#no time to be coy i was here three and greater than three years ago. and just nowadays; evidently:

[unproduciblesmackdown]

why did he do this (rhetorical) (profoundly affected)

[grxceblqckthxrn]

hi @chocolatecarstairs came up with these post-CHOG questions and i really want to answer them because im sad that im finished reading it :((

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW

what was your favorite part, 1 or 2?

Honestly I loved both parts, but I’d say I loved part two just a little bit more for the time that James wasn’t under the curse anymore and LOVED Cordelia

which scene in the book was your favorite?

EVERY scene that had Matthew and James being wholesome parabatai in it!!! my favourite chapter in this book was Blue Ruin, the one after Grace takes the bracelet back from James  (aside from the whispering room ofc).

what scene (or scenes) made you cry the most?

ok ngl i didnt spend much of this book crying, but the only scene that actually made me tear up was when james was dying and matthew could feel it and jesse (WHO I FUCKING LOVED MORE THAN I THOUGHT I WOULD) gave him his last breath :(((((

what scenes were unsatisfactory?

there were not enough Christopher scenes (but to be fair, even if the entire book was just Christopher it still wouldnt be enough for me)

but fr, i cant think of any off the top of my head but i’ll edit this if i do later

what made you laugh the most?

matthew!! james!! thomas!! christopher!! also some of the things Jesse said

what bored you?

this wasn’t boring, but the whole charles/alastair plot line didn’t have me very invested. I did love the alastair/ cordelia scenes tho, so it was just charles that was the problem

also no offense to james bc he was my first actual fictional crush after reading TMH/NBS but like whenever he talked about being in grace i would literally zone out lol the bracelet curse makes him so boring but whenever he isnt in the curse/ is with someone who is NOT grace i just!! love him!!

what disappointed you?

cassie honestly had me kinda shipping matthew/cordelia for a solid FIVE SECONDS there when he stepped in to dance with her after james left her standing there, but that was one of the only scenes that made me feel like they had natural chemistry (along with the scene where he drops her off at her house). I felt like the during the rest of their interactions in the book, cordelia was kind of uncomfortable, which made me really sad because even tho she has every right to feel that way, i felt bad for matthew. I kind of want him to fall for someone else completely and for it to be reciprocated. also, i just really want for matthew and cordelia to become good friends because i feel like they could have such great natural chemistry if matthew didnt love her.

what is the top thing you wish had been done differently?

see above.

what things did you predict that came true?

JAMES BURNING DOWN BLACKTHORN MANOR I FUCKING SAID HE WOULD DO IT TWO FUCKING YEARS AGO IF YALL WANT ME TO LINK THE THEORY LMK

what are some things that were really unexpected?

ok there’s quite a few things here so bear w me babes:

- James genuinely loving cordelia from the start. I wasn’t expecting him to naturally feel nothing for grace at all, so i was expecting a slow burn jordelia, but finding out that he actually loves her makes me so happy but the end where cordelia thinks he was just pretending breaks my heart :(((

-matthew liking cordelia lol definitely was not expecting another parabatai love triangle but i hope it doesnt last. i do think it adds to the plot and i love it, it just hurts to see matthew so emo :(((

-I was expecting to like cordelia as a character, but i ended up LOVING her so fucking much???? she’s so three dimensional to me, and it’s interesting to see how her personality adapts around different characters as people adapt around different social circles irl

-liking jesse as much as i did

-ok so james’ entire character was a surprise to me. it’s so fascinating to see how the bracelet actually affected his personality.If you recall him in The Midnight Heir from TBC. he’s like an entirely different person. i still loved him in TMH but i went into CHOG thinking that if he was gonna be like that the entire time i’d probably get over him really quickly. i was pleasantly surprised by how much i ended up loving him even more tho

-i didn’t expect oliver hayward to die and im going to stay emo about it

- Christopher is so much more clear headed than he was made out to be prior?? like there were so many scenes where he was fully there and when he defended anna to alastair i just kfdsnfkld i love him

are there characters that you didn’t like before that you like now?

yikes umm... Alastair, maybe? he’s somewhat okay to me now, I dont dislike him as much as I used to. ooh and Hypatia Vex. the only scene i remember liking her in QOAAD was when she helped out kit, ty and dru (me, going a whole TSC post without somehow mentioning kit? not possible)

are there characters that you liked before that you don’t like now?

I started CHOG ready to give Grace the benefit of the doubt, and I was surprised by how timid and shy she seemed at the start, but it was interesting to see how it was all an act and how she doesn’t have an actual personality yet. one could argue that she actually does love james, but i doubt it at this point. i dont hate her yet, even tho she IS fucking up james’ life, but she’s on thin fucking ice.

who was your favorite new character?

does new character mean completely new or just never been in a novella new? because for the first, it would be Cordelia (i LOVE her sm!!) and other wise it would be james, matthew and co. also!!! jesse!!

what places in the book would you like to visit?

that hell dimension sounds pretty lit ngl

did you like the ending?

ok so. we KNOW that jordelia is gonna be endgame. cassandra clare always takes the hardest path to get there, but when has she not delivered? it’s just a matter of waiting. so, yes, i did like the ending in sense of the plot because it was a great twist, but i also feel really bad for all of them even tho ik they’re eventually gonna be together :(((

what did you think of the epilogue?

i wasnt surprised, since we alr know that Tatiana is shady asf, but i just really wanna know how she partnered up with a GREATER demon like lol wtf. again, im really happy in terms of plot with this

what are your thoughts on the engagement?

i feel so. fucking bad. for cordelia. and james too, even tho he’s under the bracelet’s curse so he doesnt even KNOW he’s being manipulated. but i love how even through the curse, james still loves cordelia in his own way.

what did you want to see that didn’t happen?

matthew getting therapy periodt

umm honestly i just want more “merry thieves” content like i just love. all of them.

what do you wish had been resolved that wasn’t?

i really want matthew to tell james or cordelia what happened because i just need him to be loved and supported lol i want to give him a hug. 

what is your favorite pairing as of now?

jordelia!!! and lucie and jesse are kind cute rn, and i like them if theyre gonna be pining after eachother but i feel like if they actually get together i wont like the relationship as much.

which characters would you like to see more of in the next book?

CHRISTOPHER CHRISTOPHER CHRISTOPHER 

ANNA!!! i lovED reading about her she’s so badass

matthew!! jesse!! also i wanna see more of those bitchy girls lol just so we can see anna or cordelia tell them to stfu

what is one character whose death you would undo if you could?

ok i know that jesse is still very much a conscious character despite being dead but like,,, i want him to be the way he was before and also i want him to come back to life

and barbara!! she seemed so sweet 

which characters got bad/unsatisfactory endings?

ummm barbara? i cant really say much on this yet bc its still only the first book and when has the first book ever ended up with anyone being happy.

oh but also can we sign a petition to make cassie let matthew actually survive the series because my heart aches just at the THOUGHT of eventually having to read a scene where he dies

which characters got what they deserved?

literally. none of them yet. :(

who should have died but didn’t?

Tatiana lol also lowkey charles but i also feel pity him to an extent 

what plotline are you most excited to see in the next book?

okay the entire jesse plot has me hooked because i LOVE his character. also i love the bracelet plot but its making me MAD because i just want james to be happy but

what is one scene that you wish hadn’t happened, but you know was unavoidable?

THE ONE WHERE GRACE PUTS THE BRACELET BACK ON JAMES. i mean obv there was no way he was completely done with grace, but i literally got so sad at that part like why HIM of all people smfh let him be happy

which pairing do you like the least?

alastair x charles, grace x james, lucie x matthew bc neither of them actually like either imo lol

what are some theories you have for chain of iron?

- not necessarily for COI but i think matthew is gonna get exiled and turned into made into a mundane

- the bracelet will break (?)

- jesse will come back to life (like actual life) at the end of the book

-grace is gonna do something to help the main characters, making it hard for us to hate her.

what characters do you think should have gotten more plot time?

lol are yall gonna hate me if i say christopher again (also anna)

anyways this was really fun!!!!! PLEASE ASK ME STUFF ABOUT MY OPINIONS AND STUFF OR JUST SAY ANYTHING ABT THE BOOK BC IM DESPERATE TO TALK TO PPL ABOUT IT

[eliegloryofficial]

Five Reasons

Summary: The four times Haru Glory made excuses, and the one time he wished he hadn’t (Story retelling, Haru/Elie, lot of fluff but way more angst).

Fandom and Pairing(s): Rave Master, Haru Glory / Elie.

Author’s Note: this is a rewrite from a fic I wrote 10 years ago! I thought it would be fun to revisit my old stories, and I’m glad I did!

Spoiler Warning: This fic 100% contains spoilers for the end of the series, as well as a few other points throughout.

Haru Glory wasn’t afraid to die. He knew, naturally, that it would find him eventually when his time had come and that would be it. Eventually, he wouldn’t be able to fight it anymore.

But damn if he hadn’t hoped for a little more time.

It was ironic in too many ways to think about. Of course he’d meet his end here, with victory just beyond his grasp. Haru closed his eyes, the darkness more familiar than the cracking white space around him, more comforting. He didn’t want to think of the irony, or the bitterness of his defeat.

“But right now…you’re the only thing I can think about.”

Her words had sung sweet melodies in his ears, reaching through the pain and the despair and everything else bubbling beneath the surface of his brave face. They always did, no matter what the situation. She was the only thing he wanted to think about now – how she had supported him throughout his journey, how she gave him the courage to keep going no matter how difficult it was.

Haru had never known a girl like Elie before their rather unceremonious introduction. She stood next to him with her somewhat poor judgment and naïve curiosity of the world without shame or fear. But, behind a cheerful smile and an impressive temper, she held a burden so close to her heart that it was a wonder it hadn’t crushed her. Yet there she stood throughout every battle and every loss, an unwavering pillar of strength, no matter who or what the enemy was. It had been the first thing he’d noticed about her, really. Who else would have gone crashing down into the stadium, firing off blasters indiscriminately, all to save a bug? Elie was weird and wonderful and he loved that first about her long before he had accepted it.

In hindsight, he had never stood a chance. The second she turned those big brown eyes on him, Haru had been wrapped right around her little finger, willing to find her in the dark and the rain and everything beyond.

When she disappeared after the thunder-man to chase what little she knew of herself, he had been presented with a cruel reminder that he did not know this girl nearly as well as he might have thought. It scared him in a way he hadn’t known how to describe, that he might lose her so soon. And after it was all said and done and the situation turned out to be a misunderstanding, Haru and decided right there that he wanted to know her more.

The more he learned, the more he loved. And the more excuses he made.

The first one came directly after they had stopped Etherion from bursting out of her in order to stop Sieg from killing her. He had knelt down next to her and told her in no uncertain terms that he loved her simply for who she was. The words felt real and right in his mouth, like a chorus to a song he wanted to sing forever. Haru had half hoped she didn’t remember him saying it, hoped she was too far gone in the pain and delirium to realize what he had said. But then she gave him this smile later, coy and fragile, and while she had said nothing, he knew.

Haru panicked. Back-tracked, to himself, over the fear that he had crossed a line he wasn’t meant to. So came the first excuse; she was just a friend.

Not a good excuse, not by a long shot, but he clung to it desperately. Anything to break away from the looming feeling that if he pushed it harder, their friendship would crumble beneath the weight of something neither of them were prepared for. Just a friend, just a friend, a mantra repeated to himself whenever he let his thoughts wander too far. And Elie, with her insistence on wearing short skirts and tank tops into every battle they found themselves in, did not make it very easy to keep his thoughts in just a friend mode.

But he was determined and Elie never brought it up again, so the excuse persisted and he pushed onwards, letting his mind focus on the mission at hand. They have Rave Stones to find, and teenage hormones weren’t going to stop him.

It was after he buried his father that he found himself making his second excuse.

Elie sat beside him with homemade cookies and, for the first time since he had gone storming the Tower, made him laugh. It felt normal, for just a couple minutes. As if the world had not crashed down alongside them not too long ago.

Haru wanted to cling to that feeling. To forget what he was mourning and step back into the world before Gale and King and the history of Demon Card, if only for a few moments. Maybe he would have, if not for the appearance of the family photograph, a copy of the one both he and Cattleya kept framed in their bedrooms.

He wasn’t sure what exactly it was that shattered the delicate peace they had created, whether it be the reminder that he was gone for good or the realization that he would have mourn the man for the second time. But when Haru cracked apart at the seams, it was Elie who oh so softly reassured him that it was okay to be sad. He didn’t have to hide, not from her.

So he clung instead to her, to the reminder that he was not yet truly alone. For the first time in his life, Haru allowed himself to simply mourn – his parents, King, even King’s family. He sobbed into her shoulder and screamed that it wasn’t fair until his voice was hoarse.

And all the while, Elie held him and rubbed his back and said nothing. His pillar of strength, no matter what.

Later that night, long after his breakdown, Haru realized that if it had been anyone else to bring him cookies, he wouldn’t have let himself be so vulnerable. Only she made him feel so comfortable, even when he was grief stricken.

It terrified him.

To have another person have such an impact on him terrified him. When he thought of the future, it was impossible not to imagine Elie right there beside him; but always as a friend. A companion, a constant in his journey. Having her beside him was a given. But for her to be something more? That terrified him.

And so came the second excuse; he wasn’t ready for more. Simple as that.

Maybe later, when the hurt wasn’t so crushing and the future was a bit less muddled, he could think about more. Why did they have to become more, anyways? Was he so selfish as to ask for something greater than everything she had given him so far? Elie trusted him, had put her life in his hands and protected his in her own. It was enough. It had to be, for Haru would give it no other option.

Haru clung to that for months, the entire time they waited for Musica’s recovery and then some. Thoughts of feelings or what they meant had been pushed quite thoroughly to the back of his thoughts, replaced by a singular focus in training, in becoming stronger.

Their journey didn’t seem willing to give him time for any other thoughts, anyways. First there was the casino, then there was Symphonia and Lucia. Haru had almost slipped again, almost admitted too much in the delirium of pain and failure. Almost admitted it again later, driven by his anger.

Lucia made her cry, so he would fight.

There had been no declaration of feelings, no attempt to step back from the sentiment. It was statement of fact, not feelings.

So he told himself. It was only later, well after their battles underwater and then on Doryu’s flying fortress that Haru even considered the implications of that statement, what it meant to be so angered by her tears. As much as he would have loved little more than to continue clinging to his she’s just a friend and I’m not ready anyways, the answer presented itself far too quickly for him to deny;

He loved her. Loved her for everything that she was. As hard as he had tried to stamp it down and bury the feelings as they tried to bud, Haru still loved her. He caught himself sneaking glances in between the battles, found himself flustered when she was near. It had been inevitable, regardless of how much he had tried to avoid it anyways. Thoughts like just a friend and I’m not ready hardly seemed to matter now. Friend or more, ready or not, he loved her.

More than once, he thought about telling her. He expected nothing in return, not really, but that was what you were supposed to do with feelings, weren’t you? But there was always something else. Another enemy blocking their path, another battle to be won. Their journey had not – could not – stop for something like feelings, after all.

The journey came first. Collecting the Rave Stones, defeating Lucia, all of it. There was no question about that, and no hesitation in the decision. For now, Haru would focus on doing what he needed to do. More could come later, if she wanted. But not now. Not until they had done their duty and found the last Rave Stone and defeated Lucia.

Until then, Haru resolved to content himself with having her near, with being so lucky as to have her friendship. It would be enough for now.

Haru knew it had been the right decision to make, pushing his newfound feelings for her to the side for now. After gaining the third Rave Stone, it seemed like their journey knew no peace. Every time they secured a victory for one thing, three more problems popped up.

Though he’d have preferred a distraction with a little less fighting and thinking comrades were dead, Haru was grateful for it all the same. It reminded him what was important and what could wait for a few more months. Shuda called it naiveté and maybe he was right, but Haru was certain that they would have a chance to discuss feelings after the final battle. And, in the wake of Shiba’s death and then returning to the past to uncover Elie’s memories and everything that came after, Haru clung to it. Desperately.

Believing that everyone would make it through the final battle was a lifeline he needed. They had lost too many people already, and he could not allow himself to think for even a second that he’d lose one more.

Especially not Elie.

He watched her now from across the bar, eyes drawn to her like a moth to a flame. If Musica asked, he’d say he was just looking out for her after a tumultuous few days. It would be an easy enough story to buy, he had always been a bit protective of her when it came to using Etherion. While she struggled to recombine the Rave Stones, he forced himself to stay away. He knew that if he went in there to check on her or bring her some water and saw the state she was in, he’d take the Rave Stones back and tell her it wasn’t worth her pain. Musica knew that.

Unfortunately for him, Musica also knew that he was not just watching her because he was still worried.

It felt as if their entire journey had built up to this. The shared smiles, the close calls, even the smallest moments together, all complied up around them as their friends forced the confession out of him. It wasn’t the way he’d have wanted to confess, however, and when Elie breathed fire and ruined Musica and Julia’s little scheme, Haru was just a tiny bit thankful.

He wanted to tell her. Now, later, whenever. But he didn’t want it to be done because of his friends’ drunken antics. No, he would tell her on his terms. After the final battle, when victory was won and the world would be theirs to return to.

After the battle, he kept telling himself. He just needed to wait a little longer.

He should have told her sooner.

There had been so many opportunities, so many better chances. Now they were stuck worlds apart, and he wouldn’t get the chance. Maybe it was better this way, Haru tried to tell himself. Maybe it was better that she didn’t know.

Would it make it any easier, her not knowing? He had heard the anguish in her voice, the desperation as he begged him not to make her do this. No, he doubted it was any easier this way.

It was what needed to be done. But never before had the right thing been so difficult to accomplish.

Haru watched her move even as more tears filled his eyes. He wasn’t afraid to die, not really. But he regretted waiting. He regretted all the almost confessions, and he regretted thinking for even a second that there would be more time. The universe had shown him, again and again, that time was a precious thing. He should have told her sooner, should have told her as soon as he realized it himself.

“That’s exactly why you must save this world.”

It was too late to tell her. He had made his mistakes and whether he wanted to or not, he would accept his death knowing that. But not her. Not if he could help it.

“We were brought together on this world… If this world goes, then our love will fade away with it.”

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine that he could hold her. Just this one last time, just for this moment. If he could give her nothing else, then let him give her this.

“Don’t let our love fade. Save this world, Elie!”

The words felt like sandpaper on the way up, the shards of his broken heart scratching his throat on the way up. Haru wanted to kick and fight and scream to the heavens that this wasn’t fair. How could the universe bring them together – through time, no less! – only to deny them this? Tears fell down his face as he forced himself to acknowledge that the universe had given him plenty of chances.

That he would die with his regrets was his own fault. He thought back to all his petty excuses, all the reasons he had devised to avoid telling her how he felt. They all seemed so silly in hindsight. Now, all he wanted to do was find her and hold her and whisper his love to her over and over again.

And instead of that, he was going to die.

He saw the light of Etherion as it swelled, could almost feel its raw power as Elie poured all of her magic into the staff. This was the only way to prevent Overdrive, the last step in protecting this world for the rest of time. Even now, he couldn’t help but admire her strength – not just because of Etherion. She was so brave, so much stronger than he could ever hope to be. He knew, no matter how much he didn’t want to, that if the roles were reversed, he would not have had the strength to do what she was doing.

“I…I love you, Haru!”

Despite himself, he felt the warmth in his chest as she said it. Felt the happiness flicker amid all the regrets and poor decisions. He had waited too long, but for this moment, it seemed just knowing was enough.

As the light around him grew blinding, Haru felt himself smile.

“I love you too, Elie.”

[idiot-extraordinaire]

Pancakes and Mr Snuggles

Just a morning at the Lopez-Pierce home (c.2027)

.

.

.

Sunlight streams through the gaps in the curtains. Santana crinkles her forehead, unamused that her slumber has been interrupted. Her eyes flutter open and everything is quiet.

Too quiet.

She turns to the left and is surprised to find the other side of the bed empty. She then turns her head to the right and sees a pair of brown eyes staring back at her.

Those eyes belong to a three year old boy, peeking over the edge of the bed.

"Good morning," she reaches over, ruffling his hair affectionately, voice still a little rough from sleep.

"Hola," the little boy says.

She chuckles. "Hola. Where's your Mommy?"

The little boy just shrugs his shoulders. The smile on his face tells Santana that he's keeping a secret.

"Really? You don't know?"

Another smiling shrug.

"You're not hiding from Mommy by any chance, are you?"

He then nods his head vigorously. His smile turns into a grin.

"Shh," he whispers, with a finger to his lips.

Santana lets out a laugh. "Come here." She pats the spot on the bed next to her and helps up the little boy as he scrambles up onto the bed in his blue and yellow ducky pyjamas. He dives under the covers and pulls them over his head. "Mommy won't find you in here."

She hears him giggle. "Gracias, Mama."

"Hey babe, have you seen-"

Brittany walks back into their bedroom, but stops short once she spots the lump in bed, next to her wife. A coy smile of her own grows on the blonde's face.

"You didn't happen to see a little boy pass here, did you?" she asks, from the doorway. "'About this tall, ducky PJs, supposed to be helping me with breakfast?"

Santana shakes her head. "Sorry, Britt."

The lump next to her continues to giggle.

“Hmmm weird, that's fine. I guess I'll just have to wait here and see if he stops by," Brittany says, walking back to her side of the bed and promptly flopping down on it.

She stretches her arms exaggeratedly so one of them falls directly on the giggling lump.

"Gee, Santana. Our bed sure is lumpy," she pats the lump with her hand. "Do you think we should get a new one?"

"Mommy!" the boy throws the covers off his head, revealing himself.

