#sometimes a terrible man gives you a boat and you instantly fall in love with him and ruin a bunch of your other relationships IT HAPPENS

[ask-commander-wendy]

//Rpin Be Wild Sometimes

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♥ ◦∘ Peter Parker - Everything Happens for a Reason ∘◦ ♥ ◦∘

A/N - I only wrote it a couple of months ago and due to the close nature of it, I haven’t uploaded it anywhere. I hope you like my first (10k) Peter Parker fic. I know that the timeline doesn’t make sense, but in all honesty, Endgame and FFH messed it up plenty so I just kinda placed this in no-mans-time. And I know the compound was destroyed during Endgame, so just bear with the fact that I’ve made it so that Strange and his wizards rebuilt it for survivors :)

Warnings - making out and shadows to sex, SWEARING, bad parenting, mentions of grief, mentions of injury and disability, angst, death of parents etc. Also, don’t read if you haven’t seen endgame because it’ll be spoiled in the first paragraph of this. 

Summary - Stark!reader x Peter Parker, post endgame. Months after the death of your father, your aunt, and the retirement of your uncle, you find yourself in a sticky situation, and to make it even worse, your childhood crush doesn’t even recognise you now. Then again, doing most of your growing up while half of the population is dead doesn’t exactly bode well for your love life nor your commitment issues. When things finally start to turn around while learning to live with a disability, will you still be taken away to live with your step-mother, or will love pan out at last? After all, everything happens for a reason. 

IT'S BEEN JUST OVER THREE MONTHS since the final battle, and therefore just over three months since you said goodbye to the only three role models you had for the most important five years of your life. Well, the three are debatable. 

Your dad had died, still holding your hand, after saving humanity like he always did, allowing the burden of the Stark name to fall onto you at long last. Your uncle Steve - tutor extraordinaire - had officially retired and moved away, and you haven’t seen him since the final goodbye, leaving you more and more doubtful every day you’ll ever see him again. And your aunty Nat let herself go, she pushed herself away from that cliff, and let uncle Clint live, to help give you a better life, but what Nat didn’t realise was that you lost them both that day, because Clint hasn’t been back since. He’s never coming back now from the trauma, the man who was more of a father than your dad ever was.

It was quite possibly the worst period of your whole life, but then again, when half of the world is destroyed before you’ve even hit puberty, you don’t really have much to hold it against.

But here you are again, stuck in your room in the semi-rebuilt compound, grounded by FRIDAY while the step monster and child are at the lake house, living happily ever after. What the issue is, you don’t know. All you did was get a piercing... and be rude to Peter. And Sam. And everyone in the building- ok maybe she has a point, but hey, you’re grieving the loss of everyone major in your life, and you can barely do anything for yourself.

It’s like five years ago all over again. Everyone you’d grown accustomed to, your friends, your mom, your idols - even if they weren’t dead, they were lost for a long time - and your crush. The one and only Peter Parker. Much to your surprise, you got over most of the deaths pretty quickly. There wasn’t much to understand - they were gone and they wouldn’t come back no matter what, so what good would worrying and crying do? Obviously, as a young girl, this was the wrong response, so this is when Pepper got her name. “Don’t be so insensitive! Those were your dad's best friends, people he worked with for years. Those people were his family, and mine, and yours.”

You scoffed at her, the way you always seemed to do. “Yeah, ok. But my mum died, and am I making a fuss? No. She died for a reason, they all did,” and under your breath, you added “I still just need to figure that reason out.”

You held back from the obvious “they were my family too” bullshit, because your dad never believed that, even when you spent most of your time at his house with the Avengers instead of him. It wasn’t that you hated your mom or your dad, you loved them both equally and spent time with them both, but when one dies and one goes missing and spirals into lord knows what after going missing in space with a blue alienoid, everything gets a little complicated and stops making sense. Spending more time with your dad was scary too, seeing the intricacies of Avengers life in a capacity which you didn’t understand for a long time growing up. That only lasted for a year before he took off and made you be a tennis ball in a flawed game between him and Rhodey. Every weekend for five years you drove from the compound to the lake house. You lost out on a lot from that, and your dad didn’t even seem phased, because he had Morgan. 

But beneath all of the hatred that had made you so rebellious since you turned fifteen, there was something deeper.

Considering how stone faced and resolute you are and always have been, considering how harsh you are about the realities and never getting caught up in mindless emotions, no matter how much you claim that your grieving time was over the second that you pushed your dad's heart away, mere weeks after feeling his pulse drop as you laced your fingers with his, no one would believe that it was all a lie.

Every night since that snap more than five years ago, you’ve done the same thing. Make a cup of hot chocolate (an iced decaf latte if it was summer), and you’d take it to bed and just cry until you could no more and simply fell asleep. You weren’t even sure why you cried, because after all there wasn’t really any reason to. The world was moving on, albeit slower than before, and your life  was about as much locked into place as it could be with Tony Stark as your father, but the crying just felt obligatory. After ten, FRIDAY always turned off in your room, that was the agreement your mom had with your dad whenever you stayed there, although you weren’t sure why it made a difference, and it just stuck, so no one saw the pointless tears, no one heard, and no one cared. The only one who ever did care enough whenever you cried had been snapped away, and now he was back, you were just another repugnant face in the crowds, or so you’d guess with the way he looked down upon you.

 “It’s ok dad,” you said with a completely straight face, your hard eyes locked onto his, your entire being completely void of emotion, “you can go to sleep.”

He squeezed your hand with his forefinger and middle finger, very lightly, and he just croaked out his final words to you, “my beautiful Sloane, so brave.” So quiet that they were only decipherable to you.

“Life functions critical,” the Irish accent rang in your ears.

Pete had already said his goodbyes, but now it was Pepper’s turn as she wiped your dad's tears away. This time you should’ve been there for each other, a support for one another, after all, they were losing him together and were in the same boat, but sometimes even grief can’t bring people together. 

“Tony, look at me. We’re going to be ok..” she pleaded. 

Your dad's eyes moved from yours to hers, a sluggish movement that took the remaining life from him. He moved his lips to form two words that broke your heart, because you knew that they were directed at all of you, and they meant so much more than anyone else could understand. Those words were his attempt at making up for being such a shit dad. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Pepper kissed him. “You can rest now.”

You didn’t even look around to see anyone else’s face , especially not Peters or Peppers, because as soon as his pulse stopped and his skin slipped from your grip, his body cold, you knew that the chapter of your life with your father in it was over, so you pulled your mask back over your face, and strutted away, as far as possible. You ignored your limp completely, because with all of the numbness, it was like you couldn’t even feel the pain. Except you didn’t disappear, no way, you couldn’t. You watched as they all knelt for him, for the man who missed all of your firsts in life, who was absent when you needed a father and a friend and a leader, and even though you were chronically broken within, every terrible emotion gnawing at you, screaming at you to just feel something and express it; you didn’t. You suppressed it all, and walked away. And of no surprise to you at all, no one followed, or even noticed you were gone.

After all, Tony Stark died for a reason, and at least this time you knew what that reason was. 

 “Miss?” Someone’s snapping their fingers beside your ear, driving you mental but also snapping you awake from whatever dream that was, reliving the scariest day of your life. “Miss, you fell asleep at the table. We’re clearing it for dinner, please.”

You roll your eyes up at him, instantly recognising Pete’s voice, but you just don’t care. He doesn’t even know who you are. So you scoff, the way you did at Pepper so long ago, and you leave without a second glance.

“Are you a relative of Nat’s? I- I heard someone was coming over to stay...” his voice yells down the corridor.

“You can’t be serious Peter. You don’t recognise me at all?”

And with that, you snatch your water bottle from the edge of the counter with your spare hand and resolutely stamp off down the corridor, your feet loosely wading in your docs with your crutch assisting you along the way.

You’re leaving soon, so you won’t have to deal with him. But you still have another year or two of high school to compete with, and with your tutor gone - your dad refused to send you back to school after the snap, so it was left up to whoever wanted the job, and Cap wanted it a lot more than he did, so you spent your weeks driving from the city to the lake house after finishing the weeks tutoring, to spend time with your ‘family’ - and now, you seriously doubted that anyone else would want the job. Bucky is too hormonal and grieving the loss of his best friend, Banner is freaking you out, Clint is off the grid from another breakdown and it’s like he’s not even human anymore, Wilson is too busy with his new training regime and fighting Buck, and Scott doesn’t know the first thing about what you need to learn thanks to his ditsy persona. Which only leaves Pepper and Rhodey, and which forces you to go back and live in the lake house, away from the shambles of the rebuilt compound, all thanks to Strange and his wizards.

Maybe this is what you need, because now you don’t have to see Pete and get offended every single time he forgets your name and doesn’t have a clue who you are.

That night, you skipped your crying routine, and felt no better nor worse off for doing so. You simply dosed up on your painkillers and drifted off to sleep, filled with irritation and dreams of a mousey hero.

 For the next couple of days, you’d just gone about your business and avoided the funny looks from all of the other Avengers at your foul demeanour. None of them that were in and out of the rebuilt compound ever really took notice of you anymore, and you weren’t sure that any of them recognised you anymore, not with all of the piercings and hair dye and the crutches. After all, the last time most of them knew you, you were an annoying child who watched them work and ate dinners with them, and your dinners consisted of smiley face waffles and chicken nuggets. And besides, you were perfectly able back then, and you often had little friends over, or your mom would pop in to say hi on your way home. There’s no chance of that happening anymore. Bucky had recognised you, smiled at you, and occasionally made jokes about you being crippled together, so with any issues you could just turn to him, but this Peter thing annoyed you too much to talk about it, and you didn’t know why. 

Speak of the devil-

“Hey, can I sit?” He asks, standing just behind the sofa and hovering awkwardly.

“I don’t care,” you say, all of your words merging and slurring. You signal to the seat beside you yet far enough away for him not to be a bother, and he takes it.

“So h-how are you?” 

You watch him suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, because you can just feel his eyes on you, namely on your tits that had suddenly appeared in the last few years. 

“I’m fine thank you, Peter. It’s not like no one knows who the fuck I am and I’m living in a literal post war, dystopian, apocalyptic world all alone. How are you, Spider-Man?”

He blanches before your eyes, and you can physically see any words die in the back of his throat.

“I-I’m good.”

Everything stills for a little while, and the only sounds are what's playing on TV and Peter’s occasional swallows, making his Adams apple Bob in your peripheral view. He doesn’t dare look at you, and you can just sense his agitation, mainly from the way he fidgets and weighs the sofa cushions down weirdly with his weird spider legs. 

It only takes half an hour for you to wear down and ask him the burning question, his presence beside you enough to make your skin tingle in anticipation and anger bubble within, not to mention the girlish sense that overwhelms you, so contrasting to your dark clothes and self-given bridge piercing. 

“Why don’t you speak to me anymore, Peter? Do you seriously not recognise me?”

His eyes fall and his face turns sallow, and he stammers over a few consonants, unable to form any real words.

“I’m Tony’s daughter.” You announce, facing him head on. “Y/N Stark.”

Only after you’ve said that do you realise that he’ll have absolutely no clue what you’re saying, but you can see the cogs whirring in his head as everything is pieced together. His eyes lock onto yours, and they’re the one feature you haven’t changed about yourself in the years that he was gone.

“I changed my name last year, I used to be-”

“-Sloane Stark.” he finishes with you. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off yours, too lost in them after he’s been without them for so long. Something’s clicked inside, but scepticism overtakes him. You grasp your hair into a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck, all the loose ringlets in different shades tickling your neck, but it reveals a thin, pale, bumpy scar on your skin; a thin and jagged line that runs from the base of your ear to the start of your clavicle. You’ve had it since you were 11, when Peter first became a regular at the compound and you began to play together, but then an accident happened, and Peter stayed by your side as you got the stitches, holding your hand. 

Finally, he cottons on, and you can see the tears welling up in his chocolate brown orbs.

“Sloane…”

He virtually leaps from his seat and throws his arms around you, completely overcome with all kinds of inexplicable feelings. Love seeps from his body into yours, he clings to you, and even buries his nose into your hair, taking a deep inhalation before sighing in contentment. Even when the average hug time has passed, he doesn’t release you, and keeps his arms wrapped like a koala around your shoulders, his body slowly getting closer and closer towards you and for some reason making you blush. Your arms remain limp around him, and your forefinger traces figures on his lower back, but you don’t squeeze him as much as you did when the surprise of his cuddle attack first hit you. 

He eases himself away, but still keeps his hand on your arm, a gentle and warm presence. 

It doesn’t hit you for a while that it’s the first hug you’ve received in months, and the first one from Peter in five and a half years.

“I’m guessing that you didn’t snap away like the rest of us then…?” he asks shyly. 

His spare hand immediately retracts and rubs the back of his neck anxiously, just the way he used to, but only now do you understand why.

“Nah, I didn’t,” you say, “Sadly I was stuck here in this shambles of an earth, dealing with everyone else's depression and having a little sister forced upon me. I couldn’t even go to school, it was awful.”

His face falls into a deep frown and he searches your face for any sign of your words being cynical, but he finds nothing.

“W-why did you change your name then?”

You shrug, for what feels like the hundredth time in his presence, “Sloane is an awful name, it means ‘raider’ in bloody Irish. None of my family is Irish, my dad suggested the name when he was drunk, and my mum couldn’t think of anything better. Y/N makes me feel like me.”

He nods understandingly and doesn’t push the matter, so you offer a half smile and move your attention back to the TV.

“Why did you change you?” he asks all of a sudden.

The question instantly ingrains itself into your brain, and makes your heart ache. Why would he ask such a thing? Doesn’t he understand what's happened? Why does he even care? But the last thought makes you sick to your stomach, because you know that he always has cared and he always will, he promised you that the first time he was babysitting you and you got all het up over something on the TV. Maybe a part of him knew that it was you all along but he just couldn’t broach the subject, or maybe he didn’t and he thought you’d been snapped away and you simply hadn’t returned. No matter what it was,you knew that you couldn’t blame him, but as his question bounced around your brain and repeated, you had no idea what happened, but you felt any compassion shrivel up, your heart grew cold, your demeanour turned harsh, and your kind response died in your throat. You look him dead in the face and straighten yourself up, your eyes devoid of all feeling.

“My mom died, all of my idols and my family and school friends died - Scott, Buck, Sam, you - and my dad was never the same again. I was left with him and the step monster who, who for the record doesn't even like me because of my mom, and Morgan came along, so they forgot about me, and I only stayed three days a week because the rest of the time I was stuck here with a depressed Nat and  counsellor Steve, and the latter had to teach me everything I needed for the finish of middle school and my freshman and sophomore years, which was hard in itself. Dad was so depressed, he wouldn’t listen to the words I said about the other Avengers, so apart from Steve tutoring me, I basically raised myself for two years, without friends or anything, and they were two of the most important years of my life . Everyone forgot about me. I was just turned fifteen and more adept at coping in this world than any adult I’ve known. I hated my name and what came with it, and I never really liked myself, that's always been the case. I hated my appearance and I had no one to make me feel nice when you died, because you always told me that I was pretty, just like a princess, and you kept me sane. Fuck, Pete, you held me together, and all of that faded when you died, because as soon as you were gone, everything else around me crumbled.” You inhale a sharp intake of breath, and move to stand, snatching your crutches from the floor. “Long story short, while all of you were gone, I grew up. I’m 17 now, I may be different to how you remember but at least I feel comfortable now. I really did grow up peter, and you need to start doing the same. My dad is never coming back.”

And just like the days before, you scurry off back to your room and bury any inhibitions beneath your pillow, leaving Peter in the living room, completely crushed and left to mull your words over alone while he waits for May to get home.

 Five days later, and you can’t take the silence anymore. Peter practically hides and runs for shelter each time he hears you approach, you saw the footage on FRIDAY’s cams. It really upset you for the first two days, but with each shy, rushed smile and fleeting glance he takes at you, each one that makes your stomach do little flips, they just remind you how cruel you were to him, how brutally honest, when Peter needs more time to heal than you do most likely, as your dad meant more to Pete than he did to you, and if anything then that's a reflection on Tony. He wanted a son. Maybe Peter feels guilty, mabe he’s sad, maybe he just straight up doesn’t like you, but whatever it is, you don’t fucking like it, so you’re preparing for the move in two days time. Far earlier than planned. 

With each piece of clothing you fold, with each piece of metal shrapnel you toss into your jewellery box, with each eyeliner you tuck away in a bag, you run everything that's happened in the past week through your head. You called Scott up to see how he’s getting on with Hope and Cassie, you spoke to Laura - no longer a secret - who just told you that Barton is in almost as bad a place as before, just without the machetes and with a lot more crying and whiskey, you spoke to Rhodey for an update on the lake house/new home situation and put all of the plans in place, but you did shut down his heartfelt offer to be another father figure, starting with a controversial suggestion to send you to therapy or rehab for your ‘lashing outs’, and you’d made amends with Sam who was surprisingly okay with your whole new thing going on, and he said he loved your vibe and gave hair dye suggestions, making you rethink your decision to leave all over again. Bucky had taken you shopping, hoping for retail to cure both of your depressive episodes, but it didn't really help even if the long, deep conversation over milkshakes at a nearby diner did help, and he cradled your head in his lap as you told him you’d miss him more than the others. He told you that you were being stupid about Peter and that the kid really likes you, but you retorted with a scoff, saying he’d never fancy you the way you fancy him.

Ah, yeah, that revelation, the one which makes you throw a sweater full force into your open trunk, sitting at the base of your bed. With a loud groan, you throw yourself dramatically down onto the bed and savour the soft comforter for one of the last times; after all, the place will probably be gone, along with the remnants of FRIDAY by the time you return, if you ever go. 

“Where are you off to?” Peter asks from the doorway, his voice inquisitive and startling you from your angered daze. 

He must’ve seen your bags half packed in your room, lying out on your bed beside you. You turn your head to look at him, your eyes thin and bullet-like.

“I’m leaving.” You snap rather viciously, and prop yourself up on your elbows. “The Cap’n has gone, and I’ve been out of school too long to go back. The Step-Monster needs to ‘tutor me’, and I need to teach the little brat.” You’re referring to Morgan, but Peter doesn’t seem to pick that up by the looks of his furrowed brows. He certainly looks relaxed though, leaning against your doorframe. 

“Why can’t you stay here?” Peter asks and You shrug, unsure how to respond. “I- I’m sure Mr Falcon would help teach you, or- or Wanda?”

Shit, Wanda. You’d practically forgotten she existed from how much of a recluse she was now. You should probably go and check on her or at the very least have a chat with her. She was dead for five years, just like Vis, but when she comes back she’s still not over him after months? Sounds fake but ok...

“Wanda has even less of an education than I do.” You retaliate with a foul attitude and an even fouler taste in your mouth, turning your back on him when you stand, and going back to your packing. You try your best to ignore his presence, but you can just feel him hovering metres away, itching to do or say something to you.

“Well then you can stay living here and enrol in Midtown High with me. We’d be the same year now and I could show you the ropes.”

Ok now you know he’s fucking with you.

“Peter, I can’t go to midtown.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been out of co-ed for too long, let alone education, as I haven’t had any since like fucking February, and I’m too traumatised and crippled for them. How would that look eh? Y/N Stark enrolling for junior year after the death of The Tony Stark?” Peter goes quiet. “And anyway, it’s not like I have the brains, at all. I’m not smart like you, Peter. I’m as thick as two short planks. I got my mom’s brains and some of my dad's abilities. I can chuck on suits all I like, I can build shit all day, and I can play sports like no one's business; or at least I could.” Having your one ankle completely useless is a complete bummer, maybe even more so than losing everyone, because now you actually have to live with being this way. They don’t have to live. “But the second you give me a math equation, I’m gone.”

“Couldn’t you live with your mom then? Mr Stark said she doesn’t live too far out of state, nowhere near as far as the lake house.”

“My dads fucking dead Peter, he doesn’t control shit anymore” You find yourself shouting, your eyes burning into his with a fire of fury behind them. “My mom came back after the snap but she hasn’t answered any of my calls, and she fled the house when I turned up on her goddamn doorstep. She ain’t no option anymore, my authority is Potts.”

He gives you a sad smile but slinks away. No surprise there, last time he saw you, you were twelve years old and tugging on his trouser leg to get him to play basketball with you. You didn’t have anywhere near this level of anger, and you’d never have dared scream at him, let alone repeating the words that hit him like daggers mere days ago. 

 The next day comes too soon, and you’re just chilling , finishing up the last of your packing, and trying to ignore anything pushing you to stay. Why did your chat with Peter compel you to want to stay here instead? What is it about him that always brings you full circle, and makes you feel like that love struck child again?

From your mirror, as you’re adjusting your blouse and switching out your nose stud, you see Peter approaching, steadily advancing down the corridor. Twice he stops, and takes a step back, as well as turning and looking the other way as though doubting his decision to come into your room, but when you see his knuckles come in contact with the wood of your door, as he knocks gently, and the sound floats into your ears, making you turn around to see his meek smile with his head hung low.

“You can come in Pete,” you exhale, “I won’t bite your head off.”

He chuckles lowly and advances towards the bed. He gestures, and you nod, giving him permission and hobbling over to join him moments later. He seems flustered, you can tell me by the way he’s struggling to maintain eye contact and the manner in which his hands are convulsing in his lap. Seeing him like this makes you uncomfortable, and you can even feel bile rising in your throat. 

