#thank GOD they let him sport his grey hair because BARK BARK BARK

[fighting-naturalist]

jack + dress blues in "fair game"

[celosiaa]

enough for now

A gift for @taylortut​ who I love so very much!! She didn’t ask for it but I did the dang thing anyway based on things that you’ve said you like! I hope this brings some little bit of extra good to your day, my dear <3 even if it is a lil angsty lol

CW flashback, panic attack

Focus. Focus.

You’re wasting your time.

You’ve already wasted enough.

Hunched over his desk, Tim squints against the dim light of his lamp scattering across the stacks of files and books and blueprints littered across it. He had been nursing a migraine all day—all week, really—and had no real choice at this point but to get used to it, carry on, shove it all down. Since no one had bothered to tell him that the Circus was what they were after, he has a lot of catching up to do, research that Martin should have known he himself would not be capable of.

Added to the fact of his most recent attempt to escape this hellhole making him sick and weak. Again. So here he was, drinking in the sustenance of whatever godforsaken thing that keeps him here, hour after hour making him stronger. All because he let his anger rule again. Ran away.

Just keep on running then, Tim.

Coward.

Christ. One fight with Danny, and it still stings.

Because it’s true.

You left him you left him you left him there with that thing—

Blood—torch—stage—lights—clown—Danny Danny Danny Danny—

Stop stop stop

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he can’t help the small noise that escapes him—though he does not hear it over the fading static in his own ears.

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking

Breathe in; breathe out. One moment to the next. What his therapist taught him after…after. After nothing. There’s nothing, there never was, there’s only now. There’s only the Circus. There’s only his migraine, pounding pounding pounding against his skull, the fury, the bitterness, the knowledge that he’s caught in a trap he’ll never crawl out of—

THUD.

Easily startled these days, Tim jumps bodily at the sound, snapping his head around toward its source. He had not thought anyone would still be here at this hour, as he’d seen Martin go home hours ago for some desperately-needed sleep, and the others had gone out to the pub that night. They couldn’t be here, could they? Surely the archive has protections against those creatures since…

Since nothing.

Nothing happened.

Nothing is happening.

The crash had come from Jon’s office, he’s sure of that. It reminds him of other days; other times when that sound would send him fetching a sports drink from the break room, checking to make sure Jon hadn’t hit his head on anything whenever his POTS flared badly. When they had been friends; brothers, even. Near enough to it anyway.

No, nothing else could have made that sound. Jon was back.

Standing on his own somewhat-shaky legs, Tim gives himself a moment for his vision to clear before striding toward the darkened office door, fury already rising in him at the idea that he was being watched again, distrusted again, betrayed again. He swings the door open.

“Finally decided to show u—oh god.”

Lying on his back on the floor is Jon, beard fuller than he’s ever seen it, painfully thin and grey as a ghost. His clothes hang off him as if three sizes too large, the ones Tim knew had once fitted him snugly, not even a few months prior. What in god’s name had happened to him that he was this emaciated? This ashen?

What had he done this time?

Anger bubbles even stronger now, tingling at the back of his spine.

But something…something feels off about this. Enough for him to bury the resentment, if only for a moment. Just to make sure.

Why do you care?

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking

“Jon,” Tim says loudly, crouching down beside him, shaking his shoulder in the process. “Hey, up and at ‘em.”

But there’s nothing—not the usual small gasp as he comes around from the faints caused by POTS, no twitching, only stillness. Tim’s stomach does a turn as he checks Jon’s head for bleeding, any sign of injury, but nothing. Nothing at all.

What the hell happened?

Glancing around him for anything to do, he spots a file box within arms reach that he drags over towards them, propping Jon’s feet upon it. He rolls up his sleeve a bit then, to feel his pulse—and finds himself distracted by the bone-dry nature of  his skin beneath his fingers; the slight shuddering of his limbs. But his face has almost a sheen to it, unnatural, unnerving.

“Jon,” Tim repeats, a bit louder, patting at his exposed bit of arm. “Come on, you’re alright.”

A bit of a moan this time, a deeper breath—and Tim lets out a breath of his own, one he had not realized he had been holding.

“Mmm.”

“Wake up, Jon,” he says loudly, shaking his shoulder for a second time.

At this, Jon’s entire frame tenses under his hand, eyes flying wide open to scan feverishly around the room.

“Woah, easy,” Tim barks, a bit alarmed. “Easy. Just stay down.”

It seems that Jon had either not heard him, or had chosen to ignore—as he sits up rather abruptly against Tim’s hand on his shoulder, this time locking eyes with him. But before Tim can recover from his surprise enough to speak, Jon’s eyelids begin to flutter again. He’s about to go down.

“Lie down, Jon. Lie back down.”

He’s sure Jon didn’t have much of a choice anyway, but Tim finds himself glad that he happened to be there to prevent him smacking his head against the industrial carpeting all the same. Something is wrong wrong wrong, and it sends away all his rage for the time being—and he is filled with that instinct to protect Jon, from himself or from something else. He cannot even bring himself to care which at the moment.

“Wh—Tim,” Jon slurs with effort, some recognition in his expression at last.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

With a pang in his chest, Tim realizes he does not know whether or not that will bring him comfort.

“I’m gonna get you some water, alright?”

No reply—merely a distant look in his eyes as he brings a hand up to press against his own cheek, shaking with the effort of it. Bad, this is bad. He’s never this out of it when he comes back around; not even after they had woken up quarantined together in the hospital, dozens of deep wounds covering both of them in the wake of the Prentiss attack.

Focus. Water, food, then questions.

“Just—just stay there, for god’s sake.”

Wobbling a bit against the disorientation of his migraine, Tim brushes a hand all along the walls to the break room, crossing his fingers that Jon (or perhaps Martin) had restocked Jon’s Lucozade supply. As luck would have it, there are a few left over from whenever Jon had last shown up to work in the archives. Tim had not taken care to keep track.

He doesn’t deserve it.

Not anymore.

Stop; he has to stop—more thinking like that, and he knows he will leave Jon stranded on the floor of his office, only to be found by a newly-infuriated Martin in the morning. And in what condition…Tim could not say. Where had he been all this time? And why did he look so awful?

He grabs a cereal bar from the counter top on the way out of the room.

When he returns to Jon’s office, his stomach drops at the empty space on the floor where Jon had been—until he spots him, sitting with his back pressed up against the back wall of the room, between the bookshelf and the filing cabinet.

“Thought I told you to stay put,” Tim mutters irritably. Though he has to admit, he feels something tight unraveling a bit in his chest at seeing him able to sit up. No matter how ill he looks.

“Tim,” he says in a voice of gravel and salt, as if to reassure himself of its truth.

“Yeah, bad luck.”

Tim takes the cue of the fearful look in Jon’s eyes as he stares up at him, and sits at a bit of a distance on the floor within his eyeline.

“Drink this,” he orders, opening the cap of the Lucozade before holding it out toward him. “Slowly. You look like shit.”

He had been hoping that Jon would simply roll his eyes and respond with a sardonic “thank you,” but…nothing. Instead, he can barely keep hold of the bottle, watching it shaking in his own hand before tentatively bringing it up to his lips. Just a sip—and it’s enough to rattle something in him, seeming to bring him around to the present a bit. He downs the next sips with more confidence, less hesitance. With a great deal of satisfaction, Tim starts unwrapping the cereal bar, ready to hand it to him whenever he was ready.

“M’sorry for this,” he murmurs after a few minutes have passed in silence, no longer meeting Tim’s eyes.

“What the hell happened, Jon?” Tim asks in desperation, needing to know where to put his anger. Shutting down the part of himself that hoped could be placed on Jon again.

Silence greets him. No indication that Jon had even heard him.

Until the shaking begins.

The bottle drops to the floor as shuddering overwhelms his grip—and both hands fly into his hair, clutching hard at it, pressing balled fists into the sides of his newly-ashen face. As his breath picks up speed, so does Tim’s heart, and he wants so badly to reach for him. More than anything, he wants his touch to be the comfort it once had been, anything to stop this from happening. But he had burned that bridge ages ago now.

So did he, he reminds himself. So did he.

“What happened?” he repeats, a little softer all the same.

“Nothing,” Jon whispers, offering just the faintest hint of a smile, a flash, before it fades. “Nothing ha—happened.”

A knife.

A knife in Tim’s chest.

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking

“Where have you been, then?”

Even as he keeps his voice low, the shuddering picks up speed and intensity, taking Jon’s breath up to something approaching hyperventilation.

“It’s f-fine,” he stammers between gasps. “Fine, don’—ha—don’t.”

“Whatever this is, it’s not fine.”

A small bit of laughter, then—choked, cut off by his own desperation for air. He tips his head back against the wall behind him, drawing his legs up even tighter as he tries to find his breath.

“The—Cir—ha—Circus.”

Tim’s body is flooded with ice; pins and needles pricking at his scalp, the tips of his fingers.

“Breathe, Jon,” he murmurs through his own lightheadedness, has to push through. “What do you mean, the Circus?”

“Got—got me,” comes the awful reply. The one he had been dreading.

What had they done to him?

How long was he there?

Why was he allowed to escape, and not Danny?

Shut it down shut it down shut it down

Be here. Be now.

“Breathe, Jon.” A little closer, still not touching. Wouldn’t dare. “Just breathe, alright?”

“S’fine.” Another laugh, a small, panicked smile. It makes Tim sick.

“No—ha—nothing. Ha-happened.”

You’re lying you’re lying you’re lying

Danny’s gone, and you’re here, and you’re lying.

“Ah—ha—Tim.”

Even so, something in Jon’s voice, his panic, his absolute terror over whatever is happening in his head right now breaks through the bubbling wall of fury rising around Tim’s heart. It may be back tomorrow, or the next hour, or the next minute. But Jon needs him.

Jon needs him, and that’s enough for now.

“Breathe, Jon,” he murmurs softly, moving slowly to take his hand in both of his own. Not even a flinch from him—just squeezing tight enough to bruise, tight enough to anchor himself here, tight enough to remind Tim of better days, better times. Times when this would never have been a burden. When his presence would be enough of a comfort to bring him back down.

“You’re safe. You’re safe now, and I’m here.”

For the moment, it’s the truth. Tim will take this moment and bury it later, deep deep deep, where the other memories of their friendship now live. Easy to forget; easy to look past in anger.

But, for now.

“Breathe, Jon. I’m here. I’m right here.”

[beetlebitchywitch]

-slides u 39 for beetlejuice and runs tf away-

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

(Kayla, sis, ur gonna kill me. Smut warning, obviously)

You know, you really didn’t mean for today to end up like this. 

Oh, who were you kidding. You absolutely wanted the day to end up like this, you just never really expected it to. Beetlejuice spent all goddamn day flirting with you, but you could easily brush it aside knowing it didn’t really mean anything. I mean, he was a demon, right? It was probably just in their nature. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, that’s all. Really, he was just your demon roommate who lived in the attic and sometimes ate your succulents, and that was it. Nothing else at all going on. 

You couldn’t be more in denial if you were drowning in it.

You’d been waiting for the weekend to finally arrive ever since your boss chewed you out on Tuesday afternoon, so when you finally arrived home on Friday, you threw yourself onto your couch with a heavy sigh, sinking into the cushions like you never wanted to leave them. You suspected Beej was in the attic doing…whatever it was he got up to while you were gone, but you knew he’d be joining you shortly. Almost as if he’d read your mind, he popped into the room, wearing…holy shit, just his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms covered sparsely with green hair. A blush rose to your cheeks, but you chose to ignore it as you shot him a soft smile. 

“Hey, Beej, what’s going o-?”

“Roll over.”

“What?”

“On your stomach,” he said, as if it was obvious. When you still hesitated, he sighed and snapped his fingers, teleporting you both to your bedroom. Your bed was now home to a large nest of pillows and comforters, accompanied by soft piano music playing from your laptop and a sweet, floral scent hanging in the air.

“What’s all this?” you asked with a curious smile. 

“Well, I knew work really hung you out to dry this week, so I figured I’d surprise you!” he explained with a proud grin. He snapped his fingers, summoning a small bottle of massage oil into his hand. “I made the blanket nest myself. I was gonna give you your massage downstairs, but I figured this’d be more comfortable, hmm?”

And there it was, that lecherous fucking smirk that you wanted to kiss off of his handsome face, damn him. You swallowed roughly at the thought of Beej’s strong hands on you, rubbing the tension away, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he took you…OK, nope, that was the end of that! You forced the thought away as you took his hand, smiling sweetly despite the flirtatious look he was shooting your way.

“That’s really sweet of you, Beej. Thank you for thinking of me,” you said, squeezing his hand. He beamed, his hair nearly glowing with how neon green it turned. You chuckled, shuffling to your dresser to pull out a few things. “Just let me get changed into something more comfy, mmkay?” 

“Sure thing, babes, take all the time you need,” he said, crawling onto your bed and lounging the newly made blanket nest. You shook your head fondly and moved into the bathroom to change into something more appropriate for the…fuck, massage he was about to give you. 

When you emerged from the bathroom, Beetlejuice immediately sat up straighter at the sight of you- you were wearing soft grey shorts that barely covered the tops of your thighs and a pastel pink sports bra, one that barely did anything to hide your breasts from him. His eyes widened and he cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to distract you from him adjusting himself in his pants. Jesus Christ, he felt so pathetic, getting all hot and bothered over some breather in a sports bra…but you’d never been just some breather. You were all soft and warm and kind, always there for him despite the fact that he was a demon, always encouraging him to be better, to love harder, to live fuller…God, he was so fucking gone for you. 

‘Course, you didn’t know that. You had your head so far up your goddamn ass you couldn’t see what was right in front of you. But judging by how you’d been reacting to him since you got home, he figured he might be able to fix that in the next hour. 

So, he rolled off of your blanket nest, trying to hide his arousal by beckoning you forward and instructing you to lie on your tummy, resting your head on your crossed arms. You relaxed into the soft comforters, feeling incredibly at ease as you heard the soft click of the bottle of oil in Beej’s hands.

“Best way for me to do this is to straddle you, princess. That alright?” he asked, looking you over inquisitively. You hummed your consent, suspecting that wonderfully smarmy smirk to have found its home on his face once more as he settled himself down just at the tops of your thighs. If he wasn’t careful, the boner he was sporting would poke you right in the ass, so he made sure to adjust himself so you couldn’t feel it…yet. “Alright, babes, you just relax and let me take care of you.”

If those words didn’t pull a little gasp out of you first, the feeling of Beej’s cool hands spreading massage oil all over you back would’ve made sure of it. God, they were so big, pleasantly cool to the touch and firm as he began kneading your tense muscles. You let your eyes slip shut, falling prey to the absolute magic he was working on the knots in your back with his thumbs. You were so blissed out that you didn’t notice the little moans slipping from your lips every now and then, especially when Beej massaged a particularly tight knot. But oh, did Beetlejuice fucking notice.

You had never looked so hot in your goddamn life. Your skin was so smooth and soft under his hands, and you were making the hottest little noises he’d ever heard a breather make, and it was all because of him.

“Feelin’ a little better, doll?” he asked, his voice embarrassingly strained. 

“Mmhmm,” you hummed happily, gasping sharply as he dug his fingers in a particularly fantastic spot. “Oh fuck that feels good, keep going, right there!”

Jesus fucking Christ he was going to die. He was going to keel over right then and there, and he was already dead! How the fuck could you be allowed to do this kinda thing to him? You were squirming under his hands, clutching the comforters between your white-knuckled fingers, and moaning like he was fucking you into oblivion, all the while his cock was trapped painfully in his pants and it was so goddamn frustrating. He was so close to snapping, just pulling your shorts aside and fucking you until you screamed, but he refused to do that without your consent. No, he needed you to know, he needed you to say yes, and he needed it now. 

“Beej…fuck, you’re amazing,” you moaned. You bit your lower lip and let out a soft, barely there whine, and that was fucking it. Beetlejuice chuckled darkly and leaned forward, his resolve snapping as he hovered over you completely, keeping his lips close to your ear. 

“Are you trying to turn me on, or are you just that oblivious?” he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“What? What are you talking abou-…oh,” you breathed, because now you could feel his cock pressing against your ass. Curious, you shifted against him experimentally, causing Beej to groan into your ear before chuckling darkly. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you want me too,” he crooned, sitting back up to drag his hands down the warm, reddened skin of your back. “Because unlike you, I don’t keep my head firmly up my ass.”

“Hey, that is so unfair!” you retorted, flipping yourself over to glare up at him. “You’re the one who’s constantly flirted with me and never followed through! Was I supposed to just know that that meant something, or did I have to find out when you popped a boner giving me a massage?” 

Of course, you suddenly realize the position you’ve put yourself in when you get a good look at said boner, his hard cock only about a foot away from you face where he was straddling your hips. He tried to hide his smirk when he noticed you staring.

“Did you ever think that’s because I was waiting for you to ask?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at you. “That I didn’t want to be the big bad demon preying on some innocent breather? And not just any innocent breather, one I…you know, care about.” He rubbed his hand through his hair shyly. “You’re more than just someone to fuck to me, sweets, you gotta know that.” You hesitated before smiling softly, your heart fluttering incessantly in your chest because you’d been waiting for what seemed like forever for this to happen and frankly, you’re feeling desperate for him. 

“I…I think I know that now, Beej,” you said, running your fingers through his hair before giving an experimental tug and a short grind of your hips against his. He groaned, biting his lower lip as it faded into a deep growl. 

“Be careful with who you’re messing with, doll,” he warned. “You’re probably gonna want to be able to walk out of here by the time I’m done with you.”

“Please, like you could break me that easily,” you countered, pulling him by the hair to press the full length of his body to yours. “Why don’t you show me what you’re made of, hmm?” He barked out a laugh, shaking his head fondly at your eagerness. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathed, soothing the blush of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Oh, your girl, huh?” you laughed, quirking an eyebrow at him. He chuckled darkly, quickly grabbing both of your wrists and pinning your arms above your head, leaning in until your lips were so close to touching.

“Sweetness,” he murmured, his breath puffing out and over your lips. “If you didn’t realize that you’re already mine, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Those words sent heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, pulling a whine from your lips as you finally closed the distance between you and kissed him roughly. He inhaled sharply and pressed his full weight down onto you, holding you firmly in place as he ground his cock into your hip as he kissed you back, sucking your lower lip between his teeth and tugging until you whimpered for him. He pulled away and began attacking your neck, sucking gorgeous marks into your sensitive skin while you whined and struggled against his grip. He held your wrists firmly, not letting you budge a single inch while he laved his tongue over the bruises that were just beginning to form, pulling whimper after whimper from your parted lips. 

“God, I’ve been waiting so damn long for this…” he moaned into your skin, shifting downward and snapping his fingers to remove the offending sports bra that was keeping him from more of your gorgeous body. Your nipples hardened at the exposure to the slightly chilled air, which only made Beetlejuice more excited to play with them. He dove in, sucking one into his mouth and circling it with the tip of his tongue, moaning when you buried your hands in his hair and tugged. He gave the same treatment to the other nipple before sucking bruise after bruise onto your breast, pain and pleasure harmonizing so gloriously that it left you breathless. “Mm, you taste so fucking good, sweets…but I bet you taste even better down here, hmm?”

His hands stroked down your stomach and to the waistband of your shorts, lingering there while his eyes silently asked for your permission. You lifted your hips to make it as easy as possible for him to get your shorts off, because you fucking needed them off now.

“Beej, come on, get ‘em off, please,” you whimpered, frustrated at how slowly he was peeling them and your panties off of you. He merely chuckled, taking his sweet time in sliding them down your legs and off completely.

“Patience, doll,” he cooed, making you grumble with frustration. “We’ve waited this long, what’s the harm in taking our time?”

“Easy for you to say, asshole,” you mumbled. “You probably got some in the last few months.”

“Guess again, angel,” he countered. You expected to see mirth in his eyes, but he simply gazed at you. He was completely serious. 

“You…you didn’t?”

“Not a chance,” he said, rubbing his hands up your thighs to land on your hips. “No one else was worth my time, babes. No one but you.”

Those words hit you like a rock. He waited. The horniest, most lecherous demon you knew waited for you. He could’ve had anyone until you finally got your shit together, but instead he waited months just to be with you. 

You rose up onto your knees and pulled Beetlejuice into a long, languid kiss, pouring every feeling you had into it as you laved your tongue over his lower lip, just hoping and praying that it would show him what he meant to you. He smiled into the kiss, wrapping you up in his arms before lowering you back onto the mattress, settling himself between your spread legs. He pulled away from the kiss to lower himself fully between your legs, drinking in the sight of you, fully exposed and glistening.

“Ohhh, baby,” he groaned, pressing a wet kiss to your inner thigh that trembled under his touch. “You are even more gorgeous than I imagined.”

“Beej, come on, please…” you mumbled, running your fingers through his hair and pleading with your eyes. He smirked up at you, content to watch you struggle not to shove his face into your pussy for a few moments longer.

“You ask me so nicely, babes,” he said, his smile growing toothy and almost sinister. “But I bet I can make you beg.” And with that, he buried his face in your pussy, greedily tasting you to your very core. You threw your head back with a gasp, gripping his hair tightly as he circled your clit with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. Your thighs shook as he gripped them and pressed the flat of his tongue against you, letting you grind against his face and chase the pleasure you craved. Having his face in your pussy was enough to make him painfully hard where he was stuck in his pants, so he snapped his fingers to rid himself of his suit and began to stroke his cock in earnest. He moaned against your clit, the vibrations sending stars to blur your vision as you bit your lip to hold back your moans. 

“I thought you tasted good before, sweetness, but down here you’re fucking mouthwatering,” he groaned, letting one finger come up and trace your entrance. “You want more, sweetheart, hmm? Better let me fuckin’ hear it.” 

“Yes,” you moaned, tugging at his hair to try and force him back between your legs. “I want you, Beej, please just fucking take me.” At this, you heard a deep laugh rumble in his chest.

“Believe me, doll, I plan on it,” he said, slowly plunging his middle finger inside you as he went back to licking intermittently at your clit. You immediately clenched around his finger, moaning as he began to curl it in just the right way, your fists absolutely white-knuckled in the blankets as he practically dragged the pleasure out of you. He quickly added a second finger, fucking them in and out and trying not to come untouched from the thought of that wet heat practically choking his cock. “Tell me what you want, Y/N. Say it and I’ll give it to you.”

“Beetlejuice, please!” you cried out. He tutted, opting to finger you harder, pulling near screams out of your throat, which was quickly growing sore. 

“Come on, baby, I know you can. Just tell me what you need. Beg for it like a good little girl, and if you do it extra pretty, I’ll let you cum.”

You growled in frustration, seething at the shit-eating grin he was shooting you without even once letting up on the unrelenting pace of his fingers. 

“I-ah, ah- want you to fuck me, Beetlejuicccccceshit, oh fuck, want your cock in me so bad, please God I wanna cum, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna cum, please!” 

“Mm, good girl. Cum,” he commanded, leaning down to flick your clit with the tip of his tongue until you screamed, clenching tightly around his fingers as you came. He fingered you through it, only pulling his fingers out of you once you’d fully come down, panting heavily with a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glow in the light your lamp gave off. Beetlejuice grinned up at you from between your legs, lips glistening with your cum and his eyes practically heart-shaped.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he gushed, sliding up the bed until you were face to face. He stroked your cheek with his thumb, gazing at you so intently that you nearly wanted to shy away from the intensity of it all. “Knew you’d look so pretty when you cum, baby, but I bet you’ll be drop dead gorgeous when you cum around my cock,” he groaned, kissing you intensely. You moaned as you tasted yourself on his lips, feeling him grind his cock against your thigh as he probed your mouth with his tongue. He pulled away, panting harshly against your skin. “One more time, baby. What do you want?”

“Want you to fuck me, BJ,” you murmured, pressing one more kiss to his lips. “Waited so long for you, I just…I need you…” He smiled against your lips, kissing you sweetly before positioning himself at your entrance.

“Alright, baby, we’re gonna take this nice and slow, ok?” he asked. “Keep those eyes on me, want you to watch me while I fuck you, got it?” You nodded, inhaling sharply as he began to enter you. He wasn’t incredibly long, but God was he thick, his girth stretching you beautifully as he pushed into you. Beej groaned against your lips, watching you intently for any signs of pain as he bottomed out, his hips pressed firmly against yours. 

