#goodnight i spent too long on this and i think it’s half-incoherent

[gnomeniche]

SO. OKAY. "SILLY SAD DUCK" TALK BECAUSE IT HAS ME IN THE BIRDMANGELION MINES. welcome back to the corner where i spin conspiracy theories about duck.

so, "silly sad duck" was a bonus track from a dhmis album that was sent out to backers of the kickstarter in 2017. so it's pre-pilot and pre-tv show, which is important because i'm interested in this song in the context of the creators' ideas for where they could take dhmis and duck in particular.

this motherfucker's gonna get real fuckin speculative. and rambly. i'm very sorry i need to get all my thoughts out and it's the middle of the night so the structure's loose.

let's start out with some analysis of the song itself and the rest of dhmis surrounding it. the thing that immediately stands out is that this song, which is placed after every other song on the album, is about duck being "sad because he can't find his friends".

first of all. this was the last mental state we saw him in, and his fear of losing his friends keeps coming up in later dhmis media.

second of all. this kind of highlights how different his end was from his friends'?

like red and yellow were alive but isolated in relatively coherent false worlds, but as far as we know, duck just fucking died. and if he didn't, we don't know where he could have been. even the world he woke up in when he was being eaten was ambiguous.

a lot about his final moments were ambiguous. the metaphor is clear but the literal meaning of it is hazy. and he only appeared in the finale due to the machine glitching and bringing him out of... whatever limbo he went to after his consumption. this song's context, too, is ambiguous, and it makes significant use of audio glitches and distortion.

and like. this isn't the only time in post-original-series-dhmis that they've highlighted duck's existence relating oddly to the world's resets and the enforced narrative.

in the pilot he keeps repeating "i've lived in this town my whole life!" for seemingly no reason. this running gag is one of many reminders in the pilot that the three of them were somewhere BEFORE clayhill and they just can't remember. him insistently, dreamily saying it at odd occasions gives off the feeling that something about him has been thrown off. pilot!red gets flashes of awareness, but pilot!duck is strangely and pointedly unaware, as if he had been overwritten a little too forcibly. maybe due to both the shock of his death and how he disrupted the show so badly?

besides that, there's the connection between how he's pulled along by the antagonist of the pilot and how in the tv series he seems the least comfortable with throwing off the narrative. something about resets and death and punishments and replacements (though he's still the same even though he was replaced).

and SPEAKING of the whole replacement-but-does-it-really-matter thing, that's one of the weird interactions between duck's existence and the narrative in the tv show! along with that bit in the "electricity" blackout where there's his headless corpse next to a tv with a clip of him waving out at the screen that we've never seen before. which is another instance of duck in an ambiguous space. hm.

speaking of narrative, what's with the singer? who are they?

the singer acts like a narrator for the audience's benefit and maintains a warm, teacherly tone toward the student. the way they reads their lines gives the impression that they are doing the voice for duck; they inhale before the duck voice speaks its first line of gibberish. the dynamic of being a puppet on a show is extremely visible in this song.

to me, this gives off shades of lesley, our amiable narrator/puppeteer. i feel like this singer might have been some kind of precursor to her character. it could have been an early draft of an in-universe "show host" or "writer" presence, or it could have been a device that they used for this one song that later sparked the idea for the lesley character. but either way i think there's some kind of inspirational connection.

and the phrase "silly sad duck" itself... "silly" and "sad" are both fundamental to duck's character the way i interpret him. silly to deflect fears that may make him sad. however: how does the singer mean it? given how every other teacher in dhmis acts, they could very well be chiding him for being sad. saying that he's silly for grieving his loss? his sadness is silly?

and the singer's way of treating his loss as a cute little children's show (bc there’s a lot of these sweet-style little kids shows where a narrator speaks to an animated character as they do stuff! examples escape me rn though) might also serve to minimize legitimate pain in the characters as insigificant. which is a recurring theme with the authority figures in dhmis but i just wanna note its appearance here.

and the most important question: who IS that over there?

option 1: it's the other two! bc they came back once red pulled the plug and reset the show. he found his friends! the sweetness of this option IS undermined by the ominous deepening distortion of the narrator's voice at the end, but is the ending of dhmis not ALSO ambiguously sweet vs ominous. this does beg the question: is this song an in-universe thing. in the time between between his death and the plug pulling, was duck in some kind of puppet limbo where the meta of the show (where he's a puppet guided by a narrator) was a little thinner? if that's true, it would make sense with the increased meta associations of duck in later dhmis media.

option 2: it's NOT the other two. "who is it then" i don't know. but whatever it is, it can't be good. here's some sub-options:

2a: the audience? duck alludes to an audience a couple of times in a new series, and the clip of him on the tv in the blackout is waving at the screen and thus the watchers.

2b: a replacement? the first time his consciousness got transferred to another one of himself?

2c: another meta "puppeteer" figure like roy or lesley? maybe the featureless figures who are behind the cameras in "computers" and moving the puppets in "electricity"?

2d: a metaphorical thing of him realizing that the singer of the song is a separate person whose existence is weirdly enmeshed with his own? this one's probably too abstract but

so now we get to what i think it might mean regarding how the creators developed their ideas for the dhmis series. obvious disclaimer that i am not the creators and i cannot read their minds. this is just speculation.

this and the pilot are both two of the first pieces of post-original-series dhmis content, and they both show a strong focus on duck. which is very interesting to me. it couldn't have escaped the creators' notice that duck had a strange ending in the original series; both the pilot and the tv show constantly reference it.

this song focuses on duck's fear of being left alone. which is obv drawn from "health" (i've given up on calling it “food” bc the tracklist for the album calls the webseries 5 song "the healthy song"). but this trait keeps coming up in media released after this song was made? in the pilot, it's not explicit, but the way he's so easily able to be lured with the idea of keeping everything in the town secure could relate to this fear. and in the tv series, many of his negative reactions are spurred by his fears for his friends). and though we saw these traits in "health," what's interesting is that this song indicates a decision to keep and commit to this as a part of his character.

given this song's... everything... and how threads of its ideas keep running through the rest of dhmis, i really do feel like the creators have had the vague idea of something they want to do with duck's character development and and the narrative for a long time. in general, i think they've had many fairly consistent ideas for the direction of dhmis that they've been trying to shape across different iterations. like the whole "narrative is manipulating the protagonists and they will have to shatter it" thing

so, it's very interesting to me that duck's consequences of his own death, ambiguous existence within the world, and certain core character traits have seemingly been around for so long that they all come up in this bonus song from 2017.

just to be clear: i am not saying that the creators have had everything about dhmis planned out since the beginning. i truly do not think so. i just think it’s interesting to track the development of their ideas as they figured it out over time n what they decided to keep vs throw out. and i think it’s cool that you can kind of see it in these different stages of the show

anyway (pins all this up on a conspiracy board labeled with the words "get hype for birdmangelion" in huge block letters)

[sondepoch]

HC: They see MC’s sketchbook!

Art. It’s a private thing. Showing someone your work is akin to showing them a piece of your soul, an insight into who you are and everything that lies within. So when the Obey Me! boys get a glimpse of your sketchbook, they find themselves wanting for more—and all in different ways.

Word Count: 6.0k

*Mild NSFW themes for Asmo & Diavolo

Characters: All Brothers + All Undateables + Luke

MASTERLIST

Lucifer

At the beginning of the year, there is 0 trust between the two of you

Not only has he actively tried to kill you, but he’s already so suspicious of the pacts you’re making with his brothers that he can’t help but be wary every time you cross paths

So when he realizes that you’re always absentmindedly scribbling in a notepad every time you interact, he’s more than a little perturbed by it

100% thinks you’re secretly taking notes on his and his brothers’ behavior to use it against them

So, obviously, when he next sees you using it in his presence, he wastes no time in snatching the notebook from your hands

“Oh hey, Lucif—what are you doing?!”

“Nothing you should be concerned with, human.”

“That’s my sketchbook you’re holding!”

“Sketchbook?”

Instantly flips it open and sure enough, inside there’s nothing but doodles and sketches

luci.is.confuzzled.exe

He’s still convinced that there must be something incriminating in the book, so he continues flipping through it. But the more he sees, the more he realizes how wrong he is

It’s only when he flips to the section with his family that he begins to feel guilty

In the beginning, you just draw basic poses. Mammon, glancing at you over his shoulder. Asmo, posing for a camera. Beel, about to bite down on a hamburger. 

But the further he goes, the more elaborate the sketches get, and as he flips through the pages, he can feel the amount of work that has gone into each piece

And then he gets to the page where you drew him

Keep it lowkey, but he thinks his heart stopped for a second

He stares at the picture and wonders if that’s what you see every time he shifts into his demon form, because for the first time since his fall, he can’t help but think about how beautiful he looks. Everything looks so right in your art style, from the diamond on his forehead to the way his wings flutter out of his back.

It’s perfection

“I’m confiscating this,” He says quickly, not looking you in the eye.

He then escapes the room faster than you’ve ever seen, and never speaks of the incident again to you

But roughly a week later, you find a small red book on your pillow, and you know that it's a sketchbook from him, to replace the one he took

And even later—after the two of you grow close—you find your old sketchbook stored in his most secure drawer, locked away with a key he keeps hidden. And you know that he’s spent hours looking through the book on rough nights, through the doodles of him and his brothers and everything else you’ve ever drawn

And though he’s too proud to admit it, you know he loves your art 

Mammon

He found it when he was going through your stuff, absentmindedly checking to see if you had any valuables on you

And the moment he flipped open to see your little notebook of doodles, his mind went B I N G O 

He loves your art the second he sees it, spending a whole hour just sitting on your bedroom floor, flipping through the pages

Adores everything about your art style

And when he starts to see the little doodles you do of his brothers, he’s even more enraptured

You draw all the things he’s imagined but never seen: a sketch of Lucifer dressed in a onesie, snuggling a giant teddy bear. Beel, using a sleeping Belphie as a food tray for a pile of snacks as large as the sixth-born himself. Asmo with cat ears, being chased by Solomon, who appears to be a wolf.

And yet, there are no pictures of Mammon

Man is hurt by the fact that you’ve drawn all his brothers but not him. He’s your first man, after all. You should have been the first person he drew!

Gets a bit upset about it and throws your sketchbook back into the drawer he found it in, stomping back to his room with childlike indignation

Is just a bit petty about it afterward

“Hey, Mammon, can you walk me to school? Class starts in half an hour.”

“Huh? Oh, so now ya want me to do it, huh? Well, why don’t you ask Asmo instead?”

“Okay? I will???”

Soon everyone in the house has realized that Mammon’s being a bit off, and while it was nice at first to have peace and quiet from the resident troublemaker, you guys grow concerned pretty quick

And eventually, you go to his room to talk things out

Let’s just say that when you found out he’d been going through your stuff, you were not pleased. But seeing that he wasn’t going to be the mature one, you sucked it up and whacked the demon on the back of his head, telling him to “wait a second” while you went to “get something”

Cue the retrieval of your second sketchbook 

And when Mammon sees it, he’s not sure what he feels more of: guilt or happiness

Every single page in this second notebook is of him. Only a few are colored, but Mammon finds himself enraptured by even the casual doodles in the corners, where he’s doing little things like eating a banana or flashing the viewer a few Grimm

Man is touched. He’s never had anyone do this for him, and certainly not out of their own volition. So suffice it to say that when he tackled you for a hug that night, he didn’t let you go for a long time

And maybe some other stuff happened too. Who knows? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Leviathan

TSL

The second Levi sees you sketching in your artbook (after an incoherent stumble of words which you assume are synonymous with praise), the only phrase coming out of this man’s mouth is TSL

Begins begging you to draw fanart of the Shadow Lord, asking you to sketch him in different outfits, draw him in different poses, put him in various backgrounds, etc.

Basically wants you to bring his imagination to life

“Oh! Oh! Can you draw him baking a cake now? Wouldn’t that be so cool?!”

Absolutely does the wwooooooOOOOOAAAHAHHHHHHH sound effect every single time you show him your work, even if you’ve only made minor changes from the last time you showed him

He takes you on a spending spree, pulling up Akuzon and offering to pay for whatever supplies you want if you’ll just make him a super fancy poster

And so you start

It actually gets to be a pretty good way to grow closer: every day, after school, you head up to Levi’s room to work on the poster he asked you to make him. In exchange, he lets you borrow his manga and you guys watch anime together

Eventually, boi gets the idea of throwing Ruri-chan into the poster, and the second he thinks it he won’t shut up about it

“Oh, come on! You can do it—look, just put her in this little corner right here!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Levi?! Ruri-chan and the Shadow Lord are two completely different characters who are meant to be drawn in completely different art styles! If I mush Ruri-chan into the corner, it’ll ruin the poster’s dynamic!”

“But pleeeeeaaaassseeeee?”

Cue extra pouty Levi

Eventually, you agree to make a separate drawing of Ruri-chan for Levi to hang up next to the poster, because you think that otherwise, he’ll go crazy

When the date rolls around where you’re almost done with everything, Levi formally sends out an invitation to everyone of importance

Man invites everyone from Luke to Diavolo over for the “revealing ceremony” where he plans to hang the poster on his wall

Actually tried to get the demon king to come as well, but Lucifer stopped him before he could get an invitation out

When everyone sees what you’ve been working on for so many weeks, they’re all MEGA impressed because hello??? they did not know you were this skilled???

It quickly turns into a competition, with each one of them trying to outdo each other with how vigorously they can compliment you

And soon enough you find yourself swamped with requests from every other demon in the room, begging you to make them something as elaborate as you did Levi

Satan

It’s a system you guys have set up, where every Tuesday and Thursday night, you’ll sit in the common room on the couch facing each other and will simply open your books to do what you will

You always draw, and Satan always reads

And neither will bother the other until the grandfather clock chimes twelve times, whereupon you both bid each other goodnight and wait for the next session where you do it all over

Except for today, that is

“What are you drawing?” 

Ah, there it is

The one question you were hoping Satan would never ask

You subtly (incredibly awkwardly) change the subject, commenting on the color of Satan’s jacket to distract him from his inquiry, and he picks up on the hint, quietly huffing as he turns back to his book 

But the mild irritation he feels doesn’t let him fully delve back into the realm of the nonfiction novel he was reading, so he’s more than a little distracted as he goes back to reading about human anthropology

And it’s in this state of distraction that he notices the little glances you’re stealing every so often, before returning to your sketchpad

Yeah, it doesn’t take long for Satan to put two and two together

“Are you drawing me?”

An incredulous question, asked in such an offending tone

He sounds so irate by the fact that you can’t help but helplessly deny it, muttering something about drawing plants and flowers instead

But Satan doesn’t believe it, and in an instant he’s standing behind you, staring at the sketch in your hands which has oh-so-beautifully captured the essence of him on the couch, engrossed in a book with the light from the flames in the fireplace flickering gently against his skin

The anger at being drawn without having agreed to it quickly melts into a quiet awe for your skill

“Can I see your other drawings?” He asks gently, no longer irritated but actually impressed

“I-I’m not sure if you’ll want to—”

“Nonsense. Show me.”

And so you do

You hand him the sketchbook, avoiding his eyes as he flips to the very first page—and imagine his surprise when he sees that even that is a sketch of his face, though the artwork is significantly less advanced than the piece he just saw. Satan flips to the next page, and then the next, and the next, and sure enough: they’re all of him

“I-I just needed a model to practice my artwork on,” You mumble, gaze fixated on the couch. “And you were right there, so I couldn’t resist...and then I needed a model again. And again. And you were always there, and I know I never asked, but I’m sorry, and if you don’t want me to, I won’t—“

“Nonsense,” Satan murmurs, pressing a finger to your lips. His smile has never looked as sincere as it looks now, his gaze flickering back and forth between your face and the sketchbook in his hands

“I’ll be your model, if you so desire it. Just tell me how you want me to sit.”

Asmodeus

Your model for everything

You’re trying to draw the Hulk and you a good frame of reference? And you need a really muscular model? And Beel ABSOLUTELY fits the bill? 

Yeah no, Asmo’s your model

You want to draw a child? Someone small and short, roughly the exact same height as Luke (who is an ANGEL and would absolutely help you)? Yeah no, Asmo’s still going to be your model.

Want a cute guy? Asmo. Cute girl? Asmo. Cute animal? Still Asmo.

Man refuses to leave you alone - the second he learns that you’re an artist he insists on gracing your work with the holy sight of his body

Highkey wants to model nude

And you’d be lying if you said that he was a bad model—man can hold a pose for hours without moving even a little, his only fault is that he talks incessantly—but you can easily quiet him by saying that you’re drawing his lips - and the moment you do so, he’s suddenly he’s stiller than a statue,  doing his absolute best to remain frozen so that you can capture his perfection

Boi posts 100% of your content on his Devilgram, and while you were hesitant about it at first, now you’re just used to it

Thanks to him, you’re a lowkey celebrity

Like demons love your art style 

It’s apparently very refreshing and human-like as compared to the dark and dreary art found in the Devildom, so people go wild over Asmo’s Devilgram page for it

Man thinks that they’d go even more wild if you drew something where he modeled nude

In fact, it’s lowkey a business deal that the two of you have - you allow Asmo to post your work on his Devilgram (giving credit to you, of course), and in exchange he pays for all your art supplies, acts as your model (though that’s really more of him wanting to than it being your choice), and even goes as far as to keep Mammon apart from you while you work, insisting that you need “privacy” and “quiet” while you draw

100% acts like he isn’t even more chatty than Mammon when given the chance

On the bright side, it’s thanks to these weekly art sessions where you draw and Asmo models and talks that you’re always up to date on the latest gossip. You’re 100% caught up with the fact that Zahhak just found out he has another illegitimate son and that Baphomet just liked Rusalka’s post from fourteen centuries ago

So yeah, the two of you have a mutually beneficial relationship

Asmodeus still insists that one thing would make it better though: him modeling nude

But Asmo is a sweetheart about everything, and he goes out of his way to pamper you 

Specifically, your hands—after all, those are what work your artistic magic!

Expect him to always be peppering your dominant hand with kisses, massaging it whenever you look tired, giving you weekly manicures completely free of charge, all out of the goodness of Asmo’s heart

*ahem* and weekly requests to model nude

Beelzebub

a m a z e m e n t 

Boi is entranced

Like, he’s so mesmerized by your art that he’s not even paying attention to the food sitting right in front of him, simply opting to stare more intently at the drawing you’re holding up so eagerly

It’s quite beautiful, really: The seven demon brothers surrounding you, a reworking of a photograph Lucifer took a few months ago but in your art style. And for that last fact, Beel thinks he likes this version better

“Wow,” He finally manages to say, still too impressed to really think of anything else

He lets his brothers shower you in praise and compliments, silently nodding along and agreeing with every plaudit they thrust your way

But the moment you’re alone, expect to be scooped into his arms and carried to his room

Boi instantly wants to know the process

When do you draw? How long does it take? Where do you do it? How are you getting your supplies? Who pays?

It’s not so much the physical process he’s interested in, but rather the nuances of art that make your work look so you. He’s not interested in learning for the sake of doing, but simply for the sake of understanding because he already appreciates your art so much

Absolutely invites you to his room to have you show him the art process the next time you start working on a piece

And after the first time, then, he invites you back a second - then a third - and then the two of you have settled into a routine where after school, you come to his room and pencil away in your sketchpad, with Beel watching in the background, munching on snacks

It’s quite relaxing for him, actually

He likes watching as you bring a piece together, going over previously flat areas with a second layer of shading to make certain elements pop—and even if he doesn’t completely understand what you’re doing, he’s entirely willing to learn, listening peacefully as you explain what the various tools do

By the end of the month, man has actually memorized all the names of your supplies, handing them to you every time you ask for it - be it something as simple as a request for an eraser or just the blending stump

Lowkey, your work has actually improved since you began working up in Beel’s room

Not only does he have the most comfortable setup, but the man pampers you like royalty, always making sure that there’s water or food for you in case you need something

(And if you do happen to require something that isn’t already in Beel’s room, man will 100% get it for you so that you don’t have to stop what you’re doing)

Honestly, it’s the perfect arrangement: he gives you the ideal working space and you give him hours upon hours of intrigue

And if you happen to begin sitting in his lap one day while you work, something which quickly turns into a pattern, who’s there to stop anything? ;)

Belphegor

Man naps

A lot

And you just happen to be his favorite pillow, so it’s hardly a surprise when all your free time is spent in the presence of a dozing Belphie, always passed out over your legs

So once, just once, you pull your sketchpad out from under your pillow and work on it, a cautious eye trained on the seventh-born’s every move in case he stirs

And when that first time goes smoothly, you pull your sketchpad out a second time

Then a third

Then a fourth - and suddenly, you’re caught in a pattern

It was really just a matter of time until Belphie woke up one day and you didn’t notice

And it’s already too late when the drowsy demon lifts his head, peering curiously onto your lap to see what you’re working on—much to your horror

“Y-you’re awake,” You mutter halfheartedly, a sick feeling settling in your stomach as you watch the demon’s expression shift as he studies your artwork

You hate it

A bubble of anxiety begins to rise, fear over whether he will like your work or call it bad, whether he’ll make fun of your work or tell the brothers, whether he’ll be kind about it or mean

But then, much to your surprise, he flops back onto your lap, utterly unphased

“Nice,” The demon comments casually, stretching as he rests his head along your thigh. “It’s pretty.”

You can only blink as he falls back asleep, utterly confused as to what just happened

He woke up, right? And he saw your art? And he complimented it, telling you that he thought it was nice and pretty?

A sound of disbelief escapes your mouth as you try to process the utter nonchalance with which the whole exchange had concluded with, your shock only interrupted by the light sound of Belphie, who’s already snoring

You groan

But now that Belphie has seen your work, it’s not like there’s much point in hiding it any longer, right?

You pull your sketchbook out, silently continuing to work on the design that the man napping on your lap had said to be “nice,” adding some finishing touches to it 

And when Belphie wakes up, he speaks nothing of the entire exchange

From that point and onward, you become a little more comfortable around him, relieved that you don’t need to talk about it with him

And he gets it

For all your free time, while he naps, you draw, and the two of you find a comfortable form of peace together, an odd tranquility lurking in the fact that there are no questions, no answers, just you and him, the sound of scribbling and snoring, your sketchpad and his pillow

And really, who needs anything else?