“Peter, I-”

“No, Y/N, please let me, I mean, I wanna talk.”

You smile and bow out, allowing him space to align his thoughts with his words, after all, you’ve known that it takes him a while to do that, but it’s necessary in any kind of emotional situation with someone as awkward as Petter; just the thought causes butterflies to flutter around in your stomach and windpipe.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, for nagging you and insisting, and for asking you those questions and trying to make you stay. I just, I really just don’t want you to leave. I was insensitive, and I should’ve recognised you beforehand.” You can feel tears pooling behind your eyes, and it takes all of your willpower to not let them fall. “I just want you to do as well as you can, and I wish you all the best, I just wish I could’ve gotten to know you better  before it was too late; ok Stark?”

His lips quirk into a smile, yet his voice breaks as he calls you Stark. It physically hurts to hear him say that, and you want to tell him that it’s okay, and he has every right to be upset and grieving, and you know you shouldn’t have shouted at him and gotten so defensive because after all he’s one of the only people you can let your guard down around. You just want to say that it’s not his fault, except you can’t find the words.

“Why can’t you stay?” He asks sincerely, even a touch of desperation there.

Your heart drops to your feet at his expression, and your next words come out as a hushed, pained whisper, your words slow and detached. “I have no reason to stay.”

He nods dejectedly, almost like he’s giving up on something, and he even moves to stand up while your eyes are glued to the way his muscles ripple with each movement, but halfway to being upright, he changes his mind and turns towards you.

The next thing you know, you feel the soft pressure of his thumb on your chin, followed by the pads of his fingers on the soft skin underneath, tilting your head up to look him in his gorgeous eyes, like molten honey in the soft sunlight of your bedroom. Just the sight of his lips slightly parted causes your mouth to go dry, but you don’t have too long to think about that, because all of your thoughts dissipate with the featherlight pressure and sweet, intoxicating taste of his lips on yours. His nose nudges your cheek ever so gently. It’s barely there, and over far too soon, it still makes your head spin. Christ, you’ve been waiting for that to happen for upwards of five years, and it was just as beautiful as you hoped it would be.

“How about now?” He inquires, a stark contrast of shyness and courage written all over his face.

“Why don’t you kiss me again and we’ll find out?”

You fist the fabric of his t-shirt and pull him towards you, leaving Peter shocked by the strength in just one hand, seeing as he finds his body hovering above yours just seconds later. He looks hungry, already ravishing you with his eyes as you kiss and kitten lick just below his ear. He holds his weight up but leaves no time to press his lips against yours, urgently, passionately. You moan a little at how desperate he is to get his hands on you, the way he knots one hand in your hair, splayed out on the pillow beside you, the way he’s senselessly grinding his crotch onto you. You don’t mind at all, especially not the breathy calls of your name he lets out when you knot your legs around his lower back to pull him closer. It's a primal desire that keeps you moving. His tongue glides across your lower lip, prying its way in, and you just let it happen, too caught up in the moment to do anything else.

“Pete, fuck…”

Your one hand slides under his shirt and runs across the ripples of his abs, you savour the way he tenses beneath your touch, the way the scars feel tenders beneath your hungry touch. You other hand threads into his soft brown locks. You pull gently and elicit the most perfect guttural groan from him.

“Y/N,” he almost pleads, and his lips move to gently suck on your jawline. 

You’re surprised that he isn't calling you Sloane, but you certainly aren't complaining. Your name from his tongue does things to you that you can’t even explain.

You dance your fingers from his hair across to his face, and push his cheek gently. Your eyes are thin, focussed on him, but Peter’s pupils are heavily blown with lust, leaving only a faint rim of golden brown around the edge. 

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps out, and your stomach coils in desire. Your face must look so pouty, so wanton, but you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“Fuck me, Peter.”

He looks like a deer in headlights momentarily, but gets over it quickly, attaching his lips back on yours and allowing his tongue to roam your mouth, savuring and swallowing every whimper and moan that escapes your pretty lips.You let your hand, the one still beneath his shirt, skim over his muscles to where his heart is, beating at a double pace, thrumming gently beneath your hand. It makes your ego inflate tenfold, knowing that you’ve gotten this flustered and needy.

Just as you’re really getting lost in the pleasure, Peter’s hand cupping and massaging your breast as his mouth works wonders on intoxicating you, you hear a rather loud cough from your doorway, and everything stops. You and Peter both freeze at the same moment, and you drop any stance, fully detaching yourselves to glance at who’s there.

“You kids should be careful, and next time, close the door.”

And with that, Bucky’s gone from view as quickly as he appeared, leaving you both with a mere glimpse at him in his sweats with a coffee cup in his hands, no doubt filled with earl grey tea being the old lady he is. 

In the heat of the moment, you’d both forgotten to close the door and turn FRIDAY off. And Rhodey can access all of the footage. Fuck. Oh well, you’ve already been caught once, why stop now?

You wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders and pull yourself up until you’re straddling his lap and upper thighs, eagerly rubbing yourself against the material of his jeans to try and get some kind of friction. He slides an arm around your waist, and you move in to kiss him, only for him to turn his head the other way. 

The moment couldn’t have been lost from Bucky’s playfully snarky comment, could it? You want nothing more than for him to kiss you again, earnestly, fervently, but he doesn’t even spare you a glance, not even when he pushes you from his lip and stands up with his head in his hands.

Apparently he doesn’t feel the same.

“Crap, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Why did I do that? Y/N…”

He even begins to pace, that’s when you know that he thinks he’s fucked up.

“You know why I shouldn’t have done that right, don’t you?” he asks, stuttering random syllables in no specific order, but you do notice that with each pace, he paces his way closer to your open door.

“Yeah,” you lie, but you’ll work that out tonight, “I get it. But it’s fine. And I need to pack…”

He smiles nervously, and with a few careless gestures and no words, he stalks into the corridor and closes your door behind him. You can hear him lettering a long-held breath out. 

All of a sudden, you feel completely sick to your stomach. Why would he do that? It was so God damn cryptic. One second he’s apologising, asking you to stay, pashing you senseless, and the next he’s keeping as much distance from you as possible, apologising, and treating you like a child.

That’s when it hits you.

He feels like he’s kissing the old you. You grew up without him there, and in the space of what was merely a nap to him, you grew five years older, grew tits, matured, changed every aspect about yourself, and developed a sex drive; whereas he didn’t change one bit, he’s still the same peter that he was when you were an aggravating child, crushing on him from afar and trying to be like him. He feels predatory at kissing you, because all he’s ever known you as is a child, and this is all new territory, a territory he’s too scared to broach because he can’t get permission from the man himself.

Maybe that’s why your dad had to die, so that you’d never end up with Peter, and that’s Earth punishing you for some godforsaken reason.

So you just lie there, far salty tears involuntarily dripping down your cheeks as you sit there and think. Will you ever just be fucking happy?

 Happy’s set to pick you up at noon today, and after a night of scarcely five hours of sleep, you are not in the mood for anyone and their funny business, especially not Peter, and you aren’t exactly peppy for the hour long drive to arrive there with the Bimbo and the Brat. Well, at least everyone has low expectations of you, so it shouldn’t be that much of an issue when you simply scowl at them and flip them off until you chuck yourself into the car and wave them goodbye for the last time. You’re not sure if the gravity of the situation has hit you yet, maybe you’re repressing it, or maybe it simply just does not bother you, the same way that most things don’t.

You don’t even bother with your appearance, and stick to black trackies and a cropped tank top, with a mildly colourful button-down open over the top. Seeing as your docs are packed in the ‘hide from Pepper’ box, you toss on your worn down black converse and begrudgingly throw your hair up in what you hoped would be a messy bun but ends up looking more like a lopsided half-up ponytail, so you snap the hair tie and throw it away. Hey, that’s an easy way to deal with the Peter issue. Snap him in half and chuck him in the trash where he rightfully belongs after yesterday. 

All you have for breakfast is an iced coffee, and justly so, no one dares even make eye contact with you. By ten, all of your bags are out in the hallway, and not a single personal affect is left in your room. You say a quick goodbye to FRIDAY, and hobble out into the living room, where you spend the next almost two hours either staring blankly ahead of you and ignoring what’s on the screen, or picking at your crutches while you analyse the previous day with Peter. No matter how much you want to hate him, you can't refute the way he made you feel, completely under his control, so willing and malleable, so eager and hungry and loved.

 Happy pulls up at 11.55, and you begin to help him load everything into the car, but get refused after two bags and therefore two trips downstairs after you nearly fall face first and your crutches slip from your arms. The rest is down within seconds by Sam and Bucky.

You said goodbye to Wanda a couple of days ago when you popped in for a chat, but she’d still made her way out here, so you give her a quick hug and wish her well, and you see that May has made her way out to see you off, but Peter is nowhere to be found which makes your cheeks burn with anger.

“I’m so sorry for now knowing who you were my love,” she tells you, running a hand through your hair, “Peter told me all about you before it all happened, he said you were such a cutie, and I know that he would’ve made more of an effort had he recognised you.”

You chuckle softly, hug her, and simply don’t reply. What are you supposed to say to something like that? Bucky and Sam appear back at the top of the stairs and advance towards you, knocking each other out of the way in a playful battle to hug you first. Sam wins by tickling Bucky just beneath his ribs, and bear hugs you, making you feel like a baby koala. 

“Use protection next time, and please, God, shut the door.” He whispers in your ear, making you jump away, your jaw slack, utterly aghast, but he just laughs at your expense.

“You told him about that?” you accuse Bucky, shoving a finger at his chest.

He raises his hands in surrender and even lets out a chuckle before cuddling you, his metal arm somehow a comforting presence around you. 

“Of course I did, Doll. It was too good not to tell.”

You swat him gently on his chest, but instead of pulling away just yet, you bury your face in his t-shirt for possibly the last time. 

“You two kids get along, or I might have to come here and whip your asses.” you glance between Bucky and Sam, making them laugh, but they nod nonetheless and step backwards to join May, allowing you to leave. You grasp your crutches and let your arms fall through the rests, your hands slipping around the handles like second nature, and you start to make your way out. Something that resembles hope begins to blossom in your stomach, so you muster all of your courage and take a fleeting glimpse over your shoulder, but much to your disappointment yet not very much surprise, he isn’t there. You feel something within your chest physically break, and with the pain all over your body, emotional above all else, stemming from betrayal, you wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t your heart strings. Oh well, you tell yourself, and in recovery from bowing your head down in embarrassment, you hold your shoulders high with any remaining pride as you take the few steps to the door, ignoring the tears that begin to fall. Your tears are possibly the most confusing thing about this ordeal, you never cried before, not from emotion at least. 

“Stop- Y/N, wait, please Sloane…” you hear breathless shouts, followed by hurried footsteps on the linoleum. Instantly, you recognise his voice. “Please stop, I’m begging you.”

You halt your steps, and prop your crutches against the wall, but are slow to turn around, and even when you do, it takes you a moment to actually meet his gaze. His eyes hold all of the hurt he’s feeling. He hardly slept, you can tell by the red rims and deep, sallow bags. The warm chocolate colour is slightly murky, something of an anger in them, maybe even a sense of loss.

You can’t track anything more, because you take one step forwards, and he begins to virtually sprint towards you, his hair bouncing as he dashes across the floor and entwines his arms around you like vines, relentlessly squeezing you and ceasing to let go. He simply just stands there, glued to the spot, holding onto you, and once more you feel the tears well in your eyes. You’ve never been hugged this way, not by anyone, so you make the most of it and gently grasp his t-shirt to draw him impossibly closer, his scent enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and adoration. He moves one hand up to knot in your matted hair, and buries your head closer into his shoulder, which you welcome, even if you’re wetting the shoulder of his shirt with your tears. You lose count of the time until you let go, just savouring the way he holds you so lovingly, and you don’t particularly ever want to let go. All of the rest of the world has disappeared. But still, you both detach yourselves just a little, and you find your lips mere inches away from his perfect lips. Without another thought, something otherworldly takes over, and you find your lips planted together in the most intimate way possible. The tip of his tongue barely has to swipe your lower lip before you grant him access, and as you do, your mind and soul proclaim thanks to the gods. He tastes like heaven and cherry pie - his favourite - and he feels even better. The way his tongue dances with yours is like a massage, second nature, and God, you never want it to stop with how crazy he’s making your mind go, let alone the flock of butterflies fluttering around your stomach. His one hand shifts to the small or your back, and you find yourself wrapping your arms even tighter around Peter until your hands touch, and you have him held in place, in the most perfect position, the one where you know he belongs.

You separate, gasping for air and gulping as much down as you can in such a short amount of time before his hands are in your hair again and he’s kissing you just as sweetly, yet hotly, as before. The sensual way he gazes at you makes your insides turn to mush in seconds, and you have to look away even before he kisses you again because you fear you shan’t be able to keep his gaze if you ever want to leave this place with your heart intact. This kiss isn’t as long, you realise that as your hands drop to his waist and stay there lightly, feeling the skin above his hips rippling beneath his tensing muscles. His body shifts, as does his grip on you, and he starts to pepper kisses on your lips and cheeks, just small, precious pecks that keep your heart beating with joy and longing. Just the feeling of his lips kissing away your tears as he hovers above you makes you feel alive at long last, and he makes you feel more cherished than you ever imagined you could.

“You need to go, Happy’ll start honking for you any second.” he breathes, the softness of his breath running your eyelashes and allowing your eyes to flutter clothes, his freckles disappearing from your view for a second. Then, as if on cue, Happy's horn resounds. “I’ll walk you down.”

He looks so crestfallen as he pulls away from your and passes you your crutches, keeping a safe distance. And although you both know that everyone saw, it doesn’t matter, and no one says a word, they all just observe quietly, but you can tell that they’re smiling down on you both. You can still taste your salty tears mingled together pressing on your lips, the taste of just indescribably, distinctly Peter stuck in your mouth, a taste you never want to stop tasting. 

When Peter crushes, you oblige and scramble onto his back as he carries your crutches, and the walk down the stairwell to where Happy’s parked on the sidewalk is a silent one, but it’s still comfortable. There are so many things the two of you want to say to each other, but it’s too hard to express them given that you’re about to be shipped off somewhere that he’ll probably never make your acquaintance again, no matter how much he wants to spend all of his time with you. You’re more conflicted than you’ve ever felt, so stressed, so hurt, but at the same time you’re so happy that you got to make those memories with Peter before you leave, elated that you made up with him, pleased that you got to feel him kiss you one last time. 

When you reach the concrete, Peter gently places you down on your feet, and he puts your crutches into the open door at the back of the car and proceeds to stand nervously beside you, his hands behind his back as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. You have your head down, anxious beyond comparison, just staring at the gravel, until one of Peter's hands comes out from where it was and takes your trembling hand into his palm, his fingers slowly tangling around yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. He switches his gaze over to you and catches your eye. He smiles briefly before bringing your knuckles up to his lips. 

“I’ve fancied you since I was eleven,” you tell him, “That’s almost six years, that’s a long ass time.” a brief hint of humour creeps into your pained, quiet voice.

He just chuckles and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, making you smile, despite the pain of the situation. He speaks to you real soft. “I know.”

Your hand feels like it was meant to fit in his and sends a new sort of warmth shooting through your body, but it doesn’t last long before he’s helping you into the backseat of the car and reluctantly removing his nimble fingers from their grip around yours, and placing a gentle, chaste kiss to your forehead for good measure, a kiss you’ll always treasure.

“Don’t,” you plead, feeling a sob suddenly choke your throat when all that’s left are his fingertips grazing yours. “Don’t let go, Peter, please.”

It’s difficult to remain stoic around Peter now, it’s like everything just completely pivoted the day he kissed you, and if you’re honest, you don’t want to go back. You don’t want to be the hateful girl you once were, just longing for him to come back. Now he is back, you don’t have to wait anymore, and he can help you be your old self again. If only he’d just hold your hand forever, and you could actually be together.

And then it hits you. You need Peter almost as much as you need air to breathe, and if he lets go, you’ll be lost, and it’ll feel like it did for five whole years, you’ll be lonely and isolated, and even in the few days that you’ve had him back in your life, that feeling has completely dissipated and been replaced with an albeit confused elation and a warmth of love. 

“I have to,” he whispers back his eyes already red, “I have to let you go. It’s what Mr Stark would want.”

He pulls away and closes the door in one swift movement, turning his back on you. You see his mop of brunette curls slip down from view when you peer out the window, hot tears burning your cheeks. You know he’s sitting on the side, his head in his hands, but you can’t look that far, so instead you listen to the soft purr of the car as it comes to live, and you let your laboured breath steam up the glass that your hands are placed on. As you begin to pull away, your final glimpse at your old home escaping you, you see Peter waving frantically and beginning to job alongside you, only stopping once you exit the driveway. Thanks to the tinted windows, you know he can’t see you, but you see him anyway and wave back before your pain overwhelms you. That happens the second he’s gone from your peripheral vision, and your chest caves in loud, wrenching sobs that’ll leave you in pain for days. 

Is this what it feels like to have your heartbroken? 

Of course it is, you know this, but all of the times you’ve felt it before, it still hasn’t felt this bad. You know that it’s happening for a reason, that God is punishing you this way for a reason, but no matter how hard you try, it just seems endlessly painful, and all for nothing. What could possibly be the reason for this?

You’re so locked in your thoughts that you barely realise that Happy has slowed the car down, and is looking over his shoulder at you, trying to bring you back down by asking how you are and how you feel. Did he not just see that display?

“If I was allowed to stay,” you slightly pant, your teeth gripping and your first clenching of their own accord, “then it could’ve been me and Peter. Just the two of us, the way it was supposed to be as I was growing up. But everything happens for a fucking reason, right?”

Happy just swallows and mumbles something incoherent before sliding the glass back over and starting up at another steady speed. You don’t know why you’re so... angry all of a sudden; you shouldn’t be angry, you should be upset and almost grieving, crying for the loss of an old home but excited for a new one. But yet, what’s the point in all of that? You’ve felt those emotions plenty of times in your short life, and you always thought you felt them for a reason, but where the ever loving fuck is that reasoning right now when you actually need it? 

Grieving has lost its effect on you by now, and your mind feels hostile from all of the thoughts whirring around. You’ve had the same thoughts every time someone died - every time you thought your dad died, when your mom died, when Peter died, when everyone else just turned to dust. Then you felt them all over again when your dad died, for real this time, but what was the point? Nothing good ever came of it… nothing except grieving for Peter. You felt the same way you do now, only now it's somehow worse, yet he isn’t dead. You grieved for him more than you did your own mother, because he cared, because he actually paid attention, because he told you that you were pretty for the first time in your life. He always treated you like a person, like an equal, even when you were just a clingy child, vying for someone's attention when neglected by both of your parents because they had better things to do. But even now, now he recognises you again, he’s treated you like an equal, maybe even put you on a pedestal after you were extremely terse and treated him horribly. He still kissed you and cared for you and loved you-

SHIT.

You love Peter. Surely that must’ve been obvious for a long time, but now you’re finally admitting it. You really, genuinely, wholeheartedly love the little shit. Your stomach churns with nerves, and your mind tells you that you’re insane, but your heart… your heart has known all along, despite how much you fought it, and it’s now telling you to go along with it. You’re so… overcome with emotions that you don’t even know where to start or how to react or even try to begin to suss them out to deal with them so you do what feels like second nature the past few days, and you begin to cry, unable to choke it down any longer.

“Turn back happy,” you plead, “Shit! I said turn back now Goddammit!”

“I can’t, Sloane, you know I can’t, bosses orders.”

His words just hurt you more, if that was even possible, and pile something new onto the burning pile of emotions battling for territory within your exhausted brain. 

“Happy, turn back right the fuck now, or I will scream until the glass breaks.”

When he does nothing, your sobs become harsher, and something in your throat snaps, forcing you to become hysterical. It’s something primal that takes over your body, a demon's force, because God knows you wouldn’t usually have this in you. You scream. It’s just a shrill sound to begin with, until your heaving chest and tears break through, and make it into a full hysterics game.

“HAPPY! TAKE ME HOME, TAKE ME TO PETER!” you screech, and you repeat the same words until you can’t breathe any longer, but even when your lungs fail you, your hands don’t. 

You clip your seatbelt undone and begin punching the glass. It starts off just to be the dark tinted window separating you from happy and the wheel that would allow you to drive home, but even though the glass begins to wobble, it isn’t enough, so you move to the windows, your knuckles and palms coming in contact with the night shaded glass again and again until they’re rattling and even beginning to crack, but the second you feel you can, you release the most bestial, guttural scream that you can muster, and punctuate it with a rough shove to Happy’s chair.

You want to stop, but with all of the loss you’ve been through, you just need this one thing, this one person, this one place to feel complete, and none of it’s happening. It’s unspeakable, indescribable the way you feel, the turf war that’s occurring all over your body driving you insane. 

“Just take me to Peter,” you finally beg after what seems like an eternity, collapsing completely into your seat, “I need him, Happy. I need Peter, please… please.”

You’re drained, dehydrated, hurt, and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to change any time soon. You’re driving away from the only happiness you’ve ever known to live in the arse end of nowhere with two people you hate, and so a void just takes over everything that previously embodied you, and you succumb to the emptiness, your last thought being of all the tears you’ve cried over one boy, the only one you’ve ever loved, and now you can’t even tell him that. 

It was hard to grieve for someone, only for them to come back, the same way it was hard to grieve for someone who never gave a toss about you. That's what you’re finding so hard about all of this. But now, none of that matters, because he’s gone.

