you got in the cage or on stage over to Miss Crystal Methyd, it ain’t that complicated, sis,” she did try to stop herself from talking to her like it should have been obvious – Gigi was almost ten years her junior, she had to remind herself. “You just need to try to stop overthinking,” she added in a more calm and gentle tone.

It wasn’t that Gigi didn’t know that, it was simply much easier to think about than to implement. “I know you’re right,” she murmured and sat up. She looked at her phone, chewing on her lip. “Okay, I’m gonna do something before I talk myself out of it,” she decided and stood up. “I’ll report back to you.”

“Good luck, my lil ghost baby.”

Gigi took a deep breath as she walked downstairs to the main floor. Crystal hadn’t arrived yet, so she perched herself on the bar as she waited, swinging her legs and fumbling with the hem of her skirt. Her head popped up when she heard the door open and her heart started to race when Crystal came into her field of vision.

“Hey Geege,” Crystal greeted, playfully tugging Gigi’s ponytail as she walked behind the bar.

“Hi Crystal,” she replied with the lilted laugh that was only ever elicited by the bartender. She reminded herself of Jaida’s words as she got off the bar and followed Crystal behind it. Just use your stage confidence. Picture yourself naked, she reminded herself. “You’re looking hot today.”

Crystal arched her brow. “Thanks? It’s just my usual uniform,” she shrugged and smiled. “You look hot though, but you always do.”

“Thanks,” Gigi twirled her hair around her fingers, batted her lashes, she was doing all of the textbook flirtations she could think of, but she stopped just as quickly, frowning. “Fuck, why does this feel so weird?” she asked herself, but out loud.

Crystal’s perplexed expression deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Gigi groaned and stomped her foot. “I’m trying to flirt with you, but I don’t know how to flirt with someone I actually like because I haven’t in so long. But you’re here and you’re just… fuck, this was supposed to be easier.”

The confusion on Crystal’s face morphed into pensiveness. She was quiet for a moment, then took a few steps towards Gigi. “I’m gonna kiss you now, unless you stop me.” She waited, giving her ample time to back away or speak up. Instead, she got a quick, eager nod. So, she gently cupped Gigi’s face, pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

And Gigi melted into the kiss, relief washing over her body as her arms draped around Crystal’s neck. Her leg went up like the girl in every single rom-com she’d watched and for a moment she felt like she was sixteen, having her first kiss behind the school while cutting gym class. The magic of the moment was only broken when she sensed they were no longer alone. She turned with a glare. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ us,” Lemon retorted, gesturing between herself, Jan, and Vanessa. “We’ve been waiting for this to happen for ages.”

“You kind of owe us a satisfying conclusion after subjecting us to your mutual pining fuckery you subjected us all to,” Jan nodded in agreement. “We’ve been along for this whole journey whether we wanted to be or not.”

“What they said,” Vanessa chimed in for the sake of being included.

Gigi rolled her eyes, though she did not attempt to let go of or move away from Crystal. “You guys are so fucking weird,” she muttered. “But I guess it’s kind of endearing or whatever,” she added reluctantly.

“We’ll leave you guys to finish your moment,” Jan said gently, guiding Lemon and Vanessa out of the main room and upstairs to the common area.

Crystal watched them leave, then looked back at Gigi. “I love our friends,” she grinned.

“I could take them or leave them,” she joked. “Look, we don’t… need to put a label on this or anything just yet. I know this was sudden… I just needed you to know how I felt.”

“You’re overthinking things again, aren’t you?” Crystal looped her arms around Gigi’s waist. “Listen, I know you only allow yourself three emotions a year, so it means a lot that I got to be on the receiving end of one of them. And like, I’m pretty bad at talking about feelings too, so… I dunno, let’s just see what happens.”

Gigi exhaled in relief. This was why she had gravitated towards Crystal so effortlessly, they understood each other, they were on the same wavelength. “So… how about you come back to my place after work? We could get high, pretend to watch some movies…”

Crystal pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “It’s a date.”

[libsterslobsters]

Celebration Day

Summary: Bucky and the Reader's long-awaited wedding day is just around the corner. The only trouble is, with Pepper Potts serving as wedding planner, it's a little more elaborate than either of them had imagined. Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands and create your perfect out of what's around you.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced!Reader

(Reader sees bits and pieces of the future at random, understands all languages, and is also a super soldier)

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Author's note: As always, the reader's name is never mentioned so that this can be read as a self-insert, but when I write this character, I imagine her as a Violet. Also, the song at the end of the fic can be anything you like, but I wrote it with Unforgettable by Nat King Cole in mind.

*************************************************

“Whoa.” Bucky doesn’t say anything, but as he takes in the huge stone building that, according to Pepper, they’ll be getting married at in two weeks’ time, he’s almost certain his eyes have gone as big as his fiancee’s. What the actual fuck? They could fit a small army inside this place.

“Is this the right place?” He’s half-way hoping she’ll say no, it was a big joke, but with a grimace, she nods.

“That is, if she sent us the right address. If not, it’s pretty remote here….” She trails off, biting at her lip.

“Does Pepper know that between the two of us, we can count the number of people we call friends on our fingers-”

“And the ones we’d actually want around to watch us make a life-long commitment to each other is even smaller? Yeah, I mentioned it.”

That’s what he was afraid of. Despite having been through some of the most intense situations known to man (fighting Thanos, anyone?), as he pulls the door closed behind him, his palm starts to sweat. Logically, he knew giving Pepper the go ahead to plan as she saw fit without any input from either of them (she did insist on footing the bill after all, so being particular would be ungrateful) meant that things would get more elaborate than he’d feel comfortable with, but this is completely out of hand.

“I’m starting to think that waiting until two weeks before the day of to take a look at things may have been a mistake.”

He chooses not to add his two cents to that (a fucking huge one, on both their parts). It turns out to be the right decision because, a huge bouquet of… are those lilies… in her hands, Pepper emerges from a side door.

“Good, you both found the place.” Yeah, it was kinda hard to miss. It’s a literal castle! “Isn’t it just beautiful?” The high-powered executive is gushing in a way that’s usually reserved for the first time seeing a great work of nature, like the Grand Canyon or possibly Niagara Falls. Not… whatever the hell this is.

“It’s very eye-catching.” The grip on his hand increases to where it’s almost painful, and he glances over at her. “Right?” In other words, don’t just stand there. Say something.

“Yeah. It’s…” Huge. Kind of reminds him of a medieval palace that would have a secret torture chamber down bellow. Decadent, but not in the “This is really great chocolate cake” kind of way. “...really something.” If that look is anything to judge from, he’s definitely in the dog house tonight… which, oddly enough, means the dog will probably spend the night cuddled up to her on his side of the bed.

Fortunately, Pepper seems not to have noticed that he’s less than enthusiastic about her choice of venue (either that, or she’s assumed that ‘vaguely unsociable’ is just his natural state), because she beams at the woman on his arm.

“Of course, it’ll look much different the day of. There will be floral arrangements in every window and…” She goes on, but he’s stopped listening, too busy trying to calculate how many people can fit in this auditorium alone.

“Any questions?” Pepper peers between both of them. He should really read the room and say no thanks, it all sounds great, but he actually is wondering about something.

“Yeah, I have one. What’s the final tally on the guest list looking like?”

“We’re standing at around 500.” 500… does he even know that many people? Scratch that; between the two of them, do THEY know that many people?

“Wow.” He glances at the woman next to him. Yeah, that’s a fake smile if he’s ever seen one. “That’s quite a turn-out.”

Pepper says something else, but he doesn’t hear it past the buzzing in his ears. It’s only when he feels a tug on his hand that he realizes they’re supposed to follow Stark’s widow out of the room.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, she turns to him, wearing a worried frown. “You okay there, Buck?”

He nods. “Yeah, but is it too late to go with your idea? Just go to the courthouse and sign a paper?”

She sighs, a rueful smile on her face. “I think that ship has sailed. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” She deserves the best, and if Pepper has anything to do with it, this wedding will be just that. He can deal with it. It’s just for a few hours, after all.

“Does this mean I get to pull out the ‘I told you so’?” It’s a joke, meant to lighten the mood. He knows this, so he takes the bait.

“Yeah, Doll. You get a free pass.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“How’s it coming?” She’s honestly not sure how to answer Shuri’s question. In traditional “Say Yes To The Dress” fashion, her female friends are all gathered outside the dressing room doors waiting for her to step out in the gown Pepper had designed specifically for her. The only trouble is, she’s never felt more out-of-place in her life.

It’s a beautiful dress, highlighting every single positive aspect of her body. The shade of ivory works well with her skin tone, and the material is cool against her skin. She looks exactly like a picture from a bridal magazine with her hair still styled from a trial run of that and makeup earlier today. Perfect… but not like herself.

Shaking her head, she tells herself she’s just not used to looking so formal, and pushes open the door.

Wanda, Morgan, Nakia and Shuri make appropriate noises of approval as she steps into the room. Pepper is smiling, a hand pressed to her mouth and tears rolling down her face. Only Okoye looks less than pleased.

“You look so fierce.” Shuri informs her, rushing forward to adjust her train.

“A total knockout.” Nakia nods.

“You look like a doll!” She chuckles at the four-year-old’s exclamation. It’s very sweet, probably the best compliment she’s ever gotten. Plus, she’s starting to feel like a doll.

“Okoye?” The general eyes her up and down, expression unchanging.

“How are you planning to fight in that dress?”

Wanda and Pepper freeze, unsure of how to react, but Nakia laughs and Shuri rolls her eyes.

“It’s her wedding day, General. She isn’t fighting anyone.” Shuri exclaims between giggles.

“This is an American wedding. The most physical thing they do is dance.” Nakia adds.

“Until the wedding night, that is.” And now she’s trying not to snicker at the princess’s innuendo.

The rest of the appointment is a blur. A tailor checks and rechecks the measurements, pinning up whatever he deems too long or large, letting out anything too constricting. Girl talk ensues and the champagne flows. By the time they go their separate ways, each with a bridesmaid’s (or in Morgan’s case, flower girl) dress in their possession, she’s the only one who’s not at least slightly buzzed.

She should really head home. It’s late in the afternoon, and she’s still got papers to grade. However, she finds herself driving in the opposite direction of where she lives. After today, she needs some time to herself, away from anyone else and the possibility of unintentionally seeing their future.

At a red light, she stops and dictates a voice-to-text message, informing Barnes that, “It’s going to be a late one. Stopping by a few places on the way home. Let me know if you want me to pick up something.” The reply comes thirty seconds later. “Take your time. Text me when you’re on your way. Stay safe.” This wedding may not be exactly what she’d pick for herself, but the man she gets to spend the rest of her life alongside certainly is.

She drives aimlessly for a while, no destination in mind. Finally, she decides that while she’s out, she may as well kill two birds with one stone. Pepper mentioned that they’re still lacking the “something old” from ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue’. She considered joking that the groom is over a century old so they’ve got that covered, but as an antique store appears on her right, she decides to go in and see if anything catches her eye.

A bell rings as soon as she steps inside, and although she can’t see anyone, a voice calls out from the center of the store to, “Shout if you need anything.” It’s a hodgepodge of various items, most in disrepair, all covered in a blanket of dust. She comes across a coin in the display counter minted in 1917 and is about to ask if she can get a closer look at it (there’s something about a sixpence in a shoe if she’s remembering correctly), but that’s when she sees it.

The wedding dress is clearly vintage, more than likely an original. As she takes a closer look at the tag, she sees that it reads “hand sewn, 1942”. The price is marked $25 dollars, a good deal even if it were in disrepair. Instead, she can’t find a thing wrong with it. It’s almost as if someone unearthed this in the back of a closet, perfectly preserved, and thought, “Here’s a way to make a quick buck.” For a moment, she allows herself to dream of how she’d look in it, but as the salesperson appears, she pushes that daydream to the side.

“May I see the nickel from 1917, please?”

With one last longing look at the dress, she pays for her purchase, and leaves the store behind.

___________________________________________________________________________________

It’s not unusual for him to have nightmares. Most times, he can tell that what’s going on around him is a dream, not real life, and wake himself up. Not tonight, however. It all feels too real, not one of his usual dreamscapes, so that he’s stuck reliving a scene from earlier in the day.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Coming out of the pet store on his way home with a few bags of dog food (not to mention more toys than the mutt really needs because, despite himself, he’s a sucker for their tripod of a dog), he got recognized. There was the flash of a picture being taken to his right, and when he turned, a man holding a smartphone asked, “Hey, you’re that Winter Solder guy, aren’t you?” In reality, he pretended not to have heard and kept walking, and that was the end of it. In his dream, he’s driven all the way home, only to be cornered as he’s stepping out of his car and activated by HYDRA.

“Longing-”

“Stop.”

“-rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak-”

“Not again. Please.”

“-furnace. Nine. Benign-” As the HYDRA agent speaks, he realizes that she’s in the room with him. Oh no.

“Get out of here! Run!” He tries to warn her, but she just smiles at him, and although he can’t hear what she’s saying, he can see her lips forming the words, “I love you.”

“-One. Freight Car.”

“No!” He bolts upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. It’s only when the chill of the night air makes him shiver that he realizes it was just a dream.

“Whoa.” He’s still trying to catch his breath when he feels her hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay, Bucky. Take some deep breaths. That’s it.” He used to be embarrassed whenever this would happen, especially if he managed to wake her up in the process. But since Thanos, all of that has gone by the wayside, and it’s a common occurrence for her to wake up screaming and flailing also.

Practice makes perfect, so it’s only a few moments before his breathing returns to normal and he feels his heart regain it’s rhythm. He turns to her to apologize, but stops short.

“You were already awake.” She nods.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. My mind’s too busy.”

“Busy with what?” As he asks it, he settled back into bed, turning on his side to face her.

“Are we just gonna ignore that you had a nightmare?” He nods

“For now, yeah. It’s still too fresh.” A look of understanding settles on her face. He’s eternally grateful that she’s not one to push him into talking before he’s ready.

“I can’t stop thinking about the fucking wedding.” He snickers at her profanity. “Five hundred people, Buck. Five hundred! I don’t even know that many people, much less like them.” It’s like she’s read his mind.

“All of them staring at us…” She shudders. “It’s silly, but what if I have a vision and instead of saying “I Do” I say, ‘Watch your head!’ or something else just as stupid?”

“Then you’ll be doing better than me.” Her brow furrows in confusion. “I keep having this recurring dream that we get around to the vows and I forget how to talk. Then I look down and realize I’m not wearing pants.” That reminds him… “You still haven’t told me how trying on the dress went.”

She sighs.

“It was an experience.” That can’t be good.

“Didn’t it fit?”

“Oh, it fit.” She nods. “Like a glove.” Then what’s the problem? “It’s a beautiful dress, and I really appreciate all the effort Pepper put into it, but…” Oh. Now he thinks he understands.

“It’s not quite what you imagined.” It’s not a question, but she nods.

“No, but then again, I never imagined my wedding dress because I never imagined getting married.”

“But you still want to, right?” He shouldn’t ask that, but there’s a niggling fear at the back of his mind that she’s realized she doesn’t want to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives.

“Of course I do.” They’re facing each other, crumpled sheets between then, and she reaches out to caress his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Barnes, nightmare wedding or not.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the air vents circulating a cool breeze through the bedroom. Then she asks,

“Did you ever imagine it? A wedding or getting married?” It’s not something he’d easily admit to most people, but he nods.

“Yeah, I did. Back before the war.”

“Tell me about it.” She closes her eyes, and he can’t help but feel a slight wave of excitement that he gets to see her like this forever.

“It wasn’t like I spent a lot of time daydreaming about it, but…” It was just one of those natural things, a given in life; you get a job, find a girl, get married, and settle down to have a houseful of kids. When the war started, he saw so many of his friends go ahead and tie the knot with their girls before they shipped out, and he took it for granted that one day, he’d do the same thing.

“I guess I figured on having Steve there, standing up with me.” Of course, now Steve is an old man, physically as well as chronologically. He’ll be there of course. Even serve as the best man. However, it looks a little different than he imagined. “It’d probably be small, because we weren’t dirt poor, but we weren’t exactly rich either. Friends and family.” She nods, eyelids still lowered. “Didn’t put much thought into decorations or clothes, but I imagined walking out with her on my arm, whoever the girl ended up being-” Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have imagined a woman as incredible as this. “-and dancing together after it, then heading back to our house, just the two of us.”

“It sounds-” She yawns, and he knows she’s nearly asleep. “-perfect.”

It does to him too, but over time, things change. Even if it sounds nice, a 1940’s shindig probably wouldn’t cut it in today’s busy world with it’s easy access to perfection. Still, a huge chunk of him wishes he could just steal her away and make their promises to each other in private. That makes him wonder: what did it look like when Steve and Peggy got hitched? He supposes he can ask soon enough. Steve’s arriving tomorrow after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You need any help in there?” Steve thinks about shooting back that he may be old (well, ancient is probably more accurate at this stage) but he can still manage to put on his pants without help, thanks. Instead he just answers,

“Nope. Just giving you a few extra minutes to primp before I come out and embarrass you by pulling off this suit better than you do.” As he pulls on his jacket, he hears Bucky laugh.

“Whatever you say, punk.”

He’s lived a full life, made plenty of other friends. However, he still hasn’t clicked the same way he does with the jerk from Brooklyn, even if said jerk is now seventy years younger than him.

“Alright, I’m done making myself pretty. Get out here, old man.” Chuckling, he pushes open the changing room door and joins Sam and Bucky.

“I don’t know what you two are bragging about.” Sam grins and straightens his tie. “Clearly I’m the best looking person here even without being hopped up on super soldier mojo.”

Bucky fakes a frown and elbows Sam.

“Remind me again why you’re invited to my wedding?”

“Because the bride likes me.”

“No accounting for taste.”

“Clearly, since she’s marrying you.”

Even though it’s obviously a joke, Steve internally winces. He’s already half-way expecting to talk Bucky down off the ledge at least three times in the next two days, convince him that yes you you are good enough for this girl, no I don’t think she’s making a mistake entrusting her future to you. Back in the day, he was the shy one with a lack of self-confidence. After everything HYDRA did, it’s his best friend who believes he’s unworthy of a second chance at life.

However, throughout most of the morning, there’s absolutely no sign of the impending breakdown. Steve’s nearly convinced that he’s guessed wrong, that there won’t be any fires to put out when, on the drive back to his hotel room, it happens.

“Can I ask you something?” He can’t really read his best friend’s facial expression since the other man is driving, facing straight ahead, but if the tension in body language is anything to judge from, this isn’t going to be a casual conversation.

“Sure.”

“Were you nervous before you and Peggy tied the knot?”

He nods.

“More like scared shitless.” It wasn’t the fact that, for the rest of their lives, they would be tied together, not just emotionally but legally as well. If anything, he was nearly giddy with excitement over that part. “All those people with their eyes on you and your dearly beloved? Don’t tell anyone, but five minutes before I had to be in place, I was in the bathroom losing my lunch.” Bucky snickers, and even he chuckles at the memory. “But I got through it because it was her. She was what I wanted at the end of the day. I would’ve gone through with it in front of a million people or in a broom closet. It didn’t matter. Everything except Peg was just trappings.”