Solomon

He’s probably the first one to realize, on his own, that you’re an artist

The two of you have nearly all your classes together, thanks to Lord Diavolo, so it’s hardly surprising when the ever-astute sorcerer picks up on the fact that every time he casts you a second glance, you’re working on some mysterious sketch underneath your desk

Doesn’t really care at first

Until he sees your work

Man actually stops when he picks your sketchbook up off the ground, inspecting the page it had flipped open to after you dropped it

“Holy shit”

Doesn’t even ask for permission, he just begins browsing through the sketchbook, growing more and more impressed with each new page he sees

You only snatch the book back from his hands when you realize that the sketch he’s staring at so intently is one you drew of him, thanking him for picking it up with a huff and awkwardly trying to remove yourself from the situation as fast as humanly (heh, yes that is a pun) possible

Wizard boy stops you, ofc

“Come with me”

“But I have class soon—"

Again, doesn’t even wait for your agreement, man just drags you by the forearm to the library and flips open a book, throws down his own notebook, and demands that you use your “art skills or whatever” to help him

Sigh

Precious wizard boy isn’t very good with words when he’s all worked up

It takes you a good 5 minutes to understand that he wants you to compare the summoning circle outlined on the book with the one he sketched to identify where he went wrong, because apparently you have an “artist’s eye” and therefore you should be able to assist him - and he refuses to believe you when you try to convince him that no, this is not your strong suit and you will likely be unable to help him

He gets whinier than Asmo (probably where he gets it from) and will not stop nagging you even as you try to leave, so eventually you just give in and agree to try to help him - and it wounds up being surprisingly easy for you to realize that he missed the secondary outline of the inner circle, among another few minor mistakes

Huh, maybe you are naturally inclined toward this

From that moment and onward, Solomon decides that you are officially valuable (not only do you have magical potential, but you have an eye for summoning circles too? how UNFAIR) and begins spending all his time with you

Doesn’t really care about the fact that you’re an artist at first—is really more interested in how your skills can be applied

But then one day, after a particularly rough night of going through twelve whole summoning circles for twelve powerful demons, he takes a nap and wakes up to find you passed out on the floor, sleeping on top of your sketchbook where you fell asleep doodling him

Highkey touched

And slowly, he begins casually “falling asleep” around you more often, to see and flip through more of your artwork when he wakes up 

Sigh

Bby is fucking shady even when he does wholesome shit

Simeon

Okay let’s be real

There’s no peace with the seven demon brothers. Solomon is chaotic. Luke, as much as we love him, is just a lot to be around. And even with Barbatos next to him, Diavolo is a walking tornado that tends to wreak havoc whenever he wills it (and he usually wills it).

So honestly, being with Simeon is the only place of tranquility you can find in the entire Devildom

Specifically, his room

*Which is off-limits to all the aforementioned individuals

He extended the invitation for you to spend some “relaxation time” in his quarters whenever you pleased at the beginning of the year, his angelic heart already sensing the absolute whirlwind of disaster you were walking into when you joined RAD

And while you declined his offer immediately out of politeness, you found yourself sheepishly knocking on his door not one week into the program

And now it’s become an every-day sort of thing

So yeah

Simeon knows about your art

In fact, you can’t seem to draw unless you’re in his presence, because at this point, he naturally soothes you so much that your hand is only steady when you hear the sound of his calm breathing in the background

In fact, you work best when the two of you are spread out on his couch, your back resting comfortably on Simeon’s shoulder while he writes (yes, he manually writes all his books on pen and paper) and you put your legs up on the couch, sketching away in your notebook

It’s the very image of peace, something you can’t seem to find anywhere else in this realm

And Simeon, bless his heart, may be a master of calligraphy, but the precious angel cannot draw to save his life - a fact which you have taken it upon yourself to handle

See, the angel gets tired every now and then—understandable, given that he produces literal masterpieces at his hands

And so when he gets tired, what does he do? 

Make incomprehensible doodles in the upper left corners of his papers

So, of course, you’ve taken it upon yourself to bring those doodles to life (even if it requires a half-hour of inspection before you can make out what the sketch was supposed to be) and Simeon loves it

The expression of eagerness that surfaces every time you inform him that you’ve finished a piece is so rewarding, because the childlike glee with which he takes the paper from your hands to inspect it always sends a rush of warmth to your heart as he gushes in appreciation

But uh 

Simeon is a special kind of chaotic, something that manifests every time he doodles something on paper

You stare at the angel in disbelief as he informs you that his latest doodle (what appears to be a banana-looking creature in sunglasses?) was actually a monkey ironing clothes—unsure what to say in light of this information

But it’s okay :) There only needs to be one artist in this relationship, and it clearly isn’t him

Luke

It started with cake

He needed “inspiration” to make something for Barbatos, as a thank-you gift for the pastry lessons the elder gave him, but Luke claimed that everything he made, while it tasted fine, lacked in the aesthetic department

And while normally you would play it Simeon-style, leaving it to the younger angel to handle things on his own so that he can grow individually, you felt too bad watching him discard another batch of cupcakes into Beel’s mouth, rubbing his head in aggravation over how annoying it was that nothing was looking right

So you helped him out

It was nothing major, really

Just eight doodles—subtle yet elegant designs for a triple-tiered cake, childish and bouncy arrangements to store flan, little details in frosting to give cupcakes the added element of specialty that makes them infinitely better

But the second Luke saw your paper, he went wild

Boi was running to the kitchen so fast he barely even had the time to shout “thank you” 

Apparently, your little sketches sparked inspiration in him so strongly that the flames burned til midnight (much to Simeon’s disapproval), but when Luke was finally done with everything, he walked out of the kitchen with a tray of desserts that looked so perfect it was hard to imagine that he brought them to life from your sketches

Luke spent ages thanking you, shoving desserts down your throat even when you insisted that you were full, so unimaginably grateful that you helped him out of what he called “chef’s block”

Each “thank you” was accompanied either a brownie or a slice of mango mousse or whatever new pastry Luke was creating that day, and before long you were getting to enjoy luxury foods on the daily (much to Beel’s jealousy)

Boy only believed that the debt was paid when you told him that there was no debt to pay, that you sketched those quick little doodles for him out of kindness and not obligation

Believe it or not, Luke’s eyes actually welled with tears for a second at that, before he wrapped you up in a giant (is it really giant if the hugger is so little?) hug, wailing something about you being too “pure” and “perfect” for the Devildom, and that one day you would be very happy in the Celestial Realm

You pat his head, telling him that if it truly made him this happy, you would be glad to help him out again and sketch some food doodles whenever he wanted some new ideas

Cue another round of hugs, muffled crying, and sobs about how amazing you are

Barbatos

Barbatos knew, of course

Not because he used his powers or anything, he would hardly use them for something so trivial, but he was aware from the start that you were an artist because it was he who prepared for your arrival in the Devildom, ensuring that you had all the same amenities and comforts you were used to in the human realm

And, as such, that included art supplies

So the very moment he set his eyes on you, he was aware that you were an artist

What he didn’t expect was for you to actually be good at it

He sees your sketchbook when he’s casually strolling through the RAD library, finding you completely knocked out on one of the tables, the spiral binding of the sketchpad still digging indents into your cheek where you lie on top of it

At first, the butler rearranges your position as a courtesy

He lifts your head and rests it on your hand - which makes a much softer pillow -  coincidentally placing your books back inside your bag and taking a moment to organize the papers strewn across the desk

But then he just happens to glance inside

And the second he does, he’s mesmerized

There’s not much in the world that can surprise Barbatos - not after he’s looked after Diavolo, of all people, for so many millennia - but the butler still finds himself holding his breath as he flips through your sketchpad, each piece telling a story so evocative that it leaves him wanting more even when he arrives at a blank page, abruptly realizing that he’s just gone through your entire sketchbook without your permission

Of course, you just have to wake up at that precise moment - sleepy eyes glancing up at the butler and wondering if you’re hallucinating, but the book in his hands is far too real and the shocked expression on his face is impossibly jarring and you flinch, suddenly feeling self-conscious as you realize what must have happened

Barbatos is a perfect gentleman about it, kindly telling you to get more rest so that you don’t pass out in a public library surrounded by demons who want to eat your soul, but he ends the sharp warning with a rather kind remark about your artwork

“I liked the second-last piece best,” He murmurs, casting you a cryptic smile before bidding you farewell

And obviously, the moment he’s out of sight, your nose is buried in your sketchbook, fingers flipping furiously to find the second-last piece you drew which you cannot seem to remember at all, and—

Oh

A flush immediately erupts on your cheeks as you see the colored sketch, something inspired by nothing more than a whim

It’s simply two people on a walk—both of them vague imitations of what your mind had wistfully conjured up—one of them bearing the telltale mismatched hair and olive green eyes, the other sharing a quiet resemblance to yourself - a conscious decision, of course

But just as you’re about to flip off the page, another detail you’d forgotten about draws your attention—and your cheeks suddenly burn in embarrassment as you realize why Barbatos singled this piece out

The figures are smiling, gazing at each other from the corners of their eyes. And there, in the very center of the piece, it is obvious: 

They are holding hands

Diavolo

RIP to Diavolo’s royal painter

They have been replaced

By you

As much as you fought it, as much as you argued that you were not fitting of this position, as much as you pleaded with the demon lord to not force this title upon your shoulders, Diavolo’s decision to appoint you as the honorary Devildom painter was final—and nothing can change his mind once it’s made up

The title is really just that: a title. Diavolo knows that you’re a busy student, and while he honored your artistic talents with this position, he’s not about to actually force you through the expected proceedings of a true royal painter, not while you’re trying to survive being an exchange student in hell with an entirely unfamiliar curriculum in front of you

But on occasion, he’ll send you a text, asking if you’re free

And you’ll head on over to his palace, ready to paint him

And unlike every other demon, angel, and human in the Devildom, when Diavolo models for you, he actually models nude

Asmo is jealous

Sexual tension is high when you paint him, let’s just leave things at that

And honestly, it really doesn’t matter what you paint - Diavolo seems to be more interested in the fact that it’s a human who did the art in the first place

He once saw your RAD binder, noticing the little doodles you’d drawn on the corner of all your papers, and he immediately took them—declaring that they were art to be preserved for all eternity for historical documentation purposes

So yeah

There’s a hall in Diavolo’s palace filled with your RAD math homework, an eternal reminder of the assignments you copied off of Solomon

(You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you’ve drawn some rather inappropriate doodles on those pages or the fact that, despite having copied all the answers, you still managed to get nearly one-third of the problems wrong, and now your mistakes are to be showcased in the Devildom for centuries to come)

It gets to the point where you and Solomon start making bets over how basic you can get with your art for Diavolo to still consider it “amazing” and “utterly awe-inspiring,” as he likes to put it

In honor of that bet, there is currently a banana peel with a few marker doodles on it hanging in a preserved case in an iced room in the lowest levels of the palace, as none of the “art” can be wasted

But in truth, the demon lord’s fixation with human culture is endearing, especially when Diavolo tries so hard to be accepting of it

So eventually you stop giving Diavolo wacky art and actually start putting your full effort into your creations—your reward being the fact that the final piece you complete gets hung in Diavolo’s private bedroom, where he promises to gaze at it every night for the rest of eternity, vowing to remember his time with you every time he sees it

[language-of-love]

nostalgia... (rated E, 1974 words, also on AO3) Future fic with two very happy husbands finding an evening to reconnect.

.......

A muffled beat and an array of approaching voices break the silence of the store and he swivels on his heel to peer outside the front window to see a small group of teenagers making their way along the middle of the street. One of them has a string of rainbow colored lights woven between the spokes of her bike wheel and another has a strobe light on her handlebars seemingly flashing to the beat of the music blaring from her iPhone. They are all talking and laughing all at once as they make the most of one of their last late summer nights before school starts up again and careless nights with friends will become few and far between. He’s reminded of the group of idiots who had shoplifted from the store all those years ago and smiles at the memory, thankful that David’s self esteem has strengthened some since then and he no longer seeks validation from undeserving people. At least, he’s gotten much better at it anyway.

Just thinking about his husband makes him eager to see him and Patrick refocuses on his straightening so he can lock up and head home. He’d texted him earlier to see how the vendor visits went and got a thumbs up, so he hopes that means David will be waiting for him when he gets there. While most of their vendors have set up online accounts, there are few who are still off the grid, meaning one of them has a monthly task of dropping off checks, or sometimes cash, to the farms and homesteads on the outskirts of town. David usually volunteers, which initially surprised Patrick, but it didn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place. As much as he complains about how off-the-beaten-path some of their town’s residents may be, David loves visiting them, loves tasting their food and fawning over their diverse and unique artistry. And while he might never admit it, he knows they love seeing him, too. Patrick knows this for a fact as he’s seen the disappointment on more than one of their faces when he stops by instead of his husband. David has convinced himself he’s an acquired taste, but that hasn’t been Patrick’s experience. The man collects people wherever he goes, including Patrick, his biggest cheerleader and president and CEO of the David Rose fanclub.

His cell phone vibrates on the counter and he makes his way over, twisting a few bottles and lotions to their correct positions on the way.

Seeing “are you coming home soon?” from David has him smiling at his phone screen and he feels his belly swoop a little in excitement. It surprises him, not because he doesn’t still love seeing his husband, but because they’ve been in a bit of a cool phase these past few weeks. Not for any reason, really, and not that it’s been a problem, but they’ve just not been super physical with each other. They still kiss every night after their “I love yous” and again in the morning with their coffee and tea, but there’s been a lack of initiative from both of them for anything more. Still just as connected as ever though, solid, so solid that Stevie has commented that they are entirely too functional and it’s making her uncomfortable. Seven and a half years of marriage and he couldn’t be happier. So it’s not something he’s worried about, but he’s definitely noticed.

This feeling though, he loves it. A little light headed, unfocused, and warm, and all he can think about is getting his hands on his husband as soon as humanly possible. He quickly texts David back to let him know he’ll be home in a few minutes and has the door to the store locked and he’s in the car and driving in less than two. As he pulls into their driveway, he can see a glow illuminating their back lawn and figures David must have set up for dinner out there, so he walks around the house instead of going through the front door.

What he sees almost brings tears to his eyes.

David has the back porch lit up in strings of fairy lights and edison bulbs, citronella torches and candles in a variety of lanterns. He can hear the soft strum of Patrick’s favorite singer/songwriter playlist coming from their outdoor speaker and the distant hum of his husband’s voice as he sings along from their kitchen through the screen door. It’s not that David isn’t romantic, because he is, but this is so unexpected that Patrick is rendered speechless.

Somehow he gets his feet to move further along their grass and up the back steps, making sure to make some noise on the creaky wood so he doesn’t sneak up on his husband too badly. David must hear him as he’s peeking his head out the door just as Patrick’s at the top step, smiling widely with a mischievous gleam sparkling in the dark depths of his beautiful eyes.

“What’s all this?”

David just shrugs and Patrick huffs out a small laugh, still a bit overwhelmed and needing to release a few long breaths to ease the ache in his chest. It’s a good ache, a really, really good ache. As soon as he’s close enough, he’s pulling David towards him by the hem of his sweatshirt and whatever half-hearted complaint his husband was about to profess about the garment is silenced by Patrick’s mouth. For a second or two, he just reacquaints himself with David’s breathing, gently trapping his bottom lip before letting it go and switching the angle of his head so he can do it again. When David’s hands at his waist clench a little, he knows he’s on the right track. Making sure to have his hand behind David’s head before he backs him against the door jamb, he finally gets a taste of his mouth with his tongue and their bodies automatically stretch to align.

Temporarily shelved passion is unearthed and their kisses turn molten, all hot breaths, wet lips and urgent questions asked and answered and it takes no coaxing at all to lead a very willing David upstairs to their bedroom. He only fully realizes just how on the same page they are when he’s got David pressed against the mattress and he’s looking down at his face as shadows dance across his skin from the candles perched on every available surface.

“Were you planning on seducing me?” he whispers, taking David’s hands in his and dragging them up and over his head on their pillow.

“No.”

His husband isn’t even attempting to sell that lie, with his tongue peeking out to wet his lips as he widens his hips a little so Patrick can sink in between his legs.

“But if you’d like to seduce me, I’m fully prepared for that outcome.”

Nudging his nose, Patrick presses a smile against David’s lips, fully intending to banter back about what he could possibly mean by that (he knows), but gets lost kissing him instead, in the taste of his mouth and the heat of his tongue and the familiar contours of his lips. David’s fingers tighten in the space between his and Patrick groans in appreciation into his mouth, torn between wanting to kiss him all night and this deep pull in his gut for something deeper. The need to feel David’s skin against his hits him the same way a nostalgic song does when it comes on the radio, this bone deep knowledge of every note and chord and the anticipation of wanting to get to the chorus, and he unfurls his fingers from David’s so they can take their time undressing each other in the candlelight.

Finally bare, David’s loving and urgent hands linger over Patrick’s slightly untoned belly, kissing the small pooch there before making his way up to nose at the skin along Patrick’s ribs. It tickles and Patrick retaliates, quickly pushing David onto his back and kissing him fiercely, taking advantage of the dazed state left behind to slide down his body and happily bury his lips in the now salt and pepper flecked perfection of David’s happy trail.

“I’m married to a silver fox,” he jokes as he dips his tongue into David’s belly button, a remark that earns him a playful tug at his ear even as David’s long leg traps him in place. David’s hand moves to his hair and he threads his fingers through the short strands and Patrick leans into the touch, welcoming the gentle tugs as he ventures further down to kiss the warm crease of David’s thigh.

He makes up for lost time worshipping all of David’s sensitive places, his mouth, tongue and eventually lube-slicked fingers bringing David to the edge and back until his husband’s pleas go up an octave and he knows what they both need. With his arm holding up David’s knee and his lips ghosting his open mouth, he finally comes home. The same love that has them kissing each other goodnight before bed guides their bodies in this moment, too, the same ease and knowledge that they are safe and so deeply loved. They give and take until it’s too much and they both need release, slick limbs rearranging until Patrick’s nose is buried in the sweaty nape of David’s neck as his hips drive his husband’s long and beautiful body deep into the mattress.

When David turns his head on the pillow so he can cry out as he comes, Patrick buries himself deeper, the fiery tendrils of his own orgasm spreading quickly as his husband’s ass clenches around him. Leaning down, he buries his face next to David’s and whispers how much he loves him, over and over as he pumps his hips quickly, finally coming with a groan and an amused smile as David mumbles something incoherent in response.

The small of Patrick’s back is screaming at him and he’s completely out of breath, so he collapses on David’s back, inelegantly spent but unwilling to disconnect. David’s hand reaches back for him, finding the back of his neck and tugging as if he can somehow bring their bodies closer and it just makes Patrick want him again, all night, forever. He has no energy left, but he kisses David’s back, and his shoulder, then his cheek, and finally the corner of his mouth as David twists around in a position that just cannot be comfortable. They both laugh as they scramble to rearrange themselves, both pulling at each other’s backs as they face one another on the pillow, lips like magnets as they breathe into another series of kisses.

Patrick’s far from being able to go another round, but when David slips a thumb between his lips to wet it against his tongue and that same thumb slides between them to toy with Patrick’s nipple, his brain short circuits a little thinking of all the ways his husband plans to rouse him.

He loses count at six.

Eventually, they make it back downstairs for a very late, but perfect dinner outside amidst the fairy lights, exchanging heated looks full of all the things they’ve done to each other over the past few hours, touches lingering until he ends up in David’s lap and they makeout for a while before Patrick’s yawning into David’s mouth. It earns him another tug to his ear and some performative huffs and puffs, but he does all of the cleaning up from dinner to make up for it.

Tucked into bed to sleep, on fresh sheets and back in their everyday pajamas, Patrick leans in for his “I love you” and goodnight kiss and David reciprocates, smiling against his mouth just like the night before and all the nights to come.

[ghost-town-story]

James dropped his suitcase with a heavy thud and a sigh. “Home sweet home, eh?” he asked, turning to Aiden.

Aiden laughed a little, carefully setting his bag next to James’s. “For you at least,” he said.

James rolled his eyes and held out his arms. “C’mere.”

Aiden went willingly, tucking his head under James’s chin as he hugged his boyfriend.

James sighed, nuzzling Aiden’s hair. “Fuck I’m jet lagged,” he mumbled.

“Bedtime then?” Aiden suggested.

James grumbled incoherently, then started to walk them towards his bed. Aiden laughed, clinging to James so he wouldn’t fall. He ended up regretting that decision the moment James started tipping over, making Aiden fall with him. Luckily, Aiden landed on the bed, though he had the breath driven out of him by James landing heavily on his chest.

“Snuggles,” James mumbled as he clung to Aiden.

“James, you’re suffocating me.”

James grumbled, but rolled off of Aiden without ever letting him go.

Aiden took a deep breath, grateful that he could now breath easily again. “Aren’t you going to change?” he asked.

“Don’t need to.”

“Jay, you’re still wearing jeans!”

“Yeah, and?”

Aiden slowly but surely wiggled his way out of James’s grip. “I’m not sleeping with you if you’re still wearing jeans,” he said, then stopped and covered his face with a groan. “You know what I mean.”

“Strip for sex?” The comment on its own was bad enough, but the smug little smirk James had was enough to push Aiden into the realm of no regret as he smacked James’s arm.

“No cuddles until you’re in pajamas,” he clarified.

“But Aiden,” James whined as Aiden finally wormed his way free.

“I’ll steal Will’s bed,” Aiden threatened.

“C’mon, that’s so unnecessary.”

“You know what’s unnecessary?”

“Are you gonna say sleeping in jeans?”

“Sleeping in jeans,” Aiden answered. “Now go change.”

James groaned, but reluctantly dragged himself upright. “Fine. But,” he added as he stood, “I want something from you.”

“Depends.” Aiden sat up to watch James. “What do you want?”

“What did you need to tell me?”

“What did I—oh.” Aiden took a deep breath, pointedly ignoring how his hands shook as he hugged his knees close. “Right. That.”

James glanced over at Aiden as he grabbed his pajamas. “You know I don’t like being pushy with stuff like this,” he said, “but it kinda sounded like you might need a little push.”

Aiden bit his lip. “You’re tired Jay. I can tell you in the morning.”

James scoffed, pausing halfway through changing to cross the room and kiss Aiden. “Your avoidance tactics won’t work on me,” he said with a smirk.

Aiden knew he was blushing hard as he shoved James away. “Go put on a shirt.”

“Aw, you know you like it.” James winked, but complied. “Anyways, I’m not going to sleep till you spill. So if you want me to sleep soon…”

“I feel like I’m being bribed, but not in a good way. Coerced? I don’t know, words are hard.”

“And you’re stalling,” James said.

Aiden groaned. “It can wait till morning Jay.”

“No avoidance. C’mon sweetheart, snuggles as soon as you say whatever it is.”

Aiden groaned, dropping his head on his knees. “Note to self, don’t tell Jay you have to tell him something, because he won’t leave it alone,” he mumbled, purposefully loud enough for James to hear him.

“Can’t guilt trip me. Too sleepy for it.” James grinned at Aiden before flopping down in bed again, fully clothed in pajamas.

Aiden didn’t look up from his lap.

“Hey.” James reached out and snagged one of Aiden’s hands to squeeze it. “Look, no matter what you’re gonna say, I’ll still love you.” James hesitated. “Well, actually—wait, never mind, not relevant.”

Aiden’s breath caught in his throat. “No, actually I want to know what would actually change your mind about me.”

“Aid, they all boil down to you admitting you’re an asshole, which you’re not, so you’ll be fine. Please. I want snuggles.”

Aiden let out a long breath, then squeezed James’s hand. “Fine.” He hesitated a moment longer, then closed his eyes and said, “I’m trans.”