"Ollie!" Brittany replies in the same tone and starts tickling him, till he's in a laughing fit. When she relents, he manages to escape and snuggles up to Santana.

"Did you wake your Mama, Ollie?"

"No, he didn't wake me up," Santana says. She leans over and is met with a kiss from her wife. "Good morning," she greets with a contented smile on her face.

"Good morning. How are my girls?" Brittany lets her hand drift down to Santana's pregnant belly, under the covers.

"We're good," she answers softly, gazing into Brittany's eyes. "We're good. What's this I heard about breakfast, though?"

"Oh, well I was working on making you some super special, awesome pancakes, but then my assistant ran away," Brittany pointedly turns to their son, who just smiles.

"Super special awesome pancakes, huh? You must really love me," Santana teases.

"I do really love you" Brittany says, planting another kiss on her wife’s lips. 

"Well, I really love you too."

The three of them eat breakfast together - pancakes with blueberries in a smiley face, assembled by one Oliver Lopez-Pierce. Unfortunately, Ollie messes up the syrup mouth, and syrup ends up on the table. He tries to wipe it, but all it does is get his hands sticky.

Santana wipes his hands with a baby wipe, as Brittany flips the last pancake. Ollie reaches for Lord Tubbington who has waddled his way into the dining room expecting to be fed. He looks disappointed when he approaches his bowl and sees cat food, rather than Seabass and donuts (his favorite breakfast combination).

"Tubbs!" Ollie exclaims, clearly wanting to play.

"Ollie, baby, you can play with Tubbs after breakfast, ok?"

The young boy seems content with this answer, though his attention is still focussed on the fat cat.

Santana knows for a fact that while Lord Tubbington certainly likes Ollie, he certainly does not love to play. It is only because the old cat likes the Lopez-Pierce boy enough that he even entertains the idea of "play", given his hatred for activity. Lord Tubbington would much prefer a relationship with Oliver, where the young boy only fed and pet him. None of this running around nonsense.

The syrup instance aside, the Lopez-Pierces share a calm breakfast. Ollie scarfs down his pancake quickly.

"Can I play now, Mama?"

"Did you finish your milk?"

"Yep!" he beams, showing her his empty cup.

Santana watches Tubbs hover around the breakfast table and smiles. "Sure, go ahead."

"Thank you! Play time, Tubbs!" Ollie grins, hopping off his chair and chasing after the fat feline - who has now wandered off into the living room, clearly disappointed with his own breakfast - with the energy and enthusiasm that only young children have. "Let's do a new trick!"

Santana is also positive that Lord Tubbington hasn't picked up any new tricks in...well ever (unless you count his stint in cigarette smuggling), but laughs as her son grabs a cat toy and pats for Tubbs to join him where he sits. The cat drags himself over and reluctantly swats at it, clearly not up for this level of exercise so early in the morning.

Whatever, serves the fat bastard right for ruining so many of her shoes.

"Your mom called," Brittany informs her. "Her and your dad are taking an earlier flight, so they'll get here in the morning instead of the evening. She said something about a surprise."

"My dad better not be bringing another life-sized bear."

"Awww, but you love Mr Snuggles."

"I don't love keeping Tubbs from having to use it as a scratching post. Don't you remember the last time he tore Mr Snuggles' leg and stuffing started coming out? Ollie thought he was bleeding!"

"We sewed him back up."

"Yeah, but how much more damage is he going to cause to those poor, innocent bears, Britt? Can you imagine our darling boy having to watch the cat practically assault another bear?"

"So you admit it," Brittany smiled, slyly in between bites on pancake.

"What?"

"You love Mr Snuggles."

"That's not what I was saying. Besides, we don't have the space for another one." Santana retorted indignantly.

The truth was Santana totally adored Mr Snuggles. Carlos Lopez had spent most of Santana's upbringing working at the hospital and while things had started to improve after high school, the tension had yet to fully evaporate. After they got married, he made a greater effort. Visits to New York happened a little more frequently, so did phone calls.

But it all finally came to a close when two days after they informed Santana's parents that Brittany was pregnant, Carlos showed up on their doorstep with a stroller and a six-foot teddy bear, congratulating them and saying he didn't want to miss his grandchild's life, in the way he'd missed so much of Santana's.

There had been hugging and crying.

Both Santana and Carlos deny they were the ones crying.

In truth, they both were.

"He was like our baby's guardian, Britt," Santana finally admitted, now seemingly on the verge of tears. "You know? He was so little. When he was by himself in the nursery, it's like Mr Snuggles was looking after him," she sniffed.

"I know, baby," the blonde smiled reassuringly, reaching across the table and patting her wife's hand.

Santana sniffed again and her wife handed her a tissue. "Damn hormones."

"If your dad brings another bear, we can give it to Mike," Brittany suggested. "Quinn is due not long after you anyway. Besides, I think Mr Snuggles has enough left in him to be guardian to our baby girl too."

Santana thinks about it. "We need to stop Tubbs from getting into the nursery and wrecking the bear."

"We can do that. Besides, he was too lazy to finish his underground tunnelling system across the house."

She pauses again. "Ok. You're right," Santana admitted. "As usual."

Brittany laughed and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "I like the sound of that."

Both now done with breakfast, the blonde moved to clear their plates from the table to the sink. Santana smiled and watched Ollie try to make Tubbs chase a ball of yarn across the living room. It was probably meant to be some game, but Tubbs preferred taking his sweet time, which didn't seem to bother the young boy. She was also pretty sure the couch was going to be covered in yarn by the end of it.

This was her life.

And damn, did she love every facet of it.

Who would've thought? Certainly not the terrified cheerleader, secretly in love with her best friend all those years ago.

"Hey."

Brittany, who has started to wash the dishes, feels a pair of arms wrap around her waist and pull her close.

"Did I ever tell you that I love you?" Santana asked, keeping her voice low.

Brittany turns around, with that sly smile Santana fell in love with for the first time, all those years ago.

"Tell me again."

.

.

.

Author Notes:

And she told her every day, forever and ever, until they were 150 years old.

Also, yes LT is still alive by some miracle and yes, Mike and Quinn got together at some point (I've always liked the idea of them together).

There might be more of this verse and I have some other ideas if people are interested. I'm still processing everything, but writing this actually made me feel a little better.

We'll get through this together, guys.

No mater what, Brittany and Santana are off in New York, living their best life, in the early years of their long an happy life together.

[until-we-fall-in-love]

(remember me, love,) when i’m reborn: chapter four

-Read Chapter Three-

(remember me, love,) when i’m reborn Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Natasha Romanov x Reader if you squint

Summary: You're thrown back into the field as Sparrow as the hunt for Captain America continues. Maria Hill reveals a secret and you devise a plan.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of violence, Bucky’s torture and abuse

If you are under 18 you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello!! first of all, i’d just like to thank everyone who has expressed their interest and excitement for this story, it means so much to me!! i’d also like to thank everyone liking and reblogging and leaving comments!! i apologize for the somewhat long wait for this chapter, i had a little trouble with it as it’s pretty eventful! thank you again for reading and being supportive! please let me know what you think of this chapter :)

Read on Ao3

----------------------

2013

Pierce has given you the day off; October 12th, 2013. 

Two years ago, on October 12th, 2011, your sister had died in action on a mission in Ukraine. Her body had been recovered; Pierce had told you it was so you could bury her properly, but you knew it was for HYDRA, so no one else could replicate the serum in her blood. Regardless, you were thankful to have her back in any capacity, despite the bitterness that you had to swallow down each time you looked at Pierce.

Sometimes you couldn’t even look at him.

You’d buried her body alone, in a lonely grave, solitary and lost among all the others in a cemetery in Washington D.C. on a foggy, hazy autumn day. There had been no ceremony, no funeral, just you and the newly unearthed ground, the smell of petrichor thick and damp, and a small crane that had gently set her in. No priest, no religion, no God to pray to.

You’d sunk to you knees beside the hole in the ground; you wished you’d known what her favorite flowers had been, if she’d liked them at all, wished the pale lilies you tossed atop the casket meant anything more than tradition; only an even number of flowers. Sticks atop it to confuse the spirits, vague Russian traditions you know but have never practiced until now. 

HYDRA had never given her the chance to be anything but a weapon. You knew her better than anyone, she was so intricately woven with you, tethered by blood and tendon and something human and miraculous. Tied to you by experience and memory. 

And yet, you couldn’t name her favorite color. Or if she preferred the rain to the sun. 

Did she have any one else the way you had Bucky? 

Was there anyone else you could’ve grieved with? 

You hadn’t known then and any way of knowing, was buried deeply in the ground two years ago. 

You stare at her grave now, her name etched prettily onto simple stone. Her real name, the one that you only spoke in stifling darkness, in the depths of HYDRA, when you were alone and together. 

In your hands is a simple, black case. You’ve come to bury it behind her gravestone for hiding. 

It burns your fingertips with the knowledge of its contents; a brilliant answer to all the contempt and vitriol hatred eating away at you since her death. 

The solution, the salvation, the way you’ll destroy all of Pierce’s hard work. The way you’ll at least stun and traumatize HYDRA enough for you to leave with Bucky and never look back.

Finally free. 

You inhale, find your sister’s grave once more and wish nothing more than to be able to take her with you. 

But now she rests here. Without you. You without her. Tears burn your eyes momentarily and you can almost hear her voice;

“Tears for me?” She’d tousle your hair, push your head to the side. Always roughly loving. “I don’t need your tears.” But she’d give you the barest hint of a smile, all that she could ever give you.

You swallow, reach for your shovel you’d brought, too, and begin your work. You are overly careful beside her grave, as if you’ll disturb her in some way. The ground is soft and yields beneath the spade of it, easy, you sift through the dirt until there is a deep enough hole. 

And then you place the black case reverently inside where it will go undisturbed until Project Insight is nearly complete. 

You bury it like seeds, pat the earth and beg it to keep your secrets safe, and hope for flowers to bloom.

------------------------

2015, Present Day

You have not put on the snug, darkly maroon catsuit in years. It grips you still, hugs the length of your body and forces your shoulders back. You haven’t been in the field for as long; traded pistols for fountain-tip pens and tactical gear for prim skirts and heels. It fits still, though, it’s still yours. The glock at your waist, the knife strapped to your thigh are all still familiar; old friends that you fall into step with despite the time that’s passed. 

You glance upwards at Rumlow’s strike team, impassively watching as they strap weapon after weapon to their bodies. Pierce has demanded you all go out and search for Natasha and Steve; he’s given the order to kill on sight, if they aren’t already dead.

They’d sent a missile straight into the old bunker that Natasha and Steve had been in. You’d ran to the bathroom and dry heaved the moment Pierce had announced in all his smug calmness that it’d been a direct hit. Your mind had swam, images of Steve and Natasha, pulled apart; human and flesh and blood. Mortal, despite it all. Dead, despite it all. Pierce had ordered a search for them, though, which meant there was hope. 

There had to be. 

You take a breath through your nose now, suck in air, forcing yourself into an eerie calm. You tilt your chin up, sizing up the rest of the team, Rumlow. You’re faster, stronger, superior to them. You only have to find Natasha and Steve first, stall, hide them, lie for them. 

Your jaw ticks, fingers curling into your palms. 

Rumlow picks his head up to survey you, eyes too probing, sweeping over your body in a way that makes you bristle. The knife strapped to you becomes suddenly appealing, tempting to use. 

“Well, well, well,” He hums appreciatively, “I should’ve known Pierce’s personal assistant wasn’t only a pretty face.” 

You draw in a breath, offer a smile of secrets, coy and small, eyes hooded as you gaze back. Perhaps you can hold his attention, distract him a little. Any time for Natasha and Steve is good time. 

“It’s been awhile but,” You bite your lip, lashes fluttering up to him, “I’m excited to get back into the field.” 

He smiles, rolls his shoulders back, preening with the attention you’ve flattered him with, that broad gun across his chest puffing out like some absurdly arrogant bird. 

“I hope my men can keep up with you,” He says, but his eyes keep straying to your body, so the comment feels disingenuous; a line he uses to butter you up to him. Falsehood, with his wretched smile and prying eyes. 

He doesn’t see all of you. He never will. 

You pretend to glow beneath his praise, part your lips to respond when someone barks out a quick, “Rumlow!” And his attention of you is severed, head swiveling like that of a dog whose heard it’s name, too eager, over obedient. 

They call him over, and he gives you a parting glance, telling you smoothly, “Duty calls,” And wanders over to press forward with commands of the mission at hand. You try to keep an eye roll from overcoming your features, but you do finally let your face fall, shoulders tensing. 

You stalk off, boarding one of the helicarriers that will bring you directly to the sight, trying to keep your heart in your chest, refusing to think of anything but Natasha and Steve making it out alive and well. 

-------------------------

Nimble and quick, you ease your way through the rubble of the site, heart sinking with the sight that surrounds you. A piece of you, insidious and vile, hisses that there’s no way they survived this. But the greater, more feral and desperate part of you growls back that they have to have survived. You cannot imagine anything else, cannot even summon the emotions of grief, caught somewhere in disbelief. Maybe disillusion. 

Regardless, you press onward, searching with keen eyes for any sign of where they could’ve taken cover, found shelter and survived. You look for crevices, places where they could’ve hidden. You use all your senses, enhanced and pulsing from the serum in your veins; even smell, trying to pick out the tart cherry of Natasha and the linen clean of Steve’s scents. The tang of blood, even, burned flesh or, or--

You catch a movement far in the distance, scramble quick, darting and disappearing from any other HYDRA agents sifting through the destruction they’ve created. You catch the flash of blond, a slip of red, red hair and then you spot them. Steve, stumbling out into the open, with Natasha lolled against his chest, out cold. Your heart drops but you rush over, climbing and darting over stones of cement and beams of steal from the ruined building. You hear the distant whir of a helicarrier, push yourself faster, harder, until you collide with Steve and Natasha with a surprising amount of strength, forcing him down with all your weight. You push him into hiding nearly beneath a large slab of cement, watching as the planes with their burning, spotlights sweep over you, noticing nothing. 

Steve looks up at you from his knees, Natasha still in his arms, cradled there. 

“Are you okay?” You hiss, dropping to your knees in front of him. 

He stares at you a moment as if he can’t quite believe you’re real, blue eyes searching and wide and--

“Yeah, yes, I’m okay.” He gets out, voice strained, his breathing still ragged. 

Your eyes dart down to Natasha, hand suddenly hovering, as if you might reach out and touch her, brush a strand of her hair from her face. “Is she?” You press. 

“Yes,” Steve assures, “Just unconscious.” His eyes dart over you, falling to the catsuit, eyebrows inching upwards, “What are you--”

You shake your head to silence him, you don’t have the time, can feel the precious seconds that slip from you. “HYDRA is after you now. Kill order. You need to--” 

“SHIELD fired the bogey, though.” Steve interjects suddenly, confused, eyes swimming and desperate as he searches for answers in your own eyes. You can’t give them. 

Natasha stirs in his arms, but doesn’t wake. 

In the distance, you hear footsteps, undetectable to anyone without enhanced hearing, faint against the gravel. 

“Someone’s coming.” You both say at the same time and Steve’s face crumples in confusion. 

“How did you hear that?” He snaps at you, baring teeth and hunching closer; secrets unraveling beneath his very eyes and he can’t keep up, already drowning in everything else, swallowed deep by the rough waves of mystery that have given him no reprieve. His blue eyes burn and simmer hot, azule and frantic. His brows are pulled together, not just in anger but anguish and distress. 

On his knees, he looks like a faithless man, digging for the answers that cruel gods won’t give him. 

“Listen to me,” You snap back in a low hiss, little viper that you are, suddenly lunging, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket rough and scratching, reaching over Natasha to shake him. To force him into hearing you.

He’s taken back, blinking hard.

“Remember when I asked if you had someone outside of SHIELD you could trust?” You press, digging harder into his chest. 

“Yes.”  

“Go to them. Tell no one else.” You order, “Keep your feet off the dirt; stay on debris and cement so they can’t track you.” You continue, knowing what they’ll look for, knowing Steve isn’t a spy, but a soldier. He isn’t used to being hunted; feral, hungry hounds to a fox with bloodied feet. “Now go!” You snap, shoving at his chest. 

Steve stands, shaky, rising through ash. 

“Sam Wilson. He works at the VA.” Steve tells you then, unprompted, “Find us if you can.” 

A lifeline, an outstretched hand, is what he offers you. 

You swallow, keenly aware that you don’t deserve his trust after all of the secrets that you have kept from him, all of the darkness that you were born from and shrouded in. 

But you nod, “I will.” You promise, truthful and bare in front of him for once, standing as Sparrow in the ruins of a HYDRA building, on top of the secrets you plan to burn. 

He takes a final look at you, before turning and going, hoisting Natasha closer, footsteps careful and seeking cement. 

You wait, watch his figure leave, watch as he keeps low and near cover and darkness. He’s learning, transforming in front of your very eyes, as all men do when faced with the decimation of their faith.  

And when he’s out of reach, you roll your shoulders back, pretend to discover a footprint in the dirt. 

“Rumlow!” You shout and he turns, hound that he is, head cocked. He comes to you, heels beside you. Fetch, you think cruelly, and throw the stick in the other direction.

He looks down at the footprint, lets out a slow breath. He then brings his walkie to his mouth and it crackles to life;

“Bring in the Asset.” 

The blood in your veins turns glacier ice and black water. 

----------------------------------------

Sam Wilson, like Steve, is golden-hearted and full of a burning sort of hope in the good of people. In doing the right thing. He welcomes you into his house as if he has known you for years, offers you food and water as if you are kin. 

You decline him but the sentiment settles deep inside of you. 

His smile is open, like the sun parting from the clouds, the first warmth after winter when the air is sweet with spring. He tries to lighten the mood; you think in a better situation, you would really adore Sam. But, as it stands, anxiety and pressure have built to a buzzing, awful cacophony inside of you. It festers and you force it down, keep it in. 

You only hope to see that better situation some day.

Natasha is showering, washing away the dirt and the grime of the explosion. Sam is in the kitchen. Steve is in a spare bedroom, sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his dirtied hands. In this moment of stillness, you can see the stress that has settled upon him, heavy and unbearable; Atlas and his broad shoulders, now so weary and tired. 

You approach quietly and he only notices when you stand directly in front of him, your boots at the edge of his vision. He lifts his eyes to you, finds your face, and holds your gaze with a raw honesty that you almost try to hide from. You force yourself to hold his eyes, even if you can feel your heart collapse inward slowly, weakening and softening for the man beneath you. 

He lets out a slow breath, easing his bent back straight, rolling his shoulders back. He still looks up at you. 

“This is a new look for you,” He manages to say, voice soft and rough, a touch of resentment in the undertones, perhaps. Your heart squeezes painfully inside of your chest. 

Don’t hate me, you plead. 

You tilt your head, worry your bottom lip, and let out a slowly gathered breath before admitting, “It’s actually very old.” 

“Is it?” Steve says too lightly, a hint of bitterness, his eyes flashing, “I suppose I would never know, would I?” 

“Steve,” You warn, breaking his gaze, turning your face from his scrutiny. You shift to cross your arms across your chest, close yourself off and hide from him but he reaches out, snags your wrist with a roughness you aren’t prepared for. He forces you open with his strength. 

Your eyes cut back to him, simmering, meeting his fiery blue; like the too-hot, too-bright part of a flame.

“Why have you always forced me away?” He hisses, squeezing, pulling you closer. 

“Let go,” You bite back, giving a half-hearted tug of your wrist. 

“No,” He snaps back, teeth bared and a little vicious, “Answer me.”

“Because I had to!” 

Your breathing comes in quick now, labored and making your heart clench hard. 

And now you tug again at your wrist, leaning into the enhanced strength you have not used in years, and break free of him with a force he didn’t know you possessed. 

“For your safety! For my safety! For--” 

For Bucky’s safety. 

The words get caught in your throat, lodged deep and you almost choke, gut wrenching horribly and for a sick flash, you believe you might throw up. All of those secrets will have poisoned you, you think, made you ill and toxic and nuclear. 

Your face crumples, eyes guttering, suddenly filling with bitter, frustrated tears that you have held down for far too long. As if they’ve been unearthed from the depths of your soul, suddenly springing forth, they fall down your cheeks, cutting tracks down that drip onto your chin and onto your chest. 

Immediately, Steve softens; he wanted in, desperately wanted to split you open and see what laid beneath and here, here he’s finally gotten it. You want to be angry with him, but you also know you’ve lied through your teeth, hidden yourself when all he has ever wanted was to unfurl you, soften the edges, take care of you. 

He has only ever tried to give you peace. 

 His hands reach for your waist, grasp around you and pull you forward, into his lap. You fall easily, down, down into broad, warm arms that are safe and secure. 

“Let it out,” He murmurs, crushing you to his chest, tucking you close and bundling you in his arms. He cradles you, your hands squabbling in his shirt, on his shoulders. Your face presses to his neck, legs dangling over his thighs as you finally break beneath all of the pressure. 

“I wanted to tell you--” You cry, your knuckles tightening on him, “So badly.” You get out, half choking. “But it’s me versus an empire and I can’t--” 

“I would’ve helped you,” Steve insists, “We could’ve helped you.” 

But he doesn’t understand and he won’t until he sees the full, brutal picture of it all. Until he understands where you were unmade and what brought you here, to this very moment. He won’t understand until he knows about your sister, about the way in which you met Bucky, all that you’d lost or never had. All those that had tried to sink their hands into you, mold you, make you, control you. It had been all you’d known for so long, until your world had been rocked, shaken so thoroughly by the death of your sister and the emergence of your new life with Pierce. By the way in which Bucky had settled himself into your heart as if he’d belonged there all along. 