Neither of them say anything else for the rest of the trip. On Steve’s part, he’s mentally reliving the day he married Peggy Carter through his memories. In fact, he’s so busy reminiscing that he doesn’t realize the car has stopped moving and they’re parked outside the hotel until his name is called for what must be at least the third time.

“Sorry.” He smiles apologetically. “It’s just a side affect of getting old: you spend a lot of time stuck in the past and forget about the present.”

“It’s okay.”

He reaches to open his door, but before he can-

“Do you have anything going this afternoon? Maybe need to take a nap or something?” This time, he doesn’t swallow down the sarcastic comment that springs to mind.

“Yeah, right after I finish rubbing liniment on my joints, I’m gonna go down to the old folks’ home and play bingo, maybe yell at some kids to get off my lawn. That is, unless you have something else in mind.”

“Well, I was gonna go interrupt my girl’s day and ask her if she’d go down to the courthouse and elope with me since we’re both dreading the trappings, but it sounds like you’re busy, so…”

It’ll smart later, but he tags the back of his best friend’s head.

“Go get your girl, jerk. Just tell me when and where to meet you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a nap?”

“Respect your elders!”

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s elbow deep in clothing (when the hell did they acquire that many tshirts between them), attempting to make a dent in the number of things they still have to pack before next week’s move-in date, when she hears the apartment door open. That’s weird. He’s not supposed to be home until later in the day. It’s unnecessary, a reflex at this point, but she feels for the hidden knife she still keeps on her at nearly all times. It’s most likely not an intruder, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

The funny thing about living with someone is that the little things about them, details you never forced yourself to pay attention to, become ingrained in your memory without you realizing it. In this case, she recognizes the speed and heaviness of the footfalls, and that’s what makes her lower her guard.

“In the bedroom.” He hasn’t asked, but it’ll save him from looking through each room that comes before this one. And, if he’s home this early, they’ll probably have something to discuss.

“Hey.”

As she repeats the greeting back to him, she studies his expression. A smile, small but genuine. Also… nervous? That’s strange. She’s gotten good at reading the tiny tells that are still there behind the perfect, unflappable mask, but usually it takes her a lot longer to crack the code. Something major is going on.

“How’s the packing coming?” As he asks, he picks up a shirt (one of his, although it’s not folded) and tosses it into a box.

“It’s coming along fine. Do you want to talk about it some more or dive into why you’re home so early?”

“That depends. Do you already know what I’m gonna say?”

She shakes her head. No visions so far, at least not about this.

“Then I guess I’d better quit stalling.” That doesn’t sound good. “So, about the wedding.” For a moment, she’s worried he’s calling it off, that he’s decided he’d rather not spend the rest of his life with her. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have mentioned it last night when they were both lying there unable to sleep, discussing things? “Is it safe to say we’re both dreading it? Not what comes after, but the part where five hundred of our closest friends stare at us?”

Her lips curl into a smirk.

“You could say that.”

“Well, I was thinking that maybe there’s a way to avoid it and still get the job done. Something more like what we talked about last night. You were awake for that part, right?”

Barely. In fact, she remembers her final thought before drifting off being, “I wish we could do things that way.” Still…

“Pepper’s put so much effort in. People are traveling, have already made arrangements-”

“So we still show up on Saturday, but behind the scenes, we would’ve already made things official. Maybe gone to the courthouse like you wanted to, just us and Steve? One other person if you had anyone in mind, since there need to be two witnesses?” It’s an appealing idea. The marriage license is still sitting on the kitchen table, waiting for them to sign on the day of. In theory, all they need to do is make an appointment and show up with their two witnesses. In practice…

“Hypothetically speaking, when would we be doing this?” Immediately, the small sign of nervousness melts from his face.

“This afternoon at four thirty, since that’s the only time before Saturday they had available. Hypothetically.”

She pretends to think about it, but can’t hide the smile that sneaks across her face.

“Then it’s a yes.” Now they’re both smiling like idiots. Taking his offered hand, she rights herself and circles her arms around his neck.

“So we’re really doing this, huh?” His arms wrap around her, and now they’re so close, she can feel his heart beating.

“Looks that way.” She leans up, closing the gap between them and presses her lips against his.

It’s tempting to just stand there, making out like teenagers, but eventually, she has to back away. It’s comical how startled he looks (that and slightly flustered).

“I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“What?”

She snickers. “I don’t know much about weddings, but I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to see me ahead of time. Bad luck and all.”

“Wouldn’t want to risk that.” With one last peck, he lets her go. “Do you want me to head out and give you the apartment, or-”

“No, you stay. I actually have some errands to run.” Not saying another word (otherwise, she’ll end up gushing about how she can’t to start their life together), she grabs her keys from the nightstand and heads towards the door.

Once she’s in the car, a memory from the other day of that 1940s wedding dress sitting in an antique store comes back to her. There wasn’t a size on the label, and the material might be too fragile for her to even get it on her body. But it was so… perfect. It’s decided: she’s going in search of it. If it fits her, yay! If it doesn’t work out, she’s still got enough time to stop in at a department store and purchase something else.

The whole thing is slightly absurd. She peals into the antique store and, after eyeballing the dress, purchases it without so much as trying it on. Then, stopping at a fast food place, she undresses in a bathroom stall and pulls on the dress. The material is slightly musty from all the years of disuse, but it goes on easily. As she peers at herself in the bathroom mirror, a giggle rises from deep inside her. For the first time in this whole process, she feels like a bride.

She’s still dressed in the vintage white gown when she steps inside the first florist’s shop she comes across The woman behind the counter gives her a strange look, but doesn’t ask any questions as she sells her the simple bouquet of violets with a few pieces of greenery. She knows she must look odd, but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s flying too high. Maybe that’s the reason why, as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup, still in her car, she tucks a few of the flowers into her hair. There. That’s better.

She spots his car in the parking lot, so she knows he’s already there. That’s when the nerves hit her. This is it. They’re actually doing this. After today they won’t just be to people sharing an apartment (among other things); they’ll be husband and wife. She’s ready. God, is she ready. But the enormity of it is intimidating. What if she’s not a good wife? What if he’s expecting her to be the perfect domestic goddess (that’s absurd, she knows, but rationality just flew out the window)? Or on a more practical level, what if he doesn’t like how she looks? There’s only one way to find out. Slowly, hands shaking, she pulls open the courthouse door.

Steve’s waiting for her just inside the building. Apparently, he takes traditions very seriously, because when she asks where Bucky is, he just shakes his head. “He’s here, but you’re not gonna see him until you’re in the room, about to sign the paperwork.” She’s not going to fight it (after all, she’s the one who brought up separating in the first place), but she does still have a question.

“Steve, can I ask you for a massive favor?”

“Sure.” Here it goes.

“I know there’s not a real aisle, but would you walk me inside?” He may be seventy years older than he was when she met him, but the smile is still the same.

“Yeah. I’d be honored to do it.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s not sure what the connection is between being so nervous you’re ready to climb the walls and the urge to pace, but regardless, that’s what he’s doing. The clock in the office where he’ll be exchanging vows with the woman he loves more than he ever thought was possible reads four twenty-nine. One minute left, give or take. One minute, and then the rest of his life begins.

The seconds hand seems to move incredibly slowly, but finally, it reaches it’s destination. On cue, the door opens, and all the breath leaves his lungs. Here she is.

It’s not the way he’d imagined it as a kid. Steve’s not at his side. He’s considerably older, rougher around the edges. They’re in a courthouse instead of a church. But as a kid, he also didn’t imagine anything that can compare to her.

It goes without saying that she’s beautiful; that’s always the case. But all the old stories are true: there’s something about seeing her in a white dress walking towards him just before they promise to love, honor, and cherish each other for the rest of their lives that makes her shine like never before. She’s not just beautiful. She’s brilliant.

“Hey.” Right. He need to say something.

“Hey. You made it.”

She chuckles and pushes back a stray tendril.

“Yeah, well I had a date I was really excited for, so I rearranged my schedule.”

Before he can say anything else (he’s not sure what, because frankly, all thoughts except “I love you” have disappeared), the door opens and a man in a business suit sticks his head out.

“Is everyone here?”

He looks at her for confirmation.

“Everyone that needs to be.”

“Then right this way.”

He’s not aware of much that is said during the ceremony after they join hands, too busy memorizing what she looks like so he’ll never forget. This is definitely one of those moments you want to carry with you the rest of your life.

They stick to the standard vows. He takes her to be his lawfully wedded wife to have and hold from this day forward, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish ‘til death do them part, and vise versa. As he slips the ring on her finger, he catches her eye and mouths a silent, “I love you.”, which she repeats back as she slides on his wedding band.

“By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” That’s it. This is real. They’re married. “You may kiss the bride.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

After the paperwork is signed, they agree to go and have dinner. Steve’s come all this way, and something seems right about celebrating with his oldest friend. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to make a reservation so, still dressed in their formal clothes, they slide into a corner booth at a local diner. Nothing important is said; it’s mostly laughter and inside jokes between a group of friends. By seven o’clock, he’s dropped Steve off at his hotel and is on his way back home.

The apartment is mostly packed up at this point. The only things left are their clothes, a few kitchen and bathroom essentials, and their bed. Even the record player she gave him as a birthday gift has been shipped off to the townhouse they’ll officially move into sometime next week. But, he thinks to himself as he lets himself in, the great thing about going to sleep in 1945 and waking up in the 2000s is that while his taste in music may not have evolved by much, technology has. Which means-

“Hey, stranger.” She’s still wearing the dress, their dog sitting next to her on the bed with his head in her lap. It would be a crime to let that go to waste.

“Come here.” He motions for her to join him, and as soon as she stands, starts scrolling through is phone.

“What are you doing?” The confusion melts from her face as the first few notes of the song fill the room.

Holding out his hand, he asks, “May I have this dance?”

A soft smile crosses her face as, nodding, she folds herself into his arms.

“You can have every dance.”

Two days from now, they’ll stand in front of five hundred people, most of whom they've never met before, and make their vows once again. It'll be uncomfortable and even a little jarring, but it won’t matter. Steve's right: it’s all trappings. What’s real is now; the beautiful woman in his arms, his wife, and the life they’ll build together. It’s not what Bucky imagined all those years ago as a naïve kid in Brooklyn. This is far better.

[thottyhrs]

Just a lil world building and build up between myself and a certain... rat.

Not my best work, but I finally had the motivation to push myself and write something I’ve been wanting to make for a while ;;

Blasted thing!

Ratigan growled, outstretching his cloak and observing the long tear. He usually kept his attire in pristine order, so something like this was more than just a tad irritating. As he wondered where such a tear could have come from, the bigger question popped in his mind— where would he go to stitched? He wasn’t well versed in sewing, nor did he trust any of his idiotic goons to fix it properly. As he walked along the streets of London, he kept his eyes peeled. He couldn’t exactly stroll into any boutique, considering his face was all over the papers. Perhaps he could just manipulate some poor worker?

That seemed to be the plan as he walked up to a small shop, nestled just outside of Baker Street. He rubbed his chin, looking around the empty city. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of potentially running into trouble if he went further down the street. His worst nightmare would truly come to light if he ran across that second rate detective while he was out in the open. Time to test his luck, he thought.

He walked onto the porch, noticing the little bell strung just above the door. He gave it a tug. The soft ring went off, sounding similar to a wind chime. However, no one showed up. He tapped his foot, his patience quickly growing thin. He tugged the thread of the bell once more, glaring at the door. He pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. He couldn’t wait around all night— and despite his better judgement, he’d prefer to just head home with tattered clothes than stand outside in the dreary night.

Just as he was about to call quits, a small voice broke him out of his train of thought.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He looked behind him, seeing the mouse at the bottom of the stairs. At least, he assumed she was one— she was quite tall, much taller than many other mice he’s met. However, her large eyes and small tails proved to him she wasn’t a rat. She took off her hat, showing off her puffy brown hair. She smiled up at him before speaking. “May I help you?”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking softly as he slid his watch back into his jacket. Considering she didn’t look at him with fear or suspicion, Ratigan suspected he caught a lucky break. She didn’t recognize the criminal— he wasn’t sure how, but he surely wasn’t going to complain. “Good evening, my dear. I assume you’re the owner of this little boutique.”

She nodded in response. “Yes. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” She said, walking up the stairs to speak with him face to face. “Are you here to pick up a suit or—?”

He snickered. Such a polite little thing, he thought. “I don’t suppose you would be able to stitch up something for me?” He asked. He watched as her eyes brightened up with a smile on her face. “Of course! Please, come in.” She said, slipping around him and pulling out her keys, unlocking the door for the both of them. The professor was taken aback by the young woman’s generosity— if he didn’t know any better, it was almost like was walking into a trap. Though, judging on cover alone, so to speak, she didn’t seem like the detective type. He stepped inside without a second thought, taking in all of his surroundings. The shop was quite... quaint— if you could even call it a shop.

It looked more like a home. If the many mannequins weren’t present, adorned with their beautiful gowns and handsome tuxedos, it would look like a typical living room. Upon further inspection, he saw the small basket of threads and needles that stood beside the lounge chair— which sat in front of the brick fireplace. All those put together, Ratigan was able to deduce that this young woman lived alone and wasn’t very well off. Much of her furniture looked to be hammy downs, most likely from her grandparents, as the manufacturing seemed old fashioned.

Normally, he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. However, he didn’t have much choice at this point. “I’m sorry if it looks kinda messy.” She said, a hint of nervousness was present in her voice. “Would you like something to eat? I have some crumpets fresh from the oven.”

“No thank you, my dear. However... a cup of tea does sound rather nice.”

“I’ll brew a pot, then! How does earl grey sound?”

“Perfect. No sugar, please.”

She gave a quick nod before rushing to the kitchen, just a few steps across from the front room. He sat down on the doily couch, resting his elbow upon the arm rest. He couldn’t deny, being offered tea and crumpets out of the blue from a random stranger felt... odd. Civility wasn’t something he normally came across, especially in his line of work. Then again, that didn’t mean he was against it. She was clearly a naive, overly trusting person— the kind of mouse that would be a victim of his blackmail. If he didn’t have to work in order to get some obedience, then there was no need to complain. That reminded him... her voice— she clearly wasn’t British, or European for that matter. She sounded foreign... American perhaps?

Before he could pounder further, the smell of freshly brewed tea enveloped his nose. He couldn’t help but smile— it smelled absolutely delicious. The young lady placed the cup in front of him, the saucer gently clicking against the wooden table. “There you are.”

She sat down in the lounge chair across from him, watching as he took a sip of his tea. It wasn’t the most delectable, but it was certainly above average. It almost made him forget why he was there... wait a minute—!

“So, what did you need stitched up?” She asked. He cleared his throat, feeling a touch embarrassed that the reason he was here had completely slipped his mind. “Ah, yes. Pardon me.” He began.

“It’s my cloak, you see. Damn thing caught on something. Quite the nasty tear.”

“Oh! May I see?”

She quickly stood back up, approaching him and undoing the clasps on his cloak. Once she saw the rip in question, she let out a wondering hum. “Hmm... shouldn’t take too much time, nor would you need any patches. I can sew it back up no problem, will only take a few minutes.” She said, returning back to her chair and pulling out the basket of threads he saw before. “I’ll try my best to hurry. I don’t wish to take up anymore of your time.”

“Not to worry, my dear. I’m a patient man, especially in the presence of such a lovely image.”

He couldn’t help but smirk as he watched her fur fluff up, her gaze quickly avoiding him and down to her fumbling fingers. “You’re too kind, sir.” She muttered softly, a soft blush now present on her cheeks. Ratigan was no stranger to swooning others, men and women, but that was a little too easy. “Actually... would you be so kind as to tell me your name before showering me with compliments?” She asked, peeking up at him with a raised eyebrow and sly smile. He let out a deep chuckle, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and looking at her with half lidded eyes. He didn’t mind a little playful banter. Although, would it truly be wise to out himself? She didn’t seem to recognize him when they first met, so it’s possible that perhaps... she truly didn’t know who he was. He wasn’t much of a gambling man, but he was willing to make that risk— worst case scenario, he can manipulate and threaten her.

“Professor Padraic Ratigan. And you are?”

“Pleasure.” She said, bowing her head. “Oh! Um... it’s Madelyn. Though, I’m not too big on formalities— Maty is just fine.” She added.

Hmmm... Madelyn, if he remembered correctly, it was a name of French origin— it’s more popular meaning being ‘high tower’. He held back a laugh, finding the name rather fitting, given her height. Her continued politeness lead him to assume that she truly had no idea who he was or that he had even existed prior up to this point. What luck, he thought.

The room became quiet as Maty continued to sew. He was impressed that she was able to work while they spoke, even when her eyes weren’t on the garment. It was clear she was very experienced. His eyes followed her supple fingers as they gently and carefully threaded through the fabric. Feeling his gaze on her, Maty cleared her throat. “Um... so... Professor, may I ask what you are a professor of?” She questioned. She seemed a bit uncomfortable by his staring. Noted.

“Ah, I’m afraid it isn’t anything too extravagant. I was a mathematician for a university.” He answered. That seemed to peak her interest, her gaze moving away from her work and back towards him. “Really? What made you want to leave?”

“Oh... a change in occupation, shall we say.”

That seemed to satisfy her, as she let out a content hum. For a moment, he assumed she was trying to interrogate him. Maybe he should do the same. “If we’re exchanging personal information. I’m curious why an American mouse would move so far from home. Considering it seemed to be a heavy burden on your finances.”

He grinned, seeing the shock on her face. What looked so obvious to him probably wasn’t to others. She seemed a little offended by his assumption, retorting with a not so humored stare. “For a man who most likely came from nothing, that’s quite the stone you threw from your glass home.”

Ooo, feisty. Usually, he would get rather insulted by such an insinuation, but her precious little smirk made it more forgiving. “Oh, I don’t mean any offense. I was just intrigued, that’s all.” He said. She sighed, laying the cloak on her lap. “I’m sorry. I’ve unfortunately heard that question many times from... not so friendly people.” She said. “If you’d really like to know— I’ve wanted to challenge myself and travel from a while now. I figured London was a nice place to start. It’s been an interesting change of pace, especially compared to Florida.”

Ahh, so that’s where she was from. He couldn’t hear a southern accent, so he was curious what part of America she was from. Florida certainly wasn’t his first guess. “I’m surprised such a charming woman like yourself is from a swamp of all place.”

She giggled, her hand over her mouth, barely covering her smile. Seems buttering her up works wonders. “I wouldn’t consider it a swamp, but since you’re British, I’m sure you’d assume any place in the world that doesn’t have an obnoxiously large clocktower to be just a rickety old swamp town.” She taunted. Not bad, she knew how to tease back. To be fair, they were childish and surface leveled, but it’s not everyday he meets someone with a little backbone.

She stood up, showing off the sewn up cloak to him. “All done.” She announced. He was pleasantly shocked— the craftsmanship was superb, you couldn’t even see the thread. “I suggest being more cautious. The stitch work, if ripped and teared again, might do more damage to the fabric.” She explained as he had him stand up, buckling the cloak back around his shoulders. The two were rather close to each other, he could see some of the details on her face. She had a freckle just below the right side of her lip, long eyelashes along with greenish blue eyes. She was quite beautiful, even the professor couldn’t deny that. “Thank you for your service, my dear.”