He glanced at James out of the corner of his eye just in time to see James blink slowly. “Okay.” James tugged Aiden down next to him. “So, like, how do you want me to refer to you then? Do you have a new name picked out, or pronouns or whatever, I’m really too tired to think of what else—”

Aiden couldn’t help the startled laugh that burst out of him, accidentally cutting James off.

James gave him a look reminiscent of a lost puppy. “What?”

“You dork.” Aiden rolled over so he could lean on James’s chest. “I told you, Summer’s been trying to talk me into this confession for ages.”

James blinked up at him.

“I’ve already transitioned,” Aiden tried to clarify for him. “You’re doing perfect with how you refer to me.”

Another slow blink. “So… you transitioned before we met?” Aiden nodded. “Oh. Okay.”

“Is that—are you okay with this?” Aiden asked.

“Yeah, ‘course I am,” James said. “It’s just taking me a second to comprehend right now. Also realizing this is why you don’t like stripping even for cozy pants.”

“You and your cozy pants,” Aiden said, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Hold up, I’m gonna go change before you decide to turn into a koala.”

“Rude,” James mumbled, trying to cling to Aiden even as he got up. Aiden just laughed and kissed him before escaping the bed.

“Hey Aiden?”

Aiden paused in the middle of pulling his pajamas out of his bag. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” James said. “You’re my adorable kick-ass boyfriend, no matter what.”

“Sappy dork.” Aiden briefly hid his face, simultaneously pleased and embarrassed by the compliment. “I love you too.”

“Now get that cute little ass of yours in bed with me.”

“Give me a minute.”

Said minute was spent changing and turning off the light before Aiden finally crawled back into bed with James.

He was hardly settled before James tugged him into a tight hug. “Love you,” he mumbled, half-asleep into the back of Aiden’s neck.

“Love you too. Goodnight James.”

James, already asleep, didn’t respond.

~

(And a bonus snippet for Magic that’s too short to deserve its own post imo)

As they watch the sun set, Malai has a thought. And apparently James and his spontaneity has rubbed off on him, so he leans down to where James is laying in his lap and murmurs, “What is love?” Then, as the full implications of what he just said hit him, he adds, “And don’t you dare start singing.”

“The lack of faith,” James laughs. He contemplates his answer for a moment, then sits up and twists to face Malai. “Magic,” he says, his eyes sparkling as he leans in to kiss Malai.

[solarune]

netflix and chill

(4) citrus: netflix and chill | series masterlist | prev - next

pairing: kim namjoon x reader genre: fluff, college au warnings: thunderstorm, joon and oc being too cute to handle, joon actually knows how to cook :o (this is what his apron looks like if anyone is curious), pov switch at the end word count: 1,532 summary: namjoon refuses to let you walk home when it’s thunderstorming so he suggests you stay the night at his apartment a/n: citrus is finally back!! apologies for the long hiatus, school kept me busy and i had a lot of other story ideas that i wanted to get out. i’ve missed citrus!joon and oc so much and i can’t wait to continue writing for them :’) hope y’all enjoy!!

“So what are you in the mood for tonight?”

You drag your eyes away from the article that you’re reading for your developmental psychology class in favor of looking over at Namjoon. He’s standing in the kitchen with a knife in hand and an apron that says “penne for your thoughts?” written on it and you can’t help but feel a bit warm inside at how domestic this feels. After many Friday nights spent at your apartment, the two of you agreed to alternate between yours and his place, with Chinese food being delivered to your place while Namjoon took it upon himself to cook for the both of you at his. And tonight, you’re at his apartment.

“What about that shrimp scampi recipe you were telling me about the other day? Do you have all of the ingredients that you need for it?” you suggest, face immediately lighting up when he confirms that he does in fact have everything he needs.

While Namjoon cooks, you continue to do your work, the both of you occasionally getting distracted by whatever random movie you chose to watch (right now, it’s Ocean’s Eight because “Joon, it has Rihanna in it, how could you not have seen it?”). It’s been a long day for both of you, with Namjoon having two exams and you having a presentation and five different meetings to attend. But while he was able to get his work done earlier in the day, you unfortunately still had research, resulting in you still doing work on a Friday night. The next time you look up, Namjoon is holding out a plate of pasta for you, the steam from his own plate causing his glasses to fog up slightly and you laugh while you take the food from him gratefully.

“Can you stop looking at your laptop already?” he asks exasperatedly, lifting a foot to close it when he doesn’t see you immediately reach forward to do it yourself. “You’ve been doing work the entire time you’ve been here! My apartment isn’t some glorified study lounge you know, I actually want to hang out with you like we’re supposed to.”

You sigh through a mouthful of pasta, the badassery of the women in Ocean’s Eight not enough to keep your mind off of all of the stress that you’ve been feeling lately. “I just feel like I’ve been falling behind recently so I’m trying to catch up. Plus I have like three exams in two weeks so not only do I need to catch up, but I need to get ahead so I can study without having to worry about everything else!”

Namjoon nudges your shoulder gently, the glasses on his face a bit askew as he smiles at you comfortingly. “You’ve done more than enough today, just relax, yeah? You’re not even gonna be able to catch up if you end up burning yourself out. Take it one day at a time, remember?”

You stare at your laptop longingly, thinking about all of the work that you’ll have to do in the next week, but you also know that your friend is right. You do deserve a break, if just for tonight; so you let Namjoon slide the device into its case and close up your backpack with a satisfied grin that he tries to hide behind his pasta. The two of you joke around and commentate during the entirety of your movie marathon but you know that you’ve chosen well when he’s actually quiet for an entire half hour during the Kingsman movies. Just as you’re getting ready to go home though, and while Namjoon is washing the dishes from the night, a clap of thunder makes you jump and the following sound of a downpour makes you groan in annoyance. Trudging over to the window, you groan even louder when you see just how hard it’s raining and the various lightning strikes that light up the night sky. 

“I’d offer to take you home but I let Jin borrow my car to go see one of his various booty calls,” the astronomy major says from behind you, and when you turn around to look at him, you see that he’s also staring out the window. “You can just stay here though, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to walk home in this storm.”

“Are you sure?” you ask worriedly, looking down at your outfit that consisted of jeans and a tighter-fitting t-shirt—comfortable during the day but not exactly something that you wanted to sleep in. “I don’t have any clothes or anything.”

Namjoon nods frantically, slowly going towards his room as he replies, “I can give you some clothes to wear. And I know I have an extra toothbrush somewhere.” He leaves before you even have the chance to reply, returning with his ‘you’re otter this world’ shirt, a pair of basketball shorts, and a new toothbrush. He holds them out to you with a smile and moves out of the way to let you go to the bathroom and change.

When you come back, you can feel Namjoon blatantly staring at you, and you nervously tug at the hem of the shirt while your cheeks warm. “It’s really soft,” you mumble as you take a seat on the couch next to him, your eyes flicking up to the TV screen to find that he had chosen another movie. “You seriously picked a DC movie to watch? You’re really going to make me sit through this?” you ask him incredulously, returning his stare as you point at the TV. This has to be some kind of joke.

Namjoon isn’t exactly sure during what part of the movie he fell asleep but when he wakes up, he sees the credits rolling and you asleep beside him. There’s a loose strand of hair in front of your face and he has to resist the urge to fix it for you, getting up to turn off the TV instead. He clears away the bowls that the two of you used for ice cream, leaving them in the sink to be washed in the morning, and then makes his way over to you. He smiles down at your sleeping figure and gently places a hand on your shoulder to shake you awake while he calls out your name softly.

He can’t help but laugh when you wake up, confusion evident in your eyes as you first look at him and then at your surroundings. You tend to be confused whenever someone wakes you up (he’s done it a handful of times and has witnessed the after effects of Soonyoung doing it many times) and he finds it both amusing and endearing every single time. “We fell asleep,” he explains to you, and he wraps his hand around your wrist to pull you up. “Come on, you can sleep in my bed.”

“Don’ wanna get up,” you mumble, and he lets out a sigh when your head falls back to your shoulder to continue sleeping. You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately due to how stressed you’ve been so Namjoon can’t blame you for how tired you are. 

With another sigh, Namjoon picks you up bridal style with a grunt and heads towards his room, shaking his head at the fact that you don’t even question what he’s doing. “You’re not even the least bit concerned as to where I’m taking you?” he teases you, his heart rate speeding up when you nuzzle your face into his chest and he prays that you don’t hear or feel it. “I could be throwing you out the window right now for all you know.”

He chuckles as you shrug and mumble something incoherently, pulling the blanket on his bed back and putting you down before covering you with it. He turns the light off and is just about to walk out of the room when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist.

“Where’re you going?” you ask him, sleep-heavy eyes looking up at him in the darkness. 

“I’m gonna sleep on the couch,” Namjoon replies, pointing out towards the living room.

“No, this is your bed, you should sleep here,” you shake your head, tugging on his arm to get him closer to the bed. “I’m not getting up so you’re just gonna have to live with the fact that we’re sharing a bed but it’s only for one night.”

Namjoon hesitates, eyes going back and forth between you and the door. Would it be weird if he said yes? Your words imply that it wouldn’t be but he knows that he’ll probably be one step closer to falling in love with you at this point if he woke up beside you tomorrow morning.

“Kim Namjoon, I’m not going to ask you again,” you demand while your eyes slowly start to close, tugging at his arm once again. “Get in the damn bed and go to sleep.”

So Namjoon gets into bed beside you and whispers a ‘goodnight’ to you, not even mad at the fact that you’re on his side of the bed. He’ll take this moment, if only for one night.

[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke/Alexis: Soulmate AU + Character in Peril Part 15

Erich wakes to the feel of Degurechaff’s familiar-unfamiliar spiritual presence pressing down on him. He grunts and forces himself up on his elbow, squinting at her silhouette in the gloom of the tent, and mutters, “You’re projecting, Colonel.”

“Sorry, sir,” she answers, voice clear-soft-judging as she shifts a step closer. She does, however, rein in her power with a few quick breaths, lightening the air around them until it’s barely noticeable. “I thought we had an agreement, however.”

He stares at her, mind too mazed by sleep to parse what she’s hinting at; they’ve made many agreements over the course of their years working together, and he can’t quite…

Degurechaff sighs and tips her head towards the foot of his cot. “Sir.”

Erich levers himself up a bit more, the motion made more difficult by Alexis’ arm over his chest and the weight on his—

On his legs.

Where Urahara is sprawled, head resting on the side of Erich’s knee and his body contorted to fit where he honestly shouldn’t be able to.

Camp beds are not designed to fit three, especially three people of their height!

“Huh,” is all Erich can muster, as he stares at the sleeping form of his second soulmate and tries to remember how they ended up in this tangle of limbs. He remembers being tired and moving to sit next to Alexis, he remembers continuing to translate stories back and forth, but this…

(He remembers a dark tent, sun long vanished and none of them feeling like getting up to light a lantern.)

(He remembers exhaustion dragging at his limbs, Alexis tugging him to lay down, Urahara moving to give their legs space…)

(How in the world did he — did they — fall asleep with a Reaper right there?)

Degurechaff makes an incoherent noise of frustration, control slipping for a moment, then sighs heavily and wrangles her power back beneath her skin. “Fine. Just… fine, sir. Give me… five minutes.”

“Degurechaff…?” he murmurs in confusion, then blinks when she just waves a hand and turns to march out of their tent without another word. He… really can’t think what she’s going to do, if he’s being honest. The fact that she isn’t forcing Urahara awake to sleep in his own bed is… strange.

With that in mind, Erich turns his attention back to Urahara, watching the way the flickering lantern-light dances across the man’s face, and… Urahara is almost ethereal like this, his guard let down and his hair spilling across Erich’s thigh like water reflecting light. He looks so young without the mask of joviality in place, just another young man lost-betrayed-wounded by those who should care—

Breath hisses through Erich’s teeth as he shakes his head, trying to dispel his traitorous thoughts.

(He has a Reaper laying on his legs and the only thing he can think about is the way the man looks?)

(What is wrong with him?!)

Still, he can’t seem to find it in him to prod the man awake; truthfully, he should, even if Urahara wasn’t a Reaper, because the position the man is sleeping in is going to be hell on his body. Bad enough if they were just spending the day in camp again, but they’re planning on marching from nearly sunrise to sunset and that’s going to make everything worse.

Hesitantly, Erich reaches out, fingertips ghosting over Urahara’s hair before he can think better of his action; it’s… soft, though he can tell the man needs to wash it, and it’s all he can do to keep his touch limited to only the part spilling across his own thigh.

(He doesn’t want to disturb the man, doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable—)

(He shouldn’t even be doing this.)

The sound of people approaching their tent is like a bucket of ice across his body, and he jerks his hand away, twining his fingers with Alexis’ and laying back down.

Degurechaff ducks into their tent and then turns to hold open one flap, letting the person behind her enter easily and—

Erich squints into the flickering light, trying to understand why someone is carrying another cot into the tent. Two someones, he amends as the other end of the cot enters the tent and Degurechaff allows the flap to drop back in place.

“Right next to his bed,” Degurechaff murmurs, stepping around them to stand near the foot of Erich’s bed. “Tie the legs together. It’ll be better than nothing.”

“Yes sir,” Weiss responds as he and the other person maneuver the second cot in place and then kneel down to fiddle with the legs.

They’re gone as quickly as they came, soft murmurs of ‘goodnight’ drifting through the air before silence returns to the tent.

“Alright, get up,” Degurechaff orders as she bends over Urahara and lets some of her spiritual power seep into the air. “I know you’re not asleep,” she grumbles when Urahara doesn’t move. “Your options are get up and lay down properly or I drag you out of bed and make you sleep in the tent I had set up for you.”

Urahara huffs and slowly pushes himself up, attention fixed on Degurechaff, and Erich feels the breath catch in his throat and his heart sink into his stomach.

(How long has Urahara been awake?)

(Did… did he just… touch Urahara’s hair while the man was awake?!)

(No, no, later, he can worry about it later.)

“I’m surprised that isn’t your first option,” Urahara mumbles as he carefully untangles himself from Erich and Alexis’ legs and settles on the new cot.

“Believe me, if it were up to me you would be,” Degurechaff growls, then steps back from their new, larger bed and addresses Erich again, “Sir, if you want me to remove him, just let me know.”

Erich licks his lips, gaze darting over to Urahara who’s still sitting upright, head down and slightly tipped away. There’s a stillness to Urahara that he’s becoming more and more familiar with, more and more bothered by, because he’s realizing that it means Urahara is waiting for Erich to react poorly or to send him away.

(Because this isn’t something Urahara’s picked up over the short handful of days they’ve know each other.)

(This is something longer, something deeper, and it makes him want to hurt someone.)

(If only he knew who…)

He breathes out and tightens his grip on Alexis’ hand, eyes sliding closed as he tries to untangle his muddled, sleep-mazed mind.

(He misses the warmth across his legs and—)

(No, stop thinking about it.)

(Reassess.)

“It’s… fine,” Erich decides on after a moment of mental digging. After an evening spent swapping stories and muddling through languages and falling asleep in front of a Reaper, he just can’t muster the save level of terror as before. Maybe in the morning he’ll regret this, maybe Degurechaff’s right and this is the very last thing he should be doing, but… “‘M too tired to care. He can sleep here…”

(Urahara had so many opportunities to hurt him before…)

“Not exactly a glowing recc—ah!” Urahara yelps as Erich yanks him down and he lands, stiff and uncertain, on the cot a bare hand-span away from Erich.

Erich snorts and cracks open an eye to glare blearily at the Reaper. “Go back to sleep,” he growls, completely done with this entire disturbance. Tomorrow is tomorrow and he might change his mind then, but right now he just wants to sleep.

Urahara laughs, soft and breathy, and relaxes a bit as he makes himself more comfortable. “Maa, maa, Rerugen-san is demanding when he’s half asleep.”

“Rerugen is tired and wants to sleep,” Erich mutters, trying not to sound petulant but distantly aware that he’s failing. Urahara’s chuckle doesn’t make it any better, but the soft-cautious-warm brush of fingers over the back of his hand is… nice.

“Go to sleep, then,” Urahara responds warmly, their bond settling into a soothing pulse of warmth-amusement-fondness and Erich…

Settles.

Drifts.

Sleeps.

***

Erich wakes to a body pressed against his back and another curled against his chest, wakes to a head tucked beneath his chin and arms and legs draped across his body, wakes to the sensation of security despite everything that’s happened.

Their combined presence makes him warm-languid-sleepy, though a sense of something wrong niggles at the corners of his mind.

(Something about this is… unexpected…)

For a moment, all he can focus on is the warm breath ghosting across his collarbones and the back of his neck.

(All he can focus on is the shimmering contentment-loyalty-love echoing between his humming soulmarks and—)

(Wait—)

The person against his chest moves, soft hair brushing against his chin and—

Erich freezes, breath catching in his throat as his mind finally makes sense of his position.

(He’s— this is— there’s a Reaper in his bed—)

Urahara comes awake all at once, his return to consciousness an almost physical sensation as the faltering harmony between their soulmarks shatters and—

He doesn’t jerk away, doesn’t babble out apologies, just… moves, slowly, calmly, drifting back like it’s his choice, like Erich’s not three heartbeats away from lashing out and… it helps. It helps, grounding Erich in the physical, in the now, in peace-calm-not a threat that part of him believes and part of him doesn’t but…

It helps.

Urahara’s hand trails butterfly-soft down Erich’s arm, distracting, soothing despite the way it makes goosebumps rise and his skin twitch. The man’s leg slowly straightens as if he’s just stretching, and his head lifts away as he rolls onto his back, mouth curving into a warm-sleepy-lazy smile that belies the sense of watchful-quiet-prepared that Erich can feel the edge of through their bond.

“Beloved…?” Alexis murmurs as she heaves herself up and drapes across his upper body. He can tell the moment she spots Urahara because her body settles, weight shifting in preparation to lunge, and her spiritual presence turns calm like a bottomless lake. “Ah…”

“Maa… I should probably lea—”

Erich reaches out and presses his hand over Urahara’s mouth, ignoring the way the man’s eyes widen at the contact. “No,” he orders, trying to infuse as much command as possible into the single word to make sure Urahara will listen. Now that he’s awake and the panic is beginning to fade, it’s not… it’s not a terrible position to be in; his self-preservation is still on edge, but with everything that’s happened, everything that’s going on he’s… tired.

He’s tired, and terror is such an exhausting thing to maintain.

(In any other situation, any other time, he doubts he’d be so easily accepting of Urahara’s presence.)

(But here, now, faced with everything the man has done for him, promised to him…)

(He can’t muster the energy anymore.)

(If Urahara kills him now, his only regret will be abandoning his men.)

Urahara says something, voice muffled into incoherence by Erich’s hand, then wrinkles his nose in protest and tries to pout.

Erich snorts and rolls his shoulder to nudge Alexis off of him, then levers himself up and tries to fix Urahara with a flat look. He doesn’t know how effective he is, given his lack of glasses and how sleep-muddled he feels, but he still tries. “I let you stay last night,” he says slowly, feeling his way through both the words and his blurry memories of the night before. “How I woke is… unfortunate but… I let you stay,” he settles on, unable to entirely express why he doesn’t want Urahara to simply leave this time.

(He doesn’t have the words for it, even in his own language.)

(The harmony he woke to… he wants more, wants it desperately, and that desire tangles with his fear and leaves him sick-wanting-aching in a way he’s never experienced before.)

(He wants to throw Urahara from the tent just as much as he wants to pull the man closer and—)

(All he can do is settle for keeping the man nearby.)

Urahara’s emotions shift towards disbelief-exasperation-warmth as he reaches up and pries Erich’s hand away from his mouth. His fingers curl around Erich’s hand, gentle and warm, and his thumb brushes across Erich’s knuckles in a whisper-soft gesture that makes the breath catch in Erich’s throat.

(Why is he so affected?)

(Damn it.)

“I’m grateful for the opportunity,” Urahara murmurs as he brushes his thumb across Erich’s knuckles again. “But if this is how you’re going to wake every morning—”

“It was my choice,” Erich bites out, slipping his hand from Urahara’s grip and pushing himself further upright. He narrows his eyes at Urahara when all he gets through their bond is exasperation. “What did I say last night about our fear?”

“There’s accustoming yourself to me over time, and then there’s throwing yourself headfirst into a situation you know is going to cause you to panic,” Urahara drawls, sounding utterly unimpressed.

“How I want to handle it is my choice,” Erich repeats with a glare, then twitches and forces himself to look away as Alexis’ hand settles on his hip. He’s being unreasonable, he knows he is — last night was an accident, a mistake on his, on their, part, and they all know it — but for some reason he just… can’t make himself back down.

“Breathe, love,” Alexis murmurs in his ear, her lips ghosting against his skin and her attention fixed on Urahara below them. All he can sense from her is the deadly stillness of the world before a storm, but it feels… leashed.

(She’s waiting for his cue, waiting to see if she needs to defend them both and…)

(He’s so tired of being responsible for people’s lives!)

Erich squeezes his eyes closed and tries to center himself. They have a long march ahead of them and he can’t afford to be spending his energy like this. Nor can he afford the distraction that this argument is turning into; he should have been up and moving already, not… not still in bed, arguing over something they both understand was too much too soon.

The cot creaks as Urahara pushes himself up. “I’m going to fetch my sword,” he says easily, instead of continuing to press. “That way you have one less thing to worry about.”

“I… what?” Erich frowns and scrambles to his feet as Urahara stands up, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat during the bare second that Urahara towers over him. “One less thing to worry about…?”

Urahara blinks at him, then laughs awkwardly and looks away, rubbing at the back of his head. “Maa, you wanted my weapons, remember? So I was less threatening?”

Erich nods slowly, trying to make sense of Urahara’s sudden desire to hand his weapons over now of all times. They’d specified that Urahara should hand everything over when they were on Rerugen lands, but… that wasn’t for another two days at minimum. “I… yes. But I… didn’t expect…”

“It would make you more comfortable around me, wouldn’t it?” Urahara asks, something strange in his voice that Erich can’t pinpoint.

“Well… perhaps?” Erich tries, unable to give Urahara a solid answer. He doesn’t actually know if having Urahara’s weapon in his possession will help at all; he’s felt exactly how strong the man is first hand, and has no doubt that Urahara’s just as dangerous without his weapon as he is with it. “I… I am uncertain—”

“Then we can try it,” Urahara answers with a bright mask of a smile, hands moving to clasp behind his back. “I’ll peace-bind it before I bring it to you, how’s that?”

There’s something wrong about this, something that Urahara is refusing to tell him, but he doesn’t have the words to ask about it. Really, he doesn’t have anything except a gut instinct and a growing sense of unease that he can’t pinpoint the cause of; he has all the reason in the world to be uneasy about carrying Urahara’s weapon, peace-bound or not, but somehow that doesn’t entirely feel like the cause.

Or… it is but it also isn’t.

(What in the world is Urahara not telling him?)