“Oh fuck yeah, that’s the stuff, sweetness,” he groaned, taking in the intoxicating feeling of your pussy clenching around him, adjusting so beautifully to his girth. “Shit, you’re taking me so well, baby. How you feelin’? Any pain?”

“Mm-mm,” you hummed, shaking your head. You rolled your hips experimentally, gasping at the feeling of him moving inside of you. “Beej, just…don’t hold back, alright? I told you, you can’t break me that easily. Just…make me yours.” That last bit made him growl almost involuntarily, grabbing at your hips impatiently and starting to thrust, picking up speed the louder you moan. He holds you so close, pressing your foreheads together so he can watch you as you fall apart for him. 

“Say it again, baby girl,” he murmured, kissing across her cheek to nibble at her ear. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Beej, fuck, I-I need more, harder,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist. He speeds up with a deep growl, re-angling himself in the most perfect way, the head of his cock dragging beautifully against your G spot that sends stars to cloud your vision once more. You’re not sure you remembered your name, but frankly, it felt unimportant compared to the bliss you sunk into with each and every thrust of his cock inside of you. 

“Again, baby, come on,” he said, egging you on. 

“I’m yours!”

“Again!” 

“Yours! Fuck, shit, you feel so fucking good, God I love you!”

That was it. Whatever little restraint he had splintered as he pulled you tightly against him, rutting into you with everything he had. He’d never let you go again, never let you leave his arms; he’d die holding you, die fucking you, die loving you, if he could. He moaned louder, thrusted harder, kissed fiercer, and all of it was setting you ablaze from the inside out. You curled yourself into his arms as firmly as you could, wanting him around you, in you, wanting him and only him because you were his, and in that moment, he was all you needed. Your pleasure seemed to seep out of every pore in your skin, your voice hoarse from crying out as he littered you with kisses and bite marks, undeniable claims on every inch of skin he could find. Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Love you too, babes, God, I love you so goddamn much I can’t breathe, and this tight little pussy, mmph, fucking milking me, huh? You’re gonna make me cum, sweets. Is that what you want, you want me to fill you up? Make you mine? Cum with me, baby, wanna watch you cum around my fucking cock-”

You cut him off with a choked off wail, clenching around him as tightly as you could as wave after wave of pleasure rushed over you, threatening to drown you, to bury you beneath a deep abyss, but you simply wouldn’t mind. You felt him spill into you, groaning into your collarbone as his whole body trembled around you. You were floating, you were sinking, you were living, you were dying, and it was everything that you needed and more, infinitely more. You let your eyes slide shut as you came down, feeling Beetlejuice maneuvering you both into a more comfortable position. When you finally opened your eyes again, you were pressed against his chest, your chin resting comfortably right at the top of his pec. 

“Welcome back, beautiful,” he said with a grin, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Was afraid I’d knocked you clean out. How are you feelin’?”

“Mm, fantastic,” you said hoarsely, stretching your arms a bit before settling firmly into his side. “So, was that everything you’d been waiting for?” 

With a warm chuckle, he pulled you close, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead as you let your eyes slide shut again, your exhaustion taking you over.

“Everything, love,” he murmured, “and more.” 

(THIS BECAME 9 PAGES LONG. IT’S ALMOST FINALS WEEK. I’M DUMB BUT I LOVE THIS SO WHATEVER)

@scribblepigeon @realmonsterboyhours @yankyo @sapphic-florals @monsterlovinghours @the-ineffable-prince-of-hells @beetlebop

tagging all y’all because I CAN AND I LOVE YOU ok bye

[kakatenzo]

royalty au 2

this took a while but here’s the second royalty au idea

the kind of love (i’ve been dreaming of)

Tenzo tries to convince himself that he isn’t upset, but the tree that he is slashing into is starting to look mutilated. His shoulders are starting to burn as he hacks away at the bark, breaths coming out deep and ragged, and the tight ball of fury and disappointment in his chest starts to ebb away. It’s not like he wanted to be in an arranged marriage, if he had any say in the matter he would’ve been happily single in the castle forever and not stuck with the world’s most standoffish fiance. He doesn’t blame him for not being enthusiastic, but Tenzo is one dinner away from getting on his knees and begging the guy to hold a conversation that lasted longer than two minutes. 

He swings his sword with more force when he’s reminded of the flippant way his fiance had eyed him up and down before turning on his heel and walking away. Tenzo’s sword gets embedded into the tree and he stops to catch his breath. His grip loosens and he leans forward to press his forehead against the rough bark of the tree. He had tried. Tenzo wouldn’t brand himself as the most charming, but he could carry out interesting conversations and entertain any topic that people threw at him, yet it seemed like he didn’t manage to pique any of his fiance’s interests. 

A bubble of frustration rises in his chest and Tenzo surges backwards, grabbing the sword again and yanks it out of the tree. He starts to swing his sword again to fight off the hot childish tears that sting his eyes. Their interaction in the corridor was borderline humiliating and he hated feeling belittled. Kakashi Hatake, the crown prince of the neighbouring kingdom, with his cold unresponsive eyes and unruly mop of hair, that’s all that Kakashi had because the rest was covered by a mask, and his apparent skill of whittling Tenzo down to an embarrassing example of a prince.

“If you wanted to cut down that tree, I would suggest you use an axe not a sword.” 

The voice startles Tenzo and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He swivels round and finds a stranger doting by the treeline, a canvas tucked under his left arm and his right hand preoccupied with a heavy satchel. 

Tenzo stares at the stranger for a moment and he has to squint because the sun is reflecting off the lake and into his eyes, the sound of his heavy breathing is his only response before he places his sword back into its sheath. He takes a wary eyeful of the stranger, the concept of assassinations was not foreign to Tenzo, and many unassuming figures had approached him before displaying a dagger or vial of poison. The man has loose brown curls that hang over his grey eyes which are decorated with purple paint, the paint follows down the curve of his cheek and stops short above a sharp smile.

“Thank you, I can go back to painting in peace.” the stranger quips and it makes Tenzo’s eye twitch. 

“You have a whole forest.” Tenzo snaps haughtily. “You don’t have to paint right next to me.”

 He did not have the patience to handle any snarky remarks today, and if someone complained to the palace that the crown prince was being rude, then he would just sit and pray that Tsunade would not reduce him to tears. 

The stranger, who had begun to turn, looks over his shoulder and his eyes quickly flit over Tenzo, head to toe. “I thought knights had their own training grounds.”

Tenzo quirks an eyebrow and quickly looks down at his apparel. He didn’t wear his usual princely outfit, it was difficult to move around in it and god forbid he would ruin another set of silk shirts because he was reckless with his sword, Tsunade had been hesitant to even let him look at a blade, and instead he had sported a simple cotton tunic. The fabric was much more breathable and left him a lot of mobility to practice his sword fighting forms, or in this instance, space to take his frustrations out on a tree. 

That was beside the point, this forest had been Tenzo’s getaway for as long as he could remember, a place where he could just be Tenzo and not have the weight of the kingdom weigh down on his shoulders. It was usually empty too, with his hideout in the furthest point of the forest, nobody bothered to venture out unless they were looking for an adventure and that suited Tenzo just fine. He didn’t have the towering walls of the palace, nor the suffocating gazes of the guards, and most importantly, the aloof fiance that wouldn’t spare a glance in his direction. 

“I’m not a knight,” Tenzo answers, but is careful to not reveal his true identity. It seems that the stranger hasn’t recognised the crown prince, afterall, he isn’t donning his crown or royal robes. “I just like to practice out here, it’s nice and quiet.” 

The stranger mulls over Tenzo’s reply in silent thought before marching over to stand next to the crown prince. He’s slightly taller up close, Tenzo notes, his head tilts back slightly to look at the stranger in the face. “I suppose you don’t mind if I paint quietly then?” the stranger offers, voice light and soft. 

Tenzo cocks a brow. “Right next to me?”

“It’s a nice view, can you blame me?” 

Tenzo hopes the flush that spackles his face is from the earlier sword practice. The stranger starts to unfold his easel and props the canvas onto it, he drops the heavy satchel and the clatter of paints and brushes are muffled by the forest floor. Teno watches as the stranger sheds his coat and scarf, his scarf the same shade of purple that is painted on the stranger’s face. His shoulders are broad for an artist, Tenzo thinks, maybe he sculpted too?

“Are you planning on accompanying me?” the stranger asks as he rolls up his sleeves. “Seeing as you’ve made no move to leave.”

Tenzo whizzes through his plans for the rest of the day, he had initially planned on staying here until just before sunset in order to make it back home for dinner, but then he’s reminded of the empty chair across his table and the cold, rubbery food that is left at the end of the night. He thinks of the long winding and lonely halls of the palace, so large yet so small with the way it seems to constrict him, like a snake who had him in her vices. Her body coiling and contracting, her eyes cold and dark like his fiance’s, unwavering and closed off, offering no reply nor questions.

He decides, “Yes. I would like some company.”

The stranger smiles at him warmly. “It’s Sukea, by the way.” 

“Oh,” the statement catches Tenzo off guard, he had forgotten to exchange names and then remembers he can’t expose his status. “It’s Yamato.” 

Sukea shares the same welcoming smile, “It’s nice to meet you, Yamato.”

[maple-keenes]

they wanted heaven from me, i gave ‘em hell

summary: heaven pays no attention to the actions of those in hell. roman isn't sure whether he's doing the right thing anymore, but he's certain of one thing - that his father isn't fit to be king. and he'll do whatever it takes to make sure that he won't be anymore.

pairing: logicality and prinxiety

tw: murder, death, discussion of murder and death, remus, deceit, morally grey deceit, weapons, criminalization of gay people, homophobia, cursing

wc: 5837

a/n: this took me THREE MONTHS to write and i am ashamed of how bad it turned out 

read it on ao3

general:

@analogical-chaos @theflatpancake @ilovemygaydad @alltimevirgilant @virgiliananxiety @romanticsanders @theincediblesulk @wroammin @creativity-killed-thekitten @bitchyybabyy400 @wooflesthatwoof @lyditist @heck-im-lost @max-is-tired @demurphart @thelowlysatsuma @land-of-dragons-and-frogs @theeternalspace @magicallygrimmwiccan @weirdsthenewnormal @romansleftshoulderpad

--

The king looked down coldly upon his son, who, despite being ordered to his death, was oddly cheery.

“Roman Delacour, you are nothing but an embarrassment and a traitor to this family. You and that… boy… have brought shame upon our kingdom and you tried to murder me, you wretched man.” The king turned up his nose, refusing to look at his son.

Roman smiled crookedly, glancing up at his father. “Daddy, please. Forget about the whole sodomite thing for five minutes, won’t you?” He laughed. “Personally, I find it ridiculous. I think the fact that I’m being executed should fall entirely on the arranged coup, not the boyfriend.”

“ENOUGH!” his father roared, gesturing for the executioner to slap his son. “You are shameful, boy.”

“I’m aware.”

The king wrinkled his nose. “I do not want to have this disgusting creature in my sight any longer! Take him to the dungeons."

Roman caught the eye of a regal man standing to his father’s left and winked. The executioner stood up, grabbing Roman by the arm and wrenching him away until they were out of sight, down in the hallway to the dungeons.

“You know, you didn’t have to actually slap me,” Roman remarked conversationally.

“It was part of the facade,” the executioner grumbled. “Now shut up or we’re gonna get caught.”

Roman grinned, walking side by side next to the executioner as they made their way to the dungeons. As they finally were out of anyone’s sight for certain, he shook off the loosely tied ropes binding his hands and pulled of the ‘executioner’s’ mask, giving his boyfriend a wry smile. “You’re clever, Virgil. I didn’t think you could pull off the executioner act.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You have no faith in me, my dearest prince.”

Roman kissed him deeply, wrapping himself around Virgil. “Oh, I’d have you on the dungeon floor if I could, Virge. Many thanks for rescuing me from a terrible fate.”

"Well, I couldn't just leave you to die, my darling."

about five months prior

"A toast!" the king cried, "to my dear son, Prince Roman. May your victories be plenty."

Roman beamed as his father and the rest of the court applauded. He stood up, raising his glass to the rest of the court, the ladies giggling and swooning as he smiled at each of them in turn. “Father, you honor me. I hope to bring great glory to this kingdom!” The crowd let out a raucous cheer, clapping and hollering for their beloved prince.

Oh, their beloved prince, the savior of the kingdom. An amazing title to have bestowed upon oneself, but Roman despised it. Oh, he despised it. He was trapped, caged in a life he didn’t want. His dad was a dictator, his mother was dead, and he was… he was Prince Roman. He was the symbol of hope for this twisted kingdom.

Late one summer evening, Roman saddled up his horse and rode out into the woods, the lantern swinging in front of him as he cantered through the forest. It was practically dark when he decided he should really start to head back, though his plans were interrupted by strong hands grabbing him around the waist and pulling him off his horse. Roman’s cries were muffled by a gag slyly placed around his mouth as the edges of his vision dulled and then everything…

Stayed vaguely in focus, because he wasn’t going to black out. Gotcha.

As he was dragged, his vision slid in and out of focus. Roman supposed that was on purpose, though he wouldn’t have been able to tell you where he was anyways. When they reached the hole that this hooligan was dragging him to, the prince was promptly tied to a chair and then, only then, did Roman realize that the hooligan currently in the process of binding is legs to the chair was unreasonably attractive. Oh, he had skin like a perfectly roasted coffee bean, and gorgeously tousled brown hair all pulled together with grey-blue eyes. Roman could fall right then and there.

Of course, he wouldn’t. Because he was a man, and therefore he would marry a woman, not a beautiful kidnapper. But oh god, those eyes…

What was the harm in flirting a little? Especially with a man who was certainly going to be executed once his father found him. The kingdom would never stand for its beloved prince being missing, and Roman would be grateful, even though his father could only truly be described, as the author would say, as a word that begins with a and ends with sshole. And tyrant. Murderer. Etcetera.

“I don’t suppose you’re only on your knees for my viewing pleasure?” Roman asked lazily, retaining that ridiculous confidence he’d become known for.

His captor looked up. “Oh honey, I only get down on my knees for attractive princes.”

Roman was quite put out by that. Never, in his life, had he been insulted and rejected so thoroughly in the same sentence. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why I’m bound hand and foot.”

“Nah,” his kidnapper replied, flashing him a cheeky smile. “I’m going to go fetch my friends. And then we’ll see about your fate.” He bit his lip, still laughing. “Personally, I was all for execution. My friends are less cold-hearted.”

“I don’t think I could ever see someone as attractive or humorous as you are as cold-hearted,” Roman remarked, grinning at his mysterious captor.

The man winked. “You’d be surprised.” With that, he turned and walked into a room off to the side, returning a minute later with his friends, Roman assumed.

One was taller than the other by quite a bit, sporting a royal blue bandana tied fashionably around his neck. Roman could have sworn he’d seen that face before, the pale skin contrasted against dark brown hair and dark freckles. The picture of regality in posture and poise, but a boyish face nonetheless.

The other was shorter, bouncy, and smiling. This was not a situation where one should be smiling, so he had to admit he was impressed. He has long curls… come to think of it, Roman was fairly certain he had also seen this young man before. God, he really needed to start paying attention to the servants’ names.

“So, my dearest prince, these are my friends. They will decide your fate.”

Tall glanced at him, annoyance and disdain evident. “You have far too much of that ridiculous flair for the dramatic in you.”

“Aww, I think it’s sweet,” Short cooed. “Hi, Prince Roman. I’m Patton, that’s Logan,” he pointed to Tall, “and your captor is Virgil. He’s kind of a... well, he’s a nice jerk, but we love him no matter what.”`

Roman gasped, attempting to point at Logan. "You! I know you! You work for my father!"

Logan nodded. "I am an advisor to the throne. Surely we've met before, prince."

"Once or twice. You are a spy, then?" he questioned.

"Certainly. The former duke - or king, now, I must call him, may trust me, but I know the man is a tyrant." Logan sighed. "I didn't mean to live a double life. I have been Remus' advisor since he was 25 years of age and I 18."

"So… you're old, is what you're saying."

He let out a short, barking laugh. "What I'm saying is that I know your father very well. And his brother, when he was still alive."

Roman opened his mouth in protest, ready to call the older man out on his faulty memory, (his father never had a brother) when Virgil interrupted with a loud "Anyways. Life stories later, prince murdering now. Any last words, Roman?"

"Now hold on a minute -"

Patton placed a calming hand on Virgil's arm. "Virgil. He is not our enemy. Nor are we going to murder him for the actions of his father. The servants I meet are fond of Roman. He is kind to them when his father is not. And the court nobles… well, they know that he is different, if nothing else."

Realization dawned on him. "Patton… do I know you too?"

Patton gave him a small smile. "From a long time ago. It makes sense you would not recognize me, but nonetheless, I still think you are kind and I would much prefer you as an ally and friend than dead on our floor."

(It is months later that Roman finds out the truth about Patton. When the secret is revealed, Roman will think back to this moment and wonder how he missed it, because it was all in the eyes and he just wasn't looking hard enough.)

"So I'm outvoted?" Virgil asks, scoffing. "Fine. But he could still run off and go tell his father and we'd all be dead. We don't know him."

"I do," Logan and Patton chorused.

He shoots them a glare. "Well, I don't." Virgil walked over to Roman and poked him in the chest rather harshly. "How do we know you won't rat us out to Daddy?"

A million reasons ran through Roman's mind.

Because he's a horrible tyrant.

Because he starved thousands.

Because he treats his council and family like we are less than dirt in private, and as if we are gods in public.

Because he murdered my mother and he'll kill me too.

"Because he doesn't deserve the throne he sits on. No country deserves a land ruled by someone with no one's interests at heart but their own." Roman sighed. "And… because I hate him more than you do."

Virgil leaned back, seemingly satisfied with Roman's answer. "Well. I guess that's okay." He reached out his hand to Roman as a gesture of "I guess it's okay if I don't murder you today".

Roman took it. "Good to be a part of the team," he responded. "What do we do now?"

Virgil raised his eyebrows as a smile overtook his face. "Now you learn how to fight."

--

It was two days later when Roman returned to the place he'd met the other three, mumbling something or other about Virgil being a bitch and also unfairly attractive for such a bitch.

Virgil was already standing outside, twirling a dagger between his fingers and smirking at Roman. There was a straw doll set up a few yards away from the hole marking the entrance to the secret lair or whatever.

"Guess who finally showed up." Virgil sheathed his dagger. "Thought we agreed on 4?"

"Had to convince my guard not to follow me out," Roman said, dismounting from his horse (who had, luckily, wandered back to the castle after Roman was kidnapped).

He nodded, and Roman took that to mean that this was an acceptable excuse. "What'd you tell them?"

"That I had a hot date with a cute boy," he answered along with a wink.

Virgil turned bright red. "I - I can't - " he stuttered, before quickly regaining his confidence. "I feel sorry for the man. His company is quite unattractive."

Roman scowled. "I'm gorgeous, thank you. And I told them that I would like to hunt and i would prefer to do so alone. They were much more keen to believe that excuse than a woodland tryst with another man."

"Oh, I wonder why?" he muttered sarcastically, tossing Roman a plain dagger. "First lesson, close combat."

He held the dagger in his palm, studying it. "It's… well, frankly, Virge, this dagger is boring. And I already know how to fight!"

Virgil shot him an exasperated glare. "Firstly, defending your life or someone else's is not supposed to be a glamorous affair, Roman. Secondly," he continued, ticking them off on his fingers, "you know how to fight like a royal, which means you know how to fight sword fighting instructors and that's about it. And finally, don't call me Virge."

"Jesus, okay." Roman rolled his eyes. "Okay, master sword fighter, teach me your ways."

"No more snark outta you." Virgil grabbed Roman's hand amd balled it into a fist. "Is this the right way to make a fist?"

"Touchy, aren't we?"

"Stop talking and answer my question."

Roman sighed. "No, it isn't. I'll break my thumb if it's inside the fist."

"Correct," Virgil said, smiling. "You're not as useless as I thought."

"Thanks," he replied, annoyed, though he grinned back at Virgil.

Maybe this would be fun after all.

A month passed of combat training with Virgil, potion-making and medicine with Patton, keeping track of the king's movements with Logan, and planning. What for, he didn't know. But they sure as hell did a lot of it.

“So, Logan.”

"Roman."

Roman leaned back in his chair. “When we first met… you said that my father had a brother. And... I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I just - I've never even heard of an uncle."

Logan's face softened, just a little bit. "I suppose your father wouldn't have wanted you to know about him, no."

He went quiet for a bit, mindlessly flicking through their notes. "What was his name?" he asked, avoiding eye contact.

Logan glanced at him, then looked back down at his papers. “It was Damien.”

“Damien,” Roman repeated. “He was exiled when I was little. I never knew he was my uncle.”

“He was better than your father, but that’s sort of a low bar.” Logan chuckled a bit at his own joke. “Damien was… he wanted people to respect and admire him, and he wasn’t always great at telling the truth, but he was a decent man. You deserved to know him.”

Roman gasped in mock astonishment. “Logan… is this your way of saying that you liked someone?”

Logan glared at him. “I like some people plenty. Currently, you’re excluded from that minority.”

“Well, thanks for telling me about my uncle.” He shifted in his seat a bit, shutting the book in front of him. “It was nice of you. Now, on to more important topics, since you mention that you do, in fact, like people -”

“I would prefer to end this conversation here.”

“And I wanna talk about your love life, because we’re friends now and I want to. So, guess we don’t always get what we want.” Roman shrugged. “I remember one story about you at court that you weren’t married yet, and one of the ladies in Princess Madelyn’s kingdom - you know, the one about a thousand miles east from ours - was quite interested to learn this.” He winked, not subtley, as Logan rolled his eyes.

“Roman, I do not want to talk about this. Also, this is quite the change of topic. How long have you been waiting to ask me?” he said, decidedly looking anywhere except Roman.

Roman grinned. “Since I met you. Come on, I’m a prince. I never get to gossip with my friends!”

Logan shut his book and sighed. “Yet instead of talking to the other 20 year old, you come to the 35 year old advisor?”

“Well, I’m curious, Logan. To the rest of the court, it’s a big deal you’ve never been married because it's so uncommon -"

"Roman!" Logan exclaimed sharply. "As far as legality goes, I am not married, no. Is that good enough for you?"

He gasped. "Does that mean you're married illegally? Is it a princess from another kingdom? Or is it someone higher ranking than you and the court doesn’t approve of the marriage?” Roman continued to speculate as Logan slowly tried to open up his book and continue to read. It was a few minutes later that Roman noticed Logan had completely tuned him out and he began to pester Logan into telling him why he wasn’t married legally.

Logan, sensing that this conversation wasn’t going to end until he told him the truth, sighed and set his book down, saying, “It’s not a legal marriage because I’m married to a man, Roman. And as forward-thinking as the king claims to be, that marriage is not legally recognized in this kingdom. If you’re going to tell your father, remember that we’re all very good with a knife.”

“Oh my god, that’s so obvious!” Roman shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t guess that. You know, there was this prince from Valdovia who visited when I was like 17 and we ended up making out instead of going to the dinner -”

“It’s great that I don’t have to stab you, but for the love of all things, please stop talking.”

“Who’s your husband? Would I know him?”

He blushed. “Virgil! Come collect Roman, please!”

Logan refused to take any meetings with Roman for a few days after that.

Since it had been a couple months since Roman had joined their motley crew, Virgil and him had developed a rhythm to their day-to-day fighting. Most of the time, Virgil won, but Roman was starting to catch up. This particular time, it had been a couple days since Roman’s conversation with Logan, and he was just excited to see Virgil.

Neither man would ever admit (Virgil especially, since he maintained a steady cover of constant annoyance with Roman) that they looked forward to these daily lessons.

And they would never, ever admit that they looked forward to seeing each other.

They started off like this -

Strike.

Parr.

"So, did you know that Logan is married?" Roman asked.

Kick.

Block.

"Yeah? Him and Patton have been married for like, five years."

This caused a sufficient break in Roman's concentration, and Virgil was able to land a punch on his shoulder.

"You're kidding," he responded, regaining his balance and aiming a kick to Virgil' side.

"I'm not." He rolled his eyes, easily blocking the kick. "No more talking now."

Dodge.

Punch.