Two months later

The doorbell to the house rings for the third time today, driving you utterly up the wall. First it was the postie with some kind of oversized parcel for Morgan, then it was Happy, here again to help outside and be a ‘watchful eye’ while Pepper is out grocery shopping, apparently since they still don’t trust you rough to take decent care of your own sister.

“MORGAN!” You yell from your place at the back of the house, knowing that from her spot on the sofa in front of paw patrol or whatever shit she’s watching, she’ll hear, “Get the fucking door!”

“Mummy told you not to say bad words, Y/N.” She shouts back, and you can practically hear the signature Stark smirk in her words, although it should be far too early for her to actually be making that face.

That’s one thing they got right with Morgan, though, at least she calls you by your actual name instead of fucking Sloane, even if Pepper does ‘accidentally’ slip up and call you by that awful legacy name from time to time when you really annoy her, say by breaking a vase or some china, or screaming at her using all of the profanities you can think of. She’s really regretting taking you in, now, because you’re simply that much of a handful that she had Happy and Rhodey actually build a quiet room for some respite. You’re still in the rebellious phase, and you don’t seem to be leaving it any time soon, although you have let the dye in your hair grow out and you haven't bleached it… yet, and some of your piercings have naturally closed over, although that was more so that Morgan wouldn’t continually take a metal detector to your face. 

Abrupt, your thoughts escape you, and you can’t catch the thread, because after multiple attempts of Morgan’s to click open the reinforced vibranium locks on the doors (Rhodey’s suggestion), and the shifting of a stool to allow her to climb to it, you hear a shriek and some mess of words that sound like ‘Peter’. But no, that's simply impossible. You’re imagining things in your annoyed state, knowing it would’ve been a lot faster and quieter if you just made your way over there yourself. 

“It’s for you!”

Now this peaks your attention. No one has been to see you in the whole time you’ve been here, nor have you ever gotten mail. No one comes to see you, so maybe your ears didn’t deceive you.

You leap up from your seat and begin charging to the door, running as quickly and carefully as you can over Morgan's toys, but you’re also careful to not aggravate your injury. One good thing that came from your time there - the only good thing - is that you were able to work with your dad's remaining technology and do intensive physio, resulting in your mobility improving tenfold, also meaning that now you can not only walk but kind of run without assistance. But that doesn’t matter as soon as you see the man standing in the doorway, a bunch of flowers in his hand, and an expression of pure delight on his puppy-like features. 

“Y-you can walk?” he blubs, his cheeks red with joy.

The flowers fall from his hands onto the deck, and your eyes fill with tears as your hands fly up to your mouth, only just containing your sobs. Your whole being is overcome with happiness like you’ve never felt before, and it seems like all of your depression since you left him has melted away, and a new you is born.

“You came back for me…” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, and in response, he draws his lips into a tight line to contain his smile, and nods his head at you, soft brown curls falling into his soft eyes.

“Why are you sad, Y/N?” Morgan asks, and tugs at your shirt, but you don’t even realise, because the sight of Peter coming towards you is all that you can see and feel, and you begin advancing towards him too, until you collide in a heated kiss. Everything just seems like a tangle of limbs, a clash of teeth, and a battle of tongues. You’re too wrapped up in the feel of him, the passion of the moment, the intimacy of the kiss, that you don’t notice that Peter’s already got you picked up with your whole body tied around him. He tastes utterly delectable, the same as before, and his tongue feels incredible as it sweeps your mouth.

“Morgan-” you pant, “Go find Uncle Happy in the yard, now.” When she doesn’t move, you open your eyes to glare at her, stunned and traumatised into silence with her mouth slightly agape. You can’t bear detaching from Peter’s lips for even a second, so your words are all rushed. “Morgan get out now, I can see him there, in the yard, go!”

The little squirt smiles wryly up at you, but does as she’s told, and scurries off into the mass of flowers and perfectly cut grass. Seeing her gone, you let out a long held breath and smile into Peter’s passionate kiss. All of the love floods back to you, and you feel whole once again. But before you can get too caught up in the sappiness, Peter is already blindly stumbling through the house and kicking the front door closed behind him. Your fingers in his hair, you guide him to the couch.

As he kisses you so tenderly, even in the heated moment, you finally understand what everything was for. Every trial and tribulation in your life was teaching you, helping build you up for this very moment, where it all makes sense.

Everything in life has been for a reason, and that reason is this very moment. The thought makes you smile, but nowhere near as much as Peter’s own smile does.

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Hi Moosh! Congrats on 666!! Can I maybe ask for Yamato, GN reader and training together? Reader isn't that strong but does their best for Yamato, who in all his enthusiasm accidentally hurts them? Nothing too serious though and they laugh it off. just some casual fluff and banter~ Thank you so much!

Did this become a comforting Yamato fic? Yes, yes it did.

(Wano spoilers beneath cut!)

So first of all I like to think with Kaido's genetics in him, Yamato has tons ridiculous amounts build up strength, strength that he sometimes has trouble with controlling sometimes when he gets into his usual moodlets of being too excited he accidentally hurts things and people he necessary doesn't want to which in the end leaves him feeling a little bit guilty about it especially when it comes to accidents with his s/o. 

If there's one thing Yamato loves most, it's training. Since he has spent most of his life held up ok Onigashima, with no kids his age to play with or really anything else to do beside go off and reread through Kozuki Oden's old journal it was kind of his only real activity to do. Though of course not that he doesn't mind, he does want to get as strong as Oden after all so when you come to him to ask him to train you, he's completely overjoyed! 

Most times Yamato doesn't know his own strength, to him the lightest of touches to someone of average height (and a little bigger) can come down full force and knock them into the nearest wall, or hell there was that one time he sent Sasaki all the way across the island and they had to get a rescue boat to go get him near the mainland of Wano and his father didn't stop yelling at him for weeks because of it (not because of Sasaki's injuries but because as when he was flying where he landed just so happened to be the Yonko's next shipment of Sake...which made him go into dragon god pissy mode on the coast of the mainland)

So Yamato has to keep his strength in check in at all times but with you around he has to make extra triple hard not to use more force that the absolutely bare necessity when it comes to handling you, which over time the son of the Yonko has become quite positive that he does a good job in doing, and that's why he thinks himself capable to train with you. 

Since it's just training and you're just not all that experience with close corters, he doesn't use his trusty kanabo just setting it aside to the nearest pillar, still in grabbing distance just in case the two of you get interrupted by his father's 'company' and instead the two of you just use wooden practice swords. The swords are very clunky in Yamato's hands, too small for him if he really wanted he could easily break the thing into splinters with nothing but a simple flex of his fist if he really wanted to, but he doesn't want that he's training you after all. So he has to hold the wooden blade with the lightest but steadiest of grips so it doesn't fling out of his hand with the first clash. 

Once he goes into battle stance he watches as you look him up and down and try to mimic his stance but you're doing it more lopsided and too crouched down, he can't help but to squeal with laughter at how ridiculous you look, making you frown and demanding to know what's so funny (which only makes him laugh more) After a quick apology and quick kiss to the cheek saying;

"I can't help it when you look that adorable!"

This earning a harsh heat to build up on your face.

Yamato helps fix your stance to be just like how he was standing previously, giving up spine chilling instructions as he bends down to meet the height of your ear. 

When your boyfriend steps back in front of you with a wide smile on his face with a - 

"You catch all that, (Name)?" You can't help the uncontrollable thumping of your heart as you instantly nod your head along. 

"Uh huh." 

"Great! Let's do this!" 

You were not ready to do this - all the information he said had just zonked right into one ear and out of the other, with him being so close like that it was almost hard to breathe with his large hands moving your limbs around like a mannequin doll and his sweet voice tingling in your ear you couldn't help but feel all given information immediately just melt away. 

Wing it! Just wing it (Name)!

As the large man quickly got back into his battle stance, you felt your joints begin to freeze up absolutely determined to keep yourself in the pose he put you in. 

"Three," He counts. 

It can't be that hard right? Just copy how you've seen the other's fight- it's fine. 

"Two," 

It's basically just a giant glorified stick anyway, if you get hit it's not like you're going to die or anything relax. 

"One," 

And besides it's Yamato, he-

"Go!" 

Before the word is even registered to you the Yonko's son dashes at your sword in hand and already down low in preparation to just swing. Your mind rushes for some sort of reaction you rotate your wooden blade to block but when your lover clashes into you with a quick rough and hard strike that cuts the wood in your hands in half, the mer force itself sending a mighty shock and sending you rocketing onto the ground, your body sliding across the wooden flooring. 

Yamato's whole world slows in that moment, seeing your body just ragdoll on the floor like that makes him immediately drop his weapon and he springs over to you, gently cradling your head and his copper eyes darting around for any faintest hint of blood.

"(Name)?! (Name)!! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I shouldn't - shouldn't -" 

He knew better. He thought he was being gentle enough but he knew better! This was a terrible idea he shouldn't have went through with it he should have agreed he knew the risks and look the immediate first thing that happens he hurts- 

Your sudden laughter cuts his thoughts short, he looks down at you to see you shifting around to feel at your head. 

"I know I said that I can take you hits but do you have to treat me like a damn baseball, Yama?" 

He immediately pulls you into a hug before flinching and pulling back lightly to see if you're absolutely okay before going in to hug you more gently. 

"I'm sorry," his voice is muffled by your hair. "-I got too excited to finally train with you because I've never really gotten to train with anyone other than my father and-and I thought about Oden and what I strong warrior he was and how pretty, fun, and exciting you are and how- and I just-" 

"Hey, hey, hey, Yamato it's fine. I'm fine." Your hands come up to cup his cheeks, making his verge of tear blurred eyes look at you. 

"I'm fine. I promise it's just a bump. Besides I've been through worse than falling on the floor, this is nothing but barely a bruise." You begin to get yourself up with your lover's help to your feet, his hands never leaving your back. You smirk to yourself as you point to the remains of your training sword. 

"Although I wouldn't say the same about that though." 

When you turn around you see Yamato's frown deepens and his gaze meeting sadly at the floor, once again you have to tell him that's it's okay and this took most of the hit away, which get him to cheer up a little bit but not long enough to plop himself cross legged on the floor and entangle his fingers through his long white hair, you slowly come back down to sit next to him. 

"I really thought I'd had control of my strength around you - I thought that everything was under control and I wouldn't be able to hurt you that I could hold your hand without fear of crushing it or cuddling and hugging you without fear of squashing you to death but I don't - this proves that I-" Your hand clasps with his. 

"You're fine, I'm fine. We're both fine. Look, you're not hurting me now are you?" You hold up your entwined hands, which after a long pause Yamato gives the gentlest of squeezes. 

"Yeah, but-" 

"No buts, you do have this under control. And if we can't directly train sword to sword together that's fine! Yes sword skills are useful especially in the New World but, Yamato, that's not the main reason I wanted to train with you - I love you and I just want to spend time with you, doing the things you enjoy doing!" 

Copper eyes widened in shock as he meets your gentle gaze, he looks down for a second as if pondering something before looking back up at you with the smallest gape of his mouth, speechless, as the one not twine with yours hesitantly reach up to cup the side of your cheek but with a flinch he immediately attempts to pull his hand back, only for you to catch it and place his warmth to the side of your face, his thumb slowly grazing your bottom lip. Ever so slowly his lips flush against yours, quite awkward with the movement but one your hands leave to wrap around his neck you pull him closer he starts quickly catching up with what to do with his tongue. 

When you pull back is all the sadness is lost, with instead those wide pupil blown eyes and white that slowly cascades to a deep neon that frames his face and falls over his shoulder, his lips now plump and kissed does his expression show nothing but pure loving infatuation. 

Which with one look, it all becomes clear how bad this man has it for you. His head tilts as he eyes dart your face, as if he were taking your image if were for the very last time. Finally a small smile appears over his lips as he bumps his forehead to yours.

"I love you too, (Name)." He closes his eyes before breathing through his nose. "Though I am a little sad that I can't train with you, I was looking so forward to it all this week but - I guess that excitement was the exact problem." You peck a quick kiss to his lips before letting your fingers play with his hair. 

"We'll work on it, alright? You've already come to practice with being as gentle as you are right now I'm sure we can also practice that in a train sense. I promise you're not going to hurt me." At first there's a look of subtle doubt in his eyes when he looks into yours but he pushes it back with a nod. 

"How about this? For now let's just focus on positioning - like this!" 

You stand back to your feet, grabbing Yamato's forgotten wooden sword off from the floor, trying your best to mimic his stance from previous, the Yonko's son watches how you stand before bursting into laughter. Your eyebrow twitches before yet again demanding to know what's so damn funny. Your lover stands to his full height towering over you to gently move your limbs around to where you're in proper placement. 

"Oh nothing, just that you look like my father when's he's doing his drunk impression of Charlotte Linlin begging for her 'child support.'" 

Okay that got a giggle out of you.

For the rest of the day the two of you practiced your stances together, once you were comfortable with that you took the next step to attacking stances and even though with him being so close and talking into your ear and moving your limbs around like a doll you forced yourself not to get lost in the inner screaming of your heart telling you just to continue kissing the man until the world's end you listened to his teaching words. 

From how he currently spoke, his tone sounded nothing like how it did previously if you just so happened to walk in now you wouldn't even ever be able to tell he was on the verge of tears a mer hour before. He just looks...so happy. With that handsome smile on that handsome face, you look back at him as he happily blabbers on about some techniques that Oden described in his journal, do you can't help but to smile with glee like an idiot around him. He's just so excited and happy and it's so contagious and it's a feeling that you never want to go away. 

And you're sure of one look of how bad it all looks for you of how bad you have it for the man, something you also to never go away. 

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

[etherealfangirl10]

Friend?

One Shot

Masterlist

Pairing: Jerome x Reader

Gender: Female

Genre: Fluff (?)

Warning: Mention of murder (?)

Summary:

-(Y/N) is an inmate at Arkham Asylum, preferring to keep to herself and her only want to get out of that hellhole. But what happens when she catches the attention of a certain red head?-

(Y/N) let out a long sigh, plopping her head down onto the metal table she had seated at. Day 17 at Arkham. All she had to prove that she was sane, which shouldn’t be too hard, considering she was. But, alas, her psychiatrist didn’t think so. The creep. He probably only wanted her to stay so he can continue to ogle at her and have an excuse to brush his disgusting hand over hers. It made her wanna chop it off, sometimes.

Now, now. She truly wasn’t crazy. But taking the insanity plea was better than wasting away at Blackgate for 20 or so years. She figured she’d be out of Arkham in no time. But the more days (Y/N) spent wasting here, the more she doubted she’d get to leave anytime soon.

The slop on her tray forgotten, she lifted her head to place an elbow on the table to support her head as she gazed around almost lazily. It was full of crazies and psychos in here. Serial killers, cannibals, rapists... (Y/N) shivered at the thought of it. She didn’t have any strong opinions against murder, considering the reason why she was there in the first place, but she certainly didn’t want to be the object of those dark thoughts.

It was difficult, though. Being a woman in Arkham made it hard to stay unnoticed. Men, and even some other girls, seemed to watch (Y/N) every time she entered a room. Not because she was drop dead gorgeous, at least she didn’t think she was, but because they were thirsty, horny, and, oh alright, she wasn’t a terrible sight to look at, but she just couldn’t believe there was anything special about her.

(Y/N) tried to avoid the other inmates, mostly. It would do no good to get buddy- buddy, and do even less good if she were to get on bad terms with some of these people. If she stayed away, she’d be okay.

That’s why, when her (E/C) gaze caught the eyes of another, a dark green gaze framed by dark red lashes, standing out against pale skin... she instantly looked away, down at her tray, biting her lip gently in slight panic. They didn’t think she was staring, right? Oh jeez, please don’t come over.

(Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut as she heard a shuffle from that direction, then footsteps. Please be walking away, please please please?

Nope. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Hi, gorgeous.” A boyish voice sounded above her, and she felt the table shake as someone jumped over the seat next to her, settling down beside (Y/N).

The girl slowly opened her eyes, plastering on a fake smile. Don’t piss other inmates off, (Y/N). She turned towards the male, taking him in. Oof. The male looked more boy than man, with boyish features and body shape. Lanky, but she could tell that he had lean muscle hidden under those stripes. Pale skin, freckles scattered across his face. Catching her attention, her gaze flickered up to his fiery red hair, combed neatly into place, or at least attempted to be. It gave off untamable vibes, strands of fire falling over his forehead, leading (Y/N) to his facial features once again. Not gonna lie, cute nose. It wasn’t too small or too big, and his pink lips were boyishly thin, stretched into a wide smile. While the smile seemed to portray the male had ‘friendly’ intentions, she couldn’t help but be unsettled by it, yet some part of her drawn in, nonetheless.

“Anybody home?” (Y/N) was broken out of her trance as he spoke once more, his words trailing off into a short, contagious giggle. (Y/N) felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment as she realized she was staring, and ducked her head before meeting his gaze once again.

“Er, yeah, sorry.” The girl breathed, and cleared her throat cautiously. “Can I help you?” (Y/N) inquiried, gazing at him curiosly.

“Sure ya can, Doll. You can start off with telling me your name.” He hummed, leaning forwards slightly, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Didn’t you know it’s rude to ask for someones name before giving your own?” (Y/N) shot back without thinking, and she internally face palmed at her stupidity. Why would they care about manners? We’re in Arkham for goodness sake.

Surprisingly, the males grin only widened, and he placed a hand over his heart, his eyes turning mockingly apologetic. “Oh, how rude of me! The name’s Jerome. I hope you can forgive such that grievous mistake on my part.” Jerome chuckled, teasing her. Well, too late to turn back now.

“We’ll see about that.” She responded, and he tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow raised before she continued. “I’m (Y/N).” Instinctively, she reached a hand out for him to shake, but, with a glimmer in his eyes, Jerome took her hand and raised it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. Letting out a soft, nervous laugh, (Y/N) took her hand back and placed it on her lap.

“Nice meeting ya, (Y/N). Whatcha in for?” He pressed on casually, as if he was asking about what she was eating. Ah, right. Couldn’t forget she was surrounded by maniacs.

“Ah...just...murder.” More specifically, her ex boyfriend and ex best friend, even though they were her boyfriend and best friend at the time they decided to bang each other. She didn’t mean to kill them, but things escalated, and once she grabbed a knife and drew blood, it was like something else took over her body. She liked the feeling, and that’s what scared her the most.

“No way! Me too! Chopped up my mom.” He replied almost enthusiastically. “She deserved it, though.” He added, his boyish tone discarded and replaced with a type of darkness, his eyes darkening and his smile suddenly appeared to be more sinister. What the frick?

“I’m sure she did, Jerome.” (Y/N) responded after a couple of seconds, trying to gauge his change of attitude. It disappeared in a flash, though, returning back to the bubbly personality he had before.

“Ya know, a girl as pretty as you is sure to attract attention around here.” He continued, propping his head up on his fist. “I thought you might wanna have a friend by your side, (Y/N).” Jerome hummed, blinking innocently up at her. Had she just imagined all of that?

“A friend?” She questioned, furrowing her eyebrows. She didn’t need a friend. She just wanted to keep to herself and get out of here. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Aw, come on. Everyone needs a friend! See that big handsome fella staring at you like you’re fried chicken?” Almost reluctant to turn and look, (Y/N) followed Jeromes gaze to see an older looking man, indeed checking her out. Eesh.

“Yeah? What about him?” She inquired, instantly looking away and back to Jerome, wondering what he had in mind. She was used to the staring.

“Richard Sionis. He’s a millionaire. Got his own airplane, got a boat with a hot tub on it. And he killed twenty five people-.” Jerome gave a tiny chuckle at that. “Just for fun.” Why was he telling her this?

“Am I supposed to be scared or something?” (Y/N) huffed. For some reason, this whole exchange had fueled her with the confidence to actually speak up for herself. So that’s what this was? She was a damsel in distress to him?

Jerome grinned at that, turning to face her more clearly, angling his whole body towards her. “So. He likes you.” He chuckled, and she lifted an eyebrow, feeling her own smirk play at her lips from watching the male smile so much. What was with this dude? “He wants to be your friend.”

She spared another glance over to the man, and caught his gaze running over my body. (Y/N) fought back a cringe and turned to lean closer to Jerome. “But I don’t wanna be his friend.” She murmured, frowning. “I don’t know about you, but he doesn’t seem like the... friendly type, if you know what I’m saying.”

Jerome giggled, before whispering, almost like they were on some secret mission, “That’s why you could use a different friend, to protect you from guys like him.” He persevered. Hmm. He had a point. She didn’t exactly need protecting, but extra armor couldn’t hurt. (Y/N) analyzed him once more. But how would that Richard guy know that she even had a fr- ohhhhhh.... well, public displays worked. She just hoped she was on the same page as him. And if not... ah, well, let’s just hope they are.

“Mm... I see.” She murmured softly, letting her gaze travel down to his lips and back, leaning in closer. Jerome blinked in mild surprise as he felt her hands delicately run up his chest, her nails trailing over his neck before resting her thumb on his jawline. “So will you be my friend, Jerome?” (Y/N) asked with a slight purr to her tone, batting her eyelashes innocently up at him. His smile had faltered slightly, his eyes trailing down to her lips and back, his breathing becoming shallower.