The way Steve had slipped into your heart, as gently as the falling snow had been the night you’d met him. 

You shake your head, jerky movement, damp cheek pressed to the skin of his neck. “You don’t understand,” You tremble, voice shaking, “There’s so much more, Steve.”

“Then tell me,” He insists, as he always has, squeezing you, hand cradling your skull, fingers tangling in your hair. “Tell me, sweetheart, please.” 

You pull away from him slightly, look into his face, so deeply concerned and vulnerable. Your fingers touch his cheek, trace the line of his face as you look up at him hopelessly. “I don’t have time now.” You whisper, tears still slipping from your eyes. “After all of this,” Your fingers drifts to the line of his jaw, “I’ll tell you everything. I promise.” 

Steve’s eyes flicker over your face, searching and seeking for something in your expression. When he finds whatever he is looking for in the depth of your eyes, his face softens, “Okay.” He agrees softly, pressing his forehead to yours, “Okay.” 

“Just,” You swallow, choke back another quiet sob, body tensing as you swallow it down and hold it back, “Just don’t hate me, when you find out.” And you shut your eyes to his gaze, another gush of warm tears cutting down your cheeks. 

His fingers flex in your hair, tightening a fraction, “I could never,” He says so quietly that you fear you have misheard him, the warm, soft press of his lips suddenly at the corner of your mouth. “I could never hate you.” He murmurs and you haven’t opened your eyes to him, to the gentleness and care you will no doubt find in his face if you do. But his lips pass over yours, reverent, and you should push him away but you’re boneless, pliant in his arms as his lips slant over yours. 

It’s a delicate kiss, but open-mouthed and yielding. You shouldn’t, but you allow yourself a moment to be kissed by him. To kiss him back and feel the slight brush of his tongue to yours, the pass of his lips against you. You shouldn’t, but you arch up, press closer, kiss back. A broken, desperate noise comes from Steve, his hands still cradling you, holding you close. 

Faintly, you hear the shower turn off, the sudden quietness that fills and swallows up the room. It’s all you need to find the strength to pull away from him, to suddenly twist and squirm away, shifting to stand back up onto shaking legs. You turn away from him, from the bathroom door, and there is a question on his lips before he hears the creak of the door. 

You wipe your tears, swipe at your lips, and when you turn back around to face Natasha and Steve, your mask is solidly back in place. 

Steve marvels at you a moment, at the jarring transition. Moments ago you were in his arms, tear stained and fragmented. Now you are seemingly whole again, but your eyes are still red-rimmed, lips kiss stung but your face is neutral and impassive. 

Natasha is changed, toweling off her damp hair. She flicks her eyes over you, over the catsuit, “I haven’t seen you like this in awhile.” Her head tilts slightly, “Little Vorobey.” She half purrs, forcing you to squirm under her gaze. 

Steve’s eyes shift between you two, before settling onto you curiously. He asks, “What does it mean?”

“It was what they called her.” Natasha says before you can answer, “And they called her sister the Stervyatnik.” 

Your eyes burn into Natasha, unused to speaking so openly about such a removed and distant part of your life, feeling suddenly exposed. She seems unaffected by your gaze. 

You swallow, “It means Sparrow,” You tell Steve quietly, “And my sister was Vulture.” 

“You have a sister?” Steve asks, gently probing, the beginnings to a long, long conversation. 

Your head pulses with a dull ache. 

“Had.” You say quietly, “I had a sister.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head, shrugging his sympathy off and rolling your shoulders back. You tuck the memory of your sister back, deep into the burrows of your mind. Lock her tight to your chest. Perhaps another day you will tell Steve all about her but now is not the time.

“I need to be leaving soon.” You announce, eyes flickering between the pair, “I’m glad you’re both okay.” You say with earnest, suddenly reaching out and snagging Natasha by the arm.

“You’re getting soft,” Natasha says with a curl of her lips, cat-like and sly, and you surprise her by pulling her into a hug.

She is still and unmoving for a moment, before tightening her arms around you, too, tucking her face into the crook of your neck and exhaling. 

And it reminds you of another time, another flicker of your life, being tangled limbs and lipstick stains with her against satin sheets in foreign countries. Or bloodied hands and pistols against hips, knives tucked on the inside of smooth thighs. You’d both been so cold then, so distant and strange and hard. Sleepwalking girls, puppets on strings, digging fingers into each other’s skin in an attempt to find something they couldn’t control of you both.  

“One of us has to, Tasha.” You mumble and you can feel her smile against your neck, despite her seemingly neutral expression when you both pull away from one another. 

You let out a slow breath, just as Steve stands, and you move to him, too. You rise up onto your toes, hand balancing on his chest, and press your lips to his cheek. His eyes soften, dip into a half-lidded position. 

You glance up to him, a breath caught between the two of you, a flood of unsaid words that hides, trapped, and pressurized behind a dam. For now, you hold it there, for now you push against the tide. For a heartbeat, you fear he may kiss you again, so you step away. 

“Jasper Sitwell is having a meeting with Secretary Stern later today, around three in the afternoon.” You inform both of them, and they cock their heads, narrow their eyes, but take the intel silently and gratefully. They aren’t quite sure why you’ve said it yet, but you trust them to figure it out. 

“Stay safe. I’ll see you as soon as I can again.” You promise. 

“You, too.” Steve murmurs, taking a longing, last glance at you, as if he’s committing you to memory, before he retreats into the bathroom now. He leaves you and Natasha to each other and the quietness of the room. 

The moment you hear the water of the sink, you find Natasha’s light eyes, a renewed urgency to you as you hiss, “They’re sending him after you all.” 

She doesn’t pretend to play dumb. You watch as she straightens, seizes into tenseness, face suddenly paling. She knows you mean the Winter Soldier. She swallows, opens her mouth, but then closes it. 

“I’m going to try and force Pierce to take you all captive; he won’t execute Captain America with the public watching. The moment they give him the command, I’m going to call in news sources to broadcast it. Just stay alive.” Then you inhale shakily, “And, try-- try not to kill him, either.” 

Natasha’s eyes dart to you, scrutinizing. Your eyes turn pleading and you can’t find it in yourself to care; not when it comes to Bucky and his life. You’d beg, right down on your hands and knees, if it was what she wanted. When she doesn’t respond, you press, “Please, Natasha,” Voice wavering, “For me?” 

She finally softens slightly, her own stuttering exhale, “I don’t think I could if I tried.” 

Faintly, you recall their own shared, distant history. You aren’t sure if she means physically, or emotionally and you don’t care. It’s enough. 

You nod, a slight dip of your chin, “Thank you.” You whisper and turn to leave. 

When you catch Sam in the kitchen, he turns to you. “It was good to meet you,” You tell him despite it all; another piece of you is infinitely grateful for the largeness of his heart and loyalty. You wish you could express this to him, thank him for keeping two of the most important people in your life safe, without faltering, without question. You marvel at the quickness to which you now want to include him in that circle, too. Perhaps in time. 

And he gives you the warmest smile, as if you are an old friend, “You, too.” He leans against the kitchen counter smoothly, eyes glittering in the morning light, “I just wish it was under different circumstances.”

You nod, “Well,” And you find his eyes with your own shimmering eyes, “Hopefully I’ll meet you again under better times.” 

“I hope so, too.” He tells you sincerely before you duck out his front door and into the peach and pink of dawn. The chill of morning clears your head, touches your newly dried cheeks, and for a moment, you feel the freshness after a thorough crying, the newness of your heart. 

You set your jaw. You have to find Maria Hill.

-----------------------------------------------

Thankfully, she’s been trying to find you, too, and the moment you step into SHIELD headquarters again, she is snagging you with a pinching grip to your elbow. She falls into step beside you casually, as if there is still a rouse and there is, in some way. 

Not everyone is aware it is HYDRA in control. But you are certain she knows now. 

“Come with me,” She tells you, quietly, out of the corner of her mouth. Before then saying casually and more loudly, “I need clarification on some of the papers Pierce sent over.” 

You nod and follow her lead. When she’s certain eyes are not on you, when you’re blended in with others, in the blind spot of cameras, she leads you out to a parking garage and you follow her into her own sleek, black, stealth vehicle without another word. 

You don’t ask where she is taking you until the city bleeds out and you are surrounded by towering trees and forest life. 

“A secure facility with only those we can trust.” She responds simply and again, you are struck by this we. You eye her, but keep quiet for the rest of your journey, certain she will only beginning speaking of plans and schemes once safely inside. 

Once there, she leads you in and deep into the belly of this grand place, down into darkness, past absurd amounts of security and locks that you aren’t even sure are at the SHIELD headquarters. 

But what the final door finally reveals is a ghost, lying prone in a hospital bed. 

Nick Fury stares back at you. 

You are almost surprised. 

More shockingly, though, your lips curl into a wide smile, and you find you’ve never been happier to see him than now. Leave it to Nick, you think wryly, to cheat death, get out of the grips of Pierce and stow away. 

His lips lift up into the slightest of smiles, too. “Thank you for the warning.” He says genuinely. 

You bow your head slightly, a little marveled and humbled by him, “Of course.” You tell him, suddenly wish it’d been him who’d found you, the way he’d found Natasha. It could’ve been him who’d taken you and given you a purpose of security and the protection of people. But instead, you received the other side of the coin. The fates had not been so kind. 

But you’re trying to change that now, you assure yourself, pushing and fighting against whatever destiny had been originally given to you.

“We need your help.” Fury says then, trying to ease himself up slightly, but he’s too battered, too broken to move that far. Maria goes to his side, but he waves her off. “What are your plans? Since I know you have them.” 

You blink, unused to someone being aware of your capabilities in such a way. You have always been hidden behind Pierce and an unassuming smile, behind all of your secrets. But Fury looks straight through you now, with his single, burning eye. 

“Pierce has sent the Winter Soldier after Steve and by default, Natasha, and now Sam Wilson, I’m afraid.” You respond, “The moment the order is given, I am going to call in news sources in hopes of gaining mass public attention. Pierce will not give a kill order to Captain America while the country watches.” You let out a breath, “I hope for their arrest. I’ve already warned Natasha of this.” 

“From there?” Maria presses, scrutinizing you. 

“Eventually, free them, before they are killed.” 

“We want them here.” Fury responds, “So we can form a plan to stop Project Insight. You have a plan for that?” 

You suck your teeth for a moment, a pause, “I do.” 

Fury’s brows hitch up, expecting, awaiting. 

“When the helicarriers were being built, I studied their mechanics to find a way to destroy it. As you know, they have a targeting chip that they will use to pin and lock onto targets. I crafted three, separate targeting chips that would instead target the helicarriers themselves, destroying them, once I swapped them out before they took to the skies.” 

Maria’s lips fall open slightly, perhaps in awe. 

Fury’s eye crinkles, almost in amusement, or pride, or the barest hint of wonder. 

“Where are these chips?” He asks.

“Buried behind my sister’s gravestone since 2013.” 

 And this time Fury’s face splits into a grin and he whistles lowly. “You’ve been at this since 2013?” 

“2011, actually. The moment the files of Project Insight were placed in front of me.” You answer honestly, freely, feeling lighter, as if you are letting go of baggage. Slowly, you are shaking off secrets, like brushing snow away as spring begins to warm the earth. Change is around the bend, so close you can almost taste it. 

“Can you get Rogers, Romanoff, and Wilson here?” Fury then presses, “So we can get them to swap out the targeting chips?” 

You wrack your brain for a plan that would allow that without Pierce’s suspicion, while also keeping Bucky safe. “I don’t--”

“Can you get me a uniform that one of the STRIKE teams will use when they arrest them?” Maria suddenly speaks up, turning to look at you. 

You tilt your head, as if you can see her own plan forming and shaping in her mind. It’s clever, a little risky, but it might just work--

“I can do that.” You assure her, forcing yourself to be able to. You don’t know how yet, but you’ll make sure she does if it will guarantee their safety. 

“Then I’ll take care of the rest.” She returns, holding your eyes, simple and straightforward, honest for you to see her intentions. 

You think you like Maria Hill. 

“Give us the location of the targeting chips, and we’ll take care of those, too, while you keep Pierce distracted and unaware.” Fury then says, “How soon can you rendezvous with us again?” 

“I’m not sure.” You answer truthfully, “With the sudden move in the date of the launch of these helicarriers, Pierce will want me by his side.” You tilt your chin up, “But I will go with whatever plans end up enfolding, so long as the people I care about are safe and the helicarriers end up destroyed.”  

Fury’s eye pins you for a moment, studying you, assessing you once more. “You know we’re really trusting you with this.” He says slowly.

“With all due respect, Director Fury, but I’m also really trusting you, too.” You respond and watch as his face shifts slightly, easing, accepting your answer. 

And with that, you tell him the location of your sister’s grave; a place only you have known since she was buried. 

You allow them to unearth all that you have concealed for the last several years and hope it sets you free, in some way. 

----------------------------------

Another secret unravels the same way a stitch can when pulled correctly. 

Steve knows that Bucky is the Winter Soldier. 

You’d been with Pierce when the fight had taken place, carefully having tipped the news broadcasters to the fight until the circled with helicopters and too-bold photographers, forcing Pierce’s hand. 

“Take them alive if there’s people watching.” He’d growled at Rumlow, dragging an irritated hand through his hair, “We’ll deal with them in private.” 

And Rumlow had scampered off to finish this fight, to take them into custody.

You’d gotten Maria Hill the uniform she’d requested, viciously hoped that she pulled off her own plan of smuggling them out. The moment they had Steve, Natasha, and Sam in handcuffs, Pierce was ordering you to come with him. 

“You know the Asset better than I do.” Pierce begins as you follow after him, knowing he is leading you to where they hold Bucky. “Are you concerned at all with his connection to Rogers and the use of his name?” 

You’re almost taken back; perhaps by the acknowledgement that you know Bucky better, or perhaps for his concern that his brainwashing has not fully sank into Bucky. In fact, you worry deeply about this; you have since the moment Rumlow had called him in. You knew it was inevitable, in some ways, but now you worry for Bucky’s safety in the hands of men like Pierce. 

“I’ve never experienced any severe lapse in him that his trigger words have not taken care of.” You lie, precious pearled truth hidden behind your teeth like a treasure. 

Pierce grunts in responds, descending down with you, into the pits of this jail, of this hell that makes you ill to walk into. Rumlow catches up and trails behind you, giving you a half smirk upon seeing you. You force back a frown. 

You keep pace with Pierce’s brisk walk, even in your heels that you’d changed into, back to the pretty assistant with a pale blue blouse. 

You’re both greeted with a man at the door, “Sir, h-he’s unstable. Erratic.” He tries to get out and immediately, your heart drops fast and hard. You try to keep your breathing even. Pierce bulls through the door though, not even glancing at the man. 

You swallow as you see all the guns pointed at Bucky, where he sits, lifeless and bleary, bare and with his arm gleaming beneath the lights that are too harsh on him. 

You suddenly wish to shield him, stand in front of him and growl at the others to get away. But you force yourself to still, to try to remain neutral as Pierce lifts his hands and signals for them to all put their guns down. He stands in front of him. 

“Mission report.” Pierce commands. Bucky doesn’t even flinch and you wish he’d just comply, just comply and spare himself. “Mission report now.” Pierce barks, his nerves fraying. 

Bucky stares, lifeless and lost, with watery eyes. 

Please, you silently beg him, please speak. 

Pierce inches closer, studying Bucky’s face too closely and you want to shove him away, tear into him, bristling at the way Pierce looks at him. 

The slap is sudden and jarring and you gasp as if he’s struck you. Bucky’s head whips to the side and without thinking, you stutter a step forward, as if you’d go to him and you want to-- you want to. 

You think about killing Pierce, think about taking the knife strapped to your thigh and slitting the vulnerable artery of his neck. Then cupping Bucky’s stung cheek with bloodied hands, promising freedom from this wretched place and these monsters. 

“There was a man on the bridge,” Bucky finally speaks and you have to keep your face from crumpling at the sound of his voice, so lost and foreign and gravely. “Who was he?”

You could cry because you know already, he has made a severe mistake by revealing the truth of his surfacing. You wish he would play dumb, spew a mission report but his poor, helpless brain is so fucking scrambled and you’re not sure if you’ve made it worse or better over the years by trying to get him to remember--

 “You met him earlier this week on another assignment.” Pierce responds. 

Bucky shifts, his eyes suddenly darting out, finding you, pinning you like a butterfly to a board. “I knew him.” He tells you and you force a breath in and out slowly because you think yes, you do know him. And I know him. You loved him once and I love him now--

Your chest cleaves with the look in Pierce’s eyes, the way he glances to you, then back to Bucky before slowly taking a seat in front of him, so they are eye level. Bucky bows slightly, shoulders collapsing inwards as he looks away. 

“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century, and I need you to do it one more time.” Pierce presses, assuring him of his goodness, tricking him because you think Bucky was probably too good, as golden as Steve, so they had to tell him he was doing something valiant and good. 

You feel like you’re going to be sick, stomach suddenly jolting horribly.

“Society’s at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we’re going to give it a push. But if you don’t do your part, I can’t do mine. And HYDRA can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.” Pierce tells him, unnervingly calm. 

Bucky’s face shifts, brows pulling together and he looks so fucking hopeless, adrift and trying to hold onto anything tangible and constant. So he looks at you when he says;

“But I knew him.”

It is your undoing. 

The simple, clear ache, the knife in the chest. And you’re an open, frayed nerve, heart spasming painfully and head swimming with the recent reminders of your dead, dead sister and the pain of the serum they’d forced in you and every time you’ve watched them torture and strip Bucky bare and raw. The broken look in Steve’s eyes when he’d realized nothing was what it seemed, and Natasha’s split mask revealing her own turmoil before she’d hugged you too tightly over Nick Fury’s battered body. 

You are a series of anguished moments, seeped in darkness and dismal, nothing outlooks that had forced your sister into a ghost. Forced you into submission. Forced Bucky into a weapon. 

“Prep him.”

Pierce’s voice cuts through the room and you whip your head to him. He doesn’t even glance at you. 

You swallow down your scream. 

“He’s been out of cryo freeze for too long.” A man shakily warns. 

“Then wipe him and start over.” Pierce says and your face goes slack, mouth parting before you can stop it. 

It is not the first time you have seen this but for some reason, it feels like the worst with the way Bucky’s face crumples, eyes seeking you as if you could stop it. As if you could help him. You want to turn away, but know that he needs you now more than ever so you give him your eyes. 

Be strong, you plead to him and his gaze hold yours until they can’t any more. 

They force him back in the chair, slipping the mouth guard in and he is too obedient. The cuffs lock around his arms to hold him down and he seizes up, chest suddenly heaving because he knows what’s coming and you know what’s coming. 

Rumlow is watching with a morbid curiosity and you think of clawing his eyes out with bare hands, fingernails digging deep until he cries--

The machine whirs to life and you watch in horror as it stutters to settle around his head, heating up into an electric current. Bucky exhales a whimper, just before it clamps down tight onto him and he jolts as the sound of sizzling and sparking zips around the room. 

He screams. And screams. And screams. 

You watch because you have to. Pierce leaves and you don’t follow. Rumlow leaves and you don’t follow. You wait until it is just you and the scientists that have tortured him for too long and Bucky is slack and blank faced in the chair. 

“Leave,” You snap at them and when they don’t move fast enough, you grip the knife from your thigh holster and fling it across the room, letting it slice against the cheek of one and he startles, yelping. “Now.” You snarl and they stare in awe for a moment and you wish you could’ve sunken it into his skull. They scamper out quickly, until you are left with Bucky and the cold metal of the room.

You go to him and release his cuffs, his body suddenly slumping forward so you catch him, easing him so that his head lays against your chest, cradle him there beside your heart. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, so no one but him can hear but you don’t even think he can hear you, either. “I’m sorry.” You whimper, carding your hands through his hair and keeping him tight to you. “This is the last time,” You cry, tears dripping down onto the crown of his head. “I promise,” You sob, rocking him slow and soft. “I promise.” 

You wail, howling quietly into the cavernous jaws of metal that surround you. For you and your losses. For him and his. You don’t care who hears you. You don’t care who sees you as you take care of him as if he is the only thing precious in this world. 

Because by tomorrow morning, you will disappear with him; far, far from wretched monsters who have done this to him. 

“We’re so close,” You tell him, lifting his face to yours but there is nothing there, blue eyes dim and pale and gone. He is a shell. Your lip wobbles, tears spilling down your cheeks and dripping onto his. 

“It’s almost the end.” You murmur brokenly, fingers digging into the skin of his jaw desperately. 

“It’s almost the end.” You vow, begging for that hopeful ending, those better circumstances that you have fought so awfully for since October 12th, 2011. 

[iatheia]

Der Tod comparison

I don’t want to count how many times I’ve seen Elisabeth at this point, over the years, and last three months specifically. Several dozens. And one thing that never keeps stopping amazing me is just how different most of them are from each other, not even just in terms of the score, but also the character interpretation.

Well, not all characters. Real historical characters are somewhat more confined to the canon. Poor FJ almost never has any room to grow in any way that doesn’t involve facial hair - he is the most static one of them all between the different performances. Dear old Sophie ranges on the scale from “less evil” to “more evil”. Rudolf could have more or less agency in his actions, more or less aware of the manipulation happening behind the scenes, more or less willing to go along with it. Lucheni could be more or less sane, more or less of a puppetmaster of this musical, more or less malicious in his treatment of the rest of the cast. Our titular character, Sisi, can be more or less childish, more or less of an active participant of her own misery, more or less welcoming of the affections that are bestowed upon her.