Roman got distracted enough watching Virgil fight that when Virgil kicked him next, he lost his balance and fell down, though not before he tried to grab onto his opponent’s arm to pull himself back up, which ultimately resulted in Virgil falling on top of Roman.

Virgil blushed, hard. “S-sorry -”

“I usually prefer my men under me, but this is nice…” Roman said, grinning.

“Don’t say things like that,” he mumbled.

Roman raised his head up and gave Virgil a quick kiss on the cheek. “There. End of conversation. We can get back to -”

The rest of his sentence was cut off by Virgil kissing him full on on the mouth. Roman grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, wrapping his leg around Virgil’s and that is when Patton walked out.

“Oh!” he exclaimed softly. “Er, boys -”

Virgil rolled off of Roman. “Sorry! We were just… um…”

Patton raised an eyebrow. “Making out on the forest floor?”

“Little bit, yeah.” Roman flushed. “We were fighting and things got a little bit out of hand.”

“You two are so cute!” he said, giggling. “Aw, I was rooting for you guys. I’m gonna go back inside now but just know that I totally approve and -”

“Patton!” Logan called from inside the hole. “Get back here, I need your help!”

And that was the end of that.

--

Two more months passed of holding hands under the table and kissing each other at the end of fights, of Logan’s stiff congratulations and Patton’s overwhelming acceptance, of training and planning and planning and training, when Logan gathered them all in the main room of the hole and announced formally that the time had come to murder Roman’s father.

“Really, huh? Five months of all this planning and it’s finally time to kill him?” Roman asked, trying to hide the panic slowly creeping into his voice.

Patton laid a comforting hand on his arm. “Roman, you know we’d never make you -”

“No,” he interrupted, voice hardening. “I - I apologize. It feels weird that thing we have been planning for some long has finally come to pass, and I guess it’s just a bit overwhelming for me.” Roman took a deep breath, collecting himself. “What’re we going to do?”

Virgil smirked, standing up. “I’m glad you asked, darling. It requires you to get arrested.”

“Arrested?”

Logan nodded. “We need you to try to kill him and get caught.”

“...why?” he asked.

“If someone were to kill the king, wouldn’t the first in line be the first to suspect? You can’t be there when he dies for real,” Patton explained. “And I can’t either, so when -”

Roman cut him off. “Why can’t you? They don’t know you.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You still don’t know?”

“Save it for later, Patton. Now, I would also be highly suspect, but no one knows who Virgil is. Virgil is our lynchpin. Now, for the rest of it…”

Roman listened intently to his part of the plan (which involved getting caught, escaping, fighting some guards loyal to his father probably, and then being king. Simple, really, if you thought about it) but he was still hung up on Patton’s ‘you still don’t know?’.

Of course, Roman didn’t know a great many things. Roman didn’t know that he’s actually the fictional creativity of a 30 year old man from the year 2019 being written about by a teenager with nothing better to do. He didn’t know about Cup O’Noodles. He didn’t really know what exactly his relationship with Virgil was. Despite all this, the most important thing that Roman does not know is the identity of Patton, who is sitting to his left.

After the meeting, Roman cornered Patton and insisted they talk.

“I - you seemed confused when I asked why you would be suspicious. Why should I know you? Is this some great oversight on my part?”

“Well, a little bit, yes,” Patton said, leaning back against the wall. “You said you never met your uncle. I know for a fact that’s not true.”

Roman folded his arms across his chest. “Fine, so I met him once when I was three. Why do you - oh.”

He smiled a little bit. “Do you remember me now?”

“You - you’re my cousin! You’re Damien’s daughter!” Roman flinched. “Er, I’m sorry. You’re Damien’s son. That’s why - that’s why I knew you - I knew I had met you before! You were my favorite cousin!”

Patton was practically beaming now. “I really have missed you, you know. It was kind of weird, not telling you who I was. But I thought it was for the best…”

“So you are my cousin. Damien’s son,” Roman said, inclining his head towards Patton, who nodded briefly. “But… when I met you… you were a girl.”

“That’s all correct. My dad was never really one to hold me to gender conformity.”

“But my father - he doesn’t like your dad. And… Damien was supposed to be king but he convinced the court to banish him so he could be king, which happened when I was around three so you left with him when you were what, 15? Did I miss anything?”

Patton shook his head.

“And nobody told me this.”

“Apparently not,” he replied.

“I… I’m really sorry, Patton. I feel like I should’ve recognized you earlier,” Roman apologized.

Patton stepped forward and hugged Roman tightly. “Hey, none of that. You know me now. And you’re gonna be king, right? So my father and I will be allowed back into the kingdom.”

Roman smiled a bit and hugged him back. “I promise.”

A little while later, Roman was preparing to mount his horse and head back to the castle as Virgil approached him. Roman set his saddlebag down and turned to him, tilting his head in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“I - no, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to ask you - before we go through with all of this…” Virgil trailed off, looking sheepish.

He placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “If this is about the fact that you’re going to have to kill my brother, then I promise I find that a much more attractive quality than you think.”

“It’s not, but duly noted,” he said, laughing a little. “Um, I wanted to ask if you would maybe want to be my boyfriend? I know our relationship is a little weird, and we might die in a couple days, but I -” he coughed, as if it was hard for him to get the words out, “I really like you. You’re the first person I’ve felt this close to ever.”

Roman smiled. “Did you just say something emotional? With no sarcasm at all? Who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?”

Virgil perked up, looking at Roman. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes, my love,” he responded, giving Virgil a chaste kiss. “Now, I have to get home before dinner, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Alright?”

“Alright.”

--

Dinner was uneventful. King Remus hadn’t deigned to join them, so Roman struck up a conversation with Logan, who had thankfully attended, about foreign policy or something.

It was when Roman was headed to bed that things got interesting, so to speak.

As he was putting his crown on its cushion, there came a knock at the door. “Come in,” Roman called, stepping back to be able to look at himself in the mirror.

“Roman, what are you doing?”

Roman whirled around to face Remus. “Father! I - I was just putting my crown away. It’s getting late, and I wanted to be rested for my hunt tomorrow.”

The king nodded. “I noticed you’ve been hunting a lot lately. Is there a particular animal you’ve found hard to catch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you must know, Remus, there is a deer who is being quite stubborn,” Roman lied. “I had a query for you…”

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath. “There was a man with a daughter that visited when I was very little. Who was that?”

Remus blanched. “I - I cannot tell you.”

“Do you not recall?” Roman pressed.

“It’s not important, Roman,” he snapped. “Come on, get to bed. I will see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow passed in planning, planning, and more planning. Roman was set to fake the attempt on his father’s life tonight, and Virgil to rescue him by posing as the executioner. Logan had access to the dungeons, so he would meet them down there with Patton after the king had died for real, and they would escape from there.

So when nighttime fell, Roman tucked a knife into his clothes and went to the king’s room. However, when he approached, he heard voices from inside… one his father’s, and one that he remembered from a long time ago.

“I refuse to let you come back. There’s no fun in being king if your dumb old brother is here too.”

Roman stifled a gasp with his free hand. Damien.

“I’m not the dumb brother! You’re the one running this kingdom into the ground!”

His father harrumphed. “I’m leaving, and you best not be here when I get back.”

Roman reached for his knife as the door swung open and he was face to face with his father.

“Roman?” Remus’s eyes flicked down to the knife clutched in his son’s hand. “Well, I figured you were plotting something. Shame it’s gone so badly for you,” he said, feigning pity.

“Father, I -”

Damien walked over to the door, leaning against the frame. “You know, Remus, I always liked your son better than you. I can’t blame him much.”

“Brother, get out of here. Guards, take my son to the dungeons.”

The exiled king’s eyes glittered. “Oh, I will. Roman, do say hello to Patton for me. He hasn’t stopped by in a while. And congratulations on finally getting together with your boyfriend, Patton was quite excited about it the last time we talked.”

Remus turned to Roman, his curiosity overwhelming his fury. “Your boyfriend?”

Roman held his chin high. “Yes, my boyfriend.”

“Well, I guess you’re to be tried for two things tomorrow. Guards!”

At noon the next day, a guard Roman didn’t recognize dragged Roman out into the Great Room, and he was forced to kneel in front of his father and the rest of the court.

“Behold!” Remus cried, “My horrid son!”

You know what happens next.

Roman didn’t seem to mind one bit that he was about to be executed. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.

“Roman Delacour, you are nothing but an embarrassment and a traitor to this family. You and that… boy… have brought shame upon our kingdom and you tried to murder me, you wretched boy.” His father turned up his nose, refusing to look at his son.

Roman smiled crookedly, glancing up at his father. “Daddy, please. Forget about the whole sodomite thing for five minutes, won’t you?” He laughed. “Personally, I find it ridiculous. I think the fact that I’m being executed should fall entirely on the arranged coup, not the boyfriend.”

“ENOUGH!” Remus roared, gesturing for the executioner to slap his son. “You are shameful, boy.” The flicker in Roman’s father’s eyes suggested that while Remus appeared furious, he was actually quite enjoying this.

“I’m aware.”

The king wrinkled his nose. “I do not want to have this disgusting creature in my sight any longer! Take him to the dungeons."

Roman caught the eye of a regal man standing to his father’s left and winked. Damien raised an eyebrow in response. The executioner stood up, grabbing Roman by the arm and wrenching him away until they were out of sight, down in the hallway to the dungeons.

“You know, you didn’t have to actually slap me,” Roman remarked conversationally.

“It was part of the facade,” Virgil grumbled. “Now shut up or we’re gonna get caught.”

Roman grinned, walking side by side next to the executioner as they made their way to the dungeons. As they finally were out of anyone’s sight for certain, he shook off the loosely tied ropes binding his hands and pulled of the ‘executioner’s’ mask, giving his boyfriend a wry smile. “You’re clever, Virgil. I didn’t think you could pull off the executioner act.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You have no faith in me, my dearest prince.”

Roman kissed him deeply, wrapping himself around Virgil. “Oh, I’d have you on the dungeon floor if I could, Virge. Many thanks for rescuing me from a terrible fate.”

"Well, I couldn't just leave you to die, my darling."

Roman giggled. “Okay, handcuffs.”

“Kinky,” he mumbled as he locked Roman into the cuffs, pocketed the key, and put him in the cell. “Now, I’ll be back in about 12 hours and we’ll kick some guard ass.”

“Bye bye.”

Roman wasn’t entirely certain of how long 12 hours was, but one thing he was now sure of was that it was a lot longer than he had previously thought.

By the time the sun rose the next day, Roman was starting to wonder what had happened to Virgil. He hoped that he wasn’t caught or worse, dead, but he couldn’t be sure -

His thoughts were interrupted by Virgil rushing in as if on cue and dragging Roman out of the cell, unlocking his cuffs on the way. “You run to the fight! I have to get out of here before they catch me.” Virgil pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you when you’re king, Roman.”

Roman followed Virgil’s instructions and ran towards where he could hear the yelling, keeping his head down as he barrelled through the corridors. When he reached the front lawn of the castle, he saw a million flashes of silver as supporters of his father fought those who opposed him. He saw Patton battling a couple of guards and Logan punching another nobleman in the face, and Roman bit his lip and flew into action.

Strike.

Parr.

Keep your thumb inside your fist, Virgil’s voice reminded him.

Kick.

Block.

You’ve got this.

Dodge.

Punch.

Find your rhythm.

He was getting tired now, and the fight seemed like it was never going to end. As a last ditch resort, Roman cried, “Am I not the king?”, attempting to get everyone’s attention. A couple of people nearby turned their heads, so he continued to talk. “You think you know my father but you don’t! He was a madman!”

“He knew what was best for us!”

“He wanted what was best for him!” Roman snapped. “Remus starved hundreds so he could torture more! He murdered the queen! He is not your king, my people.” He took a deep breath and yelled, “I am your king! And I command you to stop this right now!”

The field fell silent, and Roman made his way through the battlefield. Some of the court he had known best were staring at him with hatred in their eyes he had never seen before. Still, he held his head high and kept walking.

“You know my father as the man who brought you peace after Damien was exiled! You know him as our fearless leader!” Roman yelled, walking through the throngs of people. “But he never knew you. Remus never cared about you!”

“And you do?”

Roman started, a bit taken aback. “I -”

Did he?

“Of course I do,” he said, softer. “I don’t want people to fear me. I want you to respect me. I’m young. I have more time to learn. I won’t be perfect, but I will be better than a man who only wanted the throne to take it from his brother.”

There was a soft murmuring among the people in the crowd, and then a voice called out, “All hail King Roman!”

“King Roman!”

Roman smiled to himself. We did it, guys.

epilogue

“A toast,” the king said, “to the birth of the heir to the throne!”

The rest of the court cheered, the king’s most favored advisor the loudest of them all.

Roman smiled and set down his drink. The child him and his husband had decided to adopt had just been born, and so called for a celebration.

It had been about ten years since the death of his father, and though some people were reluctant to accept Roman at first, he had quickly become favored by the public. (Especially after the legalization of gay marriage and increase in civil rights.)

He walked around, mingling with a few of the guests until he reached his cousin and Patton hugged him as tightly as possible, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you!” he cried, and Roman laughed.

“Thanks, Pat. I’m sure you will absolutely be his favorite uncle.” He smiled. “I promise Virgil is around here somewhere…”

“Right here, darling,” the man in question said, putting an arm around Roman’s waist. “Hey, Pat. Hey, Logan.”

Logan nodded. “Prince Virgil.”

Virgil stuck out his tongue at him, and Roman laughed. “Love, he’s just being formal.”

And so Dukes Patton and Logan, Prince Virgil, and King Roman, talked together and laughed together, and not a single one thought about what had happened ten years ago.

After all, those in heaven pay no mind to those in hell.

[she-is-tim]

Perks of being an Early Bird

Summary: Eliott is just chilling in the park, drawing ducks and clouds, while Lucas is a pet owner with a curious little dog who decides to visit the handsome artist

This fanfiction was written for the AMAZING @harryxtimmy my emotional support Mec, Carol. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BB! Even if it’s a day late 

The park was nice, very quiet in the early hours, which is why Eliott loved to come here, drawing the ducks that were chilling in the water. Totally not because a particular, blue eyed and extremely gorgeous boy always came to this park before 7am to walk his cute ass dog. No, that wasn’t his reason at all. Eliott just loved ducks… from afar of course. He will never forget the time when they were in a village with his middle school class, exploring the place and visiting the farm. Little Eliott was curious and walked too close to some of those bloodthirsty beasts, so they attacked him, chasing him for long minutes before his teacher and the owner of the farm managed to scare away the angry birds. Since then he knew to keep distance from those vicious animals. But they were nice to draw and there weren’t any other animals he could be sketching anyways. Well, there was a cute, fluffy Pomeranian puppy… with a very handsome owner. 

Eliott shook his head, leaning his back to the trunk of the tree behind him. His eyes were searching the sky, looking for some sort of forms in the clouds floating above. When he felt like he found something, he started sketching it down, since that seemed much more interesting than those damn ducks. He got so lost in his own world that he didn’t notice the young boy who stopped right in front of him. Not until a ball of fluff started nudging his side. As he looked up, he almost choked on air when he saw those ocean blue eyes looking back at him. 

“Ouba! Stop it!” The boy spoke, probably to his dog that was still sniffing and poking Eliott’s side, not caring about the calling of her owner. “I am so sorry. She’s usually not like this.” He said apologetically and honestly, his voice was the most beautiful thing Eliott had ever heard in your life. Which just made harder for him to force out the words, being too baffled by the sight of the angel he was observing from far away since a few weeks now. He was just as perfect from up close, if not prettier, wearing sports grey sweatpants and a grey hoodie, Romance written on it with white letters. How is it possible to look this attractive in the most casual clothing? Eliott couldn’t understand. 

“No… no, it’s okay. I like dogs.” He blurted out, patting himself on the back mentally for being able to form a whole sentence. The fluff-ball, Ouba If he remembers her name correctly now decided to jump on his lap, circling around a few times before laying down in a comfortable position. The boy standing in front of him made a cute little squeak at seeing that, making Eliott huff out a laugh. “She’s cute.” 

“I don’t know what got into her. She usually doesn’t like strangers.” The angel said, now squatting down to observe his misbehaving dog, a few strands of his beautiful hair 

“Maybe she likes artists.” Eliott joked, clutching slightly overused sketchbook to his chest. The giggle his sweet brunette let out was just better than any song he had ever heard, making his heartbeat speed up a little. 

“Maybe she does.” He said, making himself comfortable on the grass now, letting go of the leash since it looked like his puppy is not going anywhere anytime soon. “I’m Lucas.” He said, reaching out his hand with a friendly smile. Eliott felt nervous, but grabbed it, shaking just enough times to not become awkward. 

“Eliott, my name is Eliott.” He mumbled, pulling his hand back and resting it on the head of the furball in his lap. Ouba made a pleased sound, pressing her head into the big palm. Eliott chuckled, caressing the little animal with his fingers now. 

“Okay, now I’m jealous. She really likes you.” Lucas said smirking. 

“I mean, can you blame her? She has a good taste in men.” Eliott replied, adding a playful wink and also thanking to all the gods that gave him this sudden rush of confidence. The other boy’s eyebrows shot up high, biting back a grin which just made him look even more adorable. 

“Maybe she does.” Lucas muttered under his breath and nodded with his head at the notebook pressed to Eliott’s chest. “I hope we didn’t disturb you in your work.” He said softly, his voice doing dangerous things to the artist’s heart. How can someone be so damn gorgeous and have the voice of angels? It seriously should be illegal or something. This boy is definitely not doing good to his health. 

“No, not really.” He managed to speak up. “I just come here to sketch stuff, but I’m running out of materials.” He explained, waving the sketchbook a little. “I have at least ten drawings of those damn ducks that are swimming in the lake.” 

“God, I hate ducks.” Lucas shook his head and with that comment, he got himself a good spot in Eliott’s heart. “They are so vicious.” 

“I know, right?” The tall one blurted out, confidence now doubled knowing that his sweet boy shared his opinion about those deadly water birds. 

“They attacked Ouba once. She didn’t even barked at them, we were playing catch, throwing a branch when she got too close to them. One of the ducks bit her nose. Can you believe?” 

“No way! I’m taking back all the rights ducks ever had.” Eliott said with a shocked expression, which made Lucas let out a heartfelt laugh. 

“You know, I’m starting to understand why Ouba likes you that much.” He said with a playful smirk, wiggling his eyebrows even. Eliott was sure his heart skipped a beat, because that was some non subtle flirting right there. Gosh, the gods were really merciful to him lately, not just letting him talk to his secret crush, but also letting him be interested in boys. Life was beautiful on this fine morning. 

“Oh, really? And why so?” He asked, finding all of his confidence now that it was crystal clear how the other was interested in him too. His fingers kept rubbing soft circles into the fur of the now sleeping pet on his lap. 

“Well, you are funny, kind and handsome. The dream of every Pomeranian lady.” He replied with a wide smirk. 

“Only Pomeranians?” Eliott asked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, getting a soft laugh from the beautiful boy. 

“Maybe not just them.” He answered and pulled his knees to his chest. 

“Would you like to grab a coffee with me?” Eliott decided to get himself out there and ask out the boy. Lucas’ soft cheeks turned bright red, hiding his face behind his arms resting on his legs. 

“I would love that.” He muttered and that short sentence made Eliott’s stomach to a happy flip, a wide grin spreading across his face. Today was worth to wake up early for sure.

[dust2dust34]

(i will be the fire) that keeps you warm (2/5, Olicity, AU)

Summary: With Artie’s help, Oliver and Felicity get a little closer.

A/N: The response to this story has been incredible! Thank you so much!

(read on AO3)

(read from beginning)

*

A blur of dog greeted Felicity when she opened the door to Queen Manor.

“Artie!”

She dropped her purse and jacket on the ground and stooped down, scratching the slobbering face of her pit bull. The growing puppy was all energy and grins, her tongue hanging out as Felicity smooshed her face all over with cooing noises that fill the anteroom of the house.

“Who’s my big girl?” Felicity scratched Artemis all over. A low growly hum emitted from the dog as Felicity got into her sides, rubbing all over her beautiful blue-grey fur. “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff right there. We need all the lovin’s, don’t we? Because we never get any, not ever. Nope, not even from that grumpy landlord of ours who insists he doesn’t care. But he does, doesn’t he? Oh yes he does because here you are, not in my room but greeting me at the front door as the best welcoming committee ever.”

Artie leaned her full body weight into Felicity’s legs, nearly knocking her down. Felicity laughed, kissing Artie all over her face before standing.

The most delicious smell hovered in the air and Felicity inhaled it greedily.

“Yes,” she said, grabbing her stuff off the floor and hurrying to the kitchen. “Are we finally going to see the magical human who leaves food for us? Well, not us so much as me, but you get to enjoy the smells and they’re almost as good.”

Felicity followed the clinks and clanks of pots and silverware, the smells somehow getting better. She wasn’t sure how, but proximity was definitely a thing.

She breezed through the swing door. “God, that smells amazing.”

Broad shoulders she instantly recognized had her jerking to a stop. Her astonishment doubled - nay, quadrupled - when Oliver Queen himself turned to glance back at her with a soft, “Thank you.”

“You cook?” Felicity demanded, dumping her stuff on the kitchen table and sidling up next to him. “This entire time, all the food that appears in here, that’s been you?”

Oliver shrugged, stirring some sort of heavenly-smelling sauce. “It gives me something to focus on.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Felicity told him as she snagged something roasted and vegetable-like from a pan nearby. He moved to smack her hand, but she got the pepper in her mouth before he could and gave him a huge smile. “For selfish reasons, of course,” she added. “I am glad you have something to focus on, but also, everything you cook is incredible and for someone who can only claim to be a culinary microwave expert, I appreciate it. A lot. I don’t think you realize the good deed you are doing. These are real nutrients instead of the chemically-induced messes of whatever pre-packaged thing I’d make. Thank you.”

Felicity grabbed his shoulder for leverage and pushed onto her toes to kiss his cheek.

It stunned her as much as him. She fell back to her feet, her lips tingling from his stubble. It was unbelievably soft.

He cleared his throat and turned back to the sauce with a low, “I’m glad.”

Felicity’s eyes danced over his profile, noting the deeper color in his cheeks. She knew it was the heat of the kitchen making him flush and not her. But oh to dream.

And dream she did.

Which was so not a thing she should be thinking about right now with the ghost of her lips on his cheek taunting her.

She absently licked them just as Oliver glanced over to catch her still staring at him.

His gaze nailed her in place, narrowing just enough to ignite a needy tug deep inside her. Her fingers dug into his shoulder on reflex as her heart slammed into the ground. Oh, this was…

This was her landlord.

“Was Artemis good while I was out?” Felicity asked loudly - too loudly - as she quickly turned away.

“She always is,” Oliver replied from behind her. His voice was loud enough she knew he had turned to face her. She also knew that the burn in the middle of her back was totally her imagination and not his eyes on her.

“I know she loves hanging out with you instead of being cooped up in my room,” Felicity told him, scrunching her nose up at the puppy in question. “Don’t you? Yes, you do, oh yes you do.”

She didn’t even think as she wiggled her entire body in a way that had Artie’s entire body excitedly wiggling in return. She laughed and looked back to see if Oliver had seen it. He wasn’t looking at Artie, though. His eyes were on her. Her chest rolled, the little tug in the pit of her stomach going further down. It was over as soon as it started, though, and Oliver spun back to the stove.

The air was somehow more charged now.

“I like the company,” he offered.

“Do you hear that?” Felicity asked the dog. If her voice was a little rougher, well, it was because she was thirsty. Not for water. Ignoring her brain, Felicity made her way to the french double doors that opened into the enormous backyard. “He likes your company. But who wouldn’t with that adorable face?” She opened one and Artemis took off in a blast, leaving some hair lingering in the air behind her. Felicity laughed, watching the dog tear across the large backyard. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder to Oliver, even though her eyes never left Artemis. “It means a lot knowing someone is here who doesn’t just think she’s an annoyance.”

“She’s far too cute to be an annoyance.”

“So does that mean you like her now?” Felicity teased, glancing back at him.

She caught enough of his profile to see him rolling his lips together in an attempt to fight a smile.