He didn’t get to reply before she finally connected their mouths, brushing her lips over his softly before pulling back, his body automatically leaning forwards to try and stay in contact. (Y/N) let out a smug hum as he pressed his mouth to hers eagerly as she ran her free hand through his already untamed locks, grabbing onto it and tugging gently, enticing an almost inaudible groan to to fall from his lips.

It was over quickly, perhaps quicker than (Y/N) would have liked. The girl pushed against his chest lightly, tilting her head away from his as he caught his breath. She was used to kissing, her ex had loved to drag her into bed anytime he could, even if she didn’t feel like it. But to her surprise, Jerome was quiet, a large smile taking over his face. Little did she know, that was his first kiss.

Sneaking a look over at Sionis, he could see the man looking away, a disappointed expression on his face. Huh. That was easier than expected.

Turning back to face Jerome, she saw he was now gazing at her, clearly amused. “You’re bad...” he muttered, and for a moment, she couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. Bad in what way? Bad bad? Good bad? Was bad bad a bad thing? Was good bad a bad thing?

Luckily, she didn’t have to sort out her thoughts and reply, because the bell signaling that lunch was over rang out through the room.

Without another word, her mind struggling to figure out what had just flipping happened, she stood up and strode away, not even bothering to spare a glance behind her.

If he was serious about her being his ‘friend’, then he should be following like a lost puppy.

[a-write-for-soreeyes]

Marry Me? [caleb widogast x reader]

Caleb Widogast x Reader - MUSIC FIC

[with Platonic!Mighty Nein x Reader]

The song is “For the Dancing and the Dreaming” from ‘How to Train Your Dragon 2’ followed right behind by “The Skye Boat Song” from ‘Outlander’ bc I feel as though it really fits with the end of the fic and all of the feels it gives me.I’ve had this idea forming in my head for a while now and I decided to just go for it and write it, it does contain spoilers for a character after ep. 27 of campaign 2.

You know the rules, y/n = your name, h/c = hair colour, s/c = skin colour

Also I have no idea how to write accents so just imagine I wrote Caleb’ accent well.

Fic Word Count - 1710 (aprox.)

(When you should start the song I’ll put a little ‘s’ in brackets to let you know)

Italics means lyrics and bold + italics means that multiple are singing at once.

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

Battles can be easily won, but they are not so easily forgotten. We lost so many people on the way to defeating the dark forces that kept a grasp on our world. We had seen so much together, and we had lost so much together. But we were still standing, well some of us were, Fjord had taken a few too many hits and was getting healed by Jester, while Yasha, Beau and Nott were patching eachother up across from me.

After the final battle we had decided to walk to the nearest town before setting up camp just outside the perimeter of the town untouched by the battle that was raging but a few hours ago, rather than find and inn in town and scare the locals with just how bloodied and beaten we all were.

Taking off my boots and socks I stretched out my feet, then started to wipe the dirt and blood from my face, trying to rid myself of the grime even though I knew it was a losing battle. Hearing the sound of heavy footsteps on the grass come up next to me I knew who it was instantly.

“y/n? Can we talk about what I asked before what just happened, happened?” I looked over to the right of me, where the voice had originated from and saw Caleb standing there looking shyley at the ground, back up to me and then back down once again. Giving him a quick nod I scooched over on the fallen log I was sitting at and let him sit down next to me. 

“I’m sorry I sprung the question on you just before we were about to head right into battle but…” I felt him turn towards me eyes burning into the side of my face, “but I couldn’t look death in the eyes and not know if you wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.” He licked his chapped lips before turning back towards the flickering flame and continuing “ And if one of us didn’t walk out of there, I couldn’t live with not knowing the answer to that question.” 

I turned towards him and letting loose pieces of my h/c hair fall into my face and taking in the state of the man beside me. Tears welling in his eyes, hair a mangled mess, dirt and some blood that he couldn’t seem to wipe off still on his face, clothes tattered and shaking slightly, as though the adrenaline from hours earlier had yet to wear off. Looking back to the fire now warming my s/c face I took a look around at our friends. They were bloodied, battered, and bruised. I looked over at Caleb expectantly waiting for him to say anything at all, and just as he was about too he was cut off.

From my left I heard the sound. It started quietly, just a giggle before becoming louder and other voices soon joined. Laughter. Jester must have said something to the rest of the  group that had accumulated across from Caleb and I, as they were cracking up and leaning on each other for support tears coming to their eyes and slowly rolling down their now cleaned faces. A much different reason for the tears on their cheeks from a few hours ago when we were in the heat of battle. (S) “Heh, look at them, always ones to fund the bright side even after seeing as much as we just have.” Caleb let out a breathy laugh and continued to watch the group joke with each other.

“Caleb?” I asked, not turning to look at the redhead next to me, “I wanna get married to you.” I uttered softly as I looked around at the rest of our small family, joking and laughing, sometimes a bit too hard and cringing at the pain that shot from different areas from where they had been hurt and only recently healed.  Instead of an answer I heard Caleb start to whistle softly, so much so that the sound almost got lost in the light wind around us.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with never a fear of drowning.” Looking over at Caleb I saw him lost in what I could only assume was his own memories, “And gladly ride the waves of life…” Caleb turned towards me, suddenly looking straight into my eyes as he said, “If you will marry me.” letting a small smirk slip on to his scruffy bearded face. I recognize what he was singing almost immediately. It was a wedding song that Molly had sung to us one night when we couldn’t sleep, we too excited for the day ahead to come, thinking that it would be an easy mission, only for us to lose Molly before the fight had even ended.  Seeing the tears in his eyes reflect the light of the flames he continued to softly sing to me, “No scorching sun, nor freezing cold will stop-” 

“Will stop me on my journey! Sorry.” Fjord called out as he sung (extremely) off key distracting Caleb and I from getting lost to each other and calling our attention to the group that was now staring at us expantly. 

Slowly turning my face back to him, gently Caleb continued “If you will promise me your heart. And love-” He let out a shaky breath and tried to gather himself in hopes to stop himself from crying. Wiping his tears I took his face in my hands softly. 

“And love me for eternity,” I continued as my voice cracked feeling all the emotions I had tried so hard to suppress about Molly’ death start to arise. “My dearest one, my darlin’ dear,” there was music suddenly coming from the left of Caleb and I, only to see Nott making magical instruments appear and start to play the tune, “your mighty words astound me.” grabbing his rough hands in mine I started once again, “But i’ve no need of mighty deeds, when I feel your arms,” Hoisting Caleb up and out of his seat next to me I swung him around trying to dance through the tears in our eyes, the pain from our sore bodies and the laughter that came tumbling out of us, “Around me!” 

Hearing the instruments pick up in time with Caleb and I’ terrible festival dancing, “But I would bring you rings of gold, and even sing you poetry-”, “Oh would you!” Beau yelled as we passed our group of friends.

“And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me!” Around us the small clearing started to light up with thousands of fireflies swirling around the camp above us in strings and start to light up the trees, bushes and colourful flowers that surrounded all of us. Seeing Beau grab Yasha’ hand and start dancing, and Nott, Jester and Fjord all join hands to start spinning around the fire with Caleb and I. 

Halting the dancing for just a moment we all stepped back from our partners we bowed to each other, “I have no use for rings of gold,” sliding our hands up and against one another before crossing them back to back and the palm to palm once again, “I care not for your poetry,” hearing Caleb let out a small chuckle we started to spin in small circles before continuing around the bonfire that had grown slightly bigger since the beginning of the dance casting shadows along the trees of our figures dancing, feeling the soft grass between my toes and the grace of Caleb and I’ hands just slightly brushing against each other, “I only want to hold your hand,” Caleb let our a loud laugh at that, and I could feel his warm breath heating my face even more that the fire next to us did.

“I only want you near me,” the redhead continued.

Now grabbing my raised right hand in his left and gripping my waist with his right, my left came up to rest on his broad shoulder, we sang in harmony “To love and kiss, to sweetly hold. For the dancin’ and the dreamin’!” Letting out squeals of delight as he lifted me up and my cape swung around us. “Through all the sorrows and delights,” now hearing the rest of the Nein start singing along and whooping and hollering at the moves that were so effortlessly flowing out of us all, “I’ll keep your love beside me,” feeling ourselves start to run out of breath the music picked up tempo, “I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning,” Dipping up and down quickly along with the music we all swung ourselves wildly about, trying desperately to hold onto each other, “And gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me!” Finally halting and pressing our foreheads together everyone panted heavily and let out loud belts of laughter except for Fjord who continued to hold the final note, “MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, I’M STILL GOINNNNNGGGGG.  I’m done.” Every one of us laughing wildly at the antics that had just insured, only halting as Caleb bent down on one knee and pulled out a small pouch dropping two simple gold bands into his open palm and slowly looking up at me, “so? Will you? Marry me I mean.” He looked expantley at me as though I’d change my answer after everything that we had been through in the past few years and the extravagant dancing that we just did. “Yes. I will marry you Caleb Widogast.” I exclaimed happily as the rest of the grouped whooped and hollered and yelled cries of joy into the night sky. 

Slowly he slipped the cold, gold band onto my ring finger and myself doing the same to him we looked at eachother, just basking in the comfort that the fire, and the sound of the terrible singing of our friends, of our family gave us before leaning in for a soft kiss, that only lasted but a moment before Nott started to make throwing up noises causing Caleb and myself to let out a small chuckle.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Ja. I love you too.”

[at-the-exd-of-everythixg]

][All questions for otp meme for Pascal + Rhys][

@blind-mutant

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

Pascal is the man who knows everyone's order before they get there. Rhys is no different and perhaps Pascal slips a cookie or two for Rhys. The man just seems so skinny and cute...how could Pascal not bleed his heart out all over the place when looking into his little face?

Rhys meanwhile, is smitten with the weirdo who gives him free coffee and extra snacks at the price of hearing terrible jokes. There's some worry when some nights Pascal is incredibly clumsy and seems to shake and stare off into the distance...which only draws Rhys in more at knowing that the barista isn't perfect. Which only makes him MORE perfect and hit-onable.

Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker?

Rhys tries hard in school, he has to if he wants to prove himself and actually stay at the institute. He works hard but things are harder for him, what with being a gay disabled albino mutant. A bigger shit could not hit the fan...that is, until blind rich boy Pascal Solberg arrives and he's brought a big fucking fan.

Pascal is thrilled to be at a school with actual people. Everyone adores Korra and he seems to have an answer for everything! But Rhys sees through this shit and he's determined to find out why Pascal knows far too many things than he should...definitely not because Korra is very cute and so is Pascal!

Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons? 

In the institute, Pascal loves teasing and bullying Rhys. It gets him more attention and even without his future sight, Pascal knows that Rhys will be safer, that other patients will be better off if he's paying for actual mistakes rather than letting anyone else suffer. It hurts, but Pascal would take this paik in stride...if not for how annoying Rhys could be.

Rhys??? Oh he's onto Pascal. Knows that he's with a dumbass who wants to hurt himself and is only going to end up dead. It isn't often that a fancy prick ends up in such a place like this...and yet Pascal is here. He doesn't talk about why he ended up at the institute, but he seems to have something up his sleeve and Rhys wants in on it.

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides? 

Its...certainly a thing for Pascal church to join up with an anti-mutant church, but he has some...worries about the fact that he is essentially similar to a mutant, as well as the fact that Pascal's mother seems to be inclined on keeping it a secret to the rest of the church as well as the mutants that the church frequently attacks. He doesn't like it. He doesn't enjoy being used to hurt people. But Pascal does like the pretty mutant that called him a shitbag before swearing when Beast tells him that Pascal is the target.

So now...he lives at the X-Mansion? X-house? Pascal is there and things are awkward, especially when Rhys gets put on his shift of watching Pascal. But the seer is secretive with the full extent of his powers and seeing everyone happy at the mansion as well as Rhys getting kinder when he learns that Pascal was unwilling in hurting people...it makes the seer certain in what he has to do. He needs to protect the Institution and all of its inhabitants.

Especially Rhys, who still calls him a shitbag, but now laces it with teasing affection as well as 'Scal and Firefly. Who sounds so happy and sents Pascal's heart reeling when he coos over Korra. Murder is easy depending on who it's for.

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate? 

Of course Pascal wants to meet his soulmate. Who wouldn't? They'll be the only other person who really understands him now that Cassandra is gone. He doesn't care what category his soulmate is, whether he'll get a partner, a friend or family member, Pascal just wants to stop feeling so alone in this world, even if he has two beautiful children who meow and bark at him. His soulmate is perfect, no matter what.

Rhys however, jesus fucking christ he can't have a soulmate. He's a shitty person, next is the fact that Rhys is homeless and a mutant. He isn't what anyone would want honestly, especially when Pascal is the leader of a whole fucking church. That definitely sends Rhys reeling and now Pascal needs to try and take on the mission of wooing Rhys and letting the smaller man know that Pascal won't hurt him. He wants to only make Rhys happy.

Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?)

Rhys and Pascal are both messes of fathers but they try and they love their kids. Rhys's kid is the last he has of Blue while Pascal had no choice but to try and be there for his kid after he killed their mother. It's hard to provide for them but our idiots do try...and it gets harder, maybe easier when Pascal's kid starts to declare that Rhys's kid is their best friend. Well...Pascal and Rhys being dilf friends forever??

Its certainly easier when you have someone to support you and knows what you're going through. Rhys is always reassured by Pascal's visions and Pascal definitely needs to emotionally and maybe lean on Rhys's for support when he convinces him to not helicopter parent his kid. And perhaps there's nights of crying over people they've lost, what they've done. But there are also nights where the kids giggle and gag as Rhys and Pascal stare at each other a little too long and accidentally refer to reach other as dad. Sometimes a family is two bros, their kids from traumatic stories and extra hairy and hairless kids.

Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient? 

Rhys needs hospital for the first time in a long time and FUCK does it feel terrible. He almost wants to leave and throw up before his attention gets caught to the weird guy with a guide dog arguing with a blind 12 year old about whether or not telling the script of ratatouille counts as telling a story. Well. Rhys is blind. That means he counts and gets to join in on listening to "stories for the blind" while waiting for his name to be called out.

He does eventually, and much to Rhys's surprise, Pascal actually offers to stand with him. He cuts his story short and leans in close to give Rhys a run through of what will happen in his appointment and if it's that bad, Pascal is happy to make sure a doctor keeps their hands strictly professional. Rhys is...actually really happy, especially when Pascal asks if Rhys can have a lollipop and then if he could have a lollipop. Hospital trips suddenly seem better when Pascal is there being a goof and wanting to help out with more in his life.

Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other? 

The obvious answer is "Rhys gets hired to guard prophet man" bUT. Pascal guarding Rhys while he's on a recruitment mission for the mansion? Could be cute of Pascal admiring Rhys's dedication to wanting to help out a child and to get them to a safe space, but could also be incredibly funny if Rhys assumed he was being guarded by a human and uh. Wasn't the nicest.

Unfortunately, Pascal's greatest sexual fantasy is being someone's doormat so he takes in in stride. And perhaps a part of Pascal doesn't actually want to tell Rhys what he is...mostly because it's funny and it'll be even funnier when they go back to the mansion and Pascal can have a lased beam battle with Cyclops.

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this? 

Rhys is a captain that is always pleased to have non-human and capable crew members. The new boy is clumsy and soft, but he's cute and a hard worker so Rhys is a kind man who will let him stay. Especially when the boat rocks and Rhys gets pressed into a warm chest, gets to feel Pascal awkwardly laughing deeply and a comforting hand on the small of his back. Oh, he definitely needs to keep such a pretty boy that smokes so nicely when Rhys teases him.

Pascal knows he should tell Rhys he's a prince. The heir to the very seas they sail on. But it's hard and the Irish Phantom is so beautiful, much more beautiful than any suitor Pascal may be destined for. It isn't a hard choice to lie about who he is and to swallow nervously when his captain smiles and flirts in a low voice, feeling rough hands squeeze instinctively when they almost fall over. He'll tell Rhys soon. Soon.

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

Pascal is smitten by Rhys. His family comes to the church every week, not exactly aware of what the people of the last light worship, but Pascal is smitten by Rhys. Cassandra gags, winking her many eyes before they shut and hide away when Pascal blushes and tells her on mom. Rhys is nice and one of the only children of the church, which is why Pascal is addicted to knowing more about Ireland, about Rhys and to feel the little shadows dance around his fingers. He loves hearing what darkness is supposed to sound like.

Rhys loves the other odd boy too. It's easy to when Pacal adores his powers and actually asks more about him. Rhys has his very first friend for years until he doesn't and he's alone in an institute, reeling and a part of him wishing that he could be back at the church, laughing himself silly at Pascal and Cassandra having a real life pokemon battle (that ended with Cass using a rock type love by throwing a rock into Pascal's face). He still thinks about Pascal every day and what else can he do but cry when he hears the sheer awful jokes that could only come from Pascal when he walks through a park one day?

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Does this capture in any way Peter’s voice? Absolutely not. Is this very much OOC? Yeah! But Peter being Persephone didn’t want to leave my brain, so have this anyway. 

Quite frankly, Peter doesn’t intend to get stolen, and certainly not by the Ever Watching God at that; but he doesn’t exactly flee from him either, because the Ever Watching God wears a lovely tailored suit and lets his hands trail over Peter’s shoulders and back like he’s begging to be devoured and well; god or not, Peter was first a man, and Elias’ mouth on his distracts him for quite some time from his eyes, icy and piercing and inescapable. 

Elias kisses his eyelids when Peter starts to fall asleep after sex, staring at him pensively and hungrily, and he says with all together a very mild and unthreatening voice: “That fog of yours is giving me a headache” Peter laughs and thinks nothing of it. 

(Peter wakes up, a few hours later, in a palace from which you are forever seen and scrutinized, naked and delicately bound. His heart jumps to his throat; it’s fear, and he knows it instantly, in a way he never does, his emotions usually grey and muted at best. He decides he doesn’t like it, and tries to break free. The bounds are easily cut off. But Elias’ hungry gaze keeps him pinned in place all the same.)

*

Elias is charming and attentive, Peter will grant him all of that. There is something flattering about having caught his eye, as it were; the only other man Elias ever took was a mere mortal who now hold every terrible human secret in the dark pupil of his eyes and sits passively on the highest throne of Elias’ palace, cherished and adored and feared; 

Elias doesn’t spoil Peter, he plays with him -- a fact that makes Peter think that, maybe, he’ll be allowed to get back home eventually. Frankly, he’s entertaining, and Peter never minded a good game. It’s easy to laugh against Elias’ lips and sex here takes a whole other dimension; it’s often more intense than Peter can bare, every sensation hightened to the point where a brush from Elias’ finger on his cock is often enough to make him lose track of the conversation. Which is quite a shame because even talking here is different and oddly interesting -- Peter finds himself at time genuinely listening to Elias’ words, though he’s got no clue what to do about the fact Elias listens to his as well. 

Still; sometimes Peter catches sight of himself in mirrors, and his eyes are too alive -- he has to force himself to blink to turn his face away from his reflection, else he spends hours scrutinizing himself, looking for all his failings and qualities, and it’s its own special brand of torture. 

There is no fog here. Everything watches and everything knows. Once, Elias takes Peter to see his beloved Archivist; the Archivist doesn’t have time to open his mouth; he looks at Peter, and Peter’s knees buckle -- he faints because he cannot hide, and wakes up shaking and sick and Elias watching him still; always, always staring at him, charming and attentive and oh so, so very cruel. 

*

“You had your fun,” says Nathaniel. 

“This is unnaceptable,” says Nathaniel.

“We have an agreement,” says Nathaniel. 

“We rule the world,” says Elias mildly, warm hands brushing over the back of Peter’s neck. “Your family is spread wide, and you do not care about him. He is mine. I’m keeping him.”

*

“You’re being unreasonable,” the Archvisit spits.

“A bit rich, coming from you, isn’t it Jon?” Elias asks, irritated. 

“Exactly,” the Archivist says. “If even I’m thinking this is absurd, that should be enough of a warning.”

“You don’t even mind the fog --” 

“The humans do! We have responsabilities and your selflishness is putting them all at risk for a minor, insignificant god that cannot bare to live in our household!”

The power of Jon and Elias’s combined stares on Peter gives strengh to the Archivist’s argument; Peter’s whole body prickles and burns as he shivers and weeps silently, his eyes pressed tightly close. 

“Send him back to his family,” the Archivist says. Orders. “I won’t bear witness to an entire world of humans unable to connect.

*

“Come now, Darling,” Peter gasps. “You’re always going on and on on what a bother I can be.”

“Do you want to leave?” Elias asks snappishly. 

“Don’t make me talk of my emotions,” Peter says (begs)

It’s some sort of progress, he thinks, that Elias respects his wish at all, and merely leans back down to suck on his cock. 

*

“We should destroy you all,” Elias tells the Lukases. “But my Archivist is keen on balance, and the Lonely is useful. Peter and I made a deal.”

*

Peter jumps into the fog with bliss; he is cold and numb and comfortable before the end of the first week, and devours three souls and an entire boat, ravenous. He thinks of hiding forever from Elias’ eyes and likes the idea quite a lot. It’s delicious, to imagine Elias yearning for him, forever seeking him without ever finding him again. 

(He misses him, of course; that’s to be expected. The ache in his chest throbs and hurts, but in a way that’s as familiar to Peter as breathing.)

“Don’t be a fool,” Nathaniel warns him. “You won’t be saved twice.” 

“I’ve always loved a good gamble,” Peter tells him genially. “I know how he works now; it’ll be easy to win.”