There are definitely more than a few standout performances among them, both individually and cast-wide, performances that forced me to pay attention to them, to make a double-take, to appreciate the complexities of the characters time and time again. But I never go into a production not knowing who these characters are, what is supposed to make them tick.

With Der Tod, all of it flies out of the window. Every time I find myself asking, “well, who are you supposed to be this time?” And after all, you are dealing with a personification of death here as a main character, how could anyone agree how that should be portrayed? Almost every actor does take this role into a different direction, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.

I’ve been itching to do a comparison between them for quite a while. This is not an exhaustive list. I still haven’t seen a few casts, few others to my disappointment I legitimately have nothing to say, because they are bland, unoriginal and inconsistent (and it is to my great regret that the only live performance I’ve seen has to fall into this category). This comparison is also largely reliant on the initial impressions of whatever recording I’ve seen these actors in first. In some cases, the portrayal can and does evolve, especially if they’ve been at a role for a while. Sometimes the things that catch the eye may not necessarily be what they were going for, so these are just my impressions of them. So, without further ado.

Uwe Kroger - The closest to being a concept, an idea of death, not a physical being, but omnipresent, touching every aspect of people's lives.

Ichiro Maki - Definitely heavily inspired by Uwe, but much more stilted, emotionless, not terribly suited for the romantic portrayal Takarazuka is aiming for. People die sooner or later, death doesn't particularly care about how you feel about it.

Asaji Saki - Very vocally challenged, this Tod. Some apparently like her voice, but it is definitely not for the weak of heart. But this is the most romantic portrayal of the character out of everyone. Der Tod who has just experienced the love for the first time before coming to terms with it in the middle of second act. Quite precious.

Shizuki Asato - the biggest Der Tod who ever todded, outtodding absolutely everyone in terms of the gravitas and the singing ability. Even more otherworldly than Ichiro's performance from two years ago, although with a much greater success. There isn't a shred of emotion, she is just, well, death, who will always get what is due to it.

Hanano Sumire - beautiful, powerful, and surprisingly... malicious. I don't think I felt that much malice from any other version. For the first time involvement of this character with the general populace and the revolutionaries made sense to me. This is not a death in an abstract sense, this is a spirit of crumbling empire, perfectly content to toy with those who will bring its destruction. She is in no hurry, and is just as happy with the chase itself.

Szabo Szilveszter - a fancy aristocrat. Despite somewhat alien looks (and sparkles worthy of any Takarazienne), a very humanistic portrayal of the character. Very passionate, but quite snarky.

Yuichiro Yamaguchi - he is a monument. Very powerful voice that is worthy of an opera singer that would be able to kill absolutely everyone, and a lot of physical presence, but absolutely no dynamical portrayal. He would stand there. Then he would walk. Then he would stand again. A few times he would attempt to rock his heart out during while there was absolutely zero singing, but only barely. Poor Rudolf had to turn under his own arm - there wasn't even an attempt to jerk him around. It was legitimately heart-wrenching.

Ayaki Nao - a beautiful and enchanting seductress who wanted nothing more than to be wanted by others. Everyone. Within a ten mile radius. Regardless of age, gender, sexual preference. Most do. She is willing to take the time to persuade the ones that do not to make them see that falling into her embrace is the right and proper thing to do. The seduction is the goal in itself, and the moment her conquest finally give in is something to be savored. Most feminine out of all the other Tods, even by Takarazuka standards.

Mate Kamaras - everything about this Tod is the toxic masculinity personified. Dragging others according to his whims, assaulting them physically. Very rough around the edges.

Christoph Goetten - we shall not talk about him. Him being shirtless singing Wenn Ich Tanzen Will horrified me beyond belief (admittedly, it was during a rehearsal? But they still felt compelled to include it on video. Those bastards.)

Mizu Natsuki - definitely can see the influence from Mate Kamaras. Very masculine Der Tod, or rather, he is a boy who doesn't understand what the word "no" means and refuses to learn.

Sena Jun - a very lonely Tod. She is seemingly moving from scene to scene asking anyone who would be willing to listen if they want to be her friend. With Tiny Rudolf it's not a promise, it's a plea, a cry for help.

Mark Seibert - very smooth. Take the Moon, shrink it down to the size of a billiard ball, that's how smooth we are taking about. Underneath it all, it's just a very (very) polished version of Mate until you achieve all that smoothness.

Kim Junsu - a self absorbed fop who accidentally wandered into the underworld, and declared himself the king of it. The angels decided to go along with it just for a laugh, everyone else are just confused.

Park Hyo Shin - No other Tod is as into their Elisabeth as this one is, and he doesn't quite know what to do about all this thirst. I want to see a full version of his portrayal to see if he does figure it out in the end, but so far, alas.

Asumi Rio - a Tod that doesn't doubt his own irresistibility, not for a second. Somewhat self-absorbed. She already knows the end result. She knows that she is wanted, even if her prey is too coy to say it, or they will sooner or later.

Asaka Manato - something of a mix of a doting parent and someone who didn't sign up for any of it, I suppose?

Yoshio Inoue - most ephemeral. The only Tod that made me convinced that he wasn't really there, that he doesn't exist. That he is all just a figment of Elisabeth's and Rudolf's imaginations. A shared fantasy, or rather, madness.

Shirota Yu - Alien, otherworldly, completely devoid devoid of any human values. He tries to imitate human behavior for his amusement, it turns into a caricature of humanity almost immediately. Instills terror with his mere presence. Natural at mind control. I need to write about this version in more details later on, but this is certainly the most original take on the character in a decade.

Continued in Part 2

[stylinsonlibrary]

JEALOUS HARRY FIC REC

Always make sure to read all tags/warnings/author’s notes before reading!

Now That It’s Over (8k)

“What are the odds we would both be at Mariano’s on a Thursday night?”

Louis’ shoulders tensed. What the hell was he doing here?

“Harry? Hi? The odds are pretty crazy, yeah.”

Harry smiled down at Louis the way he used to, but there was also a glint in his eye that Louis absolutely did not like. Harry was also dressed in his favorite black and white striped women’s jeans and a printed shirt only he would ever be able to pull off. It was quite rude of him to come and interrupt Louis, particularly while looking so good. Louis hadn’t seen him since he’d finished moving his shit out of what was once their shared flat, so this being the first time seeing him wasn’t exactly providence in Louis’ mind.

Or the one where Harry and Louis broke up two months ago, and Harry just might be sabotaging Louis’ dates.

Forever, Uninterrupted (8k)

Harry finds a mysterious picture in Louis’ bag one night and drives himself crazy over it. It’s definitely not what he thinks.

can’t go without you anymore (10k)

Harry Styles was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. This was award season. He wasn’t even nominated for anything, still everyone wanted a piece of him. But Harry was lonely. And a stressed and lonely Harry did no one good. What if one night his friends and his manager just ran into the most fitting boy for their friend? And what if maybe they set him up as Harry Styles personal assistant. It already sounds like the beginning of a disaster.

or Personal Assistant Louis Tomlinson is going to be the end of actor Harry Styles. This was a given.

We Can Be Greater (10k)

Louis, Harry, Zayn, Niall, and Liam, were simply five run away teens, desperately seeking a safe haven from their foster home. When they discovered an abandoned building, they entered it, their lives ceased to remain the same because they entered upon a different realm. A new universe, one in which they were superheroes.

The moment they reached this new world, they were desperately needed to defeat a villain; sounds cool right? Except they had no clue of their powers, this new world, the villain, or how to get back home. This is the story of how five outcasts turned from hooligans into heroes.

See Clearly Now (11k)

“My eyes are up here.”

What? Was— was Louis flirting with him?

Harry looked up — much too slowly, probably — and saw Louis watching him, his mouth quirked up on one side, a grin threatening to steal the pretty curve of his mouth.

“What?” Harry squeaked.

Louis put his hands on his hips, almost challenging Harry to look again, “I said...my eyes are up here.”

Harry felt something electric pass between them. He felt the need to take a step forward, call Louis’ bluff, see if he was more bark than bite.

Biting sounded really fun right about now.

OR a five-times fic where two guys, one college dorm room and a faulty door lead to a few embarrassing situations and finding out more about themselves and each other than they ever bargained for.

No One Else Will Do (13k)

Harry visibly takes a deep breath. “I’ll do it. I’ll…help you through your heat.” He looks more determined now as he stands up straighter and his eyes look at Louis more intensely.

“Yeah?” Louis doesn’t mean to sound so surprised but he’s sort of in a state of shock. He’s never been with an alpha before, and the fact that his first time is going to be with Harry— his best friend— well, he couldn’t really ask for anyone better if he’s honest.

It takes Louis’ early heat for Harry and Louis to figure things out.

End of the World Tonight (12k)

“You remember when you told me that you wanted to live with me for the rest of your life?” Louis asks. His voice trembles a bit, exposing exactly how much he hates what he’s about to do. How much he wishes that he wasn’t about to do it.

“I remember,” Harry says. His expression is a little lost, like he thinks that they’re about to have a fight and he’s not sure what they’re supposed to be fighting about. Louis closes his eyes because he has to, has to take a second to regain his courage. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep suffering, can’t keep killing himself trying to hide this. He’s ready. He’s been ready for a long time.

one more for the stars (16k)

It's different, and Louis knows that, because Harry's got so much riding on this - a career and a future and his whole life. There's talk of him going first overall in the draft, of entering the NFL after only two years in college, of going to New York or Seattle or Green Bay, and Louis wants to be there for him, wants to support him and help him make decisions, but he also kind of wants to pin him to the bed and cry and scream, What about me what about me what about me?

(au. Harry's the star quarterback and Louis is about to graduate. It's a heartbreak waiting to happen.)

ain't going backwards, won't ask for space. (17k)

They've been best friends for eight years, but have never acted on the sexual tension that's existed between them. And when they do, it's completely impossible to stop the feelings that arise from denying themselves of what was always meant to be.

or the one where two idiots fall in love after years of being just best friends.

kiwi (24k)

With a stuttered mixture of a laugh and a groan, Harry lets his head droop, pushes his forehead against Louis’ chest and leans into him, fingers curled around the railing.

"You’re driving me crazy,” he breathes.

Louis lets out a puff of laughter, and when Harry lifts his eyes, the look in Louis’ gaze is one he knows too well, so distinctively coy and mischievous and gently charming, his lips quirked up with a smirk. Harry’s heart falls into the palms of his playful hands. “You’re into it.”

AU. Harry plays on Saturday nights at The Motley. Louis bartends on Saturday nights at The Motley.

It’s a thing.

Counting The Steps Between Us (24k)

AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

everything comes back to you (29k)

Louis lets out a shuddering breath. “I love you,” he says.

“Fuck you,” Harry replies.

“You know that I’ve always loved you,” Louis continues, not stopping to acknowledge what Harry’s said.

Harry shakes his head. “I know, but sometimes I wonder if that ever went past us just growing up together. We were never apart Louis, never for so many years, and the minute we were you just left me. So sometimes, when I let myself think about it, I think maybe that’s why we don’t work. You were just so used to loving me because you didn’t know anything else.”

Louis and Harry, best friends since before either of them can remember, broke up four years ago. Louis has achieved his dreams of becoming the next big thing while Harry has stayed back, dedicating himself to his studies. Both are content to forget what they had together, until a tragedy brings them right back into each other's lives.

Show me wealth, I’ll show your heart (30k)

Harry knows the value of money. He knows how to negotiate numbers, knows its worth in engines, and knows the amount he needs to secure for his business. What he didn’t know was that, if spent wisely, money is the one thing he really doesn’t need.

Or AU where Harry has more money than he can handle, Louis can’t handle not having any, and they both find out the greatest wealth isn’t countable.

the beginning of everything (30k)

“How do you take it?” Harry asked, pouring tea into a cup.

“Just a dash of milk, please,” Louis cast a look over the small table, filled to capacity. “They’re very fond of you.”

Harry ducked his head, grinning. “They’re trying to impress you.”

Louis smiled, shaking his head. “Why would they want to do that?” he asked as he took the cup Harry passed to him, their fingers brushing for an instant.

“Empathy,” Harry said under his breath.

A Belle Époque AU set (mostly) in Paris in which Harry is a struggling artist, in more ways than one, and Louis is a successful theatre critic and a failed writer, more or less.

You’re the Light (31k)

Before beginning a new graduate school in the fall, Louis Tomlinson decides to spend the summer working in Chicago as an editor’s assistant for the Chicago Tribune newspaper and staying with his old college roommate. What he finds on his first day of work is a tall, gorgeous editor named Harry who has the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen—and who also happens to be his new boss.

Follow Your Heart (32k)

“What do you mean exactly?” Harry asks. Louis’ heart is threatening to beat out of his chest. His stomach is sinking, and he’s holding his breath waiting for the words he knows are coming.

“We think it would be best to market you guys as a couple,” Simon tells them. The tone in his voice makes Louis think there’s no wiggle room to even try to argue about it.

Louis’ heart stops and his breath hitches. This cannot be happening. This has to be some sort of dream. Actually this has to be some sort of prank, really. He absentmindedly looks around the room for any evidence of hidden cameras or microphones to no avail.

“You’re kidding,” Louis says flatly. Louis is pretty sure a lot of the music industry these days likes to hide the fact that an artist isn’t straight, afraid that it might affect record sales and now he’s sitting in the middle of an executive label meeting being told he had to be in a relationship with his best friend–who’s a boy he’s been secretly in love with for most of his adolescence–in order to sell records? What kind of alternate universe level bullshit is he living in?

(your heartbeat) rang true inside my bones (32k)

Harry goes as Louis’ date for a weekend wedding. He ends up taking the role a bit too seriously.

“Hey,” Harry hears himself say just as Louis climbs back into the car. He ducks down, holding onto the roof to look at Louis who cocks his brow at him and says, “What?”

“I meant it,” Harry starts. “Like, I’d do it. I’d be your date for the wedding. If it’d make you feel less awful about being there and if you want me to, I’ll do it. I promise I’ll be good.”

you burn with the brightest flame (42k)

Harry frowns, thinking that he shouldn’t have to be glad about what gender he is, just like omegas shouldn’t have to be scared and nervous that anyone they meet might want to hurt them. He wonders why none of this occurred to him before, how he possibly could’ve just sailed through life before this without realizing how fortunate he was being born a beta. That seems a bit too serious of a conversation for Simon Cowell’s waiting room, though, so Harry puts an arm around Louis’s shoulders and teases, “You say that like you’re old or something. Two years isn’t that big of a difference!”

“Tell me that when you’re eighteen and looking back on this conversation,” Louis says.

“Well that’s - that’s different, isn’t it? We could be anywhere in two years, we could be famous.”

Louis’s eyes light up, his smile widening. “You think so?”

…or, the X-Factor Era A/B/O fic.

Cupid’s Chokehold (35k)

But - naively, stupidly, blindly - Harry holds out hope for a love that’s written across the stars. He can’t give up the feeling that there’s someone out there, waiting for him.

He’s just going to have to wait for them, too.

Or: Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn’t work out as planned.

Wonderwall (43k)

Taking the sheet cluttered with times available for the next few weeks, Louis notices a pattern in the list. The name of the person Perrie had just mentioned: Harry Styles. It’s written at least seven times, and three of which are during timeframes Louis wants.

“Who the fuck is Harry Styles?”

“You’re about to find out,” she answers, pointing over Louis’ shoulder.

Or a Love/Hate College AU where Louis Tomlinson is the lead singer of The Rogue - the most popular band on campus - and Harry Styles is the talented Freshman unknowingly challenging all that.

Let Me Touch You Where Your Heart Aches (46k)

Alcohol was all he could taste. Alcohol and Harry, and he didn’t mind one bit. Harry kissed him back with just as much fervent heat. He pushed Louis against the taxi door and pulled his head back, breathing hot and heavy against his lips. “Let’s go, yes?”

Or a Friends with Benefits AU, in which Louis falls in love and Harry is jealous. There is some Karaoke singing somewhere in there, because how do you write a romantic comedy without a Karaoke scene?

Some Things Take Root (50k)

AU. Louis’ ex doesn’t get jealous of anyone besides Harry. Harry helps Louis use that to his advantage.

Love's On The Line, Is That Your Final Answer? (53k)

Harry can’t believe it when Louis, the boy he’s always had a tempestuous rivalry with, asks him to be his boyfriend. Well, pose as his boyfriend, that is—for a new television game show in which young couples are quizzed on how well they know each other for a jackpot of thirty grand.

Reluctantly, Harry agrees—because he's got student loans to pay off, hasn't he? What's the harm? And he can totally deal with keeping his secret thing for Louis under wraps too. This is all just to win some money. It's fine. No big deal. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, everything. Obviously.

Amazing Sin (56k)

Gears started turning in Louis’ head. Purely mischievous gears that had Louis formulating a revenge plan against Taylor. He’d had enough of sitting around and taking it. If she was going to call him a whore, then fine, he’ll act like one for real. “I’m going to say something, and as my friends you are obligated to love me anyway.”

“This can’t be good,” Niall said, Zayn just groaned.

“So I know we have this strict ‘no lashing back at Taylor’ rule with me, but what if I can get press revenge a different way?” Louis asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer, because they knew by now to just go with it. “What if I stole her boyfriend?”

Or, the story of Louis ‘Steal Your Man’ Tomlinson.

Strawberries & Cigarettes (71k)

Harry looks up and immediately freezes. Next to Ms. Archie stands the boy from just the other day. The boy with the leather jacket and chipped black nails, that might or might not be sketched in the very book Harry has just placed on the table in front of him. The leather jacket is missing today, probably because they aren’t allowed as part of their required uniform attire, but Harry can still see the fading black nail polish on his nails, and eyeliner around his eyes. Harry’s mouth goes a little dry. This boy is so intriguing to him.

“Ye-yes, Ms. Archie?” Harry tries to play it cool, but he’s almost positive that his cheeks are burning red, and he’s relieved neither of them can tell how fast his heart is beating in his chest.

The boy seems to also recognize Harry, because his lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“Harry is at the top of his class. He’s your best bet at getting familiar with things around here.” She explains.

Louis nods, his smirk still very prominent on his face. “Thank you Ms. Archie. I’ll be sure to take advantage of young Harold here.”

Two stories, eleven years, and the two boys that never stopped loving each other.

Pinkies Never Lie (83k)

“I just think if we’re both into it and neither of us is looking for something serious, why not?” Harry asks, eyes soft and voice sweet. He pauses and gives Louis a moment or two to answer.

There are countless reasons why Louis shouldn’t agree to this, but in the end, none of them really matter. This will end with Louis in pieces, but he’s been in love with Harry for four years. There was only ever one answer.

“Yeah,” Louis answers finally, hoping his voice sounds normal. “Why not?”

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

You Drive Me Crazy (but it feels alright) (102k)

Bridget Jones’ Diary AU.

“Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

Louis breaks away from his grip with a petulant huff and pushes him back with two fingers.

“You’re mocking me. Again.”

Harry smiles and it’s a real honest swoop of his lips this time. Louis’ stomach swoops with them.

A Taste of Desire (104k)

“As forward as I have been with you this evening, I am also aware this dinner party isn’t the place to conduct business.” Mr. Tomlinson chuckles quietly to himself, shooting a subtle glance across the table towards their hostess. “And besides, I am sure our hostess would be horribly disappointed to learn that we went away this evening with a business agreement and not a mating one.”

Harry, who had been sipping his wine, coughs harshly at this. He splutters, unaccustomed to such blatant statements about mating.

Mr. Tomlinson continues to laugh quietly, clearly pleased at Harry’s reaction.

“Mrs. Humphreys promised that there was an alpha attending the dinner tonight that I would certainly get on well with,” Mr. Tomlinson continues, voice teasing. “She assured me that we would have much in common since we both work with mills.” Mr. Tomlinson glances at Harry, eyes flashing with mirth. “Little did she know that would be where our mutual interests began and ended.”

Or, a Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

falling into you (143k)

In the grand scheme of adolescence and boyhood, Harry was still working himself out, so far with little luck. But four things he could say for certain: 1) he'd been at the top of his class all through primary and secondary school, 2) he was the shittiest alpha to ever walk the earth, 3) Liam Payne never let him forget it, and 4) he’d been in love with this boy, Louis Tomlinson, ever since he was fifteen years old.

He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth (290k)

When Louis moves into the flat next to Harry’s, neither of them thinks it will change their lives. Louis is stuck in a relationship with his controlling and overly possessive boyfriend who he loves too much to break up with. Harry is content, seeking refuge from the snobby world he grew up in and forging a new path for himself. He does happen to have a habit of wanting to fix people though and when he meets Louis, the gorgeous man with a prat of a boyfriend, he finds himself trying to do just that. While Harry tries to avoid getting tangled in a messy situation, Louis tries to deny that there’s a niggling voice in the back of his head that prefers Harry to his own boyfriend. While both determinedly refuse to let change come, they fail to notice that exact force wrapping around them and pulling them tighter together until there just might be no escape from the feelings brewing within.

[welcome-to-my-daydreams]

Kneel

Summary: Even the King of Asgard answers to someone.

Pairings: Thor x Reader 

Type: One Shot

Warnings: fighting couple, smut, swearing

Word Count: 2,964

A/N: I think Thor would have trouble balancing ruling the kingdom and being a good husband at first. Oftentimes the kingdom would come first and it would be hard as his wife. But nevertheless his wife would be the ruler of their household and he would worship her.

Masterlist

“It’s late, my lady. Perhaps you should retire to your room for the night.”

One of your ladies in waiting had entered the room where you had been waiting to have dinner with your husband. The food had gone cold and the sun had set hours ago. The guards in the palace had switched to their night shifts and your ladies were anxious to end the day.