He didn’t smile often, this man. He had more demons than anyone she had ever met, and oh she’d met a few. But none of them were quite like Oliver Queen. In the keep-my-personal-horrors-buried-as-deep-as-possible aspect, and in others. Many others. Like cooking, apparently, and keeping his door open for Artemis at night now instead of making her crawl through the mucky corridor connecting their rooms. And that every once in a great while, he gifted Felicity with a grin, even if made him grimace, like he’d forgotten what it was like. And she wasn’t above mentioning the absolutely killer muscles he sported. He didn’t look like he ate any of the food he made. If he did, he’d have a little belly like the one she was starting to get. But not him. She was willing to bet a million dollars that his abs were the kind of abs people wrote about in romance novels.

They were that good and she didn’t even have to see them.

“It should be ready in about twenty minutes,” Oliver offered, looking back at her.

He caught her staring and with a start, her eyes flew to his. Felicity opened her mouth to say something - anything, oh my god - to divert the attention away from her stupid wandering eyes. But then her gaze caught on his. It seared right through her. The once-flat blue that she was certain mirrored his dislike of her were now a deep molten cerulean.

Heat licked at her, tugged at her core, flooded her veins.

Neither of them moved.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

The air sucked out of the room, instantly replaced with a blazing awareness that made her mouth dry and her breasts grow hot and heavy under her t-shirt.

A yelp broke the moment.

Felicity’s head whipped to the backyard to find Artie limping towards her.

“Oh no,” she gasped and darted out to meet her. “Oh, what happened?” It took her a second to realize Oliver was right on her heels, catching up in the blink of an eye and reaching Artie at the same time she did. Whimpers escaped the pit bull as she fell over onto her side, her luminous silver eyes staring up at Felicity, pain creasing her little face. “What’d you do, what happened?” Felicity asked her again and the puppy answered by going for her back paw. Her very bloodied back paw. Felicity hissed. Bright red smeared her once-grey coat. A little pink tongue swipe it away, but more oozed to the surface. So much more. Her stomach turned. “Let me look,” Felicity urged, pushing Artie’s face away just enough to see where the blood was coming from. She gingerly picked the paw up and spread her little toes to see she’d cut through the webbing there. “Oh Artie.”

Blood flooded the cut, coating Felicity’s hand and Artie’s paw. With a whine and a desperate look in her eyes, Artemis arched back to get the paw back into her mouth, but Felicity stopped her. She didn’t like that one bit and tried harder with a pathetic sounding growl, her little puppy teeth nipping at Felicity’s hand.

“No, trust me, you don’t want to do that, baby girl,” Felicity told her, and it was only now that she heard the beginnings of a tremor in her voice. Her dog was hurt. Something had hurt her dog. “How did this happen? Is the grass made of razors, or did… did someone leave something out here? I’ll kill them. Right after I help you. I don’t know how to help you. What… We need to go to the vet. Do they take walk-ins? I don’t know, I don’t even know their number. How do I not know their number? We were just there, weren’t we? I need their number!”

“Easy.” The order came out in a soft, unassuming voice, but the authority in it was undeniable. Oliver’s large hand smoothed across Felicity’s back. It helped. It grounded her. He grounded her. She watched him tug his shirt off. “Here we go,” he crooned to the puppy. He took the paw from Felicity and gently wrapped it. “That’ll keep you away from it for a minute.”

“Thank you,” Felicity said. She blinked away a sudden burst of tears and let out an uneven bark of laughter. “Wow, this is more intense than I thought it would be. Artie getting hurt, I mean. I just… I didn’t think I’d be so… weepy.”

“Your little girl’s hurt,” Oliver replied, giving her a gentle smile. It somehow both calmed her down and made her heart flip-flop a couple dozen times. “It’s overwhelming. Come on, the cut looked pretty bad, you should take her in.”

“Yeah. Yes. I will. Right now.”

Oliver bundled Artie into his arms and stood up.

Felicity followed after a beat, stealing the moment to take a deep breath before standing on oddly shaky feet.

When she turned to follow, she couldn’t hide the horrified gasp that escaped her. 

Oliver’s back was covered in scars. Some old, some still a little pink. There were ragged holes like he’d been shot, and there were long, willowy tendrils. From a whip, her mind supplied. Her eyes burned with another reason entirely at the sight. Smaller scars littered the rest of him, twisting and turning, some deep and ugly as if they had never healed right while others had to catch the sunlight to be seen. But the worst one was across his lower back, a burn scar that walked all the way across his skin, thick and mottled. When she managed to tear her eyes away from it, she noticed the faint outline of what looked like a dragon tattoo on his left shoulder blade.

He stiffened.

Tension turned his shoulders into the brick wall she knew so well, his muscles tightening up.

Her shock wore off barely a second later, but it was enough time to widen the emotional distance between them. In the blink of an eye, all that ground she’d fought tooth and nail for over the last two weeks morphed back into the barren landscape she encountered when she first applied to live in his house.

“Oliver…”

He turned to her, face blank, eyes flat, even under the blinding sun. Felicity’s eyes unwittingly dropped to his chest - more scars, more tattoos. God, what had happened to him? Her jaw dropped to ask that very question, but then he was coming back towards her. His face wasn’t blank any longer. No, it was taut with a fury she’d never seen before, all of it edged with shame and…

Sadness.

Without a word, Oliver handed Artie over to her and turned, getting away from her as fast as possible and she did nothing more than watch him until he was gone.

Felicity had no idea how long she stood there.

Too long, considering she had a bleeding dog in her arms. But her feet had melted into the grass, anchoring her in place, staring at where Oliver had just disappeared.

She thought she’d had an idea, about what he’d gone through, but she was wrong. So wrong.

And she’d made him feel bad about it.

Tears filled her eyes again only to vanish in a blink when Artemis wiggled in her arms.

It propelled Felicity forward, and with a nod, she shoved the moment down, focusing on her puppy.

“Yep, we’re going,” she told the dog, ignoring her still-shaking voice. “Right to the vet.”

*

Part 3 will be up tomorrow!

Thank you for reading!! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse. 

(Ko-fi is awesome too!)

[rhabakoli]

Infinite White - 9

previous chapters here

Taglist:  @dreamwritesimagines  @i-am-always-famished @marauderskeeper  @superwolfchild-fan @m00nlightdelights @cgn-99 @alicedopey @alwaysadreamingoptimist @atlas-of-the-world @finnickfoxes @rmwest9

**

He stood in front of the mirror, pulling at his shirt, feeling ridiculous and not comfortable at all.  “Are you okay?” Ragnar jumped, heart tripling its efforts. “Can you knock?” Aslaug stood behind him, arms crossed and looked him up and down. Bear sat to her feet, big, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. She was wearing a gorgeous green knit-sweater.  He didn’t get it. “How do you women always look so effortlessly flawless?” “Because we are.” She came closer and picked a hair from his shoulder. “What has you all worried?” 

“I’m not worried.” He didn’t have to look at her to know the face she was making. “You’re standing in front of the mirror, apparently going through your whole closet, for a family dinner? There’s something going on.” She gestured towards his bed, covered in shirts and sweaters and dress shirts he’d have to iron once again. “There’s not.” “Oh.” Aslaug grinned, mischievous smirk on her face. “Fenja’s coming?” “Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?” Ragnar knew she wouldn’t buy it. He still tried the path of denial. “Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.” She turned, shoved at his clothes to make some place for herself on his bed. “So, is it a crush, a squish, do you want to marry her and raise a bunch of cats?” “What the hell is a squish?” “A platonic crush. Like, you want to be friends really bad, etcetera.” Ragnar made an understanding sound and grabbed a dark grey long sleeve. “You’re going to wear that, it looks nice.” His sisters tone didn’t allow for objection. Bear barked at him, tail wagging wildly.   Ragnar looked between them and shrugged. “If you say so.”

**

Fenja stood before her closet, hands on her hips and deep frown on her face. Maeve was watching her from her bed, concerned about the unmoving state of her friend. “Are you okay?” “No. What do I wear? “ “What’s the plan?” Maeve knew that Gala was Ragnars aunt, and she knew that she wanted to meet her friend. She hasn’t been at the lecture, but the breathless, borderline hysteric phone call was telling enough. “Family dinner.” “Oh wow. Sounds… a lot?” Fenja waved a hand through the air, a dismissive motion. “Nah, they are cool. It’s just… I’ve met Bree, and she’s awesome. But not Gala. And I am nervous. I mean, Gala Ragnarsson, for fucks sake!” “She’ll will love you. I mean, they basically adopted you already, didn’t they?” “Bjorn welcomed me to the family, if that’s what you mean.”  Maeve grinned, and shook her head slightly. “Totally. That’s totally what I mean. Also, just call Ragnar, he’ll help, I’m sure.”

**

Ragnar’s phone rang, sending him into a frenzy. It was buried somewhere under his pillows, and he threw them off the bed in rapid succession, to get to it. “Fenja, if you call to cancel, we have a problem.” “Not cancelling, still having a problem.” “Why, what’s up?” “I don’t know what to wear.” He stopped pacing, thinking he misheard. “What?” “I don’t know, should I wear something fancy, is it going to be more casual?” “Fenja-” “I slept through the last friday night dinner, I’d be the last one to know about any dress codes.” “Fenja-” “Also, your aunt? I don’t want her first impression to be that I am a slob. Or a wannabe rich trust fund kid that wears a robe for a casual dinner with family.” “Fenja-” “Granted, not my family, but whatever. Same principle:” She was unstoppable. She was ranting, going on about her dress choices, what felt okay, and what felt over the top to her. “Will there be any red sauce?” “I don’t know, I don’t think so. Why?”  “I’ll not wear any white or light colors then.” Ragnar just sat, elbows on his knees and listened, answering questions on the odd occasions she let him speak.  “I’m coming to pick you up, alright? I’ll be there in half an hour.” “Don't expect me to be dressed by then.”

**

Maeve snorted at her roomies words. “Poor fool will imagine you in your underwear.” “Oh shut up, he won't.”

**

True to her words, she wasn't dressed, when he arrived. Their portier let him up, and Maeve opened the door for him. “Hi, giant. How's life?” “Exciting, thank you. And you?” “Oh, lot's of brain and body exertion. But I've got just one exam left. I'm almost free.” Ragnar laughed at her little happy dance and looked around the dorm room. “Where's Fenja?” “Taking a shower.” Maeve sat down cross-legged on her bed and gestured Ragnar to do the same. He did, leaning back against the wall, left hand rubbing over his knee as he took in Fenja’s side of the room. Her desk was laden with papers, her laptop, pens strewn everywhere. The shelf above her desk was almost giving out with the amount of books resting there. They were everywhere. Under her bed, on her closet, she even used a tower of them as nightstand. “You'll need to get a bigger room, if she continues buying books.” Maeve chuckled, sorting through the papers in her lap. “No kidding. I have to thank you for letting her go wild in your library, by the way. Keeps her from buying.” “My pleasure. That way I can at at least try and feed her healthy meals.” She looked up, amused. “You noticed, eh?” He nodded. “She polishes off a family bag of nachos like it's a light snack.” “Oh, you haven't seen her chips eating habits yet.” At his questioning expression, she grinned. “Cream cheese and vinegar chips.” “I'm friends with a monster.” “I feel like I should have warned you, but you seemed quite stubborn when you were chasing after Fenja, so I didn't.” “I didn't chase after Fenja?” His tone was so adorably confused, she almost believed him. “Sure you didn't.” Then she threw her papers at him. “Test me, I need to know this in my sleep.”

**

Fenja barged in, door banging against the wall, her hands in her unruly hair, trying to tame it as she's holding her towel in her mouth, a crazed look in her eyes. When she found her friends on Maeves bed, she froze. “Hi?” Ragnar wriggled his fingers at her and continued to question Maeve about different, commonly occuring sport injuries and their causes and treatments. Fenja gave up on her hair, took the towel out her mouth and threw it on her bed. “What you doing?” “He's testing my knowledge for this godforsaken exam I have.” Maeve pointed at her, eyes all squinty, accusing tone in her voice: “How dare you keep such an amazing study buddy for yourself?” Fenja frowned. “I did ask you multiple times to join us-” “I feel betrayed!” “It was your own choice!” “You TRAITOR!”, She screeched, at the top of her lungs. Fenja rolled her eyes and gave up. Instead she turned her attention to Ragnar, who was looking comically big on their tiny dorm beds, and who had a weird mix of amusement and desperation on his face. “This okay?” He blinked a couple times, clueless, like a little racoon dropping its cotton candy into a puddle. When he didn't answer, Fenja repeated her question, while waving her hand up and down in front of her body. She was wearing jeans, a thin, knitted sweater, oxfords.  “Oh, uh, yeah, great.” He cleared his throat, smiled at her.  “Okay then. Let’s go.” She took her bag, and went out the door, calling back to Maeve. “Bye, idiot!” 

**

“Hey, Mum.” Queenie looked up, at her youngest standing in the kitchen. “Hey, Sweetie. Everything alright?” “Yeah, they’re here.” She rolled her eyes. “They are so disgustingly cute, I swear I’m gonna barf. And they don’t even have a clue.”  Ingrids mother laughed at her daughters exasperated tone. “How’s Ginger, by the way?” Instantly,  Ingrid became pouty and defiant. “That’s completely different.” “Is it?” “Yes. She’s my actual girlfriend, mom.” Ingrid raised her chin, giving her mother a playful stinky eye. “And she’s fine. Her internship is going great and she misses me.”  “I’m sure. Now take the salads and put them on the table, please.”

**

Dinner was going great. They were all here, Bear was snoozing under the table and warming their feet, their bellies were full and Ragnar even considered opening a button. He shouldn’t have eaten that second bowl of potato salad, he’d known it. Next to him was Fenja, deeply immersed in a conversation with his aunt, who willingly answered all her questions and then proceeded to squeeze all her favourite books and authors out of his friend. Not that she was troubled by it, quite the opposite. He was fairly sure the two of them would vanish into the library at some point that evening. A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to his right, towards Aslaug.  “You gonna tell her?”  “What?” “That you’re in puppy love with her?” Ragnar tensed. Aslaug should be very happy about her superior whispering abilities, otherwise she’d be dead meat.  “What are you talking about?”  “Oh, again?” She flicked his ear. “Just do it, oh god.” “No. And I won’t talk about this anymore.”

Their mother rose, hand clutched in her husbands, and asked for attention. “Seeing, as all the people we love and cherish are here tonight, we don’t want to wait any longer with this. Also, the cake needs another minute.” Forgotten was Ragnars crush. This sounded important and probably life changing. Ivar smiled sweetly up at his wife, kissing her hand and pressing the back of it against his cheek, in silent support. Fenja shrinked in her seat, feeling overwhelmed and out of place by Queenies words, but Ragnar wasn’t having it. He seeked out her hand and intertwined their fingers, stroking over the back of her hand, winking at her. “This hasn’t been planned, we’d not have waited 15 years if it was.” Fenjas eyebrows shot up, a suspicion already forming. Queenie stole a last look at her husband, then looked at her family. “I am pregnant.” It was silent. Dead silent. And then, suddenly, Bjorn started laughing, booming and happy. Queenie couldn’t even react, before he had her in a hug, raised off the floor and pressed against his chest. After that, all hell broke loose. The children collectively lost their minds. Ragnar and Aslaug had dark flashbacks, Ingrid was mostly grimassing because ‘oh my god, my parents had sex.’

Questions were thrown around, and Queenie just laughed, while Ivar hissed at his brothers not to be so rough with her. “How far along are you?” Bree hugged her best friend, kissed her cheek. “3 months. I didn’t want to tell you too soon, in case something happens.” “Oh, I am sure you’ll be fine. Ivar slapped Ubbe, probably because he asked an inappropriate question. Fenja would never get that creepy face he’d made out of her head. Good thing he wasn’t her professor at school. It all was very familiar and cozy, the atmosphere high strung with anticipation and happiness. Ragnar looked around. His sisters were already picking out baby shower decoration, his aunts were in it as well, his uncles were teasing the future parents. Fenja was next to them, getting roped into a hug by his mom - he hadn’t even noticed her going over -, and then leaving the room. She was all smiley and happy towards his parents, but as soon as no one could see her face, it got all clouded and dark.

Concerned, he followed her out, catching her out in the foyer. He stopped her with a hand on her elbow, pulling her gently to a halt. “You okay there?” “Yes.” She didn’t look up at him, angled her face down, keeping him from seeing the truth. Or so she thought. “Mhm.” He was sceptical. “I don’t appreciate being lied to.” She just shrugged, so he took matters into his own hands and guided her into his room. Maybe she’d say more behind closed doors. “What’s up?” “Nothing.” She was standing there, right in his room, hugging herself and looking… scared. “Fenja, please. I can see that something is wrong.” He sat on his bed, leaning forward and touching her arm. “This evening is not about me, please, can we not do this right now?” She swallowed, voice breaking. Ragnar sighed. Stubborn girl. “Sure thing, princess.” So he got up again, hand not leaving her arm. “Need a hug?”

**

An hour after receiving the news and cake, Ingrid whipped out Cards Against Humanity, since most of them refused to play UNO. Not when there was still cake around. Ragnar felt the strong need to give some money and his help to charities, and Bree even went so far as to get up, go over to the window ‘looking for a shred of humanity’. It was brutal. Fenja and Gala were off to the side sitting sideways and turned towards each other on the couch, with Hvitserk leaning on Gala’s back like the big manchild he was. They seemed to enjoy themselves, the dark look on his friends face was gone for now. He wondered what brought that mood swing on. After Bree had laid down a particularly vile card, Ragnar decided to step away and instead joined the unofficial book club on the couch. “How’s it going?” “I offered her an internship with the YWA.”, said Gala. Ragnar almost choked on air, definitely not having expected that. “What?” “In case she doesn’t get accepted as a writer. It’s good to have options.” She patted Fenjas hand. “There’ll still be a whole process, but I can open some doors.” Fenja was speechless, barely managed to nod. Gala just smiled brightly. “Thought so. And now please excuse us, I think it’s past his bedtime.” Hvitserk whined in protest, absolutely, completely proving his wife’s point.

**

Part 10

[dam-those-words]

15 Questions Tag Game!

I was (kinda) tagged by @georgiacambrielwritblr!

Rules: Pick a character (or two in my case) from your WIP and have them answer these 15 questions, then tag 15 people!

(Also, I already had this post done but when I tried to post it Tumblr went Thud appearently and deleted it instead, so I had to start over. Sorry for the long wait Georgia lol)

1. What is your full name?

" I'm Aniol Kaminski," The dirty-blonde male on the interviewer's right ruffles his red and gold wings. It takes most of the interviewer's willpower to not stare at them while shaking his hand; of course they've seen wings before, but never like these.

"Mattea Sarai," Says the platinum blonde on the interviewer's left. She completely disregards the interviewers outstretched hand and instead sits back in her wooden chair and crosses her arms.

2. What does it mean?

"Mine means something like, 'Stone Angel,' in Polish, so that's pretty cool." Aniol's voice is a growly-type deep, and paired with his thick accent, it takes the interviewer a second the realize what he said.

"You're so lucky. [Throwback to when his name was actually Lucky lmao] My name means some bullshit like, 'Princess,' or 'God's Gift,' or something. Makes me wanna barf just thinking about it." Mattea says, making a puking gesture.

"Woah there, young lady. Who taught you to cuss?" Aniol grins at her, but the way he flashes it makes it seem more like baring his teeth.

Mattea raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'Who taught you to cuss?' Have you heard yourself?" She leans forward in her wooden chair, putting her elbows on her knees.

Aniol leans forward, copying Mattea. He whispers-- well more like growls-- something too quiet for the interviewer to hear, but makes the rage in Mattea's eyes simmer.

The tension in the room makes the interviewer realize that the wooden table in between them would do nothing if the got into a fight as bad as they'd been rumored to. The interviewer clears their throat and asks the next question.

3. Do you two have any nicknames or other names?

"I don't really have any, but this little devil does call me Bird Boy more often than she calls me Aniol," Aniol nodded towards the girl across the wooden table.

Mattea had snatched a peanut butter cookie from the gold-lined plate in the middle of the table, and now had a mouthful of cookie. She somehow still managed to say, "Are you forgetting about Jexi calling you Ann? Like, Ann of Green Gables?"

Aniol simply rolls his eyes, replying, "I'm not forgetting, I'm just ignoring the fact that you've appearently eavesdropped. And don't talk while eating,"

"Its not like I try to listen to everything that happens in your guys' rooms, especially at night when you guys--"

"Anyway, why don't you tell them what your nickname is?" His cheeks are a bright red as he talks.

Mattea smiles, relaxing a little and shrugging. "I don't really have any, either. Oh, well, Mayson calls me Matt sometimes. But other than that, none."

4. What's your gender?

"Male, obviously," Aniol says, the pink already fading.

"Female," Mattea answers.

"God, we're so boring. I wish we had Dani so they could spice it up," There's a tinge of sadness in his voice. He frowns down at his hands where he holds a small paperclip he had been figiting with, his short and jagged hair falling into his eyes.

Mattea's eyebrows scrunch for a split second before a mask of arrogance passes over he features, and she says, "Speak for yourself, amigo. I'm the most interesting out of the entire Assassin's."

Aniol's returning look is so full of an emotion that the interviewer can't place, but still makes them look away and clear their throat yet again.

5. What is your sexuality?

"I'm pansexual," Aniol says quickly, sitting back in his chair and grabbing a cookie.

The confusion must have shown on the interviewer's face, since Aniol adds on, in a matter-of-fact tone, "It means that I can like anyone, regardless of their gender."

The interviewer nods and turns towards Mattea for an answer.

She had become a completely different person than she was about five seconds ago: she had somehow scrunched in on herself, grabbing her arms as if she were cold. Her lips were pursed.

"I--uh, I don't... I think--" Mattea is interrupted again by Aniol, but this time her expression changes to relief instead of amusement.

"We've talked about it before, and Mattea would like to not answer that question. If we could move on, that'd be great." He says in the same matter-of-fact tone as earlier.

6. Where are you from?

"Poland, though you can probably tell," Aniol says, his accent somehow becoming thicker than before.

Mattea clears her throat, the tension slowly leaving her body. "I'm from here. Akida."

7. How old are you?

"I'm 25. I was born on October 2nd, 2005." Aniol says.

"I'm only two years younger than him, and yet he somehow thinks that he's sooo--" Mattea does jazz hands as she speaks. "--much smarter and wiser than me, even though I obviously am the smarter one."

Aniol rolls his eyes, throwing the last bit of his cookie at her. He hits her directly in the forehead. His eyes go wide.

There's a moment of silence before they both burst out laughing. It fills the small room, and the interviewer can't help but join them.

8. Any special talents?

"Not really. I mean, I'm pretty good at baseball, but my wings get in the way for any sport." Aniol ruffles his wings again in emphasis. The interviewer silently thanks themselves again for remembering to get a special chair to accommodate his wings.

"I'm good at using most weapons, besides those stupid miscellaneous ones. I'm also good at braiding my own hair, which is something even Jexi can't do." Mattea figits with her hair tie, throwing Aniol an arrogant grin.

"Hey, you should put all that on your future resumes. I'm great at weapons, also known as murder, I can tie my hair back like any normal human, and I can be incredibly stupid! I'm the whole package!" Aniol mocks, making his deep voice extremely high.

The interviewer tenses, but is pleasantly surprised when all Mattea does is laugh and look expectantly for the next question.

9. Any kids?

Mattea bark-laughs again, shaking her head vigorously.

Aniol only shrugs his shoulders and says, "In the future, if my partner wants them. But none right now,"

10. What's your aesthetic?

Mattea interrupts Aniol before he has a chance to open his mouth, ticking the subjects off on her fingers as she talks, "Water fountains, pale roses, lip balm, pastel colors, stationary--"

It's Aniol's turn to cut her off, asking what an aesthetic is.

"It's like... your vibes. Like, for you it would be something like... maybe lots of grey and orange things." Mattea explains.

"That sounds stupid, but whatever. I guess mine is cobblestone, rain... uh, bright orange feathers and pumpkins. I don't know what it means, don't laugh at me!" He adds when Mattea tries to cover her laugh up with a cough.

11. Who's your best friend?

"Jexi,"

"Are you sure it's only best friend? Nothing else?" Mattea prods at Aniol's answer.

"Oh shut up. What about you and Mayson, huh?" He snaps back. Her cheeks turn as red as Aniol's cheeks earlier.