He took her hand into his, bringing it up to his mouth and planting a kiss upon her fur. She smiled wide, looking to the side and gently batting her eyes. “It was nothing, really.”

“Now, how much would this cost?”

As he was about to pull out his wallet, Maty quickly grabbed his wrist, stopping him in an instant. “Oh, thank you, but... I do stitching for free. Besides, I was a bit rude earlier.” She said, muttering the last part under her breath. Perhaps others would consider it rude— he thought of it as nothing more than cheeky banter. Other than that, he was surprised that she was offering her work for free. Why would you look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

“Very well. Oh! Before I leave, I would like to try one of your crumpets, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, one moment.”

She rushed to the kitchen, taking a small baggy and placing a couple crumpets inside, tying it up with a bow. She figured it was better than giving him one with just a napkin or something. As she came back out, she was surprised to see that the man was gone. She blinked a few times, looking around the room. “Professor?”

As she made her way back towards the coffee table, she noticed from the corner of her eye— a subtle shimmer. She looked over and saw a diamond, a small pouch filled with coins, along with a letter. Did she really take that long or was he really that fast? She picked up the paper, scanning it with her eyes and reading out loud. “Thank you for your work, hope to see you again soon. Sincerely, Professor Ratigan...”

Her heart skipped a beat as she finished. She looked back down at the pouch, picking it up and looking inside. Her eyes shot wide— there had to be at least a hundred pounds or more, not to mention the beautiful diamond he left behind. She was honestly so overwhelmed— a part of her wanted to rush outside, look for the man and return the money. However, she had barely enough to get by lately— some nights she had to go to bed hungry. All of this could keep her fed and stable for a while. She smiled wide, hugging both the letter and pouch close to her chest. What luck, she thought. Who knew London would have such a kind soul?

[yourdeepestfathoms]

teeth

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Aragon and Anne make the best mother duo and you Cannot Change My Mind

(you can read this as Aralyn if you want, but it’s not written in that way and the line is pretty vague tbh)

Word count: 4769

———————

There was a crash.

And then a crack.

And then a crunch.

The girl at the bottom of the stairs had her bottom jaw bent in a horrible position, her tongue lolling out of one side and bloody drool spilled all down her chin. Her eyes are upturned in her skull; she didn’t seem to be all there, though no one was surprised. Those broken bones must be excruciating.

———

Eight weeks of silence. A jaw wired shut. Almost three months of only eating liquidated foods. Black and blue floral bruising bloomed across the sides of her face. An eternity of humiliation.

———

In theory, it was difficult to miss Joan. Nineteen years of age and the workaholic music director stood at roughly 5’4, and it didn’t look like she was going to be growing again anytime soon. However, in practice, the girl was so quiet and self-enclosed that a lot of the time, she practically melted into the theater walls. That made it a slightly unpleasant surprise when Aragon was disturbed from her reading by a quiet tapping at her doorframe—it was most undignified for a queen as regal as herself to startle like that.

An irritable comment jumped to her lips, but it died as she looked up. Joan looked...worried. That wouldn’t normally strike her in any meaningful way, not if it was anyone else at her door—everyone got worried sometimes, although a fair number of people found it more difficult to talk to her than to others. But for all that had happened in her past, Joan had maintained a rarely-changing expression of passivity throughout the time she’d been reincarnated. Perhaps as a defense mechanism, perhaps simply because that was her resting face; the girl just kept her emotions to herself. However, now, it was incredibly visible that she was experiencing the worst kind of gnawing fear if you knew how to look for it. Nails digging into her arms as she crossed them over her chest, eyes darting all over, and her heel pressing against her other shin like she was trying to keep from anxious tapping. The only reason her lip wasn’t chewed raw was because of the wires and rubber bands anchoring her mouth firmly shut.

Immediately, the irritation turned to alarm bells.

The two just looked at each other for a few minutes, neither seemingly willing to break the silence first. Then, slowly, Joan took one step into the dressing room. Now her fingers were digging into her arm more. Aragon felt the strongest urge to get up from her chair and check to make sure she hadn’t broken skin, but at the same time, she feared that if she tried to move too quickly she would spook this very obviously troubled girl back into her usual repression. It would be wiser to wait for her to say whatever it was she was struggling to get out, but that didn’t make the decision any easier as a thousand and one possibilities as to what could have gone wrong raced through her head.

“May I talk to you, Aragon?”

The hesitation in the girl’s sign language only made those alarm bells ringing in her head louder. It was only her many, many years as a queen that allowed Aragon to keep her voice calm.

“Of course, Joan. Come, sit.”

Slowly, painfully so, Joan made her way to the chair opposite her, after closing the door to the dressing room behind her. But she didn’t sit down. Rather, she stood next to it. Ordinarily Aragon might have taken that as one of those little acts of rebellion Kitty liked to partake in from time to time, but not in this case. It felt more like the unwillingness of a confronted animal to lay down, for fear that they might need to flee at a moment's notice. That bad, then. Carefully, the queen put her bookmark in between the pages she was on and then set the book to the side. Whatever this was about, she doubted it would be over quickly.

“Now then, what is it you want to discuss?”

“Well… The director talked to me. He said I should take some time off to heal.” Joan signed.

“That’s good,” Aragon said. However, she noticed the frown set on Joan’s lips and realized that it was most definitely not a good thing.

“Maybe.” Joan let her hands go limp for a movement, then raised them again to continue. “But that got me thinking. Maybe, even after I heal, I should just leave the wires in. Seems like everyone would be happier without me talking.”

“Joan, you can’t seriously be thinking of doing that?”

Through great force of will Aragon managed to keep her tone mostly level, but even the very slight undertone of ice and steel buried under a dozen layers of constraint made Joan flinch.

“I-I just....”

“I don’t see why you think that’s a good idea. Do you know how damaging that could be for your mouth? It can’t remain shut forever.”

“Aragon-”

“Not to mention that you could put so many other factors at risk-”

“Aragon, please!”

Well that cut her off sharply.

For a moment Aragon just blinked at the girl, startled. This was perhaps the first time she had heard Joan raise her voice at anybody, let alone a queen. It was especially shocking because it had come out more as a strangled hiss between firmly clamped teeth, like the freezing whisper of a fanged glacier. But as she got over that element of surprise, she noticed two things about the girl standing before her. Firstly, it was that she was shaking, quite badly, actually. And secondly, that the bruises along her cheeks were ignited in shades of ivory and indigo and violet from the way she had been clenching her jaws through their bindings.

Moving oh-so-carefully, Aragon up her purse and began to rifle through it. Joan stepped back, but what she brought out wasn’t some form of weapon, but rather a small tin box. A box which Aragon opened and turned towards her.

“Have a mint, Joan.”

Joan just looked at her, baffled.

Aragon quickly realized her mistake and grimaced. It gets the smallest, weakest smile from Joan. She takes one, despite knowing she couldn’t eat it, signed a rapid apology, then left.

———

Trudging into the coffee shop during a fire-breathing rainstorm made Joan miserable enough, but it only got worse when the shrewd older woman working the counter wouldn’t take her order when she attempted to sign it to her and then write it out.

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to need to use your words.” She oozed.

Joan gestured for her bruised mouth and then bared her teeth so she could show the woman that they were firmly clamped shut with rubber bands. The worker leaned back slightly in distaste.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” She said. “Mutes aren’t our top priority here. You can just wait your turn while I handle the other customers.”

Joan waved her head around to find the shop completely empty thanks to the storm outside. She turned back to the worker with an “are you kidding me?” look.

“She’s in the bathroom.” The worker said cooly.

Joan glowered, but her anger quickly dissolved and she made the closest thing to a sigh that she could manage. She stepped away from the counter and waited.

Several long moments passed. The rain outside continuously eased up and then fell harder as if Mother Nature couldn’t decide if she wanted to flood the city today or not. The worker behind the counter kept glancing at Joan, hoping that she would just give up and leave. She was now regretting telling her to wait because it meant she had some disabled kid just loitering in her store when the front door suddenly swung open.

Two haughty American tourists came in with a spray of raindrops, closing their umbrellas, but keeping up their giddy chatter as they approached the counter. One of them glanced at Joan with a questioning look. The worker waved a dismissive hand.

“Ignore her,” She said. “She’s waiting her turn until she learns how to speak up.”

Joan glared and, once again, gestured for her mouth.

“What is wrong with you?” One of the two customers said, pacing around Joan while the other placed an order. “Why don’t you speak?” He eyed Joan’s bruised jaw. “Ohhh. I see.”

“My little brother broke his jaw once,” His friend piped up. “He couldn’t talk for two months!”

“What does it feel like?” The one in front of Joan asked. “Does it hurt?”

Then, without warning, he poked her roughly in the jaw, as if he were trying to pry it open himself. Joan swatted his hands away frantically and reared back, rubbing the area that had been touched. Pain spiraled from her mouth all over again.

“Don’t be a brute.” Said a sharp, barbed voice from behind Joan.

“Oh, hey!” The customer at the counter said. “You’re Anne Boleyn, aren’t you?”

Joan turned and was shocked to see that it was, in fact, Anne Boleyn herself standing there. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest and her eyes narrowed in a venomous glare. She looked like a coiled up snake ready to lunge.

“Yes,” Anne said, casting a dark glare down on the customers, who step away, sensing her anger. She comes up beside Joan and sets a comforting, protective hand on her shoulder. “You will not touch her again.”

The two tourists nodded and awkwardly sidled away to take their drinks and scamper out with their proverbial tails tucked between their legs.

“Now,” Anne turned her glower on the worker. “I understand that Joan had wanted something?”

“She can wait. You were here first.” The worker said.

Anne ruffled. “Serve her right now.” She snarled lowly, and even Joan was startled by her sudden tone. It was as deep and rumbling as a big cat’s growl, yet cold and scaly like a King Cobra.

The worker didn’t dare quarrel with the woman, so she plucked up the piece of paper left on the counter with Joan’s order and began to make the drink. The whole time, Joan stood still at Anne’s side, eyes wide.

After the drink was finished, Anne ordered one of her own, paid, and then guided Joan over to the front of the shop. She’s not at all bristled anymore and wore a warm smile on her lips.

“That was fun,” She chuckled lightly. “Say, kiddo, wanna come over for dinner? Sudden, I know-“ She laughed this time, a hearty, real one. “But I want to keep an eye on you. Plus, I know we’re having soup tonight. You can eat soup, can’t you?”

Joan nodded, flustered. Anne’s grin grew wider.

“Wonderful.”

—

“We have company!” Anne chimed loudly as she walked through the front door with a fidgeting Joan in tow.

Several heads popped up from an area in the downstairs area, each wearing a different expression- Cathy at the dining table with a curious look, Kitty and Jane on the couch with matching bitter frowns, Cleves from the downstairs hallway with friendly eyes, and Aragon in the kitchen with a warm grin. All Joan can do is give a tiny wave and a nervous smile.

“Hello, dear,” Aragon greeted as Anne and Joan walked over to the kitchen counter. The smell of basil and tomatoes drifted from the pot she was stirring. Anne’s memory hadn’t failed her- they were eating soup that night.

“Hello, beautiful.” Anne replied and Aragon shot her a look, although Joan could tell it was mock-annoyance. “I found this little rascal,” She set a hand on Joan’s head. “at that coffee shop with really good hot chocolate but really shitty workers.”

Aragon knew exactly what she meant, as she gave a knowing nod.

“Ah. That one.” She shook her head, looking back down at the pot. “I’m not sure what they did, but I’ll make sure to leave a one-star review on Yelp.”

Anne laughed, and even Joan gave a tiny giggle.

“Oh! I should show you my falcon before dinner!”

“It’s raining,” Jane said helpfully from the couch. Anne gave her a snake-like glower.

“Don’t be a buzzkill,” She said. “Come on, my darling!”

She grabbed Joan by the hand and led her out to the backyard, missing the blush that dusted her cheeks from the use of the pet name.

The two of them walk out to the backyard, Joan holding an umbrella over their heads, and towards a large wooden structure. It sort of looked like a house with a metal net grating over the sides. Joan could see several perches from inside it.

Anne gave her a wild smile before she slipped on a glove and opened the small door on the front. She held her arm into the pen and then pulled back after a moment, a beautiful brown and grey falcon perched on her wrist. Joan goggles at it with wide eyes.

“This is Baguette.” Anne said. “Just kidding! Her name is Freya. Isn’t she pretty?”

Joan nodded excitedly.

“Watch this.” Anne grinned. “Freya! Hup!”

Anne threw a leather lure as high as she could in the air and Freya shot off of her arm like a rocket. Her wings were primed and they slammed down with more than enough force to send her spiraling into the sky. He darted after the lure, and Anne snapped the cord attached to it, sending the mouse-sized lump off to the side, spinning like a satellite on a line around her. Freya banked, flying up and away a short way before looping around and diving at the lure. It’s clear that she is very good at this game, but Anne had learned just the right moment to change the angle of her swing, switching the direction the lure is sailing and throwing her off just enough that she has to make another pass.

Anne twirled the lure like a lasso, changing the pitch and yaw of the loops, sending it higher, lower, and in sweeping waves. Freya moves like a lightning strike in a hurricane, dive bombing one moment just as she yanks it away, rising back to circle, prepare, and dive again.

They fall into a rhythm, just different enough to keep them on their toes, but solid enough that the rest of the world faded away, until Freya broke off suddenly, catching a glimpse of something else.

“Freya!” Anne shouted as Joan giggled softly beside her. She snapped the lure in an attempt to catch her bird’s attention. “Come on! You’re making a bad first impression!”

Freya wheeled around after a moment and soared back down to the two. She lands dutifully on Anne’s outstretched arm, but is clearly a little crabby about not being able to catch her prey. She eases up when Anne gives her a treat.

“Wanna hold her?” Anne asked Joan, who nodded eagerly. She passed the girl a glove, which she quickly pulled on. “Okay. Be very careful, okay? And don’t freak out.”

Anne took the umbrella and passed Freya over to Joan. The bird stepped onto the younger girl’s arms and flexed her razor sharp talons around the glove, squeezing Joan’s wrist. Joan eyed the claws wryly.

Anne could tell Joan had a million questions, but her wired jaw kept her from verbalizing them. All she could do was stare at the falcon and the falconer with saucer-wide eyes.

“Dinner’s ready!” Aragon suddenly called from the back door.

Joan jolted a little and instinctively leaned away, but Freya remained poised on her arm. Anne laughed and put her bird back into her pen.

“Impressed?” She grinned.

Joan nodded.

“Good!” Anne said. “Now, let’s get inside before Catalina starts yelling at us about catching our death out here or something.”

The two of them walked back inside the house, being hit by the wonderful smell of the soup, which Aragon was pouring into seven different colored bowls. She smiled at them.

“Have fun?”

“Yup!” Anne said. “Joan was very impressed.”

Joan gave two thumbs up in agreement. Aragon’s heart melted.

“Why are there seven bowls?” Kitty asked obnoxiously.

“Uhh. Joan.” Aragon answered, blinking. “You should know that, Kat. She’s standing right there.”

“Yeah, but... Can she even eat?”

“Kit, don’t be stupid,” Anne said, slightly defensive. “Come on, stop acting like this. You know damn well that the doctors wouldn’t wire her jaw shut for a long period of time if she wouldn’t be able to eat or drink for that long.”

Kitty is clearly miffed by her cousin not being on her side and shoots a glare at Joan for it. Then, she raised her nose, looked away, and huffed out an annoyed breath.

“How long will the wires be there?” Cathy asked curiously.

Joan held up eight fingers.

“Weeks?”

She nodded.

There was a swell of murmurs- intrigued, pitiful, amused. Aragon was the one who grimaced.

“I couldn’t imagine that,” She said, rubbing her own jaw as if she thought it might spontaneously break. “Not being able to open my mouth for that long.”

“It’s like reverse lockjaw,” Cleves observed. “Just with less seizures.”

“Does it hurt?” Cathy asked.

Joan made a so-so gesture and then set a tentative hand on one of her heavily bruised cheeks, remembering the touch from that rude tourist. Ever since she had been prodded, her jaw had started hurting again. It felt like someone was trying to forcefully pry her mouth open with a crowbar.

She tried to just ignore it and sat down at the dinner table after getting her bowl. The soup was a lot chunkier than she had been expecting; she looked at the slices of potato in dismay, unsure how she would get them past her firm wall of teeth.

“Need a straw?” Kitty teased. She yelped loudly when Anne kicked her underneath the table.

Joan scowled at the pink queen, then brought a spoonful of soup to her lips. She had to awkwardly tip her head back slightly to make sure she didn’t spill anything on her. Sadly, her teeth were too bound together by rubber-bands to keep her jaws from moving from opening just a sliver to allow the bits of meat and potato to pass through, so only the liquids that flow through the random holes between her teeth reach her throat and stomach.

It had been much easier to drink her coffee.

“Sweetheart,” Aragon said, unable to watch the poor girl struggle any longer. “I’ll get the blender.”

Joan hunched her shoulders, embarrassed. Kitty tittered. Anne kicked her again.

“Ow!” Kitty whined. “Stop doing that!”

“Then stop being a brat.” Anne said cooly.

“I’m not a brat!”

“Well, you’re acting like one right now.”

“This is very entertaining.” Cleves commented. Anne flashed her an agreeing grin. Kitty sulked.

The loud sound of the blender stopped the argument from continuing. A few moments later, Aragon set a cup of blended soup with a straw in front of Joan. Joan gawked at it and then looked up at Aragon, one eyebrow raised. Aragon quickly swiped the straw.

“First the mint and now this?” Anne laughed.

“What mint?” Cathy asked.

“Catalina apparently offered Joan a mint earlier.” Anne told her.

Laughter erupted around the table. Aragon rolled her eyes as she sat back down.

“It was a mistake!” She tried to defend herself. “And an accident!”

Joan gave her a small smile before going back to eating. Well- drinking. Although, it wasn’t much easier. She wished she had the syringe she had been using for the past two days or the tube the doctors had used with her.

She quickly licked off the thick caking of soup on her lips, hoping that nobody had noticed it was there, then saw Kitty leering at her. She bristled and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “What?”

“What’s the name of that Warriors cat with the weird jaw?” Kitty asked the rest of the group, pleasantly pretending like Joan wasn’t sitting just a few feet away from her.

“Crookedjaw?” Cathy answered.

“Yeah!” Kitty turned to Joan with a smile as crooked as the girl’s mouth. “We can call you Crookedjaw! Seems like a fitting nickname.”

Anne gaped in horror at her younger cousin. She was so startled that she couldn’t even kick the queen. Aragon, on the other hand, wasn’t as stricken as she was.

“Katherine, what the fuck?” Aragon seethed.

“What?” Kitty said innocently. “It fits her!”

“Are you fucking nuts?” Aragon said, eyes wide and burning like hot embers. “No, actually- are you stupid?”

“She was just messing around, Catherine.” Jane tried to smooth things over.

“Don’t defend her!” Aragon snapped. “You should tighten the leash on her.”

“She’s not a dog.” Jane hissed.

“And yet she’s as annoying as a chihuahua that never shuts up,” Aragon said. She stood up, grabbed her bowl, and walked over to Joan. “Come on, Joan.”

Joan got up and followed her to the staircase. Anne went with them, but not without rounding on her cousin.