You took a sip of the crimson red wine you had been nursing the last few hours and looked out over the terrace into one of the palace courtyards. He was late, again. But not just late. You knew that he wouldn’t be coming. 

With a frustrated huff you turned towards the dinner table. You couldn’t stand the looks of pity you received from your ladies as they cleaned up the room. This was the 6th dinner in a row Thor had missed, not including the dozens of other meals that were not intended to be special, but he was absent from all the same. 

During the first year of your marriage to Thor you had spent a lot of time at home on Earth and Thor would come to visit you about once a month. But you had promised Thor to spend the long season in Asgard this year, in hopes to spend more time together. But in fact, you’ve actually spent even less quality time together since. You knew he was busy, you knew he had a duty to the kingdom, but you couldn’t help but feel like you had been pushed off to the side. Forgotten and alone.

“Thank you, Hedda. You and the others finish up here and I’ll make my way to my chambers.” You said through gritted teeth. 

“Are you sure my lady? I can accompany you if-”

“No Hedda, thank you. I’ll be fine on my own.”

You finished your cup of wine and slammed the glass down on the table before leaving the room. As you walked down the echoing corridor of the palace your frustration grew. You knew exactly where he was. 

The massive doors to the throne room were closed and two of guards stood posted in front. 

“I’m sorry your highness, but The King has given us strict orders not to disturb them.”

You took a deep breath. This was something you had grown significantly sick of as you settled into your life here on Asgard. You were The Queen. You had been wed to Thor in both Earthly and Asgardian ceremonies and you were coronated right here in the very room they refused to let you in. It was like your title meant nothing. You had more authority when you were living and working at The Avengers tower in New York.

You addressed them in your most queen-like voice. “Mikkel, Torvald my husband has been in that goddamn room day and night for the last week. I have not seen him. I have not spoken to him and I demand you let me through.”

The young soldiers looked at each other and decided to step aside. You smiled at the boys, “Thank you gentlemen. I will not forget this.” You nodded to them and pushed your way into the room. 

It was dim, with only the torches along the vast walls to light the hall. In the middle of the room was a massive wooden table, covered in maps and scrolls and letters and surrounded by four men in the middle of a deep discussion. A conversation so deep, that they hadn’t even heard you walk in. 

You made your way toward the table, crossing your arms and clearing your throat. They all looked up from their planning, surprised to see someone new in the room. 

“Your Highness!” the three men accompanying Thor stood straight and bowed to you. “Good evening, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun. Or should I say, Good night.” All three men looked down at the ground. Understanding immediately what you visit was about. 

Thor stood at the head of the table. He saw the anger in your face and put the scrolls he was reading down to make his way toward you. He was wearing the grey tunic you loved and his long hair was partly tied back by a few delicate braids. You were always taken back by his beauty. But this time you had to stay strong. “(y/n), my love. I am sorry that I missed our dinner this evening. We’ve been bombarded with troubles in Nidavellir...”

“Gentlemen, can you please give me a moment alone with my husband?” You said with your arms still cross and a stern look on your face. “Take the guards with you.” You ordered.

As the Warriors Three and the palace guards left you alone in the throne room, Thor gave you a pleading look. Placing one hand on each of your arms. “(y/n), please. Try to understand.”

“Try to understand? Try to understand what exactly?” Your raised your voice and wiggled your way out of his grasp. “That I married a king? That I married a kingdom? That there are matters to handle on one of the realms? That I need to make sacrifices for the greater good?” You asked almost mockingly.

Thor looked relieved, “..yes, exactly!”

You rolled your eyes. “How about the fact that I haven’t seen you in a week?” You questioned him. “Hm? Doesn’t that matter? I left my home to be with you here and I’ve spent more time alone than I have with you! Is it so difficult to make time for me?”

Thor leaned his fists into the table. He was stressed and tired and not prepared for a fight with you right now. “(y/n) I cannot put an uprising on hold just because you want to have a meal with me.” Your anger grew from deep within you as he continued.

“Since my father’s death the realms have been testing Asgard, testing me. I must give them my full attention right now. I cannot rest until Nidavellir is dealt with.” He looked sternly at you from across the table.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Thor? Be honest with yourself, you just like the glory of being in the middle of it all! If you could go to fight the war yourself right now you would! There’s always something going on with the other realms. You know very well that your men can help you with most of this.” You said, pointing to the mass of maps and scrolls on the table. “Even if it just gives you a few hours of free time. Just one goddamn hour to see your wife! Or god forbid, to send her a letter or a message letting her know you won’t be coming so that she doesn't just sit there waiting for you like a fool!” You began to walk around the room. “Oh yeah, that’s a nice image! The Queen of Asgard sits alone in her chambers, again with no friends, nothing to do and a missing husband.” You were yelling now. 

Thor lowered his gaze. He had meant to inform you about his absence this evening, but it had completely slipped his mind. To be honest, he hadn’t even noticed that a whole week had gone by and he now felt terrible. It was important to him to be a good king. But even more so to be a good husband to you.

“My love, please forgive me. I miss you terribly and I want to make it up to you.” He pulled you into a hug. “Let’s take a few days and head to the lake country. No visitors and no work. I can arrange it with the men and ask Heimdall and Sif to aid the war council as well.” He lifted your chin with his finger he tried to sway you into forgiveness. 

His proposal sounded perfect. All you really wanted was to spend time with him. But you were still angry that he forgot about you tonight and all those other nights. You wanted to punish him, to push his buttons, so you pulled away. “No.”

“No?” Thor asked confused. The prospect of a romantic holiday almost always melted your anger away.

You walk away from him, and stared at the throne at the top of the large steps in the hall.

You made your way up the steps. When you got to the top you traced the arm rest of the golden throne before sitting in it. Shifting slightly to get the feel of it. Resting your arms on the arm rests and looking at Thor’s quizzical expression.

“What does the Queen want of her King?” Thor asked as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

You thought about it for a moment. Leaving the two of you in a long silence only broken by the cracking fire in the torches.

“I want you to kneel. I want you to kneel, right there.” You pointed to the space on the floor right in front of your feet.”

“Excuse me?” Thor raised an eyebrow. No longer amused at your coy behaviour.

You leaned forward slightly, “I said. Kneel.”

He was angry now. His nostrils flaring and eyes set on you. “Don’t forget your place, wife.” 

You smiled wickedly. “Oh, I think it’s you who’s forgotten my place, husband.”

You straightened your back and stared at him. Never breaking eye contact. Asserting your dominance. “Thor, son of Odin, King of Asgard and God of Thunder. Kneel before your Queen.”

You both stood in silence for a few moments. Neither of you giving up your resolve.

Thor looked at you, his anger at your nerve mixed with a sense of pride. He took in all your beauty as you sat in the throne above him. Looking regal. Like a true queen commanding one of her subjects. The way your hair fell against your shoulders, like a cascade of (y/h/c) waves, reminded him of your wedding day. The Midgardian diamond he gave you glimmered in the low, evening light of the throne room. 

He clenched his jaw. You were a royal pain sometimes. He was the king of Asgard. And a king knelt to no-one. But you were his wife and his queen and he loved you. 

Finally, a tiny smirk broke through the corner of his mouth as he made his way up the steps until he was level with you. He looked at you hard again, you could feel the conflict inside of him and revelled in it. 

He dropped to one knee in front of you never breaking eye contact.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold back the smile pushing its way through as he gave in to you. 

Thor’s eyes moved along your neck and along your collarbone. Your dress’s sheer material allowed for Thor’s imagination to run wild. He continued drinking in your beauty, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue.

You felt your cheeks go red as his beautiful blue eyes burn into you. He was melting your tough facade like butter. You shifted on the throne, trying to distract yourself from his affect on you. But it only encouraged him even more.

“What would the Queen of Agard have of me?” He asked softly and he slides closer to you and removes the sandals from your feet and placed them to the side. You gasped quietly at his touch as your heartbeat quickens. Through bated breath you answered, “I want to be your equal.”

Still looking up at you, he moves his fingers under the hem of your dress and begins to trace up your legs at a slow pace. You bite down on your lip again, the heat in your core pooling into the cloth between your legs.

“Oh (y/n). You are not my equal.” He pushes your legs open to move closer to you, untying the silk undergarment that covered your core. He cupped your ass in his large hands and pulled you into his chest. He rolled the skirt of your dress up to your thigh and gave you a knowing look.

“You are the Queen of Asgard and as your husband I am but your humble servant.” He smiled up at you. “Now let me serve you, your highness.”

He lowered his face between your legs.

You throw your head back as he took you into his mouth. His warm tongue licking circles between your wet folds before moving up to circle the sensitive ball of nerves on your clit. 

Your knuckles went white as you grip the arm rests of the throne. The bubble in your core inflating with every stroke. Your thighs holding Thor’s head in place, unwilling to let him go. 

His grip on your ass grew stronger and he dived deeper into you. His tongue straying from your clit and moving down to you entrance so he could fuck your pussy with his tongue. 

You leaned back on the throne and let out a loud moan. It echoed through the entire room. The noise pulled a deep groan out of Thor, who could feel your walls tightening around his tongue. He began to suck on you. Bringing all of you into his mouth. You’re moans had turned to screams as you squirmed in the throne, waiting for the bubble to burst inside you. 

He continued to suck the orgasm out of you, pulling you deeper into his mouth and holding you tightly. Never intending to let you go. 

Thor didn’t relent as your bubble burst within you. The rush of heat consumed you as the wave of pleasure washed over your entire body. Your screams came out in uneven gasps and Thor held you even tighter as your body convulsed from the release.

He came up from between your legs and took you face in his hands, kissing you deeply and opening your mouth with his tongue, his beard scratching your face with every movement. You pulled on his shirt, desperate to grab onto something. 

You need him inside you. You’d been craving his touch for days and couldn’t wait any longer. 

Without breaking the kiss, you pushed him towards the floor. As he lied down on his back you straddled him. Your weight on top of his hard bulge pulled a moan from the god’s lips as he sat up and took the back of your head in his hand and kissed you again.

“I’ve missed your touch, (y/n).” He said between kisses. “I’m sorry for being so distant.”

“Shut up.” You said kissing him hard and biting his bottom lip as you undid the laces in his trousers. You lifted the fabric of your dress out of the way and lowered yourself onto his huge, bulging cock.

As your tight pussy squeezed around his member he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. Sucking and nibbling on the soft, sensitive skin wrapping you tightly in his arms as you thrust your body up and down.

The throne room filled with echoes of moans, whines and the sound of your clothes brushing against each other. 

Thor grabbed your hips with both hands and used his strength to lift you up and down even harder than before, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. You fell into his shoulder as the euphoria washed over you. You wrapped around his neck with one arm and steadied yourself on his thigh with the other. 

You began to grind your hips into his cock, craving to have him deeper and deeper inside you. And Thor was desperate to feel every inch of you around him. He had missed the taste of your skin, the smell of your hair and the sound of your voice. Your whines and moans had unraveled him completely. You were his strongest weakness. 

Thor could feel your orgasm coming closer. Your walls were tightening and you started breathing in desperate gasps. The knowledge that he was responsible for your current state only made him moan louder. The sound of your deep gasps drawing his orgasm nearer. He thrust you on top of him harder and faster as the two of you came to your finish in unison. Your walls convulsing around him and his cock twitching inside you. 

It took a moment for the two of you to come down from your ecstasy. You were wrapped completely in each other, your bodies heaving as you caught your breaths. Your body was dead weight against his broad chest as he stroked your back with gentle fingers.

You lifted your weight off of Thor and took his face into your hands to give him a deep and loving kiss. Thor pulled away and brushed a long (y/h/c) strand off your shoulder and peppered it with kisses.

You giggled as his beard tickled your skin. But you were both startled when a sound of the huge doors opening filled the room. You squealed as two guards came into the room and saw the two of you still sitting in your post coital state. 

“Your majesty we have news from-”

“Get out you fool!” Thor yelled in a thunderous voice that made your knees weak. You laughed into his shoulder. Utterly embarrassed. The guards left the room in a rush and slammed the door behind them. Thor gave a hearty laugh before lifting you to your feet and getting up to adjust himself in his pants.

He took a few steps down the stairs before holding his hand out towards you. “May I escort your royal highness to your chambers. I think our business might take all night” He winked into his charming smile.

“Yes you may, my love.” You answered taking his hand as you both rushed towards your private quarters. 

If I’ve tagged you it’s because we’ve chatted about our love of Thor fics or about tag lists and I thought you might be interested! Let me know if you’d like to be removed :).

@marveloussssworld​ @lemonchapstick​ @justcallmecinammon​ @inumorph​

[thelioninmybed]

Imrael and Khazri meeting each other's parents. OR ALTERNATIVELY their parents meeting each other.

I started this, Anon, only to find out I’d ALREADY started it like, three years ago. That was clever of me (and leaves me even less excuse for this taking so damn long, sorry!) 

The Lady Keira Arroway, protector of Dawnwood, famed beauty and socialite, tossed her flame red hair, picked her nose and wiped it under the taproom table. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” she said.

Although it would have been polite to wash and change his clothes before meeting with nobility, and very pleasant to sleep twelve hours or more, Imrael had gone straight from Ferris’ front gates to the nameless tavern that was Keira’s second home. His own, after the library, and his clinic before he’d set off questing.  “Don’t be a dick, Keira. Talk to your father.”

She offered him an elegant shrug. “What do you think he’s going to do about it?”

“Send a weatherworker to clear the roads? I don’t know, it’s not my village. You asked me to report and that’s what I’ve done - at great personal risk no less - and the least he can do is-”

“Alright, alright, don’t shout.”

Imrael hadn’t realised that’s what he’d been doing until she said so. “It’s been a long few months,” he said at a carefully normal volume.

“Another drink?”

“Yes,” Imrael said, with feeling.

“I didn’t think anything would come of it,” Keira said, once she’d flagged down the waitress and procured two flagons of mediocre ale. “I just wanted to show the old man I was taking things seriously. He isn’t going to like this.”

“Probably not. You can tell him we killed a god on his account if that will sweeten the pot.”

“You’re a fucking liar, Rae,” she said, with a grin that crinkled up her nose and made her green eyes sparkle.

“I have not lied to you once in my entire life,” said Imrael solemnly, unaccountably relieved to feel their old, easy camaraderie returning. Two loutish students again, with no greater responsibilities than turning in their next assignments and not drinking away their stipends.

“Interesting phrasing there. Anyway, leave it in my hands. I’ll talk to Papa, sort the peasants, none of that’s important. The real question is, did it work?”

“It is important, people are dy-”

“Imrael. My friend. Don’t take this as me believing you about the god, but I can see you’ve been through something because I don’t know why else you’d be wearing that hat. I’m sure it was all very traumatic but now it’s time to get drunk and never think about any of it ever again. So. Did you, or did you not seduce that adorable goblin you’ve been pining over? All that sharing bed linens, huddling for warmth, tenderly chafing cold hands-”

“He almost died of hypothermia.”

“So you saw his cock? Why’re you being so coy? Are you- oh.” Her eyes narrowed. ”You are in love with him.”

“Keira-”

“And he doesn’t even try to deny it,” she crowed to the room at large. “Smitten! I never thought I’d see the day. Where is he? Are you finally going to introduce us properly?”

“So,” said Khazri. “What did she say?”

“Not much.” Imrael went to blow on his fingers, already numbing, and then reconsidered and intertwined them with Khazri’s gloved hand. There was a moment of awkward limpness and then he squeezed back. “She said she’d do something, just like she says she’ll pay you back when she borrows money. I’ll go annoy her tomorrow. Maybe you could come too?”

“Do you want me to threaten her?”

“No! Gods no. Keira’s heart’s in the right place, she’s just-” Imrael waved his free hand vaguely. “Rich. You should meet her because she’s my friend.” It would take some careful management and probably some more bribery to ensure she never mentioned why he and Khazri had been sent off on that ‘quest’ in the first place, but Imrael was up to it.

“I’m better at threats,” Khazri said, and Imrael could read him well enough to catch the fear that the humour overlaid and gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

“You’re wonderful at threats. Time to practice having a drink with an old friend instead. Say midday? Back here?”

“I’m not going to disappear. Again.”

“Shh. I know. Where do you usually stay when you’re in the city? I never asked.”

Khazri got that shifty look that meant he wasn’t going to answer because he knew Imrael wouldn’t like it. “Are you going back to your rooms?”

“Nah. My parents haven’t seen me in two seasons. Also their house is warmer, the sheets are cleaner and they’re obliged to feed us. Yes, I did say ‘us’ before you willfully misinterpret. You’re going to have a proper meal and sleep in a bed and not a hayloft - was it a hayloft? I knew it.”

Khazri scuffed his boot through the slushy ice in the gutter. “I don’t get on well with parents. Historically.”

“Was that a joke?” If it was, it was only in part and Imrael squeezed Khazri’s hand. “Don’t worry. You’re a significant improvement on the last partner I brought home.”

“How?”

“I’d rather not get into Eshe.”

“Oh.” And that, if nothing else, was a reason to love Khazri; he didn’t ask awkward questions.

“You can borrow some of my clothes, or my sister’s - she won’t mind and she’s closer to your height.” He hesitated. “You don’t have to do any of this.”

“But you want me to.”

“Yes.” Fumbling sex - or not so fumbling, Khazri was a very quick learner - and life-threatening drama was one thing. Friends and parents and quiet conversations, all the trappings of a life together were quite another.

“How do they feel about dogs?”

Penneth and Aruna Sovelin were good parents to a fault. As a teenager Imrael had rather wished they weren’t, and had bought home a succession of increasingly unsuitable partners, culminating in Eshe, whom they really should have taken him to task over. They hadn’t though, any more than they did when he appeared with no warning, a ragged goblin and two timber wolves upon their doorstep.

“Is there anything your friend can’t eat?” his father asked, rolling flatbread at the kitchen table, floured to the elbows.

Imrael glanced to Khazri, more from politeness than anything else. Khazi would eat bark and insects in a pinch, and the idea he’d refuse a meal of any kind was ridiculous. Unless he’d gotten it into his head that people were trying to poison him, which did happen. The conviction, not the poisoning. To the best of Imrael’s knowledge, anyway.

“I can eat,” Khazri said.

“I’m afraid we don’t have any meat for your- dogs.” To his father’s credit, he hardly stumbled.

Khazri tilted his head. Beryl’s ears flicked forwards. Jeff whined. “They don’t mind,” Khazri concluded.

“They found a dead aurochs in a snowdrift yesterday,” Imrael said reassuringly. “It was hardly rotten.”

“Oh good! I’d pet them if I weren’t baking.” Although Imrael had his mother’s height and lanky frame, there was no doubt as to where he got his temperament. ”Your mother’s finishing in the shop. Would you tell her two minutes? And please charm your clothes, dear, you’d think you’d been rolling in dead aurochs.”

“Dead aurochs is a generous assessment,” said his mother, sticking her head around the door. “What happened to you?” She cast the charms to cast off the grime herself, which was a relief; he hadn’t the will to do it himself, or do much more than flop into a chair and start shovelling lentil soup into his mouth. Half the seasoning was enchantment, his father doing what he could to compensate for ingredients too dear or foreign to get hold of here in Ferris, but so had it been throughout his childhood and the way the flavours slid, translucent, off his tongue was comforting in itself.

Like dark hair and sharp noses, curiosity ran in the family. Curiosity that, thankfully, Imrael could keep on himself as he related the story of their adventures. Not the version he’d told Keira, in which all dangers were exaggerated along with his heroism, and with more of a focus on gratefully healed peasants than ancient, murderous evils, but close enough, and that took them most of the way through supper. Khazri was quiet as ever but Imrael thought it came across as modesty and sincere appreciation for his father’s cooking; accepting a third helping was a sure way to his father’s heart, and Khazri ate like he hadn’t had a decent meal in a month (which he hadn’t; another detail Imrael glossed over).

“It’s very brave,” Imrael’s mother said when he’d stopped talking about their adventures long enough for her to say it. “Both of you. I didn’t know there even were male mercenaries.” In the same ‘I’m trying’ voice she’d used when he’d wanted to keep a jarful of snails as a pet or go to university.

“I know I’d be terrified,” Imrael’s father agreed, widening shadowed eyes. People didn’t go to elven apothecaries just for medicines and fetishes, although Imrael’s father’s were very good (and Imrael was both too old to make fetish jokes and not too old to be rapped with a wooden spoon). People came for the experience and that meant feyness and an awful lot of glitter.

“I’m not,” said Khazri. “Not really. Not a mercenary, I mean, not not terrified.”

“We’re very proud of Imrael for what he’s doing,” his mother went on doggedly. She didn’t chatter like his father did, flitting from point to point; once she’d decided she had something to say, she said it. “I hated it at first - some part of me still does - but this isn’t Faerie. We can’t make puppets of our children. Can’t seal them up in mirrors if they defy us.”

“They sent me to my room often enough, though,” Imrael interjected lest they forget their own monstrosity. And also because Khazri likely didn’t want to hear more of the old punishments listed. ‘Fed to spiders’ wasn’t even on the list of joking threats his parents had once made when he wouldn’t go to bed, but better to take no chances.

“We’re glad he’s not alone. We thought that woman of his would take responsibility but she never has,” his mother said and Imrael wanted to cringe because it was such a parent thing to say, so caring and so clueless, and so not a thing to joke about with Khazri later. There were downsides to a boyfriend who never asked questions and had a reptile’s understanding of parental interest.

“Pff, Keira can’t take responsibility for her own life,” he said carelessly. “She can’t even take responsibility for her bar tab.” ‘She’s just a friend’ wasn’t an argument worth having, Imrael had learnt.

“Or the last one,” his father put in.