"That's not important,"

"Mhm," Though their words suggest tension, their eyes are full of amusement.

12. Would you ever get piercings or tattoos?

"I already have a tattoo," Aniol says, pulling up his grey sleeve to show a black and white tattoo of an arrow on his bicep.

"Wait, when did you get that?" Mattea asks, leaning forward to see it better.

"Jexi gave it to me when we were nineteen,"

Mattea's eyebrows rise. "Jexi did? And you still refuse to acknowledge the fact that she's--"

"Did I not make myself clear, Matt?" Aniol snarls, letting his sleeve fall down.

Mattea snarls right back.

The interviewer hastily asks the next question, hoping to change their focus onto them.

13. When are you happiest?

Aniol throws Mattea one last death glare before ruffling his wings yet again. "When I'm flying,"

"With a certain someone," Mattea tries to whisper but the interviewer hears her anyway, smirking.

"Do you have a death wish or what, Matt?"

"Name a time when I didn't,"

Aniol starts to respond but is cut off by the interviewer, still desperately hoping to get through this interview without a fight. The interviewer asks Mattea the question again.

"If I'm honest, I really like sketching. And archery. And I do like to banter with this idiot," She smiles again, but it's (thankfully) filled with much less venom than before.

That quickly, the tension leaves the room. The interviewer was amazed at their ability to start and end an argument in less than a minute. No wonder these two were always in trouble.

14. What's your biggest secret?

"Oooh, that's a good one. Why don't you go first, Aniol?" Mattea claps her hands, threading them together and putting them on her now crossed legs.

"Oh, uh. I guess... I'm terrified of spiders. Like, I hate then with my whole being,"

Mattea seemingly can't help but laugh at that, trying again and failing at turning it into a cough.

"Hey, you're scared of them, too! Don't you remember when you made Noah switch sleeping bags with you because you thought there was a spider in yours?" Aniol hastily defends himself.

"Yeah, but," Mattea is laughing so hard she can barely talk.

It takes longer than the interviewer would have liked for Mattea to finally calm down, and to ask the question again.

"I think my biggest secret is how I got this necklace and why." Mattea answers, holding out a silver chain with a half-cresent moon dangling on it.

When she doesn't continue, the interviewer decides to move on and get this interview over with.

15. Last question: What's the first thing you notice about people?

"Hmm. I think I notice how they move firstly. That alone tells you a lot about them," Mattea answers, nodding at her own answer.

A grin creeps onto Aniol's face at her, but he only says, "I notice their eye or lips first. I don't really know why, and I honestly should notice their movement first, but," He shrugs.

-

Oh jeez, I'm sorry for the long post lmao!

And idk about 15 people, since tumblr might decide to not actually tag them, but I'll try as many as I can think of!

@supersockosis @toboldlywrite @quillwritten @quilloftheclouds @fruzsiwrites @reeseweston @writeness @bartlebyboys @pens-swords-stuff @msmeaghanrey

As always, you dont have to do this is you dont want to (or already did it), and if I didnt tag you feel free to do it anyway and say I tagged you!

[scoobydoominuscoobydoo]

It’ll Be A Sensation

AO3

FF.Net

I think I’ve officially run out of pansies to count outside our apartment window, Mrs. Dabney can only plant so many flowers across the street.

Of course, it wouldn’t have killed her to use a variety of colors – red had become rather dull.

Yawning, I stretch out on our window seat and rest my head down.

I send a glance back in the direction of my pet, who was occupying himself with click clacking until the wee hours of the morning on the typewriter. Deadlines or not, it had been over a fortnight since my pet had gotten some proper sun outside of our afternoon walk.

Turning my attention back to the “riveting” pansies, I hear him yawn.

He rubs his hands over his face and through his hair, exhausted from the time he’s spent checking his own notes.

Ever since he had been asked to write this cookbook, he’d hardly have time to focus on his personal life.

I was mostly concerned with his social life.

No matter how many hard whacks to the back he’d get, I knew that Shaggy wasn’t exactly in love with the bachelor lifestyle. And I definitely agreed with that – even more so, I’d say it was completely uneventful and boring. Our small home only ever filled with sighs, yawns, and that infinite click clacking – nothing there to be proud of.

Sure, we had friends that we could go and have the occasional well-to-do with.

But… that was hardly the type of “companion” I figured Shaggy needed.

I imagine that if there was anything to free him from his workaholic ways - it’d be a healthy female.

Now I was a total novice when it came to the standards of human beauty – what smelled bad to me smelled amazing to other men evidently.

But after living in the big city for a few years, I think I have a fairly broad idea of what to look for.

Unfortunately, the closest I’ve ever gotten to finding my pet a decent mate was through window shopping. Which hardly counted for anything because plenty of ideal specimen had passed by our building multiple times.

And I had no way of stopping them.

I’m sure any of them would be very eager to make my pet happy.

I heard the chime of the clock – twelve p.m. had arrived – the best time of day for window shopping.

The click clacks counted out the seconds until the first woman passed by, she didn’t look old or sickly. Things were looking up already!

And then I saw her yelling out something incoherent at her supposed companion, who she was also dragging by the neck on one of those horrid leads. I furrowed my brow and shook my head, ‘Definite no.’ I thought.

That woman was just the first of a long line of near misses.

Too rich looking.

Too old.

Not old enough.

Too busy being chased by the police.

It was like this every day, my life, just trying to find a woman that wasn’t clearly full of herself, old enough to be Shaggy’s grandmother, or daughter, or a menace of the law.

Frustrated, I drag one of our unread magazines in front of me.

A blonde woman with bright red lips and long legs posed on the cover page – her close-mouthed smile planting a lot of questions in my mind, ‘What on earth is she smiling about?’ Being at the top. The woman that was being dragged away in handcuffs looked a little like her – but Shaggy deserved more than just a beautiful mate. He deserved a smart and kind one, somebody who would understand and help him adapt to a life with less click clacking and more plates of his food being left on the floor.

Somebody kind and sporting a beautiful smile, who wasn’t afraid to rub my belly.

And that was when it clicked in my mind, a flash of red and purple before my mind turned those colors into shapes. And then those shapes became a woman.

My eyes could have followed any other woman walking along, but they stayed glued to her.

Something about this creature made me sit up and lean against the window.

She was grinning brightly down at the book she was holding in her hands, sending glances down at the small dog walking alongside her.

With no clear leash, I noted.

Now I was already given a special feeling about this one, the smile on her face and the bounce in her step telling me so much about her.

But as soon as I saw her partner walking next to her, my mind had been totally made up.

Somehow, someway, I was gonna stop the two of them – and Shaggy was gonna be with me.

-

After a chorus of barks and scratches at our front door, insisting I take Shaggy out for a walk, he let out an annoyed groan, “Scoob you’re just trying to get our neighbors mad at me, aren’t you?”

He dodged piles of clothes and his (now broken) umbrella, yanking his keys from the paper-covered table.

I saw him wince as the midday sunlight hit his eyes and he recoiled back into the shade for a moment before seeing that I wasn’t stopping for him.

“Scooby! Like if you don’t slow down the neighborhood watch lady is gonna make me put the leash on you.” I huffed, Shaggy wasn’t in any hurry to make it to the park – which is where the mystery dog and her pet most likely went – at this rate his leisurely pace was gonna result in him losing the love of his life.

That was when an idea popped into my head, and few minutes later I was dragging Shaggy by his arm, ‘Thank goodness these nightmarish things work both ways.’

I ignored the many complaints and orders to slow down, and the sound of him almost tripping over a tree root. There would be time to be punished during the wedding reception, if he had gotten Shaggy out here in time.

There was no way that angel and Shaggy’s perfect match could have sped through the park on a day like this.

That’d be criminal.

Unless you were doing it for the sake of love.

Like he was.

Right now.

Damn it, where was she?!

There was no way he was gonna let that one and a million chance at Shaggy finding love just disappear without him ever even getting at least a glance at her. That would be my ultimate crime against humanity.

Dreary, gray, early spring sunlight shone through the newly revived treetops – acting as no help to my search.

I swerved my way through the endless lines of pathways and even dragging Shaggy through unkempt bushes. Ready to deal with his wrath later, or as angry as Shaggy was capable of being. That wasn’t the priority right now.

My heartbeat began to pick up the pace as dread set in and I realized that I had taken too long.

Part of me had already given up – prepared to be trapped in that room with a never ceasing click clack and growing dark lines under Shaggy’s eyes.

And then that flash of red blurred across my vision, clear and distinct as ever.

She’s here, thank God she’s still here.

I make a sharp turn towards the bench she’s sitting at, nearly sending Shaggy careening into a tree, and I see that same bright smile tugging at her lips. Occasionally interrupted by the shaking of her shoulders as she’d chuckle softly at the story’s antics.

I had been so excited to see her and the charming companion resting next to her, that it hadn’t occurred to me that I didn’t have a plan.

When I finally dragged my pet’s sorry butt to the bench, where were they gonna go from there?

Knowing Shaggy, he’d avoid eye contact and say nothing before dragging me away from her and the lovely, cocker.

Poor man was never gifted with talking to the ladies.

I turned and sent a glance up at him, he was sending me a very similar, confused look.

“What are you doing bud?” Is what he was communicating to me.

Which was a good question, exactly what was I doing?

Huffing, I agreed to make sure they actually saw each other before I made any further movements. But as soon as I turned my attention back to the bench, both the perfect mate and the lovely dog had left. Fate was just not gonna be on my side today was it?

Immediately I set off, there was no way I was gonna get that lucky a second time – I absolutely needed to catch up with her otherwise I’ll lose both of them forever.

I sped down the pathway, my vison centering on what was in front of me, staying attentive with the hopes of see that bright red hair. How I wish Shaggy could detect the gravity of the situation so he’d bother to let me run without fear of sending him face-first into the pavement. And that was when I saw her, with the small, fluffy companion alongside.

The end of our bachelor lives was just within my grasp and growing closer.

And then, it was growing farther away.

“Alright Scoob, this has been a fun workout and I’ll be sure to remember it fondly when I see all the bruises on my shins. But I can’t keep letting you drag me through the park, it’s making me hungry.”

No Shaggy!

Please don’t give up on my cause!

Not when she’s right there!

The tugging at my neck didn’t relent and now I was regretting letting him put the leash on in the first place.

As that flash of red began to shrink from my sight I growled – I wasn’t going to return to a life of yawning without giving this a real shot. There was only so much I could do for my pet, not enough to prevent loneliness.

Using all the strength I had, I began to pull.

‘I just need to get to her and then it’ll go on from there.’

Never had something relatively close felt so far.

One step after the other, I made sure to anchor myself each time, this was gonna need to be quick otherwise Shaggy would become exasperated and just pick me up.

In a few short moves, I reached the red and made a quick loop around her legs – she let out a surprised cry but I didn’t give her or Shaggy anytime to process.

All at once, I had tied their legs together and forced them to see each other.

I grinned proudly, now I was just going to let nature take over.

The little cocker spaniel stood across from me, her face contorted in worry, it’d only take her a moment to understand.

The two pets struggled to get balance as they wriggled around, “Ma’am I’m so sorry I – I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” Shaggy said this as he attempted to bend down and free them of their fabric shackles.

The grey light and the soft babbling of the brook next to them added quite a lovely soundtrack to their meeting.

The sound of them both splashing into said brook was less lovely.

On the bright side the leash had unraveled.

The small spaniel sent him a glare and leapt into action, jumping into the brook to chase after Red’s runaway book.

Speaking of Red, I have to say she is quite the complainer when it comes to being drenched.

“This was my newest blazer, oh dear the cold water’s gonna ruin it! A-And my skirt, th-the colors are gonna bleed everywhere!” She sniffled as Shaggy offered both of his hands down to her, she stared at them blankly for a moment before grabbing onto them and letting him pull her up.

She then returned to complaining, “I-If you can’t even control your dog on a leash then maybe you shouldn’t take him out at all!”

“Yes ma’am I really am so sorry… I’ll pay to get everything dry cleaned for you.”

The woman stared at him blankly as she sniffled again.

Then she looked away, marching out of the brook with a puddle of freezing water following after her, “I think you’ve done enough already sir…” Her companion returned with the book clenched in her jaw, stopping right next to me and giving her whole body a good shake.

I closed my eyes as the barrage of droplets attacked me.

“Come along Nova, I need to get out of this outfit quickly.” As she turned away and began to leave a thought crossed my mind, ‘Had I messed up?’

And then the woman let out a loud sneeze, pulling me from my thoughts and dragging Shaggy’s attention away from glaring at me.

“Oh fantastic.” The lady said bitterly as she turned back toward the brook to squeeze out her soaked handkerchief.

Amazingly, Shaggy moved into action on his own, going toward her while searching his own jacket pocket.

“Here – um – have mine….” He said as he found what he was looking for and presented it. The two of them stared at the completely soaked article of fabric, and there was dead silence between them.

And then, that smile returned to her face.

A soft chuckling filled all the empty space, and it quickly evolved into hysterical laughter as she leaned forward to brace her weight against him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Soon both of them were in an uncontrollable fit as they continued to lean against each other.

Somehow, the little dog had found her way next to me without my knowing, as I looked down at her I saw that glimmer of recognition in her eyes.

Now she realized what I had done and she smiled up at me.

I returned that smile and brought my attention back to the two laughing idiots before me.

[notgonnarememberthis]

A Dance With Death- Chapter 3

I am back from the void once again. I may or may not have slipped away while watching 10 seasons of Grey’s Anatomy,,,, But I am back just in time for them to announce when season 7 returns. I’ll see y’all there for the end! Until then I’ll be writing my little heart out.

When a brunette knocks on his door he half expected it to be Marcus and Kitty, come to chew him out for skipping out on Detective Cortez. However when he spies the gentle makeup and soft pastel colors he recognizes her as Kitty’s antithesis, Harper. Watson had warned him that she was inviting the young girl to his home as, not only was the girl her old assistant but she seemed to be the only person Watson implicitly trusts in the building. Overloaded with files Harper shuffles into the living room where Watson is seated, reading glasses perched on her nose as she reads through a list on her laptop.

“I grabbed everything I could on who you could’ve pissed off since I started and stopped working for you. Bad news, it’s a lot. Good news, I narrowed it down.” Her tone is light, joking almost. She’s likely dealing with the fact that she could’ve been in that office too. He’s long seen people in denial and he makes a mental note to tell Marcus to get her a recommended therapist. She, however, doesn’t seem to be exhibiting any signs of shock so he let’s her proceed.

While they come over the files he decides to make tea. Pulling a sprig of kale out of the fridge he marches over to Clyde’s terrarium gently placing his lunch in his bowl. He freezes mid-movement as he tunes into the conversation from the other room.

“So…” A gentle tone, likely the young brunette.

“So?” The echoing sentiment confirms that he’s identified the voices correctly. Against the voice echoing in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Marcus he halts his movements listening in. After all, he won’t get a better opportunity than this to learn about Watson. She’s the one person he’s not been able to read in so long. Microexpressions are controlled, if not they’re at least subdued. Truth be told, it’s remarkable and he finds himself aching to know more, to learn more about her. It’s an urge he hasn’t felt towards an individual in far too long.

“He’s cute.” A moment of silence screams with the image of a quiet stand-off.

“No.”

“But-”

“No.”

“All I’m saying is- Hear me out.” Shifting marks her leaning closer. “You haven’t been seeing anyone since Rick. It’s been a year and a half. He’s cute and he has tattoos. It doesn’t have to be a big thing just a little thing or it could be a big thing if you want it to be-”

“Stop.” From his vantage point he can see Watson’s shadow holding up a hand. “I haven’t seen anyone in a year and a half because I’ve been running the NFL story for a year. I’ve been busy.”

“You said the same thing until Rick came along.”

“Enough.” She barks, a tone he’s only heard her use in the office setting. “You forget why we’re here. Someone is trying to kill me, he’s finding who. That’s it.”

“Mhmm.” She sounds relatively unphased by the forcefulness behind the words.

“Rick cheated on me with his ex-wife. He was using me to get married before she could. Everything I thought we had was made up by you and his assistant. You said so yourself.” A huffed breath. “The only person it worked out for was you and him.”

“Not exactly.” Another standoff. “We went different paths.”

“Different paths.”

“We’re playing for the same team?”

“Do you ever speak out of metaphors?” Annoyance laces through Watson’s tone.

“I’m gay.” A shocked beat falls between them. “It ended well at least. We’re still like… chill? That’s beside the point. Look, I just want you to be happy and I know work makes you happy but I also saw you when you were with Rick. You were giggly and soft!”

“Rude.”

“I’m just saying! You liked him… Or the him we made up?” She shifts again. “Just give it some thought? I promise no shenanigans.”

The silence that settles over them is much less tense, he can almost picture the small smile on Watson’s face. “He is cute.”

He nearly jumps when the kettle whistles loudly reminding the women that they’re not alone in the house. He shuffles again making himself busy as he grabs mugs and flipping off the boiler. Seemingly satisfied that he’s not listening to them, the two continue on a different, much less interesting conversation.

Gathering the supplies he returns to the living room to continue their search.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Day fades to night and back again. Watson falls asleep in a spare bedroom after he deemed it was far too late and unsafe for her to go home. Marcus drops off a new set of clothes for Watson around seven but doesn’t stick around for long. She wakes and changes without ceremony as it should be.

Around nine Kitty leaves for the office of Colm McAllister with the consult of Marcus to meet her there. He and Watson are to analyze from home, much to his chagrin. Thanks to their hacker collective Everyone they’ve gained access to the cameras in the room of the interview. Should Colm be their man they’ll be able to know within the hour.

Thus he finds himself set up with Watson watching one of many monitors as Mr. McAllister fervently denies any claim that he is trying to set a hit on Ms. Watson’s life. The aforementioned sits in the chair beside him, legs crossed over another. She’d unbuttoned her suit jacket to get more comfortable as her eyes dart across the screen hanging on every word said.

“Mr. McAllister, were you aware of the fact that Ms. Watson was attacked in her office yesterday?”

“This is getting nowhere.” He huffs. He’d believed the night before that Colm McAllister was their man after some digging. When Watson uncovered that he was using bribery to pull potential athletes to his team he lost everything: his job, his wife, and reputation he spent his entire life to build was vanished and he was shunned in the world of sports. However, from viewing the clips it was all too clear that Mr. McAllister is a coward of a man.

“He’s lying.” His head snaps to Watson whose eyes haven’t moved from the screen. She watches with an intensity he rarely sees in Kitty. It’s interesting.

“Why’s that?” He could see the signs for himself but he finds himself compelled by her. By what she knows.

“His body is turned towards the door so he clearly wants them to leave, which would be normal except his arms are crossed. He’s also looked at the clock on his desk five times in the past two minutes.” She stands hands fixing the wrinkles in her clothes absentmindedly. “He knows something but he isn’t saying what.”

“He’s not your attempted killer.”

“God no.” She scoffs. “His hands are shaking, sign of early onset Parkinson’s if I had to guess. There’s no way he would’ve been able to fire that gun and hit my window accurately.”

“Remarkable.” He nods. These were signs and behaviors it took him months to get Kitty to pick up on and she just named them all off the top of her head. He looks to her with a deep sort of fascination. Her eyes catch his and he can see the shock register in her features. Briefly he wonders when the last time she received a compliment on her work. “You’re remarkable.” He emphasizes, despite his best judgement.

“You don’t need to do that.” His eyebrows furrow at her tone. She sounds almost annoyed by his comment. “Don’t flatter me.”

“I assure you Watson, I only state facts. I think you’re extraordinary.”

Her lips part, eyes darting across his features searching for any answer to the questions that lie beneath her throat. He’s more prepared this time, when she crosses the distance of the room to him. When two perfectly manicured hands take his face into their touch. When her lips crash against his sending every nerve in his body into hyperdrive.

Together they stumble across the room, hands excitedly exploring. He needs to know so much about her. He needs to know how her hair feels between his fingers, the sounds he can tempt from her throat, the feel of her skin against his. Her fingers tug at his shirt pulling it from the tuck as her back collides with the wall. Their feet jarr at the sudden stop but their movements do not cease. His fingers move from her back to her hips feeling the tantalizing flesh barely brushing his fingertips. In a desperate need for air his lips move to her jaw, huffing against her skin. High pitched sighs escape her throat, the interview long forgotten in the heat of passion.

He pulls from her suddenly, the gears in his mind turning all over again. Her fingers are undoing his buttons quickly. “I don’t want to stop.” He groans against her skin. She laughs, a seductive noise against the shell of his ear. “I don’t want to stop.” It’s a plea this time, begging her to be the sane one. God he needs her to stop him before he acts foolish. He knows she won’t when her teeth nip at the spot beneath his jaw, threatening to pull him into the abyss. Her skin is so soft, like velvet but her lips burn him. He catches her hands halting the movement. His eyes meet hers once again as he rests her forehead against his.

In the end it’s him who breaks the connection. Against every fiber of his being he steps away from her. “Are you serious?” She scoffs. He can’t face her now. Not with the rejection he saw in her eyes, the hurt of being denied again. He crossed a line and all he can think about is how he wishes to touch her again. Guilt laces around his throat and pulls tightly.

“I need to focus.” His words come out cold, detached.

“You’re right. We need to figure out what Mr. McAllister knows and-”

“We don’t need to do anything.” He snaps. “No offense Ms. Watson but right now I need peace and quiet, or did you forget that it’s your life that is at stake?” He pushes her away because he can’t risk getting too close. He can’t become attached. Not now. He needs to focus so that he can find her attempted killer.

“No. No I didn’t.” Her heels echo clearly off the Brownstone floor as she grabs her coat. The slam of the door pierces him to the core but he must remain unphased.

He takes a deep breath delving back into his work.

[winterrose527]

The One with the Lavender Donuts

This is for my baby @octaviahales who has been giving me the best prompts. Ah I loved writing this one. Hope you enjoy. 

Promise me, the text message said. 

They ignored it, like always. 

Jon had been all bravado, but that was because he wasn’t going to be the one to face her wrath. That would fall to him, which was why there was a small box of lavender donuts on his lap on top of the container holding the lemon pie he’d picked up from Nan’s for Sansa. 

His little sister had gone through another break-up. He had been assured by Ella that it was not the worst one by far - that one still haunted them all - instead this had been mere cheating. 

He had been assured that Ella had it. That she and Sansa were going to have a night in and that he and Jon were not needed thank you very much and that she would call them tomorrow to let them know the degree to which they needed to beat up Harry Hardyng but that until then they should sit tight because Sansa needed affection and alcohol and not to hear about all the ways in which Harry was a deadman and how he never deserved her and how they had all told her so (he’d like to say she made them sound worse than they were but in truth, Ella was never wrong). She had, however, stipulated that Grey Wind and Ghost’s presence was desired so she had picked them up from his and Jon’s apartment an hour before on her way to pick-up pizza. 

Jon had simply scoffed at the text message from Ella, grabbing his coat and a bottle of Sansa’s favorite wine that they always kept a case of, as well as his old Direwolves football sweatshirt that he always brought her on occasions such as this. After Ramsay Jon had suggested she keep the sweater after she spent a week straight wearing it, but Sansa had assured him that it would lose its magic that way and that he should hold onto it for safe keeping. 

Now, if you are wondering why exactly Sansa would have been dating someone else only to be in this position, when she had a man who always made sure to have her favorite wine, and had a dog that treated Sansa like she was his baby, and who would wrap her up in his arms the way she wrapped herself in his sweatshirt if she only asked him to, you would be in very good company. 

The answer, however, was sadly that despite the fact that Jon Snow had loved Sansa Stark ever since he met her after his first peewee football game at the tender age of eleven he had never actually told her so. 

Sansa had taken a little longer to realise her feelings for Jon. It was a whole week later in fact when they rode on the tilt-a-whirl together at the Winterfell Carnival and he’d held her hand and hadn’t told anyone that she’d been afraid. She, of course, had never told him this either and so she found herself in a series of relationships that went from the very boring to the very terrifying. 

At the end of each of them Jon was always there. Along with him, but he was her big brother and had never been able to stand it when she was upset, and Ella, her best friend and the ultimate love of her life. 

By now there was a routine to things.

Ella always told them to be calm, and not charge in, with one exception, and they always ignored her. 