“If you’re going to call her Crookedjaw, then maybe we should start calling you Lostneck or Severedhead.” She said coldly. A mocking smile curled on her lips. “Because it fits.”

Kitty went rigid, but neither Anne or Aragon stuck around for her possible panic attack. They herd Joan upstairs and to Aragon’s room.

“I am so sorry, Joan.” Anne said once they were inside. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

“She thinks everything will be handed to her on a silver platter.” Aragon stated as she began to rummage through her pajamas. “Entitled brat. Just like you said.”

Anne nodded in agreement, then looked back at Joan. She carefully cupped one of her cheeks.

“Are you okay, my darling?”

Joan closed her eyes, unconsciously leaned into the touch, and nodded.

“Alright.” Anne said. “So... Movie night?”

“Sounds good to me,” Aragon said. She tossed a pair of pajamas over to Joan. “They might be a little big, but you can wear these.”

Joan nodded and padded off to the bathroom to change. When she returns, she finds Aragon and Anne already situated on the bed in their pajamas. Aragon was clad in a pale yellow nightgown with white rims and a bow near the collar, while Anne was dressed in green cotton sleeping pants and a button-down shirt of the same color. Joan looked a lot less fancy in a grey T-shirt with something about a fishing competition embroidered in white on it, which she had no idea what the origins of it being Catherine of Aragon’s dresser were, and some black gym shorts.

“Come on,” Anne waved her over, rolling out of the bed. “Lay down!”

It takes Joan a moment to realize she was supposed to lay in between them. She swallowed down her flustered feelings and obeyed, clambering up the side of the bed and sitting beside Aragon with her knees huddled close to her chest. She could feel the golden queen’s comforting warmth wavering off of her half-reclined body.

God, she was pathetic. Ever since Anne she touched her shoulder at that coffee shop something had awoken within her and refused to go back to sleep.

That something ranged from a persistently mewing kitten to a starved, roaring lion—she’d tried for a sheep or goat metaphor, because that seemed more fitting for her, but frankly, sheep were a good bit easier to manage than whatever this was.

Joan pointed to the TV as movies were flicked through and then gave each queen a questioning look. She knew she could sign, but she didn’t feel like putting Anne and Aragon through the process of having to translate what she was saying. Plus, just being completely quiet and onto using facial features and occasional gestures like this almost felt...serene.

“We’re watching Hush.” Anne said, smirking slightly. “Which has absolutely nothing to do with you not being able to talk, I promise.”

Joan giggled softly and nodded.

“Only because you lost Rock, Paper, Scissors.” Aragon retorted. She looked at Joan with motherly concern that nearly sent Joan keeling over into her chest crying. “Are you okay to watch it?”

Joan nodded. She could take it, really! She wasn’t a baby!

And yet, when the neighbor character is suddenly slammed against the glass backdoor with a knife in her gut, she still lurched backwards and nearly climbed up the headboard in fear. Anne laughed sympathetically, while Aragon gently touched her hand.

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” She asked softly.

Joan nodded, but still ducked her head away from the screen, wincing.

Aragon watched the poor girl cringe for two more minutes before she wrapped her up in her arms and pulled her securely against her chest. Joan was clearly surprised by this, but didn’t make any move to pull away. In fact, she burrowed deep into her embrace.

“Awww,” Anne cooed, glancing at the two of them. “So cute.”

“Jealous?” Aragon smirked.

Anne stuck her tongue out at her, then resumed watching.

Joan peeked out from where she had her face smothered in Aragon’s soft chest and begrudgingly continued to watch the movie because she was interested in it, she was just a tad bit frightened by it. But, again, it was okay! SHE was okay!

And then they got to the closeup of Maddie’s hand being broken and the memory of falling down the stairs flashed through Joan’s brain- slipping and falling, tumbling down each step, smashing her jaw into the tile at the bottom, the bones in her mouth crunching and cracking and grinding, her teeth cutting into her tongue and feeling like it had been severed completely, blood gargling in her throat, everyone staring at her. It was horrific, it STILL WAS horrific.

“Anne!” Aragon barked when Joan whimpered and hid her face back into her chest.

“I didn’t know that was in it!” Anne said, raising her hands. “This is the first time I’m seeing this!”

Anne paused the movie and turned to Joan, who was shaking in Aragon’s arm. She gently began to rub her back comfortingly, seeing as Aragon was already stroking her hair.

“Joan? My darling?” Anne called. “Are you okay?”

Joan nodded weakly, sniffling. She raised her head and Aragon immediately wiped away the tears in her eyes.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Aragon murmured.

“Does anything hurt?” Anne asked. “Or did you just get scared?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aragon nodded. “What she said! Are you hurting?”

Joan shrugged, looking away. Aragon slapped Anne’s arm frantically.

“Go get painkillers.”

“Catalina, how is she supposed to swallow a PILL?” Anne cried.

“Oh no, you’re right!” Aragon pulled Joan close to her bosom and bright red mixed awkwardly with purple and blue on the girl’s face. “My baby’s going to die!” She said woefully.

“She’s not going to—” Anne had to stop to give Aragon a confused looked. “She’s not going to die, Catalina.” She glanced momentarily at Joan smooshed against her chest. “I mean, not from not taking a pill, but your tits might suffocate her to death.”

Aragon looked down at Joan and quickly pushed her back. She cleared her throat and smoothed out her nightgown.

“Yes. Of course.” She said and Anne and Joan both laughed. She gave them a look. “I was just acting! I am an actor. And you fell for it!”

Anne rolled her eyes in a good natured way. “Yeah, okay.”

After making sure Joan was completely okay, they ended up switching the movie to The Incredibles 2. Joan was still very giddy from the way both queens fussed over her, and yet she still found her eyelids drooping shut...

—

“Catalina, look,” Anne whispered.

Aragon turned her attention away from the movie to look at Joan curled against Anne, soundly asleep. Then, she noticed one of the girl’s hands grasping three of her fingers- apparently she couldn’t find the other two in her tired daze. Her heart absolutely melted.

“Oh my,” She murmured. “What a sweet girl.”

“I know,” Anne grinned. “She’s so cute.” She leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of Joan’s head, causing her to stir with a sleepy noise before settling down. Anne gently began to stroke her hair.

Aragon moved closer until she and Anne were practically sandwiching the girl with their bodies. Joan seemed content, though, as she would constantly nuzzle closer to the warmth and touch.

Perhaps the eight weeks wouldn’t be so bad after all...

[msstarkerwhore]

Highschool au where Steve and Peter hate each other and they fall in love during prom.

I’m sorry it took so long nonnie, hope you enjoy! :)

(Also I have no clue how American highschool works pls forgive me lmao)

Word Count: almost 2500 phew - also I drafted this like 5 different times and rewrote so much of it, so there may be a few mistakes

Tags: a little bit of swearing, Peter’s boyfriend talks about him in an almost objectifying way towards the end, talk about virginity but nothing explicit :)

Steve is sick of the feud he has with Tony Stark, which has somehow affected everything in his life. Ok, maybe he’s been a bit dramatic, but it's definitely split the whole school in half. Even though Tony graduated last year, the feud is still going because of course Tony’s perfect little brother, Peter, has to go to the same school. Head of the cheerleading team even though he’s only a junior, best GPA in the whole school (now that Tony has graduated), AP classes and numerous after school activities has him already being scouted by the best colleges. But for Steve, who’s the captain of the football team, not being on friendly terms with the head cheerleader is more than a bit weird, especially considering the head cheerleader and the captain of the team normally date. In fact, Peter’s dating Brock Rumlow, which makes Steve infuriated for some reason, which Steve thinks is a dumb couple but whatever. Brock’s a senior as well, who wanted to be the captain of the football team but just missed out, which Steve was very smug about when he saw Peter comforting Brock in the hallway after trials were completed and announced. The feud comes around and around, Peter saw how smug Steve was and gave him some choice words in the gym while in class, and Steve called him pretty when he's mad in retaliation, which made Peter even more furious. And then the next week, something else will happen, and they will both say choice words to each other. It’s just how it is. And then, one day, it slowly started to change.

~

It really started in biology, when after their teacher was finished talking about the upcoming assignment, she mentioned, “And we will be pairing up. Before you get too excited, they will be randomly assigned by me.” Groans, laughter, and talking exploded throughout the room before the teacher quieted them all down and began pairing them off. Steve wasn't watching Peter, of course not, his eyes just happened to be resting on his desk (he sits at the front like a teacher’s pet, it makes sense okay), and he watched as Brock got paired with someone else, Peter’s pouty face turning into a big smile as Brock kissed his cheek before moving tables. And then it happened:

“Peter Stark and Steve Rogers,”

“What?” Peter interrupts at the same time as Steve’s mouth drops open in shock.

“No changes are allowed,” she looks pointedly at the two. Peter, still sitting at the front, turns to sneer at him. Steve sends him a sarcastic wave, and packs up his books before making his way over to Peter’s desk and sliding into Brock’s seat.

“Hey,” Steve says, smirking at him.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Peter sneers at him, “We will never be friends, I just want a good mark,” he says.

“Doesn’t bother me, sweetheart. Not like I would ever want to be amicable with someone like you,”

“Someone like me? What does that even mean?”

“Oh you know, pretty spoilt little boys. Not really my type. Sorry to disappoint.” It was Peter’s turn for his mouth to drop open.

“I'm not spoilt,” he starts to say, but Steve is already rolling his eyes just as the bell signalling the next class rings. They both don’t mention how Steve called him pretty.

As he’s walking out the door, he can hear Peter talking to Brock, “This is my least favourite class now,” he can practically hear the pout, dramatic much, “I wish I was paired with you.” Gag.

~

The next time something really big happens is on Thursday, the final training before their first game of the season. They’ve spent the week sneering at each other in the hallway, but being surprising nice during their lessons, working actually kind of well together. But Thursday afternoon, just as training ended for the football team, Steve is at the bench drinking water by himself when he glances over to where the cheerleaders are still practising. Just as he looks over he sees the fall - Peter being dropped from three people high, the scream, the blur of his uniform and brown hair. Steve doesn’t think, he just runs and misses catching him by a few metres. Some of the cheerleaders scream in panic, but Steve can’t hear anything. All he can think of is the pretty boy lying on the ground, gasping for breath and whimpering. He drops to his knees, one arm coming to pet his head and keep him steady, the other hand hovering, eyes quick and searching for other injuries.

“It hurts” Peter whimpers.

“Can you tell me where?” Steve asks, meeting his eyes, his hand doesn’t stop petting through his hair. Peter’s eyes flutter.

“My left leg and my left wrist,” He’s able to mutter out.

He takes a quick look, “Ok, the good news is that I can’t see any bones,” he tries to joke, but Peter just whimpers more. He calls to one of the cheerleaders, he thinks her name is Gwen who he’s seen Peter hang out with, to grab a phone and call for an ambulance. Just as she’s running off, someone comes running onto the field calling his name.

“Peter!” Someone shouts.

“Shit,” Steve groans, head hanging slightly, he thinks he might see a slight smile from Peter before he winces.

“Get away from him Rogers,” the familiar voice says. He looks up to see the Tony Stark rushing over.

He’s about to take his hand away when Peter whimpers as he attempts to move. “Please stay”. Steve looks up at Tony, who looks back at him in surprise and a bit of anger, before looking towards Peter, laying on the ground and in pain, and makes a decision. He drops to his knees next to Peter and cups his cheek. “We’re both here, Pete. You’ll be okay. Just try not to move.” When the ambulance pulls up and loads Peter into the back, Steve quietly slips away into the darkening night.

Steve doesn’t see Peter for a few days, continuously worried but not wanting to intrude. He is surprised when he sees him Wednesday morning in biology, already sitting at their desk, a single crutch beside him and surrounded by a few of the cheerleaders. When Steve walks into the room though they quietly disperse. Peter smiles so brightly when he sees him, and Steve can’t help but reciprocate, walking the few steps and dropping down into his seat, turning to look at the boy.

“Peter,” he murmurs, clearing his throat, “How are you?”

Peter looks at him curiously, Steve can’t make out the facial expression before it changes, “I’m good. Better! Broken arm and dislocated knee, but that was probably the best outcome. No concussion or back problems!”

“That's good to hear. I was worried. When can you cheer again?” At this Peter’s face drops.

“Not for a while - my knee should be good in a few weeks, but the arm will take longer to heal.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you think you’ll be able to cheer at all this season?”

Peter looks devastated. “I really don’t know,” he mumbles, looking away slightly. Steve puts his arm around his shoulder, and Peter turns and smiles shyly at him. “You didn’t come to visit,” at Steve’s confused look he elaborates, “When I was in the hospital.”

Steve shuffles slightly, a little bit uncomfortable, but keeping his arm around the boy. “Didn’t think Tony would want me there.”

“Right,” Peter says, “always about you and Tony.”

“That's not what I meant,” Steve says, turning his body all the way towards the boy.

He looks sadly up at Steve through his lashes, before turning towards the door distractedly when a loud group comes through. It’s Brock and his group of friends, and Peter sits up taller, about to say hi to the group, when Brock doesn't even look at him and keeps walking past.

Steve sees his shoulders droop slightly, “Everything okay?” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah, just had an argument yesterday. I could still have my cast for prom and Brock doesn’t like that.” Steve thinks that's the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, and says so to Peter. Peter smiles slightly, but it's forced and sad, and he doesn’t have to answer due to the teacher standing at the front and starting the lesson.

~

Steve isn’t taking anyone to prom. He thinks his mum is slightly disappointed, but there was only one person wanted to take, and he already had a date. No he was absolutely not talking about Peter he doesn’t like him like that at all. He had turned down everyone that asked him, and he was kind of regretting his decision when he walks into the gym alone. He doesn’t worry too much, he’s allowed to dance with whoever he wants tonight, but he thinks maybe it would have been nice. He makes his way over to the football team, which he’s pretty sure are spiking the punch, but he can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Honestly, he might need it to get through the night. He can’t see Brock when he makes his way over, and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful because it must have worked out between him and Peter, and Peter won’t walk in alone and will have a perfect night, or upset because they’re going together as a date and that makes Steve mad. Honestly, what is he thinking? Peter deserves to be happy. When they do walk in together though, Peter takes his breath away - Steve can barely pull his eyes away from him, but he does and forces himself to drink some more punch which yep, is definitely spiked. Steve honestly doesn’t know where these thoughts are coming from, and he hopes the alcohol in the punch isn’t too strong to act on anything. It's not until Brock leaves Peter dancing with the cheerleaders, but still alone, missing the way Peter’s sad eyes follow him through the crowd, and comes over and starts talking about how Peter’s messed up their plans to sleep together, the plans to take Peter’s virginity because he has a cast and ‘sometimes my leg is really sore if I move it too much’ which was Brock’s terrible impression of Peter and it makes him mad.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Steve says, and Brock turns to him in surprise.

“What, like you care? Or is this maybe some revenge thing? You hate his brother, so as revenge you want to take Pete’s virginity? Is that it?” Steve clenches his jaw, can’t even imagine thinking something like that.

“He deserves someone better, especially if you talk about him like an object.”

“You think that because you suck up to him in biology class he’s now going to love you?”

“No-” Steve starts, but is interrupted again.

“I’m thinking of dumping him after tonight. You can come sweeping in like prince fucking charming then and take sloppy seconds if you want.” Some of the football guys laugh, some don’t and wait to see Steve’s move, but there’s some nervous energy in the air.

“Brock?” Comes a soft voice, and shit, Peter! Steve steps slightly to the side and sees Pete and some of the cheerleading girls around him, tears in his eyes as Brock turns around to face him. He can literally feel the tension in the air.

“Peter! I though I told you to stay on the dance floor. Was just gonna grab some punch!” One of the cheerleaders, Steve thinks her name is Michelle or something, puts her hand on Peter’s shoulder. Steve is glad he has the support, he doesn’t know how much he had heard.

“Did you mean all that?”

“Mean all what? Steve here was just riling me up. Think he’s a little bit jealous.” Brock slaps him on the shoulder, and Steve shrugs him off, making eye contact with Peter. He hopes he conveys how sorry he is.

“I’m leaving, and you’re not coming with me. We’re over,” Peter says, fire in his eyes.

Brock looks shocked, but Steve can’t help a small smile, breathing out in relief, before realising that that means that Peter won’t get to have a perfect night. He’s already walking away when Steve catches up to him.

“Pete!”

Peter turns, smiles softly at him. “Hey, Steve.”

“Brock’s a dick, but don’t let that ruin your night. You deserve to have fun. If you want I can get the team to kick him out.”

Peter giggles softly at that. “No that's okay. This isn’t really my scene anyway. I’ve got next year as well to make it fun anyway if I want.”

Steve nods, smiling lightly, then awkwardly looks around. “Thank you for standing up for me.” Steve looks down at Peter in surprise. “It was nothing,” he smiles at him, wondering why he is so awkward when he has Peter right in front of him. His gaze drifts away slightly. “Made me realise I was spending time with the wrong guy when the right one was always in front of me.” Steve swings his gaze back to Peter’s, now realising Peter has his hands on his shoulders, and Steve brings his hands to his waist to hold him steady.

“This may be way too early, and I may be reading this whole situation wrong, so please tell me if I’m fucking this all up, but I love you, Peter. So, so much.” Peter has tears in his eyes and surges up to claim Steve’s mouth in a kiss.

“Leave with me?” Peter asks, so sweetly when they pull away, and he can only nod his head and follow.

~

When Steve is sitting at the breakfast table at the Stark household the next morning, it's awkward. Very, very awkward. Especially with Tony sending him death glares over his shoulder from where he’s cooking Peter breakfast, which Steve finds so endearingly cute but will absolutely not bring up in fear of getting a knife thrown at him.

“I don’t like it. I don’t trust you after what happened between us. But I won’t stop you from being together. I will, though, not hesitate to murder you if you break his heart.” Tony doesn’t look up from where he’s cooking at the stove, but the threat from him is clear and makes Steve go cold.

“I won’t, Tony. You have my word.”

Peter comes bounding down the stairs, unbeknownst to the slight tension left in the air, and starts chatting away.

~

Years later, Tony doesn’t feel any worry at all when he’s reciting his best man speech. The way Peter and Steve are staring at each other, just as in love as they were the morning after prom night, Tony feels nothing but adoration for the both of them.

[bisexualsforprompto]

Miraculous Reborn (Maribat Injury AU) Pt. 2

AO3

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Damian was surprised to say the least when his father informed him that he was brought back to life with the help of Darkseid on Apokolips. It hadn’t bothered him too much though, he kept his same cocky attitude and straight faced demeanor. 

What did bother him, more than he cared to admit was his soul bond. He knew he had one, he wasn’t as careless as his soulmate who got scrapes and bruises all the time, of course they transferred to him, but luckily she had never broken bones so the League never suspected a thing. Damian hadn’t dared to tell his mother or anyone else in the League of Assassins about his soulmate, soulmates were a mere distraction. When he started living with Bruce he didn’t say anything either, he wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up. Before he died though, he knew his soulmate would experience the same pain as him. He felt guilty, not that he would ever tell anyone, but he still assumed that when he was brought back to life his soulmate was too. 