“Eshe paid her tab, though I’ll concede she didn’t have her life together.”

“Or at all.” His mother sniffed. “Liches”

“She wasn’t dead when I met her,” he said hastily, lest Khazri get the wrong idea.

“We have clever children,” said his father, fond and weary. “But there’s not an ounce of sense between them.

Khazri swallowed. “Is Belain still. At Court?” He didn’t ask questions but he listened, and he’d been watching them all gossip as raptly as he’d ever watched a game trail. Imrael though he knew why but wasn’t about to embarrass him by pointing it out.

Imrael’s mother pursed her lips. “She likes it better. Everything we did to leave it and she rushes straight back. No sense at all, but then it’s easier for girls. Not a place to raise a son.” It was a conversation his parents had had often enough, to him and about him when they thought he and Belain long abed.

“Will you both be staying the night?” said his father, gathering up the plates.

“Yes, we will. Thanks, Papa.”

“Help me clear the table.” All the fuss to get away, all the insistence on being modern, but his father and Imrael were the ones who’d cooked and done the dishes for as long as he could remember. Sometimes his mother helped and but today she stayed at the head of the table and nodded to Khazri, who had risen, to do likewise.

“You’ll look after him?” she said stiffly, as Imrael ducked into the kitchen.

And, almost lost under the clatter of dishes; “Yes.”

”A lich?”

“Shh. I’m asleep.” Imrael’s bedroom was mostly storage now, and stank of drying herbs. Eyes gleamed lambent in the dark of it, and something huge and predatory panted. More worryingly, the bed wasn’t made for two, never mind two and an adult timberwolf, but they’d dealt with worse.

“I wasn’t- I don’t- My aunt’s dead. Only not.”

“That’s not at all comforting. Not even slightly. And it’s really unfair how you’ve cornered the market on weird family shit. I can’t even date a lich without you topping it.”

“I thought she wasn’t dead until after-”

“She wasn’t! Shush or I won’t invite you back.” Imrael rolled over - or attempted to. There wasn’t room and so he settled for wriggling pointedly.

There was a thoughtful pause. A flicker in the gleam of his eyes as Khazri blinked. “Your father’s a good cook,” he concluded.

In lots of ways it wasn’t a very satisfactory conclusion to come to, but in lots of ways it was.

[cerberosthehellguard]

Oneshot #21

Rating: T

Relationships: AkaFuri.

Characters: Akashi Seijuurou. Furihata Kouki.

Wordcount: 3900+ words

Tags: Pride and Prejudice AU. Frankenstein AU. Fusion. Fluff. 

Summary: It takes something to get something in return. And Furihata got more than he bargained for. Not that he was not happy with it. Per se. 

Author’s notes: The moment I got a prompt for Regency AU I *immediately* //shamelessly// jumped on to a fusion of Pride and Prejudice (all time fave) and Frankenstein (another all time fave) MINUS the angst somehow. Both being the same era, I really wanted to do this some justice. i probably shouldn’t be writing this when I am half dead and fully on delirious on masala chai but, hey, what better time to write?! 

“You can’t possibly waste away you life, living in this-this hovel! of a place!”

Furihata paid no mind. He continued to read his book, lounging casually as you please, on the decadent furniture ripped at the seams.

“I am talking to you! You are to respond to me! Have you no proper manners? Were you raised by wolves?”

Furihata paused. He looked up, and in the most bored and unaffected voice he could muster, he drawled, “Yes, now why don’t you run off and tattle to Mother.” A smirk formed on his lips as he gazed coolly at his sister. “Isn’t that what you always want to do?”

A gasp, a huff and a “Well, I never!” and then some furious stomping before the door slammed hard followed his rebuke.

His smirk grew as he returned his attention back to the book on his lap.

*

“I don’t want to go here anymore.”

“Go where?” Takao whispered from the corner of his mouth, glancing at their professor who was droning on monotonously, clearly as uninterested as his students about the subject, and back to the book he was doodling on the margins of.

Furihata peered at the sketch. Detailed shading and lining of a Bengal tiger. He raised an impressed eyebrow. Takao must be really bored.

“Go here. Classes. School. University.”

“What?!” Takao nearly snapped his neck to look at Furihata. He whisper-yelled, “Are you mad? You are quitting?!”

Furihata shrugged nonchalantly, “I could be doing other fruitful things than wasting my time on mediocrity.”

Takao sneered, “Oh pray tell, whatever those other life enriching things are, O Learned One.”

“You shall see.” Furihata closed his eyes and leaned back on the bench. He stretched his legs under the table and crossed them at the ankles. He lifted his hands behind his head and interlinked his fingers, cushioning his head against them. The deliberate pose of leisure and confidence. “You shall all see.”

*

I am sure this is unethical.

But it is for the greater good.

I am most certainly sure this is unethical.

His mind wars in his head. It’s throbbing; thoughts whirring like bees in a hive. He doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t necessarily have to prove to anyone that he is better than them.

He knows he is.

Obviously.

Still.

His mother won’t keep her mouth shut anymore. Any more talk of “lack of grandchildren in old age” and “disappointments that she had had to bear for nine months to bring upon this wide Earth” and “what will their esteemed neighbors say when they catch wind that our oldest son has such questionable, abhorrent, intolerable proclivities!” would make him want to run away to the New Lands.

Not that his father would object.

Or his darling sister, who would just be too happy to simper and play coy and bat her eyelashes to gain the attentions of Mother.

No.

He was not going to run.

He was a scientist. A visionary in his own right.

And above all else, a free man who liked his own gender better.

And he would prove his bias did not mar his genius.

*

To obtain something you have to lose something in equal proportion.

That was the first rule of alchemy.

He had had failures. He had, nearly, had his life taken away. Bringing back something to life after it has left the mortal world was a violation of the highest order.

“You are mad, Furi! This cannot happen! What were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?! Stop this madness and come back to class.”

“It is unnatural, Furihata. You are breaking the Code. You never break the Code. Fusing or reconstructing a deconstructed product is different than this. You know this. Then why....?”

“Just as well to see you falling apart at this dump. Did you know, Mother handed me a new set of pearls for the Ball this weekend? They are wonderful, aren’t they? Do you happen to even have clean clothes or are you still wearing what you wore when you stormed out of our house? Oh, pardon me. My family house?”

But he would not give up.

Nearly two years into holing himself up like a hermit in his cottage on the far side of town, away from his nosy sister and materialistic mother, away from the disappointed eyes of his friends and professors at the University, he had finally found his calling.

He would bring his subject to life and he would succeed in it. He would bypass all the rules, regulations and laws and be a pioneer in this taboo part of Alchemy.

This was what his genius was made for.

This was his biggest, grandest endeavor.

His legacy.

*

“Erm……Hello?” Furihata tried really hard to sound better than that. It was still a croak at best. He was scared, terrified and numb at the same time.

But he had been successful.

He had gathered the bodies. He had dug back up the freshly dug graves to carve out the parts he needed from the corpses. The rotting flesh and the dirty bones and the oozing blood and the wet mud was the stench he had become accustomed to. He had dug and dug and dug and brought back the parts of the bodies to his cottage. 

Discarding and reattaching and envisioning and discarding again, he had painstakingly stitched them up together. Flesh and bones and skin. The needle was strong and his grip was firm as the thread wove in and out of the decaying skin, holding it firmly together.

He kept the skin fresh, the flesh paused in their decay through potions and oils he could concoct on his own, preserving the body in its current state for as long as possible. He hoped against hope that he wouldn’t have to wait too long to be done. His time was running out. His luck was running out. He could feel it.

He had worked tirelessly, like a frenzied man possessed by a demon, on this body. This particular body. 

The finished subject had been laid on the table. His experiment looked like a man of his age, matted and muddy red hair on his scalp, dull red irises that held no light, pale skin of a dancer.

Furihata had been careful, more than careful. He had done everything he could. Now it was left to the Gods. 

He could feel his victory closing in on him. 

There was heavy rain that evening. There was thunder and lightning and their booming power threatening the windows of his cottage.

He could almost taste his victory.

And that was when lightning had struck, blasting away part of the roof and attacking the table with its staggering strength. His spine chilled as the body slowly lifted off the table and swiveled in air, absorbing the energy from the skies.

Windows shattered, tables and chairs tumbled and skittered to bash themselves against the walls. Furihata crouched behind near the fireplace as the walls trembled, threatening to explode, and the body still circled in the air as the beam of light struck it repeatedly. Rain pelted everywhere outside the cottage, angry howling cries to drown the roar of thunder and yet the room was blinded by the light.

It was over too soon.

Time was still. Time was ticking. Furihata sat frozen where he was. His cottage was in shambles, his roof blown, whatever was left of it was pitiful in the cover they provided, the pillar supports naked and wrecked, and the body……

The body was lying still on the table.

But it was not lying still like before. Not dead-still. Sort of, like, meditation-still, Furihata fumbles in his thinking. His mind is recovering faster than his own body. His nerves were shot but his brain is cataloging everything that happened.

There was no going back. This was it. He had to have done it. If the power of the Gods couldn’t do it, he was as good as dead. Or mediocre. He didn’t know which was worse. 

He thought of reaching out, standing up and examining. His frozen state was responding too feebly to the screaming commands of his mind.

He needn’t have bothered.

For the redhaired man on the table had woken up and was sitting and looking straight at him.

*

“Akashi, can you give me that?” Furihata instructed, his papers lying scattered on the table and his glasses slipping down his nose.

Akashi moved the sofa nearer to the fireplace before handing Furihata his coffee, “This tastes vile. Why do you have it? Tea is more palatable.”

Furihata smirked, “I know. But this keeps me awake.” He frowned at his writing and corrected it before turning around on his chair.

Akashi Seijuro shifted the arm chair and fluffed up the cushions - the right way, as instructed by Proper Etiquette for Every Respectable Household, which he insisted on reading despite Furihata’s constant protests - before settling in, legs stretched and crossed at the ankles and his clothes a bit tight for his frame. Furihata made note to buy him more clothes next time they went to the market.

His cup of Darjeeling Tea awaited Akashi on the table next to the book with its bookmark intact. He looked relaxed and at peace as he stared into the fire.

The man who was not to be.

The man who was unnatural and an abomination.

The man whom Furihata brought to life three years ago.

It had understandably taken a while. Furihata may have had no compunctions with breaking rules but there was bone-chilling fear radiating through every nerve in his body when Akashi had woken up.

He had thought he had created a monster.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

It had taken months to make him talk on his own and not imitate Furihata all the time. He had taken to following Furihata everywhere; in the end, it turned out to be safer than leaving him to his own devices.

Akashi - that was the name he had chosen for himself after a lengthy debate - was smart. He was smarter than Furihata. He was probably smarter than their whole class, Furihata estimated. He picked up on things quickly, especially vocal and body language cues to convey what he wanted.

He could convey more with just a glance than a twenty word sentence. It was frightening. It was thrilling. Furihata didn’t pay attention to the thrilling part. 

“For first names……what would you want it to be?” Furihata had sat on the floor, the patched-up rug providing little comfort.

Akashi was silent as usual. He didn’t talk much, choosing to observe and respond only when direly necessary. Furihata liked having a silent companion. It was a nice change to the outspoken and brazen and talkative people he had had his entire life. He was beginning to crave Akashi’s company more than anybody else. He refused to pay attention to that detail. “Go on.”

“Shintarou? That’s my friend’s name and he is very smart, just like you!”

Akashi stared.

“Okay, maybe not. How about, Sei? It means excellence. How does that sound?”

Akashi hummed thoughtfully and looked up. And nodded. “Seijuro. Akashi Seijuro.”

“Akashi Seijuro it is.” Furihata grinned, all his teeth showing, extending his hand, “Hi, I am Furihata Kouki. Let’s be friends.”

Akashi looked at the hand and the grin that was stretched on Furihata’s face. He felt it mirror on his own as he clamped his fingers over Furihata’s in a sure grip, “Friends.”

*

Akashi quickly learned to brew potions and drinks and liquids and certain drugs that could keep his body alive and his skin looking healthy. The stitches were near invisible now, after nearly three years of his new life. Kouki had been a novice inventor and a terrible tailor when he had sewn his organs together. But it had made to. 

He walked and roamed and explored the world outside of the tiny cottage, adjusting to life as a human, as a friend of Kouki who had come from far away - a convenient story for the nosy questions - and who did not know the local traditions.

His life, his existence was because of Kouki. He owed it to him, for however long it turned out to be. He wasn’t immortal, he knew. His life was through dead flesh and bones and it would feed and rot and decay soon. But he could control the decay as long as he wanted. And wanted to serve Kouki till then.

He knew he was an experiment, a live subject meant to be examined by people who were other than Kouki and more nosier and ruder than any human had any right to be, with their invasive questions and prejudices and horror of the unknown, which in this case was him, the walking horror.

But he could stand all that. With Kouki by his side, he would.

“This cannot bloody be happening!” Kouki stormed into the house, their house, and slammed the door, its hinges protesting. “I cannot believe the nerve of that woman!”

He slumped onto the sofa, pulling a cushion and placing it over his face and screaming into it. Akashi watched from the tiny kitchen, his tea in hand and a French translation book for beginners in the other.

“What happened this time?” He took a sip, and frowned. It tasted different. Funny. He and Kouki prepared the same way - Kouki was the one who had taught him and let him find his own taste - but it tasted better when Kouki made it. He decided not to ponder too much over that detail.

“My mother happened.” As if that were all the explanation needed.

And it was.

Despite the phenomenal success Furihata Kouki had become in the field of Alchemy, laurels and accolades showering on him everywhere he went, his own family had been displeased about the yet uncertain marital status of their son. Akashi had never exactly met them but from the stories he had heard, he could very much like to scorn them. And would love to. With glee. And finesse.

Akashi sat next to Kouki on the sofa, pulling Kouki’s legs over his lap and running a comforting hand over them. Kouki simpered.

“Oh, daaaahling, you would not believe what happened!” Kouki started in a falsetto, imitating his mother, Akashi supposed. He hid his grin behind his cup. “Your sister met this incredible match and look! They own half of bloody Kyoto! Of course, that is more than enough reason to pack away your sister and sell her off like the cow she is, but, of course, I have only her welfare in mind and, of course, I do not plan to beg shamelessly for dowry and make use of their connections to get our, oh so, irredeemably tarnished reputation back on the society pages. 

“Of course, I am proud of that little, erm, uhh, what do you call it, daahling? Experiment, is it? Ah yes, experiment! That one that made you teeny-tiny bit noticed in our narrow-minded little town, that one where you had that thing paraded around town and called yourself a genius ha! Oh, you little pumpkin, you, a genius? What a mockery! 

“Of course, it doesn’t matter anymore since you can now put away your little problem and forget your identity and everything you built for yourself and force yourself into a union with one of the sisters of the groom! Oh, how wonderful it sounds! My two children married off and making babies with God-knows-who, so I can roll around in money and wear expensive gowns and pretend my good-for-nothing son was never a day gay in his life!”

Furihata wheezed.

His frustration had been simmering since he heard his mother prattle on and on about the alliance, especially because of her blatant disregard for his tendencies. It had switched to a boiling point when she had belittled his work and reduced him to a pawn that was frankly, in her words, incapable of giving her a grandchild.

He had stood up calmly and left the house that was no longer his, without a single word.

“What is meant by gay? Being merry, is it? And that is.....wrong?”

The question woke him up. He stared at Akashi who was looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Curiosity and something else.

He rubbed his face in exhaustion, sitting up, at eye level to Akashi. “No. You are right. But it has a slang meaning these days. Gay is a new, modern word used to address those whose…….attractions lay elsewhere.” He was prevaricating, he knew, but he had to hope Akashi knew by now what he was talking about.

Akashi cocked his head, a slight frown appearing between his brows.

No such luck, apparently.

“Gay is when you are…….attracted to your own gender.” Furihata sighed. Akashi’s brows were lifting. “It means, I am a flaming homosexual and would probably not be able to get it up for any woman at all.”

Akashi looked like he was processing the information. That was one of the many good things about him. He was never shocked. He would stare at anything he didn’t comprehend and would doggedly persist until he did. The extensive libraries they had spent all their time in, in every town they visited for their seminars, had attested to it. He was smart, knowledgeable and modest.

And most of all, able to take things in stride and bend them to will.

He was Furihata’s silent strength.

Furihata would gladly have his life turned over again and again if it meant he were to stay by Akashi’s side.

He feared his feelings were stronger than friendship, slipping into the kind he was defining to Akashi about, but he couldn’t care less.

He loved who he loved.

Undead and probably straight included.

“If I am attracted to you, does it mean I am, gay, as well?”

Furihata was glad he was sitting down for this.

*

Furihata cursed as he fixed his tie. It had become loose again. It was the third time. This evening alone. 

Akashi had gone off earlier. He had had something to do before, an errand he had said, and had vanished. It was disturbing. 

It had been three months since Akashi had come out to him, so plainly as if exclaiming “Oh, it’s Thursday!”, as if he hadn’t swept Furihata’s life cleanly from under his feet. 

And had then gone back to behaving as usual. All inquisitive questions and politeness and openness reserved for Furihata. 

It was frustrating. 

Now, when he had finally obtained a carelessly thrown invitation to his sister’s wedding reception - just the reception, mind, a Ball it was to be and everything - Akashi had sauntered off, leaving Furihata dateless. 

Furihata cursed again, wishing he could abstain from going. But knowing if he did, he would never hear the end of it. It was clearly a choice between Snide Remarks for Life at Every Family Dinner or Arriving at Wedding Without A Date and Refraining From Making A Statement About Being Gay. 

Priorities and all that. 

And so, he had arrived. 

Held the polite, tight-smiled conversation exchanging pleasantries with Mother and his sister and hugging Father comfortably, for a few scant minutes before he wandered off in search for a drink.

He muddled and elbowed his way through the dancing crowd when he was forcibly stopped by someone. 

By Akashi. 

Dressed to the nines and smiling at him like he held a secret. 

Holding out his hand as if for a dance. 

“Sei....?”

“May I have the next dance, Furihata-san?”

Furihata was taken aback and in a daze as he answered, “You may.”

*

“Oh, my word! You should have seen their faces!” Kouki was still laughing, holding his stomach and tears leaking from his eyes as he cried, “Priceless!”

Seijuro beamed, his grin a constant on his face as he watched Kouki, “Would you care for some tea?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he put the kettle on.

Kouki made his way to the small kitchen and swung up and settled himself on the counter. He was flushed still, from laughing, and his breathing was wonky but he was more bewildered by the whole experience than anything. 

He observed Akashi as he set about taking off his dress robes for the evening and carefully folding them, brushing off the creases. 

Akashi had waltzed his way in to the Ball and had swept him off his feet, outing both of them to the entirety of their society in one fell swoop. They had danced, twirled and laughed at the reactions of the shocked crowd around them, not minding the attention the slightest. Puce did not suit the shade of pink his mother and sister turned into, glaring daggers at them both. 

They had taken an early leave, knowing they would be hearing of this little event forever. 

That thought sobered Furihata. “You know, we would have to move from this place, now though, yes?”

Akashi didn’t say anything as he took the kettle and poured the tea into their cups.

“People.....They....are going to be talking about this. For forever. We would have to.....move on. For some quiet.” Furihata clasped and unclasped his fingers on his lap, afraid to look up. He didn’t even know how Akashi felt. What he felt. He couldn’t just presume Akashi to follow him everywhere. Even though he wanted Akashi to. Very much. So much. 

Akashi placed his teacup in his hand and lifted his chin, “I wouldn’t mind going anywhere. If it is with you.”

Furihata gaped. 

“I.....have a confession to make.” Akashi sighed and took a sip of his tea, and grimaced, and put it on the counter before facing Furihata. “I may have been unclear about my intentions previously.”

He looked nervous. And a little afraid, Furihata thought, but didn’t dare to break the silence. This was it. Akashi was going to let him down gently. Say, he was just joking. He was straight, after all. Or, he was gay but didn’t like Furihata that way. Kouki didn’t want to know which would hurt more. 

“Kouki, I may not be what you wanted, as your life partner, but would you give me the chance to be?” Akashi’s eyes pierced Furihata’s with their burning intensity. Flaming red met chocolate brown as they sent a silent plea. 

Furihata choked out a laugh.

He slid off the counter and picked up Akashi’s hands and held them in his. Interlacing their fingers and leaning in, he whispered, “Yes.” 

Akashi’s breath came out in a rush of relief as he placed his forehead against Furihata’s, “Oh thank God. Kouki, I-”

“Oh, we are moving to America,” Kouki continued conversationally, his lips teasing Seijuro’s with every word, “I have heard they are very open-minded about such things there.”

Seijuro picked up the baton easily and grinned, “Then you must allow me the honor of loving you every minute of this new adventure.” And swooped down on the kiss with a blissful sigh. 

[jesscopeland]

basically, angels are old as heck.

setting: gates of heaven funeral home & cemetery. characters: jess, matty, blue & adriel. tw: angel babies 

@matty-boy​, @charlottebluebryn​, @askwhleaders​

Adriel had been working on decorating the cemetery for the holidays, making sure to get every nook and cranny possible with lights, tinsel, garland, or other festive decorations. This year, they had gone with a more gold and white palette to match the rest of their decor, and were just setting up the lights around the entrance way to the parlor when they heard the footsteps behind them. Turning right after they finished plugging the string on, they looked the three over as they approached with a smile. They recongized these ones. Hopefully they weren't here to harass them about secrets or other such ventures. "Jessica, others," they bowed their head slightly in respect, "how can I help you good people?" they asked calmly.