Jon was fearless when it came to Ella because she gave him a pass because even though Sansa didn’t know that he was in love with her, Ella did, and she knew how much more acutely he felt each of these break-ups, because he knew that if he only had the chance that Sansa would never cry again. She would never be cheated on or talked down to, she would never have to wonder because he’d tell her every day, that she was the one, the only one, that he was hers forever and if she’d only tell him how, he would do everything in his power to make her happy. He’d tell her every day, if he only could get the courage to tell her once. 

Robb, on the other hand, did not get a pass from Ella. She was all bark and no bite, and wasn’t much bark, but even still he couldn’t stand it when she looked at him with anything other than love in her eyes. Because the thing was, Jon was not the only man who’d fallen in love at the tender age of eleven, the only difference was that Robb hadn’t been able to stand it past the age of seventeen, when he’d finally asked Ella to be his. The truth was, she very rarely looked at him with anything short of love, even when she was frustrated with him, because he had stolen her heart when he recovered her stolen kite and she had never once considered asking for it back. 

Even still, he felt safer with the lavender donuts in hand. 

They parked the car and walked in the lobby of the girls’ apartment building, waving hello to Sid the night doorman and taking the elevator up to the penthouse apartment that Ella had been gifted to her upon her graduation from university. 

“Do you smell that?,” Jon asked as the elevator doors opened to the small vestibule. 

“Smells like -,” Robb said, but stopped dead when he saw smoke coming from the door to the girls’ apartment. 

“Seven hells,” Jon groaned and Robb grabbed his key and let them into the apartment. 

They barrelled into the foyer only to find Sansa there, her hair in two pigtail braids, in yoga pants, a sports bra and fluffy slippers utilising a fire extinguisher against a flaming rubbish can. 

Robb was about to move forward to pull her back from the flames when Ella came running in wearing a thin white tank top and a pair of his boxers, her hair up in a high ponytail and what looked to be a purple face mask on. She was holding a large bowl of water and Ghost and Grey Wind were trailing her, the latter of whom had what seemed to be a singed dishtowel hanging out of his mouth. 

“What are you two doing here?,” she demanded when she saw them. “I said I had it under control!”

“This!??,” Robb demanded back, “This is what you consider under control!?”

Ella dumped the bowl of water on the flames which quickly petered out and gave him a ta-da expression. 

“By the gods,” Sansa said, doubling over. “We really should have seen this coming. I mean, this is exactly what happens on that episode of Friends when they do the cleanse…”

“Cleanse?,” Jon asked, and Robb appreciated that his eyes stayed on her face, rather than her exposed skin. 

“A boyfriend cleanse,” Ella said matter-of-factly, as though this was something that normal people did all the time. 

“What in Seven Hells is a boyfriend cleanse?,” Robb asked. 

“Look!,” Sansa said, holding up her hand, “If you’re going to be all judgey I at least need to go put on a shirt first.”

“Great idea,” Robb nodded. 

“You have a lot of opinions for someone who was not invited,” Ella growled at him and he wondered if now was the right time to bring out the donuts.

“Wait uh…,” Jon said, reaching into his bag, “I mean put on whatever you want, or don’t,” he said and Robb fixed him with a look, “I mean… that’s… just here…”

With that he offered his sweatshirt to her like it was a dirty tissue that might disgust her, but Sansa reached for it like it was an offering from the gods. She pulled it on and the hem fell to mid-thigh and the sleeves were far too long but she wrapped her arms around herself and he could practically see the knots in her back uncoiling. 

“So this cleanse?,” Robb asked them, trying to keep his voice free from judgment. 

“Basically,” Sansa said, “Ella thought it would be a good idea to burn a bunch of things that I still had from exes as a way of like…recalibrating.”

Robb and Jon looked at Ella and she put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows as though to say well the only thing you two have ever done is punch her ex-boyfriends. Robb would have protested but it was true and even he could admit that that did more to recalibrate his and Jon’s feelings than Sansa’s. 

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Jon said as though he were a detective, grabbing an umbrella and crouching down and picking up a scarf out of the bin with the tip of it, “Joffrey,” he picked out a singed photograph and said, “Dickon,” and then picked out a grey t shirt. 

Robb stepped forward and snatched it up. 

He turned to Ella accusingly, “Is this… is this my old Direwolves t shirt?”

“I felt left out,” Ella protested bashfully. 

“Left out?,” Robb asked with a grin. 

“I don’t have any ex-boyfriends and unless you plan on keeping up this judgy stuff I don’t think I will have any so…,” she mumbled. 

He stepped forward to kiss her until she forgave him but he stopped short when he saw how viscous the face mask was. 

“Can you take this gunk off your face so that I can kiss you?,” he asked her. 

“Actually,” Ella said with a grin, “I’ve got a better idea…”

***

Ten minutes later after all the windows had been cracked and Robb and Jon had been poured margaritas of their own, they all settled onto the sectional. 

Another episode of Friends was on and Ghost was splayed on Sansa while Grey Wind peered curiously over Ella’s shoulder as she applied Robb’s green face mask. 

The one Sansa had put on him was pink and had been nice and cool when she’d applied it  thoughtfully but was now starting to dry. His nose was itchy but she had smiled to herself the whole time she’d put it on him and he’d wear it all night if it made her giggle every time she looked over at him. 

“Can you stop whining and just be a man for five minutes?,” Ella asked Robb as he complained about the smell. 

He didn’t like the smell of coconut but Ella had told him it was meant to rejuvenate tired skin and he’d been working so many hours lately at the family company that he’d acquiesced. 

“Come now, you know I can be a man for longer than that…,” Robb said with a grin, pulling her closer to him by her waist.

“Robb!,” she giggled and Jon groaned. 

“Seriously guys,” Sansa said in agreement, “Not to be that person but its not all that nice for you to flaunt your domestic bliss in front of my broken heart.”

That reminded them all why they were there in the first place and Robb accepted the rest of his face mask in silence. 

Ella hopped up to wash her hands and turned to him, “Jon can you help me in the kitchen for a second?”

Robb shrugged at him and he got up, scratching Ghost’s head on the way. 

He walked into the kitchen to find Ella washing her hands of the face mask and he opened the pizza box on the counter and grabbed a slice. 

“Don’t tell me I shouldn’t be here, little one,” he warned her softly. 

“I won’t,” she promised, grabbing a dish towel and drying her hands. 

She hopped up on the counter and sighed. 

“Harry’s such a fucking ass. Do you know it’s not even Sansa he’s been cheating on? It’s the girl he’s been dating since before he met Sansa. He made SANSA THE OTHER WOMAN!,” she raged. 

“We can hear you!,” Sansa called from the living room, “AND I PREFER THE TERM MISTRESS.”

“Noted!,” Ella called back to her and then gave him an oh shit expression that in spite of everything made him smile.

“Harry’s an ass,” he said quietly, “We know this, we’ve always known this. The only person who didn’t is that beautiful girl sitting on the couch in there.”

Ella nodded and reached her hand out. He handed her the slice of pizza and she took a small bite and handed it back to him. 

“I think she did know,” she whispered to him. He stepped closer to her and leaned his hip against the counter. “I think she’s known about all of them… I mean… not the specifics of course, she’s too smart to put herself into… the point is… even if they had all just been nice boring guys like Dickon… I think she’s always known that the relationships have been doomed from the start.”

“Then why-,” Jon started.

“Because of all the things you’ve done to protect her, you’ve never done the simplest one of all,” Ella said, “Just tell her, Jon. Just tell her.”

“Tell her what?,” Jon evaded. 

“Jonathan Elliot Snow so help me,” she said with an annoyed sigh. 

He ran to the other side of the kitchen and grabbed the small box and walked back over to her, opening it, “Lavender donut?”

“My favorite!,” Ella exclaimed giddily. “I take it all back you’re the best.”

“Anything for you,” he said. 

Robb may kill him but Ella was way more frightening. 

She bit into one and chewed thoughtfully, a contented smile on her face. She broke off a piece and handed it to him and he ate it slowly as well, buying time. 

“I’m not saying she shouldn’t just pull it together and tell you too,” Ella said quietly, “She is a strong, beautiful woman and she should have confidence in that but she doesn’t. And I don’t pretend that any of this is your fault because it isn’t, of course it isn’t, but you are the only person who has the power to keep her from getting her heart broken again. The only one in the whole world. That means you basically have a superpower and its really foolish to withhold using a superpower when it can help someone else, someone that you love. Don’t you think?”

Jon looked at her and took the rest of the donut out of her hand and shoved it in his mouth. She smacked him on the arm but went into the box and grabbed out a piece of another and watched him. He tried manfully to get the bite down but there was just so much of it. She looked at him with a grin and that made him more determined so he swallowed it with a large, admittedly painful, gulp. 

“Well done,” she said with a nod. 

“Thank you,” he coughed. “Isn’t it… wrong? To like… swoop now?”

That was part of the problem. Sansa was never single for long. It wasn’t like she got around or anything, not that there was anything wrong with that, she was just a serial monogamist. The trouble was, all the guys she picked were total losers. 

Jon, in spite of threatening each and every one of them, was not the kind of guy to try to steal another man’s girl, especially when he wasn’t totally sure that she wanted him to. There were signs of course, that she might, but he forgot all about those whenever she showed up with another waste of space on her arm. 

Robb and Ella were adamant though that she loved him too and if anyone would know it would be them. They had, after all, known about him for as long as he could remember even though he’d never come out and said it. 

Well never soberly anyway. He and Ella had a drunken sleepover once while the Starks were on a family vacation in Braavos and after she’d plied him with whiskey he had confessed it to her. 

“I’m not suggesting you just go lunge at her,” Ella told him with a roll of her eyes, then smiled impishly, “Though if that’s your move then I can keep Robb very busy while you do so -“

“Gross,” he cut in and she giggled. 

“But maybe… I don’t know… ask her to dinner? Take her for a walk? Casually mention that you’ve been in love with her for most of your life and that you’ll be in love with her for the rest of it and that it would be all together better if she would agree to be the mother of your children…,” Ella suggested. 

“Very casual,” Jon agreed.

Ella giggled and hopped off the counter, tugging his arm. 

They went back into the living room to find the two eldest Stark siblings reclined fully on the couch, chuckling at whatever Chandler was saying.

“Jon got me lavender donuts if you guys want some,” Ella said to them as she went over to wear Robb was sitting and settled in front of him. 

“How nice of him,” Robb said with a glare for him as he let Ella in between his legs and pulled her back against his chest. 

Jon fought the urge to stick his tongue out at him and sat down next to Sansa and tugged one of her braids gently. 

“There’s lemon pie for you too,” he said softly. 

“Thanks,” Sansa said with a smile. Her smile fell and she looked at him skittishly, before hesitantly pressing her cheek to his shoulder, “Thanks for coming,” she said sadly. 

“Nothing’d keep me away,” he told her, leaning his head on top of hers. She wrapped her arms around his and shifted so she leaned against him entirely. He breathed in her familiar smell of lilacs and fought the urge to kiss her head. He settled for saying, “Anything for you, you know that.”

He wasn’t entirely sure that Ella was right. He wasn’t sure that he had a superpower or anything. The only thing that he was certain of was that he loved Sansa Stark more than anything in this world, and that he wasn’t sure he could watch her heart break once more. 

He looked over at Ella and nodded. I’ll do it, he told her silently. 

She smiled at him, Thank you. And winked, Got get ‘em tiger. 

“Come on, Robb, let’s go get that off your face,” she said, gesturing to his face mask. 

“But this is the-,” Robb started. 

“Do you want your skin to peel off?,” Ella asked him curiously. 

“No!,” Robb exclaimed. 

“Well then,” Ella said and got off the couch and pulled Robb with her. 

They disappeared and Jon tried to focus on the television. 

“Can that… she was just kidding right?,” he asked, touching his face to his own mask. 

“Yeah you can just peel it off whenever, you’re skin will stay put. Promise,” Sansa said and he could hear her smile. 

He picked at the edges of the mask and pulled it off. 

“How do I look?,” he asked her. 

She looked up at him and grinned, “Beautiful,” and then settled her head back against him. 

He took hold of her hand and pressed a solemn kiss to the back of it. She looked up at him with a question in those blue eyes of hers and he took a deep breath. 

***

“Jon?,” she asked with a gulp. 

He was looking down at her with the most beautiful and caring pair of charcoal eyes she’d ever known. 

It felt so right sitting here with him. He smelled so good and he felt like home and even though all she wanted was to gnaw on his jaw she could get past that and just accept him for what he was, one of the best friends she’d ever had. 

He was the love of her life too, of that she was certain, but there was no reason for him to know that. It wasn’t really any of his business. 

And then he’d pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. His moustache had tickled her but all she really felt was the warm steady press of his lips, the slight exhale when he let her hand drop down again. Though he didn’t release it. 

“You look tired,” he said sadly. 

“Oh Jon,” she said as breezily as she could muster, “Have I taught you nothing about how to treat a girl? You can’t just go telling a girl she looks tired, you might as well tell her she looks awful.”

He shook his head and sighed and said, “It’s not your face, this face has never looked anything short of lovely,” he released her hand now and pressed the pad of his thumb to the apple of her cheek and swiped along the bone softly. In all her life she wasn’t sure that she’d ever been touched so gently. It felt almost reverent. “It’s your heart.”

“You can see that?,” she asked skeptically. 

If he could really see into her heart she knew there was only one thing that he’d find. 

He nodded, “I’ve been seeing it for so long. Through every guy that didn’t deserve you. I never feel so helpless as when we get the call or text from Ella saying that it’s happened again.”

Her face grew hot, “You make me sound so pathetic.”

“No!,” he exclaimed, “No Sansa… You’re not. Of course you’re not. There’s nothing braver than giving love a chance. And I’ve been a coward for far too long.”

“You’re the bravest man I know,” she shook her head. 

He was, he really was. The bravest and strongest, but the gentlest too. He had always been so gentle with her, and Ella and Arya too. Her father called him and Robb Northern Fools proudly, knowing they were following in his tradition. 

“If that were true,” Jon said, “I would have said this some time ago. I would have told you on the tilt-a-whirl, when you wore your hair just like this,” he said, and tugged her braid gently again, “I would have told you before Joffrey, before Dickon, before…,” he said and she felt his whole body tense. She stroked his arm comfortingly, knowing that there was one man he’d never name in her presence again. “I would have told you every day since because it’s been true every day since - I love you Sansa Stark. I love you and I have been loving you each moment since the first one. And I know. I know your heart is tired and if it’s too soon then I’ll wait, and it’s a no, a no for good, then I’ll never speak of it again but you will always have me, do you hear me? I’m not going anywhere, but gods Sansa, if you just let me love you the way I want to I promi-“

“Okay,” she nodded. 

“Okay?,” he asked incredulously. 

“You can love me,” she said, “That would be alright with me.”

He chuckled at her but there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in hers too so she closed them and leaned her face up towards him blindly. 

His lips met hers as though it were perfectly easy and she knew then that he had been right. Her heart had been tired. So tired, from trying to love people she was never meant to. 

All at once though, it woke up. 

***

Ella woke up sandwiched between Robb and Grey Wind. Robb was spooning her and she was spooning Grey Wind and they were both snoring. 

She rubbed Grey Wind’s head and sat up, going into her bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, knowing the pair of them could sleep for hours yet. 

When she came back out, Robb was spooning Grey Wind, the dog looking like he had died and gone to the heaven of his choice. 

“Come back to bed,” Robb urged her. 

“I can’t,” she complained, “The third time last night nearly killed me.”

“I’ll kiss it better,” he promised and she felt her resolve weakening.

“Come on, I’ll make you bacon instead,” she said. 

“Not exactly a fair trade,” Robb said, but he sat up anyway, pulling his shirt on. 

He padded into the bathroom and brushed his teeth as well and came out and pulled her to him. 

“Why do you look better in my boxers than I do?,” he asked as he looked down at her. 

“Because you look better out of them,” she said lustfully. 

He leaned down and kissed her hungrily, picking her up by her butt. Even though he had worn her out the night before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, deepening the kiss. 

The palm of his other hand rested against her cheek, his fingers threading into her hair and she loved him so much she could burst. 

She was about to tell him so when she felt a paw on her arm. She looked down to see Grey Wind panting in their faces. 

“Go away buddy,” Robb said but Grey Wind looked at him firmly. 

“My fault,” she said, scratching Grey Wind’s head, “I said the b word.”

She hopped down and dragged Robb out of her room. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck on the walk to the kitchen and they stopped once or twice to make out because even though they’d been together for eight years they had never really learned how to stop wanting to kiss one another. 

As they got closer to the kitchen, Ella could practically smell the bacon and was surprised when she walked in to find it already sizzling in the pan. 

That wasn’t the only thing though because there was Sansa Stark wearing Jon’s sweatshirt and seemingly nothing else while Jon stood there wearing an apron and a pair of his boxers and they were locked in what could only been considered a truly sloppy make-out. 

She reached behind her and shielded Robb’s eyes as she cleared her throat. 

“Ella, it’s a little late for that,” Robb grumbled as Jon and Sansa broke apart. 

Sansa blushed and Jon grinned and Ella squealed and Robb groaned. 

“Do you have enough for us?,” Ella asked, hoping some food would settle Robb’s stomach. 

“Always, little one,” Jon said with a grin, clearly too delirious with happiness to care much for his best friend’s (and apparent future brother-in-law’s) comfort. 

“Robb why don’t you set the table?,” she suggested. “Jon… I think there is some champagne in the fridge in the laundry room? I think this calls for celebratory mimosas…”

They both went to do her bidding and she ran and jumped at Sansa, wrapping her legs around her the way she’d just had her legs around Robb. 

Sansa hugged her back, the pair of them wiggling in excitement. 

“Okay so I know that you probably want to spend every minute with Jon right now, but you’ll save me some time and tell me the whole story, right?,” Ella asked her and hopped down. 

“Of course I will,” Sansa said, using some tongs to flip the bacon. “Wait until I tell you about his superpower…”

Ella giggled, “No need. I’m the one who discovered it.”

Sansa turned to her and said, “Um…I fucking hope not because it involves his tongue and a part of your body that I truly pray he’s never seen…”

Ella looked at her and Sansa looked so smugly satisfied that Ella couldn’t help the scream that erupted her from her mouth. She wrapped Sansa in her arms again and they didn’t break apart until Robb and Jon collided with each other coming into the kitchen. 

Robb held the fire extinguisher and Jon had taken off the apron and was wielding it like he might smother something with it. 

Her and Sansa giggled and rolled their eyes as Robb and Jon seemed to slowly understand that they were not in fact in danger. 

“At ease, gentlemen,” Sansa said with a grin. 

“Yeah, we’ve got it all under control,” Ella agreed. 

Robb and Jon straightened up and soon there were champagne glasses taken out and no one cared that they didn’t have any orange juice because they were too busy toasting to the new couple. 

*

“You should ignore my texts more often,” she whispered to Robb as they did the dishes after breakfast. 

“I’ll remind you that you said that,” he told her. 

“Just make sure you take a page out of Jon’s book and bring lavender donuts with you next time that you do,” she suggested. 

Robb opened his mouth as if to protest, but she cut off whatever he was going to say with a kiss. He sunk into her the way he always did and it was all the sweeter knowing that their best friends’ hearts were safe, the way he’d always kept hers. 

And they say cleanses don’t work…

[copperbora]

Concept Writing - Kit at the Vet

Heyo, beautifuls! I thought I’d share this piece, which is a concept for a maybe future story. Note that there’s certain elements which I’m not happy with - wolves are so overdone in shape shifting genre - but it’s still a great start and I hope that you enjoy it. 

Kit at the Vet By Rosanna P. Brost October 26th 2017

A kind, animal loving woman is sobbing. She has brown eyes, curly black hair and her husband is as bald as a baseball, with a voluminous moustache capable of winning best in show in any facial hair competition. He sits with one arm around her, consoling her and using his other hand to pet the strawberry blonde and grey dog laying at their feet. Despite the blood matted in the dog’s fur on one hind leg, it appears to be mildly annoyed, as does the receptionist who is sitting at the clinic’s counter. The waiting room is painted a soothing green, the floor is honeyed wood and the dog is really wishing that she could do something about the leash in the lady’s hand, which is so inconveniently attached to her neck, which the man won’t stop touching.

The dog is me and I am not a dog at all but a wolf but I’m also not that either, because I am actually Aurora Peters, Homo sapiens. These schmucks who have brought me in to Pleasant Hill Veterinary Practice are just two more in an annoyingly long line of idiots who apparently can’t read the ‘if found injured, please admit to hospital, not vet’ tag on my collar, or my name, or my mom’s phone number or even my home address. Instead, they’ve all taken me to the vet and it’s only stupid luck that there is only one veterinary practice in town for them to come to. Everyone here knows me, right down to the Russian Blue greeter cat, who has just come to say hi, but Jacob Hars, my well-meaning benefactor, rudely shoos her away. Luna gives a dissatisfied brrrt and wanders off, tail waving in the air, passing Doctor Hank Johnson as he steps out with a clip board. I meet his eyes and we share a moment of shared disgruntlement, then he greets my benefactors, the Hars, who tearily declare the usual.

“Doctor, we think she was hit by a car -”

“Her owners should know better than to let her roam!”

“There’s no name on her collar at all -”

“Doctor, if her people don’t want her, we’ll take her! She’s a beautiful animal!”

“I am truly grateful for your concern for this animal, Mister and Missus Hars,” says Hank charitably, “but I assure you, Kit has a good home and we have her on record. She’s just got a nasty little habit of jumping fences, that’s all.”

The Hars gasp and complain a bit more, but eventually Hank chivvies them out, the receptionist Tanja assuring them that they really do know me, then Hank pulls me into the back room with one of the clinic’s leashes. The moment that we’re through the door and out of sight of the waiting room he unclips the leash from my collar and glares at me. Despite the fact that he’s one tall dude, colour me uninspired - after all, there’s rainbow tabby cats all over his scrubs and he wears a bowtie decorated with paw prints. Plus, he’s like family to me, almost a second father; we even celebrate Christmas together every year and I gave him a birthday present just last week. (An obnoxiously lurid set of new scrubs, of course.)

“Kitsune, you gotta stop getting yourself into so much trouble,” says Hank crossly. “What’d you even do to yourself, girl?”

With some effort, because doing so opposes my current cute ‘n fluffy form, I speak, “I got caught in a barbed wire fence. It was rather against letting me continue on my merry way.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know, there are safer ways of practicing your bloody shape shifting! Couldn’t you have waited for shutzhund tomorrow?”

Ahh, shutzhund. Some girls have volleyball, some girls have jogging and then there’s freaks like me who compete in the lovely German dog sport of mauling guys in heavily padded protective suits - as a dog. My team mate is even a real dog, Hank’s champion Russian bred German Shepherd Vlad, (who, if you’re wondering, does indeed kick my ass at Shutzhund.) Hank got me into it because he figured that since I insist on moving around on all fours and pretending more or less to be canine, I needed to learn how to defend myself that way. Thus far, it has helped me learn how to bark convincingly, which has proven incredibly entertaining.

“Work was so boring, I needed to go out for a run,” I say, extending my hind leg and wincing at the shallow gash in it. “Good thing I’ve had my tetanus shot, eh?”

“Aurora Peters, what season is it?” demands Hank, crossing his arms.

“Fall…?” I say, cocking my head to signal my what-are-you-getting-at because honestly I have no idea why he is asking this dumb question.

“Yes, it’s Fall - hunting season, Aurora! The time of year when a bunch of idiots with guns who don’t know a deer from a shadow are running around our fields and forests looking for wildlife to put bullets in! And what are you, currently, woman?” he snarks. 

I glance at myself, then bare my teeth in a smirk which I have been perfecting in front of my mirror. “Gorgeous.”

Hank looks heavenward, as if asking God for help with bettering my youthful lack of brain cells. “A wolf! And if they don’t mistake you for a wolf, which lots of idiots hate, they’ll mistake you for a bloody flaming coyote, which people hate even more! Do you want a bullet in your brain, woman? ‘cus I can’t fix that!”

He likes calling me ‘woman’ - it’s as if he’s trying to remind me that I am actually a human, a fact which I am quite painfully aware of, thank you. 

“Not particularly,” I say, “but I wasn’t really in a field -”

“It don’t matter!” snaps Hank. “Kitsune, you gotta stay in town right now! And wear a bloody reflective vest, you ninny - emulate dog instead of arrooo.”