It had been years and he quickly dispelled that theory, he never got injuries that he hadn’t earned himself. He was a little sad that the soul he was connected to was still dead, he felt somewhat responsible. Damian didn’t know why he felt these things for someone he hadn’t even met and would never meet but he couldn’t help it.

Damian wasn’t the kind to let things bother him but his dreams were infested with screams. He relieved being murdered over and over again, but from the perspective of his soulmate. It was different each time, sometimes his soulmate would be at home, at a restaurant, even in a grocery store but the outcome was always the same, his soulmate would lie there choking on blood and the last words they spoke were always, ‘All your fault.’

He continued not to tell his family about his soulmate, it was his burden and after all his soulmate could only be dead. There was no point, six years had passed and Damian had to accept the truth, his soulmate was gone and wasn’t coming back.

Damian had attended West-Reeves private school for three years, part of an agreement with his father. Jon also attended, but was three grades below him. The poor kid wasn’t even in the 9th grade yet, but that didn’t stop them from being their hero duo.

As Damian pulled up to the school (on his motorcycle, he was no longer the spoiled rich kid who felt so entitled to take a helicopter to school) he let out an internal chuckle. Jon was waiting for him, like he had been for the past three years, ‘some things never change…’

Jon ran over, pushing his dorky glasses up on his face, “Did you hear Damian?!” Damian rolled his eyes, “TT. What Kent?”

Jon was beaming while he informed his friend, “We’re getting a new student!” Damian sighed, “How exactly do you know that? And why do I care?” Jon pulled out his phone and wore a hyper focused look on his face as he tapped the screen. He promptly shoved it in Damian’s face.

“So Erica’s best friend Monica told her cousin Clarissa that her aunt, Principal Dunin, said that we’re getting a new girl from France! And you should care because she’s in your grade!” Jon grinned, unable to contain his excitement. Damian pushed the phone back into his half-kryptonian partner’s face, “I still don’t see why I should care. Seems unimportant to me, TT. Unless…” Damian tapped his chin, “Does she happen to be the daughter of some supervillain?” Jon rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Not everything’s about superheroing!”

“TT.”

“This girl could be super cute! Wouldn’t you want to know her?! I bet she’ll be your girlfriendddd!” Jon teased, wiggling his eyebrows. Damian gutted and flicked the boy in between his eyebrows.

“Hey!”

“I’m not so juvenile as you to think having a girlfriend is an insult, either way I don’t have time for a girlfriend, you know as well as I do that we have a job to do.” Damian huffed as he stepped off his motorcycle. Taking off his helmet and placing it in his school bag, Damian saw Jon starting to get ready to fire back a response. The young Wayne sighed and folded his arms.

“Damian! Come on, being a hero is fun but there’s other cool stuff out there too! And who knows maybe that girl will be your first ever crush! Ahhh I can see it now!” Jon squealed, anime stars practically glowing in his eyes. Damian rolled his eyes, “TT. Unlikely.”

Jon heard the first bell ring and pulled Damian by the arm, super hearing did. have it’s perks. “Come on! We better get to class. I can’t wait to hear about your new girlfriend!”

“I haven’t even met this girl. TT. You’re immaturity floors me Kent, it really does.” Damian retorted as Jon dragged him across the courtyard. Jon rolled his eyes as he pushed open the double doors to West-Reeves. They were greeted with the normal soft chatter that filled the halls. Most people were buzzing about the new girl. Damian resisted the urge to gag, he had to admit their private school was small but not so small that this girl should be the only thing people were talking about. 

“I heard she was homeschooled.” Damian heard as he passed by a young blonde girl, maybe younger than Jon.

“Monica said she’s from Paris can you believe-“ Exclaimed a brunette Freshman. 

“I heard French girls are hotter than Americans!” Said a muscular senior on the football team as he and two of his other toxically masculine friends fist pumped. Damian brushed the rumors off, he couldn’t care less, he dealt with rumors all the time, being a Wayne and all. He assumed the new girl would be overwhelmed by the attention, but honestly he didn’t care. 

Jon and Damian went their separate ways as Damian walked up the steps to his homeroom. The midnight haired boy scowled at those who passed him in the hall and smiled, his demeanor hadn’t improved much since he was a child.

He was still the Ice Prince. The class addressed him as such as well as the media. Damian truly didn’t care, he wasn’t eager to please like some people. Let the people think what they want, Damian didn’t care.

Besides if they had been trained by assassins, died after becoming a vigilante at the hands of their clone, and caused their soulmate’s death he was sure everything would roll off their backs too. Ever since the League he was taught not to be sensitive. He had grown a lot from the murderous heir of the League of Assassins and some of his walls had been broken down, but most would forever remain up and guarded because of the soulmate whom he would never meet that he never told anybody of.

Don’t get Damian wrong, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to. Well, he didn’t, but it went deeper than that. The great Damian Wayne wasn’t afraid of anything, but if he was he might’ve been the tiniest bit afraid of talking about his soulmate. The prospect of them gave him nightmares, there was no way he would let them infest his day thoughts too. There was a point in which he contemplated telling Jon. 

He ultimately decided against it. The boy would ask far too many questions for Damian’s liking and he was almost positive he’d tell Superman. Clark Kent would surely inform his father and then he’d have to deal with that. 

Damian walked silently in the hall as he tugged on his backpack, realizing a part wasn’t fully zipped. He kept his eyes straight ahead and surveyed his surroundings in his line of sight and peripheral vision, a habit from patrol and his days in the League. Placing his hand on the doorknob Damian opened the door to his homeroom realizing he was the first one there. This was not surprising in the least, most of his peers socialized with their friends and waited until the very last second to walk in. Damian took his seat in the back of the class and pulled out his assigned reading material. Well, technically it wasn’t due until three months later, but Damian was always ahead so he could be prepared for anything. He cracked open his book and started to read. He noticed the students trickling in, one by one, taking their seats. He sat alone in the back of the class, so he didn’t have to worry about his literature being interrupted. He continued to read as chatter filled the junior’s homeroom. Just as he flipped the page of the new paperback he heard the door creak open and a cheery voice call, 

“This is your homeroom! And don’t forget, you can always talk to me if you need anything!” He listened as a meek voice responded, “Thank you, I appreciate it.” The 16 year olds in the class had their eyes glued on the door as they knew it was the new girl who was speculated to be arriving. 

He heard the class light up with a buzzing excitement as the new girl turned the handle. The students craned their necks like they were in some over dramatic play to see her. 

Damian rolled his eyes and kept his eyes on the book, he knew if the homeroom was any suggestion that this would be how the new girl was treated at every class. He buried his head into the book,

‘This day is going to be horrific.’

Taglist:

@persephonebutkore @northernbluetongue @vixen-uchiha @caffeinetheory @18-fandoms-unite-08

[let-it-raines]

I LOVED your boarding school teacher fic! That's so funny that the entire school is so into gossip!!!! Can we get more please? I don't know what but more!!!

Original prompt: Two boarding school teachers finally, FINALLY get together. Everyone around them is way too invested and knows way too much.

Hi, nonnie 👋 This has been sitting in my inbox for months now, but since @idristardis requested a follow-up to What Would We Do Without Internet? as  her gift for my fic giveaway, I can finally answer your request! @idristardis I believe I got most, if not all of your requests into this story, and I hope you enjoy ❤️ It picks up in Emma’s POV directly after the non-epilogue-ish part of the original!

AO3: Part One | Part Two 

-/-

“How long have you been together?”

“Was it this weekend?”

“Or was it before but we’re just now finding out?”

“Do you love him?”

“Does he love you?”

All of Emma’s day has been filled with those five questions or, at least, a variation of them. Some of her students are more creative with their wording and their questioning, and some of them simply want to talk to her about the fact that they know that she slept with Killian this weekend. How they all know that is a mystery to her. They shouldn’t. It should be a private matter between she and Killian and absolutely no one else.

Especially not one hundred sixteen-and-seventeen-year-old students.

She woke up this morning with the guy she really likes in bed with her and with this stupid smile on her face that she knew would carry her throughout a long Monday, and then she walked into her first period World History class and was bombarded by questions about her dating life.

Decidedly not a good start to her morning when she did not and still does not want to be part of Storybrooke Academy’s never-ending gossip mill. It’s all fun and games until it’s her life being talked about and picked apart by the student body.

(The faculty are definitely talking about her behind her back.)

They’ve got to get internet in the dorms in this place so that the kids have something to focus on other than who’s dating whom and whether or not the headmaster is actually dying from some kind of contagious disease or not.

(Emma sure as hell hopes not on that second part since she had a performance review last week and had to sit in the headmaster’s office for an hour.)

“Ms. Swan,” Jackie whines, “aren’t you going to answer any of our questions?”

Emma shakes out of her thoughts and blinks, taking in the thirty students who are currently sitting in front of her waiting for her to start teaching her fifth period American history lessons.

“Um, no,” she mumbles, “I’m not. I don’t know what you’ve all heard or think, and I really don’t care. I won’t be talking about my personal life or any rumors about it to you all. Now, you have a project due next week. Let’s talk about that.”

When the bell rings and her class is dismissed, each of them walking out the door upset with her as if she owes them details about her personal life, Emma buries her face on her desk and wonders if there’s any way to call out sick for the rest of the day…or the year. The year would be nice.

If the pay here wasn’t so good, Emma would pack her bags and go teach somewhere where she didn’t have to have her entire life displayed for a couple hundred people.

There’s a knock at her classroom door, and when Emma looks up, she sees Killian standing there with his shoulder against the archway. He’s already got his coat on, a fitted blue peacoat that she’s always loved on him, and has a knitted beanie tugged down over his ears so that only the slightest bit of black hair peeks out. She smiles to herself knowing that he’s got a little red mark beneath his ear from her. It shouldn’t bring her so much joy, but it does.

(Her thighs are red with beard burn, and even though she’s a bit sore when she walks, that brings her joy too.)

“Hey, Swan.”

“Hey.”

He cocks his head to the side and raises a brow. “You have time to get lunch?”

“I do,” she sighs, “but I don’t think I can handle the cafeteria or the teacher’s lounge right now. It’s been – ”

“Absolutely insane?” Killian laughs. “Have you been getting the questions?”

She’s not sure if she’s relieved or not that Killian is getting the same questions as she is, but it definitely makes her feel something. Maybe she’s experiencing whiplash. That would explain a lot with how the past few days have been.

“So many questions. I don’t even know where to begin with them.”

“I feel the same way.” He walks into the classroom and holds his hand out for her to take it, and she imagines in his head he’s thinking about always being a gentleman or some other Killian quip that she’s grown used to in the three years of knowing him. She takes his hand, and he pulls her up until she’s standing beside him. “Why don’t we go get our lunches out of the lounge? I have a place for us to eat in privacy.”

“Is it one of our apartments? Because apparently those aren’t private.”

“No, love, it’s actually not.”

It ends up being an old classroom on the fourth floor of the fine arts building, a place neither of them have any business being unless they’re watching one of the semi-annual performances the drama club puts on during each semester, but the ease with which Killian guides her through the hallways makes her think that he’s here a little more often than that. Once they’re in the room, she can see why. It’s perched at just the right spot where if she looks to her left, she can see most of campus and the white snow that’s currently blanketing it, and if she looks to her right, the small town of Storybrooke and the ocean are just on the horizon. Killian’s always had a thing with the sea. Maybe that’s how he discovered this place.

Or maybe this is where he’s taking all of the teachers he’s sleeping with.

She has no idea if it’s only her, and for the first time in a long time, she actually wants someone that’s hers and who she doesn’t have to share. What kind of craziness is any of this? Why did she kiss him? That was such a bad idea looking back. It could have gone horribly wrong, and she doesn’t know if –

“Emma,” Killian interrupts as a table scrapes across the old hardwood until it’s in the middle of the room. He’s got their food, leftover Chinese they both must have taken from her place this morning, already spread out in the middle. “You okay, there?”

“I’m fine,” she lies, quickly closing her eyes and centering herself so that she doesn’t freak out. She won’t freak out. Nope. It’s not going to happen. This is good. This is…fine. “How did you discover this place?”

He doesn’t answer at first, too busy grabbing her a chair and holding it out for her until she sits down, but once he’s settled and taking off his coat so that he’s left in a dress shirt and a vest, he looks up at her with this broad grin that makes her flashback to this weekend once more.

“I was helping move some furniture that the school didn’t want to throw away but had nowhere to keep, and this is where the entire maintenance crew decided to bring it. I don’t know, it’s kind of a fascinating place, and it allows me to have a space to breathe without having to walk across campus to my apartment. You’re the first person I ever brought up here. The view is amazing, right?”

Well, that answers her question about this being the place where he takes all of the women he’s sleeping with. At least, it kind of does.

“Yeah,” Emma agrees, “it is.”

Killian smiles at her again. It feels like he’s trying to encourage her to keep talking, to say something else, but she’s at a loss for words. The two of them have been bantering (flirting) back and forth at each other for years, only stopped talking this weekend when they literally couldn’t anymore, and now she has nothing to say because the only thing in her mind are her own questions about how the hell this is going to work as well as her students’ questions.

“How long have you been together?”

“Was it just this weekend?”

“Or was it before but we’re just now finding out?”

“Do you love him?”

“Does he love you?”

Her life would be far less dramatic if she’d stayed in Bar Harbor and worked at a regular high school where instead of caring about her personal life, her students were freaked out by running into her at the grocery store. She’s only ten years older than a lot of them, and while a decade doesn’t seem like too long, it’s an eternity to her. The fact that her students don’t seem to think so worries her.

“You want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Emma jumps, and she knows that she isn’t able to cover herself when Killian starts laughing even as he bites down on an eggroll. “I’m kind of freaked out by the entire school knowing that we slept together. I want to know how they know too. This was supposed to be private and something we kept quiet while we figured it out and now – ”

“Everything is out in the open, and every move we make is going to be scrutinized by every person here?”

“Exactly. No one has a life or entertainment at night and ugh,” she groans, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. “I just…I love these kids. I really do, but I’m not comfortable having my relationship that I’m not even sure is a relationship be the center of all this attention.”

Killian reaches over the table and threads their fingers together and brings their knuckles to his lips so that she feels a scratchy kiss while her heart flutters. In the good way though. Not the way that would send her to the hospital.

She’s a mess today.

“It’ll die down, Swan,” he promises before kissing her wrist over her buttercup tattoo. “Next week or the week after that, some other thing will happen, and everyone will forget about us. And if you’d like this to be a relationship, I’m more than happy with that.”

“Yeah?”

He nods and places their hands down on the table. “Absolutely. I feel like I’ve already told you this, but I’ve fancied you for quite awhile, Swan. That’s not something that’s going to change even if a nosy student saw me go into your apartment and then not leave for most of the weekend except for the few trips we made up to my place.”

“How would they even know that? They’d have to be in our building and – oh. It was Henry Mills, wasn’t it? He must have been visiting his mom.”

“Apparently, he and several other students were in the building because it was Henry’s birthday, and his mum was cooking for all of his friends. Caroline Abbot saw me go to your apartment from down in the lobby, and they seemed to find entertainment in figuring out what we were doing.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Aye, quite a bit. If the building wasn’t so open, I believe we would have gotten away with it with no interference.”

“You sound like a villain on Scooby Doo.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman reference Scooby Doo while out on a date.”

“Oh, is that what this is? A date?”

“Absolutely. We’re not going to get a lot of privacy, so I’m taking every opportunity to court you that I can get. If we only counted the quiet moments, I doubt we’d ever get one.”

“You’re so old-fashioned.”

Killian winks, bringing their joined hands to his lips again. “As I’ve said before, I’m always a gentleman.”

“If you say so,” Emma teases. She takes a bite of her chicken. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

“I’ve got dorm duty tonight and tomorrow. Wednesday?”

“I have dorm duty until Friday. This weekend?”

“It’s my weekend to be on call for chaperoning the trips into town. You could always come with me.”

“And have everyone stare and talk about us more? No thank you. I don’t…I think I’d prefer we don’t show any affection or – ” she waves her hand between them “ – whatever this is. I think it’ll help everything to die down a bit.”

Killian nods, lips tight, and Emma’s stomach twists. Is she disappointing him by not wanting to walk around campus with her fingers threaded through his or with his arm around her waist?

Is this going to be a thing between them that’s going to make it all burst into flames?

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.”

“The same to you.”

-/-

To say that getting used to dating someone again is difficult is an understatement. Emma may have been the one to barge into Killian’s classroom and pretty much give him an ultimatum (even if that’s not at all what happened) for the two of them to stop dancing around each other and just go for it, but that’s not her, not usually. It was reckless and unthinking, and as calculated as Emma can be now, that isn’t how she used to be.

Sometimes it’s thrilling to still get to be like that and have the rush of adrenaline running down her spine when she does something like that.

Or when Killian looks at her.

God, his smile kills her. He’s got this this soft one, lips pressed together and eyes so incredibly blue, and she selfishly likes to think that the smile is reserved for her. But the soft smile can quickly transform into a wicked smirk that has Emma’s stomach fluttering and heat curling in between her thighs.

The smile, or smiles really, are what keep her sane as February chills into March, snow still fluttering around and the cold clinging to every inch of the ground and each particle of air. The questions from her students about her relationship stay steady for two weeks before slowly tapering off, but not a day goes by where there isn’t some question from a student or inquiry from a fellow staff member. Mary Margaret, bless her, is particularly excited about Emma’s recent relationship development, and she invites Emma and Killian over to her apartment for what is essentially a double date with Mary Margaret and David.

(Emma’s never been on a double date, and despite how much she loves the Nolans, there’s something so peppy about them that it makes her hesitate.)

They end up going.

It’s a great time.

The wine is good, the food even better somehow, and Emma is pleasantly surprised by how easy it is to slip into the role of someone who is happy and does things like dinners with other couples while her boyfriend’s hand rests on her inner thigh under the table.

Is twenty-eight too old to call someone her boyfriend? Partner sounds too serious. Significant other too boring. Lover too creepy sounding even if it’s true. So maybe boyfriend is the best word. Maybe that’s not important.

What is important, however, is that as she and Killian adjust to being together, it becomes easier by the day. They’ve been friends and colleagues for years, which made the stakes seem so much higher at first, but in reality, all it’s done is make this transition smoother than she ever thought possible.

(Smooth doesn’t mean she didn’t struggle. She definitely did, but her fears at the beginning were definitely overexaggerated.)

Emma already knows all about Killian’s work and knows how passionate he is about it even if she knows that high school math teacher was never his ultimate goal and is still not his goal. He likes classical music and reading a book a day and is an absolute and total know-it-all. She knows that he eats far too much fish, and he knows that she absolutely despises fish in all of its forms which is most definitely why he tries to kiss her every time he’s eating it.

The asshole.

Who she really, really likes.

She doesn’t need the gossip around the school to let her know that he feels the same way.

There are days when she wants to pull his hair out and days where she doesn’t want to stop kissing him or laughing with him, and when the school year ends and they’re allowed a month of vacation with no workshops or lesson planning, they get the opportunity to do all of that without any students around them.

None at all.

It’s glorious.

Killian finds them a small one-bedroom cottage to rent out in Boothbay that’s right on the beach and only a short drive away from town, and Emma almost cries in relief the moment she steps in the front door and all of the weights of the school year disappear from her shoulders. She loves what she does for work, but by the time summer inches closer, she needs a break. Getting to go off and live at the beach with her boyfriend for a month is the exact thing she needs even if she knows he’s about to eat a hell of a lot of fish.