Jess wasn't experienced with angels as a whole, but Adriel, she knew. Glancing to Matty and Blue beside her, she tried to instill confidence in them with just a single look. Taking her palms out of her pockets, she cleared her throat. "Uh, hey these are my friends Blue and Matty." She introduced, feeling totally out of place with how casual of a plane they lived on compared to a greater angel. Jess wondered what Adriel's nickname would be, if angels even did that sort of thing. "We just wanted to ask a few questions. Hopefully we're not interrupting." It looked like Christmas had exploded in here.

Matty couldn't help but smile at all of the holiday decorations as the three walked into the cemetery. Unsurprisingly, Matty loved the holidays.  When they reached Adriel, Matty couldn't help but stare in awe for a moment. This was the first time he had knowingly stood in front of an angel and it was exactly intimidating as he thought it would be. "It's nice to meet you. I love the decorations, by the way. It all looks wonderful."

Blue gave an awkward wave in Adriel's direction as Jess spoke. Their casual demeanor was surprising, and weird to see coming from such a powerful being. She busied herself with staring at the decorations, wandering away from the clump to inspect something particularly shiny.

Adriel hummed a large smile towards Matty, "Oh, I'm so pleased to hear that-- the holidays are so special to me." feeling in a lighter mood now with the boy's compliments. Adriel noted that the other on the end hadn't spoken, but they dismissed it once Jessica asked about speaking. "Not at all. Is something troubling you?"

Jess hesitated on how to pitch this, twisting her fingers around themselves, trying to pick the best words. Words weren't her specialty though. "We know that you helped my dad at the ball, we know that you had something to do with what happened that night and we want you to know... that we appreciate it. We want to help you help us and West Hollow, especially after what happened during the storm." Jess side-glanced at Matty, wishing maybe he'd written a speech for her to follow. Dang it, hindsight. "I overheard you talking about two angels the other day to my dad, twins actually."

Matty nodded at Jess when she looked over at him, trying to be encouraging.  We want you to know that we appreciate it He couldn't have said it better himself. It was important that Adriel know that they weren't some kids barging in there and demanding answers. Jess' statement would hopefully help Adriel see that Mystery Inc. had West Hollow's best interests at heart too. He remained silent but gave a soft smile and nod as Jess spoke, wanting to show that they all felt that way.

Blue returned to attention quickly, standing with her group and nodding along. She hoped they weren't coming across as demanding, or nosy. Jess seemed to know how to speak to the angel, though. She sounded polite enough, and Blue would probably end up sounding rude if she tried adding anything, so she didn't speak. She did, however, look directly at Adriel, hoping it added to their earnestness.

Adriel looked between the group as the woman told them all of what they knew, their head tilting as they tried to figure out how to best approach it. It seemed that they knew a lot, but, they specifically knew about the miracle of the heavens that was the new angels. They nodded, but then noted that the other two seemed to refuse to speak. They turned to Blue and Matty, "Do you two also feel as Jessica does? You seem hesitant. If you come as a group, you must also speak as one. I admire Jessica's questions, but I talk to all who come to me."

Color rose to Blue's face, and she cleared her throat. "I have the same questions as Jess," she said. "And I'm confused, or... uh, worried, actually, about what it means if it's true."

Matty nodded again. "I absolutely appreciate what you have done. I have a lot to thank Angels for in general. I worry a lot about speaking over people but I agree with Jess.  It's clear you love and care about West Hollow as much as we do. That's why we're here."

Jess gave both Blue and Matty an encouraging smile, feeling a pang of pride for Mystery Inc and how they could always depend on each other as a team.

Adriel noted that Matty was perhaps the boy that they had overheard an angel speaking about healing his mother, although they weren't positive. They would save that for a note later. "There is no need to worry, you are safe to speak freely here." Adriel's brows furrowed, "If what's true? If the town is in trouble? I would say that is a complicated issue." they breathed out a tense breath through their nose, "The twins, ah...." Adriel wasn't sure how exactly to approach any of this. "They aren't exactly twins in the sense you may know, but, they are special. They are here to help, like myself."

"Then what is it that makes them twins if it's not how we know it? Special how?" Questions flooded Matty's mind but he was careful not to let them go flying out all at once.(edited)

"And uh, how often do you make new angels?" Blue echoed Matty, her brow furrowing. "Because that would help us contextualize the significance."

Adriel took a breath in, fingers going to their lips to think for a moment. "In the sense that twins are a product of genetic division, these two were specially crafted and made, each with distinct personalities and faces, fully formed from the salt water of this great earth our gods provided for us. The gods had not done such a thing since I was created millions of years ago in the same fashion." they finally answered. They didn't name names, and therefore, figured the two were safer that way. "They were trained by Archangel Michael himself. Their creation can perhaps be a warning sign of a troubled world or a miracle, depending on how you interpret it."

"A miracle." Matty said softly, mostly to himself. Matty wondered if they still looked like twins and Mystery Inc. could find them that way.

"If that is how you feel, yes," Adriel nodded, picking up on the boy's words. "The heavens have celebrated it as such. I cannot, however, give out names or locations. They are what you may consider celebrities in the angelic and demon realms, and therefore, are in great danger to attack if I did. Just know they are helping out best they can." they gave a soft smile.

Blue sighed quietly, shoulders drooping a bit. She had a less optimistic view, but if the heavens were celebrating, she supposed she shouldn't worry too much. "Uh, maybe this is a stupid question, but won't they be kind of.... obvious? I mean, twins, and all."

Jess was uncharacteristically silent, but she knew by instinct that right now was a time to listen and observe rather than call any shots. Pondering of genetic devision, she wished Adriel was less of a cryptic and more of a realist, but Jess didn't want to piss off any higher beings today. "Well, Adriel said they're not twin twins...." Jess glanced at Blue curiously, as if Adriel wasn't standing right in front of them in that moment. Turning back to the angel, she hesitated. "Is it because of what happened the other night with the storm? Or what happened down at the beach? I mean, I assume there's been wars for centuries but... why now?"

Adriel gave a coy smile, slightly amused by the human's logic, then pleased when Jessica spoke up and corrected her. "Yes, they are not identical. Similar looking, beautiful, tender-- but sculpted each as so." However, Jessica's next question had the angel uneasy. Adriel pursed their lips, eyes flickering to the floor as they too pondered this. Archangel Michael had said many things about their creation, both from the realistic to the philosophical, and Adriel had yet to discern their true purpose. Finally, they looked up with a sigh, "There is no one event. Have you heard the saying that 'if you do it right, they won't know you did anything at all'? I think that is applicable here."

"I guess it's like.... fraternal twins, right? Same pumpkin patch, different physical traits..." Jess thought aloud, eyes rolling around the room to look at the crazy decorations again. At Adriel's prophecy of sorts, Jess groaned internally, wishing once more they could just give a straight answer. "Right. No offense, but if we know," She gestured to herself and co. "Then isn't it a pretty safe bet that other species know. What if they're rallying some kind of defense? Sorry, I don't know the politics of the supernatural world, but that'd make sense right?" She glanced to Blue and Matty beside her for backup.

"Yeah, I mean.... we know you did something..." Blue muttered, scratching the back of her neck. "And us humans are pretty like, stupid, and slow on the uptake."

Though it wasn't the wording Matty would have chosen, he agreed with both of his friends. "We want to help prevent things from happening to them too. Other species may have less good intentions. If you have more people working together, isn't that a good thing?"

Adriel looked over the bunch, eyebrow ticking up slowly with curiosity at their questions. Jessica was especially irritating the angel, but their face instead just displayed as if they were intenting listening. After a moment, Adriel shrugged, "Interspecies relations are complicated, to say the least. The alliance that other species have formed in this town I do not agree with, as it is corrupted with maliciousness. Demons have been mounting a defense for years, and we have been fighting for years. If you can comprehend this, I have been chasing evil for more than a million years. I have seen cities fall, empires crumble, and humans rise to every occasion imaginable. I do not find it surprising that you figured out our reality so quickly. Stories, fables, novels, sacred texts, art -- all have been created depicting one or many of the species.""If you worry about the angels being found out by the others, you needn't be, is what I mean."

Blue felt as if her brain was beginning to melt, so she just nodded along. She could barely remember how long it had been since she got into a fight, let alone picture chasing evil for a million years. "Okay...." she said slowly. "That's... Okay. So they don't mean there's going to be immediate doom or destruction? Immediate by, like, human standards?"

Jess felt like she was in a history lecture, though if she was she definitely would have sketched herself as something ridiculous in a notebook and tuned out about a solid forever ago. Being here on their own accord, she had to stop her eyes from rolling into the back of her head which all of this, went way over. Nodding at Blue's comment, Jess agreed. "Yeah, I don't know if any of the angels have heard but... one of our group gave out some pretty private information during the storm on some whim. So now, we're kind of worried about our safety. More than usual, anyway..."(edited)

Matty could not begin to fathom a million years.  The guilt that rested in his chest since the storm rose up again when Jess brought up the fact that Harper had given away Nolan's name. He should have done more to make sure that hadn't happened. He just didn't think that Harper would endanger anyone else's life, even with the little regard she apparently had for her safety. Matty's eyes looked to the ground as he stayed silent, hoping Adriel had already heard about it and did not want to discuss this topic at any length.

"No, but if it came to that, we would fight with all our might to protect you all." Adriel answered firmly to Blue. Upon hearing Jessica's words, Adriel frowned deeply and nodded. They had heard about this, and there had been rumbling about others names of their members getting out as well. They were right to come to Adriel if this is what was pressing them. "I did hear, yes, but you are aware that all of your names are in danger, yes? One of my angels found a list on a demon she killed, and I am sure your names were all on it. You are in danger, and I have sent out patrols more than usual to try and keep you all safe, but our numbers are staggered." They sighed heavily with guilt, hand going over their heart as they thought. "I...the twins are new, like babies. They resist some of my guidance in favor of exploring, and therefore, I haven't gotten a chance to tell them about this yet."

Jess opened her mouth and shut it immediately; all of their names? She looked at Matty then, demanding him with her expression to speak up now if he had missed out on telling them a detail that endangered all of them. But then Adriel mentioned a list, and Jess swung back to look at the angel. "Okay so... all of us are in danger... and there's not enough angels... Okay, that's not the news I was expecting to hear today..." Jess breathed, a little panicked.

"Oh, great!" Blue said, suddenly louder than she's been this entire meeting. "What happy news, our lives are in mortal danger!" She dragged her face down with her hands, making a frustrated sound. "This is going great, guys, don't you think?"

Matty bit his lip and shrugged at Jess as she glared at him trying to tell her that he knew nothing about that. He bit his lip, trying to process that they were all just as much in danger as Nolan was. He looked to Blue, "At least we know now, Blue. We know. We can warn everyone else." It was the only positive he could think to draw out of this.

"Yeah well for once the truth is a bit much to handle," Jess bit quietly, but knew there was no point throwing a real tantrum about it. Not when she should be on Ebay right this minute looking for coffins. Looking at the angel, Jess sighed. "What do you suppose we do to protect ourselves then? If the baby angels aren't ready to do their intended work and there's not enough angels in West Hollow... What are our options?"

"Pick out grave plots next to each other," she offered.

Jess fist bumped Blue for her good plan. 

Adriel let out a frustrated breath, "I understand this is tense for you all, but you must realize that not all hope is lost. Much of what you don't see if us angels fighting for your lives. I know several who had already saved or countered plots to kill one or all of you, and while that may not sound reassuring now, it means we are working hard for you. Ma-- The twins, I shall speak with them at once and try to give you both more coverage."

Matty frowned at Blue and Jess, not sure this was the time for sarcastic joking. The response was equally comforting and not. While it was nice to know the angels were ensuring their safety, the idea that there was so much hate aimed at them was not. What if the angels missed something or didn't get there in time? "We appreciate that you're doing so. Is there anything we can do for ourselves to help ensure our safety too?"

At the fist pump, Adriel gave another long sigh. Before they could speak and scold the two, however, the boy once more spoke up and they turned their attention towards him. Their brows furrowed, licking their lips in thought before shrugging, "I would say taking some lessons from that police man of yours. He is the only one who the demons have been wary of because of his training, but, of course, they will come for him as well. It's best you're all as prepared, though."

[captainoftherollyjoger]

In Sickness and In Health

 I know this has been done a million times, but it’s my take on Killian with a cold. Plus a bit more cuteness and a nice surprise!

  @thatwolfbookgirl this is for you, you wanted whiny Killian, here he is! Hope you like it!

Ao3

  Emma was finally home, she trudged up the blue steps to her front door, her arms full of bags from the weekly shop. Killian had mowed the lawn like she asked, she also noticed he had finally planted the flowers that he had been growing in the shed. She was feeling exhausted from her trip, she had a slight idea why, but she wasn’t a hundred percent yet, she had bought some tests to make sure. No need to worry Killian just yet.

  As she entered their house, she heard several loud and violent sneezes come from the front room which then led to a large blowing of a nose and a grunt. Oh no. Killian was ill. She did not have the energy for this right now, as much as she loved him, he was his worst self when he was ill. Especially when it was with a cold. He certainly played the man flu card. Maybe she could shut the door, maybe he hadn’t heard her, she could disappear for a few days. Take a holiday.

  “Swaaaaaaan!” Damn. She looked down at her wedding ring and sighed. In sickness and bloody health, didn’t God know how bad her husband was when he had a cold? A total number of three he had had since they knew each other, and each felt longer than the last.

   The first, they were only friends, he caught one just after he brought her back from New York. She didn’t have to deal with him much on that one, he wasn’t her obligation.

  The second, he caught one when Elsa was about, pretty much the whole town did, but his stupid coat and revealing chest made him more prone. That one she had to look after him for, it was her chance to prove how much he meant to her in the early days of their relationship. Boy had she proved it, he wanted this and that, he felt like this, he moaned for days on end to the point that she had to trick Henry into spending an hour or two with him just so she could get a little peace and quiet. She felt bad, but she had had enough.

  His third, that had been the worst of all. He caught it just after he came back from the Underworld, they had been to the depths of hell and honestly when he started whining about a little sniffle, she was going to send him back there herself. Unfortunately, that little sniffle turned into the biggest pain in her ass she had ever experienced, many times she thought about fleeing the country, she would never have to deal with him or his colds again.

  She loved him, of course, they were true love, and she knew he was grateful for her care, he always made it up to her when he felt better. What annoyed her was he didn’t realise how much of a big baby he was. Well, it was time to show him. This time she would record him being the wet arse that he is.

 Once she had put the shopping away, Emma pulled out her phone, set it to record and placed it in her shirt pocket, she didn’t want him to know she was filming. He would ask too many questions and she needed him to not change his behaviour for the camera. She wandered into the living room, an empty box of tissues sat on the coffee table and it’s contents were littered around the couch, the floor, and the table. Killian was lay down on the couch in his usual jeans, dark shirt, waistcoat and leather jacket. His boots were still on, covered in dry mud which had cracked onto the couch. This was going to be five days of pure hell. She had to keep her temper, it was no good upsetting him, moody and ill Killian, that was a burden worse than any dark curse. In fact, she prayed for them when he was ill.

  “Hey, hubby.” She smiled, it may have been slightly fake. She leant down and kissed him on his temple. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m dying, Swan.” He rolled onto his back and put his hand on his forehead.

  “Looks like you’re auditioning for Shakespeare.” She giggled. This wasn’t even the worst of it yet, it was just a blocked nose. She still had streaming eyes, a cough, and other ailments to come.

  “Why are you laughing?” He pouted. “Can’t you see I’ve been struck with the most deadliest disease?”

  “It’s a cold.” She sighed, then walked away.

  “Where are you going?” He cried out. “I need you.”

  Emma sighed. She sauntered over to him with a coy smile, he raised an eyebrow at her when she tried to lie on top of him.

  “What’s wrong? Do you want to play doctors and nurses?” She smirked, then started kissing his neck.

  “Emma Jones! I am hardly in a fit state for such activities, I feel practically violated.” He gently pushed her off him and turned to face the back of the couch. She laughed heartily at him. Okay, he was sick.

   “Sorry, handsome. Come here, let’s get you bathed and changed. You’re getting mud all over the couch.” He turned and did as she told. They walked upstairs to their room, she now turned off her camera, he was already like a zombie. He sat on the edge of the bed whilst she took off his shoes, the bath was running and she lit some candles which were designed to try and decongest his nose. She removed his pants and his many upper layers, then guided him to their ensuite bathroom.

  “It’s too hot!” He moaned, when he dipped his foot in. She put some cold in. “It’s too cold!”

  “Get in the bath, Jones.”

  “Are you joining me?” He wriggled his eyebrows and then sneezed, he wiped his nose with his arm. “Ugh.”

  “No wonder I fell for you.” She said, sarcastically. “A minute ago, you said I was violating you. So, get in the bath, I have things to do.”

  “Fine.”

   Whilst Killian was in the bath, she went to their downstairs toilet along with her test. It gave her the time she needed, hopefully.

  She was wrong.

  “Emmmmaaaa!” Why? Honestly, why? She closed the bathroom with a bit too much force and stomped upstairs. She took a deep breath, counted to ten, and put on a smile. She entered their bathroom.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Wash my hair.” He thrusted the bottle at her and she rolled her eyes. She poured the shampoo onto her hand then massaged it into his hair. “That feels great, love. Thank you.” Maybe it was worth it, he was appreciative at times, and she liked the intimacy they were having.

  “Now, are you rinsing yourself, or do I have to pour the jug over you?”

  “I can manage.” She kissed his cheek and left the room.

  Downstairs she went back to the bathroom, she was nervous. Were they going to have a baby? She hoped so. They had been married for two years now. She peered over the sink. It was positive. They were having a baby. Tears started to fill her eyes, she was so happy. She couldn’t wait to tell Killian, but it would have to be another time. She didn’t mind.

  Emma wiped her eyes and went back upstairs, she was trying to keep her excitement contained.

  “Emmmmma!” Not hard to do. She entered the bathroom again. Her previous joy was now in the back of her mind. “Can I have a towel?” She reached to the radiator, pulled it off and held it up for him, he stood up and wrapped himself in it. She reached her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  “I love you.” She smiled, this one was very sincere. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he finds out.

  “I love you too.” Then he sneezed. “Swan, there is no greater torture than bearing a cold.”

  “I imagine pregnancy is one.”

  “I have no womb.” He pointed out and walked into the bedroom. She followed him.

  “Aren’t you lucky?” She chuckled.

  “Aye, I’d hate to deal with your monthly situation, love. Though I do like caring for you when you’re not feeling your best.” He looked up at her in adoration. She wished she could say the same.

  “Oh, you.” She pinched his cheek, maybe a little too hard. He didn’t complain but she saw him rub it when she let go. She took out the hair dryer and dried his hair for him. Wet hair wouldn’t do him any good, he always had really soft hair, she was kind of jealous. She helped him with his pyjamas, a black t-shirt and some Star Wars pants that Henry had gotten him for his birthday. That reminded her, she had to call him to stay clear of the house for a week. Regina wouldn’t mind, after all, they all knew how bad Killian could be. “Now, hubby. Lie down.” He did and she pulled the covers up over him.

  Emma made him some chicken soup and cut him up some baguette. She brought him a hot chocolate with cinnamon too. He smiled at her when she placed the tray on his knee.

  “I can’t taste anything!” Back to moaning. She was sat on her side of the bed, trying to read a book. “It’s not fair, Swan. Why don’t you get any burdens like this?” She blinked a few times.

  “I dunno, but my head is starting to hurt.” She sighed. He was dripping soup down his chin. “You’re so messy.” She reached for a tissue and wiped his chin for him.

  “I’m not a child.” He took it off her and wiped his own chin. No, he wasn’t. But soon they would have one. They’d be wiping plenty of chins then. He finished his meal, then Emma tucked him up into bed, he had demanded a hot water bottle, she obliged.

  Killian slept restlessly through the night, he was constantly kicking her, or trying to clear his nose. He was boiling hot thanks to his water bottle, he insisted on cuddles and demanded that he be the little spoon. Through the night he complained of headaches and at three in the morning she was giving him a massage.

  By morning, she was exhausted. As was he. She brought him some toast and orange juice with some medicine, the worst part of caring for him. She could never get him to swallow pills, so he used syrup. It was still a task.

  “I’m not taking that, Swan.”

  “It will help with your headache, handsome.” She smiled. She poured the liquid onto the spoon and went to feed it him, he turned his head the opposite way.

  “Killian.”

  “No.”

  If he wasn’t helping her, then she wasn’t going to be nice. She grabbed his hair, pulled his head towards her, opened his mouth and shoved the spoon in it.

  “Emma! You’re mean.”

  “It’s for your own good.” He stuck his tongue out at her, which gave her the perfect opportunity to shove another mouthful of medicine down his throat. She smiled and tapped his cheek.

  “Good boy.”

  A week later, Killian was finally feeling better. His nose was clearing, he didn’t feel as drained, though Emma certainly did, his ears still had to pop, but all in all, he was his old self again. She had shown him the videos of his petulance, which he felt guilty for, but he looked cute. He had helped clean the house and rid it of his germs, he thanked Emma with little hugs and kisses for taking such good care of him. He’d bought her flowers as a sign of appreciation and treated her like a queen for the next few days.

  They were snuggled up on the couch watching a movie together, they had brought down their quilt and Killian was snuggling into her. He gave her little kisses and she felt him tracing idle circles on her hip. It was time.

  “Killian?” She whispered. He must have been dozing in and out of sleep. “Hey, hubby.” She gave him a little nudge.

  “Mm, sorry, love. I nodded off.”

  “I have something to tell you.” She smiled.

  “What is it, you can tell me anything.” He kissed her jaw and she smiled.