*

(What if Elias stopped looking all together, though?)

(Dread settles down his spine. He curls in the fog, deeper and deeper, wishing for Elias to become nothing but a name again.)

*

The thing is, Peter muses, six months later, carefully setting foot on land again, he is a very bad gambler. 

Does he choose to make the fog less thick, or does Elias cheat and have his Archivist help? It’s quite unclear. The result is the same; Elias’ eyes dart upon him, violent and passionate and gleeful in the midst of the night. 

It takes only a few seconds for the Ever Watching God to appear, unchanged from the first time Peter touched him, apart that he is pale and addicted and pretends not to be desperate, pretends as if his heart isn’t terrified of how much he longed for Peter all those months apart. 

“I win,” he tells Peter, almost spitefully. 

“I’m in love with you,” Peter tells him and from the way Elias shivers against him, he realizes as well as Peter that this means they’ve both lost. 

*

Six months a year, Peter lets himself be loved and seen the way no other lonely soul could handle, until inevitably Elias and him drive each other mad.  

Six months a year, Elias allows himself to have one blind spot and aches so sweetly that, inevitably, Peter always end up returning to him. 

[jawnjendes]

bonus: why is their luck in a deeply sad moment? | shawn mendes

some type of au idk man, shawn x goth ex gf

WARNING: there is talk of death and suicide in this chapter. read at your own risk.

AN: i cant squeeze this into the next big fic nor can i fit it into shawn meets bc everyone hated it so its a bonus in the gg story lmao also im starying the Next Big Fic in a few days :)

masterlist | annalise’s playlist

2026.

"Sometimes I think about the what ifs,"  Ann said, “but I like where I am. I like what I’ve made for myself.”

Shawn had to invite her over to his house a second time, because the first time left him with many questions unanswered. He couldn’t be mad at what she said, though. He was in the same boat; he liked the life he made. You know, without the crushing loss and run in with the supernatural.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” he told her, and he really meant it. “I’m glad we were able to successfully do our own things straight after breaking up.”

“Nothing like filling the void in your heart with work!” Ann replied with a giggle. She moved a strand of hair behind her ear, and that’s when Shawn noticed something.

He took her hand and noticed a tattoo on the side of her middle finger: The Triforce.

“You got inked?” he asked, impressed.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” she replied, grabbing her sleeve to roll it up.

There was a sword on her inner arm. It was varying in shades of blue, and it also had the Triforce on it. Shawn recognized it as the Master Sword from the Legend of Zelda games.

“All this is is proof that I’m a nerd,” Ann said as she rolled her sleeve back down. “I notice you have some more ink also… and that you still wear shirts half buttoned.” She pointed to his chest.

Her finger poked the exposed skin. It shouldn’t have been as tingly as it was. Shawn smiled and placed his hand over his chest.

“More than just that,” he told her. “But I can’t show you all of them.”

Maybe it was a little risky to say that. Shawn would have taken it back if Ann’s cheeks hadn’t gone a shade of pink.

“I could say the same thing…”

Shawn quickly came to learn just how many tattoos Ann had gotten over the years. A snake and tombstones on her other arm. Feather on her collarbone, roses on her shoulder. A quote reading, “...but I’m not anymore” with stars around it on her ribcage. Something on her wrist that Shawn didn’t catch because he was busy pressing his lips to her hips and taking off her pants, where he found another tattoo. “Lucky you.” He certainly felt it.

Everything about their time together was so familiar, so easy and almost home-like. Ann’s skin touching his. Her lips perfectly molding over his. The quiet, needy gasps they both released into the bedroom. It was like going back in time, and they were in Shawn’s Toronto apartment instead of his multimillion dollar condo in LA. It was soft and slow, despite Shawn pinning Ann’s arms above her head. He didn’t outgrow that particular move, and she still seemed to like it.

Shawn had never been happier to have been on a break more than now. Most one night stands in the past began and ended very quickly, because he was on tour or in between interviews or on a break for one day. This was one person that he didn’t want to leave behind. They lied down, sweaty and dazed, facing each other. It was silent, but not awkward. Everything had a nice haze around it.

That was also when Shawn finally made out what the tattoo on Ann’s wrist was. He picked his head up in confusion.

“Is… are those torches?” he asked. “Upside down? Just like mine… and are those my initials?”

It was simple line art, less intricate than his own. Torches in an X, with “SM” right below them. Shawn has been floored many times, and this was no exception.

Ann picked her head up as well. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Shawn looked down at his chest, his torches were exactly the same, sans the initials. He wanted to give Ann the benefit of the doubt, that this wasn’t some creepy fangirl thing. Some of his one night stands ended up like that, and it wasn’t exactly easy to forget.

“It’s for a friend of mine,” Ann explained, sitting up and covering her front with the blanket. She took note of the look on Shawn’s face. “Keeping someone’s light on beyond death, remember? I assume yours is for someone too.”

They were both sitting up now, and Shawn relaxed. However, he only relaxed a little bit because now it was time to get deep.

“Mine’s for Brian. He died last year.”

Ann’s face fell. “No. Brian, your best friend? Brian, the one who constantly took the piss outta me?”

He nodded. “He was… there was an accident. Flight of stairs. Instantly killed.” It was all lies, but no human would understand.

A hand went over his, squeezing. “I’m so sorry. He just, he just fell down some stairs?”

“A lot of stairs. I don’t know I guess he was running or something. There was no way to save him. People in the house heard the crash, but by the time they found him - when I found him - it was too late.” He had told this version many times, enough times to where he could almost believe it himself.

“Fuck, man. That’s… that’s fucking terrible,” Ann said sympathetically. “But I seriously can’t believe you just told me that.”

“Why?”

“Because now I have to tell you that mine is for Stella. Those are her initials.”

Stella Martinez. Now Shawn felt a little stupid… but surprised, and he was met with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t believe it for a second, but it fully processed in his head, and his heart began to break.

“Stella from college? Stella, who was your literal opposite and also your best friend?”

Ann solemnly nodded. Then she looked down. “She… she killed herself.”

Shawn was stunned into silence, the tightness in his chest only intensifying. The entire time he knew Stella, she was always so positive and bubbly. She was the opposite of suicidal. That’s why it was such a shock… and so sad. Oh god, who was going to tell Camila?

“When did Brian go to the other side?” Ann asked after a moment.

“A year ago last month,” Shawn replied. “And Stella?”

Ann raised an eyebrow. “Two years ago last month...”

It was a strange coincidence, but still upsetting. Both Shawn and Ann lost their best friends at the same time of the year. The urge to spill everything was thick in the air. Still, neither of them said anything for a while.

Instead, Ann reached down to the floor to pick up her clothes. Shawn’s eyes were stuck on her and that was when he spotted another word on her back. Nightmare. Small font, right shoulder blade, surrounded by a cluster of skulls. Then, he realized what she was doing.

“Are you leaving?”

She looked up, bra in hand. She was quiet as she put it back on.

“No. No, I’m not going anywhere.”

And she crawled back into bed. She made the point to keep a distance from Shawn, who was still naked. He was on his side, looking at the woman before him. Only Ann could have sex with him and bring up the subject of death. That brought a new point to mind.

“How do you enjoy death?” he asked. “I think I’ve asked you this before, but after losing someone and attending their funeral, I’m having a hard time understanding your perspective.”

Ann took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t enjoy the act of dying. People die every day in horrible ways. People mourn and fall into depression because of death. That’s not something to enjoy.”

“So what’s your deal with it?”

“I’m just embracing the face that it’s inevitable. I do that for myself. I will die eventually, or tomorrow-”

Shawn made a face; he didn’t like that thought.

“It doesn’t make it any easier when someone I know goes,” Ann continued. “You’d think with all the research I’ve done it would be. The ones we love leave this mortal plane, and all they leave is their absence. And that alone is a lot to process.”

“What’s the hardest part?”

“The what if’s.”

Shawn asked because he really wanted to know more about what happened to Stella. He had to know the things that led up to the tragedy, mostly because he knew Camila would ask for details, even if they were hard to hear.

He figured he should spill his side first.

“The last thing I said to Brian was to get the hell out of my room,” he began. “We were fighting, fighting over something so fucking stupid, and I was so pissed at him. That was our last interaction. He fell down the stairs because he was trying to find me in this big huge mansion…”

Ann sat up a little bit, hand over her chest. “Here?”

“Oh no, not here. I was staying at a friend’s house in London for a work thing. Place was huge, easy to get lost in,” Shawn clarified. “Brian, Andrew, all of them were leaving back to Toronto and I didn’t want to go just yet. Part of it was because I was still pissed. Maybe if I had run into him first before he fell… If I hadn’t kicked him out of my room a few nights prior… If I was less of an asshole…”

“Maybe you would have slipped on the stairs,” Ann told him. “Maybe you guys would have had an even bigger argument later that would have ended your friendship. There’s no way to tell, and sometimes that’s what sucks the most.”

Huh. Most people tell him not to dwell on it. No wonder Ann was a shrink now.

“Losing someone is one of the hardest things we, as humans, have to face,” she said. “It’s not easy in the slightest. Besides, the grieving period takes about three to five years, so you - we - are still in the beginning stages of it. Thinking about the what ifs, what you want to change, what you wish you could say to Brian - all of that is normal.”

The two of them let those words settle for a moment. Shawn’s eyes were a little misty, and redirecting the topic was probably not going to help. But he laid his stuff out on the table.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“Your what ifs?”

Ann paused, looking around the room. “What if I had put my Master’s to use and noticed the goddamn signs?”

Shawn watched her, hoping she would at least return the eye contact.

“I’m an expert in this shit,” she said. “I have the years of school, the degrees, and the licenses for detecting things like this. I only figured it out the moment her dad called me.”

“How do you detect when someone is suicidal?”

“In her case, she was elated. When someone makes that decision, they reach a state of euphoria because they know their pain is about to end.”

“But Stella was always-”

“Believe me, I know. I hadn’t talked to her since graduating in Toronto, so I thought she hadn’t changed at all. But I would see on her social media, she just moved back to her parents’ house in Florida, and she hinted that she wasn’t happy about it.”

As if Shawn couldn’t take another blow. Come to think of it, he never heard much about Stella’s home life. He didn’t even think that it could be a negative place for her.

“I was in Jacksonville for work,” Ann continued, “so I hit her up, and we met up for lunch. We talked for about an hour, and she said that I was always a good friend and college wife and that she’ll always love me. And my stone hearted ass just said ‘cool, you don’t suck’ and that was that. A month later, she’s as blue as the pills she took.”

“Ooo…” Shawn sighed, cringing at that mental image. Sweet, warm hearted Stella cold and lifeless. Call it morbid, awful thinking, but Shawn wished Brian looked like that in death instead of the bloody mess he turned out to be.

“Yeah. And her parents had her embalmed and put in an airtight casket, but that’s a whole other rant.” Ann waved it off and lied back down.

Shawn didn’t know what else to do except lie down as well. While sharing the stories of how their friends died, he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit closer to Ann. The first time they met, it took fighting tooth and nail to get her to open up. Now, Shawn felt okay silently reached for her hand, and tenderly holding it in his.

Both of them winded up at the same awards show. Both lost their best friends. Both got the same type of tattoo to honor them. Neither of them anticipated meeting again. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

_______

goth gf taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @someoneunimportantxx @goldenmndes @calyumthomas @shawnsunflower @shawnvvmendes @parkeraul @havethetimeeofyourlifee @chillingbythesea @wronglanemendes @softmendesss @peruvian-bae @theprivatewritings

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Freedom.

With: Sigurd Snake In The Eye x Reader.

Word Count: 2,1K.

When Sigurd left his previous home -the great hall-, his intentions were solely to have peace, Lagertha took her throne back and Sigurd accepted her peace offer.

But even with that, he couldn’t sleep in the same place she does now.

A small house near a lake was enough for the young prince. Sigurd has born in riches but he didn’t make such a fuss about it.

The place was quiet enough, mostly young couples with a higher way of life or honored families by the Earl.

A singular couple, the man and woman residing straight next to his home, were the first to introduce themselves to him.

Sigurd had to accept, the couple was somewhat unpaired. The man spoke stiffly with doubtful words, while the woman was completely gorgeous. 

Her smile was entirely poisonous, and each word was smart and sounded important.

Sigurd became interested in his neighbors.

Over the season that he lived there, the neighbors have become closer, almost to the point of friendship. The couple would invite him for dinner nearly twice a week, and Y/N would prepare the tastiest meals, while her husband sat and cleaned his fishing materials.

Sigurd had come to learn that Y/N’s family was quite prosperous, and when she married, Hródolf had gained command of her supplies, buying a home and making sure that the golds and silver were emptied just enough so that she fully depended on him.

Regrettably for her, the way she was raised -being a child of a strong warrior with uncountable riches while alive- had left her with no work abilities, besides planting.

It had to be her enthusiasm in her lonesome childhood, her nanny back in the day loved planting and taught Y/N pretty much everything. And even if cold Kattegat was, the plants seemed to blossom gorgeously under Y/N’s sweet touch.

Sigurd and Hródolf had a sort of deal. Sigurd loved to hunt and to spend some time alone in his family’s cabin, sometimes he would visit his brothers but he grew used to be alone. So Hródolf would give the prince some fishes and Sigurd would bring some meat for Y/N prepare meals with.

                          …

After a day with his brothers, Sigurd was finally coming home, it was late at night. He was almost opening his door when he heard a loud crash. His eyes shot to his surroundings, trying to find the noise, which was accompanied by a man’s roar. The words were incomprehensible but Sigurd knew the man might be angry.

When he listened to a higher feminine voice he understood that it must be his neighbors. He entered his home, mind at rest as he prepared a bath for himself.

After bathing for bed, he finally met his deserved sleep.

The next morning, he took a piece of bread from the table and left to meet Ubbe on the shore. The place was quiet and Sigurd didn’t see Hródolf’s small boat, he glanced around and found it weird.

Chewing his last slice of bread he went to Y/N’s door and knocked twice. When she opened Sigurd took a genuine look at her.

A long -cheap- sleeved dress hid her appearance from his eyes, but what took the young prince’s attention was the huge purplish circle under her left eye and her red neck.

He grew instantly troubled.

“What happened to you, Y/N? Was it Hródolf?” Sigurd asked, interest carved into his normally hard highlights. Y/N’s delicate voice interfered him, a little smile on her damaged face.

“Don’t worry, I fell in the docks yesterday, a boat was near and I hit my eye.” She said, voice tied with fear. “Hródolf separated your fishes, prince. Will you take them now? I can clean if you want…”

Sigurd was gazing her form and even forgot about the stupid fishes. Out of instinct, he touched her arm in an attempt to see the further damage, when she whimpered at the touch he grabbed the hem of the sleeve and tried to lift only to be met with her hand stopping him.

But as a prince he had somewhat a power over her, shaking his head slightly she retrieved her touch and Sigurd took the sleeve up until her elbow, and just as he expected: Purples marks as well.

It wasn’t his business, but he couldn’t allow that sort of behavior. “Has he done that before?”

Y/N kept silent, crossing her arms and looking at her feet. “It is my fault.”

“Don’t you dare to say that.”

“But it’s! I was stupid, I fell in love with him, I was young and an orphan, he used his charm and I was a fool to believe in his love!” She said with glassy eyes staring at him, almost touching his soul.

Sigurd was heartbroken to hear such a thing, even more, to see that she believed it was her fault that the fucker didn’t appreciate the amazing woman he had. “And now I don’t have any riches left, everything I had he used. I ran away once, but has no work for me… and is better to live in that way than becoming a whore.”

Silence overtook the place, Sigurd tried to find a way to save her. Of course he had an interest in her, but how could he steal a woman from her house? Yes, he was a prince but it would screw all of his peaceful scenarios.

Letting a sigh he shook his head. “Fuck that.” He mumbled under his breath, Y/N was taken aback by the answer. “I’ll have a nice chat with him, and then I’ll take you out of here.”

Y/N bit her tongue, he would “save” her only to have her until he grew tired and start to treat her like an animal. 

She knew very well what men did. She learned it in the hard way.

“With all due respect, my prince, I don’t want to leave my house which was bought with my gold only to go to another man’s bed.”

“This isn’t what I have in mind, even if I consider you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and the fact that seeing you in pain makes me want to kill that bastard.” He took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t force you in marriage or take you away without your consent. You said you don’t have work abilities but I have a perfect purpose for you.” He stated and Y/N was confused, what she could do?

                            …

Lagertha said she didn’t have any bitterness nor problem against the sons of Ragnar. And Sigurd being the calmer one asked for a favor, he explained Y/N’s situation and how great she was with flowers, and how some vegetables grew perfectly under her touch.

Lagertha knew how women were treated and agreed to have her, not as a slave, but as a worker. So Lagertha told Sigurd about a farm she has a few miles from the great hall and that Y/N could live with the old couple who took care of the place.

When Sigurd told Y/N, she was amazed and hugged him tightly. Not only she could get freed from her terrible husband, but she could earn her own independence.

But then, she grew worried. “He’ll kill me.”

“Don’t you bother about that, I told Lagertha what he did and she hates violence against women.” Y/N nodded, after all, Lagertha was a shieldmaiden and ruled by herself. “So if you want, she will cast him out or kill him. It is your decision.”

Y/N looked around her house and unconsciously held her necklace, Mjölnir in her hand and a praise being sent to Thor…

(…) She had prayed for him so many times, and Y/N knew that Hródolf would find and kill her… was him or her. “I want her to kill him.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll kill him myself.”

Sigurd took Y/N to the farm Lagertha has mentioned, Hródolf was still in the sea on his fishing, so the process of taking Y/N away was easier.

When the man got back to find his house empty he started to yell her name… along with some profanities.

Sigurd left his house with a sword. “She is not there.”

“What do you mean she isn’t here? Where is she?” He asked angrily, completely forgetting he was addressing to a prince.

Darting his eyes to Sigurd’s residence Hródolf shook his head. “Is she there? That whore opened her legs for you?” He took large steps near Sigurd.

The prince with a snake in the eye didn’t seem disturbed, and it irritated Hródolf profoundly.

The man tried to punch Sigurd who dodged in time and kicked Hródolf’s arse making him fell on the floor. “You know, when I first saw her I got mesmerized. So beautiful, so smart, so… delicate. Yet, married with a pig like you.”

Hródolf grunted and tried to get on his feet but Sigurd inserted his sword on the man’s leg making him scream. “Only cowards hurt women! But you’re not only a coward but a thief as well.” Splitting the man’s skin open, he looked the blood falling in the sand. “Stole her money and everything her father had achieved.”

Sigurd stabbed the other leg making another scream mix between the tranquil place’s sound.

Hródolf looked at his legs before glancing at the man. “You think you’re a hero?!” He started to laugh. “You’re a damned prince! Born in all the riches, had everything you could want, all the women.”

“You’re right, but I would never lay a finger on them.” He stated and kicked the man’s face, he wanted him to feel what Y/N felt, maybe even more. “But enough, I’m tired of you already. Y/N will live the life she deserves and you’ll die as the coward you’re.” Sigurd touched the tip of his shining sword in the man’s chest, blood running down his nose due to the kick, and his legs’ skin split open.

Hródolf was crying and begged for mercy, but Sigurd could only see Y/N’s glassy eyes and the injuries on her body. Sigurd retrieved for a second sensing a stab in the heart would be too merciful.

Placing his sword on its holster Hródolf started to thank the prince, who smirked at his stupidity.

Sigurd walked to Hródolf’s boat and grabbed some rope, walking back to the spot he saw blood in the sand and Hródolf’s weak efforts of crawling out of the scene.

Sigurd pulled the man’s leg and intertwined the rope around it, the yells were already irritating him, but it was a good plan -almost Ivar’s plan, he thought-, he did the same process around the man’s torso and dragged Hródolf’s body until the end of the sand when it met the ocean, letting him laying in the cold sand.

With each wave coming Hródolf was covered in salty water, the salt would burn his wounds but he wouldn’t die as fast, which was what Siggurd wanted.

He wanted Hródolf to suffer for everything he did sweet Y/N go through.

As the water came and went he coughed and tried to crawl back, which was impossible since his legs and arms were tightly convoluted with ropes. And with the salty water burning his wounds, the man was agonizing.

Sigurd was proud of his plan, he grabbed an apple inside his home and sat warm in his furs watching the suffering of the man who dared to hurt Y/N.

                         …

Days passed and Sigurd stood living in his house alone, forthwith no longer neighbors. It was somehow lonely, he and Y/N weren’t much close but he used to have dinner with her and her -now dead- excuse of a husband.

His routine stood variously as always, sometimes he would hunt, other times meet his brothers, even a few travels here and there.

The young prince was grateful to Lagertha for helping Y/N, and he visited her sometimes, she was… brighter. Happier.

And he loved to see it.

Y/N was grateful to Sigurd, he helped her so much and she knows she would never be able to thank him enough.

                        …

A few years passed and along the years Sig visited Y/N almost four times per month, she taught him how to plant and a strong friendship developed.

Sigurd's feelings weren’t wrong when he first saw Y/N, the vision of such a pretty woman in front of him, and the feeling of confusion when he witnessed the pig she was married with.

But now she was freed, she was no longer being possessed and without any sort of metal with her. The plantations grew more prosperous and Lagertha was happy since her people were well fed. 

Sigurd surprisingly found joy planting with her, and Y/N actually said he was good with it. 