“I think this place might be heaven,” she sighs as she walks into the living room and sees the large windows that look right out onto the sand and the cresting waves. She can hear the ocean, can smell the salt in the air, and somehow, it’s different than the ocean in Storybrooke. It’s warmer and more inviting and she can’t wait to dive in until her skin is tanned and wrinkled.

Killian steps up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder, scratchy scruff pressing into her neck. He’s warm and solid, and she leans back into him, content.

“I’m glad you like it, love. Thank you for agreeing to come away with me.”

Emma pats his hand over her stomach. “Thank you for finding a place for us to get away that didn’t make us go completely broke.”

Killian laughs, something deep and low, and for some reason it has her twisting her head and pressing her lips into his. He tastes like the mint of his gum that he was chewing on the drive down here, and it’s spicy on her tongue when his lips quickly part and his tongue runs along the seam of her lips. They haven’t had time to be truly alone and away from students and other faculty during their entire relationship, and it’s what has Emma turning her body and fumbling for the buttons on Killian’s shirt.

There’s a rush of air between them as clothes fall away and hands brush over warm skin, and Emma can scarcely breathe by the time they’re fumbling back toward the couch, falling onto unfamiliar cushions with throw pillows scattering across the room. They may have a month of this, a month of complete privacy and no one but each other, but they come together hurriedly and without much finesse. Killian’s thrusts are quick and harsh, and Emma’s nails hook into the skin of his back while her legs wrap around his ass.

The heat in her belly keeps building, the fire being stroked, and faster than Emma can think about how damn good this feels, she reaches that high. There’s only the beating of her heart, the slap of skin against skin, the feeling of Killian pulsing within her.

There’s only the feeling of Killian.

Of them.

“Well,” Killian pants when they’re both trying to catch their breath, “that certainly didn’t take long.”

Emma huffs. “Next time make me work for it, you know? I feel like I should at least have to take you out for dinner first.”

“A man does like to be courted.”

“You’re ridiculous.”“Aye, but you like me. You’ve said so yourself.”

“Shut up,” Emma chuckles before kissing him again.

-/-

Over the weeks, Killian’s skin gradually tans, and it somehow makes the dark patches of hair on his chest more prominent. She’s always loved the little tufts that sometimes show through his dress shirt or over the top of his sweaters, but there’s something undeniably attractive about seeing him walk around with tanned skin and lean, defined muscles and mostly no shirt on. She’s used to seeing him in sweaters and blazers and those awful school-mandated scarves, so having him constantly be walking around in low-slung sweatpants with no shirt or swim trunks with no shirt (emphasis on the no shirt part, obviously) has been a pretty good bonus of this month-long vacation they’re taking.

Emma’s sure that Killian feels the same way about her lack of clothes and sun-kissed skin as well, but none of that matters as she sits on the couch in the living room with a cup of coffee in her hands while she looks at the muscles of his back and the curve of his ass while he stands in front of the sliding doors that lead out to the ocean. The sun is illuminating him, and he almost doesn’t look real.

But he is.

And so is their relationship.

And so is the fact that Emma knows that she loves him. Her stomach nearly heaves at the thought, at knowing that she’s got feelings this deep for someone else again, and if she doesn’t tell him soon, she might implode.

Holding it in for a month has nearly killed her. She’s wanted to tell him, wanted to let him know that she feels about him the way that she knows he feels about her, but that little niggling fear of it all going to shit has held her back.

Emma’s a coward, and love freaks her out so that she can barely breathe.

Right now, she’s thinking breathing might be overrated.

“I love you.”

Killian’s shoulder’s tense, muscles visibly moving, and while Emma’s heart pounds, she watches his shoulders fall and his posture relax. He’s still looking out at the ocean. Maybe he didn’t hear her. Maybe that was all an illusion.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But then he’s turning around and smiling at her. It’s the soft smile, the one that’s just for her.

Mine, she thinks.

“Did you mean to say that out loud, or should I pretend I didn’t hear it?”

Stupid man. He’s ridiculous. Only he would actually ask her that.

But she loves him. And it’s not terrifying…unless he doesn’t say it back soon.

Please say it back soon.

“I meant to say it.”

His smile stays the same as he walks closer to her, taking her coffee out of her hands and placing it on the table in front of them. He leans into her and presses his lips to her neck, leaving warm, lazy kisses in all of the spots that send shivers down her spine.

“I love you, Emma Swan,” he whispers, teeth grazing her ear. She may melt. She doesn’t care how cheesy that sounds. It’s true. “You are magnificent.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Please, I’m fucking amazing.”

Emma’s laugh carries through the house and all the way up to the bedroom where they spend the rest of the day.

-/-

“Who is that?”

“Hmm?”

“Who is that?” Emma repeats, discreetly pointing toward the petite blonde woman sitting on the other side of the teacher’s lounge.

Killian looks up from his lesson plans he’s been studying all week, as if he hasn’t been teaching the same formulas and math drills and whatever else it is he teaches (math is not her thing) for the past nine years, and adjusts his glasses.

“Oh, that’s Tink Bell.”

“That is not a real name.”

“It’s what it said in the email sent to the arithmetic apartment about our new member of the faculty.”

“Oh, so she’s a teacher?”

“Aye, love.”

“Have you met her?”

“At our department meeting yesterday.” He leans over and presses his lips to her cheek, and it’s been weeks since they were at the beach but he still smells like salt. “I need to work on these lessons. Something isn’t clicking, and I want it to be perfect for when the school starts. Can I meet you at your apartment for lunch?”

“I’m eating lunch with Mary Margaret. You can come with us if you want.”

“I think I’ll let you girls catch up, but I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Sounds good, babe.”

-/-

As with the beginning of every new school year, the first day is pretty much pointless. All of the students are back together from spending the summer with their parents or on vacation and living in a world with internet access wherever they go. It’s an adjustment for them, especially since they feel the need to catch up on all of the latest news (gossip) while crammed together in classrooms instead of in their dorms at night, and Emma has almost zero control trying to go over the syllabus.

And, of course, the returning students want to know if she and Killian are still dating.

Yes, she tells them, trying not to smile.

And no, she won’t say anything more than that. Killian won’t either.

As the weeks go by and school fully gets into a steady rhythm, Emma is able to keep her students in check and actually work through her lesson plans. There’s the ever-present rumble of gossip and questions, and Emma can’t go a day without having a teenager ask her about her romantic relationships. But it’s fine and normal (at least for her), and as tired as Emma is some days, it’s good to be back.

It’s great to be back.

She loves this job and this place even with all of its quirks.

What she doesn’t love is how little time she and Killian are getting to spend with each other.

Their dorm nights never match up, so if Killian is the supervisor for his dorm on Monday through Wednesday, Emma is the supervisor Thursday through Saturday. They’ve tried to get it changed, but their headmaster has informed them that he won’t be changing their schedules simply because the two of them are dating.

Asshole.

Mary Margaret and David have matching schedules, and no one complained about that.

But it is what it is, and they deal with it. They mostly deal with it in trying to eat at least one meal together a day and making sure to text while in the dorms. Sometimes they have time to find their secret spot with a view of the campus, but those visits are few and far between. It’s different and not what they want, but Emma is happy. She’s happy, and she’ll do what she can to stay that way. Killian’s been her friend for years, and none of that is going to change.

She’d simply like to have a few more opportunities to make out with him.

That would be more than nice.

Emma sees him often walking across the courtyard with Tink Bell, the two of them chatting away.

Good. Killian deserves to have friends who he can geek out about math with. She likes that for him.

What she doesn’t like is when the rumors start.

It starts small. There’s a whisper of Killian and Tink eating dinner together in town. It’s nothing. Emma knows they were both in-town weekend chaperones that week, and they’re friends. Friends get dinner.

But then there’s the two of them eating lunch together on campus on the days that Emma has a different lunch break than Killian and the talk of both of them happening to run at the same time in the mornings. Killian runs at a ridiculous hour, usually when the sun hasn’t risen, and Emma can’t understand why anyone else would want to be up that early to run.

Never in a million years.

Tink Bell likes to get up early to go running.

The rumors may start small, a whisper here and there, but then they spread like a wild fire until Emma is wrapped in a blazing inferno.

And it’s ridiculous because Emma doesn’t listen to rumors at this school. She doesn’t. They’re inane and often untrue, and she has other, better things to do with her time. It’s also ridiculous because she knows that Killian loves her. Their schedules might not match up well, but when they do spend time together, it’s the same laughter filling the room every single time.

They’re fine. They’re good. They’re great.

But Neal.

She had loved Neal too, and Neal had said that he loved her.

But the revolving women coming in and out of his bed told her otherwise.

That’s not…she’s not…trusting again after being cheated on isn’t easy, and Emma hates herself for being this way. She does. Because Killian has been her friend for years, and he has never done anything to hurt her. Not on purpose. Her heart aching over him not knowing about her feelings for him was all on her. That wasn’t on him.

This isn’t either.

It doesn’t help her from thinking all of these insane thoughts.

It certainly doesn’t help keep her from blurting out all of her thoughts and feelings and years old scars of Neal to Killian in the middle of one of the rare moments of them spending time together. She wasn’t going to say anything. She really wasn’t, but apparently some of the students have been rude to Tink because they think she’s trying to get between Emma and Killian and they just can’t have that.

None of this is okay.

“What would possibly make you think that I’m like him?” Killian asks after Emma pretty much word vomits all of the feelings she’s been having for the past month.

“I don’t.”

“You obviously do or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“That is not fair.”

“Hell, Emma,” Killian huffs before threading his fingers into his hair and then running his hands down her face. She feels sick. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You’ve dumped a hell of a lot of information on me, and all I want to do is punch that absolute ass in the face. I want to hurt him for what he did to you, and I want to hurt him for making you not trust me.”

“You think that’s what this is about? That I don’t trust you?”

“Is that not what this is about?”

“Of course I trust you!”

“Then why are you pulling away from me? Why are you saying all of this and getting it into your head that these fucking ridiculous rumors are true?”

“Because everyone I’ve ever been with has left me,” she breathes out, her heart heavy and voice cracking. “No one has ever stayed. They’ve all left, and I don’t know what I’d do if you left me. I don’t…every single person in this place would know and would look at me strangely, and I’d be this shell of a person acting like I was okay when I’m not.”

“Emma,” Killian whispers. Her name is so quiet that it gets tugged away with the air. That’s impossible for so many reasons, and Emma has no idea when in the world Killian stepped so close to her. “I don’t intend to let you down.”

“I know.”

Because deep down, she does know.

His lips curve into a half-smile as he reaches forward and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Nothing is ever going to go on between me and Tink. Nothing has, and I know you know that. I know that you let the gossip get to you and that your mind ran wild with thoughts. You’re not crazy for thinking them. You’re human.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

Emma huffs and leans forward into Killian, collapsing into his arms and the undeniable warmth of him. She could stay here forever. Maybe she wants to. “I’m sorry. I just – do you want to forget this ever happened and order a ridiculously expensive takeout dinner?”

“I have ingredients for pasta. Why don’t I cook for you? I’ve missed you these past few days, and I’d love to hear about how your first round of exams went.”

She pulls back and looks up to Killian while still holding onto his back. “Only a fellow teacher would care enough to ask me about the first round of exams.”

“Darling, if I did the weather for the local television station, I’d still ask you about the first round of exams.”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Killian tilts his head back with laughter before dipping his head forward and brushing his lips over her forehead. Her heart is fluttering in that good way again. “If you want, later we can change into our pajamas and talk over next month’s lesson plans.”

“You are talking dirty to me right now.”

“Good,” Killian mumbles, gently pressing his lips to hers. He’s soft and pliant, and she melts into him. “And if that really gets you in the mood, we can even catch up on our Netflix queue later while eating pop-tarts I have hidden away in the cupboard for you.”

“Have I ever told you that I loved you?”

“Aye, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.”

She presses a kiss against his jaw. “I love you.”

“Damn right you do,” Killian teases before squeezing her ass and pulling back from her to walk backward into his kitchen. “And don’t you forget it.”

Ass.

He’s an such an asshole. Who she loves. Like, a stupid amount.

This entire month has had her all out of sorts, and she’s ready to be back on track.

That starts with sitting their students down and telling them that harassing Ms. Bell is never okay. It doesn’t matter that they were doing it out of wanting Emma and Killian to be together. It’s not appropriate or their business.

No, they’re not breaking up, they tell the students.

Yes, we’re still together.

Mr. Jones and Ms. Bell are just friends.

Ms. Bell and Ms. Swan are also friends.

Just because you hear something doesn’t make it true.

It’s weird and not something Emma ever wants to do again, but when it’s over, she’s relieved.

She feels better actually talking to Tink and getting to know her too.

-/-

“I’d like to live off campus one day.”

“Yeah?” Killian asks, tapping his foot against hers as they sit in their secret spot in the fine arts building and watch January snow fall past the windows, a few flakes sticking against the glass.

“I mean, yeah. If you live off campus, they put your housing here into your paycheck, and you get more privacy. Plus, bigger spaces. Can you imagine having a normal apartment or house like an actual adult and not being someone who’s pretty much living out high school again?”

“Why don’t…we could go look for a place, Swan, if you want.”

Emma arches a brow. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I’m asking if you want to move in together.”

Emma almost chokes on her food, but she manages not to, only a slight cough to keep breathing. “Are you serious?”

“As I can be. We don’t have to, of course, but I do happen to know how much you enjoy sharing a bed with me.”

His brows move up and down his forehead, and Emma’s laugh rumbles through her. “We wouldn’t have to do dorm duty, so that’s sounding like a good idea.”

“Really? Not having to do dorm duty is what’s enticing you to move in with me?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Killian’s laugh is on his lips when he kisses her.

-/-

They go house hunting in Storybrooke three weeks later.

The first house is a lovely three-story Victorian, but they’re teachers, not doctors, and they can’t afford it. Maybe one day.

The second is smaller than the dorms at the school, and Emma would rather live at the school with no privacy than in an apartment that’s the size of a toddler’s shoebox.

The third is a nice loft apartment, but the bathroom not having a door bothers Killian too much.

“You have to afford a man a little privacy sometimes, Swan.”

The fourth, however, is perfect.

It’s a two-bedroom apartment five minutes from the beach, which Killian loves. The kitchen is pretty much all white with clean lines, which Emma loves even though she probably still won’t cook, and the closet and bathroom are big enough that they won’t get into fights over having enough space.

Hopefully.

“I love it,” Killian says, bringing their joined hands up so he can press his lips there. “What do you think?”

“It’s so much better than our apartments.”

“Aye,” Killian laughs, smiling down at her in the way that makes her heart pound and her lips stretch into the biggest smile.

-/-

They sign the papers for the apartment that day even if they can’t move in until June.

-/-

“Where the hell are we going?”

“Language, darling.”

“You literally use the word ‘fuck’ like it’s my name. I don’t think you can talk to me about language.”

“I’m British. We’re not as uptight about cursing as you Americans are.”

“You say that like you don’t live and work in America and aren’t dating an American.”

“Ah, well, we all make sacrifices.”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, pushing into his shoulder as they keep walking through downtown Storybrooke in the opposite direction of the car that can take them back to the school. “Seriously, babe, where are we going. It’s February, and I’m wearing a dress. I’m freezing.”

Killian stops walking and shrugs off his coat to put over her shoulders. She’s got a jacket, but it’s not doing anything for her legs. She doesn’t think Killian’s coat is going to do anything but have him freeze to death too.

“Thank you,” she says anyways, tightly tugging it around her before wrapping her arm around his back and rubbing her hand up and down. “Now will you please tell me where we’re going? We had dinner, and we should go home and curl up under the blankets and have another glass of wine.”

“Five minutes, Swan. Give me five more minutes, and then I promise we can go home and get ready for bed like the elderly people we are.”

“Five minutes. No more. No less.”

By the time five minutes have passed, Emma’s toes and fingers are frozen, and the whipping of the wind near the sea isn’t helping warm her up. It’s doing the exact opposite, and she’s going to murder Killian on their first night living together.

That’s got to be some kind of record.

“You lied to me, Jones,” Emma mutters as her teeth clank together. “You’re a big, fat liar.”

“You were walking much slower than I thought you would.”

“These are tall heels.”

His brows wiggle while his lips curl into that damn devilish smirk. “Don’t I know it?”

Emma huffs, her breath coming out in white puffs in the night air, and she has to resist rolling her eyes. “So can we go home now?”

“Give me two minutes.”“I don’t trust you anymore.”

“I know.” His hand moves down her back until it’s caressing her arm, from elbow to wrist. Little bumps pop up over her skin, and they’re not from the cold. “Emma Swan, my love, I know you’re freezing and hate me and probably desperately want to go home and take your bra off.”

“I do.”

Killian chuckles and leans forward to brush his icy lips to her nose. “And we will do that as soon as possible if you could do me a favor and hand me the box in the right pocket of my jacket.”

Emma’s an actual idiot because she hands Killian the palm-sized red velvet box without realizing what she’s handing him. The asshole knows she didn’t figure it out too because as he kneels to the ground, he can’t stop snickering underneath his breath.

“Darling,” Killian starts at the same time as Emma’s heart wells up in her chest, “you are the kindest, wittiest, most caring, and most compassionate person I know. You may not believe those things about yourself, but I think they’re true. I’d like for you to give me a chance to prove that to you every day, and I’d like to do it as your husband. So, what do you say, Swan? Will you marry me?”

She almost makes a joke about only marrying him if he can get her out of the cold, but she figures now isn’t the time for jokes when the man who she loves and thinks all of those wonderful things about is asking her to marry him despite the fact that she is always a mess.

“Yes, Killian, of course I’ll marry you.”

His little, joyful laugh makes Emma chuckle as he slides the diamond ring onto her finger before she helps to pull him up to her height so that she can wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. He tastes like the damn fish he had at dinner, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care about anything except the two of them and the happiness that is spreading across her body and permanently inking itself into her skin.

“I love you,” she whispers between kisses, her teeth hitting his in her joy.

She can’t seem to stop smiling. Killian can’t either.

“I love you,” he repeats back. “More than anything. Do you think you’d like to go inside now?”

“I think I’m good staying here for just a few more moments.”

“Yeah,” Killian says before resoundingly kissing her again, “me too.”

-/-

They don’t leave her apartment the entire weekend.

But they do unfortunately have work, and as Killian walks her to her classroom Monday morning as he always does, Emma turns to ask him if she should take off the ring since they haven’t told anyone yet.

“Nah, keep it on. I think it’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye.”

He nods his head toward her classroom, and through the window Emma can see a large banner that reads “Congratulations Mr. Jones and Ms. Swan!”

“How the hell do they know everything?” Emma laughs, her cheeks flaming red. “Seriously.”

“Well, love, I think this one might be on me. Right after I proposed, I saw Caroline Abbot and a few of her friends walking by us. I believe they must have seen the entire thing and reported it back to the school.”

All Emma can do is laugh and be thankful that they are getting their own place now…even if the gossip seems to reach them there too.

It doesn’t matter because she’s happy.

And she loves this stupid school.

(But she’s thrilled to actually get her…their own place in June.)