  “What if I told you there was three of us watching this movie?” She tried to hint.

  “Three of us? Is Henry around?” He looked up to see if he had missed Henry’s arrival.

  “No, but maybe in a couple of months, there’ll be four of us living here, instead of three.”

  “Is someone moving in?” He honestly looked so cute. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t catching on.

  “What do you always say is in me?” Now that was obvious.

  “A little pirate, Swan. But, what does that have to do with anything…” Click. He went tense. “Emma, are you? Are you pregnant?” She nodded. A massive grin immediately appeared on his face. “We’re having a baby! Are we actually?” He was extremely excited, that much was obvious. “When did you find out?”

  “Last week.”

  “You mean, I put you through all that, and you were carrying our child?” He looked really guilty.

  “Hey, I don’t mind. You’re my husband, I took a vow to look after you.” She smiled.

  “But-”

  “Shh, let’s just celebrate what’s to come. We’re having a baby, and Henry gets a sibling.”

  “Does the lad know?”

  “No, but he’s said he’s wanted a sibling for a while now. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

  “Emma, I can’t believe it. After everything we’ve been through. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” He looked at her belly.

  “And I love you too, and Henry. We’ll be quite the family.” He chuckled.

[tipsoctopus]

"Would prefer Gary Doherty" - Lots of Spurs fans discuss £27m-rated ace who "turns like a bus"

After playing as a centre-back for the first time under Jose Mourinho on Sunday, Tottenham Hotspur defender Eric Dier has reiterated his desire to commit to the role long-term, which has left plenty of Spurs fans in a discussion.

The north Londoners succumbed to a third straight defeat at the hands of Wolverhampton Wanderers who came out on top in the five-goal thriller on Sunday afternoon.

Dier started the match in defence alongside Davinson Sanchez and the young Japhet Tanganga but the trio were powerless in stopping Diogo Jota and Raul Jimenez running riot while wing-back Matt Doherty even got on the scoresheet.

Following the match, the Englishman said: “That’s the position I see myself playing. That’s where I see my future. I was happy to be able to play today, obviously very nice of the manager speaking that way about me. I have always been very politically correct on the subject because of many different reasons.”

Here’s what fans have been saying…

For which Championship club?

— COYS 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇮🇱🇵🇹 (@COYS_Shelfside) March 2, 2020

Slow and can't pass, no.

— Kanser🇮🇹 (@kanspurs) March 2, 2020

Not fast enough or mobile enough you might aswell play verts if your playing him at centre back.

— Gary Cooney. (@cooneygary) March 2, 2020

He is too slow to be an effective central defender, was at fault for two goals Sunday in my opinion

— devsharan dhillon (@spursman_foreve) March 2, 2020

Mid-table player at best

— Dylan (@dillzcoys) March 3, 2020

Maybe in Stoke or Burnley.

— ⚪ (@SondayDelight) March 2, 2020

Play centre back for someone else please Eric.

— Greg (@gregnut1) March 2, 2020

Cause the legs have gone!! Ship him out

— Shelf ish (@CoulsdonTHFC) March 2, 2020

He’ll be better off in a slower paced league like Serie A. Not up to the pace of the premier league anymore

— Terry david (@Terryda98843481) March 2, 2020

For Barnet perhaps

— SWSPURS (@swspurs) March 2, 2020

Turns like a bus . One for the sale list . No time for sentiment

— Sy (@SyClarke16) March 2, 2020

There were plenty against the idea with many hoping that he would be playing centre-back for another team come next season – suggestions ranged from the Serie A where he would be better off because of it’s slower pace to non-league side Barnet.

One supporter believed his legs had gone while another blasted him for being a “mid-table” player at best.

Watch Tottenham Hotspur Videos With StreamFootball.tv Below

His speed and mobility were criticised frequently with him being blamed for a couple of the goals on Sunday.

Despite all of the negatives, a few members of the Spurs faithful were behind Dier, who is now rated at £27m by Transfermarkt.

Always said top centre back

— danny gardner (@danny0x0) March 2, 2020

This isn’t a surprise even from his good season in holding mid everyone always said he will end up being a centre half. Give him game time and will come good

— Adam (@adamhotspurs) March 2, 2020

Been saying it for years. Thought he did well yesterday all considering there was zero midfield protection

— DC (@Yidneys) March 2, 2020

Have more respect. This is the guy that single handedly beat up the whole Chelsea team a few years ago and showed that Spurs had fight and backbone.

— Neil Dhot (@neil_dhot) March 2, 2020

Shame so many people are slating him. If you watched the game, he was actually one of our few decent player’s.

— Adam Gold (@Adamhomer) March 2, 2020

One fan demanded that the 26-year-old earned more respect, especially as he was the man to tear up Chelsea a couple of seasons ago while others believed he did a fine job in a back three against Wolves even without help from his midfield teammates.

Dier was even labelled as a “top centre-back.”

There were also comparisons made to players past and present, even if they were tongue in cheek and a tad sarcastic.

Hopefully just not for us… would prefer Gary Doherty

— Edward Desbois (@edesbois) March 2, 2020

Dier > Van dijk. Sorry I really don’t make the rules.

— 😈 / Dier Propaganda (@sacramentoszn) March 2, 2020

Dier > Maldini #THFC #COYS

— Pops20 (@Pops2016739539) March 2, 2020

A further member of the Spurs fanbase claimed Dier was better than Liverpool’s Virgil van Dijk while another said he was greater than Paolo Maldini – a little far-fetched, you’d imagine.

While one supporter didn’t want to see him play as a centre-back for Tottenham, stating that he would prefer former defender Gary Doherty.

From Jay-Z to Tom Hanks: Do you know which clubs these famous celebrities support?

And in other news, talkSPORT pundit slams key figures for Spurs “mess”…

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[mylittleedgey]

Baring the New Version

Like the other version, this has a lot of trouble with rambling and spinning off into different conversations without resolving anything.  I like the Iris bit.  I kinda like the bit with Paine just to emphasize everything was a fluke but it doesn’t transition well.  I like the bit at the end about Trucy, but mentioning Edgeworth’s single father was opening a whole can of worms and I stopped in the middle.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.  He had somehow managed to be so infatuated with the man that he’d managed to give the impression that he was bored with his company. If he hadn’t been so caught up in himself, if he could have just seen that his feelings were reciprocated…  Perhaps if he had spoken the right words, or even one exactly right word, he could have spared them both the pain of the other man’s imagined rejection.  If Miles had kissed him as he had today, if they had joined together on that creaky hotel bed, years ago… “Wright?” …And he’d just done it again. It took him the better part of fifteen seconds for him to regain his train of thought.  He kissed Edgeworth, got caught by Gumshoe, found out that it was exactly what the detective had been hoping for.  Miles liked him, actually enjoying his company, and he’d been so painfully oblivious he’d managed . He should probably say something before Miles assumed he’d gone comatose and begin to administer CPR.

Well, maybe he could hold out for the CPR.

“Wright, I feel the need to remind you that you need to be out of here in ten minutes, so if you want to go catatonic or whatever it is you believe yourself to be doing, I’d appreciate it if you waited until then.”

He finally snapped back into the conversations.  “Was Gumshoe talking about Iris?”

The smug grin died on Edgeworth’s lips. “I was hoping for something more along the lines of discussing how we might meet up tonight.”

“I just wanted to say, we’re not a thing, if you were worried...”

“Phoenix Wright, I hardly have a low enough opinion of you to believe you would solicit a relationship with me if you were currently in a relationship with someone else.”  Miles was staring off to one side with one of his unapproachable scowls that said clearly he was not willing to discuss it.

Phoenix felt his face going hot with embarrassment.  “I just meant she’s a good friend.   To Trucy and I both.  I can understand where you would think it was more, and I know you must have been involved in her case, so you probably realized how much I was visiting her in prison.”

“Every Tuesday afternoon.  Normally around three pm.  You missed on two occasions in four years.”  Miles recited them like they were part of a case he’d memorized.

“Wow, uh, you… seem to know more about it than I do.”

“I felt like a stalker, I guess I was one.   I didn’t listen in, but… I couldn’t ignore it. Gumshoe misunderstood my interest and attempted to woo Iris on my behalf.”

“Aaand that’s when he found out you weren’t interested in her...” Phoenix finished the thought.  “It must have been mortifying. I’m so sorry.”

“It was hardly your fault.”  Miles replied dismissively.  “But yes, I had already purchased a one-way ticket to Stuttgart when Franziska called me at the airport and referred to me as-”

“-Franziska knows?!”

“At this point I’m willing to believe that you’re the only person in the greater Los Angeles area who doesn’t know.”

He considered that.  “Trucy was sure there was something there, but, you know, she’s my daughter, of course she’d have my interests at heart.”

Now it was Edgeworth’s turn to raise a skeptical eyebrow.  “Trucy approves of your interest in me?”

“Trucy was the one that convinced me to talk to you today.”

“I hope this doesn’t mean you intend me to be that replacement mother she keeps talking about.”  He replied, with a coy edge to his voice that could have been nervous.

“What? Oh!  Oh, Trucy, you know her...” He deflated his lips in an exasperated sigh.  “Trucy has opinions, and she’s not shy about them.  I think she meant it for a while, but now she just says it ironically? I know when she was younger she talked about how we’d have to fight over who would be the mommy… by now she has gay friends and she’s cool with whatever.  She says ‘Mom’ because I’m not that open about… you know.”

“I don’t recall you ever mentioning it to me.”  Miles noted.

“You know, one of the reasons I stopped drinking was because she told me the next time I blacked out she’d convince me to tattoo your name on my ass.”  he chuckled with a cringe.  “Said it would be a great ice breaker for the whole coming out thing.”

The prosecutor coughed weakly.  “I certainly wouldn’t have seen it coming.”  he admitted.  “I suppose I don’t know her as well as I thought I did.”

“That young lady does not pull any punches.”  Phoenix laughed oddly, proud and embarrassed at the same time. “Where does she get that, eh?  But seriously, she loves Iris.  She was a little disappointed when I told her it wasn’t getting past friends, but she had a boy punch her once because she didn’t want to sit with him.  She understands relationships are a two-way thing.”

“And did he get in trouble?”

“Well… you see, she did some sort of magic trick and trapped his bike in a tree.  Like, you know, with a branch through the frame and everything.  They wanted to expel her, but the janitor that cut it down swore no kid could do that.  She got through on that defense a lot, actually.  We’ve had a lot of talks about legality and ethics.”  He finally shrugged off the whole awkward train of thought.  “She won’t break any laws while you’re around, I promise.”

“I...”

“Anyway!” he hurried along, eager to change the subject. “I made the mistake of talking to her about what you said at that party a few weeks ago, and she-”

“What, exactly, did I say?”

It took Phoenix a moment to realize that the conversation had been replaying in his head until he could quote it word for word had just been a normal conversation to the other man.  “You told Whatzit Paine that you had hope.”

“I need to have that put into some sort of context.”

“He kinda implied you liked me, and you kinda didn’t disagree...”

It took another few minutes for Edgeworth to make the connection.  His eyes suddenly went wide.  “That idiot!  That’s what this is about?” he hissed through his teeth.

“Is that a problem?”

Miles growled something as he stood.  “Every time he gets drunk he tries to bait me into an argument.  You heard him, once he’s too far gone to be afraid of Franziska there’s really no stopping him.”  He sighed, hand going to the bridge of his nose.  “To think that’s all it took...”

“I guess all I needed was a little hope.” Phoenix smiled shyly.

“I have made myself available to you for a decade sustained by baseless hope.”  Edgeworth grumbled, and for a moment Phoenix was genuinely worried that decades of what appeared to be mutual pining was about to be trumped by the fact that Miles Edgeworth really hated a subordinate.  “Well,” he finally continued, “gift horse and all that.  At this point I suppose I should do what I can to nurture that hope. As I have mentioned, I hold out hope that we can meet tonight. I believe we still have plenty of things that warrant discussion.”

“...Discussion?” With a raised eyebrow.

Miles replied with a smirk.  “Were you not interested in discussion?  I’m always open to suggestions if you can think of a better use of our time.”

“When do you get off work?”  Actually, given his position and tendency to push himself relentlessly, “Do you get off work?” would probably be a better question.  “I have to-”

“-Get home by nine-thirty, I realize you have a daughter.”

Phoenix cringed guiltily.  “I’m sorry.”

“I believe I’ve said before that I don’t wish to cause any animosity between you and your daughter.”  

“Animosity?” Phoenix snorted. I’m not worried about making Trucy angry.  She’d probably be excited if I called her up and told her I’d be back next year because I really wanted to bang Mister Edgeworth.  She’d probably be fine, too.  She can take care of herself.  Lord knows she’s had to.”  He sighed.  “No, I just don’t want to get back to the point where I let her convince me that healthy parenting is letting a kid fend for herself and patting yourself on the back when she manages to turn out wonderfully.”

Miles adjusted his glasses.  “I don’t sugarcoat, Wright.  It’s not in me to pretend that you’re the best parent or that I never had my doubts about your techniques.  Indeed, I had grave misgivings for years.”

“Well, thank you.”  If Phoenix was genuinely upset, he gave no outward indication, he merely shifted to the other foot and studied one shoe.

“I’m no stranger to foster care, Wright.”  Miles replied warily.  “As well as it’s effect on children.  I trust and respect you deeply. That doesn’t mean, however, that I would turn a blind eye if I believed you were endangering your daughter.”  He leaned forward, catching Phoenix dead in the eye.  “I say this so you know.  I’ve always considered you to be the best guardian of your child.  I was afraid you’d be too far gone to redeem yourself, but you never lost your way.  You are, and have always been, the man I faced in court when I first met you.  You must realize I would never say it if I didn’t stand behind it one hundred percent.”

“That’s, uh… wow.”  Phoenix was noticeably blushing.  “I… thank you.”

“Also, I’ve spent enough time with your makeshift family to say that I honestly enjoy your daughter as a person.  Never feel like you need to justify your time with her.”  his voice lowered as he leaned in. “I was raised by a single father as well, Wright.”

He had almost forgotten the quiet young boy waiting dutifully for his father, nose buried in a thick book.  The rest of the school had mostly emptied out by now.  normally he got a ride home with Phoenix, but every other Thursday his mom had meetings and couldn’t make it. Phoenix could have walked home, it was only six blocks of residential area.  His mother had suddenly decided that she preferred to pick her son up in the car two days after their parents had met in person. She had originally been rather worried that her son had gained a nearly fanatical obsession with Miles Edgeworth overnight, but twenty minutes with the calm, refined, apologetic man had converted her. Miles was the perfect child who could only be a positive influence on her son, and his poor father who was still managing to hold down a private practice and still raise this perfect specimen of a son needed all the help she could convince him to accept.

So Miles rode home with them more often than not, and spent hours at his house several times a week.  

^AND THIS SHOULD PROBABLY GO INTO ANOTHER CHAPTER OR STORY ALTOGETHER^

I love frazzled overworked Gregory who does his best after his wife’s death, but failing to understand the depth of it’s effect on Miles. I have a strong headcanon that Ms Edgeworth died in a car crash picking up Miles from preschool/kindergarten.  Miles was in the back in a kid seat and was fine, Mom was killed instantly.  Miles blames himself because of some little thing like going back for his jacket. He never mentions it to his father who would never have made the connection.  As he grows up, he tries to atone by not causing any trouble and working for a future where he can make up for it.  He doesn’t make friends because that would interfere with his plans, and anyway he’s weird and quiet and kids normally don’t like him. Gregory was literally thrilled when Miles made friends because it was the first time in years he’d done something for himself.  And then of course things went down with Gregory and he broke for a good many years.

[char27martin]

John Sibley Williams: Poet Interview

Please join me in welcoming John Sibley Williams to the Poetic Asides blog!

John Sibley Williams

John Sibley Williams is the editor of two Northwest poetry anthologies and the author of nine collections, including Disinheritance and Controlled Hallucinations. A seven-time Pushcart nominee, John is the winner of numerous awards, including the Philip Booth Award, American Literary Review Poetry Contest, Nancy D. Hargrove Editors’ Prize, Confrontation Poetry Prize, and Vallum Award for Poetry.

He serves as editor of The Inflectionist Review and works as a literary agent. Previous publishing credits include: The Yale Review, Midwest Quarterly, Sycamore Review, The Massachusetts Review, Poet Lore, Saranac Review, Arts & Letters, Columbia Poetry Review, Mid-American Review, Poetry Northwest, Third Coast, Baltimore Review, RHINO, and various anthologies. He lives in Portland, Oregon.

Learn more here.

Here’s a poem I really enjoyed from his collection Disinheritance:

November Country, by John Sibley Williams

My grandfather digs a double plot with his bare hands in case winter can be shared though he knows grandmother will outlive her heart’s thaw by a decade. I could give him a shovel. Instead

I ball the half-frozen river’s slack numb around my fist, tighten into ice. I will try to be less hard next time. Here in the gray and two-dimensional house we know the answer to rain.

A perforated black arrow of birds moves southward, array. Shrill reports from every side and from the sky the trajectory of abandonment.

Our surfaces are like the river. Our circles have learned to grow edges and crack. Even the birds we compare ourselves to

have left us.

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What are you currently up to?

Apart from being a new father of twins, which, along with writing, sort of defines me now, I’ve just completed two full-length poetry manuscripts that I’m submitting to various contests and publishers.

Skin Memory is an amalgam of free verse and prose poetry that focuses on bodies—human, animal, celestial, landscape—and how they affect each other. Keeping the Old World Lit is a tightly structured set of poems that explores our relationship with history, nostalgia, and cultural and personal regret.

I loved reading Disinheritance. How did you go about getting this collection published?

Thanks so much! I really appreciate that. Disinheritance was a bit more personal, more intimate, than most of my work, so there was a greater emotional risk when introducing it to the world. I’m genuinely touched when someone tells me it resonated with them.

Luckily, the publication process was quite simple. Although I experienced the usual and expected rejections from a few contests and major publishers, Apprentice House Press took it on within a few months of the manuscript’s completion. I wish I had a powerful or inspiring story to share here, but Disinheritance came together easily and found a publisher fairly quickly.

You’re the author of nine poetry collections. Do they get easier or harder as you go along?

Not to sound coy, but both.

Putting together my earlier chapbooks felt like a simpler process, but that’s likely because each was a unique entity with poems written to work together toward the same goals. Those earlier poems were envisioned as short collections. Also, and perhaps more importantly, back then I hadn’t really studied how other poets structure their books.

There’s a true art to making 50, 80, 100 poems read fluidly. There are so many interesting techniques one can employ to create threads for the reader to follow throughout an entire collection. And there is so much culling, so much editing, so many lovely poems that must fall to the cutting room floor for the sake of overall consistency and flow.

So the process of organizing a book has become almost as complex as the writing itself, though it’s also become far more fun and rewarding.

For the individual poems, do you have a submission routine?

Absolutely, and a rather strict one.

It’s taken me years of research and reading hundreds of magazines to create a thorough spreadsheet for my individual poem submissions. I keep notes on their changing editorial focuses and open submission windows. I do my best to match each poem with a few magazines that I feel might enjoy them.

And I track all submissions so that every poem I truly believe in is submitted to around five magazines at a time. It’s a time-consuming process, taking up at least a third of my creative time each week, but it’s worth it.

As a follow up, do you have a writing routine you try to keep?

I became the father of twins about six months ago, so I’m now carving out new, flexible routines that balance writing with life’s many other joyful responsibilities. I still write daily, though usually in fragments, in stolen moments, taking notes that will, hopefully, band together into poems.

I’m currently able to set aside about three days each week for true composition. To balance with the babies’ schedule, I tend to write for a few hours each weekend morning, just after dawn, and I’ve tweaked my full-time work hours a bit to allow me one or two afternoons of writing time.

As to the where of writing, when the notoriously rainy Oregon weather allows it, I prefer to write outside, in open-aired cafes or a nearby park that runs along the southern banks of the Willamette River.

One poet nobody knows but should. Who is it?

I shouldn’t assume what poets readers are or are not already familiar with, but one of my favorite books from last year that didn’t seem to make any of the Best of 2016 lists is Ramshackle Ode, by Keith Leonard. Admittedly, it was published by Mariner Books, so not exactly an unknown press, but I haven’t noticed much buzz in the poetry community about this incredible collection.

Each poem paints a fragile yet stubbornly persistent world, and somehow Leonard manages to both celebrate and eulogize life with a natural grace that feels so intimate, so familiar.

If you could pass along only one piece of advice to fellow poets, what would it be?

There’s a reason “keep writing, keep reading” has become clichéd advice for emerging writers; it’s absolutely true. You need to study as many books as possible from authors of various genres and from various countries. Listen to their voices. Watch how they manipulate and celebrate language. Delve deep into their themes and take notes on the stylistic, structural, and linguistic tools they employ.

And never, ever stop writing. Write every free moment you have. Bring a notebook and pen everywhere you go (and I mean everywhere). It’s okay if you’re only taking notes. Notes are critical. It’s okay if that first book doesn’t find a publisher. There will be more books to come. And it’s okay if those first poems aren’t all that great. You have a lifetime to grow as a writer.

Do we write to be cool, to be popular, to make money? We write because we have to, because we love crafting poems, because stringing words together into meaning is one of life’s true joys. So rejections are par for the course. Writing poems or stories that just aren’t as strong as they could be is par for the course. But we must all retain that burning passion for language and storytelling. That flame is what keeps us maturing as writers.

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Robert Lee Brewer is the editor of Poet’s Market and author of Solving the World’s Problems. Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.

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Check out these other poetic posts:

Amorak Huey: Poet Interview.

20 Best Tips for Poets.

WD Poetic Form Challenge: Clogyrnach.

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