A few time further, Y/N was in love with the man. She thought she was at first, but was too afraid to let someone in after the entire Hródolf past.

But Sigurd wasn’t a bad man, no, he was a good one.

Sigurd found his luck then, he would raid when required but he married Y/N and both moved to a beautiful wood house near the former one she was living with the old couple.

It was hers! And in that way, she could have her privacy with her loving husband and keep with her job, her choice, since Sigurd would give her the whole world if she asked him to.

Even being a daughter of a great Viking warrior, she never thought she could marry a prince, but life has its plans.

                  …

[klbwriting]

Center of Two Worlds

Chapter 7: Stars, Lights, Mountains, and Memories

Fandom: DCEU

Pairing: Orm x female!Reader

Warnings: fluff ahead!

Summary: Orm finally finds a way to give Y/N the perfect memory in the place she finds to make him see the beauty of the surface.

Tags: @bookdragoneve @scuzmunkie @fangsweetpea @dulcerdzx @downsideright @aggie-the-poet @weakling-grace 

              For two weeks straight Y/N had been training with Orm, dancing around the fact that she was in love with him so it wasn't awkward like that first training session they had, and she was trying to find a place that Orm would think was as beautiful as Atlantis.  This was tiring and she often slept anywhere she could find a quiet moment.  Today that quiet place/moment happened to be the dock at noon.  Orm was off in the water probably recruiting a freaking octopus to try and strangle her for a test and she was glad he was gone for once.  It was so hard to resist getting close to him, just feeling him around made her breath stop sometimes and god he looked good in 'surface wear' as he called it.  Atlanna had gotten him to put a suit on to go out to dinner with them last night and Y/N thought she would pass out from the effort of not staring at him.  Of course she had no idea that he had thought the same thing about her in the dress she had worn.  The two of them were going to have to talk to each other at some point because this dance was getting tiring and would soon need to end.

              Y/N sighed as she sat up, unable to fully fall asleep now that she heard Atlanna and Tom coming her way.  She stood up and looked at them as they got to the end of the dock.  Atlanna was dressed for Atlantis so Y/N assumed she was going home to finish preparations for Arthur's coronation at the end of the month.  She knew Orm would be returning for it and she hoped he would deem her ready to go also, she really wanted to see what an Atlantian celebration looked like.  Speaking of the prince of Atlantis, Orm climbed onto the dock next to them and shook some water from his hair and made Y/N nearly glare at him for daring to show that messy hair to her again.  It would be the death of her.  

              "Leaving me alone with the humans now mother?" Orm asked, smiling.  He had been lightening up in the last two weeks, becoming more relaxed on the surface and getting along with people.  Humans weren't really all that bad, but that didn't mean he wouldn't send back some trash when he got the chance, they could have that back.  Maybe he could give them the technology they used in Atlantis to destroy the debris in the city without causing more waste.  He would speak to Arthur about that when he returned home.  Atlanna nodded.

              "It's almost time for Arthur to be officially crowned and I want to make sure everything is ready.  I'm sure Mera has everything in order but dealing with a gala and Arthur is a handful," she said.  Y/N laughed and agreed.  "I hope you both will be attending the coronation, I would love to see you there together."  She left it neutral but Orm thought she meant together as in a couple and not just happening to be there together.  That instantly made him nervous. He was still waiting for the perfect moment to arise to kiss her, confess to her his feelings, but nothing felt good enough, nothing that would make a perfect memory for her.

              "I'll miss you, can't wait to see you again," Y/N said.  She pulled Orm away to let Tom and Atlanna share a moment but Atlanna stopped her.

              "I just wanted to tell you, I've always wanted to see a certain place, I hear it is beautiful this time of year," Atlanna said before leaning to her ear and whispering.  Y/N's eyes widened and she smiled.  Yes, that was the perfect place to show Orm.  She looked at him.

              "I'm going to change, I'll be right back, be ready for a long swim," she said, dashing back up to the lighthouse for her Atlantian clothes.  Orm looked confused but waited, watching Tom and Atlanna say goodbye before his mother took off back to his home.  Tom looked at him.

              "Tonight, I can feel it Orm, tonight is the perfect night for making memories," he said before heading back inside the lighthouse.  Now Orm was even more confused.  Was this a human thing?  Were they able to see the future?  He stood, hands on his hips, trying to figure out this new fact of surface life he hadn't known about when Y/N was back.

              "Coming?" she called, running past him and diving into the water.  Orm chuckled and gave chase, diving in after her.  They swam, weaving in and out of schools of fish, going around coral, even playing a small game of hide and seek in a seaweed forest before Orm noticed the water getting colder.  Atlantians weren't bothered by cold or hot water but they noticed the changes in temperature all the same.  He frowned when Y/N swam straight up and out of the water, landing on a rocky shoreline.  He landed next to her and looked at her before looking up and seeing the most amazing sight he had ever seen.  There were mountains covered in snow, the stars shining all above him, millions of them twinkling, and lights, so many colors looking like waves in the sky.  It was a magnificent sight and he was speechless for several minutes.

              "Where are we?" he asked finally, discovering his voice again.  Y/N smiled, gazing up at the lights with him.

              "Alaska," she said softly.  "It's far north and some nights in the winter these beautiful lights appear in the sky called the Arora Borealis," she explained.  Then she shivered.  The cold water was fine but cold air still could bother her.  Orm frowned and looked around, finding a random wood square about the size of two doors.  It was near where a house was being built.

              "Who would build a place up here?" he asked, going back into the water and helping Y/N onto the large plank before getting on himself.  They laid down, looking up at the sky with their hands in the water, floating.

              "Some people like the cold and the openness and being alone," Y/N said, watching the stars.  Orm looked over at her, watching her face, her eyes closed and smiling with content and suddenly Alaska paled in comparison to how beautiful she was in that moment.  "It's so pretty out here."  

              "Yes, beautiful," he said, eyes staring at her still.  After a few minutes a thought came to Y/N and she laughed out loud.  "What?" Orm asked, surprised at her sudden outburst.

              "This whole thing...the cold ocean, the piece of wood...Jack could have lived dammit," she said, still chuckling.  Orm was more confused than ever now.

              "Jack? What are you talking about?" he asked, sitting up.  Y/N took a second to control her laughter and looked at him.

              "There's this movie called Titanic, its alright, I never really liked it that much, but at the end there is a scene, after the boat has sank and the two main characters, Rose and Jack are in the water, Rose climbs on a plank of wood that was once a door and Jack stays in the water, and they talk about how they love each other and then Jack dies because neither of them apparently thought he could fit on the door," she said.  Orm nodded slowly but still looked a little confused.  "Here, get in the water, I'll show you."  He nodded again and did as told.  She motioned for him to come next to the plank and he did, setting his hands on it to stay close.  She put her hands on his and held them.  "This is how it looked in the movie, notice that you can clearly see how much space is still on this plank, yet instead of getting Jack on the wood she just says she'll never let go, he dies and she lets go."

              "That sounds terrible," he said.  She nodded.  "Sounds like something Mera would like when we were younger, she loved tragic stories like that.  Said she would become one of those stories one day."

              "Did you ever love Mera?" Y/N asked.  Orm thought about it and nodded slowly.

              "For a time when we were probably sixteen, I thought I loved her, but looking back on it I think I was just trying to make the best of the situation we were in.  We were betrothed as children, us getting married was inevitable and for a while I was hoping that I could make it better if I loved her, if she loved me.  But we never did, she knew that and didn't try to force it but I tried and it never worked," he said.  "But, now, now that I am in love I realize the feelings for Mera weren't real, just a coping mechanism."  He looked up at Y/N who was staring at him.  "What?"

              "Who are you in love with?" she asked.  She couldn't believe it was her, she wanted to believe it but couldn't, not if he didn't say it.  Orm swallowed hard and then realized that now was the moment.  It was perfect, the stars, the mountains, the lights, everything was in place for the kind of memory she deserved.  He took a breath and looked right in her eyes.

              "I love you Y/N," he said softly.  She stared at him and without missing a beat Orm leaned up, capturing her lips in a kiss that was gentle but deep, pouring the feelings he had into it.  For a moment Y/N was in shock but soon closed her eyes, kissing him back with equal intensity.  The moment was perfect and she had never felt more content and alive in her life.  They parted when breathing became difficult and stared at each other.  "So do you love me?" Orm asked finally, realizing she never said it back.

              "Yes silly, I love you Orm, so much," she said softly.  Then they both heard it, quiet, something approaching.  This time they had enough warning and dove into the water, swimming to the shore and finding a hiding spot among the rocks.  The sub rose from the depths and Orm held Y/N closer, both of them recognizing it and the other ones that rose also.

              Manta exited his craft and looked around the water.  Out of the depths rose a man in Atlantian armor.  Manta glared at him, clearly annoyed.

              "You said you were tracking them, that they were here," he said.  "There's nothing here."  The Atlantian shook his head.

              "I started tracking them around Mexico, they must have left just moments ago to return to the safe house," he answered.  

              "Where is the safe house?" Manta asked.  "Have you found it yet?"

              "I believe so, the two disappeared just days after Vulko went to San Francisco in California, I am assuming he left to prepare the safe house and they must be heading back there now," he answered. Manta nodded.

              "Keep track for me, I want the brother and the girl alive and in my base soon," he said.  The Atlantian nodded and dove back into the water.  "Get back to base to refuel, we hit the safe house tomorrow at noon," he called to his people.  Manta got back into his vessel and he with his team took off.  Y/N stared.

              "They know where my home is...where my parents are," she said.  "Orm, we have to warn them, get to them before Manta does."  Orm nodded.

              "Let's go, we'll go now, shouldn't be long before we get there," he said.  They both dove into the water and headed towards Y/N's home.

[hopeduckling13]

A Wish Come True: Chapter 15

Summary:  How quickly can your mood change from pure happiness to pure horror? In a millisecond.The day Killian and Emma found out they were true love, they were ecstatic. That is until, they were forced to say goodbye to each other. For forever. Or so they thought.Can they still manage to find their true love for each other after five years of seperation or is it too late?

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Ship: Captain Swan

Rating: M

Setting: 5 years after 5x20 Firebird

Also on AO3, FF.net and Wattpad

Catch up on Tumblr: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14]