-/-

-/-

Tagging people who enjoyed the first part: @shireness-says @resident-of-storybrooke @nikkiemms @tiganasummertree @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @jonirobinson64 @kmomof4 @singersdd @spartanguard @jamif @twopulse @notoriouscs @mayquita  @captswanis4vr @shardminds @stahlop @shady-swan-jones @hooksmoak @397bartonstreet @eleveneitherway @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @ultraluckycatnd @galaxyzxstark @captainsjedi @teamhook @stunningswan @karenfrommisthaven @a-faekindagirl @odonowest @xemmaloveskillianx @blowmiakisscolin @thejollyroger-writer @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @onceuponaprincessworld @andiirivera

[bxcketbarnes]

Deep Shit

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Words: 4000+

Author’s Note: Hey, guys! Another Steve fic here! I apologize in advance that it’s so long, but it’s cute. I really hope you guys like it and I literally based this off of this gif. xox

I walk into Scoops Ahoy! around five, seeing Robin standing at the counter and handing out spoonfuls of ice cream to Erica, Lucas' sister. She's such a little brat. "Hey, Robin!" I grin at the girl and her head snaps towards mine.

"Bestie! You're here, finally," she laughs after Erica and her little friends leave. After I get behind the counter I wrap my arms around her shoulders.

"Where's Steve?" I ask with furrowed eyebrows.

Robin smirks after pulling away from me, crossing her arms over her chest. "What? Am I not good enough for you anymore?" She asks me and my eyes widen.

"Wha-N-No. I was jus-"

"I'm kidding, don't get so flustered. He's in the back with his child friend," she informs me. Dustin?! He's back?!

A gasp leaves my lips as I quickly ran into the back, seeing Dustin sitting at the metal table as Steve stands beside him eating a banana. "Dustin!" I shout and the curly-haired boy picks up his head, a smile coming to his lips.

"Y/N!" He gets up from the chair and runs to me, wrapping his small arms around my waist.

"Look at you. You're getting too big, kid," I chuckle and my eyes meet Steve's. I smile softly at him and he returns it, running a hand through his hair. "What are you guys doing?"

Dustin pulls away from me and sits back in the chair. I sat my beg against the surface, my Scoops uniform sitting inside it as my shift starts soon.

"We're trying to crack a Russian code," Dustin nonchalantly says and my lips part a bit.

"What now? Steve, is this true? What did I miss?!" I ask in confusion as I glance between my two favorite boys.

Steve tosses the banana peel away before nodding his head. "Yeah, it's true. Dustin came across it last night while trying to talk to his girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?! Dusty!" I grin and walk over to him, hugging his head. "My little boy's growing up."

Dustin groans, trying to push me off him. "Stop!" He mumbles and I chuckle, letting him go. "Can we get back to cracking this? Please?"

Steve nods and Dustin presses play on the tape recorder. I grab my bag off the table, heading towards the employee bathroom so I can change clothes.

I step back out after changing into my uniform, soothing out the pleated dress as I heard Dustin yelling at Steve.

"Why are you listening to the music Steve?! Listen to the Russian! We're translating the Russian!"

"I'm trying to listen to the Russian, but the music-," Steve comments and gets cut off by Robin walking into the back while I walk up to the table.

"Alright. Babysitting time is over. You need to get in there," she tells him as Steve stumbles back a bit. The light-haired brunette looks towards her whiteboard. "Hey, my board! That was important data, shitbird."

I chuckled a bit, biting my lip as I recall her making tallies of all the times Steve failed to flirt with a girl. I wish he'd flirt with me…

"I guarantee what we're doing is way more important than your data," Dustin comments and my eyes move to Robin who moves to stand beside me.

"Yeah? And how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyway?"

Dustin's lips part as he looks up at Steve. "How does she know about the Russians? Did you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her anything!" Steve says while shrugging his shoulders.

"Hello, I can hear you," my bestie cuts them off and I nudge her a bit. She gives me a quick glance before returning her gaze. "I can actually hear everything. You two are extremely loud. You two think you have evil Russians plotting against our country on tape and you're trying to translate, but you haven't figured out a single word because the Russians use an entirely different alphabet than we do. Sound about right?"

I press my lips together, trying to hold the laughter as the two boys look at each other. There's a quiet pause between all of us before Robin lurches forward, reaching for the device.

"Woah, what are you doing?" Steve asks after he grabs the recorder before she could.

"Steve-" I start but get cut off by Robin.

"I wanna hear it," she states.

"Why?" Both Steve and Dustin ask simultaneously.

"Because maybe I can help. I'm fluent in four languages you know."

"Russian?" Dustin asks and she replies with pig Latin, snickering as the two look at her like she has two heads. "Holy shit," he grins while looking up at us.

"That was pig Latin, dingus," Robin informs them and Steve hits the kid with the banana peel, uttering the word idiot.

"But I can speak Spanish and French and Italian and I've been in band for twelve years. Y/N knows," she mutters and glances back at me as she sits down. "My ears are little geniuses, trust me."

Steve stutters, trying to come up with an excuse for her not to help. "C'mon Steve," I mentioned before she has the chance to speak up. "You can help me scoop ice cream?" I smile at him and his eyes dart towards me.

"Yeah, go help Y/N! I don't even want credit, I'm just bored. Let me help," she tells him as she held out the scooper. He sighs and gives in, grabbing the metal utensil and hands her the tape recorder.

-

I smiled at the little girl that just bought an ice cream cone with her mother, wishing the two of them a good night.

"So, have you applied to any colleges?" Steve asks as the place suddenly became dead.

I hop up on the counter, crossing my leg over the other. "I've looked at some, but I'm just afraid that I won't be able to get in," I tell him and he shakes his head.

"No, no. I'm sure you will. You're super smart," he mentions and takes a step towards me.

I chuckle, shrugging my shoulders as his hand fiddles with the skirt of my uniform. My cheeks flush, looking at him through my lashes as his eyes were set on his hands.

The sliding window opened abruptly, Steve and I jumping a bit as he stepped away from me. I got down from the counter, seeing Robin giving us a skeptical look before speaking up. "We have our first word," she tells us.

"Yeah? What is it?" We both asked at the same time.

"The week is long," she states in a bad Russian accent and I let out a laugh.

"That's it?" Steve asks.

Robin nods her head. "Yeah. It's going slowly, but it's coming along," she tells us before closing the window again.

The bell rings and I turn around, seeing a guy that went to school with us standing on the other side of the counter.

"Ahoy! What can I get for you?" I ask with a fake smile on my lips.

"Can I get a cone of peppermint swirl, gorgeous?" He flirts and I nod, trying not to roll my eyes.

I heard Steve scoff as he washed some of the scoopers out in the small bin of water. I open the sliding door to the freezer, bending over slightly to scoop out some of the ice cream, giving him two scoops. I close the door afterward, feeling a pair of eyes on me as I take a glance behind me, seeing Steve's eyes raking down my body.

"Here you go, that'll be a dollar twenty-five," I tell the guy and he pays me, giving me a wink before leaving the parlor.

I turn back around to face my friend, his eyes still wandering as I snap my fingers. "Steve?! Enjoying the view?"

His cheeks heat up in embarrassment as his hand begins to scratch the back of his neck. "I-Uh, sorry," Steve mumbles and I chuckled softly.

"It's fine. I mean what can I say? It's an honor to be checked out by King Steve himself," I smirked with a wink and he rolls his eyes before glancing at the clock.

"Finally," he mutters and grabs the keys from inside the drawer, heading towards the front of the parlor, "I've been waiting almost all day to be closed."

I lean against the counter, watching him as he closes the metal gate. I softly bite my lip, deciding to check him out as he locks up. “Could you be any more obvious?” Robin’s voice reaches my ears and I snap out of my gaze, looking towards my right to see her standing by the door, arms crossed over her chest with a large smirk on her lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her, my own smirk present on my lips. A scoff leaves her lips as she shakes her head while Steve walks back over to us, flinging the keys around his finger.

“So, we finished cracking it,” Robin informs us and we walk into the back room, seeing it written down in both Russian and English.

“The week is long,” all four of us began reading slowly as Steve’s hand brushes against mine, “the silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west.” What the fuck does that mean? I grab my bag off the ground as everyone else gathers their things. Dustin, Robin, and I walk out of Scoops after Steve opened the gate back up, allowing us to go through before him.

“So, what do you think it means?” I ask my best friend as Steve locks back up, shoving the keys into his pocket.

We began walking towards the main door as Steve speaks up before she could. “I don’t think it’s right.”

“It’s right,” Robin confirms and ignores my question entirely.

“Honestly, I think it’s great news,” Dustin pipes up while glancing over his shoulder.

“How is this great news?” Steve chuckles before continuing, “I mean, so much for being American heroes. It’s total nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense. It’s too specific. It’s obviously a code,” Dustin tells us.

Steve’s hands find my hips and I jerk a little bit, giggles leaving my lips as I look back at him, seeing him give me a cheeky wink. “What do you mean a code?” He asks while walking beside me.

“Like a super-secret spy code,” he explains.

“That’s a total stretch.”

“I don’t know, is it?” Robin chimes in, glancing back at the two of us.

“You’re buying into this?” The older teen asks.

“Listen, just for kicks, let’s entertain the possibility that it is a secret Russian transmission. What’d you think they were gonna say, “fire the warhead at noon”?” Robin mentions and Dustin mutters an exactly. “And my translation is correct. I know that for sure, so, “the silver cat feeds.” Why would anyone talk like that unless they were trying to mask the true meaning of their message?”

“I agree with Robin here,” I speak up and Steve looks towards me, letting out a deep sigh. “Why would anyone mask the true meaning of their message unless the message was somehow sensitive?” I ask the three of them, looking at each person.

“Exactly,” Dustin mentions once again, holding his hand out as Steve imitates us.

I nudge his arm with mine, noticing what he’s doing and lets out a chuckle before rolling my eyes. “So, I guess that confirms your suspicion,” Robin utters and looks towards the curly-haired kid.

“Evil Russians.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to agree with this strange child, but, yeah, totally evil Russians,” Robin laughs and I lay a hand on her back. We continue walking and none of us notice Steve had stopped towards the mechanical rides as Dustin proceeds to ask how we’re going to crack the code. “Well, I guess we translate the rest and hopefully a pattern emerges.”

I look to my left to see that Steve’s not by my side anymore, not paying attention to what Dustin is saying as I look behind me, seeing the older teen standing by the Indiana horse ride, shuffling through the change in his hand. “Steve! What are you doing?” I ask, gaining the other’s attention as I jog over to him.

“Uh, it’s a quarter. I need- Do you have a quarter?” He asks me, looking down into my eyes as my lips part before I begin to look through my bag, not finding one.

“No, I don’t,” I tell him and look back towards Dustin and Robin.

My best friend chuckles while the two jog over to us. “Sure you’re tall enough for that ride?” She asks.

“Quarter!” He practically yells in my ear and I jump slightly. He mutters an apology to me, his hand resting on my arm for a few seconds. Robin throws him a quarter and he catches it, shoving it into the machine. Music begins to play as the horse rocks back and forth, the four of us staring at it as I try to figure out what Steve’s trying to get at.

“Need help getting up little Stevie?” Robin asks and he hushes her immediately. I recall hearing the end of the tape before Steve and Dustin began arguing after I got dressed into my uniform, a gasp leaving my lips as I kneel beside him.

His eyes meet mine as he nods his head. We continue to listen in silence for a bit longer before Dustin speaks up. “Holy shit.” Steve and I look up at the kid as Robin stares at him in confusion. “The music.” He takes his bag off his back, grabbing the tape recorder out of it before playing it, hearing the same song in the background of the recording.

“I don’t understand,” Robin pipes up and I look towards her.

“It’s the exact same song,” I inform her, Dustin nodding his head in agreement.

“Maybe they have the exact same horses in Russia,” she tries to debate.

“Indiana Flyer? I don’t… I don’t think so. This code, it… didn’t come from Russia,” Steve pauses, looking towards the two before his eyes met mine again, “it came from here.”

-

Steve and I were sat in my room, my fingers fiddling with the hem of my sweater as his leg brushes against mine. “So, you couldn’t get a shift for tonight?” He asks me and I shake my head, feeling utterly disappointed.

“No, I tried just about every reason. I know Friday’s are busy and if it’s just you and Robin, you’re going to get swamped,” I tell him and he nods his head. “If you want I can come by, later on, distract you guys from your job.”

Steve laughs as I give him a wink, giggling myself. “That would be fantastic. And if you can’t make it, I’ll call you from the store if we find anything out,” he lets me know and I nod.

He looks down at his watch, sighing softly before his honey brown eyes look into mine. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, noticing our faces inches apart.

“Nothing, I just… I just need to leave. My shift starts in an hour,” Steve mentions and I frown a bit. I nod my head, understanding as I get up from my spot on the bed and heads towards my bedroom door.

A hand wraps around my wrist and I stop in my tracks, looking behind me to see Steve staring down at me. Neither of us says anything as my heart begins to pound against my chest. “S-Steve I…” I trail off, my eyes fluttering shut as his nose brushes against mine.

“Y/N! Can you come here for a minute?!” My older sister yells and Steve and I jump apart, heavy breaths leaving my lips. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair as I open the bedroom door, the two of us heading downstairs.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Steve asks, his fingers grazing against my arm. I nod my head, giving him a quick hug before he leaves the house.

I watch as he leaves, the door closing behind him before I let out a sigh. “You guys aren’t dating, yet?” My sister asks me and I let out a scoff and laugh.

“Are you kidding me? No, of course not. I don’t know where we stand, honestly,” I tell him and lean against the kitchen island. “I think he was gonna kiss me when we were upstairs.”

My sister, Julie, smirks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, really now? What stopped him?” She asks and I let out a laugh.

“You, stupid. You yelled my name and we pulled apart,” I tell her and she lets out a groan.

“Goddamn it. Sorry, didn’t mean to cockblock you.”

-

Steve ended up calling me a few hours later, telling me that Robin had figured out the code and that we’re gonna meet up after the mall closes and the shipments come in. I left the house before it started storming, immediately regretting not bringing a change of clothes.

“Are you kidding? We’re gonna do a stakeout in this?” I asked the three of them and they nod their heads. I groan slightly, following them to the roof that’s across the shipment door.

My clothes are soaked by the time we reach the roof, getting into position as Dustin uses the binoculars, looking at the lit-up area. A truck pulls up to the building, the beeping of it backing up to the door getting lost in the sound of the rain and thunder.

“Look for Imperial Panda and Kaufman Shoes,” Robin yells over the rain. I kneel in between Steve and Robin, watching the older boy wiping the rain out of his eyes. I look towards Dustin as he adjusts the binoculars before looking down at the truck, seeing two men with guns and another man rolling the shipment into the building.

“They’re with that whistling guy, ten o’clock,” Dustin shouts.

“What do you think’s in there?” Steve calls out, glancing towards the kid.

“Guns, bombs?”

“Chemical weapons?” Robin and I question at the same time, the two of us looking towards each other. She smiles at me, nudging my arm a bit as I let out a laugh, moving the wet hair out of my face.

I lean towards the girl, kinda shouting in her ear. “Did you ever think we’d be doing this right now?” I ask her and she shakes her head with a grin on her lips, adjusting the hood on her head.

“Whatever it is, they’re armed to the teeth,” Dustin mentions right before thunder cracks loudly.

I jump a bit and grip onto Steve’s arm, looking up at the sky. “Great,” Steve mutters and wipes the rain from his eyes again. “That’s great.”

“Hey, what’s in there?” Robin asks and I snap my head towards the group of men, seeing the doors now open as the guy wheels the boxes into it.

“It’s just more boxes,” Dustin tells us.

“Let me check it out,” Steve mentions and grabs the front of the binoculars. I shake my head, watching the two fight over the binoculars before one of them smashes it against the metal railing. A loud thud rings out over the storm, my heart in my throat as Dustin yells for us to duck.

I drop to the floor quickly, my fingers intertwining with Steve’s as the four of us breathe heavily, staying still. My eyes glance at our hands before looking towards Steve, seeing his eyes on our hands. I fully expected him to let go, but instead, he squeezed my hand, silently telling me that it’ll be alright as our hands move to the ground, still intertwined.

One of the guys yells in Russian and that was our cue to get up, not fully, but enough for us to get off the roof without being seen by anyone. I shiver as we walk down the dimly lit hallway, just wishing I can be home and wrapped in a warm blanket.

“Well, I think we found your Russians,” Robin tells Steve.

We all went out separate ways, Robin driving Dustin home and I sat in Steve’s car as he drives us to his place. I called my sister when we reached Scoops to tell mom and dad that I’m staying the night at Robin’s, not exactly knowing how they’d react to me telling them that I’m actually staying with Steve.

“You still cold?” He asks and looks over at me.

A cough leaves my lips as I shake my head, feeling the warmth of the heater blasting me in the face. “No, I’m alright, thank you,” I tell him and give him a small smile.

We arrive at his house about five minutes later and Steve turns the vehicle off before the two of us book it into his house, not getting any wetter than we already were. He locks his front door behind us before we head up to his room, glad his parents were out of town.

“Do you wanna use the shower?” He asks, pulling the soaked jacket off his upper body and tosses it into the laundry basket.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Can I uh, can I borrow some clothes?” I ask him while pulling the sweater off me, literally peeling it off my skin.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Steve mumbles and walks over to his dresser, getting a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. He steps towards me, holding them out to me and I gently take them from his hands. I give him a smile, our fingers brushing against each other.

“Would it be too far to ask if you wanna shower with me?” I ask in a whisper, not meeting his eyes as my cheeks flush in embarrassment.

His finger hooks under my chin, lifting my head so I’m looking at him as his eyes roam over my face. “You want me to take a shower with you?” He asks, his voice becoming a little deeper as I swallow thickly and nod my head. “I’ll try my best to keep my hands to myself.”

-

I brush my hair as the fluffy white towel is wrapped around my body, watching as Steve runs a towel through his hair in the mirror. I press my lips together as he wraps the towel around his waist before resting his hands against my hips.

“You’re stunning, you know that?” He asks and presses soft kisses against my shoulder. My cheeks blush a bit, setting the brush down before turning around in his arms.

“I didn’t know that, but you’re way more stunning than me,” I tell him, glad I can be open about my feelings towards him. I move my hand up, running my fingers through his damp hair.

Steve shakes his head, chuckling a bit and we move to his bedroom, putting on dry clothes before getting into his queen-sized bed. He moves a bit of my wet hair out of my face, his thumb stroking my cheek softly. “Is it safe to say that you’re mine now?” He asks me and I can’t stop the smile coming to my lips.

“Do you want me to be yours?”

He gives me a look before leaning his head down, pressing his lips to mine. My eyes flutter shut, kissing him back as I shuffle my body closer to his. One of his arms wraps around my waist, his fingers dipping under his shirt that I’m wearing. Steve pulls away after about a minute, resting his forehead against mine. “Does that answer your question?” He questions and I bite my lip, nodding my head.