All he can do is nod mutely and hope to hell he hasn’t made a mistake; it almost feels like he has, with the way Urahara’s smile turns fixed and the tiny twitch of his head that means he’s not actually looking directly at Erich anymore, but… what else can he do?

Urahara hesitates a moment, gaze skimming from Erich to Alexis and then away, like he’s waiting for someone to say something else, but Erich doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to break the sudden awkwardness between them, and…

Urahara smiles, bright-brittle-empty, and says, “Be back soon!” before darting from the tent.

He exchanges despairing looks with Alexis, helpless-frustrated-furious at himself and unable to do a thing about any of it.

(He’s screwed everything up yet again, he knows he has.)

(He just… doesn’t know what he did.)

(Or how to fix it.)

(Goddamnit.)

[stevenuniversetanzanite]

The Angel Among Us (Cordelia X reader) Part 2

(This chapter has been rewritten/ edited since original post)

General Notice: I’m trying to get more works out during this time that is rough for all of us. That being said I am trying to keep it’s quality up.

This is technically a prequel to Fallen Angel (Work in progress), however it can be read as a stand alone series.

Summary:

If your reading as a stand alone: A witch heads back to Miss Robichaux's 20 years after she left in hopes of being a teacher there. The only problem is she hasn’t aged a day.

If your from Fallen Angel: The event’s leading up to Y/N joining Michael and the Cooperative.

I’m trying something with this and I’m not sure how it’s going to work so any feedback will be appreciated whether through comments, or anon asks. I did something similar in my Gone and left your world series were it had ~~~ in it and it either jumped, went to a flashback or dream. I did that here and it’s for the past/dream. 

This was originally going to be three different small chapters but wanted to reduce the number of chapters and decided to explain stuff I couldn’t through the ‘present’ basically context and junk. 

as these parts are split up I can make a post where there all together and link it here if anyone wants. 

Also they are so many parallels from my other series and some weren’t intentional.

Warnings: Slight smut, nightmare, murder and all that good stuff. (Everything is tame)

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4(will be added when done)

She gave you the job without a second thought, thrilled to have her friend back in her life. This time around, it was different. The way she interacted with you, there was more behind every touch, every word she said. You had danced around your feelings for her from the second you fell for her. You didn't know you were gay; you had never liked anyone before and haven't since. Maybe you weren't. Maybe it was just her. She was the only thing your heart desired. No one else seemed appealing. She was straight, she got married to a man and a vile man at that. No one liked him in Cordelia's close circle, but you were all nice for her sake. However, her mother was always vocal about how he detested the man. She wasn't the hugest fan of you either, but you had something worth wide in her eyes, power.

You weren't one to force your feelings upon people, you didn't want to burden her with the knowledge that her long-time best friend was in love with her. Knowing how she was back then; she would blame herself for you falling for her. You didn't want that. Keeping it a secret was better.

She asked you about your time away, but you were reluctant to tell. It was a blur, nothing notable ever happened or at least that's what you told her. "I spent most of your time at your flat." And some ramblings on about jobs so she didn't grow concerned.

You were offered a job here a few years back by her mother about the time Cordelia was blinded. You jumped at the opportunity but as you went to take the job, the balance of the world shifted. Something dark was living on our earth and growing with power. You tasked yourself with discovering it before it discovered your fellow witches or any other good on the planet.

Something told you that the answer to some of your woes would be found with the source of power. The self-appointment job was a failure and you found yourself at the place you ditched it for.

It had been a couple of weeks since you got hired. You sat cross-legged in Cordelia's room on the love seat marking some of the girls' work. Papers scattered on the ground and the couch you had been sleeping on. Cordelia had yet to give you a bedroom.

"Are you sure you're comfortable on the love seat? Wouldn't you prefer sleeping on the bed?" She would say. Her desire for you to join her on the bed masked in such a way that your tired brain couldn't register as her quietly begging for you to join her. In your head, she was still married. She had mentioned multiple times that her and her ex broke up but a month or two doesn't rewrite years in your mind.

You had finished your marking an hour ago and had moved onto Zoe's to ease her workload. She managed to get behind, having double the classes you had that day as well as having to plan her work next week. You thought it was a nice thing to do. While, you were trying to distract your brain. Stopping working forced you to think and that hadn't gone well for you in the past. Countless nights spent in denial, regretting what could have been if only you had spoken up. Stayed away from the school. Ignored your mother's letter. Those thoughts were less common now. Instead, your mind flooded with thoughts of what was wrong with your body. Why your growth had remained preserved at the ripe age of 18- if that.

You threw another log on the fire before heading back to the marking. You focused on the flames using your pyrokinesis to refuel the fire. You smiled at a successful job done. Another hour passed and you were struggling to keep your eyes open. Strong hands gripped your shoulders.

"You're still up Y/N/N?" You looked over your shoulder to face Cordelia. "It's nearly 3."

You checked your watch. She was right, you didn't notice the time pass.

"I'm marking-"

"Zoe's work. I know, she informed me." Cordelia gathered some of the work on the seat moving it to the floor.

"Don't put them near the unmarked ones," you call out as she does so. She moved them instantly away from the unmarked ones. Taking the seat next to you, she removed the paper and pen from your hands and set it with the other papers. "Delia?"

She shushed you, pulling you closer to her. The two of you stared at the fireplace, the crackling of fire was the only sound in the room. The students were long asleep as the two of you should have been. She shuffled even closer to you. She eased your head into her shoulder, her hand finding it's place in on your head, playing with your locks.

"I appreciate that you offered to help Zoe with her work, but you do need a break too-"

"I get breaks-"

"That don't involve studying magic?" Okay maybe not. She knew you too well. Magic was your life, what else do you need? "You barely get any proper sleep. You sleep on this uncomfortable chair which is too small for you to sleep on."

"It's fine-"

"No, it's not. You're sleeping on my bed tonight. No question."

"Where will you sleep?"

"On my bed."

"But-"

"It's big enough for the two of us and it's not the first time we've shared a bed." You blushed thinking back on the few times you've shared a bed with her. Cordelia chuckled at your reaction. "You're too cute." You got redder. You begged her to stop but she kept going. She eventually ended it when you got too loud but not before she attacked you with tickles. You both were dying of laughter, you were surprised no one came to see what was going on. "Okay, bedtime." She patted your leg before rising from her spot. She laid a handout for you to take it. You yawned. "Come on captain sleepy."

"That was stupid."

"Shut up."

You yawned again, "A goodnight's sleep does sound nice and your bed is really soft."

Cordelia led you into her wardrobe, forcing you to rest on an ottoman while she retrieved pyjamas for you. She came back to you half asleep propped up against the wall. She chuckled not wanting to wake you up. She ended up shaking you awake lightly, handing you the a long sleeve shirt and pants. Without complaint, you changed into the clothes as she got herself ready for bed.

Once tucked comfortably into her bed, you wiggled about to get comfortable. She hopped in beside you, pulling you closer to her before she covered herself in her sheets. You stilled and cleared your mind for a peaceful slumber. As the night progressed you found yourself growing closer to the warm body beside you.

~~~

"Catch her! Stop Y/N!" People shouted as you ran through people's heaven's gate crashing and accidentally destroying them in the process. You jumped from room to room, hiding amongst people's belongings to lose the guards chasing you.

The group zoomed past. You sighed before stepping out of your hideaway. The air was musky, you got the sense you weren't home anymore. Your powers were unhinged, unable to control them was becoming more dangerous than ever. Accidentally transmuting into an unknown location was never good.

You've stepped into the devil's den.

You wandered, getting your bearings. It was all too new to you, how where you expected to follow along?

You stumbled into him, the man you were designed after.

~~~

You screamed, bolting upright in the bed. Your legs bend and move closer to your chest. The think sheets flopped off the top part of your body, pooling at your lap. Your upper torso and head drenched in a layer of sweat. Your hands flew to her head, covering your eyes from the monstrosity you saw in your dream.

The light on the bedside table closest to Cordelia switched on.

It wasn't the first time Cordelia had woken from someone having night terrors. In a school with a wide range of ages, it was more common than you'd think. The younger girls had them the most, as you would expect. Their minds were more active but even the older ones had them from time to time. Some of the girls were unfortunately exposed to trauma while growing up, being unaccepted for who they were as a witch. What she didn't expect was for the reaction to be so jarring. The sudden snap from unconsciousness to conscious was difficult for her body to handle. She needed a second to wrap her brain around the situation which was something she didn't want to do.

"Y/N, look at me."

You shook your head, beginning to rock back and forth. You mumbled out incoherently, describing the beast you saw. It was horrifying.

She asked if she could touch you when you didn't respond she slowly reached out until she made contact. You didn't flinch away (which she took as a good sign) nor did you move towards her touch. Ever so gently, she eased your hands away from your face, revealing your blotchy face and irritated eyes.

Your eyes flickered open, taking in the room around you. The face was gone. Feeling the weight of a hand on your shoulder, you turned Cordelia.

The door opened revealing three girls checking in on their headmistress and her roommate. They heard screams and wanted to make sure nothing bad happened.

"What happened?", "Is everything alright?" the girls asked.

"Nightmare. Can one of you head to the bathroom and run a hot bath?" Mallory sneaked past to fulfil the request. Delicately, Cordelia moved you closer to her. If there was any sign of apprehension, she would stop and resume once you were comfortable. "Shh, everything's okay. You are safe. Nothing's going to hurt you."

You sobbed, occasionally choking while trying to get a breath in.

"I-I s-saw evil," you stuttered out. "H-he greet-ed 'e w-ith o-open-"

What scared you the most was how you felt when gazing at evil itself. There was a void in your soul and bearing witness to the being began the healing process. The wound like while was tender but the pain that came along with it was gone.

"Shh. Take a moment to catch your breath."

"I-I was in hell-"

"It must have been terrifying but your back now, with us," Cordelia said. You knew wasn't trying to be condescending but you felt like she was.

Mallory notified Cordelia when the bath was finished. The supreme thanked the girl. You had calmed down significantly since then. Zoe and the other girl, information anyone who was awoken by your screams that you were okay, and it was safe to go back to bed.

The bathwater was warm against your skin, relieving you of the dirty feeling you can only get from being drenched in sweat. Cordelia remained by your side as you begged her to be though she was reluctant to leave herself.

The times were few and far between when you would freak out as you did tonight. At least in Cordelia's eyes, she rarely had you complain about any major problems or come to her for some level of consolement.

"It felt so... real."

"Dreams usually do."

"I guess I can't get a good sleep even on a good bed."

"So, you liked the bed?"

"I said I liked it before."

"Yeah, you did, didn't you? Would you consider moving to it permanently?"

"You want me to share a bed with you?" Cordelia nodded. You chuckled. "I don't know how you expect me to keep my hands off you- I mean-" Cordelia looked up at you grinning. "Wait, have you purposely not given me a room?"

"You know as well as I do, there are beds to spare."

"You're evil. You forced me to sleep on that couch."

"You chose to sleep there, darling."

"'Darling', what are an old married couple now?"

"Weren't we always?"

"What the fuck Cordelia?"

~~~

You, the 2.0, crafted in his likeness with the removal of his ill-intent. You knew what you were, they didn't bother hiding that. You knew him to be pure evil, corrupter of God's plan.

Free will, something you weren't allowed to have. We were all meant to be subservient to the Lord. He, the morning star, was the first to be cast out of heaven. He was defiant, not agreeing with god. All he would've had to do was simply said "I sinned, I submit, please forgive me", and the matter would've been resolved. But he was too arrogant, feeling too proud to bow down. He used his own logic and blamed God for misguiding him. Why would God give them knowledge if they weren't meant to use it?

~~~

Cordelia had been going on a lot of emergency meetings through your time at the school. Some appeared to be beneficial, like the time she first went and returned with two girls (Queenie and Madison) whom you were informed later on had died under her care. Unbeknown to you, you were replacing one of their jobs.

You heard about the boy's school from the woman who attended but remained in the dark about the specifics, being told it was council business and to "not worry you pretty little head," by Cordelia. You reckoned you had a right to know if it concerned the students or Cordelia's (as your unofficial girlfriend) wellbeing in any way but she denied that it did. You stupidly accepted her answer convinced that she would tell you when something goes awry.

You got on incredibly well with Queenie. You had some of the same favourite tv shows and she had many interesting stories to tell about her time trapped as a ghost in the Hotel Cortez. You happened to be a supernatural nut which explained your love for everything magical. You may have bombarded her with way too many questions about what it was like to be a ghost, people had to pull you away in order for you to leave her alone. She filled you in on her side of attending the school, adding in all the juicy gossip that Zoe and Cordelia left out.

Madison was hesitant to interact with you. You were the young hip teacher that happened to join after she died. You mean she didn't have to be stuck with Cordelia holding them back the whole time? You hadn't interacted with her until the fifth night after your initial introduction. She was in the kitchen raiding the liquor cabinet.

"I wouldn't drink that one if I were you. Cordelia will have your head if you open that one."

"Like I care," she said breaking open the bottle of expensive white wine.

"At least pour me a glass if you aren't going to listen to my warning."

She groaned, pulling out two wine glasses and pouring you both a lot. The two of you talked about everything and nothing. You'd finished the bottle by the time you'd retire for the night. You made sure she made it to bed safely before retiring for the night. You were all giddy by the time you stumbled into Cordelia's room. The woman was bundled up under the blankets with a book in her hand. She took one look at you and shook her head, "Madison?"

"Madison," you confirmed, flopping onto the bed giving Cordelia little time for her to move her legs out of the way. "She drank your wine."

"All of it?"

"I had some too."

"I noticed."

"Told her I'd pay you back for it." You scrambled up, crawling on top of her. "I never told her how," you purred, leaning down and taking Cordelia's lips for yourself. Your tongue tasted of the wine. You took no time building into the passion of the kiss. She moaned, re-adjusting how she rested beneath you. You pulled away, murmuring "Would you like that?"

"Yes," she moaned.

You made your way down her body, removing any fabric that got in your path. You paused, seeing the wound on her abdomen. The skin surrounding it was irritated and bruised. What you assumed was a scab concaved into her. Cordelia whined asking why you had stopped. In need for more she forgot about the mark of her fading on her body. She'd hidden it well from you this far, always having that area dressed.

You shook off all the questions you wanted to ask her, instead giving her what she is owed. No reason to ruin the night for the sake of feeding your curiosity. You took your time liking and sucking the right places to turn her into a bumbling mess beneath you. She cried out for more attention. She recalled hearing the click of the door locking but knowing it wasn't her to do it. She wondered if you were going to soundproof the room too.

"Scream for me baby. Scream so the whole coven can hear."

In the little time the two of you had been a thing, you'd kept any PDA behind the close door of your shared bedroom. Anything fun you had, the noise was kept to a minimum or the room was soundproofed in advance. All those times, Cordelia had been in charge. She didn't want to ruin her reputation and didn't want any of the girls to know what she does in her spare time. You, in your tipsy state, was overcome with a newfound level of confidence. It was as though you were someone else feeding off your need to please the woman you'd been in love with for years.

The next morning you were down bright and earlier. Your chipper self poured a cup of coffee before making your way to where Zoe, Queenie and Madison were. They all turn their attention to you the moment you walk in. "I paid her back," you said, directed to Madison as you took her seat at the table. Madison looked slightly horrified (and maybe even impressed?) at you.

"How long do you think it will take her to come downstairs?"

"She's already late."

"I wouldn't expect her to be down any time soon, I wore her out last night."

"Too much detail," Zoe said. The other two laughed.

Fifteen minutes before the students were expected to be getting up, Cordelia rushed into the room. She tried to play it off as calm and collective but she was stressing about being behind schedule.

"Sorry about being late, I slept through my alarm."

"Didn't you get much sleep last night?" Queenie asked, her and Madison were trying to suppress their laugh.

Cordelia deadpanned to you, "You told them, didn't you?"

"Didn't have too, we heard it all," Madison said.

"Oh God, the students. Y/N, what were you thinking?"

"Delia, they're all old enough to know about sex."

"It doesn't mean they should be forced to hear that." You got up and headed to the kitchen before she could scold you any further. "Where are you going?"

"To get dressed, students will be up soon."

~~~

You resonated with his actions and logic, maybe because you were him in some way. That's the problem with the likeness, the blurred line between who you are and who you are seen to be. If he betrayed then so would you?

Human's fascinated you, the ability to come back from sin and earn there place in the holy kingdom. It wasn't forced but advised. Sin still existed and you could choose to break the 10 commandments. Choice. You wanted to choose your life not be bound to a memory of someone else and forced through the wrongdoings as if it were prophesied.

He wasn't like you expected, rude or demeaning. He was cunning, motivated by ill-intent, but who's to judge if it's morally good or bad? Those concepts confused you, bad could be good in another's eyes.

The man knew who you were exactly, rumours of your creation spread fast in the spirit world. "Sister. I didn't expect to meet you so soon. I would have prepared for your arrival." He offered his land to you, to help rule his throne. He had bigger plans for the end times than he let on. He fed into your desire, the same confusion he had experienced at the beginning of his rebellion.

He offered you whatever you could have wanted in order to steal you from the grips of your creator. "I want to understand the purpose of all of this. Why are humans so important? Why are expected to follow subserviently?." A life of my own.

"Then go, seek out your own answers and when you get bored or don't like the answers that you find, there's a place for you here."

"How do I get there? I don't have control-" You'd gotten there by mistake, you couldn't your powers yet. The angels expected you to which is how the ruckus in heaven began.

Think of suddenly being were you want to go and step forward. You'll be incognito unless you want to be seen. No angel has had long term exposure to humans, who knows the damages it could cause.

~~~

It was the first time Myrtle Snow had gotten some time alone with Cordelia after their arrival back from their council trip. She wasn't happy about Cordelia's decision to allow a male student at Hawthorne to compete in The Seven Wonders. Cordelia informed her that she'd seen the future and it appeared grim. At some point she knew she would have to identify her successor but she needed to buy herself some time to figure out who.

Myrtle mentioned Mallory, and how she witnessed the girl completely reversed the wounds of a dead doe and brought it back to its youth. They couldn't deny Langdon's power and though she doubted he was the next in line, he could be what brings the end.

Cordelia admitted her powers are growing weaker and feeling herself dying. She told her Aunt that she hadn't told anyone about her dwindling power except her.

"It's sooner or later Y/N is going to figure it out," Cordelia said. She feared telling you, you already noticed the markings her sickness brought along. You knew too much about magic, sooner or later you'd question her and her state. One of the perks of being the supreme was perfect health. Those mysterious marks don't match that. "I've tried to keep her out of all of this- I don't want her to get hurt." She knew you were more than capable of looking after yourself, but she still felt obligated to protect you from the world.

Myrtle brought up how painful it was to watch you swooning over her for years and it was nice to see that you get a break. The underlying threat that it will be cut short hung in the air but remained unsaid. Cordelia never having mentioned you two being together assumed she'd heard from one of the others.

Mallory interrupted them and told Cordelia that her two o'clock is here to see her.

You hadn't seen Cordelia much that day, having back to back classes, a doctor's appointment then marking once you got back. You'd worked through dinner, not realising what time it was until it was eight and your stomachs rumbling snapped you out of your concentrating state. You had one paper left on witch history. As much as you loved the history of Salem witches, you knew none of these girls cared enough to write a paper on it. There all here to improve their magic ability, history isn't going to help with that. You tossed the paper onto the rest deciding dinner was in order. Marking can be left until tomorrow.

You found a tupperware container full of left overs in the fridge. You scooped a helping of the pasta onto a plate before shoving it in the microwave. You felt two hands wrap around your waist. You chuckled and relaxed slightly.

"Missed you today baby," Cordelia said snuggling into your back. You told her you missed her back. You yawned. "Were you asleep?" she said referring to the robe you changed into when you got home from the doctors as well as your yawn.

"Had a doctor's appointment and had to mark after so I decided to get comfortable."

"Doctor's appointment? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it was a checkup. I needed to see if my medication was working. They're giving me a higher dosage."

"I don't remember you being on medication."

"I've been on them for years. Some problem with my blood. I can't remember the specifics on the top of my head." You changed the topic, the last making you uncomfortable. "You're being more cuddly than you usually are in public. What happened to keep it in the bedroom."

"That went out the window when they heard us having sex."

"You have to admit you enjoyed it."

"I did," Cordelia admitted. "You could say, I owe you."

"Not tonight. I'm worn out. I'm going to go to bed after dinner."

"I might have to finish off my work early so I can have a cuddle session before bed."

"Sounds like a plan."

"I'll see you soon."

"See you soon."

Cordelia ran off to complete any work she had remained so she could spent her night with you.

You finished your meal and headed up your bedroom. You yawned as you entered the room. The ground felt muddy. Your eyes snapped open. You stood frozen in a forest of trees. A lone gas station stood with a mile of road on either side. "What the fuck-" you rubbed your eyes. This couldn't be real. A man stood there pumping gas into his car, nothing out of the ordinary. You reached for your pocket. You had none. You're in a robe. Outside. With nothing underneath. This hasn't happened before and hopefully never again.

You shouldn't be here, how did you get here? No level of teleportation would have gotten you this far without harm, this place wasn't near the school.

You step forwards to make your way towards the gas station. Maybe he could help you, tell you where you were so you could call Cordelia and explain what happened. A glove hand slipped over your mouth, another around your waist. You were tugged towards a body. You thrashed about trying to escape when the person spoke.

"I'm not going to hurt you Y/N." You said something but it was muffled by the hand. "I'll let you go in a second but you need to see something first."

Another car pulled up and a woman stepped out. The two interacted before the woman ended up cutting his Achille's heel. He collapsed onto the ground and she slit his throat as well. To finish him off she poured gasoline on him and set him on fire. The woman pulled away in her own car. You watched as the man's flesh, burnt to dust. You screamed, cried out watching the scene unfold. You were helpless to do anything but watch on in horror.

"That man's name was John Henry Moore. He taught at the Warlock school, you know the one. He was going to rat out his brother warlocks for treason. His key's are unharmed by the fire. You have one of two choices, drive back to the school and tell your precious supreme that a warlock was murdered and have to explain why you were out here in the middle of the night or you could drive away, dump the car and not tell a soul." Both hands let go of you.

"Why did you make me watch that? Who are you?"

You spun around but no one was there. You decided to test what the person said was true. You crouch by the pile of ash. John Henry Moore, you never heard of him. That wasn't surprising, he taught at a warlock school. You weren't familiar with too many, you were always taught you were superior to them so you never bothered to look into them. You hovered your hand above the ashes, concentrating on who they used to belong to. Come on Y/N, you can do it, you repeated in your head. You took a deep breath in and out.

Information filled your mind along with snippets of the man's face. The person was right.

You snatched the keys from the pile of ash and hopped into the car. What were you doing? You can't steal a dead man's car. He isn't going to need it, you reasoned. You start up the car, listening to it rev. The camera's, they would have seen you hop into the car. With a flick of the wrist you erase any record of you being here before speeding away. You didn't know what to do. How were you meant to explain why you were in the middle of nowhere. You didn't even know where you were going.