Reblog to be tagged in future chapters: @mcakers

~~~ EMMA’S POV ~~~

 Eventually the wind on the Jolly Rodger gets a little cold and uncomfortable, so I put both my arms around Killian’s neck. I look deeply into his eyes and start talking. “How about we go home now?”

I put emphasis on the word home to let him know, that he is welcome to live there with me now. It was always supposed to be our place after all. Killian and Henry looked for it with the sole intend of asking me to live there with them. It’s the future we never got and now with Killian back from the dead, we’re getting a second chance.

And I’ll intend to make every second count. I don’t want to have any regrets, in case something terrible happens to either of us one day.

“Sure, let’s go to your house.” He says, obviously not getting what I meant.

He begins to pull away to start walking to my car, but I stop him by putting my hand lightly on his arm.

“No, wait.” I smile at him. I secure my arms around him once again. He smiles at me and hugs me close to him, preventing the cold wind from attacking me. “It’s not just my house, you know. I mean you were the one, who chose it after all.” I shrug a little.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” Killian has the biggest smile on his face, and he raises his eyebrow. I haven’t seen that in a long time. I really missed that eyebrow. I have to stop myself from touching it with my finger to sort of make fun of him. It’s just kind of adorable.

“Yes. I do have a lot of red leather jackets, but I suppose there is some room for some black leather.” I smirk and give him a little shrug. I press my forehead against his for a moment and then pull away. I look at him with big eyes and a smile. “So, what do you say? Will you move in with me?”

“Of course, I will move in with you, Swan.” He answers quickly. He smiles brightly and lets out a small laugh.

We’re both so happy right now. I just hope that’ll never change again, which is very unlikely. We live in Storybrooke after all. But for now, I don’t care. I’ll just focus on the good moments with my true love.

I smile at him in return, giggling a little bit.

I pull his head down to me by his hair and kiss him passionately. He lifts me up again and holds me close. When our lips part, he keeps me in the air, our foreheads resting against one another’s. “Let’s go home, then, my love.”

I laugh at the sound, which earns me another eyebrow raise.

“What’s so funny, Swan?” Killian almost sounds genuinely worried.

“Nothing. I’m just happy. I never thought I’d say or feel that again, but I am happy. Very happy. It still surprises me sometimes.” I hug Killian tightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek in the process of leaning in. I wrap my legs around his waist to hold him even closer.

Killian keeps me in his arms and carries me off the boat to my bug. He sets me down in front of my car and lifts up my chin with his hook, kissing me softly. I back up, leaning against my bug and Killian follows me automatically, caging me in between his body and the car. My hands wander from his back to the back pockets of his pants. I pull him closer to me. I run my tongue along his bottom lip and deepen the kiss. Then, I bite his lip gently and push him away a little with a big smirk on my face.

“We should go home now, don’t you think?” I smile brightly and Killian gives me an annoyed look in return like ‘Really, Swan?’

I think I hear him mutter bloody minx.

I turn around and open the door of my beloved yellow bug with a victorious smile on my face. I slip inside.

Killian continues to look at me for a few seconds, but then he walks to the passenger side door and gets in the car himself.

“Ready?” I ask him and he instantly gives me a soft smile. He nods.

Then he puts his hand on my leg, drawing small circles along my thighs. I glare at him, but he just smirks.

“Two can play this game, Swan.” He smirks, moving his hand higher up.

“Do you want me to crash the car, tiger?” I put my hand on his and stop it. I’m not going to admit to him, that just that kiss and his hand on my leg drives me insane already.

“Well, you’re not driving right now…So, why not have some fun first?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. He moves his hand further up teasingly.

Two can play this game, I think to myself.

I climb over the gearshift onto his lap. He lets out a surprised gasp. I smile and put my hands in his hair, pulling him to me and kissing him. I roll my hips into his, which makes both of us moan loudly. His hand grips my hip tightly, pressing me even more onto his lap. One of us is definitely starting to have a not so little problem. I smirk, which breaks the kiss.

Killian kisses down my neck and I lean my head back to give him better access. I whimper at every single touch of his lips and tongue. My hips heavily grin into his. I almost get lost in the feelings, until I remember my actual plan.

I sigh – sort of disappointed, but I know I should stick to the plan. We shouldn’t continue this here – in my car in the middle of town. I don’t intend on getting interrupted after all. Or on Henry getting traumatised. He does come here often during breaks in school.

This was just supposed to tease Killian. I just didn’t realize, that it would also affect me this much.

Anyway, I put my hands on Killian’s cheeks and pull him away from my neck. I smile at him with a sort of evil grin and climb back onto my own seat. I don’t even look at him, but I can tell he probably has a funny expression on his face.

“What about continuing the enjoyable activities right now, Swan?” I can practically hear his pout through his voice.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you.” I say and start the car.

We drive off in the bug – still breaking the speed limit in a rush to get home.

We finally get there, and it felt like forever, when in reality it was only a few minutes.

We get out of the car and Killian picks me up again, carrying me to the door bridal style. I lock my arms tightly around his neck.

I chuckle confused. “What the hell are you doing?” I look into his eyes, running my hand along his cheek softly.

“Carrying you over the threshold of our ‘new’ house, of course. I think I saw that in some book about your world, that Belle once gave to me to adjust. There was something about bad luck for anyone who doesn’t…” He says. Now he’s also confused. Killian and modern culture are always so adorable to watch.

“Yeah, it’s a tradition. But this isn’t our wedding day. We’re not married. So, this…” I motion towards his arms carrying me, “…is totally unnecessary.”

“Well, we still live here together from now on. That might count, love.” He sounds very serious about that.

I angle my head and raise my eyebrows at him.

He continues. “We can’t use any more bad luck, Swan. Also, a seafaring man does not take superstitions lightly.” He’s almost angry now.

I chuckle. “Okay, whatever you think.” I peck his lips softly and smile brightly at him. I love him no matter what, even if he’s being silly.

So, I lean my head on his shoulder and let him carry me towards the door. Then I pull out the key from my jacket pocket and try to unlock the door. That isn’t as easy as I thought, but I eventually manage without having to leave the warmth and comfort of Killian’s arms.

My struggles obviously amused my pirate a lot, since he can’t stop laughing softly.

So, I decide to shut him up by crashing my lips onto his in a deep passionate kiss. It’s obviously a surprise to him at first. His legs begin to wobble, and I think we might fall to the ground, but he steadies himself quickly.

Without breaking our kiss, he walks us into the house, moving towards the living room. There, I drop my keys onto the coffee table.

Killian begins to set me down, but I put my hand on his and push it back to my leg.

I break our kiss just long enough to mumble “Upstairs” against his lips. He groans before pressing his lips back onto mine. He tightens his hold on me again and smiles lightly against my lips, making the kiss a little awkward for a second.

I put my hand on his head, so I can run it through his hair.

Then I register, that Killian walks us up the stairs. That’s also when I realize, that he’s never been here before – well here yeah, but not upstairs. So, as soon as we reach the top of the stairs, I take a pause from our kiss to give him directions. We wouldn’t want to end up in Henry’s room now, would we?

“Just go straight ahead to the room at the end of the hall.” I say, not even recognizing my own voice. It’s barely there because of a certain pirate having taken away my breath.

I put my forehead against his and put my hand on his cheek. I stroke his beard with my thumb and use the little timeout to catch my breath. We smile at each other and breathe in each other’s breath.

But soon enough, we dive back into our kiss and Killian walks to our room. I open the door and the instant we’re inside, Killian kicks it closed with his foot.

He sets me down and I push him back into the door. A second later I claim his lips with mine again, but Killian has other plans. He puts his hand and hook on my hips and switches our positions, so that I’m now pressed between the door and his body.

He trails his lips down my neck, lightly biting my collarbone before sucking on it. A moan escapes my mouth. I pull on his hair to reunite our lips.

Then I slip my hands under his leather jacket and push it down his shoulders. I’m honestly surprised he’s still wearing modern clothes after five years in hell. He looks so hot in them, too, so I’m glad. But right now, I’d rather see those clothes on the floor.

So, as soon as his jacket hits the floor, I move my hands towards his shirt. I start unbuttoning it.

All the buttons are undone. I hug him under the shirt and kiss him again as he lets the shirt join his jacket on the floor.

He moves his lips from mine to the place just below my earlobe. I shiver and let out another loud moan. Killian groans into my ear and whispers in a rough voice. “You’re wearing too much, Swan.”

That’s the only warning I get before he takes off my jacket and rips off my shirt with his hook. He unclasps my bra, which he surprisingly is quite good at despite having only one hand and a hook. I let it slide off my arms, onto the ground.

“Someone’s impatient.” I say, pulling off my hair-tie and letting my hair fall around my bare back.

“Could say the same about you, my love. To my defence, there was a bloody minx earlier, who rudely teased me.” He answers as he steps closer again and kisses me like his life depends on it.

 Soon enough we’re both completely bare, lying on our bed. Killian hovers over me and looks at me with so much love in his eyes, while softly running his hand over my cheek.

“I love you, Swan, so much. I’ll never leave you ever again.” He kisses me softly.

“I love you, too.” I respond right as Killian hooks one of my legs over his waist and pushes forward. I let out a cry of pleasure. I put my other leg around his waist, too. I dig my heels into his butt, pushing him even deeper into me. That earns me a low groan from Killian.

Our lips hover over one another’s for a moment and we smile. I run my hands over his back, trying to reach every single piece of skin. We look deep into each other’s eyes, but I can barely keep them open. My need for Killian to move is too overwhelming – too intense. It’s been five years.

“Please.” I beg, before pulling Killian’s head down to mine and kissing him passionately. My hands abruptly stop on his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he begins to thrust into me. Oh, shit. I moan loudly as he moves his lips to my neck, sucking a mark into the skin just under my collarbone.

I start rocking my hips in time with his and he once again kisses my lips thoroughly.

Soon Killian starts switching between kissing me and whispering into my ear how much he loves and missed me as he moves inside me.

After five long miserable years we’re finally one again and not that long after we’re panting in unison, screaming each other’s names at the top of our lungs.

AN: I want to thank everyone for reading this story. In case you ever want updates on the next chapter or sneak peaks, check out my Instagram story @/hopeduckling13

[quirklessbunny]

Every Time I Pause

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

Pairing(s): Prompto/Noctis

Tags: Sparring, Accidents, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, MT Prompto Argentum, Chronic Pain, Pain, Minor Injuries, Kissing, Minor Violence, Battle

Chapters: 5/?

Summary: Prompto’s hands are getting stiff, and sometimes they hurt terribly to move. Is this insignificant? or the start of something much worse?

Chapter 5 below the cut! Or you can follow the link to my ao3 here!

The trip on the boat starts off badly with a panic over Prompto's camera as he nearly drops it into the water. After that, he's confined to only using it away from the railings. He doesn't seem to mind, as he lays down on the couch and takes a nap. The trip from Caem to Altissia isn't a particularly long one, and yet he still manages to get a sunburn. He wakes up and whines in pain as he peels himself from the leather seats.

Prompto is excited to see the city lights when he gets up. He takes a million pictures of the gates, even while Noctis is trying to do something about his painful and red skin. He is smiling brightly as he points out areas he wants to take pictures at when they finally get off the boat. He drops his camera into its bag and dashes off the ship before the plank is even fully laid, tripping and stumbling before correcting his gait and heading into the streets of Altissia.

Quite a few people stare once Noctis catches up to him, and he deflates a little when he remembers that they have to head to a doctors appointment first. “But Noct, there's so many cool things to take pictures of!” he whines as he follows the others down the twisting alleys towards the office. They spend several hours there, and find out nothing new, and then agree to do some sight seeing before stopping in elsewhere.

Prompto and Noctis split off from the rest of them, spending the rest of the day eating and taking dumb selfies wherever they find spots that seem pretty good. The highlight of the day, in Prompto's opinion, was landing the paper in the mouth of the statue, even if he refuses to tell Noctis what the note says. When they reconvene for dinner, Prompto and Gladio head back to the hotel afterwards, leaving Ignis and Noctis to enjoy the city.

As soon as Prompto is out of earshot, Noctis turns to Ignis, eyes lighting up. “You gotta help me pick out an engagement ring. I want to propose to him properly, before everything with Luna happens and the press takes advantage of it. Luna already told me she had someone else she'd rather marry as well,” he assures, rushing it out when he sees the look on Ignis' face. “C'mon, you're the one I'd trust most in this situation. This is what you're best at.” He stands up and pulls Ignis through the throngs of people until they hit the main shopping district.

Ignis chuckles a little, and adjusts his glasses. “I must admit, I do agree that I am quite adept at picking out pieces of jewellery, but everything here is going to be very expensive, highness. I know he deserves the best, but we can't afford the best in our current financial state,” he says, sighing a bit. He looks into the shops, before finally pulling Noctis into a rather large jewellery store. “First thing to know is never buy from vendors who sell their wares without price tags immediately available, especially from carts on streets,” he explains, then walks over to the ring cases.

“Do you have any ideas of what you'd like?” Ignis asks, glancing to Noctis before back into the case. The rings are absolutely lovely, he decides, but he's sure many of them would cost a lot. He moves so that Noctis can lean over the area he's looking at, then looks around the shop.

“I dunno. I definitely wanted a black band, but what stones? I don't even know that he'd want something that flashy. I know he acts like he likes flashy things, but I've noticed the opposite. He likes expensive weapons and cameras, but for his clothes he actually tends towards a little more conservative, y'know? You wear fancy clothes, but it would take an army to wrestle Prompto into something like that. Maybe a few small stones. He likes blue...” Noctis finds the rings with the black steel, and hovers over it for a few moments. “What do you think of that one?”

“It's less something you'd propose with. That's more for gifts after marriage, don't you think?” Ignis responds, looking down at the ring, then the ones beside it. “What do you think of that one, Noct? I think this falls pretty well into Prompto's taste.”

Noctis looks at the one Ignis is pointing at, and smiles a little. “Yeah, you're right. That one is perfect, Igs, thanks.” He calls over the shop keep and purchases the ring with his remaining gil. “Damn, I'm really gonna need to do more hunts if I'm running out of money like that. This is why you get the hotel money, cause if the rest of us had it it'd be gone.” He takes the ring box, and thanks the man, before leaving the shop.

“I'm gonna put this into the Armiger. Prompto usually carries his stuff, right? So he won't see it?” Noctis puts the ring beside his engine blade, knowing he'll be able to bring it back out later, any ways. Ignis nods in confirmation, then gently guides Noctis towards the hotel.

“Time for bed, highness. We'll have a long and busy day tomorrow. You have a meeting with the mayor, as well as Lady Lunafreya. You'll also be accompanying Prompto to another doctor, and then you'll have dinner with Lady Lunafreya. You're also scheduled to tour the city at least once before we're off to Tenebrae,” Ignis explains as they walk, drawing a groan from Noctis. He smiles a little, then waves his hand. “I'm only kidding, majesty. We'll attend Lady Lunafreya's speech, then go to Prompto's appointment, and then the day is yours for the taking. No one here knows or cares about you being the king, we need not worry about such formalities now.”

Noctis doesn't think he's ever felt so relieved in his life. He heads inside and up to the room, flopping into the bed beside Prompto. He instantly pulls his boyfriend close, smiling a little at the slow rise and fall of his chest. Prompto looks so much more peaceful when he sleeps, Noctis realizes. It's almost like all the stress in his face, and all the forced joy, can finally disperse. He tilts Prompto's head a little more and takes off his glasses, then allows him to settle down again. Noctis gets under the blankets properly with him and drifts off soon after, not caring he's in his clothes still.

Noctis flinches and recoils from the bright light flooding the room, then pulls the blanket over his head with an exhausted grumble. “C'mon, I just went to sleep,” he mumbles, getting ready to drift away once more. He had been enjoying his dream, and right now reality just feels like way too much to him. He groans in complaint once more when a hand gently shakes him.

“Noct, you gotta wake up dude. Igs won't let me go take pictures of the town unless you come with me, and Lunafreya's speech is starting soon. I know you don't want to miss out on that. Come on, get up! If you get up now, we can share the shower...” Prompto snorts a little when Noctis shoots out of bed at that. “Thank Astrals, I thought I was gonna have to actually drag you out of bed this time.” He stands up and heads for the bathroom, grinning a little. It's comforting to know that Noctis will always get up for him.

Noctis trails after him, yawning. He doesn't notice that the room is empty besides them, but he'd be glad that the other two didn't see that embarrassing display. “Are we getting breakfast after this? I'm starving to death,” he complains, undressing quickly. He falls silent as Prompto undresses in front of him, reaching out to gently touch his pale skin. “You're so beautiful, Prompto. Sometimes I have to wonder to myself just how I got so blessed to have you in my life.” He leans forward and kisses a particularly large patch of freckles on his shoulder.

Prompto blushes softly and smiles, turning his head to kiss Noctis on the lips. “You're so sappy, Noct,” he whispers, then gets in the shower. He turns on the water and waits for it to warm up before stepping in and giving Noctis space to get in as well. Gentle touches lead to much more, and by the time they finally step out of the shower, Prompto couldn't be smiling wider. His skin is tinged red by the heat of the water, but he doesn't care. Getting dressed is an ordeal, until they decide that it's easier for him to wear Noctis' pants.

Prompto feels weird walking around with such baggy pants on, but getting his jeans over his stiff leg was near impossible. He also snags Noctis' jacket to wear over his tanktop, grinning a little as he sits on the bed and waits for Noctis to get ready next. “I bet you Igs has already seen half the city by now. He told me before he left 'don't leave without Noctis' so I waited forever for you to wake up, and trust me dude it was forever. That's why I finally woke you up myself. It's like 11 am, Noct. Lady Lunafreya's speech starts at 1 pm, which gives us time to take lotsa pictures before we have to go see her. Don't worry, I'm gonna get lots of pictures of her at her speech too.”

Noctis smiles a little and looks over at Prompto. “You're just impatient, babe. Alright, let's go. Are your boots zipped all the way?” He comes over to check before helping Prompto up and leading him outside. “We should get breakfast first.” After eating, Noctis lets Prompto drag him around the city before the speech. When they arrive, he's not surprised to see just how many people are crowded around to watch the Oracle. He stands alone in the audience and looks up at her, tears welling into his eyes as he listens.

He's almost glad Prompto isn't with him to see this. Noctis does his best to hold them back, standing as close to the front of the audience as is allowed. He locks eyes with Luna, and smiles at her, nodding to her before she walks away. When the crowds disperse, he meets up with the other three once more. For the first time in a while, he finds himself believing that the future will turn out all right for all of them. It lasts exactly a day before he's speaking with the mayor for his part with the Hydraean. He doesn't even get to speak with Lunafreya first.

After that, time doesn't seem to slow for any of them. Prompto is scared about his part in the plan, what if he can't control the machinery with his hands the way they are? He doesn't know, but he does understand what happens if he doesn't even try. Noctis will die. That night, Prompto holds Noctis a little tighter, wanting the comfort of having him close in case something goes wrong. Not that it will, he reasons, just in case. Tomorrow is going to be rough on everyone, but most of all, Noctis, and Prompto understands that.

He's grateful that once he delivers Noctis to the battle, he only has to help evacuate everyone safely. It's the easiest part of his job, and it'll give him a distraction so he doesn't have to spend the whole time worrying about Noctis' safety. He has to believe that Noctis can pull it off. Prompto nuzzles into Noctis neck and feels his pulse against his nose, relaxing enough to finally go to sleep.

The next morning is a blur for Prompto until he's flying the machine into the battle with Noctis. He steers it expertly, but he feels panic flash through him when Noctis falls. He lunges forward, catching him and pulling him back up. His glasses slid off, but he barely notices. Everything is going so fast. Noctis is dropped off, and he's got to get back to help with the evacuations. He notices when he can't find anywhere to land, just how hard it is to see. He crash lands into the street, rolling several feet before being able to pull himself up to help.

He barely notices his injuries. He doesn't let himself focus on it yet. He pushes through. Prompto can't focus on anything but saving the citizens of Altissia, because if he does, he knows he'll break. The rumours circulating through the crowds can't be true. Noctis can't...Luna can't...they can't have died. He can't believe that even for a moment, either of them could be dead. Not here, not now. So he pushes through.

What else can he do?

[fraysbanes]

unlikely partnership

Characters: Aline Penhallow, Clary Fray

Relationship: Clary Fray/Aline Penhallow

Rating: T

Summary:��written for the shadowhunters wlw fic bingo, for the square “pirates & royalty au”

also check out this beautiful art based on this fic!!!!

The plan had been simple: infiltrate the palace under the guise of a diplomatic mission, get the king drunk, then wait for the princess to murder him and make sure she had reinforcements when she took the throne.

The plan had failed.

Two things had gone wrong, though they did not both necessarily contribute to the plan failing.

One: there had been a mole. Details of the plan had gotten out, and so the king had been prepared for the attack before it had even begun.

Two: Aline had fallen in love.

Aline did not mind love. She read books about it and she listened to her crew talk about it and she caught herself staring at beautiful women time and time again. But ever since she was still a duchess living with her mother, she had always assumed that when - if - she ever did fall in love, it would be with someone who shared her lifestyle, her interests. Someone she would meet at a pub or a festival or the market and instantly feel the sparks fly with before marrying on her ship. And then things would continue as they always had, except Aline would be in love.

She had never pictured herself with a princess, and she had certainly never imagined herself with someone like Clary.

From the moment they met, the princess had grated on Aline’s nerves. She was spoiled. She was stubborn. She was running headfirst into things she did not understand.

But she was the best chance they had of taking down the king, and she had come to them with the offer herself after the queen’s mysterious death.

If there was one thing everyone in Idris agreed on, it was that King Valentine was a menace. He was ruthless and cruel - and dangerous because he wholeheartedly believed he was doing what was best for his kingdom.

He had been so unjust in his short rule that the people of Idris had stopped fearing the pirates when they docked because they knew that any horrible thing the sea rovers could do would pale in comparison to what the king had already done.

And Clary had volunteered to kill him. Who were they to refuse?

While planning their attack, Clary had been almost amiable. She was focused, which Aline respected, and she had good ideas, even if she was reluctant to admit that sometimes, they weren’t the best at the table.

While discussing strategy, their common goal was more important than all their differences, like how Aline didn’t think a sheltered princess could lead a nation or how Clary thought that the threat of pirates frightened her people too much. How Aline held a certain respect for a fair fight whereas Clary was willing to do anything to win faded into the background and killing Valentine became the most important thing in the world.

But the second the meetings adjourned and Aline and Clary were left alone together, it was a different story.

It started off as thinly-veiled insults, neither fully trusting or respecting the other yet but unwilling to risk an important partnership. As time went on, the insults became more lighthearted and teasing, a way to lighten the mood after hours of discussing dangerous strategies. Then, somehow, at some point, it became something completely different. Something that brought the word "love" to mind when Aline thought too long about it in the dead of the night.

Aline first noticed it one night a week before the coup, when Clary snuck onto her ship in the middle of the night and shook her awake, eyes gleaming with mischief and determination. A combination that Aline had to admit piqued her interest.

“What are you doing here?” Aline asked. Every meeting between the princess and the pirates was a risk: the palace was miles away from the docks and Clary couldn’t keep risking being spotted by the guards or her father when she snuck away. In answer, Clary grinned and drew a sword from under her dark cloak. “I want you to teach me.”

“You don’t need that, princess. We’ll be there to protect you.”

Aline turned to go back to sleep, but Clary wouldn’t let up. She sheathed her sword again and climbed onto the side of the bed to shake Aline again. “Well, that’s very gallant of you,” she said. “But I’d rather know how to hold my own against my father.”

Stubborn as they both were, Aline did realize a backup plan was necessary. So she dragged herself out of bed, picked up her own sword, and took Clary to the lower deck to teach her some basic techniques.

“Your stance is all off”, “stop only using your arm for balance - you’re leaving your side vulnerable to an attack”, and “remember you’re trying to cut through human flesh, not poke a hole in wet parchment” were practically the only words Aline spoke for the next several hours.

“Do you do anything but criticize?” Clary asked breathlessly, blocking one of Aline’s strikes with the edge of her sword.

Aline smirked as she managed to knock the weapon out of Clary’s hand anyway. “No.”

“You’re a terrible conversation partner, you know that?” Clary retrieved her sword and gestured to Aline that she was ready to continue training.

“And you’re a terrible student,” Aline said. She went in for a strike but Clary parried it with considerably little effort and raised the tip of her sword to Aline’s chin. She winked.

“Or maybe you just need to be a better teacher.”

Albeit impressed, all Aline had to do was tap Clary’s blade with hers before it flew out of the princess’ hand and fell to the floor with a clang.

“Damn,” Clary muttered.

“Don’t feel bad, princess,” Aline said. “None of your other opponents are going to be as good at this as I am.”

“Do you have to call me that?”

“An opponent?”

Clary rolled her eyes. “ Princess ,” she said distastefully.

“Why?” Aline asked. “Don’t tell me you want to be referred to as a queen before you’ve even succeeded in your quest to commit patricide.”

“No!” Clary said incredulously. “I just mean… it’s not like I call you ‘captain’.”

Aline raised one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be opposed to you calling me ‘captain’.”

Clary looked taken aback for a moment, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. She quickly shook it off and looked away from Aline. “But that feels so impersonal ,” she said. “We know each other’s names, why not use them?”

“I can’t name you, I’d get attached to you, and then how the hell am I supposed to rob your ships once this whole ordeal is over?”

Clary laughed. Aline didn’t think either of them had expected that reaction from her.

“Oh, my, how charming,” Clary said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Is that what you say to all the pretty girls willing to give you the time of day?”

“Time of night ,” Aline corrected, gesturing with her head to the moonlight seeping in through the open door. It took her a moment to realize how that sounded and she quickly struggled to change the subject, even as she felt her cheeks flush. “I bet it works better than breaking into a girl’s cabin to ask her to kick your ass in a swordfight.”

Clary smirked. “I believe that’s up for debate.” She glanced outside and sighed. “Well, I should get back home before someone notices I’ve snuck out.”

“That’s a good idea,” Aline agreed. She gestured to Clary’s sword. “Try not to stab yourself with that thing when you practice without me.”

Clary rolled her eyes again, already turning to go. “Goodnight, Aline.”

“Goodnight, Clary.”

Halfway to the exit, Clary stopped and glanced back to smile at Aline. “Goodnight, Aline,” she said again.

Well, Aline thought, that just isn’t fair.

*

Clary was certain of only three things.

One: her father was a despicable, evil man and everybody was going to be so much happier once Clary finally managed to kill him. (And next time, she would manage to kill him.)

Two: though their initial plan had failed, her best chance was still with the pirates - they had resources and she had their trust. And most importantly, they shared her goal of killing the king and freeing the people of Idris from his tyrannical rule.

Three: she was seasick.

“You okay there, princess?” Captain Penhallow shouted from the deck after the third time Clary heaved over the side of the ship, forehead beading with sweat and stomach turning as if imitating the waves down below. She had never been on a boat before. She was starting to wish she had been, so she would have at least known what she was in for before she ran away with pirates.

“‘M’fine…” she mumbled, certainly too low for Aline to hear. “And I thought I told you not to call me that.”

She heard Aline chuckle and walk down the steps to her side. “You’re right,” Aline said, leaning on her elbows on the side of the ship and breathing in lungfuls of the ocean breeze that was making Clary feel sick. “‘Damsel’ has a nicer ring to it.”

Clary turned her head slightly to glare at her. “If you mean ‘in distress’-”