I rest my head against his chest, feeling his hand gently stroke up and down my back as the warmth began to come back to my body after being in the rain for so long. I feel Steve place a kiss to the top of my head as my eyes begin to droop shut, falling into a deep slumber.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to officially call you mine…”

-

Stranger Things Taglist: @whiitee--sxxl​ @joyfullyswimmingface @lovefilledtragedy​ @morningfears​ @adumbledoreable​ @vanitysfairr​ @lay-all-on-me @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @fangirlinganditswonders​ @ria132love​ @hhal0 @rissa067​

[publichealthcare99]

Tinnitus and Hearing Aids

New Post has been published on https://thebestsolution4u.com/tinnitus-and-hearing-aids/

Tinnitus and Hearing Aids

Tinnitus and Hearing Aids

– Tinnitus can be extremely annoying, but did you know that for some people, hearing aids can actually completely get rid of their tinnitus? That’s why in this video I’m talking about tinnitus and how hearing aids might be your best treatment option to get rid of it, coming up.

Tinnitus and Hearing Aids

Hi Guys, Cliff Olson, Doctor of Audiology and Founder of Applied Hearing Solutions in Anthem, Arizona, and on this channel I cover a bunch of hearing related information to help make you a better informed consumer. So if you’re into that, make sure you hit that Subscribe button. And don’t forget to hit the bell to receive a notification every time I release a new video.

Tinnitus, otherwise known as ringing of the ears, is an extremely common condition that effects over 50 million Americans, according to the American Tinnitus Association, which is about 15% of the total U.S. Population. Since the majority of individuals with tinnitus also have a hearing loss, one of the more common theories is that when an individual has hearing loss, sound can’t make it from the ear to the brain.

When the brain realizes that it isn’t receiving information from the ears, it can create its own phantom sound to replace it. This phantom sound is often perceived as a ringing or a buzzing and can fluctuate in volume and level of annoyance. Let me give you an example, this is an audiogram of my hearing loss. The circles represent my hearing ability and the farther down you see these circles on the graph, the worse my hearing is at that particular range.

As you can see, I have a unique Moderate-Severe Sensorineural cookie bite hearing loss, and had thresholds of 65 dB HL at 1.5 kilohertz, 60 dB HL at two kilohertz, and 40 dB HL at three kilohertz. When performing a tinnitus Pitch and Intensity match by presenting a pure tone from the testing equipment, I just happen to experience my tinnitus at two kilohertz at 65 dB HL.

This is very common for tinnitus sufferers to experience the ringing sound in a range that they have hearing loss, and just slightly louder than their audible threshold. Now if tinnitus is in fact caused by this absence of sound making it to the brain and your brain responding accordingly, then by replacing that sound, you could potentially get rid of that ringing sound, there’d be no reason for your brain to produce that sound on its own.

And this is actually what we see in about 60% of individuals who use hearing aids. When they put these devices on and we program them correctly to their hearing loss prescription, we feed the brain back the sound that it was missing and they have no perception of their tinnitus, or at least some dramatic reduction of their tinnitus.

Read more: Yoga and Tinnitus Cause

In these cases not only does the tinnitus stop while you’re wearing the hearing aids, but some individuals actually get what we call Residual Inhibition which is the prevention of this tinnitus perception, even when you take the hearing aids off. Some of my patients get anything from 15 minutes of Residual Inhibition, all the way up to about four hours of it.

So, by taking these devices out, if you get some amount of time of Residual Inhibition, you may not even hear that ringing sound when you’re trying to get to sleep. Personally I am not in that 60% group, I fall into the 40% of individuals who does not experience any particular change with a hearing aid in my ear, or with a hearing aid out of my ear. It sounds the same to me either way.

However, if you’re in the 40% group of people who does not experience relief of your tinnitus just by wearing a hearing aid that has been programmed correctly to you, then you might be able to get a little bit of benefit with the tinnitus Maskers that they have inside of hearing aids. Almost every brand of hearing aids has some form of masking sound that they will play.

Some of these companies will play just a static white noise in order to drown out the perception of your tinnitus, other companies do what we call Notched Noise Filtering which is they stimulate the areas around that center frequency that you’re perceiving the tinnitus in order to drowned it out. In the case of my tinnitus, they would play masking noise at the frequencies next to where I perceive the tinnitus, but not in the exact range of where I perceive it.

And another company will actually use kind of musical tones to make sure that you get a more pleasant perception of the sound that you have to hear, rather than just listening to the ringing. It is important to note that hearing aids do not cure tinnitus, they merely suppress the perception of that tinnitus, or they mask over the tinnitus. Despite what anyone would lead you to believe, there is no cure that exists yet.

Read more: Acupressure Points for Tinnitus – Massage

There’s no over-the-counter remedy, or herbal supplement that you can take to reduce your tinnitus perception. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t experience a significant reduction in your tinnitus perception by using hearing aids.

In fact, I’ve had a number of patients tell me that if they would’ve known how much of a reduction they would have got in their tinnitus perception by using hearing aids, they would’ve pursued hearing treatment a long time ago.

And who knows, you might be in the 60% of individuals that gets a complete reduction in your tinnitus perception, you just have to give hearing aids a try. That’s it for this video, if you have any questions, leave them in the comment section below. If you like the video, please share it. And if you wanna see other videos just like this one, make sure you hit that Subscribe button. I’ll see ya next time.

Read more: Silencil Natural Remedies For Tinnitus

[lu-undy]

Chapter 5 - SBT

Here it is!

"Your suite is number 504 on the fifth floor. You will find your luggage there and a leaflet at the entrance with the times for the meals. Should you need anything, just call the number one on the phone in your room and I shall make sure your request is met." 

"Merci bien."

[Thank you very much.]

Lucien was at the reception of the Grand Palace. It was obviously a five-star hotel. If the Frenchman flew in business class, wore custom-tailored suits and drove an Aston Martin car, he surely wouldn't bear the possibility of a hotel with lower standards. Speaking of the Aston Martin…

"May I ask…" He started. 

"Yes, Sir?" The receptionist nodded.

"Have you received my car? It's an Aston Martin, a dark blue one, the Panthera."

"Ah, yes indeed we did, only a few hours before you arrived, Sir. I must say, I have never heard of that model before. Absolutely magnificent, Sir."

Lucien smiled proudly. 

"Merci. It is indeed a unique model."

The receptionist's eyebrows jumped.

"But of course… Here is the key to it." The receptionist put an Aston Martin keyring with two keys on the counter. "But Sir, I was asked to check your identity before handing the keys over to you."

"Of course." Lucien showed his passport. 

The man at the reception had a look through it and noticed that it was filled with many colourful stamps from all over the world.

"Everything is in order. Thank you very much for your patience, Mister… Uh…" 

The receptionist looked at the name on the passport but before his eyes could decipher it, the spy slipped his document out of his hand and put it away. 

"You may call me Mister L." 

"Very good, Sir. Mister L then, if you would be so kind as to sign the register here…"

The man behind the counter offered a fountain pen to his elegant client who accepted it. The expensive pen went from white gloved hands to dark ones. Lucien signed the register and the receptionist couldn't help but be impressed at his smooth handwriting. 

"Thank you very much again, Sir." 

"My pleasure." 

"Here are the keys to your room." 

The Frenchman immediately tangled his car keyring with his room one to make but one bunch of keys. 

"Merci."

[Thanks.]

The receptionist nodded and almost bowed. Lucien courteously nodded back and took his hat from the counter before turning on his heels.

He walked to the lift and an employee called it for him before joining him. 

"Good afternoon, Sir. Which floor?"

"Fifth, please."

"Fine, Sir." 

Lucien looked at the young man with him in the lift. His eyes ran from his worn out shoes that didn't match his suit to his hat on his head, which he wore slightly on the side. He was about half the Frenchman's age and clearly had started that job recently. His uniform wasn't perfectly adjusted to him and his heart beat fast in fear that his client would be disappointed with him, Lucien could hear it.

"Tell me young man…" The spy started.

"Y-yes, Sir?"

"You want to keep this job here, non?" 

The young man gasped. 

"I-I'm sorry if I did anything wrong, Sir, I swear I didn't mean it, I-I've just started and uh-"

"All that does not answer my question." 

The young employee blushed beyond his ears and lowered his head. 

"Y-yeah, I wanna keep this job…" 

The lift stopped and the doors opened with the sound of a bell-ring. The boy looked at the client in the impeccable suit. 

"You are doing very well. Don't worry that much."

The young man smiled. 

"Thank you, Sir."

Lucien stepped out of the lift and the doors started to slide shut. He turned to face the young man and said, as he nodded courteously:

"Thank me after you see what is in your pocket. Your shoes need a good replacement."

The lift slid shut and the Frenchman headed to his suite, smiling at the thought that the young man was finding a tip that would allow for him to purchase better footwear.

He entered his suite and found his luggage waiting for him next to the door. It was one single suitcase as he liked to travel lightly. Lucien took it and went to the bedroom, looking left and right to his new home. He liked the decor, it was very modern, light walls sharply contrasted with black varnished furniture. Simple and sober, geometric decorations, abstract, black and white paintings on the walls. 

He nodded to himself as he entered the bedroom. A large king size bed, a rosewood wardrobe for his clothes, and underneath his feet, one of those very soft carpets that almost massaged his feet as he walked, his entire body sinking with every step. 

Lucien quickly emptied his single suitcase. He liked to travel lightly and didn't have much personal belongings. A few old pictures gathering dust in his parisian flat, as he himself had been so, before accepting to come back in business and take on that job. He looked through the window. It was already almost night time but for his brain, it was only the beginning of the day. Ah, the joys of jetlag… He knew he would have to take it easy for a week or so before his body adapted to the local time. Bah, so be it, he could still do plenty of things. 

First, he needed to have a good knowledge of the geography of the city surrounding him. That, and locating a few of his contacts would surely fill his week up. Also, as it was his first time in this continent, he wanted to appreciate this new territory, apprehend it and make it his. The Frenchman had to adapt and the faster, the better. He knew he couldn't rely on any guide other than his own gut feeling, and he liked it that way. He liked to think that he was capable of taming this wild new country and make it his on his own. He had always managed it before, even in America. 

Lucien went to the bathroom and switched on the light. It was bright white and a light scent of vanilla floated in the air. The room was spacious and contained a wide bath, a separate shower, two sinks and the toilet. His eyes darted between the bath and the shower. He frowned as he hesitated. 

As he looked towards the sink, Lucien's eyes caught his own reflection in the mirror. He took a step closer and stared. He looked like himself, but not exactly, if that made sense. The last time he had worn a suit like that dated back to years and years ago. Since then, his hair had turned grey on his temples and at the front. He bent forward to take a closer look at his face. It had lines now at the corner of his eyes. Crow's feet they called them in English apparently. His cheekbones jutted a bit more due to the heavy smoking making him slim; not that he was any other way anyway. He had always been slim. 

Lucien had also decided to shave off the beard  that he had grown during the years of his retirement and get a haircut. No one looks professional with a grey and black long ponytail. 

With a sigh, he turned his back to his reflection and started removing his clothes. He wanted a quick shower to pump the blood in him everywhere and some light dinner. He wasn't too hungry. 

About an hour later, the Frenchman was out in the streets again and walking around, exploring his new surroundings. His eyes lazily followed the shops' front windows and most of them were closed. He put his hands in his pockets and strolled along, not too fast and not too slow, his brain carving all the details of his surroundings into his memory. 

"Ah…"

One establishment caught his eyes as it was still open. It was nothing like he had seen before, somewhat of a restaurant but it also strongly looked like American diners. Lucien looked inside. There were some customers and the content of their plates matched what the general look of the place inspired. It was simple food, but didn't seem as greasy as the American stuff. 

The Frenchman pushed the door and entered. He saw an empty table in the corner and sat on the sort of bench there before looking at the laminated menu on the table. 

"Hello there!" A waitress came to him with a notepad and a pen in her hand. "How can I help?" 

"Good evening, Mademoiselle, uhm. Maybe you could recommend something?"

[Miss]

"Sure, do you have any idea what you'd like?"

"I am looking for something relatively light this evening."

"I'd go for a Ceasar salad then. Has everything in it, but it's light. How does that sound, hm?" 

"Good. It does sound good. I think I will trust you with this." He answered and she scribbled it on her notepad. 

"Right! Anything to drink with that?" 

"Sparkling water, please."

"Sure! Fancy man you are, eh? Alright, will that be all?"

"Oui, for now." 

"Great, I'll be back with your order as fast as I can." 

"Thank you, Mademoiselle." 

[Miss]

The young lady blushed and headed back to where she came from, leaving the Frenchman alone with his thoughts. He looked at the other clients here and there. There was a bit of everyone, really. People who looked like they were coming out of long work shifts as well as some who seemed as though the day only started now for them.

That was something that Lucien had grown to like, despite him not showing it much, and he owed it to that woman. She had taught him to never judge someone by their clothes or the way they spoke. She herself had come from a very modest family and was only barely making it in life because of her hard work.  She was one of those Americans who believed adamantly that the conditions of their success were in their own hands, that nothing could stop them. 

It was so iconic of the mentality of her country that even in France they said it: Sky is zhe limit! 

The sky… 

Lucien rested his chin in his palm, his elbow planted on the table and his fingers of his other hand tapping on the table. The city seemed half asleep. Well, only half. The day workers were long gone and in the dream world, whereas the night owls poured out in the streets, ready to conquer the night and make it theirs. 

The waitress came back with the Frenchman's order. 

"There you go, your water and salad…!"

"Ah, merci!"

"Is that Italian?" She asked. 

"Non," Spy replied with a smile. "It is French."

"Is that where you come from?" 

"It is indeed."

"Oh, wow… How is it there?" 

Lucien smiled at her and extended his hand to invite her to sit with him. She couldn't have been more than twenty or so.

"Pray take a seat, I can tell you more if you so wish." 

"Oh, uh…" She looked around her and seeing that no other client needed her, she shyly sat opposite the Frenchman. 

"Do you mind if I start eating?" He politely asked. 

"No, no, please…"

Lucien nodded and dug in. 

"D'you come from Paris?"

"Oui and non. That is indeed where I used to live, but I don't come from there. However," He raised his fork. "You are not sitting here to listen to an old man tell the story of his life."

"You don't seem older than my dad." She replied and he nodded politely. 

"Many thanks. But let me tell you about France…" 

The waitress propped her head on her hands and dived in the foreigner's speech. 

"It is a beautiful country first and foremost for its natural riches. It offers such a wide variety of landscapes in a reasonably limited surface area. Green plains covered by vines? Or golden fields of wheat waving under the gentle summer breeze? Non? Maybe you would prefer the white summits of the fresh Alps in the comfort of a chalet? Still non? Ah, then let the warm waves of the Mediterranean Sea wash your life away, under a parasol, sipping on a fresh glass of pastis…?"

"Oh, what's that?" The young woman's eyes shone in the decors that the Frenchman had painted invisibly before her eyes. 

"It is a local beverage made from anis seeds, its color is light yellow, like a very early winter sun." 

"Woah…" The waitress's eyes were half closed and she sighed in the beauty of the landscapes that she was swimming in, in the middle of her open-eyed hallucinations. "You… Are you a guide or something?"

Lucien chuckled and wiped the corners of his mouth elegantly. 

"Non, I'm afraid not. Why do you ask?"

"You're sellin' it very well, it's almost like I'm there with you now…!"

"Ah, then I do believe that I answered your request quite well."

"You kiddin'? It was bloody brilliant!"

Lucien smiled gently. 

"Do you mind if I ask…" He started as he put his fork and knife back on his empty plate. "I have recently arrived here and I would love to know more about my surroundings. Do you happen to know where I could find a map of the city?"

"Oh, yeah, see that shop at the end of the street?" She pointed through the restaurant window. 

"Oui, I see."

"That's Joe's. He's more or less always open and has everything you could ever need from food to a hammer. Bit expensive, but that's the price to get anythin' at anytime I guess, eh?"

"Thank you very much. Anything else I should know about this part of town?" 

"We're in the rather good side of town. Only very rich folks live here, a bit to the South from here is where you've got the business district, tall buildings and boring people in suits." 

She stopped and looked at the man in front of him. 

"Uh, no offense?"

He smiled. 

"None taken, pray continue."

"Right, to the West you've got factories. This city's got rich thanks to them originally but now they're being converted into either fancy apartments or fancy offices… Some of them are already ready to be let but most of them still need a few more touches here and there."

"Pardon my interruption but, you do seem to know this city very well despite your young age."

"Well, I was born here and always ever lived here. I don't know, I just know these things…"

"Very good."

"Yeah, I s'ppose… Then you've got the East. That's for normal people, like me. If you get a map from Joe's, you'll see the East side is much bigger than the rest. That's where most of us come from."

"I see."

Lucien finished drinking his water and looked through the window. He made a mental note of the shop. 

"Well, I think I am done here. Thank you very much for your time, Mademoiselle." 

He stood up, leaving what he owed next to his plate and bowed politely to the young woman. 

"Oh, sure, uh…"

He headed for the restaurant's door and held the handle in his grasp when-

"Wait!"

Lucien turned to the feminine voice that stopped him. 

"What's your name? Will I see you again? Will you tell me more about France?" 

He smiled.

"The salad was very good. My compliments to the chef." 

The Frenchman nodded and pulled the door. The young woman thought that was a no… 

"L. My name is L."

Her face brightened up.

"Just L?" 

He nodded. 

"Well in that case, I'm V."

"See you tomorrow, V." 

She waved goodbye to him and her cheeks turned pink. 

Lucien exited the restaurant and walked to the shop he had been recommended. He pushed the door and a bell rang. The Frenchman's eyes roamed in the room. He looked left and right at the wide and wild variety of products. V was right, despite the narrow size of the shop, Joe seemed to be selling anything one could think of, from food to tools to flower bouquets and school supplies… 

"Lookin' for somethin'?" 

A husky voice asked. Lucien raised his head and his eyes met with a skinny old man dressed in grey. 

"I presume you are Joe?" 

"You presume right. And you are…?"

"A friend of the young waitress that works in the restaurant at the other end of the street."

"Ah, Victoria? She's a good kid."

His face brightened up. 

"She always tries to send me good folks. So, what's it gonna be for ya? 'm afraid I don't sell ties or fancy shoes…" Joe said, looking at Lucien. 

"Oh, I just need a map of the city." 

"Can do. One map for the good Sir here…!" 

Joe disappeared in the ridiculously narrow aisles and emerged again with a folded map. 

"Anythin' else?" 

"Non, that would be all, to start with." 

"Alright then…! That'll be seven dollars, mate." 

Lucien paid and took his map. 

"Actually…" He started and the old man raised his eyes. "Where do you know Victoria from?" Lucien asked. 

"Ha, she used to come and buy candy from me all the time when she was a little girl. Now she's almost a woman but she still cares about old Joe. She's real nice, innit?" 

Lucien smiled. 

"Indeed, she is."

"She was one of the kids from the orphanage, see?" 

"Ah…" 

"Yeah, sad start in life, eh? But she's doing well now. Got a job and smashin' it I'm told!" Joe smiled.

"She is doing quite well indeed." 

"And she still comes from time to time. Ah, if only more kids could be like her… Just, y'know… Good kids…"

"I understand." Lucien concluded. "Well, thank you very much, Monsieur."

"Oh c'mon, call me Joe! Victoria's friends are my friends." 

"Merci. Have a good evening." 

"Yeah, see ya!" 

Lucien went back to his hotel room. He didn't want to sleep but he would lie down. The sooner he got his body used to the new rhythm, the better.