"Where did you go so late?" Cordelia asked as you stumbled through the front door.

"Grocery store."

"In your robe?"

"Yeah."

"How did you get there? The van's still parked-"

"You ask too many questions," you snapped. She was taken aback. "I've been through hell today. Can we just leave it there?" You didn't give her a second to respond before you headed towards the back of the school. She followed you, stopping when you did. Your back faced her.

You'd changed energies since you entered the academy. You were no longer the sweet and tired woman she was planning on spending her night with. Now you were agitated. You rarely found a reason to snap at her, she worried something happened to you. She let your behaviour slide, not wanting to push you any further and cause a scene at one thirty in the morning.

"We have a new student, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt. I put her in your class and organised a one on one with you and her today to get her comfortable being here."

You hummed fiddling with a pack of cigarettes you picked up along the way. You never smoked before in your life but the urge was all too tempting tonight. "Hmm~" you hummed, your mouth around the stick of death that was between your lips. Your hands fumbled about for the lighter you bought. Seemingly misplacing it, you groaned.

"I'm glad you're safe," Cordelia mused. "When you disappeared after you said you were going to bed, I worried." When you wouldn't pay her any attention, more focused on what you were doing she circled you. "What are you- Where did you get those?" She tried to take the cigarettes away from you but you moved away. "You don't smoke- how? Why?"

"I'm sleeping on the couch tonight," you said around your unlit cigarette, stepping outside and shutting the door with your powers.

You sat there until the sun rose. The birds chirping sounded like ringing in your ears. Visions of the man burning was all you could see. The hand around your waist and mouth, holding you in place. The helplessness you felt. What kind of witch were you? You had the chance to tell Cordelia where you were, what you say and you decided against it? Who were you? Not yourself.

Your robe slipped off your shoulders revealing your back to the cold day and showcasing your white ink tattoo of angel wings. You got paid 50 bucks to do it back in the day, now it's just scarring of the tattoo you once got.

You were on your third cigarette. You took another puff, missing the sound of the back door opening under the screams in your mind. A tap on your shoulder sent you zapping elsewhere. Landing on the other side of the garden, you quickly adjusted your robe, covering up your back and naked front. Your robe must have untied itself during the night. You dropped your cigarette butt stumping it out with your bare foot.

"Mal? What are you doing up so late?"

"It's 9 in the morning," she notified you. "Cordelia told me to talk to you after you didn't head up this morning."

"I told her I was going to sleep on the couch," she probably assumed the one in her room. Mallory walked up to you sitting down beside where you teleported to. "We don't need a mediator-"

"Go and talk to her. Assure her that there is nothing to worry about. She spent the couple hours you were missing tearing the place to shreds." You chuckled at the last bit. "She also wanted me to remind you, you had that class with Coco."

"Who?"

"The new student."

"Crap, yeah. When's that start?"

"Three minutes ago."

"Shit- you distract the girl, I'll quickly freshen up."

She nodded. You grabbed your belongings before teleporting upstairs to clean yourself up. You scrambled through your belongings looking for something quick to change into. You opted for a long maxi floral dress with your platform boots. You douse yourself in perfume before sprinting downstairs. You ran past Cordelia on her way to her office, she went to speak when you said, "Meeting late." and continued on your way.

You found Mallory sitting alongside another girl. You apologised for your tardiness, and greeted the girl with a handshake.

"Your hands are cold," she commented.

"I'm well aware. So as you're aware I'm meant to so you the ropes. If you are scared, it's normal."

You dreaded the time your class your one on one would end but when it did, you were happy that the new student was at least a little more comfortable being here. She reminded you of yourself when younger. No you weren't rich, you were scared of being in a place you didn't belong and not wanting to waste the teachers time. Any witch no matter how little their powers are deserved to be here.

Once you were done you were requested to go to your girlfriends office. You didn't bother knocking as she expected you. The door squeaked, "Your door needs some oil," you commented.

"I'll make sure someone does that later-"

"Oh, I can do it. It's no problem. I'll do it now-" You deflected.

"Leave the door. It's not important." Cordelia rose from her desk chair and moved to the set of chairs in front of her desk.She chose to do this to show you were not in trouble and to remove the desk from between the both of you. You'd both use it as a barrier to hide behind. She gestured you to take the other chair. You slowly shuffled to your designated spot, your platforms scraping across the floor. Normally you would have earned a look of disapprove from your girlfriend for ruining the school's flooring. Today was different, her pet peeves were tossed out the window, replaced with an emotion you had yet to determined.

She didn't speak until you were settled in your chair. Your eyes floated everywhere never focusing on one place and definitely not on her. She realised she wasn't going to get your undivided attention, it was for the best, you never made eye contact when you were in a stressful situation. The woman allowed you to get away with pushing her away far too long. She'd let you escape from her for years during her marriage or the nights back in high school were she'd gotten a smidgen to close. She saw why now, it was as clear as day. You'd pushed her away to save yourself heartbreak. It took her until she had the sight to figure out she was being cheated on and still she couldn't figure out how strong your feelings where for her. You were pushing her away again but this time she couldn't understand why, it wasn't like the last time you did so, you haven't left her yet. It was similar to moments in high school were she was getting a little experimental, bi-curious even, but you weren't having it. You didn't want to be second, you wanted the gold. Had you figured out her secret, that her days were numbered. You'd seen the markings. You could be bracing yourself for the pain, cutting off the ties before they were snapped from you. Self induced pain was easier to deal with.

"How did the session with Coco go?" It was best to ease into the conversation, make it seem normal, Cordelia thought. You both knew it was coming so there was no point in delaying the inevitable but scaring you off wasn't the end goal.

"The Vanderbilt girl is super nice. Is Vanderbilt or Pierre a better nickname? Pierre is a masculine name and she isn't very- Vanderbilt it is." You rambled on. "I think I did a pretty good job at convincing her she belongs here."

"I knew you'd be the perfect one for that."

"Yeah~"

"I want to talk about last night-" you went to interrupt but you were silenced. "I know you don't want to talk about it but that's what couples do, they communicate so we can move past it."

You nodded, your focus now stilled on the left leg of Cordelia's chair. There was a paper clip resting next to it, bent slightly out of shape. You wanted to pick it up and put it with the rest or at least fiddle with it to distract your mind from what she was asking you to do. Talking was a chore, why would you need to talk, can't she just read your mind, or the energy you're radiating? Her idea wasn't a good one. Emotions are meant to be expressed outwardly and if not, they should remain to one's self.

"You said you were going to bed. You could have given me a heads up or texted me that you had to go out."

"I did head to bed." Your voice was small. Your hands fiddle with the light fabric of your attire. "I didn't plan on going out... It kind of happened."

"You going somewhere doesn't usually just happen. You have to actively seek out doing it."

"I-I teleported- I think. Whatever happened wasn't intentional."

"You teleported? Where?"

"I don't-" Should you tell the truth? "A park, an hour away. I went to the grocery store on the way back and picked up-"

"The cigarettes. You know what I'm going to ask you to do with them." You shook your head. She laid her hand out. You pulled them out of your clothes pocket and handed them over. "I don't want you to get addicted to these. They ruin lives and I love you too much to watch you waste it away on this." You nodded in recognition. "Did anything happen while you were out?"

You shook your head, "Nothing happened-"

"You transmutated far, are you sure you didn't get hurt?" You nodded. "Can I have a look over?"

"You just want an excuse to see me naked, don't you?"

"Always, but it is strange that you are developing new powers now or at least of that strength."

"Developing them now? Are you calling me old?" you joked.

"You're older than me." Yeah, you were. "What are you, like 905?"

"Hey! I'm not immortal."

"You could have convinced me otherwise."

"We both know that wouldn't be a good thing. We both know the story of Scáthach. "

"Are you talking about My Roanoke Nightmare? I thought you hated that show."

As much as Cordelia hated horror, you were a fanatic- not because you enjoyed the film, you loved critiquing it, ripping their use of the supernatural. You often referenced horror movies and how they were wrong in class or when casually talking to Cordelia. Then the show My Roanoke nightmare was popular, you'd binged watch it and won't shut up about the show for weeks. Cordelia knew everything about the show without seeing it. She eventually did, so she could better understand what was irritating you so much.

"I do, but Audrey Tindall is hot."

"I hope neither of us ever met her." The both of you chuckled.

"No, but seriously. She's real or at least what they say about her is. She gained immortality from ancient gods. We both know you don't make deals with ancient gods, we teach that as part of the curriculum. You don't accept gifts from deities and all that jazz. It's witchcraft 101. All I know is if I had a choice between being normal and being immortal, i'd choose normally any day. Hell I'd probably give it up. Imagine living a life where you couldn't get attached to people because you know that one day they are going to die and you'll be alone. You can met new people but you know that they are going to die too. It's a long circle of death until the world explodes or hell raises over maybe even after that. It would get lonely. Plus, I'd lose you and I couldn't handle that."

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." At least not for now, not today, Cordelia thought.

[ts-into-the-coinverse]

Made of Love, Chapter 28

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Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Fellas, is it gay to cuddle your homies to comfort and give them warmth? Virgil's asking for a friend.

TW: Cursing

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

To say that they watched Logan like a bomb reaching its final digits was an understatement. The rest of the day, Roman, Patton, and Virgil refused to let him out of their sight. Virgil was sure he was annoyed with the constant attention, but he proved too exhausted to argue.

He didn’t recall what happened.

All he felt was pain. His chest ached and he was sure his limbs were being pulled apart from his body, but then he woke up on the couch. From his perspective, it was a mere few seconds between unfusing and waking up at home, when really it was several minutes. Several, tense minutes that stretched to feel like hours. But this also meant they were still lost on what happened.

“Maybe you should head to bed,” Patton said softly near the end of the day. He held Logan's face in his hands. "My stupid, brilliant mage." He brought their foreheads together.

Logan hummed, eyes fluttering closed and wrapping his hands around Patton's wrists. "Some of those words don't seem like they should go together."

"And yet you make it work."

A soft laugh passed Logan's lips. "Don't be mean while I'm gone."

Patton's hands lingered on Logan's face as he stood up. "I won't, I promise."

"Alright. Goodnight, everyone."

They all wished him goodnight before he shuffled down the hall. Patton kept his eyes on him until he disappeared from view. The stress didn't leave with him. There was still a high amount of worry in the air, clinging to their throats.

After a beat of silence, Patton broke it with, "Virgil, let me see your ankle."

Virgil blinked in surprise. He didn't tell Patton about his ankle. He didn't even mention it out loud. And even if he did, he half expected Patton to not do anything about it. "What?"

"I saw the way you were walking. Show me."

He didn't think he made it that obvious. Truth be told, it didn't even hurt all that much. Regardless, he did as he was told.

When Patton pushed his pant leg up, Roman winced at the sight. It was swollen and there were already faint bruises forming around the bone. "How did this happen?"

“Spider Lady decided to web my foot when I was running.” Virgil suppressed a wince when Patton placed his hands on his ankle. Okay, so maybe it hurt a bit more than he thought at first.

“It’s only a sprain.” Almost as if to emphasize it wasn’t that bad, Patton retracted his hands. It looked and felt fine. “Next time, don’t turn your back on a threat.”

Virgil moved his foot around. Nothing protested against the action, so he curled up with his legs on the armchair and offered Patton a tiny thanks.

Patton nodded in acknowledgment, sparing a glance at Roman as he did so. A sad, bitter smile spread across his face. “That’s a familiar look.”

Roman steeled away his expression, almost defensively. “What look?”

“That’s a look Booker always gave me whenever I did something overly Machai.” Catching sight of their minor confusion, he elaborated, “Thomas’s dad.”

“Why would he do that?” Roman asked before Virgil could.

Patton sighed, heavy with memories. “He didn’t trust me at first. He was convinced I would do something to hurt them. Not that I can blame him or anything. The Machai didn't exactly give themselves a household name by being friendly.” He sat back with a small grimace. “We tolerated each other for Logan and Brigida’s sake, but we learned to get along eventually. He didn’t have any more problems with me until… well…” He fidgeted with his fingers. “After Arlene took Logan, I… I did some things I’m not proud of. Things I don’t think Logan would ever forgive me for doing if he ever knew. And I… I think I scared them.” Hurt and regret showed clearly on his face before he shook his head to rid himself of it. “He much preferred Picani, anyway.”

Virgil frowned. "So you didn't get along at first."

Something almost sounding like a laugh left Patton's mouth. "Goodness, no. I mean, Brigida trusted me only because Logan did — and she had never heard of a Machai elf before. But Booker knew what I was from the beginning." He paused. He stared at a blank space on the wall. "Sometimes I could swear he knew the things that I did from the way he looked at me." There was another pause before he composed himself. "It took about a century or two until we actually liked each other."

"Why did he even stay if you didn't like each other?" Roman asked.

Patton didn't look as if he wanted to answer, but visibly reconsidered. "He was staying with Brigida. And Brigida only wanted to stay because she saw that Logan and I were on our own. She practically started mothering us the second she saw we were just two kids by ourselves. There was no way she was leaving."

There was another beat of silence before Roman stood up. "I think I'm gonna head to bed, too." He didn't wait for anyone to respond before leaving the room.

Virgil frowned again. He made to follow after him, but Patton stopped him.

"Virgil wait."

He looked back.

Patton was on his feet with a forlorn expression on his face. He struggled to find the right words. "I'm sorry. For, for everything. I wasn't — I didn't think about how much it would actually hurt you. I just… needed someone to be mad at. It wasn't fair."

Virgil hesitated. He wasn't quite sure how to respond.

“You don’t accept this as a good apology. You don’t ever have to accept any apology, even. I’m going to do whatever I can to make it up to you. I just hope that one day I’ll be able to earn your forgiveness.”

Without thinking much of his answer, yet meaning every single bit of it, he said, “You will.” then left to go check on Roman.

The next morning he woke up content and comfortable. It took his sleepy brain a few seconds too long to realize why that was. And it was because he was in Roman’s bed. With Roman. They were still in their clothes from yesterday, which indicated that they fell asleep during their talk last night. Their legs were tangled together and Roman’s face was buried in Virgil’s chest. He doesn’t remember how they ended up this way, but then he thought back to the very first night they ever spent in this house and how Roman had clung to him then. It seemed Roman just found the closest warm body and latched onto them. Sort of like a leech.

Unfortunately, it meant Virgil was stuck. One of his arms was underneath Roman. With his free hand, he searched blindly for his phone. It was a bit difficult since his hoodie was half off and Roman held onto it as if it would disappear, but he managed. He squinted through his sleepiness and saw it was a bit after ten o’clock. They slept in.

Virgil figured Roman was going to be pretty peeved about it, but maybe he should have woken up earlier.

Right on time, Roman started to stir. He stretched across Virgil like he was unaware he was there at all. Then he opened his eyes. He blinked at Virgil a few times, not saying anything, until he whispered a soft, “Good morning.”

Virgil held back a scoff. “You gonna get up now?”

Roman sighed, snuggling closer to Virgil. “No.”

Of course. Virgil rolled his eyes but didn’t make any intentions to move. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was pretty cozy. It was warm despite the fact that they were on top of the blankets rather than under them. Roman was like a mini heater. “Do you feel any better?”

“Hmm. A little bit.” It sounded like he was going to fall back asleep. “Feel less confused.”

That made one of them at least. During their talk last night, Virgil started to wonder why their experiences were so different. Roman could recall more things about his past life than Virgil could. Not specific details or exact scenes, but enough to recognize there were memories that weren’t his. He admitted that his most vivid dreams were always altered in some way to fit his life. His mom, dad, and siblings used to show up in them, for example, and say things that wouldn’t make any sense — make references he shouldn’t have understood. Yet he did. At least in the dream. And then Virgil started showing up in them the moment they met.

Really, that should have been a hint that something was up, but regardless… Why did Virgil not have the same thing? Assuming that Booker and Brigida died around the same time from similar circumstances, shouldn’t that mean their reincarnations would experience similar things? But that wasn’t the case. It was like Virgil had a vague, shaky connection with Brigida. A faded childhood memory at best. And then there was Roman, who seemed to be stuck in the past as well as the present.

He had no idea how past lives worked. Roman had no idea how past lives work. There was a chance no one else in the house knew either. It was a weird situation all around. Perhaps it was something that could only be learned through experience.

Whatever the fuck that entailed.

Their cuddling was interrupted by a knock at the door, making Roman groan. Virgil felt the vibrations in his chest. Even more so when Roman answered with a cranky, "What?"

Patton popped his head in somewhat hesitantly. He didn't comment on their position or acknowledge it in any way. "I was just wondering if you two were awake for breakfast. I was about to start on it."

Roman grumbled something incoherent.

"We'll be out in a bit," Virgil answered.

Patton left with a nod.

"I'm not moving," Roman mumbled, getting cozier as if to prove his point.

"You're gonna have to eventually. You're really gonna stay in yesterday's clothes all day?"

That was more than enough motivation, so it seemed.

After their small breakfast, Virgil realized they were missing people. He almost didn’t notice due to the last few days of everyone being mad at someone and refusing to even entertain their presence. But they were over that now. Somewhat. “Where are Logan and Thomas?”

“Thomas spent the night with Joan and Talyn,” Patton responded from where he was cleaning the kitchen. “And Logan’s still sleeping.”

“Still?” Roman questioned. “Hasn’t it been like twelve hours?”

"Give or take." He stopped what he was doing with a sigh. "I can't imagine whatever happened to him is easy to recover from. I couldn't… do anything about it."

And that was the worrying part. If Logan had to do this on his own, it wouldn't be good. It was getting rough. As time progressed, it got worse and worse until who knew what would happen next. They had to do something. What that was, they didn’t know. The only solution so far was to get his magic back to him. But no one knew how long that would take. If it ever happened at all.

“I’m sure he’ll bounce back,” Roman said. It almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “Nothing’s been able to keep him down yet.”

Logan still didn’t wake up even as it approached one o’clock. Patton checked up on him every few minutes, unable to stay still in any way. He came back with the same results: still sleeping, but alive. He couldn’t do a thing to change it. Which Virgil assumed must have bothered him. His whole magical identity was about healing people, but he couldn’t help the one person who needed it.

“Alright,” Patton sighed for the millionth time as he walked down the hall. “Thomas needs a ride back and I’m taking him grocery shopping with me. You guys need anything?”

Roman waved his hand without lifting his eyes from the computer screen.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “We’re good, Patton.”

“Call me if anything comes up.” He grabbed his keys and left.

Virgil sighed and put his head back down on the couch. He was scrolling mindlessly through random apps on his phone so he could have something to do. The house was too quiet. Even with Roman grumbling to himself over things about the photo he was editing. The quiet was just different today. Maybe it had to do with the potential doom. Maybe. There was no way to tell for sure.

Either way, Virgil tried not to think about it. The timelines that haunted his dreams had finally backed off. But their images still stayed. He knew too many ways in which this could end. There was a lot. So many. But he also knew that he didn’t know all of them. He wasn’t a Seer. His brain wouldn’t be able to handle all of that information. He didn’t know what was worse; knowing a few timelines or not knowing all of them. Would knowing all of them have better odds? Would it not matter either way? Well, there was one thing he knew for sure — this sure as hell wasn’t helping his anxiety.

He decided to play a game to use his brain for better things.

After twenty minutes or so (in which Roman loudly exclaimed he fucked up something and Virgil loudly ignored him), Logan shuffled down the hall. They didn’t notice him at first — he was so quiet — but when Virgil glanced up he almost dropped his phone on his face. Partly because he was startled. Partly because Logan looked like a goddamn ghost. He was curled in on himself, holding onto his arms like there was a cool chill blowing through him. There were bags growing under his eyes. They didn't look too focused. Like something woke him up before he was ready.

"Where's Patton?" He asked. Was he trembling?

Virgil sat up, alarmed. "He just left. Dude, are you okay?"

"It's cold."

It wasn't. "Yeah. Okay. Come over here." He stood up as Logan walked over to him. He placed a hand on his forehead and pulled back with a hiss. His skin was ice cold. It almost hurt to touch. "Shit. You're freezing." He gently set Logan down on the couch and shot Roman a worried glance.

"I'll make hot chocolate." He took off to the kitchen.

Virgil shrugged off his hoodie and put it around Logan. He was just about swimming in it, but he didn't appear to mind. He curled further into it like a blanket. To aid the heat, Virgil joined him on the couch and brought him close to his side. Even through the fabric Virgil could feel the cold. It was like trying to warm up an ice cube. “What the hell is happening to you?”

Logan shook his head, crawling closer to Virgil’s warmth. “I don’t know.”

He tried to suppress a shiver when their skin touched. God, he was freezing. “I’ll get Roman to call Patton.” He heard the heater turn on and held back a sigh of relief. As much as he wanted to help Logan, he could feel his own heat being seeped out. It wouldn’t do any good if both of them were cold. “Roman —”

“I got it.” He had his phone up to his ear as he walked back into the kitchen.

This time, Virgil did let out a sigh. He could feel Logan shivering still so he wrapped both arms around him and held him closer. Logan was practically in his lap at this point, but neither of them cared to comment on it.

“I’ve never been so cold before,” Logan spoke around chattering teeth. “I didn’t know it was possible.”

“Yeah, well, usually people are in cold places when that happens. Maybe you’re just lucky.” Virgil didn’t understand how Logan's body could be so cold. The house wasn’t even remotely chilly. It was a comfortable temperature. And yet Logan felt like he had been rolling around in the snow.

Roman walked into the living room with a steaming mug. “Patton said he’s on his way.” He handed the mug over. Logan made minimal effort to move and grab it with unsteady hands. Roman frowned at that. “You know, skin-to-skin contact is best for hypothermia.”

Both Logan and Virgil immediately shot that down. “If you try to take off anything, I’ll break your fingers,” Logan added. Though it didn’t sound very threatening with his weak voice and chattering teeth. “And I’m not experiencing hypothermia.”

“How would you know? Most people that experience hypothermia don’t even realize that it’s happening.”

Logan paused. “I hate when you’re right.”

A faint smile twitched at Roman’s lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Be right back.” He left before Virgil could question him. He returned a moment later with an armful of blankets from his room. “I’m not going to try to pretend I know what the fuck is going on, but at least I can try to apply what I do know.” He wrapped the blankets around both of them before joining them on the couch.

Virgil could already feel the warmth the blankets were holding in, but he could also feel how cold Logan still was. There wasn’t much else they could do. Warming up took time. If it worked. And Virgil hoped it worked. He didn’t know what they would do if it didn’t. He didn’t even know what would happen if they didn’t. If a person succumbed to hypothermia, then the end was less than optimal. But this wasn’t a normal case of hypothermia. They were in a warm house in Southern California in the middle of the afternoon. None of those things combined caused hypothermia.

It had to be a magic thing, and if this was a magic thing, then what the hell would be the end outcome? Would it be the same? Would it be worse? Would something else happen? He didn’t fucking know. He doubted Logan even knew; he didn’t seem all that lucid. This was weird and different and stressing Virgil down to his very last nerves.