“Oh, I mean ‘in distress,” Aline laughed. “Good thing I was there to save you from your father’s guards and whisk you away on this ship, wouldn’t you say?”

“I had it under control.”

“What you had was a knife to your throat.”

Suddenly embarrassed at her own incompetence in battle, Clary looked back down towards the waves with a sigh. “I owe you for that,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aline said. “You owe me nothing. I don’t get into business with people I wouldn’t rather keep alive.”

Clary opened her mouth to joke about how that was clearly not true, but before she had a chance to, Aline was pulling a flask from her belt and holding it out to her.

“Here. Drink this.”

“What is it?” Clary asked, taking the flask and peering inside suspiciously.

“Something I whipped up that might help with the sickness.”

Clary stared at her, half-touched and half-disbelieving. She had not run away with pirates because she had expected hospitality. “Thank you.”

Aline made a dismissive gesture. Clary thought she saw the other woman’s cheeks turn pink under her gaze.

“Anyways, you should get some rest,” Aline said. “We have lots of planning to do and lots of people to motivate. And don’t worry, princess, we’ll be back on dry land soon.”

“Hey!” Clary protested at the nickname. But she didn’t really mind anymore. It was actually almost nice to still be referred to by a title she wasn’t sure if she still had.

Aline winked. “Hey, at least this time we’ll have enough time to get you properly acquainted with some weapons.”

“Oh, yeah? Why would I need weapons?” Clary bumped Aline’s shoulder weakly with her own. “I thought you’d be there to protect me.”

Aline’s cheeks did turn red this time, and she couldn’t stifle her smile as she struggled to come up with a retort.

And suddenly, Clary was certain of one other thing.

Four: she wanted to kiss Aline.

[fraybaness]

unlikely partnership

ao3

clary/aline pirate/royalty au written for the shwlwficbingo

The plan had been simple: infiltrate the palace under the guise of a diplomatic mission, get the king drunk, then wait for the princess to murder him and make sure she had reinforcements when she took the throne.

The plan had failed.

Two things had gone wrong, though they did not both necessarily contribute to the plan failing.

One: there had been a mole. Details of the plan had gotten out, and so the king had been prepared for the attack before it had even begun.

Two: Aline had fallen in love.

Aline did not mind love. She read books about it and she listened to her crew talk about it and she caught herself staring at beautiful women time and time again. But ever since she was still a duchess living with her mother, she had always assumed that when - if - she ever did fall in love, it would be with someone who shared her lifestyle, her interests. Someone she would meet at a pub or a festival or the market and instantly feel the sparks fly with before marrying on her ship. And then things would continue as they always had, except Aline would be in love.

She had never pictured herself with a princess, and she had certainly never imagined herself with someone like Clary.

From the moment they met, the princess had grated on Aline’s nerves. She was spoiled. She was stubborn. She was running headfirst into things she did not understand.

But she was the best chance they had of taking down the king, and she had come to them with the offer herself after the queen’s mysterious death.

If there was one thing everyone in Idris agreed on, it was that King Valentine was a menace. He was ruthless and cruel - and dangerous because he wholeheartedly believed he was doing what was best for his kingdom.

He had been so unjust in his short rule that the people of Idris had stopped fearing the pirates when they docked because they knew that any horrible thing the sea rovers could do would pale in comparison to what the king had already done.

And Clary had volunteered to kill him. Who were they to refuse?

While planning their attack, Clary had been almost amiable. She was focused, which Aline respected, and she had good ideas, even if she was reluctant to admit that sometimes, they weren’t the best at the table.

While discussing strategy, their common goal was more important than all their differences, like how Aline didn’t think a sheltered princess could lead a nation or how Clary thought that the threat of pirates frightened her people too much. How Aline held a certain respect for a fair fight whereas Clary was willing to do anything to win faded into the background and killing Valentine became the most important thing in the world.

But the second the meetings adjourned and Aline and Clary were left alone together, it was a different story.

It started off as thinly-veiled insults, neither fully trusting or respecting the other yet but unwilling to risk an important partnership. As time went on, the insults became more lighthearted and teasing, a way to lighten the mood after hours of discussing dangerous strategies. Then, somehow, at some point, it became something completely different. Something that brought the word "love" to mind when Aline thought too long about it in the dead of the night.

Aline first noticed it one night a week before the coup, when Clary snuck onto her ship in the middle of the night and shook her awake, eyes gleaming with mischief and determination. A combination that Aline had to admit piqued her interest.

“What are you doing here?” Aline asked. Every meeting between the princess and the pirates was a risk: the palace was miles away from the docks and Clary couldn’t keep risking being spotted by the guards or her father when she snuck away. In answer, Clary grinned and drew a sword from under her dark cloak. “I want you to teach me.”

“You don’t need that, princess. We’ll be there to protect you.”

Aline turned to go back to sleep, but Clary wouldn’t let up. She sheathed her sword again and climbed onto the side of the bed to shake Aline again. “Well, that’s very gallant of you,” she said. “But I’d rather know how to hold my own against my father.”

Stubborn as they both were, Aline did realize a backup plan was necessary. So she dragged herself out of bed, picked up her own sword, and took Clary to the lower deck to teach her some basic techniques.

“Your stance is all off”, “stop only using your arm for balance - you’re leaving your side vulnerable to an attack”, and “remember you’re trying to cut through human flesh, not poke a hole in wet parchment” were practically the only words Aline spoke for the next several hours.

“Do you do anything but criticize?” Clary asked breathlessly, blocking one of Aline’s strikes with the edge of her sword.

Aline smirked as she managed to knock the weapon out of Clary’s hand anyway. “No.”

“You’re a terrible conversation partner, you know that?” Clary retrieved her sword and gestured to Aline that she was ready to continue training.

“And you’re a terrible student,” Aline said. She went in for a strike but Clary parried it with considerably little effort and raised the tip of her sword to Aline’s chin. She winked.

“Or maybe you just need to be a better teacher.”

Albeit impressed, all Aline had to do was tap Clary’s blade with hers before it flew out of the princess’ hand and fell to the floor with a clang.

“Damn,” Clary muttered.

“Don’t feel bad, princess,” Aline said. “None of your other opponents are going to be as good at this as I am.”

“Do you have to call me that?”

“An opponent?”

Clary rolled her eyes. “ Princess ,” she said distastefully.

“Why?” Aline asked. “Don’t tell me you want to be referred to as a queen before you’ve even succeeded in your quest to commit patricide.”

“No!” Clary said incredulously. “I just mean… it’s not like I call you ‘captain’.”

Aline raised one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be opposed to you calling me ‘captain’.”

Clary looked taken aback for a moment, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. She quickly shook it off and looked away from Aline. “But that feels so impersonal ,” she said. “We know each other’s names, why not use them?”

“I can’t name you, I’d get attached to you, and then how the hell am I supposed to rob your ships once this whole ordeal is over?”

Clary laughed. Aline didn’t think either of them had expected that reaction from her.

“Oh, my, how charming,” Clary said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Is that what you say to all the pretty girls willing to give you the time of day?”

“Time of night ,” Aline corrected, gesturing with her head to the moonlight seeping in through the open door. It took her a moment to realize how that sounded and she quickly struggled to change the subject, even as she felt her cheeks flush. “I bet it works better than breaking into a girl’s cabin to ask her to kick your ass in a swordfight.”

Clary smirked. “I believe that’s up for debate.” She glanced outside and sighed. “Well, I should get back home before someone notices I’ve snuck out.”

“That’s a good idea,” Aline agreed. She gestured to Clary’s sword. “Try not to stab yourself with that thing when you practice without me.”

Clary rolled her eyes again, already turning to go. “Goodnight, Aline.”

“Goodnight, Clary.”

Halfway to the exit, Clary stopped and glanced back to smile at Aline. “Goodnight, Aline,” she said again.

Well, Aline thought, that just isn’t fair.

*

Clary was certain of only three things.

One: her father was a despicable, evil man and everybody was going to be so much happier once Clary finally managed to kill him. (And next time, she would manage to kill him.)

Two: though their initial plan had failed, her best chance was still with the pirates - they had resources and she had their trust. And most importantly, they shared her goal of killing the king and freeing the people of Idris from his tyrannical rule.

Three: she was seasick.

“You okay there, princess?” Captain Penhallow shouted from the deck after the third time Clary heaved over the side of the ship, forehead beading with sweat and stomach turning as if imitating the waves down below. She had never been on a boat before. She was starting to wish she had been, so she would have at least known what she was in for before she ran away with pirates.

“‘M’fine…” she mumbled, certainly too low for Aline to hear. “And I thought I told you not to call me that.”

She heard Aline chuckle and walk down the steps to her side. “You’re right,” Aline said, leaning on her elbows on the side of the ship and breathing in lungfuls of the ocean breeze that was making Clary feel sick. “‘Damsel’ has a nicer ring to it.”

Clary turned her head slightly to glare at her. “If you mean ‘in distress’-”

“Oh, I mean ‘in distress,” Aline laughed. “Good thing I was there to save you from your father’s guards and whisk you away on this ship, wouldn’t you say?”

“I had it under control.”

“What you had was a knife to your throat.”

Suddenly embarrassed at her own incompetence in battle, Clary looked back down towards the waves with a sigh. “I owe you for that,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aline said. “You owe me nothing. I don’t get into business with people I wouldn’t rather keep alive.”

Clary opened her mouth to joke about how that was clearly not true, but before she had a chance to, Aline was pulling a flask from her belt and holding it out to her.

“Here. Drink this.”

“What is it?” Clary asked, taking the flask and peering inside suspiciously.

“Something I whipped up that might help with the sickness.”

Clary stared at her, half-touched and half-disbelieving. She had not run away with pirates because she had expected hospitality. “Thank you.”

Aline made a dismissive gesture. Clary thought she saw the other woman’s cheeks turn pink under her gaze.

“Anyways, you should get some rest,” Aline said. “We have lots of planning to do and lots of people to motivate. And don’t worry, princess, we’ll be back on dry land soon.”

“Hey!” Clary protested at the nickname. But she didn’t really mind anymore. It was actually almost nice to still be referred to by a title she wasn’t sure if she still had.

Aline winked. “Hey, at least this time we’ll have enough time to get you properly acquainted with some weapons.”

“Oh, yeah? Why would I need weapons?” Clary bumped Aline’s shoulder weakly with her own. “I thought you’d be there to protect me.”

Aline’s cheeks did turn red this time, and she couldn’t stifle her smile as she struggled to come up with a retort.

And suddenly, Clary was certain of one other thing.

Four: she wanted to kiss Aline.

[carnationbooks]

Double Interview! annundriel and pawspaintsnthings!

Guys! GUYS! We are so excited to be bringing you this interview! It’s the last day of March, and therefore the end of our month featuring Check, Please! This has been a fun month full of hockey, pie, fic, art, and getting to know some of the creators in this delightful fandom. To close it out, we talked with @annundriel​and @pawspaintsnthings​. We think this interview is the perfect end to this month’s series of chats. We hope you enjoy it!

Annundriel’s fic is here on AO3! 

Pawspaintsnthings’ art is here!

They are currently collaborating on an absolutely gorgeous Check, Please! Fairytale AU fancomic which can be read here: The Wolf At The Door (@fairytalecomic)

How did you first get into fandom? What was your first fandom?

Pawspaintsnthings: I honestly can't remember.  I do remember getting "obsessed" with things from a pretty young age, and coming up with alternative ways the show/book/what have you could have gone in my head.  But it was never shared with anyone. My first fandom-like experience was probably, on a small scale, "The Legend of Zelda".  My best friend and I would have sleepovers, and stay up all night drawing Zelda fanart for our own little personal Zine.  I'm talking crayola colored pencils on computer paper.  I think we also wrote a couple of fic together and posted it on fanfiction.net. We filled sketch book after sketch book that our parents bought giant tubs to keep them in, of what was basically fanart.  Though we didn't know that's what it was at the time.

Annundriel: I stumbled across something on the internet while looking for something else, probably. The first thing I remember actively reading fic for was Jane Austen. I got into her works in middle school and then discovered people wrote continuations? And posted them online? And sometimes they were from other points of view or were in different settings and times? It was eye opening, and I loved it.

What inspired you to start writing fic/making art?

Pawspaintsnthings: I've drawn the vast majority of days  since I was tiny.  So it was a pretty smooth transition to have whatever I was really into at the time, be it an anime or video game or book, and just incorporate that into my daily drawing.  When I was really young I wasn't interested in drawing anything but animals.  When I got older, met my best friend, and started watching anime/playing Zelda with her I started drawing people.  I credit fanart with being able to jump right into figure studies in college.  I had at least some comfort with it that I might not have had otherwise. I'm not able to exactly pin point what makes me want to draw fanart.  I've had fandoms that were a huge part of my life for years, that I didn't draw a single piece of fanart for.  And others that sparked my interest for only a couple of weeks that I churned out a few pieces for.  Then there are those, like Check Please, where I almost compulsively make fanart for.  And even within those fandoms that I like to make fanart for, there's usually only very specific elements of the story that scream "draw me!".

Annundriel: Oh gosh, I'm not sure I remember any real sort of catalyst? I liked telling stories and making things up when I was much younger. We had a computer program where half the screen could be used to make an illustration and the other half to type the story and I played with that all the time. I was also always a big reader, and I enjoy thinking about and talking about the media I consume, so I think writing fic became a natural extension of that for me.

How did you get into Check Please? What are your favorite tropes and pairings in this fandom?

Pawspaintsnthings: I was between fandoms and one of my mutuals was posting about it back in September of 2015.   I checked it out, and instantly devoured it. I enjoyed it immensely, but I'm not sure if I knew at the time I was going to be as into it as I became.  I experienced a traumatic injury shorty after reading it, and during the physical part of that recovery I had my first burst of fanart.  I've absolutely used it as a coping mechanism.  There's a lot of hurt/comfort being produced on my end! Ha. I discovered it at a very opportune time for me. 

Definitely Zimbits.  That's the one that poked that muse button for me, and poked it hard. I enjoy a lot of the other pairings on a casual level.  Though I tend to not ship anything that rocks the boat of my preferred ships.  Which goes for all my fandoms. Tropes? I'm a hurt/comfort kinda girl. Just give everyone a hug for me.

Annundriel: I started seeing it a bit on my dash around the time of The Kiss, and I got curious so I sought it out. (And then I dragged marswithghosts down with me.) Trope-wise...I really enjoy stories where the characters accidentally fall in love or they realize, like a bolt out of the blue, that they've fallen. I also really like fake dating and Canadian shack fic and bed sharing and, oh! Historic AUs. Give me a Regency or Victorian AU and I'm happy. Give me something with tall ships and I'm thrilled.

What is your favorite thing you have written/drawn so far?

Pawspaintsnthings: Oh, man.  I lack an emotional attachment to most things I make. Mostly by design.  I get intensely anxious about finished pieces so it's best if I just immediately move on.  Once I finish it I rarely  look at it again. As it is, the act of making it is mostly where the emotion is for me.  If I had to pick a piece I'm most proud of, probably the set of realistic portraits I did of Jack and Bitty.

Annundriel: Hmm...well, I really love The Wolf at the Door. It's been an absolute pleasure to brainstorm and create it with Haylee. Of solo work that I've posted, I have a deep love for Perpetual Motion (http://archiveofourown.org/works/7755439), an AU where Kent doesn't show up at the epikegster. But my real favorites are probably two WIPs: a baseball AU and an AU based loosely on a book called The Scorpio Races.

What is your favorite fic/piece of art by someone else?

Pawspaintsnthings: I'm terrible at this question. I have an intense appreciation for fanart/fanfic and I'm loathe to pick just one favorite.  The most recent works that really made an impact on me though where the fic and gorgeous accompanying art of "Everybody Begs to be Redeemed" by cynical_optimist, QueenOfTheCute, and strangetowns on AO3.

Annundriel: I could name so many! The first that comes to mind, though, is A Little Bit Closer (http://archiveofourown.org/works/7289398) by marswithghosts. It was a gift for finishing my MLIS, and so it holds a very special place in my heart.

What pairings do you like to read in this fandom? What pairings do you like to write or draw? 

Pawspaintsnthings: Mostly Zimbits, but I enjoy reading Ransom/Holster and Shitty/Lardo.   I really only have the muse for Zimbits.  My muse is fickle.

Annundriel: I love to read Jack/Bitty, Dex/Nursey, Shitty/Lardo, Ransom/Holster, Kent/Tater...(I also love Kent/Javier Martinez from the sequel to A Little Bit Closer.) I love to write Jack/Bitty and Dex/Nursey. I'd like to expand that, but I'm a bit nervous!

How does collaborating on a project differ from working on your own? What is your process like when working together?

Pawspaintsnthings: I love collaborations.  It's like taking the spirit/the best parts of fandom and compounding it into one project.  I tend to feel very isolated when I work on my own.  Even with fandom friends that I chat with I don't share a lot of process, and I often to have to fight the urge to withdraw from the going's on of fandom. Which is complicated, but in part because I go to a vulnerable place when I'm making something. Which harkens back to the whole not looking at my art once I finish it business.   So when collaborating I have to push myself to talk a bit more about what I think is cute or why I like an idea.   When making art you can just take an emotion, no matter how intense, and put it out there.  But it's harder with words, and to explain how you want to get to the final peice, and not feel like you just exposed yourself in some way.  Mary and I do all of our collaborating over Twitter  DM's.  We generally have a pretty solid, mostly panel by panel idea of how each update is going to go.  I do some roughs and we make changes to those together.  Then I draw it and Mary works on the script which we finalize together.  It can be hard to find times when our schedules match, as things tend to flow more smoothly when we're actively chatting rather than catching messages at later times. But it works out!  We're both flexible with one another which is important.  

Annundriel: I've done several collaborations throughout my years in fandom, and I think one of the big differences for me between working with a partner/partners versus on your own is the need to remain flexible. You might think something is a really great idea or a great moment or image, and the person you're working with may disagree and vice versa. You have to be able to communicate and compromise.

Can you tell us how the idea for The Wolf At The Door came about?

Pawspaintsnthings: I wanted to try my hand at a longer comic project than I'd ever taken on. I'm in love with all things fairy tale, and had the very basic foundation idea in place when I asked Mary if she'd like to be my partner in the project. From there we worked together to fully flesh it out and bring it to life.  I knew I needed someone with more experience/talent in story telling than I possess, and Mary both fit that bill, and is someone I consider a friend and knew I could work with.

Annundriel: Honestly, I am just so happy Haylee came to me with the idea. We'd talked before about our mutual love of fairy tales and Diana Wynne Jones, and to have the opportunity to put all that love into something creative? So exciting.

Do you have a favorite moment or image from the comic so far? 

Pawspaintsnthings: Well. My favorite moments are definitely to come!  But, so far I'd say that the first comic was really fun for me to draw.  Just an exciting moment for me overall.

Annundriel: I agree with Haylee; some of my favorite moments are coming up! But I absolutely adore the cover Haylee made for the comic. I remember the first time I saw it and how perfectly it fit the feel and the characters. I also really enjoy writing the banter between Bitty and Bun. I love it when Bitty calls Bun "clever clogs" in the first chapter.

Do you have any advice for our readers who might be considering taking on a similar project? 

Pawspaintsnthings: I'm still figuring out a lot of this stuff, and learning as I go.  So I'm certainly no expert.   But I've been so grateful that Mary and I work at similar speeds and have similar communication styles.  It smooths things out, especially when you need to do a lot of communicating via social media.  I'd also say to be sure to go into it expecting to take your time.  I'm a staunch believer in fandom never turning into or feeling like a second job. So if you need to take a break, take a break. If you want to go full throttle, then do that.  

Annundriel: I'd like to second everything Haylee says. Especially the last part. Be kind to yourself, and if you need a break from a project, take it. If you're working with a partner, be honest with them. (I'm a firm believer in communication, period.)

Any more recs for our readers?

Annundriel: I haven't read a lot of fic lately off of tumblr, but recently I really enjoyed @iboatedhere​‘s Graduation Day (http://archiveofourown.org/works/9850652). Also @porcupine-girl​'s Jack Zimmermann is a Masochistic Fuckwit (http://archiveofourown.org/works/8910685). I love all of @marswithghosts​' work. I also really enjoyed @rhysiana​'s Dex/Nursey AU, The Punk and the Florist (http://archiveofourown.org/works/7652692). In the Dex/Nursey vein, I also love akadiene's row upon row (http://archiveofourown.org/works/7559800). I could go on, haha. There are just so many good works out there!

A heartfelt thanks goes out to @annundriel and @pawspaintsnthings for taking the time to answer our questions and give us some insight into their fandom experiences and how they work on creating amazing content for us to enjoy. 

[r-misa]

The Brave Tin Soldier: There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. The first thing in the world they ever heard were the words, “Tin soldiers!” uttered by a little boy, who clapped his hands with delight when the lid of the box, in which they lay, was taken off. They were given him for a birthday present, and he stood at the table to set them up. The soldiers were all exactly alike, excepting one, who had only one leg; he had been left to the last, and then there was not enough of the melted tin to finish him, so they made him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused him to be very remarkable.

The table on which the tin soldiers stood, was covered with other playthings, but the most attractive to the eye was a pretty little paper castle. Through the small windows the rooms could be seen. In front of the castle a number of little trees surrounded a piece of looking-glass, which was intended to represent a transparent lake. Swans, made of wax, swam on the lake, and were reflected in it. All this was very pretty, but the prettiest of all was a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle; she, also, was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin, with a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders just like a scarf. In front of these was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her whole face. The little lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both her arms, and raised one of her legs so high, that the tin soldier could not see it at all, and he thought that she, like himself, had only one leg. “That is the wife for me,” he thought; “but she is too grand, and lives in a castle, while I have only a box to live in, five-and-twenty of us altogether, that is no place for her. Still I must try and make her acquaintance.” Then he laid himself at full length on the table behind a snuff-box that stood upon it, so that he could peep at the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then the playthings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, to have sham fights, and to give balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their box; they wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they could not open the lid. The nut-crackers played at leap-frog, and the pencil jumped about the table. There was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to talk, and in poetry too. Only the tin soldier and the dancer remained in their places. She stood on tiptoe, with her legs stretched out, as firmly as he did on his one leg. He never took his eyes from her for even a moment. The clock struck twelve, and, with a bounce, up sprang the lid of the snuff-box; but, instead of snuff, there jumped up a little black goblin; for the snuff-box was a toy puzzle.

“Tin soldier,” said the goblin, “don’t wish for what does not belong to you.” But the tin soldier pretended not to hear. “Very well; wait till to-morrow, then,” said the goblin.

When the children came in the next morning, they placed the tin soldier in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it, or the draught, is not known, but the window flew open, and out fell the tin soldier, heels over head, from the third story, into the street beneath. It was a terrible fall; for he came head downwards, his helmet and his bayonet stuck in between the flagstones, and his one leg up in the air. The servant maid and the little boy went down stairs directly to look for him; but he was nowhere to be seen, although once they nearly trod upon him. If he had called out, “Here I am,” it would have been all right, but he was too proud to cry out for help while he wore a uniform.

Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and faster, till there was a heavy shower. When it was over, two boys happened to pass by, and one of them said, “Look, there is a tin soldier. He ought to have a boat to sail in.”

So they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldier in it, and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran by the side of it, and clapped their hands. Good gracious, what large waves arose in that gutter! and how fast the stream rolled on! for the rain had been very heavy. The paper boat rocked up and down, and turned itself round sometimes so quickly that the tin soldier trembled; yet he remained firm; his countenance did not change; he looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket. Suddenly the boat shot under a bridge which formed a part of a drain, and then it was as dark as the tin soldier’s box. “Where am I going now?” thought he. “This is the black goblin’s fault, I am sure. Ah, well, if the little lady were only here with me in the boat, I should not care for any darkness.” Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain. “Have you a passport?“ asked the rat, “give it to me at once.” But the tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever. The boat sailed on and the rat followed it. How he did gnash his teeth and cry out to the bits of wood and straw, “Stop him, stop him; he has not paid toll, and has not shown his pass.“ But the stream rushed on stronger and stronger. The tin soldier could already see daylight shining where the arch ended. Then he heard a roaring sound quite terrible enough to frighten the bravest man. At the end of the tunnel the drain fell into a large canal over a steep place, which made it as dangerous for him as a waterfall would be to us. He was too close to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the poor tin soldier could only hold himself as stiffly as possible, without moving an eyelid, to show that he was not afraid. The boat whirled round three or four times, and then filled with water to the very edge; nothing could save it from sinking. He now stood up to his neck in water, while deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft and loose with the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier’s head. He thought of the elegant little dancer whom he should never see again, and the words of the song sounded in his ears—  “Farewell, warrior! ever brave, drifting onward to thy grave.”

Then the paper boat fell to pieces, and the soldier sank into the water and immediately afterwards was swallowed up by a great fish. Oh how dark it was inside the fish! A great deal darker than in the tunnel, and narrower too, but the tin soldier continued firm, and lay at full length shouldering his musket. The fish swam to and fro, making the most wonderful movements, but at last he became quite still. After a while, a flash of lightning seemed to pass through him, and then the daylight approached, and a voice cried out, “I declare here is the tin soldier.” The fish had been caught, taken to the market and sold to the cook, who took him into the kitchen and cut him open with a large knife. She picked up the soldier and held him by the waist between her finger and thumb, and carried him into the room. They were all anxious to see this wonderful soldier who had travelled about inside a fish; but he was not at all proud. They placed him on the table, and—how many curious things do happen in the world!—there he was in the very same room from the window of which he had fallen, there were the same children, the same playthings, standing on the table, and the pretty castle with the elegant little dancer at the door; she still balanced herself on one leg, and held up the other, so she was as firm as himself. It touched the tin soldier so much to see her that he almost wept tin tears, but he kept them back. He only looked at her and they both remained silent. Presently one of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and threw him into the stove. He had no reason for doing so, therefore it must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the snuff-box. The flames lighted up the tin soldier, as he stood, the heat was very terrible, but whether it proceeded from the real fire or from the fire of love he could not tell. Then he could see that the bright colors were faded from his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during his journey or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say. He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him. He felt himself melting away, but he still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder. Suddenly the door of the room flew open and the draught of air caught up the little dancer, she fluttered like a sylph right into the stove by the side of the tin soldier, and was instantly in flames and was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a lump, and the next morning, when the maid servant took the ashes out of the stove, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the little dancer nothing remained but the tinsel, which was burnt black as a cinder.