I sniff, “I wear it when I am hiking, but I need someone to put it on for me and I was alone, so -”

“Couldn’t you have stopped by here? Or gotten Rick, anybody to put it on for you?”

I look at him blankly, silently admitting: this would have been smart.

“But I’m alone tonight, so how the heck would I get it off afterwards?” I ask shrewdly.

Cue another eye roll. “You come by here and I’d take it off for you, you know I’m here for another hour. Kit, why can’t you have a weekday hobby? Why do you have to spend every spare minute you have running naked around town?”

He’s right, actually; if I were to transform right now, I would be naked, a fact which many townspeople have witnessed, thanks to the first time that I was hit by a bicycle (bikes are my nemesis) and the good Samaritan cyclist tried to help me. When I spoke up to say that I had just been stunned and was fine, the cyclist had fainted. Me, being kind of an idiot, had transformed back to perform CPR if needed, thinking they were in cardiac arrest - and at that moment, a long line of kindergartners had walked past the park where we were with their teacher on the way to the pool, the kids discovering quite abruptly what boobs look like. I had been unable to concentrate enough to change back, so I had ran streaking for home, only for my embarrassment to become truly complete by the police officer who had stopped by to write me a ticket for public indecency that evening. It had not ended there - for weeks I had had the parents of the kindergartners being terribly rude to me and that was about the time when I opted to spend the rest of my secondary education at home. 

“Well, since you were dumb and forgot to bring by another set of clothes for circumstances like this from the last time that you swore you wouldn’t show up here like this, you can spend the rest of my shift hanging out with Vlad until I can drive you home,” determined Hank and he herded me into his office, where Vlad was quite happy to slobber all over my face. Tail clamped between my hindquarters to thwart Vlad’s mundane yet cherished canine hobby of butt sniffing, I turned back to the door, just as Hank was about to shut it. His eyebrows shunted low over his dark eyes and I nervously laid back my ears.

“Y’know, Kit, someday this shape shifting nonsense is going to get you into some real trouble, and I might not be there to help,” said Hank and with these forbidding words, he walks off, cheerfully calling a greeting to his next, real patient.

Unfortunately, he repeats this warning in some format every time I end up at his clinic on four legs - after all, that’s how we first met - so I don’t really listen to him. Instead, I proceed to horse around with Vlad.

Like an idiot.

[loubuggins]

EKNQ Ch. 5

Author’s Notes: Hey y’all! Guess what we’ve got for y’all tonight! That’s right! An update! Be ready, because the parents are showing up in this one! I know y’all have been waiting for this for a while, so enjoy the show!

Prologue / Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4

                                       Every King Needs a Queen

                                  Chapter 5: The Adults Are Talking

Maria used her dark magic to open a portal to the top of the tower. When she stepped through her breach, she had to use her arm to cover her eyes as the wind created by the wings of a dragon blew in her face. By the time she was able to see again, the obsidian, scaly form of the dragon had been replaced with the well-toned body of an obscure man. His shaggy, untamed hair was marbled with brown and grey. His deep hazel eyes dulled with age, but still burned with a heated passion for injustice. He wore his signature black coat, now stained, frayed and torn from his past battles. Around his waist was a belt that held his varies weapons that he had collected over the years.

In his arms he carried a woman, his wife and companion whom he placed gently onto the ground.  She stood just under his chin, yet her small frame was misleading to those who knew of the power that ran through her veins and the experiences that flashed behind her crystal-like eyes. She stood with a confidence that made Maria envious. Her pink hair fell to her shoulders, and still looked as bright and as soft as ever. Clearly, this woman cared more for her appearance than the man at her side. And unlike her husband, she dressed in a more comfortable fashion, sporting a whimsical, baby-blue sundress that was patterned with bright yellow carnations.

As the couple approached the younger girl, her palms began to sweat, and she fought back the urge to run her gloved hands through her hair. Any nervous habit would be obvious to this pair and showing weakness in front of ones with such authority would look poorly on her part and undermine her own role here. So, the young changeling stood straight and bit the inside of her cheek as she looked upon the older duo with an empty gaze. She extended her hand out to the man who came to her first and offered a respectful greeting.

“Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, welcome to the Teen Titans West Tow- “

“Where is she?” He growled, ignoring her opened hand. The intensity of his glare made Maria’s figurative tail duck between her legs, but again she fought the urge to react.

“We do not have a location yet on Arella, but I have already assigned – “

He rolled his eyes “Not her! My daughter! Chloe! Where is she?”

Before Maria could answer, Mrs. Daniels came forward, placing a calming hand on her husband’s shoulder and pulling him back slightly. “What Drake means is that we appreciate you contacting us, Maria. Now if you could please escort us to Chloe, we would appreciate that.” Kole Daniels spoke with a steady and gentler voice, but Maria noticed the coloring of her knuckles as she held back her husband by his arm. Somehow, her reasonable request and peaceful presence diminished some of the tension that came off between the two other alphas on the roof. Maria nodded her head, as almost an unspoken thank you to the wiser woman.

“Right this way.” She said as she turned and led them back inside.  

She led them soundlessly further into the tower, as they made their way to the special prison designed to hold even the strongest of metahumans. As they made their trip, Maria’s empathic senses picked up on the burning fury that came off the dragon knight behind her. She could smell the scent of cigar smoke, vinegar, and pepper that made up the distinct smell of anger. She clenched her fists, but kept a steady pace as she led them to their destination.

Once they entered into the small space that came between them and the containment unit, Maria took notice of the temporary prisoner inside. The pink-haired girl sat on the floor with her head against the wall and her eyes to the ceiling as if she were looking at something. Satisfied that her prisoner was being herself, Maria used one hand to pull off her glove and placed her exposed hand on the panel that was placed to the side of the door. The panel scanned her prints, then after a heartbeat, the it blinked green and the door slid open, granting them access.

Before Maria could take two steps in, Kole pushed past her and made a beeline for her daughter with open arms and wrapped them around her daughters neck.  Not at all bothered by the cuffs that dangled around her hands between them.

“Oh honey, I’ve missed you so much! Are you okay? Why is it everytime we come to visit you, it’s because you’ve gotten yourself into some kind of trouble? Oh, it doesn’t matter right now. I’m just glad you’re okay.”  She squeezed her tighter, pressing Chloe’s head into her chest.

“Mom...your boobs are in my face.” Chloe grumbled as she tried to squirm out of her mother’s grasp.

Slightly embarrassed, She let go of her daughter and stood back up to give her some space. “Sorry.”

“Hey what about me?” Kole glanced at Drake who had been stuck in place by solid crystals around his ankles formed by his loving wife.

She glared.  “Are you gonna behave?”

He rolled his eyes and put on his widest, fakest smile.  She scrunched her nose.  It would have to do.  She waved her hand and released him, but his smile quickly vanished with the crystal.  

“Dad, just let me explain.”

“Somebody better.  We get a call saying you’ve been ‘detained’ and Arella has gone missing, but no one is telling us why!”

“Don’t forget she knocked out her leader.” Maria glared.  

Drake waved her off, “Yeah I don’t care about that.”

Chloe stood up beside her mother, but kept a bit of a distance between her and her father. “Okay so about a week ago -”

“Hold on.” Drake interrupted her. It only took him three strides to cross the room. When he reached her, he held out his hand, ready to clutch the chains of her cuffs and melt them on the spot, but Chloe stepped back, out of his reach. Before he could protest, Chloe wiggled her arms, and out popped both her hands, now free of the power-canceling cuffs.

Both Maria and Drake starred at the young girl in amazement. “What the hell?” They said in unisine.

Chloe simply shrugged. “Oh come on, like you didn’t teach us how to escape power-canceling cuffs in the first week of training?” She said as she looked over at Maria who huffed and crossed her arms.

“Anyways, back to what I was saying. About a week ago, Uncle Landon came to me-“

“-oh god!” Both Kole and Drake groaned facepalming.

“ANYways he was asking me for a favor.” Drake and Kole glanced at her in horror causing her to roll her eyes. “Shut up, I kept my soul.  He told me that Arella was about to get blamed for something bad, and when that happens, I should give him a call on this.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a classic flip phone about the size of her thumb. She held it out for everyone in the room to see, but Drake quickly snached it from her hand.

“That crazy mother fucker gave you my old phone.” He mumbled under his breath, but it was still loud enough for everyone to here.

“Drake, language.” Kole scolded her husband, before turning back to her daughter. “Go on Chloe.”

The younger knight nodded her head at her mother in gratitude before continuing. “So anyway, I didn’t understand what he was blabbering about at the time, but when I overheard Maria accuse Arella of murder, I just knew that was what he meant. How he knew that was going to happen is beyond me, but I did as he told me. Arella teleported us to some beach around here, and I gave him a call.”

A scary silence settled over the cell.  “M-Murder?” Kole squeaked.

“Arella is a suspect in a series of murders.” Maria spoke. “I have the evidence to back it up.”

The scary silence again this time causing Drake to begin pacing the cell, rubbing his face with his hands.  He stopped at the wall, the overwhelming information buzzing around his head like killer bees.  “So Arella is with Landon then?” Drake questioned.

Chloe answered him with a nod.

“Damnit.” Drake cursed once again, ignoring the scaving look his wife was sending him. “Chloe, what did I tell you about him?”

Chloe wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, or stupid questions, so her response was as snippy as she could get. “Don’t trust him.”

“And what did you do?”

“I trusted him.” She sighed. “But you don’t understand, Dad, Arella had no one else to turn to! If she had stayed here, she would be the one locked up right now, not me and god know what else.  Besides YOU trusted him before!”

“That was different!” He barked.  “We did what we HAD to do!  This is just two teenagers in way over their heads!!”

Chloe narrowed her now slitted eyes, but before anything could escalate further, Kole stood between them, but spoke to Maria.  “Maria, have you contacted your parents yet?”

“No ma’am, not yet. I’ll go ahead and do that now.”

“Good. As both your father and your boss, Gar deserves to know as soon as possible.”

Maria nodded her head in agreement, but before she could excuse herself to make the call, a flash of red showed up in the doorway. Bart Allen caught his breath after coming to a stop by the door.

“Hey boss, we’ve got some more visitors.”

“What? Who?”

Just then, the tower’s security system sounded throughout the tower. “Welcome, Changeling and Raven.”

“Oh crap.” Maria muttered, but begrudgingly stepped out of the room and went to accept her fate.

When she entered the common room, she was met with the backs of her parent’s who were currently conversing with the other members of her team. Her father was the first to hear her enter the room, and his worried gaze fell upon her as she approached them.  Raven followed his line of sight to her daughter, whom was quickly taken into her arms.

“Maria, thank goodness, is everything alright?” Her mother asked her in her signature gravelly voice.  

“How did you know if anything was wrong?” Maria answered with another question.

“Mother’s intuition.” Raven deadpanned.

“Plus your mother just happens to be the greatest empath in the universe, so of course she knows if something fishy is going on between one or more of her kids.” Garfield added as he stepped closer to Maria. The older man may have been as fit as a whistle, but years of battle still made themselves known. His once thick, forest green hair, now shining with grey streaks and thinning over the top. The corners of his mouth now wrinkled from every past smile and frown. His suit mirrored her own, white with purple around the sides and collar. Only his had no emblem over the chest.

His wife and mate beside him nodded her head in agreement. Her own features aging as well. Her once deep violet locks that fell past her shoulders now had grey roots, and her small body had some added weight, compliments of her child-bearing years. She had no wrinkles though, and in fact, her skin looked as flawless as ever, due in large part to her self-healing abilities. Her long, navy blue cloak just barely missed the floor and hung against her wide shoulders. She addressed her daughter with a sense of urgency.

“Now where is Arella?”

For some reason, Maria felt a spike of jealousy rise within her. Even though Arella was the problem at the moment, it still felt wrong for them to immediately worry about her baby sister before her. Would it kill them to think about her for a change? But Maria had to shove those feelings away, for there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“That’s the problem Mom. You see,” She hesitated.  Was she really about to tell her own mother that her sister, their daughter was a killer?  No going back now.  “About a week ago the guy we were after was brutally murdered before we could get to him. Just like twelve others before him. So I went to the crime scene to investigate, to see if this was more than a coincidence.”  

Raven wide eyes urged her to continue. “And?”

Maria gulped.  The eyes of her parents plead for the truth, but, how could she tell them. She inhaled through her nose.  “And while I was there, I picked up . . . Arella’s scent.” Raven let out a gasp in horror, her hands shooting to cover her mouth, while Garfield looked away in distraught, but Maria hadn’t finished. “I also found a security camera that I had Susan salvage for me.”

At this, Raven held up her hand to silence her. “No. I-I don’t want to hear this.” She looked over to her husband who was now pacing the common room floor.

“Sorry Raven, you’ll need to hear this.” The sarcastic voice of Drake Daniels came from behind Maria, forcing the girl to turn her attention to him. Raven regarded the dragon knight with a suspicious gaze. Garfield stop his pacing to do the same.

“Drake.” Garfield scuffed as he stepped in between the other man and his wife and daughter. “What are you doing here?”

“Dealing with my out of control daughter, same as you.” Garfield opened his mouth to retort, but his reply was cut off.  “I’m not here to start a fight with you. It seems that my Kid, helped your kid escape.  With him.”

“Landon.” When Raven said the name, the temperature in the room dropped and her eyes transformed into red burning slits.

Drake shrugged, “And you win the trip to Maui.”

Raven snarled, a more disturbing noise than anything Gar could do. “That bastard has been hovering around Arella ever since that night he killed Carnus.” She said through clenched teeth, the rage in her voice sending a chill down the normally tough as nails demon killer. However, it only took the calming touch of her green husband to return her features back to normal.

“Where are they?” Gar asked.

Drake shrugged again, “I don’t know-“

“-your bffs and you don’t know!?”

“Settle down!” Drake commanded, “A) were not joined at the hip and B) we don’t speak unless he visits Chloe.  But I may have a clue.” He reached into his coat and pulled out the phone he confiscated from Chloe and waved it in the air.

“Seems his royal pain in the ass gave a parting gift to Chloe.”

Gar moved quickly to try and swipe the little device, but Drake (even after all these years) was still quicker.

“Give me the phone, Drake!” Gar growled. During his years as an authoritative figure, Gar had learned how to be more intimidating and direct, but even if his temper could make the young heroes he trained wet their pants, it was useless on the even scarier monster slayer.

“We both know you are the last person Landon will talk to.” Drake reasoned.

“Maybe so, but I know he will talk to me.” Raven spoke up, slightly startling the two grown men who seemingly forgot she in the room. Before Drake could protest, Raven was already halfway to the door. “Come on, we’ll do this in the old study.”

Drake cast a curious gaze over to Gar who looked as if he were pouting like a child. Seeing that he was not going to make a move to stop his wife, Drake figured he shouldn’t either.

“I guess we’ll go see what we can find out from Landon, in the meantime, maybe Maria here can catch you up in what’s been going on here.” Drake offered to Gar as he followed Raven out the door.

Raven’s scowl never left her face for the entirety of the journey to the study, which was the very same one used by Dick Grayson himself all those years ago. Such simpler times they were, when she only had her teammates to worry about. Once they went inside the smaller room, she began pacing, mentally screaming her mantra to calm herself.  

“This all makes sense now,” she mumbled, “he’s watched us for years, waiting and plotting.”

“Don’t give him so much credit.” She wiped her head to Drake’s direction, “he didn’t plan on what Arella would do, he just knew she would snap eventually.” He lowered his tone as he reached for the phone, “just like we all did.”   She fought the urge to rip his head off, but deep down she knew he was right. With the phone dialed he turned to her.  “You ready for this?”

She sighed walking to his side. “Sure.”  He hit the speed dial.

“I was wondering when I would hear from you.” The Englishmen spoke from the other end of the line.

“Where’s my daughter?” Raven snapped, the sound of his arrogant voice making vile rise in her throat.

“Raven? I thought it would be Drake calling me?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Don’t worry I’m here too.”

“Aw! There’s my second favorite dragon!”

Raven ignored their banter, “Last time, where is-“

“She’s fine darling, she’s resting.”

“That doesn’t answer my questions-“

“-relax.” He said again more forcefully.  But now it was Drake’s turn.  

“You’ve got a lot of nerve involving my daughter in all this.”

“Yes, yes I’m a horrible person, I will burn in Hell.  Oh wait, I already did that.  Here’s the situation we find ourselves in.  Arella has, by my count, killed at least twelve,  all current guests of my kingdom so no worries there, and before she gets to far gone I’ve taken it upon myself to stop that.  Which you obviously FAILED to do in the last eighteen years.”

“AS IF YOU EVER GOT THE PARENT OF THE YEAR AWARD!”

Raven slammed her hands onto the table, shrieking into the cellphone producing a good three to five minutes of silence from everyone in the room, including Landon.  Drake placed a hand on her shoulder to ease her tension when Landon spoke again.

“Toushay, but you have to agree things are a bit out of hand at this point and ‘hoping’ things will get better isn’t going to cut it.”

The two were quiet for a moment as they let this new information marinate, “I’m going to put you on hold.” He hit the mute button and turned to a confused Raven. “Listen. Rav-“

“No.” She shot. “I’m not considering letting my daughter stay with him.”

“Raven, just hear me out,” his tone was as calm as he could make it. “I love Arella like she was my own.  She has been a sister to Chloe in every way imaginable, and I don’t want her to give in to Trigon’s influence as much as you don’t, but if Landon-“

“NO!” She screamed. “She is my child, and her family will handle this!”

“How? Raven, Arella killed people. I don’t know the circumstances, but it won’t look good to the League, or anyone else and you can’t protect her from that.”

Her eyes were narrow, hateful slits and her tone even and flat.  “Watch me.” She grabbed the phone, unmutting it.  “Give her back to me. NOW!”

Landon let out a growl of frustration from the other line.  “Why can’t you understand?! I. Am. Not. The bad guy!”

Once again, Raven’s tone was flat, even, and threatening, “Your a full blooded demon. You will ALWAYS be the bad guy. Now give her back to me, or you WILL know pain.”

The other end was silent for a few heartbeats.  “Darling. I already know pain. I’m doing this, because I want it to stop.” And the phone went dead.

Raven buried her head in her palms, and her body began to shake as sobs began to escape her lips. Objects around the room were encased in black magic and began floating about. Drake stood there awkwardly, as he stared at the weeping mother. The gears in his mind began to turn as he tried to figure out their next move. For now, however, he realized the best thing to do was to let his old friend mourn the disappearance of her daughter in peace. Oding the only thing he knew how to do, he reached out a tentative hand over Raven, and placed it gently on top of her silky hair. Raven stilled for a moment, as if she was reminded of the other person in the room, but then turned around and wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest. Drake stood frozen as she continued to cry. Slowly, his arms wrapped around her own body, and he simply stood there while she stained his shirt with her tears.

Unbeknownst to them, across the ocean, sitting back in a chair as the fire of the fireplace crackled in front of him, casting a soft glow upon his body in the dead of night, was the demon king himself. He sat in his chair, staring off into the dancing flames, an old cell phone in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. Not far from him, a young girl slept peacefully in her room, safe and sound. Just as he had promised. Yet the words of the girl’s mother rang in his ears, just as harsh as the first time they had hit their target.

“As if you ever were the parent of the year!”

His thoughts strayed from the girl sleeping in the room to an even younger girl, curled up in a peaceful slumber. Her skin white as milk and her hair dark as the feathers of a raven. And with these thoughts, a single tear left his eye and slid down his cheek, until it fell onto the phone that still read the caller-ID.

RAVEN   

Author’s Notes: So there is a lot of significance into this ending that will make more sense as we progress. If any of you read BH’s stories, you may already know what I’m referring to, so yay for you! Again, I apologize for the unplanned hiatus. It was entirely on me. I write when I can, and when I feel inspired to do so. Not only do I need time to write, I also (more importantly) need the right mood to write. So for that reason, this story may come and go in spurts, but I promise you all that BH and I will make it worth the ride!

As always, if you read it, please review it! Your support is always appreciated!

Many thanks,

L.B.

Disclaimer: Drake Daniels, Chloe Daniels and Landon owned by @bearhow2. Maria Logan and Arella Logan owned by Lou Buggins. All other characters owned by DC Comics. Story co-written by @bearhow2 and Lou Buggins.

[historyrepeatsitself-phff]

Chapter Sixty-One

A/N: I know it’s not seven o’clock yet, but I thought I’d share the chapter with you early (tbh I thought you could schedule a post so that it was posted at a specific time, but apparently not, so I doubt any of my chapters will be posted at exactly 19:00). I’m sorry it’s been so long, but there’s a good fifteen chapters coming your way now :)

I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know - nothing means more to me than all your opinions 💖

Emmy walked beside Harry, both hands resting on her bump, as he pulled his suitcase along after him. They were in Heathrow Airport, where Harry would be catching his flight to Brazil for the Olympics. They had told no one about their little baby girl yet, and Harry had demanded that Emmy wait until he got back before she told people, because he wanted to see their reactions. Claire and Edward knew, as did the POs, but that was about it.

They were escorted to a private waiting room, and Harry collapsed onto one of the seats there, before gently pulling Emmy down onto his lap. He nuzzled into her throat as she loosely draped her arms round his neck. She felt slightly sick – she didn’t want him to leave again.

Claire was stood at the window, looking out, hands on her hips, at the miserable grey sky. She huffed. “Ed, you sure you don’t want to stay with Emmy this time? I’ll go with Harry.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “No chance,” he grinned.

Emmy pouted. “Why does no one want to spend time with me?”

“It’s not personal, Emmy,” Edward laughed. “It’s just that it’s between you and a very hot country.”

“Isn’t it their winter, there?” she grumbled, pressing her forehead into Harry’s shoulder.

“They’re so close to the equator they don’t even have a winter,” Harry teased gently.

Emmy scowled. “It’s your fault that I can’t go.”

“You’re pregnant!”

“Yes. That’s your fault.”

Harry laughed. “Claire, surely Em can survive without you for a week. You could come with us.”

Emmy looked at him, outraged. “You can’t just leave me on my own!”

“Kev?” Harry said, ignoring her. “You wanna come?”

Kev laughed. “Thank god you asked,” he said playfully. “I really need a break from her.”

Emmy scowled at Kev, then turned playful herself. She twirled a strand of hair round her finger as she said, “I guess you’ll just have to leave me with Zach.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

Harry’s smirk disappeared, and Emmy felt victorious. She knew that the mention of Zach instantly pissed Harry off, and Harry simply didn’t like him because Zach was closer to Emmy’s age than he was himself.

“It’s a shame Emmy can’t go with you,” Claire mused, tactfully changing the subject.

“Stupid Zika virus,” Emmy muttered, nuzzling back into Harry as she sulked about being left behind. His hand gently rubbed her back.

“You hate sport anyway,” Harry murmured.

“Not in Brazil I don’t.”

He barked a laugh. “We’d be too busy watching sport to do any sunbathing, you realise that?”

“At least I’d be there with you.”

“I’ll be back in no time.”

“A month,” she said. “You’re going to be there for a month.”

“That’s only because of the trek.”

Emmy pouted, feeling tears prickling in her eyes at the thought of him being gone for so long. She blinked them away, and she swallowed as she felt her throat tightening. “You can’t even phone me when you’re on the trek.”

“Emmy,” he said gently, moving her in his arms so she was looking at him. “You’ve got so much planned for the month, you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

She scoffed. “I always notice when you’re gone.”

“Sir,” an airport steward said then. “It’s time to board.”

Emmy’s heart accelerated in panic. She wasn’t ready for him to go yet. “Don’t go,” she blurted.

“Emmy-“ He tried to prise her fingers from his collar as he got to his feet. “You’ll be fine without me.”

She took a deep breath, holding in the tears, as he leant down to kiss her. It started off gentle, but she reached up and gripped his shirt, and he deepened it, determined to give her something to remember, something to distract her from his departure. One of his hands went to her bump, and he stroked it gently.

“Take care of my little princess, okay?” he murmured, dropping his gaze to her little bump.

Her heart swelled at his words. “Of course I will.”

He kissed her again, and again, and then she was watching him leave the room with Edward, Rick and Brian. He turned and gave a small flutter of his fingers, before he was out of sight.

Emmy took a deep, steadying breath. Claire came over and gently rubbed her arm.