Patton rushed through the front door not long after. Virgil was almost sure he was going to bust it off its hinges again. Thankfully, it stayed attached, and Thomas trailed in behind him with less urgency and more confusion.

“Are you okay?” Patton kneeled in front of Logan and took his face in his hands. “Oh, honey, you’re freezing. How did this happen to you?”

“We were kind of hoping that you would have some answers,” Virgil replied. “None of us know anything. He just came out like this.”

“Umm,” Thomas stood awkwardly to the side, “did I miss some things?”

Roman, Virgil, and Patton all glanced at each other. Roman was the one to stand up. “Come on,” he led Thomas away, “I’ll catch you up.”

Patton took his spot. “I don’t — I don’t know what this is.” He hesitantly retracted his hands, yet they still hovered. “I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what I’m looking for.” He looked at Virgil, lost and helpless. “There has to be something else you can give me.”

Virgil’s chest twisted. “I’m sorry. I know as much as you.”

He turned his eyes to Logan. “Are you okay? Do you hurt anywhere?”

Logan shook his head. “It’s just cold.”

“I can’t do anything against the cold, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He dropped his hands. “You’re just gonna have to wait for Virgil to warm you up.”

It took a while for that to happen. But after two cups of hot chocolate, a heating pad provided by Roman, Patton fluttering around nervously, and a very sweaty Virgil, Logan wasn’t frozen anymore. The color returned to his cheeks and he fell asleep with his face buried in the crook of Virgil’s neck. This was great for a number of reasons. Number one; Logan wasn’t dead. Number two; Virgil was going to be free from the heat generator they made. And number three; Patton would stop suffocating them with his worry.

It wasn’t a secret that he was upset about not doing anything. Despite things still being awkward between him and Virgil, he couldn’t stay away for long. He would walk away for a minute or two, but then come back and hover nearby. He wasn’t patient. It wasn’t a habit of his to wait around for someone else to make people get better — he made people better. He could heal cuts, bumps, and scrapes… but not sicknesses. And that’s what this was, really. A sickness. Logan was getting sick without his magic, and he would just get sicker and sicker until either he got it back or Altair won.

“I’ll take him off your hands,” Patton whispered. He began to pull back the blanket layers to gather Logan in his arms. Virgil’s hoodie still hung over his shoulders. Before he carried Logan off, he stopped to give Virgil his full attention. “Thank you.”

Virgil paused mid-shrugging off blankets to stare at him. “For what?”

“For helping him.”

“It’s not like I would have let him freeze.”

“I know, but…” He glanced down. “I was completely useless. I, I wasn’t able to do anything. And I probably won’t be able to do anything in the future. So it… it just means a lot to me to know that someone else cares.”

Virgil considered his words. “We all care.”

“And I’ve never been more grateful for that.”

Virgil watched him go without another word. He continued to push off the blankets so he could cool off. He considered, for a moment, if this was the first time Patton ever had to put Logan’s life in someone else’s hands. But he had a funny feeling that wasn’t true.

The next morning, he woke up to find his hoodie at the foot of his bed. A purple patch over the hole in his pocket that he hadn’t had time to fix.

(Next)

[almostafantasia]

Three’s a Crowd

What do you mean it isn’t Day 3 of Clexa Week anymore? Have this fic anyway - a twist on the ‘only one bed’ trope that actually involves zero beds!

Summary:  Clarke and Lexa, who are in the early stages of a secret relationship, go on a group camping trip and manage to end up sharing a tent. Unfortunately for them and their budding relationship, when there’s a fault with one of the other tents, they end up with an entirely unsuspecting third wheel lying between them.

Clexa Week 2019 - Day 3: ‘Only One Bed’

Read on AO3.

A tent should not be this hard to put together.

Before this camping trip, Lexa had been so certain that setting up a tent would be a skill embedded into her lesbian DNA, like building a set of shelves, or always being able to unscrew the lid on a jar.

Lexa couldn’t have been more wrong.

She lets out a frustrated huff as the tent pole she’s spent the better part of five minutes trying to wrangle into the right place springs free once more, causing the entire roof of the tiny blue tent to collapse until it resembles nothing more than a misshapen pile of canvas on the ground. Lexa is just about ready to donate the entire thing to the kindling for the campfire flickering in the centre of their little circle of half-constructed tents and sheepishly ask Bellamy if she can spend the night sleeping on the back seat of his truck instead.

“Need a hand?”

Lexa glances up only momentarily at Clarke, who wanders over from the campfire she helped Lincoln to ignite, before she wraps her hand resolutely around the offending pole and tries to force it once against into the right position.

“I’ve got this,” Lexa tells Clarke, though even as she says the words, the pole springs out of her grasp again.

“Of course you do.”

Lexa drags her eyes back up to Clarke, who seems to be finding extraordinary amusement in watching Lexa struggle with a tent, and glowers at her.

“I know you think you’re being scary and intimidating when you glare at me like that,” says Clarke, dropping down into a squatting position next to Lexa so that she can reach out and cup Lexa’s jaw, “but you’re just too pretty for it to work.”

Lexa continues to glare for a few moments, until Clarke’s thumb brushes tenderly across her cheek, and she softens under the touch and Clarke’s compliment. She turns her head ever so slightly, making to press her lips against Clarke’s hand, before she remembers that they’re in the middle of a very open campsite with most of their close friends lurking nearby, pulling her head away from Clarke’s hand at the last minute.

Lexa watches the disappointment flash across Clarke’s face, and has to look away in shame.

“Would it really be so bad if anybody saw?”

Lexa considers Clarke’s question carefully. They’ve discussed this a few times over the last few weeks, first deciding that they would keep it to themselves as they navigated the first few dates, not wanting to disrupt the wider friendship circle in which they both belong, in case things didn’t work out. More recently, it has been a case of waiting for the right moment to tell their friends that they’re dating. Lexa knows that they’re both ready to go public, but she wants to tell her friends, not let them find out by accidentally noticing them kissing in the middle of a campsite.

“Well, no,” admits Lexa. “But we agreed we’d wait until Octavia and Anya join us tomorrow and tell them all together.”

“I know,” concedes Clarke, nodding her head in acknowledgement. “Though I’m pretty sure they already know.”

“They do?”

“I mean, they invited us on a couples’ camping trip.”

“It’s not a coup-”

Lexa trails off as her eyes fall upon Bellamy and Echo, setting up their own two-person tent a few yards away, then turns her head to watch Raven pitching the tent she’ll be sharing with Anya from tomorrow. When Anya and Octavia arrive after their soccer game tomorrow morning, they will indeed be a party made up of four couples, even if Clarke and Lexa’s budding relationship hasn’t been officially made public to their friends yet.

“Shit,” mutters Lexa. “I guess it is a couples’ trip.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you with the tent?” asks Clarke, gesturing to the abandoned pile of canvas and poles. “Because if we’ve got nothing to sleep in, I’m definitely snuggling up to Lincoln. Octavia says he’s like a space heater at night.”

Lexa feels a little beast of jealousy stir in her chest at the thought of Clarke cuddling with somebody else, despite knowing that Clarke and Lincoln will never be anything more than good friends.

“Fine,” concedes Lexa, beckoning Clarke closer. “I don’t know how you’re supposed to put one of these together on your own.”

With four hands, the tent gets set up in no time. Lexa wants to pout and whine about her defeat at the hands of an inanimate object, but she finds it hard to be in a sour mood with Clarke by her side.

As night starts to fall, their little group all congregates around the fire lit by Lincoln and Clarke earlier on. As Bellamy and Echo put themselves in charge of cooking dinner, Lexa sets up two camping chairs, relieved that it takes about five seconds to unfold them, rather than needing to ask for a second pair of hands to help. She takes a seat in one and is happy when Clarke drops into the second, draping a blanket across both their laps, allowing Lexa to fumble for Clarke’s hand and knot their fingers together out sight of their friends.

The disappearance of the sun behind the copse of trees on the edge of the campsite brings with it a cold night chill, as the sky that was so beautifully clear and sunny during the day provides no cloud cover to ward off the cold. When not even the dying flames of the campfire and the thick blankets they’re all wrapped up under are enough to keep them warm, the group very quickly bids each other goodnight and disperses into their separate tents.

“I hope you don’t mind me cuddling you for warmth,” says Lexa, bundled up in thick fleece pants and a hoodie, though a traitorous shiver forces her to climb beneath the pair of sleeping bags that she and Clarke have unzipped and laid out as blankets.

“Please, I was counting on it,” grins Clarke, as she takes a seat on the tent floor and wriggles her way under the covers.

Clarke takes the extra blanket that they used to keep them warm outside and drapes it over their bodies too, then shuffles closer to Lexa. One of her arms finds its way around Lexa’s back, pulling their bodies flush against each other.

“In fact,” whispers Clarke, their faces inches apart, “I can think of other ways to stay warm.”

Clarke’s hand dips lower, beneath the fabric of Lexa’s pants, and Lexa lets out a little yelp of surprise as Clarke’s cold hand comes into contact with the warm skin of her ass, palming the flesh suggestively.

“I’m not having sex with you in a tent,” hisses Lexa, shaking her head resolutely. “The walls are so thin that they’re made of canvas! The others will hear us.”

“Only because you can’t be quiet,” teases Clarke.

Clarke leans in for a kiss, which Lexa gladly accepts, and she lets herself get lost in the push and pull of Clarke’s lips for a few glorious seconds. Until Clarke’s other hand, the one not shamelessly groping Lexa’s butt, dips between Lexa’s legs and applies a certain pressure through the material of her pyjama pants.

Their lips break apart as Lexa’s lets out a gasp, and she indulges in Clarke’s touch for only a fraction of a second, before remembering where they are. Her fingers quickly wrap around Clarke’s wrist and drag her girlfriend’s hand away.

“Not here,” Lexa insists.

Clarke grumbles incoherently but keeps her hand away, withdrawing the other from the back of Lexa’s pants. Lexa presses her lips to Clarke’s again, drawing her into another kiss as an apology. Clarke kisses her back gently, her hand finding a much more chaste position on the back of Lexa’s head, with her fingers tangling into Lexa’s long hair. Her fingertips caress Lexa’s scalp, and Lexa can’t help but moan softly into Clarke’s waiting mouth.

“Shhh,” Clarke giggles against Lexa’s lips. “I thought you didn’t want anybody to hear us.”

“It’s not my fault,” whines Lexa, burying her face in Clarke’s neck. “It’s not like I want to make those sounds. You’re just too good at…”

A sharp crack of a twig snapping outside their tent cuts Lexa off mid-sentence. She lifts her head, peering at Clarke through the darkness to silently ask if she hears the noise too, but before she has time to say anything, the zip of their tent is drawn open with a rasp that penetrates the otherwise silent night.

Within half a second, Clarke has shot across the small tent, putting a foot between their previous entwines bodies, just in time for a familiar head to peer through the new opening to the outdoors.

“The zip on my tent is broken,” says Raven, apparently oblivious to the moment she’s just interrupted between the two girls. The rest of Raven’s body follows her head into the tent, and she turns to zip it back up behind her as she continues, “It’s freezing in there. I hope you don’t mind me joining you.”

Lexa opens her mouth to protest that actually, yes she does mind Raven showing up unannounced and interrupting her cuddles with Clarke, then closes it again as Raven throws her sleeping bag into the newly made gap between Clarke and Lexa before settling herself down there too.

“Can’t you share with Lincoln?” asks Clarke.

“Are you kidding?” snorts Raven. “And have to explain to Octavia when she arrives, that I spent the night spooning her boyfriend?”

Lexa glances at Clarke over Raven’s head and they share a glance, before quickly looking away before she betrays how she really feels about Raven sharing their tent for the night.

“But this is only a two-person tent,” Clarke tries to protest. “There won’t be room for three of us.”

“We can be close,” Raven dismisses Clarke’s complaint. “And it’ll help us stay warm. Lexa will be my little spoon, won’t you Lexa?”

Lexa glances at Clarke again, seeking out her permission. Clarke’s expression is displeased, but after a few long moments of consideration, Clarke shrugs and settles back down amongst the warm pile of sleeping bags and blankets.

“Of course,” Lexa tells Raven, rolling over so that her back is facing Raven. “But no funny business, okay.”

“Funny business from me?” replies Raven, as she settles under the covers and presses herself to Lexa’s back to share body heat. “It’s you two I need to watch out for. I’m the only one in this tent with a girlfriend!”

Somewhere behind her, Lexa hears Clarke snort. Raven doesn’t seem to notice the noise.

“Well, goodnight,” says Raven, her warm breath hitting the back of Lexa’s neck. “Sleep tight.”

It’s a long night.

At some point in the night, an arm finds its way across Lexa’s body. Lexa decides that it must belong to Raven at first, until she realises that Raven is snoring contentedly between her and Clarke. The fingers of the hand find Lexa’s and knit together, and Lexa knows that they belong to Clarke, her arm draped across Raven between them under the pretence of cuddling for warmth, so that a small part of her can still be close to Lexa despite the circumstances.

Lexa wakes with the sunlight. Raven’s body is still pressed into her own, with Clarke’s arm draped lossely across both of them. Lexa extracts herself carefully and wraps a blanket around her shoulder, then unzips the tent flap and steps outside, before closing the tent behind her.

Outside, the morning air is brisk and sends a fresh shiver through Lexa’s body, but the sky is light and bears a promise of a glorious day. With the blanket still draped across her shoulders, Lexa gets to work lighting the campfire again, carefully placing the pieces of firewood and igniting the kindling below. It takes several minutes for the flame to start flickering in earnest, but Lexa’s pride at the accomplishment following her failure with the tent yesterday, burns as strong within her chest as the fire in front of her.

“How long have you been awake?”

Lexa’s head snaps up when she hears Clarke’s voice behind her, and she smiles fondly as she sees Clarke’s sleep-tousled head emerge from the tent.

“Not long,” Lexa answers truthfully.

“I’m sorry about Raven,” says Clarke, traipsing over to Lexa and adjusting the blanket so that it covers both of their shoulders. Her arms winds its way around Lexa’s waist and Clarke presses her body into Lexa’s side as she continues, “I wanted it to be just the two of us.”

“I know you did,” laughs Lexa, recalling Clarke’s wandering hands just moments before Raven interrupted them. “But hopefully it was just one night. Anya gets here today - let’s hope she brings a spare tent.”

“I hope so too,” agrees Clarke. “I want you all to myself.”

Lexa wraps the blanket around them fully, trapping them both inside its soft warmth, and dips her head just enough to be able to press a kiss to Clarke’s lips. Clarke hums appreciatively and kisses Lexa back, bringing one hand out of their blanket cocoon to cup Lexa’s cheek.

“What the actual fuck?”

They break apart suddenly, each jumping backward so that the blanket falls to the grassy floor and there are several feet between them. Behind them, Raven’s tousled sticks out through the opening to the tent, mouth hanging open and eyes wide with incredulity.

“You two…?” starts Raven, still gaping between them. “You’re…? Since when?”

Lexa’s mouth is too dry for her to be able to answer, but thankfully Clarke steps in and says, “A few weeks. It’s still quite new.”

Raven continues to stare, then says dumbfoundedly, “You and Lexa?” Her faze flicks across to Lexa, and she adds, “You and Clarke?”

“It’s not that hard to understand,” shrugs Clarke, closing the gap between herself and Lexa again and taking Lexa’s hand in her own. “We really like each other.”

“Hang on,” says Raven, her face contorting into a thoughtful frown. “I’ve just spent the night sleeping between you.”

“Oh,” Lexa laughs and shakes her head in disbelief at the same time, “we’re very aware of that.”

A grimace crosses Raven’s face and a shudder wracks her body.

“Ugh, that’s so embarrassing.”

A phone goes off inside the tent and Raven disappears for a few second, before emerging once more with the ringing phone in her hand.

“It’s Anya,” she explains to Clarke and Lexa, as she lifts the phone to her ear. “Hey, babe! You’ll never guess who I just caught kissing.” Raven pauses expectantly, then a look of surprise flashes across her face. “How did you know it was Clarke and Lexa? What do you mean you figured it out a couple of weeks ago? And you didn’t think to tell me? I just spent the night sharing a tent with them and I had no idea!”

Lexa laughs softly under her breath as Raven continues to talk exasperatedly at Anya over the phone, and pulls Clarke in for the embrace that got so rudely interrupted moments earlier.

“I guess they all know,” she says to Clarke, as Clarke relaxes into her arms and rests her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “We’ve gone public.”

“We’ve gone public,” Lexa repeats back, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” asks Clarke, lifting her head so that she can look Lexa in the eye.

Lexa glances across at Raven, who is still talking rapidly into her phone.

“They spooned me, Anya! I was lying between them and they spooned me.”

Lexa sniggers to herself, and then says, “Not for us, at least. I think we might have traumatised Raven though!”

[iamvegorott]

Bulletproof

Veggie, I love you but you brought this upon yourself with that last UL Chapter. <3

_____________________________________

It was about twelve-thirty at night when Chase got the call. Sitting on the couch half asleep, he answered the phone with a groggy greeting. The response was a shaky “Ch-Chase?” and a couple of sniffles followed. Immediately, the man straightened up.

“St-Stacy? Where were you? I’ve been up waiting for you.”

“I… Ch-Chase, they’re gone.”

“Gone? Who- Who’s gone?”

There was no response, only a couple more sniffling sounds.

Chase jumped to his feet. “WHO’S GONE, STACY?”

“The… kids.”

Now it was Chase’s turn to be silent. He stared at the carpet, trying to find a loophole in what Stacy said.

“Y-You mean they ran away.” His voice was soft this time, almost pleading. “They ran away, but couldn’t tell you where to.”

“No, Chase. They… they… they were shot.”

“Penny……Lucas….. Wh- Why? What did- WHAT DID WE DO? WE WERE PAYING THE SHARKS JUST TO SEE THEM!”

“I…. I needed it.”

Silence hung in the air thick enough to drip down the phone. The idea was too much.

“Chase? Did… Did you hear me? I… I needed it. And… more. I needed… I needed a car for my job.”

No response. Stacy tried again.

“Ch-Chase? Honey?”

“A car.” Chase could barely hear his own words, “You needed…… a car.”

“Well yeah, I need to get to my job –”

“I drive you to your job, Stacy.” As quiet as a mouse, Chase sunk back down to the couch.

“But like, that takes twice the time and we work at different times of the day. I want to have some independence for myself. I can’t be dependent on your half-broken car all the time.”

“So… you TRADED… our OWN CHILDREN. For a CAR?”

“I… no, I… I just wanted a small loan… I didn’t want this. Don’t yell at me, I… I didn’t want this…”

Chase couldn’t see anymore; his living room had turned into three blurred colors and was spinning fast so he closed his eyes. He couldn’t hold it back any longer so he started sobbing. Not the sort of sobbing where it’s held back – as to not disturb those around or the peace of the night, but ugly sobbing no holds barred. There was no further response from the call.

Then, a minute later, a quiet voice stated, “Chase, I’m… I’m going to get a room at the Best Western. Goodnight.” And the line went dead.

Chase replaced the phone in his hand with his face and the electronic fell onto the carpet at his feet. His world was swimming and the lights in the room were too bright. The cicadas outside were too loud. His heart hurt too much; he felt like he was having cardiac arrest. His nails dug into his forehead just so he could feel something. His mind was spinning and could only focus on one thought – his pride and joy, the one thing that got him through the day no matter what, his beautiful twin children, were now both dead. The thought of them lying on the dirty concrete floor with glass eyes and white skin, no longer able to smile or laugh or run or use their lovely voices again was too much to handle. Everything was too much to handle. He craved for some silence. Perhaps, for a forever silence. A silence where he wouldn’t have nightmares of his kids. Where he didn’t have to worry about his wife’s money habits. Where there was no more money, no stress, no pressure. Where he didn’t have to think anymore.

He scrambled off of the couch towards the decorative table by the front door. They had decided to keep a 9mm pistol in the drawer there for strict emergencies only. It had only been fired once – at a shooting range so Penny and Lucas knew what it sounded like. He took it back with him to the couch. He felt his arm rise like it already knew what to do without request. He closed his eyes and said a prayer. He was already picturing his children’s faces -beaming at him and running for a hug. He pulled the trigger.

The loud bang broke the peace of the house and the metallic stench of gunpowder filled his nose. But he was still breathing. His tears were still falling. The clink-clink of the cartridge on the glass table in front of him made his eyes snap open. The front end of the bullet was all smashed like it had smacked a wall. Chase felt his head but there was no dent, wound, opening. As if it was all a joke. He tried again, and nothing changed except a second bullet falling- damaged.

He started whispering hysterically. “no… no no no…. nononononono”

He shot the table in front of him as a test. Sure enough, the tabletop shattered into a million pieces scattering over the carpet.

He pulled at his hair. This wasn’t happening. This was a cruel trick. Not real. He was human, wasn’t he? Perhaps they were bouncing off his bones for some reason. Just a bad spot. After all, he hadn’t tried this before. He unloaded two consecutively into his chest, but nothing happened. He tried his leg and then even his abdomen. Nothing worked. They each bounced off like the first. He went to try on his arm – but the gun clicked. The magazine was out. The cartridges were spent. His head spun more. Perhaps it was dark magic. He had to call Marvin. Maybe he could fix this.

Chase picked up the phone from the floor and dialed. It went to voicemail, so he tried again. By the second ring, the line picked up.

“Chase? What the heck, man it’s almost one-thirty in the morning. Need a drinking buddy or something?”

“Marvin, I’m cursed.” Chase choked back on some tears as he awaited Marvin’s reply. He was visibly shaking pacing around his living room.

“Cursed? Come on man, I’m not THAT bad. I messed with your skateboard a little but you didn’t get- are you crying?”

“I can’t. Marvin you’ve gotta help me. The gun- the gun won’t. And I need. I NEED. I. Stacy went and. And I.”

“Chase, what? What did Stacy do?”

Marvin had to repeat himself again louder because Chase started loudly wailing on the other end. All Marvin could hear was incoherent sobbing with words like ‘bullets’, ‘Stacy’, ‘money’, ‘gun’, ‘Penny’, ‘Lucas’, ‘loud’, ‘dead’, and ‘done’ being repeated in between mumbling. Marvin put the phone on speaker as he texted Henrik, but putting the ravings on a louder volume only made Marvin panic more. Yeah, the two men didn’t really get along, but he still clearly needed help.

“Chase? Chase, I’m getting Henrik and we’re going to teleport to your place. Help’s on the way, just stay put.”

The response Marvin got was slightly quieter sobbed mumbling. Marvin popped to Henrik’s and sure enough, the line was dead from the lost signal. The two men quickly teleported – with Henrik holding Marvin’s arm in a death grip – to Chase’s living room where they were met with the sight of the shattered table, the littered bullets, and a half-drunk bottle of cheap whiskey held by a very very broken man with a damp shirt and a puffed face. Marvin ran over to get Chase to sit down, but Henrik became occupied by the knock at the door and the clear red and blue flashing lights that outlined. He put on his best face before opening the door and stepping out onto the porch to face two very large police officers. His doctor license gave him a lot of credibility for taking control of the situation, but he had to call on a few favors and give a couple bribes in order to get the policemen to leave.

Marvin searched Chase’s face. Since they had gotten there, the tearful man had been constantly mumbling and unable to give a straight sentence. Marvin thought he got most of the situation though and even materialized a bullet and silencer (since the police were right outside) for Chase to show him. He denied Chase’s requests to kill him, instead of explaining that perhaps this is what fate has decided. He had a chance to change his life – to perhaps start over and to use this to his advantage. Eventually, by about two-thirty in the morning, Chase’s energy had finally spent and he passed out in Marvin’s arms. Not long after, the three men teleported back to where they had created a ‘base’. The road to recovery began.

_____________________

Love, Love, my friend, don’t be tempting me to write my versian of this. Because I will And it’s terrible

Also, I loved this so much!!!

[sswifts]

New Year’s Day

Based on New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift :))))

You and Dylan throw a New Year’s party in his apartment.

You can listen to the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEmcVL1WJgk

11:59 pm, December 31, 2017

“Three…two…one! Happy New Year!!!” cheers sounded all through the apartment, people throwing their arms in the air and taking swigs of their drinks.

Dylan placed his hands on your lower back, kissing you softly and gently but still making you melt. Your hands moved up from his neck to his cheeks and pushed your body closer to his, feeling warm but more than anything, you felt at home.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he whispered to you, forehead against forehead. You tried not to smile so big, but couldn’t help the grin that overtook your face.

“Happy New Year to you,” you replied. You place another kiss to his lips; short and sweet.

A guy you didn’t know that well raised his red cup in the air and everybody turned to look at him as he began to speak.

“Hey thanks to Dylan for throwing this fucking awesome party!” he toasted, and everybody else agreed by raising their cups and drinking.

You turned back to the man of the hour, your man, and motioned your hands in front of you aimlessly.

“Guess you’re pretty popular now,” you said, winking at him as you took him by the arm and led him to dance.

“Haha, very funny,” he replied, rolling his eyes as he followed after you.

2:47 am, January 1, 2017

The music had stopped playing a while ago but nobody seemed to notice. People were chatting quietly, some stumbling around with half empty drinks. Streamers and glitter covered the floor, the dreadful thought of having to clean it all up soon passing through your mind. All your closest girlfriends stumbled up to you to bid their goodbyes. They gave you long, drawn out hugs and mumbled incoherent words that sounded something like “I love you so much I hope you get some tonight”.

You hadn’t drank that much; you just shared a cup with Dylan all night so you made sure all your friends got cabs and nobody forgot their heels, which had been taken off at midnight as a celebratory declaration that they were going to “dance forever this year”, as their tipsy mouths had put it.

Dylan’s best friend, Tyler Posey, had left earlier, asking you once more before he left if you were sure you didn’t want him to stay and help out in any way.

“No, I got it. Me and Dyl will definitely clean this up tomorrow, though, not right now.” You assured him, rubbing his arm as you led him to the door.

He kissed your temple and wrapped his muscular arms around you. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you guys later. Goodnight, Y/N.” he smiled at you in the doorway.

“Night, Posey.” You said, closing the apartment door as he turned and walked down to the elevator.

As the last of your friends left, Dylan came up behind you sleepily and wrapped his big arms around the front of you, squeezing you but not too tight. You felt secure, happy, safe. You laid your arms on top of his and smiled down at the way you two looked together. You were both so in love with each other and it never failed to make you feel fuzzy and tingly inside.

“M’sleepy, babe,” Dylan mumbled into your collarbone, then turning you around to face him.

“You should go get in bed, then. I’ll be there in a second.” You said, lifting his head to look into his amber eyes. You placed a soft and lazy kiss on his lips. Dylan smiled at you then let go of your body and made his way to the bathroom.

You smiled at his form disappearing into the unlit room, thinking about what your friends had said earlier.

“I hope you get some tonight, Y/N,” they had told you, giggling and placing their fingers to their lips like it was a secret that you had sex with your boyfriend.

You wrapped your arms around your torso where Dylan’s had just been, holding yourself and smiled. You realized how tired you were as well and watched him leave the bathroom after brushing his teeth, also having replaced his dark jeans with gray sweats and taking his shirt off. You thought about how much better this was than “getting some”.

You let your arms fall down and walked to the bedroom, changing into your own pajamas; a pair of sweats that matched Dylan’s and a Mets t-shirt. You wiped your face clean of your makeup in the bathroom and followed suit after Dylan, brushing your teeth last and climbing under the covers.

Dylan rolled to face you and opened his eyes.

“The party was fun, babe,” he said in a low voice, sleep taking over him. You smiled even though the bedroom was dark and curled up next to him, one leg laying over his and your head against his pec.

“Mhm,” you agreed, snuggling closer to your love. Neither of you said anything else.

11:52 am

You woke up and the sun shone through the window, making you squint and rub your eyes. You realized how cold your feet felt and wiggled your body as if cocooning yourself deeper into the mattress and blankets.

Dylan’s hand shifted when you did, and you discovered in your sleep that you had rolled onto your other side but he never let go of you. His arm tightened around you and pulled your backside closer to his front. You felt his bicep flex and exhaled contentedly, wriggling your butt against his crotch.

“Mm,” he said. You grinned as he started to wake up, moving your hips back and forth against his sweats.

“Mmmm,” he said again and you let out a small laugh.

“Babe,” he lifted his head and pushed your hair aside, kissing your shoulder and neck then your cheek.

“Yeah?” you said casually, as if what you were doing wasn’t turning him on, even if he was only half awake.

He flipped you over to face him, pinching at your side because he knows how ticklish you are there.

“Ah – hey!” you squealed. You jumped up from the mattress then lay back down, shielding yourself with the blankets up to your chin and your face against Dylan’s chest. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you all over your head.

“We gotta clean up everything from last night.” He said into your hair.

You groaned and didn’t make any movements to get up and start.

“As much as I’d love to stay right here,” Dylan said as he ran his fingers through your hair and you hummed at the feeling.

Throughout the afternoon, both of you finally exited the bedroom, got something to eat, and started cleaning the apartment. You laughed at the Polaroid pictures people had taken then left forgotten on the floor. You disposed them with the rest of the trash, because most of them were too embarrassing. And although you had tried to make sure everyone remembered to take their shoes and other belongings with them when they left, you still had some coats and lipsticks lying around. By late afternoon, there wasn’t that much glitter remaining on the floor, but you vacuumed and picked up every piece you could see. The trash was full of red cups and bottles and streamers among food crumbs and plastic utensils and champagne corks.

You and Dylan put all the cleaning supplies away and spent the rest of the day relaxing. You were cuddling on the couch, your feet stretched out in front of you and your legs intertwined. He had an arm over your shoulder and your arm was behind his back pressed into the couch. Your body curled into his side and you held hands in between your bodies.

“Happy New Year’s Day,” he said, running his thumb over your hand. You laughed at his goofiness and squeezed his hand.

“Happy New Year’s Day, Dyl,” you repeated.

“You and me, baby. It’s our year.” He said. You leaned up to look at him.

“Why this year?” you asked. He shrugged.

“I don’t know. Because we barely saw each other this year since I was always working.” He said, but you could tell he was just giving you a random reason.

You turned and laid your head against him again and shook your head.

“No, not this year. Not just this year. You and me forever.” You corrected.

He looked down at you, your forehead and the bridge of your nose since it was all he could see. His lips curled up into a smile as he looked over at your hands together.

“You’re right, Y/N.” he agreed, and you nodded your head.

You sat in silence for a moment.

“You and me forevermore.” He said quietly, and kissed the top of your head.

Let me know what you think! There’s an idea I have for a Stiles Stilinski Christmas story but I haven't started it and.....yeah. I’m just being lazy.

Thank you SO much to @minhosmeanhoe and @mf-despair-queen for starting Holi-Dyl’s because I haven't written or FINISHED a fic in so long and this is getting me back into the groove of it. I love both of yall’s writing so much and I’m really excited to see everyone else’s work if you participate in Holi-Dyl’s week!!!!!!

[bestmarvelmate]

1:57 AM (Steve x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2,595

Genre: Regular People AU/Fluffy Cuteness

Warning(s): None :-)

Summary: The Reader has been best friends with Steve for three years, but recently those “best friend” feelings have begun to change.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this one. Personally I think it is one of my better ones. I hope you enjoy! Requests are open!

(Y/N) = Your Name

(Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

You and Steve met freshman year of college and instantly clicked. He was kind, caring, funny. The perfect guy-friend.

When junior year rolled around you both jumped at the chance to no longer have to live on campus. At first you both began to look for your own apartments but soon found out that that was an expensive endeavor and the only way to make it manageable was to find a roommate. And who better that your best friend? You and Steve found a reasonably priced apartment and moved in together.

At first it was a little awkward. Sure you and Steve had spent every waking moment together before this. He had been the first face you saw when you woke up and met at a little cafe a few blocks from campus for an early morning energy boost. And he had been the last face you saw before you went to bed when the two of you would study together at one of your favorite locations: the park, the library, or the pier.

But ever since you had moved in together regular things you used to do together took on a different tone. Friendly study sessions turned into fleeting, sidelong glances at each other and previously engaging conversations had begun to be replaced with semi-awkward silences.

You had thought moving in with your best friend would be the perfect idea, until your stomach began to flip whenever he would say your name or look at you. And you couldn’t stop the thought that you lived together, like a couple, from slipping into your head whenever Steve would ask if you wanted to go home. You berated yourself for those thoughts. You and Steve were just friends. Just friends. Nothing more. Yet you couldn’t help the smile that would creep across your face at the idea.

You wanted to ask Steve out but the possibility that you had been reading the recent change in your relationship wrong and would get rejected, therefore, ruining your perfect friendship, was too much of a risk for you. So you just continued to smash down and ignore your ever growing feelings. Though it was getting harder and harder and you were worried that you might say something that you would regret.

Steve had texted you earlier that he, Sam, and Bucky were going to go out for a few drinks so you didn’t worry when he didn’t come back to the apartment. You enjoyed the peace and quiet and used your time alone to study for an upcoming exam. After three hours you felt as if your eyeballs were going to fall out of their sockets. Your phone pinged with an incoming message. It was from the teacher of the one class you had tomorrow morning at 8 AM. He was canceling class due to a bad case of food poisoning. Now that you had no early obligations tomorrow and you had just gotten all of your studying out of the way you decided to unwind by watching old Disney movies.

You had an entire collection of original Disney movies on VHS from when you were little and Steve had just bought you a newer VCR to use since your last one had stopped working. After changing into your pajamas you padded into the living room. Sliding the Aladdin VHS tape from its worn cardboard cover you slide it into the VCR, snatch up the remote, and snuggle into the couch. With a sigh you wrapped your Disney Princess blanket (also a past birthday present from Steve) tightly around you and press play.

You began to nod off towards the end. The stresses of the day catching up with you. The last thing you saw before your eyes slid shut was Jasmine kissing Jafar (yuck).

Steve looked at his watch, the green digital numbers glowed back at him reading 1:57 AM. He had been out a little longer than anticipated. Sam and Bucky had invited him out to a bar, seeing as he hadn’t seen them in a while, he agreed. However, time seemed to have gotten away from them in the dirty, little hole-in-the-wall pub. It was 7:30 when he went in and 1:23 when he came out.

Luckily for him he didn’t have any classes tomorrow morning so he could sleep in as late as he wanted. You, however, did. So Steve was trying to be extra quiet as not to wake you at this ungodly hour. He knew that if he woke you he would be in for it.

Carefully fishing his keys from his pocket he inserted the stainless steel key into the keyhole of your shared apartment. The door creaked open and Steve pinched his eyes shut, holding his breath. Slowly he squeezed through the opening he made to avoid the door making anymore noise and locked it behind him with a soft click.

Steve’s ears pricked at the sound of TV static coming from your small, shared living room. Keeping his footsteps light, Steve made his way down the hall and around the corner. He halted when he saw your sleeping figure on the couch, face illuminated by the soft glow of the snow on the TV, Princess blanket half on you half on the floor.

With a soft chuckle Steve approached your side and and smoothed back your hair from your face to give you a light kiss on on the forehead. You looked so peaceful, so perfect like this. Turning off the TV, Steve scooped you up, careful not to wake you, and carried you to your bedroom. Laying you down gently, he made sure to cover your entire body with your blanket.

When Steve went to pull away from you he felt something soft and warm grip his hand. He looked down to see your smaller appendage holding his. You mumble a nearly incoherent “stay” that made Steve’s heart speed up. At first he thought you were just sleep talking, but then, in the faint light streaming through your bedroom curtains, he saw you open your eyes. Shiny (Y/E/C) orbs staring at him you added an equally quite “please,” to which Steve squeezed your hand to in agreement.

He peeled out of his jacket and stripped down to his boxers and and white t-shirt he had been wearing under his navy blue sweater. Slowly, carefully, Steve crawled into bed next to you. You laid on your left side, back facing him, while he laid on his back, staring blankly at the white ceiling of your room. Your bedroom. Steve was in your bedroom, in your bed, laying next to you. You both laid in silence so long that Steve began to question if you were even awake anymore. That was until you spoke.

“You were out late.” You stated.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I swear that place is like some kind of time warp,” Steve apologized.

“Time flies when you’re having fun.���

“Why were you on the couch?”

“My class tomorrow got cancelled. Food poisoning.” You said.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Steve said then quickly added, “For you. Not your teacher.”

You let out a quiet laugh before you both fell back into silence for a few more minutes.

“(Y/N)?” Steve whispered, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?” You shifted under your Princess blanket.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

You rolled over to face Steve. Your beautiful face glowed lightly, dark shadows cast on your delicate features, as you watched him intensely in the half-light. Steve was so lost in tracing your facial features with his eyes that he had forgotten what he wanted to say.

“Uh. Um, I-. Wow. This is a lot harder with you staring at me.”

You laughed, “Would you like me to roll back over?”

“Yes, please.”

Steve took a deep breath.

“I’ve been wanting to ask … What I’ve been …” Steve sighed. “Would you like to go out? With me I mean.”

Steve felt you stiffen next to him and he immediately regretted his words. Maybe he had only been imagining the glances he thought he saw you steal of him when you thought he wasn’t looking. Maybe those awkward silences that had been happening more and more often had been just that; awkward silences. Slowly you rolled over to face him again. Your face was blank, void of any emotion, and that scared Steve.

You opened your mouth and took in a sharp lung full of air. “You mean like a date?”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Steve mumbled self-consciously, averting his eyes from your face, instead focusing them over your shoulder on a photo of you and him from last year on the Fourth of July that was perched on your desk. He smiled inwardly at the memory of the fun day you had spent together.

“Sure.” You breathed out.

Steve blinked a few times, refocusing his eyes back to your blushing face, and taking a moment to take in your answer. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you looked down.

Steve’s surprised expression slowly melted away as he broke into a huge smile.

“Awesome.” Steve couldn’t hold back the dopey smile that had taken over his face. “Great. Okay.”

You both lapsed into a comfortable silence, staring into each other’s eyes, reflecting smiles. Steve didn’t know how long you both laid like this, sidebyside, just lost in eachother. Your eyes began to droop and you let out a yawn, face scrunching up.

“You look really cute when you yawn, like a kitten.” Steve said smiling.

Your cheeks reddened and you pulled your blanket up over your head to hide yourself.

“Steve,” you let out a muffled whine.

“What?” He chuckled. “It’s true.”

You pulled down the blanket so just your eyes were showing and glared and him. Steve just looked at with an amused twinkle in his eyes.  You rolled your eyes and turned your back to him. With a breathy sigh you wished him a goodnight.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Steve said, making himself comfortable before closing his eyes.

Steve fell asleep with a smile on his face and your beautiful face burned I to the backs of his eyelids.

The sun beaming through your pale curtains tugged you from your slumber.

The first thought through your head was “damn I really need to get better curtains.” Which was immediately followed by “shit why didn’t my alarm go off?! I’m going to miss class!” When you tried to move you found that you were pinned to the bed by an arm laid across your waist. Your heart rate spiked in fear until the memories of last night began to flood your mind causing a blush to creep across your cheeks.

Slowly you tried to slide out from under Steve’s arm but he let out a groan and pulled you flush against his chest. You struggle for a moment trying to break his iron grip but it was hopeless. With a defeated sigh you resigned to just lay there in his arms. In Steve’s arms. You had to restrain a girly squeal for escaping you. You continued to lay there trying to relax but your heart was beating too fast and you were too aware of the arm encircling your waist.

Your stomach let out a growl but you ignored it. The pangs of hunger were ignorable, but when the need to relieve yourself arouse that was something you could not ignore. You began to make your second attempt to escape your captor when Steve grumbled a “stop moving.”

“I have to pee, Steve.” You whispered.

“Can’t you hold it?” Steve mumbled groggily.

“No. So you can either let me go pee or I can go right here,” you threatened.

“Fine.” Steve muttered and released his firm hold on you.

With a sigh of relief you scurried into the bathroom to do your business and when you came out you were greeted to an empty bed. The faint smells of bacon drifted into your bedroom through your cracked door. Following the scent you stopped in the kitchen where Steve was currently making breakfast.

“‘Morning,” you greeted.

Steve looked up and ginned, “‘Morning.”

You hopped up onto the counter. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m making us breakfast.”

“Really?” You looked at him in surprise.

“Yeah. I thought since you don’t have class today we could have breakfast together. We haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s really sweet of you,” you said.

A blush dusted Steve’s face at your remark and he shrugged bashfully. “It’s nothin’.”

As Steve continued to fry the bacon you got started on making the pancake mix. You were in the middle of stirring your batter furiously when Steve said your name.

“(Y/N)?”

You looked up, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. “Yeah?”

“You, uh, got a little something here,” Steve gestured to your cheek.

You setting the bowl down on the counter you brought your hand up to your cheek and brushed at it. You looked back to Steve with a questioning look.

“Did I get it?”

“Almost,” Steve chuckled. “Here let me help you.”

Tearing off a piece of paper towel and wetting Steve brought of the cool cloth and whipped at your cheek.

“There, all gone,” Steve said eyes meeting yours. His left hand slowly came up to touch your left cheek.

Steve leaned closer to you, eyes never once straying from yours, asking for silent approval. You answered his unasked question by standing up on your tippy toes and meeting him halfway. Your lips brushed lightly before meshing together. Your hands snaked around the back of his neck to pull him closer to you and Steve’s hands traveled down to your waist.

He lifted you up and you let out a gasp as he hoisted you onto the countertop giving you more comfortable access to each other’s lips. Your hands had begun to travel down Steve toned chest when the was as knock at your front door. You let out a strangled small whine when Steve pulled away from you panting slightly.

“Let me go answer the door.” Steve stood up straighter, cheeks red and hair slightly tousled.

He gave you one more quick kiss before going to see whole was at the door. You slid off the counter and began to ladle out spoonfuls of pancake batter onto the heated griddle. Steve came back into the kitchen this time followed by Sam.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Sam greeted.

“Good morning, bird-brain,” you replied with a smile before flipping a pancake.

“So Steve how was your night after you left the bar. I assume all went well?” Sam asked.

Both you and Steve blushed at the events of last night, avoiding each other’s gazes.

“Oh my god!” Sam gasped. “Did you guys do the do?!”

Steve’s eyes widened to the size of saucers and he sputtered for an answer.

“Sam!” You scolded. “You can’t just ask people that!”

“Well did you?” Sam questioned, unaffected by your berating.

“If you must know. No we did not. Now if you are going to stay here for breakfast you might as well make yourself useful and set the table.” You instructed.

“Yes Mom,” Sam rolled his eyes and got to work.

“Come on, Steve, you too.” You handed him a plate of covered pancakes.

“Yes ma'am,” Steve took the warm plate from you and headed into the dining area.

You followed after them with a smile on your face and a plate of bacon in your hands.

[ive-always-been-a-pirate]

The Other Prince + A CS Modern Royalty AU [Chapter 7]

Modern Royalty AU: HRH Prince Killian has grown up in the shadow of the crown while enduring tragedy and the burdens of being the spare to the heir. With a desire to escape his past, he agrees to play host to the visiting general’s daughter in exchange for an eventual life outside royal bounds. Moving on is never that easy though and he quickly learns that being the ‘other’ prince is even more difficult when you find yourself falling for the girl everyone wants your brother to marry.

Catch Up On Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six Also on FF.net and AO3.

Word Count: 5,473

Thank you so much for your patience while I worked on this one. Thank you to @optomisticgirl once again for the beta! It was fun to write this chapter and I’m REALLY excited for the next one. Enjoy! :]

It was only a practice match and one for a bunch of Eton lads he didn’t actually know - two teams of young men representing the Alma Mater legacy he had once been destined for - but despite the particular scrimmage’s insignificance, Killian soon found himself fiercely focusing on the field. He’d been seeking distraction at first, knowing that the Queen had sent him out on this afternoon task as a reminder that he could still inspire others on at least some athletic level. He’d been an avid rugby player himself during the small handful of years he’d had the opportunity and he had found out part way through the second half of this particular match that the role he had once played was the same position of Admiral Nolan’s only son. Liam had made sure to mention that fact while Killian felt his eyes drift to the spectator space near the goal line below. His stare had narrowed briefly, zeroing in on the girl he definitely shouldn’t be wondering about. The sounds around him seemed to fade away as he studied her and the anxiousness she seemed to possess.

Her nervous quirks were mesmerizing and frankly a bit adorable - everything from her quick smiles to the way she kept subtly tucking her hair behind her ear. He was almost sure he’d caught her gaze flickering once or twice in his direction, a realization he was trying awfully hard not to hinge on. Forcing his sight back to the sport, Killian crossed his arms in silent frustration as he somewhat registered his brother’s cheers of encouragement.

He truly had no idea what Liam was all that excited about - hell, he’d lost track of the score a long time ago.

“Pity about all this rain,” his brother said in a loud voice that rivaled the noise of the crowd. “Can’t say I was expecting a storm today.”

He didn’t respond to his sibling’s weather related small talk as he blinked rapidly, pulling his attention from her once more as he adjusted his well worn hat. He was usually glad for the fraction of notoriety the old baseball cap provided, but as he let his sight fall on her again, Killian admitted silently just how much he didn’t want to blend into the small crowd.

He wanted her to acknowledge him. He wanted an opportunity to catch her eye and perhaps perplex her the way she intrigued him. Most of all, he wanted a chance to fix the blubbering, incoherent, downright ridiculous conversation they’d had right after colliding beneath the boldly gray sky.

“So I heard about your chat with Gran,” Liam said casually, making eye contact as the players left the field for a short break. “I’m happy for you, brother. I don’t know that she could have selected a better man for the job.”

She could have picked you, Killian thought with a weak smile. Guilt swept over him as he observed his brother’s congratulatory expression. It wasn’t fair to constantly interpret these situations as a competition, especially because he knew Liam’s sentiment was genuine, but it was difficult to stray from old patterns of thinking. Killian knew he could carry any role the Queen bestowed upon him, but he wasn’t naive enough to believe he was often the first choice for any royal task.