“It’s okay,” Claire said. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

Emmy nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. She did not want to cry. If she had to, she would save it for that night, when the empty house and her far-too-big bed finally got the better of her.

And as she curled under the covers that night, watching Modern Family, her little baby girl started to flutter in her stomach, and Emmy pressed her hand to her bump. That was when the tears started to flow, because Harry was not there to feel it.

“So.” Claire folded her hands across the desk and smiled at Emmy. “How was last night?”

“Long,” Emmy mumbled, yawning. “This little one was very agitated.”

Claire smiled affectionately as Emmy stroked her bump. “We need to do some planning.”

“My schedule’s busy enough as it is, Claire,” Emmy complained. “Don’t give me more to do.”

“No, no, don’t worry, we’re not planning any engagements,” Claire said. “Although you do need to make up your mind about attending the Mind gala next month.”

“Give me another few days,” Emmy said. “But if we’re not planning engagements…”

“We need to talk about the leak.”

Emmy looked at her in surprise. “I thought we’d agree that we were just not going to tell anyone anything?”

“Is that how you want to live? What happens when Harry gets home and wants to tell everyone you’re having a little girl?”

She nibbled her lip nervously. “So what are you thinking?”

“Well, if we look at the last leak. When they leaked the pregnancy and the ultrasound picture. You can split everyone who knew into three groups: your friends, Harry’s friends, and Harry’s family. And if we include your family, just in case Charles told Alexander before you did, that’s four groups.”

“Right.” Emmy wondered where this was going.

“Well, why don’t we – you – tell them each a different name? Or two different names. Pretend that you don’t know what the sex is, and tell each group a different girl’s name and a different boy’s name. And that way, when the name is leaked, we’ll know which group it came from.”

“Hmm.” Emmy couldn’t deny, it was a good idea. But it also relied on her being a very good liar. And she wasn’t sure whether that was going to work out. “We could try it.”

“You’re seeing Harry’s family on the eighth, for Beatrice’s birthday meal. You’re seeing Harry’s friends on the twelfth for Jake’s birthday. And then you just need to find a time to see your family, and your friends.”

“I…suppose it could work.”

“It’s worth a try,” Claire said, throwing her a smile. “So we need some names for each group. They can’t be too obvious, but they also can’t be ridiculous. They need to be believable. But I guess you’d want to choose some names that you don’t actually like, so you won’t choose them when it comes to naming your baby.”

“Can I…can I do that with Harry when he phones tonight?”

“Sure.” Claire smiled, evidently happy that Emmy was going along with it. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning for the visit to Great Ormond Street. We can go over it then.”

“Okay.”

Emmy was supposed to spend the day reading up on Great Ormond Street, ready to ask questions the following day and to show that she’d actually done her research. This was her second visit, and she knew that the day would be focusing on the cancer unit. Cancer was one of her “topics”, it was one of the things that she wanted to focus on, especially children with cancer. She wanted to show that she was interested, that she was dedicated. She wasn’t just turning up, showing her face and then going home.

But her mind was distracted for most of the day. She imagined messing up this whole ‘name game’, letting slip what the whole thing was for. She was worried about someone realizing what she was doing. No one would react well to that, especially not someone like Taylor. She was worried about upsetting her best friend.

She was in the kitchen making herself some dinner when Harry phoned. He’d taken some time out from watching the swimming to phone her.

“Hey baby,” he said, the grin evident in his voice.

“Harry!” Emmy all but squealed with delight. “Wait, you were talking to me, right? Or were you talking to this little angel in my womb?”

He laughed, the sound musical with the joy at the mention of his daughter. “I was talking to you, Em. How’s your day been so far?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Well you’re not here to make it amazing, so…” She trailed off, then laughed with him. “I had a meeting with Claire this morning. She’s had an ingenious idea at finding out who the rat is.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“She wants me to tell your family a baby name, your friends a different name, my friends a different name and then my family a different name, and then see which ends up in the paper.”

“That’s a pretty good idea,” he said.

“Except I can’t lie!”

“Pfft, everyone can lie, Emmy. You’ll be fine.”

“What if Taylor catches on, and then hates me for it?”

“You’re stressing,” he said. “Don’t stress. It’s not good for the baby.”

“Hmm.” Her heart still felt fluttery with anxiety. “We need to pick names.”

“Shit, already?!”

“I mean, names for the different groups,” she said, giggling. “Four girls’ names and four boys’ names that we don’t like.”

“Hmm, interesting,” he said. “Well, we could tell my friends that if it’s a boy we’ll call him Charlie, and if it’s a girl we’ll call her Elizabeth. Easy names that we sure as hell aren’t going to use.”

“You don’t want to name them after your grandmother?”

“Definitely not for a first name,” he said. “What about Albert and Rose? They’re traditional but I hate them.”

Emmy giggled. “You’re good at coming up with names that you don’t like.”

“You could tell someone that the boy will be called Henry?” he said. “We’re not having a boy so we don’t need to worry about that. And then, I don’t know, Victoria or something like that.”

“What about Alice? It’s quite traditional, but I don’t really like it.”

“Sure, me neither. Do you want to write these down?”

Five minutes later – for it took them a surprisingly short amount of time to come up with traditional names that neither of them liked – Emmy had a list. She scanned over it, checking they had everything.

My family – Andrew and Annabelle

Harry’s family – Albert and Rose

My friends – Henry and Alice

Harry’s friends – Charles and Elizabeth  

“Okay, that looks good,” she said. “They’re going to think we’re so boring.”

His chuckle echoed down the phone. “I’ll tell you what is boring: cycling. I watched a bit of it earlier. Ugh.”

She giggled. “Would you rather be here with me?”

“Oh, a thousand times.”

“I wish you were here too,” she said, then sighed. “I’m going to Great Ormond Street tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ll be brilliant,” he said.

“I’m giving my first speech.”

“Oh shit, yeah. Don’t worry about it. They’ll be hanging on to your every word.”

“Hmm.” The thought of it made her feel sick.

“Try not to think about me and I know you’ll be fine. I know it’s difficult.”

“Haha,” she said. “Okay, I’ll let you go. I love you.”

“Love you too, Emmy.”

Emmy stepped from the car to enormous cheers. People lined the street in both directions, and the road had been closed because of this. They waved, they shouted for her attention, and they all took pictures, their own proof that they had seen her in person. She knew that she would be back out later to meet them all. She waved round, smiling shyly. It was a warm day, and she hoped they’d all brought enough water for they would be waiting a few hours. As she stepped towards the entrance, the sun beating down on her from above, the lightest of summer breezes ruffled the skirt of her pink Alice and Olivia dress.

“Your royal highness,” Tessa, the chairman of the trust board, dipped into a curtsey as Emmy approached. “Such an honour to have you here.”

“Such an honour to be here,” Emmy said, shaking her hand. “On such a lovely sunny day, too.”

“Indeed, it really lights up the hospital when it’s like this,” Tessa said. “Please, follow me.”

There was a long queue of officials inside, waiting to meet the Duchess, and Emmy smiled as she met each and every one, trying to remember as many names as possible. Most of them she recognized from before, when her and Harry had visited after Christmas. One hand remained on her bump the whole time, and many mentioned it, commenting that she was glowing, or her bump was getting very large – there couldn’t be many more months left.

“We would like to congratulate both you and the prince on your little baby,” Tessa said, after the line of important people had reached its end.

“Thank you,” Emmy said. “We’re both very excited.”

“I bet you are. So, let’s go and see the oncology department.”

Emmy followed Tessa through the hospital, with Zach walking close behind her. An entourage of people, including Claire, Kev and several photographers came after them, but only one photographer was allowed onto the wards.

Emmy was grateful of this. She knew that it would get teary for her, and she didn’t want those pictures published all over the world. Especially when Harry wasn’t here to make light of everything.

Tears came. She was talking to a little girl, whose bald head was wrapped in a glittery pink scarf, and she was listening to how this little girl Lily’s favourite princess was Cinderella because Lily was blonde too. Emmy felt tears prickling in her eyes, but she kept going, she finished talking to Lily, but when she rose she turned to Zach.

“Emmy?” he whispered, alarmed by the tears in her eyes. “You okay?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes with her thumb before she smiled and turned to Tessa. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Please don’t apologise.”

Emmy had pulled herself together in time for the end of her visit. Everyone who was anyone in the hospital had congregated in the conference hall, and Emmy was led to a seat right at the front. She could feel her heart accelerating nervously, the flutter of fear in her veins. As Tessa gave her speech, Emmy felt like she couldn’t breathe. She was next.

“And I introduce to you all, Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Clarence.”

Emmy’s breathing was shallow. She felt lightheaded, and she instantly regretted not having eaten something a bit more substantial for breakfast, although she still wasn’t sure she’d have been able to keep it down. She slowly got to her feet, white haze clouding her peripheral vision as she carefully made her way up onto the stage. She clutched her speech in her hand, and she hoped to god that it wasn’t shaking as bad as she was sure she was.

“Thank you, Tessa,” she said. “It has been such an honour for me to be here today, to see first-hand the amazing work that Great Ormond Street Hospital does, and has done for over 150 years. The hospital sets the most perfect example of how so many cogs come together to make a well functioning machine.” Her voice was ringing out into the hall, and she could see everyone staring up at her, the cameras flashing. She swallowed. There was ringing in her ears now. Should she stop? Maybe ask for some water? She really didn’t feel very well.

“I can- I can see how so many - many brave little people owe their lives to this-“

There was a surge of outcries and shrieks as The Duchess fell, unconscious.

Bright lights greeted Emmy as she awoke. She peered up, frowning, at the ceiling, the fluorescent lamps. Then she groaned. Her head hurt.

“You okay?”

She looked to her left to see William sat there, elbows on knees, chin on hands. “Um… my head hurts.”

“Hmm, you hit it,” he said, straightening up and rubbing his hands along his thighs. “You fainted.”

“During my speech?”

“Afraid so.”

She sighed, laying her head back down on the pillow. Then panic surged through her, and she jolted upright. “The baby?! Is she okay?!”

“Shh, shh,” William said, gently pushing her back into the bed. “The baby’s fine. You just had low sugar levels, that’s all.”

“I’m in hospital for that?!” she said dubiously.

“They wanted to check everything was okay with the baby,” he explained.

“Then how come I only just woke up?!” she challenged.

“You’ve only been out a few hours,” he said. “Apparently, you were just sleeping. They said you must’ve been exhausted. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

She huffed. “It’s not easy. I was nervous about today.”

“I understand,” he said. “But yeah, you’re both fine. They were just waiting for you to wake up before they let you go.”

Emmy nodded slowly. “Thanks William.”

“Did I hear you right?” he said. “Did you call the baby a ‘she’?”

She considered lying, saying he’d misheard, saying her and Harry didn’t know the sex, but she was too tired for all that. “You heard right. We’re having a little girl.”

“Oh, Emmy, that’s amazing,” he said, breaking into a beam.

“Harry wanted to tell you himself,” she explained, feeling guilty for ruining that for him.

“He’s got bigger issues right now,” William said, laughing to himself. “He’s been phoning non-stop, trying to make sure you’re okay.”

“How did he find out?”

“Claire made the mistake of telling Edward, and Harry overhead Edward on the phone.” He rolled his eyes. “And then, of course, you also made headlines. He’s freaking out. I said you’d give him a call when you got home.”

“And I can go home now?”

“That’s what the doctor said.”

“Good.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. As she stood up, all the blood rushed instantly to her head and she stumbled. William caught her, pulling her to his chest to keep her on her feet. She rested her forehead against him as her head swam, before her vision finally settled. A small part of her head realised how much he felt like Harry: tall, broad-chested, strong arms. She felt safe with her brother-in-law.

“You okay?” he whispered, panic in his voice.

“Yeah,” she said. “Headrush.”

He chuckled lightly. “You be careful. I’ll go get Claire.”

Claire was terrible. She fretted for the entire journey home, to the point that Kev told Claire to stop worrying; the doctors had said Emmy was fine.

“I’m fine,” Emmy reassured her, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Honestly, Claire, stop worrying.”

“You need to phone Harry as soon as you get home, okay?” Claire said. “Not a second later, Ed keeps texting me, saying Harry’s getting restless. He’s worrying about you too.”

Emmy rolled her eyes. How like Harry to overreact.

“It was just low sugar levels,” she said. “You told Ed that, right?”

“Harry just wants to hear, from you, that you’re okay.”

“Why’s he such a pain?”

Claire smirked. “I was under the impression you were in love with that pain.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she replied, giggling to herself.

Claire saw Emmy into Nottingham Cottage, coming into the kitchen and pouring Emmy some water as Emmy slipped out of her coat. She still felt slightly fuzzy, as though she wasn’t 100% there, and she really wanted to go back to sleep. Her eyes hurt from her fatigue. She yawned heavily.

“Emmy, you need to promise me you’re going to get some rest,” Claire said gently. “I know that you were nervous about today, and that you really struggle with anxiety before the engagements, but Harry isn’t here to help you get through them. We can’t have you collapsing each time you’re out because you’re not sleeping.”

“I’m sorry,” Emmy sighed, running a hand over her face as though trying to wipe away the tiredness. “It’s just…everything, you know. Harry not being here, but also the baby and the rat and…” Her voice broke. She didn’t want to get emotional.

“We’re dealing with the rat though, aren’t we?”

“Hmm. But what if I screw this up, too?”

“You won’t,” Claire said, and without thinking about etiquette she reached for Emmy’s hands and gave them a squeeze. “Honestly, Emmy, I know you won’t. I have complete faith in you. You’ll do this amazingly and then we’ll sort out who the rat is, and by the time this little baby gets here we’ll have everything sorted, yes?”

Emmy sniffled.

“Yes, Emmy?” Claire insisted

Emmy swallowed. “Yes.”

“Good.” Claire pulled Emmy into a hug, and although Claire was only about ten years older than Emmy, Emmy felt like she was hugging an aunt, a motherly figure. She cuddled her a bit tighter.

“Okay, you need to call Harry now,” Claire said, once she’d stepped away. “Stop him worrying, okay?”

As soon as Emmy rung his number, he’d answered.

“Emmy, are you okay?!”

Emmy laughed lightly; she’d been expecting him to be anxious, but not this worried. “I’m fine-“

“Shit, baby, what happened?! Why’d it take you so long to call? Have you only just left the hospital?!”

“Yeah, they let me sleep for a while, apparently.”

“Sleep? Have you not been sleeping enough?”

“Afraid not,” she said, then, feeling guilty, she added, “I’m sorry, Harry. I said I would take care of our little girl but I’ve just been so nervous about the engagement and my speech-“

“Emmy, you don’t need to apologise,” he said, slightly exasperated. “I’m just relieved that you’re okay. I thought the worse when Edward told me you’d collapsed.”

“Just low sugar levels.”

She could hear him sucking in a relieved breath. “I was so worried.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I wish I could be there to give you a hug. You sound like you need it.”

She felt tears coming again, and she swallowed before answering. “I’m okay. I wish you were here though.”

“I’ll be home soon, darling.”

“You’ve been gone two days.” She realised she sounded like a whiny child, but at this point she didn’t care.

“Look at it this way. Two days down.”

“Only another 29 to go.”

“Emmy…”

She huffed. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m being miserable. I just miss you.”

“I miss you too. If it’s any consolation, the weather here is pretty shit.”

Emmy managed a laugh. “Well, actually, it’s been really nice here today. It was really hot.”

“Maybe that’s why you were ill. Too hot.”

“Mmm, maybe. Heatstroke.”

“I need to go, I’m awarding the medals for the diving in a minute, and the last pair is going up now, I need to see it.”

“Okay, I’ll speak to you later.”

“Probably tomorrow.”

“I’m at your grandmother’s tomorrow, remember? I’m telling them that we’re naming our child either Albert or Rose.”

“Ooh, good luck. I know you’ll bullshit really well.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you think I was planning to do for my speech today?”

“Damn, you must have been disappointed to not be able to finish it,” he said sarcastically.

“Sooo disappointed,” she drawled, then laughed lightly. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow?”

“You will, baby. Take care of our little princess.”

“Looks like I need to take care of myself first,” she said, sighing. “Love you.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he settled for, “Love you too.”

When the phone went dead, Emmy curled up into a ball on the sofa and hugged herself tightly. She felt like she’d failed as a mother already – she hadn’t kept herself safe, and that had endangered the tiny person growing inside of her.

Her little baby was relying on her, not anyone else. Not Harry, or Claire, or the POs – her. Baby Clarence needed Emmy, and Emmy realised that it was up to her to get through these months, and to get through them on her own. If she couldn’t do that, then how was she going to look after another human being?

Emmy eventually fell asleep on the sofa, but the next day, when she woke up, it was with a completely different mindset.

[emetoandotherthings]

On a family holiday, Emilia and Silas are messing around outside until one of them slips, falls, and gives them self concussion. Bonus points if the other turns out to be a sympathetic puker/vomits at the sight of blood

A/N: And now for something completely different! I really loved writing about Emilia and Silas, so I hope you enjoy reading it! 😊

Emilia had followed the rough path down towards the stony pebble bank which formed a small beach like inlet to the river that ran along through the small hamlet of wooden holiday cabins. The morning was grey and dull, the rain clouds ominous in the sky, and it felt like the morning dew had not quite evaporated fully, leaving a dampness all around. Emilia picked her way across the uneven ground, towards where she could see Silas, the middle McClellan brother, was skimming stones across the water’s surface. “What are you up to?�� She asked interested, as she approached the back of him. Silas gave a small yelp of surprise and dropped the stone that he’d been about to cast, turning to see her standing barely a foot away.  “Jesus! You gave me a fright!” Silas exclaimed, retrieving the smooth stone that he’d dropped when she spoke. “I didn’t think it’d be you that they sent to get me.” He took aim once again and launched the stone, which skipped three times before disappearing into the water. “Well it hasn’t quite gone to plan…” Emilia explained, watching as Silas shuffled the stones around his feet, looking for another suitable stone to skip. “How?” He questioned, bending down to scoop up several pebbles and examining them closer. “Jethro’s feeling ill,” she said, using the insides of her feet to draw stones into a kind of mound. “Our folks have decided that we’re better going into the town tomorrow instead.” “Oh, that’s fair,” Silas responded casually, sending another stone skipping across the water. “Cain and Damian have gone up into the woods, Jude and Eden are acting as Jethro’s personal nurses, and both our mum’s have gone shopping, oh – and Zachariah’s gone with them,” Emilia recounted, watching Silas closely and hoping that he might, at least, look at her. “So we’re free to do whatever, yeah?” Silas’ tone was casual, and Emilia folded her arms across her chest. “Yeah,” she agreed. The sound of the river was very calming and Emilia watched and listened for a while without saying anything; focusing on the gentle trickling and the occasional splashes of Silas’ stones breaking the surface of the water. “How do you do that?” Emilia asked after one of Silas’ stones had skipped five times.  “What?” He said, sifting through the stones right at the waters edge. “Skip stones?” “Yeah,” Emilia crossed behind him, wanting to be in his line of sight, but Silas merely shrugged. “I’ve been able to as long as I can remember…” Silas mumbled. “Can you teach me?” She said, scooping up a stone eagerly from near her feet. “I can try…” He agreed, then pointed towards the stone she was holding. “You need a better stone than that – you need a smooth, flat one, like…” He raked around through the pebbles until he found one. “This one, here.” “Oh right, thanks,” she accepted the stone from him. “Then what?” “Well, you just kinda…” Silas looked a little bit awkward as he tried to explain. “If you stand sideways and hold it with your thumb and middle finger, then just launch it.” He gave a short thrusting movement and his stone skipped three times across the water. Emilia tried with hers, but it launched into the water and caused a huge splash. “I think I might need some more practice,” Emilia laughed, trying to cover up her embarrassment. “It’s not easy,” he encouraged, “just keep trying.” Emilia shuffled through more of the stones until she found one roughly similar to the one Silas had given her. “Try and through it out and fast rather than down and hard.” He indicated the different kinds of movements. “Oh is that how you like it?” The words had slipped past Emilia’s lips before she’d even realised it. “I – uh…” Silas seemed dumbfounded, and Emilia was surprised at how his entire face turned the colour of a beetroot. “Haha – I’m only joking!” She forced a fake laugh to try and cover up the sudden awkwardness. “So…” She took aim with the stone in her hand and imitated Silas’ movement; her stone skipped once before disappearing into the water. “Look!” She cried, pointing out towards the water. “I did it!” “That’s it!” Silas nodded, rummaging through the stones at his feet. “I think I’ve used up all the good skimming stones…” “There might be some more further up the embankment?” Emilia suggested, beginning to take a few steps, but Silas made a noise of uncertainty. “What?” “The ground is all uneven and slippery, I hadn’t gone up there because of it,” he muttered, looking down at his feet. “Really?” Emilia raised her eyebrow at him. “It can’t be that bad.” She dismissed him, continuing to pick her way across the uneven surface. Some of the larger rocks were unstable and wobbled under the soles of her trainers; she used her arms to keep balance, nearly falling as her foot slipped on a moss covered rock. “Emi!” Silas called out as Emilia wobbled and regained her balance. “Come on, let’s go back to the cabin…” “Why!” She turned to look at him, a wicked grin across her face; but Silas looked bored almost, apparently done with the whole situation. “Alright, spoil sport…” She commented, beginning to make her way back down the slight slope of the embankment. She looked up at Silas, who had turned to head back up the path, then felt her foot slip. “Emi! Emilia!” Silas’ voice sounded scared, and hands were touching her shoulders; an explosion of pain shot through the right side of her forehead. “Don’t joke! Stop it!” “Fuuuck…” She groaned, opening her eyes and seeing the rocks up close. “Stop wha’?” “Oh god, you banged your head…” Silas gushed as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, dull pain present in her knees from where she fell. Her head spun and she put her hand up, flicking her long curly hair back from her face. “No shit,” Emilia said, pressing her palm to her forehead and feeling something hot and wet. “Oh fuck…” As she brought her hand away she saw red liquid in the palm of her hand, it took a few seconds to realise that it was blood and she became aware of something trickling down the side of her face. “Is… is that blood?” Silas’ pitch had jumped up an octave, and there was an audible wobble in his voice. A deep throbbing had begun just behind her right eye. “I think so…” She stared down at her hand, then raised her head and looked at Silas. “Have I cut myself?” “Oh Jesus!” He scrambled backwards from where he had been kneeling next to her, his eyes widening as he looked at her face. “What? Is it really bad?” Emilia’s heart had begun to race at the severity of Silas’ reaction, and began to reach up to touch her forehead again when Silas barked: “Stop!” Emilia had frozen with her hand halfway to her face and stared at him. “Uh, we should get you back to the cabin so you can get that cut looked at…” Silas had scrambled to his feet, and Emilia noticed that his face was very white. “Are you okay Silas?” She asked, clambering to her feet with difficulty as the ground was still uneven and her head aching. Silas had backed up about five paces, his eyes wide with a look of horror, then his hand shot up to his mouth. “Silas?” “Huuurp!” Silas’ cheeks had puffed out suddenly as his chest heaved, and Emilia stared at him in shock as he appeared to be fighting against the urge to retch. “I – sorry – I – g’kkuuuuuurrrgh!”  He stammered thickly before doubling over and sending a copious wave of sick out onto the pebbles at his feet. “Silas!” She cried out, wobbling unsteadily to his side as he let out another harsh retch. “Fuck! Are you okay?” “I’m – uuurp – not good with blood…” He breathed weakly, spitting onto the ground. “Really?” Emilia questioned, surprised at this – she expected that as Silas was a sportsman he would be used to a little bit of blood. “Sorry – k’huuur!” Another sudden burst of vomit flowed from his mouth and he clutched one hand to his stomach. “Jesus, come on,” Emilia hooked her arm through Silas’, “let’s get back to the cabin. Just… don’t look at me.” “Okay…” He agreed, skirting around the large puddle of sick, and walking slowly back towards the path to the cabins. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be one to puke at the sight of blood…” She commented, almost amused at his reaction. “Yeah… well…” He mumbled, then added suddenly: “Please don’t tell Cain and Jethro? They’d never let me live it down if they knew it had happened again…” Emilia would have laughed had it not been for the pain radiating through her skull. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret for you,” she promised, nudging him gently in the ribs. “Thanks…”