The fact was that in most things, he’d always play second fiddle to his brother. It was part of his birthright job description.

“I suppose there’s far worse things she could ask,” Killian replied casually. “Catching a match here and there at Her Majesty’s behest probably won’t be all that bad.”

“Try not to sound too enthusiastic,” Liam teased, elbowing him once. “If your royal duties include spending afternoons watching amateur rugby, I’d say you’re in an optimal position, Killian - even if some of that spectating means commuting to Berkshire once in awhile.”

Killian cringed slightly at the reminder of where they were, his eyes darting around nervously. He’d never told Liam the full extent of just why he’d opted to complete his schooling via private palace tutors instead of returning to Eton for his final term all those years ago. The trouble leading up to the decision to leave the prestigious school behind wasn’t something he liked to recall, especially because the foolish choices he had made could have landed him in much worse circumstances than they actually did.

He’d been barely seventeen at the time and after struggling to find his niche with friends for a few years, he’d finally found comradery with a group of fellow rugby players. Their studying had been mediocre, but they played hard when it came to the sport and each victory and even most losses ended with them sneaking off campus once darkness fell. They typically wound up at a tavern with very lax regulations only a few blocks away and while Killian himself wasn’t initially that interested in drinking, it wasn’t long for his standards to lower on that principle and a few others.

By the time the season ended, Killian had found himself rather fond of a few things - cheap rum, eight ball pool, and the company of a woman he now hoped he’d seen the last of.

“Looks like traditions are still strong here, brother,” Liam commented with a nod toward the goal, his words subtly braggy as the older boys posted the higher score. “Seems like the Nolan lad has quite the talent though - perhaps we’ll have to ask him about it this weekend.”

“Uh,” Killian said after a moment, raising an eyebrow. “This….weekend?”

“Yeah, when they get back to the palace,” Liam answered as he offered a matching expression. “I believe the admiral said his son would be joining them in London this weekend before they head back to Leeds. You know they’re all staying at Buckingham for a few days, right?”

Killian felt his mouth drop open as he silently wondered just how he hadn’t pieced this news together yet. He was grateful that the chants from players on the field had stolen Liam’s attention before he was forced to give a reply that might raise suspicions he wasn’t sure he could explain. A million scenarios of just how the very unexpected next few days could unfold flew through Killian’s head as he allowed himself one more glance toward the girl who was somehow shaking up his world. Her hair tangled in the breeze as the chill lingering from the rain brought color to her cheeks, drawing out a grin that he immediately felt taken by. Killian was in the middle of pondering how many different smiles a girl like this one might possess when she quickly peered upward at him. The smirk her lips formed didn’t answer any of the questions piling up in his mind, but it certainly made his breath hitch - and dealing with that all weekend was going to be a royal duty he might not be able to endure.

“No,” he answered with a mumble Liam likely didn’t hear. “But I suppose I do now.”

It was barely seven by the time Emma arrived back at the palace gates, the sunset coloring the sky in light reds and a dusty purple hue that gave evidence of the passing storm. They’d returned from the school grounds a few hours earlier with Neal and with a few parting gestures from the regal brothers they’d run into - a wave with a kind smile from Liam and a much more uncomfortable nod from the other blue eyed royal who was still vexing her in the strangest way. She’d spent the entire drive back thinking about the mysterious prince with the baseball cap and the jet black Ray-Bans shades, reminders of his intent stare and apologetic stammering making her lips battle the threat of an unexplained smile. It had been almost too easy to entertain such a recollection while her mother went right into interrogating her brother about the happenings in his life since they’d seen him last. It was these silent wonderings, however, that had led to the solo outing she was able to plan just after dinner.

With her parents consumed by the presence of their son, she’d managed to hit the nearest bookstore with the help of an unexpected but very appreciated ally.

“Thank you again, Mr. Gepetto,” she said as the black sedan came to a halt. “I hope you were serious when you said that ducking out for a bit wouldn’t cause trouble for you.”

“As serious as I am about you calling me ‘Marco’ rather than mister anything,” he grinned, placing the vehicle in park and unclicking his seatbelt. “Allow me to get the door for you, Miss Nolan?”

“If we can stick to ‘Emma’ instead-” she smirked. “-then I guess I’d be okay with that.”

“I’ll make note of it,” he laughed, hurrying around to open the back passenger door. “It was a pleasure accompanying you….Miss Nolan.”

“Well, I’m grateful for the help,” she sighed, shaking her head at the way he hadn’t accepted her instruction. “Goodnight, Marco.”

“To you as well,” he said with a slight nod. “Happy reading.”

Emma offered him one last thankful wave before clutching the cloth tote that contained her purchases a bit closer. It had been a relief when she’d reached the register to see that the charming and rather vintage shop would provide her with a bag that would easily conceal the literary material she’d picked up. It wasn’t that she was completely embarrassed by what she’d set out to find, but it was more the fact that she had ended up with more than just some light reading. Emma had convinced herself as she flipped through a few magazines and two biographical novels about the royals that she was conducting a sort of research project - though perhaps ‘research’ wasn’t the most honest term.

Truthfully, she just wanted to know a little more about the man who’d owned her attention since that night on the balcony. She merely wanted to understand just what about him was pulling her in so magnetically - and, well, the small collection of text she’d procured would definitely allow the mystery to begin unraveling.

Her parents hadn’t been trying to contact her since she’d left the dining space in search of fresh air, a realization she soon decided was her father’s doing. He had always been accommodating of the quiet time she required to recharge her mind and she would always be thankful for his willingness to give her a break. She knew they were thrilled with Neal’s short term company and for now, she opted not to begrudge that as she started up one of the cobblestone walkways that led to the garden’s small pond.

Just like home, she thought with a small sigh as her mind drifted to recent memories of the house back in Yorkshire. Well, not her actual home, but the place that had masqueraded as such for a few months anyhow.

The space was peaceful in the low light of dusk and she took in the solitude carefully, her feet moving with utmost caution as she located a lone bench. The sound of crickets was faint and the distant view of multicolored flowers offered a serenity that would certainly suffice. Taking a seat and allowing subtle relaxation to sweep over her, Emma wondered briefly just how long it had been since she felt somewhat carefree. Drawing a quick breath, she propped her bag open and reached inside for a few of the items she’d decided to buy. With a shaky breath, she tried to ignore the guilt that prodded her as she sat the gossip magazines in her lap. Looking at the brightly colored headlines, Emma reminded herself that they probably weren’t the most credible source, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from picking them up.

The first one was completely mainstream and likely quite vague, but the feature story titled Home with Honors: HRH Prince Killian Returnshad made her smile oh so slightly. There was a picture of him as well, though it did look slightly outdated. His hair was shaggy and his beard wasn’t exactly well trimmed, but his camouflage gear and properly equipped flight helmet certainly made him look the part of a proper member of the Royal Army. She didn’t know enough about air combat to decipher what sort of helicopter he was manning, but he definitely seemed to know what he was doing. He wasn’t paying any mind to the photographer who had been allowed to chronicle that militant moment, but was instead focusing intently on the control panel beneath his hands. His touch hovered above the numerous dials and buttons, a courageous soldier suddenly all she could label him as.

She saw it then - the bravery and the brokenness that seemed to drive his determination. It was all there in a single picture. He wasn’t merely a prince in that photograph - he was a pilot. He was a leader.

The other glossy covered issue was something of a tabloid - a fact that now made Emma roll her eyes - but seeing the bold yellow letters that spelled out a title story claiming The Spare’s Royal Temper is Back had been difficult to ignore. The true selling point, however, was the vastly different picture printed just below those words.

He was clearly on the tail end of intoxication, his dark hair a total mess and his clothes obviously disheveled. This snapshot had been taken from a distance at what seemed to be an alternate entrance to the palace. She wasn’t completely sure, but as he followed Liam into the grand building, he also appeared to be wearing the marks of a fight - a slightly split lip and a bruised cheek. Tension seemed to be thick between the brothers in the printed image as Emma noted the space between them and the frustration etched in Liam’s features. She quickly flipped through the pages to find the short article outlining the story behind the photo and her eyes widened at the vague explanation of a bar brawl and a hot-headed prince who was falling back into old patterns - or so the reporter had written.

Emma felt her head shake slightly in disbelief as she read the bulleted list of exclamations that littered the page. This particular journalist almost seemed to be bullying the prince a bit as everything from his slanderous word choice to his blatant assumptions sent Emma into a tailspin. The way two types of stories about the same complex man made her opinion waiver was astounding and she tried to straighten out the facts from the falseness as she peeked back at the first article. The task of reading between the lines seemed near impossible, but she needed to know.

Who the hell was this guy really? How was she ever going to piece together the puzzle that was this unpredictable prince?

“Nothing like the royal treatment, right, Em?”

Emma looked up instantly at the sound of a voice she knew well but didn’t hear much of these days. The chiding lines and happy tone belonged to her younger brother, Neal - and as much as she wasn’t really in the mood for his chosen idiom, it was strangely comforting to see him stroll out onto the garden path.

“I guess the hospitality is pretty one of a kind,” she quipped in return, smiling softly as she swiftly shoved the magazines back into her bag before placing it by her feet. “Glad to see you’re avoiding it too.”

Neal chuckled at that, his hands deep in the pockets of his dark jeans as he strolled up the sidewalk. It was difficult to deny just how much he resembled their father - everything from his strong jawline to that purposeful walk. His hair was still sandy colored, though it had darkened a bit over the years, and it was pushed to the side in a familiar style. His eyes were a light green shade that matched hers and she knew they were likely filled with signs of teasing. He’d finally been able to dress down once they arrived back in London and he appeared to be quite relaxed in a gray hooded sweater and a newer pair of dark blue suede sneakers. His smile was contagious and though Emma wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to the hint of stubble growing on his face, she was starting to admit that her little brother wasn’t all that little anymore.

It was another rapid change she wasn’t ready for, but the one thing she’d learned long ago about time was that it didn’t halt for emotional preparation.

“So,” she smirked. “Is this the part where I say something witty about the ‘prodigal son’ returning?”

“Well, ‘prodigal’ might be a stretch,” he started thoughtfully with a flash of his teeth. “But I’m always game for your sisterly sass.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma offered, trying to fight the flustered blush warming her face. “Something….witty.”

“Hmmm,” Neal chuckled, taking the empty seat at her side. “That’s all you’ve got, huh?”

“I’m out of practice,” she said with a gentle elbow to his side. “So who sent you to hunt me down?”

“Hey, what makes you think I’m on a recon mission? Can’t a guy check in on his big sister?”

“Well, yes - but we both know that whenever you visit, Mom keeps pretty close tabs on you until you leave,” Emma reminded him, her smile amused when he scoffed at what they both knew to be the truth. “So if you’re out here by yourself, I’m guessing it’s because she’s sent you to find me.”

“That was always her go-to plan of action, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, raising an eyebrow. “Some things never change.”

“Oh, Em, she’s not that bad. Mom’s just….well, Mom….and we’ve learned to live with that and Dad’s-” he replied as he leaned back against the bench. “-I think he….he seems….better?”

Emma nodded lightly as they shared a quick glance of understanding - one that proved they both knew just how much they’d nearly lost. Neal had missed as much school as possible without failing over the course of the recovery time and he’d visited several weekends once they’d finally moved from the hospital’s around-the-clock care back to the borrowed house. Neal had always been close with their father - though it really wasn’t much of a secret just how much their mother adored him - and the accident had threatened the bond Emma knew her brother valued. His eyes in this moment of conclusion regarding their father seemed a bit uncertain though and Emma knew he was looking to her for reassurance that the man who’d raised them wasn’t at risk anymore.

“He is,” she told him, squeezing his arm. “He’s happy again….and lord knows know how long we’ve all been waiting to see that.”

“Well, I think you get credit for most of that, sis,” he said with a grateful expression. “You’ve done so much to help him….and Mom throughout all of this. I hope they both realize that.”

Emma could hear the hint of pain in his words and she knew he’d obviously spent a fair amount of time beating himself up over not being present for more of the difficult moments they’d endured. It made her heart sink to see him quietly fighting that guilt. She’d felt irritated over her brother’s actions in many instances of their past, but this wasn’t one of them. As comforting as his support might have been, Neal was fifteen and she was his older sister. It was her job to protect him and she’d spent plenty of time convincing herself that keeping her brother clear of the worst parts of their father’s recovery was the right thing to do - even if it wasn’t.

“I’m not the single handed savior of the Nolans,” she groaned, her posture shifting as he nudged her. “Truthfully, we all played a part in it, Neal. We all did the best we could.”

“Or more than, in your case, Em,” he countered, standing his appreciative ground. “I gotta say that it makes me curious about just what’s on your agenda now that he’s back in commission again though.”

“Hmmm,” she stalled with obvious knowledge to what he was asking. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve just….given up a lot, Emma - basically put your life on hold to come back here and take care of everyone,” he continued. “So I guess I’m just wondering what’s next. What are you going to do for yourself now?”

Emma held his sight for a moment, praying silently that she could somehow deflect the question she still didn’t know how to answer. Everything had changed so much since she’d returned to England and leaving her goals across the pond wasn’t something she liked to reminisce. Though she’d come home to be supportive - to do the right thing - the facts were still uncomfortably true.

She’d failed at following her own dreams. She had shoved aside all of it - completing her education and chasing the independence she’d never had the option to know while growing up. She’d abandoned the plans she’d so delicately crafted with little hope that reviving them would ever be possible, but here was her teenage brother - telling her she was surely allowed a second chance at finding success.

It was deciding to take that opportunity that suddenly seemed quite daunting - and as he gave her a hopeful gaze, she wasn’t totally sure she could make a commitment to anything except agreeing to wait out a long weekend at Buckingham Palace.

“I guess….when I figure that out-” she finally answered. “-I’ll let you know.”

“Well then - that’s a start,” Neal smiled softly before turning to look toward the pond. “So besides hiding, what are you doing out here?”

Emma glanced toward the cloth tote she was using to conceal just what she’d been up to, biting her lip as she prayed he wouldn’t try to peek inside while awaiting her answer. She knew she couldn’t explain her reading choices without her brother launching a very curious inquiry and this was definitely not the time for that.

“Just….getting some air I guess,” she fibbed, reaching for the bag’s strap. “Are you heading back in?”

“Hell no - not without you,” he scoffed, wincing when she slapped his chest in warning about his mild language. “I was kinda of hoping we could help each other out with this whole palace survival thing. I mean, I don’t even know who to ask for the wi-fi password, Em.”

“You never fail to keep your priorities in line,” Emma laughed as she rose to her feet, picking up her bag as casually as possible. “Come on - let’s see if we can solve your internet crisis.”

“Ah, a ‘teaming up to save the technological world’ mission then,” he grinned, tapping his chin as they started to walk. “We can call it ‘Operation-”

“Please no code names,” she grumbled, shoving his arm. “They really aren’t helpful.”

“But they are amusing-” he chided. “-and that might be just what we need to make it through the next couple of days, Em.”

Emma sighed in defeat as she realized just how right he was. The acceptance of staying in one of the spare wings of Buckingham was still quite deterring, especially when she knew the possibility of running into the royal man she’d set out to study hung tauntingly in the unfamiliar air. Making light of the next few days was likely the best method for ignoring the uncomfortable situation she’d fallen into and as she grinned at her brother’s teasing remarks, she suddenly found herself beyond thankful for his offer of an alliance - even if he did propose the ridiculous mission label of ‘Operation World Wide Web’ while wiggling his eyebrows.

Approaching darkness had blanketed the regal grounds surrounding Killian as he huffed and puffed, his lungs heaving for breath as his running pace slowed to a stroll. His hands felt heavy on his hips as he walked down the paved path concealed by the freshly trimmed shrubbery of the legendary garden. The weather brought by the sunset had been perfect for a quick run and he’d allowed himself to seize the solitude presented with the mild temperature in hopes of drowning out the noise of the day. His feet plodded the ground fervently as he navigated the route with the most cover. Night wasn’t far off and while the promise of little light normally gave him an opportunity to jog in peace, a recent experience he’d had with the false assumptions of hiding beneath a dark sky made him quite skeptical of being permitted to exercise without company.

Then again, any chance of being alone with his thoughts was squandered when Liam decided to join him.

“Whoa, brother,” Liam said as they halted, equally gasping for air. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were training for that marathon coming up….which we do still need to discuss - the opening address and what not.”

Typically, Killian would have reveled in the moment of insignificant victory and at the idea of his often superior brother struggling to keep up. He should have known Liam would find a way to shove that opportunity aside with a not so subtle reminder of an impending royal commitment. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he let out a hard breath as sweat rolled down his back.

“Aye, suppose we do,” he managed as he stretched his legs, brushing off his sibling’s words in distraction. “I think I’ll go around once more - perhaps just to the south end of the pond and back. Up for it?”

“Think I’ll leave you up it,” Liam answered with a tired smile. “I’m going to head back home. If I see Marco, I’ll let him know you’ll be along soon.”

“Sounds good,” Killian nodded. “See you tomorrow?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Liam confirmed. “Bright and early.”

Killian feigned a smile as he watched his brother trek back toward the doors that were immediately opened by palace guards. Brushing his damp hair away from his eyes, he waited until Liam was out of sight before starting up the path he’d said he was going to use for one last lap. Yet as the sun finally fell below a distant horizon, Killian found himself needing to walk rather than run. The entire day had been a blur - everything from his morning chat with the Queen to the Eton match - and now in the absence of so much of what made him royal, he finally found the silent setting he had been hoping for since the morning he’d argued with Liam.

He’d acquired the blue Nikes on his feet after attending the company’s annual launch of a new line as an endorser and hearing the soles of those shoes fall upon the stones underfoot was soothing in a way. He settled into a steady, rhythmic stride while making his way toward the quiet and closest end of the pond. The journey was much shorter than the race worthy one he’d just completed alongside his brother and as he reached the bench that had always been stationed along the sloped bank of the shallow water, he felt glad that he was alone for the brief jaunt.

Slumping down on the wooden seat and glancing out toward the glassy pond, he realized that he truly didn’t know what agenda Liam had been alluding to before taking his leave. He had been distracted during the lax dinner with Cora and their father a few hours earlier - a detail of the meal that was probably very fortunate considering the hostility that seemed to be lingering - and though he knew he was supposed to be ready to go early the next morning, he had no clue why. It wasn’t crucial to know really - no matter what the event or obligation was, he knew he’d been expected to dress and act as accordingly as always.

Wearing a crisp, clean cut suit while offering a charming smile was the routine. Standing beside but a step behind Liam was the standard. A desire to be anywhere else would likely be the thought drifting through his mind - as per usual.

Killian steadied his breath as a memory prodded him, the picture vague in his mind as he thought back to a time his mother had lovingly reminded him of his place in line. She’d had a way with it - making him feel needed in a way nobody else ever could.

"There’s always been more than one child meant to carry on royal legacies, Killian. Just because they were second born didn’t mean they weren’t important. Henry the VII was one and King George - even your grandmother had a younger sister. Liam might be the heir, but you are just as historical as any king will ever be. Don’t forget that, my sweet boy.”

Killian sighed shakingly at the recollection of the woman who’d always had perhaps too much faith in him. She had always seen it - his possible strength and his potential for good. He wished silently that he deserved it, but he’d accepted deep down long ago that it might never be enough.

He would probably never be enough.

The lightposts that dully illuminated the garden’s walkway began to glow before his mind sunk too far into a detrimental spiral and with a final exhale, he rose to his exhausted fee. Eight in the morning would likely arrive far too early and tracking down Marco to take him back to Kensington was still on his to-do list. His steps shuffled once and though he expected to hear the sound of his shoes on the solid ground below, the noise was instantly halted by the scrape of something along the path he was about to follow. Realizing that he’d unintentionally kicked whatever the object was, Killian narrowed his vision before bending to see just what had fallen victim to his foot. With his fingers smooth on the item’s surface, it took only a second to figure out what he’d literally stumbled across.

It was a book - a very well known one he noted as his eyes followed the flow of the title and his stomach dropped. The edition looked quite new though the story written on the pages definitely wasn’t. He had been haunted by the summary of this particular novel and harassed by endless journalists seeking a comment from the royal family when the book had been released over a decade ago. The author who’d chosen to chronicle his young life had certainly not left out details of Killian’s rebellious years and the biography the man had chosen to call Prince Killian: The Untold Story had loomed over him for years now. The picture on the cover was an older one, but taken just before he entered his officer training at Sandringham. The life in his eyes portrayed in the photograph felt worlds away as he traced the gold letters with his exasperated eyes. It took a minute of analyzing the hardback tale for a question to form in his head, but as he flipped the text over, he found himself needing an answer.

How had this book ended up beneath a bench at Buckingham - and just who did it belong to?

Killian peered to each side, quickly noticing he was the only one in the vicinity aside from the several guards manning the doors and the few security personnel circulating through the area. It wasn’t likely that it had been abandoned by a palace employee seeing as how many of them likely already knew their fair amount about his ways. His fingertips skimmed the spine of the text, following the cover back to the top where there was a piece of paper protruding from between the pages. He tugged gently on it, immediately recognizing the tan and orange slip as a train ticket. It was an odd type of bookmark and his focused stare ran carefully through the information printed on the standard stub.

It was a few days old - a first class pass from Leeds to Kings Cross. He read through the few details and quietly noted the time the ride had departed as he zeroed in on the bottom of the smooth paper. Killian had endured his fair share of undercover train travel over the years and while the appearance of the small boarding pass was quite common, the name printed just beneath the date certainly was not. His eyes widened as chills ran down his arms, his hand tingling as he realized the railway passenger turned book owner was someone he truly wasn’t expecting.

“Emma Nolan,” he read quietly, his muscles tense and tired. “Bloody hell.”

Tagging some lovely people: @xpumpkindumplingx, @jennifer-morrison, @spartanguard, @laschatzi, @kat2609, @eala-captian, @allietumbles, @kmomof4, @galadriel26, @timeless-love-story, @harryandthecambridges, @msres, @thesschesthair, @its-like-a-story-of-love, @lovelycssefan, @hooksheroicheart, @cat-sophia, @gonzothegreat90, @rebelcxptain, @prairiepirate, @yesplskillianjones, @jennjenn615, @xhookswenchx, @heomomka, @fckyesroyals, @lenfazreads, @cherrywolf713, @lucasxdorothy, @lifeinahole27, @hollyethecurious, @fairytalesandtimetravel, @pirateherokillian, @shipsxahoy, @onceuponarelm, @winterbaby89, @captain-k-jones, @weall-l00k-the-same-inthe-dark, @shady-swan-jones, @captainswanparrilla, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @princesseslikepirates, @sherifffjones

*So guys, I’m awful at Tumblr and I feel like there might be some people who have asked to be tagged in this and I can’t recall who….or maybe not….but if you aren’t on the taglist and you’d like to be, just let me know and I’ll get you added! XOXO